#got nearly 15k steps in !

[holdoncallfailed]

took myself on a velvet underground walking tour for the hell of it..obviously none of the buildings look the same but still it was a nice walk hashtag history is all around us

john and lou and tony conrad's apartment at 56 ludlow street, café bizarre where warhol first heard them, riviera café where lou told sterling and maureen that he was going to kick john out of the band lol, the dom aka the home of the exploding plastic inevitable, 2nd factory location, max's kansas city, 3rd factory location :-) i also passed cbgb but i didn't bother taking a picture this time

#got nearly 15k steps in ! #the velvet underground

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #23] Cherry Picking

warnings: ohhhhh we have arrived!! okay! a lil (not so) dry hump, bird manipulation!!, panty sniffing!! panties in mouth??, titty sucking, fingering, oral (f receiving), jungkooks nose <3, kissing !!! oh god the loveliest of kisses!!! unprotected sex, 'baby', cum on tits, jk cleans her up with his tongue! a gentleman! over stimulation, squirting, (just friendly tho!!)

soundtrack: diamonds - luke hemmings, finally // beautiful stranger - halsey, ruin the friendship - demi lovato

a/n: just two updates tonight as it cuts off at the perfect place!

wc: 15k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

"They'll be wondering where you are," you say quietly, as the door behind you clicks shut. There's a slight rustle - the synthetic material of your padded jacket rubbing against itself - when Jeongguk comes to stand behind you, before he drapes it over your shoulders.

"Shouldn't start the New Year with a cold," he simply states stepping over the stone bench to sit down beside you. It's cold beneath his body, but he's got his coat on too. You've a hand warmer in each pocket, so pass one over to him. "Thanks."

"I mean it, Gguk," you double down, voice soft. "It's nearly time."

He just shrugs. Looks up to the sky.

You're in the tiny courtyard that's attached to the staffroom; Jeongguk's secret hiding spot for when he needs to escape from the chaos of Dionysus. There are some sheets of plywood in the corner that Jeongguk needs to take over to Yoongi's studio, but he's still putting off the expansions his boss wants doing. Doesn't want to lose his little sanctuary just yet.

It feels like he's losing more and more comforts day by day.

His final university deadlines are approaching, and he's gonna have to decide if he stays comfortable or does something far more terrifying a lot sooner than he's really ready for.

Change can be daunting, so he's choosing to keep things as they are as much as he can. Feels safer that way. The curse of Jeon Jeongguk is his ability to let his fears control his life. He's always been this way. Fears he always will be. The irony isn't lost on him.

"They'll be wondering where you are, too," he says. Thinks that Danbi must be running around like a headless chicken trying to find you - but also knows she was holding Tae's hand as she was glancing around before he left, so maybe she'll be a bit distracted. Thinks it's about time. Tae's been looking at her like a lovesick pup for weeks, now. Months, even.

"Jiyeong-" You begin, but are cut off by Jeongguk.

He doesn't want to talk about her. Doesn't wanna have to explain what happened, because it feels embarrassing and bothersome. Pity looks so pretty on your features, but he doesn't want to be the recipient of such a gentle look.

"-Isn't gonna be a part of next year," he says. Though his tone isn't stern, it is incredibly final .

You bring your gaze down from the skies, and rest your chin on your shoulder to look at Jeongguk. His eyes are still searching for stars - the light pollution proves to make it impossible - chin tilted upward, dewy nose to the sky. His skin is beginning to blush from the cold. His lips are thin; folded in on themselves, lip ring shining ever so daintily as it flips in the corner of his mouth.

You've missed watching his piercing do the thing. When you've as much alcohol in your system as you do, you find it makes your tummy flip, too. It's silly of your body to behave like that. Drunk or not, Jeongguk is still just Jeongguk.

From the club, you can hear the echoes of a chant. The countdown has begun. If you ask questions now, he'll just brush them off.

You're a little too tipsy to really comprehend what he means, either way.

"We should go back inside," you whisper, eyes still on him, your chin denting down into the thick padding of your coat. You always think you look like an emo Michelin baby whenever you wear it. If Jeongguk heard the comparison, he'd laugh. Would agree.

When he turns to look at you, he barely notices the coat. Just thinks you look cosy. Is pleased to find the stars right here on Earth, instead.

"Won't make it in time," he says.

"Could try?"

"Why bother?"

"'Cause you should be around people who care about you when it hits twelve," you say, a little pout on your lips. He's being difficult.

And then he just shrugs. Knocks into your shoulder. Smiles. "Are we not already?"

There's silence for a moment. Just a second.

The sky above you both begins to sparkle; greens and blues erupting where darkness once was. They scatter into the night; pinks and yellows spiralling just like your mind so often does whenever Jeongguk speaks in riddles.

You're aware that the fireworks are deafening, but you're oblivious to the sound. All you can hear is the beating of your own heart. The explosions shimmer in Jeongguk's eyes, but it's still only stars you can see in them.

"Happy New Year," Jeongguk says quietly. Smiles tenderly. Fills you with a warmth that the frigid winter night had previously stolen. He doesn't look at your lips. Makes no indication that he's thinking about a New Year's kiss.

There are a dozen girls in that room who'd have jumped at the chance to lock lips with him, even if just for a moment as the bells rang out, and yet he's chosen to be with you.

He could have been with Hayun.

And yet he's chosen to be with you.

"Happy New Year," you smile right back. The exchange is soft, like mid-winter snow; warm like a breeze on a summer's day. Secure like a three-pin-padlock; secret, like the code written in the back of an old notebook.

"Hey, B?" He says quietly, eyes still on yours. The sky flashes a myriad of colours. They rain down on him; paint him better than Picasso ever could.

"Mhmm?"

He grins. You think his lip ring looks so pretty. Teeth, too. Pearly and perfectly proportioned for him.

"Stop looking at my lips," he teases. "Gonna make me think you wanna kiss me."

A gasp escapes your lips. You look away. Cover your mouth. Can't believe how fucking obvious you must have been.

"I was just..." you begin to excuse yourself, but then laugh. Choose honesty. "I was actually just thinking about the fact you missed out on a New Years Kiss."

Jeongguk shrugs in that boyish way he so often does, as if he has no care for the arbitrary realities of life. C'est la vie . He looks up to the skies, and lets his smile linger as the illuminations paint the midnight skies.

"Got all year for kisses, B. Only one chance to see the New Year in with my best friend."

And maybe it's because you've been rattled by Hayun, or maybe it's because he's one of the only good things to have come out of the past year, but hearing him claim you as his best friend makes you feel like a weight has been lifted.

"Best friend?" You question, just to make sure.

He nods. "Best friend."

It's laughable, really, how those two words take aim at the arrows shot by Hayun, and knocks them off course before they can really implode on your heart. Just a surface scratch, now. That's all.

"What about Jimin?"

Jeongguk tilts his head to the side. Considers it. "Family."

You're pleased to hear the conclusion of his consideration. You've a shared history with Jimin that could make things awkward between the three of you, and yet you all chalk it up to dumb drunk choices. Aren't the first you've ever made. Won't be the last.

"Be weird if I said you were like family, too," Jeongguk adds - then feels the need to clarify, even though he totally doesn't. "Fucked you. Would make for weird family gatherings."

You laugh. Nod. "Yeah. Probably best you don't ever tell girls I'm like a sister or anything like that," you muse.

He laughs, too, but doesn't say anything. Thinks of Hayun, and how he knows you had definitely had a spat with her before you left. Wants to know what was said. Knows it will be about him. Doesn't want to sour your mood. Is quite conflicted.

Luckily for him, your mind works in a similar way, and your filter is next to non-existent when you've had as many drinks as you have.

"I thought Hayun was your best friend."

Jeongguk looks over to you, his eyes a little hard, brows pinching above his nose. You don't look at him. The fireworks are dwindling, now.

"Friendships change," he admits candidly.

Won't tell you how the second he heard someone asking for star fuckers, he assumed it was you .

Won't tell you how he recited lines - already said to you - to her, because he wasn't comfortable enough in her presence to let his brain think of anything original. Went for something safe. Went for something nurtured with you.

Won't tell you how much the way you've subtly distracted him - with glitter and nonsensical conversations - throughout the night has helped him get his head straight.

Won't tell you how watching you leave felt like a sucker punch to the chest.

Won't tell you that he didn't even consider going over to his friends, because in that moment he was furious with the fact Hayun had made you want to leave so close to midnight. He likes to think it wasn't intentional, but celebrating with her while you would have been alone? Didn't seem like something worth celebrating at all.

If he hadn't been distracted (as always) by your disco ball eyes, and the way light shines from your very being, he never would have known you were speaking with her. Never would have seen her do that thing with her eyes - the cold, vacant, roll of them he used to know so well - that he hated so much. Never would have realised you were leaving.

You'd have spent New Year's by yourself, away from the people who love you, cold and quiet.

And it would have been her fault.

Mentally, he excuses her bad behaviour; tells himself it's probably a mix of alcohol and someone new taking her place that made her hostile.

But when he looks at you, and acknowledges the sadness that imposes on your features, the guilt creeps in. He blames himself . If he'd have introduced you two, maybe it would have gone differently. If Jiyeong hadn't been so rude to her, maybe Hayun wouldn't have been so malevolent with you.

Absolving Hayun of blame is something Jeongguk's been doing for years. Patterns of behaviour are easy to acknowledge; difficult to end.

He's trying. He's here. That counts for something.

You think Jeongguk is right. Friendships do change. You're scared that Hayun's presence will change yours.

"When do you clock off?" You ask, instead of venturing any further down the road of a topic you don't think will benefit either of you.

Jeongguk raises his wrist - the one without his watch on it - and hums. Pretends to read it. Makes you giggle.

"About five minutes ago."

The skies have settled once more. The only stars he can see are ones in his peripherals; the specks of glitter on his skin, and the girl beside him.

The chill of a winter freeze is sobering you up. You know that you probably can't walk straight, but you can think straight, and that's absolutely outrageous, as far as you're concerned. The night is still young and - as Jimin said - so are you. The heaviness in your heart is ageing you. You don't care for it.

"Starfuckers?" you propose - and the way Jeongguk smiles has you wishing you'd asked earlier.

"Thought you'd never ask," he grins, but catches himself.

Decides he needs to give you a little context on Jiyeong before continuing the night, 'cause he doesn't wanna talk about it when he's a few shots too deep to be sensible about things.

"Jiyeong gets really... argumentative when she drinks."

His slow speech makes it evident how careful he's trying to be. You know what it really means. Knows she must have said something awful for him to be mentioning it now.

"Was it bad?" you ask, a little clueless, and hating it.

Jeongguk nods. Bites the bullet. Doesn't look at you as he says, "She threw a drink on me."

"She what?!"

Jeongguk smirks, not because he finds it funny, but because he finds it awkward. Rolls his eyes, and shakes his head. "Was at the bar. Fucking mortifying ."

You study his face, looking for signs you might have missed.

"Where did she get you?" You ask, but realise as soon as your question finishes. You gasp again. Can't believe you hadn't thought to ask earlier. "The outfit change?!"

He confirms your suspicions. "Anyways, I'm sort of... done with her."

His hesitation is genuine, not because he's unsure of his choice, just because he's still worried about letting you down.

To his surprise, you're the one apologising.

The weight in your chest when he admits that he doesn't want to be with her is catastrophic. You thought you had picked well for him. You really thought maybe you'd helped him. You feel like the failure.

"Gguk, if I'd have known she was like that, I never would have set things up. I'm so so sorry. You didn't deserve that whatsoever."

"Not your fault," he says, offering you a sincere smile. "Just the way the cookie crumbles sometimes."

He's downplaying it, and you both know it. He doesn't want to talk about it though, so you won't push. Not now. Another time, yes.

Thing is, neither of you are at fault. C'est la vie.

"You know how many stars there are?" You ask, in a bid to change the subject to something a little easier to digest.

Jeongguk shakes his head. "Not a clue, B."

"Oh," you say quietly. "Thought you might. Always mumbling stuff about the stars, you are."

He smiles to himself. Thinks it's hardly a surprise.

Deflects, and asks, "You know much about manure?"

"What?" You chirp, then laugh. What a bizarre question. "No?"

"Oh," he hums, mimicking you. "Thought you might. Always chatting shit."

You tell him to fuck off, so he gets to his feet - but holds his hand out for you.

"C'mon," he knocks his head to the side. "Let's go get fucked up."

It's quarter past twelve by the time you make it back to your friends, Jeongguk double fisting drinks 'cause he's so far behind everyone else and needs to get fucked up.

It doesn't take much - four double dark rum and cokes, three purple starfuckers - for him to be doing the robot in a strange sort of avant-garde dance battle with Hobi and Jimin. You're not really sure what you're looking at as Jeongguk moves his body in a way you never need to see him move his body - but you find it hilarious. He's both smooth and awkward in his movements. None of it quite makes sense.

You smile through it all. Endlessly. Affectionately. Adoringly.

And then you're laughing, too.

Might just be the vodka. Might be the nerves of Hayun's eyes being on you. Most likely, it's because Jeongguk looks ridiculous. So sexy in one moment, and so goofy in the next.

You never know what's coming next. He almost stumbles over to you as you nurse on a drink by the sofas. Regains his balance. Tries to play it cool. Is suave as he says, "you good down there, B?" - but then he sinks down into the sofa beside you, a silly grin on his rum-drunk lips. You find that you'd welcome all his surprises, good or bad.

He hiccups. Scolds himself. Asks you how you are. Hiccups again. Listens as you tell him to hold his breath. Hiccups as he's doing it. Gives up. Hiccups freely.

He's still got a drink in his hand, so you take it from him and have a sip or two. He doesn't protest. Rabbits on about something neither of you will remember in the morning. The club lights hit him in all the right places, making his glittered cheekbones appear even more majestic than they already were.

"More glitter," you muse. "You need more glitter."

"Y'know," he slurs, looking all very poised and serious, a finger pointing as he speaks. "I was thinking the exact same thing."

He chats absolute shit while you dapple his cheeks with more pretty sparkles. They match his eyes, now.

You've managed to avoid Hayun since returning, and you're secretly pleased that Jeongguk has done the same.

Aside from a few awkward glances when you both arrived back to greet your friends, he's deliberately steered clear. Wants an orderly mind before they speak again.

He's still disgruntled by the fact you found her so intolerable you were willing to spend New Year alone just to not be near her. Trusts you. Trusts your judgement (even if you did set him up with Jiyeong). Trusts you always see the good in people, but knows you struggled to see the good in her.

Thinks maybe life would have been easier if he met you first.

Hayun over by the bar with Nabi and Tae. They seem to be her closest friends amongst the circle. Yoongi didn't say a single word to her all night, but Seoyeon was pretty friendly with her.

They left just after midnight, and were gone by the time you and Jeongguk returned from the courtyard. Namjoon's working the early shift tomorrow - "the news isn't gonna write itself" - so he'd dipped with them, too.

Like Yoongi, Jimin gives Hayun the cold shoulder. It's expected, given how close he is to Jeongguk.

You're unaware of the fact that she and Jimin go way back. Knew each other as kids. If anyone should have still been pally with her, it would be him - but he's the only one who knows how much Jeongguk suffered because of her. He knows the situation almost as well as he knows the plotline for The Notebook, and considering that it's his go-to hangover movie (while also considering how often he's hungover), it's safe to say he's got a decent understanding of it.

Jimin will never be on Hayun's side. He told her years ago that this would be the consequence of her dicking Jeongguk around, and is a man of his word when it comes to his friends. Used to really eat him up, how easily she let go of their friendship. Counts it as a blessing, now.

As he stands by the bar and notices what's going on with you, Jeongguk and a tube of liquid glitter, he smiles. Doesn't have a clue what happened with Jiyeong. Doesn't care. Really couldn't give a shit for any other girl in Jeongguk's life. Is just glad he has you.

You've been good for him.

"What's going on with them?" Hayun asks as she joins him at the bar. Is a little annoyed Jeongguk has been so... avoidant. It's a change to the norm. Jeongguk doesn't do change. Something feels... off.

Jimin's smile fades. She still tries to be his friend. It annoys him. "Nothing."

She laughs. It's insincere.

"I've got a pair of eyes, Jimin. He's sat there like a lovesick puppy while some girl covers him in fucking glitter," she sneers.

"So? Your point?"

"It's fucking weird."

Jimin rolls his eyes. Exhales a deep sigh. "You've not been here, Hayun. You can't come back and decide that everything is awful just because it isn't the way you left it. Life's moved on. You should try it, sometime."

"That's not it," she says.

"So what is it?" Jimin questions. He doesn't really want to be having this conversation, but everyone's fucked. He thinks he'd rather know if she's up to no good. Might not remember it in the morning, but at least he'll know now.

"He's changed."

"He's happy," Jimin says bluntly. "That's what's changed."

"She's not his girlfriend," Hayun states.

Jimin knows about Jeongguk's desire to call things off with Jiyeong. Doesn't know about the fact he kind of already has. Also doesn't think it's his place to air Jeongguk's dirty laundry, so he says the safest thing he can.

"Nor is Jiyeong, if that's what you're getting at. Not sure if you remember, but Gguk has a hard time saying no to girls who treat him like shit," he says with a little venom. "His relationships are frankly none of your business. You revoked rights to that sort of information years ago."

"I'm just concerned," she says - and she sounds like she actually means it. Jimin doesn't buy it for a second, but lets her talk. "I used to know him better than anyone. It's like looking at a stranger, now."

"And who's fault is that?" Jimin snaps, but either Hayun is too drunk to really notice or too narcissistic to actually care.

Instead of actually responding, Hayun muses aloud. "All of it...the glitter, the puppy dog eyes... her attitude problem... It all just screams quarter-life crisis."

She's unaware that your glitter session ended a few minutes ago. Is unaware that you've dashed to the staff room to put your phone on charge. Is unaware that you'd sent Jeongguk on the hunt for more drinks.

Doesn't realise until Yeonjun flashes a grin, and says, "fuckin' hell. Shoulda put a bet on you morphing into Disco Ball."

Jeongguk smirks, resting his palms on the bar. He is, admittedly, DB2.0 at this point. There's glitter in his hair . "Starfuckers?"

"Trust me to make them?" Yeonjun checks - not that Jeongguk is stepping a foot behind the bar, not when he's as trashed as he is. The palms resting on the bar aren't just because he knows he looks good - it's because he needs to steady himself.

He nods. Taps Jimin on shoulder. "Starfucker?"

"Stupid question."

"I think the word you were looking for is 'yes'," Jeongguk grins, turning his attention back to Yeonjun. "Three, please, mate."

Hayun doesn't hide the smile on her face. Some things, apparently, don't change. She likes Jeongguk when you aren't around.

"Hey, buddy," she smiles in that way she always did when she'd been up to no good and wanted him on her side again.

Jeongguk is silent. Isn't smiling. Doesn't look at her. Just simply says: "Careful, Hayun."

"Hmm?" she questions, wondering what on earth she needs to watch out for. The bar's nearly empty, now.

"Watch your mouth when you're chatting shit," he says dryly, his voice just as flat as his eyes are vacant. "You never know who's listening."

Yeonjun can't help but smirk. Has been watching Jeongguk's entire life blow up right in front of his very eyes all night, and it just never ceases to surprise him. Has no idea who this bitch is in front of him, but the way Jeongguk looks like he wants to chew her up and spit her out? Oh, he is living for it.

He pours the shots. Decides the bar needs a good wipe-down. Stays close just to listen in.

Is surprised when he hears Jeongguk mention you by name. Had almost forgotten you actually have one. Is so used to calling you Disco Ball.

Admittedly, he thinks there's a tenderness to the way Jeongguk says your name. Thinks it's really fuckin' sweet.

He says your name, knocks back his shot, then says, "I dunno what you said to her earlier, but you were outta line. She's our friend." He passes the next shot over to Jimin. Finally looks down at Hayun. Is surprised when it doesn't hurt like he half thinks it should. He's never spoken to her like this before. "So play nicely, and keep her name out your mouth unless you're telling her how pretty her glitter looks."

Hayun thinks Jeongguk's gone absolutely clinically insane.

Yeonjun thinks this is brilliant .

From the corner of his eye, Jeongguk notices the staff room door open and close, so he picks up the spare shot that Hayun mistakenly thought was hers. As you approach, glittery and gorgeous like always, he holds it out for you to take.

"Oh, you star. Thank you," you beam, accepting it without a second thought. You ignore Hayun.

"Charging?" Jeongguk asks, just to make sure the dodgy wire in the staff room is working. You nod, and assure him it's fine. "Dancefloor?"

Again, you nod. "Please."

Yeonjun thinks he's gonna watch the security cameras back later just to see all of that unfold again. He's never seen a face look so much like a slapped arse, but Hayun? Offt . She's going through it.

"Y'know, maybe he has changed," Jimin smirks. "Ain't that a blessing."

Hayun is silent. Jeongguk has never spoken to her like that. Ever. Not even when they were fighting. The life she's returned to no longer has space for her, or so it feels like.

You're too drunk to care. Decide that you're better off pretending like she doesn't exist. You derive no joy from her existence, and think that this year you should only do things that make you happy.

When Jeongguk forces you to dance with him? You're happy.

When he yawns, and starts talking about kebabs? You're happy.

When he holds your hand and drunkenly traipses down the clubbing district to the kebab place he swears down laces their fries with crack? You're happy.

Happy when Jeongguk insists you walk instead of catching a cab, happy when he offers you a piggyback, happy when he doesn't put you down, not even in the elevator of his apartment complex.

Doesn't put you down until you're both sat on the floor between his kitchen area and sitting room. The lights are off, but early morning is breaking; the city intruding on your privacy.

Your hair is so long now, he thinks. How long has he known you? He can't remember. But it was short when you first met. Just above your shoulders. Now, it finishes midway down your chest. You're not the same person as you were back then, and nor is he.

It's a realisation; he's still learning about you. If somebody had asked him even a day ago how quickly your hair grows, he wouldn't have had an answer. Had never noticed. Knows your roots need doing, but he likes them so never comments on them.

Jeongguk knows you so well, and yet not at all.

He knows your favourite drink in a dive bar, but doesn't know what you'd get at bottomless brunch with the girls. Knows that you demolish Psy's It's Art in a noraebang, but has no idea what your favourite song is. Knows so much and yet knows nothing at all.

Knows your fears; doesn't know your hopes.

The realisation upsets him.

And so he asks. Lets you drunkenly natter on about your childhood dreams; plays the band you said soundtracked your childhood from his phone. It's set on the floor a little bit away from you. He chooses not to play it through a proper speaker. There's an intimacy to this. Thinks it's important you keep this shit analogue.

There's a dozen birds above Jeongguk's bed that outline the a-z of your intimacy textbook, but none of them include this.

None of them mentions talking about your childhood pet, and watching Jeongguk's pretty little smile appear on his scrunched-up face as he enthuses over puppy pictures.

Not a single bird includes candid admittance of times you threatened to run away from your family home as a teenager; nor do they include the way the Jeongguk asks about your escape plans, and tells you how you definitely could have done it.

There are no birds that tell you to bare your soul, and yet, you do.

Jeongguk is so kind with it. Accepts it graciously, and touches it with tender hands; places it down beside his own, and finds you fit perfectly in the empty space.

He finds himself nervous. Not in the lip-biting, ring-flipping, unsure eyes kind of way you're used to seeing him in, well, any uncomfortable situation; but in a different way entirely.

He worries that the night will end. Is concerned that you'll leave, and that things will be cemented in this awkwardly 'okay' stalemate.

He knows more about you than he did a few hours ago; has learned itsy bitsy tales of childhood and saw your face cringe as he scoured your mum's facebook page for pictures of your teenage haircut that you swore was cool at the time (not that his mother's kitchen scissor bowl cut was much better).

You've an idea of the layout of his family home, thanks to an overly explained prank that he says he pulled on his brother, which you also learn resulted in no eyebrows for either of them (another thing to thank his mother for ( "a punishment to match the crime" is how Jeongguk phrased it as he mindlessly stroked over his since-recovered brows)).

These aren't little things to know about one another. They're candid revelations packaged in awkward smiles and tied with liquor-laced ribbons.

Little presents, squirrelled away in each of your minds; reminders that the most intimate we can be with another person is when we're fully clothed.

Foolish of you not to consider that. C'est la vie.

That's what Jeongguk worries about. He worries that you'll leave, and the physical intimacy won't have matched the emotional intimacy and it will fuck with your head. Will have you ignoring him, or avoiding him.

You don't say anything, but as you watch him get to grips with a karaoke mic by the sofa, a song about makgeolli playing in the background, his giggles echoing into the speaker system, you don't ever want to avoid him again. Hated the time spent keeping a distance. Life is so much better when he's around.

He encourages you up, and forces you to dance with him like a pair of lunatics to an old Psy song. It's one of the ones Psy would always sing at his university campus shows, and when you mention this, Jeongguk cannot fathom the fact you've seen him live . Forces you to find it on youtube. Tries to find you in the crowd - but it's like a game of where's wally.

Eventually, he gives up. Says he's found you. Points to the mirror in the corner of the room - and when you look over and see the pair of you as you are, you decide that maybe bad decisions would be a good idea.

Glitter speckled, you're both messes. Still in your club clothes, there's something funny about the way your hair is in a lopsided bun on top of your head, his hair kind of all over the place. You'd be forgiven for thinking the pair of you had been at it - when in reality, all you'd been doing was singing your hearts out in a make-shift home noraebang.

You're busy laughing, toying with his little tufts of hair that stick out on end when his front door beeps, Jimin finally entering the code to return home. Dawn is breaking, and you're surprised that he's alone. He's busy chewing on a sotteok sotteok stick - mini sausages and rice cakes threaded onto a wooden skewer - to pay you much attention. The spicy sauce drips into the container he's holding, which you both recognise to be from the convenience store down the road.

"Here he is," Jeongguk teases, as Jimin casts his housemate a small grin.

He's pissed - still drunk as a skunk - and slurs his words as he goes to speak. "There's a disco ball in our living room."

"It's not a party worth having if you don't have a disco ball," you assure him, to which he lets you know that it's not a party if there are only two people.

"When there's two," he mumbles through a mouthful of tteok, waving the half-empty stick in the air. "That's not a party."

"So what is it?" Jeongguk asks.

The way Jimin smiles before he starts talking makes Jeongguk regret ever asking.

"A couple."

Jeongguk shoos him away. Tells him he needs a good night's sleep before he inevitably watches The Notebook tomorrow morning, like he always does whenever he wakes up alone with a hangover. A depressing way to start the year, you think.

"DB, you like Gosling?" Jimin says, in his pants and t-shirt now, sitting on the floor. He's holding a glass of water like it's a sippy cup. You cannot believe you've had sex with him. Twice. "Wanna watch?"

"Prefer Reynolds," you say of the famous Ryan's.

Jeongguk squeezes your knee. Smiles. Remembers the Deadpool marathons with you and Danbi. Likes how much you've both integrated into one another's lives.

This is just reality now.

And for the first time in a long time, Jeongguk realises just how lucky he really is. His life may not be grand, and it may not be written about in history books; but it's a fulfilled life. He's happy.

Jimin falls asleep on the living room floor. Is dragged into his room by Jeongguk. Won't remember any of it in the morning.

When Jeongguk finally retires to his room, you're poking around at the birds on his desk.

"I missed some?"

He nods. Sits on the edge of his bed, legs spread, leaning back to rest on his elbows. He's tired. Doesn't wanna sleep. Has missed you too much. "Fell a couple of weeks ago."

You pout. "I've missed the kids."

Jeongguk is soft as he says, "they missed you, too."

Looking at you now as you scan his room, party dress sparkling as the early morning sun intrudes on his room, he struggles to remember what life was like before he knew you.

And then he wonders if he'll ever forget what it felt like to fuck you.

He doesn't mean to think about you improperly - he's just in that god-awful state of post-drinking pleasure-seeking.

He's not even gonna deny it. He wants you.

There's a dilemma that comes with Jeongguk's desire: morals.

He's not sure how drunk Jiyeong was. Isn't sure how intentional she was with her threats. Doesn't know if she'll remember what she did, or if she'll even realise Jeongguk called it quits when she wakes up the next morning.

If he were to check his phone, he'd see that one of the personal trainers from the gym had tagged him in an insta story with the caption 'come get your girl, bro', and said girl necking on with some guy Jeongguk wouldn't be able to pick out from a crowd.

He doesn't check his phone, though. Regardless of everything, he was never her boyfriend. The way she treated him is exactly why he never asked. She burnt her bridges time and time again. Jeongguk doesn't care to rebuild them again, not when she never lends a hand.

It's not that he wants to be cruel. It's not that he never cared. Nothing like that at all.

But he is drunk, and he is single, and fuck it's so nice to be around someone that makes him feel as lovely as you do.

When he holds out his hands, you gravitate towards him. Stand between his legs. Look down at his pretty face, hands delicate beneath his jaw.

Jeon Jeongguk is gonna ruin your life, you think.

As his hands stoke up your bare thighs, and encourages you onto his lap without a single word?

Life, ruined. You're certain.

The way you do whatever he asks of you has you considering that maybe your life isn't even yours anymore. His. All his.

You know you shouldn't entertain this. The Jiyeong shit is too fresh. Hayun, too - but that only encourages you. You have what she wants. You'd like to keep it that way.

His grip on your waist is tight as he pulls you up his lap, the thick ridge of his bulge beneath you perfectly positioned to rut up against you.

There's hesitation to your movements; delicacy.

His are the opposite. Decisive. He knows what he wants - and as he uses his grip to push you further down onto his crotch, your soft whimpers let him know that you want it, too.

"Gguk," you whisper, heart beating so fast you're scared it might short circuit. He nudges his nose against yours. Nods. Could kiss you, if he wasn't behaving himself.

It's laughable, really, how he's humping himself up against you, and considers it 'good' because he isn't kissing you.

Your voice is barely audible when you say, "I hate my rules."

Jeongguk's jaw tenses. His eyes close, nostrils a little flared as he tries to control his breathing. Nudges his nose a little deeper against yours.

"Me too, B."

He despises them. Loathes them. Will never break them. No matter how hard is cock is and how difficult it is to think straight when he's suffocated by your hair. They're yours to break. Yours alone.

So while the admission makes him needy - gets him squeezing at your soft flesh, body grinding a little faster - he keeps his lips away. Kind of. There's a very small gap for you to close.

You could do it.

Could sink your lips down onto his, and experience what it's like to feel his moans vibrate into your mouth. Could let his tongue lick against yours. Could hold his jaw, lips hard and deliberate as they press against each other.

Could do a million little things. Your nipples are hard just from the thought of it all, and your thin lace bra hides nothing. Nor does your dress.

Jeongguk can feel them against his chest. Can't stop himself from tightly squeezing at them, his thumbs settling over your hardened bud. He rubs against them, knowing just how sensitive they are, even through your clothes, and is pleased when your breathing starts to get heavier.

A moan gets trapped in your throat, nails scratching against the nape of his neck. You're matching his movement, hips grinding against him.

You wonder how long it's been since he used someone else to relieve him. Find yourself worried it hasn't been long enough. Don't want him thinking about her while he's with you. It's not like you can control his mind, but then again, you're unaware of the catastrophic hold you have on him.

He takes a second to scan your eyes, and as much as you want to hold his gaze, you're distracted by his glitter. His cheeks, the rogue specks on his nose, his jaw... along the indent of his cupid's bow.

Jeongguk has enough experience with glitter-induced mindlessness, so knows that's what's happening - but he wants to check that you still want this. Still want him . It's been a while, and he knows the fact he'd been with someone else could hinder your desire for him.

Funny. He's not thinking about the fact you hooked up with Jimin at all. Couldn't give a shit about that.

All he can think about you, and your wants, your needs. Brushes a strand of hair away from your face, as he says, "if this is too weird, we can stop."

But you just shake your head, a soft smile on your pouty lips. He licks across his own.

"I've missed you," you admit all rather foolishly. Laugh, then cover your face with your hands. Jeongguk likes the rings you're wearing. Always the same three. Thin and dainty, they're as much a part of you as your glitter is.

His fingers wrap around your wrists, as he pulls them down. There's a little resistance from you, but eventually, you concede. Look at him a little helplessly, but are pleased to see him smiling.

"Missed you, too."

When you chirp a small hum in reply, Jeongguk laughs. Holds your waist again, stroking your sides ever so tenderly. Reassures you. "Of course I have. You know how much I like having you like this."

You narrow your eyes now, but it's playful. Feign a little offence, just to keep him smiling. "Have me like what exactly, Jeon?"

He rolls his eyes, but just pushes the hair that's covering your neck away from you. Leans a little closer, and presses a kiss into your skin. The contact of his lips, a little wet and torturously firm, has you sighing, hips pulling up. He encourages this. Grips onto your waist a little tighter. Pushes you down onto his crotch. Lets himself grind up against you once, twice, then husks against your neck, "Like this, B. Like you wanna get that pretty pussy of yours all messy for me."

He pulls back. Holds you tightly in place over his cock, of which he knows is embarrassingly hard. Sometimes he thinks all you have to do is glance in his direction to get him like this.

The way you're looking at him - eyes all wide, lips parted ever so slightly - gets his hips pulsing again ever so gently. Your body moves with his, the sensation of his hardness beneath you making you feel a way that could only be compared to Nirvana.

You're the one who pulls him closer, now, a hand cradling his jaw, the other sinking into his hair. It's a control thing. Want him close, but can also pull him away. It excites him. Always does whenever you take the reins back from him.

As your grip tightens in his hair, his breathing shallows. Nose nudging against his, you know you're a little too close. Know you're being mean. Know how much he must be dying to close the gap, 'cause you are too.

"I do," you whisper back. "It's already messy."

"Hmm?" he moans an incoherent reply. Has his lips firmly pressed shut, cause he doesn't trust himself. Has closed his eyes, too. Can't risk it.

"Mhmm," you murmur back. "So messy, Koo."

The way you soften the sound of his name has him desperate to fuck himself into you. You're so soft, and tender, and everything he's been missing.

"For me?" He asks, because formulating words is the only way he can stay focused - but even that's failing him, now.

"All for you."

His cock throbs beneath you. He knows he must be messy, too, precum pooling from the tiny slit at the very tip of his cock. Hates that he's trapped in his clothes, but loves the idea of slowly getting you out of yours.

"All mine," he smiles to himself, lost in the way he feels. You nod. Giggle. Let your hair drape around his face as your forehead leans on his. He laughs, too.

You're both highly aware of the fact that this is wrong .

You shouldn't be acting like this. Shouldn't be feeling this.

But you are.

And you'll continue to do so until the night draws to its inevitable end.

"What should I do about it, then, huh?" Jeongguk asks, tilting his pretty face up a little bit. The glitter on his cheeks catches in the light of his bedside table. The room around you feels too big. You don't acknowledge it. Only him.

You're so quiet when you reply. Know that you're saying things you shouldn't be; tempting him like you're some kind of divine serpentine being. Jeongguk's got one trailing up his arm in thick black ink. He likes snakes. Likes you, more. Likes how delicate your voice is when you say, "clean it up."

One of his hands grips your ass. Squeezes. Hard. Makes you mewl.

"And how should I do that?" He asks softly, knowing that if he doesn't get some kind of release soon, the friction of your still-clothed pussy over the bulge in his trousers will end him. Write him off entirely. Might even make him die.

You could be demure in your answer. You could play coy. Stop this from escalating

Or you could continue grinding against him, breath laboured, heartbeat unstable. You could run your thumb along his bottom lip. Nudge your nose against his in that tender you always do.

And then you could simply say, "Eat me out."

"Yeah?" He would say. Would want you to repeat it.

"Yeah," you'd reply. "Eat me out. Please."

So that's exactly what you do.

Jeongguk's mouth waters at the mere suggestion of getting his tongue between your folds. Has thought about it so many times. Never thought he'd see the day that you ask for it.

The tiny 'please' you whisper? The way you beg for it? His cock aches. Needs relief from you.

You're finicky to a fault though. Smirk as you say, "Real shame the bird hasn't fallen, isn't it?"

There are a few birds on his desk, but none of them are that specific bird.

Of all the ones you wrote together, there's only been one that you've ever known the identity of as it watches over you.

There's a small mark on its wing. You'd been holding the pen between your teeth as you'd folded it, but been distracted by Jeongguk mumbling to himself. Had narrowly avoided leaving a blotch of ink on crisp white sheets.

Instead, you'd cursed a bird - and so for the past six months, you'd look up at birds and wonder when it would fall. It was the only one you felt apprehensive of, but that simply was down to fact you knew what it was.

"Maybe we can do an I.O.U. for the birds?" He offers. Is keen.

You know you shouldn't cherry-pick the birds. It goes against their free will. Playing God will only ever end in tears - but you're still tipsy, and all you can think about is how much you need this.

It's been so long since anyone has eaten you out that now the idea is floating, you won't be able to rest until it's happened.

His hands stroke up the back of your legs as you stand up on his bed. His head is level with the tops of your thighs, so he lets his lips brush against them. Presses wet kisses up them. Is slow. You take a little extra pulling the right bird down. Lean in such a way that he's dangerously close to your panties. He can smell your arousal. Wants to taste it.

You settle back into his lap, bodies close as you hand him the bird. He looks at you. Wonders if there's magic behind those starry eyes of yours. Thinks there must be.

When he opens it up, and is greeted with the exact same act you've asked him to perform, he knows there must be magic in you.

The truth of it all is that you'd just made a bad decision when you made it. Shouldn't have dropped the pen. But you did; and now you're here.

"Make me feel good," you implore as you toy with his hair.

He wants his lips on your body; wants to feel the pressure of his lips brushing against yours.

Just isn't brave enough to take things that far, yet.

He tucks a little bit of your own hair behind your ear. Studies your face.

"Look at me when you ask."

You're slow to do as he asks. Spend a little time toying with his necklaces, instead. You know his eyes are on yours. He could count your lashes if he wanted - but he doesn't. Mainly because he can't think straight, let alone count above the number ten.

"B," he encourages, index finger curling beneath your chin. He tilts your head upwards, your eyes trailing up his features until they settle on his eyes.

"Want you to make me feel good."

He nods. Is eager as he does so. It's so hard to not kiss you.

"I will. Gonna make you feel so good, Byeol. You want that? Want me to make your pussy feel good?"

You nod your head. Widen your eyes as you beg. "Please."

Jeongguk respositions you. Gets you sitting in his spot. Stands as he grabs his shirt by the nape of his neck and pulls it over his head. Chucks it at you. Makes you both laugh - but fuck. He's gorgeous .

He grips the bulge in the front of his trousers. Groans .

"See how hard you make me?" He asks. Waits for you to nod. Unbuttons his slacks and lowers the zip, so the top of his dark boxer briefs poke through. He palms at himself. Presses his lips together as a muffled grunt stifles in his throat.

The subtle movement of his muscles beneath his warm skin has you entranced. He's human, yes, but built like a God. Worshipping him feels like the only appropriate course of action - and yet as he guides you over and positions you how he likes it - face down, ass up - he's the one who's gonna be worshipping you.

Eyes closed, you smile into the scent of his sheets. Hadn't realised how much you missed how soft they always are; cotton fresh and a worthy home for the night. Of all the boys you've ever dated, not of them have cared in the same way that Jeongguk does about his laundry.

He's like that in all aspects of his life, though. Details. His senses. They align and overlap, and Jeongguk has to have things in a specific way, otherwise he isn't happy.

You confuse him, in that way. You're haphazard to a fault, and Jeongguk knows that glitter never really fit into his idea of what it takes to build a home, but he misses it being on his sheets.

He pushes your dress up, over your ass. Doesn't look at your satin-covered pussy 'cause he's trying to hold off. Grapples the flesh of your ass, then delivers a short, sharp spank. Likes the way you gasp, then sigh.

Doesn't like that he can't see the smile he knows is on your lips though.

It's all rather confusing. This is how he likes to do things.

And yet he finds himself getting you back into your original position. Walks over to his door. Checks it's locked.

Jeongguk turns around to look at you, eyes dark, his intentions perfectly clear.

He prowls a little closer. Taps on your knees and encourages you to open your legs. Not once does his gaze drop from your eyes. Not when your legs spread, not when he lowers himself, not when he can fucking smell your arousal. He wants to. Wants to look at your pretty little pussy so badly - but he'd locked in on your eyes.

His hands slide up your thighs, pushing your dress to your hips. Your underwear is black, and your wetness has seeped through - but he doesn't acknowledge it. Not yet.

He lowers his lips, but keeps his eyes on yours still, as he presses a wet kiss to your thigh. Up he odesseys; one, two, three kisses. A trail of evidence is left, little dewy marks mapping out his journey. He leans over. Repeats it on your other thigh.

One of his hands grips your waist, while the other strokes your thigh that's without his lips. He's taking his time. Keeping his eyes on you. Can see how your chest moves; knows that you're as desperate for this as he is. He licks his lips, and smirks.

"So patient," he husks, oh-so-affectionately. Squeezes the soft flesh of your thigh. Loves how you feel. So warm, and soft, and made for him. "Such a good girl for me, aren't you?"

You nod, a tiny whine catching on your lips.

"What was that?" He asks, before his eyes finally glance down towards your covered cunt. It's only supposed to be for a second, but he didn't anticipate quite how wet you'd already be; how it would be shining through the fabric of your panties. They're silky today, and it just makes your slick look even messier.

He inhales a deep breath, and lets out a shallow laugh as his head drops in defeat. Can't even play it cool. He wants you. Wants you more than he needs air to breathe.

It's just pheromones, and he knows this. Knows how gets when he likes a girl. Knows how fucking nasty he can get in pursuit of her scent. In the very worst cases, he finds himself enjoying feet . Underarms. Underwear. Anywhere that's gonna release them.

He always liked the smell of your perfume; the fragrances you'd layer over yourself to mask your natural scent - but it's 5am, and you've been in a club all evening. Your perfume has worn off. This is all you.

And he knows he's utterly screwed.

His lips trail up your thigh. Head tilts. It's his nose, now, that's making contact with your clothed cunt. He's slow. Tepid. Taking his time, 'cause he's thought about this during so many lonely nights and doesn't wanna waste it.

His nose rests against the fabric that's keeping you away from him. His perpetually dewy nose dampens as he nudges against you. He inhales. Is shaky, in the way that he breathes. "Fuck."

The pressure of his nose against you deepens. He groans. Mumbles some incoherent shit about how fucking good you smell. Presses his lips against the soaked satin. Kisses. Get his lips all glossy.

He kitten licks, then drags his tongue up your underwear. Knows he'll get so much more of your taste if he just takes them off, but he's scared. Worries that having your cunt in his mouth will ruin him for the rest of his life.

And so he continues taking his time. Uses his tongue. Teases where he thinks your clit could be. He's not too far off, but it's hidden by your folds that have swollen quite considerably. He's teasing too much. Getting you too needy. His thumb presses over the wettest part of your panties, where he knows your hole must be. The way the material gives just a little, and the way you sigh into his touch only proves this.

"Please," you whisper.

Jeongguk nods, not once losing contact with your cunt, until he slowly pulls back. Runs his fingers over your soaked panties. Studies the way they cling to you. Looks up at you as he gently massages you. Runs his index finger under the laces edge of your panties. "You want them off, B?"

The way you're looking at him - eyes all wide, lips pouty - has him desperate for you. You could ask him to spend eternity with his face buried in your cunt, and he thinks he would.

He taps the side of your thigh - "hips" - and encourages you to raise yourself. His fingers hook over the sides of your underwear.

"Dress," he says, indicating his desire for you to take that off too, now that you can. Is too busy staring at your cunt, and the way your slick juices string to your underwear as he pulls them down to even realise you're taking it off. Bra, too.

Jeongguk is tentative as he gets your panties off. Hold your feet as he slips your ankle through them, and repeats. Doesn't get rid of them immediately.

He's so fucking hard he thinks he might die - and it only gets worse when he brings your sopping wet panties to his nose. It's lewd . The way he inhales your scent is erotic to the point of it being perverse - but it has you leaking for him. His dark eyes fall open, and land on yours.

The material hooks over his fingers, as Jeongguk reaches over to squeeze one of your tits. He's missed them. Will scream 'I'm an ass guy' until the cows come home, but knows it's your nipples he'll be sucking on when you inevitably milk him of his cum a little later. Your panties drag over the hardened bud of your nipple as he toys with you. Smears your juices all over it. Glistens as Jeongguk sits up a little to bring your panties to your mouth.

"Wanna see how good you taste?" He asks, as if you aren't parting your lips for him regardless. You nod, all pathetic and needy as your tongue rests flat for him to do as he pleases - which, at the moment, is pushing your slick-covered panties into your mouth. Thinks they'll probably help. Will muffle your whines, at least. Works a treat as you whimper a little when he taps your jaw. 'Close your mouth', he's saying silently - and so you do.

He pulls back a little, fingers dipping to slide between your folds, eyes on your face, still. Smirks. Uses the fingers that aren't exploring your slippery cunt to squeeze at your chest. Your eyes are so wide. You whimper. He deliberately didn't stuff your underwear completely in your mouth. Likes seeing the satin. Likes knowing how willing you are to do anything for him. His thumb swipes over the slick on your nipple. Massages it in - and decides it's a waste. Leans down to latch his lips around your hardened bud.

He's the one whining now. Loves the way you feel in his mouth. Loves licking the taste from your skin. The fingers toying with your folds search for your slit, and push themselves into you as Jeongguk sucks on your nipple.

Not a boob guy, not a boob guy, not a boob guy - and yet as he pulls himself back, releasing you with a slight pop from the suction of his lips leaving your nipple, he smiles. Watches the way your tit wobbles, all soft, nipples hard, desperate for his return. He pushes his fingers deeper inside of you. Tells you how much he's missed them.

He reaches up to hook your panties in his fingers again. Pulls them from your mouth. Tosses them down. The way you're whimpering deserved to be heard, he decides.

His lips press a chaste kiss to your other nipple. Tongue flicks. He sucks. Just for a second. He's got places to be; a cunt plugged with his fingers that he's dying to taste again. Trailing down your skin, his lips leave a pretty dewy trail.

You hadn't been expecting the night to end like this, so while you're nice and neat and trimmed, your pussy is a little less bare than normal. Jeongguk likes it. Would never impose his preferences, but knows that this is it. Always has been. Enjoys the way your slick catches in your hair; how messy you look for him. Your juices string across your folds, and decides he can't keep his tongue away any longer.

The first lick is slow. Flat. He whines against you. Stalls his fingers, 'cause he wants to focus on the sensation; how warm you are, how delicious he thinks you taste. His tongue flicks as he reaches the northernmost point of your folds, and the way your body shudders a little is indication enough that he knows exactly where to focus. Of course he does. Your clit has swollen just as much as your folds, desperate for a little relief.

He doesn't give you it. Not yet. The lewd sounds of his fingers pushing back into your cunt makes him smirk. You're so unbelievably wet. Wetter than he thinks he's ever had you - and you've never been exactly dry for him. Maybe it's the alcohol. Maybe you've missed him. Maybe it's both. When his tongue presses back into your folds, you know it's neither of those things.

You're soaked because he just knows what he's doing. Understands your body. Drags his tongue up and down your cunt, fingers fucking themselves into you. The sensation is unbearable. You need more - and more is what he gives you when his spare hand eases your lips apart, spreading your pussy so that he can get better access to your clit. The tip of his tongue massages against you ever so gently. He's careful not to be too aggressive - until he spits at it.

"Shit," you whine, letting your back sink into his sheets. You'd been watching, but now all you want to do is feel . You're scared that watching him - his pretty lashes splayed over the top of his cheeks, his dewy, wet, nose nudging your clit, the way his tongue laps against it- will finish you off too quickly. And that's before you even consider the mirror on the far wall, and the way his broad back looks perfectly positioned with your legs hooked over his shoulders.

He spreads his spit with his thumb. Smirks as your body shudders. "You okay, B?"

"Mhmm," you mumble, teeth biting the pad of your palm beneath your thumb. You're trying to keep quiet.

"Asked you a question," he says as his thumb builds speed, flicking over you gently. He's careful, but controlled. Your body writhes from his touch, legs pushing down on his shoulders, encouraging his face back to where he belongs. He almost whispers as his lips ghost your clit. "Tell me you're okay. Chess is always an option."

Why the fuck you'd wanna play chess is beyond you - and then you remember. Oh, he's so attentive. So kind. So gentle. So deserving of a blowjob.

"I'm okay," you promise, and Jeongguk finally lets his lips wrap around your clit. There's a provocative nature to the way he lets himself get all breathless and grunty. His tongue licks tenderly against your clit, but his fingers have been going for so long he's scared he'll cramp.

The way you whimper when he pulls them out is like music to his ears. Needy and pathetic. Gets his cock all hard.

You loved being plugged by him. Love the fullness he gives you. Hate to lose it.

His hands push back your thighs now. He studies you. Watches the clear fluid leak from you. Knows that your pussy must be desperate for his cock. Doesn't want to let any go to waste, so quickly licks it up. Sinks his tongue into the entrance of your hole. Can't go too far, but doesn't care to. Just wants to tease. To taste you. Drink nectar straight from the source.

One of your hands clasps over his fingers by your thigh. The other tenderly scratches at his scalp. You love his hair like this, all messy and indicative of the fact he's been up to no good. As he pulls away from you, lips glossy, a string of slick briefly keeping him attached to you, lip ring coated in the very essence of you, you decide you never want another face between your legs again. He's too pretty. You'll always compare.

He looks up at you with total adoration, a lopsided grin on his face as you scratch behind his ear. He's well aware he must look like a fucking puppy dog, but he doesn't care.

"You're so good," you tell him. Want him to know. Smirk, because you're aware of the dog parallels, too. "Such a good boy."

That shouldn't make Jeongguk's cock twitch as much as it does.

The hand in his hair encourages him back down, and he decides to show you just how good he really can be. His tongue roams between your folds, licking, and lapping. He's fast, and he's intentional, lips pouting as they press kisses against you, and even more so when they suck your sensitive bud between them.

Eyes closed, hands in his hair, legs wrapping around his head, you think of how pretty he is; how unspoilt his features are. You've never seen a nose so perfectly sloped or a cupid's bow so idyllic. It's the perfect ridge for your juices to gather, and Jeongguk knows this. Already isn't looking forward to his shower, 'cause he doesn't wanna lose the scent of you.

His pace increases. Fingers sink back into you. He's taking you for all you're worth; will win your orgasm fair and square. Needs it. Thinks he'll die without it.

The sounds of Jeongguk eating your pussy echo into his room; his fingers pushing you to the point of no return as his tongue massages you to a hedonistic state of being. The pressure in the very pit of your tummy builds. Your grip on his hair tights. You curse. Whimper.

"Right there. Fuck . Right there."

He doesn't ease. Gets faster. Edges and edges until he can edge no further. The wave crashes over; your release dizzying and detrimental all in one blow. It jolts through you, legs shaking, hot walls clenching, breathless mewls of pleasure letting Jeongguk know just how well he did. He doesn't stop. Pushes you further. Gets you gasping.

"Gguk," you whimper. "I- Fuck."

He nods against you. Doesn't stop. Lets his nose nestle into your folds. Holds his tongue back, just to say, "this cunt... fuck ."

You giggle, now. Jeongguk feels you tightening as you do so. Eases his fingers from you. Keeps you spread apart. Wants to see how messy you are - but is cut short when you say, "c'mere."

He doesn't even think about it. Just discards himself of his clothes and comes to join you on his bed. Will do anything you ask of him. There's a silly little smile on his pussy-drenched lips as his head nestles next to yours, face still covered in glitter. He's so heavenly like this; so angelic when he's unmistakably yours.

You aren't really thinking as you move closer. Your natural inclination is to kiss him, for a job well done. You realise just in time. Stop yourself. Grin as you nudge your nose against his, not caring for the fact he's covered in your cunt.

He grins, too. Laughs a little. "Was that okay?"

You nod. Wanna kiss him so badly. Speak, just stop yourself. Echo a thought you've shared before. "You really should start an only fans."

He laughs again. It's hearty and wholesome, and pure - or as pure as it can be, when he's covered in evidence of making your pussy cum. Neither of you really care for cleaning up just yet. His smile is too big. Dimples too deep. Lines beneath his eyes too telling of his happiness. God, he's missed you.

"I'd be no good on my own," he tells you. "Would need you to help me out."

You protest. Tell him to buy one of those fake pussy fuck-toys. Says it's all he needs. He corrects you. Tells you they're fleshlights, but doesn't tell you he's got one hidden in the back of his drawer from a particularly dry spell.

"No, not those," you say. "I mean like, the full torso ones. The ones with tits."

"Why would I want one of them?" He smirks, as his hands are quite literally squeezing at your boobs. He's just keeping them warm. That's all. "Ass guy."

You don't even dignify him with a verbalised response. Just tilt your head down to where Jeongguk is rolling your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.

"What?" He feigns indifference.

"Your lies will catch up with you," you promise him. He pushes your tits up as far as he can, dipping down to suck delicately on your nipples. Just for a couple of seconds. Maybe five. Six. Okay, ten - but you feel so nice in his mouth, so soothing - and then it's twenty seconds. Thirty. Forty.

He switches nipples. Repeats. Pulls away. Is so hard he thinks he might cum prematurely if he doesn't get a release soon.

You've completely altered his sense of desire. Ruined him for anyone else. You'd argue you've made him better. Deep down, he'd know it to be true.

"Gguk?"

"Hmm?" he mumbles a little lazily against your skin.

You toy with his hair, raking your finger through his silky waves. Any product he had been wearing in it seems to be redundant now, your hands too busy messing with it for it to hold its shape. He had looked so pretty all night.

Looks prettiest, now.

"I'm sorry I stole your chance to have a New Year's kiss," you say, thinking of how many girls must have wanted him.

The smile on his face falters a little. He's quiet for a moment, then speaks with absolute sincerity. "Meant what I said. I've a whole year for kisses, B. They can wait. Wanted to be with you when New Year came in."

"I feel bad," you whisper.

"Don't." He opens his eyes, and sees how stark your self-imposed guilt is. Your hands are still toying with his hair, so he holds onto your wrists and rests the pad of his thumb in the palm of your hand. Is contented when your fingers close down on it. He shakes your hand a little, and smiles tenderly. "Don't. Really, B. Are you sad?" He asks. "That you didn't have one, I mean? Did you want one?"

Answers are complex when they're both yes and no; much like this one. You would have wanted one for the sake of enjoying a silly little tradition - but you didn't wanna kiss a stranger, and didn't want to kiss those close to you, either.

And so you deflect with a joke. "Why? Are you offering?"

Stupid joke. Stupid fuckin' joke .

Jeongguk knows it's a joke. Weighs up how he could respond. Sincerity seems too heavy. Joking back seems too careless.

And so he tries honesty.

"Yeah," he whispers. "I am."

His lips ghost yours, 'cause he'll never be the one to put pressure behind them first. He wants to. Is dying to.

Thinks, in classic Jeongguk style, that he'll die if can't do it one day soon.

The way you always get so close to him, suffocate him in your hair and the scent of your perfume, drives him mad. He's spent so many hours trying not to kiss you. Has never shared the taste of your tongue, but has shared oxygen with you. Thinks there's nothing to be scared of - but knows that you are.

He'll never ridicule your fears. Not intentionally.

And so he is patient, and perfectly restrained with you.

Some say it's a virtue.

Yet as you wish he'd just do it - rip the band aid - you can't help but think of it as a vice.

He'll never do you wrong. Sometimes you wish he would.

But that's the thing about wishes. There's no divine intervention from an arbitrary God. No stars changing alignment. The luck you manifest is yours and yours alone. Wishes come true because you will it to be that way.

Jeongguks grip on your waist tightens as your nose nudges deeper against his. There's a deliberate nature to your movements; how your hand rests on his jaw and how your leg hooks over his hip. The fluidity of your bodies together makes it so easy.

The grip on your waist is diverted to your ass. His fingers squeeze. Lips pout. Hips roll.

He husks your name. Not disco ball. Not Byeol. Your actual fucking name. Fucking whines against your lips. Can barely fuckin' breathe. "Please."

Your lips brush his. No pressure. Just aligning. Seeing how his lip ring feels. Jeongguk's semi begins to stiffen as he rubs himself against you again. His breathing is fucked.

Slowly - nervously, timidly - you slip your lips between his. Sink into the space left between them. Your bottom lip is plush between his. He doesn't press down. He waits. Waits and waits and waits. Has been waiting for months. What hurt will a few seconds do?

The hand you're resting on his jaw pulls him closer. Dictates his moves. This is all up to you.

The way your body nervously awaits the pressure you're refusing to apply is so telling. The delicate buds of your nipples that Jeongguk has grown to adore are hard against his bare chest. He's having to be careful as he rubs up against you, because your pussy is getting wetter and wetter. Coated in everything you are, Jeongguk's throbbing cock slides between your folds, massaging you in a way that you'll never grow tired of.

Jeongguk wants to speak; to encourage you.

Any words spoken would result in the closing of his lips and the removal of your ability to choose this - and so he stays quiet. Moans a little when the friction of his foreskin sliding back against your wet folds gets a little too good.

You smile. Like the way it feels. Can feel the slick build, then leak from the depths of your cunt. Know that you're one overly-eager rut away from him fucking himself into you.

Maybe you should pull away. Maybe you should let him fuck you instead.

But you've come so far.

You're safe. Warm. Content. With your favourite person in the whole entire world.

If you can't kiss him, then who the fuck can you kiss?

You still your hips. So does he. Deepen the position of your lips, until you know they can go no further. His nose is nestled next to yours, a shallow breath reminding you that life will go on - you'll still breathe - even if your lips close down on his.

He's always told you that he's not scared of you.

It's time to reciprocate that.

And so silently, as you press your lips down into his, you let go of a fear that's been holding you back for far too long.

It takes Jeongguk a moment to kiss you back. He wants to be sure you're sure.

But you are.

His lips slowly accept this new sensation; the softness of your bottom lip, the feeling of your nose as it nudges against his, the pining sensation that's so often left on his lips being remedied.

He's kissing you. Slowly, silently, serenely. It lasts for hours, but also for just a second. You're not sure which is more accurate as your lips naturally part for a moment; to breathe. To assess. To realign. To repeat.

He kisses you again. Once. Twice. Deeper, a third time. His hips begin to rut. His moans vibrate against you. The slipperiness of your pussy is juxtaposed to the innocence of such pure kisses. Lips still on his, you reach down to where your bodies are so well acquainted, it's like interrupting a conversation. Your nimble fingers wrap around Jeongguk's length. He moans. Wants to say something, but can't. Doesn't want to stop kissing you.

You move your hips. Line him up. Nod into the kiss. A hard breath exhales from his nose against your cheek, his whine echoing into your mouth as the tip of his cock penetrates your entrance. The fit is tight - snug - but so welcome. It's like coming home, he thinks.

"You're so fucking good," he whines into your lips, then presses down against them once more. "Such a good fuckin' girl for me."

He means it. You are good for him. Give him somewhere he belongs; somewhere he'll never feel alien. A girl full of galaxies, yet he's home no matter which cosmic entity you remind him of on any given day of the week.

You whine a little as his hips pulse up, pushing his dick into you. He's so big, and you're still so sensitive from how well he ate you out earlier, but you think you'd rather die than not see this through. You'll take the overstimulation, take whatever he'll give you, just to feel that fullness you only get from him.

Jeongguk grunts as he fucks himself into you. Gets breathless. Gets moany. Gets mean. Nasty.

"Gonna nut inside you," he tells you. You smirk against his lips. You love it when he gets all chatty and tells you all kinds of shit he never would if he wasn't on the brink of an orgasm. "God, I'm gonna fill your pussy up with my cum. Gonna fill you so well. Fill you forever."

That's not exactly how anatomy works and you go to tell him as such - but he changes position. Gets you on your back. Sits on his heels. Grips your waist with one hand, your chest with the other. Squeezes. Gets you whining. He pulses his hips slowly. Once. Fuck . Twice. Yes . And then he's back to a pace that feels more like him; fast and rough.

The sound of his skin slapping against yours is almost as loud as the breathless moans you can't be bothered to hide. He's making you feel so good as he pumps himself into you. It's only fair he knows just how well he's doing.

He squeezes at one of your boobs. Pinches your nipple. Pulls a little. Makes you moan. Does the same to the other side. Watches as they move from the momentum of his hips. Is fucking obsessed. Can't believe he wasted so many years convinced he was an ass guy. Loves your ass, granted, but fuck .

And when your hand sinks down to play with your clit while he's fucking his fat cock into your tight hole? God. Jeongguk thinks he might just die.

Tells you so.

"Gonna kill me off, you are."

You giggle. The way your pussy throbs around him? Yeah. Chances of death? Rapidly increasing.

"Feel good?" you check, just in case.

He nods. Wishes you could experience what it's like to fuck you; how good feel. How much he loves being trapped inside you. Makes his already desperate cock throb when he has those moments of clarity; he's fucking you. His cock? It's inside you. It's a simple thought process, but one that always overwhelms him.

Sinking down to suck on your nipples, tits in a white-knuckle death grip, Jeongguk knows if he thinks in any great depth, then that will be it. He'll cum. He wants this to last. Knows it can - but also knows your pussy is gonna make him cum so so soon.

So lost in his thoughts, he almost doesn't notice when you call his name. If it weren't for your hand cupping beneath his chin and pulling him down, he might not have realised at all. "Gguk?"

He follows your lead. Is about to sink his lips in yours when he replies, "Yeah, baby?"

He doesn't mean to call you that. Knows he absolutely should not have called you that. Kisses you again to distract from the fact he did. Ruts into you faster. Harder. Revels in the tightness of your walls, and the softness of your lips.

Knows he should check what you needed, but it was nothing, Just wanted him to look at you. But he'd called you baby. Oh, you're all sorts of fucked up. Try not to think about it. Your distraction method? A kiss . The waters are getting so muddy. This is so bad. Detrimental.

But fuck. He's close. So close. Doesn't wanna stop; any of it. Doesn't wanna stop fucking you. Doesn't wanna stop kissing you. God. He can't believe he can . Can't believe he knows what your moans sound like when they're vibrating into his mouth. Can barely wrap his head around the fact your tongue is in his mouth. He thinks he's going crazy. Thinks he might have already died. There's no way he can feel this at home inside another person's body.

But he does.

Knows that there's no pussy that's ever gotten him like this. Would be foolish to think you're the only person who will ever make him feel this way, but he quite enjoys playing the fool.

Jeongguk's skin is clammy. Sweat beads on his skin. Some of it catches on your skin as you move your hands from his back to cup his sharp jaw, and find yourself obsessed . Primitive desire, you think. Just like Jeongguk's obsession with your scent. All just survival of the fittest, built to breed, type shit. Of all the people he could fuck his sperm into, his body seems to think you'd be a good match. He trusts it. Agrees with it.

"Fucking me so well," you tell him. "Working so hard."

He nods, forehead resting in the crook of your neck. "Working so hard, B. Wanna make you feel good."

There are no words to articulate the way Jeongguk feels inside of you. No size grand enough, no adjective complimentary enough. No sensation even close to the euphoria that comes with being fucked by Jeon Jeongguk.

You press a tiny little kiss to his lips. "You do." And then you kiss him again. Deeper. Tug on his bottom lip with his teeth. Get him whining. His cock stalls. Left leg begins to shake. His right will follow, but it's always in that order. Left, then right. The way he whimpers into your mouth makes you wanna edge him for all of eternity - but he deserves this orgasm.

"Where should I- Fuck. Byeol, I'm there. I'm gonna- Fuck . Where do you want it?"

"Tits," you say without a second thought. You wanna watch him cum. Wanna see it. Wanna see how pretty his cock looks as his cum pulses out of it.

You hate how it feels when Jeongguk pulls out - how empty you are - but when he's shakily getting himself in position, jaw hanging slack, brows threaded together, lewd moans escaping his mouth as he wanks him over your tits, you know its worth it.

"That's it," you encourage. "All over my tits."

Jeongguk curses. Tightens the way he's straddling over you. Tugs at himself. Loses his fucking mind when your hand wraps around his. He lets go. It's all you; one hand around his shaft, the other softly playing with his balls. "Yeah. Yeah, Like that. Oh, fuck."

His legs shake; torso tenses. Has to grab onto his headboard just to keep himself from fucking keeling over. He's stimulated to a point he doesn't think he's reached before. Doesn't even feel like his body is his.

"Cumming," he mumbles. "I'm fucking cumming."

The way his cock twitches, balls tightening, is enough to confirm this. You keep going.

"All over my tits," you say again, just to really drive it home. "Good boy."

His whimpers are quiet as he unloads his cum onto you in thick, creamy spurts. You hold his cock against one of your tits, and let his spunk trail down them. A few more releases drip onto your skin. He sits up straighter. Looks at the mess. Wants to fuck you all over again.

He grips his still-hard cock and spanks it against your cum-covered tits. Massages his leaky head against them; rubs his cum into your skin. Lets go of his cock. Grips your tits instead. Pushes them both together, and watches as his cum smears all over them. Squeezes your nipples. Wants them in his mouth. Moves a little down the bed, and positions himself beside you. Encourages you to face him as his tongue licks against your cummy chest. He circles around your nipple. Takes it in his mouth. Sucks. One of his hands grips your other boob. Holds it close to his face so he can switch between your nipples, of which he does. Sucks for a moment or so. Teases with his tongue. Then switches. It's a back and forth that has you going insane.

And when his spare hand dips down to play with your folds? Sinks a finger back into your soaked cunt? Heaven. He fucks a second finger into you. A third. Keeps his lips suctioned around your nipples, utterly obsessed with the way it feels to have them in his mouth.

He's a little careless with his fingers, but it's exactly what you need to come undone again. You need it rough. Need him to override the overstimulation you're fighting. It doesn't take long. Your body writhes, but he keeps you close. Doesn't bother talking you through it. You both know it's his tongue against your sensitive nipples that's working the magic. Words would be wasted.

Your orgasm hits you hard. Fast. It waves over you so violently that you almost kick him. Jeongguk smirks as he begins to feel your orgasm contract around his fingers.

Your wetness seeps from you, Jeongguk still plugging your pussy. Your muscles are tight in a way he doesn't think he's experienced before. Your climax is violent. All consuming. You have to bite his pillow just to stop yourself from screaming.

It's never felt like this before. He doesn't relent. Is obsessed. It's so much wetter than usual. Your whimpers are different, too. The way your legs shake? The way you can't fucking breathe? How your pussy is quite literally clamping his fingers inside of you? It's all different. It's so much more than an orgasm.

He's never taken you this far beyond the point of a climax. Didn't know you could do this. Has only ever seen it in fucking porn. Sort of thought it was a myth - but you're squirting for him. Because of him. On him.

He will die, and you absolutely will be the cause of it.

"Fuck, B," Jeongguk curses against your lips as he realises what's happening. Keeps going. Fucks his fingers into you, still. His hand is getting wetter, still . You shake, still ; squirt, still . Jeongguk's gonna fuckin' die. That's all he can think about. Death, and pussy. His, and yours. Hell, and heaven. "That's it. Squirt for me, B. Such a good girl."

You nod, almost delirious from the pleasure he's administering. His fingers fuck into you still, your pussy contracting around him.

Eyes closed, teeth pressing down on your bottom lip, you can't think of anything except the sensation of your pussy giving itself up for him. The wave of pleasure was so intense that you hadn't noticed your release at first; not until the lewd sounds of his fingers inside of you became louder, and Jeongguk himself had realised.

You don't even really have grasp on the fact it happened. Knew that it could, but you've been the only person to ever get yourself that far. Never has someone else ever made you squirt. You don't think you ever really trusted anyone enough with your body to give it up entirely.

But Jeongguk is Jeongguk. There's nothing to be scared of.

"Koo," you whimper as you finally get some control over yourself, body jolting from the intensity of it all.

He's slow to withdraw his fingers. Doesn't want to, but also knows he has to be gentle.

"I know, baby," he husks a little breathlessly, as he presses a kiss into your shaky lips. "I know."

In all honesty, he doesn't know. Doesn't have a clue what you could possibly be thinking. Just knows he's feeling all sorts of fucked up, and that you probably are, too.

It's been a long night. You've both been through it.

But you both feel overwhelmingly at ease.

"Sorry," he whispers. Presses a kiss against your hair.

"Mhmm?" You question, still deliriously spent. There's so much to do. Sheets to change. Showers to be had. You just wanna laze with him a little while longer. "What for?"

Jeongguk holds you close. Doesn't wanna lose this, either. He knows how you get once the morning comes and regrets start creeping in. He's doing damage control early. Letting you know that it's okay.

"I broke your rules," he says, as if you weren't a willing participant.

You shake your head. You kissed him first. Kissed him when he called you baby. Rewarded him for his misdemeanours. Of course he'd be a repeat offender. You're just as much to blame.

"Don't do that."

"Apologise?"

"Don't put all the blame on you. It's not," you say, before leaning up to steal an ever-so-sacred kiss from his lips. "There. I did it. I broke them. My fault."

"B-"

"If you try and apologise I'm gonna think you regret it," you tell him.

Jeongguk shuts up. Plans to remain silent. Can't help himself, though. Thinks it's important you know how he feels about you, and the birds, and this whole fuckin' mess.

"I've never regretted a thing we've done, B. Never."

His tone consumes you. Is so serious. So sincere. It makes you nervous - so you deflect.

"What about that time we accidentally ordered the extra spicy tteokbokki?"

He smiles. Laughs. Is serene as he eases up. "Okay. One regret."

You kiss him. Lips soft. Touch tender. Just 'cause you can. Just 'cause you wanna.

Have resigned yourself to the fact this is one-night-only kind of thing; that come the next morning, you'll laugh about it.

'Can you believe we kissed?' 'Let's never do that again.' 'So weird.' 'Just a friendly kiss. Sort of like kissing a fish, actually.' 'I'm gonna sew your mouth shut one day.'

And so for now, as Jeongguk encourages you up - "c'mon. Shower. You get in. I'll sort the sheets. Will join you in a second, okay?" - and kisses you again before you leave, you revel in it.

You stand alone under the crashing water, wondering what the fuck you've just done. Contemplating how badly this will all end up biting you in the arse.

Jeongguk does much the same. Looks at himself in the mirror; naked and alone. Can see evidence of you all over his skin - scratch marks, pretty purple bouquets delivered by your lips, the sheen of your slick - and decides he likes himself better this way. Doesn't think he'll look like himself when it's all washed away.

He makes up his bed. Puts a fresh sheet down, and tosses the old one by his door, ready for a wash. Goes to chuck his pillows on the floor - and then just doesn't. If you want the space, he'll give you it, no questions asked. He doesn't want the space, though. Wants you in his bed again. Wants you close.

And as he comes to join you in the shower, a protective arm slinking around your waist, lips pressed into your neck, you know that you don't want to be alone. Not for the rest of the night, at least. The glitter might wash away, but this feeling? He's not certain.

You're not sure that waking up beside him will be sensible for your fragile heart, but can't stand the idea of not falling asleep beside him. He's so warm. It's the smart thing to do. Will save on his heating bill.

A good decision, you think.

But since when have you ever been good at those?

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

#jungkook smut

[foolishlovers]

TRANS HUMAN AUs: Below you can find a list of Good Omens human AUs featuring trans characters.

[Requested by anon. You can request more fic recs here.] it’s okay, maybe not forever but we got today by astheworldcomestoanend (G, 1k) Aziraphale’s parents are fighting again, so he goes over to Crowley’s house to spend the night with him. Crowley is more than happy to bring his angel in and make sure he’s okay.

Win Condition by ineffablefool (G, 1k) Human AU. Aziraphale and Crowley's junior high school sets up a really weird school-wide Valentine's Day game that they're both kind of side-eying for different reasons. Talking about it over lunch gives them both the chance to confess something, though!

Belonging by LittleQueerdo (T, 2k) Crowley is woken by a librarian on a mission.

style, flair, and a head of red hair – she’s the nanny?! by lineslines (G, 5k) She takes a step into the light, a vision of red and black, of scant fabric and edges, seizes him in her gaze, which he realizes is almost as fiery as her hair, and drags it up and down his form, once, before she grins. “Oh angel, let me guess, you probably think tartan is stylish?” “Tartan is stylish,” Aziraphale automatically protests, before his brain slowly catches up with his mouth. And his eyes. “Oh, how impolite of me! Please do come in. You must be drenched.” (Crowley just lost her job selling cosmetics to bored rich housewives. Aziraphale is a bored rich bastard in want of a nanny for the neighbor kid he has to babysit. It's a right place, right time situation. Right people, too.)

The Art of Human Nature by IneffableDoll (T, 6k) Crowley is a painter who has only ever had an eye for nature. That is, until a client named Aziraphale commissions her for a painting to boost her self-confidence, and Crowley discovers that her client is as beautiful as the Earth itself. Then she goes and catches feelings, because she’s a disaster. The Colour of Hope and Sin by TawnyOwl95 (E, 7k) Crowley has never felt so pretty. Tonight he can do anything. Having Aziraphale Eastgate, the best defender that St. Beryl's School football team had ever seen, cross Crowley's path again is a chance to test that theory. And maybe they can both work out some latent teenage angst at the same time? A Stable Relationship by MirjamOmens (E, 9k) Crowley used to be one of the best eventing riders of the UK. After one unfortunate fall that crushed his leg, he ends his career and starts coaching other promising athletes. Aziraphale is a riding instructor, handling the school ponies and teaching the beginners. For the past six months they have found themselves in a sort of arrangement. It’s just friendship… and sex, whenever their schedules happen to align. It's nothing more than that, right?

Every Part of Me by foolishlovers (T, 10k) Heartthrob rockstar Antonia Harmonia, better known as Anthony J. Crowley offstage, has safeguarded his singing career from his best friend and long-term crush, Aziraphale, for nearly two decades. But when Aziraphale stumbles upon Crowley’s secret at one of his concerts, Crowley is suddenly confronted with unexpected consequences. Could the best of both worlds be within his reach? A Hannah Montana AU. I'm Beginning to See the Light by ineffabildaddy (E, 15k) There was Crowley - the paragon of cool, the overlord of apathy, breezing easily through each and every one of their exchanges and giving no fucks while doing so; then there was the anachronistic, cloying Aziraphale, trying and failing not to live life like a Thomas Hardy protagonist, and giving many fucks indeed. Or: Aziraphale has quite the pash on his colleague Crowley, who seems resolutely disinterested in him. As their annual Christmas party progresses, it appears that Crowley may not be as disinterested as Aziraphale first thought.

Fifteen Years of Heartache by mondlichtmaus (T, 20k) Crowley was roused from his nap by the sound of somebody opening the door. He didn't move. Maybe they would go away. "Excuse me?" someone called. They weren't going away. Crowley rose, lifting his head to squint at the intruder. A broad figure, silhouetted by the light of the hallway. He couldn't make out his face, eyes still bleary from sleep. Just a halo of light framing his head. "What?" Crowley grumbled. There was a moment of silence, then the intruder spoke again. "Anthony?" They're teachers. They're in love. They're oblivious.

Just Up the Stairs by foolishlovers, ineffabildaddy, omens_for_ophelia (E, 39k) On Valentine's Day, amidst the chaos of handling work and university deadlines as a mature student, Crowley seeks solace with his neighbour Aziraphale. As they share a meal, their long-standing friendship begins to unravel, revealing hidden feelings they've harboured for six months. It's a night that could change everything. Black and White Sunshine by Azira_Amane (E, 58k) "The cotton capital. The Second Summer of Love, the Haçienda. Irwell, Medlock, Irk and Mersey. Elizabeth Gaskell wrote her novels in a lovely little house. Oh. There’s so much to know…" Aziraphale East is, by his own account, a bit of an odd duck - and he's okay with that. He's always been happy in his own skin, in having been a confirmed bachelor his whole life. Everything changes on a work trip from London to Manchester, where he meets the vivacious and stunningly attractive Anthony Crowley. Like the splitting of the atom, Aziraphale is divided - and begins to wonder if it's not too late for love after all. Age, as they say, is but a number.

Tales of Turning Pages by foolishlovers (E, 73k) Every Tuesday, aspiring romance novelist Anthony J. Crowley pays a visit to his local library and the charming angel working there. Every Tuesday, Aziraphale Fell finds himself more and more intrigued by the curious stranger who turns his orderly life as a small-town librarian upside down.

[you can find more fic rec masterposts here]

#hope you'll enjoy these #nothing makes me happier 💜 #(shamelessly included my own fics but.. i think that's fair? 😳) #good omens #good omens fics #good omens fanfic #good omens human au #trans crowley #trans aziraphale #genderfluid crowley #agender aziraphale #good omens fic rec #aziracrow #aziracrow fic #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable partners #foolish recs #go fic masterpost

[sitp-recs]

Do you have any fic recommendations where Draco very desperately loves Harry? To the point of wanting to take care of everything for him?

Thank you for all your suggestions i really love reading through them :)

Hi anon! Thank you, I’m happy to know you enjoy the recs 💜 here are some fics with a “hopelessly in love” Draco for you:

And I Know the Spark by firethesound (E, 15k)

All Draco cares about is keeping Potter alive, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that happens.

The Green Vial by eidheann (E, 31k)

After months of seeing Harry Potter walk into his Apothecary disappointed and hopeless, Draco offers to carry the baby that Harry can't. Now he's just got to hide the fact that he's been half in love with Harry for years.

The Boy Who Only Lived Twice by lettered (E, 54k)

Harry Potter is an Unspeakable. Draco Malfoy is the wizard who shagged him. Adventure! Intrigue! Secret identities, celebrities, spies! It's all right here, folks.

Tea and No Sympathy by who_la_hoop (E, 70k)

It's Potter's fault, of course, that Draco finds himself trapped in the same twenty-four-hour period, repeating itself over and over again. It's been nearly a year since the unpleasant business at Hogwarts, and Draco's getting on with his life quite nicely, thank you, until Harry sodding Potter steps in and ruins it all, just like always.

Criminal by The_Sinking_Ship (E, 83k)

Things were going just fine for Draco Malfoy. He successfully conned and counted cards across Europe and America, amassing a small fortune, along with a lengthy rap sheet. That was until he made the grave mistake of returning to England for a high stakes card game and got himself caught – by Harry Potter no less.

I Am Not Who I Became by mab_di (E, 93k)

Draco left England after the trials and has travelled the world meeting wizards and Muggles from different cultures and with vastly different relationships to magic, each other, and the natural world. Now he's a fisherman in Finland on commercial vessels. Harry has been struggling since the war and has become a recluse while trying to write his autobiography.

A Thousand Beautiful Things by geoviki (M, 104k)

Draco Malfoy struggles with changed fortunes, shifted alliances, an ugly war, and an unusual spell, with the help of a concerned professor, an insightful house-elf, and an unexpected Gryffindor friend.

Turning Leaves by Kbrick (E, 112k)

Draco and Harry have a one-night stand that ends in disaster after Harry tells Draco he's unable to move beyond their poisonous past. So when Draco finds an unusual Time-Turner in the Department of Mysteries, he seizes the opportunity to start fresh with Harry. Only instead of fixing things, he keeps making them worse.

Far From The Tree by aideomai (E, 112k)

The arrival of Harry Potter’s children—snapped back in time, the children themselves guessed, twenty or so years—was the most interesting thing to happen at Hogwarts for years.

By the Grace by lettered (E, 140k)

Harry is an Auror instructor. Malfoy wants to be an Auror.

Twist of Fate by Oakstone730 (T, 302k)

Draco asks Harry to help him beat the Imperius curse during 4th year. The lessons turn into more than either expected. A story of redemption and forgiveness.

#asks #Drarry reclist #hopelessly in love Draco

[anika-ann]

Back and Forth - part 6.2

Part 6 - Back-Up 2/2

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 14500 (cough-)

Chapter summary:  In which it's your turn to look back at the events at the Hydra base and have a revelation or two. And some of these involve a certain Captain.

Series masterlist

Warnings: blood, mentions of canon-typical violence and injuries and possible death, unhealthy relationship with pain, mentions of chronic illness, issues with self-worth as a courtesy of a completely shitty parenting, language, feels and fluff ✨ Please, let me know any time if you think I missed any!

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

A/N2: hello, loves, thank you for your patience and enjoy nearly 15k worth of words. Ehm. If you want to break it into two parts, I recommend you to do so at the change in POV (but know that it's in like 2/3 of this part 🥲) Enjoy ✨

The swirl of delicate fabric around your ankles came with a soft swooshing sound, a faint glimmer catching your eye as the light reflected off the sparkles peppering your dress. Warm hand between your shoulder blades holding you securely to a firm body, the other cradling your hand gently. Gaze trailing from the bowtie over the faintest hint of stubble and plush lips curled in a barely-there warm smile, bright eyes soft with affection that still sent butterflies flipping their wings like mad in your stomach. The subtle caress of his thumb over the silver of skin revealed by the tiny opening of the dress on your back causing you to shudder, heat pooling in your abdomen.

He noticed the effect his minute touch had on you. He must have, the loveable bastard, because his smile earned the familiar innocently wicked edge, his pupils dilating just a fraction, his thigh slipping between yours further with the next step, firm muscle feeling like a teasing taste of heaven against your centre.

“Steve-“

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he whispered, lips at your ear, brushing down the sensitive skin of the column of your throat, the masculine scent of him enveloping your senses, your head tipping back to make space for his demanding lips. The graze of his teeth had you whimper, hips rocking against him, a soft menacing ‘oh doll’ rolling off his tongue before all pretence of what used to be a dance was gone, hand slipping to your lower back, encouraging you to press into him further, his other hand releasing yours in favour of cradling your jaw and leading your parted lips to his hungry ones. “My beautiful doll… I’ve got you.”

You sighed as you could already almost taste his lips, a tingle burning on your own, instinctively chasing after the pleasure they could provide when you felt their warmth retreat.

You winced when the touch of his hands disappeared too, all but a brush of fingertips remaining, wet and sticky; flash of crimson on his skin, startled gaze, sharp orders followed by words of soft reassurance whispered between heavy breaths, intrusive acrid smell of copper and chemicals causing you to scrunch your nose. Blue and purple of your gown turning black, pristine white shirt torn and drowned in terrifying red; a flash of glowing symbols, an absurdly evil smile replacing Steve’s face in your vision. Gunshot. Body flying backwards. Gun going off twice more. The world tilting to side. Heavy, painless crash. Beeping. That goddamn fluorescent lamp.

A gasp.

You blinked your eyes open, acutely aware of the twitch of your fingers feeling uncertain and heavy.

A dimly-lit room with a few bright points.

A flicker of grey and rust-like red on your right, flash of white on your left. A lab coat.

You drew in another sharp breath, startled, pulse hammering in your temples in fright; Doctor Barret. You were still-

“Well good afternoon, Spectre. You with us for a while this time?” a familiar voice asked, causing you to snap your head from the white coat worn by a doctor who was most definitely not Doctor Barret when you actually looked at him. Even as the menacing glint in Hydra’s doctor eye still flickered in your mind, your brain registered you got a glimpse the pleasant neutral face of a man you vaguely recognized as one belonging to the AI medical team, before you turned your eye to the right.

There, you were met with a subtle smirk on the face of a redhead; Natasha Romanoff, the world’s deadliest spy, a title she was perhaps sharing with Agent May.

Uncomfortably vivid flashes of memories flooded your brain as you were coming to, your heart racing; but upon seeing Natasha, you felt your body relax into the bed. Because you were in a bed – and you were most definitely not in a Hydra facility, but at the Tower’s med bay.

They had come to the rescue. Daisy had come. And probably many other too; you recalled voices, shouting, hissing, whimpering, a glow behind your closed eyelids-

You shot up on your bed, biting back the dull but very intense tug of pain in your thighs as you sat up with a startle. The glow.

“The artifact! Natasha, they can’t touch it, we don’t know-“

A gentle hand landed on your arm; you didn’t realize how close she was standing until she touched you, your heart, having jumped in fright at the mere idea of someone else getting tangled in the mess Kree artifacts tended to stir, pounding wildly at what was probably meant to be a soothing gesture.

Was that even safe, touching you? What if she got involved by merely doing that? What if the power somehow transferred---

--alright, that didn’t make any sense, because the brainless sadistic Hydra jerks had touched you as well, probably with no consequence, but-

“Relax. Breathe. The artifact is taken care off, locked up as of now,” Natasha stated calmly, her eyes roaming your face with what you were pretty certain was concern, even as she retreated her hand. “Doc, could you-“

The doctor – you were quite sure his name was Doctor Cuesta – excused himself in an instant, promising to check on you later and left without protest. Such was the power of Natasha Romanoff’s words; no questioning an order or even a request, just following it.

Some might find it odd, but to you, such behaviour was nothing new – you’d expect nothing less.

The baffling part of the scene would be the presence of Natasha by your bedside. That itself made for a peculiar but warm feeling in your gut, the only plausible reason for that being that she had come to check up on you; but it was another thing entirely to allow yourself to realize that the probability of you waking up the one moment she was here before she’d move on to tend to other things was almost absurdly low.

Which meant she wasn’t only checking up on you, but actually was spending some time here. And that was a hard thing to swallow, even as it tasted a little sweet.

The rational part of you was very firm in its reasoning that perhaps she and other Avengers took turns in your room just in case a new side effect of the power switch appeared and needed to be tackled, and now it was simply Natasha’s time.

The reckless part of you, the sentimental fraction of that part of you, shyly suggested that she was simply here because she cared. It wasn’t entirely unheard of that she was capable of feeling, naturally. Ater all, she had let a few people peek behind the hard shell of the Black Widow, Bucky Barnes making the top of the list.

It was just rather strange that you were included in that group of people at all.

And yet.

It still wasn’t the strangest thing about the whole scene.

As relief flooded your veins, the most acute fear having been soothed for the moment since you were no longer in Hydra’s clutches, you noticed that the already surreal scene – with all your senses in overdrive and dulled at once, probably due to whatever meds they were pumping into you through the i.v., which you had only just noticed – was a full fever dream. Because as the doctor left, your gaze caught on another person in the room. One that had had to been there the whole time, silent, only an echo of his harsher breaths having been reaching your ears, too quiet for you to notice before. And his cerulean eyes were firmly set on you, a tired minute smile on his lips.

The one person whom your very next words would have concerned, because your thoughts were consumed by him as well.

He was wearing a sling on his right arm and shoulder, a butterfly band-aid over what was probably a cut over his brow, a dark shiner on his cheek. Dressed in a simple grey hoodie and black sweats, he seemed as hulk-like as usual, even if worn to a bone and slightly hunched in his chair; but intent as he rose to his feet, stepping closer to your bed.

Now his presence was truly puzzling, even as it shouldn’t be, you supposed. Despite that, however, confusion was a feeling firmly pushed out by a very different sentiment, a whole sea of it.

Your shoulders sagged as you felt tension you hadn’t been aware of melt off your body; because he was okay. Well, as okay as one could be after what you had been through.

Steve was okay.

You were alive. Both of you.

And you were home.

Safe.

Despite the raging storm of sensations and emotions that seeing him stirred, it was relief that crashed into you with enough force to turn your eyes uncomfortably glassy.

It was over. It really was over.

There must have been so much mess to sort through; you had no idea where you stood with the powers exchange, had even less of an idea about where you stood with Steve, Captain Rogers, The Mighty Captain, the jerk, the kindest soul – but the horror was over.

Hydra would not shoot you in the head; Hydra would not cut you open and dig around in your body with glee, discovery that required experimentation. Not today.

And Steve was okay.

“Hey,” you whispered, the single word slipping off your lips unwittingly, causing his smile to widen, his eyes lighting up with life – and with a speckle of concern. Because of course he had noticed your tears welling up a bit.

The flash of a memory of his eyes, truly glowing with something, affection and desire, had your cheeks burn and your stomach flip in as much excitement as shame; that had been just a dream. A very, very nice dream that you could surely blame on medication just in case you had been making any embarrassing noises.

However, if you had, Steve didn’t mention it. Instead, he greeted you with a ‘hey’ in return, with a gentle sound of your name.

The feeling in your belly stirred by that had nothing to do with shame this time; the corners of your lips turned upwards without conscious effort. You felt fresh wave of heat rise to your cheeks; it was no doll or sweetheart, but it wasn’t Spectre either, nor Agent.

Wherever you stood with him now, it wasn’t at a distance; and it wasn’t on a battlefield where you’d face each other either.

The sound of someone clearing their throat snapped you from what probably looked like embarrassing gazing, Natasha’s lips curling up further in concerningly knowing amusement.

“As I was saying. No need to worry about the artifact now. Between the glowing, live feed, Steve telling us and Johnson being able to recover the draft of the message you were trying to send from the auction, we knew enough to keep our hands off,” she explained. “And if that wouldn’t have done it, Johnson had a few colourful curses for us when she saw the symbols, mostly about all things Kree, so that was quite a dead giveaway.”

For all the new information, the corners of your lips twitched at the last piece of it. Of course. You could imagine that after everything that happened especially to Daisy, she would have had a plethora of swearwords at her disposal for such situations.

It wasn’t like your last shared Kree escapade had been kind to you either; you might have not been mind-controlled by an ancient Inhuman named Hive to turn against your team like she had been, but you had sort of been the person who turned out to be the SHIELD agent from a vision of the future Daisy had once been offered; stuck on a quinjet aimlessly flowing through space right before the craft exploded. The memory of body-wrenching invasion, Hive’s clutches having been slowly seeping into your spectre even as you had been snapping back from the quinjet so your spectre wouldn’t end scattered all over the Milky Way, still made you shudder and had made for recurring nightmares.

For a single alien race, Kree sure had messed with your life enough for ten lifetimes already.

Chasing away the dark memories, you latched onto another piece of information; Steve had told them about the artifact. That meant he had been conscious when they had picked him up, or at least hadn’t been unconscious for long. Certainly not longer than you. Which meant that even though he looked a little worse for wear – he was beautiful still, it truly was unfair, you’d bet you looked like an utter mess, while he looked like a warrior demi-god who needed a little nap – he truly was mostly fine.

You couldn’t but wonder if the serum was the reason for that.

“Fair enough,” you hummed absently before your gaze turned back to Steve, drawn to him like a magnet.

He was still smiling a bit, the concern evident on his face; it reminded you of the way he had watched you back in the cell and despite the cold fear that had gripped you several times back there, all you felt now was warmth; because the flash of dreadful memory of blood and pain digging into your mind came with a soft memory of his tender touch. Unfairly, beautifully tender touch of his hands that had not been strictly limited to treating your wounds.

You cleared your throat, attempting to snap your mind back to the present and much more business-like reality. “So… the artifact is safe, locked away. Does that mean we’re back to normal? We’ve got our abilities back?”

You should probably be able to tell on your own; but with no doubt generous dose of medication in your system, evaluating the intensity of stimuli to your senses was… rather difficult.  

Steve’s smile grew an even more tired note when Natasha shot him a meaningful look at your question and he shook his head, causing your lips to part in surprise.

“Not yet,” he said simply, returning Natasha’s glare before he fully turned his attention to you, moving to the left side of your bed. It felt like you had an angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other; and despite their looks, Steve’s hair always resembling a halo and Natasha’s being distinctly devilish red, you weren’t sure who was which. Why weren’t you back to normal? Why- “First, we’re not sure how exactly the artifact works and we’re not risking anything before Agent Campbell goes through the archives and Jiaying’s notes. Secondly… frankly, we think we should stay like this a little longer. We agreed you could definitely benefit from more time with accelerated healing. What do you say?”

You opened your mouth and then closed it again, no sound coming out. Your gaze flickered back to Natasha – it seemed she had quite a lot to say about that, but she didn’t make a sound. At least not here, not in front of you.

Guilt instantly bit into your stomach.

The longer you benefited from the effects of the serum, free of pain, the longer Steve suffered, caught in completely unnecessary pain. The latter was simply unacceptable and the former… well. That was always a dangerous thing for you to trifle with. Painless days – even as you were not completely pain-free now – were a thing of dreams you’d easily grow used to. You never had tried heavy drugs for the fear of having your performance messed up, but ever since you had gained your powers and discovered what they entailed, you imagined painless days as a mixture of heroin and morphine; euphoria and relief.

You’d soon start craving that cocktail once you wouldn’t be able to get your hands on it. The sudden absence would cause absolute havoc in your life.

But even if you accepted that; it wasn’t fair at all. It wasn’t fair at all that Steve should suffer consequences of your abilities and its faults. You understood the concerns about unpredictability of using the artifact, but besides that, it shouldn’t even be a subject to discussion.

So you couldn’t say you didn’t understand Natasha’s meaningful look at Steve or her stance; except perhaps you didn’t. Because when you dared to meet her gaze, fully expecting reproach, she was smiling instead, perhaps a little exasperatedly; and while you had misjudged her behaviour before, she appeared genuine in her concern. She might not like seeing her friend in pain in the slightest, but she heard the argument loud and clear. And perhaps, whether one could call you something akin to friendly colleagues or not, she didn’t revel in seeing you in pain either.

Yet, Steve saying they had agreed, whoever the ‘we’ was supposed entail, felt like a farce.

You might be on pain medication, the world slightly hazier than normal, but it was abundantly clear that Stevewas the one who had decided and accepted no counter-arguments. He could get like that sometimes. The infamous ‘everyone’s input counts, don’t be afraid to say your piece, we are a team’ of his flew out of the window if he felt strongly about something.

And he apparently felt very strongly about this.

You gulped as you gathered courage to look at him again, a not-so-quiet voice whispering sleazily about how pathetic you were and about that being the reason why he wanted to wait with the exchange. About how he had seen you at such a low point he could never believe you were good enough for any mission ever again, deciding that you were weak and needed all the support you could get to even survive, to even-

-but the emotions playing on his face, even as you couldn’t decipher them all, didn’t speak of contempt or pity. His smile remained nothing but soft, without a single hint of perceived or believed superiority of his own being. And without as much as a hint of him minding being in pain and taking longer to heal, not when it helped someone else, not when-

God, how that lit up fire in you, how that drove you up the wall. That stupid perfect ultimate good guy with a hero complex, his absurdly big heart larger than his already impressive body, so irritatingly kind, wrapped in a flag of self-sacrifice for good of others--- god, how you despised him for being that good. How you admired him for the very same reasons.

“But you-“

“I have one fully patched-up gunshot wound, mostly just a scratch, a few cuts and bruises, and a transfusion and some quality painkillers in my system,” Steve listed evenly, clearly having expecting your protest.

Those don’t work on the chest however, you reminded yourself, your gaze probably conveying the message even as you hadn’t said it, because Steve’s eyebrow arched slightly. “I’ll sleep it off. And I will heal the rest once I have my abilities back… we think. So truly. Your body needs the serum a lot more than mine.”

The lump that had started growing in your throat under Steve’s watchful gaze expanded further, suffocating and warming at once.

His choice of words felt like everything but accidental: your body. Not ‘you’.

Because that bastard, that infuriatingly observant sweet bastard, even without his serum momentarily but with about a hundred of injuries big and small, remembered and understood that feeling like less, being called less especiallyby someone like him andhim in particular, even if not intentionally, set off your attitude. He knew that now; because you had put almost all your cards on the table back in the Hydra facility. The fact it hadn’t been all cards clearly meant nothing; because when Steve had chosen the words, when he had seen, you might have been under at least two covers and in a hospital gown, but you’d be damned if you didn’t feel completely naked and exposed.

And the absolutely scariest part was… that it wasn’t as scary as you’d have expected it to be.

Not in front of him. Not when he had seen you at the bottom of the pit already. If anything, this was progress; after all, you were fully conscious and he wasn’t tearing your thigh-highs to shreds for the sole reason of treating two bullet wounds. But still. He was watching you with such a knowing gaze and yet, you weren’t bolting and it had nothing to do with your momentary inability to do about a single step. The tidal wave of emotions washing over you at that realization was… baffling and disconcerting to say at least. And rather difficult to process.

And his eyes… that gaze, so damn inquiring, caring and soft. It made your skin prickle and your fingers tingle and not all of it was entirely unpleasant.

“And before you ask, I admit I don’t like it, seeing either of you in pain, but I second that,” Natasha said, snapping you from your thoughts even as her voice was quiet, no doubt sensing this was a lot. And perhaps she was feeling a bit like an intruder. An intruder to what exactly? You would not dare to give it a name or ponder about it too much; it would only bring you a headache. Worse, a heartache. “You need to heal and we have no clue about the risks yet. So. I’m going to call Agent Campbell to check on his progress… Excuse me. And in the meantime, rest. Both of you. Feel better.”

She sweetened her last words with a smile and another meaningful look at Steve, whatever that was about; your best guess was that she was calling him out on not resting properly and being here in your room instead. Then, she cleared the space, the door sliding close behind her quietly.

Why was Steve here in your room instead of resting?

The question was silly really – you already had your answer. You would have known even before he had admitted to you back in the cell just how profoundly responsible he felt for his team and their wellbeing. He felt responsible for his subordinates and equals alike. He cared; though depriving himself of accelerating healing for your benefit seemed like an overkill.

And it certainly felt like a lot more than should be done for you.

You already had the best medical team in the country if not in the world at your disposal, one that could accommodate you and your Inhuman mutation, more than well-equipped to deal with the fact that it now somehow combined with the effects of Steve’s serum. It was already a lot more privilege than an average agent should have. Using the accelerating healing felt like an unfair profit and you wanted to protest despite being grateful and despite the valid argument Steve made.

But one single look at Steve told you arguing was useless. One look at the faint flame of determination in his eye and you heard the echo of his words from the cell clear as day.

You’re a person first, an asset to the team next.

You deserve to rest, you deserve having your needs met, you deserve to be treated like a damn human being.

You deserve better than that.  And you are sure as hell going to get that when you’re with us.

The lump in your throat grew another three times bigger, the burn of tears in your eyes intensified; but you spilled none, swallowing heavily instead. There was a faint buzzing in your temples, but you tried to ignore that. Because this was important. If you weren’t about to try and argue Steve out of doing something stupid as you usually did and should, because you’d have about as much success as trying to move a mountain, you might as well express your gratitude at least.

“Thank you for checking up on me,” you rasped, clearing your throat; your tongue felt a little heavy too, especially when he smiled and you did not want to think about why. “For agreeing… for deciding about the… postponing the switch. I’m sorry, I don’t—it’s hard to form words, I-...”

It’s hard to say ‘thank you’ when you look at me like there’s no reason for that gratitude.

When you look like it’s all as easy and matter-of-course courtesy as holding a door open for a woman.

When you look at me, now, without an imminent threat to our lives, and the things we talked about still hang in the air, exposing so many things that I never wanted to see the light of the day.

When you’re doing me an enormous favour and you look like it’s not just because of believing it’s the right thing to do, but maybe, just a little, because it’s for me.

“Of course. And don’t worry, they did mention they have a bit of trouble to balance our dosages of medication, unsure about the serum effects or the lack of it,” he said, so casually kindly again.

“Right,” was all you managed to muster.

Medication miscalculation was most definitely not the only reason why you had trouble speaking; if Steve realized that and he was giving you an out, you couldn’t tell, but didn’t want to investigate. You were simply grateful for not having to explain what might have been written all over your face despite trying your damnest to look mostly neutral and probably failing epically.

The silence that settled tasted a little awkward; as you tried, in the subtlest way possible, to assess Steve’s body language, mulling over his words again, you felt a fresh stab of guilt. He was hunched over a little – and he had mentioned that the med team had issues managing his pain too. They didn’t know how to deal with his natural pain, because his metabolism changed too; as if it wasn’t enough there was nothing they could do for the extra pain in his chest.

And you could easily rid of that, probably of both.

He'd deserve that. More than anyone you had ever met.

What kind of a person were you to deny him that? You shouldn’t. You couldn’t. You didn’t ant to argue with him, not when whatever progress you had made in your relationship was so fragile, but… you couldn’t let him do that.

“Steve, about that switching, I don’t think it’s the best idea to wa-“

“I do,” he said firmly, straightening his posture a bit. Whether that was to establish dominance – as if he wasn’t already standing while you were semi-lying – or to cover up for the fact his chest was no doubt hurting like son of a bitch still, you weren’t sure. But he did; and when he spoke again, you had to admit it was probably the latter. “I’m fine. How are you feeling?”

God, that stubborn son of a-

You bit down the curse, mildly, very mildly mollified by the warm smile – with the subtlesthint of mischief – he charmed up as he tilted his head, waiting.

So you sighed instead.

He gave you time as you allowed yourself to feel your body, the muscles of your legs stiff and relaxed at once, a significantly duller ache than you’d expect, exhaustion seeping deep in your bones despite having barely just woken up. As you kept assessing, pondering about the right balance of honesty and propriety, Steve’s eyes flickered to a nearby chair standing barely a few feet from him, then back to you with an unspoken but clear question.

Despite your better judgement, you nodded, belly warm at the idea of him staying a little longer when you were indeed not in imminent danger and he was still being amicable with you.

He wanted to stay.

He wanted to know how you felt; he considered you a one of the people he felt truly responsible for.

He cared.

You shouldn’t be so content, shouldn’t give in, certainly shouldn’t be feeling like you were slowly melting on the inside. Your heart shouldn’t be fluttering. But you had already established your judgement was impaired at best, didn’t you?

And again, despite your better judgement, you also told Steve the truth. There was simply something in his eyes as he watched you with concern but a small smile, clearly content you had granted him his wish to sit down and stay a little longer instead of screaming your disagreement to his face, that just made you actually want to tell the truth. To be on honest terms.

“I’m… a little less than fine, I guess,” you admitted reluctantly, only to see his smile slip, gaze instantly drawn to the nurse button by your bed. But a nurse would not help you with this; not with feeling rather lost in all the sensations and emotions and feeling like you were losing your last defences to the all-kinds-of-gorgeous man by your bedside. “But I… I would have been dead without you.”

Steve shook his head in dismissal.

The sudden urge – to make him seethat dismissing all he had done as if it was some kind of a common courtesy was utter nonsense –flared up in your chest with intensity, shooting straight into your veins even before he spoke up.

“You removed the bullets yourself-“

“And you took care of me. You--- you protected me. With everything you had and caught a bullet for that, because I needed-“

“I needed to do at least something,” he interrupted you in turn, your mouth falling shut at the urgency of his tone, the atmosphere suddenly heavier and thicker than just a moment ago with something you couldn’t quite grasp except for feeling the gravity and passion behind Steve’s words. “The fact that I, at least partly, got us into that situation was just one of many reasons why. And you, you warned us that that might happen, and yet when it came, you didn’t throw it in my face, not really, but instead fought tooth and nail, suffering the consequences of a mistake that was not your own and tried you damnest to help even when you were fighting for your life. Healing a little faster than usual is the least you deserve and me having done what I did and enabling that healing now is the least I can do.”

You swallowed heavily, not daring to move otherwise, not ready to make a sound; too stunned. His words were heavy with guilt, bright with sincerity and laced with the echo of those in the cell again.

You deserve better than that. And you are sure as hell going to get that when you’re with us.

And you understood. You understood that the guilt he had revealed might have been a strong motivator of his, but not the only one. He wanted to do that for you. Because he cared.

The thought was dizzying still, but with that, you supposed you could live. You could live, even though with heavy conscience, with him choosing to wait if it eased his conscience. It wasn’t written anywhere that the switch couldn’t happen right tomorrow – just not right now. Whenever that might occur, however, the delay was still an enormous sacrifice; one worthy of Captain America. One worthy of Steve Rogers.

It would enrage you to no end that he was willing to do that, if it only didn’t make your heart flutter.

You licked your lips, mouth having gone dry as you found yourself under his burning gaze the whole time you pondered your answer.

“I--- thank you, Steve. And not just for that. I am still grateful for what you did for me back there too… and how.”

And you meant that too.

Because you did remember with painful and startling quality. Remembered how tender and careful his hands had been, how soothing his voice had sounded, how sincere his words had been. You hadn’t really deserved such softness; and certainly, when looking back, hadn’t expected it either – used to a cold shoulder, drills and words that couldn’t be farther from the endearments Steve’s lips spilled – even as you had known Steve was simply a unique kind of man.

You’d always be grateful for all of it, even as his actions had been a double-edged sword.

Thank you for what you did and how; even if it ruined me forever. Even if it crushed most if not all the walls I had built so meticulously so I wouldn’t jump into the void of allowing myself to feel anything but caution, irritation and insanely bothersome admiration when it came to you.

The memory of his soft touch would haunt you forever; it had already haunted your dream, after all, the endearments whispered by his lips in a context and situation imagined, but fed by a real memory.

At your words, Steve smiled a bit, concern and determination replaced by sheer warmth that felt like a fluffy blanket caressing your skin, inviting you to sink into its softness.

“Anytime, doll.”

The conviction in the single word strummed your heartstrings gently; the endearment, falling from his lips so effortlessly again, tugged at them violently and made you shiver.

Your chuckle sounded foreign and nervous, the heat blooming in your chest a little heavy.

“Is that going to be a thing now?”

Steve sat up straighter in an instant, only reminding you of how close he had leaned forward to you before; he appeared a little flushed, a tinge of pink in his cheeks, expression one of a boy caught with a hand in the cookie jar. It took away five years of his handsome face and it was beautiful.

It was such an awfully sweet picture that the nerves melted away, giving into the gentle fire instead.

“Oh. Sorry, I-“

“No, I-… I like it…” you admitted unwittingly, slowly, feeling your cheeks burn with heat and your lungs with panic, because what were you doing? What were you thinking, not only feeling it, but confessing to that, no matter how true it was. You couldn’t--- you shouldn’t- “I think,” you added quickly.

You fooled no one.

But oh, that brilliant smile Steve’s lips split into and his fingertips brushing over your hand laxly laid on the bed, before his hand gently enveloped yours, made that admission damn well worth it. Even if your chest felt paper-thin, with your pounding heart threatening to burst right through.

God, you were glad you only had the oximeter on your other hand and were not attached to the kind of ECG that was hooked to a beeping monitor. You’d die of embarrassment if Steve could actually hear the somersaults your heart was doing; you were set on the course of committing ritualistic suicide by allowing yourself to feel that way already, there was no need to add to it, really, no need to let him hear-

And yet you couldn’t imagine you truly would care if he heard. Not when his warm hand carefully squeezed yours, a flicker of apprehension in his gaze when he did so, almost as if he was – arguably rightfully – worried it would make you pull your hand back.

But you did no such thing; like a fool. Like a fool in lo- no. That was so not a wise direction for your thoughts.

“Yeah,” Steve hummed, his shoulders sagging a bit when you not only hadn’t yanked your hand free, but instinctively – yes, certainly, it was pure reflex, not a conscious decision at all, right? – briefly squeezed back. “Me too.”

There was something setting off all alarm bells inside you at the direction you were both steering towards; but there was also something chasing tears of relief and affection into your eyes.

Because what you were experiencing, what you were seeing, was precious on so many levels.

Sweet. Vulnerable. Less than confident.

Stubborn. In pain not entirely hidden. Slipping. Soft.

New layers of Steve uncovered, revealed voluntarily for you to see. You had willed yourself to be a little more honest and accept, however reluctantly, his kindness; and in return, he took your words to heart too, letting you see more of him than what he was used to showing.

He had admitted back in the cell that what the agents could of him, a drastically uncomplete image with virtues having painted all of it, was what he believed was necessary. Ironically, you had never found yourself admiring him more – steering faster towards the very dangerous territory of liking him and allowing yourself to feel it and giving into it – than right now.

You were not blind to the opportunity; you were not blind to the fact it cost him something too, because letting go of masks and tearing down walls was a painful and often impossible process. You appreciated it; and he deserved know that.

“And, I-“

His smile grew a little curious, intent, so genuinely interested in whatever you wanted to say that you couldn’t bear his gaze anymore, your eyes focusing on his hand on yours instead; it only stirred emotion in you further, because the sight was all kinds of peculiar. Not only because of the simple insane fact that he was holding your hand – Jesus, you needed to get a grip and not on his hand, no matter how nice that would have felt – but because of his scraped knuckles and two tiny cuts. An image unparalleled; you had never seen that. Either you weren’t shown, obviously, or the small injuries hadn’t stuck for long enough, the serum coursing his veins working its miracles and healing.

And he wanted you to have that kind of miraculous luxury for now, giving it up for your benefit. For you. It might be unfathomable, but that made it no less touching, the feeling blooming in your chest no less consuming.

That large warm pawn of his might have as well be pulling directly at your heartstrings with every second he spent in your company, with every step forward you felt he was taking.

“I… it might be just painkillers talking, but I like you better like this. I mean-- better than the perfect Captain America. Not hurt, obviously,” you said, mentally cursing your choice of words.

And cursing the confession itself. The moment you said it out loud, you realized it revealed too much. You didn’t dare to look up for the very reason; but it felt like Steve’s smile widened, your mind supplying you with an image of his eyes crinkling for some reason.

The barely-there twitch of his hand felt self-deprecating, looking back at his own behaviour critically; that made you feel a touch braver. And a bit more confident that he truly wondered what was on your mind and wanted to hear and see what you thought and who you were; bad humour included.

It only felt right to show it.

“I also liked it when you told me to tell you what to do for a change.”

You were rewarded for speaking up; with a gorgeous sound of his chuckle sending tingles down your veins, a sight of his absurdly handsome face lighting up and him leaning a bit closer, brighter, but with serious note to his cerulean eyes, the faintest hint of hesitance as his laugh faded out, only his smile remaining

“Well. I’ll deny it and will never speak of it again if you just say the word, but I just… I just like you.”

Lightning.

It struck you like a lightning, electrifying, burning and icy cold all at once. Paralysing.

If holding his hand had seemed like a risk, now he figuratively took your other hand too and led you straight into the minefield. And you might have trusted him to do that, but reached for even more humour anyway, because the feeling coiling inside you expanded with the first breath you dared to take and then further with every other and you had no clue how to contain it.

He liked you.

“Such flattery.”

It did not come out as snarky as intended; in fact, it came out just as touched as you felt, the echo of his words resonating in your very bones, the marrow crumbling and rebuilding anew. You suspected your expression revealed a little too much of how profoundly that single statement seemed to change what might be a little piece of you, but changed you fundamentally. Your voice came out a touch too vulnerable – but you supposed that was only fair. He had been vulnerable first. Right?

So why did it feel like so much? Too much.

You half-expected Steve to take it back, if not for anything, than for the very magnitude of such statement; but he kept watching you, painfully gentle and unable to take it anymore, your gaze slid lower to his chest.

The flash of a terrifying image – a ghastly memory – had you wince, the bubble Steve had seemed to create bursting, reality crashing in.

“How’s… how bad is the chest pain?”

Steve didn’t call you out on the change of topic; but his smile earned a tense edge, the briefest flash of a grimace telling you the pain was, unsurprisingly and unfortunately, barely bearable. As it tended to be when a person got shot.

But he didn’t say a word about that pain, stubborn; and perhaps he was purposely letting you get a taste your own medicine, showing you another piece of the only almost-perfect puzzle he was – a tiny bit vindictive, proving a point when given the chance. You supposed you couldn’t exactly argue that you didn’t deserve that behaviour.

Or maybe he simply didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to disturb the nice warm moment by digging into a very painful spot. Literally.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said simply.

And yet, there was an undertone to his voice, one that had your breath catch and took you all too long to figure out, only knocking the remnants of air from your lungs when you did realize what his patient gaze spoke of as well.

This was not only his answer to you.

This was his answer to anyone who asked.

And you wanted to be mad at him, for being a hypocrite, for hiding pain, no doubt telling people he was fine, as he had told you too-

-but the motivation behind that action was not as simple and straightforward as him putting on the face he always believed was necessary. Because it was so much more complicated than. Because it was about you too.

That was what he was telling you.

You did not believe that it would last. There was no universe in which Steve Rogers would make a discovery of such nature and kept it for himself, or would keep it but let it slide without any consequence, good or bad; but for now, he did. He hadn’t revealed your secret to anyone.

Your choked ‘thank you’, when you finally gathered enough air and wits to speak, was barely audible.

And that infuriatingly good bastard just smiled, a little conspiratory, as if he had a secret you now knew, even if it was the other way around.

“I should let you rest,” he said lowly, brushing over your gratitude – because of course he did. “Rest well. Feel better.”

Despite his words, he did not move an inch away from you; he didn’t let go either, the only movement being a painfully soft sweep of his thumb over the back of your hand, over your wrist.

The minuscule, seemingly instinctual caress made something warm hum in your chest, loud.

So unlike two weeks ago with the parting words after your fight – god, did it feel like a lifetime ago, and maybe it was, the experience of the past hours changing you, leaving you alive but reborn – you allowed yourself to respond in kind, consciously letting sincerity slip into your voice.

“You too.”  

Steve smiled wide, eyes crinkling – and this time, you did see it, the image much prettier and vivid than your mind had conjured before. The feeling in your chest hummed even louder and fluttered its wings, an echo of a sweet melody and his words in your head.

I just like you.

He had exposed his heart, shared a good thing with you. That was another thing you should reciprocate, for it might be a dangerous truth, but one Steve would deserve to hear. Yet, you found yourself unable to do it.

You were no hero – not like him. There was not enough courage left to say those words – but that didn’t mean you weren’t willing to put in an effort, to hint at least. Because one thing needed to be made crystal clear; that reckless, beautiful thing, blossoming around your heart, pulling at the seams of your ribcage.

“And I… think I will want you to speak of… that again. Later?” you suggested quietly, half-expecting him to burst out with a laughter, a ‘ha gotcha!’ coming at last,; half-hoping he would do no such thing.

Sure, men being interested in your person might not be a foreign concept to you, be it your status, skills or abilities, but neither were the bets and conquests of the one with higher status and skills than their own – which for sure would not be Steve’s case. It couldn’t be. He would never.

Yet, you felt apprehension creep up your spine as you confessed; one quickly dissolved in his velvety voice. 

“I’d like that too.”

You squeezed his hand back at that, vainly shushing the overly giddy sensation awoken. You really, really needed to get a grip on yourself. But you didn’t take your indirect confession back – which meant your judgement was most definitely impaired. And funnily enough, you didn’t mind one bit.

For a long moment, neither of you said a word; neither of you commented on the minute physical affection you showed, this time entirely consciously. Steve didn’t tease you about it, didn’t turn it against you in any way, nor exploited it, his smile only turning a tad warmer, without pressure.

It occurred to you it was no wonder you had been unable to say ‘I like you’ back to him; it would have been a lie. ‘Liking’ him just might be too weak of a word at the moment.

“Good,” you whispered simply, earning another caress on your hand, this time surer, firmer, but no less gentle.

Then, one last squeeze of a hand and Steve was rising to his feet at last. The way you missed the warmth of his touch instantly was downright criminal; you just weren’t sure whether it was you or him who should get arrested. 

“See you soon, doll.”

Him. He was the one who should be locked up and with a warning.

Over the power of his words, a very faint sound of the door sliding open reached your ears but not your brain – so you responded in kind again.

“See you soon, stranger.”

He grinned – that criminal grinned – as if he could remember you calling him that back at the charity auction, and made his way to the door where he turned back to you just to spare you one more smile. As a consequence, he nearly collided with one Daisy Johnson before he disappeared from your sight completely.

But not before you witnessed Daisy’s appreciative onceover, a firm dutiful ‘Captain Rogers’ on her lips. Once the door slid shut, her gaze found yours, mutely, but very exaggeratingly mouthing a ‘wow’.

And you kinda wished she would have stayed in the mute mode when she actually spoke.

“Well, lucky you, doll.”

“Shut up.”

Despite your harsh words, you were smiling, feeling heat rising in your cheeks – and realizing there was a dull ache in them too. Given the fact you hadn’t been punched there, as far as you knew, it meant that your cheeks hurt from smiling too long. And you couldn’t seem to make it stop, trying, but failing as your lips instantly curled up again.

Daisy’s unoffended chuckle sounded like it was coming from an enormous distance.

What was wrong with you? What were you, a teenager? A kid?So Steve had said he liked you and held you hand for a bit, gee, yeah, a big deal. Except it was. And definitely not just because you couldn’t have stood each other – or acted like it – barely two weeks ago, which was just another thing that should make you freak out and in a way it did, because this was insane and dangerous, but--- god. The way he just casually swept his thumb over the back of your hand was doing visceral things to you; and your brain might have been screaming at you because of that, but heaven help you, you still liked it.

It was a good thing that Daisy, the closest thing you had to a friend, was here now, to bring your feet back to Earth.

Except she was about to do no such thing, naturally – damn her pure hopeful heart and dirty mouth.

“You know, I know I once said I’d like to get my hands on Thor,” she hummed, grinning, spying the chair by your bed and plopped down into it without bothering asking permission, “but I’m not picky about my Avengers… like, at all.”

You couldn’t help it; you snorted, even as an irrational growl of mine seemed to echo in your skull.

“Yeah, right, tell that to Lincoln.”

“What? I can appreciate a handsome beefcake of a man still, I have eyes!”

“Yeah, for Lincoln Campbell, your boyfriend,” you reminded her with amusement, even as she most definitely needed no reminder; the two were sickeningly, beautifully in love.

Only when she raised her eyebrow, you noticed the butterfly band aid on her forehead – it truly spoke of how out of it you were to notice it only now despite the injury literally staring into your face.

You sat up straighter, frowning. “Hey, what happened? How are you doing?”

Daisy’s right eyebrow joined the left one, her hand subtly pointing towards her – and then you.

“Me? I’m fine. You, however, have two gunshot wounds, Ms. Avenger. What the hell?”

Your smile slipped at the addressing making a return, instinct taking over. “I’m not… that, not really.”

Daisy tilted her head, her face speaking volumes.

Here was a thing about Daisy Johnson; even long before she was an agent, from what you heard, she could show very clearly when she was done with someone’s bullshit. And she was clearly expressing that she thought you were sprawling nonsense now.

You spoke quickly before she could, forcing your smile back as you remembered: “I met a girl recently, she was a fan of yours.”

“Oh? Cool! Tell me all about that,” Daisy took the bait easily, grinning with a mischief that should have clued you on something, but didn’t. “When was that? Was that during the Avengers’ Day, Ms. Avenger?”

You shot her an unimpressed glare; but the corners of your lips twitched up involuntarily at her shenanigans. Damn her. This woman. She was on a roll.

“And then, you’d better tell me all the juicy and mundane details you can about the blond beefcake… that calls you doll, apparently? You know, Coulson’s either gonna fistfight you for him or dry his tears of pride and joy for like a week.”

There was absolutely no containing the snort of laughter this time. Your cheeks burned; your belly tingled, warmth and nausea at once – but you snorted again, because that was a visual that should not be so plausible. Bless Phil Coulson and his heart. You admired him greatly, but the imagery Daisy painted should have felt much more absurd.

“You’re awful,” you accused her, giggling, not blind to her pride at her joke.

“Please, you love me.”

God help you, you did indeed. The insistent tug on the corners of your lips gave it away, as did the incredibly soothing bright feeling in your chest. Your giggles turned into a gentle smile, the gratitude you felt hopefully seeping into every word.

Because you were grateful to her – for a lot of things. You didn’t think you could put it into words; you didn’t think you truly wanted to put it into words. You just hoped that she understood. She always had.

“Thank you for checking up on me, Daisy. And for coming to the rescue in the first place,” you said, the sudden hoarseness of your voice and the burn in your eyes taking you by surprise – and with shame.

But she just smiled; because of course she did. She was a lot more than a kickass hero with a sense of humour. Most of all, she was a kind precious soul fighting the odds no one would have guessed she had to face.

She leaned closer, her expression speaking of sincerity you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to.

“Hey. Always. But please, do not test that again. You scared me… scared us. If it weren’t for another three fires that needed to be put out around the world, you’d have the full cavalry here, and I don’t mean just May,” she informed you, not giving you time to process the bombshell she just dropped and caused absolute havoc in your head. Surely, she was exaggerating- “Next gala, just get drunk and do something embarrassing, yeah? Nothing life-threatening.”

You just smiled weakly, latching onto the mischief appearing in her face again, the air feeling considerably lighter in your lungs at that.

“Now. What’s the word? Who was the girl? And… how’s the guy?”

She wiggled her eyebrows – actually wiggled her eyebrows – and you opened your mouth mutely, barely containing your smile at the sheer force of her enthusiasm. It had nothing to do that the memory of Steve’s hand on yours made you melt into the pillow again. Nothing.

Get a grip-

“He’s… it’s—complicated,” you stammered, having to admit that it was actually be the most accurate word ever to describe whatever you and Steve were. Were trying to be. Could be in some utopia land. Whatever.

Daisy grinned in return. “Riiiight, so right up your alley then, eh?”

Mentally, you scoffed. Figures, you supposed. And still – you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face.

I just like you.

Steve Rogers was most definitely entirely out of your league – a war hero who had literally fought the original Nazis, a hero of today, a demi-god in a barely human form, the gentlest man with a heart of gold and mind sharp like a knife that he only used to protect others – but as far as types of men went, he was certainly up there for you. You knew you shouldn’t reach so high, because you weren’t able to, but damn him, he made you want to try, even as the fall would hurt like son of a bitch.

“Yeah... I suppose it is.”

“Well, just so you know, there was not a single complicated thing about the way that guy was looking at ya’,” Daisy drawled confidently, crossing hr arms on her chest, watching you expectantly.

Your heart fluttered and started racing, stomach doing a funny flip-flop.

Get a grip, get a grip, he’s just--- he’s just a guy, just a guy, and you shouldn’t get your hopes up so much, you---

You pushed the burning giddy feeling away, catching yourself before you could grin and giggle and scream like a lunatic, and cleared your throat.

Daisy’s face told you that you fooled no one – or at least not her. Oh for god’s sake-

“Ehm… thanks. Duly noted. Now, about Daisy…”

“Oooh I like this girl already. Spill!”

And so you did, eternally grateful your Daisy didn’t push further. At least for now.

And if the ache in your cheeks persisted, maybe, just maybe, you only welcomed it with a wider smile.

As Steve walked down the hall, he felt the tips of his ears burning, even as what had happened between you to in your hospital room was hardly scandalous.

What was rather scandalous was the look Agent Johnson gave him when he nearly collided with her in the doorway. That woman conveyed a plethora of emotion in a single gaze; respect, curiosity, a wordless threat not to hurt her friend and somewhat platonic objectification, the reason for the flush to his skin.

True, the last part was significantly aided by his interaction with you – entirely pleasant, sweet, warm even, your hand in his certainly had been, and you had said you would like to talk about that. ‘That’ being Steve liking you. And while his choice of words was a little too simple, it clearly didn’t affect the result – and the warmth remained both on his face and in his chest.  

Unfortunately, the droplets of sweat he could feel in his hairline and the rest of the flush to his face had much more to do with pain. Brutal, unrelenting pain which didn’t react to medication unlike the one coming from his actual injuries.

Now that he felt but a slight dull ache in his shoulder and arm and face, and he didn’t have other sensations to focus on, no little smiles, surprising honesty, no touch, no ‘I like you better like this’, the pain in his ribcage was nothing short of stabbing. He slouched a bit, allowing himself a few moments of reprieve since there were no witnesses momentarily; but as the ache didn’t subdue, Steve seriously questioned his decision to not bring it up not only with you, but no one at all.

The Avengers didn’t know about the issue yet – he had requested to postpone anyone watching the rest of the records from the Hydra facility until he’d review it, not even having to make up the worry he expressed about revealing too personal information or his concern about the action of showing the video to others appearing like dangling the less-than-completely-stellar moments you had shared in front of the team. While Steve held nothing but admiration for you and your strength in those moments and he was sure anyone would feel the same, he’d rather if you decided about what you wanted the team to see; the majority of what had happened at the two cells brought no useful intel anyway. However, the issue of your abilities, now that was something that needed to be shared with at least a few other people, but should be done so completely on your terms.

Which was also the reason why Steve hadn’t been interrogating and hurting the bastards who had tortured you – and it had been torture, inflicting not only pain, but fear, all for the goal of breaking you and him alike – leaving that to Natasha and Bucky instead. The Hydra operatives who were still able to speak – Steve admittedly found a little too much gratification in the fact not all of them could – might try to get a rise out of him. Or directly ask about how his chest was doing and thus steering attention to questions Steve did not want to answer since you didn’t either.

That was why he had opted for siting in your room, watching Natasha’s and Bucky’s impeccable and incredibly satisfactory work on his tablet, alternating with watching over the steadily drawn lines on your heart monitor and your calm breaths; an acceptable compromise of keeping your secret safer, keeping an eye on you, technically resting as he the doctor had ordered, and witnessing the men who revelled in hurting others metaphorically weave the rope to hang themselves on as either of Steve’s closest friends got them worked up.

Admittedly, Steve had nodded off at some point between all this, probably due to the amount of pain medication he was on and exhaustion from the pain that never left, but that wasn’t the point.

And sure – Steve didn’t plan on sitting on the information about your lingering pain forever, chest almost bursting at the seams with the need to discuss it with someone already and put a plan in motion so you’d suffer less in the future, preferably not at all, but he needed to be careful about it. Strategic. Take his time.

And process it fully himself first.

Because that was a hard, bitter pill to swallow and Steve wasn’t sure he ever would. Not the part about him not having known. Not the part about him having assumed. Not the part about feeling the extent of it on his own body. And most definitely not the part that this was how your powers worked and always had. His blood was boiling at not having known, but anger was not the only emotion stirred.

The mere idea you had suffered a pain like this, multiple times without a single soul knowing – or a single person who could have decided you wouldn’t be going on mission or even to training in such state – was horrifying and almost as paralyzing as the pain itself. And it wasn’t that Steve didn’t understand the need to push one’s self, swallow pain in order to function, to help, or didn’t admire those who could do it. He himself had bit through a fair amount of pain, more than he’d care for. But he had suffered through it only when it was absolutely necessary and lives were at stake, and you’d just--

…alright, perhaps that was a lie and he was a damn hypocrite, but that was different. You must have been suffering constantly and that was wrong and simply inacceptable.

Steve’s brain was in a slight haze, both physical and mental exhaustion catching up with him as did the suddenly lacking effects of the serum he had got used to, but he tried to strain his memory anyway. How many missions had you handled with pain not unlike the one he was feeling now? Without a single complaint, because you apparently believed complaining was notwithin your rights, because you were an agent, and pain was a part of life? Occupational hazard, easier on you than on other agents, because it was ‘only’ pain? How many of your missions had you taken on after having got hurt in your spectral form? A quarter of them? A third? He’d have to go through the records. He was going to read on every single one of them, remind you of all of them and make sure you’d never do that again. Because goddamnit you mattered.

He really thought you had believed him back at the base, but he was not so certain you’d stay in that headspace after you’d heal; he might be a hypocrite, but he was beginning to see similarities he was not appreciative of and he was more than aware that that was what he would have probably done too. But that was a problem for the future you and him and whoever would get involved.

Athe door to the communal kitchen came into focus, Steve sighed, trying to concentrate on the insistent twitch in the corners of his lips instead; because besides the persistent agony and burning, there a sweet warmth that lingered in his chest as well. A distraction, a soft painkiller that didn’t do much, but was still doing plenty.

He grasped at that straw, gripping hard as he reached the door, back straightening. He could handle the pain like this too; it wasn’t completely unbearable. It only hurt when he moved.

Or breathed.

And keeping your secret for now, keeping it safe, mattered. Because no matter whether he agreed or not, you hadconsidered your circumstance as one not allowing you to share how your abilities worked; not with him or any other Avenger, or even Coulson, since Steve hadn’t got any information of that kind when they had recruited you. Your heartbreaking ‘thank you’ back in the room had spoken volumes, nails of an invisible hand digging into Steve’s heart.

For that, hiding his momentary pain and not saying anything was worth it. For the trust you had showed him when you had confessed, it was worth it, because he couldn’t afford to break that. Not only it would feel like an utter betrayal even to him, let alone you, but because they’d lose you. Already having been so reluctant to fully lean into being an Avenger in any other but professional – and bleeding – capacity, caring but keeping your distance, you’d cut them off completely. Or left the team; even as in the past few minutes, Steve had not got the impression of you planning on that.

Hopefully.

Right before he entered, Steve took a deep agonizing breath. It reminded him of his asthma, only with the pain dialled up to eleven, the kind of hurting he was no longer used to fighting, not when not running on more adrenalin than blood. He granted himself the luxury of not straitening to his full height – he was about to meet friends, after all. He did not have to hide everything.

He could afford showing just a bit more, blaming it on bruised ribs he hadn’t want to admit to – if anything, that would make his charade more believable.  

He allowed for the smile tugging on his lips to spread fully. 

You had said yes. You hadn’t exactly said you liked him too, he wasn’t blind to that fact, but it was implied for certain that you did – and he’d take it, because he wasn’t blind to the enormous progress you had gone through compared to what you two had been two weeks ago when the major fight had occurred.

I’d like to talk about that…. Later?

Steve could wait. It wasn’t like he didn’t have other things to sort through, some pleasant, some less so.

Three faces with various levels of amusement and concern welcomed him as he walked in, Bucky, Natasha and Sam sitting at the table, taking a break in between digging into the sick minds of Hydra operatives.

They all watched him expectantly, no doubt having spied the smile on his face – but it was Bucky who spoke, the one teasingly prolonged word only causing Steve’s smile to widen.

“Soooo…?”

“Not a word.”

“Oh I think a lot of words probably happened, punk. Communication, huh? The wonders of simply talking...” Bucky continued, earning an unimpressed glare as Steve moved to the still fresh pot of coffee. He had a mission report to write, then another report as two AI high-ranking operatives had been hurt, he had the videos to review, a therapy session planned… he needed the caffeine.

Especially since he was to deal with his friends first; the snicker that escaped Sam and the smirk settling on Natasha’s face spoke volumes.

Clearly, Steve was friends with children. And as children he should treat them.

“I hate you all,” he uttered, his grin somehow only widening.

“Oooooh, careful! Careful, you guys,” Sam teased, extending his hand in front of Bucky and Natasha as if to protect them from Steve. “He might have caught more than her powers. He’s cranky now.”

A bit of indignation lit up in Steve’s chest at that mocking remark – you weren’t that cranky. In fact, you could be quite doting on others when you weren’t isolating yourself. Which, now that he looked back, might have been for a large part caused by the fact that when you were alone, it was your reprieve from pretending you were not in pain. For another, he was staring to understand that you felt like you didn’t belong – and so your exits could have seemed harsher than intended.

He wasn’t sure which was worse; but either way, making fun of you for it was incredibly unfair.

But before he could rise to our defence, Bucky was pushing Sam’s hand away with a shit-eating grin.

“Nah, he could always be cranky, especially when he knew others had been right the whole time. He’s just finally embraced the fact they are two peas in the pod with our resident lady Spectre. Didn’t you?”

“Har-har, jerk,” Steve commented, unimpressed.

But yes, that was true. The fact he had refused to admit that your similarities were one of the reasons why you occasionally clashed so hard was certainly among the list of his recent revelations, of which most sucked, but he was still glad for having made them.

Something must have shown in his face, or perhaps his voice had earned a bitterer note as his thoughts had, because Sam’s features lost a fair share of humour, sincerity shining through instead, as he made more space for him at the table, letting him sit among them.

“No, Steve, seriously… we’re glad to have you back. Both of you… cranky or smiling.”

Steve’s lips automatically mimicked the latter, especially when Sam very carefully reached out to briefly squeeze his unharmed shoulder.

“Thanks, Sam.”

“And happy to see you two idiots are making progress…” Bucky added, hiding his ever-present grin behind his cup as he sipped his coffee.

“…even if it took an alien artifact, a kidnapping, three gunshot wounds and walking a mile in each other’s’ shoes,” Natasha finished, causing Steve to sigh, the creeping unease they had called crankiness growing as she listed it all.

Natasha certainly had a point, because it had taken a lot indeed – and they didn’t even know half of it… or at least about one gunshot wound. And as much as Steve shared their sentiment, grateful – delighted, in fact – that your relationship with him was beginning not only to settle, but might actually grow into something more than pleasant collegiality or friendship, he couldn’t help feeling that the price for that was a little too high.

“Sure, laugh it up.”

“Oh, we will,” Sam agreed instantly, showing his pearly whites in a wide grin, the very moment Natasha’s quiet hum told Steve that he was never going to live that down and Bucky blurted out “Absolutely, we will, yeah.”

Yeah, I don’t think I will, Steve thought darkly, biting his tongue and resolving to drown the words in the hot drink instead, gaze lowering to the counter as not to reveal his musings, hoping to come across as flustered if not embarrassed a bit.

But he should have known better.

Between two deadly spies and a man who knew a human soul and trauma well-enough to volunteer at a VA, and with all of those being his close friends, there was no hiding.

He could feel the humour melt away from the room completely as concern filled the space instead.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked, setting his cup down; and at that, Steve almost laughed, but sighed instead, reluctantly looking up.

A whole lot is wrong.

“Besides the obvious, he means,” Sam added quickly.

What was Steve supposed to say to that? He knew about the one thing he couldn’t reveal, but the rest… that he hated what had happened, that to a large point, he did hate learning all the things about you and revealing his own fears and insecurities, some of them healed and soothed, loving it all the same? That he wasn’t sure that if given the chance to come back and undo all the pain, not only the one you were put through in the past days, but all of it, there was a part of him, significant one, that would not have taken that chance, because it let you right here and may lead to something beautiful? How selfish was that? For the paragon of virtue you considered him, he sure felt like the opposite. And the fact you likely still thought you weren’t enough, hadn’t been enough, didn’t—

He cherished all he learned about you, but there was a part of him that simply wanted to scream and now he couldn’t. And he had no idea at all what he was going to tell not only to his friends, but to his therapist; because not telling anyone as he had promised himself and indirectly to you for now, surely included her as well.

So much for a fearless reckless leader, eh?

“It’s not… it is just that a lot has happened, that’s all,” Steve said at least, carefully choosing his words. It was the farthest thing from a lie. It just wasn’t a complete truth; and it wasn’t enough. His friends could tell; he could feel all of their gazes burning through his skull, even as they remained silent, waiting patiently. There was no doubt telling them would make his breathing easier, shared burden and shared indignation lifting some of the weight from his chest; but he bit his cheek, gripping the weight tighter, because he couldn’t. Not yet. “I just-“

“I swear to god, punk, if you’re gonna say again that it was your fault…”

Steve huffed a humourless chuckle, regretting it instantly as his ribcage protested with a sharp stab of pain. Okay, fuck, how did you even-

“It’s not that. Not only. I just… I wish that sudden understanding of each other’s perspective came in a different circumstance than getting hurt and nearly getting killed, that’s all.”

He forced a tight smile, rewarded with Sam’s compassionate gaze.

“That’s pretty understandable. Just like wishing we somehow did better despite having done our best and doing everything right,” Sam said, one corner of his lips rising as he knew he hit the one nail sticking out directly on the head, self-deprecating leading Steve’s brows to rise briefly – as did his satisfaction for getting them off his back without being insincere and revealing too much.

However, as soon as he glanced at Bucky and Natasha, he realized he hadn’t fooled them. Not all of them.

Natasha in particular was watching him like a hawk, not even trying to be subtle about it.

Seconds ticked by. Bucky cocked his head to side, suspicious, but resigning.

Natsha’s eyes, on the other hand, lit up with recognition.

With recognition that was not supposed to be there.

The flash of hurt burned hotter than his invisible bullet wound; and it ignited the same rage Steve had felt when you had confessed to him; the same rage that consumed him upon hearing your whisper of ‘not where I come from’; the same rage that whited his vision out back in the cell when he heard you scream in agony and he could do nothing.

Natasha knew.

Whether you had told her – and dammit did that made him feel inadequate and downright useless as the Captain that was supposed to protect his team, because you were supposed to trust him with that – or whether she had figured it out, his blood might have as well burst in flames at the mere fact she had kept it to herself.

How could have she just let you suffer, standing by watching him assign you to mission after mission when you were supposed to rest and heal, when-

The wave of nausea swinging his stomach and the new suffocating pressure in his ribcage made him doubt whether he wanted to yell or throw up; but either way, he was going to have a very strict and possibly very loud conversation with Natasha.

Right fucking now.

And she knew that – Steve could tell, because she still held his gaze, unrelenting, not appearing intimidated a fraction by the anger that must have shown on his face. Clearly, for some sick reason, she didn’t regret her actions – or the lack of it – one bit. Of course she didn’t.

But she should.

Steve didn’t look away from her face when he spoke into the suddenly chilling silence.

“Guys… can we have a minute?”

Steve asked, but he didn’t.

It wasn’t even a request.

His voice slipped into the mode of a Captain, one that despite valuing his comrades’ opinions, permitted no protests; he gave an order and they almost automatically followed, because they trusted him.

Now, Steve could feel their startled and baffled eyes flickering between Natasha and him, trying to decipher what on Earth had caused the sudden shift in atmosphere. Steve noticed from the corner of his eye that Bucky looked at Natasha questioningly, but she simply nodded minutely, causing Steve’s jaw to tense further. If Bucky knew as well-

When Steve’s gaze snapped to him, however, he appeared reigned but no less confused than before.

Good. Had Natasha told Bucky but had kept it secret from him, both of them, Steve would throw fucking hands – they would be balled in fists.

“…sure?” Sam hummed uncertainly, grabbing his coffee and walking away alongside Bucky, gaze flickering between the trio with an almost laughably puzzled expression.

Except laughing was the last thing on Steve’s mind, and the pain in his chest had nothing and everything to do with that.

Before he could as much as gather his thoughts and figure out where to even start with giving Natasha a piece of his mind, she propped her hip on the counter leisurely, lowly but very firmly requesting a privacy protocol from FRIDAY with her authorisation code. Only then, she looked at Steve, compassionate but no less apologetic.

“You got hurt when you managed to project, didn’t you?” she stated rather than asked and Steve could scoff. Because of course she knew. She knew everything.

“Yeah. Shot in the chest. Snapped back right away. Imagine my surprise,” he said, by some miracle keeping his voice even and matter-of-fact despite the explosive cocktail of emotions threatened to burst any second.

“I’m sorry.”

“And you should be,” Steve said, all too aware it was not the sorry he wanted to hear and his anger only spiked further. She was sorry he had got hurt. She was sorry he had not been prepared for the pain lingering. Sorry about him learning about it this way. But she was not at all regretting standing idly why you had suffered. And to think she called herself your friend. “What were you thinking? How could you-“

“It was not my secret to tell-”

“The hell it wasn’t!” Steve exploded at last, rising to his feet so fast he nearly knocked over the chair he had been sitting on. And Natasha, goddamn her, watched him steadily, not even flinching. How the hell was she so calm?! So indifferent? Did she not give a single damn- “Natasha, she’s in enormous amount of pain on daily basis! How the hell could you not share that?!”

Natasha only arched her eyebrow, a wordless comeback: so you are admitting to being in ‘an enormous amount of pain’ despite having told the doctor your pain was at 2 after the meds you had got?

Steve just scowled, heart thundering in his ribcage as his blood felt so hot it might actually start evaporating. What the-

“I’m pretty sure it’s not daily, but even if it was, it still wouldn’t be my secret to tell,” she said evenly, crossing her arms on her chest. “How did you feel back in the day when you still had chronic health issues? When they took one look at you, they knewsomething wasn’t quite right, and so they immediately started underestimating you?”

Steve just gritted his teeth, glaring. What the hell did that have got to do with that?

“And I’m sorry, what is it that you’re doing now?” she asked, a tinge of sarcasm to her voice. “I don’t hear you telling the team-“

Steve felt his hands curl into fists, the arm in his sling protesting against the move – but honestly, the flame of spite burned it away, taking over any sign of pain at the moment.

Was she serious?!

“The team isn’t assigning her to missions! They don’t need to know everything, they aren’t the ones unknowingly sending her to the field injured and it pain-“

“Oh, so it’s not the fact I didn’t tell you, it’s that you’re feeling guilty-“

“She could get herself killed, Natasha!” Steve snapped, fist hitting the table, droplets of coffee staining the surface just like the breathiness stained his voice, the nausea hitting him anew, his head spinning. “Did you think of that?! I can’t protect her—I can’t protect this team if I don’t have all the information! The pain doesn’t seem to affect functionality, but what do I know? I’m safe, not being hunted for sport. It might affect her range one of those days and it can get her hurt and killed! A second of hesitation, a second of not being at absolute best and she can catch a knife, a bullet, be kicked down the stairs or off a damn cliff, too weakened to hold on a railing and fall to her damn death, she can be taken and tortured-"

He didn’t register the burn in his chest intensifying until it was too late; images flickering in his mind, the blood staining his shirt and his hands dripping with it and yours, the stupid thigh-highs that would have driven him mad except they were soaked with your blood, your voice feeble, your shaking slippery hands suddenly appearing around a metal bar, cold wind slapping his face, biting into his skin, hand reaching out just a second too late, your screams, Bucky’s scream, like a hive in his skull-

Small warm hands on his shoulders, one barely laid there, the other squeezing hard, a harsh inhale through his burning windpipe.

“Steve. Look at me.”

Steve obliged, blinking the images away even as they persisted stubbornly, Natasha’s face, now softer, filling his vision, his chest rising and falling a little too fast, a stab of pain with every breath, dark spots dancing around Natasha’s concerned features.

Great.

Just great.

Fuck.

“Sorry.”

She just smiled, shaking her head and slowly letting go, stepping back to the counter and leaning on it, propping up on both palms. Steve’s face burned with embarrassment and too much oxygen, but he could not let that distract him from his point. And apparently, neither could Natasha.

“I hear you, Steve. I do. But you know me better than to think that I haven’t consider that,” she reminded him softly, and as much as Steve hated it, he had to admit that it was the truth. She did care about you too. She wouldn’t willingly gamble with your life.

God his chest and his throat was on fire.

“But she’s an adult, Steve. She’s an agent, a damn near perfect one. She knows best what she can and cannot handle. Whatever she’s facing… she’s working through it the best way she can at any given moment and she is at her best. We might not approve of her methods, but as long as it doesn’t affect her performance during missions, not approving and trying to convince her to change her ways is all we can do, especially if we don’t want to lose her – professionally or otherwise.”

Steve gulped, pointedly choosing to ignore the last bit as he considered Natasha’s words, however reluctantly. “We sure as well do not approve-“

“Shocking,” Natasha uttered dryly, one corner of her lips rising in a smirk despite her sincerity, as she kept advocating for her decisions as much as yours, now that Steve thought about it, remaining. “But it’s still her choice. Her body – her choice. Her methods. Careful, Steve, or you might end up sounding patronizing and controlling.”

Now against that, Steve had to protest.

“Hey, I don’t—”

Natasha only arched her eyebrows, lifting one hand to demonstrate a tiny space between her thumb and forefinger.

Steve’s shoulders sagged as he ran his hand down his face, the pain in his cheek at the action, and the insistent pain in his chest reminding him mockingly he was being a bit of a hypocrite and not being controlling and patronizing was exactly what he had been trying to do until he found out that Natasha… knew.

He sighed, glancing at her again, met with her smile, surprisingly inviting, considering he was practically yelling just a moment ago. It was a smile that felt familiar; laced with affection for her dumbass overbearing friend. Because she was his friend – and yours too. Perhaps better than he had thought.

“Did… did she tell you?”

“Does it matter?”

He remained silent, knowing she’d understand without him saying a single word.

It does to me.

And he wanted to know. Needed it. Even if the answer being yes was just going to hurt him more – not because you trusting Natasha with this wasn’t a good thing, but because that would mean you had trusted Natasha and not him. Which would be completely understandable, given your track record with him until recently, but it still stung like son of a bitch, because goddamnit he should have known.

“She didn’t. I’m not that special,” Natasha stated, her smile turning a tad sad and ironic. “Her methods are pretty universal, keeping it secret from the whole team. No exceptions.”

It might have been rather mean of him – and he did not like how isolated you truly were and had been – but that actually made him feel a little better.

Especially since after today, it seemed that might change.

“Well, hopefully those methods will change,” Steve hinted, feeing tension melting off his body, lips once again spreading into a smile, even if a little shy one, warmth blossoming again where the rage had been turning his insides into a wasteland.

Natasha smirked a bit, mischief and amusement glimmering in her irises. “Got the Cap speech, did she?”

“…something like that, yeah.”

At that, she smiled wider; way too knowing to Steve’s liking. And yet, he felt his cheeks ache with how wide he was smiling now, a ghost of your touch caressing his hand.

“I see. Well. A piece of advice?” Natasha offered, not waiting for a confirmation of Steve actually wanting it. “Do try to remember she is a big girl – ties her own shoes, does her taxes and all that, okay? Do not screw it up by acting like you need to sweep in and save her from everything including herself. Please. You both deserve a win.”

At that, Steve sighed, but genuinely tried to etch her words into his brain, because he had been told before – and had to admit it was not an incorrect assessment – he could get rather overbearing, even as his intentions were good.

So yes, he’d try. If there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that as fragile as the bond you had begun to build was, you were everything but. He fully agreed with Natasha’s point; he had even told you so. You were meeting his perhaps too high standard a little too well. That was one of the reasons why you captivated him. He just needed to remember that when he’d feel like locking you in the tower and never sending you to another mission again in order to keep you safe.

Not that you wouldn’t be able to escape, be in in physical or spectral form, because you were simple that capable.

“Duly noted,” he grumbled.

Natasha grinned, lightly tapping his shoulder.

“Good boy. Now, this had better be the only cup of coffee you get,” she pointed at the half-drunk cup, her voice allowing protests. “You need to rest for god’s sake. You’ve got shot. Twice, apparently. Jesus, Steve. Talk about hypocrisy.”

“Alright, alright. Quit being bossy. I’m still the Captain, you know.”

“Oh boooo. Trembling in my shoes, Captain,” she retorted cheekily.

Steve mirrored her smirk, knowing she wasn’t actually undermining his authority. Only calling him out… which was rather fair. And he needed that sort of people in his life, he had enough self-awareness to know that.

And he’d listen to her too. Once he’d complete all the tasks he had planned, especially the report; because while there were things he wished to remember, there was still the majority of the mission that he’d rather put it behind him forever.

But since his watch just vibrated with a high-priority message from an operative of the highest-level, he had to add meeting them to the list.

The fact that operative was Coulson – the current director of SHIELD and your former boss – was both rather soothing, and worrisome.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

HA. Not me having to pokerface hard when some of you told me that Daisy would be the number one shipper or that Coulson would weep and I already had a line about it three full chapters ahead (so like five chapters ahead) 🤭

Thank you for reading! Feedback, as always, is appreciated, and keep me inspired when I'm in the pit of despair, thinking I will never finish another chapter (which is shocking right, when I write them 15k long... well). May your days be sweet to you as Steve was to Spectre 💗

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #captain america x you #captain america #agent reader #inhuman reader #avenger reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #back and forth #anika ann

[ravenelyx]

Arranged Heartbreak - Sebastian Sallow

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem! Reader

Words: 15k

Warnings: angst, fluff, courting, pining, cute but also very sad, Sebastian is so in love it's ridiculous,

Summary: "He felt a sudden urge to lean in, to kiss her and show her that all this courtesy and proper behaviour meant nothing to him. He just wanted her. He just wanted to be hers." Falling in love had never been easy. Falling in love with an upper-class muggle-born? A recipe for assured heartbreak.

A/N: In a way, self-indulgent (if ykyk). English is not my first language, so I apologise for any mistake. The perfumes described are also based on real perfumes (Miss Dior, Trussardi, Tom Ford - Beau De Jour)

Masterlist

you can find the whole fic also here on A03

Act I

The first time Sebastian met her, they were in their fifth-year.

She was new: a transfer student from Italy with foreign relatives, at least from her father’s side. The circumstances weren’t quite favourable, though, as the reason for their first meeting was Sebastian being a good friend after Ominis wronged her, and trying to mend the ties between the two of them.

When Sebastian dared to ask his friend what the reason for their disagreement was, the blond only blushed in embarrassment, before uttering two simple words that made his breath hitch. “Women’s rights.”

"I'm sure I can charm my way in as always," Sebastian replied confidently after the blond expressed his own doubts. "Just tell me where you think we can find this Miss ____."

“I think I know where she spends her time when not in the Common Room,” Ominis said grimly, as he began to lead his friend through the corridors. “Thank you, Sebastian, but I must warn you… she’s very stubborn. You might not be able to convince her so easily.”

"Anything for you my friend." Sebastian smiled, completely ignoring the last statement, and followed Ominis around as the blond, he realised after a few minutes, led him towards the Library. He smiled despite himself as they entered the familiar place and started scanning for anyone whom he didn't recognise.

As they turned a corner, he stopped abruptly. At the end of the aisle stood a girl pacing back and forth with a tome in her hands, frowning slightly as she read through the pages.

Sebastian immediately noticed the typical Mediterranean features, such as the curve of her hips that appeared from time to time as her robes swung around her body with each step, her olive-toned but flawless skin, and her big, deep eyes adorned with long, thick lashes.

He felt his breath catch at the elegance with which she moved, not exactly confident per se, no — on the contrary, the way her shoulders slumped a little and her legs stayed close together with each step showed a complete lack of the usual poise purebloods usually had. She moved like a Muggle, but her steps held a commensurate regality to her family's supposed high esteem, and the way her head ducked slightly toward the book told him that she had been prepared for more in life than holding a profession in the wizarding world.

"That's Miss ____? If only you could see her… you would've fallen to your knees during the argument." Sebastian leaned in to whisper to Ominis: his tone was definitely teasing but there was some wonder in it.

Ominis nudged his arm, letting out a bashful laugh. “I can easily sense it as well.”

Sebastian looked down at him, and at the wand glowing red in his hands. It never failed to fascinate him.

“You better keep your wits about you. She nearly bit my head off and no matter how many times I tried to retort, she always seemed one step ahead.” The Gaunt boy sighed and then gave the brunet a small knowing smile. “I think she's already got you wrapped around her finger though. You can't blame me for not falling for her, I never did have that much of a thing for romance.”

"Is that so?" Sebastian teased him, stealing glances at the girl and noticing the way her bottom lip slightly disappeared under her top one every once in a while. "Well, I'll go get your forgiveness and perhaps..." He trailed off with a slight smirk, now taking a long, not-so-subtle look. "Your blessing as well?"

“I’m no priest.” Ominis let out a small laugh. “She’s really got a hold on you, hasn’t she? I can only wish you my best of luck. And if all else fails, you have my blessing to give up.”

"Oh, really? Always glad to know I can count on you.” Sebastian rolled his eyes and nudged his arm. “Watch me, then."

He fixed his collar and took a deep breath, before approaching the girl. "Hello, are you Miss ____?"

The girl looked up from her book, surprised. "That's me, how can I help you?"

She stared him up and down, her eyes piercing through him, whether willingly or not, he couldn’t tell.

“I’m Sebastian Sallow.” He greeted. “I’m a friend of Ominis, I’m sure you’ve met before. He had mentioned you as a transfer student from Italy. Beauxbatons, I suppose?”

“Ominis, you said?” She repeated, her tone laced with a hint of annoyance. She discarded his question and her eyes narrowed. "Came to mock as well, have you then?"

"Certainly not," he said, trying to maintain a friendly cadence in his voice. "I'm here on his behalf in fact. He has, well, in his own words, done you a great disservice, and I'm here to ask for your forgiveness, should you be willing to hear it.”

She quirked an eyebrow at that, and he suddenly was all too aware of his own breathing. He continued nonetheless.

"You must excuse his manners, his views can be... rather narrow-minded, as you can see. And not of his own volition." He paused for a moment, trying not to take his eyes off hers. That would not look very assertive in a situation like that. "If you want to hear me out, I mean. I can understand if you don’t think he's worth your time."

"I see he is so contrite that he had to send you to atone for his mistakes instead of fixing them on his own." She said sarcastically. "Me and Ominis Gaunt have nothing to do with each other, he had made his stances pretty clear and our conversation ended hours ago."

Her tone was full of distaste and he bit his lower lip, trying not to grimace. "That's fair," he sighed slowly. "I wouldn’t do anything differently in your position, frankly. I will not force you to do anything, Miss ____, I know how valuable a person's time is. Just know that Ominis does feel remorse, even though he may not show it at the moment. He just needs time."

"I don't believe in apologies, Mr Sallow. I believe in actions." She said sternly. "And in cowardice."

His heart gave a slight jump at the weight of her words, and he definitely should have defended his best friend's honour better, but as a breach of trust, he felt a small smile creep onto his face.

"You know, I like you, Miss ____," he admitted, surprised at himself. "You're not afraid to tell people the truth. And I agree with you: Words mean nothing if they aren't followed by actions. I can assure you that Ominis is ready to show his remorse. You need only tell me what you'd like him to do, and I'm sure he'll comply."

"Mr. Sallow, I appreciate your willingness to help your friend," she said tersely. "But the offended shouldn't be the one to tell the offender how to make amends."

Damn, Ominis wasn't lying, the boy thought to himself.

"Good point." He admitted with a small smile. "You're right, he should be the one to prove his sincerity. If he can't think of anything himself, then he's just showing he doesn't mean it."

She nodded in agreement, not letting her guard down. “Is that all, or is there something else?”

"Do you think you can forgive him if he finds a way to make reparations?” He asked, more out of curiosity than anything else. He was actually impressed with how the girl handled the whole situation, especially because he had to stifle a snarky remark to Ominis himself after the latter had told him about their conversation word for word. He had expected her to be a bit more spiteful, given she was the offended party here.

"If he demonstrates that he has truly changed his mind and shows it with his actions, not words, then yes... I'm willing to forgive him."

"You are very reasonable. Most people would not be willing to forgive so easily, if at all," he admitted, and his voice was full of genuine admiration. He glanced around, his eyes falling on her book, and the corners of his eyes wrinkled slightly.

“Well, it’s no use holding grudges when they’re repentable. It’s neither wise, nor reasonable, as you mentioned. Would that mean I’m both those things?”

"Oh, it definitely does. After all, it takes one to know one," he answered with a hint of arrogance in his voice. "You're a rare gem, you know that, Miss ____?"

She gave him a small, almost contemptuous smile. "Flattery won't make me forgive him faster, Mr Sallow, I hope you know that." She closed the book and put it back on the shelf.

"I did not expect it would," he replied with a smile of his own. "But I did not lie. You're a very sharp young woman. You know how the world works, and you're not afraid to speak your mind. That's a rare thing and it's what makes you so... unique."

“Unique, you say?” She flashed her eyebrows, amused.

"You're like a lighting bolt through the fog that lights up what's hidden in the middle. I envy that."

She raised an eyebrow slightly as his attempt to a simile. "Lightning cannot travel through the fog. It will disperse in it through the water droplets.”.

“Alright, keep your scientific knowledge above me.” He rolled his eyes, unable to ignore the heat rising to his cheeks at his failure. She shook her head slightly.

“Everyone should learn how to live in this world, and many people are afraid to speak their truth in fear of judgement from others. I don't believe we should annul ourselves to fit in with other people." Her fingers lightly touched the covers of the books resting on the shelves. He followed the motion.

"Unless..." She gave a small smile. "It can benefit us."

"You're quite the philosopher too, aren't you?" He couldn't help but grin. "A better philosopher than I am a poet, I can see. 'Know thyself', as that old Greek philosopher said. Your ancestors must've passed down such a trait, I can't imagine anyone with Italian ancestry has anything but deep thinkers within them."

“You mean Socrates?” She commented, amused. "I guess that's a trait only someone with a romantic background can have. As seen by your poetry.”

He turned his head away for a moment with a dampened smile. “We do also have some exceptional poets, though, don’t we? Even Muggle poets aren’t that bad.” 

“Ah, yes. I love me some Shakespeare," she said with a hint of irony a small smirk playing on her lips.

“I think Chaucher is pretty good, as well. He wrote some classics, too. I loved the Canterbury Tales,” he retorted, tilting his head slightly as he looked at her, awaiting. Sebastian found himself wanting to impress her. Why, he had no idea.

“I prefer the Decameron,” and there was her prompt answer as she gave him a playful grin.

His heart skipped a beat.

“I see what you’re doing there.” He smiled impishly. “Can’t blame you, though I haven't gotten around to reading it yet.”

“Then I suppose you should start at the source," the girl shrugged, tapping over the hard book covers.

He glanced at her delicate hand and the repetitive movement, enchanted, then turned back to her. “You read a lot of books, don't you?”

“Enough to keep up-to-date.”

He couldn't help but chuckle, feeling a little more seen than his comfort usually allowed him to be. "Is that where you get your sharp wit from?”

“I prefer to think of it as an innate ability, but I suppose a few more fancy words to expand my lexicon won’t hurt.”

“Fancy words, eh? What for?"

“You can accomplish much more with an adequate parlance in certain situations than with all the gold in the world," she explained toughtfully, her voice clear and proud and a little teasing. There was the philosopher again.

“Ah, I see. Is that what you’re doing now?” He couldn't help but ask, not tearing his eyes off hers. And her eyes were particularly enchanting, he noted, with various flecks of colour gleaming in the soft warm light of the Library toarches. And perhaps—

“Am I charming you, Mr Sallow?” She interrupted his thoughts and he dearly hoped no unwanted extra pigment made its way through his cheeks.

“I want to trust that my spirit is stronger than that.” He cleared his throat. “So, that’s what you meant by benefiting from other people?”

“Sometimes we need to pave our own way to reach a point, other times it's better to... steal a ride from someone?”

"Very wisely said," he replied with a little laugh. "So, how would you... steal a ride?" He continued thoughtfully. "I see no other way than to be true to oneself. If your goal is to reach a point, wouldn't it be better to forge your own path rather than take someone's? At the risk of sounding arrogant myself."

"If a path is already paved and it's the shortest way to your goal, it would be a pity not to use it." She looked up at him. "To be true to oneself doesn't mean to be hubristic, Mr Sallow."

"I admit you have a point. If one wants to get to a destination as soon and with as little effort as possible, the path of least resistance is the best, but at the same time, aren't we meant to overcome adversity and find our own path? I find that much more rewarding than simply following in someone else's footsteps."

"For example, your friend Ominis sending you to beg for his forgiveness instead of doing it himself?"

He couldn't help but chuckle softly at that. "You're quite the sharp one, Miss ____. It’s becoming rather impressive."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise and he gave her a small smile in return.

"I suppose I'm the hypocrite here, aren't I?"

"Quite," she smiled as well. "But you should go back to him, he seems quite on edge in that corner." Her face fell at the sight of the other boy. "Anything else I can help you with?"

"You really have me cornered," he said, his eyebrows raising in amusement. "I'm beginning to realise I'm not nearly as clever as I think I am — or maybe it's just that you are cleverer. In any case, you're quite the conversationalist." His eyes crinkled at her. "I have nothing more to ask right now. Except..." He took a small step forward. "Would you like to meet sometime… and talk some more?"

"Now who's the blunt one, Mr Sallow?" Despite that, she gave him a small nod. "But sure, I suppose I don't hate the idea."

"I'm glad. You seem like someone I would like to keep as a friend."

"Ah, so it's a mere question of convenience," she said teasingly. "Tell your friend Ominis that he has to work harder for my forgiveness, but I suppose you haven't made his mistakes, yet, so I can accept the idea, Mr Sallow."

He scoffed playfully at that, before saying: "You can call me Sebastian…”

“Can I now?” She flashed her eyebrows at him and shook her head. “I suppose the Wizarding World works differently. All right, Sebastian it is.”

He frowned a little, noticing she didn’t reciprocate his courtesy to use her first name. “Good. And for what it's worth, having you for a friend wouldn't just be for my convenience," he said, amused. "So?"

"I suppose I can grant you that privilege." The corner of her lips raised slightly in a teasing grin. "Now I'll leave you to your friend, it seems like you two have a lot to talk about."

He laughed softly, his eyes following her as she walked past him. "Privilege, is it? You make it sound like charity."

In that moment, he realised he liked being teased by her: it never felt mean-spirited, and he found himself hoping that encounter would only be the first of many.

"Wait!" He called after her a moment later. "One last question, if that's alright?"

She stopped, a bit surprised, and turned around. "What is it?"

"You mentioned earlier my friend Ominis should have a way of making reparations if he was serious about forgiveness. I wouldn't want to impose," he asked, "but could you at least tell me where he stands?"

She looked at him for a second, before sending him a charming smile.

"He stands on the edge of a cliff," she simply said, before turning around again and leaving the Library.

And he knew he was done for when he felt an amused smile pull at his lips as he watched her go.

Act II

The first time Sebastian truly realised his feelings for her was during their sixth year.

He sat in the dorm with Ominis, the latter immersed in yet another book about feminism: the only books he had read since the disagreement. Not that he had much choice, because as soon as Sebastian noticed the pages running short in the blond’s alabaster hand, he would go and fetch him yet another book from the same section.

“Do it for me.” The brunet always said, and Ominis had no idea what exactly that did for him.

Nor did he know if the world-weary sighs coming from his fellow Slytherin were directed to how slowly he was reading this last book, or to something else entirely.

“What’s got your wand in a knot?” He finally asked, putting his own red-glowing-and-not-in-a-knot wand down and closing the book.

“Nothing.” Said the other boy nonchalantly, as if his suspires hadn’t become gradually louder in an attempt to annoy the blond enough to make him pay attention to him.

“Is it her?”

Ah, of course he knew.

“No.”

But Ominis knew exactly what he was getting at, and frankly was done with his antics, so he decided to ignore him again.

Sebastian’s eye twitched at the silence. His hands began fidgeting the more the other boy didn’t indulge him, and, despite his efforts to stay in control, in the end he gave up.

“Fine. Yes.” He yielded, groaning loudly and letting his hands thump on the mattress for good measure. “It’s her.”

“What about it?” The Gaunt boy asked tiredly, expecting Sebastian to go on a tangent on how she had bested him at Defence Against the Dark Arts again.

But Sebastian’s mind was far too preoccupied to care about his reputation as the best duellist in school.

“I want to court her.”

Ominis stopped in his tracks, his pearly eyes widening as his friend’s words sank in.

"You... You want to court her?" he asked, his heart skipping a beat.

Of course, he knew the Sallow boy had shown some… softness around the new student. And that he seemed to think of her with higher regard than others. But never would he have imagined the words ‘Sebastian Sallow’ and ‘courting’ in the same sentence — unless he thought of him as best-man for his sister Anne. Despite the brunet’s pleasantries and quips about the new student, Ominis had always taken them as what he thought they were: jokes.

But now there he was, choking on his breath as Sebastian confessed his true intentions with the girl he apparently had been really crushing on during that last year.

Still, no matter the seemingly distressed state of his friend, he couldn’t help but tease him as good mates usually do.

"After seeing how you two interact with each other, she'd chew you up and spit you out, and then she'd curse you for not having done a better job. Still, I suppose it's the thought that counts.” He gave the brunet a small smile. “I won't dissuade you from pursuing her... just maybe think twice before you do, alright?"

"Well... thank you, it's good to know you have my back." Sebastian scoffed sarcastically. "Are you sure you're not trying to dissuade me from having her so you could woo her yourself? I thought I had your blessing.”

Ominis couldn't help but give an amused laugh at his statement. "Not even I can play that dirty, Sebastian. If that's what you want, I won't stop you; I'm just warning you not to set your heart on it if you can't handle the rejection. Not only is she beautiful, in your words, but she is clever and quick-witted, too: not an easy combination to seek the hand of."

“If my attempts at romancing her are anything like your attempts at getting her forgiveness, then I’ll surely be sporting that rejection soon.” Sebastian sighed loudly once more. “What should I do? Should I buy her flowers? Chocolate?”

“Flowers usually do the trick,” Ominis replied thoughtfully. “Perhaps you could get her something sweet as well.”

"But... But what are her favourite flowers? Or worse, what if she doesn't like flowers, or chocolate for that matter? What if she prefers white chocolate and I get her milk chocolate?" Sebastian was clearly starting to panic, and Ominis’ lungs couldn’t help but replicate those weary sighs, too.

"Does anyone really dislike flowers?" Ominis asked rhetorically. "I'm sure even if they're not her favourite, it'll show you're putting in effort.”

Sebastian nodded, listening intently and basically hanging on Ominis’ lips as if the blond was about to reveal to him the universal secret of auspicious courtship.

“As for the chocolate, I'm sure she'll forgive a little mistake: just pick the best you can afford and you'll do just fine. But," Ominis added, a smile returning to his face, "you should try to get to know her tastes a little better first, before you bring her any kind of gift. Have you not learnt anything during all this time you have been friends?"

“We don’t usually talk about flowers.” Sebastian replied indignantly.

“Right, right. You’re more keen on blasting each other to pieces in a duel. Both mental and physical.”

Sebastian smiled fondly.

“Or, to be precise, she blasts you.” Ominis added, amused.

Sebastian’s smile disappeared.

“You’re no help at all.” He turned away from him on the bed and sighed deeply again. "All right, so: tomorrow, I'll approach her after Potions, and ask her if she wants to go to Hogsmeade… Or perhaps I can partner up with her during the lesson?"

"You really are desperate to get her attention, aren't you? Well, both seem like good plans. The latter has the extra benefit of giving you more time to spend with her with no room for unwise wand usage,” Ominis laughed, “and might make more of an impression when the Hogsmeade visit comes around."

-

The next day, Sebastian managed to sit next to her and get partnered up with her to brew the Wit-Sharpening Potion.

"Use a knife to cut off two pieces of Ginger Root and add to the cauldron until the potion turns green, then add Armadillo Bile. Sebastian, could you cut the root while I get the Armadillo Bile?" She asked him, arranging the ingredients on their worktable.

"Sure thing," Sebastian replied, his heart beginning to pound a little. “Is that what you drink everyday to keep your wits about?” He joked with her as he picked up the knife.

“Oh, yes. Perhaps you should try it. The bile sure adds to the taste.”

He made a face as he added the Ginger Root. “I'd rather be daft, then.”

She laughed and moved back next to him. As she got closer, he couldn't help but notice her scent: it was flowery, intoxicating, and he realised for the first time how beautiful his friend really was.

"Is it me," he asked, his voice a little unsure, "or do you smell like... Lily-of-the-Valley? What's that perfume you're wearing?"

"Oh," she was a bit taken aback. "It's Centifolia Rose, but it does have some lily notes. I brew the perfume myself. Do you like it?"

"You... You made it yourself? That's impressive, truly," he said in awe, a wide smile breaking on his face as he blushed slightly. "It's an amazing scent. It's hard to describe: it's like a spring garden, full of blooming flowers. I like it very much."

He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before choking on his spit as the foul smell of the potion mingled with the fragrance.

She laughed as he began to cough. “Yes, the perfect spring garden.”

“Oh, stop. I was trying to compliment you.” He nudged her arm as he cleared his throat from the fumes, before speaking again. "It must be very time-consuming, though. How did you learn to do such a thing?"

"Thank you, Sebastian, that's really kind." She said, adding the bile. "I always found wizard perfumes to be a bit too strong for my taste, while high-quality muggle perfumes are a bit too expensive, so I decided to learn by myself." The potion turned blue just like the instructions said. "I used Centifolia Rose as the main ingredient. Then I embroidered it with Lily-of-the-Valley notes, apricot, Peony, and Iris."

"It's all really feminine," he said softly, the blush still colouring his cheeks. "It really suits you. You're certainly very skilled, and I have to say: that's a very impressive knowledge of ingredients and aromas to combine. I could barely distinguish the scent of Lily-of-the-Valley, let alone the others, but I'm sure that's part of your charms as a witch, is it not?"

He sent her a small glance, quirking an eyebrow, and she shook her head mirthfully.

"And as someone who knows so much about scents, how do I smell like to you, would you say?" He continued, never tearing his eyes away from the girl.

She hesitated for a second at his request, and looked up at his excited face before giving in and leaning closer to his neck. Sebastian's heart skipped a beat, a small smile gracing his lips as his breathing hitched slightly.

"Lavender and Cedarwood..." She paused, leaning a bit closer. "And a tinge of Rosemary."

“That's... lovely." He said, his voice barely a whisper as he still felt the heat of her breath on his skin. The world seemed to still around them, and even his heartbeat fell silent to his ears at her proximity.

"It's a lovely scent indeed," she agreed. "I've never made a man's fragrance before..."

“You haven’t?” He asked, shocked. “Not even for your close family?”

She shook her head. “My father isn’t fond of perfumes himself: he prefers to only use soap.”

She then smiled, a hint of pride in her eyes. "I've made another I really like, though — almost as much as this one. I mainly used Italian tangerine and neroli. Then I combined lavender with jasmine and white dahlia, and at the base, violet and patchouli essential oil. I feel combining fruit and flowers really brings out the best of it, especially when adding essential oil to really consolidate the perfume itself. I gifted it to Poppy earlier this year.”

“You have to let me smell that." He said with a smile. “Your skills never cease to impress me. How do you even know how to combine all the ingredients perfectly?”

“It’s an art, and it took me a long time to master.” She admitted, blushing slightly at his compliments. “I guess that's why I'm good at Potions."

With a last stir, the potion turned a perfect, bright orange.

"That's incredible." Sebastian’s eyes widened, taken aback as he stared at the cauldron.

"You are an exquisite perfumer: in fact, I think you must be one of the best in the world." He broke into an elated giggle as he sang his friend’s praises. "And an excellent potioneer as well!"

"I wouldn't go that far… But perhaps I could make you a perfume, too. Not that yours is bad…” She quickly added, averting her eyes. "I could actually use those same ingredients and make something out of it, if you're alright with it."

At her mere suggestion, his heart began to race, and the sudden rush of blood left his cheeks feeling hot to the touch.

"I— that'd be wonderful," he said, struggling to find the words to express himself. "I would be honoured to have it. You're a very special person, you know that?"

She smiled. "We're friends after all, Sebastian, are we not?"

He nodded with a grateful smile, and while Professor Sharp collected their phial, she began muttering in Italian about the best ingredients for his perfume.

“Lavanda e rosmarino… e muschio, forse?”

His blush only spread as he heard her speak in her native language. It sounded like she was singing: Her voice was soft, melodic as the vowels seemed to flow with each other beautifully. Sebastian had never heard spoken Italian before: Sure, he had found it in books sometimes, even attempted to read it, but never had he had the pleasure to hear it. Until now, as he was shamelessly staring at her with his mouth agape.

"Friends," he repeated, his voice soft and his heart racing, his blush ever-so-present on his cheeks as she kept muttering under her breath, "but maybe, one day, we could be… more than that?"

But she didn't seem to hear that last part as she began to put her stuff away and smiled brightly at him. "I think I'll have it ready for next week, how does that sound?"

He snapped out of his trance as he met her eyes. "That sounds perfect. Thank you, truly”.

No amount of words could describe what he was feeling, as he watched her move in that elegant poise he noticed the first day, as he saw the small smile dancing on her lips and the excited glint in her eyes, as he noticed her hands trembling a bit when she grasped her book. All he knew was that he was falling, falling deep, falling at each word she said, at each gesture.

And he didn’t mind it at all.

"Then consider it my gift to you." She gave him a wave before exiting the classroom.

Sebastian smiled back, letting his eyes linger on her figure until she disappeared from his sight.

Then his heart jumped in excitement and he could hardly contain himself as he walked — ran — to Ominis.

"Did you see... well, hear what she said? Our conversation? That went well, right?" Sebastian said, laughing to himself in disbelief, his heart pounding in his chest as he lightly bounced on his feet like a kid with a new toy. "Do you think she really wants to make me a perfume? That is… insane. Wonderful. It’s like having her, only bottled up and carried with me forever."

“Hold on now,” Ominis shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips, “You really do have more than a crush, don’t you?”

“Well, obviously. I had already told you about my intentions.” Sebastian rolled his eyes, but no matter what, he couldn’t shake the smile off his lips, not the elation coursing through his veins.

"I can positively say that I've never seen you like this." Ominis said, tilting his head. "But you must have made a really good impression to receive a gift like that."

"Shall I take that as a hint I can court her? Maybe ask her to Hogsmeade next week?"

"That's not a hint, that's an order," the blond teased him, and Sebastian began to bounce on his feet again, unable to stay still.

"Should I ask if I can call her by her first name? I mean, she calls me 'Sebastian' after all, and it's been almost a year since we've become friends… don't you think it's time?"

"I don't know about asking for a first name basis: after all, different cultures require different approaches." Ominis said thoughtfully. "Do you know what flower you'll ask her out with? I remember reading that Muggles tend to communicate their romantic intentions using the language of flowers. No one wants to show up to a date empty-handed, right? Though I suppose with her skills as a perfumer, she may be the exception when it comes to flowers in general."

"I... I don't know..." Sebastian's eyes moved around, seemingly searching in his brain for an answer. "She said the main ingredient of her perfume is centifolia rose, so perhaps I could go for that... but she also mentioned lily of the valley, which is the first flower I mentioned when smelling her perfume, which could be more of a hint related to us both…"

Ominis nodded and went to answer, but was interrupted before he could even take a breath.

"Maybe a whole bouquet?" Sebastian's eyes began to shine. "With all the flowers she mentioned and then some?"

"That sounds very thoughtful. It would mean an awful lot to her I'm sure." The blond smiled at his friend. "Are you nervous?"

"Yes..." Sebastian replied, taking a deep breath.

"It'll be fine. Just be yourself."

-

Almost an entire week had passed after that conversation and Sebastian was absolutely stressing out. He had asked her to go to Hogsmeade that weekend as planned and, to his surprise and elation, she had accepted.

The day of Sebastian's planned date had finally arrived and he was turning in front of the mirror, sporting a nicer garb than usual. While the brunet was always well-kept, the green sack coat and his matching grey vest were something very unordinary for the rather casual sixth year.

"Ready to win her heart?" Ominis asked, leaning against the wall as Sebastian huffed and grunted. "You're going to make a great impression, and swipe her off her feet."

Sebastian blushed deeply as he took the bouquet he had prepared for her. His heart was racing: what if he made a fool of himself? What if she doesn't feel the same? What if the bouquet is too much?

"What if she doesn't like it?" Ominis teased his friend, as if reading his mind. "Don't you worry. You've put a lot of thought into your gift and she will definitely notice. You also bought a new dress just for her. Any woman in the world would be lucky to be on your arm today, and I assure you she'll feel the same."

Sebastian nodded, still nervous but feeling a bit better at his friend's words. Ominis could be a tease sometimes, but he knew when Sebastian wasn't in the mood to be poked fun on and only needed genuine encouragement. And that was one of those days.

"Wish me luck." He said as he left the Common Room and headed for the tree near the lake. His hands were sweating in anticipation and anxiety as he held the bouquet close to his chest.

And then he saw a figure approach him and his heart jumped in his throat.

To say that the girl looked stunning would be like telling the sun it shines. An euphemism of the highest ungraciousness.

She wore a lilac bell skirt which delicately hugged her hips, and tucked in was a matching bodice with small gigot sleeves laced with white embroidered frills and ruffles. She wore no gloves, nor a hat, as he knew Muggle women liked to do. Her hair was tied in a seemingly messy up-do — which Sebastian knew actually took a long time to achieve, as he had seen Anne spend hours in front of her vanity mirror attempting to recreate that same hairstyle for future occasions — with small curls framing her face near her ears.

He felt like a wreck, his nerves burning all over his body, but he was at least composed enough to greet her with more than a flustered smile and an awkward cough.

"M-Miss ____..." He said, bowing gallantly at the waist. "You look... exquisite. I must be the one to feel lucky today, to be in your company."

She blushed deeply, chuckling a bit at his exaggerated greeting. "You also look… very elegant today, Sebastian."

His stomach seemed to flip and he averted his eyes, which then fell on the small box in her hands. "Might I carry that for you?"

She smiled, handing him the gift. "You can carry it... because it's yours."

Her eyes twinkled with both pride for her job and perturbation at his reaction. She had carefully wrapped the gift in a velvet green foulard: the small bottle was transparent, with a green top ribboned in silver lace, the colours of Slytherin. "I had promised I'd make you a perfume, and there it is."

She watched as he opened it, twisting her hands at the centre of her hips.

When the wrapping came off fully, his jaw dropped.

"This..." He whispered, running his fingers over the bottle. "This is wonderful. Thank you. Do you mind if I try it on right now? You know me, I could never resist a new, lovely scent."

"Of course, it's made just for that after all." She smiled. "Now you can look dashing and smell good all the same."

"Well, I'd like to think that my dashing-ness is a natural feature, but I'm all for smelling good as well."

He opened the bottle carefully, and sprayed the perfume on his wrists. Immediately, he smelled the Lavender, and an earthy, homely scent. Something that actually reminded him of Feldcroft, of the summer days he spent with Anne and Ominis, when the latter visited to get away from his family. It smelled like home, and it came from her.

"This is... incredible. How do you do it?" His eyes were wide in pure delight, and his expression showed nothing but admiration for her skills as a perfumer — and for the care she had put in a gift for him.

She grinned at his reaction and averted her eyes. "It's a fougère fragrance. I used Lavender as the main ingredient: it's very popular among men's perfume and it's the first thing I noticed in Potions class... then I laced it with herbs such as Rosemary, Basil and Oakmoss, and I tied it all together with Cedarwood. It's a very earthy scent..."

"That's all a little beyond my expertise," Sebastian admitted sheepishly, his cheeks tinged red. "But it really is quite amazing; you're very talented, I can't stress that enough. I'm so grateful that you made this for me.

"I must do something to repay you some day. Are there any scents you like? I know this shop in Hogsmeade which sells amazing essential oil. Anne used to go there all the time."

“Aromatica, you mean? It’s one of my favourites.” She smiled. "I have a vast collection already, but thank you..." She stepped closer and gently grabbed the small bottle from his hands. "May I?"

His mouth went dry and it seemed like his breath had completed its journey long before its usual end. He nodded, swallowing loudly. “Of course, Miss ____.”

She lightly sprayed the perfume on the curve of his neck, and his heart raced, and his skin felt warm, and her smile felt like a gentle caress, and her eyes…

He felt an overwhelming urge to be even closer to her.

"Please, you can use my first name, and..." She looked up into his eyes. "How about that bouquet you're hiding behind you as a 'payback', hmm?”

A blush crept across his face. Her first name. She had granted him the permission to use her first name. He smiled widely, his heart doing all sorts of somersaults in his chest.

"I'd be delighted to, if you'd like me to call you that." He laughed quietly, and stepped closer, finally revealing the bouquet with a sweep of his hand. "For you."

Her smile widened and, as she saw the bouquet, her eyes did too. She seemed to be at loss for words and his hands trembled in anticipation at her reaction. She took the bouquet carefully. "You... This... There's every flower I've mentioned for my perfumes... how did you remember all of them?" She looked up at Sebastian in wonder. "This is beautiful, Sebastian, thank you." She smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling with gratitude.

"It's nothing at all, the flowers are too beautiful not to remember them," he said, grinning from ear to ear at her reaction. "And they all have such unique meanings. I’ve read a bit about the ‘language of flowers’ Muggles use. They’re very special. Like you."

She linked her arm with his as they began walking to Hogsmeade. "I’m special? How so?"

"Well, you're very intelligent and articulate, not to mention very beautiful, I must say," he said, grinning sheepishly.

"You're also really kind, and I've never met someone so... I can't really describe it, but when you look at me... well, you make me feel special, and I..." He took a deep breath, his hand opening and closing nervously at his side as he forced the words out. "I— I think I feel something for you."

She smiled and averted her eyes, and Sebastian could see her cheeks redden. His heart tugged and he bit his lip to contain his own excitement. Maybe it wasn't a mistake.

"So... The walk to Hogsmeade, the flowers, the compliments and your confession... Sebastian, is this courting, perhaps?" She teased him.

"I... yes. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and…" He blushed slightly at the feeling of her hand on his arm, and a small giggle escaped him. But then his eyes lit up as he registered her light tone. "Does that mean... you'll allow me to court you?"

"I... I do, yes."

She pulled his arm even closer, and a wide grin spread across his face. His hands were trembling, and he tried to suppress the overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms. "Well then... Would you like to have dinner with me tonight, in Hogsmeade?"

She looked up at him in wonder. "That would be nice, yes."

They walked together for a bit, enjoying the sound of nature around them, the occasional carriages and the forest creatures which sometimes peeked curiously through the trees, before she finally spoke. "I… I don't know much about 'wizard courtship' and how different it is from Muggle one. For instance, if we were Muggles, I would need to be chaperoned. I couldn't have been walking with you and you alone."

"Really? You're not allowed to have private conversations without supervision?" He asked, his eyes wide in surprise. "What happens if you don't obey and have a private conversation? Do you get 'chastised' or something? Tell me more."

"People would consider me unworthy of respect, and think I’m doing... inappropriate things, thus ruining my chances for marriage," she rolled her eyes. "That's why I'm so adamant about women's roles and feminism, and it's the reason I got so angry after Ominis' statements."

Oh.

"Hmm... that is a strange custom I must say, it seems very... restrictive. It makes me sad to think people would see you as anything besides a wonderful, independent young lady." He said thoughtfully. "What would they think if they saw us walking together now? I'm holding your arm, and our conversation is certainly private. Does that mean we're already courting in the eyes of the Muggle world, no dinner nor flowers required?" 

"If they just saw us walking, they would think we're already engaged, or that we're related." She gave him a faint smile. "If they were to find out we aren't, we would both be 'thrown onto the streets', as they say."

She paused for a moment, taking in her surroundings. "It is also unethical for a man to be interested in a woman unless he was wealthy enough to marry her on a predictable date.”

"That means men must be rich before they can court you?" Sebastian asked, as if the idea were ridiculous. "That can't be how a union is meant to happen — that’s absurd. The heart knows where it wants to go, regardless of matters as insignificant as social standing and wealth. Isn't that what matters the most?"

"Usually, the middle class has more... freedom. They can marry for love, although the father of the woman has to approve of the man first. Most upper class, instead, are bound by arranged marriages, although there are some exceptions." She sighed, squeezing his arm closer. "And yes, no woman can go out with a man without a married woman or perhaps a brother following them. There's also no concept of dating, Sebastian, and the mere use of a first name could be misleading people into thinking you're my fiancé."

"Oh... So, a woman is not considered independent? What would happen if she were to act without her father's permission, does the law punish her somehow, or is it just a social custom?" The light dawned on Sebastian's face. "And, if the father approves of her marrying someone, how is that very different from arranged marriage? Do women not have a choice?"

"The woman has a choice to refuse, yes, but the price sometimes is worse than the marriage itself: disappointment from your parents, ostracization, repression, some even end up in… well… abuse..."

"Abuse?" Sebastian paled, his voice louder than he intended it to be. "In a marriage? That is cruelty, or madness... How is such a thing even legal anywhere? It is despicable."

“I’m telling you this, because… well…” She sighed. "My parents ought to know nothing about this, about us, until we either stop seeing each other or you decide to marry me... I'm sorry, Sebastian."

His breath caught, but he nodded nonetheless, reassuringly. “I won’t tell a soul.”

"The wizarding world is more lenient, is it not? And I'm a witch. Muggle-born or not, I'm a witch and I plan to live in this world."She looked up at him with a determined but hopeful spark, and took a trembling breath.. "I won't go back to that, I won't be thrown into an arranged marriage, I want to be free, I..."

"You're right, of course you are," he said, gently squeezing her arm. "You aren't alone. If... if anything happens, I'm here for you. Even as a friend, I promise I won't let it come to that. I would do whatever I can to make you happy, whether that means getting you away from Muggle society or something else... I just want you to feel safe."

She smiled up at him and unlinked their arms, only to wrap hers around his neck, pulling him into a hug. Sebastian was taken aback, his breath catching in his throat, but then wrapped his arms securely around her as well, as her warm body pressed against his, his mind still racing. She smelled like the flowers he had gifted her, and that hug felt like his own personal paradise.

"You're special, you know that? Thank you, Sebastian. Only..." She pulled away to look at him. "Don't even think about doing something drastic should it ever come to that point, like marrying me or something. Your freedom is yours."

"M-marry you?" He stuttered, the idea slowly forming in his mind at her words. Could that… Would that be a solution? "I didn't even think about it... why would... Is... is that what you want? I don't want... I just want to do what makes you happy."

She smiled reassuringly. "I don't want that, Sebastian. I want to do things the... wizarding way, if so to speak." She sighed. "I want to keep being your friend, to know you properly, to maybe… fall in love."

A wave of relief flooded him at her answer. He was ready to throw caution to the wind and throw everything away if he thought it would make her happy, but she didn't. He felt a smile play at his lips and he hugged her again.

"That's... exactly what I want, too," he said, kissing her forehead lightly. "I could never do any less."

She smiled, closing her eyes briefly. "You know what else isn't appropriate in the Muggle world?" She teased. "That hug and you kissing my forehead."

She let out a brief giggle and Sebastian smirked back at her. The sound of her chuckle was so sweet and carefree; he couldn't help but enjoy it... as much as he enjoyed her.

"My, my, I'm being so improper," he said, amused. "That was almost scandalous, wasn't it?"

"Very scandalous. You should just hold my arm while we walk, with a married woman following us everywhere to ensure we don't overstep." She smiled, teasing him back. "I'm certainly not allowed to call you Sebastian or hug you and get the chance to smell that beautiful perfume I made for you and that, by the way, mixes really well with your skin."

Sebastian chuckled as she spoke, his heart jumping for the umpteenth time. He had to make sure not to have a heart attack by the end of the day.

He felt a sudden urge to lean in, to kiss her and show her that all this courtesy and proper behaviour meant nothing to him. He just wanted her. He just wanted to be hers.

He pushed the thought away, but the idea still lingered at the back of his mind; it still sent waves of heat flowing throughout his veins, and his ears burnt red with the prospect of it. We are in public, Sebastian. He reminded himself.

He had never kissed anyone, and, judging by her words, neither had she, and he wanted their first kiss to be special, romantic and beautiful. Not in the middle of a street: That would be shameful, and he could never live that down.

"So," she stepped away, linking their arms again. "About that dinner you were speaking of..."

"Oh, of course!" He said, realising his mind must have drifted for a moment. "Perhaps the Three Broomsticks? I'm not sure what kind of food they serve, but it is the most renomated place in Hogsmeade after all."

He looked down at her and smiled, glad for the distraction — not that those thoughts about her had gone away.

"Is a place like that proper for courtship, or shall I find a more... suitable restaurant?" He laughed lightly, “it doesn't really matter to me, so long as I get to sit next to you."

"If it's comfortable, then it's appropriate to me." She smiled. "And the Three Broomsticks sounds nice, thank you."

He smiled down at her fondly. “Shall we go?"

She nodded and they walked together, enjoying the chat and the evening.

-

Ominis waited patiently in the comfortable silence of the dorms, another book in his hands as he waited for his friend to return, and after a few hours, Sebastian did indeed return.

The blond heard him as soon as he stepped on the stairs, his strides loud and excited as he skipped over to the entrance.

"Ominis!" His friend yelled, opening the door loudly, and the Gaunt boy couldn't help but grin excitedly.

"What is it?"

The smile on Sebastian's face was radiant, and his eyes lit up when he spoke. And he told his friend everything.

"That was..." The brunet paused for a moment at a loss for words. "It was wonderful. The food was nice, and we sat and talked, sharing jokes and I made her laugh! More than once! It was just... perfect. We spent all our time discussing our favourite subjects, our ideas on things, our fears, our aspirations. There was even some hand holding."

"Hand holding?" Ominis asked, surprised.

Sebastian blushed and nodded. "Yes... I know it's not usually proper, but... we even hugged, and I kissed her forehead, and she told me everything about Muggle courtship, and..."

"Kissed her forehead, Sebastian, you rascal, you—" Ominis' jaw dropped as he stared up in his friend’s direction in awe. "You... you kissed her, Sebastian?" He said in a breathless chuckle. Sebastian blushed profusely.

"Not— Not on the lips, of course."

"Yes, of course..." Ominis said with a smirk, his voice warm with amusement. "But, still... That is wonderful. I can literally hear the joy in your voice. I'm so happy for you, Sebastian, but seriously: try to refrain yourself."

He shook his head and pretended to tut, but despite his playful banter, he sounded almost like a proud father. "How does she feel about you? Is she as... intrigued?"

Sebastian blushed even more.

"I-I think so... She initiated the hug." He paused pondering.

"And, in a way, we talked about marriage," he suddenly added, unable to stop himself, "but not in the way you think."

"Marriage?" Sebastian's revelation made Ominis blink in surprise, and his brows furrowed. "In what way, then, if I may ask? I don't want to make any false assumptions."

"She... She told me about Muggle culture," Sebastian said, his tone now serious. "And the role of women in it, and it was so… oppressive, Ominis. She talked about women not being allowed outside without a chaperone, about how 'dating' doesn't exist and men and women can only meet in the prospect of a future arrangement, and… How... How her parents ought to know nothing about our encounters, because she is upper class, and..." He trailed off, his chest suddenly feeling too heavy. "That's why she was so unwilling to forgive you after the comment you had made."

"O-Oh..." The blond said, his voice sombre and guilty as he remembered his old conversation with the girl. "Is there no one who could help her? Nothing we can do?"

"That's when we talked about marriage..." Sebastian whispered. "I said I'd do anything... anything to ensure she won't have to be... sold to someone who doesn't deserve her."

Ominis was quiet for a long moment. He felt his stomach turn as he pictured her being trapped in a loveless marriage, a marriage of convenience to please her parents rather than for her own sake.

"Would you..." He whispered, his heart beating faster and faster in his chest. "Would you marry her, Sebastian? Just to protect her?"

"I..." The brunet choked on his words and gulped, his mouth dry. "I... If it means she will be fine...

"But… But she understood, and she told me not to. That my freedom is just as valuable, and… She told me she wants it to be natural, to fall in love, maybe even with me, but her family… she's upper class, after all." He repeated.

Ominis felt his heart sink. "If her parents get their way… they’ll sell her to an aristocrat for their own benefit, and she'll be forced to spend a miserable, loveless life...”

Sebastian didn't answer. Instead, he put his head in his hands, his eyes burning in their sockets with unspilled tears.

"I'll keep her here," he whispered. "In the wizarding world, where she doesn't... doesn't have to..."

Ominis immediately heard the sniffles in his voice, and slowly stood up to sit next to his friend. He spoke delicately, weighing each word. He knew Sebastian must feel so helpless, broken, not only because it was clear that, after spending the last year being best friends with the girl, his feelings had mutated into something more than a crush, but because she was still extremely important to him, love or not.

"That's not the way it has to be," The blond said. "There must... there must be a way to fix this."

Sebastian shook his head but didn't trust himself to speak. He leaned into Ominis embrace and real tears started to fall from his eyes.

There was no solution, nothing to do. There were only two choices: leaving her to her fate or alienating her from the Muggle society and her whole family. Ominis didn’t say a word more, letting his friend cry on his shoulder. The injustice left him feeling sick.

"I promise to you," he said, his tone warm, calm and soothing, "there will be a way. Maybe not immediately... but we will figure something out."

Sebastian spent the whole night tossing and turning and crying, and the next day, he awoke with sticky eyes and a swollen face — not to mention the heavy feeling in his chest. But he'd have to put on a brave face for her, he'd see her in class, that much was certain, and he couldn't show her that her condition made him suffer.

And for a while he did. For a few months, he was able to smile and laugh with her, to take walks with her as she fed the Thestrals. He was in awe every time: people hated those creatures, and even he, the first time, was on edge when she took him into the forest. But that was only one more beautiful trait he would sell his soul to have near him.

And as time went on, he started feeling hopeful. They were nearing the end of the school year, not to mention their legal age in the Wizarding World. The age where they would finally be allowed to use a wand at their discretion outside of school. The age when she could finally be free.

Act III

The first time Sebastian got his heart broken was at the beginning of their seventh year.

He had spent the last few weeks counting the days until her birthday. It was still months away, but that did not stop his heart from leaping with excitement at the prospect of her turning seventeen. Of her freedom.

And she was too perfect not to be free.

He had come to that conclusion that summer when he had invited her to stay in Feldcroft.

Of course, it was Anne who had to meet with her father to make sure no injudicious business was going on. It seemed the Sallow twin had enough of a silver tongue to convince an entire aristocratic Muggle family to let her daughter stay in their house. Adequate parlance, he recalled.

Sebastian had spent that week basking in the presence of the object of his affection in his very home. He made sure she did not have to lift a finger while he hosted her at his place, but as usual, she got her way most of the time,and was constantly out and about doing something to help around.

Most of the time, however, she stayed with Anne.

She had made Anne a simple perfume as well, using flowers from the meadow around the farm, not to mention the wide range of essential oils the brunette had bought from Aromatica in the weeks prior to the girl's visit.

The house never smelled better.

Sebastian would walk in after a day of helping around and studying new spells to find the two girls engrossed in an activity here and there.

She taught Anne Muggle embroidery. She had sewn her a small handkerchief. She had braided her hair with flowers.

It was not difficult for him to imagine a whole life that way.

That week was his personal idyll, and he wanted to believe it his near future as well.

When she left, he had to spend some time getting used to her absence, and that was nothing short of agonising, especially throwing his twin's teasing into the mix, but one thing gave him more hope than anything else: the fact that, perhaps, he might not have to get used to her absence in his home.

When he returned to Hogwarts for his seventh year, he made sure to spend every appropriate moment with her. They studied together, he let her play with his hair, they duelled — and she won, again and again, as she always did — and talked. They talked. A lot. But not as much as he imagined. Because Sebastian Sallow was always imagining lately.

Every time he looked at her, he imagined.

He imagined a ring of white gold on her finger, engraved with their initials. He imagined her telling him that yes, she wanted to marry him, her neck adorned with those embroidered white frills that weren't seen contrasting lilac that time. He imagined her in his arms, telling him with her beautiful, radiant smile that she loved him. He imagined and imagined until his brain was too small to fit any further, and he didn't want it to be just a fantasy anymore.

But with it came the nightmares, seeping through the empty spaces of bliss in his mind, plaguing most of his nights, when he felt his heart tearing in his chest.

That night was one such.

Sebastian had spent it tossing and turning and breaking out in a cold sweat as he saw her being ripped away from him. As he saw her say yes to another, albeit behind empty eyes and hollow words. As he saw the complacent smiles of her parents as she brought even more wealth into the family.

“No!” He awoke with a jolt for what seemed to be the hundredth time that month and looked around desperately, as if asserting that, once again, it was only a nightmare. That she was still there. That she could still be his.

Ominis was awake already, and looking in his direction with the same concerned expression he grew accustomed to lately.

“I’m okay. Just a nightmare.” Sebastian quickly got ready, not bothering to do his tie properly or wear his perfume. And that, he never forgot.

-

When he reached the Great Hall, he couldn’t help but search for her in the crowd of students. He needed to see that she was still with them. Still safe.

“Sebastian.”

He turned around with a jolt and she jumped slightly in surprise.

“Are you alright?” She asked, examining his exhausted face.

“Of… Of course.” He replied, rather unconvincingly, but he hoped she wouldn't ask any more questions. The last thing he wanted was to worry her any further. So he diverted the conversation. “How about you?”

She shrugged, holding up a piece of neatly folded parchment. “Post.” She simply said. “I’ll read it later.”

He nodded, his lips dry and an uneasy feeling in his chest. Post this early?

“I’ll see you later, all right? I’m starving.” She waved and turned in the direction of her table.

“Wait, who… Is it from Anne?” He stopped her, holding onto a glimmer of hope. Maybe he was reading too much into it and it was only his twin reaching out to greet her and ask her if she would spend Christmas with them in Feldcroft. His sister could do with some more company after all.

“My father, actually.” She turned the letter in her hands.

He swallowed thickly, that glimmer going out as soon as it ignited. He forced the words out. “You— You don’t think it’s about… that, right?” He asked in a feeble voice, choking on his words.

She narrowed her eyes a bit, just as she did the first time they met. “Is that why you look so… dishevelled today?” She tilted her head. “I don’t want to worry you, Sebastian. Promise me you won’t think about it anymore.”

He faltered, and it took a while for his neck to move in what biasedly resembled a nod, for which he appeared totally unconvincing. She sighed deeply and averted her eyes before walking away.

Sebastian's gaze followed her figure and his breath quickened. For some reason, he was panicking, more than usual.

“Why is your breathing ragged? Is it because of the nightmare?” Ominis asked, furrowing his brows.

“Yes… Probably.” He replied, not taking his eyes off the girl.

He tried not to let his mind wander too much, taking a deep breath and following Ominis to the table — not that he was hungry anymore. In fact, the mere sight of food made the pit of his stomach close painfully.

Sebastian spent a few minutes staring at his eggs, before he ran his hands through his hair desperately. His eyes searched for her at her House table, then in the crowd of students leaving and entering the Great Hall, but her figure had vanished before his eyes in a heartbeat. His face fell.

"She... She's not there anymore." He whispered to Ominis. "What if this... ruins my chances? What if I broke her trust? What if, now that she knows I'm worried sick, she won't ever want to see me again to spare me?"

Ominis' breath caught in his throat at Sebastian's words, but he forced himself to calm down, to give Sebastian a pillar to lay on as his mind already braced itself for the worst.

"I'm sure... I'm sure that if you explain yourself, she'll understand." He tried to comfort his friend.

Sebastian didn't say anything and instead stood up abruptly to go find her. He needed to find her. There had to be a solution, anything he could do for her while also not showing that her condition made him suffer. He didn't want to lose her, neither her friendship nor her future to some aristocrat. He wanted to court her, to be with her, to openly love her.

-

After about half an hour of searching — with the help of various ghosts, students and the infamous Revelio Spell — Sebastian found her alone, reading at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings. She seemed to have found some small nook hidden from view that no other students seemed to know about. Sebastian would go as far as saying she had made it herself.

He stopped at the entrance of it and leaned against the compact dirt and rocks on the side, staring at her thoughtfully for a while.

Just the sight of her made him feel better.

A slight smile spread across his face as he watched her hold her book carefully. No one could have the heart to hurt her, he thought. How could anyone possibly do such a thing?

Sebastian studied her for a while, not wishing to make any sudden moves and scare her. After a few minutes, though, he stepped forward, walking slowly, silently, until he was no more than a few steps from her, and finally spoke.

"Hello," he said quietly, a small smile on his face as he took a seat next to her. She looked at him, a bit startled, but did not try to move away from him like he feared she would.

"Sorry about this morning," he looked at her apologetically, his tone holding a hint of awkwardness. "Can we... talk, for a minute or two?"

"How did you find me? This place is pretty hidden..."

"How did I find you?" He said, a slight chuckle escaping his lips. "You know me. I know every hidden place in this school and around. Being sneaky is part of my genetic makeup."

The thought was intended as humour, but she didn't smile at his joke, and he realised his attempt fell flat. His smirk disappeared, replaced with an apologetic small smile.

"But you are right. You are not that easy to find..." He let out a breath, looking out over the Forbidden Forest. She didn't answer.

"So, I have to ask..." He whispered, his voice soft, his body tense like a chord as he tried to diffuse the awkwardness. "What are you reading? Something good?"

She looked down to her book as if reading the title for the first time. "Little Women... It's a muggle book"

"Hm. And what's it about?" he asked, his head cocked to the side curiously.

"It talks about four sisters growing up and struggling with their place in society as women." She sighed. "Quite fitting..."

"Ah…" He nodded thoughtfully, feeling the familiar anxiety rising once again at her words. "Would you say it's a good read? Are you enjoying it?"

She handed him the book musingly. "I've read it more than once, you can read it if you want."

Sebastian took it, hesitantly, and ran his hand over the well-worn pages as he looked down at it. It was clear the book must have been quite old. He slowly opened it, examining the faded print on the edge of the cover, feeling the old paper beneath his fingers. When he read, he always did so with care, turning pages one at a time, as if he feared they would tear his hands. He began to read, the gentle rustling of the pages quickly mingling with the light rustling of the leaves in the breeze. It was a pleasing and comforting sound.

She stayed quiet, staring blankly at the ground as he silently read. Her mind felt empty, and it was like her whole body was melting. She wasn't all there, that much was clear. It was like her usual self was trapped somewhere far deep in her brain with no way out. Sebastian immediately noticed the way she seemed to almost ‘fade’ as he read next to her, and a familiar sense of concern rose up in him. He wanted to reach out to her, to do something to take every pain away from her, to take her in his arms or hold her hand. However, he forced himself to resist: he would wait, for now, for her to speak, if and when she wished to.

He finished the chapter, closing the book carefully and returning it to her with a small smile. "I have to say, that's very well written. I was completely hooked."

She nodded. "You can borrow it, if you wish..."

Her voice was monotone, with no emotions in it. It lacked the usual cadence and musicality, her usual modulation. It sounded empty, and it hurt him to hear her like this — it scared him, in a sense. Something wasn't right, that was clear. 

He wanted to say something, to help, but he didn't know what the problem was, and thus he didn't know what to do. And so he stayed quiet, deciding to go a different route. His voice lightened a little, trying to sound more cheerful: maybe that would make it better?

"How many books do you have? I'd certainly be willing to lend you some… or… or I could borrow some as well, if you’ll have me."

"I have plenty." She whispered. Her eyes shifted around aimlessly as she played with her bracelet, seemingly grounding herself to reality, to the conversation, to his presence.

"You have plenty?" He repeated, a small, reassuring smile dancing on his lips. "Well, you did mention you were quite the avid reader. You are my best friend after all, aren't you? And there aren't many things that I enjoy more than reading... and good company, of course." He paused for a second, his eyes flickered towards the girl, and then away. "Which do you like more? The reading or the company?”

But at that point, Sebastian was basically talking to himself. She had stopped playing with the bracelet, losing her hold on reality in the meantime. She was trapped in her mind, far away. And she didn't answer.

He looked over at her lack of response and a chill washed over him as he looked at her. What is happening? He thought, panic rising in his chest, his heart beating fast. He stayed frozen in his place for long, painful seconds, his mind racing, before he reached out slowly, taking her hand in his.

"Okay, talk to me." he whispered. "Tell me what’s wrong."

She didn't move, nor registered the feeling of his hand in hers, but she heard herself speak, like it came from far away. "You're not wearing the cologne," she said slowly. "The one I brewed for you."

The sound of her voice, so soft and hollow, was heart-wrenching. When she spoke, it was as if a cold hand had gripped his heart, clutching it tightly. And the emptiness of her voice nearly undid him entirely.

He let out a small laugh: sad and hysterical, like the voice of a man whose life was crumbling apart. He felt as if her pain was his pain, and he just wanted to make her feel better.

"No," he said quietly, "not today."

But as he saw her sombre expression, his heart sank even more, and he felt the need to quickly add: "I still have it. It's my most prized possession… I've just forgotten this morning because… Well, I was in a rush, sort of. Forgive me."

She only nodded, her eyes casting downwards. She felt so tired, like her body was on edge and too calm at the same time. Like part of her wanted to jump out of her skin and leave. Leave that place. Leave everything behind.

"Can I ask?" He asked quietly, reaching out to touch her cheek lightly and turn her head towards him. "What... happened? What has come over you? You weren't like this an hour ago."

He looked directly into her eyes, trying to see beyond the nothingness of her gaze towards her true feelings, the feelings she was trying so hard to keep buried, but her vacant eyes broke his heart. "It's scaring me. Please..."

She blinked a few times, thinking, before she slowly reached into her bag and took the letter she had received that morning, handing it to him. The letter was wrinkled and there were a few dried tears smudging the paper.

"I'm officially off the market." She said emptily.

A sudden wave of realisation hit him, stopping his heart on the spot as he took the letter with shaky hands. A horrified look spread across his face. No. Please no.

"Wh-What?" He whispered, trying to control his voice, so that he wouldn’t break into a sob right there and then. It was like one of his nightmares. One of those bad dreams that kept him up since the start of the school year. It couldn't be real. It couldn't be happening. It had to be just another delusion.

"Your father... your father…" He took a deep, strained breath. "Why?"

"I'm his only daughter," she said blankly. "I knew it would happen sooner or later. I just wish I could have found a solution before it did." She looked at him, her eyes still unfocused. "I'm sorry, Sebastian. It seems like I won't have the choice to love you after all."

Those words cut directly through his chest. The shock of those words, the sudden burst of panic as he saw his greatest torment take shape right before his eyes: it felt like he had been punched directly in the heart, like someone had reached through his flesh and snatched the throbbing muscle fresh out of him.

"No," he whispered, a sob escaping him without his control. "Please... please..." 

He grabbed her, unable to hold back for another second, and pulled her into a tight hug, holding her close as he felt his heart break, its sharp pieces sticking in his lungs with each tear.

"You can't mean that." He sobbed, his voice breaking. "You can't."

She rested her head on his shoulder, as he cried. Slowly, she hugged him back. She had already shed all her tears, so the only thing she could do was let him do the same.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I really liked you… I need you to know that."

He wanted to be strong. He wanted to be there for her, to comfort her, to be the shoulder she could cry on. But in the end, the hopelessness he had been feeling every night became more real to him, and her body was warm against his.

And he broke.

His body trembled as he kept her close, wishing that, maybe, if he held her close enough she would be safe forever.

He cried for a while, his face buried against her shoulder, his body wrecked by sobs. And with each of them, the pieces of his heart ripped at his dreams, the white gold decaying before his very eyes, and her arms wrapped softly around him only compounded the pain he felt.

"You can't…" He whispered in her neck, almost deliriously. "You can't leave me."

When he finally stopped crying, he looked down at her. She didn't look like the girl he knew. The usual light in her face had gone, replaced with pure hollowness, and his heart broke all over again. "It's... it's alright," he whispered earnestly, wiping his tears. "I— I understand."

She nodded, cupping his cheek in her hand and wiping his tears. "Keep that book for me, okay?" She whispered, resigned. "I think... soon enough… I'll be made to leave Hogwarts, too, and… and perhaps the country as well."

He closed his eyes, the last remaining drops falling from his eyes and onto her palm. Leave Hogwarts. Leave the life she had known all these years.

Leave him.

The thought of not seeing her at all ever again made his stomach twist excruciatingly.

"Of course," he said earnestly, his voice soft and gentle in the silence that followed. He kissed her forehead, like it was the most precious thing he had ever known and rested his own on that same spot right after.

"I'll look after it. I promise." He smiled sadly, looking at her. "I'll keep it safe with me, alright? In my room. And if you..." He was unable to finish the sentence, the thought of her leaving too much to bear. Another small sob made its way past his lips and he felt his eyes well up again. "If you ever need anything... you know you can come to me, right? No matter where you are, you can still come to me…"

She nodded and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "Tell Ominis I forgive him, okay? It doesn't do well to hold grudges. And..." She paused. "Sebastian... promise me you'll wear that cologne."

Her proximity, her nearness to him, caused a fluttering feeling in his chest, like at least two of the thousand pieces of his heart found their way to each other again.

"Of course. I..." He said, his voice cracking. "Don't... don't be silly..." He tightened his arms around her in a hug, tears rising in his eyes once again. "I'll wear the cologne, alright? For you. I promise."

"Good. I worked an awful lot to make it for you." She let out a soft chuckle. "Thank you for inviting me to your house this summer. I really wished it could have been you... if anything."

There was a constant, painful weight in his chest, and a burning feeling in his throat, a lump so big it seemed to reach his lungs, too. He tried to swallow that pain back down, not wanting to burden her with his own feelings anymore, and let out a heavy sigh. "I wish it could have been me too."

The words had only just left his mouth when his breath caught in his chest. He hadn't meant to say that. Not like this. "I— I mean..."

"I know." She smiled, taking a big breath. "If we were older, maybe… I could've stayed here… away from those traditions, away from… a man I don't love."

There was a stab in his heart again as he rested his chin on her shoulder, and suddenly nothing mattered to him anymore. Nor her father, nor the Muggle world, nor the very concept of society. All that mattered was her, and the ring he was going to buy for her one day. "I won't let you do that," he said resolutely. "I don't care about your stupid traditions. I won't let you go."

"Sebastian. I… I'm still sixteen. I don't have a choice."

"Then I'll make one for you. You said it yourself: steal that ride, remember?" He said, caressing her cheek. "If a path is already paved, you should use it. I'll pave that path for you. I'll give you the life you deserve. I'm— I'm— I'll find a way."

And he swore he saw the gears in her brain turning behind her beautiful eyes. "If by any chance I don't leave Hogwarts…" she bit her lip. "I'll have to begin my courtship now, yes, but by tradition, I can't be wedded until I'm at least twenty-one."

A glimmer of hope made its way through the cracks of his nightmare. If she could delay her marriage, they could still get away. Make a life in this world. Be free.

"Maybe I can ask Ominis to talk Professor Black into it. You know their families share ties," he said.

"I'm a Muggle-born. Neither the Gaunts nor Headmaster Black would care, I— I'm not important to them."

"That doesn't matter." He interjected, both his hands now on her cheeks. "You're important to me. You're so much more than blood or… or tradition. I don't care if your whole family hates me, I don't care if the whole muggle world hates me. I'll find a way. I'll do anything to make you happy."

Her eyes widened in wonder. "For… For me? You can't do that, Sebastian, you—"

"I can and I will." He said, raising his voice slightly. "I'll do whatever must be done. I will protect you. I will find a way to keep you here. I refuse to let them take you away from me."

She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes. Finally, she started to cry as she covered his hand on her cheek with her own.

"I… I can't thank you enough, Sebastian I…" She gave him a small, quivering smile. "Never had someone cared so much about me…"

His heart fluttered and he caressed her cheek with his thumb. "You deserve it. You are special, remember? And I will do everything to keep you safe here with me."

"Seb…" She whispered, her eyes darting on his face. "I am in emotional distress, and yes, I feel gratitude towards you, immense gratitude… But I want you to know that it's not these feelings that are driving me to do what I want to do right now…" She paused, biting her lip. "And it's a very inappropriate thing by muggle standards."

His heart jumped again, hitting that lump that still lingered in his throat.

"What is?" He whispered, his eyes looking at every inch of her face.

"This."

And with that she kissed him. Gently. Hesitantly. It was all so sudden: her sweet lips on his, the warmth of her body and the soft intimacy of her, and whatever romance book he'd read, it was nothing compared to how it felt.

There were no fireworks. His heart was not pounding. It felt right. It felt like he had done it a thousand times and would do it a thousand more.

Her lips melded perfectly with his as his arms found their way around her waist and pulled her closer. He tangled his fingers in her hair and smelled the lily of the valley, and tasted her tears on her lips, and tasted his own along. She wrapped her arms around his neck and it was so slow and loving and passionate that he felt his limbs melt around her. He held her in his arms and kissed her again and again, as if he could never let her go. He could stay there forever, just like that, in that warm embrace where he felt at home.

The thought came like a shock of lightning in his stomach. He felt his arms hold her tighter, his voice soften the slightest bit. "I love you." He whispered.

She looked into his eyes, and he counted every speck of colour in them, one more beautiful than the other.

“You do?” She asked, her lips ghosting his, their breaths mingling. “You… love me?”

"I know I do," he breathed. “I would feel lost, incomplete without you. I want to wake up next to you every morning; I want to hear your voice, see your smile everyday and be the reason for it; I want to share my life with you. I... I want to give my life for you... for us." His words were soft, sweet, honest. "Yes, I love you."

“You… You really mean that?” She looked stunned, before averting her eyes. “I… I don’t want you to lose your freedom. I don’t want to be the reason you’re unhappy.”

“I could never be unhappy with you.” He whispered, caressing her cheek, and kissed her again.

“If… If you meant all that, and…” She paused, the weight of her words crushing her lungs. “You’ve only shown kindness to me… You’ve bought me flowers, you invited me to your house and… you said you wanted to court me… Do you still want that?”

His heart fluttered, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. He probably looked like a lovestruck idiot, but he didn’t care. Because the only thing that mattered right now was her. And how sweet she was, and how tender her words were, and how perfectly she fit in his arms.

“I don’t want to just court you,” he whispered, holding her face in his palm. “I want to marry you. I… I want you to be my wife. I have for a while now.”

His voice trembled in anticipation and fear, and his breath hitched when he saw the most gorgeous smile break on her beautiful face.

“T-Then… if my father approves… and he calls off this arrangement in favour of yours…” She said, her voice quivering, and he kissed her cheekbone reassuringly. “I’ll be honoured to become completely yours when the time comes.”

And there it was once more, the feeling that it must be a dream, that it couldn't be real. He must have fallen asleep during Ancient Runes again. His cheeks stretched into the widest grin, his chest hurt and the burn spread to his arms, which tightened around her as if wanting to melt her body into his.

“Do you…Really?” He whispered breathlessly, his eyes wide not to miss any detail of her face, in fear that, if he got distracted even just a second, she would fleet away.

“I love you, and I want to marry you, too.”

And he kissed her again, holding her like she was his very lifeline. And that time, he didn't taste tears or lips. He tasted her, everything she was and everything she would be with him, and he tasted his devotion, his affection as it found its way to her heart and made its home in that small nook just as he did in the much bigger one they were in, and he tasted hers doing the same, slowly grabbing the pieces scattered in his chest and using them to build its home again. And he kissed her until there was no air left. And he would happily give up his lungs as long as he still had her lips. Because the only thing he needed to breathe was her.

"And if not?" His voice trembled as his mouth reluctantly left its place. "If your father doesn't approve, will you still marry me? Would you run away with me? What would happen to us?"

"I would get thrown out of the muggle world…" She said, and he could feel a crack of uncertainty in her eyes, but then she licked her lips, and felt him, and everything he was for her. "But… I still have the wizarding world… our world. And I'll be yours until it crumbles."

"Then I'll make sure it's everlasting. I'll hold its weight in my hands if I have to."

"The only thing I want you to hold is me." She smiled and kissed the tip of his nose.

He let out a shaky breath.

"My companion for life." His voice trembled. "Each time I looked at you, I could only imagine what it would be like to have you as mine, how perfect our life could be and… and when you visited this summer and I saw you in my home, with Anne… I…"

She looked into his eyes reassuringly, and that was all Sebastian needed. She knew.

"I won't let anyone take you away from me." His arms tightened around her. "I love you."

"I love you, too." She gave him a small peck. "I'll write to my father, and… you probably will have to meet him soon."

"I will. I'll do anything in my power to make him say yes. And then… we can be one."

"And if he doesn't…" She smiled and he saw that astute spark that he loved so much. "You and I could threaten him with magic. He's scared of it, like all muggles."

"We could, couldn't we?" He smirked, his eyelids lowering slightly as he looked at her. "We could give him a taste of what your real home taught us."

She chuckled. "We still have the Trace, though, so it would be unwise to really try anything, or my real home will oust me before he can."

"We do have the Trace." He smiled wickedly. "But he doesn't have to know that."

She hugged him again and rested her head on his shoulder. "And if he tries to take me away once I'm seventeen, I'll modify his memories."

His breath caught, and frankly he should've been more concerned with her devil-may-care attitude on such a delicate matter… but he couldn't find it in his heart. He loved the idea just as much.

"That's my girl." He chuckled lowly and turned his head to kiss her forehead. "I knew you'd find the perfect way to deal with this."

He ran his hand on her arms as she cuddled in his lap, and then spoke again softly: "Would you really? Use it against your father, I mean."

"He doesn't deserve respect. He doesn't deserve to be called a father. All my life, he has treated me like a future investment, so I'll show no mercy, just as he did while raising me." She lifted her head and pecked his lips. "Especially if it means I can be with you after."

"Soon, he'll see the consequences of his foolishness." He muttered, his voice softer. "For now, you're mine to hold, to love, and to cherish, and that won't change."

"Stay with me for a bit," she breathed out, "here where no one can find us. We can read together, we can… skip classes?"

"Yes," he whispered tenderly. "Skip classes. Skip whatever you want."

He leaned down and kissed her again, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"All this kissing… it would be considered very inappropriate according to my family, but…" She pressed her lips on his again. "We're not in that stupid society, so we can do anything we want."

He laughed against her lips, and felt her breath on his chin, and cheeks, and nose, and everywhere it mattered. "Exactly. There's no one here who can tell us what to do… what to be. So… kiss me more, please?"

She smiled and did just that, pressing all her relief and joy against his soft flesh.

"Sebastian, I do want to marry you, but… I also want to experience what you pureblood wizards call 'dating', so…" Her nose bumped his tenderly. "Date me?"

He drew in a sharp breath, and his hands trembled around her.

"Yes," he choked on his breath. "Yes. A thousand times yes."

"Then I'll have to get Anne's blessing."

He rolled his eyes. "Anne loves you more than she loves me, I promise you."

He pretended to sulk and she giggled.

"Well, then she'll be happy I'll have her surname soon."

His jaw fell open as he stared at her, his chest filled with butterflies. He wanted to answer properly, to say something sweet, or witty, or tender, but he could only manage a choked sound at the back of his throat. She smiled and his breath hitched.

"Mrs. Sallow, is it?"

And if at least one name in that entire forsaken world had to sound perfect, that would be it. And she was perfect. And maybe, just maybe, he could be perfect with her.

#sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fandom #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow x mc #harry potter fanfiction #wizarding world #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy fandom #hogwarts legacy x reader #hogwarts legacy sebastian #hogwarts legacy ominis #sebastian sallow fic #sebastian x mc #sebastian x reader #sebastian sallow angst #sebastian sallow fluff #harry potter legacy #harry potter universe

[the-pen-pot]

Fandom Creator's Self-Rec Game!

Choose five favourites from your own creations (and tell me why, if you like!), then pass on to at least five other people. I'd love to hear what you're proudest of.

Tagged by the wonderful @zaharya (whose post I have now bookmarked for later reading!)

Five of my own favourites, hmmmm. All right. Four of these are super long (all 200k+) , but the first one is relatively short for me, at somewhere around 15,000 words, for people looking for lighter reads! 😁 All are complete except Hiraeth.

Deliquesce (Merlin - Merthur - 15k)

The creatures stepped forward, long, narrow muzzles agape. The sun did not deter them, merely setting their subtle scales agleam. Thick saliva dripped from their jaws, smattering on the ground, yet they did not lunge forward to strike. Instead, they waited, their gaze unblinking as they stared. At first, Arthur thought they watched the knights, but when he shifted his stance, their eyes did not follow him, Instead, it was someone behind him who held them captivated. Merlin. ----- A chance encounter with a monster in the woods makes Arthur realise just how powerful Merlin's magic is, and the lengths he would go to in order to keep him safe.

This was meant to be a ficlet and got away from me. I particularly loved the ideas in this one, also BAMF Merlin ftw every single time! Written from Arthur's POV with some Merthury goodness towards the end.

Sorcerer's Bane (Merlin - Merthur - 264k)

Arthur gave Merlin his cloak thinking only of the warmth it would offer in a snowstorm. He never thought his manservant may be mistaken for him and snatched by bandits. Nor did he expect his dashing rescue of Merlin to turn his world so utterly on his head. Because the bandits hadn't kidnapped a prince. They'd snatched a sorcerer, and now captivity is the least of anyone's problems. A golden age awaits, but can they claim it together, or are they doomed to fail?

My first big Merthur fic, and the one where I healed from all the psychic damage done by the finale. This was my plotty, happily ever after fic, and I love it with all my heart!

Hiraeth (Merlin - Merthur - Work In Progress - 214k so far)

A hand grasped his arm, sending a brief thrill down Merlin's nerves as he was forced around to face the person behind him. Armour gleamed in the firelight: supple chainmail glinted, and the solid iron of a pauldron curved lovingly over one broad shoulder. The length of a sword blade separated them. The point hovered, steady and sure, over Merlin's heart, braced to run him through, but he did not care about any of that. He was too busy drinking in the sight of the man before him. He could never forget him, no matter how many centuries had passed. 'Arthur?' When Merlin ultimately fails in his destiny, the fading remnants of magic that linger in the modern world fling him not just back in time, but sideways as well. He ends up in a Camelot where all his friends are alive, well and aware of his magic. He ends up in a Camelot where his alternate self died almost a year ago. Can he, Arthur and their friends still forge the golden age he was once promised, or will grief and suspicion tear them apart?

Couldn't not mention my angsty, plotty wip. This fic is five billions miles outside my comfort zone. I'm currently in the "I have bitten off more than I can chew freak-out" stage of writing it and I'm still having so much fun. This fic owns my soul. Maybe one day it will release me, but I doubt it.

The Gilded Cage (Sherlock - Johnlock - 326K )

In a world where Omegas are the property of the elite Alphas, locked away and treasured by those wealthy enough to buy them, John never questioned his flatmate's secondary gender. Sherlock Holmes was an Alpha through-and through. Wasn't he? A chance discovery turns the world on its head, and John is left grappling to come to terms with Sherlock's past as events conspire to threaten their future.

The Johnlock omegaverse that nearly killed me, and the longest thing I have written (so far). I had such fun exploring potential gender dynamics and imagining how this world could be, while doing my best to keep the characters strong and true to themselves. An oldie, but according to most readers, a goody. Mixed POV

Riven Crown (The Hobbit - Bagginshield - 254k )

‘We may have won the battle, but I fear the war with winter is just beginning.’ The aftermath of war is no laughing matter. Those who died must be honoured, those who are wounded must be healed, and those who remain need food and clothing, peace and sanctuary. With Thorin's life hanging in the balance, it is up to Bilbo and the rest of the Company to rule the rag-tag remnants of Erebor in his place. Then there is the matter of the gold... Can Bilbo save both king and kingdom, or is Erebor destined to fall deeper into ruin?

My battle of the Five Armies fix it, political intrigue, everybody lives/nobody dies effort to make the the Peter Jackson movies hurt less. I think I succeeded. A much loved favourite, because my style feels like it's particularly suited to fantasy 😁

Tagging (with no pressure and apologies if any of you are not writers!) @the-reading-lemon @writingfanficsfan @cbk1000 @ajpendragon and @mojoflower (as well as anyone else who sees this and fancies it!

#Merthur #Johnlock #Bagginshield #Fic Ask

[lambourngb]

seven sentence sunday

I was tagged by the wonderful EJ @ravens-words  - I always appreciate you thinking of me.

I am writing again. I’m writing a LOT. I wrote 60,000 words last month, but I’m not writing RNM currently. I’m having a block there, I think it’s because the stories I was working on then, are tied to my dad being sick. Anyway I’m still working through it and I hope with more time, I can at least finish the Ringmaker epic and my sequel to LYW.

I am still into Top Gun. Currently, I have “survival is insufficient” which is a Last of Us/Top Gun fusion set just after Outbreak Day in 2003. It’s 55,000 words, IceMav. Currently pre-slash, lots of action, lots of pining, lots of “wow, the Iraq War was pretty fucked up, imagine if Zombies halted that 8 months in lol but then you see the US military carry out the same draconian behavior stateside as FEDRA”,

I just started “Working on Nathan Hale’s Eulogy” which is a pre-TGM, canon adjacent story, assuming established IceMav, how does Ice tell Mav he’s dying? It’s pretty heavy, drawing on alot of my own personal experience. It’s 9K now, hopefully finishes at 15K.

first off : survival is insufficient:

There was a disconcerting line of orange and pink undergrowth, trailing from the defunct ice cooler and leading toward the line of tractor-trailers. Tom nudged the vine with his toe, perplexed at why it was growing in the middle of the desert. He risked a glance toward the parked trucks, and jumped when a shadow moved behind the windshield of one of the trucks. He looked closer, and nearly every parked truck had … something, now scrabbling at the windows. 

“Organic tripwire,” Mav observed dryly next to him, while Tom struggled to take in what it meant for the fungal infection. It wasn’t just isolated to just taking over a body, it had spread out, sinking into concrete and other mediums while it waited for another host. “Looks like some of the truckers were sick when they stopped for the night.”

“Doesn’t look like enough intelligence in their brains survived infection for them to understand how to operate the door locks, they’re all trapped in there.” 

“No kidding, they’re not going anywhere. Truckers keep those cabs locked up like Fort Knox when they’re stopped. No one wants to get hijacked.”

“Lucky us,” Tom murmured before turning back to the closed market door. “There could be more of them in there.”

Mav shouldered his rifle with a sure grip, and nodded to him to pull the door open. “Well, we’ve come a long way since Lancaster. I’m ready this time.”

The door swung open, easily. 

They both waited for something to jump out from the store aisles, but nothing happened. The overhead fluorescent lights flickered briefly before staying on, bright and welcoming. It was the result of a long, sustained campaign by corporate interests to minimize maintenance on chain operations; the lights stayed on automatically, along with the drink coolers, only the human behind the counter had to be replaced after a shift. With a glance toward the doomed truckers in the lot, Tom stepped inside with Mav to investigate the store.

The shelves were empty of certain staples, beer, cigarettes, and easy to grab snacks. It had been clearly ransacked as the area descended into chaos, but not by any true survivalist looking to make a stand. The mini mart staples of motor oil, canned goods, and batteries were largely untouched. He exchanged a meaningful look with Mav, and he nodded in agreement with him; once they were fueled up, they would be back for the food and whatever else would fit in the Yukon. 

Mav moved toward the cashier register, and then inhaled sharply when he moved around the counter. “Got a body here, not infected… just looks like someone just shot him.”

“Infected don’t carry guns.”

“Well, the military would have been more efficient and dragged his body out. I think we’re looking at a run-of-the-mill human monster.” He whispered an apology under his breath, as he nudged the poor dead clerk out of the way, and then opened the panel that controlled the gas pumps. It was a matter of a few, chilling minutes of waiting, as Tom watched the door and the back hallways toward the bathroom for any signs of company, and then Mav flashed a thumbs up. “Okay, I told the pump we put a $100 in, the maximum, it should be enough to fill the Yukon and a few of our cans.”  

“Great, let’s get going before the welcome wagon from that crash site arrives.” Tom stayed on high alert as he filled the Yukon, the noises from the parked trucks kept growing louder as more and more trapped infected were alerted to their presence.

and now from: “Working on Nathan Hale’s Eulogy”:

“Now I need another shower,” Pete joked in response, a smile evident in his voice. 

Tom slowly collapsed down on top of him, taking care not to knee him, giving a grunt of acknowledgement as he worked to catch his breath again. His lungs were screaming for oxygen, complaining a little louder than what he thought was normal. Yet another small betrayal. He rolled over onto his back, and stretched his ribcage upward to take a deeper breath, with his eyes closed. 

The bed shifted next to him, Pete moved toward the nightstand for a wet wipe. Tom flinched at the cold touch, before sighing in pleasure as Pete began to clean them up thoroughly with slow, loving swipes. Pete made a considering sound in his throat as he tracked upward, cleaning off their chests. “You haven’t been skipping lunch, have you, Ice? And dinner? You look like you’ve lost a little weight.”

“Just getting ready for the beach season,” Tom joked, even though a small wave of alarm swept through him.

Pete slapped him with the end of the wet wipe, “Asshole. I’m serious, you better be taking care of yourself while I’m in the desert.”

“I promise, I’m not skipping any meals.” He left it unsaid that he wasn’t finishing his meals either. 

“I’ll make you a big omelet in the morning,” Pete promised, his voice warm and drowsy with love. “Will fix you right up.”

If only that were true.

*

#seven sentence sunday #so much more than that #icemav #my wips

[succubusphan]

A Rose of Winter - Chapter 1

Summary: All Daniel wanted to do was escape the stifling life as a Stark of Winterfell and travel the world. Between the looming threat North of The Wall and the den of lions in the capital, he unexpectedly finds love in the midst of a war set to tear Westeros apart. Caught between loyalty to his family and duty, he is torn in a thousand directions that all point to one man: Philip Flowers.

Rating: E (There are only a few smut scenes but it's an M for battles, war, and other adult topics)

Tags/warnings: I removed most triggers (no R or SA, no minors involved in sex, no gore). It does include: Deaths either written without details or in a poetic way if it's an important character (Dan and Phil, Ghost and Balerion will live but everyone else is fair game). Strangers to lovers, Slow Burn, missing each other. The prophecies and stories foreshadowed are fulfilled, a satisfying ending to the entire story without plot holes. Extreme canon divergence. Dan and Phil are not replacing characters, they were written in. GAME OF THRONES AU

Author's Note: This is my OSPBB 2022, Couldn't have done it without my betas @effingmeteors and @filisaceaf.

Word Count: Each chapter will be around 15k and have at least one Dan or Phil pov. The total wc is about 210k.

Read on Ao3

DAN

Winterfell, North of Westeros. 

Dan got lost staring into those piercing blue eyes; they were calling to him, luring him out, trying to drag him to the abyss below and claim his soul. He tried to resist but he was defenceless against the creature, so he took a step forward, letting himself be consumed little by little, giving in, gasp-

Suddenly, the covers were pulled from his body, a cool draft making him shiver. Dan bolted upright and saw his brother smirking with all of his bedding in his hands.

“Get up, father is looking for you. You should be teaching Bran already,” Jon said.

“Where is Robb?” 

Jon shrugged. “I’m not his keeper, little brother. Now hurry, before Lord Stark comes looking for you.” With that, he walked out of his room, leaving the door wide open. 

Dan groaned and climbed out of bed, pulling his breeches and coat on, along with his leather armour and boots. He didn’t bother with any more layers because he knew he would be sweating in no time. He rushed down the stone staircase and out the door of the Great Keep in search of his brothers. 

The shooting ring was already set up across the courtyard, Bran standing off to the side, an arrow already resting on the bow, the string drawn. Just as he was about to shoot, Dan smiled and shouted: “Posture!” 

Bran was startled by his voice and missed the shot horribly, nearly hitting the blacksmith who was not even close to the target. “Dan!” he said, stomping his little feet, “I was about to hit the target!”

“No, you weren’t,” said Dan and Robb in unison. 

“Your posture was all wrong,” Dan insisted, coming to stand behind him and correcting his angle as well as poking his back. “You are slouching. Stand up straight.” 

Bran huffed and positioned another arrow. He drew the string, took a deep breath, and shot, missing the target but hitting the head of the dummy. 

Robb snorted and looked at Dan. “You are late.”

“I overslept, but here I am.” 

“Wars don’t wait for you, Dan,” his father said from the bridge connecting the Great Keep and the Armoury. He was watching them closely along with their mother.

Dan paled. Was he going to be in trouble for being late again? He didn’t want to disappoint his family, but he had the feeling that if war broke, he would. He was a skilled swordsman but he lacked discipline most days. “What better way to part from this world than sleeping? War may find me in bed and keep me there forever.”

“Daniel!” His mother admonished him. “I have told you to not joke about that. Death is not a laughing matter, not to Winterfell, not to our family.”  

“Sorry, Mother!” Dan’s stomach turned. She was right. The Starks had once been a big family but that was no more. His grandfather and uncle had died at the hands of the king - the Mad King - and his aunt at the hands of his son. This had scarred the family and put Winterfell into such grief that it lasted even to this day. 

The northern families were used to sacrifice and loss, but never like that. 'Summer children' every old man Dan ever came across called them. The longest summer that had ever been, but come winter he knew every man would struggle to protect their families, and to give them a chance to survive the famine that accompanied it all. When the temperature dropped and the ice descended from the heavens, a mouth less to feed would be a worthy sacrifice, leaving the supplies for those who stayed behind to rebuild. 

Bran huffed at the exchange and shot another arrow, still missing the target but not by much.

“Enough of that,”  their father said. “Come along, we are riding for the hills.”

Dan blinked in confusion but nodded. He threw his heaviest furs over his shoulders, readied his horse and waited for the rest of the party. The bannermen rode ahead, carrying the Stark house sigil, the direwolf, announcing who followed. His father and Theon Greyjoy, his ward, led the party. Then came Robb and Dan as they were the eldest children; Jon and Bran followed closely behind.

The ride was slow and silent. A man had been found wandering, speaking nonsense. He was a man of the Night’s Watch; a deserter. 

His destiny was sealed. Deserters were executed. Dan looked to his side, his eyes meeting Jon’s. They were the same age, mere months apart. Sons of the same father but different mothers. A lady and a tavern wench. Dan’s heart ached for Jon, who had never gotten the love of a mother; or of most people, to be honest. The most his bastard brother could aspire to be was a man of the Night’s Watch, much like the one they were about to see depart from this world. 

The prisoner waited for his sentence without a fight, held only by two brothers of The Watch. He seemed to be a few years older than Dan himself, which surprised him. For some reason, Dan had been expecting him to be a young and inexperienced boy, but he was not. 

Lord Stark dismounted and approached the man, speaking to him without malice or judgement. “Why did you run?” He asked calmly.

“White Walkers.” The man said, shaking. “I saw them - beyond The Wall .”

His father shook his head, venturing a look at the captors.

“I know what I saw!” He defended himself. “It is alright, I accept my fate. Just - please. Tell my family. I want them to know that I am not a coward.” The man was dragged to kneel before a block of stone, bending over it until his chest was flushed to the rock and his head stuck out, awaiting his sentence.

“Do not look away, he’ll know you did,” Jon said to Bran, standing beside him, pressing a comforting hand to his shoulder; Dan stood on the other side, wishing he could look away, dreading what was to come.

Unsheathing his sword, their father passed the sentence. “In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard of the house Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die.” 

With a swing of the sword, the man was no more. Their father turned to them and addressed Bran. “Do you understand why I had to be the one to do it?” 

“Because it’s the old way?” he asked.

“The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If we do not carry that responsibility, we may make that decision too easily, forgetting that a life is cut short by people following our orders.”

Bran nodded in understanding. “Is that true? Are the White Walkers real?”

“The White Walkers have been gone for thousands of years.”

“But he saw them.”

“A madman sees what he sees.”

Dan pressed his lips into a line, not knowing what to think. Nobody had seen White Walkers in many, many winters, but this man had seen something, something that scared him so deeply that he chose to flee to a certain death rather than stay at The Wall. 

Then, he looked at Robb, who seemed undisturbed about the execution, and Jon who had his dark eyes trained on the body. Dan had to briefly wonder if their father would think the same way if it was his son’s neck on the stone. Would he execute Jon if he deserted? 

Getting back on their horses, the men slowly began the ride back through the woods, the spirits low, pondering on what they had just witnessed. The party came to a stop when they found a stag. It was lying dead in the middle of the road, its belly fully open by some sort of beast. 

Their father dismounted to take a better look at it and try to determine what could have possibly attacked him. The rest followed suit, too curious to look from a distance. 

A noise coming from the bushes alerted them. Drawing their swords, the men ventured off the road to check for a dangerous animal. Dan’s jaw fell as he saw a wolf as big as himself, lying dead on the ground, an antler piercing its body, a litter of pups howling around it. 

“What will they do without their mother?” Bran asked, holding onto Jon’s cloak for reassurance. 

“Nothing. They will starve to death.” Their father said.

Theon unsheathed his knife and picked one of the pups up, putting the blade to its throat. “We should kill them.” 

Bran gasped, his face stricken by horror. “No! Father, please!” 

“It is what’s right,” he said. 

Stepping forward, Jon grabbed one of the small wolves. “My Lord, there are five pups and you have five children. There is one for each of the Stark children and the direwolf is your house sigil; you were meant to find them.” 

Dan let out a sigh of relief as his father gave him an all black beauty, a grey one to Robb, and a white and orange one to Bran, who accepted it happily. 

“You will raise them yourselves, feed them, train them, and if they die - you will bury them yourselves.” He gave the other two to Dan to carry home for his sisters. 

Just as they turned back to their horses, Jon heard something, stopped short and ventured back past the trees, and even further. He kneeled and brought a white ball of fur close to his face, smiling. Then, he held it up, showing it to Dan. It was another direwolf pup, white as snow but with piercing red eyes. 

“That’s the runt of the litter,” said Theon playfully. “That one is for you, Snow.”

Unbothered by Theon’s provocations, Jon walked back to his horse and mounted it. 

“How did you find it?” Dan whispered.

“I thought I heard someone calling my name,” Jon said.

The ride back to Winterfell felt quick and easy, Dan’s mind already focusing on his pup and how he was going to raise the small beast. He wondered if it would be a good companion and he certainly hoped so. 

As soon as they crossed the gates, Dan got off his horse and walked inside in search of his little sisters. He tried The Great Hall, but it seemed he had missed not only breakfast but lunch as well. He sighed tiredly and made his way to his bedroom to leave his pup on the bed before dragging his feet to the sewing room and knocking on the door. 

Septa Mordane opened the door and gave him an unimpressed, yet fond look. “Daniel, to what do we owe the pleasure?” she asked.

Dan opened his satchel and carefully pulled the two sleeping pups. 

Sansa and Arya rushed to him, their needlework carelessly abandoned on the table. 

“By the gods, where did you find these?” Sansa asked with a wide smile as she grabbed the fairest of the two. 

“They were in the woods. Their mother was killed by a stag.”

“A direwolf on this side of The Wall ?” Arya asked curiously and wasted no time grabbing the other. “Poor girl. Don’t worry, I will be your mother.”

“You are eleven, you cannot be a mother,” huffed Sansa. 

“You are not much older than me so if I can’t, you can’t either!” Arya replied and walked away without a glance back. 

Dan shrugged and left to tend to his new companion, but first, he needed food for the both of them.

---

Life continued as usual, the northern days grey and wet. Most days he had trouble getting out of bed to fulfil his duties: training Bran, learning to be a Lord, a future leader, and a man. The sheer responsibility of it made his head spin, made him want to ride into the night, to never be seen again, but he loved his family and couldn’t picture life away from them, from his home. Dan was not made to be any of what was expected of him and he knew that was a great disappointment to his parents, but they had Robb, their perfect child, and thus, Dan could allow himself to be imperfect, to be as much of himself as he could be. 

He sighed tiredly and snapped his fingers, calling Balerion over, and made his way out of the Great Keep and into the Godswood. He looked at the white tree that had stood undisturbed in the centre of Winterfell for thousands of years, witnessing its history, watching the Starks come into this world, grow old and die. Would it remember Dan? Certainly not. Balerion chewed softly on his fingers, trying to get his attention. “Alright, alright. I’ll cheer up. Now,” he said, picking a small branch from the ground and giving him a half-smile, “run!” 

Balerion chased after the branch, catching it midair and staring at him expectantly. “Give me that!” Dan said, trying to make his wolf return with the stick but to no avail. Still, he laughed and walked over, petting him and congratulating him on his hard work. “I don’t believe your training is working, but that’s ok; neither is mine.” 

Dan heard someone walk over and peeked from behind a tree. His father sat under the weirwood tree and pulled out his sword, washing it on the pond. His mother followed shortly after. 

“My love… a letter came in the night. John Arryn is dead.”

“Your sister?”

His mother shook her head, her long brown hair flowed in the wind. She laced her fingers before her. “Fever; he was gone in a matter of days. I’m sorry, I know he was like a father to you.” 

His father let his head hang. 

“That is not all. The King rides for Winterfell - with his Queen and children and all the rest of them,” she said, her tone dripping with disdain. 

His father’s head snapped. “You know what that means. The hand of the king has passed.”

“You don’t have to say yes. You don’t owe him anything.”

“He is my King. I owe it to him to listen to his proposal.” 

Dan gasped. He couldn’t hear anymore, the noise in his ears muffling anything else. He turned to Balerion and hugged him tightly, trying to take a deep breath. The King

wanted his father as his closest advisor. This was not a job one could easily decline or retire from. For all Dan knew, if his father accepted the offer, he would die in King's Landing. 

Ever since the last war, which ended months after his birth, his parents had made it a point of keeping every single family member in Winterfell, and now they were about to be tossed to the wind. Would his father want him to join? Would he be assigned to protect Robb?

He needed to think, and fast. The King would be at Winterfell in a matter of weeks. 

----

News had broken that the King was near. Nerves consumed Dan as he sat with the barber, getting just a haircut since he’d never been able to grow a beard like the rest of his brothers. 

“One day you will grow to be a real man, little brother,” Jon teased. “You will get a nice beard like mine.”

“I should be the one to call you little brother. You may be a few months older but I am much taller than you,” Dan said, thankful for his brother’s attempt to distract him. 

“You shouldn’t speak to Dan like that, bastard. Lord Stark will not stand for it. Better focus on loving women more than you love that long hair of yours.”

“Oh, shut up Theon!” Dan said, standing from the stool and allowing Jon his turn. “This is a conversation between brothers and it does not concern you.” 

“That is true,” Robb finally said. “But it is also true that Jon has never loved a woman more than he loves his hair.”

“I am cutting it for the King’s visit, isn’t that enough?” Jon asked, letting the barber slide the knife against his cheek.

“Well, I guess it depends on if you plan to cut it again before the next King comes to visit,” Dan smirked.

Jon threw a dirty rag at his face, making him laugh. 

He stepped out to the Courtyard and immediately saw Bran standing on the wall. His heart skipped a beat as he watched his little brother jump from section to section of the wall, onto the side of the broken tower, hanging from stone to stone and jumping to the ground. 

“I saw him! I saw him!” Bran said, running towards him. 

“Who?” Dan asked, playing coy. 

“The King!” Bran said, “There are hundreds of people with him, and a red carriage too!” 

“Well, of course! He’s the King!”

Their mother rushed to them. “Brandon! I have told you time and time again. No climbing!”

“But, Mum!” 

“I said: no climbing!”

“Yes, mother.” Bran let his head hang, trying to look remorseful but Dan smiled knowing he would do it again as soon as their mother looked away. 

“Now go get your sisters. I expect you all to be on your best behaviour!” 

Dan let out a deep sigh, regretting it the moment his mother gave him a reproachful look. He smiled and stood off to the side, watching everyone rush to form and wait for the King to ride into Winterfell. 

The banners entered first, a black stag on a yellow background representing house Baratheon. The King followed, sitting proudly on his horse. He was nothing like Dan had imagined him. A tall man in his forties, black curly hair down to his shoulders and robust body; too robust to match the fame he’d received as a warrior decades before. He descended from the horse with great difficulty, shouting and cursing as he gave the reins to one of his soldiers. He walked over, standing in front of Dan’s father. “Ned! Nine years. You’ve gotten fat”

Dan wanted to snort when he saw his father look the King in the eyes and pointedly at his wine belly, but he resisted. 

The King threw his head back and laughed, pulling both Ned and Catelyn into a fierce hug. “And you, you look strong!” The man said, looking at Robb. “Your name?” 

“Robb,” he said with a charming smile.

“A fine name!” He walked over to Dan who was nervously resting his hand on his sword. “Ah, an alert man! You’ll make a good warrior,” he laughed and continued. 

Dan let out a sigh of relief as the King greeted his sisters. “Who may this young lady be?” 

“My name is Sansa, Your Grace.” 

He looked to Arya, who was wrapped in a coat too big for her and wearing a helmet, and nodded at her. 

“How old are you?” he asked Bran. 

“Ten!” he said. 

“Show me your muscles!” King Robert said, flexing his arm.

Bran flexed his arms, making the old King laugh. 

Then, the red carriage crossed the gate. It was quite beautiful and adorned with golden lions; there was no doubt about who was inside. The doors opened to reveal the Queen, Cersei Lannister, long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, a beauty to say the least. Her three children followed her, all three of them as blonde as their mother. She walked to the Stark family with a tight smile as she dragged her beautiful red dress through the mud. Her distaste was evident. 

Dan frowned as he saw a soldier ride with a helmet shaped like the head of a dog; that couldn’t possibly be comfortable or useful in battle. Perhaps it was a fear tactic. 

A tall blonde man approached the Queen with a smile. It was Jaime Lannister, the Queen’s twin brother. Dan had to admit that he was looking at him so intently he lost track of what was happening around them. 

Arya’s voice pulled him from his musings. “Where is the imp?” 

Dan’s eyes widened at the term and looked around in search of the third Lannister sibling, but he was nowhere to be found. 

The Queen looked at them but didn’t mention Arya’s transgression; instead, she offered her hand to his father and greeted his mother as she gave her a once over. 

“Is this the first time you ride north, My Queen?” 

“Yes,” she said. “It is quite an interesting country. I hope to see more of it.”

His mother made a curtsy and the unnecessary display was over. The king and his father descended to the crypt to visit his late aunt Lyanna leaving everyone else to do as they pleased.

Dan finally relaxed and went in search of Jon; he had no interest in sharing more time than necessary with the King or the others. 

--

“What will you wear for the banquet tonight?” Dan asked.  

“I am not invited,” his brother said, looking away in shame. “Your mother said my presence would insult the Queen.”

“That’s nonsense!” Dan huffed. His mother was incredibly resentful towards Jon for the sins of their father. What fault of his own would a child have for being born from a tavern wench?

Jon shrugged, pretending not to be affected by it, but Dan knew him better than that. 

“You will join us. We will sit out back and nobody will disturb us. Mother doesn’t even have to know.” 

“You are being ridiculous, Dan. They would spot us in a second, and if they didn’t Greyjoy would point us out to our father.”

“Well - then, I am not going either. I would be incredibly bored!”

“You could speak to Robb…” 

“I love Robb, but the only thing we have in common is our father.”

“And swords.”

“He is better than me in that too, like in everything else.” 

Jon laughed. “He’s prettier too.” 

“Shut up. It is true but you should not mention it,” Dan said, unable to hold a laugh in.

“Someone had to be taller than you. Your ego does not need that kind of boost.” 

Dan stood closer to Jon and looked down at him with a smirk. “I am sorry, I cannot hear you from up here.” 

“Boys,” a voice said. Dan turned on the spot and watched a cloaked figure emerge from the dark. The man removed his hood and Dan threw his arms around him. 

“Uncle Benjen!” 

“Dan! You have grown!” he said. 

“One of us had to,” Dan laughed and stepped back, allowing Jon to greet their uncle. 

“I’ve grown in muscle, little brother, that’s where it matters,” Jon said, pulling uncle Bejen into a hug and patting his back loudly. 

“Why aren’t you inside?” 

“We don’t belong there,” Dan rushed to say. 

Jon looked at him in wonder. “I am taking the black, you cannot come with me.”

“I can - but I will not,” Dan said. “I will ride with you before making my own destiny.” 

Jon nodded.

“If you join the Night’s Watch you will never marry or father children. Are you certain that is what you want?”

“Yes. I am a bastard. What future could I give them? I will never inflict this curse, this shame upon a child.”

Uncle Benjen looked into his eyes. “I will stay for a few more days. You have until then to decide if you want to ride back with me. Once you have sworn your oath, there is no turning back.” 

“I know. I want to join The Watch and protect the north, as the Starks have always done.”

Benjen nodded and walked to the Great Keep. 

“I will talk to Father about it,” Dan said and turned to follow their uncle, his pace slowing as he saw Tyrion Lannister exiting the Guest House with a cup of wine in hand. Dan took a right and entered the halls, hiding in the shadows to better listen to their conversation. 

“Aren’t you Ned Stark’s bastard?” he asked Jon. 

“Lord Stark is my father. Aren’t you the imp?” 

“I may be known by that name, yes. People lack imagination,” the Lannister said. “I may have overheard that you are taking the black, is that correct?”

“Why is it of any importance to you?”

“Because you could come to King’s Landing instead. Join the guards, meet the town, fuck a girl. Here everything you are is a stain on your father’s reputation, but in the south, you could be so much more. You could have a life.”

“The north is my life. I will gladly man The Wall before I guard the likes of you.”

“Don’t be offended, bastard. I meant no harm. You should not let the name bother you, they will always use it against you if you give them that power; instead, wear it like armour and reclaim the term for yourself.”

“What do you know about being a bastard?”

“Every dwarf is a bastard in his father’s eyes,” Tyrion said with a half-smile. He nodded and made his way back to the Guest House.

--

Dan attempted to get his father’s attention and discuss his future with him, but he was Lord Stark first and his father second. He told Dan in no uncertain way, that he was to sit with Robb at the banquet and behave like the man he wished to be treated as. There would be no concessions unless he joined the rest of the family in honouring the King. 

Feeling defeated, Dan changed into a more formal outfit and mentally prepared himself for a long and boring night, trying to disappear into the background. He gave one last look at Balerion, wishing that he could stay back with his friend and made his way down the stairs. 

Wine and ale were running rampant already, the music was loud - too loud - and the food was plentiful. Out of those three Dan only cared for the latter. 

He walked to the raised dais where the main table was situated and sat beside his older brother with a tight smile. 

“I was beginning to worry that you would not come.”

“I was not going to but Father strongly suggested that I did, and here I am.” 

Robb poured wine into a glass and passed it on to Dan. “Well, if you are going to be here, at least you can make it so you don’t remember the night.” 

Dan briefly considered it but caught his mother staring intently at him. She was sitting by the Queen, which made the woman turn to him as well. He smiled as widely as he could, inclining his head in respect and looked away, finally taking a sip from his glass. 

There was pork near him and bread, he shrugged, tearing bits of the meat with his fingers and making a sandwich. 

“Will you bring someone into your room tonight?” Robb asked.

“I believe feeding someone to Balerion would be frowned upon.” 

Robb rolled his eyes at him. “That is not what I mean and you know it.” 

Dan shrugged. His brother didn’t need to know that he had never invited anyone into his quarters. He followed Robb’s line of vision and found one of the King’s Guards looking at him. He was very young, perhaps two or three years older than Dan himself, handsome, blonde and had green eyes, but what melted Dan’s heart was the devilish smile he was giving him. 

The man raised one eyebrow at him and looked to the door leading to the courtyard. 

Taking another sip of wine, Dan considered it and nodded once. He focused on eating, for the time being, he would have to inquire about the man’s intentions later.

A ball of food flew right in front of his face, nearly hitting him, but caught Sansa instead. His sister, visibly upset by this, yelled Arya’s name and turned to her friend, asking for assistance to clean her skin as soon as possible. Of course, the damage was already done. Sansa was in that sweet age in which a lady found herself embarrassed at most things, and the fact that Prince Joffrey was looking at her intently made it so he’d seen what happened. 

The Prince in question did not seem… agreeable, but he had the courtesy of not mocking his sister for the incident. He smiled at her instead. 

Princess Myrcella and their younger brother, Tommen found the display incredibly funny and cheered Arya on. 

Dan looked to his parents; they were too busy entertaining the King and Queen to pay attention to anyone’s comings and goings. This was tremendously upsetting because it meant, his presence at the banquet had never been essential; nobody would have noticed his absence, but on the other hand, he could still slip out and find adventure. He finished his meal and wine and asked Robb to cover for him if anyone noticed he was gone. 

His brother snorted but encouraged him to go. 

Staring into the guard’s eyes and cocking his head, Dan stood from the bench and walked out of the Great Hall without hesitation or rush. He had almost made it past the armoury when someone pulled him into a dark corner, pressing him against the wall. 

“What is your name, beautiful?” 

“Dan. Yours?” 

“Nathar. How old are you?” 

“Eighteen,” Dan said, a bit dumbfounded by the whispered conversation. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but a talk was definitely not in his plans.

“Good. May I kiss you?”

“Please,” Dan said, leaning closer into Nathar's space.

Dan was extremely happy that he had not drunk much wine, he wanted to remember this night. Nathar pressed his entire body against Dan’s, closing the distance between them into a desperate kiss, his tongue making Dan’s legs shake. He then thrust his hips against Dan’s leg, letting him feel his excitement, driving him mad. 

For a moment, Dan thought he was ascending to the heavens, but Nathar decided to focus on his neck and that pulled him back to the pits of hell. Smouldering heat rose through him; no man or beast would be able to pull him away from Nathar if they tried. Digging his nails into his backside, Dan let out a choked moan and was left gasping for air.

“So pretty,” Nathar said urgently, panting into Dan’s neck as he snapped his hips. 

Dan took pity on him and bit his neck, perhaps a bit too hard and felt him shake.

“Daniel,” he moaned. “If you ever come to King’s Landing - find me.” 

Dan laughed at how unexpected this night had been but nodded nonetheless. He had no idea if he’d done anything wrong, but given Nathar’s reaction, he assumed not.

Stepping back into the Great Hall for a moment, Dan picked some meat from an abandoned plate at the banquet and headed to his room. Balerion would be waiting. He climbed into bed and let darkness lead him to another world. 

---

Having decided that his time at Winterfell was coming to an end, Dan decided to speak to his father, man to man. 

He found him standing on the bridge, staring out into the courtyard where Arya and Bran were playing with wooden swords. 

Dan stood next to him, putting his hands behind his lower back in a vain attempt to look more like him and cleared his throat. 

Ned turned to him and smiled. “You finally rolled out of bed?”

“I have been awake since sunrise, actually.” 

“I didn’t see you at breakfast.”

“No, I was packing and spending time with Balerion.” 

“Will you be joining us then?”

“No,” he said, hesitating, bracing himself for his father’s reaction. “I will be riding with Jon - to The Wall .” 

His father’s smile vanished and was replaced with a frown. He was looking at him as if it was the first time they were meeting. “Dan, I don’t think you would be a right fit for the Night’s Watch.”

Dan snorted despite his nerves. “I am not taking the black, Father. I just wish to go out and see the world; to have an adventure.”

“Why would you start such an adventure by visiting The Wall ?” 

“Are you really asking me why I want to visit an ice wall as high as one hundred men and as wide as Westeros, created thousands of years ago to keep White Walkers from descending to the rest of the continent? Why do I want to meet the men who vow to protect said wall for life under the penalty of execution?”

Ned shook his head. “You are much too young to be frolicking around Westeros; you belong in the North!”

“I am only a year younger than you were when you married mother,” Dan said, frowning. 

“Dan,” he sighed, running his fingers through his long brown hair. “I am leaving for King's Landing with your sisters. Your mother needs you, Winterfell needs you. Winter is coming and I do not want you away from the family.”

“Mother has Robb, as well as Winterfell. You know that nobody here needs me. I am not like him, I am not a leader, nor I am as good with the sword as he is. I want to make a life of my own; to become someone.”

“You are someone, you are Daniel Stark of Winterfell - you are my son.” 

“But I want to be more than that.”

“Where would you go?”

“Wherever life takes me.”

“I do not like this. I will not allow it.”

“I am not asking for your permission, Father. I am a man. You can’t protect me forever.”

Ned looked at his youngest children. Arya had disarmed Bran and was pointing at him with her wooden sword, a triumphant smile on her face. “Will you return to Winterfell if they need you?”

“Always,” Dan said. He loved his siblings, he would always come to their aid. His loyalty was first and foremost, to house Stark, to Winterfell. “I will not abandon them.”

His father let out a long sigh and looked at him. His eyes softened as he brushed a curl from Dan’s face. “Very well. You are a man now. I will not stand in your way.”

“Thank you,” he said and Dan realised at that moment that he had never thanked him for anything.

--

Dan would have loved to say that his last days at Winterfell were uneventful, but the gods had other plans for the Starks. Two days before he was due to leave with Jon, he had a strange dream. 

He was running through the hills right outside the castle, panting, much closer to the ground than usual. Then, he looked down and saw his black paws as he ran back home, he was a wolf. As soon as he crossed the gate, he saw summer standing by the Broken Tower, curiously looking up at her little master. He came flying down to them, landing near them with a thud.

Summer howled as loudly as she could, calling for help. 

Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. He sat up, gasping, staring straight into Balerion’s eyes. He whined and bit his hand softly, trying to drag him away from bed. 

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” Dan wrapped himself in his thickest coat and ran outside, nearly falling down the stairs, Balerion following close. His heart dropped when he saw his mother kneeling on the floor, Maester Luwin standing beside her. Bran’s body - no. Bran was laying on the ground, unconscious. He was alive - he had to be alive.

“Mother!” Dan said, kneeling next to his brother. He put his fingers next to Bran’s nose and felt that he was breathing. 

Maester Luwin checked his neck and his chest and looked at her. “He is alive, but badly hurt. We need to put him in his bed to rest.”

“Will he be alright?” Dan asked, looking at his mother out of the corner of his eye. She was not answering, simply caressing Bran’s hair as tears fell from her eyes.

The old man pressed his lips into a thin line. “Only time will tell.” 

--

Time seemed to slow down after. Dan was starting to second guess his decision to travel, but he had always heard that Castle Black was not so far away. He could return and see Bran when he had recovered before continuing on his way. It still made his chest heavy, but he was going mad, waiting and waiting for anything to change but Bran did not wake up, he did not move or moan in pain. Still, his mother did not leave his side at all; she wanted to be there, to make sure she was the first person Bran saw when he opened his eyes. 

Dan took to drinking on the bridge and watching people go about their lives as if nothing had happened. The King was honoured every night, the dwarf spent day in and day out in the brothel and the rest of them, barely offered any help or support for his family. 

He followed Nathar with his eyes, he was guarding Prince Joffrey for the night. Dan almost snorted when the imp slapped his nephew and then slapped him again. He could only hear them faintly, but was sure that the little brat deserved it. Then, he heard it. “You will go and pay respects to the boy’s parents! Their youngest child nearly died!”

“I do not care! I am the Prince!” 

Tyrion slapped him again.

“I will tell mother!” 

Another slap. “Run along then, run along and tell her, but before you do that, make sure to pay your respects to the Starks.”

Dan followed the youngest Lannister sibling to the Great Keep, curious to see what he was up to. He sat far enough that he could hear them but not be noticed right away. He grabbed a piece of meat and poured himself a glass of wine, nearly freezing when the Queen asked about Bran’s health. Contrary to what anyone would think, she said that it was cruel to let him live if he wasn’t conscious, even if he had been in bed for a week alone. 

Taking a long sip of his wine, Dan pondered what exactly were the intentions of the Lannisters with his family. He decided that none of them was trustworthy, which made the King fall under the same category. 

Before retiring to bed, Dan stopped by Bran’s room and kissed his forehead, whispering that he should hurry back to them to see him off, promising to take him on adventures. He petted Summer, who was laying next to him, watching Dan intently. “Good girl,” he said. With a kiss to his mother’s cheek, he returned to his room, crossing paths with the Queen and bowing before her. He crawled into bed and fell into a fitful sleep. 

---

Dan walked into the great keep and made his way up the stairs, trying to reach Bran, worrying for his safety. He stood by his door for a moment but saw the queen standing by his bed. Wondering why she was there, he stepped inside as silently as possible and sat very still, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. 

The woman noticed him nonetheless, freezing for a moment. “What is that beast doing here?”

“My apologies, Your Grace. That is Balerion, he is harmless.”

“I would not be so sure of it. You should not keep them as pets.”

“My children have trained them. I assure you they mean no harm.”

His mother pressed her lips into a line before smiling at the queen. “Balerion, leave.” 

He let out a high-pitched whine, but she raised her eyebrows at him. “Leave,” she said, firmly. 

Dan lowered his head and walked out of the room, looking over his shoulder, but finally exiting when she gestured to him to continue. Still, he sat right outside where he could still hear their conversation.

“A handsome boy, isn't he?” She paused. “What has the Maester said?”

“They have done everything that was possible; now we must wait until he decides to return to us. I pray every day for his recovery.”

“A mother’s love knows no limits. I understand your pain, my first child died shortly after birth. A black-haired beauty. Robert only let me hold him for a moment before they took him from me. I never saw him again, never visited the crypt. It is just too painful.” She sighed. “I will pray to the mother that she returns him to you.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. You are most kind.” 

Hearing footsteps approaching, Dan made his way down the stairs and returned to his room, his last thought was how odd it was to watch himself sleep.

--

Dan’s last day at home was bittersweet. He made a point of spending time with each of his siblings. 

First, he went in search of Robb. He found him at the Great Hall, having an early breakfast, already preparing to take on the role of his father in his absence. Dan watched him from afar at first, trying to burn Robb’s face in his memory; exactly how he looked the last time they saw each other until the next. There was a big chance that this would be the last opportunity all the Stark children would be together in quite a few years. 

Robb sat strong and tall, his curly hair shining with hues of red with the sunlight coming from the window behind him. His handsome face and gentle smile were his most recognizable features. Dan knew that he would never be as good as Robb, but he didn’t hate his brother for it; he admired him. 

“Will you be joining me or continue lurking from the shadows, Daniel?” He said, staring straight ahead, extending his hand to the side to feed Greywind a big piece of meat.

Dan laughed. “One can learn a lot by watching people from the shadows.” He walked over and sat across from Robb.

“What have you learned from me?” He asked, smiling proudly. He absentmindedly grabbed another piece of meat when the wolf chewed on his fingers, demanding another treat and offered it to him. 

Dan considered teasing him, making a mean joke, but deep down, he would rather say something more genuine, something he had never said before. “That you would make a good king,” he whispered. “You have the soul of a kind leader.”

Robb’s eyebrows rose and his smile widened. “You will get us both executed with that kind of comment.” 

“It is the truth, I am merely stating it,” Dan said, biting into a piece of bread and tearing a good chunk out of it. 

“I can see where Balerion learned to eat like that,” his brother said with a smirk. Sighing heavily to Greywind, he gave him a pork’s leg and let him run with it.

“Not all of us can be as perfect.” 

Robb’s smile disappeared and Dan knew he had said the wrong thing again. “You are perfect. Just the way you are, Dan. You are a good man and a Stark of Winterfell - and you will always be, no matter what happens.” 

Dan’s eyes filled with tears. He nodded, clearing his throat. “Thank you.” 

“If you get bored of your little adventure, just come home. I will be waiting for you,” Robb said and Dan knew he meant every word. 

He ate as fast as he could and went out to the courtyard. Jon was speaking with the Queen’s brother; the Kingslayer. What a wonderful family they had: a heartless woman, a kingslayer, and an imp.

“You will enjoy the Night’s Watch greatly!” the Kingslayer said, his voice carrying loud enough for Dan to hear the conversation and decided to rescue Jon.

“It is my honour to take the black and protect Westeros.”

“A crowd of thieves, murderers and abusers protecting us from what exactly? From Ice demons that nobody has seen in thousands of years? From the wildlings? They cannot cross The Wall .”

“I would rather devote my life to fight for what I believe is right than betraying those I am supposed to protect,” Jon said and Dan’s eyes widened. 

It was true. Jaime Lannister had been the King’s guard of Robert Baratheon’s predecessor. He had stood by his side, swearing his loyalty to the king but in the end, he had stabbed him when his back was turned. Yes, the King had gone absolutely mad but he could have at least looked him in the eye as he took his life. It was easy to become an acclaimed swordsman when you had no honour. Nevertheless, Jon’s honesty could easily put him in a complicated situation, especially being a bastard, so Dan walked faster.

“Brother! We should visit Bran,” Dan said, looking at him intently. 

“Daniel, is it?” the Kingslayer said. 

“Yes. You are the Queen’s brother,” Dan said with a wide smile. “How can we be of service?”

“I was just wishing your brother good luck,” the man said, giving him both the most charming and coldest smile Dan had ever seen.

“Thank you,” Dan said, looking at him expectantly.  

He extended his hand to Jon for him to shake and Dan prayed to the Old Gods that he did. Luckily, his brother looked at Dan out of the corner of his eye and shook Jaime’s hand. 

“Thank you for protecting us with your life,” the Lannister man said sarcastically and turned without waiting for a reply. 

“What did he want?”

“To berate me, like everyone else,” Jon said, unfazed. “I have already said goodbye to Bran. Or I tried my best. Your mother asked me to leave shortly after.” 

“Would you like me to distract her so that you can visit him again?”

Jon shook his head. “Our little brother needs rest and my heart cannot bear to see him like that. He belongs outside, climbing, running free.” 

“He will recover and do all those things again; I am sure of it.”

“I hope so, Dan.” Jon turned to the blacksmith and grabbed a small sword, long and thin, with a grip covered in brown leather. “Thank you,” he said, sliding it into a brown leather sheath and wrapping it in a piece of cloth.

“That is an unusual sword for you.”

“It is not for me.”

“Who is it for then?” 

“Walk with me,” Jon said, making his way to the Great Keep and climbing up the stairs. He knocked on Arya’s door and waited to be called. 

“Yes?” 

They walked into her bedroom and watched her move about, gathering clothes for her journey to King’s Landing as Nymeria watched her curiously. “Have you packed yet?” she asked. 

Jon nodded, and Dan shook his head. 

“Always waiting until the last minute, Dan.” Arya rolled her eyes. “This is my second time, apparently my things weren't properly folded the first time.”

She grabbed a tunic and folded it, placing it on her chest. “Watch this. Nymeria, Shoes!”

Nymeria cocked her head, clearly recognizing her name but not comprehending the request. 

“Nymeria, Shoes!” Arya said, but her wolf laid down and rested her head on her paws. 

Dan snorted. 

“Impressive,” Jon said.

“Shut up. She did it last night!” Arya grabbed her favourite pair of boots and put them in the chest along with her never used ribbons.

“Alright, alright,” Jon said, putting his hands up in surrender. “I have something for you.” 

Arya turned to them with a smile. “What is it?”

Pulling the wrapped sword from behind his back, Jon presented it to her. Upon unwrapping the cloth from it and unsheathing the blade, Arya squealed happily. “Thank you!” 

“Do you know how to use it?” Jon asked.

“Yes. I stick them with the pointy end.”

Both Jon and Dan laughed. 

“How will you name it? A mighty sword needs a name.”

Arya looked at it carefully. “Needle!”

“Alright. You must train and learn to use it responsibly.”

She nodded and placed the sword between her clothes. “And you, Dan? What did you bring me?”

“Nothing, of course. You are a little brat and need to learn to earn things instead of expecting presents.” 

Arya pouted. 

Dan pulled a beautiful and very small dagger with a leather holster from his pocket. “I’m only joking, Arya. Keep this hidden in your clothes at all times. You can never be safe enough.”

She grabbed the knife and ran her finger on the details engraved into the grip. The weirwood tree on one side and six wolves on the other. “It is beautiful!” 

“Never forget where you belong, no matter how much the capital tries to change you,” Dan said. 

Arya left the dagger on the bed and ran to hug him, jumping to compensate for the height difference, Dan catching her in the air. “I will miss you and think about you every day,” she said. Then, she kicked her small feet and hugged Jon just as tightly. “Jon, you are my favourite brother, don’t let Dan convince you otherwise.” 

Jon snorted, rubbing her back and placing her back on the ground. Dan flicked her nose gently. “Brat.” His smile faltered. “Listen to Father down there. They are not our friends.”

“I know,” she said. 

Dan was glad that Arya was such a smart girl. Always focused on the world around her, observing, planning her little schemes to tease her brothers, but also a good person. She would grow to be a good warrior, if their father allowed it. If women could be knighted, she would be a knight; he was sure of it.

---

Dan returned to his room and crouched next to his bed, looking for the velvet pouch he had hidden there. His fingers finally made contact with the soft fabric and he smiled as he pulled it out, lifting it to his face. He opened it and checked that everything was alright. 

A wet nose came in contact with his hand, startling. “Balerion! You always take me by surprise, boy.” 

Balerion wagged his tail, rubbing his face on Dan’s hand. 

“Are you ready for our trip?” 

The direwolf whined softly, demanding more pets. 

Dan patted his chest and let him rest his paws on his shoulders, staring right into his black eyes. “Silly boy, you still think you’re a pup.” He ran his hands on the sides of Balerion’s snout and turned his face with a laugh when he tried to lick him. “Behave! We have a long way ahead and I have already taken a bath. Now come on, we need to say goodbye to Sansa and Lady.”

Upon hearing his litter mate’s name, Balerion ran to Sansa’s room howling softly all the way.

“Oh, hello, Balerion!” Sansa said. “Have you come to play with Lady?” 

Dan watched from the door. “I’m afraid we’ve come to say goodbye.”

Her smile faltered. “It is not a goodbye, just an ‘I’ll see you later,’ right?”

“Well, you will soon be engaged to the Prince and our father is the Hand of the King. I assume your move to King’s Landing will be rather permanent.”

“You could still visit me.” 

“I’m sure I will in the future, but the capital is not a place I would stay in for long.”

“I see.”

“I will always make time to assist your coronation, of course. Wouldn’t want to disrespect my Queen.”

Sansa smiled shily. “Do you think I will be Queen?”

“Yes. But not too soon, I hope. You are much too young to be married and his majesty will only be crowned when his father dies, which we hope will be much longer.” He wasn’t sure Robert Baratheon was the picture of good health, but he was the King and he had access to the best care anyone could desire. Dan hoped the man would live long so that his sister didn’t have to take the throne until she was an adult. It would be a great responsibility.

“Of course!” Sansa said, but her mind seemed far away all of the sudden. “Do you think I would be a good monarch?”

“You have a caring soul and a kind personality. Any kingdom would be lucky to have you. I do hope that you still have time to learn the other parts of the job.”

“What other parts?”

“Hosting for important guests, trying to advise your husband on what is best for your subjects, being informed about the needs of the people, and always looking beautiful. That last part, you have achieved already, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, shut up, Dan!” She laughed. 

Dan gave her the pouch. “This is for you. A small gift to remember me by.”

She opened it to find a delicate ring. A thin silver band with a blue stone, as blue as her eyes, an S carved into it. “It’s beautiful.”

“That is why I bought it; it reminded me of you.” 

Sansa slipped the ring onto her finger and looked at it in wonder. “Thank you,” she said, her smile soon turned into a frown when a choked sob escaped her. “I will miss you!” 

Dan pulled her into a tight hug, trying his best not to cry, rubbing her back gently. Sansa was a gentle girl, sometimes a little spoiled but he knew she would grow to be a strong woman. She would take after their mother. 

They heard a howl to the side and turned towards their companions. They were jumping and softly nipping at each other. Perhaps they knew it was goodbye. 

---

With the King’s caravan ready and leading the journey and the Winterfell carriage following close, Ned, Jon and Dan rode away from home in the direction of ‘The Kingsroad.’ Only the first part of the endeavour would keep them together. With the first fork in the road came the time to bid their father goodbye. 

“Dan, be careful out there. It is a dangerous world that we live in; don’t stray too far away from home,” his father said, his eyebrows burrowing into a frown, letting Dan know that even though he still didn’t consider him a fully fleshed man, he was willing to give him an opportunity to carve his own destiny. Nevertheless, Dan appreciated the fact that his father respected him enough to let him learn from his own mistakes.

“I will. Thank you, Father. I wish you success and peace in King’s Landing.”

“Thank you, now go. Make me proud.” 

Dan nodded once and looked in Jon’s direction, quietly riding away to allow his father and brother some privacy. They had a short exchange and even though Dan could not hear what they were saying, he could tell that it was loaded with emotion. 

Jon nodded to their father and watched as he rode away, trotting to catch up to the caravan.

Uncle Benjen was far ahead, riding alongside Tyrion Lannister and followed by Ghost and Balerion. The wolves were a part of their group but lagged behind, looking back at their masters. 

It would be a few weeks until they arrived at Castle Black, but Dan knew the trip would be worth it. He would finally see The Wall and be able to witness his brother’s oath, see him become a ranger and commit his life to a cause he believed in. Dan could only hope to find such an inspiration for himself one day, something to live for - something to die for.

DAENERYS

Pentos, across the narrow sea. Essos.

Daenerys ran around in the front yard of the house with the red door. She laughed and laughed and she climbed the biggest tree she could find and hid from her best friend, a kind boy just around her age. 

“Danny! Danny!” he laughed. 

A feeling of sadness overcame her as she began to stir. Daenerys opened her eyes and found herself still in the house of the Magister, the sun coming through the window and landing directly on her legs. She rubbed her eyes and found she’d been crying in her sleep. 

She couldn’t help herself; even after all these years, Daenerys still remembered the house with the red door as the only place she had ever been happy in. She’d been cared for and loved, she’d had a modicum amount of freedom and she’d had a friend. The boy would probably not even remember her at all, but she would never forget him and all the adventures they’d had together. 

Sometimes she wished she could go back in time and be a child again, to not know what it meant to be her, to be the True King’s sister, to be a Targaryen. 

“My Lady, your bath is ready. Please don’t take too long; your guests will be here shortly and your brother has requested that you look your best before then.

Danny sighed. She walked to the room next to her own and started to remove her nightgown when Viserys walked in without announcing himself. 

“Not ready yet?” 

“No, but I will be ready by the time they get here. I promise,” she said, trying to keep herself from shaking. 

“Well, then. Go ahead,” he said, running his eyes down her body.

“I will take my bath now.”

“I am not stopping you, am I?”

“Viserys, please.” 

“Do you want to wake the Dragon, little sister?” He asked, caressing her cheek before dragging his hand to her neck and wrapping his fingers around her throat.

“No, but - I am sure this warrior will want an untainted bride, and we cannot let our passions get the best of ourselves,” Daenerys said, trying to keep him away without angering him. 

“Quite right, you are. I will leave you to it - for now. Once you have married him and gotten me my army I will claim you. There is no greater love than that between Targaryens. It is our way; we must not stray from tradition.” 

“Of course,” she tried her best to smile. “I will be your queen, as we have always known.” 

Viserys smiled widely and Daenerys would have loved to… no. She needed to focus on the task at hand. She would handle her brother eventually. 

As soon as he had walked out of the room, Danny dropped her garment and slipped into the warm water, feeling the heat lap at her body pleasantly, making her groan. She submerged her head and opened her eyes, holding her breath until she felt as if she was going to faint. Then, she saw one of her servants rush to her and yell in distress. 

Danny sat up and gasped, letting the air burn as it made its way inside her. “I am alright; I was just wetting my head.” 

“Aren’t you burning yourself, My Lady?” The girl asked. 

“No, it is nice. I appreciate the flower petals you added; thank you.” 

The servant stuck her hand in the water and promptly removed it screaming in pain, the skin in her hand becoming redder and redder by the second. Danny looked at her own skin, white as marble, unscathed. 

“You must keep it in cold water until it stops hurting or it will get worse. Go, I will be alright.” 

The girl nodded and ran out of the room.

--

Danny raised her arms, letting another servant help her into the soft purple dress, made out of three thin layers of fabric that flowed like water, shimmering but barely covering her modesty. She ran a hand on it and smiled as they attached two silver dragon pins to the straps on her shoulders and clasped a necklace with the Targaryen sigil to her neck. 

“How do I look?”

“You look most beautiful, My Lady,” the servant said. “The colour of the dress matches your eyes and compliments your silver hair.” 

“Do you think they will like it?” 

“Any man would have to be crazy not to like you, My Lady.” 

Danny made an effort to smile again. Even though she knew the girl would never tell her if she looked awful, her smile looked genuine - or perhaps she was a fool for asking someone who could not tell her the truth. The smile finally slipped from her face.

She felt alone; alone and terrified of what the future would bring but she hoped that it would be better than this: hiding at a stranger’s house. Fearing for the day he finally decided to turn them into the usurper’s army or sell them in exchange for gold. Danny had no memory of her home, of Dragonstone. They had been on the run ever since she could remember, trying to survive in a world that wanted them dead. They’d had to start again and again one too many times and this was the last attempt she would make. She would make it home - whatever it took. 

As she made her way out the front door and stood beside her brother and Illyrio, she felt herself shake slightly, Viserys hand gently running down her arm. She pretended not to notice and took a small step away from him. 

“Where is he?” Asked Viserys impatiently. 

“He will be here soon, Your Grace.” 

Danny gasped as she saw a few men riding towards them. They looked nothing like what she had imagined. They had extremely long, black hair, their eyes darkened with paint and wore only trousers. Their horses were the most beautiful and impressive she had ever seen.  

They finally stopped before them. The tallest and more handsome of them looked at her as the others stayed a bit further away. He rode back and forward, evaluating her from hair to toe, from side to side. She tried to smile, hoping it didn’t come off as a pained expression although that would have been accurate to how she felt. 

The man did not say a word at all; not to her, not to her brother and before long, he rode away as fast as he’d arrived. 

“Well, did he like her or not?” Viserys asked. 

“He liked her, Your Grace. If he hadn’t we would’ve known immediately.” 

“Do you really think this man will give me an army?” 

“The Dothraki wear their hair in long braids as a sign of pride. When they are defeated, they must cut their hair. That is why his hair is so long; Khal Drogo has never been defeated, Your Grace.” 

“How will we ever get the damn army to King’s Landing then?”

“By conquering cities that have a fleet, of course! By the time you get to Westeros, you will be unbeatable and everyone will receive you with open arms as the true heir to the Iron Throne.”

“But first… first I need my army.” 

“And you will have it, Your Grace.”

---

Weeks after Danny’s eighteenth name day, the wedding ceremony took place. She could barely remember any of it, not that she understood, but the celebration after it was quite… eventful. She sat in a big wooden chair beside her now husband, Khal Drogo, and watched the display in front of her. Couples danced to the beat of drums all around her; the faster the beat was the more erotic the dance became, until one of the men simply took the woman he was dancing with. Off to the side, men were fighting each other for the attention of another woman until one of them cut the other’s braid and killed him. 

Daenerys blinked repeatedly and looked at Drogo out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to be enjoying the show, a big smile on his face. She briefly wondered if he would take her like that when they were alone, the thought alone made her nervous. She had never seen someone die, or someone naked other than herself. All she could do was hope for the best and try to conquer the love of the man her future depended on.

A man well into his forties in westerosy clothing approached them and bowed. He did not look like a peasant, nor like a noble. “Jorah Mormont of Bear Island, I would like to congratulate you on your wedding,” he said, presenting a chest to her and opening it to show three dragon eggs. “I bring these dragon eggs from the Shadowlands for the new Khaleesi.”

She leaned forward in her chair, extending her hand to touch the scales softly. “How could this be?”

Illyrio Mopatis stepped in and observed the eggs. “Time has turned them into stone, but their beauty still remains, Daenerys.”

She was at a loss for words; her lips moved but no sound came from them. 

“I also bring books on the tales of Old Valyria and the Dragon Wars. With these gifts, I pledge my allegiance to you and House Targaryen.” 

Danny lowered her head, humbled by the man’s generosity. “Thank you, Ser. You are very kind.”

The man finally smiled and took a step back; coming to stand beside Illyrio so that they could chat. 

The rest of the day went by in a blur; the only thing on Daenerys’ mind was the dragon eggs. 

As the sun started to set, Khal Drogo stood from his seat and offered her his hand without a word. He led her away from the crowd and into his tent. It was big and beautiful and had all sorts of leather decorations and a comfortable-looking wooden bed with linens that she knew were specifically acquired for her since they matched nothing the Dothraki wore or cared about. There was incense burning around the bed, leaving the air smelling like sweet apples and myrrh. 

Drogo placed his hands on her shoulders and she trembled. “No?” he asked. 

Daenerys took a deep breath and looked into his eyes, trying to decide as he fiddled with her dress without pulling it open. They didn’t speak the same language and communication would be quite complicated unless she took the time and effort to breach that gap. 

He looked at her curiously, still waiting for her reply. “No?” He repeated. 

When she didn’t reply, he stepped away and nodded. 

He seemed nothing like she had imagined; not to her at least. She offered her hand to him and guided him to the bed, where they sat next to each other. Daenerys was a woman now, and this was her husband. She looked into his eyes, hesitating and pressed her hand to his cheek, slowly leaning in for a kiss.

Drogo let her take the initiative, handling the pace in which things progressed until she was comfortable enough to let herself be loved. He was sweet and passionate and took good care of her, making her feel that this marriage was the first good thing to happen to her in years; even if she hadn’t been the one to choose it.

She lost herself in the strong arms of her husband, where she felt that nothing and no one could harm her. For the first time in her life, she felt safe. 

---

As the khalasar rode away from Pentos and in direction of the Dothraki sea, Daenerys fought to adjust to her new life as the Khaleesi. She wore the same clothes as the women from the hoard - a pair of trousers with a short leather top and riding boots, she rode her horse day in and day out without complaint although her legs ached and her hands bled; she ate the dry horse meat they provided for her as best as she could, but eventually, the language barrier, the solitude and the monotony caught up to her. 

“Is there anything to eat?” She asked Jorah, who promptly opened his satchel and offered her a piece of horse meat.

She took it still. “Is there anything else other than horse meat?”

“No, Khaleesi. The Dothraki only have slaves and horses. I’m afraid this is all there is for now.”

Daenerys nodded and took a bite, sighing in disgust. She had been eating nothing but horse meat for months and the ride ahead was months still. “How do they acquire their slaves? Do they buy them?”

“No. The Dothraki don’t believe in money.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“The horde rides from city to city, taking ransom for not destroying everything. Sometimes if there are few men or the women are ugly, or if the Khal considers that his men haven’t had a good battle in some time, they will ransack the city and take whoever is left standing.”

Her eyes widened at the information. She would not stand for that. “Tell them to stop?”

“What, Your Grace? Stop the entire Khalasar?” 

“Yes!” She said, jumping from her horse. She needed a break. She needed to stop and take a moment to breathe and collect herself. 

“What should I tell them is the reason?”

“That their Khaleesi ordered it.” 

Jorah looked at her proudly. “Of course, Khaleesi.”

She rushed between the tall plants growing at the sides of the road and only stopped when she saw a clearing. She leaned forward, placing her hands on her knees and took a deep breath. It was nothing; she had survived many hardships, she would survive this one too.

Danny saw the plants in front of her rustle and heard a horse approaching, her stomach twisting into knots as she tried to see who it was. When Viserys emerged on his black horse, his purple eyes filled with rage, she took a step back and looked around, trying to determine the safest escape route. 

“You dare give me orders!” He yelled, unmounting his horse and wrapping his hands around her throat. “You are nothing! You are no one! I am The Dragon!” 

“I am Khaleesi!” she said, her eyes rapidly filling up with tears. His hands tightened around her. She tried to speak but she realised that she couldn’t. 

“I don’t care for the savages or their stupid whores! I am your King and you will respect me!” 

Suddenly, Viserys' hands were no longer around her; she could finally breathe again. One of the riders had snapped his whip and wrapped it around her brother’s neck. He was slowly choking him. 

Her servant came running after her, holding onto her hand.

“Please, don’t hurt him!” Danny yelled. 

The girl translated for her but the man frowned. 

“He was hurting you, Khaleesi!” Her servant said. 

Daenerys shook her head. “Please, he’s my brother!” 

They looked at each other and then her quickly suffocating brother and shrugged, letting him go.

She kneeled in front of him and said: “Never put your hands on me again, Viserys. You don’t want to wake the real Dragon.” Then, she turned and left without a glance back. 

A grateful smile appeared on her lips when she saw the rider that had saved her return to her side on her brother’s horse with him following on foot, close behind. Maybe this new life was exactly what she had needed to blossom into herself, into her womanhood. She would work to be the best Khaleesi that ever was, accepting their culture and showing them hers. She would bring them glory; she would bring them land and acceptance in Westeros. Their story would be remembered through the ages.

NED

Kingsroad, near King's Landing, Westeros.

Ned groaned, getting up from his bed and rushing to dress for the long day ahead. If he never had to sleep at an inn again, it would be too soon. He made it out the door, greeting the keeper on his way out and went in search of his daughters. He walked down the main road until he spotted Sansa in the distance. She was trying to carry Lady with a leash but the pup was not following her instructions. 

Just as he was making his way to her, Prince Joffrey extended his arm to her and she took it with a shy smile, leaving Lady behind. Ned sighed; not only was Sansa already neglecting her direwolf, but she was also walking alone with Robert’s boy. 

Sansa seemed enamoured with him and this notion of being a queen, but there was more than one reason Ned had been hesitant to accept Robert’s will. It would put a target on her back, keep her away from Winterfell for good and potentially cause her to have to decide between her family and her husband, and Joffrey would not give her that choice. On the other hand, if he rejected the match, Sansa would hate him and Robert would be very angry with him, perhaps not as angry as to break their friendship, but it would not be pretty. 

Ned let out a deep sigh and called the wolf. “Come on, Lady!” He snapped his fingers and she trotted behind him. They walked to the edge of town where he knew Robert would be enjoying his meal away from his subjects. 

He approached the table where his friend was already drinking wine and cursing loud enough to be heard all through the seven kingdoms. 

“Why do I even bother hiring killers when they can’t even find a stupid little girl!?” 

“I see that you have opened the wine early, Your Grace,” Ned said, raising his eyebrows at him with an amused smile.

“It’s that Targaryen WHORE married a Dothraki Khal and they are trying to gather an army to retake the throne!”

“She’s in Essos and has no power, let her be. She was a babe when her father died.” 

“Doesn’t matter, Ned! She will soon be popping little Targaryen bastards that will come to take the throne from me!”

“How would they possibly come?”

“They are gathering forces! They have a thousand Dothraki riders!”

“They have an army in Essos and no ships. They are no threat to you.”

“What if they get ships?” Robert grumbled.

“Then, we’ll crush them. All of Westeros will unite to fight them.”

“You forget that many called me a usurper, and many still think that way.”

Ned shook his head. “Not anymore, you have won the heart of your subjects.”

“No - I don’t think I have. But at least they are not afraid that I may burn them alive.”

Lady chose that moment to put Robert’s hand in her mouth and chew on his fingers softly. 

“Oh, you little beast,” he said with an amused smile. “What are you doing?”

“She just wants some royal pets.” 

Robert laughed, downing his glass of wine and patted his lap, letting her climb on him as he scratched her fur. 

There was a scream in the distance; it sounded like Joffrey. Ned stood and looked around. 

“Oh, what now?” Robert huffed, already in a bad mood again. 

“Stay here with your guards.” Ned ran North and followed a path between the trees, leading to a small river. There he saw Prince Joffrey grabbing his hand and crying, he had bite marks on his hand and arm as Sansa tried to comfort him. His sword lay on the ground beside him. 

“What happened!?” 

“That beast! It attacked me!” He wailed.

Ned looked to Sansa, waiting for her to explain. 

“Arya was here, with the butcher’s boy and Nymeria. She attacked the Prince out of nowhere!” she said.

“Where is she? Where is your sister?” 

“I don’t know, she ran. That way!” Sansa said, pointing in the Direction Ned came from. He ventured into the forest, trying to find his youngest daughter. Nothing made sense, Nymeria had never attacked anybody, but still, he needed to find Arya and make sure she was safe. Her involvement in the Prince’s injury would not go unpunished. Soon, the forest was full of soldiers, searching for her, trying to capture her and her wolf. 

By nightfall, Ned was so worried, he feared he would never see her again. He didn’t dare think about what could have happened to her to make her run for so long, to make her hide; or had someone found her and killed her for such a silly offence? If they were under Cersei's orders, he did not doubt it.

“Lord Stark!” said one of Robert's guards. “They found her!”

Ned let out a sigh of relief and followed the man back to the biggest tavern in town. As he walked in, he knew the fight was not over. The place was packed to the brim with people watching the spectacle. Arya was held by two guards while Robert and Cersei sat at the dais waiting for him. 

“What is the meaning of this? Release my daughter!”

Robert nodded at the guards. “I didn’t mean to scare the girl,” he said in a dismissive tone. 

Arya pulled her arms free and came to stand with her father.

“What happened?” Robert demanded.

“I was playing with Mikah, we were fighting and he tried to hit him!” Arya said, pointing to Joffrey. 

“That is a lie! I defended you from the boy!” The Prince said, his sickly pale face twisting in disgust. 

“You did not! And then you attacked me! That is why Nymeria bit you!” 

“Lies again!” Joffrey yelled, already turning red with anger. “That beast is wild and needs to be put down!” 

“Where is your other daughter?” asked Cersei.

“In bed, sleeping,” Ned said, hoping to spare Sansa from this.

“Sansa!” Cersei called. 

The crowd parted and in came Sansa, wearing the blue dress she had made herself in Winterfell but she had a velvet cloak on her shoulders. A clear gift from the Lannisters.

“Can you tell us what happened, little dove?”

“Prince Joffrey and I were walking by the river and he tried to save Arya but Nymeria attacked him,” Sansa said, tears falling from her eyes. 

“If I may, Your Grace. It seems this is a quarrel between children. I would like to discipline my daughters myself.” 

Robert nodded and got up from his chair with a huff. Ned put an arm around each of his daughters and made his way to the back of the room. 

“What about the wolf?” Cersei asked. “My son was attacked!”

Robert looked around. “We haven’t found it, Your Grace.” 

“Well, that’s it then.”

“But there’s another wolf!” said Cersei.  

“No! Not Lady!” yelled Sansa, bursting into tears.

“You shouldn’t keep them as pets,” Cersei smiled.

“Very well. A wolf is a wolf.” Robert said.  

“No, Please!” Cried Sansa. 

“Lady did nothing wrong!” Arya joined her.

Robert’s head hung as he strode to the exit. 

“Is this your will, Your Grace?” Ned yelled after him. Robert froze for a moment but kept walking without a backwards glance. 

One of the guards unsheathed his sword and Ned grabbed his wrist. “No, if it must be done, I’ll do it myself. Lady is from the North and she deserves to die with dignity.”

“No, Father please! Please!” Sansa cried. 

“Take them inside,” Ned said, speaking to Septa Mordane. Then, he turned on his heels and exited the tavern. He found Lady tied to a pole right outside and ran his fingers through her fur, giving her a last goodbye. She did not deserve such a cruel fate. 

With sorrow in his heart, he drew his sword and with a swing, Lady was no more. He turned away and let a tear fall before quickly rubbing it away. He walked back to the inn, crossing Sandor Clegane on the road. 

“Is that the butcher’s boy? Did he run?” Ned asked.

“Not fast enough,” Clegane said.

It was then that he realised that the boy was dead. That was the day his daughters’ childhood ended, but they would live to see another day when others had not been so lucky.

The rest of the trip to King’s Landing went by quickly but not fast enough. He made sure to have Winterfell’s bannermen and carriage at the back and to guard it with his life. Ned knew coming to the capital would be hard and dangerous, but not how much exactly. 

A guard approached them right as they crossed the gate. “Lord Stark, welcome to King’s Landing. Grand Maester Pycelle requires your presence in the small council meeting.” 

“We just arrived,” Ned said. 

The guard looked at him. It was clear that the invitation was not one he would be allowed to decline.

“Very well,” Ned said, turning to the Septa. “Please help the girls settle in. I’ll be back by supper.” Then, he looked at one of Winterfell’s finer warriors and said: “Jory, go with them.” Ned knew that if anything happened, Jory would defend the girls with his life.

He dismounted his horse and strode to the Red Keep. As soon as he entered the Throne room, he saw Jaime Lannister sitting on the steps of the raised dais. 

“Thank the Gods you are here Stark. We’ve been in need of stern northern leadership.”

“Glad to see you protecting the throne,” Ned said.

“Sturdy old thing. How many king’s asses has it polished? I wonder. And - what’s the line? ‘ The king shits and the hand wipes ’?” 

Ned looked at him, not a hair out of place, not a stain on his cloak. A man without honour that spent his days enjoying the fruit of breaking his vows. “What a handsome armour, not a scratch on it.”

“People have been swinging at me for years.”

“Chosen your opponents wisely.” 

Jaime nodded. “I have a knack for it.” He looked down at the floor and back at Ned. “It must be difficult for you to come here, I was here when it happened. He was very brave, your brother - your father too. He didn’t deserve to die like that - nobody deserves to die like that.”

“You just stood there and watched”

“Five hundred men just stood there and watched. Do you think any of the great knights of the seven kingdoms said a word or lifted a finger? No, Lord Stark. Five hundred men and this room was silent as a crypt. Except - for the screams, of course. And the man king’s laughter. And later, when I watched the Mad King die, I remembered him laughing as your father burned. It felt like justice.”

“Is that what you tell yourself? That you avenged my father when you shoved your sword into Aerys Targaryen’s back?”

“If I’d stabbed the Mad King in the belly, instead of the back, would you admire me more?”

“You served him well when serving was safe,” Ned said and walked past him in the direction of the council meeting chamber. One of the king’s guards nodded at him as he entered and shut the door after him. 

Lord Varys stood from his chair and rushed to him, holding Ned’s hand between his own. “Lord Stark. I was sorry to hear about the trouble you had in the Kingsroad. I pray for Prince Joffrey’s full recovery.” 

Ned resisted the urge to huff. “You should pray for the butcher’s boy instead.” 

He approached the table and greeted the rest of the small Council. First, he pulled Renly Baratheon into a tight hug; it had been so many years since they’d seen each other that he was now a respectable man instead of a boy with a reputation for chasing other men around as a form of entertainment. He had dark curly hair and a soft face still, but the leather armour suited him, even if he was not as tall and strong as Robert had been at his age. “Renly, you're looking well! How are you faring?” 

“Much better now that you are here, Lord Stark,” Renly said with a wide smile before stepping away and looking at him. “You look tired from the trip. I told them this meeting could wait another day, but they disagreed.”

The door opened and Petyr Baelish walked in, looking just as proud of himself as Ned had imagined him from the stories he’d heard. Long coat, short hair, trimmed moustache. He stood with his hands behind his back, making his chest look more prominent, probably to appear more muscular than he was, the master of coin pin shining on his shoulder.

“I have wanted to meet you for a long time, Lord Stark. No doubt Catelyn has mentioned me.”

Yes, Cat had mentioned Petyr Baelish, her childhood friend who was an apprentice under her father and this silly little propensity he’d had for pursuing her, even after she’d been engaged to marry Brandon. The man’s outburst was out of place but Ned had won Cat without even having to fight him; there was no need to give him the pleasure of starting an argument on his first day at the capital. 

“She has, Lord Baelish. I understand you knew my brother Brandon as well.”  

“All too well, I still carry a token of his esteem, from navel to collarbone,” Baelish said, running his fingers over his coat in the expanse of his scar.

Ned smiled, that was so much like his brother, may the gods keep him. “Perhaps you chose the wrong men to duel with.” 

“It was not the man that I chose, My Lord. It was Catelyn Tully.”

“Pardon me,” A voice close to his shoulder said. 

“Grand Maester Pycelle,” Ned said, nodding once. 

“How many years has it been? You were a young boy!”

“And you served another king.” 

The old man looked at him briefly before reaching into his robes. “Oh, I forgot. This is yours,” he said, giving him a brass pin shaped like a hand holding the crown gently.

Ned accepted it, rubbing the aged-looking pin between his fingers. Jon Arryn had worn it last, devoted himself to helping Robert and now he was dead. He tried to push the memories of his arrival to The Eyrie as a child and befriending Robert, growing and learning everything he knew under Jon’s care away; it would serve no purpose to lose his head over the matter. He would see to it that the Lannisters were brought to justice for it in due time. 

“We should begin.” 

Ned walked over to the table and stood beside a chair in the middle of it. “Shouldn’t we wait for Robert?” 

Grand Maester Pycelle stammered. “W-well - the King doesn’t always join the small council meetings.” 

“Winter might be coming but the same cannot be said for my brother,” Renly said, sitting at his side. 

“His Grace has many cares. He entrusts some small matters to us,” Varys rushed to say. 

Ned looked at them in awe. He could not believe Robert would be so careless.

“We are the Lords of small matters here,” Baelish added with a smirk. 

Ned sat down and accepted a piece of rolled parchment from Renly with Robert's seal. 

“My brother instructs us to hold a tournament in honour of Lord Stark’s appointment as Hand of the King.”

Baelish leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. “How much?” 

Ned read the details from the parchment. “Forty thousand dragon gold to the winner, twenty thousand to the runner up, twenty thousand to the winning archer.”

Grand Maester Pycelle hummed. “Can the crown bear such expense,” he asked Baelish.

“I will have to borrow the money from the Lannisters. We already owe Lord Tywin three million gold, what’s another eighty thousand?”

Ned’s eyes widened. “Are you saying the crown is three million in debt?”

“I’m telling you that the crown is six million in debt,” Baelish said without a hint of remorse.

Looking around the table, Ned tried to control his anger, his bewilderment. “How could you have let this happen?”

“The master of coin finds the money, the Hand spends it.” 

Ned could feel the vein on his forehead throb at that remark. “There is no way John Arryn would have allowed Robert to Bankrupt the crown.” 

“Lord Arryn gave great wise and prudent advice,” Pycelle said. “But I fear His Grace doesn’t always listen.”

“Counting coppers, he calls it,” Renly added.

“I will speak to him tomorrow, this cannot continue.” 

“Very well, but we must still make plans,” Baelish said. 

“There will be no plans!” Ned said, raising his voice. “Until I speak to Robert.” The room fell immediately silent. He rubbed his face in an attempt to keep the headache he felt forming at bay. “Forgive me, My Lords. I had a long ride.”

Varys finally spoke up. “You are the Hand, we serve at your will.”

Embarrassed by his outburst and frustrated by the state of matters, Ned called the meeting to a close and went in search of his daughters.

The moment he set foot in the room, he knew something was not right. Sansa looked upset and her Septa was patting her hand in comfort. 

“What happened?” He asked. “Where is Arya?”

“She excused herself without finishing her meal,” the woman said. “The girls had a disagreement.”

They never got along, not since they were born. Both were very different and set in their ways without any consideration for the other. Ned set the present on the table beside Sansa in hopes of cheering her up.

“What’s this?” 

“That’s for you, love,” he said, attempting an encouraging smile. “Open it.”

Sansa wiped her teary eyes and pulled the twine wrapping the silk cloth to reveal an expensive porcelain doll. Her face transformed from sadness to anger, outrage perhaps. 

“Don’t you like it? It was made by the same craftsmen that make Princess Myrcella’s toys.” 

“I haven’t played with dolls since I was eight.” Sansa stood smoothing her dress down. “May I be excused?”

“But you haven’t finished eating yet,” Septa Mordane said.

Ned sighed. “Of course,” he said and watched her rush into her private chamber and shut the door behind her. He turned to the Septa. “Please, try to enjoy the rest of your meal and bring her food later.” 

“Yes, My Lord.”

His girls were already having a horrible time at the capital and they had just arrived. This entire trip had turned into a nightmare. He understood Sansa's enchantment with Prince Joffrey; she had suffered greatly with Lady’s death and was trying to hold onto a brighter future as his Queen but he was not turning out to be the brave King she’d hoped for, and now her father had made the mistake and treated her like a small child when she felt like a young Lady already. 

He let out a deep sigh and walked to the opposite side of the room, knocking on Arya’s private chamber, hoping to speak to her. There was no response, but after a brief pause, she pulled the door open and stepped aside, letting him in. She had a very light sword in her hand, a thin blade but appropriately sized for her. 

“Whose is that?” He asked calmly, already suspecting her reply.

“Mine!�� She said, trying to put it behind her back. “It’s called Needle.”

“A blade with a name, I see.” Ned extended his hand and waited until she reluctantly gave him the sword. “I know the craftsmanship, it was made in Winterfell. How did you get it?”

Arya hesitated. “I - it is mine! You cannot have it!” 

He sighed and closed the door behind him, finally returning the sword to her and sitting at the small table in the corner. “What will you do with it?”

“Use it.” She said, crossing her arms.

“On who? Your sister?” 

“I should! She is responsible for Mikah’s death! And for Lady’s! And Nymeria running away!”

“That was not her fault and she suffered for it too.”

“But she lied! She saw what happened and let Joffrey lie! I hate her!”

“Arya, your sister was in a very different position. She was called by the Queen and questioned. She couldn’t have called the Prince a liar in front of his family, in front of everyone present. When they become Kings and Princes and Queens they can rewrite the truth and pointing such things out could be extremely dangerous. Your sister is not your enemy. One day you will marry a man and become a Lady and you will understand,” he explained. 

“I am not a Lady, I will never be a Lady.” Arya sniffled. “It’s not fair! I hate them. I hate all of them! But I - I don’t hate Sansa.” She rubbed her cheek, pretending that no tears had fallen.

Of course, he should have known. Arya had never displayed the same interests as Sansa. “It’s true. It is not fair, life is not fair at times, but we must make the best of it. Try to fight for what is right.”

“I am not a good fighter yet, but I am practising.” She said, looking at her sword. 

Ned considered it for a moment. Perhaps it would not be bad for her to know how to protect herself and Sansa. “King’s Landing is a very dangerous place. You will learn to use it, starting tomorrow. You are a Stark of Winterfell, we are warriors - all of us in our own way.” 

“Thank you!” she said, running to hug him.

Ned groaned, getting up from his bed and rushing to dress for the long day ahead. If he never had to sleep at an inn again, it would be too soon. He made it out the door, greeting the keeper on his way out and went in search of his daughters. He walked down the main road until he spotted Sansa in the distance. She was trying to carry Lady with a leash but the pup was not following her instructions. 

Just as he was making his way to her, Prince Joffrey extended his arm to her and she took it with a shy smile, leaving Lady behind. Ned sighed; not only was Sansa already neglecting her direwolf, but she was also walking alone with Robert’s boy. 

Sansa seemed enamoured with him and this notion of being a queen, but there was more than one reason Ned had been hesitant to accept Robert’s will. It would put a target on her back, keep her away from Winterfell for good and potentially cause her to have to decide between her family and her husband, and Joffrey would not give her that choice. On the other hand, if he rejected the match, Sansa would hate him and Robert would be very angry with him, perhaps not as angry as to break their friendship, but it would not be pretty. 

Ned let out a deep sigh and called the wolf. “Come on, Lady!” He snapped his fingers and she trotted behind him. They walked to the edge of town where he knew Robert would be enjoying his meal away from his subjects. 

He approached the table where his friend was already drinking wine and cursing loud enough to be heard all through the seven kingdoms. 

“Why do I even bother hiring killers when they can’t even find a stupid little girl!?” 

“I see that you have opened the wine early, Your Grace,” Ned said, raising his eyebrows at him with an amused smile.

“It’s that Targaryen WHORE married a Dothraki Khal and they are trying to gather an army to retake the throne!”

“She’s in Essos and has no power, let her be. She was a babe when her father died.” 

“Doesn’t matter, Ned! She will soon be popping little Targaryen bastards that will come to take the throne from me!”

“How would they possibly come?”

“They are gathering forces! They have a thousand Dothraki riders!”

“They have an army in Essos and no ships. They are no threat to you.”

“What if they get ships?” Robert grumbled.

“Then, we’ll crush them. All of Westeros will unite to fight them.”

“You forget that many called me a usurper, and many still think that way.”

Ned shook his head. “Not anymore, you have won the heart of your subjects.”

“No - I don’t think I have. But at least they are not afraid that I may burn them alive.”

Lady chose that moment to put Robert’s hand in her mouth and chew on his fingers softly. 

“Oh, you little beast,” he said with an amused smile. “What are you doing?”

“She just wants some royal pets.” 

Robert laughed, downing his glass of wine and patted his lap, letting her climb on him as he scratched her fur. 

There was a scream in the distance; it sounded like Joffrey. Ned stood and looked around. 

“Oh, what now?” Robert huffed, already in a bad mood again. 

“Stay here with your guards.” Ned ran North and followed a path between the trees, leading to a small river. There he saw Prince Joffrey grabbing his hand and crying, he had bite marks on his hand and arm as Sansa tried to comfort him. His sword lay on the ground beside him. 

“What happened!?” 

“That beast! It attacked me!” He wailed.

Ned looked to Sansa, waiting for her to explain. 

“Arya was here, with the butcher’s boy and Nymeria. She attacked the Prince out of nowhere!” she said.

“Where is she? Where is your sister?” 

“I don’t know, she ran. That way!” Sansa said, pointing in the Direction Ned came from. He ventured into the forest, trying to find his youngest daughter. Nothing made sense, Nymeria had never attacked anybody, but still, he needed to find Arya and make sure she was safe. Her involvement in the Prince’s injury would not go unpunished. Soon, the forest was full of soldiers, searching for her, trying to capture her and her wolf. 

By nightfall, Ned was so worried, he feared he would never see her again. He didn’t dare think about what could have happened to her to make her run for so long, to make her hide; or had someone found her and killed her for such a silly offence? If they were under Cersei's orders, he did not doubt it.

“Lord Stark!” said one of Robert's guards. “They found her!”

Ned let out a sigh of relief and followed the man back to the biggest tavern in town. As he walked in, he knew the fight was not over. The place was packed to the brim with people watching the spectacle. Arya was held by two guards while Robert and Cersei sat at the dais waiting for him. 

“What is the meaning of this? Release my daughter!”

Robert nodded at the guards. “I didn’t mean to scare the girl,” he said in a dismissive tone. 

Arya pulled her arms free and came to stand with her father.

“What happened?” Robert demanded.

“I was playing with Mikah, we were fighting and he tried to hit him!” Arya said, pointing to Joffrey. 

“That is a lie! I defended you from the boy!” The Prince said, his sickly pale face twisting in disgust. 

“You did not! And then you attacked me! That is why Nymeria bit you!” 

“Lies again!” Joffrey yelled, already turning red with anger. “That beast is wild and needs to be put down!” 

“Where is your other daughter?” asked Cersei.

“In bed, sleeping,” Ned said, hoping to spare Sansa from this.

“Sansa!” Cersei called. 

The crowd parted and in came Sansa, wearing the blue dress she had made herself in Winterfell but she had a velvet cloak on her shoulders. A clear gift from the Lannisters.

“Can you tell us what happened, little dove?”

“Prince Joffrey and I were walking by the river and he tried to save Arya but Nymeria attacked him,” Sansa said, tears falling from her eyes. 

“If I may, Your Grace. It seems this is a quarrel between children. I would like to discipline my daughters myself.” 

Robert nodded and got up from his chair with a huff. Ned put an arm around each of his daughters and made his way to the back of the room. 

“What about the wolf?” Cersei asked. “My son was attacked!”

Robert looked around. “We haven’t found it, Your Grace.” 

“Well, that’s it then.”

“But there’s another wolf!” said Cersei.  

“No! Not Lady!” yelled Sansa, bursting into tears.

“You shouldn’t keep them as pets,” Cersei smiled.

“Very well. A wolf is a wolf.” Robert said.  

“No, Please!” Cried Sansa. 

“Lady did nothing wrong!” Arya joined her.

Robert’s head hung as he strode to the exit. 

“Is this your will, Your Grace?” Ned yelled after him. Robert froze for a moment but kept walking without a backwards glance. 

One of the guards unsheathed his sword and Ned grabbed his wrist. “No, if it must be done, I’ll do it myself. Lady is from the North and she deserves to die with dignity.”

“No, Father please! Please!” Sansa cried. 

“Take them inside,” Ned said, speaking to Septa Mordane. Then, he turned on his heels and exited the tavern. He found Lady tied to a pole right outside and ran his fingers through her fur, giving her a last goodbye. She did not deserve such a cruel fate. 

With sorrow in his heart, he drew his sword and with a swing, Lady was no more. He turned away and let a tear fall before quickly rubbing it away. He walked back to the inn, crossing Sandor Clegane on the road. 

“Is that the butcher’s boy? Did he run?” Ned asked.

“Not fast enough,” Clegane said.

It was then that he realised that the boy was dead. That was the day his daughters’ childhood ended, but they would live to see another day when others had not been so lucky.

---

The rest of the trip to King’s Landing went by quickly but not fast enough. He made sure to have Winterfell’s bannermen and carriage at the back and to guard it with his life. Ned knew coming to the capital would be hard and dangerous, but not how much exactly. 

A guard approached them right as they crossed the gate. “Lord Stark, welcome to King’s Landing. Grand Maester Pycelle requires your presence in the small council meeting.” 

“We just arrived,” Ned said. 

The guard looked at him. It was clear that the invitation was not one he would be allowed to decline.

“Very well,” Ned said, turning to the Septa. “Please help the girls settle in. I’ll be back by supper.” Then, he looked at one of Winterfell’s finer warriors and said: “Jory, go with them.” Ned knew that if anything happened, Jory would defend the girls with his life.

He dismounted his horse and strode to the Red Keep. As soon as he entered the Throne room, he saw Jaime Lannister sitting on the steps of the raised dais. 

“Thank the Gods you are here Stark. We’ve been in need of stern northern leadership.”

“Glad to see you protecting the throne,” Ned said.

“Sturdy old thing. How many king’s asses has it polished? I wonder. And - what’s the line? ‘The king shits and the hand wipes’?” 

Ned looked at him, not a hair out of place, not a stain on his cloak. A man without honour that spent his days enjoying the fruit of breaking his vows. “What a handsome armour, not a scratch on it.”

“People have been swinging at me for years.”

“Chosen your opponents wisely.” 

Jaime nodded. “I have a knack for it.” He looked down at the floor and back at Ned. “It must be difficult for you to come here, I was here when it happened. He was very brave, your brother - your father too. He didn’t deserve to die like that - nobody deserves to die like that.”

“You just stood there and watched”

“Five hundred men just stood there and watched. Do you think any of the great knights of the seven kingdoms said a word or lifted a finger? No, Lord Stark. Five hundred men and this room was silent as a crypt. Except - for the screams, of course. And the man king’s laughter. And later, when I watched the Mad King die, I remembered him laughing as your father burned. It felt like justice.”

“Is that what you tell yourself? That you avenged my father when you shoved your sword into Aerys Targaryen’s back?”

“If I’d stabbed the Mad King in the belly, instead of the back, would you admire me more?”

“You served him well when serving was safe,” Ned said and walked past him in the direction of the council meeting chamber. One of the king’s guards nodded at him as he entered and shut the door after him. 

Lord Varys stood from his chair and rushed to him, holding Ned’s hand between his own. “Lord Stark. I was sorry to hear about the trouble you had in the Kingsroad. I pray for Prince Joffrey’s full recovery.” 

Ned resisted the urge to huff. “You should pray for the butcher’s boy instead.” 

He approached the table and greeted the rest of the small Council. First, he pulled Renly Baratheon into a tight hug; it had been so many years since they’d seen each other that he was now a respectable man instead of a boy with a reputation for chasing other men around as a form of entertainment. He had dark curly hair and a soft face still, but the leather armour suited him, even if he was not as tall and strong as Robert had been at his age. “Renly, you're looking well! How are you faring?” 

“Much better now that you are here, Lord Stark,” Renly said with a wide smile before stepping away and looking at him. “You look tired from the trip. I told them this meeting could wait another day, but they disagreed.”

The door opened and Petyr Baelish walked in, looking just as proud of himself as Ned had imagined him from the stories he’d heard. Long coat, short hair, trimmed moustache. He stood with his hands behind his back, making his chest look more prominent, probably to appear more muscular than he was, the master of coin pin shining on his shoulder.

“I have wanted to meet you for a long time, Lord Stark. No doubt Catelyn has mentioned me.”

Yes, Cat had mentioned Petyr Baelish, her childhood friend who was an apprentice under her father and this silly little propensity he’d had for pursuing her, even after she’d been engaged to marry Brandon. The man’s outburst was out of place but Ned had won Cat without even having to fight him; there was no need to give him the pleasure of starting an argument on his first day at the capital. 

“She has, Lord Baelish. I understand you knew my brother Brandon as well.”  

“All too well, I still carry a token of his esteem, from navel to collarbone,” Baelish said, running his fingers over his coat in the expanse of his scar.

Ned smiled, that was so much like his brother, may the gods keep him. “Perhaps you chose the wrong men to duel with.” 

“It was not the man that I chose, My Lord. It was Catelyn Tully.”

“Pardon me,” A voice close to his shoulder said. 

“Grand Maester Pycelle,” Ned said, nodding once. 

“How many years has it been? You were a young boy!”

“And you served another king.” 

The old man looked at him briefly before reaching into his robes. “Oh, I forgot. This is yours,” he said, giving him a brass pin shaped like a hand holding the crown gently.

Ned accepted it, rubbing the aged-looking pin between his fingers. Jon Arryn had worn it last, devoted himself to helping Robert and now he was dead. He tried to push the memories of his arrival to The Eyrie as a child and befriending Robert, growing and learning everything he knew under Jon’s care away; it would serve no purpose to lose his head over the matter. He would see to it that the Lannisters were brought to justice for it in due time. 

“We should begin.” 

Ned walked over to the table and stood beside a chair in the middle of it. “Shouldn’t we wait for Robert?” 

Grand Maester Pycelle stammered. “W-well - the King doesn’t always join the small council meetings.” 

“Winter might be coming but the same cannot be said for my brother,” Renly said, sitting at his side. 

“His Grace has many cares. He entrusts some small matters to us,” Varys rushed to say. 

Ned looked at them in awe. He could not believe Robert would be so careless.

“We are the Lords of small matters here,” Baelish added with a smirk. 

Ned sat down and accepted a piece of rolled parchment from Renly with Robert's seal. 

“My brother instructs us to hold a tournament in honour of Lord Stark’s appointment as Hand of the King.”

Baelish leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. “How much?” 

Ned read the details from the parchment. “Forty thousand dragon gold to the winner, twenty thousand to the runner up, twenty thousand to the winning archer.”

Grand Maester Pycelle hummed. “Can the crown bear such expense,” he asked Baelish.

“I will have to borrow the money from the Lannisters. We already owe Lord Tywin three million gold, what’s another eighty thousand?”

Ned’s eyes widened. “Are you saying the crown is three million in debt?”

“I’m telling you that the crown is six million in debt,” Baelish said without a hint of remorse.

Looking around the table, Ned tried to control his anger, his bewilderment. “How could you have let this happen?”

“The master of coin finds the money, the Hand spends it.” 

Ned could feel the vein on his forehead throb at that remark. “There is no way John Arryn would have allowed Robert to Bankrupt the crown.” 

“Lord Arryn gave great wise and prudent advice,” Pycelle said. “But I fear His Grace doesn’t always listen.”

“Counting coppers, he calls it,” Renly added.

“I will speak to him tomorrow, this cannot continue.” 

“Very well, but we must still make plans,” Baelish said. 

“There will be no plans!” Ned said, raising his voice. “Until I speak to Robert.” The room fell immediately silent. He rubbed his face in an attempt to keep the headache he felt forming at bay. “Forgive me, My Lords. I had a long ride.”

Varys finally spoke up. “You are the Hand, we serve at your will.”

Embarrassed by his outburst and frustrated by the state of matters, Ned called the meeting to a close and went in search of his daughters.

--

The moment he set foot in the room, he knew something was not right. Sansa looked upset and her Septa was patting her hand in comfort. 

“What happened?” He asked. “Where is Arya?”

“She excused herself without finishing her meal,” the woman said. “The girls had a disagreement.”

They never got along, not since they were born. Both were very different and set in their ways without any consideration for the other. Ned set the present on the table beside Sansa in hopes of cheering her up.

“What’s this?” 

“That’s for you, love,” he said, attempting an encouraging smile. “Open it.”

Sansa wiped her teary eyes and pulled the twine wrapping the silk cloth to reveal an expensive porcelain doll. Her face transformed from sadness to anger, outrage perhaps. 

“Don’t you like it? It was made by the same craftsmen that make Princess Myrcella’s toys.” 

“I haven’t played with dolls since I was eight.” Sansa stood smoothing her dress down. “May I be excused?”

“But you haven’t finished eating yet,” Septa Mordane said.

Ned sighed. “Of course,” he said and watched her rush into her private chamber and shut the door behind her. He turned to the Septa. “Please, try to enjoy the rest of your meal and bring her food later.” 

“Yes, My Lord.”

His girls were already having a horrible time at the capital and they had just arrived. This entire trip had turned into a nightmare. He understood Sansa's enchantment with Prince Joffrey; she had suffered greatly with Lady’s death and was trying to hold onto a brighter future as his Queen but he was not turning out to be the brave King she’d hoped for, and now her father had made the mistake and treated her like a small child when she felt like a young Lady already. 

He let out a deep sigh and walked to the opposite side of the room, knocking on Arya’s private chamber, hoping to speak to her. There was no response, but after a brief pause, she pulled the door open and stepped aside, letting him in. She had a very light sword in her hand, a thin blade but appropriately sized for her. 

“Whose is that?” He asked calmly, already suspecting her reply.

“Mine!” She said, trying to put it behind her back. “It’s called Needle.”

“A blade with a name, I see.” Ned extended his hand and waited until she reluctantly gave him the sword. “I know the craftsmanship, it was made in Winterfell. How did you get it?”

Arya hesitated. “I - it is mine! You cannot have it!” 

He sighed and closed the door behind him, finally returning the sword to her and sitting at the small table in the corner. “What will you do with it?”

“Use it.” She said, crossing her arms.

“On who? Your sister?” 

“I should! She is responsible for Mikah’s death! And for Lady’s! And Nymeria running away!”

“That was not her fault and she suffered for it too.”

“But she lied! She saw what happened and let Joffrey lie! I hate her!”

“Arya, your sister was in a very different position. She was called by the Queen and questioned. She couldn’t have called the Prince a liar in front of his family, in front of everyone present. When they become Kings and Princes and Queens they can rewrite the truth and pointing such things out could be extremely dangerous. Your sister is not your enemy. One day you will marry a man and become a Lady and you will understand,” he explained. 

“I am not a Lady, I will never be a Lady.” Arya sniffled. “It’s not fair! I hate them. I hate all of them! But I - I don’t hate Sansa.” She rubbed her cheek, pretending that no tears had fallen.

Of course, he should have known. Arya had never displayed the same interests as Sansa. “It’s true. It is not fair, life is not fair at times, but we must make the best of it. Try to fight for what is right.”

“I am not a good fighter yet, but I am practising.” She said, looking at her sword. 

Ned considered it for a moment. Perhaps it would not be bad for her to know how to protect herself and Sansa. “King’s Landing is a very dangerous place. You will learn to use it, starting tomorrow. You are a Stark of Winterfell, we are warriors - all of us in our own way.” 

“Thank you!” she said, running to hug him.

#phanfiction #phanfic #ospbb 2022 #succubusphan fics #game of thrones #got fic

[dankusner]

Reopening Kilgallen case

A New York City councilman has called upon Manhattan District Attorney Alvin Bragg to reopen the case of Dorothy Kilgallen, the celebrated columnist who was pursuing an investigation of John F. Kennedy’s assassination when she was found dead in her Manhattan apartment in 1965.

The death was ruled an accidental drug overdose at the time

In light of recent revelations by Dr. Michael Baden acknowledging the mistakes in the Kilgallen autopsy and the premature conclusions drawn by the Manhattan Medical Examiner's office, it becomes not just an opportunity but a moral imperative to re-examine this case.

Mark Shaw, a noted historian and bestselling author, possesses a remarkable amount of highly relevant documents and credible statements from nearly 30 witnesses who swear Kilgallen did not overdose that will be crucial to an investigation as will the new evidence Shaw has uncovered.

CAN YOU EVER FORGIVE ME?

SYNOPSIS: In CAN YOU EVER FORGIVE ME?, Melissa McCarthy stars as Lee Israel, the best-selling celebrity biographer (and cat lover) who made her living in the 1970’s and 80’s profiling the likes of Katherine Hepburn, Tallulah Bankhead, Estee Lauder and journalist Dorothy Kilgallen. When Lee found herself unable to get published because she had fallen out of step with the marketplace, she turned her art form to deception, abetted by her loyal friend Jack (Richard E. Grant).

Dan, I know I got weird the last 24 hours and I figured out why. I felt like I sold out and betrayed my whole ancestry based on rumours and 3rd hand accounts making them seem like drunken Klansmen, when I have zero proof of any of it. I felt like I made them all into caricatures instead of real, full people. These are just a FEW of the things I admire/enjoyed about our visit: •How thoughtful you were to get me a literal granny-jug of Bacardi. •How sensitive you were to my micro-moods. •The way you turned a “5 minute story” into a complete movie script of paranoid madness. ( I still have chills behind it) •Not even caring if Karen the maid was a holy roller (she’s not), but cussing like a sailor in front of her. (She loved it, and she now loves you) •Aunt Bunny picture and the story behind it •Your imitation of the drag whore from Risky Business was SPOT ON. I never saw that one coming. •How appreciative you were of memory foam and 15K BTU window units •You sent me on a re-learning expedition about Dorothy Kilgallen •You never once smoker-shamed me and I forgot I was obese while you were here. •You were kind but firm to idiot Irene and indulgent with poor itchy Rosie. •That you had the BALLS to wear giant pants and shirt to court like David Byrne. •The use of the word “nigger” until it lost its steam and sting •The absolute many serious work hours you spent dealing with ALL my lame photo albums and doing “scans.” It’s boring work, I know. I just hope you are not compelled to include the weird Nazi/lynching photos. •Your patience with my mood swings (remember- “history of emotional problems”) •I liked how you turned the recliner around to face me and wondered why I’d never thought of doing that before when someone visited. •every time you stretched it was obvious you had your shorts on backwards because of the label on the back. •You had the nerve to wear my tent-clothing to court!!! •You truly appreciated the very few things Port Arthur has to offer - Buddhist temple, Queen of Vietnam statue and swastika building.

#Youtube

[luminenwalker]

[14-1-2024]

Between the yellow paint and blood- all you can see is the blood. Your mistake was costly, and can't be repeated. Another day of living in Cinci, right? Right. Doesn't make it any better. //RRH

Glass hits you. You're caught in a crossfire, and all hell is breaking loose around you. Nearly deaf, simply confused. How quick can you move? You feel heat pumping from your chest. //RRH

Your whole life is a calculated risk. Good days feel like that. Just a deal, but everything if you pull it off. Another day, another week, another month. Just keep working. //RRH

Buried treasure? No, you want to think that. But, it's just another dead drop. Some cash, a few thums, and a spike. SensPerience. Could be game changing but it's doubtful. //RRH

Your eyes lose focus, and you force yourself to blink. Keep putting one foot in front of another, just figuring out where you're going and if you have a reason to even go there. //RRH

Your heart is beating, and somehow that's all that matters right now. They're fast, but you're more limber. You turn down an alley, and then another, and keep going until they're gone. //RRH

Something's wrong. Your ports are still itchy. The diagnostic is red, and the spike ports are... Is this the shakes, or the treatment last month, or... You need help, and soon. //RRH

You keep plodding along. Just one foot in front of the other towards the city, through its gates. Something bad will happen, but something worse will happen if you keep doing nothing. //RRH

He's ragged. Ragged at best. You listen, and glide your pen over the scrap. All he has are names and numbers. And, they all need to know. Not your job, but someone has to do it. //RRH

Does the name mean anything to you? No. Whoever they were is gone. You try to focus, but they're not in your programming now. You've lost something, but, does that matter? //RRH

Self-styled 'nanite artist' Genetrix Io's latest work is a dismal affair. An implant 'seeding' flowers in the human body? Blossom-matrixed keratin for petaled nails; pistil-patterned tonguebuds for pollened saliva? Trite, grotesque, and kitsch-ridden thriftshop fare. //TruthWave

There's new grub down at Gamble. Steamed streetfood tightly scribbled all over with Chinese calligraphy. Triad thing? Tried to get the lowdown from an Asian head, but it's all hush-hush, some secret lingo or dialect she didn't know. Looks killer though, real eyecandy. //TruthWave

Found a derelict SensPerience parlour once. A Chinese sign that looked like a melting sundae outside, men lying silent like mannequins inside. When I came back, the men were dead. Only one remained. He came to the window and smiled. Golden eyes, mouth red as blood. //TruthWave

Corpo exec went poof at the airport and there's still no buzz on the news. Tale got nixed the moment they sniffed something shady in the footage. All those tunnels down there—it's the goddamn catacombs. One wrong step and you're gone. Swallowed. Total black hole zone. //TruthWave

Individuals experiencing retinal implant-induced hallucinations are advised to refrain from interacting with visual anomalies to prevent the misdirection of retinal nanites onto unintended neural pathways. Cases of people falling into unrousable dreams are escalating. //TruthWave

Our bash got stormed by the pigs and yeah, our bad for not fisting their asses full of dough beforehand, but they nabbed some real weird shit. Drugs and guns chillin', but the houseplants? Every last pot gone. The hell? Anyway, we're hittin' Tower back to save Fernie. //TruthWave

Met a man claiming to live not on food, not on water, but air; a proprietary blend of gases some exclusive clinic deep in the Projects injects into his lungs. Made a bet with a sniper; she's now down 15k and up a brain-splattered, half-chewed burger. Ho hum. //TruthWave

Rip Van Winkle spike ain't a myth—it completely ruined my Ma. She's just a shell cryin' over some ghost life, now. A lifetime lived in a blink. Irony is you don't came back to a future world like the tale. You come back to a world that you no longer have any use for. //TruthWave

Ready to sing like Xara One? Insiders report that Sens star Genetrix Io is spearheading a partnership between CinnTech and SensPerience for her hotly anticipated new Sens series, said to use a revolutionary next-gen Sens spike designed to leave bio-imprinted souvenirs.//TruthWave

Fears of implant sentience gain awareness as anecdotal accounts of pain controller implants 'Pavlovian-conditioning' individuals become widespread. "It's deliberately choosing when to turn the pain tap on or off," one man says. "Subtle, insidious manipulation." //TruthWave

#cyberpunkdreams #cyberpunk #text based game

[djarinbarnes]

Silent Night - Bucky Barnes

THIS IS A DARK FIC. IF YOU’RE UNDER 18, PLEASE DNI.

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Author: Dina

Word Count: roughly 15k

Pairing: Dark!Bucky Barnes x innocent(?)!female reader

Warnings: dark!bucky, dark!fic, 18+, loss of virginity, dubcon, noncon (to be safe), smut, age gap (18 and 36), pwp, unprotected sex, male masturbation, abuse of power, anal sex, somnophilia, anal play, toys, drugging, forced oral, spitting, slapping, slight bondage... a whole lot of things.

Summary: Bucky has always put his best friend’s daughter first. She’s like the niece he never had. He’s recently become more and more infatuated with her, and when he sees a window of opportunity, he decides to act upon it.

A/N: Well damn, here it is! This is a long one 😇 Some of you have read this before, but now it has been rewritten and finished ♡

For Kaley, Sab, Gracie and Nahema. I wouldn’t have finished this without you ♡

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Dear diary.

This is the story of how I really lost my virginity. I know that no one is going to see this, but I figured writing about it would make it seem better. Easier.

It’s something I’ve been reluctant to share with anybody until now. A lot of things have happened since I wrote to you last. You’ve heard about this man before.

He’s been my father’s best friend for years. Since they were boys. Best man at my parent’s wedding, there in the waiting room the day I was born, present at every birthday party since then. Giving me presents, treating me with so much love.

Uncle Bucky, as he’d come to be named in our family, had watched me grow up and I was his princess. The niece he never had. He showered me with everything a little girl could wish for. We had secrets. It was just something that was shared between the two of us.

But once I turned eighteen, something changed in Bucky. His fondness of me turned into an obsession. I felt it like a pendulum changing its magnetic attraction point. Every time he was over at our house, he would become distracted.

I’ve known all along what made him distracted. It was something I reveled in. But he knew he couldn’t do anything while my dad was around. So, he came up with a plan to get me alone.

Friday, 3:21pm

Going away with Bucky for the weekend as a graduation present seemed like everything she had hoped for. She would finally be free from her parents, even if it was only a weekend. She made her way around her room cheerily, throwing some random pieces of clothing along with her bathing suit, a towel and some toiletries into her bag, feeling her stomach jump slightly.

When Bucky had given her a weekend getaway to his lake house as a graduation present last week, she had been overjoyed. Finally, she had the chance to feel a little bit alive, since her parents hadn’t let her celebrate graduation with her classmates.

A gift from your favorite uncle! Had been scrawled into the card in Bucky's messy handwriting. She just knew he’d been standing at the florists, greasy hands stuffed in his pockets, nervously buying 18 red roses for her. Bucky had always made sure she had everything. He was her dad's coolest friend, and he would spoil her as much as he could.

It hadn't taken a lot of persuasion from her side to let her parents agree to hang out with Bucky for a weekend. He'd babysat her before when she was younger, but it was different now that she’d turned 18. The rules they had set were minimum, but they were there. No drinking, no nothing they wouldn’t do. A little more loose than usual, but she appreciated it, nonetheless.

Her parents, Steve and Peggy, had grown uptight over the last few years, and everything was about keeping her safe and keeping boys away from her. There was always an excuse as to why she couldn’t go to a party or why she couldn’t go on a date with Peter, the guy she had been studying with at school.

Peter was a good kid; she knew that much. He never tried anything with her, and always held back when she would flirt with him during their study sessions at the library. Even that one time she’d tried to hold his hand, he’d shrugged her off and excused himself for the day.

She never figured out why he didn’t want her affection, but she found out soon after, when she saw him kiss his best friend just after the graduation ceremony. It’d hurt – a lot – but she figured it was for the better. A day didn’t even pass before she was laughing at her obliviousness.

This year, when she’d finally turned 18, she’d hoped that everything would settle down with her parents and they’d loosen the restraints on her, but she was wrong. Apparently now, there was even more reason for keeping her home and away from boys. She figured they were afraid of her getting knocked up or something along the lines of that.

The only man she’d see on a regular basis out of school was Uncle Bucky. He and her father would always be working on their motorcycles in front of the garage, and she would watch them from her window on the first floor. She’d found her window to be a great place to keep an eye on them – on him.

She knew that Bucky worked out a lot and put a lot of effort into looking good on a daily basis, but there was just something captivating about him when his hands were covered in grease, strands of his hair falling from the half bun at the back of his head, the sweat glistening on his skin in the sun. He was attractive. And very much so.

If he was only ten years younger and not her father’s best friend, she would’ve been more than interested in him. Well, she was interested… But she knew that her father wouldn’t ever allow something like it, let alone… No. It just wasn’t happening.

Detaching herself from her train off thoughts and zipping up her weekend bag, she heard a car honk from the driveway. She made her way over to the window and a smile spread across her face as she saw Bucky’s sleek, black convertible pull up. She hurried over to her bag, making sure she had everything before nearly jumping down the stairs to get out of the house.

“Bye dad! Bye mom!” she yelled just as she pushed open the door, making her way to Bucky who was now leaning against the hood of his car. When he noticed her approaching, he pushed his body off the hood and opened his arms for her, letting her run into his warm embrace with a giggle. A muttered hi was shared between the two of them before he pulled away, walking around the hood to open the car door for her.

Giving her bag to Bucky before he shut the passenger door made her stomach flutter slightly. She hears the trunk opening and closing, and when he slides into the driver’s seat beside her and pulls out of the driveway, he's already telling jokes and making her laugh.

It was gonna be a fun weekend, she expected that much. She had great plans.

Friday, 4:02pm

Arriving at his lake house had her eyes widening. It was like a whole new house. There had been added an extension to the main house since she was here last summer, and the front porch had been painted white. Bucky parked the car, and she threw open the door of the car, getting out in one fluid motion.

"Wow! This is amazing Bucky!" she smiled at him as they both ventured up the stairs to his front porch. Bucky unlocked the door and they both stepped into the house. She’s taken aback once again.

"This is so much neater than the last time I was here!"

The whole place has been fully renovated, and there's newer, modern furniture complimenting the freshly painted walls. She admires the giant painting on the furthest wall and remembers the unfinished canvas that had been sitting untouched in one of her parent’s rooms last year.

“He finished it.” She smiled and stepped closer to it, admiring the thick, colorful paint strokes upon the black background. She heard Bucky’s footsteps behind her, trailing back through his house.

"Check out the view." She hears Bucky's voice from somewhere in the kitchen. She places her bag on one of the chairs in the living room, walking over to the glass sliding doors that lead out to the back garden, and she bursts out into a smile.

The lake you once had to walk through trees to get to, is now visible from where she’s standing. The belt of trees has been cut down, and the trunks has been dug up. She could see further than ever. She could even see the water supply tower that showed where the city began. If she squinted, she could see her parents’ backyard.

"This is incredible! I wish we lived here," she sighed and turned to find Bucky standing in the doorway. If she’d known of the way Bucky’s heart had thumped in his chest at her revelation, her smile would fall immediately. She internally begged to whomever, that Bucky hadn’t noticed her say we. Instead, he spoke up about something else.

"You still have to see the new amenities." A smile tugged on Bucky's lips.

"What amenities?" He knew she’d love what he’d installed for her, and only her. She’d talked about it for weeks on end the past five summers, and during the winter he’d finally found the time and materials to fulfill her dreams.

"The pool." his eyes glinted with something near mischief. Her eyes widened along with her smile.

"You have a pool? That's amazing!" Just the reaction he’d hoped for. He loved it when she lit up like fairy lights, her eyes filling with glee. It made his heartbeat faster in his chest.

"Did you bring your suit?" she didn't know if she heard it right, but it seemed that his voice had dropped an octave. She nodded as she grabbed her bikini out of her bag, making her way to the newly renovated bathroom to change.

Bucky watched her as she with a giggle made her way through his house, her arms wrapped around her form to shield her nakedness from the older man, who subtly tried to not look at her. “You’re not joining me?” her innocent voice filled his ears and he shut his eyes tightly before turning just a bit away from her.

“No, I’ve got some things to do. Maybe later.” His eyes quickly came up as he heard the sliding door open, watching her ass as she made her way from the patio door to the point where she descended the built-in stairs into the newly built pool.

He felt his cock twitch in his pants, the sight of her in her skimpy purple bikini was making the blood flow to his cock at an undeniable speed. He watched as her shoulders shuddered before she dived under water, her perky ass just caressing the surface from below.

He clenched his jaw before turning on his heel, the image of her half naked body burned into his retina. He needed to get it out of his system, and he needed to do it fast. He knew that there was no way he would ever forget what he had just seen, but either way he had to do something about the situation in his pants.

Making his way into the bathroom nearest the pool, he quickly unbuckled his pants and shoved both them and his underwear down to his thighs. His cock sprung free, slapping against his stomach, hard and proud and he spat into his hand before gripping it tightly, letting out a strangled groan.

"Fuck yes, god you're such a fucking tease..." his head rolled back as he moved his hand, keeping a tight grip around the shaft, imagining her lithe body taking his cock, all of his cock. “Bet you know what you’re doing to me. Bet you know how I feel about you.” His last words were followed by a groan.

The veins pulsated beneath his fingers as he let his head fall forward and he opened his eyes, watching as he fucked into his hand. He saw her body before him, drenched in the cool water of the pool, goosebumps rising on her skin, and he let out another strangled groan, god, he was so close.

It was unlike any time he’d ever jerked off to the vision of her. It was intensified – by powers he didn’t know where from. Maybe it was from her being close. So close he could reach out and claim her as his – just like he’d always wanted to.

He felt the well-known tightening in this scrotum, this time so powerful they drove tears to his eyes. God – he wanted her so badly it hurt. Yet, he had to restrain himself for the time being, he thought, as the movements of his hand picking up speed and he sucked in a breath just as he felt the surge of euphoria overcome him, and-

"Oh my god, Bucky I'm so sorry!"

Friday, 4:43pm

The air that hits her when she emerges from the water is cold. She’s shivering as she throws her arms around herself, making her way up the stairs and inside the house.

She has no idea where Bucky went, so light on her toes, arms trying to warm her torso, she makes her way to the nearest bathroom to take a warm shower. Her teeth are clattering, her frame littered with goosebumps as she trod lightly through the slightly warmer house.

She stops on one foot when she hears a sound, a sound that resembles a moan an awful lot. It can’t be. She approaches the half-open door cautiously, thinking her next move over at least a thousand times before she finally gives in and pushes the door open wider, making her halt completely.

There, in all his glory is Bucky, touching himself for whomever may have walked in to see. That whomever being her. She lets out a shriek before turning her back to him. “Oh my god, Bucky I’m so sorry!” She squeezes her eyes shut tightly, the embarrassment warming up her body quickly as she hears a rustling of clothes behind her.

She silently prays that he isn’t mad at her for walking in on such an intimate moment for him. It lit something inside of her, though, seeing him all hot and bothered for her. Everything that she’s ever imagined about him was definitely an understatement. She hears his footsteps behind her and soon after the heat radiating off his chest against her back, before he speaks up.

“Don’t worry about it,” His voice is so deep she can barely recognize it. “The bathroom is all yours.”

She locks eyes with him as he walks past her, his pupils blown wide like she’s never seen them before. She wraps her arms tighter around herself, trying to cover up from his prying eyes. She nods her head slightly before turning on her heel, walking into the bathroom.

She makes sure the door is locked behind her before she strips herself of her bikini, making sure to hang them to dry on the small, heated towel rack, before finding a towel under the sink where he usually keeps them.

The shower she takes is as long as it usually would take, only now her thoughts are occupied with flashes of Bucky touching himself. Why was he touching himself? Her mind wanders to who the reason could be. She knew he’d had a girlfriend named Natasha once – she was beautiful and had lips like the fullest, reddest cherry – she looked like every man’s wet dream.

She also knew from photos that he’d had a long-time girlfriend in high school through college named Dot – brunette and curvy and with the prettiest facial features she’d ever laid her eyes upon – all the women she had known Bucky to date were so beautiful, he could only think of either them or some hot porn stars he’d probably seen online.

But why now while she was here? Her eyes rolled back as she let out a whimper, her fingers gliding between her smooth, velvet lips, the vision of his hand gliding along the smooth skin of his cock letting her imagination run wild.

Her eyes went wide when she realized what she was doing, and she quickly retracted her fingers from where she now felt a certain warmth spread. She let out a deep sigh as she rested her head against the wall of the shower, the warm water still cascading down her back, heating her freezing limbs.

She finished her shower reluctantly before drying herself off, groaning inwardly as she realized she’d forgotten to bring clean panties and even clean clothes with her to the bathroom in the furry of awkward seconds between her and Bucky. She went over the possibilities she had in her head before searching the bathroom, letting out a small yes! when she found one of Bucky’s clean shirts in one of the small cabinets.

Thinking he didn’t mind, she slipped it over her head and vowed to herself to apologize to him when she saw him next. The shirt felt way too comfortable than it should have, and it instantly warmed her torso, before she pulled it down as far as it would go, just below the apex of her thighs.

She let out a sigh before unlocking the door, listening for a few second to hear where Bucky was located in the house. She heard the washing machine click open and she closed her eyes with another sigh, leaving the safe perimeters where she wouldn’t face embarrassment.

Tiptoeing through the hallway, she made her way into the living room to locate her bag. It felt so wrong to walk around Bucky’s house sin panties. She hears steel clashing in the laundry room, startling her. She lets out a small huff of air before pulling out a pair of lace panties from her bag, before sliding them on under the long shirt.

She’s shuffling through her bag when she’s once again startled by Bucky, this time by his voice.

“You’re wearing my shirt.” She whips around quickly with a small yelp, lace bra and t-shirt in hand. Her eyes widen as she realizes what she’s holding, quickly swinging her hands behind her back to hide the garments. He sees them, though, and it relights his fire even more vigorously than before.

“Shit, Bucky.” She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding as she relaxed under his intense stare. “I’m sorry, I’d forgotten to bring clean clothes with me to the bathroom. I’ll go change right now.” she turns back to her bag to find a pair of pants, laying the garments already in her hand on the couch.

She tenses when she feels a body behind her; a set of hands sliding up her hips, thumbs tracing the outline of her panties over the fabric of her-Bucky’s shirt. She knows his eyes are watching her like a vulture, taking in her legs extending from where his shirt stops, surely imagining what’s hidden underneath. Her breaths come out shaky and she gulps down the lump that has formed in her throat before her eyes flutter closed.

His nose finds its way into her hair, inhaling deeply before exhaling again, his fingers now venturing under the shirt she’s wearing. She feels some kind of warmth spreading where his fingertips graze her skin, just over the fabric of her panties resting on her hip. It’s like his fingers are fire and her hips are timbers – only waiting to be alighted.

“You know…” his voice is still low, just as it was when she encountered him in the bathroom. “I’ve been having a hard time ignoring the looks you’ve sent me.” His fingers slide smoothly from her hip to the middle of her abdomen, slowly tracing small, imaginary circles on her stomach. She shudders under his touch as it brings warmth into her core, and she’s biting her lip to keep a whimper from escaping them.

Bucky was right. She couldn’t deny that she was attracted to him. Who wouldn’t be? He was handsome, funny and so undeniably nice. She wasn’t sure that the attraction she’d felt towards Bucky for the past few years was reciprocated. She was definitely sure now, that his fingertips we’re playing with the hem of her panties.

“Bucky…” Her eyes flutter open as her hand clasps over his, halting his movements from traveling further south. She turns in his arms, facing him, finally taking in his lust blown eyes, his parted lips and the light blush adorning his cheeks. He looks angelic. Young. It makes her heart leap in her chest.

“Tell me you don’t feel it. Tell me this isn’t just something I’m imagining.” His half-lidded eyes search hers in an attempt to ground himself. His right arm comes around her middle to pull her closer, her hands coming up to lay against his chest. She feels the arousal radiating off him. Warmth, and a little further south, hardness.

“Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll stop.” His face nears hers, and she feels her heart hammering in her chest. Her breath hitches in her throat when she feels his lips caress hers gently. Just a small graze of soft skin against soft skin, his stubble tickling her chin and his hand tightening its hold on her shirt.

It’s cliché to say that she feels fireworks as his lips grazes hers – maybe from the fact that she’s closer to any man other than her father for the first time, or that she’s just been kissed for the first time. The whole thing is making her head spin, and in that moment, she knows what she has to do.

“We can’t. Not yet,” She breathes out, letting her eyes flutter shut. She feels his warm breath fanning over her lips, the arm around her waist going slack and a deep sigh emitting from Bucky’s throat. He was just about to pull away from her when she grips his shirt in her hands.

“I’m sorry Bucky. I just… You’re my dad’s best friend. I could never look him in the eyes again if we…” she trails off, the embarrassment overcoming her. She looks up at him, eyes glossy from the whirlwind of feelings clashing inside of her. “I’ve never… He’s so strict. I’m sorry if I led you on in any way. I’m not used to male attention.”

Bucky lets out a heartless laugh, taking a step back and brushing her hands off him as if their encounter had never happened. His actions confuse her. He surely must have seen the emotional turmoil she just went through?

“You want burger for dinner? I bought this sauce that’s great with the minced beef.” He turns on his heel and leaves the room without saying anything else. Her brows furrows at his behavior. What the fuck just happened? He leaves her dumbfounded in the living room, her confused eyes following his back until he disappears behind a wall.

In the kitchen, Bucky has pulled out everything he needed to make dinner. His jaw tightens as he goes over her refusal yet again. She’s never what? was his first thought. Then all the pieces clicked when she’d said the next sentence. I’m not used to male attention.

Of course, he knew that she had never been with a guy, let alone a man. Her father told him more than enough, and it made a sinister smile spread along his face, as another branch in his plans takes form.

He will get what he wants.

Friday, 6:32pm

She had expected dinner to be an awkward affair. For her it certainly was – but it seemed like nothing had happened just a few hours before on Bucky’s account. He appeared completely unfazed by his previous actions, and it made her shudder, sitting across from him, picking at her burger. She hears his cutlery hit the plate and her eyes shoot up, seeing the empty plate where his burger had been resting less than five minutes prior.

“So, I’m thinking we have some things to talk about.” His voice startles her, since they had eaten in almost complete silence, the only sound during dinner was the cutlery and chewing.

“What things?” she felt nervous as the words left her mouth, letting her gaze fall back to the burger on her plate. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know. She’d been cooped up in his study since their encounter in the living room, not ready to face him until she had to.

“Firstly, what happened in the bathroom.” Her eyes shot up, his eyes looking directly into hers. Her mouth falls open, before closing again. She feels the blush creeping up into her cheeks. “I find it only fair that you’ve seen me masturbate, and I you, seeing that you did touch yourself in the shower.”

Her eyes widen impossibly more, a lump forming in her throat as she took in his words. “You… You watched me?” She blinked before her eyes sought to her burger yet again, the embarrassment becoming too much. How he had noticed her, was a mystery. Surely, she’d heard him leave, but she hadn’t heard him return. Maybe she was caught up in her thoughts… But she was quiet. Wasn’t she? Was there something he wasn’t-

“I heard you through the door, darling. You’re very loud. You know that, right?” She lets out a shaky breath before standing from her seat, backing a few steps from the table, into the living room. She watches as Bucky rises from his seat as well, following her as she tried to make the space bigger between the two of them.

Bucky looks at her longingly. He had to admit she looked breathtaking, even though she was scared and angry. There was a slight twinkle in her eye though, one of which could be a hope to escape whatever he had in store for her. It dawned on Bucky, that she probably had no idea what he had planned to do to her, and he smirked when her eyes darted around, not being able to focus on anything.

“What is you want from me, Bucky?” Her voice was shaking when she finally spoke. He shook his head with a slight laugh. She must have known by now. He basically told her everything in the living room. Confessed his feelings for her. Admitting without words.

“Oh baby… You’re still so innocent.” Her back hit the wall of his living room, her breath hitching in her throat. He came impossibly closer, caging her up against the wall. “Come on now… We tried this the easy way. Give into me.”

His hand tangled in her hair before he buried his nose in it, inhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo. With a hand tightly fisting her hair, the other found its way under her shirt. She let out a sob as she felt the cup give into Bucky’s pull, the soft flesh of her breast spilling out of the cup.

“Bucky please…” She tried to reason, trying to turn away from his grasp. She felt his hand leave her hair to hold her throat as the hand under her shirt it made its way down her torso, popping the button of her pants.

She froze as his fingers slid into her panties, her eyes widening in surprise. It surprised her that the hold on her neck had the effect on her it did – it scared her as well.

“What are you- no!” she cried out as she felt one of his fingers burying itself into her entrance. Another digit joined the first shortly after, making her gasp. Bucky had her trapped, and he enjoyed it. His hand left her throat and found her cheek, stroking a fallen tear away lovingly while he pushed his fingers deeper into her, his thumb grazing her clit roughly.

“I’ll make you feel good. I promise, baby.” His fingers picked up the pace as she felt a coil tighten in her stomach. She tried to fight the pleasure that was forced upon her, the tears falling from her eyes freely by now. She felt the coil snap, and with a cry she came around Bucky’s fingers reluctantly. Her cunt clenching around his fingers felt like heaven, and at that moment, he was sure this was what heaven felt like.

“Such a good girl. You like that, huh baby?” His breath fanned over her face, the air coming off as cold on her drying cheeks. She shook her head with a sob, sucking in a breath through her nose, even though she desperately wanted to agree.

She felt Bucky retract his fingers from her panties, bringing them to his lips before sucking them into his mouth. Watching his fingers covered in her slick disappearing between his lips made her heart hammer impossibly harder in her chest.

“So goddamn sweet. Like honey, darling. You’re just hiding this sweet pussy, huh?” His filthy words take her aback, and her mouth falls open in shock. She doesn’t know what to say. Baffled, she barely feels when he lifts her by the thighs, carrying her into his bedroom, where he throws her on the bed. As her back collides with his soft covers, she’s finally pulled out of the trance.

“Bucky…” her voice is quivering as his hands tug her pants down her legs, goosebumps rising as she feels his stubble against her thighs, her calves, her feet. His lips trace their way up the inside of her legs, her eyes widening again as she realizes what he’s doing now.

“Bucky, please, don’t!” she whimpers, but to no avail. Bucky buries his nose into her mound, inhaling her scent, just as the words leave her mouth. She whimpers when she realized it feels good, even though it shouldn’t.

“Such a lovely girl… Such a lovely pussy…” His words unsettle her, making her stomach twist. She tries to push at his head with her hands, whining as she feels his teeth nip at her clit. He can feel her panicking underneath him, and it makes him smile.

She feels the fabric tighten against her skin before she hears it tear, and shortly after his mouth latches onto her clit. She silently sobs out, arms and legs thrashing about. His hands push up her legs, at the same time collecting her hands in his, tightening his hold on her. She feels the ability to move becoming harder, and she sobs again out as his tongue flicks her clit harshly.

“Stay still, darling… Or this will get worse.” Her eyes widen as she takes in his words. Worse? What could be worse than this? She was unable to kick him, unable to slap him. She was unable to push him away, unable to stop him from invading her body.

In her haze, she barely registers her climax building before it hits her, making her cry out as ecstasy takes over her body. The muscles in her legs tighten around him, her whole body shaking from the earth-shattering orgasm unlike anything she’s ever felt before. Her mind is in a haze so deep, she could barely tell right from wrong anymore.

Having Bucky in between her legs felt so right, like the two of them fit together as puzzle pieces. At the same time, she knew it was wrong – so wrong. She felt herself thrash around from her oversensitivity; her mind completely detached from her body. Her gaze fell to where Bucky was placed between her legs, and she let out a moan at how sinful he appeared, his pupils blown wide, and a wide grin plastered on his face.

She shivered at the feral look in his eyes as he peppered kisses up her stomach, pushing up her shirt and pulling down her bra, sucking one of her nipples into his mouth. She let out a wanton moan, for a short moment forgetting the situation. His lip around her perked nipples is making her pussy gush with want. She watches as he pulls his shirt over his head, baring his muscular torso to her prying eyes.

“Gonna make you feel so good, baby.” He breathes out against her skin, goosebumps rising on her skin where his breath had hit. “You’re not gonna want any other man than me when I’m done with you.” She feels his hands working in between her legs, her senses kicking in when she realizes his hands are working on unbuttoning his pants.

Tears start streaming down her face again, her head thrashing around, whimpers leaving her mouth as fear takes over her body for real. Her hands come to rest against his shoulders, trying to push him away. “Bucky, please…” she whimpers, trying to restrain him from taking her most sacred possession from her, but to no avail.

With one swift thrust he pushes inside of her. She shuts her eyes tightly, the pain unimaginable. There’s a soaring pain in between her legs, with Bucky’s cock stretching her ever so painfully. She realizes he’s stopped moving, letting her body adjust to him as her walls pulsed around his throbbing member. Whimpers are leaving her mouth, short puffs of breaths landing against the skin of his pectoral muscle.

Bucky smirks triumphantly down at her. Knowing he had been her first stirred something inside him. A sob escaped her as she started to cry audibly, his hands sliding down her sides to grasp her hips in his hands. He locks her legs around his waist, driving himself deeper into her, his thrusts hard and pace increasing. He watches her face through half-lidded eyes, soft groans falling from his lips.

Her walls were milking him, her body begging for him to come. He buries his face into the crook of her shoulder as his thrusts picks up the pace further, uncontrollable and with no rhythm at all. He’s thrusting into her most sensitive spot, earning a few moans from her lips before she’s coming undone around him, her body trembling as her walls convulsed around Bucky’s cock, tears streaming down her cheeks. She feels Bucky burying himself deeply inside her before he’s coming right after her with a load groan.

His hair is tickling her nose – she can smell his scent – pine, fresh air, Bucky. It suddenly felt alright. A sense of calm washes over her, the sense of familiarity making her relax slightly. As she feels him shift on top of her, her mind goes back into freeze mode, her eyes widening as he lifts his torso off hers. The two of them were still connected.

Bucky found her scent intoxicating, and he knew she weren’t done yet. He wasn’t done yet. Her expression turned into fear, unlike anything Bucky had seen before. “Baby, don’t look at me like that…” His voice was sulky, as if he didn’t deserve to attend to her fear.

“We’re nowhere near done yet.”

Fear surged through her body as the words fell from his lips. She didn’t want this. Not again. She wanted to cry and scream for him to stop. She had spilled so many tears already, and her screaming had left her throat dry and hoarse.

“Please Bucky…” Her body was tired, and she was emotionally drained. He shifted on top of her, his hands grasping her ankles and flipping her over before lifting her hips, bringing her to her hands and knees. He got on his knees behind her, just as she pushed her face into the bedsheets, letting out a sob as his hands brushed their way up the skin of her back.

“God you’re so delicate. Like a petal of the most exquisite rose.” She felt his breath on her butt cheeks. She let out a sob, realizing how close he actually was to her most private area. She felt his teeth bite into her left cheek and heard him let out a hum of appreciation.

“So good for me, huh baby?” The sob she let out just seconds before had escalated into full on crying – only lacking tears since she was so tired. She’s begging him to let her go, to stop for now, but she knew he wouldn’t listen. She felt his hands grab at her waist roughly, positioning himself and plunging back inside of her used cunt.

It didn’t even sound like she was screaming. Maybe all it was, was a weak screech and she quickly gave up, letting him have his way with her overly sensitive body. She was still wet – her come and his mixing together inside of her. Bucky used it as makeshift lube, sliding into her easily. Her hands turned into fists as she realized his hold on her hips would make it impossible for her to wiggle away from him.

A soft yelp left her lips as the newfound position made his thrusts seem impossibly deeper. She could hear Bucky hum behind her, compliment her as he took her, letting her know how pleased he was to finally have her. She tried to cancel out the sound of their bodies meeting – wet and slick sounds of his cock plunging its way deeply inside of her, and she gasped as she felt him get rougher again.

He slammed into her, groaning for her to follow him, to come with him, making her cry out. Bucky hit her cervix repeatedly, painfully, again and again until she came a fourth time, her body pulling and clenching around him, begging him to let go, and he came yet again with a loud groan.

He stroked her back lovingly as he almost collapsed against her back, her legs quivering underneath the weight of their bodies. It took Bucky a while to remove himself from her, but when he did, he didn’t hesitate to clean her up thoroughly, making sure she was perfect for him.

“Come on darling, roll over for me.” Bucky commanded, and she simply let out a deep breath and moaned. She couldn’t do it. She didn’t have the strength and the will anymore. All she wanted to do was to hide away from the world. From Bucky.

“Roll over for me.” He said again, this time punctuating all four words, rolling his eyes as she let out a whine in protest. He ended up grabbing her waist and turning her over himself, laying her down before laying down himself and pulling her into his arms.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” his hands slid down the curve of her waist, fingers drawing imaginary circles on her hipbone. She let out a huff before hiding her face in his neck, feeling her eyes wet with tears yet again. They slid down her cheek and landed in the crevice of his collarbone, pooling among droplets of sweat from their sex.

“You did so good, darling. I’m so proud of you.” A wracked sob left her at his words. She felt him bury his nose into her hair, his lips peppering kisses onto her scalp as he softly shushed her, his arms gently rocking her as he let her cry.

“It’s all gonna be okay darling, I’ll take care of you.” With that, she fell into a dreamless slumber.

Saturday, 9:21am

Bucky watched her as the soft morning sun peeked through his curtains, which wasn’t drawn the whole way. Her eyelashes laid softly against her rosy cheeks; her eyelids still puffy from the crying she did last night. His eyes studied her face calmly before traveling down her naked, uncovered body, his head propped up on his arm, his temple laying against his fist.

His eyes fell on her breasts, admiring her perked nipples and the small stretchmarks pointing to the rosy bud. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, his fingers reaching out to graze the soft skin under her breast. His hand made its way down the curve of her waist, pushing down the covers laying against her skin.

As her navel was revealed, Bucky felt his cock twitch. Images from last night of her body underneath him filled his mind, how good she felt around his cock, how deliciously sinful her moans had filled his ears, how fucking good her slick tasted on his tongue… He was definitely in deep.

How she managed to calm herself down after more than two hours of crying and sobbing through what he had forced upon her, to now look more peaceful and beautiful as ever blew his mind. Her eyelids fluttered before she shifted slightly, her hand coming up to rub at her eyes.

He didn’t fight the want to stroke at her hair, so that’s what he did. He lifted his hand and pushed a strand behind her ear, his thumb stroking her cheekbone afterwards. To Bucky’s surprise she leaned into his touch, a small smile tugging at her lips.

It dawned on him that she, at this moment, wasn’t awake enough to remember what had transpired last night. She stretched her arms in front of her, hands landing against Bucky’s shoulder and pectoral muscles, and her eyes fluttered open quickly as she withdrew her hands hurriedly.

“Bucky?” her voice quivered before her bottom lip started wobbling – her face twisting with realization. Her eyes widened at her undressed state, not fully covered by the covers, and she yanked the fabric up to cover her breasts while sitting up slightly.

“Morning beautiful.” He watched as her muscles tensed before she relaxed slightly. Her lips move on their own accord as she whispers out a morning. “How are you feeling?” His hand came out to grasp hers, and she lets him take it.

“A little bit sore…” his thumb grazes over the back of her hand and she watches it as it slides over the skin, tracing the path of the veins trailing underneath the flesh. “I uh…” She bites her lip as she twists her hand in his, grasping his hands in hers.

“Mhm, what is it darling? Don’t go being all shy on me now” He watched her hand in his, feeling his heart jump slightly, feeling some sort of domestication by looking at her. The words that left her mouth shortly after took him by surprise.

“Can I see it?” she sucked her lip back between her teeth before she let out a giggle. “Your cock?”

Bucky’s mouth fell open at her choice of words before he let the covers slide down his body slowly, revealing his semi-hard cock to her. The sight of it made her inhale sharply, taking in the size of it. She realized she had barely seen it the previous day in the bathroom, since it looked even bigger now. Was that really inside of her last night? Bucky felt a smile tug on his lips as he watched her face, contorted in admiration.

“You can touch it… Come on, I’ll show you how.” He watches as she bites her lip, before the hand that was holding hers tugged her hand down to his cock. She shifts closer to him as her fingers graze over the length of his cock, before gripping the base softly, nimble fingers wrapping around his girth.

His cock is heavy and warm in her hand, pulsing beneath her fingers. It somehow makes her mouth water, and she feels a sudden urge to do more than just jerk Bucky off. She doesn’t give into the temptation though, deciding that this should be enough for now. She hears Bucky suck in a breath as he watches her.

“Just like that, move your hand up and down slowly, maybe tighten your grip a little bit… when you get to the head…” She did as he told her, watching as her fingers pulls the foreskin down, before coming back up to the head of his cock. Her head whips around as she hears a groan leave his lips.

His eyes were hooded, watching her movements, eyes scanning over her body, before coming up to her face. “God you’re beautiful…” She tightened her hand further, quickening her movements. She looked into his eyes and held his gaze as she pumped his cock. There was something in his eyes – she couldn’t quite place what she saw. She watched as his brows furrowed, his eyes fluttering closed, his breath coming out heavier and another groan spilling from his lips.

She twisted her head just as she felt his cock tense in her hand, watching the way white ropes of cum landing against the skin of his stomach, some pooling into his bellybutton, along with another strangled groan falling from his lips. Her lips tugged into a smile, his hand coming up to grasp the back of her neck, pulling her into a deep, heavy kiss.

She felt the same feeling as she did just under a day earlier, when he had kissed her in the living room. Sparks flying, undeniably. As her lips parted from his, he smiled. His eyes scanned over her reddened cheeks before trailing over her lips, pulling back from her to give her space.

“What would you like for breakfast, baby?” The words were softly spoken, and she smiled as he sat up slightly, awaiting your answer. She shrugged her shoulders lightly, not really sure if she was in the mood to eat something. Her stomach was still a bit uneasy from the events of yesterday, but she managed to get out the word smoothie, along with her best doe-eyes.

After Bucky rolled out of bed and left his bedroom to clean himself up and make her breakfast, she let out a celebratory sigh and fell back against one of his pillows. She hoped that her efforts in seeming interested in his actions would help, so he wouldn’t force her into things she didn’t want.

She leaned over the edge of the bed and grabbed the discarded shirt, pulling it over her head. She quietly padded over to her bag, pulling the whole bag into her arms and walking to the bathroom, before locking herself in. She stepped into the shower stall, turning the water on and twisting the handle, feeling the water getting warmer and warmer, up until the point where it was scalding her skin.

She whimpered before fully submerging herself underneath the searing water, scrubbing the insides of her thighs violently until she felt the skin grow sore and sensitive. She sobbed out as her fingers came into contact with her sensitive folds, washing away the remains of what Bucky had done to her the night before.

Just as she thought of him, she felt her heart drop in her chest when she heard a knock on the bathroom door. She hadn’t even heard him approaching, and now he was just outside the door. She silently begged that he wouldn’t speak or ask her for anything, but it seemed like luck wasn’t on her side today either.

“Baby, breakfast’s ready.” She felt the goosebumps of disgust run down her back, even though the water was still burning her skin. Just the sound of his voice made her uncomfortable, made her guts turn uncomfortably in her stomach, which made her regret once again ever coming here with him in the first place.

“Baby?” He knocked again, making her heart clench in her chest before she answered him quietly that she was almost done, before she turned off the water, rubbing her body roughly with one of the towels laid out in one of the cabinets.

“Just a second.” She took a look in the mirror and gasped as she noticed the bruises littering her neck, arms, stomach, thighs. She had no idea how she was going to hide them from her parents. She scrambled through her bag, pulling out as many covering pieces of clothing she could possibly muster before covering up her body.

Saturday, 10:08am

When she entered the kitchen, the delicious smell of pancakes filled her nostrils and she sighed in content. She took in the table – Bucky had placed all of her favorite fruits in separate bowls and made her a smoothie. The pancakes were even chocolate chip. She felt both agitated and sure of herself, until the second she sat down.

“So, I was really your first, huh?” Was the first question that left Bucky, a smirk plastered on his face. She felt the redness fill her cheeks before she nodded, not really wanting to engage in a conversation with him. She grabbed a handful of blueberries, stuffing them into her mouth and chewing on the sweet fruits.

“You know… The way your body reacted to how I fucked you… How you moaned… Cried out my name… How your tight pussy strangled my cock…” Bucky smirked as he grabbed his cup of coffee, bringing it to his lips before blowing on the surface, gently. “Could get used to that.”

She felt her heart pick up its pace in her chest, hammering against her ribcage as she sat stiff with her hands in her lap, too embarrassed to look at him. She fought her embarrassment though and looked up to where he was sitting through her lashes – he was exploring his molars with his tongue with his eyebrow cocked, watching her. Smug son of a bitch.

“You shouldn’t be so nervous, darling. Dig in! I made everything you asked for while you were hiding in my bathroom. You could at least appreciate the effort.”

Her eyes shot down, not wanting to meet his. The tone in his voice made her shiver. She reluctantly reached out and grabbed the smoothie off the table, bringing the straw to her lips before sucking the sweet fluid into her mouth. The taste of strawberry and blackberry lingered on her tastebuds, along with a tangy flavor she had trouble placing. She looked up at Bucky again.

“Bucky… I think I would like to go home today.” She shivered as she thought about what happened last night. What could happen again. She feared it would. She took another sip of the smoothie followed by another, and placed it on the table, truly hoping Bucky would give in and let her go.

She was wrong.

His smile was wide as he watched her drink more than half of the smoothie, just waiting for the triazolam to take its toll on her nervous system. He knew the pills for his incurable insomnia would come in handy someday, and he mentally high fived himself as he noticed her getting groggier.

“This should solve your sleeping problem, Mr. Barnes. I wouldn’t normally advise for this, but if you’re in need of a faster effect, crush them into some water and ingest it shortly before going to bed.”

And that was exactly what Bucky had done when making her smoothie. The remains of the white powder in the porcelain mortar resting in the sink was the only evidence of his scheme at this point. He had everything planned – down to the last detail. Everything he had to do by the time she would wake up from her pill-induced sleep.

“You know, darling, there’s so much I want to show you. To teach you.” Bucky slowly got out of his chair, picking a few fruits from the bowls, before chucking them into his mouth. “That’s why I need you to stay here, with me. Until we die.”

“Bucky, I… what’s happening?” she looked up at him with fearful eyes, her sight blurring Bucky into a blob of dark and fair tones before returning back to being clear as day. “I’m scared. Please.”

“You’re gonna sleep for a little bit,” he crouched down beside her chair and her eyes widened as her brain caught up with what her ears were hearing. “But I’ll make sure to take good care of you while you’re sleeping, I promise.” She felt his hand wipe a stray piece of hair from her face, pushing it behind her ear before he placed a kiss on her cheek.

Everything went black before her eyes, and her head landed heavily in Bucky’s hands. He watched as her eyes rolled around in her head, unable to focus on anything before finally falling closed, a sigh escaping her lips.

Bucky lifted her out of the chair gently, admiring her soft features before walking her to his bedroom. Her soft breathing was warm against his neck as he held her in his arms, one of the only things letting her know she was still sentient. He laid her on the bed carefully before beginning to rid her of all the clothes she had hidden herself in.

“Oh, you silly girl… Trying to hide from me. Trying to get me to let you go…” he carefully tugged down her jeans, throwing them on the floor. He lifted her leg off the bed, placing a kiss on top of her foot. His eyes follow the length of her legs, all the way up her body. Her beautiful body. “I’ll never let you go. You’re mine now.”

Saturday, ?

She let out a small groan before turning on to her back – or so she thought. Her eyes flew open before she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes – or tried to. She groggily looked up at her hand and let out a gasp when she found it fixated to the bedpost. She whipped her head around and found the other fastened likewise, letting out a tiny whimper.

She clenched her fists, giving the restraints another tug but to no avail. She lifted her head slightly, looking around, and let out another whimper when she noticed she was in Bucky’s bedroom yet again. She shivered when she heard his voice, coming from behind her.

“So, you’re finally awake. Took you long enough, darling.” she gasped when she felt his fingers slide through her folds and into her wet cunt. It felt different than the last time he did it, though. Like something was in the way. It felt good, though.

“You know, it’s actually quite impressive how the human body reacts to arousing touch. I’ve been toying with your clit for more than an hour, drawing a few orgasms from you and you’re still just as responsive… So, I wanted to try something new.”

She gasped when she felt his fingers swirl themselves inside her and then against the back of her tight cunt. Her eyes widened as her mind suddenly cleared itself enough for her to feel the expansion of her tight ring of muscle. She struggled to move her legs, giving up when she realized they were tied to the foot of the bed, spread wide.

“For someone who was a virgin in both holes just yesterday, I have to say I’m impressed. It’s like your pussy was made for my cock… I can’t wait to fuck this tight ass of yours… To see if it’s just as good as your cunt.”

Her eyes widened as she felt his hand leave the warmth of her pussy, swirling around the gem of the butt plug seated snugly within her tight rim. She gasped loudly when she felt Bucky slowly retracting the plug, not letting the widest part pass the rim before pushing the plug back in. She let out a wanton moan as it fell back into place.

“I’m gonna fuck your pussy while this plug is filling you up, and then I’m gonna fuck your tight ass…” She heard Bucky slide down the mattress before his lips found her soaking cunt, emitting a loud moan from her. Her mind was still hazy from her slumber, she struggled with finding the words for a few moments. “Yeah, you like that?”

“Bucky…” she whimpered weakly as a surge of pleasure shot through her veins. “Please don’t, Buck…” She had trouble focusing on anything, she wasn’t sure where Bucky’s lips lingered anymore. She registered the rip of a foil packet, and just after, she felt the thickness of Bucky’s cock filling her slick pussy to the limit.

“Fuck, that’s a good girl…” Bucky moans loudly as he bottoms out, the pressure from the plug in her ass straining against his cock. He leans down and peppers a string of kisses on her cheek, admiring her as her mouth hung open, short puffs of breaths pushing their way past her plump lips.

Her eyes are shut tightly, her eyebrows drawing a thin line between pleasure and pain. As of that moment, he can’t tell which is which. Tears are slowly framing her eyes, though still not giving the emotion away.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, and Bucky bites his lips to restrain himself, but the intoxicating way her pussy grasps his cock tightly, the sweet pink gem resting just above his cock has his mind spiraling into pleasure. He grabs her hips and thrusts into her harshly, pushing the tears out of her eyes and the cries out of her mouth with every thrust.

His hips slam against hers within a few thrusts, and it’s making her see stars. His cock is grazing her most sensitive places with every thrust, and everything seems to blacken before her eyes as hot floods shoot through her veins, her orgasm so intense her whole body is shaking.

She herself doesn’t know whether it was in pleasure or in pain either, but it was definitely something in between. She had never felt a feeling so indescribably enormous; she had never felt so full. She whimpered when Bucky pulled himself out of her, eyes widening as she came back to herself, feeling the plug being retracted slowly.

“I can’t hold back darling, fuck you make it so hard…” she gasped when the plug slid out easily, whimpering as she felt liquid smear against her fluttering, sensitive ring of muscle, the coolness slithering down between her sensitive lips, staining the mattress below her.

She bites her lip harshly as she feels the tip of Bucky’s cock prod against her tightening rim. It was a whole other feeling than the plug. Where the plug was cold and somewhat hard, Bucky’s cock was warm, wide and rigid. She clenches her jaw as his cock breaches her, the sting unlike anything she had ever felt before.

“Come on baby, let me hear you…” Bucky gritted through his teeth, just beside her ear. She clenches her jaw even tighter, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of letting him hear the effect he had on her. The breaths she sucked in through her nose were uneven and ragged, the pain caused by his cock almost unbearable.

“Fucking relax, baby… You’re just making it harder for yourself…” She didn’t know how deep he was inside of her and she didn’t wanna know either. She had never felt dirtier than she did in this exact moment, and she shut her eyes tightly, wishing herself invisible. She felt his hands grasp a butt cheek each, before spreading them apart, thrusting his hips, slowly entering her deeper.

“That’s it baby…” she whined as she felt his hips still against hers, his pelvis resting snugly between her spread cheeks. His mouth found her ear and she whimpered as the next words that left his lips sunk in. “Such a good slut for me, taking all of my cock in her tight ass…”

His hand moved around her hip, squeezing itself between her body and the mattress, sliding down in between her legs where her soaking pussy had been abandoned. His fingers swirled around the bundle of nerves, the small jolts of his thrusts mixing with the pleasure from his fingers pushing her over the edge.

She let out a scream as she came around his cock, her ass gripping him tighter than he had ever felt before in his life. Out of all the women he had ever fucked, she was by far the tightest he had ever experienced. Her whole body shook beneath him, hands tightly fisting the bedsheets as her ass strangled his cock, begging for him to release his seed within.

Bucky’s cock felt so massive as she tried to come down from her startling high, the jolts of her body seemingly calming down slightly. “Bucky please… You’re too big, I can’t…” she cried out as her oversensitivity took over, trying to push the foreign intrusion out. His movements stung against her sore ring of muscle, making her wail further.

Bucky ignored her pleas and pushed his hips tighter against hers before retracting himself halfway, pushing in again. He groaned into her ear as he fucked her ass, showing her no mercy as he searched for his own release. He cursed out as he found the angle unable to grant him what he so desperately longed for.

He untied her right leg first, followed by the left before bringing her knees under her body, to fuck her in his favorite position. She whined as he pulled out of her ass completely, before leaning down to lick a firm stripe through her folds. She didn’t know how he managed to make her feel as dirty as he did, but it was amplified even further when he spat at her ass.

He cursed behind her at the sight of her, and shortly after she felt another wet dollop of lube slither between her cheeks. He easily slid his cock back into her ass, sighing out as her warmth once again engulfed his cock completely. He was never, ever going to let her go. Not when she could make him feel like this by just fucking her.

His release came just as quickly as she had hoped. Within three more strokes, he buried himself to the hilt, bit her earlobe harshly and spilled himself into the condom. She felt the pulsing of the convulsions in his cock more prominently in her ass, and she distracted herself from the pain by counting every spurt of his cum that landed within the latex with every jerk of his cock.

“Good girl.” He whispered as he gripped around his cock, securing the condom before pulling out of her, slowly. She whimpered as he left her body, and he groaned at the sight of her ring of muscle fluttering and contracting around nothing.

Bucky slid off the bed after pulling the condom off, tying the end and left for the bathroom. She felt a tear escape her eye as she pushed her legs back to lie flat before lifting her head, turning it to look in the direction of the bathroom. Bucky emerged with a damp towel, in all his naked glory, walking over to her with a victorious smirk.

“You did so good my darling… Such a good obedient girl for her daddy.” He talked sweet nonsense as he cleaned between her legs. She hissed as the damp cloth came in contact with her swollen ass, and again when he swiped it between her folds, gathering her slick. “Have you changed your mind yet, darling? Or do I need to teach you another lesson?”

She looked up at him with wide eyes, sucking her lip in between her teeth. “Changed my mind about what?”

She felt a hard slap on her butt. “Don’t play dumb, baby. It’s not a good look on you. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” She whimpers as his hand grazes along the angry, red protrusion of the skin where his hand had landed.

“Please, I want to go home Bucky.” She whimpered, closing her eyes as she felt the tears flow freely from her eyes. She felt another harsh slap against har already sensitive skin, then another.

“Wrong answer.”

“Bucky you can’t keep me locked up here forever!” She cried out, tugging on the restraints again, with what little power she had left after what he had just put her through, and the grogginess from the drugs, still in her system. Bucky leaned all the way into her ear, whispering out yet another sinister thing, that made her whole body crumble in fear.

“If that’s what it takes.”

He left her then, only pulling the sheet over her ass to cover her private parts. She didn’t know how long she spent in his bed, tied up like some animal. She could hear him somewhere in the house, humming along to some tune playing on the radio, which she couldn’t make out.

She was getting cold, falling asleep sporadically along with goosebumps rising on her skin as silent tears slid down her cheeks into the pillow. She felt exposed and used. Used by a man she trusted with her life. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She imagined that she could’ve been wrapped up in her comforter at home, watching some boring Netflix series instead of laying tied up here.

She felt scared. Even more scared than she’d felt just after Bucky had violated her for the first time. She’d never felt so helpless before, and it made her even more scared of what Bucky would do to her if he got the chance. It was getting dark out, and she knew that it would either improve or deteriorate her chances of escaping. She didn’t know where to escape to, though.

She knew she had to get out of his house as soon as possible. She knew she had to get in contact with her parents somehow, despite the fact that she didn’t want to anymore. She didn’t know where her phone had ended up in all of this mess, but she knew Bucky usually slept with his by the bed. Either she could wait for that opportunity, or she could try to escape.

She wiggled her toes slightly, trying to get some of the blood down there again. She twisted her knees slightly, trying to pull them up under her again. She thanked the heavens that she was flexible when she managed to pull her right knee up under her, followed by the other.

She slowly rose to her knees, sitting back on her ass. She looked towards the door, cracked open slightly. The faint smell of something cooking filled her nostrils and she heard her stomach rumbling. She had no recollection of when she last had something to eat.

It was this morning, that much she knew. But she didn’t know what time it was by now. How long she’d been out, how long he’d been in the bedroom with her, how long she’d been laying there alone.

She took in the expert knots that had her hands tied to the headboard, reminding her that her dad and Bucky had served in the military together, and that they both had some knowledge about rope and knots. They’d even taught her some, so she could easily make out which one he’d tied her up with.

The double constrictor knot tied twice on both her wrists made her eyes fill with tears yet again. There was no way she would be able to pull the knots open with her teeth. Yet she found herself trying. And… on top of that, she really needed to pee.

She examined the knot before slowly making out the placement of the ends and where they were cut off. She reached forward and trapped one loop in between her teeth, pulling slightly. She sighed happily when she felt it give in, and she pulled one end through easily. Way too easily.

She repeated the action one more time, pulling the end over and through on the other side, one knot coming completely undone. She nodded at herself when the first rope fell to the pillow under her, making everything seem a little bit easier.

Three more to go.

She prayed that Bucky didn’t make an appearance, otherwise she’d be fucked. She leaned forward and examined the next knot on the same wrist, leaning forward when she located the end of it.

She winced when the ropes on the wrist she wasn’t working on tugged the rash on her skin even deeper. She needed to get out of there, and she needed to get out of there now. Panic settled in her stomach when she heard footsteps from somewhere in the house, tears spilling out of her eyes yet again.

“Come on, come on…” the knot finally gave in and she breathed out in relief, grinning slightly when her fingers started loosening the knots on her other wrist. She was so close to freeing her wrist, so close to relief from emptying her bladder… So close to escaping from Bucky.

“Baby…” She instantly freezes when she hears his voice from the door. “What are you doing?” She lets out a breath, feeling the tears re-wetting the paths on her cheeks that had dried earlier. Her cheeks redden, embarrassed that he’s caught her.

“Bucky, I…” she starts, turning her head slowly to look at him. He’s standing in the doorway with a tray of food for her, for them. How had she not noticed the amazing smell filling the room much earlier? How long had he even been standing there? She was so caught up in escaping she hadn’t even heard him.

She’s not sure whether the words that leave her mouth are just plain stupid or smart. Either way, his eyes soften just a bit when she speaks. “I just really have to pee.” She watches as he puts down the tray on his bedside table before he leans forward, loosening the remaining knots.

“Why didn’t you just call for me, baby? I would’ve come and helped you so you wouldn’t tear your lips like that.” His thumb grazes her lip, making her wince slightly. She hadn’t noticed the skin being mangled from the roughness of the rope. “Jesus baby, you look awful.”

She winces again when his fingers glide over her cheekbone, before they help her loosen the last knots around her wrists. She slides off the bed with a whimpering thank you, her legs slightly unstable as she staggers her way to the bathroom. She shuts the door softly before finally getting the relief she’s been craving.

Once finished, she tries for the small window in the bathroom. She knows she isn’t going to fit through, but she’s trying anyway. The window doesn’t budge, even when all laches are off and clattering against the glass. She knows Bucky can hear her from the bedroom, but at this point she doesn’t care.

“Come on. Dinner is ready.” His voice is just on the other side of the door, letting her know just how close he was. By the looks of it, there was no way she was ever going to be left alone again. Her foot slipped from her getting dizzy when she stepped on the bathmat to wash her hands, causing her to let out a yelp.

The door was yanked open just as she steadied herself against the marble countertop, catching Bucky’s eyes in the mirror when she looked up. Traces of nervousness swirled in his eyes, and she wondered why. “Jesus, I thought you hurt yourself, baby.”

He watched her every move as she washed her hands, dried them off before throwing them around her body, shielding her still naked body from him. He observed the way goosebumps littered her arms and legs, making his heart clench in his chest. He swiftly manhandled her into a t-shirt, before handing her a pair of panties.

He watched as she slid them on weakly, before grabbing her hand and leading her back to the bed. “Come on,” he spoke softly, as he sat her down and placed the tray in front of her, urging her to eat by bringing a forkful of food to her lips. “You need your strength.” She squeezed her lips together, not fully trusting him with her food since the incident this morning.

“Don’t worry.” He grabbed her hand, his thumb sliding over the soft skin, “It’s just food this time. No drugs.” She looked up at him doe-eyed, desperately trying to just have him leave her. She purses her lips again. “I trust you, baby.”

“I’m not hungry.” She whispered out, pulling her hand from his gently before scooting back just a bit on the bed, to get further away from him. Her stomach grumbled in that moment, letting him know how much of a lie that was. She was starving.

He grabs her jaw, forcing her lips apart before shoving the food in between them. “You eat when I tell you to eat.” He’s somewhat grumpy, it’s easy to see. There’s a glint remorse in his eyes, but she doesn’t believe that he regrets anything he’s put her through. She chews languidly, all while her eyes are trained on her hands in her lap.

“Am I going to have to force feed you, or will you eat on your own accord? Because I don’t care what you choose.” She looks up at him and watches as he scoops another dollop of food onto the fork, bringing it to her lips. She carefully swallows the food already in her mouth before opening up for him to feed her. “Good girl.”

It continues like that, with Bucky taking a few bites in between feeding her. It makes her calm to see him eat from the same portion of food as her, letting her know that he was telling the truth when he made her eat the first bite. No drugs.

He brings the straw resting in a glass of water to her lips after setting the plate back on the tray. She eyes his hands, inspecting the glass intensely. He sighs and rolls his eyes yet understanding her actions. He knows she’s afraid of him, he knows she doesn’t trust her right now.

He brings the straw to his own lips and sucks the cold fluid into his mouth before swallowing, letting her know that the water was safe to ingest as well. She exhales slowly before taking the glass from him, emptying it in one go. She was truly thirsty.

“What time is it?” she tries softly, afraid that Bucky thought she didn’t need to know, since he had no plans of ever letting her go. She’s looking for any sign indicating that he’s carrying his phone. He eyes her for a while, his eyes squinting for just a moment. She looked breathtaking as she sat there, fiddling her fingers.

“Why do you want to know?” She knew it. He’s still watching her, trying to look through her, into her head to figure out what she’s thinking. She tries her best to appear unfazed, just wanting him to tell her the goddamn time.

She feels lost in a whole new way, with the conception of time stripped from her as well. It makes her uneasy on a whole other level. “I just… Wanna know if it’s time for dessert.” She whispers, still afraid to say much. She waits for his reaction anxiously, another wave of uneasiness overcoming her.

Bucky laughs. He actually laughs at her. She furrows her brows as she watches his shoulders shake with every puff of laughter. “You don’t need to know the time…” he has a hard time getting the words out through his laughter, yet he speaks again shortly after.  “Desserts,” he smiles as he turns his head toward her, eyes taking in her serious expression. He smiles warmly at her. “What do you want for dessert?”

“You tell me the time; I tell you what I want for dessert.” He raises his eyebrow at her demand, not really expecting it. She doesn’t know where the surge of confidence came from. She just wanted to know the damn time. Somewhere deep within her, she’s still wondering if he is going to let her go the following day.

“Feisty now, aren’t you?” He jokingly says, well knowing she was, still is, afraid of him. He bites the inside of his cheek, contemplating her offer before he slowly draws out his phone before showing her the time. 9:21pm. So, she had been tied up in his bedroom the whole day. She watched as he pushed it back into his pocket, away from her prying eyes.

“So, darling… You wanted dessert?” he turns back to her and she has shuffled closer to him in the midst of his lack of attention. Her hand reaches out to caress his cheek, startling him. She smiles softly, she doesn’t even know why.

In one way, she wanted to get out of his house as soon as humanly possible but… She found herself not wanting to. Her thoughts were conflicting within her head, confusing her even more than previously. Maybe she just had to play pretend for now, and he would let her go tomorrow?

She found herself slowly losing herself within her thoughts. She had so many conflicting ones, her mind in a flurry about which ones to focus on. Everything came to her while admiring him through her lashes. Every emotion she’s ever felt for him, every memory she had with him. “Yeah. I want you.”

Without words she rises, initiating the contact between them herself. She didn’t know how or why, but she found herself reaching out for his hand. It felt a little alien, but good, nonetheless. It was clear to her that he was taken aback by her actions. She silently straddles his thighs, her ass resting on his knees as she pushes him back to lay against the bed. “I want to do this on my own.” she starts while pulling the shirt over her head.

“You took the choice from me yesterday, and I don’t think that’s fair. Do you?” the sudden surge of confidence in her takes him aback, and he’s laying motionlessly against the mattress, just watching her undress herself on top of him.

He watches as her hands slide over her breasts and down her stomach, teasing him slightly as she snaps the elastic band of her panties against the skin on her hip. She feels him harden underneath her within second of the fabric leaving her torso, and she revels in it.

She was deeply in love with Bucky Barnes. No matter how he wronged her, abused her, used her - she loves him. Maybe she was delusional but having him underneath her set her nerves on fire. She had finally gotten what she wanted.

There was nothing standing in the way of her and Bucky’s relationship anymore. She wasn’t afraid anymore. She was going to give into him, and she was going to enjoy it.

All it had taken, was one small flaw in Bucky’s plan. He’d let it slip, and he wasn’t even aware of it.

Saturday, 03:22am

Opening the messages app on his phone, she quickly searches through the different messages before opening the one with her dad. She knew exactly who she had to call for help. Yet she found something that made her blood turn to ice in her veins. Or, it felt like that, at least.

She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Slowly, the tears started burning in her eyes, making her vision blurry. The light from his phone blinded her slightly, and she found herself wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, a sob getting stuck in her throat. She just couldn’t believe it.

Right there, on his phone, was a conversation between him and her dad. Her own dad. Her stomach turned as she read through the messages, chest heaving as she tried to calm her erratic breaths.

Steve: You got her calmed yet?

Bucky: No, still squirming and crying. Hoping that she’ll calm down soon.

Bucky: Jesus, she got some lungs on her. I can’t wait to do everything I’ve planned to do to her tomorrow.

Steve: Good. Ruin her. Make sure she doesn’t get away. We need that money.

Bucky: If not, I’ll do what’s necessary. Even though I really don’t want to. You know how I feel about her.

Steve: I couldn’t care less. She isn’t mine anyways.

Her brows furrowed as she read one of the last messages over and over again. What the hell did he mean that I wasn’t his? She felt a strong hand clasp around the wrist of her hand that held the phone in it, forcing a small scream past her lips. She hadn’t even heard Bucky wake up.

“What are you doing?” His eyes were dark and hooded. They were also full of sleep, and she knew he was happy she was still in bed next to him, else she would’ve fallen off the bed. She looked at him through the blue light of the phone, trying to come up with a quick lie to throw him off in his sleepy haze.

“I was just looking at the time.” she tried carefully, the flow of tears drying out slowly. She was shocked, to say the least, but she wouldn’t let him know that she knew... “I usually wake up at night and I always try to track my sleeping pattern…” she had no idea what to say.

She couldn’t believe what she had just read. What did her dad mean? She isn’t mine anyways… The message kept resonating in her head. He huffed and grabbed the phone, turning away from her and resuming his slumber.

Saturday, 9:23pm

She crawled off his lap, standing over him as she undid his pants with quick movements. He lifted his hips to aid her in taking them off, his mind still trying to catch up to what was happening. His boxers followed soon after, his naked glory exposed to her yet again, only this time it was different.

Her hand grasps his cock, giving it a few tugs before she’s closing her lips around the head. He stutters out a moan intertwined with her name, his hands flying into her hair to ground himself. Where the sudden urge to have her lips around his cock was fulfilled, he still didn’t know what she was doing.

All he knew was that it felt heavenly. Her mouth was warm and inviting, her cheeks feeling warm and velvety as she hollowed them against his length. She sucked more than half of his cock into her mouth, causing a deep groan to spill from his lips.

Her hand wrapped around what she couldn’t fit in her mouth, and she slowly stroked his shaft while swirling her tongue around the enlarged head of his cock. She felt his hand tighten in her hair, a string of groans falling from his lips.

The hand that wasn’t wrapped around him pushed the panties off her hips languidly and she slowly rose to her feet, still bent over with her lips around his cock. She releases him with a pop, fluttering kisses along his toned abdomen and up his chest before she straddles his hips, gliding the wetness between her legs over the length of him.

His hands find her hips, both his thumbs rubbing circles into her hips, his head thrown back in pleasure. This pleasure is so different than it’s been previously, it’s so full of emotion for him and possibly also from her. It feels tremendously different from all the other times. His head shifts forward and admires her with hooded eyes before they flutter closed.

When she finally sinks down onto his cock with a strained expression, he feels everything shift within him. It’s like the whole orbit of the world changes. She’s struggling with his size, whimpering as she slowly sinks further down onto him. She falls forward, her hands landing just beside his face and he groans out, his eyes slowly reopening to look at her on top of him.

Her cheeks are flushed pink, her eyes prickling with tears and her bottom lip tugged in between her teeth, desperately trying to accommodate to his size. She’s shifting just a little bit, trying to ease the pain between her hips.

Her hand slid under his neck and grasped the short hairs there, closely followed by her lips meeting his. Her hips grinds over his, their lips gliding over each other’s messily, their tongues dancing together. Her soft pants mixed with his, his hands sliding up to rest on her lower back, guiding her gently.

“Oh, Bucky…” she whispers, and he isn’t sure whether or not he’s dreaming. It feels surreal that she’s moaning his name,it makes him twitch inside of her to finally hear his name spill from her lips that way. Hearing her moan his name combined with the tightness of her heat pushes him further and further towards his impending orgasm.

Her walls clench around him and she whimpers ever so sweetly. He knows she’s close. She just needs the final push. She’s still grinding her hips against his, so he angles them slightly for her clit to rub over his pelvic bone.

It doesn’t take more than a few strokes for her orgasm to overtake her, blinding her vision with black spots and making every hair on her body rise. It feels amazing this time around - with herself being in charge of her pleasure.

He’s close - so close - but if there’s one thing he doesn’t want to do right now, it’s to do something she doesn’t want to, however ambivalent that sounds. He restrains himself or tries to. Her hips are still drawing circles over his, and it’s driving him crazy.

“Cum in me,” she whispers in her haze, and she feels his hands tighten on her hips, his pants filling her ears as he empties his load inside of her. She feels at it trickles down around his length still embedded in her heat as she collapses on top of him, laying her head on his chest.

She slowly comes down from euphoria, relaxing into his arms coming around her to rub over her back. Everything slowly comes back to her, settling within her body. The lovestruck haze she has been in for the past half hour, is slowly coming to an end.

She slowly removes herself from on top of him, his seed trailing down her legs as she makes her way to the bathroom to clean herself. He finds her under the shower, quietly entering the stall behind her. She’s caught up in her thoughts, just standing under the stream of water with her arms wrapped around herself.

“I know what you saw last night. I didn’t want you to find out the way you did. We were supposed to be happy together. Live happily, and you would forget everything about everyone. Just you and me, here.” His body was barely against her back before he was pulling her trembling body back into his arms. She hadn’t even realized she was shaking until then.

“You didn’t want me to find out what, exactly?” She tried softly, jaw trembling uncomfortably at the other things he had said. “How are we ever to live happily?” She didn’t know what Bucky expected of her. There was just something she couldn’t imagine. She turned in his arms, looking up at him.

“You’re going to have to promise me that you won’t react poorly to what I’m about to tell you.” Bucky tried carefully, and she felt everything fall apart in the seconds following the words leaving his mouth. How could she not react to anything? “I shouldn’t be the one telling you this, but…”

Tell her what?! Just two days prior she’d been living contently with her parents, and here, a mere 46 hours later… Everything had changed. She watched his face as he searched for the words, his thoughts conflicting visibly in his face.

“Steve… He isn’t your father.” Bucky started, and she felt her heart fall further into her chest. That hurt. “Your mother had someone else around the time you were conceived. Steve has taken a paternity test, and it’s true.” She felt the tears rise to her eyes yet again mixing with the water from the shower, both from the betrayal of Bucky but also from her parents.

“This has all been set up so Steve can claim you as dead. To get money from the insurance company.” He hides his face with his hand, visibly upset that everything has fallen apart. Everything has certainly not worked out the way it was supposed to. “But I’ve changed my mind. I can’t do this to you.”

“But you’ve already done it...” She whispered, before taking his hand in hers. “What changed?” She cradled his face in her other hand, watching him intently as he rubs his hand over his face. It leaves red marks in its wake, letting her know just how hard he’s rubbing the skin.

“We need to make sure he doesn’t get that money” Bucky grabs her face with his hands in an instant, his eyes searching hers intensely. He thinks over her question, licking his lips before he answers.

“Nothing changed. Even though I wanted this to start with, I never even considered getting rid of you. I want you to know that I’ve never looked at you wrongly before you were legal. I couldn’t bring myself to it, even though I knew you weren’t Steve’s. I never ever wanted to hurt you. Because I love you.”

She sighs and for a short while closes her eyes. A few seconds pass where he’s just watching her.

Then one side of her lips tug up into a smirk, before she’s looking at him with a mischievous look in her eyes. They both know what they have to do.

Then she speaks, instantly letting him know that everything is settled between the two of them.

“I love you. Let’s do it.”

#dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky smut #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky x y/n #dark!bucky x you #bucky #Bucky Barnes #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes

[matwith1t]

A/N: A part two!! As much as I love angst…I couldn’t leave the first part like that 🥴 You don’t have to read the first part to understand this fic, but you’ll definitely catch some little call backs!! If you have any feedback, I’d love to hear it all!! I hope you’re all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening !

Summary: Nearly a year since the break up with Mat, your life slowly started to revert back to life before him. But all of that progress goes away when you keep crossing paths.

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂 | Mat Barzal x Reader

Warnings: swearing, drinking // WC: 15K // Angst & Fluff

With the sun shining down, and no clouds in the sky to cover up its hard rays, it felt a bit warmer than the usual October day in New York. It was neither an excruciating humid day like the summers, nor a brutally frigid winter day. It just felt…average. But something in the air made the average day feel abnormal.

Maybe forgetting to set your alarm, and rushing to get ready, had something to do with why you felt on edge. Or maybe it had something to do with finding a crinkled polaroid picture of you and Mat––him laughing and you looking up at him––that you found in your sock drawer last night.

Maybe it was the picture.

But you definitely knew your sour mood could be traced back to this morning––seven minutes ago to be exact––when you ordered a coffee and the barista informed you that they were out of an ingredient for the drink you wanted.

“It’s not that bad,” your friend, Kennady, came up to stand beside you after she finished ordering her drink, “Worse things could happen.”

With a deep breath through your nose, you crossed your arms over your chest, “I know…”

And you knew things could be worse. There had been days in the past ten months that were definitely worse than a coffee shop being out of an ingredient to send you into a spiral. But this minute detail in the beginning of your day felt too mundane compared to everything you had felt in the past. And for some reason, it bothered you more than it should have.

Was it a sign that you were getting over him?

With a quiet laugh to yourself and a slight shake of your head at that thought, you quickly buried the idea. Not a chance, you thought to yourself.

When a barista called out your name for your americano, you politely excused yourself around other customers until you got to the counter. With a tight smile, and a small thanks, you picked up your coffee and went over to a little station where you could fix the drink to your liking.

You were in the middle of opening a sugar packet when you heard someone questionably call out your name.

It was an accent you hadn’t heard in quite sometime…A friendly French-Canadian accent that always reassured you of Mat’s feelings whenever he wasn’t in the room. After all, it’s what any best friend would do.

Not expecting to run into anyone during your little outing, your hand jerked back in surprise––sugar flying out of the packet––as you spun around in shock.

“Oh, I––Wow, Tito––I’m so sorry,” you tried to laugh, tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest as you met his blue eyes, but you hadn’t seen him––or a picture of him––since you unfollowed him on every social media platform you had him on.

Like every time you found yourself in his presence, he smiled, “Don’t worry about it, really,” he brushed off the sugar from his sweatshirt, “Shouldn't have snuck up on you.”

You shook your head and waved him off, a ball of anxiety slowly brewing in the pit of your stomach. Because you knew if Tito was here, then Mat would be too. The two of them always traveled in a pair; you learned that they were a package deal early on in your relationship. And you could pray all you wanted that Tito was on a solo coffee run, but by his freshly showered look and Islanders athletic wear…You knew he had just come from a practice.

“It’s okay,” you closed the lid on your americano, forgetting all about adding sugar or creamer in it, “How’re you?”

“I’ve been good,” He smiled, eyes glancing down to your foot tapping against the hardwood floor, “Yeah, just busy playing a lot of…Hockey.” His voice trailed off at the end of his sentence, as if he thought hockey might still be a sore spot for you.

And in a way, it was.

Tito cleared his throat, “And you?” He politely turned the question to you, “How…How’s the job?”

Relieved he didn’t ask you how you’ve been, you smiled softly, “It’s really great, I’ve had a lot more time to concentrate on it.” You looked over his shoulder to see if you could see Mat anywhere in the coffee shop, “I’ve been given more responsibilities.”

“That’s great to hear,” Tito sounded genuine, “I don’t want to hold you up, but it was really great to see you.”

Tito had always been very emotionally intelligent with identifying others feelings, and you had no doubt he picked up on your uneasiness.

You offered him a smile, “It was good to see––“

“Did you grab my coffee?”

The smile dropped from your face and instead of feeling the anxiety in your stomach churn, you felt nauseous.

Tito looked at Mat with the same hung open mouth and wide eyes that you had. Mat came up next to him so nonchalantly––so casually––as if he didn’t know he was in front of the person whose heart he knowingly wrecked nearly a year ago.

Still unable to form a sentence, Tito’s eyes briefly glanced over at you, standing frozen, “Yeah I––yeah.”

As if Mat sensed some tension in the air, he followed Tito’s vision. He had to do a double take, seemingly not trusting his vision that you were right in front of him. And in an instant, just like you and Tito, his eyes slightly widened and his mouth hung open. You knew that he was thinking the same thing as you…that you had gone nearly ten months of living in the same city and had not run into each other once.

But now that streak was broken.

Your breathing stopped as you looked at him for the first time since that unfortunate day in December where the air felt a little colder than the rest of the month.

As usual during the season, he was clean shaven, but you saw a few small pimples littered on his chin. He looked more tired than usual, but had a slight glow to his skin from a recent shower. The ends of his hair flicked out under his baseball hat, just above his ear. You always used to tell him how cute those flecks of hair looked as he tried to push them behind his ear.

But the one thing that made your heart shatter was the sweatshirt he was wearing. It was the navy blue Islanders sweatshirt from a few seasons ago that you had found stuffed away in the back of your closet last year.

The one you broke down into as your mother held you.

The one that Kennady took away when she saw that you still held on to it after you said you’d donate it. It caused quite the argument between the two of you…You wanted to keep the sweatshirt because––while it was delusional for you to think––maybe Mat would notice it was missing, then he would reach out, and you would talk again. Kennady didn’t think that was very healthy and said she would pass it along to Tito.

And pass it along she had.

With a shaky breath, and one last look at the man who you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with, you spun around with your coffee and walked away.

You had only gotten a few steps away when you felt a burning hand catch onto your elbow, “Y/N…”

His hand hadn’t left your elbow, and you stood stiff in the middle of the coffee shop,“I have somewhere to be,” you said to him without turning around.

“Can we talk?”

His voice was barely audible––a plea––a whisper that should’ve easily been lost in the chaos of the coffee shop, but whenever he was around, all you did was solely pay attention to him.

You gulped, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Not here,” he was quick to follow up, knowing he shouldn’t be this lucky to get this much time with you, “I just––I want––How’re you?”

With an irritated sigh through your nostrils, and clenched jaw, you spun around to face him. Half of you melted at his wide and pleading eyes, a mix of uncertainty and care, but the other half of you wanted to leave him standing alone without an answer; much like he did with you when he broke your heart.

“Do you need something?”

He looked taken aback by your bluntness, “I…” Nervously, he took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair, “I scored a hat trick last week.”

You despised the way your heart fluttered with pride at his accomplishment.

Instead of focusing on the unconventional feeling of your heart soaring with pride, but simultaneously feeling crushed in his presence, you tried your best to respond with a monotone voice.

“So, a start to a good season?”

Again, he looked confused at your short phrases and general disinterest in what he had to say, “We…Yeah, looks like a good season. Last season was good too..” His eyes briefly left yours to look at your slightly shaking hand that was holding the coffee cup, “Did you…Have you caught any games?”

“I don’t watch hockey anymore.”

Unlike his sentences that wavered with doubt, your sentences were sharp and unremorseful.

But you knew your stoic demeanor came closer to breaking with every second you stood in front of him. It had been ten months since the break up, you should be fine, you kept telling yourself. But seeing him and not being able to mutter an inside joke under your breath and hear him gently laugh, not being able to reach across the inches between you two and give his hand a squeeze, and not being able to muster up the smallest of smiles in front of the one person who could coax a smile out of you with just their presence…You felt the exhaustion catch up to you.

And like everyone else who asked if you watched any hockey lately, he looked stunned at your answer. Because when you were together, you never missed a game. While you weren’t always physically at a game; you either kept up with it by following social media updates, watching it on television, or listening to the radio broadcasts of the game while walking to the subway or in a cab.

“You…You don’t watch hockey?”

You could’ve given him the long answer. How you unfollowed everyone and everything related to Islanders hockey, blocked every variation of the Islanders team name from social media to keep any news from popping up, muted his name on Twitter, deleted the NHL app, and if you were at a restaurant with friends and a television had a hockey game on, you always requested to sit at the furthest table away from the game.

Instead, you shook your head, “No.”

The longer you stood in front of him, the more you felt your composure slip. You didn't like feeling out of control of a situation, and standing so close to him only reminded you of what you didn’t have anymore.

“I have to go.”

But again, he took a step forward and tried to stop you from leaving, “Please, can we just––”

If only he had fought this hard ten months ago to keep your relationship alive; you wouldn’t be running away and he wouldn’t be begging for a basic conversation.

You could feel the tears well up behind your eyes and the familiar sting as you shrugged off his touch, “Mat, I really can’t do this right now––”

“It doesn’t have to be now––”

“Mathew,” Kennady’s harsh voice ripped through Mat’s desperate one.

His arm fell to his side, accepting defeat, as he kept his pleading eyes on your frame, “Ken, hey––”

“We’re late for something,” she took the shaking coffee cup from your hand and looped an arm around your bicep, “We’re leaving.”

And with her direct tone, and guidance of turning you around to exit the coffee shop, she kept a strong hold on your arm for support. Your breathing became more irregular, because out of all the coffee shops in the area, how did you manage to run into him. Maybe you were meant to run into him…Maybe it was the universe’s way of telling you that maybe you should talk to him.

“Don’t turn around,” Kennady whispered in your ear as you came up to the door, “I know you want to, but don’t.”

The first tear fell when she opened the door and you so badly wanted to get one last look at him. One more look at the one person you would still love no matter how much time passed. The second tear fell when you were waiting for the light to change at a crosswalk, as Kennady whispered encouraging words. The third tear fell when the two of you made it to a park and sat down on a bench.

She handed your coffee back to you, “You did great,” and gave your shoulder an encouraging squeeze, “So great.”

You tried to take a sip of coffee, but your hand shook too much. You tried to swallow down the scratchiness at the back of your throat, but it only came back stronger, “Why…” Another single tear fell as your voice cracked, “Why wouldn’t you let me turn around?”

She offered you a sympathetic smile, “Because I know how much you still love him.”

A small pathetic laugh escaped your lips at her honest answer, and you tried your best to mirror her smile, but it was as everything had just caught up to you. You had felt his comforting touch on you again. Heard his soothing voice again. You were with him again.

With how persistent he was to talk with you, it felt like he wanted to be with you.

The tears welling up in your eyes caused your eyebrows to pull together as you cupped a hand to your mouth and over your nose. Slowly, you leaned your head onto Kennady’s shoulder as she placed a comforting arm around your shoulders that shook slightly.

––––

The next time you saw Mat was another coincidence.

You were in the living room of a house in Garden City, softly chatting with friends in the corner, when a sudden roar of cheers from the front of the house interrupted your conversation. You and your friends laughed it off as more drunk antics of other guests, but then you heard his name.

“The person who absolutely crushed tonight’s game and that we’re forever grateful is an Islander; Mat Barzal!”

More cheers of agreement.

The plastic of the red solo cup in your hand easily cracked under your grip.

Deep breath in, he won’t come into this room…Deep breath out, who does he even know here…Deep breath in, did he come alone…Deep breath out, or was he here with teammates since it was after a game…Deep breath in––Oh my God, Tito just walked in.

He caught your eye immediately, and just like at the coffee shop, his eyes widened along with yours. But unlike the coffee shop, he didn’t come over to greet you. Instead, he offered you a slight nod of his head and turned around on his heel. Vaguely, you heard him speak over the music and talk of the party, but all your ears could pick up was ‘let’s go to the kitchen…’

A sigh of relief passed through your lips as you felt your shoulders relax. The small group you had been part of for the better portion of the night all gave you knowing looks, eyebrows raised high.

“I’m alright,” You took a sip of your drink. None of them looked convinced, Kennady specifically, but you stifled out a laugh before you took another, much longer, sip of your drink, “Really! I’m alright. It’s been over a year…” You gulped and locked eyes with Kennady, “I’m alright.”

She didn’t look convinced, but restarted the previous conversation, diverting the attention away from you.

It was January, three months since you saw Mat at the coffee shop, and you were fine. At least you thought you were capable of not breaking down in front of him. While you still were without much––if any––closure after your relationship ended, seeing him at the coffee shop felt like turning a page. Not necessarily a whole chapter, but just enough to start feeling a little better.

You both lived around the same area and still had a few mutual friends. To think you would never see him ever again would be foolish, so you had to make the best of this situation. Although, part of you hoped not to run into him ever again.

There had been times where you overhead a ‘Barzy’ or a ‘Beau,’ an Islanders chant, or someone complimenting Mat on his goals of the game. But for the most part, it felt as if he wasn’t there. You enjoyed the rest of the night, but a few hours later, his laugh caught your ear and you saw him tilt his head back from your peripheral vision.

You hadn’t even realized he was in the same room.

Progress, you smiled into your red solo cup as you went to take a drink, small steps of progress.

But your tiny smile disappeared when you saw you were all out of alcohol. With a frown, you quietly excused yourself from your group and walked into the kitchen. You waved at people you recognized, and felt great up until this point of the night. With every genuine smile you offered a friend, they returned it with a sympathetic smile, assuming you were overcompensating happiness by being in the same place with your ex-boyfriend.

And in turn, it caused doubts to float through your mind.

Were you really feeling alright being so close in proximity to him? Were you really starting to feel the process of mending your broken heart, or were you lying to yourself? Would you break down if he were to cross paths with him?

Repeating your breathing exercise from earlier, you calmed yourself down as you weaved through more people to get to the kitchen. You weren’t sure if you wanted to have the same drink, or something different, so you stood still for a few moments debating in your head. You were far from coming to a decision, but when you heard a familiar voice say your name, you quickly came to a decision that you needed to be sober.

You spun around and came face to face with Mat.

Unlike the athletic wear you saw him in the last time, he was currently dressed in a white button up shirt tucked into a pair of navy slacks. The top two buttons of his shirt undone, his sleeves cuffed up, and a small wisp of hair rested against the side of his forehead.

You felt your heart erratically beat against your ribcage as you stood in front of him. He looked as if he didn’t expect you to turn around for him, and the two of you stood in silence. His brain failed at forming a thought, so you said the first thing that came to your mind.

“You got a haircut.”

Mat’s cheeks went red as he ducked his chin into his chest, letting out a small laugh, “Yeah,” he looked up at you with the faintest of smiles, “I did.”

Silence.

He brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck, “Uh…What’re you drinking?”

Snapping back to reality, and to why you were in the kitchen in the first place, you blinked your eyes a few times, “Water.”

“There’s some––I can, here,” Mat stumbled over his feet, like he did with his words, as he walked past you and to the fridge. You followed him toward the fridge, and watched him lean forward to grab a water from the back. You only had a few seconds to admire his side profile before he stood up straight and uncapped the water bottle for you.

“Thanks,” you uneasily said as you took the water from him, making sure you didn’t brush your fingers against his.

Mat took a deep breath, looked away from you, and ran a hand through his hair. You could now hear your heartbeat in your ears, knowing exactly what he was about to ask.

“Can we talk?”

This was exactly why you wanted water.

You took a long sip of water, and watched as Mat anxiously fiddled with his fingers. You brought the bottle away from your lips and offered him a tight lipped smile, “Not now.”

He looked like he wanted to say more; like he wanted to push you to your limits in order to get any type of reaction from you, but he knew that you wouldn’t play into that, especially in public. So he took your words as a cliffhanger––not an outright no––that you would revisit the topic of conversation he wanted to discuss.

But in actuality, you planned to dodge the conversation if he ever brought it up again.

Mat stuffed his hands in his front pockets and rocked back on his heels, still not knowing how to direct the conversation, even though he was the one who approached you.

As you stood in silence with Mat, little by little, you began to overthink.

It was in a kitchen where you and Mat had first met. You were at a different mutual friend’s house, but it was eerily similar to how you met the first time…talking over drinks. Except this time, there was so much history between the two of you that it was hard to find some common ground to talk about without feeling like you were walking on eggshells.

The first time you met him, you had only heard his name in passing from occasionally tuning into Islanders games or hearing your friends talk about their friend Mat. The conversation flowed easily, laughter was present nearly every minute the two of you talked, and he slowly moved toward you thinking you didn’t notice him trying.

But you noticed everything.

Like now; you noticed there was no conversation, no laughter present, and how Mat leaned slightly away from you. There were too many memories that couldn’t be forgotten. Too many nights where the two of you were at a friends house like this, but would ride home together with fingers intertwined, instead of leaving separately which would happen tonight. Too many nights where there was an extra set of clothes on his bedroom floor that looked like they belonged.

Too many feelings involved.

You wanted to believe that you were strong enough not to break down in front of him again. You wanted to think that you were alright; wanted to think that you weren’t moments away from shutting down and having your heart wrecked all over again. But you didn’t want to leave his presence just yet. You weren’t at your tipping point yet.

“You had a game tonight?”

Mat nodded his head rapidly, taking in any interaction and conversation he could get with you. He seemed to also not want to leave your presence just yet.

“It was a good game,” he easily smiled with a shrug of his shoulders.

You let out a small laugh and rolled your eyes, “Stop being modest,” if you were closer to him, and felt more comfortable, you would’ve shoved his shoulder, “People were cheering your name when you arrived.”

His eyebrows rose with excitement, “You heard all of that?”

“Now tell me how you really played,” you tilted your head back slightly to take a sip of water.

There was a smile toying on your face, but the grin on Mat’s face stretched from ear to ear, “Really fucking good,” he let out a breathy laugh, “I scored twice, had some really nice plays, a couple of assists…” his eyes held a certain gleam to them whenever he talked about hockey, something you never saw even when he talked about you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and smiled, “That’s amazing. Only one short of another hat trick.” Both of you let out a small laugh at the attempt of your joke. There was more silence, and you could tell you were about to hit your tipping point soon, no matter how many times you scolded yourself not to cry, but you spoke up.

“If you keep playing this well I might have to watch a game.”

The way his face lit up was different than anything you had seen before, even with what you saw just seconds ago when he was talking about hockey. There was a difference in the way the corners of his eyes crinkled, his eyebrows arched in an excited way, his smile showcased all of his teeth, and there was a different spark in his eyes.

“Yeah that’s––You should,” he cleared his throat, but still had a grin on his face, “If you watch you’ll have to let me know.”

“I’ll do that––”

“Barzal!”

Both of your attentions were pulled away by the shout of his name. And when you saw that the person who called out his name held up a ping pong ball, and Mat turned his head to look at you with a small smile––one similar to the night you first met, but a little less devilish––you knew that this was your tipping point.

While it would be fun to pretend like you barely knew Mat, partner up with him for beer pong, and relive the moment how your relationship first started…It was too much.

You smiled apologetically, clenching your jaw tight to keep your chin from wobbling, “My sister texted saying she needs a little motivational talk.”

He hid his disappointment well, but you saw that spark in his eyes fade away when he nodded his head in understanding. But he still held a small smile on his face for you, “You were always the best at those.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, not trusting yourself with words as memories of you motivating Mat before a game or cheering him up after a hard loss came flooding into your mind. You silently sniffled and picked your water up, “I’ll see you later, Mat.”

“Yeah…” he sounded like he was in a daydream, “See you later.”

You kept your eyes glued to the floor and texted Kennady asking if she could meet you out back, as you weaved through people. This time as you made your way through the crowd, you didn’t smile at anyone.

The first tear fell when you heard someone cheer Mat on by saying he should play basketball instead of hockey. The single tear slowly slid down your cheek as you heard his laughter echo around the house. The second tear fell as you replayed the similarities of the night you first met in your head compared to tonight. Everything almost lined up the same way, everything almost felt like that night.

Except this night…there were less smiles, more silences, and instead of your heart fluttering with butterflies because a boy you thought was cute talked to you at a party, you felt your heart drop down into your stomach like a broken elevator.

Your phone buzzed when your hand reached out to open the back door; Kennady saying she was making her way to you.

And the third tear fell when you turned your head to look back at Mat one last time.

You should’ve known he was already looking at you.

His eyebrows were pinched together in concern, head slightly tilted to the side, as he looked straight at you and mouthed “are you okay?” Sometimes you forgot that he knew you just as well as you knew him. And this moment made it clear to you that he didn’t believe the lie you told to get out of being his beer pong partner.

Your chin wobbled as you tried your best to smile––which you were sure looked more like a grimace––and you mouthed back, “I’m fine.”

You didn’t wait for him to either repeat his question or ditch the game to comfort you. And in a matter of seconds, you were out the door, the cold January air prickled your scorching hot skin, as you saw Kennady already waiting outside.

She looked up from her phone, and when she saw the deep frown on your face and silent tears falling down your cheeks, her shoulders dropped as she opened her arms. Hastily, you made a few long strides over to her and collapsed in her arms. She held you tightly as one hand trailed her finger tips up and down your spine to sooth your quiet cries.

“I––I still love him,” you hiccuped.

“I know.”

––––

January passed slowly as ever, and you didn’t see Mat for the rest of the month.

You tried to watch an Islanders game, but when the camera panned to Mat, and the announcers praised him for how amazing of a season he was having, you shut it off. You had a plan to watch the game, send him a text after, and then maybe it would lead into a conversation…but it was too soon for you. Even after over a year of not seeing him play, it was too soon.

So you tried again in the first week of February. It was an away game, and while Mat rarely ever showed it, you knew from previous experience that he was always more nervous playing those than a home game. And to hold yourself accountable to actually watch the game, you texted Mat a few hours before puck drop.

He never claimed to have any superstitions about looking at his phone before a game, but you knew he always kept it away to lessen distractions. So, after composing a few different variations of a message, you sent a small good luck tonight!! And then set your phone face down on the coffee table.

Your heart was beating more than it should have for just sending a simple text. You felt bile churning in your stomach as you buried your face into your clammy hands. It’s a text message, you scolded yourself, no need to overthink everything. But overthinking was what you did best.  

Maybe you shouldn’t have used two exclamation marks. Maybe you should’ve said your name in case he deleted your number. Maybe you shouldn’t have prematurely sent a text message, because what if you couldn’t make it through a whole game? What if your text messed up his pre-game ritual? What if he lied when he told you he wanted to know if you watched a game?

What if he changed his number and didn’t tell you?

But your phone vibrated against the coffee table, snapping you out from your inner-turmoil. And with a deep breath, you flipped it over and saw his contact name: Mathew Barzal.

And from his message, you knew that he knew it was you; Are you watching tonight?!

A small laugh escaped your lips as you sent back a simple, yeah!

Stop using exclamation marks, you scolded yourself.

But before you could overthink the one word you sent him, he responded instantly: Guess I’ll have to step up my game.

You bit your bottom lip to conceal your smile as you typed a message back to him. And for the next half hour, the two of you messaged back and forth about your days, Mat expressed his nervousness, you sent him a little motivational message, and then he said he had to go put his uniform on for warm ups.

There was still some time before puck drop, so you tried your best to busy yourself with tasks. You cleaned the kitchen, made a grocery list, and reorganized the books on your bookshelf. But no matter what you did, your thoughts circled back to Mat. And this time, you didn’t try to block them out, because you came to peace that he would always linger in the back of your mind.

He was there when you put away a mug––one that never rested evenly on a flat surface, due to a chip on the bottom, caused by Mat accidentally dropping it when hot water spilled over the top and burned his hand. There when you made the grocery list––because he would always leave it behind when you two would go to the store together. And there on your bookshelf––when you moved the hockey book he got you for your birthday.

His presence would always be tangled with yours, like a stubborn knot in a necklace that was impossible to disentangle.

You busied yourself by making tea, using the chipped mug, and turned on the game. The players were in their starting positions, and you saw Mat at the face off. Holding your breath, you said a little prayer, because you knew how nervous Mat got during a face off. He always said that he would turn the nerves into excitement to give him adrenaline, but you knew there was a tiny white lie in that.

But you watched the game, with your cup of tea to try and lessen the anxiety you felt, but it was of no use. While Mat was playing a fantastic game; you still cringed when he got smashed into the boards too rough, bounced your leg whenever he had the puck and an opposing defenseman came up on him, and shut one eye when he brought his stick back to shoot a goal.

Sixty minutes of hockey went by excruciatingly slow, but it was worth it, with the Islanders winning by two.

You shut the TV off, placed the mug on its side in the sink, and went to grab your phone off the charger. The game had not even ended fifteen minutes ago but there was a text from a Mathew Barzal on your screen.

With a deep breath, you unlocked your phone and read his message: Did the game meet your standards?

You let out a chuckle as you walked into your room while typing out your message; Nice goal.

The comment was going to inflate his ego, you could picture his wide smile and raised eyebrows in the locker room reading your message. And like how you messaged before the game, it lasted for quite some time; with Mat admitting he was more nervous with you watching, and you reassuring him he played an excellent game. When he finally had to shower, you wished him a safe ride home and he wished you a good night sleep.

While you still tossed and turned under your covers, you managed to get more sleep that night than you had in the last year.

–––

Two weeks later, Mat called you.

It was after a home game, one that the Islanders lost, and a game where Mat wracked up a few penalties. Like every hockey game of his you’d watched since you promised him that one night, he texted you not even fifteen minutes of being off the ice.

Can I call you?

You paced around in the living area of your apartment thinking of what to respond. You wanted to talk to him…You felt ready to talk to him, but there was still some hesitation. The two of you had branched out to texting each other even when there wasn’t a game scheduled, and he had yet to bring up wanting to talk about your relationship again. So part of you had an inkling he would try it over the phone if you agreed. But then there was the other part of you that knew he just wanted cheering up.

To have a little more time to psych yourself up for a phone call with him, you responded: Sure! But why don’t you shower and head home first.

He sent you––sounds good. I’ll call you––And you prepared yourself for Mat to take the fastest shower possible and to maybe break a few traffic laws to get back to his place.

The assumption you made turned out correct, because in just under an hour of Mat officially off the ice, there was an incoming call from a Mathew Barzal.

The phone vibrated in your hand a few times as you breathed in and out. But before his call went to your voicemail, you clicked accept, “Mat…” you started off slowly, “Hey.”

“Hi,” his voice was low as you heard his door shut. Neither one of you said anything, but you heard movements from his end. You heard him put his keys in the bowl by his front door, fling off his shoes, open another door––presumably his bedroom door––and heard the sound of blankets shifting. You imagined he was sitting on his bed, as he let out a deep sigh, “I played like shit.”

“No you didn’t,” your automatic instinct was to reassure him, “Everyone has their off days, it doesn’t mean that you’re a shit player.”

He groaned, and you heard a soft thump. You imagined he fell back on his mattress, staring up at the ceiling, “I just––Some of those calls they made on me––and how I tripped over my skates and ate shit with no one around me?” He let another deep sigh, “It was embarrassing.”

Thankfully, you had done your nighttime routine during the second period intermission. So while you listened to Mat list out all of the things he thought he had done wrong during the game, you slipped under the covers of your own bed.

“And then when I thought I scored a goal, but the puck hit the crossbar, and it came back to hit me in the face––”

“Mat, that’s an honest mistake––”

“But it was embarrassing!” He raised his voice out of irritation. And this time, you knew for a fact he wasn’t irritated with you…He was irritated at hockey, the one thing he loved most in the world. “I swear I could hear people laughing at me. And I just know that the media is going to write how I should be a better player because I was a first round draft pick and with how much money my contract is––”

“Mat,” his sentences were strung along, and you don’t think he took a single breath during his rant, so you cut him off, “You can’t always be a perfect player, but you were a first round pick for a reason. It might not have been the outcome you wanted, you played the best you could tonight.”

“But it wasn’t good enough.”

His negative self talk sounded eerily similar to the thoughts that swirled around your mind after the break up.

“How many other twenty-three year olds do you know that play professional hockey?”

“There’s Beau, Mitch Marner, Carter Hart, Matthew Tkachuk, Tyson––”

“Stop,” you harshly cut him off as you sat up in bed, taking a pillow and hugging it to your chest, “They don’t count because they’re like the one percent of people who make it to the NHL.” You tried to stress your point, “Like you, they’ve trained an insane amount to get where they are. But how many other people do that? And how many people do train for most of their life and still don’t get to play in the league you do?”

He was silent.

“The average twenty-three year old isn’t playing professional hockey,” you shut your eyes, because no matter how great of a hockey player you thought Mat was, he never had the same faith in himself, “The average person isn’t playing professional hockey. Mat, you’re an incredible player; honestly one of the best in the league right now. And it’s not just me saying that to make you feel better, just look at the Islanders stats from before and after you came along.”

Again, he stayed silent.

“You came into this league so young, but so talented. Sure, you still have things to learn, but you’re the best version of yourself you can be right now. And there’s still so much time for you to grow to be an even better player,” you let out a small breath, “It blows my mind how good you are. And some people might talk shit and say you played poorly, but if they were to be on the ice with you?”

You waited to see if he had anything to say, but when he stayed mute, you let out a soft chuckle, “If they––an average person––was on the ice with you they wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Mat let out a small laugh, and you imagined that he had one hand covering his eyes as he still laid on his back on top of his duvet, “Thank you.”

Unclenching the pillow you hugged closely to your chest, you slid down your headboard, and made yourself comfortable under the covers. You laid on your side, staring out your window at the same night sky he was under, and whispered, “I just wish you saw yourself the way I see you.”

You imagined he sat up, elbows resting on his knees as he pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger, as his interest piqued, “And how’s that?”

“As someone who’s great at everything they do.”

It was silent on his end. But you expected that with how honest and instantaneous your answer came.

He cleared his throat, “Are you in bed?”

“Yeah,” you answered as you pulled the sheets up under your chin.

“I…” he let out a shaky breath, but whatever he wanted to say, he didn’t say it, “I still have to get ready for bed.”

“I won’t keep you.”

“We…” he started off slowly, and you imagined he stared at the wall in full concentration, and this time, he said half of whatever he wanted to say, “We should do this again.”

A small smile tugged the corners of your lips upward, “Talk?”

“Yeah, um, talk,” he let out a nervous laugh, and you imagined him rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, “On the phone…In person…”

You reciprocated his nervous laughter, but it wasn’t the bad kind of nerves you had felt in your stomach over the last year…this feeling reminded you of the excited nerves you had when you first met him, “You must really need more motivational talks,” you joked with him. But his answer, his honest and instantaneous answer, was not a joke.

“I feel like a better person around you.”

You were the silent one now.

“I’ll let you get to sleep,” his voice was soft and light, yet he sounded like he didn’t want to let you go, “Night, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Mat.”

After he hung up, you imagined he slept with a smile on his face, just like you.

–––

February might be the shortest calendar month in the year, but it felt impossibly long.

Between late night phone calls with Mat after a game and texting whenever you had a free chance at work, your nerves never disappeared. They were a mix of an excited spark with a dash of anxiety that festered in the pit of your stomach, and only intensified when you saw his contact name pop up on your phone. Yet, the more you communicated with him, the more relaxed you felt. Laughter came more easily between you two, awkward pauses were few and far between, and you smiled more.

But part of you was still hesitant that he would leave unexpectedly like he did nearly a year and a half ago.

After phone calls and texts, March was the month you saw Mat in person for the first time since January. It was in a group setting, but it was planned with the intention of seeing each other. It was a group lunch––you sat next to him––and he occasionally knocked his knee against yours. He apologized every time, but you didn’t think his movements were an accident.

March had more group outings, more texts, and a lot more phone calls randomly throughout the day.

April was a little more different.

The spring air sent a chill down your spine as you walked toward the entrance of a sports bar with Kennady and a few other friends. It was another group outing, another pre-planned meeting where you would see Mat. Weaving your way through tables and standing patrons, you finally got to the high rise table your group was at. A mix of average twenty-something year-olds and hockey players; but Mat caught your eye first.

You saw him sitting on the barstool, hands wrapped around his beer glass as his index finger anxiously tapped the sweating glass. While he softly laughed along with friends who boisterously laughed, he didn’t look too enthralled with the conversation around him. But then he picked his head up and saw you.

A wide grin slowly spread across his face as he straightened out his slumped shoulders.

Everyone greeted each other with hugs, while you settled for waving. When people took their seats, coincidentally the only open seat was next to Mat. Easily, you slid in as he slid a drink in front of you.

“When you texted saying you were almost here, I ordered you a drink,” Mat whispered with a small smile, “I hope that’s alright.”

You picked up the glass with a tight lipped smile, “Yeah, of course, thank you,” you took a sip as he let out a nervous breath through his nose. You set the glass down on the table and angled your body in the chair to face him, “How was practice?”

“Got my ass handed to me,” he let out a breathy laugh, head hanging low as he shrugged his shoulders, “It was alright.”

While Mat had played excellent hockey since you started tuning in again, the past few games were rough. He kept missing easy plays, his shots went wide, he talked back to the referees more than usual, and had more penalties called on him. From your phone calls, you knew he felt uneasy––he admitted that to you––but whenever you pressed the topic further, he brushed it under the rug.

His avoidance of communicating his feelings gave you a sense of deja vu.

You picked a french fry off his plate, “You scored a nice goal last game though, surely Barry couldn’t have beaten you down that much.”

“I just need to get out of my head,” his eyes were far off, staring off into the distance over your shoulder. You wanted to press him further, wanted to know what was causing him distress in his head, but he changed the conversation. He completely changed his demeanor with a smile, as he swatted your hand away from his plate, “Stop stealing my fries.”

As a few fries dropped from your hand, you successfully managed to keep hold of a single fry. And with a proud smile, you popped it in your mouth, “You could’ve ordered me fries, but instead you bought me a drink.”

He gently laughed next to you as he inched toward the edge of his seat, his knees knocking against yours. “Sorry.” he lied with a smile he couldn’t contain.

You raised your eyebrows and purposefully knocked your knee against his in retaliation, “No you’re not.”

He picked up a fry and threw it at you.

The night continued as it had, conversing with friends, and also going back into your own little world with Mat. Throughout the evening, while he held steady conversation with people from across the table, he occasionally knocked his knee into yours. And when you bumped him back, a smile stretched across his face as he maintained eye contact with whoever he talked to.

Everything about the night felt easy until the first hiccup happened.

You and Mat were off in your own little world again, facing each other on your barstools, knees knocking against each other, as he talked about an article that reminded him of you.

“I have to send it to you,” he shook his head with laughter, as he scrolled through his phone, “Just by the title I knew I had to show you, but wanted to wait until I saw you in person to see your reaction.”

You felt your stomach flip at his admission. He wanted to see your reaction. And based on how giddy he looked as he searched for the article to text it to you, he thought your reaction would be similar to his. He wanted to see you smile.

Your phone vibrated on the table as it lit up with his contact name; Mathew Barzal.

When you opened your phone, you let out a laugh when you saw the article populate with an image. It was definitely an article you would enjoy, and when you brought your gaze back up to Mat, a smile wide on your face, you noticed his giddy look was gone. It was replaced with a more contemplative look with his eyes locked in on your phone screen.

Your smile slowly faded away as you knocked your knee against his, “What’s up?”

He left you unanswered as he kept his stare on your phone until the screen turned black. He picked his head up to look at you, a frown on his face, “You changed my contact name,” you sat frozen in your seat, “and took away the  picture.”

His words registered with you, but all you heard was ringing in your ears.

Because yes, you changed his contact name and removed the picture of him. His name went from just Mat, with a hockey stick emoji, to his full name after the breakup. And his contact picture, one Tito took of him in lounge wear in a hotel room at an away game on the phone––talking to you––with his head tipped back in laughter, was now just MB in a gray circle.

Did he still have your contact name and picture the same in his phone?

“I––”

“It’s no big deal,” he shrugged his shoulders and tried his best to smile. But the corners of his lips barely turned upward, “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You didn’t know how to respond to his observation, so you stared at him with your lips slightly parted and eyes wide. Mat tried to show another smile, but his lips just formed a straight line. You wanted to tell him you were sorry; that you had to change those details or else you would cry whenever you looked at your phone. But you didn’t know how to verbalize that without breaking down in front of him as the painful memories of stripping Mat away from your life replayed in your mind.

This was the longest silence you sat in with him since January.

Mat slowly shifted his knees away from yours and as you continued to stare at his side profile. He joined in on a conversation with Tito and someone else, but you had no idea what they were talking about. All you thought about were Mat's forehead creases, his glossy eyes full of despair, and the frown still present on his face.

Reluctantly, you turned away from him and found yourself listening in to a different conversation, but all you could pay attention to was Mat’s slumped posture in your peripheral vision.

An hour later, another round of drinks were bought, and everyone was still having a good time with lots of laughter and smiles present. Except your smile was forced and you couldn’t hear Mat’s laugh.

But then you felt someone knock their knee against yours.

You dropped your vision down and saw Mat’s knee an inch away from yours. Thinking that this time, he knocked his knee against yours on accident, you kept quiet. But then you saw him knock his knee against yours again, with his knee resting against yours for an extra few seconds, you looked up at him.

A small hopeful smile was on Mat’s face.

Mirroring his shy smile, you ducked your chin into your chest as you felt butterflies in your stomach.

You knocked your knee against his.

Both of your smiles brightened, and just when Mat opened his mouth to say something, someone clapped a hand on Mat’s shoulder. He looked surprised at the contact, but when you heard the TV behind your table report on the top hockey highlights of the week––with the announcer commenting on Mathew Barzal’s goal––the table erupted into obnoxious cheers. Mat’s face went beet red as he shied away from the praise his friends offered.

After the rowdiness at the table calmed down, you knocked your knee against Mat’s as he picked up his beer. He raised his eyes up to look at you, a small smile making its way onto his face as he took a sip of his drink. When he placed his glass back on the wooden table, he knocked his knee against yours.

“Why are you acting so shy,” you let out a small laugh, because in all of the time you’d known Mat, he craved the attention and praise that came with being a hockey player.

He shrugged his shoulders, tapping his fingers against the table, “The compliments get to be too much sometimes.”

You shut your eyes tight as you tilted your head back in laughter. And when you opened your eyes, Mat was looking at you with gentle eyes full of fondness, “Stop lying.”

There were still some small laughs coming from you, but when Mat took your statement literally, your laughter ceased.

“I like the compliments more when they come from you,” he said with a serious facial expression, “Your words mean the most to me.”

You looked into his eyes; ones that were full of regret as it looked like he was retracing the steps of how your relationship came to this point. How it went from two people who were so in love with each other, in the most idyllic relationship…to people who painfully avoided each other for nearly a year, people whose voices wavered with skepticism when they spoke to each other, and to people who still loved each other but didn’t know how to reconcile.

Sometimes you thought it would be easier not to know him, in turn that you could forget about the heartbreak he caused you. But that thought was always easily diminished; the love you felt when you were with him were the most joyous moments of your life that you wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

Well…Maybe one thing.

If you could trade those early days of happiness to fall in love with him all over again––and not experience any heartbreak––you would do it in a heartbeat.  

Mat cleared his throat, “You don’t…” he offered you a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to let you know how I felt.”

With a nod of your head, you bit the inside of your cheek as you felt your throat tighten up. To alleviate some of the tension in the air, you took a sip of your drink. And when you tore your eyes away from Mat to look at the table, you saw that the table was empty, save for you and Mat.

You didn’t know the last time just the two of you sat at the same table alone.

“Where did everyone go?” You turned your head to face Mat with a tilt of your head.

He shrugged his shoulders, “I think they’re off getting more drinks.”

You chuckled and faked offense, “And they didn’t ask us what we wanted?”

Again, he shrugged his shoulders, as he turned his head over to look at the bar where everyone stood. When he turned back to look in your eyes, you could see the wheels turning behind his head as he thought.

“We could get our own drinks…” He said slowly, eyes shining full of hope as he leaned in toward you, “Somewhere else…” and the next word he added, voice dangerously low in a whisper, sent more shivers down your spine than the spring breeze, “Alone.”

It wasn’t the first time Mat took your breath away, and without thinking of any possible consequence, you nodded your head once, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow at you, the signature grin on his face was contagious as you smiled back, nodding your head even more rapidly. He quickly looked over his shoulder to see where your friends were, and then when he turned back to you, he smirked, “I think we have less than thirty seconds before they come back.”

As if the two of you communicated telepathically, you jumped off the barstools at the same time and walked at a brisk pace toward the doors. Once the two of you were safely outside and at the street corner, both of you doubled over in laughter.

“Did we ditch our friends?” You looked up at Mat who clutched his stomach.

He nodded his head, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Instead of painfully remembering all the times the two of you would duck out early from a party to spend time together, you remembered them with a smile and a laugh.

Once your laughter subsided, you straightened your posture and slid your hands in to your jacket pockets, “Where to?”

“Hadn’t thought that far ahead yet,” he apologetically smiled, “There are some bars a few blocks down.” He suggested as he raised his wrist to look at his watch. His eyes widened slightly, “Shit, it’s late. We’ll either make it right before last call or miss it entirely.”

You stood in silence as you saw the wheels behind his head turning in thought again. It looked like he had come up with another place to walk to, but he looked uneasy as he suggested it, “There is…another place.”

Your curiosity sounded too hopeful, “Where?”

Mat looked down at his shoes, scuffing them against the pavement, before looking back up at you in uncertainty. He took a deep breath, “My apartment.”

Your eyes widened at his suggestion. 

His apartment.

The apartment where you had your last moments as a couple right before he broke up with you. Were you ready to go back? Did you want to go back? Because there was no doubt in your mind that going there would unlock more memories of when you were the happiest with Mat. But if you wanted to progress in anything––in a friendship––with Mat, you needed to get over the little fears you overdramatized in your head.

“We don’t have to,” Mat was quick to backtrack the offer of his apartment, “I know that’s where we––But I––I have drinks there. It’s not a far walk, and we won’t have to worry about getting into a place. But I understand if you don’t want to––”

“Let’s go,” you sucked in a deep breath and nodded your head the same time Mat’s eyes widened with shock, “It’ll be easier.”

“Are you sure?”

You took another deep breath and lied, “Positive.”

Mat didn’t look convinced, but he wasn't going to press you any further. So, with a nod of his head, he gestured toward the way of his apartment like you didn’t already know, “This way.”

The walk to his place wasn’t far at all, in fact, it was most likely closer than any of the bars you would definitely not make it to in time. So his apartment was a safe option as the two of you walked in silence. It wasn’t an awkward silence, but the two of you were replaying the last time you were both in his apartment.

Once you arrived at the building, Mat waved at the doorman––whose eyes brightened at you with recognition––as he hit the up button on the elevator. The ride up was just as silent as the walk to his place, and when you stood in front of the door to his place, your palms began to sweat.

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

But you stuck it through, and when Mat unlocked the door and let you in first, a wave of nostalgia hit you like a ton of bricks. Everything was the same, albeit a bit messier, but it felt almost like you were back in a home again.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone to come over,” Mat let out a nervous laugh as he walked past you and picked some of his belongings up that were strewn across the floor.

You waved him off, heading over to the living room area, and folded a blanket for him, “Don’t worry about it.”

You heard Mat let out an anxious deep breath as you watched him turn around and head into the kitchen. He seemed just as nervous as you. When he was out of sight, you set the unevenly folded blanket down on the ottoman and walked over to the couch. You sunk down and let out a shaky breath that you had been holding in since you walked through the front door.

You didn’t have much time to dwell in your thoughts, because you heard Mat’s footsteps, and sat up straight on the couch. He came around the other side of the couch with a beer bottle in one hand for him, and then a wine glass and a wine bottle, for you. He set his beer and wine glass down on the coffee table as he took a seat next to you.

“As your bartender for the night,” he sarcastically said as he took the wine opener and screwed it into the cork of the bottle, “I expect a very nice tip for bringing your drink to you.” You laughed at his comment to lighten the mood, but all you could focus on was the way his arms flexed when he twisted the corkscrew around a few times, “I even provided you with a whole bottle of wine just for yourself.”

You let out a small laugh, “Lucky me,” you whispered just as Mat looked up at you through his eyelashes.

He offered you a small smile, and then went back to concentrating on opening the wine. When the corkscrew was in the center of the cork, he pressed his hands down on the miniature levers, and the bottle opened with pop.

He looked up at you with a proud smile and eyebrows raised proudly, “Eh?” He asked you as he poured you a glass, “You should be impressed.”

You snorted, “That you opened a wine bottle?”

“Mhm,” Mat hummed as he handed you the glass. You offered him a smile as a thanks, as he grabbed his beer and rested an arm on the back of the couch, “And that I didn’t spill any of it.”

With a roll of your eyes, you took a sip of wine, as your mind pieced together that you were drinking your favorite type of wine. That led to a flurry of questions in your mind because why––after all this time––would he still keep your favorite bottle of wine at his place?

But Mat asked you about how your presentation at work went before you were able to bring it up.

Much like the time spent at the sports bar earlier, it was all laughter and smiles, except this time you weren’t under the scrutinizing gaze of Kennady or the hesitant glances of Tito. It was just you and Mat, alone in his apartment, as if no time had passed. With every twenty minutes that went by, it felt as if Mat would move a tiny bit closer to you. You didn’t mind at all, and when he was close enough, you knocked your knee against his.

It was well past midnight, and you were still enjoying yourself the same as you did when you first walked in. The bottle of wine was nearly empty; Mat joining in on the wine drinking after he finished his beer.

Everything about the time spent at Mat’s place felt easy until the second hiccup of the night happened.

Mat placed his empty wine glass down on the coffee table and let out a deep breath through his nose. His face looked serious; eyebrows pinched together that caused a crease to form between his eyes, mouth pressed in a straight line, with his eyes firmly concentrated on you. The look made your stomach uneasy, so you finished off the last of your wine, and sat it down next to Mat’s empty glass.

You let out an apprehensive laugh as you leaned your side into the back of the couch, just below where Mat’s hand rested, “What’s on your mind, hockey player?”

With his hand so close to your shoulder, he stretched out his fingers and lightly grazed your shoulder. He gently moved his fingertips along your shoulder blade a few times before he gulped, “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” you breathed out as a chill ran down your spine.

Both of your bodies were facing each other as he moved an inch closer to you. While his fingertips withdrew from your shoulder, he knocked his knee against yours. But instead of retracting it like he had done all night, he kept his knee against yours. With another deep breath through his nostrils, he inched closer to you again, his thigh pressing against yours.

You held your breath as you stared into his yearning eyes, and like he was telling you a secret, he whispered, “Sometimes you feel like a stranger.”

Your eyes widened, stunned at his confession. You were at a loss for words, but luckily you didn’t have to respond, because he expounded upon his admission.

“And it…It’s so frustrating,” his voice was low as he maintained eye contact with you; his soft eyes full of longing stared into your wide and timid eyes as his fingertips reached back down to touch your shoulders. But instead of just staying in one place, his fingertips trailed down to your collarbone, “I know how you relax after a stressful day,” his fingers slowly moved to the side of your neck as he let out a soft chuckle, “I know how you organize a closet.” HIs fingers moved painfully slow up your neck, “I know the facial expressions you make when you’re nervous…”

You clenched your jaw, as your breathing hitched, and you slightly tilted your head to the side to give his fingers more room to wander.

Mat traced his fingers along your jawline as he leaned his face closer to you, “I know what makes you happy,” you felt his breath fan against your face as his fingers caressed your cheek, “What pisses you off.” He kept his mouth in a straight line, jaw slightly clenched, as he moved his fingers to the back of your neck, cupping your cheek. He kept quiet, the only noise in the apartment that could be heard was your own heartbeat and Mat’s breathing.

Finally, he rested his forehead against yours as he slightly brushed the tip of his nose against yours. You kept your eyes wide open in anticipation, as Mat closed his eyes for a moment. He let out a shaky breath before slowly opening his eyes to look at you with an amount of adoration you’d never seen before, “How to love you.”

“We’re friends.”

“No we’re not,” his voice was strained with irritation. But this time, the irritation in his voice wasn’t directed at either you or hockey…his irritation was at himself, “All I want is to love you again but you’re so far away.” He let out a self-deprecating laugh and muttered, “You’re a stranger who I know better than anyone else.”

You brushed your nose against his, eyes glancing down at his lips, before looking back into his wistful eyes, “I’m right here.”

With your lips parted and breath shallow; the tone of your voice hinted at what you wanted to come next.

“If I were to kiss you,” Mat’s low voice murmured as he laid out his intentions, “Would you stay?”

“Yes.”

There was no wavering hesitation in your voice, only desire for the person in front of you who you’d spent too much time without. But Mat…Mat blinked a few times as his tongue darted out to wet his lips, staring at you as if he didn’t believe this was real life. The pull you felt toward him was stronger than any pull you felt toward anyone else. There was something in him that made him irresistible, he felt it in you as well, and he couldn’t wait any longer.

Eyes closed, Mat pressed his lips against yours, desperate but chaste as you tasted the wine off him, both of you holding yourselves back for each other's sake. He rubbed his lips against yours, urging you to tip your head back. You leaned into his direction as your fingers carefully crept toward his stomach, clutching his shirt into a small fist.

The tip of his tongue peeked out in a quick stripe across your lower lip, and a strangled whimper in the back of your throat involuntarily left your lips. With his nose against your cheek, he took his hand that cupped your cheek, and ran it down your back. His palm and the tips of his fingers gliding across the expanse of your back; feeling every ridge of your spine, every bone, every dip, and every curve.

Ever so slowly, his hand trailed up your back, over your neck, as he cupped your cheek again. He deepened the kiss, tongues meeting with soft strokes, mouths hot with anticipation and need.

You had kissed Mat more times than you could count, but both of your movements were timid. While he had a hand on your cheek, his other hand laid stiff on the couch. And while your hands gripped his shirt, they weren’t physically touching him. There were so many thoughts circling your mind; how you never thought you’d be in this position again with Mat––having him want you again.

That’s when the first tear fell.

It had officially been a year and a half since your break up with Mat. A year and a half since you felt any sort of honest affection from a person. And it had only been about three months since you started to openly communicate with him again. It had taken you longer to watch a hockey game than it took for you to speak to him regularly again; longer to gain the courage to watch him skate in circles with a smile on his face because you knew he was happiest on the ice.

Happier there than he could ever be with you.

You broke away from his kiss with a sniffle.

Mat delicately pecked your lips one last time before pulling away. Your eyes were still shut tight, but you felt his burning stare on your face as his thumb wiped away the single tear from your cheek.

The second tear fell when he repeated the sentence that you didn’t know held any truth.

“You know I’d do anything for you.”

As if you were transported in time, you smelled the April air of two years ago seeping through the open car windows as Mat whispered that promise to you as he kissed your hand. But the other memory…The cruel and poignant memory that overshadowed the good memory of that sentence took over. Instead of the sweet April air, your mind fast forwarded to the month of December where the air was frigid and eliminated your relationship.

You sucked in another deep breath as you opened your eyes to get you out of the headspace of that bitter December day. Mat’s eyes were desperate––silently begging you not to go––as if he knew you were planning an escape.

“I can’t do this,” you dropped your hands from his shirt and moved away from him on the couch.

“Will you ever be ready to do this?” Mat’s voice shook, but he was withstanding from surrendering. You could now see the athlete in him––the dedication he used to train to attain all of his goals––coming out as he fought to mend your relationship, “I want to talk.”

Your hands shook just as bad as your voice, “I can’t.”

For the countless time tonight, Mat let out an irritated breath through his nostrils, “When will you be ready?”

“I don’t know.”

Mat leaned his head against the back of the couch as he rubbed his temples, “Don’t you miss this?” He turned his head to look at you, his bloodshot eyes noticeable in the dim lighting of his living room, “Don’t you miss us?”

“You broke up with me,” you reminded him as you flared your nostrils in annoyance, “You gave up on us.”

“I was confused!” Mat sat up and angled his body toward you as he threw his hands in the air, “I wanted to be with you––Still want to be with you––But something was off and I had to––”

The deja vu of Mat listing off reasons why something in the relationship wasn’t right––and how his judgement convinced himself that getting away from you would solve everything––caused bile to churn in your stomach.

You placed both hands on the cushions as you pushed yourself up, “I’m not doing this again.”

With your back to him, you itched the bridge of your nose as you sniffled away your runny nose. But even with your back to him, you could still hear the desperation and utter heartache behind his wavering voice.

“You told me I would end up alone and unloved,” you heard him inhale a shaky breath, all the confidence from his previous tone of voice gone, as he choked out his next words, “The one person who I love most in the world told me that––The person who I thought loved me––”

“I do––”

“Told me I would be unloved? That not even you could love me again if I didn’t put more effort into the right things?” You spun around on your heel to see a silent path of tears easily falling down his face, “Do you know how much that messed me up?”

“You told me I wasn’t enough,” you counteracted with just as desperate of a voice, “You told me––”

“We just didn’t see each other enough,” Mat’s words continued to cut you like a knife, “But I never said you would end up alone and––”

“Because I don’t want anyone else to love you!” your devastated tone matched his raised voice. His mouth slowly dropped open, “I loved you so much and you tore me apart.” You felt your throat tighten up, but you held back your tears as your voice cracked, “I wanted to be the last person to love you.”

Mat sat in silence on the couch as you stood a few feet away from him. Silences were never common in your relationship, but they were definitely more common now. Coming to terms in your head that he wasn’t going to say anything, you were about to turn around and make your way out of his apartment for the final time.

“Stay,” Mat stood up from the couch. His hand barely raised from his side, as if he wanted to reach out to keep you from leaving him, but his arm stayed stiff at his side, “It’s after two in the morning, I’ll take the couch and you can sleep in my bed.”

“I’m not far from here,” you crossed your arms over your chest, “I can get an Uber.”

“Then I’ll take the Uber with you to your place.”

You let out a deep breath at his persistence, “That’s unnecessary––”

“Believe it or not,” Mat started his sentence out strong, but he took a pause and let his shoulders deflate as his tone softened, “I still really care for you and don’t want you in an Uber alone this late or walking up to your place alone. So please,” you hated the way your heart melted at his words, “Stay.”

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as you thought about his proposal. He had a point…Ubers alone at night in New York wasn’t the most ideal situation in the world. And you knew he would hop in the car with you; he always held your safety high on his priority list.

With a defeated sigh, you nodded your head, “Okay.”

Mat let out a relieved breath, “You can…You know where everything is,” Mat awkwardly rubbed a hand behind his neck, “Everything’s the same.”

Except us, you thought to yourself.

You asked Mat if he had to get anything from his room, but he said he had some stuff stored in the spare bedroom where he would get ready for bed. And for what may be the last time, you wished each other goodnight as the two of you walked to separate ends of his apartment.

You blocked out every memory that swirled around your head as you entered his room and got ready for bed. Everything was going fine until you opened the cabinet under the sink and saw that he still had an unopened bottle of your shampoo that you always kept at his place. But you were done crying. Done crying over Mat. So you closed the cabinet, regretfully changed into one of Mat’s oversized t-shirts for pajamas, and slid under his covers.

With the sheets pulled up right under your chin, you laid on your side in a fetal position, as you stared out his window. There weren’t any stars in the sky, but instead of being in your bed and thinking about what Mat was up to when you couldn’t sleep, all you had to do was walk down the hall.

You tried everything you could to fall asleep, but none of the methods you usually used worked. Even when you stayed in separate bedrooms when Mat met your family for the first time, similarly down the hall from each other, you didn’t have any trouble sleeping like tonight. But back then, you and Mat were together in love. And this time…you and Mat were somehow still in love, but further apart than ever.

Fed up with not being able to get a decent night’s sleep in over a year, you flung the covers off and stepped out of bed, because you knew the cure to your insomnia was just a few feet away. Slowly, you opened the bedroom door and snuck out. You quietly closed the door and made your way to the living area where Mat said he was.

And in a few seconds you saw Mat, whose face was illuminated by his phone from above head as he scrolled. The single blanket he had only came up about halfway to his bare stomach.

As if he sensed another presence in the room, he turned his head. With an empathetic smile, because you imagined he had the same trouble falling asleep in this past year as well, he shut his phone off and placed it on the coffee table. Without a word, he lifted the blanket up, inviting you to sleep next to him.

You crawled in next to him, the side of your face pressed up against the crook of his neck. You let out a silent, uneven, breath as you felt his warmth spread across your body. And when he lowered the blanket, he curled a tight arm around waist, drawing shapes on your back as he held you close to him.

And the third tear fell when Mat pressed a firm kiss to your forehead and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

A year and a half of sobbing didn’t compare to the flood gates that opened up in this moment. Your senses were in overdrive, everything screamed Mat, and that one little forehead kiss paired with a simple apology tipped you over the edge. He held you tight as you cried into his chest, taking responsibility for the suffering he had put you through the past year and a half.

One of your arms was tucked under you, but your other arm was stretched across Mat’s chest as you clung to his bicep. Your shoulders violently shook as you muttered incoherent words out through choppy breaths.

You hurt me, you said. I know, he answered.

I never wanted to see you again, you said. I know, he answered.

I missed you so much, you said. I know, he answered.

I still love you, you said. And as your cries began to soften, he cradled you into his chest more as he pressed another gentle kiss to your forehead; I still love you too, he answered.

It was the first night both of you slept soundly through the night, missing all of your alarms.

–––

New York in August was unbearably hot.

Between the larger than life gray skyscrapers and dark concrete that paved the city, the heat of the sun always got trapped in the most unpleasant way. With crowded sidewalks of people pressed shoulder to shoulder, the heat attached itself to sweaty bodies. With sewers that always smelled, but reeked even worse in the summer, the heat attached itself to the polluted water.

But if you paid close enough attention, there was a certain aroma in the air that always drew people into the city. And like how the skyscrapers and concrete trapped the heat in the most unpleasant way, the sweet smell of new beginnings that New York offered trapped people in the same way.

Walking down the sidewalk, with your fingers intertwined with Mat’s, you breathed in the captivating smell of New York.

The smell of new beginnings.

“Are you nervous or is the heat getting to you,” You looked up at Mat’s side profile with a smile as you pointed out his sweaty hand.

With black sunglasses covering his eyes, he kept his head forward as he chewed on his bottom lip, “It’s your family.”

You rolled your eyes as you came to the end of the sidewalk, waiting at the corner for the light to change, “You know them already.”

“Yeah, but––”

His words were cut off when the light changed and a mass amount of people crossed the street. You tugged him along with the crowd, “No buts,” you squeezed his hand, “They still love you.”

Mat shrugged his shoulders.

He knew the pain he caused when he broke up with you. And he knew that your mom, dad, and sister all witnessed the aftermath of what he put you through. There was part of him that would never forgive himself for acting so immature, and he was still working through his insecurities. But after that night of confrontation where you slept peacefully in his arms, he promised to always be upfront with his feelings.

You had been officially back together for four months, and made changes from the first time you were in a relationship, but Mat’s nerves surrounding your family were still present.

Your sister was the first to find out that you and Mat were back together. You hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell her before she figured it out not even a month into your rekindled relationship. She called you out of the blue, and before you could greet her, she went straight to the point; Are you back together with Mat? You were a stuttering mess, not prepared to tell your family; You liked Tito’s most recent Instagram picture, your username came up next to the heart, and I know you unfollowed him after you weren’t with Mat.

Her sleuthing wasn’t that impressive, but you couldn’t lie to your sister. She warned you that a few more jokes would come at his expense to turn him red.

You told your mom in June. You had let it casually slip that you were going out with Mat for the day, and she was silent on the other end for a few moments. Like any mother who held their child as they openly sobbed after the end of a relationship, she was skeptical. But you reassured her that changes were made, and continue to be made, so it wouldn't end like the last time…So your relationship wouldn’t end at all.

She said as long as you were happy, she was happy.

You also told your dad in June, a week after you told your mom, because you knew she wouldn’t be able to hold onto that secret for long. It took a bit more planning and practicing on your end to tell him. You saw the way his jaw clenched and eyes full of hurt whenever he saw you cry. And when you told him, he sounded stiff, and reminded you that you were too good for him. But like your mom, you reassured him that things had changed; Mat had changed.

He reminded you that he never liked Mat that much to begin with.

When you and Mat reached the restaurant you were set to meet your family at, Mat opened the door for you. A breeze of air conditioning and the smell of clean air brought you out of your thoughts.

"Your dad’s already glaring at me and we’re not at the table yet.”

You let out a laugh and rested your forehead against Mat’s bicep briefly as you looked up at him with a smile, “Don’t worry, I talked to him plenty before this and told him to be on his best behavior.”

Mat took his sunglasses off, and as he stared down at you, you finally caught a look at his hazel eyes that shined bright with admiration for you, “Surprisingly, that doesn’t make me feel better.”

You dropped his hand and elbowed him at his sarcastic comment.

“Finally, you’re here,” your sister was the first one up from her seat to greet you with a hug.

You hugged her back tightly, “We’re on time, you guys got here early.”

She held you at arms length away and gave you a knowing look saying that of course they were going to show up early. It was the re-meeting the boyfriend lunch. She slightly gazed over your shoulder at Mat, who was politely talking with your mom, and you rolled your eyes silently telling her he was more nervous than the first time. She deviously smirked.

With a stiff handshake and a curt, Mathew, from your dad, you knew Mat felt as if he was drowning.

Appetizers and a bottle of wine were ordered for the table before you and Mat were present, so they arrived shortly after the two of you were seated next to each other. Like the first time Mat was around your family, he sat with perfect posture as he rapidly tapped his index finger against his thigh.

You discreetly scooted your chair closer to his.

Mat had just finished his first glass of water when your mom brought up hockey, “How did this season go, Mat?”

“It went well,” he answered as he took the water pitcher from the center of the table and poured himself another glass, “There were a few times we went up and down in ranking, but all in all, it was a strong season.”

“I watched a few highlights,” your dad said after he finished swallowing an appetizer, “You played well, especially towards the end of the season.”

Mat shyly smiled, his eyes glancing at you, because toward the end of the season was when you started communicating more, “Yeah, the end of the season was the best.”

You knocked your knee against Mat’s.

“And almost made it to the Cup again,” your dad shook his head with a light smile, “How’s the team looking this season?”

Mat took a sip of water, “We’re looking good. A few changes to the roster, but all for the best.” He fiddled with the white cloth napkin on his lap, “If you guys––I don’t know the next time you’re in town, but just let me know if you want to go to a game.” Mat smiled at your dad, and then turned to your mom, “I know my family wants to come down for a game.”

Your mom’s eyes lit up, “Oh, that would be wonderful!”

“Thanks, Mat,” your dad easily smiled, “I appreciate that.”

Mat shrugged his shoulders, a smile slowly growing on his face as your dad called him by his nickname, “I know how much you all like hockey, might as well use me for what I’m good for.”

Your parents laughed at his comment right as the waiter came up to take everyone’s order for their main course. You, Mat, and your sister had ordered, so your parents weren’t paying attention to your little trio.

“So, Mat,” your sister stretched out the lone vowel in his name, “Looks like you won the girl back before your franchise could win the Stanley Cup.”

Your eyes widened at her bluntness. It was always hard for a team to be so close to clinching that championship title––and well deserved praise as they lifted the Cup above their heads––only for it to be ripped away from them. And for the Islanders to be in that position another year, losing in the final round, it only aided in more salt to the wound.  

Mat’s face still turned red at her unapologetic comment, but he recovered quickly, and wasn’t nearly as blindsided by her words like he was the first time. Instead, Mat offered your sister an easy smile, as he quickly made eye contact with you. His smile widened, “I think I won something better.”

Mat knocked his knee against yours.

#Mat Barzal #Mat Barzal fic #Mat Barzal imagine #Mat Barzal fluff #Mathew Barzal #Mat Barzal writing #Mat Barzal x Reader #Mat Barzzal Oneshot #Mat Barzal one shot #mat barzal blurb #mat barzal angst #mathew barzal fic #mat barzal new york islanders #new york islanders #mathew barzal new york islanders #honest to god why is tagging a thing sdlkjf hopefully i tagged all the right things!! ta!!

[caiuscassiuss]

oppa! | ot7 (I)

Description: Being raised by a caring yet distant father, a close, tight-knit family is the one thing you have craved in your short life. After your adventurer father remarries a rich woman, you’re stuck with seven new brothers. Seven very hot, very different men. This is not what you meant by family.

Arc 1: Stepbrother Introductions

Genre: OT7 x Female!Reader | Brother’s Conflict AU | stepbrother au | fluff | slice of life (For this chapter: PG 13) WC: 15k Warnings: swearing, dub-con (??). In later chapters there will be explicit mentions of depression, panic attacks, thoughts of suicide, self harm, and graphic smut.

Chapter 1: Enter the Oldest Type, Jin!

Fiddling with the charm on your phone, you looked down at the blue text bubble that spelled out the address of what might possibly be your home for the next few years.

You had googled the place as soon as you got home, expecting it to be a random apartment somewhere and boy oh boy, you were wrong. First, the house (not apartment) was on the outskirts of Seoul, on one of the hilly inclines overlooking the Han River. Second, the place where it was located was expensive.

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head when you saw the housing prices of properties nearby on this popular real estate app. Sure, your father was a celebrity adventurer with his own cable show and so you were used to a certain amount of comfort, but this type of wealth was way beyond your league. Who was this woman that your father married, Jesus Christ?

On the Google streets view (you swear you aren’t weird), you saw the place had at least 2 gates to get through and your father hadn’t told you of any code or given you any pass to get through. You had a feeling if you tried to go in there blind, you would be immediately detained by the police.

Biting your lip, you paced on the fluffy carpet that felt like a dream. Your father was gallivanting off in some remote corner of Nigeria, so he was bound to have no cell service there. You knew no one in the family— much less how to contact them so you could meet up for a coffee or something. It would seem rude not to do something…

Your apartment doorbell buzzed throughout your apartment. Folding your arms over your chest, you shivered as you walked towards the doorway. You had turned up the Air Conditioner too high to ward off the muggy Seoul heat and now it was freezing inside your apartment.

“Hello?” you asked in to the intercom.

“Hi, is this Y/N?” a masculine voice asked at the other end.

You frowned and shifted your weight on your other leg. You don’t recall expecting any guests today.

“Excuse me?” the man asked again after you refused to respond.

“Hi, sorry, who is calling?” you said politely.

“I’m Seokjin, Seoyeon’s son. I’m your, uh, new brother?” he said haltingly, his voice raised at the end.

Gasping softly, you felt your mind pile up with questions and questions until it was spinning. How did he get here? How did you know who you are?

“Oh! Uh, yeah, please come on up.”

You pressed the button to allow the elevator to go to your location and you heard a bright “Thank you!” before the intercom shut off.

You zoomed around your apartment like a psychopath, picking up spare pieces of clothing and putting the dishes in the dishwasher. Your apartment reeked of mild depression, suppressed anxiety, and the beginnings of an unhealthy reliance on take out and that was not the first impression you wanted your newfound brother to have of you.

Putting your hands on your hips, you scanned the now clean apartment. It looked like a moderately adjusted human lived here.

Good timing indeed, as your buzzer sharply rang throughout the apartment. Taking a deep breath, you grasped the door handle and pulled it open.

Your lungs really said “Bye, sister!” and decided to quit working as soon as you saw this man. You couldn’t breath because standing in front of you was one of the most beautiful men you have ever seen in your life.

He was tall, taking up the entire doorway with his height. A dash of neatly groomed, brown hair graced the top of his small head and big eyes peered at you curiously above a strong nose and a pair of big, pouty lips the color of strawberries.

The second thing you noticed about him after his overwhelming beauty was his navy scrubs and the large badge attached to his pocket that read “Kim Seokjin; Pediatric Doctor at Seoul National University Pediatric Group”. You’ve seen people in scrubs and they were, favorably said, unflattering but on this man… he looked like he stepped out of a catalogue.

“You’re Y/N, right?”

Speechless, you nodded.

His entire face lit up with a grin. “Oh, that’s a relief. It’s fantastic to meet you, I’m Kim Seokjin. You can call me Jin though.”

Your voice decided to be nice and start working. You held out a hand and he reciprocated with a handshake. “Hi, I’m Y/N. It’s really nice to meet you. Please, do come in.”

He took off his sturdy shoes politely at the doorway and you retreated further into the hallway of your apartment.

You shivered again through your thin top and crossed your arms. God, you were going to have to raise the temperature. It felt like a fridge in here.

Jin turned around with a smile on his face before his eyes went wide. His eyes flickered down your body and quickly flickered back up to your face.

“I’m sorry if this is a bit sudden,” he started, red climbing up his neck and rising up to his cheeks. “I—” His eyes flicked down again before staying resolutely at your face, despite his very red cheeks.

Did you have a stain on your pants or something? You cast your eyes down at yourself and—

Oh.

Your very regrettable decision of turning your A/C up resulted in stiff nipples poking out from your thin top. To make matters worse, your crossed arms emphasized your breasts.

You felt yourself going red as an unflattering squeak left your mouth. Pulling a cardigan from behind the couch (there goes your good first impression), you quickly threaded your arms through the sleeves and covered your chest.

“I am so sorry—”

“It’s alright!” he said, his voice unwieldy. Jin’s eyes widened again as he realized the meaning of his words. “No! I mean— ugh,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands.

You giggled as you saw his mature composure crack in front of you. 

“I must seem like a pervert,” Jin groaned. “Here I was, hoping to come off as a cool older brother, and I just,” he shook his head. “Forgive me.”

The awkwardness defused, you laughed again, ultra conscious of your chest. “Please don’t worry about it! I had hoped to make a good first impression as well but look at me! Pulling clothing out of furniture.”

He snorted and you both started laughing, filling up your once silent apartment with sound. 

As the laughter died down, you offered him a seat on your couch. He gladly took the invitation, throwing in a joke about being on his feet all day.

“Yeah, I’m sorry to barge in all of the sudden. I didn’t have your contact information— only your address and I realized that you had no way to get to our house. So, here I am,” he grinned, eyes forming cute half crescents.

“I actually have to thank you for it,” you said, setting down a glass of water in front of him. “I was thinking of going to your house myself but I saw the security around it and I knew I’d probably get detained or something.”

“Well, it’s good that it all lined up so well,” Jin commented. “I better introduce myself, don’t I? I’m just a pediatric doctor with the SNU pediatric group and 26— the oldest of all of us. I was born in Gwacheon and moved to Seoul to attend university.”

You smiled softly, despite your unease at his use of the word “just”. “A pediatric doctor? That’s very nice. What made you want to be a doctor?”

Jin’s smile grew strained and you saw his broad shoulders tense up. 

Feeling like you wanted to hit yourself over the head, you threw out your hands in apology. “I didn’t mean to—”

He shook his head. “Please, don’t worry about it. It’s a common question. I chose this specific profession over the OR or surgery because, as a child, I knew someone who was injured a lot and I couldn’t help them at all.” He grimaced, but pasted on a very good smile. His eyes were crinkled at the edges, his head tilted upwards, but you could see through it. “Now I can, yeah?”

“I get what you mean,” you said sympathetically. You were often sick as a child too, and it was… difficult, when your father was off scampering across half the world. 

Jin straightened up in his seat and lost that faraway look in his eyes, zeroing in on you. “What about you, Y/N? You’re college-age, yeah?”

“Yes, I’m 21 and attend Yonsei University as a junior. Although it’s not as exciting as wanting to be a doctor, I want to be a counselor one day,” you told him, your eyes cast down “I want to help people.”

“That’s really admirable, Y/N. If you ever need any help getting an internship or opportunity, I know some counselors and I’d be more than happy to facilitate a meeting,” Jin smiled warmly at you.

A blush infused your cheeks. “I, ah, thank you. I actually work as an operator on Crisis hotline right now, but I’ll definitely need all the help I can get.”

“Of course! You’re my cute younger sister now.”

“I’ve never had a sibling, I’m very excited to have seven older brothers now,” you grinned.

“Yeah! About that,” he coughed awkwardly, “— are you considering moving in with us? Your father told my mother that you would be moving, but I wasn’t sure if you were completely willing?”

You nodded. “I’m considering it. I’d like to meet everyone first, however. Just to get used to your personalities.”

“Completely understandable, all seven of us can be,” he paused, “—a lot. However, if you’re up for meeting a few of us, I can take you to our house for a visit. I can drop you back and everything.”

“That’d be lovely.”

He waited patiently for you as you locked the door to your apartment, carefully watching you as you stepped into the elevator.

“Where did you park?” you asked, craning your head upwards to look at him. “I hope you weren’t forced to park on the street, it can be very expensive.”

He shook his head. “I found the visitor parking, it’s all good.”

The doctor led you through the underground parking, weaving through cars and concrete beams with ease until you stopped in front of a bright white car with a silver trident in the middle of its grill. Eyes wide, you knew what this car was. Your dad had admired Maseratis for the longest time, and this one looked to be very new.

Jin gestured to the white Maserati, looking unfairly suave in his scrubs and next to his fancy car. “Hop in.”

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Mature Type, Namjoon! 

Chapter 2: Enter the Mature Type, Namjoon!

Jin was a model driver, driving carefully on the streets of Seoul. He looked both ways before crossing an intersection and took slow turns. However, it amused you how he hissed at the console as it beeped to warn him if there was a car or curb too close to him.

However, as you looked out the window, the streets got quieter and the houses a whole lot bigger as you crossed into a residential part of Seoul. You were driving parallel to the Han River, and you saw many people doing water activities or boating to cool off in the hot September weather.

Jin slowed down as you entered an avenue lined by trees and you could see a guardhouse at the end of the picturesque street. However, the two of you avoided the guardhouse completely and took what was presumably the resident’s entrance, where he passed by easily with a scan of a barcode on his tire.

“Do you drive, Y/N?” Jin asked, one elbow resting casually on his open window and the other on his lap.

“No, I never really had time to learn.” More like you never had someone to teach you.

“Okay, so we’ll just need a resident pass for you,” Jin muttered to himself, eyes focused on the street.

He drove through large, green spaces with the occasional building speckling the landscape. You gripped your purse harder. Green spaces unencumbered by large buildings blocking the view were rare in Seoul, the cost of natural land so astronomically high only wealthy business people or very famous celebrities being able to afford places like this. You gulped. Their family was definitely out of your league.

The car stopped in front of a very modern looking townhouse and the garage opened, Jin driving into what seemed to be a much more expansive parking garage under the house. However, instead of boring concrete and fluorescent lighting, sandy colored marble and warm lighting lit the space as you descended through the underground.

Biting your lip as Jin backed in his car easily with just one hand steering the wheel, defined forearms catching your attention, you mentally smacked yourself. He’s your brother, for god’s sake!

You froze up as the doors started to lift up like wings on a butterfly, but relaxed. This level of wealth would definitely take some time to get used to.

He placed a warm palm on your shoulder, his fingertips reaching your collarbones, as he guided you to the entrance, up the dimly lit stairs and to a large, wooden door.

“I wish I could’ve taken you through the front door since it’s much more impressive,” he sighed, and pushed the wooden door open with a thumbprint scanner. “However, welcome to our humble abode.”

An abode it was, but humble was it not. You were only on the ground floor, but the ceilings were very high and you were surrounded by many floor-to-ceiling windows. The main theme of the building was warm marble and dark, rich wood with jewel tones interspersed between.

“Woah,” you breathed out. “You guys have a lot of space.”

“Yeah, “ Jin grimaced. “We kind of need it when some of us like to roughhouse and tend to break things.”

You laughed as he then guided you towards a spacious living room, a large window overlooking the Han River and greenery.

“Sit tight, I’ll get us something to drink,” Jin said, his voice getting fainter as he strode to a room off the massive living room.

Ankles crossed together, you peered at the large room. At first, it looked neat. Everything was in its place and perfectly coordinated by the eye of an expert designer. However, you could see the signs the place was well-lived in. The wear-and-tear of the orange and beige blanket emblazoned with an H that was thrown over the chair of the couch, the mess of wires from various gaming consoles, and even the small depressions on the pillows. 

A shelf of colorful books framed the huge TV and you stood up, perusing them. You expected the books to be typical, non-offensive living room books with dust on the covers but to your surprise, the books on the shelves were well loved with their cracked spines and rounded edges. Tracing over your fingers over the books you whispered the titles to yourself.

Candide, Crime and Punishment, The Metamorphosis…

“I’m sorry, but who are you?”

A deep voice echoed behind you and you jumped in surprise. Whirling around you saw another tall man with neat ash blond hair, glasses neatly perched on his straight nose with a pair of fierce eyes peering out from behind the frames. His charcoal suit was well-fitted to his body and his build reminded you of a tiger; sinewous muscles cording his arms, back, and thighs and tensed, ready to jump into action.

A nervous smile crawled up your lips. “I’m Y/N L/N. Are you one of my new brothers?”

The man relaxed minutely but the fierceness of his eyes did not subside. “I am. I’m Kim Namjoon, it’s a pleasure to meet you Y/N.”

He strode across the room in long, confident strides and took your hand. His handshake was strong and you tightened your grip in response, narrowing your eyes at him. His right eyebrow quirked, but he said nothing as he turned his attention to the bookshelf.

“So, what caught your attention here?” He murmured, tenor voice traveling the length of your spine and stroking your sensitive skin. “Is it… this?”

He pulled out a copy of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, obviously less worn than the rest.

A smirk tugged at your lips. “No, not that one.”

He stared at you longer, before crossing his arms over his powerful chest. “Oh? Enlighten me, then.”

With nimble fingers, you pulled out a red, slim novel and handed it to him. You carefully tracked his reaction as he took it from your hands, face and eyes saying nothing. He ran a thumb over the agonized face on the cover, and you felt a shiver go down your arm at the sheer sensuousness of it.

“Clockwork Orange,” he breathed out. “Interesting. Are you a Lit Major?”

You continued to stare at the bookshelf, feeling his eyes boring holes into your face. “No, I’m not. I’m majoring in psychology.”

He hummed, eyes tracing the rough artwork of the novel’s cover. “I liked psychology, but at that point I was already double-majoring. I majored in philosophy and business, which are not as different than they seem.”

“Are you out of university, then?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual.

Namjoon nodded affirmatively. “I’m 24, but I matriculated at SNU when I was 18. I run a conglomerate group now.”

Trying to keep your mouth from falling open in shock— what kind of twenty something year old owned a large business, much less a conglomerate— you nodded coolly.

“Given or made?” you questioned, an edge in your voice. Something about Namjoon made you want to test him, to prod at him constantly.

His fierce eyes turned to you and they blazed. 

“Made.”

Your lips lifted upwards, minutely, until you heard a clinking of glasses.

“Y/N? Sister-dearest? I got you— oh!”

Jin stopped in shock at the sight of you two seemingly huddled together in front of the book case.

“Do you two know each other?” Jin asked, absolutely bemused, as he set down a pitcher and some glasses on the coffee table.

“We don’t,” Namjoon answered. “However,” he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, “—I can see we’ll get along nicely.”

You did not get the same impression, but you digressed. He was one of your brothers now. Another factor was that one of his biceps, even though it was hidden inside his suit jacket, looked like it could strangle you.

Jin continued to stare in suspicion, before shrugging his wide shoulders and settling down on the couch.

“So what were you chatting about then?”

“A couple of books I had on the shelf. Y/N has some interesting taste,” Namjoon commented.

Jin snorted into his water with lemon. “Oh, ew, now I have two bookworms as siblings? Reading was the worst part of university. I liked all the practical stuff.”

“Sometimes I can’t believe that rational parents would let you near their kids,” Namjoon retorted, helping himself to a glass.

“And I can’t believe some women come near you,” Seokjin replied heatedly.

The two of them stared at each other seriously before breaking out in guffaws, hiding your expression behind your glass of water. This was such a weird dynamic and it was only two of them. Well, the best you could do was adapt the situation.

Just like you always had.

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Rough Type, Jungkook! 

Chapter 3: Enter the Rough Type, Jungkook!

As the three of you chatted about yourselves (apparently, some of the brothers were biologically Seoyeon’s children or were adopted), Jin’s eye caught the clock behind you and his eyes widened.

“Oh dear, it’s almost 6 o’clock,” Jin fretted, leaping up from the couch. “Everyone should be arriving home soon– excuse me,” he said as he retreated into the kitchen.

“Ah, I guess that means I should get going,” you said apologetically to Namjoon, standing up and straightening your ruffled skirt.

“Please, stay for dinner,” Namjoon smiled, gesturing for you to take a seat.

“Yeah, Y/N, stay for dinner!” Jin yelled from the kitchen.

“I mean, if you’re sure…” you trailed off, hoping you could stay. You felt too lazy to cook for yourself tonight.

“Please do, we hope to see you a lot more around here,” Namjoon said, warm smiling at you.

The security system dinged, signalling a door had opened within the house. Namjoon’s ears perked up.

His eyes flew towards the doorway. “That must be Taehyung or Jungkook, coming in. They’re usually the first to arrive.”

You wondered why both of those names seemed familiar and a heavy door slammed shut.

“Jungkook-ah! Your new sister is here! Come and greet her, you punk!”

The footsteps thud to a halt at the foot of the steps and you spin around in your seat.

In the hallway, a buff man in a loose-fitting white t-shirt and grey joggers stood in front of you. In almost humorous contrast to his hulking, muscled body, the cutest face with big eyes and pouty lips you have seen peered at you.

He looked familiar to you and you bit your lip, trying to figure out where you had seen him. Oh wait! Charger guy!

“Jungkook! You’re in my Calculus class, right?”

“Yeah…” he whispered, looking at you like he saw a ghost.

“It’s so funny that you’re here. It’s nice to meet you as my brother,” you grinned at him, tilting your head to the side.

He nodded mindlessly, frozen at his spot in the hallway.

“Jungkook? Are you good?” you prodded.

Namjoon snorted as he kept on typing into his phone. “Jungkook can’t speak to girls, so he gets frozen like this from time to time. Hyung, you fix him.”

“I’m cooking, you dolt!”

“And I’m trying to earn money so I can provide the food. Go.”

Jin shot you a look, as if exclaiming “look at how I’m treated around here!”, and dusted off his hands. Striding over to a frozen Jungkook, Jin poked Jungkook’s very built chest.

Jungkook still didn’t move and Jin pursed his lips. He poked him again. “Yah! Why aren’t you working?!”

The youngest brother broke out from his trance and looked at Jin seriously. 

“No.”

“Pardon?” you asked, wondering if you misheard.

“No.” Jungkook shook his mass of black, shaggy hair and ran a tattooed hand through it, looking in disbelief at the ground. “No, no, no, no, no no.”

Your slight smile is frozen on your face and you feel your shoulders tense up and, nervously, you look to Jin.

“Jungkook—“

“Fuck!” He threw his hands in the air. Jungkook pointed a finger at you, a line creasing at his forehead. “I did not sign up for this! Fuck!” 

Spinning around, he marched back into the hall and you could see the powerful muscles in his back tense through his thin t-shirt.

“Well…”

Jin, with his hands rubbing his temples, sighed heavily and deflated at the counter. “God, I’m sorry about that Y/N. I don’t know why Jungkookie is acting like that; he’s normally really amiable and nice.”

You laugh softly, trying to defuse the awkward tension that had settled around the kitchen. “Jin-ssi, please don’t worry about it. It’s a huge shift in his life and some people are going to take it harder than others. It’ll take some time, but I’m sure he’ll get used to me being his sister.”

Namjoon scrutinized you with hooded eyes. “You’re very kind. I hope my brothers don’t take advantage of it.”

Your grin cracked a bit. “We’re family. I don’t mind.”

—————

Jungkook would not come down from his room, despite the hilarious mix of threats, blackmail, and aegyo Jin tried to coerce him down with.

You could hear Jin rapid-fire lecturing Jungkook outside Jungkook’s bedroom door and Namjoon sighed, his temples in his hands. 

“Hyung, just give up. The kid’s being moody again.”

Jin acquiesced with ill grace, throwing in a last good “You punk!” up the stairs. He stomped down the carpeted stair well, retying his apron and set to reheat many of the things.

“See if I feed him tonight, that ungrateful brat…” Jin hissed, moodily chopping some screen onions.

Namjoon leaned towards you and beckoned your ear towards his and you obeyed, curious. His scent wafted towards you, yet was not as punchy as a normal cologne. It was subtle and musky, carrying notes of old books and bergamot. Perhaps it was a lotion?

“Jin says that all the time, but will leave him leftovers anyways,” Namjoon whispered into your ear, making you unconsciously shiver. “He’s too much of a pushover.”

You snorted as Jin came out of the kitchen with a dish in hands. “Yah, what was that, Namjoon?”

“Just commenting on how good your food is, hyung,” Namjoon replied coolly and leaning away from you.

Jin glanced suspiciously at Namjoon, before setting down the dish. You gasped, immediately getting to your feet.

“Oh, I’ve been such a rude guest! Can I help in any way? Set out the dishes or something?”

The apron-clad doctor clutched his heart, and wailed, “Look! My cute dongsaeng! Finally, a member of this household that is kind and offers to do their part!” Jin’s voice got progressively louder as he directed his voice up the stairs.

You muffled your laugh with a cough, and turned to Jin again. “Jin-ssi?”

Jin shook his head, clicking his tongue as he directed you to stay in your seat. “No, sweetheart, you’re a guest. Joonie-ah, set out the plates.”

Namjoon got up to get the plates, but as he did, his phone buzzed. Namjoon’s forehead creased as he looked at whatever was on his screen.

“Hyung, Taehyung-ah won’t be here today. Apparently his shoot on Jeju is lasting over night.”

Jin sighed, bustling around the kitchen. “How about Hoseok? Yoongi? I know Chimmy is out of the country right now.”

Taehyung, Hoseok, Yoongi, Chimmy, you memorized in your head. These were the four brothers you had yet to meet.

Namjoon snorted and put down the silverware, forks and spoons tinkling brightly. “You know Yoongi— he’s like a stray cat. He’ll be here when he wants. As for Hoseok, I think he might’ve just fallen asleep at the studio.”

“I’m sorry Y/N, I wish I could’ve introduced you to our other brothers,” Jin apologized. “Now, you’re just stuck with us two grandpas.”

You shook your head. “I’m just happy I could have dinner with you guys. Thank you for inviting me over.”

Jin watched you with a fond smile and Namjoon contemplated you carefully again.

Everything was set out and the three of you dug into Jin’s delicious food.

“Jin-ssi, this is very good. Your food tastes delicious. Did you put brown sugar into the sauce? It really rounds out the taste,” you complimented.

“I haven’t heard a compliment from these ungrateful brats about my cooking for 10 years,” Jin sighed dramatically. “Such a cute dongsaeng.”

Namjoon shook his head at Jin’s immature antics. “I might as well introduce you to Jungkook, since he elected not to do it himself.”

“You seemed to know him from university, yes?” Jin asked.

Nodding, you dabbed your mouth with a napkin. “I know of him, yes. He’s in my calculus class? Although, I feel like I might’ve had him in some of my core curriculum classes.”

“Jungkook is at Yonsei for a technology degree, although at first he was reluctant to go to university,” Namjoon revealed. “He wanted to be a Pro-Gamer and streamer full-time, but Seoyeon, Hyung, and I convinced him to get a degree.”

“He chose technology because he wants to combine his passion for gaming and technology into something in the future,” Jin continued, taking a sip of his water.

“That’s a very smart move of his,” you said politely. You wondered why Namjoon referred to his mother as ‘Seoyeon’. Maybe he was one of the adopted ones?

“That brat upstairs might look like he just screams at the monitor and works out, but he’s much more,” Namjoon reflected.

———- 

When you were cleaning up, you felt bad that Jungkook hadn’t had dinner yet. That man must need like four square meals a day and tons of snacks to keep up his bulk.

“Jin-ssi, Namjoon-ssi, I’m going to deliver some food to Jungkook. He must be hungry,” you called out, scraping some of the food onto a plate.

“You don’t have too, Y/N, he usually sneaks down to get something from the fridge,” Namjoon said as he typed furiously on his phone.

“Don’t worry about it, I want to help him,” you grinned, climbing up the stairs.

Namjoon mumbled something suspiciously like, “You’re too kind for your own good” but you had already gotten to the second landing. Stopping in front of Jungkook’s door, you knocked.

“Jungkook-ssi?” you said when no one responded. “You must be a bit hungry, so I just got a plate together for you.”

Complete radio silence. 

Exhaling sharply through your nostrils, you pouted and bent down to set down the plate next to his doorway.

“Well, if you change your mind, I put it next to your door. I’ll be going now!”

You strode down the hallway, making sure your footsteps trailed off. You hid behind a corner, making sure to conceal yourself completely.

After waiting a few minutes, you were sure he wasn’t going to come out  but his door clicked open and Jungkook emerged in a grey-blue hoodie. He took a surreptitious glance around the hallway before his eyes found you behind the corner.

Blushing, you decided to wave at him. To your surprise, instead of scowling or ignoring you completely, Jungkook’s face turned tomato red as he hurriedly gathered up the plate and slammed his door.

You scratched your head. Maybe he was shy or something.

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Bright Type, Hoseok! 

Chapter 5: Enter the Bright Type, Hoseok!

“So, how were your brothers? Nice? Weird? Ugly?” Hyerim pestered as you walked by the subway.

You bit your lip. “Um, really different?”

Hyerim fixed you a look.

“Okay, so I met three out of the seven yesterday. The oldest one— his name is Seokjin, but I call him Jin— is 26 and he’s a pediatric doctor. The other one—”

“Wait, Seokjin?” Your friend squinted at you. “Does he happen to work at SNU Pediatric Group?”

Blinking, you turned to her. “Yeah? How the hell did you know that?”

Hyerim let out a half strangled scream as you stepped down the stairs of the station. You were instantly surrounded by dozens of power blue ads with a purple suit-clad man in the middle, perhaps in the middle of a hip trust, all reading Happy Birthday in aesthetic cursive.

“Hoe! He’s my brother’s fucking doctor, I can’t believe this!”

Your eyebrows nearly touched your forehead. “Shit, really?”

“Yes! Holy shit, did you not listen to me complaining to you about how hot he was? And now he’s your fucking brother? The star must’ve aligned for me! This must mean the rest of the brothers are good looking!” Hyerim squealed.

“Does Jongin not exist anymore?” you asked as you both swiped your subway passes.

“Shhh, just because I’m off the market doesn’t mean I don’t get to look,” she giggled, her pony tail swishing back and forth.

You shook your head, amused at her antics, and continued.

“Anyways, the other brother I met is some fancy-schmancy businessman. Namjoon-ssi is 25? 24? He’s older than me but graduated from college when he was just 18.”

Hyerim’s eyes took on a perverted light and she simpered underneath her hand. “Oh? Am I hearing of sugar daddy material?”

You squawked and hit her shoulder. “Hyerim, stop! These are my brothers, not matches on Tinder!”

“I don’t care, you need a boyfriend— even if it’s a secret and taboo one,” Hyerim said, pushing her hair off her shoulder.

Rolling your eyes, you sat down in a seat next to her. “Anyways, the boys invited me to dinner again tonight in hopes we’ll catch more of the boys in the house. Jin-ssi says trying to get them all in one place is like waiting for a blue moon— it’s very rare.”

“So are you going straight there or going home to change?”

Shaking your head, you gestured at a laminated white pass in your hands. “I wanted to get there early today so I can go home early. Jin-ssi drove me home last night and I don’t want him to be caught in rush hour traffic again.”

Hyerim peered at the pass in your hands. “Hannam the Hill? Hey, doesn’t Han Hyo-joo live there? The actress from Brilliant Legacy?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you leaned into the hard plastic seat. “I don’t know. Probably? All I know is that the place where they live is very ritzy and takes like two security gates to get into.”

“Okay, they’re all sugar daddy material then,” Hyerim commented. She ducked to avoid a hit over the head and you huffed, crossing your arms.

“Stop, they all do pretty well for themselves and I heard my stepmother is some fancy businesswoman from a well-to-do family. They’re just my family now.”

“The train is approaching Yangwon station. I repeat the train is approaching Yangwon station,” the bright voice announced over the intercom.

“Oh, that’s my stop,” you remembered. 

“Wait, you said you met another brother. Who is he?” Hyerim asked as she patted her nose with a compact.

The train slowed to a stop and you got up.

“My other brother is Jungkook. The one from our Calculus class? The streamer?”

Smirking, you dramatically walked away and heard Hyerim’s shriek of disbelief as you stepped onto the train platform.

————— 

“I’m sorry, what?” you asked the guard in disbelief.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but your visitor pass has expired,” the security guard said calmly, eyes scanning you detachedly. Like you were another crazy female.

You were going to kill Jin. Forget his awesome jajamyeon, you’ll bitch-slap both him and Namjoon into another dimension.

“Are you sure you can’t just let me in? Like, call the house or something,” you asked desperately, hands crumpling the visitor pass.

The guard looked like he desperately wanted to roll his eyes, but he picked up his corded phone.

“Building 10, yes?” he asked boredly.

“Yes.”

He waited for the call to be picked up but after several rings, no one picked up.

“Apologies ma’am, but no one appears to be at the house. If you’re done, I’d like to ask you to leave and come back later,” the man said with an air of finality, and turned back to his station and looked at the 6 monitors surrounding his desk.

Your mouth open, you were aghast at his lack of sympathy. He could’ve at least offered for you to let you wait! It was nearing sun down and the boys had invited you to dinner again, and it would be rude to be late.

You don’t even know why they needed this much security. Sure, Namjoon was the CEO of a large conglomeration but wasn’t as high profile as Samsung’s chairman or someone crazy like that. It wasn’t like one of your brothers was a high-profile celebrity, right?

Standing on the sidewalk and looking like an idiot, you decided to call one of your damn brothers. Huffing, you flipped open your phone and selected Jin’s contact. After several rings, the call picked up.

“Y/N?”

“Hi Jin-ssi, sorry to bother you right now. I’m sure you’re busy right now,” you apologized, accidentally meeting eyes with the security guard who stared at you suspiciously.

“You’re fine! Is everything alright?” Jin asked, his voice tinged by concern.

You bit your lip as the security guard raised an eyebrow and picked up his phone, his eyes not letting go of you the entire time.

“I’m trying to get to the house, but the guard told me the visitor pass expired,” you explained, breath hitching as the guard spoke rapidly into the phone.

Jin swore over the phone, the sound muffled as he moved his phone away from his face.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N, Namjoon and I were so sure it was still active. Sit tight wherever you are, I’m texting one of the boys to get you through the gate. Hoseok is about a few minutes away from you.”

“Um, I don’t mean to rush,” you said, eyes widening as the man gestured to get out of the guardhouse, “— but I think the guard is about to detain me.”

“Goddamn security,” Jin hissed. “I’m calling the guard office right now, I am so sorry.”

He hung up and the guard continued to advance towards you, and you grasped your phone a bit tighter. The summer humidity suddenly pressed into your skin, slipped between your waistband and collar to make you sweat. Your eyes flickered to the station. No one was in the guard office to take Jin’s call so you steeled for yourself for what was about to be an ugly confrontation.

“Ma’am, I firmly ask you to leave the premises before I am forced to—”

“Y/N!”

The guard and you turned in the direction of the sound, and you saw a man in a bright yellow windbreaker and black sport shorts somehow jogging towards you in socks and sandals.

“Y/N,” he said, out of breath, as he stopped in front of you and the security guard. He held out a hand as he put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

“Hoseok-nim,” the guard bowed in respect, “Do you perhaps know this young lady?”

You got a good glimpse of him as he lifted his head and tennis cap. He pulled down his white mask and you saw his pointed nose, unfairly smooth skin, and sharp chin. You sobbed inwardly. Did all of your brothers miraculously get the luckiest scratch off tickets for the genetic jackpot? The man grinned at you and nodded in affirmative at the guard.

“Yes, I do,” Hoseok said, straightening up.

“I’m sorry, the young lady did not have the proper credentials to enter. My apologies.” The guard continued, speaking to Hoseok as if you did not exist.

Hoseok’s happy expression vanished and his brows furrowed. “Please, don’t apologize to me. My sister looked frightened. My brothers and I would appreciate it if you treated her a bit more politely.”

You hadn’t even noticed how frightened you were as you felt a drop of sweat roll down your temple and the shivers stop.

“I apologize, young lady,” the security guard said, taking off his cap and bowing politely. You smiled tightly and accepted with grace, gesturing for him to get up.

“That being said, we haven’t had time to get her resident pass processed. I’d like to add her to a list of visitors so a mix-up like this will not happen again,” Hoseok said seriously, staring down the security guard underneath his tennis logo cap and eccentric outfit. It almost put a smile to your lips, to see a beefy man in a suit and tie nearly cower under a boy at least half his age and centimeters shorter than him.

“Of course. Hoseok-nim, young lady,” he bowed, and the security guard scurried towards the office.

Hoseok turned towards you and his face brightened, rounded cheeks pulled upwards. “Hi Y/N, I’m so sorry for this mess,” he said, eyes shining with regret.

“I completely understand,” you placated. “You’re… Hoseok-ssi, right?”

He beamed. “Yes, I’m Hoseok. I’m 24, the middle brother. Please, call me oppa, we’re siblings now!”

He slung an arm over your shoulder and you couldn’t help but beam along with him. His bright energy was so infectious and immediately warmed you to him, drawing you into his orbit.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you replied, smile tugging at your lips. “I’m Y/N, 21 years old.”

“I’m so excited to have a cute younger sister,” Hoseok confessed as he walked you through the streets towards the house. “I was always jealous of my friends that could take care of their younger sisters, even though they acted like they were annoyed by them.”

You grinned more brightly. “Me too. I’ve been an only child all my life and having seven new brothers is very exciting to me.”

“You might want to take that back when you’ve met all of us,” Hoseok laughed. “You’ve met Jin-hyung, Namjoon-hyung, Jungkook-ah, right?”

Nodding, you spoke, “Yes, I have. Jin-ssi and Namjoon-ssi are very nice to me, but I don’t think Jungkook-ssi liked me very much…”

Hoseok waved it away. “Don’t worry, Kookie-ah doesn’t socialize well with girls. Or people. It took him ages to warm up to us after he got back from his grandparents.”

“Kookie-ah?” you asked curiously.

“Yes,” Hoseok grinned as he turned you onto a familiar street. “It’s our nickname for our youngest. He’s too cute not to tease.” Hoseok frowned as he remembered something. “Even though he is taller than me now.”

Hoseok was pretty tall himself, and you were starting to think that if you all took a family photo one day you’d look like the dwarf in the middle. Namjoon, Jin, and Jungkook just towered over you.

“On the other note, what do you do, Y/N? I’m curious about what my younger sister does.”

“I’m a university student at Yonsei, Hoseok-ssi,” you coughed, still not comfortable calling anybody oppa. “I’m studying psychology so I can be a counselor.”

“Yonsei? So my dongsaeng is a smart nut, I see,” Hoseok teased. “Did you know Jungkook before you met him as your brother?”

You shook your head. “I saw him around, but I only knew of him. What about you, Hoseok-ssi? What do you do?”

“I’m a dancer,” Hoseok announced, the house getting closer in view. “I’m part of this dance group, Neuron. We travel to perform and compete in competitions.”

“That’s awesome!” you clapped. “You must be very persistent. I tried ballet when I was younger and it was a disaster.”

“I haven’t heard that before,” Hoseok said, looking curiously at you. “Most people have told me I must be very talented or pull girls easily. But you’re right, I worked very hard.”

“What can I say?” you shrugged. “I just see through people.”

Hoseok guided you up the front steps of the doorway, fumbling through his pants to get his key. As he unlocked the front door, you heard the rumbling of a car going through the streets.

Going at least 100 kilometers per hour, a metallic blue Lamborghini skidded to a halt in front of the house. The weird doors stretched upwards and you saw both Jin and Namjoon emerge from the car.

“Y/N? Baby? Are you alright?” Jin asked worriedly, running up the front door.

“I’m good, Jin-ssi,” you comforted but he ignored it, taking your face in your hands and tilting your head to his view.

“Aish, those damn security guards!” Jin complained, clutching you to his chest and turning to Namjoon. “It’s your fault! Why did you give her that pass! She could’ve been detained! Put into cuffs like—like a criminal!” he ended dramatically.

Namjoon looked flabbergasted. “Me? You’re the one who got it!”

As the two descended into bickering, you peered at Hoseok from in between Jin’s arms. Your eyes screamed save me!

Hoeseok helpfully pried you from the still arguing doctor’s arms.

“Sorry about that, Jin is a bit protective over all of us— he practically raised us. We call him our mom sometimes,” Hoseok revealed, getting you into the house and leaving the now huffing and puffing duo on the doorsteps.

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Moody Type, Taehyung! 

Chapter 7: Enter the Moody Type, Taehyung!

As you entered the house, the faint strings of what might be a Daniel Caesar song flowed throughout the house.

“Oh goodie, Taehyung must be here!,” Jin clapped, setting down his keys on a hook near the door. 

Namjoon snorted. “He’s the only one of us that listens to this moody shit.”

Through drought and famine, natural disaster, my baby has been around for me.

A door slammed somewhere on the ground level, and the click clack of heeled boots echoed like muffled gunshots on the marble of the house.

Kingdoms have fallen, angels be calling, none of that could ever make me leave.

Turning the corner, your heart stopped.

Leaning on the wooden doorway was the most heart-breakingly beautiful man you’ve ever laid eyes upon. His dyed ash-grey hair was messy around his face, but behind his bangs peeked half-lidded eyes shaped like tear drops. A strong nose and pink lips, like the petals of a flower, were parted open as he stared through you.

“Oh? Is this our new sister?” he said softly, his gravelly voice filling the hall.

You grinned uneasily, fighting off the urge to cover yourself with a blanket or something. It wasn’t that his gaze was improper; those mercurial eyes just seemed to look through you.

“Taehyung, meet Y/N. She is our stepfather’s daughter,” Jin said carefully, eyes flicking between you like a tennis match.

It’s not fair, you thought. His clothes shouldn’t even match. The silky sleeveless tee had a paintbrush stroke across the chest and was bunched into baggy canvas pants covered in paint. It should’ve made him look like those wacky tube inflatables near car dealerships yet he looked like he walked out of a magazine.

“It’s nice to see you, Y/N,” Taehyung nearly whispered, head tilted to the side like he was evaluating a particular interesting museum installation. He made no move to shake your hand or embrace you.

“And you too, Taehyung-ssi,” you replied, bowing politely. He inclined his head.

“Well, I better get back to my red room. My pretties are coming along nicely,” Taehyung pronounced matter-a-factly, spinning sharply around to disappear into the dimly lit hall.

Namjoon face-palmed. “Well, now it sounds like he has a kinky sex dungeon. He just sees the world a bit differently than us, that’s all. It took some time for us to interpret his words when he came to us; for example, his pretties are his photographs.” The businessman looked suddenly pensieve. “Perhaps that’s why he’s so good at what he does.”

“Oh? What does Taehyung-ssi do?” you inquired, feeling like a strong breeze had swept into the room and left as suddenly as it came. You know that feeling? Where your skin tingles in the aftermath, your lips are suddenly dry, and like you could be knocked over the lightest touch.

“He’s a magazine editor, Y/N-ah,” Hoseok grins, putting down his heavy dancer bag on the couch carelessly. “It’s this really new-age, artsy magazine with a cult following. Maybe you’ve seen it? I think he named it something cryptic like ‘V’.”

“I’ll look into it, then,” you beamed, hoping to diffuse the weird tension that had settled on your shoulders.

———- 

Hoseok excused himself to take a shower and Namjoon had to take an important phone call, so it was just you and Jin left.

“Well, I know us five are at least here, and I know Jungkook is due to arrive soon from the gym. However, I don’t know if someone is going to drop by so I just leave an extra plate in the fridge just in case,” Jin said, stroking his chin.

“So, what’s on the menu today?” you asked playfully, taking a seat on the barstool.

Jin ruffled through the fridge, the fluorescent light highlighting his casual t-shirt. “Well, with what we have in the fridge, I can make some Chap-Chae and perhaps Kimchi Jjigae. However, we’d have a lot of chicken left and we need to eat it soon. Hm…”

“Jin-ssi, I know a good chicken recipe. Dakgangjeong? It’s this crispy fried chicken slathered in sweet and spicy sauce.”

The doctor frowned for a moment, leaning against the countertop.

“Is someone allergic? Or doesn’t like Chicken?” you asked worriedly, biting your lips.

Jin shook his head and chuckled. “No, everyone really likes fried chicken here. I’m just trying to remember if we have the ingredients.”

“That’s a relief, because it’s one of my favorite comfort meals.”

Opening the pantry, he bent down to look for something. “I think we do have everything here, thank goodness,” he grinned at you as he got up. “Do you cook a lot?”

“Yup, it’s my hobby,” you revealed, washing your hands at the sink. “I had to learn how to give myself food as a child.”

“Okay, awesome! You get started on the chicken and I’ll do the other dishes,” Jin said brightly, putting some ingredients on the table.

“Sounds good to me!”

You probably weren’t meant to hear it, but Jin giggled underneath his breath, “I have a sous-chef now.”

————

You put the finishing garnishes on your chicken and stepped back. The glaze looked very savory underneath the kitchen lights and dipping your finger into your glaze pot, it also tasted very good as well.

By the looks of it, Jin had finished with his two dishes. Wiping his hands with a towel, he put his hands on his hips and yelled, “Children! Get down here to eat, you punks!” 

As soon as you set down your plate of chicken, a multitude of footsteps resounded throughout the house.

Namjoon strode in first, only in a white shirt and trousers, and nodded coolly at you. The man looked very attractive out of his form-fitting workwear, and you wish your gaze hadn’t lingered on his tan, exposed skin.

Hoseok and Jungkook came in second, rough-housing with each other in the doorway before taking their seats. Hoseok greeted you brightly but Jungkook stared at you without a word before averting his gaze.

Finally, V came into the dining room in a more casual outfit of an oversized shirt and lounge pants, but still exuded an air of effortless grace. He grinned at everyone and plopped down into his chair.

“Alright everyone, eat up!” Jin fussed, setting down the steaming hot bowl and plate he was somehow carrying. You trailed after him with your dish grasped with both hands, hoping you wouldn’t accidentally trip and spill your hard work over the very expensive carpet.

You had to lean over Jungkook to place your chicken in the middle and you heard a startled “eep!” from beside you.

“Jungkook-ssi, are you alright?” You asked, sitting down in your seat next to him.

He nodded wordlessly, his ears red and gaze intensely focused on his plate. Running your eyes over him, you shrugged and grabbed your chopsticks.

The whole family dug in, loud and boisterous as people argued over which cut was better and devolved into personal attacks. Something warm curled up in your chest and warmed your cheeks, hoping to constrain the ridiculous smile that threatened to split your face. Is this how family looks like?

Watching Jungkook engage Taehyung in a very one sided conversation about the benefits of eating a certain part of the meat versus the other was very different than your empty apartment and lukewarm food.

“Wah, hyung, you’ve really outdid yourself with the chicken,” Hoseok gushed as he took a big bite of your chicken. “Please make it for us more!”

Jin chuckled, and set his chopsticks down. “I didn’t make it, so you’d have to ask her if you want more.”

Namjoon, with a strange light in his eyes, gestured to the nearly empty chicken plate with his chopsticks. “You… made this?”

Nodding in affirmative, you took a sip of your cola and cleared your throat. “Yes, I hope you guys liked it.”

Jungkook choked on his water and Jin rushed over to roughly pat his back. “Breath Jungkookie, breath!”

Hoseok yelled in delight and took out his handphone. “My cute little sister made this for me? Wow, my friends are going to be so jealous!” he grinned, snapping a few nice pictures of your glazed chicken.

Jungkook recovered at this point and was trying to fend off mother-hen Jin. “Hyung, I’m fine! I swear! You don’t have to baby me!,” he whined, cheeks red. “Besides, it was probably a bone or something.”

Your oldest brother huffed and sat back roughly into his seat, muttering something about ungrateful kids, while you tried to roll Jungkook’s comment over in your head. Bone? You used boneless chicken?

Deciding to push it away from your mind, you discreetly glanced at your cell phone and realized it was nearing 8 o’clock.

“Oh dear,” you muttered, catching the attention of the men at the table. “It’s almost 8 o’clock and I need to get home to water my plants,” you fretted.

As if on cue, a crack of thunder shook the table and you heard the rain start to hound at the windows and walls.

“Well, I be-leaf they’re getting watered,” Jin commented, cleaning up the last parts of his plate.

Staring at him in disbelief, you started to giggle and soon you were clutching your stomach with how hard you were laughing. 

“Did she like his shitty joke that much?” Jungkook whispered not so discreetly to Namjoon, who looked a bit weirded out himself.

“I’ve- I’ve never met a man with such awful jokes,” you laughed, wiping a tear from your eyes. “But I can’t help finding them so funny.”

The doctor aha-ed and pointed at Jungkook. “See? My jokes are so bad that they’re good!”

Snorting in disbelief, the youngest brother leaned back into his chair with his arms crossed over his built chest. “She’s our sister, she’s obligated to,” he murmurs sulkily. He sneaks a peek at you and you giggle at his adorable moodiness, to which he reddens and avoids your gaze.

Namjoon looked worriedly out the window, quickly turning on the news with his phone.

“— strong windstorms and rains are going to be surrounding Seoul overnight—”

“I can’t, in good conscience, let you go back home in this weather,” Namjoon stated, eyes flickering between you and the loud weather outside.

You hesitated. You were kind of worried for Mr. Ukyo, your cute succulent on the porch. “I—”

“Y/N, please,” Hoseok begged. “What kind of brothers would we be if we left you alone tonight? Stay in. We have a guest room with all the stuff you need.”

“I… okay. Thank you guys,” you smiled uneasily.

Hoseok laughed and patted your back as he got up to put his plate away.

“Sleepover…” Taehyung mumbled as he passed by you. On his way out the door, he gave you a boxy smile that tugged at something in your head.

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Cool Type, Yoongi! 

Chapter 7: Enter the Cool Type, Yoongi!

“Hi, my cute dongsaeng!” announced Hoseok as he strode into your guest room. “I come bearing gifts!”

You grinned at your exuberant brother as he danced through your doorway, having a pile of stuff in his arms.

“We usually don’t have guests over, but sometimes our mother stays at the house and now we have a bunch of, uh, woman stuff,” Hoseok coughed.

“Thank you, Hoseok-ssi,” you said, moving to sort through the items.

“Call me oppa,” Hoseok whined.

Namjoon peeked through your doorway and saw Hoseok pouting at you, and instantly wacked the back of his head.

“Yah, you literally just met her today. Let her grow more comfortable with us first,” the businessman scolded, before turning to you.

“We have some t-shirts and shorts that don’t fit Jungkook anymore but please don’t tell him that we kept his childhood items,” Namjoon shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “I got you a toothbrush and toothpaste, plus some face products.

“You’re really kind, I feel like I’m in a hotel,” you joked, moving to plug your phone into the wall outlet. The place felt like your hotel suite suddenly got upgraded. This guest room was bigger than your entire living room and everything was so nicely decorated, you couldn’t help but gawk like a tourist at the fancy light fixtures and furniture. Maybe if you broke a vase you’d have to work in a host club...

“Ah, really? That’s nice to hear,” Namjoon said, sitting down in an armchair near the window overlooking Seoul and the Han River. He steepled his fingers together, tilting his head at you. “However, if you moved in, this room would be yours.”

Your slight smile turned slightly downwards and Hoseok, sensing the change of mood easily, turned over and whacked Namjoon over his head.

“Who’s the one going too fast now?” Hoseok retorted, before plopping down on the chair opposite of Namjoon.

“No, no, you’re fine, Namjoon-ssi,” you acknowledged. “I just… I don’t want to intrude. Plus, the amount of testosterone in this building…” you trailed off.

“Y/N-ah, we just met you but we already know you’d be a good fit with our family,” Hoseok said, smiling softly at you. “Seriously.”

“I don’t want to seem overbearing and I know you’re very independent, but the idea of you living alone worries Jin-hyung and I,” Namjoon confessed, wringing his hands and looking towards the window. “What happens if there is any emergency? Or you got sick? It’d be hard for us to take care of you.”

Tears welled up at the edge of your vision and your mouth twitched downwards. Quickly pressing a hand to your mouth, you averted your eyes from the boys.

“Y/N-ssi, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” Namjoon asked worriedly, getting up from the armchair.

You waved him away, discreetly wiping your nose. “I-I’m fine, Namjoon-ssi. Really. I’m just really emotional all the sudden, that’s all.”

“Y/N-ah, are you sure?” Hoseok piped in concern, craning his neck to see your face.

A hand thrust some tissues in front of you and you took them gratefully, dabbing at your eyes.

“I- I just…” you sucked a breath in, and turned towards the fretful pair of brothers. You suddenly beamed at them, eyes crinkling into crescents and grin splitting your cheeks despite the visible tear tracks on your cheeks. “I’ve never had someone care for me. Thank you.”

The two boys felt their heart stutter at the surprisingly vulnerable confession from the ever-polite yet distant you. They shared a look.

We’re in trouble.

———-

The house quieted down and all the lights were turned out as the rain seemed to get louder. However, despite the busy day, you tossed and turned in the very comfy cotton sheets.

Turning on your side, you watched the rain stream down your window in awe. While the window was big, a building partially blocked your view of the Han river and the Seoul skyline. You unplugged your phone from the charger on the wall and looked at the time. 1 A.M.

For some reason, you couldn’t sleep. Perhaps it was the unfamiliar environment or the dozens of thoughts crowding your head, but you couldn’t force your head to turn off despite counting hundreds of sheep.

Letting out a frustrated groan, you untangled yourself from the sheets and set your feet on the heated marble. Padding quietly to the door, you tried your best to open and close the heavy wooden door softly.

The house seemed bigger when it was not filled by the loud voices and eclectic, varied personalities of your brothers. Clutching a throw blanket over your shoulders, you made your way down the stairwell with only the city’s lights shining through the large, floor-to-ceiling windows around the house.

Flicking the low lights on in the kitchen, you searched the many cabinets for where they kept their tea packets. You finally found a jar of chamomile tea in a corner of the pantry, turning on the tea kettle and waiting for it to boil.

Leaning against the corner, your eyes got accustomed to the dark of the living room and roved over the personal effects of the brothers. There was a large picture of all seven boys on the mantle of the fireplace with their mother sitting in the middle, however, you could not see the faces of the two brothers you had not met due to the reflection in the glass.

Could you see yourself living here? With the amiable and fussy Jin, and the mature, erudite Namjoon? Wake up every morning to see the infectiously bright Hoseok at the counter and the mercurial Taehyung floating through the house like a wraith? Even go to school with your confusing classmate, Jungkook?

The kettle whistled loudly and you took it off its burner, pouring water into a cup. Flicking off the underhead lights in the kitchen, you padded towards the living room and curled up on the outrageously soft, leather couch. Blowing on your tea, you took a sip as you gazed in wonder at the rain streaming rivers over the large, bay window.

For years, the rain had been your only friend when your father traipsed the globe. It had softly knocked at your window to check if you were okay when you were sick and playfully splashed you when you were sad. The rain sang you to sleep every night when you were young and alone, afraid of the thundering din outside.

Looking at the portrait of the seven boys, you saw a new family.

Smiling into your tea cup, your mind was made up.

A loud beep rang throughout the house and a click reached your ears. Your eyes tried to look through the darkness at the basement entrance, where a figure clad in all black emerged. Feeling a momentary panic seize your heart, your fingers tightened over your mug and you tried to think straight. This was probably your other brother, Yoongi or Chimmy.

“Oh? Who are you?” A raspy voice said, shutting the door behind him. “Are you one of my brother’s girlfriends?”

Shaking your head, you got to your feet. “No, I’m your new sister, Y/N L/N.”

The figure made an affirmative noise and removed his shoes at the massive shoe closet next to the entrance. “Ah, I see. I’m Yoongi, your second oldest brother.”

A crack of thunder shook the house and a few seconds later, bright white lightning flashed through the room and illuminated you both.

In that split second, you saw pitch black hair constrained by a headband. However, what caught your attention was his eyes. Contrasted against pale skin and fierce, arched brows, were lids shaped like the outstretched wing of a bird. He stared at you lazily before they widened minutely.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Yoongi-ssi.”

“You too,” he mumbled and bowed politely, shuffling up the stairs like a gloomy specter.

You blinked a bit at how calmly he took this into stride. Christ, were your brothers fazed by anything?

—————

“Y/N-ah. Y/N-ah, wake up!”

You groggily opened your eyes to see Jin close to your face, his brows bunched together in concern.

“Y/N-ah, are you alright? You’re on the couch.”

Straightening up you could see that you, indeed, were still on the couch. You must’ve fallen asleep while watching the rain.

“Oh, yeah, I am,” you stated, rubbing your eyes and yawning. “I must’ve fallen asleep here last night.”

Jin sat across you and looked worried. “Did something happen last night? Was the guest room not comfortable? Did—”

“Oh no, nothing like that!” you tried to say. “The sound of the rain was better here.” 

He looked at you strangely but accepted it with a shrug of his shoulders. “Anyway, I’m about to make breakfast, why don’t you clean up a bit? I’ll wake up the other brothers.”

You nodded and almost stumbled trying to get off the couch, before Jin caught you with an arm. You turned your head to see his face uncomfortably close to yours.

“Careful,” he whispered, his minty breath trailing across your cheeks and his eyes roving your face.

You felt your cheeks heat up before you almost threw yourself out of his touch. “Yeah, um, thank you!” you yelled behind you before you fled to upstairs.

————

By the time you cleaned your face and put on a bra, all of the boys— in various states of consciousness— were gathered around the dining counter.

“Y/N-ah!” Hoseok said enthusiastically, obviously one of the more awake ones. He wore a pair of flowered pants that ahjummas usually wore and white, long-sleeved tee. “Yoongi came in last night, he’s our other brother.”

“We met last night, Hoseok-ah,” Yoongi mumbled into a large cup that, hilariously, was engraved with the words “Daddy-Size”. “I came home around 1 AM and saw her on the couch.”

“Oh, was everything alright?” Namjoon inquired politely, stretching his broad muscles as he yawned. Even his loungewear looked professional.

Smiling uneasily, you took a seat at the counter next to Jungkook, whose head was buried in his arm. “Yeah, couldn’t sleep and the city lights calmed me down,” you reassured.

Jungkook suddenly jerked awake next to you, alarmed eyes peeking through his messy black hair. “H-huh?”

You grinned at him. “Good morning, Jungkook-ssi.”

He mumbled a good morning in the direction of the ground before his eyes zoomed into something at your collarbone.

‘Y/N-ssi, i-is that my shirt?” he asked shyly— the first words he has directed towards you.

You looked at the oversized navy shirt, which you had tucked into the pair of denim shorts you wore yesterday. “I think? Namjoon told me it was one of your own.”

His gaze whipped to Namjoon and he started sputtering as Namjoon snickered, putting on a pair of thick-framed glasses.

Suddenly, Jin swore as he looked at his phone. “Sorry guys, but there’s an emergency at the hospital. I need to go,” he said rushedly, racing to the closest to put on a pair of tennis shoes. “Yoongi, cook for them!”

He shut the basement door with a slam and suddenly the house was silent.

“Yoongi-hyung, please,” Taehyung, who had emerged from some hallway, begged with a pout on his petal lips. His voice was extra raspy this morning.

The black-haired man grunted before hiding his face behind his coffee cup. You took that as a no.

“We’re going to starve,” Jungkook complained into Hoseok’s shoulder, who cooed and patted the muscled man cutely.

“Well, I can cook for us if you’d like? As a thank you for letting me stay over?” you said nervously. All eyes turned towards you and you gulped, not used to having all of your brothers’ attention on you.

“That’d be lovely,” Namjoon said, squinting at a novel he had produced out of nowhere.

“Aw, is our cute dongsaeng going to cook for us? I’m living the dream,” Hoseok sighed dramatically.

You snorted and got out of your seat. “I saw enough ingredients for what I want to cook, so just sit tight.”

The boys thanked you and some exited the kitchen towards the living room. You tried to remember where you saw the ingredients yesterday, but the kitchen was extremely big and had those weird cabinets where you had to push in a certain corner to open.

“Uh, where are the onions?” you asked no one in particular.

“Yoongi-hyung,” Hoseok nudged the still tired looking man. “Next to Jin, you know the kitchen the best.”

The black-haired sighed heavily and got out of his seat, leaving the “Daddy-Size cup” on the counter. He opened the fridge and bent down to a drawer you hadn’t seen. “Green onions.”

You took the bag and thanked, expecting him to leave the kitchen. “What else do you need?”

He stood there, eyes boring a hole through your face. Even as he was sleepy, he still looked like a cool older brother.

Scanning the ingredients, counting the things you had and didn’t, you turned back to him. “Um, I just need butter, tomatoes, and cheese.”

Wordlessly, he grabbed the ingredients and set it down on the counter next to you. Really expecting he’d leave, he surprised you by pulling out a chopping board and knife.

“How do you need the onions and tomatoes cut, Y/N-ssi?” he asked roughly, raspy voice causing the hair at the nape of your neck to rise. You shook your head. He’s your brother, for god’s sake!

“I need both diced, but slice some of the tomato into thin wedges for presentation,” you asked politely.

He nodded and washed both of the vegetables, before quickly and neatly dicing them with an experienced hand.

You broke the eggs and as you whisked the egg mixture with a pair of chopsticks, you decided to break the silence.

“How old are you, Yoongi-ssi?” 

He didn’t pause in his slicing. “25 years old. How about you?”

“21, but turning 22 soon.”

Yoongi hummed and started on the tomatoes. “Ah, that means you’re university age then. Are you attending university right now?”

Nodding, you grabbed some salt and pepper to add flavor to the omelette.  “Yeah, I’m actually attending Yonsei with Jungkook-ssi. What about you?”

“I’m a freelance producer,” he said carelessly, neatly scraping diced tomato onto a plate. “But I graduated from an arts college overseas in classical performance.”

It seemed like many of the brothers were artistically-inclined, you noted as you washed the spinach. But it amused you that this cool-looking brother of yours, with pierced ears and effortlessly stylish street clothes, could play a fancy-looking instrument.

Your step brother cleared his throat and he stepped back. “Is there anything else you need me to do?”

You looked at the finely chopped tomatoes and onions and shook your head. “No, that’s all. Thank you for helping out.”

He inclined his head and padded out of the kitchen, collapsing on the couch with his hoodie over his head.

Turning on the heat, you put the omelette mixture in the pan and waited for it to cook through. As you were gathering the other ingredients to put in the pan, a chin nestled itself onto your shoulder.

“Oh? What is this?” a deep, husky voice rumbled next to your ear.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Taehyung’s finely chiseled face so close to yours. Squeaking, you turned your attention back to the pan.

“Breakfast omelettes, Taehyung-ssi,” you replied a bit shakily, feeling the weight of his head on your shoulder and his breath puffing into your ear. “I hope you like it.”

Adjusting his bent over position, he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face into the crook of your neck. “I will, Y/N-ah. It’ll be delicious.”

Your face flamed and you willed the egg to cook faster, trying not to focus on how his large hands pressed warmly into your stomach.

“Hyung!” Jungkook exclaimed, barrelling out of nowhere. “Hyung, you can’t do that! Stop!” 

“Oh? Why not?” the editor asked monotonously, his lips moving over the sensitive skin of your neck. You stiffened and muffled a squeal, neary getting hot oil over your fingers. Your muscled classmate tried, unsuccessfully, to tug Taehyung’s arms from your body but for some reason, Taehyung’s hold on you was ironclad.

In the midst of Jungkook screaming in the background and the shouts of your other brothers, Taehyung sighed heavily and melted into your body. “I miss this,” he murmured.

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Cheeky Type, Jimin! 

Chapter 8: Enter the Cheeky Type, Jimin!

Over the next few days, you slowly got used to the vibrant and varied personalities of the boys. The brothers were a rowdy bunch but they coaxed you out of your shell with unintentional hilarity and clumsy warmth. Even Jungkook, with your weird first meeting, took to accompanying you throughout school and engaging you in shy conversation. Visiting the house frequently, someone was always there to entertain you and coerce you into trying to move into the house.

However, as the days passed by, you saw neither hide nor hair of the mysterious seventh brother. None of the brothers seemed to be fazed. One day, as Namjoon drove you home, you decided to press the subject.

“Namjoon-ssi? Who is my seventh brother? I haven’t heard much of him,” you inquired shyly.

He hummed, leaning an arm casually against the window and driving between lanes with just one hand. Namjoon didn’t drive as recklessly as Jungkook, per se, but he seemed to think other cars were just nuisances on the road.

“I was wondering when you’d ask about that. Our other brother is not home a lot because he’s usually on tour,” Namjoon revealed in his deep voice. “He’s an idol.”

You gasped and looked at Namjoon in surprise. “You’re fucking with me.”

He chuckled, a chocolatey, rich sound that filled your ears and did funny things to your belly as he turned to exit the highway. “No, I’m not. Our little Chimmy is an idol.”

Taking out your phone, you opened up the web app. “Chimmy? Is that his name? Or does he have a stage name I need to find.”

Namjoon shook his head. “No, his name is Jimin. 23 years old, debuted 3 years ago.”

Smacking your head, you exclaimed, “Oh wait! I know him! I saw his birthday ads all over Seoul a few days ago. Wow, my brother is a celebrity, huh?” 

Typing his name into the search bar, millions of results popped into your browser. Gorgeous, fan-taken photos filled the image section and you clicked on one.

Wow. Jimin looked ethereal on stage, in a loose, white shirt and tight, black pants as he performed some sort of strenuous dance move. His plump lips, sharp jawline, and high cheekbones were still stunning in low quality photos. You were seriously starting to think your stepmother secretly paid for them from a lab. It really wasn’t fair that you, an average 4, were now related to solid fifteens. 

You clicked on a video with nearly 12 million views of him at a fanmeet event, his eyes crinkling and lips pulled up in a grin as he did aegyo for his adoring fans.

“He’s very popular, isn’t he?” you asked Namjoon rhetorically.

Namjoon snorted. “An understatement. We can’t go out in public with him unless he covers his hair and his entire face. He has security tailing him when we go to crowded places, it’s ridiculous.”

Something clicked in your head. “Ah!” you exclaimed. “That’s why you guys live there! And here I was, thinking you were all paranoid.”

His laugh filled the car again and you got a whiff of his musky cologne as he leaned over to adjust the air conditioner. “Yeah, even when we moved there a few years ago before Jimin’s popularity exploded, he had some crazy fans. Seoyeon, Jin, and I decided to choose Hannam Hill for their security.”

“You’re such good brothers,” you grinned at him. You swore you saw a hint of red beneath his collar as he cleared his throat.

“And we’re lucky we’re gaining such a good… sister.”

You tapped at your purse. “At least with my residence pass I won’t be detained now.”

The man next to you groaned and nearly facepalmed into the driver’s wheel.

“Do you have to remind me of this? I take it back, my sister sucks.”

——— 

Jungkook and you walked through the campus gates, finished with the Calculus class and exhausted after the test.

“Wait, shit, did I derive number eighteen right?” you fretted, your sweaty hands fiddling with your bag strap. “Oh my god now, I didn’t foil correctly!”

“Relax, Y/N, you did fine,” Jungkook snorted, no longer as painfully shy as he was when he first met you. You never did get why he had such a violent reaction to you at first, though.

“Easy for you to say, Mr. I-don’t-study-yet-I-still-get-A’s,” you huffed in annoyance, accidentally bumping shoulders with him.

He laughed and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. An ‘eep!’ escaped your mouth but you found you couldn’t protest as Jungkook looked down at you with the cutest, bunny smile you had seen.

“Relax, Y/N. It’s just one test.”

You sulked and crossed your arms, trying to push the heat in your cheeks away. Clearing your throat you ducked from underneath his arms. You thought you saw a flash of disappointment in Jungkook’s face, but you quickly linked arms with him so you could walk more comfortably. His eyes widened and he looked upwards, the tips of his ears a flaming red.

Ignoring several stares from your fellow university students, you walked to the campus parking lot where Jungkook had parked his car.

“Jungkook-ah? Which car did you drive today?” you asked, flushing a bit as you heard your own words. Imagine what the you from a few weeks ago would’ve said. What kind of rich bitch did you turn into?

“The silver one. The Mercedes,” he said casually but you knew he was beaming with pride. He had revealed to you, one day when driving home, that he bought this car with his streaming money and not with cash from his brothers or family. Jungkook was insanely protective of this car. 

“Gotcha.”

Throwing your bags into the backseat, he started up the car. Feeling that it was a bit hot, you decided to roll down the window. Fumbling for a hair tie in your bag, you decided that putting your hair up would be smart.

“—gry, Y/N?”

“Huh?” you asked confusion, hair tie in your mouth. 

“I just asked if you were hungry, Y/N?” he said, voice trailing off in a question as he looked up from his phone. His eyes widened at you.

“Um, not really? But if you are, I can whip us up something once we get home,” you said confidently, twisting your hair into the tie. Huh, when did you start calling it home?

“... Jungkook?”

He nervously cleared his throat as you looked at him, pulling back your hair into the tie. The tip of his ears were red and he seemed a bit flustered. Your brother fumbled with the controls, accidentally turning on the windshield wipers. Biting back a smile, you smoothed down your hair.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

————— 

The house was silent as the two of you entered. It seemed no one was in the house today, all of your brothers very busy with their respective jobs.

“I’m going to take a shower, Y/N, “ Jungkook said as he climbed up the stairwell. 

You hummed affirmative as you threw your bag at the foot of the coffee table, collapsing into the comfy leather couch. Switching on the TV, you couldn’t find anything interesting so you settled on an entertainment channel.

“Thousands of fans crowded Incheon Airport’s International Terminal today…”

Snuggling into a sun spot on the couch, you nuzzled your face into a pillow. The warmth made you feel drowsy and you decided a quick nap was alright. Nodding off, you could hear the shower turn on upstairs.

“...as international Hallyu star Jimin arrived back in Korea …”

—————

“Oh? Who are you?”

You groggily opened your eyes to the high-pitched voice that was honey to your ears, an unconscious “huh?” coming out of your mouth. In your bleary vision, you saw lavender-blonde hair and pink, plump lips hovering above you.

The man snickered and you felt a smooth hand grasp your jaw to turn your head upwards. Your eyes focused and you swore you were still dreaming, because the face so close to yours could only be an angel’s. Ethereal eyes like a storm looked lazily down at you, his high cheekbones and narrow jaw highlighted by the warm light of golden hour.

“Are you a fan? You shouldn’t be here,” he scolded in a sing-song voice, clicking his tongue as he stroked a thumb over your chin.

You couldn’t think after being awoken from such a deep REM cycle and being near such an unearthly man, your thoughts jumbled and disjointed.

“Naughty, naughty girl,” he whispered, minty breath puffing against your face. “Well, if you’re here, I might as well make the most of it.”

With strength you hadn’t expected, he suddenly caged you into the couch— a leg between yours and the other on the floor, his hands trapping your hands above your heads. His silk shirt brushed against the exposed skin of your belly, making you shiver.

“H-hey!” you said, regaining your thoughts. “What the hell?”

He chuckled, a cruel edge to his voice as his face neared yours. “Oh, playing the innocent card are we?” His lips neared your ear and you froze, eyes wide as his plump lips brushed against your earlobe. “Don’t worry, baby girl, you’re pretty enough to pull it off.”

The man started to press a kiss at space between your ear and neck, and slowly started to trail down your sensitive neck. You inhaled sharply as his teeth and tongue prodded at your skin and he snickered, his voice vibrating against your skin. An involuntarily squeak left your lips as he bit playfully at your collarbone.

“H-Hyung?”

You both turned to see Jungkook, hair still wet from the shower, staring at you two in disbelief. His eyes were wide and his lips were opened in shock as he suddenly froze in the middle of the living room.

“Jungkookie!” the man said brightly, no trace of the breathy, seductive voice he had used to lull you into a trance. His limbs no longer trapped you as the lavender haired man sprang up and ran to the stock-still Jungkook.

“Aw, Jungkookie, I missed you,” the familiar yet still unknown man cooed as he clung to Jungkook’s broad shoulders. “It’s been so long,” he whined, lips pursed in a pout.

Still breathless from lavender boy’s attentions, you sat up on the couch and saw stars as the blood rushed to your head. Blinking to clear it away, you reached up to your neck to touch the spots where lavender boy had touched.

“Jungkook-ah?” you whispered, voice rough from lack of use. “Who’s this?”

Your classmate still stared at you in shock as lavender boy clung to him like a leech, cooing at Jungkook.

“Aw, is this your girlfriend, Jungkookie?” Angel boy said fretfully after a moment of silence. “I’m so sorry, I thought she was a fan! Forgive me!”

You cleared your throat nervously, righting your disheveled clothes and messy hair. “Look, I have no idea who the hell you are, but I am not Jungkook’s girlfriend nor your fan and either way, you should not be— be assaulting unsuspecting girls who just wanted to nap!”

“Who the hell am I?” Lavender boy retorted rudely, no longer seductive or cutesy as his eyes narrowed at you. “I live here, wench!”

“Well I’m about to, fool!” you sneered, crossing your arms.

“Jungkook-ie, call security as I deal with this clearly crazy lady!” The still unknown boy huffed, advancing towards you.

Jungkook finally got out of his trance and grabbed Jimin by the shoulder. “Jimin-Hyung, stop! Haven’t we talked about her in the groupchat a lot? She’s our new sister!”

Jimin froze and his eyebrows lifted minutely, whirling around to look at Jungkook. “Wait, what? We have a sister now?”

He looked at you differently, eyes scanning your figure disinterestedly. “Did Seoyeon—” he spat out the name like it was stale gum in his mouth, “—find another baby we didn’t know about? Another poor bastard like me?”

You got whiplash with how much he changed moods and started to inch away. Well, it seemed like your step brother was nothing like how he portrayed himself in the videos you had seen online about him. A frown pushed at your lips.

Jungkook pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, hyung, mom got married again to Y/N’s father. She’s our new step sister now.”

Jimin stayed silent before he turned to you again, his eyes mocking. A shit-eating smirk crawled up his lips. “Well, sister dearest, welcome to the family!”

Arc: Character Introductions Ended. Press [ X ] to continue?

A/N: If you’ve watched BroCon and you’re curious to who each person is based on, here’s the guide:

Jin (Doctor) = A mixture of Uyko and Masaomi

Namjoon (Businessman) = Natsume

Jungkook (Gamer/ Uni Student) = Yusuke

Hoseok (Dancer) = Himself lol he was supposed to be Subaru but i didn’t want to make him super angsty. Don’t worry, in this story he’ll be more than just his stage persona :)))

Taehyung (Magazine editor) = Louis

Yoongi (Producer) = mixture of Yuusuke’s tsundere-ness and Iori’s calmness

Jimin (Idol) = Fuuto with a bit of Tsubaki’s personality

Anyways, if you enjoyed it, please comment and reblog!!! I appreciate any feedback you may have, whether it be a sentence or a whole dang paragraph— I love it all :))) Please, if you’re doing okay, please help me pay for school through my Ko-Fi (link in my profile).

Arc II: Decisions and Settling In will be released in a month!! Comment if you’d like to be tagged :))

#btswriterscollective #btsgoldnet #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #taehyung x reader #jimin x reader #namjoon x reader #suga x reader #jin x reader #seokjin x reader #ot7 x reader #ot7 #hoseok x reader #jhope x reader #bts scenarious #bts imagine #fluff #stepbrother au #jungkook imagine #taehyung imagine #jimin imagine #jungkook fanfic #taehyung fanfic #jimin fanfic

[alfredolover119]

I looooove your zukka rec lists! I recently became Avatar-obsessed, never got a chance to watch it as a kid and only just got through it all! I was wondering if you'd consider doing a specifically angst rec list? I love fluffy zukka everything, but sometimes you just gotta have your heart ripped out of your chest and put back in after being thoroughly blended.

thank you! i relate heavily to “recently became Avatar-obsessed” haha. as for the angst list, i sure can try! warning: all of these have happy endings because im a crybaby who can’t read unhappy endings. also, p much all of the fics in the completed section were featured on my other lists but this is specifically the ANGSTY ones >:^)

angsty zukka wips

first, most obviously, feels like we only go backwards by @oldpotatoe

-currently at 102k with 19/27 chapters posted; rated teen

-the amnesia fic. the amnesia fic. the amnesia fic. you know. i haven’t actually read it yet because, as previously mentioned, i’m a crybaby and am waiting for it to finish up but, from my understanding, this fic will murder you in a dark alleyway with no remorse. if u like zukka angst, you’ve probably already read this, but just in case!

An injury leaves Sokka with amnesia. His last memory is of the failed invasion, of leaving his father behind in enemy territory on the Day of Black Sun. Of hopelessness. Rage. // But then he wakes up, and the war is over. Suddenly, he must come to terms with the fact that years have passed, and that he's somehow the Southern Water Tribe Ambassador to the Fire Nation. He is also supposedly friends with banished-Prince-turned-Fire-Lord Zuko, of all people. Close friends.

Yeah, nah.

and i’ll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands) by @goldrushzukka

-currently 38k with 6/8 chapters posted; rated mature

-holy shit. holy SHIT. modern au based on the “my cat likes my fuckbuddy and i am falling in love” trope(?). maybe it’s just because of how the last chapter ended, but oh my god. this one made me cry. made me want to commit violence. when it’s not angsty as hell, it’s pretty funny, but holy shit. ao3 user nebulastucky please.

It’s supposed to be a one night stand. Pick up some guy at a bar, barely remember his name and never learn anything real about him, send him packing in the morning with a thanks for the ride and a cup of coffee to-go. That’s how it’s supposed to go. // But then it’s the best sex Sokka has ever had, and he thinks he’ll hate himself if he never gets to have it again.

Violet Blossoms and Celestial Objects by @hollypunkers

-currently 15k with 2/? posted. rated teen.

-this is the sequel to blue (an angsty, zukka rewrite of book 2-- go read it if u havent!)! !! this is a book 3 rewrite. only two chapters in and mrs hollypunkers is really abusing the miscommunication tag, as zukka writers seem to enjoy doing. im excited to see how the world and story develops with the changes to the story! you should be too!! its very good! obviously spoilers for blue lmao

Having sided with the Avatar in Ba Sing Se, Zuko not only must navigate his new relationship with Sokka but returning to the Fire Nation as a banished enemy. His own journey of self discovery and personal growth must now coexist alongside the personal struggles of every other member of the Gaang as together they blaze a treacherous path toward an unsure victory against Zuko's own father and nation.

breakable heaven by @fruitysokka

-currently 71k with 9/11 chapters posted. rated teen

-swt ambassador zuko! soon to be chief sokka! fake dating ur best friend to get out of an arranged marriage! what could go wrong!!! i also haven’t read this one ((see: i’m a crybaby who is being hurt by too many zukka wips already)), but it has been hanging out in my marked for later for months. from what i understand, this fic has: angst.

With his twenty-first birthday looming just around the corner, the Southern Water Tribe Elders have decided that Sokka, next in line to be Chief, needs to get married. Sokka does not want that, but he does need to get them off his back until he can figure his way out of it. What better way to do that than to pretend to date his best friend (and newly minted Ambassador to the Southern Water Tribe) Zuko? // Seriously, this is a foolproof plan. Maybe one of Sokka's best. Absolutely nothing can go wrong.

angsty zukka fics (completed!)

(i’ll put these in wc order)

lighthouse beam by @incorrectzukka

-7k, rated g

-a modern college au!! zuko’s inner-monologue is very angsty in this fic. typical zuko. also per usual, theyre both fucking dorks. they sort themselves out in the end, but not before The Angst. zuko is semi-deaf in this fic and also he has a bit of internalized homophobia.

Sokka’s breathtakingly beautiful and he’s smart and makes other people laugh. Zuko has a half-burnt face and a deaf ear. It’s not rocket science. // Or, Zuko falls in love with the boy in his Philosophy class.

This Isn’t My Idea of Fun by @khaleeseas

-9k, explicit

-moon spirit/nwt prince!sokka, no war to be found here! admittedly this isnt THAT angsty but like. the angst IS present. zuko is still the prince. a lovely childhood friends (though they hated each other for a minute haha) to lovers story. 

If you asked Zuko, he and Azula saw far too much of Chief Hakoda of the Northern Water Tribe’s children growing up. It wasn’t until they were older, and Azula pointed out that - duh - their families were trying to set them all up, that he realized why. // He was told by his mother to be polite. These people were their friends and allies, and though their nations were as different as they came, harmony between nations was the most important thing. // It wasn’t his fault the Chief’s children were so annoying.

put your lips close to mine (as long as they don’t touch) by @celestialceci

-9k, teen

-modern au! zuko and sokka are college roommates. zuko goes to spend the summer with sokka. again,, not really that angsty but-- its there!! the detail and feeling of Home in this story make me happy. zuko is insecure as hell here too. if ur into that. 

Zuko hates his home. He likes college alright, but he likes Sokka even better, his assigned roommate turned best friend. Spending the summer with Sokka will be fun, a welcome change of pace he desperately wants. It probably won't awaken anything in him... right?

the thing about dancing by anodymalion

-9k, teen

-yes. this one right here officer. it makes my heart ache. also trans sokka! which is cool. but the zuko angst in this one. hurts me. not so much relationship angst as it is zuko learning he deserves happiness angst. i’m sure u know The Type.

The first time a attendant spills Zuko’s tea and doesn’t immediately fall to her knees, begging the Fire Lord’s forgiveness, it is not anger but a resounding warmth that fills his chest.

i could (never) give you peace by @zukkababey

-10k, mature

-OUCH. OUCH OUCH OUCH. boys please learn to communicate im begging u. also zuko.. zuko, dude. as the tags of the fic say, hes “really going through it” in this one. YOUCH. post-canon.

Zuko almost said it. He almost said the words I think I’m in love with you, but he choked them back down at the last second. // Zuko would never be able to be what Sokka wanted. They might have needed each other during the summer, when two boys with too much weight on their shoulders found comfort in each other in the only way they knew how. // But now Zuko was Fire Lord, and Sokka was leaving.

this love burns so yellow (becoming orange and in its time, exploding) by @meliebee 

-18k, teen, major character death 

-i lied. THIS is the one, officer. found family.. good mai and zuko and toph friendships.. . ozai escapes prison and tries to overthrow zuko. OBVIOUSLY angst ensues. poor boy. he Does heal in this but it gets worse before it gets better. angst angst angst angst.

Ten months after Zuko is crowned at seventeen, he faces his first coup.

Anything for You by beersforqueers

-23k, explicit

-istg. this is probably one of my favorite zukka fics. its PAINFUL. modern au where theyre broken up but sokka hasnt told his family yet so zuko goes home with him for kataang wedding. a bit smutty, but the plot oh my god ohgm y fuvk. made me cry the first time i read it. (see: crybaby!me) insert that one picture of the horse with the caption PAIN. 

In which Sokka and Zuko have broken up but Sokka hasn't told his family yet. So when Katara and Aang's wedding weekend rolls around and he doesn't want to break Gran-Gran's heart, he asks Zuko to pretend to be his boyfriend for one last weekend. // Things don't go as planned.

Moving Mountains by @thefangirlingdead

-64k, mature

-so. when i read this the first time it was in one sitting. soulmate au set within canon era / the comics, to an extent. soulmates can hear each others thoughts. i will happily say this is slowburn, jesus christ. champagne without the cham. 

Soulmates are chosen by the spirits and can hear each other’s thoughts. Sokka thinks it’s cheesy and dumb. Zuko thinks it’s poetic justice that he doesn’t have one because he doesn’t deserve it. Cruel irony is finding out that the prince of the Fire Nation (and the person currently hunting you) is your soulmate.

In the Soft Light by @voidcenturyscholar and @romancedawning

-83k, teen, graphic depictions of violence

-moon spirit!sokka living in the northern water tribe. zuko is sent to the northern water tribe as a cultural liaison. iroh is the fire lord but while he is away taking care of lu ten after his injury ozai steps up. i cannot express how many emotions this fic made me feel. background yuetara. i would almost say found family?? but. anyway. plenty of angst to spare here with a healthy dose of enemies to friends to lovers.

As the newly appointed cultural liaison to Northern Water Tribe, Zuko is the first Fire Nation Citizen to step foot inside the city's walls in nearly a century. He's determined to prove himself—to the Fire Lord and to his father—even if the Water Tribe's spirit-touched prince seems to want nothing to do with him.

That Midnight Sky by @zukkababey

-103k, teen

-now now now. tms... modern college au where sokka agrees to tutor zuko in physics because zuko has to maintain straight a’s and physics is just not doing it for him. so. thats cool but THEN azula moves in, randomly, with zuko. to hide the fact that sokka is tutoring zuko, they fake date! what could go wrong!! the mutual pining in here combined with the angst... wonderful, tasty. everyone read it rn. also SLOWBURN 

In Zuko’s strict family, needing a tutor is just about the worst thing you could do. Failing a class, however, is even worse. The only rational solution? Take up Aang on his offer to find him a physics tutor and have Sokka—beautiful, smart, handsome Sokka—tutor him in secret. // When Azula’s arrival threatens to reveal Zuko’s secret, it’s up to Sokka to convince her this definitely isn’t what it looks like. See, he’s actually… Zuko’s… boyfriend? // Hmm. There’s no way this could get complicated, right?

#zukka #zuko #sokka #angst #zukka angst #atla #avatar: the last airbender #fic recs #zukka fic recs

[wroteasongabouther]

can’t stand to see you lonely: part 2

a/n: thank you all so so sooooo much for the love on the first part of cstsyl ❤️ i hope you guys like part 2 just as much, and please reblog/leave me any feedback if you can as if really just makes me smile and helps with the engagement and blah blah blah u know the drill lol

and thank you to the lovely jill @havethetimeofyourstyles​​, jess @arrogantstyles​ and wendy @bookwormandtea​ for beta reading for me!

word count: 15k

warnings: mentions of death, couples fighting, awkward silence in elevators, and addicting candy cane pretzels.

fic page // let’s chat! // cstsyl playlist

They were fighting again. Y/N’s voice was booming through the walls, her boyfriend’s echoing after hers. Harry tries his best to focus on anything but their voices, but he can’t. It doesn’t make him feel all that great listening to the girl he had only seen smile and had been making laugh over the past two weeks, now yelling on the other side of the wall between them.

Harry plucks a soft melody on his guitar as he lounges on his couch. His hands absentmindedly playing the four chords that have been stuck in his head all morning while he attempts to write lyrics to the melody. Only, he was having a bit of trouble doing so as he listened to Y/N’s voice again.  

“Honestly, Mark! Really?” Y/N’s shouting is muffled, but Harry hears her still. “You really think that it doesn’t bother…” The rest of her words are a bit harder to hear as she quiets her voice. Harry never imagined he’d hear her raise her voice like that. That soft, sweet and gentle tone that he has spent dreaming about for weeks now.

Harry’s still plucking the chords he’s grown obsessed with, humming along while zoning out on the blank tv in front of him. He feels selfish, and rather ridiculous too, not wanting to imagine Y/N with another man. But he also feels selfish that he’s not upset over the fact they’re fighting for the third time in two days. Harry shakes his head and scolds himself for the thought. Regardless of his feelings, he shouldn't want Y/N to feel this way. He can tell these couple days must’ve been hard on her, working all day and then coming home to only end up in a yelling match with her prick of a boyfriend. 

Harry rolls his eyes and notices that the shouting has stopped. The silence of his apartment, aside from his guitar, only makes him feel a bit sadder. 

“I’m selfish, I know,” Harry sings, “but I don’t ever want to see you with him.” 

Suddenly, his phone chimes from where it’s sat on the table, signalling an incoming phone call from Mitch. A picture of the two of them together in the studio last spring shows on the screen, Mitch tucked under Harry’s arm as they’re both slouching into the couch they sat on. Harry reaches for his phone and swipes his finger across the screen to accept his call. 

“Hey,” Harry mutters into the phone, focusing on getting together his notebook and cleaning up the few torn crumpled pieces of paper littering his coffee table.

“Hey, you leaving your place soon?” Mitch asks. Harry can hear traffic in the background, meaning that he had already left his place that's located much closer to the studio than his own apartment is. Moving his shoulder up a little, he holds his phone between his ear and shoulder in order to use both hands as he sets his guitar into the open case that’s sitting on the chaise lounge of his couch. Then scrambling around to gather the scrap paper and glass of water he had, standing up with his trash in hand to throw away and glass in the other to put in the sink.

“Just about to,” Harry answers honestly, making his way into his kitchen to clean up. He sighs after clearing his hands and returns his phone to his left hand to hold now.

“You get busy with that neighbour of yours again. Got a new crush, H?” Mitch teases him. Rolling his eyes, Harry brushes a hand on his light wash jeans before patting his pocket to make sure his thin wallet was still there. 

“No,” he mutters, obviously lying to his best mate - which Mitch is very aware of as he hums in response. “I’ll be there in, like, 20 if the tube isn’t a horror show.” 

“You’ve lived here for nearly 3 years now, think you can call it the subway yet?” 

“Nope,” Harry sighs. There were a few things his British instincts kicked in for; many different phrases and words he knew would stick in his vocabulary despite how many years he’s been in the U.S. Harry’s grabbing his green winter coat and slipping on his boots as he holds the phone between his shoulder and ear again. “Should I grab the gang some coffee on my way? Seeing as I’ll probably be the last to arrive,” Harry says in a tight voice, his annoyance from hearing Y/N and her boyfriend still clear even in his phone call with his mate. 

“Don’t count on it. Tom hasn't answered his phone all morning, so something tells me he’s preoccupied,” Mitch suggests. Harry recalls the text he had gotten from his friend Tom, saying that he and the Missus were planning to celebrate their anniversary early this year. Mitch seems to be hinting that their celebrations have fallen into the morning too. Harry bets that Tom being MIA was because of his two children. The two of them knew how to gang up on their dad already at a young age—he couldn't imagine how they’d be when they grew up. 

“He’s a dad, Mitch, that's probably what he’s preoccupied with,” Harry states. After putting on his coat, he walks over to clasp the case for his guitar closed and heaves it up before heading for the door. 

“Point being, don’t bother with coffee. I’m in line at Starbucks anyways. Did you want anything?” Mitch asks.

“A slice or two of the banana loaf, please,” Harry requests, his stomach growling at the thought of food. Time had slipped by him this morning, listening to Y/N and her boyfriend argue, and he hadn’t eaten more than an apple for breakfast. 

Harry double checks the lights are off in his apartment before shutting the door behind him, setting his guitar down to rest on the wall to his left, and locking it quickly. Mitch is complaining in his ear about some Karen at the front of the line. Harry chuckles at his friends colourful words and picks up his guitar, not sparing a glance at Y/N’s door as he walks to the elevator and hits the down button to call it to his floor. Not even a ten seconds go by and he hears someone exiting their apartment behind him. Harry doesn’t want to look over his shoulder to check, not wanting to see Mark and Y/N walking hand in hand towards him. So, he keeps his eyes trained up on the red numbers rising above the elevator doors, signalling it’s arrival, soon hopefully. 

“Hey, Harry right?” Mark questions, pointing a finger at Harry as him and Y/N stepped up to the elevator. Y/N tries her best not to frown. She hates the way Harry doesn’t smile at her first before meeting Mark’s eyes and nodding. 

“Hey,” Harry says. He turns his head and catches Y/N’s gaze. “What are you guys up to?” 

Y/N knows he’s simply being polite, something Mark wouldn’t care to be - seeing as he’s already got his phone out of his pocket, and is staring at the screen as he answers. “Y/N’s driving me to the airport,” he states. 

Harry looks at Mark, anger bubbling inside of him as he clutches the guitar case in his hand. The elevator doors open then, a light bing! coming from inside. Mark enters first, not even bothering to look at Y/N or Harry, but then Harry waves his free hand in motion to let Y/N walk in before him. She smiles and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear as she walks into the small space and stands beside Mark. 

“Thanks,” she says in a soft voice as Harry hits the button for the lobby. She takes note of the guitar case in his hand. “Are you heading to the studio?” She asks, pointing to the bulky item he’s carrying. 

Harry looks down at his guitar case, “yeah, last day before everyone gets their break.” 

“No more counting down the days then, huh?” She asks, mentioning their previous discussion about how people typically countdown the days till they have time off - her included this year. But Harry had mentioned that he wasn’t looking forward to his days away from the studio. He didn’t think she’d remember that. 

“Counting the days till I’m back in the studio now,” Harry says. Y/N smiles and Harry’s heart bursts at the sight. Having heard her raised voice earlier today, being sure a scowl was etched on her face, he was glad to see her lips turned upward. Mark clears his throat then, causing both Y/N and Harry to quit looking into each other's eyes and step back into reality - her boyfriend was right beside them. 

“Studio? What are you, a singer or something?” Mark asks Harry. His eyes catch sight of Mark’s arm snaking around Y/N’s back, resting lazily on her left hip as they stood there. Harry licked his lips and almost nodded, but was quick to catch himself and shook his head instead. “What kind of studio then? Movies?” Mark continues to question him. 

“A music studio, I’m just a musician,” Harry answers. 

“Oh,” Mark says, “cool,” he adds with a shrug. The elevator doors open and Mark guides him and Y/N out of the small space. “Well, see ya around, ‘Arry,” Mark says with a smug look, trying to mimic his accent. But he butchers it, of course, sounding more like Hagrid from Harry Potter. Mark then waves and turns himself and Y/N to the right of the lobby that leads to the stairwell that went down to the underground parking lot. 

Y/N only gets to give Harry a quick smile before Mark turns her away. She wants to apologize for Mark’s ridiculous behaviour, feeling embarrassed by it. She also wanted to say that Harry wasn't just a musician, he was a songwriter too, which therefore meant he was a storyteller, and in her eyes songwriters were some of the most creative and talented people. Y/N wanted to shut Mark up and start bragging about Harry, like he was her boyfriend and Mark was just some dumb prick. 

Y/N rolls her lips into her mouth and licks them, glancing quickly over her shoulder before getting to the door. Her eyes meet Harry’s intense stare, him looking over his shoulder at her too, and her stomach erupts with butterflies. But then it flips and flops with nerves and her hands suddenly being tugged on by her boyfriend, holding open the door with his hip as he walks them through the doorway and out of Harry’s sight. 

Harry finds himself thinking about Y/N the whole way to the studio—as if he hasn’t stopped thinking about her and her boyfriend over the past couple days anyways. Did she ever mention being in a relationship, even in the most subtle way? Did he misinterpret her kindness for flirting like an absolute idiot? These questions were on a loop inside of his head until he walked into the studio, flashed the front desk his ID badge, and headed to studio B where he and his mates would be working today. 

“And he’s made it,” Mitch announces as Harry pushes closed the door and walks the few steps to his left where the brown leather couch was against the wall. Adam is sitting on the couch, the phone in his hand chimes as he types on it quickly, merely giving Harry a quick smile before looking back at the screen. Mitch is standing by the switch board, leaning back against it as he stares Harry down. Next to him is Tom, sitting in his chair and facing his many computer screens as he gets everything up and going for the day. 

“And I see we were both wrong and Tom beat me,” Harry states. He sets his guitar down, leaning it against the side of the couch before sitting himself down beside Adam.

“I wasn’t answering my phone because I was already on my way over here way before any of you slowpokes, and then I turned off my ringer once I got in here,” Tom explains, leaning back in his chair while his eyes stay on the screen. But then he twirls around, facing Harry and Adam, and gives Adam a bored look. “Like we all agreed to do, right Adam?” 

“Relax, I’ll do it after I send this last text,” Adam says. 

“Sure,” Tom mutters, swivelling his chair back around and grabbing the mouse to continue his set up.  

“Jeez, Tommy,” Mitch chuckles, “did you not get any last night or something? What’s got your panties in a knot?” 

Harry’s eyebrows pull down as he takes in his friends stiff posture as Mitch’s words seem to sink in. “Wasn’t it your anniversary date last night?” He questions, keeping his voice light and not as daunting as Mitch’s had been. 

Tom turns back around to face the boys and makes a big show of rolling his eyes. “Yeah, it was supposed to be, but then our babysitter called and was all freaked out and of course Jenny got all freaked out too. I tried to tell her it wasn’t that big of a deal and they could handle it, but we still ended up leaving our hotel room at nine o’clock and dealt with our two crying children who just missed their mommy. I was in bed by eleven.” Tom explains his night, ending with rubbing a hand up and down his face as he was clearly annoyed by the whole situation. 

“That’s just life as a parent, man,” Adam states. “Emi and I didn’t have a single date night till Spike was five,” he adds with a shrug. 

“Yeah, I get it but it’s just upsetting to have this whole night planned and then it not happen,” Tom says. Harry knew that feeling; he may have not had a full anniversary night away planned like Tom did, but the other day he was racking up things to do with Y/N before he was introduced to her boyfriend. 

Harry zones out, eyes glued on the coffee table in front of him as he sighs softly, leaning back into the couch as he was getting wrapped up in his thought of Y/N, again. I could still be her friend, he thinks. Even though it’d hurt to see her with her boyfriend, to hear about a date night or see them kiss. The ache already begins in Harry’s chest as the mere thought of it, and he finds himself bringing a hand up and rubbing over his heart subconsciously. 

“Harry,” Mitch calls, forcing Harry to snap out of his thoughts and look up at where he stood. He raises his eyebrows, making Harry think that he had said his name more than once but was ignored. 

“What’s going on?” Tom asks Harry. 

“He’s probably thinking about his latest little crush,” Mitch smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Who is it this time?” Adam asks in a monotone voice.

“His new neighbour. Supposedly, she’s rather beautiful in Harry’s eyes,” Mitch teases. 

“Not just in my eyes,” Harry mumbles, looking at his lap and picking off an invisible piece of lint. 

“What do you mean?” Tom questions. 

Harry hears Tom’s chair squeak suddenly, making Harry assume that he must be leaning back in it again. Harry looks up to see he’s right - Tom’s got his arms crossed at his chest like Mitch while they’re both staring him down. Harry lets out a sigh and shakes his head, leaning further into the back of the couch while he licks his lips and looks anywhere but at his friends’ faces - not wanting to see their taunting looks when he tells them. 

“She’s got a boyfriend,” Harry says in a low voice. 

Mitch inhales a sharp breath, hissing through his teeth as he walks over and clamps a hand down on Harry’s shoulder. “That’s tough man,” he says. 

Harry shakes his head again and sits up, causing Mitch’s hand to fall off his shoulder. “It’s not just tough. I get I have these crushes on people a lot, but I don’t know, there was just something different between us. We really clicked and I just thought we’d at least get to go out a few times,” he speaks softly into the quiet room,the support of some of his closest mates surrounding him.

“Have you written about how you’re feeling?” Tom asks. Harry nods and reaches for his guitar without a second thought, taking it out of the case and positioning the instrument in his lap. 

“This is gonna be good,” Mitch nods his head and rolls over the second chair that occupied the room. Harry shakes his head at his friends comment. 

“I’ve just had this tune in my head for a couple days now, and I’ve only come up with a few lyrics really, so I don’t know how good it will be,” he explains. 

Harry plays the song he’s been playing all morning for the other three in the room. The soft acoustic guitar fills the silence, the twang from his guitar strings echoing off the walls. Harry shuts his eyes and lets his voice build up as he sings the two lines he’s been thinking about for a few days now. He feels it deep in his chest, the truth behind his words. Suddenly, more lyrics filter out of his mouth that hadn’t come up before. 

“I’m selfish I know,” he sings, “I’d tell you but I know you’d never listen.”

It’s not entirely the truth, because he’s sure that Y/N would listen to anything he had to say. He’s also sure that if he walked up to her right now, ran out of this studio and back to the apartment and waited outside her door, begging for her to break up with him, that she wouldn’t listen. Harry believes that she’s a better person than that - that regardless if she felt what he had over their past few encounters, she wouldn’t listen to what he wanted and would figure things out herself. 

“I hope you can see, the shape that I’m in,” Tom suddenly sings along to the tune that Harry’s still playing. Harry opens his eyes in a flash and looks at his friend, but Tom’s back is already to him as he’s facing his computer again. “I have the perfect piano and drums mix for this. I’ve had it kind of hidden away for the right time and I think this is it.” 

And that’s when the magic happens. Harry puts down his guitar and gets right into the lyrics, pouring himself into yet another song. He lets his feelings out about the situation he’s gotten himself into with Y/N, and mixes it with some poetry he’s written previously in his journal. You flower, you feast, is something he’s had for quite some time but had never felt it really fit into any of his other songs. And yet somehow in this song full of duck noises, a guitar solo, and many lalalala’s, it somehow found its place. 

Not to mention that Mitch absolutely murders the guitar solo. His long hair acts as a curtain as he sways to the music and lets himself go. Nearly every time that Mitch goes in for a solo, he doesn’t remember what he plays because he’s in such a trance, so Tom has to play it back for him if he needs to fix anything up. Overall, the song inspired by Y/N and her shit boyfriend is pretty great. 

“Anything else you’ve got to bring to the table, Harry?” Tom asks after nearly six hours of working on perfecting their new song ‘Woman’ - named solely because of the repeating of the word in the course, which was chosen because he felt like he was calling out to Y/N in this song. Saying woman over and over again at her in hopes to get her attention. He simply shrugs and stretches back into the couch, sprawling his legs out in front of him while staring down at his journal that’s sitting in his lap. 

“I’ve been writing this one based off a man I see everyday during my breakfast at the cafe down the street from my apartment,” he says. Harry clears his throat and sort of talk-sings what his idea of the melody is with the lyrics he’s got. “Nine in the morning, man drops his kids off at school. And he’s thinking of you, like all of us do. Sends his assistant for coffee in the afternoon, around one thirty two.” 

“Alright, I like it,” Adam nods his head.

“Who’s he thinking of?” Mitch teases, “like all of us do,” he adds with a smirk. His lips then wrap around the straw that was in the can of Pepsi he had gotten from the mini fridge a while ago. Harry rolls his eyes and kicks out his foot in order to nudge Mitch’s leg from where he’s sitting in the desk chair he’s gotten comfortable in. 

“Shut up,” Harry grumbles. Adam, Mitch and Tom all chuckle at their friend’s pout, which just makes him smile. He knew that coming into the studio and writing and making music about his situation with Y/N would ultimately make it feel even a little bit better. During the making of their newest song, his friends did give him some advice. 

“If it’s meant to be, it’ll work out, H,” Adam had said with a smile. 

But there’s no way of knowing how he’ll feel when he bumps into her again, whether she’s with her boyfriend or not. 

It’s been a tough few days for Y/N. Not only has work been crazy because not one, but two interns got sick with a stomach bug; meaning she was currently filling their job on top of her own and running around the city - but she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Harry. 

She is in her own head again as she walks into the Gucci store on Fifth Ave. for the third time in two days. As Greg approaches her, she appreciates his light pink suit with a white ruffled shirt underneath. His bald head shines under the lights of the store, but that smile was much brighter and obviously, professionally whiten. Greg gives her a kiss on the cheek, saying they are a bit behind with her packages since it’s such a busy time for them as well. Y/N just nods and gives him a smile, accepting the flute of champagne as she takes a seat and waits. This is honestly the first time she’s gotten a chance to sit all day, but of course, she spends it zoning out on a sparkly dress hung up a few feet away from her as her mind begins to think of anything but work. 

Mark and her started dating only a mere four months ago. After meeting at a bar in the Upper East Side, he practically stalked her - which isn't too hard considering her social media following - and sent her flowers to work for three days straight till she agreed to go on a date with him. Turned out that he wasn’t just some business man out on the town with some work buddies, but an heir to one of the country's biggest companies. Therefore, meaning that when the gossip started of the two of them seeing each other, Y/N’s mom was the first person to call. 

“You hit the jackpot, baby!” She basically screamed into Y/N’s ear. 

Y/N only rolled her eyes at her mothers words. Her mother was the typical New Jersey girl that grew up with big dreams of pinning down a wealthy New York City man - and kudos to her for doing it. Her dad, bless his heart, was an older naive man who somehow managed to fertilize her mother’s gold digging eggs and voila, Y/N was born. But with that being said, Y/N was lucky enough to have family money, so she never felt the need to be in a relationship just because a man had more in his bank account. She also had better morals than her mother, and knew that money wasn’t a factor when you really loved someone. So no, Mark was not the jackpot because of his bank account. Y/N just thought he was really nice and attractive too, so she agreed to be his girlfriend those four months ago. But it wasn’t till a month ago that that nice streak ended. 

All of a sudden Y/N’s cell phone is ringing. She blinks out of her daze to realize she’s finished her glass of champagne while so deep in thought. Pulling out her phone, she looks at the screen to see it’s Mark calling. His ears must be burning, Y/N thinks.

“Hey,” Y/N answers softly, crossing a leg over the other and resting her elbow on her knee as she holds the phone to her ear. 

“Hey, babe,” Mark sighs. Y/N knows right away what he’s about to tell her, all by the tone of his voice and the use of that nickname. He used it when he asked her to drive him to the airport yesterday, which he forgot to mention he needed her to do till an hour before he had to leave - resulting in Y/N being very behind on work for the day.

“How’s Arizona?” Y/N asks politely anyway, mentioning the state he was in for business this time around. He was always traveling for work; his father wants him to know all the branch executives, so therefore he’s been to pretty much every state in the country over the course of six months. The moment they started to date Y/N knew he’d be working a lot, but she didn’t expect him to be working all over the country. She’s lucky if she gets a weekend with him, and honestly, she was looking forward to the almost two weeks work free they’d be getting together. But something told her that was not going to happen. 

“It’s good, hot,” he says, seeming distracted by something in the background to which he moves the phone away from his mouth to respond to someone around him. “No, no, not those, the red ones,” he orders. 

“Mark?” Y/N questions, keeping her voice down as Greg and one of his associates come from the backroom then with a few boxes in hand. “I’m just a bit busy with work, was there a reason for you calling, hun?” 

“Right…Well, unfortunately my time at the Arizona office will be extended. So, I’m not going to make it back to New York before Christmas,” Mark explains. Y/N frowns at his words even though it’s just as she imagined when she answered his call.

“When will you be back?” She asks, her eyebrows pulled together and lip pouting out slightly. 

“That’s the thing, there’s really no point in me flying back to the East Coast so close to the holidays when I’ve got to be in Los Angeles for my family’s big festivities.”

“Oh,” Y/N says. She’s only sad for a moment, noticing that Mark is distracted by something in the background once again as his voice is muffled. “So when exactly are you planning to come back to the city, Mark?” She asks as she sits up and projects her voice louder into her phone. Greg and his associate seem to notice Y/N demeanour change, his baby blue eyes widening slightly as he sets the boxes down on the couch beside her.

“I don’t know-”

Y/N doesn’t let him speak, though, her anger getting the best of her for what feels like the millionth time since she began dating Mark. It’s so unlike her, she thinks. She shakes her head and says, “you don’t plan to come back to New York and spend any part of the holidays with your girlfriend? Your girlfriend who very much loves the holidays, by the way.”

“I’m aware of your love for the holidays, Y/N, little hard to not know when your apartment looks like a four year old decorated it with all that crap,” Mark huffs into the phone, his voice matching her tone. 

“Oh my god, whatever, Mark,” Y/N snaps in a low voice, having to take a deep breath as she stares down at the floor. “Just go and have fun on the West Coast, don’t worry one bit about me ‘cause it seems you haven’t bothered to to begin with,” Y/N finds herself seething into the phone, keeping her voice low before pulling her phone away from her ear and hanging up before he can say one more thing to upset her. 

She shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath. Focusing on making her heart beat slow down and her hands to stop shaking. Did she just break up with him? No, no I didn’t say the words, I didn’t say it’s over and maybe I should have, Y/N thinks while letting out another short breath through her nose. She did not deserve this and she knew she didn’t, and yet she keeps putting up with his extended work trips and him disrespecting her opinions. Mark wanted a woman like Y/N’s mother. One that didn’t have her own hobbies and her own dreams, and who just wanted to be on his arm and live with whatever he put them through. Or did she even give him a real chance? That little voice in the back of her head, the one that was planted by her own mother, asks her. 

“You look like you need another glass, mi amor,” Greg says softly, bringing her to open her eyes once more and realize that she did in fact just have a fight with her boyfriend over the phone in public. In front of a supplier too. Her cheeks heat up with embarrassment. Thankfully, she thought of Greg as more of a friend than in a professional view. She smiles at him, forcing it, while he holds up the bottle of champagne and fills her glass. 

“Thank you,” she says quietly. 

“You’re welcome,” he nods, turning to his left to grab the second tall glass and fills it as well. Y/N chuckles as he brings it to his own mouth and has a sip. “What? The holidays are stressful, I deserve a glass too every once in a while.” Y/N only laughs again and raises her flute, Greg lifts his own to cheers her before they both take a sip. “Did you want to talk about it?” He asks after a beat of silence. 

Y/N licks her lips, tasting the expensive champagne all over again. “It’s just,” Y/N sighs and runs a hand through her hair before she continues, “I thought that Mark was different when I first met him. He sent flowers to my work and took me to nice restaurants. He seemed to be really into me, and now, he’s really into his work and he thinks my love for the holidays is childish, and that my opinions and my time don’t matter. So, I’m starting to think I jumped into this relationship, maybe a bit too fast all because my mom approved of his last name and Sammy thought he was hot.” Y/N rants in a rush of words, bringing her flute to her lips afterwards for another sip.

Greg doesn’t respond right away, instead he too sips his champagne and looks around the room they sat in. He sighs and brings a hand down on Y/N’s thigh, causing her to look at him. He smiles and gives her a comforting pat. 

“You are a young woman in New York City who’s really got her shit together, you know your worth, Y/N,” Greg says. Y/N mirrors his smile, feeling the back of her eyes threaten with tears at his sweet words. “You’ll know what to do about this man,” he adds with a wink. Greg removes his hand and lifts his flute to finish off his champagne. “Plus, men are trash anyways,” he mutters as his eyes wander around the room that’s quickly filling up with customers. 

Y/N laughs, “yes, Greg, they can be.” She agrees. But there’s one man that comes to her mind. One with enchanting green eyes, beautiful dimples, a contagious laugh, and a certain swoon worthy accent. 

And yet, Y/N is not surprised when her thoughts drift off to Harry again. In fact, she thinks about him the entire way back to her office, the few boxes from Greg in her arms as she travels on the subway and walks carefully on the slushy shovelled snow that covers the sidewalks. What is he up to today? She thinks, knowing that he must’ve gotten home from the studio late yesterday - maybe even this morning. She worked late on emails last night, only having her Christmas playlist playing softly from her TV, and she didn’t hear him get home. She wonders if he sleeps in when he does that, or if he still manages to get up early and do whatever it is he does every day. She doesn’t know his daily routine, but she admits to herself that she’s curious.

Having done the errands that were needed for the day, Y/N ends up sitting at her desk for the remaining three hours of her work day. Her and Amanda go over new interns to hire, seeing as Y/N’s boss doesn’t want her away from the office doing intern work forever. And then she and Sammy are walking out of the building together at five o’clock sharp. They endured yet another eleven hour work day today. And this was one of the easiest days this week, since it was spent shopping around and organizing the office. Tomorrow there would be two A-list clients coming in for their last styling of the year, both finalizing their outfits for the upcoming Grammy awards too.

“You seem off today,” Sammy says as they walk down the stairs to the subway. 

“I, um,” Y/N licks her lips and narrows her eyes at the screen that reads when the next stop would be. She looks at her friend and sighs. “I got into a fight with Mark earlier,” she states. 

“Another one?” Sammy questions, raising a brow and giving her a look that said ‘really?’.

“Yup,” Y/N says, rolling her lips into her mouth and nodding. “He’s too busy with work to come back to the city for the rest of the month, said he doesn’t see the point in coming back even for a day before he has to go back home to the West Coast. So, I ended up yelling at him in the middle of the Gucci store.” 

“Are you for real?” Sammy asks in shock, his eyes widening as Y/N explains what her boyfriend had told her earlier. 

“Yup,” she repeats, nodding her head again too. “Oh, and he said my apartment looked like a four year old decorated it and it looked like crap,” Y/N chuckles, realizing now how stupid Mark’s fighting words were. 

“Y/N,” Sammy sighs, “dump him,” he says while placing a hand on her shoulder and giving her a sympathetic smile. “I get that you wanted to give this guy a chance, but all you guys ever do is fight and I don’t want to say it but I’m going to,” he sighs again dramatically, “I’ve seen you smile over that new neighbour of yours more than Mark in the past few weeks. That’s a sign.”

“But what if I didn’t give Mark a real chance? And what if I’m just playing Harry up in my head-”

“No, none of that,” Sammy shakes his head and stares deep into Y/N’s eyes. “You are the most polite and sweetest person I’ve ever met. There’s no way in hell you didn’t give Mark a chance, hell you gave him a million chances, let’s face it. And as for Harry, you’ll never know unless you get to know him.” 

Y/N rolls her eyes as Sammy drops his hand and tilts his head to the side. She notices the platform getting busier and louder then, as the subway makes way towards them from the North. This was her ride, while Sammy had to wait another ten minutes for the one that went to Brooklyn. Y/N thinks about what Sammy had said. Maybe she did give Mark plenty of chances and maybe their time was up, but that doesn’t mean she feels comfortable jumping right back into the game of dating with Harry. Plus, how bad would that make her look. Harry would probably think she didn’t care about relationships and typically shuffled around boys, which was so far from her case. In fact it was why she was so hesitant to date Mark in the first place - she didn’t like to give her time and love to just anyone. It’s just too bad she didn’t realize that Mark wasn’t worth it sooner. 

“If I’m just getting out of this relationship with Mark, I can’t just start dating Harry,” Y/N exclaims to Sammy.

“I didn’t say date him right away, I said get to know him,” Sammy states, “hang out, be his friend, and if things happen then they happen. The world works in funny ways,” Sammy says matter of factly, pointing a finger at her while she starts taking a few steps towards the subway that’s coming to a stop. “We’ll talk later! Dump the fucking guy though!” Sammy shouts as Y/N just shakes her head and rolls her eyes while getting into the mass of people cramming on the subway. 

“Yeah, dump the son of a bitch,” a croaky voice startles Y/N as she gets through the door. An elderly woman is smiling back at her, her yellow teeth contrasting against her dark skin as she smiles wickedly at Y/N. She chuckles awkwardly and nods, walking across the space to an open seat. 

Opening her purse, she finds her Airpods and puts them into her ears. They connect to her phone automatically and she begins to tap on her phone, deciding on which playlist she wants to listen to on her way home. Once she clicks shuffle on her ‘girl freaking power’ playlist, she turns it all the way up and lets the anger in Halsey’s voice fuel her own anger towards her shit boyfriend. She thinks of their fights that have happened recently the whole ride on the subway, then she thinks if it’d be too cruel of her to break up with him over the phone as she walks the few blocks to her apartment building. If he broke up with me over the phone I’d be a little upset, Y/N thinks with a frown as she walks across the lobby to the elevator. 

Y/N, who was so in her own world with her music still turned up all the way as a new song by Olivia O’Brien, doesn’t even realize when Harry walks up beside her. He can hear her music blasting through her earphones. He leans forwards a bit, hoping to get in her line of sight. But she is still focused on the elevator doors, nodding her head to whatever song she’s got playing. Harry’s lips tug up into a smile. When he first saw her standing there when he entered the building he got a little nervous, unsure how this interaction between them would go. Should he apologize right away for not knowing she had a boyfriend and asking her for dinner?

“Hello?” Harry sings. “Y/N?” He calls in a normal voice. This time she seems to notice that someone is beside her. She jumps slightly, placing a hand over her heart and reaches up with the other to take out an Airpod which causes her music to stop completely. 

“You scared me,” she breathes out. 

“Sorry,” Harry says, giving her a timid smile. “I tried getting your attention a few times, it must be a good song.” 

She looks down at the earphone in her hand and nods, “uh, yeah, just really into empowering female music today.” She states. 

Harry hums and nods, then the elevator opens, revealing a few people inside which causes Y/N to step towards him as they move out of the way. If he hadn’t taken a step back fast enough she'd practically be right up against him. He breathes in and smells her perfume, the intoxicating scent of rose filling his nostrils with her being so close. Y/N gives a quick ‘you’re welcome’ to the people who step out as they thank them for moving before they both step into the elevator together. Harry was too busy thinking about how close Y/N had been to step up and hit the number six button before he could. He gives her a smile in thanks.

The elevator begins to ascend as the space falls into silence between them. They’re both overthinking. What should I say? Is what is on both their minds as they pass the first floor, and then the second. Harry lets out a short breath through his nose before leaning his back against the railing. 

“I’m sorry for being so clueless,” he states, pausing when Y/N’s head whips up and her eyes meet his. “I didn’t think you’d have a boyfriend and I just didn’t think twice before asking you if you wanted to get dinner,” he says, finally getting the thought off his chest. 

Y/N furrows her brows, “and why did you think I wouldn’t have a boyfriend?” She asks, teasing him, but Harry’s face falls and he stands straight once again, bringing both his hands up and waves them in front of himself as if in surrender. 

“Not that you’re like not pretty enough for a boyfriend, or nice enough, cause to be quite honest I would be surprised if you didn’t have a boyfriend cause you are like the prettiest girl I’ve ever met and not to mention really nice and super cool too-” 

“I was just teasing you, Harry,” Y/N stops him. But his words had caused quite the feeling inside her stomach, butterflies were multiplying like it was nobody's business while she swore she felt her heartbeat in the soles of her feet. 

“Oh,” he breathes out, “right. Well, still, I’m sorry.” He casts his eyes down to the floor, feeling his cheeks warm up from embarrassment. The elevator sounds a quiet bing! as the doors open for them on the sixth floor. Harry lifts his eyes to meet Y/N’s once more, motioning with his hand for her to exit first. She smiles and walks out with him right behind her. 

Y/N doesn’t say anything till she’s at her apartment door, her key in the lock, and she notices Harry is at his door a few feet away. She sighs and stops twisting the key, letting her shoulder sag as she looks over at Harry. 

“I’m sorry too, by the way,” she says. Harry looks up at the sound of her voice, thinking she was simply going to take in her apology and go about her merry life with Mark. He watches her tongue dart out and wet her lips as she leans into her door. “I should have mentioned Mark, even just in a quick comment, but honestly our relationship is sort of new and even a little non-existent at times, it seems, so I guess I was just enjoying making a new friend. I didn’t even think about it,” Y/N explains herself. 

Harry takes in her words; that her relationship is new, and non-existent? He wonders what she means by that. But he can’t help but smile at her mentioning that she enjoyed becoming his friend. Harry nods his head and let’s his smile grow wider, knowing his dimples would show. 

“I’d like to keep being your friend,” Y/N adds, “if that’s okay?” 

“It’s totally okay,” Harry nods. Y/N smiles and nods back. 

“Okay,” she says softly. 

Harry fits his key into the lock without looking, keeping his eyes on Y/N’s as he notices her cheeks glowing a shade of pink. “How about a movie night? Tomorrow? If you’re not busy, of course,” Harry suggests, twisting his key and unlocking the door. 

“I think I’m free. It’ll have to be Christmas themed, of course,” Y/N says, narrowing her eyes as if to challenge Harry to fight her on it - like Mark would. 

“Well, yeah,” Harry scoffs, eyebrows pulled together and head shaking in faux disbelief. “Wouldn’t have it any other way during the month of December,” he adds. 

Why couldn’t I have moved in like six months ago? Y/N thinks to herself as she smiles at Harry. She finds herself liking him more with every word that comes out of that pretty mouth of his. If only she had met him before she met Mark. Things would be easier, that’s for sure.

The two of them agree on a time for tomorrow, six in the evening, before saying their goodbyes and walking into their homes that were side by side. After Y/N takes off her shoes and coat, she walks towards her bedroom to get changed into some workout clothes for a quick at home video before she ate dinner. Just as she’s changing she hears the muffled sounds of Harry’s guitar - something she’s grown fond of hearing through their shared wall. Maybe she’ll get him to play her something tomorrow, she thinks with a smile. 

Y/N makes her way back into her living room and starts up her workout video. She does some jumping jacks to get her warmed up, but honestly, her heart is already pounding in her chest from her interaction with Harry and the plans they have made. Without a doubt she knows she’ll be counting down the hours during her work day tomorrow till six o’clock.

Elf or Polar Express? Both were very different Christmas movies, and they were the two she was torn between taking over to Harry’s. They hadn’t talked about who’s apartment they would hang out in, but as it was ten minutes to six, she hoped to get out the door and knock on his first, in order to get the chance to ask him to play his guitar for her maybe. But that’s not how it’s going to work out because Y/N’s too busy being stuck between two of her favourite movies when suddenly, there’s a knock at her door. She frowns knowing that it’s Harry and wouldn’t get to hear him play guitar, but gets up from where she was sitting crossed legged on the floor to answer the door. 

Her fuzzy socks pad across the hardwood floor as she walks to her door, peering through the peephole quickly to double check to see it was Harry. She smiles at the sight of his floppy brown hair and unlocks her door before swinging it open. Harry looks up as she opens the door, meeting her gaze for only a moment before he watches her take in his apparel. 

He had thought about it for way too long, what he was to wear to hangout and watch movies with the girl he liked, but ended up staying dressed down as he was all day. Y/N liked how the plain white shirt he wore fit him, only a small brand logo that was over his heart, but she really liked the pastel rainbow coloured sweatpants he wore too. He looks comfy and ready to lay back and relax for a few hours with her. He’s not wearing any shoes though, which makes Y/N furrows her brows for a second. 

“I didn’t really see any point in putting on shoes for the few feet out of my apartment,” Harry states quickly to let her know. Y/N nods, chuckling under her breath, but understanding what he means. She steps back and lets him into her home. 

Harry takes in the atmosphere of Y/N’s apartment for the second time now. The glow from her many Christmas lights makes him feel warm inside, and her Christmas tree was the focal point of it all. He likes the odd ornaments that are littered among the branches, and he can’t quite make out what they all are, but something tells him that they each hold a special meaning to Y/N. Maybe some from her childhood, others from some trips she’s had - he could see her collecting them from anywhere she’s travelled to. Harry makes a mental note to ask her at one point. 

“I was thinking of making some hot chocolate, and I have a bag of, like, this candy cane and white chocolate pretzels that I’ve been obsessed with lately and was going to munch on that during the movie, but I have a bunch of other snacks too, honestly,” Y/N starts to explain to Harry. He turns on his heels to see she’s already locked her door and is now moving into the kitchen. 

“I’m cool with some hot chocolate,” Harry nods, “and I’ll give the pretzels a try, they sound good.” 

“They are so good, oh my god,” she moans at the mere thought of eating them. Bending down to open her bottom drawer, she reveals a well organized array of munchies that looked like a stoner's heaven. 

As she’s ruffling through the drawer Harry takes in her outfit. She’s got on a pair of Christmas themed pajama bottoms with little snowflakes scattered along the dark blue material that matched with her plain dark blue shirt. Her hair was thrown up into a messy bun, wispy hairs falling around her face as it looks as though it’s been up all day and she hasn’t cared to fix it. Overall, she looks comfortable and at ease - as she should be in her own home. He had wondered if she ever dressed down, seeing as he had only ever seen her after a day of work dressed in trendy high fashion, but somehow casual clothing. Christmas pajamas suit her, he thinks with a smile.

Y/N gets a hold of the bag of pretzels she’s talking about and opens it, taking one out for herself right away to bite down on before turning to Harry who’s standing in her kitchen. She smiles at the pretzel and lifts the bag to him. Harry takes a few steps towards her before reaching into the bag and grabbing one for himself. He brings it to his mouth and Y/N watches for his reaction. His jaw flexes as he chews down on the sweet yet salty treat. 

Harry hums and nods, reaching into the bag again, “not bad,” he says before chewing on another one. Y/N smiles and passes him the bag all together, turning towards the stove top to turn on the kettle already filled with water. 

“Can you find two mugs in that cabinet?” Y/N asks Harry as she looks to her left and sees him standing in front of the cabinet that held her many mugs and glasses. She points to it and Harry nods. He puts the bag of pretzels down after sneaking one last one into his mouth, and opens the cabinet door to reveal Y/N’s collection of mugs. He goes for the two at the front, which were Christmas themed, of course; one shaped like the Grinch and the other like Santa. As he sets them down on the counter in front of him, beside the bag of pretzels that he sticks his hand into again, he notices a glass container full of brown powder that he assumes is her hot chocolate mix. 

“Is this your hot chocolate mix?” He asks, just to be sure.

“Yes,” Y/N nods, “I honestly make myself a cup almost every night during the colder seasons.” 

“Are you a coffee or tea person?” Harry asks, keeping his eyes on the container as he twists it open and sees a metal teaspoon measuring cup inside already. He starts to scoop some into each mug as he waits for Y/N’s answer. Although he is very aware of her possibly liking coffee, considering how he’s seen her with many Starbucks cups before. 

“Yeah, I enjoy both too. I have way too much coffee during my work days, and tea reminds me of the days at my grandparents,” she explains, watching Harry scoop her preferred amount of mix into each mug without even asking. She smiles softly, seeing him reach for yet another pretzel too. 

“Are you saying tea is for old people?” Harry questions, raising a brow as he peers at Y/N in the corner of his eye. Y/N rolls her eyes, a smile still on her lips. Her kettle begins to squeal into the air, but she’s quick to turn and take it off the heat. She turns off the stove and uses a tea towel to bring it over to the mugs - Harry steps back out of her way, but not before grabbing the bag of pretzels. 

“Old people and the British too, of course,” Y/N teases. 

Harry chuckles, “of course,” he says in agreement. He waits till Y/N fills the mugs and sets the kettle back down on the stovetop before he steps back to the counter and wraps a hand around the handle of the Grinch mug. Y/N is quick, stepping towards him and gently slapping his hand. 

Harry flinches his hand away and raises a brow at Y/N, jokingly taken back by her action. Y/N bites down on her bottom lip to prevent herself from giggling over how cute that look on his face was. 

“I have whipped cream that’s in a can, but it’s still good,” Y/N states, giving him a look that said ‘back off and let me do this’. Harry only chuckles again and nods. “Also slow down on the pretzels, if I don’t get any during the movie I’ll be very upset.”

“They’re addicting, sorry,” Harry mumbles through his mouth full of pretzels, a smile tugging at his mouth. 

“Trust me, I know. That’s like my fourth bag this week, I swear,” she states with a chuckle. 

As Y/N walks to her fridge Harry steps up to the mugs once more and takes a chance on the drawer directly under them for a spoon. His instincts are right as he pulls the drawer open to see her utensils; he grabs a teaspoon in order to stir the hot chocolate. Y/N turns back from the fridge with the whipped cream can in hand, turning around to see Harry focused on the mugs. She smiles, tilting her head as she watches him nudge the drawer closed with his hip, and begin to stir the contents of them till the powder was all mixed in with the water. Look at them being all domestic, she thinks. Licking her lips, she shakes her head a little and walks up to Harry, shaking the can of whipped cream and waits for him to finish stirring. He sets the spoon in the sink and watches as Y/N tops off the mugs with a heap of whipped cream. 

“You better actually eat the whipped topping this time,” Harry says to her teasingly, referring to when they had hot chocolate in the park, and she let her whipped cream melt. Y/N chuckles and brings the tip of the whipped cream can to her open mouth. 

She puts pressure on the top again and makes the sweet cream pile into her mouth as she tips her head back, the aerosol can is the only noise in the room as Harry watches her do it. His breath catches in his throat and he blinks several times as he imagines an entirely different scenario with this whipped cream can and her mouth. Y/N brings the whipped cream away from her mouth and swallows, watching Harry do the same thing - did she make him feel uncomfortable? She thinks to herself as she licks her lips and looks down at the ground. Don’t overthink it, don’t overthink it, she thinks while walking back to the fridge to return the whipped cream to the shelf. When she turns back, she sees that Harry has both mugs in his hands. 

“Maybe I should just have both of these, since you’re probably full from that mouth full of whipped cream,” Harry teases her, bringing both mugs to his lips, acting as if he’s going to slurp up the whipped topping that’s nearly flowing over the side.

“Absolutely not,” Y/N gasps, reaching forward quickly for the Grinch mug, but Harry moves it out of her grasp faster. 

“I want the Grinch one,” he says with a slight whine to his voice. Y/N can’t stop the giggle this time, blushing afterwards as she thinks of how freaking adorable he is. 

“Fine,” she sighs and takes the Santa mug from him instead.  

Harry grins and lets her lead the way back into her living room, the bag of pretzels in his other hand. Y/N sets her mug down on the coaster on the coffee table, just like she had with her glass of wine the last time Harry was over. He watches as she sits cross legged on the floor in front of her tv stand. Y/N grabs the two movies she was debating over earlier in each hand and lifts them up for Harry to see. He loves them both of course. 

“Which one? I can’t decide,” Y/N states. Harry hums and lifts his mug to his lip to slurp up some whipped cream. 

“Elf,” Harry answers, “I’m in a Will Ferrel comedy kind of mood,” he adds. 

“Alright,” Y/N chuckles under her breath and turns away from Harry to open her DVD player and then open the case for Elf. He liked that she had the movies on physical DVD, not just clicking away on a streaming app. She places the DVD in the player and then closes it again before standing up quickly and skipping over to the couch, plopping down excitedly but gently that Harry isn’t even scared that he’ll spill his hot chocolate. 

“We can watch the other one next time,” Harry suggests, feeling brave in the moment as the trailers start to play softly on the screen and Y/N is reaching for the remote that sat on the coffee table. She looks at him and smiles.

“‘kay, yeah, next time,” she pauses but then points the remote at Harry. “But next time you’re hosting, I feel like we should switch it up sometimes,” she adds and waits to see Harry nod with a smile before she turns to the TV and gets to the main menu of the movie.

“Fair, I just think my place lacks the holiday cheer that we would want,” Harry explains. Y/N stops her from hitting play right away and leans back into the couch, flopping her head to the side to look at Harry. He’s still holding his mug, which reminds her that her own is sitting there untouched, so she sits up again and grabs it.

“Well you know what would fix that?” She questions, bringing the mug to her lips and slurping up some of the whipped cream that was in fact already melting. Harry watches her as her eyes are glued to her mug, focused on not spilling it over the sides it seems. 

“Decorations?” He asks, still watching her. He smiles as she licks her upper lip that’s covered in melting whipped cream.

“Exactly,” she nods enthusiastically. She takes another few sips of her hot chocolate before leaning back into her couch once again, getting all snuggled up before lifting the remote to the TV and hitting play.

“I’m not really good with decorating - my sister and mom did my apartment to be honest,” Harry admits. Y/N watches the opening scene of one of her favourite Christmas movies, feeling all giddy inside as it’s the first time she’s watching it this holiday season. She gets like this every year with every holiday movie.

“Well, I can help you out. Maybe we can do a little trip to Target before our next movie night. Then do a quick set up and then watch the movie after,” Y/N suggests, nervously peering over at Harry over the rim of her mug after. She doesn’t know if she’s crossing a line or anything. She just wants to spend more time with him, even if it’s just as friends. 

Harry gives Y/N a half smile, one of his dimples making an appearance as he looks into her eyes. He would love that, honestly. The idea of them wandering through the Christmas isles at Target as she gives him advice on what decorations would go together and fit his apartment style; they would set up the decorations after and he’d watch her be in her element. Maybe he’d put on some Christmas music and hope she would dance around. Harry gives Y/N a short nod. 

“I like that plan,” Harry tells her. 

Y/N smiles and nods back at him. “Then it’s a deal, we’ll set a time after the movie. It’s about to get good,” she says, looking back at the TV screen again as Will Ferrel’s character makes his appearance. 

“The whole movie is good,” Harry states. 

“Shh,” Y/N hushes him, taking another sip of her drink and keeping her eyes on the movie. Harry smiles and watches her watch Elf. He notices her hand gently tapping the cushion between them after a moment. Harry chuckles under his breath and nudges the bag of pretzels open, taking a few for himself before facing the bag her way. Once she’s got one between her teeth she feels completely content. 

She’s got a cup of yummy hot chocolate, her favourite snack, Christmas lights are twinkling around her, one of her favourite Christmas movies is playing, and she’s with good company too. In fact, she finds herself not once thinking of Mark the rest of the night. Even in her dreams, it’s Harry, again. 

They exchanged phone numbers. It’s not a big deal, Harry thinks to himself as he gets a third text from his newest contact in his phone. But it felt like a big deal; it was an easy way to get a hold of her whenever he needed to or wanted to even. Not that he would just bother her for no good reason. As much as he’d like to text with her all day, he knows that they really just exchanged phone numbers in order to plan to hangout easily. Like for today, Y/N had a long work day, but still wanted to take Harry Christmas decor shopping, so she was asking him if he could just meet her at the closest Target. 

There’s one a few blocks away from the apartment, I’ll send you the location, are you able to meet me there? She texts along with a Google Maps link to the store. Harry tapped out a response right away, letting his focus sway away from the TV show he had on when her name lit up his screen. 

Sounds good to me, what time? Harry hits send and notices the bubble with three dots pop up right away. She must have a moment at work right now; he checks the time to see it’s just past noon, assuming she’s on her lunch break. 

I should be leaving the office by 3pm today, then it’s like a 15 minutes subway ride and 5 minute walk to get there for me. So like 3:30ish, is that okay with you? Wait. Are you busy today? I didn’t even ask if you were working too, sorry. She sends the texts in a few separate bubbles, realizing that she didn’t even ask if Harry was working or not today. Y/N has no idea what the schedule of a songwriter was like. Harry chuckles at her little panic and types out his response. 

Super busy…. Watching mindless TV shows on Netflix. He adds a laughing emoji for good measure, to which Y/N replies with some of her own laughing emojis before saying God I wish that was how my day was going. 

Y/N ends up texting Harry her whole lunch break. He asks about what she’s been doing today, his responses seeming very interested in the adventures she has had in the office being a stand in model since her measurements were close to a clients. She then asks what show he’s watching, to which he tells her about this Netflix baking show called Sugar Rush and he tells her about the challenge the contestants on the most recent episode endured. Y/N finds herself smiling at her screen, nearly forgetting to even eat her lunch. Sammy clears his throat just a few minutes before their time is up and causes her to look up at him, raising her eyebrows at his own. 

“What?” She asks, stabbing her fork into the salad she had Sammy pick up for her earlier. 

“Nothing,” Sammy hums, Y/N rolls her eyes. “Just noticed you’ve been quite busy on that phone of yours for the past, oh, I don’t know, twenty five minutes,” Sammy teases her, eyes widening slightly and motioning his hands in the air with his words. He did that a lot, talking with his hands, that is. 

“So?” Y/N tries to brush off her friend's pushy behaviour. 

“So? Really? We’re just going to act as if you’re not giggling at your phone screen like a little school girl?” Sammy questions. 

“I am not doing that,” Y/N huffs. 

“Yeah, sure, sweetie and I’m straight,” Sammy rolls his eyes dramatically and then pouts while shaking his body in his seat. Y/N furrows her brows at his behaviour. “I live off your love life. Please give me something, anything. Please just tell me that you’re talking to that hot neighbour of yours and let me continue on my merry little day knowing that your love life is about to be thriving while mine is dead.” 

Y/N sighs and tries to ignore as her phone vibrates again, signalling that Harry had texted her back. She sits back in her chair and crosses her arms over his chest, covering the deep v-cut of her black body suit that she was wearing with a pair of red slim legged slacks, and a matching red blazer that was currently laying over the back of the chair she sat in. Amanda didn’t have any sort of dress code for work, merely to come in looking professional and stylish, which for Y/N, meant a good pant suit moment every once in a while. But with still keeping it sexy and young by pairing it with a bodysuit. 

“Fine, I’m texting Harry,” Y/N tells Sammy, feeding into his gossip need for the day. “We actually hung out two night ago, he came over for a movie night-”

“What?! Why am I just hearing about this now?” Sammy questions, sitting up quickly and throwing his hands in the air. “What happened? Touching? Did you kiss? Oh my lord, tell me what his peni-”

“Sammy! Oh my god, relax, please,” Y/N cuts him off, putting a hand up to stop him from talking. “Nothing happened. Sorry to disappoint, but I am still in a relationship with Mark. Harry just came over, we made some hot chocolate and polished off a bag of those delicious candy cane pretzels.”

“Those pretzels are good,” Sammy nods in agreement.

“Yeah,” Y/N nods, “but anyways, nothing happened, and nothing is going to happen. We’re just friends, and I enjoy being around him a lot. So, today after work we’re going to Target to buy his apartment some decorations, then we’ll probably order in some food and watch another movie.” 

“Sounds pretty couple-y to me,” Sammy says in a high pitched tone. Y/N just shakes her head and rolls her eyes at her friend again. 

Y/N couldn’t lie, though. The few hours later in Target, they looked like a couple. Harry pushes the cart down the aisle while she tilts her head and debates which tinsel really fit Harry’s aesthetic. She brings the Starbucks cup to her lips and sips the warm caramel flavoured latte. Y/N was pleasantly surprised when she saw Harry walking up to her outside the Target with two Starbucks holiday cups in his hand. He gave her a timid smile and explained what both of the drinks were, saying he hadn’t tasted either and wanted to see what she wanted first before taking the other for himself. It was unexpected and ridiculously sweet of him to do. 

“I think red would look really nice around your apartment, kind of spice up the place a little,” Y/N explains, her free hand skimming over the many different tinsels that were hanging up before her. Harry agrees, red would look nice in his apartment and spice things up a lot, except his mind is thinking of this red pant suit she’s wearing right now. He thinks it would look rather nice on his bedroom floor.

When she walked up to him and he took in her outfit, he nearly tripped over his own feet and spilled the two coffees he brought with him. But he kept himself together, well, sort of. He stumbled over his words, rambled like a fool about why he got the two coffees for her, but they finally got into the store, which now, he’s just been checking her out as they walked to the Christmas section. Get it together, Harry thinks to himself. 

“Red’s nice,” Harry says, his voice cracking slightly. So, he clears his throat and steps away from the cart to pick up a piece of tinsel that Y/N was looking at. “I like the bit of silver mixed in too,” he comments. 

“I was thinking the same thing,” she says with a smile before grabbing four more of the same one and adding it to the cart. Harry does the same with the one in his hand and then puts his hands on the cart once more, pushing it back and forth just a few inches. Harry can’t stop himself from admiring that suit once more as she bends down to check out the many different boxes of tree ornaments. 

“Which ones?” Y/N asks, quickly turning her body. Y/N catches his gaze on her body, but Harry blinks quickly and meets her stare. The corner of her lips tug up into a smug smile at the thought of Harry checking her out. 

“The ones in your, uh, your right hand,” Harry answers her questions, clearing his throat again and watching as she stands straight before putting the ornaments into the cart. 

They continue their way through Target, still looking very much like a couple as they grab a few bags of the candy cane pretzels that Y/N got Harry hooked on the other night before heading to the check out. Harry insists on paying for the few little items of Y/N’s in the cart, telling her over and over again that it wasn’t a huge deal. He almost doesn’t let her carry a single thing, but she quickly gets a hold of a standing Santa decoration that was too big for a bag and hugs it to her chest their whole walk home. 

Harry unlocks his apartment door for them, noticing how their neighbour Mr Matthers is opening his at the same time to peer out and see who’s in the hallway. Harry holds open the door for Y/N, she thanks him in a small voice and smiles at him. Looking back out into the hallway, Harry waves at Mr Matthers, who simply returns it with a scowl on his face before Harry steps inside and shuts the door behind him. Suppose their neighbour is a bit jealous of Harry, he’s seen the way he looks at Y/N. Hell, especially today in that suit, everyone on the street was looking at Y/N with wide eyes and big smiles - Harry felt like quite the lucky guy, little did everyone know they were in fact not together. Just friends, Harry reminds himself for the millionth time. 

“Oh, I love the tree,” Y/N states, her voice bringing Harry back to Earth as he locks the door and walks over to his coffee table to set down the many bags in his arms. Y/N is still holding the Santa decoration to her chest, looking at the fake Christmas tree he had purchased on Amazon yesterday on a whim. He was thinking about them decorating together again, and thought that it wouldn’t feel right if he didn't have a tree too. It’s a good thing he told Y/N over text, otherwise they wouldn’t have gotten ornaments or anything for it. 

“Yeah, I just got the first one that included lights on Amazon, to be honest,” Harry tells her. Y/N chuckles and walks over, setting the Santa decoration just beside the tree gently. 

She brushes a hand over the tree and smiles, “it’s wonderful, really pulls the whole festive look together in my opinion.”

“I agree,” Harry nods. He grabs for the TV remote and turns it on, quickly turning the volume down before he sets it up to the music channels - clicking on the Christmas tunes without a second thought. Y/N watches Harry, her heart hammering in her chest as the soft sounds of Michael Buble fills the room. Mark would never do any of this - he wouldn’t voluntarily put on Christmas music, ever. In fact, he shut off the station in her car on the way to the airport. And he definitely wouldn’t decorate with her either, seeing as he thinks that her apartment looks childish. She pouts at the thought of her and Mark’s phone call the other day. He hasn’t called or texted her since.

“Did you not want to listen to Christmas music?” Harry asks suddenly, snapping Y/N out of her thoughts and turns to look at him. He’s taking off his jacket, revealing a white shirt underneath with a bumble bee and some blue writing around it, paired with his purple trousers and a pair of white socks on his feet after slipping out of his shoes too. Y/N loves his simple yet not basic style.

“No, no,” Y/N assures him, finally unbuttoning her blazer now and taking off the mittens and beanie she had worn in the cold. She stuffs them into the blazer pocket and slips out of it. “I love Christmas music so much, honestly maybe a little too much, Mark hates it,” she admits. 

A shiver falls over her body as she realizes then she’s simply in the rather thin bodysuit that also dipped very low in the front. Y/N doesn’t look at Harry as she feels her nipples harder from the coolness of his apartment, embarrassed as she didn’t prepare for her attire after going out. Harry suddenly lifts up a hand, his pointer finger up as if to say ‘one second’, then he’s walking down the hallways and returns not even a minute later with a black sweater in hand. 

“It’s clean, just washed today, I promise,” Harry tells her, holding out one of his favourite jumpers for her. He had been given a few merchandising pieces from the label over the years and this plain black jumper that read ‘Columbia’ on the front in white has been in his possession for a couple years now. In his opinion, it was very comfortable due to how much he’s worn it.

“Thank you,” Y/N says softly while taking it from him. 

She puts it on and is immediately warmer. Her hands cover completely because of how long the sleeves are and it falls down past her bum too, due to the large size. She looks good, Harry thinks as he takes in her wearing his clothing. Y/N smiles and turns to grab things from the Target bags they had just brought in. 

“Okay, let’s begin with the tree then,” she says excitedly, trying to clap her hands together but just ends up smacking the sleeves of Harry’s hoodie together.

It’s just as Harry imagined it. The soft lights from the Christmas tree glow over the shadows of Y/N’s face as she wraps the red tinsel around the base of it before passing it to Harry in order for him to reach the taller portion of the tree. She dances when Jingle Bell Rock plays on the TV, his jumper swaying around her body because of how big it is on her. They’re both smiling and singing along to the music, jokingly of course. Harry wasn’t about to show her all his little secrets and start belting out White Christmas along with the singers of Wham!

“Can you pass me a couple of the silver balls?” Y/N asks Harry, her eyes on the tree as she put the last red ball ornament she had grabbed onto a branch. Harry raises his eyebrows in a joking manner. 

“The what?” He questions, but still making his way to where the array of different coloured ball ornaments laid on the couch. 

“Like two of the balls,” she says again. Harry laughs, his eyes crinkling up and his dimples fully showing as he does. Y/N furrows her brows, but then gets why he’s laughing. “You’re a child,” she scolds him playfully. 

“I couldn’t help myself,” Harry states, grabbing two of the ornaments she’s asking for and passing them to her. 

“Thank you for the balls, Harry,” she says. They both end up laughing this time, she can’t help it. His laughter is contagious with how his eyes squint up and his dimple somehow deepens, not to mention the little vocal ‘aha’ he does before laughing. It makes Y/N’s stomach ache, not from laughing too, but with the butterflies. Those stupid little butterflies that have made a home inside of her stomach since meeting this kind, handsome, British man. 

Once the tree is done, Y/N beats Harry to ordering them food. They decide on getting sushi, which is something she could never order with Mark since he has this personal vendetta against seafood for some reason. But Mark isn’t on her mind for long. It’s all Harry, all the freaking time. She likes how he beams a winning smile at the delivery guy and thanks him three times in the sixty seconds he’s at his door, and how he barely pays his phone any attention the whole night besides when it chimes with a few texts that he explains is his workmates group chat. Now, she can’t stop watching him chew his food; how his jaw flexes with each bite and how his eyebrows furrow when he can’t get the chopsticks to grab the California roll he wanted. Why do I find him eating so attractive? Y/N shakes her head slightly and forces herself to look back at the TV that’s playing the Sugar Rush show on Netflix that Harry was texting her about earlier. 

Harry collects their take out containers after a few moments to ensure that Y/N is done, asking her just to be sure she doesn’t want the two pieces that are left over. She thanks him, but says no, and he manages to grab all five containers in one trip to the kitchen. His mom most definitely raised him well, Y/N thinks as she lays back on his couch and watches the TV show. It suddenly hits Y/N, his brows pulling together as she pushes herself to sit up and turns her body to look behind her through the open concept to look at Harry. 

“Are you going home for Christmas?” She asks him. Y/N assumed home was England, besides obvious factors, but she remembers him telling her about driving in London once. Harry brushes his hands on a tea towel that's hanging off his stove before turning to walk back into the living room. 

“Um, no, not this year,” Harry says. 

“Oh, do you typically go home and visit your family? You mentioned your mom and sister had decorated this place though, do they live here?” She throws the other questions his way as he walks around the couch and sits in his spot again. 

“They all live in England, yeah,” he nods, “my mom, my step dad, older sister and her boyfriend all flew out here with me to help me settle in the few years back when I got my job. But I do usually go home for holidays, or just casually during the summer. Earlier this year I had to make an unexpected trip,” Harry pauses and clears his throat as he looks away from Y/N as he feels that familiar pain in his chest, “my step dad passed away. So it just took a bit of money out of my account, I decided not to fork out the money for expensive flights during the holidays.”

Hearing that Harry had lost his step dad recently torn Y/N’s heart in two. She frowns, taking a deep breath before reaching over and placing a hand over Harry’s that rested folded in his lap. Harry looks at where their skin touched, it felt like his hands were vibrating under her touch. She swipes her thumb over his knuckles, the touch so soft like a feather just barely skimming over his skin. Harry has to stop himself from flipping his hand over slowly and intertwining their fingers together. She has a boyfriend, she’s just being a good person and comforting a friend. 

“I’m very sorry to hear about your step dad, Harry,” she soft and gentle voice, rubbing the pad of her thumb over his knuckle again as she watches him inhale deeply through his nose. 

Harry clears his throat of the threatening tears and shakes his head slightly, a piece of his hair falling onto his forehead as he does. He takes one of his hands and lays it over Y/N’s, giving it a few pats. Tonight had been good

and fun, and he didn’t want to go ruining the mood with his tears. So, he lifts his head and looks at Y/N, finding her somber eyes staring at him already. He forces a smile, licking his lips before clearing his throat again. 

“Thank you,” he says, “I don’t want to make this good night all emotional now, so yeah, the short answer is I’m not leaving the city for the holidays this year. I do have a trip planned in March to see my mum for mothers day though,” Harry explains, rubbing Y/N’s hand that’s between his. 

Y/N mirrors his smile, although it’s not as full as usual, a bit sad still as she thinks about what Harry and his family must’ve gone through this year - and that his mother won’t see her son her first Christmas without her husband to top it all off. Maybe she could buy his flights? But no, no she couldn’t, she thinks sadly. They sit there like that for another moment, her hand between his much larger once, and they stare at each other. Finally, Y/N lets out a sigh and tries to get out of her head before she ends up crying. Harry lets go of her hand slowly, and she brings both hands to her face to brush back her hair. Harry does the same to get the strand of hair that had fallen on his forehead back into place. 

“Well I’m glad you can go see your mom for mothers day, at least,” Y/N says, looking at the positive. Harry nods and then leans back, throwing an arm over the back of the couch to stretch out.

“Yeah, me too,” he agrees, “she’s already telling me all about the plans she’s made for my trip and talks my ear right off as if it’s happening tomorrow.” Harry tells Y/N with a chuckle.

Hearing his little laugh brings a real smile to her face this time. “I’m sure she’s counting the days till you fly in,” Y/N says. She is starting to feel a little tired as she lays back on the couch, laying her legs out on the chaise. Harry watches as she pulls the sleeves of his jumper back down, she had rolled them up while eating so they didn’t get in the way, but he likes the sweater paw look on her as she snuggles into the couch. 

“Do you spend Christmas at home still?” Harry asks her, keeping his voice soft as he realizes it’s gotten late and both their eyelids are getting heavy. 

“My parents have something on Christmas Eve, sometimes I spend the night, other times I make my way home,” she exclaims vaguely. 

Y/N doesn’t love her times at home anymore; she finds her parents ‘I’m too rich for anything' attitude to be tiresome. As she grew up into her own person, she realized the privilege she had with the wealth she grew up with. She started to see how pointless some parties her mother threw, and how little she would have to try to just coast through life. Y/N didn’t want to grow up like every other bratty kid on the Upper East Side, so she moved out right after graduation, got into fashion school, focused on herself, and earned her own money - all while learning of how to use her privilege for good, like donating her time and money to good causes. Something her parents only did to look good within their social circle. 

So, going back home for over the top holiday parties, getting gifted a new car every year, and seeing her parents throw their money at whatever, really only bothered her more than anything. Y/N would simply stop in for Christmas Eve, enjoy a few hours with family and then go home to her own world again. 

A yawn slips past Y/N’s mouth as she’s deep in thought, which then makes Harry yawn as the both of them bring their hands to cover their mouth and then letting out soft laughter afterwards. Y/N sits up and stretches both arms above her head. “I guess I should head home,” she says before standing up slowly. 

“Yeah, you’ve got a long way to go,” Harry jokes. 

“Oh yeah, it’ll take me ages,” Y/N adds onto the joke with a smile. “Thank you for having me over, I really enjoyed it,” she says. 

Harry nods, “well thank you for helping me with all this,” he says, motioning to the decorating they had done. They both glance around the room then at their work. The red and silver decor matched Harry’s aesthetic perfectly, just as Y/N thought it would. 

“We didn’t watch Polar Express,” Y/N realizes suddenly, pouting. 

“Next time, Y/N,” Harry chuckles. She huffs and lets out a sigh, muttering a quiet ‘fine’ before making her way towards his front door. Harry follows behind her, planning to lock the door and listen till she gets into her own apartment before getting ready for bed. 

“Should I text you when I’m home safe? It’s just so far away,” Y/N continues to joke around, causing Harry to smile as he watches her grab her blazer and slip into her shoes. 

“You never know, Mr Matthers across the hall could intercept you on the way home and kidnap you. I wouldn’t sleep till I got that text knowing you got home safely,” Harry says, half joking. Cause you never know with Mr Matthers, he thinks. Y/N laughs and hugs her blazer to her stomach while standing beside the door, reaching for the handle but keeping her gaze on him.

“Mr Matthers is harmless,” Y/N says. 

“He’s obsessed with you,” Harry counters back. Y/N just rolls her eyes and unlocks the door before swinging it open. 

“Goodnight Harry,” she says sweetly. 

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Harry says back with a smile. She mirrors his smile and then walks off into the hallway. Harry watches the door shut behind her and walks over to lock it before turning off the few lights in the living room and entryway. As he is turning off his TV his phone buzzes with an incoming text. 

Made it home safely and in bed! Sweet dreams read Y/N’s text sent seconds ago. Harry breathes out a chuckle as he walks down the hallway to his bathroom to begin his nightly routine. As he turns on the light for his bathroom he types back a response. Cheeky.. Sweet dreams Y/N. He turns off the screen before he stands there and waits for her to reply with anything, his heart would even flutter over an emoji.

He was so far gone for this girl, he couldn’t stop himself from falling any longer - but it had felt inevitable from the moment his eyes had met hers in the elevator.  

>> part three <<

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