#So I kept forgetting the brush that I used as well as the layer settings

[0ann3]

What if Riddle got so used to Floyd sleeping around/near him whenever he's studying that it became a norm and he just lets it be since at least he got some peace and quiet kAJSHKAJSh-

#twisted wonderland #twst #riddle rosehearts #floyd leech #deuce spade #ace trappola #floyd x riddle #riddle x floyd #florid #sketch #I drew 1 panel every 12 hours for this one #So I kept forgetting the brush that I used as well as the layer settings #Anyway #Riddle most likely was mad during the earlier times that Floyd leans against him while he sleeps #But gave up since other than the extra weight it looks like he could study in peace without any worries? #If he's tutoring some students and then Floyd came around just to sleep next to him just pretend he isn't there

[nerves-nebula]

Not to be abnormal but the art you added for the commissions post with Don and Abe. Gee Whillikers. Goodness Gracious. Wowzers. Holy Guacamole AND Chips. What in the Sardines. you color very pretty (if you don’t mind me asking what’s ur process??)

it was an abe and donnie post first fdsfds i just added the commission stuff cuz i need money so bad-

but thank you!!! uhh the process really depends on the art piece since theres a lotta way things can go, but for this one here's a quick breakdown

first I doodles some thumbnails and wrote down the main colors I'd use (red & green)

i made a really rough sketch and then went over it on another layer. i dont really do line art so its more like a refined sketch tbh

then i blocked in the base colors and figured out the lighting, adding those in big blocks as well in a different layer

this piece is more painterly than i usually go for and i kinda wanted to honor that, so once i was sure about the base colors and the lighting colors, I merged them all together and kept refining the specific shapes.

Then once i was happy with that, I merged THAT layer with a copy of the lines so that I could treat it all like one big painting layer

the background actually came about last and after i made it I didn't like the colors I'd chosen, so i fucked around with some blending layers until I got it looking the way I wanted it to. here's the original background (left) with the edited one (right)

for a finishing touch i just added a paper texture and set it to multiply. i like adding textures i just usually forget to do it unless the texture is a brush im using

this isn't my usual process, but tbh i dont really make finished pieces all that much these days. i mostly just do like, sketch comics & shit.

but yeah i dont have one process so much as a bunch of ways that i could potentially do it, which I then pick and choose from as I desire. i almost always start with a thumbnail/pre sketch these days though.

#nnstuff #ask #asks are sweethearts #nnart

[blue-hamble]

Cold drizzle enveloped the Squat Frog Coffee House. The day was heavy with a dark, almost blue layer of thick fog. Mist wrapped itself around ancient trees and obscured the view of the neighboring cliffs. The coffee house lanterns barely brought any light to a passing eye. In this remote spot, time seemed to slow down.

Inside, a couple of dimly lit lanterns cast delicate shadows everywhere. The air was cool and moist, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and coffee. Lute pulled a tray of freshly roasted cliff lion roots from the tiny kitchen oven. He wrinkled his nose at the color. "Hmm...a touch too light." There was a voice that rang out, clear as a bell. "Lute, my boy! Are you in? Something smells delightful." (forum thread: https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/rp/3238950)

Cloud Brush's courier, Shira, stood at the doorway, peering around for other patrons. The middle-aged skydancer quickly took off his rain poncho at the threshold and shook it free of cold droplets. He was dressed in sealskin and linen, and had a well-aged leather satchel around his waist. "Always, uncle!" the coffee house owner called out, already setting a kettle of water out to boil. He stepped out of the kitchen and grinned. "Done with your deliveries for the day? Come sit and rest your wings." "Hardly done at all. Can't see my own beak in this heavy fog! My bones aren't as resistant to the dreary days as they used to be. You still got some coffee? I've got a good bit of treasure for your best stuff. I could use the energy." "Clan is family, and I don't charge family," Lute said firmly. "You taught me that and I will never let you forget. Make yourself warm and let me handle things. You take honey with your coffee, right?" "You're a potash peach, Lu," the skydancer laughed. He took a seat at the counter and set his bags down. "Thank you, and just a spot of honey is enough." The spiral looked at his customer carefully. Shira seemed more careworn--the lines on his face were more pronounced. Instead of taking up space and splaying his elbows on the counter, the courier kept his hands folded under his crossed arms. Even the gleam of his sharp eyes were somewhat pensive that day. "Would you like a special pick-me-up? I think I've got just the thing, if you'd like to try it." Shira didn't answer right away--Lute watched him stiffen in his seat a touch. "You don't have to, if you don't want to," the spiral appended. "But I think it will help with today." There was a long pause before the skydancer visibly softened. He released a long, tired sigh and leaned back in his seat, eyes glassy. "Oh, damned by the doldrums," he smiled apologetically. "I must be more under the weather than I thought, for it to be so apparent. I'll give it a go, my boy. Might as well get it over with, ey?" Lute nodded and turned back to the kitchen, returning with the kettle of water and a mug. The mug was one of many novelty choices--it had a knitted yarn print and the words "holding it together!" comically painted on the side. He set it down solemnly in front of the courier and placed a filter of cliff lion grounds over it. The spiral's gestures seemed almost choreographed as he poured hot water over the fragrant grounds, creating intricate patterns of swirling steam. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee intermingled with the mist, mixing the scents of droplets and roasted cliff lion root in nostalgia. Both dragons took a deep breath of the aroma as the coffee steeped.

After a few minutes of silence, Lute asked his first question. "You hid something. What are you hiding?"

"My grief," Shira replied, almost blandly. "Been thinking about my other kids today. Small grace from the Windsinger that they didn't suffer. Can't help but think of them on days like this." The skydancer could almost see them in the mists hovering over the cup, against the light of the lanterns. Jira, his eldest and bravest, proud of his scrapes. Ailean, his bashful little boy, with a sweet face that could melt the strictest heart. He felt his throat constrict and his chest drop, but talking was a reflex still. "I have my mate and my son, and the clan, and clan is family. I have nothing to fear when grief comes, by all means. It ought to be easier. But I flee all the same. I fly faster and turn sharper, and memorize all sorts of things like routes and escapes, but it doesn't ease any of this...pain and guilt. It's silly, my boy." For a split second Shira's face crumpled and he sniffed as if to cry. Lute turned away graciously to select a sweetener from the shelf. When he turned back to the counter the skydancer had regained his composure, though his eyes were a touch less glassy and still transfixed on the mist. "It's not silly, uncle," the spiral frowned. "I don't think most could do much better. I mean, look at the clan patriarch." "That's not comparable," Shira answered sharply. His face was suddenly stormy. "Lofty's been through trials that could only be shade-sent. Not just children lost but body and mind torn apart! I won't have you minimize his suffering for my comfort!" "I'm sorry" the spiral amended, apologetic. "I don't intend to at all. But you both carry a similar grief. Just because you're flying and walking and talking doesn't mean you're unscathed, uncle." He took the filter of grounds off and spooned a bit of honey in the mug. It glittered and dissolved in the heat with a couple of brief methodical stirs, disturbing the steam. It was a tense few minutes before Shira huffed and took the mug. "I understand your meaning, Lu, and I'm sorry too. I know you don't mean harm. It is a difficult thing for everyone, but the past is past. I should be doing better." The skydancer brought the mug to his lips and took a drink.

Lute cast a watchful eye out the window before asking his next question.

"The past is past. What remains undone?"

"...I don't know. What is their left to do? I've buried my dead and remember them well. I try to make peace with things. Not much else you can do, really. And I'd rather not resort to things like necromancy. We've seen what that can be like." "You have," Lute winced. "How Allie and Nick manage are nowhere near as amiable as things I've seen before. It's a good thing they get along so well--it's definitely one of the healthier kinds of undead bond. If such a thing even truly exists." "There are stranger things in the world, you know," the skydancer nodded. "Nicky's got a breed change scroll on his person at all times in case of any ill circumstance of the emperor variety. That's one way of coping, isn't it? I find it quite an idea." "Auntie Jil wouldn't appreciate that sort of thing easily without her approval." "Indeed she wouldn't! She's a strong dragoness, my Jil. She holds half my burdens and the whole clan in her hand. Decisive in ways I am not, and brave. I would be lost without her. She has heart enough when mine is heavy, and I gladly try the same to be for her." Shira savored his drink, thoughtful. He felt the soft mist that always lingered in the coffee house touch his cheek, like an almost scolding caress. With the deep melancholy in his chest, he wondered if his mate felt the same way today. In that instant, he had an irresistible urge to fly off and be with her. He sniffed again, eyes watery, and he finished his mug in a few gulps. "Home with Jil sounds just what I need right now. I believe that's what I'll do today, my boy. I'll have to postpone the deliveries a day." "Zareen wouldn't mind and you know it. Lucky--the fog has cleared up just for you." In the past half hour, the deep dark fog had indeed receded--leaving only the familiar mist that always surrounded Squat Frog Coffee House. The foreboding weather had become quickly pleasant in record time. The skies were a clear and vivid blue, dotted by softly colored clouds--the air currents even flowed toward home. The skydancer's surprised laugh was a sparkle of sound and relief. "Indeed it has! Thank you for the coffee and the company, Lu. You've got a true gift." The courier was reinvigorated, almost humming in anticipation of the flight home. He jumped to his feet and moved around the counter to give the somewhat nonplussed spiral a warm hug. "When you've got time, you should come over and have dinner," he murmured. "Don't forget you have home now, Lu. Clan is family, and Jil misses you. Shij would never admit it but he does too." Lute laughed and returned the squeeze. "I'll try my best when I can, uncle. Give my best to auntie and Shij." With a quick salute and a flash of feathers, the skydancer dashed outside to spread his wings. It took but a moment for him to take off--a hallmark of Shira's strength and endurance in flight. The coffee house owner waved goodbye from the doorway, used mug in hand. The fog was sure to creep in again after an hour at most, but an hour was all Shira would need. Thank goodness for the cliff lions, even if they were roasted a touch too light. The spiral blinked at Squat Frog, who didn't return the gesture.

"Not too bad, all things considered, froggy. Let's hope we'll be helpful still the next time."

#flight rising rp #fr rp #clan cloud brush #squat frog coffee house #fr clan lore #flight rising clan lore

[afairytalestray]

@storyweaverofgondor’s cats-pril day 6 - tribe. It is very difficult to write a fic which includes every member of the Cats characters while also keeping it short, but I think I did alright! Also on Ao3 here.

Old Deuteronomy sat on his tyre, looking out over the Junkyard. It was a rare occasion that every single member of the tribe was there at the one time; it only really happened when the Jellicle Ball rolled around. It was the morning after the most recent one, and the sun was bright and warm overhead. Gus had ascended to the Heaviside Layer, and his own son had danced a pas-de-deux and been accepted by the Everlasting Cat. 

Said son was currently loafing off to the side, contentedly watching the goings-on, his fluffy tail wrapped tightly around a barely-visible ball of black fur. Mistoffelees – his boy’s new mate. He had almost wept with joy when Tugger had come to ask for his permission to dance a pas-de-deux, to present himself and Mistoffelees to the Everlasting Cat as mates. He had allowed it, of course, it had been obvious from the get go that this would happen. Thankfully, no one had needed rescuing via teleportation this year, but Mistoffelees had still used a fair bit of magic in setting up the night’s protective barriers, and then managing all the lights, as well as fantastical displays for the Kittens, so it was no surprise that he was still curled in a ball fast asleep, warmed by the sun and Tugger’s fur.

His other son, Munkustrap, was sitting by his own mate, Demeter, watching their Kitten, Jemima. Old Deuteronomy bit back a chuckle. Munkustrap was desperately trying to pretend like he wasn’t falling asleep sitting up, to the amusement of Demeter, who kept brushing him with her tail and making him jump when his eyelids fluttered. He would tell him later to get some rest, although he doubted Demeter wouldn’t beat him to it. His boy always seemed to forget he needed sleep.

His grandbaby Jemima was playing some sort of rough and tumble game with the other Kittens. It looked like they were all trying to do Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer’s double-cartwheel move, but only George and Electra seemed to be having any luck in recreating it at all. Tumblebrutus, Pouncival, Jemima, and Etcetera were in a tangled heap on the floor, giggling like mad. Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer themselves seemed not to be involved in this. Rumpleteazer was curled into Skimbleshanks’ side and dozing. It made him glad to see; the calico twins had adopted Skimbleshanks as a sort of father figure, and he had really helped them find their place in the Junkyard. Mungojerrie, on the other paw, was over on top of the oven, chatting animatedly to Coricopat. Old Deuteronomy suppressed a smile at the sight – the normally-serene Coricopat looked quite delighted by the interaction. Even if those two couldn’t sense it yet, he got the feeling they’d be seeing another pas-de-deux soon.

Tantomile, less fond of excessive chatter, was lounging comfortably in the shade next to Cassandra and Tica. From a distance, Old Deuteronomy couldn’t tell whether they were actually talking, or just enjoying each others’ quiet disposition. 

Victoria and Plato, last year’s mated pair, seemed to be doing the bulk of keeping an eye on the Kittens, when they could take their eyes off of each other, that was. Thankfully, Bombalurina was also nearby, one eye on them, one on the rest of the adults, who were surrounding Jellylorum and Asparagus.

Jellylorum herself was slightly puffy-eyed, but looked to be trying to smile. Asparagus kept zoning out from where he was tucked into his partner Skimbleshanks’ other side. Old Deuteronomy sympathised, for as much as a loved one being the Jellicle Choice was an honour, it could be hard for those left behind, and Jellylorum and Asparagus, as well as being his daughter and son, had been Gus’ main caretakers this past year. To keep them company, Bustopher Jones had opted to stay for a few days, and was making quiet conversation. Alonzo and Jennyanydots had taken up position on either side of Jellylorum. Jennyanydots was her partner, and Alonzo looked up to her almost as a mother. 

Their father was gone, but they were surrounded by their tribe now, supported by their extended family who would be there through thick and thin. Old Deuteronomy could not be more proud of his tribe, his family.

#cats-pril2023 #cats-prilday6 #cats the musical #old deuteronomy

[little-diable]

48 Days - Chris Evans (smut)

3/3 imagines for my Valentine's Bingo by @venomsilk Enjoy my loves.xxx

Summary: The reader is about to marry a man she hates with all her might, while her heart belongs to her best friend, Chris. Can their affair turn into something sincere? Can they make things work, even if she is forced to say I do?

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, p in v, oral sex (f, m), arranged marriage, affair, cheating, friends with benefits to lovers, has a nasty fight in it, some angst

Pairing: Chris Evans x fem!reader

Valentines Bingo fills: Arranged Marriage x Oral Sex x Slow Burn (4k)

With her trembling fingers, she reached for his hair, desperate to find something to hold onto. Chris had his head buried between her thighs, eyes set on her pleasure drunken features. She was close, oh so close, could almost feel her orgasm rocking through her like a tsunami ripping trees from the ground, washing away the reminders of its arrival.

“Fuck, Chris. Don’t you stop.” He was used to teasing her, would push away seconds before she could cum - anything to prolong their moments together. But this time he couldn’t waste any more time, not when she was about to say “I do” to the man she was forced to marry. Not when she’d have to kiss a man she hates with all her might, with the lips she had wrapped around Chris’ cock last night.

“My perfect girl, look at you. You’re moaning my name, while your fiancé is waiting for you out there.” They had locked the doors, hiding away from the people that could storm into the room any moment now - not expecting to find the bride’s best friend buried between her thighs with his tongue brushing through her slit.

“Oh, oh my god.” She couldn’t stop her moan from clawing through her, eyes rolling into her head with her back arched off the sofa. Her dress was slightly crumpled, pushed up to her waist, giving Chris enough room to eat her out without suffocating beneath the heavy layers of fabric.

He pumped his fingers in and out of her heat, kept fucking her like he had done numerous times before. And with a smirk pulling on his lips, Chris watched how (y/n) came on his tongue with his name burning through her. Heavy pants split from her lips, out into the quietness of the room she had been offered to prepare herself.

What a shitshow.

“Come here, let’s clean you up.” Carefully Chris helped his best friend to regain her balance, he pushed her further into the couch as he made his way to the small bathroom. Her heart was still hammering in her chest, pumping blood through her veins, right to her aching heart. How she longed for Chris, how she wanted to tell him all about the feelings she fosters for him. But she couldn't, the moment had passed before she could have grasped it, ripped from her hands like a prank fate was playing on the suffering woman.

“All done, I’ll go out there now. Don’t trip, otherwise I’d have to catch you.” With a wink thrown her way he left her standing, with tears welling up in her eyes and her sweaty palms pressed against her dress.

(Y/n) didn’t get another moment to sort through her thoughts, the door was pushed open, exposing her father who reached for her trembling hand to pull the bride out into the afternoon. Neither of them dared to speak, lost in their emotions and the guilt seeping through their flesh. While (y/n) still tried to find a way out of this situation, her father was already focused on the money this marriage would offer him, strengthening his bond with the father of (y/n)’s husband to be.

She caught Chris bright eyes, silently hoping that he’d stand up and rescue her, confessing his love for her. A desperate hope she had clung to for the past months - very well knowing that Chris didn’t reciprocate her love.

Her gaze would wander to him at any given chance, drawn away from the man whose hand she was holding. She barely listened to the words that were spoken, didn’t even look at her husband as she spoke her vowels. All she wanted was to get drunk, as drunk as humanely possible to forget all about this awful marriage.

Clear as on the day where her father had told her about her not negotiable fate, she felt her heart breaking in two. She had cried for what felt like hours, pushed into Chris’ embrace with her tears soaking through his shirt. But what Chris hadn’t understood was that she hadn’t been crying because of her arranged marriage, no, she had cried because it wouldn’t be him she’d marry. Something she had dreamt about since the moment they had crossed paths.

And with an “I do” spilling from her lips, (y/n) was ripped out of her daydream. Her lips were pushed against the ones of her now husband, but the moment didn’t last long, it ended before the crowd could even start to cheer for the two.

—-

“I don’t think the bride is supposed to hide from her guests, now is she?” Chris sat down next to her with two beer bottles carried in his hands. Wordlessly he pushed one bottle into her outstretched hand, the one she was wearing the all too big ring on. For a moment nothing but silence engulfed the two, not even the chatter of the crowd could be heard from the bench they were sitting on. It was just the two of them, like it always had been.

“I wish I could run away.” Her voice sounded exhausted, words dripping with sadness and confusion. No longer did she know which path to take, stuck at a junction, the way ahead was too foggy for her to see straight, leading her into the unknown - no matter which path she would take.

“Why don’t you? I offered to help you with this from the moment you’ve told me about your arranged marriage.” Chris took another gulp, some drops of his beer ran down his chin, dripping onto his dark suit pants that made his muscular thighs appear even bigger. Thighs she has been rubbing herself against numerous times before, making herself cum on them as if she had been born to do nothing else but this.

“You know I can’t. My parents would kill me.” (Y/n) felt like a child, scolded by her parents for hiding away from the event she had been dragged to, not following their etiquette.

With Chris' hand finding her chin, he turned her face towards him. Their lips met for a passionate kiss, sharing something more intimate then she’d ever get to experience with her now husband. A moan bled from (y/n)’s lips as she pushed herself closer to him, beer long forgotten as her hands found their way to his gelled back hair.

“I’d leave with me tonight, he’s already drunk. I don’t want him to touch you.” Sometimes, just sometimes, she found herself wondering if Chris felt something for her, something more intense than his primal desire for her, something that could only be described as love. But before (y/n)'s mind could trap her in thoughts like this, he’d say something to lighten the mood, pulling her away from the last strings of hope, cutting through them like a scissor cutting through paper.

“He’s my husband. He is allowed to touch me.” Something she hadn’t felt in months began to push through her; hot burning anger, buzzing through her veins with a silent whisper. Chris was playing games with her, games all of those she was surrounded by were playing with her - nothing she wasn’t all too used to by now.

“Alright, have it your way. I just wanted to help out my best friend.” Chris raised his hands as if she had accused him of committing a crime. He rose to his feet, drowned the last few gulps of his beer and started to walk back to the tent.

“Where are you going?” Panic began to rise in her veins, battling the anger that was still lingering in her system. A confusing mixture she struggled to work with.

“Back inside, since you apparently don’t need my help.” He was pissed, just as pissed as she was. Though for two completely different reasons. While (y/n) was scared of losing Chris due to her marriage, Chris cursed himself. He should have pulled her away from this before it could have gotten this confusing, should have rescued her when he had the chance.

“You’re such a dick, Chris. Fuck, you are just as petty as all those people.” Her anger kept spurring her on, letting words she didn’t truly mean roll off her tongue, out into the cold February night. With an angry chuckle bubbling out of him, Chris turned back to (y/n). Angry tears rolled down her cheeks, dripping from her jaw, down to the cold ground.

“Have a good night, (y/n).” And before she could say another word, Chris disappeared back inside.

—-

The horizon was drenched in a deep red as (y/n) woke to the sound of her phone going off. Her husband was no longer lying next to her, his side was cold, he had probably slept in the guestroom, trying to avoid crossing paths with the woman he detested just as much.

“Chris?” A groan rolled off her tongue, it was way too early in the morning, thoughts still foggy. It had been weeks since the two had last spoken, 48 days to be exact. 48 days of pure suffering - for the both of them - 48 days of pure confusion - not once had they ignored one another for such a long period of time - 48 days of pure heartbreak.

“Did I wake you?” She had to bite down her reply, and had to stop herself from screaming in frustration. Of course he had woken her, early in the morning when not even the birds had risen from their sleep.

“What do you want?” For a second (y/n) debated hanging up the phone, to leave him and whatever he had to say behind. But just the slightest chance of making things somewhat okay between the two kept her going, patiently waiting for his reply with her face pressed into her pillow and her eyes focused on the horizon.

“Get some breakfast with me? Please. I miss you.” The soft “okay” that spilled from her lips was almost missed by him, but the relieved sigh that left him made her smile. With trembling limbs (y/n) rolled out of bed, she had hung up the phone after he had told her where to meet him - the cafe they’d always go to - at least before things had started to go downhill.

Her heart wouldn’t stop racing, not even as she left their house, not even as she arrived at the cafe she had been to numerous times before. It only accelerated its beat, with every breath she took. And the second their eyes met it felt like the moon and the sun were looking at one another, silently taking their appearance in, wondering if they had changed over the past roll around the horizon.

Wordlessly she was pulled into his chest, engulfed by his muscular arms, with the scent of his expensive cologne crawling up her nostrils. Like a woman that had just left an unsuccessful rehab, finding the nearest bottle to drown her sorrows in, she found herself trapped in his touch, drawn in by Chis and everything there was to love about the tall man.

“You look beautiful.” (Y/n) could only shake her head as she plopped down vis-a-vis Chris. Her hand instantly reached for his - a habit she couldn’t work against. She wouldn’t let go, not as the waitress took their order and came back only a few minutes later with their drinks and their food, not as they silently ate their food, washed down by the heat that clawed through them like a shadow dancing through the night, guiding a ship into the middle of the ocean, lured on by sirens singing a song of death and loss. Loss she had felt the last days and weeks.

“Why did it take you this long to reach out?” The question had been burning on her tongue since the second she had answered his call. Why hadn’t he found his way back to her earlier? Why did he leave her behind for 48 awfully long days?

“You could have called me as well. Why didn’t you?” If there was one thing her stubborn best friend was good at, it was answering her questions with another question, thrown her way with a grin tugging on his lips. But this time he wasn’t grinning, this time he even let go of her hand, friends turned to strangers - with one simple gesture.

“Of course.” An emotionless laugh left (y/n), she had her gaze averted, focused on her empty plate as she sorted through her thoughts. “You left me standing that night. You decided to turn away from me! When I needed you the most.”

“I’m so fucking tired of you acting like an etitled little bitch. You decided to marry that asshole. You decided to stick around, against my advice. I offered to take you away. I offered to take you in. I offered to protect you. But no, little Miss Perfect had to please her parents. You don’t get to paint me as the bad guy, not when you decided to ignore my help.” With a clenched jaw Chris rose from his seat, he placed some money on the table and pulled on his coat. “I don’t want to do this here.”

It took her a few seconds to catch her breath. Every now and then the two of them would fight, tangled in their thoughts with their mouths speaking words they didn’t truly mean. But it was nothing comparable to this.

And with angry tears welling up in her eyes, her quivering limbs carried her out of the diner, towards his car. No words were shared on the car ride back to his place, not even the radio could drown out the uncomfortable silence that lingered in the car as the city passed by. The emotional bruises he had left behind on her soul were turning violet, a healed wound ripped open again, bleeding out like a heart broken into small shards.

And while (y/n) tried to find the right words she could use to defend herself, Chris had to bite down the cry that threatened to claw through him. Those past 48 days have felt like hell, every single day he had reached for his phone, thumb hovering over her name, but he had wanted to give her time to adjust to her new life before he’d come back with new ideas to set her free. He’d die for her, but Chris was slowly drowning, his lungs were aching, no longer able to hold onto any air.

Dodger was patiently waiting for Chris to return as they stepped into the house, greeted by a couple of barks and Dodger’s excited pants leaving him. But the excitement was short lived, for all three of them, ripped away by the lingering tension that began to thicken with every breath leaving them.

“You know that I didn’t have a choice. I had to marry him, I had to do it for my parents. I was hoping that especially you’d be the one to understand what it meant giving up your happiness for your parents.” It was a low blow, but she couldn’t stop the words from rolling off her tongue, reminding Chris of the choices he had made to please his parents, how he had given up his dream of a pursuing successful acting career, and how he had dated all those perfect women his parents had chosen for him.

“Of course you had a choice! You always had a choice, but you decided to ignore it! You decided to ignore me!” He was breathing heavily as his body forced him another step closer to (y/n). Chris's body was searching hers, he had to feel her close, otherwise he’d lose his focus, even when his mind screamed at him to let her go.

To give up on the feelings he had always fostered for (y/n).

“Which choice did I have? Are you this oblivious? Are you this stupid? Fucking hell, Chris.” By now they could feel one another's breath on their lips, two people with two broken hearts - that could find their way back together - if they’d speak the right words.

“I could have been your choice.” It was just above a whisper, though strong enough to reach her and her trembling body with her pounding heart roaring in her chest. “I could have been the one waiting for you at the altar. It could have been me.”

“Why do you have to be such an asshole? Stop playing with me like this, goddammit, Chris.” (Y/n) tried to take a step back, wanting to free herself from him and the lies he was speaking. Trying to trap her and her confused mind, an easy game he mastered like no other. But Chris wasn’t playing with her, no, he had forgotten all the tricks he had once known by heart.

“I am not playing with you. I have been loving you since the day you have spilled that awful tasting wine all over my trousers. How could you be this oblivious” No longer were they screaming at one another, Chris croaked his words, hands reaching for hers to pull her in. Before (y/n) could reply, Chris had his lips pressed against hers, silencing her up with one simple kiss. Her body didn’t have the strength to push her away, she molded into his touch like candle wax burned by a flame’s heat.

His hands found her thighs, Chris picked (y/n) up before she could pull away to catch her breath. He carried her into his bedroom, carefully closing the door with her body pressed against his like a woman lost in a storm, desperate to find shelter. And Chris was and always will be her shelter, the one she’d cling to when her world would fade to black.

“I love you too, always have. You’re right, it should have been you. It will always be you.” Another kiss was shared, more desperate this time, urged on by the unsaid words that wanted to claw through the two lovers.

Chris didn’t rip her clothes off her body - not this time - he was taking things slow, pressed his lips against her throat to kiss a trail down her upper body. Her shirt found its way to the floor, soon followed by her bra and jeans. While Chris was still fully dressed, he began to worship her body, hoping to mark every inch of her with his teeth grazing her skin. Trembling hands worked on his trousers, wanting to free his aching cock from his tight trousers.

Wax dripping onto a letter to seal the words from curious eyes couldn’t manage to burn heat this strong into a piece of paper. Chris’ touch was all too familiar, she’d recognize him in a dark room filled with strangers, and would always be able to tell him apart from all others.

“Can I?” (Y/n) waited for his reply, eyes flickering to her wandering fingers that teased his cock through the thin fabric of his boxers. He could only nod his head, rose with her from the bed, only to sit down on the mattress with (y/n) kneeling between his parted legs. Their eyes stayed connected, forming a new bond in the quietness of his bedroom as she pulled him free, tongue darting out to lick a stripe up his length.

The moans that clawed through him were awfully tense, held back by something he had never given into before, by something he had feared all those past years. But the further he sunk down her throat, the more he felt himself giving into the new sensation, into the love he finally was able to voice out.

(Y/n) choked around him, but she didn’t dare pull away. She didn’t care about her aching lungs - desperate for new air to breathe - didn’t care about the tears running down her cheeks. She was focused on Chris and the moans rumbling through him, on his pleasure drunken features and the hand that found its way to her head, guiding her bobbing movements.

“Fuck, doll, feels so good. I love seeing you with my cock in your mouth, wish I could take a picture of you.” She wanted to say “do it”, wanted to beg him to take pictures of their most intimate moments, but (y/n) could only hum around his cock. Whenever he’d moan her name or a curse word, she felt her walls clamping down around nothing, desperately wanting to feel his cock spearing her, pushed into the inferno of her pulsing orgasm.

“Shit, that’s good. ‘Need you to stop, otherwise I’ll cum.” With a pout tugging on her lips, (y/n) pulled her mouth off his cock. Chris tugged her into his lap, seated on his muscular thighs with her soaked through panties pressed against his saliva-covered cock. He could taste himself on her tongue as (y/n) kissed him, distracted from his wandering hands that pulled her panties aside - giving him enough room to brush his fingers through her slit.

“So wet, bet I can make you cum in a few seconds.” Chris was smiling like a child lost in a store filled with sweets, a smile so bright that (y/n) couldn’t stop her chuckles from rumbling through her. With his hands wandering to her behind, he helped her sink down on his cock, heads thrown back to give their moans enough strength to echo through the room like thunder roaring through the night.

For a moment they froze, allowing one another to adjust to the by now somewhat unfamiliar feeling of their bodies connected in the most intimate way possible. But the second (y/n) began to move her hips, Chris snapped into motion. He stabilised her, kept thrusting his hips against hers, to meet (y/n)’s every movement.

“Atta girl, you’re taking me so well, like you were made for me.” His raspy praises left her walls fluttering, her moans vibrated on his skin, she had Chris trapped, heart and soul bound to the whimpering woman. No longer were their bodies buzzing in anger and confusion, arousal flooded through their veins, overpowering all the negative emotions that have been clinging to them like a second layer of skin.

“Don’t ever let me go, please.” Chris' hand found her chin, once again they fell into an uneven rhythm, just to press their lips together - wordlessly sharing promises they’d keep till the end of their life together. There was nothing left to fix, there was nothing left to cry about, hours had faded with their hurt evaporating into the sweetest nothingness.

“Never, you’re mine now, forever. I promise.” (Y/n)’s hand found her clit, she rubbed the sensitive bundle of nerves as Chris suddenly flipped them around. He had her pressed into the mattress, with her legs slung around his waist and his hands placed next to her head. He fucked her. Fucked her with his thrusts growing more ferocious - Chris was set on destroying her.

“I’m so close, fuck, I don’t think I can-” her words faded out like the world around them, she was seeing stars, so bright that (y/n) had to close her eyes - desperately holding onto the sweet feeling that rocked through her. Chris intently watched her, he kept fucking her as she came around him, trying to hold on himself.

But with his name bleeding from her lips, Chris gave into the feeling, he filled her, left her shaking and trembling with his body collapsing next to her.

Only their heavy pants and the sound of their roaring hearts could be heard. Their hands found one another, and with interlaced fingers, Chris pulled her off the bed and straight into the bathroom.

No words were shared as he filled the bathtub. No words were shared as they sunk into the warm water with their chests pressed together. No words were shared as Chris' lips found hers.

“I love you.” The three words filled the bathroom, and with their hearts beating in sync, they fell silent, once again. It would take weeks to find their way out of this mess, it would take days for her to fully trust Chris again. But it was all worth it, even with the reminders of the past 48 days laying heavy on their hearts.

Please like and reblog if you’ve enjoyed reading this, come talk to me about my writing, let’s spill some tea or thirst over our favorite people. xxx

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#Chris Evans smut #valentinebingo #chi's lemon #Chris Evans imagine

[taizi]

out past the shallow breakers

the untamed pairing: jiang cheng & wei ying, jiang cheng & lan sizhui word count: 3148 read on ao3

x

“He died!”

The words ring loud, sharp—in the pavilion where they’re taking their evening meal, surrounded on all sides by untroubled water, the words seem to carry for miles.

It’s unlike Lan Sizhui to raise his voice at all, much less to raise it toward a senior. His hands, resting politely on his knees under the table, have curled into fists.

“Everyone goes on and on as though baba has so much to atone for,” Lan Sizhui says, each word lurching from his throat like a line of fierce corpses shambling through brush. “What more is there for him to give? What more do you want? He died.”

Jin Ling is staring at his friend as though he’s never seen him fully before. On Lan Sizhui’s other side, Wei Wuxian’s expression is shifting rapidly from alarm to comprehension. His gray eyes are full of a painful understanding.

“Sizhui ah,” Wei Wuxian says, touching the boy’s shoulder. “Come take a walk with me.”

Jerking his head in a nod, Lan Sizhui pushes to his feet and then pauses there. His Gusu Lan whites, those extra lines and layers that denote him a member of the main family, ghost elegantly around him when he lowers himself in a bow that is every inch deep that it needs to be and not one inch deeper.

“Sect Leader Jiang, this disciple apologizes,” he says. The cheerful ‘shushu’ of earlier that morning might as well be a memory of another life. “My behavior was unworthy.”

He doesn’t grit it out, the way Jin Ling would probably have had to. It doesn’t even seem to cost him any pride.

For one, single, impossible moment, it’s as though Jiang Yanli is standing there, making her apologies to their mother for her brothers’ sake, to spare them any pain she could. It didn’t matter that the blame wasn’t hers. It didn’t cost her any pride, either.

But Jiang Yanli didn’t have a chance to be a part of her nephew’s life, as much as she would have wanted to be. This likeness isn’t hers, not truly. Wei Wuxian was always more like his sister than he or Jiang Cheng were ready to admit.

“Forget it,” Jiang Cheng says. His voice is hoarse, but in the stillness of the water and the silence of the pavilion, it carries, too. “Go on.”

Wei Wuxian shepherds his son from the table. He glances back at Jiang Cheng once, a grimace of apology on his face, but then Lan Sizhui’s hand finds the trailing black hem of Wei Wuxian’s sleeve and clutches to it, and that steals all of Wei Wuxian’s attention as easily as a slap or a shout might have.

The moment they’re gone, Jin Ling lets out a breath he must have been holding, and rounds on his other uncle with wide eyes.

“What did you say?” Jin Ling blurts. “I wasn’t really paying attention, but it didn’t sound like—I mean, it sounded normal.”

Jiang Cheng is still staring at the place Lan Sizhui had stood.

The last living remnant of a persecuted clan, so much an amalgamation of his two fathers that it didn’t make sense that one of them had been dead for most of his young life—holding a grudge and bowing his head at the same time. Lan Wangji, in Jiang Cheng’s experience, has never once let something go that he could nurse icy resentment for instead. Wei Wuxian has always choked down hurt like it was second nature, no matter that it must feel like swallowing nails every time.

It was a normal conversation, but perhaps that’s exactly why Lan Sizhui couldn’t bear another second of it.

“He died,” Lan Sizhui had said, as raw as a fresh wound, or one that kept getting torn open again before it could heal. “What more do you want?”  

#

“Ah, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says the next morning, meeting him in the courtyard. “Did you sleep well?”

He’s smiling with a certain nervous energy that Jiang Cheng can only pick out because he spent the formative years of his life raising and being raised by his siblings. To an outsider, there probably wouldn’t be a single visible chink in that cheerful armor.

Jiang Cheng, for all his failings, isn’t an outsider. Not quite. The door between them is closed—has been closed for years, almost decades—but Wei Wuxian isn’t the one who closed it. There almost certainly isn’t a lock or talisman keeping Jiang Cheng from forcing it open again.

It won’t come open again easily. There is so much stacked in the way. Hurt and betrayal and grief throw their weight into keeping it shut, weighing it down on either side.

But—

“What more do you want?” Lan Sizhui had asked.

“Fine,” Jiang Cheng forces out. Wei Wuxian blinks, as if he didn’t expect a forthright answer, or any answer at all. Something about his open surprise at the barest scrap of civility makes Jiang Cheng add, “If you’re awake this early, you didn’t sleep at all.”

His brother takes the opening for what it is, and bends into character. “Oh! You know me so well!”

Mo Xuanyu’s body is smaller, slighter, than the body that Wei Wuxian was born into, and his face is not quite the same, but Wei Wuxian’s mannerisms shine through so clearly that it’s easy to look past everything else. Even the way he stands still is entirely his own, his whole body vibrating with the necessary focus it takes to keep from bursting into movement again.

He is so familiar. The most familiar thing in Jiang Cheng’s entire, almost-empty life.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Wei Wuxian says. The words spill from his mouth like river pebbles, scattering around their feet. There’s that echo of their jiejie again, smiling around I’m sorry. “Don’t hold it against him, please. He’s so young, and he’s struggling to make sense of some things. He was happy that you invited him to Lotus Pier.”

The past-tense makes Jiang Cheng want to flinch, but he doesn’t. He just stands there in the peach pink morning and absorbs the beginning of a goodbye.

“So you’re leaving, then?” he mutters.

“I think we’ve definitely worn out our welcome this time,” Wei Wuxian says, easily shouldering the blame for everyone else’s bad behavior. They might as well be twelve years old again, kneeling here in the courtyard under Madam Yu’s furious eyes. “But it’s alright! Wen Ning sent word that he’s waiting for us outside of Yunmeng and Sizhui is eager to see him. We’ll go find some trouble to get into before we head back home.”

He won’t say a word about this change of plans to his husband, but Lan Wangji will still find out—whether Lan Sizhui tells him, or Wen Ning, or he just picks up something from Wei Wuxian through osmosis—and the next cultivator conference will be excruciating. And if the Jiang clan gets anything out of it, it won’t be anything good. And Jiang Cheng will feel slighted and angry for months, until the next time Wei Wuxian swings by for a visit. And having his brother nearby will soothe an ache in the pit of Jiang Cheng’s chest that he’s able to ignore all the rest of the time. And then, inevitably, Wei Wuxian will look wistfully at the water, or linger for too long by the flowers their sister liked best, or bring some other manner of ghost to the dinner table, and Jiang Cheng will lash out because it’s the only way he knows how to handle hurt. And then Wei Wuxian will extract himself and go home to Cloud Recesses early, and Lan Wangji will rightly guess why. And it just never fucking ends, does it?

The grief he carries around with him—he’s not wrong to carry it. It’s his. He was hurt, time and again, by a person he used to count on not to hurt him. He’s two times an orphan; once when his parents died, and again when his siblings did. He had to rebuild his home from the ground up, by himself, with his own two hands. Everything he has is what he was able to dig out of the dirt and ashes.

It isn’t Wei Wuxian’s fault that Lotus Pier fell. It isn’t his fault that the Wens were persecuted, that they had nowhere else to turn for protection. And it isn’t—

This one hurts; this one comes away bleeding. Jiang Cheng forces himself through it anyway.

It isn’t Wei Wuxian’s fault that Yanli died.

She died for him, but he didn’t ask her to.

Jiang Cheng feels his brother’s golden core thrumming inside his chest, hyper-aware of it now in a way he rarely was before—how it feels the way the sun looks in the morning, warm and brilliant and spilling color across the dull gray of dawn.

He didn’t ask Wei Wuxian to cut himself open for Jiang Cheng’s sake. He can’t be blamed for his brother’s choices. And if that’s true (and it has to be true or Jiang Cheng will go insane) then Wei Wuxian can’t be blamed for their sister’s choice, either. Yanli died for Wei Wuxian because she loved him, and Wei Wuxian gave Jiang Cheng his golden core because he loved him, and Jiang Cheng never moved on and never let go because he loved them, too.

They weren’t raised to love softly or quietly. Love between the three of them was always fierce, like a wild animal baring its teeth. Clinging to each other in a world that wanted to rip them apart. Even Yanli, who smiled and spoke with such sweetness, went to war because her brothers were there.

“What more do you want?” Lan Sizhui had asked.

Jiang Cheng lifts his head. Wei Wuxian is already looking at him, poised, as ever, to leave the moment Jiang Cheng gives him any indication that he should, like a bird ready to fling itself into flight. His brother, dead for thirteen years and back again, and only sometimes-welcome in the place he used to call home. Only sometimes-wanted by the person who used to be his family.

In a world full of people missing people they’ll never see again, Wei Wuxian is a miracle that Jiang Cheng is entirely unworthy of.

He’s right to carry his grief, because it’s his. But he wouldn’t be wrong—it wouldn’t be a betrayal—if he chose to set it down.

“You find trouble as easy as breathing,” he says, speaking through his heart, where it’s lodged in his throat, “so that shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Maligned!” Wei Wuxian cries with an air of great sorrow. “Blatantly maligned, by my own flesh and blood!”

Jiang Cheng can’t say what he wants to say. He can’t find the words. There’s only so much of himself he can dig up and expose like raw nerves before the pain of it becomes overwhelming, and he reacts to the hurt the way he always does, and shoves Wei Wuxian away.

“Don’t forget to say goodbye to Jin Ling, or he’ll never forgive you,” Jiang Cheng settles for. “And I’ll be the one stuck hearing about it.”

“I would never forget my favorite nephew,” Wei Wuxian says easily.

“And if you fuck up, and get yourself into a stupid mess,” Jiang Cheng adds, before he loses his nerve, “don’t let me hear about it from someone else.”

For a moment, Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem to know what to say.

“What if it’s very stupid?” he finally asks, his voice at once both faint and painfully fond.

“What else is new?” Jiang Cheng snaps. “Just send for me, and I’ll come.”

Above them, the pink and orange of fresh dawn make way for vivid blue. As Jiang Cheng stands in his childhood home with his only brother, while the market comes to life outside the walls and the breeze sweeps the smell of lotus flowers and scallion pancakes through the courtyard, the years seem to fall away. For a brief, uninterrupted moment, they’re both back where they belong.

“Aiyah, shidi,” Wei Wuxian says. “Of course you will.”

#

The next time Jiang Cheng sees Lan Sizhui is at the cultivation conference in Gusu, two months later.

The boy smiles politely but greets him as ‘Sect Leader Jiang’ again, and next to him, Jiang Cheng can feel Jin Ling wince. Lan Sizhui’s counterpart, the wildly opinionated and deeply un-Lan-like Lan Jingyi is giving him a frank, up-and-down appraisal.

“I mean, I’ll give it to you,” he says baldly. “You’re brave. Like, if Hanguang-jun hated me as much as he hated you, I just wouldn’t show up. You couldn’t pay me to show up.”

“Jingyi,” Lan Sizhui says at length.

“No, I know. I’m just saying. Young Mistress,” he adds, sweeping into a deep, performative bow in front of Jin Ling, “if you’ll come with me, your presence is earnestly awaited by Young Master Ouyang in the library pavilion.”

“Shut up, Jingyi, I swear,” Jin Ling snaps, but he lets himself be herded away with only a single worried glance back at his uncle.

Lan Sizhui is gazing up at Jiang Cheng with a complicated expression. Even though the explosive anger of that disastrous dinner doesn’t seem likely to make a reappearance, there is still something troubled in his eyes.

“I wanted to apologize, shushu,” the boy says slowly. “Properly, that is. For the way I spoke to you last time.”

Ah. So the stiffness isn’t born of lingering irritation, but worry. These Lans, Jiang Cheng thinks, with significantly less venom than he’s used to thinking of the Lan sect with.

He has a well of patience for his nephews that has never run dry. Jin Ling has stretched it nearly to the limit, more than once, but it will take Lan Sizhui more than one emotional outburst to come even close. Given that they’ve only been family (for given value of the word) for a short while, it makes sense that Lan Sizhui wouldn’t know that.

“It wasn’t you that I was angry with, not really,” Lan Sizhui says, explaining when Jiang Cheng has already largely guessed. “I know that you care about baba in your own way, even if a-die doesn’t think so. But—there are—”

His young face folds in frustration, less remarkably than Jin Ling’s does when he’s having a snit, but just a creased forehead speaks volumes in this repressed sect.

“There are other people. Who say similar things. And they don’t mean it the way you mean it.”

Jiang Cheng knows that. He attended those meetings, too.

“And let me guess,” he says, “my idiot brother doesn’t want you speaking up for him.”

Lan Sizhui’s mouth twists. “He says that he did horrible things, and those people are well within their rights to feel about him however they want to feel about him. But—he did good, too. He protected my clan, even though he had to do it alone. I don’t remember very much,” he goes on, slightly quieter, “but I know that he made the Burial Mounds a warm and safe place for me. I know that I never felt scared or cold or hungry when I was there with him. And I don’t think most people could have done that.”

Jiang Cheng boxes up the involuntary pain that swells into place at the poking of this half-healed wound, and gives himself a moment to organize a reply. Talking to the mind-healer his chief physician recommended to him has helped a lot, not that he’ll give that smug witch the satisfaction of admitting it.

“Wei Wuxian hurt a lot of people, but so did everyone else,” he says when he’s certain he can say it without losing his composure. “We were at war. None of us are blameless. He was just the most convenient scapegoat. He still is.”

Lan Sizhui’s eyes are bright with vindication. He was born a Wen and raised a Lan, but there’s a streak of Jiang in there, too, Jiang Cheng thinks with pride. It’s that love that Jiang Cheng recognizes, the same kind of love that he and jiejie and Wei Wuxian had cultivated between them since they were children—the vicious, untamed kind of love that marches to war and claws its way up from hell and clings too hard to things it rightly should let go of.

“It isn’t fair,” Lan Sizhui says.

“No,” Jiang Cheng allows. “It isn’t.”

#

Wei Wuxian waves animatedly at Jiang Cheng from across the room, even though it makes Lan Qiren scowl at him. It’s reminiscent of every single stuffy banquet they had to sit through as kids, making faces at one another when Madam Yu’s eyes were turned away.

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes in return, and Wei Wuxian lights up like he’s been handed a pile of gold. Lan Wangji gazes at him with a tenderness that would be absolutely absurd if Wei Wuxian didn’t actually deserve every scant inch of it that got sent his way, and even though the entire cultivation world is waiting, he spares a moment to tuck a stray piece of hair behind Wei Wuxian’s ear.

Sect Leader Yao scoffs, a bit too loudly. “Shameless upstart.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes turn so sharp so fast that it promises violence.

Before he can say anything that starts another war, Jiang Cheng turns fully around in his seat.

“Problem?” he asks shortly.

Baffled, Sect Leader Yao’s gaze skates around the room for a moment before landing back on Jiang Cheng.

“If you have something to say about my brother,” Jiang Cheng says, his voice a snarl, zidian sparking on his arm, “say it so that I can hear you.”

“Ah, this meeting is off to such a lively start,” Wei Wuxian says into the ominous stillness of the room. “Shidi, you’re so energetic, why don’t you kick things off?”

It would be the first time in his career that he’s the first to speak at a conference. Openly disbelieving, Jiang Cheng looks from his brother to Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji’s eyes are narrowed, but not as though he’s sizing Jiang Cheng up for a coffin, which is how he usually sizes him up. All he does is tip his head incrementally, conceding the floor to him.

Gods. It’s that simple.

“You are really not a difficult person, are you?” Jiang Cheng says aloud.

“No,” Lan Wangji agrees, this force of nature who turned the world upside down and challenged every single person in it, who would do so again and again and again, just to be able to sit there and hold Wei Wuxian’s hand.

And then, in the closest the two of them have ever come to an understanding, Lan Wangji adds, “Neither are you.”

#mo dao zu shi #the untamed #yunmeng shuangjie #jiang cheng #wei ying #lan sizhui #mdzs #wangxian #my writing #mdzs fic

[moonbeambucky]

I Promise (Part 1/2)

Pairing: Chris Beck x Reader Word Count: 4106 Warnings: fluff, smut, pregnancy

Summary: Before heading to Mars Chris Beck reconnects with his best friend, unaware of the outcome of their night together. With the burden of his mission will Chris make a promise he can’t keep?

A/N: My first Chris Beck fic! Rather than a really long one shot I’m splitting it into two parts. A big thank you to my love Allie @all1e23​​​ for beta reading 🍕❤️ gif source (x)

“Hey.”

The soft resonance of Chris’ voice brings tears to your eyes, ones you couldn’t help from slipping out. They fall down the curve of your cheeks past the uneasy smile you wore.

“I kept my promise,” he said. Chris flashed the top row of his bright white teeth, his mouth curving into a boyish smile that reached his eyes, the fine lines crinkling around them. He tilted his head as he looked at you through the screen, a comforting gaze that made you feel as if he was there with you. 

The quality of the video chat is near perfect making you almost forget Chris was millions of miles away. He looked the same, not that you expected him to look different. It had only been a few months since you last saw each other. 

His hair looks darker than usual but you suppose it’s the low lighting of the small room he’s in. He’s bundled up in a thick NASA sweatshirt and you can see several more layers he has on beneath the collar. Chris looks tired but that’s expected, what he’s doing right now is not a walk in the park. You know it’s the reason why it’s taken so long for him to contact you but you wish he did it sooner. 

More tears flood your eyes, burning their way out as you wished he never left at all. You can barely hear Chris over the sound of your own sobs.

“Please don’t cry,” he pleaded.

You lifted your head towards the screen and seeing the concern on his face only made you miss him more, wishing he was there to console you in person.

Your hand swept away tears from your cheek as your voice cracked saying his name. “Chris…” 

The streets are simmering with the heat of a summer that couldn’t wait to officially start. Calendars be damned, it was hot. You indulged in a cool shower when you got home from work but time didn’t allow for a languid evening of staying in your towel as you applied serums and moisturizers, lotions and creams and every other post-shower pampering you normally do. Tonight was dinner with a friend and you needed to get ready.

Chatter filled the air of the patio, a small secluded outdoor space at the back of an Italian restaurant on the Upper East Side. It had an Old World Tuscan feel, from the stucco walls that looked purposely imperfect. Green patina shutters hung beside a wrought iron lantern that glowed in the early evening. Lush greens and bright flowers sat atop the half wall that surrounded the dining area making you forget you were in the city.

Chris looked the same, not that you expected him to be different. It had only been about two years since you’ve seen each other, right before he began training for his mission and now you can’t believe it was about to happen. Never would you have expected that the little boy down the block who became your best friend would actually be going to Mars.

For most of your lives you were in the same school, starting in Mrs. Kramer’s kindergarten class where you stuck together; two kids that were nervous about making friends and finding comfort in each other. As the years went on you weren’t always in the same classes but your friendship continued to grow. Chris was picked on for having a girl as a best friend and the girls always teased that he was your “boyfriend.” It never felt that way with Chris. He was your friend first and you never saw him as anything more. 

By the time you were in middle school Chris was already taking advanced classes in math and science and the only class you had together was art which he was famously terrible at. It was there you asked him a huge favor, whispering to him at the sink as you rinsed off your paint brushes. “Could you kiss me?” Chris turned as red as a boiling lobster, immediately sweating as if he was being roasted alive himself. It was later that day walking home from school that you clarified what you meant.

There was a boy, Justin Kaufman, who was the coolest kid in your grade. You had a crush on him like everyone else and you were shocked when he asked if you would go with him to the dance on Friday. You were worried he might try to kiss you and being inexperienced made you nervous. Justin was really popular and if you were a bad kisser then the whole school would know it. Chris was your friend, someone you trusted, someone you could practice with just to make sure you didn’t make a fool of yourself. 

You had no frame of reference for kissing back then apart from one sided smooches to pictures of movie stars that you had a crush on. But feeling Chris’ lips press back against yours was… nice. The best part about it was that things didn’t feel awkward after. Chris was still your best friend and nothing changed. 

A server hands you a menu and you thank him, scanning through it to see what you might be interested in. Chris looks up at the same time you do, wondering if you wanted an appetizer.  You nodded letting him choose, considering the limited food options he’ll have for over the next year. 

“Can you drink?”

Chris’ nose crinkled as he smiled. “In space? No. Tonight? Yes,” he chuckled softly. 

Two glasses of red wine were set on the table as you indulged in delicious food, catching up as much as you could before Chris’ mission. 

“So you’d love what happened today,” you began, leaning closer, “We filmed a restoration video and yours truly was in it.”

Chris’ eyes lit up as he gasped. “I love those! You have to send it to me. Hopefully I can see it before I go. What was it?”

“A sixteenth century European oil painting.” You went into detail and Chris loved listening to your knowledge of art history. It was no wonder that was your major, taking your studies further to work as a conservator at the Met.

Chris swallowed his food quickly to speak. “You were always good at that– art, attention to detail. Remember when we had to sculpt our own faces?” he chuckled.

There was a short burst of laughter as you remembered that day from so long ago. “Yes! Thankfully the real you doesn’t look anything like that abomination you made.” 

Chris drops his head down to hide a bashful smile that mixed in with laughter. He’s enjoying himself, catching up with you, eating. This was so good. He couldn’t help but scoop up another forkful of pasta, not expecting you to ask him a question. “So, how are you feeling?”

He paused to reflect and wiped a bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth. “I’m nervous… excited.” Taking a sip of wine, he sets the glass down carefully on the table. Chris’ face has grown more serious. “My mom’s worried.”

“Of course she is, I don’t blame her. I’m worried. Mars is… well it’s Mars! It’s not around the block.”

He chuckled. “No, it’s definitely not.” 

Chris is heading home to Connecticut tomorrow to spend the next few days with his parents. Chloe, his younger sister is coming in as well so they can all spend some time together before he has to fly down to Florida.

“Then it’s go for launch!” he said with a beaming smile, though Chris had to correct himself for the sake of accuracy. Once he’s down there the crew has to quarantine for at least ten days and go through a bunch of pre-flight checkups and procedures first. “Are you gonna watch?”

The incredulous look you gave him answered his question. “Did you really have to ask? Of course I’m going to watch the launch.” 

His eyes twinkled as he smiled back at you. “Oh and don’t worry I put you on my contact list so you can send me emails. Not sure how quickly I'll get them since CAPCOM directs it back to us. And as long as we have the right satellite coverage we can even do video calls.”

“Like Facetime?”

“In theory yeah, more like space Skype,” he laughed. “It’ll be nice to stay in touch.”

Your smile was bright in the dimness of the evening. You can’t imagine not staying in touch with Chris. The longest you had ever gone was during his Air Force training. He checked in with his parents when he first arrived and from then on it was sporadic. You were able to send him letters though and tried to write him every week though your own schooling and an apprenticeship at the Louvre had taken up a lot of time but that was how your relationship was. 

No matter where you were in life, across the world or hovering above it in the International Space Station, you always kept in touch. It’ll be harder now considering he’s going farther than ever before but you’ll make it work. 

Chris would be back by next November and his mom was already planning a big party for his return, one he’s certain you’ll be invited to. Though you haven’t seen his parents in a while you still kept in touch with them from time to time seeing as they were still friends with your own parents.

“It’s crazy to think you’re about to go to Mars.” 

Chris swipes a palm down his mouth, leaning his elbows against the table as he muses, “I know. Feels like I got the call yesterday.”

It was a night similar to this one, where Chris was in New York celebrating with you and other friends on his selection to be part of the Ares III mission. He had been working at NASA for a few years, doing biomedical research in their center in Virginia and now he was about a month out from spending two years training for his long term mission to Mars. 

He stayed at your apartment that night, continuing the celebration in your own private way. You had come a long way from learning to kiss with Chris. It wasn’t a big deal, neither was it the first time you had sex with each other. It was a special dynamic that worked for the two of you, one you don’t think you could have pulled off with anyone else. With Chris you had trust that was built up over the years. He was safe, he was your friend and this was nothing more than just sex. 

It didn’t happen too often, a couple of times here and there. You both dated a few people over the years and even though you were single at the moment you thought about the promise you made to each other as teens. “If we’re not married to other people by the time we’re thirty let’s promise we’ll marry each other.” Such a silly promise but thirty seemed so far away at the time. 

Chris couldn’t make it to celebrate for your thirtieth birthday but you did get a card from him where he joked that the wedding was off. You were in a long term relationship, one that Chris thought would lead to marriage but you ended things a year later. It wasn’t there; that natural spark that made your heart skip a beat every time they smiled brighter than the sun, or when their eyes sparkled like stars in the night every time they looked at you. 

You walked through the streets with Chris after dinner, casually strolling back towards your apartment and stretching out the inevitable goodbye that you didn’t want to say. It was so good to be with him in person again, not realizing how badly you missed it until the hours started ticking closer towards him leaving. By the time you get to your apartment Chris decided to come up stairs, wanting to spend as much of his time with you as he could. 

Chris sits comfortably on your couch, cozied up beside a large pillow. He places his wine glass down on your coffee table, needing to gesticulate with both hands as he starts getting into talking about his research. He’s been published before in numerous academic journals and now he’s going on about how excited he is for his latest topic, musculoskeletal alterations and the effects of deep space travel. 

He’s cute when he really gets into it, crinkles pulling around the corner of his eyes as his whole face lights up. You let out a shaky breath, smiling even wider yourself as you watched the passion he had for science and learning, one that matched the level you had for art and preserving their history. 

Chris apologized for rambling on, taking a sip of wine to clear the dryness from his throat. 

“So, give me the lowdown… can you jerk off in space?” 

He covered his mouth to prevent the wine he was choking on from spitting out. You couldn’t help the sly smile on your face that cracked wider the redder he became. 

“Well?”

Chris cleared his throat again. Pinching the bridge of his nose he looked down into his glass, chuckling a bit as he said, “The official stance from NASA is no comment so I’m going to stick with that.” 

“That’s not an answer!” You could barely hold a faux sneer before you broke into a smile. Teasing Chris was all in good fun, something that went both ways from the time you were young. 

You adjusted the way your legs were folded underneath you, brushing your knee against his leg. Chris lifted his arm up, a silent invitation for you to get closer and so you did, resting your head against him as his arm came around you.

Things had quieted down and you listened to the steady beat of his heart. This would be the last time you would see Chris for a long time. Your arm reached around to hold him for as long as you could.

“I’m going to miss you,” you whispered against him. 

Chris’ chest sunk as he exhaled a deep sigh. “I’m going to miss you too.” His arm squeezed a little tighter around you as he pressed his lips gently against your forehead. “Just look to the stars and I’ll be there.” 

His words brought a comforting smile to your face, one you shared with him as you tilted your head to look up at him. “Do you want to stay?”

The corner of his mouth tugs a little as Chris thinks about it. There’s nothing he really misses at his hotel more than he does you. The only reason he came to New York was to see you first before going home. 

“Yeah, I’d love to stay.”

You shifted yourself on top to straddle Chris, carding your fingers through his hair and taking in the gaze of his eyes that became pools of deep blue. You closed the distance between your lips, feeling his hands come around your back. Soft moans bubbled in your throat and soon you found yourself being carried to the bedroom. 

Clothes were discarded, lips were on skin that burned hotter than the stars. You writhe against him, thighs quivering around his head, reaching out to grip him by the hair, holding Chris in place as he coaxed out your release. His lips taste like you and he licks them again, savoring your sweetness as he crawls up your body. 

He tears open the condom, gathering your wetness on him as he slowly pushed in. A sinful moan falls from your lips as you feel the stretch of him inside you, inch by inch until he was fully seated. An experimental roll of his hips sets the pace for pleasure. 

Your hands graze up the curve of his arms, reaching his back and digging in half moon shapes into his skin with your nails as he thrusts into you.

“Ahh fuck, you feel so fucking good,” he panted, moaning as his hips snapped forward. His name fell from your lips, a sweet sound that he couldn’t deny he loved hearing. 

He changed his angle, hitting you with deeper, longer strokes. His mouth found your nipple, sucking at your peak as his hips gained speed; groaning and squeezing his eyes tightly as he fucked you, ready to explode.

“Shit!” Chris hissed, backing off quickly. You’re confused and concerned, sitting up and turning the light on beside your bed to see what was wrong. “The condom broke,” he said, still catching his breath.

Chris got up to discard it in the bathroom as you sat on the bed, crossing an arm over your chest, waiting nervously. When Chris walked back in the room he apologized for that, the stiffness of his length giving you relief that he hadn’t finished so you continued. Using your hands on him as he let out soft moans, distractedly opening another condom that you rolled down on him. You straddled him, leaning forward to capture his lips for a sweet kiss first before you lined yourself up and sank down on him. 

Soon enough you were riding waves of bliss together, gripping Chris as you clenched around him, burning white hot behind your eyes. He’s right behind you, on the edge of pleasure, exploding inside you like a supernova.

Dropping your head onto his chest, it felt like your body was made of overcooked noodles that splayed loosely against him as you were desperate to catch your breath, coming down from the heights you soared to. Chris’ arms hold you close against him, his lips languidly peppering kisses to your sheen covered skin. 

When his heartbeat returned to a steady pace Chris went to the bathroom to once again discard the condom and you followed behind him to use it. He went to the kitchen to get something to drink, bringing back an ice cold glass of water for you. 

Back in bed you cuddled together, with goosebumps breaking out on your skin as Chris’ fingertips graze gently up and down your arm. Your eyes feel heavy but you don’t want to give in because when you wake up you know you’ll have to say goodbye and that’s not something you want to do. 

“You’ll stay in touch, right?” you murmured against him, as worry took root within your stomach. His quick and emphatic reply should have been enough but you couldn’t help yourself from needing to make sure you would still hear from him during the mission. “And call me? With the space Skype?”

“I promise,” he said, as a smile spread across his face. Chris’ hand stopped moving, settling on your arm and holding you close. 

“Promise me one more thing?” He hummed in response and you continued, “Stay safe up there.”

Chris tilted his head down and feeling him shift you looked up as he said, “I promise.”

In the moonlight his eyes sparkled like clear tropical waters. Slowly, a soft smile spread across your face as you stared at him. “I love you, Chris.” There was no romanticism behind it even after being together, just pure love for your friend. 

Chris exhaled, planting a kiss to your temple. “I love you too, Y/N.” 

Despite wanting to spend your remaining hours together awake you reluctantly fell asleep in his arms, tearfully parting in the morning. Two weeks later you watched as the space shuttle launched, with proud tears filling your eyes as Chris’ picture flashed on your screen along with the rest of the crew. Seeing that made you feel hopeful and overjoyed at the prospect of hearing from him soon.

“Chris… I’m pregnant.” It was a relief to finally tell him but you didn’t feel any better, uncertainty weighed heavy on your shoulders, crushing the space for your lungs to expand. Chris knows but now what?

He’s silent, his lips parted slightly and you don’t know if there’s a delay in the feed. Maybe you should have emailed it to him. You were going to at first and instead chose to word the importance of needing to speak to him in such a clandestine way that you were contacted by someone from NASA. Upon speaking to them they allowed your email to be dispatched and then you waited. 

Chris’ eyebrows knit together, his shoulders slumping down as he stared at your face through the screen. He didn’t have any doubts, you were always truthful with each other, but he still wondered how.

“We put on a new one, I thought…” 

“I thought we were good too,” you said, letting out a shaky breath. 

You weren’t just pregnant, you were pregnant with his child and based off of some quick calculations in his head you were nearing the end of your first trimester. “H-how are you? I mean, how are you feeling?”

“Physically or…” Nervous laughter bubbles out of your throat. 

This was hard on you, the physical symptoms weren’t fun but you could manage. What was more difficult was not telling anyone. It was early enough in your pregnancy that you could hide it from your family. They still lived in Hartford and hadn’t been down to visit yet but you couldn’t avoid them forever. Work was a different story. You had to let your boss know you would have to modify your duties as working around solvents and other chemicals would not be safe.

There was never a doubt in your mind about keeping the baby. When you were younger you imagined having children by now but it didn’t work out that way. It was something you were okay with, finding life fulfilling in different ways. Work was incredible, you were able to travel and though your relationships hadn’t worked out in the past you didn’t hold on to any resentments. Life was always complete and now things were going to be different. 

You wanted to speak to Chris first before telling your family because you needed to know your expectations. Chris had a life of his own and you didn’t want your choice of having a baby to make him feel obligated in any way. You were an adult; a smart, independent woman and could do this on your own.

“I know this isn’t something we planned but…” Chris exhaled, the corners of his mouth lifting upward, “There’s no one I’d rather do this with than you... I promise.” 

Chris’ eyes glisten with tears as his smile grows and you find yourself brushing away your own from the corner of your eyes. It was comforting to know Chris will be part of the baby’s life. Truthfully it would have been weird if he wasn’t in some capacity considering how close you were. For now you have a lot of time on how you’re going to figure things out for the future.

After the call Chris reflected in silence, staring out of the giant triangular windows of one of the Hermes’ common areas into the vastness of space. He was lost in thought, startled by his name being called by a crewmate. He turned to see Mark whose bright smile fell with concern upon seeing Chris’ face, asking if he was alright.

“I’m gonna be a dad,” Chris responded, his tone mournful in the realization he’ll be missing the birth. He accepted the congratulatory hug Mark gave him, sighing heavily as they separated. “I always thought I’d be there for that.” 

You were due in March and Chris hated the fact that he won't be there for the first nine months of his child’s life, moments and milestones he’ll never get back. He doesn’t like leaving this all on you. He knows you can do it but you shouldn’t have to. 

“I can’t pretend this isn’t hard but don’t think of it in terms of what you’re missing, look at what you’re gaining, what you have to look forward to when you come home.” Chris nodded, his smile trying to come back. “I didn’t even know you had a girlfriend,” Mark teased. 

“I don’t. Y/N, she’s…” Chris’ face lights up as he thinks about you, which does not go unnoticed by Mark. “We’ve been friends since we were kids. She’s always meant so much to me and now…” 

Mark gave Chris an honest smile as he spoke plainly, “And now you’re having a baby.” 

With a proud smile that stretched from ear to ear he affirmed, “Yeah… we are.” 

PART 2

#chris beck x reader #chris beck fanfiction #chris beck fluff #dad!chris beck #chris beck x you

[simpingfortheages]

//EYE CONTACT//

CORDELIA GOODE X FEM READER

(ANGST AND FLUFF)

A/N : she be looong as fuck sorry nat sorry 😂

Eyes are the gateways to the soul, words and feelings can be exchanged by a simple act of making eye contact.

Cordelia is busy and seems to no longer have time for the reader . All the reader wanted to do was help.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~♤~~~~~~~~~~~~~♤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cordelia knew that being Supreme was tiresome, but she never thought that it would be to this extent. She hasn't slept in almost a week and she is pretty sure that there is coffee coarsing her veins instead of blood. Cordelia has been up, keeping track of all the suspicious activities happening around the world in hopes the cause is a witch. That's just Cordelia for you. She is always looking out for others before herself. Putting the needs of others before her own. Staying up all day and night so that she can grow and teach those in her coven. She really is deserving of Supreme. Cordelia has been trying to rub the sleep out of her eyes for the past while. Her head bobbing while filling out documents and having to shake her head ever so often to keep on track of whatever file she was reading. Cordelia's new project has been her trying to track down this other witch, however her attempts have been futile. Everytime she thinks she has a lead on the witch she seems to change location and vanish . The witch is powerful and would be a great addition to the Coven. This took a toll on her, She was snappish and everyone knew it, but no one blamed her because she was stressed, even Madison didn't annoy Cordelia or made any snarky comments. After internally debating with herself, the choice of sleep won. She shifted the stack of paper that she was currently working on to the side of the mahogany desk. She laid her arm on the desk and laid her head between the crook of the elbow while her other hand tried to massage away the 3rd on coming migraine. Her migraine for the past days were seemingly becoming worse, as though her body was begging her to stop and reset herself. She didn't have a choice at this point, she needed to rest otherwise she would have crashed and gotten less time to get work done.

Y/N's POV

I am fairly new to Ms Robichaux's academy, I was "enrolled" 3 months ago, not by choice but by force. I set my mother's boyfriend on fire out of accident. YES BY ACCIDENT.... Well maybe not all the way an accident. I got angry and let my temper get the best of me. Surprisingly I didn't get in trouble from my mother, she said something about a witch bloodline. I didn't really pay much attention to her words or have much time to react to what i did,because my mother was quick to call some witch lady whose hair was firey red and the way she spoke was regal. I later learned on the ride to the academy, that her name was Myrtle Snow. I have learnt the names of my fellow sisters Madison, Zoey, Queenie, Coco and Mallory. So far they have been fairly nice to me but I don't really interact with them much. Most of the times I keep to myself and listen to Fleetwood Mac in my room all by myself. Apparently everyone has someone to room with but me,not that I am complaining. But i must say, out of everyone in the Coven whom I've met so far, my favourite is the Surpeme. The first time we met I was taken aback by her beauty. The way her blonde hair rested delicately on her squared shoulders , the way her makeup was done in such a way that it highlighted all of her best features, which by the looks of it. It was her whole body. Her eyes were captivating , she smiled at me through them. I couldn't help but stare right back into her dark brown eyes, they held power and safety. The eye contact wasn't uncomfortable, it was an unspoken exchange.

Cordelia took it upon herself to show me around my new home. It was majestic, I took note of every detail ,from the paint brush strokes done on the painting that hung on the walls to the crack on the 4th step going up the twin staircases. My favourite place however was the Greenhouse. Well, her greenhouse. She told me that it was her place of relaxation,her get away from it all. The walls were covered with vines, the sunroof allowed the golden rays of the sun to filter into the room and paint all that it touches. The walls variety of plant species and herbs that she has collected over the years was quite impressive. It was beautiful. Overtime this became our habit. After dinner or lunch we would both make our way to the Greenhouse to create new concoctions. Whether it would be sleeping potions, manipulation potions or simply love potions. We never used on each other , it was just done merely for the fun of it. I felt happy for the first time in many. The little hugs ,inside jokes and nicknames we would share. It was all innocent fun at the time until, one time I was making a potion and Cordelia stood right behind me watching my every moves. I don't know what came over me, I dont know if it was the closeness of our proximity ,the warm breathe of her breathing that brushed my neck whenever she exhaled or the fact that she kissed my cheek right after telling me how good of a job I was at following orders. After that day I can't help but blush whenever we locked eyes. Light brown on dark brown. Neither of us looked away. Her eyes felt like home, a place that i longed to be. These few months I've developed quite an attachment to the Supreme,one might even say a crush on her.

However these past days I noticed that she was quite distant. She wouldn't catch on to the jokes I made, like she normally would. The amount of times she paced up and down the walkway in the Greenhouse, the layer of dirt and colour of orange on the brick floor started to fade. Cordelia kept ranting and complaining about finding a certain witch. Of course I didn't mind her talking to me. I always liked to know what new projects she was up too. But It was evident that this one occupied her mind. When she was with me, she wasn't with me mentally just her physical appearance. She would sometimes forget about our daily meet up, some days turned into few days and eventually a few days turned into none. I didn't hold anything against her. She was busy. I took it upon myself to help her find who this witch was. So you know she can spend more time with me,it wasn't a selfish act. Just killing two birds with one stone. Cordelia would be able to finally relax and I would get to spend time with her more often. It's a Win/ Win.

Cordelia just went into her office so that meant I had basically the whole evening until dinner to find out who this witch was. As I sauntered my way to my room. I began to recollect all what Cordelia told me. It was a little witch on the run, maybe she didn't what to join a Coven like me. Cordelia knew every thing about the little witch. She was a slippery one, evading the hands of the Surpeme. I remember her saying that the witch was a little younger than I was, with black hair and green eyes. Her speciality is Cloaking, she could cover her tracks very well. A rare skill some witches possess.I laid out my pens and my leather bound notebook on the bed and started to make notes of what i knew so far. After I was done, I realised it wasn't much information. I needed more if i was going to help Cordelia. I needed to see from another set of eyes. I shifted my notes aside and laid flat on the bed. I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing. No one knew but i was Clairvoyant. I could make myself hear and see what someone was thinking.

******time skip*******

THAT'S IT !!. I found the witch. She was running from something or someone. The little witch was seeking safety,maybe she did need to be in a Coven. Without any time to waste. I quickly wrote down all that I gathered into my note book. I couldn't contain my excitement, Cordelia and I will finally get to hang out like old times. I scrambled off my bed and made a beeline towards her office. *knock knock* "Dee I found out how to get the witc-" I began,but she wasn't in her office. Huh where is she then? . After a few minutes of futile searching in the upstairs I decided to check the kitchen. As I walked downstairs, the kitchen came into my view. There she was. My supreme making her possible 7th cup of coffee. I couldn't help my heart from fluttering at the sight of her. We haven't spoken in so long. " Hey Dee, do you remember when we used to hang out in the Greenhouse, i miss those times but thats not the point, anyways you always used to speak about this witch you couldn't find??Apparently I never told you but i am Clairvoyant which is really handy beca-" I rambled but was quickly cut off by Corldeia," Y/N! Be quiet . Stop talking Oh my God shut up. Please can't you see that I am busy and tired??"

Immediately I felt small, wishing the ground would just swallow me whole. Her eyes were locked on mine, the once safety and calm that I loved were replaced with anger and annoyance ....at me. I could feel my chest tighten, so tight that it began to squeeze my heart till it slowly cracked. I bit my tongue to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. It was evident that Cordelia's expressions changed based on my now small demeanour. I forcefully swallowed the lump that built in my throath. Out of hurt I threw my notebook on the marble counter where she rested her half way made coffee. The only words i spat out were "There's how to get your witch to join this shithole Coven Miss Goode". Her mouth was now slightly ajar at my words. No longer wanting to stay in her presence, I turned my heels and made my way back up to my room as Cordelia struggled to find her words.

*******TIME SKIP PT 2********

Thanks to me Cordelia managed to get in contact with the witch who will be joining the Coven in 2 weeks time. For these past few days I have suscessfully managed to avoid Cordelia. Of course I didn't avoid her presence. I had more dignity than that. I just made sure that I was never alone with her. That way she couldn't "apologise"or ask me the questions she really wanted too. I was mad at her. She didn't have to yell at me,I know i am talkative to people when i get comfortable with them, but still out of everyone to yell at me I would never suspect that it would be her. I no longer joined her in the Greenhouse to help her with her potions. Having breakfast and lunch with everyone was the worst. I no longer sat next to her at the table, instead I sat next to Madison,but that didn't stop her from trying to talk to me. As everyone else engaged in mini conversations at the table, Cordelia silently spoke to me from the head of the table " Y/N how have you been?". I lifted my head and focused my gaze from my tea cup to the silver in her bracelet, dismissing the hopeful look in her eyes. "I've been better Ms .Goode" I replied with extra emphasis on her last name. You know for an extra punch of guilt. Cordelia has noticed my lack of eye contact over the past days and she couldn't help but feel hurt at the act.

********time skip pt3**********

It was probably about 7 pm when i heard the clattering on heels on the floor. Shifting my attention from the crackling of the fireplace I looked over my shoulder to see that all the girls were dressed up and ready to head out somewhere. "Hey? Where are you guys going?" I questioned. "Out." Said Madison. I couldn't help but scoff at her reply. "Okayy???And you didn't ask me because??". Madison abruptly turned around "You and Cordy need to fix whatever is going on between you too. Don't think we haven't seen the change" she commented as she roughly pressed her index finger into my chest. Before I could even find my words. The door was slammed in my face. If Madison and the girls think that I am staying alone in the academy with Cordelia alone they are wrong. In another situation I would have taken that chance in a heartbeat. Lost and confused at the exchange that just happened, this gave Cordelia time to enter the living room. " Y/N?" She spoken almost in a whisper. I swear to the ex Supreme herself my eyes almost jumped out my eye sockets . My movements were stiffened as i tried to turn around. I took a deep breathe and attempted to make the situation fall into the better of my hands. " Yes Ms Goode? How are you?" I asked, while facing the floor. " I am sorry y/n I didn't mean to yell at you, you helped me a lot on my project and I cannot repay you enough" Cordelia spoke. I genuinely smiled at her gratitude "you're so very welcome Ms Goode" . Suddenly I felt her hands wrap around my form pulling me in a strong hug. I was stunned for a while and didn't know how to react. Sobs and small apologises fell from her lips as she buried her head into the crook of my neck. I reciprocated her hug but this caused her to cry even more. " Ms Goode please don't cry" I tried to comfort her, but all that left her mouth was a small, muffled "no". As she calmed herself she pulled away and wiped her tears away as she tried to look presentable. "Don't call me that. Call me by my nickname" she demaded. I chuckled at her command " okay dee." She cupped my face into her soft palms. I could smell her vanilla lotion that she regularly applies on her hands. She lifted my face to hers, but my eyes still didnt need hers. " y/n look at me" she whimpered. " Dee I am looking at you" I said smiling nervously as my eyes darted over the beautiful features of her face, never settling on her eyes. " baby..." she whispered. My heart constricted . Cordelia repeated the statement to look at her once more. This time I complied. Did she really mean that? does she like me back?. Her eyes were watering, her gorgeous brown eyes even when they hold the emotion of hurt. I still cannot help but stare in awe. Her eyes were filled with longing and hope. I don't know who closed the gap but our lips met in the middle. Kissing Cordelia was pure ecstasy, the kiss was one of tender and love. It felt as though part of me was finally completed. After a while we both pulled away, she delicately laced her slender fingers together with mine, interlocking our hands. Both of us trying to catch our breathe , Cordelia slowly leaned forward and gently rested her forehead against mine. Ever so quietly whispering to me the sweet words," and I do feel the same..."

#cordelia goode x reader #cordelia goode #angst with a happy ending #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #fluff #ahs coven #ahs

[sopxhiea]

Lush

Alfie Solomons X Reader

Summary: The infamous wild girl spends a night with Alfie and he soon seems to forget about her, or it seems until they run into each other in a familiar setting and this time, she’s the one pulling at his ropes.

Part 1

“Bite me..” “Where?”

The inside of the gallery is empty.

Other than the canvases laying around, splashes of paint on different surfaces and the many used rugs on the floor, there’s nothing else. There’s a hum that goes around, the quiet tone of a voice that fills the empty space. It’s a song from a movie, the one that Annabelle played for the younger girls in the school.

It’s hard to tell what time it is, the sun is not so cheerful these days. The sleeves of the dress you have on are covered with paint but you’re not the one to care. Most of the clothes you own have splashes of paint on them anyway. There’s the smell of oil paint but it’s familiar, there’s comfort in it.

You recall the bloke who gave you this place.

Some of the lads were so rich that they didn’t mind giving away a small  property for the pretty lady who was willing to kiss them. In many occasions, you had been that lady. That was as far as you had taken with that particular lad, he still thought you’d open your legs for him but you just kept him waiting, on his toes like most men liked to be even though they wouldn’t admit it.

The etiquette classes start in an hour, you realise once you have fully grasped what time it is. It takes half an hour to get to the boarding school, a little more to prepare yourself for the scoldings you are going to have to listen to for showing up in a paint covered dress. There’s the meeting after that, the generous donors are invited to the house for an event. 

It’s to show appreciation, Annabelle says, but you know the school’s just trying to snag more money from the rich. It’s like that night where they’d paired up girls with people twice their age to show their ‘good manners’ when it just meant that they needed them to be out of their hair for the new youngings. The men were mostly in their thirties, rich and known around the area, although they were all unattractive and inappropriate.

Yours hadn’t been though.

Alfie was his name, you recalled. He had blue eyes that were curious at times but he mostly reminded you of a calm ocean that could sweep you at any given moment. He’d taken you to his house that night, being a saviour of sorts and save you from the wrath of the head lady. 

He had turned out to be nothing like you’d expected. His house was fairly large, and you’d seen your fair share of lavish houses. The furniture was mostly made of wood, the calm image of the interior suited him and it was easy to pinpoint that he, for a sole fact, lived on his own. He’d told you his maid had gone home but you could help yourself to anything you’d wanted and he had stared at you the whole time you played with his dog.

He wasn’t rude but intense. He’d asked you questions through the night, some of them were answered whereas for some, you just clicked your tongue. You had played a game of question for a question and he’d done the same, answering only a handful of what you’d asked. 

But both of you had heard things on the street.

The chatter never stopped and especially not when it came to people that stood out, which was Alfie and you. You’d heard of the jewish gangster, too scary to even have a proper look at his face, they said. He’d killed many before, you knew that for a fact from the way he had looked at you when you’d asked if he’d killed over a dozen people. People didn’t talk to him, they just got out of his way and prayed that he didn’t pick on them. He had a temper, it was easy to tell from the way his calm side would disappear but he had been nothing but kind to you.

He’d also heard things about you. It was impossible not to, you thought, especially when you were someone like Alfie. You were the infamous girl every cockney banged on about, it was the way you moved or your million dollar smile he’d heard about but he hadn’t believed in any of it. He was proven wrong when he’d seen you, you were much younger than he’d thought but had a side to you that he’d only seen in reckless men during the war, the kind of people who’d go out knowing they wouldn’t see the end of it.

You didn’t think much of the way his eyes would soften when they landed on you.

Daydreams were not your thing, trouble was and you were known for it. You knew that Alfie was a cruel man in a harsh line of business and that night was the one time your paths had crossed and it would remain that way. Even though you couldn’t deny the fact that he sparked your curiosity.

A thrilling one he was, Alfie.

You had met your share of men, as most of the city knew, who were all dull and rather boring. Alfie seemed calculated, cold and distant at first and he was all those things but it was easy to see the layers he had, he needed time to peel back all of them to reveal a truer version of himself and that was a challenge you were willingly up to.

Although you doubted he’d come around again.

It had been a lucky day for you when he’d showed and saved you from hours of endless posh talk but that happened rarely, you knew. You had no problem with the life you had now: parties, sneaking out and making trouble. As far as you could tell, the lads liked it and that’s all you needed to get out of the boarding school with the excuse of having a date.

You’d had a lot of them until now but no one stuck. You were young, that was no deniable but the night was younger. Your reputation preceded you anyway, there was no reason to hide that and especially not when you’d turned out to be the opposite of everything the ladies in the school expected from you. It was fun, to say the least.

After making it to the school and hearing an earful from Annabelle about just how unlike a lady you were, you went up to change for the event. The classes had begun anyway and you didn’t want to attend. The mirror in your room soon showed the reflection of someone you knew, you liked her.

The blush colored dress had been deep in your closet somewhere with the delicates, it reached just under your knees with the silk material. The weather was cold for a slip dress, or so you figured so a beige cardigan was thrown over the dress and your hair was left unruly, the way it was after a shower. You didn’t bother scrubbing your hands hard enough in the shower to get the paint off, it looked better this way.

And so you made your way downstairs and saw that some of the most generous donors had already made their way into the large salon near the entrance. There were pastries and little treats everywhere, no drink other than red wine was served and you realised, almost all of the people who’d showed up were men. They liked to look at pretty young things, you knew, so they had given away more money than they could realised and you were sure some of the older girls would marry these rich men, it was regular occurrence. 

Just when you were about to enter the salon and say hi to couple of these said gentlemen, you felt a harsh tug on your arm as Annabelle made you face her older face.

“Y/N, my dear..” she spoke in a soft tone. My dear? She never called you that. You squinted your eyes and didn’t say anything but she kept on talking anyway. “There’s a guest coming in a few minutes...He requested your company through the evening.” she said, the tone of her voice unfamiliar to you. Was it jealousy Annabelle was feeling?

“You’ll behave, won’t you?” she asked, but she already knew the answer. It was no. You nodded regardless before she spoke again but didn’t realise a big car, bigger than the ones the other gentlemen came in pulled up right in front of the school and a cane stepped out. 

“Use your words, dear?” she said one last time while not letting go of your arm. She was behaving suspiciously but you chose to ignore it, it wasn’t your problem.

“Yes, Madam.” you half-whispered but before she could scold you furthermore, you heard a familiar voice. The one that had been hanging at the back of your mind since he’d left.

“’ere’s the lass I came to see.” he spoke, your eyes widening before you gained your composure again. It would take a lot for him to impress you, he knew that.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Solomons.” Annabelle spoke and you shot him a knowing smirk. He was putting on a plan like he did when your teachers were around but in private, it was you who played the devil.

“Yeah, it ‘s. Why the fuck is everybody inside, then?” he asked and you chuckled, not low enough so it made Annabelle turn to you and then to the broad gentlemen who was currently drinking your figure in a dainty slip dress.

“Well, the weather’s not been the upmos-”

Annabelle started speaking but Alfie just took a few steps towards you and she immediately stopped. His hand was tugging at his beard, your amused orbs met his and you eyed the hat afterwards.

All along, Alfie ignored the way Annabelle’s eyes widened. He had no manners, she concluded but it’s what made him better than the rest. He had no time for bullshit and you came to realise that once more as he stood right in front of you, hand around his cane while the other brushed through his beard. You had to look up to meet his eyes as he was twice your size but you were fairly short and he was larger than the average person.

“‘ello, lass.” he said, a hint of a smirk on his plump lips hidden between layers of scruff. You tore your eyes away from the dreamy pink clouds and met his orbs with a smile.

“Nice hat.” you said, a giggle at the end of the sentence. You didn’t want to do the proper greeting and all that, you knew he was here to see you so why waste time?

You saw Annabelle go crazy at your words, since you hadn’t said ‘good afternoon, mister’ with a fucking curtsy like she’d taught you on numerous occasions. You’d just smiled sheepishly and made a remark about his hat. Alfie realised it soon after your eyes drifted away to the old lady and he decided to remedy the cause for the rest of the evening.

“Her, yeah, she’ll be with me for the rest of the fuckin’ evenin’. That a problem?” he spoke, turning to Annabelle while your eyes caught his rings again. You had traced his tattoo the last time you’d seen him but you wanted to feel the golden  rings against your skin. 

She nodded, almost frantically and you chuckled with an unimpressed face. She was nothing but screams at you but when a rich guy told her something, it was like she has lost all power and became an obedient servant of sorts. You caught the flickers of jealousy mixed with worry in her orbs when he looked at you again.

He was dangerous, you knew that for a fact as most of London did, too. He wasn’t so easy to the eye, which was why he lit something up in you. He looked strong, enough to crush a man’s windpipe with one hand but that didn’t worry you, he didn’t seem like the type to hurt a woman.

“Shall we?” you spoke in the sweetest you could muster. He didn’t know where you’d be taking him but he shot the curly haired bloke,Ollie, a look and he disappeared in a matter of seconds as Annabelle also took the hint.

He offered his arm to you and you smiled wickedly, taking it still. The truth above it all was that Alfie had come back for more. He didn’t just pursue women. They were beautiful to look at but most of them were too scared of his reputation, which was mostly made up of things that were true, to come talk to him. He had his share of women around brothels but that was it.

His line of work didn’t permit it anyway, he’d be putting someone innocent in danger if she were to become his in a public manner. Most women until now had been a bit too hesitant, not voicing their opinions on matters but just agreeing with what he would say but you didn’t do that. 

He knew you had a reputation as the girl who’d steal the air from your lungs and it was true, he had been proven of the fact the first time he’d met you. You danced in a way that made Miriam close her eyes and Alfie gulp, your smile was far too innocent in a way that made Alfie think that he was now dancing with the devil.

You were much younger, too but that didn’t bother him that much.

You took him up the stairs and he felt like he was in a brothel again until you made your way into the semi-large tea room. There were wooden shelves and paintings around and a tray. This was where you’d come to read and where Annabelle would have guests of high importance. The decoration was much more simple, he noted as he sat down on one of the wooden chairs.

“Tea?” you asked and he nodded. His eyes got stuck on your hips as you swayed them while walking towards he tray. 

He was looking at the devil herself now.

Alfie didn’t shy away from danger, everyone knew that but you were a different kind of danger. You could very well ruin Alfie, without even getting in his bed and he knew it, maybe that was why he wanted to find out just what you would do with a man of his wrath. 

You noted the way his eyes roamed around your body, stayed on your hips for a while and then focused on your hands that were still slightly covered in paint. You handed him his cup and he nodded as your hands brushed against his in an obvious manner.

“Yer hands..” he spoke, the first word to come out of his mouth since he came into the room and you settled on the chair, leg crossed in a manner Annabelle had labelled as ‘unladylike’.

You didn’t break eye contact while speaking, you knew the state of your hands. “I was painting.” you spoke in a soft manner and Alfie hated it, he hated the affect you had on him and how he’d been trying to get rid of the stiffness between his legs for the past two weeks since he’d seen you dance the way you had.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Solomons?” you asked in a sweet tone that made his attention snap back from his manly troubles to your shining orbs. A gangster of his reputation didn’t just come around for a cup of tea, or so you guessed.

“Ya’ know who I am, lass?” he asked, the feeling of deja vu washing over you when you recalled the first encounter you had with him where he’d asked the same exact question. You still didn’t have a clue.

“Not really. Some said that you were a cruel gangster but that’s not too hard to believe.” you speak, eyeing the way his eyes look at yours with some kind of feeling in them but it’s hard to read the man.

“Why’s that?” he asked again, hands moving around the air towards you but you had no intentions of answering.

“You always ask this many questions?” you spat back but he was quick to battle it out.

“You always this fuckin’ feisty?” his voice was tailored with amusement behind it.

You smiled then, a genuine one and he felt the need to memorise the lines of your face but soon reminded himself of the man he was and the young little thing you were.

Alfie has called beforehand to make sure that you’d be in, that you wouldn’t be in a class or whatever it was that they made you do here, he wasn’t quite sure. He knew a couple men in his business who ended up getting married to girls from this school, they were proper and posh, raised the way a high society lady would be but he ceased to see any of that in you. And he wasn’t keen on seeing you in another gangster’s arm so he figured he should act quick.

“Ain’t ya’ supposed to be in a fuckin’ class?” he asked, not touching the cup you’d given him but drinking you instead. He thought it was the better option out of the two.

You appeared annoyed for a second, your pretty features seemingly tense and Alfie lost his breath but was quick to gather himself. You were truly as beautiful as they’d said. “You were the one who asked for me in the first place so I should be the one asking the questions.” you spat out, not daring to break eye-contact as he tugged at his beard.

“Ask away, luv.” he said, a smirk on his lips as he spoke. He was toying with you, in a way that made you feel all bothered which only happened when you felt like you didn’t have the upper hand. You always had the upper hand.

“What do you want?” you asked, in an innocent voice which threw Alfie off. You were fighting his wrath with fire, the kind of thing Alfie wasn’t accustomed to.

He didn’t speak.

He wasn’t sure, if he were to tell the truth. He felt drawn to you, not like a moth to a flame but it felt as though you had gone through the same thing he had. You had lost something, he could tell but he didn’t know what it was and the exterior you had built yourself to cover that: the filthy dance moves, the beautiful smile and the trouble that always seemed to follow you, intrigued him. It made him wanna observe you.

And he wasn’t even going to mention how he had envisioned you in inappropriate scenarios, that was for him to know at the moment.

You spoke, cutting through the silence with a deep knife as you used your words to entice him further, even though he was already fucked. “You want a fuck, a kiss, a dance or just to talk?”

He didn’t like the words you said, they didn’t fit your pretty little mouth but it just aroused him more. You didn’t seem like the obedient type, although he didn’t need to come all the way to the school to know that, he could’ve just asked around the pubs and they’d tell him all about the wild girl who went home with a different lad every night, most of them left bruised now.

And he had done that.

They’d told him about that one time where you’d broken a man’s nose just because he had tried to touch you inappropriately, you could dance naked and it still didn’t give them the permission to be near you. They’d told him about your uncle, your deceased parents and how your uncle was getting married to a young thing soon, about five years older than you and how it had made you drink more lately and dance less, although you did both equally well.

But he wanted to hear them from you.

“None of that.” he said, one sentence and done with the conversation. You held his gaze, trying to read him but it was not so hard to realise that Alfie was nothing like the ordinary men.

You were tired, he wasn’t telling you what he wanted either. You sighed, wanting use vulgar words but you didn’t like it when he almost winced when you did it earlier. You weren’t a dainty lady but you’d put up with it for the sake of trying to get him to talk.

“Bite me...” you whispered, under your breath on purpose so that he wouldn’t hear it but he had and you hated the little glisten of amusement that appeared on his blue orbs.

“Where?” he asked, not missing a beat and you shot him a smirk. He wasn’t a regular one you were dealing with. Men usually wanted a fuck, open your legs or a nice dance, something to satisfy them. You wouldn’t give them the first option. Unlike what many of the inhabitants of London believed, you were still an amateur in the bedroom but you knew damn well to kiss and dance enough to keep them on your toes. 

That’s what made it exciting.

“Are you going to take me to your house then?” you asked, nicer this time. You desperately wanted to be in the big place again, play with cyril and maybe even have a look at that library he had told you about but didn’t let you go in.

“Ya’ wanna come to my fuckin’ house?” he asked, clearly taken back but you just smiled.

“Well, seeing as you’re not here for a quick fuck or a chat, I don’t see why not.” you giggled at the end and spoke again before he could, you needed to speak or else the man was looking at you like his last meal before his death. “And I’d like to see Cyril again.”

If Alfie was honest, he’d like that too. It had been a while since there had been a woman in the house, let alone one that came just for cyril. He had his housekeeper but that was about it, he didn’t see a good reason why not but he was busy. Alfie was always busy.

“How ‘bout I pick ya’ up, hm?” he spoke and didn’t wait for an answer. “Seein’ as I’m fuckin’ busy now, yeah, I can have ya’ picked up tonight.” he spoke and you waited for a moment.

They were all excuses.

You wouldn’t go to his house for the second time just to play with cyril, you wanted to play with him and push Alfie’s buttons. He seemed calm as you assessed the offer. No one usually said no to Alfie, including the ladies he’d offered to have around.

Much to his surprise and dismay, you shook your head. A low smile resided on your lips as you spoke to him. He was in trouble, deep trouble.

“You told Annabelle that I’d be accompanying you for the rest of the evening..” you spoke and he gulped, women were far too dangerous. “..How bout I do that?”

It could go many ways. 

He saw the visions of you bent over his desk or maybe his bed, he hadn’t decided yet as you’d chant his name over and over again until he knew you wouldn’t be able to move properly the next morning but you were not predictable, he didn’t even know what he’d do if he took you to the bakery.

But he wanted to see, desperately.

And you were out ten minutes later, out to his said bakery and a world filled with the kind of danger you weren’t quite familiar with.

------

Tagging: @clairecrive  @parkbearum @sourirez  @vetseras​ @mollybegger-blog @babylooneytoonz @peakascum

a/n: I read all of the sweet comments on the first part and thank you!!! I’m so happy that you guys liked it and this will be a multi-chapter series so i’ll keep them coming! Lemme know what you thought of the chapter <3

#alfie imagine #alfie solomons smut #alfie solomons #alfie solomons scenario #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons fluff #alfie solomons series #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons fic #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x shelby!reader #alfie #alfie solomons peaky blinders #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders fluff #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fiction #tom hardy imagine #tom hardy alfie

[hunterartemis]

Media Bias (Avengers X Alien!Reader)

It was a request from anonymous reader and since I have limited experience with tagging, I am going to quote the person’s request here:

“ Hi can you please do Avengers x reader where the reader is like Starfire from og teen titans (but the reader is green and the blasts are blue) and the Avengers go on a talk show and the host is being very mean to her. Thanks”

So, dear anonymous. I hope you enjoy!“

Words: a whopping 4100

Y/n, open the door” I heard Sam thudding away on my door as I buried myself in the layers of blanket and put the air condition humid enough to cause a mini monsoon.

“Go away Wilson and leave me alone--” I bellowed on top of my voice.

“Y/n it’s been more than 7 hrs, you got to come out... whatever happened in the morning you gotta let it go--”

“I don’t wanna let it go... I am a national embarrassment--”

You must be thinking, what is the situation you’ve been dragged into. Let me pause there and rewind 17 hours back to give you a complete understanding which lead to this complete mess.

People think our story ended and sealed with Thanos never got to see what we go through in the New York penthouse. With the ongoing Pandemic on board, people are desperate to see us even more, as if it is the new Thanos and we are to defeat it. There is no greater sense of helplessness than playing the puppet of courage without doing anything. So whoever wrote that “after the defeat of big bad, the heroes rejoice” was a big idiot.

And thus, I found myself awake after hours, sitting alongside the broad glass panel that showed the completely stopped-in-time, shining in the dark cityscape of once bustling New York. A fleeting sense of desolation plagued me as I remember my own world in the verge of extinction. My breath almost stopped in the great worry of my fellow living being in this planet; the one who saved me from destitution--

 “y/n, is that you?”A calm and concerned paternal voice broke the train of my thought. I sharply looked behind my shoulder to see a disheveled figure of man standing in the dark. By the tousled curls and the slouched hem of the sweatpants, I knew was Bruce.

“Urh, you startled me!” I said with a dismissive voice. I felt almost embarrassed to realize what I was thinking moments ago. I took a deep breath and tried to compose myself.

“It’s you who startled me y/n, what are you doing up so late?” Bruce said with a groggy voice rubbing his eyes rather irritatingly. “We have an important event to attend tomorrow first thing in the morning” he slowly moved towards from the shadowy part of the room to the path of dimmed light from the glass panel and spared a long glance at my face. The way he looked at me sometimes irritated me, because it was an inalienable fact that he fell into the same category of humans who express an unhealthy obsession with my kind: a scientist.

“It’s not like I enjoy staying up like you Lowly Human...I am as stressed for tomorrow as you are!” I tore my face from his ken to express my displeasure. In reply, he sighed disappointedly, which sounded patronizing in my already agitated mind.

“I wish you’d stop insulting my specie whenever you get upset...” he gently put his hand in my shoulder, but soon he withdrew and stepped back. “And what is that god-awful smell?”

Any female whether she is human or not is very sensitive to criticism, especially about how she appears, thus Bruce’s comment was not only offensive but hurtful as well. I could not restrain my anger and annoyance anymore, and I stood up sharply to face him “I just happen to wet myself in the rain yesterday at my detour downtown and it turns out it has too much sulphuric acid and it is peeling my skin away... right before when I am about to go up close on television.”  My hand subconsciously moved up to my cheek, where flakes were forming in my otherwise jade smooth skin. “And you are telling me to stop insulting your specie... I will when you unicellular cretins will stop ruining your own environment—“ I folded my arms defensively, gazing away from Bruce’s face “--as if I don’t get ridiculed enough for my chrorophyllic skintone, and now I am shedding like a common reptile.”

“Alright alright I am sorry...” Bruce threw up his arms defensively, and his small paces back and forth showed his discomfort more than anything, “do you want something for your skin, CeraVe or something? I can fetch you some ice if you want?”

His apologetic gesture made my whole effort defeated; but my pride disrupted me from being apologetic “Forget it... as if those human manures would work on my skin—“ I heaved a sigh and looked at him again “must we do the thing? I mean I am not the only alien that set foot on earth in this decade, why must I be walked around like a showdog in front of all the people?”

For some moments Bruce did not answer me. I almost thought he was ignoring me, but then I realised that he must be contemplating on every word he wanted to say and every word that was running through his brilliant mind. Out of anyone in the team, Bruce was the visual hole, the less than heroic material: even with the Hulk. And for this, the society made sure that he would be self conscious for the rest of his life for his other identity. My annoyance almost melted to sympathy when I heard him speak in a rather frustrated voice.

“Y/N, I know that you are stressed about this and frankly I hate this stuff too, but this is very important for the people: for your people as well as ours. Not all things that come from the space are benign and people need reassurance that you are not hostile. I hate this too, but it is for the greater good!”

“Greater good, greater good... it is always for the greater good!”  The same old daily whining of lofty agenda made me sick “I am sick and tired of these Brucie, I don’t want to do this anymore... I am tired about people asking me weird questions and cretins posing as scientists trying to push probes on me the first chances they get-- I wish I could just disappear with the portal that brought me in this cursed place!“

Bruce came closer and grabbed my shoulders gently “Don’t say that y/n... otherwise we wouldn’t have the means to counterattack all those aliens—“ my silence might have given him the cue that he wasn’t doing a very good job at convincing. His wavering eyes fixed on my face once again as he spoke “okay, here is a deal: how about it is the last time you appear in public, hm? Once you satisfy them that you are part of the team, I swear people will leave you alone... they left the Hulk alone too once they understood that he is one of the good guys!”

“No but...“

“No ifs and buts... go, and have some sleep. Let me look in the lab if we have some squalanes and peptide solutions lying around—“ he said with a paternal affection and disappeared into the dark passage which lead to his room

“Thanks Brucie you are the best—“

I couldn’t help but to smile a little. Humans!

...

“This is a bad idea I am telling you--“ I told Bruce with an hushed tone as the makeup artist went on with a puff on my face for the millionth times. The rest of my team was behind me, getting the same attentions to their dismay. I could tell Bucky was downright uncomfortable as his makeup artist had a hard time getting not distracted by his bionic arm; and Wanda was downright glaring at the man who kept flicking the brush on her nose.

“relax y/n, you are smart and you are friendly, you are going to ace this and trust me people are going to love you--“ Bruce said with gritted teeth to make sure no one could tell what he was saying. He almost flinched as some of the powder made into his nose and the makeup artist followed him up with a q-tip.

“My face is itchy...“ I whispered again, trying not to gouge my face out with my nails as the powder sat on the flaky part of the cheek. If this wasn’t a studio I would have scratched my face like a lunatic and ended up as someone who was attacked by a bear in the mountains. And I was glad that I was standing beside Bruce who knew how not to go overboard with the things. Clint would have brushed them off, Wanda and Bucky would have panicked, and Sam’s gestures no matter how genuine would have made me laugh.

“Wanda already told the makeup artist to spray you with Squalane, your face isn’t half as bad as it were yesterday night“ Bruce then went on politely gesturing the makeup artist to spray the stuff Bruce brought from the lab in a clear bottle, and the look on the Makeup Artist’s face was between annoyance and bursting into tears.

“Brucie...“ “I don’t wanna mess it up--“ I said nervously as we walked into the couch and settled with the others.

“Trust me you won’t... “ Bruce graciously consoled me.

The cameraman cued and we were all gestured to look into the main camera as the lights in front of us adjusted accordingly. Within all hustle and bustle, the host walked in like a royalty, and by the looks of his face and those following him with makeup and refreshment, he had a really bad morning.

“We will go on air in 3, 2 and 1”

“Good Morning America, this is your host Justin Fallon and welcome to another episode of The Early Show. Today we have with us some really special guests. You might know them from News, the murals, the comics and the Merchs please welcome our own global superheroes: The Avengers. Welcome to our show” the host said with an uncomfortable friendliness and turned towards us.

"Thanks for having us with you" Sam answered graciously, with a little awkwardness. I could understand why; it was always Tony, Steve and Natasha who spoke in public. After such a terrible loss, he is struggling to fill up their shoes for the sake of our public image. He had been wrapped up into a pretty bad controversy recently for succeeding as Captain America and it had a pretty bad toll on him—to the point his speech kind of went from cheerful to composed in an unnatural way.

 "It’s been way too long since our morning couch looked so colorful and it surely brightens up the day.” The host said with an obligatory politeness. Although the term was innocent enough but it seemed not so—I instantly froze up and million things started flying inside my head: was I looking good enough, is my patches showing under the layers of power and squalane. Turns out it was not me alone. From the corner of my eye I could sense the tension behind me from Clint and Bucky and I know it was different than mine. The host must have wanted the old team, and looked like he was stuck with the mediocre leftovers.

“Thank you...“ Sam replied.

“So here you guys are after averting the big wipeout crisis, in the quiet and chilling, so how does it feel to be in the pensive from being hyperactive all the time?“

“Well, at first it did feel kind of boring and lack luster, but slowly we are adjusting to it. With the ongoing Pandemic crisis I think we just have to adjust to the situation. In a way, I think we are all helping each other by staying inside and recuperating.” Sam answered diplomatically.

“That’s so nice” the interviewer said quite curtly and then changing the topic he sharply turned to Doctor Banner “I know of all you people Dr. Banner will find this Lockdown Leisure slightly more comforting, isn’t that so Doctor Banner?”

Wait, what was that? Was that even normal? Sam was sitting in the front and after him Bucky, then Wanda and then Bruce. Should not he come gradually? Breathe... maybe I am reading too much into this. Keep a friendly face, don’t think too much... the entire nation is watching... this is the one time I have to do things right! It’s for me, my team who housed me and my people.

I had to give props to Bruce for managing things calmly despite his claims about public speaking. He politely replied “Well theoretically it should be but it’s not like causes of anger cannot exist within the so called peaceful environment if you think about it, but I am glad you showed your concern” and like a pro, reached out to the glass in front of him to sip some water—like some real celebs in talk shows.

“Isn’t that true! So Solaris, how does it feel to be surrounded by the icons of the earth?”

I wasn’t really ready for the sudden attention. For a second I blanked out completely and gaped my mouth like a complete idiot. My stupefied face must have been quite prominent because the host tried to laugh it off lightly to divert the attention. I am still wrapping my head around the fact how some humans work so beautifully under so much attention—If I could choose between blasting off alien armies and speaking in talk shows, I will take the aliens instead.

“I..I--It’s quite fun... there is never a dull moment with them--“ I manage to utter, and thankfully it wasn’t a gurgling sound from a deep abyss.

“The thing is, being the most newest member, you sort of have a mystery around you, the kind of a Blue Comet sort--“

“Oh thank you— “ great going me, like a real talk show celeb—keep it up!

“So why don’t we break that down... Solaris, is that true that you came from a whole another galaxy which is not Milky Way?” the Talk show host asked, reading from a small piece of card.

Finally, something I can talk about all day: stars, planets and galaxy. I will have to slay this, I chanted inside and replied after drawing a breath “Yes that’s true. I am from Planet Auriga from Pleiades system. Our Sun is Alcyone, the second brightest star right after Aldebaran. You people call our system Taurus Constellation--” 

“--so much astrophysics, take notes kids they might ask you at the NASA interview.“ the talk show host interrupted. It annoyed me greatly because I could finish the words I worked so hard to speak confidently. So that’s how Bruce must feel all the time when people interrupted him when he explains things. However the host went on as if nothing happened “For a near human creature in this planet, do you identify more with the Professor X’s troop or with the Avengers?”

Near human creature? My race is literally the most Superior in all of galaxy.

“I don’t really understand what you mean...” I said as politely as I could manage.

“I mean isn’t it hard to fit in when you are the only alien in the group--“

The flippant remark was rude and I tried not to wrap my head around it. I recalled Bruce’s words to keep cool and maintain a neutral face replied : “I mean I am not the only one, Thor is also not of the earth and he is a darling to be around. Alien or not I think I have learned a lot about myself and the ways of earth by spending time with this wonderful people?“

I could hear the audience clapping and cheering with my reply. A surge of pride swept across my chest and I smiled slightly at the audience.

“How sweet--“ the host said, keeping with the cheerful mood “as the outer world people are coming into the planets, we think a lot of things are shifting, do you find it hard to cope into the earth from where you come from--“

Finally, a thoughtful question, I made a solid eye contact with the host and replied “No, the atmosphere is pretty much the same in Auriga, but I think humans can do a lot better taking care of the environment. I know for a fact that millions of planets and their lifeforms were extinct because of excesses I see on earth.”

The thoughtfulness of the host was only for so long “The girl’s been around... if you know what I mean—“ he commented with a little wink, and from the audience’s laugh I knew he didn’t mean something polite or mildly positive. After the laughter subsided, he turned again to me “I dig the midnight blue hair... it is so contradictory and yet it works“ he complimented “because you know scale and hair are not something we see very often in our planet--“ 

Excuse me, what was that supposed to mean?

“--so tell me are the lapis cascades all natural? I mean they are not dyed at all?”

“No they are not... the special keratin bond that reflect the blue pigment of the natural light but they are actually transparent—“ I added objectively.

“So that means in the right lighting you don’t need to mow the bush—“ the host said with a curved smile on his lips, and the audience went on laughing in the same manner they did moments ago.

Even under the blowing airconditioner, I started t feel really warm around my neck “I really don’t know what you mean; you are making any sense at all! Do you guys need special light to mow the bush, do you do in the solstices or during the eclipses—“  this time I didn’t hide the fact that I was annoyed.

“--she is really really funny you guys--“ the host again smiled and acted like I was a stone wall and my reaction didn’t register in his mind at all. “So you are saying you don’t mow your bush at all?“

“I live in a New York Penthouse, there is no bush--“ honestly if this wasn’t a dumb talk show, I would have taught this impudent human a lesson.

The host looked a little uncomfortable as our eye contact lasted for several seconds. He cleared his throat and went on “Okay you guys, she just clarified that there is no bush, so let’s move on to your...your look... I am so fascinated by it, it’s so reptile chic--“

What’s your fascination with cold blooded animals? Are you asking to die like one?

“Um, thanks...?!”

“So how do you manage to maintain this--“

That was honestly the last straw. This host is impolite and rude and he leeches off the discomfort of his talk show host. When this realisation hit, all my self-control and self preservation went out of the window. The vacuum was replaced by the sheer annoyance towards the host who deliberately mistreated us since the beginning.

“Do you think that’s how I live, maintaining my skin and mowing the bush--“ my pitch rose from my previous composed tone “I mean what kind of questions are these?“

The host was still wearing his phony smile on his face, but I could see the colour slightly draining off his face “No I was just asking, because the audience wants to know--“

“I think the audience is smart enough to understand that they cannot get the green skin on natural blue hair, so can you move on to a more sensible question?“ I answered heatedly and defensively at the same time, and as I spoke I felt the aura of tension shifting from discomfort to sheer panic.

“Y/n... don’t do this--” I heard Bucky whisper very faintly from above.

“Solaris, don’t get me wrong, but we don’t always get a green-skin hottie on the morning couch, don’t be offended!” he said while he gestured covertly to cut the camera on the other side. I have to give this man an applause , I could tell he had busted all his courage but he kept the face of nonchalance too good to be true—no wonder he sat on this chair for so long.

“What’s your obsession with the skin colour?—“ I said heatedly as I stood up from my seat “Don’t you dare cut the camera... don’t you dare! Do you think you humans are the epitome of beauty from which point everyone in the galaxy should confirm? I am sick of this... Everyone, I am so sorry for your wasted time but no more of this!”

“Solaris--“ this time it was Sam’s voice that implored me from the sides. For a split second I felt bad for him, because as Captain America, he would have to take the heat from the public. But I was at the point of no return. If I back out now, I would be called a pushover and I would have to endure that image for the rest of my life in the earth.

“You know what, as you are so obsessed with my looks, I would love to show you another thing of mine that is blue--”

Blast

So long story short, Solaris goes to a morning talk show, Solaris encounters a rude host and Solaris blasts him with her Blue Sun Beam. Biggest disaster ever!

The thudding outside the door would not stop, and honestly their over attention was getting on my nerves “honestly, why don’t you go away... what are you, my royal nanny?”

“Very funny Solaris... now come out and get some food--” this time it was Bucky who spoke. Although he was the shortest to reply, but it made me well up. He had the shittiest history amongst all of us: hunted, betrayed, manipulated and now sidelined—how can I see my problems bigger than him.

 “How can I... I ruined everything, all the reputation you built throughout the year, I blew it up within 3 minutes, how can I show my face to you guys! I was supposed to be the superior being--“

A moment of silence followed. But then the old familiar calm voice spoke from the other side

“y/n... It’s not about superior or inferior, you were just very very honest with your feeling! sometimes it’s good for the public, sometimes it is not. I mean look at me--I have struggling with my anger all my life and god knows the stuff I have wrecked in Hulk state. It’s okay to make a mistake... no one blames you!”

“Ha ha right...“ I replied sarcastically, feeling mad about how well Bruce understood my situation.

“Honestly, the way you acted today... Tony would have been proud!”

I could not hold myself anymore. All the feeling that has been plaguing me until now: embarrassment, guilt, confusion, sadness... all came down like a thundering rain with that one statement. I rushed and slammed the door open and jumped on Bruce to embrace him into a tight hug. At first I could tell Bruce was taken aback, but soon his firm arms snaked under my back to hold me tightly.

“I am so sorry... I ruined you all--“ I hid my face in Bruce’s shoulder. Suddenly I felt a gentle pat on my back, I straightened up and looked, it was Sam. His awkward cautionary expression was gone and he looked cherry as the old days “As Captain America, I cannot condone your behaviour, but as Sam... well, that jerk deserved it--“ he reached for his pocket and took out his cellphone “and hundred thousand people in New York agree with you“

I looked at him with a curious expression as he gave me his phone. When I looked at it, it was a tabloid video that had the clip of me blasting the host and it had—

“Stars in galaxies!... 100K likes?” I exclaimed

“And look down, there are comments too--” Bucky scrolled down from behind my shoulder to descend to the white space.

That jerk deserves it, he was literally harassing her...You go Solaris #MeToo

Solaris is so cool, I wish I was as cool as her.

Ugh, I hate that morning show host, if I was in her place I would have thrown him off the stark tower, #SunQueen

Racists never change, and We stan our color positive hero #SolarisRocks

Humans...

...

Okay, that took a lot of time because at first I didn’t know how to work on the request, then I had to go back and forth and rewrite most of it two times because I wasn’t convinced it was good. So I sincerely hope it’s good because I am freaked out as hell.

I also gave reader a name because she is inspired by an alien character in TeenTitans called “Starfire”. So I call her Solaris, and was constantly reminded of Solar of Mamamoo (TMI)

I don’t hate on Fallon, I just used his name because it is recognisable by American public and I also had to see a lot of Jimmy Fallon’s show to write about the Talk Show plot. I was also greatly inspired by Naomi Campbell, RDJ and Nicki Minaj’s interviews.

#avengers x reader #alien reader #skin color #teen titans og #starfire inspired #yay I got a request #rude talk show imagine #avengers x reader imagine

[dropsofletters]

that’s how people move

 summary: dongyoung has learned how to blend in the background of the little shoe store he works in. no one cares about the wooden exterior, the shoes he makes or fixes, or about himself, really. it’s in the hopes of living a more luxurious life that he learns the world doesn’t have a meaning when it’s moving, but rather, when it stops.

title: that’s how people move

pairing: kim dongyoung x reader

genre: shoemaker!au ; assistant!au ; strangers to lovers!au ; slowburn!au  

word count: 18,785

type: fluff ; humor ; romance ; drama ; angst

Around him, richness exists. Not in him, but in the buildings that create barriers around his tiny workplace. Some people like vintage and indie, but for someone like him, it just means tranquility…yet, not an accomplished dream. As he stares off into the tall white buildings from a window, his forehead resting against the woodened railing, Dongyoung wonders if he fits into the dreams, he had built for himself. Of being successful when thirty-something, of bathing in so much money that having a new car doesn’t seem like a luxury, and drinking a glass of champagne is just a beverage for him.

His calloused fingertips work against the leather of the shoes he is building, eyes training away from the scenery to let the sunlight bathe his skin in warmth. Instead, his mind goes back to making the boots stand out in excellence—as well as comfort, the heel tall enough to fit anyone, not too outstanding, but a classic nonetheless. Back hunched, he can feel every muscle aching as the perfectionist side of him brings out the worst in him, eyes burning at the early hours of the morning he is working on. For no one but a few clients, whoever still believes in shoemakers, or some companies who inherently want to resell their hard work.

Go back, as Kim Dongyoung, aged seventeen, and ask him if this is what he wanted for his life. If spending summers with his uncle, who was also a shoemaker, was going to build his life for his adulthood. Back then, he thought he was really going to get the scholarship he always desired, or that the money from his parents would last him a lifetime. It didn’t. The bird left the nest, only to end up in the only thing he would have never imagined himself doing. Sure, he’s good at it, but at what cost?

Seeing people move in front of the shop, every single day, and wonder if he’s going to be like them someday? Maybe, if he had been accepted into school, he’d be rushing into the kind of work he’d like. A producer, maybe, or even a manager. He’d be rushing through the streets with clothes far fancier than the ones he is wearing right now—pink t-shirt under a denim jacket and dark jeans—, but that’s only part of his imagination.

The clear wood of the flooring creaks under the weight of someone’s tall boots, and Dongyoung lifts his gaze to meet the only person that is always in this store apart from himself. There was someone else before, but the young woman had left the job because of college. Typical.

In between the tall shelves that display their shoes, and what they exactly work in, is Yuna. Thirty-two, thriving, living life in colors with recently dyed red hair and a twist to her body that makes the yellow dress on her body stand out. The roundness of her face has been reducing after the birth of her first child, with someone who she doesn’t hold any relationship with anymore. Still, she seems to be the happiest she has ever been, now with a life far more complete than she would have ever imagined.

“Dongyoung, straighten your back.” Yuna instructs, motherlike even when her daughter is only three months old. Her short hair falls on top of her shoulders, the dry ends capturing his attention as he squints his eyes at her. Yet, she knows him, before swords can make way through his lips, she speaks up. “I already have enough with one child, I don’t need a man child.”

“You’re not my mom. I already have one. Thanks.” Dongyoung mumbles, sewing the leather into the shoe as he waits for Yuna’s clear intentions. The woman rarely reaches him out of nowhere, and around this moment of the afternoon, she leaves to pick her daughter up.

“I’m going to pick Kaia up. Can you take care of the store while I’m not here?”

Truthfully, not a lot of clients come by around this time. Or ever, really. “Sure,” He conquers, because he doesn’t want to make Yuna feel bad, and part of him also wants her to be with her daughter. Kaia is the smallest little bean he has ever seen, with big rounded eyes and black hair that can’t seem to be controlled with a brush, or his hand, or even the oxygen. “Why do you even ask me if you know I’m going to say yes?”

“You’re a PMS queen. I’m asking just in case.” Yuna says after a heartbeat, picking up her long coat from the hanger before draping her arms inside of it. “Besides, a client booked an appointment with us, and I wanted to make sure you’re going to be here.”

Stopping his ministrations on the shoe, Dongyoung looks up from his work to talk to Yuna face to face. “A client? Those exist?”

A smack finally lands on his brown hair, shaking a smile away from him as well as ruffling his hair in the process. “And an extra rich client, at that. I want you to be good.”

“You only had to say money, and I was already set for being a good guy.” Dongyoung jokes around, licking his bottom lip in the process. The faint sound of a guitar plays in the background, coming straight from his playlist—and at her departure, Yuna must have remembered to put his music on—, and tranquility overtakes him. Maybe, after such a drought in the working area, someone will believe their talent. “But, why did they even book an appointment here? We’re always free.”

“The client is, apparently, rich enough to make me believe that we booked an appointment with them.” The words barely meet his ears as she opens the doors of the store, staring ahead for a second before fixing the bag over her shoulder. “Her name is April Lim. She is supposed to come here in an hour.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Dongyoung replies after humming the sound of the song playing in the background, giving a small, tight-lipped smile to one of his longtime friends. “Just go to your daughter.”

“Thank you.”

“Goodbye.”

“Bye-bye, Dongyoung!”

When the door closes behind her, he immediately perks up. Staring around the room, he wonders about the twists of life, enough to rake a sigh out of his plethora of worries. The possibilities of ending up being a shoemaker for the rest of his life bite him in the ass. It’s not that he is unhappy, but this isn’t anyone’s dream. It’s not the kind of thing that kept him up at night with the excitement of living. Then again, the world knows what it is doing…and things will fall into place if he just earns his money rightfully and keeps working.

The needle goes through the leather, does a circle in the air, and enters from the other edge. Stormy outside but calm in his heart as his pink lips tut out the song that he can’t quite remember, but his heart recognizes as if it was his. Music does that, make us all into one and bring us to one story.

Minute after minute, the vase fills until he hears the door opening again, his back creaking under the weight of his quick motions when he welcomes the visitor with a glare. The first thing he notices is the long ponytail that cascades down the woman’s back, the black strands thick and perfectly straightened. The elastic is imperceptible, but her face is one to remember. Chic, elongated eyes; a small nose and thick lips. Her body dips in ways that has his eyes going down to capture a glimpse of the diamonds around her neck, the curve of her chest, and the way his imagination goes wild with the image of the perfect woman.

She’s the first one to enter, in a white button down that fits her perfectly and a skirt that stuns just about anyone with how expensive it looks. Behind her, however, someone closes the door with delicacy, the strands of her hair falling on her face and covering most of her features. From what Dongyoung can see, she’s far more simplistic—a pair of high-waisted floral pants and a typical black t-shirt. An agenda rests in between her hands, but before she could finalize her greeting—something along the lines of ‘good afternoon’—, the luxurious woman ahead of her speaks up.  

“Afternoon,” She says, eyes barely noticing him and yet, feeling like they have shed every layer of his skin away from him. Dongyoung can’t help but stand up from his seat by the window, a smile displayed on his features as he bows to her. A dream woman. “Do you work here?”

“Yes. Kim Dongyoung. At your service.” He introduces himself, not missing a beat with the twinkle of his eyes and yet, he awaits a response that is far more enticing that whatever his client says.

“I’m April Lim,” The charismatic woman instructs as she crosses her arms over her chest, not forgetting to jut her chin towards the person behind her. “And that’s my assistant,” The name escapes her easily, as if she is used to calling out that name endless times in order to get things done. It wouldn’t surprise her; if he had an assistant, as well, he’d ask for far more things than he’s proud of admitting.

The assistant lifts the corner of her mouth. Snowflakes lay on her lips in the white speckles of her lipstick, glistening on the dim lightning of the shoe store. When he sees her from up close, he can see a few marks growing on her chin, and the half-moons that taint her skin in delicacy—birth-marks, perhaps, or simple moles. Far less chic than her boss, but somehow more dulcet. “April has been in the eye of the paparazzi lately, and she wishes to have her own pair of shoes. The least she wants is to seem…typical, basic.”

Dongyoung trails his eyes towards April, who has her arms crossed behind her back with ease. “That’d be impossible.” He relays on the sound of his voice but it comes out a bit breathy, the tips of his ears burning in absolute embarrassment. Jackass. “…But I’ll do my best, if you let me know your tastes, that is—”

April’s eyes don’t change; interest doesn’t part them from their usual stoic nature. Instead, behold of the adoration that everyone feels about her, she nods with an enigma at the tip of her being. “You’ll have to talk to my assistant. I’ve already filled her in with whatever it is that I want. I’m going travelling in a month from now and I need a new shoe wardrobe. For now. Right now, even better.”

With his Adam’s apple bobbing, he wonders if he’s incredibly annoyed or attracted to her bossiness. The assistant, however, becomes more of a picture for him now that he is about to be left alone with her—around her neck, she has a more simplistic necklace, a flower resting in between a clear heart, the petals remain long dead, but they fit her. The split-ends match her, as if there is too much time in this world to worry about everything, but she chooses to not worry about the simplicities of life. The intricacies, even.

“Okay. I will do my best…for you, miss.”

April looks at him up and down, as if studying every portion of him, before scoffing with a smile on her face. “You sounded like my assistant.” She replies, shrugging her shoulders after speaking with that lowered tone of hers, as if she’s seducing the air with the mere existence of her. Instead, she wraps an arm around her assistant, shaking her lightly. “Have fun, and go back to the building in less than three hours. I need to have lunch.”

It seems like she can’t even ask for food on her own. “I will, April. But I already ordered some Bolognese pasta for you, accompanied by your favorite wine.”

“Alright, thanks.” April pulls away with a swing of her feet, high heels clicking against the tiles as she puts her sunglasses up her face. Some people never show who they truly are—or all of us do, but April feels like a pair of eyes that stare at him from behind a wall. Tall. Endless. His hands try to dig into the surface of the wall to reach her, get her attention, but he falls down every time. “Nice talk.”

That’s how she leaves, the asphalt welcoming her as if she’s part of the city. Screw that. The first skyscraper ever created, so classical and beautiful that he can’t quite get used to her. His eyes trail behind her with the movement of her hips, not quite catching his bottom lip slipping in between his teeth until he hears the sound of someone clearing their throat by his side.

Oh, shit.

Right.

He has a client.

The first client in a while.

“Sorry,” Dongyoung recomposes himself, moving towards the main desk and picking up his leather agenda, the one he uses for sketching, before opening it in some random page. The yellow-toned pages have been forgotten by him these days, freestyling his work, but this project must be huge based on the kind of client he has just met. “Ah, what does your boss want exactly? How many shoes?”

“An entire new wardrobe. Around forty or fifty.” He jots that down, because it’ll take a lot of inspiration and some brainstorming for him to come up with that many shoe designs. He still wears his old, worn-out sneakers, and that’s not such a concept when he’s a shoemaker. “She loves chic clothing, but she wants to add some spice. Some uniqueness to her. I—Uh, I don’t know quite how to explain it…”

“Shoes are not such an important part of the outfit, I’m sure it doesn’t have to be super specific with explanations.” Dongyoung tries to shrug the matter off with a laugh, but the woman shakes her head.

“Shoes are everything.”

Instead, he chuckles again. “They are not.”

“Of course, they are!” She argues, clearly not the type to raise her voice, but leave an impression with that smile of hers. It’s not perfect—not quite as shiny as her boss’, but it’s so outstanding that Dongyoung has to take a second glance. Not his type, but not quite bad looking. “It’s the foundation of everything. What we step on. If they look wrong, they’re gonna be noticed. That’s enough for—” Instead of continuing, she sighs. “Cinderella.”

Dongyoung’s eyebrows become one when he frowns. “C—Cinderella? What?”

“Cinderella had her love story because of a pair of shoes,” She replies. “And a pretty pair of shoes at that. Imagine if Cinderella was wearing sneakers or, or—” Overexcitement takes up most of her voice. “I don’t know, muddy boots? Like, that’s not memorable, it’s not…it’s not classic. I feel like April wants her Cinderella moment.”

He may not be a prince, but he may give her just that if the chance arises. “If the shoe fits…”

She nods. “If the shoe fits.” Instead, she taps her finger against the top of those old agenda pages. “And I need her shoes to fit and be memorable to the paparazzi and fashion magazines if I want to do my job right.”

Dongyoung looks down at the piece of paper, fabrics, styles, memories of April coming up to him. If he does his job right, he may get a kiss or two, perhaps a date, something to hold onto from the diamond met woman he just met. “Mhm, we just need to think together. You know her. I know how to do my job. We’ll have some designs done so you can show her by the time you have to go back to your workplace.”

Resting her elbows against the desk, all her teeth are shown in her smile, nose scrunching up and that cuteness doing something to lift his eyebrow. Surprisingly, enough to capture his attention. “Okay, let’s start.”

“Yes.”

The pages of that agenda had never been quite as filled, and the dim shoe store feels as though it can revive from the death again.

###

The first time she lied, her tongue itched so badly it rolled onto itself, and her cheeks hollowed with the feeling of disappointment. It’s the sensation of not knowing if her reality is the same as her dreams, and if what happened was only part of her imagination. It’s the hope that it was, or that the lie suffices to keep the happiness in her life. People lie. People lie. People lie, she tells herself.

And they do.

Just like how she lies to April’s boyfriend whenever he calls, his baseball cap falling so low on his forehead that he doesn’t realize her cheating ways from far away—too separated while they are the most together, they have ever been. She lies to the world when she waits for the train and feigns like she isn’t anxious of losing her train. She is. Everyone looking at her would think she is just another worker that lives with educational knowledge that she uses to serve someone else, headphones pulled so far inside her ears that she feels like she becomes one with the Italian music she is listening to today. As if the flowers bloom around her, the claps and rasps of life simply tell her to let it be. To lie, but never lie to herself.

She lies when she says she has it all together—as if the rebel in her doesn’t tell her to simply ruin something for once. Make a mess of the job she has, not serve April as often as she does, not being there all the time. Learn a new language, the language of being free, but she doesn’t. Instead, she pulls her earphones down, eager to get inside her train ride and get to her office as soon as possible.

She needs coffee.

She needs to hear the stories of her coworkers, with dating lives and kiss-and-tell stories.

She needs to smile again, even if it’s a lie.

Rolling her tongue, she hears the melodious tone of someone singing. It’s a male’s voice, but it’s both exciting and shrilling at the time that she hears it. Six in the morning, with a beige cardigan draped over her body, sleep-ridden and missing her bed. Her hair messes itself up even more when she turns around, footsteps resounding against the tiles, the almost-empty space about to be filled once the work hours arrive. For now, it’s just her and Mr. I Fall In Love Too Easily.

Song dedicated to her when she was fourteen, and she dated one of those poetic boys in class that hadn’t even read a single book in their lives. First kiss with too much tongue. Her mouth always ended up feeling as if it was drowning in saliva, and it wasn’t exactly hers.

I fall in love…too easily.

I fall in love…too fast.

The voice becomes closer, breathy, accompanied by soft nods of the man that sings and by the time she whispers out the continuation, she realizes the face is not quite as foreign as she imagined. The world is so big, and so small at the same time. Feverous to make people connect, to have some drama, some spice, some touch to touch moments. “I fall in love terribly hard.”

The gray walls contrast the existence of him, the dark bags under his eyes, the tussle of his equally as dark hair. Dongyoung, from the shoe store, so memorable and yet, so unfitting to be a part of her imagination. When thinking of the men that would make her heart flutter, she thinks of opened button downs, kisses down her neck, a cigarette in between his lips and the scent of flowers clinging to him. Dongyoung, on the other hand, feels like a rejected nine-to-five worker. Someone whose time came around too early, and he had to pick whatever he was good at.

But she’s just judging.

And suddenly, she’s looking into his eyes, his brown eyes recognizing her and saying her name into the air as if it’s a greeting. As if, for once, she has become the universal word of beginnings. “I didn’t know you liked Sinatra.” He says, and she has to cover the width of her beam, the one thing she has always felt insecure about. Too strong. Too out there.

“Well, you don’t know a lot of things about me apart from me being April Lim’s assistant.” She replies just as the wind starts blowing on his face. The strands of his hair don’t curl, but they push back enough to showcase his forehead, void of lines of stress and oldness. Instead, he gives a smile, staring ahead with a purpose so dull it almost feels like he isn’t living.

“That’s already something,” Dongyoung starts, tightening his hold against the straps of his backpack. “How’s April?”

With legs opened like a door, perhaps, sedated by sex—by the lies she has telling everyone. That her meetings come around late not because she is dating some good for nothing, but because she is working too hard. That she enjoys the presence of most of her investors, when she actually doesn’t. April Lim is one of those businesspeople that will make a living out of nowhere—they know how to live life, how to play it as if it was Monopoly and everyone around them are just pieces that move for her. Whether they end up in good places or not doesn’t fall on her shoulders.

“Fine, as always.” After all, this is what she has to do: lie for April Lim.

“I’m glad.”

“…And how are you?”

Dongyoung lifts his gaze at that, finally sparing her a glance of those pretty brown eyes. The shade reminds her of her last date’s eyes, but far deeper than she could ever explain. As though he holds the answers of the universe in just one simplistic twinkle of his eyes, putting NASA to shame with the discoveries he has done. “I could be worse, so I’m alright.”

“I didn’t know you woke up early to go to your job.” But, what would she know about him when she had only met him last week?

“You don’t know much about me either.”

“Now I know you wake up early.” She jokes, and the swoosh of the train arriving doesn’t pull her attention away from the tension in Dongyoung’s eyes. This is the kind of man she tries to pull away from—or, rather, she tries to pull away from all men. They’re creators; like to pull pieces together only to tear them down after and try to build something new. They never give up on just destroying everything at their reach. “That’s my train.”

With a pull of his backpack, he trails right behind her after saying those words. “It’s mine, as well.”

“It’s weird how I’ve never seen you here.” She adds after taking a seat on the brown leather seats, welcoming the coldness that seeps through her sweater. Her fingers tangle her earphones around themselves to get them in a nice circle and being able to fit them inside her bag. “Are you sure you’re not following me?”

Instead of taking the joke, Dongyoung’s eyes widen in a movie-worthy way before shaking his head. “I—I would never. I had also never seen you here.”

“I’m joking, Dongyoung.” She replies with a swat of her hand, so different from one another even in the way they sit. Dongyoung is more upright, while she lets her back hunch and her legs part, taking up some space.

“Oh.”

“Yes.” Instead of lingering in the awkward silence, she turns to look at him, inspecting his nose—it fits his face nicely, giving him almost a prince-like look. If a prince was as obstinate as he seems to be. He gives the vibes of what once was a class president. “How are those designs going? You only have four more days left until you show the first few shoes to April.”

Clearing his throat, Dongyoung doesn’t seem to be used to working under pressure. “It’s going fine. I’ve been working like a dog, hence why I’m up early.” He replies, putting his backpack over his long, slender legs before huffing. “I hope she likes them.”

One could say that if Dongyoung creates shoes with as much diligence and perfection as he sings, then there shouldn’t be a problem. “I’m sure they’re fine, come on.”

“Yeah, but I want to make a good impression.” There, the tip of his ears become a crimson red, a fever rising upon him but never breaking a sweat. She has to squint her eyes then, wonder and wonder why it is that men always fall for people like April Lim. She’s nice, don’t get her wrong, and awfully good looking for how much she works—but it’s strange how most people feel attracted to certain types of individuals. There is a set line of rules that we never talk about as society. “…Ah, is your boss single, perhaps?”

There it is. Intentions in the form of positions of a chess game she never takes part of. “Not at all. She’s dating a baseball player—”

“Huh?”

“Yeah…”

Dongyoung chuckles at himself, though she can see the strain on the muscles by the side of his face. “Right…yeah…it’s obvious someone like her would be dating.”

“For five years.”

“Oh, five years…” Dongyoung has to cover his face then, laughter taking over him in a way that covers up his embarrassment. “Let’s forget we ever had this conversation.”

“Forgotten.” She says, for she knows this feeling all too well. Men who never settle. Men who get tired. Men who try, but then don’t. Men who would rather have a thousand nights out than spend one with her own presence. Men are difficult. Women are, as well. People have decided to make matters worse for the world—apart from the obvious of being the own destroyers of the place they live in—by creating the world of dating, of kissing and telling, of so many other things like one-night stands and marriage. Two people rarely want the same thing. “But I can’t forget about your voice, though. Where did you learn how to sing?”

Changing the conversation works for him, leaning his weight back on his seat before sighing with a smile on his face. “I asked my mom to sign me up for singing classes when I was a child. I dropped out of it when I applied for college.”

“Wait—you didn’t study anything music related?”

“If I did, would I be making shoes?” He asks, rhetorical, sarcastic, much like him in a way that she doesn’t know yet. Instead, he shrugs his shoulders. “I got denied, over and over again. Had to spend some summers with my uncle who taught me the art of shoes, and now I’m here.”

“Shit, I see…” She whispers, though he doesn’t miss a beat to ask—

“And how did you end up being April’s assistant?”

The memory burns her, not once thinking about what she wanted in her life, wishing to travel but never planning it, letting herself drown in the uncertainty of living one day at a time. The future came around and it drained her of energy, leaving her in a wandering hell of seeing everyone continue with their lives after high school and college. The smoke of not finding herself, even when she is in her own body, led her to have someone else take the decisions for her. “My sister had connections and she needed an assistant. That’s what happened.” And she fell, hard, deep, in a way that she feels she may never raise herself from. But she tries not to think about it—overthinking stops her from living, and yet, she isn’t living at all.

“I see,” Dongyoung replies. “It must be a nice job.”

It isn’t. “…Ah, could be better, but it could be worse as well.” She answers. “It’s not my position to judge life for bringing me here. Maybe, this part of my life has to teach me something.”

Dongyoung scoffs at her words, so different yet bringing a smile up to his face. “You really think that way?”

“Life always brings us down for a reason,” She says. “It’s not about drowning, it’s about learning how to breathe underwater.”

Even though she feels like she will be erased some time in her life, and she won’t be needed by anyone for more than a week instead. She serves the world, only for it to mock her instead. Breathing underwater ignites her lungs and her nostrils in absolute pain, but it’s what life is. “That’s wise.”

“That’s life.”

And talking life with Kim Dongyoung for the rest of the ride until she had to get off is exactly what she does, for she sees the figure of him, hypothetical at that, lifting his chin over the water to breathe again…and somehow, it feels like he will.

People like him are perseverant.

People like her are liars.

###  

Hating. Wanting. Loving. What’s the difference?

It’s in the eyes. The only part of our soul that can’t give itself the benefit to lie, and those who dare lie with their eyes have mastered the art of never feeling quite the same again. When he sees the people getting out of the building that belongs to no other than April Lim, he discovers she has created a guard of zombies that protect her, work for her, and do anything in their willpower to end up in her good list. The only list to ever exist, if he’s honest, for the suitcases that follow after him, all filled with shoes that she has to try on as soon as possible, resound against the pavement and remind him that he is, indeed, attracted to a woman of power like her.

The kind of person he always imagined himself to be. Dongyoung has kissed around twelve people in the entirety of his life. Five out of those, he liked being around of. The only girlfriend he has had, however, ended up being someone he couldn’t quite reach out for every time he wanted—she was too busy living her youth, partaking on parties, visiting malls to spend every penny that entered her bank account, twenty and ready to die hypothetically, exist socially, and live in a limbo of not knowing who she is and changing with the passing of time. She was expensive, like everything Dongyoung liked, he would be lying if he said he’s not a lover of a nice perfume, a floating skirt, and a smile behind a nice set of red, lipstick-covered lips. That, however, doesn’t make or bend it all.

The marble tiles welcome his weight once he is inside, and the receptionist is monotone when she talks to him. Her bubblegum pink nails tap against the keyboard as if she’s losing time by breathing, and with a quick check of his name in April’s itinerary, he is put inside an elevator and pushed to the highest floor in the skyscraper. Everything seems to be made out of greeneries, no matter how faux the entire building is. Walls in gray tones, but with hints of aquamarine, the elevator moves and he can see glimpses of the other offices—with plants, flowers, though probably not real. It’s the essence of April Lim—everyone wants her, lives for her, and yet, no one realizes just how made up she can be. How people like her move.

Dongyoung is feverish like a future like the one he sees in front of him once the elevator doors open. A big office that only belongs to her, consisting of desks in green tones that don’t belong to her but to the people that work for her. The more he moves beside the selected worker to lead him to April Lim, the more he realizes every desk includes a piece of the person that works there. Family pictures for some, others have a package of cigarettes, when he passes by one of them he can hear a song in French, moving and dance-like, yet too soft to capture anyone’s attention. Only when he gets to the last desk, he realizes everyone has their personalities but none like hers. None like April Lim’s assistant.

Her hair twists up messily, barely held together by an elastic, a few strands standing up in protest. A thin layer of sweat pools at her forehead, welcoming her eyebrows as she moves with diligence, organizing everything on her own desk, with the same plants as the others, if not more. Dongyoung catches a glimpse of the black tea package on top of her work spot, the same as the one she has poured on a cup with flowers wrapping around themselves. Sunflowers, he notices, probably her favorite flower. The air smells like incense, or probably it is just her scent, the collar of her white button down accompanied by the same flowers on her cup. It’s as though she’s a mood breaker, a ray of sunlight in this peaceful rain.

The young man that had been leading him inside the building finally looks up from his phone, clearing his throat at the assistant in front of them. “Here’s Kim Dongyoung, he has brought Mrs. Lim’s shoes.”

“I know who he is,” She answers, playing it cool by extending her arms over her head and fixing her bun with the littlest of precision, soon after fixing the waist of her beige pants, hanging loosely around her hips, leaving little to nothing to the imagination. “Dongyoung, how have you been?”

“Busy, thankfully.” Dongyoung replies, sparing one glance towards the young man and just about to say the typical ‘thank you’, but his voice is cut off when he takes off with his phone at hand. “God, is everyone in a mood in this building?”

“They are.” She replies, unlike April Lim in the way her rosy lips wrap around themselves to lick them up before taking a sip of her tea. “That’s why I drink so much tea. Stress-controller, baby.”

The sound of the nickname has Dongyoung lifting his eyebrows. Mhm, so there’s some confidence to her. Old-school, but completely different from what one would think of April Lim’s shadow, or what April wants her to be, actually. “I can’t do that.”

“Can’t drink tea?”

“Can’t control my stress.” Letting go of the suitcases, he takes the seat across her desk, sparing one look around the office. People immerse themselves on their jobs, not once listening to them, and if they do, they’re not paying attention. “It’s difficult not to be stressed when people are annoying ninety-seven percent of the time.”

“Welcome to the three percent.” Her tone is playful as she takes a seat on her chair, extending her legs long enough for them to briefly caress his. Though, the action flees before he can actually pay attention to it. “Stress can’t do anything to you if you don’t let it.”

“We’re a little bit too late for that conversation.”

“Dongyoung, you’re young.” She replies, dragging her voice the slightest as she lulls her head back, looking up at the ceiling with her train of thought invading her. “You’re going to end up old, wrinkly and bitter, and possibly with hypertension, if you don’t just let things be.”

Dongyoung chuckles. It’s the same with people who don’t worry—with those who didn’t have their lives absolutely destroyed by the turns of the world. “So, how do you do it?”

“It’s not only the tea, actually. I’d have to have edibles along with my tea in order to let things be all the fucking time.” The thought has a genuine smile appearing on his face. For someone who lives under someone’s shadow, she can clearly make a conversation and grasp anyone talking to her by the face in order to give all their attention, undivided, to her. “But,” She rests her cheek on her palm, threading her fingertips through her hair. “I just like to believe everyone has a happy ending, or at least, everyone who deserves it.”

The clock ticks on her desk, reading five minutes past the time he should’ve met up with April. It’s eleven and five, and he can’t bring himself to care. Instead, he tilts his head to the side. “That’d be the ideal, but I doubt it’s actually true.”

“We don’t know,” She says. “And I think that’s beautiful. It’s better that we don’t know what happens to everyone, or what happens after we die. It gives us the opportunity to make the most out of what we have…to enjoy what we have and realize that the only time we can truly choose if we’re happy is when we’re alive.”

Balance is what he takes out of her, pensive, eradicating everything that has ever existed to create something that would have never crossed his head. Instead of pondering about it, Dongyoung tries to protect his own believes—you see, it’d be a little bit too happy for everyone to get the grand ending they want and need. “Did you happen to major in philosophy or something?”

“Not really,” She argues back, softly. “If we’re getting technical, I pushed away the thought of my future until the future got to me and oh boy, I didn’t even know what I was going to do with my life.”

“Don’t we all?” Dongyoung asks, soon after shaking his head with a laugh. “I got denied from university, so…”

“Oh.” She answers, voice shaped in a perfect ‘o’ that captures his attention. Okay, so maybe, her cuteness is her charm. “Honestly? Fuck university.”

“Your tea should work with that anger issue.” Dongyoung jokes around, only to earn a smack on his shoulder and the biggest grin on her face.

“It’s called reality.” The retort follows her statement. “Do you know how many people stress out about getting to university, going through university or, just not going through it, or going through it and failing? Like, it’s insane. It’s truly the worst thing ever.”

“But it’s life.” He vaguely remembers her voice telling him so, and she seems to reminiscent the words she said in the train.

“But it’s the awful part of it.” She pushes her fingers together, making circles with her index and thumb, raising the three resting digits before sighing. “And that’s why I do breathing exercises, just so I don’t think about it.”

Dongyoung looks around, and yet, no one seems to pay attention to quite clearly the most interesting person in that office. “And you don’t feel ashamed?”

“I don’t.” She shrugs. “I’m going to die anyway, but at least, I’m not going to die of breathing problems.”

The main door glides open and a man appears instead. Dongyoung is not one for gossip, neither does he know every celebrity in this planet, but he is sure he knows that face…or that voice, rather. One of the singers in his playlist rubs his reddened lips to hide the glimpses of dark red—to no avail, clearly—, plush lips even plumper by the time he makes his way towards the elevator and away from the seas of wandering eyes. April Lim is supposedly dating a baseball player, but it must not be the only man by her side.

“Oh, my shoes!” Are the first words she says after tucking her shirt inside her skirt, pushing her hair off her shoulder to show bitten lips, filled with sin. It’s a wonder why most people look at her and never realize the malice in her, but they don’t realize that the most beautiful companion she has had by her side is none other than her assistant, clearly aware of the situation and giving her a tissue to wipe the smeared lipstick off her face, one April takes gleefully. “Come inside, we have much to talk about and shoes to try on.”

Dongyoung finds himself stopping for a second, looking over his shoulder towards the assistant—the one that clearly interests him more, whose presence alone can make him feel as though a new world exists beside his own, and it’s not terrible at all. “Don’t you want to come in?”

She lets her hair freely fall at that moment, eyes glistening when she smiles, tight-lipped and beautiful, yet so real, and she says: “It’s not like I wasn’t going to come in either way. I have to see what you’re made of, Dongyoung.”

“Of talent.” He replies just as he walks behind her, the door shutting off at the same time that she replies to him.

“And much more.”

###

Fifteen minutes, thirty-seven seconds, read on an ignited sign that is not normally there on that building, but it’s there for everyone to see from nearby. Restaurants, parties, houses, all celebrating the start of a new year alike, with hope and need of a new start…or fearing what that may include, who knows.

Most of her friends are guys—it comes with the fact that she may have grown up while being in the soccer team, or perhaps because most of her female friends made plans for New Years, and did not procrastinate until the last minute left her alone, away from her family and definitely trying to make-do with what she has. Drinks sit on the table in front of them, the dark colored surface welcoming the perspiration of the shots. Taeyong, who has downed his sixth beer since he got to the restaurant, now lays his head on her shoulder with reddened cheeks and messy gray strands falling on his forehead, though the smile on his face doesn’t leave him, no matter how nauseous he is.

Sicheng clicks his tongue from his own side of the table, taking a sip of his piña colada with his excellent alcohol intake. After all, he doesn’t down his drinks in one go. “I told you not to let him drink them all in one go.” He spares one look her way, the only person by Taeyong’s side, since Kun is too busy fighting his girlfriend over the phone, and Johnny has, since then, gone straight towards a stranger woman’s arms to get his New Years Eve kiss.  He doesn’t give that much importance to it, apparently.

Kun continues typing on the phone, with one hand alone, and the furrow of his brows tells her that he is probably having another one of those arguments about going out with his friends. Something about Johnny just doesn’t sit well with Kun’s girlfriend, and it feels absolutely annoying. It’s not like Johnny would incite Kun to cheat, after all. Or maybe, she’s jealous about the fact that she’s with them? Meaning, a female? “Taeyong,” He swats his hand in the air to capture the man’s attention. “Stay up for a little bit longer, let’s celebrate the New Year, and then I’ll take you back home.”

“I—I’m okay!” Taeyong cheers from his spot, rubbing his cheek against her uncovered shoulder, the pink fabric of her shirt would have otherwise been stained by what she considers must be drool on her skin. “I…uh…I just want to throw up, okay? I need to—” His words are cut off by a gag, and her motions are far too rapid, reaching for the bucket by Taeyong’s seat that had once been filled with beers and ice, but may now be filled with Taeyong’s vomit. The action is quick enough to get the bucket to his mouth, emptying his stomach in one go, but the gasp that comes from Sicheng doesn’t mean good business.

Kun’s eyes are widened by the time she takes a seat again, working on taking off his blazer with quick motions as he shakes his head. “Oh no, oh no, oh no—”

“Wait, what?” She asks by the time Kun puts his hands on each side of her waist, wrapping the red blazer around her body with ease before covering his face with his hands. “What? Why are you covering me with your blazer?”

“I just saw your ass, oh my fucking God!”

“My…ass?” Her voice tries to comprehend the situation she is in. Rewind. Taeyong was throwing up, or on the verge of throwing up, meaning she had reached for the bucket and leaned down over his body to get to it. The pants she is wearing are the tightest she has worn—a gift from April that she couldn’t quite miss, and according to Johnny, the reason as to why she is going to get the attention of the world just by wearing them. Her legs looked nice, and she had paired it with an off-the-shoulder pink top that she hadn’t worn in years. That much she knows. Though, she doesn’t know why Kun would look at her ass. “…Okay, you checked out my ass? That’s what you’re saying?”

“No!” Even through the pink and red lights of the dim restaurant she can make out the blush on his features, only more noticeable with his brown hair sleeked and pushed back.

“Kun!” Annoyance fills her tone this time around. “Can you just be clear for once?!”

Kun is not the clearest of men—someone of action? Yes, but not quite the frankest of people. Sicheng, however, prides on his silence and even more on his short-coming answers. “You ripped your pants and I am sure anyone close enough can see your ass.”

Oh no.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

“Whose ass is out?” Taeyong asks softly, eyes widened as innocence overtakes his features, almost like he is offended at those words. She stands up from her spot then, looking around to see any pairs of eyes lingering on her. None at the moment, and whoever did notice has done a good job at hiding it.

“Mine.” She whispers, humming out as she tightens her hold around Kun’s blazer. “But I can’t keep this, Kun.”

“Why not?” Kun asks, playing with the collar of his black button down before she raises an eyebrow.

“You’re arguing with your girlfriend. It’s only a matter of time until she decides to come here, and if she sees me with your blazer around my hips, she’s going to think—”

“Oh,” The brown-haired male shakes his head. “She’d lose it.”

“I didn’t bring a jacket with me.” Sicheng replies, tugging at the fabric of his white sweater before looking over at Taeyong. “Did you bring a coat, Yong?”

Taeyong finally lets go of the bucket in between his hands, sighing deeply while he shakes his head. “It didn’t go with my outfit.” And he’s right, the shirt he is sporting is wild enough with its pattern for it to be paired up with a coat. “What about J—Johnny?”

“We won’t find him here.” Her eyes scan the seas of people, those who are eating, those dancing, and those drinking. They are all bundling together, enough for her to lose the tall friend that must be somewhere in there, making out with a stranger. Life is never easy for her, shit. “I’ll go to the bathroom and see if I find a way to fix it, don’t worry. I’m sure some girl will pass by and feel bad about me.”

She’s already tugging at Kun’s sleeve, pulling him up with her as he speaks. “But, there’s only seven minutes left on the clock.”

“I can’t receive the new year with a hole on my ass!”

“Well, your ass already has a hole, doesn’t it? Now you’ve got two.” Kun asks lowly, trying to ease the tension but only leaving her with a furrow of her brows and a scrunch of her nose. Making her way through the groups of people, she only spares Kun a glance when she unwraps the blazer from around her waist before placing both hands on her bottom. “I’ll try to find a pair of pants for you.”

“Don’t—Really, I’ll fix it. Just…wait for the countdown with the guys.” Opening the door while hiding her back, Kun is about to say something else before she pointedly threw a glance at him. The least she wants is Kun’s girlfriend somehow using her spider senses to smell her perfume on his blazer. People will be their own weird ways in the oddest of situations. “Okay?”

Kun calls out her name various times, drowned with the noise of the music and the door closing behind her.

Bathrooms are not normally a place she scans with precision. She is a woman of observation, but not quite a detail person to be exact. The white tiles remind her of a horror movie, but suddenly, her heart picks up with the realization of a numerous, turmoil-worthy matter. Urinals scatter around the walls, clearly not necessary in a women’s bathroom, but a clear indicator as to why Kun was calling out her name.

The mirror instructs her to look at the back of her black pants, the big slit leaving her butt-cheeks on display, as well as her white panties. Cursing internally, she closes her eyes tightly, sitting down on the counter in hopes of being alone. But something about the God of destiny suddenly playing with the timeline of her new year has one of the cubicle’s doors opening, the sound of someone flushing the bathroom accompanying the gasp that comes soon after.

Manly.

Yeah, that’s a man.

And she should really open her eyes, but what is she supposed to tell him?

Hey, dude, uh, my pants ripped, I accidentally got inside this bathroom and I really don’t know what to do…?

May I please have your pants?

Okay, no. That’s a real fucking red sign.

Her name is called in a deep vibrato, one that shakes her with the memories of the past month. Black tea. Stress. Dongyoung comes around with new designs for shoes, filling April’s wardrobe but never quite meeting her expectations. It’s more work for him, as well as more money, but she can’t quite go past that stage of respect towards one another as workers of April Lim.

When she opens her eyes, she curses herself for not liking the preppy ones. Really. What’s so fucking wrong with some tastelessness? It doesn’t always have to have clear spice for it to taste nice, right? For, Dongyoung is ready to steal the night with a few strands of his black hair resting on his forehead, the rest pushed back, straight eyebrows defined and almost reaching his hair-line with how far up they are in surprise. His dark eyes would be an enigma had he not been so confused, but his lips become the owners of his look, two triangles on his upper lip that invite her to get lost. Bermuda be damned when Kim Dongyoung has those soft, thin, yet appealing lips.

“What are you doing here?” Dongyoung asks, confused, though not once stepping back and it’s even worse to look at him from up close. A ‘v’ neckline black shirt rests under his black blazer, an elongated necklace with a key pendant resting just above his heart, and damn, maybe it’s the ounces of beer inside her body speaking, but what would she do just to have the key to that soul. Instead, her eyes trail down to his toned thighs under black pants. Pure and a sin, God will only know.

The truth is not something she tells often, but with Dongyoung, it’s difficult not to. “I ripped my pants because they’re too tight.” Those words don’t even digest well on him before he is chuckling, hiding his laughter behind his palm. “In my defense, though! I didn’t buy these pants. April insisted that they would make my ass look great, and now look at me!”

“I mean…it probably made your ass look great…because everyone looked at it.” Dongyoung conquers, crossing his arms over his chest before scoffing, never once stopping the laughter that creeps up on him. “You did that minutes before the new year?”

“You took a dump minutes before the new year?”

“No. I just don’t trust urinals,” Dongyoung states as if it’s a political stance. “And for a reason. Anyone could walk in and look at my penis. You would have looked at my penis had I not decided to lock myself in a cubicle and have my privacy.”

Releasing a sigh, she rests both her hands under her thighs, swinging her legs while seated on the counter. “True.” She answers, looking at him for the briefest of seconds, studying his expression before speaking up again. “Want to help me or do you have to rush to have your New Year’s kiss?”

“I don’t like having someone for the holidays.” Dongyoung replies with ease, taking off his jacket with ease before shaking it off harshly to get the wrinkles away from it. As if there are any, but Dongyoung details life as if it’s a puzzle game. “You get too attached, and then, it all falls down. I’d rather not lose my time.”

“Harsh.”

“Do you have someone?”

“You see, I wish I had someone.” She replies, watching as he extends his jacket towards her and she takes it with certain fingers. Their eyes don’t disconnect as she speaks. “But men are creatures that I can’t seem to understand.”

“How so?”

“They don’t…they never give me clear signs of anything, and I don’t like figuring things out. I can’t figure life out, let alone another person’s life.” She stands up then, her feet hitting the tiles obnoxiously and it is at this moment of rare innocence that she realizes her mistake. Behind her, a full-length mirror gives Dongyoung a sight of her ripped pants and her backside, and she doesn’t miss the way his eyes go down the slightest before looking up at the ceiling.

“Shit, sorry.” He replies, placing his hands over his eyes as a tinge of red takes over the tips of his ears. “I just looked at your ass.”

“Uh, ah, yeah…” She whispers, wrapping his jacket around her waist and somehow, feeling better with his than Kun’s. Maybe, it’s the fact that she can catch a glimpse of his arms that way. “Do I have to say you’re welcome?”

“Did I thank you?”

“You should.”

“Gosh, you surely know how to make someone awkward, don’t you?”

“Only you. I think you’re the only man I’ve managed to get to react like this.”

Dongyoung pulls his hands down by then, rolling his eyes at her antics. “Come on, you’re just saying that to say it.”

“I am not!” She argues, turning around to fix the last few bits of her makeup—or what she has left, better yet—and her hair. “You see, I don’t make the best choices with dating.”

“I mean, it’s clear.” Dongyoung replies. “If they don’t react to you…like…like you’re pretty, and real pretty at that, they’re just shitty men. Or not into you.”

“I think the latter.”

“But I’m sure there are a handful of men who would be interested in you.”

This time, she scoffs. Men are interested in whatever is easiest—and you see, maybe she is not the best match for the kind of men she likes. “Yeah, sure, because the hippie assistant of a cheating businesswoman who spends most of her days glued to that woman’s hip sounds like a real fucking wifey.”

Dongyoung takes the time to unhook one of her long earrings from her hair, shaking his head at her words. “You’re cute.” He says. “And I am not saying it in the sense that is just…beautiful. It’s in the sense of someone who just exudes that…that energy of having a purer sense of life. It’s refreshing to have someone in this world that doesn’t hate everyone and everything.”

“Because you do?” She speaks, voice barely audible before he chuckles.

“Because I hate everyone and everything.” He replies, looking over his shoulder before clearing his throat. “I really have to go back to my friends and get you out of here. Someone could come here anytime and think we were having a quickie.”

At the mere thought of Dongyoung’s hands pressed against her thighs, his hot breath fanning on her face, lips conjoined to hers, she has to talk to stop her mind from roaming. “Ah, yes, I’ll just get going.” She answers, though, something stops her before she gives her first step, taking the restaurant’s pen that is placed on a small cup on the corner of the counter, taking Dongyoung’s hand in between her fingers. “But…if you ever want me to stay, you can call this number.”

The red ink splays on his skin like people on the beaches while in summer, and it’s beautiful to see the contrast between their hands, the numbers, and what they aren’t. What they are, for one night, is the promise of ever talking again—and not only because of April Lim.

Because Kim Dongyoung may be the absolute opposite of what she would have imagined for her, but when he smiles—all gums, rainbows, sunshine, and much more, she thinks she can imagine him perfectly, wrapped around her finger, or maybe she would be wrapped around his.

“I’ll call someday.”

“Let’s hope you do.” She answers, tugging at the bow around her waist and tightening it before saying her goodbyes in a quick mumble.

When she rushes out the door, she sees the countdown. Only one more minute and a new year will start…

And maybe, this shoemaker will be part of it for her.

###

The glide of a bag of chips against his palms ends with the resounding noise of it falling onto his cart, a reminder that he shouldn’t be having those meals—but they damn right fit him for a lonesome Sunday night. With his hood pulled over his head and his night done a mess, Dongyoung’s mind wanders on the sea of what he lacks, thereof. No longer working on shoes for April Lim and having received the beautiful paycheck on December of last year, now February welcomes him with a tight schedule and an even tighter bank account. His pocket screams for something that isn’t coins, but what else can he do?

The grocery store has upbeat music even though it’s almost one in the morning, enough for Dongyoung’s fingertips to tap against the cans of beer in one of the refrigerators. He could, but he shouldn’t. Alcohol shouldn’t be a distraction for one of those times in which he has to lie to his mother—tell her that he is doing amazingly, that not a single meal has been skipped out of stress or because he didn’t just feel like eating. Mom believes him, but he doesn’t think he believes himself.

He takes out his phone to read one of the texts one of his closest friends had written him, the dark lock-screen welcoming his password before his eyes come in contact with a text from Doah.

Doah went to the university he always dreamt of—a friend from high school whose life has been doing great. A vocal trainer for one of the biggest companies in the country, nothing seems to go wrong for her. Sweet, tranquil, with her life as organized as the pins on her head whenever he sees her, a nineties baby over everything.

From: Nam Doah.

I have a bad feeling, Dongyoung.

Are you alright?

A bad feeling, a sense of the sixth voice in our heads that Dongyoung hasn’t heard in a while. If bad feelings really existed, he would’ve known not to put all his hopes in just one university only to end up as a shoemaker, right?

To: Nam Doah.

I’m fine.

Grocery shopping.

From: Nam Doah.

Okay.

Drive safely.

To: Nam Doah.

Always.

We’re still having beers with your husband next week, right?

From: Nam Doah.

Yep!

Are you bringing a plus one?

A plus one, he can’t think of someone even when he looks through his seas of contacts, thumb going up and down to find a name that relishes some kind of reaction out of him. Some are exes he has saved just in case they call him back, and he has to ignore them. Some are kisses he can’t recall. Some are simply not what he wants. Only when he comes across the certain name of an assistant does he stop, reminiscent of the last time he saw her on the male’s bathroom of the restaurant he spent the start of the new year in.

His mind vaguely remembers seeing her clinging to a group of guys from afar, his blazer tied around her waist and tightening the skin there. For a second, he wondered what it would feel like to wrap his arms around that waist and swing from side to side, leaning in to steal a kiss, perhaps his overexcited mind not helping him think straight. One of them was tall enough to have her bending by the waist the slightest, the face of someone who was probably the soccer team’s leader or something of the like. Very jock-esque, he’d say.

The other man that hugged her held his girlfriend’s hand as he did so, not once letting go of her. Then, came two people, the last one practically dragging her down with the weight of his drunken body, the scream he let out something along the lines of ‘happiest of new years!’. Dongyoung moved his face away then, and never saw her again.

But he has her number.

Maybe, the hum of a more tranquil song reminds him of her. The tea beside the refrigerators filled with alcoholic drinks reads out the same brand she enjoys, somber and black, but inviting enough for him to take the box and throw it inside his cart before moving along. He needs to get some steam and stress off, but his mind can’t stop worrying about the consequences of texting her. They’re not compatible, after all.

So entirely different, she lives her life thinking the clouds will give her the answers of her hardships and that everything falls into place eventually. Dongyoung is a pessimist, through and through, jealous of the sun that beams too brightly, or of the sky for being infinite. A date between the two could lead to nothing.

But opposites attract. It’s in the laws of physics, and that damned black tea must be a sign.

To: Nam Doah.

I’ll see if I can take someone.

From: Nam Doah.

Someone cute!

To: Nam Doah.

I always bring someone cute.

From: Nam Doah.

…

No comment!

The bravery that comes at one in the morning while being in a grocery store is surprising, tapping the text application beside her name to start working on a text. Dongyoung has many things to say—but something about the new year must not be it. He can’t ask about her pair of pants, neither can he a for his blazer back. Or, he could. Why not?

Just as he’s about to type a message, his screen is taken over by a new call, a number that he doesn’t recognize making him frown deeply. Who could be calling him at midnight?

Dongyoung has always been told that the world is too big for the population that it has, but why does it feel cramped in the worst of moments, as his lungs contract for one last breath and anxiousness overtakes him just as he takes the call?

“Hello?” His voice is soft, trying to distract himself by taking the utmost necessities for groceries. Tea and chips don’t sound like the best of meals, after all.

“Good night, am I talking to Mr. Kim Dongyoung?” The voice is professional, the old timbre of someone over her forties, and the tone alone has him swallowing thickly.

“Indeed.”

“Sorry for calling at such a time, but it was the only number we could find for Mrs. Kang Yuna…” The mention of Yuna’s name has images flashing before his eyes. Yuna interviewing him for the first time in her own store, when there were more people with them. The smile she’d always give him when trying to reassure him that everything was going to be okay with their jobs. Even this morning, when Dongyoung was complaining about the lack of employment in their own store, Yuna had been quick to shrug her shoulders and say it was going to be alright. A mother the entirety of her days and yet, able to take care of people around her. “I am deeply sorry to announce that Kang Yuna took part in a car accident early this night. We assume it was around eight, when she was going to pick up her daughter from her mother’s house. The car glided because of the old, worn out tires and her car…it rolled onto itself. It started turning—”

God, Dongyoung recalls exactly what Yuna was talking about this morning. His heart picks up when he imagines her playing with the strands of her red hair, speaking with glee about the gift that she had bought for her daughter—a new set of toys that she had been saving money for. She insisted on leaving her daughter at her mother’s, even if it was far away from the city, just to get enough time to buy the gift, wrap it up, and prepare it for her baby. “What happened to her?” His voice is rough, barely coming out as his fingertips become white at the pressure he puts on the handle of the cart.

“She had a traumatism, since she flew out of the car…basically. Sir—” His ears are unable to make out the next words, kneeling onto himself as he brings his free hand up to his face, the cold skin only freezing under his touch. The first tear falls down the moment the woman on the phone speaks again. “We’re talking from the hospital, and we were unable to communicate with her mother. Sadly, uh, she wasn’t alive when the ambulance got there.”

When you lose someone, it happens in the blink of an eye. You plan days ahead, think of them in your future, and for that, you never think of them as creatures that have an end, as stories that you can’t read forever. Yuna was with him in the morning, in the afternoon, had been with him every day for the past few years…and now, she was gone. Away from life just because she wanted to give her daughter a better life—a normal one, because of rules of life that seem incredibly unfair. Enough to finally steal the entirety of his breath away, knocking it out as tears continue falling.

“No…”

“We’d like for you to come. Maybe with Yuna’s family?”

But her daughter needs a mother, and Yuna’s mother needs a daughter. She was too young to end up like this—too ready to give her daughter exactly what the baby’s father never promised for her. If anyone deserved to die, Yuna wasn’t one of them. “Oh, fuck—”

“Sir, calm down.”

“I—I’ll call her mother…Please, tell me the address. Where can I find her?”

The hope he has is going to that hospital, only to see Yuna’s eyes wide open, her head patched up, and her lips engulfing one of those smiles that tell him that she got him. Like the jokes she played, and the ones he always hated. Yet, at the mention of the hospital and the dull silence that follows after he hangs up, he comes to the realization that if life is one thing—it’s fucking unfair. Vision dizzied by tears, Dongyoung can only press down in Yuna’s contact number, hearing the beeping that comes soon after, rhythmic, only to bid him farewell with a few last words…

“Hi, this is Yuna! I’m not available right now, but if you leave a message after the tone, I’ll get to you as soon as possible. Bye!”

The cheery tone has him closing his eyes tightly, because she won’t get back to him. Or anyone, for that matter.

Parting his lips to say a few last words as well, ones that he had never mentioned, he whispers: “I’m sorry for never saying how thankful I was to have you.”

And he won’t have her anymore.

###

Qian Kun is getting married to a snake. And sure, she likes snakes—the normal amount; if she sees one on the street, in between a set of deep green bushes, peacefully sticking their tongue out or just relaxing on the muddy flooring, she won’t mind about their existence. If they are creatures put in nature, they must exist for a reason. Though, those who are human beings and decide to let layers of snake-skin grow on their personalities don’t settle well with her. Kun may be an excellent elementary school teacher, but his level of intelligence has stopped in that level. His fiancé is not only a snake, but an ogre, one of those brides that will eat the groom’s head if the flowers are not the shade she wants.

Hence, it feels strange as she talks to Kun on the phone, weeks after he proposed to his girlfriend. Six weeks, maybe, she isn’t counting. The pavement welcomes her white sneakers, giving rhythm to her thoughts as the device rests against her ear, but no matter how close she puts it to her eardrums, the words from Kun’s lips still come out the same way.

“She wants you as one of her bridesmaids.”

Take it back to four years ago, when Kun started dating his current girlfriend, much younger and practically spending months just dating, just kissing, just hooking up, until she decided to give him an affirmative answer to the unspoken question of being serious with each other. Kun’s girlfriend, Lia, had almost lost her mind at the mention of a friend who is a girl. She remembers the call she had to pick up at the time, hearing Lia’s loud voice asking her to be honest—if Kun had ever slept with her, for the matter, or if they had even kissed.

Lia is enchanting, sure. It’s the kind of beauty that matches her short, brown hair, and her rounded glasses. Her turtlenecks match her chicly, and her beauty damn right translates into her intelligence. She’s serious, with the right amount of spice behind her dark eyes, but she is just downright…jealous.

“But, why?” Though, she is already moving with diligence, taking the free time she has for lunch to be able to work into finding the shoes that match the picture of the dress Lia had sent her way. It surprised her that the greeting before those texts had been paired with hearts in all colors, shapes, and ways. Maybe, Lia is just planning a way to poison her in her own wedding. “Listen, I know she doesn’t hate me, and I don’t hate her…but she has always been a bit iffy about our friendship.”

Kun sighs deeply. “She has grown out of that.”

“Kun?”

“What?”

“Don’t lie to yourself.” She comments, returning the greeting to one of the old men that pass her by while trotting. Health must be at its peak this time of the year; February is still early for the goals that people put up on a pedestal for their new year. “Listen, I get her. You’re a handsome guy, and I’m sure you have at least three bitches behind you asking for your number or your attention…but me? You’re as spicy as tofu for me.”

“Reason as to why she trusts you now, and she likes you!” Kun argues, the sound of kids speaking in the background cut short when he closes the door behind him. “And she would love it if you went with her when she tries on dresses and stuff.”

“I’m afraid of bridezillas.”

“You’ll be one someday.”

“Ha!” She answers, turning on the corner to go to Yuna’s shoe store. “If I ever get married. I think Johnny has more opportunities of settling down, and he’s the King of Players, than me.”

“Time knows what it is doing.” Kun replies quickly, though the subject return to its normal course soon enough. “So, I count with you for the bridesmaid thing, right?”

“Yeah, I’m on the way to buying some shoes because I don’t have high heels for being a bridesmaid, or ones that match that dress, so…”

“Okay, I have to go teach the new generation of little people. Talk to you later, alright? And thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Bye, Kun.”

“Bye.”

Trouble follows after her steps as the rain falls down on the length of her pink maxi skirt, dragging the fabric down through the pavement and cringing at the wet feeling of her clothes after forgetting her umbrella at home. Rushing through the streets brings her to the front of the shoe store, the walls of the building becoming duller under the gray skies. It may be a sign of just how stupid it is to be Lia’s bridesmaid, but she does it for Kun.

The strands of her hair cling to her face when she tries to open the glassed doors of the store, only to have her chest pushing against the surface, a line of mud resting in between her breasts. The groan that rips from her throat is loud enough to have her stumbling back the slightest, looking up at the building in hopes of finding some big sign that reads ‘closed’. Normally, whenever she passes by the store, it’s open continuously.

One of the windows is opened, the railing doing nothing to conceal the man that is seated by the edge, hand extending forward to catch the droplets of rain in between his fingers—as if it would do something to wipe the clear tears on his reddened eyes. Dongyoung’s hair stands in various spots, though it remains as dark as the somberness on his eyelids—as if he hasn’t slept in days. A black sweater rests on his body comfortably, but the part of his lips lets her know that he hasn’t breathed comfortably in a while.

“Dongyoung!” She calls out, hand waving in the air to capture his attention. It works; his brown eyes trailing down until he meets up with her gaze. The last time she saw him was two months ago, when giving him her number had seemed like a good idea—though, she’s even surer now. “Dongyoung! Hey!”

The back of the sleeves of his sweater meet the raindrops that don’t come from the sky—the tears that capture his existence, that move him into everything that he is against of. Feeling this hard, for example. “H—Hi…how have you been?”

“Hey, is everything alright?” She asks, though the question is stupid. Of course, crying under the rain while looking out the window isn’t alright.

“Yeah!” Dongyoung breathes out, a small smile appearing over his face that doesn’t feel genuine at all. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

She lets her hands fall on each side of her body, the smack collecting some droplets of water and making them jump dramatically. “Well, this is me here.”

This is her here, saying sorry about something that she doesn’t quite know of—because she wishes that those tears would dry with the soft gush of wind that follows the smile that he gives her. “Does April need some shoes?”

“Actually, I need some shoes.” She tells him, though, when she gives one step forward, she sighs. “But I need to know why you’re crying even more.”

“I got a thing in my eye. Don’t worry.”

“Dongyoung, I swear I’ll climb these walls to get there and get the answer out of you.”

“It’s—” His voice cuts off, different from the night of December—almost January—in which they met, though the sound is continued by the sound of keys, hitting the pavement with a swish of water. “Use the third key and we’ll meet on the main desk. We have to work on your shoes.”

Her heartbeat rumbles hard enough for her to feel it inside her ears when the glass doors open, the dull shoe store unlike any of the times she had seen it before. The scars of Dongyoung bleed in the place in ways one would never imagine could happen in a workplace—pictures scattered across the main desk that he is not fast enough to cover up, each one showing new phases of Kim Dongyoung and his boss, Yuna, the one she had talked to over the phone before getting to know the shoe store on its own. The shadows of her coexist in this place, making the lack of her noticeable when the last set of stairs creaks under the weight of Dongyoung’s shoes.

He comes back to life in a way no one would expect him, shielding himself with his hands extended on top of his arms, his cheeks hollowed with the memory of his tears—perhaps, not eating as much as he should, or as frequently as it’s needed. His eyes stare forward, the breath he gives trying to recompose himself, put a shield of him up that makes him look more like a man. Like the man people like Dongyoung are pushed to be, but that wall doesn’t do enough to cover up what brings him down.

“Dongyoung…” She whispers his name softly, splaying her hand on top of one of the pictures. Dongyoung and Yuna are standing in front of a fountain, a little girl seated on Yuna’s lap and Dongyoung’s index finger taking by said baby in between her palm. Life seems good in that picture. “Where’s your boss…Yuna?”

The man rests his forehead against the woodened walls as his lip remains stuck in between his teeth. A war crosses his head when he says: “Six feet under because of a car accident that shouldn’t have happened. That’s where she is.”

Sometimes, she likes to believe no matter how bad our days are…the ones that have the littlest bit of happiness become the best days of our lives. We don’t realize it—finding that one that is too outstanding to be real, but being able to wake up healthy and with those whom we love equally as well should be enough, and it is. Her hands extend without noticing, capturing the spot over his shoulders as his hands splay on her waist, tugging her closer, enough for his arms to wrap around the skin there, encaging her as a shaking breath left his lips. Dongyoung is on the verge of breaking down again, and she can only hope he does.

Because that’s what people like him should learn—that feeling in passion, with enough power to bleed and let it hurt, is the cycle of life and a damn good one at that. Heartbreak should be felt, because it always happens that something goes wrong, someone leaves, whether we like it or not, whether they meant to or not. It’s what we’re ordered to suffer through by life, and Dongyoung just so happened to try to be the stronger person, when he’s already strong enough.

“Dongyoung, I’m so sorry…” She breathes out, her fingers raking through his soft hair, not finding the right answer to tell him. Maybe, they were really close—shit, those pictures show just how close they had been. “It’s not your fault.”

“It’s life’s fault.” He says. “If only she hadn’t insisted on buying those toys for her daughter. If—If only the man that got her pregnant was enough of a man and took care of both of them, they wouldn’t have had to go through this!” His voice is much too fast, like a boat that can’t stop moving, going through the waves that clash against the one soaring with it. Dongyoung’s face becomes the only sight she wants to see when she pulls away from him, absentmindedly rubbing the tears away as if they were cream gliding across his skin. “…And I was enough of a dick to never tell her how much I care about her. How good of a friend she was to me…”

“I’m sure she knew.” She replies, though the knows the words do nothing for him. Perhaps, her hopes are too high as their chests remain close, eye to eye, heart to hear. “Write her a letter. I’m sure she’ll read it, wherever she is.”

That brings a smile up Dongyoung’s face, shaking his head in the process. “That’s bullshit. She’s dead, she can’t read anything.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

“Believing that they still see us is the only way you’ll ever feel better.” She replies, grasping the heart pendant that rests in between her collarbones, turning around on his hands and moving her damp hair away from her nape. “Help me take this necklace off.”

His hands work on it just as he asks: “Why, though?”

She turns around when the necklace falls in between her fingertips with ease, opening the heart pendant to show him the slice of a piece of paper that she kept inside. “Whenever I write a letter to someone I’ve lost, I take a small piece and put it inside. It reminds me I still have them with me.”

Suddenly, when she looks up, she feels Dongyoung’s eyes already on her, studying her expression, his eyes as red as the tip of his ears. He chuckles for a second, the first sound that she feels happy of hearing ever since she got there. “I don’t think that’s something I can quite believe in.”

“Well, you can do plenty of things with a necklace, too—” She replies, bringing the necklace up her palm, the pendant facing the middle of her hand, easily capturing his attention. “There’s this thing I learnt when I was a kid, if you let the pendant just…move to its will, it’ll show the number of children you’ll have. I think…I think if it’s a circle, it’s a girl. If it draws a line, it’s a boy.”

Amusement overtakes his features as he takes the necklace in between his hands, stopping the ministrations. “That’s the wind.”

“That’s the kind of things we have to believe in, Dongyoung.”

“Of course not! How would a necklace know how many children you’ll have?”

“I don’t know! That’s a thing, Dongyoung, not knowing and still trusting things!”

The excitement on her tone must have gotten him to bring a smile up his features, letting go of the necklace to talk to her instead. “I won’t do that, but I can work on a pair of shoes for you. After all, I haven’t had clients in a while.”

She bawls her hands to grab her dangling necklace, looking for her—hopefully dry—phone inside her bag, looking for her conversation with Lia and showing the picture of the extremely blue bridesmaid dress. “I’m a bridesmaid, and I think the topic is something like water…ocean…I don’t know, it’s by the ocean, that I do know, and I need a good pair of shoes.”

“I think I can make some for you, and I’ll give you a discount for being…” Dongyoung stops looking at the screen to trail his eyes over her face. “You.”

“It’s not necessary. I’ll pay you completely.”

“I insist.”

“No need to insist.”

“Are you always this stubborn?”

“Only sometimes.” The answer comes quickly from her lips, looking down at her phone with widened eyes before sighing. “Can you take my shoe size and actually text me about this after? I need to go back to my job soon…but I don’t want to leave quite yet.”

She wishes she could stay with him—heal those waterfalls and mend them with a hug, but staying would mean potentially losing her job. April is a nice person in most occasions, but leave her hanging for one minute and she’ll lose it. “Right…now I have an excuse to text you, don’t I?”

“You do,” She says. “And now we have an excuse to talk about how much we agree on disagreeing.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

Though, as she watches Dongyoung work quickly on a design for her, fingertips holding his pencil as if it belonged to his hands, she realizes that there is so much more in him that aches only to go unnoticed by people. Words that remain silent. Worlds that he doesn’t let anyone discover. Rarity overcomes her when she makes it a plan to get to know the parts of him that embarrass him, but that only make him more human to her. And she will.

###

Ink stained pages rest beside the first shoe he had worked on since Yuna’s death, the light bulb on top of him asking for mercy at this ungodly hour of the night. Dongyoung has been unable to go home lately—not because of the waves of jobs, because that’s far from the case, but rather because there is something holding him back. The need to revive this place, as if it would bring his friend back, drives him to work more hours than necessary. Or maybe, it is the person that had given him the hopes of getting better, trusting his process for her shoe-wear at some grand event such as a wedding.

Pain kisses his neck, leaves him implanted in front of the desk as the joints of his fingers extend at the mere stress of working there for so long. His phone rests beside his workplace, plugged in so he doesn’t forget to charge it, and calling out his name with the irony of it all. In the only few moments he had taken for himself, just to rest the long hours of working, he could only think about her. The obnoxious innocence that invades her and makes her so herself. Most of the time, he wants to scoff—he needs to not to feel enchanted by how different they are. A pendant he finds hangs in between his hands, until he tests exactly what she says, and it comes up with different answers.

Two children first.

Then three.

Then possibly five.

And sure, he’s a young man but he’s sure he won’t have that many children. Two, at maximum.

How many would she want?

Dongyoung throws his head back, sighing at the crack of his neck and closing his eyes tightly out of tiredness. He still needs to work on the pair of the high heel he had just finished, in a perfect white shade with straps that cross elegantly over the foot, the density of the shoe nice enough for her to dance the night away and not feel pain at any moment. He doesn’t know why, but he takes her as the type that buzzes around in parties—imparting those slices of happiness of hers like lemonade on a summer evening.

And he really needs to stop thinking of her as charming.

But, she is. The kind of physically charming that would have any of his friends nodding at him to just go for it, but also what he thinks of her goes past her physical appearance. There is something about her—naivety, maybe, or the profoundness of knowing and seeing more than most people. It is as though the world is a book for her, and she doesn’t think about the ending. She enjoys every page as if it’s the last, and it may be. In this book that we have written, alongside one another, everyone moves at their own pace. How do we know which one is the past, the present, the future? Whose characters are bad, whose are good?

From: Kim Dongyoung.

Is it too late to text something?

Hi.

How are you?

When he looks at the time on his phone, he realizes it’s nine at night. Everyone around their age is fast awake at this hour, right?

To: Kim Dongyoung.

I’m organizing some dinner for April and her boyfriend.

From: Kim Dongyoung.

Is she still dating the baseball player guy?

To: Kim Dongyoung.

Yep.

Why?

Interested on a date with her, still?

Nice tastes you’ve got there, bro.

He bites down on his lip. In any other occasion, he would’ve said yes. April Lim is the conceptualization of what most people want, but it’s not what he wants anymore.

From: Kim Dongyoung.

I think I want a date with someone else.

Shit, make it more casual, he thinks.

From: Kim Dongyoung.

Haha.

That has to do it. Casual as ever.

It takes her a few minutes to answer, though he can already imagine the smile plastered on her face.

To: Kim Dongyoung.

Ooh, has someone managed to capture your attention?

I wonder who it is…

From: Kim Dongyoung.

I think you know.

To: Kim Dongyoung.

Do I?

From: Kim Dongyoung.

Yep.

To: Kim Dongyoung.

She must be real pretty.

From: Kim Dongyoung.

She is.

What are you doing on Saturday?

To: Kim Dongyoung.

Isn’t the girl you have in mind going to get jealous?

From: Kim Dongyoung.

I don’t know, are you the jealous type?

With his hand trailing over his neck, a smile plastered on his face, Dongyoung finally decides that he is not going to waste another opportunity in his life. If he wants to do something or say something, he will; tongue sharp, heart on his sleeve, ready to take over the world, not for the world to take over him.

Embarrassment embarks him with the number of laughing emojis she sends soon after, laughing at his words and antics. In a little golden-bathed room, on the verge of bankruptcy, having another chance at life because not a lot of people get to do that.

To: Kim Dongyoung.

Not really.

From: Kim Dongyoung.

Then, the girl I plan on going in a date with isn’t jealous.

To: Kim Dongyoung.

There’s a music festival on Saturday.

My friends invited me to go and I would love it if you tagged along.

Great music, you know.

And we can get to know each other better.

 Music is part of him, but the bitter part—the one that is scared because his North has long disappeared from the picture, lost and not found, but for some reason, going with her doesn’t sound so bad. A melody appears inside his head, creating a song for the first time in a while out of the image of her, the tune of her voice, and her mere existence.

From: Kim Dongyoung.

We’ll see each other there.

Send me the details.

Taking the finished high-heel in between his hands, he inspects it with conscience. If the shoe fits, then, he may find someone whose differences with him only complement portions of him he had never gotten to know, too lost in his bitterness—too afraid of living a life that had not been the one he wanted.

Yet, it was the one that destiny decided for him and it was only up to him to shape it to what he wanted.

###

The band on the stage has the crowd going crazy in cheers, beers and cigarettes butts thrown on the floor, equally as intoxicated as the group’s names (erm, Dongyoung doesn’t even know why they would call it this way, but that’s the band name—The Intoxicated). Meanwhile, he sits on the far back, seated on a plaid fabric that folds over the mere weight of him and his date. The rays of sunshine fall on his eyes uncomfortably, not quite as prepared as his companion—an expert in music festivals—with some rounded glasses a la John Lennon seated on the bridge of her nose, a white blouse with only one button put together, the rest leaving her chest in display, a bralette underneath in a beige color, a pair of ripped jeans barely cladding her legs, halfway folded on top of his lap. Her head nods along to the music, enjoying it to the best of her capabilities.

People like her do not live carelessly, but they quite feel like they do. Instead, her mind becomes a sea that he hasn’t travelled—one of the many things he doesn’t understand about her, but he can’t bring himself to resolve the mysteries of her. Though, he tries to reach for her heart, thumb rubbing the top of her soft hands, feeling the bones there stand out the slightest, and if her eyes widened at the action, he doesn’t even notice behind those sunglasses.

Dongyoung turns to look at her just to memorize the small smile that appears on her face, the way she grabs his hand and rests it on her warm thigh, placing her own palm on top of his. The thin layer of pink lipstick that he got a sight of early in the evening has left the image, now implanting thoughts of what it would be like to taste her lips—bathed in the tiniest bit of soda, and perhaps, ready to taste a drink in the near future. He hopes the drink comes directly from him in the shape of a kiss.

There are people who make everyone fall in love with them with a smile, a shrug of her shoulders and a tilt to her head that has him pulling himself closer to her. “Loosen up a bit, Dongyoung. You’re a great singer, you should be shouting along to the lyrics.” Her hands reach for his snapback, moving it back until she can get a good glimpse of his face, studying his lips for a second before biting her own. Tension.

“I don’t know the lyrics, that’s the thing. I’ve never heard this song.”

“Then, just pretend you’re singing along.” She answers, running her fingertips along his neck and collarbones, burning in drips of rain—in droplets of her that feel like they may kill him at that moment. She chuckles again. “You know, in my head, I like to call you class president, because you’re extra uptight.”

Memories of high school embark him on a trip that has him shaking his head. The past is there, but he’s unable to change it. “I was class president. Is there anything wrong with that?”

“No,” The words escape her quickly, her fingers dancing away from him before humming. “I actually had a thing for the class president back when I was in high school.”

“Did you date?” Dongyoung asks, splaying his hand on her skin, as if that somehow makes him feel more of her. It’s never enough of her.

Instead, she looks forward, taking off her sunglasses and absentmindedly placing them on his face. They do shield him from the harsh sun, but just as he’s about to refuse wearing them, she speaks up: “Not really. I always thought I’d never fit a good-and-perfect guy.”

“What? Why? Who thinks like that?” The questions roll around his head as an ignition to their conversation, and she laughs.

“Dongyoung, I liked trouble. Guys who ignored me, guys who think they’re going to be the last man I love, those who smoked a cigarette and passed the smoke down to me.” The image fits her, somehow, as if it’s the kind of person that should be there instead of him. “…But I’m tired of that. I don’t need sex before breakfast and good music, I need an actual man. A conversation that doesn’t feel like they think exactly like me.”

“You deserve more than whatever asshole you’re describing.”

“I do.” Her eyes roam over his features, leaning forward until they are face to face, but before she could part her lips to say something else, set him free with a few words that keep him tied to her, they hear the sound of someone calling her name, along with Dongyoung’s.

Earlier on the evening, Dongyoung had been introduced to the tall man in front of them, his white t-shirt long gone and now displaying the tattoos on his chest, his arms, perhaps even down to his legs. A cigarette rests in between his lips, his long blonde hair different from the hairstyle he had seen on the New Year’s party he had seen him in the night she ripped her pants. Johnny Seo, he had said he was before he had fleeted away to talk to a bunch of people, perhaps just to leave them alone, or only because he wanted to socialize.

The man brings a cigarette up to his lips, taking one out of his pocket before extending his hand and offering it to him. “Come on dude, it’s a music festival, have one.”

The first time he tried a cigarette, he was in high school…and he can’t say one thing: it tastes like paper, smoke, and something of the lines of shit all in one thing. Not exaggerated at all, he doesn’t even wonder why people like it. Horrid. “Nah, man, I’ll pass.”

Johnny lifts his eyebrows at his friend, chuckling at his words. “You’ve got a serious one right here.”

“Ain’t he charming?” She asks, wrapping both arms around his shoulders and looking at him with a smile on her face that he could get used to, as if it’s early in the morning and she has just woken him with a kiss. The cutest face that had gone through a bunch of shit that he wants to get to know, write a future out of the past she wouldn’t want to remember when around him. No regrets out of this.

“He is!” Johnny replies, blowing the air from his cigarette before pointing with his thumb behind him. “If you need me, I’m going to be backstage. I’m going to meet one of the singers because of a girl I dated.”

“That’s okay.” She says, watching her friend retreat before speaking loudly. “Get me a signature of whoever that is, John!”

“Okay!”

When she turns back to him, a big smile on her face, though he can’t stop himself from saying: “Have I ever told you I really love your smile?”

It’s the kind of smile they should share as perfect on social media, not too bright, not too straight, just simply real. With one hand coming up to cover her mouth, Dongyoung takes it in between his fingers, pressing a kiss to her knuckles when she speaks up. “It’s the thing I’m the most insecure about.”

His arms take solace in her waist, bringing their chests closer until he can feel the rhythm of her heart, and it’s quicker than whatever shitty drummer on the stage. “Well, let me be here long enough and I’ll make it the thing you’re the most comfortable with.”

“A lot of promises, Dongyoung.”

“I don’t make promises.” He says. “I’m just stating the truth.”

When the Milky Way meets moonlight and the music changes to something he enjoys more, Dongyoung finally lets go a bit. His snapback now rests on her head, his arms wrapped around her waist from behind as they swing to the sound of the music, both shouting the lyrics to the top of their lungs, the buttons of her shirt undone as she looks over her shoulder and gives her a beam that shouldn’t even be covered. Every portion of her speaks about living, feeling, raw and without fear of hurting, even if that’s how most stories end.

How he hopes theirs don’t.

The stars contrast on the sunglasses that now hang from his shirt, her cheek practically resting on his shoulder from the position, the faint smell of soda still lingering within her, arms intertwined behind his head, fingers raking through his hair absentmindedly. “You’ve got some fun in you, baby.”

“I do.” Dongyoung replies, biting his lip before trailing his hands up her waist, his fingertips trying to remember the feeling of the soft fabric that covers her skin, going up her sides until he reaches her arms, turning her around to rest his hands on her hips. “Something about you just makes me want to let go for once.”

It’s April, and Dongyoung is not thinking about what he is saying for once. “Why? Don’t I make you scared?”

“Not at all.” The words escape him with ease, water and alcohol falling from the skies, a few droplets falling on them, the people cheering too loudly and the two of them too far back to even be able to catch a glimpse of the singer. He doesn’t care. “You make me want to try.”

“Try what?”

“A chance at life.”

Her smile only grows wider when she leans forward, pressing her lips to his briefly, almost as if she’s tasting him, pulling away with a glint on her eyes that has him pushing himself forward, not an ounce of liquid courage inside of him when he parts his lips and tightens his hold around her hips. Her hands come towards his neck, thumb tracing his jugular as their lips part rhythmically, not perfectly, but synchronized in a way that they would only understand. Her upper lip tastes like soda and candy, exactly like what he would have never imagined, but too dulcet for him to forget, pushing his body forward until hers molds to his like puzzle pieces.

Abdomen contracting, hands wanting more of her, lips asking for another breath as his nose exhales to keep kissing her, head tilting to the side to take more of her, to let her kill him with one of those ways that she knows of. When he pulls away, his eyes take in the image of her, of the smile that takes over her features when she hides her face on his shoulder, barely letting a kiss rest on his neck before chuckling loudly.

He could get used to living like this.

###

Lying becomes more difficult when she has to do it straight to someone’s face.

Not only are we made out of bones, muscles, joints, arteries, veins, but we are also made out of our disappointments. The words we said once when we were teens and how they haunt us. That one class we took that we were really bad at. The relationships we tried and didn’t even last a week. The people we trust and never quite met out expectations. Eyes only twinkle in sadness when met with disappointment, and the downward shape of someone’s lips comes with the sadness that embarks them. It’s the cycle of relationships, how we’re trained to be—to hurt someone, and make them ache in the process. Not all of us, but most.

Seated on the flooring of April’s wardrobe, waiting for the woman to arrive, she watches the door open with expertise, though a bit uncertainly. Peaking from behind the door, she sees the face of April’s boyfriend, Minho, appear in her line of sight. Even when the door is not completely opened, she can see the bouquet of red roses that does not match the disappointment on his face. Minho finally lets go of the handle and shows him on his baseball practice clothing, though sporting his heart on his sleeve.

“April isn’t here?”

She knows where April is. In some hotel downtown with a singer that Dongyoung adores, whose high notes are enough to make people believe he is an angel and doesn’t hunt for taken women. That’s how life is, that’s how people move. Made to break, bend, turn life into messes just for their own pleasure. She always thought that she had to let it be—let the pain live inside her and the people around her, for it was inevitable. Lies are meant to be told. Trees are meant to pass by the racing cars that try to look for a future.

We are meant to hurt.

But we aren’t.

We are meant to feel, just not pain all the time.

She stands up then, looking at the set of shoes that she doesn’t even wear anymore—those that Dongyoung had designed, created and crafted months ago, before their dates, before she had kissed him more than she had kissed any man without being a couple, and she realizes just how much April has turned her into a shell of herself. Life got turned into a lie for her, dragging the sins she had not committed, a Lego piece under her feet as she tried to find something better for her.

And everyone deserves something better.

“I can tell you the hotel she is in, but I doubt you want to go.” She whispers, placing her hands inside the pockets of her jeans before watching Minho’s face with intent. It falls completely, just like the bouquet of flowers that pathetically takes place on the floor with a thud. “She’s been cheating on you for the last year, Minho.”

“No fucking way…” Minho breathes out, resting his hand on top of his forehead, and when she sees the heartbreak in his eyes, she decides that she is more than this. More than being just an assistant, more than helping someone lie, more than helping someone get fifty pair of shoes only not to wear them at all. Some people just aren’t people at all, but parasites instead. “Are you lying?”

“Not right now, but each time you asked where she was over the phone…I was lying to you.” She answers, shrugging her shoulders soon after before moving closer to him. “I’m deeply sorry.”

“That bitch—”

“She’s one.” She says, taking out her phone at that moment, aware that the mansion she finds herself in is not the place she should be in. She would much rather live in solitude but being honest to herself, getting little to no money but still, not having to cover up for someone who wouldn’t do the same for her. Just as the screen illuminates her face, she looks at Minho over her shoulder. The white walls of the wardrobe, the tall mirrors that clad almost every spot, and the perfectly organized clothes make him look like an outcast, and she realizes that she doesn’t take place in this life anymore. “If you’re staying, tell her that she doesn’t have an assistant anymore. I’m done with lying.”

The tapping of her shoes, not high-heels, against the tiles makes her feel powerful. It’s the first chapter of a story she hasn’t written, but it’s definitely far more worthy than making people ache and bend to the will of others. It feels natural, for there must be something else in this world than just being someone’s shadow.

To: Kim Dongyoung.

You gotta invite me to dinner now.

I’m officially unemployed.

The man replies just as she is walking out of the mansion, passing by April’s sports cars.

From: Kim Dongyoung.

No shit.

You’re finally free.

The air feels a bit purer as she breathes in, watching the night unfold in front of her as she waits for a taxi.

She’s finally free.

###

Sweat tinges at Kun’s hairline, but the smile on his face comes directly out of a magazine. Be damned immaculate models when you can have happiness in the form of love. People easily judge—hell, she is one of them, for she had never stopped once to think about why Kun tried so hard with Lia, and why he wanted to marry her during the summer. The grin she shares with him seems to separate them for the world, tonguing the words of the song that plays in the background directly to him, not because the party is straight out of a daydream, but because this is her daydream with him. Kun was someone Lia didn’t want to lose, and in her own way, she was just being human.

The garden Kun had saved money for comes relatively close to perfection. Only that the children plucking out some flowers at the corner of the event are not the most likeable in this scene. Everyone has cups on their hands, if not, they’re exchanging the dulcet champagne for something far more sober. A man with a long beard makes sure that the waiters serve in an order, taking into consideration everyone’s allergies or preferences. Kun and Lia had really thought the event through.

When she crosses one leg over the other, she pulls the yellow bridesmaid dress up her legs, not caring if people look at her weirdly, but she simply has to spare a glance to the white shoes that wrap around her feet like a vice. People never care about shoes, but she does—it’s a help to move forward and these ones are extremely comfortable. Not that she had been able to pay Dongyoung with more than a few kisses and a few turns in his arms, but one day, she hopefully will. When her job at the library makes her save enough money, after all.

Dongyoung always said she’d fit philosophy, and he wasn’t half wrong.

Winter and spring be forgotten when she feels the warmth of the summer that is him, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind like he normally does, his chin resting against her shoulder. When she looks at Dongyoung, she catches him already looking at her, his black hair pushed back and showing a smile she can’t get used to—too beautiful in its own way, matching hers that doesn’t make her quite as insecure as it did before. People grow, or so they say.

“They’re gonna throw the bouquet soon,” Dongyoung says, and though the words remain unspoken, she knows there is something between them. Something serious, a concept too foreign for people like them. “Do you want to stand there and see?”

“I doubt you believe in those things.” She says, feeling the expanse of his chest when she leans back, a smile on her face that can’t be erased in any possible way. Dongyoung nods along to her words.

“I don’t, but I know someone who probably does.”

“I don’t think I have a boyfriend to get married to.” The joke doesn’t work well with him, the tips of his ears reddening at the connotation of her words.

“Well, I do think you have a boyfriend, or have all these months not meant a thing—?”

“I’m joking.” She replies, though she only sighs, placing a brief kiss to his lips that she still doesn’t get used to. Sometimes, if she spends long enough without kissing him, she swears she can forget the taste of him and aches for a memory. “…I’m too lazy to stand up. I think I’ve had too many snacks since the party started.”

“Okay.” Dongyoung, or her boyfriend as he called himself, places a brief kiss to her neck before looking ahead. Lia has stepped away from Kun’s hold to have the masses of women going crazy behind her, jumping up and down and pushing each other. “Damn, people really go crazy over this.”

“Welcome to weddings. This always happens.”

Though, when the bouquet of flowers flies in the air, it almost feels like it happens in slow motion. She turns around to look at Dongyoung, first focusing on his thin lips, his delicate nose, his cat-like eyes before she watches his hand extending to capture something flying in the air. His expression fills itself with surprise, for he had caught the bouquet, and laughter creeps up on the invitees.

Dongyoung’s face is crimson red by the time he says: “Ah, uh…I didn’t mean to.”

All his teeth show in an uncomfortable smile as people call his name, but instead, she shrugs her shoulders. “It doesn’t mean a thing.”

“Since when did you stop believing in these things?�� Dongyoung asks, putting the bouquet in between their bodies as a sign. Instead, she grins widely.

“Since my reality became better than my daydreams.”

And a bouquet that indicates the future can’t change the beauty of this city guy in front of her, whose words had been able to show her the truth always wins over a million lies. Good luck that her reality is much better than the lies she had once told.

#doyoung scenarios #doyoung #nct scenarios #nct #kpop scenarios #writing #nct au #nct fluff #nct angst #doyoung au #doyoung fluff #doyoung angst #shoemaker!au

[acciofanfics]

Be Quiet (Harry Potter x Reader) SMUT

Request: Can you write a story where the reader (Slytherin) and Harry fall in love with each other and have their first time (smut pls!) and at the same time Sirius and the reader find out that’s she’s his daughter? Xo

Pairing: Harry Potter x FemReader

Warnings: Smut, very slight mentions of death, unprotected sex

Word Count: 2389

A/N: I forgot to specify the reader’s house! 😭 Also I didn’t do a whole lot of set up, let’s pretend their slightly older in Order of The Phoenix and this is set in when they’re staying in Sirius’ place? -S

———————————————————————

(Y/N) rapped quietly on the door, she supposed knocking on the door at all kind of defeated the purpose of trying to be quiet, so she abandoned her efforts and attempted to open the wooden door with minimal squeaking. “Harry? Are you up?”

Harry was quick to appear and open the door for her to come into the room. Honestly, he felt kind of bad, because it had been his intention to come to her. She had just beat him to it, but he supposed that wasn’t too surprising; she had always seemed to be more sure of herself than Harry had. “Yeah, come in. I was just about to go look for you.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Harry was probably her best friend...or maybe Hermione, but that would only because she couldn’t share EVERYTHING with Harry (despite her desire to do so). She plopped on the bed and let out a sigh, a dramatic, but justified one. “This is a lot, right?”

“It’s a bit much sure… not entirely bad though?” Harry knew immediately what she’d been referring to. A bombshell for sure. One thing they had been able to bond over was the fact that she grew up without her parents, Harry was thankful that she had a much more loving and tolerant aunt and uncle though. She never knew who her father was, and her mother had died around the age of 3. She knew who her father was now though… the notorious Sirius Black.

(Y/N) knew that she had been kept in the dark for her own good. Most people still thought the man was a murderer and she knew her aunt and uncle just didn’t want her to grow up knowing that they shared the DNA. “I mean I guess not… Sirius is cool and all.” It definitely sucked that his name hadn’t been cleared to anyone not in the Order, but while not seemingly knowing a lot about what he was doing he seemed eager to try as much as he would be able to.

“I feel like I’ve been lied to my entire life and I get why they did it, but I wish I would’ve known.” (Y/N) sat up and laid her head on Harry’s shoulder. He’d sat down beside her after she’d laid back. “I suppose nothing really changes that much though.”

He could definitely relate to some extent. Harry constantly felt like he was playing catch-up, and he was always a step behind everyone in knowing about himself and his life. “Right.”

A silence fell over the pair. Harry wasn’t sure what (Y/N) was feeling, but he felt content. She always had a way of making him feel that way. Hermione kept pushing him to say something, and as much as he wanted to he always found a reason not to do so. Now for example would be incredibly inappropriate, she was already so overwhelmed it just wouldn’t be fair to add the weight of his feelings for her onto her shoulders.

“Can I ask you something completely off topic?”

“Anything.”

“Do you like me?” (Y/N) felt bad for blurting out the question. Now probably wasn’t the time and that probably wasn’t the best way to go about it, but at that moment it seemed like the most appropriate option.

Poor Harry was happy he didn’t have a mouth full or butter beer or pumpkin juice because there was no doubt that he would’ve probably spit it all over the bedding and the floor. He used to say that they were close enough that she could never surprise him, but that clearly was a lie. He often wondered if she was a Legilimen, because she seemed to have some sort of innate ability to read his mind. She also knew when he was lying to playing dumb probably wouldn’t be too much help in this situation, “Uh...yeah. Hermione says it's bloody obvious.”

(Y/N) chuckled and smiled, even though he wouldn’t be able to see it, “She says the same to me if it makes you feel any better.”

“You fancy me?” Harry always had a small suspicion, he didn’t think that Hermione would be constantly trying to get him to confess his feelings if she thought it would end badly, but still he had his doubts.

“You might be the chosen one, but you can be pretty thick sometimes…” She sighed and lifted her head from his shoulder. When he turned to see what was wrong she just planted a soft kiss on his lips. He immediately melted into it, he didn’t need to be told twice to kiss her back. He’d been thinking about doing it so long that it just seemed second nature.

Their foreheads stayed pressed together even when the urge to break away to breathe came. Her eyes were still closed, but Harry kept his open (he just needed to make sure this wasn’t a dream). “Would it be too soon to say that I’m in love with you?”

“I don’t think I’d use the word soon at all.” (Y/N) teased with a soft laugh.

Harry pulled the girl back in for another kiss, the second was even better than the first (which he hadn’t previously thought to be possible). She tasted like mint toothpaste, which probably now his favorite flavor as his tongue swept across hers. (Y/N) wrapped her arms around him, an act partially meant to pull him closer and partially meant to keep a grip on him so that when she laid down he’d come tumbling down with her.

Her back hit the mattress with a soft thud, and she found herself mildly impressed with Harry’s ability to gracefully follow her. His body resting between her legs and his hands on either side of her head. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled herself further into him, earning a small groan. Her lips curled into a smile against his skin, and she set herself on a mission to elicit a similar reaction, but not before whispering to him, “You have to be quiet, apparently my dad is in the other room.”

Harry rolled his eyes at her, but soon found himself forgetting what she’d said. Instead he was more focused on the feathery light kisses being trailed down from his cheek to his neck. He took a deep breath when she began to kiss his neck, her ministrations on the skin a new and very enjoyable experience. He didn’t even notice her hands sneaking under his shirt. He shivered slightly from her cold hands, but relaxed into her touch when she ran her palms across his chest and torso. “Whatever you’re doing for Quidditch is clearly working.” She hummed into his ear.

Harry chuckled and leaned up, pulling his shirt over his head and then helping her out of hers. He was kind of shocked by how not nervous he was. There was just something about her, he doubted there was anything in the world she could do to make him think less of her and he just had a hunch she felt the same (or least that’s the way she made him feel). There was little light in the bedroom, but he could still see her (barely, but he could). He hadn’t even thought about the fact they were in her pajamas and she probably wouldn’t be wearing a bra… she definitely wasn’t and he felt his voice catch in the back of his throat.

“This is the part where you tell me how good I look.” (Y/N) whispered playfully to him. She worried that perhaps she might’ve been ruining the moment with so much talking, but she also knew that Harry was aware she liked to make jokes to ease her own nerves. He was often the only one not taken aback by the sometimes poorly time sentiments.

“You’re bloody gorgeous.” His voice held no trace of jest and he didn’t even give her a chance to respond before he went back in for another kiss. The kiss was chaste, because honestly he wanted to give her a taste of her own medicine. When his lips met the skin of her neck (Y/N) found herself having to bite the inside of her cheek to keep her voice down. However, whenever he dipped lower and found her chest the action was futile. A sharp gasp tore through her throat at the new sensation and when to shower her breasts in kisses she no longer found holding back a moan a possible option.

The sound was like music to Harry’s ears and he began to crave hearing more like it was a song stuck in his head. He switched between her right and left nipple, carefully trying to pay the same amount of attention to each one, and he only found himself willing to stop whenever she rolled her hips upward and brushed herself against the erection he was now painfully aware of. To be honest, he wasn’t quite sure what was exactly expected of him. He definitely wasn’t entirely stupid on the subject, he knew WHAT happened, but maybe he was skipping an important step in the foreplay that he wasn’t aware of. He didn’t have much time to think too much about it, because (Y/N) wiggled out from under him. He would’ve been worried that he’d done something wrong, but when she began to shed the rest of his clothes those thoughts abandoned his mind. Really the only thoughts left in his head was her… and how she looked. Completely bare. In front of him. Merlin, he wasn’t sure there was ever a sight more beautiful and he doubted he’d ever be able to think of anything else.

“Care to join me?” (Y/N) hoped she wasn’t being too forward. This really was probably too soon… they’d just had their first kiss not even an hour ago and now she was lying on his bed completely naked. She’d been imagining this for far more than a few hours though. It was definitely not a fleeting thought… well it wasn’t to her. She hoped Harry felt the same.

“Oh! Yeah!” It occurred to him how lame it must’ve been that he was just sitting there looking at her and he quickly shed his left over layers too. Now they were both naked, and still just staring.

“This is okay with you right?” She drew closer to him again, careful not to touch him until she was sure that he also wanted this.

“Yes.” He thought she was bloody insane to even ask him that, but he wouldn’t say that to her (at least not right then).

That was all she wanted to hear, (Y/N) kissed him again, but this time it was different. It was full of anticipation and desire and their lips just moved together instinctively, because they were both too focused on the feeling of their bodies being pressed together.

This time (Y/N) didn’t have to pull Harry on top of her, this time he carefully laid her down and hovered over her. The tip of his cock brushed against her core and he was worried that he’d lose it right then and there. She whimpered and raised her hips to meet him. Their eyes locked and there wasn’t a need for words to ask permission or any questions. They both knew this was exactly what they wanted. Harry reached between them and drug the tip of his cock across her folds, his eyes closed when he slowly began to press himself into her.

Immediate pleasure washed over Harry and to put it bluntly it was far better than any late night with his hand. (Y/N) felt it too, not quite as intensely as she was still adjusting to the foreign feeling of being so completely stretched by him. The thought alone made her shift her hips. He was trying not to give into the desire to just completely ruin her, the thought had crossed his mind more than once if he was being honest and now that he was presented with the actual opportunity he was doing his best to be a gentleman.

“Harry,” He had always enjoyed hearing her say his name, and this was no exception. It was at least 10 times better when it came out more of a moan than an actual word, “Move already.”

He grunted a bit at the order, but obliged nonetheless. He pulled out slowly and then resheathed himself in her again. Each time a little faster and every little whimper or moan that came from her lips egged him on ever more. It didn’t take long for the somewhat uncomfortable feeling to completely disappear and soon her weak noises became a little louder. Harry would’ve been happy to have her screaming his name, the noise echoing through the hallways, but she was right. Her father was in the other room, as well as other people who would not approve of their display of affection.

“We have.. To be.. Quiet… remember?” His sentence was broken up by the thrusting of his hips, unable to find enough concern to completely stop his movements. Knowing he was right (Y/N) roughly kissed him. She wasn’t entirely sure that it would keep the noises at bay, but it was the only thing that she could say would have the potential to work at the moment. She was getting close, she could feel something like a spring in her body being twisted tighter and tighter with every thrust and then POP. A wave of relief and pleasure erupted through her body and a moan that sounded more like a strangled sob was let out. As cliche as it sounded, it completely undid Harry and he held her close, his face buried into her shoulder as he found the same pleasure she did and his hips stilled.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“That was my first time.”

“Mine too.” He answered honestly.

“We’re pretty good at this.” She let out a quiet laugh as Harry pulled himself out of her and collapsed on the bed. She laid down beside him, her head resting on his chest.

“Honestly… I think we could go for a bit more practice.”

#harry potter imagine #harry potter smut #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x reader #harry potter x you #request #fanfics

[s4ijoh]

heaven is a place on earth. atsumu miya

ATSUMU MIYA X GN! READER

GENRE: domestic; slice of life; just a comfort piece

WORD COUNT: 1.6k+

WARNINGS: established relationship; mentions of stress; atsumu is a tease (yes, it deserves a warning), + heavy imagery, i enjoy setting the mood

coming home to atsumu after an exhausting day…

you are greeted with a welcoming warmth engulfing your body once you step into atsumu’s apartment. it is rather quiet inside, other than the static buzzing noise coming from the living room at the end of the corridor - you remember atsumu complaining about how the television signal gets worse on days like this.

the homely environment felt inside the dimly lit apartment instantly comforts you, providing you with a shelter from the hostile weather outside. the orange lighting creates a cozy atmosphere in stark contrast to grey sky outdoors, covered in a thick layer of clouds - a prevailing threat that it should start to rain at any moment.

while kicking off your shoes, after you’re done getting rid of the layers of clothing that were weighing on your body, you wonder if you should accept, at last, atsumu’s offer to move in with him. despite the fact that this place was not your actual house, it sure did feel like coming home whenever you walked in. it was, indeed, your safe haven, not only from the weather outside but from the world. as soon as you set a foot inside this place, all your concerns seem to be washed away.

you figured it must have been the weather to further instigate your current bad mood but you can’t put aside the thought that today, everything seems to be working against you and there is nothing more you crave than to sit in the comfort of atsumu’s presence and forget all about the trivial things plaguing your mind.

oddly enough, you are not greeted with his familiar face peeking through the door of the living room, his lips stretching into a beamy smile as he excitedly yells your name upon seeing you, as it is usual. however, although your boyfriend is nowhere to be seen, his presence is felt throughout the whole apartment.

the place is charged with traces of him - from the sweet but manly scent of his perfume lingering faintly in the air, to his keys with the small pendant you bought tossed carelessly next to a framed picture of the two of you, on top of the entry table as well as osamu’s coat that atsumu never returned because he claimed it suited him better anyway, hung on the doorknob of his room.

it is also hard not to notice the different pairs of slippers scattered along the wooden floor of the entry hall however, you have grown so familiar with the sight that you would have paid no mind to it if it weren’t for you tripping over one of the long forgotten pairs of fuzzy slippers. what otherwise would have looked like slouchiness only made the place feel more inviting. you have grown acquainted with the chaos, learned to embrace even, it’s familiarity never failed to put you at ease - in the end, everything was just on it’s right place.

atsumu is clumsier than he looks. he whined about how every new set of slippers he bought would go missing within a week, only for him to purchase a new set and for you to find the previous lost pair somewhere under a piece of furniture which resulted in the eclectic collection of slippers he owns to this day. 

walking across the hall, you come to a halt once you reach the living room, waiting for a frowning atsumu to notice you leaning against the doorway whilst he presses on the buttons of the tv remote in a frenzy on yet another hopeless attempt to get the television to miraculously start working - the “no signal” alert on the screen won’t disappear no matter how many times or how rough he hits the buttons on the remote, you have been over this many times with him.

“you never know” he would answer adamantly, with his brows raised in mock defiance. how naive, desperate times require desperate measures, you suppose.

a small giggle erupts from your chest capturing atsumu’s attention, his head snapping in your direction as his lips almost instantly stretch into bright smile - it was his body’s intuitive reaction whenever he laid eyes on you. atsumu calls out for you, dragging on the last syllable of your name in enthusiasm and you can’t help the grin, albeit weak, that crawls its way up to your lips. he could always steal a smile from you, no matter how tired you were.

upon noticing the clear exhaustion on your features, his broad smile morphs into a sympathetic pout as he tosses the remote on the cushions next to him, stretching his arms wide open for you, inviting you in with a quiet “get over here”

you drag yourself to the the checkered sofa where atsumu is sitting, awaiting you, to gladly accept his offer. and just like magnetic attraction, your body falls limp into his embrace, finding solace in his arms as you slump down on his lap with a relieved sob.

atsumu is left to deal with the dead weight of your body on top of him yet instead of complaining, he embraces you just tight enough to earn a quiet squeal from you, your head lifting itself from it’s comfortable spot snuggled against the warm skin of his neck only for you to shoot him a glare.

“where’s my kiss” atsumu taps his lips twice with his index finger to which you bend your head down to comply with his request.

honestly, how could you have forgotten. exhaustion really must have got the best of you because there was nothing more you had craved throughout the whole day than to feel his lips against yours, you could really use a kiss or two - or maybe a few - right now. however, you barely have the chance to connect your lips with his before atsumu is pinching your nose, prompting you to withdraw.

“your lips are freezing cold!” he whines in response to the inquisitive look on your face, his eyes wide in a rather theatrical manner. your boyfriend’s melodramatic behaviour has you rolling your eyes back in annoyance before you lean back in only for atsumu to cover your mouth with the palm of him hand.

“needy are we? rough day, pretty girl?” he teases with a taunting grin plastered on that frustratingly pretty face of his.

“go to hell, atsumu. just kiss me already” if only you weren’t this tired and atsumu wasn’t looking this tempting, maybe you could’ve kept the frustration from overflowing for you knew how he would pick on your helplessness only to keep teasing you and test the effect he had on you. and, you hate to admit that you have no restraint when it comes to him but, truth is, there is not much you can endure until you give in to atsumu and he manages to get you right where he wants you - you were always so pliant on his hands, he found it endearing to say the least.

trying your luck yet again, you hesitantly brush your lips against his, looking up at him through your lashes. you move carefully, almost as if you’re lurking on a prey, keeping a close watch on his face as you knew all it took was a false step for him to get away.

“you didn’t answer me” and just like that he pulls away from you, his voice cutting through the silence and ruining the mood, much to your dismay.

“yes, i had a rough day and you’re not making it any better, ‘tsumu” you spit the words out, although you reckon your tone was sorta harsh you are fuming at this point. on days like this, where it almost feels like it is your body’s basic need to feel him close to you, there is nothing you wouldn’t do for a kiss of his and he truly wasn’t helping you feel any better. two could play this game but you don’t even have the strength to put up a fight and taunt him back, wishing he would just give in to you as easily as you give in to him.

“so eager, i must be one hell of a kisser” he whispers against your lips. atsumu is having too much fun playing this little game of cat and mouse, repeatedly dodging your every move as you chase after his lips. if you didn't know any better, you would almost say it was taking every fiber on his being to hold himself back by the way he is ogling your lips.

“tell me, baby, do you want to feel my lips against yours that bad, hm?”

“yes, can you kiss me now?” your straightforwardness catches him off guard, earning a chuckle from your boyfriend as he tilts his head to kiss you on the cheek, dropping the act at last.

“no need to be mad, baby, patient girls get whatever they want” he grabs your cheeks, squishing them together and proceeds to place a quick peck on your pout before he slumps back against the couch, resting his arms over the lenght of the back of the couch.

“come get your kiss” he says in defiance with a wicked smirk which has you narrowing your eyes.

you lean forward cautiously, trying to understand what is the catch here, though he doesn’t even flinch when you crawl your way to wrap your arms around his neck. it is when you let your guard down, wearing the smile of victory as you lean in for a kiss that atsumu dodges you once again but he doesnt even give you time to complain before he is gripping your waist and tugging you into his chest before he crashes his lips into yours.

oh and was it worth the wait. atsumu could take you to heaven and beyond with just a simple innocent kiss. you feel like you’re soaring the sky and now you never want to come back down to earth ever again. you could argue that he is not perfect but, despite all his flaws, atsumu is still a true angel in disguise.

[a/n]: honestly i made atsumu’s character out to be messier than i imagine him to be but, i had this really cute picture in my head of a v v cozy house with lots of slippers scattered all over + had these flirty dialogue prompts written down & decided to put them together and thought atsumu fitted the role perfectly so yea!

this aint nothing special, just a good ol’ domestic au! but i hope you all enjoy what i have come up with after i’ve been neglecting writing for a whole month now <33

+ next batch is soulmate au! mattsun!!

#atsumu miya #atsumu miya x reader #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu imagine #atsumu miya imagine #miya atsumu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagine

[my-writings-and-musings]

TFA Bulkhead/Bumblebee

Bulkhead, hoping to paint Bumblebee, finds a number of unexpected hurdles in the form of a willing but very fidgety model.

Got a lovely commission that the commissioner was okay with me sharing, so here it is! I had so much fun writing this, and remember, I'm always open if you'd like a fic for yourself.

Working up courage wasn't something one had to do often when they were as big and strong as Bulkhead, but he'd needed every bit he could spare to approach Bumblebee with what he'd feared was a ridiculous request. The fact he could expect his friend to say yes had brought him little comfort, because being rejected just scared him too much. He didn't want to admit how long it had taken him to prepare…

But finally, the day had come, and he approached the little bot as one might an armed explosive.

"Uh… Bumblebee?" he spoke softly, tapping his big servos together to try and call himself down. Bumblebee was relaxing and watching something on TV, and Bulkhead was so nervous he couldn't even tell what. Primus, he was just grateful they were alone, or else this would have been impossible! Bumblebee thankfully noticed him right away, lifting his helm to look at his friend with a smile.

"What's up, Bulk?" he said in greeting, half turning back to the television before doing an actual double take back to the big bot. Concern crossed his features, and he raised a curious brow ridge before he spoke again. "You feeling okay?"

Bulkhead realized just then that his nervousness was probably showing through like a beacon, and he gulped in embarrassment, wanting nothing more than to disappear on the spot. Just his luck that things would already be going poorly… Steeling himself, he took a deep vent and put on the biggest smile he could manage. "Yeah, f-fine!" he gasped out, trying not to tremble. Wishing he'd written down what he wanted to say, he just managed to put some words together and speak, hoping he didn't look as ridiculous as he felt. "I just wanted… wanted to ask you something."

"Yeah?" Bumblebee asked, expression not changing once. Near to collapsing, Bulkhead soldiered on, wondering with every word if he'd made a huge mistake.

"Well you… you know I've been painting a lot lately, and I was wondering…" he gulped again, closing in on the final thing he'd come to ask and hoping he wasn't making a huge mistake in the process. If this worked, it might just be the happiest day of his life…

"I'm kind of tired of painting trees and flowers… could I paint… you?" he asked, not even waiting for a reply before he clarified extensively. "Paint a picture of you, I mean! Like… would you want to model for a painting? That's… what I meant…"

"Oh, model?" Bumblebee repeated, optics lighting up like a supernova as he repeated the word. Bulkhead felt relief like nothing he'd ever experienced wash over him as the question got exactly the answer he hadn't dared to hope for, enough so that he struggled to stay standing as he sighed. Bumblebee hopped upright and stretched, lean little frame already eager to get moving as he stepped beside his much larger friend. "What are we waiting for? Let's go!"

"Yeah, sure!" Bulkhead said with enthusiasm, trying his hardest not to cry a few happy tears at the turn of events. Moving as fast as he could, he followed Bee to his room, where all of his supplies were waiting for them in the unlikely event this worked out. The big bot had done everything in his power to get all the paint and brushes he would need if Bee said yes, so hopefully he did indeed have enough, or at least what he'd require to get started. He'd gotten so many shades of yellow…

When they arrived to his room, he briefly scolded himself for not fixing it up better, not that Bumblebee ever bothered to clean his own room, but he wanted to be a good host.

Pointing to the smushed couch he sometimes liked to relax on, which was also in a good spot for lighting, he tried to ensure he was calm despite his still fluttering nerves. "You can, uh, pose however you like. How about there?" 

"Sure, sounds fun!" Bumblebee replied, quite enthusiastic as he hopped on over. Not minding that the furniture was beyond lumpy, he began finding a comfortable way for his frame to lay, moving his tiny self about as Bulkhead got everything ready. Trying not to blush at how happy he was, the big bot grabbed a spare canvas and his favorite cans of paint, along with a few brushes in his size. Someday he'd have to properly thank Sari for introducing him to art, and being kind enough to provide tools in his size as well. When his easel was in place, he looked up to see Numb laying himself over the couch and grinning in his usual goofy way. "Paint me like one of your French bots, Bulkhead…"

Even if he hadn't been so distracted by what he was feeling, the big bot would have had no ability to make sense of what he'd just heard. All he could manage was a one word reply of total bafflement. "...What?"

"It's a… a human quote. I don't get it either." Bumblebee mumbled in reply, likely referencing some movie he and Sari had watched together at some point. Not wanting his friend to feel awkward, Bulkhead happily helped the conversation continue, smiling as he grabbed a brush.

"Oh, well um… how about we start small? Just sketches and stuff, you know?" he offered, trying to think of the best way to proceed. It was hard to plan much of anything when he was this happy, especially because he didn't want Bee to know how he felt, in more ways than one. He had to keep going as if this was just a casual thing, and not something that really meant the world to him.

"Works for me, just don't forget to get my good side… which is all of me." Bee said proudly, striking a pose and grinning as he did so. It was a perfectly in character position, so Bulkhead got to work right away, carefully articulating his large digits to control the brush. While small mistakes were just part of the process for painting, he didn't want to make one here. This piece was going to be perfect, so every stroke had to be the same, and thus his digits had an almost vice-like grip. It didn't escape his attention how few bots got to pursue their greatest wish like he was doing now. Keeping his smile to himself, he cast his optics to Bumblebee and back to the canvas, wanting to have the perfect grasp of scale before he began. Having a friend with such particular proportions wasn't going to make this any easier.

Sticking with the core of his muse, he made a few careful strokes to get the basic gist of his friend's pose, hoping to capture both his sense of excitability and his current relaxed mood. It would be hard, but he was more than up for the challenge. This would be worth every last second of work...

"Actually, hang on, my arm looks better like this."

Bumblebee surprised him with the words and the sudden movement he made to match, his arm swinging about to rest almost opposite to its original pose. As he hadn't yet started drawing that particular spot, Bulkhead let it go, having expected a little bit of restlessness. It was also only fair that Bee liked the final result and was comfortable with the process. Getting back to work, the big bot wondered if his friend's face might be a good place to start. His horns certainly added an additional detail for him to take into consideration… Perhaps he'd ask if Bee wanted his face to be more in profile or at an angle. All he wanted was to capture the essence of the bot he was so close to.

Bumblebee coughed, optics looking about bashfully as he blushed and shifted on the couch to move his other arm. It wasn't a big move, but the small bit clearly realized it was inconvenient, and looked guilty for the move. "Need to change this too, it's not working. This look better?"

"Oh uh… yeah!" Bulkhead replied quickly, uncertain how he should respond beyond acceptance as the last thing he wanted was for this to be uncomfortable for either of them. Some small changes would need to be made to what was already on the canvas, but that was hardly a bother. Getting more paint on his brush, he tried to work a little faster as he got the bottom layer established. Not that he didn't trust Bee to keep his word, but the little bot often fidgeted without even meaning to. Sticking out his glossa in concentration, Bulkhead worked fast, using up a fair amount of paint as he got what he presumed to be the core of the piece. Next would come the much tricker details…

Or at least they would have, if he hadn't glanced up to see Bumblebee in a completely different pose and half asleep...

"Bumblebee?" he said on reflex, coughing to try and gain his friend's attention. Startling awake, the little bot looked around in surprise, seeming to have forgotten exactly where he was and what was going on. When recognition dawned on his features, embarrassment wasn't far behind. A light blush lit up his cheeks as he shrunk down on the couch.

"Scrap, sorry, wasn't thinking." he apologized, trying to remember how he had originally been posed and failing to do so. Bulkhead felt a bit of frustration stirring, but he kept it well under wraps. Just because this wasn't going according to plan, didn't mean he was going to give up.

"That's okay! Just… need a new canvas." he said, keeping his smile even if he was a little more flustered. With a little bit of white paint he could salvage the canvas and use it later for something else, plus it wasn't like Sari didn't provide him with plenty of supplies. Getting set up all over again, he looked back to Bumblebee, who was once again settled in what appeared to be his position of choice. Hoping to begin in earnest, he was careful as could be when he broached the question on his mind. "Is that the pose you want?"

"Definitely!" Bumblebee said enthusiastically, giving him hope that he'd be able to paint for real this time. Not wasting even a moment, he painted as fast as he could, glancing back and forth between the painting and his subject to make the process as smooth as possible. It was an effective strategy, as it allowed him to get the outline twice as fast. This time he wanted to fully capture his friend in the picture as he'd been trying from the start. Some part of him just knew it would be worth it, and that they'd both be thankful he put in all this effort.

Or, at least, he thought he knew...

"Actually, sorry about this, but…" Bumblebee was bashful but not especially hesitant as he moved to lay on his side, stretching as he moved into an entirely different position. The poor artist felt his spark drop at the loss of progress all over again, even as his friend tried to cheer them both up by looking as chipper as possible. "That was so much more uncomfortable than I was expecting. Go on!"

Bulkhead didn't say a word as he grabbed another canvas, and did his very best not to look as discouraged as he felt. It didn't seem like this was going to stop any time soon, as much as he wished it would, and that didn't bode well for his wish to get this done. Perhaps he'd been far too hopeful…

Still, he did everything in his power to stay positive and make the painting he'd dreamed of become a reality.

Painting faster than he ever had in his entire life, the big bot ignored the imperfections that came from moving so rapidly, setting his jaw tight as little flecks of paint spattered across the canvas. At this point, such little things hardly seemed to mind. What really mattered was getting this done. A familiar form began to take recognizable shape on the canvas, and the artist started to plan ahead for his next move from then on. Shading would come after these little details, which he'd be able to put together thanks to having a lot of his friend's appearance memorized. Hope blossomed in his spark as he finally saw Bumblebee in the picture he was painting.

Getting so close to what he wanted made seeing a repeat of what had happened before hurt more than it should have.

Catching himself, Bumblebee blushed and shrunk down on the spot, smiling bashfully in apology for his unintentional movement. It really wasn't something he was doing on purpose; he wanted to see his friend happy! Sitting still just didn't work for him. Seeing Bulkhead look hurt, however, made him feel especially bad for the mistake.

"I don't think this is a good idea." Bulkhead said with a sigh, putting yet another canvas to the side and looking quite deflated as he did so. There wasn't anything he could think to do that might change this, and he was ready to just throw in the towel. Perhaps this was just the one thing he wasn't meant to paint.

"Aw come on, why not?" Bumblebee pressed, aware of the answer but hoping there was something he could do to fix it. Staying still just wasn't in his programming, but perhaps… he could get some tape? That wasn't realistic, but he wanted to try something to make up for this. Bulkhead only sighed again.

"You won't stay still?" he said simply, frustrated but not antagonistic in his summation. It was something neither of them could change, and that left both more than a little helpless.

"I…" Bumblebee stuttered off, tapping his digits together as he saw his friend get even more sad. Unable to help getting a little defensive, he got up from the couch, throwing up his arms as the big bot cleaned up some of the mess. "Come on, Bulk! You know me! Staying still isn't my thing, and I can't force that!"

"Well yeah, but… couldn't you just stay mostly still?" Bulkhead asked, still not ready to just give up all at once. Even if he had no idea how to fix things or make it work, he wanted this painting too much to just give up, no matter how many canvases it took. All he needed was a little bit more time than he had been getting. His determination must have shown, because Bumblebee furrowed his brow ridges in consideration.

"I… I can try! I…" he faded off as the pressure weighed on him, and thankfully his friend caught that quickly. To be clear; he wanted this a lot, but he could never want anything badly enough to make Bumblebee uncomfortable. Perhaps it was best they rested a bit, to restore their patience and approach this with clearer heads. He certainly needed a minute to relax from all this frustration...

"How about a break? We've been trying for a while, maybe a bit of down time will help." he proposed, already feeling a little better at the prospect of cooling down. Bumblebee shared the sentiment straight away, visibly relaxing on the spot and letting out a tiny sigh of his own. 

"Great idea Bulk! Let me just grab something…" he said happily, darting off and leaving the big bot alone with his supplies. Deciding to clean a bit to ease his mind, Bulkhead sorted the discarded canvases, hoping that he could paint over the unusable pictures with some white and reuse them. Seeing how much and how little progress he'd made at the same time made him wonder how he might improve on their next attempt. Nothing was coming to mind just yet, but that didn't mean he had lost hope. There had to be something on this planet that would motivate Bee to stay still, and by Primus he would find it!

As he was wiping up some paint that had managed to drip onto the floor, Bumblebee quite literally skidded back into the room, coming to a dead stop after running at full tilt. 

"I'm back! Just wanted to grab my game!" the little bot declared happily, waving the device about as he went to sit back on the smushed couch. The game had been a gift from Sari as well; some kind of earth console that had been sized up a few times over to better fit the servos of a Cybertronian. Smiling in acknowledgement, the big bot nodded as he went back to cleaning. Digital music met his audials as his friend started up the system and began to play, reclining on the couch as he settled in for a much needed break. Bulkhead had only had middling success with the games popular on earth, owed in large part to his size, but he was at least happy his friend could have some much needed fun with them. 

When the floor was finally cleaned up, he took stock of his slightly diminished inventory. There was still plenty of paint, and more than a few canvases, but if they continued at their current pace… He'd have to figure out a strategy before they tried this again, because otherwise this just wasn't going to work. Looking up at Bumblebee, he briefly considered proposing that they try this another day before his thoughts were systematically interrupted. 

Laying on his back over the pile of stuffing that had once been a couch, the small mech was entirely engrossed in his digital world, optics focused only on the screen as his digits rapidly tapped away on the controls. Other than the occasional shift of his expression, he was entirely motionless. It took Bulkhead a moment to process what he was seeing. Bumblebee was so rarely still, and never for this length of time… He didn't need to think much before he was reacting the only way he could.

Moving as silently as a mech of his size was able to, he grabbed what he needed, gathering his paints around himself as he got a fresh canvas and sat down before his easel. He couldn't have asked for a better setup; the pose, the lighting, it was all perfect. It was almost too much to hope this was real. Considering how many false starts he'd had, most could probably understand why he felt that way.

Daring to take his time, the big bot made every brush stroke count, trying to think of all the reasons he liked Bee so much as he made each one. His friend was confident, energetic, brave… All those thoughts motivated him every second he worked, and the results were soon apparent. The form of Bumblebee began to take shape rather quickly, coming together far more smoothly thanks to how relaxed he was. A base layer was ready to go in what felt like only a few minutes.

Oblivious to everything, Bumblebee kept right on playing, occasionally sticking his glossa out as he did so. Bulkhead contemplated including that detail in the piece, but ultimately decided against it. This was going to be a somewhat more dignified painting than that. 

When the time came to add lighting, he was almost over the moon, but he kept all the excitement to himself. Colors mixed together beautifully on his palette, forming the light and dark shades to the vibrant yellows and deep blacks that made up his friend's paint job. It was far more satisfying than painting even the most beautiful landscape he'd ever seen. Perhaps he was just a little biased on that front, but he did believe that painting things you truly cared about just brought them to life. One only had to glance at this piece to understand how much this bot meant to him.

It almost seemed like he was dreaming when each and every glance revealed Bumblebee to be sitting perfectly still, without a hint of movement beyond the minor. If this did turn out to be a dream, he'd at least be happy it was going so well. Fate had truly designed the perfect setup for them to finally get this done without any stress for either individual. 

Everything came together with what felt like only a few of the most well done strokes he'd ever painted. At long last, the bot he'd wanted to paint so badly had been captured on canvas! It was so exciting he couldn't hold back an exclamation as he set his brush down theatrically.

"Done!"

"Huh?!" Bumblebee gasped, half jumping on the spot as his game nearly flew from his servos. Looking about in a daze, he put the pieces together when he saw his friend, at which point guilt crossed his features. Time had slipped away from him even more so than it had for the very busy Bulkhead. "What? I… oh, Bulk! I didn't mean to get distracted! You could have stopped me earlier, I wouldn't have minded."

Waving off the appreciated but unnecessary apology, the big bot only smiled and wiped some paint from his servos, rising from his chair to puff his chest out with pride. "That's okay, I'm already finished."

"How?" the little bot gasped in awe, checking his internal chronometer to see just how long he'd been wrapped up in his game. It had only felt like a few minutes, but this wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten lost in a video game.

"Well, you were pretty content playing your game, so…" Bulkhead allowed his friend to put the rest of the pieces together, and in no time understanding dawned on the little mech. 

"Oh, I gotcha!" Bumblebee replied happily, quite relieved to have not held them up. If playing video games was what it had taken to make his friend happy, then he was quite fine with that. All he wanted was to get a look at the results, which he was certain would be incredible. "Here, let me see!"

Feeling a bit of shyness amongst his pride, Bulkhead handed over the canvas, careful to avoid the still drying paint.

"This is amazing!" Bumblebee proclaimed without hesitation, trying to be delicate even as he felt a surge of excitement upon beholding the painting. Of course he knew his friend had talent, but this was incredible! "Look at me, I look even better than usual!"

Bulkhead looked down to the floor and shuffled his pedes, doing his best to hide the blush creeping along his cheeks. "Well, I had a pretty great model."

"That's gonna sell fast, Bulkhead. No doubt about it." Bumblebee praised as he gave the painting back, confident in what he was saying. It didn't hurt that he was a good looking bot, but his friend had really done an especially good job on this one, and he was sure it would be bought up in no time. Taking the piece, the big bot smiled softly as he beheld it again. It had taken a lot of courage for him to get this, and he was quite proud of himself for that. As such, he held the painting very near and dear to his spark.

"Maybe, but… I think I'm gonna keep it, actually." he said softly, wanting to see it every day. There was a perfect place for it where he could do just that, not that he would say where that was. Bumblebee didn't mind the decision in the slightest.

However, when the little bot ducked in his friend's room later to pick up a borrowed item, he learned the true value of the painting to Bulkhead. On a wall reserved for only his most precious of works, the portrait sat high in a position of honor. Usually unable to say everything that came to mind due to overwhelming volume, Bee had been rendered speechless by the sight. Only a soft smile revealed how touched he was by the gesture. 

#transformers animated #tfa #bumblebee #bulkhead #commission #my writing #my commissions #fluff

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

Hold On Tight, Learn To Behave (Ao3)

[Wenzhou one-shot set post-canon, after episode 36 but before the bonus - NSFW and a quick warning as well for some blood/rough sex]

@evilteddybear requested: I’d love WKX and ZZS to have a conversation on all they’ve hidden from one another by the end of the series. WKX lied about his death, then ZZS, then WKX again. Talking isn’t dramatic enough for TV so they never reach true honesty. They love each other but also hurt each other. And I am not sure that WKX ever realizes that hurting himself hurts ZZS too.

and an Anon requested: I would love to see something set post-canon where ZZS's body is like a live-wire where instead of it being hard (lol) to get off, he manages it really really easy bc suddenly everything has come back and it’s A LOT. I just wanna see WKX fuck several orgasms out of ZZS (literally or in other ways) and ZZS being a mess about it bc holy shit he can FEEL again.

(special thanks/shoutout to @omgpurplefattie for suggesting that these two prompts go well together, you gave me the idea to combine them!)

--

“Lao Wen!”

Zhou Zishu sits up sharply, tongue still locked to the roof of his mouth from shouting his lover’s name, and he raises trembling hands to scrub tiredly at his face.

“Ah-Xu?” Wen Kexing’s voice is sleep-ragged at his side and Zhou Zishu does his best to slow his breathing, to try to stop his heart from pounding in his chest. He tries to stop seeing his zhiji dead right in front of his eyes, but if it’s not the sight of him falling off a cliff then it’s that of him lying dead and still in a burning shed, and if it’s not either of those two haunting memories then it’s the most recent, that of opening his eyes to find Wen Kexing fading right in front of him, hand in hand as his qi drained out of him like water through a sieve. A sob manages to escape his throat despite his best efforts and Wen Kexing is on him in an instant.

“Ah-Xu!” he gasps as he sits up and wraps long arms around him, hugging Zhou Zishu close to his chest. “What is it? What happened?”

Zhou Zishu knows even as he does it that it’s petty, but he pushes Wen Kexing away. Not as strongly as he has in the past, perhaps, but he does it, an elbow to his lover’s side that makes him wince and loosen his grip though he still doesn’t let go entirely.

Zhou Zishu’s hands curl into tight fists in the blankets still covering their laps and he tries to forget about Wen Kexing’s hands, ice cold and limp in his grip as Zhou Zishu had scrambled to find some way to pass his qi back. His arms remember the weight of Wen Kexing’s corpse, the way it had felt to gather his lifeless body close to his chest and bury his face in that silver-white hair, the only outward sign of the strain Wen Kexing had forced himself through just to make Zhou Zishu immortal - with no regard for his own life, or for how empty Zhou Zishu would find the world without his zhiji at his side.

And mourning these incidents feels so strange when the man himself is not only alive and perfectly fine at his side, but at fault for each and every one. It’s this thought that sends him staggering from their bed to shove his feet into his shoes.

“Ah-Xu wait, where are you going? It’s the middle of the night,” Wen Kexing points out like he doesn’t already know it. It doesn’t take Zhou Zishu long to find his outer robes to shrug on over the layer he sleeps in and he doesn’t even bother tying them shut before he stalks from the room and out into the rest of the sprawling armory around them.

He hears Wen Kexing curse and tumble out of bed behind him but he doesn’t stop to wait for him, he just starts wandering in an attempt to soothe the itching under his skin. In the aftermath of everything, after Zhou Zishu had found a way to pass their refined qi back and forth, after Wen Kexing had remained unconscious for over a month recovering from nearly fizzling out into nothing, they’ve been too happy about being reunited in the past few days since he woke for Zhou Zishu to find space to comfortably fit the fact that he’s angry as well. It hardly feels fair to say anything now, and he’s been forcing himself not to give a voice to the ugly thing in his chest mainly because he feels that he knows what Wen Kexing will say. That he lived, that they’re here now, that they finally have as long as they want to be together so why spoil it with unhappy things?

And Zhou Zishu is trying, but it’s so hard. He shoves it all away in his waking hours but then it comes back to haunt him in his sleep and he has to watch his zhiji die over and over again, every single fucking night.

Zhou Zishu comes to a stop at random and begins idly running his hand over the books on the closest shelf, searching for something he hasn’t read yet, or even just something he read so casually first as to be able to enjoy it a second time. Anything for a distraction, anything to try to get rid of the sourness of the bile rising in his throat from the remembered panic of opening his eyes, his senses fully restored, only for the first thing he felt properly since the application of the Nails to be his lover’s dead body. Well, nearly-dead, but it had certainly felt close enough to his newly awakened senses.

Wen Kexing finds him as he’s still brushing dust off of the contents of one of the cubbyholes in the shelf.

“Ah-Xu,” he calls, quiet in the gloom of the sparse few lanterns and the moonlight filtered through vents in the mountainside high above their heads, reflected and magnified by a neatly hidden collection of mirrors far above their heads. “There isn’t light enough to read by tonight. What are you doing?”

“Go back to bed.”

“Ah-Xu -”

Zhou Zishu moves without conscious thought when Wen Kexing reaches for him, fingers just catching on his sleeve before Zhou Zishu whips around to grab him and pin him to the shelves, a furious glare in his damp eyes. The blink-and-you’ll-miss-it scuffle isn’t nearly enough to wind either one of them, but they’re both breathing hard anyway into the scant space between them. Perhaps Zhou Zishu shouldn’t be surprised to find that it only takes the span of a single breath for Wen Kexing’s concerned gaze to go steely, rising to meet the fury he must find in Zhou Zishu’s glare.

“Go ahead,” Wen Kexing challenges with a haughty jerk of his chin. “What is it?”

It’s easier like this, with Wen Kexing seemingly angry right back at him. This is not his Lao Wen, this is the Chief of Ghost Valley - fitting, when he feels less like Ah-Xu and more like the leader of the Window of Heaven, full of a cold sense of merciless righteousness that usually ends with blood on his hands.

“I’m tired of dreaming about all the times you ripped my fucking heart out,” Zhou Zishu finally manages to spit and when Wen Kexing bares his teeth at him in a parody of a smile it’s almost a shock to see his teeth gleaming white rather than stained pink with someone else’s blood.

“Is that so? The feeling is mutual.”

“How many times would you have continued to make me watch you die if we hadn’t trapped ourselves in here?”

“You trapped us here with your avalanche trick, and I would have kept doing it as many times as necessary to keep you alive!” Wen Kexing is practically snarling, though he doesn’t fight against Zhou Zishu’s hold keeping him pinned to the shelf.

“You didn’t have to follow me here!”

Wen Kexing does fight back a bit then, just a savage jerk of one arm that frees it from Zhou Zishu’s grip so he can reach up to curl his fingers into a fist in the front of his robes for the purpose of jostling him, as if shaking him will help him understand as he shouts, “After all this anger over my plans to save you, you have the nerve to also be angry that I didn’t stay put when you left me behind to go die anyway?!”

Zhou Zishu is the one to bare his teeth next, but Wen Kexing takes advantage of his moment of trying to formulate a reply to flip their positions so quickly Zhou Zishu nearly becomes dizzy even before his back is slammed against the shelf and Wen Kexing’s forearm presses against his throat.

“After everything we’ve done, everything we had just lost, you left me,” Wen Kexing says next, no longer shouting but the faint glitter of tears in his eyes and clumping his lashes together is somehow more cutting than if he were. “If you die I die, how dare you take my choices away from me!”

“Your choices?!” Zhou Zishu bites back, finding his metaphorical feet again even as he has to go up on his toes a bit to accommodate the way Wen Kexing is pressing him higher with the arm on his throat. “Your choices are why I was dying so quickly in the first place! I was going to be healed, Da Wu was going to fix everything but your plan that included everyone but me forced my hand! Why would I continue living without you after watching you die? How could you not have known I would try to follow you even after Ye-qianbei stopped me from jumping with you?!”

“How could you throw your life away so quickly?!”

“There is no me without you!”

Zhou Zishu’s shout rings off the stone around them. Wen Kexing slowly releases the pressure on his throat as the reverb of it fades into nothing but silence again broken only by their breaths, too fast and out of sync. But they’re both here. They’re both breathing. They’re glaring daggers at each other, but they’re both here.

“A day without you, a week, a year, an eternity? I don’t want any of it,” Zhou Zishu continues eventually, voice low and fervent. “Of course I tried to follow you. What else would you expect me to do?”

“And then at the last, you turned around and abandoned me. Are you really such a hypocrite, Ah-Xu?”

Zhou Zishu doesn’t refute that, though he can’t quite help but grind his teeth and curl his hand still holding one of Wen Kexing’s wrists a little tighter.

He is, abruptly, exhausted. Perhaps it’s the sleepless nights of relieving Wen Kexing’s ‘deaths’ from every angle. Perhaps it’s the stress of having kept all of this tucked close to his chest since the moment Wen Kexing returned during the second heroes’ conference. Perhaps it’s the way the fight leaves Wen Kexing’s eyes as quickly as it had appeared. Perhaps it’s none of these things, or all of them, but whatever the reason, the thought of somehow keeping score for the next however many years they live, of holding onto resentments and bitterness and playing a constant game of who-owes-whom makes him so tired.

Zhou Zishu tips his head back to rest against the shelf at his back, baring his throat (perhaps unwisely, when Wen Kexing is still so angry at him) and closing his eyes against the sight of the filtered moonlight overhead.

“We can’t keep living like this,” he mutters and he feels Wen Kexing’s body go stiff against his where they’re pressed together practically from chest to ankle.

“Like what? Don’t tell me you regret this already, Ah-Xu. It’s not even spring yet, you have to at least wait for the thaw before you can decide to leave me behind again.”

“Lao Wen!” he protests sharply with a jostle of Wen Kexing’s arm in his grip. “Like this, angry with each other for things that we’ve done because we don’t know how to live for each other. This is getting us nowhere.”

Wen Kexing takes a long, slow breath in and Zhou Zishu is about to drop his head again to look at him when he’s abruptly stopped in his tracks by the feeling of teeth on his neck, too sharp and insistent to be comfortable. He gasps and can’t help but jerk a bit in Wen Kexing’s grip, a frisson of heat slinking down his spine and out towards his fingertips as he follows it with a soothing but possessive pass of the flat of his tongue, hot and wet against his skin.

“Lao Wen?” he manages to gasp around the too-intense pressure of Wen Kexing’s teeth around a different section of his throat, more sensitive than the last - so sensitive his knees nearly threaten to buckle, though that may also be because Wen Kexing chooses that moment to dart a clever hand between the drape of his robes to grab him through his trousers. There’s nothing gentle in the gesture, it’s hard and possessive. Painful.

They haven’t been intimate since Wen Kexing had finally regained consciousness. Between adjusting to their new reality, Wen Kexing finally having an opportunity to begin grieving for Gu Xiang, and Zhou Zishu working to build them something of a permanent living space in the armory, and with an as-of-yet undefined eternity stretching on before them, they’d just...settled. Tried to relax and let time pass as it would now that it’s no longer their master.

Zhou Zishu realizes belatedly that he should have anticipated that it would feel different with the return of his senses, but he is somehow still blindsided by the shock of it, crystal clear and overwhelming. He can feel Wen Kexing’s too-quick exhales against his freshly bruised skin, hot and damp in the chill of their new home. His hand is painfully tight between his legs and Zhou Zishu gasps again as his grip tightens even further, bucking his hips back to try to escape Wen Kexing’s groping but there’s nowhere for him to go. He bites down again and Zhou Zishu swears he can feel every single one of his teeth - no longer just the muted sensation of more pointed pressure than his hands could provide, now he can feel his skin protesting the sharp crush of capillaries, red bruises blooming like aching flowers under his lover’s mouth.

“If you want to be angry then be angry,” Wen Kexing growls into the point of his collarbone, and the bite he leaves there has Zhou Zishu’s back arching without his permission though he at least manages to keep a pathetic whimper locked in his throat. “You’re not getting rid of me so easily.”

Under such an onslaught, it doesn’t take long at all for Zhou Zishu to find his temper again. Wen Kexing is harsh and cruel with him, offering no reprieves or mercy as he takes what he wants. Zhou Zishu has absolutely no qualms about giving him the same in return, digging in with his nails until he pierces his skin, and only then does he scratch up his back and leave bloody furrows in his wake. He bites whatever part of Wen Kexing he can get his mouth on, and finally when Wen Kexing is ever-so-slightly distracted with gathering all of Zhou Zishu’s hair into one hand to yank on it, Zhou Zishu manages to get his ankle hooked behind Wen Kexing’s to kick his leg out from under him. Paired with a shove of the hand he has bunched up in the front of Wen Kexing’s robes, it’s a perfect move to unbalance him and send the pair of them tumbling to the hard ground.

Zhou Zishu doesn’t bother feeling guilty for cushioning his own fall with Wen Kexing’s body, he just sets about continuing what they’d started with a sort of hunger that startles even him, but that Wen Kexing seems to take in stride. He had started this, after all, it shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise that he’s prepared to see it through to the end no matter how rough it should get.

It’s a messy thing, quick and aggressive with absolutely none of the finesse they’ve managed to find together in all the times they’ve done this before. By the time they’ve finished, Wen Kexing’s bared torso is a mess of blood and come - from both of them. Zhou Zishu brushes the back of his hand against the swollen curve of his bottom lip without any regard for the flare of aching, burning pain he finds there where Wen Kexing has bitten him bloody.

“You got hard,” Wen Kexing finally mumbles through bright red lips. Zhou Zishu can see that his teeth are pink as he speaks and he wonders if it should worry him that that feels right. What he had actually said filters through the haze a moment after and he huffs a humorless laugh as he shakes his head a bit and leans back on his heels where he’s straddling Wen Kexing. The motion grinds his ass down against his softening cock and Wen Kexing hisses a little, shuffles his feet like he’s going to try to get away though he settles again after a moment, allowing the overstimulating pressure.

“Philanthropist Wen so kindly traded his life so that I could have all my senses restored,” Zhou Zishu retorts as he crosses his arms over his chest and grinds himself down more purposefully into Wen Kexing’s lap until the man’s back arches and his hands fly down to grip his hips tight enough to bruise there too.

“A fair trade,” Wen Kexing mumbles, still staring at him in bleary wonder. Well, not at him. At his cock, which hasn’t even managed to go entirely soft. How can it, when he can finally feel Wen Kexing’s hands on him properly? When every place their bodies are touching feels like the spark of a struck match?

“And if I hadn’t found a way to pass the qi back to you such a ‘gift’ would be absolutely wasted on me living here alone!”

“You’re still angry after that?”

Zhou Zishu doesn’t even deign to respond to that with words, rather he just grinds his hips again and Wen Kexing chokes on some sort of wounded noise that ends with a whimper. His teeth are no longer bloody though he certainly looks worse for wear, his lips still red even where Zhou Zishu hadn’t split his bottom lip straight down the middle with a particularly vicious bite. There are bruises already blooming dark and possessive all over his chest and shoulders, the imprints of Zhou Zishu’s teeth stark on the pale canvas of his skin. His silver hair is a tangled mess underneath him, his robes equally dishevelled where they had been shoved aside to give Zhou Zishu room to work. As he watches, Wen Kexing releases his hip to drag one elegant hand up his own stomach, his long fingers smearing through the mix of blood and spend to swirl them together before he continues his dragging touch. He smears the mix up his own chest and then pops his fingers in his mouth as he looks up again to meet Zhou Zishu’s gaze.

“In that case, you can have me like that again, if you’d like,” Wen Kexing mumbles as he withdraws his fingers, seemingly uncaring of the mess he’s making of himself as he reaches down to scoop more of their come onto his fingers. Zhou Zishu reaches out to stop him with a hand tight around his wrist.

“Hurting you isn’t going to make me less angry about what you did.”

“Nor I, but it’s nice to get the energy out anyway.”

Zhou Zishu licks at a trickle of blood he can feel beginning to weep from his own split lip and Wen Kexing tracks the movement as if mesmerized by the briefest glimpse of his tongue. Zhou Zishu releases his wrist then and he expects Wen Kexing to return to his task of licking his fingers clean, but instead he drops his hand down again, this time to press his whole palm to the mess on his abs. Before Zhou Zishu can wonder what his fascination with it is, Wen Kexing is wrapping his slicked hand around his cock - and he goes properly hard again so quickly his head spins.

“Oh,” Wen Kexing says softly, eyes wide, as he strokes him just once and Zhou Zishu can’t help but shudder with a punched out little noise that he’s too late to stop. He squeezes his eyes shut and leans forward until he can rest his weight on one hand pressed to the floor next to Wen Kexing’s shoulder, his lips parted as he suddenly struggles to catch his breath. “Oh Ah-Xu, our first time when you can feel me properly shouldn’t have hurt you so much.”

“It’s only fitting that it should be too much,” Zhou Zishu manages to grind out. He opens his eyes to find Wen Kexing looking anxiously back and forth between them, his eyebrows drawn up in open concern, so different from the furious hunger of just a few minutes ago. “Too much - and not enough. Try again.”

“Mn?”

“Hurt me again.”

“Ah-Xu -”

Zhou Zishu catches Wen Kexing’s chin in his free hand, harsh and unforgiving. “Again, Lao Wen. You think I’ve been waiting for you to wake up all this time just for you to be afraid to touch me? Make me forget what it was like to feel you dead in my arms.”

That seems to do the trick. Wen Kexing’s eyes flash and Zhou Zishu isn’t even startled to find their positions reversed; the only concession for the stone floor that Wen Kexing gives him is a hand behind his head to keep him from hitting it too hard as he’s thrown down on his back - other than that he’s just as harsh as he was before. They’re already ragged and bloodied, it doesn’t take nearly as much effort the second time for Zhou Zishu to lose himself in the ache of Wen Kexing pressing on his new bruises, biting even fresher ones next to them.

He gasps and exhales a moan that echoes off the stone around them as Wen Kexing bites his neck hard enough to draw blood there too at the same moment he slides two spit- and come-slick fingers inside his body with absolutely no mercy. It hurts, but his Lao Wen and so he doesn’t complain. He’ll never complain as long as it’s Wen Kexing who’s the one bearing down on him, pressing into him, working him as expertly as ever even though so much internal attention isn’t necessary now that he can finally get hard again. It doesn’t seem to matter what he needs or doesn't - his entire being belongs to the man on top of him and he knows that Wen Kexing enjoys reminding him of that.

The only reason the second round lasts anywhere close to the same length of time as the first is because this time Wen Kexing forces him to wait every time he trembles close to the edge of orgasm, until by the time he finally allows it Zhou Zishu is so overstimulated it hurts as much as it pleasures.

“Enough,” Wen Kexing pants when he’s finished and they’re now both sporting the same messes on their chests. “Enough Ah-Xu, no more angry sex tonight. Alright?”

“Fine,” Zhou Zishu pants as he stares unseeingly up at the ceiling. “Tomorrow, then.”

“No.” Zhou Zishu closes his eyes as Wen Kexing starts stroking his cheek with his hand that’s still relatively clean, but he frowns when he feels the now-familiar sensation of shared qi flood through his meridians.

“What are you doing?”

“We’ll heal faster if we share it.”

Zhou Zishu darts his hand up to grab Wen Kexing’s wrist to force his hand away from his face and he opens his eyes with an effort to meet Wen Kexing’s confused gaze.

“Leave it.”

“Ah-Xu?”

“Penance.”

Wen Kexing blinks at him for a long moment and then the last of the fight truly drains out of him as he hangs his head, his hair sliding over one shoulder to hang between them and the rest of the room. In the moonlight backlighting it it almost seems to glow and Zhou Zishu’s breath hitches in his chest as he looks at it, this reminder of how much Wen Kexing had tried to give up. For him. He had never asked so many people to want to die for him. All he had ever wanted was the people he cared about to live, why were they all so determined to leave him behind anyway?

“Come back to bed,” Wen Kexing says and Zhou Zishu can hear the tears thick in his voice though he can’t see his face. “Please.”

Maneuvering up off the floor and righting their robes at least enough to make the chilly walk more bearable takes a surprisingly long time, but thankfully Wen Kexing had kept track of where he was going as he had followed Zhou Zishu through the armory and so he just has to follow behind him as they return quickly enough to their ‘bedroom’, for lack of anything better to call it. As they walk, his own anger ebbs back out of him, as it always does, to be replaced with a soul-deep grief. His anger is really only a poor cover for that lurking sorrow anyway, and it consumes too much energy to maintain the front for too long. By the time Wen Kexing is helping him out of his outer robes and nudging him in the direction of their bed he feels so weighed down by the ghosts of his mistakes that all he can do is obey and sit heavily on the edge of it.

“ ‘Penance’,” Wen Kexing muses with dark humor as he returns Zhou Zishu’s robes to their spot and begins to strip out of his own. “Are we not already paying penance having to spend the rest of our lives in the cold? Away from Chengling and Four Seasons Manor? It’s a price I’m willing to pay a thousand times over in order to live this life with you, but it is still a sacrifice. Don’t you think that’s penance enough?”

Zhou Zishu doesn’t even bother looking up from his hands between his knees as Wen Kexing talks to him, only raising his eyes with a sharp inhale through his nose when the other man comes to kneel in front of him, though he can still only stand to look around the vicinity of his chin.

“Ah-Xu. What are you punishing yourself for?”

“You have to ask?”

“I do. We’ve already forgiven each other for the lies we told, you don’t fool me. What are you really angry about?”

“I’m not trying to fool you, I am angry that you lied to me.”

“And you have lied to me. We’re even as far as I’m concerned, and I think it would be useless to keep score from here on out. What are petty disagreements to immortal lovers, hm?”

Zhou Zishu finally lifts his gaze the rest of the way with an effort to look Wen Kexing in the eyes. They still manage to shine somehow even in the dim light of the candles guttering in the corners of the room, and Zhou Zishu can’t quite resist reaching out to hold his face with both hands. Hands that can now feel how soft his skin is, how warm. He strokes his thumb slowly along the plush curve of his bitten bottom lip and the softness of it, the easy give of it beneath his touch, have him aching to bite him again. Again and again and again until he no longer feels quite so hungry for him, so desperate.

“Ah-Xu,” Wen Kexing murmurs seemingly for no reason other than to call for him. Zhou Zishu lets his thumb move with his lips as he does so, the drag of the warm, damp skin against his fingertip a concrete reminder that he hasn’t lost Wen Kexing. He’s here, alive and breathing and determined to live for the rest of their forever at his side.

“I want to stop seeing you dead,” he confesses, much less angrily this time than the first as he allows his grief and fear to take their rightful place at center stage. “I want to but I can’t. You were so cold, Lao Wen, the first thing I felt was you so cold-“

Wen Kexing’s brows knit together as he turns his head just enough to press ardent kisses to his palm, his long fingers curling around Zhou Zishu’s wrist to hold his hand still for it.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes and Zhou Zishu’s breath hitches in his throat. “I’m sorry, Ah-Xu.”

Zhou Zishu coaxes Wen Kexing into turning his head forward again with a press of his palm to his cheek only to meet him more than halfway in a kiss that’s messy and clumsy and perfect in every way he needs it to be. Wen Kexing surges up to deepen it, to loom over him and then press him back insistently with his whole body as he climbs onto the bed first to straddle him and then to lay him down, kissing kissing kissing all the while.

Even in what Zhou Zishu has come to think of as his ‘first’ life - his life before Wen Kexing - he doesn’t think anyone’s touch ever affected him as much as Wen Kexing’s does now. His hands, though they’re cool simply by virtue of where they live, feel like branding irons as they skim down his chest and arms, dragging his dishevelled sleeping robe off in their wake. He shivers in the chill of the cave as the cold air meets his flushed skin and even that, somehow, adds to the overwhelming flood of sensations from Wen Kexing’s hands alone.

“I’ll make you forget it all,” Wen Kexing promises as he drags those burning hands up to grip the sides of his neck, press his thumbs under his jaw to coax him into tipping his head back so he can kiss the bruises he’d left. “I’ll make you forget everything but me right here with you like this. Alright?”

“Alright,” Zhou Zishu breathes, at a loss for anything else to say. Why shouldn’t he agree? It’s impossible for him to forget it all but he’d like to try, and Wen Kexing has made so many impossible things happen already. Maybe this one is in his power as well.

He lets himself get lost in the way each kiss and caress feels brand new, and so quickly it could almost be embarrassing he feels his cock growing stiff again, his entire body reacting to each brush of fingertips or soft hair or lips against his skin like it’s the first time he’s ever felt such a thing. It’s the first time he’s ever properly felt Wen Kexing, at least, and he can’t help but think that that’s good enough; his first time feeling his zhiji’s touch the way it’s meant to be felt. If this is what he’s felt every time Zhou Zishu touches him then it’s no wonder Wen Kexing has so often begged and coaxed him to go just once more, to kiss for just a little longer, not to separate yet if they don’t have to. Not that Zhou Zishu hadn’t understood the desire to be close before, of course he has, but this really elevates things to a new height he had been incapable of even imagining.

Zhou Zishu sees stars the moment Wen Kexing leans in to take him into his mouth. He doesn’t come but it’s an extremely close thing, and there’s no stopping himself from whimpering and shifting restlessly as he tries to chase the pleasure Wen Kexing is offering him. He’s stopped by Wen Kexing’s wide hands heavy on his hips pressing him down into the bed and keeping him still so he can focus on working himself down the length of him painfully slowly. There have been times, usually in the afterglow of particularly good orgasms, when Wen Kexing has told him that if he could use all his best tricks then Zhou Zishu wouldn’t stand a chance against him, and Zhou Zishu has always scoffed, never believed such assertions could be anything but empty bragging. He should really know by now that Wen Kexing doesn’t brag without reason - if he says he can kill someone then he will. If he claims he can exact a fitting revenge against the world that wronged him, then he will. And now Zhou Zishu knows intimately that when Wen Kexing has said that he knows precisely how he wants to rip Zhou Zishu apart, he has meant every word.

He feels like he’s being slowly flayed apart, seen and known at every level of his being solely so that Wen Kexing can understand best how to destroy all of his defenses. Not that he should be surprised, of course - this is hardly the first time Zhou Zishu had thought he was fine only to suddenly find that his walls have been smashed to rubble and Wen Kexing is standing too close to him in the aftermath of it, smirking at him and leaning in to say something filthy in his ear to make him blush and snap at him even as he tries to pull him closer.

Zhou Zishu comes for the third time that night with his hands in Wen Kexing’s hair and his legs wrapped haphazardly around his ribcage, head thrown back and throat tight around a strangled moan that ends on something that sounds suspiciously like a sob.

Wen Kexing gives him absolutely no time to recover. He keeps his mouth on him until it turns genuinely unbearable and then he’s back, kissing him like he’ll die if he doesn’t taste every inch of his mouth at that very moment and slamming home inside of him between one breath and the next. Zhou Zishu doesn’t bother trying to restrain the pained noise that escapes him at the intrusion but Wen Kexing ignores it, instead just setting up a punishing rhythm that leaves Zhou Zishu no time at all to try to come down from his third orgasm before arousal builds in him again.

Wen Kexing is an absolute monster, and Zhou Zishu loves him so much it’s a physical ache in his chest. And there, at last, is the root of his anger. Wen Kexing makes him hurt so much, it’s only natural for him to want to protect himself from it, to put distance between them with frustration and bluster, to keep the unbearable ache of such consuming love from taking him over completely. It’s been necessary, until now, to maintain that distance even after they were in agreement that they were all either of them needs in this world. The fact then had been that Zhou Zishu was going to die and leave Wen Kexing behind to mourn him, a fact they had frequently done their best to ignore but at least Zhou Zishu had never managed it, and he was fairly sure Wen Kexing never had either. He’d spent so much time expressing concern for Zhou Zishu and his injuries, it stands to reason that he’d spent even more time thinking about them than talking about them, and any time the barest whisper of a possible cure had reached their ears Wen Kexing had always pounced on it like a street cat, vicious and single-minded as he’d dug in with his claws to drag out any information he possibly could.

Zhou Zishu’s fourth orgasm of the night leaves him feeling hollow and satisfied, finally, even as Wen Kexing spills inside of him, fills him up. As they share hot, too-heavy breaths in the aftermath, as Wen Kexing presses wet kisses to his lips and cheeks and jaw, as Wen Kexing settles his weight over him and slides a hand up into his hair to cradle him and hold him close, Zhou Zishu releases the anger that’s nothing but a smokescreen for the ache of loving too fiercely for his heart to contain it all.

“I love you,” he says into the intimate silence but for the rhythms of their living and breathing and the soft rustle of skin and cloth rubbing together as Wen Kexing readjusts his legs and attempts to get comfortable on top of him. “That’s what I’m angry about. I love you.”

“Reasonable,” Wen Kexing mumbles muzzily into his shoulder with a lazy kiss. “Will you elaborate or am I meant to just understand why loving me should make you so upset?”

“You expect me to believe that you don’t love me so much it somehow becomes other emotions as well just so your heart can contain it all?”

Wen Kexing is silent for a few long moments as their breathing slows in tandem, fingertips tracing slow, gentle circles around the ball of his shoulder as he turns his head a bit and shifts a few times until he’s settled even more comfortably.

“Ah..Perhaps I do understand, then,” he finally murmurs, and Zhou Zishu can hear a faint smile in his voice. “Is that what you’re seeking penance for? Loving me?”

“Maybe. Or maybe for everything else I’ve done before you. Maybe I have to pay for it to deserve being able to keep you until we get tired of this life and decide we’d like to end it.”

“Ah-Xu,” Wen Kexing tuts and he’s definitely smiling now. “You’ve said it yourself that if a man sets aside his weapons he’ll become good. I don’t believe you need to punish yourself like this. You don’t need to find a replacement for the pain of the Nails just because you’ve survived your torment.”

Zhou Zishu’s breath catches in his chest and he tips his head enough to try to look down at Wen Kexing. One of his eyes is visible at this angle and Zhou Zishu is unsurprised to find his gaze full of a quiet understanding.

“That’s...hm. Alright. I suppose it’s useless to argue that, I’m sure you already know exactly how to win against me.”

“Of course I do,” Wen Kexing replies with a tired chuckle. “But there’s also no point in arguing it simply because I’m right, and as I said before - what use is there in keeping score? Time and debts and the measure of good and evil are nothing to us anymore. We’ll do as much good as we can from here, and when we’re ready we’ll re-enter the world and continue to do good there until we die together. The past doesn’t concern us anymore.”

Zhou Zishu hums softly and finally finds the energy to raise one hand to begin combing his fingers through the snarled mess of Wen Kexing’s hair, keeping his touch light even when he encounters snags and knots. Wen Kexing melts into him as he works and when he starts breathing deeply, the rhythm regular, Zhou Zishu doesn’t bother resisting the desire to turn his head and press a long, slow kiss to his forehead. He lifts his free hand to curl his fingers around Wen Kexing’s wrist and, as has become a habit that’s as natural as breathing, he lets their energy circulate together, fitting himself easily into the familiar paths of his love’s qi and speeding up the healing process as much as he can, for both of their sakes, as the love of his life sleeps comfortably in his arms.

#word of honor #word of honor fanfic #wenzhou #wen kexing #zhou zishu #cw: blood

[marshmallowprotection]

Serendipity

Pairing: Kang Jaehee/Main Character 

Bio: It's been nice to get into the groove of working in the café with Jaehee, but the two of you keep butting heads over the little things. How will you settle it?

For the Mystic Messenger Reverse Big Bang Project. @mysme-rbb

[Read on AO3]

[Check out my Partner here.]

It wasn’t as easy as you thought to get a business up and running. Well, you certainly didn’t think it was a cakewalk, but it was a lot more involved than you assumed.

But, you supposed that was how anyone felt about their business. Jaehee knew the in’s and out’s well after spending so much time working with Jumin, however, there were still so many factors to consider that she had to take note of as you two were working hard on the business model for the café.

She had taken care of so much without even batting an eyelash. From making sure that things with the renovation were going properly, to ensuring that all the little touchings for the interior were to your liking as you had decided upon after making countless sketches, and that wasn’t at all to disregard how she’d been working on brewing the menu of drinks.

Jaehee was astounding, frankly.

Every single day you were able to learn something that you hadn’t known about her and it just drew you to want to be closer to Jaehee. She was passionate and it showed in how much thought she put into the smallest things. It could be as simple as trying to make sure that the napkins had the right color and energy.

Or, it could be as big as picking which tables and machinery to use. As long as she was there, you knew that you had nothing to worry about in terms of getting things to stay on track. You had a bit harder time trying to schedule things and make sure that they were following the path that they needed, so having Jaehee there made things possible without any messes!

To clarify, you thought, messes that involved construction and order were things you didn’t have to concern yourself with.

If it was in regards to a teeny mess in the kitchen?

That was kind of another thing entirely to talk about with your partner. There was plenty of work to be done and you were busy most of the time working to make sure that you had everything you needed for the day to clean up right as you worked.

Which, often led to Jaehee clicking her tongue and sighing at your work ethic. You just beamed whenever she came around and found just a bit of flour or other ingredients resting against the chopping block or the sink. You would get to things just as soon as you rotated through your fast cycle. It was how you functioned and how your brain layered your tasks.

While she thrived on order and structure to get things done, you had moments of relishing the freedom of the moment and letting your creativity wander. Some people would say that it was a partnership that had stormy seas ahead; but, honestly? Having someone willing to work outside of the box with someone who danced closer to the lines meant you had perfect harmony.

You didn’t have to always see eye to eye to be close to someone, nor did you have to agree to get things done.

Opposing views, as you had experienced, had allowed you and Jaehee to be able to find a lot of middle ground that would benefit more people than just yourselves. It opened the shop to more than just one crowd of people that wanted to drop by.

You both wanted this café to flourish with which meant putting your heads together to make progress!

Though, while your differing views had blended just fine thus far, the one thing that the two of you were having trouble with had to do with the menu of the café. She had carefully crafted the brews from the roast to the cup. However, where you two had a problem was trying to find that staple item on the menu.

It was that one thing that people would always drop by to try or were buzzing about when they talked about the place. After all, just focusing on drinks wouldn’t quite attract just anyone to see the place for themselves. You had a few ideas yourself and so did Jaehee, but you just couldn’t agree at all on what you should go with.

Your mind told you to go for gold by something big and flashy and Jaehee was focused on something simple, but not too plain.

It was seemingly the only thing that you couldn’t agree on. There were far too many pastries and cakes to pick from to settle on just one thing to be the centerpiece. Which, is what led the two of you to come to the conclusion that you had reached today.

In the kitchen of the café with loads of sweets on the counter for no reason other than the fact that:

“Well, if we simply cannot settle this by looking at our notes, then we should make everything that we believe to be a strong contender, [Y/N].”

“A good ol’ fashioned bake-off, then, huh?”

“I think those terms are agreeable.”

“Bring it on.”

Of course, neither you nor Jaehee set a limit on how many things you had in mind, which meant that the kitchen had way more snacks than you could eat by yourselves in just a day or two. That would certainly wind up going to the rest of the RFA when you were done if they were fool-hardy enough to walk into the café today.

You wouldn’t deny that it was fun, though.

To be in the kitchen together while the low hum of the radio echoed throughout the room, your eyes lingering on Jaehee when she thought that you were caught up in reading your notes and pausing to stir something with careful ease. These were the moments when you got to see a side of Jaehee that nobody else ever got the chance to view.

That side of Jaehee warmed your heart and brought warmth to your face. She was always so cute when she worked like this. She pursed her lips just so and would tap the tip of the pen against her lips whenever she made notes and correlations to her plans as she sampled and changed her final goal.

She didn’t know how adorable it was.

Not that you let a day go by without reminding her how much you appreciated having her in your personal space. She would always blush and cough to compose herself, looking away before she slid her hand into your own before you headed home for the evening after closing up the shop for the day.

One of these days she would be able to face you and tease you back without hesitation, but you were okay waiting for that day. These moments where she challenged you and kept you on your toes were just as fun and interesting to you to have and to hold. Though, this time, you wanted to be able to show her that you were capable of being able to prove that your choice was right.

“How’s it going over here?” you asked, continuing to stir the bowl in your hands as you made eye contact with Jaehee. “Ready to admit defeat, Jaehee?”

She chuckled. You knew that sound. She was always ready to stand her ground. You knew that whatever she had planned might’ve upstaged whatever you were thinking. So, you knew when she smiled, it was time to test the waters to see, “I assure you that I won’t be giving up so easily.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be a battle if you didn’t give it your all,” you countered. You took a few steps into her side of the kitchen just to get a little glimpse at her plans. You just needed to give her a little push to get on her good side. Setting down your work next to hers, you caught her hand in your own with a wink.

“And what do you think you’re doing?”

You brought her hand to your lips and brushed them against the palm of her palm. “Oh, nothing, I just wanted to make sure that these things were in working order,” you said and watched as the heat rose from her neck to her cheeks in a matter of seconds. “Don’t you think you should take a little break?”

“And let you get ahead of me?” her narrowed brow told you that she knew what you were trying to do but she wasn’t going to stop you. “We both know where that game goes at the end of the day, [Y/N.] So, what are you playing at?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to get you to take a break. I love this song, I thought you earned a dance for your hard work. We can’t take things so seriously that we forget to have a little downtime in the meantime, you know?”

“...No funny business, got it?”

“No promises.”

Jaehee allowed you to pull her close into a slow and swaying dance. She was light on her feet and kept her eyes on you the entire time. You knew that you could count on her to be watching your every move. She was always acutely aware of every detail.

So, you were more than happy to twist and turn around that kitchen without a second thought.

The heart-strung melody of a familiar song was the only thing that you needed. That, and having Jaehee close to you. She made you feel at home and alive. You hoped that she felt the same way as it was often difficult for her to express those thoughts aloud. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel like you did, she was just…

Still getting used to sharing her emotions with others without feeling like she needed to ball them up and away. Her home life had taught her to keep herself withdrawn and learning how to let go of that was like learning how to ride a bike. It wasn’t impossible but it was tedious and one of those things that took time and patience to work out.

You dipped her back and she sputtered but trusted you not to drop her on her butt. You never would… unless there was a cushion there to brace her fall from grace, anyway. The look in her brown eyes never got old and you craved to see it every time that she shared it with you so tenderly.

As you helped Jaehee back onto two legs, she could feel you moving her back and back until her hip bumped against the counter. She glanced between you and the ground before you caught her face in your open palm, leaning over to brush your lips against her cheek.

She instantly reacted to your affection by moving back a smidge, her hand knocking into both of your bowls, mixing the two.

“Oh, no!”

“[Y/N], you got carried away again!”

“I didn’t mean to!” You laughed it off as best you could. Though, you couldn’t help but think the pink shade of the batter you had created was turning a deep blush thanks to Jaehee’s handiwork of her own creation. She huffed and puffed as you tried to make sense of the mess and see if it could be mended.  

Curious, you dipped a hand into the batter to give it a taste. It reminded you of something sweet and fruity, but you couldn’t quite discern what was in it.

It tasted really good, though.

“Jaehee, wait, come and try this,” you nudged her to come back to your side, bumping a spoon next to her lips to let her try. She tried only due to your insistence on the matter, pausing as she took in the flavor and nodded. “I think we’ve figured out what we’re going to have. Instead of red velvet, we can have a pink velvet!”

“We should’ve done this to start with,” she said, with a little laugh. Her warm cheeks were still reddened with embarrassment. “I guess it’s not always wrong to put things together to see if they work out.”

“Of course not, that’s why we work so well together.”

“Pffft, hahaha. I think this is going to turn out great.”

“Us, or the cakes?”

“Both.”

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