#this text was collecting dust in my notes for a month and i decided to post it

[felixbit]

i like it

pairing: hyunjin x gn!reader w. 2k genre: drama, a mix of fluff + angst summary: you've been in a situationship with hyunjin for almost six months. while he's taking you out, you decide it's time to make or break what you have with the goal of becoming official. warnings: none a/n: i was in a writer's block for like two months, but the album seems to have broken it?? stream ate for good luck (and there will likely not be a part 2 to this)

Six months of back and forth has been driving you crazy.

You'd met a guy that changed your life. He was everything you'd ever wanted: gorgeous, talented, somewhat wealthy, and a kind soul. He was passionate, driven, and everything else that made you want to be his. This was Hyunjin.

The only problem was: Hyunjin struggled with commitment.

He'd take you out on fancy dinners, dates, drop a grand on a shopping trip, but couldn't bring himself to make it official. He sent you flowers, good morning texts, random food orders to your place whenever you mentioned you were hungry over text. But it was 'casual'.

You decided to play his game, give him time to open up. You'd learned that he'd been in a long-term yet rocky relationship that had only ended three months before you met. Of course you wanted to give him time to heal. You wanted him to come to you when he was ready.

He never did. He'd spend all day in your apartment, taking a day off work just to see you. He'd hold you and kiss you until the sun fell and rose again. You would wake up to breakfast in bed served with a side of kisses and little love notes. But, he was instantly avoidant when it came to you asking if he was ready.

So, you were in a weird relationship purgatory. He'd give you everything but a title in his life, and that's all you ever needed with him. The internet seemed to deem it a 'situationship', but it was another label that Hyunjin would likely avoid.

The thought was eating you up inside. Three weeks ago, you drafted up an ultimatum confrontation text to send him. It turned to collecting dust whenever you pasted it into messages and immediately deleted it. Hyunjin was amazing, even with his faults. Could you stand to lose him over wanting to be his?

You sat on the couch that Hyunjin had bought you two months ago, plagued with thoughts about him all morning. He'd been busy almost the entire week, which would throw a wrench into any potential plans. His work was demanding at times and you knew how committed he was to it.

When you finished making breakfast, you ate it while listening to a playlist Hyunjin had sent. He had a good ear for music, especially picking out songs you'd like. He'd started a habit of making you a playlist at the start of every month and you'd listen religiously.

Just as you were finishing up, your phone vibrate and fished it from your pocket. Looking down at the screen, your heart skipped a beat and a smile immediately rushed onto your face.

hyunjin: good morning!!

This was everyday routine. If you didn't wake up to a classic 'good morning' text, you'd get one before the clock ticked over to PM. Sometimes he'd admit he forgot to right when he woke up, but he was pretty good at staying consistent on his timing.

y/n: good morning hyunjinnie :)

That damn nickname. You'd called him a plethora of nicknames since you first started seeing each other, and it was making it infinitely harder to find it casual. The worst part was that he liked them. He encouraged you to use more.

hyunjin: sleep well? y/n: i did, just ate some breakfast hyunjin: yum! y/n: how's your morning been so far hyunjin: perfect now that i'm talking to you

Seeing that text made your heart tug and caused a small outburst on a nearby pillow. It didn't deserve to be hit so many times, but you couldn't contain the cuteness aggression. Also, a little bit of frustration.

y/n: stop itttt!!! making me blush hyunjin: that's my charm y/n: your charm is looking like a cute ferret hyunjin: oh yeah?

Just as you sent the message, you scrolled through your phone for a few photos you had saved of ferrets the night before. Selecting a few and pressing send, the two of you delved into a discussion on his ferret-like looks.

Turns out, he could carry a conversation talking about what animals you both looked like the most for longer than expected. By the time you realized how long you'd been at it, it had almost been half an hour.

y/n: wait. aren't you supposed to be at work by now?? not texting me about ferrets hyunjin: oh yeah, about that hyunjin: i took today off, was thinking we could spend some time together and go out

This was strange, to say the least. Hyunjin was normally quite engrossed in making sure his work was finished. A few months back, you had to convince him to call out of work when he had a high fever and could hardly stand up from his bed.

y/n: what's gotten into you so suddenly hyunjin: what do you mean? y/n: you? hwang hyunjin? calling out of work for me? hyunjin: well of course, why wouldn't i y/n: idk

It took a few tries of writing out variants of 'you're not my boyfriend' before settling on the text you sent. Such official behaviors by a man so scared of labels drove you mad. It was almost perfect, almost.

hyunjin: talk to me y/n: later, okay? hyunjin: how about when i take you out then? y/n: sure

Being so bland over text made a pain swell up in your chest. You wanted to be open and honest with him, but pushing him past his limits had grown to be a massive fear in your mind. The harder part would be figuring out what to say.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to tell him. You'd found Hyunjin to be one of the most understanding people to walk to earth. The last time you'd pushed at all for labels was almost three months ago and you'd given up since.

What was there to say, anyways? 'I want you to be my boyfriend or I'll explode'? It was certainly accurate to how your mind had made it seem. The idea of being exclusive with Hyunjin was exhilarating but terrifying.

hyunjin: can i come get you in an hour? y/n: yes

You turned your phone off and set it face-down, sighing and looking at the ceiling. The uncertainty was building, but you had made a decision: it was time to ask. You couldn't keep dancing around the issue. You had serious feelings for him.

So, you kept checking the time as it grew closer and closer to when Hyunjin would come get you. With thirty minutes left, you were already dressed and finishing getting ready. Your heart raced at the thought of him.

The minutes dragged on, but the time finally came. Feeling a ringing buzz in your pocket, you saw his name and picked up the phone.

"Hello?" His voice came from the other end of the line.

You slightly smiled at the sound of him, but responded. "Hey. Are you outside?"

"Yeah, you can come down now, if you're ready."

"Alright, I'll see you in a minute."

Hanging up the call, you composed yourself to the best of your ability and headed down towards him. The wait as you took the elevator was tense, but the second you stepped out of the building and saw him everything else fell away.

Every time you saw him, it was like the first time all over again. His long, black hair and defined features had your heart in a twist. You approached him with a smile on your face, and one matching on his own. He pulled you into a tight hug, smelling his perfume.

"Hey," He said, his voice muffled into your shirt, "How's your day been?"

You pulled away and smiled at him, taking his hand in your own, "I've been okay, missing you like I always do."

Hyunjin chuckled, reaching his free hand up and stroking your cheek softly. "I've missed you, too. That's really why I called out today."

"You missed me that much?"

"Of course."

Before you could bring anything else up, he was calling you over to his car. He had a cafe he planned on showing you, telling you a bit about it as he began to drive towards it. The whole way, you caught him sneaking glances over at you from the driver's seat.

When he pulled into the parking lot outside of the cafe, he opened your door for you and walked you inside, his fingers laced with yours. He read over the menu with you, pointing out a few things that sounded good to him and a few he thought you'd like.

You picked out an order and he was quick to get to the register, paying for both of you without a second thought. You found a table as he waited and brought you drinks, sitting down right opposite you.

"So," He said with a sigh as he took a sip of his drink, "I was worried about you this morning."

"Worried?" You looked at him slightly puzzled, "What would you have to be worried about?"

"You were just.. distant. I could tell when you suddenly texted differently, and I was scared I said something to upset you."

"Oh." You looked up from your drink at him, seeing the way his eyes gazed back fondly into yours. This was the opportunity, if there ever was any.

You took another long drink and took a breath to stabilize. "Hyunjin, I've been thinking about us. I guess I first have to ask you, what are we?"

Hyunjin frowned slightly and you watched his hands fidget on top of the table. "That's.. not an easy question to answer. You're an amazing person I like to be around all the time. That's all I know."

You felt your heartstrings pull. "Hyunjin, I want more than that. I'm done with just being someone you hang out with and buy all sorts of things. I really like being around you, and I really like you. But I can't keep pretending we're dating in my head when we aren't."

Hyunjin looked at you silently, his expression utterly unreadable. His eyes were slightly widened, and you could only see his uncertainty.

You continued, "I can't do this constant push-and-pull, Jinnie. I want to be yours, and if I can't be that then I need to move on and save my own feelings. I'm sorry."

With that, you set your own hands on the table across from his, looking at him. He sat for almost thirty seconds without speaking, looking down at the table and then back up at you.

"I.. don't really know what to say."

You held your breath, but he continued on after a second of silence. "I've been unfair to you, I know. With my last relationship, I had so many doubts and fears.. I was just so comfortable in having us. I didn't want to worry about labels.

"I never realized that's not really what you wanted. It's not your fault that I didn't. So, don't say sorry. I'm sorry. I can't lie and say it's not a bit scary to say, but I like you too. A lot. So much it made me stupid. So I'll be yours. If you'll have me."

You couldn't contain the smile that spread out onto your face, and his followed. He reached across the table and took your hand in his, and you couldn't help but feel like crying. "Hyunjin.."

"Please be mine. I swear, I'll be a better boyfriend than I was a weird situationship."

You nodded vigorously. "Of course I'll have you," You said through a choked-up laugh, "Do you know how many times I almost introduced you to my friends as my boyfriend?"

He grinned and shrugged. "Well, now you can! I just.. I wanted to take it slow, but I guess I didn't stop to ask you how you were feeling after we first decided that."

You stood up from the table and he did as well, pulling you into a tight hug. "Thank you for putting up with me," Hyunjin's voice shook slightly, "And letting me be your boyfriend."

You pulled away from the hug and nodded. "Thank you for understanding when I said something. And, you know, being my boyfriend."

Hyunjin snickered softly and pulled you into a kiss. Maybe it wasn't so bad, after all.

[beekeeperspicnic]

What I've been getting up to without my computer

Since I don't have any game updates at the moment I thought I'd give you a look at my very analogue Sherlock Holmes related project!

As you probably know, the Sherlock Holmes stories were mostly originally published in the Strand Magazine which came out as floppy monthly magazines with hardback collections every six months.

A while ago I spotted a really beaten up copy of the July to December 1893 book on eBay for £8. This book can sometimes go for £200 in good condition because it's the one with...

I immediately decided to make repairing it a Project!

You can see here that the text block has totally come away from the boards.

Along the spine I was really excited to see something a little familiar being used to give some structural support! My initial thought was that this had to be a slice of a cover of one of the floppy Strand magazines.

But when I got it loose and studied it, although the paper and ink colour is the same, it doesn't actually follow the layout format of the Strand covers. It's lots of little ads, and they run off the bottom like this is part of a larger document.

Scrap of paper on left, a Strand Magazine on the right:

So yeah, that's still a bit of a mystery, but it's cool to see this scrap of paper the printers had lying around. I had to remove it, but I'm going to keep it safe.

I did some gentle cleaning of the cover using a putty eraser, just gently pressing and rolling, never rubbing. It picked up a little of the grime.

The cover had got some paint splotches on at some point in the past, and I tried to gently remove these. Part of me wishes I'd left them as I think I was starting to effect the blue colour in the area.

(Original on the right, my attempt at cleaning on the left!)

I also reinforced some of the parts of the bookcloth around the spine that were very worn with Japanese tissue, which is very thin but very, very difficult to tear.

Now here's a fun part, with some help from my cat Miss Malkin!

The spine of the book had a few problems.

The fabric which wraps around it and helps attach it to the cover/boards which is called scrim (or mull, I've seen it called both!) had totally decayed and turned into gross dust, I knew I'd need to replace it.

Although the sewn binding was sound, I could tell that the glue wasn't doing its job anymore. It was old 'animal glue' that had turned hard and brittle. I knew I'd need to replace it with something else, like PVA.

I needed to get that glue off, so I tried out a trick I saw online. I made a paste/gel out of methycellulose, which is a substance that gets used as a thickener in lots of food products. Of course I keep mine in a fancy little jar:

The gel softens the old glue without getting it dangerously damp, allowing you to gently scrape it away. I have a really satisfying video of me doing it, but Tumblr only lets you upload one video per post, boo.

Look at all this gnarly gunk!

But look at how good the text block looks with its new scrim and glue!

I got the black paper from Shepherd's in London which is a specialist Art & Conservation Paper shop (they have a book bindery too but it's closed at the weekends.) Buying it was so fun, I got to look through lots of samples and pick something which matched the original paper.

I then had to get it home half way across the country on public transport. Yaaaaay.

I was trying to think what I was going to use to replace the Strand Magazine page on the spine. In the end I decided to leave a little note, for some future person who might take the binding apart someday!

So, here it is!

I have to admit that this whole project has been a real challenge, emotionally more than anything! It's required me to be brave about messing with an old book, and to acknowledge that even where I've made mistakes, at least it's better off then it was when It arrived at my house.

[rarepairnation]

3, 23, 24, 25, 27 and 30? 💕

hi hi ria!! blessings of rain be upon ye...

3. how you feel about your current wip

i am RATTLING the bars of the cage in my brain!!! by that i mean the faramir goes to rivendell au is possibly my favourite best thing ive ever written i am just stuck in the mudpit of the current conversation and i would like to. not be there. but i really do love working on it it feels like gradually assembling a structure around a framework and when i step back and really look at it its just. jrr tolkien and i are having A Conversation. you know? like yes!! i AM transforming the work!! i AM deciding whether he would fucking say that and i do think i am right at least 92% of the time!! ive had the concept of the au in my head for probably 3-4 years at least and i feel like. well i was never really going to feel Ready to write it. and yet i am grabbing it in my hands and doing it anyway and it IS making me a much better writer and i can Feel it. yeah i love it.

and umbar fic/situationship au is just me pushing the bounds of do it weird/do it horny/do it self-indulgent and it is. SO MUCH FUN. i think there has always been a little block in my head stopping me from doing that i mean like everything i write is kind of like. this is specifically created to cater to me. but the panopticon in my head is a crazy thing. but step by step we are defeating it. this is like the next step up from just so long as this thing's loaded which was kind of my first time pushing those bounds and. i mean there are a lot of things about that one that i think i could improve now (this is my REAL answer to that "would you rewrite anything" question from the other ask meme) but it definitely got me here. never underestimate the power of a rarepair to make you WEIRD. (<- abby rarepairnationcore sentences...)

23. pick three keywords that describe your writing

what is this a job application? LOL just kidding but i do suck at these. um. atmospheric. character-driven (yes this is two words but it is true). interrogative (i am IN THERE with. either the original text. or the minds of the characters. shakes u like a snow globe WHAT is going on in your head).

24. how do you recharge when you're not feeling creative?

im really bad at this. like actually spectacularly abysmal. i mostly sit around feeling sorry for myself for three to nine months. until i eventually buck up the motivation and executive function to actually (re)consume a piece of media and more often than not it will seize me by the throat and lead me out of the pit. yeah this does usually work best with things ive seen before that will awaken a dormant fixation.

25. besides writing, what are your other hobbies?

going to the grocery store. doing my dishes. LOL ok when i am Not Writing A Novel-Length Fic i knit. one day i will start doing it again i want to make. the extensive sweater vest collection of my dreams. but i already have this repetitive stress injury because i type for eight hours at work and then come home and type for four more and i think if i started knitting again on top of that i would immediately crumble to dust. and um. is that it? that can't be it. i do calligraphy sometimes. WAIT LOL I BIND BOOKS. -> @hexagonspress

27. your favourite part of the writing process

omg ok i'm not sure if this is like my Top Number One Favourite but ive recently started really enjoying drafting out ao3 tags and start/end notes it's really fun to work out what things i want people to notice that i might wanna talk about in the end notes and compressing everything down into tags (to varying extents) is also just a neat way to think about like. what was i trying to capture/convey with the fic. e.g. whether i wanna be really wordy with it and get it all out in there or just have the reader go in pretty much blind.

30. share a fic you're especially proud of

maybe i'll never shut up about TO THE VERY DEAR MEMORY OF [ ] but like...you guys. i love it so much. it's so so experimental because the place in my mind that is wrapped around yancy becket is so....complicated and full of grief and fundamentally altering to my brain chemistry and i can only capture it through the world's craziest extended metaphors but i kind of feel like i pulled it off. it is like truly the tip of the iceberg of a LOT of stuff that is really fundamental to honestly a lot of my? lotr work? i mean the way i think about water metaphors...the fundamental dead brother complex baked into my writer's brain...it's all pacific rim in there. this fic marinated in my head for THREE YEARS. that is the longest from inception to completion that any of my (published) work has existed (unpublished is a whole different story. there's a longfic that i created at the beginning of my freshman year of college and has stuck around into postgrad. i mean. girl). i wrote the poem that each first line of every section is extracted from in my parents' house during covid lockdown. and then it just had to sit and develop and develop until the yancy becket death anniversary this year yanked it forcibly out of my head and into a fully-formed format.

fic writer's asks

[yoshidatommy]

They usually didn’t wear street shoes at home, as cleaning the floors once again would be more expensive. So when Jason entered the kitchen in dirty boots, it couldn't help but raise eyebrows. But before Salim opened his mouth to complain about the footprints on the floor, Jason brazenly climbed onto the countertop. There were many questions and few answers. Jason did not smell like alcohol, and his eyes were normal - except, maybe, a naughty twinkle despite the face being calm.

Salim looked at his lover with annoyance.

- Firstly, I'm waiting for an explanation, and secondly, please take off your shoes.

Jason ignored both requests, but nodded at his feet. Okay.

Salim sighed and began to unlace his boots. Taking one off, he noticed that Jason was wearing socks with smiley faces. After removing the second one, he saw a heart-shaped sticker on the ankle.

Jason smiled with all his teeth and, pulling his lover closer, wrapped his legs around the latter's torso.

So, this performance was set just to seduce him?

“Oh Jason, Jason...” it was Salim's turn to smile. He said nothing more, because his mouth got occupied with the other man's tongue. Then everything went its own way, and only the socks remained on Jason during the whole thing.

[alexsoenomel]

Kiss The Girl (Joel Miller x Reader fluff)

Summary: A Friday night brought something sweet and unexpected. 

Warnings: reader is a smoker (because same), wine consumption, no use of (Y/N)

Word count: 1.7k

Note: I was indulging in my own scenarios and this happened. It is literally a self-insert fanfic about my favorite dilf because I needed comfort. Enjoy!

It would be a lie if you told yourself you didn't wish that he was your man. It would be a lie if you told your friends you didn't like anyone. There was someone – and that someone was living right across the street from you. That someone had a name – Joel. Joel Miller. His name would roll down your tongue like honey and would make your head turn every time someone would say it. His tall frame, broad shoulders, messy dark hair, and soft puppy-like eyes would make your eyes fixed on him and only him. There was something so captivating and hypnotizing about Joel getting into his truck every morning for work, you couldn't look away. You would sit on your porch, having your first cup of coffee in one hand, book in another, and with a cigarette between your lips, watching him between reading. Your roommates would usually sleep in, or be already on their way to the campus so mornings were perfect for processing your existence while also doing some reading in the morning sunlight.

The view was also nice; the view being soon to be a 35-year-old man with seemingly soft and kissable lips.

You would occasionally tutor his daughter, Sarah, mainly helping her with essays and assignments in English. Your heart would always beat a little bit faster whenever he would text you or call you to ask if you were available. Of course, even if you weren't available, you would clear your schedule because those few minutes of interaction with Joel were more important than whatever you planned to do that day. You knew you were desperate, but since no one knew how much, it was fine. His soft brown eyes scanning your delicate features and making your cheeks red were moments you would replay over and over again like a broken camera in your mind every night before bed, wondering if you had a chance with him. He didn't seem bothered by your presence like you were by his. He seemed to like chatting with you, listening to your every word but that wouldn't last long since he was always busy with something or had to go to work.

On a rainy Friday evening, your roommates decided to get completely smashed in the local club since finals week was over and you were finally free to breathe, but you were too tired and drained to join them. You were too tired to dance, too tired for small talk with random dudes who were desperate for sex, and too tired to be a designated driver, since your two friends liked to pretend to be Lords and chug alcohol like water.

You weren't tired of a cheap bottle of wine though, and a new book you bought a few months ago that has been collecting dust on the shelf above your bed. Also listening to the sound of rain pouring under the blanket in your favorite spot in the house that wasn't your bedroom

– the porch – was your way of having fun on that particular Friday night.

Since it was almost 10 pm, and your dimmed porch lights weren't enough, your little book lamp finally came in handy. You put a cigarette between your wine-stained lips, since cheap wine without nicotine wasn't wine, and lit it up. You inhaled the smoke, feeling the sour taste of alcohol slowly turn into an expensive Italian liquid gold – or so your taste buds thought it did. You were about to turn the page of your book when you heard the familiar sound of someone's truck. Joel Miller came back from work. You glanced at him across the street just as he was closing the door, inhaling another smoke, already feeling yourself getting nervous. Instead of staring and being a creep, you decided to focus on your book – if only you knew what happened in the previous line.

"Enjoying your Friday night?", you heard his voice from a distance.

You lifted your head to see your favorite dad approaching you. You swallowed nervously, taking a big sip from the wine bottle.

"Oh yeah," you said, wanting to sound proud. "How's work?"

"Same ol' same ol'," he answered you.

"Care to join?" You asked giving him the wine bottle. "Finals week is over and I'm celebrating."

You noticed through dimmed lights a small half smile on Joel's tired face. He took a bottle and sat on the chair next to you. "Was it successful?"

"Yeah, passed everything with overall good grades."

"Good girl."

Good girl.

You could feel your palms and legs under the blanket getting cold as your heart started running a damn marathon. His husky voice was smooth like a fine glass of old whiskey, and you were getting intoxicated. You took another smoke, before putting out the cigarette on the ashtray.

"Y'know that ain't healthy?" His eyes glanced at the ashtray before looking back at you.

You were in the process of lighting another cigarette. When nervous, you would become a chain smoker.

"My vice, I guess."

Joel took another sip of wine as you inhaled the smoke into the air. "What's yours, Joel?"

"My vice? I would rather not."

You knew he didn't like to share personal information so you let him be. It would be strange if he did.  

"What are you readin'?" He asked, looking at your book.

"Kiss the Girls by James Patterson."

"One of those romance books?"

"Not really," you chucked. "Thriller, someone is inducting beautiful talented girls all over the country."

Joel's eyebrows went up, not expecting that to come out of your mouth. "Interesting taste, darlin'," he said.

Darlin'

That one you heard before and it still made your body stiff as a statue from nervousness. You struggled to look him in the eyes; to try and see what was behind those beautiful brown orbs; to try and read him; even though that was almost impossible since Joel Miller was an old book full of dead metaphors. You desperately wanted to know if he would kiss you back if you dared to drunkenly place your lips on his. You wondered if he would cup your face while doing so…you wondered if he would lay in bed with you if you told him to stay.

"How's Sarah?" You asked, wanting to shake off the shyness that was slowly creeping in.

"Good, she got an A on her English essay, thanks to you."

You smirked remembering the deal you had made with Sarah. She noticed (kids always do), something was up with you since you would blush every time Joel would call you darlin'. She noticed you acting too friendly around her dad so naturally she decided to confront you about it.

"So, you like my dad, huh?" She asked you on a Wednesday while doing homework.

Your heart went in your throat when your ears registered her question.

"No, I don't." You lied.

"Yeah, darlin' you do. You're too obvious."

"Fuck!" Left your lips. You instantly regretted it.

"HA!"

"Please don't tell him!"

"I won't, but you have to write me this essay."

"Sarah!"

"I'm too lazy! Plus you don't want me to get an F and disappoint my dad, right?" She winked. Cheeky stunt she pulled.

"Fine!"

****

"I'm glad!" You told him. "She's a smart kid!" Yeah, she was alright…

The thing with Joel was certain parts of him were sealed shut, but only certain. He liked talking to you especially because you both shared the same love for music. He liked talking to you about your favorite songs, bands, historical music events, guitars… You knew he played guitar and you asked him numerous times if he wanted to play you a song; he would always decline. After a couple of tries, you stopped asking.

"You know, – you started, taking a sip of wine followed by cutting your life short by 7 minutes with a smoke – "I've always wanted to learn how to play guitar."

"Is that so?" You could see a half smile forming on his face before he took a sip.

"Yeah, but I never did. It was always something, school, homework, too broke to afford guitar lessons…too broke to afford a guitar."

"I can teach you if you want."

"That means you have to play in front of me, and you always say no to that."

"I can make an exception." His gaze was fixed on you and yours was on him. A pleasant science was lingering in the air as you both enjoyed each other's company. You were feeling tipsy while Joel was sober as a judge.

"That would be awesome." Alcohol in your system was giving you a warm hug, telling you to go for it, to say the unsaid, to do the forbidden. Your body was finally relaxed enough, but your mind was in a haze. You had a feeling you were going to do something stupid and you liked the idea of doing something stupid at that particular moment.

The undying need to know, to find out – it was simmering and about to explode.

You put out the cigarette, taking a deep breath, before leaning in and placing a kiss on his cheek. Joel froze for a second, not understanding what happened for a few seconds before his brain caught on. He gave you a soft look, admiring your courage before he returned the favor and kissed your drunken lips. It was a soft, gentle kiss just to make you wonder what it would be like to devour him whole. You wanted this little innocent pack to turn into something sinful – but it didn’t.

“A little bird told me your secret, honey.” He confessed.

“Of course she did,” You chuckled.

Joel’s fingers went in your hair, tucking one strand behind your ear. He found your red cheeks cute.

“You know, you’re obvious when you stare.”

“Stop lookin’ like that, and I won’t.”

Joel laughed. It had been a while since he did.

“DAD!” A voice yelled across the street. It was Sarah, standing in front of the front door of their house. “WHERE ARE YOU?!”

“COMIN’, BABY GIRL!” Joel yelled back and looked back at you.

“Go,” –You said – “And tell her I said thank you.”

“Will do!” Joel gave you a wink and left.

[arvandus]

The Sound of Silence (18+ Aizawa x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: After once again being stood up for a date at your favorite jazz club, you decide to give up dating entirely in favor of watching and fantasizing about your favorite jazz musician, Aizawa Shouta.  You had assumed you’d never meet him face to face.  You had assumed that he didn’t even know you existed.  You’re about to learn that your assumptions are wrong.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY/NSFW; reader wears a sexy black dress (minimally described); minor sexual harassment; slow build; praise kink (if you squint); hand kink (probably); fingering; ‘baby’ petname.

Special Note:  A few days late, but here’s my contribution to the BNHarem January Collab ‘Making Beautiful Music’ posted by @kingexpl0sionmurder​​. It was supposed to be a oneshot, but this particular piece got a mind of its own and will at least have a sequel. If we’re all really lucky, it may become a multichapter series in the far and distant future, when my life is less crazy (I have ideas, ok??).  In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this fic!

Word Count: 9486

Recommended Song: No specific song at the moment, but this was what I listened to while writing this.

Lesson 1

It was crowded tonight, the air of the small club Midnight hot and heavy with the scent of cigar smoke and booze. The noise of conversations and laughing voices filled the air like the buzzing of a hive, as bodies mingled about like busy bees, each looking for their own bit of nectar.  Some looking to win romance.  Some looking to win money.  While others were simply winning by enjoying the company of friends.  Their movements were carried on the music that filled the space, upbeat jazz played by a three-person band.  It was comforting in its familiarity, developed over multiple visits – some with friends, some with coworkers, and some with potential love interests.

You sat at the bar, a drink held protectively in your hand as your eyes searched.  You checked your phone for messages but found none.  It’d been a full twenty minutes and you were pretty sure by this point that your date wasn’t going to show up.  It was supposed to be your first date in over a month, and you’d had high hopes for it - you’d clicked well with the person on your dating app (or so you thought), talking over the course of a couple of weeks before finally deciding to meet. So tonight, you’d put in a little extra effort into your appearance, donning a black dress that showed off your curves and putting careful attention into your makeup.

Damn. You were genuinely interested in this one.

You sent them a quick text in the hopes that you’d get a response.  Give them an extra ten minutes… You thought. Maybe they were caught in traffic or something.

But by the time you hit the 45-minute mark with no messages, you’d officially given up.  A half-hearted sigh fell past your painted lips. You weren’t really too surprised by this point.  You’d been having terrible luck in the dating scene for a while now.  Sometimes it was them.  Sometimes it was you.  But for whatever reason, each attempt ended in failure.

Oh well. It was likely for the best.  At least you would be able to enjoy the rest of your evening in solitude instead of enduring a potentially disastrous date.  And as for your attire, it certainly didn’t hurt to feel sexy, even if you had no one to share it with.

You loved this place. The atmosphere, the music… you’d even managed to make friends with the bartender Hizashi to the point that he’d walk you to your car on the nights that you stayed until closing.

Your eyes scanned around the room, observing.  Wooden tables littered the main floor, where small lit candles cast yellow light on observing faces, eyes trained on the musicians.  Booths lined along the far wall, filled mostly with men who puffed cigars over a game of cards, their raucous laughter carrying through the din.  Closer to the bar was an arrangement of tall, round tables with matching bar height chairs. A group of women, likely on a ladies’ night out, filled the table closest to you, taking shots and laughing, their heels perched on the rungs.  Waiters zigzagged their way through the crowd with expert precision, platters held high with drinks and snacks, while patrons milled about, waiting for an open table.

And, of course, there was the stage itself, where the jazz band finished their final piece before collecting their instruments and leaving the small stage.  All that was left from their departure was a black baby grand piano, property of the club.  Your pulse quickened as you checked your watch.  Was it that time already?

Not a moment later, there he was.  Long, black, wavy hair pulled back into a half ponytail, the hint of a 5 o’ clock shadow dusting his jawline and framing his lips.  He was dressed in simple clothes, as always… a black v-neck shirt with the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms and dark jeans.  He entered the stage without so much a glance towards the busy room, instead making his way to the piano with his hands in his pockets. He sat down and from your position at the bar, you could barely see his long fingers arrange themselves at the keys, gently curled.

As soon as he began to play, the mood in the club shifted slightly from buzzing to relaxing.  The flow of his fingers across the keys drew a lazy melody reminiscent of rainy days and hot coffee; of snuggling under warm blankets, feet intertwined with a lover who danced their fingers across your skin, gently tickling your flesh the way his fingers tickled those keys.

Aizawa Shouta.

Of course you knew his name. The first time you’d heard him play, you’d felt weightless, your body going numb as every sensation coalesced into your chest like the forming of a star.  The question of his identity had fallen from your lips before you’d even realized it, and it had been Hizashi who’d answered you, a chuckle on his lips.

Fuck.  It felt like he was making love to you through the notes, each key meticulously selected like a carefully-worded love letter. It made your palms sweat against your glass, your breath hitching in your throat as that familiar sensation took you over, holding you hostage.

This.  This was probably why none of the people you dated ever seemed to work out.  You’d tried… God, you’d tried… some of them were nice, good people.  But you couldn’t help but search for that feeling – this feeling – each time you met someone new.  And every single time it fell short. It was an impossible standard, an invisible bar that no one was able to jump.  Deep down you knew this, yet you couldn’t figure out how to let it go. It was just music, right? Played by a handsome man who didn’t even know you existed.  But you didn’t want to let go of this feeling, to settle for someone that made you feel only an inkling of what he made you feel.  Or worse, to let it go and be left with emptiness.

You had no solutions. You were trapped in Aizawa’s maze of music, unwilling to find your way out as his notes weaved a cage around your heart.

You lost yourself to his melody, the club around you fading away.  Time lost its meaning as you watched his hands dance along the keys, his fingers nimble.  His half-lidded eyes were fixed on the instrument before him, his expression neutral.  To anyone else watching, he would look almost bored; but you’d seen him play often enough that you’d grown accustomed to reading the nuances of his body language, even across the smoky haze.  You knew his look of boredom was really a look of focus as he submerged himself in his art, his hands playing on instinct, a direct link between what he felt and what he expressed.

He loved what he did.

And you loved watching.

Hizashi’s voice interrupted your hypnosis.  “Another night solo, huh?”

You took a look at the bartender as he prepped some cocktails for some waiting patrons.  He had his wire-framed spectacles on again, the orange tinted ones, the color visible from the white backlight of the bar. His long blonde hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and he wore a pinstriped shirt adorned with a black waistcoat.

You chuckled and took a sip of your drink. “It wasn’t supposed to be.”

“You got stood up again?” You shrugged and Hizashi shook his head slightly.  “If they ain’t willing to show up, then they ain’t worth your time.”

“Probably more like the other way around, don’t ya think?” you replied wryly.

Hizashi scoffed. “Don’t let them get to you. They don’t know what they’re missing.”

You grinned and set your glass down.  “Are you flirting with me, Hizashi?”

He grinned back and winked at you through his spectacles.  “Always, darlin’.”

You chuckled and returned your eyes to the stage. “It’s okay…” you said thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s time I stopped trying.”

“Mhm…” Hizashi watched you stare at Aizawa and he raised an eyebrow.  “Y’know, I can get you an introduction if you’d like…”

“What??”

“Don’t play coy with me, darlin’.  You know who I’m talking about.  If you want to meet him, I can introduce you to him. We’re good friends, he and I. Known each other for years.” He commented.

You weren’t surprised by this news… you’d seen Aizawa join Hizashi at the bar on rare occasions after his performance was done.  But you’d always been occupied at a table with company when it happened. 

Watching him from a distance was one thing.  But actually meeting him?  Up close? Where you couldn’t hide your girlish infatuation?

You felt your pulse quicken with dread, heat flooding your body.  “No, it’s okay.  I wouldn’t want to inconvenience him.”

Hizashi gave you a skeptical look over the rim of his glasses before he shrugged. “Suit yourself, darlin’.”

The blonde stepped away, a new group of customers hollering for his attention.  You took a large gulp of your drink hoping it would quell your nerves at the thought of meeting the man on stage.  No. You definitely didn’t want to meet him.  The last thing you needed was for your interaction with him to be a dud just like it was with all the others, destroying your own secret little fantasy. He was handsome to look at.  And you fantasized about his skilled hands when you were in the quiet of your bedroom. But that was all it was; just harmless daydreams over someone you didn’t really know or plan to get to know. Besides, if you’d ever thought you had a chance with him, you certainly wouldn’t be trying to meet people through a dating app.

Gradually the time ticked by as you enjoyed watching the dark-haired man play, Hizashi stopping in to check on you from time to time and place fresh drinks in front of you.  You were content for the time being, enjoying the steady buzz you were maintaining as you enjoyed the ambiance.  Occasionally you people watched or engaged in conversation with Hizashi when he wasn’t busy… but for the most part, you relaxed as you observed the raven-haired pianist, letting his music ease the tension in your shoulders as the alcohol warmed your bones.

A few hours later, as you were busy talking with Hizashi, the final note on the piano rang out, signaling the end of Aizawa’s shift.  The sudden silence hit you like a bucket of ice water, and your eyes darted towards the stage, your heart pumping panic through your veins.  You had planned to leave just before his shift ended, just to make sure you didn’t run into him.  Maybe it was the daydreaming, or the conversations with Hizashi, or the alcohol... but you’d lost track of time.  Now you could only watch and wait to see where he’d end up, hoping beyond hope that he’d disappear like he usually did.  Only rarely did he linger for a drink.  What were the odds, right?

Tonight was one of those rarities, and you held your breath, your posture going rigid, as he sat himself a mere two seats away from you.  He never once looked at you, instead, addressing Hizashi.

“Old Fashioned.” He requested, his voice deep.  It sent a shiver down your spine as the blood in your veins turned molten.  You knew instantly that that sound was now committed to memory.

“Do you even need to ask?” Hizashi replied with a grin as he slid the drink to him.

You disciplined your eyes to stare at your own drink as if it’d open up a portal for you to escape through. But as much as you struggled to control yourself, the simple gesture of Aizawa reaching for his drink made you break eye contact with your own. Your eyes caught how his fingers circled around his glass, long and surprisingly manicured.  You couldn’t help but watch as he brought the drink up to his lips to take a sip, and from there your gaze followed the curve of his mouth, the stubble that framed it, his jawline, his eyes…

Your eyes made contact with his briefly and you quickly looked back down at your drink, your heart pounding in your chest.

Shit.  He caught you staring.

You took a couple of deep swigs, forcing the alcohol down your tight throat, letting the burn of it act as a punishment for your violation. This. This was why you didn’t want to meet him.  No words had even been shared yet and you were already making a fool of yourself.

“Long night?” Hizashi asked him.  In the background, the next performer entered the stage and began to play, and you couldn’t help but strain your ears over the music to listen for Aizawa’s answer.

“I’ve had worse…” Aizawa replied.  “You?”

“Busy, but I’m in good company at least.” Hizashi replied.  Your heart pounded in your chest as your fingers tightened around your glass.  Your eyes darted up to lock with the bartender’s and you caught him smirking at you, his small, pointed mustache following the curve of his upper lip. 

He wouldn’t…

Suddenly another customer called for him from the other end of the bar.  “Duty calls, friend.  Be back in a sec.”

And just like that, you were left alone with him.  Aizawa. Your mind froze as it warred with itself between actually talking with him or grabbing your things and running away. Surely Hizashi would understand, right? And you could always pay back your tab later.   You took another deep gulp of alcohol in the hopes that it’d burn away some of your cowardice. 

Before you could so much as open your mouth, the unwelcome sensation of an unfamiliar hand on the curve of your back made your body go rigid, every muscle poised to fight.  A second later, the scent of hot breath laced in the stench of alcohol choked the air around you as an unfamiliar man slid into the open seat between you and the object of your affection.

“Hey there beautiful…” he slurred.  “You’ve been by yourself all night… you in need of some company?”

You covered your hand over your glass and shifted away from him slightly, your demeanor cold.  “No.”

“Aw, c’mon doll… don’t be like that…” he grinned.  “You don’t come here dressed like that for no good reason…”

The man’s hand was still on your back, its presence making your skin crawl.  It made the fog of your buzz lifting slightly, your senses suddenly heightened in the presence of a potential threat.  Your eyes searched frantically for Hizashi.  He had a way of handling drunken idiots.  But he was stuck at the other end of the bar still, a drunk woman trying desperately hard to flirt with him. 

You were on your own, and this creep clearly wasn’t taking no for an answer. Your brain started to fabricate worst-case scenarios and planning for them, a million options running through your mind.  Screaming. Throwing your drink in his face.  A well-placed kick to his shin.  Your pepper spray.

Your free hand slipped into your purse, fingers closing around you’re the plastic cylinder.  The feel of it gave you a sense of security, even if it might be a last resort.  You didn’t really want to use it, especially with Aizawa sitting behind him… you never had to use it before, and you couldn’t guarantee your accuracy, especially in such a tight space.

You watched from the corner of your eye as the man’s free hand reached forward to grasp your own that covered your drink, and your grip around the cylinder tightened, a warning beginning to fall from your lips.  But your words were cut short as the man’s hand was suddenly grabbed by familiar, long fingers and bent back at an uncomfortable angle that made the drunk cry out.

“Hey! What the hell?!” the man demanded.

Aizawa took a casual sip of his drink with his free hand while maintaining his grip on the offender, before pinning him with a dangerous glare.  “She said no.”

The man’s hand left your back as he struggled to free himself from Aizawa’s grip. “Let go!”

“First you will apologize to her.” Aizawa ordered.

The man sputtered.  “For what?!”

You watched in shock as Aizawa’s eyes narrowed.  His thumb positioned itself on a digit and began pushing it slowly backward.

“For touching her without permission.  For insinuating that her attire makes it acceptable for you to ignore her boundaries. For being a disgusting pig.”

With each statement, he pushed the finger back farther and farther, until the man was buckling to his knees under the pressure in an attempt to alleviate the pain and prevent the digit from breaking.

“Ow ow ow! Okay!  I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The man begged.

Aizawa held him for a moment longer before finally releasing him. “Good.  Now get out.”

The man scurried away until he was out of reach before turning around to glare daggers at him.  “Hey, fuck you man!”  He shouted.  But for all of his drunken bravado, he stormed out of the club clutching his sore hand to his chest, as heads turned to watch him leave.

The hum of voices within the club fell silent for a moment, with only the band continuing their music. After the front door closed, the noise of people chattering slowly returned, countless sets of eyes turning back to their tables.  Aizawa turned his gaze back to you, the lethal look gone from his dark eyes.

“You okay?”

You nodded mutely, swallowing the dryness in your throat as your sweaty hand released the pepper spray in your purse.  Sensations warred within you, momentarily leaving you a confused mess.  The speed at which he came to your defense and his willingness to resort to violence on your behalf fueled a carnal need you didn’t even realize you had.  But even as hot arousal pooled deep in your gut, your heart still raced from the threat that had been quickly neutralized.

His eyes caught the movement of something over your shoulder and he cursed. “Shit.”

“SHOuTA!” Scolded a feminine voice.

He turned back to his drink, hunching his shoulders. “I told her not to call me that in public.” Aizawa muttered under his breath.

You spun on your stool to see the owner of the bar, Nemuri Kayama approaching, clad in a deep purple business suit with a dangerously low-cut black blouse. She was next to you in a matter of seconds, a cloud of strong perfume enveloping you as she snatched Aizawa’s drink from his hand as he began to raise it to his lips.

“What the hell was that?!” She demanded.  “What makes you think you can attack my customers like that?”

“Your customer was harassing this customer.” Aizawa pointed out.

Nemuri looked at you with her lavender eyes as if seeing you for this first time and paused in her verbal assault.

“Is this true?” She asked you.

She had a presence about her that instantly made you find your voice again.

“He was being handsy and wasn’t taking no for an answer.” You confirmed.

“Can I have my drink back now?” Aizawa asked.

She stared back and forth between the two of you for a moment before slamming the glass down in front of him, half of the contents spilling over the side. “Ugh. Fine.  But next time ask for one of my bouncers.  Or Hizashi.  Or me. Anyone but you.”

Aizawa’s mouth curled with a sly grin as he wiped at the spill with a napkin.  “And why is that?”

“Because you scare away customers.” She growled.

Aizawa stared into his drink, swirling its remaining contents.  “Well maybe you need better customers.” He took a sip.

“I’ll take whoever is willing to pay.  Unfortunately for you, this club doesn’t survive off of chivalry.”  She crossed her arms.  “Besides… it’s less about losing that drunken idiot and more about losing those who saw you almost break his hand.”

“I wasn’t going to break his hand.  I was going to break his finger.” Aizawa said.

You stifled a chuckle with a bite of your lip.

Nemuri rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration.  “Don’t try to make it sound like that makes it any better.  And you!” She pointed at Hizashi, who had conveniently shown up not a minute before.  “You know better than to leave him alone like this!”

“I can either be a bartender or a babysitter, love.  I can’t do both.” Hizashi replied as he polished a glass.

 Nemuri grumbled under her breath before turning her gaze back to you. “I apologize for Aizawa’s violent behavior.” “Oh I didn’t mind…” you confessed with a small smile, and you could feel Aizawa’s eyes flicker to you briefly.

 “And I apologize for the inappropriate customer. Alcohol is no excuse for harassment.  I guarantee he won’t be returning to this club any time soon.” She looked at Hizashi.  “Get her a fresh drink.”  

 “Already on it…” He replied, sliding a new glass to you and removing your old one.

 She looked back at you. “And your drinks are on the house tonight.”

 “Thank you.” You replied.

 Nemuri gave a satisfied nod. “Now I need to go schmooze the rest of our frightened patrons, which is exactly how I didn’t want to spend my evening.” With a final glare at the two men, she stormed off, her pointed heels clicking on the hard floor.

 You stared at your new drink for a moment, the desire for it lost now.  “Hizashi, can I have a glass of water?”

 “Sure thing, darlin’.” Hizashi replied and placed a chilled glass in front of you.

You thanked him and took a sip followed by a long, deep breath.  Aizawa moved into the now-vacant seat next to you, and you welcomed the closeness. The gesture felt protective, a warning to anyone else who was dumb enough to try their luck with you after that display.  Noticing the closer proximity between the two of you, Hizashi quickly made himself scarce again.

“Thank you…” you said to Aizawa as your finger traced patterns into the condensation on the glass.

“It was nothing…” he replied.  There was a long silence before he spoke again.  “I hope I didn’t scare you.”

You looked at him with surprise then.  Scared? No. Aroused? Definitely.  The dampness of your panties were evidence enough of that, but he certainly didn’t need to know that.

“Not at all.” You confessed. “I actually really appreciate it.”

Aizawa’s shoulders relaxed slightly, as if a weight had been lifted.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” you asked.  “You were so fast…”

Aizawa gave a small grin. “Piano isn’t the only thing I’m good at…”

You had no difficulty believing that…

“Were you a bouncer or something at one point?” you asked curiously.

Aizawa chuckled. “Yeah, something like that…” he took a swig of his drink, the ice in it clinking.  The amber colored liquid was nearly gone now.

His response only gave you more questions, but you forced them down. There was a fine line between being curious and nosey, and you were too worried of crossing it, thus ending your conversation with him.

“You’re a regular here.” He commented.  

It wasn’t a question – it was a statement. He recognized you. You averted your eyes away in embarrassment, feeling suddenly exposed, your anonymity blown.  How long had he noticed you’d been coming here?  Did he know how closely you watched him?

“Yeah.” You confessed, as you took another sip of water. The alcohol next to it was calling to you, promising to ease your anxiety, but you refrained for the moment.  You wanted to keep your wits about you while you talked to him.

“No company tonight?” he asked.

Oh.  He watched you more closely than you ever realized. You weren’t sure whether you were feeling embarrassed or aroused.  Was it possible to feel both?

“Not this time.  I got stood up.” You replied.

“Sounds like you dodged a bullet there.” He said, looking into his empty glass.

You gave a dry laugh. “True.  I’ve dodged lots of bullets lately.”

Aizawa chuckled. “I believe it…”

Contrary to his outward aloof demeanor, he was nice.  You could feel the tension in your body start to dissipate as words came easier.

“If you ever think you want to try a dating app, don’t.” you commented. “It makes for good stories, but sometimes it really makes you want to give up on humanity.”

That earned an honest laugh as he looked at you with a grin.  “Well now you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

You couldn’t help but smile back.  This actually wasn’t so bad…

With amusement, you began to recount some of your more outlandish dating disasters with him, letting him in on the world of online dating from a woman’s perspective.  Aizawa listened with quiet interest, making the occasional wry joke or, for the more serious cases, wearing a deep frown of disapproval.  He was a good listener, and the conversation flowed easier than you had expected, words falling from your mouth without a second thought.  It felt natural.  Comfortable. And for the first time in a while, you felt like yourself.  After you ran out of stories, Aizawa offered a couple of his own, and you found yourself laughing at his own tales of dating woes. As Aizawa talked, Hizashi stopped by to quietly replace his empty drink before disappearing again, a pleased smile on his face.  His brief presence reminded you of your own glass pooling condensation on the paper coaster beneath it, and you returned to sipping its contents, once again finding the buzz you had been enjoying as you listened to Aizawa.

The time passed by as the two of you talked about the stress of dating and relationships. You’d learned that Aizawa rarely dated, but would occasionally have to endure awkward matchups thanks to Hizashi and Nemuri.  You learned how much of a private person he was, how he generally avoided dating culture entirely in favor of letting life play out on its own.  Everything about him exuded a man of experience and maturity, a man comfortable in his own skin and content with his life.  You couldn’t help but admire him as you soaked in every little detail that you’d wanted to know, committing every little bit of information he offered up to memory.  He was everything you’d imagined; kind, respectful, and serious with a sly sense of humor that he only shared once he was feeling comfortable.

Once the topic was exhausted, you sighed.  “I think I’m done with dating.” You confessed.  “I’ll just resign myself to my singlehood.”

Aizawa pinned you with a pensive look.  “Is that what you want?”

Something about the tone of his voice made your pulse race with excitement.

“Well… It’s better than being repeatedly disappointed.” You gave him a side glance as you took sip of your drink.  “But if the right guy comes along, I wouldn’t say no…”

“Hm… the right guy…” Aizawa muttered as he returned his gaze to his glass.

Your statement was a bold one, filled with invitation.  You hadn’t exactly planned for it to come out that way, but it was too late to take those words back now.  You quickly tried to turn the topic back to him.  “How about you?  Any special someone for you?”

He chuckled. “No.  No special someone.  Not yet, at least.”

The words fell from his mouth like breadcrumbs leading to a secret as he eyed you over the rim of his glass. You felt lightheaded and warm, the tips of your fingers buzzing with numbness. Maybe it was the half-finished drink in your hand.  Or maybe it was the look in Aizawa’s eyes that made you feel drunk, the Earth spinning under your feet as you mentally struggled to find some sort of purchase to keep from falling.  

Was he…?

Hope held you captive and you suddenly became acutely aware of how close you were to him.  Your eyes traced the scruff on his jawline, the stitching of his shirt, the slope of his neck as his Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow. A stray strand of hair had come loose from his half-ponytail and was hanging over his forehead, begging to be touched. Your fingers twitched.  If you reached out to tuck it back into place, would he let you?

You couldn’t muster the courage and averted your eyes. You were filled with alcohol and infatuation, you reasoned.  Your defenses were down, your judgment potentially impaired… what if you were reading into something that wasn’t there?  What if you were wrong?  

You watched Hizashi close out a tab for an older couple as you took a sip of your water.

Warmth pressed against your forearm and looked down to see Aizawa’s arm resting against yours. All of your attention honed in on the softness of his shirtsleeve and the warmth of his skin as his hand fiddled with a paper coaster, flipping it over and over with each tap on the counter.  The contact was intentional, calculated in its subtle intimacy.  It was a silent question… a tentative invitation, absent of assumptions or expectations.  Your doubt evaporated like mist and you understood.  

He was interested.  In you.

Your heart did a somersault in your chest as you sat there, stunned.  Time froze as everything that’d transpired throughout the evening flitted through your mind.  It was a perfect amalgamation of circumstances, leading to this single moment, giving you the one thing you wanted most.  You held your breath as you stood on the precipice, uncertain if your next step would make you fall or let you fly.  

You stared at the contact and carefully… slowly… brushed your pinky along the back of his hand. It traced the vein that stood out there, following it to the knuckle. His own hand let go of the coaster his was holding, his own pinky linking with yours in affirmation.

You couldn’t help the elated smile that spread across your face in that moment and when you looked up at him with a shy glance, he had a smile of his own, small and secretive as he stared at your linked fingers.  Slowly the rest of his fingers followed, twining themselves into yours until he held your hand, his thumb brushing sensually against your skin.  That single action alone was enough to reignite the fire in your loins, your blood racing through your veins from the epicenter of his touch.

Hizashi’s voice crashed through your private, titillating moment.  “We’re closing up, lovebirds…”

Your hand pulled away from Aizawa’s on instinct as you looked around the now empty club.  Only staff remained, finalizing the last bit of cleanup and arranging the furniture for the next day.  How had it gotten so late so fast?

“You want me to walk you to your car?” Hizashi asked, a knowing grin on his face.

In all that had happened that evening, you’d forgotten about that little arrangement.  But you weren’t ready to leave just yet…

Aizawa’s voice answered before yours could.  “Leave me the keys to the place.  I’ll walk her tonight and lock up when we leave.”

“Suit yourself.” Hizashi replied with a shrug.  He placed a set of keys on the counter.  “Don’t tell Nemuri, though.  She’ll kill me.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, friend.” Aizawa replied.

With that, Hizashi gave a small salute, grabbed his coat, and left.  You watched, your heart pounding as the door closed behind him, leaving a deafening silence in its wake.

You were alone with Aizawa. Completely and utterly alone.

Your turned back to face him and froze.  Aizawa still sat on his stool, but he faced you now with an elbow propped against the counter, and that simple distinction made his presence fill your space.  He stared at you, the look in his eyes unfettered now, deep and hungry. “You really do look beautiful tonight.” He complimented.

With the way the words fell from his mouth and curled warmly into your chest like a cat, you believed him. You felt beautiful.

“Thank you.” You said with a soft smile.  “You look handsome yourself, Aizawa.”

He took your hand again and slowly began to lean forward, closing the small distance between you.  “Call me Shouta.”

You swallowed. “Shouta.” You whispered, feeling the name on your lips.

His dark pupils dilated and you felt his other hand on your jawline, warm, long fingers wrapping towards the back of your neck to pull you into a kiss.

His lips were warm and soft as his stubble tickled your skin, and you leaned into it fervently, your hands finding their home on his chest. You could feel his toned muscles beneath the black cotton and a purr found its way to the back of your throat. Shouta took it as an invitation, coming off of his barstool to stand between your now parted legs, his arm wrapping itself around your waist as his tongue slid along your lips.  You opened your mouth eagerly to taste the bourbon there, to feel the wet muscle dance and slide against your own.  Every touch, every taste, every smell enveloped you further and further in the essence that was Shouta until your entire body was singing, teetering on the edge.

Oh God… you were not going to let yourself cum just by kissing him.

You pulled out of the kiss slightly as your hands pressed gently against his chest, and he retreated from you just enough for his eyes to search your face, a silent question in them.

“I-I’m sorry, I just…” your words fell pitifully from your flushed, wet mouth, your voice shaky with pent-up arousal.

One second longer. One second longer is all it would have taken…

Shouta’s hand on your back began to rub soft, slow circles. “Would you like some water?” he asked, a small smile on his lips.

You nodded, and he kissed your forehead before handing you your glass.  You drank greedily before handing it back to him, half-empty.

“Have you ever been kissed like that?” he asked curiously, as he placed the glass back down onto the counter.

You gave a small laugh and shook your head.  “No… not like that.”

Your confession left you feeling embarrassed, even as your chest felt it would burst from this latest turn of events.

You kissed Aizawa Shouta.

Actually, he kissed you.

You needed a moment to collect yourself, to process everything you were feeling.

So, you completely changed the subject.

“How long have you been playing piano?” you asked.

Shouta didn’t miss a beat, returning to sit on his stool to give you the space you silently needed. But his hand still held yours, resting on the counter as his fingers twined with yours. It gave you a sense of reassurance, that everything was okay, despite your awkward hesitation.

“My grandpa had one when I was a kid.  Used to mess around on it.” He explained.  “He finally got me lessons from a guy he knew, and I’ve loved it ever since.”

You smiled as you watched his thumb trace across each of your fingernails.  You returned the gesture, tracing the details of his own hand. It was like living a dream, to see them up close and feel them, every fingernail, every vein, even the pads of his fingertips. The number of times you’d fantasized about these hands…

“I always wanted to learn how to play, but my family could never afford lessons.” You confessed. “But my mom used to have all of these old jazz albums, and I used to sit in my room and listen to them for hours.”

“I can teach you.”

Your fingers stopped their tracing.  “What?”

“I can teach you.” He repeated.

You shook your head.  “Um, no it’s okay… I’d probably be a terrible student anyway.”

“A student can only be as bad as the person teaching them.  Follow me.”

Before you could protest further, Shouta’s hand closed around yours and pulled you from your seat.  He led you up the steps of the stage and across it until you reached the black piano sitting forlornly in the empty space.

It felt strange being up on the stage, especially with the club being completely empty.  The stage light was bright and warm on your shoulders, and the silence sounded different there, affected by the difference in acoustics.

Shouta sat at one end of the black bench and pulled you down by your hand until you were sitting next to him.  The bench was small, meant for only one person, so you had to press yourself against him to be able to sit without feeling like you were going to fall off. Even then, it wasn’t the most comfortable arrangement, but you endured, if only to be close to him.

He released your hand and began his instruction.

“First thing you should know is how to find middle C.  Everything else will center around this.”  He pressed the white key with the thumb of his right hand, the note singing out into the empty space.  “Then, it’s D, E, F, G, A, B, which brings you back to C. That creates an octave, also known as a scale.” He played each note as he spoke.

“What about the black keys?” you asked curiously.

“Those are the half notes. Don’t worry about those right now.” He arranged his hand back how he initially had it, his thumb on the middle C key.

“Now,” he continued, “First, you must learn how to move your fingers along the keys.  Like this.”  Shouta demonstrated the motion again, his fingers playing each note slowly in a steady rhythm.  “The switch of the fingers is important. It will help you flow quickly and easily without having to watch where your hands are, which will be important for reading sheet music.”  He repeated the motion again, the sounds once again ringing out.  Then, he removed his hand.  “Your turn.”

You bit your lip and placed your hand how you’d seen his arranged and tried.  The notes were clumsy, lacking in rhythm and falling together as you forgot in your nervous haze where the switch of the fingers happened. Embarrassment flooded you and you withdrew your hand.

“Don’t expect to get it right on the first try.” He reassured.  “Let’s try it again.  Try to keep your fingers loose, curved like a bowl.”

Shouta modeled it again. You watched, but your focus was muddled with anxiety, attraction, and likely alcohol.  It was a poor recipe for learning, but you knew he was trying to make you feel comfortable, and you didn’t want to turn down his kindness.  You arranged your hand back on the keys again and tried again, with little improvement.

“I’m sorry, I…” you stuttered as you clutched your hand in your lap protectively.

His hand covered yours and you looked up at him to see him staring at you with warm patience.  “It’s okay.  If you don’t want to do this, we can stop.”

You stared at him, mouth slightly open as you thought about it.  You knew he wouldn’t hold it against you if you wanted to quit.  And sure, you felt silly being so poor at it when sitting next to someone who’s skills you idolized.

But did you really want to stop?  How often would you get an opportunity like this?

“No, it’s okay.  Keep going, I want to learn.” You replied.

Shouta watched you for a moment longer before he placed his hand back on the keys.  “Place your hand over mine.”

You followed his instructions, your hand looking small compared to his.  His skin was warm, and it calmed the shaking in your fingers.

“Watch where the fingers land.  Feel how they move.” He played the notes, and you could feel the tendons of his hand tense and shift, his fingers rising and falling like a wave.

“It’s like they’re dancing.” You said.  “You switch to your thumb on this key… E?”

“Yes.” Shouta replied in approval.  “Your turn.”

This time you focused, remembering the feel of how his hand had moved under yours as you played the keys, switching your fingers at the right time.  The improvement was noticeable.

He smiled.  “Good.  Now, for the other hand.  You’ll start one octave lower.  Can you find it?”

Your arm crossed Aizawa’s chest to press the white key, letting the sound ring out.

“Perfect.  Only this time, your pinky will sit on this key, with the others following after.”

You placed your fingers across the white keys.  “Like this?”

Shouta nodded.  “Now you’ll try the same progression with your left hand.  The middle finger will follow after the thumb plays the G note.”

You removed your hand so he could place his own and demonstrate it for you.  You followed after him, imitating his actions, but this time your attempt was worse than your first, your hand angled awkwardly due to limited space as you pressed yourself against him.

“That was terrible.” You laughed. “I can’t reach very easily.”

A small mischievous smile formed on Shouta’s lips and he slipped his hand around your waist.

“Come here.” He said.

You didn’t fight him as he pulled you into his lap.  His right hand settled itself against your stomach as his legs parted slightly to make room for yours, your knees drawn together between his.  The heat of his touch seeped through the fabric of your dress, weaving a tight knot of desire deep in your core that made your body go rigid as you tried to keep yourself from melting against him.

“Is this okay?” He asked, leaning slightly to see your face from his position behind you.

You licked your lips and swallowed, giving a nod.  “Y-Yes…” you answered shakily.  “Are you okay…? I’m not too heavy?”

Shouta gave a soft laugh. “No.  Not at all.” His breath was hot against your skin and you could feel the scratch of his stubble as he spoke, sending goosebumps over your body. “Let’s continue.”

He placed his left hand on the keys again with ease, regardless of how poor his view of the piano was with you in front of him.  He knew this instrument like the back of his hand; could probably play it with his eyes closed and never miss a note.

He played the simple notes again, C through B, fingers tip-toeing across the keys as he said their names out loud, helping you to remember them.  You watched carefully for where the shift in finger arrangement happened, the middle finger following after the thumb just as he’d described.

“You try.” He instructed, his right arm still wrapped around your waist, holding you close against him. You could feel the warmth of his chest against your back now, feel the strength of his body beneath you.

You loved this.  The lap-sitting, the lesson, the praise. Each time Shouta praised your improvements it sent a thrill through you from your head down to your toes.  To be complimented by him, even for something as simple as pressing a few keys… it only made you want to please him more.

You played the progression of notes with renewed motivation, once again showing improvement from your first attempt.

“Good.”

Your spine straightened against him slightly.  The thumb of his hand caressed your abdomen where he held you.

“Now you need to learn to do the same but in reverse, until you’re back where your fingers started.”

You moved your hand away to let him demonstrate and his right hand left your stomach, leaving an ache in its wake.  You watched both of his hands play the simple notes up and down, working together with ease. But you knew it was all a ruse… he made it look easy, but if you tried to do the same, you’d fumble clumsily.

“I don’t know about this…” you chuckled.

“It takes practice,” he replied, “until it becomes muscle memory.”

Shouta demonstrated it again, up and down.  And again.

You placed your hands over his, wanting to feel the touch of his hands under yours more than the actual pressing of the keys.  All you wanted was his arm around your waist again, his hand on your lower abdomen.  His touch was tantalizing, and you wanted more of it.  

He completed the simple scale progression two more times with your hands on top of his.

“Do you want to try?” he offered.

His hands left the keys to hold you again, his arms wrapped more tightly around you this time. You leaned against him, reveling in being held in his arms.

“I’m going to mess up.” You warned.

“Just take it slow.”

You shook your head a little and let out a small breath, shifting your position in his lap slightly as you leaned forward to focus on the keys.  His arms loosened around you, his hands shifting to your thighs.

It was likely an innocent action, intended to give you the freedom to move as you made yourself comfortable.  But as soon as the tips of his fingers touched the bare skin below the hem of your dress, that sharp zap of arousal tingled the ends of your nerves, causing you to suck in air and part your knees slightly, your walls throbbing in hopeful anticipation.

It wasn’t intentional. Your body just… reacted.  But Shouta noticed instantly.

There was silence at first, his hands still on your thighs, waiting.  Finally, he spoke.  “Y/N….” his voice was huskier now.  “How long has it been since you’ve been cared for?”

Embarrassment flooded through you.  Embarrassment at your sensitivity to his touch, embarrassment at the answer to his question... You hesitated a moment before words fell clumsily from your mouth. “I, um… a long time.”

A low hum rumbled from Shouta’s chest as his fingers brushing gently along the inside of your thighs until they dipped just beneath the black fabric. The action was experimental, a testing of the waters, and it brought immediate results.  Your thighs widened the slightest bit more as you failed to fight back a whimper, your hands grasping his arms in need.  Not a moment later you could feel the growing firmness of his cock begin to press against your backside, despite the restriction of Shouta’s jeans. Shouta’s hands halted again their movement, waiting. He was miraculously under control despite his obvious arousal, and you envied him.

“Do you want me to touch you?” he asked, his voice low.

Of course you did.  It was obvious you did.  Why else would your legs be parting like the red sea as if he were Moses?

But for some reason, your body language wasn’t enough for him.  He needed to hear it.  A sense of urgency filled you, desperate need driving you.  At this point, you’d give him whatever he wanted…

“Yes.” you begged. “Please, Shouta... Please touch me.” You leaned back against him, allowing the angle of your hips to tilt as your hands guided him further beneath the skirt of your dress.

With you draped onto him, your head tilted back, Shouta kissed the curve of your neck as his hands gently gripped the insides of your knees, pulling your legs apart until they were draped over his own.  You were open for him now, your skirt hiked halfway up by the spread of your legs.  

Your heart pounded in your chest with so much excitement that you could feel your own pulse in your neck and between your legs.  This was happening… This was really happening… How many times had you fantasized about this very thing?  How many times had you longed for this man, whispered his name on your tongue only to be met by the empty silence?  And now here he was, freeing you from the shackles of your loneliness in the best way possible.

Shouta’s hands pushed the fabric up the rest of the way until it was pooled around your hips, exposing your panties.  The thin cotton fabric did little to protect your aching cunt from the cold air, and you sucked air through your teeth at the sensation.  His fingers traced invisible lines up the inside of your thighs, leaving nothing but singing nerves in their wake that cascaded into a shiver that rolled over your flesh, leaving goosebumps.  Your body was already moving of its own volition, hips rolling, eager for Shouta’s fingers yet simultaneously attempting to grind down onto his restrained cock.  Your breaths were already coming in hot and ragged, every inch of you frantic for the release that it had been denied all evening.

Shouta gave a low growl, his left hand holding down your hip, halting your movements.  “You better stop that…” he warned.  

No doubt your girating was making things difficult for him on his end.  But you didn’t care.  You were an unfettered, horny mess now.

A whine escaped your lips at his restriction.  In response, Shouta’s left hand trailed up the length of your body, caressing over your breast before finding its home on your neck.  His palm was against your voice box now, his fingers long enough to wrap around your throat and reach your jaw.  There was no force in his hold, but it still held power over you, ushering your body into stillness while your chest heaved with heavy breaths.

“Patience.” He whispered. “Let me take care of you.”

Shouta followed up his words with more gentle kisses along your neck, your shoulder… wherever his lips could reach with you on his lap.  The feel of his hand on your throat was a reminder of who was in control.  But it was also a promise - a promise to ensure your needs would be met.

Once Shouta was sure he had your compliance, his right hand travelled the remaining distance of your inner thigh to arrive at your panties, where moist heat greeted him.

A low hum of approval rumbled in his chest, vibrating against your back.  “You’re so wet.”

A pitiful “yes” was all you could muster before the tips of his fingers brushed gently against your clothed sex, stealing your voice and replacing it with a gasp.

Slowly Shouta pet you, his fingers stroking gentle circles over the wet cotton, teasing the sensitive flesh beneath.  With his hand still on your neck, you kept your body torturously motionless as he gradually increased the pressure of his digits, reducing his speed as he passed over your clit to drag the pads of his fingers over the bundle of nerves.

You swallowed the pooling saliva in your mouth, the action causing your throat to press against his hand. “Please…” you begged. “I can’t…”

Shouta was strict, but not cruel.  He obliged, slipping his fingers beneath the cotton to swim his digits into your juices, never breaking his circular, rhythmic motion over your slick entrance.  The scent of your arousal surrounded both of you, thick and heavy.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he growled against your skin.

Two of his fingers dipped into you then, slow at first, allowing you to stretch around him as your walls quivered.  Your thighs tensed at the intrusion, welcoming the stinging pressure as your core burned with fire. He withdrew his fingers slowly and you lifted your head to watch in carnal fascination to see his fingers shining wet down to the knuckles. He pushed them into you again, curling his fingers towards the sensitive, spongey tissue along the top of your walls, his thumb pressing down on your wet clit.  A zap of stimulation fired from your core before fizzling away, a teasing warning of what was to come.

“Oh-Oh fuck…” you gasped as one hand reached back and grabbed a fistful of Shouta’s thick, dark hair.

He picked up his pace then, his thumb driving firm circles around your swollen pearl as the sounds of your wet hole being finger-fucked filled the silence of the empty stage.  With each pass of his thumb, with each curl of his fingers, the heat grew hotter, your cunt swollen and burning with the need for release.  Your thighs were tensed so tightly now that it made your legs lift and you had to brace your feet against the piano, discordant notes ringing out to join the sounds of your heavy pants and wet squelching in a lewd song. Shouta’s hand left your throat to hold you under your thigh to keep you steady as his other hand worked fast and hard to unravel you.  With the absence of his touch on your neck, you were free to move your hips, grinding hard into his hand, his lap, whatever part of him you were touching.  Your grip on his hair tightened, mirroring the tension building within you, clinging to him like the boughs of a tree knowing that any second the flood would come.

Shouta was your lifeline, your rock, your destroyer.  You were the waves and he was the shore, and your body tensed to prepare itself to crash against him.

“Come on, baby…” Shouta whispered gruffly.  “I’ve got you. Cum for me.”

You came with a cry, loud and frantic as your walls clamped down on his fingers.  The ball of heat that you had been carrying like a stone exploded within you, incinerating every nerve from the inside out, leaving nothing but sweet, sharp, euphoria in its wake.  Your walls spasmed repeatedly, sucking greedily on Shouta’s drenched fingers, as you cried and moaned, bucked and arched.  Shouta’s arm was around your waist, holding you against him to keep you from sliding off of his lap as you rode the high of your orgasm, tumbling like a waterfall over and over again to finally become a puddle in his strong arms.  

Shouta held you silently against him as your body twitched with aftershocks of pleasure.  Once your spasms subsided and he was sure you wouldn’t fall from your perch, Shouta released his hold around your waist to draw his fingers up and down your arm, creating goosebumps under his gentle touch.  His fingers were still in you, his hand cupped between your legs.  The warmth of his touch on your tired cunt was comforting, and it brought forth a content moan from your parted lips.  Shouta smiled as he planted another kiss on your shoulder.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that with him.  But you finally made yourself sit up when you felt sleep starting to drag you down into its murky depths, your limbs feeling heavy.

Finally, Shouta spoke. “Better?” he asked.

You gave a laugh.  “Much.”  You looked down at yourself in amusement. “You made a mess of me, though…”

Shouta gave a satisfied hum and stared at his hand that held you.  “I like you messy.” He stated.

“So, you’re just gonna leave me like this?” you teased.

He laughed and withdrew his fingers, wiping the slick coating them onto his jeans.  “As much as I like that idea, no.”  He adjusted your ruined underwear and the hem of your dress back into place before turning you around in his lap.  His hands were planted on your rear, keeping you securely and comfortably in place.  “It’s late. We should get you home.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him.  “What about you?” you asked, your eyes glancing down to his lap. Your hands began to trail down his chest to reach the button of his pants, eager to reciprocate.

Shouta smiled at you and grabbed your hands, bringing them back up to plant kisses on your palms.  “Tonight was about you. There’ll be more opportunities for both of us later.”  You pouted and he chuckled. “Don’t give me that face.”

“It hardly seems fair…” you muttered.  You were looking forward to enjoying more of him… you didn’t want tonight to end.

He hummed as he began to trail kisses along your jawline and you arched your neck to allow him better access.  “We both… need sleep.”

Sleep? With his mouth on your skin, sleep was the last thing on your mind.  Shouta pulled his lips away to look into your eyes again and you could see the fatigue there, dark circles framing bloodshot eyes.  He really did look incredibly tired, and you couldn’t help but wonder how late it really was.  You brushed the errant strand of hair off of his forehead, tucking it behind his ear.

“Okay...” you softly agreed.

“You should come back tomorrow night.” He mused, the mischief back in his eyes. “We can continue our piano lessons.”

“I’d like that.” you smiled.

 You couldn’t wait.

[bluejayblueskies]

the before, the after, the in-between

Chapter Seven: daybreak trains Words: 3.3k

Relationships: Jon & Daisy, Jon/Martin Tags: Post-Canon, Scottish Safehouse, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mute Jon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Hopeful Ending

Work Summary:

There was no knife, no blood, and Jon was not dead. And when he heard a strangled noise from beside him and looked over to see Martin standing in the doorway of the safehouse, flung open and letting in the frigid bite of near-winter and sunlight, there was sunlight, he felt such a dizzying, intense wave of relief that he could hardly breathe around it.

Then, he opened his mouth to say Martin’s name, and nothing came out, and all of the relief fell away in an instant.

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Jon wakes up in the safehouse in October of 2018, alive and well but without the Eye and without his voice. In the days that follow, he finds himself confronted with a world that has reset itself in space and in time, a version of himself that is no longer the Archivist, and the fact that death during the end of the world had not been so permanent as it had seemed.

Chapter Summary:

Daisy sighs and stands, brushing her hands off on the thighs of her trousers. “It’s not like you’re never going to see me again. I’ll still visit.”

“I know,” Jon signs, his hand gestures a bit too wide. “I’ll still…” He pauses, his hands lingering in the air for a moment as he tries to figure out what the next sign should be, before giving up and stepping forward instead, reaching for Daisy’s hand and capturing it in his. He squeezes tightly, looking up at Daisy with an open, vulnerable expression. Then, he brings her hand up with his as he presses it against the left side of his chest, a few inches above the jagged line of scar tissue, and settles his other hand on top of it. He may not know how to sign I’ll miss you, but he’d learned love early on.

Read on Ao3 (link in source)

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven

Or read below:

(cw for mentions of canon-typical worms)

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A quick note that all sign language in this chapter (BSL) is indicated via italics in quotation marks. I recognize that BSL has different grammar and sentence construction than spoken English, but for the purposes of this fic and for clarity’s sake, I’ve written all sign language as it would be translated into English syntax and sentence construction. Further disclaimer that I am not deaf or mute and that I don’t speak any version of sign language, so if I’ve made an error in depicting the dialogue here, please let me know!

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Jon raps his knuckles on the frame of the bedroom door, and Daisy glances up from where she’s crouched on the floor next to the bed, halfway through packing her bag next to the cot they’d gotten so Daisy didn’t have to sleep on the couch. (Though they have been saving up for a new couch, a decently nice one that doesn’t sag in the middle and leak stuffing. Martin’s new job at the village’s library pays adequately enough, but in the three months it’s been since the world snapped back to normal, they’ve only managed to accumulate a few hundred pounds in savings. It’s all right though, Jon thinks. They have time.)

“You don’t leave until tomorrow,” Jon signs, his hands still a bit clumsy around the words but adept enough to get his point across. He still carries his notebook with him for when the modest collection of signs Daisy’s been able to teach him so far aren’t enough for him to convey his thoughts, and he has a cell phone now with a speech-to-text app that he uses occasionally even though he finds the mechanical voice grating, but he’s been having to use them less and less. He still likes having the notebook, though. It feels nice to look down and see his words still scrawled on paper even after the conversation is over. A reminder that, for all that his voice has been used and stolen and manipulated over the years, his words are still his own.

“I know,” Daisy says, tucking a few more things in her bag before zipping it closed. She sits on her heels and looks up at him, her hair loose and falling just beneath her chin from where they’d cut it a few weeks prior. “But now it’s done, so.”

Jon sighs lightly and shakes his head, more an expression of resignation than irritation. The spot where Daisy’s things used to sit looks empty now, barren. It makes something heavy settle in the pit of his stomach. It must show on his face, because Daisy sighs and stands, brushing her hands off on the thighs of her trousers. “It’s not like you’re never going to see me again. I’ll still visit.”

“I know,” Jon signs, his hand gestures a bit too wide. “I’ll still…” He pauses, his hands lingering in the air for a moment as he tries to figure out what the next sign should be, before giving up and stepping forward instead, reaching for Daisy’s hand and capturing it in his. He squeezes tightly, looking up at Daisy with an open, vulnerable expression. Then, he brings her hand up with his as he presses it against the left side of his chest, a few inches above the jagged line of scar tissue, and settles his other hand on top of it. He may not know how to sign I’ll miss you, but he’d learned love early on.

Daisy’s hand relaxes underneath his, and she stares at where their hands are clasped, mouth settling into something warm and fond. “Yeah. Me too. But it’s… time.” Her mouth twitches into something halfway displeased. “Basira’s waited long enough.”

She can wait a bit longer, Jon thinks, even as he nods and lets go of Daisy’s hand. Besides, he… he knows she’s right. The longer she stays, the less of a chance there is of her leaving at all, and he knows that it’s for the best if she goes. For her and for him.

That doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Daisy must see the vaguely sullen look on Jon’s face that he’s trying to hide, because she gives Jon an amused look and says, “You’ll be fine. No need to be so… grumpy.”

“I know,” Jon signs again, perhaps a bit more forcefully than is strictly necessary. “I’m not.”

“Sure,” Daisy says, her eyes wandering past his face and over his shoulder, where the door is sitting ajar. Jon knows Martin isn’t out there—that he’s still at work, will be for another hour or so—but he still has to resist the urge to follow her gaze, to check for himself that the doorway remains empty. “You’ve got my number? So you can call if you need to?”

Jon nods, signing the numbers just to make sure, and Daisy hums. “Good. I know the reception’s shit out here, but if I call three times with no response, I’m on the next train to Scotland. Understood?”

Jon rolls his eyes and tries to pretend like the fact that Daisy cares doesn’t make something warm and comforting settle in his chest. “Yes, mother.”

“Don’t be cheeky,” Daisy says, amused.

Daisy’s bag of things—clothing, toiletries, a few other items she’d accumulated over the past few months—sits accusingly by the door as Jon goes through the motions of making dinner, timing it so it’ll be ready by the time Martin gets home. It’s achingly domestic, and though Jon doesn’t really mind it, he’s found himself restless more days than not, hands itching for something to do that isn’t practicing sign language with Daisy or dusting the windowsills for the twentieth time. He thinks he’d be fine finding a job in the village; Martin insists that it’s still too dangerous, that people are still too angry. It’s a recurring argument, so old that almost all of the vitriol has bled out of it by this point, but still, they have it. Every moment he spends confined in this house is just another aching reminder of why he’s confined, and it builds and builds until some part of it springs free and brings with it all the frustration and hurt and pain that he just can’t seem to shake.

Maybe that’s why Jon’s so frustrated about the… therapy situation.

He stabs the knife through the pepper he’s cutting with a bit more force than necessary, and it makes a dull thunk on the cutting board. Daisy glances over from where she’s taking spices out of the cabinet, one eyebrow raised. “You’re going to wear a hole through the plastic if you keep doing that.”

Jon sighs and sends her a withering look. “Thank you,” he signs with a roll of his eyes, the motion sharp and forceful, before turning back to the cutting board and continuing to slice with clipped, jerky motions.

Daisy exhales slowly, turning back to the cabinet. “What’s wrong?” she says, reaching in and sorting through the frankly obscene amount of spices they’ve accumulated over the past few months.

“Nothing,” Jon signs without looking away from the pepper. “It’s fine.”

“Hm.” Daisy locates the spice she was looking for and pulls it out of the cupboard. “Is it because I’m leaving? I told you, it’ll be fine.”

Jon sighs and shakes his head, brushing the cut peppers off to the side and starting in on the onion. Daisy is quiet, busying herself with the spices and clearly waiting for Jon to elaborate. She’s patient, and he knows from experience that she’ll wait and wait and wait until he finally tells her what she wants to know. It reminds him distinctly of a persistence predator, stalking their prey and waiting for them to tire before they pounce.

Jon makes it all the way through the onion, ginger, and mushrooms before he finally sets the knife down with a clatter and signs, “It’s Martin.”

He leaves his hands in the air for a lingering moment, three fingers pressed tightly to the palm of his left hand, before forcibly relaxing his hands and dropping them. After a moment, Daisy prompts, “Okay. It usually is. What about Martin?”

Jon flexes his fingers by his side a few times before resigning himself to the fact that Daisy won’t let this go until he explains himself fully. He turns to gather his notebook from the kitchen table, sets it flat on the counter next to the cutting board, and taps the pen on the page a few times before deciding to just be blunt. I don’t understand how going into town for therapy is different than going into town for any other reason.

Daisy hums. “Are you upset about the therapy part or about the rest of it?”

I’m fine with the therapy part, Jon writes, a bit messily in his haste and frustration. So the rest of it.

Daisy crosses her arms, clearly waiting for him to explain.

It’s just, Jon writes, then scribbles it out. I just don’t understand, he tries, before scribbling that out too. Finally, with a frustrated huff of air, Jon settles on, I don’t think doctor-patient confidentiality is going to be as protective as Martin thinks it will be.

“Hm.” Daisy leans back against the counter and taps her fingers against it thoughtfully. “Maybe he thinks it’s worth the risk.”

Jon makes a breathy hmph sound, not sure if he’s displeased about the fact that this is what finally convinces Martin that it’s ‘worth the risk’ or about the fact that Daisy has a point.

“Why don’t you talk to him about it?” Daisy asks. Which is a perfectly reasonable question, Jon knows, so there’s no reason for him to grow even more frustrated when Daisy asks it.

He sighs, stares at his notebook, and eventually just shrugs wearily. We just haven’t been very good at talking lately, he writes, feeling every bit of his energy seep out into the ink. The end of the last letter bleeds when he leaves his pen pressed there for too long, which he thinks is fitting. That’s sort of the point of the therapy.

It’s not that Jon’s resistant to therapy. He’s not. He’d done a few sessions with a child psychologist when he was eight (that had eventually dropped off when he’d decided that never think about it again and pretend like it never happened was a much better method of coping than trying to explain something unexplainable to a smiling woman in a pantsuit), a good month or two in uni when the stress of it all had compounded and he’d shut off sometime after exams, and they were… fine. He’d taken away a few tools that he still uses—breathing techniques, the occasional bout of journaling that he’d never managed to maintain, things to help him at least identify when his thoughts begin to spiral—but nothing had really ever seemed substantial enough to justify going back. Even when things had gotten… bad, in the Archives, he’d never entertained the thought, because what would he say? He’d sat in his flat after Prentiss, laptop open as he scrolled through the available services, and found the phone number he was meant to call. His wounds itched underneath his bandages; he tried not to scratch them. The ones in his mind were a bit more difficult to let be.

He hadn’t called, in the end. He’d imagined it—sitting in a sterile office, bandages from head to toe, trying to explain being half-eaten alive by worms without saying those words—and had felt a lump that was equal parts desperation and despair rise in his throat, so acute that he’d shut his laptop with a bit more force than necessary. Therapy just… wasn’t in the cards for him, he’d decided.

And then things had gotten more complicated, and he’d been paranoid then on the run then comatose then just trying to fight against the hunger, and he’d resigned himself to the fact that he… he couldn’t be helped. Every aspect of his life was so entwined with things that he couldn’t explain to someone else, with things that a therapist wouldn’t understand, and to try to separate the parts of him that were human from the parts of him that weren’t seemed like an impossible task. Better just… not to try at all, he’d decided. He’d be fine. He always was.

Jon supposes that now, the problem is quite the opposite. Before, he’d avoided talking about the parts of himself that were supernatural because the therapist wouldn’t understand. Now, he’s avoiding talking about them because they’ll understand a bit too well.

“I think you’re still meant to try,” Daisy says, and Jon’s confused for a moment before he remembers oh, right. Talking to Martin. “Besides, he’ll… be able to help more than I can. I can’t tell you what he’s thinking; only he can.”

Almost flippantly, Jon signs, “I know.” He sighs and, after a moment, writes, I think it’ll be easier if I just trust him on this. If he thinks it’s safe, then

Jon pauses, pen still sitting on the paper, before finishing with a bit more conviction than he feels, then it’s safe.

Daisy just watches him for a moment, forehead slightly creased, before shrugging. “All right. If you need somebody to tell you that that’s fine, then here I am—telling you that it’s fine.”

“Thanks,” Jon signs with a fond sigh and a roll of his eyes. “Very helpful.”

“You’ve got to work on your ‘sarcastic’ face, or I’m going to start taking you seriously.”

“Ha ha.”

“Hm. Much better.”

. . .

The bus from the village to the train station in Inverness leaves just after dawn. Jon shifts from side to side by the door to the safehouse as Daisy does a final check to ensure she hasn’t forgotten anything, Martin trailing close behind. When they finally join him by the door, Martin hardly has time to open his mouth before Jon signs, quick and crisp, “I’m coming with.”

“Jon—” Martin starts, but Jon shakes his head.

More emphatically, he signs, “I’m. Coming. With.” When Martin opens his mouth again to argue, Jon holds up a hand, digs his notebook out of the pocket of his jacket, and scribbles, If we can visit a therapist for the foreseeable future, I can go into town once to say goodbye.

Martin’s lips purse, but after a moment, he sighs. “No, you’re- you’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just…”

“Scared?” Jon signs, one hand still holding the notebook and the other brushing against his chest.

Martin’s expression deepens, and he nods.

Jon worries his bottom lip between his teeth, then reaches forward and takes Martin’s hand in his. He squeezes it gently, reassuringly, then threads their fingers together and holds it tightly. Martin takes a deep breath, lets it out, and squeezes back. “Okay,” he whispers. “Sorry. I just- I worry.”

I know, Jon thinks. He nods and fumbles to tuck the notebook back in his pocket, then brushes his fingers gently against Martin’s cheek. I’ll be okay.

He hopes the sentiment comes across. He thinks it does, from the way Martin leans slightly into his touch and takes another, more even breath.

“I think I’ve got everything,” Daisy says, breaking through the tension between them a bit indelicately but not without purpose. “We should start walking.”

Martin presses his face into Jon’s hand for a moment more before pulling away, and Jon drops his hand back to his side. “Yeah,” Martin says with a short, firm nod. “Let’s go.”

The trip to the village is surprisingly short. It might be because of the anticipation building in Jon’s stomach, half from the knowledge that he has at best another hour with Daisy and half from the clawing worry that he’s horribly miscalculated and the moment he steps past the village limits, an angry mob will coalesce around them and demand reparation for all of Jon’s past mistakes.

It doesn’t happen. They arrive at the village and the streets are quiet, most people still asleep or preparing for the day as the sun tickles at the horizon, tinting the landscape around them with a soft morning blue. The few people they do pass pay them no mind, save for an older gentleman who wishes Martin a good morning and nods politely at Jon and Daisy. As they get closer to the bus station, Jon relaxes in increments until, by the time they reach it, he’s nearly free of tension entirely. A new wave of anxiety rushes through him as he sees the small crowd clustered by the pickup area, but they stay away from the crowds, instead stopping a bit further away near a grouping of benches. Jon settles down gratefully, the walk having made the ache in his knee flare up slightly, and after a moment, Martin and Daisy sit down as well, one on either side of him. They’re warm and solid, and even as a few more people begin to filter into the station, Jon relaxes once again as he stretches his leg in front of him carefully.

The bus is there too soon. Jon cuts off halfway through his sentence, his pen pressed against the paper as the rumble of the bus fills the air and people start to shift and stand, making their way towards where the bus is slowly rolling to a stop. He looks at Daisy, suddenly feeling a bit lost, and she places her hand atop his and applies a gentle, firm pressure. “Call,” she reminds him. “Twice a week, at minimum. I expect you to be alive and well when I come back to visit, okay?”

Jon takes a deep breath. When he lets it out, it hitches in his throat. “Okay,” he signs. He flutters his hands in the air for a moment, caught between signing I love you and Be safe, then gives up and leans forward, wrapping Daisy in a tight hug instead.

She huffs out a laugh, but after a moment her arms curl around him and she settles her hands flat against his lower back, pressing down lightly. “Yeah, yeah,” she says softly. “I’ll miss you too.”

And then she’s standing and walking towards the bus and boarding and the bus is pulling away and then it’s just him and Martin, sitting side-by-side on the bench and watching the bus disappear from their line of sight. After a moment, Martin settles his hand on Jon’s knee and says quietly, “You okay?”

Jon takes a deep breath, lets it out, and nods. “Let’s go home?”

Martin nods, shifting his hand so it slips into Jon’s and squeezing tightly. “If you’re sure.”

Jon runs the fingers of his free hand along the cover of his notebook, now lying closed on his lap. The back half is filled with words, thoughts, some carefully inked and others scratched down quickly before Jon forgot them. He has another two just like this one, tucked away in his drawer in the bedroom underneath his jumpers. There’s so much contained within them, so much more that’s still contained within himself, and the path ahead—the one where he sits side-by-side with Martin and faces a trained professional and tries to iron them all out into something manageable—is a daunting one. But he wants to try. God, he wants to try. So badly he aches with it.

“I’m sure,” he signs, then reaches down and picks up his notebook and pen. For all the uncertainty he’s faced in the past, all that he still faces, that, at least, is clear to him.

“All right.” Martin bumps his knee gently against Jon’s once before standing, helping Jon to his feet. Jon’s knee twinges in protest, and without missing a beat, Martin slips his hand out of Jon’s and around his back instead, subtly supporting his weight as they make their way out of the station and back to the paved road that turns to gravel that turns to dirt that leads to the small wooden cottage at the top of the hill.

Right now, the soil outside their house is dark and barren. But in a few months’ time, Jon knows, it will grow warm and the days will grow longer and he will be able to sit outside and look at the sky and think of just how lucky he is that he’s allowed to have this. That, despite all of the bad that has happened and all of the bad that has followed them still, he’s allowed to be happy.

And in the spring, the daisies will bloom once again.

[thebiscuiteternal]

I had an evil thought on twitter and way too many people encouraged it, SO-

“Collecting the Pieces”

Mild Horror, Family Secrets, Mental Instability, Magical Fuckups, Sangyao-lite, Nie Huaisang Doesn’t Know Yet, Jin Guangyao Is About To Know More Than He Ever Wanted To

__________

There is something wrong with Nie Huaisang.

It manifests in small signs at first.

Little things like how he would look at a person, but not at them, green eyes dull as if he wasn’t actually seeing who he was talking to. The unnaturally pale tint to his skin and the dark shadows under his eyes. The fact that his robes had gotten heavier over thr last several months, trying to hide that he was getting thinner.

The incident where he had lost consciousness in the middle of a discussion with Ouyang-furen and had only been saved from cracking his skull against the floor by the reflexes of his head disciple was… concerning. But like all of the other symptoms, it could easily be tallied up as exhaustion from lingering grief and having so much responsibility dumped onto an unprepared back.

But then...

Then there are the conversations none of them can hear. Those moments where he sits with his head slightly bowed, staring at nothing and lips moving silently.

There is something wrong with Nie Huaisang, and for those not of his sect, his presence has gone from mildly concerning to downright unnerving.

Jin Guangyao has to point out to his father more than once that they have only just averted the conflict with the previous sect leader; to bar the new one from the discussion conferences just because he seems strange would be an insult tantamount to inviting war, even if Nie Hengbai does seem to be doing all the talking for the Nie at the moment, his sect leader a quiet little shadow at his side.

He finds it a unique opportunity to observe, in fact. Everyone is so unsettled by the mere fact that Nie Huaisang converses with empty air that no one has apparently thought to find out what he is saying when he does .

The seating arrangement isn’t ideal. The only person besides his own disciples who doesn’t seem to be scared off by Nie Huaisang’s unnatural behavior is Jiang-zongzhu, who pointedly settles himself on the opposite side from Nie Hengbai and scowls at all gossipers, their host included. His height half-blocks Nie Huaisang from view.

But still, Jin Guangyao can see.

And as he watches the words fall unheard from Nie Huaisang’s mouth, he feels a chill slowly creep up his spine.

‘Da-ge, come back. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll behave. I'll be good. Please come back. Please, Da-ge…’

He is glad that his sleeves hide the involuntary clenching of his hands.

While he knows better than to completely dismiss a possibility, no matter how small the odds, his mind nonetheless rebels at the first idea to enter it. It cannot actually be Nie Mingjue's resentful ghost haunting his little brother. Even if it had been whole, if he and Xue Yang had not scattered it with the man's physical pieces, it is decidedly not Nie Huaisang that the man would be tormenting with his presence if he were capable.

Isn't it?

And yet, he cannot shake the cold in his bones.

There is something wrong with Nie Huaisang, and he will seek out the source.

---

"San-ge?"

Nie Huaisang blinks at him, eyes glassy and confused. He tilts his head questioningly like the birds he is so fond of, then slowly regains awareness of his surroundings and smiles, looking more like himself.

Jin Guangyao forcibly clamps down on a shudder. "It's good to see you, Sang-er," he says, allowing himself to adopt the regional address since they are nowhere near the judging eyes of Koi Tower. He reaches out and sweeps the younger man's hair out of his eyes, then tuts in concern. "Are you still not sleeping well?"

"Ah-" Nie Huaisang flinches and looks embarrassed at the gentle chiding. "It's… nothing, really. Busy times and too much paperwork, that's all. Can I get you anything?"

"I just need to look over some map records, if you don't mind. A handful of small sects have brought a problem to my father, and I'm afraid our own records are… a bit lacking."

The younger man simply nods, accepting the excuse at face value, and Jin Guangyao isn't sure if that says something about Nie Huaisang's state of mind, or the Jin sect's reputation for ignoring anything that isn't expenditures or debts to be collected. Either way, when Nie Huaisang reaches out to tug his sleeve, he goes willingly and tries to ignore the slightly unsteady sway to his friend's pace.

Even though the poor end to his relationship with Nie Mingjue had been loud and public enough that the whole of the Unclean Realms knew about it before the day had even ended, he is apparently still a familiar enough face that barely anyone pays him mind.

Indeed, most of their worried glances are directed towards their sect leader.

He refuses to examine the possible reasons why that might be settling sour in his stomach.

They are still a few halls and turns away from the library when Nie Huaisang lets go of his sleeve and puts a hand to his head, looking even more pale than before. Jin Guangyao catches him before he can topple into the wall and then bites his tongue when green eyes slide over him, gaze unseeing.

“Sang-er?” he asks cautiously.

Nie Huaisang’s eyes don’t clear, but he seems to still be at least halfway lucid. “I’m sorry… I don’t feel well. I think I need to stay here. You remember the rest of the way, don’t you?”

“I do, but this is no proper place for you to rest.” He leans around the corner and waves over a passing servant. “Would you assist Nie-zongzhu to his room, please?”

“Of course, of course,” the woman says in a tone that conveys she is apparently -unfortunately- used to this. “Come along,” she says, taking hold of Nie Huaisang’s hand and wrapping a steadying arm around his waist, as if guiding a lost child, and he follows her lead without complaint.

Jin Guangyao watches them go and squashes that sour feeling when it threatens to churn.

Answers.

Answers first.

---

The library he needs, he has decided, is not the primary library, the one that Nie Huaisang had been taking him to. No, he seeks out the room buried so deep in the Unclean Realms that no daylight reaches it, that he had only stumbled upon by accident back when he had been employed here.

Lighting the only lantern in the room with a flame talisman, he finds that nothing has changed since the last time he was here other than a thickening of the layer of dust.

Swallowing hard, he straightens his back and starts with the family records.

---

‘After much deliberation and testimony from the physicians and healers involved in the care of the first young master, it is the advice of the sect elders that- ’

He has relit the lantern twice, and he’s fairly sure it’s long past dinner when he sinks into a chair and slaps the open scroll down onto the table, feeling lightheaded and shaky.

A spirit-tethering.

Until he had seen the books Lan Xichen carried from the library of the Cloud Recesses, such a thing had been the stuff of fantasy stories. Even in the vaunted Lan texts, it was only described in abstract theory.

And yet there was apparently enough foundation to it that a serious proposal had been made to cast such a thing between a pair of children to keep Nie Mingjue from being torn apart by the saber he’d bonded with far too young.

He forces himself to keep reading, feeling his stomach sink with every passage.

Nie Haoran had argued viciously against the idea for two years, even offering himself as the tether, only to be shot down due to his own unstable health. He had only given in when his son had experienced his first qi deviation at eleven years of age.

Eleven years old.

Nie Huaisang would have only been five.

Jin Guangyao bites his tongue again and presses the back of his hand to his mouth to forcibly swallow back the bile that bubbles up in his throat.

The mechanics of the matter only make the horror of it even more stark. The only ones who would have been able to undo the tether would have been the brothers themselves. He finds notes, plans, all written in Nie Mingjue’s sharp-edged calligraphy, of how he would set his brother free once his own health became too compromised but before his mind was too unstable…

But he hadn’t done it.

Hadn’t been able to do it.

He’d deteriorated too quickly.

Instead...

Nausea continuing to roil in his guts like a thunder cloud, Jin Guangyao rolls up the scroll and shoves it back into place with enough force that it crumples, practically fleeing the room even though there is no monster there to escape, just-

It is indeed dark outside as he traverses the hallways, barely able to restrain himself from running.

No one answers when he knocks at Nie Huaisang’s door. He sucks in a sharp breath to ground himself, then carefully pushes it open.

The room is as stark as he remembers from his last visit. Though he knows he Lan Xichen have both offered to help, Nie Huaisang has yet to start replacing any of the possessions that his brother had burnt. There is a tray of food on the table near the bed, untouched and probably long cold.

The person he’s seeking is curled up on the bed on top of the covers, still fully dressed. Fingers twitch and scratch at his own arms as he shivers, most likely in the throes of a nightmare.

His lips are moving.

Jin Guangyao doesn’t dare read them.

He closes the door behind him and crosses the room to the bed. Nie Huaisang doesn’t react to the dip in the mattress as he sits down, nor to being pulled and shifted until the younger man’s head rests in his lap. When he gently removes the guan from his hair and begins combing out the braids, however, the fit finally eases, the anxious lines of Nie Huaisang’s face smoothing out as he calms.

Jin Guangyao closes his eyes for a moment and sighs.

He now knows what is wrong with Nie Huaisang, and he knows he is at fault.

He could lay the blame elsewhere. He wants to. The elders who’d made the proposal... Nie Haoran for allowing it... the healers who’d carried it out… It is most tempting to blame Nie Mingjue for having not undone it as soon as they were both grown.

But no. The fact of the matter is that Nie Huaisang’s condition can be laid at his feet. Had he not hastened Nie Mingjue’s death… He doesn’t regret that.

He refuses to let himself regret that.

But this…

Grief could be moved past.

Missing pieces could not.

He opens his eyes to find Nie Huaisang has shifted to curl against him, and he allows himself a small, weak smile as he begins carding his fingers through silken hair again.

He knows what is wrong with Nie Huaisang, and perhaps he can’t fix the damage already done, but there are still things he can do. Information he can find, pieces he can move or remove. He can make things easier.

“It will be alright,” he murmurs, then leans down and gently presses a kiss to the sleeping young man’s temple. The gesture makes Nie Huaisang snuggle closer in his sleep, and his own smile gains strength.  “I took care of er-gongzi before, I will be happy to take care of zongzhu now. He is my responsibility, after all.”

[buckys-black-dress]

a fine line, part four

a/n: heyyy! sorry this part took so long :( i was feeling really shitty this past week, so here it finally is! i hope u guys like it :)

wc: 3.7k words

-

This week was going... strangely well. 

And of course, it was because of James. 

On Monday when you walked into your first ever shared lecture, everything was already set up. There was even a coffee and breakfast waiting for you, which James graciously handed to you with a bright smile upon your entrance. 

“Good morning, Y/N. Did you sleep well last night?” He asks with an innocent smile, but you knew he wasn’t all that clueless. 

“Good morning James. I did, in fact, sleep very well last night. I hope you did too, because we have a long day ahead of us.” You give a tight smirk with your words, looking at the coffee and bakery bag in his hands. “What’s that?” 

“Oh! For you. This is day one, remember?” He says, handing you them and retreating to his desk. “Also, I spoke to Fury about the class sizes. Although he wasn’t much help and basically told me I was on my own, I did send an email to my students about the way they should behave while you’re here. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, or anything.” 

“O-oh. Thanks. I really appreciate that.” You mumble, looking down.

“Yeah, of course. Is there anything else you might need to do this?” He asks in a sincere tone. You felt so weird. 

“Uh, no, I don’t think so. Thank you, though.” You smile.

“Well, let’s get started then.” James turns around to open the door, waiting for students to file in until class officially started.

You were extremely nervous, to say the least, but it was comforting knowing that he was trying to make you feel more at home in this space.

Tuesday was more of the same. He, again, brought you breakfast, and had his class in line. But the thing that was different today was the sweet note attached with the lunch he brought.

Y/N, I hope you know how serious I am about all of this. Part of that means paying attention to what you like and don’t like. I know you hate milk in your coffee, large crowds, and when people think English class is a joke. I also know you hate hot coffee, but love tea. And you love grilled cheese, which is what I got you from that café across campus. Enjoy :) -BB

You smiled down at the greasy paper bag, smelling heavenly as ever. Your stomach rumbled after a long lecture with James, and just as you were to plop down into your office chair, a knock sounded from the doorframe, and a large body appearing.

“Hey. Like the lunch?” James asks, his hands in his pockets while walking in slowly.

“Y-Yeah, how’d you know?” You ask, smiling down at the sandwich.

“I mean, I see you there a lot with Nat and Wanda, so I thought I’d treat ya to one. I pay attention to you more than you think.” He says, and your brows pull together as you try not to laugh. “I- that made me sound like a creep.” He looks down in embarrassment.

“It’s alright, James,” you smile, “I really appreciate it. Thank you.” You look down at the warm sandwich again. “Would you like the other half?” You extend it out to him, and he watches with wide eyes.

“Oh, n-no, I wouldn’t wanna impose like that, it was for you-” 

“James, I insist. Please, sit.” You motion to your chair across your desk. 

He sits with you and conversation flows easily between you two, and it was a huge change from where you two stood a month ago. If someone told you a month ago that James Barnes was trying to woo you, to make you accept his apology, then you would’ve laughed in their face. 

But sitting here now, with him, you wouldn’t rather be anywhere else. 

That is, until you hear the clicking of heels from the hall, and a certain redhead peeking her head in your office.

“Oh! Sorry, Y/N, I didn’t realize you already had lunch plans,” Natasha says with a smirk, moving to leave your office. You watched with wide eyes, and you knew she was going to have a word with you about this later.

“Great.” You say, hitting your head against your desk, while James is chuckling from his spot.

“Y’know, she’s definitely somethin’ else.” He laughs, looking at you carefully. “It’s not a bad thing, right?” He asks.

“What’s not a bad thing?” You ask, confused.

“That Natasha saw us in here... together...?” He sounds like he’s asking a question, but he’s not sure.

“No... We’re... friends, right? Friends eat lunch together...” You tell him, although you also sound unsure of yourself.

“Yeah... friends.” Bucky feels his chest tighten in a way he’s only felt a few times in his life before.

You both carry on eating, but you don’t see the way he’s looking at you. It almost looks like... longing.

Wednesday was slowly escalating Bucky’s promise to you. After a long day of teaching, there was a bottle of wine waiting on your desk when you returned to collect your things for the evening. Another note was attached to it.

Dear Y/N, 

Here’s a little something to help you get through tomorrow and Friday. Hope you enjoy. :)

- BB

You look at the bottle, and it’s an aged Sauvignon from France. It was a nice bottle, and you know he took his time picking it out. It made your insides tingle knowing he thought of you and what would impress you. 

You picked up the bottle, looking at it for another minute before sliding it into your bag and gathering your papers and laptop.

You wanted to knock on his door to say thank you, but it was already shut, so you assumed he was either already gone or speaking privately with someone. 

You decided you would just text him to thank him, and with that you decided to leave your office for the night. 

Little did you know, James was having a conversation with one of the students he had come to love and whom he had become very close with over the course of their time together. 

“Dr. B, you weren’t being so subtle in class today, y’know?” The boy’s scratchy voice said.

“What’re ya talkin’ about, Parker?” His voice was tired from lecturing all day, but he couldn’t deny the way his heart rate picked up at the boy’s words.

“Well, with Dr. Y/L/N... I don’t know, you look at her like how I look at MJ...” He tells his professor.

“Well I sure hope so, ‘cause I like her... a lot...” Bucky shoves his head into his hands and takes a deep breath, while the student still stares at him.

“Well why don’t you tell her?!” Peter exclaims, hands flailing around with wide eyes. “You guys would be awesome together! Oh man, I can’t wait to tell MJ, she’s gonna love this- You know Dr. Y/L/N is like, her favorite teacher ever?-” Peter starts rambling, but is cut off by Bucky’s gruff voice.

“L-Listen, kid, it’s not that easy. I messed up with her before, and I’m trying to make it up to her. I did some things that... that I’m not proud of before, and now it’s time for me to win her over, but I’m runnin’ short on ideas, here.” He explains to the youngling.

“Oh- Well, what’re you thinking?” Peter asks, ideas already running through his head. 

And once Bucky explains what happened and what he’d been doing this whole week, Peter jumped in his seat.

“Maybe MJ can help! She sees her like, every day anyways, so maybe we can like, ask her to do something. Something subtle, but something Dr. Y/L/N will know is from you. We all know she doesn’t like all that flashy crap.”

And so the two got to planning the rest of the week, and came up with ways to have MJ help as well, just to add that little somethin’ for you.

Thursday went by in a flash, but there was something by lunchtime that you couldn’t shake from your thoughts. 

James hadn’t done anything today, and you were scared.

Scared that he gave up, that he doesn’t care anymore.

Scared that you’re not worth it anymore. 

By 3 PM, you couldn’t help but feel small and like a fool. You were sitting at your desk between classes, trying to work on some grading to take your mind off the events of the day.

Or lack thereof.

Until there was a knock at your door, a knock you’ve known for almost two years now. 

“MJ, come in! How are you today, hun?” You ask in the cheeriest voice you can muster right now. 

One of your most treasured students walks in and sets her bag down on the chair in front of your desk.

“Hi Dr. Y/L/N. I have a message for you.” She tells you very vaguely. You raise an eyebrow at the girl, but allow her to continue with a brief nod.

“Uhm, alright?” You tell her.

“Y/N,” you raise your brows at the use of your first name, “I know I haven’t always been the kindest you. I know that I’ve made you doubt me and my honesty. And I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I’d like to change that. I’ve spent the better part of this week trying to figure out how I was going to make you understand just how sorry I am for the way I treated you. I made you feel like you weren’t enough, that you were the problem, but in the end, I had to sit and think.

This was all my fault. I made us this way, but now it’s up to me to fix it. I hope you know, you are one in a million, and I want you to see that. I want you to see yourself the way I see you. So, I have a simple favor to ask of you. Tomorrow night, be ready at seven o’clock sharp in your prettiest dress. Love, James.” 

And before your brain could even process the fact that James was asking you out on a date and calling you beautiful, the door opened once again, and a student you’ve often seen milling in and out of James’ office.

He was holding a bouquet of assorted flowers of beautiful greenery and colors that you’ve never even imagined of. 

“Hi Dr. Y/L/N. These are for you.” He hands them to you, and remember his name to be Peter Parker, MJ’s boyfriend. 

“Oh- Oh my God, thank you, Peter. And you too, MJ. You’re both absolute gems.” You say with a severe blush dusting your face. 

“Of course, Doctor. That’s all we’ve got for our part, have a good rest of your day.” MJ smiles as she grabs Peter’s hand and leave your office.

You wave them off and give them a sweet smile. 

You stare down at the floral arrangement in your hands, and couldn’t contain the wide smile that you had spread across your face.

You had only seen James through class today, and it had gone extremely well. You gave a full lecture, and your lesson plans had been going over really well with the class. Although James hadn’t done anything today, it had lifted your mood to see you were doing well with this lesson. 

But now, you were over the moon, and nothing could ruin your day.

You slowly bounded into James’ office, finding him facing away from the door, murmuring something to himself as he flicked his eyes from his computer to the papers in front of him. 

“Hey, stranger.” You say with another grin that made James’ stomach flutter at the sight. You were leaning against his door frame, bag slung across your shoulder and the flowers in hand.

“H-Hey. How are you?” He asks, standing up from his chair.

“I’m doing great. Better than I was earlier today. I uh... I thought you’d...given up on me,” you try to laugh it off, trying to make it look much less dramatic than you initial thoughts.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” He walks up to you, tipping your chin up where your eyes meet his icy baby blues. “You... You are so important. Especially to me, and don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise. I know I did it in the past, and there’s nothing I wish I could take back more than that.” He looks at you with such conviction, such purpose, that all you can do is nod numbly and stare back.

“I, uhm, Lucy’s waiting for me at home, I have to go. But I’ll see you tomorrow.” You say softly, still holding his gaze.

“Okay, see you tomorrow. Have a good night, doll.” He says, softly smiling and backing away, but still facing you.

“Bye.” You smile, walking away.

“Bye.” James returns, a silly smile on his face.

“Bye.” You say again, laughing.

“Bye!” You hear him yell, but you were already out of his office. 

You hear his laughter mixing with yours, and you couldn’t wipe the stupid smile off your face for the rest of the night. Not when you got home and fed Lucy, not when you put the flowers in a vase, and certainly not as you fell asleep.

Friday was possibly the slowest day ever. You were in class all morning, and you were still giddy from yesterday. The lesson had gone exceptionally well, especially after the breakfast James brought you. 

You ate lunch with Nat and Wanda, having not sat down to have an in-depth conversation with them in quite a while.

“Soooo... what’s up with you and Bucky?” Natasha gives you one of her devious smirks, and she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Well, he’s been doing this... thing this week where he’s making it up to me for... everything, I guess?” You say. “And we’re going on a date tonight.” You don’t meet their eyes, but theirs widen as they share a look.

“And you didn’t think to tell us, you bitch?!” Wanda hits your arm, laughing out a scoff.

“I-I mean, it was a whole deal. He like- you know MJ and Peter? They came in and did this thing in my office, MJ read a whole note from him, and then Peter came in with a bouquet of these beautiful flowers. And then I went to his office to thank him, and we had this... interaction like... like it was magic.”

The way you spoke in awe had Natasha and Wanda confused, but also in awe. They were happy for you, after all you’d been through, it was comforting seeing you like this. You deserved to be happy.

“That’s really great, Y/N,” Natasha gently placed her hand over yours. Her smile was sincere, just like Wanda’s. You were genuinely happy in this moment. Not only with the prospect of your date tonight, but because of the people you were surrounded with. You were grateful for these two, because you didn’t know where you’d be without them. 

“So, are you two gonna help me get ready for my date tonight?” You ask expectantly, to which both redheads say,

“Duh!” And all three of you burst into a fit of giggles.

-

So now, here you were. It was an hour before James was set to pick you up, and you were dat at your vanity while Wanda curled the ends of your hair. Nat had picked out a gorgeous black dress for you, with strappy heels and a short cardigan for some cover-up. You had a robe on while you were waiting for Wanda to finish, so you could do your makeup. That’s all that was left, and the anticipation for 7 o’clock was killing you.

“Y/N, I can practically hear you thinking so hard,” Wanda laughs, patting your shoulder.

“Sorry, I just- I’m nervous. I haven’t been on a date since... since forever. I don’t wanna mess this up, especially with him.” You explain to them.

“Y/N, think of like this... he’s making it up to you. You don’t have anything to worry about. He’s the one doing the impressing.” Natasha tells you, and you understand a little bit.

“Yeah, he’s the one owing it to you. You have nothing to worry about, dear.” Wanda reassures.

“Y-You’re right, guys. Okay, let me do my makeup, and then I’m ready.” You smile, because even though you were nervous you were also excited. This was a surprise, and you couldn’t wait to see what James had planned.

As 7 o’clock rolled around, Nat and Wanda eventually left. You were waiting by the door downstairs, waiting to see a car pull around, but instead what you saw made your eyes widen.

You peeked your head out the door, seeing James.

On a motorcycle.

“Absolutely not, James!” You yell, not even for a second thinking it was funny.

He doesn’t say anything, just moving off the bike and walking up to you. 

“Y/N... you look... beautiful.” He takes your hand in his, completely ignoring how you were not amused by the bike.

“J-James, I’m serious. No.” 

“Y/N, I promise, you’ll be just fine. You’re in good hands.” He leads you to the bike, pulling out a helmet for you. 

“Do you not own a car?” You whine, really not wanting to get on this death trap.

“You know I do, but I like to keep the element of surprise, doll.” He smirks that smirk, and you know you’re not getting out of this. 

“Ugh, fine. Let’s go before I change my mind.” You say, waiting for him to get on first.

As you climb on, you wait for him to adjust himself, and you hesitate when the time comes to wrap your arms around his torso; your hands were just awkwardly hovering around him.

“Don’t be shy, doll.” You hear him say, suddenly just planting your arms into place quickly.

As James starts to drive, you feel yourself moving closer and closer to his body, eventually hugging up against him.

Bucky feels your body against his, and he can feel your heart beating wildly in your chest and every breath you take. He can feel it when he does something just a little bit risky on the bike, and how your breath catches in your throat.

And maybe he was doing them on purpose to feel your arms tighten around him even further. 

By the time you reach where he’s taking you, you’re sure you look like a mess. Helmet head, mascara smudged under your eyes. But Bucky can’t help but feel that this is the most beautiful you’ve ever looked.

You were perched on a lookout point of the city, and there was a large setup waiting for the two of you. A large blanket splayed across the grass, small lanterns scattered across the expanse of land along with a few baskets of food.

“Wow...” You couldn’t help but stare in awe at the scene. Bucky had really taken the time to arrange all of this... for you.

“Do ya like it? I know it’s not the ideal traditional first date, but I didn’t wanna take you to some fancy restaurant, and-”

“Bucky, it’s absolutely perfect.” You cut off his rambling and take ahold of his hand, leading him to the blanket and you both sit down.

“So, how did you even come up with this?” You ask, watching him pull out the food and a bottle of wine.

“Well, I’ll admit... it wasn’t all me. I had a lot of help from Steve and Sam, because at first I had no clue what to do. I didn’t know how to really make it special, so we sat down and planned this whole thing.” He explains.

“Well, make sure to pass on a thank you to them from me.” You giggle, taking a sip of the wine he poured you.

“You got it, doll.” He laughs, and you two continue to talk and drink until you felt a chill run through you from a cool breeze building up due to the cold air.

And of course, Bucky notices. You watch him pull out another blanket, opening it to cover himself, but he holds up the other end and looks to you.

“C’mon, it’s getting colder, isn’t it?” Bucky asks with a gentle smile.

You nod, scooting closer to him to get under the blanket. And maybe it was the warmth from the wine you had, or the blanket or being so close to Bucky, but you felt very warm and comfortable in that moment.

“The lights are so... pretty from up here. Everything looks so small from up here.” You tell him.

“Hmm... it is really beautiful.” You hear his gruff voice from his chest, and you look up at him from your spot with your head on his shoulder.

He was looking right at you, and you momentarily see his eyes flicker from yours to your lips. It felt like gravity was pulling you two closer together, and eventually your eyes both slip closed and all you can feel is the warmth of his lips on yours. 

And you never usually kiss on the first date, but this was different.

Bucky was different.

When you pull away from him, you struggle to open your eyes again, for the fear that this was all a dream and you’ll wake up if you do.

“Angel, open your eyes. Look at me.” Bucky says, and you do as he says.

You looked like a real life angel to him. Swollen lips, hair flowing in all directions from his hands being run through it and the wind from the motorcycle. Under the blanket, your hands placed on his shoulders, basically in his lap. 

And this is when Bucky knew.

This was heaven. There was absolutely nowhere else he ever wanted to be than with you.

Your eyes searched his, and all you could find was adoration, infatuation, and... love.

And this is when you knew.

You were in love with Bucky Barnes.

[svgarpills]

can you write an amphibia X the owl house crossover fan-fic, where luz and anne decide to pursue music/singing careers together by trying to audition for a k-pop girl group/band.

Interesting...I will do my best

--

Ships: Platonic! Luz & Anne, very minor background Lumity

Characters: Anne Boonchuy, Luz Noceda, mentions of Marcy, Sasha & Amity

Warnings: N/A

Notes: Honestly I feel like they would be besties if they were in the same universe

Summary: It all starts when Anne brings up the previous garage band, and then it sort of spirals.

*I didn't go fully into the entire audition process but it's pretty open-ended so you can imagine it going whatever direction you want. Owl House & Amphibia crossover set in a vague AU. I aged them up a bit because i dont know if you can audition for stuff like that at 13/14.

--

Anne lays back on her bed as Luz coos over her pet, the cat purring as the other girl runs her fingers through its soft fur. Anne casually reaches over and pulls out a small book, flipping through the pages. There's a mix of completed songs that she's never really performed, ones that have edits from Sasha and Marcy, and ones that are halfway full or have multiple scratched out words. "Ooh, what's that?" Luz asks, leaning in to try and catch a glimpse of the pages.

"Just a book of lyrics and stuff, I work on it as a hobby," she shrugs. Luz's eyes widen, shining brightly as she beams. Anne hands it over and watches as she flips curiously through the pages, her interested expression growing more and more excited as she reads through every line of text. Luz has always liked things like these, while Anne has never been as interested in reading things over and over in great detail.

"These are great, Anne! I didn't know you did music stuff." Anne sits up and grins before pulling her guitar from the corner. "Woah, guitar too?! That's so cool!" Luz gushes. "When did you learn? What made you want to?" Anne takes a seat again and adjusts a few of the parts of her guitar before she turns back to her friend. Luz is practically bouncing in place as she looks at the object.

"Oh, Sasha started a garage band with me and Marcy a few years ago. She was the main focus, but I actually learned a lot from it." She turns to a page in the book and sings the first few lines, accompanied by her instrument. When she finishes, Luz claps loudly and cheers, mimicking the sounds of a crowd. "What about you, do you do anything music related?" Anne asks once she falls silent again.

"My mom signed me up for singing lessons a while ago. I'm probably a little bit rusty, but I remember most of it. I sang for Amity once and her face turned bright red!" She glides a finger over the page before finding where Anne left off and starting on the following lines. Anne starts playing again as Luz continues to sing the words on the page. Once she reaches the end, she gasps and pulls out her phone. She halfway shoves it into Anne's face and, after a bit of adjustment, she's finally able to read the advertisement.

"...A band audition? I mean, it sounds cool, but do you think we're really good enough for that?" She asks. Luz takes her phone back and starts scrolling through the advertisement, a determined glint in her eyes. "I mean, we sound good, but there's probably going to be a lot of people there, and I haven't really sang a full song since I was thirteen...wow, I sound old saying that."

"We're probably not ready yet, but we've got a whole month to practice! Do you think that'll be enough time?" Anne looks down at her lyric book, reading over each line. They're not outstanding, in her opinion, but they'll probably catch some attention. And besides, even if they don't get in, it'll still be something fun to do. It beats letting her guitar collect dust in the corner of her room.

"Well, it'll probably take a lot of time, but I think we can manage. After all, we've got experience under our belt already," she replies. Luz squeals happily and leaps to her feet to spin excitedly, pumping her fists in the air. Once she finishes, she brings a hand up to her chin and starts speaking rapidly, her face now one of concentration and eagerness.

"Alright, we'll definitely need to practice some full songs together. And different types of songs! With our combined talents, we can do anything! Ooh, do you think my mom will let me learn an instrument? What type though...?" Luz starts rambling about all of the instruments she's interested in learning, listing off the pros and cons of each choice. While she does so.

Anne glances down at the pages, and then up at Luz again. She's got her phone in hand again, probably looking up which instruments are easiest to learn, or which ones are the most exciting to play. Anything seems like a vague, broad term. There are a lot of things she knows they can't do. But this?

They can definitely do this.

[twilightofthejedi]

chapter 2 of "sorry to my unknown lover" is up!

read on ao3 here

read chapter 1 on ao3 here and on tumblr here

chapter summary:

He is still watching his own blood settle on the ground when Vincenzo groans, stirring. Han-seok looks down at one of the shards of glass, how it turns reflective in the light. He sees his own smirk, and looks up.

It all starts now.

read under the cut below

chapter 2: prometheus

Jang Han-seok slips his phone into his pocket. It had been almost child’s play getting his personal effects back after his brief stint in jail, and he has no intention of returning.

Not when he has who he wants right in front of him.

He looks down at the great Vincenzo Cassano, unconscious and tied to a chair. His hair is matted with his own blood, and there is glass embedded in his knees. Han-seok bends to take out the glass, and wraps the wounds with cloth. It wouldn’t do to have Vincenzo’s wounds get infected too early. He does, after all, want him to be conscious for the next part of his plan.

At first, as he had watched Vincenzo and Cha-young banter easily on the sidewalk outside the plaza, bitter green jealousy twisting his stomach like acid, he had considered taking Cha-young instead. Wouldn’t it be nice to toy with Vincenzo from afar, dangling things like Cha-young’s glittery earrings in front of him, forcing him to come to her and scream in fear for her life?

It would, but he had realized that he didn’t need Cha-young to toy with Vincenzo. He could do that from two feet away from him, in a warehouse with nobody around them for miles.

Funny, really, how many abandoned warehouses there are, with nobody to care about them or even think twice about the screams coming from them.

The screams that he has every intention of pulling from Vincenzo.

He picks up one of the glass shards that he had pulled from Vincenzo, and runs his finger along the jagged edge of it. It pricks his finger, and the blood catches the industrial lighting overhead. He watches idly as the blood beads up and falls to the ground. It sits there, staining the gray concrete a dull brown.

He is still watching his own blood settle on the ground when Vincenzo groans, stirring. Han-seok looks down at one of the shards of glass, how it turns reflective in the light. He sees his own smirk, and looks up.

It all starts now.

-

“Noona , I can help.”

Both Cha-young and Mr. Nam look up with a start, and see Jang Han-seo standing there, shirt rumpled and tie askew. He is holding a computer and some sort of device, and his eyes are bloodshot.

She can only stare at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I got the text from hyungnim, too. That is what’s going on, right?” He looks in between them, eyes darting like he is nervous. Cha-young remembers a flippant line in Han-seo’s folder in the guillotine file: He was abused and tortured by his older brother for years, and resultant drug addiction , takes in Han-seo’s slightly shaking fingers, and decides to take a chance.

“What did he say in his message to you?” Mr. Nam says, seemingly reading her mind. He beckons Han-seo closer, and pulls out a chair for him to sink into. Han-seo unlocks his phone and sets it on the table, along with the computer and mysterious gadget. The message is nearly identical to the one that she had received but in context, significantly more terrifying: Hi Han-seo. Did you miss me? You can’t get rid of me that easily, little brother.

The picture and its caption are different, too. The picture is of a man’s hand, presumably Han-seok’s, holding a bloody watch, Vincenzo’s bare, pale wrist in the blurry background. Mr. Nam inhales sharply at the sight, and Cha-young impatiently clicks to the caption.

One more.

Cha-young has read her former hoobae ’s folder in the File; she knows what the watch signifies. For a second, she is standing outside a makgeolli shop on a rainy night, a clear plastic umbrella falling from her fingers that have suddenly gone numb, and pushing past bystanders who have gathered to watch; dispassionate, uncaring, apathetic bystanders watching one man die and another struggle to live, and sees the hundreds of sticky notes that had been stuck to the wall for months until she finally allowed herself to take them down. She stands up abruptly, and the other two men stumble to their feet after her.

“Byeonhosa-nim ?” Mr. Nam asks tentatively.

“Han-seo, what’s the laptop for?”

“Do you know where hyung is right now?” he asks abruptly. They both shake their heads. In the past few hours, Cha-young and Mr. Nam have come up with a plan for what to do when they find Han-seok, but they have been stumped on how to find him. It wasn’t like he had conveniently called them that they could track his phone, and surveillance footage courtesy of Mi-ri and Agent Ahn hadn’t turned up anything useful.

“I didn’t think so,” Han-seo continues. “You both know about his practice of collecting watches, right?” Cha-young exchanges a glance with Mr. Nam, who turns a delicate shade of green. She nods.

“ Hyungnim likes to wear the watches that he collects. He switches them around, wears a different one everyday. Never even matches them to his outfit. It’s ridiculous.” Han-seo trails off, rambling about sports watch and black suit, and Cha-young realizes she needs to steer the conversation back to relevancy.

“Han-seok has no fashion sense. So?” she asks, feeling her patience fray with every passing second. With every passing second Vincenzo could be getting tortured, or dying, or both at the same time.

Cha-young owns exactly one black hanbok . She has worn it three times in her life. First to her mother’s funeral, standing silently in the funeral parlor, fuming when her father stepped out to take a call from a client. The next time was nearly ten years later, for her father’s funeral. Then she had felt nothing, just a cold sea of emptiness, right until she saw the picture of them both at her law school graduation, at which point she had been punctured like a balloon, or a plant cell with too much water intake. The last and most recent time was at Vincenzo’s mother’s funeral. Then she had felt a bone deep sorrow, and a dizzying feeling of inevitability, like this was going to be the rest of her life. Going to funerals of people taken from her much too soon.

She refuses, however, to take out that hanbok again. Let it collect dust on its hanger in her closet. Let it fade with time. She refuses to lose anyone else, and she refuses to lose Vincenzo.

She’ll be damned if she lets Jang Han-seok change that.

“So,” Han-seo says, typing on the laptop. “I installed trackers in all of the watches. I’m finding his current location right now.” He looks up at them. “He will try to control the action from now on. His plan is probably to keep baiting you, noona , with pieces of information about Vin- hyung to keep you dependent on him. But now that we know where he is, we can confront him on our own terms. I mean, your terms. Because it’s your plan.” he finishes slightly awkwardly.

He turns the laptop to face them, and she and Mr. Nam crouch down to see. The blip on the screen is pointing to a warehouse over twenty miles outside of Seoul, which makes sense.

Cha-young looks both of her companions in the eye. “Let’s get to work.”

-

“Had a nice rest?”

Vincenzo leans back in the hard wooden chair he is strapped to. “It’s not first class, but it’ll do, I suppose.”

In front of him, Jang Han-seok sneers. Vincenzo just stares at him patiently. His initial few seconds when he woke up had remained unknown to his captor. He had lain there, still and silent, breathing evenly, to try and get a feel for his situation. Once he had deduced that there was only one person with him, and that they weren’t in the city, he had allowed himself to groan and let Han-seok know that he was awake. Now that his eyes are open and he has swept the area and can visualize it in his mind’s eye, he has nothing else to do other than let Han-seok show his hand.

After all, Jang Han-seok is nothing if not dependably predictable.

True to form, Han-seok stands abruptly. “Shall we take a picture? I’m sure sunbae would love to see how you’re doing right now.”

“I’m sure you’ve already sent her a picture, but go ahead.”

His captor narrows his eyes at him, and then strides away, out of sight. Vincenzo takes the opportunity to close his eyes and collect his thoughts. It’s been far too long since he was kidnapped. The last time was two years ago, when he woke up and found himself in a vineyard in Sicily, bound hand and foot.

He had burned the entire place down, as well as everyone in it.

Now, however, he cannot recklessly escape, or else he will lead Cha-young right into a trap. He has no doubt that she will find him and bring the right people and use the right resources to rescue him.

He knows this. He knows the competency of everyone that he has worked with for the past few months.

Over the past fifteen years, he has carried out more illegal acts than he can remember. He has burned, stolen, framed, defamed, and killed and killed and killed. He has not regretted much of it, save for one thing. Collateral.

Vincenzo knows that his actions after coming to Korea are in somewhat of a gray area. Yes, they are illegal, and very much dangerous, but they are justified . They are a means to a very much honorable end, and he doesn’t regret them. No, what he regrets is the collateral. Before, the word collateral had served as nothing more than a clinical way to refer to the people that got hurt in the crossfire. Collateral was a number, a number of people, an amount of money needed to fix it, statistics on a page in il capo’s ledger that got crossed off with a fountain pen, the book shut before the ink finished drying.

However, he still remembers straightening to his feet, his pointer finger still stained with fresh blood after tracing the letter C into the rapidly spreading bloodstain on the floor. He had scanned the area, because there was nothing that the capo hated more than loose ends on a job. When he had looked into the car, he had inhaled sharply, because there was a child cowering in the backseat, curled around a worn stuffed animal.

But now, collateral is the faces of people that he does not want to see gone. Against his will, he has become fond of every person living in Geumga Plaza, who has told him, with shining eyes, that he had given them something to fight for. They have all been living from day to day, not expecting much of the days to come, and now they veritably shine in their daily lives.

It’s like someone lit a fire underneath them, and once that fire was lit, no one could dare to extinguish it.

He shifts in his chair, and prepares to wait for Jang Han-seok to come back. Cha-young will come for him, and they will rain hell upon the world after that.

Until then, Vincenzo has no problem in being the one who dared to light up the world. The one who stepped down to earth, a fistful of flames in his palm. The one who bestowed heat and light and warmth and life to the world.

He does not regret his past actions, for he has kindled flames from smothered embers, and no one can put them out. For this, he will gladly be their fallen Titan, their Prometheus.

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch42: Maybe Baby Part 1- I Made That

Intro: Katie and Emmy both meet a new friend, and Tony and Pepper welcome their baby girl to the world. As the family enjoy the happiness the new addition brings, it leads Steve and Katie to a big decision of their own…

Warnings: Bad Language words. Smut! (NSFW) No under 18s. Teeth rotting fluff…

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 41 Part 2

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

May 2019

“Come on, Emmy, throw me a bone here!” Katie sighed as she sat in the chair of the coffee shop. “I can’t do anything about it if I don’t know what’s wrong.” She paused and rolled her eyes. “Jesus I sound like Steve.”

Emmy sighed and looked out of the window. “Why do I have to go back?”

“Because.” Katie said, rubbing at her temple “Look, you’ve already been out of school for like nearly a year, and it’s only for a couple of months and then it’s gonna be summer.” “So what’s the point of going then?” Emmy persisted. “Can’t I just wait and go back in September?”

Katie let out a groan, dropped her head into her hands before she heard a soft chuckle. She looked up to see the woman who was behind the counter had come across to clear away the empty mugs on the table. “She sounds just like my daughter.” The red haired lady smiled. “Nothing but back chat.” “I thought a hot chocolate and a muffin would help.” Katie side eyed her foster daughter. “Clearly I was wrong.”

Emmy scowled at her in response.

“The Decimation screwed a lot of things up” The woman sighed. “Tell me about it.” Katie breathed out. At that point the woman was joined by a girl who was the spitting image of her, Katie assuming it to be her daughter.

“Oh.Em.Gee!” The girl spluttered, looking at Katie “You’re Katie Stark, I mean Rogers!”

Katie grimaced and glanced around the shop. There were only three other people in and as they looked over she let out a relieved noise as they simply nodded to her and turned back to their drinks. “Brooke!” The woman chastised before giving Katie an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry, you’re clearly here for a quiet drink and-” “It’s fine.” Katie hastily said, glancing at Emmy who was looking at the girl, frowning.

The woman looked at her daughter before she glanced at Katie, then to Emmy. “Brooke here goes to MS in Brooklyn.” she offered suddenly.

“What’s MS?” Emmy looked at Brooke.

“The Maths and Science Exploratory School.” Brooke nodded. “It’s really cool. Before the err…well, before they used to do all sortsa stuff…” “Brooke, why don’t you take Emmy into the back and show her some of your work and the website?” the woman offered “If that’s ok with you.” She looked to Katie. “Fine by me, what do you think Em?” Katie asked.

Emmy gave a nonchalant shrug. “Whatever.” “Manners!” Katie looked at her sternly. Emmy had the good grace to look a bit abashed when she stood up and turned to Brooke.

“Sorry, yeah I’d like to see.”

Katie watched her go before she looked at the woman “Thank you.” The lady smiled and nodded to Katie’s mug “Refil?” “Please.”

“Coming right up.”

Katie leaned back on the comfy sofa and pulled out her phone. She had a message from Steve, asking her how it was going. She responded with three words ‘Fucking hard work’ before she slid her phone away as the woman came back with two mugs.

“Mind if I join you? Might as well take a break whilst we’re quiet.”

“No, of course not.” Katie gestured with her hands and the woman took a seat on the chair at the other side of the table.

“I’m Jennifer by the way.” She held out her hand “I own this place.” “Nice to meet you.” Katie smiled “I would introduce myself but…”

“My loud mouth daughter did it for you.” Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sorry about that. I wasn’t sure she would recognise you and I didn’t want to draw attention to you by warning her not to say anything…”

“Don’t worry about it” Katie shook her head “I mean it’s not like my identity is a secret. It’s just not everyone is particularly pleased to see us now-a-days. They seem to flip from either thanking us all for our efforts or screaming at us that it’s all our fault.”

“People are idiots.” Jennifer said simply “Anyone who blames you guys for any of this needs to get a check of themselves.” Katie smiled, sipping at her coffee “You know this is a really good roast. I’ll have to tip Steve off about it, he’s a coffee fiend.”

Jennifer smiled and then she looked over to the counter before glancing back “So, sorry for being nosey but I know you didn’t have a kid before, well, you know.” “Oh, she’s fostered.” Katie smiled. “I’ve known her since she was eighteen months old and she lost her last foster carers in the snap. We took her in for a night and she never left.”

“That’s good of you.” Jennifer smiled

“Least we could do.” Katie glanced at her coffee “When I look round and see what others lost, it brings it home to me how lucky I was, you know. I mean don’t get me wrong we lost people we cared about, a great deal. But my brother, my family, my husband, all still alive.”

Katie trailed off and thought to their baby. It had struck her on the first anniversary of the snap a few weeks earlier that their baby would have been with them now. Either a boy or a girl, blue or green eyes, blonde or dark, they’d never know.

“You can’t think like that.” Jennifer shook her head. “It doesn’t matter who you didn’t lose, you still lost. Hell, everyone lost, and everyone hurts, regardless of whether it was 1 person or 10. It doesn’t feel any less shit.” “You lost someone?” Katie looked at her.

“My dad.” Jennifer looked at her hands “My mom died a few years back and my husband was killed in Afghanistan not long after Brooke was born. So now it’s just us” “Sorry.” Katie bowed her head as the woman wiped at her eyes “I didn’t mean to…” Jennifer waved away her apology and smiled “Don’t be. It is what it is.” At that point the two girls came back into the main part of the shop, and Emmy was clutching a pile of paper.

“We printed some info off, mom.” Brooke said, “So Emmy can read it later. And we exchanged numbers, so she can text me later if she has questions and stuff.” “Good thinking!” Jennifer smiled.

“Right, you ready to go?” Katie looked at Emmy. “Steve’s cooking so we should go make sure he hasn’t burnt the compound down.”

“You live in the Avengers Compound?” Brooke looked at Emmy, wide eyed “Man that’s awesome.” Emmy smiled before she looked at Katie “What’s Steve-o making?”

“I think he said he was doing carbonara.” “Oh, that was good last time he cooked it.” Katie smiled, pulling on her jacket. “Yeah, it was actually.” She stood up and smiled at Jennifer. “It was really nice to meet you.” She reached into her bag for a twenty to pay but Jennifer waved it away “On the house.” “Oh, no.” Katie protested, dropping the twenty to the table, but the woman picked it up and handed it back. Pursing her lips, Katie spotted the tip jar on the counter and quickly strode over to it, depositing the note through the slot before giving the woman a smug look. Jennifer laughed and shrugged before she reached over the counter and handed Katie a business card.

“My mobile number is on there.” She smiled, “If you ever fancy a chat or a drink some time, anything at all.” “Thanks” Katie beamed. “That’s really kind of you.”

“Bye!” Emmy waved as they exited the shop. She turned to Katie as they walked to the car. “They’re nice.” “Yeah, yeah they are.” Kate smiled “Come on, let’s get home before we’re late and we get the eyebrow of disappointment.”

****** The last week in May brought some unusually cold and wet weather for the time of year, which wasn’t surprising as the climate was still all over the place. It was normally the time of year they celebrated Tony’s birthday on the 29th with a BBQ or something, but there was none of that this time. Not least because of the weather, but more over that his birthday was overshadowed spectacularly by the arrival of his daughter, Morgan Hope Stark some four days earlier on the 25th.

“Guys.” Katie gulped, tears welling in her eyes as her baby niece gently stirred in her arms, her eyes not opening as she moved her hands gently, “She’s…” “Amazing, I know.” Pepper gushed beaming up at Katie from where she was sat, propped up in the hospital bed.

“I made that.” Tony bragged, his chest puffed out. Katie knew how genuinely proud he was simply by the affectionate gleam in his eyes. Pepper rolled her eyes playfully, sharing a look with her sister-in-law.  

Steve’s arm curled round Katie’s waist as he gazed down at the baby in her arms, smiling gently as he smoothed the blanket down to get a closer look. She had a light dusting of dark hair, Tony’s cheekbones and Pepper’s nose.

“Wanna hold Uncle Steve?” Katie asked, looking at him.

“Erm, yeah, sure, that ok?” Steve looked at Pepper and Tony.

“Just don’t drop her.” Tony narrowed his eyes “Or throw her, she’s not a shield.” “Tony, you’re such a dick.” Katie sighed, passing the precious bundle to Steve who gently took her, supporting her head with his large hand.

As Steve cradled the tiny baby in his large arms, filled with wonder at the miniature human he was holding, he suddenly felt a lump in his throat. 

This would have been them.

As Morgan curled her hand around his large index finger the lump grew larger and he fought to keep the tears that had sprung into his eyes from dropping down his cheeks. 

Across the room, Tony curled his arm round his sister’s shoulder and dropped a kiss to her head as she wiped away the single tear that she herself had shed hastily before Steve saw.

Steve collected Emmy later that evening from Brooke’s. Emmy had decided to go to MS after all, and as such the two girls had fast become inseparable during the week and often at weekends too.

“She’s been ever so well behaved and polite.” Jennifer smiled, handing Steve Emmy’s rucksack. Steve nodded and gently placed a large hand on the back of Emmy’s head

“Good.”

“Gerroff.” she shrugged him away “I’m not six.” Steve rolled his eyes as he looked at Jennifer and raised an eyebrow “Clearly just us she gives back chat to.”

Jennifer chuckled “And they say it’s gonna get worse as they get older” “I can’t wait!” Steve replied, sarcastically. The woman laughed, Steve thanked her again and they headed to the car.

“So what’s Morgan like?” Emmy asked as Steve set off back up the main road to head out of Manhattan and towards the Compound. “Does she look like Tony?”

“A little, more like Pepper really.” Steve smiled

“Phew.” Emmy grinned and Steve gave a snort.

“Katie got some photos so she’ll show you when we get home.” Emmy glanced out of the window at the passing trees before she turned back to Steve “Do you think you and Katie will ever have a baby?” Steve’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel as he took a deep breath, and he instantly regretted it when he felt Emmy recoil in the seat next to him.

“I’m sorry.” she began, and Steve cursed himself for being so damned easy to read. He hated it when she got scared and fearful that she’d done something wrong. Every time they tried to discipline her for misbehaviour she would end up trembling out of deep rooted fear she was going to get a beating.

“Sweetie, I’m not mad, and you have nothing to be sorry for.” Steve sighed, “It’s just, well,” he bit his lip “,in the Snap, Katie and I lost a baby. Katie, was pregnant and we didn’t know.” “Oh.” Emmy frowned, looking back at her hands “That’s sad.” “Yeah.” Steve said with a small smile. The simple words she had used were spot on, there was no other way to describe it. “Yeah it is. But, we got you to look after and you can throw some spectacular tantrums so it’s kinda like having a baby in a way.”

“Rude.” Emmy glared at him, and he couldn’t hide the smile on his face at her indignation.

The two of them arrived home to Katie declaring from her spot on the sofa that she didn’t want to cook so had ordered take-out Pizza much to Emmy’s delight, but one look at his wife told Steve she’d been crying. As soon as their foster daughter was out of earshot and had gone to her room he sat down next to her and turned to face her.

“What’s wrong, Sweetheart?”

“I’m fine.” She shrugged, and Steve quirked an eyebrow.

“You forget Mrs Rogers, I can read you like a book.” He snaked his fingers in between hers and she took a deep breath “Talk to me, honey.”

“Just seeing you there with Morgan before, I couldn’t help but feel that…” she stumbled over her words as her tears began to form again “That could have, should have been us, you know?” Steve sighed and gently reached out to her, pulling her to his chest.

“I know.” He whispered softly, dropping kiss to her head “I know.”

“They would have been coming up for six months old now, give or take.” Katie sighed gently and his arms tightened around her. Taking a deep breath he decided to voice what was on his mind and dropped his head slightly, nudging her face up with his nose.

“You know, we could always…” He trailed off, and she licked her lips as she looked at him, understanding immediately what he was suggesting.

“I dunno.” She sighed, “I mean I like the idea, but…” “But?”

“I’m scared, Steve.” “What of?” “Well, that something will go wrong.”

“Why would it go wrong?” he frowned.

“It did last time.”

He sighed. “Katie, nothing you could have done would have made a difference. Once he snapped…”

“Do you really want kids?” She cut him off, looking at him.

“Yeah, I do.” He answered honestly “I wasn’t that bothered about it before but now, well with Emmy being here and Morgan, the thought of our own child, running around, one that’s half me half you…I can’t even begin to explain how amazing that feels.” Katie looked down at her hands and Steve took a deep breath. “But if it’s not what you want then it doesn’t matter” He gently titled her face up to look at him.

She looked at him, her eyes locked onto his and her words were almost a whisper. “I do want. I want a baby with you.” His eyes flashed and he gave a grin. “Well that’s good, I’d be worried if you wanted one with someone else.” “Jerk.” She scoffed, hitting his chest as he laughed before she took a deep breath “Maybe we could like try but not try.” “I’m not following.” Steve frowned.

Katie sighed. “I don’t wanna get hung up on it.” She shrugged “No pressure. So maybe not try as such, just don’t try to stop anything.”

Steve smiled, if he was honest, a baby to him should be borne out of love and not some kind of weird planned parenting mission. 

“Is that ok with you?” she looked at him. “Oh, Kitten.” Steve’s face split into a huge grin and he took her face in both his hands “It is very, very ok.”

******

August 2019

“Thor came here?” Katie asked as she looked at Tony, the two of them sat on his porch. Katie was bouncing Morgan on her knee whilst Emmy was busy helping Pepper feed Gerald, Tony’s newest addition, an Alpaca.

“Yup.” Tony nodded “He came to see Morgan. He’s errr, changed.” “Changed?”

“Yeah, erm, he’s a little bit portly.”

“Portly?” Katie stopped what she was doing until Morgan let out a screech, encouraging her to continue. “As in…” “Fat.” Tony nodded.

Katie snorted “Bullshit…” “Straight up Kiddo. Apparently he’s got his brewers working on a new beer. Clearly been sampling it a little too much.”

“Other than that how did he seem?” Katie asked. Despite herself she couldn’t help but wonder how the man she had once been good friends with was holding up. Tony took a deep breath “Ok, I think. I mean it was a surprise him showing up. I haven’t seen him since, well, that day at the compound.” “He took what happened really hard” Katie sighed. “But the rest of us had to move on, he needs to do the same. I tried to talk sense into him…” “You punched him in the face.” Tony raised an eyebrow. “He deserved it.” “I know.” Tony paused “And for what it’s worth, he hates himself for it. He told me.” “Well maybe he should apologise.” Katie shrugged, and that was the end of the conversation. They stayed for a few hours before heading back to the compound and, given that it was a nice night Katie and Natasha retired to the large garden area and the hot tub for a girl’s night in.

“You talk to Steve today?” Nat asked, pouring Katie a glass of wine from the ice bucket at the side.

“Not yet.” Katie shook her head, turning from where she had been watching Emmy playing fetch with Lucky to look at her “I’ll speak to him later. He’s ready for home though. Keeps moaning about how the chef doesn’t make Mac and Cheese as well as me.”

“He loves it really.” Nat grinned.

“Yeah, he does.” Katie smiled “It’s nice to see him so focussed, you know with something to do.”

“When’s he back? Feels like he’s been gone for ages”

“He has, it’s been almost three weeks this time” Katie smiled, “But he’s home in a couple of days and on that I got a favour to ask. Could you maybe have Emmy for us? Thought we might go out or…” “Or stay in?” Nat raised her eyebrows, smirking.

“Something like that.” Katie snorted.

“Yeah, no probs. We can have a girl’s night in my apartment.” She nodded over to the pre-teen who was running across the lawns. “She’s never any trouble.” “Thanks Nat.” Katie smiled, sipping her wine and pulling a face at the sour taste.

“How’s she been recently?” Nat nodded to Emmy.

“Good.” Katie nodded. “The nightmares have pretty much stopped. She still gets a bit reserved now and then but I think getting her back to school has helped a lot. She’s a bright kid, good at art as well as the technology and science. Should see her and Steve when they get going.”

“Yeah they seem pretty close.” Nat smiled.

“She’s like his shadow when he’s here.” Katie snorted. “I don’t get a look in.” She took another sip of her drink and shook her head. “Does that taste right to you?”

“It tastes fine, but then so did that Tuna you said was off.” “It was off.” Kate grimaced, nodding to the dog that was currently splashing in the shallows of the river, after his ball “Even Lucky wouldn’t eat it.”

“Well I ate it and I’m fine” Nat shrugged.

Katie took another sip shook her face before tipping her wine into Nat’s glass “I can’t drink that. It’s nasty.” “Errr, that is a fifteen year old vintage, stolen from Tony’s old stash in the cellar!” Natasha grinned.

“Don’t give a fuck what it is, it’s gross.” Katie shrugged, standing up and stepping out of the tub. “I’ll stick to the beer.”

She pulled a Bud out of the fridge, twisted the top off and threw it into the garbage. She took a swig as she walked back outside and, as she sank back down into the water, Nat took a deep breath and leaned forward.

“I got an email from Rhodey. More bodies have turned up, this time in Johannesburg, some drugs baron and his cronies.” “Clint?” Katie asked, pausing her beer half way to her mouth as she nodded.

“It’s his MO.”

Over the past six months more and more bodies had been turning up, along with numerous witnesses, which led them to the conclusion that Clint was acting as some kind of vigilante, hunting down Crime Lord Syndicates and taking them down one by one. Natasha at first had point blank refused that it was him, until one of Rhodey’s contacts had sent an extremely clear shot from some CCTV footage. There was no denying, it was Clint. Natasha had been heartbroken, locking herself away and refusing to speak to anyone, emerging only when Steve threatened to kick her door in. She’d opened it, red eyed but with a glimmer of a smirk on her face and called him a “bossy, interfering bastard.”

“Any leads on where he could be?” Katie asked

Nat shook her head “he doesn’t want to be found. But then, when have I ever listened?”

They drank and talked until late in the evening, probably more than they should have done which is why the next morning Katie woke up with a killer hangover and barely made it to the toilet. She threw the contents of her stomach into the bowl before standing up, splashing cold water onto her face and heading to make sure Emmy was up and getting ready. Sometimes, being a responsible adult sucked.

Once she had managed to get Emmy packed off to the summer day-camp her School was running, she grabbed a slice of toast and an orange juice and felt ready to face walking and talking at the same time. She called Steve quickly, who wasted no time in telling her that they’d drunk called him the night before. Katie groaned as he laughed down the handset, before the conversation grew slightly more serious and he said that Rhodey had filled him in on the murders in Johannesburg. They discussed it for a while when he declared he had to go and after promising to speak to him later that evening, sober, Katie cut the call.

She headed down to the common room to find Nat was already in there.

“Hangover too?” Natasha looked at Katie pulling a face. “I feel like shit. How much did we drink?”

“Enough.” Katie sighed “You sank two bottles of that wine, I went through a full crate of bud.” “And that was before the vodka.” Nat groaned, dropping her face into her hands. Katie grimaced, picking up a bottle of water and taking a long drink before they got down to business, looking over some plans for an old School they were intending to acquire to make into a half way hours for the older teenagers that had been left without homes or families in the snap. Too old to be in an orphanage or children’s home, Natasha had pointed out they probably needed somewhere they could live independently, but safely. It was a great idea and one Katie was fully behind.

“I’ll get it typed up into a formal proposal this evening,” Katie nodded to Nat “then we can start the ball rolling. All goes according to plan we can get the Real Estator on the phone tomorrow and push ahead with the purchase”

Nat nodded. “Yeah, about that.” Katie groaned “You’re going to Johannesburg aint you?” “I have to.” 

“Nat…”

“He’d do the same for me.”

“When?” Katie sighed, knowing there was no point in trying to talk her out of it. “This evening. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

“Just be careful,” Katie said, “and prepared. Chances are you won’t like what you find.”

“I know.” She said, her eyes tearing over. “But I have to try.” Katie nodded, dropping a hand to her shoulder as she picked up the files and laptop before leaving her to her thoughts.

She was sat in the office working on the proposal that evening when she heard the jet taking off. Glancing out of the window Katie watched as it shot into the grey sky and vanished behind a cloud. Emmy paused to look up from where she was outside on the lawn with Lucky before she tuned to look at Katie, mouthed the universal sign for “I’m hungry” and Katie grinned, deciding to call it quits for the night.

**** Chapter 42 Part 2

[mjmnorwood]

[I.D. A header image of two pencils on a yellow background, with title reading ‘Authorial Voice’. End I.D.]

Authorial voice is incredibly hard to define. It’s different to character voice and it’s different to style (both of which can change between an author’s works). I think of it is a fingerprint; the particular feel of the text that clues you in as to who the writer is. In this post I’ll give three examples of authors who I think have distinctive voices, then look at some of the elements that make up authorial voice. Fingers crossed it will be helpful for developing your own!

Example 1: Terry Pratchett

      It is said that the gods play games with the lives of men. But what games, and why, and the identities of the actual pawns, and what the game is, and what the rules are—who knows?       Best not to speculate.       Thunder rolled...       It rolled a six.

- Guards! Guards!

Pratchett is one of my favourite authors and it’s no surprise he made this list because he has an incredibly distinctive voice. No matter what book of his you pick up, you instantly know you’re reading Pratchett. His voice is gloriously witty, making use of wordplay and puns. It can also be dramatic and evocative (and these dramatic and evocative passages often lead to yet more wordplay). He always writes with an undercurrent of anger at injustices. I think Pratchett is a great author to read if you’re looking to see how an author’s voice develops. His early works like The Carpet People, even the first couple of Discworld books, have inklings of his distinctive voice, but it shines through so much more strongly in later books, as he writes with more and more confidence.

Example 2: Lois McMaster Bujold

      “Well, let me...” His hand stroked her hair gently, then desperately wrapped itself in a shimmering coil; they kissed again.       “Uh, sir?” Lieutenant Illyan, coming up the path, cleared his throat noisily. “Had you forgotten the staff conference?”       Vorkosigan put her from him with a sigh. “No, Lieutenant. I haven’t forgotten.”       “May I congratulate you, sir?” He smiled.       “No, Lieutenant.”       He unsmiled. “I—don’t understand, sir.”       “That’s quite all right, Lieutenant.”

- Shards of Honour

Some context for the exchange above: Cordelia, the MC, and Vorkosigan are in love, but after a long discussion they have decided they can’t be together due to irreconcilable differences between their home planets. Illyan mistakes their parting kiss for Cordelia accepting a marriage proposal.

Bujold is another favourite of mine, and her voice is completely different to Pratchett. Whereas Pratchett will often digress to add details or make jokes, Bujold is very to-the-point. Her writing is incredibly easy to read. It tells you exactly what you need to know and no more (if she waxes lyrical about something, you can be sure there’s a very good reason). I think the use of ‘unsmiled’ in the example above shows off her voice very well. Technically, it’s not a real word, but it perfectly conveys the abrupt change of expression that comes with Illyan’s confusion. She could have written something like ‘his smile fell away’, but it just wouldn’t pack the same punch.

Example 3: Susanna Clarke

Some years ago there was in the city of York a society of magicians. They met upon the third Wednesday of every month and read each other long, dull papers upon the history of English magic.       They were gentleman-magicians, which is to say they had never harmed any one by magic—nor ever done any one the slightest good. In fact, to own the truth, not one of these magicians had ever cast the smallest spell, nor by magic caused one leaf to tremble upon a tree, made one mote of dust to alter its course or changed a single hair upon any one’s head. But, with this one minor reservation, they enjoyed a reputation as some of the wisest and most magical gentlemen in Yorkshire.

- Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell

Every time I pick up JS&MN (or its companion short story collection, The Ladies of Grace Adieu) I know I’m in for a treat, voice-wise. The long, rambling sentences, the archaic word choice, even sometimes deliberate misspellings of words, all combine to create a very unique voice. There’s a quiet, reserved sort of wit about it, never out-and-out jokes, but small things that make you smile. Clarke’s writing is also a good example of how the line between voice and style can blur. Since she hasn’t published anything that isn’t set in the JS&MN universe, it can be hard to tell what is her voice and what are stylistic choices to capture the milieu of the setting. The stories in The Ladies of Grace Adieu show a lot of variation in style, though (for example one is written as a diary, one like a fairytale), and her voice stays consistent through all of them—the word choice, tendency to long sentences, and that quiet wit are all the same.

Some elements of authorial voice

Vocabulary and word choice. Do you favour simple or complex language?

Sentence length and structure. Do your sentences tend toward the extended, or are they more short and snappy? (Note: varying sentences is important for flow and pacing, it’s just the overall trend towards long or short that I mean here).

The balance of dialogue and description. What occurs more in your writing, beautiful word-pictures or interesting conversations?

Use of literary devices. Do metaphors, similes and the like crop up a lot in your work, or is the narrative more sparse?

Paragraph use. Long and rambly or lots of breaks?

Story focus. Character? Plot? Worldbuilding? A mixture?

+ a whole host of other factors it’s difficult to summarise neatly (tone, stylistic choices etc...)

When it comes to developing your own voice, I honestly can’t say much more than write. Write a lot. You can’t really force voice; it doesn’t have shortcuts, you just have to see where your writing takes you. My one tip is that after you’ve written a lot, look over your work with a critical eye for some of the things mentioned above, and you’ll start to spot parts of your voice. Even though my voice is still very much in development, I’ve started to spot some patterns. I tend to use more dialogue than description, and have short paragraphs. I compared some of my work to a friend’s and noticed how different they looked on the page. Mine was broken up, whereas theirs had long paragraphs of description. I also tend not to use very advanced vocab, so when I do use a fancy word, you notice. Spotting elements of voice in your writing can help you decide what you like, and what you want to put more work into developing.

One final thing: if you don’t have a very distinctive voice, don’t stress about it! It will develop over time, and anyway, there are plenty of writers out there who don’t have very unique voices, but still write amazing, successful stories.

Like this post? Follow for more writerly content! It’ll be lovely to have you along :D

[lovestrucked-again]

Ship Of Theseus

Fic Masterlist Jung Jaehyun | Fluff | College AU Word Count: 1.3K

Summary: A young woman, Y/N, picks up a book left behind by a stranger at her university library. Inside it are his margin notes disclosing a reader entranced by the story and revealing his own personal stories as a disgraced college student. Y/N responds with her own notes leaving the book for the stranger, and so begins an unlikely conversation that plunges them both into the unknown. While searching for the mysteries of the author, the two individuals are forced to face crucial decisions about who they are, who they might become, and how much they’re willing to trust one another with their passions, hurts, and fears

The aisles of the library had slowly become a way of collecting dust. Spider webs wove loosely around books, dirtied shelves, and stands, busted lamps hung from the braided wires that were embedded into the cracked ceiling. Dust floated lazily in the air causing a few students nearby a difficult time breathing, and every step put more of the particles into the air. All that was heard were the faint chirps of birds outside, the scurrying feet of invisible rodents, and the rustling of papers catching the draft.

You ran a finger across the spines of the books as you walked through the empty aisles, studying the faded colours, the fonts, the titles and thinking about how long the books may have been untouched for months, perhaps years. For the past few weeks you’ve been trying to locate a book. You had chased after this one available copy of the book all over the state, inquiring about book loans and finally requesting it to your local university library. You hadn’t gotten any calls yet but the habit you had of wandering the lonely aisles during your free time had bought you back.

Before your able to reach the end of the aisle you’re currently strolling through, your finger stops, pausing at a unique font on a spine of a book. Hm this looks interesting. You think to yourself, pulling the book out of its stiff position and attempting not to knock the other books off the shelf. You flip open the front page and then the back, looking for a blurb or short synopsis, but there isn’t one. The book was old and heavy, most likely left unwanted amongst the shelves.

After debating a little whether the book was still worth reading or not, you decide to try a few chapters considering you had nothing else to do anyway. Taking a seat in the corner of the room you were in, you brush the back of your fingers against the hardcover, noticing the outlines engraved Ship of Theseus – V.M Straka.

You take out the notepad from your bag clipped with the pen in the binder. A habit you had made from reading over the past years was to always take down important details, symbols or lines just to easily recall the story plotlines. You flip through to the first page and start your reading. However, as soon as you’ve made it past the title cover, a faint scrawl within the first chapter declares the book has once been touched. You notice the messy handwriting spread over the page. From there the words appear and disappear quickly as your eyes flutter across the pages, picking out any marks littering the across the pages.

One of the pages forces you to pause as you stare at the open book in awe. Whoever wrote in this book must have been analysing this in depth. The margins were scribbled with pencil and phrases were underlined with their interpretations explained. One of the phrases in particular clicked with you, “What begins at the water shall end there, and what ends there shall once more begin.” UNK: This is what happens: Men become lost; men vanish; men are erased and reborn. 

What a strange way of understanding you think to yourself, continuing to read the rest of the chapter.

After reading a few chapters in, the people around you begin to move and the sounds of chatting becomes distinct. A low volume announcement is made, signalling the last 10 minutes of the opening hour. As much as you wanted to take the book home and continue reading, the thought of perhaps ‘stealing’ it away from someone clouded you with a guilty feeling. I’ll just come back another day and finish it, you think to yourself.

“The library will be closing in 5 minutes, please make your way to the counter for any final borrowing. Thank you.”

As you stand up and gather your belongings back into your bag, you stare at the page open in front of you, the scribble pencilled into the sheet leaving behind a meaning of the original text you could never think of. You decide to leave a note of your own on the cover page, letting the anonymous know that you've seen it.  

Y/N: Hey – I found your stuff while I was looking around in the aisles. I read a few of the chapters (with your notes as well) and not going to lie but its impressive. Felt bad for stealing the book from you since you obviously need it for your work. I’ll have to get my own copy.

You decide against leaving your name, preferring to remain unknown.

_______

A few days later and your back inside the library weaving between the shelves, humming to a song playing through your earphones. Without realising it, you’ve managed to make your way back towards the “S” section. Maybe I should finish reading that book. You pull the book out of its placement and walk back towards an empty area.

Satisfied with your seating area and finally settled into a reading mode, you flip to the cover page to see if your note still remains. However, being a little startled to see an unknown handwriting underneath your own, you gasp a bit too loudly and the students surrounding you all turn. You mumble a quick apology and the heads turn back leaving you to face the shock.

UN: If you liked it, you should finish it. I need a break anyway. (leave it on the last shelf in the south stacks where you’re finished).

How nice, you think to yourself smiling. You turn over through the pages, attempting to find the last page you were on from the other day. The announcement rings just as you’ve managed to finish through the halfway mark and you sigh in relief, stretching your legs and arms out. Before you pack away your belongings you pull out the same pen you used previously and leave another note on the cover page.

Y/N: Thanks! Read through to the halfway mark in one sitting, haven’t read such an amazing book in a while (I’m an art major). Loving all the mystery – the book, all of it. I really needed an escape.

________

The next day you find yourself back at the library, taking the familiar route towards the aisle in anticipation with a nervous kind of energy tingling inside. The feeling swept through you like electrical sparks on the way to the ground, gathering in your toes as you approached the shelf. The night after you had seen a reply was a struggle for you to sleep. You were curious about the anonymous person, wondering about their gender, their major, their reason for such interests in this book. But before you knew it, the book was back in your hands and the conversational texts open in front of your eyes.

UN: Dear undergrad art major, if you thought it was an ‘escape’, you weren’t reading closely enough. Want to try it again?

Huh. What an asshole, you think to yourself taking a seat on the floor instead and pulling out a pen from your bag preparing to scribble out a rather petty message in return.

Y/N: Dear arrogant, I made some notes in the margins too so you can see just how closely I read. But what do I know? I’m just an art major. Don't bother leaving the book for me. Good luck with your work. Oh and by the way, you missed something important about Straka.

I bet you this must be a guy, I should’ve known, look how messy the handwriting is, and look how rude he is, you reason with yourself, annoyed at how excited you were from before. And with that you slam the book shut, not even the slight bit concerned about bothering others, stand up to place the book back in between the shelf, and storm off back home.

- - - - -

I guess this is a little confusing and its more of an introduction to the concept and how everything will work. I wanted to do coloured text for each person but couldn't figure out how so if this is still too confusing let me know. Please feel free to leave feedback :)

[glrlwlthluv]

How Can You Move On From Him? // Zabdiel De Jesús

hey loves !! so i know that i came out with a chapter almost two weeks ago but i wanted to give y'all something . tomorrow is my birthday and me being me , i wanted to give y'all content so ... I WROTE A NEW CHAPTER FOR Y'ALL !! i hope you guys like it and its a bit shorter than the previous chapter but i hope, it's still good . enjoy and feedback is appreciated :) <3

word count: 5.2k+

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Zabdiel's POV:

The emotions that I'm feeling right now I can't explain and there's too many at once to figure out what I truly feel. I feel awful, hurt, sad, mad, depressed, and more, but what I feel the most is that my heart hurts. It feels as though someone has ripped it out and stomped on it until I couldn't handle it anymore. I could blame Y/n for it but, I know it was all my doing and for leaving things how they were, not going back to apologize and talk to Y/n those months ago has changed me, how I feel and has to be one of the biggest regrets and mistakes in my life.

*FLASHBACK TO THAT DAY IN APRIL*

"You know what Y/n? I'm tired of this shit. You were struggling? What about me? WHAT ABOUT ME? I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY TO YOU OKAY? I FELT BAD BUT YOU KNOW WHAT? I DON'T ANYMORE. IT SEEMS LIKE YOU REPLACED ME WITH RICHARD RIGHT? BECAUSE I'M REPLACEABLE? WELL, YOU KNOW WHAT? GO HANG OUT WITH YOUR NEW BEST FRIEND BECAUSE GUESS WHAT? YOUR FUCKING REPLACEABLE TOO AND I DON'T NEED YOU AT ALL ANYMORE. WE'RE NOT BEST FRIENDS ANYMORE SO YOU CAN DELETE MY NUMBER AND EVERYTHING YOU HAVE OF ME AND LEAVE IT AT THAT. DON'T CALL ME, DON'T TEXT ME OR ASK ANYONE HOW I AM BECAUSE IT DOESN'T CONCERN YOU ANYMORE AND IN RETURN TO TAKE YOU OUT, OF YOUR SO-CALLED HURT, I'LL DO THE SAME." I walk out with my keys in hand and leave my apartment.

I never understood why Y/n never called me and if she waited, why didn't she just pick up the phone and call or text? I press the elevator button to go down and wait, as I make my way into the elevator and press the button that brings me down to the lobby. I get lost in my thoughts and don't realize that Joel and Christopher were standing next to me, shooting daggers at me with their eyes. The elevators close and I look straight, hoping this elevator ride won't be long. I feel their eyes still on me and I start to get pissed off and as the elevators open I look at them.

"What do you both want? To tell me I should apologize to her? To go back up and say I'm sorry to her? Because I won't and if she wants to talk to me, she can reach out to me. Actually no, I meant what I said when we weren't going to be best friends anymore so I don't expect anything from her. I'm done with her so what the fuck do you pendejos want?" I make it to my car and unlock it. Christopher and Joel followed me out to my car and as I stop talking, they're still looking at me. Joel walks up and looks me in the eyes and I could tell he was angry.

"DO YOU REALLY MEAN WHAT YOU SAY ZABDIEL? LIKE ARE YOU FUCKING WITH ME?! Y/N HAS ALWAYS BEEN THERE FOR YOU AND YOU HAVE THE FUCKING AUDACITY TO LEAVE HER AND SAY THE THINGS YOU DID UP THERE?! SHE WAS RIGHT, YOU ARE FUCKING SELFISH. HER DOING WHAT SHE DID HAD A VALID REASON AND TO YOU, YOU MAY THINK SHE WAS BEING SELFISH BUT GUESS WHAT ZABDIEL? DON'T BLAME HER FOR BEING SELFISH BECAUSE SHE HAS TO TAKE CARE OF HERSELF. YOU BEING HER SO-CALLED "BEST FRIEND" MEANS YOU SHOULD BE HAPPY FOR HER BECAUSE IF YOU LOOK AT IT FROM AN OUTSIDERS PERSPECTIVE, SHE HAS ALWAYS BEEN THERE FOR YOU EVEN WHEN SHE WASN'T FEELING UP FOR IT, BUT YOU DIDN'T KNOW THAT DIDN'T YOU? SHE WAS ALWAYS THERE FOR YOU AND HAS BEEN SINCE YOU BOTH MET AND YOU KNOW THAT ZABDIEL SO STOP BEING A SELFISH BABY AND BULLSHITTING ALL OF US, ESPECIALLY HER. FUCKING OWN UP TO YOUR MISTAKES AND BE A FUCKING MAN." Before Joel could continue, I turn around and face him. I push him hard in the chest to a point where he fell on the floor. Chris comes to Joel and looks up at me with anger in his eyes and starts to speak.

"Really Zabdiel? Don't push it pendejo because you're on thin ice with all of us. You don't know how much you hurt Y/n and now, you're going to hurt one of your brothers? So let me ask you this one last time, are you sure you're ready to lose your best friend? The one who's been there for you when you needed her? The one who's always there to pick you up even if you wanted to be alone? The one who has always been there for you when you were sad or upset about something? Because once you get in your car, you lose her and everything that came along with her friendship. That means, even though you lose her, she'll still be part of our lives because she's not only your friend, she's our friend whether you like it or not. Just because you threw her out to the side and leave her in the dust doesn't mean we'll be like you and do the same. We care and love Y/n and ever since you introduced her in our lives, she's been nothing but nice, caring, kind and more and you know that or else you wouldn't have introduced her to us when we became a band. So let me ask you one more time, are you REALLY ready to lose one of the most important people in your life Zabdiel?" I look down at Chris and Joel with a blank stare. With all of the emotions and feelings running through my mind, I wasn't able to think. I needed to get out of here and without thinking, I hopped in my car and drove off. I didn't know where I was headed but I needed to get as far away from there as possible and find a place where I could breathe and collect my thoughts. As I'm driving I figure out a place to go to escape what was going on and what happened tonight.

*END OF FLASHBACK*

I wish I could rewind that night all over again. I wish I stayed instead of leaving because I knew once I left, that was it. I had lost Y/n and I didn't know if I could ever get her back. I decide to go back to the place I escaped to that night. I make sure to grab my wallet and phone off of my nightstand. As I make way to the kitchen to grab my keys off the key rack, I notice the apartment was quiet. I look around the apartment until my eyes land on a note that was left on the dining room table.

"The guys and I left to go out with Y/n. If you need anything just text one of us. - Richard"

I toss the note back onto the table and make my way towards the door, making sure I lock it before leaving. Since everything happened that night, they always made sure to let me know that they were with Y/n, letting me know that though we weren't on good terms, they were still going to be there and be friends with her. It hurts that we're not on speaking terms anymore and that being my doing, it had to be something I had to get used to and at least Y/n still had the boys there for her when I couldn't. Before I knew it, I made it outside of our apartment building, I head towards my car and start driving. Once I got to my destination, I park my car and got out, making sure I locked it.

South Miami Beach. It was where I auditioned and became part of "La Banda" but this is also the place where I met Y/n. This place was a special place and would always hold a special place in my heart. I walk towards the beach and sit down on the sand.

It was almost the middle of June and of course, it was always hot in Miami. The sun had already started to set and cool down, I look into the distance and remember the night that changed my whole life along with the girl who I would have never thought would become one of the most important people in my life.

*FLASHBACK TO 2015*

I had just finished auditioning to be on La Banda and found out I made it through! I hug my mother and she congratulates me while everything is wrapping around my head. I start to walk away and head towards the water, feeling like I need space to breathe. My mind is filled with many thoughts as I keep walking and I don't realize I had run into someone. I turn around to see a girl sitting on the sand, clearly not expecting to be bumped into, I come towards her and hold my hand out to her.

"Lo Siento Bonita, I didn't see you there." She looks up and our eyes meet and instantly, I feel a pull towards her. She smiles and looks down at the ground and all I wanted for her to do was look back up to me so I would be able to be captivated by her beautiful eyes again. When she looks back up to me, I was fully able to take in her appearance and looks. I've met many girls in my life, but not as beautiful as her.

"You're okay, it was my fault. I wasn't looking at where I was going." She laughs nervously and I laugh a bit. Seeing her nervous is kind of cute as I thought to myself.

"Don't worry, I wasn't either so it's equally our fault." I look to her and see her cheeks blushing along with a nervous laugh. I don't know what had gotten to me but, I didn't want to stop talking to her.

"What's your name?" I ask her.

"Y/n and yours?" I look at her and smile as I take her hand into mine and kiss the top of her hand.

"My name's Zabdiel and Y/n is such a beautiful name for a beautiful girl like yourself." I see her blush again and laugh a little bit. We sit in a comfortable silence for a bit until she starts to speak to me.

"So Zabdiel, what brings you here to South Miami Beach on a night like this?" I look at Y/n and our eyes meet. I look down at her and nod my head towards the beach. I decide to start walking the beach near the water and I look next to me to see Y/n walking along beside me, waiting for me to answer her question.

"I actually just got done auditioning for a show called La Banda. They held auditions on the beach and that's why I'm here." Y/n nods her head and we both continue to walk the beach in a comfortable silence. For meeting a girl I just ran into at the beach, she made good company.

"That's why you look familiar. I was there watching some of the auditions and I actually saw yours." I look down at her and see a smile plastered on her face and I smile down at her.

"And... What did you think of it?" She starts to think of what she's about to say as we continue to walk the beach.

"Honestly... You were okay. You were a bit pitchy here and there but you weren't bad, just not amazing." She looks up at me with a straight face as she continues to walk, a look of disappointment starts to show on my face. I hear her laugh next to me and she slaps my arm lightly.

"I'm kidding! You were great and the song choice was great too. I can tell just by seeing how that audition went, the way you presented yourself to the judges and the crowd and your audition, you'll be in there for the long run and hey, you might honestly win and be part of a band."

I thought Y/n was kidding with me again as my head was hung low. I look up to meet Y/n's eyes and when they met I could tell she was being sincere and meant what she said. Though we had just met, I felt a strong connection between us. A connection I have never felt with any person in my life and though we were complete strangers, I was ready to get to know her and have her be part of my life.

"You really mean that? Like you're not bullshitting and lying to me or kidding around with me?" She laughs and shakes her head as she smiles at me.

Y/n and I continue to walk the beach, getting to know each other more. I didn't know how long I was with Y/n for until my phone started to ring. I grab my phone from my pocket to see my mother had called me and left a couple of messages. I stop walking to answer back my mom and once I was done I looked to see the time.

1:00 AM

"I can't believe we've been talking for this long." Y/n looks down at her phone and she laughs.

"So are you saying that the night is finally coming to an end? Are you getting tired of me already?" I looked at Y/n and words weren't able to come out of my mouth. This girl had me nervous around her to a point where I didn't know how to talk at times.

"I'm kidding Zabdiel, take a joke?" I laughed at her and stopped walking, I didn't want this night to come to an end. Being with Y/n made me feel something that I didn't with anyone and I mean anyone. Her energy didn't compare to anyone else's energy and I liked it. She grabs a pen out of her bag and grabs my wrist. I look down to see her writing her number on my arm and as she continues, I look at her while she's not looking.

"It's getting late, I have to go but here's my number. I don't usually do this and I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that when we met, we clicked quickly. I don't want this night to end and I want to get to know you more, you seem like a cool guy Zabdiel." I smile down and her, words still not being able to come out of my mouth again.

"I gotta go but text me okay? We'll text soon, I hope. Buenas Noches Zabdiel." She kisses my cheek and waves goodbye to me as she walks away. I wave back at her and start to walk towards the hotel my mother and I was staying at. I smile to myself and think about how lucky and good tonight went. Not only was I one step closer to living my dream but I also met someone who I feel is going to be part of my life.

*END OF FLASHBACK*

Never would I have thought the girl I met at the beach, whom I connected with, would make such an impact, become part of my life and also be one of the most important people in my life. I wish I didn't walk out and leave that night of the fight. All I want to do is talk to her, hold her, hug her, see that smile that captivated me since the day we met on her face. I miss the way her skin felt on mine, I miss hearing her laugh when the boys or I made jokes, I miss the way she looked when she sleeps because she looked like a little baby that I would protect from getting hurt, I miss everything about her and in all honesty, I just wanted to grab and kiss her at this point.

Wait, am I really saying that? Do I mean that? I've known Y/n for so long, I never thought I'd see her in that way. Why now? Why now when she's out of my life? Then it hit me. Not only did I have feelings for Y/n, but I was in love with her. If I could go back and change everything to have Y/n back in my life and arms, I would because...

I love her.

Y/n's POV

Since the day Zabdiel and you got into the fight that ended our friendship, everything was now different and has entered new territory. Before, your friendship with Zabdiel existed and though it wasn't in a good place, you were both still in each other's lives and now, it was different circumstances knowing that you weren't in each other's lives as friends. All Zabdiel was now to you a business partner/co-worker. You still work for Clara and though things were done between you and Zabdiel, you weren't ready to give up your dream job over a falling out. The day after you and Zabdiel's big fight, you thought you had lost everything including the boys and your job. You had texted them about the situation and of course, the boys knew what had happened since they were there, but you didn't know how things would be since you weren't friends with Zabdiel anymore.

*FLASHBACK TO THE DAY AFTER THE FIGHT*

Your eyes were puffy from crying all of last night. After you had gotten home from the boys' apartment, you went straight to your room, changed into your pjs and laid down in your bed. The fight had drained every last bit of energy and hope you had in your body and this is when you knew and felt, everything was now different. Zabdiel's words hit you in a different way this time and made you feel like complete shit about yourself.

"You know what Y/n? I'm tired of this shit. You were struggling? What about me? WHAT ABOUT ME? I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY TO YOU OKAY? I FELT BAD BUT YOU KNOW WHAT? I DON'T ANYMORE. IT SEEMS LIKE YOU REPLACED ME WITH RICHARD RIGHT? BECAUSE I'M REPLACEABLE? WELL, YOU KNOW WHAT? GO HANG OUT WITH YOUR NEW BEST FRIEND BECAUSE GUESS WHAT? YOUR FUCKING REPLACEABLE TOO AND I DON'T NEED YOU AT ALL ANYMORE. WE'RE NOT BEST FRIENDS ANYMORE SO YOU CAN DELETE MY NUMBER AND EVERYTHING YOU HAVE OF ME AND LEAVE IT AT THAT. DON'T CALL ME, DON'T TEXT ME OR ASK ANYONE HOW I AM BECAUSE IT DOESN'T CONCERN YOU ANYMORE AND IN RETURN TO TAKE YOU OUT, OF YOUR SO-CALLED HURT, I'LL DO THE SAME."

The words Zabdiel had said to you that night were on repeat in your head. What made it hurt more is now, you were questioning everything about your friendship with Zabdiel and if it was all fake. Your mind couldn't wrap itself around the fact that Zabdiel wasn't your friend and going to be in your life after being best friends for years. The way he broke the friendship so quickly without trying to get an understanding of how you felt would always make you wonder but you knew, you weren't ever going to be able to get an answer.

Your mind went to the rest of the boys and how your friendship would be affected by what went down between you and Zabdiel. Though the boys said they would be there for you no matter what happened between you and Zabdiel, you didn't want to have them choose between you and him. You still cared about Zabdiel and the boys were like brothers to him and you didn't want to come between them. You didn't want to drive them apart just because of a falling out and what mattered most despite it all was Zabdiel's happiness. You knew that the boys were the ones who brought him happiness in his life and you weren't going to take that away from him.

Your mind went to your job also because, without Zabdiel, you wouldn't have gotten the opportunity to work with Clara and the boys. You loved your job from the beginning and though it was a challenge at times, you wouldn't trade it for the world. You were worried that after the events of everything that happened last night, this was the end of your career and friendship with the boys and you would have to find a new job. You grab your phone from your nightstand next to your bed and open the group message with the boys, minus Zabdiel of course and Clara.

Y/n: Hey guys, I'm sure you all know what happened between Zabdiel and I because you were there but I wanted to let Clara know as well and then say something after. I don't know if the boys informed you Clara but Zabdiel and I's is no longer in existence. It happened last night during dinner and this time is different from before. Words were exchanged and I could feel that it wasn't like the others and that this was it. With that being said Clara, I understand if I'm fired or let go because of what happened and as much as I want to be in you and the boys' lives. I still care about Zabdiel and I don't want you all to have to choose sides and whatnot. I don't want to be the one who drives everyone away from each other over a fight that happened between Zabdiel and I. I love and care about you all so much and I don't want this journey to end but if it does, I completely understand and I just want to thank you all for being there for me. From the very beginning, I was hesitant on becoming close with you guys because I was worried that if something like this were to happen later on in my life, I would have to separate from you all. I knew that going into this job and being friends with all of you, but you know what? I don't regret all the memories we've made and the time we've spent together. I don't regret it not one bit because I not only gained best friends, I gained a sister and 4 brothers and though whatever happens after this point, you will always hold a special place in my heart.

After you send the text, you get up and start to get ready for your day at home. You walk to your closet and change into comfy clothes you weren't leaving your apartment. You finished and were ahead on assignments Clara had given you since you were still working from home. You went out to your kitchen and prepare breakfast for yourself. As you were cooking, you heard your phone go off but decided not to answer it until you were done cooking. Once you were done, you bring your food and phone to the dining room table and set it down to eat. Before you were able to sit down, you heard your doorbell ring. You look at your phone and see the time along with many missed messages from the boys and Clara.

10:00 AM

2 unread messages from Richard

1 unread message from Christopher

1 unread message from Erick

1 unread message from Joel

3 unread messages from Clara

You bring your phone with you when you go to open your door. Before you reach your door, you open the messages from the group chat.

Richard: Y/n, what are you talking about? Like we said, we're going to be here for you no matter what happened.

Chris: Y/n, we're still friends! What are you talking about?

Joel: Y/n, I swear. Stop pulling this shit on us, WE'RE STILL FRIENDS!

Erick: hermana, we're still going to be here no matter what.

Clara: Y/n, you didn't lose your job and you definitely didn't lose us. We understand what happened and it's our decision at the end of the day. By the way, WHERE ARE YOU AND WHY AREN'T YOU ANSWERING US?!

Richard: We're coming over.

As you finish reading the messages, you're not surprised when you look through the peephole to see Richard and the boys along with Clara outside of your door. You open your door slowly and with curiosity.

"Um... What's up, guys? I didn't know you'd be coming here today, also, hey Clara. Didn't you get my messages? Do I want to know why you all magically show up at my door and didn't just call me?" Instead of answering your question, they all make their way inside your apartment, Clara being the last to step inside and whispering an "I'm sorry" to you. You close the door and lock it and turn around to see everyone gathered in your living room.

"A "may I come in?" or "Can we talk?" would be nice and polite you know? What's so important that you magically appear at my door and barge into my apartment?" You wait with arms crossed for any of the boys or Clara to talk.

"Why would you think that you would lose your job or us Y/n? Didn't you read our messages?" You look down and start to play with your fingers nervously.

"Look, like I said. What matters to me is your relationship with Zabdiel. You guys are a family and I don't want to break that up or cause problems because he and I are not friends anymore." You look up to them and feel a tear falling down your cheek. Before you could say anything else, Clara and the boys wrap their arms around you for a group hug and before you know it, tears that you didn't know you were holding in, fell down your cheeks more.

"Remember what we said to you last night? No matter what happens between you and Zabdiel, we will still be friends. We are a family, yes, but that also includes you. Without you, we're incomplete. We love you and we're ALWAYS going to be here for you no matter what." More tears start to fall as Chris stops speaking. You turn to Clara and she nods, agreeing with what Chris has said.

"Y/n, you still have your job, we're still hermanas and you're still friends with the boys and I. There's no way you can get rid of me or any of us easily because like they said, our family isn't a family without you in it. Despite the falling out between you and Zabdiel, this is a new beginning for you. I'm not saying the journey will be easy or quick but now, you have a better chance of moving on and forward with your life. Now is the real-time to focus on yourself and what YOU want to do in your life. Take this as an obstacle in your life that is teaching you a lesson and guess what? You won't be alone because you have your familia." You smile and hug Clara as tears still spill out of your eyes as you look to Richard.

"I've heard that one before," you say as you and Richard both laugh.

"Te amo mucho. Honestly, I don't know where I'd be without you guys." You hug them once more and you end up spending the day with them at your apartment, happy that despite the circumstances, you still had your friends by your side.

*END OF FLASHBACK*

It's been a couple of months since the fight broke out between you and Zabdiel to say it's easier said than done is an understatement.

How could you get over someone whom you ended up falling in love with for the past couple years who also used to be your best friend?

The world and time goes on and so will you?

The pain starts hurting less and less?

Time heals?

You'll move on before you know it?

In time, you'll find someone who will give the same effort and love you do?

The answer... it's difficult to say. Time definitely was going by and your love for Zabdiel was still there along with the pain. You tried to push it aside and move on instead of dwelling on the past and on someone who didn't want you in their life.

You tried dating apps and had gone on a couple of dates with different people. The dates you went on never ended up going out with again. To you, it didn't feel right and they weren't the person who was right for you. The boys and Clara even tried to set you up on multiple dates with people they felt like would be a perfect fit for you but to you, they weren't.

The thing about the dates was it was everything you wanted, whether it was doing something lowkey and simple or dressing up and going out but, the person that was with you had almost everything you wanted in a guy, except the guy you wanted. None of the guys you went on dates with gave you the sparks or feelings you felt for him and though those feelings came in way later in the friendship, the sparks were there the first night you met him.

No matter how hard you tried to move on from Zabdiel, your mind, body, and soul still wanted him. Despite the pain, he put you in and through these past couple of months, all the tears you cried over him, all the thoughts of never being enough for him, the thoughts that crowd your mind of not being a better best friend to him, the thoughts of you being selfish to have started this mess, the thoughts of regret to ever falling for Zabdiel in the first place, and the thoughts of knowing you were never going to be Zabdiel's and he was never going to be yours, you still longed for him.

The man who broke your trust.

The man who made you feel like you weren't enough for him.

The man who made you feel like you weren't enough as a best friend.

The man who made you question everything about your friendship.

The man who made you think you were selfish for taking time for yourself.

The man who put himself before you.

The man who depended on you for being almost everything.

The man who broke your heart into a million pieces.

You still wanted him. You didn't know why but no matter the circumstance, your heart still came back for Zabdiel and as much as you hated it because of the pain of knowing he could never be yours, you couldn't find a way to let go.

How could you get over the man who was your best friend?

How could you get over your best friend who made you feel loved?

How could you move on from him?

i really do hope you guys loved this chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it ! feedback is appreciated and if you have any ideas for one shots ,  go ahead and make suggestions in the ask box . te amo mas bebes <3

taglist: @waterlilyshaista @dolanfivsosxox @lunayxcnco @h-bea92 @dimelo-cnco @flaviadiamondpt @mellany1997 @ericks-mala-actitud @nochillnelly @nqbmf @afro-doll @benditocnco @chellybear98 @sometimesbadalwaysboujie @hollandhoe-blog @joelitos-baby @oliviacnco @urafakebetch 

[lady-divine-writes]

ACITW AU one-shot “Hidden Talents” (Rated PG13)

Summary: After the stress and pressure of wedding planning drives them out of the city, Kurt and Sebastian hide out in Sebastian's old room. Kurt starts cleaning Sebastian's closet while Sebastian flips through old yearbooks, being of no help whatsoever. While weeding through Sebastian's collection of clothes and shoes, Kurt stumbles upon something he'd never thought he'd find in a million years - Sebastian's long lost violin. (4613 words)

Notes: So, we all remember that in ACITW Sebastian plays the violin, that Julian claimed he was really good at it, and could have probably done something with it? Then it just never gets mentioned, not even once by Sebastian's parents, which leads me to believe there's a reason. This one-shot explores that reason, and whether or not Sebastian is really as proficient as his brother claims.

Part of ACITW AU

Read on AO3

“Donate or keep?” Kurt asks, holding up a fitted Marc Jacobs polo, fashionable despite its age. Then again, polo shirts are the standard, and designer never goes out of style. Like a fine wine, it matures, even if the shirt’s owner - sitting cross-legged on his bed, chuckling over photos in an old yearbook - has managed to remain perpetually sixteen.

His sense of humor pinging at a solid age twelve.

“Jeff, you bastard!” Sebastian snorts, flipping off a photo that Kurt can’t see from where he’s standing. Sebastian finds a block of sloppy text at the bottom right corner and runs a fingertip over it. He reads the slanted script, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, gatekeeper of another undignified snort. “Fuck, I miss you, man! See you at the wedding.”

Kurt clears his throat, aggravated by the amount he keeps losing Sebastian’s attention, but he can’t help smiling either. They don’t reminisce about high school often - too many mines left undetonated in those fields. But it’s nice to see Sebastian like this, especially considering the current stress they’re both under - a stress that’s driven them from their penthouse in the city back home to Westerville for the next few weeks.

Unfortunately, retreating to this sanctuary of family and nostalgia has caused that stress to amplify tenfold.

“Sebastian,” Kurt sings when even his most dramatic throat clearing doesn’t do the trick. “Oh, Sebastian. Eyes up here, please.”

Sebastian’s head snaps Kurt’s way, his brow pinched as if he only now remembered that Kurt is in the room with him, and that they have a job to do. “What?”

“Donate,” Kurt repeats in a syrupy tone (more like pine tar as opposed to maple - thicker, darker, more bitter), shaking the navy blue shirt on its hanger for emphasis, “or keep?”

“Keep,” Sebastian decides in an instant, then returns to his yearbook, snickering at another picture on the same page.

“Good,” Kurt murmurs, setting the polo aside. I intend on borrowing that one, he thinks, finding the silver lining since he’s the only one of the two of them taking this task seriously. He rifles through the closet and pulls out another shirt, one less style-savvy than the polo. That’s okay. At this point, it can be deemed retro. Regardless, Kurt has no intention of borrowing it. “How about this one? Donate or keep?”

Sebastian’s eyes flutter up from the page, barely focusing on the shirt before returning to the book in his lap. “Keep.”

Kurt rolls his eyes as he lays this shirt over the polo. He’d really hoped this one would end up in the donate box. If they hold on to it, there’s a chance Sebastian might actually decide to wear it, which puts the burden on Kurt to come up with something for himself that matches (provided they don’t want to run the risk of blinding anyone).

Kurt didn’t fall in love with Sebastian for his taste in clothes, which, to be fair, is decent - long lines; primary colors; simple, clean-cut elegance that pairs well with Kurt’s bolder, more adventurous choices. Sebastian can be quite the fashion plate himself when he has a mind to, one rogue t-shirt notwithstanding.

He lets Kurt style him more times than not so Kurt can’t complain.

Kurt goes back to the closet and selects a pair of shorts he knows don’t fit Sebastian anymore. They’re from Sebastian’s lacrosse days, when his thighs were bulkier, his glutes rounder. Not that Sebastian doesn’t have a gorgeous body now. His fitness regimen is impressive, even by Kurt’s standards. But spending hours on end running up and down a grass field does wonders for the buns and thighs.  

Kurt doesn’t want to banish everything from Sebastian’s Dalton days. Sebastian’s lacrosse uniforms were the first things Kurt slipped into the keep box without asking his say so. But these tan shorts are atrocious! He’s glad that after an hour of this, they’ll finally have a submission to the donate box, which has collected only dust so far along with one lonely copy of Mein Kampf - a relic from senior year AP European History.

“Donate or keep?” Kurt asks, dangling the garment presumptively over the donation box.

Sebastian glances at it, tilting his head and giving the matter a soupcon of thought. “Donate.”

Kurt removes the shorts from their clips with a sigh of relief. Finally! he thinks. Now we’re getting somewhere! But before he has the chance to drop them in, Sebastian recants (without looking up). “No, keep. Keep.”

“What!” Kurt stares at Sebastian, mouth agape. “Why? These don’t even fit you!”

“Are they too big or too small?”

“Too big! Plus, they’re cargo shorts, Sebastian! Cargo shorts!”

“They’ll be good for layering.”

Kurt’s eyes go buggy and wide. Sebastian hasn’t peeked, but he grins knowing what Kurt must look like right now, that vein in his head that throbs when he gets upset ready to burst. “When in the world would you need to layer shorts!?”

“I dunno,” Sebastian mumbles, eyes glued to a new page.  

Kurt growls, slamming the offensive item into the overflowing keep box, which might as well be labeled the Why are we wasting our time here? box. “Are you planning on getting rid of anything?”

“Uh …” Sebastian looks up and around. “Yes. That burrito wrapper over there.” He points to the corner of his desk where the trash from their lunch had been unceremoniously abandoned in favor of this. “That definitely needs to go.”

“Ha ha,” Kurt says, reluctantly cleaning up the mess. He objects to playing maid in his fiance’s old bedroom, but since he’s not currently doing anything of value, he grabs the stiff paper wrapper and crumples it in his hands - no, strangles it, using it as a stand-in for Sebastian’s neck. Sebastian turns to the next page, but looks up when he hears the wrapper succumb to Kurt’s crushing fingers.

“Oh, wait! I don’t think I finished …” Sebastian gestures repeatedly at the wadded wrapper, unable to think of a suitable end to his sentence, his brain sandwiched between curbing Kurt’s annoyance and processing the sentiments on the page without them bringing a tear to his eye. People say that if high school was one of the best times in your life, you were probably a privileged asshole. Well, he was. And it was … mostly. “I may want to hold on to that a little while longer.”

“Why!?”

“Dunno.”

“What the---!?” Kurt slams the balled up wrapper down with an irritated yawp. “Cleaning out your closet was your idea you know!”

“Oh contraire,” Sebastian retorts with maddening superiority. “All I said was that I may want to siphon out a few things while I’m here. You’re the one who came up with the brilliant idea of paring down my things and donating them to charity.”

“And why not? What good does any of this stuff do just sitting here in this closet? It’s not like you’re planning on moving any of it to our place and wearing it!”

“True, but if I get rid of it, what would my mother have in her later years to rummage through sentimentally, hold to her cheek and sigh when she misses me?”

Kurt shakes his head slowly, unamused on Charlotte’s behalf. “That’s just … horrible. Like the plot of a bad Hallmark Christmas movie.”

“There are good Hallmark Christmas movies? I sure as hell never seen one.”

“Hmph. And you say I watch too many cheesy chick flicks.”

“You do, but that’s entirely beside the point.”

“You’ve got tons of clothes here you don’t use,” Kurt presses with renewed vigor. “It wouldn’t hurt to get rid of some of it, make someone else’s day brighter by giving them the opportunity to purchase name brands for a bargain. I know that always cheers me up.”

“Weren’t you the one telling me that as much as you love Marie Kondo, closet purging is overwhelming the charity industry, and that most of the stuff we donate ends up on barges traveling the world, bouncing from port to port until they inevitably sink into the sea and devastate the aquatic ecosystem?”

“Yes, but at the time you were trying to get me to trim down my Jimmy Choo collection.”

“Because no one in their right mind needs eighty-six pairs of the same patent leather loafer, Kurt!”

Kurt tuts sharply. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”

“I do know you! That’s how I knew that if I came out against your plan, you’d get loud and yell-y! That’s what I was trying to avoid! I only went along with it because …“ Sebastian’s sentence cuts off when he clamps his jaw shut with a clack that shoots straight up Kurt’s spine. If Sebastian’s tongue had been anywhere near his teeth, part of it would have been chomped clean off.

“Because what?” Kurt asks, sore at being accused of acting ‘yell-y’ - a stone’s throw too close to ‘groomzilla’, which they’ve both accused one another of too many times in the last three months to count.

Sebastian sighs, rearranges his legs on the bed so that they’re spread and not twisted like a pretzel. “Asking you up here was an excuse to get you alone for five frickin’ minutes. We’ve been swamped since the second we got here! We left the city to escape your friends and my friends and the wedding planner’s incessant phone calls. But my mom and Olivia took over where everyone else left off.”

“They’re just excited for us,” Kurt says soothingly, not admitting yet that he knows exactly how Sebastian feels.

“I realize that. And I’m glad they’re excited but …” Sebastian thumbs the edges of the pages he has yet to read, watches them fall beneath his hand one by one “… who knew that deciding to get married would mean never getting a moment’s peace?”

“I guess they figure we’ll get enough of that after we’re married.”

“Then they don’t know us very well, do they?” Sebastian scoffs, venom lacing his words, so palpable it gives Kurt a rash.

Ever since Kurt moved up the ranks from Flying Monkey in the cast of Wicked to the more coveted role of Fiyero, he’s been in higher demand, and thus, less available. Even to Sebastian.

Kurt has dreamed of planning his own wedding for years. He’d started an idea book along the way, cutting out photographs from bridal magazines and gluing them into the pages, creating palettes and themes depending on current trends, potential venues, and time of year. But with both Kurt’s and Sebastian’s schedules so hectic, they had to weigh the importance of Kurt planning their wedding against the probability of them marrying before the turn of the century.

Getting married won, but only by a slim margin.

They hired the best wedding planner in the city, recommended by everyone in their tax bracket, whose artistic vision matched Kurt’s nearly beat by beat (according to the pictures on her website of ceremonies she’d helped bring to fruition). To Sebastian’s naive mind, that meant they would leave everything in her capable hands while they went on with their lives, drop in for the occasional consultation to check that the roses she chose suit Kurt’s vision or that the place settings have the right number of candles in them.

But Kurt literally hated everything their planner came up with.

So they’ve had to be present for every second of their wedding’s creation to ensure they’ll get the chance to celebrate the way they want.

They’re paying someone else thousands of dollars for Kurt to plan their wedding anyway.

The irony is staggering.

To that end, they’re having two weddings - one for their New York friends and associates, and a second intimate ceremony for their Ohio family.

Sebastian knew from go that Kurt’s pack of female friends from high school would descend upon them and monopolize Kurt’s time with the obligatory brunches and showers, which was understandable and therefore forgivable. What Sebastian didn’t factor in was the amount in which the theater company would use Kurt’s engagement as a PR instrument, slipping it into every interview, at every opportunity how one of their leading male cast members is months away from wedding his wealthy boyfriend, playing the whole thing up as some sort of fairy tale (with the term ‘fairy’ vaguely but constantly applied).

Broadway’s full of gays, remember! And this one’s gettin’ hitched!

Sebastian thought the whole thing vulgar but he didn’t sweat it … not until the side-effects of that exploitation began to bleed in to their every day lives.

Namely the celebrity.

Sebastian is accustomed to having eyes on him. He’s a handsome man and he knows it. He’s used his charm and his checkbook to open doors that weren’t already propped for his arrival his entire life. What he wasn’t used to was the sheer amount of eyes that would follow him everywhere. Letters addressed to Kurt showed up at his office. Paparazzi camped out on their doorstep. Admirers stopped him on the street to ask him every manner of question.

And Kurt’s fans knew no shame.

An unsolicited tide of attention chased them back home, along with an utter lack of privacy because everybody knows.

Everybody.

Even out here in backwater Ohio.

Checkers at the supermarket, cashiers at Target, the guy filling up the tanks at the gas station down the block, pretty much every single person they’ve come in contact with has congratulated them on their wedding.

How people found out Kurt and Sebastian had gone to Ohio, Sebastian has no idea. They left in the middle of the night and drove so they wouldn’t have to fuss with tickets. No one needed to be informed because time off for both of them had been arranged ahead of time. But someone found out they’d left early, and that person told because they’ve received everything from gift baskets to magnums of champagne at both the Smythe estate and Kurt’s father’s home.

The (now mildly - because that’s considered progress) homophobic country club that refused to let Kurt and Sebastian take dance lessons as a couple had the nerve to call and congratulate Greg and Charlotte on their son’s upcoming nuptials, offering them use of their main ballroom for the wedding, the reception, any accompanying shindigs they had planned - the same ballroom that hosted both Presidents Reagan and Carter during their administrations (they mentioned more than twice).

Olivia happened to be at the house the day they called, so Charlotte gave her the honor of the telling them where they could shove their offer.

It made Olivia’s day.

“If you’d told me from the beginning that you wanted to get me alone,” Kurt says, arching a suggestive eyebrow, “we’d be on your bed making out instead of doing mindless busywork on opposite ends of the room.”

“Ooo. Sounds like a plan,” Sebastian says, throwing Kurt a wink … then goes back to his yearbook, finger raised in a pause gesture. “Just … give me … one second.”

Kurt crosses his arms over his chest and huffs. “Wow. That’s just … that’s just … wow. Thanks a lump.” Ego bruised, he turns back to the closet. He pushes the clothes aside, giving up on that front for a while, and tackles the floor. He smirks when he sees Sebastian’s shoes, stored in their boxes, lined up in rows and stacked three deep. If he knows his fiance, the majority of them are boat shoes, each in the exact same style but different colors.

Make fun of me for my eighty-six pairs of loafers, will you?

He reaches for the topmost box but gets distracted when his hand brushes something hard and canvas leaning against the wall. Kurt steps aside to let more light in since the object blends in with the shadows. Kurt gets a good look at it, realizes what it is, and his heart stutters in his chest.

“Oh my …” He grabs hold of the handle and tugs it out gently. “So here it is. The fabled violin.”

That succeeds in getting Sebastian’s attention. His eyes light up when he sees Kurt approach carrying the case in his arms. Kurt hands the violin case over and Sebastian takes it, bringing it to him like a sacred artifact from his own past - one he thought he’d never lay eyes on again.

“It’s been forever,” Sebastian gasps. “I forgot I put it in this closet. I thought my mother had it.”

“Why did you give it up?” Kurt asks, watching Sebastian open the case to reveal the sublime instrument, wood polished and gleaming, appearing deceptively brand new with the exception of a few tells that speak to how much Sebastian played it - light-colored wear on the fretboard, a cloudiness to the finish on the chin rest, scratches here and there on the veneer.

“It’s just one of those things that faded from my life, stopped bringing me joy … about the same time everything else did.”

“Do you think you’d ever play it again?”

“Possibly.” Sebastian removes the violin from its case and holds it lengthwise in front of his eyes, examining it from end to end. “I mean, it’s been a dog’s age. I’m not sure I’d be any good at it.”

“Any chance it’s like riding a bike and you never forget?”

“Only one way to find out.” Sebastian plucks the strings in succession and smiles. It doesn’t sound too far off pitch to Kurt. Sebastian adjusts the strings, checking them against one another to make sure they’re in tune. Then he removes the bow from its resting place and tightens it. “Don’t rag on me too hard if I completely suck at this.”

“I won’t,” Kurt says. “I promise. I’ll just, you know, bring it up subtly at special occasions and bank holidays, maybe find a way to fit it into my toast at the wedding.”

“I’m holding you to that.” Sebastian rosins up his bow. He fits the violin underneath his chin. From the second it touches his skin, his attitude changes. He simultaneously tenses and relaxes, reminiscent of the way he behaved during their first sushi date, when he dropped eel and flecked soy sauce all over Kurt’s clothes. Kurt refrains from laughing at the memory. He doesn’t want Sebastian to think he’s laughing at him. But he can’t help smiling. Yes, their past is riddled with landmines, but the memories hidden in the flat, stable ground between never cease to make him glad.

Glad that he and Sebastian got together in the end.

Sebastian runs the bow experimentally over the strings, the sound it produces warm and rich, like hot Godiva cocoa on a cold, rainy day. Sebastian leans into that tone as he runs through scales, drawing end notes out a full four beats before launching into the next set. The quickness in which he picks it up takes Kurt’s breath away.

If Kurt was thinking of making fun of Sebastian for anything, he surely isn’t now.

“Why don’t we start with a classic, hmm?” Sebastian suggests, cheeks starting to pink from the look of open and unabashed awe on Kurt’s face.

“Where do you want to start? Bach? Beethoven?”

“I think …” Sebastian sits up taller, corrects his posture “… Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”

“Are you sure?” Kurt teases, but with less snark than usual. “I wouldn’t want you to set yourself up to fail or anything.”

“It’s good to go back to the basics. Limber up the old chops, so to speak.”

“Are they still chops if you’re talking about your fingers?”

“Don’t know,” Sebastian says with a shrug. “I didn’t invent it.”

Kurt settles in comfortably on the bed as he waits for Sebastian to pull something mid-range from his bag of tricks, like Minuet in G, a piece that millions of children have hammered out on innocent instruments since learning the recorder in middle school became mandatory. But true to his word, Sebastian starts with Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, picking the notes on the strings with his forefinger. But one verse in, he puts the bow to the strings, and starts a whole other story.

Kurt had expected Sebastian to be rusty, suffer a few false starts before he got into the swing of things. Scales are one thing. They follow a predictable pattern. It’s fairly simple to keep them smooth. But Sebastian sounds like he put his violin down for the last time yesterday. Kurt almost stops him to accuse him of having a secret violin hidden somewhere that he’s been practicing on this entire time, probably at his office where Kurt wouldn’t see. He considers pulling out his phone and texting Sebastian’s secretary, interrogating her to see if she’ll spill about any mid-afternoon practice sessions when the partners were out at lunch.

Though, in this particular instance, Kurt doesn’t know if Sebastian is more likely to hide his tremendous talent or rub it in his face.

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star ends and Sebastian melds it into a classical melody, one Kurt can’t name off-hand though he knows he’s heard it before. It’s slow, romantic - the kind of piece a director would use to cap off the credits on a bittersweet rom-com, one where the tragic heroine, diagnosed with a withering variety of late-stage cancer, dies after the love of her life proposes.

It’s sad.

So incredibly sad.

That sadness lingers in the air after the notes dissolve, becomes stronger, more powerful with every sway of Sebastian’s body. He’d closed his eyelids when this piece started and he’s fallen into the sadness, let it envelope him.

It’s become a part of him. Maybe it’s always been a part of him and he’s just now letting it out for Kurt to see.

Or he never intended on Kurt seeing it, and this is simply an accident.

Whatever it is, Sebastian finally notices it because he switches, keeps the same key but changes the song, seamlessly transforming into something more contemporary, slightly more upbeat.

Kurt’s heart stops when he realizes the song Sebastian is playing is from Wicked. Not only that, it’s a song Kurt sings as Fiyero.

As Long as You’re Mine.

Sebastian has never, to Kurt’s knowledge, played that song on the violin or any instrument, has never sung that song himself, hasn’t seen the sheet music. He’s heard Kurt sing it over and over, practicing it in their bathroom until the tile could sing it back to him. But now he’s playing it on an instrument he hasn’t picked up in decades.

Kurt swallows hard, heart swollen with pride but his chest hollow with jealousy.

That’s talent. True talent.

Even Blaine might not be that talented.

Kurt would kill for that kind of talent.

Years they’ve been together, they’re about to get married, and Kurt thought he knew everything there is to know about this man. But Sebastian is still such an enigma. What is Kurt going to learn in another ten years? After twenty?

On the one hand, it’s daunting the way these secrets pop up out of nowhere.

But more than that, Kurt is excited to find out.

Sebastian plays through the first verse again when the song ends, a twinkle in his eyes trying to coax Kurt into singing it while he plays. Sebastian plays with such emotion that, even though Kurt would love to duet with him, he can’t bring himself to - too transfixed to make his mouth move, or even hum the tune. But he hears the words in his head, hears their meaning ring in his ears. He’s never paid too much attention to the words outside of what they mean in the musical. Now he’s hearing them, understanding them, for a different reason all together:

Kiss me too fiercely Hold me too tight I need help believing You're with me tonight My wildest dreamings Could not foresee Lying beside you With you wanting me

Sebastian ends not on a note of completion, but open-ended, with the promise of more.

Longing for more.

“Julian was right,” Kurt says, clearing his heart from his throat.

“He’ll be ecstatic to hear that,” Sebastian teases, casually shelving the emotions his violin brought to the surface.

“You do play beautifully. You should have gone to NYADA.”

“That’s … that’s very kind of you, babe,” Sebastian says, flashing a rare shy smile, knowing how great a compliment that is coming from Kurt, how much NYADA has meant to him. “But being good at the violin and being a musician are two completely different things. And I’m not a musician. Or a performer. Not like you. I enjoy it … I definitely enjoy that you enjoy it … but it’s not in my blood. I mean, obviously, seeing as I could put this violin down for so long and not even think about it, hmm?”

Kurt wonders about that after Sebastian says it. It’s easy to believe considering Kurt found out about Sebastian’s playing not from Sebastian but from Julian (the night he devised a plan to break the two of them out of dance lessons no less). Other than that, he can’t remember for the life of him either brother bringing it up again. Even Charlotte, who praises in excess everything her children have accomplished, has never brought it up, not even to say that she misses it. The way Sebastian holds the violin to his chest reminds Kurt of the way Blaine held his favorite guitar - as if it, and not Kurt, were his soulmate. As with so many things in Sebastian’s past, Kurt suspects there’s a bigger story surrounding this violin and why he stopped playing it than he’s putting on.

It had faded from his life, he’d said. Stop bringing him joy about the same time everything else did.

The same time things went south with Julian and Sebastian moved away, which would explain why it seems to have been erased from family history.

“So what do you think? Donate?” Sebastian asks with a surreptitious sniffle. He doesn’t let go of the violin, doesn’t return it to its case. On the contrary, he seems to hug it tighter. “Maybe to one of those inner city performing arts programs you love to volunteer for so much?”

“No! Keep! A definite keep!” Kurt gushes. “Maybe you can put it down and never play it again, but now that I’ve heard you, I don’t think I can exist without your playing in my life!”

“But I thought you said I was keeping too much stuff.”

“Meh,” Kurt dismisses with a wave, done with the whole concept of cleaning Sebastian’s closet anyhow. “What’s too much stuff when you can fit half of Central Park in your penthouse? Plus, I have to think of your mother, right? Wasting away in this run-down, rickety shack with nothing at all to remind her of her youngest son? Especially not the thousands of photos and videos she’s taken over the years.”

Sebastian looks at Kurt through long eyelashes, a wicked streak creeping into his smile, turning it into a full-fledged smirk. “I guess we could always switch out some of my old lacrosse uniforms for it.”

“What?” Kurt sits up straight, the color draining from his face. He knew Sebastian would find out about that eventually (on their honeymoon, if not sooner), but he didn’t think he’d caught him when he did it. “No! No, no, no reason to do that. Who says I even … uh … weren’t we going to make out?”