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#this is your brain and this is the day after doom. this is her washing the EEG conductive gel out of your hair in the restaurant bathroom

zeestarfishalien · 6 months

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Oops, John Constantine Found Family

[Day 1 dpxdc week 2023; John Constantine // Found Family // Oops]

• John Constantine/Box Ghost/Lunch Lady

John curses the Infinite King the first time he’s asked out to dinner.

It’s ridiculous, the parents of the little ghost child are loud and obnoxious and…definitely not endearing in the slightest. He’s sure he’ll be sick of the word “beware” before the end of the night.

But it is and he’s not.

He agrees to another dinner, more to prove to himself that this would never come anywhere close to working. He doesn’t get nice things and these two are just so…ridiculous and it’s so different from how his entire life has been, one nitty-gritty moment after the next; dooming his soul for power and favors.

But they aren’t turned off by his life or his rude demeanor. They like him and they show it. Against all odds, they just work.

And to think it all started with the end of the world…

~•~

John hates when he’s the last call, the hail mary pass, for the end of the world. Most of the better options for solving problems take time to put together, which is something few on the Justice League seem to understand and even fewer (read: None) seem to remember when a big threat comes about.

Since it’s potentially the end of the world, what’s one more time selling his soul going to hurt?

Possibly a lot this time. The King of Restless Dead holds sway over those that fall in the in between. They are historically stronger than most demons and spirits and on par with most deities. And since it is a title one by conquest most of the time the one to take over the throne is more powerful than the previous holders.

Now John really isn’t all that keen on joining the King’s legions but like he’s mentioned previously, end of the world and all that.

It’s a fitting enough end for him, he thinks and he hopes that his planned contract doesn’t have any loopholes for the King to take advantage of. Loosing the King of Restless Dead, King of the Infinite, King of the space between worlds, upon Earth for them to wreck havoc would probably cause Batman to revive John just so he can kill him again.

So it’s with a heavy heart and skyrocketing blood pressure that John starts chanting the words to bring the King of Ghosts to Earth, this Earth here and now. He’s got to be specific. Every single word matters…

…

John doesn’t know what he was expecting. A terror of the night? A horrific figure or possibly some sort of Eldritch entity that nearly melts his brain with its very presence?

Not a teenager that’s for fucking certain.

He’s not…he’s not certain what exactly he’s seeing as a funky little girl with blue skin and pigtails hikes herself up to peek over the teen’s shoulder.

He opens his mouth, probably to spit out some snarky comment or another but something in the teen’s eyes stops him. Then the overwhelming power hits him with the full force of a speeding freight train.

His lungs are too tight, too full. He can’t breathe, he can’t even twitch a bloody muscle under those glowing toxic waste eyes. The teen tilts his head, assessing John, weighing his tattered and bloody soul.

“What do you want, Laughing Magician?”

And that’s a fucking title. The King has his fucking title in hand with just a glance at him. The teen is all seriousness despite the little girl floating up to rest her upper body on his head like being The King just means he’s a glorified babysitter. She’s unaffected by the roiling waves of power washing off of him and crashing into John repeatedly.

He swallows and chokes on it because his throat is suddenly too dry. He coughs a few times before sinking into a bow.

“Oh King of Restless Dead and all those trapped in between death and life, I came seeking your aid to save this world and its inhabitants.” He doesn’t dare look up no matter how crawly his skin feels or how the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Ohhhh. Oh yeah, I was keeping an eye on that but then Boxy asked me to babysit the tyke here. It’s that bad already?”

John has to fight every cell in his body not to look up at the King and give him a taste of the incredulous look on his face.

“We’ve lost several heroes already and countless civilians. Superman is stuck in recovery after an attack, he can’t be out there. Wonder Woman has a broken leg and Batman is no-“

“Okay, okay I get it.” He interrupts, “It’s bad. I’m on it. I just need one thing in return.”

“My soul?”

“Ewww no.” John finally does look up at that just to catch the genuine disguston the teen’s face. “I need you to watch little Boxy junior here while I take care of this. She’s too young for the battlefield.”

“But I’m not qualified to take ca-“

“Thanks!” The King plops the little ghost girl on John and she grabs onto him while he’s too shocked to respond. It’s a good thing she’s a ghost and can fly since it takes him entirely too long to wrap his arms securely around her.

She’s studying him furiously and seems to find him suitable since she eventually grins and introduces herself.

“I’m Box Lunch. Who are you?”

“John,” he answers and that’s all he planned to give her but she stared him down with her beady little red eyes, waiting. “John Constantine and as His Majesty said, I’m also sometimes called the Laughing Magician.”

“Ohhh, so you have lots of names like Danny does.”

“Danny?”

She sends him a flat look.

“You’re kinda slow aren’t you.” When he doesn’t respond she lets out a big sigh, something she definitely doesn’t actually need. “You call him King and use one of his titles but you don’t know who he is?”

Now that’s an answer. And an alarming one at that. Just how high in the ghostly courts are her parents that she can casually call the King by name?

“I uh…” he fumbles a moment for words. “News and info about your world doesn’t cross the veil to here very well.”

“Oh…” She says it like she didn’t realize that. “Oh yeah, that’s Danny’s world. I’ve never actually been to a living realm that wasn’t Danny’s.”

“Not even when you were alive? Or were you from His Majesty’s world?”

She levels that unimpressed look at him again before sighing the worlds biggest sigh. Highly entertaining coming from someone so young and so small.

“Come sit with me.” She floats to the floor and snags his hand to drag him down too. “I will teach you Silly Magician.”

He follows, not sure how to tell her no thanks without upsetting her, so he goes along with it.

~•~

By the time that The King in all his teenager glory popped back in, John and Box Lunch were snuggled into a nearby couch with John reading to her from a spell book (it’s the only thing he had on hand and he made sure to only read the kid safe parts to her).

And the rest is, as they say, history.

More accurately the continuation of John’s very very strange life but details, details.

#cursed casket offerings ship #magic lunch box ship #dpxdc #dcxdp #dpxdc week 2023 #rarepair #polyamory #polycule

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doetic · 3 months

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There's Doodles of Rams in the Margins - Enemies to lovers!Jschlatt x F!Reader (pt.2)

Masterlist

Plot: Anxiety threatens to ruin Y/n's morning after the disaster of the night she had before. Despite this she pushes on, but her hopes of having a good day is ruined when she finds Schlatt's usual asshole self in her kitchen. Warnings: asshole schlatt, swearing, reader eats eggs. Word Count: 2048

A/n: Shorter than I'd like it to be, but it just felt like a good place to end it. Again, no beta. If there's an error that's just me being all wack in a cool literary way like hemingway

The next morning began significantly better than the night before it. You woke up well rested, your soreness washed away into a dull ache that only made itself known if you stretched your body too hard. For the duration of your morning routine, you didn’t find yourself thinking much about the party at all. In a way, it was as if the sun had washed away what had occurred last night. Every time your brain dredged it up, you reasoned with yourself that it wasn’t as if you’d see much of Schlatt again anyways, so there wasn’t much point of dwelling on the matter.

Regardless of your good mood, however, you delayed opening your phone, feeling a pit in your stomach every time you thought of waking up the black sleeping screen to see if anything had gotten out about the incident. Though, from the lack of notifications coming from the device, you felt a little optimistic of Ted’s pull within the group of people that were there to witness it. You distracted yourself from the device by getting dressed, not yet wanting to discard your fairly good mood by giving into the temptation to unlock your phone. Even the sight of it sent a jolt of anxiety through your body. Instead, you opted to occupy your thoughts by getting dressed. You needed to go out and grab toothpaste anyways, and you’ve spent far too much money on clothes – as an immigrant to the U.S, you found yourself falling victim to the enticingly luxurious L.A lifestyle quite often – to go out in just athleisure.

The smell of eggs wafting from the kitchen had you instantly on guard. Shae made you eggs usually as a way to butter you up before breaking something big. When Shae would serve you a plate, she would often wait for you to get about halfway into the dish before breaking whatever news she had stored in her mouth to you with an apologetic wince, as if each forkful you lifted to your mouth were seconds counting down on a clock.

You hoped it was nothing too bad, today was the day you were to sift through the new roommates Shae had found to replace her. She was the reason you moved to L.A, to live with your lifelong pen-pal best friend, and thought it unfair that her moving in with Ted would uproot your newly settled life unless she found someone to cover her half of the rent. The Ted part was a surprise to you when she brought up the matter at lunch yesterday – you had thought she was just always over at a hookup’s place rather than a man she was intending to get serious with – but otherwise the day had been both anxiously and excitingly looming over you. You knew Shae wouldn’t do you wrong, certainly you’d become fast friends with the new addition to the apartment, something you looked forward to with your current counter of friends in the area adding up to a whopping one.

You tried not to let the feeling of impending doom that prickled at your every nerve bring you down from the good mood you woke up in – a good mood that seemed increasingly fragile as the day carried on. You intended to move into the open kitchen and living room space with a sense of purpose, though you felt sure your tentative curiosity was evident in your gait.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Your words escaped your mouth faster than your eyes could process the sight before them. Seated at your kitchen island, with a haggard, hungover expression, was Schlatt. Beside him was Ted, who paused his conversation with his friend to look back and forth between you and Shae – her anxious form positioned at the stove with a guilty smile – with worry.

The sight before you was like ice water being poured upon your warm, happy body. Although you were not physically shaking, the anger that vibrated within your form was akin to violent shivering.

“Quiet down toots, m’head hurts,” There was the nickname again, emerging from his throat like a groan. If he were less infuriating, perhaps, it would have made your heart skip a beat. However the attractive man’s attitude far outweighed his appearance.

“I…made eggs?” Shae gave you a nervous grin.

You narrowed your eyes at the group and ignored the only open seat at the island beside Schlatt, opting to walk over and lean against the side of the island countertop.

“Ted, why do you look like a kid in trouble?” His guilty eyes darted away from your face. From his expression, it seemed as if pressing for an answer from him would be faster than waiting for Shae’s likely roundabout explanation. “What’s going on?”

Ted opened his mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by Schlatt, whose eyes squinted in pain at the sight of the window behind you. “I’m your new roomie, surprise.” His voice was harsh towards you, but turned more polite as he addressed Shae. “Can I have some more eggs, please?”

“Shae don’t you dare give him my apology eggs,” You narrowed your eyes. She instead plated the eggs that were in the pan and slid them, along with a fork, across the counter your way. “Is he being for real?”

Shae waited in tense silence for half of the egg to be eaten – as was custom, although with the small size of the egg and your morning hunger it took less time than usual – before she replied.

“I planned it before you two met, and it's too late to change it up now. Finding someone decent this late wouldn’t be easy, if possible,” She explained. Although she seemed like she didn’t care too much about the matter, it was apparent to you, having known her for so long, that she wasn’t too enthused about the situation either and was putting on a polite facade around Schlatt.

“I’m right here,” Schlatt spoke up. “Like I’m currently in the room as you speak about me.”

“Oh don’t worry, Schlatt. I’m all too aware of your presence,” You verbally jabbed at him in between forkfuls.

He let out a sardonic laugh, “Obsessive much?”

You conjured up a daydream of diving across the table and shaking Schlatt violently.

Ted – who had seemed like little more than Shae’s ornamentally passive malewife in every prior interaction involving Schlatt’s douchebaggery – interrupted your thoughts and for once spoke up before a glare from his girlfriend was sent his way. His face was painted with a sense of confusion and annoyance at his friend's behaviour. Was Schlatt not usually this stuck up? You felt even more annoyed at the notion that he was just this prideful around you specifically, you hadn’t done anything to him!

“Shut up, man. Let’s get a head start on moving Shae’s boxes,” Ted’s words seemed to shock Schlatt a bit, and you had to respect Ted a bit for it – although you believed you’d always dislike and distrust him as the boyfriend of your best friend. With Ted’s words, Schlatt got up and headed to Shae’s room, leaving you and your friend alone. At least he had put his dishes in the sink before leaving.

“What’s his fucking deal?” Once the two were confidently out of earshot, you plopped down in the empty seat you had refused to sit in before with a groan.

“I don’t know,” Shae leaned against the island with her elbows. “He’s always been pretty nice to me and everyone else I’ve seen him with,” A sigh deflated her body slightly. “That’s why I thought he’d be a good roommate… well that and his income. I knew with his wealth he’d easily be able to afford rent. The only reason he doesn’t have a house is because it’s a hassle to go through the process of owning.”

“Is he some bigshot youtuber like Ted?” You finished the last of your eggs.

“Bigger, four million.”

You snorted, recalling his attitude and miserable appearance around you. “Those four million people must be fucking miserable.”

“I’m not too happy about this either Y/n. The way he treats you is so fucked, especially last night. Ted took care of that by the way, he’s got a lot of friends. You shouldn’t see it posted.”

“Ted’s still on thin ice,” Shae shot you an incredulous look. “Hey! I care about you, I just met the man! I can’t trust him too quickly. But anyways, thank him for me.”

Shae gave you a satisfied smile before getting back to the topic. “Don’t worry Y/n, it won’t be too long. Just until Schlatt gets his shit together and can get a place to live in Texas again. He’s been going through some housing issues, he needs this place. He shouldn’t be too bothersome.”

You snorted. “I think we’re far past that point.”

“Ted thinks Schlatt’s just embarrassed by how drunk he was. He’s prideful and doesn’t really like being wrong, or in the wrong. Maybe he’s got too much pride to apologise and is just doubling down? That doesn’t make it okay, regardless.”

“That's such a man thing to do. I see this all the time when people write to me. Why are men such…” You searched for the word before crying out in exasperation. “...men!”

“It all boils down to the patriarchy,” Shae shrugged. “That's why I like my boyfriends like Ted, whipped.”

“Eww! TMI!” You teased, intentionally taking her words in the wrong way to mess with her.

“Not like that! You know what I meant!” Shae squealed and hit you with the dishtowel light-heartedly. You caught it and stood up laughing, collecting your dishes in your free hand and heading to the sink. She stopped you, taking the items from you. “No, you had a shit morning. I’ll do it. Besides, I saw you talking with some guy last night. Take the time I’m saving you to text him and tell me about it after.”

You weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Okay, thank you Shae.” You relented. “But I’m taking you out for goodbye drinks tonight as a thank you when I do!” You smiled, heading down the hallway, not letting her protest the implications that you'd be paying.

You knew eavesdropping was bad, but with your room right beside Shae’s in the hallway, you preferred the phrase ‘overhearing while loitering’ to describe how you stopped in your tracks in front of your door at the sound of Schlatt and Ted’s voices. “Be nice man, she means a lot to Shae and Shae means a lot to me,” Ted scolded his friend. “But not too nice, like not falling in love nice. That doesn't usually work out with roommates.”

You hated how you were coming to know Schlatt so well that your brain autofilled in the quiet chuckle you were sure he let out at Ted's words. “She’s alright looking, but not hot enough to tempt me.”

You had to hold back the offended gasp that intruded uncomfortably in your throat.

“She was hot enough to attract Hasan–”

“Hasan’s a–!” You didn’t hear the rest of Schlatt’s thoughts, angrily retreating into your room. What an asshole, how much more stuck up could he be! It wasn’t as if you wanted his attention, but the frank way he stated it had you fuming at the impoliteness of it all. You had done nothing to this man, and yet he was rude to you for what? His damn pride? Well he could certainly take his damn pride and shove it–!

You flopped onto your bed and muffled your angry yell with your pillow. It took a few moments for you to calm down your rage filled body before you rolled over onto your back and pulled out your phone that had been confirmed safe, creating a new text to the contact saved under Hasan. The lingering sting of Schlatt’s words was something you wanted to get over, and a meeting with the attractive man who seemed to be into you sounded perfect right now. Your fingers quickly tapped on the phone keyboard, desperate for a distraction.

[Y/n]: Hey Hasan, It’s Y/n from last night!

Tags: @ghostyoongs

#jschlatt #schlatt #jschlatt x reader #schlatt x reader #jschlatt fanfic

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mrs-snape5984 · 2 months

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“Dancing with tears in my eyes, weeping for the memory of a life gone by…”

“It's time and we're in each other's arms. It's time, but I don't think we really care…” (“Dancing with tears in my eyes” by Ultravox)

After reading my following lines, I decided to put a trigger warning on this post. I used this platform to vent out my frustration and despair. Those of you wonderful readers, who get triggered by mentions of hopelessness and subtle hints of suicidal thoughts, should better skip the next seven paragraphs. Thank you for your understanding!

Lying in the darkness of my room…forced by this cruel disease ME/CFS to live a restrained life in a body and mind, which makes me feel as if I’m an animal, trapped in captivity…I often show tendencies to dream myself away…drowning in my fantasies of Severus Snape.

With him by my side, I can do the things, which my diseased body and my disoriented mind are refusing to allow me experiencing them anymore. Things, which I’m desperately yearning for, since this sickness has clawed me into her tight grip about 1,5 years ago.

I want to leave my darkness so badly that it hurts. The longing for a self-destined life in freedom becomes unbearable for me to endure. My only piece of liberty left is my habit of sitting on the balcony outside of my bedroom at nighttime, enjoying the silence of the world and a fresh breeze on my face without getting overstimulated by noises, motions and lights.

In times, when even this tiniest bit of peace isn’t possible for me to enjoy anymore…when another crash is suppressing me even further…forcing me to stay in bed for days or weeks, my soul seems to absorb the darkness around me. I’m getting tired of this life…tired of myself…tired of being doomed to uselessness.

I mean, what’s left of my former self? My professional career as a pedagogue, working as a social worker for the government office for youth welfare seems to be a fading memory in my mind. Now I have to ask my mother for help with each bureaucratic application form, because my retarded brain refuses to understand these things anymore. For someone, who has always been proud of their intellect and education, this is a real low blow. Also, I’m a person, who’s really bad at asking for help. The thought of being dependent on others has always been one of my biggest nightmares…and now I can’t even do the smallest tasks on my own!

My three amazing children were used to have an active, funny mother, who guided them through this confusing world….who showed them the beauty of life in its fullest. And now, they’re witnessing their mother lying in her bed surrounded by darkness day in, day out! Sure, I’m still trying to be there for them in my minimalistic possibilities…but it isn’t the same as they’ve always known it to be. You can’t imagine, how guilty I’m feeling for being so useless…for not being the mother, my kids would deserve to have!

In order to escape these thoughts of hopelessness and to forbid myself to drown in despair, searching for ideas of exiting this world, I rather keep clinging on Severus…like I’ve done it over the past 21 years.

I’ve commissioned my friend @opalchalice to make my fantasy of Severus and my (self-inserted as fuck) OC Julia, dancing in the rain…letting their sorrows be washed off from the pouring raindrops…come to life through her beautiful art. I asked her to draw this moment of peace for Sevy and Jules…a moment of joy before the world around them would fall apart.

Lia, you did an incredible job with this artwork! There’s nothing, that I don’t love about it. Please, take my apologies for writing such a pathetically whiny post beneath your lovely drawing. I know, it should have deserved better. But rest assured, my friend, your art always gifts me some light and comfort for my troubled heart and soul and I enjoy every conversation with you! Thank you for everything!

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

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bmodiwrites · 1 year

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Be My Little Baby

Hi friends! I'm here with a small little ficlet that's been stuck in my brain since I heard the song Be My Baby on American Dad. Its broken my writers block so here's hoping it's the start to more things to come. I'll probably do a second part so comment if you want to be on the tag list. Check out a snippet of Be My Little Baby down below - then check out the rest on AO3!

“Tonight’s the night!”

Steve couldn’t stop the grin manifesting on his face – Robin’s words were like music washing over him, radiating throughout his head in the best of ways. Despite being eager and overly excited by their prospect all day, Steve waited until he walked through his apartment door to truly experience the anticipation. The thought of finally going out on date with Eddie already proved to be too much of a distraction; actually allowing himself to acknowledge its occurrence in just a couple of feeble hours would’ve been his doom.

The time at Family Video already moved glacially – looking forward to something always slowed the time suck of his shift down even further.

Home now, Steve allowed the palpable giddiness to finally wash over him. He tossed his keys onto the small table right by the front door, not evening excitement breaking his routine. They landed with a satisfying rattle right where he always left them. Rolling off of that minor, yet fulfilling success, Steve shouldered out of his vest with a sigh before joining Robin on the couch.

As she turned towards him, eyes like pinpricks, Steve took in the rest of his surroundings. The musky scent of weed hit his nostrils, making the smile on his face spread a little wider. “Looks like you’re in for a wild Friday night yourself,” Steve said while reaching out to grab the small glass bowl sitting in Robin’s hands. Her glossy eyes widened for a moment, Steve’s joke settling in.

“I am right where I want to be for the rest of the evening. I even brought out the good Chinese menus.” Her long arm shot out to point at the stack of paper flyers sitting on the coffee table. Like she said, their favorite place’s offerings sat on top.

“Besides, I didn’t want to do anything too crazy. If you need emotional support or whatever, I want to be readily available.” The smirk she sent his way meant Steve wouldn’t have a moments peace until he gave her all the details… the second he walked back through the door.

Though, after months of listening to him pining, Steve figured Robin earned the right to a little dirt hot off the press.

“You’re just too nosy for your own good. Tonight’s going to be great. If I’m extra lucky, I won’t make it back to suffer your questioning until tomorrow morning.” Waggling his eyebrows, Steve flicked the lighter he picked up off the couch cushion to ignite the freshly ground green just waiting to be smoked. The satisfying rush of heat hitting the back of his throat had Steve closing his eyes, really savoring the burning drag. Despite his projected confidence, nerves were bubbling away under Steve’s skin – the immediate head swim of a recognizable high was the perfect medicine.

There was some idle chit chat as they passed the bowl back and forth every now and then the following few minutes. Robin was high enough to expose a handful of new details about her quickly escalating crush on their neighbor two doors down, pulling Steve’s mind away from Eddie and their night together perfectly. His best friends drama always sucked him in.

Check out the rest on AO3!

I'm tagging some peeps I know always enjoy the work! Let me know if you want added/removed for part two: (@writer-in-theory, @thefreakandthehair, @infinite-orangepeel)

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #bobbie writes #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steddie ao3 #steddie fanfic #be my little baby

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theviridianbunny · 1 year

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Top 5 video games!

AAH WASH HIIII!! thank you for the ask!!

ok these are in no particual order! not sure how coherently I can word but I will try my best!! this will be a long post- so you can find it under the cut!!! I have a lot to say about my fave viddy games (and i am not sorry~) but I am sorry for spelling errors- my brain can not keep up with my thoughts and i want to get everything down and everything goes to mush :////

METAL GEAR SOLID 2 (2001)

long before cp2077 was the main source of brainrot- metal gear solid was the main source. I picked up mgs as a series when I was at university in my second year and then would not stop talking about it to my friends (one of which played the games when they came out!!).

the art of yoji shinkawa (see his work below) becoming a source of inspo to my drawing / painting practice (it may not look like it at times -but- it's there- a lot of my old worl had very paintily lines- using a ink brush in procreate ect! maybe i will post some old art one day )

(...there was also a point where I was doing weird perfomance art where I just stuck a cardboard box on my head and called it a day- hrrng.,.. just a box?!) oh.. how i miss being a student <3

BUT ANYWAY!!! MGS2 is my fave in the series- this is due to the character design- the character design altered my brain chemisty in the best way-- the art design- colours/mood- the greens the blues- also the soundtrack- ugh it's so good. (i also had/still have the biggest crush on solid snake- husband time... also olga gurlukovich.. my dear wife ugh she she her)

OH MY GOD WAIT- WAIT- another thing about mgs 2 and it's character design- THEY GAVE OLGA BODY HAIR- yes, i know thats quite a random thing to say, but, I feel like for the time the game being released- it was progressive(?) like- in games even today- most women are like - super models ? idk how to word but- it was so empowering to see Olga like that- she is an icon and i feel empowered when i see her! <3

2. MASS EFFECT 3 (2012)

The mass effect trilogy is a series thats so close to my heart- I picked the games up during the tranistion period between covid lockdowns and coming out of lockdown.graduating from uni- finding a job- screaming to the void- yknow- adulting- no more being a art student-UGH !!

a friend of mine from uni gave me the og ps3 box set at christmas 2020 (because i only had a ps3 at the time)... for me to play over christmas between term one and term two of my final year of uni... gaming got me thru a lot of hard times then-... actually skipped me1 because it was clunky and made me want to cry- went straight to me2 (after reading all the lore of me1) and then went into me3 blind.. god i was not ready - cried my heart out so much

Mass effect 3 is my fave in the trilogy because of the characters! also like with mgs 2- the soudtrack! also also! being able to create shepard to look how I wanted her to look- YES VERY GOOD-VERY NICE! I loved playing the whole trilogy- but ME3 has a place in my heart for real. - the build up to it- the feeling of impending doom - trying to get all your squad to trust shep- the citadel dlc!!! aaAHHHHH LOVE <33

EDI is my best girl- my best girl indeed!!! I see a lot of myself in her. How she grows and evolves over time0 how she learns and understands her worth. She brings me a lot of endless joy.

I got to play the full trilogy when it came out as a remastered bundle. The trilogy got me through a rough few months- I had got me first "real job" and it was a hard few months- but coming home and playing mass effect brought me joy ! I do need to do a re run of the trilogy for the purposes of vp and gif making- I do miss my beloved Zachary Shepard! (some screenshots of her below! on the left- me1 vs me3!! she grows- evolves- cuts her hair and gets ready to kick reaper ass!!)

fun fact: I have two mass effect art books! one of the books being a book that was only released with a game guide which came out in 2007.. the other being a big chunky book with SOOOO MUCH STUFF IN IT EE... both of which i paid for with money from my first "real job" (which i only lasted three months in- but dhdhdd it's ok-)

3. DRAGON AGE INQUISITION (2014)

DAI was THE GAME that got me into gaming/ made me realise I was a gamer. I picked up the game around the same time I picked up the mass effect trilogy- maybe a bit later.. was playing on the ps3 (and it ran like it was running on a toaster or a pottato) it froze every 20 mins and none of the character models looked any good... but i loved it still- yes I couldn't play any of the dlc at the time but it did not matter- i was having the time of my life.

In 2021 I got a pc built so I could finish parts of my degree from home (bc covid and having to stay home for my health)... my pc was powerful enough to run DAI so... yknow- I got it on pc and MY GOD- I COULD RUN IT PROPERLY AND PLAY THE DLCS !!!!! the joy of running the desent for the first time, jaws of hakkon and then big boi trespasser UGH MY HEART EXPLODED !! oh my god- playing the decent for the first time and hearing david hayters voice- i YELLED SO LOUDLY- (it was like my beloved snake was back fejhdhjdhjd) playing that dlc for the first time also felt so right- so natural- my canon inquisitor, wren having connections to dwarven heritage through her father

DAI was my first adult fandom- im not actively a part of the fandom anymore- but I met some really lovely people through it (psst @virginiabackroads and @elfishtales i am looking at you <3 ) I recently got back into Dragon age by making an AU for my best girl, Viridian (... in this au she is called Viri lavellan.. or just viri!) (psst @fereldanwench im still foreveer greatful you pointed me in the right direction for modding the game!!)

4. FALLOUT 4 (2015)

now.. this is a game I have yet to finish- but- I am having SO much fun !! The post nucelar setting is interesting- i'm still trying to learn the game mechanics- but it's exciting and cosy (even if i do scream when a feral ghoul comes out of nowhere and bites me!)

100% loving nick valentine- ugh I wish he were romancable... he has so much charm, like an actor in the golden age of cinema <3 I don't have a lot more to say about fallout 4, but this game is bringing me a lot of joy!! looking forward to more adventures and more modding soon!

5. CYBERPUNK 2077 (2020)

y'all knew this was coming >:) cp2077 my beloved!!!!!! yes, the game may still be broken and glitchy and there are so many things the game could do better in areas- BUT STILL- the joy this game has given me- the friends i've made though posting about the game-- everyone is so lovely!!

the oc's ive created (...viridian and rasmus- i am looking at you both) Viridian brings me confidence- (...rammbled about that here).. THE BLORBOS I'VE GOTTEN (JACKIE WELLES MY BABEEEEEEEEEEEE) - !!

ugh buying cp2077 was one of the best things I did in 2022! also being brave and choosing to posting cp2077 vp on here last october/november was another best choice I did in 2022.

the words are going but- oh goodness this game and the world building- the soudtrack- the level of detail!!! cp2077 as a game changed my brain chemisty in ways- but in the good way. opening my eyes to the world of virtual photography- video game modding. it got me back into writing as well <3 Thank you all for all the love and support within the fandom space- I feel like im home <3

#bunny screams into the void #wanderingaldecaldo #metal gear solid #mgs #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #mass effect #fallout #cp2077 #cyberpunk 2077 #bunny writes stuff #asks

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just-come-baek · 3 years

Text

bet on it

Pairing: Na Jaemin x female!reader

Word count: 21.2k

Summary: One day, Jaemin stops by with a strange request. Any other person would just laugh in his face and refuse in a second. Unfortunately, I, being the dumbass I am, agree to it. Soon enough, everything gets out of hand, causing much more drama than we could ever predict.

Or in other words, Jaemin shouldn’t bet on things he knows he can’t win.

A/N it’s an instalment for love letters event hosted by neosmutcollective, I hope you enjoy my jaemin entry as well as other entries written by my friends from the network, check out the event tags too, and yeah, happy valentine's day! 😏 💖

***

“What?” I yelled, almost spitting my tea. No, I must’ve heard him wrong. Jaemin wouldn’t be stupid enough to do that. It had to be a joke. Or I must’ve imagined him say that. “You don’t mean that,” I added, still in shock, trying to comprehend what just happened.

“Come on, Noona,” Jaemin whined, staring right into my eyes, wishing for me to say yes to his ridiculous proposal. “I wouldn’t suggest that if I knew we couldn’t pull through.”

With a sigh, I shook my head. Jaemin’s proposition was absurd, and I couldn’t believe I was about to ask him again to walk me through it.

Damn me and my curiosity.

“Before I make my mind about this… tell me what the fuck led you guys to make that stupid bet. Then, and only then, I will still say no, but in good faith,” I demanded, smiling at Jaemin, knowing I wouldn’t make it easy for him to convince me. The odds weren’t in his favor, and he really had to put in lots of effort if he really wanted me on board.

“So we were chilling after practice, and then Haechan started to tease me that I have no game anymore,” Jaemin started, and I rolled my eyes. Of course, I should’ve figured it out. A man in his age apparently is a failure unless he has a different girl in his bed at least 3 nights a week, moaning his name at the top of her voice. Even though Jaemin doesn’t have a competitive nature, it still provoked him into agreeing to this absurd bet.

Life must be though with an ego so fragile…

Jaemin isn’t a fuckboy, yet he still has a fair share of love conquests. Though I had no idea whether it was true or not, he must have fallen a little behind the others – otherwise, they wouldn’t tease him about it.

“And then I said his mother must’ve dropped him on the head if he really thinks that,” Jaemin carried on. I nodded my head, trying to wrap my head around this preposterous situation. “Then, I said I could seduce any girl I want,” he added proudly, making me want to flicker his forehead, hoping it would knock some sense into that empty skull at the top of his neck.

“Okay, but how the hell did you end up with having to seduce me? This is the part I have the most trouble understanding,” I pointed out, cocking my eyebrow.

“Then, Chenle suggested we bet on it, and I agreed to it,” Jaemin whispered, looking away, sounding both regretful and shy. “I urged them to pick any girl, so Haechan looked around to choose my next conquest. It was the time when you and Ten were walking to the dance studio, and that bastard suggested you.”

So it was Haechan’s doing – I should’ve figured this one out. He was the only one wicked enough to possibly ruin somebody’s friendship because of a stupid bet.

Or, it was quite genius of him – maybe he figured Jaemin would not cross this line, choosing our friendship over winning this imbecilic bet.

“And you were confident you can woo me? What about our friendship? Does it mean anything to you?” I inquired, curious of what was going inside his head when he agreed to this half-witted bet. Did he seriously think we could have sex and then forget all about it?

“It’s not like that! I don’t want to woo you. I mean… I could, and you would be very much aware if I tried to hit on you, and you would fall for me. No doubts on that,” Jaemin spoke confidently, grinning like an idiot with ego blown way out of proportion. “But–“

Jaemin was about to say something dense, so before more bullshit managed to leave his mouth, I hit him with a cutting board. Jaemin whined, but I was sure he was exaggerating for comedy purposes. My hit was calculated and balanced – it was powerful enough for him to understand it wasn’t a good idea, but at the same, it was not going to cause any permanent damage to his brain. I’d never purposefully do that to him.

“We’re not having sex. Get that shit inside your head,” I interjected, pouring my herbal tea down my throat, already thinking about making another cup. This conversation was making me uncomfortable, and I wanted to put an end to it. Perhaps another lemon balm tea would calm my nerves.

Ignoring his penetrating gaze, I shuffled around the kitchen, setting the kettle on the stove. In the meantime, Jaemin walked around the kitchen island and grabbed me by my shoulders, looking straight into my eyes.

“Come on, Noona, I am not asking you to sleep with me,” Jaemin defended his case, quite determined to pull me on his side.

“Well… it looks exactly like you’re asking me to sleep with you,” I cut in, walking around him to the cabinet to get a fresh tea bag. I’ve really had enough of this bullshit.

“We could just make it look like like we did,” he carried on, and I heaved a deep sigh, regretting even letting him in today. I had this extremely boring essay to write, and at this point, I’d rather begin my research on whatever topic my professor assigned.

“It’s still a no from me, sorry,” I replied harshly, crashing Jaemin’s expectations. Judging by the look on his face, it wasn’t the outcome he anticipated when he decided to knock on my doors. “What happens when you lose that bet? Well… except for your pride, of course.”

“500 dollars.”

“Ouch, sowwy, I hope you can afford that,” I added with a fake smile, patting him on the shoulder, being well aware this amount of money was a game-changer to Jaemin’s budget. If he won, he would have the time of his life, spoiling himself. However, if he lost, he’d have to eat instant ramen on every meal for the entire month. “Either way, I hope it will teach you a lesson to not bet on things you know you can’t win.”

“Ugh, fine,” Jaemin groaned in disappointment, reaching for my hands, holding them carefully as if they were made of china. “If you help me, I’ll give you half of the money,” he proposed, and I looked at our hands linked together, then quickly shifted my gaze to his eyes. “If you help me win, you’ll get 250 dollars, and you’ll be finally able to buy those fancy shoes you wanted so bad. What do you say?”

When did he get so persuasive?

It was a low blow.

Jaemin knew that these shoes were tempting me ever since I had seen them. Multiple times, my thumb hovered over the add-to-cart button. Every time, I resisted the temptation last minute upon seeing the price tag, though. This purchase was way out of my budget. However, now, when the new income opportunity presented itself, it made me wonder.

Suddenly, the kettle began to whistle, bringing me down to Earth from that ridiculous train of thought. Shaking my head, I tore my hands out of Jaemin’s gentle grasp, fidgeting back to the stove, pouring boiling water into the cup.

“Okay, fine, but I have a few questions first,” I gave up after a short pause for intense pondering, and Jaemin smiled brightly in instant gratitude and relief. Without my help, he would be doomed. “And then, if I like the answers, I have a few conditions.”

“Anything.”

“Okay, so first of all, how much time do we have to do the deed,” I inquired as I blew some air before taking a cautious sip.

“About two weeks,” Jaemin mentioned after a while as he had counted on his fingers how many days we have to team up and win five hundred dollars for us. “Officially, we have to do it before Jaehyun’s birthday party,” he specified, and I hummed, realizing it is very little time.

“You seriously think I am that easy? Outrageous,” I gasped, throwing a fake tantrum as I made my way around him to sit down on the barstool on the other side of the kitchen island.

“No, of course not,” Jaemin quickly realized what I was getting on, so he smiled sheepishly, already trying to figure out the best wording to calm me down. “I am just that good,” he added, and I leaned over to smack his shoulder. “Kidding,” he defended himself, stepping out of my reach. “Renjun proposed this party, I mean, it’s the easiest way they can verify we did it,” Jaemin carried on, and I cursed under my breath.

How convenient.

“But we’re not going to do the fucking,” I stated, as a matter of fact, repeating myself in order to make sure we were both on the same page. As much as it would be pleasant to actually do it with him, never under these circumstances.

“No, we’re not, but I guess we can sneak out upstairs to one of the unoccupied rooms, and once we make sure they’re listening, you can just shout how good I’m fucking you,” Jaemin reasoned, and I sighed as regret once again washed through me.

“That’s creepy,” I commented as my mind conjured an image of a group of peeping Toms, eavesdropping on our sex session. Once again, I felt the temptation to drop out of this deal, but then, another thought crossed my mind. “Ugh, fine, I’ll do it. All I have to do is shout for two minutes, and then, these cute shoes will be mine.”

“Two minutes? Are you insane?” Jaemin hollered, offended by my comment. “It happened once, and it was ages ago. I’ve learned plenty of tricks since then,” he blabbered, acting way too defensive for his past mishap. “Just let me live in peace, please.”

“Okay, so we have established the deadline, and although it’s not enough time for anyone to woo me, let’s go with it.”

“Thank you! I knew I could count on you,” Jaemin replied with gleeful enthusiasm as he sat down on the barstool beside me and pressed a chaste kiss against my knuckles.

“But you have to go overboard with the courting,” I added, making Jaemin groan. Hard work wasn’t his best suit, but this time, he really had to try his best, or I’d have to turn him down at Jaehyun’s party. “You really have to make it believable and super romantic. Otherwise, I’m out,” I clarified, and Jaemin nodded, though unwillingly.

“Fine, any other wishes in mind?”

“Once we win the bet, we have to end this whole fake-dating fiasco immediately,” I announced, already planning ahead. It was easy to win the bet, but the most difficult part was getting back to normal. If we planned to fake-date in order to fake-fuck, then it was reasonable to figure out how we’re going to fake-break up.

“We should agree on admitting it was the best sex of our lives, but despite that, we value our friendship even more, so we decided to remain friends. How does it sound?” Jaemin suggested, and I had to once again resist the temptation to roll my eyes.

“I agree with the overall message, but later, we have to work on proper delivery.”

***

On the very next day, Jaemin and I decided to implement our secret plan.

Since I specifically asked to be courted in an over-the-top manner, Jaemin suggested going to the cinema. There were no attention-grabbing titles screened, yet ultimately, we agreed on watching the very last projection of the sequel to Wonder Woman.

“Go get the snacks, I’ll buy the tickets,” I ordered once we stepped into the cinema area of the nearest shopping mall. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, so the establishment wasn’t crowded. Except for us, there was only a family of three slowly making their way to the exit.

“See you in five minutes,” Jaemin murmured before he walked off to the bar to get us some salty popcorn and soda drinks. Though we both considered them way overpriced, it was a perfect way to celebrate the beginning of our fake relationship.

“We still have some time until the movie starts,” Jaemin shyly whispered as he cleared his throat. “Let’s take some selfies to make it public,” he added, and I nodded, sending him a timid smile, knowing this protocol had to be done in order to properly keep up appearances.

These days, everything had to be posted on social media, or it didn’t exist. If we didn’t leave a single digital mark, people might’ve grown a little bit suspicious of our alleged rendezvous. It would probably shock our friends, but it had to be done if we wanted to really sell it to them.

The circumstances were perfect for an impromptu first-date photo shoot. We were able to snap a few pictures without any annoying looks of prying eyes, choose the best angles, and finally post it with an ambiguous description confusing the shit out our friends.

Though Jaemin took about fifty photos, ultimately, I allowed him to upload three.

One picture showed me standing back to the camera as I looked at the cinema schedule, trying to pick a movie. I was wearing an A-line crimson red dress and a pair of warm black tights – the outfit really made my figure look pretty slim.

“What do you think about this one?” Jaemin inquired, showing me the photo of our interlaced hands. With a hum, I inspected the picture, giving him the green light. It was appropriate for our first date – it would signify we weren’t at the cinema as friends.

“This one looks good enough,” I commented as I reached to swipe across the screen of his smartphone. “I look cute here,” I added, showing Jaemin a picture of us. We were smiling, staring at the camera, almost stuffing our faces into the bucket of popcorn.

“What kind of description should I write?”

“Something vague, I guess,” I answered with a shrug, having no clue what kind of comment would be fitting for this Instagram post. “Maybe stick to emojis,” I suggested, and Jaemin went back to work, adjusting filters and typing the description.

With a chuckle, Jaemin handed me his phone, letting me approve his commentary.

“Are you out of your mind?” I hollered, quickly deleting the emojis. Having smacked his shoulder, I turned around, blocking him from seeing the screen. Three blushed emojis suited our fake-date better than a popcorn bucket, a wine glass, and an eggplant.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” Jaemin apologized, still laughing at his incredibly funny joke.

“Here, I posted it,” I said with an eye roll, throwing his phone at his lap. “The commercials must’ve started; let’s go,” I rose from my seat and extended my arm, wanting Jaemin to hand me the cup of coke. Jaemin, however, completely misunderstood my intentions, putting his hand into mine, holding it gently. “Give me my drink, Jaemin.”

“Sorry,” Jaemin sheepishly smiled before he yanked back his hand and turned his head around, too embarrassed to look at me. I, on the other hand, laughed hysterically. That should’ve served him right after that emoji faux pas.

“I was kidding,” I admitted when my laughter died down. “Come on, Jaemin. Let’s go; I want to see the trailers,” I added before grabbing his hand, hauling him inside the screening room.

At the last row, we plopped down onto our double seat, getting comfortable for the movie. With our belongings thrown onto the neighboring seat, we stretched our limbs before the lights went out, providing us with the best viewing experience.

“Do you think they’ve seen it?” Jaemin whispered into my ear as he placed his head on my shoulders. “I want to check it, but at the same time, I don’t.”

“Mood,” I replied, feeling just as anxious.

The movie began, and we quickly forgot about our bold social media statement, focusing much more on the screening. Residing to our typical behavior, Jaemin placed his head on my shoulder, snuggling closer, taking full advantage of the bucket of popcorn, which rested on my thighs.

It was peaceful and comfortable – just as things were before Jaemin had come up with his brilliant idea to fake-date each other for the sake of that ludicrous bet. Though we acted the way we used to with each other, it felt somewhat different with that supposed romantic connotations haunting us. Not necessarily bad kind of different, though.

Just as we expected, two hours was more than enough for our friends to spam our individual inboxes. We both had dozens of messages from group chats, as well as private ones. All of them were asking and/or speculating what happened and why.

“I don’t feel like answering any of these,” I muttered, dreading to read what Ten and Jiwoo wrote on our roomies’ group chat. “I don’t feel like coming home, either. They’re gonna eat me alive with questions. I am not ready to face them yet. Wanna hang out some more?”

“Fuck, even my mom has seen them,” Jaemin cursed under his breath, completely forgetting about his mother being a mad keen Instagram user. Now, when he looked at our arrangement from a slightly different angle, Jaemin realized it brought way more consequences than he was planning on facing.

It was bad.

Really bad.

With shaky hands, I unlocked my phone, checking the Instagram post Jaemin had tagged me in. Not only our friends flooded the group chats, but also, they didn’t forget to embarrass us even further in the comment section.

lucas_xx444: what the heck??? 😧 is this for real???

yuu_taa_1026: finally!!1 maybe they stop simping for each other now 🤡

_jeongjaehyun: another man down, shame 😔

choi.jiwoo21: 🙄🙄 some men actually grow up, jeong…

mama_nana: Why am I only finding about this now?

“Well… fuck,” I murmured under my breath, still unable to process the fact that Jaemin’s mom knew about it. It was supposed to be a harmless charade; however, with each passing minute, it was getting out of hand. “What is the damage control procedure?” I asked in concern, biting the bottom lip nervously. Lying to our friends was pretty bad, but keeping this relationship thingy up in front of his mother was despicable.

“You know how she is,” Jaemin started, and I sighed, wishing I had no clue of what she was capable of. Unfortunately, I did, and it scared the hell out of me. “Either we go and visit her, or she’s coming to visit us,” he wondered, unable to choose which option was worse. “Fuck, she’s calling me. What do I do?”

With panic flashed in his eyes, Jaemin handed me his phone, expecting me to handle the conversation with his gossip-girl type of a mother. As if that would ever happen…

“Pick up and tell her we’re awfully busy or something,” I ordered him, gliding my finger across the screen, pressing the device against Jaemin’s ear.

“Hi, mom,” he spoke through gritted teeth, staring at me in absolute fury. Quickly, his hand cupped mine before he grabbed the phone, adjusting it.

By Jaemin’s mom’s standards, the conversation was brief. Or rather, her monologue was because Jaemin didn’t speak a single word through the entirety of it. Except for a couple of mmm’s thrown here and there, he didn’t engage at all.

Ideally, Jaemin would schedule the visit after we will have broken up. He’d go there by himself and tell her a story of us coming back to our senses and deciding to remain just friends. Unfortunately, that would require at least one functional brain cell and a pinch of assertiveness – both of which Jaemin seemed to lack.

“And?” I inquired, praying to hear some good news.

With a sheepish smile, Jaemin cautiously looked up at me. “We’re visiting her for dinner on Friday,” he announced, and I gripped my hands, trying to refrain myself from beating the shit out of him.

I didn’t sign up for any of this!

I just wanted some shoes.

“I hate you, Na Jaemin,” I angrily declared, storming out of the cinema, ready to indulge myself with plenty of greasy food. It wasn’t the best coping mechanism, but I needed to consume a ridiculous amount of calories in order to forget I was stupid enough to agree to participate in this travesty. “Are you coming or not?!”

***

The last thing I wanted was to face my roommates. They must’ve had dozens of questions about this out-of-the-blue date, and I was dreadful because I couldn’t provide them with genuine answers. Perhaps, I could try to confabulate my way out of this, but it was, nonetheless, risky.

Having eaten at least two servings of a delicious greasy meal Jaemin and I went for a stroll under the pretense of taking some more photos for future references.

Around 8 o’clock, I unwillingly made my way home. Even with that romantic aura lurking around us, it was still fun to hang out with Jaemin.

Walking up the stairs to the fourth floor, I wondered about possible solutions to my problem. In a perfect scenario, I’d sneak into my room without anyone noticing, so I wouldn’t have to deal with any prying questions until, at least, early morning.

Unfortunately, the moment I pulled out my keys, the doors swung wide open.

“Well, well, well…” Ten tsked with a mischievous smirk dancing across his gorgeous face. Asshole. How dare he tsk me? “Had fun on your date?” He asked, and I tried my best to ignore him. It wasn’t that easy, though. With Jiwoo backing up his teasing, I was outnumbered.

“So… you and Jaemin, huh?” Jiwoo mused, cocking up her eyebrow in curiosity. “Spill the tea. I didn’t spam your inbox to not hear all the details,” she added, and I rolled my eyes, regretting all of my poor life choices that led me to this moment.

“I’ll bring wine,” Ten hollered before he disappeared in the kitchen, also keen on knowing everything that had happened between us. “Don’t say anything until I get there!”

They wanted to hear a romantic story of how two friends realized they had hots for each other, and that’s exactly what I did. Unwillingly, I provided them with an incredible piece of fiction of how we felt the spark when Jaemin stopped by the other day.

Admittedly, it was easy to go with the flow once the wine molecules were coursing through my veins. With some liquid inspiration in my bloodstream, I narrated how adorable Jaemin had been when he had gathered enough courage to ask me out on a date.

“So I assume you’re bringing Jaemin to the cabin on the weekend,” Jiwoo inquired in a teasing manner, and I blinked in confusion. What cabin was she talking about? “You forgot, didn’t you?”

“Forgot about what?” I asked, still clueless about the whole ordeal. With a confused frown, I wondered what this cabin trip was about. Positively, I didn’t forget about it. It’s impossible to forget about plans you weren’t even invited to.

So, Jiwoo explained everything in great detail.

Apparently, Jaehyun and Johnny planned a weekend getaway to the cabin by the sea. They invited plenty of people, but since it’s the middle of a hectic period of exams, only a small percentage of invitees would be able to make it.

Jaehyun, Johnny, and Lucas gave up trying to get the best grades two semesters ago, so their schedule was pretty much open. Renjun, Chenle, and Yeri were nerds with every necessary book memorized by heart, so they didn’t have to cram the weekend before the tests. Jiwoo, being heads over heels in love with Jaehyun, would even cancel her manicure appointment to make it to that trip. She was that serious about this fratboy for some reason…

And now, two individuals needed a perfect excuse to ditch an uncomfortable family dinner. When a chance presented itself in front of me, I just couldn’t say no.

“I’m going. I don’t know about Jaemin, though. He’s meeting his mom on Friday, but maybe he can make it work.”

“Fantastic,” Jiwoo shouted in excitement before finishing her glass of wine.

“Now, when I think about it, I am glad I’ve taken an extra shift at the gym,” Ten chimed in with a playful smirk as he sipped his wine. “You two simping for each other was painful to watch, but now, when you’re hitting it off, it’s gonna be unbearable.”

“What do you mean simping?” I yelled in a threatening manner, ready to fight him for spitting nonsense so carelessly. I might’ve had a tiny crush on Jaemin, but I wouldn’t call it simping. Also, suggesting the simping was mutual? He must’ve lost his freaking mind. Ridiculous!

“Shit, I didn’t think this through,” Jiwoo mentioned, now probably re-considering if the trip is worthwhile. She would love to hang out with Jaehyun and finally make a move, but on the other hand, she would have to deal with my and Jaemin’s romantic shenanigans.

“Why are you such drama queens? We’ve been on one date, for crying out loud! Stop acting like we’re some kind of overly touchy couple because we’re not,” I barked, having no more energy to argue with them. “We’ll keep PDA to a minimum, don’t worry.”

“No need to get so defensive,” Ten added, enjoying my misery a bit too much.

“I am not getting defensive,” I argued, though facing real trouble, unable to actually back up my perspective. “Anyway, I am going to sleep. Unlike the two of you, some people have real jobs,” I added before storming to my room, plopping onto my bed with a tired groan.

Having changed into my pajamas and sneaked under the covers, I finally dared to connect my phone to the Internet. My inbox was full of texts, so I read them all. I didn’t feel like replying to any of them, though. Instead, I opened my chat with Jaemin.

my love 💖 | 20:41 | I figured it out

my love 💖 | 20:41 | You don’t have to thank me

my love 💖 | 20:41 | Also

my love 💖 | 20:41 | Wtf Jaemin?

my love 💖 | 20:41 | What kind of name is that???

my love 💖 | 20:42 | Change it back

baNANA 🍓 | 20:43 | No. 😘

baNANA 🍓 | 20:43 | The name stays

baNANA 🍓 | 20:43 | You can’t make me 😝😝

baNANA 🍓 | 20:44 | And what don’t I have to thank you for?

my love 💖 | 20:44 | I might’ve found alternative plans for friday

baNANA 🍓 | 20:44 | Oh???

my love 💖 | 20:45 | Jiwoo invited us to the cabin for the weekend

my love 💖 | 20:45 | We’re gonna get so drunk!

my love 💖 | 20:45 | It’s okay if you can’t make it, tho

baNANA 🍓 | 20:45 | Wow

baNANA 🍓 | 20:45 | I have an exam on Monday…

baNANA 🍓 | 20:45 | But I can make Haechan give me his notes

baNANA 🍓 | 20:46 | I wouldn’t miss it

my love 💖 | 20:46 | Good, then it’s a date

baNANA 🍓 | 20:46 | Date??? 🥰🥰

my love 💖 | 20:46 | Stop being so cringy!

baNANA 🍓 | 20:46 | Good night, love~~ 😘

baNANA 🍓 | 20:46 | Dream of me 😇😇😇

my love 💖 | 20:46 | Ugh.

my love 💖 | 20:46 | Disgusting 🤢🤮

baNANA 🍓 | 20:46 | I love you, too

***

As brilliant as my plan was, it fell through. Only partially, though. The little getaway was still a thing, but unfortunately, regardless of how much we tried, we couldn’t reschedule the dinner at Jaemin’s family home.

We still had to pay his parents a visit, but, at least, there was a silver lining.

Thanks to our hectic schedule, Jaemin’s mom wouldn’t have a chance to force us to stay longer. Whether she wanted to feed us dessert or stay the night, it was out of the question.

Since Jiwoo had one more exam to pass on Friday, half of the guests would have to show up later in the evening. Johnny, Jaehyun, Lucas, and Renjun were about to take off around noon while Jiwoo, Yeri, Chenle, Jaemin, and I had to carpool later in the evening.

I didn’t complain, though.

“It’ll be fine. It’s just my mom,” Jaemin reassured me, slipping his hand into mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I bet it’s gonna be like any other time you stopped by,” he added, and I cocked up my eyebrow suspiciously.

“You better be right,” I spoke, though still unconvinced. I knew Jaemin’s mother. She had a tendency to be, hmm…, a little bit extra. Who knew how she would behave now when she found out we were dating?

Since Jaemin was carrying our suitcases, I knocked on the front doors. Jaemin’s mom rushed to let us in, but not before she gave us bone-crushing hugs.

“I think you’ve misunderstood. I invited you for dinner. I didn’t ask you to move in with me,” Mrs. Na jested upon seeing the suitcases in Jaemin’s hands, misinterpreting the situation in the funniest way possible. “It must be shocking, but I enjoy living alone with your father.”

“We’re going to the beach with some friends after the dinner,” Jaemin clarified, and his mother hummed in understanding, acting a bit too cool about it. It’s been a while since Jaemin paid them a proper visit, and she was a little too nonchalant for my liking. “They’re going to pick us up around seven.”

She must’ve done something or was about to do something.

“Here’s some wine,” I spoke up, handing her the bottle as a small thank you gift for inviting us over for a delicious home-made meal.

“Thank you, dear. You’re so thoughtful,” Mrs. Na accepted the beverage, guiding us to the dining area. “I didn’t feel like cooking today, so I ordered some Chinese takeout. I hope you don’t mind,” she added, and I chuckled at her typical antics.

She was an amazing mother to Jaemin, raising him well, but she really was a terrible housewife. She didn’t change one bit, and I loved her for it. She had so much love for her husband, her son, and her son’s friends, and that’s what really mattered.

“Your father will be home in thirty,” she announced before she made a beeline to the kitchen to get a bottle opener. “And the takeout was supposed to arrive twenty minutes ago. If it weren’t for that slow delivery guy, I would’ve got away with my little secret,” she blabbered, laughing awkwardly.

“It’s okay, really,” I reassured her, sending her a genuine smile. “I am craving Chinese food, anyway,” I added before I elbowed Jaemin, so he would say something, too. For a blabbermouth he was, right now, he seemed awfully quiet.

Before Jaemin managed to provide his mother with a proper response, someone knocked on the doors. Since we had already arrived, it must’ve been the delivery guy with food.

“I’ll go get it,” Jaemin excused himself, leaving me alone with his mother.

“So…,” Mrs. Na cleared her throat as he began pouring wine into fancy glasses. “You guys are finally dating. And if you want me to be completely honest, I am a little bit disappointed,” she made a pause to look at me in the eye. What? She didn’t approve of me? That’s surprising; I used to think she adored me. “I am a little bit disappointed either of you didn’t make a move sooner. I was slowly losing hope,” she added, and I sighed in relief.

For a while, I was seriously concerned she didn’t like me.

“Are you expecting any guests? There’s no way we can finish it all by the four of us,” Jaemin commented as he walked into the dining room, setting two plastic bags of takeout. It smelled heavenly, and I couldn’t wait to taste whatever dish Mrs. Na had ordered.

“I can always invite your friends inside when they pull up,” she spoke matter-of-factly, but as soon as Jaemin looked at her sternly, she seconded that idea. “Or, I can pack it up, so you can share it with your friends later.”

“Should we wait for dad?” Jaemin asked when his stomach growled, demanding food. In the morning, he was quite anxious about going to his parents’ house, so he didn’t even bother to eat. Now, Jaemin was starving. He couldn’t wait any longer.

“I’ll get the plates,” his mom spoke, not really answering his question. Within two minutes, she came back with a special set of tableware. In their household, it was used only for holidays and other rare occasions. “Dig in,” she urged us, waiting for us to fill our plates before doing the same herself.

Whatever restaurant provided today’s dinner, it was remarkable. It wasn’t too salty, nor too spicy. Even when I was full, I still stuffed my mouth some more, unable to stop myself.

“You have sauce on your chin,” Jaemin remarked, pointing at his own chin, helping me locate the stray drop of soy sauce. “Here,” he added with a tired shake of his head, wiping it clean with his napkin.

“You two are too adorable,” Mrs. Na cooed, smiling at us widely. “It was worth the wait,” she added, and I creased my forehead in confusion. “Oh, did you hear that? It must be your dad,” Mrs. Na said upon hearing noise from the garage. “You keep eating, I’ll go greet his workaholic ass,” she excused herself with a playful smile before walking away from the table to welcome her husband as any loving wife would.

With a deep sigh, Jaemin leaned toward me, resting his arm on my chair.

“It’s not that bad, actually. I was excepting to go through some kind of FBI-level of interrogation, but she seems kind of chill about this whole thing,” Jaemin whispered into my ear, and I giggled, agreeing with him. It was kind of suspicious, but I couldn’t complain.

“It’s kinda creepy when she’s talking like she’s been rooting for us to end up together, but this one thing aside, it’s bearable,” I replied, and Jaemin nodded his head.

“I am gone for a minute, and you’re all over each other,” Mrs. Na snickered when she returned to the dining room, seeing Jaemin leaned in, only inches apart from my face. “Jaemin, mama’s so proud,” she added before she walked around the room to set the plate for Mr. Na.

“Stop embarrassing me,” Jaemin whined, playing with the food on his plate, pouting. Though his mother pretty much ignored his childish tantrum, I chuckled, finding it absolutely adorable. Maybe she was a teaser, but little Jaemin knew, he inherited it from her. It was time he experienced the taste of his own medicine.

The apple doesn’t fall that far from the tree…

The rest of the afternoon went peaceful. Though Mrs. Na threw in some cheesy remarks here and there, we could handle it. We were slightly buzzed, after all.

“It’s time for us,” Jaemin announced as he heard a car parked in front of the house. “It was nice. We should totally do it again,” he sarcastically added when he reached for my coat and helped me put it on.

“Don’t have too much fun,” she added with a playful smirk upon her face, earning a judging look from her more conservative husband. “No, wait, I second that. Have as much fun as you want. I am a cool parent,” she spoke, changing her mind in a matter of seconds. “And I plan on becoming a cool grandparent.”

At first, I wanted to remind her that we’re too young for children. Besides, technically, we only went on one date. It was definitely too soon to even think about these things, let alone talk about them out loud.

Thankfully, before I managed to say something I’d regret, Jiwoo honked, urging us to get going. If it wasn’t for her impatience, I might’ve ruined the image I had built for myself in Jaemin’s parents’ eyes.

“Your mother was joking! Always use protection,” Mr. Na hollered before he closed the doors after us.

***

Except for a few playful comments shot toward Jaemin and me, the ride was peaceful. As soon as we threw our suitcases into the trunk and squeezed in on the backseat, we hit the road. Jamming to Jiwoo’s playlist, we chatted in excitement, all of us in desperate need of a little vacation. It was a stressful time of a year, but maybe this short trip would actually help us recharge the batteries and calm down after busting our asses off.

“How was the dinner?” Jiwoo asked, staring at us in the rearview mirror. Since there was a limited amount of space, I was almost sitting on Jaemin’s laps. Jiwoo didn’t miss it with her eagle eyes. The way Jaemin played with my fingers didn’t go unnoticed, either.

“Bearable,” I muttered under my breath, not really wanting to recollect these memories now. I’d probably tell Jiwoo everything later, and she understood the subliminal message in a heartbeat. “How was your test?”

“I probably failed, but, at least, now I know what to expect,” Jiwoo answered as she turned to the left as the navigation system instructed her to.

In about two hours, we arrived at our destination.

Having stepped into the cabin with our heavy luggage in our hands, we encountered the middle of the party. A handful of beer bottles were scattered around the living area, the boys fervently discussing some matter.

“You’re finally here,” Jaehyun spoke matter-of-factly, as he noticed us in the threshold. “Go upstairs and leave your stuff in your rooms. We’ve already assigned them; just read the post-it notes stuck to the doors,” he explained before he turned away.

Huh, apparently, they were pros at planning.

The guys rented a cabin that consisted of six tiny bedrooms. Generally, we wouldn’t have a problem assigning them; however, since Jaehyun, Lucas, and Johnny didn’t want to room with anyone, we were facing a dilemma. They guys wanted to have some privacy if they managed to pick someone up at the hotel in the neighborhood. In this case, the six of us had to share rooms. Jiwoo and Yeri could room together. Renjun and Chenle could occupy another one, so it looked like they put Jaemin and me in the last one.

Thankfully, it wouldn’t be the first time when I had to share a bed with Jaemin. He had stayed the night plenty of times before when he dozed off during our Netflix marathons. However, it still was to be a little bit awkward since everybody thought we began dating. We were going to pull through, though.

As soon as possible, we came back downstairs, ready to even the score of consumed alcohol. All of us needed it. Everybody had a different reason for it, but none of our troubles were to be discussed tonight.

In the fridge, there was a whole palette of different types of alcohol. Quickly, I grabbed two tequila-flavored beers, handing one to Jaemin, allowing others to choose their poison.

My plan for tonight was to test every kind of alcohol, gradually going up with the percentages. It was a bad idea, but that’s what college was about – having fun like there’re no consequences.

We partied like there’s no tomorrow.

At first, we kept it simple. Fervent conversations led us to shout at one another, trying to force one perspective over the others. We were going through so many subjects that any sober bystander might’ve had real trouble comprehending how we managed to switch among them.

Then, someone suggested playing a drinking game. Of course, it had to be never have I ever. Everybody had so much fun, especially when the participants yelled at Jaemin and me because we didn’t even bother to abide by the rules. We were sipping our drinks whenever we felt like it, even between rounds, and it didn’t sit right with the rest. Eventually, they kicked us out of their little circle, giving us the crucial task of bringing some snacks from the kitchen.

Sometime past midnight, Jiwoo proposed going outside. It was beautifully snowing, but at the same time, it was freezing. Though I was opposed to this idea, everybody seemed to love it. The guys were throwing snowballs at each other, bringing out their inner child.

As if this wasn’t enough, they decided to take a stroll to the seaside. Though our cabin was maybe a mile away from the seashore, I didn’t particularly fancy the saunter. Jaemin was by my side, offering to warm my hand in his pocket, but I still was on the verge of freezing my ass off. I’d much rather sit by the fireplace under a few blankets with a mug of the mulled wine in my grasp. Apparently, everybody besides me was really intrigued by an ice bath and other winter extreme sports.

Though it was dangerous as fuck, Jiwoo took off her shoes and rolled up her jeans before she walked into the ice water of the sea. Being the dumbass he was, Lucas instantly followed suit.

“They seem to hit it off tonight,” I nonchalantly whispered as I elbowed Jaehyun. Jiwoo and Jaehyun might have a thing going on, but neither of them acted on it. Jiwoo was too whipped to make a move, too afraid of rejection. Jaehyun, on the other hand, was just a fuckboy, not really looking for a relationship. “Look at them. Don’t they look cute?” I carried on, cautiously watching Jaehyun’s expression. They weren’t together, but he seemed slightly jealous and frustrated watching her have lots of fun with Lucas.

In my opinion, he didn’t deserve her, but I didn’t really have a say in that matter. Jaehyun was the person Jiwoo’s heart longed for, and I, being her best friend, had to support that. Or, in this case, I had to give him a little push to get things in motion.

Jaehyun had some feelings for Jiwoo, but he needed some time and character development to fully comprehend them. Until then, it was my duty to remind him what he’s missing out on by not being serious enough to ask her out.

“Nah, I wouldn’t call them cute,” Jaehyun murmured through gritted teeth, positively jealous. “What they’re doing is dangerous; somebody has to stop them,” he added before he kicked off his own shoes, running toward Jiwoo to pick her up and bring her back to the shore.

“What was that?” Jaemin asked, being shook as to what he had witnessed.

“What was what? What do you mean?” I smirked, winking at him, hoping he wouldn’t tell anyone about it. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You played him,” Jaemin spoke, still impressed by how easily I manipulated Jaehyun into stepping into the scene, pulling Jiwoo away from Lucas. “Is this even legal? You’ve never done this one me, have you?”

“No, of course, not! Don’t be ridiculous,” I answered, though my tone suggested a completely different message. “You would’ve known, wouldn’t you?” I teased, chuckling at Jaemin’s funny expression. He was mortified. “I think you’re overreacting. I just pointed out some facts, and Jaehyun reacted to them according to his emotional opinion. I really didn’t do anything,” I added, defending my case.

“Don’t you ever try pulling a trick like that on me, okay?” Jaemin stated, and I nodded, giving him a promise. “I mean… I wouldn’t fall for it, but still, don’t.”

“We should head back to the cabin,” Johnny shouted, gathering the gang. Surprisingly, he seemed the most sober amongst us, so it didn’t come as a shock to me that he tried to look after his hammered friends.

In my opinion, it was a perfect call. I was slowly sobering up, and I definitely needed a refill. With my schedule packed, I had no idea when I would have a chance for another getaway, so I had to make the most out of this one.

As we returned to the cabin, Jaehyun’s eyes didn’t leave Jiwoo.

Jaemin, on the other hand, went upstairs to grab his camera, deciding it was the best time to snap photos. Of course, he had to take pictures of us when we were drunk out of our minds. Why didn’t he take any when we looked decent without smudged make-up?

“Sexy,” Jaemin commented as he pointed his camera at me. “Ahh, sexy,” he kept calling me that, and I stuck my tongue at him, wanting him to go away pester someone else. My hair was a mess, and my lipstick smudged off my lips a long time ago. “So sexy,” he carried on, making me roll my eyes at him. At some point, I tried kicking him, but that bastard was beyond my reach.

Around 2 o’clock, one by one, we began feeling tired.

Lucas was the first one to go. Considering how much alcohol he had drunk, I was surprised he lasted that long. Better yet, it was a shock he could even stand straight. Jaemin and Renjun had to escort him upstairs, but nonetheless, his alcohol tolerance was impressive.

I didn’t even realize when, but Yeri and Chenle managed to fall asleep on the couch. Firmly, Renjun shook them away, ordering them to go to their respective rooms. With tired yawns, they made their way upstairs, falling on their beds face-first.

“Let’s go to sleep,” Jaemin pouted as he sat on the side of the armchair, resting his head on my shoulder. Entwining his hand in mine, he stood up, pulling me up.

“Have fun, guys. We’re calling it a night,” I announced, refraining from yawning.

“No, you have fun,” Jiwoo replied, sending us a wink. Shaking my head, I sighed before we disappeared upstairs. I don’t know what she was thinking; however, I didn’t have the energy to keep my eyes open, let alone other nighttime activities. Besides, Jaemin was just as spent. Even if we were in a real relationship, we wouldn’t engage in half-conscious unsatisfactory messy sex.

“Come here,” Jaemin whispered as he smiled. His eyes were already closed as he patted the mattress beside him, waiting for me to join. “Good job. I think we really sold it to everybody,” he added as he snuggled closer, wrapping his limbs around my body.

“That’s good,” I purred, slowly drifting into dreamland. It was a long day, and it was finally over. Though it had a rough beginning, I ended it in Jaemin’s arms. “Good night.”

“Good night, my love,” Jaemin muttered, resting his head on my pillow right beside my face.

“You were supposed to change that name,” I replied, too drunk or/and too tired to realize it was his spoken words and not a text message.

***

During the second week of our relationship, we grew to be less tense around each other. Better yet, we seemed awfully comfortable, almost as if that’s how everything was meant to be. It was a little bit alarming, but I decided not to point that out. Even if it was just an act, I enjoyed it much more than I’d ever dare to admit. As long as it lasted, I was to savor it.

Ever since we came back from the weekend trip, Jaemin would pop up out of nowhere at least once a day with a surprise for me, proving how over the top he could be in courting a woman.

On Monday, he spammed his social media feed with my pictures from the trip. Of course, he didn’t forget to put a corny description under it, making me flustered. Even though I wouldn’t consider myself photogenic, Jaemin managed to bring out my best features with his photography talent and editing skills.

On Tuesday, Jaemin was waiting outside the auditorium with a cute bouquet of my favorite flowers – white roses. He was there to congratulate me on passing my last exam of the semester. The professor would send us results by the end of the week, but according to Jaemin, there was no chance I’d fail it.

“I still don’t get it how you do it,” Jaemin mused, scratching his temple, trying to put two and two together. “I hardly ever see you study, but then, you panic before an exam only to nail it later on. What kind of black magic is this?” He wondered, and I giggled, unable to explain my poor studying technique. I just winged it last minute every single time in my academic career.

“You better be right about this one,” I replied, still anxious about my grade. I didn’t manage to answer all of the questions, so a passing grade would be a relief. “I’m craving pasta. Do you want t go on a celebratory date?”

“You’re reading my mind,” Jaemin said, grabbing my hand, leading me to our favorite restaurant.

On Wednesday, Jaemin invited me to a bowling alley. Every month he would visit the establishment with his friends. Only on rare occasions, their significant others were invited. None of them could really commit to a serious relationship, so it never became a repetitive custom of their group.

“You guys are disgusting,” Haechan whined after our turn. Jaemin and I were losing by an enormous margin, but we didn’t mind. We were having fun despite a low score. “But at least, we’re winning,” Haechan added, pointing at Chenle and himself.

“I am the winner here,” Jaemin boldly announced, giving my hand a light squeeze, making me almost spit my soda.

Everybody cringed at Jaemin’s bold corny statement.

“I second that,” Haechan mused, looking away from Jaemin. “She’s bearable, and you are just absolutely repulsive,” he corrected himself, and I chuckled. Never in my entire life, I thought I would agree on something with Haechan, but this moment occurred right then.

On Thursday, although my schedule was packed with work, Jaemin insisted on hanging out. Tired out of my mind, I let Jaemin inside the apartment. He was carrying Mexican takeout; I couldn’t send him back home. Not when he had goodies.

“What do you want to watch?” I asked as I handed him the remote, allowing him to choose the movie. I was going to pass out anyway, so he might’ve as well picked something he liked.

“Anything is good,” he answered as he unwrapped his quesadilla, taking a bite off of it.

“The Notebook it is then,” I teased, but since Jaemin didn’t stop me, I put it on.

Having eaten my portion of a delicious meal, I lay down on the couch, resting my head on Jaemin’s thighs. I didn’t even realize when I fell asleep. Only when the credits were rolling down on the screen, Jaemin shook me awake.

“When did you fall asleep?” Jaemin inquired, a little bit mad that I forced him to watch the ultimate romantic movie of the twenty-first century. It was toxic as hell, and the way their behavior got romanticized didn’t sit right with me.

“As soon as I lay down,” I answered honestly, as I rolled around, staring at Jaemin’s handsome face. “How did you like the movie?” I asked innocently, swiftly changing the topic. It was for the better if Jaemin didn’t find out I paid no attention to the film. Instead of a great viewing experience, it was just a mere background noise that lulled me to sleep.

“I didn’t,” Jaemin whined, tapping his foot against the floor, making me sit up instantly. “It was toxic and sad at the same time. Noah was a manipulative jerk, and Allie was moody as fuck. The only bright side of their relationship is that they ended up with each other, not ruining other people’s lives,” Jaemin spoke the truth, and I couldn’t agree more. “In conclusion, give me my 2 hours back,” he added, and I hit him with a cushion.

Unable to comprehend what I just did, Jaemin blinked in confusion. Then, a few seconds later, he smirked and grabbed another cushion, ready to fight back.

Unfortunately, our childish antics were interrupted by Jiwoo. She was hanging out with Yuta, studying for the exam they had to retake the next day. To be completely honest, she couldn’t have any worse timing. While watching a movie was explainable, it wasn’t the case when it came to an impromptu pillow fight.

“Should I come back later, or something?” Jiwoo asked, pointing at the doors, willing to leave if it meant for me to get laid.

“Nah, Jaemin’s leaving. I am trying to kick him out, actually,” I announced, sticking my tongue out.

On Friday, Jaemin and I planned on going to the arcade. Unfortunately, we had to raincheck that. One of Jaemin’s coworkers fell sick, and Jaemin had to take a double shift at the coffee shop in his neighborhood.

I already had canceled my other plans to hang out with Jaemin, so I didn’t really want to stay at home all by myself. It was a Friday night, after all. Surprising him at work seemed like a better idea. His friends liked hanging out there; therefore, it must’ve been an excellent excuse for a little bit of acting in order to keep up appearances.

Quickly, I assembled a cute outfit and put on light make-up.

About an hour before the closing, I entered the coffee shop. Except for a few students with their noses in their computers, the establishment was empty.

“Welcome to–,” Jaemin hollered, ready to welcome the customers. “Oh, it’s you. What are you doing here?” He asked as a wide smile spread across his face, enjoying my surprise.

“I just came to surprise you,” I confessed, though none of us paid enough attention to the gravity of my words. I genuinely wanted to hang out Jaemin him as his girlfriend. “And I also wanted to get some discounted goodies. What do you have left?” I asked, looking over his shoulder, trying to see what food didn’t sell yet. An hour before the closing, everything on the menu was discounted by seventy percent, and I just couldn’t walk past that kind of deal.

“You’re not the only one who came for cheap stuff,” Jaemin commented as he saw Haechan and Renjun on the other side of the doors. “Take a seat, I’ll bring you your favorite,” he added, and I smiled at him, walking to the booth by the window.

Having finished my Greek sandwich, I focused on my cup of tea. I was scrolling through social media feed, giggling whenever I stumbled upon a funny meme. It was a perfect evening; complete relaxation in the rhythm of soft foreign jazz music playing through speakers, Jaemin checking up on me once every a couple of minutes.

“Oh, hi, there,” Haechan hollered as soon as he noticed me. He must’ve been returning to his table from a restroom. “I didn’t realize you’re here. What’s up?” We weren’t close, so his question was more like a polite generic statement rather than genuine curiosity.

“I’m waiting for Jaemin to finish, so we can hang out at my place,” I answered, hoping Haechan would get the suggestive tone.

“Actually, there’s something you should know,” he said quietly, looking around, probably checking if Jaemin was within earshot. “I am so ashamed it happened, but I really have to tell you something,” Haechan added, and I couldn’t wait for him to reveal the secret.

Haechan was playing dirty. He wanted to tell me about the bet, ruining Jaemin’s chance at getting me to sleep with him. It was some top-tier double-crossing, and I found it impressive. I had no clue Haechan had it in him.

“We shouldn’t have done it. I don’t know why we even agreed to this,” Haechan added, scratching the back of his head, trying to sound genuinely regretful. “I think Jaemin’s not genuine about the thing you have going on. You see, we made a bet. He has to have sex with you, or else he owes Chenle 500 bucks.”

“What?!” I exclaimed, hoping my consternation was believable. At first, I felt the temptation to say something along, yeah, I know, what’s new, but then I decided to play along. It was actually a good idea to make it seem like Jaemin’s about to lose the bet. Knowing them, they wouldn’t call it off. If anything, Jaemin could double the stakes. “No, it can’t be true. Jaemin would never –“

Now, it was my cue to make a scene. Hopefully, it would play out exactly like in my impromptu prediction.

Reaching the stage of fake hysteria, I rose from my seat and stormed to Jaemin. He was energetically wiping off the tables, wanting to leave shortly after the last customer.

“Is that true? Did you really make a bet you can have sex with me?” I yelled at him through gritted teeth. Jaemin, on the other hand, was confused as fuck. “Did you really think you could get away with it? You disgust me!” I shouted, slapping his cheek. “Don’t ever call me again,” I added before I turned on my heel, storming out of the coffee shop.

Being the only employee at work, Jaemin couldn’t run after me.

Jaemin deserved an explanation. I had to fill him in on my wonderful plan before he would blow it in front of Renjun and Haechan.

my love 💖 | 20:46 | play along

my love 💖 | 20:46 | trust me

my love 💖 | 20:47 | kick them out pls

baNANA 🍓 | 20:47 | wtf???

baNANA 🍓 | 20:48 | that hurt

baNANA 🍓 | 20:48 | I didn’t have to kick them out

baNANA 🍓 | 20:49 | they ran out a few seconds after you

my love 💖 | 20:49 | good

baNANA 🍓 | 20:49 | what the hell is going on???

baNANA 🍓 | 20:50 | I am confused

my love 💖 | 20:50 | Haechan ‘told’ me about the bet

my love 💖 | 20:50 | he wanted to double cross you

baNANA 🍓 | 20:51 | what???

my love 💖 | 20:51 | so the plan is

my love 💖 | 20:51 | they know you don’t stand a chance

my love 💖 | 20:51 | so you double the stakes

my love 💖 | 20:52 | and then bam! we win double the money

baNANA 🍓 | 20:52 | wow

baNANA 🍓 | 20:52 | you’re a genius

my love 💖 | 20:53 | I know

my love 💖 | 20:53 | and since I’m acting like I’m not talking to you

my love 💖 | 20:53 | bye

my love 💖 | 20:54 | see you @ the party!

***

Everything went according to my plan. The guys thought I was pissed with Jaemin, while Jaemin still tried to convince them he stands a chance to court me. It was kind of ironic, they wanted to play me, but it was them getting played.

Together with Jiwoo and Ten, we came extra early to Jaehyun’s party. Still being stuck in friendzone, Jiwoo went out of her way to help him out. Today it meant setting up all types of decorations all over the fraternity house and preparing different kinds of snacks.

Around seven, an Uber pulled up in front of our building. Not to brag, but despite the limited amount of time, we managed to dress up to the nines.

I decided to keep it simple. My outfit consisted of a pair of skinny high-waisted black jeans, a long-sleeved sequin embellished crop top, and a pair of ankle-high boots.

Jiwoo, on the other hand, was wearing a two-piece baby pink dress and a pair of massive mid-thigh black leather platform combat boots. She looked fierce, like a weird baby of 90’s Britney Spears and Marilyn Mason.

Though Ten’s outfit looked the most effortless, it took him longer than us to put it together. Having thrown every single thing from his closet on the bed, Ten experienced a mild crisis. Even though he looked gorgeous in everything, he didn’t seem to believe us. Only after the off-hand intervention, he agreed to play it cool with a pair of ripped jeans, a black shirt with three top buttons left untouched, and an oversized leather jacket.

Once we arrived at Jaehyun’s fraternity, nothing was ready. Thankfully, it wasn’t my problem. Jiwoo was the one who volunteered to help out. Ten and I were about to vibe in the corner, letting other people arrange the place according to Jaehyun’s vision.

Trying our best not to disturb others, Ten and I watched the way the smelly fraternity sex mansion turned into a festive valentine’s manor.

“I hope she’s gonna get laid today,” I whispered into Ten’s ear, looking at Jiwoo working like a busy bee around the house.

“She better; that’s really painful to look at,” Ten agreed, looking a little bit disappointed. Jiwoo was at Jaehyun’s beck and call, and it was about time he acknowledged her feelings.

Around nine o’clock, it was getting a little bit crowded.

Music was blasting through the speakers. Some of the fratboys were already looking for their next conquest. Girls were dancing on a makeshift dance floor in the middle of the living area, suggestively swaying their hips, teasing whoever was watching with their sexy moves.

Later on, when I was in the middle of my fourth drink of the night, Jaemin finally showed up. Together with Haechan, Jeno, Renjun, and Chenle, they walked through the threshold. They all looked great, but Jaemin stood out in the crowd. After all, he was the only one to put on a suit jacket over his white T-shirt. While the rest rocked the comfortable outfits, Jaemin opted for a more elegant look.

Almost as if he wanted to impress someone. Or at least, apologize properly, trying every sly trick to make me forgive him.

Upon entrance, his eyes searched me in the crowd, and when he met my gaze, a smile stretched across his face. Shyly, he raised his hand, wanting to wave at me, but since I stubbornly turned my head around, playing my role of offended woman, he lowered it.

“I’ve seen an ATM on our way here,” Renjun commented, knowing Jaemin didn’t stand a chance of winning the bet.

“It won’t be necessary,” Jaemin replied, following me with his gaze. “I didn’t lose it yet,” he added, and the guys laughed at him. There was no way he still thought he could woo me. “I still have a few hours left; I am not going to give up.”

“You’re such a loser,” Jeno interjected as regret washed through him. Although he didn’t actively participate when the bet was placed, he didn’t oppose it. He was an idle bystander, allowing other people to ruin our friendship. It didn’t sit right with him, but it was too late. The damage was already done, and Jaemin was going to embarrass himself even further. “She doesn’t deserve any of this.”

“It’s not like that,” Jaemin started, but he refused to explain how exactly it was like.

“You’re still gonna fail,” Haechan added with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. Back at the coffee shop, he ruined Jaemin’s chance for success. “Hey there, beautiful,” Haechan spoke when his attention was snatched by one of the girls who walked past them.

Once the boys divided to greet other friends, Jaemin strolled to the kitchen. I was there, and he needed to initiate the first step of our plan.

Sincere apology.

“Can we talk?” Jaemin whispered as he reached out to grab my hand, interrupting my conversation with Ten and Yeri. “Let me explain. You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to listen to me,” he asked, and I unwillingly complied, letting him lead me toward an abandoned corner in the living area. No one could hear us talk, but at the same time, everybody could see us.

“What do you want, Jaemin,” I barked, folding my arms across my chest, startling myself with how good I managed to behave like an angry ex-girlfriend. Though it was my last semester, maybe I should change my major to professional acting.

“Wow. You’re too good at this,” Jaemin commented before he proceeded with his part. “Anyway, I made this card for you. I hope it finds you well,” he announced before he pulled an envelope out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

Cautiously, I took the valentine’s card out of the envelope. Once I saw the front page, I couldn’t help but laugh. Jaemin must’ve done it himself, or he stole it from Jeno’s four-year-old niece. It was all covered in hearty stickers and glitter.

Jaemin definitely wasn’t a poet. He had never stood next to one, either.

Instead of a heartfelt apology and love confession, there was a short corny message which simultaneously made me cringe and chuckle.

Are you a ba-NANA? Cause I find you a-peeling.

From Your Love

P.S. it’s from me, your Jaemin

“You’ve really outdone yourself,” I spoke, shaking my head, trying my best not to grin. I was supposed to hate him, but it was too difficult. “I am gonna walk away now. Approach me once you raise the stakes.”

Although I didn’t want to party without Jaemin by my side, it was what I had to do. Having sent him a faint smile, I turned around and walked away, giving Jaemin some time to initiate part two of our plan.

Having drunk a few fancy shots Ten had made for me, we hit the dance floor. At first, we just jumped in the rhythm. However, when the DJ played the song we had practiced at the dance studio, everybody stepped to the side, making enough room to let us perform the choreography.

With alcohol coursing in my system, my moves weren’t as precise as usual – they still earned a round of applause.

“Hey, hey, hey, are you having fun?” Drunk as a skunk, Jaehyun shouted through the microphone connected to the DJ’s console. “How about we slow up the tempo?” Jaehyun yelled, and everybody cheered, making a lot of noise. “Tonight’s the love festival, and I, the valentine’s boy, specifically request every find a person to slow dance with.”

Having set the microphone aside, Jaehyun pushed DJ away from the console, putting on his Cigarettes After Sex playlist. The first song which graced our ears was Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You.

“Can I have this dance?” Jaemin appeared out of nowhere by my side, extending his hand for me to take. “Please?” He looked into my eyes, waiting for my response, looking hopeful.

As soon as I nodded, Jaemin grabbed my hand and gently pulled me against his firm body, resting his left hand on my back, holding me still, making sure I’d not run away. With my head resting against his chest, we swayed slowly, getting lost in our little world.

“They think I am a terrible person,” Jaemin whispered into my ear, his breath tickling my skin. “They seriously think I’d try to ruin our friendship with this bet,” he carried on, and I hummed, taking an inhale, getting hit with Jaemin’s musky cologne.

The boys truly underestimated the power of our friendship. Jaemin and I told each other almost everything. It was bold of them to assume I had no idea about the bet.

“Don’t worry about it,” I replied as I had closed my eyes, getting lost in the moment. “Everything will come back to normal soon enough,” I added, trying to ignore the bittersweet taste of my statement. Our fake relationship had an expiration date, and it was near.

“You’re right. Everything will come back to normal,” Jaemin repeated my words as he rested his chin on top of my head, pulling me even closer. “You’re the best fake girlfriend I’ve ever had,” he added, pressing an innocent peck against my hairline.

“How many fake girlfriends have you had?” I asked, chuckling, sounding a bit jealous.

“Anyway,” Jaemin started, trying to change the subject. “The guys took the bait. And now, judging by the stupid looks on their faces, they’re shitting their pants.”

“Once the song is over, we should initiate the third phase of our plan,” I commented, wanting to be over with this. In about a minute, I was about to pull Jaemin out of the dance floor and lead him to the bathroom upstairs, where we would do the deed.

When another song from Jaehyun’s playlist echoed in the room, all the other couples kept dancing. Jaemin and I, on the other hand, were about to not so discreetly sneak upstairs.

Unfortunately, we met an obstacle on our path.

It was Jaehyun, pointing his phone at our faces.

“It’s a kiss cam. Do what you gotta do,” he spoke, and I creased my forehead in utter confusion. What the hell was he doing? What the hell was a kiss cam? It was a frat party, not a baseball match. Didn’t he have a beer pong championship to win or something?

“What?”

“Do I really have to explain this to everyone? Jesus,” Jaehyun complained, taking a deep sigh, trying to ease his irritation. “It’s Valentine’s day! I am Valentine’s boy! And this is a kiss cam. You kiss, and I take pictures,” he explained, but I wasn’t convinced. “Hurry up! I have to take like 50 more of them.”

At first, I didn’t want to do it. But then, a thought crossed my mind. Who would believe Jaemin and I had sex if I refused to give him a kiss. It was just one kiss; it wouldn’t hurt.

Having licked my lips, I smiled at Jaemin before I wrapped my hands around his neck, giving him a chaste smooch. It lasted maybe a few seconds, but it still made me uneasy. Even if it was just a brief peck, it was too much for my poor heart.

“What the fuck was that?” Jaehyun groaned in disappointment. “One more time, guys. That’s how you kiss your mother, not your girlfriend. You can do better.”

“Show him how it’s done, Jaemin,” I encouraged him, giving him permission to assault my lips, hoping it would happen to be one hell of a performance.

Having smirked, Jaemin leaned forward, pressing his lips gently against mine. Cautiously, he deepened the kiss, knocking the air out of my lungs, making my legs shake under my weight. His hands held my chin in place as his tongue slipped through my lips.

Out of a sudden, nothing else mattered. Jaemin and I were in our bubble, and despite it being a one-time thing, I wished it lasted forever. Whatever expectations I had about this moment, it wasn’t even close to reality.

Jaehyun cleared his throat, wanting to pull us out of our trance. In vain, though. I moved my lips against Jaemin’s in slow sync, letting the sweet sensation strip me of the last remains of dignity. I was to savor every second of it, basking in bliss.

“Ekhem,” Jaehyun grunted, starting to feel a little bit flustered. “You guys done?”

Once we broke apart to take a breath, Jaehyun spoke again.

“Have you seen Jiwoo, by the way?”

“Yeah, I think she went for a smoke with Lucas,” I answered casually, watching panic display on Jaehyun’s face. It was evident he didn’t fancy the newfound information. “She went outside like half an hour ago, though. I wonder what it takes them so long,” I added, planting another grain of doubt in his subconscious.

As soon as anxiety downed on him, Jaehyun bolted outside. He better, though. If Jaehyun wasn’t going to make a move on Jiwoo tonight, I was about to find another guy to ship her with.

“You did it again,” Jaemin pointed out, and I just shrugged, dismissing his comment. So what? One push in the right direction wasn’t enough for Jaehyun to grow up, so I decided to be generous enough to give him a second chance.

“Are you ready for phase three?” I asked Jaemin, but before he managed to reply, I grabbed his hand, pulling him across the dance floor. Giggling, I ran through the sea of people, not so accidentally bumping into Chenle, almost spilling his beer.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” I hollered, giggling. Now, when I had Chenle’s attention, we could sneak upstairs to proceed with the final step of our plan. “Come on, Jaemin, let’s go. I am horny,” I added, probably overdoing my part. Unfortunately, the words were already spoken. I couldn’t take them back.

Having locked the bathroom doors behind us, I jumped onto the countertop. “Don’t you think it’s a bit creepy they’re gonna eavesdrop on us bang? It’s kinda off-putting, you know…”

When Jaemin wanted to speak, somebody knocked on the doors. It must’ve been one of Jaemin’s friends, checking if we were indeed fucking. “It’s occupied,” Jaemin hollered, mentioning for me to start my performance.

“Fuck, Jaemin! Eat me out, already,” I yelled, pressing my hands against my mouth, trying to stifle my laugher. This situation was ridiculous, and I couldn’t help myself but giggle. I had only a few drinks, yet I felt like I was high as a kite. “Yes, like that! Ahhh…”

“Can’t wait to fuck that tight hole,” Jaemin played along, almost dying of alcohol-induced tittering. We were definitely having too much fun.

“Right there, Jaemin!” I screamed, holding my stomach as it began aching due to excessive cackling. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, right there,” I moaned loudly, kicking my head back. “Don’t tease me, please!”

“I gotta get you ready for my cock, love,” Jaemin growled, and I gasped, my mind conjuring the forbidden image®.

“Just fuck me! I need your cock inside of me now!” I groaned, hoping whoever was on the other side of the doors heard enough of what was going inside. “Mmmm… you stretch me out so well…” I purred, almost falling off the counter when another round of uncontrollable laughter tried to erupt from my throat.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight.”

“Jaemin! Fuck, I am close. Keep going,” I yelled, mentally preparing for the big finale. This whole act was a vocal performance, and it was time I finished. “I’m coming! Come with me!”

“It was spectacular,” Jaemin whispered so only I could hear him. “I have one more favor, though,” he added, shying away. Oh no, he was about to ask about something stupid.

“What is it?”

“It could’ve been some random dude,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head, unsure how to voice his supplication. “Give me your panties. It’ll be the definite proof.”

“You’re joking,” I deadpanned, staring into his eyes, waiting for him to say it was just a harmless prank. “You’re serious,” I added as soon as I realized Jaemin meant it.

“Come on, I won’t be sniffing them,” Jaemin nagged, and I rolled my eyes. I didn’t even think about it, but now that he mentioned it, I had another reason not to comply with his weird-ass request. “I’ll give them back, I promise.”

“I can’t believe I am considering this,” I cursed under my breath. If any other person would like such a favor from me, I’d deny it in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, I had a soft spot for Jaemin, so denying him didn’t come easy to me.

Hell, I wouldn’t be here if I was able to say no to him.

“You owe me big time,” I caved in, jumping off the countertop, stepping behind the shower curtain, providing myself with some privacy. “Don’t peek. Even if I slip, you gotta stay on the other side. Got it?” I added as I stuck my head through the curtain.

“Scout’s honor,” Jaemin pledged, and I rolled my eyes. He was a scout for maybe a week. His honor didn’t mean shit.

Clumsily, I took off my shoes and jeans. “Here,” I warned before I threw my panties over the curtain. “I am too sober for this,” I nagged, trying to put my skinny jeans back on.

“Let’s do celebratory shots!” Jaemin suggested, balling up my undergarments, hiding them in his pocket. “We deserve it,” he added, landing me a helping hand when I was stepping out of the shower.

“Let’s go.”

***

Needless to say, Jaemin won the bet.

Unfortunately, it meant the inevitable end of our fake relationship. It was fun when it lasted, and though I’d miss these times, it was time to set the record straight.

As we had discussed, we had to arrange our break up.

Sometime next week, Jaemin stopped by to give me half of the prize. Since the boys had been stupid enough to fall for our little charade, I received a large sum of money. It was Chenle who sponsored the prize. Because of that, I didn’t feel particularly sorry about deceiving them. After all, Chenle was so loaded; he wouldn’t notice if he lost that kind of money on the street. I could finally buy these shoes which I had been dreaming of for so long! Better yet, I'd still have some money left to spoil myself some more.

“How should we do it?” Jaemin asked quietly. Ever since he came, he avoided my gaze, staring at the floor.

“I don’t know,” I unwillingly answered. This conversation was the last thing I wanted to do right now, but it had to be done. Better sooner or later, before I’d catch some real feelings for Jaemin. I had no idea how I would pick up the pieces of my broken heart if we kept this act any longer. “Let’s just delete all posts we published. Someone will figure out something’s wrong, and when they spread the word, we’ll explain we decided to remain friends.”

Maybe I wasn’t in tears, but I felt regret wash through me. Though our relationship had never been a real thing, it felt like it.

And it hurt.

“Alright then,” Jaemin complied, rubbing his hands against his thighs before he pulled out his phone to erase any digital footprint of our brief romance. His thumb hovered over the delete button for a while. After a few moments of hesitation, when he didn’t hear any sign of protest from my side, he pressed it, sending our memories to a bottomless void. “And it’s gone.”

“Are we cool?” I asked, hoping that nothing would change between us. I had a hunch it would take me some time to get used to how things had been before the relationship fiasco. Nonetheless, I still had hope we could remain best friends without any awkwardness.

“Of course,” Jaemin answered with a faint smile, but I didn’t fully believe him. Something was off, and it bothered us. Shame that none of us dared to begin this topic.

After he left that day, we saw each other very seldom. We barely even spoke to one another. If it wasn’t for the group chats we were both in, we wouldn’t talk at all.

Jaemin had said we were cool, but it was evident we weren’t.

It was eating me from the inside out, but whenever somebody asked me about the break-up, I’d always shrug it off, confirming everything’s great. I would tell our friends nothing changed between us. There was nothing wrong; our schedules are just incompatible these days.

When I had pretended I was in a relationship with Jaemin, it was easy. It came naturally, and everyone ate it up without any second thoughts. Unfortunately, now, when I was trying to play it cool, no one seemed to buy it. Thankfully, they didn’t confront me about it. Instead, they offered me their support if I ever needed anything.

In my head, I had a few wild scenarios in which I tell Jaemin we should date for real. However, at the same time, a little devil on my shoulder was telling me it should never leave the realm of fantasy. It’s ridiculous to think Jaemin would reciprocate my feelings.

I felt as if sadness took over my body. Though I was smiling on the outside, I was filled with regret. Barely anything sparked joy these gloomy days. Even this pair of shoes, which I wanted so badly, didn’t stir any positive emotion. I bought them, but I never took them out of the box.

Jiwoo had taken me out on a few girls’ nights to make me feel better. Men are trash – she would always say when Jaehyun ignored her yet another text. Even though they had fucked each other at Jaehyun’s birthday party and agreed to become exclusive, Jaehyun still had lots of problems committing to a monogamous relationship. They hadn’t officially labeled it, but everyone knew Jaehyun was slowly caving in.

Fratboys’ habits die hard, but Jaehyun was finally shaping himself into boyfriend material. He no longer slept around, as far to my knowledge at least, but he still lacked in some departments. For instance, it would take him way too much to text back.

“You were so adorable together,” Jiwoo began after she gulped down another rum and coke. Despite her high alcohol tolerance, she was already drunk, speaking with no filter. “I mean… you were simping for him for so long, and you finally managed to jump that dick.”

“Your point being…” I inquired, finishing my drink. Though Jaemin and I had never had sex, I didn’t want to admit that. What would Jiwoo thought if I told her it was all-pretend?

“I shipped you guys so hard,” Jiwoo confessed. “Ten shipped you too, but he will never admit that,” she added, and I giggled. Now, that was an interesting take. Ten was so random at many aspects of life; it came to me as a surprise he even had an opinion on my relationship with Jaemin. “Can I just take some duck tape and put my ship back together?”

“I am not sure Jaemin would like that,” I answered with a sigh, my mood instantly decreasing.

“Nonsense,” Jiwoo replied in a heartbeat. “This guy is even worse than you,” she revealed, and I rolled my eyes, not buying this. At least a few times a week, at my lowest moments, I happened to check Jaemin’s social media updates. He didn’t seem to mope around at all.

“I find it hard to believe,” I muttered, trying not to get too emotional.

“I mean it,” Jiwoo confirmed her previous statement, eager to explain her thesis. “Jaehyun and I went on a little date to the coffee shop where Jaemin works,” she started, and I nodded, not really sure what she was getting at. Nonetheless, I let her continue. I was curious what Jaemin had been up to. And since he didn’t seem to want to tell me anything himself, I’d accept any type of second-hand information from Jiwoo. “Jaemin misses you. You have no idea how many times I caught him daydreaming. He still has your photo set on his lock screen, and he stares at it a lot.”

Now, that’s interesting.

I had no recollection of Jaemin ever setting my photo as his background picture. Even if Jiwoo was right, it meant he set after we had broken up. It made no sense at all, and I was too drunk to try to comprehend the meaning of this.

Instead, I ordered another round, trying to stifle all the brooding emotions within me.

***

February was the month of parties. Too many birthdays fell during this hectic period, and I had trouble keeping up with them. Fortunately, Ten’s party was the last one of the month. After a small get together at our place, I’d have some time off to relax by myself, most preferably, without alcohol.

Being the semi-hosts with Jiwoo, it was our duty to help Ten organize everything regarding his party. Though our trio was a little bit disorganized, somehow, we managed to get everything ready before anyone arrived.

Maybe it wasn’t comparable to birthday parties at fraternity houses; it still had its charm. It wasn’t as wild, but guests still were having a great time in the company of their closest friends. However, what was the most important, Ten had a blast.

It was his day; he deserved everything he wanted.

Trying my best not to embarrass Ten, I decided to socialize with his friends.

It was time I move on. It took me way too long to mourn a relationship that wasn’t even real. I couldn’t let my brooding mood ruin the party.

“Hmm… Ten has never mentioned you before,” I confessed, not finding it particularly odd. Ten didn’t have secretive nature; he just wasn’t the type of person to over-share. And he often forgot to even mention stuff about his personal life.

“I can’t say I am surprised,” Hendery replied, making me giggle. It was fun chatting with him. Hendery was hilarious, and he knew many secrets regarding Ten. It was my mission to get as much information from him as it was possible. I would need it for blackmailing purposes, of course.

Hiding out in the kitchen, we sipped beer and exchanged rumors as if we were two gossip girls. It was too entertaining to stop. I was incredibly immersed in the conversation; I didn’t even realize when someone tapped my shoulder.

“Can we talk?” I heard the question, recognizing the voice in an instant. It belonged to Jaemin, and it seemed to be laced with both jealousy and irritation. The way he phased his plea gave me flashbacks of the conversation we had at Jaehyun’s party.

I really wanted to continue my discussion with Hendery, but I couldn’t say no to Jaemin. It wasn’t how my brain was programmed. Besides, I missed him a lot.

“Excuse me, I’ll be right back,” I told Hendery before I grabbed Jaemin’s hand, leading him to my room, locking the doors behind us.

“Nothing was supposed to change,” Jaemin started as he sat at the edge of my bed, leaning forward with his upper body propped on his elbows. His gaze was trained on the floor, too frustrated to look up at me.

“I know,” I whispered as I sat down in my chair on the other side of the room. My first instinct was to kneel in front of Jaemin, kiss his forehead, and assure him that everything’s going to be alright.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like a good idea, so I refrained from doing so. “I am sorry, it’s my fault.”

“Don’t,” Jaemin interjected before I embarrassed myself even further. “We’re both at fault.”

Despite the loud party noises coming from the other side of the doors, my bedroom was filled with deafening silence. It was awfully uncomfortable, and it was probably a good thing. One of us would get annoyed eventually and cave in, letting out all the bottled up emotions.

“I missed you,” I admitted, staring at my hands. I was all fidgety, and although I was too embarrassed to reveal my inner feelings, Jaemin deserved to know this much.

“I missed you, too,” he genuinely confessed, showing me a shy smile. “Actually, I missed you more than I thought it was possible to miss a person,” Jaemin carried on, and I held my breath, not ready to hear whatever he had to say. “You have no idea how much I wanted to text you or call you, but ultimately decided not to because I was sure you don’t want me to.”

“Jaemin,” I spoke, not really sure what I should say next. I had too many things I wanted to tell him about. However, now when he was here, I couldn’t properly voice my thoughts.

“Are you dating this guy you were talking to in the kitchen?” Jaemin asked out of the blue, catching me off guard with this random accusation. “Or do you want to date him? You two looked like you’re having a great time together,” he added, and I rolled my eyes. At first, Jaemin acted on his jealously, but then, insecurity crept in.

“I don’t know. I met Hendery today, but he seems like a great guy,” I answered honestly, thinking of possibilities of me trying to pursing something of romantic nature with Hendery. After our brief encounter, I could tell he’s fun to be around. And honestly speaking, I might’ve considered dating him if I hadn’t already had feelings for someone else.

Unfortunately, right now, I wasn’t in the right state of mind to date. Not when I was still hung up on my best friend.

“I probably won’t, though. I like somebody else,” I confessed, gaining Jaemin’s interest. Instantly, he sat up, staring into my eyes, patiently waiting for the reveal. “I am stupid, but I like this one guy. He’s such a jerk, I can’t even… he’s been ghosting me for weeks now,” I carried on, hoping Jaemin would get the hint.

Two weeks ago, we promised each other nothing would change. Despite our good intentions, it did. Even though I hadn’t told Jaemin how I really felt, I still lost my best friend.

My silence didn’t save this friendship. I tried to bottle up my emotions to secure our unbreakable bond. It didn’t work, so I figured confessing my feelings wouldn’t do any more harm. Surely, Jaemin was going to reject me, but at least, I’d clear the air between us.

Hopefully, my confession, followed by a harsh rejection, would help me move on.

Instantly, Jaemin ran up to my chair and knelt in front of me, trying to look into my eyes. “Please tell me this jerk is me,” Jaemin urgently spoke, unable to handle any more suspense. Jaemin’s gaze was hopeful, and it was too much for me to comprehend.

“What?” I asked, still being overwhelmed by confusion. What was going on? Why was Jaemin on his knees in front of me? Nothing made sense. How was I supposed to wrap my head around it? “I mean… yeah, it’s you. Who else could it be?”

“You have no idea how sorry I am,” Jaemin confessed as he grabbed my hand and yanked me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me, giving me a tight hug. “You could’ve said something… anything,” he added as he pulled back his head, placing a chase kiss against my forehead.

“I didn’t want to scare you away,” I admitted quietly, unable to break free from Jaemin’s cone-crashing embrace. I couldn’t believe he was so close. Na Jaemin was holding me in his arms, letting me listen to his rapid heartbeat.

“The worst two weeks of my life,” Jaemin spoke, once again breaking the silence. “It felt at least like two centuries,” he added, making me chuckle. Of course, it was an exaggeration, but it’s how I felt, too.

“How about we start over?” I proposed, taking a step backward to have a proper look at him. “Will you go on a date with me? This time around for real, no pretending,” I carried on, trying not to grin like an idiot.

“No.”

“What?”

What the fuck was that?

Did I misunderstand Jaemin’s words? I thought he felt the same, but apparently, he didn’t? Everything suggested he followed my flow only to crush my expectations, later on, leaving a big ass scar and more trust issues.

“I mean yes, but I should be me asking you out. Definitely not the other way around,” Jaemin clarified, making me relax. Thankfully, my mini panic attack was uncalled for. It was just my brain over-analyzing everything, conjuring the worst possible scenario.

“Then you better do your best to woo me,” I teased, wondering if he was willing enough to take the bait. It was just a mere joke, reminding me how it all began. He had wooed me once, and I wasn’t going to oppose to a second attempt. “Fun dates, romantic messages, silly gifts. I want it all,” I added, going a little bit overboard with my request list.

“Everything can be arranged,” Jaemin replied with a lopsided smile before he tightened his grip, almost crashing my bones in the process.

***

Jaemin and I began dating. This time around, it was real; no more pretending, no more stupid bets. Just two people who had discovered friendship could never be enough.

Even though I had told Jaemin I was just joking about this whole wooing thing, he refused to accept it, going to extreme lengths to make my heart flutter. I was already stupidly in love with him, yet he kept trying to make me swoon even more.

Despite our busy schedules, we made sure to see each other every day. It could’ve been a date at the arcade or just a quick coffee or a video call. In all honestly, I gladly accepted any form of contact from Jaemin.

I hated the prospect of going through a day without any message from him.

Except for many mini and maxi dates, Jaemin would also spoil me with plenty of encouraging notes of many kinds. Each massage from Jaemin was even sillier from the previous one. He never ceased to amaze me.

At first, Jaemin would stick post-it notes in different places in my room. Whenever I paid no attention, he would quickly write one for me to find it later. Whenever I saw sleep tight message stuck to my bedpost or you looked extra sexy today attached to the mirror, I smiled like an idiot, imaging Jaemin writing it.

If Jaemin forgot about post-it notes, he would always make it up to me by sending me corny direct messages. We would always text each other before sleep, and Jaemin never failed to make me smile with words such as:

If you happen to have wet dreams of me, you gotta tell me everything that happened. We can recreate it later.

I saw some sexy lingerie on my way home. Your ass would look amazing in it. I’m gonna buy it for you when I get my paycheck.

You’re the reason I wake up in the morning. Just kidding, I have to pee.

Whenever we went out, Jaemin would also scribble something either on a napkin or on a receipt. One time, Jaemin even gave a crumbled piece of paper that he was carrying in his pocket for some reason.

You know I’d give you my kidney, right? And a piece of the liver if you ask nicely. I hope you would do the same for me.

When we have kids, I’ll let you name the first one. Don’t fuck it up.

You’re my favorite pain in the ass.

You are stuck with me. You better get used to it.

Messy notes weren’t sufficient for Jaemin. Although I was more than content with the attention and affection he was giving me, it wasn’t enough for Jaemin. With each massage, he had to out-do himself.

Jaemin even wrote me a song! Or at least, he tried to write me a song. It was really bold of him to assume I didn’t know the lyrics to Jonas Brothers’ Sucker. I loved this song, and even though I perfectly knew it wasn’t Jaemin’s piece of work, I still appreciated the gesture.

Later on, his love letters reached another level of ridiculousness. Jaemin sent me a love e-mail, and if that doesn’t prove how extra he can get, I don’t know what can.

Jaemin didn’t stop there. No, it was just a warm-up.

When I was checking the mailbox, I found a paper plane stuck in between bills. Jaemin must’ve put it there, probably after one of his frequent visits to my apartment. Though the paper plane was a little bit crumbled, I found it incredibly adorable. On its wing, it had “open me” written with Jaemin’s messy handwriting. Inside there was a corny message that turned my insides in absolute cringe.

Your wings already exist. All you have to do is fly.

A few days later, Jaemin gave me a CD with the love playlist he had made for me. Carefully, he had chosen our favorite songs and burned them on a disc. I had no means to actually play it, but I adored the gesture.

Jaemin’s creativity did not disappoint. At this point, he might send me a love letter via a fax machine, and I wouldn’t be surprised. There were no limitations to his imagination, and it was one of the many things I loved about him.

Neither of us dropped the L-bomb yet, but we really didn’t need to. Though that dreaded word has yet to be spoken, we perfectly knew how we felt about each other. We would do anything for one another; no doubt in that.

Having exceeded my expectations, Jaemin proved himself worthy of being my boyfriend. Or rather, he showed me he was way out of my league. When he was bending over backward, I was passively basking in the glory of Jaemin’s confessions. Relationships were about giving and taking, and it seemed our balance was off.

It was time we switched roles. It was only fair if I tried to creep my way into his heart the way he had been wooing mine.

As soon as I cleaned up the apartment and pampered myself a little bit, I pulled out my phone, quickly texting Jaemin. Hopefully, he wasn’t that busy.

my love 💖 | 18:12 | U want to come over?

baNANA 🍓 | 18:16 | 😏

baNANA 🍓 | 18:16 | You miss me???

my love 💖 | 18:17 | 🤡 🤡 🤡 🤡 🤡

my love 💖 | 18:17 | nvm forget I asked

baNANA 🍓 | 18:17 | 😧 😧 😧

baNANA 🍓 | 18:18 | I’ll be in an hour

baNANA 🍓 | 18:18 | want me to bring anything?

my love 💖 | 18:19 | nah, just get your cute butt over here

baNANA 🍓 | 18:19 | ?????

baNANA 🍓 | 18:19 | are you high??

baNANA 🍓 | 18:19 | should I be concerned?

Okay, I had an hour to prepare something for our impromptu date. It was fine; it was more than enough than I needed. The apartment was already clean, so I just had to whip something to eat and cool the bubbles.

For some reason, I felt in a celebratory mood. Whatever tempo Jaemin and I had, it worked in two week periods. We had fake-dated for fourteen days before we called it quits. Then, we didn’t talk to each other for two weeks. Tonight another period came by, and I wanted to celebrate it, hoping to break the unfortunate chain of bad luck.

The alcohol was already in the refrigerator. Having put on an apron, I opened all the cabinets around the kitchen, quickly analyzing the ingredients and what I can make out of them. It wasn’t much, but pasta would have to be enough.

It wasn’t a fancy dish, but I was made it with love, so Jaemin shouldn’t have any complaints. Pouring my emotions into the pasta was to make it extra flavorful.

When the sauce was slowly cooking on the stove, I decorated the table. I wanted to provide Jaemin with some high-end restaurant experience despite being in my cramped apartment. It was the best thing out of two words; we had all privacy in the world offered by a homely atmosphere, but at the same time, we would eat some beautifully garnished food.

Just when I was about to drain the pasta, someone knocked on the doors.

“Coming,” I hollered before I put the pot in the sink, wiping my hands on the apron before making my way to answer the doors. “Hey there, beautiful,” I greeted Jaemin with a playful remark, standing on my toes to press a brief smooch on his adorable lips. It took him off guard, but in some sense, he liked it.

“Hey, it’s my line,” Jaemin nagged when his hands found purchase on my hips, bringing me closer for another kiss since one was never enough. “What do you have there? It smells delicious,” Jaemin turned his head, trying to peek inside to see what surprise I had prepared for him.

“You know, just some carbs,” I answered vaguely, sending him a playful smirk, not wanting to ruin the surprise. I wanted him to sit down at the table and wait for me to bring the whole dish and pour us some cheap champagne.

Jaemin took off his shoes, kicking them to the side. A second later, he handed me his coat, and I put it on the hanger. Jaemin was wearing a pair of gray jeans and a mint oversized hoodie, and I drooled over this comfortable look. He didn’t have to try hard to impress me.

“Just wait here. I’ll be back in a sec,” I spoke when I guided Jaemin to the table, forcing him to sit down in the chair. Jaemin wanted to help me out in the kitchen, but I firmly refused. Tonight I wished to impress Jaemin; he didn’t have to move a finger.

“I know it’s not much, but I hope you’ll still like it,” I whispered when I put a plate in front of him. “Dig in,” I added as I sat on the other side of the table, carefully trying to pop the champagne bottle open. Though I hated doing it, too afraid of breaking something or hurting someone, tonight I wanted to try it.

“What’s the occasion,” Jaemin wondered as he fondly watched me fight with the bottle. “Do you need some help? You’re gonna hurt yourself,” Jaemin offered, genuinely concerned about my safety. However, I just turned around, wanting to finish it by myself.

It took me good five minutes to pop it. And when I finally did it, Jaemin gave me a round of pitiful applause, officially declaring it’s his job from now on.

“It was just painful to watch,” Jaemin playfully commented, and I kicked his shin under the table, showing him how much appreciated his remark was. “So… what’s the occasion?”

“Do I really need to have a reason to spoil my boyfriend?” I innocently asked, batting my eyelashes, and Jaemin smiled at the word boyfriend. We had never discussed labels, but it was self-explanatory we were in a loving relationship. “I figured it’d be nice to give you some more attention,” I absentmindedly added as I reached for my phone to play some soft EDM music through the Bluetooth speaker.

“Is that it?” Jaemin wondered, gazing into my eyes, searching for any ulterior motive I might have. “Are you sure you’re not trying to butter me up before you say something I may not like? What did you do?” Jaemin inquired, and I chuckled loudly.

“Calm down, Na,” I spoke, making Jaemin look up at me once again. I only called him by his surname when I was extra affectionate, so he was curious what I was going to say. “I just wanted to hang out with you. That’s all,” I confessed, but Jaemin scrutinized his eyes, not really buying my innocent talk. “Okay, fine. There’s one more thing.”

“What is it?” Jaemin inquired, grinning at me.

“Can’t you already tell? I am trying to woo my way into your pants, duh,” I confessed, and Jaemin choked on his champagne as he did not expect this wording. “Your heart! I meant to say into your heart,” I corrected when I realized my little Freudian slip. “Wait, no, screw it. I second that. I want to get into both.”

“You’ve already got into one,” Jaemin declared with a lopsided smirk pinned to his face. “But... if you don’t suspect it already, you’re welcome in both,” he added mischievously, taking a sip of his alcohol. I, on the other hand, looked away, feeling the heat in my cheeks.

“Good to know.”

“Where are Jiwoo and Ten by the way?” Jaemin wondered as he looked around the apartment, finding it suspicious they didn’t crash our date yet. Under typical circumstances, Jiwoo or Ten would haul another chair to the table and steal the food, third-wheeling our date.

“Ten is at the dance studio. He’s having a dance competition next week, so he goes there every time he has some free time to practice. And Jiwoo is with Jaehyun. He came here to pick her up a few hours ago. I don’t think either of them is coming home anytime soon,” I explained, smirking. We had the place to ourselves.

Finally, we could bask in each other’s company without any intrusive guests.

“I’d like to cheers to that,” Jaemin raised his glass, clinking it gently against mine.

Having eaten the food, we moved to the couch.

“What now?” Jaemin asked as he stretched his arm, resting it on the back of the couch right over my shoulders.

“I have one more surprise,” I announced before I jumped to my feet. “Wait a second,” I added before bolting to my bedroom.

“What is it?” Jaemin inquired, having no clue what else I could surprise him with. “What do you have there?” He pressed, tilting his head to the side, trying to see what I was hiding behind my back.

“Let’s take some pictures,” I announced in excitement, showing him my Polaroid camera. “I finally bought some film, and I really want our photo in my wallet,” I added as I plopped down onto the couch, resting my head against Jaemin’s chest. “You take it,” I ordered, handing him the camera. After all, he was the prodigy of photography. Besides, his hands were longer than mine.

“I think that’s more than enough,” Jaemin spoke after snapping the twelfth picture.

Having put the camera on the coffee table, he wrapped his arms around me. Jaemin pulled me on his laps, embracing me tightly, placing a round of pecks against my temple.

“Wait! One more thing,” I hollered, leaning forward to reach for the envelope which was lying on the coffee table next to our photos.

“You can’t say it’s the last thing and then bring another one. That’s not how it works,” Jaemin nagged, a little flustered that I managed to find another excuse when he wanted to cuddle. “Who are you? A fitness instructor? When you say it’s the last one, it should be the last one. You can’t come up with new ones every three minutes.”

“I promise it’s the last one,” I sat cross-legged on the couch beside him, handing him the envelope. Cautiously, he pulled the card out of it, and I looked at him, studying his expression in excitement.

“Annoyingly, I like you way more than I’d originally planned,” Jaemin read the cover of the card, smiling widely at the passive-aggressive message. “It’s already good, and I didn’t even read what you wrote inside,” he commented before he leaned forward to kiss my forehead. “I don’t get it,” he added in confusion as he saw the blank page inside the card.

“It’s my love letter for you,” I clarified, but Jaemin was still clueless.

“It’s a blank page. You really have that little to say?” Jaemin asked, trying to make sense out of my card.

“That’s not how you were supposed to interpret that!” I yelled, climbing on his laps, wanting to tear the card out of his ungrateful hands. Unfortunately, Jaemin’s hands were longer than mine, so even when I was hovering over his thighs, I couldn’t reach it.

“How was I supposed to interpret that then?” Jaemin challenged, holding my hips, forcing them down on his laps.

“I wanted to write something meaningful, but I just couldn’t decide what. I have so many things I want to tell you, it wouldn’t even fit on the card,” I started, trying to find the best way to form a coherent sentence. “One way to interpret it is that you have to imagine it’s written in a very tiny font. Because I have so much to tell you, I wrote everything down, but you just can’t read it.”

“I like it,” Jaemin whispered, pressing a gentle kiss against my knuckles.

“Or you can say it’s blank because whenever I’m with you, my head is completely empty,” I added, chuckling at the corny confession. “Or you can assume there are no words to describe my feelings for you.”

“How is it possible that without writing anything, you managed to top all of my love letters?” Jaemin wondered, smiling at me. “What kind of sorcery is this?”

“No, Jaemin. You’re not giving yourself enough credit. I loved your love letters. They were silly, but at the same time, I could feel you really meant everything,” I reasoned, looking down at Jaemin’s lips, slowly leaning in for a delicate kiss.

“Okay, I have an idea,” Jaemin suddenly spoke as he grabbed my butt and threw me off his laps. “I need a pen,” he added, looking around the living room, finding the pen on the coffee table. In a hurry, he scribbled down something on the blank page of the card, making sure I couldn’t peek. “Here, I found my way to interpret it.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Jaemin answered confidently, handing me the card. “Read it out loud for me.”

“Okay, I guess,” I cleared my throat before I opened the card. “My beloved Jaemin,” I read, looking at Jaemin’s face with a raised eyebrow. This was going to be good.

“Carry on,” he urged, and I shook my head, unable to believe I was going to do it.

“You’re the most handsome man I have ever seen. You’re also the smartest and the funniest. Not to mention, you’re the best kisser in the world. What the fuck is this?” I interjected, having doubts, knowing it was a bad idea.

“Just keep reading, babe,” Jaemin ordered, wanting me to carry on with his antics. “Though you’re no poet, it’s, by a huge margin, the best love letter I have ever received,” he added, blowing his ego way out of proportion, and I rolled my eyes.

“Now, when I look at you, I understand there’s not a chance I wouldn’t fall for you. So, since there’s not much space left, I just wanna tell you that I love you. I really love you, Jaemin.”

Before I managed to complain that he forced me to say the L-word first, Jaemin interjected.

“Finally, took you long enough,” he teased, and I sighed, wondering where to hit him first. “As if you haven’t figured it out yet, I love you, too.”

“You’re impossible,” I commented, still not quite sure if we just confessed to each other.

“I’m impossible not to fall in love with,” Jaemin corrected, once again hauling me back on his laps, taking my breath away with a fervent kiss. “How about you show me how you want to get into my pants, babe?”

Having had enough of Jaemin’s teasing, I decided not to comply with his request.

“I think you should go.”

“You’re right,” Jaemin agreed too quickly, and it made me alert. “Let’s go to your room because once I start pounding into you, I will not stop even if a group of nuns was about to break in and steal all of your shit,” he added as he picked me up, carrying me to my bedroom.

“You’re impossible,” I repeated my words when Jaemin threw me onto my bed before he landed on it right beside me.

“I think we’ve already discussed this,” he remarked, reminding me of the remark he had given me earlier. “So… where were we?” Jaemin asked as he put his hand on my side, pulling me closer. Soon enough, his palm slipped under the hem of my shirt, caressing my skin.

“Is it weird that the only thing I can think about is you eating me out?” I wondered out loud, stripped of all remains of dignity. Jaemin was in my bed, and I was planning on taking full advantage of it.

“Not at all, love,” Jaemin replied, showing me his eager smile. Quickly, he sat on his calves between my legs, taking his time to take off my jeans. “I thought about eating you out way too often ever since that thing in the bathroom,” Jaemin confessed as he threw my jeans across the room.

Though my panties were still on, Jaemin began his teasing. His soft lips trailed across my thighs, driving me crazy. His lips touched every inch of my skin except for the area I wanted the most. At this point, my panties were dripping wet, yet he didn’t even think of pulling them to the side, giving attention to my much-ignored core.

“You’re killing me,” I whispered, slowly losing patience. If Jaemin kept up with his antics, I’d combust out of sexual frustration. “Bold of you to assume I won’t let you taste your own medicine,” I warned Jaemin. It worked because as soon as I voiced my mischievous threat, Jaemin’s finger hooked under the hem of my panties, quickly pulling them down my legs.

“You’re no fun at all,” Jaemin clarified before his lips finally landed on my clit, making me buckle my hips in an instant. Slowly, his mouth moved against my sweet spot, and I arched my back with each swirl of his tongue.

Though he barely started, I could feel the electricity coursing through my body. In my state of permanent frustration, it wouldn’t be difficult for Jaemin to make me come against his mouth.

Getting into it, Jaemin squeezed my hips, trying to keep me still when he ate me out. His jaw was dripping in my juices as he made his way down to lick my folds.

“Fuck,” I moaned loudly when Jaemin’s nose rubbed my clit when he was running his tongue all over my entrance. “I think I am gonna come,” I admitted what made Jaemin smirk through the kiss. Jaemin barely touched me, but I was already close.

“Come for me,” Jaemin urged, releasing my hips from his firm grip. Now when I could buckle my hips against his face, my orgasm was just seconds away. With my hand in his hair, I rocked my hips, basking in pleasure.

“I need your fingers,” I begged, and Jaemin quickly obeyed my shameful plea. I expected him to tease me further, denying me his long fingers, but he was kind enough to do anything to make me come.

Thanks to my juices and Jaemin’s saliva, his two fingers slid right in.

“Fuck,” I shouted at the top of my voice when the wave of pleasure shot right through me. Jaemin’s jaw still played with my clit as he continued his actions throughout the orgasm.

“You blew my mind, Jaemin,” I muttered after I regained my focus after he had made me come on his face. “I came so hard,” I confessed, smiling like an idiot. It was way too long ever since someone made me feel this good.

“You better get used to it because I am planning this to be a frequent occurrence,” Jaemin whispered, looking at my face as if it was an art piece. “Do you have condoms?” he casually asked as he pulled down his jeans. His erected cock was restrained in the denim fabric, and Jaemin needed to get rid of it.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” I replied as I opened the bedside table and threw a brand new package of condoms at Jaemin’s chest. “Jiwoo got me those after she walked on our pillow fight the other day. Apparently, she doesn’t want any cum stains on the couch.”

For a while, we were lying on the bed, staring at each other. Jaemin gave me some time to recover from my orgasm. According to him, I needed to take breaks because he didn’t want to over-stimulate me too soon.

“I really love you,” Jaemin confessed genuinely, and I quickly rolled closer to him, giving him another chase smooch. His confession was music to my ears, and I could listen to it on repeat without getting tired of it.

“I love you, too,” I quickly replied, leaning in for another kiss. With his hand on my cheek, he deepened the kiss, giving us another chance to get lost in the love trance.

Having thrown my leg over his hipbone, I hovered over his erection.

“Let me take care of you,” I said as I pulled away from the kiss. With a playful smirk upon my face, I grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head. Slowly after, my bra followed suit, and Jaemin grunted upon seeing me completely naked in front of him.

“Sexy,” he purred before he eagerly took off his hoodie, throwing it onto the floor. “On a second thought, maybe you should put something on. You’re too sexy, and I’d like to last longer,” Jaemin explained, handing me his hoodie so I could cover myself up. “No, it’s even worse. Take it off,” he changed his mind after seeing me in his clothes.

Carefully, I pulled Jaemin’s boxers down his legs, letting his rock hard cock spring free. Biting on my lips, I grabbed his erection, giving it a few gentle strokes.

“Fuck it, I am ready,” Jaemin yelled, placing his hand over mine, making me stop. “You have all the time in the world to blow me. Right now, I want to feel you,” he added, quickly pulling out a condom from its packaging.

“Let me at least roll it down for you,” I offered, and Jaemin sighed, weighing his options.

“Nah, I am not willing to take that risk,” Jaemin answered, proceeding to wrap his cock by himself. “Now, come here, sit down on it,” he urged, and I shook my head. Smiling like an idiot, I guided his cock towards my entrance, slowly sinking down on his length.

“You’re good?” I asked, trying to guess what was going on inside his brain. Judging by his sour expression, he must’ve been thinking about something terrible in order to stop himself from coming too soon.

“Yes, everything’s cool,” he reassured, and I took it as permission to gently rock my hips back and forth. Whenever I moved, Jaemin kept grunting quietly. Apparently, he also suffered from sexual frustration.

My hands were wandering all over his muscular chest, admiring his athletic built. My hips were moving at a steady rhythm, but whenever I happened to increase the tempo, Jaemin would slow me down with a firm grip on my hips.

“If you keep doing that, I might spank you,” Jaemin warned me, but it only made me want to disobey more. “Why did I even expect you to be a good girl?” Jaemin asked, rolling his eyes.

“Spank me,” I ordered, trying my best not to chuckle. “I dare you,” I added, pushing the right buttons. “Like that,” I moaned when Jaemin’s hand collided against my butt, shaking me with newfound excitement.

“You’re impossible,” Jaemin comment, still in shock after discovering how much into spanking I happened to be.

“I’m impossible not to fall in love with,” I remarked, using Jaemin’s own words against him.

Unable to handle my teasing, Jaemin sat up. “I love you so much,” Jaemin stated once again before he looked at my lips, kissing them. Now, when I was distracted by his tongue, it was easier for him to control my movement.

In our upgraded position, I significantly slowed down. Carefully, I moved up and down Jaemin’s cock, while he sneaked his hand between our entangled bodies, rubbing my clit. I was close, and I was about to come again.

I didn’t know what he was so self-conscious about. No doubt I would come first.

“Jaemin, I am coming,” I breathed out, messing up my rhythm. It was difficult to maintain the same tempo when Jaemin was playing with my clit. Jaemin’s lips moved down my neck, finding a perfect spot on my collarbone to leave a hickey.

“Me, too,” Jaemin whispered as he began thrusting from underneath me, now desperate to push the both of us off the edge. “You’re so tight, fuck,” he cursed as my walls started to swell around his throbbing cock.

Jaemin moaned against my skin, muffling his sinful sounds. I, on the other hand, screamed Jaemin’s name at the top of my voice, telling everybody in the world he was the person, making me feel this good.

Having fallen onto the sheets, we looked into each other’s eyes. We were panting as if we just ran a marathon. Not that I had any doubts, but Jaemin turned out to be a passionate lover, and it made me love him even more.

“You’re beautiful,” Jaemin complimented me, staring at my face in utter admiration. “I am so lucky,” he added, and I moved closer, snuggling up to him. It was still early, but I was so fucked out, I could fall asleep right there in his arms.

Having pulled me closer to his chest, Jaemin threw a duvet over our sweaty bodies. His fingers were tracing shapes on my shoulder when he pressed yet another peck against my temple.

“Are you down for another round?” Jaemin asked as he discarded the full condom. His cock was still semi-hard. In a few minutes, Jaemin would be ready for some more. “It’s cool if you’re not,” he added, trying not to put any pressure on me.

“I want you to do me all night,” I confessed, looking over my shoulder at the clock. It’s only 8 pm, and I could stay up till daylight with Jaemin.

“Do you want to go bowling tomorrow?” Jaemin asked, and I eagerly nodded. It was fun the last time I had joined the boys on their monthly trip to the bowling alley. Besides, I would be the first woman to break the unfortunate one-time-only curse. I couldn’t wait to show up two months in a row.

“I’d love that,” I answered, snuggling closer to Jaemin’s side.

In content, we basked in happiness until Jaemin regained enough energy to go for the third time. However, this time around, it was slow and steamy. Under the covers, Jaemin crawled on top of me, kissing every inch of my body.

“Do you want to roll it down on me? I think I can handle that,” Jaemin asked, and I reached for the condom, carefully rolling it down his length. “I wish I could fuck you without one, though,” he added, and I flicked his forehead, making him whine. “I’ll pull out.”

“I trust you, but it’s still a no from me,” I replied, guiding his cock into my entrance. Inch by inch, Jaemin pushed himself all the way in. “You fill me up so well,” I praised, purring into his ear. “I love your cock.”

Distance between our bodies was practically nonexistent. Jaemin was slowly snapping his hips, rubbing his pelvic bone against my clit, turning me into a moaning mess. I wouldn’t be surprised if my neighbors called the police because of all the noise coming from my bedroom.

“One day, you’ll let me fuck you raw. I’ll make sure you do,” Jaemin carried on, and I hissed, feeling the approaching orgasm. I didn’t even bother to comment on Jaemin’s statement. I was whipped for him. I knew I wasn’t able to maintain my assertive stance for long. Eventually, I’d cave in, letting him fuck me without a condom. It wasn’t today, though.

“In your dreams, lover boy,” I answered, but Jaemin just giggled, knowing I wasn’t serious.

“You have no idea how many times we’ve done it raw in my dreams,” Jaemin confessed as he picked up his pace, pounding into my pussy, making me moan at the sudden speed. “One day, I’ll tell you all about my fantasies, but right now, I really want this pussy to cream around my cock,” he added, his filthy words making my walls squeeze around his length.

“You wait until I tell you mine,” I challenged with a smirk. If Jaemin thought he was the only one with a dirty mind, he was seriously mistaken. While most of my fantasies were PG-13, there was still a large portion of naughty scenarios. Now, when Jaemin and I were finally together, it would be fun to try to recreate at least some of them.

“You better come because I can’t go much longer,” Jaemin warned me, pounding in and out, chasing his own release. “Fuck,” he yelled, falling on top of me as he shot his load into the condom. His cock twitched inside of me as he moved slowly, riding out his orgasm.

“Jaemin,” I hollered, coming undone underneath him. Despite the other peaks, this orgasm hit me the hardest. For a brief second, my vision turned black as I gave in to the pleasure.

Breathlessly, I lay in the sheets, slowly descending from my high.

“I think all I can do tonight is cuddle,” I commented, feeling too fucked out to engage in any other form of affection. “I don’t think I can walk.”

“It’s okay. I can carry you around the house,” Jaemin answered, finding a solution for my problem. Having pulled his limp cock out of me, Jaemin rolled down another condom, putting it aside.

“What is it?” Jaemin asked as he heard a noise from the living room.

“It sounded as if someone was knocking on the doors,” I spoke, trying to identify the sound. “It must be a courier for Jiwoo. She keeps ordering stuff online. It’s probably the late evening delivery she forgot about. Can you get it?”

“No problem, babe,” Jaemin answered as he put on his jeans, walking around the bed to answer the door.

At first, I wanted to wait for Jaemin in bed. However, it’s been like three minutes, and he didn’t come back, so I found it weird.

Having put on Jaemin’s hoodie and a pair of leggings, I made my way out of the room.

Jaemin was standing by the doors, looking inside a plastic bag. Whatever it was, it smelled like Thai food. Unfortunately, it didn’t explain anything. We were here alone, and we didn’t order anything.

Just when I was about to open my mouth and ask Jaemin what the hell was going on, Ten walked out of his room. It was strange, but I saw him leave, and I didn’t hear him come back.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked angrily, trying to hide my embarrassment. If he was here the whole time, he must’ve heard us having sex.

“I live here, duh,” Ten answered matter-of-factly, choosing not to give me the explanation which I desperately needed. “I think it’s mine,” Ten spoke as he walked up to Jaemin to take his Thai takeout.

Although Jaemin and I were standing in the living room in complete consternation, Ten didn’t seem to pay any attention to it. In front of his bedroom, Ten stopped in his tracks, turning his head to face me.

“Congratulations, by the way,” Ten spoke, making me even more embarrassed. “Three times, wow. It’s impressive. Don’t fuck this up, dear. He’s a keeper,” Ten added, sending me a playful wink before he disappeared inside his room.

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donutloverxo · 3 years

Text

Princess

Please note that my stories are not to be stolen or reposted on any other site. Reblogs and welcome and much appreciated. This blog and this story is 18+. Do not read, follow or interact if you are not 18+. Please🙏🙏

Based on a request. Dividers by @whimsicalrogers.

Summary - Your pussy is sore so Curtis uses your mouth.

Warnings - explicit sexual content (m/f) , age gap (reader is in her early twenties, Curtis is 34), innocent/naive reader, dub con, oral (m receiving), soft dark!Curtis, au, porn without plot.

Pairing - Curtis Everett x reader

Word count - 2k

You were jerked away when you heard the knob to your room on the snowpiercer rattling, and then being closed as his footsteps followed.

You didn't remember a lot before the train, you were just a kid when the old world came to an end.

You saw glimpses of grass and sunlight in your dreams, you weren't sure if they were dreams or just fragments of your imagination.

But even in your wildest dreams, you didn't imagine a bed this soft and a room this big. Big enough to fit the bed and two dressers and a large mirror. It was decadent and all you could wish for and more.

So it should make you happy to be here. In a comfortable bed like a princess. Shouldn't it?

It didn't. You wanted to enjoy this time while it lasted, but your gut told you that you were temporary. Just here to warm the leaders bed.

"Curtis…" your face heating up as he studied you, his powder blue eyes twinkling in the dim light, getting rid of his coat and cap. Goosbumps erupted all over your body as you held your soft comforter upto your chest,to give you some sense of modesty and dignity even if Curtis had taken it all from you and made you a woman just weeks ago.

You used fantasy to escape your grim reality quite often. It's easier to dream of a Prince Charming riding on a white horse to save you then to accept reality for what it is that you would've been stuck working in the greenhouse for the rest of your life… all alone.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" he hissed, tearing the comforter away from you, holding onto your wrists to reveal your beautiful breasts to him. "You're mine now. You can't hide from me."

"I'm sorry…" you hung your head in shame, and so you wouldn't be caught peeking a glance at Curtis pulling his shirt over his head, followed by him unbuckling his belt.

He was… beautiful. You never knew anyone could be so handsome. His shoulders wide, a light scattering of hair all over his torso, multiple scars on his body. But they only, strangely, made him more appealing to you.

He climbed on top of the mattress, nudging your knees apart and situating himself between them. He growled as he looked at your bare sex, using two of his fingers to part your lips as you hissed in pain.

"It's… I'm… sore," you explained when he looked up at you.

He nodded back to you, pushing barely an inch of his forefinger inside you, he didn't want to hurt you. Your pussy was clearly swollen and overworked. If he gave into his urges he would be sure to cause you pain, and even worse, lose what little trust you have in him.

He had suffered enough to last him seven lifetimes. He already knew he was going to hell for all that he had done. It wasn't like he could doom himself anymore by forcing you to be with him. And he deserved you. After all that he had gone through. You were his light at the end of one long and shitty tunnel.

He pulled his hand away when he looked at your face, pinched in pain. Instead settling on fondling your breast as he thought about how to take care of his erection.

He had taken your body four times the previous night, which was why you slept the day away. How he managed to go out and get stuff done, and be the leader was beyond you.

"You like what you see, princess?" He taunted you when he caught you staring at his hard cock.

The little pet name was initially what he used to mock you and how shy and delicate and innocent you were, but now he had come to cherish you. He wanted to protect you as if you were his sweet little scared princess and he was your brave knight.

You immediately averted your eyes and started sputtering nonsense, your brain froze and you literally didn't know how to answer him. And Curtis had made it very clear that when he asked you a question you were to give him a proper, clear and honest answer. Or face grave consequences.

"Um, yes?" Which was the truth. You had seen a few male genitals in your life, they were all… not very appealing. But it was different with Curtis. His was beautiful and intimidating at the same time.

"Then how about," putting his leg over yours, he crawled to the top of the bed, kneeling before you with his hard, pulsating length was right in front of your face. "You make me happy."

"Oh…" you simply stared. Your friend had told you that you were 'one lucky bitch' to have a man like Curtis who spends hours pleasuring you with his mouth, his fingers, and his manhood, but never forced you to return the favor. You didn't even know how you would go about doing that.

You had explored your own body before. Partly because of your curiosity and partly for some relief. But Curtis touched you in a way no one else could, he made you climax harder than you ever had before, you were pretty sure you passed out once from the sheer intensity of it.

But… how does one go about doing the same with a man's special place?

"Hm," you looked at his slit, it looked somewhat similar to your bud, you held onto his length, putting your thumb over his tip where the pearly liquid oozed out of--with which he often loved painting your whole body with, or pump you full of it and just watch it seep out of you.

You realised how bold you were, that you should seek his permission before touching him there, you looked up to see him pleased with your actions so you decided to keep going.

You lightly pressed your thumb on his slit, making him hiss, you whipped your head up and pulled your hand away.

"Sorry…" you sniffed, your vision becoming blurry as your eyes teared up, "I've never.. I don't know what to do. I'm sorry…" you sobbed.

"Stop," he said softly, wiping your tears away with his thumb.

You really were such a scared little lamb. Years of pent up frustration, where he had to make do with just his hand, didn't help making you feel safe with him either. But what the hell was he supposed to do when he had such a beautiful woman next to him as he slept?

"Just listen to me. Can you do that?" he asked, cupping your jaw as you meekly nodded. "Open your mouth as wide as you can," he told you, pulling on your bottom lip with his thumb.

Oh. It made sense. He puts his mouth on you so you should be able to do so on him as well. You opened your mouth with an 'ah', panicking just a bit when he put his hand around your throat, but he hushed you and asked you to relax. Since your body, mind and soul really did belong to him now, you immediately calmed down, knowing that he won't hurt you. Not too much anyway.

He pushed his length in your mouth. The taste wasn't at all what you expected. Not that you were sure what it would be like anyway. It tasted creamy and salty at the same time. You coughed and sputtered around him, your spit trailing down your chin. You thought that the mess would make him angry but then you recalled how much he enjoys the mess he makes of you.

He stopped when he felt his tip hit the back of your throat on his palm, "Good girl," he cooed, stroking your need. "Look up here," he ordered as you looked at him through your big doe eyes, "Keep looking at me okay?"

You didn't know if you were expected to give a verbal answer, because you couldn't… Not with a mouthful of Curtis. So you nodded the best you could.

"Hands on your thighs," he said as you put your hands on your bare thighs with the palms up. "Right now just sit there… just like that," he rasped as he pulled his hips back before bucking them forward, "And look pretty. Fuck… that mouth of yours… and it's all mine to do whatever I want with…"

He was making love to your mouth, just as he did between your legs.

You did as you were told, sitting and taking his assault on your mouth and throat. His ejaculate, your tears and your saliva drooling all over your lap. He was making love to your mouth, just as he did between your legs.

You could feel slick running down the side of your leg, not wanting to ruin the pristine white sheets and to create some much needed friction you closed your legs together.

He stopped his hips, the tip of his cock still in your mouth as he saw you squirming. "Touch yourself." He said.

Your eyes widened as you realised what he meant. You couldn't risk pulling him out of your mouth to protest. You were too embarrassed to do that in front of him as well.

"That's an order," he growled as he fucked in to your warm mouth, making you choke around him, pushing him closer to his release.

A shaky hand made its way to your core, past your pubic hair and between your thighs. You tried to emulate how Curtis touched you.

First he touched your thighs and kissed them all over. Then your ass and then he'd tease around your lips, torturing you for what would feel like forever before touching you where you most needed him.

You gathered your intimate juices, spreading them around your vulva before rolling your pearl between your fingers, moaning around his length.

"That's it, princess… come on, come with me," he groaned, slowly fucking into your mouth, holding off his release so he could watch you fall apart as he came in your mouth, one hand tangled up in your hair and another pinching and twisting your nipples.

Soon you were whimpering, you tried to tell him that you were close. Thankfully he seemed to understand as he picked up the pace. Fucking into your mouth till you could feel streaks of his release on the back of your throat.

You held onto his thigh so you could sit upright as your orgasm washed over you. Your nails digging into his skin as you screamed around his length.

"Swallow it all," he commanded as you gulped down all that you could.

You took in some much needed oxygen as he pulled his softening cock out of your mouth, your chest heaving as he laid down beside you and pulled you into his body.

He thought you'd want to sleep after. Since you were so swollen and tired. He'd have to take it easy on you from now on. Maybe use your mouth every now and then to give your pussy a rest.

But then…

Were you grinding against his cock?

He propped your chin up so he could look at your face, the most innocent look on it.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Um… are you done?" you asked, tracing a scar on his chest.

"You want something, princess?" he asked, pinching your buttock as you yelped.

"I was thinking… we could make love? It doesn't feel right not to. You know?"

"Right, of course, princess. Since you asked so nicely." He smirked as he climbed on top of you.

Taglist -

Permanent: @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @thehumanistsdiary @navybrat817 @la-cey @captainsdolly @bluemusickid @zaddychris @the-wayward-robot @aikeia @kidney9-9 @notyourtypicalrose @selfcarecap @miraclesoflove @saiyanprincessswanie @gotnofucks @efferuse @americasass91 @coffeebooksandfandom @chrissquares @drabblewithfrannybarnes @sweeterthanthis @cloudystevie @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @tenaciousperfectionunknown @labella420 @golden-ariess @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @starbooty

Chris Evans characters: @patzammit @denisemarieangelina @angrythingstarlight @goldenfightergir @dangerouslovefanfic @melchills-j @xserenax-13

#curtis x reader #curtis everett #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett fanfiction #snowpiercer fanfic #snowpiercer fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #chris evans x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader

927 notes · View notes

visd3stele · 3 years

Text

Remus image - angst & fluff

*mostly angst with a tinsy bit of fluff

*forced marriage trope

summary: you're a Slytherin pure blood dating Remus Lupin, but your family has other plans

TW: none

A/N: any thoughts and opinions are welcomed. I'd love your reviews. Requests are open, too, if any of you are interested in that

masterlist

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

You're staring at the high ceiling, wide awake and way past the middle of the night. In your hands, an envelope is twitching with every move of your fingers, twisting its corners anxiously. You received it at dinner that night, the letter from your family. And wisely waited until the privacy of your room to open it. Around you, pure bloods Slytherins were sound asleep. You made sure not to let any emotion show, on your face or voice. Something everyone in between the walls of the Slytherin residence could most likely do.

You read it once. Then again and again until each word, each letter carved its mark in your brain. Carefully, you folded it back, wrapping it in the thick layer of the envelope. Despite having stopped reading it, the news your family dropped on you kept on repeat in your mind. Over and over and over. Marriage. They found you a perfect, pure blood spouse to marry. No matter that you were still in school. And only sixteen. And already having a boyfriend.

But of course, that last part might be exactly why your blood supremacist family decided to take your love life in their hands at last. For you were dating Remus Lupin, head boy of Griffindor. Involuntarily your lips moved upward at the mere thought of him. The way his soft brown hair feels under your palms when he lays his head in your lap in the afternoon – that is when you convince him to take a break from learning for a change. Your smiled deepened. The way his scarred hands stroke your face right before he leans in to kiss you. You blushed in the dark. The way his eyes sparkle after one of the Marauders notorious pranks. The way he rolls his eyes and leave a snarky comments to any Slytherin who mock your relationship and how it only masks his own fears and self doubts.

Now you were crying. You'll have to break up with him. You'll have to break up with him without bringing the marriage up. You didn't want him to think back on what could have been years after. It's better if he thinks there is no chance anymore to be with you. And you had to do it quick. News spread in the pure blood community and risking lying about your parents intention only to fool yourself a bit longer with stolen happy times was as self destructive as it can get at this point.

You slipped your body on one side. And tossed. The envelope fell off your bed. You didn't bother to pick it up. But someone did. You felt it rather than hear it, someone picking it up and placing it on your nightstand.

" 'Morning," that sweet voice you loved so much whispered. And you snapped your head towards it in shock. Only to find a very uncomfortable Remus Lupin, switching from leg to leg, smiling awkwardly at you.

"It's five in the morning." He stated before you could find your words through the foggy veil of your thoughts. "And the sunrise is about to start..." Remus went on, looking anywhere but at you.

More tears sting your eyes, threatening to slide down your cheeks and getting completely out of your control. Here he was, your perfect boyfriend, sneaking in your bedroom to take you to see the sunrise. For you, this boy defined romance and no amount of scars, secret disappearances on the full moon and mysteries surrounding it could change that. You were more than willing to give him time, let him open up to you when he feels like it. After all, he has great friends to share secrets with and you wouldn't get in between them.

Biting your lips, you closed the distance and hugged him tight. After less than a second of hesitation, Remus put his hands around you as well. You needed it, the proximity, the safety, the warmth and love. When you were sure your voice won't break, you breathed a question to him. "And how are you planning to sneak me out?"

Remus saw right through your attempt. He pulled back a little, enough to brush his fingers over your swollen face. "Have you been crying?" Worry clouded those beautiful brown eyes. You shook your head, snatching yourself from him and desperately wiping your tears. You should do it now. Tell him it's over. Spare him – and yourself – for the pain and torture of stretching it longer. It was time to face it: your relationship was doomed from the start.

But you couldn't. Not yet. Just a little more time, you bargained with yourself. Just that sunrise together. One last date. You promised to no one. So you made yourself swallow and said instead "My family," dismissing any further remarks.

Remus pulled you back into his lean body, long arms the only thing holding you together. He needed no other explanation. Thanks to that friend of his, Sirius, Remus knew exactly what those two words meant coming from a pure blood kid. He pressed a kiss on top of your head, caressing your back in soothing large circles. Voice dipped with concern, he asked "Do you want to talk about it or do you want me to distract you?"

"What about taking me to see that sunrise you mentioned and we'll figure it out from there?"

He nodded, led you to the now slightly opened window and motioned for his broom flying within reach.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

The sun beamed from between rare clouds, spread amongst a royal blue sky. Orange light crowned the ascending golden disc, fading into a soft purple and light pink at its edges. The curtain of morning mist broke the rays in matt bliss, wrapping around your entangled figures.

A wet coldness flew on with the tentative mist, but Remus planned everything ahead, it seemed. He had a wool blanket at ready, different bits and pieces of clothing, threads and patches sewed together.

"Don't tell me you picked up knotting, Moony." You didn't know when it happened, but you had taken on calling him by the silly nickname his friends did.

"No. My mother made it, actually." The scar on his lip pulled up as he patted the spot next to him. He had laid a blanket on the freshly cut grass near the Black Lake and held his mother's gift in a silent invitation.

You snuggled in, circling his waist with your arms and nuzzled your nose in the crook of his neck. "Y/n!" he exclaimed, a shiver running through him at the contact with your cold skin. You sent him a grin that had nothing to do with apologies and you both snickered before turning awe filled eyes to the sunrise.

Remus let his own head lean down on your own, brown hair slightly brushing your forehead. His hand found its way to yours and as your fingers laced together he rubbed his thumb on top of your palm.

Content silence settled in. Only birds dared sing a sharp note once in a while. Your boyfriend knew how to choose a date spot, you were more than happy to give him that. The marvelous sight the sky presented doubled in the lake's still waters. Calmness washed over you. Here and now, with Remus' hand in yours, your head resting on his shoulder, everything pieced into place.

You turned your face, meeting the warn off material of his shirt and placed a kiss there. Lifting your lips upward, you kissed his exposed neck as well. Then his cheek, lingering close to his lips before stopping to murmur "I love you, Remus Lupin! So, so much."

He met your lips with his own and you were thankful he said nothing about the pang in your voice. "And I you, my darling." His glittering eyes, filled with adoration and care, were too much for your heart to bear. It was all you could do to close your eyelids tight and press into his side even more.

"Is something wrong, y/n?" Remus asked, shifting his arm to welcome your new position.

"No. Nothing. Just overwhelmed by everything I feel for you." And in a way, it was true. Not the whole truth, but as you couldn't give him that...

An unsure smiled played on your lips. He brought your face to his again, laying a kiss on your nose. You scrunch it up and made a face at him. He tried to bit back his laugh, but failed as a bundle of it escaped in a soft breath, tingling your flushed cheeks.

Remus kissed you again, this time on the bridge of your nose. Which earned him a giggle and a wide smile. Bringing your hands to his face, you cupped his cheeks and touched your noses together.

"We're missing the sunrise. And you put so much effort in this."

"Hmmm," he mused, leaning in your touch. "The sun does much of the work, to be fair." You burst in laughing at that, shaking your forehead against his.

You two traded more kisses – and then some more, bathed in the dawn light of a new day.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

"Where have you been?" You heard James Potter asked your boyfriend when you bumped in him and the rest of the Marauders in the hall.

Peter waved at you, while Sirius gave you a knowing smirk at which you rolled your eyes. Truth be told, their demand wasn't misplaced. You and Remus didn't show up at breakfast, and run late for the first class.

"Down at the lake, Prongs. I should know better than to ask for notes, right?"

"Not to worry, Moony, you didn't miss much."

You left Remus to his friends, brushing your lips to his as a form of good-bye. You headed to your room. Thoughts swirled in your mind, flying by so fast you barely registered them. You passed Narcissa and Lucius on your way. They have been married since year four, something you found very unsettling. At that time, you belittled Narcissa for not fighting off her families wishes, like her sister and cousin. But now, that you found yourself in her place? You started to understand. To understand that courage is not so easy to haul up from whatever pit it lays dormant in one's being.

So lost in thoughts, you haven't noticed the guy sitting on your bed until he spoke, voice laced with disgust. "You better kick that sorry excuse of a wizard away before we make our engagement public, honey."

You startled. "Who...?"

"Why, your new husband, of course."

"Future husband. And Remus is a fine wizard, greater than you could ever hope to be."

The stranger only rolled his eyes and huffed. "Whatever you say, honey. Just make him gone by noon. I have plans for us before the ceremony."

A ceremony that would take place in a few months, once summer blooms, you realized, dread chilling your blood in your veins. The tight line of your lips followed your betrothed until he left and swiped the door close.

Noon. Break up with Remus by noon. Make it look like it's over because there is no love anymore. Let him think you choose this smug, full of himself, brainless, boorish brute over him. It's the right course of action. So you told yourself. And so you did. Any hope for standing up against your family gone.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

Wind howling outside, rain pouring, you thought the weather mocked you. It just happened to turn gloomy and morbid all of a sudden, when you were about to break the heart of the most precious boy in the whole school. And yours too in the progress.

"Remus, can we talk for a second?"

"Sure, what is it?" He turned his whole focus on you, dropping mid conversation with his mates about whatever prank they were up to next.

"Moony!" three offended sighs followed you as you dragged Remus to a more private spot. The way he no more than waved at his friends, giving all up for you, knowing you had a bad day, strung a painful chord in your soul. You did not deserve this boy. Maybe the wedding was a good thing after all.

"Hey, y/n, talk to me," Remus whispered when you came to a halt. His fingers searched for yours, trying to turn you around to face him. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'm here for you. We'll fix it."

"No." You said, and cursed your weak voice. You still didn't face him. "No we won't fix this." You spoke again, this time with more surety, allowing a sharp edge to it.

Bless his too kind soul, he didn't balk away. Instead, he took one stop forward, resting his head on your spine and bringing his long arms around you. "Everything's gonna be fine, y/n. I promise."

It took a superhuman effort to break free of his embrace. And you finally swirled to meet his soft brown eyes. Tears rolled down, dripping from your chin, but you didn't let him comfort you. Shacking your head, you took another step back, building distance between you, as if the following words would hurt less that way.

"Everything's not gonna be fine, Remus. Not with us. Not anymore."

For a couple seconds, he stared at you, confusion painting his beautiful features. Then, realization sunk in. And in that moment, you were sure nothing could ever hurt you as badly as his pain struck expression. His parted lips, moving in vain to form words that doesn't exist. His frenzy eyes, looking all over yourself, searching for any sign of a cruel joke. For a trace that you weren't being serious. Eyes that begin to water when he found none.

But he refuse to let the tears flow. Remus led his stare to a dark, far away corner of the empty hall. Heat colored his face, a light shade of pink that not even the cool from the open window couldn't beat down. "So that's why you were distant this morning?" Your boyfriend asked, bitterly even as his voice was small, lost. "That's why you avoided me all day and didn't look me in the eye once, more than a passing moment?"

You knew better than answer. You had nothing to say anyway. "I'm sorry, Remus. I've been meaning to tell you earlier..."

A razor sharp laugh bit your words off. "But you took pity on the poor half-blood."

No, no it wasn't like that, you wanted to say. Those remained only thoughts as you wiped your face and crossed your arms to keep them from reaching out. Reaching out to him, reassure him, hug him. Whatever he believed, you'd roll with it. If he thought you an evil pure blood, then fine! You'll be that.

An image of your mother's face, lips curled in disgust at the last Quidditch match when Slytherin lost again in favor of Gryffindor, served as model for the expression you forced your own face into.

"I didn't want it to be like this. Goodbye, Remus Lupin."

You turned. And left. Just left. You kept your back straight as you walked away from the boy who tickled your heart. Who placed feather light kissed on your cheeks, and nose and forehead for days into your relationship, too shy to initiate something more without your worded agreement. The wizard who helped you with assignments, not thinking anything less of you when you weren't perfect. Who let you fall asleep in his lap at Hogwarts' few parties that you couldn't stand due to your family. This guy who gave you everything you were too afraid to dream of. And you just walked away, as if couldn't be bothered to care.

His fist thrumming once on the hallway's wall filled your ears, a sound forever carved in your brain. The thud that followed, of him sliding down on the floor you guessed, printed an image in your mind you'll pray to forget. Remus' silent sobs, though, almost made you turn around and run towards him.

You didn't so much as cast a glance back, knowing what you'll see and too much of a coward to bear it. His body shaking with crying, knees cradled to up to his chest where his chin digged in, covered by lean arms with palms crossed over his head.

His friends would find him. They'd help him. Remus will move over and forget you. Each sentence was another step. Each step, another crack in your heart. By the time you reached your room, collapsed in your bed and twisted in a similar position to your boyfriend's – ex boyfriend. It made you understand, showed you far too clearly why he'd sit like that. The pure devastation and despair, the attempt to contain a hollowness within, to replace a part where a whole, happy heart used to beat.

You broke Remus Lupin's heart. And yours was just as shattered. And there was no going back from it now.

PART 2

142 notes · View notes

badgirlcovenrep · 3 years

Text

atlas

Alex Chen × Steph Gingrich fluffy comfort one-shot

(I was talking to a friend about the game and we were discussing how Alex is probably still carrying a lot of trauma. And even after everything that happened at the mines we still don't see her really grieve for the whole situation and herself. So- I had to write it, you know?)

Enjoy!

TW: mentions of suicide, death and mental health issues.

It's two months into their relationship now, and they are somewhere in a Californian town, living in a tiny apartment close to the beach. They play together in small venues and underground clubs. Alex bartends and Steph referees for DND campaigns at a nerd bar they found by chance on their first week there.

They're happy. As happy as Alex remembers being since she was- well, maybe nine.

Every day, it's a little like waking up into a dream. Living in an apartment with her first girlfriend, listening to music as they cooked dinner together. Getting to kiss her just because Alex felt like it. Because her heart went a little loopy inside her chest when she smiled. Because she knew Steph would hold on to her waist and make her feel like she was full of electricity.

The 'falling in love' business felt overrated before Steph.

But Being in the middle of it now, Alex doesn't think there's anything better.

Although a part of her still felt quite numb - she guesses it's not something that will go away that easily - and day by day, Alex felt a little bit more like she could breathe... like she was finally letting herself go, at least a little bit.

****

Now that she could comprehend and use her powers, it also seemed as if she'd started to become even more of a magnet for all sorts of emotion around her. And apparently Alex could do it in her sleep too.

The nightmares came in clusters most of the time, a badly cut-together mess of voices and feelings. The lady that lived under them, who lost her son when he was little. The couple from down the street, who were going through a hard time in their relationship. Even the little girl from upstairs, who had terrible night terrors of sharp-teethed monsters reaching from under her bed.

They all mixed inside her head until she woke up gasping for air and sizzling with emotion.

It was rare that she'd have a full dream, one that made sense and completed itself, but when she did they were always about Gabe. About sitting together at the rooftop of the Lantern and sharing a beer. Or climbing trees, like they used to do when they were little.

It was a relief from the usual doom.

And that dream was supposed to be nothing different. Or at least she thought it wasn't.

****

In it, they were at the ravine. A world of twinkling stars shining above their heads. The Colorado mountains all around them creating a landscape that was just as beautiful as it was bittersweet. Alex could see the log she'd crossed, still standing between her and the tiny outcrop of stone Ethan had been stranded on.

She hadn't dreamed of the ravine since leaving Haven Springs, but while she was there, Alex dreamt of it every night. She would see it when her eyes were closed. She could hear it, - the sirens, the terrible, deafening rumble of the ground splitting beneath them. The panic, pounding into her ears.

But this is different. Because when she looks around, Alex realizes she's standing over the elevated plateau, tied to the waist and leaning all her weight against a sturdy piece of rock.

Looking at her from below is Gabe. Lying on the cold ground. A cheesy smile spread across his face.

"Why are we switched?" Alex asks because that's all she can think of asking, as she stares at the rope that anchored her to the ground... to Gabe.

"Beats me. This is all your brain, not mine." He says, and Alex huffs in annoyance, "you know what's going to happen, but you keep coming here."

"I don't have a choice."

"Hmmm..." Gabe hums, but there's some humor in his expression as he stares intently back at her, "and that's exactly why... I'm here because I should say goodbye."

A coldness spreads over Alex's limbs. Around her, the very fabric of the dream dims into darkness as a strong breeze blows past them. She suddenly feels like throwing up.

"What- what does that mean?" It's a stupid question. This is her dream. Alex knows what it means.

Deep down, she knew she'd been conjuring him up for her own sake. Trying to bring back any morsel of relief into the giant hole he'd left inside her heart. However, Alex also knew at some point he'd be gone- she just didn't expect-

"You don't need me anymore, Alex." He says. As if it's that simple. As if she'd ever-

"I'll always need you, Gabe. Of course I need you." The words stumble out of her mouth, and she can feel the hot, angry tears falling down her face.

It feels like a hot iron pressed to the very top of her chest.

Like lava, boiling up into her bloodstream until Alex wants to punch something. The steam that prickles from under her skin, fighting to break free.

Anger always comes first when people feel cornered. It's something she noticed a while back. Out of all the emotions Alex had dealt with the past few months, that, at least, hadn't changed.

"Shit, Gabe. When you died I needed you more than ever."

"But we can't fix that, can we?" He asks, and another wave of anger rips through her. She looks anywhere but him, because Alex feels that if she does, she'll tackle and kill him all over again. But when he says nothing and they're left in the same pocket of silence - the one right before the whole world collapsed - her eyes eventually fall back to her brother. Tied to her and laid on the ground beneath. Looking at her like just as much the goofy asshole she missed so much.

Anger always felt urgent and fast, like a flash going through her body and leaving everything inside it in disarray. It demanded to be completely felt, but only for the moment it took for Alex to decide it wasn't worth launching the nearest object at a window.

Or trying to kill her dead brother.

"You might have needed Gabe. But you don't need this Gabe anymore, Alex. You can do it on your own now."

The fear and sadness that came after? They were usually much, much worse.

"But this is the only Gabe I have."

Those emotions, when mixed, turned into a horrible harmony that paralyzed her lungs and darkened the sides of her vision. They felt just as urgent as anger, but complacent. A beast staring at her from the very bottom of a pit. Tied to her by the waist and trying to lure her down into the abyss.

And, for Alex, the abyss was as deep as a ventilation shaft for a Colorado mining site.

"No, it's not. You'll always have me, Alex. And you know that." Not in the way that matters. Alex wants to say, but it's so redundant. He's the ghost. He should already know that. "And you have Ryan now, and Eleanor, Riley, Charlotte, Ethan... Steph..." he gives her a cheesy smile in the last name, wiggling his eyebrows back at her teasingly.

"Oh, God, way to ruin the moment." Alex can't help but chuckle a little through her tears. Is she blushing? You can't blame her for blushing, right? God, she feels like Diane.

"Hey. Let me have it. One of my only regrets is that I never got to tease the hell out of Steph for dating my little sister... and for being whipped as hell."

"That would have been so funny."

"I knew she'd get along with you but I guess I didn't expect... that. Shame on me. Should've had more artistic vision."

Alex chuckles as more tears run down her face. It's so bittersweet it hurts from the very inside of herself.

"All jokes aside. I'm glad you have her, and that she has you. She's good. Just make sure you tell her I'll haunt her from the grave if her dumb ass breaks your heart, okay?" Alex nods, and her body starts shaking with strangled sobs. So much emotion she just can't let go of. Because if she does, Alex is afraid there'll be nothing left.

"Hey. Don't cry. You can do this, Alex. You know how to live life now."

"I don't want to lose you again, Gabe."

"You'll never lose me. You'll just have to look a little harder." He smiles up at her, pulling jokingly on the rope, "now play your part - or is it my part? You get it."

And then- too soon. (Same as it was that night.) The sirens blast through the mountains, and somewhere above them, a giant explosion blows her eardrums, and boulders the size of cars come tumbling down the mountain.

She barely has time to blink. Barely has time to breathe one last time. Seen as she's Gabe, when she looks up all she sees is the giant rock, flying towards her, hitting her across the torso so hard, before she knows, she's flying way above the ravine, and one last glimpse of the stars catches hold over the veil of her memory before everything turns black.

****

She wakes up in bed, desperately clawing at the top of her chest as she gasps for air. Her lungs feel like they're made of lead, and all around her, she can feel the weight of the rocks, the explosion, the debris, weighing down her body.

Alex pats across the mattress for Steph, who is not there. Another wave of panic washes over her. So strong her mouth turns dry and her head aches as she tries to breathe in, but her lungs can only handle tiny, torturous gasps of half-breath.

Alex dispels a world of curses towards herself inside. Willing her own body to just calm down. In the bathroom, she can hear Steph singing softly to herself- she must have come home late from the DND tournament. Alex told her she'd swing by, but she'd had a long shift and ended up just passing out as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Alex hadn't had an incident like this in very long. She could control it now. Most times. It wasn't easy, with being on the road and constantly surrounded by people. Sometimes, she still got more than she could bargain. When she walked across a depressed person on the sidewalk, or heard one of their multiple neighbors yelling at each other through the walls, and suddenly she felt as if the world blended out of focus into a tsunami of feeling.

Feeling that wasn't hers but still felt so much like it was.

Steph helped whenever it happened. For a sarcastic punk rock mess, she was surprisingly stable and so very reassuring.

Just the fact that she can hear her voice. That Steph is there in the apartment with her, is enough to calm some of her nerves, and while Alex still can't keep herself from pulling in gasps of air as she tries to hold in any kind of oxygen, she at least has a plan.

Water. Water will make her feel better, right?

Almost as soon as the idea crosses her mind, Alex's half-delirious brain commands her to get up, but her body feels so very heavy. Like she's really been trampled over by a wave of giant boulders. And as soon as her feet touch the ground, her legs give up under the weight, and she falls onto the hard floor with a loud, heavy thud.

The girl's hands fly up to hold her weight against the bed, and thankfully that means she doesn't face plant the ground, but it sends her heart into a neck-breaking pace, and all air Alex'd been able to gather so far escapes her in a single huff until she's hyperventilating again, hot, angry tears running down her face.

You're so weak. You're such a fucking idiot. Of course, you had to go and lose Gabe twice, who the fuck would want to stay with such a mess-

"Alex, are you okay?" Steph's voice comes, as she opens the door to find her girlfriend sitting on the ground, looking like she might pass out from just trying to get her lungs to work, "Alex!"

In a second she's crossed their room and kneeled by her, both hands going up to her cheeks on instinct, smearing away her tears.

"Breathe with me, okay? We've done this before, you can do it." She always gets just a tiny bit of a scared aura around her when Alex gets like this, never for long enough that she can read it, but it's still there, the tiny flutter of fear, "come on, breathe."

Her eyes go up to find Steph's, her strong, glittering green gaze. Alex might be the one with superpowers, but it was Steph who could so easily reach in and soften her edges like it was nothing. It was Steph who could just lean in and hold Alex's hand against her chest, letting her feel the determined rise of her lungs. Strong. Stable. Even Alex couldn't possibly understand how she did that.

How she always made Alex's breathing slowly come to shaky, deep breaths, crawling painfully out of her dry throat, but still better than gasping like a fish. Inside her, Alex feels the furious hurricane of emotion, twisting itself into the bottom of her lungs, taking hold of every bit of her until she felt like she could throw up.

"Wait here, I'll get you water," Steph says, and Alex wants to complain, she doesn't want to be alone, even for a second.

But before she can, Steph has left their bedroom for the kitchen, and Alex feels as if she's stable enough to crawl into bed, so she does so at a glacial pace. She grabs Shu-Shu, holding her close to her chest as she sits and waits for Steph.

She eventually comes back in with a glass full and Alex gulps it down in silence, unsure if whatever dam of emotion that has taken place inside of her will break if she tries to speak. So she sets the glass back and lies her head down on the pillow, facing away from Steph and the rest of the room as she tries to reel herself back in.

She can hear Steph taking off her boots and climbing into bed, one arm winding around her waist as she pulls Alex in closer.

"Was it the lady from upstairs?" Steph asks, eventually, after they sit in a few long minutes of silence.

"No." She replies, and it comes out so strangled, so broken, a few more tears run down her face. Steph pulls her even closer, a tight, steady pressure.

"The couple again? I swear to God I'll call the police on that asshole this time."

"No." Alex says, and she detaches herself from Steph just enough so she can turn around and look at her, "I had a dream about Gabe." Simply saying his name makes her whole body shake. Steph is looking at her so intensely, Alex has to close her eyes, holding on to the fabric of her shirt with all she had not to explode in whatever terrifying, dizzying bomb of emotion she could feel brewing inside herself.

Alex felt so much from other people it overwhelmed her multiple times a day, and even then, it was nothing compared to this. Nothing compared to how much sheer strength it took from her not to let it blow.

It scared her. More than anything.

"He wanted to say goodbye." She says eventually, "it was- I don't know. This- I- this isn't coming from anyone- How do I get rid of it? It's like it's all inside of me and it's taking up so much space and I don't know how to fix it" The words come tumbling out before she can stop them, and she's rambling through tears.

Steph sighs. And Alex can feel the love and sadness mixed together, blowing from her in waves as she holds Alex's chin, bringing her up so they can look at each other.

"Baby..." there are tears in her eyes now, as she pulls her closer until their foreheads are touching, and they are so close Alex can smell her lemongrass shampoo, "This is all yours."

And such simple words shouldn't hit her this fucking hard.

But it all suddenly makes so much sense-

Alex was numb after her dad left. She felt nothing for months. It was one of the most terrifying feelings in the world, a deep and powerful depression that threatened to overtake her at any given point.

Like her whole body was nothing but dead weight and her brain was way too tired to even try and keep up.

Young as she was, Alex guesses she never realized the first time she felt anything at all after that was when she discovered her powers. The day a boy came to the orphanage and he was so angry it blew her across the hallway. Ever since then, everything around her was a cacophony of feeling. Coming from every direction. Every street corner, every store, every park.

Every moment of her life since she was eleven, Alex could only feel for others.

"I- I forgot." She realizes, half surprise and half so much sadness another sob breaks through her throat.

Now it made sense, the anger, the sadness, the fear, a hurricane of emotion so very powerful it made her ears ring.

"I'm scared." She admits. Because for someone who had been so focused on learning how to exist among other people's feelings, Alex had no clue how to handle herself, "what do I do with all of this? How do I fix it?"

"Alex. Look at me." Steph brings her face upwards until they are so close, Alex can see the speckles of blue in her eyes, "Gabe died just four months ago, and you were there to see everything- then you got shot and thrown down God knows how many stories into a dark abyss that you somehow walked out of, but not before also finding out about your dad's tragic death - and I haven't seen you cry, actually cry, for yourself, even once."

"I- I can't, it's too much. I don't know how, Steph." Alex had learned her lesson. She'd seen her life as it was and survived it. Deep down she knew it wasn't her responsibility anymore - that it never was her responsibility, to begin with - to hold herself together for others. She knows.

But old habits die hard, and Alex guesses it'll take a while before she starts feeling it too.

Because right now, it still felt like the world might collapse if she wasn't there to hold it together.

"Just- give it to me. Everything you have, I can carry it for you." Steph says, with such determination, Alex actually believes her, but she takes her eyes away, trying to avoid the bubbling of tears threatening to jump out through her throat "Let it go, please, Alex. I can't watch you carry it alone anymore."

At that moment, Alex glances at her again, and there's so much pain, so much love in her eyes, that inside Alex, the dam finally breaks and she's choking on sobs. Tears start running down her cheeks as Steph leans in and pulls her closer, one arm around her shoulder and one on her hip, squeezing tight in reassurance.

If she didn't know better, Alex would've guessed Steph was the one with the superpowers, with the way she coaxes wave after wave of emotion out of her with nothing but her steady presence and quick, light kisses she leaves on Alex's head and hair as she holds on to her shirt for dear life.

It overwhelmed her more than anything she'd experienced so far, and for what feels like hours, she just sobs as Steph holds her.

She cries for her mom. Dead before her time, trying to hold them together to the very end. She cries for her dad, dying a slow death deep underground, a picture of the two children he'd never see again dangling around his neck. She cries for Gabe, for the time they'd never have, for the time they did have.

Above all, for the first time, Alex cried for herself. For being the last out of all of them. For the little girl that had to love and lose every single one of them in succession.

And in the middle of all of it, like a speckle of golden light hidden under all the darkness, for the first time, she feels that it could all start to feel alright.

#send me chenrich prompts #i dare you #chenrich #chengrich #alex chen #steph gingrich #life is strange true colors #long post #chenrich fanfic #chenrich fic #alex chen × steph gingrich

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rumblelibrary · 3 years

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I'm not sure if you have already done something like this before, and if you did, please let me know, I'd love to read it, BUT I was wondering if you could do a little thing, maybe with Sebastian Zöllner, where he is like totally behind on every fucking deadline, work is just piling up, he got into stress with his ex, the dishes are not done, he should go take out the trash, you know, everything is just piling up and he just cracks under the pressure, severely doubting his worth as a person. And his friend, the reader, gotta try their best to build him up again, telling him all the things they love about him, and it slowly turns into a love confession without them noticing.

Is this too elaborate, does that make sense for Seb? Idk. To me it does? Like he's always very...Seb around other people, but deep down I feel like he's always under this pressure to live up to his own and others expectations, wanting to be big and famous and perfect in a way.

I'm so sorry, brain go brrr.

Never Enough [Sebastian Zöllner x Reader]

Word Count: 4k Warnings: bad habits (heavy smoking and drinking), self deprecation, depression and some fluff in the end. A/N: I loved this prompt, I love to write Sebastian so thanks to you once more for giving me this opportunity

He should have probably realised something was wrong when the ashtray was vomiting cigarettes out from its dooming position beside the laptop.

He nervously used the left part of the one he just ended to scavenge some space and just pressed it along the others.

Or maybe when after another sip of the same cold coffee mixed with cheap gin he felt the walls of his stomach revolting and stirring against him, threatening a much bigger damage.

Or, again, when he felt like calling back Elke because he was so alone and he was hungry and tired, and she might hate him but he could pull some puppy eyes and maybe it would work. It usually did.

The truth was that he shouldn’t have taken up so many jobs, but the bank account was crying and he needed them, he needed the money.

But again: writing about the umpteenth girl- artist performing naked on a famous historic location?

Or do we have to talk about the way somebody splashed some colour here and there on a canvas saying it is the catharsis of his young mind against the social construct?

Please, may God spare him from the man calling himself landscape artist because he takes pictures of naked girls on a field.

Charged up with this amount of nothingness, he could just write and delete, write and delete, words count going quickly up to 400 only to go back at 0 in a snap of his fingers over the buttons, because he couldn’t just tear them down. He had to give them some hope, a glimpse of potential he couldn’t see and he wasn’t even aware it existed. Each of them disgusted him, but he was specifically asked to be entertaining and not a killer with his words.

So he kept swiping up videos and photos of these artists, trying to find one thing, one holy grail to get attached to and finally write one good optimistic line in the middle of the words he had to pull up to keep a moderate tone.

He rubbed his temple running over his hairline, which by the way was perfectly fine, before his hand reached down and he touched his t-shirt pulling on the neckline to gather some air, he was wearing his pyjama still, white stained shirt on blue tartan pants. He raised up the shirt and bowed his head down giving in a long inhale from the inside and just cringed to himself.

He looked around as he couldn’t stand up, if he did then he will get only more distracted and these articles needed to be ready for tomorrow.

He noticed the spray against the mosquitos on the floor, those little bastards always hiding under his desk to bite his ankles, he picked it up and sprayed it over himself like it was perfume hoping to ignore the need of a shower for few more hours.

His eyes scanned the small studio flat he was living now: the dishes sticking out of the sink, the noisy fridge buzzing. The one table that was also his work desk filled with used mugs, stained plates covered in cigarettes and leftovers, empty packages of his favourite brand discarded everywhere: from the bathroom up to the couch and to the small bed he owned. Damn, if he run out of cigarette it will be hard to ignore how he also run out of food.

The space was dark and gloomy, some of his stuff still packed up, the fake pop art panting of him and Elke staring at him reminding him of his other loss.

He didn’t touch the bed in days, he just slept on the seat or on the couch.

His attention was attracted by his phone buzzing.

He sat up straight as it was her, it was Elke.

Did she sense his discomfort?

“Elke” he picked up the call in a second.

“Wow, a quick answer, did you have your phone already in your hand or it happens just so late at night?”

Her sarcasm did’t go past him, but he just thought how long it was since he heard a human voice and not the recording of some idiot calling himself artist.

“No, I was thinking of you”

“Yes, sure, look I have sent you an email with the bills of the time you were here, the ones you have left to pay and it is only fair that you pay at least half of them”

“Sure” he just said it because he wanted to go past the point of money, he wanted her back. Maybe he could crush at her place, feel her hands through his hair, shower, sleep some good sleep and the articles will come around in few types “Elke, I was thinking we might…”

“I just called you for the bills”

“I know, but maybe we could have” his eyes darted at the top right of his laptop screen to see the time “a drink together?”

She huffed a laughter as he frowned lightly “I know you Seb, if it is money or sex what you’re looking for that door is closed and it has been for a long time”

“I know” he murmured as he let out a breathy sigh, a dooming sense of loneliness creeping over him like a giant spider ready to wrap him up and eat him “I just hoped…”

“Don’t hope Sebastian, you’re already an hopeless cause”

She hung up on him and he was left there, he kept that same pose with his phone against his ear. His eyes trailing once again over the empty page of his document on the screen, on the chaos surrounding him.

He nibbled on his bottom lip before running his tongue over the pained area.

He pushed the phone back down on the table with a tremble of his jaw and a shaky hand.

She was right.

What he did of his life anyway? He lost most of his occasions in life, he was now in his thirties and he concluded nothing of what he hoped to be, he failed in all the departments both as an artist and as a critic.

A jack of all trades is a master of none, and maybe only the first type of the famous quote could be applied to him.

He couldn’t even take the trash out or he couldn’t remember the last time he ate something that was vaguely resembling of fruits or vegetables. It is all good when you imagine yourself as a bohemian rooting against the world, when you convince yourself that’s only the proof you needed to know you are fighting well against a system of art that privileges banality and marketing over real artistic value and that, one day, all your struggles will be worth it.

Even Picasso was poor for a long time in Paris.

Damn, maybe to be in a situation like this in Paris would sound more romantic.

But the truth was: he never imagined to have to do it alone, that life would feel so overwhelming, that there wouldn’t be anything but extreme struggle, anger, loneliness and a terrible diet.

For a moment he wished to be a baby again, to be the bright boy he was and let mommy take care of his needs and his dirty shirt and empty stomach. He wished that maybe somebody noticed him before, that somebody saw his talent and helped him to pull it out instead of leaving him to do it on his own only to come late to every step.

And now it is too late, he is lost in the sea of terrible paid jobs and anguishing relationships, let’s not forget maybe he indeed had a receding hairline and he was doomed to get bold .

He squeezed his eyes as a soft sob took over his lip, hand running over his forehead as he pulled on his hair justifying his tears with some physical pain. He shook his head as he tried to gain back some composure, hand flung over to pick up his coffee mug and giving in a long gulp of the coffee, the same one he swore before to not touch again, only to almost choke on it, couching it out only to pick up the bottom hem of his shirt to clean his laptop screen.

He fucking hated to write on a computer, the old typewriters inspired him but that damn ink was too expensive now for his sore pockets.

He smirked to himself as he kept doing it, finding good excuses to call himself off any responsibility. But maybe Elke was right, well she surely was, she had two degrees, maybe he was really a lot cause. He frowned as he wiped slowly the screen with his already stained shirt, the wetness sticking then against his skin as soon as he let it go giving him another shiver.

He didn’t have even the strength to cry, he could only accept it was over.

The curse that he shouted out loud when he heard knocking at the door, smashing him out of his thought spiral, generated an immediate anger reaction from him.

“Fuck, shit, if it is the fucking neighbour, I swear I will kill her cat or that rat she has as cat, fucking hell”

He grumbled as he stood up moving across the table not caring about his state, he only wanted to crawl back into a ball and maybe nuzzle a bit somewhere.

When his death glare appeared after the door opened in a powerful swing his eyebrows lifted immediately finding you on the other side.

He blinked, one of those sleepy blinks where somebody closes his eyes and then opens them really wide to make sure it is not made up in their brain, that one.

His eyebrows furrowed as he stared at you

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“You should wash your mouth with holy water Sebastian” you said shaking your head raising your arms to show him some paper bags “I am bringing food and body shower”

He shook his head “Are you calling me stinky?”

“I am” You quickly replied moving past him into his place ignoring his groan.

He stood by the door slowly closing it, he was sure that old bitch was looking through her peephole, only then he stared at you try to make your way into the filthy kitchen. He was really embarrassed about his antics, but surely this time he exceeded some record.

“I am speechless Seb, I helped you with the moving and this place seems to have taken over you” you said as you knew he was in some rut when he kept such a long phone silence.

He was usually always texting, sending memes or one sentence texts.

You cared about him, deeply, you knew he was full of flaws and little quirks, but that’s what made him special. Nevertheless, you were worried about the state of the place, how it showed the way he let himself get dragged through the days. So he observed you, better to say, your back, the way you moved around opening the window to let fresh air inside, turning on a lamp to make some light that wasn’t just the blue one of the screen. Pulling out commodities and food from your magic bags like some sort of Mary Poppins of struggling writers. How you poured soap in the dirty load of dishes and pans, the way you marched securely to his desk to pick up that filthy mug and you frowned just sniffing at it.

“Is that poison?”

“Rat poison” he corrected you.

You shook your head as you cleaned a glass and filled it with water and among the groceries you pulled out a banana.

“Have this now, it will help” you said and he took the glass with one hand and the banana with the other like his brain was shut down.

He stared at you as you leaned your head slightly on side, he went through bad times after the break up but you had never seen him in such a helpless state.

He was chaotic but he always loved to keep up his appearance, to give that handsome and damned kind of vibe.

“Sebastian” you called him as his eyes spaced out and now where back on you “Are you alright?”

He observed you, he stared at your face like he was trying to recognise you, truth it was he kept pushing himself to say yes, say yes, say it is all good, make a joke, a remark, keep it up. You don’t need his burden, you don’t need to hate him like Elke and others do.

Just say yes.

“No” he said as his lips trembled and you watched his ironic mask fall right in front of you as he looked away hiding his tears, real tears, not the ones he can play out whenever he needs.

Just as quickly as you gave him the banana and the water you took them off his hands afraid he might hurt himself by dropping the glass in particular.

"Seb" you called his attention as he sobbed moving like a bird trying to hide his face against his own shoulder.

You took his now empty hands dragging him toward the couch and kicking off the pile of dirty clothes and discarded books on top of it to make him sit down with you.

"Talk to me"

He didn't, the man that was never out of words, even in the times he should have been, was now silent as a tombstone staring away from you as you gave a gentle squeeze to his hands. It pained you to see him in such a state.

So weak, so helpless like a lost child.

"I can't help you if you don't talk"

Sebastian shook his head still staring at the wall.

"You can't help me"

"Is it about writing? I can proof read you, it will be a moment"

He shook his head again making, hair bouncing from side to side.

"No, it is not important if I write or not"

You frowned at that comment.

"What the hell?" you just blurted out "Seb you're a talented writer, you're passionate, funny, witty, why shouldn't it be important?"

He looked up at you shaking his head "I can't write, I can't put together two sentences"

Your eyes travelled onto his side profile, truth to be told he looked worn out but he was still handsome like only Sebastian Zöllner could be. He had that chaotic charm, even with a wrinkled suit he was fearless, strong, poignant. You couldn't avoid him, he owned every place he stepped in and you could feel his gaze run through your bloodstream.

When he asks a question, he meant it, it was a test run into your bones and you loved every second of it.

His lips tightened as he diverted his gaze finally to you. You knew his relationship with Elke was important, he cared about others even if he didn't show it daily like most people do.

"Is it Elke?"

"No, she was just right"

"About what?"

He gulped, his throat dry as he pulled his bottom lip in his mouth grinding his teeth over it like playing something through that gesture.

"About me"

"Breakups are always shit, don't you even.."

"No Y/N" he interrupted you, he was serious, maybe his voice trembled but he wasn't lying or playing some role "I am really a lost cause, I mean look at his place"

His hand waved around the small flat like a drunk orchestra director.

"It is pure trash, I haven't finished unpacking, I didn't have food until you came, I am unable to look after myself, to look after the people that I care about. I worked so hard to be an artist and then I became a critic and now I am so knee deep into my own shit that I have more debts than entries, more failures than successes, more haters than friends"

He gulped down, the waterline of his eyes dangerously red and he sniffled up as he let out a little weak whisper "I just wish I could disappear"

"No"

It came out of you like a lighting bolt, it surged out of you before you could even elaborate. Like an order. A command.

"Seb, you're now in a rough patch of life, but you have always worked hard and well as a writer"

"I am a writer because I failed as an artist"

"You're a writer because you know of what you're talking about, because you're able to see the difference between marketing and passion, between hard work and laziness, because you respect that profession and it makes you the best critic"

"I just want to destroy them all because I am envious, Elke always said I am fuelled by my own envy”

"I have read pieces of yours only encouraging the rightful and bringing down the real frauds"

He shook his head as he was just fixating on the wrong, on the flaws, on the problems.

You huffed cupping his cheeks to force him to look at your eyes.

"Look at me" you said not admitting replies "you are talented in what you do, you are one of the best in your field and you're not on some big magazine only because they know they will have to put up with your shit: with the fact you always meet the people, you look at art pieces in presence, you touch them, you research the colours, you scrutinise everything to the bone"

He took your hands hating to be held like that but he squeezed them in his owns.

"And yes, you're allergic to ironing clothes and washing dishes is your personal nightmare, and yes, you give out many temper tantrums and have a terribly dark sense of humour, you are a failure at time and money management, you love filthy rich stuff and smoke like your life depends on it"

He stared at you, he listened quietly as you knew him from so long and many people, Elke included, wondered what you gained from helping him or just being around him that much. He often teased his ex about being jealous of you and she always said that it was like being jealous of a mortgage.

"So you agree?"

"I agree to say you are flawed like all of us, that you are just the perfect balance to your writing, you're what you write. You're passionate, you give out the two hundred percent of what you can give, you are like this, you go all-in in everything you do, there's no compromise, no mid way, no foreseeable change of direction, you speed up into the darkness and don't look back. You are bold, you take risks, you let people hate you because you do not compromise with who is son of who or who is the director of what gallery, you judge people over their real qualities. Because you talk to them in their face, because you don't hide that yes, you want to be great, because you're handsome and charming and smart, nobody can outsmart you in your field, not even that idiot you hate that much"

"Golo Fucking Moser" he murmured

"Golo Fucking Moser" you repeated with a chuckle "you don't have anything to envy to him beside the bruises he probably has on his knees for bending down to anyone"

He chuckled at that comment.

"And also, you're more attractive, that pisses off Seb, it is unfair to the poor man”

He leaned his head on side as you wouldn't normally shower him in compliments, he had enough ego for that, but you had never seen him like this and you wished to never see him again in such a state.

"You find me attractive?"

"Well for sure you're an eye candy" you joked

"I mean it"

You rolled your eyes blushing a bit and huffing a chuckle "I do, alight? It is universal knowledge"

He looked at you as he still held your hands in his, his thumbs making soft shapes over the back of your hand.

"That I am attractive or that you find me attractive?"

You groaned looking away with an embarrassed giggle “okay, okay, I see you're back in yourself, let's eat now"

You moved to stand up but he didn't do the same remaining sat in his spot.

"Tell me"

"I pumped your self esteem enough, now let me go"

He chuckled softly, he never really thought you'd be interested. He usually shows off so many bad traits that he has to tone himself down and really try hard to attract someone. It is all an effort on his part to appear better or at least less quirky.

And then now look at you, appreciating even his shit show.

"Y/N" he murmured giving you a soft squeeze. You kept silent not daring now to meet his gaze. He bowed his head trying to reach for your eyes with his gaze and he looked up at you, a smile that wasn't provocative over his lips.

You pulled back yanking your wrists off his grip to move straight into the kitchen corner.

You begun pulling ut some fresh vegetables and bread, you also got some cheese knowing he loves it, wanting him to have a good dinner.

He followed you almost immediately and soon you found his arms grasping you once more in a hug, his chest pressed against your back, his forehead on your shoulder.

"Seb, you..."

"I know, I stink, just give me a moment" he said and you obliged him gently caressing his arms around you.

You hated to be in the friend zone, but you wouldn't be able to survive to lose him forever or to have him joke about it.

Now he was quiet, tender like a hurt pup.

"Thank you, you know you can count on me too, right? For anything” he said and you chuckled softly “I know, you’re my favourite avenger”

He nodded brushing his crisp beard against your cheek and after few minutes stuck in that hug he dropped a kiss on your neck "love you”

He pulled back giving you a smile as he picked the shower gel you left on the counter bringing it with himself to the bathroom with a soft hum.

You smiled a bit bitterly to yourself as you guessed it was meant in a friendly way, but today it was alright. You could endure it. Also that kiss, he always did it when he was drunk, at parties or in the taxi back home after a viewing. It was his cuddly way to say things without saying them, without rambling, and you appreciated that silent language.

Maybe now he was drunk over his own feelings.

Just like you.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief @thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved @fictionlandslanddreams @charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio @hb8301 @whatawildone @rhymerhymerhyme @thehuiabird @lilith-blackrose @unbeatablecurlgirl @obsidianlaszlo @alindeluce @zemosimp05 @baronesszemo-blackwood @nocapesdahling @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @archangelproperty

#sebastian zöllner #sebastian zöllner x y/n #sebastian zollner x y/n #sebastian zollner x reader #sebastian zöllner x you #sebastian zöllner x reader #sebastian zöllner headcanon #sebastian zollner #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #daniel bruehl #ich und kaminski #ich und Kaminski fanfiction #tw: depression #tw: self deprecation

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doctorspencereid · 3 years

Text

Under the Moon

Pairing: Suna Rintarō x reader

Warnings: angst to fluff, swearing

Word count: 2.5k

Part 1

Songs to listen to: moon n sun by juneyear, like real people do by hozier, and mr.loverman by ricky mongomery.

_______________________________________________________________________

You’d gone a month since the breakup with Suna Rintarō. It’d been a month of heart ache and late night sobs choked into the soft plush of a pillow that still smelled like him. A month of forcing back tears every time your eyes connected during practice. A month of getting used to the empty passenger seat on the ride home from school, because after giving him rides to and from school every day for two years, seeing that seat go unoccupied by him felt so abnormal. That being said, you’d expected more absence from the breakup. To feel the emptiness in your life like a void that would never be filled. That wasn’t the case.

Afterall, you were still the manager, the breakup didn’t change that. While you did your best to turn down any invitations the twins provided to group hangouts, you didn’t go out of your war to drop him all together. That would be unfair to the team, to whom you’d promised your commitment. In the month since the breakup, you’d gone through your room and collected everything that was his. Including the flannel he’d lent you so long ago and forgotten about. Every hoodie, shirt and crewneck he’d ever abandoned to your car was retrieved and washed and handed over with shaky hands. That was the only direct confrontation you’d initiated with the brown haired boy you so dearly adored. He hadn’t wanted to accept the clothing, feeling that you were closing a door he didn’t want to close. But he swallowed hard and took the bag from you. His lips parted to say something, anything. You didn’t give him a chance to though, before swivelling on your heel and darting down the hall before his choked words could reach your ears.

Traces of him no longer lingered in your personal space and yes - this was the absolutely empty aspect that you’d been dreading. His scent wasn’t there now, there was no warm comfort that his hoodies provided anymore. You used to slip them on during the nights he’d leave you alone, pretending you had him in your arms. His shirt as your pillowcase while the moonlight illuminated your room through the slats of your blinds. Your room was finally void of the man you’d loved so intensely. Suna had gotten you accustomed to his absence in the months he’d spent neglecting your relationship. The months he’d sent you through withdrawal, you’d learned to cope with not being around him. That didn’t mean you didn’t miss him. Of course you did. Even in your relationship you had missed him. The distance between the both of you is what had doomed you to begin with. But now, you missed the availability you were still afforded when you were his girlfriend. While it was limited and often selective, it still wouldn’t have been odd for you to reach out for his hand and grasp it close back then. That option was no longer available to you.

Yes, you chose to break up with Suna Rintarō. But you never made the choice to end things, that was a choice he made when he neglected you - whether or not he was conscious of his choice was another matter entirely. However these days, it seemed Suna was all too conscious of that choice. Of every choice he made in your relationship.You’d called him a ghost, he remembered, and he was indeed haunted by the mistakes he made. At night, sleep never came to lull him away; instead he was consumed by thoughts, memories, the look on your face when you’d told him it was over. The tears brimming in your tired eyes. The way you’d told him you still loved him, and the way that it wasn’t enough. Because he’d drained you and left you dry.

Yes, Suna was aware of every mistake he’d made. Only now it seemed too late. He knew now that the comfort he’d always found in you was immense. Part of it was because you were always there. Always available and willing.Your love was constant and unwavering. And he was always there to gluttonously accept. He’d grown comfortable in your attentive behavior, figuring it was okay if he didn’t reach out. If he didn’t twine your fingers together. If he slacked off a bit. Because you’d still love him. You’d still be there, waiting like you always were. You’d be there, familiar and warm and eager to pull him into your grasp and warm his cold hands no matter how far he strayed. Until you weren’t. He’d let you slip so far, let the rope that tethered you fray and snap. Now he had lost you.

You didn’t block him. Of that much he knew. When he called you, it would ring and he could hear your voicemail. He listened everytime, though whether or not he left a message depended on the day. Sometimes he couldn’t muster the right words, sometimes his hope wavered and he figured you wouldn’t listen even if he did leave a message. He was right, you wouldn’t. You didn’t block him, no, but you didn’t answer his calls either. You used to have your read receipts on. If you still did, he couldn't tell - either you didn’t, or you did and you just weren’t reading his texts.

It was funny almost, how he was reaching out now that he had lost you, more than he ever had in any of the years he’d known you. Now that you were gone he missed you more than anything. Not that he didn’t see you. He did. He saw you every day at practice. Every day, he tried to make you look at him. You only ever looked at him by accident, and every time the pain that flashed in your eyes took him back to the day you ended things. Fuck, has it only been a month? He’d tried to go up and talk to you the first two weeks, but the twins had stopped him every time. They’d always stepped into his path, blocking his way to you. Never physically aggressive, but more passively distraught. Their identical faces held stern expressions and for once they actually united on an issue.

“Suna, ya need to let her go,” Atsumu had told him.

Osamu had agreed, chiming in with,“She needs to heal, and if ya go over and reopen the wound, that’ll never happen.”

His jaw had clenched. Fuck, he couldn’t let go. Not if he could fix this. You said you’d loved him. You love him. He could fix this. He could be your Rin again. He wanted to be. His amber eyes pleaded with the twins, begging them to let him pass. They didn’t budge.

So his access to you during practice was effectively shut down. You were his manager and nothing more. You only talked to him when necessary. You handed out water bottles and towels, you paid attention to their matches. And then you’d drive away in your car without him. Fuck, he even missed your car. It’d been your father’s once, but it was yours now and you’d affectionately named it something he’d found both horrendous and hilarious at once. What he wouldn’t give to drive with you in that car late at night, a playlist he’d curated for you lilting through the speakers.

Instead, here he was, a month later and he was driving his mom’s car through the streets of Hyogo. It wasn’t too late. Only around seven. You’d be home by now. He probably should be too. But it was a Friday, so he wasn’t all too concerned. The car was silent, which he’d usually detested, but he couldn’t drive and listen to music without thinking of your quiet hums harmonizing with his favorite songs. The moon was rising into the sky, beaming down pale light on the houses he passed. He hadn’t realized he’d driven down your street. He’d never driven here before. Suna gnawed at his lip anxiously, seeing your car tucked nearly beside your parent’s cars in the drive way. Fuck. I should go, he thought.

No. Fuck that. He’d spent too much time letting you go, it was time to put the fucking work in. Suna parked beside the curb. He still had the bag of clothes you returned to him. He’d never taken them back into his room. Suna slipped on a sage green hoodie and walked up to your front door, hesitantly standing there for a moment. It took him a moment before he could muster the courage for three sharp knocks against your door.

He didn’t know what he was hoping for or what he’d say. Shit - what if your parents opened the door? Did they know he fucked up? Would they hate him? What if they slammed the door in hi- Oh. You stood there, mouth agape and eyes wide. He had a feeling he was mirroring your expression.

“Suna?” Fuck. That still hurt. His heart ached in his chest, like a wave of sharp bitterness overwhelming his heart and lungs. He swallowed dryly, unable to figure out what he wanted to say. Until finally, something tumbled out of the empty basket that was his lovestruck brain.

“Do you want to go on a drive with me?” he asked wryly, eyebrows flitting together in distress. A surprised scoff escaped your lips, and then your expression scrunched a bit and he knew what you would say so he rushed to get his next words out before you could say no. “Please. I need to talk to you.”

You took a moment to chew your lips, thinking and staring at him as if you weren’t sure. Then at last, your resolve crumbled. “Fine. Let me get my keys-”

“No need,” he said quickly, showing off the keys dangling from his pointer finger. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“You drove here? Since when do you drive?” Your voice was still reserved, though you sounded both equal parts impressed, dubious and incredulous. He smiled tightly, it was all he could give at that time.

“I could always drive you know, I just.. I was used to you always driving.” A silence fell between you then. You pressed your lips together, nodding simply. He figured he might as well walk you to the car. It was odd, him in the driver’s seat and you in the passenger’s. But he supposed change was necessary if he had any hope of somehow garnering your love again. No - not garnering it, he had it - what he hoped for was you. It was only when you clicked your seatbelt did he play his music - a playlist he’d made for you. Part of him hoped it would feel like old times, and that maybe you’d find yourself slipping into old habits again, but the smarter part of him knew that it wasn’t that easy.

Once he’d turned away from your street you finally spoke.

“So…” you started, peering up at the moon through the window, “You said you wanted to talk?”

He nodded, “I.. yeah.” A sigh. A beat. A sharp breath. “I’m sorry.” When you didn’t say anything, he took at his nod to continue. “I’m so, so fucking sorry, Y/N. You deserved better than what I offered you. I got so used to you always being there for me, I got lazy. I let myself neglect you, I let you slip away. I let you fade away and fuck, I didn’t even notice.”

You were definitely looking at him now, and tears were slipping down your face. He pulled over, incidentally outside the same apartment complex where he’d realized how much you liked him. Shaky breaths hurried past your lips and he wanted nothing more than to reach over and sooth them until they steadied out, to wipe your tears and tuck you into his arms. But despite being only a few feet away, there was still so much distance he needed to cover and reclaim if he wanted to do that. “I miss you. So fucking much. I can’t fucking sleep and shit, this isn’t about me - this.. I’m sorry I made you feel like this.”

Tears were slipping down his own cheeks now. He was facing you, and while you were terrified of the way your heart was slamming against your chest, you also couldn’t force yourself to move. “I know how badly I fucked up, how much I don’t fucking deserve you. But please. Give me one more chance. To make up for what I did and give you the love you deserve.”

You stared at him, hearing him say the words you’d wanted to hear from him for months. His amber eyes were glossy with tears, and the withdrawn volleyball player was bared and vulnerable before you, pliable to the touch.

“Rintarō..” you said finally, the traces of pain in your words so sharp and clear, “You hurt me so fucking badly.”

He nodded, looking down. His tears spilled in thick drops against his jeans. Fuck.

“I love you so much, loved you so much, it hurt. I felt ignored and forgotten, it felt like you didn’t want to see me half the time. I.. I don’t know if I can do that again. I don’t know if it’s worth it.. I can’t go through that pain again.”

He couldn’t let you slip away again. He couldn’t. He wouldn't. Every fibre that made up his being refused to let you go. His brown hair fell across his vision as he shook his head vigorously. “I won’t let you go through it again, I promise. I’ll be so much better - for you. I’ll make more time for you, I’ll drive us wherever you want to go, fuck I’d go anywhere for you. Please. Give me this one chance to show that I can be better for you.”

Suna shifted forward, his cold fingers moving to cup your cheek, smooth against the dampness of your face. He could feel the heat surging beneath his touch, you still reacted to him at least. Your breath shallowed out, thoughts racing through your mind. You nuzzled into his touch gently, still unsure. “I want to believe you,” you admitted. His forehead wrinkled in distressed earnest.

“I want to be someone worthy of your trust, I want you to be able to believe that I’ll be there for you.” He told you, his words unwavering now. His amber eyes connecting with yours for an intense moment. “I’ll be a person you can rely on, if you’ll have me.”

Your hand moved reflexively, ignoring your better judgement and tangling with the silky strands at the nape of his neck and tugging him forward. The shift connecting your mouth to the soft press of his lips. Part of your chest panged with the way it missed the familiarity of him, the shape of him, the taste of him. You’d missed him so much. The kiss was brief, and when you’d parted, it was with a single word carried on a breath.

“Rin,” You breathed out. He grinned like an idiot, a hopeful idiot. Your eyes connected with his once more, wide and open - vulnerable. “Last chance. Don’t fuck it up.”

“I don’t intend to.”

#Suna #suna x reader #haikyuu suna #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #Suna fluff #angst to fluff #suna rintaro #suna x yn #exes to lovers

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runtedfiction · 3 years

Text

nicer

day 1: facade @zelinkweek2021

ao3

* * *

Years later, when Link faces the castle’s crumbling walls, he thinks about the Princess.

* * *

The day King Rhoam announces this year’s Harvest Festival is also the day his subjects know they're doomed. Officially, it’s supposed to be a normal holiday. Unofficially, the language in the announcement—“the last celebration before the fight against Calamity Ganon”, “the last time the palace will be open to Castletown until the fight is over”—convinces everyone that they’re partying in the face of the apocalypse.

“They have no faith in me,” Zelda says, putting down her pen. “Ganon is brewing deep beneath the castle. Everyone knows it. Everyone knows I can’t stop it. This is their last chance to let loose before all hell breaks loose.”

Impa frowns and hands her the final page of raw Guardian data to clean. “You're too hard on yourself. You still have time.”

“I just have Mount Lanayru next week.” She focuses on the Silent Princess above her desk. It's wilting. “Do you think I’ll be wise enough? Maybe Hylia will smite me right then and there for being an idiot.”

“Princess!”

“I know, I know.”

* * *

They wrap up that afternoon’s study, an incredibly useful session in quantifying the powers of the Guardians, to get ready for the ball.

Zelda’s dress is her signature blue, but a bit more fluid and feminine than the one she normally wears. Made for dancing and a summer night.

“Collarbones,” Impa notes, and Zelda laughs. “A little off the shoulder as well! And the subtle constellation pattern in the tulle--how stunning!”

“Don’t act as if you didn’t design it.”

“Guilty.”

Impa’s dress, an even deeper blue, is similarly gorgeous. It’s long sleeved, form fitting, and silky.

“Impa, I just want to say—” Zelda pauses, looking at their reflections in the mirror. When will they ever look this nice again? “Thank you for being my friend.”

Impa' smiles. “Of course. And Princess—if I may.”

“Yes?”

“With all your talk of the world ending, of doom coming.” Her voice gets small. “Do you think it would be worth telling him?”

Zelda stiffens. She thinks of him somewhere in the castle, dressed in his best uniform, walking to find her.

She lies. “No.”

Three quiet, efficient raps sound against her door. Zelda’s heart lurches.

* * *

In the hot, overcrowded ballroom, she can’t stop wondering if he thinks she looks pretty.

There are important people here she needs to talk to: researchers from the Royal Ancient Tech Lab, religious leaders, captains of industry, and so on. She finds her father and tries to reach some common ground on the one night they aren’t preparing for Evil Incarnate. (She fails.) She should find the court poet and give him the dance he’s been writing about for the past month.

But all she wants is for Link to look at her.

He’s indeed in his best uniform. His gloves and boots are blindingly white; his collar sits high and stiff against his neck. He’s uncommonly handsome, and the uniform emphasizes it. When someone pulls him in to dance (technically he should be keeping watch, but that someone really insists), she hates the jealousy that blooms in her chest and takes the hand of the poet. When she twirls, when she makes conversation, when she curtsies--she tries to see it all from Link’s perspective, if he can even find her in the crowd.

“Princess, are you feeling alright?”

“Oh.”

The poet looks at her in the way that a puppy looks at its master. The neediness satisfies and repulses her.

“Yes,” she says, smiling quickly. “Thank you for asking. How are you?”

“Wonderful. I was sitting in the courtyard the other day and...”

It’s easy to tune him out and appear to be interested with the right amount of “mhmm” and “oh?” and eye contact. But every time he twirls her around, she tries to spot the top of a Royal Guard cap in the crowd.

She knows she’s being stupid. Even in the incredibly unlikely scenario where Link’s interested, what could they do? Given that her powers aren’t working, there’s only a sixty percent chance they’ll get through the Calamity. She thinks back to what Impa said earlier. Something about letting him know in the face of impending doom.

(Maybe it doesn’t make sense to do something that would possibly be useless, a tiny voice in the back of her head says. But on the flip side, it’s also possible that nothing will matter soon, so why not tell him?)

She scowls and lets the poet dip her far too low for common courtesy.

* * *

Link is definitely lost in the crowd now. The next song requires that they rotate between multiple partners, and she can’t spot him anywhere. There’s no way that he’d be looking at her anyway, because why would he? He’s the chosen one, kind and strong and handsome and blessed. She’s the failed reincarnation, mean and headstrong and cursed.

If (when) the world ends, it’ll be on her.

Zelda admits to herself, swaying in the arms of someone else who doesn’t matter, that because the world has an uncomfortably high probability of ending, it follows that maybe, possibly, probably it makes sense for her to say something.

A sense of urgency unfurls in the pit of her stomach. Where is he?

* * *

She tries to find him. She doesn’t know what she’d do--ask for a dance? Strike up a conversation? Maybe it's the heat getting to her, but it worries her that she's lost him. She walks the length of the ballroom and comes up with nothing.

There’s no way she could summon him, but…

She grabs a glass of water and walks out the ballroom to the nearest balcony.

Except in this very specific circumstance, it’s infuriating how easy it is for him to find her. Even when she doesn't want to be found, even when she’s actively running away (and nearly dying in the process), there he is. The knowledge that he’s almost always aware of her presence burns.

“Hello,” she says after a respectable amount of time.

He steps out behind her. Unfortunately, the moonlight’s softness makes him look angelic. “Hi.”

Zelda very rarely has no plan. She’s the one always bossing him around, deciding where they’ll go next and how they’ll get there and what they’ll do. She’s at a loss for words right now.

“Ah--hm.” A cooling night breeze passes by. “Are you--are you enjoying the festival?”

“Yes?” He looks confused. And hot, her unhelpful brain adds. Very hot. “Are you?”

“Yes. It’s quite warm inside, but I enjoy the music and the dancing.”

“The band is nice.”

She agrees and scrambles to find another conversation topic. Damn it. Still no plan. Think, think.

“Uh--” he starts the same time she asks, “Are you ready for Mount Lanayru next week?”

He nods, and she hates how she made the conversation about work. But he looks more confident now--talking about work is easier than trying to have whatever kind of conversation she had in mind. “Yeah. I read about the region and it seems relatively safe. We might see Naydra too.”

“That would be incredible,” she says. “I’d love to capture it on the Slate.”

He nods again. A silence passes (a horribly awkward one that eats at her) before she asks: “What were you going to say before I interrupted you?”

“Oh yes.” Link clears his throat, and the fact that he looks a bit nervous sends her heart pounding. Can he tell what her subconscious is trying to do? “I’ve been meaning to ask (oh God, oh God, what has he been meaning to ask)--are you avoiding me?”

She blinks. “What?”

He won’t make eye contact with her. Triforce of courage, my ass. “Are you avoiding me?”

“No?” She’s stunned. Avoiding? All she’s been doing for the past week is pining!

“But, I feel like.” He pauses to look at her briefly. Again, his nerves kick off her own. “Ever since we got back from the desert, you haven’t really talked to me.”

She needs to think. A week ago, what happened?

They were at the Kara Kara Bazaar, and she nearly died because she intentionally (stupidly) lost him. She relives the feeling of it now--the panic that came with facing certain death when she realized it wasn’t Link following her, but the Yiga, then the shock when he appeared out of thin air wielding the sword. His back, so strong and sure. His concern as he helped her get up afterwards.

How once she could process what happened, something kicked in her chest, and everything was so obvious so suddenly.

Then getting back from the desert, what did she do? She wrote a diary entry, spent a sleepless night deciding she had feelings for him that she didn’t want to name, and tried as hard as possible to conceal them. The pining was unbearable, and--oh. Looking at him made her face burn, so she turned away. She never knew what to say around him, so she chose to say nothing at all.

Perhaps she approached her yearning by offsetting it with its opposite.

They really haven’t spoken. Zelda shakes her head, and mentally kicks herself. How can someone like you back if you don’t even talk to them? “I promise, I’m not trying to avoid you.”

He furrows his brow a little. Cute. Unfair. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Ok. If you do--if you ever need more space, let me know.” He smiles a little. “I do have to follow you, but I can do it farther away or something.”

She smiles back. Please always follow me. “Thanks. No need.”

“Alright,” he says. He glances at her arms.“Do you want to go back inside? It’s a bit cold. You’re getting goosebumps.”

She didn’t even notice. An idea is forming in her mind, bright and hot and something that needs to rush out right now or she’s going to overthink it to death.

“Going back inside sounds good. When we do, would you--would you like to dance with me?”

The question leaves so quickly that she’s not too sure if he understood it. She holds her breath; she might throw up.

“Sure,” he says, and the disappointment that she expected to punch her gut doesn’t come; a flood of something wonderful washes over her instead. Sure is yes, her mind sings. “How about I find you before the last song? I’ve been doing a bad job of keeping watch.”

“Sure,” she echoes. Hopefully her excitement isn’t too obvious when she turns back and nearly runs into the ballroom.

* * *

When the band announces the last song of the night, Zelda lets go of the poet and steps back immediately.

“My Princess,” he says, and the normal repulsion she would feel turns into joy when she spots a navy blue cap making its way through the crowd. “I would be honored to have your final dance, if you would have me.”

“Another time,” she says, already turning to pick up her skirt and mosey her way through the last group of people separating her from a flash of sandy blonde hair. “Thank you though!”

She doesn’t wait for the poet’s response because the crowd is gone and Link is right in front of her, handsome and smiling slightly. Her heart is at a million miles a minute when she drops her skirt and steps forward to place her hand in his.

This isn’t like her. He must think she’s acting so strange. Either that, or it’s obvious just from looking at her what she’s thinking. It’s a frenzied array of thoughts, ranging from the obvious (handsome, handsome, smells so good?, handsome, kind eyes) and the embarrassing (The smallest, least repressed part of me has dreamed about this all week.)

The music starts and swells and she’s still dreaming. His hand on her back is firm. Thanks to the design of the dress, she can feel his glove pressing into her. She wonders if he can feel the heat of her skin.

“How are you doing?” he asks when they fall into a rhythm, and she smiles too fast, idiot, calm down.

“Great, how are you?”

“Good,” he says, and they spin. He smiles back. “Good to know you’re not avoiding me.”

“Of course not.” Stupid, you avoided him!

He dips her a perfectly appropriate amount.

She feels brave. It’s the adrenaline getting to her, because the rational part of her can’t stop (giddily) telling her that she’s dumb when she asks, “Why would you think that I'd avoid you?”

“Hm.” He looks away to consider the question. The tips of his eyelashes catch the chandelier light. “I thought that maybe last week was a bit too much.”

She thinks about how warm his hand was when he helped her get up after saving her life. “It wasn’t.”

“It’s ok if it was.”

“No, no, you’re too kind.”

Link clears his throat. “So you’re not avoiding me because I kept trying to follow you through the bazaar when you clearly didn’t want me to?”

She laughs. “No, it’s also incredibly stupid that I tried to lose you. Besides, what would’ve happened if you hadn’t?”

Link clears his throat.

She chooses to change the subject by asking an easy “What did you make for dinner tonight?” in an attempt to soak up the final minutes she has in his arms. He starts talking about mushroom risotto, and she can’t stop smiling.

* * *

At the end of the night, when he escorts her to her room, it’s late enough that silence is acceptable.

She’s decided that she needs to do something, but she doesn’t know what. A hug would be different, but too strange. I like you is simple, but too plain. Thinking about you makes my heart soft is embarrassing. I know I’ve been an incorrigible bitch but now my walls are down and I like you is too honest.

She turns around when they reach her doors.

“Tonight was fun,” she says.

He smiles. Zelda knows romance books don’t lie when her heart jumps at the sight of it. “It was.”

This is the moment. She takes a deep breath as quietly as she can. She has that nauseous feeling again. If nothing matters, tell him. Everyone knows the apocalypse is coming.

“Hey, listen,” he says right when she opens her mouth. He pauses to look at her. If she thought he looked nervous earlier when he asked her if she was avoiding him, it’s nothing compared to now. He does a visible gulp, and—

“I think I have feelings for you.”

She blinks. What?

“And I understand if you don’t feel the same way,” he continues, tense and fast, looking right at her, “especially in light of everything going on right now. But I just had to put that out there.”

What?!

She closes her eyes--what is happening right now--and when she opens them he’s still there. This isn’t a dream.

Holy fuck. “Really?”

He nods. “Really.”

“Huh,” she says. He beat her to it. “Huh.”

“Huh?”

She laughs. He beat her to it, and now all she has to do is the easiest thing in the world.

“I think I have feelings for you too,” she says. It’s so dark now she can’t see the blue of his eyes, but she can imagine it easily.

He’s surprised. “Really?”

“Really. In fact, I was meaning to tell you just now.”

“Really?”

She laughs. “Really.”

She smiles and takes his hand. He stiffens at first, then relaxes as she threads her fingers through his.

“Oh, actually, here, let me—” He lets go. Disappointment hits her briefly before she sees that he’s taking off his glove. Some of his scars are alabaster in the moonlight. He has so many.

(She wants to kiss all of them.)

His hand is warm and rough and lovely when he slips it back into hers.

“This feels nicer,” he says, and his voice is almost shy.

There are a million things she wants to say--what are we going to do if I end the world, what are we going to do if you save the world, how long have you known for, Hylia is going to smite both of us for being fools--but she settles on squeezing his hand instead. He squeezes back.

“Yes,” she agrees. Very gently, she cups his cheek with her other hand and leans in. He’s closed his eyes already. “Much nicer.”

#zelink week 2021 #zelink #zelink fanfiction

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spencerscoven · 3 years

Text

— idle hands

about ; Spencer looks back on to the months before at the events that pulled him under, all of them starting and ending with you.

gif by sarahmichellesgellar

WARNINGS: unedited— fem!reader unsub, unsub!spencer, handjobs, smut, mentions of drugs&addiction, mentions of depression, mentions of torture, mentions of death

“Is it really so hard to believe I wanted to do it?”

A small smile played on Spencer’s features, his eyes on Hotch’s, unmoving. His eyes were bright honey, within them holding something that had been foreign to him for much too long. Happiness. Euphoria.

He sat in the same seat as you once did, letting himself soak up the aura of the interrogation room. The metal jingle of his handcuffs paired with the rough floors that were once waxed allowed him to be brought back to half a year ago, to a Wednesday in September, where the sun rose south on the horizon in Quantico, where nothing would be the same again.

Spencer’s brought back to the day he first met you, the memory so vivid he could stick his tongue out and imagine he tasted your perfume in the air. It only takes a little longer before he’s also taken back to the moments before, when he leaned against the hallway walls of the BAU with an unsettled stomach and weak knees.

“I just can’t.” Spencer had said. Begged, even.

“You can’t? Or you won’t?” Spencer knew it wasn’t a question, no matter how Hotch had phrased it. He shook his head obediently, heart heavy and guts threatening to spill onto the brown leather of his shoes. It was even worse with every step, his fingers feeble on the cool handle of the door. And he hated himself for knowing where he’d go after, the image of a small seringe behind his lids each time he blinked.

The temperature inside was only cooler, making the claminess of his hands more evident, his jaw clenched. He inspected over you for as long as he could before it turned into staring, observing just who you were in the flesh. The woman behind the profile.

Soft hair.

Established at work.

Calm.

Smart.

Perfectly hidden in everyone’s good graces, leaving you out of suspicion.

He examined you so long that he was able to see you do the same to him, gazing up and down, the corner of your lips turned up. Twenty four men within the last eight months— erratic at first, until the murders gained a special flair, your signature. The photos sat infront of you already, their tongues cut skillfully out of their mouths as you paid the snapshots no attention.

“This one,” You pointed to the photo to the farthest left, your nose scrunched up in slight disgust, “To me he looks very proud, doesn’t he? I’m sure somebody wanted to shut him up.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed, watching the game you were getting at, moving your chess piece three spaces over and looking him in the eye, daring him to join.

“Is that what you wanted? To shut him up?”

“Couldn’t say. I only read about it in the papers,” You retracted his accusation as if you’d been looking forword to the chase, crossing your legs and watching as his eyes followed them. “I read that he was a man with wandering hands, and much too many secrets. Maybe he deserved it.”

He watched you lean forward, embracing the space of the table as you placed your elbows upon it, holding your chin in the palm of your hand. You were the exact opposite of what uncomfortable was. You were eager. Excited.

“Do you agree that he deserved it?”

“I couldn’t possibly agree with you.” Spencer appealed.

Your painted nails motioned him to come closer, his jaw going slack at what was a demand, not a request. His body acted first, the scent of you nearly lifting him off the floors as it hit him. It made him sick as if he was on a rocking boat— shipwrecked. And to feel something felt good.

“I mean, there’s really no proof of who the killer is anyway.” You sighed, collecting your things without much regard for the bloody mess of the images below you.

Spencer glanced at the two way glass to the left as if he could see the figures behind it watching him crumble, letting you go because you were right in all the ways that were wrong. He’d hear about another thing he had done wrong as soon as he exited the doors.

You dismantled the space between the two of you, stopping close to look into the bronze gold of his irises, holding his energy alongside yours. Spencer tried to justify the way he didn’t step back— the soft soul of your breath against his ear just barely.

“I just wanted to see you up close...” You lead off without finishing, implying you wanted his name.

“Doctor.” He tutted, his arms held defensively by his side as if it would get him out of this newly dug hole that already contained multiple sprouting seeds inside of it.

“Doctor, you seem unsettled...” You let out a little hum at the title, nodding as you swiped your hand on the shoulder of his jacket. It was your only excuse to touch him. “Some people do bad things for all the right reasons, and sometimes, they do far too well at it.”

You struggled at your last statement, as if you were passing it onto him to consider. He couldn’t help himself from looking over his shoulder, watching the sway of your hips fade into the distance, leaving the door open only to reveal the figure of the black haired man, as if he was ready to stop what everyone else could see happening.

Hotch watched from the open door as Spencer stepped closer to the table, eyes burning through the print that you once referenced to before he took it between his thumbs, tearing it apart.

In the beginning of October, he let himself come to true terms. Sure, his team acted like they cared. They never ratted him out in fear he would lose his job— in fact, they never even uttered the words of it out loud, instead preferring looks of empathy. And as time went on, their empathy switched to looks of pity that soon became dehumanizing as they pressed and prodded at him like a cell below a microscope.

So he told them what they had already known when he was finally able to come to terms with it himself, droplets falling to the floor from his eyes as he quietly announced “I’m an addict”. And he listened as they said completely nothing, looking up to only see them watch anything in the room but him, averting their eyes to something that was somehow more important than what he had to confess.

And it dawned on him that very moment that they didn’t care when they only spoke to accept his apology for the sudden slip of the tongue. To them, he ceased to exist beyond the ways his brain benefited them.

Spencer realized they didn’t care to talk about the trackmarks that riddled his arm, or the noise of the glass vials that they heard from his pockets. He was becoming increasingly uncaring and disorganized, becoming less and less sterile each time he pumped his viens and chased his impending doom in the form of a sweet high. They just wanted to go to sleep at night without guilt sitting on their chests.

They wanted him to suffer in the shadows, swaying against the side of the bathroom stall as he rolled up his sleeves. They wanted to get off scot free and go on with their lives if they were to ever find him slumped against the cold floors, barely conscious.

It made Spencer’s skin crawl.

During an evening in mid October his fingers shook on the bottom half of his old cellphone, eagerly inching towards the final number— the one that had been burned into the front of his head right from the manila folder.

187...The one he promised he wouldn’t call.

187-654...The one that smelt like vanilla graced with casablanca lillies, and something else he just could not sniff out.

187-654-337... Was it so bad that he thought of you in a way he wasn’t supposed to?

“Hello?”

Spencer’s breath hitched against the receiver, keeping his voice in his chest while he nuzzled against his phone, taking you in as if you were right beside him.

“It’s you, isn’t it, Spencer?”

He worried his lips at your tone, patience and humility just waiting for him to speak up. Spencer counted the seconds over as several minutes passed, your tolerance never wearing down.

“Why do you know that?” Spencer asked, running his slim fingers through his head of hair at the sound of his first name, one he had never given you. Was he that fucking obvious to you?

“You were easy to find, I googled you. You’re quite remarkable, aren’t you? Besides, I’ve been expecting this call,” You admitted.

He could hear you shuffling around the room, discarding something metal and turning on the pipe, washing your hands clean. He could see your image now, phone held between your cheek and shoulder, hair falling infront of your eyes as you rinsed. He wondered what you were ridding your hands of, or if it even mattered now that he had crossed this line.

“You’ve been expecting me?”

“It’s a pity you didn’t call sooner, Spencer... I’ve been thinking about the things we could discuss. Is that what you want? To talk?”

He swallowed around the lump in his throat to stop himself from reciting his uttermost single thought: You’re no good for me.

“Yeah, I’d like to talk.”

He’d forgotten what it felt like when someone listened.

On the ripe night of December 31, he sat upon your couch, his elbows on his knees as he covered his face in shame. Hours before he stumbled onto your porch, rambling about you and him, him and you. You’d only chuckled at it, calling him admirable and sickingly sweet. His pulse began to beat harder as you told him that he reminded you of your mother, a woman who stood pure and good. He didn’t have the heart to just let you blindly say so, spoiling the image of her. Not when he wouldn’t do that to his own mother, either.

After the new person he’d become the past year, he wasn’t so sure he was deserving of such a thing. He played with the band of his watch, nothing that in just two more hours it’d be the new year. He couldn’t stop himself from spilling his truth, the one he had implied to you for months.

“What did you used to take?”

“Dilaudad, when it was available. But Morphine mostly,” Spencer’s voice was no louder than a whisper, “It was easier to get.”

He sat without saying much else, digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand, expecting you to dismiss him like so many others had before.

“How long has it been?”

“A few months.” Spencer pierced his lips, ignoring the look you gave him that implied you knew, like he did, that he wasn’t ready to admit exactly just how long he had been at it.

“Did they care?” You asked, your body leaning closer into him, waiting for a reply that never came from his mouth. You paid attention to the slight tremble of his body and the glossiness of his eyes.

He never told you the specifics about himself, and you wondered if it was because he kept you at arm’s length or because he truly thought there wasn’t anything to tell. But sometimes he’d talk about them; a woman called Emily, and one by the name of Garcia. You already knew who Hotch was from the moments he tried to shake a confession out of you before. You had assumed they were the only ones he had because he never said much else. His silence only pinged as an answer.

“Spencer, you deserve better, you do.” Your hands glided along his jaw, tilting his head to look at you. With the pads of your thumb you wiped the few tears that cascaded down his cheeks, his eyes shut tight in protest. “I care. Did you ever know that?”

Spencer stood with limp arms, his head nodding as he brought his cheek closer to your hand and laid a gentle kiss on your finger, dropping his whole world into yours.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why would you need to apologize, Spencer?”

You didn’t look at him through a lense that demonized him, reducing him to just another case who had let his addiction eat his life up from the inside out. He knew that to you he was someone like he had never been before. He was just himself, not an obstacle. And you were unreal, ready and willing to protect him.

“Can I touch you?” Spencer croaked, looking down at you with wide eyes. You didn’t answer verbally, instead opting to bring his face closer to yours, steering his lips into a kiss. It became clear as to who was in control as he submitted, hands delicately wavering above your hips without the permission to do much else.

You threw your thighs over his, straddling his hips and beginning to grind slowly, only to see that he was already showcasing a hard bludge in his pinstripe trousers. At the speed of it you pondered on the thought that he hadn’t been touched in a long time— or ever.

“Yes, you can touch me.” You assured him, a ginger grin appearing in response to his nervous eyes and hands that grasped your tits above your shirt, so eager to touch. “I meant what I said. If they can’t help give you what you need, what can they do for you?”

You palmed Spencer through his pants, admiring the little sounds that poured out of his mouth, each a bit louder than the one before. The button of his pants came off easy enough, allowing his cock to spring out, the rosy tip already leaking and sensitive. His hips jerked up to your touch, breath caught up against your neck. Your hand worked between the two of you, traveling up and down his dick repeatedly. At the perfect pace, your thumb ran across the tip, coaxing swears from his mouth as you brought your lips back to his.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Spencer. You don’t always have to stand so strong...”

Spencer’s hips moved underneath you to meet your hands, his orgasm coating your hands as he continued to whine well after he had cum, a sound that ensured the happy death of you. Through hooded eyes, he taped you licking his finishes off the back of your hand and your fingers, a keen look of contentment placed upon your face.

“You’re not alone anymore, are you?”

Spencer nodded ‘no’, embarking on how you resembled Eris, spirit dripping of discord and nasty twists, yet headstrong enough to hold the both of you up. It was an infatuation; a dangerous one.

He rubbed circles into your thigh, the after effects of his orgasm making his head hazy, head stuck in the clouds. His long fingers inched closer to the waistband of your jeans, face confused when you gently directed them away.

“I just want to please you,” he mewled, pout evident.

“You already have.”

Spencer nodded, following your lead to drop it, a long sigh drawn out his peachy lips. His head tilted, almost as a puppy’s would, an epiphany settling in. His eyes became earnest, unable to tiptoe around the dark reality surrounding the two of you. To him it didn’t matter anyway, not anymore.

“You killed those men, didn’t you?”

“Who’s to say?” You raised your eyebrows, feigning innocence like a code, meant for Spencer to see right through.

“Right,” His shoulders dropped, body no longer tense. “My team... they’re wondering if you’re worth all the trouble.”

“Am I?”

Spencer’s lips rose north, resembling something that he hadn’t done for months. You watched, a bit hypnotized, lips swollen and skin sensitive to the touch.

“You are.”

When it became March, it was too late.

“The victim is male, mid 50s, his identity yet to be verified,”

Hotch watched the scene infront of him eerily silent.

“Body has several struggle adhesions, the tongue was severed from the mouth, as well as both hands. They’ve yet to be found— I’d say the body is about five days old.”

He’d last seen Spencer six days ago after he entered the passenger side of the familiar black car, windows just a bit tinted as he saw his torso reach across the center console, kissing who had been in the driver’s seat. He hadn’t asked where he planned to go.

Idle hands ; the devil’s workshop. Nothing good came from hurt.

masterlist

#spencerscoven #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid smut #unsub!reader #spencer reid angst #unsub!spencer #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #reid #angst #bau #mgg #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic

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t-o-m-hollands · 3 years

Text

T H E

P A R I S

C H R O N I C L E S

Warnings: Smoking, drinking and smut in the other chapters. This is set in Nice in the 1950’s, I have never been to the French riviera and I wasn’t alive in the 50’s, so probably a very inaccurate description of the place (also at times simply just made up).

Summary: Newly divorced you decide to travel to the Riviera and spend the summer in the house you and Timothée have inherited. After a very successful art exhibition he comes down to join you. Things should be easy, but they aren't.

Themes: Artist!Timmy, period piece (1950's).

R E A D

P A R T

O N E

A N D

T W O

H E R E

***

Menton - July, 1953

Menton, the most easterly town of the Côte d'Azur, belonging to the Arrondissement of Nice. It is located practically on the French-Italian border, the influences of both countries clear in multi-coloured houses, the decorated windows and in the sixteenth century bell tower.

The beaches are rocky but wide, and in the summer season packed with vacationists looking for an escape from the city; to lay their bodies down and soak up some sun, breath in some fresh air and occasionally to dip their bodies into the ocean in an attempt to escape the heat and cool down.

There’s a village square, in the middle of which a fountain; made in a century in which people still believed in dragons. From Bentwood chairs you can sit back and enjoy a meal, or a simple cappuccino, al fresco; as you watch the occasional hopeful tourist throw a coin into the fountain, making wishes with sanguine smiles. Or perhaps play a game of chess with a stranger.

On a cobbled-stone street nearby a market is set up each morning in a belle-epoque building, inside of which cheese, fish and meat are sold, and outside vendors are selling fruits and vegetables on wooden tables covered by green cloths.

Away from the pastell-coloured village and the expensive resorts and hotels by the beach there are steep hills, where most of the Menton locals reside. Some houses small and quaint; others almost obscene in their obvious wealth.

One of these houses is called Villa Marguerite

***

From the villa you can see the ocean spread out in front of you, almost recklessly big and bold and blue. Behind the house; acres upon acres of lemon trees, the bright yellow and green hues creating sharp contrasts to all the surrounding blue. There’s a garden too, emerald green grass and cedar trees that with rain will spread its heady scent all over the property; some mornings it is the first thing you smell.

The morning sun shines upon the terrace and you lean back in your wicker chair and sip on your morning coffee. Music is coming from the kitchen radio, only a few meters away.

The day lay planned and untraveled in front of you with all its horrifying possibilities. In a few hours Timothée’s train will arrive at the station and the upcoming reunion fills you with equal parts anticipation and terror. You had offered to meet him there, as his train arrives. You can picture it in front of you, standing on the dusty station under the scorching sun, eyes on the railroad track before you, awaiting the first sign of the train. You’d wear something nice for him, a white sundress perhaps; to show him that you are still the young sweet girl he fell for in Paris – that the colossal weight of a wedding ring on your left ring finger has not left you changed. You can picture what he’ll show up in, paint-stained jeans and white t-shirt. It will be awkward at first, it must be after all these months apart. But you’d conquer your fear and you’d hug him, pull him tight against you and breath him in; the familiar scent of him, the irresistible and unplaceable mixture of turpentine and smokey whiskey and of Paris.

There have been nights you’ve woken up gasping for air, where your hands have searched in vain around you in bed, panic-stricken, looking for the familiar frame of a lost lover. Every time, upon realizing that he’s not there, you would fall back against the mattress, and with deep breaths force your lungs to accept air. You’d close your eyes tightly shut and perhaps it was a trick your brain played on you, some devilish scheme – but in those moments, when you needed him the most you could almost concoct his scent out of thin air, could almost smell him, almost feel him lay beside you. There were times you would have sworn on anything holy you could feel the warmth of his body beside yours.

You had suggested to meet him at the station, but he had turned your offer down so firmly it had bordered on rudeness.

In the passing months since his department from London you had shared two brief, silence-filled phone calls.

One of them early one morning in May, just as the lilac bush burst out in bloom outside your window, the scent of them heady and intoxicating, and the missing weight of a diamond ring on your left hand still a strange sensation. Still you lift the phone; asking the operator for a number in France. You had called up his studio to inform him that you had moved out of your soon-to-be former husband’s house and were now taking house in Mayfair, in case he needed to reach you. Timothée´s voice had been tense and hoarse, as if he had just woken up and was not happy about it. In the background a woman had laughed.

The second time he had called you, in the late hours of the evening mid-June, just as the magnolias had set in bloom. You had informed him that you were planning to go down to Menton the following week, to start with the process of going through your aunt’s possessions. He in turn had informed you that his exhibition was to finish up on the 15th of July, after which he planned to travel to Nice by train and thus arrive the following morning. You had then offered to meet him at the station, to show him the way to the house at his arrival, which he had turned down. The tone of had been curt and the conversation short.

And that had been your only contact since that day in London. Before coming to Menton you had gone to Paris, to sign some papers and go through a few objects in your aunts’ apartment. You had not informed Timothée of this nor had you visited him.

Now here you are, weeks later, awaiting his arrival; foot tapping nervously against the floor, eyes fixed without seeing, mind recklessly wandering. Soon he’ll arrive at the station and you try not to connect that fact with the terrible sense of doom that’s been growing stronger in your stomach these last few days. But it seems undeniably connected.

Doom, like things have already been set in motion, the faiths decided; beyond your control or demand.

You feel ungrounded, restless and unbound; like the light morning breeze can sweep you away at sea. Trying to get a hold of yourself you focus your eyes only to see the endless blue sky above you or endless blue sea in front.

The sense of temporariness, of insignificance, of irrelevance in the grand scale of things washes over you and nausea settles in the pit of your stomach. Sitting up straight in your chair, force your foot to stop stomping the ground, you close your eyes and inhale slowly.

From the open window kitchen, you can still hear Louise, your aunt's maid, playing the radio. The French pop tune playing is unknown to you plays but she signs along over the sound of cluttering plates and running water. Upon your aunt’s death had ended up unemployed and in search of a job. She had written to you in London, asking for a position, and you had taken her on.

A sea gull screams somewhere above and from your neighbour’s house you hear children playing.

The sun is warm on your skin; the stone floor warm beneath your feet.

Feeling calmer, you open your eyes.

but still all you see is blue.

***

Timothée travels to Nice by train with a third-class ticket.

The compartment is unbearably hot. He tries to lay as still as possible on the hard bunk bed, afraid that any movement will make him warmer. Trying to ignore the sweat forming on his brow he focuses on the rhythmic pace of the train moving underneath him, wishing it would lull him to sleep but all it does is leave him with a vague feeling of nausea. His fellow passenger in the bunk bed below is in the bathroom next door, violently vomiting and the retching sound is coming through the thin walls . The light above his bed keeps flicking, every other second leaving the already dim room, with its dark oak panels, in complete darkness.

And dying for a cigarette.

He’s hot and sweaty and he thanks his lucky star he turned down your offer to meet him at the station. The thought of seeing you again after all these months, no doubt radiant in the sunlight, like an angel in waiting for him; and then him, wearing sweat-soaked rags that’ll no doubt smell of bile and dust and liquor.

He’s glad he turned your offer down; wants to make a good impression on you, to show you that he has changed, that he’s no longer the penniless painter; that he has made a success out of himself. The exhibition had been an incomparable success, Le Monde had put him on the front page and Le Journal du Dimanche had written an entire feature on his use of the colour blue – which they had been dubbed “as revolutionary as Picasso’s blue period, making the viewer see the colour in a new light, almost as if for the first time. Never before have I’ve seen blue look so isolated and lonely”.

He wondered if you had seen it. He wants you to have seen it, to be proud of it; of him. To know, because you had to know, that it was all for you.

But lately fear had crept up on him. Like mold it had grown from a single thought; slowly and steadily until it covered everything, until it was a certainty he knew as well as his own name; a fact poisoning his every breath.

What if you didn’t love him anymore? What if, after all this time and suffering you found out that, actually, without all the hinders standing in your way you didn’t actually find him all that interesting.

He would be forced to go on his way, certain in the knowledge that you no longer loved him; instead of the current status quo of endless possibilities of the untraveled road, where anything can still happen. Where there is still hope. It had crossed his mind, the thought of just not going. To stay in Paris and paint and dream; safe in the knowledge that at one point the most beautiful woman in the world had loved him. Never having the possibility of that changing.

But it would be a cowardly thing to do, and whatever else he was he was no coward. But he also knew that there was no use pretending, he was not the same as he was when he met you. How could he be? He had been a planet, knocked out of its orbit, forced to find a gravity anew. And he had, it had taken time and pain and more self-discipline than he knew he had in him. He had dusted himself of and gone on with life. But when you left Paris the first time had felt safe in the knowledge that you loved him.

If you were to reject him now, it would only be because you found him lacking; disappointing.

The stranger retches in the bathroom again and behind closed eyelids Timothée can still see the flicking light. He pretends it’s a blinking star.

Lately he’s been reading less Hemingway, Fitzgerald and Dostoevsky; switched them for Nietzsche, Sartre and Aristotle. This new world of science and philosophy opening up a whole new world for him. It had set his mind to ponder about love and religion and of the whole galaxy too; about his place and role in all of these things.

Every day, several times over, he had wanted to call you. To tell you about his discoveries, read you abstracts from his books and ask your thoughts on it. He wanted to know what you made out of all these subjects, to hear where your opinions differed from his. He wanted to argue with you about them.

Yet every time he picked up the phone to call you, he had put it down again. He had felt silly, calling you about such mundane things. Didn’t want to bother you in your grief. He knew, had bought each new glossy copy of the Tatler with a shameful face, that you were going through a difficult divorce.

He didn’t want to complicate your life any further.

The stranger comes into the compartment again, groans loudly and shuts the door with a bang behind him before throwing himself down on the lower bunkbed.

“Fucking hate trains” he states.

“You don’t say” Timothée answers dryly. It’s stifling hot in the compartment and the other man has brought in the strong scent of bile back with him to mix with the stench of sweat.

The train takes a sudden turn and the man below groans loudly again. Timothée hears how he fiddles with something and then the click of a lighter. He asks the man for a cigarette and the he kind-heartedly hands him his entire package of Lucky Strikes. Perhaps as an apology for the smell.

The rest of journey is spent chain-smoking cigarettes until the late hour, the compartment a fog of smoke, until he finally falls into slumber somewhere after Lyon.

The next morning his travel companion, looking rather worse for wear but relieved that the train has stopped at last, helps him with his luggage as they depart the train.

A strange feeling of having been reborn settles over him as he blinks up at the sun, his eyes adjusted from the previous dark dimness of his coupé. The station is dusty and oven-hot but he strives forward through it, bag with his belongings slung over his shoulder. Just as he expected he’s arrived sweaty, with ruffled dirty clothes and a stench of bile and sweat lingers on him. It had most definitely been the right decision to turn down your offer to meet him at the station. And so, instead of looking for a taxi to take him to the great big house on the hills he makes his way down the cobbled streets in quite the other direction.

There’s nothing like the ocean to wash away the sense of filth. With a gasp he breaks through the water surface and forces large gulps of fresh air down his throat. The water is cyan in shade and the surface glitter under the sun. He wades his way through the water and back to the beach, sending a silent prayer that the posh hotel he’s snuck into won’t notice that he is in fact not a guest paying hundreds of Francs a night for the luxury of a private beach, complete with white sunbeds and linen-clad waiters ready to service your every whim, but in fact just a common free-loader.

The small rocks are scalding hot and under his bare feet but he makes his way through the white parasols and sunbeds, careful as to not disturb the suntanning guests, his shabby bag slung over his shoulder.

“I’ll be damned!” An American voice roars out and Timothée stops dead in his tracks, heart beating painfully in his chest; as if he was an animal, knowing he was about to be caught in the hunt. “If it isn’t my favorite painter!”

Slowly he turns around.

Underneath a white parasol, sprawled out on a sunchair; broad-shouldered, blond and suntanned, lay William.

Fuck.

William stands up and moves closer to him. “It is you! Man, what a surprise!” he bursts out in his thick American accent and claps him on his shoulder. Timothée just stands there, still with the feeling of being caught; trapped. William just smiles at him. “I was just going to grab an early lunch, care to join me?”

The hotel restaurant is situated on a terrace, making the most of the ocean view, azure blue sea glittering under the sun. The beach is full to the brim with suntanned bodies, sipping drinks under big white parasols. They’ve both changed out of their swimming trunks, William into a nice white day suit, freshly pressed of course. Walking behind him onto the terrace Timothée feels especially shabby in his worn linen trousers, albeit he’s currently wearing his only items of clothing not covered in paint splatters.

They are seated by the railings, a small white clothed table. They order margarita pizzas and beers. They small talk, filling up the blanks since they last saw each other.

Timothée tells him of his work, the successful exhibition, his newfound love of Nietzsche. About his reason for coming to Nice. William in turn tells him of how he changed his mind about returning to America, how he’s fallen in love with the Mediterranean, how life here has inspired him so much he’s taken up writing. In fact, he has already written most of his first book, and it is set to publish at the end of summer. He is now looking for a house, some permanency for the first time in his life. He will settle down here, he tells Timothée in a solemn tone.

Timothée well recognizes the signs of a man trying to escape from himself. He doubts very much if William is the type to ever settle, has no doubts in fact that next time they’ll speak William will have taken up an instrument set to join a band, or learn a new language ready to move country yet again. Timothée knows a drifter when he sees one.

But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to warn the other man about the uselessness of attempting to outrun oneself, doesn’t advise him to instead make peace with the past and himself; knows that there is no use, that he'll find this out for himself soon enough. So instead he smiles, lights the last of his Lucky Strike´s and orders them some more beers.

They drink and talk, dream really, far into the afternoon as the sky changes from bright blue to nuances of powder pink and lavender. They dream up scenarios for William’s future; a summer spent in sunny Nice soaking up the sun, before setting to Capri in the autumn to work on a new book. They decide he should take a break in the winter to go skiing in Saint Moritz before returning to Nice in the spring, to finish up his book.

More beers are ordered, and subjects discussed, but when a longer silence takes place William leans back in his chair, a shy look on his face that makes him look more boy than man.

“So” he begins, and Timothée’s interests are piqued. The terrace is full of people by now, taking a late lunch or simply enjoying an afternoon drink, waiting for the sun to set and the real party to begin.

“So?” he offers, pressing the other man to continue.

William clears his throat, cheeks flushed, and not purely from the day spent in the sun. “So, you’re going to see her now?”

Timothée is not surprised by his question, had expected it since he told him why he was here, had expected the subject of you to arise. It felt inevitable. The subject of you too big to ignore.

“Yes” he says, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray. They’d bought new ones from the waiter many beers ago, the crystal cut ashtray between them filled to the brim with stumped out cigarettes.

“Yeah should get going soon really, she was expecting me this morning.”

Silence for a heartbeat, as the sky turns red, the sun almost setting.

“And it is true, what they’ve written in the society pages? She’s getting divorced?”

Timothée, not knowing what to do with his hands, lights yet another cigarette; even though his throat feels too dry; too tight. “Yeah” he manages to get out.

Silence again. William is keeping his eyes on the setting sun, seemingly lost in thought.

“Mind if I tag back with you to the house?” he says eventually. The words come out almost superiorly. Yet Timothée senses the fragile vulnerability under the arrogance. “I’d just like to say hi to her” he then adds in a softer tone. “Our last goodbye…” he trails off for a second and something like regret flashes in his clear blue eyes, “Look, I treated her abhorrently and I’d like to put things right, it’s the least I can do”.

And who is Timothée to deny either one of you that?

The ground is slightly unsteady under his feet as they stand outside the hotel, waiting for the taxi the porter had ordered. He had, perhaps, had one too many to drink. He sways from one foot to the other. It is just past midnight and he should have gone home hours ago.

And maybe he shouldn’t arrive at your first meeting in months, the first meeting post-divorce, absolutely wasted. A knot ties somewhere in his stomach.

And, he thinks as he slides into the backseat of the taxi, maybe he oughtn't to bring your ex-fiancé with him to said meeting. An ex-fiancé who had broken up your engagement days before the wedding, left you pretty much at the altar to marry someone else instead. Your first love.

The knot tightens harder.

He watches the city, now dark and full of people, pass by outside the window. As the taxi goes up the hills he tries to focus on the ocean outside; now the darkest shade of blue. The moon is yet to make an appearance to light up the evening. They drive up a final curve and finally Timothée can see it. The white house atop the hill is large and neo-classical in style, with painted mint-green shutters, currently open wide to let in some evening air, and up the white walls magenta colored bougainvillea climbs.

The lights are on and Timothée feels light-headed. He blames it on the drinks. He blames it on the day spent under the beaming sun. He blames it on the long journey there and the fact he slept so badly on the train.

He blames it on anything other than the fact that he’s starting to wonder if maybe he shouldn’t have come here tonight. If perhaps he should have stayed at the hotel, sobered up and after a good night sleep come here; bunches of casa blanca lilies in hand and a forged reason for his lateness on his lips.

And he definitely shouldn’t bring William with him.

Something twists painfully inside him and he feels a bit sick. Because he knows William is your first love; but what if he’s your greatest one as well. What if the two of you after reuniting again, found that there were still love there. You both had divorces in your past now, you both had money, and freedom. What if William wasn’t just your first love, but your greatest one?

He definitely shouldn’t have brought him here.

He watches with regret settled deep in his bones as the taxi drives away, and William is walking up the pebbled path to the front door. So Timothée takes a deep breath, throws his duffel bag over his shoulder, and forces his feet forward.

They ring the door and surprise hits him for the second time that day, when the door opens and Aunt Marguerite’s maid Louise stands there, wearing the usual look of disapproval as she takes in the state of him.

She sniffs with disgust. “You are late” she tells him with a stern tone, before stepping aside to let him enter. “Madam is on the terrace”. He drops his bag on the floor as she leads the way through the house, William at his heel. His feet feel like cement, but he keeps forcing them forward.

The first thing he sees as he steps out onto the terrace is the moon, now high in the sky, casting its reflection on the water below. Then, on a sunbed with your face towards the ancient blue spreading out in front of you; not directed to him. He sees you in the moonlight, curled up underneath a blanket, a glass of red wine beside you. The only light on the terrace the moon and candles, lit up around you.

Without turning to look at him you say, in a voice painfully familiar, “was beginning to give up on you. Thought you’d missed the train”.

“Sorry” he says, and it surprises him how calm he sounds; because he’s pretty sure something is exploding inside his chest. “Got a bit distracted.”

You turn to him then, a half-smile on your face that freezes immediately upon seeing who is standing behind him. Painful silence falls between you, heavy like a wet blanket, while the ocean roars beneath, its waves crashing against the rocks.

“Wills?” Your voice sounds so vulnerable it makes him want to weep, to go hide; to ask something holy for forgiveness.

“Hi baby” William answers and Timothée nearly whimpers, wants to look away but can’t seem to turn his eyes from the scene in front of him.

Your eyes are big and glossy in the moonlight as William moves closer. Nausea rises in Timothée’s stomach as he watches William sit down on the sunbed beside you; hands clasped before him like a schoolboy in church.

“I’m sorry” he begins, “this must come as a surprise to you but…”

“Excuse me” you interrupt him, voice cold but your vulnerability clear as it. “I think I will retire to bed. You can stay over if you wish, Louise will prepare you a room. We’ll lunch tomorrow.”

And all either Timothée can do is watch as you stand up, spine all straight and head held high as you walk past him, not casting him a single look as he hangs his head in shame.

Timothée blinks slowly into the bright light; confused as to where he is for a moment. He blinks a few more times, his lasting impression; white. White sheets, white walls, white lilies on his bedside table, white wooden floors and white curtains moving in the breeze from the open balcony door; outside of which azure blue sky. Then,

Menton.

You.

He groans, burying his face in the pillow. The pain in your eyes as you walked past him the night before; eyes brimming with carefully held back tears. Why, why, why on earth had he brought William with him? Why hadn’t he just told him no? Surely it wouldn’t have been unreasonable to turn down his request to force his way back into his ex-fiancé’s life?

But he wanted you back. And Timothée had handed you to him.

“Fuck” he groans.

Despite his protesting, heavy limbs and sore head he stands up and moves through the room, to the gilded mirror by the antique dresser. Slowly he blinks back to his miserable reflection. A skinny man, with unruly, dark curls and anxious, wide eyes, dark circles like bruises underneath them. He thinks of William; tall and golden and broad shouldered enough to carry the weight of the world on them. And rich enough to own it.

He wants to hurl.

Instead, with the determination of the already damned, he moves through the room, knowing there is nothing left to do but face the day; and the consequences of last night. Finding a pair of clean linen trousers and white shirt he pulls them on with fumbling hands. Rooming through the pockets of the trousers he wore last night, carelessly thrown over a wicker chair, he finds the package of Gauloises he bought at the hotel the previous night. He puts them in his pocket, he is going to need them. Feeling like a man walking up to the gallows he steps out of his room.

Louise, who’s in the kitchen preparing breakfast, huffs in displeasure when she sees him.

“Yeah, yeah” he mutters, “I know”.

She pulls up her blonde hair and ties it in a knot in her back, seemingly doing her utmost to ignore him, but he’s pretty sure she’s just doing it for the opportunity to sneakily give him the finger.

Out on the terrace you sit by the table, reading. Wearing a white silky thing, your hair wet from a bath, pearls of water falling to the ground as you move to flip a page in your book. You are bathing in the morning light, covered by it; and maybe it’s just to Timothée’s eyes but everything else seems to fall into shadow.

Walking more assuredly than he feels, somewhat comforted in the fact that William is not yet up, he takes a seat beside you at the table. You flip a page in your book, and you don’t look at him. A seagull screeches in the sky, but otherwise the world remains quiet.

“What are you reading?” he asks, though feeling it is a trivial question in the midst of everything. He feels foolish, trying to ease into conversation with you, when all he really want to do is apologise; to take your hands and tell you that he’s sorry.

“The Odyssey”

“You like it?”

Your eyes don’t move over the page, but you don’t look at him either; instead fixated on the page in front of you.

“Yes” you say eventually. “But I find the prose hard to get used to”.

“Well” he says fishing in his pockets for his Gauloises, “personally I prefer The Iliad. There’s a feeling of doom in it that stays with you, like their fates are already set out for them and they can’t escape it. They’re left to just live their stories out”. He brings a cigarette to his lips but soon discovers he’s forgotten a lighter. He swears under his breath, the cigarette hanging from his mouth. Then something silver reflects in the sun, right before his eyes. You’re reaching out your hand to him, and in the palm of your hand lay a cigarette lighter. Gratefully he takes it and lights up.

“Thanks” he says, trying to hand it back to you, but you shake your head.

“No, it’s yours. Apparently, my aunt had it ordered for you before she passed. I was going to give it to you yesterday.”

Timothée feels as if he’s been punched in the stomach. He lays down the cigarette and looks down at the silver lighter. It’s beautifully crafted, old fashioned in a good way and thoroughly stylish. Marguerite through and through. He turns it in his hand and sunlight reflects from its perfect surface. Only then does he notice the engraved text, in cursive writing; “Fuck Picasso”.

He breaks out in laughter but feels a simultaneous need to cry. To lay down on the floor and weep. He misses her, would do anything to hear her scold him for his behavior again. To have her tell him that he is being defeatist and to keep trying; keep fighting for what he wants.

He looks at you, and he can see the same conflicting feelings reflected in your glossy eyes.

“Le petit dejeuner, madam” Louise says, putting down the tray with coffee, bread, brie and fresh fruit on the table between you. She sends Timothée a scorching look as she does so.

Once you’re both sipping on cups of coffee you clear your throat. “She did leave you the Picasso painting as well, you know”.

Timothée nearly drops his cup of scorching hot coffee in his lap. “Sorry?”

Reluctantly the corners of your mouth twist into a smile. “You never read the full version of the will, did you? She gave the Picasso to you. Said you were the only one who could possibly appreciate it”.

He snorts with laughter again, and again it comes with a sting of grief.

“You sure you don’t want it?” he asks, because a Picasso is no ordinary gift and he feels as if he’s stealing it from you; you who actually were related to the woman.

But you just shake your head, a small but sincere smile on your lips. “I got the Monet”.

“Bloody landscape artist” Timothée teases and you laugh. This is an old joke, an inside joke, one that has made you laugh before. Your laughter feels familiar and warm and he wants to pull you closer to him, feel your skin; warm from the sun, against his.

“You are just jealous” you tease back, and your eyes; the same colour as your aunts, sparkle in the sunshine. “You have never been able to paint a landscape”.

“No” he says, reaching for a stem or green grapes, “I’ve never found a landscape more interesting than a face” he adds, pulling the sweet fruit from its stem and placing it between his teeth; slowly biting down, relishing the taste.

He wants to say, ‘there’s nothing I’d rather paint than your face’, but swallows the words along with the fruit. He watches your face as you look at the sea; hair still wet against your now slightly rosy cheeks.

“Good morning” says a cheerful, though somewhat raspy, American accent.

Timothée turns and sees William walking towards you. He’s all tousled blonde hair, white dress shirt unbuttoned at the top; showing seamlessly endless amounts of suntanned golden skin. Styled with a Rolex watch and bare feet he’s all Hamptons; all American.

Timothée looks at him and thinks Paul Newman would be proud.

He picks up and finally lights his cigarette, using his new treasure.

William sits down by the table, leans back and sighs. “Gonna be a beautiful day” he announces to them, as if the weather was his to rule. Timothée watches him in the morning light, all golden and decisive. He thinks of Zeus, of power and of glory.

You gesture for Timothée’s cigarette package and he picks one out and hands it to you. Leaning closer, closer and closer still; your face so near that he can count each of your eyelashes if he so wishes, your arms nearly touching his. He lights you up. All the time he can feel William’s watchful eyes as he observes the two of you.

Louise comes out with another cup of coffee and places it in front of William before heading back to the kitchen. In the silence between them they can hear how she puts on the record player, the tunes of Chopin floating out on the terrace. Timothée meets your eyes and you both smile.

Flashes of memories from another life, you and him in Paris in his old studio. Dancing in the evening, hips pressed together as you’d swayed gently from side to side, your chest pressed to his, feeling so close it was as if you were sharing breaths. Or you posing on the carpet, naked in the afternoon light as he attempts the impossible; trying to recreate the loveliness and complexities of you. A Herculean task. All the while Chopin played in the background.

“So what are we all doing today?” inquires William and Timothée breaks eye contact with you. Maybe he is imagining it, but he thinks there’s a harshness behind Williams' forceful cheerfulness.

You enter into conversation with William, all small talk and politeness, as Timothée smokes his cigarette and looks the other way.

“Can I talk with you?” William asks, his hand around your wrist, holding you in place. “Alone, I mean.”

Your plates have been cleared, the coffee cups stand empty and William has reached over the table to take a hold of you. Timothée, who’d spent most of the breakfast in silence, his face towards the sea, playing with silver lighter in his lap, now stands up. “I’m off to explore the village” he says with a tone of indifference. But there is something strained about the way he’s holding himself, a tenseness in his shoulder, a frozen look on his face. It is in the way he refuses to look at either you or William as he walks away.

You watch him leave before gently pulling your hand away from William’s. “I must say, it is a surprise to see you here, Wills”.

William doesn’t hang his head in shame or embarrassment but keeps his clear blue eyes on yours.

“I didn’t know that you were here in Menton, that’s not why I came here. But I did go looking for you, in Paris”. His voice never shakes, neither does his hands. He is as steadfast as you remember him from school. Ha had been taller than everybody else, towering over them all. He could easily have been awkward, already standing out with his American accent. But he wasn’t. William had been born with a sense of self-assurance most could only dream of. Dubbed arrogant by some you had felt admiration.

Your school had been set up in two buildings, one for the boys and one for the girls, and separated by a field. Most classes were taken separately, the only times the genders had mixed was during meals and announcements, or on special sports days.

You can still remember it so clearly, when you fourteenth year old set your eyes on sixteen year old William for the first time. It had been on the football pitch during a friendly start of the term game. He was new to the school, a head taller than the other boys and no one seemed to be able to take their eyes off him. It was clear that he was unused to the game, having grown up mostly playing American football, but he soon got his head around the rules. You see it so clearly in front of you, how he had made his way through the defence, his long legs carrying him through in quick strides, before scoring his first goal; the whole crowd going wild. He was a natural talent, as soon you would learn, he was in most things. He took on the world with a natural ease, assured in his belief that everything would go his way.

At the end of the match he had stood there, arm slung around the shoulders of his fellow comrades, all grinning from ear to ear. They were the victors of the game; the heroes of the school. William in the middle, head slung back in laughter, almost radiant in the late September sun. He was and always had been golden, had always seemed more than human to you, almost godlike in being. The other boys had certainly found him so, the only exception being Freddie Fairfax and his friends, who never had a kind word to say about their fellow student. However the rest of the boys had soon made William their unelected leader. The king of god on mount Olympus. His eyes had met yours in the crowd of admirers and just like that - you were done for.

When he had asked you to the school dance, mouthed crooked in a smile and hands unstirred; so unlike the nervously trembling boys, you had said yes. The other girls had envied you and when you walked into the great hall with him he had taken your arm in his and kissed you on your forehead; told you he thought you were the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. You had felt chosen; blessed even.

And when he had asked you to marry him, down on one knee like a gentleman and with a hand that didn’t shake with nerves, you had said yes. Had thought that had settled everything. That you would marry the man you loved in front of all your friends and family, securing a financially stable future for your parents. You’d go on a honeymoon, a world tour perhaps, and later; children. After having found the perfect family home in Kensington, among all your friends.

Alas, that was not to be. No wedding, nor children or home had come along. Instead, heartbreak.

And you had fled, humiliated, to Paris.

“Yes” you say, feeling unable to look away from his blue gaze. “Yes, Timothée mentioned that. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to meet you, I had already left for London by then”.

“Yeah” he says, corners of his lips turned up in a smile, but his eyes filled with something more like pity. “To marry Freddie Farifax”. And then he’s on his feet, moving around the table and before you know it, in Timothée’s chair. He leans forward and grasps your hands in his. They feel warm and steady, whereas yours are cold and shaking.

“Babe” his voice is like a gentle breeze. “Babe, look at me”.

You look up from your clasped hands and back into his blue eyes, at the moment more serious than you’ve ever seen them.

“I should never have left you” he continues, voice sweet and tender and barely louder than the breeze. “I was bewitched. I know, I know it sounds stupid but I just lost my head about Linda. I was a fool, a goddamn fool. I realized as soon as we left for New York that who I really wanted was you. It was like waking up from a dream. She was just such a lovely thing, so carefree and - no please, listen” You had tried to remove your hands from his but he kept a firm grip around them. Slowly he moves one of his hands from yours, up to your face to cup your cheek. It’s tender, and it feels like it had always felt when Wiliam touched you - the same feeling you got when you lay sunbathing; kissed by the sun. A mild breeze through the trees and the scent of him, citrus and cedar, hits you like an embrace from the past.

At fifteen, a few months after you first set eyes on him, he kissed you. Calmly, with a hand cupping your face; just like now, he had kissed you until you felt tender and starry eyed. It had been in the library, in the row furthest down, a copy of Anna Karenina sticking into your back as he pressed you against the bookcase.

He had smelled the same then, as you stood on your tip-toes to reach him his arms surrounded you.

He had smelled the same in baronessa Digby’s guestroom during her annual ball. After hours spent dancing, pressed up against one another he had snuck you both in there and on the bed showed all there was to know about love in its physical form. Flashes of memories come back to you of his body above yours, muscles defined and body almost golden in the candlelight, pressing you down onto crisp white sheets. The scent of lemon and cedar everywhere.

He had been gentle and patient, moving in and out of you with steady, slow thrusts at first, deliberate and calm in all his movements. His hands were steady the whole way through but you were shaking all over.

“I should never have left you” he repeats, and you can feel the shame coming off him in waves, see the regret in his eyes and in the furrow of his brow. “You never should have had to marry fucking Freddie, the piece of shit”. Something thunders in his blue eyes.

“I’m not angry with you William. I felt hurt and humiliated when you left but it’s all in the past now, so if it is my forgiveness you’ve come here for you can have it”.

“It’s not,” William says, almost before you’ve finished speaking. “I mean, I’ll gladly take it but what I want is you.” All you can do in response is stare at him and he laughs, almost bitterly, before continuing “to think, that had I not made such a massive ass of myself we would have been married now. We would be happy. I can still make you happy, baby”. He makes the last word sound like a prayer. He strokes your cheek.

“Make me carefree?” you ask, and you swear, you can feel the ocean move in protest in your lungs.

“Yes, just give me a chance and I’ll make you the happiest being on earth”.

You look into his pleading eyes. Part of you wants to say yes, because part of you still loves him. Part of you is still that fourteen year old girl, enamoured by the school hero. But you know now, have come to realize with time, that William never has, and never will understand you. Not you as you as you really are How could he understand someone so different from himself? A godlike creature whose hands never tremble, who has thunder in his eyes and whose love burns bright; but also quick. Would you choose a life with him there would be other Linda’s. Other infatuations, there was bound to be, even if he would always make his way back to you.

But though Wiliiam’s hands never tremble they know nothing of steady.

“William” you say, finally untangling your hands from his, “Will I’m sorry but it’s too late. I have already moved on”.

William leans back in his chair, a deep sigh escaping him. “Yes, yes I was afraid of that. The painter boy seems to have stolen your heart quite thoroughly, hasn’t he?” You don’t answer and William digs in his pockets for cigarettes.

“I see” he mouths out round a cigarette, brows furrowed in concentration. He brings his own silver lighter to his mouth to light up and it reflects in the sun, like bolts of lightning. “Still” he adds with a voice smooth as honey, leaned back in his chair; breathing out smoke between you, “well, he might get to keep the real you but I won the painting. Quite the consultation prize”.

***

When Timothée steps back into the house, several hours later the clouds are dark and heavy with unshed rain. The world feels charged with energy, as is the way right before thunder. Louise greets him with her usual disapproval at the door before simply nodding upward, uttering the single instruction, “upstairs”.

He makes his way through the house, dark and quiet in the late hour, up the stairs and drawing room. It is a large room, with wallpapers of navy dyed silk on which several paintings in the modern style are set up. Heavy oak furniture outlines the room, decanters of whiskey and cognac and any other liquor that could be wished for on one of the tables and in the middle of the room two elegant white sofas facing each other.

On one of them you sit, a martini at the table in front of you, next to an enormous vase of casa blanca lilies. The whole room smells of them.

Not knowing what to say, where to start he walks past you, across the room, to make himself a drink. Pouring himself a generous measure of Laphroaig, which he drowns immediately, before pouring himself a new one. Dutch courage.

“William gone then?” he asks, staring down at the amber liquid in his glas, hating how casual he sounds.

“Yes, he went back to his hotel”

So the supposed love of your life was only temporarily missing then. Timothée squeezes his eyes shut, clutching his hands around the table, as if to stop himself from whimpering. He feels pathetic and weak. Opening his eyes again, the room dark around him he walks to the sofa and sits down opposite of you.

Outside he hears the first few drops of rain.

“So you two patched things up then?” There’s a forged cheeriness to his voice and he hates how disingenuous he sounds.

For a few long seconds he is met by a silence so intense it makes the hair on his arms stand up. Then it really starts to fall outside, the sky opening up with rain, the clapping sound of it as it hits the roof like thunderous applause.

“I’ve decided to let the past be the past”. You’re so calm and collected; so cool and unfaced. Yet he can sense that you are holding onto yourself with an iron grip, not letting go an inch of your own feelings or reactions. It reminds him of the way children clutch their hands around objects they know they shouldn’t possess, determined not to show what they are hiding.

He takes a sip from the whiskey, the smokey smell of it mixing with the heady scent of lilies. So this was it then. He had ruined his own chance of happiness by bringing William back to you. Timothée had not been to compete with Freddie Fairfax and his money and title, but he had always known that you had not married that man out of love, and that had made the blow on his feelings less hard than if you had simply preferred Freddie; chosen him. But with William it was a different matter. You did not need to be with him out of any necessity. If you had chosen him; then it was because you loved him.

“Well, good on you” he says, drowning the rest of his glas. “Sweet of you to forgive him, you know, after basically leaving you at the altar and humiliating you infront of everyone you know. Really, it’s big of you”.

“Yes, me and William had a lovely chat this morning” your voice is cold as ice. You’re on the sofa, spine straight and shoulders tense, taking a large sip from your martini. “He told me about a poker game the two of you had in Paris. How you paid your debts with a nude portrait of me".

Lightning strikes outside and for a brief second the whole world goes white, like the flash of a camera, before once again leaving you both in shadow.

Timothée is dumbstruck; can’t get out a single word. He wants to protest, to deny it, but there’s no use. He’s never been a liar.

“How fucking could you?” The venom in your voice feels lethal, as if he’s injected it like poison and it’s making its way through his system.

And here comes the thunder.

“I trusted you with that painting and you let him fucking have it! My ex-fiance has a naked portrait of me because of you. I knew I couldn’t trust you, I knew it! It was all too good to be true. You just wanted me because you knew you couldn’t have me, because you knew it wouldn’t last. I was just a conquest you would get a few nice paintings out of!” You’re shouting now; unbound and full of rage. Unable to stand still you’ve gotten up, pacing the room.

“You knew it wouldn’t last?” he answers with a sarcastic laugh, anger shouting through him as well now. “You made sure it you mean? You used me as some sort of escape fantasy because you felt lost and trapped! The princess and the penniless painter. Those were just roles we played. You just wanted to feel desired again and no one has ever desired you as much as i have, but as soon as Freddie fucking Fairfax came along you dropped me, and guess what? I could have lived with that. I understood it even. But you made your way back into me, gave me hope, and now you’re fucking leaving again with fucking William!" He’s on his feet as well now, standing just feet from you. "So yeah, I’m sorry I gambled away the painting, that was wrong of me but don’t make out as if I’m the reason this can’t last when you have always been the first to leave. You have always been the first to leave!”

Lightning like a flash, capturing the hurt look on your face, burning it onto his retinas forever.

“You can say that all you want but you've had one foot out the door for a while, haven’t you? You never called or wrote after you left London. And when I called you early that morning there was some girl fucking giggling in the background! I had to go back to Paris this spring to sort out some of aunt's things and I didn’t go to visit you because I knew there was gonna be someone else there!”

And here comes the thunder again, louder than before.

“Oh that’s it sweetheart, jealous are we?” his tone is low and mocking and your eyes are burning into his. They seem to sparkle in the dark and though adrenaline is shooting through his body he can’t help but he can’t help thinking; that this is the most beautiful he’s ever seen you; unbound and unleashed. Despite his anger he’d like nothing more than to lean in and kiss you.

But he is angry, and so he continues in the same, low tone, “and you accuse me of having one foot out the door? Ye get jealous of some model coming in to have a painting done - who I’ve never even touched - but I have to watch your husband parade you on his arm at the opera? And be a spectator as you and fucking Wills reunite?”

“You’re the one who brought him here!”

“I know!” he shouts. Both your chests are heaving with anger, the air loaded with thunder. He takes a step back from you, runs a hand through his hair in frustration and sighs. “I know” he repeats, defeated now. Walking away from you he crosses the room and throws himself down on the sofa, his head in his hands.

Outside it keeps raining.

You sit down on your old spot on the sofa again, hands in your lap, cool and collected once more. “I have not gotten back together with William. I’m sorry I made you believe that. I’ve simply decided to forgive him and let the past be the past. That’s all”.

Timothée lifts his head up, something like hope blooming in his chest among all the despair. “Yeah? Well I’m sorry about the painting, I really am. In my defence, I didn’t know he was your William until after”.

“I guess it doesn’t matter now. I asked him to get rid of it”.

“Nevertheless, I am sorry” he looks you straight in the eye as he says this, wanting you to know the sincerity in his apology. “Do you want me to leave? I can go back to Paris tomorrow”.

Silence, then thunder once again, though this time further away.

“No” you say in the end, still in that cold voice, but you sound genuine when you continue, “no please stay. It is your house just as much as mine. Stay as long as you want”.

“Please, let me paint you again?”

Rain in July is a rare thing in Menton. Nevertheless, a storm had raged the night before. You had often heard the expression the calm before the storm, however you had always found the aftermath of storms all the more fascinating.

“No” you answer him, flipping the page in your book; Anna Karenina this morning.

Timothée is standing by the barristrade under the golden mimosa tree, trying to capture the landscape beneath him. He wears a frustrated, nearly pained look on his face as he stares at the canvas. You can hear his groans of ill contempt.

“Fucking hate landscapes”.

“That is your vanity speaking. You know you aren’t very good at it and so you hate it. Like all men you hate the things that make you look less than average". On the page in front of you Vronsky has decided to pursue Anna, despite knowing that she is a married woman.

“I’m not vain” Timothée mutters, like a petulant child. “I don’t like landscapes because they are ever-changing, just when you’ve managed to get the precise shade of the sky it has already changed into something else entirely.”

“But faces change all the time too. I’d say there’s as much variety in a face as it is in a landscape” you argue. Looking up from your book you observe Timothée. The mimosa branches hanging down, it’s golden flowers framing his head like a halo, the impression strengthened by the morning sun shining through.

The sweet, succulent scent from the tree, reinforced a thousand times with last night's heavy rain, hangs around them like an invisible cloud.

“You’re just defending landscapes because your precious Monet couldn’t have enough of them”.

“He painted people too”.

“Yeah, but he wasn't as good at is. Maybe he too was vain”.

”Monet never used black, did you know that?” You say, apropo of nothing. “And for a while Picasso only used blue. Do you think this is how they’ll define you one day? In a textbook, a picture of a portrait of me - and underneath it written in black on white: Portrait of a girl unknown. For this period in the artist's life he refused yellow. Is that how they will define you?”

“I don’t refuse yellow anymore.” He’s stopped painting now, but faces away from you, looking out at the ocean. You see his fingers twitch for a cigarette.

“Maybe not, but you don’t see blue in the same way. Neither does anyone else if Le Journal du Dimanche, I saw what they wrote about your exhibition, congratulations by the way.” His back is very still and you keep going. “What was it they wrote? ‘As revolutionary as Picasso’s blue period, making the viewer see the colour in a new light, almost as if for the first time. Never before have I’ve seen blue look so isolated and lonely’?”

You can’t explain even to yourself why you are doing it, why you are antagonising him. It is petty and it should be beneath you but like a child you try to goad a reaction out of him.

“You made me look at all colours in a different light.” It is a quiet confession, sincere in its simplicity. His hands are clasped around the brim of his chair, like he’s trying to hold himself very still. “You made me listen differently as well, I could never hear the beauty of Chopin until you played it for me. And the scent of lilies will always remind me of you. You made me feel different too, different from anybody else. Like I had been reborn into a new body, with new feelings. A new purpose. Even the air in my lungs felt different; cleaner somehow.”

You don’t know how to respond to that; feeling as though all malice has been sucked out of you like poison from a snake. Perhaps there’s nothing to say.

“Let me paint you one more time”

“No. Why don’t you just hire a model instead?”

“I don’t want another model, I just want to paint you”

“Well William’s still at the hotel if you’re planning to gamble it away after”.

Maybe all bitterness hasn’t escaped her yet. Timothée takes up his brush and goes back to his canvas. For a few long moments everything is silent.

Then, in a quiet voice he speaks. “Why didn’t you go back to William? I saw how much you loved him, when you first came to Paris. I remember. But if you’ve decided to forgive him, and if there’s still feelings there, then why not?”

“Is that what you want?”

“I want you to be happy”.

You throw the book on the table, close your eyes and lean back in your chair. “I’ve always figured that the world can be split into two; that people are either like birds, or like trees.”

You can hear Timothée dropping his paintbrush again and had you had your eyes open you would see his curious eyes as he watches you with open adoration.

“You see,” you continue “some people are drifters, and other settlers. Some people grow roots where they stand, trying to reach as far down into the earth as possible in order to feel secure. They are steady and they grow but they never change and they never change their outlook on things. And when they have to move, they have to be ripped out by the roots and it hurts. Others, well others are like birds. They fly from branch to branch and sure, sometimes they build nests but they never stay for long. They need air beneath their wings, they need freedom.”

“And William is a bird?”

“Yes, William is a bird. A drifter. He will always move from branch to branch. In his lifetime he will have a thousand infatuations and sure, if we were to marry I think he would always come back to me but I cannot live like that. I would be a tree, trying to force my roots through concrete”.

“And that is the reason you don’t choose him?” His voice breaks slightly at the end and you can’t help but love his fragility, his vulnerability in this moment.

“That yes” you say, opening your eyes and feeling blinded by the sun. “That and the fact that I’m not actually in love with him anymore”.

Silence again, because maybe there is nothing more to say now. Timothée picks up his brush and you take up your book and continue to read your book; ‘There can be no peace for us, only misery, and the greatest happiness.’

An hour or so later Timothée swears under his breath and abandons the landscape by walking out. Further away you hear the heavy front door close and you know he’s left for the village. You stand up and walk over to the painting, inspecting his work. He has painted the scenery in front of him, but despite the golden mimosa tree there is no yellow to be seen on the canvas; only various nuances of blue.

****

August, 1953

A routine settles at Villa Marguerite.

Each morning Timothée wakes before you and makes enough coffee for two. He takes his cup and his brushes out to the terrace and he tries to paint the ocean. Some time later the radio in the kitchen is turned on as Louise begins to prepare breakfast. Later still he hears your footsteps as you come out to join him on the terrace, wearing the same white dressing-gown each morning.

“There’s coffee if you want some”.

These words are his timid confession, his quiet ‘I think of you each morning as I wake’. A kind of ceasefire has settled between you. You don’t argue with each other but then again, you hardly speak.

When you come back out on the terrace, coffee cup in hand, you sit down under the golden mimosa tree and Timothée wants to sigh but he doesn’t. He wants to sigh, because you are beautiful. Because in the morning light, dressed in a white dressing-gown, you look more angel than person; the golden mimosa flowers like a halo atop your head.

Each morning he wants to capture the moment, just like you this, on his canvas. Not because of the etherealness of the setting; but the domesticity of it. You, morning hair and a cup of coffee that he has brewed for you; bare feet and nightgown.

You’re both silent as you drink. It is peaceful. In the village church bells ring. He feels no need for church. Heaven, he thinks, are mornings with you. Anything else can wait.

The rest of his days are spent painting, trying to catch the colours and moods of the ever-changing ocean and sky in front of him. By lunchtime he’s grown tired of trying, and so he walks down to the village where he strikes up a conversation with whomever is available. Nice is in high season and the streets are full of tourists. During midday however, when the sun is high in the sky, most people are hiding in whatever cool space they can find or lay their bodies on the beach. But Timothée finds he doesn’t mind the heat,

He’s made some friends during his time in Nice, foremost a fellow Parisian his age named Nathaniel, and an elderly French-speaking Italian named Marco. If Marco, who owns a bistro in the square, is available they play chess and argue about politics. Marco always wins. When Nathaniel, who works down by the docks, goes on his lunch break he comes to join them, and they eat together, whatever Marco’s bistro has to offer for the day. They share glasses of wine and discuss jazz, the two younger men unsuccessfully trying to convince Marco to arrange a jazz night at his bistro.

When the other men go back to their work Timothée strolls. Sometimes he walks down to the beach, where sometimes he runs into William. They chat, and it’s not exactly comfortable but neither is it awkward. They both get through it.

Some days he spends strolling the village, watching the pastel-coloured houses, dreaming about the inhabitants' lives. Other days he goes to the ancient little library in town, where he spends his afternoon strolling through the book shelves. He picks up books, reads a few chapters of them; though never starting at the beginning, before putting them down. Like this he goes from book to book, never being able to commit to a single story.

In the end he re-reads The Odyssey - the first page to the last. He doesn’t know what to think about it; except maybe that if The Iliad left him with a distinct feeling of doom, the feeling that sticks with him after The Odyssey is a distinct sense of homesickness. Of nostalgia.

He returns the book at the desk, asking the librarian for more books on Greek mythology. She hands him one and with the book safely pressed against his side he strolls down to the docks and there, on a bench overlooking the ocean, he reads. He reads until the heat fades and seagulls stop screeching and the sky turns pink and until all the fishing boats return to the docks.

He walks back to the village, pays for a box of pralines and a bottle of fine red wine to share with you on the terrace after dinner, and moves his feet towards home. All the time he thinks of Helen of Troy, of Persephone, of Aphrodite.

You eat dinner together and talk. You discuss The Odyssey at length. Debate about what is worse, to feel homesickness to a place you cannot return, or doom for the future. You tell him of a new play you’ve gotten your hands on, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. You talk about the play in a way that has him enamored. He asks to borrow it from you and you lend it to him.

You share the wine and the pralines as the sky grows darker and the sounds of the waves crashing against the rocks louder. You drink and eat and talk until your eyelids grow heavy and it’s time for bed and Timothée thinks to himself that even if you are not his to kiss good night he can still have this. He counts it as a blessing.

Your bedrooms are located right next to each other and as he lay in bed reading your copy of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof in the dim night lamp light he can’t help but feel close to you, knowing that just on the other side of the room you lay sleeping. Like in all your books the pages are full of underlined lines scribbles, the corners of the pages dog eared and the spine cracked.

He turns the page and sees that you have underlined a sentence. ‘I’m not living with you, we occupy the same cage’.

He continues reading until the sun starts to rise outside, then he goes back in the story and underlines a sentence of his own. ‘One thing I don’t have is the charm of the defeated’.

Notes:

The last part will up up sunday/monday

also, please, if you've managed to get through this beast of a story please leave some feedback. I've been working on this for a very long time and I'd love to hear your thoughts.

So this was like… a year in the making? Honestly never thought it would be this difficult but here we are. Also, I don’t hate Picasso as much as it seems I do. Also, is the quote “There can be no peace for us, only misery, and the greatest happiness” in the book? Or is it just in the Joe Wright movie? My ex kept my copy of Anna Karenina and I can’t remember

Inspirations: Jenny Slate’s tweet about wanting someone to love her on purpose, my own quite frankly disastrous relationships, Johnny Cash saying paradise is “this morning, with her, having coffee”, Anna Karenina (I will defend the Joe Wright adaptation until death even though I know it’s no good, alright?), Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (OBSESSED with https://www.ntathome.com/packages/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof/videos/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof-full-play version, highly recommend renting it), Greek mythology, The Blue Train adaptation by ITV Poirot (season 10 episode 1, watch it, every episode is individually based on one of her books so no need to see it chronologically) that has been playing on repeat and also the fact that for the last month I’ve been thinking of nothing else than traveling to Italy, France and Greece again.

#timothee chamalet #timothee x reader #timothee x y/n #timothée chalamet #timothee fanfic

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morningsound15 · 3 years

Text

once more, unto the breach

beau gets worried about yasha being out on her vision quest so she goes looking for her. just thinking about the idea of a goodbye conversation and what it might look like (or not) for them

spoilers for c2e130

...

Beau waits a good hour, hour and a half after Yasha heads out into the storm before she grows too impatient to let Jester braid her hair any longer. She wants to be respectful of Yasha’s communing process, whatever that might be, but Cad’s already put on his pajamas and Caleb walked in a little teary-eyed about forty-five minutes ago and Veth has been shockingly quiet most of the evening since leaving her family and it’s all feeling very ‘end of days, doom and gloom, we are walking into certain death make sure you kiss your loved ones one last time’ and the truth is, Beau doesn’t really have any loved ones. She has her biological family, but she can’t really say she loves any of them. Can’t really say any of them love her. For all intents and purposes, she has no family. Except the Nein.

Except Yasha.

She can still hear Lucien’s voice rattling around in her brain, feel the clenching moment as she whipped her head away and felt him grab her mind, hold onto it for a moment too long, those eyes glowing brighter and brighter, menacing, threatening. It had been truly terrifying. And though she could feel Caleb next to her, she knew he was there and if he had to stop her he could have but she’s done with people fucking with her head and with her body. So. No fucking thanks.

She thinks she should wait for Yasha to come back. Or for the rain to quiet. But neither thing seems imminent and Beau can’t sit still. She’s too keyed-up. From Lucien being a cock, from the whole ‘3 locations 2 planes plus some time travel later’ long-as-fuck day she’s had, from the gravity of the people around her and their somber moods, it’s hard to say. But it’s disconcerting. Unsettling. They aren’t grave people. Even Caduceus, who sort of has it in his moniker, is light-hearted and jovial even on his worst days.

Well. Apparently not on his worst days.

The rain is still coming down. She heard some crashes of thunder a while ago, something about the storm feeling much too close, but it’s since died, and only a heavy, endless, drenching downpour remains. Beau hopes that means that whatever Yasha had to say to Kord she already managed to say. She hopes it doesn’t mean Yasha’s dead, like she failed some trial and was subsequently smote (smitten? smited? got struck by fucking lightning or whatever) by an angry entity. The last thing they need right now is to piss off another god.

It should be hard to find Yasha. The rain is heavy, the grove is large, and with the soggy ground there isn’t much hope for tracks. But if Beau looks very closely (and her investigation is very good) she can just make out a hint of light, somewhere in the distance.

She doesn’t try to rush her approach, but she doesn’t try to hide it, either. She picks up the pace once Yasha’s form comes into view, and she can see her sitting straight-backed, with her head tilted, eyes closed towards the sky, letting the rain wash over her. She’s been out here for hours and it looks like it. Every inch of her is sodden and heavy. Her clothes, minimal, because it looks like she stripped down before doing whatever meditation she tried and shit, fuck, now they’re gonna have to deal with hypothermia, too?

But as she steps closer, into Yasha’s space, she sees a puff of warm breath leave her mouth, and Beau could swear, she could swear — if she weren’t so sleep-deprived and completely running on fumes — a little crackle of electricity on her lips.

Beau blinks, and it’s gone.

“Yasha?” she asks quietly after a moment, afraid of disturbing the peace. Yasha doesn’t answer her. Beau frowns, and walks another step forward. “Yash?” She tries again. Nothing.

The steady rise and fall of Yasha’s chest comforts her a little. And Yasha trusts the Stormlord with everything that she is.

Her mind thusly made up, Beau sits softly beside her crosslegged, in her own stance of meditation. She doesn’t close her eyes, doesn’t attempt to reach out to Ioun or the Somnovum or anything else. Not again. Not tonight.

Instead, she sits silent vigil next to Yasha, her hair growing wetter and wetter, waiting. Just waiting.

It seems a very long time before Yasha opens her eyes, but eventually she does. One moment Beau is carefully watching her face, then she blinks and Yasha is looking right back at her.

“Hey,” Beau says when their eyes meet. She scans closely, and feels Yasha doing the same to her. Maybe this is their new ritual. Checking to make sure the other hasn’t been hurt, or possessed, or further corrupted, in the few moments they were parted from each other. Safety feels so tenuous. But Beau is comforted to see nothing but Yasha behind her eyes.

“Hi,” Yasha says, a little breathlessly. Now that Yasha’s emerged from whatever weird storm dream, Beau can feel a subtle shift in the air. Like the very atmosphere around Yasha — and only around Yasha — is charged. She feels the hairs on her arms slowly rise. It might be the cold but Beau doesn’t think so. There’s a warm hum buzzing between them. Beau wonders, if they were to touch, whether it’d be something like rubbing your socked feet against a plush rug before touching a blade.

Yasha is holding her new blade in her palms, the borrowed platinum great sword from Kima, and it takes a moment for Yasha to react to where Beau’s attention has turned, as if she hadn’t noticed it at all. Beau knows it hasn’t felt right in her hands. Yasha can use just about any sword under the sun, but this sword was special, they could all tell just from looking at it. And though It would probably still be deadly in Yasha’s hands, there was something blocking her from using its full capabilities.

Beau can’t seem to look away from its gleaming edge. There is something different about its shape, or maybe its sheen, or maybe its sharpness, or maybe its runes, or maybe the faint glow of light it seems to catch and then consume and then give off from the light in Yasha’s palms. It’s the same blade and yet it isn’t, and Beau can’t pinpoint the how or the why, only that it’s in Yasha’s hands and Gods but does it look right there. Like it belongs. Like it’s always belonged.

“Oh,” Yasha says quietly. “I feel it, now.”

Beau shifts next to her, the squelch of wet ground and mud under her ass, creeping inside her boots. She barely notices it. She lays her hand on Yasha’s lap (no static shock, she’s a little disappointed (don’t judge) to realize). She doesn’t take Yasha’s hand, and she doesn’t touch the sword. Just sits there for a moment.

“Have you been out here a long time?”

Probably. Hard to say really. It’s all just been cold and wet and night time. But Beau just shakes her head. “Not long.”

“I’m sorry I kept you up.”

“I was up anyway. Couldn’t sleep. Had a weird thing happen.” Don’t talk about that right now. “And I… wanted to make sure you were okay.” Yasha smiles at her. A beat passes, and then two. “Are you okay?”

Yasha’s smile doesn’t waver. She nods. “I think so. Yes. I feel… the Stormlord has helped me. I feel… closer to him. Stronger.”

Beau’s answering smile is one of relief. “I’m so glad,” she says, with every breath of sincerity she has in her.

“What about you? Are you doing alright?”

Beau shrugs. “Yes and no, I guess.” Yasha doesn’t speak, patiently waiting for Beau to continue on her own when she’s ready. The cool rain drips down Beau’s eyelashes. She might almost mistake them for tears, in a different situation. In a different conversation. “The mood is pretty grim, tonight.” Beau ventures after a moment. “Can’t help but feel like everyone’s… saying goodbye. Which is weird. Kind of pessimistic. We’re usually confident…” she pauses, remembering Vokodo— “well, even if we aren’t confident going into a fight, we’re usually a little more…” She trails off, unable to explain exactly the mix of bombast, narcissism, cockiness, and stupidity that characterizes most of their plans forming and then immediately falling to shit.

Yasha doesn’t need her to say it. She knows exactly what she means. She usually does. “I don’t know if it’s ever felt so dire. We’re facing several enemies that are stronger than us and who we do not understand. It’s an impossible task. And after the week we’ve had… well. It’s hard not to prepare for the worst.” A beat, then two. Yasha’s next question is delivered softly, and without judgment. “Did you come out here so we could say goodbye.”

Beau sighs. “No. I don’t want to say goodbye to you. Not even in like a hypothetical way.” She leans her head on Yasha’s shoulder, and Yasha tilts her own head to the side to meet her. Yasha’s skin is icy to the touch, but underneath it seems to almost vibrate; like a purr or a rumble somewhere beneath the surface, so faint that if Beau didn’t have insane passive perception, she would have missed it. “I feel like I only just got you,” she whispers, turning her head into Yasha’s soaked shirt. The smell of it is comforting, if not the feel. A little like dust, a little like Yasha, a little like the crackling electricity of a summer storm. But she needs the closeness.

Yasha kisses the crown of her head. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. But I think… this is what I was meant to do,” Yasha continues softly. “I always thought I would die on the battlefield.” Beau’s stomach lurches, because she can’t stop it, and she’s immune to poison but boy it doesn’t feel like it when it’s leeching under her skin like this.

Yasha must feel her tense, because her next words are spoken softly into Beau’s hair. “I don’t plan on dying in the next few weeks, of course.”

“Of course,” Beau agrees.

“I mean, we’ve only had sex one time. It would be a waste to die now.”

Beau can’t help her smirk. “I think we can count that as way more than one time, babe.”

Yasha’s ears turn a little red. Beau can see them when she turns to look up at her profile. “One night, then. That’s not enough time for me. So. We keep… trying not to die. Trying not to let everyone else die, either. That’s all we can do.”

Beau wraps both her arm all the way around one of Yasha’s biceps and squeezes. “I’m glad we’re going in together,” she murmurs. “For whatever it’s worth. There’s no one I’d rather fight with.”

“The feeling is very much mutual.” Yasha’s smile is soft. Lighter than the mood maybe calls for, but her body is thrumming with energy and she’s got a bright shiny new sword to strap to her back and she’s surrounded by maybe the most beautiful flowers they’ve ever seen, so Beau knows this is pretty much Yasha’s peak happy place. “Besides,” Yasha jokes, “they would all absolutely die without us.”

“Oh, one hundred percent.”

“Not three hundred hit points between them. Have you seen Fjord try to swing a sword?”

“Dude… I try not to laugh when we’re training together, but his arms are like noodles.” Yasha laughs. “And, you and I are, like, the only non-magic users in the bunch. Fuck all they’re gonna do against a guy who can cancel your magic if he so much as looks at you.”

“True, true. You make an excellent point.” Yasha pauses for a moment. “Just… try not to get your brain melted again, please? That was very scary. I didn’t enjoy it.”

Beau thinks back to a few hours ago. Lucien’s voice in her mind, his power tugging her in, the eyes glowing glowing glowing, the screaming of her visions, the cacophony of pain, Yussa and Molly and Lucien and Caleb and Halas and Vess DeRogna and all the mages who have been tempted by the power of the city. She thinks of her own burning curiosity. The feeling like maybe, somehow, if these eyes gave her more power, if she could use them…

She shifts and climbs nearly fully into Yasha’s lap, sword be damned. (She feels Yasha place it gingerly on the ground so no fear of inappropriately placed gash wounds they’d have to awkwardly explain to their pair of too-knowing clerics.) Yasha’s hands slip down her back and settle over the curve of her ass, stabilizing more than anything. Beau bends to kiss her.

“Are you gonna promise me that you’ll live through this?” Beau asks.

Yasha’s answer comes after a momentary pause, where she seems to genuinely think over her answer. “No,” Yasha says finally. “I don’t really see the point. Are you going to promise me that you’ll live through this?”

“I mean…” Beau obfuscates, a little playful. “If it’ll make you feel better?”

Yasha’s expression is a little dark. “I will kill anything that tries to take you.”

“I love it when you sweet-talk me.”

“I’ll do my best not to die,” Yasha says. “And I’ll do my best not to let you die.”

Beau bends to kiss her once more, slow and unhurried. “That’s a pretty good promise. I’ll promise you the same thing.”

“Good,” Yasha whispers against her skin, their wet clothes heavy laden with rain and mud, their bodies aching with exhaustion. “That’s all I can ask for.”

#idk what this is #apparently i just write flash fics now but hey writing is writing #beauyasha #critical role #cr spoilers #fanfic #flash fic #c2e130 spoilers

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