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syneilesis · 4 months

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[fic] if only for a moment

if only for a moment

Love and Deepspace | Rafayel (Qi Yu) x Main-Character!Reader | T | 3.6k words | ao3 link (with correct formatting)

Rafayel waits. And waits. And waits.

A/N: Another LaD fic!! This time it's Rafayel. Several elements of this fic are inspired by and loosely based on his story anecdotes and bond story, plus that Deep Sea card line backdrop. So more spoilers in this one, I'm afraid. I think you need to be aware of them in order to follow the flow of the fic. But if not, here's what you need to know: basically Rafayel accepts a visiting professorship at the University of Linkon to reunite with the MC/you. And the prose poetry interspersed are loosely situated in the Deep Sea card lineup setting (you can search in YouTube for the scenes. This one is a brief glimpse of the scene). That princess/knight(??) dynamic is yum yum.

If possible, please read the version on AO3. I formatted the prose poems there as if they're really prose poetry, so I'd appreciate it if you check that out. (Though there isn't too much difference between the formatting here and there, I did make the effort of coding a little 🥺)

Anyhoo, hope you enjoy, and I am sO STOKED FOR THE OFFICIAL RELEASE. rip my wallet 💸😭

JUST LOOK AT THIS MAN AND BELIEVE

There’s a type of berry in a distant land that produces a rare shade of ink that matches the color of your eyes. It takes a hundred of them to create the right hue and volume for the art that he wants to make. It comes to him in a dream: endless desert, then fireworks of verdant sparks that coalesce into stem, leaf, and, finally, fruit. Rafayel remembers that land, so much different from the iridescent blue of ocean underwater, and the acrid gold of the barren desert. His mouth filled with the succulent sweetness of the dream, the lingering sandpaper roughness of the berries on his fingers. He already knows the name of the artwork even before he’s begun—Waiting, Missing. The ache in his bones gaining form, an intangible thing taking flesh.

Under the ocean surface, time is muted, a deafening thickness that surrounds you with its ambiguity. On land, however, it is linear, and fast, and in a matter of blinks, Rafayel’s visiting professorship nearly wraps up.

He’s only glimpsed you once or twice. Thrice at most. The university is big, but not big enough to warrant a dearth of fateful encounters. The first time he saw you it was at a coffee shop: walking along with your friends outside, your voice mellifluous and festive wafting through the trellis of the café entrance. You were talking about him—well, about Lemuria to be specific, but these days any talk of Lemuria inevitably draws in his name.

He’s committed your schedule to memory, and yet it just seems impossible to capture a moment with you. Even just a brush of shoulders, or of sleeves—an asymptote of contact. Just navigating around your orbit, but never truly meeting.

What would it be like—finally talking to you? You in front of him, face to face? Rafayel imagines the ache of waiting fading into the background until it’s completely gone. He yearns for that feeling, the release of it. A conclusion—or maybe even a beginning.

i. take my hand, he told you under the glow of the lustrous moon, the only source of light that contoured the secretive valleys of his face. i want to show your highness something. there was a country, he said, beyond the undulating monochrome of the desert, blanketed by lush trees and shrubberies and flowers that buildings were made in betwixt and around them—a nation of trailing and winding architecture, a marriage of the natural and the manmade. you wanted to ask why he’d planned on taking you there, and the only answer you got was a curt turn of his head and the profile of a masked man layered by shadows and distance. it would have been nice, you thought, if the moon poured light upon his hooded gaze.

Eventually he begins to frequent the café. Twice a week at first—he doesn’t want to come off strong right away, of course—and then making his way up until he’s hanging out there more than his own studio. He schedules his visits around your classes, always during the ones when the probability of you dropping by the café is high and he can ‘coincidentally’ be around the same area. It’s gotten to a point that Thomas calls him out on it, and nags at him to focus more on his painting. The next exhibit is immediately after his visiting professorship after all.

“From where I’m standing,” Thomas says, “you’re not painting at all.”

Rafayel ignores him.

Five minutes later, he says, “Not painting is part of the painting process.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, but he leaves him to it.

At the café, Rafayel attracts curious looks. A few attempt to approach him, but he pretends not to see them. They linger around the periphery, like moths to flame.

And then something happens: the entrance door chimes, and you swan into the coffee shop, earphones and denim overall skirt, the kind of rosy-cheeked image Rafayel finds on teen magazines, wide-eyed and earnest. You fall in line and order when it’s your turn, and your eyes sweep across the packed café searching for a vacant seat until they finally land on him.

Rafayel’s heart stumbles.

Up close, the baby fat on your cheeks still gives you the appearance of being younger than you actually look. You turn a polite smile his way, and his heart stutters again—but this time it is taken as a warning.

“Hi,” you say, tentative. Any hint of recognition absent. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

ii. you're counting the steps of your inevitable parting. you're at the edge of the desert, far away from your home and its familiar scents, oriented towards a direction that promised a future sad memory, the gentle warmth of his hand, the downward denial of his gaze. this longing that grew out of your bones, aching during cold, aching during heat, aching when he looked at you with such tenderness he had to hide it through the sharp tug of your joined hands, the long strides that opened up a lonely distance. intimacy was dangerous, knowing was dangerous, the bowels of his heart like a solitary flower on a high peak. what would you do to such loneliness?

Memory isn't always an infallible thing. The human brain cannot hang on to every moment of your life, though Rafayel wishes it were so. But still—to think that you would forget him, and it hasn’t even been a century. You were like a phantom thief stealing his heart in the night—no recourse, no resolution.

To wait is to be in agony, the burn of yearning locked within the heart. Rafayel has been waiting for a long time, and the only memory scorched in his heart is fire, the blaze and its blinding, all-consuming want.

What would you do to such want?

You have a blurry childhood, Rafayel discovers. After the first Wanderer descended on Earth, the incident strummed your memories like a stringed instrument that tired of the same chord, over and over. It had bothered you at first—not being in control of your own memories—but eventually you had learned to live with it.

“Grandma and Caleb—my childhood friend—helped me through the process,” you tell him, stirring your iced mocha with its straw. “I owe them a lot.”

Eyes cast down, but still the melancholy shadows remain in your expression. Rafayel folds his arms on the table, and leans closer.

Around them only a few people occupy the coffee shop at this time. How fortunate for Rafayel to catch you during your break while every other student is trapped in class lectures.

“There’s no use in dwelling upon what's already happened. Even sharks have to give up when their prey escapes. When you remember, it will be all the more joyous, no?”

The smile you give him is crooked, disbelieving.

“If I remember.”

“You’ll remember.” Because there’s no other choice, for you and for him. Rafayel cannot bear being shelved in the history of your smile and happiness. Waiting can only be endurable if there’s an endpoint.

In his studio, Rafayel begins his next painting.

iii. the berries tasted sweet, with an edge of sourness that clung to the bottom of the tongue. it had the exact shade of your eyes, a detail that rafayel brought up the moment he plucked it from the shrub. raising it to align with your eyes, comparing them with his artist's meticulous gaze. maybe when this is all over, i'll go back here again to extract ink from these berries, and paint a portrait of your highness using these to color your eyes. he never showed you any of his paintings, merely mentioned them in passing, and you constructed a dream of him from the throwaway words that left his covered lips. i'm not used to sitting for so long, you reminded him, and he glanced at you, then at the berry between his fingers. my memory is enough, then handed you the fruit.

In the few weeks of meeting with you Rafayel forgets that his visiting professorship is ending soon and he has to give out his last lecture. Thomas had asked him what his topic would be. At that point Rafayel had no answer. But now he has.

“I’ve been hearing you talk about Lemuria every now and then with your friends.” He props his cheek on his hand, tilting his head slightly and giving you a charming smile. “Interested?”

You blink. “How did you know?”

“Oh, I’ve seen you a couple of times here, and I happened to hear your friends chat about my lecture. Your points were almost accurate, I’m in awe.”

“The visiting professor—that’s you?!”

Rafayel pauses, the slosh of his drink nearly spilling on his frozen hand.

“You didn’t know?”

Sheepish, you say, “Honestly, I didn’t make the connection. Is that why plenty of people have been glaring at me as of late?”

He releases a frustrated sigh, eyes rolling heavenward.

“In any case, my final lecture is on Friday next week. It’s titled “Memory and Meaning in Lemurian Art”. Why don’t you drop by and listen, and you can tell me what you think afterwards.”

You retrieve your bullet journal to check your schedule. It’s colorful, filled with stickers and doodles that Rafayel finds endearing. Then the excited moue on your face drops into a frown, and Rafayel can foresee the next words that will come out of your downturned lips.

“I’m sorry,” you say guiltily, “but I have a major test that day, and I need to get a high score in order to pass the course.”

Rafayel exhales, long and weary, but ultimately shrugs off the apology. “What a shame, but I forgive you. Just don’t fail your exam or else my magnanimity would be all for nothing.”

He calls Thomas that night.

“I’ll disappear for a while once the professorship is over.”

“Hey, wait, what do you me—”

“You’ll be happy to know that this is for my next painting.”

A beat. “Okay … but for how long?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?”

Then he hangs up.

He’s trying, he really does. The lecture ends to a resounding applause, and it’s mechanical how he answers the questions posed by the audience. But he’s trying, he’s trying. There’s no specter of you in the sea of faces in the auditorium. You’re at the other end of the university compound, sweating your way through your exam. He genuinely hopes you’d pass, for your sake.

Thomas had booked his flight to another country, where he’ll traverse to a land that he’d visited many times in his dreams and had woken up with a filmy, sweet-sour tang at the roof of his mouth. He’ll leave the morning after the closing dinner party the faculty has prepared for him. There isn’t time to pack much, and no time to tell you goodbye.

Rafayel guesses that it’s only fair: how would you feel waiting for him at that café, the chair across you empty, only the sunlight pooling from the window as your companion?

iv. parting, somebody once said, is such a sweet sorrow. much like those berries in that ever-green nation, a lingering sourness remained underneath, the sting of it reminding you every now and then. he was already mourned for even before he left. tell me what it's like—the ocean. he was elusive, untouchable in his grief. you'd heard through whispers, the story of his migration, the drowning before the drying, the unwanted journey. grief brought him to you and grief would steal him away from you, you knew, down to the cells of your body and the hopelessness in your blood. —and yet. and yet you wanted to have a taste of it, anyway.

The ever-green land is no longer green, or lush, or alive. Time corroded it into memory, sepia-faded, wizened. Past. The berries he’s searching for don’t grow here anymore. Everything here is empty, barren, helplessly so.

Rafayel hasn’t accounted for such development, but he should have known. Disappointment stings at his chest, and bitterly he turns away and stays at the next town over. At a family-run restaurant situated near the outskirts, he looks over the wide windows, across the highway road, beyond the jagged horizon. The painting won’t be finished, then. Another tragedy, pressed flat next to the forgetting, to the waiting, and his home.

The chef personally serves him his order and, after a shuffle of hesitation, brings up a question.

“Young man, you came from the direction of the old country, yeah?”

Rafayel meets his inquisitive gaze. “Yes, why?”

“It’s been a while since we had someone visiting that place. There’s nothing in there anymore, it’s been that way for years. Why did you go there?”

Rafayel is reluctant to say, but at the guileless set of the older man’s face, he concedes.

“I was looking for berries. The ones native there. They produce a shade that I need for my painting.”

At the mention of the fruit, the chef’s expression lights up. “Oh! I see, I see. You’re in luck, son. We grow them here at the farm. Plenty of those for everyone. How about I give you some? It’s rare meeting someone who still remembers the old country, it’s almost fate. How many did you say you need?”

Fate. Just like the time of your first meeting, as if the universe had gifted you to him. Just like the time of your parting, of your forgetting, of his waiting. Fate as a connection from you to him, red and burning brightly.

He doesn’t want to seem eager, but he knows he’s failed from the way the chef toothily grins at him.

“A hundred or so.”

The chef falters at that, jerking slightly back. But he accepts it with a nod, an avuncular smile making its way across his kind, powdery features.

“That sure is a huge number, but I think we can work something out.”

His painting takes a month to complete, inclusive of the time spent making the ink from the acquired berries. Sometimes, Thomas watches him paint, quiet in the background. His stays usually don’t last—a quick flash that Rafayel nearly misses, or deliberately ignores. But during the final stages of the painting process, Thomas hands him the exhibit details.

“I’m just thankful you’re on time for this one.” He sighs, relieved, then leaves.

Alone, Rafayel creates. Brushstroke after careful brushstroke, each varying by pressure and angle. He lets each layer of paint dry before moving onto the next. The berry ink—the color of your eyes—the solely different element of this painting. Center, central. The focal point. The beating heart. The years and years of waiting and longing. The form and the flesh. Alive.

This, too, is an endpoint.

v. can i see your face, just this once? your hands grazed his mask like a ghost wanting to touch. rafayel stayed still beneath your desirous fingers, observing, waiting, his own fingers twitching towards his dagger. even in the parting he could not let go of this distance. hopeless, hopeless. your highness would get nothing out of seeing my face. he's wrong, his eyes never left your face, and he's wrong. he didn't stop you from your grasping of his mask, and him—finally—bare and beautiful yet a little sad. you're wrong, you said, tracing his slightly parted lips with a trembling finger, you're wrong. it is everything to me.

The gallery is packed. No surprise there. It’s almost boring, in a way. Waiting, Missing hangs at the farthest hall in the floor, special and intimate as it should be. Thomas knows him well; otherwise, Rafayel would have whined at him to hell and back just so he could be granted this demand that is in reality a mandate.

He’s hiding from the throngs of journalists and art critics alike and sequesters himself in a corner that has a clear view of the painting. Loosening his collar and tie, Rafayel breathes and closes his eyes, leans tiredly against the wall. A few more minutes, and he’ll slink out of the building, reputation be damned.

He melts into the shadows whenever somebody passes by. He has neither time nor energy interacting with people today. Watching them through half-mast eyes, Rafayel stays in his secret place and studies with weightless detachment the people looking at the painting.

He’s made a bet with himself about the opinions of his followers and admirers. Who thinks what and why. It makes for great entertainment. The last time, a fresh-faced critic praised Rafayel’s technique as “innovative and a soul-rending reflection of the prodigy’s character.” He had laughed and laughed for hours until he couldn’t breathe any longer.

Another walks by, and before Rafayel retreats further into the corner, he glimpses a familiar gait and a familiar face.

His heartbeat races. He’s never told you that he’s holding an exhibit today. After the professorship Rafayel failed to maintain communication with you, convincing himself that it’s for the best that he protect you from afar that day onwards. It didn’t help that he had to leave as well. At the same time, you never made an effort of reaching out, and Rafayel thought that it was back to square one again, that waiting, that yearning.

But here you are right now, elegantly dressed, like someone gliding out of a dream. Rafayel swallows, his hands shake. You do not have someone else with you, and your eyes are brightly focused on Waiting, Missing, and for a fleeting moment your expression flickers into longing, strange and old and battered and sad, that it compels Rafayel to take a step forward—to you.

“Hey.”

The curious look vanishes; left no traces in your delighted face, as if it wasn’t there in the first place. “Rafayel!” you exclaim. “Long time no see! Congratulations on the exhibit; these are all beautiful.”

Outwardly he smirks, belying the torrential emotions he’s currently going through. He cants his head a little, works his charm on you. “Impressed? No need to hold back your compliments.”

Laughter, prismatic and crystalline. “Yes, yes. Especially this one—Waiting, Missing. What an interesting title. At the center, what paint did you use?”

Ah. Rafayel inhales before answering. “It’s actually ink. I had to make it from a hundred berries. It was a tedious process, but I wouldn’t use anything else. It has to be this, you see.”

“Whoa, no wonder you’d been radio silent all this time. You were creating this masterpiece.”

He hums, afraid that, if he speaks, he’d reveal too much.

“Well …” You throw a playful glance at him. “Shouldn’t we celebrate your success?”

His breath catches. “I—”

Before he manages to finish the sentence, a journalist calls out to him and that summons plenty more, swarming him with no chance of escape. It pushes you out of his peripheral vision, and Rafayel wants to shout your name, but you smile and gesture at him to entertain them first. You mouth, I’ll be back, and wander around other paintings some more.

When he finally succeeds in shaking the journalists off, he seeks you out and stumbles upon you near the exit, where there’s fewer people to pile on him.

“Excellent,” he says, sidling up beside you. You turn to him and smile, and there’s that lightning-flash of something again. For one unbelievably surreal instant, Rafayel thinks that despite your hazy memories, maybe you’d been waiting for him all this time, too.

And that thought emboldens him, moving closer and closer until your bodies almost touch. An asymptote of contact. But this time, he has mustered the courage to close that unbridgeable gap.

Rafayel offers you his hand. “Let’s get out of here?”

You stare at his hand then at his face, his eyes, and a meaningful moment stretches between you and him. But even before the idea of retracting enters his mind, you grab his hand joyfully, grinning ear to ear. His heart warms, full with everything.

You squeeze his hand, ready to go. “Lead the way, then!”

vi. a kiss is a greeting and a goodbye, and rafayel tasted of ferocious tides even if you'd seen them only in dreams. his eyes closed, as though savoring his last moments with you, guarded till the bitter end. would that i could ask you to stay—with me. but he shook his head—a final rejection. maybe in another life. there was nobody to watch you cry, in the after.

Rafayel is working on a new painting—a portrait this time. The model squirms on his couch, obvious about the discomfort of posing for too long. He huffs a laugh to himself, hidden by the canvas strategically placed between them.

“I heard that,” you grumble.

“Shush, you’re breaking my concentration.”

“If that already breaks your focus then I pity the rest of the art community.” A beat, then: “Is it done?”

“Patience, my dear muse. You need endure it a little more.”

“Hmph, fine. But after this you’re treating me to an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

“All right, all right.” He shakes his head, fond. “My muse, so demanding.”

Something sweet touches the edge of his tongue, succulent with a hint of tartness. Like longing. Except now, it’s layered with something new and exciting. Something like a new beginning.

In the far distance, the sea murmurs, lit fire by the setting sun.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #lad rafayel #lad qi yu #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace qi yu #fic #my fic #rafayel x reader #qi yu x reader #lad rafayel x reader #lad qi yu x reader #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace spoilers #it's near midnight again i shall now sleep

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tiyoin · 2 months

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fuck it predestined mate jade + jade rot

i fully think jade would date an alternative girl

not tiktok alt, but actually alternative

is this self indulgent? ABSOLUTELY- BUT PUNK PHASE JADE STILL RESIDES SO IMAGINE AN UNLIKELY LOVERS SCENARIO

he meets me you

cw : yandere coded, creepy jade, violence (to azul’s phone), jade almost getting hit by a car? 🙈,

warning this is VERY self indulgent. but i make it as reader friendly as possible. (not general descriptions of body, skin color, or a random fucking name)

tdlr: watch jade spiral el oh el

randomly one day while in town. no big pivoting place like a café or bookstore. not a too unique place like a record shop either.

nope. it’s on the corner of the street.

it was hot out, jade noted uncomfortably while floyd groaned to azul about grabbing another ice cream cone to (and verbatim) ‘beat the heat’

but azul told him to get over himself and to suck it up.

the heat of the spring day seemed to be only affecting the mermen, as you seemed to be fine. the heat the furtherest thing from your mind as you scowl at your phone.

you were wearing headphones, yet your hair was styled in a way to put some of your front pieces in front of your face.

you wore a tight brown top that hugged your upper body. it’s color played a critical role in your darker clothing ensemble.

there was a chunky, studded belt that lined your waist. it so easily contrasted with your body shape as the baggy pants you wore also swam on you. he could miss that you were drowning in the washed denim you wore.

there was a dark jacket that snaked around your elbows, exposing your skin to the spring sun. and jade is one to testify, that no matter what season twisted wonderland seemed to be in, the sun was always scorching.

he almost scowled thinking about sunset savanah and the scalding sands. mentally noting to never travel to either places in the fear of drying out.

painting a blue and dark oasis, his mind started playing tricks on him. almost had him take up the habit that belonged to his brother; deciding what sea creature you were

not floyd enough…

🐬seconding what sea creature you were‼️

normally yes, he wouldn’t partake in this unusual habit and leave that part of character reading to floyd.

yet jade made a special exception for you. i mean, could anyone blame him??

your clothes [besides your top] were swimming on you. he thought about you being an octopus with how puffy your pants made you look. but a single thought of you and azul made him throw the thought out quicker than he could swim.

he thought about a pufferfish, a jellyfish, sevens, even a shrimp. yet none of them seemed to stick.

…he paused…

what if-

he shook his head hurriedly. his eyes darted from your huffing, distracted figure and to the bickering of azul and floyd.

still about ice cream. jade could almost chuckle as the two became more mob-esque. floyd’s towering stature bending awkwardly as he sneered at azul. props to azul for not even twitching, as the silver haired male grew increasingly aggressive at his twin. finger pointed so straight he swear the two human bones would snap in on themselves.

his inner voice giggled at the imaginative scene.

albeit the public disturbance, jade was relieved that no one had caught him slipping. there were only a handful of times where jades more… eel like mannerisms would seep in.

where he’d get the rhythmic itch to… observe. he quite enjoyed it too, so he never quite minded that pesky itch. at most he used it for… say…

motivation :)

his head slowly turned back to the street. his eyes, ever slower, were back on you.

yet he quickly snapped them to the car racing intersection when he noticed a change.

you were listening.

your bulky headphones were ever so slight pushed backwards, taking a few strands of your hair with it.

sure, you two werent standing side by side, as he was closer to the street than you were. but there were… unforeseen and secret advantages mermen had that they kept secret from pesky humans.

i mean, did they really think they would hand over every little thing about them to some lesser race? as bad as it sounds, it’s just the truth. scientifically speaking, it’s facts!

jade would wonder how his classmates would realize that when his vision was enhanced, it was enhanced.

yes as an eel is eyes are less than… savvy, but as a merman compared to a human? you’re joking right.

so even from his cowards facing position he was able to watch you comfortably. the slight twitches in your frown, your softening eyebrows, your less aggressive swipes at your phone-

ah, you were looking for music.

you were scrolling mindlessly through different artists. album covers blurred in with each other as you skipped skipped skipped.

he fought back a smirk- you must be a very picky person.

there was a noise behind him. you whipped your head back as jade watched you watch the scene unfold. floyd, was looking away sheepishly, well, as sheepishly as his wolfish smile would let him appear. azul was gasping, huffing as steam seemed to be blowing from his ears. he looked like the kettle heartslabyul’s dorm leader would use for his little tea parties.

jade hadn’t realized he tuned into this weeks episode of looney tunes, yet he met floyd’s unwavering eyes as azul chewed him out for- breaking his phone.

there was a silent pause between the two. floyd’s smile faltered as jade smiled.

jade knew he picked correctly as floyd’s eyes seemed to snap to yours. making quick and intense eye contact with you, jade saw you flinch from the scrutinizing stare of motlen gold and empty matter.

flinching back, jade heard you curse harshly under your breathe, head shooting down to your phone again, thumb scrolling mindlessly on the dark device. it occasionally lit up, receptive of your touches. only a few turn on’s did you decide to turn on your phone again to continue music browsing.

you finger stopped on a band.

he couldn’t be more elated if he tried. you had picked his favorite band! matchbox!

he couldn’t hide the slight twitches in his right leg as he saw you browsing the songs. from your profile it seemed like you liked a number of their songs- 6 total.

clicking your liked songs from them, he saw your pointer finger trail down the list of names. he could almost hear the internal squabble in your mind.

jade took this as an intermission. looking back to the street in front of him, the light was still green and the orange hand was still glowing strong. there was another group of walkers on the other side of the street.

a family of 5, two older couples, and a lone teenage boy. well, that’s what he deciphered him as as he looked at the hoodie clad male.

black hoodie over his tall stature, he didn’t have the pride of a man, but jade could tell he had the arrogance of an adolescent.

he took a deep breathe, closing his eyes slightly as he felt the quips of wind rush past him as the roaring of cars went and came. if he pretended enough, he could pretend the flashes of wind were from the deep sea currents, that the zooming of cars was from the low vibrancy tumble of the currents.

why does he feel so home sick all of the sudden?

steeping back a bit after a particularly fast gist of wind, jade was now standing side by side with you.

almost naturally he looked at you again. there was an urge to remember what you were wearing. brown topless top and black baggy jeans.

his eyes widened slightly. oh

his mind started to jumble. he was full on staring at you, you no doubly noticing his gaze kept yours glued to your phone.

his thoughts were too fast for him to grasp. to fast for him to make sense of. there was no rhyme or reason to the chaotic mess of thought. there were a few times his english thoughts would switch with his mother tongue.

just as his mind was a mess, jade had no doubt that his facial expression exposed everything going on with him.

there was a thundering voice, one that sounded so familiar… yet unlike the usual calm collectiveness of it, the familiar soft lull… had gained a friend

talk

“sun killer” his mouth blurted out so fast he couldn’t help the hand that reflexively snapped towards his mouth. slanted eyes widened as he tensed.

your body slowly moved to face him, but only slightly as you were still on-guard, still cautious about this strangers- his fist clenched at his side- no stop this foolish thought.

he tried reasoning with the overwhelm.

though once his eyes met yours…

that was when you both acknowledged each other for the first time

that was when his mind went silent. like a conductor holding the orchestra. the audience gripping their seats, teetering in anticipation as they waited impatiently for the next musical feast.

your mouth gaped open, once, twice, as you struggled to find a way to address the stranger.

you head shot to look across the street, so did jades.

yet when jade looked back, he only saw your back scurry away from him as the intersection became clear, and the white man started walking.

he stood there, limbless as you moved your headphone roughly back on your ear. you picked at the wrist holding your phone for a second. undressing your wrist and your phone of the brown hair tie, you brought it to your other wrist, switching your phone too.

he lost you when the other group started walking, covering your retreating form almost perfectly.

his right leg’s muscle surged with longing, step foward, it seemed to tell him. use me it whispered, use me to catch up.

a hand slammed onto his shoulder. the hairs on his body standing on edge as his widened eyes snapped to- floyd.

his body didn’t ease, if anything it got stiffer at his twins touch. floyd’s mouth started to open slowly but jade’s head was already burning back towards the street.

eyes scanning every direction before he found you once again. you had already safely made it to the other side. body erect like a hare on alert, staring at the eyes of its predator- the wolf

like a hare, you didn’t bother staying to find out just what his intentions were as you already turned to make your leave.

the group of people sauntered in front of him.

he was once again in the kelp forest of home. in the tall, slimy mid section of the ocean. it’s murky waters were an excellent source of coverage and ambush hunter like him needed. the haunting environment eased his soul, he claimed whenever floyd questioned him about his frequent haunt.

floyd never stepped foot in those med section waters. because as much as floyd is his brother, and hade is his… they were both still male eels.

his body consciously bucked from floyd’s grip.

the thickness of the kelp jungle’s tendrails surrounded him, brushed against him, whispered to him inaudible words. secrets no doubt. there would always be a secret or two wrapped in the leaves gentle yet suffocating embraces.

his inner conscious giggled at that thought.

conscious? was that what this was?

the kelp purred. leaving swaying in the oceans rocking waves.

the kelp started to thin out- you

his eyes widened as he was thrusted out of the kelp jungle and stepped foward-

“jade”

a voice screamed at him, at his ear as a sudden ringing noise filled his head. a sudden static-y feeling throughout his body drowned the voice out.

it pushed him. again is body staggered foward, leg doing little to catch him.

his eyes weren’t on the street, they were on your disappearing figure as you walk away on the parallel side walk.

a car rushed past his face.

“ja

then a honk

then a crushing weight on his shoulder.

with a labored gasp his body trembled. his legs couldn’t stand on their own as his upper body sagged between two hard walls.

“jade! what are you doing? you almost got hit” the wall- azul yelled, spit flying from his lips as his free hand waved around just to show how upset he was.

the wall on his other side- his brother floyd, remained silent. jade didn’t bear look at his brother.

azul’s scodling seemed to slowly die out as the dorm head realized his vice dorm head wasn’t even listening to him. wasn’t even acknowledging him in the slightest.

an irritated sigh leaves his lips. azul thought it better to use a different approach at getting information from his shocked friend.

yet the moment he opened his mouth, floyd decided it was his round for questioning. yet azul didn’t seem to have the security clearance to understand the insides of their code.

“…kinda reminded me of a grouper, don’t you think?”

jade looked to his brother. his heart was hammering against his ribcage painfully. knots were being tightened in his gut painfully. his thoughts were racing painfully. everything about you was painful so far.

and yet, there was a dopey twitch to his lips, an w relax of his brow as he answered his brother.

“it appears they do…”

my honest reaction after writing jade get so overwhelmed by being in the same proximity of reader for the first time that he almost gets hit by a car 🤭 :

by the way… the bond already snapped in place 😻

it snapped in when you got to night raven actually!!

jade just doesn’t understand this! (none of them will actually cause they’re all emotional disturbed in their own ways. each n every one of them)

who knew meeting your predestined mate was this painful? i did. who knew that years of your body rejecting a bond, only to suddenly have a reciprocating bond out of no where…. your body would need time to adjust? i did

welcome! to twst boys being fucking whipped- so whipped in fact that they end up a little… yandere

*i gasp!* *i giggle* *imagine me making that face ^^^^

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dreamy-moonbird · 2 months

Text

𝔹𝔸ℕ𝔾

⤷ Osamu Dazai x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➤ genre § angst ✎ word count § 4.9k ⊱ warnings § mentions of gunshot, description of injuries, failed suicide attempt, hospital scene, mentions of death, rejection

The sound echoed in the room, unbelievable.

You fearlessly stood your ground in front of the gun, although you were shocked the bullet hit you. The shooter himself stood speechless, watching the smoke exit his abnormal gun in front of you, you weren't even the target at all. You jumped just in time, between when the guy pulled the trigger and right before the bullet hit his original target, whom was the surprised guy behind you.

Dazai Osamu, a name so dear to you. He knows exactly how to get right under your skin sometimes, and other times he knows just the ticks to start out a riot of butterflies in your stomach and make your heart flutter. After all, you couldn't forget the first time you met him.

You were standing on the edge of a building, in a sad thunderstorm. Your tears blended perfectly with the raindrops hitting your face, as the drops streamed down your cheeks and dripped over your chin. Soft hiccups and sobs exited your freezing form, as you watched the busy streets below your toe whilst holding on to the metallic rail behind your waist. Your shoulders shuddered from the cold, as you whined sadly like a puppy. You wanted to scream, but you couldn't.

"Oh my!"

You heard a deep voice from behind that made you gasp, you wanted to turn around but your foot slipped. And so did your fingers from around the rail, letting you fall.

"I gotcha!"

You felt a strong hand wrap around your gentle wrist, as the person pulled you upwards. He sat you on the rail, wrapping his other arm around your waist and pulling you further from the edge to safety.

"There, you're ok."

He said with a smile, letting go of your body and pulling his arms back shoving his hands into his pockets. You looked up to see his dark chocolate brown hair, with a pair of hazelnut brown eyes. He had a calm smile, as he had to look down at you, due to your smaller figure.

"Why'd you do that? I was going to jump either way." You murmured.

Crossing your arms and turning your head away. Only now did the silence alarm you that it stopped raining.

"I thought if we're both here for the same purpose, why not do it together? As a double suicide!" He said, joining you to look out at the buildings and the sea behind them.

"Why do you wanna die?" You looked up at him.

"Let's turn that question around, shall we? Is there really any worth to this thing we call living?" He smiled, looking down at the people who started closing their umbrellas one by one.

"There's a lot, more than you can imagine." You said, and he went silent.

"I lost mine." You murmured, with a last tear slipping down your cheek, but he heard it and stayed silent.

"Then why are you here if you think so?" He asked.

"Guess it was just a mindless moment of sadness. I'm afraid to keep going on my own." You looked down and crossed your arms.

"How about this... I'll be by your side until you find another reason to live for. And you have to prove to me, there is a reason for living." He smiled at you, stretching his hand out for you to shake.

"Deal?"

You blinked twice by the stranger's words, and shook his hand after a moment. With a bit of convincing you two left the building, and went on a walk. You learned that his name was Dazai, and he learned your name. Then you two didn't talk about each other, and none of you asked, until he stopped by a café.

"Let's get a drink, shall we?" Dazai said, making you stop and look at him for a moment.

"I insist." He smiled, opening the door and gesturing you to go inside first.

You nodded and walked in, sitting down at a random table and he sat in front of you. You didn't feel like eating, so you ended up ordering two drinks. He ordered a glass of champagne, which came within 5 minutes, but he waited for your drink to arrive, which was hot cocoa in a white mug. You grabbed it with both hands, feeling it's warmth as you stayed silent whilst starring at the liquid and the steam exiting it.

"For... " Dazai stared at his glass while thinking as he spun it around gently.

"A reason out there... that's for us to live." He held his glass up, with a smile at you.

You blinked twice, and held your mug up, slowly clicking it against his own glass.

That was your first encounter, you still had a trauma aftermath from the incident, but slowly and bit by bit you regained your cheerful personality. And a day after another, you began catching feelings for Dazai. You met regularly on the weekends, and he always took you out for candy. Just like the promise he made, he was always there for you. You learned from one of his friends, that came to pick him up once when you two were out, that Dazai was a suicidal airhead. However, he didn't try to kill himself once after he met you.

One day, you finally decided to let him know that you want to be closer to him more than just a friend.

It was a sunset, where half of the sun was hidden by the sea beside. You were wearing your favorite outfit, while he had his usual, with his coat over his shoulders without his arms being inside the sleeves. You two stood in front of each other when you asked him to meet up, and he asked what is it that you need.

"I... l-like you!" You finally stuttered it out.

A roar of wind came from behind you, and over his face as if adding an atmosphere to his shocked expression. He blinked twice averting his gaze then looked back at you.

"I like you too. We're friends, aren't we?" He rubbed his nape, almost hoping you didn't mean anything else.

"N-no... Dazai, I... I like like you. I wanna be more to you than just a friend. I- I love you." You looked at the ground, with your ever reddening face.

Dazai still had his eyes averted, he couldn't bring himself to look at you. Not in this conversation. You meant a lot to him, the day you didn't text him because you were sick and you were asleep the whole day. He came banging on your door for his life because he didn't see your smile that day. But he just couldn't bring himself to admit the fact he loved you. He thinks he only just likes your company because you're his best friend, and nothing more, but he still doubted himself sometimes. He'd wish you were his, and ask himself a lot what are you to him after all.

After a moment, he brought his hand down, shoving it in the pocket of his pants, then shook his head. He thinks you're probably just as confused as him, he's your best friend, and you probably just care about him so much you think you love him.

"I don't like you that much." He frowned at the ground, shocked at his own choice of words. Although he was wondering at the back of his head, do I?

His heart ached at how rude he said that, and his breath invisibly hitched when he looked at your shocked and hurt expression.

"I'm here to take care of you, remember? Until you find your reason to live. Till then, it's better to just stay friends." He averted his gaze again.

You stood in silence. You didn't cry, or say anything, and neither did he speak again. After a moment he walked towards you, and patted your head before passing you by.

"After that, it's better to go our own separate ways." He said, removing his hand and walking away, not calling after you and you didn't follow him.

You turned around, and watched him leave as a little tear streamed down your face but you wiped it instantly.

But I found my reason to live.

After that, things were cold for a week, mainly because you were hurt at his words, and you took time to heal up. Figuring out that there's nothing you can do, he has no feelings towards you, so beat it. Being his best friend is better than a stranger, right? Avoiding him and mourning won't fix anything. So you called him, after the so many missed calls you had from him. You apologized that you didn't pick up, and told him that you didn't want your feelings to break your friendship with him. He was more than happy to hear that, and as time passed by you went back to your happy-go-lucky aura, and the awkwardness was erased from between you two.

Which brings us now... you had to protect your reason to live, and he, who couldn't process that he did care about you that much, watched his life crumble behind him as you took the bullet. It was a frozen moment, where he just processed your position, and only the sound of your high pitched yelp snapped him back to reality.

"Ack!" You gasped, letting the blood gush out of your mouth.

The bullet hit right under your left chest area, however, the gun was unusual and so was the bullet, it was wider than any normal gun bullet, and it almost made an explosion in your internals where it hit. Blood also gushed out of your injury as the momentum of the bullet pushed you back, but Dazai caught your body before you hit the ground.

Dazai was speechless, and for the first time in a long time, he didn't know what to do. He wanted to chase away the life out of the guy's eyes, as Dazai watched you ache on his lap. But he wanted to be by your side, and take care of you, in case these really are your dying breathes.

"Stay still, I got it!" Atsushi came running after the guy as he sprinted away, and another person was heard to be calling the ambulance outside the room.

Dazai watched them leave, then he found himself strangely holding you close to him while starring at you.

"Y-you... what the hell would you do that for?!" He slightly shook you, pressing his hand against your injury to stop the blood from flowing out.

"A-aah..." You starred at his bloody hand, over your own bloody hands in fear as tears streamed down your face. Simply because of the pain, but you had no regrets.

"That's not what I need right now." You whined and turned your head away from him, referring to his yelling.

"Look at me!" Dazai said, not any less freaking out, as he pushed your head back in his direction.

"Y-you... you shouldn't go, we had a- we had a deal! Remember?!" He grabbed your shoulder tightly holding on to you, almost as if by doing so, everything will just rewind and you two won't even be here.

You let out a weak chuckle as you brought your hand all covered in blood up to his face, he didn't flinch and just looked at you. You caressed his cheek with your fingers, as they quivered to stay still against his skin, so he grabbed your hand lacing his fingers with yours, finally understanding it all.

"You really are a dork." You smiled at him, the smile he always waited at night, so impatient to see the next day, making him feel like he'll never see it again.

"Don't you see?" You huddled up to his chest, still holding his hand, as your eyes started to close.

"You were my reason to live." You winced, looking at him through half closed eyes, your smile never leaving your lips.

"I'm not scared, ok? And I have no regrets." You whispered to him, as he slowly rocked you on his lap.

Holding your head to his chest, never letting go off your hand. Soon enough, a tear by tear started going down his own face. He didn't make a sound, as he stared at you in shock and fear. You didn't break eye contact with him, and kept on your smile. Although your body grew tired, and more tired with every second.

"D-don't close your eyes... please." He whispered, his lips quivering as he stroked your cheek.

Never in his life has he ever felt so desperate.

"I'm... not sad, so please. Don't be." You smiled, your eyes now closed as you leaned on his palm.

And with that, you blacked out.

Dazai shook you gently urging you to wake you up, without being annoying, but to no vail. Emergency came rushing into the room, stripping your unconscious form away from his grip. He held onto your arm but a nurse guy held him back, to which Dazai wanted to punch him off but he didn't.

"Sir, you need to calm down!"

"I have a heart beat! It's fading."

Dazai's eyes widened just at the thought that this is it, ending his struggle against the nurse, but he got up once he was let go.

He ran after you, as you were taken to the ambulance car. He sat by your side before they closed the door, and held your hand the whole ride, hoping you'd open your eyes again. Luckily, the ride wasn't that long so you were quickly placed on to a hospital bed and pushed into the building, with nurses coming rushing to your side one by one. Dazai followed you all the way inside, until a nurse stopped him before they took you away behind a door. Dazai pushed her off, leading to more nurses and maybe even a few random passerbys to stop him.

"Just- take care of her!"

The only thing that made him stop and go silent, was right before the door closed. He saw you, giving him a thumb up with a half awake smile. You knew it was going to be ok, so maybe just maybe it will. After all, he can do nothing but just hope.

Evening sheltered over the city like a blanket, and stars appeared in the sky by turns as the dark side of the moon stood in the middle of the sky. Dazai stayed in the hospital, he lost count of the amount of hours he's been sitting here for. He never moved or changed his position, sitting down with his elbow leaning on his lap and his fingers laced together. He received a few calls, and missed most of them, until he saw Atsushi's title on the phone, of course he answered, waiting to hear whoever shot you is captured.

"Yes?" He murmured calmly, but it was obvious that deep down he was losing himself, piece by piece.

"Good." He bit his thumb, thoughtful.

"They're still not letting me see her yet." He ran his hand over his face.

"I'm not hungry." He said, almost angry.

"Yeah, ok. Bye." He hung up, without waiting for the other line to bid farewell.

He exhaled and leaned back, letting his head rest on the wall as he stretched his legs in front of him. He started thinking about the last words he heard from you.

You were my reason to live.

Again, he leaned forward letting his head rest in his hands.

"But are you sure?" He whispered to himself, although he was subconsciously asking you.

He opened his phone and starred at some pictures and videos he took with and of you. Then he remembered the time when you confessed your love for him, as he drowned his face once again in his palms.

I don't like you that much. That's what he told you even though he wondered, do I?

He groaned, almost pulling at his hair.

"Of course you do! You idiot! How have you missed it?!" He yelled practically to no one, growling silently to himself and shaking his head.

"Of course I do, I don't like you. I love you." He rubbed his temples with a hand, as he took in deep breaths.

"And... now... I'll never be able to let you know." He murmured to himself, then sighed, leaning back again.

He kept remembering many moments he had with you, many thoughts he had of you, and many reactions he had for you. How did he never notice? He missed something that was right under his nose, truly an idiot.

One time, two months after you confessed, and everything cooled down, you two were sitting in a café, laughing about something that was very dumb, random, and makes less sense than hot ice. He excused himself for a phone call, and when he came back after five minutes, he found you giggling with another guy. He enjoyed the fact you were more guarded and formal, with the guy than you were with Dazai, whilst you were laughing with Dazai more than you were laughing with the guy. But again, the guy is sitting in Dazai's place like it's his own, what the hell? After processing the situation, and walking up to you. He stood behind you, resting his elbows on your shoulders and leaning on your head as he laced his fingers together in front of your neck.

"Who's this?" He asked.

Your face took a deep shade of red, as you starred at your food.

"D-Dazai, meet Hiroshimi." You gestured to the black head with the blue orbs in front of you.

"Pleasure to meet you, com'on we have to leave." Dazai said, grabbing your wrist and pulling you out the café.

"Wait what? Dazai-" You said, as he pulled you off.

The waitress, who was already all too familiar with Dazai's in and out feelings for you, collected your own stuff with a plan to have you pay later as she didn't stop you, but as a matter of fact, wished you good luck.

"Dazai!"

Dazai was almost growling to himself, with so many thoughts, like how could he leave you? How could the guy come and sit with you? How could you accept it? Almost as if his property has been trespassed.

"Dazai!"

You called again, still simply following him without resisting, but he still didn't answer.

The angrier he got, the tighter his fingers on your wrists got. Almost as if the further you walk away from what happened, and the tighter he holds your hand, his anger will just vanish.

"Dazai, you're hurting me!"

Only then did he snap, when you winced and held his wrist to yank it away. He stopped in his tracks and after a silent moment of realization, he let go.

You looked at him with a confused frown, as you rubbed your wrist, and he watched you rub away his fingerprints from on your skin.

"What the hell was that back there? What is wrong with you?" You snapped at him, in anger and confusion.

His eyes widened in pure shock, as he got lost trying to reason what he did.

"What is wrong with me?!" He pointed at himself.

"What's wrong wrong with you?? Since when do you randomly sit with strangers?!" He snapped back.

"Dazai, that was an old friend! He was sitting with me, and even if he wasn't. Even if I didn't know him, why would you do that?!" You gestured to the café.

"You can't just... sit and laugh with random guys!" He shook his head at the ground, then looked at you.

"What the hell is up with that?! It's not your choice to make! And I'm not that type of girl either!"

Am I jealous? He wondered, as he stayed silent. It's true you're not that type of girl, but why is it that it pains him to just remember the image of you laughing with that friend. No, I just don't want her to get hurt.

"I just- don't want you to get hurt." He sighed, reasoning himself although he was still uncomfortable with the fact that this was not the all true answer.

It took you a moment to respond, because it purely didn't make any sense. There was a moment you thought and wished Dazai was jealous, but you immediately wiped it out to not get your hopes too high up.

You finally said with a sigh.

"Well thank you very much, but I can take care of myself."

Silence fell between you two, there was so much Dazai wanted to tell you but even he didn't have it cleared out, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Samu, you really shouldn't have done that." You gave another sigh, using the nickname you have for him to ease the tension.

"I'm going back." You stepped away from him, as you crossed your arms and walked back to the café.

He reached out for you, but he stopped his hand as he watched you leave. He sighed and shoved his hand back into his pocket, walking in the opposite direction.

As he remembered that, it almost felt like you walked away on him that day just because he walked away on your confession and that if he didn't, you wouldn't have walked away either, but in both times, he was the one who let you go.

"If only..." He whispered to himself as he stared at the ground.

"(Y/N) (L/N)'s guardian?"

He heard someone say, and snapped when he saw the white coat.

"How is she?" He shot up, eager but still containing himself.

"We were able to stabilize her condition to a level, however we should stay guarded." The doctor said calmly.

"She's fine, we just don't know if she'll wake up or not. Our only fear is how easy it is to have her slip away." The doctor explained, when Dazai raised an eyebrow.

"How long will it take for her to wake up at most?" Dazai asked.

"We're giving her a week and up, due to the drug we had to give her, and the already tired state she arrived in. We should start to worry within half a month or so." The doctor explained as he looked at the notebook he had in hand.

"Can I see her?" Dazai asked calmly.

"I won't recommend it but go ahead." The doctor said, not expecting Dazai to listen to him anyway.

With that Dazai rushed into your room, and the doctor walked away.

He looked at your calm peaceful form breathing on the hospital bed, your breath appearing and fading on the plastic oxygen mask as your chest got up and down. The only sound in the room was the repeated beep of the heart monitor, along with his own breathing. He observed for a moment, before making another rush to your side, grabbing your hand with both his hands gently and bringing it to his face.

"Damn it, I'm so sorry." He almost teared up as he kissed your hand.

He felt your hand barely tighten one of your fingers on his hand, but he was convinced it's just a flinch, or an illusion.

"I promise I'll make things right if you wake up. I'll wait" He whispered, mostly to himself.

And so the wait began. A full 24 hours passed by, and another day, soon enough the week was over.

Nurses repeatedly asked him to leave but he glared them off, and they couldn't use force in a patient's room. His friends and colleagues visited regularly, to check on him. Atsushi even bought him food and some coffee once.

"I got you some bento, and coffee."

He awkwardly walked in and placed the things next to Dazai, who didn't respond and just kept his head down.

"She'll wake up, make sure you're in a good health to welcome her."

He patted Dazai's hair then left, not waiting for a response, since he got used to it, but he was slightly glad to see the old bento box he bought two days ago half empty.

"Don't make her blame herself that you did this to yourself, this is no one's fault. This was going to happen either way."

And with that he closed the door behind him. Dazai blinked twice at his words then looked at you.

"Maybe if I just- let you go. This wouldn't have happened." Dazai whispered to himself, placing his palm on his face.

His thoughts rewinded to when you met Hiroshimi. Maybe if he just walked away, you would've been attached to Hiroshimi more than Dazai, and wouldn't be here. The image of you with him pained Dazai, but you in a hospital bed pained him more.

He thought it would be best and less painful if you two stay away from each other, if being separate was your destiny then it's best to stay unattached. However here you are, unattached and it still hurts like hell.

The silence was broke by your humming as your breath hitched. It immediately snapped Dazai back to reality, to see your frowning face and narrowed eyebrows. You repeatedly tilted your head softly, slowly and weakly as your hands tightened on the covers. Dazai got up to stand by your side, he gave the sped up heart monitor a glance before grabbing your hand.

"Shhhh, you're ok." He held your hand and laced his fingers with yours, placing his other hand on your head to stroke your hair.

Your hums turned into low groans, as you let your head tilt in his direction.

"Saa.mu.." You whispered tiredly, struggling to open your eyes or say the words.

"Hey." He kissed your hand while stroking your bangs repeatedly.

"Hi." Your voice was much weaker and drier, as you struggled to even smile.

"How are you feeling?" He smiled.

"I feel shot, man." You whispered with a tired smirk, blinking slowly.

He barely chuckled and shook his head, barely biting his lip to hold back a tear but he failed and it slipped down his cheek.

"God damnit..." He hovered over you, picking your head up and your torso into an embrace.

He had an arm wrapped around you on your back, while he picked your head up to hug you properly without having you give any effort to hoist yourself up.

It took you a moment to realize this, but you eventually wrapped your heavy arms around him, you laid them on his back to be more accurate, but you still returned the embrace as you leaned on his shoulder.

"Don't do this to me ever again." He whispered.

"I mean... if you're gonna hug me like this, I can take a bullet-" You said, but he cut you off.

"I'll hug you all you want!" He pulled back to look at you, making you blush.

"Just- don't- please..." He murmured, lowering his head to press his forehead against yours as he stroked your cheeks, some tears streaming down his cheek.

"Osamu?" You whispered, cupping his face to dry his tears using your thumbs.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N)... I'm so sorry. I thought that it would be easier and less painful for the both of us if I just stay away. I wanted you to be happy, and I was scared." He whispered, as he looked at you again.

"I never thought I cared this much, and I never thought it would hurt this much." He stroked your cheek with a hand and stroked your hair with the other.

"If it's gonna hurt either way, then it's better to be with you. I'm sorry I never realized it earlier, but I love you. I really do. I always have, and I'm sorry I never told you before, but I'm telling you now." He said.

"I love you to the point I want to spend my life, and after life with you. There is a reason for living, and my reason is you. I love you to the point you make me happy I never got a chance to kill myself." He murmured, and that line pissed you off, but this is Dazai, for the love of god, how else will he express his love?

It was silent for a moment, with your cheeks on a shade of red and the heart monitor was sped up more than normal.

"I... love you too, Osamu. I always did, and still will." You smiled softly.

His lips barely curved into a smile as he grabbed your head and slowly planted his lips on yours. You once again laid your arms on his back and neck, letting him hold you as you kissed back.

Meanwhile outside the room, Atsushi was pointing a gun to the doctor, as a sweat drop streamed down his cheek.

"I'm so sorry, sir. I can't let you go in right now." He said.

The doctor starred at the boy, covering his face with the notepad, as the boy turned to his friend.

"Did he make a move yet?" He asked.

"Wait.... oh my god, oh my god, they're kissing!!" The friend cheered in a whisper as he was peeking through the ajar curtains of the room's window.

"Yes!" Atsushi said.

"I fucking hate my job." The doctor murmured as he walked away.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ✧˖° ₊˚⊹ ᰔ༉‧₊˚.

#bsd x reader #dazai x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu x reader #dazai fluff #dazai angs #bsd fluff #bsd angst #dazai x you #bsd x you #bsd imagines #bungou stray dog imagines #dazai imagines

171 notes · View notes

gildedkrone · 8 months

Note

Ooh. Enemies to lovers but the roles reverse....like what if Reader is working with Shadow Company and Ghost is angsty...before, after or during the mission where Graves betrays them maybe???

I also gotta say the last one you did was so beautifully painful and I love it. 😂

- ☁️

Love doth grow in the shadows

I'm not the proudest over this fic but I hope its what you asked for and yes, I am giving this a happy ending because I'm a good boy.

Relationships: Ghost x Male Reader Synopsis: Shadow soldier you couldn't possibly be with him. Years later, you meet him again. A/N: Written to cardigan by Taylor. Master List

Your heart is his. It was never meant to be his, you know that clearly. Nothing was ever meant to be yours or his. Infiltrating the 141 was easy; you with your charms and quips made you a hit with Gaz and Soap. Your experience made you a hit with Price and eventually, with Ghost.

You think you would be closest with Soap and his antics, ever funny and outgoing but he draws your attention greedily. The masked lieutenant, Ghost is stoic but you find him to be a rock in sea of nerves. Steady as ever and a presence to be reckoned, he is the stability you’ve never had growing up.

And how generous he was with it. He doesn’t say much but his presence is all encompassing. It’s warm, like blanket after use and occasionally, he gives some advice when the road gets tough. The advice is always realistic, as he must be, but with free of judgement and from a heart scarred by the past.

Illicit affairs, is what this is. Instincts are screaming to stop this farce before you are in too deep and no longer able to escape. Graves is up to no good and your hands are no longer the same steady ones at the start of the mission. The image of them in a ditch bleeding out and dying haunts your sleep.

Would you still be able to kill them if Graves commanded it?

Shadow soldier you don’t belong here. But the smiles and the casual interactions are fire to moths and you can’t help if your heart desires to be cherished. To be needed. To be wanted by someone.

“Good job, soldier. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

His words are the blossom of flowers in spring and the sun on the wilted fields of your heart. It’s so cruel, to desire what is within reach but never to stay forever.

Does he know what his words do to you?

Your scars, bleeding from the hearts he drew around them. The late nights when you accompanied him in piles of paperwork is some of your favourites. Getting to be with him, and just him in his office where you pretended this was what mattered in the world.

Just him and you.

He’s sardonic and weathered by the rain and time but in the shell of a man, there’s a good heart beating there. He’s helpful around the recruits. He’s always there to lend his ear even if he has mountains of work to get through. He’s been there every time you needed him.

And a week ago, he took you out to a cat café. Paid for the drinks and to thank you for helping him with the paperwork. The mind is a maze but at the end is the scenes of domesticity, you and him in an apartment lazing on the couch while the TV plays something meaningless.

It makes it all the harder to what needed to be done when all the heart wants is to just be with him. Hold him and be his. You split from the group and stopped beside Graves before the convoy sets off for Alejandro’s base or soon-to-be Graves’ base.

“In twenty, we will relieve them of their duties. Hop into the vehicle with them and keep them in. Don’t mess this up, shadow.”

Soap and Ghost are in the backseat of the vehicle and you take the front passenger seat. The sergeant is in high spirits and Ghost is relaxed into the seat with his shoulders lax and head against the headrest. The men are in high spirits and the convoy starts to move. It’s a death march towards base and Graves is in the lead car with Alejandro.

Fingers grasp the sidearm in your thigh holster. His eyes are in the rear view mirror and it hurts, hurts everywhere to shatter the trust you’ve scrounged together with him. He doesn’t deserve this and he blinks slowly.

What’s wrong?

The Shadows weren’t new to compromised agents and previously, you scoffed at the mention of it. How could good men ever betray their comrades and fail the mission?

Now? You aren’t so sure and the wavers in your heart are shaking the needles of your moral compass. When did the road forward vanish into seas of sand and leave you stranded in the junction of decisions? The warehouse comes into sight and the vehicles stop.

Graves give his whole speech about taking the base and Alejandro is knocked out first. The men are on edge and Graves gestures for you to move to him.

“Come here, Shadow.”

Soap is surprised and Ghost is gripping his rifle. His eyes are hurt, and they ask you, is this real? You knew he would curse your name for eons to come as you step away from him to stand beside Graves. The look of hurt is replaced by an anger ferocious as the sun in his eyes.

It hurts more than anything in the world.

“Nobody needs to get hurt today. Put down the guns and stay there.”

Your body moves on autopilot and raise the rifle just as the other soldiers do.

“This is what a Shadow should be. Discreet, fast and blending into their environments. And now, we have ourselves a victory.” Graves pats your shoulder. “The honours is all yours.”

---

The celebrations are huge but it’s hollow. Meaningless beyond comparison with your birthday spent with them and the party Soap threw. Drinks are served and shadows congratulate you on the victory.

The cells are quiet and you stop before his cell.

A click using the key easily swiped from Graves’ office and the door unlocks gently. He is fast and your neck is caught in a grip of immense strength. The anger simmering in his eyes are covering the hurt deep down and he knows.

He knows you will let him do whatever he wanted.

“You don’t have a lot of time. There’s a vehicle parked outside idling.”

The door to Soap’s cell unlocks easily and the guard is off on his piss break. An embrace is all you want from him and he looks to Soap. Ignoring you like the stain on his boots.

“I trusted you.”

“I know.”

“I shouldn’t have.”

“You never should have.”

They are running down the halls and out of the base through a back door before anyone can notice anything. The vehicle takes off and you put on an act when the base alarm sounds upon the guard’s notice of the missing prisoners.

---

Retirement is a bitch. Graves never did find out how they escaped and the last thing you heard was the man dying in a tank explosion. The latte is sweet in a café in Munich and you reach for the place where a straw is supposed to be.

“Oof, excuse me,” as you bump into someone on the way to the counter.

You look at the person and it’s him. Even without the mask and the heaps of military gear, it’s him.

“Simon.” He reaches his hand out.

He nods at the sound of your name and shakes your hand. Maybe there is a chance to still start over with him. An old cardigan, he puts you on and calls it his favourite in a quiet Thursday in a café in Germany.

---

I knew you would come back to me, as I would to you.

#fanfic #cod mw2 #male reader #x male reader #x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x male reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x male reader #ghost fanfiction #call of duty

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octuscle · 2 months

Note

Hey I want o be a himbo twunk with a great body that only wears tight leather to show off my gains to my boys oh and can you change my race as well, dealer's choice dude!

Now that the days are getting warmer again, you like to stroll through the street markets during your lunch break. Not that you would buy anything here… But you like the atmosphere. And there's lots of cool inspiration for business ideas here. As an investment banker, you need that to be able to assess market developments. That's sometimes more helpful than reading blogs or trade journals.

The stand with the perfumes and oils is cool. The guy in charge of the stand is cool. Looks a bit like a Viking. He smells good, you can tell that even from a metre away. You ask what his fragrance is called. Norwegian Fjord, he replies. You breathe in with your eyes closed. Yes, the smell reminds you of waterfalls, glaciers, high mountains and the sea. That's how you imagine the smell of a fjord. And like the guy, you imagine a fisherman who lives by the fjord. The Viking asks you if you would like to try out a scent. Sure, you answer. He sprays some on the back of your hand. You know the smell. Somehow animalistic. What does it smell like? "It's Nubian leather," the Viking reads your thoughts. Exactly, that's it. Leather, sweat, desert sun. That's what it smells like. You say thank you and stroll on.

You should really get back to the office. But somehow you don't feel like it. And secondly, you're hungry. You pass a stall selling Sudanese street food. You order a Magali sandwich. While you wait, you chat a bit with the waitress. A cool guy. His clean-shaven head glistens in the sun. You ask him if he can imagine you being bald too. He laughs and says that you should just try it out with a barber. There are plenty around here. You don't even realise that you are talking in Yoruba.

The food was delicious. But your shirt now smells of deep fryer and barbecue. Good thing your leather jacket doesn't absorb odours. And good that you still smell a bit like Nubian leather. You run your hand over your head. Yes, your hair no longer smells like a food truck either.

You've been wandering aimlessly through the streets. You went to a café where lots of Nigerians hang out and played Yoté and dominoes. Whatever you do to pass the time until your evening shift starts. And that's rarely before 9.00 pm.

You usually start in front of the club and hand out flyers. Anyone who sees you dancing on the pole on a flyer is usually quickly convinced. The club fills up. And from 23:00 there is a show. And you are the star. One of the punters who slips a £100 note into your leather briefs smells you and asks what kind of scent it is. You press his face firmly against your chest. You reply, "Nubian leather, it's obviously very much to your taste!"

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #race change #ai image

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gimmethatagustd · 27 days

Text

venor (12) | kth + jjk

The barista at the university’s café keeps telling Jungkook not to come back, but Jungkook is too busy daydreaming about kissing the beauty marks on his face to be paying attention to his warnings.

○ Pairing: Tiger!Taehyung x Bunny!Jungkook

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Hybrids, predator/prey, college au, strangers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, light angst, eventual smut

○ Word Count: 7,862

○ Warnings: Time for y'all to judge me for my smut writing, loss of virginity, blow job, what the gworlies call self-lubrication aka slick, Taehyung's got a big dick (in every universe imo), size difference, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, anal fingering, unprotected anal sex, alcohol, scenting, marking, self-esteem issues, jealousy, pet names

○ Notes: This is cliche and cute and smutty (don't @ me, I warned you in advance) and 2 days late 😌

○ Post Date: April 2, 2024

○ Masterlist | AO3 Cross-Post

○ What was Jai listening to? The series playlist

Series Masterlist

“Considering everything you’ve put me through, I feel like I shouldn’t have to be here right now.”

The glare that Yoongi gives Jungkook is scary enough to rival the biggest, meanest predator hybrid on campus. It has been three weeks since Yoongi suffered through Jungkook and Taehyung’s little not PG date night, and he still won’t let it go, despite Jungkook’s numerous apologies — both verbal and in the form of sweets— which Jungkook surely thought Yoongi would accept by now. At this point, Jungkook doesn’t know if he should still be embarrassed by the fact that his roommate heard him loudly orgasm or if he should be annoyed that Yoongi won’t stop talking about it.

“Oh, come on, hyung! This is fun!”

“Is it?” Yoongi scowls.

Hooking his arm around Yoongi’s, Jungkook practically drags him through the front doors of the university’s basketball arena. The building is massive and packed with fans hurrying through the ticket lines to get to their seats as the announcer’s deep voice booms over the speakers. The announcement lets everyone know that the game is about to start. For as many months as Jungkook has been getting to know Taehyung, it’s surprising that this is his first time watching Taehyung play.

“Jungkook-ah! Yoongi oppa!”

Suyun waves her arms from where she stands in the lobby, past the ticket lines. She’s so small that Jungkook nearly loses her in the crowd once he and Yoongi have finally made it through the line, their printed tickets clutched between their fists. Luckily, her ears make it easy to relocate her.

“Yay, I’m so excited!” Suyun throws herself into Jungkook and Yoongi to squeeze them together in a hug her scrawny arms can barely maintain. “Let’s hurry up! They’re already playing.”

The sea of college students and locals eager to watch a Saturday evening basketball game against the university’s biggest rival pushes the three friends in waves down the arena’s wide hallways. It’s hard for Jungkook to keep up with where he’s going, easily getting confused by each rounded corner they turn and how everyone looks the same in their white and blue clothing to match the university’s colors. Occasionally, splotches of red and black are in the mix, but the rival’s fans are sparse. Even Jungkook knew how to dress the part, wearing a pair of powder blue overalls with one strap undone and hanging forward to expose more of the white sweater underneath and his all-white Converse. The 90s chic look might make him sweat down to his balls, but he looks cute, and that’s what matters.

“Is our basketball team really that big of a deal?” Yoongi asks, unable to hide the genuine curiosity that seeps through his words.

“How have you gone to school here for four years without knowing, oppa?”

Suyun clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth with a shake of her head as she guides Jungkook and Yoongi down the crowded halls until they reach a large, open doorway. At least Jungkook isn’t the only one new to this.

Thousands of fans are packed in the seats consisting of three separate levels circling the basketball court in the middle of the room. When Jungkook tilts his head back, he thinks he can see people nearly in the building’s rafters. It’s all very overwhelming, but there’s a sense of comradery that makes his body tingle. It’s cool to be part of something bigger than himself! And it especially feels cool knowing that all these people are here to see his Taehyung play.

“Jackson got us really good seats,” Suyun explains as she continues leading them through the crowd, though it’s not as busy down here on the ground level. “They aren’t courtside, but they might as well be.”

Their seats are only a few rows from the court, meaning Jungkook has a clear view of the basketball players huddled around men in suits, who he assumes are the coaching staff. From the huddle, Jungkook spots Jackson’s bushy orange tail and the silvery glint of Hoseok’s scales in the arena’s fluorescent lighting. As he takes his seat in between Suyun and Yoongi, Jungkook searches for the mop of coppery curls he loves so much.

Taehyung spots him first. Having been blocked by another player, Taehyung steps to the side just far enough to see around the huddled group and straight into Jungkook’s wide eyes.

Hey bun, Taehyung mouths to Jungkook with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Waving shyly, Jungkook tries to shoo Taehyung away so he’ll pay attention to whatever his coach is saying. Of course, Taehyung doesn’t listen. Instead, he elbows one of the players standing next to him. Jungkook watches with hot cheeks as Taehyung leans in to say something to the other player before turning to point at Jungkook.

Stop it, Jungkook mouths back, waving Taehyung off again.

The buzzer sounds, notifying the teams that the game is resuming. Taehyung blows a kiss at Jungkook before spinning around to get into place on the court.

“What position is Taehyung?” Yoongi asks over the roar of the crowd as the game advances.

“Point guard,” comes a response from Jungkook’s right. He and Yoongi turn to see a face that has become more familiar over the past few weeks.

“Hi, Jimin hyung,” Jungkook has to project his voice to greet the calico cat hybrid when the crowd boos after the rival team makes a basket.

“Jungkook-ah, Yoongi hyung.”

Jimin nods curtly before slinking into his seat beside Suyun, who immediately scratches behind one of his splotchy, multicolored ears. He sticks his arm down the row of seats to offer a large bag of popcorn, which Yoongi declines, but Jungkook takes a handful of the buttery goodness.

Like most domestic cats, it takes Jimin a while to become comfortable with strangers, so he has only recently started hanging out with Jungkook whenever Taehyung and Hoseok invite them to their apartment. Yoongi’s presence seems to help Jimin feel at ease, perhaps because of their shared prey hybrid species. It’s cute how aloof they are; Jungkook doesn’t know why he finds them so endearing, especially Jimin, who always seems to look simultaneously bored and conniving.

“What does a point guard do?” Jungkook asks between chewing his popcorn. He directs his question to Suyun, though Jimin may also know the answer. Yoongi is just as hopeless as Jungkook.

“Honestly, I don’t really understand all the rules…” Suyun admits sheepishly. “I think it’s Taehyung’s job to help set up the other players so they have the best opportunities to score. He’s always shouting things and telling everyone where to go when he passes the ball and stuff.”

Pride swells in Jungkook’s chest when he sits back to watch the game, knowing that his Taehyung plays an important role. Of course, all the players do, but not all the players are Taehyung, and Taehyung is the one who matters most. Obviously.

“It fits Taehyung. He’s so bossy,” Jimin rolls his eyes and tosses a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“Is he?” Jungkook has never felt like Taehyung is bossy, but the annoyed look on Jimin’s face tells another story.

“So bossy. But all predators are, aren’t they?”

Yoongi snorts a resounding, “Yeah, they are,” while Suyun insists, “They’re not all like that.”

“Jackson doesn’t count,” Jimin licks his buttery lips, “He’s so whipped for you.”

“And Taehyung is whipped for Jungkookie,” Suyun giggles at Jungkook’s pink face.

“Let’s just watch the game…” Jungkook angrily scrunches his nose and glares at his friends until there’s more shouting from the crowd, and he quickly turns back to the court to see what he’s missed.

For the rest of the game, Jungkook won’t take his eyes off Taehyung, who spends it sprinting up and down the court, only taking a few breaks. He looks good in their university’s blue basketball uniform. The sleeveless jersey shows off the definition of his arms, especially when he raises them and bends them at the elbow to prepare to shoot or rushes down the court while dribbling the basketball. There’s too much distance between them to tell, but Jungkook is sure all the movement has made Taehyung’s veins raise slightly in his forearms — an occurrence capable of causing Jungkook ultimate psychological damage if he witnesses it up close. It’s good that Jackson got them seats that aren’t too close.

There aren’t many timeouts, but Taehyung takes advantage of the few scattered throughout the game to wink at Jungkook and blow him kisses. It makes Jungkook feel warm and fuzzy inside, something unordinary and special, like Taehyung is some kind of celebrity and Jungkook is the fan he’s fallen in love with. Unfortunately, his little dreamworld is rudely interrupted by obnoxious squealing.

“Did Kim Taehyung just blow a kiss at you?”

“I don’t know!”

“Oh my god, he totally did!”

Jungkook turns around to look at the group of girls sitting in the row behind him. Interestingly, the group is a mix of predator and prey hybrids, which Jungkook would usually find cute, but the current circumstances sour that realization. There’s no way these girls can possibly think that his Taehyung would be showering them with affection, girls he doesn’t even personally know! It takes everything in Jungkook’s power to slowly turn back around and stamp down the ugly feeling of jealousy that eats away at him like acid in his gut. He felt this once before, when Taehyung spoke with his friend in the library, and he hates it just as much now as he had then.

“You good, kid?” Yoongi asks with a flick of his tail against Jungkook’s arm to get his attention.

“Mhm…”

Jungkook’s response isn’t convincing, but the game is nearly over, and Yoongi can’t interrogate him in the middle of a basketball arena, so Yoongi lets the conversation go. The girls’ comments are harmless, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t important. To Jungkook, they’re a reminder of the one thing he desperately craves from Taehyung and still doesn’t know how to ask for: commitment.

Their university wins because of an iconic three-point basket made by Hoseok right before time runs out. The entire arena erupts in screaming and chants of his name—including Yoongi, whom Jungkook has never seen so animated. It’s cute, and it makes Jungkook wonder why Yoongi agreed to attend the basketball game with him.

It takes a while after the game ends for the players to return from the locker rooms. Jungkook, Suyun, Yoongi, and Jimin stand around the side of the basketball court, finishing up the last of Jimin’s popcorn and passing around an extra-large soda Suyun convinced Yoongi to pay for during the game’s halftime. It isn’t a sufficient dinner considering the group plans to go out drinking after this, but part of Jungkook was hoping that the guys on the team would be too tired to go out. Although Jungkook has yet to experience the city’s nightlife, he thinks he’d rather get cozy in bed with Taehyung and spend the rest of the night with each other. It’s Suyun and Jackson’s fault that everyone has jumped onto the idea of clubbing; it’s always their fault if the plans include drinking. Little, quiet Suyun! Jungkook never knew he was missing out on this side of her personality until he started hanging out with predator hybrids.

The first player to return is the one Jungkook has ignored all night. Byungchul has made himself scarce ever since the altercation at Jackson’s house. Although Jungkook is no longer angry or afraid, he’s still uncomfortable, and that’s enough to not want to be near Byungchul if he doesn’t have to be. So, when he realizes that Byungchul is heading straight for him, Jungkook finds it difficult to look him in the eyes.

“Hi,” Byungchul greets the floor once he approaches Jungkook, also avoiding eye contact.

Trying not to sound mean or defensive, Jungkook is quiet and slow when he responds, “Hello…”

Byungchul’s gray wolf tail hangs so low that it drags on the floor and his ears are flat to his head and only visible because the gray fur stands out against his black hair. His hair and fur are wet from showering in the locker room, and he’s wearing a university-branded tracksuit and a backpack thrown over one shoulder. Despite being much bigger than Jungkook, he looks small.

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry I was such an asshole to you and your friends. And, well, my friends, too,” Byungchul takes a deep breath and finally meets Jungkook’s gaze. His expression is softer than Jungkook has ever seen; the typically harsh, almost hateful look melted away into something less severe and almost… sad.

“No one put me up to this or anything,” Byungchul continues, “I was being a dick, and it fucked with the team’s dynamic, and, I don’t know, I realized it was all stupid. I know Suyun and Jimin are cool. And you must be cool if hyung likes you so much.”

Byungchul pauses for a moment to give Yoongi a strange look, with his eyebrows furrowed and his head slightly tilted to one side.

“I have no idea who you are, but, uh, I’m sure you’re cool, too.”

With a snort and a roll of his eyes, Yoongi mutters, “Cooler than any of you will ever be,” before walking off to throw away the empty soda cup.

“Anyway, yeah, that’s… that’s all I wanted to say.”

“Thank you for apologizing,” Jungkook says with heated cheeks because his senses alert him to the presence of Taehyung returning from the locker room with Hoseok and Jackson.

Byungchul must also grow shy from the sudden audience because he doesn’t say anything else. With a slight bow of his head, he bids everyone a silent goodbye and jogs over to a few other players hanging out by the exit, waiting for him. It’s odd to see Byungchul so quiet and not the boisterous, aggressive bully he wanted to make himself seem like. Despite understanding that Byungchul behaved from a place of insecurity, Jungkook is still confused by him. Jungkook can’t imagine ever wanting to make himself out to be a bad guy.

“Everyone alright?” Hoseok asks as he approaches the quiet group of prey hybrids.

Almost immediately, Jimin breaks away from the other prey to latch himself to Hoseok’s side, giving Taehyung a pinch on his arm on his way over.

“Jimin-ah!” Taehyung swats at the calico with a hiss, and Jungkook can’t help but giggle when Jimin hisses right back. Cats. How has Jungkook managed to surround himself with them?

“Byungchul apologized to Jungkook,” Suyun explains as she beckons for Yoongi to hurry up before the group leaves.

“Shocking, really,” Jimin says with a smirk, “Considering how big predators’ egos are, I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to find the capacity for empathy.”

Rather than be offended, Hoseok snickers. His laughter is a strange mix of hisses and giggles, making Jimin’s smirk morph into something a little closer to a genuine smile.

Jungkook isn’t the best at reading people’s scents to determine their moods, but he has lived with Yoongi long enough to tell when he’s getting worked up for whatever reason. The sour spike in Yoongi’s citrus scent doesn’t match the blush that paints his cheeks when Jimin begins openly scenting Hoseok by nuzzling his neck.

“Ugh, enough of Byungchul, I’m so tired of talking about all that bullshit,” Jackson groans. “Who needs a ride to my place? I can fit four other people.”

They’re all grown adults in college, but it takes counting on their fingers to figure out who goes in which car. Taehyung doesn’t bother worrying about it; he’s got his eyes on Jungkook while everyone else plans their next moves for the night. Jungkook tries not to stare at him, and he’s even proud of himself for not latching onto him — mainly because Jungkook promised Yoongi that he wouldn’t leave him alone with all the couples doing coupley things like a seventh wheel.

“Taehyung,” Hoseok pushes him on the shoulder for not paying attention. “Is it cool if you and Jungkook drive together?”

Taehyung’s grin is boxy and boyish when he replies, “I mean, I guess.”

Jungkook and Taehyung walk back to Taehyung’s dorm while their friends clamber into Jackson’s car. Whereas Jackson already showered in the arena’s locker room, Hoseok is too disgusted by the idea of showering where “who knows how many other athletes have showered,” and Taehyung is too married to his skincare regime to shower anywhere other than in his own bathroom. They split up, allowing Hoseok to get ready for the night at Jackson’s house and Taehyung the ease of not needing to share the bathroom in their apartment.

Jungkook is just happy to go wherever Taehyung goes.

“Did you have fun?” Taehyung asks with his lips pressed against the soft fur of Jungkook’s bunny ear. It tickles, and Jungkook tries to escape, but Taehyung’s arm is draped over his shoulders to pull him back in.

“Mhm, I had no idea what was going on, though,” Jungkook admits, laughing lightly when he remembers Suyun and Jimin trying to explain the rules, only for Yoongi to look them up online and find that they were wrong.

“I should have prepped you beforehand.”

Jungkook shrugs.

“We should play together instead. I think I could beat you.”

Taehyung steps away from Jungkook to open the front door of the residence hall. He gives Jungkook a shocked look, eyebrows raised, and one corner of his mouth tweaked into a half-smirk.

“Oh, really? You think you could?”

Jungkook pushes past Taehyung and leads them to the stairwell, skipping the elevator like always.

“I probably work out more than you,” Jungkook purposely gives Taehyung a long, hard look that drags from his feet to the fuzzy, striped ears on his head. “I’m strong and definitely more agile than you are.”

It’s all fun and games, just silly shit-talking until Taehyung gets that wild look in his eyes. Jungkook spins on his heel and launches himself up the stairs, taking them two at a time, knowing Taehyung is right behind him. He has the advantage of being lighter on his feet and not having been playing sports for nearly two hours straight, so he manages to scramble up the stairs without getting snatched until they’re outside Taehyung’s apartment door.

“Did you forget I’m a cute little bunny?” Jungkook teases through his heavy breathing, which matches Taehyung’s panting. “Hopping up the stairs is easy. I’ve got a good bounce to me.”

Pressed with his back against the door, Jungkook looks up into Taehyung’s eyes with his chin raised and a smug look on his face that quickly falters when Taehyung says,

“You bouncing sounds fun.”

“Ah, open the door, Tae!” Jungkook shoves Taehyung in the chest, forcing him to give Jungkook space to move away from the door. “You’re gross.”

Chuckling, Taehyung does as he’s told.

“I’m going to shower now, but I’ll be quick,” Taehyung murmurs with a kiss on Jungkook’s forehead, his short exhale ruffling Jungkook’s bangs.

Jungkook smiles in response as Taehyung disappears through the bathroom door. Once the door clicks shut, he turns around and retreats into Taehyung’s bedroom. He likes the feel of Taehyung’s bedroom the most out of all the rooms in the apartment. The green walls and plants and earth-toned furniture are comforting. There must be some psychology about why natural hues induce relaxation in hybrids; Jungkook is sure it’s part of their biology. Or perhaps he feels relaxed as he flops onto his stomach on the bed because the comforter smells like Taehyung, and he can already sense how their scents dance around each other, mixing to create the aroma of peaceful spring rain. Perhaps Jungkook’s sense of comfort is a little bit of both, a combination of nature and nurture.

Catching himself metaphorically drooling over Taehyung yet again, Jungkook gives himself permission to keep gushing over the boy in his head. When Jungkook started getting to know Taehyung, he was a starry-eyed, silly bunny determined to crack the mysterious tiger’s hard exterior. Now, he sees Taehyung for what he really is: a quiet, somewhat reserved boy who feels deeply and has a heart of gold.

As for Jungkook, he doesn’t think he’s very different from the bunny he was when he first transferred all those months ago. His identity hasn’t changed much, but how he thinks about himself has. He’s still starry-eyed and silly, but he’s confident in his desire to be a kind and accepting person, and he no longer worries about being considered naive.

Jungkook props himself up on Taehyung’s pillow as he sprawls out on the bed, phone in hand, to scroll through his phone for music to play on Taehyung’s speaker while he waits for Taehyung to finish showering. Most of his recent music has been random lofi playlists Taehyung showed him, perfect for relaxing or studying. Those don’t seem particularly fitting to prepare to go clubbing, so Jungkook searches for a playlist with a decent mix of mainstream hip-hop and pop songs to bop his head along to while he aimlessly scrolls through social media.

It’s still early, and Jungkook is sure that the rest of their friends will take a while to get ready, even with Jackson’s house having multiple bathrooms. Luckily, Suyun and Yoongi were already prepared to go out after the game; it’s the basketball players and Jimin who should be concerned about taking too long.

Jungkook can’t help but giggle when he thinks about his friends, particularly his poor Yoongi hyung, squished between Hoseok and Jimin in the backseat of Jackson’s car. He looked terrified — with his orange tail clutched in one hand to prevent anyone from accidentally sitting on it and his ears flattened against his hair — as if he didn’t love having two pretty boys trying to talk to him all night.

With the right amount of alcohol, Yoongi will loosen up enough to enjoy himself despite going out not being high on his list of favorite things to do. It might not even be high on Jungkook’s list of favorite things to do, but considering he hasn’t ever gone clubbing before, he’s not sure. All he knows is that Taehyung is responsible for ensuring he doesn’t get messy, as Suyun said.

Not long after Jungkook texts Yoongi and Suyun to confirm which nightclub Jackson wants everyone to meet up at, he hears the bathroom door open. Taehyung is always light on his feet, hardly making a sound as he walks down the hallway. Sneaky, a quality not uncommon for a predator hybrid.

Pushing himself up, Jungkook settles for sitting in the middle of Taehyung’s bed and turns toward the door when Taehyung crosses the threshold.

“Jackson said we should go to…”

Jungkook trails off, the name of the nightclub escaping out of his brain through his ears like all his common sense and body’s ability to remember how to breathe. Frozen in place, the only things that move on Jungkook are his throat when he swallows, despite how dry his mouth has gotten, and his eyes that follow Taehyung to his closet.

Seeing Taehyung shirtless isn’t shocking; they’ve slept in the same bed a few times, and Taehyung usually sleeps shirtless. Seeing Taehyung wearing only a fluffy white towel that sits low on his hips, with a few stray beads of water trickling down his chest and his copper hair slicked back away from his face… seeing that is more than Jungkook’s little soul can bear.

When Jungkook doesn’t speak, Taehyung turns around to look at him, his forehead wrinkled with worry lines.

“Bun? Go where?”

Heat climbs up Jungkook’s neck like scorching pinpricks in his skin when he realizes he has forgotten what he was supposed to say. It takes everything in his power to stare into Taehyung’s eyes instead of at the swell of his pecs and how his arms flex as he sorts through the clothes hanging in his closet.

“Um,” Jungkook quickly looks down at his phone, using clumsy fingers to open Suyun and Yoongi’s text messages. If he doesn’t chill out, he’s going to lose to his naturally horny bunny instincts, and he cannot do that right now. “Singularity. That’s the, uh…”

“Club?” Taehyung offers, one corner of his mouth twitching like he wants to smile or laugh but is holding it in.

“Yes.”

“Do you know what time?”

Jungkook keeps his head down, using his ears and bangs to hide from Taehyung as he sorts through his text messages with trembling thumbs. He needs to calm down before he embarrasses himself.

“Suyun said thirty minutes, but Yoongi hyung said an hour,” Jungkook responds after deep breaths. “I’d trust hyung more, honestly.”

The slide of Taehyung’s fingers in Jungkook’s hair makes him look up from his phone. He tilts his head back far enough that he can look directly into Taehyung’s eyes — and not at his crotch, which is much closer to Jungkook’s face now that Taehyung stands at the edge of the bed.

“That’s enough time,” Taehyung reassures as he massages the base of Jungkook’s ears. The gentle caresses make Jungkook’s eyes flutter.

“Enough time for what?” Jungkook asks and leans into Taehyung’s touch.

Using his grip on Jungkook’s hair, Taehyung guides Jungkook closer until he’s kneeling on the bed in front of Taehyung, making it easier for Taehyung to whisper his response against Jungkook’s lips,

“For me to help you find new pants.”

Huffing, Jungkook tries to voice a complaint, embarrassed that it seems Taehyung will never let this terrible joke die, but Taehyung slots their lips together faster than Jungkook can keep up.

Taehyung isn’t slow this time, and although he keeps his promise of being gentle, there’s more force in how he handles Jungkook as if he’s no longer concerned about scaring him. He digs his fingers into Jungkook’s silky black hair and tugs on the strands, not harshly, but enough to force Jungkook to tilt his head to the side so Taehyung can deepen the kiss. It’s wet and hot, Taehyung shoving his tongue in Jungkook’s mouth, curling his tongue around Jungkook’s like he curls his arm around his waist to pull him closer.

“I can smell it on you,” Taehyung murmurs when he moves to nuzzle Jungkook’s throat, dragging his nose and pink lips along his soft skin.

“W-What?”

“How turned on you are. Don’t need you to get wet to know.”

Taehyung bites Jungkook’s neck just above the scent gland where a mating bite is meant to go. Jungkook’s neck has been littered with deep red, almost purple, bruises ever since that night Taehyung lost control of himself. Jungkook thinks it’s another way for Taehyung to claim him, like mating bites that disappear rather than stay forever. Yoongi’s warning about mating echoes in Jungkook’s mind when Taehyung bites him again with enough pressure to leave an intent in his skin but not enough for it to hurt.

It feels good. Jungkook whimpers as he hesitantly grabs the back of Taehyung’s head to keep him against his neck when he tries to pull away.

“Shit,” Taehyung groans, and goosebumps spring up along Jungkook’s skin when he scrapes his teeth against his throat, “You like that? Like it when I leave marks on you?”

Jungkook nods with his eyes fluttering closed, just a small hum in response.

“Want me to bite you?” Taehyung’s warm, hypnotizing voice draws Jungkook in. It’s low and soothing, with a tantalizing edge that makes a shudder run through Jungkook’s body.

“Please,” Jungkook whispers as Taehyung trails kisses along his jaw.

“Want me to mate you, bun? Make you mine?”

Tugging Taehyung’s hair, Jungkook pulls him backward until they both fall onto the bed with Jungkook on his back and Taehyung hovering over him.

“Yes, Tae,” Jungkook begs, hardly knowing what he’s saying but can’t stop himself, as though Taehyung has genuinely hypnotized him. His voice is frantic, breathy, and pathetic like he needs it.

“Mmm, you know I can’t,” Taehyung smiles against the apple of Jungkook’s cheek, opening his mouth slightly to press his blunt front teeth there, too. “You naughty bunny. Don’t even know what you’re asking me.”

Taehyung muffles Jungkook’s whine with his mouth, sucking his tongue with a slight bob to his head as he reaches with one hand in between their bodies to unclasp the other strap of Jungkook’s overalls. Pulling the flap down, he slips his hand beneath Jungkook’s sweater to run his fingers along his warm skin.

“Why are your clothes so complicated?” Taehyung leans back to kneel between Jungkook’s legs, which are bent at the knees and spread open to accommodate him.

“It’s a cute outfit,” Jungkook pouts, making Taehyung’s huffy expression blossom into a boyish grin.

“You do look really cute. I couldn’t stop looking at you.”

“I noticed.”

Taehyung’s slow curl of his fingers around the waist of Jungkook’s overalls is a silent request. Jungkook’s raise of his hips is the silent granting of permission.

“Almost fucked up that free throw because I could hear you cheering for me.”

Too distracted by what Taehyung is doing, Jungkook can’t bring himself to protest Taehyung’s accusations. How dare Taehyung blame him when all he was trying to do was give Taehyung encouragement! The complaint is lost, gently brushed to the side by Taehyung’s gentle caresses as he helps Jungkook take off the rest of his clothes, leaving a pile of white and powder blue amongst the swath of browns and greens that is his bedroom.

“You’re cute, but you’re also beautiful,” Taehyung’s tone is soft, as are his touches as he runs his hands up and down Jungkook’s bare torso.

It’s the first time Jungkook has been fully naked in front of Taehyung, in front of anyone. He thought he would be more nervous, that he would be petrified by insecurities. Instead, he feels heat spreading through his body, little fires burning in his chest and the inside of his thighs, like electrical sparks setting off flames in his veins. The longer Taehyung stares at his body, exploring it with light fingertips that flick his brown, perky nipples and skate across his hip bones, the hotter the fires burn.

Jungkook knows he’s attractive; people have always praised him for being pretty. But Jungkook doesn’t want to be pretty or cute; he wants to be hot, like the heat Taehyung’s gaze stirs inside him.

Leaning forward, Taehyung sucks one of Jungkook’s nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it to hear the weak whimper that the action elicits from Jungkook.

“Ahh, Tae,” Jungkook curves his spine to press his chest against Taehyung’s mouth and digs his fingers in his damp hair when Taehyung lets go of one nipple to drag his lips across his sternum, sucking and licking the other once he reaches it.

“Hoseok hyung isn’t home,” Taehyung murmurs against Jungkook’s chest as he tosses his towel onto the floor.

Initially, the comment doesn’t sink in for Jungkook. He’s caught up in the wet kisses Taehyung plants down his stomach and the wave of slick-inducing pleasure that overtakes him when Taehyung takes his cock in his mouth. It takes barely any time for Taehyung to suck Jungkook until he’s fully hard, and it isn’t until he’s guiding Jungkook to turn around on his hands and knees when it finally hits him.

No one else is home.

The moan Taehyung coaxes out of Jungkook when he presses two fingers into his hole is uninhibited because there’s no one to offend by how loud he is. His moans come out stunted and quick with every thrust of Taehyung’s fingers. Eventually, they stretch out and shift into a higher pitch once Taehyung finds his prostate and focuses on pressing that spot every time he fucks into him with his fingers.

“You’re so wet, I don’t even think you need any prep,” Taehyung groans as he inserts a third finger.

Jungkook lowers onto his forearms to press his forehead against the mattress, unable to keep himself up when his arms shake so severely. He does his best to rock with Taehyung’s movements but is too embarrassed by how uncoordinated he is compared to Taehyung.

“It feels good,” Jungkook sighs when Taehyung pulls his fingers out.

“Yeah?”

Nodding, Jungkook twists around to meet Taehyung’s dark gaze. He’s got that look again, ardent and wild, with dilated pupils and his scent so strong that Jungkook can imagine the two of them getting lost in a thunderstorm of Taehyung’s making. It stirs that primal urge to run, to get away from the predator that drapes his body over Jungkook’s, pressing him into the mattress on his stomach so he can grind his cock in between his cheeks with practiced precision.

“What do you want, bun?” Taehyung’s breath comes out in hot puffs against Jungkook’s neck.

What does Jungkook want?

He digs his fingers into the bed sheets and turns his head to the side so Taehyung can kiss him. Each smooth, slow roll of Taehyung’s hips against his ass gently pushes him up the bed. It feels so good, even though the nerves about what they’re doing are finally starting to kick in. He can hardly breathe when Taehyung nips at his neck where his scent gland is.

What does Jungkook want?

“I want you.”

Taehyung’s hips still. He nuzzles his face further into Jungkook’s neck and leaves kisses there, each one planted on top of the sore hickeys he’d bitten and sucked onto Jungkook’s skin. There are so many reminders of the commitment they could have, but neither will offer out loud.

“Want me to fuck you, Jungkook?” His name sounds rough, coming from Taehyung, like a growl pulled from deep inside his chest.

“Please.”

Pressing his forehead to Jungkook’s shoulder, Taehyung whispers a quiet “Fuck,” before sitting back on his knees.

“I want you to ride me.”

It’s a command, even though it’s spoken softly. Jungkook could say no if he wanted to; he knows Taehyung would respect him. But he also feels like his instincts tell him that he must obey this predator who looms over him with a hungry glint in his eyes.

“I won’t be good,” Jungkook mutters as Taehyung trades places with him. He’s gorgeous, laid out on the bed, honey gold skin against white sheets, and his hair dry enough to start getting fluffy and poofy atop his head. Jungkook may be gorgeous, too, but he’s inadequate in other ways.

“What do you mean?” Taehyung leans slightly to reach for Jungkook, guiding him to straddle his hips like before.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, and you’ve…”

“I’ve what?”

Biting his lip, Jungkook looks off into the room, his eyes landing on his reflection in the darkened window. Seeing a distorted image of himself on top of Taehyung makes him even more nervous.

“You’ve had sex with other people before,” Jungkook says quietly.

“Bun,” Taehyung squeezes Jungkook’s tiny waist and glides his palms upward until they rest on his chest. “This is about me and you, that’s it. The other people are in the past for a reason. And I’d never judge you. You’re so perfect, Jungkook. You do it for me just by being you. I don’t care about you being ‘good’ or ‘bad’ or whatever. You’re you, and that’s enough, alright?”

Jungkook rests his hands on Taehyung’s and keeps them cradled to his chest when he nods in understanding. Maybe he’s naive, but he believes Taehyung, even though his insecurities tell him not to.

“I want you to ride me so you can determine our pace, okay?” Taehyung explains, and Jungkook nods again. “You can control how much you take, so you’re more comfortable. If I’m on top, I might hurt you.”

A bit of primal fear returns, spiking through Jungkook’s fiery veins with a shot of ice. Although they joke around about their differences, the reality is that Taehyung is bigger and stronger than Jungkook. He genuinely could hurt him, especially with this being Jungkook’s first time.

Choosing to trust him, Jungkook lets go of Taehyung’s hands so he can rest them on Jungkook’s waist. It feels nice having Taehyung’s hands there, like a comforting pressure to remind Jungkook that he has someone to support him through this.

“Okay,” Jungkook confirms breathily, with a sigh. “Okay. I’m ready.”

He wants to be sexy, but he doesn’t know if he can be when he’s trembling with nerves along with excitement. Taehyung genuinely doesn’t seem to mind. He rubs Jungkook’s sides, lightly dragging his nails across his ribs and occasionally brushing over his nipples while Jungkook works up the courage to do this.

“Do you want me to help? I can sit up and—”

“No!” Jungkook blushes from his sudden outburst, but Taehyung just grins.

“Alright, alright,” Taehyung says, lying back and crossing his arms behind his head. “I’ll be over here minding my own business.”

Something about the nonchalant pose makes Jungkook’s stomach flip, and not just because it makes Taehyung’s biceps bulge. Forcing himself out of that mindset, Jungkook presses his palm against Taehyung’s chest to steady himself as he leans forward, lifting onto his knees.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Taehyung murmurs as Jungkook reaches behind himself to gently grab Taehyung’s cock. He keeps his promise by staying still and letting Jungkook guide his cock, slippery with Jungkook’s slick, to his hole.

Jungkook is so wet that he takes Taehyung’s cock much easier than he expected, even with how thick it is. Still, it’s a lot, especially for a prey hybrid’s first time, and Jungkook’s body trembles as he sinks further down, taking it slow like Taehyung told him to.

“Tae,” Jungkook whimpers once Taehyung is fully inside him.

“Fuck, look at you.” Taehyung runs his palms up Jungkook’s thighs until he reaches his waist, giving him a light squeeze. “How do you feel, bun?”

“You’re big,” Jungkook’s voice trembles as severely as his body.

“Mmm,” Taehyung smirks, wild eyes sparkling despite their darkness. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Playfully hitting Taehyung’s firm chest with his fist, Jungkook scolds him for his vulgar comment during such a serious moment.

“Oh my god, Tae, shut up.”

Dropping the cocky attitude, Taehyung’s features soften despite maintaining the wild look, still stroking Jungkook’s instinct to run. Taehyung lightly squeezes Jungkook’s hips, pulling him forward just enough to understand the silent cue to start moving if he feels comfortable.

So Jungkook does, at first leaning forward with his hands holding Taehyung’s pecs as he tries rolling his hips. The angle lets him adjust to Taehyung’s size better, slowly easing away the stretch and light discomfort he’d felt earlier until he’s whimpering and calling Taehyung’s name in a rushed chant.

“Lean back a little,” Taehyung instructs as he bends his knees slightly so Jungkook has something to hold onto. “It’ll feel better if my little bunny bounces.”

The bad thing about being on top is that Jungkook can’t hide from Taehyung’s teasing. All he can do is blush until his face is on fire, and then do exactly as Taehyung says, lifting and easing down until he is bouncing on Taehyung’s cock.

“Oh my god, oh god,” Jungkook nearly wails when Taehyung grabs his hands and intertwines their fingers.

“Yeah, fuck yourself on my cock, baby,” Taehyung groans, “You look so pretty, fuck.” He squeezes Jungkook’s hands so tightly that it hurts, but Jungkook doesn’t care because Taehyung didn’t call him bun; he called him baby.

“Again, Tae,” Jungkook gasps, letting his head lull to the side as he moves. “Call me that again.”

Taehyung lets go of Jungkook’s hand and reaches up to wrap his hand around his throat, using his grip to force Jungkook to look at him.

“Hmm? What? Call you baby?”

With a quiet whine, Jungkook nods his head. He doesn’t think he’ll survive the swell of affection he feels inside his chest when Taehyung grins with so much boyish charm and repeats himself,

“Baby, you’re my baby, Jungkook-ah. Didn’t you know?”

“Harder,” Jungkook whispers in response, too overwhelmed to articulate himself in any other way.

That one word is all Taehyung needs, though. His hands find Jungkook’s waist as he plants his feet and thrusts upward, pulling Jungkook down on his cock to meet each thrust. It’s a miracle they found time to be alone, with Jungkook a crying, babbling, moaning mess on top of Taehyung, completely resigned to being a pillow princess who can do nothing but hold on as Taehyung fucks into him. It’s hard and fast, so desperate that Taehyung was otherwise good at hiding. His fingers dig into Jungkook’s hips hard enough to leave bruises that will match the ones scattered across his neck and collarbones, but Jungkook doesn’t care. He likes it.

“Feel good, baby?”

Jungkook nods quickly, not bothering to speak through his sounds of pleasure. He leans forward slightly to slide his hands through Taehyung’s hair and rubs his fuzzy tiger ears once his fingertips brush against them. The deep purr he gets in response makes him touch Taehyung more.

“Gonna cum with me, baby? Can you do that for me?”

He nods again as Taehyung grabs Jungkook’s cock and starts jerking him off at the same pace he fucks him. The buildup of pleasure has Jungkook wound so tightly that it only takes a few pumps before he cums with a loud sob.

“Fuck,” Taehyung hisses, continuing to jerk Jungkook off even when he starts to cry. He doesn’t stop until Jungkook cums for a second time, with Taehyung as he finally finds his release.

Jungkook can feel the moment Taehyung relaxes, when his hungry fervor slowly seeps away and exhaustion takes over. He feels it in himself, too, his arms and legs losing strength until Jungkook thinks he’s just a blob slumped onto Taehyung’s heaving chest.

“I didn’t pass out while conscious,” Jungkook whispers and Taehyung weakly laughs.

“Does that mean I didn’t perform well?”

Taehyung is cheeky and fishing for compliments that Jungkook will gladly give him.

“It was really nice, Tae,” Jungkook speaks against Taehyung’s neck, where he nuzzles his face to scent him despite them being covered in each other’s scents from sex. “I’m happy it was with you.”

There’s so much more Jungkook wants to say, but he can’t. Not now, when it could ruin the moment. Not now, when they must slowly pry themselves from each other and take another shower because Jungkook’s slick and cum are all over them. Later. Jungkook will tell Taehyung later, tell him everything he’s afraid to say as they cram into the shower together and take turns washing each other’s hair.

He promises himself that he’ll tell Taehyung later.

Clubbing isn’t as terrible as Jungkook feared it would be. It’s pretty fun, though he wonders if he’s having a good time because he’s under the spell of a particular tiger hybrid with a dazzling smile and warm eyes that crinkle every time they happen to fall on Jungkook’s from across the room. Jungkook is also drunk, so that could also impact the level of enthusiasm he has when Suyun drags him out onto the dancefloor.

“You look unusually happy,” she shouts over the loud music with a hoarse voice.

“I’m always happy!” Jungkook gives Suyun a deep pout.

“Well, yeah, but like, more than usual!”

Jungkook doesn’t know if there’s such a thing as a post-sex afterglow, but he really hopes that Suyun doesn’t make any connections to what transpired before he and Taehyung arrived at the nightclub. He wonders if Taehyung has already told his friends or if they can tell.

Biting his lip, Jungkook looks away from Suyun’s swaying dance moves and finds Taehyung leaning against the bar with Jackson and the pretty panther predator Jungkook remembers from the library, Ten.

“Oh, I know what it is,” Suyun giggles and gulps half her drink. Jungkook has the same kind, though he doesn’t remember what it is; aside from that, it’s more vodka than anything else.

“What? No, you don’t!” Jungkook shoves Suyun, and she shoves him back until they’re both play-fighting while the other clubbers try to grind on each other. “Stop it!”

“You’re in looooove, Jungkook-ah! You’re all glowy in the face because you’re in love!”

“Shut up!”

“What, are you afraid he’ll hear me?” Suyun’s eyes are large and glazed over when she turns around to look for Taehyung. “Maybe I should tell him for you. TAEHYUNG! JUNGKOOK WANTS YOU TO KNOW THAT—”

Jungkook grabs Suyun’s arm and yanks her hard enough that she stumbles into him, causing the two of them to nearly trip. Some kind stranger struggles to straighten them up, but the damage is done. When Jungkook looks again, Taehyung and Ten are already walking over.

“Suyun, please,” Jungkook pleads with his big, round, starry eyes that typically get him what he wants.

Before he can get Suyun to promise not to completely ruin his life, Taehyung and Ten approach them.

“What’s up, bun?”

Taehyung reaches for Jungkook’s hand and intertwines their fingers. Despite it being an innocent gesture, arousal spikes through his stomach. Just over an hour ago, Taehyung had intertwined their fingers in an entirely different context.

Jungkook feels Taehyung’s tail curl around his calf and playfully tug him, and he’s reminded that Taehyung said Jungkook didn’t need to slick for him to smell his arousal. That knowledge makes him nervous like he’s going to be found out for being a horny freak. Taehyung’s smile is soft and innocent when he looks up, so maybe Jungkook is in the clear.

“Suyun is just being silly,” Jungkook explains, shooting Suyun a look.

Suyun shrugs, “I’m drunk.”

Taehyung snorts and gestures with a nod toward the bar.

“Jackson is over there. You should have him get you some water.”

Suyun skips away with an annoyed sigh, leaving Jungkook with Taehyung. and Ten, who gives Jungkook an odd look.

“I don’t think Taehyung properly introduced us,” Ten says with a pretty smile that makes Jungkook nervous. Jungkook doesn’t particularly want to be properly introduced to him.

“Ah, shit, sorry, I’m bad at introductions,” Taehyung apologizes with a laugh that eases Jungkook’s nerves. “Ten, this is my boyfriend, Jungkook.”

Boyfriend.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jungkook,” Ten says sweetly, though it seems obvious to Jungkook that the airiness to his voice is forced. “No wonder Taehyung hasn’t been around much lately. I hope you’re keeping him out of trouble.”

Jungkook twists to look up at Taehyung’s sparkling eyes and can’t stop himself from wiggling further into his side. Taehyung loops his arm around Jungkook’s waist and nuzzles his cheek against his soft bunny ears, and Jungkook feels like he might die from how quickly his heart is beating.

“He’s getting me into trouble, actually,” Jungkook admits sheepishly, and Ten throws his head back in laughter.

“That doesn’t surprise me at all.”

Unbothered by the allegations against him, Taehyung breathes Jungkook in and purrs, soft and low, and Jungkook feels all his nerves disappear.

Series Masterlist

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories.

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie).

#taekook #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts fluff #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #venor #jai writes #gimmethatagustd

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jen-with-a-pen · 1 month

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ALL TIED UP - FIVE

Previous ⊹ Series

summary: Steve's night is made when his barista ends up sharing a class with him. But Steve's paranoia gets the best of him– can he really trust his gut?

pairings: Art Student!Frat Brother!Steve Rogers x Film Student!Sorority Sister!Reader

word count: 2.66k

warnings: flirting, fluff, hand holding, closeness, steve is adorable when he's nervous, paranoia, unease, cursing, barista lore™

a/n: had fun writing this one as we build up to friday! i might be switching the days/chapters around in the next few, but we'll see. depends on the depravity of my brain 😈

gif by @paliaphrodite | additional graphics + dividers by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist | all tied up masterlist Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

Last Thursday.

Learning how to draw, when he already knows how to draw, makes Steve feel bad at drawing.

Sitting in the lecture hall of the art school, he doodles over the half-assed notes he manages to take during the first thirty minutes of class. Usually, he loves Drawing 101; it’s his easiest, only late-night class each week and one of the only times he can relax without worrying about one of the brothers barging in with another stupid homework question. Usually, it's just him, his earbuds turned up a touch too high, and whatever subjects the instructor places in front of him. On Thursday nights, nothing stands between him, an easel, and two straight hours of sketching pots and people.

Except when a said-Thursday night happens to fall on ‘mandatory lecture’ day.

It hasn’t been an hour when Steve gives up trying to force himself to focus, instead choosing to mindlessly doodle over and around the page. The Drawing 101 guest professor continues to drone on about different types of graphite in the pencils kits Steve and twenty-odd other kids in the course were forced to buy. Steve doesn’t understand– nor does he particularly give a shit– as to why a 3H pencil is better over a 3B pencil, or how using an 8B pencil isn’t preferred over a 7B pencil.

A pencil is a fucking pencil.

Steve sighs, failing to stifle a yawn. No amount of coffee– not even the triple espresso concoction his barista had him try earlier that day– could save him from falling asleep in this godforsaken, decades-old room with dimmed lights and sporadically-filled seats scattered amongst the vast sea of empty ones. Honestly, nobody ever came to monthly lectures, save for when their usual professor mentioned the material would be part of their written midterms. Guest lecturers result in a lesser turnout, too, and Steve partially wishes he’d chosen to spend it back at the café or in the library. As the professor continues on to the next type of pencil, the double doors at the back of the room creak open. Still dazed in a bored stupor, Steve cranes his neck over his shoulder to see which unlucky bastard is almost an hour late to the snoozefest.

He immediately wakes up, shooting up in his seat as if a bucket of ice water were splashed on him. He can’t believe what he sees: it’s her. Her. His barista.

Mouth agape, he stares as she slowly closes the doors, careful not to draw too much attention to her late arrival. When nobody bothers to acknowledge her, she makes her way down the carpeted steps of the lecture hall in search of refuge in an empty seat. Her eyes dart across the aisles, desperate for just one, inconspicuous place that will draw the least attention.

As she combs the rows with a furrowed brow and bottom lip slipping adorably between her teeth, Steve realizes he’s got some sort of a chance. Eyes dart to the professor, then back to her. Steve subtly raises a hand, waving to get her attention. Locking eyes, she finally sees him. Relief and surprise replace her bitten lip with a beaming smile. Steve’s heart soars, skipping far more than several beats. He doesn’t– he can’t– take his eyes off her as she quickly shuffles through the row of seats, plopping down next to him and dropping a tote bag at her feet. She pulls out a purple notebook and pen, slouching back into her seat with a relieved sigh, knee brushing gently against Steve’s. A ghost of the sweetest-smelling perfume drifts into his nostrils and he has the urge to replace his oxygen supply with it.

Steve feels like he’s dreaming. Cloud nine, light as a feather, the whole fucking nine yards. He skims over her features in the dim light of the lecture hall– the curve of her lips as she whispers to herself, flipping through the pages of her notebook, trying to find a blank spot; her eyelashes that flick up and down as she copies down the date and class number. He trails down her neck, crossing over the gold bar necklace she wears every day, to her shoulders and arms, her hands. When his eyes drift back up to her face, she’s staring back. Heat blooms in his cheeks and nerves constrict his chest in embarrassment. She smirks, shaking her head and turning her attention to the professor’s current ramblings on B and HB pencils. Steve opens his mouth to speak but quickly shuts it.

What would he even say? How would he get away with trying to talk to her in the middle of the lecture? The professor would hear him, he’d get called out, everyone would see him–

She huffs, turning to another blank notebook page. Steve side-eyes her as she quietly tears the page out and scribbles something on the first line. Side-eyeing Steve, a small smile pulls at the corners of her lips as she discreetly slides the paper over to him.

hi stranger.

Steve can’t help but grin. It spills across his lips as more heat blooms, trailing up his ears and down his neck. Trying not to seem too eager, he clicks his own pen and scrawls a response. The professor’s voice fades into background noise, going through one ear and out the other. He’s a goner and so is Steve.

YOURE THE STRANGER, STRANGER

He slides the paper back to her. She scoffs a laugh, smile growing wider.

last minute class drop + switch. u know how it is.

TRUE. DIDNT KNOW YOU WERE AN ART KID

She shakes her head, quickly scribbling when Steve cocks his head, mouthing a ‘what?’

film kid. have to take art class for credit. only one available.

Steve’s surprised at her response, nodding once he thinks it over. It makes sense.

She makes sense.

It fits her. It fits the way she moves, the way she carries herself, the ease in which she comes up with witty comebacks. It’s then and there Steve really thinks about the contrast between the two of them– the way he’s perceived versus how he perceives her. He’s a frat brother, a six-foot-two guy with muscles he doesn’t know how to use yet, and a lifelong artist who doesn’t fit in– no matter how much he tries to claw and fight his way out of the hole people dig and throw him in.

If anything, he doesn’t make sense.

Brow furrowing and jaw set, Steve’s caught in the downward spiral he’s been fighting to keep at bay since coming to Richards– since he pledged his life away to Sigma Theta Beta and the never-ending identity crisis the brothers force upon him every waking moment. But, it’s with her that he feels more like himself than anywhere else in the goddamned world. It’s with her he wants to– willingly– be himself. He wants to be himself with her.

He, however, doesn’t realize the hack job he’s performing on his poor cheek tissue until a soft hand covers his, squeezing lightly. Warmth spreads like wildfire across Steve’s skin, breaking him free and bringing him back to the real world. Concern veils over his barista’s expression; her soft, searching gaze jumps between his baby blues.

‘You okay?’ she mouths, studying him, hand still on his. Her brow twitches upwards when he still doesn’t respond. Steve holds up an index finger and goes back to responding on the paper.

SORRY. LOT ON MY MIND

She nods heavily in agreement.

same. pencildick up there is putting me to sleep. how do you even do it?

Steve bites a laugh back.

DRAWING, COUNTING THE CLOCK

Before she takes it back Steve adds,

AND NOW YOU.

Her smile is bright enough to light up the darkened lecture hall.

Two whole pages are filled by the time class lets out. Front and back.

Steve allows his barista to take the lead in following other students out of the lecture hall. Buzzing conversations reveal a shared eagerness to get the hell out of there and go spend the rest of their Thursday night doing something else more worthy of their precious time. Steve slings his bag over his shoulder as he follows close behind, verbally continuing their written conversation about her shift from earlier in the day and swapping ridiculous ways on how they’ll manage to work every type of pencil into their midterm.

As he plods next to her, Steve fights an innate urge to place a light hand on her lower back to guide her out on their way to the parking lot. Instead, he gets the door, jokingly half-bowing with an outstretched arm to the second set of double doors. Continuing out of the building, Steve takes a breath, deciding now is the perfect time to ask if she’s busy tonight. Instead, though, she stops abruptly. Steve runs directly into her, arms jutting out instinctively to steady both of them out of sheer instinct. Grabbing her shoulders, she spins around to face him, closer to his chest than either realized.

Steve feels his ears turn red again. She looks up at him, blinking before taking a step back, lips parting slightly. An awkward beat hangs in the air before Steve clears his throat and rubs his neck.

"You, uh,” he swallows, preparing himself for the inevitable, “You maybe wanna go grab a bite t’eat, or somethin’?"

Her eyes widen, lips twitching at the corners. She looks like she’s about to answer before quickly realizing something, as if internally scolding herself for even looking excited. Pressing her lips together, her eyes dart back to her phone.

"Shit, I–" she quickly types a response and shoves it back in her pocket, exhaling in frustration.

"What is it?"

"I would love to, Steve. I really would, but," she closes her eyes and sighs, "I can't. My sisters need me back at the house. They said it’s an ‘emergency.’" She adds sarcastic air quotes, rolling her eyes.

"Oh!” Relief fills Steve’s chest, thankful she’s not purposefully blowing him off with some shitty excuse. “Okay, no yeah, I–I totally get it, family can be-"

She smiles softly, shaking her head and taking his hand to run a thumb over his knuckles. The gesture is so casual, so soft, yet it sends goosebumps up Steve’s arm.

"Oh, no. No, they're not my actual sisters. They're, um, my sorority sisters." She flinches as 'sorority' leaves her lips.

Steve blanches, swallowing a disbelieving laugh. He can't help the lopsided smile spreading across his face. He can’t help taking both her hands in his and holding them in excitement. The odds of it– all of it– all the things, of all the people, she’s the one to make him feel less alone. She’s the one that understands everything.

He tries, and fails, to contain his excitement.

"No, I– I completely get it. My frat brothers are insufferable and I'm the newest pledge, so–"

It’s her turn to blanche. "You? You’re a new pledge, too?"

"Yeah, I, uh, I’m required by my scholarship–"

"Oh thank God it's not just me!"

"There's one for sisters, too?" Steve gawks. He’s truly in shock at the audacity of Richards to make any student required to endure the circle of Hell that is Greek life. He squeezes her hands. She matches him.

"Of course there is, meathead,” she snorts. “Title nine, or whatever the hell."

Steve nods. "I can’t tell you how glad I am not to be alone in this. It's fucked up, but maybe not as much now that I know you're in the same boat as me."

He pulls her ever-so-slightly closer. She lets him.

"Guess that makes you the Jack to my Rose."

Steve furrows his bro, cocking his head like a confused puppy.

"Oh God– Don't tell me you've never seen Titanic," she gasps, feigning offense and sending Steve off course, thinking he’s fucked up somehow.

Sarcasm isn’t his strong suit.

"I, uh– no, not that I know of. I–I mean I've heard of the Titanic, but I don't remember the– well I know there's a movie, but I–"

She laughs, full and genuine, stepping forward as her hands leave his, placing one on his shoulder. Her touch is soft, gentle, more comforting than anything he’s ever felt.

"I'll show ya some time. Don't worry."

Squeezing his bicep, her fingertips glide down to his hand, grazing his fingers for the slightest moment before slipping between them, lacing them together. Electricity shoots up Steve's arm. Without another word she leads him out of the building, walking down the sidewalk lit by the moon rising overhead and scattered street lamps illuminating the parking lot.

Steve decides then and there he’ll go wherever she takes him. Anywhere. Everywhere.

She stops at the edge of the parking lot and turns to him. "This is where I leave ya, my car’s over yonder.” She nods to a blue sedan with a Richards sticker on the back windshield sitting underneath one of the street lamps. “Plus, I’d like to save you walkin’ me to my car for another night.”

Butterflies. Steve nods. She scoffs a laugh.

“Text me, meathead. I'll see ya tomorrow?"

“Tomorrow.”

She releases his hand in slow motion and Steve hopes she’s relishing every bit of physical contact with him as he is with her. He heads to his own car parked in the darker side of the lot under the shadows of the perimeter trees and dimmer lamps, swaying languidly and ambling across the pavement in a trance. Steve makes a note to himself: watch more movies, because he sure feels like he's in one.

The trance is broken when a split second of what sounds like a scream echoes over the lot and is snuffed out just as abruptly as it started.

Steve freezes, key halfway into unlocking the driver’s side door. Ears prick up, breath held firm in his chest. Turning over his shoulder, he gasps, startled as a blue car– her car– slowly backs out from under the streetlamp and exits onto the road casually. Steve watches it disappear from view. The sound of the engine gunning it down the road leaves Steve alone in the dark, a sick uneasiness pooling in his gut.

He gets in his car, tossing his bag into the passenger seat and pulling out his phone.

You okay? Did you hear that?

Steve turns the engine over and throws the car into drive, foot hard on the brake before checking her text back.

Hear what? I’m okay! :)

The uneasiness doesn’t leave him. She doesn’t usually text like that.

“Fuck, get a grip, Steve,” he mutters to himself, resting his head against the steering wheel. He takes a second to gather himself and calm his nerves. The paranoia he’s been trained to feel thanks to his brothers, in combination with the fear of fucking everything up with his barista tonight, must be mixing together and clashing against every active nerve in his body. He’s fine. She’s fine.

She’s obviously driving right now, of course she wouldn’t fucking text how she normally does. She’s probably using voice text. Calm. Down.

Steve sends another text before tossing his phone into the passenger’s seat, the unease refusing to dissipate. He turns on the radio, turning up the song blasting from the speakers in a sorry attempt to silence his racing thoughts.

No big deal. Get home safe.

His phone stays silent the rest of the night. It stays silent as he gets home, as he throws a bowl of ramen together, as he throws himself onto his bed and flips open his laptop to watch some random brainrot he finds on Netflix.

He nods off, letting himself be taken by exhaustion as the uneaten bowl of ramen sits on his desk, growing colder, while the dim computer light and hum of dialogue pull Steve further and further into a dreamless sleep.

His phone dies silently in his hand.

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https-furina · 4 months

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"your order is complete!" this order is for @nervocat:

"Thought I'd put in something for your event hehe :33 What about Neuvillette with a small latte and foam? I'm curious to see what you come up with.. 👀 (Sorry if I did anything wrong.. this is actually my first request for anyone 😭😭. I'll also probably read this when I'm back if you're done with it by then, but take your time!!)"

neuvillette + gn!reader | platonic, modern!au | 1.1k words notes. uuuuu nervo... this man would give the best hugs convince me otherwise... this is actually the second time i’ve ever wrote for him <3

thirsty? see our café menu before you order! | order receipts

throughout your whole life, there has always been only one man by your side. you never seemed to have any qualms with each other, fitting together like slotted puzzle pieces and sometimes your friendship even stood against the tides that was your families bombarding you with "you'd look so good together!" that you would both simply groan and roll your eyes in response to; his older sister furina was exceptionally good at bring this up every time you came over for dinner when you was kids.

as you grew older however the two of you grew in distance, finally entering that adult world you dreamt so much about when you hid together in forts made of blankets and pillows, snacking on your stash of sugar. neuvillette got into law school, making him much busier than you and you'd opted for art school, much more interested in the creation of theatrical props and stages. going to two completely different schools put a halt on how much time you could spend with each other.

it's the middle of winter and finally your schedules have cleared up enough to allow you both to meet under the roof of a local café, the large glass windows slightly steamed due to the temperature difference outside but the warm, golden lights creating the most comforting environment that you would never need to gaze beyond what is around you. the smell of coffee and freshly baked treats is strong and slightly overpowering but nonetheless a welcoming difference from the paints and glue you suffered with daily.

you've always claimed you wasn't heavily attached to your childhood best friend but the moment your eyes catch sight of the tall male entering the building, his long silvery hair tied back in a loose ponytail because it gets in his way - but heaven forbid you suggest he cuts it - and a pair of slim glasses perched on his nose, you raise to your feet so quick you go dizzy for a few seconds. the static wears off to reveal him stood before you, undoing the buttons of his trench coat and unwrapping that familiar scarf from around his neck; ah yes, it's the one you brought him last christmas.

his violet eyes glance at you, a pleasant smile decorating his pale face as he hangs his coat on the back of his chair before wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into the fluff of his sweater. he's warm, dressed appropriately for the weather as always and you relax under his touch, your arms looped around his waist and you rest your head against his chest. this hug was very much overdue and with the stress of exams, it's exactly what you both needed.

"have you ordered yet?" his deep voice rumbles suddenly over the sounds of cups clinking and idle chatter. you shake your head in response, reluctantly pulling away from the broad-shouldered male and he lets out a content hum, pulling his wallet out of his coat pocket, "what do you want? my treat today."

a slither of a smile creeps onto your face as you settle back into your chair, unwilling to argue against the male as you tell him your preferred order. there's a mild grin on his face, your order hasn't changed at all since you were younger and you almost wish you could retort sarcastically but he says nothing, leaving to go to the counter. part of you feels willed to follow him, unhappy with the concept of him paying but you knew just how stubborn neuvillette could be, a small sigh escaping your lips as you take the moment to admire the dark oak aesthetic inside the café.

neuvillette returns shortly after holding a tray in his black leather gloved hands, placing it on the table as you flash him a thankful smile. he settles opposite you, unstrapping his aforementioned gloves as you focus on your drink, taking a sip of it happily and closing your eyes for a split second.

"how's law school been treating you?" you find yourself asking him the dreaded question first, your eyes watching how his minorly calloused hands open his bottle of water and you can't help but think he really hasn't changed a bit since you were kids, always much preferring water to any other drink people tried to shove his way. neuvillette almost groans, raising the bottle to his lips as he takes a small sip.

"i have so much material to revise at all times, this is the first time i've been out of my accommodation in a while," he admits with a taut frown pulled onto his face. he was always one to prefer the outdoors, granted the weather had to be nice, "and it is as ever dull outside as some of my lecturers are to listen to."

you can't help but laugh at his words, picturing just how boring law professors must be. perhaps you would fall asleep if you had to listen to their drawl but neuvillette was extremely academic so you imagine that despite this complaint of his, he listens intently in every class just like he did in high school. you have faith he'll pass law school with flying colours.

"what about art school?" it's his turn to ask about your academics, tilting his head in curiosity as he looks over at you and you wonder if this setting seems a little too formal for you both, "i've seen some of your works on instagram."

"the local high school's drama class is doing romeo and juliet for their annual play and they've hired us to design the set. we're being graded on it but people in my class keep re-enacting scenes whenever we finish a prop." you groan, resting your chin in your hand as you attempt to look outside through the window to your left, it's still fogged up but it was an attempt nonetheless. neuvillette lets out a deep chuckle.

"think of it as quality control," he comments playfully with a small smile etched onto his otherwise sincere face, it draws a smile onto your face too at your best friend's words, "they're just checking the authenticity of your works before they're used for the real thing."

despite months of not seeing each other after years of being inseparable, everything seems just the way the pair of you had left it, leaving you content and fuzzy inside at finally being able to spend time together again. even though the two of you have definitely matured a little, those two toddlers cuddled up and sharing a beanbag in the library are still very much present and as the stress of exams, revision and all nighters designing stage sets wash away, you both come to realise just how much you needed to see each other again.

#⌞a café on the sea front !!⌝#( sealed letters )#・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#neuvillette #neuvillette fluff #neuvillette x reader #genshin #genshin impact #genshin fluff #(love adding tags for reach oof)#genshin platonic #neuvillette fanfic

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odyssean-flower · 5 months

Text

The Winding Path of Fate Chapter 7 - Summer: Paintings and Sunflowers

Masterpost

Pairing: Neuvillette x Female Reader Summary: Your relationship with Neuvillette continues to develop. Warnings: None except for restrictive gender roles, also for some reason Fontaine’s regency england (sort of) now?. Also someone walks in on someone coming out from the bath Note: I update this story on AO3 first so please subscribe to the fic there if you’d like to read it faster Note 2: If you want to be on the taglist for this fic, please make a reply to this post, send a message or send a private ask

Have a pic of Neuvillette hanging out in front of his fellow dragon apep's house

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“This isn’t working...” you sighed as you stared at your watercolor painting, which was more water than color due to the fact that your paints were heavily watered down to make them last longer.

You were currently trying to update your art portfolio, which was woefully inadequate. You had heard that governesses who could teach art were in high demand these days, so you decided to concentrate on art recently.

However, the blobby mess that meant to be the view of the sea from the garden was highly unlikely to impress anyone.

The sun was beaming down on you heavily. Even your old straw hat was having a hard time doing its job. You took a sip of Snezhnayan water. Seriously, what is the difference between this and water from Fontaine? Maybe I’m just too unenlightened to understand.

Ever since you and Neuvillette decided to be friends, things had been...quite different. The two of you talked about everything and nothing. Neuvillette liked talking about water and the Melusines, while you would talk about the books you had read. After a while, you sensed that he was learning more about you than you about him, as he always steered the subject away from himself and towards you. It was odd to have someone be interested in your opinions about things...but you found that you really liked that feeling.

You could ask Neuvillette for money to buy new paints, a voice said in your mind, but you shook your head. You couldn’t ask that favor of a friend, and besides, it was better that you didn’t rely on him too much, or you would get used to it in the future.

Maybe I'll go check out the art supplies store again and see if they have anything on sale, you thought. Standing out here wasn’t going to do anything.

Deciding to do just that, you went up to your room to change and spotted your sister’s letter on your desk. That reminded you that you had to buy her a birthday present soon. Since you didn’t have to worry about money as much these days, maybe you could buy her something nice this year.

“Marie, I’m going out!” you called out to the parlor where she was dusting.

“Okay, Madame,” Marie said, poking her head out from the door. Her eyes widened upon seeing your long-sleeved dress. “Are you truly going to wear that dress in this weather?”

“Yes. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. It’s in solidarity,” you said, thinking of Neuvillette’s heavy, multilayered getup that he wore every day. You idly wondered if he sweated.

“Solidarity?” Marie repeated in confusion, but you were already out the door.

“Ugh...”

You were quickly regretting your choice to wear this particular dress. Your hair was already matted to your forehead with sweat.

It was late afternoon, but the temperature showed no sign of dropping. Looking at the cold drinks held by pedestrians, you decided to stop by the Café to get some iced Fonta first. Ah, just the thought of it made your water.

As you approached the establishment, you stopped in your tracks. Sitting in the corner table, far out of sight (but not far enough to not attract stares from other patrons) was Neuvillette and Menthe. Both of them reminded you of wilted flowers.

“What kind of water do you serve here?” you asked the manager, Arouet.

“...Just regular water, Miss?” the manager looked confused. You couldn’t blame him.

“Alright, please get me a glass of cold water, an iced Fonta, and an iced coffee, please,” you said.

After you got your orders, you walked over to the table. “You two look like you could use a pick-me-up.”

“Ah, Madame,” Neuvillette said and attempted to straighten up in his chair. He looked as impassive as ever, but you had observed him long enough to know that he was in quite a lot of misery right now. “Such pleasant weather we’re having today, perfect for a walk in the city. I see that you have the same idea as well.”

You stared at him. Is he being serious right now? “Please don’t force yourself, sir. We both know you can’t stand this weather,” you placed the drinks down on the table and sat down. “Here, water for Monsieur Neuvillette, and an iced coffee for Menthe.”

“Thank you, Madame,” Menthe said with a yawn. “I needed this.”

“What are you doing here?” you asked Neuvillette. “You know better to than to be out and about, dressed as you are.”

“I was out for a quick shopping trip, and then I saw Menthe looking a bit dispirited, so I thought I would take her into the shade to rest.”

I think you’re the one in need of rest here, you thought as you watched Neuvillette wipe at his forehead with a handkerchief. So he does sweat after all.

“You were shopping? Why didn’t you just get someone to do it for you?”

Neuvillette cleared his throat and looked away. It was only then that you noticed something wrapped in parchment paper in his lap. “I didn’t wish to entrust this to someone else. I was shopping for a present for someone important.”

“Oh, I see,” you nodded. Was it a Melusine’s birthday today or something? “What a coincidence, I’m out shopping as well. For paints, and if I’m lucky, a birthday present for my sister.”

“Paints?” Menthe looked at Neuvillette. “Oh, Monsieur—”

“Ahem, Menthe,” Neuvillette cleared his throat.

“Oh, um, I mean, Monsieur Neuvillette told me that you paint really beautifully, Madame! He really likes your paintings of the sunflowers back in your hometown.”

“Her sketches are wonderful as well,” Neuvillette said, sounding oddly proud. “You should show the Melusines your sketchbook some time, Madame.”

“Ooh, may I?” Menthe looked at you with big eyes.

He’s making too much of me, you thought, hiding your embarrassment by chugging down your Fonta. “Alright,” you said.

“Yay!” Menthe clapped her hands together. Just then, the great clock in front of the café let out a chime, signalling the end of the hour. “Oh, I must get back to work. Goodbye, Monsieur, Madame!”

“Goodbye, Menthe. Please take care of yourself,” Neuvillette patted the Melusine on the head, who giggled and skipped away. You found yourself feeling oddly jealous.

Now it was just the two of you. You looked at Neuvillette, who was sipping his water. He looked back at you.

“Um, I hope the water is to your liking,” you said. “I know it’s not the fancy imported stuff you enjoy.”

“It’s perfect,” he said. “Just what one needs on a day like this.”

You looked at his outfit. His cravat was tightly tied around his neck, and his cuffs were buttoned neatly, showing not a bit of skin. He must be dying on the inside right now, but he still managed to look put together. You felt very shabby next to him.

“I know you said that you always dress according to your standing, and I respect that. But I feel like you could at least take off your gloves, or loosen your cravat a little when you’re on break. I doubt anyone would mind.” In fact, they might go crazy over it.

“Very well,” Neuvillette said, then proceeded to take off his gloves. The silver ring on his finger glinted even in the shade.

“You're still wearing the ring!” you blurted out in surprise.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Neuvillette raised an eyebrow.

You didn’t know how to answer that.

“And you’re wearing yours as well,” Neuvillette said, indicating your right hand, which was mostly covered by your sleeve. To be honest, you put it on every morning without even thinking about it anymore. It was a reminder to yourself that as easy and comfortable as this “marriage” was, it was still a marriage, and one that was a means to an end. That was what you told yourself, anyways.

Neuvillette continued to sip his water. He seemed to be enjoying it, which pleased and baffled you at the same time. You still couldn’t quite wrap your head around the idea of water from different places having distinct flavors, but Neuvillette swore up and down that the difference was real and that anyone could taste it if they savored the water patiently enough. Even now, you still wondered if he was secretly testing you or something.

Still, what a shame it is that he doesn’t enjoy Fonta, you thought. He’s missing out.

Back in your hometown, only the basic, original flavor was available. But once you moved to the Court of Fontaine, you were introduced to a veritable rainbow of Fonta flavors. You had even spent a week drinking nothing but Fonta. You suspected Neuvillette might have a heart attack if he heard about it.

Neuvillette finished his water, and then stood up with the box tucked under his arm. “I must return to work. I shall see you at home, in the evening.”

You nodded. “Make sure to stay cool, sir.”

Neuvillette was about to walk away when he suddenly turned around. “Ah, Madame. Are you still going to visit the art supplies shop?”

“Yes. Why?”

He looked like he was about to say something, but then shook his head. Was he...smiling? Before you could look closer, he turned away. “It’s nothing. Please, enjoy your day.”

You watched him until he was just a blue speck in the distance.

Afterwards, you headed to the store. Unfortunately, none of the good quality paints were on sale. Maybe I should just make my own, you thought glumly. The owner, on the other hand, seemed to be in a very good mood.

By the time you got home, it was already evening. You decided to take a nice long bath to wash away all the sweat. Ah, baths are the best, you thought as you soaked in the bubbles. Back at the boarding house, you had to share two bathrooms with twenty other girls. This was heaven.

Just then, you heard a knock on the door. That was probably Marie. You wrapped yourself in a towel and went to the door. “Coming!” you shouted and opened the door. “Marie, what—”

Your words got stuck in your throat as your eyes took in the tall figure standing in front of your room. He was holding the wrapped package from earlier in his hands.

For a few agonizing seconds, the two of you simply stared at each other. You saw his hands start to shake, and redness creeping to his cheeks.

You slammed the door in his face and hurriedly put on your bathrobe. Your thick, fluffy bathrobe with a sturdy tie that could be fastened tightly, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Taking a few deep breaths to control your pounding heart, you flung open the door, catching your bright red face in the vanity mirror in the process.

Neuvillette was still standing there. You were pretty sure that he hadn’t moved a single inch. His face was now visibly red. As soon as he caught sight of you, he closed his eyes and turned his head away from you.

“M-My deepest, sincerest apologies to you, Madame,” he said. His voice sounded as though it was being uttered from the deepest trenches of the sea. “I have committed a disgraceful act—”

“Let’s just forget about it,” you interrupted him. “We’ll both pretend that it never happened. And besides, um, I wasn’t completely naked or anything, I was wearing a towel, and we’re technically married, so...”

What in Archons’ name are you talking about? Your mind screamed. Neuvillette seemed as though he might never look at you in the eye again.

“So, anyways, that present is for me?” you said. Does that make me the important person? Despite the situation, your heart grew warm.

Neuvillette nodded and held it out to you. It looked like he wasn’t going to speak to you again either.

You carefully accepted the box and tore open the packaging. You let out a gasp when you saw a rosewood box with a carving of roses on the lid.

It was the watercolor set from the art store you had always admired from a distance. It was too expensive for you to even dream of owning it, of course.

But now, it was in your hands.

You opened the box and was met with robes of paints, brushes, and an even a small palette.

“Y-You got this for me?” you said, looking up at him. He still wasn’t looking at you. “Why? H-How did you even...?”

“I-I did say that I wanted to help you achieve your goals, and I...I noticed that you were in need,” Neuvillette said. “And, do friends not give presents to each other?”

“Yes, but...not anything so expensive!” you stroked the lid. “I cannot possibly repay you.”

It was then that Neuvillette finally turned his head and fixed his gaze on you. “There is no need for repayment. I bought this because I wished to. Just seeing you content is enough for me.”

His words struck something deep within you. You were so used to receiving hand-me-downs, of stretching things to their limits, that you had no idea what to do in this situation. Your hands felt like they should be doing something, but what?

“Thank you,” you whispered, and before you knew what you were doing, your hands reached out and clasped his hand tightly. You could feel its warmth even through the glove, and the contours of his ring. You shook his hand vigorously. “I will treasure this gift for the rest of my life.”

Neuvillette stared at you for a few moments, and then he turned around and walked away. It might have been a dramatic moment, if his brisk pace didn’t cause him to step on his coat tails and almost trip.

For the third time in the hour, Neuvillette glanced at the clock. He was currently attending a banquet hosted by an important government official, which meant he had to attend.

He forced another bite of the dry steak into his mouth. He reached for his glass to wash it down with wine. Wine wasn't his first choice of beverage, but it was better than nothing.

The other dignitaries sitting near him engaged him in conversation about politics and other related topics, and he did his best to respond in kind. But perhaps because his mind was unfocused, his answers came out short and curt. The others seemed to take this as annoyance at being bothered and excused themselves.

He held back a sigh. Even though social events like these weren’t his strong suit nor even his hobby, he generally tried his best to perform his role and to fit in. But tonight, he was suddenly feeling very impatient to go home. He had been feeling this feeling a lot recently.

Neuvillette absentmindedly stroked his ring. I wonder what she is doing right now...

For the past few days, his wife had been working on something and had promised that it would be finished by today. She had refused to let him see it until it was ready. All he knew was that it had something to do with painting.

Neuvillette glanced at the clock again. There were still hours before this banquet was supposed to end. He closed his eyes and took another sip of wine, imagining calming things in order to quell the restlessness he was feeling. A perfectly flat water surface at night, a cool sea breeze, the smiles of the Melusines, his wife’s smile when he gave her the watercolor set, the feel of her hands around his...

“Ah, Monsieur Neuvillette, thank you for coming,” a voice interrupted his thoughts. He opened his eyes to see the host of the banquet standing before him. There was a young woman standing next to him. “May I introduce you to my daughter?”

The young lady curtsied gracefully. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur.”

“Likewise,” Neuvillette nodded.

The young lady stepped closer, and he caught a whiff of her perfume. He couldn’t help but compare it to his wife’s scent when she came out of the bath that day—

“Oh, dear, Monsieur, are you okay?” the young lady and her father looked at Neuvillette with worry as he coughed violently, having choked on his wine.

“P-Please excuse me,” he said after the fit subsided, and then proceeded to walk out to the balcony to catch his breath. There was no view of the sea from here. It was going to be a long day.

The sky was dark by the time Neuvillette arrived home, but even from the front door, he could tell that his house was uncharacteristically noisy.

There seemed to be a crowd of people in the parlor. Neuvillette paused at the door, listening to the snatches of conversation.

“Madame, are you almost done with Rhemia?”

“Blathine, don’t rush her. She has been sketching for hours now.”

“Madame, could you teach me how to sketch too?”

“Sure. It’ll be good practice, anyways.”

Neuvillette opened the door. A group of Melusines were sitting on the couches and floor of the parlor. Even Marie was there. They were all holding sketches in their hands, and watercolor paintings were scattered on the floor. In the center of it all, his wife was sitting in his chair, sketching a posing Rhemia.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, you’re home!” Sedene was the first to notice him.

His wife turned her head towards him, and the corners of her lips turned up slightly. Neuvillette felt all the restlessness and fatigue he felt earlier drain away.

“Welcome back,” she said and stood up, giving him back his chair. “How was the banquet?”

“It was fine,” he said. “What are you all doing?”

“Well, the Melusines all came over and asked me to show them my paintings. Then, they wanted me to sketch them, so I did.”

“I see,” Neuvillette said, peering at the sketch of Rhemia. “They are wonderful.”

“Thank you.” His wife seemed to be putting the finishing touches on the sketch. Neuvillette studied her profile. She looked completely focused on her work.

“It’s done,” she announced, and handed the sketch to Rhemia.

“I’m next,” Blathine said and stepped forward.

"I think Madame Neuvillette needs to rest her hands a little bit,” Marie clapped her hands and gave Neuvillette a knowing look. “Why don’t we go into the kitchen for cakes?”

The Melusines followed her outside, leaving Neuvillette and his wife alone in the parlor.

“I apologize for their rowdiness,” Neuvillette said as he watched her gather the scattered paintings in her arms. “Please feel free to decline their requests if they inconvenience you.”

“It’s no problem,” she said. “It was nice having so many people here. It reminds me of the old days. And I’ve never drawn Melusines before, so it was a fun challenge.”

Neuvillette also stooped down to help her. He didn’t have the discerning eye for art, so he couldn’t make any comments as to technique, but he found that his wife’s paintings had a quality to them that made him yearn for something unidentifiable, which was what made them so fascinating to look at.

“By the way, I finished your surprise,” she said. “Would you like to see it?”

Neuvillette nodded, and she led him upstairs to her room.

“It took me some time to work on it, because I had to use my imagination instead of drawing something I see,” she said, speaking a bit quickly. “And I wanted to use the paints you gave me carefully.”

“Are they to your liking?”

“Yes. The colors are so vibrant, and the brushes are so smooth, that I’m afraid that they are a bit wasted on me, since I don’t really paint because it’s my passion, so...”

“But they are useful to you, are they not?” Neuvillette said. “Isn’t that enough?”

“...I suppose so,” his wife said after a few moments of silence. She then cleared her throat and turned towards the covered easel near the window. “Here it is.”

She lifted off the blanket, revealing a small canvas. At first, Neuvillette didn’t know what he was looking at. Then, his eyes recognized the amorphous blobs, the blurry line of blue in the distance.

“This is a painting of the garden in rain,” he said, looking to her for confirmation. She nodded.

“It hasn’t been raining at all recently, so I had to try hard to picture the scene in my mind.”

“What made you choose this subject?”

“Well...before, I’ve never really paid attention to the rain. It was just an excuse to stay home for me. But...then I would see you standing out in the rain, and I would suddenly notice all these things I haven’t seen before...so...” her voice trailed off, and she looked down. “I just wanted my first painting with your gift to be something you like.”

Neuvillette felt an unfamiliar feeling in his heart. If he had to compare it to something, it would be feeling the heat of a warm current all around you after ages of swimming in the cold ocean.

“Do you like it?” his wife asked, looking up at him.

Neuvillette had to think about how to answer that. “...Yes, I do,” he said at last. “It’s my favorite of your works.”

His hand reached out towards her head, his fingers running over her hair, gliding over her cheek, and rested on her shoulder. His wife stared at him quizzically. “Sir?”

“...It’s nothing,” Neuvillette said. He wasn’t sure what came over him.

“Monsieur Neuvillette!” Sedene’s voice sounded from downstairs. “We have a request for you!”

“Sounds serious,” his wife quipped.

The two went downstairs to the kitchen, where the Melusines were looking at paintings of houses with sunflowers standing in front of them.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, what do you think of planting sunflowers in front of the front door, just like in Madame’s hometown?” Sedene asked.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Neuvillette said. “One rarely sees sunflowers in the city.”

“I can ask my family to send us some seeds,” his wife said. “But one thing I’m worried about is the lack of rain lately, since sunflowers need a lot of water to grow.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Neuvillette said, drawing a confused look from her.

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Taglist:@just-simping-over-genshin, @xalphafox, @jqnehr, @favficdump, @thetwinkims

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette x reader #the winding path of fate #my fics #neuvillette x female reader

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rassicas · 1 year

Text

Haikara Walker pages 6-17

Scanned by @milkiemilkshake Scans color corrected by @Mk_Squid Posted these on twitter a couple years ago, now here they are on tumblr with some slight adjustments to the wording, and a few more little tidbits translated!

Translations under the cut!

Pages 6-7 A Strange Underground World

(Page 7, main text) After passing through the hustle and bustle of Inkopolis Square, we entered a sparsely populated alleyway. With Spyke tapping away on his laptop with a difficult look on his face in a half-basement glass-walled café, we walked further down the alley and found a passage leading to the underground. Standing in front of the barricade, we listened carefully to the sounds coming out of the underground, the faint rumbling of a train running on rails. Yes, what lies beneath the ground is a subway system, the "Deepsea Metro." Connecting important underground facilities, this essential artery of transportation for life in the Deepsea is almost unknown to the Inkling world. Let's take a long look around this secret-base-esque location.

(Page 6, caption) A Deepsea Metro station. A subway train is about to arrive at the platform. In the corner of the station, which is also an experimental facility, there are a lot of IV sets.

(Page 7, caption) Inside the dimly lit station, a graffiti-painted map of the line welcomes passengers. It may have been created by the groovy deep-sea dwellers who use this line. (Page 6, CQ Cumber and Page 7, Iso Padre Information. i keep trying to put images in here but it keeps breaking so heres a link to this info typeset.)

In the subway cars, you can meet many inhabitants of the Deepsea, who look very different from us Inklings. The appearance of the passengers also seems to change depending on the subway line. Maybe you'll learn something new by observing them? C.Q. Cumber The conductor of the Deep Sea Metro, whose vivid blue body color is eye-catching, gives out CQ points and provides information on the platform at each station. See link for translated notes.

Iso Padre A famous passenger of the Deep Sea Metro, this deepsea isopod uncle loves Mem cakes. His best feature is his whiskers. See link for translated notes

Pages 8-9

(Page 8) The vast Central Station is the main facility that controls the operation of the Deepsea Metro. When you visit the platform, you'll find a single phone installed in the middle of the platform. When you answer the Telephone, you will hear a voice through the speakers that will lead you to the "Promised Land," and you will be given a CQ-80 and CQ card for free. Check it out before you stroll through the subway.

It seems that many of the inhabitants of the Deepsea have a light or transparent body color, probably because they live in the gloomy depths of the ocean. Their fashion sense and use of items that we don't have may make for a good example of how to dress stylishly.

(Page 9) When you turn on the CQ-80, a map of the Deepsea Metro lines will be projected in midair. It's a great way to see at a glance the stations where different lines connect and where the "thangs" are located.

(Page 8-9, bottom) Not translating all these notes. some info: -The dogfish salarymen are described as "ikemen." lol -The deepsea jellyfish are a bit smarter than those on the surface -the ping pong tree sponge lady likes wearing vintage one-piece outfits. her perfume is a bit strong

Pages 10-11

(page 10) The interior lights are exquisitely adjusted to make the neon tubes flowing through the windows look beautiful. The innovative materials used here enhance the viewing experience of the dim atmosphere of the Deepsea.

(Page 11) Deepsea Metro stations are directly connected to the experimental facilities. C.Q. Cumber said happily, "It's very convenient and popular among both the Octarians working at the facility and people living in the Deepsea."

(Page 11, bottom)The interior of the train is designed with accessibility in mind, so that even the inhabitants of the Deepsea, who have larger heads and bodies than ordinary Octarians, can ride comfortably. The conductor spares no effort in moving things around for the passengers.

Page 12

The inhabitants of the Deepsea, who have adapted to the harsh environment brought about by high water pressure, low water temperature, and low oxygen, seem to have evolved unique body parts. It is not easy to copy their cool appearance.

Pages 14-15

(Page 15, Caption) The culture of the Deepsea is different from that of the surface where we Inklings live. After passing through the gates of each station, there are strange items floating around that you may or may not have seen before. To visit the inside of the facility, you need to pay CQ points at the ticket gate.

(Page 14 and 15, bottom) Not translating all these notes. Summary: -Real life sea angels have an inverted triangle shape, that influenced the sea angels in game (labeled "onii-san", big brother) to look all macho. supposed to look like theyre in rugby club at university. -The scalyfoot gastropod is labeled as the "ironclad big sister." Her scales are supposed to look like a shawl. something about a scary feeling of illegality to her (like shes a criminal? not sure) -the barreleye fish gives off the impression of either a baby or an old lady

Pages 16-17

(Page 16) At the experimental facilities outside each station, you can play fun games with the working Octarians. If you are successful, you will receive CQ points, which will allow you to visit more places.

(Page 17) The Deepsea is full of fascinating species and new cultures that are rarely found on the surface. The unique atmosphere of the Deepsea is something that can only be felt by visiting the area. Why don't you take this opportunity to travel to the Deepsea Metro for a weekend?

#Splatoon #Splatoon 2 #Octo expansion #haikara walker #splatoon translations

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olderjustneverwiser · 8 months

Text

For the Hope of It All

Steve Harrington x fem reader. WC: 11K.

A story about old friends and a summer romance in Italy. Set roughly 10 years post season four (so mid-nineties? Yeah, let's go with that). Inspired by august by Taylor Swift and those Joe Keery Italy pictures.

Warnings: Smut, MDNI. Talks of death of a parent, discussions of leaving a toxic relationship (nothing is specified though). Not really a happy ending so if that's not your vibe consider this your warning.

The Playlist

June

Salt air, and the rust on your door

I never needed anything more

The day started as most of your off days did; with a steaming cup of coffee at your favorite little café down by the shore. You had found this gem just after moving to Italy, its gorgeous patio and delicious coffee had cemented itself as one of your most frequented spots in town. It had become somewhat of a custom over the past few years, to have your morning coffee with only the salt air and sea birds to keep you company.

It could be lonely at times, but it beat sipping mediocre coffee in an empty apartment.

May had just turned into June, though, so your part of the world was quickly becoming overrun with tourists on holiday, and it seemed like every single one had managed to find your favorite spot away from the tourist traps. The outdoor seating area had filled quickly given the nice weather, so it really came as no surprise when a voice broke you from your reverie, asking if they could take the empty seat across from you. What did surprise you was the voice that spoke. It was a voice you hadn't heard in nearly five years, since you left the backwater town you grew up in to get away from it all, from your fucking ex that drained the life out of you.

You almost didn't believe that you had heard it correctly, but you knew you did. You'd recognize that voice anywhere, even after all this time had passed. Once you turned your gaze away from the sea, what you knew to be true in your heart was confirmed.

The man was sun-kissed, with wild, windswept hair and a glittering smile that only widened when you turned to face him. Once he pulled his sunglasses away from his eyes and pushed them into his hair, you knew.

Steve fucking Harrington.

Steve, once King Asshole Steve of Hawkins High, was in front of you, halfway around the world from Indiana. Steve, your good friend, confidante, partner-in-crime, first crush. Steve, who you left back in Hawkins, along with everyone else you cared about, because you just couldn't handle how suffocating the small town was or seeing him around town.

Steve fucking Harrington was standing right in front of you for the first time in years and you didn't know how to feel about that.

You almost had to laugh at the absolute absurdity of it all. Why the hell was he even in Italy? How, in all of the places in the world, had Steve managed to find you here? Was this planned, or a chance meeting? Pure happenstance, or fate?

You had so many questions.

God, he was stunning. He still looked like the kind of men you'd read about in cheesy romance novels. Older, of course, and more filled out, but still looked like Steve. Soft, suave, too handsome for his own good. He looked golden, dangerous.

He still looked like a heartbreaker.

His face morphed into something else once he noticed that it was you, a mix of surprise and pure elation as he whispered your name, seemingly to himself. Almost like he couldn't believe it either.

"In the flesh," you replied, a joking lilt in your voice because you just couldn't fucking believe this.

"Oh-oh my God!" His outburst seemed to bother the patrons around you, but neither of you really cared when you grabbed the hand he reached out to you, only to be pulled up into a crushing embrace.

He smelled different than you remembered. A different cologne, more manly now, more comforting.

Dangerous.

Steve pulled away after a beat, but he didn't retreat completely. His hands moved from their spots around your frame only to land on your arms, like he didn't want to let you go yet.

For some reason, you didn't want him to let go either.

"What the hell are you doing here, Harrington?"

Steve finally released you completely then, taking the seat across the tiny wooden table from the one you had occupied. You followed suit, allowing yourself to really look at him.

The years had been kind to him, that much was obvious. There were a few barely-there wrinkles around his eyes, a scar or beauty mark here and there that wasn't there before, but he still held the boyish charm he always had.

He still looked like your Steve.

He seemed to realize that he'd yet to give an answer at the same time you did, so he just shook his head, ran his hands down his face like he couldn't believe this was happening, either.

"Sorry, I just- fuck. Can't believe I found you."

"Ah, so you were trying to find me," you said, taking a sip of your now lukewarm coffee to hide the smile that threatened to break.

Steve just shook his head, "I've actually been in Italy for a few weeks now, kinda a spur of the moment trip, y'know?"

You really didn't, but you supposed Harrington money could afford a month-long spontaneous vacation to Italy.

He continued on, "I started out in Rome and have just been kinda moving along. I knew you lived here, from your letters, so I wanted to come and see if I could find you. Turns out luck was on my side."

That explanation gave you even more questions than answers, but you let it rest for now.

"Well shit, Steve. I guess it was." You couldn't help but feel like this was meant to happen, somehow. Out of all of the little cafés and restaurants in this town, he'd turn up at the one you came to every weekend.

Definitely fate, or something like it.

"Why don't we talk about it over dinner tonight? Catch up on everything?" He asked, charm oozing out of every bit of him, and you wondered if this was how all of the girls felt when Steve Harrington asked them out. Pure butterflies and wildflowers in your chest, fluttering and blooming before you could blink.

Something told you that letting Steve Harrington back into your life would be exhilarating, saccharine, all-encompassing. The summer would allow you to feel alive for the first time in years, while leaving you heartbroken at the inevitable end.

You should have heeded the warning signs; the small part of your brain telling you to stay friendly, but that was it. To not let him grow like ivy on your heart. To entertain him for a week or so then send him on his way because you had left your feelings for him back in Hawkins years ago, back before your heart got stolen away by someone else. You were fine, had been fine until he waltzed back into your life, looking like that and stirring up feelings that were long gone.

But if you were being honest with yourself, the thought of not being with Steve for as long as he'd stay hurt so much more than how it would feel when this would inevitably end in tears.

You took Steve to Ke Palle for dinner on that first night.

It quickly became one of your favorite restaurants ever since you moved, and Steve hadn’t been, so it was perfect. It was busy given that it was a Saturday evening, so you and Steve took your arancini to-go, got a bottle of wine at a shop across the way, and settled at a small table the two of you found near the water. The large red umbrella made the late afternoon sun just a little more bearable as the two of you ate, drank, and caught up on everything you had missed over the last few years. Once your bellies were full and the bottle of wine was near empty, you once again found yourself examining Steve in between conversations.

It was odd, seeing him again. Sure, your friend group had exchanged a couple of pictures over the years but seeing him in person again was entirely different. He had matured since the last time you had been together. There was something in his eyes, a look that told you that he had grown up more than you knew. It told you that he definitely wasn't King Steve anymore; that he had seen shit, been through shit, and that he was a man now.

As the sun began to set around you, you noted the flecks of gold in his hair, the little highlights mixed in with the brown that you had never noticed before. You noticed that you missed seeing his eyes, given that they were currently shielded by his sunglasses, and you hated that you missed something like that. You definitely noticed how his arms filled out the navy tee he was wearing, how big his hands looked curling around his pack of cigarettes-

He cleared his throat and you turned away, embarrassed that he had caught you staring. But hell, how could you not, when he looked like that? The asshole smiled at you then, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking, when he pulled out a lone cigarette from the pack. "Want one?"

"Definitely not. You know how bad those things are for you, right?" You chastised.

"Still hate that I smoke, huh?"

"I'll always hate that you smoke, Steve. Keep it up and you'll fuck up that pretty face, and you know that's your best feature."

He just shook his head and chuckled, gave you a look that said, wanna bet? "Enough about my bad habits, tell me about life and all that."

You told Steve about your life; things that went farther than letters sent across an ocean could handle. You told him about the winery you worked at in town, about how stressful running the place could be, but you enjoyed it anyway. You talked about your favorite coworkers and about how the tourists got to be too much sometimes. Later on, after he indulged and bought another bottle of wine to share, you apologized for leaving Hawkins, that you hated to leave but you wanted more than Hawkins could ever offer, and that you just had to after finally mustering the courage and self-confidence to leave your ex.

Steve asked if you were dating anyone. You tried not to read into it too much as you gave a definitive 'No'. It was impossible to tell if the flush on his cheeks was from the red wine he'd drunk or from your answer, but you hoped it was the latter.

"Enough about my nonexistent dating life," you said as you waved a rogue cloud of cigarette smoke away from your face, "Tell me about home, how's everyone?"

He shrugged noncommittally before answering. "Everything's good, Robin's good, Eddie's kid is hell on wheels, but she's awesome. Nancy is still livin’ it up in New York. Job is good, those little middle school fuckers drive me crazy, but I love them."

"Still teaching then?"

He nodded, "Yeah, still teaching the youth the joys of dodgeball and how to hold a baseball bat. Pay's not the best but, you know, it's fun. Rewarding, I guess." He was holding something back; even after being apart for so long you could tell there was something he wasn't telling you.

"Yeah, but you don't gotta worry about money, right? You're a Harrington."

The laugh that left him was devoid of humor. Instead, it held something like contempt. It almost sounded hollow. "Yeah, guess not. Especially now, since my dad left us a fortune." He sighed at the confused look on your face and continued on "My dad, uh, died back in April."

You felt your eyes widen in shock, you definitely did not expect that and you hated that you didn't know what to say, "Oh my God Steve, I'm so sorry. Why didn't you say anything?"

Steve just shrugged, "He was a dick."

"He was your dad, Steve."

"Yeah, and he didn't even like me," Steve said the words like they didn't phase him, and you wondered if they secretly did. "Anyway, I guess his life insurance had a pretty high payout. Left us with a pretty penny that my mom split with me. She sold the house in Loch Nora and left Hawkins. I had to get away from everything, so I took the rest of the school year off, and now I'm here with you. Seems like a perfect trade-off to me" He finished with a smirk.

"Steve…"

He took your hand in one of his then, dwarfing your own, "Hey, seriously, I'm fine. And if I'm ever not fine, you'll be the first person I tell, okay? I promise." His eyes were sincere, and suddenly you felt like you were eighteen again, Steve confiding in you that Nancy had dumped him and called him bullshit. You had missed the way the two of you had confided in each other back in Hawkins, but it was your fault that you hadn't had the chance to do that again, you figured.

"Anyway," Steve leaned back, continuing like he hadn't just dropped that huge bomb on you, "I'm glad I found you. I missed you, y'know."

"Yeah, missed you too. This is nice."

"You look good, by the way. Polaroids don't do you justice." Your cheeks burned at his words. They sounded innocuous, innocent, but you could tell how he meant them by the way he looked at you when he leaned back in his chair, took another puff of a second cigarette he had pulled out of the pack.

Still, you gave a roll of your eyes, tried to pretend like his words didn't affect you at all. "Still a flirt, huh Harrington?"

"Hey, I'm just saying! The sea suits you, is all."

"Yeah, I suppose it does. Think it's done me some good over the years." You were quiet for a beat, just long enough to appreciate how the setting sun bathed Steve in its golden light. "You look good too, obviously."

Steve gave you some noise of acknowledgement, taking one last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray. "I think I've had enough sun for one day. You wanna get outta here?"

And I can see us twisted in bedsheets

You felt like you were floating as you and Steve raced through the town to get to your apartment. It almost felt like a dream, the thought that something was about to happen. Neither of you had explicitly said that anything was happening once you got upstairs, but you could feel it. It was like an electric current in the air, something between your fingertips as he held your hand in his during the walk. Steve could feel it, too. You could tell by the way his eyes were a little wild the entire walk home, how tightly he held onto your hand.

You willed yourself to calm down as the two of you neared your building; your heart pounding against your rib cage. Part of you was nervous that you'd hyped this up so much in your head that the real thing would be a disappointment, but you knew that wouldn't be the case. No, you were scared that this would ruin you for anyone else.

Because this was Steve you were talking about. There was history here, secrets shared and experiences that had bonded you two for life, no matter how far apart you were. And the way Steve looked at you as you unlocked your front door and stepped into your living room, as if you were the only thing he wanted to see for the rest of his life, solidified the simple fact that you were going to be fucking ruined after this.

You didn't care.

He watched as you set your keys and bag down on the small table in your entryway before leaning back against your door, smoothing down the front of your sundress to calm your nerves because it had been so long since you had done this. Steve seemed to sense your nervousness by the way he leaned into you, softly, a finger tracing down your arm with just enough pressure for you to feel it. "You okay?"

"Yeah! Yeah, I'm great. Just been a while, that's all." If he noticed the goosebumps that erupted from his touch, he didn’t comment on it.

He nodded, his gaze softer now than it had been at dinner, "Yeah, been a while for me, too. Y'know we don't have to do anything, right? If it's too soon or whatever."

Maybe it was too soon, because while you and Steve had been friends for years, the two of you were so different than you were years ago. Different people at different stages in your lives. Different continents. Hell, you hadn’t even been in the same room as each other for half a decade. But you still knew Steve, still felt the same comfort and security you’d always felt with him.

It might have been too soon, but in this moment, it felt like a long time coming. It felt like it was always going to happen, at some point. And there was nothing you wanted more.

"I know, but I want to. I really want to, if you do."

"Are you sure?" He whispered, his mouth now close enough to yours that you could smell the hints of smoke still on his breath and the spearmint gum he chewed on the way.

You wanted to reach out, to touch him, but all you could do was curl your hands into fists before flattening them out on the tops of your thighs again. Fingertips tingled, wanting to mirror the path he was making on your arm, trace the veins on his forearm. You held back, almost scared to pop this little bubble the two of you seemed to be in. You wanted to kiss him, really wanted to kiss him. It would be too easy to close the small gap that still lingered between you and finally find out what he tasted like, but you waited. It was torture, but you waited.

"Yeah, of course I'm sure. Are you?"

The nod of his head was earnest, his eyes refusing to leave yours as his fingers abandoned their path along your arm only to find purchase on your jaw, his thumb barely tugging on your bottom lip before finally pressing his lips to yours.

It was a desperate sort of kiss, the kind that made your toes curl in your sandals and your hands wind in his hair, if only to pull him even closer. Steve pressed into you then, and the feeling of his weight against you had little moans leaving your mouth, which Steve took full advantage of, licking into your mouth when your lips parted.

You didn’t know why it felt so natural, kissing Steve, but it felt like both a first kiss, and a kiss that you had shared a thousand times. Somehow, it felt like this had to happen, because Steve had drawn you in and he was yours and you were so, so ready to fall. Face first, all in, into whatever this was, whatever this would turn out to be. Still, you tried your hardest to sear the feeling of him into your mind. How his kiss tasted, how he sounded, how it felt to have his body pressed against yours like this in case this one a one time thing.

You really, really hoped it wasn't a one time thing.

He let his hands wander, dropping them to squeeze at your waist, letting his mouth wander, too. He moved to your jaw, down to your throat and you felt him smile against your skin when you gasped.

You felt one hand snake down your dress to the side of your thigh, his hand spreading wide, ghosting a path beneath the hem until his fingertips found the edge of your underwear. You felt him shift against you, just slightly, only to continue his path to your front and press into you. It was pathetic, really, the noise that came out of you from just a simple touch.

“Like that, pretty?” Steve cooed, using the same finger to trace up and down over the thin fabric, “Saw you staring at my hands earlier. You wanted me to touch you like this, hmm?”

You tried to roll your eyes, but he pressed harder into you making you feel the wetness sticking to you and you could only close them, letting out a huff, "Are you always this annoying during foreplay?"

He just smirked, his fingers never stopping, "Only with you." He leaned in closer, leaving a peck just below your ear. "Besides, I think you like it."

You did roll your eyes at that, taking hold of his forearm to stop him, tired of his teasing, "Steve, shut the hell up and take me to the bedroom."

The moment the two of you were in your bedroom, Steve had you pushed against the nearest bare wall he could find before kissing you again. His hands roamed your neck, your waist, the curve of your hip and you felt him everywhere. It was like a live wire running through you, from your lips, red and kiss bitten to the tips of your toes.

His hands found the hem of your sundress again, and he started to ask if he could take it off but you cut him off, answering with a breathless 'yes'. He backed up from you, just enough for you to loosen the zip on the side and let it fall to the floor around your feet. You felt warm under his gaze, him mapping out skin he hadn't seen. You felt too exposed, given that he was still fully dressed, but he was back on you in a second, pulling you out of your thoughts.

"So fuckin' pretty," He praised, pulling your underwear to the side, let his fingers glide through your folds without the offending barrier before sinking one, then two fingers into you.

The smirk he was wearing quickly disappeared once your breaths turned to moans as his fingers worked you, in and out, long enough to hit that spot and have you feeling close to bursting. His jaw went slack, his cheeks a little flushed and he finally looked as affected as you.

You scrambled for his shoulders for some sort of stability, nails pressing through his shirt when he crooked his fingers into you, making your breath hitch in your throat.

"Fuck, that's it, huh? Feel good?"

You only nodded, already feeling dizzy. You let your head hit the wall as he worked you, eyes closing and getting lost in the feeling of him, here with you, against you.

But you wanted more. You wanted him.

“Steve, please,” you pleaded, your hands grazing down his abdomen until you reached his belt buckle. “Want you.”

His shirt was thrown near your bed post, his belt clinked as it hit the floor along with his pants, neither of you really caring where they landed. He was on you again, kissing you until you both crawled into bed, his mouth on your jaw, your collarbone until he reached the edge of your bra, mouthing at the fabric before unclasping it and throwing it to the floor. You were impatient, dragging your underwear down until you were fully bare and his lips parted; his eyes devouring you before reconnecting his mouth to yours.

After that, it didn’t take long for him to rid himself of his boxers, slip on a condom and push into you slowly. Teasing, controlled, trying to drag out the moment because you felt fucking fantastic around him. He stilled once he was buried inside you, interlacing your fingers with his and pressing your hands into the bed as you moaned into his neck. You clenched around him at the tender gesture, silently begging him to move by curling your legs around his waist.

“Fuck, you feel - God - fucking amazing,” he grunted, eyes squeezed shut as he moved against you.

“Steve,” you keened, relishing in how he looked on top of you, blissed out and slick with sweat. How he felt against you, inside of you. How each drag of him made you feel that familiar hook in your belly, like a string pulled tight, stretched, close to snapping. A release building.

“Yeah? You close?” he asked, fingertips digging into the softness of your hips and he'd sounded close himself. Your breath hitched, back arched prettily because he'd dropped his hand between you, thumb rubbing quick circles on your clit.

"Yeah, Steve yeahyeah," you twisted your fingers in his hair, hips lifting to meet his every thrust until you snapped, your orgasm ripping through you, making you tremble against him. It was enough to send him over his edge, his hips faltering as he came, his face buried in your neck to muffle his groan.

The night seemed quiet then, the sounds of skin on skin and dirty praise whispered between you gave way to your combined breaths, slowly evening out. The air smelled like sex and Steve; smoke and mint, a hint of the salty sea air. You felt calm, peaceful, so, so content with Steve next to you.

And that was how your summer began.

You were vaguely aware of fingers tracing down the length of your back and the smell of fresh coffee invading your senses, but you were so warm and soft and relaxed and did not want to leave the dreamlike state you were currently in. But then you felt soft kisses to your shoulder, a murmur against your hair that made your eyes open to see Steve, mussed up hair and still shirtless from the night before, with a steaming mug of coffee in his hands.

He looked like a damn dream.

"Morning, sleepy. Coffee's on your nightstand, just a splash of cream and sugar, right?"

You nodded, finally making yourself sit up against your headboard and grab the mug from your bedside table, "How'd you remember that?"

Steve only shrugged, crossing the room to take his side of the bed again. You hadn't taken a look at your bedside clock yet but it had to be early morning, considering how the sunlight slipped through the open blinds. The light painted Steve's torso in bright stripes of light; his tan skin looking even more stunning in the sunshine. This whole scene felt almost too domestic. The two of you, drinking coffee in a comfortable silence, Steve leaning over ever so often to press a kiss to your shoulder, your cheek.

It felt nice. It felt normal.

But you knew it couldn't last. You and Steve were friends, good friends, and he was just passing through, traveling through Italy to find himself, or whatever he was doing. The thought made you ache, but it was the reality.

Clearing your throat, you started to ask the question, rip off the band-aid. "So, when do you think you'll move on from my part of the world?"

"Actually, I was thinking about sticking around for a while, if you'll have me." Steve said the words a little shyly and they lit a little spark of hope that bloomed in your chest. You knew it wouldn't be forever, that the end would come, but for now, you had him.

"I don't think I'd mind that at all, Harrington."

July

The summer was a whirlwind, and you loved every second of it.

Your back beneath the sun

Wishin' I could write my name on it

You still went to work everyday while Steve did his travels, sometimes taking day trips out of town for the day and then coming back to your apartment at night. He'd show you the photographs he'd taken, letting you pick one or two to keep for yourself.

Sometimes he would join you when you went out with your friends. Your friends had promised to help you show Steve all of the best spots. The two of you would join them for drinks and dancing some nights, other nights opting to go on your own, then crawl home and end up back in your bed sheets before ending the night.

And then you'd do it all over again the next day.

On the weekends, you'd let Steve pick a new city to see, and the two of you would spend a night or two. You had explored Cinque Terre, saw the canals in Venice (which Steve correctly decided were too touristy), and Steve even treated the two of you to a few days near Tuscany after you agreed to play hooky that following Monday.

You felt like you were twenty again. Back in Hawkins, hanging with Steve and the gang. Swimming in the Harringtons’ pool, picnics at the lake, settling down with take-away pizza and a movie on quiet nights in. Weekend drives to Indy for rock shows that Eddie dragged you all to, stopping at the same all-night diner after for fries and milkshakes. It was familiar, it was lovely.

Having one of your old friends back made you feel lighter. Besides the company and great sex, it was nice to just have someone from Hawkins here. Someone you grew up with, who knew you inside and out. Someone you felt comfortable with, someone you trusted with your life.

It made grueling work days a little easier, made coming home a little more fun but the days were slipping away too fast. July was ending, but it still felt like the beginning of June and Steve had just landed back into your life. It really was cruel, how quickly time starts to pass you by the older you grew. Especially when you didn’t want it to. When you needed it to slow down.

You wondered if Steve felt the same. If the days he spent without you, doing whatever he was doing in whatever little towns he found, were ending too fast. Was he excited to go back to Hawkins, to his students and the friends you had left behind?

More importantly, when was he going back?

The two of you hadn’t talked about it; you didn’t have the time. You hadn't even talked about what the two of you were doing, as if kissing one of your best friends goodbye every morning and fucking them before bed was normal. In all honesty, you didn’t want to talk about it. Because talking about it would make it real, and you were perfectly happy with living in blissful ignorance for now. Seeing as July was coming to a close, the end would come soon enough, anyway.

Another work week had just ended for you, and since you had the next few days off, you and Steve were currently lazing on your couch, coming up with ideas for how to spend the weekend.

The two of you bounced ideas back and forth to one another over a shared bottle of wine, none of them ever feeling quite exciting enough. Suddenly he looked at you, snapping his fingers like he had just thought of the perfect idea, “How about we rent a boat?”

“Excuse me?” You couldn’t help the way your voice squeaked at that, because who just thinks to rent a fucking boat on a whim?

“Not like a big boat, just a boat. You know, take it out in the water, cool off in the sea. Any place we can rent a boat over here?”

You squinted at him across your sofa, “I forgot you know how to handle a boat. You really are the definition of a rich boy cliché, you know that?”

“Oh shut up,” he muttered, but the fondness in his eyes told you that he didn’t really mean it. “So, whaddya say?”

And that’s how the next morning found the two of you waking up with the sun, Steve cooking a light breakfast while you packed a cooler with sandwiches, fresh fruit, and a big canteen full of limoncello. You took a cab to the ritzy part of the town, the part with the towering, expensive resorts and private beaches. You’d figured it would be the perfect place to get what Steve was looking for, and it turns out that you were right.

It wasn’t a big boat, but definitely enough room for you and Steve. You watched from the docks as Steve spoke with the worker, noting that the little Italian you’d managed to teach him was coming out of his mouth with ease. You wondered how it felt to be such a natural at damn near everything, how Steve could just pick up anything and be a pro.

Soon, the boat was yours for the day and you and Steve were off, Steve quickly shedding the linen button down he’d put on due to the hot sun. You had to admit, this was lovely. The waters were calm, the sun warmed your skin and you got to watch Steve work, looking like a natural behind the controls (and if you had stolen the disposable camera out of his bag and snapped a few pictures of him, shirtless and a cigar hanging from his lips, well, that was your business). Briefly, you wondered where he was taking you, if he even knew himself, but you found that you really didn’t care. The waters were a beautiful, deep blue, all around you, surrounded by gorgeous coastlines and away from everything else. You let yourself lay back and relax, focusing on the sound of Steve humming some song he knew as you closed your eyes and let yourself drift. It could have been minutes, maybe an hour, but eventually you came to a secluded shoreline that was more rocks and cliffs than beach, and he was beginning the process of anchoring down.

“Pretty spot, huh?” He said through a grunt as he lowered the anchor down.

You nodded, “Yeah, how’d you know this was here?”

“Guy working the docks mentioned something about this. He said there probably wouldn’t be many people here but damn, it’s nice not having anyone here.” He looked around, hands on his hips in an approving stance before he turned to look back at you, “Wanna cool off?”

Once Steve confirmed that the boat was secured, you shed the tank and shorts you were using as a cover-up and jumped into the cool water, Steve quickly following suit. The cold was a shock to your heated skin, but you welcomed it, taking your time to float back to the surface. Once you reached the surface you wiped the water from your eyes to look for Steve, only to find him right behind you in the water, hair an absolute mess and a hand reaching out for you. You took it, allowing Steve to pull you to him until you were settled in his lap, both of his arms around your waist to keep you flush against him.

Steve smiled at you then, squinting a little under the bright summer sun. "Hey, sweetheart."

"Hi," You answered back, winding your arms around his neck before kissing him, just because you wanted to. Just because you could.

His eyes were softer when you pulled back, his grip a little tighter as if he was scared you'd float away if he wasn't careful. But soon after you noticed it, it was gone, replaced with a look of mischief you remember all too well.

"Steve, what're you-" before you could finish your sentence he'd maneuvered your legs from around his waist, grabbing handfuls of your thighs and throwing you back under the water.

You were met with the cackle of Steve's laugh once you fight your way out again, "Way to ruin the moment, jackass."

"We'll make more," he told you, still smiling and you couldn't help but smile with him, not even minding when he lunged for you and pulled you under again, you taking him under, too.

The hours passed, and the splash fights under the hot sun made you both crave the lunch you packed sooner than later. You swam back near the shore together, Steve making his way back to the boat to grab the cooler while you headed to a large, flat rock that looked suitable for lounging near the water.

The two of you were quiet as you ate, side by side, thighs touching as he peeled your oranges for you and you split your sandwich with him. Nostalgia hit you like a freight train, and you remembered sitting on the edge of Lover’s Lake some time in your very late teens, you and Steve in this exact same position, eating Pringles and candy while you two talked about life and what the two of you wanted to be.

Part of you wondered, back then, if you and Steve would ever be something more. If you could ever stop being scared and tell him how you felt about him, if he would feel the same. But Steve still seemed hung up on Nancy and you were scared, because Steve was a good friend, and he was Steve and the thought of not having him in your life hurt. So, you stayed quiet, met your business professor in your second year at Hawkins Community College, and fell in love.

Or maybe lust, or just some false sense of security. Because he was an older guy, stable and sophisticated. He called you pretty and made you feel good and safe, enough to give everything up and make him your world. What a colossal fucking mistake.

Needless to say, you and Steve never became anything more until now. Now, sitting beside him on a beautiful cliff in Italy, you wondered if you could have been more. If you would have told him then, would he have surprised you, told you he felt the same and kissed you breathless?

Would everything be different today?

“How’d you decide on this place?” Steve asked you suddenly, effectively breaking you from the thoughts spiraling in your brain.

“You mean Italy?” When he nodded, you replied, “I knew I hated Hawkins and I hated seeing my fucking ex everywhere, so I needed to leave. We had talked about coming here, maybe for a honeymoon or something. I always thought the pictures looked so pretty, so I came. Leaving you guys was hard as fuck, though. The hardest thing I've ever done."

Steve looked at you then. Something in his gaze told you that he wanted to say something else, but he settled for, “I was proud of you for leaving, you know.”

“Oh yeah?”

“For sure. I mean, I’m still proud of you for getting out when you did. Wish you would have never even met that asshole, but y’know, I’m glad you did what you wanted to do. I’d say you picked a good place, though. I like it here. Can see why you love living here so much.”

There it was again, that little bit of hope that just kept growing and growing. The hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d get out of Hawkins, too. It was a pipe dream, you knew it, but that small fact didn’t squash whatever was blooming. But then:

"Even though I was also super bummed when you left. You know, I had a huge crush on you."

What?

"Wait, what?" You exclaimed, turning your body to face him because what a fucking bombshell.

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly shy under your wide eyes. "Yeah, had a crush for a while, even when you were, uh, with that guy. Just never had the guts to tell you."

"Steve, I liked you too!" You whined, "I always thought you wanted Nancy! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" He countered, sounding flustered as ever. "I mean, I did still want Nancy, y'know, after we broke up, but that didn't really last long. Not after we started hanging more."

You groaned when you let your head fall into his shoulder, "Dammit Steve, you mean we could have been doing this when I was still in Hawkins?" Your mind was racing, your heart felt like it was about to beat right out of your chest. The missed opportunities and what ifs flew through your mind at the thought, and it nearly made you sick. Because for so long, having Steve as you did back in Hawkins was enough for you, but God you wanted so much more. And now you knew that you could have had it.

The thought that Steve could have been yours for so much longer than these fleeting summer months, that maybe if one of you would have actually had the guts to speak your mind, everything would be different. Maybe you two would have been together. Hell, the two of you may have even been married by now, with one or two little Harrington spawn running rampant all over Hawkins.

The thought made your heart hurt.

"Yeah, guess we could've been," he said it more to himself than to you and it sounds a little like regret. You were both quiet as you sat there, your forehead to his shoulder and his hand on your bare back. You wondered if he was thinking the same thing you were, wondering where you went wrong, how you could be so stupid.

You wondered what this revelation meant for the two of you.

August

The month of August was one of the best you could remember.

August slipped away into a moment in time

'Cause it was never mine

After working overtime for the first two weeks of the month, you had managed to convince your boss to let you take your summer holiday during the last two weeks of August. It was normally unheard of, since most of the continent was on summer holiday and it was still peak tourist season, but you somehow managed to convince him that your second in command could handle the winery for a couple weeks.

Begrudgingly, he agreed.

Steve was set to leave on the last day of the month, since the school year was beginning just after the start of September. While you didn’t understand how that would leave him with enough time to get himself ready for the new school year, you didn’t question it.

You had your friend for a little longer, and that’s all that really mattered to you.

Steve had insisted that the two of you do something fun for your last weeks together, promising to foot the bill and make it memorable for the both of you. After too many pretend arguments that almost always ended in kisses and one of you underneath the other in your bed, the two of you landed on Barcelona. It was freeing, to pack a bag and just leave for a good reason this time, with a good man with good intentions by your side.

You and Steve went without a plan, apart from Steve booking The Serras Hotel for you both. It was a lovely old building, with bed linens softer than any fabric you'd ever felt in your life and a perfect view of the water from your room.

If you didn't know any better, you'd think Steve was trying to impress you.

Your days were spent consuming your weight in paella and sangria, then walking it off in the city, only to find more delicious food in the evenings. Dancing the nights away at whatever little night club you walked by that looked interesting. Going to the beach, then deeming it entirely too overrun by people, then opting to go back and spend the day at the rooftop pool instead. You did whatever you wanted, or whatever Steve wanted, with no rules and it was some of the best times you could remember.

Near the end of your trip, you and Steve decided to spend the day trying to find the Sagrada Familia simply by wandering the city. Steve had said that "It's such a tall, pointy building, how hard could it be to find?" And who were you to argue with that very sound logic?

It turned out, finding a 'tall, pointy building' was, in fact, very difficult when you were on the ground and literally every building around you was a tall building.

The two of you wandered for hours, stopping for a quick lunch only to walk some more. Your legs were tired, your back ached (Steve tried to carry both his bag and yours, but you shut him down every time). Near two in the afternoon, you were tempted to beg him to just get a fucking cab, but you didn't really mind because Steve never let go of your hand for the entire walk, and he never stopped trying to make it all a little more bearable. And God, it worked. He didn't even have to try to make you smile, really. He just had that effect on you now.

It was that day that you realized something very important, and very fucking terrifying.

That day, as you were both sweaty and sticky, tired from walking and not minding one bit because Steve was by your side, you realized that you had fallen in love with him over the summer.

Or had you fallen back in love? Had the love you felt for him in Hawkins ever really left you? You thought that it had, because it had been years. Years of a failed love with someone else, of moving to a different country and leaving everything you knew behind. You thought that the mark Steve left on your heart had faded away long ago, but now, you weren't so sure it had ever left.

Sometimes you swore you could see it in his eyes, too. Not just lust, but some sort of adoration that went far beyond the bedroom or the realm of friendship. You thought you saw it in the way he held you at night, the way he never let go of your hand in the busy city streets. It wasn't just Steve being Steve; no, there was something else there. Something else beyond the nice gestures and sweet smiles.

You almost asked him about it countless times. If his feelings for you lingered like yours did. If they were somehow found again over the summer, or you were just making things up in your head.

But once again, you were too scared. You never did ask.

On the last night of your stay, you were both tired of the sweaty nightclubs and busy streets, so you opted for walking down to the beach to get away from the tourists instead.

The beach was peaceful as you spread a blanket out onto the cool sand. It was almost empty, save for the random passerby every now and then. The only sounds were the soft crashing of waves, the distant sounds of the city, and Steve’s voice in your ear as the two of you talked about the trip, the summer, what to eat for breakfast before heading back to the airport in the morning.

Never about what was coming in a couple day’s time. Not about him leaving, and not about what would come after.

That was okay, though.

Because you were together, for now. You and Steve, sitting side by side, stealing kisses between watching the waves lap at the shore.

"Good idea, huh? Coming here?" Steve said, gesturing at nothing, but you assumed he meant the overall trip.

You agreed. "Yeah, although you didn't have to do all this. You could at least let me pay you-"

"Nope, not a chance. This was paid for and sponsored by the Harrington Estate, thank you very much."

This was the first time he'd mentioned anything about what had happened ever since that first night. "Do you wanna talk about it?" You asked softly.

"About my dad? No, told you, I'm fine."

"Steve, are you sure?"

You felt Steve shift beside you then, mirroring him when he sat cross-legged to face you. "Hey, I promise I'm fine, okay? We hadn't talked in a few years before, anyway. Sure, he was my father, but he wasn't a dad. So, I'm okay. And if I'm ever not okay, I'll let you know, okay? I'll call you up and you can listen to me scream and cry. I promise."

You snorted despite the moment, "That'd be a hell of a phone bill."

"I don't care. I miss hearing your voice anyway. Letters aren't really the same, you know?"

You did know, they really weren’t the same. They were never enough, and they'd never be enough, especially after this summer.

Steve spoke again, "Are you okay? After everything that went down in Hawkins?"

"Oh, yeah! Yeah, I've been good. Went through a period of berating myself for being so fucking stupid, but that's about it."

"We all do stupid shit when we're in our twenties. I think you're good."

You offered him a nod, "I forgave myself for it a while back. I just wish things could've been different." You hope he'd catch the meaning behind your words, that you wished things could have been different for you and Steve. That maybe the two of you could have built a life together.

You didn’t miss the pain in his eyes before he averted your gaze, the nod of his head that told you that he knew exactly what you meant, and yeah, he felt it, too. "Yeah, wish they were different, too." He brought his hand to your bare knee, tracing some pattern onto the skin, "I'm gonna miss the hell outta you, you know that?"

A lump formed in your throat at his words, at how tender he was being, so you only nodded. Afraid that you’d let out a sob if you did anything else. So, you just laid a hand on his, squeezing, almost as if he’d float across the ocean right then and there. Because you were going home tomorrow, and Steve was leaving you the day after, and you weren't ready for that yet. He seemed to understand your silence, so he didn’t wait for you to respond. He already knew what the answer would be, anyway. Instead, his free hand found the nape of your neck, tangling through the hair there and pulled you closer to him, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was a little clumsy, and a little messy, but neither of you seemed to care because the time was slipping through your fingers like the sand underneath you.

And as the two of you fell back into bed together that night, something shifted. It felt different than all of the other times over the summer. It was like it always was, in a way, with Steve pressing his lips on any bare skin he found and whispering praises against you, but it felt different this time. This time, he made sure to take his time with you, exploring all he could, leaving marks he was sure would last for longer than his remaining time with you.

This time, it felt like saying goodbye.

So much for summer love and saying "us"

If Steve noticed the way your mood would randomly sour during those last few days, or why you got a faraway look in your eye on the plane ride back to your home, he never commented. He'd always bring you back with sweet nothings and a kiss to take you out of your funk. You wondered if he was distracting you on purpose or if he was just that clueless.

It would work, obviously. His little distractions would remind you that he was still here, still yours for a little while longer and you'd force the thoughts to the back of your mind. But they always came back, haunting you.

The metaphorical tick of the clock was always there in your mind, because time was running out.

You wondered what would happen after. When Steve got on that plane back to America. Would things be as they were? A letter exchanged every few weeks, an email every other day once you both were able to get a computer? Would Steve ask you to go back to Hawkins to visit, or would he want to come back here to see you? How often would you be able to see one another? Because before, when you and Steve were just good friends, you both went five years without seeing one another, and somehow, you'd both survived. Letters sent across an ocean was enough. The wanting to see each other again was enough. But would it be enough now? How could it ever be?

You wondered if he would ask you to go home with him.

Would he want you to be with him, back in Hawkins? Would he want you to leave with him? Leave the life you've created for yourself here? If he begged you to run away with him, would you?

Or, would he want to stay here in Italy? Pack up his old life and build a new one in a new country? Shit, could you even ask him to do that?

More importantly, would he say yes if you did?

Livin' for the hope of it all, for the hope of it all

The morning of August 31st came way too soon.

You and Steve had been sitting on your bedroom floor all morning, packing the last of his things in between sipping coffee and reminiscing about the months you'd spent together before you had to leave for the airport after lunch. The coffee did little to soothe the knot in your stomach, but you held onto your mug anyway, needing something to do with your hands. A thought had been eating at you for the past few days; worming its way into your brain until you could hardly think about anything else.

Because little sparks of hope had been lighting all summer. Comments made by Steve about the country, kisses pressed into your skin under bedsheets, laments about Steve not wanting to go back to Hawkins. They all bundled together and lit a fire of hope in your heart.

But what was the phrase, hope is a dangerous thing?

You wondered if you should just get it out. If you should ask the question that had been on the tip of your tongue for days. It might have been selfish, or wrong, to ask. It might have blown up in your face, but you had to ask. No more being scared to speak up for what you wanted.

“Can we talk about something?” You asked suddenly. When Steve nodded, you opened your mouth to speak, closed it, then repeated the process. Now, that you had his attention, you couldn’t get the correct words out. Finally, you settled for, “Did you like it here?”

Steve didn’t answer right away, seemingly perplexed by your random question. “Yeah, I loved it here. Y’know, the food was awesome, I liked where you worked, it was cool. And yeah, being with you was amazing. Why?”

You considered his answer, averting his gaze when you asked your follow up, “You ever think about leaving Hawkins, too?”

“Sweetheart, what-”

“Would you want to stay here with me?” The silence that followed your question was deafening. After a beat, you allowed yourself to meet Steve’s eyes again to try and figure out what he was thinking.

“Do you mean to- I, what do you mean?”

“I mean you could stay. This summer with you has been amazing and I-I think we would be good together. Would you ever consider it? We used to talk about leaving Hawkins, when we were younger - do you still think about it?”

He stood then, running his fingers through his hair. When he remained silent you continued on, rising to your feet as well. You felt frantic, like you had to explain yourself more. “You could go home, you know, get everything in order, but then come back, if you wanted? And then we could be together, like, actually together. Would you ever want that?”

Steve sighed then, a loud sound that made you stop in your tracks. “Sweetheart, I can’t just not go back, or go back just to leave again. What the hell would I even do here? I can't just pick up a teaching career in Italy, can I?” You hated how his voice sounded regretful, almost pitying and damn near making you cry, but then he surprised you.

“Would you want to come home with me?”

His words were a shock to your system. They knocked the air right out of your lungs. His eyes were on you, and they broke your heart because they were pleading, begging you to say yes. You couldn't think, could barely fucking breathe because didn't you want this? Didn't you want to be together with Steve? Didn't you want to keep him forever, build a life with him? To wake up in the morning close to him, sip coffee across from each other before work? Go home to him every night, instead of an empty apartment?

It sounded nice, right?

But could you leave this? This little idyllic part of the world you’d called home for years now? The job you loved, and you had friends here, too. Could you be happy back in your shitty little hometown again? Worst of all, what if you did leave with him, and everything would blow up in your face? What if you followed Steve home, only to realize that you were only good for each other for a short while, and not for the long haul? And then you two would break up and have to see each other all over Hawkins, remembering what you gave up here?

You didn’t know if you would be able to handle that.

Steve continued, “I thought about it too - it started in Barcelona - I was thinking about how much fun we had this summer, right? And thinking about leaving hurts, and it's 'cause I'm leaving you. So, would you ever consider coming back? Fuck, you could even come with me right now, I’ll buy you a ticket, I don’t care-"

You knew what he meant, because the thought of him leaving was killing you. You hated knowing that you wouldn’t wake up next to him in the morning, and that you had no idea when you’d see him again. Still, you knew the answer to his question, and you hated that you had to give it.

"Steve, I don't want to go back." You tried to take a breath, but you couldn't calm yourself because you saw the hurt in Steve's eyes at your words. "I wanna be with you, I want it so badly, but not there. I can't just leave. I can't leave this just to go back to Hawkins."

You watched as he physically deflated, his disappointment quickly turning to indignation. "You're saying you'd never go back? For anything?"

"I- fuck!" You brought your hands to your eyes, rubbing until you saw stars, remembering the question you had tortured yourself with for days.

If he begged you to run away with him, would you?

You had wanted the option for the whole summer. You wanted Steve to ask you to be with him, even if you didn't know if you could leave with him. Or, at the very least, you wanted him to want to stay. To fall in love with the country like you did and want to make his own life here.

“I can’t leave this,” you said, tears gathering on your lash line because it killed you to say those words.

You watched as his eyes narrowed, shoulders rolled back, and you could practically see the fight ignite in his eyes, “Are you saying you won’t come back for me? After all this? You won’t come back, but you expect me to just stay here ‘cause you asked?”

“You’re a fucking Harrington, you can do whatever you damn well please. Hell, you booked this trip on a whim, you could stay on a whim if you wanted!”

“It’s not that easy!” He wasn't screaming, but the sudden volume of his voice startled you. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re adults now! We’ve got things to take care of, so no, I can’t just stay on a whim.”

He moved closer to you then, “You know what I think it is? I think you’re just scared. You were scared back then, after all that shit happened so you just left! You left me, and everyone else. You just ran away from your problems because you were a coward, and you’re still a coward.”

“Don’t call me a fucking coward!” you yelled, voice cracking, and you hated how his words cut you because this felt a lot like a breakup, like you were losing him for good. This felt like the end.

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

Steve only continued, and you saw a glimpse of the old King Steve that you thought he had left behind. Biting, out for blood. “No, I think you’re just scared. You’re scared to admit how you feel, scared to leave this little bubble you’ve created for yourself.”

“Dammit Steve, you want me to admit how I really feel?” You felt your tears flowing freely at this point, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. “Yes, I’m scared to go back because I’m scared that it’ll all be for nothing! I’ll go back, and we’ll realize that we were only part-time soulmates, and then I’ll be miserable again. Because that would hurt even more than this does, and this hurts like hell.”

He was silent, his eyes were softer but you couldn't stop. "Why can't we be together here?" You begged, "Why can't we just stay here?"

When you were only met with his silence once more, you realized that you were at an impasse. Neither of you were willing to give up the lives you've built in order to build another life miles away, not even for each other. You both seem to come to this realization at the same time, because Steve's shoulders sag, and your breath hitches, and you see the shine of tears line Steve's eyes. You realize that the time for the two of you had passed, and that you're not going to be together after this. Now, you're just two people who fell in love at the wrong time.

"This isn't gonna work, is it?" His voice is lower now, but you don't miss the way it hitches at the end. "You're not coming with me."

You shake your head, heart sinking at the finality of his statement because this was it, "And you're not staying here."

"No, I can't, sweetheart."

You were expecting that answer, you knew that answer, but hearing it still stings. Because while you knew it was selfish, you wanted to keep him here, all for yourself. Even if you knew how unrealistic that dream was.

But the dream was over.

"Hey, come here," he whispered, and you didn't hesitate to fall into him when he reached for you. “I’m sorry for yelling; I didn’t mean to call you a coward. I didn’t mean any of it.”

You allowed the tears to fall, dropped your head to rest on his chest one more time. His grip around your waist was crushing and you felt the wetness of his own tears on your neck, but you didn't dare pull away from this. You breathed him in to ground yourself; rosemary and mint shampoo, fresh coffee, remnants of his cologne mixed with your laundry soap. The mix was intoxicating, comforting, and you wished you could bottle it up, save it for when your apartment would feel empty once he was gone.

Because you knew it would. You’d feel him everywhere, his side of your bed, his favorite coffee mug, the mark he'd left on your heart. He’d linger for long after he was on that plane.

“For what it’s worth, I love you” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Well that doesn’t do us any good now, does it? It might be the worst thing I’ve heard you say all summer” he responded with a caustic chuckle. “But for what it’s worth, I love you, too. You know that.”

Though it was hard to admit to yourself, you saw the bitter irony and humor in it all and found yourself letting out a small laugh through your tears. The two of you stood for a few more minutes, not wanting to break contact, but knowing it was inevitable.

"What happens now? Still friends?" You heard him mutter against your shoulder, felt him hug you a little tighter like he was scared to let go. You were glad that you weren't facing one another now, because you hated to lie to his face.

If you were honest, you'd say that you'd try to stay friends, but that wasn't really going to happen, was it? Not after everything that happened over these months. No, Steve would go home, you'd both write to each other for a while, acting like you never broke each other's hearts. But then, Steve would find someone else, and maybe you would, too, and the letters would just bring up glorious, painful memories about what happened here. What could have been if things had been different back home. And then, pretty soon, you would both forget about this summer. The pictures on your fridge would fade and eventually Steve would just be someone you knew in a past life.

You could try to keep things as they were, but soon, you'd drift apart. No matter how much you both wanted to pretend that you wouldn't. That's just how life goes.

"Yeah, Steve," you said, tears flowing freely, unashamed of the way you were clinging to him before this moment was over. "Still friends, always."

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington fic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #st #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x reader smut #joe keery

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merylstreepsworld · 7 months

Text

Personal Tech Support

Pairing: Donna Sheridan x Fem!reader

Summary: You upgrade a few items around the island. Making Donna have to relearn technology.

Word count: 993

You've always been the tech-savvy one in your relationship with Donna. From the moment you first met, it was clear that while she had the charm, creativity, and charisma to run her small hotel on the Greek island of Kalokairi, she was a bit challenged when it came to modern technology. You, on the other hand, had a knack for all things electronic and mechanical. So, when you decided to surprise Donna by upgrading a few things around her hotel, you knew it would make her life easier, even if it did come with some comical challenges.

The hotel, though full of character and history, had its fair share of quirks. The plumbing was ancient, the electrical wiring was a patchwork of DIY solutions, and the Wi-Fi, well, it was more of a "Wi-Maybe." You couldn't stand to see your girlfriend struggle with these everyday issues, so you set out to modernize the place without compromising its rustic charm.

One of your first projects was installing a brand-new espresso machine in the hotel's café. You figured it would be a hit with the tourists who frequented the place. The sleek, stainless steel beast looked like it belonged in a spaceship compared to the old, sputtering coffee maker it replaced.

The morning after you installed it, Donna stood in front of the new espresso machine, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Love, how does this contraption work again?" she asked, casting you an adorable, bewildered look. You chuckled, walking over to her. "Darling, I've shown you this at least five times. You press this button for a regular espresso, this one for a cappuccino, and this one for a latte."

Donna blinked at the array of buttons. "But which one makes a regular coffee?"

You couldn't help but grin. "The one that says 'espresso,' Donna. It's the first button."

She nodded, clearly trying to remember. "Right, the 'ex-press-oh.' Got it."

You watched as she carefully pressed the button, and the machine whirred to life, making all sorts of futuristic noises. Espresso poured into the cup, and Donna beamed triumphantly as if she'd just solved a complex puzzle. You couldn't contain your laughter. "Don't worry, love," you said, ruffling her hair affectionately. "You'll get the hang of it."

Over the next few days, you introduced more upgrades. You replaced the old landline phone with a sleek, cordless model. You set up a modern sound system in the hotel's courtyard for music during the evening gatherings. You even convinced Donna to ditch the ancient cash register in favor of a user-friendly tablet-based point-of-sale system. With each new addition, Donna's confusion seemed to grow. She'd call you over for help, even when you were just in the next room. "Sweetie, can you come here? I can't get the music to play."

You'd sigh with faux exasperation, setting down whatever you were doing to assist her. "Donna, remember the app? You just select the playlist and press play."

"I know, I know," she'd reply, rolling her eyes at her own forgetfulness. "But it's all so...fiddly."

As much as you teased her about it, you couldn't deny the joy of watching her adapt to these newfangled devices. It was endearing to see her navigate the touch screen of the tablet POS system with determined concentration, making transactions for guests with a sense of accomplishment.

One evening, as you both sat on the terrace overlooking the azure sea, Donna sipped a glass of wine and turned to you with a mischievous glint in her eye. "You know," she began, "I think you're secretly enjoying being my personal tech support." You chuckled, tracing circles on her hand. "Well, it does give me the chance to hold you close and whisper sweet nothings in your ear."

She laughed, leaning in to steal a quick kiss. "You do have a point there."

As the summer days passed, Donna's tech anxiety began to wane. She'd proudly tell you about how she had successfully made a latte without any assistance, or how she'd mastered the art of Bluetooth pairing for the speakers. She even dared to experiment with the espresso machine, trying her hand at creating intricate latte art.

One morning, you walked into the café to find her diligently working behind the counter. She held up a cup with a heart-shaped design in the foam. "Look at this, my love!" she exclaimed. "I made a heart!" You couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. "That's fantastic, Donna! You're becoming a pro."

But just as you thought her tech-related troubles were a thing of the past, a new challenge emerged. You had upgraded the hotel's Wi-Fi, and while it was now faster and more reliable, Donna couldn't quite grasp the concept of network names and passwords.

"Darling," she called from the reception desk, "what's the code for the Wee-Fee again?"

You sighed, resigning yourself to another round of explanations. "It's Wi-Fi, Donna. And the password is 'KalokairiSunshine.'"

"Right, right," she replied with a nod, jotting it down on a piece of paper. You couldn't resist teasing her. "Donna, I've told you the password at least ten times. It's 'KalokairiSunshine,' like our beautiful island."

She laughed, folding her arms and giving you an impish look. "Well, maybe I just enjoy hearing you say it, my tech genius."

You shook your head in mock exasperation, but deep down, you cherished these moments. Donna's quirks, her playful nature, and her ability to embrace change, even if it came with a learning curve, were all part of what made her so special to you.

As the sun set over Kalokairi, casting a warm, golden glow across the hotel, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the chance to be Donna's partner in both love and technology. In your eyes, she was the heart and soul of the hotel, and you were more than happy to be the one who helped her keep it running, one espresso at a time.

#meryl streep #merylstreep #meryl streep x reader #donna sheridan #donna sheridan x reader #mamma mia

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exquisiteserotonin · 14 days

Text

Precious Possessions 10: Every Rule

Pairing: Dave York X F! Reader (Original Female Character)

Rating: E is for Explicit - 18+ only 🔞MDNI🔞

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Word count: 7401

Summary: Firefly takes some time for clarity and understanding about everything and everyone, including the role she plays in Dave's life and the one he plays in hers.

Warning: This chapter is incredibly PLOT heavy...and while it absolutely 100% includes Dave, is very focused on reader and her feelings for and about him. Angst. Religious symbolism. Angst. Violence. Angst. PiV sex - wrap it up lovahs, riding, mild restraints, creampie. Angst. Once again please DNI if you are not 18 and over. Also not beta'd, so all errors are my own. Please be kind.

A/N: Thanks to all my babes who encourage me to continue writing even though it can be fucking hard and so personal especially when you put your heart and soul into each character. Also, if you are familiar with the Equalizer trilogy then you will know and understand some of this.

@youandmeand5bucks @pink-whiskey-woman @redhotkitchen @arcanefox207 @legendary-pink-dot @sparklefarts38 @morallyinept @secretelephanttattoo

Taglist: @nerdieforpedro @sheepdogchick3 @casa-boiardi @missladym1981 @untamedheart81 @drewharrisonwriter @guelyury

“Lying on top of you is one thing, but getting close to you is another. I feel close to you, one with you, you’re mine whether it is acknowledged or not.”—Henry Miller

In the morning you awoke with a start, reaching for an alarm clock that didn’t sound, for a body that wasn’t there. Morning light whispered through the paper-thin curtains, shining on the bare stone wall. Working together with the gentle breeze from outside, a slow sense of calm began to hold you. Seabirds and salt air surrounded you as you opened a window—a wooden shutter with three slats crooked, broken, and beautiful, the only barrier to a rectangle shaped hole in the stone.

Slow and easy, sometimes boring—those were your mornings since you had arrived. You stumbled through the first few days like an infant taking its first steps. No electronics, no real connection to the outside world, relying on shuffling through pages of a pocket-sized English to Italian dictionary to navigate your way through the occasional brief conversations you had with the Altamonte locals as you gathered your bearings.

The constant overthinking presented an obstacle to overcome. By your eighth day there, the simplicity of life wouldn’t allow it. Neighbors shouted morning greetings through open and bright green shutters as you dressed. A t-shirt, white and crisp, a pair of well-loved jeans, and a black leather jacket finished with a pair of white sneakers. A uniform or sorts, you thought, as you descended the stairs from your apartment. A passerby could have been a mirror image of you just by clothing alone. Was this what people meant by “dressing like a local”?

At a nearby café, your ability to blend in was tested as you found your place in a sea of color neutrality, sitting at the lone empty table near the front door. A youthful and friendly server who looked to be no older than 17 approached you, her raven curls atop her head bounced when she stopped. Not a line tempered her smooth, dark olive skin as she flipped open her notepad with a smile.

“Cosa desidera Lei?”

“Un caffe per fevore,” you replied, with the young server nodding in acknowledgement at your order.

From your purse you grabbed a journal of worn, brown leather. Its corners curled upward from opening and closing it frequentlly The pages lay ruffled and beaten with the gift of constant use. Your fingers also grasped a pen lost in the depths of your bag that met you like an old friend that had come to save you in your time of need. The ink flowed from your pen to the paper as you wrote about the salt air, the distant cawing of seagulls skimming the shore, and the mist of calm that seemed to settle over every corner of the town.

You turned your head to look through the clean windows into the cafe to observe the locals—individuals, couples, families. The images of them gleamed like reflections on a stream. In the window, you imagined Dave next to you—a mirage, a specter haunting and present no matter how hard you tried to push it away. In the back of your head, you asked yourself: Do I really want to?

“Buongiorno!” a voice rich and deep in time and timber reached out to you.

A newly familiar face greeted you. His hands, like his voice, showed evidence of assuredness through lines of time and wisdom that were beginning to settle on the backs of his hands. The smile lines on his face were set dark and deep into his face, indisputable evidence of living.

“Buongiorno, Dottore!” you exclaimed, standing up to take his hands and give him a kiss on each cheek.

“Everyday, at the same time, I see you here,” the rich melody of his voice and the kind smile he gave you managed to whisk away the chill that coursed through your blood, if only for a moment.

“Well, the calm is a nice…change,” you mused and paused for a moment, contemplating if you really believed your own words.

Enzo settled down in the chair next to you, the smile beneath his mustache was warm and fatherly. As he sat next to you, the young server returned carrying two small cups of coffee for both you and Enzo. You observed closely as Aminita, as Enzo lovingly called her, greeted him with greater familiarity than you had combined with an even greater respect. He spoke to her with the kindness of a doting grandfather. Bits and pieces of their melodic words met your ears, the depths of your brain manipulating them until you worked out their meaning in English.

“So, what have you seen since you have been here?” Enzo inquired as he settled into a chair next to you.

“Oh, it’s only been a few days, but,” you sighed with a dramatic pause, “just having the ocean right here has been more than enough.”

Enzo smiled back at you and his eyes glimmered with excitement and wonder. It was the kind of gleam that you had only seen among young children and the old. Pressing his hands together he stood up and waved at you in a gesture for you to finish your coffee. You sipped as quickly as you could, your coffee just on the right side of warm---the cozy kind of warmth that wrapped you in an invisible hug on a cold day.

“Andiamo,” he urged you as you swallowed the last of it. “Come on, I’ll show you the real Altomonte.”

“Ok, ok!” you replied, conceding to him.

Uncomfortably, you chugged the last bit of coffee with an audible hiss before you stood up. You took quick steps over the cobblestone streets as you followed Enzo. His gait was quick and determined for a 60-year-old. A smile curled at the corners of your lips as you watched him skip ahead of you with more excitement than a tour guide being paid to show you the village.

He walked you through one of the many archways of the town, this one longer than others. The path was just wide enough to allow for the regular flow of movement brought to life by the villagers. What greeted you through the arch was more life than you had expected, not dark and dank as you had presumed. Nestled along the stone walls were market vendors selling homemade wears of rosaries, crucifixes made of wood from olive trees, and hand-embroidered scarves delicately adorned with intricate, swirling designs. You could feel your mouth drop open in awe as you caressed your fingers along a deep blue scarf with two white lilies embroidered at each corner. You were certain that the elderly woman who made this was grossly underestimating the time and talent it took her to fashion such a unique and beautiful item. A small, rectangular piece of paper lay on top of the scarf and written in ballpoint pen was the price of a mere 50 euros.

“Beautiful, yes?” Enzo remarked with a smile.

His eyebrows were raised as he looked back at you. Reaching into your purse you pulled out your beige, leather pocketbook to procure a one hundred euro note. It called to you, that foreign feeling that you so rarely experienced of reaching for something that you just knew you had to have. It had only happened once before.

Your hand trembled slightly as you handed the woman the euro note, a sign of the thoughts of Dave that took hold of you. As the woman took it, the wrinkles around her smoothed from her wide-open eyes. The look of shock overcame her as she examined the note. She waved at you, her tone an odd mixture of gratitude and scolding that could come only from a strong Italian woman.

“Ti prego di prenderlo,” you insisted in as humble a tone as you could. “E magnifica.”

You watched in earnest as Enzo spoke to the woman, conceding to her and talking her down until she stared back at you with a satisfied glimmer in her eye while handing you the scarf. Immediately, you tied it loosely around your shoulders while following Enzo’s lead ahead of you. As you sauntered through the cobble stoned streets, Enzo pointed out the fish market. The owner, Angelo, waved at you alongside his wife and son as they proudly arranged fresh fish on piles of ice—waiting for villagers to snatch them up for their evening meal.

The sunlight greeted you on the other end of the archway, where ancient stone walls guarded each side and where Enzo stood at the foot of a steep set of stairs. He turned around to you and gestured towards the steps with excitement surging through his fingertips.

“Have you gone up to visit the church?“

Your gaze followed Enzo’s upward to a church set into the mountains, that stood proud with its pristine ivory in color that was brighter against the lush, green foliage of the mountainside. A hint of premature frustration crept beneath your skin as you mentally took in the slope of the stairs. You were in good shape, you had to be. Yet your legs automatically ached with a phantom pain that you knew would come from traversing the steep climb to the church.

Enzo gestured for you to come over, picking up one foot after another over narrow and steep stairs. The waves of the Mediterranean crashed over the walls guarding the village. The fresh salt air traveled with the breeze until it began to dance in your hair.

“Climb these steps every day and you’ll be young the rest of your life,” he teased, “That is my doctor’s order for you.”

Something between a laugh and a gasp escaped you before he gestured for you to catch up. When you finally did, your eyes settled on the weathered rock as the air caressed your hair and your lungs filled with deep, cooling breath that led to a wistful sigh.

“Come on, old man!” You took the chance to take a break from your jog to rib your dark-haired companion as he fought to catch his breath standing amidst a steep, but beautiful set of stairs.

You rocked your hips back and forth as you kept your feet bouncing from side-to-side in a stationary jog. He looked up at you, gathering his hands at his hips as sweat began to gather at the center of his charcoal-colored t-shirt, clinging to his lean, but broad-shouldered form. Not one speck of amusement found itself on his face as he glared at you. The steadiness of his stare caused you to slow your jog to merely stepping your feet beneath you. When a smile finally slid over the surface of his pouty lips, his eyes bore into you, heavy, dark, and tempting --- the look of the devil you always wanted to know.

“I’ll be generous,” you recalled him saying, his words dripping like the sweetest nectar from the most forbidden flower, “and give you a head start.”

“Just like you to assume I need one,” you challenged as you stood above him, placing your hands on your hips.

He readied himself a few steps below you, a determined glint in his brown eyes that sent a chill scurrying up and down your spine. Simultaneously, it sent a warm, throbbing sensation at your center as he looked you up and down. He doubled down on his threat, setting himself in a starting stance to race up the stairs. You followed suit, turning your back away from him, trying to keep your focus ahead of you. His very presence behind you already threatened to consume you and though he was steps below you, you swore you could feel the heat of his exhales rippling on the back of your neck.

And with no warning, he spoke, “Run.”

The memory of you leaping up the stairs traveled through your feet as you slowly made your way up the steep stairs leading to the church. It was silly really—the present was just a moving dichotomy of your memory.

You didn’t dare look behind you. Doing so would have meant certain defeat. An feeling of nervousness mixed with intrigue filled you as you ran, ran, ran as fast as you could. The sense of him gaining on you heightened through every pore. Your feet pounded on the steps and your arms swung tightly with each quick stride. Quick breaths rattled from your lips as you focused your eyes to the top of the majestic stairs. Cockiness lined your lips into a premature victory smile, when you suddenly felt a pair of hands grab at your hips, forcing you to slow down to a rhythm that matched his body. You felt the heat of his warm fingers wrapped around your elbow as he pulled you into a dark, concealed alley. Breathing even harder than when you were running, Dave pressed you against the wall, his hips rolling against yours.

His face was so close that you could smell the clean, yet intoxicating sweat that collected upon his skin that had been made golden with Sicilian sun. Each breath he drew was quick and in time with yours. A quick gasp escaped you as you felt his warm hand lower to skim the waist of your leggings, his thick fingers. A shiver circulated through your body as he toyed with the elastic band.

“When are you going to learn, Firefly?” he growled into your ear, his lips brushing at your neck and earlobe. “I’m always going to catch you.”

***

“Bella! Bella!”

Enzo’s voice sounded through the cloud of your memory. Without even really being cognizant of it, you had made it to the top of the ancient stairs. The breeze blew stronger at this height, whipping your hair across your face. As you brushed your waves back, your eyes beheld how the wind danced on the rich, blue water and how it made ripples that shimmered with the golden sun.

“You see, all this makes Altamonte,” he gestured to the church, the statues, and the paintings of the woman.

You stared at the wonder and pride in his eyes. Somehow, you knew he meant more than just this place. If he could, he would just stretch his arms from here to the ocean. From his voice that trembled with pride and from the gleam that shined in his eyes, you knew. Only an act of God could wash it away.

“Come in child,” he said, as he gestured you over to the door of the church.

“Oh no, I’m not religious,” you said as your shoulders shrunk from the discomfort of the words.

You didn’t need proselytizing.

“You think she cares?” Enzo asked, already halfway through the threshold of the church. “But you choose.”

Humoring him, you stepped inside. An unexpected shiver oscillated, tapped, and pricked over your body. Goosebumps arose beneath your sweater. The cold that lived in the walls easily could have trapped you, threatening to take away whatever life you felt beneath your skin. Instead, it invigorated you as they made union with the warm colors of the sun that painted the walls of church like they were her own, personal canvas. You peeked through the windows that let that light in. Each had a perfect view of the village. The beauty had you holding your breath as you marveled at how the stone buildings gathered together and overlooked the bluest water you’d ever seen.

When you finally let yourself breathe again, you found a seat next to Enzo. He knelt in reverence, his eyes closed and hands clasped together. The flicker of several candles set the room aglow, his flame burning brightly among the many.

You, on the other hand, sat with quiet patience. It was more like a museum to you. Your eyes settled over the statues and paintings that adorned the church. So much adoration for a woman filled in a church that was ostensibly governed by men.

Maybe they had it wrong, you thought. Maybe the church was meant to be built upon the shoulders of a matriarch who chose her path of raising a leader, instead of a girl who was bestowed the gift of raising a savior. The way these thoughts meandered through your mind was nearly enough to make you laugh. Sometimes you shouldn’t be left to your own thoughts.

Enzo settled back into pew in the empty space next to you. A deep sigh escaped him as he turned his head to you. His eyes softened in concern. A slight discomfort pressed onto your shoulders as you navigated your response to the kindness.

“People always come and rest here, some pray, some meditate until they find an answer,” Enzo said, his voice imbued with the notes of great wisdom. “Even me.”

You nodded in acknowledgement, waiting for him to continue.

“And you, too, correct?” He asked.

He didn’t even entertain you with the space or time to answer, not that you had one to give him. Not one that was truthful by any means. Instead, you nodded and waited for whatever wisdom he was ready to give you.

“I don’t judge,” he stated with a look so deep with thought and an undercurrent of pain that you knew his words were true, “Nothing good comes from it.”

He sighed again. The weight of whatever memory he was holding was heavy on his shoulders. The tired lines around his eyes seemed to grow in real time, a remnant of the pain that remained.

“I’m not trying to…ehm…intrude in your personal business,” he paused to find the words, “but are you really here for rest, to find peace, as you say? Or…are you running from something?”

And there it was: the truth. It had never left. In that moment you could have felt anger, maybe something bordering on hatred for someone cornering the truth out of you. But you didn’t, not this time. You met the doctor’s gaze with the same hesitancy of a child who was hiding something from a parent. Without words, he knew the answer but bore no judgment against you. Instead, he patted you reassuringly on the hand as you took in the warmth of the flickering flames at the altar.

The sky was a bolder blue against the midday sun as you took your sojourn back to the main square. It seemed impossible that you’d spent as much time in the church as you had. Enzo held onto your arm lightly as you climbed down the steep stairs. A steady stream of pedestrians began to fill the cobblestone streets as you ambled through corridors from which you came. As you walked through the town, the warm and smiling faces of the locals continued to greet you even as Enzo departed from you to continue with his day.

The remainder of your day moved in an ethereal mixture of fast and slow. From the time you made it back into town you were able to stroll along the seashore, allowing yourself to bathe in the wind as you dug your toes in the sand to buying bread from the local bakery and enjoying it with a cup of tea you watched the sky melt into shades of coral, purple, and then blue as the sun disappeared beneath the horizon.

As a deeper blue settled in the sky, the evening sounds of Altamonte whispered in a different way than the sounds of the morning. The vibrations were buzzed with an energy that was somehow enlivening but calming at the same time. It should have called you to join everyone. Instead, you let the sounds energize through the open window of your apartment. And you waited as the locals left the restaurants, drunkenly and lovingly alive. The whispers of the night called you as they always had, as they always would. While the citizens of Altamonte were beginning to turn in for the night, you dressed yourself and immersed yourself in the comfort of the late night.

You approached a restaurant a few blocks from your apartment. A low, heavy feeling struck you in your stomach. Something pulled at your shoulders, tight and aggressive until it pressed and pulled at the skin of your throat. The invisible intensity threatened you with an unsettling and ominous aggression. You tensed into defensive mode as you moved closer and closer to the scene. Loud clatters of silverware and the dragging of chairs against the cobblestone streets set you into a stance that you only ever needed when a job with Dave and the team called for it.

You dashed with light steps across the cobblestone to gain a better vantage point of the situation. Despite yourself, you heard Dave’s voice in your head as though he was walking you through a training exercise.

“Your brain is your best asset. Read, know, and breathe the situation and you have the upper hand.”

You slinked closer as your eyes focused on the situation before you. The threat: two men. His frame was wiry. He couldn’t have been more than 5’9” you surmised. His dark, wavy hair was slicked back, and the ends curled just past his ears. What he lacked in stature he made up for with menace. His stare was wide and manic as he loitered among the tables strutting forward towards a beautiful, young waitress who’d been cleaning the tables outside. The thin man’s counterpart was noticeably taller and more physically imposing. He stood with an unwavering posture, his wide shoulders. He had a closely cropped haircut, and a brow that dipped down into a deep frown that seemed permanently affixed to his face.

Fear darkened the face of a young woman’s face as the thin man continued to advance on her, trapping her among tables and into a corner. The owner, her father, stood in the doorway, his feet ready to stomp forward and rescue his daughter. A few strands of her hair fell over her face as she gestured to him to stay inside the restaurant. Two heavy and threatening hands belonging to the burly crony pushed her father back impeding any heroic action he might attempt. The thumping of your heartbeat was fast and loud in the silence of the night, fast enough and loud enough for you to take a deep breath with the hopes of calming it.

“Collateral damage is always messy and always a liability. Blend in: the less remarkable you are, the less of a target you become.”

With Dave’s instruction resonating in your head, you closed in on the restaurant picking up your pace to a light jog. The thin goon continued to advance upon the young woman as her father struggled against the tall man’s hold, keeping their attention from you. It was as though panic traversed through her body the closer you came. The fear that seemed to hide behind her eyes thumped toward you, pumping you with adrenaline and readiness. He held her hostage with a lascivious scowl as he pushed a strand of hair from her face. His hands grabbed the back of her neck, each finger white with violence as he dragged her forward, her skin already red with pain beneath his vice grip. Both men, so arrogant against the struggle of their captives, paid you no attention.

“Let them underestimate you, then you can always find a way to get the upper hand.”

All at once a scream from the waitress, yells, and grunts from her father as he struggled, rose in the air as you lunged towards the thin man forcing his grip from the young woman. Adrenaline pumped through every one of your veins as you pulled his thumb backwards and shoved him back with concentrated strength as you simultaneously pulled the gun that he so arrogantly placed in the waistline of his pants. Losing his footing, he stumbled backwards to the ground. You stood protectively in front of the girl as his brutish sidekick attempted to lunge toward you.

The man raised his eyebrows for a moment and lifted the corner of his lips into a disgusting smirk. He was big and monstrous. You analyzed how each movement was stifled by how grotesquely bulbous his muscles were. Your foot was already hooked to the leg of one of the metal chairs closest to you. In the second he lunged in your directions, you lifted and ejected the chair at his solar plexus. With an additional, forceful stomp of your foot to his chest that knocked him to the ground.

In the time it had taken you to knock them to the ground, the waitress and her father had escaped inside, and the sound of a police horn approached quickly. You looked down on the two men and brushed a few wayward strands of hair from your face. Adrenaline rushed from your veins to the tips of your fingers.

The two men stood up, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles of their expensive Italian suits. The thin man glared at you with his hand placed protectively at his chest. It burned still from the pain you inflicted upon him.

“I think that’s your signal to leave,” you stated with a voice as steadfast as your stance. You kept your hands tightly on his firearm.

With one more snarl, the men disappeared into the night. The motor of their car rumbled off, growing quieter the further they drove into the night. It was silent and more of Dave’s words surrounded you.

“Never call attention to yourself, but if you have no choice, you need a plan to leave fast.”

The young waitress and her family looked at you, their eyes gleaming with grateful tears. The only thing you felt you could give was a nod. Receiving gratitude, handshakes, and hugs weren’t anything you were prepared or willing to receive. You just weren’t built for it.

You rushed away using shadows and looking over your shoulder anytime you found yourself in the light. When you arrived back at your apartment, you set your already neatly folded clothes inside your suitcase. It was another trick Dave had taught you.

Cellphone. Passport. Wallet. Keys.

With all of them accounted for, it was time to go. You stared at the gun that you had taken from the thin man. You tried to sift through your options of discarding the weapon, when slow, quiet knocks tapped at your door. In an instant you were pressing your back to the wall, sliding along as you made your way towards the door with the thug’s weapon in your hand. It wasn’t in your itinerary to take care of two gangsters on your vacation.

One, two, three deep breaths.

The knocks became quicker and more urgent. You listened closely for any noises that would alert you to the kind of weapons they had. Just as you reached to open the door you heard a familiar voice through the door.

“Child, it’s me: the dottore!”

You wanted to let out a huge sigh of relief, but your heightened vigilance had settled over your neck and shoulders holding you in a position that disallowed it.

“Enzo,” you finally called out after much deliberation, “are you alone?”

With immediacy, he replied, “Yes!”

His voice was as steady and confident as a surgeon who was moments away from performing life-saving surgery. You analyzed it, homing in on its lack of fluctuations, listening for any indication that someone else might be standing next to him waiting for you. You drew one more breath and opened the door. Seeing Enzo standing on the other side alone allowed you to let go of the breath you held in your chest. He rushed past you, closing the door behind him.

“What are you doing here?” You asked through gritted teeth.

“I heard what happened.”

“How did you--,” you began to ask.

“I know everything in this town,” he stated plainly, as he looked you directly in the eyes. “Where is the weapon?”

You felt your brow immediately furrow at his request. This was the kind of situation Dave urged you not to find yourself in. Trusting people, feeling for people, even giving a little bit of yourself to anyone would be a folly in your line of work. One that would certainly get you killed.

“No, not happening Enzo,” you insisted as you shook your head. “I cannot get you involved.”

“I think it’s too late for that.”

You stared back at him, feeling a pressure of disbelief and gratitude as he held his hand towards you with a dish rag that he had pulled from a kitchen drawer. You pressed your lips tightly together and a painful sting of tears began to form at the corners of your eyes. Enzo reached his hand out to you again.

“Are you a good person or a bad person?”

An unfamiliar feeling of confusion, guilt, and sadness came over you. One that had you re-evaluating nearly everything.

You replied to Enzo tearfully, “I don’t know.”

He stepped forward and offered you his fatherly stare. The one you felt was so undeserved.

“Only a good person would say that.”

It was at that moment, you wondered, maybe, if Dave had it all wrong.

You looked back at Enzo with a look that you hoped conveyed your gratitude. There were no words that existed that held enough magnitude to describe it. You grabbed your things quickly, looking at him once more before you walked out the door. He gave your arm a reassuring squeeze and you pulled him in for a hug. You held him tight, your hands nearly squeezing to the point where neither of you could breathe, shaking as you let him go.

“Non dimenticare mai chi sei, cocca,” he said followed by a kiss to your forehead that instantly made you feel like you were truly cared for.

And with one last look, you disappeared into the night. The cool air met you and the sound of ocean waves ascended to your ears. Each smell and sound engulfing you and holding you in what you wished was a long goodbye. The bittersweetness of your tears met the corner of your lips. Yet somehow, each event, each choice, and each movement you made reminded you that all of this was just as it was supposed to be.

***************************

The last 24 hours blasted by you like a bullet train. Everything around you moved in a blur while your body somehow moved at a pace slower than everything around you. You moved through each moment with an exhausted automaticity: getting off the plane, getting a taxi , and finding your way home.

With caution still at its peak, you entered your home. You checked every room and every closet two times until you felt certain that no one had followed you from Italy. You held your phone in your hand staring at the black screen, contemplating if you should even turn it back on. With a long sigh you pushed the buttons at the side of your phone, setting it quickly aside on your nightstand before running to the bathroom to avoid any notification like they were a plague.

You stepped into your spacious shower, jumping a little as cold water met your skin before gradually raining on your body with much needed warmth. You stepped out of the shower, drying off before wrapping yourself with your towel. You shook your hair with your fingers until your wet waves rested at your shoulder. A notification appeared on your phone connected to your security system.

Filling your lungs with a deep and steady breath you walked towards your kitchen to pour yourself a drink of water. Standing in silence, leaning against your kitchen counter, stood Dave. His eyes stayed only on you with his hands crossed over his chest. He was wearing his best poker face: no anger, no fear, no hate…but for a moment you spotted it: an inkling of relief, a hint of regret, a glint of—? No you wouldn’t let yourself welcome the thought.

You brushed past him, pouring yourself some water. You looked up at him, no words leaving either of your lips. The water was cold, refreshing, and awakening on your lips. As you walked past him back to your you could practically feel him seething. Coming at you like heat waves but bouncing off you as you kept your cool.

Staring back at him from the end of the hallway just outside your bedroom you called to him.

“Are you coming to bed or not?”

You swore you heard a sigh of exasperation escape him as he crept towards you with his hands on his hips — the way he always did when he was particularly frustrated. Satisfied by his inescapable allure towards you, you turned away from him, confident in the knowledge that he would follow you.

“I’ve got to hand it to you,” Dave spoke as he perused your hair, your eyes, your face, your skin, “I’m impressed you were able to be off the grid for as long as you did.”

“I don’t think that matters much now,” you declare looking up at him as he moved towards you. “I’m back.”

Dave took his hands to caress your face, his grip against your skin pressed with the perfect amount of firmness. A faint shine of gratitude emanated from his eyes. He would never say it, but you could see it. You could feel it from the touch of his hands and by the warmth emanating from his body—he missed you.

It was enough. You pulled one hand from your face bringing it down to where your towel wrapped around your body in a tight tuck. With firm guidance you made him pull the towel off your body letting it tumble to the floor. His eyes darkened and he shook his head with a smirk near disbelief as he admired your body.

“Fuck, you’re fucking beautiful as ever.” He groaned as he grabbed at the front of his pants.

Nearly a month without him, not one text or phone call…by your own design. Forgetting him wasn’t the answer. Understanding yourself in your entirety always led back to the same conclusion: you were his.

Not able to wait a moment more, you grabbed him by his dark sweatshirt pulling it over his head and tossing it away. You didn’t think you’d taken a pair of pants off a man faster in your life. His breaths came heavy and fast as you pulled him towards you, admiring his naked body as he did yours.

And then you kissed him.

After so long without him, the fire that sparked from touching him burned hotter than ever. You pulled his body to yours so tightly that your breasts pressed onto his chest, feeling each desperate breath that rose and fell over him. Somehow your arms found their way around his broad shoulders while he wrapped his around you, his hands grabbing your ass massaging up your back, until his fingers are threading themselves in your hair.

Your kisses were an exploration of renewal, of remembrance of how each other tasted while also, somehow, feeling brand new. His tongue had never been so needy before. The gruff moans that released from his mouth were so different and more unbidden than you’d remembered. And his cock, his lovely, thick, uncut cock, was so hard against your lower belly. The tip already cried for you with precum.

With one swift movement you spun around and shoved him to the bed. His eyes widened with devilish excitement as he spread his limbs across the expanse of your bed. His cock stood at attention for you, ready to comply with your every demand.

You crawled towards him, like a black cat slinking in the dark. The smell of him was so musky, salty, and clean as you lowered your face and then your mouth to the tip of his manhood. Holding the warmth of him again felt like a gift as he throbbed in your hands. The taste was even better as you took in the precum onto your lips and then your tongue, each taste bud lighting you up with desire.

He moaned, his hand hitting your pillow with a thump as your mouth and tongue continued to worship him.

“Oh shit, fuck!” He growled as he gripped your sheets.

Not even close to satisfied you lifted your face from your handiwork, tucking your hair behind your ear. You glided forward over his body, giving him another kiss before straddling him, only letting him feel the outer lips of your wet cunt. He reached his hips upward for you.

“Tsk, ah ah ah,” you crooned, teasing him with another grind of your hips, “not til you beg for it.”

“Fuck, Firefly, fuck—!”

You moved your hips again.

Dave couldn’t stop the moans that came from his beautiful lips. So beautiful, you traced your thumb over them.

“Is that all you have to say for yourself?”

You grew wetter with each teasing press of your hips.

An unintelligible and wanton groan came from him.

You tugged him by the hair, his eyes staying on yours and his brows angled downward in a combination of anger, frustration, and desire unique to him.

“Tell me, daddy.”

“Fuck, s—so fucking sexy,” he groaned. “Fuck I’ve missed this, your fucking body, my pussy.”

It was all you needed to hear.

You lifted your hips and braced your hand on his chest before you slowly began to sink over his cock. You bit your lower lip as you felt each thick inch of him enter you until he was so deep you could go no further. Pressing your hands onto his soft belly you began to move. Just that nearly sent him over the edge.

“Fuck, Firefly, how are you even better than I remember?“ Dave praised, as he gripped your thighs with his hands.

You rolled your hips slowly against his, adjusting to his thick size in your tight pussy. A shuddering breath left your quivering lips. With each bounce and roll of yourself on his massive member turned your breaths into loud and melodic moans. Not wanting to lose yourself just yet, you pressed your lips tighter together the more rhythmic your pace became. His cock throbbed within you, feeling impossible deeper with each move you made.

“Ah, my god!” You whined, unable to keep silent as Dave suddenly thrust his hips upwards to match your moves. “God, your cock is so good.”

Dave could only muster a gruff moan before interlacing his fingers between yours. You could feel his breath becoming more erratic with each move of your tight cunt over his cock. His hands began to squeeze yours tighter and tighter as your pussy squeezed him.

With a quick forward movement of your hips, his hard member popped out from inside you.

“Ahh, fuck!” He moaned as he gritted his teeth in frustration at the loss of your wet center around him.

You climbed off Dave and reached over to your nightstand, pulling a rope from the drawer. You straddled his waist while fashioning a strong knot around his wrists, tying him to your bed frame. He looked up at you, hazy and hungry to feel his cock sheathed in the tightest walls of your pussy. A smirk unfurled itself on his lips as you rocked yourself along his shaft, anointing him with your nectar.

“How does it make you feel,” Dave spoke, the sound coming from the deepest part of his throat, “thinking you have some kind of control?”

The words stopped your gyrations and brought your face an inch from his. You could feel your breath circling his lips, close enough that you could see them quiver. With a strong squeeze of your right hand to his face you licked from his chin to just above his lips before kissing him. Your tongue parted his lips with a firm swipe, leading his tongue into a dance he had no choice but to follow. The way your bed frame rattled as you looked down upon him told you more than any words from him could say.

“So you’re telling me this,” you squeezed and rubbed his cock with the tightest fist you could make around him, “is the gift I get after being gone for so long?”

You slinked your hips back down, teasing his cock with your opening. With the most sultry intent, you stoked his primal want for you, not settling onto him right away. The way he continued to fight against the taut rope around his wrists sent chills that emanated from your center. He’d never say it, but you certainly knew everything he fought against confessing.

Generosity began to sneak over you and you allowed him to fill you as you lowered onto him, inch by throbbing inch. And as though your life, your everything, depended on it, you took him for a ride. Consuming, savoring, and indulging in every delicious, warm, and pulsing inch. You brought him to the edge of ecstasy only to bring him back. Your bodies devolved into a beautiful mess of sweat and desire.

Until it was time. Neither of you could hold back. You clutched the headboard as your hips bounced vigorously on his cock. You looked into his eyes and he into yours until you both came with a hot, violent shaking of your body and an uncontrollable thrust from his hips up to yours. Together you filled the walls of your bedroom with a duet of rapturous groans and sobs of euphoria.

Still holding him inside you, you graciously removed the bindings from his wrist. With urgency, he circled his hands around your waist until they gave your ass one more squeeze. The warmth of his hands traveled up your back and worked through more of your waves before they pulled you in for a kiss. Simultaneously hot and chilly aftershocks of your orgasm trembled through your body before you lifted yourself off him.

“Goddamn,” he sighed, his voice cracking as you collapsed on top of him.

Minutes passed like hours as you breathed in time with one another. In the silence, you listened closely to each other's sounds. The unexpected feeling of his hand beginning to your hair startled you. He stopped for a moment surprised by your reaction, slowing the movement of his hand, wrapping his arm around you to caress your shoulder with an embrace. He slowed the racing of your heart with more slow breaths and a barely audible hush from his lips. You could feel the intentional slow rise and fall of his chest against your back, your eyes growing heavy until both of you fell into the arms of a deep sleep.

Late into the night, you stirred with one arm tucked close to you and the other draped lightly over Dave’s. The hum of your ceiling fan drummed peacefully in your ears as your eyes fluttered lightly looking at his form lying next to you. You almost surrendered yourself back to sleep when a sudden thrashing motion shook you awake.

You propped yourself up and saw Dave tossing next to you, sweat beading at his forehead. His voice started with quiet mumbles, groans, and bellows that shook with anger and fear. You reached over to him, gently caressing his forehead.

“Dave…Dave?” You started gently.

He continued to writhe as his brow furrowed and wrinkled his forehead.

“S--, no, S-- Sa---,” he called out, still trapped in his nightmare.

“Dave, it’s me!” You said more firmly wrapping his face with your hands. “I’m here. I’m here.”

He awoke, startled as he looked at you with wild eyes. He pressed his lips to yours, wetting your mouth with a soft warm touch of his tongue, before turning your back to his chest and wrapping you in his arms. He thread his fingers between yours, kissing your shoulders. He murmured words you were almost certain he was unaware of before drifting back to sleep. A demand? A request? A plea?

“Stay,” his voice breathed through the silence as he gripped you tighter against his warm body, “just stay.”

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