#this gives me that dizzy aching nostalgia feeling :(

[adore-laur]

YOU MAKE IT FEEL LIKE CHRISTMAS

— a holiday addition to the dadrry universe 🎄

❅ ❅ ❅

Red wine is an elixir of reminiscence.

As twilight fades into dusk, you let the velvety Cabernet Sauvignon warm your bloodstream and bring forth memories of the festive seasons gone by. Childhood recollections of sneaking down the hallway before sunrise, captivated by the magical scene made by the plump man who somehow slid down the chimney. Wrapping presents galore while sitting by the twinkling evergreen, the stacks piling higher and higher each year. Baking desserts and listening to Christmas music, the scent of gingerbread mingling with the seaside air. All those moments were nostalgia happening in real-time, engulfing you until they unraveled like a ribbon box of wistfulness.

You're lost in a blissful reverie while watching Harry swiftly round the kitchen island. He's eating the last half of a frosted cookie and untucking his black henley from his sweatpants.

"You've gone quiet on me," he says while chewing, his fist raised to his mouth.

Your vision breaks away from him and refocuses on the entrancing flames in the fireplace. "Just thinking."

"'Bout what?" he asks, reclaiming his glass of wine that he abandoned on the mantle shelf.

"How this will be our eighth Christmas together."

He whistles in a decrescendo and sits next to you. "Really? How are you not sick of me yet?"

"Trust me, you push the limit sometimes."

"Only because I love you."

You roll your eyes affectionately, then say, "I was also thinking about how emotional I'll be tomorrow."

Harry smiles as he begins soothingly rubbing your back. "You always get emotional on Christmas."

At the mere thought of it, you flatten your lips and look at him miserably. The childlike wonder you'll get to witness is nothing to shed tears over, yet you can't help but know you'll feel the pitiful pull on your maternal heartstrings.

"I'm a mess," you say defeatedly.

"No, no, no. Come here and give me a hug." He instinctively reaches for your hand and tugs you toward him. "Bring it in."

You clumsily situate yourself in his lap and curl into his warm body. Your muscles relax, but the tears still spill over. It's irrevocable.

"Why are you crying?" Harry croons, propping his chin on your head and swaying you consolingly. "Hmm? You break my heart when you cry."

Sniffling, you bury your face into his chest and mumble, "She's growing up too fast."

His throat bobs. "I know. It hurts me too."

"But it hurts, like, deep in my soul. Sometimes I physically feel the ache when I look at her."

"She's three." The featherlight touch of his fingertips trails up and down your spine. "That's still young, yeah? And don't forget, we've got a new little baby."

"She's our firstborn, though," you say mournfully, staring at him. You remember exactly what it felt like to hold her for the first time. She changed everything for us. It feels like it was just yesterday when we brought her home, and now she's walking around and doing things all by herself. Where did the time go?"

"I don't have the answer to that, sweetheart," Harry replies, his eyes darting over your distraught face. "Time goes by too quickly."

"She starts preschool next year." You shake your head in disbelief and gape at him incredulously. "Harry, do you hear me? Preschool."

"I hear you." He looks genuinely concerned as he shifts his legs in order to hold you better, cradling the sides of your head to stop it from shaking. It's smart of him to do so since the wine is making you a bit dizzy. "Hey, I hear you. Always. We'll cry in the car together when we drop her off on her first day, deal? Right now, let's focus on tonight and enjoy Christmas Eve. Let's watch our babies grow one day at a time."

More tears sting your eyes and nose like a thousand tiny bees. "Do you feel it when you look at her?"

His features turn sad, yet a ghost of a smile still appears. "Of course," he whispers. "It's embarrassing the number of times I've teared up just from watching her simply exist."

"You know what always gets me?" you ask thoughtfully. A tender kiss is planted on your forehead as encouragement to continue. "When she brings you seashells. It kills me every time."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "I hope she never stops doing that. It melts my heart."

"She's so sweet. We're raising such a beautiful girl."

"Two beautiful girls."

You pout, feeling overwhelmingly sentimental. "I want to wake them up and snuggle with them."

"Don't," he says with a wary laugh, "or they'll be cranky little devils tomorrow morning."

"I love waking them up, though."

"So do I," he agrees in a way so sincere that it makes you even more emotional. "Although tomorrow we'll be the ones woken up first."

You sigh dreamily. "That's true. I love it when they open their sleepy eyes, and the first thing they see is me. And then they smile."

To provide your children with a sense of happiness, even if they're not fully conscious of it yet, is the greatest gift you could ever possess.

"Being their first smile of the day," Harry says softly, "is what being a parent is all about, you know? Getting to see their faces look more and more like yours each day. Hearing them laugh and holding them in my arms. I always think to myself how fuckin' lucky I am to be their dad."

Letting a teardrop fall, you finally succumb to the wine-drunk dramatics. "They love you so much."

It's his turn for his eyes to sparkle with tears. "They're my girls. My best friends."

"You are everything to them. The way they look at you and listen to every word you speak is so amazing. I can't think of anything quite like it."

Tracing the pad of his thumb across your cheekbone, Harry says, "They have my favorite parts of your face. When they smile, their eyes shape and light up the same way yours do." He hums thoughtfully and dances his gaze around your features. "Got their mom's nose, too."

You wipe your tears and take a sip of wine, letting him continue admiring you like a work of art in the Louvre. You do the same to him, obsessed with how the light from the flames flickers over his skin. Your lucky stars are definitely out tonight.

"I want you to get gray hair," you blurt, not even realizing what you said until Harry retracts his head with a bewildered expression.

"I beg your pardon?" he asks through a shocked laugh, reaching for his wine glass. "I'm only thirty-two! Good grief, woman."

Shrugging, you imagine the inevitable physical change. Maybe the one curly strand of hair that always falls over his forehead will start to lighten into an ash color. Or perhaps it'll start with his stubble turning a salt and pepper two-tone. Either way, you know you'll be all over him when it happens.

"It'd be hot, just saying."

"You're a dirty liar," he murmurs around the rim of his glass, his voice slightly muffled.

"A dad I'd like to fuck is what you are. Sue me."

Harry smirks gradually, his lips stained with a delectable shade of scarlet. "What," he enunciates slowly, "has gotten into you tonight?"

"Nothing," you say coyly. "You're just really attractive when you drink wine."

His pupils appear darker and more dilated as he intensely stares at you. His cheeks are tinted with a flush due to the alcohol. Whenever they draw up in a smile, his dimples emerge, and he's genuinely never looked more kissable. Because his mouth... oh, his mouth.

When Harry sets his wine down and finally lingers it near your ear, his berry-scented breath sending shivers across your entire body, you're his entirely. He then speaks in a drawl that makes you tighten your legs around his waist. "I think this wine has gone from here"—he hovers his fingers over your stomach and then trails them up to your temple, tapping twice—"to here."

You swallow a noise of desperation. "I want you to kiss me."

Nipping your earlobe, he asks, "Where, baby?"

"Your choice."

"Sure about that?"

"Yes. Don't test my patience."

He doesn't say anything and promptly lays you down on your back, the carpet providing cushioning as your husband hovers over you with his hands placed on either side of your dizzy head. The room spins, but all you focus on is him.

He takes his time and leaves slow, practiced kisses on your lips, coaxing them open with his wine-flavored tongue. It's as clear as day that he's never lost his temptation. If anything, it's grown now that he knows how to get specific reactions out of you. If he nudges his nose against yours, you'll take control of his mouth. If he reaches for your ankle, you'll spread your legs further apart. If he walks his fingers down your inner thigh, well, you won't hesitate to flip positions.

Eight years with him prove he knows every instinct of your body like no one else does.

"Harry, we can't," you say when he starts rocking his hips. "I'm not cleared yet."

He stops and groans against your shoulder. "Fuck."

The doctor hasn't given you the green light to have sex again since giving birth a month ago. If you're being completely honest, you're almost dreading when it'll finally happen because of how it felt after having your first child. It wasn't pleasurable, it didn't last long, and you weren't feeling the best about your postpartum appearance. Harry had been gracious and attentive, but, for lack of better words, it sucked.

"Did I ruin the moment?" you ask, your skin prickly with embarrassment.

"No," Harry breathes out. "Hell no. Look at you, baby. I'm unbelievably hard right now."

"Should we... can we—"

"We can just do foreplay if that's what you're asking. It's completely up to you."

Your tipsy brain thinks of one thing and one thing only. "Thigh."

His eyebrows twitch as he licks the corner of his mouth. "Hmm? You're mumbling."

"Thigh," you utter again.

"My what? I can't hear you over the fire."

"Harry," you grit out impatiently. "You know what I'm saying. Please, before the mood is actually ruined."

"You wanna ride it?" he asks for confirmation.

"Yes. Now shut up."

"We have to be quiet, darling."

"I can be quiet. Can you be quiet?"

"With you on my lap? Probably not."

Looking up at the ceiling and taking a calming breath, you say, "This is so risky. I hate you."

Harry tuts. "Why do you hate me?"

"Because you're so..." you trail off, searching for the right word. "So alluring all the time. And I can't help myself when you look at me like you do. It's aggravating."

"Personally, I think it's just your hormones talking." He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "The baby monitor is on the couch, love, so don't worry. We'll make this nice and quick."

"Fine. Okay."

He stretches his legs out while you position yourself over his thigh. Your underwear is already damp as you begin slowly grinding over the thick muscle. He's hard under his sweatpants—a sight you've missed seeing and being able to do something about it. His hands latch onto your waist to guide your movements, and he moans as his whole body shudders from the first sexually intimate contact he's had with you in a month.

"Someone's got an appetite tonight," he says proudly. "It's okay, so do I. But we gotta be quiet."

A salacious thrill runs down your spine because of his determination to get you off. As you use his thigh and grip his shoulders, the fire beside you heats your already ignited body. He searches for your lips, his skin glowing, eyebrows pinched with pleasure. His broad chest provides support as you lean into him, feeling the pulse of your forthcoming orgasm grow stronger. You need it desperately. You're attempting to keep any noises from escaping, but it's been so insufferably long since you've felt him this way. Moans, whimpers, and panted breaths unabashedly break loose.

"Look at me," Harry says lowly. "What did I say? Do I need to cover your mouth?"

"You're making noise too! Don't—"

His large palm covers the lower half of your face, cutting off your sentence. "What did I say?" he repeats.

You roll your eyes and continue circling your hips over him to offer some relief. "I'm almost there," you mumble against his hand. "I'm close."

"I'm so gone for you," he murmurs, removing his hand and kissing your neck. "You're something else, do you know that? Gonna make a mess on my lap?"

You whine into his mouth. "Yeah. Do the thing."

Harry purposefully flexes his thigh muscle, the movement putting heavenly pressure on your clit. It does the trick, and you come as he stifles your moans so no innocent ears hear, his own groans muffled as you kiss through the climax.

"I missed doing this with you," you whisper, grinding against him one last time.

"I know." He grunts, his body stilling. "I know, honey."

"And I love you. You're so good to me and our family."

"We're perfect together, aren't we?"

"So fucking perfect," you say as your eyes flutter shut. Every breath you take is heavy, and your lungs fill with pure contentment.

"Let's get you cleaned up." He hooks your legs around his waist, and his elbow accidentally knocks over his wine glass. Dark red liquid pools on the hearth, the dying fire reflecting off it. "Shit. Goddamnit."

"Harry," you groan as he clumsily untangles himself from you and jogs to the kitchen.

❅ ❅ ❅

Your eyes shoot open when a startling noise resounds in the pitch-black bedroom. It doesn't register until your mind slowly fades into consciousness and you realize it's Harry's ringtone.

The bedside clock displays 5:39 a.m. It's Christmas morning. Who in the world is calling so early?

You remain still until Harry is eventually woken up by it. The mattress creaks as he stands and takes his phone to the master bathroom. You turn the bedside lamp on, and after five minutes of incoherent mumbling coming through the cracked door, he shuffles out with a crease between his eyebrows.

"Who was that?" you ask sleepily while stretching your legs under the covers.

Harry silently paces before saying, "My boss."

You yawn and rub your bleary eyes, then lean against the headboard. "Wishing you a Merry Christmas? That's nice of him."

"No," he replies in his husky morning voice, blankly staring at the wall behind you. "He, uh... he asked me if I could come to work today."

Silence pierces the atmosphere for several seconds before you finally ask, "What?"

"Three people have called out already."

You whip your head toward the clock. "It's not even six yet."

"Tell me about it," he says with zero emotion. I don't even know what to say. I told him I'd call him back once I've woken up a bit more."

Harry is most prone to being grumpy in the mornings. You hate that he's in a sour mood before the sun has even risen.

"Just tell him you're not going to. We'll get jumped on in less than an hour to open presents."

He runs a heavy hand down his face, stopping it under his lips. "It would only be for the first half of the day. I can make it back home for presents in the afternoon."

"What are you talking about?" Either he's sleepwalking, or he's gone mad. Maybe you're having a bad dream. "Christmas is an all-day thing, Harry. It always has been."

He struggles with words before saying, "My work relies on me. I need you to understand that."

Now you're wide awake with irritation. "Are you joking? You're on paternity leave. Never in a million years would I have thought you'd put work before your family."

The first nerve is struck, and it's written all over Harry's face.

"That's such a fuckin' low blow, and you know it," he says angrily. "I have always, always put our family first."

"You're sure as hell not doing it now!" You throw your arms out to the side and get out of bed.

"You're starting an argument on Christmas? Really?"

"Yeah, I am," you reply pettily.

Harry towers over you with a clenched jaw, pointing at his chest. "I demoted myself so I could be with my family more."

"Oh, don't you dare pull that card on me."

"I'm not pulling a card on you! I'm defending myself for crying out loud!"

"Lower your voice," you hiss at him. "Our daughter doesn't need to be more upset than she already will be when she finds out her dad isn't home on Christmas morning."

You struck below the belt, and now he's wounded.

Harry's stoic expression crumbles into one of devastation, his shoulders sagging with undeniable hurt. "Can you just listen to me?" His tone wavers with emotion. You immediately lower your defenses and swallow down guilt. "Please," he adds quietly. "I hate arguing with you. I hate it so much."

"I'm sorry," you choke out, hiding your face in your palms. "I didn't mean it."

Strong arms wrap around you, his hands spreading on your back. "I know you didn't mean it. We both need to calm down, okay? Can we sit?"

You nod and mumble, "Sure."

He lowers you to the floor and says, "Let's just talk this through. Tell me we're okay. Tell me it's just holiday stress getting to us."

Your head starts to pound from how deep your eyebrows plunge. "Why are you speaking like that? We're fine."

Harry's tired eyes bore into yours. "Because we're saying hurtful things, and the thought of losing you is unbearable."

"You're not losing me. I'm allowed to be frustrated."

"Then please let me know what's going on in your mind. I always have to remind you to talk to me; otherwise, nothing gets resolved."

"I already told you," you say while playing with the knotted string on his pajama pants. "I don't like how you're considering going to work instead of being here. That hurts my feelings."

Harry kisses your face and murmurs, "I'm sorry, love. It's early, and I'm in a weird headspace. It's all that damn wine we drank last night."

"Do you have a headache?"

"A brutal one."

You rub your temples. "Same here."

"Listen," he says, "I'm halfway through my paternity leave, so I think a part of me feels guilty for refusing to go in, considering I haven't worked the past month."

"I get that, but can you understand where I'm coming from?" you ask, still being showered with his tender morning kisses. "Any other day, I'd be fine with it, but it's our baby's first Christmas. Look me in the eye and tell me you'd seriously rather be at work preparing food for rich people who need to dine out for the holidays."

"You know I'd rather be here. I always want to be here with you guys."

"Then call your boss and say you're not coming in. You can't always be a yes-man. Otherwise, you'll get walked over."

"Am I really a yes-man?"

"Sometimes."

He slumps against you. "I don't want you to think I don't fight for our family."

You frown. "I don't think that. I will never forget when you demoted yourself. Yes, I was furious when you first told me, but then I realized how important it is for you to be present and bond with your children."

"I'll call my boss and tell him no." He hugs you and gives you a sweet smile. "Only if you promise you're not mad at me."

"I'm not mad," you say, fondly pinching his cheek. "Now get your butt up and bring me some Advil."

He gestures a salute. "Yes, ma'am."

❅ ❅ ❅

You're woken up again, this time by a slight pressure on your legs and two little hands shaking your shoulders.

"Santa came! Mama, Santa came!"

"Shh, shh, shh." You hush her lisped voice as you open your eyes. It takes a minute to become aware of your surroundings, and you eventually see Harry passed out on the bed by your feet, wrapped in his white robe and lying on his back as he sleeps. After your talk, he took a shower to clear his head, and he must have fallen asleep again.

"Can you wait until I get your sister up?" you whisper. "Then you can jump on Dad."

She nods, her messy curls bouncing every which way. You quietly get up and wander down the hallway toward the nursery. Surprisingly, your baby girl only cried twice throughout the night.

Once her diaper is changed and she's dressed in a festive onesie, you return to the bedroom with her cradled in your arms. You're greeted with a barely awake Harry, who is trying to tame the wild beast. Playful growls, followed by shrieking laughter, echo off the walls. You could've guessed that she wouldn't listen.

His eyes instantly soften when he sees you holding his new favorite person. "Why is your little nose all red?" he says to her. "You look like Rudolph."

You pass her over before sitting on the edge of the bed. "She loves untucking her arms from the swaddle at night, so she gets cold. She's an escape artist."

"A cute escape artist," he says, looking down at his girl. "Look how cute you are. I'm gonna eat your cheeks. I'm gonna do it!" He pretends to munch on her chubby cheeks until her happy noises fill the room.

After thirty minutes of warm snuggles in bed and letting the sunrise peek through the curtains, everyone eventually gathers in the living room to start the day. Harry, now in a much better mood, immediately goes into full dad mode so that everything runs smoothly and no one is crabby on Christmas.

"What can I make my lovely wife for breakfast?" he asks, dressed in jeans and a red knitted sweater.

"French toast and eggs, please," you answer, feeding the baby in your lap a bottle. She has a little Santa hat on. "Can you grab me the burp cloth?"

"Got it." He turns to his daughter, who's watching cartoons on TV. "Lovebug. Come here for a second."

She gallops over to him, fresh as a daisy, and he swoops her up to set her on his hip. "Hi," she says.

"Hi, sweetheart," he says while fixing her loose socks. "Dad needs your breakfast order."

"Reindeer pancake!"

"And?"

"Juice!"

"And?"

She hums, thinking long and hard. "Cookie!"

"Uh-oh." Harry gasps, looking at her with wide eyes. "Haven't you heard? Santa ate all the cookies!"

Her face drops. "Why?"

"We left them out for him, remember?"

"But… but why?"

"Because that's the spirit of Christmas." He kisses her cheek and then sets her down. "Go organize the presents while I make breakfast, okay? No peeking. Behave."

Once the family has full bellies and excited smiles, it's time to open presents. Everyone has their respective piles stacked in front of their feet, some from under the tree, some from the four stockings hanging on the mantle. It's crazy to think there used to only be two there.

"Who's going first?" Harry asks with a steaming mug of tea in his hands. He sits beside you on the couch and carefully slides the portable bassinet closer. Her Christmas plans include getting milk drunk and sleeping all day.

"Me!" says your daughter, crawling into his lap.

"All right. Pick a good one, little lady."

She chooses a rectangular box from the top of her stack. "That's one you need to open with your dad," you tell her. "Harry, open yours that has the same wrapping paper."

He grabs an identical-looking present and helps tear open both boxes. After pulling out the tissue paper, he picks up a pair of white aprons, one big and one small, with ladybugs stitched to the fronts. You tried and failed to find ones that said lovebug, but you figured the sentiment would be appreciated.

"A ladybug!"

You take a candid picture of her with your phone. "I know, baby. You and Dad can match when you cook together."

Harry squeezes your shoulder and whispers, "Thank you."

It's your turn next, and you choose a gift from Harry. You open a small box that contains a gift card to a local spa establishment.

"You deserve a day without me or the kids," he says softly. "I'm forcing you to not be a mom for a day."

You look at him while holding the card to your chest. "Thank you so much."

"Word on the street is that they give better massages than I do."

"Well, they've got some tough competition."

Harry laughs and kisses your cheek, then picks out a gift you've been waiting for weeks to give him. He didn't ask for it, but you like to surprise him. He unwraps it with a giddy smile, eventually pulling out two picture frames crafted from an assortment of seashells.

"I made them using the shells she's brought you over the years," you explain. "I hope you don't mind."

Harry runs a hand over his mouth as his eyes dance over the two pictures. One of them is from when his baby girl was born a mere month ago—the two of you sat in the birthing tub with him staring at you with a breathtaking smile after she clung to him. The other picture is from the day his first daughter was born—him sitting in the hospital bed while holding her with his forehead resting against hers, his hands almost taking up her entire body.

"That's you, lovebug," he says to her while pointing at the picture. "Look at how tiny you were. You changed my life that day and made me the happiest person in the whole wide world."

"Me?" she asks curiously.

He taps her nose. "Mm-hmm. And look at you now. All grown up."

"Do I still make you the happiest in the whole wide world?"

"Every single day. We're each other's first smiles forever, right?"

She nods delightedly. "Yeah."

Harry hugs her tightly and then glances over at you, doing a double-take when you bring your knees to your chest and inhale deeply. "Are you going to cry?" he teases with a smirk.

"No," you reply unconvincingly, clearing your throat and not-so-subtly wiping the corners of your eyes. "Okay, who's next?"

After a bunch more presents are unwrapped and toys and sparkly bows are scattered on the carpet, there's only one box under the tree with no name.

Harry crawls over and grabs it. "This," he says theatrically while standing, "is for all of us. Let's have mommy do the honors."

The box is set in your lap, and Harry stands before you, bending forward to place his hands on your thighs.

"You're way too close to me right now," you tell him.

He glances up at you through his eyelashes. "I need to gauge your reaction."

You roll your eyes and begin tearing the tape on the box's seal. Once you open it, your heart skips a beat when you see four plane tickets sitting on a bed of sand.

"Surprise," he whispers.

Mouth agape, you take them out and flip them over to read the tags attached.

Your tag reads: For my wife. Italy the first time made us fall in love all over again. Let's do it a second time.

Your eldest daughter's tag reads: For my lovebug. I'll buy you all the raspberry gelato and ciabatta bread you want. I'll even throw a lasso around the Italian moon for you to keep.

Your newborn's tag reads: For my baby girl. I'll show you the sea that emulates your beauty. You'll show me how lucky I am to hold and love you.

In all your years of knowing him, you don't think he's ever done something more romantic than the scrawly ink attached to a gift from a memory so dear to him.

"We're seriously going back to Italy?"

He crouches and squeezes your thigh. "End of July."

Your daughter doesn't quite understand the significance of what's happening since she was small when the family last went, but she's smiling as she absentmindedly sifts her hands through the sand.

You lean forward and give Harry a hug. "You're so perfect. Thank you. I can't wait."

"You're welcome. Come with me for a second," he murmurs in your ear. He heads to the kitchen and quickly dumps the rest of his cold tea into the sink.

You follow him into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly cracked. Harry flicks on the light and then stands in front of you. "You," he emphasizes while cradling your cheeks, "are the fuckin' love of my life."

You accept his fervent kisses and mumble against his mouth, "Did you like the seashells?"

"Are you kidding?" He kisses you once more. "I almost lost my composure out there."

"See? I'm not the only one who gets emotional."

"I love you so much," he says, soft and sincere. "This will be the best trip of our lives."

You admire his bright eyes and dimpled smile. "I'm so glad you stayed home. You make it feel like Christmas."

❅ ❅ ❅

[sweetaliencheeks]

THE ONE WHERE SHE ADMITS IT

“Hey, there” Peter’s voice echoed through the room, drowning the insisting whirring and beeping of the machines that surrounded us.

“Peter” I offered him a warm smile, happy to see him there so late “Hi, what are you doing here?”

“Wanted to check up on you, make sure you’re good…” he walked up to me, a hot drink in his left hand a blanket in the right “You look terrible”

“Thanks” he handed me the drink, warmth instantly spreading from my fingertips all the way up to my chest “I feel terrible”

“I know” I felt the soft blanket being set on my naked shoulders and a sigh left my lungs, I had been freezing for hours but nothing could make me leave him. Peter crouched beside me, his eyes locked on Rocket “Anything?” I shook my head.

“Not really, I think I saw a twitch” tears began to form in my eyes as I ran my thumb across Rocket’s hand, my whole arm was numb from being in the same position for so long. I sniffled and took a sip of my drink “But I haven’t slept in a while, so I don’t really know anymore”

“We’re gonna get him back” his hand went up to give my thigh a soft squeeze “I promise you”

“I want to believe you so bad, Peter” I kicked my had back and set my eyes on a little smudge on the ceiling above me, trying to stop the tears from falling again “But I’m gonna be devastated if we don’t…”

“He’s my best friend, I’m not giving up” Peter’s voice sounded almost like a growl, he was just as angry, and sad, and frustrated as I was. Rocket was his as much as he was mine and despite their differences, they had a bond stronger than the both of them could ever comprehend “We’re gonna find them, we’re gonna fix Rocket”

“Mm…” with a sigh, I let go of Rocket’s hand and brought it up to pet the top of his head “Do you think he knows we’re here?”

“He better, so he knows how uncomfortable it is to sleep on that fucking chair” with a thumb pointed at the chair I was sitting on, Peter snorted.

“It is a shit chair” I said with a chuckle, ignoring the fact that everything from the back of my thighs to the nape of my neck was sore “But I mean, does he feel it when I hold him?”

“You’ve been holding him?” Peter asked, a small grin at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah?” I shrugged and looked away from him, taking a swig of my drink “Is that weird?”

“I don’t know, is it?” he nudged my leg with his shoulder.

“Shut up, Peter” I playfully pushed him off me, a comforting silence setting between us. I took a deep breath, feeling a sob climbing up the back of my throat “I can’t wait to hear his voice again”

“Yeah, I miss being insulted for no reason” Peter scoffed, his own eyes now as full of tears as mine.

“You’re too dramatic” I set my drink tightly between my knees and offered Peter a sweet squeeze on his shoulder. I began to weep in silence, hoping he wouldn’t notice, but then I just slumped on my chair, face covered by both the blanked and my hands. The sob I had been trying to suppress rolled up my lungs like a wave and thick heavy tears began to run down my cheeks and staining my skin, coming out from the depths of my soul with an anguished scream. I couldn’t stop it now. It was somewhere between the grief I wish I wouldn’t feel and an unspeakable sense of despair and crushing loss. Anxiety spreading through my veins like wildfire and a pain so strong, that it almost burnt my bones. A string of uncontrollable sobs came out, strained by the fact that I simply couldn’t get any air in my lungs. I was choking underneath the weight of my own chest, shaking so hard that I almost felt sick.

“Hey, hey, breathe” Peter quickly rose to his feet to uncover my face, forcefully holding my arms down and holding me up so I wouldn’t fall. It was consuming, all the regret and nostalgia. It was pressing against my chest, my whole body ached and I was beginning to feel dizzy “Come on, breathe” he held me tight against his chest, this different and much more comforting and loving feeling of being crushed quickly took over the anxiety that threatened to asphyxiate me if I didn’t start breathing soon. So I laid my head on Peter’s chest and took a few deep breaths, as he rubbed my back.

“I love him, Peter. I love him so much it fucking hurts” I sobbed softly into his T-shirt, pools of tears staining the fabric. As I spoke, I could feel another crushing wave begin to form in my entrails “I never got to tell him, he can’t die”

“He won’t die, we got this” he pulled away to grab my shoulders as he spoke “We got a plan”

“But what if-” I looked up at him, searching in his eyes for the hope he preached and that I so desperately needed. I was wailing, I was screaming and I was thrashing around in Peter’s arms. I felt like there was no floor beneath my feet and like the air around me was as heavy as iron. I couldn’t bear how unfair it all was, it was unfair that he had lived most his life knowing that he didn’t belong, feeling like an outcast, feeling like he wasn’t worthy of the kind of love I felt for him. Amongst the regret and pain, I felt guilt. In a way, it was my fault if he didn’t know. I had countless opportunities to tell him and I kept choosing not to do it, all the mornings I woke up in his bed, all the kisses and intimate moments we shared, and never once did I tell him “He’ll die not knowing what he means me, he deserves to know! He deserves to know that he’s loved the way he is”

“I know, sweetheart. I know” Peter’s hand travelled to the back of my head, and I could now hear him sniffle into my hair. I realised that he too, needed support and affection, that it was selfish of me to assume that I was the only reason why he was there. My arms tightened around his waist and I gripped the back of his shirt.

“He’s perfect for me, Peter. He makes me so happy, please. I must tell him, he has to know” as we stood there holding each other, my breathing started to slow down and finally settled on the same rhythm as Peter’s.

“He knows. In fact, we all know how much you love him” once again, he pulled away to look down at me, brushing the stray hairs away from my face. I frowned at his statement and slightly tilted my head to the side “What? Do you think you’re any good at hiding it?”

“I’ve got nothing to hide” I could feel a blush rise up my cheeks as I looked away.

“Oh, please. It’s always giggling and pet names and touching, with you two. And the flirting? Do you know how much it takes to get me bothered?” he chuckled, his cheeks turning red as he wiped away the tears.

“It’s just banter, and attraction. It wasn’t supposed to be love” I replied, letting go of Peter to hold my own arm “He’d never love someone like me”

“Excuse me? You should see how he looks at you” I chuckled, I knew Rocket had a soft spot for me. But then again, we had been through so much together that acts that could be perceived as being of love, as small as they were, had become frequent between us. We’d always fix each other’s clothes and hair, always get double drinks or extra food for the other, always said goodnight and goodbye more intensely, always looked out for each other. Always. But I had never thought he’d do it from a romantic place. Although we’d been spending some quality time together in hotel rooms and bathroom stalls at the bar, it had never been anything more than that. Love was never on the table.

“You really think he loves me?” I whispered. Of course I wanted to believe Peter, but believing him would mean hoping and hoping would possibly lead to heartbreak. But I still needed to know.

“Obviously” he laughed, smoothing my hair down and setting a hand on my cheek “You start preparing your speech for when he wakes up, can’t be telling him you love him with mascara on your cheeks and snot all over your face”

“Yeah, sure” I scoffed, my eyes landing on Rocket’s body again as I suppressed another sob. I shook my head and let myself drop on the chair behind me “Like I’d ever tell him…”

“You’re so fucking dumb. You’ve got someone who loves you, and he isn’t dead” this time, his whole face turned red, and his voice went up a notch. It bounced off the walls and echoed in the room like thunder “So you still got time, better make it worth”

“I guess” it started to down on me why Peter was angry and the pang of guilt I had been feeling got worse, so bad that I could have thrown up. He had lost his soul mate. Gamora was dead and I was standing there, in front of him, refusing to acknowledge how lucky I was to still be able to hold Rocket in my arms “You’re right. I just wish there was an easy way to let him know”

“Just tell him” some gadget started to beep and made him rummage through every single one of his pockets before finding it and turning it off. He gave me a side smile and a pat on the head “I gotta go, you keep him company” with a small nod, I watched him leave into the darkness and let out a long sigh, relieved to finally be alone with my emotions. I stood up again, my aching bones screaming for comfort and my soul begging for rest.

“I hope you don’t mind if I hog a little bit of your space, but I always sleep better next to you” I went around and under all the cables and appliances around Rocket to lay down next to him on the hard metal table “I won’t leave your side, I promise” I set my hand on the side of his face, rubbing my thumb against his cheek before planting a kiss there “Just come back to me, my beloved raccoon”

A big thank you to @hypothermia-brrrr (who for some unknown reason I’m unable to tag), for suggesting this <3 I hope it’s as you hoped and I hope you all like it!.

This is part one, and part two is in works! Don’t know each way I wanna go with it after Rocket confronts the reader after hearing this talk. Do I make it sweet and romantic, or angsty and FULL of sexual tension? Please, help a girl out.

Love you all sm 🤍

[dailyunstableeve]

Haunted

Chapter Five

Miguel O'Hara x Fem!reader

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Lights shining on you, you could see them through your eyelids. Two finger force opens your eyelid and a bright light shines on you, it's too bright that you just jolted up, the people around were scared that they stepped a few back.

"What?" You tried to catch your breath, thinking back what happened.

Didn't you fall off the stairs?

A building that's on fire caught your full attention, it's the building you live at.

"What happened?" You asked the first person you saw.

"You were saved by a man, but then he disappeared," the medical staff said, "well, you're safe now Miss, take a rest, if you still feel any dizziness, do tell us," then the medical staff left you.

"You're awake Miss Y/N," it's the old man.

"You're safe," you let out a breath that the old man made out alive as well.

"He saved you," the old man looked at you.

"What do you mean?"

"He saved you, Miguel."

Miguel?

"How is that possible?" You asked.

"Maybe love is what makes it happen," the old man chuckled, "he has that worry on his face when he carries you out from the building, everyone was shocked."

"Where is he?"

"He's gone," the old man held your hand and slowly patted it, "I was able to talk to him a little, he has used all his strength to carry you out, maybe he has moved on, by saving the one he loves the most."

"What?" you couldn't believe what you're listening to at the moment, "no, no, this can't be!"

You just promised him that you wanted to give it a try, to live a life with him.

"You need to find your way to wake up as well Y/N," the old man looked at you for the last time and walked away, not even turning back even when you called out to him.

Miguel.

Your heart ached.

You cried for a long while, only then remember what the old man told you.

What does he mean by wake up?

There's no wake up for you at the moment because you feel hella exhausted, your home is burned, you don't have a place to return to, except your parents.

"It should be time as well, I call it a holiday," you went around to ask for a phone so you could call your boss and your parents.

★・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・★

"Papa, mama, I'm home," you called, finding no one at home at all, maybe they are out.

You left the "whatever survived the fire" stuff in your old room, it still stays the same, the classic teenager bedroom, where poster and pictures are everywhere on the wall, your favorite silk laces curtain, it doesn't block much of the sunlight but you love how the light reflected in your room, you closet that filled with short tank tops and some sweater because you packed all your sweater and hoodie with you but now only a few survive the fire. And your plushies, your mom must've helped you keep them clean, they still look like the day you left your home for work.

You laid down on your bed, for some reason the bed seems smaller, or maybe you've been sleeping in king size that you forgot what your double single bed feels like.

You dozed off in your cozy room, the feeling of nostalgia made you feel safe that you've returned to your safe haven.

"Mi cariño."

"My love," it's you, you lean forward toward the man and give him a kiss, "can you help me with the meat? The bones are too hard to chop off."

"Sure, anything for Mi precioso," the man kissed your cheek.

You took a few steps closer to see the man's face, you couldn't believe it when you finally saw it clearly.

It's Miguel.

"Are you ready for our anniversary?" You asked.

"Of course, I have everything planned well, it's going to be the best, and you'll be the luckiest and happiest girl in the world," Miguel put down the knife and led forward to give you another kiss.

"Miguel," you chuckled, "you need to get the meat chopped or else we are not eating dinner before 7."

Miguel gave you another kiss and went back to the chopping board.

"Sweetie Y/N, dinner's ready," it's your mom, she gently shakes you awake with her calm voice and beautiful smile.

"Mama," you mumbled, still trying to process the dream and your mom in front of you.

You got off your bed and went downstairs to the dining room with your mom, dad is placing down the plates and utensils.

"Hello princess," dad smiled.

"Hi papa, I'm home," you kissed your dad's cheek.

"Welcome home sweetie, I'm glad you survived the fire," your mom hugged you.

"Yeah," you answered, thinking back how you actually made it out.

Because Miguel saved you. If it wasn't Miguel, you'd probably be pretty much dead now.

After the meal you went outside to your favorite swing when you were a kid, your dad made it for you, it has become a distress activity for you when you're a teenager, even now.

The stars covered the night sky, you wondered which one would be Miguel, since in many movies you watched, they always say dead people would become stars in the sky.

"What's on your pretty mind?" Your dad walked up to you as he covered you with his jacket, "it's getting chilly, you gotta have to look after yourself."

"Papa, have you ever seen a ghost before?"

"I afraid no."

"I've met one," you continued staring at the night sky, "he was kind, he looked after me like how you did, he always made the apartment don't feel lonely."

"He sounds like a good ghost."

"Yeah he is," your tears slowly row down your face, "but I think I won't be seeing him anymore."

"You will see him again, someday, somewhere," your dad kisses your head and asks you to go back in the house.

"Oh the magic show is so cool!" You cheered, clinging onto Miguel's arm.

"I'm glad you love it, Mi Amor," Miguel smiled.

"The way he chopped himself in half and then teleported to another location is so sick!"

Miguel just chuckled and gave you a kiss. You and Miguel got in the car and drove back home.

On the way back, the road is dark, the only light is from the car, but Miguel has driven down this road many times so you trusted him and decided to hum along with the music that's playing on the radio.

When you look at the dark road, you see a deer standing in the middle of it, which freaks you out. Miguel turned the car to avoid the deer but instead, he drove off the road, leading to a car crash.

And your vision is all blurred, leaving a voice calling out your name like when you fall off the stairs.

"Miguel!" You jolted up from your bed, looking around, then only remembered you're in your parent's house at the moment. The sunlight is shining through your curtain just like it always has been but this time, the only thing you can ever think of is how Miguel looks when the sunlight shines on him, just like the first time you see it, it's gorgeous.

You miss Miguel, it's getting more lonely when Miguel is not with you.

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Prev~

Next~

This is getting close to the end

[jonboudposts]

Cafe Life #4: Vivid Cafe

Tea = £1.80

Dear god I fucking ache. Body has been in this state longer than I can remember; but now the mind has a dull sensation between sickness and dizzy dislocation. Visions of places I have never been haunt my desires through photography books.  Not just the place but perhaps the time; remembering how much I fucked things up when I was the age these photos were taken. Remembering where I was when I first saw them; what music was playing; what ideas and desires.

I am starting to lose my memories as I get older. There is still the broad factor of things but the specifics are gone; the taste of certain people or the feelings of certain days. The reminder of who I was when there. Something about how this fades creates a feeling of intense loss. An incomparable feeling. It does not matter exactly, as I am not a nostalgia type and many of these things I want to forget. I especially want to forget who I have been in the past, in the hope perhaps that the associated trauma that goes with all that came before will finally be put to the earth. Perhaps my mind and body will find peace from the extreme tension they have lived under for as long as I can remember.

But what else goes if this desire is achieved?

Most of all I find it difficult to assess how I feel now these memories and feelings are leaving me.  It makes you feel cast adrift from your own life, even if you rather desire that sometimes. Right now every cafe I sit in rings with this feeling, even when going there to find relief. But is this not the life you wanted? Always switched on; never not fighting against this vicious system? Are we not able to specify our disconnection? As in we might want to take a break from the tension but not at the cost of our identity.

I seem to have got to that age when I cannot remember the new bands any more. It use to be simple, that I would hear a song, then go and look up the artist and maybe buy the CD or vinyl. But times have got tougher, so spending money is in less supply. Plus import charges mean many smaller and unsigned artists cannot even get their stuff out internationality and forget about touring, unless some bigger band picks you up for a support slot. At best it’s downloads, with their poor quality and no chance of real album art.

But still I could remember what I wanted until the next time I went to the record shops; or maybe write it on a little note, to slip into my wallet.  Now my brutalised brain that never finds any rest cannot manage to remember the things that use to light my little life up by the mere sound of a note or two.

I still have no physical music by Weeping Icon, LA Witch, Donzii, Arthur Russell, god knows how many Boris albums, October and the Eyes. The list goes on. Artists whose work I do have turn out to put out more albums than I was aware of.

This is all contemplated while sitting at the counter of Vivid Cafe in North Harrow. There’s a ‘we stand with Ukraine sign by the counter and a flag in the window. Not sure what they are trying to say with this, a mixed message clearly. The tea is a rich blend in a tall mug. Could do without the shite electronic tunes and their lyrics trying so hard to be deep, but this is what the world of mainstream gives you, over and over. Empty commitment. They do a nice job aesthetically with such a narrow space too. The interior is bare-brick wallpaper one side and panels with white painted tops on the other. Even with some of this twee pretension it still manages to feel comfortable and better than the average.

Someone I know walks in, so we switch to one of the bench seats and tables to get some lunch. It is lovely to find a falafel in a baguette for only £3.90.  Has a bit of spice too. Otherwise it is a basic but tasty selection of salads, rolls and baked potatoes. Nice to see that cheaper cafes have not been totally killed off (but once again this is something we have to fight for). A mandated space in public for affordable food and drink is long overdue.

We went to Vivid just before the hot weather started, the tail end of spring with a chill in the air, for a country facing eternal winter. It is a sad thing to live in a time when everything you saw going wrong decades ago now is – and still the fuckers responsible are not paying the price, we are. Do you want to live like this?

[learnthisphrase]

Best books of 2022

The 12 best books I read this year

The World Cannot Give by Tara Isabella Burton (Simon & Schuster, 2022)

Shortly after starting at St. Dunstan’s, a private school on the windswept Maine coast, 16-year-old Laura joins the school choir and develops an infatuation with its pious, exacting president, Virginia. Soon Virginia’s passions (God, running) become Laura’s, and the choir becomes her family. The narrative focuses relentlessly on this small group and the school campus, which both creates the impression of a faintly otherworldly setting, and reproduces within itself the hyper-focused, enveloping smallness of Laura’s obsessions.

Through Laura we see how easy it is to locate the numinous in someone or something you love – and how dangerous that can be. This is a story about how obsession is an endless vista unfolding and then, eventually, a prison; a story to make you feel fury and sympathy and pity for your younger self. In deceptively controlled prose, Burton creates a world that feels like an enchantment, filled with aching nostalgia, terror and sadness. I felt hugely invigorated by it, and left it behind reluctantly.

A History of Fear by Luke Dumas (Atria Books, 2022)

Presented as a manuscript written by convicted murderer Grayson Hale, an American student in Edinburgh who killed a classmate and claimed the Devil made him do it, A History of Fear is immediately gripping. This is a novel about repression, religion, the dangers of denying oneself and generational trauma – but it’s also just a really fucking good ghost story: brimming with atmosphere, full of the kind of creeping, swirling uncertainty that makes great horror. It walks a tricky path – balancing real emotional damage/confusion and a supernatural threat – with grace and, it seems, ease, while the pure intrigue and tension generated by the central question (is Hale really communing with the Devil?) never let up. I raced through it so quickly I barely paused for breath.

Conquest by Nina Allan (riverrun, 2023)

Nina Allan is my favourite writer and this is an extraordinary novel: a deeply complex and layered work of speculative fiction that rewards close reading yet is also incredibly enjoyable. The plot revolves around a missing man, his girlfriend’s search for him, and whether his belief in an incipient alien war has any basis in reality. Touching on themes that include conspiracy theories, mental illness, music and code, ambition and apathy, faith and doubt, it’s a story about what happens to someone who falls into the cracks between scepticism and delusion. Yet the truth is it’s impossible to capture what’s great about Conquest in a paragraph, because it’s about everything – the stuff of life, the search for meaning. As soon as I finished it, I wanted to start all over again; when I do, I know I will find new meanings and mysteries in the text.

Lote by Shola von Reinhold (Jacaranda Books, 2020)

Lote is an academic mystery about a secret society. It’s about the exclusion of Black people from (what is recorded of) history; a woman who repeatedly seeks to escape her own life and reinvent herself; an odd artists’ residency where people speak in pure cant and revere an obscure architect... All these things are in there, but there’s also a load of other stuff – about aesthetics, beauty, decadence, ways of seeing – Lote is a book of fantasies and ideas, fizzing with intelligence, infused with baroque spirit, written with immense charm and openness. It’s unique in the true sense of the word; I can think of nothing to compare it to. I read it in a delirious trance and it left me dizzy with pleasure.

Death of a Bookseller by Alice Slater (Hodder & Stoughton, 2023)

Cynical, normie-hating Roach has worked at a beleaguered branch of bookshop chain Spines since she was a teenager. When a new team are brought in to reverse the shop’s fortunes, she meets a very different type of bookseller: the stylish, friendly, popular Laura. The two women soon clash over their opinions on true crime, and Roach’s initial desire for a friendship curdles into hate. What unfolds after that is a thrilling, fast-paced story of obsession with a dark, sticky soul. It combines a razor-sharp character study with bags of atmosphere and a deliciously nasty underbelly – think Looker meets The Poison Tree meets Boy Parts. So, which bookseller meets an untimely end? That’d be telling... but you won’t be able to put it down until you find out.

Liar, Dreamer, Thief by Maria Dong (Grand Central Publishing, 2023)

While I was reading Liar, Dreamer, Thief, I felt like I was living inside the world of its heroine Katrina Kim – who I found infinitely loveable even though she’s a self-confessed disaster and one of her main interests is stalking a colleague, Kurt. When he suddenly vanishes, leaving a cryptic note that seems meant for Katrina, her already-messy world spirals even further out of control. The writing is sometimes awkward, sometimes brilliant, and it suits the character perfectly – it really feels like this is Katrina’s voice rather than a novel. The story, too, is always shifting and transforming. Is it a conspiracy thriller, an ‘unhinged woman’ narrative, a story about a fractured family coming back together? It’s all three and more: a glorious Technicolor starburst of a novel. It’s funny and poignant, colourful, totally immersive, and – somehow – oddly cosy and comforting.

A Station on the Path to Somewhere Better by Benjamin Wood (Scribner, 2018)

12-year-old Daniel and his father, Francis, are going on a road trip: Francis, who creates props for TV programmes, has promised to take Daniel to visit the set of his favourite show. If that sounds wholesome, think again – Francis is a volatile, unstable man and when the visit doesn’t go to plan, devastating chaos ensues. This harrowing sequence of events unfolds with all the gravity of a factual story, imbued with a terrible urgency that sweeps the reader along. A Station on the Path to Somewhere Better is one of the most finely crafted, powerful novels I have read all year. While the details may be disturbing, the writing is simply so flawless that reading it felt, against the odds, like breathing a huge sigh of relief.

The Appeal by Janice Hallett (Viper, 2021) and The Mysterious Case of the Alperton Angels by Janice Hallett (Viper, 2023)

Though I feel like the last person on Earth to hear about Janice Hallett’s bestselling mystery The Appeal, I am going to shout about it anyway – I can’t remember the last time I read something that so thoroughly lived up to the label ‘unputdownable’. And her forthcoming novel, The Mysterious Case of the Alperton Angels, is very much in the same vein. Both feature inventive narrative approaches: The Appeal is told primarily through emails; Alperton Angels is a patchwork of text messages, transcriptions, extracts from books and scripts, etc. I can’t get enough of this format, which allows plenty of space for the story to be funny and irreverent as well as exciting. It’s also completely addictive.

The Teardrop Method by Simon Avery (TTA Press, 2017) and A Box Full of Darkness by Simon Avery (Black Shuck Books, 2021)

One thing I love about reading is finding new(-to-me) authors whose writing excites me – that feeling where you immediately want to read everything of theirs you can get your hands on. This happened to me with Simon Avery’s quietly haunting speculative novella, The Teardrop Method. Soon afterwards I picked up his excellent collection A Box Full of Darkness, which I also loved (especially ‘Perfidious Albion’, which is about a mythic TV play, a cult-like organisation, grief and magic and is just so good). Avery’s fiction is compelling as hell, and he’s got a great knack for writing about the vaguely uncanny, the weird-in-the-ordinary, but more than that his work contains a deep understanding of loneliness and the different types of human connection that offer a route out of it. He writes like a natural heir to Joel Lane, with the same (rare) ability to pin down an ethereal, unsettling mood. I cannot wait to read more from him.

A Separate Peace by John Knowles (1959)

I am really bad at writing about classics, but I couldn’t not include this. (Not least because it is the novel The World Cannot Give was inspired by and partly based on, which makes it a perfect way to end my list of the year’s favourites.) A Separate Peace is told almost entirely from the perspective of a teenage boy at a New England boarding school during the Second World War. It’s the story of how these children of privilege navigate the paradox that constrains them: they will imminently join the fight, so they’re expected to grow up fast, but adults also treat them as paragons of precious innocence, to be indulged and coddled. The writing is so clean and smooth and lucid. It rolls along wonderfully; it’s emotionally resonant. I found it beautiful, and well deserving of its status.

Honourable mentions

Stargazer by Laurie Petrou (VERVE Books, 2022): A zingy headrush of a campus novel following the friendship (and rivalry) between two girls, Stargazer is absorbing and deftly structured, with possibly my favourite literary character of the year in Diana Martin. The sort of book I will never get bored of reading.

Build Your House Around My Body by Violet Kupersmith (Oneworld, 2021): A wide-ranging epic of love, hate, family legacy and folklore that’s SO much better and more interesting (and with a much stronger supernatural element!) than I initially expected, especially given the twee title. Recommended to fans of Ghostwritten and The Kingdoms.

Out of a Clear Sky by Sally Hinchcliffe (Pan, 2007): I missed this debut from Hinchcliffe (author of my beloved Hare House) when it was first published; I’m so glad I sought it out. A literary suspense novel about a woman trying to deal with both a breakup and a stalker, it features masterful storytelling reminiscent of Barbara Vine, with excellent writing about landscape and nature.

Lunar Park by Bret Easton Ellis (Picador, 2005): BEE writes himself into a horror story as a suburban dad, and there’s also a murderous Furby. It’s pretty difficult to describe this book beyond that, but it was orders of magnitude better than I’d hoped, entertaining and comic and eerie and brilliant, with an ending that has no right being so moving.

Found Audio by N.J. Campbell (Two Dollar Radio, 2017): If you love meta novels about lost media – and I do, though I acknowledge it’s a bit of a niche – this is a must-read. Revolving around a mysterious set of tapes and a search for something called ‘the City of Dreams’, it’s a sweeping, extremely propulsive adventure enlivened by a delicious element of uncertainty.

The Candy House by Jennifer Egan (Corsair, 2022): The scope of the storytelling in this incredibly intelligent, unpredictable book took my breath away. Wide-ranging, densely interconnected, character-centric and very empathetic – and you don’t need to remember A Visit from the Goon Squad to enjoy it.

Lambda by David Musgrave (Europa Editions, 2022): One of the most interesting sci-fi stories I’ve read in a while, absolutely bursting with ideas (too many to summarise here!) and cleverly developed perspectives. A funny, chilling and true portrait of a future world.

Children of Paradise by Camilla Grudova (Atlantic Books, 2022): An offbeat coming-of-age story about a young woman working in a singularly peculiar cinema. Camilla Grudova’s writing pulls the reader down into the enveloping ambience of the bizarre, wildly intriguing Paradise.

Case Study by Graeme Macrae Burnet (Saraband, 2021): In his faux-biography of a ‘forgotten 1960s psychotherapist’, Graeme Macrae Burnet pulls off the rare feat of writing two parallel narratives that are equally compelling. A riveting meta-novel in which the ‘truth’ is revealed at exactly the right pace.

The Witch in the Well by Camilla Bruce (Transworld, 2022): This tale of two ex-friends writing competing books about the same historical figure, a reputed witch, sees Camilla Bruce making a welcome return to the winning formula that made her debut (You Let Me In) so dazzling. Unreliable narrator + hints of horror/fantasy/fable = an irresistible combination.

The Sun Down Motel by Simone St. James (Berkley, 2020): A virtual masterclass in how to write a spooky, atmospheric mystery; I had a great time reading this. The forlorn – and definitely haunted – motel of the title jumps off the page.

Short stories

Unexpected Places to Fall From, Unexpected Places to Land by Malcolm Devlin (Unsung Stories, 2021)

Isn’t it amazing when you buy a book on a whim and it turns out to be exactly the sort of thing you’re always longing to read? I already knew of – and liked – Malcolm Devlin’s writing, but even so, Unexpected Places took me by surprise. This is a collection of linked stories (good) and encompasses a dazzling range of genres that might best be collectively summed up as speculative litfic (even better). It centres on a man called Prentis O’Rourke and the ways in which his death affects a number of different versions of reality. I adored ‘Walking to Doggerland’ (told in three parts scattered throughout the book), ‘Five Conversations With My Daughter (Who Travels in Time)’, and ‘My Uncle Eff’. The best stories in this book are subtly strange and totally unpredictable, but very human, even when they have pure SF concepts at their heart.

Whirlwind Romance by Sam Thompson (Unsung Stories, 2022)

Don’t be fooled by the title – Sam Thompson’s short stories sit at the intersection of realism, horror/fantasy and the vaguely disturbing, non-specific Weird. They’re uniquely imaginative, evocative and charged with uncanny energy. There are many descriptions of fictional art (a thing I just absolutely love), and there is always, always an incredible sense of place. Among the best are ‘The Heights of Sleep’, about a man’s obsession with an enigmatic writer; ‘The Red Song’, in which an academic explores the traditions of a strange and sinister city; and ‘One-Eyed Jack and the Suicide Queen’, a thoughtfully written yet gripping fantasy adventure. And ‘Seafront Gothic’ might be the best ever example of a story suiting its title perfectly.

Other collections I enjoyed: Nana Nkweti’s irresistibly vibrant, spirited Walking on Cowrie Shells. The Ghost Sequences by A.C. Wise, a fabulously varied set of ghost stories (it’s a bit too long overall but some, like ‘The Nag Bride’ and ‘The Stories We Tell About Ghosts’, are indelible). Gareth E. Rees’ portraits of a Britain in meltdown in Terminal Zones. Paul Dalla Rosa’s An Exciting and Vivid Inner Life exploits affectless narrative voices brilliantly – ideal for fans of Ottessa Moshfegh’s short fiction. Ice Age by Iain Rowan, a short but powerful collection of weird tales.

A few final honourable mentions

When We Were Young by Dawn Goodwin: a captivating, entertaining mystery with unexpected heart, humour and a great portrayal of lifelong friendship. The Marsh House by Zoë Somerville: a rich historical novel of suspense and tragedy laced with elements of folklore. The Cloisters by Katy Hays: a ‘dark academia’ book that elevates itself above all the clichés with an indulgent, intoxicating atmosphere. A Child’s Book of True Crime by Chloe Hooper: a beautifully written portrait of paranoia, incredible at the sentence level.

Hawk Mountain by Conner Habib starts with a skin-crawling premise (the protagonist’s childhood nemesis finagles his way into his home & refuses to leave) and then turns it completely upside down, revealing a devilishly smart core. Skin Deep by Liz Nugent – a superb character study, something like Tana French meets (early) William Boyd – got me out of a horrible reading slump. Run Time by Catherine Ryan Howard is a thriller about the making of a horror film; a dream concept for me, so fun and surprising.

[prettyboykatsuki]

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yeah right | t. oikawa 

➳  tags ;; angst, hurt/comfort, getting together, drunken confessions, gn!reader

➳  wc ;; 1k

➳  a/n ;; he makes me very sad. also don’t write him a lot so if this sucks, sorry lol 

➳ plot ;; oikawa tooru doesn’t regret leaving japan. but he does miss you, more often than not. 

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“I met someone,” 

Your feet dangle over the highway as cars pass by you - quick as moving stars. They should really repair this little walk-way, the trail above it. This town is so small and this broken railing and fence has been here for almost a decade. It gets more rusty as the years pass. Someone’s gonna get tetanus. 

He breathes a short breath, like a gasp. He leans on his palms, back onto the road as he stares up at the night sky. This is dangerous and he shouldn’t have brought you out here but the nostalgia is hitting just right. 

You don’t turn your head to look at him. With a small nod and a hundred things to say, you stare down at the empty street. 

“Really?,” 

He feels his stomach drop. Disappointment is an even more bitter spirit on his tongue. He closes his eyes again. The whole world is asleep and the two of you are alone, 50 feet off the ground. 

Somehow, it aches. It still aches, all these years later. He gives you a small laugh - a mix of exhaustion and exasperation. He shifts, only a few feet away from falling - he gets on his side and drops your head on your lap. 

He looks up at you or at the stars or maybe neither. Maybe both, all at once. With a dizzy smile, he nods. 

“Really,” 

It’s only silent briefly. Your fingers are tender as they brush against his skin - the heat in his chest spreading over his skin like flame. You brush your knuckles beneath his eyes, press on his lips, touch his lashes. It is all too intimate but you do it easily, without stopping. 

Nothing changes in the same way the world keeps spinning. He wonders how many mountains he will have to move for all of this to come to a halt.

You look at him and he looks at you. His heart runs and runs and runs and he doesn’t know where to put his hands. Doesn’t know how to look away. 

“D’you like them? Are they nice?” 

He thinks of the vague silhouette of the person he’s entertaining. They’re charming and nice - they work an office job and they mesh well. Their humor matches his. Smart, attractive, kind - perfect on paper. 

He shrugs a little. 

“They’re alright,” he replies. You laugh and he’s warm again, but he knows he’s sobering up. All this sunlight in his skin, on his tongue like a vice - all of it is you. Knowing this makes him swallow. 

“Just alright?” you ask, your hand on his throat - soft and gentle as you smooth down his chest and land right on his stomach. His breath hitches. 

He smiles at you, soft. 

“Just alright,” 

Oikawa Tooru doesn’t regret his decision to leave Japan. In every interview, every article, every word that’s left his mouth about leaving, he regards Argentina with the same love. His arms open to the culture and home that accepted him as he was. Oikawa Tooru, the beloved Japanese player with good Spanish pronunciation and fluffy brown hair. Oikawa Tooru the strong, the brave, the beloved. There’s probably nothing in the world he would trade for it. 

He loves Argentina - the country a hallmark to the boy who made it. He made it. And even now, he doesn’t regret it. He’ll never, ever regret it. 

But he does regret how he left you. All these loose ends that only fray every time he leaves and find you again. Oikawa Tooru doesn’t remember where loving you starts and where he ends. 

He tells himself it’s the memories - like the time in 8th grade you made him a beaded bracelet for an important game. Or the time you stayed behind with him and Iwaizumi to clean the gym, only to take shelter in a shed from the rain. He tells himself it was because of that time in highschool where you made him a practice bento because you liked the captain from Karasuno 

He tells himself it’s the memory of your face, your furrowed brow and concerned heart - asking him if it was “good enough to give,”. He tells himself he is only remembering a person who doesn’t exist and that the next time he sees you, he won’t feel the same. He wont feel this lovesickness that burrows it’s way in his sternum and spreads like dust in the air. 

Next time, next time, next time - whenever that is, his heart will have forgotten the shadow of your lashes. It will not remember the way his sister braided your hair in his living room when he was 17. It will not remember love, when he sees you next, he will forget. 

That’s what he tells himself. That he doesn’t love you anymore, he just misses your comfort and your hands.

But now, he’s too sober to deny that you look like heaven if god gave it a body. 

Now, he’s not sure he can deny he loves you. He’s not sure he can forget that only to remember again painfully that he still loves you so much. And every part of him aches. 

Some lessons you have to learn at least one hundred times. You must be his. 

“Well,” you pause, hand tapping at his stomach like it belongs there. Other hand threading through his hairs “.. what’s wrong with them?” 

“Wrong?” 

You nod, staring down at him. He wishes he was drunk enough to look at you head on. He winces. 

“Yeah like.. why’re they just alright?” 

Oikawa pauses and he thinks, that maybe, there is still a way to make a bracelet with frayed string. He sits up from you and your eyes widen. And you watch him as he watches the world below him. 

And maybe he’s a little bit braver, or maybe he’s just drunk enough. 

“They’re not you,” ― he tells you, slow. Your eyes widen and you flush. He smiles, and laughs a little harder ― “They’re not.. you,” 

It’s quiet again and cars path and the world spins. 

And Oikawa Tooru decides it - he doesn’t want to live through anymore regrets. You place your hand over his, too flustered to reply But you squeeze it, and look away - so earnest and brave. 

He laughs at you and squeezes your hand. And the world stops. For just one moment. 

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[thisisthehardestthing]

тоска, Tanaka x Reader, 18+

Written for The Smut Pile Server Collab: Mafia AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

тоска tus-ka: Russian, noun It is a dull ache of the soul, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases, it may be the desire for somebody or something specific, nostalgia, lovesickness.

Russian Mafia AU: Tanaka Ryu x A Reader OC Rating: E for explicit Warnings: Violence, Blood, Death, Oral sex, Public Sex, Grinding, Cheating, Denied Orgasm, Manipulation, YEARNING Word count: 11,752 Part 1 | Part 2

GLOSSARY

This is my baby. I have spent so much time writing this. I won’t give too big of an intro. Please enjoy.

Special thanks to: @joyousandverywarlike​​​ for being my ride-or-die beta,  @pleasantanathema​​​ , @present-mel​​​​ and @linestrider​​​ for hosting this collab, and everyone in the server for being amazing friends. I would not have been able to write this without any of you, and I truly mean that.

1.2

Part 1 - Valentina

The room is all rich browns and leather, an oiled hardwood floor, mahogany furniture and taxidermied bears. Against the wall, watching over everything with a bored expression is Daichi "The Bulldog" Sawamurov, Mafia Boss of the Bashkortoskaya. His brown eyes inspect his nails as another grunt echoes in the room. Beside him, you, Valentina Sawamurova, stand tall, a well-manicured hand hooked onto his bicep. In a neat line with arms clasped behind their backs stand six bratji, 'brothers', the hitmen of the Security team. They all watch as a shaved-haired man beats the shit out of a pariah.

Tanaka "Khazak" Ryunoslav wipes his tattooed knuckles, alternating X and O’s, onto a white handkerchief pulled from his neatly pressed slacks, staining the fabric red with blood. It is not his. In a simple chair at the centre of the room, a man -no, he doesn't deserve to be called a man- a boy slumps forward. His head hangs low as blood seeps from his brow, nose, mouth. A tooth lays in his drenched lap. Shivers run down Tanaka's spine as he takes in the defeated form of one of his boyevika.

"Huh? Nothing to say for yourself, predatel?" he questions, bruised knuckles tugging the fallen head of his ex-comrade up to peer into their eyes, almost swollen shut.

"I did not betray the Bratva, I swear on my babu-" 

"You only swear on God and the Pakhan, traitor." Tanaka interrupts, releasing his grip so that the boy’s head falls back down in a large swing before lifting up with a painful groan. The Bulldog sighs, checks the time on a glinting gold Rolex. Your fingers slip from the bulging bicep to cross in front of your chest. He nods to you, keep watching, and you smile back, wide, catty, red lipstick violent against white teeth.

"Tanaka, enough. Finish him and dispose of the body. I am tired of his crying. Like a baby. Ha!"

"Da, Boss."

"Make sure his friends are sent a message, also."

"Of course."

Tanaka doesn't take his eyes off the trembling informant but acknowledges the Boss's departure with a casual wave. Most people wouldn't have the audacity to be so lax to the Head, but he isn't just anyone. He's the most trusted. More than you.

"Nyet, nyet, nyet, nyet!" the rat cries, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth and splashing onto the floor as he struggles against the bonds. Filthy. Fuck, how Tanaka loves it. He holds his hand out and a more competent, loyal, brat hands him a gun. His fingers curl around the weighted metal of the handle with a sigh, cocking it, and without hesitation, pulls the trigger.

.

.

.

There are only a few seconds of silence after the bang, just enough for Tanaka to relish in the feeling of complete calm after the storm. The hole between the eyes spits blood onto his crisp white shirt, before the lifeless body is untied by his boyevika in the room and dragged out to be 'made an example of'. One by one, the men clean up. A mop, bleach, breaking down the chair for firewood later. No loose ends, including The Khazak's shirt as he unbuttons it to be burnt with the chair. All the while, you watch from the sidelines, against the wall, as the wife of the Boss should.

Your toes tap rhythmically against the floor, the clackclackclack of your stilettoes a steady beat for the men to work to, but your eyes are on Tanaka's back. So muscular, so supple, still shivering from the endorphins of taking a life. The twin pistols tattooed on either shoulder blade seem armed, willing to fire again. 

You watch as he drops down fluidly with crossed legs to sit on the floor in the very spot he killed the predatel with no remorse, taking deep lungfuls of air to relish in the feeling. He can feel your eyes on him, a smile threatening to spread across his lips as he turns his head over his shoulder to peer at your scrutinising gaze -which is very careful not to let your lust show. But he knows it's there. He can taste it on his heavy tongue.

One by one, the men walk from the room, leaving only the two of you in your husband's office. The oak door shuts.

"Tell me, Gadyuka, how was I?" Tanaka enquires, eyes closed and head straight so that you can see the back of his scalp move as he speaks. The shorn hair shimmies and waves with his words, washing over you in the vast expanse of the room. Your pseudonym, 'viper', poison in your veins.

"Same as always: bloody," you hum, pushing off the wall and walking in front of him to lean against the broad desk. "You enjoy making a mess, don't you, Ryu?" you use your nickname for him, not his name, or his pseudonym, but something more intimate. He barks out a laugh, chest shaking as he examines the backs of his knuckles with gleaming eyes.

"Blyat, you know damn well that I do."

Like a gunshot has just echoed once again, the silence in the room is deafening. Your gazes lock, his ocean-grey ones with your cat-like stare. From his position on the floor, he looks up at you. Your stocking-clad legs are inviting his hands to stroke up them, and he's lucky enough to see the hint of the garter strap under your short skirt. He licks his lips. You tap the desk behind you impatiently, nails clacking against the glossy hardwood.

"My husband is going away on business in a week."

"I know, I arranged security."

"You're not going with him?" you ask, eyebrow quirking, no longer tapping the table. Tanaka shakes his head, a coy smile pulling at the corner of his lips, dried blood cracking on his sharp jaw.

"Then where will you be, Khazak?"

The grin almost splits his face in half with his reply, "in your bed, Gadyuka."

His bluntness never fails to shock you, to send heat pooling between your thighs and your heart spasming beneath your ribs. You almost want to have him right there, on top of the ledgers and documents of the many businesses Daichi is in charge of. Tanaka places his strong hands on the floor, easily dragging his body to your feet where he sits once more, staring up with eyes cloudy like the spray of a hurricane. A palm wraps behind your right leg to pull it close to his lips, kissing the lycra, the apex of your kneecap. His touch ripples through your skin so that your chin tilts up, breaking the gravity of his eye contact.

"Careful, Ryunoslav, not here."

His teeth nip at the fabric.

"I can not wait a week to taste you, Val."

"The cameras-"

"Are off because of the interrogation. Only I have the code to enable them for this room."

Calloused palms drag up the backs of your thighs, the stocking tugging slightly as it catches, until they pass the band where they wrap around your thighs, secured with a garter. You almost beg him to feel higher, to grab the fold of your ass, instead, you bite your lip between your teeth in thought.

"Then we must be quick, get under the desk." 

You don't tell him how unusual it would be if you were found to sit in your husband's chair, but with lust swimming from your thighs to drown your mind, it's not important. 

Tanaka is always rowdier after a kill, high off adrenaline, energy flowing in his veins that wants to devour everything in its path. He prefers to devour you. To savour your taste with his head between your supple thighs, to feel you come undone around his quick-witted tongue. With you balancing so precariously on the edge of the leather office chair, he can barely contain his onslaught of touch, desperate to hear you moan in the sound-proofed room. He's tucked so tightly between your knees, his broad yet lean shoulders spreading you so that he sees the dampened lace beneath your skirt.

It never takes much to arouse you. He likes to think it's only him that can pull forth your wetness from your folds like the moon coaxing the tides. He doesn't waste time, doesn't stop to watch the string of slick connecting the fabric to your cunt as his thumbs pull it to the side. He licks a long stripe up your slit and moans into the taste like a man starved. It's times like these when you wish he had hair for you to grab on to, so you settle on gripping the edge of the mahogany desk until your knuckles pale and forearms burn.

His tongue dances between your folds, lapping up each new wave of wetness that touches the shore of the muscle, only nudging the bundle of nerves at the top with a slight jostle.

"Don't tease me, Ryu, not in here," you breathe out at him between his licks, to which he chuckles, head turning to muffle the laughter against your inner thigh.

"Prosti," he apologises, the grey in his eyes glimmering with childish glee, "I can't help it sometimes." 

But he doesn't give you a chance to reply before his lips attach once more to your throbbing skin, wrapping around your swollen clit to suck greedily. Finally, he hears you moan, the sound kissing his sensitive ears like cool ocean spray. It's not loud, more constricted, but it's for him, because of him.

You feel how he sucks you into him, swallowing your heat and lust and desire with his mouth, having it all flow back into your body to stir at the whirlpool between your legs and behind your eyelids. It's torrential, dizzying, you're dragged beneath the waves, chest heaving as if you're drowning, 

but then it stops 

and the sea dies down, leaving your battered body behind.

Tanaka pulls away, silently. His palms close your legs, knees knocking together, his thumbs teasing circles against the bone. You're aching from your denied orgasm, the pained moan in your throat cutting off as a knock sounds in the room.

"Come in," you clear your throat, repeating the command.

One of Daichi's body guard's strides into the room, a look of shock on his face at your seat before he masks it quickly. His long brown hair is tied up neatly into a bun, a slight stubble on his chin tells you he hasn't slept properly in a few days. You can feel the heat radiating from your cheeks, feel the static in your hair that you smooth down. Tanaka keeps tracing shapes into your thighs, keeping the fire in your gut from extinguishing.

"Yes?" you thank Saint Mary that your voice doesn't tremble, "what is it?"

"Mrs. Sawamurova," he nods a greeting, "The Boss says he will take you out for dinner tonight and has sent me to escort you back to the main estate in preparations."

"Of course, I look forward to it."

You kick away Tanaka's hands, standing at the same time to walk around the table and follow the guard you know as Alexei Asahi from your husband's office. It means leaving The Khazak under the desk, along with a piece of your dignity.

***

Dinner is the kind with clinking glasses and soft chatter. The lighting is dim, intimate, with a soft glow that bounces off the crystal and silverware. As usual, the two of you are seated in the middle of the restaurant, the surrounding tables strategically blocking the view of you and Daichi from all the windows and doors, as well as the bodies seated in them. You can never be too careful, even if your husband owns the restaurant -or the entire town. To your left, behind Daichi and closest to the door, sits Tanaka.

"You look beautiful tonight, darling," Daichi says, taking a bite of his steak.

You do. The black silk dress lays flat against your chest, the deep v tailored perfectly. The tie behind your neck falls softly to your waist. Against your skin is a gold pendant, a coin pressed with the Sawamarov crest. Sleeveless and backless, the dress shows your beautiful viper tattoo curling down your right arm as though protecting you. It���s jaw opens near your wrist to bite anyone you may touch. You hold your glass of wine, swirling it before you sip.

"Thank you, my love. You bought me this dress for our first date."

"And that engagement ring on our second."

You swallow down your guilt, thighs clenching together, the silk fabric teasingly softly against your still-ignited skin. You give him a pointed stare, leaning forward ever so slightly to whisper over the table.

"I wouldn't call that a second date. We never left each other after the first."

Daichi laughs heartily, waves for another bottle of wine, eyes shining with the memory of the very active week in a skiing lodge. He hopes he can recreate some of it tonight, knowing he's been neglecting you, ignoring your needs. He glances down at the subtle curve of the fabric around your slight breast, the hint of the peony tattoo peeking under the edge of your neckline, low on your sternum; it’s the only delicate thing about you.

Daichi watches as you excuse yourself to use the restroom, the way your hips sway beneath the silk as though you have a secret. He frowns when the door closes, checking his watch for the time and pouring a shot of vodka to swallow down. You do have a secret. The waiter takes away the plates, bringing a simple dessert to share with the wine, and when you sit back down with a happy sigh, The Bulldog tries to sniff it out. He taps the table with two fingers and the nearest bodyguards turn slightly away to give you both privacy.

“I was told you were seated at my desk.”

A bite of mousse passes between your red lips with a small smile, eyes penetrating his gaze and not faltering. 

“Can a wife not sit in her husband’s chair?”

“Nyet, you know this. Why?”

“Calm down, my love.”

He fixes his cuff links, leaning back in his chair so that the gold chain around his neck glints in the light. His strong brow shadows his darkening eyes, lips pressing into a thin line, and, true to his nickname, it seems as though his muscles inflate. It makes you melt to see him hard, pectorals and biceps wanting to burst through the fabric of his Armani shirt. The spoon clinks against the plate and you reach across the table, viper stretching to grab his hand and bring it to your lips with a soft kiss, red lipstick on his jewelled knuckles. As much as you want to flicker your gaze to the man behind your husband, you hold firm.

“It’s embarrassing, but I’ll tell you. Come closer so I can whisper,” you usher him in, and Daichi grunts but follows your suggestion. He has no reason to doubt you, yet his gut is telling him you were doing more than just resting your heeled feet. He watches your pink tongue lick your bottom lip, teeth cracking between them with a coy smile.

“As you know, it has been quite some time since we’ve, how should I put this, made love.”

“I know.”

“Had I known we were going to dine tonight, fuck tonight, I would not have.”

“Your point, Gadyuka.”

Your whisper turns into a low hum, right hand squeezing his and your left hand toying with the coin pendant around your neck. Butterflies swirl in your gut, but you kill them swiftly with venom. He can sniff out any insecurity.

“I was masturbating.”

“What?”

“I was masturbating. Touching myself. In your chair, by your desk, thinking of you. I was almost finished but then Alexei had knocked on the door and stopped it.”

The look on Daichi’s face can only be described as speechless, which he is not often. His mouth opens, eyes stormy as he pictures your flushed face. He remembers that glassy look your eyes adopt when you're close, far away in bliss. Your delicate palm touches his clean-shaven cheek, drawing his attention back to the restaurant, to you.

“How about we go home and finish what I started, huh?”

Daichi didn’t need to be told twice. Standing fluidly, everyone around him follows his movement. Your fur coat is draped over your shoulders, thick and warm, a crisp white. His hand is on the small of your back, leading you out of the restaurant with the haste of a man collecting a prize. The air is cold, snow shovelled aside as you climb into the car to feel heated lips pressing to your neck instantly. You laugh, locking your wrists behind his neck to capture his mouth with your own. Men are so easily convinced.

Part 2 - Tanaka

The frame rattles as Tanaka slams the door closed behind him. He tracks melting sludge onto the thin, rust-coloured welcome mat, the tip of his nose red with more than the kiss from the windchill. The heater of the cabin is turned on, the warmth a welcome refuge from the thick snow outside as he shrugs off his coat.

Tanaka doesn’t hide his thoughts and feelings. He’s the kind of guy that wears them on his sleeve, bares it all out there for everyone to see. When he’s angry, you can see the tips of his ears burn. When he’s thrilled, that shark-tooth grin spreads so wide across his face, his eyes close. And when he’s murderous, nothing and no one can stand in his way.

“Cyka blyat!” he shouts, punching the wall of his residence, missing the mirror by mere centimetres, his already bruised knuckles stinging with his rage. A slew of curse words tumbles from his lips, both from searing pain and soaring anger. The eyes on the back of his hands stare at him, judging.

Seeing Valentina out at dinner, looking so delectable, so sinful, Ryunoslav felt ravenous for just a taste of her skin. It was bad enough that he never got to feel her convulse on his tongue earlier, he had to watch her flirt with her husband. He knows the deal, that nothing can ever really happen between the two of them outside of sex, and if they were both to get caught, it would be his end. He understands, yet he can’t help his rising natural anger. The buzzing in his pants pocket pulls him from his internal struggle, and he relaxes his hands, feeling the half-moon indents in his palms hiss in relief.

“Da?" a pause, "I’m on my way.”

Daichi wants to see him; did they finish their ‘love-making’ so quickly? Tanaka catches his reflection in the mirror, massaging the centre of his furrowed brows to try dissipate some of his frustrations before grabbing his thick coat and making the five-minute trek to the main estate. He’s frozen to the bone by the time he arrives at the large mahogany doors, but his anger keeps his blood warm. He needs to be careful, to calm down.

***

The Boss is waiting for Tanaka in his oversized office, the door open ajar, letting a soft yellow light stream into the hallway. This one is different from where the interrogation took place that afternoon, yet it is decorated almost identically. A shiver runs down Ryunoslav’s neck as he remembers Valentina’s sumptuous taste, the supple skin of her thighs brushing against his jaw and the way her lips sighed his name. Fuck, he takes a deep breath, pacifying his licentious thoughts before rapping on the door with his knuckles. Daichi’s deep voice tells him to enter.

He sits there, behind the desk, the white shirt he wore to dinner wrinkled, half unbuttoned to show a burly chest. A gold chain with a coin and two wedding bands glints from the curled chest hair.

“Vodka?” Daichi asks, doe brown eyes glancing up, already pouring both him and his head of security a shot of the clear liquid.

“Spasiba,” Tanaka’s voice is a grumble, deep in his chest as he tries to warm his body but cool his temper.

The Bulldog leans back. They toast, downing the drink with a casual swallow. As per usual, Tanaka automatically refills the next round for the both of them, but it remains untouched. Instead, Daichi opens a ledger, fingers curling up the pages as he flips through the numbers and accounts.

“Sergei has told me we were underpaid last month.”

“Mm, I will talk with Yuuri to find out who.”

“Make sure you show them the repercussions.”

“Always.”

Tanaka cracks his knuckles, excited to teach yet another lesson in punctuality. Daichi eyes his most trusted brother, the way that cocky smirk appears at the thought of fists colliding with skin, but there’s something else underneath.

“Khazak, you’re angry,” Daichi concludes, reaching across the table for the vodka, motioning Ryunoslav to sit down across from him. The shorn-haired man shrugs, slinking into the leather seat, removing his black beenie to run his hand through the trimmed hair. He can’t lie to the Boss, but he can’t tell him the truth either.

“I am… frustrated.”

The pair cheers, the glasses clinking before thudding onto the leather ingrained into the top of the desk.

“Why?”

"Ha! Please, I do not know, Boss.”

Daichi lets out a hum, shifting forward in his chair so that the wheels creak beneath his weight.

“I think I know.”

Tanaka stays silent, keeping his stare level and curious with the Bulldog’s.

“You need a woman!” Daichi barks out, smacking the desk with a flat palm, laughing deeply so that it echoes in the quiet room and probably through the manor. Tanaka can’t help but join in with the infectious laughter, the vodka soothing his nerves, relaxing the tension in his jaw.

“You’re right. It’s been too long,” since I fucked your wife.

They pour another shot, the buzz of the first two beginning to hum pleasantly through their bodies.

“Next week I go to Georgia to see the business there. While I’m gone, bring a whore to your bed. You have my permission.”

“Thank you, Boss.” Tanaka says, his cock twitching at the thought of Valentina in his residence. She’s never been there longer than a few minutes, and never without Daichi in the ten years Ryunoslav has been working for the Sawamurov family, and the two he’s been fucking her. He can't help but fantasize about it.

They catch up in light-hearted talk, about the state of Russia and the business, that they don’t see her peer around the corner of the heavy door, black silk nightgown wrapped loosely around her frame to show the lace of lingerie beneath.

“Daichi, are you coming to bed?” Tanaka hears her say, Valentina’s voice caressing his sensitive ears, but it’s not for him. He turns around, both men shocked into sobriety when they see her leaning against the now open door. 

“Ah yes! Sorry, my love! We lost track of time.” Daichi says, pushing up from his seat. Tanaka swallows, watches as her gaze floats from her husband’s to his own. He can see the pale blue of new bruises around the column of her throat, where Daichi probably sucked into the skin. Tanaka can’t help his smirk. She always did like it rough, and it means he can leave his own over those later.

“Khazak,” she greets with a curt nod, fixing the dropped shoulder of the gown to make herself more modest. “Don’t keep him too late, okay?”

“Mrs. Sawamurova, as you wish.”

Daichi chuckles from behind the desk, walking around to clap Tanaka on the shoulder.

“I may be the Pakhan, but Gadyuka here always has the last say, huh? Good night, Ryunoslav. Don’t forget to talk to Yuuri. And don’t forget what I said you can do.”

“Da, spakoyne noche, Boss.”

With a two-finger wave, Daichi walks out of the room, his hand travelling to the small of Valentina’s back as he leads her back to the bedroom. Tanaka takes one final shot, pulling his hat low over his ears as he prepares to walk back to his house.

***

“He said what?” Nishinoya Yuuri exclaims, cackling inside Tanaka’s small living room. His shorter counterpart smacks the armrest of the chair, the sound against the leather cracking like a whip.

“I can entertain a whore this weekend.”

Yuuri can’t believe his ears, face red with laughter, the file of the business owner coming up with short change forgotten on his lap. His bleached bangs hang in his eyes and he pushes it up, wiping tears with a deep breath. 

Together, Ryunoslav and Yuuri make up the Elite Group within the Bashkortoskaya, Daichi’s most trusted men. Each one runs their own Brigade: Nishinoya the Support Group and, by default, oversees the entire Workforce, while Tanaka is head of Security and keeps everything running smoothly.

The Khazak’s sharp jaw pulses, cheeks red to resemble a heart as it beats in humility. He clenches and unclenches his jaw.

“In the years I’ve known you, you’ve never had a prostitute.”

"I've never needed one," Tanaka shrugs, stealing the manila folder to flip through the details. Simple enough. His men were already bringing the tinted black SUVs around for them to make a ‘house call’ to Ukai Keishin. He shrugs on his thick coat, the kind that’s easy to clean, and black leather gloves onto his hands, slipping knuckle dusters into his pocket. Just in case. He doubts he’ll need them. He waves Yuuri a goodbye as he hears the tyres crunch over the sleet of snow.

“Remember to pick up condoms while you’re out!” He hears his brother call out to him as the door closes and ice invades each inhale.

Tanaka grumbles under his breath, fiddling with the direction of the hot air coming through the car’s vents. Just what he needs is word getting around that he would be fucking someone while the Boss is gone. These kinds of things never stay quiet, and he knows it will reach Valentina’s ears within the day. He shivers to think how she will lash out at him if he actually invites one of Daichi’s prostitutes back to his bed. The girls at those establishments can’t even hold a candle to her beauty or skill.

Prostitution is a lucrative business and one of the main sources of income, other than drug smuggling and the many (legal and illegal) casinos and tech companies owned by the Sawamurov’s. Ukai's particular business—and why The Boss is so invested in it—is a front for a prostitution call-centre. According to performance, they should've made a profit for the month past. Usually, Tanaka wouldn't make an appearance personally, delegating the task to his experienced team members, who might even give the order to the security brigades that they run. However, he is glad to get out of the estate grounds and think of something other than Val’s voluptuous lips and the swell of her breasts from beneath that black lingerie last night.

***

The Sawamurov's reach controlled all of Bashkortostan, a republic within Russia nestled between the picturesque Ural mountain range and the Volga river. Tanaka watches as the trees surrounding the estate give way to highway and grassland before the small town of Belebey comes into view. It's all Daichi's, and in turn, all Val’s.

The town is quiet, the late morning sky a dark grey with clouds that make the winter more formidable. Tanaka wouldn't have it any other way. They pull up to the slightly rundown storefront, graffiti against the wall with crude swear words act as a greeting. He snorts, watching as the glossy black SUV's reflect in the windows as though looking into a parallel world. Inside he can see movement, a tall man in a white apron walking around the counter to open the door. Confident. 

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Ukai shouts out, arms crossed over his chest to protect his fingers from the stinging cold. Tanaka doesn't answer, tucking his chin into his scarf as he observes the man. He's older, bleached blonde with honey eyes that seem more solid, hardened. On his forearms are scars, his flannel shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal a tattoo of a web with a downwards facing spider: recovered drug addict.

"We've come to collect," one of the lackeys says in his boss's place.

Ukai steps aside to let them in, sighing deeply, flicking a cigarette to the moist ground, and leading them to a back room where there's a round table with a few wooden chairs. Papers litter the room, boxes of unpacked stock are piled in a corner. The place is a shithole.

"Can I get you anything? Vodka, cigarette?"

"Sit, Ukai." Tanaka speaks, gesturing to the nearest chair, unbuttoning his coat to drop it onto the table, his beanie and scarf piling on top of it. "We're here for business."

Ukai collapses down, slouching casually as he stares at the leader of the men. Ryunoslav drags a chair in front of the debtor, spinning it on a single leg so that he leans against the backrest as he sits with his legs spread out on either side. A sliver of gold chain catches the fluorescent lighting under his simple suit shirt, matching the multiple piercings in Ukai's right ear.

"You did not pay the full amount of February."

"Correct."

"Why?"

"I couldn't."

The man's blunt lie is shocking to Tanaka, refreshing from the usual quivering imbeciles, and he feels the need to suppress a smile that threatens to reveal itself. Instead, he keeps his tone cynical.

"Was the month not profitable, Ukai? Men get lonely in February, their beds cold."

Ukai shrugs, smoothing out the wrinkles in his apron, eyeing the handsome shaved hair man with intrigue. Tanaka feels a ripple down his spine. "For the whores? Yes, it was profitable. But my business was not."

"So you used the money for the Bashkortoskaya to save your ass from bills?" Tanaka begins to laugh, his wide mouth swallowing the sky as his chin tilts up. He stares straight at the man once more, "you should've paid us first."

"Ah, but then I wouldn't have had the pleasure of your visit. I am touched an Avtoritet will come to see me personally. You are better looking than I thought you would be, younger."

Tanaka raises an eyebrow at the flirtatious comment, a very open individual. He sees some of his subordinates shift uncomfortably in his peripheral, unsure of how to proceed. He drums his fingers on the back of the chair, the beat steady like his heart.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, I'm not one of your kind."

"And what kind is that?"

"Gay."

Ukai chuckles, pulling a packet of cigarettes from his apron pocket, offering one to Ryunoslav who instead takes the full box, holding it up for someone to confiscate. He stands, walking to inspect the stacked boxes around the room. Ukai swallows; he knows not to push his luck too far.

"Are you going to kill me if I don't pay?"

"Hm, nyet, not yet. Are these fresh?" Tanaka holds up a dozen eggs, the green carton sickly. He doesn't wait for the reply, tearing it open and tossing one to the ground with a resounding crunch, the yolk bleeding into the tile grates.

"Listen, Ukai," splat, "you will pay the balance," splat, "by the end of this week," Tanaka walks closer with each drop of the egg until he's next to the grocery store owner. Ukai sits upright, a cool gaze on Tanaka's tattooed hands as they stroke the shell of the brown eggs. The crosses and circles are targets, his hands the weapons.  

"Or your head, will look like these eggs." Tanaka drops the entire carton on the ground, the bright yellow spilling out and pooling beneath Tanaka's black boots. "Vy ponimayete?"

"Da, understood."

"Good. I hope I will not need to see you again."

On his way out of the store, Tanaka picks up a box of condoms from the aisle.

Part 3 - Valentina

Friday cannot come fast enough... so that you can throttle your lover. 

The double-pane french doors to the balcony shine with frost, the sky beyond dark and unforgiving, much like the irritation boiling inside you. It’s the last night; Daichi leaves on the first flight to Georgia tomorrow morning to meet with the Vashadze, your father and owners of half the Casinos under your combined empire. Your marriage three years ago was the biggest news since the raid on the Uhaluba club in Prague, 1995. Together, your families control prositution, drug smuggling, money laundering, the list goes on. Behind the scenes, of course. 

Up front, Daichi is a wealthy investor of tech: Facebook, Tesla, oil companies in the Middle East and Serbia, whereas your father is a top Politician and Minister in Georgia, maintaining his position with dirt he’s collected on those with darker tastes and kinks in the underworld.

“Supply snakes with a meal, and you’ll have them all by the fangs,” your father regularly told you over dinners since you were thirteen, when he began to show you the truth behind his wealth, once your mother passed away.

It’s how you got your nickname. It was the first thing you said to Daichi, before he took you out, before he became The Boss . You were eighteen when you laid eyes upon that hulking mass of muscle. He asked how you could be so beautiful, and you parroted your father’s words. He knew from that moment on that you were dangerous, poisonous, and he had to have you.

When you were twenty-one, you met Daichi again, this time in an underground gambling soiree. You were the host, of course. The felt green betting mats stood out in stark contrast against the white dress code and the dark wooden tables. You wore black. Translucent red dice swirled between your fingers expertly before you rolled snake eyes.

“Bad luck,” Daichi commented over your shoulder, spiced wood and tobacco tickling your nose. You sipped a vodka martini with a twist. There was always a twist with you.

“It’ll be fine, I own the club,” you shrugged, cashing out with the chips you owed and strolling back to the bar where another drink awaited you. Even now, you could remember Tanaka Ryunoslav hovering behind Daichi, drinking in the sight of your curves, the red of your lipstick and the wit of your tongue. A lot less subtle then than now. 

If you closed your eyes, you could very easily conjure the tapping of his heels, the eager look in the Young Khazak’s eyes at being surrounded by some of the most powerful men in Eastern Europe. You could even taste the vodka on his tongue that you sucked down your throat in a supply room all those years ago.

Back then, that bout of casual sex meant nothing. You married Daichi four years later, when your paths crossed once more at twenty-five, the turf wars between neighbouring families becoming too much to bear for Eastern Europe. You were lucky Daichi was--is so exceedingly handsome. Interesting. Smart. Powerful. However, so is your father. And you never wanted to marry your father.

“Darling?” Daichi’s voice calls you out of your pacing when he walks into the room, the silk of your dressing gown swooping around your feet as you stand still. “Everything alright?”

“Da, sorry, you know I get nervous when you fly,” you lie quickly, easily, turning your back on him to close the curtain and shut out the irritation of outside, the faint golden glow of Tanaka’s cabin sealed away. Out of sight, out of mind.

“Mm, yes, I know. Relax a little. When I am back we have that gala. Is your dress finished?”

You give him a pointed glance, turning down the bedsheets and unravelling the delicate bow of the robe to climb under the covers with bare skin.

“Weeks ago, Daichi. You were at the final fitting.”

He nods as if he remembers, but you know his mind is elsewhere, much like your body would rather be.

“Are you coming to bed early tonight?”

For several days, weeks, months, Daichi has been sneaking into your bed too late in the evening. Or early in the morning. The business is doing fine, there’s no cause for him to spend some nights not even at home. Some part of you--a small, small part--misses his thick muscles wrapped around your body.

“Later, there is something I have to do first.”

You merely hum, settling yourself down and dimming the lamp beside the bed until the room bathes in a soft glow. With your eyes closed, you don’t see him leave, the door clicking shut. Instead, you picture red, your empty bed, and across the snow, a cocky smile letting a too thin, sallow-skinned blank face past their threshold. He will have to have a hooker, Daichi will ask him all about it. Motherfucker. You turn the light off.

***

The Bulldog kisses your forehead when he wakes, sleeping behind you for a total of an hour. You’d woken up slightly when he clambered into the bed, smelling freshly of his cologne from a recent shower, at three in the morning.

“I’ll be back soon,” he whispers into your ear, not staying to hear your ‘be safe’ in response, still mumbling from a fitful night’s sleep. 

However, you don’t drift off again, eyes suddenly open and staring into your nightstand where a cool glass of water rests. It’s still, silent and calm. You turn over to the right, seeing the empty space where Daichi’s body barely left a mark, his lamp still buzzing. It isn’t until you hear cars pull away in the driveway that you sit up, wiping the remnants of sleep delicately from your eyes to sigh. It’s going to be a long day.

Dumdumdum, three quick taps echo in the quiet, the door creaking open as a curious head peeks around the side. Ryunoslav smiles when he sees you perched in bed. His eyes drift from your face, down your neck and to your breasts, the skin pricking up under his sharp gaze. You could strike a match and it would erupt into flames.

“What are you doing here, Ryu?” you ask. It comes out more accusatory than you would’ve liked but he just grins, teeth ready to bite any jab you throw.

“I told you I’d come, didn’t I?”

For a raucous man, Tanaka moves stealthily across your floor, kicking off his boots before planting two large hands onto the edge of the mattress. You can feel it dip with his weight as he crawls, veiny forearms caging in your legs, trapping you. He sways side to side, spine rolling like a panther about to pounce. You kick his left hand out so he falls, crashing and rolling to the spot where Daichi laid with a laugh, peering up at you with fervent energy.

“His bed isn’t even cold yet.”

“Ha! He barely slept here, Val.”

“And you will?” Skepticism laces your words, the irritation of last night seeping into your thoughts once more. His smile finally drops.

“Nyet, of course not. You know that.” Tanaka twists around so that he’s cross-legged, facing you fully, eyes searching your own. “I’ll just fuck you.” You scoff.

His hands plant themselves on your thighs, the eyes tattooed on the back staring at the ceiling, observing the heavens. They travel gradually up to where the sheet lays scrunched around your waist, fingers pinching the edges.

“Give you more pleasure than he does before going back to my lonely bed. Without you.”

“It doesn’t sound like you’ll be lonely for much longer, Ryunoslav.”

Tanaka chuckles under his breath, shaking his head as he pulls the duvet down to unveil you before him. His chest rises and falls so fluidly with his deep breaths, a movement so calm, yet he freezes when his eyes rake over your luscious figure.

“How the Boss does not have you under lock and key astounds me.”

Your hand slaps across his face, a fire burning from your palm down to your groin.

“I will not be someone’s pet.”

Lust overcomes Tanaka’s pupils, his lips curling up in ecstasy at your stern tone, his cheek pounding along with his heart.

“No, you will not.”

Then, his mouth captures yours. 

Hot, hungry, the spring in his spine expands so that his chest presses against yours, jaws stretching up. Desperate hands clutch at your neck, the fold of your hips, anything to pull himself tight to your body, anchored to your skin and bed. It’s sinful, even whores refuse to do something so intimate. You feel that heavy tongue drag against your bottom lip, asking your permission to enter. You welcome it, savoring the taste of Ryu’s desire, his burning passion. His hands drift to tug at the firm muscle of your ass, hauling you to kneel over his lap, supporting and kneading it to a rhythm that you’ve come to know so well.

Your fingers clumsily unbutton his pants, slipping under the fabric to feel your undoing. Tanaka moans into your mouth, growing harder, fiercer in his touch with each stroke up the length of his cock. He wastes no time, patience not his strongest virtue. You detach from the kiss with a heavy sigh, forehead pressing to his as you melt over his fingers. Both your hands press into his shoulders, stabilising your vibrating body from how he rolls your clit between his fingers. He’s too clothed, not enough of his skin available for you to stroke and scratch and bite. You claw at the back of his long-sleeved shirt, he rips it off.

With the shirt discarded over his boots, Ryu’s warm hands wrap around your waist, tilting you back until you lay open for him. His pants come off next, flung haphazardly to the floor so that he kneels before you shamelessly, eyes raking down your naked body. By now, he’s committed every curve, every artwork on your skin to memory that he can draw you with his eyes closed. The peony tattoo at the base of your sternum a siren’s call for his mouth to taste. The heat of his body is a furnace, flames licking your skin as he kisses down your chest, inhaling your intoxicating scent.

“Why don’t I finish what I started, huh?” he parrots the words you whispered to Daichi a week ago. Your gut clenches, your cunt tightening to know he heard that. You almost want to beg him to devour you, but that’s not who you are. Your hand strokes over his shorn hair, his eyes closing as your nails rake against his scalp. Savagely, you squeeze his jaw, fingers pursing his lips, the viper tattooed near your wrist ready to strike.

“So snarky. I can think of more important uses for your tongue, Ryunoslav.”

He grins, the round of his cheeks tensing in your clutches before he turns his head to nibble at your thumb, sucking it down.

“As you wish, Valentina.”

Tanaka kisses down your stomach to the apex of your mound, squirming until he nestles between your outstretched legs and his arms wrap themselves under your thighs, an iron grip on your hips. You brace yourself to feel that vacuum, that eternally deep suction that clings onto your soul and merges it with his, but all you can feel are soft exhales. He stares up at you, an indiscernible look on his face.

“Ryu?” you come onto your elbows. The very sight of the man between your legs is enough to make you shiver. He plants a kiss to your thigh.

“You know I will do anything for us, for you.”

“I know.”

“Even fuck a whore once if it means I get to stay with you for just another more day.”

You grit your teeth, knowing it’s true, and although he shouldn’t be saying such intimate things—that you can never truly be together—it’s what you needed to hear. You remain silent, watching him as he lowers his mouth to your seeping skin, licking languidly to taste you on his entire tongue. It’s flat, wet, heavy, pressing into you so solidly you fall back down, eyes closing as you capsize. Tanaka demands whimpers, his name, with his touch. He’s insatiable, greedy to feel you come undone completely, this time with no interruption.

Two fingers test your waters, slipping between the waves of your folds while his tongue drags you under. You know his ocean-grey eyes never stop watching as you writhe under his ministrations. You can barely move, clenching around his skilled hand as though keeping him anchored in place. You want him, need him. The first pulse of your walls spurs him on, stirring the storm in your groin, until you can barely contain your moans for him. Your orgasm batters against the shores of your body, powerful waves washing over you and dissolving all your stress and irritation, leaving you gasping and heavy, weighted down and sluggish.

“Fuck, baby,” Tanaka swears against your skin, still pumping his fingers against sopping skin to feel how you contract around him. The stimulation almost has you in tears and you grab his wrist to pull him away, closer to your lips. You swallow down your tang, the kiss passionate yet lazy as he ruts against your tingling clit, hands wrapped around your head to almost cradle you against him.

“You were very loud,” he chides, but you know he loves it, the danger. “You are lucky no one is in the house tonight.”

“Do you want me to keep quiet, Ryu?” you moan into his mouth, biting his lip against a particularly rough thrust.

“Never,” he grins, sitting back so that he can observe your glassy look, you pout at the sudden chill. There’s a moment of protest, his body too far away, before your eyes roll back and you’re stretched out, overflowing with the feeling of him, your vision black.

Part 4 - Tanaka

Ryunoslav wishes he could lay behind Valentina eternally, watch as she wakes and stretches, but he knows he can’t. He unfurls his lithe chest from her back, and stands to dress before sneaking back to his cabin. The cold air nips at his cheeks, but it would take a snowstorm and him being naked to freeze over the warmth radiating from inside his chest. Under the cover of dark, even at 6:00 am, Tanaka makes it back without being seen, like he always does.

He winces as he shrugs off his coat and scarf, the scrapes on his back from her nails stinging beautifully. His thoughts drift: what she must think when she wakes up in the mornings to find the bed empty, either without him or Daichi, and whether he’ll ever see her under his own covers, laughing while sipping a coffee on a summer morning. Ryu shakes his head to absolve those thoughts, it’s dangerous to linger on dreams for too long.

The box of condoms on his dining table stand out like a sore thumb, and he shoves it into the closest drawer, the eyes on his hands giving him a mocking stare. ‘What would your mother say?’ it blinks at him, pulling his mouth into a scowl. Turning the kettle on, he pulls up Sergei’s number on his phone.

“Khazak, it’s early.” Sergei’s morning gruff is thick, coughing lightly as he clears his throat.

“Dobre utra, Sergei, sorry, I know.”

“What is it you need?” Tanaka can almost picture the cool gaze, the pinched brows beneath silver hair that the bookkeeper has on whenever speaking to the head of security.

“Ukai, has all been fixed?”

“Uka– Ryunoslav, could this not wait until a more reasonable hour? Yes, it’s resolved. The guy wired the remaining amount last night. God knows where he got it from but I don’t care.”

Tanaka opens his mouth to speak, but Sergei cuts him off.

“I swear, call me this early again and I’ll hang you from your ears.”

The Khazak laughs, wishing the old ‘friend’ a good day as he hangs up. That clears up most of Tanaka’s schedule, and he falls onto his bed, groaning when the whistle of the kettle rings loud in the room. It’s too similar to the alarm bells in his mind when he thinks about the call he has to make later.

***

Ryunoslav shivers, peeling off the used condom to tie a knot in it. It wasn’t too bad. With the prostitute's ass in the air, he could almost picture it was her. He watches as she pulls up stockings and a dress, her only layers beneath a thick coat and hat. The prostitute looks over her shoulder with her hand resting on the door, appreciating the view. Tanaka sits on the edge of the bed, naked and bored.

“This was fun. Call me anytime,” she purrs with a wink, pleasantly fucked, before leaving. He grumbles, falling backwards so that air whooshes past his ears as the mattress creaks under his body.

She’s going to kill me, he thinks, picturing Val’s face with the disapproving glare that always seems to rile him up. A part of him wonders if he went through with it purely to piss her off, make her mad with jealousy, just like he can be.

***

Tanaka must’ve dozed off because he wakes to the sound of his front door being pounded, the clock next to it showing quarter to midnight. He swears, scrambling to toss the condom he left on his thigh into the open basket bin and pull on the nearest pair of pants. He has just finished tying the drawstring when the door swings open and Valentina strides in, arms crossed in front of her chest, white flakes of snow on the Hermès scarf wrapped around her hair.

He’s frozen, a deer in headlights, silent at seeing her standing in his doorway, both beautiful and deadly. He watches as analytical eyes scan the single-roomed cabin, finally taking it all in. For some reason, he feels shy, a blush creeping up his neck. He has always wanted her in here, but now that she is, he feels like it’s not good enough.

Tanaka follows her gaze: sweeping from the small kitchen, to the two person table and chair, in the corner are the leather armrests and a coffee table. Directly by Val’s right is a mirror and coat hook, the wooden-heated walls sparsely decorated with a map of old USSR and new Russia, along with a single lily in a simple frame. He sees her stare past him, to the arch that separates his bedroom, analysing the unmade bed. Tendrils of cold sweep by him from the still-open door. She does not move a muscle.

Valentina opens her mouth as if to say something, then closes it, walking to the kitchen counter where a half-finished bottle of vodka sits. Tanaka’s door shuts with a click, and when he turns, she has already pulled out a shot glass. 

Has she been drinking? he thinks, rubbing the goosebumps up his arms, the callouses scraping some still-healing scabs. He gets his answer when she barely winces her swallow.

“Do you want to sit down?” Tanaka asks, approaching carefully, gesturing to the sofa; she’s a cornered viper. Val turnz, leaning against the marble top, coat still wrapped tightly around her body. Her lips purse, and he stills, knowing she’s either trying to put together a sentence or hold back uttering one. But Ryunoslav doesn’t know her to hold back often.

“Did you do it?” 

He didn’t expect the question to flow from her lips so calmly, hushed and smooth like an expert interrogator; the way he would speak. There’s no point in lying.

“Da,” Tanaka steps closer, reaching past Val’s head for a second shot glass. She makes no effort to hand him the bottle. “It’s just sex.” 

He almost recoils from the daggers in her stare, pupils shrinking into slits that can cut through him. I should not have said that, but if he lied, he wonders if she’d be just as furious. Valentina looks down and spots the discarded condom, sighing while twisting open the cap of the bottle to drink straight from the lip, past the point of using a glass.

“I thought of you.”

A faint flicker of relief, but then she laughs, curt and cold.

“I’m so flattered, Ryunoslav, thank you.”

He feels his heart tighten, forehead pounding, with more than guilt.

“Blyat, what the fuck else was I supposed to do?” he snorts, storm brewing in his eyes, fists clenching. His face is so close to hers, he can smell the alcohol on her breath. He can see her searching for answers within his own.

“I don’t know, but,” her eyes close, the small wrinkle between her brow dissolving with an inhale. The exhale has them open, blank, her lips in a neutral line. Somehow, this scares Ryunoslav even more. He feels his heart hammer beneath his ribs, either trying to escape or to jump into her palms. The bottle is no longer in them, but the belt of her coat, pulling it loose so that it unfurls from her chest. He see’s skin, a clavicle, ripe mounds of breasts. The flower tattoo peaks out from the shadow until it disappears and the top of underwear wraps around her waist. She’s not wearing the Family pendant. When the coat drops off her shoulders--the wool scrunching into a thick pile at her feet--he notices she is still wearing boots, but legs bare; she used the underground passage to get to his cabin.

“If you prefer to fuck a shlyukha, you just had to say so.” Valentina says, fingers trailing up the skin of her waist while keeping his gaze. Tanaka can’t respond, doesn’t want to, anything he says is fuel to her wildfire. “I can be a whore.”

She’s raging, the very air around her too thick for Tanaka to breathe easily, and when she takes a step forward, he imitates backward. He’s controlled by her until he collapses into his leather armchair and she towers over him, bare-breasted and deadly.

Valentina’s fingers tug at the knot of the scarf, slipping the silk through her fingers as she regards the man before her, twisting it into a tight coil until ready to spring, like her.

It’s those eyes, she realises. Stormy, grey, like a tumultuous ocean swallowing her body whole, ravaging and cleansing her all at once. She can’t stand to see them now. Tanaka doesn’t protest when she leans over him, unfurling the scarf to tie it around his head, blindfolding him. Ostensibly for control. She knows otherwise that his eyes will make her crumble down, dissolve into their depths.

Tanaka’s heart thumps, pressing against his ribcage furiously enough to shake his chest. Any argument cut off in his throat when he feels Valentina’s lips against it. His body begins to cover in a cold sweat, confused with the hurdling emotions inside: panic, guilt, anger, and underneath it all, arousal.

“Have you even showered yet,” she whispers against his skin, “or is this taste hers?” A hot tongue drags up the side of his neck until it touches the puff of his earlobe, teeth nipping. If Tanaka looks down past the tip of his nose, he can see her palms gripping the arms of the chair, the plush leather folding in. He can see the curve of her shoulder and the tail of the snake as she leans into him. And he can feel the warmth of her skin when she straddles him.

It’s not tight, her ass seated on the edge of his knees, but he feels heat anyway. It rolls off Valentina’s body in waves, washing over him so that he begins to pant. Nails rake up his chest, goosebumps pricking on his forearms which he keeps still, away from reaching out to wrap around her and bring their bodies together.

“Did she touch you like this?” Valentina’s hand wraps around his throat, the other drifting to the tent in Tanaka’s sweatpants. When she stops moving, he realises she expects a response.

“Nyet,” he grunts out, erection twitching beneath her palm, the vein in his neck swelling. 

A brisk exhale fans over his face, then he smells the peppercorn and vanilla of her skin as she lifts from his knees. She must be close, the static between his lips and her stomach electric. He bites his tongue to stop from tasting her skin. When she falls, her hand had shifted his erection from the loose constraints of his pants, free and standing to attention. There’s fire and rain, and Tanaka peers down to make out the black of Valentina’s underwear clinging to her slick folds, nestled against his groin. It provides slight relief, knowing she is aroused like him. 

She begins to roll her hips. On instinct, Tanaka shifts down into a slouch to bring her higher, to feel more friction. His fingers jump where they rest on the chair, fighting not to grab at her, palms sweating. For Valentina, this is easy. Men are so responsive, so easy to lead and dissuade, and fuck. They treat sex as though it is nothing.

It’s sex, Ryunoslav’s words echo in her hazy mind, her hands flying to his shoulders as though to bring her back to her actions. Focus on the movement, it tells her, and she grinds down onto him. She feels as he pants against her neck, her breasts moving to press against his chest so that he can feel all of her at once, reminded of what he missed. The jealousy in her heart pains her, knowing that it’s irrational to feel ownership over a man that is not truly her’s. But she feels it regardless. She wants him completely.

His neck is thick beneath her palm, veins beating steadily in time with the grinding of her hips. The line of her folds wrap around him, dragging up and down his length that when she looks down, she sees it weep. The tightening of his gut tells her even more and she grins almost wickedly.

“Does it feel good, Ryu?” she whispers against him, lips hovering teasingly above his own. Tanaka tries to close the gap. She’s near, yet so far away, unreachable in her anger.

“No, you don’t get to kiss me. Not when I’m your whore.”

He moans then, shamefully turned on by the hard edge of her voice and the soft skin wrapped around him, coaxing something out from within. 

“Val,” he utters her name under his breath, the fog in his mind not clearing as it builds higher, tighter. She can feel the storm brewing. His shoulders tense, forearms hovering as though-

“Do you want to touch me?” she bites at his ear, one of his most sensitive features. It takes Tanaka everything to hold back, his hips thrusting up desperately.

“Yes. God, yes.”

“What’s stopping you?”

Valentina watches as the gold, browns and pinks of her scarf wrinkle with his frown.

“You never said I could.”

She falters for a moment, taken aback by the worship and strain in his voice. This is why she covered his eyes, she never knew she had to gag him as well. Some of the ice in her heart begins to melt, dripping down her chest like the sweat on Ryunoslav’s forehead.

“Touch me.”

His hands are on her instantly. With her back under his calloused palms, he can feel every movement of her waist, her hips. He strokes up, her body memerised so thoroughly he can paint a replica of her in his mind. With the eyes tattooed on the back of his hands, he sees her. It was the last push he needed, the rain clouds in his mind bursting as he spills a storm over his abdomen, finding clarity. 

It’s wet, warm and cold simultaneously. He feels Valentina’s forehead fall to his shoulder, her spine shaking. There’s a sniff, the smallest of tears leaking into the dips of his muscled shoulders. With one hand, he presses her tightly, his ejaculation spreading messily between their bodies, the other rips the scarf from his eyes so he can drink in the sight of her, his nose nuzzled into her hair.

“Val...” he mumbles against her skin, fingers combing through the hair at her nape, lips finding contact with her neck, then temple. “Look at me, pazolvste.”

And when she does, the world stops. He tries to read the swirl of emotions in her eyes. Is it exhaustion? Arousal? Defeat? All three? Tanaka brushes sweaty strands from her neck, forehead, smoothing down the hair. Valentina glances at his lips, or her eyes drop, either way, with the next inhale, their lips meet.

Part 5 - Valentina

Tanaka tastes different. Tangy and bitter, the kind that makes you want to tear away, only to constantly come back for another sip, addicted. You’re sticky, the sweat from his chest and the spill of his seed spreading against your stomach, screaming at you to separate from him. Everything is telling you to stop.

But you can’t

And you never want to. His tongue swipes across the seam of your lips, and you happily oblige, too weary from the rollercoaster of emotions that had ripped through you to fight for dominance. Tanaka, however, doesn’t seem to mind, your tongues intertwining so seamlessly, you briefly wonder if you’ll ever separate them again.

He pulls apart to breathe, chest still heaving from his orgasm and your mind games. Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, you realise what you’ve done, how full of blind rage and hurt you were. Tanaka registers the panic in your eyes, the way your mouth opens to say,

“I’m sorry.”

You’re suddenly smaller, eyes downcast to stare at his chest, tracing the outline of the Georgian cross tattooed over his heart, the eight point star on each shoulder beneath his collarbones, reminding you that you’re in a world of thieves. That you yourself are one, and you crossed a boundary tonight that you’ve never crossed before. In his residence. He lifts your chin with a steady finger, forcing you to stare into still, open waters.

“It’s okay.”

But it’s not, you’re not okay. Tanaka must’ve sensed the growing unease as you shift on his lap, knees still pressed tightly to his hips, his softened dick lazing against your groin.

“I would’ve stopped you if I didn’t want it,” his voice is a hushed whisper, washing over you.

“I should not have come here tonight.”

“I’m happy you did, Gadyuka.”

For some reason, you believe him, the tides in his eyes pulling you closer so that once again your lips melt into his and your heart drums in your throat. Ryunoslav unzips your boots, letting them drop unceremoniously to the floor. His hands find purchase beneath your rear, and he stands, lifting you so easily as he carries you through a small door and into the bathroom.

It smells like him: salty, humid, yet crisp, like cold mist when the seasons change. You reluctantly break apart when your feet touch the cool tile, and you look around while Ryu draws a bath. There’s no mirror over the sink--instead on the tiled wall opposite the shower--just a shelf with his electric razor, toothbrush and some creams. The thought that you’d like to shave his head flits across your mind, but you shake it out, turning to watch him fill a simple wooden bathtub with steaming water.

“Are you going to wash me like a child?” you ask, eyebrows raising to show your amusement. He chuckles, his eyes matching your teasing tone, the tension of before dissolving with the mist in the air.

“Nyet, unless you want me to,” he muses, eyes drifting across the splattered cotton against your skin. “You are dirty.”

You lick your teeth, taking in how he’s seated on the edge, sweatpants still haphazardly down his legs to show a hint of the tattoos and scars on the tops of his thighs, “so are you.”

He holds his arms out and you move to stand between his knees, warm hands trailing up your hamstrings, over the cups of your cheeks and peeling down your soiled black thong. You feel… calm, the rage and guilt subsiding to leave an empty stillness in its place, in your gut, where he rests his forehead and your fingers scrape his scalp.

You bathe first, Tanaka’s rough hands scraping away grime, before you switch and run your hands over his corded muscles. The moment is too intimate to speak, both of you barely even breathing as he wraps a towel around his waist and pulls a too long t-shirt over your head. It’s only when you’re out of the confines of the bathroom that he breaks the silence. 

“You’ll have to destroy the shirt when you leave,” Ryu observes, tugging at the shoulder seam so that the neckline centers on your body instead of dropping over one shoulder.

“Do you want me to leave?” you counter, crossing your arms over your chest, fingers drumming in a quick beat against your forearms.

“Never.”

Shrugging, you turn on your heel and stride to the messy bed, ignoring the way your stomach flips as it remembers who was the last woman to touch it--that it wasn’t you--and climb onto the mattress. For the first time, you see Tanaka completely taken by surprise. He’s close to asking you ‘why?’ but thinks against it, hurtling after you to pull you into his arms, against his chest.

This is unchartered waters, the bed a dinghy and in his room are endless possibilities. But that’s where it starts and ends. You drag your fingers lazily up his forearm, over a few scars, tracing the bouquet of lilies drawn in thick black lines that stand off his skin; prison tattoos seldom heal flat.

“What does this mean?” you stare up at him, curious as you’ve never had much time to talk with him before, to delve deeper past your lust for each other. Ryunoslav clears his throat.

“It’s for my home,” he mumbles, nose moving to your hair, his eyes clouding over as he watches your fingers. “And my mother.”

The way he explains the beauty of the wild lilies in his home village of Kazakhstan, the bouquet his mother would pluck and keep on their table, sends shivers down your spine. Why would he ever have run away? You learn he has a sister, Saeko, who left with him and fell into the life of the thieves before him, and instead, he went to prison.

In this little bubble, you feel inexplicably warm, cosy, like the world has fallen away. You tell him about your own mother, how her eyes were incredibly warm and the colour of amber, but she never smiled. About how you grew up in Georgia surrounded by powerful men and strived to be just as important one day. Ryunoslav smiled at that, kissing your wrist where the fangs of the snake bit into.

He tells you about the years he spent in and out of juvenile prison in Moscow, unfurling the duvet to explain that each cathedral dome tattooed upon his leg meant time served. He had four. The rose on his left bicep meant he turned 18 in prison.

“The Boss found me a month after,” he recalls, eyes far away, “I’m forever thankful. I was very sick from the tattoo and I would have died if he didn’t take me away.”

Daichi, a part of you whispers. With the thought of your husband, you tense up, shifting until you’re sitting with your hand pressed to Tanaka’s beating heart.

“Ryunoslav,” you call, looking past his head and into the grain of the wood. “What are we going to do?”

“Mm?”

Your eyes snap to his, a cold sweat tickling your spine. You’ve crossed lines tonight, and not by a little. You’ve run so far past it, you can’t even see it if you turn back.

“He’ll know.”

Tanaka straightens up too, attentive to your words but eyes calm with a lazy smile.

“He won’t.”

“He will. Ryunoslav, I can’t keep this a secret now.”

Beneath your palm, you can feel his heartbeat, slow, while your own pounds in your ears.

“You have to. He’ll kill us.”

You stay silent, mulling over the sincerity in Tanaka’s statement. He says it nonchalantly, like it’s the only fact that matters. You want to tell him that you love him. You don’t. Instead, you lay your head back to his chest to listen to that steady, strong drum beneath his ribs. After a few seconds, you inhale deeply.

“I think Daichi is having an affair.”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” Tanaka says instantly, arms wrapping so tightly around you, as if you’ll vanish if he can’t feel you.

“Ryu-”

“Valentina, please. God knows we never get to be alone like this.” That brash, harsh tone you’re used to finally edges it’s way back into his voice. It should scare you, instead you huddle closer to him while he continues. “Even if he’s having an affair, aren’t we doing the same? Let us just be in this moment.”

Tanaka tucks you beneath his chin, the heartbeat in his jaw syncing with yours against his chest. You murmur a ‘fine’, mind still reeling from the evening's events and the intoxication of his lips.

You’re not sure when you fell asleep, but you know he didn’t at all. Ryunoslav shakes you awake, whispering that you have to go, that Daichi gets back in the late afternoon. When the coat is wrapped around you and your fingers hover over the door, you look at him as he frowns at you.

“We should not see each other for a few days,” he states. Although his voice is calm, his chest vibrates with nerves. You know it’s the last thing he wants. You agree anyway, with a slight nod of your head.

***

NEXT CHAPTER

Thank you for reading.

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James x Reader- Impossibility (2/2)

Part 1---> Here!

“James,” your voice cracked and your eyes turned misty. “I know you don’t understand but I can’t tell you… It will be so much worse if I do. Just please hug me and give me some time. Maybe we can try to be like we were once but I need time before that and you need to live your life like always- without fretting over what I’m doing,”

The words cut deep even if that wasn’t your intention. Had James truly made you feel so forgotten that you insisted the end of your friendship was the best and only option?

A hug was the least he could do.

When his arms found their way around you he felt the tremors going through your frame. Shoulders shaking with the sobs you were trying to conceal and knees quivering with a frailty he knew had more to do with your emotional distress than any actual weakness.

“I’ll see you around Potter,”

You pulled away first and James wasn’t sure how to keep his hold on you anymore. It seemed it’d been gone for longer than he thought.

If you thought the few months before graduation had been tough without James had been torture you surely hadn’t been thinking. Now it had been three years and the day you’d said goodbye to the most important person in your life replayed in your mind despite you doing everything you could to block it out. 

There were days you woke up feeling like you could breathe. Like you could power through the day without more than a few fond thoughts of James, because even now there was still never a day where he didn’t run around your mind and make your heart jerk around uncomfortably. 

Now his name brought you a level of anxiety that filled your veins with guilt. You adored James then and when you drank too many glasses of wine after a hard week of nonstop work at St. Mungos you could admit that you still adored the boy who was becoming a wonderful man. Or at least, that’s what Remus told you in his letters. 

You still had yet to see James, and for that you were both grateful and saddened. The day he showed up in need of your services you’d be ready to give him an earful for being an irresponsible git and falling off a broom after trying to show off- you stopped yourself. James was still the boy he had been at Hogwarts but you had to realize he had grown in the years you’d been apart even if you found your own growth stunted. 

Yes, it seemed nowadays it would be more likely for James to be taken to St. Mungos because of his work in The Order and not because of a quidditch accident. The other three men you had maintained friendships with did their best to distract you when you found your heart aching and offered you updates when you felt detached from the love of your life. 

Three years and the ache within your chest had still not vanished. It was a heavy and oppressive weight that had become a comfort in it’s own way. Constant and all encompassing, it was your new normal. It kept you shielded from going too deep into your unresolved feelings but kept them close enough to the surface that every smile felt a little forced, every laugh sounded a little too loud. 

Tonight was one of the nights where the weight of your feelings became more suffocating than comfortable. The tears burned your eyes but had stopped falling long ago. You couldn’t handle the shame of crying over a taken man- one you had pushed away. Would things have been different if you’d told him despite the consequences? Surely it could be no worse than this. 

“Meredith,” you croaked, sitting up from your fetal position on the couch. Your owl cocked her head to the side as you slid your feet into your slippers, tossing your blanket from around your shoulders to lay on the back of the couch. The cushions had become a bit sunken as you collapsed there after work and stayed most days when you didn’t have to stay at the hospital. 

Times were bleak and that made the feelings inside you even more tumultuous. A dark and foreboding power loomed over all over wizard kind and here you were, shuffling across the wooden floors and crooning to your aging owl. You couldn’t say life was all bad, your fingers skating over the smooth and silky feathers of your longest friend. From the age eleven you had found peace in your owl’s quiet company. 

Your fingers stalled and she bumped her head against fingers after gently nipping at the closest one. It was enough to pull you from the memories playing too quickly in your mind for you to feel any nostalgia. It was a dizzying sensation that left your stomach in knots. 

“Get ready to send a letter to Peter?” You asked her, stroking her head as she cooed in response. 

It pulled a smile from you and you bound over to your wooden desk, the cooled surface causing goosebumps to rise on your arms. It further helped to clear your mind long enough to write to your longtime friend who had become like a sibling since he had pulled you aside in the hall. 

Happy with yourself for reaching out when the thoughts became overwhelming, you returned to your spot back on the couch. That familiar weight wrapped itself so tight around you that you forgot that you needed a blanket.

--

James was drifting in and out on the couch he had called home for the past month and a half. He could hear Peter snoring down the hall, his door cracked slightly as Peter claimed it got too hot otherwise. James had suggested opening a window instead, but no, that would be too cold. 

The springs were pressed uncomfortably against his side as he rolled over, the threadbare blanket and deflated cushions of Peter’s couch not doing much to help ease him into an easy and comforting sleep. However, James doubted that he’d be doing much sleeping anyways; even if he were to be in his- Lily’s- apartment. 

He couldn’t complain too much. Peter was kind enough to let him crash when he’d showed up with bloodshot eyes and clenched fists and promised it’d just be for a night. Peter was kind enough to pretend that it didn’t bother him when James took up the space he so carefully created for himself alone. Peter was kind enough to not kick James out.

And James? James was in a limbo. Two voices screamed in his head and neither seemed to be doing anything other than getting louder. He could leave, he had the money from his parents, but one voice said that Lily would take him back. The other voice said he should stay just another couple days, really think on why she’d ended things and think of what his own actions had meant. 

To anyone else, James Potter must be a cheating bastard who let a secret slip while he slept peacefully and with no guilty conscience. Yet Lily knew him and James knew she understood. However, that didn’t help patch the hole in his heart and the confusion that grew every second. 

Loving Lily Evans was an honor, and an honor he’d held close to his heart for the past four years. She was bright and caring and the flame that kept him warm on his coldest days. Her work with The Order was brilliant and admirable and he knew he could trust her with his life. There had never been, and never would be, anything wrong with the woman. 

It had started with a furrowed brow on his face as he sat pensive and quiet in his arm chair. Lily had asked, “everything alright there, love?” and James had pasted on a smile and said “of course, always,” while holding out his arms to her. She had made herself comfortable on his lap and he’d let the melancholy made from ghosts of the past dissolve. 

A day later he’d been lost in thought again, pouring the coffee until it flowed over the rim of the mug and he’d spent the last few minutes before Lily went to her part time job cleaning up spilled coffee instead of kissing her goodbye. She’d forgotten the incident but he was still trapped in the memories that had distracted him in the first place. 

“I can’t read your mind, you know,” His heart, his dear, his Lily, had teased as they lay in bed together, her head heavy on his bare chest and her hair ticklish. 

“Don’t think you’d want to see Sirius pulling down Peter’s trousers in third year potions anyways,” 

He should have known better. Lily knew him like the back of her own hand and a simple joke would not put her off from joking. It had made him crack a smile as he thought of Y/N, the girl who had known him in his most infuriating years. His heart had skipped painfully in his chest and Lily looked to him with a concerned look.

“James, please,” she had begged with soft eyes that had him telling her his snowballing thoughts. 

Once he had finished, his chest tight and his cheeks tight from spilled and dried tears, Lily had stroked his cheek with a gentleness that shocked him even then. “You’ve got unfinished business with her love, of course she’s still on your mind. Why would I ever be mad at you for missing a friend?” 

Because I’ve never been sure she was just a friend. 

To James, it had been a whisper in the back of his mind that had never been meant to meet the light of day. To Lily, it had been a slap across the face. 

“D-did you mean to say that?” It had been a tentative question, nearly as quiet as the whispered words that James hadn’t realized had been shared. 

As his voice cracked over, “Say what, Lils?” she had had her answer. 

There was no screaming match, no deep betrayal. Only a lost truth found by eyes that had not been invited to see. The tears were shed when Lily was finally left in a silent apartment that felt as if it was missing something immediately. The frustrated screams came when James had stumbled through the streets numbly, still in his pajamas and his jacket hanging loose from his hand that was shoved deep in his pocket. 

The first week at Peter’s he hadn’t had much to say, even when Remus and Sirius came. They didn’t know why it happened, just knew that the infamous Lily and James had met their end. The second week James had gotten up to make Peter breakfast and the weight was still there but he was growing used to it and the conflicting thoughts that were always on his mind. The third week he’d stopped writing Lily letters that he’d never send. The fourth week he’d started writing you letters instead. 

Unsent were all the things that had been bouncing around James’ head that added to the dull throb that helped count the days away. I miss you. I’m furious. Why did you say goodbye. What could you not tell me. I hate you for doing this to me and Lily. I love you and realized too late.

Those very letters were bound tightly and kept shoved in Jame’s suitcase that was balanced against the far wall. Realizing it would be a night of questioning rather than sleeping he rolled off the couch with a low groan and a stretch of his back. The floor was cold against the soles of his feet and a chill traveled down his spine. Sometimes the only thing that could lull him to sleep was seeing his thoughts organized on paper. 

Getting a quill ready, he was startled by the sudden and rhythmic tap of an owl’s beak agains the window that was set just above where Jame’s suit case was resting against the white walls of Peter’s apartment. What was even more startling was James wasn’t certain he wasn’t hallucinating until he opened the window with shaking fingers and Meredith flew in, circling with her natural grace before settling on a perch Peter kept beside his own owl’s. 

A crisp envelope was in her beak and if he hadn’t recognized the grayish dusting of Meredith’s feathers and the golden eyes of his best friend’s owl he would have recognized the curls and loops of your handwriting. For reasons unknown, a smile found it’s home on his lips as he realized you hadn’t stopped drawing small circles above your i’s. 

He approached the owl that had been to his childhood home more times than he could count and tried to take the envelope from her but was met with an indignant twist of her neck. 

“Still requiring payment little miss Merry?” He asked, a giddy stirring in his stomach at the familiarity of the situation he was in as he shuffled around Peter’s kitchen for something she would like to nibble on while she rested. Finding something suitable, he returned and she happily dropped the sturdy letter into his hand. 

Peter’s name and address was neatly written even if towards the end of each line the words began to slope downwards. It was something you had hated about your writing but had seemed to grow used to as you hadn’t tried to overcorrect and curve the ends up too high.

Now James Potter was a good and honest man but he had only gotten small bits of information about you from Sirius and from looking over Peter’s shoulder when he read your letters. Peter had caught on though and now took to reading in his bedroom. Remus was tightlipped as ever, claiming if James wanted to know he could send you a letter himself. 

He was starved to know something, anything. So yes it was wrong, but nothing had seemed to be going right lately. What was more thing? It was a poor excuse to open Peter’s mail yet here he was, peeling off the seal with the greatest care.

Pete, Your letter began and James ran his thumb over the ink fondly. 

I know you’re probably sleeping, as you should be. You know what I’m going to ask and I know it’s not doing me any favors but I need to know how he is. I’ve been good and trying to stay focused on work but I have the whole weekend to recover from my double shifts and I need something to anchor me. Otherwise I’ll write or I’ll show up where I’m not welcome and I think that would be far worse. I should’ve never said goodbye.

James’ blood rushed through his veins in anticipation, praying for a name to appear in the paper- his name. He needed something concrete yet the gears were turning and he was nearly completely convinced that you were referring to the day he had started believing that you forgiving him was an impossibility, even if he’d never truly known what he’d done to push you so far away. 

Meredith chittered impatiently, wanting to be back in her familiar apartment after a fulfilling flight. “Alright, don’t get your feathers in a twist,” James hushed her and listened for Peter’s steady snoring before returning his eyes back to the letter.

 If you're awake feel free to come for some cocoa and a chat. 

                                                                                Love, Y/N

It was all James needed to jump to his feet, slipping on his shoes before falling to his knees in front of the fireplace. He knew she was expecting Peter but it had felt like she was reaching out to him and he had so longed to be back in her arms. Hope hadn’t been something on Peter’s mind for nearly two months and even now he was hesitant to feel it but maybe you’d at least let him back into your life as a friend. 

“Head home, Merry,” James commanded of the owl, giving her an approving nod as she hopped to the window before taking off silently. Then, his concentration was on poking and prodding Peter’s bricks. One was loose and kept a bag of floo powder hidden, except James couldn’t remember which one. Fifth one up and third to the right? Or was it left? His trembling hands grew impatient and he let out a long and loud grumble. 

“Going to Y/N’s?” Peter coughed his greeting and James froze. 

“Pete- the letter I-” 

James’ apology fell into silence as his longtime friend shook his head. 

“Fourth up and sixth to the right,” 

James rushed to his friend with the floo powder now secure in his hand and tugged him into a quick embrace. 

“Just be sure to pull her closer if she tries pushing you away,” Peter mentioned as he took a deep breath, focusing on you and thinking of the return address he’d seen on every letter. 

“Thank you wormtail,” 

The flames ignited the powder, growing blindingly bright. Peter blinked and the fireplace was empty. 

--

Your fingers had grown cold even as you intertwined them together. Meredith hadn’t come back yet and the stars were beginning to vanish as the sky grew lighter even when the sun was still tucked away for another half an hour or so. You knew Peter must be sleeping and you ought to try the same but two mugs were sat on your counter in preparation just in case. 

A few more stars winked at you before vanishing in the paled blue expanse of sky and your eyelids grew heavy but snapped open when a loud snap and a plume of smoke could be heard and seen in your left peripheral. You darted into a seated position and coughed after inhaling the soot.

“Pettigrew you will not be splinched for Merlin’s sake just apparate next time!” 

“I’ll pass on the message,” 

You gasped, another forceful set of coughs erupting as you took in more of the inky smoke that was steadily clearing out. The owner of the voice you never thought you’d hear again set everything straight and then you saw the man you never thought you’d see again. 

“Sorry, by the way,” James said, his voice oddly timid as he shuffled in front of the fireplace. “forgot you hated the floo. Just thought I’d take you up on your offer off cocoa and a chat,” 

Your eyes were bloodshot and burning from the smoke but now as you took James in you were certain that the tears you’d been holding back for years would fall and it would have nothing to do with the most asinine form of travel a wizard could have invented. 

“That was for-” 

“I know, I’ve been staying with him,” 

The answer was surprising but more so was the way James’ eyes tracked your features, drinking you in as you did him. He had a medium length scruff that decorated his jawline nicely and his curls were as disheveled and dark as always. His crows feet were more defined and it added a level of maturity you seemed to find very attractive as butterflies took flight in your stomach. 

“Why?” You sniffled, eyes breaking away from his first as he took a step towards you. He noticed when you curled up tighter on the couch, away from him. Nothing in the past month seemed to hurt more than that. 

“Can’t I catch up with my partner in c-crime?” James asked but stumbling over his words, voice getting caught in his throat and a tear slipping free and rolling down his cheek. Suddenly, he was sinking to his knees and crawling to you, hands finding your knees and gripping tight. 

Half of you wanted to apparate away and forget how it felt to be held tight by James Potter. The other half of you was crumbling into the hands of your best friend. 

“Why’d you say goodbye?” He asked and you shook your head, lip caught between unforgiving teeth as you chewed harshly nearly drawing blood. “Y/N, darling, plea-”

“Dont,” You begged, arms wrapping tight around yourself as if you were trying to remember that your own embrace could be just as comforting and you didn’t need to seek comfort from James. But you wished to oh so badly. 

“Don’t ask? Don’t leave? Don’t what?” Came a watery scoff. “I’m fully prepared to beg you for forgiveness but I never knew why and I think you at least owe me that,” 

“What if you don’t like what I have to say?” 

The question hung heavy in the air but James didn’t mind so much when your eyes finally found his and stayed put. You looked into him and he looked into you. You were scared and so was he. He was tired and so were you. You were both suffering. It could be ended if only you spoke the words you’d always kept hidden. 

“I may not like what you have to say but that could never stop me from caring,” He reassured and it was the push that led you to taking the baby step you had never been able to overcome. 

“Fear was the main reason,” You began, your hands searching for James’. He easily interlocked his fingers with yours and you felt a moment of panic, like you couldn’t escape the truth. However James looked into your eyes with the warmth he’d used to have and your fears were already melting. It was as if he was lending you his bravery. 

“I was terrified that I didn’t mean to you what you meant to me when we were kids. I thought that the playing field had to be balanced and then convinced myself it never could be before I even tried to see it from your point of view.” 

“Y/N?” James prodded as you struggled to find the right words. 

“I’m trying to say- Well I- Fuck.” You growled, leaning the few inches forward before capturing Jame’s lips with your own. Despite your frustrated tone the kiss was gentle and slow. You couldn’t tell him so you needed to show him. Needed him to realize you had wanted to have petty fights with him, grow old with him, cook breakfast with him, kiss him, since you were a silly teenager and that those feelings hadn’t faded in the slightest despite the prolonged distance. 

Kissing James was everything you’d wanted it to be and nothing like you’d dreamt. Never had you thought you’d get the chance nor did you think you’d be crying your eyes out. His lips were soft and you could taste the mint lip balm his mom got him for Christmas every year. James tilted his head in perfect time with yours and his hands squeezed yours affectionately however it was what brought you back to reality. 

You were the first to pull away, shame filling up the cracks in your hear that had only grown wider with the kiss. “I know you have Lily- I just...  You should know how I feel. And now that you know and now that I realize I truly can’t do anything about it I’ll let you go,” 

James felt as if he was plunged underwater and wasn’t hearing you right. The boys hadn’t told you? You had spent all this time thinking him taken while he had been dreaming of you for months, writing you unsent letters for weeks. 

“Are you daft?” He asked, hands falling away from yours and you couldn’t help the choked sob that came with another apology. “Oh, Y/N, darling, sweet girl, I-” 

“No it’s okay!” You tried to say over heavy sobs. It was an odd sensation. You thought you’d finally be set free by James’ clear rejection but your chest only constricted more and with the rapidly falling tears you found you couldn’t breathe very well. “I-I know I shouldn’t have sprung this on you. I felt neglected and bitter when you found Lily and it wasn’t fair of me to push you away because of it. I want you to be happy and if it’s with her-” 

“We broke up two months ago,” With the truth out there, James

“-then I want you to be-” You stopped in your tracks. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Short story is that I’ve missed you Y/N. Couldn’t get you out of my head and she knew and then I told her something I didn’t even know was true until I was saying it, but now I know it’s right. You’re not just a friend to me and I was too daft to see it. I-I love Lily and she has a special place in my life but somewhere along the way my heart chose you,” 

You felt as if his words would never truly sink in. “James-” You paused, unsure of what to say, eyes now drawn to the rising sun. 

“Just tell me you still want what you used to,” He interjected in the space of your silence. “Peter told me to hold you closer if you push me away and I intend to do that Y/N, I just have to know how you want me. Friend or m-more?”

The sun broke over the tips of the mountains, golden light streaming into your apartment and you turned your gaze back to James. His wide and dark eyes tugged at your heart and you found your hands back in his. You were unsuccessful in hiding your smile and James let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding in wait for your answer. 

“How about we start with some cocoa and a chat?” You asked and your lips were once more pressed against James’ as he grew eager, the weight falling off of both of your shoulders leaving you lighter than you had been in years. 

As you kissed James back in the comfort of the morning daylight you felt as if anything was possible.

--

To those who may be interested: @struggling-bee @starofthedawn @labyrinthlibrarian @wilddxchildd @nerdbirdsworld

[writertitan]

Midnight

pairing: eren x reader

themes: modern au, new year’s eve, angsty if you squint

A chorus of cheers erupted almost as soon as you crossed the threshold of Sasha’s home, though from the clinks and clatters of glass and the smell of bourbon, you could tell that the cheers were in celebration of something other than your unnoticed arrival.  

“Welcome!” Sasha greeted you with a warm smile and bright eyes, tugging you further into her equally warm and bright house, where everyone was already a little tipsy, a little rowdy. You didn’t want to look visibly nervous, but there you were, shoulders up to your ears and eyes shifting back and forth, looking for that mess of dark hair, those green eyes that pierced through you and everyone else. You nearly jumped when Sasha’s whisper danced into your ear. “Don’t worry, he’s not here and I don’t think he’ll show up.” 

“I wasn’t looking for him,” you mumbled, a little indignant, and then rolled your eyes when you saw Sasha’s knowing smirk. “I just don’t want things to be awkward, Sasha. It’s been months since we’ve even seen each other, let alone been in the same space all night. I guess I’m just...a little worried. Well, I was. Are you sure he’s not coming?” 

“Doubt it,” she says, that smirk still plastered on her face. “Why? Does that make you saaaad?” 

“Shut up,” you groaned, but you yanked on her ponytail playfully to let her know you weren’t upset as you walked past her, ready to pour some bourbon for yourself to ease your nerves. 

I’ll have to catch up, you thought to yourself with a grin as Connie raised his half-full glass to your full one, a silly laugh escaping him as you clink your glass to his. 

“Happy new year! Almost!” he nearly shouted before downing the last of his drink in a swift gulp. You tried to follow his pace, always competitive with him, but ended up coughing up some bourbon. Connie laughed instantly, and you could faintly hear Jean laughing as well, which made you glare at the two of them through watered-up eyes, stinging from the liquor. 

“Loser, can’t even hold your bourbon in and you just barely showed up!” Jean laughed, wiggling his almost empty cup in your face, as if to show off his own progress. 

Instead of verbally retaliating, you took another sip and spat it out at him, bursting out into laughter this time with the shout of surprise that came out of his mouth. 

“When are you gonna learn to leave me alone, huh?” you said, snickering and secretly giving Connie a high-five. Evidently, you weren’t going to be needing to drink too much to calm your nerves. You downed the rest of your drink anyway, mostly to piss Jean off and show Connie your two-person drinking game was on. With each drained glass, you felt yourself get looser and warmer, felt the world get a little whirlier, and you found yourself even looking forward to the new year, despite having to leave some things -- and some people -- behind. 

No, you promised yourself you wouldn’t think about that, you thought to yourself again, shaking your head as if to shake the thoughts out. Unfortunately, the shaking made things go a little dizzy, and you bumped into a table to steady yourself. 

“Ugh,” you groaned, setting down your glass and rubbing your forehead. All this drinking was going to be a bitch in the morning, and the discomfort of your intoxication was already getting to you. Even steadying yourself on the table the dizziness didn’t let up, the whirling didn’t stop, and the alcohol churned in your body, that familiar nausea finally surfacing. 

“Oh shit, she’s gonna blow.” 

Whoever had said that should have counted their lucky stars you were too drunk to do anything but stumble to Sasha’s bathroom, but you figured it was stupid Connie, eager to win your drinking game yet again. You shut the bathroom door behind you and took a deep breath, kneeling in front of the toilet and leaning onto your side to use the wall as support, your cheek hitting its cool surface. You didn’t actually think you were going to throw up, but you’d been wrong about these things before, and it was better to be safe than sorry. A knock at the door made you snap your head over too quickly, the dizziness almost being the catalyst for that awful nausea to finally bubble over into the toilet, but you kept your composure. You heard your name being called on the other side of the door, and something about the voice seemed familiar…

“Hold on,” you slurred, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. I won’t puke, I’m not gonna puke, nope, nope, nope…

Your name was called again, this time clearer and more easily heard above the reverberating music and chatter of everyone else still partying. “C’mon, open the door.” You didn’t answer, finally recognizing the voice, your heart stuttering and fighting in your ribcage. No way. “Alright, since you’re not answering, I’m coming in.”

“No!” But it was too late. Your vision swam as Eren’s figure stepped into the cramped bathroom with you, quietly shutting the door behind him before kneeling in front of you. If you didn’t know any better, you could have sworn that his eyes were clouded with concern for you. But you did know better. 

“Jesus, are you okay?” he whispered, careful to keep his voice low. 

“What are you doing here? Sasha said you weren’t coming!” you whined, slumping over the toilet. You flinched when you felt a warm hand on your back, and when he registered the flinch, he promptly pulled his hand away. You didn’t know which action hurt you more. 

“Changed my mind,” Eren answered simply. You could almost hear the casual shrug of his shoulders. 

You said nothing, squeezing your eyes shut and willing this to be a nasty dream. The booze had loosened you up and made you forget about Eren for the night, comforted in the thought of him not showing up. Now it was coaxing out your fears and your innermost conflicts. Drunk you wanted to lash out, to bring up those painful topics, but the tiniest sliver of the sober you was still screaming and fighting for your silence. It worked; Eren waited for you to speak, to say something, anything, but spoke up again when he realized you wouldn’t. 

“I’m probably the last person you want to be around, but just let me stay and make sure you don’t choke on your own puke,” he mumbled. The words made you sit up again and glare at him, though the glassy look in your eyes didn’t do well to intimidate him. In fact, it made him smile at you. “What, you think I don’t remember how you get when you drink too much? I’m surprised you haven’t been barfing your guts out this entire time.” 

“I’m not going to barf,” you growled, trying feebly to kick him away. Was the alcohol fucking you up even more than it already had? You felt more intoxicated now. Your senses were going wild and you felt bleary, heavy, like your center of gravity was changing, like your orbit was off. Instead of being focused at your core, it had seeped out elsewhere, making you lean away from the wall and closer to...

No. Drunk you was going to be the death of sober you. 

“Eren, I’m fine. Go have fun,” you whispered, not daring to look at him. In fact, you hadn’t looked directly at him this whole time. You recoiled from him and slumped against the wall, finally chancing a look his way. 

He was beautiful. Always beautiful, but especially tonight. He hadn’t given a damn about dressing up like everyone else, which was classic Eren, and that’s what made him look perfect. The careless bun at the nape of his neck, the ripped jeans, his favorite tattered sweatshirt with his band’s name stamped on it. Purposefully unkempt, as you’d often told him in the past. The past...where you’d once been together. 

“It’s not much better out there. I saw you run in here when I was walking in and wanted to make sure you were doing better than Connie. He’s outside throwing up over the porch, and don’t even get me started on Sasha,” Eren said, rolling his eyes. His gaze was gentle when he looked back at you. “I’ll have a better time in here with you.” 

Your breath hitched at the words. This wasn’t actually happening. You weren’t going to let yourself believe it. 

“You don’t have to be nice to me. I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me,” you blurted out. Finally, the words that had been dying to come out. Drunk you was absolutely going to be the death of sober you.

This made Eren speechless, for once. His eyes widened for a moment and you could tell the wheels were turning in his head.

“You’re too wasted for me to have an actual conversation with you,” he decided with a sigh, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. Both of you remembered at that moment when it was you fixing his hair, pushing it out of his face. 

“Am not!” you tried to argue, flinging the nostalgia away and replacing it with your haughty attitude. Eren remembered that too well, the attitude always coming out after too many drinks. “If you have something to say to me, I suggest you say it.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

The words hung in the air between you. Two throats choked up, two pairs of eyes locked, and two hearts ached and called out for each other. 

Your bottom lip trembled when the shame overcame you, pushing you back against the wall to put distance between yourself and Eren. All those months of being good, of avoiding him, of blocking him everywhere, of doing everything to keep moving on...it couldn’t crumble like this. 

“Why did you do it?” you asked meekly, praying the tears that burned your eyes would go away. You looked at your lap, feeling dead sober now. 

Eren didn’t know how to answer the question. How could he tell you that he had done it to save you from the heaviness in him after everything that had happened with his family? He was broken and refused to drag you down with him. He wasn’t good enough. He had needed to find the strength to get better without you, because that wasn’t fair to you to have to shoulder the burden. He’d never ask that of you. 

And now you were in front of him, but you were too drunk to comprehend anything he’d try to voice out. 

“I didn’t do it because I stopped...loving you,” was all he could say, “I just thought that hurting you like that was better than hurting you like I would have if I’d been selfish enough to put you through all my heavy shit. And when I realized you had cut me off and that you were avoiding me, I wanted to give you space.” 

You began to speak, reaching out for him, a blaze of fire in your eyes, and Eren knew what was coming. He stopped you by cupping his hand over your mouth, chuckling when you froze in surprise. 

“If I promise I’ll be right there next to you tomorrow morning so we can talk, will you promise to wait to yell at me until then?” he whispered. 

You slumped your shoulders in silent resignation and nodded, the feeling of his touch overwhelming your senses. You had missed him. Even just the playful touch of his hand on your mouth to silence you was enough to make your body heat up. When he took it away, you felt cold. 

“There’s just about two minutes left until midnight…” Eren started, rubbing the back of his neck shyly. His gaze was averted, but you saw the way he kept looking at you out of the corner of his eye as you both got up, him helping you get back on your feet. 

You smiled and tried to fight the blush that crept onto your cheeks as your hand found his, the warmth spreading over you again when he squeezed your fingers. Neither of you let go. 

“You’re not gonna make me start the new year alone, are you?” you teased him, and the familiar glint in those green eyes made your heart swell. 

“You’re not gonna puke on me, right?” he countered, laughing quietly when you hit his chest. He let you lean on him for support after sitting down for so long, but you refused to believe you were still a little tipsy. Walking out of the bathroom, your eyes blinked to adjust from the difference of lighting from the harsh fluorescents of the bathroom to the dim fairy lights adorning the hallway. 

“There’s gonna be fireworks outside at midnight. Wanna watch with me?” you asked, fighting back the shyness that made you fumble your words. Eren nodded almost immediately, an arm locked around your waist as you guided him to Sasha’s bedroom where all the coats were sprawled out on her bed. The lights were off but you didn’t turn them on, in too much of a hurry and too distracted by Eren’s presence behind you. You grabbed which one you thought was yours and started pulling it on, but perked up with Eren when the drunken chorus of your friends’ voices rang out. 

“TEN, NINE, EIGHT, SEVEN…”

You didn’t want to leave Eren behind. You wanted him next to you when the morning rose for the first day of a new year. You wanted to get closer and closer to him as your friends counted down the seconds from the living room. You wanted your lips on his at midnight. 

He wanted the same. 

His breath was warm on your face as you pressed up against him, the familiarity of your stance no longer bruising your heart, but balming it. Your hands were on his shoulders, fingers dancing up to caress his jaw, to subtly pull his face closer to yours. His hands glided down your sides until they found their favorite place at the small of your back. Your noses touched and he nudged yours playfully with his to get a smile out of you, your hearts both beating frantically. Even in the dark, hardly any light coming in, your bodies had found each other naturally, like nothing had changed. 

“TWO, ONE...HAPPY NEW YEAR!!” 

You could hear phone alarms going off, then fireworks, as your lips pressed to Eren’s. It wasn’t the booze making you feel lightheaded anymore. It was the softness of the boy’s lips, and the way he automatically pulled you in closer. The hair that had fallen out of his bun tickled your face and made you smile into the kiss, which made him mirror your actions. The fireworks outside boomed and crackled as Eren deepened your kiss, a hand moving up to cup your cheek gingerly. Your hands moved to push his hair away from his face, an action that was so familiar to the both of you that it left both of you breathless, and only then did you pull away from the kiss. 

“Happy new year,” you whispered in his ear, a dreamy smile playing on your lips as Eren’s continued to find your skin, not even close to being done kissing you. He wanted to memorize every inch of you all over again. The curve of your neck, the softness of your cheek, the tip of your nose. How he’d survived all this time without you was a fluke, a stroke of luck. It was impossible to go another day without at least seeing your face. He’d needed to see you and he was glad he’d come even if just out of hope that you might have been at the party too. 

“Happy new year,” Eren whispered into the crook of your neck, your name mumbled into your skin. When you both eventually pulled away from each other, he took your hand in his to guide you out, mumbling something about not wanting to miss the fireworks. You knew that him proudly holding your hand in front of your friends may have been a contributing factor in rushing you out. 

“Hey,” you said as you made your way to the front door, a devilish grin on your lips. “Did you say that Connie was losing it on the porch?” 

Eren nodded with a roll of his eyes, pulling you into his side. “Yep. Careful, his splash zone’s pretty gnarly.” 

You laughed loudly, almost a cackle, a glint in your eye as you tugged Eren outside with you. Connie was still slumped over the porch railing, looking delirious. 

“Hey, Connie! I won this time! And you say you can always drink me under the table, but I didn’t even throw up!” 

“Shut the hell up or else I’ll puke all over you.” 

“Whatever. Happy new year! Wait, is that Sasha eating snow?”

[kissesinthekitchen]

Teeth

Prompt: It’s been three weeks since Harry first slept with you. Or three weeks, one day, four hours and a few minutes - give or take. Not that he’s counting. And he’s feeling needy. Dreadfully so. 

Smut and fluff. Needy Harry. More than 6,560 words of sub!Harry.

Pairing: Harry x Reader

A/N: I’m really excited about this! This story was written for the Pick Your Poison Fic Challenge - and my prompt was 9F - Sub!Harry. It really pushed my writing and forced me to write something different and out of my comfort zone. I have so much love for @for-fucks-sake-h @andwhenshesays​ and @oh-honey-styles​ for their patience and for putting this event together. These writers have inspired me so much, they literally brought me back to fanfic -after years of writer’s block- and I could not be more thankful. This was my first time taking part in a writing challenge too! I would appreciate any love or feedback this gets. Thank you! xo

His eyes are full now, they’re brimming, prickling with tears. And his jaw is tense. He leans into the cup of your hand and you watch the features of his face flutter, the desperation is still there - simmering, but a calmness passes over him as he leans into your touch. He could be good, he could be so good for you.

God, you want to wreck him.

It’s been three weeks since Harry first slept with you. 

Or three weeks, one day, four hours and a few minutes - give or take. Not that he’s counting. 

And he’s feeling needy. Dreadfully so. 

But aside from passes of food and medication through the door of your apartment and fuzzy Facetime calls, he hasn’t seen you. 

It’s been hard. The evening after you first slept together, you were taken away from him - a girl’s trip to Maui, for one of your best friend’s bachelorette parties. You’d given him time, moments tucked away in your hotel room when your mate was gone and you had an hour to yourself. An hour of grinning at him through the face of an unreliable internet connection to tell him that you missed him so bad. Selfies taken hidden in the bathroom. Cheeky voicemails. He’s kept them all.

Then, when your plane had touched down in California, there had been another road bump in your reunion when you’d come back ill. Your achy, trembling voice had croaked into the phone delivering him the bad news. “Harry, I’m sick.” 

You’ve been sick for the last week and a half and it’s been hard to give you your space, Harry will admit to that. But you’re adamant, serious. You remind him that he has rehearsals for tour starting soon and he can’t risk it. 

“Miss you,” he croaks into his phone when you touch down.

“Miss you more,” you tell him back, a cough slicing through your promise. 

“Let me buy you groceries. I can pick up your prescription-”

Harry watches your face soften through the video call, wanting nothing more than to touch your cheek. 

“I’ll pay you back,” you tell him, smiling as if you both don’t know he has a bank account worth millions of dollars. Later, you both stare at each other miserably through the window of your living room window as he places your groceries and medicine on your doormat. He blows you a kiss goodbye before he leaves and you pretend to catch it with your hand. 

But that had been a few days ago and now you’re on your way to his house, caught in Los Angeles traffic but on your way nonetheless. 

He wonders if you’ve thought about it too, thought about him. If you have missed him just as much. He doesn’t feel alone in this feeling, if the look in your eyes as he left your window is enough to tell him, but there’s something else gnawing at him-

Harry is sure he’s in love with you. 

It’s a feeling that kindled inside of him before you slept together, but now it feels more palpable, real. Bigger than himself. The weeks without you have only cemented it for him. He loves you. He’s in love with you. He might have even written a few songs about it already. 

He wants to tell you. He likes the idea of feeling right, but he doesn’t want to wait. He wants to tell you when he feels like he can’t take it anymore, and he knows that feeling is dawning. The words feel like they are bubbling in his chest, nearing the tip of his tongue each time he talks to you. 

You’ve been together five months now. And he knows maybe that’s a bit of a long block of time to get into each other’s pants for some people - god knows he might have wanted to jump your bones earlier than that. 

But time was always in the way, the same way it feels now. A trip to take him across another country away from you. Your job making you stay late or taking you out of state. You’ve done other stuff together before - of course. Hurried handjobs when you were visiting the studio, his fingers tasting you, he might have even gotten his cock in your mouth when he went to visit you at work. But the real getting together, the real sleeping together - had taken five months. And now that he knows what you feel like, what sounds you make, how you look underneath him - Harry can’t think of anything else. It’s the only thing that has carried him through the last few weeks without you when he’s been miserably lonely. His need for you, and yes, his love for you. 

It happened in your bedroom, on the small - full sized bed in your apartment, rather than the massive mattress in his house. But he thinks it was perfect that way. He loves your apartment now, he knows it. He has his favorite mug and you stock a box of his favorite granola on top of your fridge. He names the plants in your living room. (“Bowie,” he points to a colorful succulent. “Obviously.” And then “Freddie” to the pothos sitting on your bookshelf.) And there are photos of you together tacked up with magnets in the kitchen and frames next to your bed. That night you had given him his own toothbrush to keep on the sink in the bathroom next to yours. 

Everything about him seems to ache without you here. His hands feel empty without you against them, music -even, he realizes- does not feel as vibrant without your voice there to sing along with him. 

You’ve kept him close though, and for that he is happy. He muses on this as he finishes some dishes in the kitchen, trying not to glance at the clock again. 

It started with the text messages. Then the photos you sent him from Hawaii. He has to stiffle a grin at the memory - A sex shop your friends had pulled you into a few days into your trip. You’d sent him a photo of a wall of toys - floggers, gags, dildos, chokers, blindfolds. Harry had barked out a laugh at first when he saw the picture unfold in front of his eyes. See anything you like? You’d teased. 

He remembers how he’d been sitting in his living room, the sound of the latest Packers game fading in the background. His ears felt hot as his fingers hovered over the letters on his phone. 

The choker. He’d typed out, teeth gnawing into his bottom lip. Maybe the blindfold too. 

For me or you?

Me. xx

Harry swears he must have felt all the blood rush to his groin when he saw your reply.

They have handcuffs too. 

Your talks and messages had only escalated from there. It was as if you were both daring each other to go further, but instead you were crossing new territory together, hand in hand. You made him feel dizzy with want, the way you were meeting him inch for inch. 

It’s the only reminder that Harry feels like he needs - he can trust you in a way he hasn’t been able to trust anyone before. He finds himself pledging devotion to the intrigue in your eyes, the way you don’t shy away when he teases you back or admits something through the phone. The feeling leaves him breathless, if he’s being honest. Most of all, it makes him miss you even more. 

His skin is buzzing as the minutes crawl by and your arrival gets closer and closer. He can’t stay still. He paces the hall until he sees the text banner on his phone announce you’re arrival. I’m outside. 

Harry’s favorite thing about you is the way you look perfectly at home in his house. Like you’ve alway belonged here. He swears sometimes that he must have dreamt you into life. It’s like you have just always been here. He’s reminded of this when he hears your voice over the security camera  - “It’s meee.” And when he pulls the door open -  

“Baby-” he opens his arms. 

You drop your bags on his doorstep. And you’re grinning as you launch yourself into his arms, your cheek flat against his chest and your nose buried in his neck. “Harry.”

“Oh baby,” he says, his fingers gingerly stroking your cheek, pushing your face up so your foreheads meet. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes are glistening as he presses your lips together. 

The last few weeks feel like a lie of nostalgia. Your memories of him have not done him justice. Not to the crinkles around his eyes when he smiles, not to his warmth or his laugh and definitely not to the way he kisses you. 

He smells good, like something crisp and floral - his expensive aftershave and cologne, and something still so distinctly Harry. That’s the part you have missed the most. 

You kiss him with both arms around his neck to pull him down to your height and you don’t stop until his back hits the door, reminding you both that you need a break to breathe. He’s laughing as he grips your waist. 

“Sorry,” you muse, smudging some of the lipstick that you’ve gotten on his mouth and teeth. 

“Don’t be, love. C’mere,” he takes your groceries (you owe him, don’t you?) and bag from you.

You shuffle into the house, checking your keys twice to make sure you locked your car even though Harry laughs and reminds you there’s a gate and a security guard that patrols the neighborhood. 

Harry helps you unpack the groceries, while you work on relearning the map of his kitchen again, pulling drawers and opening cabinets, trying to get acquainted with his space again. He throws on some Fleetwood Mac and The Zombies filter through the space between you as you start dinner. He muses that the song could not be more perfect for the feeling inside his chest. “Should I try to hide, the way I feel inside? My heart for you? Would you say that you love me too? I can tell the way you smile. If I feel that I could be certain then. I would say the things I want to say tonight.”

He stares at you with something that feels like pride, watching the sun filter through the window as you work. He thought -maybe- it might be hard to look you in the eyes or to push the feeling inside him aside but this, it feels easy. Watching you and being together with you in this way. His house, he feels, it finally feels like home now that you’re here. 

The smell of garlic and olive oil begins to fill the kitchen as you prepare the ratatouille and pasta you promised him you would make. You smile when he leans down to rest his chin against your shoulder as you work, sometimes squeezing your side with his hands. 

“Smells good, love,” he says, a watchful eye hanging over your shoulder at the pots and pans on the stove. 

Harry pours wine into glasses for the both of you and you hum your thanks when he pushes the throat of a glass towards you, closing your eyes as he kisses the top of your head.  And when you unwrap the loaves of bread from the store, he laughs and barks out “Could’a told me to make some, love. I used ‘ta work in a bakery!”

You laugh as you tug on his waist, reaching up to catch his lips. “I know. You never make me forget.” 

You make tiramisu later, trying hard not to stare at Harry too much as you work together. His long fingers dipping the ladyfinger cookies into the espresso mix. And you know he catches you blushing when he asks you to taste the whipped cream from his fingers. It has not stopped catching you by surprise, the way he can make you feel beautiful and important and lucky all at once. 

And even though he knows this was the plan for tonight, he can’t help but beam at the promise in your voice when the words come tumbling later. “Brought my bag,” you tell him over your empty plates. “Packed an outfit for tomorrow. Hope you like my pajamas.” You smirk at him. 

“S’the ones with coffee mugs and lattes on them?”

You throw your head back and laugh at the fact that he remembered them. 

“Sexy,” he teases. You catch him leaning against the counter and taking you in. “Got you a toothbrush.”

You smile, memories of last time quickly flooding your thoughts, but don’t take your eyes off the napkin in front of you. You know he’s lost in the same memories. When you’re washing dishes later though, he leaves you to place the fancy -electric, you’ll notice later and expensive- toothbrush sitting on top of your overnight bag. 

After dinner, when you’re both feeling warm and giggly, you pull him back into the sitting area of his bedroom. Harry gulps hard as he watches you insist on lighting some candles, and the smell of teakwood and rosemary fill the room. Watching you makes his stomach clench, this is all he has wanted, craved, needed for the last few weeks. You in his arms and in bed, taking up his space again. 

He’s sitting on the small sofa next to his bed, the enormity of his room could almost beat the entire size of your apartment. But you feel at peace here, in the same way he feels comforted and hidden in your home. He’s more than the expensive, designer clothes in his closet, the guitars that line one wall, the pile of leather bound journals and gold and white accented bathroom. Here, he’s just Harry. Your Harry. 

When he’s finally relaxed, you push some gifts bags into his hands and insist that he unwrap the gifts you got him from Hawaii. There are books, boxes of chocolate, bags of pineapple candy, floral shirts from vintage thrift stores, and a kitschy keychain with hula dancers and his name on it - that looks so hilariously out of place next to the keys for his Mercedes and vintage cars. 

You look warm and inviting as you turn towards him, the candlelight taking your skin glow like amber. Your skin looks kissed by the sun thanks to your trip. And Harry’s suddenly overwhelmed with how he wants nothing more than to kiss you for your thoughtfulness, for the disbelief he feels at having you here, for the feeling bursting in his chest. 

“Got you one more thing,” you tell him as you close the distance between you, reaching around him to place a small gift box in his hand. 

“Another present? Or summat?” he smiles. 

You kiss the side of his face, humming softly in response, stroking the back of his hair and neck. You try to stay composed as Harry’s fingers gingerly pry the lid of the box open. 

The air feels like it has been sucked out of him. He hates that his fingers tremble a little as he takes the collar out of the box. It’s black and thick, feels smooth like leather, with a buckle that slides closed on the side. He swallows hard as his thumb gingerly runs over the loopholes, imagining the way it would feel gripping his throat or how you would look tying it in place - god, help him. 

“Thought we could use it sometime. Doesn’t have to be tonight. You mentioned-”

And then he’s kissing you. Kissing you so fiercely that your mind stumbles before your body can catch up. Both of his hands on your face, knocking the collar down between you. 

It’s what you have both been walking around all night and it feels like the feeling that had been simply growing in his chest is about to burst. His vision feels like it is swimming right now, but your hands on his face are the only thing tethering him to the ground, whatever is growing between you makes him feel like so much more than himself. The feeling in his chest feels bigger than he has words for right now. 

Your eyes search his. “Do you trust me?

“I do. Y’know I do.” 

“Then Harry?”

His pupils are so wide. “Yeah?” he says. 

“Get on your knees.” 

You watch him carefully as he moves to his knees on the floor, idly shifting closer to the bed. When he stills, you reach for the belt he had discarded on the way into his room. Your fingers rubbing against the leather. “This okay?” 

You listen to his sharp intake of his breath, watch the curls at the front of his face fall briefly in his eyes. “Y-yeah.” 

His hands are one of your favorite things about him. Their large, calloused - his fingers long and tapered. You reach down to press a kiss to the cross on his hand and then move to coil the belt so it loops around his wrists, biting into his skin. 

 Realistically, Harry knows he could get out of this, but it’s the fact that he doesn’t that thrills you. He’s patient and pliant beneath your hands, reduced to his knees and shuddering when your touch leaves him. The line of his neck arching as his eyes follow you. He uses his mouth to follow the line of your palm, kissing your skin until you let go. 

He crawls for you - and oh, you love that. The way his back arches, his long legs and knees hitting the floor, his mind unable to grasp what his body can’t right now - he’s so eager to follow where you go, to be with you, to be a part of you. 

“Harry-” you say, sitting down on the mattress and spreading your legs wide. You lean back to rest your weight on your elbows, thighs lazily spread wide so he can rest between them. You shimmy the end of your dress up, loving the way his nostrils flare and his pupils widen, watching your hands - your fingers grazing where he wishes his skin could go too. Have hungered to for days and days. 

“Harry, do you want to taste me?”

“God, love. Please-”

“Say it again.”

“Please?” he begs.

His nose and lips skim the same path your hands followed. His head of full dark curls turning under the hem of your skirt. You’re gracious enough to help make it easier for him by tugging it up and he groans a sound of thanks into your skin with his lips. 

He’s hungry for it. He inhales deeply, licking you through the fabric of your panties in a way that makes you shudder. He’s even more grateful when you take pity on him by raking your nails through his hair and shifting the material down so he can look at you bare. The tug makes his eyes flutter, it feels so good. 

He’s frozen though, stilling as he waits for your instruction, and you gingerly cup the side of his face in thanks. 

“Go ahead,” you whisper, when he’s almost at the point of whimpering. And then he moves forward, making a home between your thighs. 

Last time you did this, you learned that you love when Harry has both his mouth and his fingers inside you - but this is - well it’s lovely. It’s fucking heaven. Watching how desperate he is to get you off, the way he presses all of his face into your cunt - heeding the deepest part of you, where you’re so wet and just as desperate for him. He’s needy, messy with it. His lips and tongue remembering you all over again, his nose smashed against your cunt and the hint of his teeth against your clit - just enough to have you grinding down on him in a way that makes your brain feel fuzzy. 

Feeling the slickness of his tongue as he slides it inside you makes your cunt feel like it’s fluttering around him. Your face pinches every time he comes back to lick you deeper and you listen to the half garbled words that he’s sucking and pleading into your skin. 

“So wet. So fuckin’ wet for me. Tastes so good. Missed ‘yeh so much.” 

Without the help of his hands, Harry uses one long leg to push himself against the length of the bed- trying to be close to you, while also finding some friction against the mattress. He finds no relief, but when he hears you voice gasp out for him, your fingers weaving in his hair - it’s almost better than any vision he had of you these last few weeks. Oh, it’s so much fucking better. 

He’s so greedy for it. He wants to taste you, needs to feel you cum more than he wants it for himself. You can tell by the way he pushes his tongue between your folds, trying to get deeper, like he’s trying to reach inside you and be a part of you. If his hands were free, he would use his fingers to spread you wide and open. To stuff you full. He knows he would tug on your legs, wear your thighs around his neck like a fucking necklace but there’ll be more time for that - another time, another place - right now, he just wants to feel you cum.

“Harry,” you beg him. “Harry. I’m close-” 

He moans when he watches you slide your fingers down to help aid him, his jaw dropping down in awe as you rub your clit. He works hard to sink down and lick around your fingers before dipping inside of you again. 

“You’re gonna make me come. You’re gonna - I’m going to come in your mouth. God, I’m going to come in your mouth-”

He’s lost in it, but it’s when he looks up at you - his big, green eyes against your flushed pussy, that you feel yourself lose it. It’s simultaneously loving and yet so obscene - you can’t bear it. 

You fist your fingers through his hair, shoulders trembling a little off his pillow, your thighs shaking just as hard- and if his hands were free, Harry knows he would be forcing your thighs and your hips down onto the bed. But all he can do is take it now, take it as hard as you are giving it back to him. His face getting wet and messy with it. 

You could scream with how good it feels. And he licks you through it all, only stalling when your nails dig into his head and he feels you shift away from his incessant mouth. “Too sensitive,” you murmur, and Harry finally relents. 

He sits up on his knees, leaning his forehead against your thighs, trying to breathe through his nose. 

“Harry?”

He makes a sound in his throat, still gasping against your thigh. You touch his head, urge him to rest against your thigh and he’s grateful. He feels something hanging off the tip of his tongue-

“Harry. Harry, what’s your color?” Tell me. Where are you?”

“Green,” he groans, nuzzling deeper into your skin. “That was- that was just a lot. But I’m green. So fuckin’ green, love..” 

You giggle at that and when he finally does look up at you, he looks so pleased with himself. When you take his face between your hands, he feels warm against your fingertips, from the pressure of your hips and how deeply he was digging his face between your thighs. His lips and jaw are soaked, glistening with you and you’re more than happy to help clean him up, licking the taste of yourself from his mouth and pressing soft, appreciative kisses against his face. 

When you finally step aside, his eyes follow you. He’s appreciative of the fingers you still have in his hair and the way you use them to steer him up and onto the bed. 

“Harry?” His eyes look drunk as they meet yours.  He’s still kneeling. “Are you with me?”

“Always, love.”

You smile at him, giving him another pat on the head, your fingers running through his matted hair. And he nuzzles deeper into your hand. 

“Breathe, baby. Give me your safeword.”

His mind is swimming. He thinks of your eyes narrowing at him over dinner - a field - the bright painting on the wall behind your head. - Plastic crinkling around the bouquet of flowers he held clenched between his fingers on your very first date. The vase of them you keep on the island in your kitchen and next to your bed- smiling over at him, the smell of coffee drifting, the sun hitting the bare skin of your back, the name he has you saved under in his phone-

“Sunflower,” he says, the smile on his lips lazy and triumphant when it finally comes to him. “Sunflower. Sunflower.” 

You’re beaming as you stare down at him and he feels like he wants to sink into the praise in your eyes. 

“Good,” you tell him. “Good. You’re doing so good, Harry.”

His eyes are full now, they’re brimming, prickling with tears. And his jaw is tense. He leans into the cup of your hand and you watch the features of his face flutter, the desperation is still there - simmering, but a calmness passes over him as he leans into your touch. He could be good, he could be so good for you.

God, you want to wreck him. 

“M’cock’s hard,” he says, in the same lazy, almost dazed voice. “S’leaking.”

You make work of both your clothes and then unbuckle his pants and take him out and true to his word - he’s hard. So hard. His expression looks pained when you thumb the raspberry tip of his cock, your mouth watering. He’s too sensitive for that right now, but maybe- you think- hope blooms in your chest. In the future. You could use a ring or-

It’s endearing how reactive he is to you. Not only do his eyes always follow you, but it’s as if his skin’s instinct is to follow you too. 

“Harry, I’m going to untie your hands. Would you like that?”

“Yes-Yes Please.” And god his voice breaks twice around your name -you almost want to take pity on him. 

Almost. 

“I’m going to untie them but I want you to listen to me. Listen to me, okay? I want you to raise them above your head, hold onto the headboard. You’re still not going to touch me. Is that understood?”

“Ye-yes,” he stutters out. And oh you love that. Your golden boy, who has had the world at his feet since the beginning - he’s never been denied things. But this, this he’s doing just for you. And for himself.  

He gasps as you work to undress him, pulling his jeans down the length of the bed, then his briefs. You move to straddle his thigh first, leaning down enough to rub yourself against the tiger inked into his skin. At the touch of his thigh against your clit, you moan - and he moans with you - as if he can’t help himself, can’t bear it- feeling you spread open against his skin and being unable to touch you.

“So wet,” he whimpers. “Fuckin’ christ. You’re so wet.”

You allow yourself this moment, a few seconds to rub yourself against him like some kind of cat in heat. Using him until you feel more wetness begin to pool on his skin. You note that his arms are straining with the stretch of the angle he has against the headboard, the veins in his arms a flash of trembling light blue as his fingers shake. 

When finally you feel like you’ve had enough to bear, you swing your leg over his hip and draw yourself down to his pelvis. His face is almost flush with your chest, and you can see the restraint he’s trying to give you - the pupils of his eyes are so wide, and he’s biting into his plush bottom lip, trying not to close the distance between you to suck a beautiful, puffy nipple into his mouth or between his teeth - He needs to be good. He needs to prove to you how good he can be. 

You’re more patient and forgiving this time, spitting on his cock and taking him into your hand. You stroke him a few times, letting the tip of him - just the tip- graze inside of you. 

His eyes and forehead crease at your teasing. 

“You’re so big,” you tell him, and his skin flushes beneath the phrase, his hips bucking up to meet you. 

“B-biggest?” he stutters out and you don’t mistake the nervous lilt at the end of his voice for anything but what it is - a need for confirmation. 

“Biggest. Best I’ve ever had,” you affirm. “Harry. Fuck.”

Pride swells in his chest, making him gasp. 

“God, Harry. That first time we...I didn’t think I’d be able to-. It hurt something good the next morning. Felt like I was aching without you there anymore. - Missed you so much. Missed my baby boy, so much.”

He’s rutting up, hips lifting off the mattress and you feel equally pained for him, your cunt miserably fluttering around nothing too. 

“Fuck. Please,” he begs you, the deepness of his voice making you tremble from the tips of your toes to the roots of your hair. “Take me. Take me.”

You relent, letting yourself slide down the length of him - and oh, this is nice. A snug fit. Another memory of him gone unjustified. You can feel him in your belly. His cock is so thick and deep, it’s still new but comforting. Like coming home. 

“Feel good, Harry?”

“Yes! Yes. God. Christ. You feel so bloody good-”

You shift so you’re resting against him, the palms of your hands flat against his chest. - But not moving. 

“Please,” he groans, his jaw straining towards the side of the bed. “Please fuck me, princess.”

“What do you want Harry?” you indulge him. You’ve missed his voice just as much as his touch, and you need to hear him say it outloud. 

“Fuck me till I cry. Fuck me, ‘till I’m done for. Christ.” 

His skin flushes like he’s embarrassed, so you lean down to kiss his jaw and mouth. “I will. I will. I’m going to fuck you, Harry.”

You use your hands for balance as you lift your hips, sliding up and down the length of his cock. Moaning loud and gasping hard when he shifts up to meet you thrust for thrust. 

“H-Harry,” you call him, only continuing when his head shifts up, his eyes peering up to meet you and tell you he’s listening. The green intensity of them makes you clench around him. “What if I tied you up? Would you like that?”

His feet are flat against the bed now, his hips shifting up in response - he doesn’t trust his voice right now. He feels so wrecked. All he can say is your name as he impales you on his cock. 

“Or maybe- maybe we’ll go somewhere and you could wear a collar - your collar - tight enough around your neck. Something to take out, huh? Just between the two of us - so you’ll know you’re mine. And when I’m gone again, you won’t ever have a reason to forget.”

Harry could almost choke on his disbelief. Hope and lust seem to twine together and something that feels like hope has been freed from his chest. Your mouth - it’s every fantasy, every secret he’s had - coming alive, coming to fruition hearing it in your voice. 

“I’m going to come on you, going to come on your prick, baby,” you promise him. “Then-then you can come.”

“Yes,” he sputters out in response. “Yes-yes. Use me. Please. Please, love. It’s all I’ve been able to think about-since you’ve been gone. Wanting to make you come.”

There’s no hesitation in his voice, and you feel yourself grow wet at the sound. He knows he’s safe. He knows he has you. His exhibitions are unraveling like a thread. They have been since that first message you sent him. 

He’s rambling now. “Wanna come too. Wanna shoot it in deep. But-need ‘ta feel you first. Need ‘ta feel you quaking around me-Baby, please-”

His eyes go wild when you press your hand against his throat, small tears slipping down his cheeks. Your red fingernails look beautiful against the paleness of his skin. And his knees lift up in a desperate show to fuck into you harder. 

“Fuck. I love you. I love you. Fuck please. Please!”

He’s too lost, plummeting into the safety of the haze you have taken him to - he doesn’t notice the way your eyes narrow in surprise as he gasps from between your fingers. Your heart feels too full, like it might smother your rib cage and you let that feeling take you under. He loves you. He loves you. 

Something overtakes you then. A wave of pride, and something territorial. You feel his words sinking into your bones, and you don’t feel afraid. In fact, you feel something like pride and adoration make a home inside your chest. You’re soaring. He loves you. Your teeth sink into the skin between his neck and shoulder and he groans, a heated sound that makes your skin flush, makes you feel impossibly wetter where you’re holding him between your thighs. It’s a mark to match the ones you have left on his left pec and his thighs, the line on his hip, and your handprints around his throat.. And for days to come, beneath the dim candlelight of his bedroom or the sunlight peeking through his bathroom in the morning - he will marvel at them, but now, now he’s too overcome. 

“Harry,” you rake your nails through the back of his head and grab a fistfull of his hair, harsh and tight. “I’m gonna come. You’re gonna make me cum. I want to come for you. You’re so good.”

He chokes as he feels yourself clench around him, swallowing him deep. You’re shaking, tugging his hair, and saying his name - “Harry, you’re perfect. My beautiful-Harry.” And watching you come on his cock, it’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

You kiss him through it all and as you come back down. You’re tired, slick, and still recovering but your hands grasp Harry’s. Your fingers clenched between his long fingers, squeezing tight around his rings and pressing down on his wrists. 

You lean down so your mouth is pressed between the pink wetness of his mouth, tugging at his bottom lip with your teeth. 

“Do you want to come inside me? You can, my sweet- Harry. You can. Only you. Come inside me Harry-.”

He doesn’t need much now. You’re grinding against him, lazy and slow. Licking into his mouth. 

“Come inside you,” he repeats your words, gasping against your face. You feel his arms flexing beneath your touch, his hips pistoning his cock in and out of you. Arousal -both yours and his- dripping between your thighs. It’s a mess, but it’s your mess. “All I want - ‘ta come inside you.”

You press your fingers against his throat again and his eyes roll back into his head again. You push the weight of your hips against his pelvis and then feel it - the first few spurts of his release inside you, warm and comforting-

“Fuck. I’m coming. Y/N. I’m fuck-”

You hold him as it happens, your fingers around his throat only relenting when his hips have stopped stuttering and he’s finally stopped calling your name. 

Spent, you collapse on him. Tapping his hands and wrists and loosening them. - “You can touch me. Harry- you can touch me.”

You stay with him for a long moment, it’s a space of time you both need. He’s coming down from where you took him so high, and you need to feel grounded, tethered next to him in every way you can right now. The bites and marks you’ve left on him pulse and throb, and his skin feels like it’s been lit on fire. He aches in the best way possible. He feels each throb like an ache under the intensity of a magnifying glass.

Your hair acts like a curtain over both of you as you plant soft, wet kisses over his neck, his temple, his face. Kissing away his tears. Your fingernails tracing over the tattoos on his stomach and chest as you tell him how well he did, how good, how hard he made you come. It makes him feel looked after, cherished, adored.

Your skin is a warm and comforting weight against his back, until he feels like he’s floated down again, his feet firmly planted.

It’s only when you’re sure he’s stopped trembling, and his heartbeat has slowed beneath the palm of your hand, that you break the surface of this bubble you’ve created together- 

“Harry?” you call to him. 

“Mmm,” he grunts. 

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fuckin’ perfect,” he says. “Love?”

“S’okay if I...I’ll be right back. Need to get us both cleaned up, babe.”

“I’ll-” he starts, and you can almost see his tall frame trying to lift from the  bed. 

“You don’t have to do anything, beautiful,” one of your hands comes up to press him back down against the mattress. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere, handsome.” You press a wet kiss to his head again to soothe him and laugh as he makes a joke - “Think ya properly fucked my brains out. Can’t move, love.”

You walk to the bathroom on trembling legs and feet, and retrieve a wet washcloth to clean both of you up, only pausing to smile faintly at your reflection in the mirror - you look disheveled and happy. You hurry to grab a water bottle from the fridge and then patter back to Harry’s room and make him take a few sips from it. He stares up at you from beneath the throat of the bottle and you try to ignore the way you feel yourself flush beneath the awe in his eyes. 

Only after you’ve pulled a clean pair of underwear on him, do you join him on the mattress again. You crawl onto the bed knees first, and Harry’s breathing slows as he feels you tug him towards you, your face pressed between both of his broad shoulder blades. 

You listen to the heavy thud of his heartbeat through his back. 

“I love you too,” you tell him quietly, finally. “Love you too.”

He makes a muffled sound, and then though he feels heavy and his body protests against the movement, he turns in your embrace so he can look in your eyes. 

“Heard that, did you?” he tries to laugh. But you feel worry cementing itself in your heart when he doesn’t look up to meet your eyes. 

“Don’t have to say it back, y’know?” he finally says. “Don’t have to say it just because I did. Don’t have to know what to do with it. You can have it- you can have me either way.”

You lean up a little to brush your hands through his hair, and so he can tilt his head up to meet you. The edge of his jaw against the cusp of your breasts, the pink of his mouth sitting so pretty against your chest, his eyes half lidded and still so fucked out. You wonder if he grasps exactly what he’s telling you. 

“I know I love you. And I know I missed you so much, Harry. I want to take care of you.”

His heart thrills at what that could mean. “Want ‘ta take care of you too. Want to make you feel good.”

“You do. You’re the best. I love you and,” you smile a little, fingers brushing over the bite you left on his neck. “You’re mine.”

He laughs a little, drawing a glance at the mark too. His big hand closing over yours. “I love you too. Been wanting to say it for a long time.”

“I’m glad you did right now.” You smile at him, and the anxiety he was feeling seems to falter. He smiles back.

“Did you mean what you were saying?” Harry says, reaching for you even as sleep looms over the edge of his thoughts. “About the choker and the ring and summat?”

“’Course, whatever you want,” you smile at him above the duvet pulled up over both of your shoulders. “Trust me?”

“Know I do,” he smiles, the dimple in his cheek deepening. 

Your face softens as you reach up to trace it with your fingers. “I’m many things, Harry Styles, but I’m not a liar,” you laugh. 

“Know you are,” he laughs back, the gravely sound of it making you feel light and wonderful. Bright and adored. “First and foremost though, you’re my sunflower.”

You seem to beam under the look in his eyes. You pull him close, tucking yourself under his chin, and kissing one of the sparrows on his chest. “I am,” you tell him. “I am.” 

A/N: If you’re wondering, yes, the story and title were both inspired by the song of the same name by 5SOS.

Thank you for reading! Please Like or Reblog and feel free to follow me to keep up with more stories. I’d love to have you here. <3 Or let me know what you think!

[the-wintershade]

trust me (always)

pairing: sam wilson x f!reader  summary: it’s hard for you to trust anyone, especially people you get close to. you and Sam share a bond, a trust on the battlefield, but the Sam you see when you get back is different. however, things are changing and maybe the two Sam’s aren’t so different after all. wc: 3.4k+ genre: a little angst, some fluff, confusion, protectiveness, reader can’t see things as clearly as Stephen Strange, that’s for sure.

He held you as if you were something ancient, endowed with power but still delicate enough to require a special touch, a touch that recognized the silent strength within its bones.

It was reassuring. 

You clutched onto him that much tighter despite the blood racing against your hand. You would have been more concerned if it weren’t for the fact that you were miles above the ground grasping against his chest for dear life.

Your legs tensed against his waist as you buried your head further against his neck. One of his arms stayed securely wrapped around you as he glided through the clouds, navigating through the smoke and clouds, wrapping the two of you in an invisible mist.

“Hey,” He breathlessly whispered against your cheek. “You good?” 

You nodded, keeping your eyes squeezed tight. 

A fear of heights never made any of this any better for you. You could barely accept the idea that you were up as high as you are.

Sam grunted a bit as he pushed both of you faster through the atmosphere. His suit whined a little in the strain of having only one wing to guide you but still held firm. Tony knew what he was doing with the upgrades.

“I’ve got you.” The words felt reassuring, but you didn’t bother to drop your death grip on his neck. “I’ve got you. I’m not letting you go.” 

You weren’t sure who he was trying to assuage more: you or him.

You cracked your eyes open for a second, just as he swerved slightly to avoid a heavy pocket of air, and saw the swirls of white and grey. Adrenaline shot through you, fresh and hot, but you kept your muscles locked. You wouldn’t squeeze him to suffocation, not up here where there’s nothing to catch you if you fell.

You squoze your eyes shut again, waiting till seconds felt like hours.

“We’re here.” He abruptly pulled up before gently lowering you two to the ground. He kept you tucked against his body, kneeling on the hard earth as his other arm circled around you. 

For a second, for just a moment, you were pressed so tight in his embrace that you were sure that his fear of losing you was just as real as your fear of having to let him go.

Then the moment was over and he was crumbling into fits of laughter, his default face of charms and smiles came back. Good old Sam.

Just like before, like basic training and initiation, running side missions with Sam and Bucky, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. He was always your guy, always there to get you if something went wrong, always coming to your aide if you called him, he was always around. Always smiling, always teasing.

And he knew you had him to.

If he needed anything, recon, an infiltration team, a scout or just a man on the inside, you were there. You were good.

And that’s why, even when everything was falling apart around you, you waited, you closed your eyes, and you trusted him to catch you as you jumped out of the building.

There he was. Just like always.

“That was insane.” His teeth shinned at you, dazzling you into silence just like so many times before. He watched your face freeze, distracted in nostalgia, and his own brightness dimmed slightly, his teeth receding like the slow crawl of the tide working its way back into the ocean. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He stood up and you slowly unwrapped your arms from around him, finally noticing the vermillion streaking down your forearm.

You felt Sam tense for just a moment, his gleeful mask dissolving for just a second, before leading your charge inside the building. He moved fast despite the fact that you only landed seconds ago.

You, on the other hand, felt disoriented, and stumbled your way forward. It wasn’t the blood loss, or the dizziness from flight. It was something much deeper. Something that had everything to do with him.

Everything to do with the feelings that never went away but you always ignored.

You tried to brush aside the sucking void that appeared in your chest at the easy dismissal of his previous display, but it kept pulling at you, making you feel hollow in the middle.

It hurt. But you don’t need to admit that.

Just keep it in. Just keep it all contained until this is all over and then your void can devour anything it wants.

He led you through all the twists and turns before coming to stop at the medbay. Dr. Strange was in your path almost immediately after Sam hit the button. He’d been on special call for anyone hurt within the facility. 

Plus, you and the doctor had become good friends over the years. He taught you basic first aid and you were able to teach him about philosophy, ways to help him see the world and better himself.

It was an exchange of information, but not deceitful, not in exchange for money or for self-gain. It was equal and the company was always nice.

“Hello, (name).” Good to see you again,” He softly smiled in your direction. You forced your eyes to crinkle with the same amount of enthusiasm.

“Always a pleasure, Dr. Strange.” Your voice was calm, lovely even, as you responded. It betrayed none of the subtle agony you felt, nor the pain at the throbbing in your arm. It made your confidence strengthen and the void die down just a little.

He stepped over to you slowly, reaching out to take a look at your arm. “Debris in the arm?”

“Sam managed to pull me out before the building collapsed.” You spared a cautious glance in his direction, careful to manage the sucking pull of his eyes and the void within you. His stare was dark and...upset (out of character for him), before it immediately became ambivalent, balancing on the edge of nonchalance and subtle amusement.

It would have given you whiplash if you hadn’t been trying to keep your face as neutral as possible.

“Lucky girl,” Stephen smirked at you while gently tugging on your arm and pulling you along into the examination room. He looked past you, right to Sam.“I’ll take good care of her, promise.” 

Your heart lept for a second. 

Stephan looked down at you and winked before glancing back at Sam. “Do what you have to do. I gotta get back anyway.” His voice sounded cheerful, but the develivry of the response held something deeper, something more hidden and protective. He paused for a moment and the silence made you turn in his direction. His gaze was warm and gentle, but if you closely, just beyond it, there was a wall of steel. “I’ll be back.”

You heard his receding footsteps before Stephen closed the door.

“What was that about?” You sat up on the table as Stephen began examining your arm, working around the blood and dirt.

He scoffed. “We’ve talked about this before, (name).” He poured alcohol over your wound and a hiss left your mouth involuntarily. He pressed a towel against the exposed skin and waited for the bubbling to stop before moving on. “He would have stayed here if I hadn’t said you were okay.”

Why?

You were talking about the same Sam, weren’t you? The Sam who was a massive flirt, who couldn’t be tied down to anyone? Sam, who was always so carefree and flirty, who didn’t have to time for anyone else in his life? That Sam?

Or the other Sam? Reliable Sam. Dependable Sam. The Sam who always had your back.

Because that Sam only existed during battle, when everything was going left and the trust you needed to put in each other was stronger than his need to be witty. 

But the Sam that came back was always different. It always stung a little. The Sam you came back with would go out and forget about you. 

And you couldn’t forget about him.

The void grew bigger.

“We can’t be talking about the same person.” Your tone was grounded in defeat. You’d already fought this battle with yourself, you knew what your decision was.

“Oh,” He grinned. “But we are.”

You shook your head. “You got this all wrong. He doesn’t care that much. He saved me, that’s his job after all. That’s what we do during missions, that’s who we are. When we get back it’s always different.”

“If he was just saving you, why do you think he brought you here?” Stephan’s hands were fast as he wrapped up your arm. You’d been so distracted talking about Sam that you hadn’t noticed when he’d removed the glass from your arm. “He would have put you on the street if you were just another citizen, if it were just another mission.”

“Right,” You rolled your eyes before Stephen set your arm down. “Like that actually means anything. I’m an agent; it’s only right that I’m here.” Everyone was pretty much gone anyway. It makes sense he brought you here.

“Oh?” He smirked as he turned to put the supplies away. “You and Sam were pretty close when he brought you in. Almost glued to the hip.” The first aid kit shut with a loud click. The next sentence makes you question if he’s been watching your interactions properly. He’s done it before, “for research” he claims. “He watches you a lot. If he’s not physically close to you, his staring more than makes up for it.”

“Dr., don’t say all of this to make me feel better. I know when I’m not really wanted. He’s just being good ol’ Sam. It doesn’t really mean anything.”

“Are you saying this because you truly don’t believe that he cares or that you don’t think that anyone could possibly care about you like this?” His stare is deep and hard. He’s not upset necessarily, but he’s frustrated and you know better than to lie to him.

“To be honest,” you sigh and massage your fingers, aching from holding onto Sam’s suit, aching from not being able to hold onto him. “I’m not sure anymore.”

And if your sad eyes gives him any pause, Stephen pushes through it. He comes over and squeezes your hand. 

“Listen kid, lord knows that I’m not good at any of this stuff.” He places the back of his hand against your cheek, a soft tap of affection. “But I do know that you deserve to be happy. Allow yourself that much.”

Your throat hurts from trying to push back the heartbreaking agony in his words, but you manage to nod, touching his hand gently in return.

The void still threatens to suck you in, but it doesn’t feel as indomitable as it did before.

…

“Where’d you go?” Bucky grunts through the radio as he knocks out his assailant, watching Sam come gliding down out of the sky.

“I had to grab someone.” He mentions in passing as he sets down on the ground. He pulls out his own gun and puts down a few more guards. 

He catches Bucky’s smirk from out of the corner of his eye. His own gaze darkens and he’s unable to check the deep warning in his tone before the words come out. “Don’t say anything.”

“Wasn’t going to, flighty.” 

“Call me flighty one more time and I’ll throw you off the bridge.”

He chuckles before swinging around Sam’s side and shooting another enemy with their gun aimed at Sam. 

Sam pauses for a second, shooting two quick glances over in Bucky’s direction. 

“Thank me later.” Bucky smirked at him with a spark and charm that Sam would have usually given him. Sam clamps his jaw down to avoid saying anything. “I’m sure a special someone would appreciate it.”

“When we get through this, remind me to never give you rides anywhere ever again.”

“Oh no,” he said in fake seriousness. “Who am I gonna call now?”

“Shut up.” Sam said stiffly, thinking briefly to you and Stephen’s knowing assurance. How many people knew how he felt? He didn’t even know how he felt. He didn’t know why your call over the radio made him as nervous as he felt or why he’d abandoned Bucky suddenly. 

He just knew he needed to get to you.

Just like all those times before. He needed to be there. He needed you to know that you could trust him, with anything. Just like the confidence and trust that you’d given him.

You hadn’t sounded frightened — no — you sounded reserved. And reserved scared him a lot more than frightened did.

And so he was there, just before you were sucked down into the collapsing building.

Now, he just wanted to get out of this so he could get back to you. Surprisingly, although the thought scared him more than he wanted to admit — it’d been a while since Sam was willing to really settle in one place — he just wanted to get out of the field for just a moment, just to know you were safe before he moved on.

Even then, moving on wasn’t going to be easy. He didn’t let himself think hard about that.

Sam shook his head slightly before getting back into focus. He still had a job to do.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, harrowing with laser focus as a plan formulated in his mind. “I’m pushing that building, there’s still people inside. Can you keep the sky clear? I really don’t want to be hit by shells while I’m moving people.”

“On it.” Sam jetted off into the sky, eyes peeled, ready to shoot down anything that would stand in the way.

…

Sam tried to keep his pace at a normal speed, but failed. 

Bucky noticed. 

They exited the quinjet back at base and Bucky picked up his pace to match Sam’s quicker clip. “I’ll debrief. You do what you need to do.”

Sam didn’t really care what he said.

Bucky knew better than to demand a response. He was always like this when it came to you.

Sam made it to the medbay and he paused for a moment, expecting you to be there resting at least. When you were nowhere to be found, Sam swallowed down his rising anxiety.

He moved around the corner, looking for someone around to ask where you’d gone. When he’d seen the red cape, he knew he’d found exactly who he was looking for. 

“Sam,” He greeted, sitting and pouring over a text. “I trust that everything went well.”

“Something like that.” He compromised in response. “Where’d (name) go? Is she alright?”

Stephen nodded absentmindedly. “She’s fine, just needed a few stitches and a bandage. The last time I talked to her, she went out.”

“Out?” Sam worked to school his face into a neutral state despite the rising anxiety bubbling up in his core. He wasn’t overjoyed at the idea of you going out by yourself, especially after just sustaining an injury. “Where?”

“I’m not sure, Sam. But I assure you, she’s more than capable of taking care of herself. She just probably needs a break. Thinking you might die in a crumbling building isn’t something you just bounce back from.” Sam processed the information and slowed down, searching for an answer, a rational explanation of going after you.

Dr. Strange sighed before giving up this as a solution. “I’d wait. She’ll be back soon.”

Sam nodded, unable to come up with anything that would vindicate him from further suspicion. But just like how he’d almost promised you that he’d return, he’d be patient until you came back.

“Shawarma?” Stephen held out a paper towel. Sam looked cautiously, not sure if he really trusted what he was offering. He looked at him with a guarded expression before removing a glove and grabbing it out of his hand. 

“Thanks,” Sam said, still in the middle of deciding whether he should eat it or not. “I guess.”

…

You waltzed back to the compound at the call of Stephen who rang you while you were out getting coffee. He’d sounded amused despite the seriousness of his words. 

You didn’t bother rushing back to the office.

Whatever Stephen had going on, he could wait another thirty minutes as you made the walk back up the forested street back to the compound. Your wrap served as a constant marker of what happened, how your life was almost ripped from your clutches. You tried to ignore it now, but the white of the wrap consistently caught your attention.

You huffed in frustration as you worked back to the medbay. What in the world could be wrong now? You didn’t really want to relive the experience of nearly crying in his examination room.

You needed time to absorb it all.

“Stephen, what’s going on?” 

You came to a stop behind his chair. Stephen only turned slightly to look at you. “Sam’s waiting for you.”

“Sam?” You scoffed and sipped your coffee. “Like he’d come looking for me. He’s got a debrief, not to mention plenty of other things to do in the meantime.”

“Well, he came here looking for you. Thought you might want to know.”

Disappointingly, you did kind of want to know. You pretended to be annoyed, asking F.R.I.D.A.Y his location in the driest voice you could possibly muster. 

When she directed you to his rooms, you pushed down the jolt of surprise and kept your expression neutral as you turned out the examination room and down the hallway.

…

“Sam?” You knocked gently on the door, the anxiousness you felt earlier steadily rising as you waited outside. Maybe coffee wasn’t the smartest idea. “It’s (name). Stephen said you were looking for me.”

You took a few deep breaths, nearly resting your forehead against the door. Your nerves were jittering now, climbing to a fever pitch.

When Sam swung the door open, you nearly fell straight into him. You straightened as quickly as you could, clearing your throat and swallowing abruptly.

“Hi.” You said, meeker than usual.

Sam’s eyes glowed for a second before he found his usual charm, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. “Greetings.” You almost swore his voice was deeper than usual.

You looked at him expectantly, waiting for an explanation. He just stared back.

You sighed, dropping your head and turning slightly away. This was stupid. “Well, he said you asked for me, but, if you don’t have anything to say, I’ll go.”

“Wait.” He reached out to you for a second before inching his hand slowly backward. “How’s your arm.”

“Fine.” You responded. It was throbbing more than before, but you figured the pain would linger for some time, despite the pain meds. “It should be a little while before I can take it off though.”

Sam nodded. “Good.”

You both stood in a tense silence again, just staring at each other for a moment. 

“Okay, well, if that’s all…” You took a couple steps away from him, moving down the hall.

“(name)?” 

You turned slowly, sparing a small smile in his direction. “Yes, Sam?”

“If, perhaps,” He tilted his head with a smirk. “I knew this place downtown….”

Your heart leaped into a gallop.

“And I asked you to join me, would you say yes?” His eyes did the soft twinkly thing and your heart melted.

Maybe this wasn’t such a stupid idea. 

Maybe your Sam, that Sam that was always there in battle, didn’t actually disappear when you came home.

“Maybe…” You drawled out, slowly stepping closer to him until you’d slipped your hands into his, feeling his warmth stabilize yours. Maybe the good doctor was right. You deserved this, you deserved happiness. And if Sam was willing to take that chance on you, just another agent, then why not take a chance on him. “Depends on how you ask.”

Sam grinned for a moment. “(name), will you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner tomorrow evening?”

You hid a smile before leaning up to kiss him on the cheek, staying by his shoulder while your arms wrapped around him in a hug. Sam’s arms pulled you close, holding on tightly. 

It felt like you were flying, but not anything else like your first experience in the air. You weren’t afraid now like you were then. You felt safe, calm, like you were in control.

You were soaring on something much stronger than air. Hope.

“I’d love to, Sam.”

He grasped you tighter as he picked you up and spun you around, your laughs joining together in bliss. And when he set you down, his eyes sparkled like a thousand suns and for the first time in a while, you were ready to let yourself fall.

Because this Sam, your Sam would catch you. Always.

[baepsaetan]

Novocaine Enough | Yoonseok | Part 3

Amazing banner credit to @joonscore​​

Part 1 -> Part 2

Pairing: Yoongi x Hoseok

Wordcount: 8k

Genre: Exes to lovers, angst, smut

Rating: 18+

Summary: Four years later, and Yoongi is still an itch under his skin. Hoseok is trying to move on, from his past life and his past love, but there are some voids that can’t be filled. Some needs that can’t be met. And when Hoseok enters a club and hears the music of the man he left so long ago, he realizes that some addictions can’t be healed by anything as simple as time.

Warnings: Swearing; implied, mentioned and past drug use/abuse (cocaine, ecstasy, weed, alcohol); past overdosing; mutually unhealthy relationship dynamic; explicit (kinda angry) sex, including biting, oral, gagging, rimming, edging, marking, barebacking, thigh riding.

Ao3 Link: here

A/N: Part three! Which I totally forgot to post before now, lol. Not sure if anyone hasn’t seen this on Ao3 already, but if ya haven’t, feel free to give a like. :)

They collide a little too hard, a little too combatively, and Hoseok's lips tingle when they find Yoongi's. He embraces the pain, even as his arms are wrapping around the other man, caging him in like he's afraid Yoongi's going to suddenly disappear. It's a little awkward, but Yoongi squirms in his embrace, gets himself into a better position, and then they're actually kissing.

This is a moment when they both freeze, as if the reality of what they're doing has suddenly crashed into them. Hoseok's muscles lock, and he's abruptly in the back of his mind, wondering if this is the right thing, doubting it is, knowing it isn't, and maybe he shouldn't –

Yoongi's tongue parts his lips and the acrid taste of smoke and beer slams him back into the moment. Hoseok gasps, released, and his arms tighten spasmodically, a bodily rejection of his mind. Yoongi tastes like he remembers, and this is suddenly easy, natural, and the worry dies, smothered beneath the nostalgia slipping across his tongue. Warmth floods his face, and he can't help but dig the tips of his fingers into Yoongi's shoulders, proving to himself that the man is there.

His eyes are closed and the reddish hues dart under his eyelids, flurrying in time with his spiked heart rate. Yoongi is the first to pull away, but only to nip at the edge of Hoseok's lip and then move lower, kissing along the length of his jaw with just a touch of teeth. The fluttery pressure lasts for only a moment, and then the other man is kissing him again. This time Hoseok gravitates into the contact, leans even further until his weight is pushing Yoongi back.

With a low hum that Hoseok can feel resounding through his own mouth, Yoongi allows himself to be shifted backwards until he's laid out on the couch. They break contact long enough for Yoongi to swing his legs up, and Hoseok straddles his hips, knees pushing comfortably into the cushions. He pauses, then, to stare down at the man under him.

Yoongi's skin is unusually flushed, his lips already swollen from their fierce contact. It's his eyes that catch Hoseok, though, deep and dark and so demanding they rip a sense of urgency from somewhere at the base of Hoseok's throat. His hand impulsively rises to cup Yoongi's face – and Yoongi turns away, just a little, avoiding the touch. It leaves an emptiness heavy in the pads of Hoseok's fingers, an ache in his heart, and he has to drive the feeling out somehow.

Tracing his hand down Yoongi's neck is almost enough, and when Hoseok hunches over and presses kisses into the other man's collarbone, it gets even better. Burying his face into the crook of the man’s neck and inhaling the scent of his citrusy cologne overwhelms Hoseok’s senses, drowning the bitterness in a wave of comfort and desire. Yoongi's breath is a harsh pant, and his voice is harsh, too, when he insists, "Come on."

Hoseok is abruptly aware of the fact that he's eager to do more. His next kiss lingers on Yoongi's collarbone, and so does the next, and when he moves to Yoongi's throat, Hoseok bites him, a little nip that nonetheless draws a sharp inhale from his partner. He does it for a second time, just to hear the overwhelmed sound again, and Yoongi is quick to oblige him. Relishing the taut groan, he pulls away to admire the man underneath him.

Just for a moment, but Yoongi's eyes, previously drifted closed, snap open and he makes an inquiring huff.

Not quite willing to admit how much he'd love to just stare at the sweat that's beginning to trickle down Yoongi's face, Hoseok smiles. "You mind some marks?"

Yoongi's lip curls, but his gaze is intrigued. "You want to?" Before Hoseok can reply, he snickers, head falling back to bare his neck more fully. "Sure. Why not?"

Hoseok doesn't need to be told twice. (But he does want to ask again, just in case this isn't what it should be, just in case –)

Ignoring that, he dips his head and his lips are soft when he starts sucking on Yoongi's throat. They don't stay that way, not when he increases the pressure, and under him the other man shifts, arches up like he's desperate to close the space between them. Hoseok indulges, grinding down with his groin as his mouth relents for a moment, placing lighter kisses around the area he'd been sucking on. Yoongi bucks his hips, seeking more friction, and Hoseok finds himself grinning, a wolfish expression that doesn't fade even with his softer contact.

He doesn't give Yoongi too much of a break, anyways; before too long he's back, sucking on the abused skin harder than before. It feels good to press his mouth against the other man's neck, to know that he's leaving a mark that nothing but time will scrub away. Yoongi bruises easily and long, Hoseok remembers that, and so for at least the next week he's going to be bearing a sign, a clear flag to anyone who dares to believe Yoongi is anything but taken.

Even if he isn't actually taken.

The thought has heat prickling across the nape of Hoseok's neck, and it takes him a second to realize it's pissed him off. His next nip is sharper and Yoongi hisses in mild protest. He goes mostly ignored, because though Hoseok tries to soften himself, tries to gentle the way his mouth crushes against Yoongi's throat, it's still hard enough to inspire another grunt from the other man.

And yet, for all that Hoseok knows he's actually hurting his partner, Yoongi doesn't make any move to shove him away. Doesn't even voice a protest beyond the first light objection. In fact, he keeps tilting his chin further up, giving Hoseok even more space to work with, and his hands are digging in just above his waistband, anchoring Hoseok with a grip that's on the razor edge of pain. The pressure grounds him and he needs it, needs an anchor against the dull anger that’s trying to flare to life amidst the hollowness in his chest.

It's not until Hoseok bites Yoongi for the umpteenth and an iron tang fills his mouth that he realizes the fire is more out of control than he’d thought.

Immediately he draws back, guilt and blood on his tongue, although the taste isn’t quite strong enough to expunge his surprisingly possessive anger. The skin isn’t broken too badly, just a slightly more pronounced red among the splotches of pink littering Yoongi’s neck, but he can’t make himself look away.

His companion asks without opening his eyes, “Admiring your handiwork?”

Setting his teeth over the impulse to say something breezy – and avoid the truth – he answers honestly. “You’re bleeding a bit.”

Yoongi lazily opens an eye. “Seriously?” His voice is so unfazed it subdues some of the remorse threaded through Hoseok’s ribs; it can’t have hurt too bad if he hadn’t even noticed. “I’m not bleeding on the couch, am I?”

Hoseok dutifully inspects the dribble, barely deserving of the name. “Nah.”

The eye closes. “Good. Bite me too hard again and I’ll bite you back.”

He’s so relieved it makes him flippant. And sharp. “Is that a promise?”

A hoarse laugh, and Yoongi’s hands tighten around his waist. “Only if you want it to be.”

Leaving it there, Hoseok leans back down. Much more gentle, he actually spends more time skimming his lips over the marks, mouthing the tender areas rather than kissing them, let alone biting. It doesn’t last long, though. Energy simmers through his core, an awful agitation that only grows with each taste of sweat, with every low exhale that the man under him makes. Yoongi is also impatient, shoving up Hoseok’s shirt as he runs his fingers along his sides, the warmth of his touch leaving Hoseok shaky with anticipation.

Before too long, he folds to the pressure of that wordless touch. Taking off his shirt is, in the haze of the moment, only slightly nerve-wracking. The dregs of alcohol still in his system help matters, swamping any second thoughts Hoseok might have had and leaving him dizzy and expectant.

Yoongi doesn't whistle at the reveal like Hoseok had, but his eyes are keen with admiration as they skim across Hoseok's upper body. The considering look is back, and after a moment of mute appreciation that leaves Hoseok flushed and simultaneously more relaxed, he commands, "Get off, 'kay? I wanna try something else."

Scrambling to do as bid, he lifts himself off of Yoongi. "Just sit there," Yoongi says, gesturing at the couch as he gets to his feet. Hoseok suffers a pang of disappointed confusion at the lack of immediate attention, but all his companion does is shove the table back further before returning. And then he's settling onto Hoseok. More specifically, he nudges Hoseok's legs open and then sits on his right thigh, his legs nestled on either side.

Automatically Hoseok tenses to support the added weight, and Yoongi's tongue slips across his lower lip as he settles more firmly onto the hard muscles. He rubs against Hoseok's thigh and lets out an approving breath, and Hoseok can already feel himself hardening in a way that marking up his ex hadn’t quite managed. Yoongi notices – of course he does – and his hand drops down to caress Hoseok's free leg, thumb starting near his groin and then dragging down against the leather of his pants. "Didn't I say you should take these off? Too late now, I guess," he comments with a smile that's too pointed to be anything but provoking.

The touch is enough, and the smile is entirely too much. With a grunt, Hoseok grabs Yoongi at the hips, both keeping him steady and pushing him down a little. A second later and he starts to bounce his leg, nothing jarring, just a smooth motion that Yoongi grinds himself against. Flexing his thigh at the same time gets the other man to groan, so Hoseok does it again, and then again, relishing the husky sound and the feeling of Yoongi heavy on his body.

This is – almost – familiar. When Yoongi wraps his arms around Hoseok’s bare shoulders to balance himself, it’s that much closer to what he remembers, but… not quite. Not quite, because the small man doesn’t press his forehead against Hoseok’s. Doesn’t look him in the eyes as he rides him, but looks past him, the pleasure crossing his face a removed and distant thing.

Hoseok’s own pleasure feels disconnected, too. The throbbing from his cock is quickly becoming a heated intensity that radiates through his gut, and his movements become rougher, hips jerking with the need to chase the feeling of Yoongi grinding against him. It’s good, great even, but there’s a desperation in his urgency that he suspects won’t be satisfied by coming.

He’s chasing a peak, and it’s not even the height he wants to hit.

Eyes closing against that knowledge, swallowing back the gritty taste of it, Hoseok is caught off guard when one of Yoongi’s arms drops and his fingers find Hoseok’s nipple. Inhaling through his clenched teeth, his eyes fly open and then widen as the other man lightly twists the sensitive nub.

“Fuck, Yoongs,” he spits, and Yoongi grins like a cat who just spotted some cream.

“Mmm, this still gets you, hey?” his lover asks. Given that Hoseok gasps a moment later, Yoongi’s thumb rolling the stiffening nipple, he hardly needs a reply. He takes that as an answer and his other hand joins the fun, and Hoseok’s taut frame is shortly shaking with the flames being produced by those dexterous fingers. He’s always been overly sensitive in his chest.

He lets himself be pleased that his ex remembers, but nothing more than that.  

A particularly callous tweak makes him jerk, his leg jumping hard into Yoongi’s groin, and Yoongi yelps – which, honestly, karma – before biting back the sound and scowling instead. “You dick,” he mutters without heat, but his fingers become even more ruthless as they play with Hoseok’s nipples. That, of course, does absolutely nothing to still Hoseok, and before too long he can’t focus on helping the other man get off on his thigh, his nerves shot through with spastic jolts of pleasure that have him barely able to keep together.

After another probably too hard bounce, Yoongi eases off with a light scoff. “God, you’re as bad as a prep school virgin. Been a bit of a dry spell for you or something?”

It’s true that they used to be able to edge each other a helluva lot longer and more intensely than this, but Hoseok reddens at the implication of that question. And at the nerve of asking it, too. He tries to keep his voice level, but it gets higher as he says, “Is that any business of yours?”

Yoongi looks away, but not before his smug expression crumples. He does a much better job of keeping his tone even, though. He’s always been better than Hobi at that. “Guess not.”

The reminder isn’t totally a mood killer, but it does inject something stiff and uncomfortable into the air. With a hard exhale, Yoongi shakes his head, apparently trying to physically throw off the bleakness. It doesn’t work for Hoseok, and it doesn’t seem to work for the other man either, judging by the somber cast that’s taken over his face.

With Yoongi, though, the deeper and darker he gets, the hungrier he gets, too. The more desperately he reaches for what he wants, the more he craves it. It’s always been like that; whether he aimed for money or fame or skill or a high, he’s always wanted it too much.

He wants this too much, too. Whatever the hell this is, between them. That becomes obvious as Yoongi rolls his shoulders, lips pressing together, and then gets off of Hoseok’s thigh, only to kneel between Hoseok’s legs a second later. When his hands fall to Hoseok’s belt, Hoseok knows he’s being driven by that greed. And – maybe – by a desire to make up for what he’d said. He won’t apologize, not in so many words, but he’s gentle in unbuckling the strap, and his eyes are inquiring when he pauses and looks up at Hoseok, silently asking for permission.

The sight of the small man on his knees in front of him has Hoseok’s throat closing and he can’t make himself speak. The defensive anger from Yoongi’s stupid remark hasn’t left, but neither has his own need, and he, too, sometimes wants things too much. Way too much.

His nod ends up being jerky, but he lifts his hips to help Yoongi pull the belt out of its hoops. With an ease that suggests he, at least, hasn’t been through a dry spell recently, Yoongi unbuttons Hoseok’s pants, undoes the zipper, and then his hand is wrapped around Hoseok’s cock and pulling it out of its confines. It’s already hard and leaking. It only takes one light stroke, made slick by his precum, to have arousal surging up Hoseok’s veins, quieting the longing that’s humming in his head.

This feels so good, it’s almost enough. Hoseok throws back his head, eyes hardly seeing the ceiling, breath and words tangling in his trachea and escaping as barely more than an incoherent plea. Yoongi’s always been good at this, at spreading ecstasy with the mere palms of his hands, and today he’s overdoing himself. Sensitive to Hoseok’s every gasp and whine, his hands sculpt around Hoseok’s dick with just enough pressure, just enough friction to have Hoseok writhing in his seat, thrusting into that pressure with wild abandon.

Panting breaths away from coming, he manages to choke, “Ah, fuck, fuck Yoongi, I’m –”

And abruptly the hand is gone.

He lifts his head, something like a whimper emerging from his lips. It makes his attempt at a glare more than a little feeble, but he does try to glare, because Yoongi is sitting back on his heels and flashing a shit-eating grin that’s so self-satisfied it would have been funny if Hoseok wasn’t currently aching with sodden dissatisfaction. He moves to grab his cock and finish himself, but Yoongi catches his wrist, stopping the movement.

It’s probably possible to break the hold, yet Hoseok just limply drops his arm, caving in to the light grip.

“You’re an asshole,” he exhales, and Yoongi bobs his head in unrepentant agreement.

Still wearing that smug smile, he pushes away the hair from his sweat-soaked forehead. “Yeah. But you should be thanking me; this’ll just make it better when I blow you.”

With his cock still throbbing, a handjob now seems preferable to a blowjob later, and Hoseok snorts. “Better? Maybe your tongue technology is outdated.”  

The reference to the original song he’d created makes Yoongi laugh. It’s probably the most carefree – even joyful – he’s sounded the entire night. “Nah man. That shit is upgraded and it’ll keep you elated.”

Hoseok’s eyebrows jump up disbelievingly and he stares. Too fast for him to contain, a rusty laugh suddenly barrels up his throat and bursts from between lips that can’t press hard enough to hold it.  

A blush floods Yoongi’s face, cheeks bunching as his flustered smile and barely suppressed giggle scrunch his eyes into narrow crescents. It feels like Hoseok’s heart literally misses a beat as it stumbles over itself, a screechy sort of delight building in his throat, and he has to throttle the urge to reach out and squish the adorable face in front of him. In the past, doing that would make Yoongi even more embarrassed, maybe even pouty, and it would be that much more hilarious and cute. Which, of course, had made it entirely worth doing.

Now, however…

Well, now Hoseok keeps his hands to himself, but he can’t hold back the raucous cackles that keep exploding from him. The laughter is so boisterous it actually hurts a little, but he can’t keep it contained. Maybe he’s just that relieved to have something to laugh at, or maybe in Yoongi’s absence he’s become more sensitive to just how charming the man is when he’s abashed and simultaneously pleased with himself. Regardless, Hoseok is helpless to stop the explosion of hilarity, and Yoongi’s failed attempt at sulking doesn't help.

In fact, seeing his companion struggle to latch a frown on his flushed face, only to drop it seconds later and subside into loud laughter, has him almost howling with mirth.  

His amusement drains more quickly than it might have – and honestly, the still-hard state of his dick might have had something to do with it – but Hoseok’s chest is just a little lighter when his cackling abates. It’s – he’d thought he’d never laugh like this again, not with Yoongi. It feels so good to be proven wrong.

Lips still curved upwards, hurting his cheeks, Hoseok can barely get himself together when he tries to talk. “Oh-kay,” he gasps around the lingering laughter, shallow annoyance at Yoongi’s antics totally forgotten. “Okay. Fine, fine. Mr. Updated, I’m ready to be elated.” A pause, and then he’s found enough air to add, “Do I need to read the warning label?”

Yoongi got a hold of the hilarity more quickly than Hoseok did, quickly enough that his voice is almost back to sardonic when he replies, “Nah. I’m not the one with a choking hazard.” His eyes deliberately flick down.

Hoseok chokes at that – and at Yoongi’s hand, once again sliding up his cock. Give it to him, once Yoongi’s decided to do something, he doesn’t hesitate to get it done. They don’t bother discussing condoms, a holdover from older days; both of them are pretty meticulous about getting tested, and shared that conversation years ago.

That makes it easy to relax at the feeling of Yoongi fisting the base of his cock, and then Yoongi is licking his head while his hand rubs the shaft in long, languorous strokes. The soft, wet heat flows straight to Hoseok’s lungs, to his head, a blanket of stifling pleasure. His breath is abruptly heavy, staggering, and automatically Hoseok curls his fingers through Yoongi’s hair, needing to feel something under him, to have some measure of control.

That’s a bit of intimacy that the other man allows, gaze sultry enough to set Hoseok’s skin aflame... if his mouth weren’t doing that already. Hoseok meets the heady scrutiny with an unwavering look, and there’s still a trace of laughter evident in the creases around Yoongi’s eyes. Affection courses through his arteries and he doesn’t know if this is poison or an antidote. All he knows is that he’ll take what’s given, whatever the results. No questions asked.

Yoongi is offering him an answer to his emptiness, and all Hoseok wants is to drown in it.

And drown in it he does, in the thick sounds the other man makes around his cock, in the feel of his fingers settled into Yoongi’s soft locks, in the geyser of aching incandescence that’s fountaining through his stomach and erupting in his chest.

“Yoongi,” he mumbles, and the syllables are perfect in his mouth. “Yoongi, you’re… ah … so, so good . Fuck me, you’re...”

This is part of what he’s wanted so desperately. And even if it’s only half, a third, a decimal of what he’s been longing for, Hoseok soaks in the sensation and, in the moment – right now – convinces himself that this is enough.

This is enough, but – but his fingers still tighten, hips jacking forward faster and harder to chase the warmth that Yoongi is giving him. The man on his knees grunts at the added force, and his hands fall from Hoseok’s cock to brace against Hoseok’s thighs. Not a sign to stop, not yet, and Hoseok wants so badly, wants to come in Yoongi’s mouth, wants to spill himself for something more than absolutely nothing at all.

Frantically Hoseok fucks Yoongi’s mouth, his thrusts deep and heavy, gaze focused on Yoongi’s face. The other man has his eyes closed, and he takes the hard jerks with a bobbing throat and squeezed eyes. A bit of saliva has escaped from the corner of his mouth, and his sweat is plastering his darkened hair to his forehead in a straggling mess. Like this – choking and gagging on Hoseok’s cock, fingers feebly curled into his thighs, face strained with the effort of keeping up – Yoongi looks… fuck, Yoongi looks good. He looks… like how Hoseok wants him to look. Barely keeping it together. Wrecked.

Hoseok comes with a muffled groan, the sound tearing out of him like there’s a wound in his throat, pleasure coursing through him in jagged strips of lightning. Yoongi chokes more harshly, and then his hands are pushing firmly against Hoseok’s legs. Taking that cue immediately, Hoseok relaxes his grip, letting the other man pull off of him with a wet noise.

Still gasping, Yoongi nonetheless keeps his face near Hoseok’s cock, and the last few spurts catch him on the lips, the cheek. Pearly white fluid trickles down his chin, mixing with his saliva, and the sight is abruptly so overwhelming Hoseok has to look away.

Yoongi’s breath is ragged, interspersed with coughing, and it takes several minutes to smooth out. In that time, Hoseok... drifts. The sexual satisfaction drapes across him, smothering in its weight, and he makes no attempt to disentangle himself from it. In a different time he would have pulled Yoongi into his lap, caressed his back and pressed gentle kisses along his shoulders until he recovered his breath. Maybe he would have gotten him a glass of water, or joined him on the floor.

Now… Now Yoongi rests on his haunches, recovering alone. Hoseok recovers alone, too. By the time Yoongi’s caught his breath, the painful ecstasy has faded, leaving a worn out ache that’s nowhere near his groin, but somewhere higher, just above his sternum.

He’d… shit, had he really wanted to see Yoongi choke? Wanted to see him struggle to keep up, to take it, just to please Hoseok? Because… what, because he deserved it?

Guilt invades his head, dispelling the satisfaction like mist in a heavy rain. Hoseok shifts uncomfortably, forcing himself to turn his eyes to Yoongi.

The other man is looking at him, and when he sees Hoseok’s gaze, he flushes. He doesn’t glance away, though. Face still slick with cum and spit, his cheeks stained red from effort and from coughing, he shouldn’t look as soft as he does. As tender. “How was it?” he asks, like it’s not already obvious, and though his voice is hoarse, it isn’t mocking.

“Good. Really good.” Hoseok’s hands are on his thighs, rubbing at the fabric, and he can’t seem to make himself stop. “I – If I went a bit overboard, or –”

“Did I tell you to get off, except at the end?” Yoongi slowly rises, turning the motion into one long stretch. His neck and collarbone are marked with a mottled collection of the fresh hickeys that are beginning to show. “Nothing’s changed with that, Hobi. I can take it.”

That doesn’t mean you should have to. That’s something Hoseok doesn’t know how to say. Why are you taking it, is another collection of words that won’t leave his tongue. The biting, the bruises, the facefucking… It’s not that they’d never done it before, but this is a further extreme, and more than that, it’s not mutual. They liked pushing at each other, straining limits, but this –

This isn’t that.

“Well – I’m still sorry.”

“Didn’t I tell you to leave off on that shit?” Harsh words, but said mildly, and Yoongi shakes his head. “I’ll be right back.” He slips away, leaving Hoseok to the shame that’s fighting with his justifications. A stalemate. He really can’t remember where his pleasure had begun and his resentment had ended in the stifling thrill of fucking Yoongi. If there even was a beginning… or an end.

Yoongi comes back too quickly for the question to spiral into something blacker. He’s got a Kleenex box in one hand, a bottle in another, and sets both on the table unceremoniously. Snagging a tissue for himself, Yoongi starts wiping off his face while using his other hand to turn the bottle so that the label’s facing Hoseok.

Lube, as if he couldn’t have guessed.

Somewhat surprisingly, though, Yoongi doesn’t immediately pop the question. To Hoseok’s relief, he’s quiet as they clean up a bit. Then Yoongi settles back on the couch, his limbs sprawled in a lazily casual pose. Not right next to Hoseok, but close. Close enough to reach, if Hoseok wanted to.

He wants to.

His hands remain at his side.

Working his jaw, his thumb gently massaging his throat, Yoongi smiles faintly. “Mmm, that’s gonna hurt in the morning.” When Hoseok grimaces, he shakes his head. “In a good way, Hobi.” Yoongi pauses, leans a little away, like he wants to get a better look at his companion. After a moment of quiet that draws out thick and uneasy (at least on Hoseok’s part), Yoongi says softly, “You know I’m good, right? This didn’t, like, kill the mood for me or anything. I just couldn’t quite finish you off, at the end. Not your fault.”

It didn’t kill the mood for Hoseok, either, and that might be part of the problem. Shoulders hunched, he replies tersely. “I didn’t – I don’t wanna hurt you, Yoongs.”

“Really? Coulda fooled me.” When Hoseok huddles even further into himself at the lightly teasing note, Yoongi hums, a chastised sound. “Nah, I’m kidding. Besides, maybe I want you to hurt me. Ever think of that?”

Hoseok skirts a glance at him sidelong, and Yoongi raises a sardonic eyebrow. “You’re not gonna kinkshame me, are you? I still remember the mirror thing, with–”

“How are you so okay with this!?” The demand bursts out, more of an appeal than a question, and Hoseok can’t stand how relaxed the other man looks. How easily he’s accepting how Hoseok has been going at him tonight. Hoseok had disliked how cutting Yoongi was earlier, the insults and taunts sinking in like barbs, but he’d take that before – before whatever the hell Yoongi is doing now.

Yoongi examines Hoseok for a long moment before he replies. “I… forgot,” he eventually says, the words slow but not uncertain. “How good it feels, how… how whole I feel, to be near you. So you’re rough, so what? As if I give a fuck about that, after… everything else.”

There’s too much in those words. Too much hope, too much joy… and too much permission granted when it shouldn’t be, or at least for the wrong reasons.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He repeats it because he has to drive the words through his own skull, convince himself of them. “Not like this, Yoongi. Not…”

“So don’t.” He jerks around to stare at Yoongi head on, and the other man is smiling, just a thin twist of amusement. “Whatever else, you’re not an asshole, Hobi. I haven’t known you in years, and I still know that’s true. If it’s bugging you this much, it’s not your thing. At least not tonight.”

Hoseok doesn’t reply. He can still feel that bloom of pleasure, that wave of satisfied vindication that had struck him so forcefully at the sight of Yoongi choking. With that in his head, he’s not so sure that Yoongi’s right about him not being an asshole.

“Hey.” It’s Yoongi that bridges the gap, reaching over to give Hoseok’s bare shoulder a gentle shake. “It happened. I’m fine. Hell, I didn’t mind it.” His free hand steals up to caress the many marks Hoseok had left scattered across his neck. “Might even learn to do more than that. But…” Now his exhale is harder, closer to frustration. “For now, forget about it, okay? If you’re done, that’s fine, but I’m still good to go.”

That’s one of Yoongi’s greatest strengths. When he makes his peace with something, that’s it. He’s not someone to gnaw on a problem, to mull it over until it’s stripped to nothingness; he’s too blunt, too firm in himself, to bother with that.

Hoseok… does not have that strength. However, with Yoongi’s grip warm and secure on his shoulder, he thinks that maybe… maybe he could lean into his companion’s strength. Borrow a little of that certainty. At least for now.

Another bandaid. At this rate they’ll be covered with them.

It’s better than bleeding out. Hoseok makes himself smile; he makes himself chuckle. The sound is strained, but it still fills the air with something other than oppressive tension. “If you’re still good to go, old man, I am too.”

A long-time joke that makes Yoongi laugh. “You won’t be calling me that later,” he promises, and closes the distance between them.

They make out again, messier and deeper than last time. Physically at least, Hoseok was absolutely not lying when he said he was good, and as Yoongi strips out of his pants and underwear, it quickly becomes obvious that the other man wasn’t lying, either. Hoseok follows suit, yanks off the pants that hadn’t quite made it all the way off before.

Everything about this is slower than before, and it’s also softer. They kiss for a long time, hands busy exploring each other’s bodies, running over the canvas of skin with careful precision. A rediscovery.

Hoseok feels abruptly – timid isn’t quite it, but hesitant. Uncertain. Yoongi easily steps into the gap left by his misgivings. He’s gentle when he kisses Hoseok, but his hands are firm as they guide Hoseok to bend over the arm of the couch, bracing himself with his forearms. Those hands are no less certain when they cup Hoseok’s ass, spreading him wide.

Yoongi kisses the back of his thighs first, tender presses that still have the air seeping out of Hoseok’s lungs. Everything after that is a landslide of languorous sensation. The feel of Yoongi rimming him is a silky sort of pleasure, inspiring a tingling bliss that has his eyes drifting shut. Yoongi’s tongue flicks against him, slow strokes that tease his nerves, and he keeps at it until the languor becomes hotter, more urgent. His hands are busy too, playing with Hoseok’s balls and sliding along his stomach, and the touches are liquid heat added to a vessel that’s already overflowing.

Hoseok finds himself whining, subdued little sobs that he can’t quite hold back. The first time Yoongi adds lube to the mixture, the slick coldness of it being worked between his cheeks makes Hoseok stiffen and nearly yelp. Behind him Yoongi laughs, his fingers stilling for a moment, giving Hoseok a chance to relax. “Bear with it, yeah? Just a little more…”

Then his finger is penetrating Hoseok, still slow, almost too slow, and Hoseok moans. “Good boy,” Yoongi murmurs, dragging through the motion with maddening control. “You take it so good, Hobi.” He adds another finger shortly after, and the pressure quickly becomes staggering.

“More,” he groans, pushing back against Yoongi's hand.

The need floats through his stomach, so light it’s almost separate from him, but Yoongi clicks his tongue. “Nuh-uh. We’re going my way now, Hobi.”

Somewhere in the midst of the fluttering pleasure, Hoseok has just enough brain capacity left to suspect this may be some kind of revenge. Yoongi strokes his ass while penetrating him more deeply, and another wave of bliss drowns the thought.

Didn’t matter. This is a kind of revenge he could get behind.

The first time Hoseok finds himself about to come, the orgasm gathering force at the edge of his groin and his voice pitching up into raw breathlessness, he’s severely disappointed. Abruptly Yoongi’s fingers are gone, and even worse, his other hand is wrapped around the tip of Hoseok’s cock, lightly squeezing. Hoseok’s orgasm rises – hovers – and then falls away, back into a simmering intensity that has him writhing petulantly.

“Yoongi,” he gasps accusingly when he’s found enough breath to get anything out.

“So impatient,” Yoongi drawls, fingers dragging against Hoseok’s ass cheek in teasing circles – but doing nothing more than that.

“You are such an – ah. ”

Yoongi doesn’t move his fingers much once he’s slid them back in, just mild motions, enough to keep the fires in Hoseok’s gut stoked but no more than that. “Do you wanna beg me, Hobi? I’d probably let you get off if you did.”

A memory. Yoongi leaning over him and Hoseok so strung out he’s almost delirious. Strung out on Molly, yeah, but on feelings, too. A tsunami of sensations. An affection that’s so keen it hurts as he gazes into Yoongi’s blown pupils. The words, falling from his mouth in a nearly incoherent stream. “Please, Yoongi, please, I want you so bad, I want – I want – Please.”

He drops his head, presses his face against the forearm that’s braced against the couch’s arm. “Such an asshole.” The words are muffled, but Yoongi clearly hears them because he huffs, caught between a chuckle and a scoff.

“Suit yourself.”

When Yoongi’s fingers leave Hoseok, he has just enough time to be extravagantly dissatisfied before the other man puts one hand on his hip, the other sliding up his spine to rest on the nape of his neck. From that position Yoongi leans over him, hips pressing into his ass, breath tickling his face. “You ready for something a bit more?”

“Only if it’s actually more,” Hoseok retorts.  

A hard breath and then Yoongi gently nips at the outer shell of his ear, a teasing rebuke. “‘Course it will be.”

Though he takes his goddamn time with this, too. Settles back and preps himself with more lube, to judge by the tense sounds he makes, and Hoseok glances back a few times to enjoy the sight of Yoongi stroking his cock. After some time – more time than is needed, Yoongi’s eyes alight with wicked amusement when Hoseok squirms – he guides himself to Hoseok, the other hand returning to grip the back of his neck. Enters him with a gradual thrust that’s slick and easy because of the lube. Almost too easy, leaving Hoseok panting for more.

Yoongi’s not a liar, though. At least not about this. He gives Hoseok more, and then some.

His dick is more than enough to fill Hoseok, a swelling force that only grows as Yoongi pushes himself in more deeply. The heat builds, swelters, sweeps across Hoseok’s muscles until he’s trembling with the intensity of it. His partner’s sounds – guttural grunts that pitch into tantalizing breathlessness – just enhance the feverish frenzy.

Yoongi is as deliberate as before, but – thank fucking God – he picks up the pace before too long. His tempo is jarring in its relentless drive, and he hammers into Hoseok with so much force that it becomes hard to hold himself up on the couch arm.

A particularly strong thrust spills Hoseok off his balance, and he pitches forward and finds himself hanging off the edge of the couch, the arm pushing into his lower chest. The sudden change in position puts Yoongi at just the right angle, and his next stroke has Hoseok crying out with the burn of pleasure. The other man slows, but Hoseok manages to croak, “No, Yoongs, keep – keep going,” and Yoongi obliges.

At last, and too soon, he comes. The tidal wave of electric heat surges from Hoseok’s groin, splashes against his nerves and sends waves of shuddering release through his trembling body as his back arches. Hoseok shakes with the intensity of his peak, whining gasps escaping his lips, his vision white around the edges. He can feel his cum trickling down his leg, and the sensation makes him sag. It takes all he has not to collapse completely, to just let the pleasure overwhelm him.

But Yoongi’s still going, so Hoseok does the best he can to keep upright. After the initial flurry of gut-wrenching fervor, it gets easier, and he rolls his hips a bit, pushes back, trying to return the favour. Yoongi’s hand never left his neck, and it tightens now as Yoongi’s strokes become faster, shorter, more erratic. “Fuck, Hobi,” he’s panting, the words a slur of feeling. “You’re so – perfect. So much ...”

Hoseok feels Yoongi’s orgasm as a pulsing at the base of his cock, buried in Hoseok’s ass. As, seconds later, an increased wetness pooling inside. More vivid is Yoongi’s voice, huskily crying out, his tone a tapestry of gratified colours.

He can read that tapestry, and to hear Yoongi elevated to those blissful highs makes something in Hoseok’s chest tighten and lighten simultaneously. When Yoongi slumps against him, rubbing his face into Hoseok’s shoulder, the exhilaration just soars, a sweet joy that they still have this. Can still leave each other spent in the best way possible.

The past wavers against the future like a mirage rising from the road, difficult to separate, but for this moment, with Yoongi a warm weight against his back, Hoseok ignores the presence of the illusion. He flops onto the couch, and Yoongi falls partially on him with a grunt of agreement. They lie there for several minutes, and the other man barely moves, his breathing deep and steady as it spills against Hoseok’s skin.

It doesn’t last forever. It can’t. But while it does, he closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy the careless way Yoongi slouches into him. Like it’s natural. Like they’re both exactly where they’re supposed to be. He lets himself believe in the reassuring burden at his back. Lets himself believe, for now, that it won’t suddenly disappear.

Yoongi lifts himself up after a while, but not before nuzzling against Hoseok’s shoulder a final time. “Time to clean up,” he whispers, and then he’s pulling out in a gush of sticky warmth that stains Hoseok’s thighs and probably the couch, too.

The next few minutes are all business, though this, at least, isn’t caused by whatever alienation is between them. Yoongi’s always been very no-nonsense about clean-up, and Hoseok is enough of a neat freak to jump on that wagon with wholehearted purpose. They don’t talk, and at first that’s fine, the familiarity of the tasks before them settling naturally into the silence. They wipe themselves off, fix the squished cushions. As Hoseok pulls on his pants, Yoongi disappears and then reappears with cleaning supplies.

By mutual agreement, Hoseok scrubs the floor and Yoongi tackles the couch. It’s as his knees are pressed into the floor and he’s briskly wiping at the puddle left by the blowjob that discomfort starts to creep up on him, and the quiet begins to grate.

Even when they’re done and Yoongi’s flipped the worst of the cushions with nonchalant disregard for whoever turns it over in the future, the silence stays. They settle back onto the couch – Yoongi in a new set of clothes he’d recovered from his room down the hallway, black sweats and a grey T-shirt – and this is different than the agonizingly tense stillness of before.

It’s more tired, less hostile. But no less bewildered, for all of that.

Hoseok wonders how stupid it is to wish that, just once, a bandaid could cure gaping wounds and broken hearts.

At least Yoongi isn’t sitting much apart from him. As they recline, Yoongi with his feet up on the table, the smaller man is close enough to touch. Hoseok, made greedy by everything that’s gone before, too drained to be afraid enough to stop, holds out his hand. After a moment of hesitation, Yoongi settles his hand on top. Not quite holding – his fingertips trace fitfully across Hoseok’s palm, a ticklish series of swirls and lines.

Yoongi seems content to sit as they are; his eyes are half-closed, and he doesn’t stir like Hoseok does, every few seconds shifting and tensing. Yoongi is good at accepting the things in his hands, especially if it’s what he’s wanted all along. For Hoseok, though…

The anxiety grows, and if it isn’t anywhere near strong enough to displace the satisfaction and almost-wholeness of the last hour or so, it’s too stubborn to totally dislodge from his mind.

He steals a look at Yoongi, at his long lashes lazily fluttering over his dark eyes, at the slight curl of his mouth, an unconscious expression of contentment. The sight has Hoseok’s throat closing with yearning, and he honestly can’t tell if it’s a longing for the man or his ability to exist in the moment. Hoseok used to be good at that – he used to be the best – but it’s something he’s lost over the years.

Just like so much else. How much of it can he get back? How much should he get back?

What if he wants it all?

He stirs for the umpteenth time, but more forcefully. When he withdraws his hand, Yoongi’s eyes slide open, head tipping to consider him. His expression is watchful and solemn, so much so that Hoseok realizes he hadn’t been as at ease as Hoseok had thought.

“Tired?” Yoongi asks wanly.

“Something like that,” Hoseok replies, just as faded.

There isn’t a window in this room, but there must be one in the kitchen because Yoongi says, “It’s almost a fucking snowstorm out there. Not much point in you going home in that.”

There’s a pause, and Yoongi’s gaze drifts to the hallway leading to his room. He hadn’t offered the space for them to fuck around in – a hurt that Hoseok buried deep in his chest when they began – and he seems to be struggling now. Furrows appear between his fine eyebrows, an eloquent testament to the conflict going on in his head, a return to the tension of before. Hoseok abruptly can’t bear to see it.

They both want so badly, but sometimes – for just today, or maybe forever – they have to accept that they can’t have it all.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” Yoongi stills at the declaration Hoseok makes, his hand coming up to press against his neck like he needs reassurance.

It’s such a lost, lonely look. Hoseok swallows, and then smiles. One of his better pieces. “It’s fine. You always get those rocks for pillows, I’ll be better out here.”

“They’re good for my neck,” Yoongi mutters, but his hand doesn’t leave his throat and he still looks unsure. Like any second he might blurt out the invitation that neither of them are really comfortable accepting.

“I still move around like a psycho in my sleep, Yoongs, ‘specially in an unfamiliar bed. Believe me, it’s better if I’m out here.” He meets Yoongi’s gaze, tries to reassure with eyes alone that he is okay with this.

And he is. Insofar as he’s been okay with anything tonight.

At last Yoongi relents and his hand falls. “‘Kay. I’ll grab you some shit.”

Blankets, a pillow, some oversized sweats, a toothbrush, they’re all unceremoniously dumped onto the couch. Yoongi – somewhat belatedly – gives him a tour of the small apartment, though it doesn’t include his room. It’s essentially to point out the bathroom and where the chipped glasses for water are in the kitchen. As he’d said, it’s snowing hard outside, and when Hoseok returns to the living room he actually feels grateful to be able to curl into blankets instead of straggling outside in the cold.    

The rest is just cleaning up, fastidiously making a bed for himself, throwing on the sweatpants Yoongi provided, and then reclining on the couch. It’s just a bit too small, and he might or might not find himself falling off it at some point during the night – he was being honest about the restlessness thing – but nonetheless Hoseok grins at Yoongi, hovering nearby.

“Perfect!” he declares, stretching out his arms and wiggling his toes under the blanket.

Yoongi lifts an eyebrow at the enthusiastic and totally not excessive display. “You look like a kid at your first sleepover,” he observes with a snort that does nothing to dispel the affection in his voice.

Hoseok squirms his way deeper into the blankets in reply.

Smiling faintly, Yoongi shakes his head. “Night, Hobi. You want the light off?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

The living room is abruptly dark, leaving just the light spilling from behind the door to Yoongi’s bedroom, left slightly ajar. Hoseok wiggles a few more times, finding a more comfortable position. It’s as he’s sinking into the cushions with a sudden sense of exhaustion that he realizes Yoongi isn’t in his room; his silhouette is breaking up the light coming from there.  

He cranes his neck, can’t see anything but Yoongi’s dim outline down the hall, and gives it up as a bad job. Instead Hoseok just stares up at the ceiling he can’t see, listening to the sound of his own steady breathing. He waits.

“Hey, Hobi?” Yoongi’s voice eventually slips through the dark room, diffidently calling for Hoseok’s attention, and he murmurs a quiet question in return.

“I missed you, too.”

It comes to Hoseok as Yoongi’s door softly closes that he’s holding his breath. Like a sudden exhale might release the thrumming in his chest. Like he might spill the nebulous joy if he sighs too hard. His thoughts are fragile with uncertainty. The elation is a shivery, delicate thing, and he knows if he holds it too hard in his head it’s going to go to pieces under the weight of the past.

So Hoseok doesn’t hold the words hard. He breathes. Breathes and closes his eyes and pushes his face into the pillow that smells like Yoongi. He follows those words as he slips into sleep, and he couldn’t have said where they were leading him.

[darkisucksanditwrites]

Okinawa

Okinawa to Langa is this.

Crisp, sunny mornings, when humans haven’t woken up yet but the birds and the bugs did and they are loud, filling the air with their buzzing and song.

It’s when the sun is already burning your skin, not yet unpleasantly but still yet comfortably enough to wear something light and breezy. Something that makes you feel ‘free’.

It’s like afternoons when the sun already began to burn and you get dizzy from staying in it for too long so you sluggishly move to the shade.

It’s eating ice cream or shaved ice, incredibly sweet and cold that it gives you brain freeze and dribbles into your fingers, turning them sticky and wet when you laugh at exaggerated groans of pain.

It’s walking languidly side by side when you’re too tired to skate or when the slope is too steep. It’s talking about everything and nothing, sharing jabs and playful kicks in the ankles. It’s bubbling, too loud laughs, bouncing off the buildings and echoing into the ether.

It’s the sun setting down, deep orange giving into reds giving into purples giving into blues until the sky is painted almost obsidian.

It’s the cool breeze hitting your face, suddenly making you realize how flushed your skin is after a whole day in the sun.

It’s that bone deep ache when you exhale, shoulder sagging and spine relaxing that fills your stomach with something both heavy and light. It feels both comfortable and not. It feels like something has slotted into place but is also missing.

It’s a strange sense of nostalgia that has no right to exist.

It’s the black sky filled with diamonds over your head that makes your throat ache for a moment.

It’s the clatter of a skateboard and a loud ‘c’mon’ and then the sound of wheels moving away.

It’s the artificial light of the street lamps, revealing and concealing the figure that laughs while nailing an ollie after ollie.

It’s your own voice, too loud and too big and too out of place in the strange hush of the suburb at night.

‘Wait for me!’

Okinawa is all this. And more.

Okinawa to Langa is both foreign and familiar.

Reki laughs and then almost falls off his skateboard.

Okinawa is this.

[kpoptrashibnida]

Enough Pt.18 (Final)

A/N: Everyone! Thank you so much for all the support! It means soo much to me! And I am so sorry for the delay, it took me much longer than anticipated to write and edit it. Thank you for being patient with me and I hope it’s worth all the wait. As always, feedback is always appreciated! Happy reading!

Your heart was beating a mile a minute the second the familiar building came into view. You were taking deep breaths and trying to regulate your heartbeat. What if this was a mistake? What if Jaehyun was with someone else already? He is very handsome and a great human, so that would not be surprising. Or worse, what if he hates your guts and he refuses to see you?

‘Stop it! Stop thinking about all the bad things that can happen to you and focus. You can do this.’ 

You give yourself a pep talk that sort of works. Your hands are still trembling but at least your breathing was more even now. Taking a deep breath, you enter the building that for almost a year you called home. You were overwhelmed with emotions the second you stepped through the threshold, mind flooded with a flurry of memories and you felt like you were going to break down right then and there.

“Noona? Is that you?!” You hear an excited voice exclaim from the elevators, gaining your attention.

“Mark!” You exclaim happily, forgetting your previous worries.

Mark comes up to you in a rush and gives you a hug, spinning you around and making you dizzy.

“I can’t believe you’re here noona! Johnny! Noona is here!” Mark screams across the lobby, gaining the attention of many.

“Oh! Noona!” Johnny yells back excitedly, running towards you and gives you a hug as well.

“Are you moving back to work here?” Johnny asks once he’s let go of you. 

“Um, no I am not.” You say, taking a deep breath for courage and hoping you don’t look like a fool for what you’re about to ask.

“Is Jaehyun here?” You ask, scared of what the answer might be.

“Oh…” Both Mark and Johnny say awkwardly, your heart instantly sinking to your stomach. This did not sound good.

“He isn’t here anymore.” Mark starts, awkwardly looking away from your piercing gaze.

“Oh. Did he quit?” You ask, hoping you can perhaps track him down somewhere in New York. 

“He moved to Japan.” Johnny explains, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You felt like someone punched you in the gut and you swore your heart stopped beating for a couple of seconds. Japan? You crossed the Pacific ocean just to find out he was much closer than you thought.

“Oh, I see. Well, I’m sure he is having a good time in Japan.” You say with a forced smile, really hoping they couldn’t tell how upset you were. 

“Yeah…” Johnny trailed off, a little uncomfortable. “Hey, do you have any plans? Maybe the three of us should go and get lunch together.”  He suggested, hoping to ease up the mood.

“Yeah! Let’s get some New York pizza noona!” Mark suggested excitedly.

“Of course! I’d love to get pizza with you guys.” You agree, missing the delicious New York staple.

“Great! Would you like to meet at Central Park?” Johnny asks, remembering where your favorite pizza place is.

“Of course. See you guys there at noon.” You agree, giving them a hug and leaving the building.

You had a few hours to kill so you decided to walk to Central Park. It was going to take about an hour or so to get there and you really needed the alone time to decompress before meeting Johnny and Mark. 

You were overwhelmed by the nostalgia you felt by the familiar streets of New York, remembering all the fond memories you had of the city. You were busy enjoying the brisk New York winter air that you had not noticed the hot tears rolling down your face. You quickly wiped them away, not wanting to attract any attention to yourself. You knew people in New York were like the people in Seoul, they minded their own business and didn’t pay attention to the people around them. Even so, you did not want to be the weird lady crying down the street. You could not believe that Jaehyun was in Japan now, your trip to New York was useless now. Of course, catching up with Mark and Johnny was going to be nice, you missed them; but it wasn’t the main reason you came to New York.

‘What if he met someone else? Maybe he does not want to know about me anymore. He must have moved on now, I haven’t talked to him for months, he probably doesn’t want to know anything about me.’ You thought, hating yourself for groveling in your self-pity. If Jaehyun had moved on and was with someone else, it was entirely your fault. 

You finally get to Central Park and find your favorite snack cart and buy yourself a soft pretzel. You walk aimlessly for a while, enjoying the smell of the crisp air. You watch in silence as kids throw rocks at the frozen pond in the middle of the park. You smile at the sight of moms hurriedly grabbing their children away from the edge of the pond. You decide that some coffee might make you feel better, especially with all the mixed emotions you were feeling. Mark and Johnny would be arriving in about 20 minutes and you want to be more composed for their arrival. You walk into Le Pain Quotidien and order a coffee, sitting in the outdoor chairs, texting Mark to let him know your exact location.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and try to hold in your tears. You could not believe you had completely ruined the best thing that had ever happened to you because you were stupid and you let a stupid man make you doubt your feelings. 

“Hey noona!” Mark said excitedly, waking you from your reverie. You saw him waving at you and you smiled at him, standing up and greeting them with a hug.

“You ready to pig out on the best pizza ever?” Johnny jokes, wrapping an arm around you. 

“You know it!” You agree with a laugh, feeling the ominous cloud above your head lift, even if it’s momentary. 

“I can’t wait to go into a food coma!” Mark says excitedly, making you shake your head at his antics.

Once at the pizza place, you guys order your pies and make small talk, enjoying each other's presence. 

 “So how long are you staying in New York for noona?” Mark asks, taking a bite from his slice.

“I am actually leaving the day after tomorrow.” You confess, making both men look at you in surprise.

“What? Why so soon?” Johnny asks, confused that you came all the way to New York just to be here for two days.

“Yeah, I only have a week off, so I need to go back. I missed you guys, so I’m happy I get to spend time with the two of you.” You say, hoping they would buy it. 

“Oh…” They let out in unison, changing the subject to much lighter conversation and enjoying the food. 

After paying for lunch, much to your insistence, you hugged your two friends and bid them goodbye. They were very adamant on walking you to your hotel, but you refused. You had a lot of time to kill and wanted to visit some of your favorite spots and do some shopping. You did agree, however, to let them take you to the airport for your flight since it was an overnight flight and they had enough time to take you after work. 

You waited until you saw their taxi take off to start your slow journey back to your hotel.

Taking advantage of the fact that you’re in New York to do some sight seeing would have been a smart thing to do; however, you were not in the right mindset to revisit all the places you had gone to with Jaehyun. 

The aimless walking through the crowded streets of the busy city was helping your tattered heart feel distracted from its incessant sadness. The small smile that graced your face could not be helped as you watched a flock of kindergarteners exiting their school and rushing towards their parents. Sighing heavily, you pushed away the memories of you and Jaehyun talking about kids; how he used to say he wanted kids and seeing his face light up every time he would see a cute kid whenever you’d take afternoon strolls through Central Park. He never specified if he wanted to have kids with you specifically, but the way he would say it would make you feel like that’s what he meant. 

You brush away the stray tear that rolled down your face, blaming it on the chilly winter wind even though you knew that was a lie. 

By the time you got to your hotel it was well past four pm; you did not realize you had wandered around for that long until you plopped on your bed and could feel your feet ache and your face tingle as your cold skin thawed out. You turned the TV on so you could have some background noise during your shower, not wanting to be completely alone with your thoughts. 

You were grateful for the warm water caressing your skin, as it was blending with the tears that were streaming down your face. In the confines of your hotel room, you could no longer hold back how you were feeling. You were crushed, devastated at the fact that Jaehyun was gone. It really felt like now he was out of your life forever. You hiccuped a sob, not wanting to hold back any longer. Your body trembled as you cried, heart-breaking sobs leaving your body. Pounding on the tiled wall, you whispered broken apologies to Jaehyun, knowing that this was all your fault. You held your arms in front of you, supporting your weight against the tiled walls of the shower. The water had run cold by now and your body started shivering all over again. Turning off the water, you wrapped your body in one of the fluffy hotel towels, seeking their warmth. After putting on some pajamas, you burrowed under the warm covers of the bed; the heaviness in your heart and eyelids outweighed the grumbling of your stomach. You fell asleep before you knew it, Jaehyun’s face was the last conscious thought you had. 

You were startled awake by the sound of an obnoxious alarm, groaning in realization that it was morning time. You got dressed for the uneventful day and decided to change your flight to tonight, since you did not have any other reason to stay another day. The person you came to look for was not in New York and you only had lunch plans with Johnny and Mark. Sighing, you decided to order room service instead of going to the dining hall, not in the mood to be around people. 

Markie: Hey noona, we want to see if you’re down to get some Indian food today for lunch?

You looked away from the romcom on the tv to read Mark’s message, smiling at his choice, sending him a quick reply as your agreement. It was already eleven am and you should probably start heading over there before you’re late. 

The sun was breaking through the dark clouds of the cold morning, warming up your face. You welcomed the warmth it gave you, making you feel like maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay. You grab a cup of coffee from the coffee shop near your hotel,needing something a little better than the instant packets from the hotel. You had already checked out and had your carry on with you, so taking a taxi to meet Mark and Johnny was the smarter choice. 

You met both men outside the office building, deciding to walk together to the restaurant since it was close by. Both of them were surprised to see you with your suitcase since they thought you were leaving the next day. You shrugged it off, telling them that you had to head back sooner than expected. If they didn’t believe your lie, they did not call you out on it. Instead, they fought over who would carry your bag for you. Their childish banter made you laugh with gusto, something you have not done in months. This was the first time you genuinely laughed and it felt so good you could almost cry. Johnny ended up being the winner and you walked arm in arm with Mark, hearing all about the success of the store and a lot more juicy office gossip. 

“Noona, I really can’t believe you’re leaving.” Mark whines, tugging your suitcase behind him as you all exit the restaurant after lunch.

“I know, I wish I could stay longer.” You say, ruffling the hair on top of his head.

“Mark, leave her alone. Go get her a cab.” Johnny chastises, pushing the younger man towards the curb of the street.

“So,” Johnny says, looking over at you, “The only reason you came to New York was to look for Jaehyun, right?” Johnny asks, peering over at you from the corner of his eye.

You stayed silent for a few seconds, deciding that it was no use to lie. 

“Yeah. It was the only reason. I guess it was stupid of me to hope he would still be here.” You say, looking away from Johnny and you hope he can’t see the tears welling in your water line.

“I think you should reach out to him. I don’t think he has moved on either.” Johnny says in a calm voice, gauging your reaction.

You scoff, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of it all. “As much as I’d like to believe that’s true, I don’t think Jaehyun would wait for someone like me.” You sigh, closing your eyes at the pain that’s fast returning to your chest. 

“Hey. Don’t say that. Don’t discredit Jaehyun either. We both know he is a good guy and he really cared for you. You won’t know how he feels unless you ask him. You don’t want to stay in the ‘what if’ limbo forever.” He nudges you, glancing at the cab that pulled up to the curb.

“Noona, your cab is here!” Mark announced, making his way over to you. 

He gave you a big hug goodbye and made you promise to text him once you made it safely to the airport and back to Korea. You smiled at his worry and made him promise to visit you soon.

You gave Johnny a small, tight smile before enveloping him in a hug.

“I texted you his new number. Trust me, just call him.” He whispered before letting you go and nudging you towards the cab.

You smiled at both of them and waved, the lights becoming blurry as your tears rolled down your cheeks. 

_______________

With bleary eyes, you take your phone out of your pocket and get a cab to take you back to your place. Once inside the cab you tell the driver your address and you lay back. Closing your eyes, you sigh at the slight sting. You were consumed with thoughts of your conversation with Johnny and sleep completely evaded you. Even if you tried to get some shut eye in your comfortable first class seat, sleep would not come and it made you very irritable. Thankfully the flight attendant was very nice and kept bringing you coffee or tea and that helped you feel better.  You were just looking forward to being home and sleeping on your comfortable bed. Looking at your phone screen you debate whether or not you should call Jaehyun. You saved his number last night at the airport and you’d be lying if you said your heart was not beating erratically at the sight of it. You could not decide whether or not it was a good idea to contact him; Johnny was very convincing but he could be wrong. After everything that has happened, you didn’t know if he would take kindly to you calling him. Deciding that it was now or never, you take a deep breath and press the call button, secretly hoping that he does not answer. You don’t know whether to be happy or disappointed when  the call went to voicemail. You sigh, hoping your heart will stop beating so erratically when you notice the cab is turning into your street.

Thanking the cab driver, you head to your building and think about what you’re going to have for lunch after your shower and the much needed nap. What you were not expecting was seeing a tall figure standing outside your apartment door.

“Hey, can we talk?” Chanyeol asks, his nervous eyes pleading. 

You sigh deeply and close your eyes. All you wanted to do was shower, sleep, eat and cry. But this was impossible since Chanyeol once again shows up and does whatever he pleases.

“Okay.” You say, typing your code on your door. You don’t miss the way Chanyeol eyes your appearance and your suitcase, making you more annoyed than you already felt.

Walking inside, you leave the suitcase near your door and Chanyeol silently follows behind you, feeling awkward. 

“Would you like some tea or coffee?” You ask, your manners still showing up even though you’d rather not be doing this right now. 

“Coffee sounds great, thanks.” Chanyeol says, standing awkwardly in the middle of your living room. 

“You know you can take a seat, right?” You say, a small amount of humor in your voice due to the funny sight. 

“Oh.” He lets out in embarrassment, taking a seat on your couch and hating how awkward he’s acting.

You finish brewing the coffee and place it on the coffee table in front of chanyeol, taking a seat in the far corner of the couch.

“So,”  you start. “What do you want to talk about?” You ask, wanting to get this over with because you really needed that shower. 

“Did you go somewhere?” He asks, looking over at the suitcase by the door.

Eyebrow raised, you look into his eyes as an involuntary scoff leaves your lips. “Is that what you wanted to talk about? Because if it is, I have other things to do and I’d appreciate it if you leave.” You say, outraged at the fact that Chanyeol thinks he can come to your home and question you when he is the one who cheated.

“No! No it’s not. I’m sorry, I’m just a little nervous.” He fidgets and you relax on your seat. Feeling a little bad about snapping at him but your patience was running thin. 

“Okay, well then speak please.” You prod, needing this to be over.

“I’m sorry for hurting you. I know that I have messed up and I have run out of second chances. I’m not asking you to take me back, I’m just asking you to forgive me for hurting you and cheating on you.” He says, sincerity in his eyes and voice. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re mature enough to see what you did is wrong. I forgive you.” You say, surprised at how you actually meant it.

“Thank you. I really am sorry. I was a selfish jerk and I realized that I still have a lot to work on. Thank you for listening to me even though I’m sure you hate me.” He says, taking a sip from his coffee.

“I don’t hate you.” You say with a small smile, “I just hope that you don’t do that to anyone else.” You threaten, making him chuckle.

“Of course!” He put his hands up in surrender, making you smile. “So, did you find him?” He asks, taking you by surprise.

“Find who?” You ask, playing dumb.

“Jaehyun. I tried to find you when I came back from Japan and Suho told me that you went to New York. I kind of figured that you went to look for him.” He explains. You sigh deeply, the exhaustion from your trip and the time difference catching up to you.

“No, I did not. He doesn’t live in New York anymore.” You answer in a monotone voice, not really wanting to talk about your feelings to Chanyeol.

“I’m sorry. I know you still love him. I hope you can find him and work things out. I really do.” Chanyeol says sincerely, making you smile and give him a small nod.

“Thanks.” You say, enjoying the pleasant moment of understanding between you and Chanyeol.

“Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time, I’m sure you’re tired from your trip. Good luck with everything.” He says and leaves your apartment, leaving you in a deeper hole of emotions.

You could not believe what had just happened in the last 72 hours. You found out the love of your life moved to a country that is much closer to you than you thought. You were cheated on, and said cheating ex hunted you down until he found you and apologized for his horrible actions. That shower and greasy food were definitely needed now.

______________________

After catching up on some much needed sleep over the weekend and girl talk with Mina to let her know what happened on your short trip to New York, you were ready to tackle the new work week. Well, new work week for you. You decided to cut your time off short and returned to work a couple days early and it just happened to be Wednesday. You were not complaining though, at least your work week was going to be short. You never got a call back from Jaehyun or heard from him, so you decided to wait a few more days before calling again. Of course, you didn’t leave a message and it’s obnoxious of you to think that he still kept your number even though he changed his. Knowing Jaehyun he was not going to return the call to an unknown number that left no message. Taking another long sip of your coffee you exit the elevator to your floor and check your phone for any new messages from Namjoon. The current project you were working on was a little behind schedule because you left Jimin in charge when you left and he got injured and was now out of commission. Namjoon trusted that you could catch up and therefore he was blowing up your phone with updates and scheduled meetings in order to catch up. You were so entranced with the message you were reading that you did not notice the group of people headed your way.

“Noona! You’re back!” You hear Jungkook exclaim from in front of you, his puppy energy never failing to make your day.

“Hey Kook, I’m back….” You trailed off as you looked up. Voice catching in your throat at the sight of Jungkook with Jaehyun and two members of the PR team. You most likely looked like a deer caught in headlights and as pale as someone who just saw a ghost. You stood there for what felt like an eternity but was probably just a few seconds, enchanted by those beautiful brown eyes that you love so much. Jungkook was going to introduce Jaehyun to you but you quickly cut him off, saying some nonsense about needing to go into your office to make a phone call. 

Rushing into your office, you slam the door shut and press your shaking body against it, your erratic breathing not slowing down. 

“Fuck. Oh fuck.” You whisper to yourself, moving away from your office door so you could take a sip of water, your throat becoming very dry. You did not realize you were crying until you felt the wet trail on your cheeks, wiping them with a shaky hand.

You hear your office door open, thinking it’s Jungkook checking in on you because of your odd behavior.

“Kookie, I can’t talk to you right now.” You say in a shaky voice, back facking him because you don’t want him to see you crying. 

“I’m not Jungkook.” The smooth velvety voice says behind you, your back stiffening at the sound of it. 

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath before turning around and facing the one person you did not expect to see. The love of your life and the reason why you went across the world. You could not believe he was in front of you right now. Staring into his eyes, you wait to see his reaction, not wanting to act in a haste. 

“You know, it was pretty rude of you to cut off that poor kid when he was trying to do his job and introduce us.” Jaehyun says, beautiful brown eyes looking into yours. He didn’t look angry or upset, his face neutral of emotion and even more handsome than you remember. 

“Yeah, I uh… I had a phone call to take.” You lie, still not believing your eyes. 

“You are still a bad liar.” Jaehyun chuckles, slowly walking towards you.

You try to be strong and hold your tears in, but you could no longer hold back. They freely fell from your eyes and you turned around, your shaking body moving away from Jaehyun because you were embarrassed for losing it in front of him.

“Hey, it’s okay. Don't cry.” Jaehyun says in a soothing voice, slowly walking towards you, not wanting to spook you.

You didn’t answer, trying hard to swallow back your sobs. You didn’t want the whole floor to hear you crying and you also didn’t want Jaehyun to see you in your current state, but he wasn’t leaving

He came up behind you and gently turned you around, looking into your eyes and taking in your tear-stained cheeks. His heart clenched at the sight of you crying and he could not help himself when he pulled you by the arm and into his embrace. He could almost cry of happiness at the feeling of you in his arms once again. It seems like you felt the same way because as soon as you were in his arms, the tears doubled and your body shook from all the emotions you were feeling at that moment. You could not believe that the love of your life was right in front of you and you were embracing him. It almost felt like you were in a lucid dream and you prayed to God that it wasn’t the case because that would be too cruel. After a few minutes of being held by Jaehyun you are finally able to regulate your breathing and you stopped crying. You muster up the courage to look up at him, extremely embarrassed for breaking down in front of him.

“Hey.” He says softly, meeting your eyes with a soft smile that makes you want to cry all over again. Oh how you’ve missed that smile. 

“Hi.” You squeak out, voice hoarse from crying.

“I’ve missed you.” He whispers, looking into your eyes, hands cradling your face.

“I’ve missed you so much too.” You say, eyes welling up all over again.

“I have to go before Jungkook tries to find me. I told him I was going to the bathroom. But I want to catch up. Are you available after work?” He asks, a sweet and hopeful look on his face.

“Yes, of course.” You say, head spinning from everything you’re feeling right now.

“Great, I’ll see you then.” He gives you a small kiss on the forehead before he leaves your office, hoping Jungkook doesn’t find him.

You plop down on your chair, shaky hands covering your face. You could not believe what just happened, that Jaehyun is in Korea and working in the same building as you. You were both excited and nervous for your meeting with Jaehyun this evening because even though he told you he missed you and gave you a kiss, you still don’t know how he feels about you and what your dynamic was going to be. For all you know, he could just mean he missed you as a friend and has no romantic feelings for you and has a girlfriend that he really loves. 

Shaking your head, you decide to focus on the work that awaits you instead of further spiraling into an anxiety attack. Everything is going to be fine….. You hope.

_________________________

You finished sending out the updated project to Namjoon, hoping that it was good enough to submit. You stretch your tired back trying to loosen your tense muscles when you hear a knock on your door.

“Come in.” You say, turning your computer off and expecting to see Namjoon coming in to ask you what the latest update on your project is. 

“Hey, are you all done?” Jaehyun asks, coming into your office.

You stare at him dumbfounded. You could still not get used to the fact that he was here, in the flesh. You had a busy day so you spent your lunch hour in your office, munching away on a sandwich while you simultaneously tried to work on your latest project. It seems like Jaehyun also had a busy lunch because Jungkook kept texting you about how much fun he was having at lunch with Jaehyun and a bunch of the ladies from PR. It doesn’t surprise you because Jaehyun is extremely handsome and he is a good person, so you really can’t blame them for taking him out to lunch.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m all done.” You finally reply, blushing at the small smirk Jaehyun gives you. 

“So, did you want to go to a restaurant or order some takeout and have it delivered to your place?” Jaehyun asks, taking you by surprise. 

Being in a public place might help ease your nerves but it won’t give you much privacy to talk about everything Jaehyuin wanted to speak to you about. But if you were to go to your house, you’re afraid that you might want to jump his bones and won’t hold back.

Deciding that privacy was going to be more important, you make your choice and hope you won’t regret it.

“Let’s get takeout and eat it at my place.” You offer, not missing the glint in his eyes at your suggestion. “Anything you’re craving?” You ask, taking your phone out to look for a delivery app.

“Jjajangmyun.” Jaehyun says, making you laugh at the suggestion of such a simple dish.

“Okay. I’ll order it once we get to my place. There’s a restaurant right down the street and it takes them no time to deliver.” You say, gathering your coat and purse so you can walk out with Jaehyun.

Thankfully it seems like everyone is gone because the hallways are empty. You didn’t want to attract attention to the fact that you’re leaving with Jaehyun because your breakup with Chanyeol is still recent and it was very public. Normally you would not care, but you don’t want to put Jaehyun in a position where people would bad-mouth him. Lord knows some of the women in the company don’t like you because you were dating Loey and they seemed pretty happy at the fact that he cheated on you. Jaehyun was too sweet to have to go through any of that, especially since you’ve already put him through so much. 

You decide to take a taxi to your place and it was spent mostly in silence, but thankfully it wasn’t awkward. Once the taxi turned into your street, you ordered the food so you wouldn’t have to wait long. You don’t know why you were so nervous, but your heart was beating a mile a minute. The elevator ride was awkward, with you staying silent and your back facing Jaehyun. You hated feeling this way because you once felt so comfortable around him that never in a million years you would think that you'd ever feel like this. 

“Here’s my place.” You say, opening the door to your apartment.

Jaehyun takes in your place as he takes his shoes off, admiring your cozy yet somewhat minimalist decor. 

“Nice place. It’s different from your New York apartment, but it’s nice.” He comments, walking into your living room.

“Thanks.” You smile at the compliment, “would you like anything to drink?” You ask, hoping to ease your nerves.

“Yeah, I would love a soda if you have any.” He says, hesitating by your kitchen island. You smile at how cute he looks and at how polite he is.

You tell him to sit down when the door rang. You went to get the noodles from the delivery person and placed them on the kitchen island, setting out chopsticks for the both of you.

You start to eat in silence and after a few bites you can’t take it anymore. Jaehyun looks at you confused when he sees you put down your utensils.

“Okay. I don’t want to seem rude, but I can’t take this anymore. I need to know everything.” You finally say, seeing the look of surprise on his face. 

“Okay.” He starts, wiping some of the sauce off his face. “Where do you want to start?” He asks.

“Do you hate me?” You ask right away. It was the one thing you wanted to know for sure before you continued.

“What? No! Of course I don’t. If I did, I wouldn’t have asked you to dinner tonight. Why would I hate you?” He asks, genuinely hurt that you would think he could ever hate you.

“Because I was the biggest bitch and I let myself question my feelings for you over something that was extremely stupid and insignificant.” You explain, not seeing why he couldn’t understand why you’d think he’d hate you. 

“Okay, first of all, you’re not a bitch. Second of all, I wanted you to be 100% sure about us and have no doubts.” He answers, making you smile.

“Okay. Well now I feel bad because I interrupted our dinner. Let’s finish eating and we can continue the conversation.” You suggest and he agrees, digging back into his food.

After dinner, which seems like the both of you ate at a rapid speed, you made some tea and the both of you made your way to your living room, sitting on opposite sides of the couch. Why did today make you feel a strange sense of deja vu? You shrug off the feeling and take a deep breath, steely nerves ready to let everything out. 

“So, when did you leave New York?” You ask, getting right into it.

“Oh yeah, I heard that you went to New York. Jungkook told me.” Jaehyun says, a teasing tone to his voice. You made a mental note to kill Kookie next time you see him for running his mouth unnecessarily. “But I actually left about a month after the Gala. I couldn’t stay there anymore because everything reminded me of you.” He said sheepishly, your heart wrenching painfully. Man, you really are a bitch.

“Sorry if I was a jerk and avoided you that night. I just couldn’t handle being that close to you yet so far away at the same time.” He continues but you wish he’d stop, hearing those words from him is very painful. 

“You do not have to apologize. I’m the one that should be apologizing for hurting you.” You say, tears threatening to spill all over again.

“So when did you decide to move to Korea?” You ask, changing the subject to something else you wanted to know.

“A few weeks ago. I saw that the Korea branch had a spot open for the PR President position and I decided to apply. I wanted to come back because I miss my family but also because I missed you. Plus, I saw all the scandalous articles and photos of Chanyeol and Arisa’s…. Entanglement. So I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He says, looking into your eyes.

“You are way too nice.” You say in a shaky voice, tears finally rolling down your cheeks.

“If I’m being honest, the whole time I was with Chanyeol I realized that I had made a huge mistake. There wasn’t a second where I didn’t wish that I could be with you. I tried many times to call you, but I would chicken out and decide to not call you. I didn’t know if you hated me or not and I didn’t want to find out because I still love you. I never stopped.” You finally let out between sobs, the sadness you felt in your chest slowly going away. “And then I went to New York because I realized that if I didn’t at least try, I would regret it for the rest of my life. Even if you rejected me and spat at my face, at least I would know for sure. But I couldn’t bear to live with the what-ifs. Then Johnny tells me that you had moved to Japan and I felt like it was over all over again. He gave me your phone number and I mustered the courage to call you but like a coward, I didn’t leave a voicemail. I knew that you wouldn’t call back a number that you did not have saved on your phone.” You further explain.

“Well that’s where you’re wrong.” Jaehyun says, wiping away your tears. You had not noticed him move closer to you on the couch, but he was next to you now.

“I saved your number on my new phone. I had it in case I also mustered the courage to call you. I didn’t want to push you though, because I didn’t know how you were coping with Chanyeol’s indecency. When I saw your name pop up on my screen, my heart stopped. I thought I was seeing things but Johnny called me to tell me that you had gone to New York and he gave you my number. I decided to wait to speak to you until I saw you in person. I never stopped loving you either, I just hoped that we would find each other again before it was too late.” Jaehyun explains, your heart beating so fast you swore Jaehyun could hear it.

Your sobs had finally died down and all that was left were hiccups, but you were glad that you were having this conversation with Jaehyun.  The relief you felt at knowing that Jaehyun still loves you is indescribable; the pain you had been suffering for the last few months could cease now.

“You know, even though I briefly dated Chanyeol, nothing happened between us.” You confess, feeling the need to let Jaehyun know. 

“What do you mean?” Jaehyun asked, confused. He had a vague idea as to what you meant but did not want to jump to conclusions. 

“I mean that aside from a kiss here or there, nothing else happened between us. I didn’t sleep with him.” You elaborate, wanting him to know.

Jaehyun exhaled loudly, passing a hand over his face.

“I would not have judged you at all if you had. But you have no idea how relieved I am to hear that.” He says, shaking his head in disbelief.

You chuckle at his relief, but you would be lying if you said you were not intrigued to know whether or not he had been with someone else. You didn’t want to be intrusive and ask him because you still felt like you didn’t deserve anything from him.

“I never dated anyone while we were broken up. Nor did I sleep around either.” He says, looking into your eyes.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” You say, placing your hand on his cheek. You were not going to make it known how relieved you are.

“I know, but it’s only fair I tell you if I had or not.” He says, kissing your palm.

“I love you so much. I know it might take some time, but I would love it if we could work things out and get back together.” You say, not seeing the need to be coy. You love him and you want to be with him, nothing was going to get in your way now.

“I love you too.” He says, wiping the tear stains from your cheeks. “I want to be with you too, so why waste time?” He says, holding your hands. You smile at him, feeling happiness bubble inside your chest. You had not felt this happy in the longest time and you did not want the feeling to go away. Not being able to hold back, you launch yourself to Jaehyun in a tight hug, loving the feeling of his arms embracing your body. You finally felt like you were home, where you belong. 

The both of you stayed that way for a couple of minutes, enjoying the feeling of being together again. Jaehyun pulled away, giving you a kiss on the forehead. 

“I have to get going, it’s getting pretty late.” He says, standing up from the couch.

“You don’t want to spend the night? You ask, really wanting his company… and some other stuff too.

“I would love to my love, but I have to go and deal with some stuff at my place.” He vaguely explains.

“Oh. Everything okay?” You ask, if he had issues with his place, he could stay here.

“Yeah, there’s just a lot of unpacking to do. Along with other cosmetic stuff.” He replies, smiling as he grabs his coat.

His answer was very vague but you decided to not worry about it. After all, Jaehyun has proven time and time again that he’s worthy of your trust. Not wanting to dwell, you smile and give him a nod, agreeing that you’ll see him at work tomorrow. 

“Good night.” He says, standing at your door.

“Night.” You say, walking him out.

He gives you another hug and goes to kiss your cheek when you turn your head, his lips landing on yours.

He was startled at first, not expecting to feel the soft skin of your lips but he was not complaining. You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you. His arms wrap around your waist, grunting at the feel of your body in his arms. The kiss was getting more intense as your hands roamed his body, still not believing that he was here in the flesh. 

“Okay, I better go.” Jaehyun chuckles, pulling away from the hot kiss knowing that if he doesn’t go he will stay ravishing you all night.  

You whisper your goodbye as you watch him enter the elevator where he sends a wink and a kiss your way.

You close the door to your apartment and place a hand over your chest, not believing that everything that has happened in the last couple of hours is real. Jaehyun is finally back into your life and you would not allow anything to change that from now on.

________________

The next morning you enter your work building and you head to the elevators, greeting a few of your coworkers with a goodmorning and a smile. You were patiently waiting for the elevator to arrive in silence when you noticed that all the women around you started to whisper excitedly. You were confused as to what was causing the commotion and that’s when you felt a shoulder bump into you.

“Hey, good morning.” Jaehyun greeted you with a smile, his handsome face making you blush due to his close proximity.

“Hi.” You say back, noticing that all the whispers had stopped all of a sudden. 

“I got you coffee. Almond latte, right?” He asks, handing you a coffee cup that you did not see him carrying at first.

“Oh, yeah. Thank you.” You thank him for his sweet gesture, surprised that he remembers your coffee order. You internally cringe when you realize the exchange is happening in front of a lot of the female staff, already dreading the inevitable gossip.

The elevator finally arrives and everyone scurries inside, packing into the elevator and you end up being pushed up against Jaehyun. He smiles down to you and you felt the blush cover your face once again. It felt like you were falling in love with him all over again even though you never stopped. Getting off at your floor, you were surprised to see that Jaehyun was walking the same direction as you.

“Where are you going? Isn’t your office on the east wing?” You ask, ignoring the glances you get from your coworkers. 

“Yeah but I want to walk you to your office this morning.” He explains, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Oh, well thanks. Everyone here must think that I don’t waste time trying to bag the hot new guy.” You joke, trying to hide your burning cheeks as you took a sip of the coffee Jaehyun got you.

“Maybe the new guy didn’t want to waste time to bag you.” He teases, stopping when you pause in front of your office door. 

“Cute.” You laugh, opening your door and turning around to say goodbye to Jaehyun. He took you by surprise when he leaned in and planted a quick kiss on your lips, making you blush like a schoolgirl. You quickly said bye and entered your office, shaking your head when you heard Jaehyun’s laugh outside your door. That man is going to be the death of you. 

_________

You walked to a cute little cafe that is close to your work; meeting Mina for lunch, you were both nervous and excited to let her know what was going on in your life for the past 24 hours.

“Hey! I ordered you a lemonade, I hope that’s okay.” Mina greets you, sitting on one of the outdoor tables. 

“Yes, that’s fine. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” You say, sitting down and looking at the menu.

“Nope. So, tell me. Why did you seem so eager to meet? Do you miss me that much?” She asks, direct as always.

“Of course! But I have some news.” You say but were interrupted by the waiter. He took your orders and excused himself.

“What news?” Mina asked, taking a sip from her drink.

“I’m back with Jaehyun.” You blurt out, not wanting to beat around the bush.

Her eyes became the size of saucers, coughing when her drink went down the wrong way. 

“I thought you said he moved to Japan?” She asks, wiping her mouth with a napkin. 

“He had, but when I came back to work he was here. He moved to the Korea branch because there was a position open and because he heard about Chanyeol and Arisa and wanted to make sure I was okay.” You explain, warmth filling your chest at the thought of how sweet Jaehyun is.

“Wow. That’s insane. Look, I am so happy for you because I know that you never stopped loving him. But don’t you think you’re moving too fast?” She asks, genuinely concerned.

Before you could answer, your food was brought out and placed in front of you.

“What do you mean? I messed up once and I thought I had forever lost the love of my life. Now that I have gotten a second chance, I don’t want to mess it up.” You say, not understanding her point. Moving too fast? No way. Jaehyun was back in your life by the grace of the universe and you were not going to mess that up. You wanted him in your life and nothing is going to stop that from happening. 

“I know, I know. I’m not judging. I just want to make sure you are both sure that this is what you want.” She says, eyeing you wearily as she took a bite of her food.

“It is. He told me himself that he loves me and that he missed me the time we were apart. I never slept with Chanyeol and he was never with anyone either. We both acted stupidly but we never stopped loving each other. I don’t want to lose this second chance that we got.” You say, willing the tears to go away. 

Mina gave you a sympathetic look and a knowing smile, slightly nodding her head.

“Well, I guess if I was in your shoes, I’d feel the same way. I can’t imagine my life without Suho and if that’s how you feel about Jaehyun, then who am I to say anything?” She says, placing a comforting hand on your arm and giving you a small squeeze.

“Thanks.” You smile, happy at the fact that your best friend understood where you were coming from.

“Well since he’s in Korea now, I think it’s time I finally meet this guy.” She says, wanting to meet the guy she’s heard so much about.

“Of course! I will set something up. Are both you and Suho available this weekend?” You ask, mentally checking your calendar. 

“We are free, so if you want to do something, let me know.” She agrees.

The two of you continue to eat as you talk about other things as well as all the new things Minjun has learned to do. 

“Hey, how was your lunch date?” Jaehyun asks as he enters your office, it seems like this was going to be a new habit of his.

“It was good! Mina is happy for the both of us and she wants to meet you. Do you want to hang out with them on Saturday?” You ask, hoping you didn’t jump the gun and he has plans already.

“Yeah that’s fine. Can it be early in the day though? I wanted to go out to Namsan tower with you to see the lights at night.” He says, holding your hand as the two of you walk out.

“Okay! Maybe we can do lunch then? I’ll text her to make sure that’s okay with them.” You offer, excited at the thought of the important people of your life meeting.

“Sounds great.” He says, giving you a devilish smile. 

________________

“Noona. I am very disappointed in you.” Jungkook says, entering your office unannounced and plopping down on one of the chairs.

“Yes, come in.” You say sarcastically, making a note to reprimand him for his bad manners. “Why are you disappointed in me?” You ask, raising your eyebrow.

“Because you did not tell me you’re hooking up with the new guy!” Jungkook says in mock astonishment, sounding like a total gossip girl.

“That’s because I’m not.” You answer, giving him a pointed look.

“But I saw you guys leave together yesterday holding hands.” He protests, knowing that he isn’t going crazy and seeing things. 

“That is correct. But I’m not ‘hooking up’ with him. He’s the guy from New York I told you about.” You confess, knowing that he had no idea.

Jungkook was surprised, to say the least. You spend the next thirty minutes telling him how you didn’t find him in New York, how you thought he was still living in Japan and up until the day you returned and were not expecting to see him here. Jungkook laughed at that fact because now he knew why you acted so weird that day. 

“And he is finally going to meet my best friend Mina tomorrow. We are having lunch at her house.” You tell him, feeling even more excited about it now since you’ve reiterated this story twice. Namjoon called you into his office earlier to ask you about your relationship to Jaehyun because he has heard a lot of whispering going around about the two of you. Namjoon was also very happy for you when you told him who Jaehyun was to you and he told you to ignore all the jealous ladies in the building.

“That’s awesome! I hope you’re going to wear something nice.” Jungkook says in his best judgemental voice, making you laugh.

“Of course Kookie, who do you take me for?” You tease, laughing at his exaggerated eye roll.

He says his goodbyes because he knows Namjoon will yell at him if he finds him in your office gossiping again. 

______________

You kept looking in the mirror, hoping that your dress was cute enough. It was a pretty cotton dress that stopped right above your knee, it had slightly puffy sleeves and a square neckline. You were having a picnic at Mina’s house and you wanted to look cute especially since Jaehyun had plans for the two of you.

Your doorbell rang and you grabbed your purse and light jacket, making your way out to meet Jaehyun.

“You look beautiful.” Jaehyun greets you as you open the door, giving you his signature dimpled smile.

“You’re one to talk.” You say, taking in his black skinny jeans and white button up that was tucked into his jeans. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and he looked so good you almost wanted to drag him back into your apartment and have your way with him. Yesterday he dropped you off at home and ate dinner with you but left soon after. You wanted him to stay the night but he once again said he needed to go. He was still being a little evasive about his living situation but you decided not to push. 

“Where does Mina live?” Jaehyun asks once you’re inside his car.

You told him her address, which is a nice neighborhood filled with cute starter homes. You fell in comfortable conversation on the drive to Mina’s house. You told him about the conversation you had yesterday with Jungkook and he laughed at the funny story.

“He reminds me of Mark a little bit. It seems like you have a loyal dongsaeng in New York and another one here in Korea.” He teases, parking his car in front of Mina’s house.

The drive went by so quickly that you hadn’t realized you had arrived, especially since you just took notice of the fact that Jaehyun never turned on the GPS system. He was already out of the car before you could ask him anything, so you follow his lead and make your way to her door.

“Hey! Glad you guys are here! Come in!” Suho greets, opening the door.

“You must be Jaehyun! So nice to meet you.” Suho says, shaking your boyfriend’s hand.

“Nice to meet you too.” Jaehyun says, returning the smile. Suho sends a sly wink your way and you can feel your cheeks heat up a bit.

“Minjun look! Aunty is here!” Mina says to her toddler, greeting you with a kiss.

“You must be Jaehyun! So nice to finally meet the man I have heard so much of for the last year or so!” Mina exclaims, embarrassing you completely especially because Jaehyun looked at you with a knowing smile.

“Oh? She talks about me? Good to know.” Jaehyun teases, making you elbow him. 

“Where’s Minjun? He’s the only one here that loves me.” You mumble, looking for your favorite toddler.

Little Minjun came running towards you, arms outstretched and chubby cheeks rounded with a huge smile. You lifted him into your arms and spun him around, his happy laughter making you smile. You were entertained with Minjun therefore you did not notice the longing look on Jaehyun’s face when he saw you interacting with the toddler. His face was a clear reflection of want and fortunately for you, Mina saw it and all her worries melted away. 

“Okay guys! Food is out in the backyard, let’s go eat!” Mina herds you all to the yard to enjoy the big spread of food she spent most of the day preparing. 

To say you were delighted would be an understatement. Today was just a perfect day because the most important people in your life finally met and they’re getting along great! Mina seems to like Jaehyun and you can see a difference in her interacting with him as to how she used to interact with Chanyeol. Suho has a lot in common with Jaehyun and they kept exchanging college stories and talking about other things they had in common. Thankfully Minjun loved Jaehyun too; he would run up to Jaehyun and play with him and the sight warmed your heart. The sight of Jaehyun holding and playing with Minjun made your heart twist in a beautifully painful way. He was so good with him and his face lit up the whole time he was playing with the toddler. The amount of love you felt in that moment was so overwhelming that it almost made you cry.

“Thank you so much for coming today!” Mina said to the both of you as she finished loading the dishes to the washer.

“Thank you for having us.” Jaehyun said, cradling the sleeping baby.

“Thanks for coming guys! We have to do this again soon.” Suho agrees, taking the baby from Jaehyuns’ arms.

You exchanged goodbyes and headed out of Mina’s house hand in hand with the love of your life. You had such a great time at Mina’s place that you had completely forgotten about the fact that Jaehyun had other plans for the two of you. It was close to sunset time, so the view from the Namsan tower is going to be great.

Jaehyun was quiet on the drive over, so you just assumed he was tired from entertaining a toddler all afternoon. 

“Did you have a good time?” You ask, breaking the silence.

“Yes I did. They’re such nice people and that baby is the cutest thing in the world.” He says, smiling at the memory of the toddler.

“Minjun is the cutest thing ever.” You agreed, proud of how cute your nephew is.

“Our baby is going to be cuter though.” Jaehyun says absentmindedly, eyes still focused on the road.

He did not know the impact his words have on you because even though things are going great right now, you did not know if he saw more of a future with you. But with what he just said, it’s clear to you that he does see a future with you and that made you so happy you felt like you were going to cry again. 

Jaehyun must have sensed your inner turmoil because he grabbed your hand and gave you a light squeeze, the action alone letting you know how he felt.

The image of a mini Jaehyun running around filled your mind and it’s all you wanted now. No matter how long it will take to get there, you could not wait to have his children.

You finally arrived at Namsan tower and you were delighted to see that there weren't a lot of people around. You got there at the perfect time because it's almost sunset and by the time you get to the top of the tower the view will be spectacular.

Once again Jaehyun was a little quiet but that did not bother you because you were happy to be there with him, hand in hand. 

“Wow, it’s so beautiful.” You say, admiring the view of the city from such a high point.

“Let’s buy a lock to put on the railing.” Jaehyun suggests, making you clap your hands in excitement like a little girl.

He lets you choose the lock and since you were feeling cheesy, you got a heart shaped one. Jaehyun smiled in approval of your choice in lock and said that he wanted to write on it. You pouted playfully, saying that you wanted to write on it but Jehyun just stuck his tongue out at you and said he was going to because he paid for it. You rolled your eyes but complied, thinking his behavior was rather endearing. After writing on the lock, he grabs your hand and leads you back outside to the railing.

“Here you go, why don’t you place it on the railing?” He asks, placing the lock in your hand with the inscription facing down.

“Sure!” You agree, excited to be able to choose where it goes. 

You walk up to the railing and intently look around to find the perfect spot for your lock. You can feel Jaehyun behind you but you paid no attention as you looked for a spot. Once you found it, you quickly placed your lock and then you remembered that in your excitement you never read the inscription that Jaehyun wrote. You grab the lock and flip it over, stunned by what you saw. It was his initials plus your initials and underneath it was a drawing of a ring. You were confused as to what that meant and the second you turned around to ask him, it all made sense. Jaehyun was down on one knee, giving you a smile that made your heart stop.

“My beautiful darling. I know we have had our ups and downs and the time spent apart was unbearable for me. I’m so happy that we have a second chance and I don’t want it to ever end. Will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?” He asks, opening the small velvet box you didn’t realize he was holding. In the box there was a gorgeous ring that sparkled under the light of the sunset. It was a gorgeous oval diamond on a plain light gold band. You were so mesmerized by it that you forgot where you were and what was happening in front of you, but thanks to the sounds of camera shutters going off you were able to come back to. You look back at Jaehyun’s face, seeing the love and hopefulness in his eyes, tears welling up in your eyes.

“Are you serious?” You whisper, throat closed off with tears.

“Yes my love.” He chuckles, his own heart racing a mile a minute.

“Yes. Of course I do.” You sob, tears running down your face as Jaehyun puts the ring on your finger with shaky hands. He stands up and embraces you in a hug, kissing the tear stains from your cheeks. You pulled apart when you heard the cheering of the people around you and you felt your cheeks heat up due to the PDA.

“Let’s go, I have another surprise.” Jaehyun says, taking your hand.

“Oh god, I don’t know if I can handle any more surprises today.” You giggle, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

“I’m sure you’ll love this one.” He says, giving you a peck on your lips.

“More than being engaged to you? I hardly believe that.”  You quip, admiring the gorgeous ring on your finger. 

“So, when did you decide to propose to me?” You ask once you were back in his car and on your way to the next location.

“It was when I helped you get groceries that first time in New York.” He says, giving you a sly smile.

“What?!” But we had barely known each other!” You say, not understanding that it could have been that moment.

“I  know, but I had never felt about anyone the way I felt about you the second I saw you. I hoped that you’d end up loving me the way I love you.” He says, reaching over and grabbing your hand, squeezing it slightly.

“I love you.” You say, squeezing his hand as well. “When did you get the ring?” You ask, trying to figure out that fact.

“Well, I actually bought it when I went to Connecticut to visit my old friends. I wanted it to be a surprise and I figured I could kill two birds with one stone.” He explains, laughing at the dumbfounded look on your face.

“Really? Were you going to propose to me in the states?” You ask, completely surprised by this new information.

“Yes. Actually do you remember the dinner date we had when you told me that Namjoon wanted you to come back to Korea? I was going to propose to you that night but the news sort of ruined my plan.” He explains.

You stare at him in complete shock, his odd behavior from that time now making a lot of sense. He was so nervous about asking you to marry him that he was acting strange so he would not lose his nerves.

“So you just held on to the ring this whole time?” You ask, voice cracking with emotion.

“Yes. I knew that we were going to end up together no matter what. I was ready to wait as long as necessary if it meant we were going to end up together.” He says, a small blush caressing his beautiful face. 

Your heart was hammering in your chest and you looked out the window, not wanting Jaehyun to see the tears welling up in your eyes.

You were so immersed in your conversation that you had not been paying attention to the route to your next destination.

“Wait. Are we going back to Mina’s house?” You ask, noticing the familiar streets passing you by.

“Nope.” He says with a smirk but offers no other information.

The mystery is killing you but now that you are engaged to him, you trust him more than you did before; you trust him with your life and you know that whatever he has up his sleeve is going to be worth it.

“Here we are.” Jaehyun says, parking on the street in front of some cute starter homes.

“What are we doing here?” You ask, confused as to what is going on as you get out of the car.

“You’ll see.” He says, taking your hand and walking up the path to one of the houses.

Was he going to introduce you to his parents? Right now? But you wanted to look more presentable when you met his family! And you don’t even have a gift prepared for them! They’re going to think you have no manners and won’t want you as their daughter-in-law!

Before you could spiral even further, Jaehyun opened the front door to the house and guided you in. 

“Are your parents not home?” You ask, noticing the quiet and dark house. The only light was coming from a soft light that was on in the kitchen, but that was enough to see the interior of the house. It was very clean and simple, more of a minimalist style of decor but still cozy. 

“This is not my parents home.” He says, walking in further into the house and turning on the light, illuminating the place.

You look at him confused because if it’s not his parents house then whose house is it?

Jaehyun chuckles at your expression and takes your face in his hands, placing a quick kiss to your lips.

“This is our house. I bought it for us”  He says, arms outstretched to emphasize his point.

“But… but… our...what...huh?” You sputter, at a loss for words for the second time today. “When? When did you…” You trailed off, looking around the house in awe. 

“Remember that time right before we… we separated, how I spent a lot of time at my place instead of yours?” He asks, not really liking to talk about that time you two broke up.

“Yeah….” You trail off, also hating the memory.

“Well the reason I was spending time apart was because I was in the process of buying this house. I was on a lot of phone calls and video calls with my family and realtor agents, looking for a house. I wanted it to be a surprise so that’s why I spend so much time at my place. Even though I put my proposal on a halt, I bought the house because I planned on moving to Korea with you. I wanted to be with you no matter what.” Jaehyun explains, your heart hammering in your chest at his explanation. He did all this to be with you? Gosh you had messed up so badly but you were eternally grateful that you got this second chance. 

“Is that why you wouldn’t invite me to stay at your place” You ask, the pieces finally coming together.

“Yes.” He chuckles, feeling guilty for being so evasive with you. “I wanted to make sure that the place was clean and ready for when I finally brought you over here.” Jaehyun explains

“You sly guy.” You say, hugging your fiance and reeling at the fact that all this is happening. The proposal, the house, everything. He was yours and that was not going to change, ever. He is the love of your life and he will become your family, and you were going to be together forever. And that’s more than enough.

A/N: Omg its over now! Thank you so much to all of you that have been here since day 1, your support and feedback were my driving force to keep writing! I’m sad that it’s over but you all made this whole process so enjoyable! I was thinking of doing like a little spin off one shot showing their married life but idk. Let me know if that’s something you guys would be in to! 

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[gerbiloftriumph]

The Silence Between Snowflakes

(also on ao3)

His name was Gwydion–but that wasn’t his name. He lived in Llewdor–but that wasn’t his home.

Alexander escapes Manannan’s grasp and flees to Daventry, hoping he might find a place that he might call home after years of loss and loneliness. While Daventry embraces him, loves him, shows him all the stories it has within it, the country is also suffering under the worst winter in memory. But it might not just be a hard season: there might be something out there, something chasing the lost prince. Something malevolent, intent on destroying the kingdom snowflake by snowflake, spreading a curse across the lands and infecting its king.

~*~*~

8/8

(1: Found Family)(2: Footprints)(3: The Stories that Really Matter)(4: A Rose Among Thorns)(5: Snowbound)(6: Fractals)(7: The Ice Queen)(8: Belonging)

~*~*~

The fixit fic didn’t include the ch4 prologue, because I didn’t see the point in writing it word for word. But just in case, maybe you might want a refresher on [Graham’s Lullaby.]

Seriously, again, special thanks to @captmickey and @theicemancometh for being my betas in part or in full. It wouldn’t have worked at all without you.

~*~*~

Each room in the tower was shrouded in ice. They looked like ordinary rooms, but with their contents replaced by strange facsimiles. He glimpsed a frozen table, frozen curtains, a frozen bed. The furnishings were all as one might expect, but they were cold. Cheerless and unwelcoming and flat and hard, and now he was paying attention, hauntingly familiar.

This was the tower, he knew without a shred of doubt, that had carried him, Valanice, and Valanice together through the clouds. Vee and Neese, his friends. Then, it had been cursed in a way that ensured its inhabitants could never leave. Now, it was cursed with ice, and it spread its curse boundlessly. It had taken on additional buildings and courtyards and walls as it had traveled. Whole huge rooms for its labyrinth. He wondered whose castle walls these had been. Whose courtyard had been stolen. That stable, those barracks, that lamppost. What had been lost to this traveling curse?

He thought of the sculptures of people, in their dizzying array of clothes and styles and features, frozen in the labyrinth, and he amended: who had been lost to this traveling curse?

Valanice...Icebella. Icebella had been lost to it.

Daventry was losing more to it by the moment. It was going to take his family next.

The guards pushed them into a small room and left them alone. The door locked behind them, a cold sound that reminded Graham nauseatingly of the prison he’d been locked in as a brand-new king, shivering and alone and afraid of the dark.

This room wasn’t a proper cell, at least. It was possibly a workroom of some sort, full of tables and chairs of a utilitarian nature. He tried to remember, twenty years ago, what this room would have been, but nothing came to mind. It was now filled with more of those frozen people-sculptures. People like Graham, people from other countries this castle had visited, cursed and frozen and dead.

Manny, recent addition to Icebella’s court, apparently hadn’t known about the ice curse itself spreading to people. Or, at least, hadn’t known the particulars, hadn’t seen an example of it in action. He had been surprised by Graham’s slow conversion. But it definitely wasn’t a secret now. He knew about the power of this place and he could do so much with it. Could freeze anything, anyone, who stood in his way. Steal the pieces of their countries he wanted, grafted onto the original tower like mashing clay toys together.

Did Icebella know how this curse worked? Could she stop it if she wanted, or had all these people frozen beneath her helpless hands? Had she acted maliciously or accidentally, or had she anything to do with this at all? Had it been something Hagatha had done, corrupting everything while Graham and Valanice just barely escaped?

Icebella....

He shivered, pacing to keep warm, the chattering of his teeth setting a rhythm. “We spent that whole spring together. She was Valanice’s best friend. She was at my wedding, Valanice’s maid of honor. She danced with us all through the night, laughed with the royal guards, loved us wholly.” The memories were warm, hazy, bathed in a golden glow of nostalgia and joy. But for the first time in years, he let himself really think about the time after that spring in Hagatha’s tower, this tower.

Somehow, he realized, the wedding was the last time they really spent time together as a trio. And even earlier than that, during the courtship of his soon-to-be-wife, she had stayed distant, less willing to spend time with them. She broke herself away from them, and they didn’t reach out to her as frequently or as hard as they ought to have.

“She wore gloves,” he muttered. “Even in fine weather. At the wedding. I never saw her hands after we left the tower. And I didn’t think. I didn’t ask. I should have thought. I should have noticed.” He stared at his own icy hand, locked up and clear and blue, and it hurt, a cold ache that gnawed his bones. And he wondered. Had he seen her shivering in the sunshine, had he dismissed it as a trick of the light?

“I should have known.”

And, in her fear of being alone, she had carved her own guards with her newfound ice magic in mimicry of Royal Guard Number One’s uniform, had kept a piece of Daventry close by her side, to protect her, even as she sank deeper and deeper into a curse, even as she forgot where the designs had come from, why they had ever mattered to her at all.

“I should have known.”

He paced, and paced, and his steps were slower, and slower, and his breathing grew laborious. The white clouds of condensation from breathing in cold weather were heavier, almost like dark little clouds full of snow. Like the curse was spreading through his chest, crystals spiderwebbing across his lungs.

He realized in his distraction he didn’t know where his son was. The room was small, but the young man was good at finding little nooks and crannies and burying himself in them. Graham found him curled in a corner behind a table, surrounded by reaching ice sculptures, clutching his head in his hands.

“Alexander?”

“Gwydion,” he whispered. “I’m Gwydion. That’s all I’ve ever been. All I’ll ever be. This is my fault. I knew I shouldn’t have come here. Everyone is going to die because of me.”

Lost. So lost. Alone and lost.

Graham knelt stiffly. “My son, my dear Alexander, please, don’t. This is not your fault. You have done nothing wrong. You deserve the world and the chance to make what you want in it. I’m sorry for everything that’s happened. Alexander, none of this is your fault.”

“Manannan wouldn’t have come here if I hadn’t cursed him.”

“You couldn’t have escaped him if you hadn’t. And we never would have been blessed to meet you.”

His son said nothing. He curled deeper into himself, shaking with fear and cold, sure he had brought all this on the sunny kingdom of Daventry, sure he had brought its destruction.

Graham leaned against the leg of a statue, clutching his arm. In a voice laced with frost, he whispered the words to an old lullaby, not sure if he was speaking to his son or himself at this point. An old memory stirring up from the dust as he remembered his friends and his hope. He didn’t sing. He didn’t feel like he could get enough air in his chest to sing. But he could speak, and he repeated the words to a song that he hadn’t thought of in almost eighteen years.

I may be king but you are my prince. If life gets too puzzling, I’ll give you the hints. Your quest has begun, my kingdom you’ll run, I’ll love you forever, my son.

They sat in silence. Graham just tried to breathe. Thinking about cats and curses. Staring off into the cold shadows of the room, the chill seeping into his heart.

After a while, Gwydion said, softly, hesitatingly, “You never finished the story.”

“I didn’t? What story is that?”

“About the goblins. How you escaped. That July. I want…I want to hear the rest of it.”

Graham told the rest of his story, then. It was abbreviated. It lost all of the usual polish and storylike qualities it had earned over the years. He told it haltingly, painfully. Without the fairy tale sparkle, he started remembering the fear more. The fear that his friends were going to die while he watched helplessly from the other side of a locked door. All the smoothness was worn away by the ice in his throat, revealing an uneasy ripple that he couldn’t hide. He couldn’t tell it any other way, with his son watching and the cold strangling him.

Manny had tried to kill him, and he would have succeeded if it hadn’t been for Graham’s refusal to give up, for his reliance on his friends. It ended with hope, but the road had been hard.

And then, Gwydion told his own story. For the first time, from start to finish, willingly. He couldn’t remember all of it. There were eighteen years of it, and much of it was the same: menial tasks for a wizard who was quick to punish if Gwydion didn’t work as fast or precisely as expected. But parts of it were memorable. The manor house itself, for instance. It was just him, and Manannan, and Mordack.

Mordack would watch him with cold pity, and that was almost worse than Manannan’s cruel anger. It meant Mordack didn’t necessarily agree with any of this—but wouldn’t do anything to help. So Gwydion worked, and hid, and scrimped, and survived, but he had a growing fear that something was reaching an end. Something about turning eighteen frightened him, like something major was going to change in the manor and that something wasn’t going to be good for him.

Deciding to escape had been relatively easy. Actually escaping was another matter all together.

The fear of not knowing when the wizard would catch him, where he should hide the tools of magic he stole, if he would be discovered. The challenge of the magic itself, the near misses and tight scrapes. Triple checking every step, every line, again and again, mouth dry with the thought of failure, or worse, being found. Practicing the wrist movements, chanting the ingredients needed, reading the books, sneaking down to the hidden cellar with stolen wand clamped in his shaking fist, afraid of breaking it or marking it in some noticeable way. Finally building his confidence to craft the one spell, the curse, that would save him, to break the cat cookie in Manannan’s breakfast and to try not to give the whole game away too early. To wait for the magic to take. And the difficult decision of what to do next.

“I ruined it by coming here. I should have gone far away, where there wasn’t anyone for him to hurt.”

Graham reached out and touched his son on the shoulder. His Alexander. His brave Alexander. Not Gwydion, never again. “You deserve a place to call your own as much as anyone, and you can carve your place out anywhere. But you came here, Alexander. If you’ll have us, we want you. In Daventry. That’s all we ever wanted. To have you with us, to have you call this place with everyone—Amaya, Whisper, the Feys, Acorn, everyone. To let you, Alexander, call this place home. You shouldn’t allow someone like Manannan decide where you go, who you are. You shouldn’t even let us decide for you. That’s your freedom.”

Alexander, nervously, leaned into Graham’s hand, and then into him, his shoulder pressed against Graham’s chest. He was shivering, but his warmth helped ease Graham’s pain. The king felt like he could breathe again, like the ice in his lungs was melting.

Gingerly, he embraced Alexander, and for once, he didn’t flinch away. His dear son, full of magic, of fire and heat and fear, stifled by the cold but powerful nevertheless. He’d escaped. He’d used Manny’s own tools against the wizard, and he had chosen to come here. He was stronger than he’d ever know. Graham smiled, resting his cheek against his son’s wavy hair, thoughts drifting like icebergs. If only he could somehow convince his son to see that. But it would take more than Graham’s words. It would take a heartfelt conviction. A fiery intensity and determination to change.

Heat. Warmth.

…wait a second.

Warmth. My fiery son.

But the guards burst in, and pulled the two up by their arms (Graham bit back another yelp, wishing people would stop yanking on his aching arm) and it was time for their audience with Queen Icebella.

~*~*~*~*

Valanice was dizzy. She didn’t feel like she could stand for more than a moment, and her boots couldn’t seem to keep traction on the slippery floor. The queen of the castle had linked arms with her and they were proceeding down the castle halls in silence. Despite the normally friendly sort of gesture of walking arm in arm, the queen was haughty and detached, ramrod straight with her cold gaze fixed firmly down the hall, unwavering and unblinking. Valanice walked beside her, feeling slovenly and slumpy and hazy and unfocused. Her vision kept blurring in and out.

She had the strangest sense that she had done this, had walked like this, arm in arm, with this queen before, giggly and full of joy. But that was silly—the queen, Icebella, was frosty and blue and distant, and they had never met.

At least, she thought so. It was so hard to focus. But no one was actually blue. Probably. Maybe. Maybe fairies. Maybe she was with a fairy.

Her head hurt.

“Come, Valanice,” the queen said, and there was a slight echo to the words, like she was speaking from the back of a snowy cavern. “I have asked for a chair for you, by my throne. I am sorry to wake you when you are so exhausted, but I want you to meet this amusing visitor to my castle. He claims he is a king, and his bright red cloak is most grand.”

Bright red cloak. Sounded familiar, somehow. Valanice nodded blearily, not trusting herself to speak and walk at the same time.

The throne room was remarkably bright despite the late hour. Valanice had to squint against the white reflective ice, and she dizzily sank into the chair offered her, only realizing after a few moments that it, too, was made of ice, like everything in this place. She started shivering. Or maybe she’d never stopped shivering.

The cat sitting on the throne beside her seemed to smile at her, pawing its ear. As though cats could smile. She would have given it a friendly pet had she been able to lift her hand, but that seemed too complicated and wearying a thing to do.

Ice guards lined the walls of the room, hands on swords sharp as icicles. She supposed they were meant to protect her and the queen from whoever their visitor was about to be. She wondered if this audience would be safe. But with so many guards, surely she need not feel concerned. She was grateful to them and their grim silence.

It was a lovely red cloak, she decided, as the supposed king stumbled in, propelled along by one of the ice guards. That was about all she could say for it. It didn’t seem to be keeping him very warm. His lips were turning blue. How interesting. Maybe he was a fairy too. A fairy king.

Wait.

~*~*~*~

Gwydion.

Alexander...?

Gwydion. He stood in front of his former master, and Gwydion was all that he could be. He didn’t have a choice. He was clumsy, and he was foolish, and his attempt to escape, to take a different name, had failed. He was before Manannan, as before, as always.

Not entirely alone this time. Gwydion could feel the cold radiating from the king despite standing several paces away. The king’s teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. He tried wrapping his cloak tighter, but there wasn’t any warmth to hold in. And that was Gwydion’s fault, too, for not stopping him from touching the roses, Gwydion’s fault for leading the ice castle here, Gwydion’s fault for believing, even for an instant, that he could be this man’s son.

From the dais, a voice called, “Graham!” The lady of Daventry half stood from her chair, but a wave of dizziness seemed to overwhelm her, and she sank back down helplessly, clutching the chair arms as though that was the only thing keeping her upright. Powerless to do anything but speak.

“V-Valanice,” Graham managed. But he wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was fixed on Icebella.

“Do you refer to me? I did command you to stop calling me so,” Icebella said. She stood straight before her throne, her gaze haughty. Frustration made her icy cheeks turn white. “I wished to begin differently, sir, but you try my patience immediately. Perhaps Cat was right, and you are too foolish for my attention. My name is Icebella. It was given to me. My special name.”

“How was it g-given?” Graham shivered.

“Cat is sweet, and Cat said the name suited me, and Cat gifted it to me when I had no other name.”

From the throne, Manny stretched long and luxuriously, tail flicking. He yawned, showing off a fierce row of sharp little white teeth, and smiled, sitting straight. “Names do matter, don’t they, Gwydion? They indicate so much. They tell others who you are, where you belong. Speaking of names, Graham, I’m wondering what name we should carve under your ice sculpture in a few hours. I can’t decide. Maybe we should workshop it. You should pick a pose now, I think.”

Graham ignored this. “Icebella,” he said, stepping forward and bowing to her stiffly, icy arm locked into place at his side. “I apologize for my rudeness and b-beg your forgiveness.”

“I may grant it,” she said. “I have questions for you as a supposed king, after all, and I would regret not being able to ask you about your kingdom if I ordered you thrown out a window for impertinence.”

“Of c-course. But. May I ask you a question f-first, in earnest?”

She hesitated, probably knowing where this was going, and then said, reluctantly, “You may. It does seem only fair, from queen to king.”

“With the full respect owed, and you may ch-choose not to answer me: how long have you been Icebella?”

She frowned, and for a moment she looked like she wanted to lash out again. “I suppose not long,” she finally admitted, after deep consideration. “A few months, at best. Before then, I was no one, I fear.”

“You weren’t no one,” Graham said. “You were special, Valanice.”

“Icebella,” Manny interrupted smoothly. “You are only a person now that you’ve been named. Your name is ice, your name is beauty. Before, you were no one, as you say. You were dark and sad and alone, and I named you, and I saved you, and you are Icebella.”

“Stop calling her that,” Valanice said. “Her name was Valanice. She loved adventures. She loved sunshine. She was competitive and sharp and creative and energetic, and she was all those things as Valanice, and I would bet she is still all those things.”

“You wouldn’t know,” the cat hissed. “You didn’t reach out to her, find her. You didn’t let her know she was still Valanice. She was lost, and I found her, and I named her, and I saved her, and she is mine.”

Gwydion felt the chill, then, in a way he hadn’t before.

Names.

Ownership.

Names are crucial. Names matter.

And I’m not the only one Manannan hurt.

Someone else here had lost her name, and someone else was using her powers to lash out, guided by a monster who only wanted her to do his bidding. Who only wanted to own her and use her.

I was that person too, a slave to a wizard. Lost name. Lost self.

But...he had run away, hadn’t he? Gwydion. Alexander. The power of a name. And...maybe...?

“Icebella,” Graham said. “Valanice. You loved books, and music. You loved puzzles, and you loved art, and you loved stories, and you loved games, and you shone like the sun, not ice. You could d-dance and—” his voice broke off with a crack like snapping an icicle, and he coughed hard, little puffs like snow clouds floating around him, shivering so violently it looked like he was going to splinter into shards of ice.

“And you could sing,” Valanice, the queen, picked up where the king could not, “And you knew all the names of all the constellations. And you could embroider, but you thought it was boring. And you could beat all of us at chess every single time, and you knew every fairy tale, even the rare ones. And you loved us. You were so full of love and life and compassion and care. You weren’t no one, Valanice, even in the darkness. You were Valanice, and you could do so much. And we’re sorry, so sorry, we left you.”

Icebella hesitated, hovering over her throne, looking at Valanice with something unreadable in her expression—perhaps sorrow? But then she glanced toward Manny, and her eyes hardened again. “If what you say bears even a shred of truth,” she said sharply to the Daventry family, “then you have done me a disservice. You spoke not to me when I was...that other person, and I was lost, and I may blame my years of darkness and wandering upon you. Cat came out of the darkness, and Cat saved me, then, and I am Icebella, and shall remain so.”

The smug grin on the cat’s face made Gwydion bristle, made him angry. Alexander had once been angry enough once to teach himself magic, to take his fate back into his own hands, to turn his fear into determination, and to escape.

And he would do it again.

“Your castle moves,” he said. Both Graham and Valanice turned and stared at him, and he stammered nervously, but he had to speak. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say, if he could help or hurt, and none of this was considered, but he had to speak.

“Your castle moves,” he repeated, “but do you ever feel like you have a home? Or do you always feel lost, even now, as Icebella?”

Icebella’s gaze was haughty and angry and he cowered beneath her authority. But he rose again, feeling the heat of the magic he’d taken for himself in his chest. “I always feel lost,” he told her. “I lost my name, too. I lost my identity and my purpose, and I was given another one, one that I didn’t want by someone who didn’t love me, and I walked away from it, and I’ve been wandering, looking for a place that could be mine, a name that I could have.”

“You do not understand loss,” Icebella said, and her voice was colder than the deepest ice cave.

“I lost my home,” Alexander countered. “I lost my family. I lost everything. I wasn’t anyone. But here, in Daventry, I’ve seen people who know where they belong. The bakers, the blacksmith, the knights, the guards, everyone. They live here, and they build stories here, and this is their home. They know their names, and who they are, and they’ve all been trying to help me learn a name I could take for myself. They look frightened when they remember I was once Gwydion, and they want to call me Prince Alexander. But I think I’m just Alexander. I think that’s my name. And I think I’ve found a place where I could overwrite my loss. A place that welcomes travelers, that tells stories, that is sunny and warm even when it’s snowy and cold.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Manannan said. “Shut up, Gwydion, the adults are talking.”

“No, I won’t. I’m Alexander, and this is my home, and I don’t want it to be cold and heartless like you’d want it to be. This kingdom is full of life, and I will protect it in any way I can.”

He looked at his father. “I learned something,” he said, and he was worried and quiet again, like he was taking something from Graham that he didn’t feel he’d earned. “It didn’t help me at first, because I didn’t really understand the point of it, even with all the stories. But it’s a salute that you can do to center yourself, to feel brave when you don’t want to be, to be compassionate when you’re upset, to be wise when you feel confused.” He gave an Achaka salute, thumping his fist into his open palm. “It’s to remind you that you aren’t alone,” he said. “That there are people who will always support you and care for you if you look. People who will tell stories with you and help you belong.”

“This is drivel,” Manannan said. “This whole family is a waste of air.”

“But you admit that he’s part of our family,” Graham said, his voice almost as hollow as Icebella’s now, crackling out. “This kingdom has opened its arms to him and taught him our stories and let him become part of us. If he wants.”

“And I think I do want that,” Alexander said, and he stood tall. “I think that’s what’s important to me. The stories they tell here always show what matters to them. What’s important to them. What’s important to you, Icebella? What was stolen from you? Was it a name? Was it a home? Was it a family? What do you want back? And did Manannan—that cat—give it to you? Has he ever even given you a choice?”

She didn’t have an answer to that.

“This is all very sweet,” Manny said, his tail thumping on the throne, voice oozing disinterest. “But I just don’t see the point of any of this. I’ve still won this game. I’ve captured the entire Daventry family”—he spat the word with disgust—”from the king and queen to the lowly castle guards, and I can dispose of them whenever I see fit.

“Gwydion, you claim this place as your home, fine. It won’t matter, because it’s going to belong to me now, since the king is in-deposed. But first I’m going to ask very politely, very pointedly, for you to lift this curse, and we can be as pointed as we must for as long as we must until I get what I want.” His tail thumped again in emphasis. “I’ve won, and all of this is pointless, pandering, meandering tripe. I have ice guards. I have goblins. I have the queen herself. I always get what I want.”

“I wouldn’t be sure of that at all,” said Rosella.

~*~*~*~

Graham’s neck was starting to lock up now too, but he managed to turn just in time to see his daughter standing inside the throne room exchanging...yes, exchanging a high five with Royal Guard Number One. “An excellent riposte, Princess Rosella,” No1 told her.

Royal Guards Two, Three, Four, Kyle, and Larry were standing in a loose semicircle at their sides, swords drawn. And, crammed into every inch of space between the guards, vibrating with barely suppressed excitement, were rock goblins. The goblins were all colorfully decked out in every color of Acorn’s winter stock, scarves and hats and socks, and they were all bristly with picks and shovels. One or two of them had even managed to recover their regular spears. They were all, to a goblin, glaring at the ice guards. Except for that old familiar forward curl goblin—it graciously tipped its snowcap at Graham.

The room hummed with anticipation, both sides carefully observing the other. Number One especially seemed to be running calculations and expectations: his head never stopped moving, checking every angle while he stood otherwise perfectly poised. There was a breathless pause, and in that pause, Icebella stood, furious about this unexpected intrusion to her audience.

“Guards!” Icebella said, flinging her hand out in command, “to the dais! Protect my royal self and my guest Valanice from these ruffians!”

But the ice guards hesitated for a fraction of an instant, looking to the cat for true instruction, and that was plenty of time for Manny to smoothly intervene. “That seems like an unnecessary waste of resources. I have a better idea. I have no need for this charade anymore, no need for you, my dear—everything I want is right here and I will take it. Guards! Kill Icebella, and take Graham and Gwydion alive. Kill the rest, and the goblins. I won’t need them anymore, not once I’m free of this curse. My magic will be enough.”

Icebella whirled, skirts twisting around her, to stare at the cat sitting in her throne, but ice guards stepped between them, protecting the smug wizard, and she stumbled backward, hands raised not in command but imploringly now, startled and afraid of her own creations. Of her once-upon-a-time friend.

“Goblins,” No1 snapped, drawing his own sword, “defend the royal family!”

“Including the ice queen!” Alexander yelled.

“Really? Very well. Including the ice queen,” No1 amended. He raised his arm, and the goblins streamed around him, whooping and laughing.

The ice guards lining the walls had drawn their own swords. Some took defensive stances, but many of them sprinted forward to fill Manny’s order. They were immediately driven back: there were too many goblins and a crew of very annoyed and very determined royal guards. The ice guard standing near Graham did grab its opportunity. Specifically, it grabbed the king and yanked him off balance, drawing him close and pinning his arms behind his back. His stiff shoulder bent awkwardly. Graham yelped, sure his ice arm was probably going to snap in half considering how many people kept pulling on it.

But forward curl goblin knocked the ice guard out by the knees, swinging its shovel hard enough for the ice to splinter. Graham staggered forward as the ice shattered around him, pieces glittering like dust motes. The goblin gave him some sort of complicated gesture that was probably meant to be reassuring but instead looked rather menacing before scampering off to take down someone else. No1 stepped up beside Graham in its place, sword raised to defend, giving his king a determined nod. Graham returned the nod, clutching his aching ice arm with his good hand.

Around them, chaos reigned, goblins wailing and gleefully attacking their hated bosses, royal guards hacking left and right, ice cracking beneath their swords. The ice guards were fighting back, their icicle blades scraping and tearing winter wear but unable to penetrate rock goblin armor or Crimson Colada platemail, making the fight a series of quickly timed events in favor of the Daventry team. When the Daventry team wasn’t caught unawares or desperately outnumbered, they were quite good at their jobs.

One enterprising goblin managed to tug a frozen tapestry from the wall and went sailing through the air, clutching it like it was a vine and warbling a war cry, its little stocking’d feet slamming into an ice guard. Another pair had gone for the Kyle and Larry route, one charging in with another on its shoulders, both deadly at short range, while the real Kyle and Larry did the exact same thing a few feet away. Still others just went for the general bashing and tackling and pouncing methods. Graham remembered being on the wrong end of those pounces and winced in sympathy.

Near the dais, Icebella drove her attackers back as best she could with her ice magic, but the sheer number of guards that had been close when the fighting began would have overwhelmed her in moments had she been alone. But she wasn’t alone, not now. No2 and a pack of goblins leapt to her side, shouting and slashing and kicking and, at least in the case of one or two goblins, biting. No2 didn’t bite anyone, though he may have considered it. Nearby, Numbers Three and Four and their own small group of goblins stood guard over Valanice. The Queen of Daventry was still dizzy, and she clung to her chair watching everything unfold in silence. Her gaze never left Graham, not once, not even when No3 desperately struck with her sword and took off the arm of an ice guard reaching for Valanice.

The outcry and laughter and mayhem echoed around the throne room, but all told, the fight lasted not much longer than a few minutes. The scuffle had kicked up frost motes, which settled after a moment, revealing goblins sitting on, lounging against, and generally mocking the ice guards, all of which were broken or helpless under their new captors’ hands. On the dais, Icebella, safely ringed in by a handful of determined goblins, stood glaring at one very guilty looking black cat. Manny’s ears and tail drooped, and he seemed very small, all his plans quite suddenly cracked like shallow ice.

“Cat,” Icebella said, sharp and cold. “I do not wish you to be part of my court any longer. Get out.”

“I think that might be for the best,” Manny agreed. He jumped out of the throne and started sheepishly creeping away, until one of the goblins, who had clearly been in this room before and seen this sort of thing happen already, pushed aside a curtain, grabbed a lever, yanked, and opened the floor up beneath the cat’s paws.

“Oh, zards.” And Manny disappeared down the slide. It slammed back into place behind him, silencing his startled cry.

Valanice stumbled off the dais, pushing aside her goblin guard, and ran to Graham. She was still off kilter from whatever they had done to her earlier, and she stumbled, and she fell into him, hugging him tightly. He tried to lift his arm to hug her back properly, but it was completely dead now. Everything was locking up. His vision was blurring, and everything was so cold. Her breath on his icy cheek was warm and nice, but it did not melt anything. She tearfully kissed him, like that could break the curse, like a story would have it, but nothing happened, and Graham’s body was simply giving up. Rosella and Alexander and his guards stood around him, and Valanice flung an imploring look back toward Icebella.

“Please,” she begged. “He’s freezing to death. Please, can’t you help?”

The ice queen stood alone, in front of her ostentatious throne and her frozen tapestries and her snowy carpet and her broken ice guards, and her imperious stance seemed to be diminished. She looked anxious, and confused, and she was shivering. “I don’t know how, Valanice,” she said, and her voice was softer, gentle and sorrowful. “I’ve never known how. If I could have lifted my own curse, I would have. But I couldn’t. I can’t help. I’m sorry.”

“But I...I might be able to help,” Alexander said.

Valanice stepped back. Graham could feel her absence, could feel the cold rushing over him without her, could barely breathe now. He realized his heart had been slowing down, choked by ice, and the lethargy was almost overwhelming, but his knees had locked into place so at least falling wasn’t a concern.

Alexander continued, “This is a curse. It’s greasy, and sticky, and dark. You don’t stop a curse. You break it. Icebella isn’t the origin of the curse. It’s the castle. It moves, it never settles, it’s always looking for a place to belong, right? It’s stealing everything it can to make itself strong. All the buildings in the courtyard, all the people in the labyrinth, and you, Dad. It’s always traveling, always searching, and always taking, and it’s never satisfied. But, Dad, you know exactly where you belong. You belong here, in Daventry. And I think that’s the answer to this, what will break it.

“I’m new at magic,” Alexander admitted. “And it seems to work best if I can use something extra to give it strength. Either my own emotions, or…or I think music might focus it, if it has meaning. And this one…I think it means a lot to you, and to me, and it might be a way to show the curse belonging. I hope.”

Alexander started humming a familiar song. An old lullaby. A song Graham once sang over a cradle minutes before Manannan burst in, stole his son, ruined their lives.

Graham would have stumbled backward in surprise if he could. “You remember your lullaby,” he said, and his voice was as hollow as an ice cave.

“I didn’t remember the words,” Alexander said. “When you spoke them, earlier, they were just words. They didn’t mean anything to me. But...but they fit the melody I remembered. Something soft, this old song that I could rely on when I...when I was upset. I used to hum it at night, when my chores were done. When I felt lost. But I remember them together now. The music and the words together.”

His voice was quavery, and small, and it didn’t seem to have any power to it, but he willingly hugged his father for the first time, and he sang the words gently, and Graham sang with him, stuttering and broken, his voice locking up with ice and fading away, until Valanice let her voice join theirs, and Rosella joined the embrace, and they were warm and gentle and strong together. And Alexander had a warmth to him, some deep spell he was drawing on, some magic he had stolen and turned to his own purposes, the same way he’d melted a hole in the tunnel, a power of his own devising. It was almost too hot, this brilliant shimmering intellect and care and ability, and he channeled it with the music, focused it, and….

Graham’s knees melted, buckled beneath him and he went down in a heap, and his whole family reached out and caught him, and everything was different and everything had changed, and the cold had left him, and he grabbed hold of his son, keeping him squeezed tight in the embrace, and Alexander let him without any complaint, and Graham breathed freely again, and he stared at his hand over his son’s shoulder, flexing his fingers in wonder.

And they stayed like that for a long time, royal guards standing by watching and waiting and protecting, until Graham could finally stand again, smiling.

At least he was smiling until he realized he was also being hugged around the leg by two goblins. They tilted their heads to look up at him, apparently grinning beneath their helmets. The rest of the goblins were staring, too, long fingers flexing on their picks and shovels.

“Rosella, Number One, what did you do?”

“Funny story,” Rosella said brightly. “So, like, under the castle, there were these goblins, and they were building the snow storm, and I didn’t want that, and I...” she frowned, and looked to No2. “I’m telling this badly again,” she complained.

“I think I know a better way to tell the story,” No2 agreed. “Who wants to do a reenactment play!” he called over the goblins, and every single one of them raised their hands eagerly.

No1 groaned. “I will not,” he said.

“Then I’ll play you, that sounds neat, and...that charming looking goblin right over there can be me. Rosella, do you want to be yourself, or maybe an ice guard?”

“Definitely an ice guard.”

“Okay, then I need someone to play Rosella. Hands up again, who wants to be a princess?”

The story, as it worked out, was like this:

One lone goblin, after being abused by the ice guards one too many times, was having a very hard time, hiding behind an ice cart used as a component to generate the perpetual blizzard that powered the castle, helped it move, gave it fuel, gave it strength. Rosella called out to the goblin, tempting it, by whispering, “Once upon a time, there was a very brave little goblin.”

The little fellow had jammed its helmet back on and followed the story like a trail of bread crumbs, until it found itself surrounded by Daventry Royal Guards and its princess a good distance up the tunnel from its companions. It shrieked, and it would have turned and fled, but Kyle and Larry had jumped it and held it, and Rosella said, “Don’t you want to be a brave goblin like the one in the story?”

And that had made it pause, just for a second, just long enough for Rosella to tell another story about a little goblin who was sick of doing everyone else’s chores, and who got all his friends together, and when they were together, they were very strong indeed, and could throw off their tormenters and make the terrible people do all the chores instead. Which the goblin liked very much, it being both rather violent and promising that it wouldn’t have to do any more chores. And also, the story ended with the goblin getting to go home and enjoy the warmth of a dark, damp cave, surrounded by its glowing mushrooms, content and happy.

The goblin had slipped back into the mines, with Rosella and the royal guards watching anxiously after it in case it decided to betray them after all and turn them into the ice guards for the promise of some time off. But it did as they’d suggested, sneaking up goblin by goblin, whispering the plan, and then those two goblins spread out from there, whispering to another two, until suddenly the whole mining operation was giving the ice guards shifty glances and the little goblin gave Rosella a sly thumbs up, and Royal Guard Number One had pulled out his sword and they’d all gone charging in. The ice guards had spun around, ready to fight the royal guards…but they hadn’t been expecting to have to fight their goblin charges, too.

It had been quick work from there on, whispers of Rosella’s story passing from goblin to goblin to goblin, until all the ice furnaces grew still, and all the ice guards were dispatched, and the new and improved team of Daventry could move on and help their king.

The story was told with rather extravagant and overblown gestures, goblins pouncing and leaping and taking each other down to replicate the tale No2 was narrating, having an especially good time telling about the attack, and at the end they all took a ragged bow, out of breath and tired and very, very happy for the first time in what must have been ages.

Graham, Valanice, and Alexander applauded. And then a fourth person started clapping, too.

Icebella had retaken her throne and was watching the story with rapt delight on her normally stern features. She was smiling, her teeth like little ice chips. “That was delightful,” she told the goblins. “I did not know I had such talented people working in my castle. You must have come with Cat, yes? You are much better company.”

“Ice…Vala…” Valanice bit her lip, unsure what to say.

“You may remember me as Valanice,” the ice queen said, and her face wasn’t nearly so dark now, “but I’m afraid I still do not. Your stories of who I was are kind, but I prefer Icebella. Even if it was a gift from Cat given in possessiveness, it was still a gift, and one I have become accustomed to. I should like Icebella, please.”

“Icebella,” Valanice repeated. “Icebella, I’m sorry. I can make every excuse I want, but in the end, you’ve still been hurt by us. We never reached out to you as friends should have, and I’m sorry. Perhaps we can do something for you now? My son…”

But Alexander was shaking his head. “Mom, I can’t. It’s a stable curse. I don’t know how to lift it now it’s been in place for so long. I think only the person who cast it can lift it at this point. I don’t even know who that would be.”

“Hagatha,” Graham said. “I think it was Hagatha. I don’t think she meant to hurt you, Icebella, but. I think her curse spread from this tower to you. I’m sorry, but we don’t know where she is, or if she’s even still alive.”

“I do not mind,” Icebella said, though there was a hollowness to her voice that betrayed her sorrow. She twirled her fingers, and a rose, clear as glass, formed from ice in her hand. “There are many things I can do this way, and I have been Icebella for longer than I can remember being anyone else. But…your story,” she said, looking at No2. “You indicated that my home is hurting yours. And so, I should depart this place, and quickly, so that your home may recover without me.”

Valanice looked stricken. “You can’t go,” she said. “Please, we’ve lost you for so long. Don’t leave us again. Don’t wander lost. You said you didn’t know yourself, before Icebella, and that darkness sounds frightening and lonely. Please. Don’t let that happen again.”

Icebella looked at her ice rose, and crumpled it in her hand. “You cast me away before,” she said, though she bore no hatred in her voice now.

“We were young and silly and in love and these are pointless excuses,” Valanice insisted. “You can’t leave, not when we’ve found you again.”

No1 muttered, in a stage whisper that nevertheless carried around the room, “But the castle needs to leave.”

Valanice nodded sharply. “Then, let’s take the castle away, and return to Daventry after it is safely hidden somewhere, up high in the mountains where it can’t hurt anyone anymore. It is as my Alexander said: this kingdom is a place of stories, where we welcome travelers. It doesn’t have to be your home, unless you want it to be, but you won’t know unless you try it. Daventry castle is enormous. We have a place for you even temporarily. If you don’t have a destination, at least stop with us for a little while to decide. I’ll stay with you into the mountains, and we’ll travel back together.”

“Valanice,” Graham said, warningly.

“No, shush, Graham. It’s a girls’ night and you’re not invited.”

Graham stepped toward her, wobbled on his freshly healed leg, and almost fell over. She caught him and they leaned against each other, and he whispered in her ear, “She did try to kill us. She doesn’t remember her past. Is this fully thought through?”

“It’s Valanice, and you know it, and this has all been Manannan’s fault, as per usual,” she said back. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing. This isn’t some plan for martyrdom, this isn’t some silly rescue that only I can do. But I’m not going to let anyone, especially not a friend we’ve already lost once, go wandering alone in the world with no one she can call on. Not again.”

Graham considered, then nodded. There was relief there, a keen desire to see his dear friend content and happy again. “Okay. But you’ve got to take some royal guards with you.”

“I’ll take Number Three with us, if she agrees.” And she pulled the guard’s arm.

“Agrees to?” No3 asked, warily.

“Girls’ night,” Valanice grinned. “Or, rather, girls’ couple weeks while we take this castle up to the snowy mountains and leave it there and come back.” She looked up at Icebella. “Of course. This is all if you want to do so, Icebella,” she said. “I’m sorry that Manny thought he could own you. I won’t do that to you. If you do want to leave, we shall step aside and let you. In the end, every choice should be yours.”

Icebella looked at her broken rose, at the stem splintered in half and the shards glittering in the light.

“I am a queen,” she said, “of nothing. Of one tower. Of some ice guards. And that’s all. I think in my travels I have hurt people. Stolen people. Even though I don’t think I meant to do it, the curse on this tower absorbs and encompasses and consumes everything. It all seems fuzzy without Cat telling me what to do. But I think…I think I would like to rest, for at least a short time, and your young man’s tale of Daventry makes it seem…like a warm place to do that. May I please rest with you?”

“For as long as you want, my dear friend.”

~*~*~*~

The sun was shining both outside and inside Daventry castle.

Outside: that was perfectly normal. It was the beginning of spring. The snow was melting away, and if you knew where to look, little green sprouts were resolutely starting to poke out of the earth.

Inside: well, that was perfectly normal, too. With the warmer weather came the opening of the tapestries, the huge windows letting sparkling sunlight pour into the castle, making dust motes glitter. But, now, the place shimmered in a way it hadn’t before. It helped that Icebella had created a large number of small ice diamonds, stringing them in every window—their unmelting magic caught the sunlight as it passed through them, splintering each beam into dozens of flickering rainbows.

But it was more than just the passing of the season.

The whole castle felt the change. It was brighter and warmer here, the King and Queen no longer lost and afraid and lonely. The royal guards had more of a bounce in their step, less wary of what might be around the next corner. The townsfolk felt it, too, energized to create more and share more as they realized how curious and excited for life the two newest, recently rescued, members of the castle were.

Graham and Valanice walked through the courtyard, hand in hand, feeling the warmth of the sun. Rosella sat on the balcony above them, glaring at the Duel of Wits board game spread out on the table in front of her and wondering how she’d lost to Alexander yet again. Maybe if she tried moving her pieces like this she wouldn’t lose as often. She couldn’t wait for him to get back so she could try it out.

Alexander had taken Icebella on a stroll through the forest, like his father had done for him. He had so many things he wanted to show her, and now that the snow was disappearing, he wanted to take her to the little overlook that showed off the entire valley, so they both could see what it looked like in the new season. And they could return the next season after that and see the changes in their home. Because it was their home, their place, that had welcomed them. They might both move on, someday, as was their right and ability, but for now, they had both found a place they belonged. And that was all they needed.

For now.

~*~*~*~

The sun had set, but the lanterns had been lit. Little pools of glowing warmth dotted the garden, and night insects chirped. Gart was sitting in the garden on a bench, knees drawn up to his chest, looking very young in the torchlight. His arms were wrapped tight around his legs, and he was staring at the floor. There was a crumpled letter next to him, pinned into place by a rock so it couldn’t blow away.

Gwendolyn took a deep breath. She thought of the stories, of how brave everyone had been, how they had learned so much about identity and home, and she walked into the garden. As she walked, the grass broke beneath her feet, and the warm sweet scent of life surrounded her. The bushes were in bloom, too, filling the air with soft fragrance. Even this late at night, she thought she could hear the distant sound of some passing minstrel with a lute strumming his way along the forest paths, reveling in the safety of the country.

She loved it here. She loved Daventry. It wasn’t her home, not like Green Isles were, but she still had a right to share it with Gart, even for a little while.

But when he looked up at her approach, she saw he’d been crying, and she saw the letter at his side was tearstained, and it looked like he’d crumpled it and opened it and crumpled it and opened it again, smearing the handwritten note that, even from here, Gwendolyn could tell was Grandpa’s handwriting, his signature. Some official looking addendum, with his signet ring’s crest stamped into the wax near the bottom of the page.

“Gwendolyn,” Gart said, his voice thick, “I’ve been a beast, and I’m sorry. I know I’ve been a perfect brute to you lately. It wasn’t fair. You’re still just a child, after all.”

“You’re just a kid too, y’know,” Gwendolyn said, and she tried to smile at him, to make him smile with her like Grandpa would with her, but his gaze dropped to the ground again. “What’s going on? Is it because of…what you said? It…it wasn’t nice.”

“And I’m sorry,” Gart said, and buried his face in his arms. Muffled: “I shouldn’t have said those things. I knew they were wrong. They weren’t what a king should say.”

“First off, I forgive you, honest. Second off, you aren’t a king yet,” Gwendolyn said. “You don’t have to get things right all the time. At least, not right away.”

“I might never be a king,” he said. “Not…not with you here.”

“Gart, you just apologized. Don’t start it again.”

“It’s not that.” He nodded toward the paper, without looking at her or unfolding himself.

Gwendolyn reached down, picked up the letter, and scanned. “This is an addendum about…” she paused, struggling with the level of official legalese the council expected addendums to have. “Oh. This…this says…that the crown of Daventry’s tradition should be reinstated like Edward had it, allowing the crown to pass to any person the king chooses, not just the first male heir in the existing line. Does…that means that I could…?” A sudden image of Grandpa’s crown on her head as she stood in front of the magic mirror flashed before her eyes, and she almost staggered.

“It’s not that,” Gart said, sniffling. “I mean, that’s why I said those things to you, why I wanted you to leave. I was scared of it. But. Read the rest, too.”

And she did. And she dropped the letter, and she sank next to her cousin, and the two turned into each other and pulled each close, because King Graham had written of his illness, what was keeping him bedridden, and his rapid decline, and his imminent death, and the changes that he foresaw coming to Daventry.

But that story was yet to happen.

[frankchurchillsaysrelax]

Malex week day four: free day

Missed opportunities are woven in the tight stitches of an unworn sweatshirt buried in the back of a drawer; the black unfaded, the red just as bright as the future once looked, a tangible reminder of what might have been, kept out of sight but close enough to remember because forgetting means repeating. 

“Guerin! Mail for ya.” 

Michael sets down the wrench he’d been using to fix Mrs. Valenti’s’ car and chases Sanders’ voice into the front office. The old man had let him use the auto shop’s address for the last couple of years to keep greedy foster parents’ hands off his stuff. 

The thick white envelope with the UNM emblem in the corner stares at him harshly from the counter. Rejections don’t come in thick envelopes, everyone knows this, but with his luck, he wouldn’t discount the possibility.

“It’s not gonna bite ya kid.” Sanders’ gruff words spring him into action and with one tear he’s holding the thick, cream-colored paper bearing his future in his grease streaked hands.

Dear Mr. Guerin,

I am pleased to inform you,

A large white paper bag lands on the counter startling Michael from his reading. Sanders just grunts when Michael looks to him expectantly. Wiping his hands on a spare rag he opens the bag and tips its contents out. The sweatshirt is soft. Cherry red letters matching those on the front of the envelope stare up at him. 

“How did you know I’d get in?” Michael asks in wonder. This is the first brand new piece of clothing anyone but Isobel has given him. He wishes his hands were cleaner, worthier, to be handling something so precious.

Sanders grunts again as he heads back to sit at his desk. “You’re too smart for such stupid questions.” 

Michael laughs, bright and happy, running the fabric between his fingers one more time before placing the hoodie back in the bag and heading back to work, eager to finish so he can share his news with Max and Isobel.

-:-

Hope grows and dies between each breath easily matched to his. One heartbeat, steady and sure, promises to stay while the next races with the threat of running; the back and forth more dizzying than any kiss or touch could inspire. 

Michael wakes the morning after Alex tells him he’s enlisted to find the space beside him cold and empty. He brushes the abandonment off as he does most things, rising to get ready for the day ahead of him. 

He’s distracted all day, trying to convince himself he hadn’t imagined the night before. He keeps his head down, does his job, but each car pulling onto the lot sounds like his. Every hour that passes brings him closer to a night where he doesn’t know what to expect. 

And then he’s there. 

Michael is laying in the bed of his truck parked at Foster’s Ranch where he’s taken to spending his nights watching the stars. Alex doesn’t say anything as he climbs over the tailgate and into Michael’s lap. He doesn’t say anything except in the language they’ve perfected over the past few months, lips meeting over and over again until Michael forgets why he was worried in the first place. Together they write a record that will loop for years to come. 

-:-

Regret lives in a bar tab that often exceeds the bank account meant to cover it. A loathsome feeling that stings more than the broken skin of knuckles not yet healed from the last attempt at distraction. Fighting is all there is when you can’t dig your way out of drowning.

The newly printed license hits the bar a second after his ass hits the stool.

“A beer please, Deluca.” Michael takes the hat off his head, his right hand running through his flattened curls. He keeps his gaze on anything besides the woman behind the bar, unable as usual to look anyone close to Rosa in the eye. 

“Nice try, Guerin, but we went to school together remember?” Maria slides the plastic card back toward him without even looking. “I know you’re not old enough, so get out before I call Sherriff Valenti.” 

“Not according to the state of New Mexico.” He slides it back, smirk fixed to his face as she finally picks it up. One perk of not remembering the first part of your life is they get to guess your age. “As of yesterday, I am officially twenty-one, so again, one beer please.”

Maria takes the card, scrutinizing it shrewdly. Michael would be offended if he didn’t have two fake IDs burning a hole in his glove compartment. After holding the card up to the light and bending the edges, Maria tosses it back to him and goes to grab him a beer. Michael hands over a couple of wadded up bills as soon as she sets the bottle in front of him. 

“Better get used to me Deluca,” he says, mouth pressed against the cold glass lip. “I think you’ll be seeing a lot of me around here.”

-:-

Old fears are found between every sharp word, every sarcastic comment, every spiteful barb used to build defenses around a heart laid open, the beating organ exposed to the world, abandoned halfway through being taken. Then one day the hands you’d offered it to return to finish the job, cutting through your barricades like paper.

“And you’re still so good at giving them to me.”

He watches Alex leave not for the first time but possibly the last. Like two celestial bodies orbiting each other, they always find their way back to this thing they have. It may take time but it’s inevitable. 

Something feels different this time like the world’s been knocked off its axis; like their paths have diverged irreparably and things are never going to be the same again.

“Michael? What’s wrong?” Isobel stands beside his truck, worry covering her still slightly pale face. “Are you still upset about earlier? I told you--”

“No, no Is,” he tries to reassure. He pushes off the back of his truck and steps closer. “You’re fine. I, uh, I think I get what you were saying earlier.” He glances back in the direction Alex had wandered off not too long before, his pathetic lovelorn heart shedding all attempts at self-preservation. “It’s not just a high school crush.”

Isobel looks surprised and a little confused. He can read the beginning of an interrogation in the raise of her eyebrow and moves quickly in distraction, opening the passenger door for her and offering her a ride home. 

-:-

Nostalgia rides on waves of vibrating frequencies bathing the world in their sound. Protests, screams, pleas for someone to listen, to give him a choice, to listen. It seeps into skin and bone, making dead nerves twitch to life until all goes silent. 

Max is dead. Max is dead and the last thought Michael had spared him was that he hated him for fixing his hand. Max is dead and it was his stupid god complex that made him so.

Michael wants to be angry, to say it serves him right. He wanted to play hero and apparently no one ever told him that the hero dies in the end. Or maybe they did. Maybe Max knew exactly what he was doing and just didn’t care about the rest of them. Max made his choice and left Michael to deal with the consequences.

He drops Isobel off at her house, listens when she tells him to leave even though he doesn’t want to, even though he needs her. He walks away from his best friend and her ghosts and tries to understand what comes next. He can’t go back to the Pony, back to quiet and peace and normalcy. Max took those with him when he died. 

After a quick stop at the liquor store, he winds up back at old Foster’s Ranch. He parks far enough from whatever the military is doing with his old spot and tries to draw strength from the stars. He lays in the back of his truck, the metal against his back still warm from the sun, and tries to block everything else out the way he did when he was a teenager sneaking onto this same land to get drunk and call out to whoever might be out there waiting for him. 

So much has changed. Max is dead. His mother was alive and then dead in the space of an hour. The dull ache in his hand is gone. The one constant in his life is gone, taken away as quickly as it came; Max’s hands doing the same damage as a hammer but leaving none of the pain.

Everything is changed but the anger is still there only twisted into something larger than himself, stronger and deeper like a monster that’s sunk its claws into his soul threatening to tear him to shreds. He appeases it with a long pull straight from the bottle.

His phone buzzes. He only checks it in the hope that it’s Isobel. It’s not.

Alex: I’m sorry I couldn’t wait longer this morning. Something came up.

The monster’s claws sink deeper. He can’t talk to Alex now, maybe not ever. Nothing is the same. He’s not the same person who promised to come back last night. 

Alex: I’m back at the airstream. Where are you?

Max is dead. His mother is dead. The pain in his hand is gone. Those truths are the only company he needs as he loses himself in booze and stars.