#this dream was so weird I immediately wrote it down in my notes app as soon as I woke up lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cinnaminsvga · 5 years ago

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A Boy Like You | Yoongi

→ summary: for whenever you are feeling low, always remember that there is a boy you know who would lift the sky for you.

{or alternatively: Min Yoongi loves you, though he never says it. He’s always been a firm believer in that actions speak louder than any words ever could.}

→ genre: coworker!au, f2l, fluff → warnings: an overabundance of shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to squish his cheeks; kinda ooc but it is what it is → words: 11.5K → a/n: whaddup kids it’s ya girl... back from the dead after months of not writing shit, and what’s this owo... it’s a fluff fic?? miracles do happen... anyway i wrote this bc i just thot “man, wouldn’t it be super epic if i wrote a super self-indulgent fic where yoongi fulfills every single one of my deepest desires?” well... here is THIS!! pls feel free to scream into a pillow bc i certainly did!! enjoy!!

There is a boy you know who likes to show his kindness quietly. It would go something like this:

The air is thick with static; your hair stands up on end: a warning. The scent of raindrops hitting hot pavement graces your nostrils as a waterfall drops from the sky. You see the sea of heads begin to disappear under a canopy of multi-colored umbrellas. You, the lone ranger, rush back into the building from whence you came, dragging puddles and annoyance with you.

You should have anticipated it, should have thought to check the weather app before scrolling through dull social media posts when you left your house that morning. Instead, your fingers are left cold and umbrella-less.

You tilt your head upwards, watching as gallon upon gallon fell from the sky in an endless cycle. The watch on your wrist reads 5 PM, but the sky says it is 9 PM. The dark, swirling mass of clouds above you will continue on its thunderous parade, pausing for no one, especially not for you.

Your work bag is practically weightless, devoid of anything that might protect you from the onslaught of rain. The only thing inside is a small wallet that holds nothing more than dust and a loose promise of a paycheck. There is no way you can call a taxi like this, and the nearest bus stop is at least two blocks away. You are starting to think that your childhood dreams of becoming a mermaid hadn’t been so ridiculous after all.

Then comes the hand of God. It touches your shoulder gently, hesitantly. You turn around to face a stranger, a boy with shaggy black hair and pale moonlight skin. It is not God, but he comes close.

In his other hand is your salvation wrapped in Kumamon print nylon. It is proffered to you with a silent nod, his gaze fixed somewhere behind you as he waits for you to take it. The tips of his ears begin to redden the longer it takes for you to respond. Eventually, your brain connects with your muscles as you robotically pluck the umbrella from his grasp, a stuttered “thanks” leaving your lips.

He nods stiffly once more, removing his palm from your shoulder as though he had been burned. He shuffles for a moment, mouth opening and closing as he struggles to find the words to say. You wait, patience never waning for the strange boy that you have come to know as your salvation.

He doesn’t find the words after all. You aren’t too offended by his silence, but he appears to be mortified. And so, he leaves just as quickly as he had appeared, like a whirlwind dressed in an oversized blazer flapping behind him like wings. He runs through the rain without another thought, an arm raised above his head in a futile attempt to avoid getting wet.

You try calling out to him, wanting to thank him once more and maybe to ask how you can return his umbrella, but he is long gone. A speck of black dashing through the gray.

You clutch the umbrella closer to you, a feeling of something new growing inside of you. It is too small to call anything, but it is warm.

x x x x x

Umbrella boy has a name, and he happens to work on the same floor as you. You know this because he is standing right in front of you in all his bespectacled glory.

He ducks out of view the moment your eyes meet his. There is a stack of folders in his arms, and he bows his head until his nose touches manila. It’s too late––he knows you caught him staring. He scurries behind walls of filing cabinets and desk cubicles, desperate to get back to his desk where he hopes you’ll never find him.

The office floor is large, but it is not large enough to hide in. It takes only a few minutes until you find him hunched over his desk, every inch of space taken by enough towers of paper to cover a forest. It is no wonder that you never encountered your mysterious umbrella boy; he does a wonderful job of blending in.

Your eyes trail his form, not out of any perverse intent, but just out of curiosity. You never would have guessed from his unassuming and meek nature, but the boy is devastatingly beautiful. The devil is in the details: you admire the soft slope of his nose to the adorable pout of his lips. His eyelids are charmingly mismatched and his cheeks are begging to be pinched. It takes a year’s worth of self-restraint to keep your hands at your sides, if only so you don’t scare him away before you can even introduce yourself.

(You can already imagine your HR department contacting you about nonconsensual manhandling… You admit that you tend to get overzealous with your affection, especially when confronted with cute things. This boy would definitely need to watch out for you if he knows what’s best for him.)

((Also note to self: Stop having these psychopathic conversations with yourself. Being stuck inside the cage which is your brain is torture enough, so let’s not encourage it to get worse.))

There is a lanyard laced around his neck, the gaudy orange color of your company’s logo emblazoned across the thin material. And just out of your line of sight, you catch a glimpse of his ID. His name is––

“Y-Y/N?” He stutters out–no–he squeaks. Ah, so he’s noticed you. The folder in his hand slips out of his grasp, an avalanche of white tumbling all over his lap. He curses loudly, frantically sweeping away the mess under his desk, as if he could somehow magically make them disappear if he just kicked them hard enough. Unfortunately, the papers stay stubbornly tangible, and he is left with a halo of accounting reports around his workspace as a result.

“Are you… umm…” You hesitate with your words, fearing that any sudden movement on your part might cause umbrella boy to combust on the spot. “Do you need help… picking those up?”

“I–Well, no–Yes, but–” His sentences are stilted, his brain struggling to catch up with his tongue. He clamps his mouth shut, then shakes his head like he’s trying to reboot himself. Finally, after a few more deep breaths, he goes, “No. I’m fine. Thank you for offering.” He says that, but he appears awfully content with staring holes into the keyboard of his laptop when he is speaking to you though.

“Still… I’m terribly sorry for startling you,” you say, lips tugging downwards into a frown. You should have guessed he was skittish from how he had acted yesterday, but it’s quite a surprise to see one man so… disastrous, for lack of a better term. It’s awfully cute. “I just wanted to properly introduce myself and thank you for lending me your umbrella yesterday, but it seems like you already knew who I was.”

His face does a weird thing then and there. It almost appears like he was caught in a time loop, like someone was manually reversing and replaying his facial expressions like a video. It takes a few minutes for his little stroke to settle down, but even then, his cheeks remain a rosy pink. “I–I just… remembered your name during the company retreat the other month. I’m not weird or anything, I swear!”

“Well luckily, I was never going to accuse you of being weird anyway!” You laugh, trying to ease the perpetual look of anxiety on his face. However, it only seems to worsen his nerves with how quickly his skin starts to redden. “In fact, I should be apologizing for not remembering your name, Mister..?”

“Min Yoongi,” he replies, pausing for a second too long. He must have realized his delay because he coughs awkwardly into his forearm, averting his gaze away from you in a futile attempt to become nothing more than an abstract thought.

He must be equipped with some sort of superpower, because you’re starting to feel his secondhand embarrassment flood through you like a tsunami. Are you that difficult to converse with? Does he want to be left alone so badly that he’s trying to subtlely tell you to fuck off?

You’re about to start apologizing and scurry off back to your desk in barely concealed mortification when Yoongi clears his throat, his gaze fixed somewhere to your right. Whatever caught his attention must have been revolutionary with how large his eyes are, although last you remember is that the wall behind you is the same dull jailcell gray that you have come to know and hate.

“I just… I’m sorry if I’m acting odd right now. I just wasn’t expecting you to come to my cubicle and I would’ve… I don’t know, tidied up? If I knew you were coming,” he mutters, propping his glasses back up when they start sliding down his nose. They make their slow descent back down immediately after, forever on an endless cycle of up and down his face.

“You don’t have to clean up just for me! I’m not your manager or anything,” you say, surveying the absolute disaster zone that is his workspace. For his benefit, you sure hope that he has a map of his desk and filing cabinets, as it would have been a miracle otherwise if he memorized where anything was located in his personal office sty. “Though, it would be nice if you could see the bottom of your desk every once in a while.”

To your immense surprise, Yoongi lets out a resounding laugh at your quip. Though Yoongi isn’t a mute by any means, it isn’t like he spoke with much volume either. You hadn’t even thought your joke was funny enough to deserve a strained Caucasian™️ smile, so you appreciate that he had considered that you were even slightly funny. You love the pleasant tinkling of his laughter, so genuinely joyous that you can’t help but want to make a fool of yourself just so you can hear it again and again.

When Yoongi stops, the familiar reddish hue that has made a home on his cheeks resurfaces, though it’s less from embarrassment now. His shoulders are more relaxed, and he doesn’t look like he wants to crawl out of his skin as much. He still has eyes averted away from you, however. “Sorry. I don’t know why I laughed too hard at that. I’m normally not this weird… I think it’s just the nerves.”

You cock your head to the side. “Nerves? From what?”

Yoongi freezes, mouth gaping open slightly. “I, umm…” He coughs into his white button-up sleeve, pupils shaking as he formulates a response. “Just from… work. Yeah, I just have a lot of paperwork to do this week and I’ve been, er, having difficulty relaxing.”

Yoongi visibly breathes a sigh of relief when you accept his flimsy excuse, not really lingering on the validity of his statement. “Oh, sure! Don’t overwork yourself too much, okay?” you say, smiling sweetly back at him. He stares, wide-eyed, not really sure how to go on with his life after he’d been blasted by the full force of your grin.

God, you hope you remembered to use a toothpick during lunch. Was there spinach in your teeth? Oh fuck.

“Gah,” he intones, his brain not fully cooperating with his mouth just yet. If you were any more socially inept, you’d probably be doing the same. Eventually, he clears his throat and tries again. “Uh. Yes. I’ll try to do better next time.”

Feeling like you’ve overstayed your visit, you decide that it might be best for you to leave him be before either of you do or say anything more awkward and stupid. Before you turn to leave however, you decide to extend your hand forward, hoping to erase all the previous awkwardness between the both of you and hopefully start afresh. Even though you’ve only just met, you can’t help but feel drawn to him, wanting to see him again and somehow gain his friendship. “Hey, no sweat. It was really nice meeting you, Yoongi-ssi.”

“Just Yoongi is fine,” he says, almost like an afterthought. He’s so busy staring at your proffered hand that you are afraid that you might have offended him unknowingly or something. Does he think you don’t wash your hands? Given by the fact that your office’s manager refuses to restock the soap dispensers at the washrooms, that isn’t that much of a stretch. Or maybe he was weirded out by your random handshake? Have handshakes become antiquated these days? Are the kids no longer doing it? Are you supposed to do those awful brohugs like the fresh-out-of-college interns do in the breakroom? Oh God, does Yoongi think you’re old?!

While you were in the midst of your mental breakdown, you soon begin to realize why Yoongi had contemplated returning your handshake for so long. Instead of taking your hand immediately, Yoongi rubs his own two palms together first, much like how one would when warming their hands in front of a fire. He takes care to blow on them slightly before grasping your hand firmly in his, finally bestowing you with your much awaited handshake.

“Umm..?” You stare at your intertwined hands, a little confused about the previous series of events that just happened five seconds ago. Yoongi, in all his adorable and flustered glory, releases your hand much too quickly like he’s been shocked, most likely realizing (belatedly) that what he had done might not be as clear to an observer as it is to himself.

“Oh, I – I’m so sorry about that, again.” Yoongi stutters, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s just – my hands are really cold so I was trying to warm them up before I held your hands. I’m – I only just realized how odd that must have looked. Sorry.”

A rush of endearment and warmth surges through you as you behold this high strung boy, your heart flooded with a mix of emotions that make you feel gooey and blissful in one perfect package. No, this boy is the perfect package, all soft edges and blushy cheeks. It’s going to take a mountain and a room of vengeful deities to stop you from walking past his desk to catch a glimpse of him at this rate.

Oh God, you’re whipped already and it’s only been a few minutes since you said hello. He warmed his hand for you for heaven’s sake! Surely your enthusiasm can be excused in this one instance.

“That’s, uhh…” Now it seems that it is your turn to be at a loss of words, your throat clogged with a clump of newly discovered feelings that you don’t have enough time to sort through at the moment. The hamster running circles inside your brain has long since ground to a halt, and if Yoongi is going to keep staring at you with those charming cat eyes for any longer, you aren’t sure you’ll be able to convince the little vermin inside your skull to puppet your body again. “That’s… really sweet. Thank you.”

Thank you? Really, Y/N?

“It’s, uh, no problem. Really.” And with that, Yoongi presents to you his most deadly smile to date: blinding whites coupled his prominent pink gums, with his cheeks stretched like proofed dough that make his dark eyes disappear. Is there a pencil wedged inside your chest cavity, or were you just spontaneously having a heart attack? It’s hard to say; all you know is that your organs have turned to slush, and you make a mental note to send the imminent hospital bill to a certain Min Yoongi.

Cause of hemorrhage: being too fucking cute.

With your daily dose of embarrassment fulfilled, you turn to leave with short stilted steps, as if you have to force yourself away from him like those stubborn souvenir shop magnets that never come off the fridge. “I guess I’ll see you around?” you say more like a question, unsure if he’ll even want to ever see you after that disaster of an interaction. Kim Namjoon from Accounting would be entirely too delighted if he ever found out that he wasn’t the most awkward human being in the office.

“Sure? I’ll just be here. As always,” Yoongi replies kindly, same gummy grin on his face, albeit a little more hesitant. “It was nice speaking to you, Y/N.”

When he returns his attention to his workspace, it serves as a signal to you that you really should be going. Before you leave, you take note of the subtle red tint of his ears that reaches the back of his neck, the gentle tremor of his hands as he reorganizes the files that he had previously dropped. It makes you feel odd for relishing in the fact that you hadn’t been the only one feeling the tension between the two of you, though that doesn’t help lessen the confusion that soon follows anyway.

Why are you so drawn to him? You have never felt so strongly for someone this quickly, and frankly it sort of frightened you. You’re too afraid to confront that blossoming curiosity inside of you. No, it’s much too soon for that. For now, however…

“Oh shit. I totally forgot to give him back his umbrella,” you curse yourself once you return to your desk. The smiling face of Kumamon looks at you knowingly, as if this had been planned all along.

Well. Now you have an excuse to see him again tomorrow, at least.

x x x x x

There is a boy you know who likes to show his tenderness quietly. It would go something like this:

Company dinners shouldn’t feel like as much as a punishment as it does, but that’s just how social gatherings with semi-professional coworkers are like. No one here really wants to be there, but the carefully worded e-mail sent to the entire company clearly suggests that this was more of a “go to the party or risk getting fired” type of deal than anything remotely enjoyable. As much as free food and booze are often harbingers of a good time, it hardly makes any difference when your inebriated boss spends the entire time chatting you up in front of the presence of a dozen or so indifferent associates.

“Oh, Y/N! Good job securing that deal with Mister Park the other day. It’s all thanks to my valuable tutelage, is it not?” your manager guffaws, slapping your back with misplaced camaraderie. He leaves his warm, sweaty palm there, feeling it slide an inch lower than you were comfortable with anyone being. The smell of cheap wine on his breath is making you feel nauseous, and the tacky black and white tiled flooring isn’t doing anything to lessen the incoming migraine.

“Right,” you say with a tight-lipped smile, unable to say anything else lest you lose your job over something silly like establishing boundaries. It’s no wonder that the number of female employees on your floor has significantly dropped over the years, especially with rumors attaching themselves like maggots all over your stupid manager’s name. You wouldn’t be surprised if his stomach exploded ala Alien (1979) style with how much bullshit resides in his body and soul.

You’ve long since given up on anyone saving you, not when everyone was either too busy taking advantage of the free food or too scared to confront your shitty boss. You resign to your fate, ready to scrub yourself clean with a brick once you get home in a futile attempt to rid yourself of the feeling of his hands on you.

That is, until someone clears their throat from behind you.

Salvation comes to you wrapped in a crisp white button-up, thick-rimmed glasses, and cat-like eyes. You almost want to start breaking into Gregorian chant just then to fully express your gratitude to the deities of above for sending an angel in your time of tribulation.

“Excuse me,” the (welcome) intruder says, voice quiet but clear even amidst the cacophonous music and chatter. Min Yoongi steps forward until he is to your right, and you don’t miss the way his shoulder “accidentally” bumps your manager hard enough for him to drop his hand from your back. When Yoongi smiles at your manager, it is all teeth and no mirth, his eyes carefully blank.

Thankfully, your manager isn’t quite as fortunate in his brains department as he is in his stomach. “Oh, Yoongi! It is so nice to finally see you attend one of our social functions. You are enjoying yourself, I hope?” your manager asks, guffawing loudly despite no joke being said. You never did quite understand how some men think they are the most hilarious thing to ever exist since clowns, though you suppose your manager was only missing the red nose to complete the look.

“Thrilled, Mister Lee. Absolutely thrilled,” Yoongi says in a dead monotone voice. You can’t help but giggle at his sarcasm, and Yoongi points a wicked grin back at you before returning to his neutral and passive “work” face.

The sarcasm flies over your managers head like you expected, though you can hardly blame the alcohol for his lack of cognizance. You wouldn’t be half surprised if you knocked lightly on his head, only to hear a resounding echo following thereafter.

“I have never seen you at any of our parties before, Yoongi. What’s with the sudden change of heart?” your manager asks.

“Sir, I’ve attended every single social gathering since I was hired,” Yoongi says plainly, his composure never faltering. He must have better control than you, because you’re sure you would’ve barely held yourself back from smacking your manager had it been you. Though in fairness, you aren’t sure if you’ve ever noticed Yoongi at any of the other parties before this one either.

“Oh really? Well then, you mustn’t have said hello before then!” your manager laughs, patting Yoongi on the shoulder. “Always so enigmatic, our dear Yoongi! Well, keep up the good work.” When your manager turns his attention to speak to another one of your poor coworkers, Yoongi visibly gags from behind your manager’s back, grimacing as he pats away all traces of that foul man’s hand germs away from his dress shirt.

“Gross. Now my sleeve is damp,” he mutters, just audible enough so that only you could hear. You laugh out loud at that, nodding in understanding.

“Same here. There’s probably a gross sweaty handprint on my back now,” you say, wincing when you do feel a noticeable damp spot near the small of your back. “Ugh, what a pig.”

“Tell me about it,” Yoongi shakes his head, making a move to get away from your awful manager. He gestures for you to follow him, and you are more than happy to oblige.

“Thanks for saving me, by the way,” you add, keeping in step with him. He leads you out of the disorienting ballroom, though he doesn’t head towards the exit like you had expected. He appears to know the building much more than you do, given by how assuredly he walks. Either that, or he could be leading you to a deadend, but confidently.

“No problem. You honestly looked like you were about to punt him across the room, though I doubt anyone would be opposed to that magnificent spectacle,” Yoongi jokes, same mischievous grin from before decorating his face. He is so different from the taciturn man you had met two weeks ago, back when he had half-hidden behind his desk like an animal being cornered. Though, that might not be the best analogy to think of, as it only painted you as some sort of predator who came after meek and soft-looking men. Which you aren’t. Hopefully.

“Oh, I would’ve done more than just that, so really he should be thanking you for saving him,” you snort, and Yoongi chuckles lightly in response. Like before, his laughter is just as pleasant as you remember. Your greedy heart yearns to elicit the same sound from him once more, for as many times as you can muster before the night ends.

You had been so immersed in trying to keep up with his quick strides that you don’t notice where exactly he has taken you. The two of you haven’t gone too far away from the ballroom before he stops right in front of a metal double door, the neon green exit sign about it glowing conspicuously in the otherwise dimly lit corridor. He pushes it open, allowing the cool evening air to blow across you and your hand-me-down dress.

“Are we… at the balcony?” you ask, though the view that greets you is answer enough. How Yoongi could have known where the balcony is, you can’t say for certain. But any sort of question dies on your lips when you see how beautiful the skyline is: the stars and city lights twinkling indiscriminately, the sound of nightlife and traffic sounding loud despite the streets being so far away, the smell of ozone signalling an oncoming storm.

This, of course, is what you imagine the view to be like. You know, if the ever reliable Seoul smog wasn’t there to obstruct any sort of magical, romantic view that you should have been privy to.

“Oh damn. I forgot the smog forecast today was especially bad,” Yoongi groans from beside you, quickly shuffling through his pant pockets for a face mask. He procurs two black masks, still in their plastic packaging, and hands one of them to you. “Jesus. Sorry about this. Didn’t expect the smog to be so bad… We can just go back inside, if you want?”

Then, you are reminded of your manager, who is basically pollution incarnate with how terrible his breath is. So, you accept Yoongi’s proffered mask and promptly put it on. “Yeah, no thanks,” you say, voice muffled slightly by the fabric. The implication of your acceptance makes Yoongi grin cheekily back at you (or so you think, guessing by how his eyes crinkle cutely above his mask.)

Now properly equipped to not inhale disgusting air matter into your lungs, you step out farther across the balcony, enjoying the way the cool night breeze feels against your alcohol flushed face. (Though, if you were being honest, the heat on your cheeks has less to do with the meager flute of champagne you had earlier and more to do with the company you currently find yourself with.)

“I fucking hate these company dinners,” you whine a little bit too petulantly, complete with the jutted lip of a child who has been forced to wait as her mother engages in an eternity long conversation with an acquaintance. You lean against the railings near the edge of the building, watching idly as Yoongi does the same. “Don’t you think that if they wanted us to get ‘closer’ with one another, they’d first want to address the fact that some of our coworkers happen to be pigs dressed in white collared shirts?”

Yoongi snorts at that, his right hand immediately coming up to his mouth to silence the unflattering sound. Not that it wasn’t completely charming to you, but you do enjoy the slight abashment that blooms across his face shortly thereafter. “Sorry, didn’t mean to laugh like that. But, I do agree with you… I can’t say that anyone in our department is especially fond of that Habsburg motherfucker.”

Maybe it was the little bit of alcohol in your system, or perhaps it was the sudden rush of realizing that Yoongi is strangely attractive when he swears, but the laugh that exits your mouth sounds a touch too crazed for your liking. Either that, or perhaps you’re finally dying from the pollution.

Luckily for the both of you, it seems that Yoongi likes your weird laugh just as much as you like his. He tries to hide a smile before continuing, “Like, come on! I’m sorry for saying that because attacks on physical appearance is always a low blow, but why the fuck does that dude look like he’s been compressed and flattened on Photoshop? He’s got perpetual flat-face syndrome. You could - you could land a damn plane on his face or some shit.”

The cork inside of your bursts, and you let out the most ungodly guffaw in your life. You don’t even have the time to be embarrassed by how loud your howls are, not when every word he says hits the mark a little bit too close to home. There’s nothing quite as pleasing than sharing mutual dislike for the same person, and it fills you with the utmost glee that Yoongi is no exception to that rule.

“Oh god… You’re right. You are absolutely right. I seriously can’t believe anyone can put up with him. I mean, the damned bastard couldn’t even remember my name until two weeks ago,” you say, shaking your head in disgust. The first few times he had forgotten, you had been gracious enough to laugh away his mistakes as little more than that: mistakes. But when five years pass and peanuts-for-a-brain still hasn’t deemed that remembering your name to be as important as when the “next big Game™” is, then it’s easy to understand the depth of your resentment towards your manager.

“Are you for real?” Yoongi asks, brows raised in shock. “How could anyone ever forget you – I mean, shit, uh,” Yoongi coughs suddenly, red-faced. You tilt your head in confusion, waiting for him to finish. He’s still kind of spluttering when he continues, “What I meant to say is… H-how could anyone forget their employees name after working here for so long?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I have no idea. Honestly, I think he’s trying to purposefully forget everything I tell him. One time, he had asked me what plans I had for Christmas, and I mentioned to him how I was going to be visiting my parents back home, and he has the gall to ask what country I’m from. Like???” Your face contorts as if you had eaten an entire lemon, so wracked with disbelief that Yoongi can see the hypothetical question marks floating above your head. “Bitch, do I look foreign to that bastard? I’ve lived here all my life!”

Yoongi hums, thoughtful. “Your parents live just an hour away from here, right?”

“I… Yeah, they do,” you reply. You eye Yoongi curiously, watching his all-too familiar flush resurfacing on his neck once more. “Wait… How do you know that?”

“You… You were talking about them, once. To Seulgi? Yea, you were, um…” Yoongi coughs unassuredly, rubbing the back of his neck. A nervous tick of his, you suppose. “It was a year ago? Something about visiting them during the weekend… Not that I was eavesdropping on purpose! I would never, er, do that…”

You don’t even register his embarrassment as you are mostly shell shocked that he had even remembered that little tidbit from over a year ago. Hell, you didn’t even remember going to your parent’s house until he mentioned it. “No it’s fine, I get it. I’m just surprised that you even bothered to remember that.”

Now it’s his turn to look at you strangely. “Of course I remember. Why wouldn’t I?”

You stare at him in disbelief. Fluttering of wings begin to erupt in your stomach, but you hardly have the peace of mind to fully grasp why you were even feeling so flustered in the first place. It was just that he had said it so… matter-of-fact, like there was no possible way he could’ve forgotten even if he tried. It was kind of disconcerting, but flattering all the same. But more importantly--

“Wait, you’ve been working at the company since last year? How have I never seen you before this month?!”

“Oh,” Yoongi coughs out a laugh, scratching the end of his nose. He turns his gaze away, looking anywhere but you. “I was just, umm… Really quiet? I don’t really talk to anyone unless I need to. I’m more of a listener.”

“Oh my God, now I feel even more terrible for not knowing your name! I must look like an egotistic bitch to you,” you despair lowly, cupping your face into your hands in shame. You feel another pair of cold hands clasp your wrists, and you watch in shock as he pulls your palms away with a determined expression.

“What? Of course not. You are definitely not an egotistic bitch, Y/N. In fact, you’re the complete opposite,” Yoongi whispers, so quiet that you might have imagined it. He grasps your hands tightly, like he’s desperate for you to believe him.

You stammer in embarrassment, staring wide-eyed at Yoongi as you try to regrasp your comprehension skills. It’s especially hard to concentrate with how close Yoongi is to you, the latter unaware of his own proximity. He had stepped closer towards you to hold your hand, and normally you hated it when people touched you without permission, but somehow… This was alright.

(Unbeknownst to you, this will not be the first time that Yoongi becomes your secret little exception. It’s only the first of many.)

“I-I don’t really know what to say?” Your gaze is locked on his firm grip on your hands, the only thing flitting through your mind: damn, this dude’s hands really are fucking freezing!

It takes another few seconds for Yoongi to calm down, and you know when it happens because the realization of what he had said makes itself apparent on his expression. He turns beet red in a second, stepping away from you with his arms flying off of you like those inflatable tube men outside car dealerships.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, taking two steps away from you. You almost take two steps forward to keep the distance closer, but you have a feeling that he would keep walking away from you until you both inevitably fall off the balcony, so you smartly choose to stay away (even if it pains you to do so). You wait for his breathing to settle, all the while still reeling from his blatant confession just moments ago.

Could you even consider it a confession? Were you being delulu, or is there some sort of connection that you and Yoongi were both feeling?

“Yoongi, it’s fine! Really,” you smile wryly, raising your hands towards him open-faced, much like how you would do when approaching an agitated animal. Like a nervous kitty, you think privately to yourself. “I’m really flattered that you feel so… strongly?”

“I’m… I’m really not like this normally. Honest,” Yoongi says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I… I never… do that. Whatever that was. Umm.”

Because you’re a freak of nature and enjoy exacerbating awkward social interactions, you decide to respond to him like this: “No worries, I’m flattered, honest! But hey, maybe next time you try to give me a compliment, you could look me in the eye?” You know, like an asshole. Who points out people’s social anxieties like that? You bitch!

On cue, Yoongi’s cheeks bloom into cherry blossoms once more. “I––I, I didn’t mean to––uh!” he stammers.

“No, no, I’m sorry for even saying that!” You apologize profusely, bowing so low that he could probably see the top of your spine. “I didn’t mean to tease you like that! I’m sorry! That was seriously out of line!”

What a pair the two of you were… Like two trains crashing into each other at mach speed, continuously and eternally. A constant and ongoing catastrophe!

(The little gremlin living inside your brain is knocking at your empty skull, whispering deviously, “But doesn’t that make the two of you the perfect pair?”)

When he doesn’t respond back immediately, you have to wrack up enough courage to look back at him. You gasp audibly when you do, and you have to forcibly grip the insides of your bicep to keep yourself from squealing in pure anguish.

Because there, right before your very eyes, is a blushing Min Yoongi looking you straight in the eye with his face squished between his hands, as if he’s forcibly keeping his head locked in place. His pupils are noticeably shaking and his brows are furrowed in concentration, but he’s looking at you. Like you asked.

He’s… He’s too…

“Okay, let me try this again.” Yoongi takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what may be the most embarrassing thing he has ever done in his life. “Y… You’re a great person, Y/N. I hope you know that,” he whispers, voice trailing off by the end of his sentence.

He’s dry heaving like he’s just finished a marathon, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off of you. You’re worried if he even remembers how to blink with how intensely he’s staring you down, but you can’t bring yourself to ask him when your heart is quite literally beating out of your chest like a cartoon character from the 80’s.

“I…” You’re at a loss of words. If Min Yoongi can capture you like this with just a look, then think of how much more powerful he would be if he just learned how to use it. You’re slipping into real dangerous waters, and you don’t know if you’re just a frog in boiling water or if this is where you were meant to be all along.

“Yoongi, I didn’t mean for you to… force yourself like that, really…”

The moment breaks, finally, when Yoongi begins to cry.

“Shit!” you both exclaim, but for two different reasons. “Are you okay? Oh my god!” you reach out for him, not even thinking when you cup his cheeks in your hands. He gently pushes you away with one hand, while the other goes to scrub at his tears.

“Yes, I’m fine! A piece of dust got caught in my eye and I was too slow to blink it away,” he explains, still wiping at his cheeks. He pulls his mask down to his chin, pouting cutely at you. “Sorry. I’m not used to looking people in the eye yet. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Oh my god. At this point, you’d be surprised if your heart was located anywhere near your body. You were running purely on autopilot, so enamored by the boy in front of you that you could almost faint. He was entirely too unreal, unbelievably so. Perhaps, if you tried hard enough, you’d be able to find your heart again, and you know the first place where you’d look.

“Give it back,” you mumble, and Yoongi tilts his head at you in confusion.

“Sorry? Did you say something?”

“Nothing,” you reply, reaching over him and snapping his mask back on his face. You laugh as he splutters in surprise, floundering about overdramatically as if the elastic on the mask had done any damage to him at all. “Oh, stop it. You’re just being silly now.”

“Hey, I have delicate skin! You never know,” he jokes, but stops when you give him an unimpressed look.

“Sorry,” he laughs again. “And well, since I keep saying sorry today, and you look like you could use a little warming up, do you wanna leave this place and get some coffee? My treat.”

And really, who were you to say no to that?

And really, who were you to say no to Min Yoongi?

x x x x x

There is a boy you know who likes to show his thoughtfulness quietly. It would go something like this:

A steaming hot coffee cup from the nearby cafe manifests itself on your desk one Monday morning. In your sleep-deprived haze, you had originally failed to realize that there was a hand connected to that cup and that it hadn’t actually just materialized from thin air like you had thought. After much blinking and staring, you crane your head up to see Jesus standing in front of you, his glasses still fogged from the outside chill.

“I got you a drink. I hope I remembered your order right,” Yoongi says in lieu of a greeting, a small smile gracing his lips as he watches you lethargically reach over for the cup to lift the lid open. His grin widens when he sees your eyes light up at the sight of little marshmallows bobbing up and down in your hot chocolate, bits of whipped cream already melting away from the heat. When you take a sip, you breathe a content sigh, your eyelids fluttering shut.

“Yoongi, I’m going to kiss your feet right now and you can’t stop me,” you say, upper lip lined with cream and sugar. Yoongi’s hand twitches by his side, but he doesn’t move.

“Even if I have toe fungus?”

“Especially if you have toe fungus,” you say, downing as much hot chocolate down your throat without choking and barfing all over him.

From the rim of your cup, you can see that Yoongi still has his parka on, his signature black mask pulled down his chin indicating that he’s only just arrived at the office. It makes your heart jump a little, knowing that he went straight to you first before anyone else that day.

“I still don’t understand how you hate coffee. Like, I don’t think I’d be able to be conversing with you right now if I didn’t have caffeine running through my veins,” he says, staring at you(r lips) as you chew a marshmallow thoughtfully.

You want to tell him that Yoongi doesn’t talk a lot anyway in the first place, though you have begun to notice that he’s becoming more talkative the more you hang out with him. However, you aren’t quite sure if you’re imagining it, but it seems like Yoongi’s change in personality doesn’t really apply when he’s with anyone else. On the days where you’d pass by his cubicle on the way to the water coolers, he’d still have his usual stoic expression on his face as he goes through his paperwork with the grace of a robot. When he’s with you, however…

“Says the guy who’s started drinking frappes after I suggested them to you. Don’t lie to me, Min Yoongi.” You’re giggling softly, and you can tell Yoongi’s seams are already breaking. Pink gums and straight teeth are seconds away from peaking through. You wink cheekily at him. “You’re just as sweet as your personality is.”

“Stop, that’s so embarrassing!” he exclaims, hiding behind his hands. He’s already smiling. “I’m not as sweet as you think! I’m a mean guy!”

“Yoongi, you literally just bought me hot chocolate with marshmallows because you remembered what I like. I don’t think there’s a mean bone in your body,” you retort, rolling your eyes at the prominent pout on his face.

“Not true! I stole an extra coupon booklet when I was at the grocery store the other day.”

“Ooooh, I do love a bad boy,” you say, but the two of you are already laughing hysterically. “Seriously, thanks. I really needed this today.”

“Dang, bad morning already?” he winces, having noticed the purple moons under your eyes when he had approached you. He didn’t want to mention it without you bringing it up first, but he had been worried about you since last Friday when you had left the workplace with a slammed door.

“Try bad weekend. Mr. Lee has been pushing my buttons for months now, but I seriously didn’t think he thought it was a challenge. He’s been giving me shitty filing jobs to complete like I’m some overworked intern!”

Yoongi cocks his head, confused. “Aren’t you, like… In the advertising department? Why would he make you file things?”

“Exactly!” You’re all but roaring now, but Yoongi can’t help smirking at the stray dollop of whipped cream that had somehow found its way on your nose. He pulls his sleeve over his wrist, swiping it away with the fabric as nonchalantly as possible (which is to say, he’s as red as a spanked ass when he does it.)

You don’t even notice his actions, still deep in the abyss of your rage. “And also! My shitty phone ran out of storage space the other day so I’ve had to delete all the songs on my library and I can’t find any good playlists on Spotify to help me dissociate on the train!”

“Wow, that’s a mood,” Yoongi says, chuckling. He clears his throat, an idea popping into his head. He turns bashful all of a sudden, gaze diverting upwards as he musters the courage to say, “I-I mean, I think I can help you with that last problem, if you want…”

You stop huffing and puffing long enough to appear intrigued. “Oh? Are you gonna send me a playlist?”

Yoongi splutters. “I mean! If you want it, I do have some songs that I like listening to.”

Yoongi squeaks when you smile at that, radiant and all-encompassing. He wonders how he’s not dead right now.

“Oh god, that would be great actually! Text me the link, would you?” you say, already making grabby hands for his phone. “Here, lemme put my phone number in your phone.”

Yoongi almost drops his phone as he takes it out of his pocket, staring in awe as he watches you type in your number into his phone. He has to keep himself from outright howling when he sees you place a sunflower emoji beside your name. How fitting, he thinks to himself.

When you return the phone back to him, he immediately texts you the link to his playlist. You have to keep yourself from screaming to the heavens when you see the very Yoongi-esque title, “Songs for the Sleepless,” complete with the grainy-noir-film-type playlist art to complete the look. It was just so… personal, so Yoongi, and it’s making you clench organs that you didn’t know were clenchable.

You whistle at the sheer number of songs on the playlist, with the first song being—“Didn’t peg you as a Lana Del Rey fan,” you pipe up, scrolling through his playlist with acute interest. “Kendrick Lamar and Epik High, I understand. But Lana?”

To his credit, the playlist did seem like it had a narrative of sorts, despite the eclectic range of artists and genres. You only recognize maybe ten of the songs from his five hundred song playlist, and you’re very curious to see what type of songs he connects to.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he shrugs his shoulders, though a little bit embarrassed. “Lana Del Rey could sing my obituary and I’d jump out of my grave in an instant.”

“Bit morbid but okay,” you laugh, finger ready to close your music player app when you catch sight of a song with an artist you didn’t expect to see. You reach over to tug on his sleeve, your sly smile already causing Yoongi to break out in hives. “Hey… I didn’t know you shared your name with a singer, unless, of course…”

Yoongi doesn’t even let you finish your sentence when he yelps in surprise, snatching your phone out of your grip as his eyes bug out of his sockets. His ears redden, words tumbling out of his mouth like a waterfall as he tries to explain himself despite your raucous giggling.

“I––You weren’t supposed to––I forgot about! That was––I was just––Ugh,” he groans despairingly, smacking himself in the forehead with your phone. You’re still giggling madly, enjoying the spectacle before you as Yoongi’s ears are practically shooting out steam.

“You’re so cute.” It slips out of your mouth with such ease that you almost don’t notice saying it at all; you’re still smiling dreamily at Yoongi as he stares at you in shock, mouth still agape from his earlier rambling. You gasp loudly when your brain cells finally catch up, but by then it’s already too late. Now, the two of you were a matching pair, with your fire engine red ears standing at attention.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I just said that,” you mutter into your hands. You wish the earth would swallow you whole right now.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that,” Yoongi wails beside you, but you don’t notice the small satisfied smile he’s sporting on his reddened face. “Y-You can’t just say things and not expect me to…”

You look up, wondering why he’d suddenly trailed off at the end. “Expect you to what?”

Yoongi, once again, defies the laws of the universe by somehow turning even redder than humanly possible. “N-nothing. Ignore me. Let’s just admit we’re both embarrassing and carry on, can we?”

“Sure,” you agree, nodding enthusiastically. “But, does that mean I can listen to your songs, Mister Min ‘I’m-a-superstar-singer-in-my-spare-time’ Yoongi?”

“I’m not a superstar! I just record songs in my free time, that’s all,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Says the guy who apparently raps as a hobby! Seriously, I can tell I’m gonna love it already.”

His gaze is turned upwards, cheeks puffed up in embarrassment. He looks like he wants to say something else, however, and you wait for him as he tries to gather the courage to say what else is on his mind. “S-say, I was wondering… Since I’m already here and all, do you want to maybe go out wi—”

“Yo! Hyung!”

A deep voice from across the office floor snaps the two of you out of your little bubble in an instant. It doesn’t take a genius to tell who it is, not when there’s only one person in the entire company who would dare wear a sushi-print tie to work at one of the most lucrative companies in the country.

Kim Namjoon hobbles over to your little cubicle space in all his sushi-print tie glory, knocking over a coworker’s potted plant in the process. Between you and Yoongi, you had been more surprised by Namjoon’s sudden exclamation, mostly because you’d never been particularly close with the eccentric man. Yoongi probably can’t say the same since he had briefly mentioned that he and Namjoon go way back, though you’re starting to have some doubts about that due to the dirty glare Yoongi was currently pointing at the sentient noodles-for-legs.

Namjoon waves cheerily at you before cutting to the chase as he envelops Yoongi in a not-too-gentle hug. “Hyung! I’ve been looking for you. You weren’t at your desk this morning so I was wondering where you’d wandered off, but of course I’d find you here at Y/N’s de––”

Yoongi promptly stomps on Namjoon’s feet, causing the younger to yelp out in pain. “Namjoon. I told you I’d talk to you later.” Yoongi smiles sweetly, but you can see the aura of danger radiating off of him in waves. “Emphasis on later.”

Namjoon pouts petulantly, but he doesn’t look all that offended. “I was just gonna remind you to ask Y/N if she wanted to join us for lunch la––OUCH! WILL YOU STOP STEPPING ON MY FEET!”

Yoongi appears unbothered, not even looking back at Namjoon’s shouts of betrayal. All the while, he still has his gaze trained on you, never wavering for one second.

“Please ignore my colleague. He can a bit… Unnecessarily loud,” Yoongi says, accompanied by Namjoon’s splutters of indignation.

“Umm?? I’m right here?? Your actual best friend?? Geez!” Namjoon huffs, looking at the both of you incredulously. You just shrug your shoulders, completely dumbfounded by the last five minutes of human interaction.

“As Namjoon was saying before we were so rudely interrupted… I was going to ask if you wanted to have lunch with me? Namjoon can join too, but only if he behaves,” Yoongi jokes, smirking at Namjoon’s ireful glares.

You giggle quietly at the unlikely pair, amused beyond belief at this new side of Yoongi that you hadn’t been aware of. So this is how he is with his friends… Cocky Yoongi is definitely someone you wouldn’t mind talking to occasionally, you admit.

“Sure, I’d love to. Just let me finish all this filing crap for Mr. Lee, then I’ll head over to your desk at around 12?” If you work at a breakneck pace, then you could probably finish sooner if you didn’t let anything else distract you. “Oh! And I should probably return your umbrella before you leave. I keep forgetting to give it back to you.”

“No worries,” Yoongi says. “You should keep the umbrella. I’ve got a spare anyway.”

Namjoon’s head whips toward Yoongi at that, staring at him skeptically. “Dude. Ain’t that your favorite Kumamon umbrella though? Didn’t you almost murder me that one time I forgot it at the McDonald’s last mo––WILL YOU STOP STEPPING ON MY FEET! I’M GONNA GET FLATFOOT SYNDROME!”

“Not my problem,” Yoongi replies, pinching Namjoon’s nose for good measure. He turns to you, waving goodbye. “See you in a few?”

You stretch your back, psyching yourself up to get back to work. “Right. I’ll text you when I’m done okay? See you at 12-ish!”

The boys make their leave, bickering all the while. You catch wind of a bit of their conversation as they turn the corner, their voices echoing down the hall.

“Hey, I noticed that you were looking Y/N in the eye when you were speaking. Why don’t you ever look me in the eye when we talk!”

Yoongi snorts, flipping him off. “It’s because you’re not as nice to look at. Simple as that.”

In your seat, you smile secretly to yourself, butterflies erupting in your chest. Filled with newly found fervor, you chip away at the pile of work on your desk until it starts to vanish from view.

Before you know it, you’re off to see Yoongi once more.

x x x x x

There is a boy you know who likes to show his vulnerability quietly. It would go something like this:

x x x x x

There is a boy you know who likes to show his love quietly. It would go something like this:

Your day begins with a phone call: a warning. Your boss tells you to come into work as soon as possible, not a note of enthusiasm or friendliness in his tone. He ends the call just as abruptly as it had come, the silence following soon after deafening your ears. Your heart races marathons in your chest, and your brain goes to the worst place it can go.

Your hands are sweating gallons upon gallons as you shrug your coat on, fumbling with your keys as you struggle to place them in your pocket. For a brief moment, you think about calling Yoongi for moral support, but think better of it. You don’t want to bother anyone, especially not him.

You, the lone ranger, walk out of your apartment and into the murky urban outdoors, the first pitter-patters of rain making their descent the moment your foot meets the pavement. You don’t have quite the energy to go back inside to grab your umbrella, not when you’re unsure if you’ll be courageous enough to leave your bedroom once more if you did.

You’d always been a coward, a soft-hearted fool. Content with shouldering the consequences of your actions without another word: a sufferer in silence. For the past few weeks, you thought you might have changed. You’d been smiling a lot more, laughing a lot more. Your cheeks were often more red than any other color these days, and it was all thanks to a boy you know.

He was shy, but brave. Quiet, but talkative. Mysterious, but vulnerable.

He made you realize that there was no need to settle for one side of a coin, not when you could have both. The longer you stuck around him, the stronger your desire was to become… more.

You wanted to be open; you wanted to be known. You wanted to be able to ask for what you want, and never feel the crushing sense of guilt that usually came afterwards. You wanted to be unapologetic, wanted to keep your hands open, waiting for good things to come your way. To never cower in the face of a gift being handed to you. You wanted to have all that life has to offer––

(Him. Him. Him.)

But there is something pitiful about being unable to keep your own promises. The embarrassment of returning to the state where you once were, of turning meek at the first sign of adversity. The dreams of a happier life drifts away from you like mist under the morning sun, and the pressing weight of the world once again makes its home on your shoulders.

And so, you do not cry when your boss tells you to pack up your things within the hour.

You do not cry when you cut your finger on the corner of your desk that had never been replaced during your five-year stay at this company.

You do not cry when one of your potted plants smash to the floor when you try to carry too many things at once.

You do not cry when co-workers you’d only barely spoken to come over to your desk with showers of condolences, as if you’d already died.

You do not cry when Kim Namjoon walks over to you, quietly bending down to help you carry your boxes down to the lobby.

And when all is said and done, you most especially do not cry when Min Yoongi runs to you with his lungs burning in his chest, glasses still fogged up from the morning cold outside. His hair is in disarray and his shirt is on backwards, as if he’d jumped out of bed the moment he knew something was wrong. When he skids to a halt right in front of you, the pain etched on his face is as plain as day.

Wordlessly, he takes the last box out of your hands, placing his car keys on top when he can’t hold onto them both. His eyes flit towards your clenched fists for a second, but looks away the moment you notice. Instead, he walks out to the elevator, and you follow soon after.

You do not cry when Min Yoongi helps you load his car with your things. You do not cry when he takes a first-aid kit out of his glovebox and puts a band-aid on your finger. You do not cry when he offers to pass by the local home depot to pick up a new plant when he notices yours is gone. You do not cry when he doesn’t treat you like your life has ended.

(But you feel it. Pricking along your eyes like a dam about to break. He is doing this to you. He’s making you feel again, and it fucking hurts.)

And so, he drives you home.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Yoongi starts after a while, tapping a rhythm away on his steering wheel as he waits for the morning rush traffic to subside. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, worried when you don’t respond. You keep your head pressed against the cool car window, staring blankly at the gray skyline.

“I… I hope you don’t mind if I play you something. Just… Just listen to it, okay?”

You don’t see him, but you hear his fingers switch their tapping to his phone as he unlocks it, searching for the song he wants you to hear. It takes a moment or two for him to find it, soft curses tumbling from his lips as he goes through his Google Drive for the unfinished draft that he hadn’t meant to show you until it was complete, but well––

You were always an exception to him, weren’t you?

The first notes come creeping up from behind you, and it reminds you of the way Yoongi would speak to you. All soft whispers and gummy smiles, like he’s restraining himself. Slowly but surely, the music grows louder, more confident with its sound. You can picture Yoongi standing upright, hand outstretched towards you as he asks you to follow him.

The song is unfamiliar, but there’s something about it that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand at attention. You’re trying to go through your memories, sorting through the hundreds of songs that Yoongi has made you listen to but none of them seem to ring a bell. You’re still trying to figure out if you’d heard this before when the lyrics finally start.

“Lost in the sea of my regrets, you became my polaris.”

Yoongi’s voice comes from the radio speaker, jolting you from your seat. Your spine straightens, and you stare bullets at Yoongi’s phone as the song continues to play. When you look towards him, Yoongi’s face is a statue; the only thing giving away the fact that he was with you at all was the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“The shadows, which had been my haven, no longer feel as good as they once did. You, my light, have changed all of that.”

You gasp, and Yoongi’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. It seems like the two of you stop moving at that moment, neither of you daring to breathe. Even the outside traffic sounds muted compared to the sound of your hearts hammering inside your chests.

“I’ve long since forgotten to pray, but I will remember for you. I only dream of happiness for you, my morning light, my northern star. And I’d give it all up for you.”

Yoongi notices your tears fall before you even do; he’s quick to fluster, scrambling through his car side door for a tissue to hand to you, but he stops the moment he feels your hand fist the elbow of his sleeve. He turns to look at you, all blotchy and tear-stained, but beautiful all the same. And even through your tears, you smile just as radiantly as when he had first seen you.

“Thank you,” you mouth, fingers trembling as you fight to keep more tears from falling, but nothing can stop a dam from breaking. Not when you’re sitting beside the hurricane who broke it in the first place; it was the boy with feelings that never did quite fit in his body the way other people’s did.

Luckily, they fit right in with you.

When the song comes to the end, you’re sniffling up a storm, but you still haven’t let go of him. When you’re only a few minutes away from your apartment, Yoongi parks a little bit far off from your doorstep, so you have to walk the rest of the way home. But you’re still unwilling to let go, not yet.

Gently, Yoongi pries your hand away from his sleeve and you’re about to protest, but the words die on your lips the moment they form when Yoongi rubs his hands along the side of his slacks before placing them in yours. His hands are still cold, but comforting all the same.

“Let me walk you home?” he whispers.

You nod. Of course, you want to say. But he knows what you mean, anyway.

When he goes to unpack your things from the trunk, you shake your head, stopping him from moving any further. “I… I don’t feel like sorting through those things right now. Is it fine with you if I just… Go home for now? Please?” Your brain feels like lead in your skull after all the bottled up tears had finally escaped from years of constant pressure, and you don’t think you’re quite ready to go through all those emotions again. You feel deflated, but better. He always makes you feel better.

Yoongi closes the trunk, locking his car before stretching out his hands for you. You stare at the proffered hand for a moment.

“Oh, right.” Yoongi goes to rub his hands to warm them, but you stop him once more in his ministrations. He looks at you, confused, as you grab his hand from him. You rub circles into his palm, staring at the ground in embarrassment.

“You’re always warming your hands for me… So this time, I’ll warm them for you, okay?”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything in response to that. Instead, he tugs you along towards the sidewalk and keeps you close to him. As he walks with you, you notice the way he leans slightly to the left, like he’s drawn to you––like he can’t help be more than an inch further from you.

You keep glancing back down at your linked hands; he’s shaking, but then again, that could also be you.

You arrive at the gate of your apartment quicker than you would have liked. Neither of you move to separate; when you look back at Yoongi, you see that his eyes are trained on you. He doesn’t even flinch away like he used to. His lips are pursed, like he wants to say something but he’s still too afraid to.

So you say it for him instead.

“Do you have… somewhere to be?” Unlike you, he still has a job. He still has commitments. He still has a life outside of you. You’re hit with fear, once again, at the sudden change in your circumstances.

You might never get to see him again. Is this where your paths cross, never to intersect again? Your stomach drops at the thought, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

“No, I don’t. I could…” Yoongi trails off, glancing at your apartment with soft hesitance. “If… If you want me to…”

Yes. Please. I’d love it. I love yo–– ”Yes. Stay with me?” you mumble.

“Always,” he promises.

The pair of you trudge up to your apartment, passing by the prying eyes of housewives with your heads bowed in embarrassment. They don’t miss your pinkies linked behind your backs, nor the subtle blushes on the apples of your cheeks. Thankfully, they don’t comment when Yoongi enters your apartment after you, but they do giggle when his coat gets caught on the door handle in his rush.

When the two of you are finally alone, the air isn’t as awkward as you had feared. You work like two cogs in a machine; he readies your TV and scrolls through your Netflix for a movie, while you go to your kitchen and have a small mental breakdown (while also microwaving some popcorn). Soon, the two of you are snuggled into your small couch, elbows barely brushing against each other.

You’re only half paying attention to the generic action movie that Yoongi had put on; you were still deep in your thoughts. You’re picking away at your hangnail, worrying your lip as you try to enjoy what might be the last time you’ll ever get to hang out with Yoongi again. You’re so deep in your musings that you don’t immediately feel when Yoongi wraps his arms around your shoulder, nestling your head into his chest.

“W… What?” You crane your head and stare at Yoongi in shock, but he’s already returned his attention back to the movie. His cheeks are burning.

You’re still stiff with tension despite his comforting caresses against your hair, so he changes tactics and brings your hand up to his.

You think he’s just going to hold your hand, but he keeps bringing your hand up until it gently caresses his face. Just as you’re about to ask him what he’s doing, he curls your fingers until only your pointer is left unfurled, and casually uses it to poke himself in the cheek.

He leaves it there for a second or two, and when you finally turn to face him, he’s smiling so sweetly at you that you almost feel compelled to cry again. His eyes and nose are all scrunched up, rose petal gums on full display. Your finger is still pressed gently into his soft cheeks.

“You said you liked to dream about poking my bread cheeks. Well, here’s your chance,” he says, like it’s nothing at all. As if what he has done was as simple as breathing.

Yoongi’s smile brightens when he feels your form relax against him, giggling softly when you go to pinch his cheek for good measure.

“Bread cheekies,” you say, like you’re in a trance.

Yoongi nods. “Bread cheekies,” he repeats. “And it’s all yours.”

There’s a promise in there, you know. Somehow, he had sensed your worry and had thought of the perfect way to calm you. Like always, he never has to say it. He’s never needed words, anyway.

The two of you stay like that for hours. The sun sets as surely as the moon rises, and Min Yoongi stays with you through the night. When your mind drifts off and only your steady breathing fills the room, Min Yoongi brushes a small kiss against your forehead.

“Dream of happiness, my love,” he whispers into your skin, just when he thinks you’re asleep, “I’ll dream of you, too.”

It’s a promise that he keeps.

There is a boy you know who never learned how to say he loves you, but it never mattered all that much to you––not when he’s willing to show you over and over again. It goes something like this––

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devildomdoofus · 4 years ago

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Winter Storm

Part 1

Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan

WARNINGS:

‼️contains spoilers from chp. 16‼️

[[ angst, cursing, anxiety, fear/terror, depression, survival, near death experiences, mentions of blood/bleeding, hypothermia, dehydration, fainting, severe pain, cliffhangers ]]

Authors Note (sorry it’s long):

My sincerest apologies for how long you all had to wait!! I’m hoping what I’ve created was worth it. Because each brothers’ pieces were rather extensive especially being on mobile, I’ve decided to divide them into two parts where part one includes the four eldest brothers and part two includes the remaining. This is also to test the waters a bit and see if my writing style is decent enough to continue or if there are changes that need to be made before posting part two. Also, I purposefully wrote “cliffhangers” because I felt that, as reader, you should be able to decide MC’s fate for yourself according to your personal tastes/moods/etc. I hope it doesn’t come off as lazy.. it was intentional so that you may enjoy the content to the fullest and take it in the direction that you choose and not the author.CONSTRUCTIVE FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS APPRECIATED!! Good, bad, or indifferent, your feedback will help me write better for you in the future so you can enjoy my content to the upmost extent!! ALSO: If the spacing is weird with the paragraphs and such, I’m very sorry but for the time being, I have no idea how to fix that considering I’m on mobile and there’s only so much the app allows me to do. Anyway, I hope you all dig what I dish out! Thanks again for your patience, support, and understanding!! -DevildomDoofus

UPDATE (2-19-2021): Part 2 is out!! Unfortunately I don’t have enough content to make a master list quite yet but until then, forgive me, but you’ll have to search my blog using the hastag “devildomdoofus” or “my posts.” Don’t worry, I’ll get my blog in order eventually, I’m just a little slow with these kinds of things 😅 thank you for your patience and understanding!!

- DevildomDoofus

Prologue:

One word, a pair of twinkling eyes, and a pouty lip was all it took for you to convince him to vacation with you up in the human world. Maybe a few more ‘fluffy’ words and a bigger pout had to be used on Lucifer, as his paranoia was, more often times than not, justified by his brothers’ antics so... he needed further convincing.

When you two arrive at the cabin that you were to stay in for the week, you eyed the place over and it was rather beautifully decorated and cozy enough to never set foot outside for eternity, but with the wonderland that was just right outside your door, how could you not? By the celestial realm, it was like a dream. The ground was carpeted with fresh sheets or large comforters, rather of glistening white snow that reached just above your ankles, so soft to the touch that it could almost be compared to the cushy feel of Belphegor’s favorite pillow. The mighty mountains reach up to graze their fingers through the few clouds that wisp across the bluest skies... have they always been this blue? The nearby forest that towered over all, beckoned you to join them in their dance with the gentle wind. In other words, you HAD to explore! You set out on a solo trip to get aquatinted with your surroundings and take pictures to reminisce about later, while the one you came with unpacked your belongings to get rightfully settled in. You promised you wouldn’t wander far, just enough to really take in the scenery before venturing further out together. As a precaution, you dug markings on nearby trees as you tread and left stones in consistent, peculiar piles so that in the event of an emergency, any who might have to come looking for you would notice these things and easily be able to follow in your footsteps. Well, more or less, considering the clouds had secretly huddled up above you for another gentle snow shower and are now covering up your footprints. No worries though, right? You left plenty of stone piles and tree markings and you’re not even that far from the cabin. Someone could surely find you if you needed them to. You pushed onward, too entranced by the world around you to turn back now.

As time passed, storm clouds gathered faster than a pack of hungry wolves over a freshly fallen corpse and this became your cue to hurry home. To your dismay, you couldn’t find ANY of the markings you left on the trees or ANY of the stone piles you made. Ok, that’s not great but everything’s fine. The trick is to not panic. Maybe you just wandered a little farther of the beaten path than you realized. You’ll surely find your way back. As you searched high and low for your markings, the wind began to pick up, howling furiously in your ear and the once gently drifting little snowflakes became hardened, frosted hornets, stinging your face until they bit through your exposed skin and caused you to bleed. So much snow and ice, you could barely see 2 feet in front of you and could hardly lift your legs high enough to move forward as the levels of snow quickly rose to just above your knee. You had packed and dressed for whatever these snowy mountains could throw at you, but nothing could protect you from the fury of a raging blizzard for long. Pain from the dropping temperatures began at the tips of your toes and fingers and the longer you tried to find your way back, the more the pain spread and the harder it was to move anything at all. Everything inside of you, every fiber of your being was screaming for you to stop, for the pain was becoming too great but you just HAD to make your way back or you would surely die out here. These thoughts were starting to make you panic. Just as you were thinking it couldn’t get any worse, the wind grew even stronger and was starting to knock you to your knees. At this rate, you were causing more harm than good to yourself, perilously trying to toughen it out. Instead, you decided to find a makeshift shelter, just strong and big enough to keep the snow and wind off of you as you would attempt to warm up.

As if by divine intervention, you could make out a large rock formation with an opening big enough for you to huddle up under, just ahead of you. You ducked low and crawled in, hunkering down in your saving grace. As you shivered in the shadows, heaving and trying to collect yourself before deciding what to do next, you realized that numbness had settled into your limbs and you could no longer feel them, much less move them. You tried, desperately, over and over to inch them in any way but damn it, nothing would. Tears began to puddle at the corners of your eyes as your mind began to race. You should have never left the cabin alone. You knew better, you just couldn’t help yourself. The tears started to fall more and more as the thoughts started spiraling. How could you be so stupid? Now no one is going to find you and you’re going to die here, alone and deathly afraid. You could no longer contain your cries and in one last fleeting attempt to be rescued, you screamed for help with as much force as your withering lungs would allow. Nothing but the wind answered your cries. Before you knew it, your body was shutting down and your eyes fluttered shut right as you fainted against the rocky wall behind you. The panic, the wet and the cold, dehydration, the pain that once gripped your entire body that then turned to numbness, the overexertion, the hypothermia that was setting in; it was all too much for your body to handle anymore. Limp against the stone, you were quickly turning into a human icicle. This is how he finds you.

Lucifer:

Lucifer had been prepping for dinner for later that evening, as some meals tend to take an eternity to prepare, when the hair on the back of his neck pricked up and an uneasy feeling settled into his stomach. He could sense something was wrong even before the storm clouds rolled in. There was no way to explain it other than something is or was going to be terribly, terribly wrong. It’s the same feeling he gets when his brothers are up to no good or are in some form of trouble. It comes with the responsibility of being the eldest brother. He, indeed, trusted you enough for you to go alone for the simple fact that you were the most responsible out of his brothers, but that did not mean he didn’t still feel a bit uncomfortable with you out of his immediate supervision considering you’re human and humans tend to make many, many mistakes. You’re a child by no means and can handle yourself incredibly well, as evident by your time in the devildom and at R.A.D. He knows this and believes you could conquer the world if you so chose to do so. But even YOU know that he only acts and does these certain things that can come off as overbearing to some because he cares so deeply for you that he tries his damndest to prevent any harm that may come to you. Physcial or emotional, accidental or self-inflicted, whatever the case may be. He would give his life and soul up for you, just as he had done for Lilith. That is why this unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach upset him so. He had to find you. He set out to look for you and quickly noticed a pattern. The markings and piles of stones, he assumed, were yours and, for a fleeting moment, it filled him with pride to know that you went about your adventure with a proper head upon your shoulders. Still, he had to see you and be able to hold you in his arms so that his worrisome mind could be put to rest. He followed the trail until it ended with you nowhere in sight. “MC, darling, what have you gotten yourself into this time?” Though calm in his demeaner, he was still fidgeting beneath the surface. Through the wind and hail that was picking up, he heard your cries from miles off and like a bat out of devildom, races to you. From pounding out of his chest to dropping through the crust of the Earth, Lucifer’s heart collapsed when he found you. “MC...” He rushed to your side in the blink of an eye and shouted your name over and over, but you didn’t respond. He rips a glove off and places two fingers to the side of your neck. Your pulse was so low, he had to press his ear to your chest, but even your heart was far too faint to be heard by human ear. Thank Diavolo he was a demon or he would have assumed the worst. You rarely see this man lose his composure, even behind closed doors. But now, when he looks at you and your state of comatose for the second time in his life, he becomes frantic. So many emotions racing through him, he doesn’t notice the tears welling in his eyes or his demon form breaking the surface. His fist clenches and he slams it into the ground next you, creating a cavity in the stone. He almost lost you once, he won’t let it happen again.

Before his emotions get the better of him, he swiftly yet ever so gently scoops you into his arms and immediately transports you both back to the cabin where he could try and warm you up and bring you back to your old self. Back to him. Bursting through the door, he rushes to place you gingerly onto the couch in front of the fireplace and carefully strips you of all the wet clothing, replacing them with warm, dry pairs. He wraps your neck with a thick scarf, slips fuzzy mittens on your hands, covers your head in a knitted hat, and drapes multiple blankets over your body. He then tosses wood into the fireplace, setting them ablaze before circling the couch and pushing it, and inherently you, closer to the warmth of the fire. All of this within the blink of an eye. He finally sits next to you on the cushions and takes you back into his arms, fearing that if he ever lets go, he will truly lose you once and for all. He’ll occasionally reach a hand up to the side of your neck or to your wrist, checking your pulse. Still too damn low. How in the devildom could he let this happen? For hours, he stays like this with you, keeping you so close to his chest that from the outside looking in, it would seem he was smothering you. The entire time he cradles you, he is mentally abusing himself for not being with you. For letting you go out alone. For not protecting you. For going against his better judgement and agreeing to come out here with you in the first place- no... that’s not it.. He’s frustrated with himself for you going against your better judgement and choosing him to be the one to come with you. Him of all people. He couldn’t protect Lilith in the Great War, he couldn’t protect you when Belphegor tried to kill you, and now here you are, lifeless in his embrace and fighting to stay alive once again because he couldn’t protect you from the storm. The tears began to fall from his eyes once more and they dropped onto your cheek. He looks down at you, cupping your face in his hand and tenderly wipes his tears from your skin. “Please,” he begs through the lips that threaten to quiver. “Please MC. Come back to me, darling.” He shuts his eyes and presses his forehead to yours over the knitted hat. Hoping, if only he could pray, for you to come back.

Mammon:

Before the storm even rolled in, Mammon went looking for you. It was unnatural for you two to be separated for this long and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. “Damn it, MC! We’re supposed to be doing this stupid vacation thing together,” he grumbles, as he stomps out of the house in a little Mammon tantrum. He saw your markings on the trees and piles of stones and began to think you set up the whole ‘going on a solo adventure’ thing as a prank. He chuckles to himself and beams a bit in pride. “My clever little human, turning into me.” A seemingly great idea at first, but the more he thought on it, SERIOUSLY thought on it, the more that two Mammons seemed like a bad idea. But he’d like to go over the so called ‘bad idea’ with you if he could just find you. He followed your markings until they stopped and that’s when the storm clouds rolled in. He was starting to get nervous. Yes, you hid and jumped out at him in an attempt to scare him on numerous occasions (which hardly worked, considering he was a demon and quite frankly, a powerful demon at that) back in the devildom but... this situation seemed different. Having been around you and your person the longest, he gained a sixth sense specifically for you. Your warm presence, your delectable soul essence, your precious voice, your thoughts and feelings, your wonderful heartbeat; he could feel them all, even when you returned to the human world for a bit. He could feel them all until now and it felt like he had gone numb. His nervousness turned to anxiousness. The only other time this numbing sensation has happened to him before is when Belphegor tried to off you right in front of him. He so very often wishes he could just wipe those memories from his mind forever...

For a moment, he thinks he can hear your voice, as faint as it is. “MC!!” He follows the direction he thinks your voice is coming from and calls your name again but with no reply. Then he hears it. One ever so minute thump of your heartbeat. He follows the sound like a wolf after a lamb until he comes across the little miniature cave his lamb had taken shelter under. He crawls in and he‘s instantly frozen in place. “MC?” You’re.. ? No you couldn’t be, you just couldn’t be. “C’mon MC, qu-quit foolin’ around. We have to go home. It’s s-storming like crazy out there, ya know?” Only the little echo of the cracks in his voice are his reply. He takes one of your hands in his and- shit! They’re so cold! Colder than when held you that time you were almost kill-NO! He lets go of your hand and grabs you by the shoulders instead, shaking you frantically. “MC, please, ya gotta wake up! This isn’t funny anymore!” The longer he shook you with no sign of you waking up, the more his eyes glazed over with tears. “MC!! WAKE UP!!” He growls, frustration and demon form taking over. Your body slides like a rag doll into his arms and that’s when he finally realizes that this is no prank and you’re in serious, serious danger. His heart disintegrates in his chest and nothing could stop the tears from cascading down his face like rain. For just a few moments, he sits there in that cave, holding your frozen body in his arms and rocking you as he cries heavily into your hair. He’s so hurt, so fucking hurt that this is the second time that he couldn’t protect you when he said he would. But by Diavolo, he had to keep trying until the absolute very last millisecond.

He gets a grip on himself, cradles you tightly into his embrace and skyrockets back to the cabin. Once there, he’s doing anything and everything in his power to get you warm. Heated blankets, warm and dry clothes, thick gloves, fuzzy hats, warmed pillows and cushions, a fire in the fireplace, the thermostat cranked up by 5 degrees, EVERYTHING. He even went to the extent of placing his bare hands into the fire, pulling them out to cool them down to an appropriate temperature, and then placing them over your ears, under the hat and across your forehead, or he would cradle your face in his hands to gingerly brush his warmed thumbs over your cheeks and nose. He simply could not sit still. There had to be something more he could do to help you, something more he could do to make up for his mistakes. He couldn’t stop no matter what. He loved you too much to give up so easily.

Leviathan:

Leviathan had originally intended to get both of your belongings unpacked as quickly as possible so that later that evening, you two could have a video game binge with the new game the TSL franchise came out with, honestly he did, but... as soon as he turned on the tv to test the reception in the area, one of the human shows you often mentioned to him popped up on the screen and he was instantly glued to the couch. The characters were as entertaining as you had described them in that cute way where your eyes sparkled and lips curled into a smile. He loved the way you beamed with joy He loved y- He couldn’t pry his eyes away from the screen, not even for a second. That is, until 20 minutes later and the show turned to static. “Oh for crying out loud,” he grumbles as he clicks the tv off and tosses the remote to the side. It was just like this normie of a human world to have terrible reception, especially during an intense episode. Surely he had it recorded somewhere back in his room in the Devildom. With newfound boredom, he stepped to the window and looked outside. Sheesh, it had gotten dark rather quick. It would be an awful shame for someone to be stuck out in this impending weather, just as the food in TSL had been stuck in terrible weather that The Lord of Fools sent The Lord of Flies. Such a kind gesture from the Lord of Fools, considering his former lover, Geldie, was found frozen in- “OH SHIT! MC!!”

He kicked open the door and stumbled around in the snow and gusting winds before getting his snow legs, then frantically circled the cabin, looking for any sign of you. He finds the markings in the trees and little stone piles and figured that they must belong to you. As he tread, he couldn’t help but beat himself up for letting you go alone, especially considering neither of you knew the area well enough. He understood, more than anyone in all the realms, that time alone is sacred and shouldn’t be interrupted without a legitimate reason. But even still, he wished that you would have teased him to go with you, like you often times did, until he would inevitably cave and follow behind you as he would then talk about the situation being “like that one scene from that one anime we watched together where the male protagonist somehow turns into a puppy, lost and confused, until the female protagonist comes along and takes him in and loves him for who he is and he turns back into a human and follows her around like he did when he was a puppy and-...” The rest of the walk would be filled with talks of which anime or show or video game resembled each moment you two shared.. and you loved every second of it. His eyes lit up like the sun shone right behind them and his precious little grin when he would recall humorous scenes. He would blush when he caught you staring and stumble over the next few sentences before eventually shutting up and just holding your hand (for safety of course) as you giggled at him for being so damn cute. His memories of those times kept him warm as they could as he continued onward in search of you, hoping that you weren’t in too much danger. But with how little mercy the storm was showing him, the possibility of you being safe and sound was rapidly decreasing.

Your marked trail came to an end but you weren’t there. Instead, there was only the howling winds and cascading ice to mock him. Oh no, this is bad. This is very, very bad. He shouted your name in an attempt for you to hear his voice and be able to find your way to him but he received no answer. He shouted louder and louder but you simply wouldn’t answer. “Shit, MC, where the hell are you?!” Anxiety began to make its way through him and he had to lean against a nearby tree to try and collect himself. That’s when he could faintly hear your voice crying for help. He darted towards your direction, coming upon the shelter you hid away in and as he moved closer to you, he froze. You were deathly still and your skin was so incredibly pale compared to it’s usual hue. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe, he was just frozen in place with nothing but your limp body and emotionless face in front of him. He had no clue what to do but try and wake you up as he swallows the lump in his throat to call your name. “M-MC?” No answer. He takes your hand in his. Shit, you’re colder than ice. “MC, pl-please... please wake up, MC.” The wind outside seem to laugh at him and his feeble attempt to wake you up. Tears welled in his eyes and the lump in his throat thickened, almost to a point where he felt he couldn’t breathe, much less cry. As his demon form creeps to the surface, he grabs your shoulders and gently shakes you. “MC, please!! I can’t do this without you!!” Your body droops into his embrace and his heart feels like it’s been dropped into a blender and turned to mush. For a moment, all he can do is stare at your solidified face and wonder why oh why was this happening to him. To his precious ‘Henry’... “That’s it!! Henry!!” He shouted to himself. What would Henry do for his loved ones? He wouldn’t sit here and feel sorry for himself, he would do everything in his power to help the ones he cared about most! Leviathan shakes away his tears, holds you tightly in his arms, and bolts to the cabin to attempt to save you. He wasn’t going to let himself get in his own way, he was going to try his damndest to save you and bring you back. To bring back his Henry.

Satan:

In the midst of folding and putting away yours and his clothes, Satan paused. Similar as much as he hated to be so to Lucifer, he had developed a sort of instinct to tell when something or anything was off and this sense was only heightened by his incredibly refined observation and detective skills. He couldn’t quite place his finger on it just yet but something was clearly off. That’s when he went looking for you. Knicks in the trees and your piles of stones made him feel a bit more at ease about going after you, as he felt you were at least intelligent about your endeavors and not as callow as most of his brothers seemed to be. That is, until the trail of markings came to a stopping point. It was difficult to admit, but this situation was throwing him for a loop. You wouldn’t have just randomly stopped placing markers for yourself unless something bad had happened and even then, you would have called for him using the pact if you were in danger, right? There had to be an explanation for all of this. He leaned against a nearby tree, neck deep in furrowed brow concentration until the sky darkened with thick, furious looking clouds stampeding in, breaking his many trains of thought. With a new indication of urgency, he continued onward in search of you. As the storm picked up, so did that ominous feeling and inherently his blood pressure. If this was your idea of a joke, it was highly inappropriate and if he’s blatantly honest, irritating, to say the least. Very. irritating. Although he was a demon and basically immortal, that didn’t negate the fact that he felt his time was precious and any amount of time with you was that much more precious. He had not come up to the human world, with the presumption that you two could finally spend some time alone together, just for the whole trip to be some pathetic excuse of a prank. You could do so much better; that he was certain of and for you to do something as lowly as this was an insult to his intelligence, his affection towards you, and an insult to him in general. He wouldn’t let his wrath, his sin, get the better of him nor would he ever use either against you but when he finds you, you will know very soon of his immense displeasure.

“Ugh...” He could hear how much he sounded like Lucifer as he is in punishment mode and it made him want to vomit.

Before the wind could really drown out any other sound, he thinks he hears your voice crying out through the storm. All of the anger that was building up instantly vanished and he hurries after you. Years and years (we’re talking thousands) of constant meditation, reading self-improvement novels, and studying a multitude of ways to strengthen one’s emotional fortitude, absolutely NOTHING could have prepared him for the way he felt when he found you. Frozen, limp, and lifeless against the stone; He didn’t have to touch you or call your name to know you weren’t going to answer. All of this was because he simply didn’t accompany you on your scouting trip.

It was too much. His wrath instantly took hold and his demon form bubbled to the surface. He wasn’t angry with you in the least, no. He was absolutely furious with himself because he didn’t protect you and he wasn’t there for you when you needed him most and he had no one else to be angry with but himself. Overcome with and blinded by the pure, white hot rage, he screams his broken heart out of his chest and into the sky above, and the earth trembled around you. The steadfast shelter that once braced against the harsh storm crumbled into trillions of pieces as the sheer force of his voice crushed them to bits. The trees no longer bent to the will of the blizzard, but to him and him alone. His anger practically created ‘an eye in the middle of the storm’ and all but Satan had stilled within it. As the last bits of his wrath dispelled and he could finally get a better grip of himself, he looked down at you before taking you in his arms as the storm closed back in around you. Using the last of his energy, he bolted to the cabin with you clutched to his chest and settled you onto the couch to start the warming process. More than anything, he wanted to reach inside of you, grab the coldness by its throat, rip it out of you, and proceed to pummel it into a fist-dug grave. He wanted to take your pain, your fear, your sadness and tears, everything that caused you harm and reign devildom upon them all. To make your suffering know the name of wrath, to know his name personally and properly. Yet all he could do is kneel at your side and wait patiently for your possible recovery.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #otome #obey me scenarios #mine #my posts #devildomdoofus #obey me lucifer #lucifer #obey me mammon #mammon #obey me leviathan #leviathan #obey me satan #satan #obey me mc #mc

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pitubea1910 · 5 years ago

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Watermelon Sugar

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Words: 6k

Warnings: -

Tags: -

Request: -

Notes: this was writen in 3rd person because I found it easier to write :) it’s been a while since I wrote for Mr Styles but when WS video came out I had to write something. I hope you like it! Leave a comment and/or reblog!

Masterlist

She opened the door of her apartment and walked in, breathing heavily and all sweaty. The weather in L.A. had been quite hot the last few days, which had made her morning jogs a bit more challenging. All she could think about was the cold bottle of water she had in the fridge and the shower she was about to get.

(Y/N) had lived in Los Angeles for six years. She moved from San Diego when she decided to pursue her dream as an actress and, to be honest, she wasn’t doing as bad as her mother told her she could do. She hadn’t been in any big production, but her agent kept on telling her that she was in the right track.

She had been in several ads, some music videos and even as an extra in a couple of TV shows. She knew her big chance would come and just had to be patient. Sadly, patience didn’t pay the bills, so she was also working as a waitress. It hadn’t been easy to find a job where they would allow her to take a random day off for an audition or to film something, but her friend Kelly worked there as well and had put a great word for her. She would always be thankful.

(Y/N) checked the time and sighed when she saw that she had less than an hour and a half to get to work. She drunk the water she was craving and hurried to get to the shower. Twenty minutes later, she was already drying her hair and got dressed with some dark jeans and a sweater. She would change into her work uniform when she got to the restaurant, so she didn’t pay too much attention to what she was wearing.

She heard the familiar ding of her phone, telling her she had a text message. It was probably Kelly.

I’ll be there in 10. Be ready, xx

Kelly picked her up almost every single day to go to work, which (Y/N) deeply appreciated. Even though she had her license, she couldn’t afford to buy a car and having someone driving her was way more comfortable than using the public transport. Running around her one-room apartment, (Y/N) collected the few things she would need: wallet, phone and charger. She threw everything into her black bag and hurried out of the door, locked it and went downstairs.

Her shift went by as usual. Since it was Tuesday, a work and a school day, there weren’t many clients. Weekends were another story. She used to do extra hours due to the number of customers they had. Not that day. She finished her shift at 4 p.m., as usual, and waited for Kelly to finish changing so she would drive (Y/N) home.

She was patiently waiting, scrolling down her Instagram feed, when she saw a photo of Gemma and Anne. She smiled sweetly and liked it. She didn’t talk to Gemma as much as they did when (Y/N) was dating Harry, but they still were in touch and talked from time to time. They had connected the very first moment Harry introduced them almost two years ago, short after they got together and the last time they had seen each other was four months ago, a month before the breakup.

Their relationship had been one of the best (Y/N) had ever had. Harry was the sweetest and most caring guy she had ever met. He had always been there for her, making sure she was okay, even spoiling her when she allowed it. And even when she didn’t. Everyone in their inner circle kept on saying that they were the perfect match for each other. Harry was the calm that (Y/N) needed and she was the light in his lonely life.

At least until she wasn’t.

(Y/N) shook her head, pushing the thoughts away and got out of the app. She was about to lock it when it started to buzz. The name of her agent appeared on the screen, which made (Y/N)’s heart stop for a second. Maya would only call if there was a job for her. Immediately she picked it up.

“Hey there, girl”, (Y/N) said trying to sound chilled, although she was biting her nails. A nasty habit she couldn’t shake.

“How’s my favourite future Hollywood princess?” Maya said on the other side, making (Y/N) laugh.

“She just left the castle where she’s held by the evil stepmother”, she said looking at the door of the restaurant.

“Joanna was in today?” Maya asked, referring to (Y/N)’s manager.

Joanna was a forty-years old woman who happened to be one of (Y/N)’s manager. It could be said that their relationship wasn’t the best.

“Yeah”, (Y/N) sighed. “She made it impossible, as usual. But I’m used to her by now.”

“Well, I have something that will cheer your whole day up”, she said, not wasting anymore time.

“I’m all ears”, (Y/N) said with a big smile.

“Music video. In two days. Malibu”, Maya said.

“I love music videos!”

And she did. They were so much fun to film and it was an easy to make money. There wasn’t much acting involved, but she had always met the most decent people in those crews. Plus, she had got to meet some really big celebrities.

“I know you do, girl, that’s why I thought of you the moment this came to my table”, Maya said. “You want it?”

“Who’s the singer?” (Y/N) asked.

“They haven’t said it”, Maya said, which made (Y/N) sigh in annoyance. “I know, but you know how some of them are with their privacy and secrecy.”

“Yeah, yeah”, she said. “I just like knowing who I work for, you know?”

“All I got is that is a guy and I only know it because they referred him as ‘him’”, Maya said. “So…?”

“I’ll be there, no problem”, (Y/N) said anyway. Even if she would rather know who her employer was, she still needed the money.

“Perfect. Come by the office tomorrow morning so we can get the paperwork done, okay?” Maya said.

“10 a.m.?”

“Make it 11. I have a meeting at 9 that looks like a long one”, Maya said.

“Okay, got it. Tomorrow at 11 a.m. Thanks, Maya. You’re a lifesaver”, (Y/N) said just when Kelly walked out of the restaurant. She looked pissed and (Y/N) didn’t even need to ask why.

“I love you too. See you tomorrow!”

“Okay, bye!” (Y/N) hung up, locked the phone and put it into her bag. “What happened?” She asked.

“Joanna happened”, she sighed. “She came to me complaining about the state of some tables! I wasn’t even in charge of that area. Roger was”, she explained as they started making their way to the car. “But of course, dear Roger will never get scolded.”

“How can they be so obvious?” (Y/N) rolled her eyes.

“I hate favouritisms”, Kelly said. “Anyway, who were you talking to?”

“Maya”, (Y/N) smiled. “She got a job for me. Music video in Malibu on Thursday.”

“Great!” Kelly exclaimed. “Who’s the singer?”

“No idea. Maya said they wanted to keep it a secret”, she shrugged. “Seriously, it’s so annoying when they do that. I know they want to avoid anyone talking and ending up with fans at the set but c’mon. We’re adults here.”

“Not everyone is an adult”, Kelly said, still angry at Joanna.

“Good point”, (Y/N) sighed. “I took it, of course. I need the money. But still.”

“It will be okay”, Kelly said unlocking the car. “Do you mind going to Target for a minute? I need to get some stuff.”

“No problem.”

***

“I don’t understand how you always talk me into this”, Kelly said before taking the straw in her mouth again.

After going to Target (Y/N) had casually mentioned how she was craving something sweet. As usual, Kelly said she was on a diet but, to be honest, she had been on a diet ever since they met. It didn’t take too much convincing to get to Cocobella Creamary. Kelly ordered a banana and strawberry smoothie and (Y/N) ordered an Oreo Frappuccino.

“You didn’t have to order anything”, (Y/N) shrugged.

“It’s weird if I just sit here without anything”, Kelly said.

“I’ve done it sometimes”, (Y/N) said.

“Weird I said”, Kelly said, making (Y/N) laugh and nod. “You know what I was thinking?”

“Strike me.”

“Who the singer of the video might be”, Kelly said with her eyes narrowed.

“Some diva probably. Those are the ones who don’t want to say who they are in my experience”, (Y/N) said.

“I think it might be Harry.”

(Y/N) almost choked on her Frappuccino when Kelly said that. She coughed, covering her mouth, until her eyes got all watery. Kelly was quick to ask for some water to the waitress who came back running to the table. Thankful, she took the glass and drank a little.

“Thanks”, she told the girl, who looked relieved to see that a customer wasn’t going to die on her shift. When she walked away, (Y/N) looked at Kelly who was obviously almost laughing. “Not funny.”

“I just said his name”, she said with a funny smile.

“Unexpected. That’s all”, (Y/N) sighed. “And it’s not his video.”

“He’s in town and there are rumours he will make a video for Watermelon Sugar”, Kelly shrugged.

“Unrelated”, (Y/N) shrugged. Kelly looked at her with an eyebrow raised. “It’s not him. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay, fine. But that doesn’t make the chance go away”, Kelly said.

(Y/N) glared at her friend but decided not to say anything. Instead, she drank from her Frappuccino while looking out of the window. She didn’t even know Harry was in town. It wasn’t a surprise since he spent so much time there. Honestly, she had been to London in the time they were together and she couldn’t understand why he preferred Los Angeles. Yes, the weather was way better, but there was something much more appealing about England. However, Harry had always loved the west coast.

Actually, she knew that if it wasn’t because of how fond Harry was of L.A. they would have never met. Although since they broke up, she wished he wasn’t around so often. It wasn’t like they had ever run into each other at a party or anything -she avoided those unless she had a reason to be there- but knowing that he was in Los Angeles made her feel anxious. She wasn’t ready to see him again.

When Kelly dropped her off in front of her apartment, (Y/N) felt exhausted. So she went straight to the her couch, laid down and turned on the TV as she silenced her phone. She needed a bit of quite time every time she came back from work. The restaurant got so loud sometimes that it could be too much, so she loved the quietness that her apartment offered.

Next morning, when she went by her agent’s office to sign the contract, she looked for any sign that would tell her who the artist was but there was nothing. Maya knew nothing. (Y/N) would be lying if she said she hadn’t been thinking about what Kelly had said, but she refused to believe that it was Harry. It would be too much of a coincidence.

Knowing that racking her brain wouldn’t help, she decided to just forget about it. There was no way of knowing who the singer was if he or she didn’t want anyone to know, so she decided to take the day to relax and be ready for the video.

Maya texted her that night to tell her that she had to be on set at 10 a.m., so she would send a car at 9.15 a.m. so make sure she was on time. (Y/N) laughed a little. Maya and her had been working together long enough to know that punctuality wasn’t (Y/N)’s strongest suit.

Thanks to that, she managed to get to set fifteen minutes before ten, which gave her plenty of time to order a coffee at the Caffe Luxxe. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, it was a bit windy but not enough to make it uncomfortable, it was warm but not hot. It was perfect.

Once her order was given to her, she crossed the road towards where all the crew trailers were. If she had been paying attention to her surroundings, she would have seen the small group of nervous girls who looked like they were waiting for someone, but she was focused on her phone, answering a text from Kelly who was wishing her good luck.

She looked around the beach and smiled. She had always loved the ocean. Her father was a great surfer, even though she had never been able to even stand on the board, and he used to take her to the ocean every day he went to train. She had basically grown up in the water and all she knew was that, no matter where she lived, she needed the ocean nearby.

“May I help you?”

(Y/N) turned around, startled, to the man who had talked to her. He was in his late thirties probably and was carrying a binder with a pair of headphones on top of it. He was probably part of the crew.

“Hi! My name is (Y/N)”, she said, quickly looking in her bag for the identification badge that Maya had given her the previous day. Try to find it while she was holding the coffee was tricky. “I’m in the video.”

“Do you have any sort of…?”

“Here!” She finally said, taking it out of a small pocket. She handed it to him with a big smile.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)”, he said and opened the binder. “Here you are”, he nodded. “You need to go to trailer number 2 to get ready. We’ll start as soon as possible.”

“Okay, thank you”, she said taking the badge back from him. “Where’s the trailer?”

“That one”, he said pointing to one of the trailers that were parked next to the road.

“Thank you”, (Y/N) said again. “Will we be shooting here the whole day?” She asked, out of curiosity.

“Half of it. Then we will move to another location”, he informed her.

“Good”, she nodded. “Thanks again.”

(Y/N) hooked the identification on her bag, in case someone else asked for it, and made her way to the trailer.

“Coming through!”

She stopped on her tracks to let a man pushing a cart full of watermelons walk in front of her. What the hell? She chuckled to herself, wondering what the music would even be about, and walked towards the trailer. Since the door was opened, she just walked in while she sipped on her coffee. There were six chair lined up in there, with four of them already occupied by other girls who immediately looked at her.

“Hi”, (Y/N) smiled nicely. “I hope I’m not late”, she added.

“Hello there!” A red-headed woman said, hurrying over her. “Not at all, darling”, she said with a thick British accent. “I’m Martha, I’m in charge of make up and hair”, she introduced herself.

“Nice to meet you”, (Y/N) said, shaking Martha’s hand.

“Come and sit right here and one of my girls will be with you in a second”, she said pointing to one of the chairs. “We’re right on schedule but the faster to get to it, the sooner the show can start.”

(Y/N) decided she liked Martha. She looked like an easy-going person who loved her job. It was obvious she didn’t spend much time out of the UK because of her accent and the lack of tan on her skin, so probably she had come all the way to the States because of the video. (Y/N) wondered why the singer had made someone come all the way from Europe. The thought that Kelly had put in her head appeared again, but she pushed it down.

Once (Y/N) was settled, she finally looked at the rest of the girls to introduce herself, although she didn’t expect them to be already staring at her like they already knew her.

“Um… hi”, (Y/N) said, waving awkwardly. “I’m (Y/N).”

“We know”, one of the girls said. “You’re his ex.”

“Excuse me?” (Y/N) chuckled.

“Good morning, everyone!”

That voice made (Y/N) freeze. She would recognize that deep voice and that accent anywhere in the world even when she hadn’t listened to it in three months. When she looked at the door of the trailer, her heart started speeding and her stomach twisted when she saw Harry Styles walking in, wearing that dimpled smile he would always have.

She would have loved to go unnoticed, but suddenly she dropped her cup of coffee, spilling it everywhere and becoming the centre of attention.

“Damn it”, she said getting up, since she was now covered in the black liquid.

“(Y/N)?”

She gulped. She had always loved the way he said her name and it looked like it hadn’t changed. She still felt goose bumps. Taking a deep breath, (Y/N) looked up to meet those green eyes that, even in the distance that separated them, made her feel like he was looking into her soul.

“Hi”, was all she was able to say.

***

Harry thought he was having visions.

He had woken up that day full of energy, excited to shoot the video for Watermelon Sugar. It had the potential to be his favourite video yet and he couldn’t wait to see the result, although it would still be some time before it was released it.

As usual, he had been involved in the whole process: from choosing the location, the people in the video, the storyline, everything. That’s why he was so shocked to see his ex in that trailer. He hadn’t chosen her, so what was she doing there?

He was completely blank, but he could feel all eyes on both of them, which was only making the situation worse. He looked at the rest of the girls, whose eyes were going from him to (Y/N), like they were waiting for some kind of drama to explode. Harry couldn’t let that happen.

So he took a deep breath and forced himself to smile again and greet everyone, acting like (Y/N) wasn’t there. Luckily, she was seated on the last chair, so when he had welcomed and introduced himself to everyone, he faced her again.

Since Harry started saying hello to everyone, (Y/N) just sat on her chair, her face burning and fighting the urge to run away. Every single time he talked, she shivered, remembering all those times he would whisper sweet secrets in her ear at night. She could feel him approaching and yet, she couldn’t look up. Not until she knew she had to.

Taking a deep breath, she looked up to find him looking straight at her through the mirror. She gulped and looked up, to see him directly.

“Can we talk?” He asked. “Outside.”

“Yeah”, she nodded and got up. It wasn’t like she had anywhere to hide.

(Y/N) was first to walk out of the trailer and she breathed deeply, letting the air get into her lungs like she had been holding her breath for minutes. She heard Harry walking out as well before he grabbed her wrist.

“Come with me, please”, he asked her.

Harry let go of her wrist, feeling his hand burning at the contact, and started walking towards his own trailer. It was the only place where they could talk without being seen by some busybody paparazzi. He didn’t even have to look back to know if she was following. He could feel her presence. When they got to Harry’s trailer, he opened the door and let her walk in first.

“What are you doing here?” He asked straight.

“What do you think I’m doing here?” She asked back. “Same thing you do. Working.”

“But I… I didn’t pick you.”

(Y/N) clenched her jaw at that, to try and act like it hadn’t hurt her. She knew what he meant by that, but it still wasn’t a nice thing to say. It wasn’t the first time Harry hadn’t picked her and the memory still stung.

“I figured”, she sighed, blinking away the tears that threated to come out. “My agent called me yesterday and told me about this.”

“And you said yes? Knowing it was me?” He asked frowning.

“I didn’t know it was you, smartass. She didn’t know either”, she said. “Trust me, I wouldn’t have come if I knew.”

Harry looked away at that. Even when he knew how mad she was, knowing it hurt.

“That’s nice”, he chuckled.

“Excuse me? You’re the one who didn’t pick me and I’m the nice one here?”

“Did you want me to pick you?”

I wanted you to do it when it mattered, she thought.

“I didn’t even know you were in the States!” She exclaimed. “Don’t blame me on this, Harry. Maybe some of your picked ones got sick or couldn’t make it and they called me. What were the chances of me being your ex-girlfriend?”

Harry didn’t want to admit how it still hurt to think of her as that, even though he knew it was his fault. He messed up and she broke up with him. He couldn’t deny it, but it still hurt.

He took a deep breath with his hands on his hips and he looked down. He couldn’t send her away, of course, but he couldn’t picture working with her for a whole day. Not when he knew he wasn’t over her. Not even a bit. However, he had to keep things professional like he had always done.

“Okay”, he sighed. “You’re here and there’s nothing we can do.”

“Exactly”, she nodded.

“We’ll just do our jobs and…”, he shrugged. “Move on at the end of the day.”

“Sounds like a plan”, she nodded, trying not to show how his words were hurting her.

“Good”, he said quietly.

“I gotta get ready”, she said and walked to the door, but she stopped when she remembered something. “Why so many watermelons?”

“Oh… the song is Watermelon Sugar and the concept is…well…”, he blushed a little. “I told you the concept when I wrote the song.”

(Y/N) blushed immediately as memories came to her head. Memories of an afternoon in Italy, in a yacht rented by Harry. Memories of Harry in between her legs, claiming how good she tasted. Later that day, (Y/N) had found Harry writing the song.

“Oh…”, was all she was able to say.

(Y/N) hurried out of his trailer and went back to number two, where she had to face the looks of the other girls again. Only this time she barely paid attention to them, she was busy trying to control the beast that had gotten lose in her stomach. A feeling that only Harry had ever managed to cause in her.

Harry took a deep breath when (Y/N) left his trailer. He knew he wasn’t over her, but he would have never imagined how much seeing her would affect him. And now they had to spend a whole day together doing this video. Precisely… this video. He knew it was going to drive him crazy, but he had to keep it together and be professional, like he always was.

Soon after, Harry started filming the solo parts of the video. Although there weren’t many of them, it still took a couple of hours before the girls were called on set. He tried to act natural, but he couldn’t help looking for (Y/N) and, once he saw her his jaw fell. She was wearing a pair of denim shorts with the top of a pinkish bikini. On top of her head, were a couple of heart-shaped sunglasses.

“First, thank you all for coming!” The director said when they were all gathered around him. “You all know the concept of the video since I’ve explained earlier.”

(Y/N) gulped and looked at Harry carefully. She couldn’t believe she had been chosen to be a part of this video. She was going to have to touch him, kiss his cheek, being closer to him than what she expected. There was no way she would have been prepared for it even if she knew what she was getting into.

The director explained what scenes they were going to do at the moment and they all went to their positions. However, when (Y/N) was walking towards the rest of the girls, Harry blocked her way.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked looking down at her. She sighed and looked at the crew, who was looking at them.

“We have to”, she shrugged. “It’s our job.”

Harry nodded and took a deep breath before stepping aside. They had to do this. He watched her while she joined the rest of the crew who were already lying down on the sand, on the towels they had been given. Before he joined them, they had to do some parts of them alone, so he just stood there watching. Watching her.

He smiled a little when he saw her taking a watermelon and playfully putting in between her open legs, a gesture that brought so many memories to his head. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her acting. He had always loved how carefree she was when she was in front of a camera. It was obvious how happy that made her.

“Okay, Harry, come here!” Brad, one of the directors said. “Lay there in that towel, in the middle of everyone.”

Harry nodded and walked to the towel, noticing just before laying down that it was (Y/N) who was just next to him. She was wearing that glasses and he saw how juicy her lips looked due to the watermelon slice she was eating. He tried to keep his thoughts away from that, but it was so damn hard when she looked so beautiful.

“Nice glasses”, he said when she caught him looking. A small smile appeared on her lips.

“Thanks”, she said. “Here, take them”, she said, taking them off and going closer to him.

He hadn’t even noticed the music playing again nor the camera rolling. All he could see and think about was (Y/N) putting the glasses on for him. He gulped and smiled a little.

“Looking good, Styles”, she said with a smile.

“Thanks, (Y/L/N)”, he winked.

Another girl, named Cassy if he remembered correctly, touched his shoulder and offered him a piece of watermelon, which he took immediately with a smirk. (Y/N) chuckled a little and kept on doing what she had been told: flirting and teasing. It was obvious that the whole idea of the video came from Harry. He was a flirt and a tease himself.

After doing some shots like that, they were told to come closer together to have some images of everyone together. The chances weren’t high but (Y/N) ended up just next to Harry. She gulped when she saw how good he was looking. Just then he looked at her, with that naughty grin that always drove her crazy.

“I don’t know if I could ever go without…”, he mouthed along with the song, looking at her.

Without even thinking about it, she placed a hand on his other cheek and planted a slow and sensual kiss on his cheek that made his grin go even bigger. Then she took the sunglasses from him and put them on. Immediately, he tried to take them back but she moved away, now that they were all separated again, and winked again.

(Y/N) loved these kind of music videos. The ones without actual choreography where they could just do as they pleased while the music was on. Although this time she wasn’t even noticing the effect it was having on her. She would have never imagined how happy she would feel for messing around with Harry like nothing ever happened. She couldn’t deny how she felt every time they touched or every time he looked at her. Harry had always made her feel like she was the only girl in the room with just one look and he was doing it again.

“Are you okay?” He asked when they were taking a break after being in the water goofing around.

“Yeah”, she nodded. “Although I don’t know if I can eat any more watermelons”, she joked, making him laugh.

“Maybe I went a bit too far with that”, he nodded.

“Are you okay?” (Y/N) asked after a few moments of silence.

“Better than I’ve been in a while”, he honestly said, looking at her. “You’re doing great, by the way”, he added. “And you look great.”

“Thanks”, she smiled a little and looked down. He took that moment to take the glasses from her head. “Hey!”

“Sorry, they’re too good”, he said and put them on. “And I look great in them.”

“I found them!” She laughed and tried to take them from him.

Harry was taller than her, so it wasn’t hard for him to keep (Y/N) from taking the glasses. However, keeping balance on the sand wasn’t easy, so the moment he tried to take a step back, he tripped over and fell down on his back, laughing out loud and bringing her with him since he was holding her hand to keep her away from the glasses.

“Damn it”, she laughed, laying next to him. “Give them back.”

“Take them”, he challenged her with a smile.

(Y/N) bit her lip when their eyes met. There was that childish humour in his eyes that made her feel like everything was possible. Not saying anything, she took the glasses from him and put them on her head, using them to keep her hair back. Harry sighed and, slowly, placed a hand on her cheek.

“I missed you”, he whispered. (Y/N) closed her eyes with his touch. “I missed this”, he added before leaning closer.

“Don’t…”, she whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder gently.

“Please, (Y/N)”, he said.

“You hurt me, Harry”, she said, taking his hand. “You said you couldn’t make it here for my birthday and the day before I found you in that club with Camille?”

“I know I fucked up”, he said. “But we never did anything, I wouldn’t do that. Not to you. Ever.”

“It really looked like you had done it”, (Y/N) said sitting up as memories came to her head.

“I know”, he said doing the same. “But I swear I didn’t do it.”

“Then what were you doing there with her after telling me you couldn’t even come from London?” She asked.

“I…”, he sighed and looked down at his hands. “I wanted to surprise you for your birthday. I arrived in the States two days before but the plan was to appear on your door the morning of your birthday, so I stayed at James’. Camille called and she told me to have dinner with her. You know we’re friends so I said yes, and then she asked me to stop by a friend’s party. It was going to be just five minutes and it was. And that’s where you saw me.”

(Y/N) was speechless. When they broke up, he never explained any of this to her. He just let her think the worse of him and went away. Now that she knew what had really happened, she didn’t know if she could believe him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked.

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me”, he shrugged. “I saw in your face that you had already made up your mind.”

“So you decided not to fight for us? For what we had?”

“Would you have listened?” He asked, looking at her.

“Yes”, she immediately said, but she knew it wasn’t true. And he knew it too, judging by the look he gave her. “Eventually at least”, she sighed. “I had the right to know.”

Harry sighed and placed his arms on his knees, picking on the nail polish he was using. He knew she was right. He should’ve explained everything to her, but he had been so angry at her for not trusting him that he thought there was no point on even trying. Of course, he regretted it the moment he set foot back in England. By then, it was already too late and (Y/N) wouldn’t even answer the phone.

“Will you even consider us again?” He asked, not daring to look at her.

“I don’t know. And I can’t think about it right now, Harry”, she said. “We still have work to do and, maybe, when we’re done… I’ll think about what you’ve said.”

Harry nodded but didn’t look at her. He heard her getting up and walking away from her, so he finally looked up to see her walking away. He closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. He had been such an idiot. He should’ve talked sooner. Instead, he had lost the best thing that ever happened to him. Idiot.

(Y/N) tried to ignore the looks she was receiving and just walked into the trailer she had been assigned to that morning. She didn’t know what to think about what Harry had just told her. She wished she had known sooner. It would have changed everything. Maybe they would still be together. Or maybe not. But she had the right to know. Instead, he had chosen to go away without a fight. Did that mean that he didn’t care enough? Didn’t love her enough? (Y/N) didn’t know the answers to those questions. All she knew was that she wasn’t ready to think about it and she still had work to do that day.

The spent another hour filming at the beach before they moved to another location. Nobody, except for the filming team and Harry, knew where they were heading and definitely no one expected where they appeared. When (Y/N) recognised the house, another whole lot of memories hit her like a rock.

“We’ll be filming in the backyard!” Pablo, the other director, said when they all walked into the propriety. “So, please, follow Brad around the house and you’ll be given instructions.”

How many days had she spent in this place? How many nights? She couldn’t believe Harry had actually offered his own place to make a music video, given how private he was with his life. It actually made her think that he had acquired a new place, which wouldn’t be surprising at all. She looked at the door and sighed, remembering the last time she walked out of there.

They didn’t have to do much filming there. Actually, it was barely two hours before Pablo gave the final cut after they took a group photo in which (Y/N) managed to be as far from Harry as possible. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what Harry had previously confessed and all she could think about was how much she had missed him and how happy he used to make her. If he was being honest and nothing happened with Camille… did he still love her? Would she be willing to give him another chance?

“Thank you so much everybody for joining me today!” Harry was saying. (Y/N) forced herself to focus. “It was great having you, you’ve been amazing and you’ve done an awesome job. Thank you for making this idea come true and thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Just like he had done at the beginning of the day, he went one by one thanking and saying goodbye to everyone. (Y/N) was tempted to just leave, but it would have been rude.

“Your house, huh?” She asked when he finally reached her.

“It has great views”, he shrugged. “And no one knows I live here, so…”

“No one?” She said with an eyebrow raised.

“Except you”, he nodded and crossed his arms. “Thank you for staying after you found out it was my video.”

“It’s my job”, she shrugged with a small smile. “And I had a really great time, so thank you for not kicking me out.”

“I’d never do that”, he said, making her smile. “Will I ever see you again?”

(Y/N) took a deep breath and looked away, not really knowing what to say. Well… she did know, but she didn’t know if it was right. She took the heart-shaped sunglasses from her head and looked at him. She had missed him so much and she knew he deserved the chance he should’ve gotten if he had been honest from the beginning.

She didn’t believe in signs or in destiny, but maybe getting that call from Maya was a sign of what was right.

“Here”, she said, offering them to him.

“They’re yours”, he frowned.

“Consider them a lend”, she smiled a little. “Plus, you can pull them off better than I do.”

“A lend?” He asked, taking the item from her hands with a small smile.

“Yeah”, she shrugged. “That way, you’ll have to give them back at some point.”

“Really?” He asked, his smile bigger now.

“Of course”, she said, smiling too. “Maybe tomorrow at 7? When I finish my shift?”

Harry felt his chest getting lighter with what she said. He took a deep breath and let out a loud relieved laughter. He nodded and bit his lip.

“I’ll be there”, he nodded.

“Be punctual”, she said before she started walking away.

“I’m British”, he shrugged, making her laugh. “(Y/N)!” He exclaimed. She stopped and turn around to see him looking at her with that smile that he had only for her. “I won’t let you down.”

(Y/N) bit her lip to fight a smile, but it was impossible. She felt happy, like everything was in place again. They could work it out.

“I know.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #watermelon sugar #watermelon sugar music video #watermelon sugar video #fine line #los angeles #imagine #pitubea #my work #original #styles #one direction #malibu

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problemchildnoonewanted · 5 years ago

Text

Starker Soulmate!AU: Iron Man P1

2010

Queens, New York

"Hey, Peter! How was school?" Peter closed the front door behind him with a sigh. Aunt May was in the living room by the sound of her voice. When he turned around that's exactly where he found her, leaning over the back of the couch so she could see her nephew.

"Hey, Aunt May," Peter responded in a barely audible tone. Peter adjusted his glasses and started toward his room. He hadn't been able to find the energy to deal with his contacts lately. Ever since Tony Stark had gone missing over three months ago Peter had become withdrawn and depressed. Of course, May noticed almost immediately and tried to pry for a reason but Peter wouldn't budge an inch. "School was fine."

It was most certainly not fine. Flash had been tormenting him ruthlessly for the past two and a half months, seemingly taking advantage of Peter's sudden drop in life. Ned was his only friend and the only one he told about who he thought his soulmate was, so he was the only one who understands what Peter is going through.

"That's great, sweety. What would you like for dinner?" May asked to try and prolong Peter from running directly to his room and locking the door shut. Unfortunately, that never worked.

"Whatever is fine." Peter made a break for isolation but was stopped once more by his aunt.

"Okay. Hey, you think that Tony Stark guy is pretty cool, right? I saw on the news that they just found him." May pointed at the muted TV screen behind her and Peter halted in his path.

"What!?" Peter ran over to the couch and snatched the remote from Aunt May's hand.

"Yeah. It looks likes he's on his way back to America now." May continued a bit confused by how aggressive Peter swiped the remote from her. The thirteen-year-old barely registered what his aunt was saying as he scrambled to press unmute.

"Finally, after three months of searching, Tony Stark has been found and will be landing in Florida in less than four hours alongside his rescuer and close friend, Colonel James Rhodes."

"Oh my god! Oh my god! He's alive!" The remote fell from Peter's fingers and onto the couch as his knees buckled and he slid to the floor. Peter could feel tears slipping down his cheeks as his guardian attempted to comfort him.

"Peter, what's doing on!? Peter talk to me!" May begged the boy as she tried to stop him from further sliding down behind the couch. She soon gave up and rushed around the furniture in the living room to reach the sinking boy.

After a few minutes of Aunt May helping Peter catch his breath, he finally broke down told her why he had been so distraught for the past few months and what his suspicions were. May was rightfully taken aback but as this information processed it all made sense. She recognized the look Peter would get when Tony Stark showed up on the television, but she thought it was just his first crush and he wasn't comfortable telling her about it.

She should have known since that was exactly how she'd look at Peter's uncle and that's exactly how she looked when she lost her mate. She told Peter exactly that.

"Oh, sweety. Come here." She pulled her boy into her arms as he began sobbing again. He didn't think she would believe him and the relief he felt from both that and learning Tony was alive came crashing down on him again.

Peter finally calmed down after Aunt May rocked the small boy in her arms for a good minute, letting him get it out of his system.

"Word has just come in that Tony Stark will be giving an immediate press conference at the Stark Arc Reactor Power Facility in Miami Florida after landing."

They sat in silence while May rubbed Peter's back before he quickly sat up and looked at his aunt and adjusted his unlevel, tear spattered glasses.

"Hey, hey, uh, Aunt May I'm feeling really tired after everything and-um... I'm gonna go take a nap," Peter stuttered out.

"A nap?" May's eyebrows furrowed.

"Yeah, a nap," Peter confirmed and rose to his feet and started walking back toward his room. "In fact, it's been a really long day I think I'll just go to bed early. Okay, goodnight."

May got up to chase after Peter, but he managed to close the door and lock it just as she was about to grab the handle. "Peter, wai-"

"Goodnight, Aunt May! Love you!" She heard the squeak of his bed dipping under his own weight and assumed he was going to sleep either way despite his odd behavior.

"O-okay, Peter... Goodnight."

Once he heard Aunt May walk away he quietly got out of his bed and powered on the computer set up he put together and opened Google.

After looking up everything he'd need in order to fly as an unaccompanied minor he grabbed his phone and pulled up the picture of Aunt May's credit card from when he needed to buy something from the store on the way home from school to get the numbers. He felt horrible about it, but he couldn't pay in cash so he pulled out his stash of three hundred fifty dollars from his last birthday and Christmas.

He wrote a note explaining where he was going, why, and that he was very sorry. He placed one hundred twenty dollars on the note and bought the ticket for the soonest flight from Queens to Miami. Good news: there was one in forty minutes. Bad news: there was one in forty minutes. He quietly dashed to his closet and dug to the back to find his birth certificate and shoved it in his backpack with a single change of clothes, his phone charger, and the rest of his money after emptying it. He was ready to go in less than two minutes and grabbed his phone as he went to his window.

As he was climbing out he took one last look at his door already feeling guilty for the grief he's going to cause his beloved aunt. But this was too important. He can't risk never meeting his mate again. He descended the fire escape in record time and almost thought he would need his inhaler. Luckily he was able to catch his breath as he hailed for a taxi.

Remarkably, the drive only took about thirty minutes leaving him just enough time to check-in at the front and go through security to immediately get on the plane.

Just as he was buckling into the Unaccompanied Minor row he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out to see Aunt May's contact on the screen. He pressed ignore but opened up his text app.

I'm sorry Aunt May but I'm already on the plane and it's about to take off. I love you and I'll see you when I get back.

He then turned off his phone and closed his eyes as he tried to ignore the fact that this was his first time on a plane.

Miami, Florida

The plane ride wasn't too bad other than the few times they had turbulence and freaked him out making some of the adults around him giggle before reassuring him that it was okay. The only bad thing was that it took three and a half hours to get there.

He also came to find out that calling a taxi is much harder in Miami since they don't have nearly as many. However, Peter was still able to make it to the facility

Except by the time he got there, the press conference was already over.

Defeated and on the verge of tears, the boy walked aimlessly around the compound. He couldn't find it in him to turn his phone back on to tell his aunt that it was all for nothing and that he didn't have enough money to get back. He only vaguely noticing the jet black limo he walked past.

"I'm serious, Tony." Tony?

"Okay, Obbey." Peter knew that voice.

"Lay low!"

"I will!" Peter whipped around just in time to a bald man with a cigar that, after researching Tony for so long, he recognized as Obadiah Stane hop onto a segway and ride off. The man he was talking to was now quickly moving for the door being held open to the limo he just passed. That man was the one and only Tony Stark. The same one that had been starring in all his dreams for almost the past year.

"M-Mr. Stark!" Peter bolted to the man. "Mr. Stark, wait!"

The man opening the car door moved to cut Peter off but the second Tony made eye contact with the boy he yelled for "Happy" to stop. The instant their eyes met, Peter knew that he was right all along. This man was his soulmate. It was like he was seeing everything for the first time and everything felt so intense. And hot? The pair could already feel their emotions linking together and it was weird yet felt so right.

"Boss?"

"Let him pass, Happy."

"Hey. Mr. Stark. Um. I'm- I'm Peter."

"Tony." The man in the arm sling approached the kid as well with a somewhat disbelieving expression.

"I know."

"So you do." Now that the boy was in arms reach Tony raised his good arm to pat Peter on the shoulder as if to make he's real. The contact only further solidified the pull the two felt. Peter was sure his knees were going to give out when Tony looked him up and down before leaning down to gaze directly into his eyes as though he were trying to see his soul.

"Sir?" Happy interrupted whatever was happening between the two.

"Hm? Right. You here with anyone, Peter?" Tony refused to even glance anywhere that wasn't this small cute boy in front of him.

"No. No, I'm not. Uh- Tony." Peter shook his head.

"Alright. I want to go home and I'm definitely not done with you so hop in." Tony slid his hand to the back of Peter's and started directing him to the open car door.

"Home. Your home? We're- you want me to come to your home? With you?" Peter struggled to find the words as he was led to the limo.

"Yep. That's exactly what I mean. In you go, kid." Tony gripped Peter's neck a little harder and pushed him down so he'd have to get in. Peter didn't put up any resistance after Tony gripped him with strong hands. Peter has always been a bit of a pushover, but he had never felt so submissive before. Tony then climbed in after him and pressed up against Peter with the subconscious need to keep contact with the sweet boy. Happy was a bit confused, but got in and started the car none the less.

#starker #tony x peter #soulmate au #part 1 #iron man #I am so sorry if this sucks I'm very tired #but i did my best #i also did a bit of research for this

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vydante · 6 years ago

Text

Imagine Peter Sending You Straight To Voicemail

Insp. by this post haha.

Let’s get this straight- Peter would literally fly to the moon and back just for you.

Well, not really, but you get what I mean- you mean a lot to him. You’re one of the Avengers and a huge idol of his, so when he got the chance to meet you after being recruited by Tony?

He lost his mind.

“Oh my god, Mr. (Last Name)! You- You’re (Superhero Name)! I’m a huge fan- gosh, wow, you’re my hero-”

“Dude, calm down, just call me (Name) haha.”

“Oh, uh, right- right-”

He didn’t calm down.

You found him really charming and endearing to be around. It was a breath of fresh air for you since you were always caught up in Avengers and the media stuff, so it was nice to hear him rant about high school and the likes.

You two eventually exchanged numbers- you initiated just to save him from asking you that.

“You ever need me, I’m always available. But don’t butt-dial me. Oh, and if you need to tell that Flash kid that you’re an intern at Stark’s or that you know the Avengers? Facetime me- I’ll give that punk a run for his money.”

Peter never did, but his hand definitely itched close to your number when Flash was being a dick.

But! But!

You two do talk to each other here and there- mostly through text since he likes to send you memes and GIFS.

They’re fun to watch and look at, and Peter being young really shines through via messages.

“(Name): k dont judge me for this but- ben n jerys hulk fudge ice cream? complete ass.”

“Peter:

You’re usually never the one to initiate them since you don’t know his schedule- he is still a student after all.

So you gave him the green light to contact you whenever- you’d always pick up but if you were on a mission or something (which was rare ever since the whole disbanding of the Avengers- now you’re more involved with the political aspect of it) you’d tell him (and other people of course) beforehand not to contact you.

“Are you sure it’s okay to call you whenever? I mean, what if you’re in a meeting or somewhere important?”

“It’s fine kiddo, you think I wanna pay attention to some old geezer talking about Avengers action figures?”

“I mean, that sounds kinda cool.”

“It does, but that’s beside the point, Pete.”

So it was really never an issue for Peter to contact you whenever.

And it was rare that you ever contact him first, so the first time you did it?

Well, technically, he texted first, but you called first.

Peter always get embarrassed when you bring the story up, but you find it hilarious.

It was at 3 AM.

Admittedly, neither of you should be awake right now, but you were in another country so you were still awake when you got the text.

It...

You definitely looked at it for an embarrassingly long time, but it was so vague and cryptic you just couldn’t help it.

What was the text that made you shut down for a few minutes?

“Peter: matte lettuce”

???

That was it.

Matte.

Lettuce.

???

Isn’t Peter supposed to be asleep right now?

You had a hard time trying to get on the same page he was on, but you’re pretty sure he’s on another book right now.

“(Name): Pete, what’re you talking about”

You were still a bit worried about him so you wanted to reply ASAP.

“(Name): that’s vile btw”

And the thought of matte lettuce was kinda gross.

You waited a few minutes for him to respond, but he hasn’t even read your message yet, so you were getting a bit worried.

He’s a kid with powers and he can handle himself, but you were never too sure.

You rang up his number.

Ring... ring...

Ring... ri-

‘The number you’re calling is not available-’

You hung up immediately.

Did he...

Did he just send you to voicemail?

You shook your head. Maybe the call just wasn’t going through or something. You called him a few more times, but each time you went straight to voicemail.

Maybe you were just thinking too much into this, so you decided to give up for now and shoot him one last text for him to see later.

“(Name): hey maybe ur asleep rn, but call me whenn u see this”

And for you, that was that.

Until later that night... for you.

You wake up in a mild panic when your phone starts going off. It was deep in the night and the caller I.D. lit up your phone.

‘Peter P.’

You pick up the call, voice still groggy.

“Yeah...?”

“Oh my god, (Name), I’m so sorry I missed your calls, I was sleeping and I didn’t know that you were calling me and you usually never call so I wasn’t expecting it and I-”

“P, calm down, calm down. It’s cool,” you groaned quietly.

There was silence on the other line.

“Are... were you sleeping?”

You chuckled halfheartedly.

“Mmm, yeah... It’s cool, I was gonna wake up sooner or later anyway.”

It was a lie, but he didn’t know that.

“Anyways, sorry for spamming your phone the other night, was just worried...”

“Why? Did something happen? You usually never call first.”

“Mmm, not really... You just sent me a super weird text and didn’t respond...”

“Oh, that text... Uh, about that...”

As it turns out-

Peter had a really weird dream- he couldn’t really remember what it was about, but he woke up in the middle of the night to write down whatever had happened in his dream.

But, he only opened his phone and the last app that was still open was your text messages. Being half asleep as he was, he thought it was his notes app and just... Wrote whatever down and sent it straight to you on accident.

And when you tried to call him, he thought it was the alarms he always set on the weekends going off so he pressed- what he thought was- the snooze button.

“Why the hell would you set alarms on the weekend?”

“I’ve been meaning to try and wake up earlier on the weekends...”

“And how’s that been going for you?”

“Obviously not that great since I sent you straight to voicemail like 3 times that night... Sorry about that.”

“It’s cool dude-,” You try to suppress a chuckle, “But that’s kinda funny though... You sent me to voicemail because you thought I was an alarm?”

“I said I was sorry!”

You never really let him live that down whenever it came up as the topic of the conversation.

#avengers x male reader #avengers x male! reader #male reader #male reader insert #male! reader #male!reader #peter parker x male reader #peter parker x male! reader #spiderman x male reader #spiderman x male! reader #x male reader #peter parker imagine #male reader imagine #imagines

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desolationlovers · 4 years ago

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x posting resumed

ill start with some basic plot explaination because i dont expect anybody to read a 30 year old reasonably hard to find manga

ok SO disclaimer i have a really hard time summarizing because i think everything is important so thisll be long. mentions of gore muder and death. and so much edge

kamui shiro (main character) is a teenager returning to tokyo after moving away six years before. his childhood friends kotori and fuuma (brother and sister) notice that hes become very hotheaded and abrassive where he was very quiet and shy as a kid.

kamui is being observered magically by two different groups, the dragons of heaven and the dragons of earth. both groups wonder how this kid could be The “Kamui”, the one whose destiny it is to decide the fate of humanity.

the dragons of heaven, also known as the “seven seals”, believe that humanity should continue to live on earth, even if it causes the eventual death of the earth. the dragons of earth, also known as the “seven angels”, want to get rid of all human life so that the earth can begin to heal and continue on. every member of both sides of this fight had their positions preordained. every move they make is destined to happen, foretold by dreamgazers. the dreamgazers are people with the ability to travel through the world of dreams, able to see the future as well as the past and are able to create their own dreamscapes. they can also bring other people into their dreams. the main dreamgazer, a woman named hinoto is on the side of the dragons of heaven and is gathering them all to ready for the Final Battle for the Fate of the Earth.

this is hinoto

kamui doesnt know a whole lot about his destiny other than he is involved in the final battle. the reason he and his mother left tokyo was because. brace yourself for this one also tw gore. kotori and fuumas mother was the one that “gave birth” to one of the sacred swords needed in the final battle. when she gives birth to this sword she straight up exploded. you know how in old ps2 games enemies would explode in a pile of meat. that. so kamui and his mom leave and she explains his part in the end of the world. kamui is the only one in this whole ordeal who gets to choose which side he wants to be on. no one really knows all the details about the future because parts of it only get locked in place when kamui makes his choice. cut to six years later kamui comes home from school and his house is on fire and his mom is inside. mom, unfazed by being actually on fire, tells kamui that the time has come to return to tokyo and fufill his destiny and then dies because she was on fire. kamui is not yet used to seeing people die horrifically in front of him so is devistated, but eventually makes his way to tokyo.

kamui doesnt actually seem to have put a lot of though into this whole destiny thing. his plan is to go retrieve the scared sword and leave because he specifically doesnt want kotori and fuuma involved because he knows it insanely dangerous and besides his mom theyre the only people he really cares about. so he adopts this whole evil asshole attitude so that they dont want anything to do with him. which doesnt really work lol.

after being an asshole to his friends at school, kamui runs into hinotos knight (basically) and picks a fight with him because hes sick of being spied on.

side note everyone involved with the final battle has. magic basically? everyone has a special thing they can do but everyone has the ability to naruto run on buildings and jump mega high and the like. anime shit. kamui has something similar to telekensis and can create energy blasts.

anyway theyre fighting and kamui shows no care to the destruction hes creating. the fight ends in a draw when another dragon of heaven shows up and pulls the knight out because theyre both severely injured. kamui ends up collapsing from his wounds and just so happens to be found by fuuma and taken to fuumas home (which is also a shrine) and calls a doctor. as kamui is passed out hinoto visits him in a dream and tells him to join the seven seals and shows him visions she has had about what could happen if he doesnt. one of the visions shows that kotori will be killed and hinoto says that he might be able to save her.

yet ANOTHER seal followed fuuma and kamui and gives out a another loredump the second he and kamui are alone. while this is happening the shrine is attacked by one of the seven angels that has come to steal the the scared sword. the angel kills fuumas father and escapes with the sword.

(sword feat. the dad)

hinoto has a dream that shows her that there are actually TWO “Kamuis” that will be on each side of the battle. whatever choice original kamui makes, the other will go to the other side.

kamui goes to finally meet hinoto in person and basically has the same convo as the dream but the dreamgazer of the seven angels shows up in this dream and tells him his other option to join the angels. kamui is mega pissed hinoto wouldnt tell him the whole truth. he storms out yelling about how he doesnt care about any of this.

after leaving kamui runs into kotori and they talk about how things were when they were kids and are immediately attacked by another of the seven angels. kamui is trying to protect kotori who has no fuckin clue whats goin on. fuuma shows up out of nowhere and gets them out of there. kamui tells fuuma that he just wants him and kotori to be safe.fuuma reveals that his father said somehing to him before he died and hes been having dreams about it before seeming to go completely blank faced and says that he and kamuis fates are intertwined but snaps out of it.

kamuis aunt, who has shown up like once and was vauge for a bit, appears and tells kamui and fuuma that shes about to give birth to the other scared sword. then she also explodes. her spirit tells them theres a secret vault where they need to take the sword to and keep there until the promised day.

kotori was getting drinks or something and walks into the massacare and loses her mind. she had seen her mother die the same way so she full on dissociates and is near catatonic.

fuuma on the other hand, goes back into that blank face trance and says that he is the second kamui. and snaps out of it again. sceret agents show up to take kamui to the vault. they bring along fuuma and kotori.

kamui does an assload of monolouging and reflection after they arrive at the vault. kamui tells fuuma that his only wish is for he and kotori to be safe and happy. fuuma once again switches to his other self and says “youve finally come to a decision i see” and grabs the sword and kotori. kamui gives chase.

fuuma destroys part of the building and holds kotori in place with wires on a massive cross (symbolism. subtlety who). fuuma stabs glass shards into kamui to pin him against a wall before ultimately killing kotori with the sword, as was foreseen by hinoto as well as kotori herself. fuuma bounces to join up with the dragons of earth while kamui breaks down over kotoris body.

side note if i had a nickle for everytime a near catatonic tramatized person carried around a decapitated head in this id have two nickles which isnt much but its weird it happened twice

congrats thats the first 8 volumes of x1999 with all of the side characters cut out.

i wrote all the way to 8 because kotoris death is basically the end of act 1 and is what gets the ball actually rolling. and since i want to talk about kamui as a character i had to get atleast that far. thats gonna be another post tho this is way too long its lagging my notes app. also tumblr only allows ten images. rip. no triangle shoulders for yall.

#lees posts #WOO BOY THIS TOOK A MINUTE #lmk if something doesnt make sense. might be the mangas fault tho theres sum logic leaps #time to pass out #long post #clamp posting

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thesunnyshow · 4 years ago

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Name: Alison O’Brien

Writing Blog URL(s): @httpangelicjimin

What fandom(s) do you write for?: BTS, although I wouldn’t mind writing for other groups. Often, I have other idols that make cameos in my stories.

Age: 21

Nationality: Portuguese + French

Languages: Portuguese + French + English + Spanish

Star Sign: Leo

MBTI: ENFJ

Favorite color: pastel blue

Favorite food: pizza no doubt

Favorite movie: I’m gonna have to be a sucker and say monster’s inc. bc who doesn’t love Pixar

Favorite ice cream flavor: I’d say coffee, tho I love a good ol’ chocolate ice cream

Favorite animal: wolf, it’s my spirit animal

Coffee or tea? What are you ordering?: Coffee, for sure. Iced coffee or mocha

Dream job (whether you have a job or not): Ever since I was little I always wanted to be a singer but I guess I’m too shy for that ahah so I’d either say writing or advertising.

Go-to karaoke song: Break My Heart by Dua Lipa

If you could have one superpower, what would you choose?: The ability to change shape at will.

If you could visit a historical era, which would you choose?: The Victorian Era sounds brilliant to me. I would be a sucker for the dresses. Although, I also would’ve loved to be able to live in the ’20s. Great Gatsby made me dream countless times of all the amazing parties, with jazz playing in the background. The fashion was impeccable, and of course, to be alive at the same time as F. Scott Fitzgerald. I could even run into him at one of those glamorous parties.

If you could restart your life, knowing what you do now, would you?: I don’t think I would. Life has taught me some valuable lessons along the way but I was happy. Even when surrounded by those who didn’t have the best intentions in mind. If I had known all that I know now, I wouldn’t have lived as freely and carelessly as I did. I cherish those memories, even if they weren’t the best for me.

Would you rather fight 100 chicken-sized horses or one horse-sized chicken?: Alright so… that’s a weird one. And what makes it weirder is that people have made that same question with me; it was either one horse-sized me, or 100 me-sized horses. Huh… I do have some background with chickens chasing after me, so I’d go with the 100 chicken-sized horses.

If you were a trope in a teen high school movie, what would you have been?: I would 100% be the sucker that falls for the bad boy… ah… how I miss the high school bad boys.

Do you believe in aliens/supernatural creatures?: I don’t. Although I have no problem getting lost in those amazing universes where such creatures exist.

Fun fact about yourself that not everyone would know?: I absolutely love mango-flavored things but I cannot eat mango. Just the texture of the fruit…. Yuck.

Do you write fluff/angst/crack/general/smut, combo, etc? Why?: I write everything. So far, in the 2 years, I’ve been writing, I have experienced a little bit of everything. I think writing all those genres are important to complement the story.

Do you write OCs, X Readers, Ships...etc?: I never wrote anything that was mxm but I am ok with that. Besides, I have two stories out with an OC and the others are mostly with female readers, mostly because I write thinking about me with a member or one of my friends.

Why did you decide to write for Tumblr?: I was already using Tumblr to read other people’s work. When the thought of starting my own writing blog came to mind, it seemed the most logical option to use. I have only recently learned about AO3 so… yeah, Tumblr seemed the most “at reach” app.

When did you post your first piece?: The first thing I wrote was called Wonder and was posted on a private blog. I started writing it a couple of days after Euphoria by Jungkook BTS came out.

What inspires you to write?: Everyday situations are always a good base for me. I like to write moments that I have gone through. Besides that, I find inspiration on movies and tv shows and some Pinterest albums. Sometimes it’s just a random thought that comes to mind ehe

What genres/AUs do you enjoy writing the most?: I’d say college/high school aus. I did a collab with another writer from a college au and it was a lot of fun. Additionally, I have some wips I am meaning to work on and will soon be presented on my blog!

What do you hope your readers take away from your work?: I think that I wanted them to feel okay. Life can get pretty hard and reading, for me, has always been like a getaway. So, whenever I write, I hope that I can distract my readers from whatever is happening in the real world.

What do you do when you hit a rough spot creatively?: Whenever I’m struggling in life, it’s almost as if I lose my ability to write. I get really stressed, especially when I set deadlines. I try my hardest to push through. I believe that writing, even if it’s not to our liking, is better than doing nothing. I try to read more, to sleep better, and to seek inspiration.

What is your favorite work and why? Your most successful?: I don’t think I have a “most successful” work. I am pretty recent to Tumblr and am still growing bit by bit. As for my favorite, I’d probably say Dr. Love. It started out as a fun Valentine’s Day fanfic and I have some good stuff outlined.

Who is your favorite person to write about?: As I said, I love to find inspiration in my friends. Getting the feedback and how much they enjoyed reading what I wrote really is a heartwarming feeling.

Do you think there’s a difference between writing fanfiction vs. completely original prose?: I don’t think they are so different. Because when writing fanfiction, you’re not obliged to go 100% with the idol’s personality you’re writing. You have the freedom to marvel around in the worlds you create and make them do whatever you feel like would work best. So sometimes, it can be just like creating a whole new character from scratch.

What do you think makes a good story?: There’s a lot of things that are needed to make a good story. I mostly value the storyline. I don’t like it when things are rushed and prefer to read something others may find unnecessary but get more context. I love the small little details about characters that make me relate and emphasize with them. Also, a plot twist. I love to read stories that completely blow my mind and catch me off guard. Creativity is everything.

Would you ever repurpose a fic into a completely original story?: Why not? I don’t have a problem with giving different names to my characters as long as the story stays the same.

What is your writing process like?: I prefer to write at night. But, as I said before, sometimes there’s just an urge to write and I have to grab my laptop, or even the pull out the notes on my phone and type out some words for the story I’m currently working on. I try to create a coherent storyline as well. Plus, I have an amazing beta reader that always helps me with the plot and hears my ideas and complements them.

What tropes do you love, and what tropes can’t you stand?: I love the typical “good girl falls for bad guy” trope. I don’t care if it’s cliché, I just love it. Although, I hate those where the girl is portraited as weak and as if she would ever be completely happy and fulfilled if the guy is by her side; as if she’s helpless without him. Girl power you know? Aha

How much would you say audience feedback/engagement means to you?: It means A LOT. I think there’s no better feeling than receiving a piece of feedback, despite how small it might be. There’s always room for improvement and just the simple fact to know that someone took the time to read my work and found it interesting enough to send me their thoughts, I really cherish it.

What has been one of the biggest factors of your success (of any size)?: I believe that my growth for the past months I’ve been on Tumblr could be due to how active I am. I always try to engage with the people I follow and even when I’m not posting my works, I try to be around. I have big dreams for my blog and hope to one day have a large audience to read my stories, but for now, I am happy with the ones by my side already.

Do you think fanfic writers get unfairly judged?: Yes. A lot of people think that fanfic writers are mostly horny/crazy teens that are obsessed with some famous wannabe that couldn’t even care less for their existence. I think that’s one of the biggest issues with how society sees us. But I consider those to be amongst older people (perhaps 40+yo).

Do you think art can be a medium for change?: Of course. Art is one of the most personal ways of showing emotions, I believe. Being brave enough to show with the world your creations takes courage and I admire those who do it proudly. Art can be interpreted in so many ways; it overcomes all the barriers that there might be.

Do you ever feel there are times when you’re writing for others, rather than yourself?: The feeling can get to me sometimes but I immediately shut that down. There was a time when I was forcing myself to write things I didn’t appreciate or that didn’t follow my storyline just to make others happy and I had to give up on those projects quickly because it was driving me insane. I strongly believe that if we don’t write what we are passionate about, it will either come out sloppy or we will hate it. Writing what we like, even if some might consider it bad, is what we should do.

Do you ever feel like people have misunderstood you or your writing at times?: I don’t think so. Although, I don’t receive as much feedback as I’d like to, so I’m not certain.

Do your offline friends/loved ones know you write for Tumblr?: Only my boyfriend does and he’s totally cool with it ehe

What is one thing you wish you could tell your followers?: A big big thank you! I am so happy to have you here and I hope you can take some time to read over my works ehe I am always open to talk if anyone needs~

Do you have any advice for aspiring writers who might be too scared to put themselves out there?: Just do it!!! I know there are so many great writers out there and you might feel like you would bring nothing to the game but that’s not true. You don’t need to be scared ok? It will be alright. Just give it a chance. There was a time where I was scared too and now I have made so many great friends and meet so many great people through my writing. You can make it too!

Are there any times when you regret joining Tumblr?: No.

Do you have any mutuals who have been particularly formative/supportive in your Tumblr journey?: Yess!! I have made so many friends thanks to Tumblr! I mostly have to thank the amazing people of @bangtan-headquarters for accepting me into their network and making me part of their discord server. I’m not going to be @/ing everyone but I know I have made friends whom I will forever keep in my heart uwu

Pick a quote to end your interview with: “Life has no limitations, except the ones you make.” - Les Brown

#httpangelicjimin #episode 27 #thesunnyshow #featured author #bts #bangtan

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god-hunter · 4 years ago

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I’m Still Evolving. And I like it!

Hey Tumblr! It’s been a while.

I haven’t written in over a month, because honestly life’s been pretty similar lately. I’ve fallen into a steady routine of taking care of myself. Physical work outs have waned in place of working out mentally. And what I mean by that is, I’ve been continuing my Self-Work with my Diary Entries and just recently caught up to 2019. That was a Hell of a trip.

But I didn’t get on here to rant about that. Instead, I wanted to acknowledge the now, since for the past few weeks, it seems like all I’ve been doing is living in the past.

So, what’s been happening since mid-August, or whenever that last entry was?

Well, that date with the Social Distancer never happened. I was annoyed about that, but not enough to want to actually get into it on here. I didn’t really care too much and I still had Needy Girl coming over every week, so that was fine.

But yeah. In the time that I’ve been taking down my notes and taking my time to write out 2018, taking some healthy time in between and then doing the same process for 2019, I’ve basically been applying to jobs!

That Thursday Interview was garbage, actually. I was there for 5 minutes, because I didn't really know much about Excel and asked for too much. But whatever, no point in wasting anyone’s time. I wasn’t in love with the job description anyway.

I’ve been applying to all sorts of things, and honestly I’ve gone through the motions. Some days are better than others. Sometimes it seems like jobs are plentiful and it’s so easy to get an interview. Then other times it seems like the competition is just as steep as it ever was, and I’ve even gotten to the point where I’m not getting the jobs I Don’t want. So put that where you will...

But for now I don’t care about any of that, because I’m on an Upswing. I know that I’ll keep plugging away and find something eventually. Also, now that I’ve gotten a lot of that Self-Work out of the way, I really do feel Mentally, better. I’ve sort of, cleared the air for myself about the past. I’ve been honest with myself about my own mistakes, and.. I don’t want to say unforgiving of her errors, but definitely acknowledging them and kind of letting them go. Because now so much time has passed that the break up was actually 7 months ago! I stopped counting. That’s a Really good sign!!

I hit a drought when it came to ladies, but that recently opened itself back up. Someone actually swiped right on me on Tinder 3 weeks ago!!! This was a bigger girl, and not an immediate pick for me, but I said, “Why not?” And ya know what? It was a good choice. We’ve gone on 3 dates since then and we have a 4th one tonight. It turns out that we have more in common than I originally thought. She’s interesting, and for now it seems that we’re both in the same place about this. We want to keep it casual and just fun, while the rest of the world sucks.

Better details would be that we talked about 3 times on the app, about just movies and random interests. But then she threw me her number to keep texting while she had an overnight shift at work, and I dunno.. something just worked while we kept talking. Conversation was actually interesting and we agreed to have our first Zoom Date later that week.

That Zoom Date happened to be on a Thursday as well, when I took a great interview. I was there for an hour! This office building was impressive and a little intimidating. It was your typical movie scene with glass dividers between desk set ups, I was in this nice conference room surrounded by glass at the head of the table, while my interviewer was a Woman that was basically my age, at the other end of the table. But there’s no point in going into more details, because I didn’t get it. I did like this job position though. It was for a Client Coordinator and I would definitely like to do something like that in the future. Especially for the right pay. But anyway, it’s needless to say that I had something to talk about that night on the Zoom Date! So I broke the ice by talking all about the interview and we laughed about stuff. She was clearly very nervous, but I got to see her Cat, she saw mine. She did the inevitable Zoom Tour of the apartment. I didn’t really do one, because my place was a mess, but she didn’t ask either. It didn’t matter, because everything else was going very well. We got more comfortable as we brought things up and found out that we both like a lot of in-depth reviews on YouTube or just watching Let’s Plays or Video Game reviews. We even got into Dream Analysis and she talked about some real stuff without getting depressing. We’re definitely on the same liberal scope, which is refreshing. But she’s also not overtly political. We even talked about past hook ups gone wrong (started by her, not me) which is more of a friend thing, but still the conversation was very comfortable. We stayed up pretty late that night, but eventually said goodnight. We both knew we’d definitely do this in person which ended up the next week. The Zoom Date helped us skip steps. We didn’t meet for dinner or anything. Instead, we just took it straight to her place for Sushi and a YouTube party. We made out at the very end of the night. That was nice. She appreciated that I didn’t just go all in right away, but took time to actually hang out with her first. [That Sushi was delicious by the way.] Oh yeah, we’re into the same music which is SUCH a huge plus to me. Yeah.. we definitely have a little spark, which is nice. But after what I’ve been through. I really can’t jump into something so fast. And she is in full agreement with that too.

Our next in person date was at my place, where we basically did the same thing over Chinese. It was some YouTube reviews and watching this Comedy Challenge show that I’ve been telling her about since we started talking. She really loved it, so that was nice. We shared fruit and chocolate dip too, which was great. I like that she’s trying to behave (and frankly doing better than me) when it comes to eating, because health has become very important to me within the last 2 or 3 years.

Take tonight for instance. We’re going to have a big salad and charcuterie for dinner. (fancy cheese and meat plate) with wine. She also told me about this trippy movie that I saw last night on her suggestion and we’re looking forward to diving into the meaning of it and stuff. That’s the type of stuff that I’m really all about. Philosophical Musing and all of that. Oh yeah! She respects the Hell out of my Self-Work writing that I’ve told her about. At very first, she just admitted that she wished she wrote more, but the fact that she was a writer means that she still has it in her. She’s a thinker, and I like my Women who can be analytical about their Media or the World. It’s important. It’s interesting.

Just don’t over-analyze me, or us, or anything. (At least within reason).

So who knows? So far, so good.

There was more to say until yesterday, but I’ll bring this girl up too. An old Highschool Flame actually hit me up on FB. To keep the story way uncomplicated, we’ve basically known each other for 20 years, she’s an adjusted Single Mom now, so it’s clear she’s been through some shit, and I’ve clearly been through my own. So somehow on FB, we’ve been complimenting each other and I was the first to just message her a hello, which turned into walking on a trail and meeting her son very quickly.

I was tempted to write that day, but I wanted to see how it played out first. Well, that day not only did I get along great with the kid, but she whispered in his ear and he invited me to Pizza Lunch with them, which was adorable. He really liked me, actually sat in my lap and hugged me at the table.. It was sweet.

But we tried this again, just the 2 of us yesterday on a 2nd trail walk, and it was a no go. I’m skipping her random FB message saying, “This is gonna sound weird, but thank you for being the kind of male I can have around my son.” Hmmm. If I didn’t catch a vibe before, I certainly did, then.

But I was super cool about it. Set up a Friday hang out in time, and I was pleased to hear that it would just be us while her son was in school. This was the perfect time to feel the vibe and find out if this was just a friend thing or actually a date.

But again, I’ll keep it short. It was just a Friend Thing. I noticed 2 things. 1. She sighed when I said, “I swear, the weather is always like this when I go on a date.” She didn’t say anything, but that sigh, practically said it all. 2. She brought up other dudes.

From there, I admitted that I’ve been dating too, and she was all excited to hear about my stuff.

Then later, I brought up her message and said I wasn’t sure if there was a vibe or not. She didn’t say no, but... she did make it clear that things were getting serious with this one co-worker she was dating or whatever. And then she was back-pedaling and saying stuff like, “Wait. Let me just make sure it’s not getting weird.”

So yeah. This was just friends. And that’s fine, because she’s awesome! And so is her kid. And I’ve already got this casual thing that I like a lot.

I was upfront with old flame. I told her that I want to keep dating for the rest of the year. Keep meeting people and experiencing new personalities. And if things get serious along the way, sort them out as I may.

Our hang got cut off while she dove more into my old hang ups. [Someone told us to get out of the parking lot because it was private property...]. But either way, it was still a very fruitful hangout. And even though the rejection was disappointing, it wasn’t necessarily unexpected. Honestly, it would’ve been too out-of-nowhere, and even Reboundish. I’ve learned that if it feels too good to be true, it probably is.

But this is what it’s about! Keeping your eyes and heart open. I swiped on a bunch of people last night with no expectations. [When you treat it like a game, you’re less bound to get hurt.]. That one doesn’t merit explaining, but I just can’t stand how shallow and callous people are. So what’s the point in being invested at first look? Just swipe and see what happens. If you get the message, then you can start to feel things once they check those right boxes. But in order to find success in that, you gotta know what those boxes even are, right?

So anyway, yeah. I’m a lot more pragmatic about things. I’ve got a Tinder Girl now and things are going well. =)

I’m also still hanging out with Needy Girl, who I’m working on making less Needy. She really needs to sort out her shit and move on.

We had a whole talk about how she’s been mistaking hooking up for dating and I feel bad for her in a way, but there’s just something about her that doesn’t check all the boxes. Attraction is definitely part of it, but it’s mostly personality. She’s just not confident in herself enough. She’s hurt and super sensitive. She’s got this shy, cute, naive thing going for her on top of all of our shared interests. But that’s not enough. Especially with how she started things with me, making me the Other Man, and throwing in this Cheating Atmosphere.

I said it before, but that is not a good Foundation for a Relationship.

And again I’ve reiterated for her that I don’t really want a Relationship right now. At all!

So, Communication is Key. I’ve said it before with the Ex and even though she was in full agreement, somehow we let enough small things go that they turned into big things. Stuff that was swept under the rug became huge Resentment Issues later. So, fuck knows, man...

Alls I know is that things are very different now. And I like it that way. I’m still Evolving.

#rants #raves #life #job-hunting #dating #relationships #Social Distancer #Tinder Girl #old Flame #Needy Girl

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witchqueenofthemoon · 6 years ago

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BODY AND SOUL Part 17 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: So I did a very rough outline of everything else I want to happen in this fic and I’m gonna tentatively say we’re halfway through it; I don’t know how long any given part is until I write it, so that might be wrong, but we’ll see! I at least have an endpoint in mind, though there’s a lot of stuff in between that endpoint and now, so never fear, Duckenzies, Duckenzie aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. I listened to ODESZA’s album A Moment Apart a lot while I wrote this chapter; that’s an album about LOVE for sure, so it’s very Duckenzie (I love Boy especially, a song that is pure Cody in my eyes--as rapturously beautiful as he is). I LOVED writing about Duncan putting Kenzie’s clothes away; clothes are such a big part of my life and are so important to me and they tell such an intimate story about a person, and clothing continues to be an important theme in this fic. The framed picture of Kenzie and Madeline is based on a real photo of Billie and Carrie (@hi-ilovedamien used it in one of the Instagram edits she made for my fic). The one of Kenzie and Claire is based on the fact that Billie and Leslie are super close IRL and love to go to Disneyland together (follow their Instagrams for plenty of proof on that one), and the one of Kenzie with her father is based on on this photo of Billie and her dad Bryan Lourd. Everything Duncan picks out for Kenzie on Agent Provocateur’s website is really from them except for the rose choker: this is the white lingerie, this is the black lingerie, this is the kimono, this is the sleeping set. The rose choker is real, it just isn’t from AP, but I included it there anyway because they do have a choker section on their website. Here’s Duncan’s Givenchy sunglasses. Stoked to finally include mention of Duncan’s private plane, it’ll show up more in the future. I couldn’t find a mirror that looks quite like theirs: this is about the right size, so imagine it gilded in gold grape vines, and you get the idea. I found Duncan’s study desk, by the way. The peacock clockwork in Stapleton’s Antiques is something like this but bigger and just the peacock. Frederick isn’t an AU, he’s my character, but he definitely has some weird ancestry and a belief in the occult; he knew the mirror was magickal in nature, though he kept that mostly to himself. His story about the Vicountess isn’t quite accurate, but she was indeed a witch. Jack Rose is a real whiskey bar in DC and my friend/coworker Christina told me about it, so my including it is a nod to her because she hasn’t watched APOCALYPSE or HOUSE OF CARDS and doesn’t even know who Cody or Billie are and still listens to me talk about this fic CONSTANTLY at work and at least pretends to be interested, thanks babe, you are great. I had a lot of fun including Tyler, my Taylor Lautner AU, in this part, and based his look on this photo from when he and Billie were still dating. Here’s Claire’s dress at the bar. Here’s Nat King Cole’s THE VERY THOUGHT OF YOU, a very Duckenzie song. Regarding the sex: Duncan enjoys doing what Kenzie tells him to do more than anything--any domination of her is always tinged with her needs. They’re both switchers in the bedroom (you’ve probably noticed), but Duncan does what Kenzie wants him to do, important to keep in mind--she really enjoys the ways he dominates her, so she asks for those things, but the decision is primarily hers and he follows her leads. Once you’ve been having sex for awhile, you start to notice that once in awhile, you have a really fucking great orgasm among a bunch of other pretty great orgasms, and the fucking great, lost-in-nothing-for-awhile, screaming-involuntarily-because-its-that-fucking-intense kind are the kind of orgasms Duncan and Kenzie have in this part. I hope all of y’all reading along have an orgasm like that at some point in your lives, cuz it’s always one for the books.

Duncan had watched Kenzie run away from him, down the hall to the elevators--which somehow slid open immediately, as if to mock him in his longing--and ached. My Persephone, leaving me; only to return to me later, her hair full of flowers, her skin smelling of nature, trees, the clear air, and sweet herbs. Kenzie’s eyes gazed across to him as the doors slid shut once more, and they were golden and green, her little mouth smiling, her tawny hair over her shoulder, the roundness of her thighs visible above the long black boots--he blinked, the vision of wings, the vision of her wings flashing across his eyes again, residue from the dream--it had been so vivid, so bright, and the emotion in him had been overwhelming, like a storm. And then she was gone, and he was staring at the doors, breathless with her memory. I know we can’t always be together, but god, the hole she leaves when she isn’t tucked under my arm. It’s like a raw wound. He turned from the entrance of the penthouse, letting the door swing shut behind him--not realizing his hand was at his jaw, trailing over his lips. The darkness he’d felt coiled in the pit of him in that dream rested there still, along the lining of him, with a sticky and sickeningly heavy residue--the divinity of her light in it still tingled along the edge of of his mind, the smell of her hair dancing through his fingers, and he lifted his fingers to his nose and breathed in--roses, vetiver, geranium, and the sweet muskiness that was the crook of her mouth and the space between her legs. Now she is everywhere here, he thought, satisfied, looking over at the little bowl he’d handed her an hour ago, now empty of granola and fruit and in the sink, silver spoon resting inside it, wet with the residue of milk and berries. Now there is a small gold lining in every corner of this place, painted with the finest brush, and it dazzles me.

He thought of the tears they’d shed against each other in the darkness of the room that was now their bedroom as their bodies had shuddered in release; the terror and wondrous beauty of the realization that no, I haven’t been dreaming words into her, the words and emotions and colors I’ve felt have really been coming from her, and somehow, beyond all understanding, sometimes, I can hear Kenzie’s thoughts and feel what she is feeling, and the gold I see is her soul, kissing into me with the most tender of touches, shivering down onto me like a paper-thin wave of sunlight. And god, it’s the most beautiful thing I have ever fucking felt; it’s more beautiful than anything I can see with my eyes, it’s like a boon from beyond time, and my body and soul are abject and amplified in her. The words and feelings I’ve felt towards her, from her--they feel as though I’ve pulled them from deep memories, as if I’ve begun to awaken from an ageless sleep I’ve slept for eons, and she was there at the beginning of that sleep, and now, having finally woken, she is here again, as it was always meant to be. Duncan found himself lost in these thoughts, hands trailing through his hair, as he leaned down to where he’d left his smooth black iPhone on the nightstand, idly opening the Instagram app and going to Kenzie’s profile--already I miss her face, already I want to look at it again, anyway I can. @kenzielouwho. Duncan noticed she’d now amassed over a million followers--his heart twinged with a vague worry, thinking of the man who’d gotten into the Post building yesterday, her little tear-stained face pressing into his shirt, the trembling in her body, her cheeks white, eyes haunted with shock. A million strangers and how many of them want to hurt her? His blood felt cold, the hairs on the back of his neck tingling. If only I could shield her from every hurt, always. If only I could be sure she would always be safe. The thought of Kenzie being hurt filled him with a terrible dread, a nameless emotion beyond terror, beyond despair--a sorrow that felt like a dagger plunging into his ribs and rending his body in two. But Duncan pushed the fear out of him with a stern hand, the voice of reason in his mind cutting it off. Your Kenzie is marvelously brave and as beautiful as the full moon rising on a clear night, as the stars turning in the heavens. Trust her. She can do this. She can be in this world. She has a heart made of melted gold, you’ve pressed your lips to it, and you know she is stronger than you are. With her, you will create wonders. You will move mountains.

He went to the photo she’d taken and posted the night before--the two of them in the shadowy backseat of the BMW, neon lights drifting across his cheek and her forehead, her wide eyes, framed by heavy lashes, staring out at him; his profile pressed to her, his expression serene. The longest day, the greatest love. Oh, beloved. Kenzie. Truly you are my greatest love. My only love. The One. He scrolled idly through the comments; scores of heart emojis and reaction faces and stunned, excited comments, some bitter towards her, and Duncan felt twinges of resentment around his heart at them--you don’t know her light, you can’t know, whoever you are, how dare you, as if you know her and you fucking don’t--even though he knew these emotions, sent out into the ether, were essentially useless. Most of the comments, however, seemed genuinely positive--some bordered on obsessively enamored, fervent, worshipful. #Duckenzie are forever love one said, followed by neon hearts that matched the colors falling across his and Kenzie’s faces in the photo.

I want them to adopt me followed by a long line of sobbing emojis

You are the most beautiful couple of all time, King and Queen of Earth

They’re like something from a fairy tale, I can’t even handle it asfajhdlghslgha

@DUNCANSHEPHERD PUT A RING ON IT

Shepherd Unlimited: now the most powerful company AND the most powerful couple in the world

#DUCKENZIE FOR PRESIDENT(S) SCRATCH THAT WE ARE NOW A MONARCHY

I wanna be right in the middle of that Duckenzie sandwich like fuck my bi ass up

Their energy is too powerful to even look at, I’ve gone blind

Duncan clicked through to his own profile; he’d amassed another 20k followers since the last time he looked at it, bringing him past 8 million, and he gazed down at the two photos of her that were his most recent posts, each with over 170k and 180k likes; one of Kenzie sleepily leaning against the backseat of the BMW in afternoon sunlight; the other of her gazing down happily at the succulent in the oversized tee shirt, damp hair on her shoulder. I could look at these all day, he thought. But Duncan remembered, looking up; he’d asked if he could organize her things, and she’d said yes. The thought of putting Kenzie’s little clothes in his closet thrilled him, made his head hazy, made him hard; Duncan stood, bare feet feeling the thick rug that extended far around the bed--he moved beyond it to the dark hardwood, reaching for her clothes on the hanging rack in the corner. He turned toward the doorway for a moment, eyes falling over the wall beside it; that’s where the mirror should go, he thought. The side of the bed facing it clearly; and the hook we’ll hang from the ceiling above it, the hook will be right in front of it, close, so we can fuck there, standing, her little arms extended by the soft rope and her body stretched out to me, and she can press her sweetness down onto my mouth and I can watch myself eat her, watch the pleasure in her eyes and the tremble of her body, prostrate to me there, I can watch my worship, I can see every delicate turn of her and be smitten again and again, besotted in her, angel baby…

Duncan shivered and turned back to her clothes, hands trailing along in them; the smell of her rose off them in a delicate wave, and he felt drunk on it. He carefully lifted the hangers up, taking only a few pieces at a time into the closet, gazing down at them; her beautiful little dresses, babydoll and bodycon and with flowing skirts, and long-sleeved button-downs and turtle and mock necks, low-cut blouses and high-necked form-fitting tops and v-necks and wrap tops, some with prints of flowers or celestial bodies or patterns, and some lovely dresses in white and cream and sand, but most of them in solid, earth-tone colors. He lined them beside the new things she’d bought and hung in the closet the other day; he felt greedy, wanted more there, wanted the whole closet to be full of her things so he could stare at them and smell them and drink them in; wanted her gold on everything. His eyes fell over the red dress he’d gotten her at Nancy’s shop--the one that had kindled feverish lust in him, made him press his fingers between her legs and coax her into an orgasm on his lap, and he thought of the fall of her hair and her little teeth when she smiled and laughed and the bob of her throat when she was sad, tears streaking down her cheeks, and he shivered again. She is so beautiful. It makes my heart fucking ache. He thought of her pressing kisses between his shoulders this morning; you aren’t dark, baby. You aren’t. Duncan thought of all the things he’d done at his mother’s bidding for the furtherment of Shepherd Unlimited; thought of the app that he knew was mining people’s personal information, the hidden overseas accounts, his Uncle’s attempts to unseat President Underwood; he wondered if, in this case, it was wrong to hope his Uncle’s death would come soon. If one man causes so much suffering to others, is his death truly something to mourn? Only when Bill was gone would they be able to reshape Shepherd Unlimited into something that could cease harming others and begin to aid them. We have so much, he marveled, staring at the delicate pieces of Kenzie’s wardrobe, having finished hanging everything from the rack across from his dark monochrome clothes on the other side. How can I not have seen it before, really seen it, and known that I needed to reshape the company to help the rest of the world? That’s what I’m meant to do. I see that now. Kenzie has brought not only her light across everything in my life; she’d kindled the desire in me to further that light to touch as many people as I can. The Fates have blessed us, and I think they expect us to share those blessings further. She was meant to open my heart and my eyes to everything. Kenzie’s clothing juxtaposed sharply with his; the earthy tones of her, the shadowy tones of him. Persephone comes to Hades in his dark realm and kisses sweet flowers into his mouth, bringing him back to life from his cold death-state. She kindles the latent embers of his soul; stokes them back to a burning fire in his heart.

For her. It’s all for her. All for you, Kenzie. My body and my soul.

Duncan continued to move Kenzie’s things carefully into the closet with studied reverence; he had always been neat by nature, having been raised by a meticulous mother and taught that discretion was of paramount importance, coordination and careful study the measure of one’s mettle, and he organized the clothing in the boxes according to style and function and then by color; starting with whites and moving down through the rainbow to gray and black at the end. He moved on to two other boxes that held her shoes; the strappy sandals she was wearing them they met (he cradled them affectionately), little kitten heels he knew she wore to work sometimes, suede boots in black and saddle, more heeled sandals and flat sandals and black heels with pointed toes; Duncan loved how small they were, marveled at the size of her little feet, and carefully lined them on the shelves he’d cleared for them on the opposite side of the one that had dozens of pairs of his black boots and dress shoes along it. He marveled, shyly, at her, seemingly, scores of pairs of panties (some silky, some cotton, in every color and style he could think of--brief ands bikini and lacy and thongs--and a particular box that seemed to have only comfortable boycuts, most of them with period stains, and he carefully placed those in a bottom drawer together) and the loveliness of her bras; soft and silky, their small cups sliding through his fingers. Looking at her underthings just made Duncan long to buy her more--he thought of her in lacy, flowing lingerie, a garter belt and suspenders and a lacy chiffon robe, her chestnut hair falling around her shoulders, the Tiffany moon at her throat, glittering in low light, and his mind grew hazy with the sweetness of the thought. He looked down at the little labels on one of the bras and on her panties, committing her size to memory. It’d been a long time since he’d bought lingerie for a woman (most of the romantic attachments with women in his life up until now hadn’t lasted long enough for him to do something so intimate for them)--it had been for Misha, ancient history--and Duncan vaguely hoped, thinking as he slipped on a pair of black cashmere socks, that Kenzie wouldn’t mind him picking out something so intimate for her; she was so fierce in her own stylistic preferences, after all. But now that he’d carefully looked at her wardrobe, he felt sure he knew what she would like, and what she wouldn’t. Her clothes are a little piece of her soul; the way my clothes are a little piece of mine. They tell a story about her; the story of her gold aura and her bravery and how hard she works, the way she guards herself, the trembling delicacy of her emotions, with what she wears, the lovely scent of her and the shape of her and the interest she has in nature and in colors, in space and stars and celestial images, in cuts that flatter her body and make her feel comfortable and make her feel attractive. It’s a lovely wardrobe. If I didn’t already love her, I would after I saw it this way, this closely; if I’d seen this wardrobe out of a hundred others, I feel I’d know it on sight as hers, even if I’d never met her. I don’t know I know that, but I know. Duncan looked inside some of the other boxes the movers had stacked along the wall; some had books in them, more of her little jewelry boxes (one was a little gold-embossed, mirrored tray full of tiny rings, another a Victorian-style box with bracelets inside, including the twisting one she’d worn the night he first saw her on the balcony); one had her constellation bedspread, others her beautiful little tchotchkes; her moon alarm clock, crystal towers and geodes and incense and other lovely things that felt like her and looked like her and smelled like her to him, delicate, gold-sheened: an array of tiny china birds, her moon and sun wind chimes, framed pictures of her with Madeline (Kenzie was sitting on her lap, clutching her mother’s face close, eyes turned down, and Duncan’s affection for her fell over him in a wave again), one of her with Claire at Disney World (both of them in Mickey ears holding Mickey ice cream bars, grinning with happy abandon), and another with her in a black dress, golden hair over her shoulder, and an older, balding man with a friendly smile; clearly her father. He looked over them lovingly, but didn’t presume to move them--she could put them anywhere she wanted, where she wanted them, because this space belonged to her now, too, and anything of hers was a boon to him, a bright little piece of her blessing a space that had been cold and empty of warmth to him for so long.

Duncan went out to the vast space of his open living room in the quiet daylight, stepping over to where the Bouguereau prints stretched between Dike and Nike, his arms crossed in contemplation; he’d always found them beautiful, but now they seemed unearthly in their beauty to him; each of the aspects of the cycle of the day reminded him of Kenzie now; each one was her, her turning her body under him in the shadow of the evening, her lifting her face to kiss him, her reaching across his body to put her little hands around him, the aspect of her sleeping face against the pillow. He hesitated, contemplating going into the study to look at The Youth of Bacchus, but stopped himself; something about it was tied irrevocably to her now, and he longed to look at her looking at it instead; the wondrous affectation of her eyes moving over it, entranced. I should look up the next auction at Sotheby’s, he thought. That blank wall in the bedroom...and our birthdays are soon. I want to dedicate more than the Gala to her. I want to dedicate art, all the beauty I see, and my life, to her. She deserves absolutely everything. She deserves a painting of her own, one that reminds me of her, given with all my love.

Duncan went to the low leather couch, opening his Macbook there and glancing at his emails, but not opening any of them, even though he noticed a very important message there that he’d been waiting for; from the President’s secretary, in reply to a correspondence he’d begun a few days before. He saw the first line in the preview; President Underwood has agreed to see you on Thursday. Midday is best, around 2 PM. She isn’t feeling up to talking for very long--and then it cut off. Perfect, he thought. Just need to get in the door. He went out of his email and opened a new tab, typing into the bar at the top of the screen: agentprovocateur.com. As he scrolled through the models in delicate lingerie, Duncan’s thoughts were full of Kenzie; her golden hair falling down her back, her eyes on him over her shoulder, the round rise of her ass and her gorgeous, curvy hips under his hands, the tiny hairs around the lips of her sex, the roundness of her little nipples growing hard under his fingers, her delicate collarbones, the space under her ear that fit so well into his hand, the softness of her there under his lips, her wide hazel eyes, flecks of gold and bronze whirling in their depth, framed by long eyelashes that battered into his heart when she looked at him--he felt continually swept away under her gaze, as though it took him again and again into another world, one where they were alone and undisturbed, free to look into each other for ages and contemplate the wonder of the other. My Kenzie. My heart. The half of me that was ripped away, the half of me I found again, somehow, miraculous, trembling like rain on roses, my heart whole again.

Duncan chose two full lingerie sets for her. One was in black, with intricate, criss-crossing geometric embellishments in transparent tulle along the bust and suspenders, with long, sheer black stockings. The second was sheer nude with white flowering lace embellishments and white banding, with bows on the suspenders and the front of the panties, the breasts exposed (I can’t wait to press my mouth against her there through the tulle, feel the beating of her heart under her breasts with my lips while she watches me in the mirror, tied up nice and tight), and sheer stockings. The thought of Kenzie wearing them set a bonfire in the center of him; made the back of his neck tingle, coiled heat between his thighs. Duncan went to the section titled cuffs, chokers and bodychains, his skin humming, his breath catching as his eyes fell on a thick, black buckled choker with a silver stemmed rose attached to the front of it. He imagined Kenzie wearing it, staring up at him as he tied her wrists into velvet ropes, and he felt another wave of dizzy desire wash over him. Oh, fuck, baby. My little rose; roses on the balcony, roses in the bathtub, roses here on this table that I got for you because they remind me of you, my rose. I’m going to fucking devour you. To him it seemed as though the choker had been made just for her--the better for me to adorn her in worship. He added it to the cart, imagining the look in her eyes when she opened the telltale pink box and saw it nestled between the tissue paper, and Duncan felt himself harden with a shiver. Be patient, she’d told him. He wondered when she would tie him up. Duncan looked down at the screen again, coming back from his thoughts.

He also picked out a short black silk kimono with a tying sash and flowing lace embellishments at the hem and sleeves, and a sleeping shorts-and-top set in pink satin with straps and black lace around the open neckline. As much as Duncan loved Kenzie sleeping in his graphic tees, he couldn’t help but feel she deserved something more beautiful to wear to sleep; as beautiful as she was, as delicate and fascinating. And I have my own selfish reasons, he thought, blushing unbeknownst to himself in the quiet morning light, going to the checkout and typing in his Black AmEx card number, choosing next-day shipping. She’s so fucking beautiful and I want to see her in finespun beautiful things that look like they came from heaven like she did before I carefully undress her, over and over and over, and kiss every inch of her body for as long as she’ll let me. Duncan thought of his dream of her that morning again; the wings from her back, the iridescence of the halo that hovered around her, the serene expression in her eyes, like galaxies turning in their obscure orbits; they’d been in some celestial ether, a clouded place of blushing colors, and he had knelt before her, stunned by her. The dream had felt...not like a dream, somehow, in that it was real, in that it was the past, or the future, or something that was happening somehow; something that had happened in another time, or was going to happen, or was going on in this moment in some other place. Duncan felt dizzy--the details of the dream were slipping away little by little, but he tried to grasp at the image of her in it; paint its outline onto his memory. If I can remember just that, the halo and her wings and her face looking at me with such love and concord, so much compassion for me, a dark and lowly creature. That’s enough.

Duncan leaned back from his Macbook, hitting the home button on his phone, clutched in his palm, going into his contacts absent-mindedly, thoughts still on the dream of Kenzie, and highlighting a certain name there. Frederick Stapleton. Frederick had been the most trusted antiques dealer for the Shepherd family for two decades. He’d found Duncan’s mahogany study desk (19th century--Kenzie sitting on it, naked, staring at me with velvet rope) and had been curating Annette’s personal collection for the better part of his career. He’ll know where I can find what I’m looking for. Duncan hit the call button and held the phone up to his ear. It rang four times, then a warm voice floated through.

“Stapleton Antiques.”

“Frederick, it’s Duncan Shepherd. How are you?”

“Ah, Duncan, what an unexpected surprise. I’m well--very well, actually, we recently got in several exquisite pieces from 17th century France, if you’re in the market, though I deign to part with them, honestly, they are so exceptional--”

“Frederick, thank you, no, I have a very important request.”

“I’m listening. You know I love a challenge.”

“I need a mirror. A very large standing mirror. Gilded would be ideal; something beautiful….something exceptionally beautiful. Maybe 8 or 9 feet.”

There was silence on the other side of the phone for a few moments, then a satisfied chuckle from Frederick; he was well over 80 now, but Duncan was pleased to hear the vibrancy of his voice through the phone; still full of life.

“I think I have just the thing. Can you come by today?”

“I can come right now. Thank you, Frederick, I knew I could count on you for this.”

“You, of course, were right, Mr. Shepherd.”

“Half an hour?”

“Very good, Mr. Shepherd. I think you’ll be very pleased.”

“See you then.”

Duncan hung up, standing and slipping his phone into his back pocket, fingers idly trailing through his hair, coming down to rest around his chin as he went to the closet, choosing one of the dozen pairs of Yves Wyatt black boots on the rack of his shoes towards the middle of the walk-in’s length; he turned for a moment, staring again at Kenzie’s little shoes he’d lined carefully on the opposite shelf, his gaze zeroing in on the sandals he remembered untying delicately from her feet, his lips on the red stripes they’d made on her ankles, that first press of their bodies together, whiskey making him bold in the face of her loveliness. His skin felt hot and flushed; nervous energy was sliding along it, his anticipation singing. He’d never known Frederick to be one to boast; if he said he had what Duncan described, he had it. God, I still wish my mother hadn’t insisted on fitting her today like this, though, Duncan thought with frustration, choosing a pair of Givenchy aviators from one of the adjacent shelves that held his dozen pairs of black designer sunglasses in varying styles. I wish she could come with me, if she doesn’t love it absolutely it isn’t good enough. It has to be perfect. The thought of them being able to spend the whole day together tomorrow was humming in the back of his mind, a secret thrill of joy and relief. Our first whole day together, just the two of us. Nobody to tell us where we have to be. God, I hope she likes those pieces I ordered. She’s going to look so fucking beautiful in them, I might just fucking die. Duncan thought vaguely of looking at his emails before he left, but a heightened kind of abandon was building behind his temples. It can wait. Everything can wait. Kenzie is more important than all of this, any of this. She told me she wants me to do this today while she’s gone, and her wish is my command, my duty. So emails, fuck off.

Duncan slid the aviators over his eyes, switching his phone out of his pocket to call an Uber Black, sliding his Ferragamo wallet into it instead, and left the penthouse, letting the long black door swing smoothly shut behind him, his thoughts full of her, her gold-flecked hazel eyes. Whatever you want, baby. Anything you want.

------

Duncan arrived at the antique shop about twenty minutes later--Stapleton Antiques was a stylish, squarish mid-century brick building partially hidden by two very old oaks on either side of its eaves, a well-kept secret with almost exclusively seven-figure clients. They didn’t even have a sign; you either knew what it was, or you didn’t. Duncan thanked his driver and stepped out of the Mercedes that had picked him up, the anxious energy humming along under his skin again. He glanced down at his Movado, eyes skirting over the edge of his sunglasses; it was just a little after 2 PM. He wondered idly what Kenzie was doing, how she was faring with his stern mother, how she was feeling. He pulled his phone out on the sidewalk and opened his text messages, sending one to Kenzie.

Hope everything is going okay, baby. I think I found the mirror. I’ll send you a picture in a minute when I get inside to look at it. Please tell me what you think, if it isn’t perfect, I’ll keep looking. He hit send, hesitated for a moment, then typed again.

I realized tomorrow is our first full day together without any interruptions. I was thinking we could go to the beach. What do you think? We have house in Yarmouth, around Cape Cod. We can just go for the day and fly back with the jet. It’ll be just us: just me and you. It’s supposed to be sunny and beautiful tomorrow. I just wanna hold you and kiss you in the sand.

He saw the telltale bubbles appear under his message almost immediately; Duncan marveled at the way his nerves thrilled at the prospect of her answer. All I want is to be near her, to talk to her, to listen to her speak, to read her words or look at her. Nothing else is so wonderful. Nothing.

Kenzie: WOW, baby, that sounds AMAZING! Yes!!! I didn’t realize you had a jet, though I guess I should have assumed that. That sounds so perfect, like a dream. I’m not with Annette anymore, I’m at Morgan’s studio, the designer Claire works for. Erik’s here. He’s going to help us decide what I should wear for the Gala and Morgan’s going to make it.

The bubbles appeared again, and then another text.

Your mom and I got into an argument. I mentioned you’d told me that you’re going to be co-chairman of the company when your Uncle passes away. She didn’t like that very much. I’m sorry I said something but she was trying to bait me again and I lost my temper and told her I deserve to know important things about your life. She left after that and Erik and I went on with the dress planning alone.

Of course they got into an argument, Duncan thought. You’re the one who fucking demanded Kenzie come do this fitting with you, Mom, and then you storm out. You treat her terribly and expect her to just put up with it. Not my Kenzie. He tried to quell the anger the immediately rose in him towards his mother and took a deep breath, shutting his eyes; changing Shepherd Unlimited is going to be an uphill battle the whole way. Thank whatever gods may be that I have Kenzie by my side now.

Baby, he replied, it’s okay. You DO deserve to know, you’re right. And eventually she’s going to see that too. My mother is a very stubborn person but I know she wants what’s best for me. She just needs to accept that what’s best for me is you. I’m so glad Erik is still with you. He’s trustworthy.

Duncan lowered the phone in his hand and stepped into the brick building, taking his sunglasses off and tucking them into the dip of his shirt; the musty smell of very old wood enveloped him, but the interior was meticulously clean; anything displayed in the front (chests and Tiffany lamps and crystal chandeliers) had been polished to its clearest, cleanest sheen, and Duncan’s eyes immediately fell on the gigantic golden clockwork peacock in the center of the room. This peacock had been here since he was a child; it had jeweled emerald eyes and it moved its head back and forth from its wing feathers on the hour, a chime erupting from somewhere deep inside it to mark the passage of time. The clock was very old; Russian, 18th century. Duncan had always loved it, and it had been at least two years since the last time he’d personally set foot in Stapleton’s. The sight of it immediately transported him back in time to when Frederick used to give him tiny caramel candies while he waited for his mother to look at whatever fine thing she’d asked Frederick to find. He’d stare at it for hours, the taste of the caramel in his mouth, the sight of the the golden peacock fascinating his eyes. Duncan thought of Kenzie’s gold aura; I have to bring her to see this peacock sometime, he thought. She would love it so much. And Frederick would love her. Of course he would love her. Everyone loves her. Kenzie is an angel and everything she touches turns to gold.

He stepped up to the peacock, gazing at it in his nostalgic drift (it was still right now, 2 having come and gone), and he was brought out of it by a warm voice to his right; “There you are, Duncan, come this way,” and he turned to see the back of Frederick’s head, white hair surrounding a shiny bald spot, already vanishing through the side-doorway to the back area, an area only ever seen by those who had gained the Stapleton’s trust and loyalty. Duncan glanced at the peacock one more time (Kenzie) and pushed the curtain in the doorway aside (it was heavy and red and velvet and smelled like the backstage of a theater). The back room was much dustier, and always in various states of disarray; this was where the new pieces came first and were sorted and appraised and cleaned. Frederick was in the far corner, an area comprised of mostly stacks of wooden boxes with precious cargo, still nailed shut, rolled Persian rugs, and a large antique dresser that seemed to be in the middle of being cleaned; against the wall was a very long black curtain, visibly dusty, draped over a huge squarish shape; taller than Duncan by several inches.

“Duncan, it’s wonderful to see you again. It’s been far too long,” Frederick said. His half-moon glasses rested at the bridge of his nose; his eyes were very dark brown behind them, as if they held great depth, long secrets, tomes of ancient knowledge. Duncan had always thought so; had always felt as thought Frederick knew things that most people didn’t, spending all his time with the artifacts of lives long lived and gone on to the next plane, yet leaving the residue of those lives behind in the objects they had spent their time with. Frederick brought his wrinkled hands together, the curved silver handle of his cane resting in front of him on its four-pronged clawed feet, his white-bearded face breaking into a smile, tiny crows-feet crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“It has, Frederick. It’s nice to see the peacock again--and you. I was thinking about how you used to give me those little candies. Thank you for that.”

“You look very well, if I may say so, Mr. Shepherd.”

“I’m in love, Frederick.”

“I can tell. It’s shining out of you like a lighthouse. Quite a sight, I must say. Is this mirror--this great mirror of gilded loveliness--meant to be a gift for the one you love?”

“It is.”

“In that case, I think I really do have the right piece for you. It’s very...special.” Frederick spread his hands apart at this statement, stepping carefully, slowly, his gait stiff, using the cane with a silvery curved hook at the end, towards where the black curtain fell over the shape that leaned to the wall. “It’s quite singular, really. As the story goes, it belonged to a Viscountess in France, a few years before the start of the Revolution--1778 or ‘79, we’re not certain. Her parties, they say, were akin to how the Greeks imagined the hedonistic revelries of the Bacchanalia. Some say she worshipped Satan; others believe she was a practitioner of witchcraft, others still believe she was another kind of divine being; a Maenad, a handmaiden of Bacchus, a nymph of Dionysus, she of the wild ways. Whatever the truth--and likely she was nothing more than a woman unchained by society’s expectations of her--the mirror survived the rages of the Revolution, several sea voyages and World War II in a Belgian basement during its German occupation, among other things. The mirror, some say, will kindle the deepest desires of those who stare into it long enough--desires that transcend earthly passions, desires that touch the divine. In any case: the piece itself is truly one of a kind.”

With that, Frederick pulled carefully at the edge of the black curtain; Duncan saw a small cloud of dust lift from it as it fell away, and wondered how long the mirror had waited here along the wall for him; felt acutely, suddenly, that its wait had been for him, for them, for him and Kenzie, for the time when they found each other again, and he shivered as the curtain fell away. The mirror beneath was huge, a vast square of reflective energy; it stretched along the expanse of the wall, as long as it was tall--he stepped closer, almost involuntarily, to study its intricate details; the carvings that stretched along the framing, gold-embossed, were of the tendrils, vines, flowers and fruits of grapes; the nectar of the wine god. The mirror’s surface seemed untouched by time; it was still as clear as a pool of spring water, unblemished by the ages, and it stretched at least 8 feet long; the entirety of the room behind it illuminated in its reflection. Duncan reached out with a careful hand and ran it along the left side of the frame; the soft gold-and-bronze plating was cool and smooth under the tips of his fingers; they tingled, and he shivered. He stared at his reflection in the flawless surface; his sharp blue eyes, the stubble around his jaw, the rise of his lips, his hair falling behind his ears in soft waves. I’ve been waiting for you, the mirror whispered, in some secret, obtuse deja vu, into the center of his mind. I was preserved for the time you were together again--preserved by magick. By a strong spell that stood the test of hundreds of years. I belong to her. To the woman you love. I was always hers and I am always meant to be hers. Just like you.

“Frederick...wow,” Duncan murmured, glancing over his shoulder in the mirror’s reflection at the old man. “This is...more than I could have hoped for. It’s extraordinary. It’s...ethereal. Like it came from another world.”

“I knew it wouldn’t disappoint you. It’s been in the collecton for quite sometime--I never felt inclined to show it to anyone. I felt as though I couldn’t part with it. Until now, that is. For some reason, it feels as though it was meant to be yours all along. Isn’t that strange.”

“Can I please take a picture of it? I need to show it to her. I need to make sure it’s...it has to be perfect.”

“Certainly, Duncan. I’ll be at the front desk. Take your time.”

Frederick left, turned on his spindly silver-hooked cane as Duncan watched him through the mirror again; something in it seemed to shimmer in his gaze for a moment, as if a wave of gold passed over the surface, and Duncan was filled with a strange feeling, as if a rising tide had coursed down into his veins, swirled around his heart, pressed into the lining of his mind; as if something had fallen into place. He breathed deeply; the mirror was one of the most beautiful objects he had ever seen, and the thought of it in their bedroom, facing their bed, Kenzie’s golden hair falling around her shoulders in her reflection, her body turning in her beautiful little clothes, or naked, the softness of her skin in low light, her wrists tied tightly together and her arms extended to the ceiling, her form stretched towards it, her eyes shining out of its surface at him as he revered her body, its reflection of her a worship of her loveliness, filled him with fire. All for the worship of you, beloved. Oh, Kenzie, Mackenzie, my love.

Duncan pulled his phone out, stepping back several feet to include the entirety of the gigantic mirror in the photo; he smiled a little at his own reflection, his Givenchy sunglasses tucked over the front of his button-down, hair falling a little over his forehead, out at Kenzie, on the other side of the city, and added it to a text to her. Baby, it’s unbelievably beautiful. The picture can’t really do it justice. It seems like it was always meant to be ours. And it’s HUGE, 9 x 9 feet, he typed. He hit Send.

He looked up at it again as he waited for her reply; Duncan’s hand went to his chin involuntarily, his thoughts muddled by the beauty of this great object in front of him, his soul shaken by it. How had Frederick come upon such an extraordinary object, and how had it remained here until this very day, falling into his grasp this way? It seemed like Fate again to him; it seemed heavily destined. Duncan couldn’t imagine any other explanation. Like seeing Kenzie on that balcony among the roses, his heart struck with a longing he could not begin to fight, every sound fading and the starlight illuminating the fall of her hair, the shape of her shoulders, the jewels at her throat, and her eyes looking up at him from beneath the fall of her long lashes, stopping his heart. The mirror seemed to know him immediately, recognize the shape of him, as if it had beheld him before. As if I stood here before, in another room and another time and another place, but stood here in its gaze, and it remembers me now. He shivered again. His phone chimed, and he looked back down, tearing his eyes away from the colossal shape of it.

Kenzie: Duncan, oh my god. I can’t believe that’s even real. It’s AMAZING. It looks like it came from another world. Baby, I’m speechless.

Her echo of his own words sent a cold finger down Duncan’s spine. It really does, he typed back. I thought the same thing. It’s yours now. I can’t wait to see you, angel. I can’t wait to see your beautiful reflection in it.

Kenzie: Dunny, baby. I love you so much. Morgan made the most beautiful sketch for my dress...I can only imagine how gorgeous it’s going to be. I want it to be a surprise. Claire and I were thinking of getting a drink after we’re finished with Morgan and Erik--do you want to meet us somewhere? xxxxxxx

Duncan stared down at the X’s, his heart pounding. Dunny, baby. He thought of the day they’d planned tomorrow; the beach and sunlight and solitude, the promise of being wrapped in her arms all day, responsibilities forgotten and faraway. He thought of them finally alone in front of this mirror in their bedroom, Kenzie tied up under his hot, eager hands, thought of the lingerie he’d bought her that was soon to arrive in delicate pink boxes, and his body ached for her. Kenzie, I love you too. I can’t fucking wait to see that dress. Meet me at Jack Rose around 5?

Kenzie: That sounds good, baby. See you soon. She left the lipstick stain emoji at the end.

Duncan turned away from the mirror, his eyes lingering over its exquisite beauty for another moment, and went through the red curtain, to buy it from Frederick Stapleton.

-----

Duncan had made another purchase from Frederick before leaving the exclusive antique shop; a heavy, gilded ceiling hook made of bronze alongside a very long bronze-link chain that he now carried in a cloth bag clutched in his hand as he stepped outside. He vaguely mentioned something to Frederick about needing to hang a very heavy chandelier; if Frederick suspected it was for something else, he did not let on, just nodded and brought Duncan to an area that had dozens of antique hooks of varying sizes and styles. Duncan stepped into the car he’d called, asking the driver to take him back to the penthouse--he’d made arrangements with Frederick to have the mirror delivered within the hour, and there was still his email, unchecked today, that needed to be taken care of; not just coordinating his upcoming meeting with Claire Underwood, unbeknownst to Annette and his Uncle, but the confirmation of his Post interview with Kenzie and Ben Wilder next week. God, that mirror, his thoughts drifting away from emails, I want her to see it as soon as possible. It belongs in our bedroom. It has to be there when she gets home tonight. Frederick had given him a strange look before quoting the price to him; Duncan was still wondering what the look had meant, but he’d only asked for $100,000 for the mirror (the mirror to end all mirrors, Duncan thought); an extraordinarily low price for a piece so storied, unique, and rare. Duncan had balked at the amount--”Surely it’s worth more than that, Frederick.”

“It is.”

“Then why?”

“It’s meant to be yours.”

Duncan stared at the old man, studying him for a moment; Frederick stared back casually, decisively, as though his decision had come and gone and it was no longer something he could recant.

“This woman you love. It’s a gift for her, you said.”

“Yes. It is. She’s…” Duncan trailed off, looking away, feeling moisture gather in his eyes; words failed him, and he pressed his lips together, fighting off the wave of emotion that had crashed into him. She’s my one true love. She’s my soulmate. She’s the other half of me. The thoughts oscillated in his mind, filling him with blushing ardor. He pressed his hand to his chin, along his bottom lip, overcome.

“Mr. Shepherd. As I see it, the mirror is being returned to its owner. That’s all that can be said. All my happiness goes with it, to both of you.”

Duncan looked back up at the other man, and he nodded and smiled, because there were no more words to be said; Frederick was right. The mirror had, somehow, always been Kenzie’s; and now it would be a monument to her, an altar in her temple, a reflection of her staggering gold.

-------

“Anchaly, I need someone from maintenance to install this hook and chain in the bedroom ceiling tomorrow while Miss Stone and I are away,” Duncan said, coming up to the small man’s desk in the foyer of the high rise, setting the cloth bag carefully in front of him. “It’s for a chandelier. Oh, and I have a very large delivery arriving soon. Please allow them up into the penthouse. I’ll be at dinner with Mackenzie.”

Anchaly gave him a wry look, eyes dancing. “Of course, Mr. Shepherd. A chandelier. Lovely.” Duncan smiled at him in turn, not speaking; then, he turned and stepped to the elevators. Anchaly was very discreet, but the lobby had several other residents hanging around that afternoon--the last thing we need is someone to eavesdrop and blab to tabloids, I can just see the headline now: DUNCAN SHEPHERD AND MADELINE STONE INSTALL KINKY BONDAGE HOOK IN SEX DUNGEON. He snorted into his hand, unable to help himself, the elevator closing behind him; mercifully empty. He wondered, idly, what Kenzie’s dress looked like. With her by my side at the Gala, it’s going to be an incredibly memorable night, he thought. I hope they take a thousand pictures of her just to spite Mom. Everyone will see us together; no one will be able to deny anymore that Kenzie is meant to be in this world, that she shines brighter than anyone. That she’s a fucking goddess. Duncan came into the penthouse, tossing his sunglasses and wallet and phone onto the side-table by the front door, pressing a hand through his hair as he sat down at his Macbook on the low leather couch, fiddling with his Movado. The last of the work now; then just him and Kenzie for the rest of the night, and all of tomorrow.

-----

An hour or so later, Duncan stepped into to open space of Jack Rose’s Dining Saloon, a spacious whiskey bar with a truly impressive bar stretching the entire expanse of the space; wall to wall bottles of every shape and size, and the emphasis, of course, on whiskey. He thought of that first night again, a week ago (only a week?), when Kenzie’s little voice had said “Whiskey,” when he’d asked what she wanted from the bar and he’d gone hot and cold with the intensity of his desire for her, her fingers brushing against his when they clinked their Old Fashioneds together; when she’d agreed to go back to the penthouse with him, he thought he had to be dreaming. How has Fate smiled so on me. Duncan had often come here to have a drink alone; the bartenders knew him and most of the patrons left him alone (they were used to famous clientele), and they had the best whiskey selection in DC; his eyes scanned the long, open bar, searching for Kenzie’s telltale tawny hair or Claire’s short blonde shag. He spotted them towards the end, sitting in the high bar stools--Claire’s back was turned to him but he could see she was wearing a coral-colored summery wrap dress covered in blue, pink and gold catalina flower print, her legs crossed, a dry martini with two olives cradled in her hand, elbow resting on the back of the chair--and (my Kenzie) Kenzie was across from her, knees turned sideways in her seat towards Claire, the white stretch of her thighs visible between her mini skirt and long boots, and her hand was around a cocktail tumbler--a mint julep, from the sprigs of fresh mint he could pinpoint from this distance. Claire’s head was obscuring her face, but Duncan could see the angle of Kenzie’s chin was turned up to a man who stood a few inches from the backs of their chairs. The man was average, height-wise--shorter than me by a couple inches, I’d say, Duncan thought with a petty twinge of triumph--with shortly trimmed black hair and olive skin; he had a round, handsome, friendly face; he was physically fit and standing casually near Kenzie, a coiled, nervous energy in his stance, but with a measure of familiarity, as if they knew each other. He wore a white button-down with several of the buttons toward the top undone, exposing a measured stretch of skin along his neckline, and tailored slacks in navy blue with dark-colored plain-toe Oxford shoes. His hand was in one of his pockets, a pint glass half-full of dark beer in the other, and he was smiling at Kenzie as she spoke up at him, and something about the way he was smiling at her made a hot dagger of jealousy stab into Duncan’s temples.

Who is that.

Duncan pulled his sunglasses away from his eyes, shoving them into the dip of his short-sleeved Ferragamo shirt, pushing a hand along the side of his hair, stepping quickly to the corner where his girlfriend, her best friend, and this annoyingly charming person were huddled. Stop smiling at her, he thought at the man, a slight edge of embarrassment at the immediacy of his jealousy creeping into his mind. Something about the smile was full of warm affection; this man did know Kenzie, and this man cared about her, or else, he had cared about her--they hadn’t noticed Duncan yet and the man laughed a little at something Kenzie said...and the twinge of jealousy flared in Duncan again. He came up close enough to catch the man’s eye; they turned a little, eyes skirting between Kenzie and Duncan, expression softening with curiosity and wary recognition and vague enviousness, and Kenzie’s gaze fell on Duncan as the man stepped back a little, the small smile she’d been giving him widening as her bright hazel eyes fell into Duncan’s. Duncan’s heart twinged with immediate affection; Kenzie is so beautiful. Like a star with the rest of us orbiting around her.

“Hey baby,” Kenzie breathed, and she hopped down from the bar stool, pressing against him immediately. Duncan’s arms came around her and he couldn’t push away the possessive bloom of need that opened in him at the feeling of her hair against him and the smell of her skin and the soft incline of her lips and lashes from the bottom of his eyeline, and he leaned down to her and kissed her, open-mouthed; kiss me, Kenzie, kiss me, he thought, sheepishness at his inability to stay calm mixed in with his desirous abandon for her. She returned the deepness of his kiss for a moment and then pulled away, and he could see the blush on her cheeks at his neediness in front of the two pairs of eyes that watched them on either side; Claire with an expression of amusement (well, at least someone’s having fun, Duncan thought towards her) and the man with a skirting mixture of envious interest and awkwardness. “Hi baby,” he replied, breathless with the taste of her and the bitterness of his jealous rush. “Sorry I’m a little bit late, my car got stuck in the rush hour drift. Hey, Claire. You look lovely.”

Claire’s eyes drifted between the other man and Duncan, and she said “Hi, Duncan. Oh shucks, stop,” with a grin. She dipped the edge of her martini glass up to her mouth and took a long sip, as if to steel herself against the conversation she was about to witness. Kenzie looked between the two men for a moment and Duncan could see the blush in her cheeks deepen; she hopped back into her bar stool, facing him, clutching his arm for a moment, then held her hands out in short “ta-da” movement towards the dark-haired stranger. “Duncan, this is Tyler. Tyler Landau. Tyler--this is Duncan Shepherd.”

“Everyone knows who Duncan Shepherd is.” Tyler pulled the hand he’d had in his pocket out, holding it out to Duncan and giving him a small half-smile. Duncan grasped it, staring into the other man’s face for a moment; rather than feeling as though he disliked him, Duncan could immediately see a likability in Tyler, an affable evenness of temper. This is Kenzie’s ex, he knew in a rush, remembering the way they’d clutched each other in the shower as she told me about the man she used to love. This man. She loved him once. She lost her virginity to him. She used to kiss him, my Kenzie...she was tangled in his sheets for three years...

“Kenzie’s told me about you,” Duncan said. “A pediatrician, right?”

“Still in Residency, I’m afraid--3 years in. Not convinced it’s actually ever going to end.”

“Tyler’s here with some of his coworkers--it’s such a weird coincidence,” Kenzie murmured, her voice rushing with nervousness. She tucked a wave of hair behind her ear, pulling her mint julep up to her mouth, and Duncan felt a wave of affection for her. “He saw us come in from where they’re sitting over there and came over to say hi,” Kenzie gestured to a low table on the other end of the bar; Duncan glanced back and noticed a group of young professionals that all looked to be in their late 20’s, casual-dressy like Tyler, chatting amiably over cocktails and appetizers--a few of them met Duncan’s gaze with curious interest; he knew they recognized him. Duncan turned back. “DC feels oddly small that way sometimes,” he said. “Tyler, can I buy you a drink?”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to--”

“I insist.”

He crooked a finger at the bartender, who was eyeing him knowingly--it was Murphy, the ginger-bearded head bartender, who Duncan knew of many a drunken evening. “Murphy, can I get two of the Four Roses single-barrel year-100? Two rocks for each.” “You got it, boss,” Murphy replied, briskly setting up two tulip-shaped whiskey glasses. “Nice to see ya, Duncan, it’s been a minute.” “Same to you, Murph.” Murphy passed Duncan the two glasses across the smooth marbled surface of the bar; Duncan handed him his Black AmEx, and turned with the glasses to hand one to Kenzie’s ex. You have to stay calm, he told himself. You can’t let your insecurities in. Kenzie’s with you now and she deserves your even temper. Imagine if it was Misha or Evan, and how strange you would feel.

“Thanks, man,” Tyler said, draining the rest of his beer and leaning on Kenzie’s opposite side (don’t touch her, the thought flashed through Duncan’s mind despite his attempts to quell it) to set the empty pint on the bar, reaching for the tulip glass Duncan held out. As he’d assumed from a distance, Duncan was a couple inches taller than Tyler; they had similar builds, though Tyler was vaguely stockier. “That wasn’t necessary, but I appreciate it. I don’t want to impose on your evening…”

Too late, Duncan thought. But now that you’re here, I’m fucking curious, I can’t help it.

“...it’s just been awhile since Kenzie and I saw each other, and I’dve felt weird about it if I didn’t come over to say hello.”

“Don’t apologize, I understand.” Duncan held out his glass. “Cheers.”

Tyler leaned out to clink his against the edge of Duncan’s; Kenzie and Claire made similar motions, and Duncan could see the tiny tremor in Kenzie’s hand. She’s freaking out. He swallowed a mouthful of the whiskey, savoring the warmth of it in his throat, and reached out a long hand to press it into Kenzie’s knee. She put her little fingers over the incline of his wrist, her eyes looking up into his, and he saw the trepidation hiding inside them. I don’t know if you can hear me right now baby, he thought, concentrating on the gold flecks swirling in her gaze, but if you can, be calm, okay? Everything’s okay. He seems nice. I can see why you were with him. I love you. Duncan saw Kenzie’s expression soften just a little, the stiff position of her shoulders smooth downwards. He was struck with the longing to press his fingers through her hair, touch the little star charms on her necklace; he moved closer to her, between her seat and Claire’s, his back to the bar, facing Tyler, and kept his hand there on her knee, taking another sip of the whiskey; it was flooding into his senses, and he felt his tongue loosen.

“So you and Kenzie dated for three years.”

Tyler’s eyes skirted between Duncan and Kenzie, hesitating. When Kenzie didn’t say anything, staring down into her mint julep, he replied. “Yeah, while we were at school. But it was just one of those things, huh, Kenz. There aren’t any hard feelings from me.”

“No, no--there aren’t from me either.” Kenzie’s gaze skirted between him and the her ex boyfriend (his eyes are as different from mine as one could conceive, Duncan thought, russet and warm), giving them both small smiles. Her fingers squeezed around Duncan’s hand, and he squeezed her in return, possessiveness clasping at his heart again, pushing guilt through his gut.

“I’ve seen some of the stuff about both of you in the news lately--I was pretty surprised to see Kenzie all over social media all of a sudden,” Tyler went on, shifting on his feet a little, “...how long have you two been seeing each other, anyway?”

Kenzie looked up into Duncan’s eyes as she replied. “A week.” But it feels like longer, doesn’t it, baby. It feels like we’ve always known each other. He felt her thought drift into him with a swirling, warm pressure. Yes, baby. It does.

“A week that’s felt like a month,” Claire interjected, “since twenty things have happened every day since. I can’t even believe how much I’m seeing Kenzie online now, it’s so surreal.”

“Yeah, actually, now that you mention it, Claire, I saw the two of you are a trending topic on Instagram and Twitter for, like, four days now,” Tyler said, grinning. “That must be weird for you, Kenz. Your mom always said you wanted attention until you got it, then you didn’t want it anymore.”

Duncan bristled at the familiarity of the words Madeline had spoken to him over their dinner at Busboys several days before. “Madeline’s a fucking delight,” he said, eager to be part of the conversation. I know her too, Doc. “We had dinner the other night and I was totally enamored with her.”

Kenzie looked up at him with a radiant smile bursting across her face; Duncan moved his hand from her knee to the small of her back under the slat at the back of the bar stool. Wildly, the thought of her hand clutched around his throat flashed through his mind; the way she’d straddled his lap in the BMW that night on the way back to the penthouse. You better do as I say. Duncan wondered with a flash of heat pulsing in the pit of his stomach if she’d ever commanded Tyler that way--if Tyler had melted in her hands. It wouldn’t matter who it was, he knew. Anyone would bow to her.

“Once, Madeline took Kenz and I to this weird Cirque du Soleil show in Vegas,” Tyler said, his expression the amused look of someone remembering a fond memory. “And she’d smoked some hash with us before--because it’s fucking Madeline--and then she started having a bad trip in the middle of it and started yelling about pink elephants everywhere, pink elephants staring at her with beady eyes, pink elephants with too many balloons and they made us leave--we were just standing on the sidewalk fucking howling by then, remember that, Kenz--”

Stop fucking calling her that, Duncan thought, an annoyed jab flashing through his mind again. Stop being so fucking familiar. Duncan looked down at Kenzie and noticed the amusement in her face, the giggle of remembrance around her mouth. The memory of her affection for him, he knew, and it made him ache. “Oh god,” she said, and he pressed his fingers into her a little, the ache spreading through his arm. “That day was insane. I forgot about that, I laughed so hard I fucking cried, we had to practically carry her back to the hotel.”

Duncan took another hard sip of the bourbon; it was heady and wildly heavy and it made his skull pound. He looked up at the man across from him again as she spoke--Tyler’s hand was back in his pocket, and Duncan noticed the way his dark eyes fell over Kenzie’s loveliness--the cascade of her gold hair, her little mouth grinning, her tongue slipping between her teeth, bringing her glass up to her mouth, her arm tucking under her little breasts in amusement, toying with the star necklace that dipped down there. He didn’t break up with you, Duncan realized, his heart twinging. You broke up with him. He still loves you, doesn’t he. Why wouldn’t he? Everyone loves you. I love you. I love you so much it fucking hurts.

“I need to order some fucking food,” Claire said, breaking up the amusement between Kenzie and Tyler, to Duncan’s relief. “Where did that bartender go?” Duncan turned, catching Murphy’s eye from down the bar, waving a little; Murphy came back, cocking his head towards them. “Oh, thank god,” Claire murmured. “The perks of having the famous person in your crew. Can we get the shared supper plate, please?”

“Oh, oh, I want the chicken skins too, please,” Kenzie said excitedly, and Duncan noticed she’d drained her mint julep out of nervousness; “And two more of these,” he said, pointing to Kenzie and Claire’s empty glasses. Murphy nodded, grinning; Duncan understood why, both Kenzie and Claire were lovely, their energy warm and infectious; but Kenzie’s glow was iridescent, intoxicating, throwing her brightness around this corner, pulling the eyes of the room in. Tyler watched her with eyes that couldn’t seem to hide their longing--and Duncan felt another twinge of intense jealousy towards the man who had first known her bed, who had gotten to spend so many days with her, who had a wealth of memories with her that Duncan, no matter how many memories he would build atop them, would never be privy to.

“Well, I think it’s time for me to go back to my table,” Tyler said, as if he sensed the roiling shadow of Duncan’s thoughts. “Kenzie...I wish you the best in everything, always. Duncan, thank you for the drink, I really appreciate it. Claire, it was nice to see you again.” Tyler leaned forward over Kenzie’s little face, and before she could react, he kissed her cheek quickly, eyes closing--then he lifted away from her and nodded a little at Duncan, staring at him evenly. Then he drained the last of the whiskey from the tulip glass and set it carefully on the bar, giving the three of them a little wave, and turned back to his table where his coworkers beckoned to him. Duncan watched his back retreat for a moment before turning his face down to Kenzie, who stared up at him with the same expression of concern; he leaned his mouth down to her, hand at the back of her hair, and pressed her into him, needy with relief that the other man had gone away, unable to stop the onslaught of emotion that washed over him now.

“Well, that was fun,” Claire said to them, staring innocently up at the hundreds of bottles lined along the bar, pointedly away from their passionate kiss that continued to extend. Duncan didn’t care. He’d waited all day to kiss her and then her fucking ex boyfriend had appeared and he was starving for her now.

“Baby,” Duncan whispered down into Kenzie’s ear as his mouth fell away from hers. “I missed you so fucking much today. Wait until you see it. Just wait. It’s the most beautiful--”

“Oh, Duncan,” she whispered back into him, her hands coming around his face. “Dunny, I missed you too, baby, I’m so sorry about that, I never expected him to be here--”

“Shhh, it’s fine,” Duncan kissed her again, with shuddering softness this time. “It doesn’t matter--”

“Excuse me, Prince Duncan and Princess Kenzie, but y’all are making me clutch my pearls right now,” Claire interrupted them as Murphy brought them fresh drinks, a waiter close behind with the tray of charcuterie Claire had ordered for them; Kenzie’s chicken skins in their other hand. “Can’t wait for some photos of this moment on BPF tomorrow, I’ll make sure to send them to you as your official press secretary, Kenzie.”

Kenzie gave her friend a shy gaze but clapped a little, delighted, at the food. “Oh my god, I’m so fucking hungry, I forgot to eat all day between fighting with Annette and trying to figure out the dress. Oh baby, wait till you see it--it’s going to be so wonderful--”

Duncan smiled down at her, sliding into the seat on her left, the tide of his relief riding over him with the richness of the aged whiskey he’d just drank, reaching out to the charcuterie and plucking an olive from one of the little bowls, slipping it into his mouth. He pushed his hand through the wave of her hair, skin tingling from the contact with her he’d longed for and had had to postpone. “And wait ‘till you see this mirror, baby--”

“Mirror?” Claire was eavesdropping, her eyes dancing, reaching for crackers and slivers of aged cheddar on the big plate, sipping at her second martini. “What mirror?”

“Duncan found this amazing mirror today for the penthouse--” Kenzie opened her phone and showed Claire the photo Duncan had sent her earlier. Claire goggled at it, her mouth falling open. “Holy shit, that’s incredible. All the gold, like, how big is that thing, wow, that’s fucking extravagant.” She gave Kenzie a coy look. “Wonder what you’ll do with that, hmmmm.” Duncan slipped a hand over his mouth, trying to hide his grin, but he knew Claire saw; she wiggled her eyebrows at them, mock-seductive. “Your own personal movie theater, huh?” Kenzie blushed, biting the nail of her index finger as Claire giggled at her, and Duncan was struck with the desire to pull her against him, cradle her in his arms with protective need. “Oh, by the way, Duncan, I rode in the BMW with Kenzie over here and Samuel is a fucking dream, I wanna marry him now.”

“He’s single,” Duncan said, only half-jokingly. “Somehow, impossibly.”

“He doesn’t have time to date when he’s carting your ass around all the time,” Claire retorted, and Duncan laughed a little. “Touche. He needs more vacation time.” Duncan’s eyes fell over Kenzie devouring one of the chicken skins clutched between two fingers in her little hand, then skirted behind her to where Tyler sat on the other side of the restaurant with his table of pediatric co-residents. Duncan could see the other man’s dark eyes falling back over to where they sat the end of the bar; especially over Kenzie’s gold hair, the incline of her back. Duncan brought his hand into her lap again, riding high up on her thigh; Kenzie giggled a little, swallowing; “Baby, that tickles.” She brought her lips up against his, wiping her hands carefully on her napkin before she pressed her fingers against his jaw on either side, pulling him against her. “I love you,” she whispered into his mouth, and he closed his eyes, smelling the sweetness of her perfume and the grease and the whiskey and mint on her lips, loving the scent of her and the texture. She loves me, Duncan thought with relief. How am I so lucky? She loves me, I love her, loves me, I love her, she loves me...

--------

They’d driven Claire back to her Dupont Circle apartment, about a fifteen minute walk from where Kenzie used to live. Claire was quite tipsy and Duncan had carefully helped her to her door, her arm threaded through his to keep from falling; she’d sat in the front seat with Samuel, the partition open so they could all talk together, and Duncan could tell his driver was quite taken with her; you say you wanna marry Samuel, but I think he wants to marry you, Duncan thought, watching his chauffeur and Kenzie’s best friend flirt, his hand in Kenzie’s lap. She was gazing at him with a contented, quiet look in her eyes; waiting for us to be alone, me too, baby, he thought towards her. Claire had hugged his neck (as was her way) as he deposited her at the door of her apartment; “I know you saw what I saw,” she said, leaning down to his face conspiratorially, her words slurring a little with all the gin from her martini having settled in, the sharp scent of it in his nose. “And I always suuuspected their break-up was one-sided. Tyler was giving her googly eyes, big ones. But here’s the thing, Duncan--she issin love with you. Like, I have never seen her SO happy in my whole LIFE, and I’ve known her since she was fucking up volleyball serves in high school. You’re gonna marry her. I know it.”

“Goodnight, Claire,” Duncan let go of her gently, smiling at her and nodding, and Claire stood there dazed for a moment, lost in the drift of the alcohol, then she gave him a little salute, like she was a private saluting a sergeant, and twisted the doorknob, falling inside. Duncan tried to shake the whiskey out of his head, too, the cool evening air helping a little as he walked back to the BMW; he slid back into the backseat, noticing Kenzie was already pushing the partition button, allowing them privacy from Samuel, the last obstruction to their solitude.

“Baby, I--you know I had no idea Tyler would be there--” she said in a rush, but he broke her off gently.

“Kenzie, of course. I know.”

“I could hear--I could hear you. The intensity of your thoughts. It was all around me. Like a ring of fire.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I tried to push it away, tried to bury it--”

“No...I sort of...I liked it.” Kenzie’s face came close, hovering under his chin; her mouth open, anticipating. Tonight Nat King Cole’s rich voice floated from the speakers, somewhere in the background of the golden sphere of her little body, finally so close to him: you’ll never know how slow the moments go...till I’m near to you...I see your face...in every flower...your eyes in stars above…Her eyes stared up into his (flecks of gold, bronze, dark sunset in a forest), her voice low and sweet, her breath shallow, and her other hand was falling down his chest to hover along his stomach and then at his hip, just above his crotch, the tips of her fingers brushing him with aching hesitation. “I...I liked that you were so jealous. I liked that you needed me so much, want me so much...like you were going to burst into a bonfire. Like you couldn’t bear it...like...when you wondered if I’d touched him that way--” It’s just the thought of you, the very thought of you...my love...

“Kenzie,” he breathed into her. “Touch me. Please, baby.”

She reached up so her hands fell on his jaw and in his hair, and he was pulling her against him, hands harshly clasped on her hips as the BMW drove the short distance back to the penthouse, falling into her in the dark.

“He still loves you,” he spoke between their kisses, gasping, his hands falling down the velvety feeling of her boots and back up to the bareness of her thigh, the curve of her hip and the tiny dip of her waist, his eyes shut, unable to bear the sight of her for fear she would shake his soul again with her loveliness, her otherworldliness, the taste of her enough to drive him into a state of mad emotion, threatening to make him unable to speak, the scent of her falling down into his senses, filling him up, sucking his breath away. “I could tell by the way he looked at you, baby. He wished he could go back to when you were his. I could see it.”

“Duncan, it doesn’t matter. I only love you.”

He sighed into her; Duncan felt tears prick at his eyes. Her mouth was so soft in the dark it was like the delicate petals of a flower under his lips, and his heart was swollen with the sounds she made, her tiny moans under his hands, the hum of her breathing in his ears in the shadows; he longed to breathe something into her, an admonition of passion and adoration so sincere, so entire, that it would dispel all doubt from her mind for as long as they lived--he wanted her to know the depth of his love would never fade, that he would worship her until the stars faded from the heavens and the sun burned away into darkness, but how could he? How could he find words? “I love you,” was all he could whisper, his mouth on her chin and the incline of her throat, “I love you, I love you, Kenzie--”.

The partition floated down and they broke apart, achingly, reluctantly, and he could see Kenzie’s little frame shivering with the intensity of her breathing in the dark; they hadn’t noticed the BMW had pulled up to the high-rise and had been idling, quietly, for several minutes.

“We’re home, Mr. Shepherd, Miss Stone,” Samuel said quietly, his eyes skirting over their dishelvement, their harsh breathing. Ushering us on to the quiet solitude of our bed, Duncan thought with a warm, vague knowledge. He nodded at the other man. “Thank you, Samuel. We’re taking the jet to Yarmouth tomorrow, can you pick us up around 9?”

“Very good, Mr. Shepherd. Miss Mackenzie, it was a pleasure to drive you today. Anytime you want to listen to Stevie, you let me know.”

Kenzie’s little smile broke over her cheeks in the shadows; “Thank you, Samuel. It was wonderful to spend time with you today.” Duncan opened the door and slid out, reaching down for her hand, anxious for her touch again. She slipped her small fingers between his, the sound of her boots on the sidewalk clicking in his ears, the soft lights of the street lamps falling over her small frame. He pulled her gently with him, wishing in that moment that he could snap his fingers and they’d suddenly appear in the bedroom, where he knew that vast, quiet, gold monument to her was waiting. Jerry pulled the door open, nodding to them without speaking; Anchaly was away from his desk at the moment, and Duncan silently thanked the Fates (Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos)--every interaction with anyone else was a distraction from his desire to show her what he’d found for her today, the thing he’d found that was already hers. In the elevator Kenzie let go of his hand and stepped to the opposite side, and they stood there across from each other, staring, the elevator’s mirror reflecting their profiles from the corner of Duncan’s eye--Kenzie leaned her ass against the smooth gold wall, parting her legs a little, bringing her hands into the dip of her crotch, not moving her eyes away from his face. Duncan’s hands gripped the rail behind him, the tension in his body rising, his need to feel her again making him dizzy.

“How was your day today, baby?” he said quietly.

“It was...long. Good. Sort of. Your mom--god, she hates me.”

Duncan bit his lip as the elevator climbed, his eyes on the flushed shimmer of her cheeks; 22, 23, 24. “We’re going to work on it, okay? We’re going to make her see.”

Kenzie nodded at him, a tiny smile at the corners of her mouth. “My dress, baby. Just wait. And Erik was lovely.” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear; his heart shuddered.

“Mmhmm, he is. I can’t wait to see it, baby.” The elevator dinged, the doors sliding apart. Duncan reached for her but Kenzie--ugh, she’s so good at that, it makes me insane--slid away from him, looking at him back over her shoulder as she walked ahead of him to the penthouse door, her little teeth shining out of her mouth at him, a glint in her eyes. “Come here,” he said, needy.

“Come get me,” she replied, slipping her keycard into the slot by the door; it beeped and she swung it open, disappearing inside. Duncan groaned softly; fuck baby, I will. He fumbled with his wallet, snatching out his own key, hurriedly jamming it into the slot and yanking the door open; Kenzie had already kicked her boots off and was trotting around the corner in her little bare feet, towards the bedroom, hair shimmering. The penthouse was cool and quiet with evening; the diamond-drop chandelier reflecting the low lamps in the living room, his eyes skirting over her succulents along the sink, and he could see one of the little lamps in the bedroom had been switched on--as he followed Kenzie, kicking his own shoes off, he heard her gasp as she stopped dead, facing the wall that was obscured from this angle by the doorway. He stepped through, seeing her hands come up to her cheeks, her mouth snap shut, her eyes grow wide. He glanced to where she stared--there it was, this silent speculum of time, its carvings dipping softly in the shadows, vines, fruits and flowers, its clear reflection of them snatching his breath as he stepped up beside her. Duncan marveled for a moment at the difference in their heights--her little golden head only reaching to just below the bend of his shoulders, his hands obscuring her under his touch as he reached for her--and yet, he thought, your greatness astounds me, beloved. Your wonders are confounding to me, your secrets endless and each one more precious than any riches. She continued to stare at their reflection as his arms came around her from behind, pressing his stomach gently into her back, fingers falling around the dip of her elbows, tightening, desirous, his face falling into the crook of her neck, his eyes looking up into hers through the mondo glass that stretched before them. He shivered a little at his own gaze--a blue fire raging in the center of him, every ember of it for her, reflecting outwards.

“Duncan, this…” He felt her shudder violently under his hands, and he moved his fingers down to cup around her breasts, clutching her, longing to soothe the shaking in her limbs, pressing soft kisses against her ear.

“It’s yours, isn’t it. It belongs to you.”

Kenzie’s eyes grew clouded as he said it, puzzled, but acknowledging, lost in the confusion of her sudden knowledge that he was right.

“It’s...I know it from somewhere. Like it used to be mine. How can that be, baby? How can this be mine?”

“I don’t know, Kenzie. But I knew it too, when I saw it. I knew it was yours. I knew it was yours...I don’t fucking know, baby, in another life. I knew it.” He turned her into him, aching for her mouth--she pressed into him, impossibly small and soft and delicate, smelling of roses and the gathering desire on her skin--and Duncan’s hands pushed under the fabric of her shirt, his fingers trailing along the soft skin at her spine, the rise of her ribs.

“I feel like I’ve looked into it before.”

“I know. I do, too. I don’t know how that’s possible. When I looked into it--” Duncan moaned into her as she pushed her hand into the waistband of his clothes, her fingers sliding down to grasp at the shaft of his cock, growing hard and pressing into the fabric, straining. “--it felt like I’d looked into it before.”

“I need you, Dunny.”

“Kenzie, angel--”

“Stare at me in this mirror and fuck me. Do it, right now.”

Duncan couldn’t stop the burst of lust, like the unexpected, painful dusting of an electric current, that danced across his mind as her command fell into his ears. Yes, goddess. He gripped her arms harshly, pulling her neck roughly into his mouth, biting down on the sensitive skin there--Kenzie cried out, quickening the heat in his groin, and Duncan brought his thumb into her mouth, which had opened for him, pressing it into her little tongue forcefully. Her eyes fluttered and she sucked; “Yes, angel,” he murmured, “Suck.” He used his other hand to push at the mini skirt around her waist, yanking it down from her hips where it pooled around her ankles, exposing the silkiness of her dark underwear. Kenzie stepped out of the skirt, parting her legs against him; he slipped his hand into the waistband of her panties and pressed his fingers, demanding, into her sex, and she arched into him, moaning into his thumb still pressed to her tongue, the vibration of her throat sending lightning bolts of sensation through his body. He moved his hand out of her panties and his finger from her mouth and stepped back, willing himself with every ounce of resolve he had, and she whimpered, leaning into the emptiness where his hands had been and his heart ached terribly.

“Baby,” he breathed, reaching up to work at the buttons of his shirt, “Take off your clothes. I’ll watch you, you watch me.”

Kenzie nodded, lifting the hem of the collared shirt over her head, tossing her starry necklace on the floor, her hair falling over her bare shoulders as she let the shirt drop after it; Duncan finished the buttons of his own shirt and let it fall, fingers fumbling at his belt buckle as he watched her unhook the back of the little bra she wore, exposing her breasts, covered in the goosebumps of her arousal, and her little fingers slipped down to slide the waistband of her panties off, stepping out of them, and suddenly, she was naked in front of him, her eyes shining with anticipation of the return of his touch. Duncan watched her eyes watch him push his pants and briefs down, exposing his cock, now hard with his arousal, then her gaze slid up into his and he paused at the demand inside them. Fuck me. I command you.

He pushed into her roughly; pushed her back, her tiny body sliding against him with wild lightness; pushed her until her back and her ass fell against the cold, smooth surface of the mirror, pressed her against it, their mouths crushed together, tongues entwining, his fingers brushing up into her cunt, hard, insistent, her little fingers gripping his cock, pulling him against her, and then Duncan lifted his hand to her throat and gripped her there, turning her cheek so his mouth pressed into her ear roughly, and he said “I’m gonna fuck you now, baby, so turn around and put your hands on the mirror.”

“Uh huh, baby, yes,” Kenzie whimpered, and he loosened the harsh grip of his fingers so she turned her body toward the mirror, pressing the palms of her hands into the smooth glass, leaning so her ass lifted towards his groin, her hair falling down over her shoulders and back, lifting her gaze to stare at him in the reflection. Duncan returned her gaze in the mirror as he gathered her hair in his fist, twisting it once around his hand, drunk with the reflection of their bodies hovering together, and her head jerked back a little, a moan falling from her little mouth, her eyes fluttering. “Unng, baby, yes,” she mewled, lifting her hips back towards his erection, and he was struck with another hot wave of need at the sound she had made, wanton and supplicant to him. Then, he pushed his cock, hard and sudden, down into her, and she let out a cry that shook hot drops of avid thirst down his spine. Duncan pulled harshly at her hair (your beautiful hair, your golden hair baby, in my fist, all mine) and plunged in and out of her warmth, and Kenzie cried out again and again, his moans falling into her--her eyes closed and Duncan jerked her head back a little, demanding. “Look at me, Kenzie.” Her eyes snapped open to him; the green hue was deeply present, shining out at him, ethereal and haunting. “That’s right. Look at me.”

“Uhh, baby,” she moaned, and he slipped his palm under her chin and brought her head back and kissed her, hard, his lips bruising into hers, his fist still around her hair, his cock buried in her; then he looked up at the reflection of her, tip-toed, mouth open, eyes turned up to him, breasts shivering, palms flat on the mirrored glass, her body bent into him. “Down, baby,” he said, letting go of her hair to carefully ease her onto her knees with him by her hips, her hands sliding slowly down the mirror’s surface until both of them were kneeling in front of it. He pulled back on her hips, moving slow, still buried inside her, and Kenzie’s hands fell to the floor, to the dark wood between the rug and the edge of the mirror. Duncan brought his hand up around her neck again, looking into her eyes in the mirror; “I love holding you here,” he murmured to her, fingers clenching on her throat, and rebounded his efforts at pounding his length into the warm dip of her cunt, pressing her legs outward, demandingly, with his thighs until she was trembling, prostrate, spread, her tiny body crushed into his and totally at his mercy, her mouth trembling up at him in the glass, her cheeks flushed with need. Duncan slipped his index and middle fingers deep into his mouth, slicking them with spit, then pressed them down into her ass, working them harshly back and forth as he fucked her, his concentration smooth and unbroken and utterly demanding of her; Kenzie spasmed and her mouth widened and her eyes rolled back into her head, and a long bead of drool ran from the corner of her mouth, glittering in the reflection, her senses abandoned in the forceful movement of his fingers inside her.

“Look at us,” Duncan commanded her, and Kenzie’s eyes widened from her desirous haze as he continued to work at her cunt with his cock (so hard, I’m so fucking hard baby, so hard for you, filling you up like this, god you feel good, like I’m meant to be inside you always) and her tight asshole with his long fingers, her shivering body totally at his beholden to him, supple under his insistence, “look at us fuck, baby, watch me fuck you like this--”

“Duncan, unnngh,” Kenzie murmured, “I want you to fuck my ass, baby,” and Duncan’s eyes rolled back at that, rolled back with the rocking burst of fervor her words kindled in him. He could see the glistening trail at her chin where she’d drooled and he wanted to reach out and wipe it away, but didn’t; a secret gift for him, her supplication, her abandon for him.

He pulled out of her and she whined, piteously. “Stay there. Do not move, angel,” he said, and Kenzie froze, eyes staring into him from her reflection. He pushed himself up, his achingly hard erection illuminated in the mirror’s watchful, long eye, and went into the bathroom where he knew Kenzie’s jar of coconut oil was sitting on the counter beside the squarish shape of her perfume. He eased a hand along his cock as he did, slick with the wet of the inside of her vulva, concentrating on it, bringing the jar back out with him to where he saw her still kneeling obediently in front of the mirror, her ass shivering almost imperceptibly from the memory of him pounding against her a moment before, the memory of his fingers, her legs still achingly spread. He stood there over her for a moment, gazing into her eyes in the mirror’s reflection again; this fucking mirror is something extraordinary, he thought, where did it even come from, and it’s going to be in our room always now, fuck, it’ll make me hard every time I look at it, seeing you in it makes me want to die in your eyes, baby, and Kenzie was nodding at him, her mouth open again; she’d heard him. “Yes, baby, yes,” Kenzie said, “Yes, it makes me so fucking wet for you, baby, fuck me again. Fuck me. Do as I say.”

He knelt again, obediently, unscrewing the lid on the oil, plunging his fingers into it and rubbing his hands together; the feeling of it was achingly cool and slippery, the bittersweet smell of it drifting into his nose, and he slathered it along his length so his cock shone in the low light; then he rewet his hands with more of it, rubbing it harshly into the lining of Kenzie’s vulva, up into her ass again as he pressed his fingers into her until she was soaking wet with it and glistening under his hand, and she bucked back into his touch, moaning again, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a flick of her head, her fingernails scraping along the dark wood in front of her, the dark green and gold of her eyes staring into his of blue fire embers. Beloved.

‘Fuck my ass, baby,” she said, letting her little mouth hang open as the words fell from her lips, and in her eyes he saw both the command and the subservience of her desire; saw that she demanded it of him, but also saw her acquiescence; her complete adoration, the adjuration of her love, and the fire of her need to bring him pleasure. I would do anything she told me to do, I would die for her or kill for her, but she would do anything for me, too, she will prostrate herself to me, and be happy to do it, and command me to command her and will obey me when she wants to because it gives her pleasure to do it, and I will obey her in all things, command her to her liking and for her joy, and he knew this utterly.

Duncan let his cock hover over the tight pucker of her ass for a moment more, pulling his fingers out, and they shivered against each other, eyes locked, their thoughts cascading against each other: My Persephone, give yourself to me, your Hades, give me your flowers and your heart and your body and your soul, and I am lost to you forever, for all of time, I am yours now and always, yours alone, I am lost in you, I am yours, body and soul. Then he pushed into her, shockwaves coursing through him at her tightness around his length and they both moaned, overcome with it. Kenzie whimpered with the combined adulation of intense pleasure and low pain, moving her hips under his hands, pushing him further in, almost subconsciously; wanting more from him; wanting him to fuck her deeper, immediately. Duncan moved into her, carefully; he looked up to see both their mouths hung open, lost in the sensation of him inside her this way, their eyes glossy with yearning. “I’m gonna fuck you harder now, angel,” he heard his voice say, low with promise, and Kenzie nodded and let out a little sound that was some combination of a sigh and a moan, words beyond her in this moment. He moved his hips, building up a stronger rhythm-- and he saw Kenzie’s tongue loll out of her mouth as he did, her senses overcome, saw a line of moisture drip down from her vulva onto the carpet in the mirror’s reflection where her cunt pulsed, empty of him but still hungry and building on its desirous need with the wild sensation of his long, aching hardness burying itself in her tight asshole, spreading her to the breaking point.

“Unnng, baby, you’re so big,” she whimpered, and he eased his hands down her back, his fingers coming over her hip to rub into her soaking clit, his other hand coming up to clutch the back of her head, golden hairs tangled in his fingers. “You’re so fucking big, baby, you’re filling me up to the edge, I can’t--I can’t--” She bucked into him again, his cock sliding down into her ass almost to the shaft, and Duncan wondered how long he could hold on, not very fucking long, baby, I don’t think I can, and saw his tongue flick out and lick his lips as she watched him, his need for her overwhelming.

“Kenzie, baby, you’re so tight, angel, you feel so fucking amazing, your little ass around my cock like this, fuck--”

“Go on, baby, fuck me good,” Kenzie smiled a little at that, her head turned up to him, and Duncan was struck with her beauty again, the gold coil of his orgasm falling down through his body bit by bit, struck with the intensity of his love for her, struck by her nature, her spirit, so staggeringly exquisite. “Fuck me good and make me come for you, I’m so close and I wanna come while I stare into your eyes in this gorgeous fucking mirror, baby--” and his fingers pressed down with more insistence into her clit, adoring the sound of her voice, his hair falling over his forehead in his reflection, a moan escaping his lips, his throat bobbing in need, then Kenzie was crying out and shaking violently into him, overcome with his length buried in the wild sensitivity of her ass, her orgasm swooping down onto them like an unseen predator, its hungry jaws closing around her and he held her under a strong, careful grip and watched another long line of moisture drip down from her shivering cunt to the carpet from her reflection in the mirror, her release falling, her voice bleeding into a shriek tinged with a sob as she lost herself in the intensity of her climax, and Duncan felt his eyes roll back as his orgasm rushed forward--”I’m gonna come, Kenzie--is it okay--” and Kenzie was murmuring “Yes, baby, fucking yes, come in my ass, Duncan, baby--” and he did, the heat of it bursting out of him into the wetness of her in a stream he could feel with sharp, scalding clarity, all his need and desire pouring out of him into her, his shudders long and low and prickling along his mind with insane euphoria, and inside the intensity of the orgasm was a darkly powerful energy that was rare--it seemed to coax every droplet out of him, burying itself inside her, needy to belong to her, desperate to be a part of her. All this time they stared at each other; Kenzie’s eyes full of whirling drops of gold, his strangely bright, lit from behind with a blue brazier, and Duncan felt again that he could see the gold ring of her halo, see the delicate outline of her soul, her nature, her spirit, so brilliant and so beautiful and so erotic and heavy in his hands that he felt faint with its weight. Their orgasms drifted out into quietness--their bodies heaved into each other, then shivered into long, overwhelmed breaths, then shuddered down into small, even sighs, and all that time, he stared into his Kenzie, and she stared back into him, the mirror like a bridge between the deepest parts of both of them, like a window into who they were in another world, a divine world full of unspeakable beauty, a place where they were together, also, and exalted in delights far beyond those of earth.

Then the spell seemed to dissipate, and Duncan and Kenzie fell back to solid ground, back into themselves; Duncan crashed back into his own psyche, and he eased himself out of her, wincing a little at how sensitive his cock felt now, wincing at the redness he’d left on her skin; turned her carefully, with terrible gentleness, laying her down, easing himself onto the rug beside her, propping himself up with one long arm as his hand fell along her cheek and her head lay down against the carpet, eyes staring up at him, languid, hazy, her little arms tucked into her stomach, hands falling down between her legs to probe gently at the ache of his worship. Duncan brought his trembling mouth down to her nipple and sucked at it, just for a moment, hand on her hip; then he moved back to gaze at her again. “Kenzie, are you okay?”

She sighed, and her smile sent bursts of gold dust around his heart. “Oh, Duncan. Yes. I feel so good, baby. I could die right here, I feel so fucking good.”

His own smile fell against the shape of her. “Take a shower with me, okay, baby?” he pleaded. Kenzie nodded, sighing again, and Duncan paused for a moment, then pushed himself up, gripping her gently under her arms, lifting her as if she were just a doll; Kenzie weakly brought herself up into his grasp on the balls of her feet, and Duncan steadied her as she stood, wobbly, against him, her tiny body folded into his arms as he pressed kisses into her forehead against her hairline, into the sweet scent of her hair.

In the shower Duncan pressed his hands softly into her, sponging sweet-smelling jasmine soap down her back, soothing the ache of him from her body, his face pressed into the soaking fall of her hair, pushing it gently aside with worshipping hands, rubbing softly at her neck, between her shoulder blades. Kenzie was quiet, and Duncan knew she didn’t want to speak right now, innately; her mind was full of dazzling bursts of gold light, and it was all he could see of her in this moment, and he felt her joy, the effervescence of her happiness, the intensity of her affection, overwhelming her. “I can’t wait to hold you on the beach all day tomorrow, baby,” he whispered into her ear, bringing the soft sponge around to the front of her body, pressing it first with aching gentleness down between her legs and then around his cock, now limp with release, and Kenzie sighed into his neck and nodded, still not saying anything, but Duncan knew she felt the same way, felt her gold emotions pressing into his skin, blessing him.

As they folded against each other (naked tonight, damp hair against the black pillows, her arms tucked into his chest, their feet touching, in their bed) Duncan felt himself drift away almost immediately in sleep, the darkness falling all around them, and he knew Kenzie was drifting away too, could feel the soft settling of her body against him, the sweet smell of her skin filling his senses, only the moon’s waxing eye falling down on them--and he didn’t know it, but that night both he and Kenzie dreamed about being together in that other place, that place of exalted delights far beyond those of earth, though in the morning, neither of them remembered.

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i-need-a-place-for-my-thoughts · 4 years ago

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20201121

it’s been a while. how’ve you been? i’ve been having a fucking time and a half

here are some things that have happened since the last time i wrote

- I quit my old job a couple months ago (fuck that place man my last day was absolute shit, glad to be out of that bitch of a place)

- I got a new job and went though downsizings and somehow survived

- i made a new friend and she’s fucking amazing (potentially making more friends as well)

- got light headed/tunnel visioned, (very weird experience), when i tried to start conversing with someone (i was able to talk with him before but it’s hard for me to start conversations and talk to people)

- i’ve been taking japanese lessons to try and review and improve because i really want to get better to have deeper converations. i also have bought more language books than i probably need but who the fuck really cares. i’ve been meaning to get back into my german more, i also took a slight interest in russian as well as french and perhaps spanish cause the language app that i use added on latin american spanish. and get back into korean as well

- i’ve been talking more with this guy i work with (that i really want to be friends with) and i may or may not be catching feeling for him and i fucking hope i’m not. i can’t handle liking someone again, it only ever ends up in sadness

- i started this sort of project, it’s embroidery and i want to make a mask based off of someone’s design. it sounds bad when i say it like that, it’s mainly me being inspired to make something that i think looks cool. in no way shape or form would i ever credit myself to the design, or sell it because it’s not mine. this is a train wreck. it’s just a personal project, a sort of fan art? i guess? fuck i’ll just shut up about it

- i’ve had lots of ups and downs lately and it sucks. maybe because it’s me putting myself down, getting discouraged a shit ton mainly. also not liking how my body looks. i feel like i have too much extra weight and it keeps me from feeling confident/comfortable, and i also feel like i have too much body hair, and i don’t know what to do.. maybe i could talk to a doctor to see if there’s anything that maybe be off balance with me... i hate it here

- i’ve recently started to think about college again, i want to try and get maybe my generals in so i can have my associates in and complete, so then when i finally decide on what i want to do, i can do that. i keep having this reoccurring thought about mechanical engineering, so i might actually look into that a lot more

- i’ve been working lots of overtime lately, and that’s okay cause i want the money. cuase i want to work on getting myself a new car, preferably with 4 wheel drive cause it would be nice and convenient to have. and also to save up to have a good amount incase of emergency, and to be able to save up for my trip to japan whenever it is that i can go. and having money to try and go to college whenever that may be, i kinda hope soon

- also am starting to have mixed feelings about co-workers, one of which was honestly kinda pissing me off, he was being real fucking inconsiderate but i couldn’t say anything, i’m not gonna get into that too much

okay so i want to talk about this guy at work real quick. so he’s really funny and i really want to get to know him better, the problem is is that he doesn’t really answer questions about himself. like, i have no clue what type of music he listens to, no one does, maybe one person at work who is his friend, but the closest i got was why he doesn’t say anything. he told me that it was because he got annoyed with being asked these questions (multiple times in a day) that he just decided to stop answering and then soon began to enjoy the frustration of people when they couldn’t get him to answer. he’s such an interesting character, but he’s really funny. every time he starts to say something about himself, i try to listen in, i just really want to get to know who he is, what makes him, him, ya know? my sister thinks he likes me though, and i don’t know what to think. some of the interactions we have makes her believe that, and maybe he does or maybe he doesn’t. i want to write about him, and i doubt anyone will find this, but i don’t how much is okay for me to share? i mean, this is a completely innocent talking about him, but i dunno, maybe it is okay to say a few small things. maybe talking about our interactions is okay. i dunno. i’ll write what i think is okay to share. there is something that happened today that i do want to mention, so i had heard once from someone that he spoke spanish. and i had heard him say his name with an accent and maybe say one or two words to this one person, but today that same person (that i heard him talk to before) had said something to him in spanish to which he started to reply in spanish, he was kinda quite but i tried my best to listen because i really really really love to hear people speak in other languages, its just so cool to me, especially to be able to hear him, because i think people’s voices (and demeanor) change when they speak a different language. but then someone had called attention to it and then he stopped, which made me really sad, and i don’t know exactly how i would be able to ask if i could hear him speak, especially cause i understand how it is to have someone know you are learning/can speak another language and then immediately are asked to say something. he’s probably been asked that a lot too. but then he was saying to the person who had brought it up that it was his secret (as in he doesn’t just go around telling people that he can speak spanish) and to me it is really important to not tell people information about another person, especially if they ask you not to, or if it seems like they don’t want it to be shared. it’s not my secret to share so i won’t share it, and also don’t bring shit up if people aren’t saying it themselves, they might not tell you that they don’t want it shared but they trust you to not say anything, a mutual trust of “this is between us because i don't normally share things about myself but i trust you enough to tell you but i’m not explicitly going to say don’t tell people but that doesn’t mean you can go around telling people” (example, i was sitting with my co-workers eating pizza and the topic was brought up about smoking, mainly because we saw another co-worker have a vape and a cigarette at the same time, and one of my co-workers was saying that it’s really unattractive when someone smokes (especially a girl). now, i’ve vaped before, and i didn’t feel like sharing that information in general, especially after that comment, but someone else started mentioning how they vape but don’t smoke cigarettes, but then they turned to me and said “hey you’ve vaped before, do you smoke cigarettes??” and i felt very awkward when that happened, and i tried to save myself by saying that i don’t do it very often, it’s only once in a while (which is true) and it’s only to do the french inhale cause it’s cool and fun when you are able to do it. it’s best to pretend that you’re the only other person who knows that information and just keep it to yourself. i’m sure they didn’t have any ill intent when they said and was just asking and what not, but i really didn’t like that that happened, especially because 1, i didn’t want to share that with this group (i didn’t want it shared in general but it got out once by someone else trying to be inclusive), and 2, the guy i might be crushing on was there.. i don’t know if that changed his opinion of me, i really hope not, but we have interacted more since then so maybe it’s okay. something that happened that made me happy though is that we’ve had physical contact (mainly instigated by him). once he was asking where my friend was cause he was gonna surprise/confuse her by wearing this box on his head, and i said where she should be, and thought he was just gonna go but he then turns more towards me and says “wanna come with me?” and it made me so happy, i said yes and went with him. but while we were all chatting together he was explaining how one of our bosses kept messing around and tapping his shoulder and then moving to the other side to trick him, and he tapped my shoulder and i was like w o w , because i didn’t expect him to do that, and then the next day, we were interacting a lot (more than i had ever done in a day, mostly because i’m god awful at talking to people in general) but during that day at work i was going though stuff and i didn’t even realize that he had come up next to me until i felt him push into my arm and say “boop”. it sounds weird to say, but that was amazing to me, cause for one, again, i didn’t expect him to do that and sometimes physical touch like that is nice to me. and then later he made me smell his jacket twice cause he was upset about smelling like a co-worker (he had also said, before this, that he needed to wear it to make it smell like him which was funny hahhaha) just gonna admit and put this out there, but he does smell really good. and today he was kinda pushing into me again and this time i pushed back slightly too. on a slight different note, i had a dream with him in it where we were laying in a bed together just embracing and he had his head on my chest.. me and my lonely self really enjoyed that, and thankfully that wasn’t interrupted, i would’ve loved to have just kept dreaming about that, but the dream changed and i was woken up by my alarm to get ready for the day. i just need an extremely long hug really fucking bad my dude. it’s not even funny anymore

i’m sad as fuck dude

and sometimes i really hate being aware of it, it try to keep myself from spiraling, but i’m also told to just let myself feel how i am feeling, but i get even more quiet than i already am and shut down so much. its.. i don’t know how to explain it.. it just sucks

i would really like a significant other right now. if i could have someone make me feel the way howl’s moving castle does, boy fucking howdy that’d be great

i feel like there’s more i could talk about.. oh yeah, my japanese tutor/friend though i was drunk once while we were talking cause i had been excited to tell him about my interactions at work, so i was talking more than i usually did and it was surprising to him. i also feel like i might’ve overshared slightly, i hope that didn’t fuck anything up and make him feel weird. but i think i’m maybe kinda improving with my japanese, i need to learn some more vocabulary and some more grammar structures, so when we talk it won’t be half english the whole time

i also need to draw more.. damn.. and make things. like art and food. i want to make macaroons, i know they’re tricky to make, but i want to try and get good at making them

this seems like a long update, but that’s okay, i’ve been meaning to write some stuff lately, and i guess tonight was the night, and i might just write more in my journal for some other things, that seems like an okay thing to do.

i hope everyone is doing okay and staying safe out there, i think i’ll leave this here for now, remember to get some sleep, stay hydrated, and eat some good food, take care y’all,

until the next update guys, bye bye

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jaeminlore · 8 years ago

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Cuddle Hotline // Kim Kibum

the prompt: could I have a cuddle hotline key scenario? I was thinking that she’s like a culinary student and only cares about cooking and her friends are like “you need to get out there you’re lonely” so one of her friends orders her a cuddle buddy (key) but when he shows up she just sits him down at the table and makes him try her food and is like “give me an honest opinion so he does and he’s like “this is gross” and she actually really likes his honest opinions on her food so she asks her friend for the app and her friends are excited cause they think she’s enjoying it but actually she’s just using it to help improve her recipes but one day she’s like sad and really just wants someone to cuddle with so she calls key over and he’s like ready to eat but she says she just wants to cuddle today and he gets all cute and nervous because he actually started developing a crush on her -sunflower anon 🌻

words: 4427

category: fluff

author note: this is my first shinee request and it’s for kibum my bias!! i don’t know who you are sunflower anon, but i love you for requesting this. i immediately began thinking of dialogue and stuff bc i wanted to make it perfect.

- destinee

You set down your perfected pasta in front of your two friends. “Eat this. I added fresh garlic instead of simple garlic salt. See if it makes a difference.”

Your closest friend, Chaeyoung, looked up at you. “Y/n, this is spaghetti. You have literally made ten batches of spaghetti and they all taste the same.”

You rolled your eyes, “They don’t taste the same. Trust me.”

Chaeyoung took a huge bite and pursed her lips, “Hmm. You know, you’re right. I can really taste the fresh garlic as opposed to the garlic salt.”

“Really?” Your eyes brightened as both of your friends rolled their eyes.

“No!” Chaeyoung said. “It tastes exactly the same, Y/n.”

Your other friend, Minho, furrowed his eyebrows as he pushed the plate away. “Honestly, I feel like I’m going to vomit if I see any more spaghetti. Why do you always spend your free time cooking?”

“Better yet, why do you always use up our free time by making us eat your cooking?” Chaeyoung said. “I could be on a date right now.”

“I could be working out, or studying,” Minho said, giving you a pointed look.

Ever since you were a child, you had wanted to be a chef. Whether or not it was helping your parents cook, or attempting to make your own sandwiches, you were always in the kitchen. The passion had come from your grandmother, who used to teach you how to make cookies from scratch. After seeing your first batch of cookies, you realized that you really enjoyed making creations. You enjoyed the look on people’s faces when they ate your concoctions. From that moment you knew you wanted to be a chef. You would be content the rest of your life to make food for other people. Your dream was to open a restaurant with five-star food at low prices so everyone could enjoy how amazing and artistic food could really be.

You were in your third year of culinary school, and your school was offering an amazing chance to your class. Whichever student could make the best menu would be offered the chance to study their fourth year in Paris, all expenses paid for. It was a dream to you, and you were working desperately to perfect a meal that would impress the judges and leave a lasting impression.

You slumped into one of the empty chairs and covered your face with your hands, moaning. “You guys are right. I’m never gonna win this scholarship with spaghetti. Maybe I’ll try sushi.”

Chaeyoung patted your head gingerly. “I think you need to take a break. When’s the last time you just took a rest day instead of cooking?”

“I haven’t,” you said. “I can’t afford to lose a day. Each day I fail is a day closer to the deadline and I have to make something to submit.”

“You need to sleep,” Minho said.

“No,” Chaeyoung denied. “You need a cuddle buddy. Look, there’s this app where you can pay for someone to come and give you cuddles. Studies show that cuddling with another human relaxes the soul.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t need a cuddle buddy, I need you guys to help me find the best dish.”

“C'mon, Y/n. You can’t deny that you’re lonely. Here, let’s download the app and look for some ideal partners.”

You ignored the two of them as they browsed through people, shouting out their likes and dislikes. Instead, you cleared the dishes and put them in your dishwasher, preparing to make your next meal.

“Oh! Look at him!” Minho suddenly shouted. “User Key-underscore-freak.”

You snorted, “Anyone with the word “freak” in their username is not getting my address.“

“Too late,” Chaeyong said. “I sent him a message.”

“Why?” You darted over to look over your friends’ shoulders. You had to admit, the pictures were nice. It did state that he was only two years older than you, and he seemed to have an obsession with a certain pair of dogs. “How many pictures of his dogs is he going to post?”

Minho clicked out of his pictures and began to read out his likes and dislikes. “Likes: dogs, fashion, and theater. Dislikes: liars, ugg boots, and people who don’t like dogs. He sounds simple enough. His cuddle rate is high, too. Apparently a lot of people like to cuddle with him.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t want to cuddle him, no matter how high his rate is. Now, should I use salmon or tuna for my sushi?”

Chaeyoung suddenly squealed, “He wrote back! He’s open today! I’m asking him to come over!”

“Don’t!” you warned, “I have stuff to do today.”

Chaeyoung waved your concern away. “Minho and I will pay for it, okay? Just enjoy being in someone else’s presence for once instead of thinking about your next dish. Can you do that?”

You groaned and turned back to your fish, ignoring her. “Please don’t.”

“Too late. He’s coming in an hour. Minho and I will be leaving so the two of you can have some time to get to know each other.”

You grumbled the whole time you were making your sushi. You weren’t even paying much attention to what you were doing, and so you ended up making a pretty weird dish. Still, you set it out on the table. If someone was coming over to your house, you would ask them to try your dish. Cuddling could wait for another day.

The doorbell to your apartment rang, and you hesitantly made your way to the door. Finally, after a small mental pep talk, you swung the door open.

The man in front of you wasn’t too much taller than yourself, and he was rather nimble-looking, you felt. Nevertheless, his smile was open and warm as he held his hand out for you. “I’m Kim Kibum. You’re Y/n?”

He was wearing black skinny jeans and an oversized t-shirt, covered by a brown bomber jacket. His dark hair seemed styled and his skin felt moisturized and smooth as you accepted his handshake. A large duffle bag hung over his shoulder, and you felt more uncomfortable as you stared at it. “… that’s me.”

Kibum followed your gaze and let out a bark of laughter. “I just carry this around to put my pajamas, laptop, blanket, and pillow. Cuddling necessities, you know?”

You didn’t know. You had never cuddled with anyone in your life. You never really felt like you needed to. “Actually, can we not cuddle?”

Kibum furrowed his eyebrows and pouted his lips. “No cuddling?”

“Yeah. You see, I’m a chef and I really need someone to try my dishes.”

Kibum’s eyes brightened. “You’re a chef? Great, I haven’t eaten all day.”

He walked into your house and discarded his jacket and bag onto your sofa. “What’s on the menu?”

“Sushi,” you replied, running past him to grab the plate of food. You placed it on the table, along with a cup of water. “Tell me what you think about it. I want your honest opinion.”

Time seemed to stand still as Kibum put the sushi in his mouth. The more he chewed, however, the more his face turned into that of disgust. He swallowed thickly before giving you his verdict. “This is gross.”

You felt your spirit deflate. “Really? What’s wrong with it?”

Kibum have you a look of obvious disappointment, “Well, first of all, why did you stick scrambled eggs in your sushi roll? That’s nasty.”

Your nose scrunched. “I was distracted. It didn’t seem like a bad idea at the time.”

Kibum handed the plate back to you. “Who are you making a dish for anyway?”

“I’m trying to win a trip,” you explained as you dumped the bad sushi into the garbage can. “If I make a good enough dish, I’ll be allowed to study my final year of culinary school in Paris, France.”

“I love Paris,” Kibum said. “I’ve been a few times. You’re going to have to step up your game if you want to cook with the chefs of France, though. I hear they’re brutal.”

“I know,” you sighed. “I’ve just been distracted lately. I am a good cook, really.”

Kibum cocked his head to the side, “Looks like you’ll need to prove that, Honey, since your sushi was worse than the food I buy for my dogs.”

You frowned. “That bad, huh?”

Kibum nodded, “Sorry, Babe. Tell you what, why don’t I give you a dish and you make it for me? Do you think you can handle that?”

You rose your eyebrows. “Are you patronizing me, Kibum?”

“If the shoe fits.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “I didn’t peg you as that type, Kibum.”

He smirked and looked up at you, “What type is that, Y/n?”

“Rude,” you answered.

He laughed again, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he threw his head back. “You should get used to it, since we’re friends now. So… how about it?”

“Give me a dish and I’ll make it perfect.” You pursed your lips, “Then you won’t underestimate me.”

Kibum smiled and sat back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling and humming to himself, “You know, my friend took me to this really expensive restaurant in New York last year. Maybe I can remember my favorite dish there. Let’s see… oh yeah! Arctic char, leeks, green olives and smoked potato. If it’s even close to what I had last year, I’ll believe that you’re a cook.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “You’re on.”

“Wait. You actually have Arctic char in your fridge?” Kibum looked impressed.

“Surprisingly, yes. I bought a ton of different ingredients this week for trial and error. That includes all the fish present at the market,” you said as you turned to your stove.

Kibum stood up as you grabbed a clean saucepan from its hook. “You know how to make it?”

“I’ve been studying culinary arts since I was a child, Kibum. A few smoked potatoes aren’t going to faze me.” A sudden confidence took over your presence, and Kibum found himself smiling at the way you assertively cut and rinsed your ingredients. “In fact, I think you’ve given me the surge of energy I needed to work on my dish. Who knows? This could be the winning one.”

Kibum stood up and leaned on the counter to watch as you seasoned the fish. “You should put your hair up.”

You looked up at him, pouting as you realized your bangs were falling into your face. “You’re right. Let me wash my hands—”

“I’ll do it,” Kibum interrupted you, moving around the counter till he stood behind you. He pulled the hair tie out of your ponytail and fixed your hair into a tight bun on top of your head. “There you go. Now there’ll be no hair in your char.”

You giggled. “Thanks, Kibum. Now go sit while I finish this up.”

“Yes Ma'am.”

You held your clasped hands against your lips in anticipation as you watched Kibum taste the dish in front of him. You were hoping with all your heart that he would like it. For some strange reason, his opinion meant a lot to you, and you were desperate for his honest approval.

Kibum chewed slowly, perhaps to spite you. His eyes were void of emotion, erasing any guess you could have about how he liked the food. Suddenly, his lips quirked into a smile. “It’s okay.”

“How is it okay?” you asked. “Which part of it is okay? What could I change? Would it get me a trip to Paris?”

Kibum blinked. “Well, for starters, it won’t get you to Paris. It’s good though. Very similar to what I had in New York. The potatoes aren’t smoked enough, and the leeks were a but soggy, but the char is excellent. I’d keep it for your protein.”

You broke out into a smile. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Kibum nodded. “So now all you need are side dishes.”

“I also need a dessert,” you clarified.

Suddenly, a beeping came from Kibum’s pocket, causing both of you to jump. “Oh. That’s the two hours you paid for. We didn’t get to cuddle, but I had a lot of fun.”

You grinned. “Me too. Thanks, Kibum.”

“No problem, Babe. See you later.”

Kibum must’ve thought it was you who contacted him, since he assumed you’d do it again. Unfortunately, you had no idea what app Chaeyoung had used, nor how to contact Kibum again.

The thing was, you had been perfecting recipes for vegetable side dishes for the past week, and you were dying to have Kibum taste them. So, with no other choice, you swallowed your pride and asked Chaeyoung for the name of the app.

“You like him!” was her first assumption.

“I do not,” you retorted, “The… cuddling was nice, is all.”

Chaeyoung smirked, “The app is called Cuddle Me. You remember his username, don’t you?”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed at her as you downloaded the app. “Yes. Now leave me alone.”

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” Kibum smirked as you opened the door to your apartment. “I’ll admit, I thought you wouldn’t invite me over again. I thought you might’ve found someone else to try your mediocre recipes.”

“Mediocre? Yeah, right.” You noticed he had, yet again, brought his duffel bag. However, he obviously didn’t intend on using it since he threw it onto your couch as soon as he entered.

“I’m ready to eat soggy vegetables!” he announced.

“Stop hating on food you haven’t even eaten yet!” you whined, following him into the kitchen.

Kibum laughed gingerly and sat at the counter. “Pass the plate, honey.”

“Okay, today I made mushrooms à la bordelaise, Mediterranean baked sweet potatoes, eggplant skins stuffed with veggie risotto, and caramelized balsamic cipollini onions.”

“Marry me,” Kibum said as he stared at all the dishes you placed in front of him. He licked his lips as he looked at the tantalizing food.

You blushed at his praise. “Don’t get too excited. You haven’t tried them all yet. I need you to tell me if I can use any of these as my side dishes.”

“Get me a fork and I’m yours,” Kibum stated.

While he ate the dishes slowly, with the meticulousness of an actual food critic, you asked him about his interests. “You said you were into fashion?”

“I am,” he said. “I’m a fashion designer, and my company is just starting to get the recognition it deserves.”

“Really? What’s your company?” You were genuinely interested in his life, as he seemed so lively and sure of himself.

Kibum put down his fork and smacked his lips, thinking. “Designs by Key. It’s a newer company, since we got it up and running smoothly just this past year. I’ve tried a lot of different paths, but my newest line is getting a lot of attention. My goal is to make women’s clothes that women actually want to wear.”

“What do you mean?” Your eyebrows turned up in confusion.

Kibum chuckled, “Not that you would know, since your wardrobe seems to consist of simply jeans and t-shirts, but in the high fashion world, lots of women’s clothes are created without the woman’s best interests in mind. You’d like this: in my line, girls get usable pockets in their jeans and skirts. We’re also working on a range of clothes fit to perfection for each different female body shape. I have a lot of female friends and colleagues and they explained to me that clothes don’t always fit properly, especially when the ratio size of breast to waist is really different. So, we’re working to make a line based on nearly customizable clothing for females. My ultimate goal is to make everyone feel comfortable in their own skin, through fashion.”

“Wow,” you breathed. “That’s so cool. Call me when your designs go on sale, okay? I’ll buy one of everything.”

Kibum nodded, “Only if you call me when you open your restaurant so I can sample the entire menu. These side dishes are pretty great. I would choose the mushrooms and the eggplants, personally.”

You clapped your hands together, “That’s perfect! I’ll make stuffed eggplant skins for the appetizer, char and mushrooms for the entree, and then a dessert! Then that ticket to Paris is as good as mine.”

“You’ll invite me over to try out the dessert, right?”

“Of course,” you said with a playful roll of your eyes. “You know Kibum, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you like hanging out with me.”

Kibum laughed, but you caught the pink tint that crept onto his cheeks. “Honey, I think you’re mistaking yourself with your cooking.”

“Why do you keep calling me honey and babe?”

“Instinct, I guess. If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”

“No,” you denied softly, “It’s fine.”

“Okay, so I have green tea custard, dark chocolate mousse with almonds, strawberry cheesecake, and hazelnut pie with spiced ice cream.”

Kibum hummed as he stared at all the dishes. “You’re too good to me, Y/n.”

You sat beside him, nibbling on an untoasted strawberry poptart and checking the made-up menu you had created in your phone notes. You would enter your menu tomorrow, a day before the scholarship deadline. Everything was perfect, and all you had to do was get Kibum to choose a dessert.

Kibum put a spoonful of the mousse into his mouth and clapped slowly. “This is everything. A bit bitter, so maybe add some brown sugar or something to sweeten it, but other than that it’s everything.”

He finished the mousse peacefully, enjoying the dessert freely as he scrolled through his phone. “Do you wanna see my dogs?”

“I already saw them on the app,” you answered, “but I guess I can see them again.”

Kibum scoffed, “You guess? Good grief, Y/n, at least try to act excited as I show you my pride and joys.”

“Sorry,” you giggled, leaning closer to him so you could see his phone screen.

“This one is Comme Des and this one is Garçons,” he explained. He then explained to you their favorite foods to eat, places to sleep, and clothes to wear.

“You dress your dogs? Isn’t that considered abuse?”

Kibum looked offended. “Abuse? They love being dressed up, trust me. Oh! Idea!” He suddenly perked up, turning to face you, “You should make your own gourmet dog food line!”

You deadpanned. “No. That’s an insult to my passion.”

Kibum pouted. “My babies would love it.”

“Just eat your cheesecake.”

Kibum chuckled and obeyed, complimenting your skills as he continued to stuff his face.

In the end, Kibum stayed by the mousse, and wished you luck that you would get that scholarship. “We could even meet up in Paris. You, a renowned chef and me, a famous fashion designer. Together we can conquer the world.”

You shook your head, “I don’t want to be renowned. That’s not my goal. I want to make great food for people who can’t afford it. I won’t get very renowned for that.”

Kibum furrowed his eyebrows, “Sorry? Do you think people like paying and arm and a leg for their meals? Y/n, if you succeed in a restaurant like that, you’ll be the talk of the year in the culinary world. It’s a huge financial risk, considering you have nothing to start with, but you can easily make it up with the amount of customers you’ll get. Open sponsors spots as well, and have them pay to support your restaurant as long as you name a dish after them or something. Designs by Key can be your first proud sponsor of many as long as you name the chocolate mousse after me. You could go far with this one, babe.”

You picked at the hem of your shirt, a shy smile appearing on your face. Not even your closest friends gave you the confidence Kibum did in just a few visits. You felt close to him, and you were sure he felt close to you as well. There was a natural attraction there, as if the two of you knew each other in another life or something.

Shaking your head out of those thoughts, you reached forward and wrapped your arms around Kibum’s neck. He let out a noise of surprise, but eased into your hold rather quickly. “Funnily enough, you’d think touch wouldn’t fluster me with this little side job. Your touch is different, I guess.”

You felt your face warm at his soft-spoken words. Surely he didn’t mean it in the way you thought. He was just talking about the emotional aspect of two friends hugging. That’s what you told yourself, since you couldn’t think about anything more than that with the deadline so close.

Kibum was the first to pull away, but he planted his hands on your shoulders before he left. “Go get ‘em, babe. Show them your talent.”

He tapped your nose, and grinned when a giggle spilled out of your mouth. “Keep that smile, okay? You’ll do great.”

You nodded, feeling more sure of yourself. “Thanks, Kibum.”

“I’ve got you. Oh, and when you win, invite me over so we can eat the winning meal together,” he said with a confident wink.

You stared at the phone in your hands, contemplating whether or not to ask Kibum over.

The thing was, you had come in second place. Although that was great, and would look fantastic on your resume, it wouldn’t get you a ticket to Paris. You were disappointed in yourself, and you kept going over the menu, wondering how you could’ve made it better. You were sure Kibum would be disappointed with you too. He had been so sure that you would win, and when you told him the truth, he might think you didn’t try hard enough. You had. You had given that food your all and had been so sure that you would get the scholarship.

Unfortunately, things don’t always go to plan.

In the end, you really wanted some kind of comfort. Kibum was the only one you wanted it from, which wasn’t too surprising considering how close the two of you had gotten ins ice a short amount of time. Before you could second guess yourself, you sent him message, asking him to come over. After that, you muted your phone, unable to see his reply, which would more than likely imply that you won and he couldn’t to wait to congratulate you in person.

You groaned and shoved your face into your couch cushions. You weren’t ready to see his face.

Kibum could tell something was wrong as soon as you opened the door. Your makeup was smudged at the corners and your hair was messier than usual.

“What’s wrong, babe?”

“I didn’t win, Kibum,” you said. “I did everything you said and did my best, but it wasn’t enough. I’m sorry.”

Kibum let out a breathy laugh, “Why are you apologizing? There are so many things more important than winning a scholarship.”

“Like what?” you frowned.

“Like, for instance, your skills grew as you practiced, and you stepped out of your comfort zone. Also, the most important thing is that you met me.” Kibum walked passed you, and with the usual toss of his bag he turned around, “So what do you say we cook together today? Something simple and tasty.”

You stared at Kibum’s raised eyebrows, unable to answer. You didn’t want to cook right now. In fact, all you really wanted was another one of Kibum’s hugs. “Actually… can we cuddle?”

Kibum’s ears turned red very quickly, but he covered up his flustered expression by licking his lips and turning his head towards his duffel bag. “No cooking? You just want to cuddle?”

You nodded, “You’re a good hugger so you have to be a good cuddler, right? I really need that right now.”

Kibum’s expression softened. “You got it, then. Let me change into some comfortable clothes.”

He returned quickly, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. He opened his duffel bag and pulled out a large duvet. “I’m ready to cuddle!”

He sat down on the couch, his eyes on you as he patted his lap. “C'mere, babe.”

You accepted his invitation and curled up into his lap. He wrapped the blanket around the two of you and pushed your hair off of your face with his nimble fingers. “How’s this?”

“It’s perfect,” you mumbled, nuzzling your face into his chest. He smelt like honey and some kind of musk, and it made your heart stir with feelings that you had previously pushed down. “Kibum?”

“Yeah?”

You looked up at him, your cheek against his collarbone. He rubbed your hips gently as he waited for you to speak. “I think I like you.”

After your confession, you quickly ducked your head down, afraid to see his reaction. His fingers froze on your skin and soon you couldn’t feel the warmth of them on your skin.

You ruined it, Y/n, you told yourself. You should’ve just kept it in. Then Kibum’s fingers were under your chin as he lifted your face towards his. “Really?” he questioned, his breath fanning your face as he leaned in closer.

You searched his eyes for any teasing, but there was only affection in his glassy brown eyes. “Yeah. I like you, Kibum. You make me feel confident. You make me feel like I can do anything I put my mind to, but you also give me a sense of warmth and comfort I’ve never received before.”

Kibum chuckled, “Honey, I’ve liked you since you made me eat that disgusting sushi.”

He was still in the midst of laughing when his lips reached yours. You cupped his face with your hand to bring him closer to you. Your own lips turned into a smile as you finally felt how soft his were. Kibum pulled away, “We have to stop smiling or we can’t kiss properly.”

You shrugged, biting your lip to try and stop the giddiness from showing on your face. “Sorry.”

Kibum pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, “Don’t be. There will be plenty of times to kiss in the near future.”

He wriggled his eyebrows seductively, causing you to erupt into more giggles as you slapped his chest gently. “You’re stupid.”

“Well you’re dating stupid,” Kibum pointed out.

“Touché.”

~the end~

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