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therealhousewifeofharrystyles · 18 days

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Harry's Home

Part IV.

Part I. Part II. Part III.

Pairing: Roommate!Harry/Roommate!Reader; Harry Styles/Curvy Reader

Word Count: ~13k words 😅 it’s been a long time comin’, babes!

🔞TW🔞: Adult Language, ‼️Unprotected Sex‼️, ‼️GRAPHIC SMUT‼️, Rough Sex, ‼️CNC‼️, ‼️Dubious Consent‼️, Daddy!Kink, ‼️Choking‼️, ‼️Degradation/Name-Calling‼️, Breeding!Kink, Spitting, ‼️Slapping‼️, Spanking, Cunnilingus, Creampie, Cum-Swapping, Cum-Fetish, 💕Fluff💕

I typically get home from work before Harry does, and so my current state of rest and relaxation—coincidentally adjacent to the book I’m holding: My Year of Rest and Relaxation—is an occurrence Harry’s used to coming home to by now. I mean, not that he’s coming home to me. He’s just…coming home, and I also happen to be living here. Speaking of which, I’m situated in my bedroom. I've already slipped into my night clothes—thin, loose pajama pants and an oversized crop tee—laying my back against the cushioned headboard of my bed.

Suddenly, my ears perk up. The hum and vibration of the garage door opening and closing pulls my attention away from the novel I’d been engrossed in for the past hour towards my empty door frame. Less than a minute later, a door slams, physically startling me, and my posture straightens as if I’m expecting a scolding. I have no reason to react this way, really. It’s not like I have Daddy Issues or anything…or even like this is something out of the ordinary…

Harry’s home…

That’s all.

But judging by the door slams, Harry’s not all sunshine and rainbows this evening. And that, as well, is not something out of the ordinary. Today is just like any other day. Nothing special. Nothing different. But for some reason, it’s as if I can feel the force of his brooding presence weighing heavily atop my chest from an entire floor away.

I’m staring dumbly at my room’s entrance. Harsh, stomping footsteps alert me of Harry’s wandering after-work routine. Even with my ears plugged, I’d still sense the undying tension between us growing as our distance lessened. My heart is pounding violently in my chest. I make the conscious decision to set my book aside on my nightstand once I realize I’ve read the same sentence 20 times.

“Hey, Bunny?! You upstairs, love?” his voice booms, and my thighs immediately squeeze together at the velvety baritone calling out for me. I’m stuck in place and now a competitive mouth-breather—I could be the final girl in a horror film. Geez, chill out, Y/N. I’ve welcomed him home a million times before, and I’ve never felt this…needy—nay—desperate. My body feels so starved. His footsteps are ascending up the stairs now.

Harry reaches our second floor and releases a deep sigh. “Mmhm?” My reply starts to flow out of me like a moan and I swallow the second half of it down in an attempt to cut it short. It’s for naught as I suck in a harsh breath immediately afterwards, sounding like I’m drowning on land. Oh, God…and I can feel a wet patch soaking through the crotch-seam of my pajamas. My nipples are poking out beyond my thin, lacy, unpadded bra, shamelessly creating peaks through my loose t-shirt. Harry suddenly appears from the depths of the hallway and stands tall at my open door. I’m maneuvering myself so that I’m sitting upright, but then the fabric slowly tugs taut over my chest, clinging to my sensitive nipples and stimulating them even more. My lips part and I can’t help the whimper that comes out of me. It’s audible enough that the man scrunches his forehead and questions my well-being once he hears it. “You alright, Bun’?” he asks, his brow arched with mild concern. I gasp, startled by his abrupt entrance, and my body instinctively recoils. My buxom breasts bounce from the action. The movement is subtle—well, as subtle as a large pair of jiggling tits can be when they’re knocked around by walls of inertia and the force of gravity—and Harry doesn’t miss any of it. His eyes blink down to watch the magic of physics for a moment, and all I can think about is how I hope he can’t see how hard my nipples are through my thin bra and top…

What am I even saying?! Who am I trying to convince? We all know I’d flash him Girls-Gone-Wild-style right now if I had the guts.

He furrows his eyebrows at me from across the dimly-lit room and leans his hip against the door frame, crossing his arms over his front. I’m trying not to become distracted by how well his biceps fill out his dress shirt, or by the way the muscles in his chest dance a little bit every time he folds his arms like that. “Uh-huh.” I moan(again), unable to form a coherent sentence. I’m still on my merry way to the mouth-breather national championships, but at least I’m not wheezing…yet. Am I on the verge of hyperventilation? Who knows. My body only seems to betray me…so stay tuned. Harry’s tongue pokes out of his mouth and he slicks it from side to side to dampen his bottom lip.

“Why ya so jumpy..? Wha’s wrong?” He inquires, his eyes drifting down to my heaving chest again. His eyes flick back up to mine seemingly as soon as he clocks the two little bullets aimed in his direction. His complexion warms, but I’m certain his blush is nothing compared to mine. I swear, if he keeps looking at my tits like that…Gah…Is it getting hotter in here? Shit, didn’t he ask me something? Eh, whatever. Words aren’t even exiting my mouth anymore. Harry’s just standing there, keeping his distance and watching me pant like I’ve just finished the mile-run in gym class (what a nightmare). Judging by the worry in his brow and genuine concern in his voice, I must have given him the impression that I’d just seen a goddamned ghost walk through the wall or something. I almost wish I had that excuse to fall back on right now…But the room falls silent. Each puff of carbon dioxide is released from my mouth like a silent cry for help. So now I’m really playing the part of the out-of-breath chubby girl in gym class. Not exactly the vibe I’m going for right now. Or ever. Never again—AH! I need to say something—anything! I can hear the swoosh of my eyelashes as they cut through the air every time I blink. I’m significantly hyper-aware of my body. What if I swallow the excess spit in my mouth and I start choking?! Oh, God…now I’m worried about that?!

Any explanation or reassurance Harry assumes to receive for my strange behavior is withheld. It’s gotten to the point where I don’t even know how to explain myself to him because I’ve let this go on for too long. Seconds pass by in a torturous silence, but the seconds feel like minutes, and one minute feels like an eternity when I’m in the same room as a 6-foot ticking time-bomb who’s one nudge away from exploding into a holy-shit-fit. Crabby Harry doesn’t like to feel ignored. He doesn’t like to repeat himself. And he doesn’t like it when his pretty little roommate is disobedient.

Abandoning his usual, gentle inflection, he amplifies his voice and waves his hands back and forth, seemingly annoyed and now crossing the line over to belligerence. “Hellooo?!” Harry calls out to me. My ears ring at the aggressive tone and I flinch. “What's the matter with you, huh?” Still nothing. Well, I’m saying nothing. Everything is the matter with me. There’s so much wrong. Please help me. Get me out of this fucking room or I’ll scream.

Another empty beat goes by. This is so embarrassing.

Being the ill-tempered and impatient man he is, Harry’s reprimanding escalates, now practically yelling at me like I’ve been a bad girl, “Oi! What kind of bloody game are y’playin’ here?! ‘S not funny, Y/N. I’m over it.” He grits and steps completely into my room now. My personal space has officially been breached. I hold no more power in my safe little bubble anymore. He nods his head once whilst making a lifting gesture with his hand. “C’mon…Sit up and look at me when I’m speaking to you,” he bites out, his voice snappy and demanding.

Hm. Ok, so, it’s safe to say that he is, indeed, not in a good mood—not in the mood to try and be patient while his horny and dumb roommate is devouring him with her eyes and forgetting how to breathe properly, that’s for sure.

His heightened volume and combative language pulls me back to reality. I clear my throat and sit with my legs criss-crossed under me. My shaky hands find solace deep inside my lap, squeezing between the warm thickness of my thighs. The hasty new sitting position causes the crotch seam of my pajama pants to rest tightly against the slit of my pussy. Every time I move my hips or straighten my back, it tugs the thick seam forwards/backwards against my clit, sending waves of teasing pleasure through my lower tummy. But I try to be oblivious to this right now because I really don't need the extra stimulation. I’m already drenched and dying for Harry to pump load after load of cum inside of me—you know, just my typical Friday.

“I’m sorry…I-I’m…just really…super tired…” I fake a yawn. “…Just woke up from a nap.” I croak, lazily rubbing my eye to play it up. What a bold-faced lie—I’m wide fucking awake. My corneas may be stinging, and my thoughts are completely clouded with lust, but I couldn’t fall asleep right now even if I tried. He’d have to choke me out…Ooh…

God…

I tilt my head down, feeling utterly flustered and ashamed of my naughty internal voice. But I’m finally able to direct my rogue train of thought away from the tracks to fucktown, returning my sights to the real-life Harry who’s currently glaring at me. Yeesh…He’s pissed. “So, um…long day?” My voice cracks pathetically. Those are gonna be my famous last words, aren’t they? Harry clenches his jaw before answering me. “Long day—?” He stops himself, scoffs, and runs a hand through his hair. “Oh, Y/N, now that you’ve mentioned it, yes. My day was absolute shit!” His skin is heating up. He aggressively unbuttons his sleeve cuffs and roughly pushes them up to his elbows. Ugh, I love it when he does that.

The cranky version of Harry has been coming out more and more lately, and honestly, seeing him like this makes me melt. He’s so hot when he’s mad…is it wrong to think that? I can’t help it anyway. His pheromones constantly call out for me, relentless to allow me a break from wanting him. From needing him. I should be careful and let him be, but I’m dying to know how much aggression he could take out on me. What would he resort to? Would he bend me over his lap for a controlled punishment? Or would he hold me down while he savagely fucked his rage out? Oh, god, please…please. Harry pops open a few of his shirt buttons, working to cool himself off. I can see more of his skin now—a light dusting of hair, the swallow feathers, the antennas of his butterfly.

“Ran into construction on my way in, had to work through lunch, and I didn’t even get to see you before I left this morning…” He frowns, “...Probably why I’ve been a grump all day…” I chew on my lower lip anxiously and watch as his somber expression slowly lightens a smidge as he stares off into space. “Honestly, I was hoping my Bunny’s gorgeous face would welcome me home tonight…with those darling doe eyes and that smile…I thought she’d make me feel better…” I inhale in preparation to console him, or maybe to defend myself. I don’t even know what I want to say. It doesn’t matter, though, because he cuts me off before I can even think up a sentence. “But I guess y’just wanna be a right-fuckin’-pain’n my ass instead, don’t you, Y/N?” His accent thickens as his temper worsens. Pouting, I flick my eyes down to the stitching on my duvet of which my fingers seem to have been subconsciously fidgeting with since I’d first sat up. My teeth nervously nibble on my lip before whispering one of his words to myself. “Gorgeous…” My voice sounds so soft and meek, and I’m blushing like crazy. The atmosphere feels hot and humid, although it’s a crisp, Oregon October. “Wha—?” Harry takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment as if to collect his thoughts. “—Yes. I think you’re…quite lovely, actually. ‘Always thought that, Bunny.” His rough speech makes him sound so tired. So worn out. I want to make him feel better. There’s still time to do that, isn’t there?

He lifts his head and looks at me, and my breath hitches at the sharp eye contact. Unexpectedly, Harry grunts and kicks my door closed behind him with a splintering slam. My body jolts. “Harry…” I breathe out. If I wasn’t already feeling subby, I surely am now. It’s one thing for him to raise his voice, but he’s never gotten physical before. I’ve never seen this side of Harry...I’m…scared. But I want more... Jesus, I’m tumbling down into a bottomless pit of subspace, aren’t I…?

“You wanna know a secret, Bunny?” He scoffs, squeezing and releasing his hands at his sides. I see his knuckles turn from golden tan to white from the pressure, over and over again, until he looks down at his socked feet and shakes his head with the ghost of a smile on his flushed face. “God, I jus’…I jus’ wanna…” He clenches and unclenches his jaw several times during his pause of silence. His mouth is closed, but I know his teeth are gritted together. His next words are growled at me, and I can just barely process them. “...You’ve had no bloody clue, have you…?” He raises his head to shoot daggers at me and continues, “…No clue how bad I’ve needed…Christ, Y/N…” He’s pacing the floor. “…Fuck, from the moment you walked into that bar, I wanted to claim you. Did you know that?” He stops pacing, squints, and cocks his head at me, his inked arms crossed over his chest again.

Rhetorical questions are confusing(fucking annoying) when the person asking them looks at you like they’re expecting an answer. (like this: 👁️_👁️)

I instinctively avoid eye contact and drop my head down, my shoulders rotating forward defensively. “All this fucking time, Y/N…And now every goddamn second of every day, you taunt me. You hop around like the little fuck-bunny you are, your huge tits practically bouncing out of your bra—” He bites the inside of his cheek and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before clearing his throat and beginning again. “—wearing those tiny little shorts that barely cover that fat, juicy ass…Jesus Christ…all the fucking time, Y/N...” He groans. As he’s describing me, he becomes so infuriated that he needs to stop speaking just to let out an exasperated breath filled with rage and arousal. “...All the fucking time, I’m having to force myself to be good. I have to remind myself that you’re too sensitive…that I can’t…I…” He sighs and combs his fingers through his mane of soft curls. “...I have to be careful around you, y’know? Your existence…just you merely existing ‘round me…you drive me fucking mad…” I gulp and raise my head back up to see he has his back turned to me. His shoulders are heaving as he breathes heavily, and his muscles are clearly tensed beneath his slightly wrinkled button-down. He circles the room slowly, eventually standing before me once again. “You don’t know half the things I’ve wanted to do to you…” His dilated eyes twitch, and he gives me a lopsided grin. “...Except, you do, don’t you, sweetheart?” My mouth dries up like someone’s just pulled the spit drain. “Huh? W-what are you t-talking about?!” I nearly choke on my sorry excuse for denial. I stare at him in disbelief, wishing to God that I had the courage to sass him back. But all of that assertion seems to have gone on vacation.

Harry just shakes his head and grins devilishly. “Don’t be like that…” Bending forward, he huskily goads on, “…I know you want to suck my cock, Y/N.”

My eyes widen and my heart pumps harder in my chest as Harry nears closer to the bed. He’s burning holes into me and I can feel my skin heat up wherever his eyes roam. I’m beginning to scoot up farther toward the headboard in subconscious defense. “Hmm? What's that silly lil’ head of yours thinkin’ bout? Gagging on my dick? Bet that’s it. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Bunny?” Though it’s clear in his inflection that his intentions are to get a rise out of me, his predatory stare and steady prowl he leads in my direction tell me otherwise. I’m being hunted. His knees hit the edge of my raised bed with a soft bump. Both of his hands slide down his torso and he rests one on his thigh whilst the other rubs up and down his straining erection. He lifts one knee up onto the bed, gaining in on me. I automatically draw my attention downwards, but regret it instantly because seeing the outline of his thickness makes me moan. The desert that once took over the cavern of my mouth has now been blessed with a river of needy saliva. When I switch back to Harry’s face, I’ve already been caught ogling. So much for denial, Y/N.

Harry chuckles boyishly—the same playful chuckle I’ll hear when I send him a meme or a TikTok from across the room or down the hall. It’s much more menacing hearing it now within this context. “D’you want Daddy to fuck your mouth, Princess?” He jeers, tilting his head. Scoffing, I stare up at him wide-eyed. In the low corners of my vision, my breasts rise and fall with every labored breath. I can hear myself almost gasping for air. I swallow the rest of my shock down and shake my head gently—I refuse to answer his filthy question aloud. He exhales bitterly, visibly irritated. “Hm. I knew you were just a fucking tease.” He says gruffly before giving his hard-on one more squeeze over his slacks. He shakes his head at me in what I perceive as disappointment, then leans forward on the bed, holding himself up by his palms. The ever-increasing closeness to this man intoxicates me. His aggression is further spiraling me into the permanence of that special space of mine. I can feel myself pouting my lips with my head bowed as if I’m being disciplined by, well…you know who.

(And, no. Not Voldemort.)

I don’t wanna say the D-word. Harry just used the term to try and embarrass me. To shame me. Fuck you, Harry. As I’ve confessed previously—I basically thrive off of his attention—and this right now, of course, is still fueling me deliciously. Although, I don’t quite enjoy how he’s accusing me of being a tease. He’s just being an asshole. Hmph…I am not a tease. I’ve got a bite, Styles. Just come a little closer, and I’ll prove it.

I don’t even realize that I’ve begun to glare at him until his voice takes me away from my raging thoughts. He lowers his timbre and slowly shakes his head once more, “Quit givin’ me that look, Bunny…Y’bout to start somethin’, aren’t ya?” He nods his chin at me. I nervously shrink into my bed, absent-mindedly squishing my tits together with my arms and furrowing my eyebrows like I’m about to reluctantly agree. But before I totally fold into the compliant little toy he wants me to be, I decide to change gears at the last second. Straightening up onto my knees and crawling towards him, I close in on him near the edge of the mattress, backing him up, my eyes narrowed and defiant as they meet with those of the audacious man leaning onto my bed. “So what if I do, Harry?” I surprise myself with how tough and bratty I sound. Harry only ‘tsk’s at my attempt at defending myself. Narrowing his eyes, he leans farther over the bed so that he’s almost touching my nose with his. He’s so close to me now, and I'm worried the pounding drumbeat of my heart is blowing my cover. But I refuse to surrender to his piercing gaze or cower away from him in fear. That’s what he wants me to do. He wants me to give him that power. But I won’t—not without a fight. Not without a struggle…Just a little bit…

I close my eyes for a moment and breathe deeply through my nose. The spicy notes of his signature cologne are making me salivate. Sure, I’ve caught whiffs of it once in a while during our hugs or in passing, but the scent communicates with me differently at this moment. Masculine. Woodsy. Clean. Like taking a gulp of spiked apple cider next to a bonfire on a cool fall evening, surrounded by giant pine trees. I’m addicted to the inhale. An intense desperation for more grows in the pit of my stomach as I continue to suck in the breaths of Harry. I never want the remnants of him to leave my lungs. It’s strange how something as simple as a fragrance has given me such primal desires. When I open my eyes again, I’m immediately drawn down to his lips. God…have they always been this pink and smooth? Harry must know I’m staring because he wets his mouth with his tongue before a clever smirk stretches across it. I bet he thinks I’m going to surrender. But I coax my attention away from his distracting features before I lose any more of my self-control. I can pull myself out of this, I know I can. I just need to channel my energy into something else other than lust. I focus towards the path of furiousness. The oath of silence I'd previously been taking is no longer an option for me as all I see are flames. Harry makes me so fucking mad. He comes home, slams doors, makes me feel vulnerable even in the safety of my own bedroom…degrades me, slams another fucking door…MY door. Calls me a fucking tease while he grabs his dick right in front of me?!

Alright—That’s it. No more playing nice. Go hard or go home, Y/N.

I straighten my posture, arching my back and subtly pushing my breasts out towards him, then relax, putting on my best poker face. “Go ahead, Harry…” I lure him, my voice all but a breathy coo. “…Take it out on me…” His eyebrow quirks up, but I know from the darkness in his eyes and the slight flare to his nostrils that he’s not amused by my sudden audacity. I continue, purring, “…Unless you’re too scared you’ll hurt me—” In a split second, his strong hand roughly wraps itself around my neck and I’m shoved backwards onto my duvet. He’s squeezing the sides of my throat and forcing his whole weight on top of me, pinning me down and blocking air. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. Harry inches closer until our lips barely brush together by a hair's width. “Fucking brat,” he practically spits. I struggle to swallow the hard lump in my throat. My body is stuck, painfully held down, yet I’m still desperately squirming to arch myself up against him for even the smallest bit of friction. I’m clenching my inner walls over and over again as if lazy kegels will soothe my itch. I’m essentially drooling out of both ends. I’m now realizing this isn’t a fucked up little game between housemates anymore. The line has finally been crossed.

Harry’s eyes drift down to my rosy lips and back up again. His nose nudges against mine. He knows exactly what I want and he’s taunting me…holding himself right in front of my face as I lay here, my eyesight blurring. “There’s no turning back now.” He seethes. He smiles darkly at my helplessness, then feathers his lips over the flushed skin of my cheek. His soft kisses press along the length of my jaw before he speaks again. “Just like how I can’t take back all those times I’ve wanked off listenin’ to your pretty moans from my room…” His words trail off against my goosebump-ridden neck. “...Inn’ that right, baby?” “Mmmhh.” I whimper in agreement, the noise vibrating from my larynx and into his large palm. Our shared heat is suffocatingly erotic. The air I breathe is damp and thick, but I can only see to basking in this paradise for all of eternity. I’m still panting under him with my arms lying dead at my sides, my fingernails biting into the heels of my hands. I feel like Harry’s peering into my subconscious with how intensely his pitted irises concentrate upon mine. I’m losing it. My sanity is at stake. I think I’m just in shock over the reality of the situation—the fact that this is all real. And if it is real, then Harry needs to get fucking going, otherwise I will scream until my stupid lungs give out. All I want at this moment is to have him on my tongue. To know what Harry tastes like. I can barely hear myself when I say it. I swallow dryly, his fingers pressed tightly against the delicate skin protecting the shift of muscles in my neck. A spark of audacity jolts through my lungs and I serve the ball back into his court.

“Kiss me.” Like a baby’s breath—that’s how gentle it is. My cheeks flush with embarrassment. What a silly thing to ask. He probably didn’t even hear me—

—Never you doubt these ears of mine, either…I can assure you, I hear everything.

The edge of Harry’s mouth quirks up and he presses his cheek against mine, breathing into my ear, “I hope you realize what you’re requesting…” He pauses to nibble my earlobe for a moment. “Because once I get a taste of you, I’ll never stop.” My breath hitches and I can’t help it as my hips jolt up for contact with his. He snickers. “Mmm, such a horny little thing.” Less than a second later, his lips collide with mine and I hum, wrapping my arms around his neck to pull him closer. Our tongues meet briefly before our lips meet again in a desperate, yet rhythmic dance. I could get used to him turning my thoughts off this way.

After locking lips with a few guys, I stopped believing in that ‘spark,’ or the magical leg-pop thing from The Princess Diaries. I came to accept the reality behind kissing as it truly was: lips touching lips…And that was it. But kissing Harry isn’t like that at all. The affection feels genuine—I can feel him lament every sleepless night he’s spent praying that one day I’ll be his as his mouth massages mine. The unfettered desire we swirl against each other’s tongues is an atomic aphrodisiac. Every erogenous zone in my body is pulsating, and I seriously think I might come from this alone. But amidst all the lust, I’m encompassed by love. Each of my favorite cinematic movie kisses flash behind my eyelids as mine and Harry’s lips continue to lap tenderly.

His fingers tighten for just a pulse on my throat as if to remind me that he’s in control. I’m suddenly reminded of how much Harry prefers everything to go his way, and his way only. I know Harry prefers a challenge, so I’ll give it to him. A burst of confidence surges through my veins and I gently latch onto his bottom lip with my teeth. It’s then carefully released with a wet snap. A growl erupts from Harry’s chest, I can feel it just barely thumping against mine. I lift my tits up until I’m flush against his strong torso so our hearts can beat in sync. He drags his lips down my cheek and sucks on the side of my neck whilst the hand not grasping at my throat begins to explore. He starts at my shoulder, sliding down my collarbone, stopping briefly to fondle my breast, then continuing farther until he meets the elastic waistband of my pajama pants, dipping inside and circling behind me to grab my ass over my underwear. He presses our clothed sexes together and grinds into me. Fuck, it’s hot knowing I’m not the only one who’s wet.

I wiggle and squirm beneath him, essentially rubbing myself harder against his solid cock as a result. He groans and pushes his hips, hard, into mine before grinding them in random circular motions. “Ohh, fuck…s-stop it…” I plead, unconvincingly. It feels so fucking good. Why should I make this easy for him? I may have a high sex-drive, but I don’t put-out just for the hell of it. I mean, I guess it’s a little bit different when Harry’s the one trying to get in my pants…I’ve wanted this for so long. “N-no…Harry, stop!” I whine, pretending to protest against his touch. Harry’s face retreats from his attack on my neck to grin at me. “What are you doing?” He chuckles. His hand moves up to my hip, softly squeezing onto my bare, squishy love-handle from under my thin clothing. I shake my head and blink. Ugh, who am I kidding here? I want this. I need this. I’m just holding myself back from the blissful inevitable. I have to let go of my pride…I need to tell Harry that I want him to—“Fuck me.” I blurt out. His eyes widen, and I choose to repeat myself with a little more urging in my voice to emphasize my growing impatience. “Fuck me, Harry.” He lets out a bitter laugh, scoffing at my forwardness and tilts his head slightly. “Yeah? You want me to fuck you?” He asks patronizingly, and I nod. But it seems as though that wasn’t the response he was looking for, as Harry immediately reprimands me for my non-verbal confirmation. He blatantly slaps me across my face. The sharp sting has made me gasp. However, Harry doesn’t seem to be bothered by my anguish in the slightest. He takes pleasure in it. “Try again…What do you say?” A beat passes without a response from me. He slaps me again, “Say it!” I turn my head to face the wall for a moment. Huh? What do I say…? What should I say?! Please…? I don't know! What is he talking about?!

Harry’s now run out of all self-restraint. “You fucking bitch…,” he mumbles, the grip of his fingers sliding up from my throat to my cheeks, squeezing my jaw, then jerking and pointing my face directly to him. “Say it…Tell me who you want to fuck you.” He demands with more assertion. My vision slowly returns to its full clarity. And just as fast as the sharp colors that flood back into the world around me, the narcissistic asshole’s indirect request hits me like a motherfucking double-decker bus. If I wasn’t being watched so closely by Harry at the moment, I’d have the evilest, shit-eating grin on my face. “P-please, Daddy…” I grovel. “Please, fuck me.” Harry instantly smiles at the title I honor him with.

Of course he wants me to call him ‘Daddy’—the exact thing he’d used against me just a few minutes ago to try and make me feel insecure. What a prick. Typically, I’d roll my fucking eyes at his outright arrogance, but I’m far too distracted to care. My current condition holds no room for petty judgment to ruin this moment. I really just want Harry—Daddy—to fuck me.

“Mmm, that’s my girl, Bunny…I love when you’re good f’me, sweetheart.” The soothing hush of his voice combined with the mess of hot kisses he leaves down my face, smearing from my lips to the side of my neck, have released a new wave of liquid heat to pool out into my panties. I return to being choked again, but his affections don’t cease. He’s groaning and panting and lapping mercilessly at my skin—it’s as though he’s indulging in his special treat after a hard day’s work. Harry finds a particularly sensitive spot with the pressure of his lips and tongue, my loud gasp making it obvious. As he sucks a mark onto my skin there, I moan out and grab his chocolate locks to have something to hold onto. My neck is released from his chokehold. A fresh gust of air makes contact with my skin there and it sends a little shiver down my shoulders.

Both of his hands move down to grope at my chest, thumbing at my nipples over my thin shirt and bra. His delicate attention to my sensitive breasts forces me to vocalize my satisfaction. “Ohhhh!” Seeing the way his big hands can’t even encompass them completely is insanely hot for the both of us. “Goddamnit, I’ve wanted to touch these for so fucking long, Y/N.” Once he’s decided he’s teased himself enough, he lifts my shirt, shoving it up past the swells of my tits. My thin, lacy undergarment is practically begging to be discarded, and the stars must be on Harry’s side because the bra clasps together in the front. This revelation absolutely thrills him. He unfastens the center clip, beaming with lust as my tits are set free in a bouncy display before him. “Mmhh, my Godddd…look at you.” His lips and tongue immediately latch onto me—squishing both breasts with his hands and alternating between them with his mouth, licking sloppy wet trails around my areolas, his tongue swirling its way to the center and flicking the nubs until I whine for more. He then resorts to sucking on each of the budded nipples, playing with the opposite one with the damp pad of his thumb in tandem. He then gratefully cups my tits and groans as he buries his face between them. He does it all hungrily, moaning against my skin and relishing in my body’s feel and taste.

His needy technique delights me. It feels as if he’s taking his time to savor and memorize every detail of me with his slick tongue. I lay my head back and allow myself to bask in the pleasure, becoming entranced under Harry’s spell as his famished mouth kisses and sucks on my sensitive nipples. I comb my fingers through his loose curls and caress his stubbly cheeks with my gentle embrace. My clit is throbbing to experience direct stimulation from this man—swollen and jealous of my breasts which have received so much of his eager attention. His hands wander, grasping at the natural dip of my waist and sliding down to the band of my pajama pants at my hips. They linger for a bit, ghosting across the delicate, striped skin there. I twitch. My stomach clenches.

Please don’t…

Harry’s eyes meet mine and I’m biting my lip, fighting back my giggles. He smirks knowingly at me. “No, Harry.” I state with a waveringly warning tone. His fingers move just a hair, and my body tenses again. Without another beat, Harry tickles my sides furiously, making me shriek and laugh uncontrollably as his hands attack my sides. This seems to amuse him greatly as he refuses to pull back for another solid 10 seconds or so. Eventually, his tormenting concludes and I’m left with breathless titters. At this point, he confesses, “Ugh, your laugh makes me hard…feel what you do to me, Bunny.” He gently takes my hand and presses it against the front of his pants. I wrap my hand around him as best as I’m able to and stroke him a few times until he denies me of any more groping. We are both aching for that skin-on-skin contact that dry humping feels painfully futile. Harry resumes undressing me and manages to rid my wiggling legs from their modesty. All that remains to shield my lower half is a dainty pair of pink panties. I reach down and adjust them, smoothing the waistband across my thumbs and letting the elastic snap up high on my hips. Fuck yesss! I internally cheer. Past-Y/N thankfully chose hot-girl underwear this morning instead of granny panties! Harry is too distracted burying himself in my tits to notice, but in due time…soon Daddy will appreciate his Bunny’s adorable lil’ undies.

The dark melody of his voice tugs me back down to Earth—back to the feral man below me who has become addicted to the taste of my flesh. “Tell me…” He breathes out in between licks and bouts of suction. “...Tell me how hard you want Daddy to fuck you, baby.” I let out a whimper, feeling the dripping walls of velvet between my thighs pulse and squeeze around nothing. My response is delayed due to my fucked-out mind shutting out my thoughts. “However you’ll take me, Daddy.” I purr mindlessly. Harry’s hold on my throat returns without warning, and I blink rapidly as my tits jiggle from the abrupt movement. I barely dip back into reality, just enough to notice the way his hard rings are bruising my skin. His other hand travels south. He tickles across the peach fuzz on my tummy and I helplessly giggle out loud at the sensation.

“Yeah? Whatever I want?” He flashes his signature boyish smirk up at me, his eyes providing me with the most familiar yet intimate flash of ethereal green I’ve seen today, before resuming his descent for my sodden center. His fingers finally reach my clenched thighs. And clenched they are. He grunts, growing aggressively impatient once more, as he sponges sloppy kisses along my jawbone. “Open.” The word barely a mumble humming into my skin. “Open up f’me, love.” I whine and rub my thighs together. “Mm-mm…” I’m pathetically desperate for the slightest amount of friction against my clit, so thankful at this time that my thighs are as plush as they are. “Quit y’whinin’.” He mumbles against my cheek. His palm smacks the exposed skin of my outer thigh, and Harry pulls back to watch as my flesh jiggles from the sudden contact. The sight seems to arouse him. “Fuck…” As if out of raw, sexual instinct, he grabs at me there—pulling me and tilting my body so that he can see more of my backside—and then he releases his hand before sending it back down to slap the side of my ass, rubbing and squeezing onto it in admiration afterwards. “…This ass…fuck…fucking perfect, you know tha’...?” He lays me back down and grabs ahold of the front of my pillowy thigh with his hand, trying to gently separate it from its twin. “…Spread your sweet thighs f’me and I’ll make it feel better, baby...” He assures, giving me all the sugar in his voice just before he continues with a darker tone directly into my ear, raking his teeth down my neck. “...I promise I’ll make it all better.”

Our lust-shrouded eyes then lock onto one another. I choose to obey and shakily open myself up to him. He groans at his new view: A scrap of thin, baby pink cotton protecting my most sensitive bits. The pastel is flawless except for one large damp spot near my center. I was right—I’ve soaked right through. If it were any other situation, I’d try my best to retreat and hide myself away in shame. This isn’t one of those situations. Nay. I need Harry to see how miserable I am without his cock inside me. I need him to see the power he has over my pussy. His determined fingertips slide down to the dainty fabric to perform slow, vertical swipes across my entire slit. They press and rub—up and down…up…and down…until he’s got me humming and cooing from his touch, and eventually bucking my hips as well, at which he stills immediately. His calloused fingers rest firmly against the dampest spot on my underwear. I can feel him threatening to push his digits deeper—to disregard the flimsy, cloth barrier altogether and just plunge in. I can’t help but to squirm and mewl beneath him. I want more, more, more, so fucking badly. It all feels torturous now. Every move he makes turns my dial to the direction of mindless submission.

“I…I want you to use me now, Harry...p-please.” I whimper meekly. “Please just—” A hot gust of air quickly exits his flared nostrils. His touch parts away from my center for just

a second in order to deliver a rough spank against the moist cotton. I flinch and squeak at the abrupt punishment, my knees instinctively closing in. Harry puts a stop to them as if he’d been expecting this kind of response and splays me wide open, shoving himself between my thighs to hold me in position. “—What did I just fucking tell you?” “Mnnhh!” I whine, dragging it to emphasize my restlessness and to enunciate my desperate excitement for him. “No, none o’tha’. Be a good girl ‘n use your words.” I huff out in defiance and squirm under him, trying to pull him down to me by clutching his shirt. I can’t help that I’m throbbing and impatient. But he doesn’t find my uncooperation to be very warranted. Harry wants to tame me, not enable me.

Well, boo. 😣

“Fine. Be a brat. But brats get less privileges.” He leans back and unbuckles his belt, yanking it out of his pants and snatching my wrists. The leather tightens around them and my arms are pinned above my head. “Do not touch me unless I tell you to. Understand?” His voice has returned to its demanding inflection once more. I slowly nod. Instantly, he hits my cheek with an open hand, and I gasp at the growing sting. The slap was harder this time. That same hand then caresses my sore skin gently and he hums to try and comfort me. He softly kisses my cheek and speaks against it. “Your pretty face is getting all red, baby. You’ve gotta listen t’me, alright?” I sniffle, trying not to cry, and I bow my head, gathering the strength to apologize right afterwards. “Mm, Daddy…I-I’m sorry.” He smiles down at me once I find the courage to lift my chin and face him again. It’s contagious, and I mirror him without hesitation. “Oh, my sweet girl. You’re so beautiful, y’know tha’? So perfect…Hm, almost…” He sighs, smoothing his hand through my hair. “…All you need is my cock inside you.” I instantly moan, and I nod repeatedly at his last statement. “Mmhh, I want it so bad.” I whisper. He stops and chuckles bitterly. “Oh, I know, Bunny. You’re a needy little slut for me. Trust me. I know. But guess what? I’ll fuck you whenever I want. It’s not up to you.”

Ope…Mean Harry is back.

“Oh, I-I didn’t mean to upset you—” I frown when he laughs and interrupts me. “—That’s a fucking lie.” He punctuates with a rough thrust against my damp panties, staying pressed to me for a few seconds and panting. He pulls back to snarl at me. “You love it when I’m angry. I bet that’s exactly what you think about when you’re in here stuffing your fingers inside your dripping cunt.” He adds effect by giving my sodden pussy another quick spank. I gasp and blink at him, shocked. I mean…he’s not wrong. “I knew it…you want to be thrown around like the whore you are. You like it rough.” I whine, lifting my leg up and trying to hook it around Harry so I can pull him down to me. I need to feel him. But he catches my knee and pushes it up so it’s bent up to my chest, really pinning me down. “Are you truly as brainless as you look?” I shake my head at him as my face turns sullen. “You’re jus’ a stupid lil’ slut, aren’t you, Bunny…” He’s not asking, and I know that. And yet I still shake my head to deny his accusation anyway. My naivety amuses him. He reaches out and pinches my cheek. “You’re so cute and dumb. But I’m sure y’think you’ve got the beauty and the brains, hm?” He laughs and taps his index finger against my temple to illustrate. I bat my wispy lashes and sulk. “But you don't…jus’a stupid, cock-hungry bimbo.” He chuckles. “You do a terrible job at keeping quiet, ‘Bun…S’pitiful, really, how desperate you are to get fucked.” His hands wander down my body again, this time with a harsher touch. I just lay silently and take everything he gives me. “Thought I’d never say a fucking word, didn’t you?” With both hands, he pinches my nipples and pulls until my mouth opens with a gasp. He then lowers his head down and sucks onto my tongue. I moan, pushing myself upwards to try and get more of him. But he shoves me back down by my shoulders and grunts. “Can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t say anything when you go fucking yourself silly with those cute little toys you hide in your drawer…” He sits up on his knees and unbuttons the rest of his shirt, then unzips his pants, pushing them down far enough so that his erection is no longer strained by his tight trousers. The material of his boxer briefs has a wet patch near his tip and my nails dig into the belt wrapped around my wrists. He kicks his pants the rest of the way off and grips his length with one of his aggressive hands. “…While I’m right next door jerking this big, hard cock as you make a goddamn mess of yourself in here…” I moan at the sight of him—his bare abdomen now exposed as his dress shirt hangs on his shoulders, rolled up at the elbows. He traps me in with his hands cradling my head, then pulls down at my chin with his thumbs to signal for me to open my mouth. “…With my name on your tongue…” He spits and lets the saliva drip down into my mouth. Once it lands, he clutches my face with one hand and whispers, “Swallow.” I do as he says. “Mm, good girl.”

“And what’s with you bein’ so quiet today, huh? I’m used to you always runnin’ this mouth. I should start putting it to better use, hm? Shut you up by fucking your throat and jus’ come all over your pathetic face. Would that teach you?” My heart is pounding relentlessly in my ears. My lips separate in an attempt to release some sort of verbal response. It’s no use, though. I’m frozen and speechless. He sees my gaped mouth as an opportunity to shove two of his long fingers inside. I instinctively purr at finally having my oral fixation satiated, closing my lips and suckling. His skin tastes faintly of my own essence, but also of him. He’s literally got me wrapped around his fucking fingers. But I can’t say I’m mad about it. My body is shaking with anticipation. I need him. “Such a spoiled brat, y’know tha’? I’m bein’ much too nice to you…” He slaps my cheek with his other hand. “…I don’t think you even deserve my cum. But you’re just a pretentious little princess who's got empty holes needing to be filled.” My sight has gotten all watery and blurry. I’ve never been spoken to like this before. He pouts mockingly. “You poor baby…You’ve never been properly fucked, have you? Basically a virgin.” He groans out at his own revelation. “God…probably so tight…I’m gonna fucking ruin this cunt, baby.” I suck his fingers deeper, slurping on them while drool leaks out and I gaze wantonly at Harry. “Aw, look at you…sucking on me for dear life…I love seeing how badly you need it…” My eyes roll back at his insults. “What would our friends say if they saw you like this, hm? I wonder if they know how much of a filthy whore you are…how much you’ve begged for my cock to fill you…‘Should be ashamed of yourself, Bunny.”

“Mmhh…” I wordlessly hum against his hand.

He pulls his wet digits down—smearing my lower lip and chin with my spit.

Harry smirks at my glassy-eyed stare. “…Mm, you love this, don’t you? You love it when I’m mean.” I swallow some of the excess saliva on my tongue and lay my head back, closing my eyes. And he says I’m the tease…Fuck, I wanna see that cock already. I wanna FEEL it, goddamnit!

“Please, Daddy…I want you.” I whimper, feeling my throat ache as if I’m close to starting the waterworks just to get some dick around here. “Oh, I know, sweetheart. I know.” He stamps light kisses down my neck. The lips that graze across my hypersensitive skin linger. Harry inhales deeply through his nose, nuzzling his face into a pile of my long ringlets. Lowering his pitch to a soft whisper, he professes, “You’ve always had me, Bunny. And you’ll always be mine.” My lashes flutter as a wave of goosebumps trickles down my back and I struggle holding in a sob at his confession. I hum, nudging my face against his for his attention. He peers up at me with those lively green eyes now, as just Harry, and I tentatively lower my arms—still bound by his belt—downwards until my wrists are behind his neck. Before I even have the forethought of taking the lead, his lips are covering mine. The warmth this kiss exudes isn’t just physical. It’s a kiss that serenades three words into my heart without making a single sound. We’ve made a silent understanding of who we are—who we will be—he and I.

Because this is mine and Harry’s house…and Harry’s finally home.

Our lips release slowly, our shallow breaths mixing together as we stare at one another in silent adoration. Harry nuzzles my nose with his and mumbles for me, “Y/N?” Don’t get me wrong, I love his little nicknames for me. But hearing the drawl of his voice as he says my name…it hits different, y’know? “Yeah?” I rasp, swallowing the croakiness in my throat. He removes my arms from around his neck and begins unbuckling the belt. My brows pull together as I’m watching my wrists find freedom. “W-why—?” Harry interrupts me before I finish my question. “—I want you to be able to touch me, sweetheart.” The affirmation comes out whilst he kisses the faint marks where the belt bit into my delicate skin. I breathe a sigh of relief. “Oh…” Then Harry finishes his statement that I didn’t realize needed to be finished. “Because… unless you push me off right now, I won’t stop fucking you until you make me a real daddy.” I lay beneath him with my mouth agape, eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed…and there go the lazy kegels again. He wants to breed me.

Both of our mothers are gonna be pissed if he doesn’t put a ring on my finger first…but there’s no way in hell I’m pushing him off of me. I’d never push him off. Of course I want this. Does he want this?

“A-are you s—” “—I’ve never been more serious about anything in my entire life, Y/N.”

Either I’m an impossibly slow talker, or he’s incredibly impatient. Stop fucking interrupting me…also, why are we still tALKING?!

I blink at him and try to suppress my smile. My hands slip their way up his smooth chest and brush up through his perfectly disheveled hair. I’m marveling at how my gentle fingers cause his body to shudder and arch into me. I watch him as he’s breathing heavily above me, eyes hooded, mouth parted, and I glance down at his underwear and see that the wet spot is twice its previous size. Not to mention, the throbbing appendage kept inside is visibly twitching and jerking in its confines. I know I shouldn’t taunt the man, but my hands are busy…

“Awe, Daddy, you’re so hard for me, you’re almost as wet as I am.” I giggle. Harry’s eyes snap open and his brows ruffle with a furocity I suddenly recognize as dangerous territory. It seems I haven’t learned my lesson after the first time I poked the bear. My fingers halt their massaging. “Uh-oh.” I gulp. Sliding my hands down his neck and resting them on his shoulders, I await my scolding. With visible agitation, Harry grits, “Uh-oh is right, Bunny…Now flip over.” I hesitate, giving him a pleading look.

Was he serious about that being my last opportunity to tap out of this?

“Now!” I gasp and struggle to turn onto my stomach as he looms over me, caging me in with his arms. But I manage to wiggle around and awkwardly fall onto my front. My hair tickles my face. What now? Ouch, my boobs…ugh…my shirt is all twisted around my arms and back. Goddamnit. Harry laughs at me and my obvious discomfort, then carefully sweeps all my hair away from my face and neck. I sigh, turning my head to peek up at him expectantly. Holding my hair in his fist, he leans down—pressing his clothed erection into my ass. “Lemme ask you something, did you honestly think you were gonna slow me down with that silly resisting act earlier, hm? Sayin’ ‘No, please, stop, Harry,’ ” he mocks, using an exaggerated high-pitched voice to rudely impersonate me. “As if you’re not frothing at the mouth for my cock…” Laughing cruelly, he roughly yanks me up onto my hands and knees and forces my back to arch by pulling my head back by my hair. With his free hand, he grabs and gropes at my panty-clad ass. I can feel it jiggle as he plays around with it. “...My God, you’re a terrible liar. You only made me want you more.” I clench my inner walls, fighting against the wave of hot arousal drizzling out from my pussy lips, further drenching the crotch of my panties.

As I squeeze the plush of my thighs closed to remedy my achy clit, I’m hit with a sharp pain on my right buttcheek. I wail out in shock as another slap comes down hard onto the left shortly afterwards, the cool air of the room stinging my burning skin. “Such a bad bunny…pretending to deny me what’s rightfully mine…” Another lash, this time on my outer thigh. He wraps the length of my hair around his fist and pulls until my back touches his chest. The bottom hem of my baggy t-shirt slowly slips down and falls to cover my naked breasts, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry. He bites my ear and gropes me harshly over the fabric. His fingers pinch and rub one of my nipples through the rough cotton, coaxing a loud mewl out of me. “Mmmmmhhheeeee!” I squirm and writhe, but that just angers the man. “…Let me get this through your silly little-girl brain, all right?” I nod my head. “Please, tell me, Daddy.”

He’s silent for a beat.

I think consistently obeying him caught him off-guard this time. My mouth twitches and I force my smirk down with a bite to my lower lip. Sensing him expecting it, I carefully begin rotating my head to steal a glance at Harry. His tight grasp on my hair allows for me to do so, of which when I finally do make eye-contact, he closes in from the side and gives me a heated kiss, holding my face between his thumb and forefinger. When he releases my lips, he still keeps me in place with that hand and stares closely into my eyes whilst declaring, “I own you.” I gaze back unblinkingly, losing my ability to function the more I allow his engorged pupils to dilate. Just as my corneas burn and I tear up, he kisses me again and drops me back onto my hands and knees. Blinking my dazed eyes brings me back to reality—reminds me that I need to arch my back and present my ass for Harry.

Both hands grasp at my ass now. And both seem to have a plan as they slowly slide up and down my curves, shoving my t-shirt up my back and gently squeezing every part of me that’s squishable. “How dare you attempt to refuse me—to not consent to me—as if you have a bloody fucking choice…?!” His voice booms throughout the room and he snatches my hair once again. “...How…” *Slap!* *Yelp!* “...Fucking…” *Slap!* *Squeal!* “...Dare you…” *Slap, slap, slap, slap!* A gasp escapes my throat and I squeak at the man. “I-I’m sorry, Daddy! I’m sorry!” My bottom lip quivers and my image blurs with hot tears. Fuck. The reddening flesh of my ass and thighs is then unexpectedly met with gentle caresses and the slippery, wet mouth of my disciplinarian. He lets my hair fall down my back in loose curls and I shakily lift my upper half up by my weak arms to see what Harry’s up to. He’s covering my inflamed backside with healing licks and kisses. If the air didn’t sting so badly when his cooling spit was exposed to it, I’d find this to be comforting. However, I’m still very much feeling my punishment.

That’s not to say I didn’t like it…

His nimble fingers slip under the waistband of my pink panties, pulling them down whilst kissing down my raw skin and cooing. I suck in a breath as the fabric is finally removed from my slit. I don’t even care at this point, but I do feel a tad bit prouder knowing that I’d used up a waxing coupon and got the whole shebang just a couple days ago. I’m such a lucky bunny with my timing. My underwear is slowly slid off my feet and onto the floor, and without another beat, I feel a warm tongue flatten over my clit and slick itself all the way up to my ass. A strangled moan escapes my throat and my upper body collapses down onto the bed—leaving my knees bent and spread for Harry to dive head-first. And that, he does. He slurps and sucks on my cunt like he’s drinking the juice of a sacred fruit that he’s never tried before. As if this is his first and only chance to sip the nectar of the rarest bloom in this lifetime. He doesn’t even waste his time fucking me with his fingers, his hands are too preoccupied spreading me open and groping me all over. There’s no room for them anyway when his tongue or his nose is shoved deep inside me as he pushes my body deeper into the mattress. “Oh, God!” I gasp. Harry hums against my clit and sucks on it, making me repeat myself. “Oh, GOD! YES!”

“Mmm, yeah, scream f’me, baby.” He groans between sucks and lappings. I roll my eyes. Bastard. I decide to take the insult back when his ravenous tongue skims up my crack and circles the tight ring there. “Auhhh…fuuuuck...” I moan. That shouldn’t feel as good as it does…I’ve never been into butt stuff before…and yet, here I am—my ass spread wide open by, well, the love of my life who’s eating me like he’s working to find the center of my tootsie pop—almost considering the possibility…

…I hate this man.

He journeys back down to my leaking pussy, flicking my clit with the very tip of his tongue back and forth so effortlessly fast that my whole body quivers. It’s such a light touch, but in an area so stimulating that it’s tightening that coil inside me in record time. My breath is uneven and shaky. My legs wobble and are threatening to squeeze closed around his face. I’m debating whether it’s worth it to reach behind me and just shove his face into my cunt so I can have some relief…but I know better than to make a dumb move like that. Instead, I push back against his tongue and wiggle my hips with a desperate whine. “Mmmmhhh Daddy, pleeeease!”

But to my chagrin, he ignores me entirely. I’m clenching and unclenching my vaginal walls, pathetically pleading for him to give them something to hold onto. Anything. Fuck—even my ass is pulsing for attention now. “Ughhh!” My groan is muffled by the duvet, but I make a point to drag it out. Finally, I receive a reaction from Harry. His tongue takes a hiatus, my clit is relieved from its torture, and I’m roughly tugged around until I’m flat on my back.

“Mmmhh nooo! Wait!” I whimper, pouting whilst I watch him wipe my wetness off his face with the panties he’d tossed aside earlier. They were already soaked through, but now all the material has my musky sweetness covering it. He smirks. “These are mine now.”

I huff and cross my arms over my chest with a scrunched up face. He lets out a guffaw and combs his fingers through his messy, silky hair. “Hm, is my sweet Bunny mad that I didn’t make her come?” He taunts, climbing back onto the bed and atop of me. I stay still and silent. Once a brat, always a brat. I don’t know what to tell ya…

Harry gently wraps his hand around my throat and squeezes. “I know you’re just a brainless bimbo, but do you remember what Daddy said about using your words, baby?” His voice is all low and silky, and it’s not fucking fair because that makes being a stubborn bitch a lot harder. Damnit. And my nipples are hard again. I just want him inside me so fucking badly that I’m close to having a mental breakdown. I’m not even joking anymore. I’m ovulating and I’m hormonal and I’m hornier than any other literal bunny rabbit on this fucking planet. I’m never going to get fucked, am I? It’s all just another silly little dream of mine, isn’t it…and Harry Edward Styles will be the death of me.

I blink back tears. I sniffle and shut my eyes tightly. Harry’s eyes follow the tear’s slippery path down my cheek until it drips onto his hand. He can’t tell if he’s actually hurt my feelings this time. By the looks of me, he thinks he has. My strewn panties beg to differ. He frowns down at me and rubs soft swirls against my clit. “You want me to use this pussy, sweetheart?” The way he proceeds is somewhere between loving and condescending. He leans back, ditching the remnants of his clothing, and finally unleashes the pulsing appendage from the prison that was his boxer briefs. It’s shiny and dark pink. Staring at it and drooling seems to be all I can do at the moment. He returns to me and carefully lifts my t-shirt over my head and removes it altogether. The two of us are completely bare now.

I probably shouldn’t be as into this as I am…I should feel wary of what’s about to happen. I should be looking for a condom. But I can’t. I won’t. I want him to have his way with me, raw. The right way. And I’m gonna give him a baby.

The atmosphere in the room has changed. The natural light that had been peeking through my blinds earlier is no longer present as the sun has now set. My room is only illuminated by faint fairy lights hanging above us, casting a soft glow upon Harry’s skin. They just barely reflect through his eyes as he looks down at me, and I gaze up at him. He takes my thick legs and bends them at my knees, holding them up by the creamy bottoms of my thighs so that my pussy is completely exposed to him. Exposed in all its natural glistening beauty. My hair is splayed out on the bed whilst his curls fall, and others stick with sweat, down his forehead.

All I hear is the sounds of our breathing and my own heartbeat as it echoes in my ears. His hips move forward, the foreskin of his cock already pulled back, and the head taps my clit. Both of us watch as a string of his precum keeps us connected when he bobs his dick up and off my skin. Harry then settles himself at my dripping entrance, teasingly pushing just the tip in and out. This prodding is immediately met with faint, wet, squelching noises. I glance back up to Harry and see that his eyebrows are pinched together with carnal amusement and pleasure. But I can’t take this any longer. Pure sin has consumed every rational thought in my brain. “Make yourself a daddy, Harry.” Whispering those words and fluttering my eyelashes up at him are the only invitation he needs to lunge into pure chaos. And within the next second, he thrusts his hips forwards and effortlessly sheathes his entire length inside of me. I choke on the moan in my throat and my eyes roll back. “Ohhh…so tight, baby. Feel so…fucking good.” I can feel his cock throbbing inside me, like he’s fighting off his orgasm just after the first pump. He pulls out completely and pushes all the way back in, slowly picking up his pace. In a needy frenzy, I’m lifting my hips to meet his—fucking myself on his cock. “Fuck…you’re amazing…I should’ve done this the night I fucking met you, goddamnit,” he grunts. I nod repeatedly, having a difficult time putting words together. “Ugh, yes, you should’ve—fuck—you should’ve…oh, my God!” His eyes darken and I feel his hand collide with my cheek, making me gasp and grind upwards so my clit rubs against his pelvic bone. “Oh my god, yes!” I moan, throwing my head back. “Fuck!” I’ve turned ravenous at this point. His earlier statement describing me as brainless is now strengthening in integrity with every slick push inside me. “How dare you…how fucking dare you hide this body from me? You’re mine…” He’s practically growling in my ear. “…Mine…”

“…All…” *thrust* “…Of this…” *thrust* “...is…” *thrust* “…mine…” *thrust* He articulates between hard bucks of his hips. I whine and pout up at him, my breasts bouncing to and fro with every harsh slap of his skin against mine. “You filthy little bitch…always fucking yourself with your tiny fingers until you’ve bloody passed out…forcing me to come on myself when you’re just a room away…when you’ve been begging f’me through the wall…” He groans and hits my other cheek briskly. “…Sayin’ my name over ‘n over again like I’m not even there…it’s extremely rude of you, innit, Bunny?” I nod my head the best I can and whimper out, “Yes-s. You’re ri-ight. I-I’m sorry, D-Daddy…I’m s-sorry, Harry-y.” Harry scoffs and buries his face down between my jiggling tits, licking and sucking and biting all over them. He then pulls his face away and slaps both of them, back and forth, watching them bounce and redden from the impact. “You’re just a set of holes for me to come into whenever I want, aren’t you? Just a babbling little fucktoy…wanting me to toss ya ‘round and fuck you senseless.”

“Ohhh-my-god-yes!” I’m in absolute, utter bliss right now. Every hit of his palm, every toss of his hips, every time he degrades me—it all makes my lower tummy spark. The state of ecstasy I’m in is so strong that I don’t even have control over my body anymore. I’m pleading and begging and praising, grabbing and pulling and squeezing, all as if my limbs are possessed and the words I speak are merely from the voice of my subconscious. It’s all so chaotic—yet, the intimacy and closeness of our two bodies is so cohesive. It’s real. It’s emotional. It’s us.

This is how I’m meant to be fucked. This is what I’ve always needed. No one has ever exceeded every need the way that Harry is right now. And Harry has never felt so needed…So powerful. He wants to be this close to me for the rest of his existence. The sweet notes of my perfume mixed with the natural aroma of both our sexes are healing emotional wounds better than tea and honey cure a sore throat. I’m his, finally his.

His drenched cock ruthlessly stretches my sloppy-wet hole. Every plunge earns him another gush of hot juice that just seeps out from my lips as if I’m melting an ice cube inside of me. “I’m gonna fucking come…” he moans out, sweat dripping from his hairline. I squeeze around him. I’m close too. “…Fuck, Bun’…gonna pump all my cum inside this pretty cunt. That’s what you’ve always wanted, yeah? Want me to get y’knocked up?” My back arches off the bed. “Please…” He lowers his head down to suck on one of my nipples. “…Yes! Please come in me. Fuck…please! I’ve been so good for you, Daddy…” Harry lets my tit go with a ‘pop’ and grunts animalistically. “Mmm, you think you deserve it? Think you’ve earned my load, huh?” He ends his sentence with a single hard thrust and holds his hips still until we both are panting and dying to keep fucking—thus only lasting a few seconds before he’s rocking his hips furiously once more. I cry out, “Please come inside me. Give me all of it. Please, please, please!” Hot tears are actually streaming down my cheeks, cascading down to my neck, and some even dripping onto my bouncing breasts. Harry doesn’t let them go to waste, diving down to lap up the drops and trace the salty trails up my neck with his tongue. The strong grip of his ringed hand covers my throat. “You’re so pretty when you cry, Y/N.” He sighs and kisses my wet cheeks. “You’re gonna give me a baby.” I’m gonna give him a baby. “Let me give you a baby, Harry.” His hips stutter. “Oh my god, I love you.”

He pounds into me almost at a violent pace. The smacking of my fleshy thighs against his hips sounds so clearly like fucking. So desperate. So hard. Both of us swimming upstream, and gladly drowning in our own oceans of pleasure. I scream out and weakly grasp my dainty fingers around the front of his neck—mirroring his grip on mine–and I pull his face down so I can press my lips to his. The jerking of his hips becomes labored. The rhythm is sloppy. I can feel him twitch and pulse inside of me. “I love you,” I gasp against his lips.

The dam breaks. He curses and moans and juts his hips up into me mercilessly as if his life depends on it. His cum shoots out in long spurts, coating my womb with sticky white seed. I can feel each jet of release as it overflows me and drips down my ass, and a burst of cum hits my most sensitive spot. My own orgasm is triggered abruptly. I don’t even register my fingers reaching down to start rubbing my swollen clit. My pussy tightens around Harry like a vice and milks him for every last drop as he slowly pumps in and out of me, watching his cum-covered dick slide effortlessly while he chuckles and moans—still so turned on even in the aftermath of our debauchery. Within seconds, his entire body falls and his face buries itself in my hair. His cock is still sheathed deep inside me. It’s barely softened, still throbbing and twitching. Both of us are wheezing for breath. Every muscle has exerted its maximum amount of energy. The bed is our last support, holding the two of us in a pretzel of limbs snugly against its sheets. After a few minutes of breath regulation, Harry carefully pulls himself out of me. His cum then slowly flows out and covers my slit all the way down to my bum and onto the bed. Harry watches and smiles for a moment before looking back up to my flushed post-climax face—my eyelids heavy and a stupid grin on my lips that eventually turns into a giggle fit. The laughter is contagious and Harry ends up following suit.

Seemingly remembering the mess between my legs, Harry rakes a hand through his sweaty hair and looks back down to see his delectably messy creampie. “Oh…Shit. ‘M sorry, Bunny. Hold on.” He yanks himself up and off the bed, still stark naked, and makes haste towards the bathroom. But by the time he comes back with wet washcloths and a towel, I’m making a bigger mess. I’ve got both legs bent up to my chest, two of my fingers fucking his cum back into my pussy and curling up against my g-spot. I squeeze and moan as I climax against my hand, and I refuse to stop at just one. On my back with spread legs, I breathlessly ride my cum-covered fingers as Harry watches in awe. His spent cock flexes in approval of the sight before him. “You’re so fucking hot.” He grunts before dropping everything onto the floor and removing my hand, replacing it with himself. He slicks the underside of his cock up and down my drenched, sticky slit a few times, then pushes back home, making me sob as I orgasm around him again. He slowly grinds his pelvis into mine in a circular motion, ensuring he’s at his deepest point. Suddenly, I feel him sucking on my fingers, licking up our combined spend as his pelvic bone rubs my clit in slow strokes. I reach my face up to his for a taste and he grants me full access to his mouth, our tongues swirling together. But I want more. I lick up the last of his cum from my fingers hungrily.

“Ugh. Such a slut…fuck.” He groans, and I feel his cock release a couple more spurts of cum inside me.

A few minutes later, Harry and I are in the shower together. I’m hugging his middle as he slowly massages and rinses the shampoo from my hair with the handheld shower head. “Bunny?” My eyes are closed, enjoying this warm, peaceful wash session. Hearing Harry’s raspy voice makes me instinctually cuddle closer to his chest and smooth my fingertips down his back. “Mmhmm,” I hum against the slippery wing of a swallow. Suddenly, I’m aware of his fast heart rate and I’m no longer at peace. My eyelids pop open. “Harry…?” He releases a heavy sigh and hangs the shower head back up behind me before taking my hair in his hands and gently squeezing the water out. Still not saying a word. Now my heart is pounding. I grab his wrists and look up at him tentatively, but he pulls them down until he can encase my fingers with his. “I…” He hesitates.

Does he regret it now? Is this it? Is this the moment when my heart gets stomped on and shoved down the drain like undesirable mush? I think I’m gonna throw up—“I want you to know that I meant what I said…I love you, Y/N…” His eyes gloss over and he looks up at the ceiling to fight the growing moisture. “…And I know I probably just inseminated you, but—” We both laugh and he blushes. “But, uhm…fuck…I guess it’s a bit awkward to do this in the shower, innit…,” he gives me a lopsided grin, dimples and all. So cute. Whilst I’m distracted by Harry’s beauty, I’m slow to acknowledge how the man is cautiously kneeling down onto the slippery tile. My breath catches. “I, uh…” He clears his throat when his voice cracks. I’m suddenly extremely self-conscious due to the angle change, yet Harry is gazing up at me like I’m some sort of holy angel from the heavens. The foot he’s leaning his weight upon slips a little, and he grabs onto my thigh and I hold his shoulders as he finds his balance. I giggle at the situation—partially because of his clumsiness, and partially because I don’t really know what’s happening. The hot water sprinkles down lightly over the two of us like rain, droplets running down our bodies and the glass walls. Harry slips off his ‘S’ ring and takes a hold of my left hand. “…This is just a placeholder for now…but…Y/N…” He plants a soft kiss on the top of my hand. “…Will you marry me?” Holy fucking shit.

“Oh, so we’re just gonna skip the whole dating thing then?” His face immediately falls. “W-wha—” “—Am I not worth courting, Harry?” I give him my best sulk and he buys it. Ope, I guess I thought he’d call my bluff right away…Gotta shut this down!

I smile brightly and nod. “Fucking-duh, I’ll marry you, silly!” He playfully scoffs at my joke, sliding the too-large-ring on my little ring finger and stands back up to his full height—almost a foot taller than me. I’m then shoved against the back tile wall, one of my legs hiked up and draped over his elbow. I gasp as he enters me without warning. He bucks into me hard, brutal, slow. Each sound that he fucks out of me is louder and higher-pitched than the last. “Yeah, of course you’ll marry me, huh…be a good little housewife f’me…wait ‘til I come home every night so I can fuck another pint of my cum into your tight little twat…would you like that, Bunny? Hm?” I whine and clutch onto his hair with one hand as the other squeezes his strong shoulder. “Yes…it’s already my favorite part of the day…” He chuckles darkly against my lips before biting them. “‘N what’s that, Bun’?”

“Mmmhh…when Harry’s home!” I exclaim weakly, my ass smacking against the wet wall behind me. “Mmm, Harry’s home, baby…Harry’s home.”

______________________________________________________________

Sorry it took forever. I wanted to make it exactly the way I wanted. I hope you liked it.

:) ~ Regan

Taglist:

@daphnesutton

@victoria-styles

@pishhhh20989

@heyyyloverr

@youdontcaredoyou

@jerseygirlinca

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letmehavemyfictionalmen · 11 months

Text

Love, Lunacy, Time: Ch 2

summary: As the front door swings open, you are greeted by faces that stir a sense of recognition deep within you. Yet, something about their demeanor feels off, their behavior slightly peculiar. It's as if they are familiar, but not quite themselves. With each passing interaction, you begin to realize that there's more to Westview than meets the eye. The town holds secrets, and the allure grows stronger, drawing you deeper into its intricate web.

pairing: Moonknight x afab!ScarletWitch!reader

warning: 18+ content, Eventual smut, Unprotected sex, Violence, Blood, Age-Gap, Kidnapping, Domestic Bliss, Fluff, a sprinkle of Angst, Strangers to Married, Flirting, Scarlet Witch!reader, Chaos Magic, Not an accurate representation of D.I.D.

If it were any other situation, you would've gladly admired the beautifully decorated house you find yourself in. It's not every day that one finds themselves waking up within the walls of a meticulously decorated home in 1953.

Marc guides you down the wooden flight of stairs, ensuring that he takes the lead while keeping you safely behind him. You had observed the subtle shift in demeanor and accent as Steven relinquished control to Marc, and now you witness the embodiment of that change as Marc confidently leads the way.

When your eyes come in contact with the living room, you find yourself surrounded by an atmosphere that exudes warmth and comfort. The furniture, tastefully arranged in cozy clusters, invites you to take a seat and unwind. Plush, upholstered sofas and armchairs with floral patterns, beckon you to sink into their embrace.

The coffee table in the center of the room is adorned with a delicate lace doily, and a vase filled with freshly picked flowers sits as its centerpiece. The scent of the blossoms permeates the air, infusing the room with a natural sweetness.

Nearby, a wooden side table holds a stack of magazines, inviting you to peruse their pages and discover the latest trends and stories. You also notice a bookcase against the wall, filled with volumes of classic literature and well-loved novels.

The walls are adorned with framed black and white photographs, capturing cherished moments frozen in time. Pictures of you and your husbands. Smiles and laughter frozen in frames.

A long, white butler door stands on one wall, dividing the space between the living room and what you can assume is the kitchen. Next to the door, there's a three-paneled wood shutter that covers a pass-through window.

The windows, draped with floral patterned curtains, allow soft sunlight to filter into the room, casting a warm glow on the polished hardwood floor.

Nestled at the corner of the fireplace, within view of the sofa, stands a television, similar to the one you saw in the bedroom. Atop it sits a beautiful photograph of you, smiling at the camera.

Every corner of the living room holds a personal touch as if someone took great care in creating a haven of comfort and memories. Despite the unfamiliarity of the surroundings, a feeling of warmth and belonging begins to stir within you.

In the reflective surfaces scattered throughout the living room and the entrance area, you catch glimpses of Steven and Jake's reflections. Their reassuring smiles provide a comforting presence amidst the unknown.

But Marc's firm hand gently guides you toward the front door, diverting your attention from the comforting reflections. With each step, your senses heighten, and a sense of anticipation builds within you Marc reaches for the doorknob, his hand steady and composed. With a gentle turn, the door creaks open, revealing a sight that both shocks and relieves you in equal measure.

In front of you stand Layla and Bucky, their figures silhouetted against the soft glow of the morning sunlight streaming through the open door. They stand closely, their arms intertwined, and a bouquet of vibrant flowers rests gently in Layla's arm.

Marc's eyes fall upon Layla, a bit shocked by the dress she's wearing. The knee-length, short-sleeved dress is made of a soft, pastel blue fabric and the neckline is modest, with a rounded collar. The dress cinches at the waist, before flowing gently outward in a flattering A-line silhouette.

Layla is wearing low-heeled shoes and her curly hair is styled in an updo. Her wild curls still manage to peak out. This is the first time Marc has seen Layla embrace such a feminine look since he met her.

Your gaze lingers on Bucky, unable to tear your eyes away from your best friend. Don't let Loki hear you. That Drama Queen will prank you to the world's end. However, you can't deny the fact that you are caught off guard by Bucky's look.

For the first time since you met him back in 2013 when he was still the Winter Soldier, you have never seen his hair so short. Nor have you seen him in a suit and such a wide grin on his face. Your best friend only smiles like that for Alpine or if there are plums.

"Oh, my stars and garters! Look at you two lovebirds! Ain't you a dashing couple?" Layla greets you and Marc with a cheerful smile, her voice filled with genuine warmth. "We're your neighbours to the right. Our right, not yours."

Bucky steps forward, his grin widening, and extends his hand to Marc. "At your service, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, but you can just call me Bucky," he introduces himself with a hint of old-fashioned charm. "And this lovely dame by my side is my beautiful bride, Layla."

As you steal a glance at the mirror behind you, you catch sight of Steven and Jake's reflections. Their faces bear expressions of utter bewilderment, their gazes fixed upon Layla with a mix of surprise and shock, undoubtedly taken aback by her unexpected behavior. "What in the world?" you hear Steven exclaim from the mirror, his confusion mirroring your own.

Marc's eyes widen in astonishment, his brow furrowing as he struggles to comprehend what is going on. He can't help but echo Steven's sentiment. Why the hell is Layla talking like this? Sure, she had been exploring the dating scene, but married?

Marc hesitates for a moment, his confusion evident on his face, before he extends his hand to shake Bucky's in silence. His eyes dart between Layla's cheerful expression and Bucky's charismatic demeanor, struggling to find the right words in this peculiar situation.

Bucky, still grinning from ear to ear, releases Marc's hand and turns his attention to you. "Well, well, well, if it ain't the blushing bride herself," he says with a playful wink. "Layla here couldn't stop gushing about the two of you. Said you weren't able to keep your hands off each other in the lawn while moving furniture and whatnot."

Layla playfully swats her husband's chest, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, "Oh, darling, would you look at them now? Still in their nightwear and as quiet as church mice! I do declare, they must have had themselves a jolly late night, if you catch my drift!"

Bucky, his eyes widening in mock astonishment, puts a hand to his chest in an exaggerated display of shock. "Well, I'll be! Late nights and quiet mornings, eh? Seems like our new neighbors here know how to keep the fire burning, even in the wee hours!"

hearty laughter

The sudden, uproarious laughter rings throughout the room, catching you completely off guard. It emerges seemingly out of nowhere, startling you with its unexpectedness.

You exchange puzzled glances with Marc, your eyes widening in surprise as the laughter continues, echoing through the living room. Both you and Marc are left bewildered, unable to understand where it's coming from.

Bucky and Layla, however, remain unaffected, their smiles unwavering as they carry on their conversation, oblivious to the inexplicable laughter surrounding them. Marc and Jake both snap into a state of hypervigilance, their body instinctively tensing up. In a moment of instinctive connection, Marc's hand instinctively seeks yours, intertwining your fingers together.

Layla raises an eyebrow and glances at your intertwined hands with a playful smirk. "Well, I do declare, looks like our lovebirds here can't keep their hand off each other!"

Bucky turns to Layla with a wistful smile, his voice filled with fond memories. "It reminds me of us, darling. Do you recall that first week after we tied the knot? I simply couldn't bear to be apart from you, so I took a whole week off work, much to the boss's chagrin!"

"Don't remind me, honey," Layla says, her tone tinged with playful exasperation. Her gaze falls upon the bouquet of vibrant flowers still cradled in her arms, a realization dawning on her. "Oh, look at that, I still haven't given this to our neighbors. And they still haven't introduced themselves to us. You and Marc exchange a quick glance, silently communicating your decision. It's best to maintain the illusion and introduce yourselves as if you are a couple living in this era. You two need to figure out where you are before you go revealing everything.

It's clear that Layla and Bucky are unaware of who you and Marc truly are. They have no knowledge of the fact that Marc is good friends with Layla or that Bucky is your best friend. You give Marc a reassuring nod, a silent message to convey your support, and he takes a step forward, gently squeezing your hand as if to gather strength.

With the warmest smile Marc can muster, ensuring it appears genuine and welcoming, he glances at Bucky and Layla, careful not to appear stiff or forced. "Thank you, Bucky and Layla for the warm welcome and the beautiful flowers," Marc says, graciously accepting the bouquet from Layla, "My name's Marc Spector." He then turns his gaze towards you, gesturing for you to introduce yourself.

You warmly smile at the two, before stating your name and saying, "We really appreciate your warm welcome and the lovely flowers. It's great to meet friendly neighbors like you."

Layla speaks with genuine enthusiasm as she responds, "Oh, you're most welcome, dear! It's our pleasure to make you feel at home. We're so glad to have you as our neighbors."

Bucky gives a firm nod, a determined glint in his eyes, before speaking in a protective tone, "You two just give us a holler if anyone's giving you the slightest trouble, and I'll take care of them.”

You bit back a smile, silently acknowledging Bucky's protective offer. It seems that even in this unfamiliar setting, Bucky's instinct to protect his friends remains unchanged.

"Thank you, Bucky," you reply with a genuine smile, appreciating the sentiment behind his words. "We feel lucky to have such caring neighbors. We'll definitely let you know if we need any help."

Layla claps her hands together. "Oh, I do hope we'll be the best of friends, dearie! Why, we'll have tea parties and garden luncheons, and who knows what other delightful gatherings we can plan together?"

Bucky turns to Layla and gallantly plants a gentle kiss on her cheek, his voice filled with admiration. "Oh, my darling, you've sparked a brilliant idea within me."

Layla gazes at Bucky, her cheeks flushing with a rosy hue from the kiss on her cheek, “Pray, do tell, my love. What idea has taken hold of your imaginative mind?"

Bucky turns to you and Marc, his wide grin showcasing his excitement. "Why don't we continue this warm welcome and celebrate our newfound friendship over a delightful dinner? I must say, my dear, Layla and I would be absolutely honored to dine at your place this evening."

"Absolutely! It would be our honor to share a meal with our charming new neighbors. We'll bring a bottle of our finest wine to toast to our newfound friendship!" Layla adds while nodding her head in agreement.

You and Marc exchange another glance, both surprised by the swift invitation and the seemingly unchangeable plans already set in motion. You had hoped for a moment to gather your thoughts and discuss the situation privately, but it seems that Bucky and Layla have other ideas.

As Layla and Bucky bid you goodbye, their cheerful voices ringing in your ears, you find yourselves momentarily stunned. The rapid pace at which events unfolded has left you little room to process the situation or devise a plan.

Your mind races, trying to find a way to politely decline their invitation without revealing too much. But before you can utter a word, Layla playfully interrupts, "Oh, now don't you worry your pretty little heads, dearies! We've already decided. Tonight, at seven o'clock, we shall grace your doorstep for a delightful dinner together."

Bucky steps forward, extending his arm toward you, inviting you to take it. "Until tonight then, my dear neighbors," he says with a charming smile. "We'll leave you to get settled and prepare for our grand gathering. Farewell for now!"

You and Marc, still slightly stunned, manage to bid them goodbye, your words laced with a mix of confusion and curiosity. "Farewell, Layla and Bucky. We'll see you tonight," you say, trying to maintain composure while secretly wondering how you'll navigate this unexpected dinner party.

Marc's grip on your hand tightens, mirroring the tension in his expression. You can sense the unease and confusion within him, mirroring your own thoughts. As the door closes behind Bucky and Layla, enveloping you in a momentary silence, the weight of the situation begins to settle upon you.

You take a deep breath, attempting to steady your racing thoughts. This unexpected turn of events has left you grappling with a myriad of questions. How did you end up in this meticulously decorated house in 1953? What happened to bring you here? And most importantly, how do you navigate this unfamiliar era without arousing suspicion or revealing your true identities?

The living room, once a haven of warmth and comfort, now feels foreign and daunting. The photographs on the walls that once showcased cherished moments now appear as enigmatic artifacts from a distant past. The scent of the flowers, once pleasant and inviting, now serves as a reminder of the surreal nature of your current reality.

You turn to face Marc, his eyes searching yours for answers that neither of you possesses. In the midst of uncertainty, you find solace in the fact that you have each other. Your connection, forged through shared experiences and the inexplicable journey that led you here, provides a sense of strength and unity.

Silently, you communicate your desire to retreat from the unfamiliarity of the living room, to find a moment of respite and privacy. Without exchanging words, you both make your way back up the wooden flight of stairs, seeking the familiarity of the bedroom you woke up in.

Once inside the room, you close the door behind you, shutting out the outside world for a brief moment. The air feels heavy with anticipation as you turn to face each other, the weight of the situation palpable.

"I can't believe this is happening," Marc finally breaks the silence, his voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and concern. "We need to figure out what's going on and how we ended up in the 50s. But we have to be careful. If Layla and Bucky suspect that something is wrong, it could complicate things.”

You nod in agreement, fully aware of the delicate nature of your predicament. "We need to gather information discreetly, without raising any suspicions," you suggest, your mind racing with possibilities. "Maybe we can explore the house further, look for clues or any hints of how we got here. We should also try to find a way to communicate with Steven and Jake without alerting anyone else."

Marc paces the room, his brow furrowed in deep thought. "Yes, that's a good plan. We need to be careful and gather as much information as we can before taking any action. It might be helpful to see if we can find any documents or personal belongings could tell us how we're connected to them."

You both share a moment of quiet contemplation, aware of the challenges that lie ahead. The thought of venturing into this unknown world, where every action and word must be carefully measured, fills you with a mix of trepidation and determination.

"We'll figure this out, together," you say, your voice filled with conviction.

Marc's eyes meet yours, a spark of resilience and trust igniting between you. "You're right," he replies, a glimmer of determination shining in his gaze. "No matter where or when we are, we'll always find a way. We'll navigate this mystery and return to our own time, I promise."

With a renewed sense of purpose, you and Marc prepare to face the challenges that lie ahead. The search for answers begins, and as you step back into the unknown, you know that your bond and unwavering determination will guide you through whatever obstacles may come your way.

The first obstacle being dinner with the Barnes.

☼ Please note that I do not wish to have my work translated or published on any third-party reading websites. I claim the rights to my work.

☼ Where I don’t have any rights to the characters, many ideas and OC are my own creation. Please respect that.

taglist: @lalalily03, @cicithemess2000, @elliewilliamswhore

#female!reader #marvel #marc spector x you #moonknight x reader #jake lockley x y/n #steven grant x y/n #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x afab!reader #marc spector x afab!reader #steven grant x afab!reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x you #jake lockely x you #marc spector x y/n

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zeenimf · 3 months

Text

The Tale of Rook and the Fox’s Trail

Everyone will walk a trail one day, but only when they are ready for it. But Rook did not expect to find herself walking the trail of the Fox, a creature whose existence itself is questioned. They've spotted a fox in the darkest coldest caves on the island of Rinth, and in the centre of the hot deserts of the east. But nobody has met the fox and come back to tell the tale. Yet Rook wakes up on the sandy beaches of the trail, without a fox to guide her.

This story ties into characters and events from my (currently work-in-progress) novel Phei of the Wind, but it also functions as a self-contained story.

~6500 words, story continues below the cut~

It was the sound of the waves breaking on the cliffs that woke her, the woman lying on the beach. She wore a coat of feathers black as night, covering her from head to toe like a Rook. Speckles of sand covered her cheeks, shining in the sun. Even though the waves continued to howl, the air itself was eerily silent, and she felt not a single gust of wind. It took Rook a moment to get up, thoughts and memories swirling away until only vague images remained. There was no one else on the beach, no birds in the sky, and even the sun seemed more distant than usual. Although she could not remember things clearly, Rook had never felt so lonely before. That much she knew to be true. She noticed something flicker in the sand. She bent down and found a bracelet made of ragged gems in all the colours of the sky. With no one else around, someone must have lost it along the way. She stored it in her pockets, hoping to reunite it with its owner one day.

In front of her laid a path leading up into the cliffs. A staircase was etched out from the stones, the steps eroded. At its base, the statue of a gracious fox stood there to welcome you, their paw placed on the first step, inviting you to travel on. However, as Rook got closer, she noticed that the fox had been ripped in two. The cut must have been a clean one once, but now the edges had eroded, leaving only two halves of a broken animal. On the other side of the staircase stood a brazier, but there was no sign of ash or soot. Perhaps the wind had taken it with it when it had laid down to rest.

Rook looked around once more. The beach seemed nice, she thought, but it also made her feel trapped. On the one side cliffs loomed over her, while on the other waves blocked the horizon. With nowhere else to go, she could only go up.

The steps of the staircase were heavy. She lifted up her leg as far as she could with each step, and even then could she barely reach the next one. But Rook managed to press on. She did not know where she was going, but perhaps she didn’t need to.

Rook’s attention was pulled up when a shadow draped over the next step. A small bird-like figure sat atop it, half bird, half human, their face covered by a wooden mask. They didn’t react when Root reached the same step. In their feathered hand they were clutching a scarlet pinwheel.

“You’ve come from far, haven’t you?” they said.

Rook looked at the bird, but her gaze wasn’t returned. Instead, it was locked on the pinwheel hanging motionlessly in their hand, lonely, without purpose.

“The wind used to help you climb up these stairs. The next ones too. You’d be up in a jiffy without breaking any sweat.”

“We’re already halfway there. It’s just a little more, come,” Rook said, extending her hand to the bird. But her gaze was not returned.

“I will stay here for a little longer,” they said. “Be careful of the nestlings’ their thorns.”

“Thorns?”

“Well, the wind used to help…” they murmured, barely audible.

Rook decided to press on. Everyone should travel at their own pace, should they not? Although she did understand why they did not feel like going forward. With each step she pushed further away from the beach below, and with each step she had to put more and more force onto her muscles. When she finally reached the top she sat down, panting.

Beneath her the cliffs stretched out, a hill with a gradual decline reaching as far as her eyes could see. There were forests and rivers, and near the horizon there appeared to be another sea, calm water glistering in the sun. The path went downwards too, leading into the forest and vanishing from view. Beyond the sea a mountain peak laid hidden behind a curtain of clouds, barely visible.

Along the way Rook noticed more braziers and torches, none of them lit. The grasses had grown uncontested, wrapping their long vines around the stone and wood, covering them almost completely.

But something interrupted the path. She walked forward with hurried steps and found what she could only imagine to be the base of a great staircase reaching into the sky. The fourth step was broken in half, while behind it a hundred stone steps laid broken in an irregular line like the supports of a railway that hadn't been used in years.

Rook wasn't alone here in the night. Next to the staircase a small creature sat nestled on a tree stump. They did not wear a mask, and thorny vines grew around their feathered limbs. It was a sad sight, even though the blue flowers that bloomed on their skin were a shade of blue purer than the sky itself.

With care in her step, Rook approached the figure. From up close she could their eyes, soulless, dim.

Rook remembered the bird on the cliff mentioning a hatchling, and even though this bird looked too old to be called such a thing, she also did not dare touch them. They seemed to be in a sorry condition, and even though Rook wished she could do something to help them, she wasn't sure if such a thing was even possible. And right now, she wasn't in a position to challenge her own fear either.

With great care she passed the hatchling and set her foot down on the staircase. Something tried to lift her, or perhaps not her, but something inside her. But the strength wasn’t enough. It was merely a soft gust; one you could feel but one that would not move you. She took another step, and another, and another, until she reached the end of the broken staircase. Her eyes traced the imaginary line upwards, hoping to find an answer in the sky, a kingdom in the clouds, a home, perhaps, but the sky was empty.

A great sissling noise brought Rook’s gaze back to the ground. It wasn’t the ground that shook, but something else, something that could not be felt with your muscles but only with your heart. In front of her the sky broke apart, golden flames cutting through and opening a hole from which a golden creature appeared, half human, half crane. He was dressed in an emerald garment, tied together by a scarlet band around its waist. His cloak reached up to the creatures head, where his face was hidden behind a rotten wooden mask.

“It is not often we see birds as strange as you here,” he said with a low voice, restrained, holding back. Rook was at a loss of words, silenced by the creature’s grandiose aura. Even though his face laid hidden behind a mask, Rook could feel the creature beaming his might onto her, a flame so hot it was impossible to ignore. Strangely enough, in this foreign land, the creature’s glow felt like coming home.

The bird moved closer, encircling Rook. She wasn’t sure how he could see through his mask, but she was sure that his gaze was inspecting her. He moved backwards again, dancing through the air, needing only a single flap of his feathered arms to move wherever he wanted to go.

“I hope you fare better than the others,” he says. He turned around, looking up to where the staircase must have led in the past.

“You know where to go, where the wind is strong enough to take you home. But that path isn’t as straightforward as it was once before.”

“The staircase,” Rook said.

“Indeed. I would help you, carry you upwards if I could. But I cannot interfere in one’s journey more than this. I am already struggling to appear to you here and now.”

He moved forwards again, stopping inches in front of Rook, the empty eyes of the mask staring into her soul.

“But if someone were to clear the way, others could follow.”

“Clear the way?”

He nodded again. His blazing heat seemed less, its presence faint, only lingering in the distance.

“I am sorry that we had to meet this way. And I am sorry that your journey will not be as easy as it ought to be. Still, I hope we will speak again, my friend,” he said, before vanishing in a flurry of flames. When they subsided, the mountain popped into view once again. It was clear what Rook had to do, and she didn’t think that she could say no.

The path towards the forest was a long one. The woods laid in the distance, always visible, taunting her. But Rook kept walking. She didn’t meet anyone else on the road, no other souls to keep her company. As she got lower down the valley, the mountain vanished again, choosing to hide itself behind its mist.

Before she knew it, the open plain made way for the forest. The path became uneven, roots doing their best to make her trip. In the distance Rook thought she could finally hear the wind, but as she got closer she realised it was music she was listening to, the sound of an instrument, almost completely absorbed by the forest. She followed the path, hoping to find its source.

She stumbled upon a clearing. Three birds sat in the middle of it, huddling around a campfire. When Rook entered the clearing, one of the birds turned around. They waved, calling out, their voice raspy, worn-down. They stood up, needing a cane to remain upright, their feathers old and weathered too.

“Are you lost, darling? You look lost.”

Rook approached; the warmth of the fire appealing.

“I don’t think so,” Rook said. “I’m trying to reach the mountain.”

“The mountain?” one of the other birds said. “You want to go to the mountain? Have you not heard of the beast that lives there? It’s not safe.”

“And even if you still want to go, you won’t be able to pass through the forest,” the third bird said. “Do you hear the music? You won’t be able to get past its source.”

“Why don’t you stay with us for a while,” the older bird said. “You could get a cup of tea, watch the stars at night. It’s really quite peaceful.”

The older bird’s mask was a kind one, a gentle smile carved into the wood. But Rook shook her head.

“I really have to continue,” Rook said. The news of a beast was new to her, doubt creeping in slowly.

The older bird nodded, getting down on the log again that she was sitting on.

“Well, if you ever change your mind, we will be here, as will your cup of tea. It is important to rest, darling.”

Rook thanked them, walking around them towards the music.

This side of the forest seemed darker, faint black mist erupting from the ground. She could now hear that it was a cello being played, the low sweeping tones vibrating through her heart. Even though it was the same four notes being repeated again and again, it was beautiful, the sound strong enough to tear itself through the mist to reach her. Rook coughed, the clouds getting harder and harder to breathe in, limiting not only her breath, but her sight as well.

She found the source of the music in another clearing, this one much darker. Rook approached the figure shrouded in the middle. It was another bird, clutching a dark brown cello between their legs. A mask laid at its feet, where thorns crawled up around their legs and the cello, ensnaring them both in the forest. Behind them the fog was even darker, a foul smell protruding out, red eyes beaming through it.

But the cellist continued to play, their entire body, their entire leaking spirit unified in the motion of their arm. When Rook was close enough they looked up.

“What a beautiful sound,” Rook said.

The cellist shook their head forcefully.

“No, no, it isn’t good enough. If I practise just a little more…”

They lifted their arm, inspecting their grip on the bowstring. Their fingers were thin and bony, and some feathers had fallen away from their arms, leaving them bare.

“No,” Rook said, shaking her head, taking another step towards the cellist. “It really is a beautiful sound.”

“It’s nice of you to say that,” the cellist said, placing their bow on the strings again. “But you don’t have to lie. It’s okay.”

They began playing again, but after only a few notes they stopped, going back to the same section to play it again, and again, and again.

“You see if it were beautiful, people would come listen, would they not? But they never do.”

Rook looked past the cellist, where black mist blocked her path. A tear streamed down from the beady eyes of the cellist, and when it fell onto the soft moss underneath their talons it turned to mist, quickly becoming one with the rest.

The notes stirred Rook’s heart, a beautiful melancholy, where even in the dark forest a hint of hope lingered where the music touched her heart.

“Please go away. You can come back when I have practised enough, okay?”

Rook tried to find words that would make the cellist see how beautiful their music was but could find none. She bid the cellist farewell and turned around, returning to the campfire in the clearing.

“We told you, you can’t go through that way,” one of the birds there said.

“Did you meet them?” the older bird asked.

“They created such a beautiful sound,” Rook said, still in awe.

“It would be, if they ever actually played a piece in its entirety. But no, they only practise and practise, all while saying it’s not good enough. But enough about that.”

They moved to the side, clearing up some space on the log they were sitting on.

“Come, have a cup of tea.”

Together they share in the warmth of the fire and the tea. The fire crackled on, quiet.

“Well,” Rook said. “Could you maybe come with me? To the cellist?”

“Come with you? Like I said, we can’t pass. There’s just no way,” one of the other birds said.

“I know,” Rook replied. “But I think they may like it if we came to listen.”

“To that same melody they have been practising ever since they got here? I can hear it from here just fine.”

The older bird takes another sip, listening for the faint cries of the cello in the distance.

“Do you really think they would like it?” they asked.

Rook nodded.

“I’m sure of it.”

They finished their cup of tea and placed it on the ground near the fire.

“Well, if it makes them happy,” they said, clutching their walking stick as they got up from the log. “And I would love to hear the entire song.”

When the older bird got up, the other two joined her as well. One of them carried a lantern to lead the way, making sure nobody would trip over the forest’s roots.

When they entered the clearing the cellist looked up, their cheeks black from the tears rolling down.

“What are you doing here?” they asked, the question genuine.

Rook had thought about what she wanted to say, but before she could say those words the older bird began to speak.

“We came to listen to you.”

“I’m still practising,” they replied, bringing their bow across the strings again.

“We would like to hear you play the piece this melody is from.”

The cellist shook their head, more mist forming at their talons.

“I can’t play it yet. Not fully.”

“That doesn’t matter,” the older bird said. She stepped forward, taking the lantern and placing it in front of their cello. “Play it for us, please. We would love to hear it.”

The cellist looked at their new audience, their hand shook, the bow and strings meeting haphazardly.

The group sat down, leaving the cellist with only one thing to do. Illuminated by a single light, a light gifted to them by someone else, they began to play. The first notes were familiar ones. They paused, nails scratching the neck of the cello. The older bird nodded to the cellist, encouraging them to go on, to play.

And so came another note, a fifth note, one their audience had never heard before, sound breaking free from the strings. The fifth note led to the sixth, and then seventh, right up until the end. The melody was heart wrenching, created from the deepest part of the soul, sending shivers through the forest. They moved their bow with such ability, such skill, and such heart, that perfection was the only word Rook could find to describe it.

When the cellist looked up after their performance, it took their audience a moment to compose themselves, after which they clapped and cheered. The older bird shot up from her sitting position and walked over to the cellist, putting their arms on their shoulders, black eyes meeting with those of the wooden mask.

Rook couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she didn’t need to. Another tear dripped down the cellist’s cheek, but this one was clear, pure. The older bird leaned in to hug the cellist, who could only look ahead, stunned. Slowly the mist began to subside, revealing the path that continued behind them. Another bird walked up to them, reaching down to the ground, and picking up their weathered mask.

“Come, take it,” they said, offering it up. The cellist held it between their hands, staring at it. But ultimately they took it up and placed it in front of their face. Slowly, thorny vines let go of their legs, leaving them to go where they pleased, albeit scarred.

Rook walked up to them.

“Thank you,” Rook said. “Thank you for playing for us.”

Excuses formed in the cellist’s mind, but they managed to hold them back for now.

“My pleasure,” they said. “Where will you go now?”

Rook glanced across the forest, where the path would lead to the sea.

“I have to climb the mountain.”

“Be careful, there’s a beast that lives on that mountain, one clad in a dark shadow.”

“I will be careful,” Rook said, assuring herself as much as them.

“I will stay here for a little longer,” the cellist said, looking at their new friends. “I will continue to play my music for those passing by. If you ever pass through this forest again, please come listen.”

Rook took the cellist’s hand in the both of hers, pressing gently.

“I will, if I get the chance.”

Rook left the forest in a hurry, a last glance backwards showing her the older bird sitting down next to the cellist, chatting happily.

As she walked, she felt the crystals lying in her pocket. She pulled them out, staring at them. Holding them made her feel good, even though she wasn’t sure why. She forgot the people she’d met to ask if they had dropped it. She turned around for a moment but decided to carry on. She could return after visiting the mountain.

The plains behind the forest were steep, rocks cutting up the fields. She could see everything now, the way the land rolled down towards the ocean where a few cottages had been built. Interested, Rook sped up. Oh, how she wished her coat would let her fly. She would soar right up into sky. She wouldn’t even need to visit the nasty mountain that had crept into view again. She had been warned twice now, of horrors living on the mountain. But Rook did her best to push those thoughts to the back of her mind, where they could bother her.

The first part of the village she found was a big field. The fences were hand-crafted, sticks held together with awkwardly tied ropes. The soil, however, looked much worse. It was dry, with no crops sprouting despite the good weather. Deeper into the field she found another hatchling. They wore overalls, the thorns around their body piercing through their straw hat, forming a twisted crown. Their beady eyes were lifeless, empty. Rook remembered the cellist, how they were just a little lost, and approached the hatchling.

“Are you okay? Can I help you in any way?”

The hatchling moved their head, almost meeting Rook’s gaze, but not quite. They just didn’t have enough strength to fully raise their head, or perhaps they didn’t want to.

Rook wasn’t sure if she could help the farmer if they wouldn’t let her know what was wrong. She decided to continue on.

The village had three houses, each built with uneven planks and large leaves functioning as roofs. She did not find anyone however, as if everyone here had left for the mountain as well.

Near the coast she found an old dock, a pier reaching into the ocean. A bird sat at its end, wearing the same overalls as the farmer, although a thick coat was worn over it, as well as a woollen hat for when it got cold at sea.

Rook approached them, making sure the angler could hear it as her feet made the planks creak, as to not startle them. They turned around, their mask shaped like a fish, the salt encrusted into it making it sparkle.

“A visitor,” they called out. “It’s been a while since I’ve had the opportunity to talk with anyone. Please, please, join me.”

Rook sat down next to the angler, legs bungling out above the calm sea.

“Have you caught anything yet?” Rook asked.

The angler shook their head, reeling in their fishing pole and revealing that it was a bundle of green seaweed tied neatly into a ball.

“I’m not really an angler, you see. I’m a sailor, just one without a boat.”

Rook looked back at the pier, seeing only now the pieces of driftwood that had ended up on shore, a collection of broken beams painted red, all broken.

“What happened to your boat? Was it a storm?”

“No,” the angler said, lumping back, leaning forward and almost forming a ball.

“There’s a great whale who lives in this ocean. A magnificent beast, beautiful even. We were friends, you see. Every day I would go out with my boat, and she would swim next to me. But one day a big wave pushed me aside, and she crashed into my boat, breaking it completely. She brought me safely to shore, but I got so mad at her. I screamed, and cried, even though it wasn’t her fault. She left, crying so much it raised the sea and the salty water flowed over the coast and onto the farmlands. I’ve sat here since, every day, with her favourite treat at my fishing pole, hoping that she somehow comes back to me, so that I can apologise.”

Rook watched as the bird turned into themself, averting their gaze, ashamed. They lowered their fishing pole into the water again, clutching it with both hands.

“Do you know where she is now? Your friend.”

The angler shook their head.

“I always feel like she is close by, just out of reach. Maybe she doesn’t trust me anymore, thinks my treat for her is a trap.”

“I could try and deliver it to her.”

The angler turned around, the fast movement nearly throwing him off the dock.

“Really? You would do that for me? I’ve been thinking about going out there myself, but I can’t leave my sibling behind. They are a farmer, you see, and the salt has ruined their crops. It hasn’t rained since, so it can’t even be washed away. Come, let’s see if we can make something to get you to deeper water.”

The two walked back to shore, where the angler grabbed a toolbox and got to work. Scraps from the wreckage were nailed together, the holes plugged as well as they could.

“I don’t think it will last for very long, I’m afraid. I could keep working on it, but it will take a while.”

“It’s okay, if I just get to deeper water it should be okay.”

They took the raft and carried it onto the pier where they slowly lowered it into the water. The angler handed her a peddle, as well as the big ball of seaweed.

“She will know I made it, I’m sure of it. Please tell her I’m sorry, that’s all. I’ve really been a fool.”

“I will find her,” Rook said, she had to. She got into the boat and peddled with all her might, and soon the angler was just a blip on the horizon. Out here the sea was rowdy, even though there still was no wind. The waves kept growing and growing, until their shadows hid Rook from the sun. She peddled on more quickly, trying to outrun the waves but it was of no use. They slammed against her boat, throwing it up into the air and causing Rook to fall off. She quickly vanished into the sea, unable to reach for the surface of the water.

The sea did not care if she sank or swam. The currents simply pushed her forwards. She was nothing more a black shadow surging through the waves. She closed her eyes, trying to save her breaths, clutching the crystals in her pocket for good luck. She opened her eyes when the currents relaxed, bubbles floating upwards allowing her to breathe. But fear did not leave her long, for underneath her swam a creature so large she could not even see where it ended.

Rook swam to the surface, finding the ball of seaweed floating just ahead of her. She swam towards it, grabbing it tightly. But the waves returned when the whale burst from the waves.

The angler was right, it truly was a magnificent beast. Her skin was rugged and strong, each scratch telling a story, some from ancient times. Her eyes were a dark blue, but something flickered in them, as if two stars had been handpicked from the sky and given to her. The whale approached gently, making sure to cause no waves.

“I’ve brought you something,” Rook said, doing their very best to stay above water. She held the ball of seaweed above their hand, promptly causing her to sink. The whale opened her mouth, crying out seemingly without a sound.

“It is from your friend,” she said, slowly swimming towards the whale. “They’re very sorry for shouting at you. They said they’ve been sitting at the pier every day, hoping to see you again. Could you give them a second chance?”

The whale cried out again in a language Rook couldn’t hear. Then she vanished below the water. Rook was about to dive in too, to go after her, until she felt solid ground underneath her feet. It was the whale’s head, pushing her up, giving her a moment to rest. The whale opened her mouth and extended her tongue, a few metres below to where Rook was now sitting. Rook laughed, realising only now the relief that it brought her, the muscles it helped relax. She held the ball of seaweed out as far as she could, and then dropped it. It rolled over the whale’s forehead and landed on her tongue, where she swallowed it in one go.

She began to jump around in the water, nearly throwing Rook off with the joy the taste brought her.

“They’re at the pier,” Rook said. “I’m sure they would love to see you again.”

Together they swam back to the pier, slowly this time. Rook was content with enjoying the feeling of salt on her cheeks. When the pier came into view, Rook could see the angler jump up. They must not believe what they were seeing, for they kept jumped up and down in pure joy. The whale reached as far as she could, lying her head down on the sand underneath the water, her eyes barely above the sea.

The angler jumped into the water, coat and all, swimming towards one of the whale’s eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” they said, their voice suddenly soft. “I’ve wasted so much time because of what I did. Both mine and yours. I will never scream at you again. It was not your fault; I see that now.”

The whale cried again, and even though Rook could not hear it, she was sure it was a happy one, this time.

“I have nothing to thank you except my words,” they said.

“Well, I think I can think of something,” Rook said, laying down on the whale’s head, speaking to it.

“Could you take me the other side? I need to climb the mountain.”

“The mountain?” the angler said. “Haven’t you heard? There is a dangerous creature up there. I heard it’s a shadowy figure, whose breaths create dark clouds and whose blade has slain gods. Why would you go up there? It is not safe.”

“I have to,” Rook said. “I don’t know who I am, but someone asked me to go, someone who felt like a friend. I don’t think I can let him down. And maybe they also made a mistake, just like you did with your friend. I have to know.”

The angler sighs, understanding her words, but wishing they were different regardless.

“Well, if you are able to return afterwards, please do. I would love to sit on the pier with you and my friend.”

“I hope your sibling will be okay too,” Rook said.

“I’m sure they will. Be safe, friend,” the angler said.

The whale pushed back, the sudden movement causing Rook to nearly fall off. Rook lied down on the whale’s head, eyes at the sky. It did not take them long to reach the other side where the mountain stood looming over them. She bid the whale farewell, giving her a kiss on her forehead as she watched her retreat into the ocean. Then she retrieved the bracelet of crystals from her pocket. It featured a lot of small hooks, as if the chains were meant to be hooked onto thin narrow sticks. She had carried it all this way, maybe she was meant to carry it to the end.

She glanced back one more time at the village. To her surprise, clouds had formed all over the coast, the whale visible even from here. Moments later it began to rain, washing away all filth that may have been left there.

Rook smiled, hoping that a clean field may help the famer too. With renewed passion she walked up the hill. But as she did so, she could feel the earth pull on her body with more force. The air had become darker, and the mist heavy.

The mountain had become flat here. A small plateau was cut out of the rock, where a sparse forest broke up the landscape. Rook walked towards the place where it was darkest, crouching a little bit, the thin air making her pain for breath. As she got closer she noticed how some trees had been cut down, every tree scarred with cuts and bruises.

At the heart of the forest, she found the beast. It was similar to other birds, although all of its feathers had been plucked, leaving only arms as bony as a skeleton. He sat on his knees; a red cloak nearly burnt to a crisp covering his shoulders. In his hand he was clutching a weapon, a long spear, trying to force it into the ground. He was grinding his teeth, trying with all his might to push the spear deeper, but it wouldn’t go in.

A branch broke underneath Rook’s foot, causing the beast to lay his scarlet eyes on her. She could feel his anger, his fire within. But Rook still stepped forward, one step following the next. She called out to the beast, but it did not call back. When she got closer she reached for his shoulder, offering her support.

Visions flooded her mind. She saw the beast when he was still a man, filled with anger. He carried a great deal of sorrow in his heart, blinding him, making him raise his weapon against a marbled fox.

Rook tried to take some of his grief, to reach for it and carry it for him, but the darkness was overwhelming, bringing Rook to the ground as it filled her heart. The beast cried out, a cry in which the sorrow overshadowed any hope that may still be left in him, using it all to push Rook away. She fell back, rolling through the ground and ended up right at the foot of the mountain.

She laid in the grass, dirt on her face. The clouds above her still hung motionless, as if someone had hung a painting across the sky.

“Did you meet him?” a voice called out from behind her. It was the crane’s voice, frail, distant, travelling through worlds to reach her.

Rook managed to sit, finding the crane sitting on a tree stump ahead of her.

“I tried to listen to him,” she said, explaining it as much to herself as to the crane. “But he shoved me away with such force. I didn’t know what to do.”

“You do know what to do,” the crane said, “as you have done it before.”

“I have?”

Rook’s mind wandered for a moment. Her memories of before were gone, that much she knew, but whatever happened before did turn her into the person she was now, even if she does not remember. Her fingers touched the bracelet of gemstones.

“These are mine, aren’t they?”

The crane did not reply. He did not need to.

“You have helped many spirits find peace in the previous realm. But I had so hoped you did not have to do so in this one.”

“But I cannot help him if he will not listen.”

“No, but know that he does not want to hold onto his sorrow either. He is simply unable to let go of it himself.”

“I was able to do this then, before?”

“And you will still be able to do so now, even if you do not remember how.”

The crane’s voice became faint, his figure flickering in golden flames.

“Farewell,” the crane said, extending his hand as he vanished.

Rook felt a part of her own heart vanish as the crane did.

“Farewell,” she muttered, a piece of her soul imbued in her words. She looked up at the mountain, where dark clouds had begun to form. She could help him, maybe.

Her trek up the mountain was a swift one, energised by the crane’s words. The beast heard her approach, walking up to Rook to meet her. She clutched her gems, and before the beast could push her away again she placed her hand against his chest. His sorrow flowed into her, but she did not intend to hold it for him. With grinding teeth she let it burst from her body, black clouds breaking free from her shoulder blades, casting large black wings into the sky. The cold of it all bit into her body, but she could not give up. Even though the beasts face was still one filled with anger, frowns cutting into her, his eyes grew hollow, turning dark before returning to a natural brown.

She could see it now. She saw the man before he turned into a beast. He was happy, surrounded by friends who had all lived a long time. But slowly, suddenly, his friend had begun to die, as if nature had decided the cycle had gone on for too long. Outraged, afraid, the man saw no other option but to turn his blade onto the spirit that collected those souls.

Rook pushed harder, the images causing a black tear of her own to drip down. When her wings vanished, the man fell to the ground, letting the weapon fall out of his hand.

He stared at the grass with foggy eyes. Rook wasn’t sure if he would even notice if she were to leave right now.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he said. He pulled his cloak over his body, hiding himself. “My friends. My friend whom I had known for hundreds of years. I didn’t know what I would do without them. I didn’t know why they were leaving me so soon. All I knew is that that fox was there to claim their souls. So, I killed it.”

Rook said down in the grass in front of him, meeting his downcast gaze.

“It didn’t work, did it?” he said softly. ”I went through so much. I caused so much pain. But in the end, it only made things worse.”

“I don’t know,” Rook said. “I don’t know what happened to your friends. But you are here now, and even though you are close to the end of it all, you won’t have to do it alone. We can go meet your friends, together.”

The man wasn’t sure what to say. His arms rested on his knees, his back arched, slouching forward.

“You won’t be able to fix what you did. But that doesn’t mean you have to suffer alone.”

The man nodded. There was still grief in his heart, Rook could feel it, grief so deep it would probably never leave. But the man did allow Rook to take his hand, to get up, to walk.”

“How about you?” he asked. “How do you sound so ready to accept an end when there are so many things left undone?”

“I am not ready,” Rook said. She meant it. She would like to speak to the crane again, or even linger for a moment longer. But if the end is inevitable, it is better to walk towards it with a new friend.

The two left the plateau behind, leaving the man’s cursed blade hidden between leaves of grass. As they climbed the wind began to pick up slowly. Their steps got easier, a helping hand until they were high enough for the wind to take them and carry them home.

#short fiction #short story #fantasy

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fullcry · 1 year

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@theaba12: Prompt maybe for the LP&G fic um i Sufi at these but maybe Meryl writing being seen by vash or I don’t know would she share her writings?

A/N: This one also got away from me, lol. But I hope you enjoy! Set in the universe of Love and Peace and Gunsmoke.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

He stared at the door, wide smile still in place, her half-eaten plate of eggs and toast sitting on the table opposite him. He waited a moment to see if she came back—forgot something, had something else to add to her long list of meticulous instructions. But when her footsteps down the stairs fell into silence he let his smile fall and his shoulders relax.

He ran a hand over his face, letting out a heavy sigh.

Well. Here he was. In Meryl’s apartment. She let him come with her, just like he’d asked.

God, what was he thinking?

He pushed his chair out of the table and stood, moving into the small adjoining living room where he looked around, taking in a life well lived. She had a worn two seater couch, an armchair, an oval coffee table littered with knitted coasters sitting atop a ratty rug, the edges of which were beginning to fray.

Along the walls hung photographs, some of which he recognized from their travels: Jeneora Rock, before its destruction. Enora Ravine. Rostrum.

But there were others he didn’t recognize.

A photo of a city skyline–December, maybe? A long shot of a modest plant array, all the bulbs clean and healthy. Then there was one that really drew his attention, at the far end of the wall near the window.

It was a large photo in a decorative frame of Meryl holding an award wearing a fancy blue dress. Milly was holding her tight around the shoulders, face split in a grin, the photo taken close up but far enough away to see the plaque Meryl held up next to them. It read, in large gold letters:

Meryl Stryfe November Journalist Society Journalist of the Year

She looked different: her dark hair was long and thick, cascading over her shoulders in gentle waves. There was a glow about her face, though he supposed that could simply have been due to the cause for the occasion.

But unlike Milly, she wore a sad smile, at odds with the happy scene.

He frowned, uncertain for a moment when in the timeline of his absence this could have been. When realization hit him he sucked in a sharp breath and agonized, once again, over everything he had missed.

He turned to the opposite wall, deciding instead to investigate her bookcase and hoping it had fewer unintentional guilt traps waiting for him. The shelf was small, but filled to the brim with books and journals and magazines and old newspapers. To his delight there was a whole row of aging dime novels and he plucked one off the shelf, grinning widely when he saw the author’s name at the bottom.

C.C. James.

He jumped onto the couch and settled with his head over one armrest, legs dangling over the other, eagerly flipping it open. He hadn’t read a dime novel in ages, but he knew all of hers by heart. He’d been a fan since long before he found out she had written them.

To this day he still didn’t know what she was so embarrassed about.

He glanced quickly at the clock in the kitchen, noting the time. He had about an hour—plenty of time to read through one short story. With a smile, he turned to the first page, and began to read.

#fanfiction #prompt fic #drabble #vash the stampede #meryl stryfe #VashMeryl #Vash x Meryl #Mash #Love and Peace and Gunsmoke #Trigun #Trigun Stampede #TriStamp

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bibliphale · 7 months

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i heard him trudging his way up the stairs before he entered our room , myself settled comfortably beneath a large tartan down blanket ; a stark , clashing contrast to the blackened silk sheets beneath me. there were a lot of mismatching styles in this room , to most it might just seem like organized chaos , but everything had a place , everything meant something. i was settled on my side of the bed , a book nestled atop my chest , tilting my head slightly to peer over the rims of my glasses as he wandered into the room , the faintest of smiles toying 'round the edges of my maw.

❛ oh , lovely. i thought you'd be out there screaming at your cabbages all night. ❜ emma was already asleep , practically lulled into dreams by the furious shouting of her father at his vegetables. i carefully eased a familiar black feather between the pages of my novel again , closing it to set it aside on the table with my lamp , sitting up a little better 'gainst my pillows to watch the demon undress. offering a leisure stretch of my arms above my head , i let out a soft , content groan , already dressed in my matching shirt & pajama bottoms , moving to ease my glasses from my nose , resting them atop the closed cover of my leather bound book.

❛ mm .. so how was your day , my darling ? the bentley seemed rather spick & span this morning , very high spirits. ❜ was this what this was , casual domestic bliss ? cleaning cars , gardening , reading books , cuddling in bed .. lord above , i was enjoying every mundane moment of it.

@n1atruc / closed starter !

#closed .#n1atruc #starter .#south downs verse /#q .

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jojococomo · 1 year

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Alluvium

Ao3

One Piece, 3/? Chapters, Mature, 13,105 Words

Pre-Dressrosa, Hurt/Comfort, Horror, Character Study, Mild LawLu vibes

TW/CW: emesis(vomiting), decay/rot, immolation, references to genocide, panic attacks, self-harm (cutting with devil fruit powers)

I- Complicated Bones

“[...]a measure of

the one law: this sea will claim it all—

feed them, catch them, grind their complicated bones.”

“The Sea Chews Things Up” from White Sea by Cleopatra Mathis.

In his dreams he could still smell them. The scent of white lead was sickly sweet, like rotting citrus decaying in the humidity of summer. Lingering in his pores with the memories of his burning city. It was pervasive, acid building in his esophagus, the swell of saliva under his tongue. Citrus never failed to make him vomit.

He hadn’t noticed the navigator’s grove of blossoming tangerines until it was too late; having boarded The Thousand Sunny in a rush of that particular chaos that he’s come to associate with the Straw Hat captain and crew. Law had been preoccupied dealing with his— their— prisoner of war. They stowed Caesar in the brig, deep within the absurd maze of the ship’s innards. The Gas-Gas devil fruit user whined long and loud as Law shut the door and locked it. Law had waved the cube containing the man’s heart in front of the porthole window, squeezing just so until the clown’s complaining cut off with a sharp wheeze. Beside him the Straw Hat's sniper gulped, giving Law a nervous glance. Law was familiar with such looks, his devil fruit powers and their macabre side-effects being the most novel of reasons that people avoided him.

“Something to say, Long Nose-ya?” Law asks just to watch the man squirm. Usopp blubbers some excuse or another, flying up the stairs in a haste to make himself scarce. Law watches him go with a roll of his eyes before following him back up on deck. Despite the lackadaisical nature of the crew, they sailed well. The ship was already put out to open water, the air leveling out from the absurd climate of Punk Hazard. The biting cold dissolving into the sweltering beat of the ocean sun. A single breeze ticks up and the smell hits him like a sea-train, cloying his senses in an wave of nausea. It buckles his knees, dropping him hard into the ship wall. Without hesitation, Law buries two fingers down his throat to purge the sensation into the cresting water below.

“Trao!” The Straw Hat’s doctor chitters somewhere behind him; that blasted nickname given by their captain having infected them all. Cloven hooves tugged at the hem of his coat, pulling him back from pitching forward into the ocean, “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

Law is sweating, his coat is too insulated. He can’t muster the energy to remove it. Law could feel the eyes of the crew on his back, Straw Hat’s being the heaviest from his place atop the figurehead. He swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing at the bile that clung to the hair of his goatee.

“Must have been something I ate.” He mutters.

“Maybe you should rest…” Chopper responds, concerned but with that stern edge that Law is familiar with. Doctor’s orders.

“Franky, can you show him to my room?” Luffy jumps down to the deck, stepping close into Law’s space. It sends Law a step back to regain ground and Luffy glances at him, a frown pulling at his expression. The shipwright pauses in his path, a large barrel hefted over his shoulder. His gaze levels on Law from behind his dark sunglasses. After a moment he shrugs, “Sure, I need to grab something from storage anyway.”

“I’m fine—” Law starts to protest when another breeze pushes across the ocean. Law’s teeth clack together in an effort to settle his stomach. The light from the sun, the smell, the eyes watching him. A throb grows behind his eyes, vision spotting with an ocular migraine.

Luffy doesn’t touch him. He doesn’t try to get closer thankfully, but he also doesn’t look away. Under that gaze, Law feels exposed.

“Fine.” Law relents, shaking off the worrying hooves tugging on his pants with a sweep of his leg, “Wake me up if anything happens.”

“Nothing will!” Luffy responds with utter certainty.

Franky doesn’t show Law his back despite his task of leading him back into the interior of the ship, instead follows from behind, herding Law towards one door and then another. The tangerine scent cuts out immediately under the thick wood and it lessens the tension from behind his eyes in cool relief. The room that he is directed towards was obviously intended to be the captain’s quarters. Large bay windows curve along the side of the room, bright sunlight diffused by marigold yellow curtains. Franky, who seemed to have outgrown the very threshold he built lingers in the hallway as Law observes his temporary accommodations.

“Where does Straw Hat-ya stay?” Law asks, because the room looks untouched, save for the odd chest or barrel inhabiting the corner for extra storage. When he drops his knapsack on the bed, a fine layer of dust billows up from the fabric.

Franky looks both amused and fond when he answers, “He sleeps down in the crew quarters with me and the others.”

“Strange for a captain to not sleep in his own room.” Law states, thinking of his lone cot in his room aboard the Polar Tang. It would be a while, if ever again, that he would see his own bed.

“He’s a strange guy.” Franky shrugs, the bulk of his shoulders hitting the transom as he moves to shut the door, “Welcome aboard.”

His words are warm but Law could read the warning behind them. Law was not trusted by everyone on this crew. He had seen the same look in the cook, the swordsman, and even the navigator when she wasn’t busy corralling the rest of her wayward shipmates. That was smart in Law’s eyes. He did not put much stock in them and this infant melding of their interests either.

Straw Hat may act as if he trusted Law’s presence implicitly, but he was a fool of a captain and Law had not gotten this far on the Grand Line by trusting like a fool.

Law could not sleep.

This in itself was not unusual for him. Insomnia has been his shadow since he was small and has only worsened into adulthood. Years of decaying lungs and nightly fevers had made an enemy of sleep. The fear that death would take him before sunrise and eventually the fear that death wouldn’t take him kept his eyes open.

Now as an adult, he is finally healthy, the amber lead that had plagued him for all his childhood gone, cured by his own hand years ago. Even so, when he lays his head down to sleep Law often cannot help but think. He’d toss and turn under the sheets before calling up his Room to carve into the cavity of his chest. A compulsion to check, to just make sure. The unending cycle of it pushing his body to the point of exhaustion where he would finally pass out somewhere in the pre-dawn hours.

On the Polar Tang he felt comfortable doing this. Bepo, Penguin and Shachi were aware of his idiosyncrasies and worked together to mitigate the effects on the rest of his crew. If the captain did not appear on deck until noon, looking pale and drawn and quick to anger, it was not to be commented on. This weakness of his was the Heart Pirates best kept secret.

The Thousand Sunny was not his ship. The fabric of borrowed blankets beneath his back and the warbling waves lapping against a different hull remind him of this unfamiliarity. It exacerbates his senses, made the thinking feel dangerous. He would not give in to his compulsions in this place, he refused to let Straw Hat have even a glimpse of him in that way.

He attempted to hide the obvious abuse that his body displayed by hiding in the library, catching cat-naps where no one could see. Dr. Chopper, despite his naivety and young age, was clearly a talented physician and more than willing to share his collection of medical notes. While Law loved medicine, even he wasn’t immune to the dry language often found written in peer-reviewed research journals and it usually did the job of knocking him out at least for a few blessed minutes. It became a bit of a game to dodge the attempts from Straw Hat to have him cast a line for fishing or partake in some new game that only he, the sniper, and the doctor knew the rules to. All invitation to communal meals was declined, partly because his ability to eat regular meals never recovered from his illness and partly because the act of eating with Straw Hat at the table looked hazardous.

The irony of Law’s life is that he never had the benefit of time when he was sick and now he could only kill it by waiting. Each minute to be felt, each arc of the sun across the sky to be counted. One, then two, then five. A week. Two weeks. All added upon thirteen endless years since Cora was killed.

Tonight was the start of the third week and he was hitting his limit. Lack of sleep and surplus of inaction driving Law to the brink of insanity. Several days in front of him still until they reached their destination. Until Law would see the end of Donquixote Doflamingo, or he would be reunited with Cora. Law knew his chances. He had separated himself from his own crew and sent them far from the mess he was about to step into for the very reason that he would most likely not see the other side of this venture. He could not falter now. He needed rest, he needed his strength for the inevitable fight. The more he knew this, the more his body defied him. More it begged to be excavated, observed.

Just look inside, then we can rest.

He grunts into the darkness of his borrowed room, having thrashed and settled so many times that the blankets were covering the floor more than his own body. He kicks the rest off his legs, bending over the mattress to pull on his boots and grabbing blindly for Kikoku. He walks silently, the ship was well crafted, he would give Straw Hat that compliment. The floor so perfectly constructed and solid that it does not squeak once beneath his boot heel making it easy to slip out the door and up the stairs into the cool night air without waking anybody else.

Law steps flush against the bannister, as far as he possible could from the tangerine grove, and leans over the edge to breathe. It was overcast, the moon and stars blocked out by a curtain of roaming clouds. It creates an inky, undulating horizon. The darkness of it surprised him. This darkness was that of deep sea, something he expected to see through the porthole of his submarine. Even with the bright lantern light swing overhead, Law could only see a few feet out from its halo before it was gobbled up by a thick fog treading the calm water. The effect was hazy. Untethered.

Cora had called this time in the night the witching hour. The hours before dawn where night laid thickest.

Once Cora had told him ghost stories at this hour. It was when his fever had spiked so high that all he could do was shiver and ache and whimper from the intensity of it. Cora spent hours palming cool snow across his forehead in an attempt to lower his temperature. His memory of that night was frayed, bittersweet in the loss that followed soon after, but he distinctly remembered Corazon curling up next to him to keep him warm and his voice whispering in his ear:

We need to be quiet, Law. This time of the night, the living should hold their breath so the spirits can be heard.

Law had spent the entire year after he died sitting in the night, awake and suffocating waiting for Cora to speak. Even now, his breathing is shallow as he stands and stares into the sea. As he listens, a flute with low and wooden notes begins to fill the space, falling soft across his sight. Law glances up to the crow’s nest and sees the shift of a person above. Law listens for a moment before he approaches the peg ladder laid against the mast. He does not know what propels him to take hold of the rungs and hoist himself up. The pleasure of company is not something he craves even on the best of days. The Straw Hat crew, aside from their captain, avoids him most of the time and he ignores them in turn. He thinks of his bed and the chaos of the sheets and thoughts.

The desire for distraction, maybe.

He climbs to the top instead of using shambles. Blipping suddenly in front of someone—especially a pirate on the Grand Line— without warning never yielded well. With how tired he was, Law did not quite trust himself to do it safely. He pulls himself over the last rung and it is as he suspects, the music is coming from the crew’s musician. Skeletal and towering with impressive height even while sitting against the pillar. A Wanoian shakuhachi held between his boney hands. Brook does not pause his playing, but acknowledges Law’s presence with a slight incline of his head.

Law returns it, uncomfortable in Brook’s presence. It was not that he was afraid of the musician, far from it. Law has seen bodies in all manner of death and rot. The jury was out on whether he saw more as a pirate, or as a surgeon. Somewhere between Flevance and Cora, the fear of such things had been burned out of him. Yet, there is something about the musician that churned the acid in Law’s stomach. Survival, as Law had spent all of his life fighting and killing for, had been defined by his ability to manipulate the body. To reach inside, damage and repair and rebuild as he saw fit. On Punk Hazard when his Room could pluck out every single beating heart that lived inside, Brook appeared as a void in his perception. A pit absent of anything malleable, anything alive. Brook defied a perception that Law had control.

That made him wary.

The song fades, the last note hanging in the air before Brook says jovially, “Good evening.”

“Hello.” Law returns, shifting on his feet, unsure where to look under that unseeing gaze. He decides eventually on the space above the occipital bone, “Sorry for interrupting.”

“Of course not.” Brook responds easily, “Please, sit! Every musician lives to play for an audience. Though I guess I can’t do that anyway because I’m not alive! Yohohohohoho~! ”

Law stares, growing more and more convinced that he has made a mistake in his choice of an alliance, Straw Hat’s monstrous strength be damned. Still, he picks a spot across from where Brook sits against the mast, sliding down against the barrier wall. His arm comes to rest on bended knee. Kikoku is notched against his shoulder, whispering of safety in his ear.

“Do you sing?” Brook asks when Law settles but doesn’t say anything more. The question is unexpected and Law tilts his head back, returning the gaze as best as he can without the guidance of pupils, “Why do you ask?”

“You have a pleasant voice.” Brook explains, “A shame if you never used it.”

“Uh,” Law coughs, made uneasy at the sudden compliment, “No, not really. My hometown had a church. There was a choir that I was forced to participate in when I was a kid.”

“Hm, quite interesting...” Brook says, “I find that there isn’t a more beautiful sound than songs sung in worship. Nothing can compare to it.”

“Are you religious?” Law asks. He no longer had the cross necklace that his mother wore; having pawned it off to a seedy merchant for passage through the Marine checkpoints around Flevance sometime before he joined Doflamingo. He hadn’t thought about it in over a decade, but in that current moment his hand itched to wrap around the ghost of it. He folds his arms tightly against his chest, pulling Kikoku closer instead.

“I may have been many years ago, I would not remember.” Brook answers and the undercurrent in his words speaks to a depth that Law could not easily see nor felt inclined to explore further, “But, I have been in many temples in my time at sea. There are thousands of Gods in this world and the next but I find the faith is made of the same devotion, no matter where you go.”

“No true absolution for a skeleton?” Law asks wryly.

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” Brook muses and Law frowns, eyes narrowing.

“I meant no offense.” Brook holds up a placating hand, “It is easy for me to recognize the look of a man who has grown accustomed to living on borrowed time.” He smiles and Law could tell it was a smile. The way the bones of his face move; the slightest musical grind in the joints of his jaw. The rattle of it percussive, composing hollow notes with each shift, “Besides, I am no more wise than you on the subject. If there is a hereafter for me, I am not ready to find it yet. By the powers that be I’ve been granted this second life and I’ve devoted it to my captain.”

Law tilts his head in thought. This strange crew with their strange captain. He is working with only a fraction of the context that would explain what Straw Hat did to earn such loyalty.

“I have to thank you.” Brook states then shifting the conversation once more in a different direction. Law blinks, confused, “How so?”

“Our captain is still alive because of you.” Brook explains, “Without him we would be lost beyond comprehension. We are deeply indebted to you and your crew, but—pardon me for saying—you do not seem the type to risk your safety so willingly for a stranger.”

He was not. There were very few people he would risk everything for. Four of them were dead and the rest was contained within his crew. Surfacing his submarine in the middle of a war zone to rescue one man he barely knew was not in his character. Sticking his nose in what was the biggest clusterfuck in the last two decades and then spending an eternity in the operating room while his crew scrambled to dodge cannon fire, sweat dripping from his brow and limbs shaking from holding an extended Room for so many hours that he had slept like the dead for nearly two days after was not in his character. Staying in the aftermath, lingering in that cove while Straw Hat raged and sobbed and wailed for his kin, just in case his wounds reopened and Law had to do it all again—

No, he was not that kind.

Selfishly, it was the letter they share, that ‘D’ that splits their names. It had piqued his interest when word of the boy from East Blue had started making waves. The wanted poster plastered on every bounty board from here to North Blue. The mocking ink of the same letter that Law was warned to bury deep out of sight flaunted without care. Law’s curiosity of the boy who carried it would not let it die before he saw what came from it.

“I did it on a whim.” He answers instead, and there is enough truth in the statement that it appears to appease Brook.

“I see.” Brook leans back, raising his flute from his lap, “Allow me to ask, then. Do you remember any of your songs?”

“A few.” Law hedges, dread mounting at the gleeful look that crosses the skeleton’s face.

“Oh? Would you be able to sing one for me?”

“My singing really isn’t worth hearing.”

“Nonsense.” Brook says, inspecting his flute.

“They are northern.” Law adds, eyeing the ladder with mild panic, “They end in bloodshed...and death.”

"Perfect for the life of a pirate, I’d say." Brook counters, flute poised at his chin.

Damn it.

He could say no. Would say no any other moment in time. Law has no problem telling anyone who mistakenly steps over that line he keeps hidden under the sand to fuck off. Yet, he is hesitant to do so with Brook who waits so patiently for him. Genuine excitement for sharing this moment with Law plain on his features.

Law must be more tired than he realized to even consider it.

He shifts Kikoku so that she is laid across his lap, hand poised on the hilt. He hums the melody as he remembers it. As old and dusty in his memory as it was from the book they sang from. Brook tilts his skull to the side, listening without ears but hearing all the while. After a moment, he raises the flute to his mouth and matches the tune. It makes a home for itself below Law’s low register. His mother tongue fits weird in his mouth after years of not being spoken. Curling consonants and rough vowels that were once familiar now only visitors. Brook looks delighted as he follows Law’s singing, happy to partake in the music of a culture he has no understanding of. It makes Law uncomfortable with how closely it connects them in that moment so he closes his eyes and focuses on remembering.

The white cathedral where he spent so much time as a child. The smell of incense and wax. The echo of footsteps of the parishioners. Soft prayers of worship wrapped in fractals of light. How bright Flevance was. Bright from the white paint that coated the city spires and bright from the flames that burned it to the ground.

The hymn was about suffering. It was his mother’s favorite to sing, her voice more beautiful than his. She could find the faith forged from pain where his voice only found doubt. He cannot remember how it sounded when she sang. That memory too badly effaced. He does remember how it felt when she held him, sitting on the hard wooden pew. His ear pressed against her breastbone hearing the echo of her voice. How it was overwhelmed by the steady beat of her heart, the expansion of her lungs, and the occasional rumble of hunger that never failed to make him giggle. The fascination he had for the life that rushed beneath his mother’s skin. Thinking of her now, he could almost smell the disinfectant she used to cleanse her hands and the perfume of the gardenia bush in their garden. His mother had surgeon hands; small, steady and precise. She held a scalpel the same way she brushed his bangs back from his forehead to make room for her kiss.

He missed her.

“I’m sorry.” Brook murmurs once Law’s singing reaches the final notes, melody falling off into silence. He looks sad when Law opens his eyes.

“For what?” Law replies, voice hoarse.

The skeleton reaches for his breast pocket, pulling out a garish handkerchief before offering it, “My eagerness has brought up painful memories for you.”

His cheeks are wet. Vision blurring with his tears. Law scrubs his face against the sleeve of his sweatshirt. He raises to his feet, muttering some excuse about the cold evening air. Brook does not move to stop him. Those empty sockets where the shadows are thrown by the lantern flame take refuge, crawling, writhing in and out as the pale light hunts for territory. The violence of it has Law falling back a step and then another. Away and down the ropes with a coward’s grace.

It is only when his feet hit the deck below that the soft notes of the flute start again.

Law slams into his pilfered room and locks the door with a vicious twist of his wrist. Slumping against it, first shoulder, then hip, then all the way to the floor. His chest is heaving, skin burning, so sensitive to the temperature of the air, the texture of his clothes. He’s feverish, always shivering, always in pain. Joints seizing, the amber lead marrow deep in his hips, his wrists. The weight of corpses pressing down, oozing pus and infection like rotting oranges. His lungs beg for him to cough and he bites his lip until it bleeds for silence. He can hear the Marines laughing as they pour fuel on the cobblestone paths, the buildings, the people. Sanctioned genocide killing them quicker than the disease ever could. Yet he didn’t want to die like this. He didn’t want to die at all.

A drop of sweat escapes down his spine, and it uproots him out of the memory. The echo remains, beating in his chest. The walls contract around him, pushing, compacting his attention inward一 It’s there! Look inside! Cut it out! 一He rends the sweatshirt from his body, baring his chest to the ceiling in a haze. His Room swelling around him as he unsheaths Kikoku from her scabbard. The blade sinks in deep, slicing him from throat to diaphragm and the pain leaks out of his mouth with a whimper. Any other time he would sever the nerves to numb the sensation, but he wants the bite of them now. Wants them to eradicate everything until the only thing left is the truth. He lets Kikoku clatter to the floor, pitting his fingers into the incision and flaying his skin from his ribs until he is staring into the cavern of his organs. Searching everywhere for white, white, white—

There are only scars, benign, thirteen years aged.

Law exhales shakily, watching his lungs move in tandem. His pulse slows, his heart does too, sluggish and drawn. The life of him biologically thriving. Law folds his chest back together with more care than he had in the opening. The thin line from his blade vanishes into smooth skin. His right hand rests on the brand of Cora’s smile. It makes him miserable, this private humiliation. Law carves his nails across it until red lines bisect Cora’s visage, before stroking the space in a poor apology.

“Shambles.” He cries and a pillow from the bed hits the floor. He’s already asleep before his body touches the mattress.

#ao3fic #one piece #one piece fanfiction #LawLu #horror #Based off of Annihilation by Jeff VanderMeer #Biological/Eco Horror #I wanted to write a horror fic and I also wanted to dig my grubby fingers into LawLu trauma #trafalgar d water law #monkey d luffy #jojowritesfic

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punkgrogg · 3 years

Text

Doorway Duo pt.3

Pairing: Hybrid!Taehyung x Reader, Hybrid!Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Hybrid!BTS, Non idol AU, fluff

Warnings: Pregnancy

Summary: Y/n was abandoned by her long time boyfriend and moves back home to help prepare for the baby. She’s surprised to find two unfamiliar hybrids at her house.

Length: 3,074

Notes: Sorry I took so long! I had to split this update into several parts because I ended up typing out over 6,000 words so another part will be posted in a couple days hopefully I can fix my laptop by then.

Date Posted: 9/4/2021

“Share the heat,” Hoseok complained, tugging the blanket from my cocooned form.

October ‘s days were chilly but as soon as the sun set, it was freezing. I was propped up on the couch, surrounded by pillows and a king sized blanket tucked around me. Mom sat on the recliner to my left, the reason behind my assortment of pillows, and Hoseok was shoving his way into the occupied seat on my right. Well, my legs were occupying it.

“There’s a while couch right there ass hat.” I whined as he lifted my legs and placed them on his lap. This wasn’t so bad- he was warm- but the sibling bond between us made sure to complain.

“I don’t want to sit next to dad, he’s way too excited over the game.” Hobi pulled out his phone and scrolled aimlessly.

“When’s Namjoon gonna be here? His team is kicking ass.`` Dad was lively when it came to soccer. It was cute though and I loved how animated he’d get with each goal. But the kicker is that he and Namjoon rooted for other teams. Hobi, Jin, and I all sided with dad on the sports front but Joonie picked a shitty team that’s been coming up in the last couple of years. Maybe the heart attack he nearly gave dad ten years ago was worth it- if the pride in my dad’s eyes were anything to go by.

Joonie was our wild card, he seemed to pick the most difficult path just because he liked the challenge. He’d always do the opposite of what we expected, whether it was the sudden law school decision or boycotting Christmas one year. But today was probably the most surprising.

Jungkook apparently wasn’t a sports fan until this season started, my dad’s enthusiasm rubbed off onto him and now it was funny to see him white-knuckling a sprite over a bad call. Taehyung was taking a nap upstairs and mom was idly reading some seedy romance novel if the blush on her face was anything to go by. Well it was probably the shirtless man emblazoned on the cover that truly gave it away.

Hobi sighed and tossed his phone over onto the side table, he closed his eyes and melodramatically threw his arm over his face as he rested against the back of the loveseat. I rolled my eyes, “what’s it now buttercup?”

He huffed at my nickname, “Jimin isn’t responding.” He dropped his arm to pout at me as if I could help the situation at all.

“You know he’s probably working right now?” I nudged his arm with one of my feet.

His pout turned into a full blown frown as he made puppy eyes at me. “Yeah but that doesn’t mean i can’t miss him.”

“OH, so you’re going to finally admit that you’re dating him?” The delighted smile that ripped it’s way across my face made the frown completely fall off of his.

“Oh shit.”

His shock made me full bellied laugh, “Mom! Hobi finally sa-”

“Shut up! You tricked me!” he hissed as he covered my mouth, I smiled evilly as I licked the back of his hand to deter him.

“The baby.” Jungkook snapped, ripping Hobi's hand off my face. How did he manage to get across the room so quickly? Beyond me. There was a cloudy sort of anger in his face, one where he knew he shouldn’t be angry but couldn’t help it.

“Kookie, I'm fine.” I reached up to hold his wrist as he let go of Hobi's hand. He looked down on me tersely, his eyes colder than usual.

“Hoseok, how many times do your mother and I have to say to be gentler with your sister? You two are honestly getting too old for this.” Dad scolded, his hand on Hobi’s shoulder. I could see him curling into himself and suddenly I felt small.

“Dad, I'm okay, Hoseok and I were just playing. You know he’d never hurt me or the baby.`` I let go of Jungkook's wrist and tried to sit myself up more. It was hard this late into the pregnancy.

“You need to be more careful too, you’re way too rowdy these days.” he chastised me and I could feel the anger at being talked down to. I’m not a child anymore.

“No, this is my baby and my body, I get to decide when it’s too rowdy. We weren’t wrestling or fighting and I could easily breathe. We were doing nothing wrong, why are you acting like this?” My tone was cold and I forced myself up into a standing position. Jungkook stepped away from the couch so i could have enough room.

“y/n baby, you know i didn’t mean to hurt your feelings-” i cut him off; i was fuming.

“Well you did. You basically said that either my big brother is going to hurt me or that I'm incapable of judging how much energy I can exert. We’re all adults in this room, why did you two have to intervene?” my glare turned to Jungkook, he hardened his gaze.

“The baby’s hormones are-”

“No more baby excuses,” I cut him off. “I know he’s fine, he’s twisting and kicking just as he’s always been.”

“The baby’s hormones are-”

“Stop Jungkook.” I held up a hand, the anger bubbling up to the surface. I needed to cool down before I lashed out. I could feel the heat coursing through my arms and filling my chest.

“No, Y/n he’s right I didn't notice it till you stood up but the baby’s hormones have gotten really strong all of a sudden.” Hoseok chimed in. still seated, he reached out and touched my stomach. Mom crossed the room and shoved her way through Jungkook and dad to kneel in front of my stomach, accessing my state.

“What? What does that mean?” I cradled my bump, the fear seeping into my words. He felt normal there, my doctor told me if anything were to feel wrong then to trust my instincts and immediately go to the hospital. But this was different, nothing felt wrong.

Taehyung thundered down the stairs, “Y/n? What’s going on down here? I can smell the stress from upstairs,” he took a backseat to the worry on my mind.

“Is something wrong with him? Nothing feels wrong.” I turned to Jungkook, the worry overpowering the shame of the argument we had just had. He was the first to notice so maybe he knew what was wrong.

“I was wrong, holy shit, we should make a doctor’s appointment.” Hoseok suddenly exclaimed, he jumped up and held me at arms length by the shoulders. He looked down to my stomach with a shocked expression.

“Honey, get the keys we’re going to the hospital.” mom barked out. I didn’t even notice her leaving the huddle but she was back at the recliner as she tugged on some tennis shoes.

“No! It's okay! The pheromones are showing that she’s okay too.” Jungkook finally spoke up, he threw an arm around me and pointed at the baby.

“She?” The confusion in my father’s voice was only a mirror to the rest of the room.

“Yeah, the pheromones got so strong because there’s two.” Hobi explained as he crossed the room and relieved mom of her purse. He placed a calming hand on her shoulders. Shoulders that seemed to be leveled with her ears with the abrupt stress.

“You mean twins? It's a bit late to find that out don’t you think?” she all but hissed at her third son. Mom was visibly anxious right now, something I had never seen before. She was usually so calm and cheerful around us.

“Mom, you’ve said it yourself, y/n is bigger than most pregnancies.”

“I mean yeah but we’ve gone to the doctor twenty times over the summer and I think he’d find another baby in there.” I chimed in, coming to mom’s other side. I think it helped with calming her down because her shoulders lowered a bit.

“I can smell both, I can smell her all of a sudden alongside him.” Taehyung wrapped his arms around me, his head burrowing into my shoulder. His grip on me was tighter than usual.

“But Tae that doesn’t make sense.” I turned in his grasp, facing the snow leopard hybrid, my disbelief written across my face.

“He’s had a very strong scent and a very strong heartbeat, maybe he just masked hers.” Jungkook stepped into my bubble once again. He was on the other side of Tae but seemed to block off any others from joining in the clique.

“But the ultrasounds only show one baby.” I reasoned out, my right hand reaching behind me to rest on my mother’s shoulder. Accepting there was a second was terrifying, I was barely holding myself together for the one pregnancy. Adding on another? Was I eating enough? Taking enough precautions? Maybe dad was right in intervening today.

“Back in the day they couldn’t find Seokjin’s penis and told us we’d be having a girl. It was a bit of a shock when he came out.” Dad. Of course, I've heard this story before, ultrasounds weren’t always perfect.

“What should i do?” I was scared and it was evident in the shake of my voice, Taehyung only hugged me harder.

“Hey guys, what's going on here?” Namjoon’s voice shattered the tension of the room. Seeing him and the dark haired male next to him gave me a chance to breathe.

Hoseok flitted across the room, his excitement at seeing our older brother evident in the wagging of his feather duster of a tail. “Joon, you're going to be an aunt and an uncle.”

“What?”

“Hobi that’s not how it works and you know it.” Mom chastised with a small shake of her head. Hoseok was a blessing to us all when tensions were high. “Who’s this?”

Namjoon seemed to freeze up a bit before throwing an arm around the guy hovering behind him a bit. Said man flushed lightly at the attention turning to him and in the soft light of the living room I could barely make out a pair of silky black ears atop his head. “This is Min Yoongi, he’s my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” I sputtered out, breaking the moment of silence that enveloped the living room. I could see dad from my peripheral making his way to the doorway with a smile.

“Yeah, problem?” Joonie’s eyes were narrowed at me but eased up at the grin I was sporting.

Pulling away from Taehyung a bit, I sneered at Hobi. “Hoseok- he told us about his boyfriend before you could. How does that feel?”

Hoseok groaned before stomping over to me to grind out: “Oh my god you're annoying and technically i said it first.”

“But you didn’t tell mom and dad.” I taunted, the faux misery on my brother’s face would fuel me for months. Taehyung sat on the loveseat behind him and tugged at the hem of my shirt for me to join him.

“They’ve met Jimin before though and according to you i’m not subtle.” Hobi argued, his hand on his hip. Jungkook followed Tae and I down to the seat and I was wedged between the two with my legs in Kook’s lap. He gently rubbed circles into my swollen ankles as Hobi and I glared at each other.

“Anyway, what's this about me being an aunt now?” Joonie interrupted the stare down with Yoongi by his side, our parents must have finally let them out of their interrogation.

“These three are suddenly claiming I'm pregnant with twins.” I explained with a flick of my wrist, the stress of the situation (that was only a few minutes ago) seemed as if it were twelve years in the past.

“Um, I can smell two scents too.” Yoongi’s soft spoken words brought back the fear.

“Holy shit, mom! What am I supposed to do? Should we go to the hospital?” I tried to push myself up into a sitting position but Taehyung held me gently to his chest.

“The babies are happy, I don't think they’re in danger. “He hummed softly into my ear. I could feel the sincerity behind his words. He rubbed a hand up my arm gently and started to purr. An attempt to ease my anxiety.

“Danger or not- we still need to confirm if there are actually twins. That’s a nightmare in itself. That’s double of everything I was sort of ready for. Wait, what if I give birth prematurely- don’t twins come early?” there was panic rising in my chest.

“Mom and Dad went to their room, they’re recovering from the unexpected news but Y/n it’s going to be okay. We’ll go to the doctor’s tomorrow, together,” Hoseok reminded me, he softly ruffled my hair as he leaned down to kiss the top of my forehead. Still I looked around the room for my mother. The one who holds all the answers to my pregnancy fears. Namjoon, Hoseok, and Yoongi, all stood above us three, all showing a different expression. Namjoon looked apprehensive, which was normal for him. Hoseok looked as if he were trying to tame a wild animal. Yoongi thought he looked stunned, his eyes blown wide.

“Hobi you’re banned from my ultrasound appointments. You almost broke the equipment.” I reminded him with a forced smile. I could still feel the panic but it was ebbing away. I wasn’t dying, I was safe. The babies were safe. Everything will be okay.

“That’s so rude, I apologized and everything.” he crossed his arms, generously taking the bait. Knowing that Joonie would laugh at his expense.

“We’ll go with you, we haven’t been able to go since Hoseok has been.” Taehyung declared, way too happy for me to decline, and I smiled softly at him. I was held up against his torso, his head just a few inches above my own. He leaned down and rubbed his forehead against my own.

“You’re going to scent mark my sister in front of me?” Namjoon sputtered indignantly, causing Tae to freeze all of a sudden.

“Namjoon, that’s not scent marking.” Hoseok laughed and shoved at his shoulder playfully.

“Actually, we feline hybrids scent mark like that instead of that mess you canine hybrids do. I scent marked Namjoon earlier in the same way.” Yoongi crossed his arms and seemed to glare down at Tae. I was a bit shocked to say the least.

Hoseok had explained it to me when we were younger, scent marking was a hybrid instinct, and it had two different connotations. There was a familial way and a romantic way to cover another person in their pheromones. Hoseok would hug us and hold our hands growing up to rub just enough of himself on us to comfort himself that we were his family. Especially when we were younger and playing with larger groups of children or when there was a big event. The familial way would only last a few hours and was more of a comforting thing for family and very close friends to help with bonding.

Hoseok had explained the more romantic way was to imbue another’s scent for a much longer time and it was done by stimulation to the scent glands which meant that they would lick each other’s scent glands. He had been tomato red explaining this to me when he had found another hybrid’s scent on me that was much stronger than his own. When I explained that I was just playing with a hybrid at recess and they hugged me he seemed to melt into the floor in embarrassment.

Taehyung was staring up at Namjoon with an indecipherable expression. The massage on my ankles had stopped at Namjoon's exclamation and my glance at Jungkook showed him to be in the same emotionless stare down but instead he was staring down Yoongi. He knew too, but why hadn’t he told me?

“She’s part of our pack, of course I would scent her.” Taehyung had no emotions in his words, the monotonous response seemed to aggravate my brother.

“Wait,” I held my hand up to the seething man before turning to his boyfriend. “I’m confused. Hobi said that licking my neck would be romantic scent marking and hugging was familial scent marking. Which would this be?”

My question caused all four hybrids to freeze up, Hobi’s face once again lighting up in embarrassment.

“Uh, he said that? Well, uh, that’s wrong.” Yoongi forced out, his face turning a light shade of pink.

“Hybrids themselves decide what the type of scent marking it is when they release the pheromones, and there’s a lot of different meanings that could exist. Typically a more familial scenting would be a hug- so that part is right- but also kissing the top of your head could work. Licking your scent glands isn’t a romantic way for scent marking, it’s more sexual.” Yoongi's face almost matched Hoseok’s at this point. “Romantically speaking there’s a lot of ways you can scent someone- like rubbing your necks against each other which is common amongst the canine hybrids. For us feline hybrids we rub our faces against the person, like he had done to you. The pheromones typically let us know, but he’s not releasing heavy enough pheromones for us other hybrids to notice, but rubbing his face against yours is claiming you as his in feline standards.”

“Oh,” I could feel the hybrid underneath me tense up as Yoongi's explanation came to an end. I glanced up at him to see him still staring down my brothers.

“I’m still a little confused but thank you Yoongi. Namjoon, Hoseok, I’ll take it from here, I don't need you hovering over us for this conversation. In fact, I think I'll take this conversation elsewhere, you three have fun watching the game. Joonie, dad recorded this and last week’s matches for you.” I worked my way into a standing position with Taehyung’s help and made my way to the stairs, both Taehyung and Jungkook glued to my sides.

“It was really nice meeting you Yoongi,” I smiled at him and waved my goodbyes as I made my way up. We made our way into my room, the two hovering in the doorway. Just like I had met them. I took a deep breath and settled onto the bed.

#doorway duo #bts #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #hybrid!bts #hybrid hoseok #hybrid jungkook #hybrid taehyung #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung x you #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jung hoseok #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #pt. 3

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some-dr-writings · 3 years

Text

Shuichi, Kokichi and Nagito’s crush likes napping on his lap during breaks

Shuichi Saihara:

· Ah yes, the Super High School Level Astronomer, it was no wonder Kaito would be friends with such a person, and whoever Kaito was friends with, all his other friends would be friends with them as well, that was how Shuichi had met you. Often in those nightly training sessions, for a break Kaito, Shuichi, Maki and whoever else felt like joining them that evening would jog around till finding you, telescope by your side. You’d speak of the stars, of legends that surrounded them, of how travelers of old navigated the world through them, how stars were born, what there different colors meant, and so much more. Folklore, history, science, didn’t matter, you knew and continued to learn about each and any possible aspect you could about those specks of light. However, you were rather quiet outside of those moments, though you weren’t closed off. It was more so, if you weren’t speaking of stars you’d just so intently listen to others.

· … Maybe that’s how or why it happened? More often than not, when at school you were rather drowsy. You were often out, camping in the mountains away from the harsh city lights so when you were at school it was nice. When you were around, Shuichi made sure to spend time with you. You were able to speak so much without words, it was fun trying to interpret your expressions. Truthfully Shuichi didn’t think much of it at first, it was just how you were, quiet, yet outgoing, bubbly even. Others however had a more difficult time understanding you, somehow they didn’t notice the many little nuances that made up you, your slightest shift of expression or tilt of the head, your body language, how you spoke more so with your eyes, engaging in the conversations in your own way. How others couldn’t Shuichi had no idea at first, you were captivating, how could they NOT notice!?

· At first he had thought it was simply him being a detective, often having to interpret and read people through his work with his Uncle, but… that was not quite it, there was more to this. I didn’t come naturally, he WANTED to understand you. He found himself drawn to you, your gravity too powerful for him to even consider resisting. And it seemed the same could be said for you too. Whenever break rolled around, no matter how short it may be, you’d always seek him out. Due to more often than not being awake through the night you’d nap, but Shuichi didn’t mind, not even when you used his shoulder or lap as a pillow. He’d read his novels aloud to you, or if he was working through a case, walk through his logic aloud, he’d just speak even if you were asleep, something in him just knew you were still taking this all in.

· Even if he was somehow one of the few people who understood you, he wondered how you had even seen him yet. You were like a supernova in his eyes, so bright, so stunning, so colorful, leaving only beauty and wonder in your wake, how did you notice him? By chance did your heart race too at the thought of spending more time together? Did you also find a soft, comforting, warmth in his presence as he did you? Did you adore hearing him speak just as he did you? Whatever the case may be for you, he sure hopped it was something similar because he simply wished to your beloved stars above that you felt even half as amazing as he did with you, he just wanted you to know of such a fantastic emotion, it, no… you were astonishing and he simply wished to share and indulge in it with you.

Kokichi Oma:

· “Y/N!” “Hu-AH” You groaned, shakily pushing yourself off the ground. Then you noticed all your items had slipped out of your bookbag. You sighed, seeing all your papers had fallen out of your folders as well. “Geez, Y/N, I didn’t know you were so clumsy!” “Ah, just tired today I guess.” You noticed how Kokichi kept taking glances to you as he helped gather your items. Not surprising considering you literally just tumbled down a flight of stairs. Before you knew it all your supplied had already been collected and placed back in your bag. That was really quick. You winced as you stood up. Your knees almost collapsed under you and Kokichi was in the position to catch you should you have fallen but thankfully you were able to do so yourself. “Hey, hey! Where are you going?” “Oh, uh… umm.” You thought and thought but couldn’t remember. It was so hard, you felt like your mind was swimming and swirling, all thoughts fuzzy and difficult to reach.

· Then suddenly you were being dragged along by the hand. “What the-” “You are coming with me! This’ll be fun! Especially if you have nothing better to do!” You were completely confused but more so shocked from the whole situation so you couldn’t really bring yourself to try to stop or ask where you were even going.

· Koichi just kept running around, getting you completely lost. Eventually though he let go, dashing a few paces forward before tumbling and falling. “O-Oma!?” He simply laughed, sitting up. He hummed as the wind rolled past swaying his hair as he looked up to the sky. “Oh, Y/N, Y/N! Look at that!” You were confused looking up to the sky where he was pointing. “Ugh, you can’t see it from there, sit down already!” Taking your arm, he playfully tugged on it, but even that was enough to send you falling. Even with you sprawled across his lap, he managed to scooch over enough so just your head was there. “Perfect! Now, that cloud looks like Gonta; giant, kinda dumb, soft. And that one-” You were… quite puzzled. Clouds? Of all things? That was what he wanted to show you? You heard Kokichi speaking, but it was all noise to you, it held no meaning. You just listened as he droned on and pointed, the shadow of his outstretched arm conveniently covering your eyes.

· You never really noticed how nice and soft Kokichi’s voice could be. Then again, he was always so loud or quiet, constantly shifting tone you never got the chance to just hear it… It was… rather pleasant. You wanted to hear him longer, engage in whatever game he was playing but so quickly your eyes drooped and all our senses simply lulled to nothing.

· Then it was evening. At first the sight of those orange and purple hues confused you, but then- “Y/N, you’re alive! It’s been twenty years and Miu’s army of robots have taken over! We need you to join the resistance!” He couldn’t help but laugh at your absolutely baffled expression. “But that’s a lie.” “… oh yeah… Wait…” You suddenly completely awakened, abruptly sitting up. “It’s evening already!? Did we skip class!?” “It’s whateves, Y/N. Hope’s Peak doesn’t care if we skip class.” “No, not that!” You sighed, burrowing your face into your hands and mumbled to yourself. “I didn’t take the new meds again. Of course, I didn’t.” Huh, new medicine was it. Kokichi smirked, dragging you up onto your feet. “C’mon! You’ll make us late for dinner!”

· The next several weeks were like that. No matter what you did you’d always end up napping on Kokichi’s lap at some point. This was much needed. Your therapist had been fired so you had to start all over with someone new, who wanted to give you new medicine meaning new side affects that could only be worked around via time management. It was a process trying to work out what amount you needed and what not. Napping with Kokichi was just about the only solace you had gotten in the chaos. When you had found a good balance of medication no longer were you exhausted in the day or losing sleep at night. It was great though, admittedly you missed it.

· It had been about a week or so since your medication seemed to stable out and all was well with you once more. The bells for break had tolled and you left class. Break wasn’t long, but you didn’t care. Hearing shrieks and screams of terror and that ‘Nishishi” you knew you were close. Seeing Kokichi make his escape you simply went to one of the benches outside. And there you waited.

· You still waited even after the bells signaling the end of break had tolled. “Oh? Y/N actually skipping class!? What has this world come too!? Soon the sky will be falling!” Seeing he wasn’t lying per say and just exaggerating you decided to answer. “I haven’t taken my nap yet.” You took his hand, pulling him onto the bench and you placed your head atop his lap. Though you weren’t not tired, a mid-day nap in the sun just felt so nice.

· Thankfully for Kokichi, you were asleep so you couldn’t see his giddy smile. Though with this seemingly becoming the new norm you’d likely catch him one of these days. For now he’d just indulge in this moment with you, his crush and worry about that when it happens.

Nagito Komaeda:

· Though you were an Ultimate, an amazing person who could take care of themself just fine, Nagito worried about you. You slept, a lot. No matter when or where you could find a place to nap should you want too. It wasn’t all the time though, Nagito still had many conversations with you and had gotten to see your talent firsthand, an extraordinary sight! When you were awake, you’d spend much of your time with him, often over analyzing him trying to see if there was a scientific cause for the outlandish phenomena that was his luck. Not surprising since you were a scientist. At times Nagito wondered if your mind worked so hard when you were awake, trying to solve every last mystery the world had to offer, that drove you to exhaustion so quickly. That would explain how you could be so excitedly chatting away about one theory of yours or another only for you to suddenly fall over, knocked out. Thankfully it seemed Nagito’s luck would kick in moments like that so he could catch you before your face smashed into the ground.

· Always following you around, trying to keep your drowsy tendency from getting you into danger, from just always being beside he had become your assistant of sorts. Though he would never dare to insist on it, he always sneakily became the one to carry your stuff around in the end, even if you had started your journey with them. Taking you by your shoulders he’d steer you away from bumping into other people or objects. He would take your hand, but he felt unworthy of such an honor unless you decided he could and he knew if he did a bright scarlet would erupt on his cheeks and his heart would pick up in pace, things you surely would notice with your keen eye. When you were awake, nothing could get past you, so Nagito would have to be extra careful. He couldn’t let you figure out his feelings. He simply didn’t have it in him to confess and he was garbage, surely you wouldn’t reciprocate his feelings, but if you did somehow, it’s not like he would deny you, someone like him had no right to deny an Ultimate, or so he thought at least.

· Although… Nagito couldn’t help his feelings seeping out, no matter how much he had tried to keep them inside. Often, he was just talking and suddenly he’d be complimenting you and about to say he loved you and he’d have to cut himself off by causing an ‘accident’ like tripping over chairs or abruptly changing his words to say something else. He was always left a flustered mess.

· It was just another day when Nagito strolled into your lab, finding your workspace was filled with many documents, many taped to white boards with string attacked to each and every last one, some string simply linking two pages on the same board, others stretching across the room, forcing one to duck, and twist to avoid them all, one could compare it to avoiding the lights in the laser filled room in some generic spy flic. “Hmm, but how to go about testing this?” “Testing what?” “Oh, Komaeda! Perfect timing!” You strolled over to him, looking through some file, seemingly not paying attention to your surroundings yet still avoiding all that strings. “Today I’m studying human communication!” “Uh huh.” “And I wish to test something!” You looked to him with those stunningly bright eyes as you explained, completely captivating him. “The power of words. I wish to see if they are like water in a pipe. For comparison, imagine a person as the pipe and the words water. I wonder if say a person is upset, if speaking to another person was the only way to alleviate the pressure of those emotions, or if just speaking aloud, even to no one, if that’d alleviate the pressure as well, OR if something else would happen. Yes, each individual is different, but there could still be a majority! I’m thinking we’ll go about-” a yawn escaped you before you continued. “about this… by…” You took a small notebook from your pocket, quickly scribbling down notes as Nagito lead you to a couch in the corner of the room. Nagito already knew this was coming considering that ‘pipe’ comparison didn’t make much sense since pipes would still leak, even if with another pipe around.

· He sat beside you on the couch and moments later you rested your head on his lap. You tried holding up the little book to him and when he took it your hand and arm went limp, you already fast asleep. Nagito couldn’t help but smile, seeing you already so restful. As usually he looked through your notebook, seeing what he needed to prepare in order to set up your tests. Curiously he also looked over your notes, wondering how your interest in astrology the day prior lead to this through your connective thinking. It was always fun seeing how you could draw connections between seemingly completely unrelated topics, then again that was likely how you were such a good scientist. As he continued to read, fascinated by your research he began to wonder something. Looking to you his heart melted. “I love you.” Immediately his heart raced, and he felt that heat raising to his cheeks. What if a person were to vent to another, even if they weren’t paying attention? Perhaps because he still had told you, he still would have gotten this off his chest and he’d stop almost confessing to you so often.

· That was how Nagito had begun to whisper his affections to you as you slept. It was a thrill like no other, fearing you’d awake right as he confessed his feelings, yet also endlessly excited by the thought as well. There was more than a fair share of times where he was almost caught, but it seemed you were none the wiser to his words of love.

· “Hmm? Komeada? What are you mumbling about?” For a moment he froze, love struck at your soft tender expression. “Ah-uh-Oh? I was speaking? I apologize if I woke you up.” You simply huffed in response… a-and you just kept looking at him? Oh boy. Did you know? Was he finally caught? What would your response be? What did you think of him? “Thank you.” “Huh?” You smiled, nuzzling into him. “having this… instantaneous version of narcolepsy… Even though I started studying, I could never figure out how to stop it, maybe that’s because I get distracted easily, I- wait, no. No tangents.” You took a deep breath trying to reorganize your thoughts. “It… can be scary, one moment being awake then suddenly asleep. Before you I’d often sleep on the train and go way past my stop and get lost. There have also been a number of near-death experiences like when I fell asleep when walking across the street. I… it’s nice, knowing you’re around. To keep me safe and keep an eye on me. And I guess waking up to hearing your voice, waking up knowing for a fact I was safe… I don’t know, it was just nice, and I want you to know, I truly do appreciate you putting up with me.”

· How… how could you make him fall for you more and more so effortlessly? Well, if you liked hearing his voice when you woke up… maybe… maybe next time he wouldn’t stop speaking of his love for you, even as you awoke. After all, he could never deny you anything, especially not your own comfort and ease of mind.

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michimichim · 3 years

Text

in-dee-ca | rosé

disclaimer: dom!fem!poc reader x sub!roseanne, substance use, semi exhibitionism, etc.

improved version

the church bells chime a brassy and insistent sound; an ear-splitting, melody you still struggle to get accustomed to as you leave the bustling building. your friends fall into step with you and together you trudge down the steps of assembly hall, hands in the pockets of your school blazer while they chortle with laughter.

a shiver wracks over your body as the breeze drifts into your hair and frost your cheeks.

“honestly,” it’s one of your closest friends who speaks up, “what does ‘stricter regulations’ even mean? as if the school doesn’t already have a stick up its ass.”

“it means open up your books for once, dipshit.” jennie, a senior and representative on the school board, snides as she brushes past you along some of her friends busy trailing after, hot on her heels.

you bite back a laugh whilst a ruckus of guffaws resonate around your small crowd.

“fuck off, kim.” your friend shouts after her, eyes rolling in nothing but annoyance, however their expression remain soft. they watch jennie’s retreating form before resting their eyes on something behind you. “here comes miss sunshine.” or rather, someone.

you spare a glance over your shoulder, an agitating feeling erupting in the pit of your stomach when your eyes fall on a familiar sight. she's surrounded by a total of three girls, all tittering as they saunter up the steps of the assembly hall. the dark red and blue of the school uniform brings out the peachy color of her skin, singling her out from the small crowd that’s assembled around. picture perfect she is with her plaid skirt hiked up. all pretty, pale thighs and slender legs. eyes naturally veer her way; she always seems to capture everyone’s attention, and it wasn’t solely due to her father being the headmaster, but rather the vivacious and nonpartisan aura she constantly carries around.

roseanne is the epitome of natural beauty. some still whisper about her loose hair and ruddy cheeks, and stout red lips, and lithe slender body that never seems to walk but rather float through the walls. she's perfect in every sense, the type of perfect that draws in boys and girls alike, girls like yourself.

as if sensing the heat of your gaze, her eyes flicker to yours and you stare back, eyes unwavering, challenging her to glance away first with a slight cock to your eyebrow. doe orbs scale down your body – syrupy and casual posture leaning against chilly stairs; it gives you an air of nonchalance – in such swift manner it might have never occurred, but attention from roseanne park could never be forgotten. dulce creamed, dreamy eyed with stars in her nebulas roseanne could never be forgotten. she averts her attention back to her friends.

“what’s it with you and the park girl?” it's someone else that speaks up near you, voice tinged with nothing but curiosity.

you turn to face them; their eyes seem to trickle with a mix of wonder and apprehensiveness.

you shrug in a dismissal manner, “nothing.” you hate denying it, but you learned to be discreet even when the questioning comes from your friends. even when you despised their questioning. even when you despised them for attributing you a role – one that doesn’t include roseanne in it, the golden girl who knows everything, does everything right. you disdain it and so does she.

the conversation lapses into one of silence and your friends say nothing else, some assess you before emitting out a low hum and dropping the topic.

you tune them out, distracted, as your attention returns to her, the latter’s laughing along to something – could be anything, really. it's not hard to get her laughing. you return your gaze to your friends and stand up. “i’ll text you.” you throw over your shoulder, willing an apologetic smile on your lips as you trade down the stoned stairs.

the sun’s seeping through the arched windows, a kaleidoscope of warm and golden light gushing out over your bodies, tangling with roseanne’s blonde locks. the room she pulled you in belongs to an abandoned and obsolete west wing of the school. no one actually comes here; it has been forgotten, gradually, by its founders until room 144 became nothing but a discarded memory. something close yet hidden.

the furniture around you is covered with white silky material, gently flapping from the frigid breeze sipping through the cracked open window.

your hand absently brushes up and down her smooth thigh, drawing arbitrary patterns; she's delicate under the pad of your fingers, a skin so silk angels would exchange for their wings. the hem of her blue plaid skirt is sitting higher than it ought to, her blouse unbuttoned lower than the hall surveillants would ever permit, and between her lithe fingers, something her father would pop a vein over – she’s at her best here with you. your rosie who plays the sweetest of melodies with your heartstrings.

the sound of fluttering pages fills the cracks of the comfortable silence and she shifts, her legs twirling down over your lap, shoes swiftly thrown off and her gaze, unknown to you, flicks towards your face. she calls you by your nickname, head tilted, exposing the slim curve of her neck as she releases a blanket of smoke through the cherry glossed curve of her lips.

“hm?” you hum in response and with one hand, the other effectively occupied with multitasking where they usually reside, turn the page of your book.

a laugh escapes the sheen of her lips. “i'm sensing some sexual tension between you and that book, am i interrupting?”

the side of your face ticks up into a half-grin, warmth infiltrating your ribcage and through your chest. you glance up from your novel, “kinda,” you tease, eyes softening into a warmer hue once they connect with pools of deep, hypnotizing browns. “mind giving us a moment?”

“ha. ha." the corner of her lips curve upwards, sarcastic, as she removes the blunt from her parted lips. she sits up and slide over the wooden floor, much closer to you and the substantial, sweet floral aroma of her jasmine and basil fragrance mingles with the herbal scent of weed as she hands the joint over.

“your mother was the one to assign this to me, you know.” you slump your weight against the soft beige wall, holding the blunt between your lips, before taking a drag out of it, inhaling, holding and releasing it through parted lips.

“of course she did,” roseanne replies, vexation beneath the delicate pastel shade of her words. you abstain from calling attention to it because here, golden girls like roseanne shouldn't feel anything synonym to anguish. golden girls like roseanne have everything, so why would there ever be a fold between her brows? here, golden, beautiful girl roseanne never has anything but euphonious laughter.

but the glint of sport in her eyes never wavers, so casting the book aside, you resort to laying a comforting hand on her thigh because you know the golden girl with saccharine smiles, the one who evoke tropical storms in your chest is solid bones and perfect imperfections in a sea of deceptive beings.

“what’s it about?” she adds, her fingers stringing with yours as the syllables overflow on her smiling lips. her smile, all-too-familiar, whirs something up your spine and her touch seems to burn into your palm, through the cracks of your fingers.

you take a drag, holding it until it burns, and pass it back to her, “charles duhigg,” your hands never part as you reply, a blanket of smoke slipping out. “the science behind habit, creation and reformation.”

“so, tell me,” she quips, rustling, inching closer, all hot breath and intoxicating perfume, the tip of her ears crimsoning when you maintain eye contact, “would you rather kiss charles duhigg or, me?”

"roseanne," you taunt good-naturedly, a laugh looming around to waver your lips. "are you jealous of a forty-something-year-old?"

you follow her eyes fluttering down to your lips, sharp and wanton. she breathes in another hit then says, "can you blame me for wanting all the attention?"

she wraps her lips around the opaque blunt once more, the scene arbitrarily sinful but then, rather than inhaling it, she cradles your jaw and hovers your lips. exhaling her breath into your willing mouth; it's undoubtedly one of the hottest things you’ve ever witnessed, and if possible, it heightens the smoke wafting in your gut with a coiling warmth.

“there’s no way i can blame you when you’re pulling shit like this.” you breathe out, slightly dazed from the smoke or her. you don’t really know.

“i know,” she whispers, several beats too late, breath ghosting atop your lips until they’re meeting in a smooth plash of lips, fluttering lashes and warm breaths.

the second roseanne’s tongue presses into your mouth, light and pliant and sweet-tasting of hot chocolate, imbued with the smoky aftertaste, you float through a state of euphoria. your hands linger down to the soft curve of her ass, squeezing. you can’t resist the urge, sticking a resounding slap on the round of her ass, loving the surprised moan that’s torn out of her.

she captures your bottom lip into her mouth, teeth toying with the flesh and something about that is thoroughly gratifying to you, as is her quiet pant against your mouth when you draw away – dizzy from lungs running out of air, she pecks your lips a final time before shifting back.

she sinks herself comfortably between your legs again, perched on your lap while you continue passing the second joint back and forth. as it shortens in size, you grow more physical. your hand never leaves her ass, ghosting over the silken lace of her underwear. roseanne is not far off; she sighs under every single one of your touches, hands threading down through the collar of your shirt, nails roaming up and down your back, scratching lightly at the plains of your shoulder blades.

you take two to four more hits, you think, you’re not too sure. you've lost count because now the haziness in your head is growing stronger, the sounds are softly intertwining with themselves that you have to haul her closer by the waist as to anchor yourself and think.

“you think,” you clear your throat, trying to swallow down the dryness. “you think we could order something to eat?”

roseanne turns her head languidly from the tiny spirals of smoke wafting in the air, her eyes fleeting to yours following a couple of seconds. she peeps at you, “mmhm," she utters. "i guess. well, yeah, it would make sense ... right?" and she titters.

after holding a straight face and retaining the roach (that you still haven’t noticed has been extinguished) for a few moments, contemplating, “rosie,” you let out a stifled laugh suddenly, like a blend between a snort and a chortle. “you really think the delivery guy, like, the car … can get up here?”

your bones feel weightless. like you’re soaring, there's nowhere else you'd rather be, and every bone in your body is at ease for the first time today. roseanne shakes with gentle laughter, cradling the scrap of the joint in her hands like religion and setting it aside, next to your knees.

she clumsily knocks the ashtray over, cursing. it's too endearing, you can’t help but mirror her accent, giggling when she pouts and steady herself from falling as you dissolve into a weed-induced puddle of laughter, stomach shaking, fighting a new hurricane of giggles herself. you just have a way of imitating her accent that is almost uncanny.

“asshole,” she leans her body into yours, pressing your chests together, feeling yours lift against hers. she then stretches her hand to descend the tip of her nail down your collar.

“your one and only.” you drawl, drawing in a long, faint breath.

the warmth hasn’t left your body still, it seems to be making its way from your chest to the rest of your being. you tip your head back so it’s resting on the back of the furniture, eyes lazily drifting over to the window. outside, the sky is clear, a stunning tone of cantaloupe, the sun about sitting so low in the sky it dazzles you through the clefts of the buildings and canopy of trees. this place has become your favorite; it’s all just so peaceful and beautiful here, away from the day-to-day activities.

you're feeling the floor below you stir like you’re in one of those massage chairs at the mall, combating the inexpressible comfort of roseanne’s weight on you and the sudden mass of your eyes – it wouldn’t be the first time you fall asleep right after smoking. usually, you'd instantly pass out to the steadfast rise and fall of her heartbeat, and she’d follow suit, curling in on herself against your chest.

“this weed is,” the sway of her voice brings you back from your daydream, “wow.”

picking your head up and letting the blood rush back down your neck, your brow ridges and you shift, sitting upright and inching closer to gaze into her eyes – they’ve turned a reddish hue, heavy-lidded, but as breath-taking as ever with pools of deep, mesmerizing, mocha brown, and you say, “well, it’s definitely hitting.”

you're becoming increasingly conscious of her nail gliding lower between the top buttons of your white buttoned-up shirt – you don’t recollect exactly when they’ve been popped open, but you don’t have it in you to think long and hard about it. the finger’s tracing the dark bites that have been pressed against the soft mahogany flesh of your skin, progressive shivers creeping up your spine.

“babe,” she whispers, and it’s the lilt of her voice that makes you glance up at her. when exactly did she pick the blunt back up? the shape her lips make to get those flawless smog rings remind you of the other instances when her mouth’s carved similarly – it’s when she first wraps her lips on your thumb and she teases, tongue swirling around the digit, just playing, taunting. she'd push it in and out of her mouth with suction and with her tongue, she’d bob her head, maintaining your eyes locked through the ordeal. knowing all too well that she's gorgeous with your fingers in her mouth.

“you’re okay to keep going?” she questions, moaning when you bunch her skirt up to press your hands back on the soft, small plump of her ass; they fill both of your hands, moulding back against your palms. you land a kiss on the sweet, red blossomed apple of her cheeks.

“how can i refuse when i’ve been eyeing this ass all day long,” you murmur, running a hand up, snapping the waistband against her skin.

that’s all she needs to press her lips against yours.

you lose yourself completely in how thoroughly your lips effortlessly glide against each other, it turns sweeter, cotton candidly sweeter. then lustful and something entirely more celestial. it could just be the weed accentuating the brush of roseanne’s tongue against yours but you know it would feel almost as good when sober, or even better – you’re not quite sure, each time always feels different than the last.

“rosie,” you ripple against her lips and she hums, moans mingling for a few moments, your hands gripping up the juts of her waist as she detaches from your lips to start mouthing at the junction of your neck and jaw, teeth scouring down your throat.

she grips, getting a fistful of your shirt in one hand with the other curving within the heated skin at the base of your neck. your bodies are so close, warm, and she wants to look at you but she’s in some kind of stage where all she aches to do is let her lashes wave shut, so that’s what she does along driving her hips instinctively down against your thigh.

even through all the layers of clothing between you, you can feel the wetness sliding through the flimsy fabric of her underwear on your bare thigh; the delicious friction of against each other.

your hands part from her hips to shed your school blazer instead, and roseanne opens her eyes to unbutton her shirt as you grab at yours, unceremoniously yanking it out of your skirt and sliding your palm up the delicate valley of her stomach. hand sliding up further still, you’re cupping, kneading her breasts, bringing an exceptional churning in her gut when one of your thumbs stroke her nipple through the lace. it's off with a quick push of your fingers.

she stretches out her stomach, feline-like, curves her back and chest out, granting you the sight of her petite breasts as she swivels back and forth back along the length of your thigh. “touch me,” she coos, “please, baby.”

“touch you,” you reiterate, finger tracing the outline of the damp spot lining up her labia. she pushes up her knees to raise herself only the slightest bit higher, “here?” she whines as your touch makes her nerves jump, stroking her lips slowly through the cloth, hoping to further drive her out of her mind.

slipping your fingers into the hem of her panties, the cloth clings against her sex until you push back against it. you shuffle a little so that you could capture her nipples between your teeth, sucking on the bud. her entire body tenses above yours, arms wrapping around your neck, cradling your head closer to her chest.

slick is smearing all over your panties, merely from relishing her like she’s a fucking gift from the gods, preening when her hands quaintly smooth over the back of your neck and your fingers play, lazily and easily through her lips.

she gasps against your ear as your fingers run over her entrance, pressing and teasing, slow and calculated, sliding in the slightest so rose could feel the webbing of your fingers just barely inside of her.

a final tug on her reddened nipple, you withdraw your fingers.

without notice, roseanne’s vision tilts, and she finds herself yelping with her back on the polished, wooden floor with your body hovering hers and a dopey smile adorning your lips. her focus narrows into the manner your eyes dilate – lust and the effects of weed in them. “was that … indica?” you ask, a childlike nature to your voice while sliding her panties down her legs, then yours. you drop them near and kneel before her.

“i don’t –” she cuts herself, contemplating the fleeting body-warming euphoria that expands through melting and blissful relaxation. “mhm.” she titters, letting the word draw itself out slowly.

she gives you that look – peering up at you, heavy eyes open and telling as she spreads her legs, revealing parted, wet lips, swollen and pink from what feels like hours of teasing. you stare longingly, pupils blown, squirming and urging to get your mouth to taste her.

you dip down. roseanne feels the warmth of your breath, and then the first hot touch of your tongue on sensitive skin. she breathes out, tilts her hips up against your mouth, so you move the muscle brusquely, forward at an angle that catches at every lap.

you’re ridiculously skilled at this; seriously, no one, not even her fingers, knows her body as you do. no one else makes the pleasure overtake her mind as you do, as you flick your tongue and suck on her clit, thoroughly enjoying the way her sweet, even as a salty mix dribbles down your tongue. you're murmuring what sounds like appreciative, sugary words that roseanne can’t entirely make out, she succumbs in the soothing oscillations of it, punctuated by the intervals when you prob and poke with the tip of your tongue. she pushes back into it, chasing the feeling of that tongue gently opening her up, exploring for more.

then, still feeling quite indolent and mellow, you're nonetheless agile to move, sliding roseanne’s long legs over your shoulders. and with a quick mewl and purr tumbling out of you, you grasp her skirt in the balls of your fist and shove it up her stomach, then gather yours to situate yourself over her glistening lips. the first thrust is everything. she had sealed her eyelids shut again, laid back down and gone docile, allowing you to rut freely against her like – contented with being handled however you like. but when her hips roll up to press back against yours, it startles a moan from you, the sensation of it making both of your bodies sigh.

there's a certain rush; like the one you get when you’re veering the wheels of your bike for the first time, or the one where you’re getting away with something you should not have. this rush is the one currently coursing through your veins, a rush of want that floods through you, feeling almost surreal, rendering you lightheaded. you're almost, almost worried something else was laced in the blunt, but roseanne’s pussy proves powerful for it gently coaxes you out of your anxiety-inducing thoughts.

they're gone with each thrust sending her body forward. you can’t help speeding and hardening the rolls of your hips in quiet appreciation. each jolt makes her whine and thrill— you have to grit your teeth to not reach your high before hers, intent on coming at the same time. you grind harder onto her, make her feel each thrust— no area of her core left untouched.

“you look so beautiful, rosie,” you lick your lips, the feeling jubilant. past rapturous you can hardly finish your sentence. "and warm, you’re so fucking warm.”

chest heaving, her throat’s enticingly on display and you think of wrapping your hands around it to feel the pounding of her pulse – it beats against your fingers, singing in no particular rhythm. but it remains a sound you wouldn’t mind feeling and listening to, over and over again.

you rub harder into the body lying beneath you, brutal and animalistic, carnal taking up your nature to feel more. the space between your bodies is so wet and she might be unbelievably tight, you regret not doing this at your place so you could fuck the living out of her with one of your straps.

“—fuck,” you hear her gasping, her nails drilling into the hand wrapped around her neck, “keep going, don’t stop—”

the wet sounds of your flesh meeting, the grip on her hipbone and your hand roaming all over her body every time you buck against her clit, hard and faster —the more you can’t take your eyes away from the jiggle of her breasts. you stroke your thumb up and down, feeling out the little lump of her thin nipple and her mouth opens in mid-gasp, grasping your ass when her hips give out, lazing prone on the cold wooden floor of the room as your body blankets over hers. your hips don't stop thrusting.

you're rendered voiceless and utterly reckless, letting natural reactions taking over. the sparkle in your eyes burn for a split-second, then a gut-wrenching moan, cut from deep inside you. roseanne throws her head back, returns travelling on her series of heresies, combined with a bit of praise in the mix. “god, babe, right there … mmm—my fucking god,” she cuts herself off as you almost effortlessly pin her hips down, not enough to hurt, but more in a show of dominance.

and the release that hits you just never fucking ends; it comes in waves. sober, you’d be surprised at how quick you’ve come, losing your thread altogether, but it only takes four long, premeditated but frantic rolls for you to send yourself in a complete state of a body awakening – it's almost too much to move any more than just the bare minimum – two more to enhance the sensations for both you and roseanne, the latter’s body reacting before her mind could race to a conclusion. her eyes flow open, hands scrambling to clutch your asscheeks tighter when she feels herself pulsing, thrumming and seeing white behind her lids.

“holy -”

“fuck.” you finish for her, elbows coming down on either side of her head, so close to collapsing if it wasn’t for the way roseanne’s staring up at you. it's the look of admiration she always gives you when you’ve fucked her just right.

you kiss down her body – but not without a little slap on her ass. as you lay pecks on her thighs, kiss bruises and marks onto them, you bite and nibble on them, clit twitching at the familiar scent of her dripping heat. it just has that thing that makes you delirious, like alcohol. you give a tentative lick.

she jerks from over-sensitivity, while her cunt throbs for what is to ensue. walls stretching to accommodate the length and thickness of your fingers slowly entering her, lewd sounds and heat licking deep through her chest. you dip the second digit in earnest, your burning touch only seems to make her core burn with greater need.

then, in the spirit of simply breaking her, you find her g-spot easily, ramming your fingers into it repeatedly with faultless confidence before pulling away.

roseanne clenches, whining at the emptiness. being filled just a few seconds ago to feeling friction, to her walls abruptly empty. the pressure inside of her gone, she squirms around trying to find your finger to sink back into her body. she moans, then tries again when all she receives is a giggle, hearing the teasing in your voice, but not possessing the patience to deal with it right now

... “daddy, please.”

it comes out breathy —imploring and wanton and you almost shake in rapture.

“you know i love it when you call me that, rosie,” you come up to murmur against the shell of her ear, words dripping an avid rush of honey. it repels any form of weed-produced laziness that’s taken ahold of your limbs.

roseanne guides your hand back towards her entrance, gripping down so you can’t move away from her – except, she knows it wouldn’t take much to overpower her, but she does it anyway. she feels the plush push against her walls, then you’re slowly filling her again, setting her nerves ablaze and she let herself cry your name, light curses, whatever comes through her mind out as you rub the spot that makes her toes curl.

you're gradually lured into snapping your hand, just to wallow in the release of breathy sighs and cries of ‘daddy’ in the crook of your neck that leaves the blonde’s lips every time you force the sound out of her.

you press your body flush against her form and writhe your fingers in a single-minded purpose inside her dripping entrance. you lick at her pounding pulse and plunge deeper in to make it soar higher and faster than weed ever could. she presses her hands into your shoulders, digging half-crescents into the fragile texture of your skin; clutching for more of your warmth against her.

with the windows open, people could definitely hear the mundane debauchery taking place right up inside the building. but she simply can’t hold in her moans, despite her best attempts at deadening them.

body unfurling, as your prodding fingers slides out at her entrance, pressing harder and harder until they slip back inside to hook deeper into her warmth — she sighs and throws her head back, body moving, torso arched, light nipples on opaque skin scrounging for your tongue. however, you’re pre-occupied with sliding in and out of her, kissing the pretty gasps out of her lips.

your palm hits against her clit each time, her inner muscles beginning to contract and squeeze around your fingers. she's so fucking close, you know it, so before she can start thrashing, you get better leverage. you push one of her legs wider with your knee to get deeper and pump freely inside of her, and the increased volume of her moans send a wave of arousal through you.

the more stimulation to her body causes the buzz to alter in one way or another. her vision is fuzzy as lazy eyes squint up at yours, body like jello that could collapse into a puddle any second. for the briefest instant, it’s almost too much to wrap her head around. it's some sort of fucking extraterrestrial experience, her almost entirely useless brain offers, as it proceeds to liquefy completely, overwhelming orgasm burning down her abdomen like scalding lava, leaving her breathless.

a while later, when the sun’s stopped blossoming in the sky and a blanket of stars have taken the grace of a breeze over your heads, you’re back in your original position – roseanne straddling your waist, buttermilk hair brushing over her breasts, lissome and comely body draped back in her bra and skimpy panties.

she leans down and inches her chin forward so she can seal her lips and mouth over yours. she drags her tongue, asking for permission. the taste of your skin, your perfume and scent of your body is intoxicating. the high’s worn off, now she could get drunk from just having her thighs wrapped and caging around you, kissing you for hours on end.

“hol’ up” then she’s pulling away, before leaning over the side to reach for your bag, procuring a small plastic bag.

you eye her with amusement, “while i don’t mind lighting up another one,” you start, the sweet, nonetheless imposing, concern in your voice is palpable, “grab my sweater first in there.” you nod towards the bag. you've closed the window but the weather is known to seep through bones once blankets of dark clouds had already rolled in.

roseanne smiles and rolls her eyes, dropping to kiss your cheek, then neck, then cheek once more. she has to tear herself away with a fit of laughter when you reach up and get a hand in her milky curls, directing her mouth to yours in a show of biting and toying with the sheen of her lips.

the wool blend of your sweater looks the best on her, it draws down to expose one finely boned shoulder and you wish to paint constellations on the exposed neckline, to dart hot kisses against the silky skin.

you watch, admirably as roseanne uses your abdomen as a workplace to pack the bits of weed into the blunt wrap she had also pulled from your bag. her nimble fingers work everything expertly into a rather attractive roll before bringing the blunt to her lips to lick down the length.

“the joy of roleplay,” she mentions, quite pleased from the attention. “we should do it more often.”

cocoa eyes peek at you from under long lashes before swiftly looking bavk down at her work. “daddy~” she adds.

“christ, rosie, don’t make me take you here again.” you deadpan, embarrassed, looking at her as though she’s meant to understand the gravity of your statement.

roseanne just laughs, conspicuously displaying how perfectly aware she was on the effect of her recurrent use of your ‘nickname’ in the most inappropriate choice of settings and moments.

you slide one hand up, rubbing and massaging the curve of her waist while she soothes down the edges with her fingertips, and grabs the discarded lighter from the floor to light the end up.

“professional,” you chuckle, and wrap your arms around her. she blows smoke halos in your face, bubbled laugh when you playfully gust them away before bringing you into a kiss. she hums as she closes her eyes, and glides her tongue across your bottom lip. “we’re never getting out of here if you keep this up.” your words a breathy pant between grazes of tongues.

“good,” she whispers, connecting your foreheads, unfocused gaze of seductive, glassy-eyed squint burning as she flicks them down to look hungrily at you. “because i'm taking what’s mine until i'm satisfied.”

and you wisely do not voice an objection. one of your last sober thoughts before your skirt’s tugged down your legs.

#blackpink smut #rose smut #kpop smut #sub kpop #gg smut #wlw

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daughterofyourdarklord · 2 years

Note

Can you write a soft moment between Bella and Delphi?

“Mummy!” Delphini called, her voice sickly sweet as she came swinging down the stairs.

Her mother didn’t answer right away. Delphi really hardly ever referred to Bellatrix as such, not unless she was begging or feeling particularly mischievous, so she wasn’t exactly deterred by her mother's lack of response. She caught a glimpse of her Mum’s shiny black hair draped over the back of their chesterfield perched politely in the parlor, she smirked before sauntering over.

Bellatrix let out a sigh at her daughter's eager footsteps, and Delphini laughed in response. She was quick to bend over the back of the velvet sofa, wrapping her arms tightly around her mother’s neck - so very purposefully interrupting the novel the older witch was deep into.

“How are you doing today?” She started, hardly giving her mother a moment to answer before she slipped over the back of the couch, immediately laying her head atop the book resting in her mother’s lap. “Wonderful? That’s wonderful.” She continued her interruption, not bothering to let Bellatrix actually respond. Her mother raised an eyebrow at her, clearly, in part, mildly entertained with her daughter’s melodrama.

“Well, I’m not doing so wonderful.” She added, looking up at her mother, eyes widening in mock innocence.

“Mummy,” she started again, that sham sweetness coating her every word. “I’m so very bored today - and I want to play! Can’t we go into that muggle village for a while? Just the two of us? I haven’t gotten a new toy in ages, and I’ve been such a good girl lately.” Delphini bit her lip in anticipation, trying to hide her smirk as Bellatrix rolled her eyes, quick to shove her daughter’s head out of her lap. Delphi twisted up to sit right beside her. “Oh, come on, Mum! Let's have some fun together.. Please.” She asked again, leaning against Bellatrix’s shoulder lovingly.

Delphini knew she had won when her mother gently closed the novel.

#why write something soft when you can write something spicy?#fr though I will do another one if you want something actually sweet but I needed a break from smol delphi for a little #only a little #delphini #delphi #bellatrix lestrange #mother daughter bonding #their favorite past time #is muggle hunting a thing really?#I am not so sure

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roman-writing · 3 years

Text

bring home a haunting (9/12)

Fandom: The Haunting of Bly Manor

Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jamie Taylor

Rating: M

Wordcount: 19,386

Summary: Dani almost has her life together, when a familiar face arrives back in town after ten years. A childhood friends AU written with @youngbloodbuzz

read it below or read it on AO3 here

IX: 1987

It wasn't Jamie at Thanksgiving.

Jamie bringing Mikey. Jamie being charming. Jamie seated at the table with the whole family as though she’d never left. It wasn’t the way Dani had sat two seats down from her, wishing she could be close enough that their legs pressed together beneath the table, and in turn resenting herself for desiring such a thing in the first place. Here. Where Dani was surrounded by her fiancé and her future in-laws. Burying her nose in her wine glass against her better judgement until by the end of the night she had felt off-kilter, until she had needed to retreat to the bathroom to splash her face with cold water and sit atop the toilet seat with her head buried in her hands just to be alone for two minutes.

It wasn't Eddie's announcement that he'd booked the botanical gardens as their wedding venue for the next year.

Eddie telling her proudly after work one evening. Eddie listing off all the ways the venue suited their requirements. Eddie expecting her to be relieved that he’d taken such initiative to lift this burden from her shoulders, to allow her to focus on things like flower arrangements, and bridesmaids, and card stock for invitations. Dani had taken the news in stride. Her smile had been broad enough to pull at the seams until she felt like she might split open. She had let him kiss her on the cheek and take her out to dinner. She had let him place his coat around her shoulders, let him place his hand at the small of her back, let him place his hand on her knee the whole ride home.

It wasn’t even her mother dragging her off to Davenport on the weekend to try on wedding dresses.

The long car ride. Her mother in the driver’s seat, while Dani had tried to avoid conversation by staring at scenery through the window. Karen picking at every detail of the dresses that Dani had lingered over – this was too long, this was too ivory, this revealed too much of her back. Dani had let Karen speak with the store attendant instead, walking along a row of sumptuous dresses – innumerable yards of lustrous silk and satin, of muslin, velvet and lace – and unable to imagine herself in a single one. And after lunch, Dani had walked along the riverbank, gazing out across the sun-glinted water, and had thought faintly to herself that this was as close as she’d ever been to the state border. Wondered if she tried to sprint across the bridge, if she would be flung back, pulled by some greater gravity.

It was her car dying. That was what finally did it.

She'd had to call a tow, and Roger Simmons had let her hop into the passenger's seat with a kind smile as he dragged her car behind his truck all the way to the shop. The mechanic spoke like a coroner, coldly addressing what had done the old girl in, while Dani listened, hearing only a high whine in her ears, rising in pitch. In the end, Eddie had to come and pick her up to drive her home. She went in a daze, Jamie's coat draped over her shoulders, a wad of bills clenched in her fist – cash exchanged for scrap metal — and the box of precious things tucked beneath her crossed elbows.

It was the sleepless nights that followed.

It was waking up to sounds of drumming against the walls, a hollow noise, a hollow bang, as though from a fury with an iron glove. And it was waking up again with a jerk, a cold sweat, clutching at her throat and struggling to breathe through the fading nightmare of a rope coiled and snapping taut. Outside, a car in the predawn dark would pace the restless streets, headlamps like eyes lighting up the blue dimity curtains of their bedroom window in passing.

And Eddie slept through it all. Shivering with cold, Dani would curl up against his broad back, wrap an arm around him and lie awake until her body slowly warmed against his, until the rising sun began to tint the world a pallid ghostly grey. By the next morning, she would remember nothing of the terror. Only the cold. The deep and gripping cold.

“Not to be rude or anything,” said Jamie, “but you look like absolute dog shit.”

Now, standing in the doorway to Jamie’s house, Dani laughed. An honest slightly maddened laugh. It was Sunday morning, and Dani could not remember a time when she had felt more tired. She held a bag of food from Owen's that she barely recalled picking up earlier. There was the impression of wandering all that way, as though sleep walking, drifting down the familiar streets and hardly registering the fact that her feet were carrying her to a predetermined destination. As though an internal compass had an arm fixed firmly and pointing towards Jamie.

"Thanks," Dani said when she finally managed to stop laughing — just on this side of hysterics — wiping at the corners of her eyes and smiling weakly.

Jamie stepped aside to let her in and shut the door behind her. "Have you not been sleeping? And where's your car?"

Dani had to swallow back a tightness in her throat. "I sold it," she said, taking off her shoes and setting them to one side. "It died and I sold it."

"Sorry to hear that,” said Jamie and she sounded genuine. “But, hey. If you ever want advice buying a new one and don't know what to look for, I can help."

Dani didn't want a new car. She didn't want any car that wasn't purely her own and nobody else's. A car bought with a joint account. A car chosen on someone else's recommendation — no matter how sensible. None of it was sensible; she didn't want sensible. She wanted to go back to 1981 and purchase a car that let her feel — for the first time in too long a time — free.

There was a gentle touch at her elbow, and Dani tensed. She turned to find Jamie watching her with a kindly expression. "You want a cup of tea?" Jamie asked. "Only — it looks like you need one."

Dani's mouth opened, then shut again. She nodded, drawing in a deep breath. Her morning cup of coffee — Eddie had made it, insisting it was his turn — was a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. The only effect it seemed to have had was increasing her heart rate and leaving her bereft of the ability to sit still without feeling like she was going to self-destruct.

She followed Jamie into the kitchen, answering Jamie's questions with half-phrases and murmurs, distracted by the glance of light through the windows, by the way it seemed to cast Jamie all in bronze. A statue breathed into with life as though by an artist’s hands. Somewhere along the way, Dani had dropped her purse to the floor and sat at one of the bar stools, resting her cheek heavily in one hand.

Jamie set the kettle on a back coil and frowned over at her. "It's only nine, you know. You sure you don't want to have a quick nap before our usual torture via sci fi?"

Dani tried to imagine sleeping on the couch while Jamie puttered around the kitchen, and knew it would be impossible. She shook her head. "Thanks, but your couch is very sunny."

Indeed, the couch was sun-bathed and bright, just visible in the other room. The idea of sleeping there, waking up sweltering where anyone could walk by the house and see her, made her stomach turn.

"Doesn't have to be the couch," Jamie said. "I've a perfectly good bed upstairs."

Dani’s head jerked back. She pointed towards the stairs and said, “You mean — yours?”

"Yeah, unless you want the kid's room," Jamie opened up a cupboard and took out a tin full of tea bags. "Trust me. You don't."

“If - If that’s okay,” Dani said, voice rising in inflection like a question.

Jamie set down the tin. “Said it was, didn’t I? C’mon. Up you get.” She started towards the stairs and gestured for Dani to follow her.

For a moment Dani stayed seated at the counter. She could say no, and Jamie would let her. Jamie wouldn’t insist. Jamie would go back to making tea and small talk until Mikey wandered down for breakfast and television.

Scraping back the stool, Dani stood and trailed after her. Jamie didn’t glance back as they climbed the stairs together. Dani kept a hand on the wood-painted railing all the way up as though the earth might pitch beneath her feet. When they reached the landing, Jamie held up a finger to her lips and pointed at Mikey’s shut door, the two of them slipping past, and then Jamie was pushing open the door to her room.

With a sense of unreality, Dani stepped inside. Her memories of Jamie’s personal space always involved mess, a sort of organized chaos. The years had dampened that only somewhat. A few of Jamie’s clothes were still strewn across the floor and clutter accumulated on the dresser, but the bed was made and the air had that recently vacuumed smell. The curtains were drawn, admitting only a faint sliver of light from the far wall so that the room was pleasantly warm and dark.

Giving Jamie a furtive and apologetic shrug, Dani stepped towards the bed.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Jamie said from the doorway as Dani sat on the edge of the mattress, nearest the window.

“Don’t,” said Dani, “let me sleep too long.”

Jamie smiled at her. “Go on. Get some kip,” she said, and pulled the door quietly shut behind her.

Dani listened to Jamie’s footsteps retreating back down the hall. She didn’t realize she was gripping a corner of the sheets in a fist until she felt a dull ache in her hand. Clasping her hands together in her lap, she sat there and stared at the drawn curtains.

This side of the bed had no side table. Then again, Jamie had always preferred the right side of the bed. Somehow that simple knowledge was like a thrilling secret. Dani glanced over at that side, at the half empty glass of water and the faded novel and the pocket knife. Sitting up slightly, Dani tugged out the sheets and slipped beneath them, not bothering to get undressed.

Somehow this was worse than the couch. She was a voyeur in her own skin. Every motion seemed performed outside of herself, viewed by a camera lens through a keyhole. Dani sprawling across the mattress. Dani twisting up in the sheets. Dani pressing her face into the pillows and inhaling deeply. Dani pulling the covers up until her head was all but covered, until she was wrapped up in the familiar warmth and smell, until the sleepless nights came rushing over her, dragging her down, down into the vasty deep.

She awoke to the sounds of voices, distant through the door and down the stairs. Blearily she blinked and squinted around the room. The first thing she registered was that the bed was oriented incorrectly; it should have been up against the other wall. And the voices weren’t quite right either. There was the distinct lack of a Scottish burr.

Because it wasn’t 1978, and she wasn’t at the railway cottage, and Ruth Heron had been dead for over a decade.

Five more minutes, she thought muzzily to herself. Just five more minutes and she would wake up.

Five minutes came and went. Head still buried in a pillow, Dani lifted her arm to check her wristwatch. Thirty-five minutes, in fact. She couldn’t remember falling asleep again. Only that she couldn’t think of a time when she wanted to wake up less. Only that Jamie’s bed was far more comfortable than her own, and that even after all these years she could with confidence say she much preferred it.

Pushing herself upright, Dani fumbled with the skin-warm covers. She was swinging her legs over the side of the bed and running a hand through her sleep-mussed hair when she heard a gentle tap on the door.

“You decent?” Jamie’s voice asked from the other side.

Dani’s fingers curled at the hem of her skirt. She said, “Come in.”

The doorknob turned slowly and Jamie poked her head in before the rest of her followed. “Feeling better?” she asked, shutting the door behind her.

Dani lifted her head slightly, remaining perched on the edge of the mattress, angled away from the door. “A little.”

Jamie’s footsteps padded closer and behind her Dani could feel the bed sink down slightly beneath a new weight. She stared down at her own bare ankles. A slit of light through the curtains lapped against the carpet, so that it seemed her feet were underwater.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

A precarious lock of hair fell into Dani’s eyes, and she raked it back with both hands. Her fingers remained tangled there, slumping down so that her wrists rested against her shoulders and she held onto the back of her neck.

“It wasn’t half mine,” she said finally after a long pause. “The car, I mean. It wasn’t half my car. It was just - just mine. Nobody had to lend it to me, or share it with me, or withhold it from me, or - It’s silly, I know. I’m being silly.”

“You’re not.”

Hesitantly, Dani twisted round. Jamie had moved up the bed so that she was leaning easily against the headboard, propped against a pillow. One leg hung over the side of the mattress, and the other was bent at the knee. Ten years ago, Dani would have sank down beside her, would have rested her head in Jamie’s lap or on the perch of Jamie’s shoulder. Now the spread of sheets between them might as well have been the breadth of the Atlantic.

“It’s not silly,” Jamie continued, “wanting something that’s just yours. Not at all.”

“I have this.”

The words spilled out of her before she could properly think over their implications, and Dani rushed to clarify.

“Sundays,” Dani said. “I have - I have my Sundays back, I guess.”

“Not really just yours though, are they?”

“What do you mean?”

Jamie smiled softly and gestured to herself. “Well, I’m here. Taking up your precious Sunday time.”

Dani’s mouth felt dry. “Yeah,” she murmured. “But that’s -”

She didn’t say: ‘different.’ She didn’t say: ‘what I want.’ She meant it, though, and the words hung unspoken between them.

Dangerous, Dani thought. Being here — in Jamie’s bed, still tired, still muddled from sleep, the truth on the tip of her tongue — was dangerous.

Jamie looked away and Dani found she could breathe properly again. She cleared her throat as Jamie moved to stand up without doing so. Gesturing to the bed, Jamie said, “You can keep sleeping, if you want. I can tell the kid to keep it down and do homework, and you can sleep.”

“No,” said Dani faintly, then with more strength, “No, I want to wake up.”

It was far too early in the morning to be teaching children songs to a nativity play. Dani stood at the front of the otherwise empty auditorium with her class, clutching a cup of coffee that she had smuggled out of the teacher’s lounge. It was ten days until Christmas, and not a single one of these kids was ready to perform at the school play. Bless them.

Dani winced when the tune slid distinctly south of the intended key. With a fortifying sip of coffee on her tongue, she shook her head and raised one hand. “Okay, stop! Please! Let’s start from the top again, all right?”

She shot a plaintive look towards Ms. Reeves, who was by this time an institution in and of herself. Ms. Reeves was also the only competent pianist at the school and could sight-read sheet music. With a nod, Ms. Reeves pushed up her thick tortoise shell glasses and struck a chord to orient the kids back to the beginning of the song.

It did not go any better than last time. Not even with Dani slowing them all down and singing various sections by herself, so they could hear the difference. That didn’t seem to help much. If anything, the kids were adamant that she could keep singing so they could just listen and whittle down the clock until freedom. And she couldn’t blame them. She herself kept checking her wristwatch, wondering how many minutes until she was free from the purgatory of work so close to the holidays.

“You know,” she told them once they’d finished, “I’m not the one that’s going to be singing in front of all your parents.”

“But you’re much better at singing, Miss Clayton.”

“Yeah, you should just do the performance for us. We’ll be back up dancers.”

Dani gave a snort of laughter and rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s very flattering, but ultimately unhelpful. And it’s definitely not happening. So, we’re going to practise again tomorrow. All right?”

A chorus of whines answered. Dani held up a hand and began shooing them off the stage, “I don’t want to hear it. This is your only homework this week. So, you’re welcome. Go. Go on.”

It did not take much urging. They went with talk amongst themselves, shared excitement and laughter at being let free. One or two of them gave her a wave in passing.

“Bye, Miss Clayton.”

Dani smiled. “Bye, Mikey. See you later.”

Mikey trotted after a small group of his friends, shouldering his star-splashed backpack. At the piano, Ms. Reeves was shuffling together the sheet music and stashing it in the compartment hidden in the seat before she too shuffled towards the exit, trailing after the children.

Still on stage, Dani called out after her, “Thank you, Ms. Reeves! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

No sooner had the door shut behind her however, than it opened again. Dani, who had begun cleaning up after the kids — the last thing the janitor needed was to sweep this whole place when it would just take a few minutes of her time to pick up the bits of litter that seemed to accumulate wherever a pack of children roamed — glanced up, expecting to see that perhaps one of her students had left something behind. Instead, Hannah walked into the auditorium, her heels clicking against the polished floors.

“Oh, hi!” Dani greeted with an absentminded smile, even as she ducked down and tucked a few crumpled wrappers into her pocket for disposal later. “Fancy seeing you here!”

“Just doing the rounds,” said Hannah. “Finished some paperwork early.”

“Lucky you,” Dani drawled. She dropped down to one knee and reached under a stand to fish out a piece of paper that had been left behind. Someone’s old homework, no doubt. “I still have to -” she pushed herself upright, careful not to spill what remained of her coffee “- enter last week’s tests into the system. Good grief, how do they always leave so much trash everywhere? They were only here for forty minutes.”

Hannah climbed the stairs to join her on stage, the two of them arrayed like actors before an absent audience. “So, how many ear plugs should I bring this year?” she asked.

“At least two pairs for you and me,” Dani answered, sharing a small smile with her.

“Nothing for your beau? I didn’t think you the type to let him suffer alone.”

Dani laughed. She folded up the page of old homework and slipped it into her pocket. “This isn’t one of the events he’ll want to come to. Trust me.”

Hannah cocked her head to one side. “And what of Miss Taylor?”

Taken aback, Dani blinked and fumbled for a response. “Jamie? Well, she’s not - I mean - We’re just friends.”

Hannah gave her an odd look. “Of course. I was only asking if she would be attending to see her brother.”

“Right,” said Dani. “Yeah. Yeah, she’ll be here.”

When Hannah simply watched her curiously, Dani tucked a lock of hair behind one ear and sipped at her near empty cup of coffee. It had gone completely cold and bitter, despite the copious amounts of sugar and creamer she had added earlier.

“Have you worked out the catering yet?” Dani asked. Anything to fill the dead space, to divert Hannah’s too clever, too perceptive, too gentle gaze.

The corner of Hannah’s mouth quirked in a knowing smile, but all she said was, “Yes. I thought I’d take your advice, actually.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been in touch with the owner of that cafe in town,” Hannah said. “And Owen has gladly agreed to be the school’s supplier for the after show event.”

“Owen , huh?” Dani repeated, grinning. “Not Mr. Sharma?”

“Shall we play that game, Miss Clayton?” Hannah said, and though her tone was light the look she shot Dani was warning.

Clearing her throat, Dani turned the empty cup between her hands and glanced away. “Point taken,” she said weakly.

For a moment she feared that Hannah would press. A shiver of utter dread wormed its way up Dani’s throat, locking her jaw in place like a coroner’s wire sewn through the gaps in her teeth. Hannah knew. If not the specifics, Hannah knew something. She had seen the flowers. She had seen Dani and Jamie interacting at school events and camping trips. She had seen Dani spiraling at the Halloween fair, had calmed her down in the shadow of the old brick building, and sat with her until Dani could gather the pieces of herself together again. It’s all right , she had said. It’s all right.

And even though Hannah said nothing now, the words hung between them. They were alone in the school auditorium, on stage before an empty crowd, and Dani could not shake the feeling that if she looked up, there would be a bucket teetering in the rafters over her head.

“Do you have any plans for the holidays, dear?”

The question was so casual it took Dani a moment to register that Hannah had once again allowed her to slip away, unscathed and unnoticed.

“Just the usual,” Dani said. “Home with my mother and the future in-laws.”

“Well, that’s something, isn’t it?”

Dani smiled. Something. Yeah. It sure was. Another year at Judy’s house. The last year until she was another Mrs. O’Mara in a family full of Mrs. O’Maras.

“And you?” Dani asked.

With a sigh and a one-shouldered shrug, Hannah said, “The holidays are always quiet for me. I left my life back in England, when I came to America.”

“Why not,” Dani gestured with the cup towards the auditorium at large, “go back? Don’t you ever travel anymore?”

“Oh,” said Hannah, sounding surprised. “Not really, no. Apart from coming here. But that was a bit of a spur of the moment decision to follow -” she cleared her throat and whatever she had been about to say was replaced instead by, “Well, to follow a job opportunity, I suppose.”

“Do you miss it?” Dani asked. “Home, I mean?”

Hannah smiled gently. “Is it home, I wonder? I cannot say. I miss people. But — well. I have people here now, don’t I?” And she grasped Dani’s arm with a brief warm touch.

Dani blinked in surprise. “Of course. Yeah. You know, you could - you could come over. If you wanted.”

“That’s very kind of you, but not this year, I think.”

“Hey,” said Dani softly, and she reached out as if to grasp Hannah by the elbow, to return the gesture, only to let her hand fall back to her side instead. “I know I call you ‘Mrs. Grose’ and all that, but that’s not — I think of you as a friend.”

“Does that mean I can expect to receive a wedding invitation?” Hannah asked slyly, avoiding Dani’s well-meaning American earnestness with all the finesse of an Englishwoman incapable of stomaching such bald sincerity.

Dani laughed. “I’ll make sure to sign the invitation myself.”

“Very good.”

“So,” Dani nudged Hannah’s foot with her own, “Next year? Christmas? You’ll come over?”

Hannah chuckled warmly. “Next year.”

There was a blanket of snow across the ground and Dani had elected to wear heels. Simple navy dress shoes. Just enough to give her an extra two inches of height and match her outfit. The moment she opened the car door and was met with a bank of snow along the curb side, she scrunched up her nose and weighed up her chances at being able to step over it. Her skirt probably wouldn’t give her the range of movement.

She was still pushing at the quirks of her gloves, when Eddie said from the driver’s seat, “I got it.”

He stepped out of the car, door slamming behind him, and rounded the car so that he could kick a path through the snow for her. Then, holding out his hand, he grinned. “Think Mark will hire me as the new plough driver?”

“You missed your calling,” Dani replied. She took his hand, giving it a grateful squeeze and allowing herself to be pulled up and out of the car.

“Well, if this council role fails, at least I have that.”

He didn’t bother locking the car as they made their way up the street towards his parent’s house. Dani kept her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, shoulders hunched up and huddled beneath her jacket. The pavement had been salted and was bare of snow or ice. Great plumes of white feathered the night air with every breath. Dani shivered.

“God, I can’t wait for spring,” she muttered under her breath.

He chuckled, then took her hand and pressed it into his pocket, wrapped up in his hand for warmth. “You could’ve just worn boots, you know,” Eddie said. “I hear ski jumpsuits are very chic nowadays.”

“I think my mother would kill me.”

“We could write Dior across the back with a bedazzler. That way she couldn’t complain.”

Dani snorted with laughter before she could stop herself, biting back a wide grin. She nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. “You’re almost as bad as Jamie.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

By some miracle, Dani didn’t slip even once on the short walk to the front door. She ran a quick hand across her hair to ensure it was still coiffed to perfection while Eddie knocked. They didn’t actually wait for anyone to answer. Knocking was more of a courtesy. The moment after Eddie knocked, he turned the handle and pushed the door inwards to admit them, calling out, “We made it!”

“Merry Christmas!” a few voices said in jumbled unison, while Judy called from the kitchen, “Come in! Come in!”

“Shut the door while you’re at it!” Tommy added. “You’re letting out the heat!”

The two of them shuffled inside, shutting the door and pushing off their coats and gloves. Eddie held out his hand to take hers and she gave them to him with a grateful kiss on the cheek, which he ducked down to receive before striding away to hang up their things in a closet around the corner. The house was pleasantly warm and bright. A fire flickered and popped in the hearth. A few of Tommy and David’s kids were playing cards on the rug in front of it. Tommy and David themselves were seated on the couch, chatting with their dad and nursing beers. Their wives were sipping wine; the two had cordoned themselves off by the chairs near the Christmas tree, which was already piled high with presents for tomorrow. Taking off her heels and setting them by the front door, Dani gave the two other women – both sleek, polished, and brunette – a nervous little wave and a smile. They returned it, looking as plasticky as Dani felt.

Already Dani felt herself tense up with quiet dread at the thought of making small talk all night. The section of hard floor by the front door was slightly wet from the residue of snow left when people first stepped inside, and with a grimace she stepped further into the house and onto warm dry carpet. Before she could go any further however, there was another knock at the front door. And this time, it didn’t immediately open after.

Looking around, nobody else seemed to be moving. So, Dani walked back a few steps and opened the door to find her mother standing on the other side, a bottle of red wine under one arm.

“Oh,” said Dani, smiling weakly. “Hi, mom.”

Karen cast an appraising glance across Dani’s appearance – navy skirt, navy jacket, cream-colored blouse, bare-stockinged feet – and her eyebrow rose.

“What? Did you leave your snow boots at home?” Karen asked, moving inside so that Dani had to step out of the way.

Dani sighed. “Merry Christmas, mother.”

Normally that kind of tone would have earned her a sharp-tongued rebuke, but from the couch Mike said jovially, “Karen! Nice to see you!”

Her mother removed her shoes and strode towards the couch to talk. Tommy and David exchanged their pleasantries. Meanwhile, Dani caught Mike’s eye over her mother’s shoulder. He winked at her, but the action was so fast and subtle she might have imagined it.

Making her way past the living room, carefully not catching the attention of Tommy and David’s wives, Dani slipped into the kitchen. There, Carson and Judy were adding the finishing touches to a feast’s worth of food already spread out across the center island, while Eddie rummaged around in the fridge.

“Oh, honey, don’t you look nice,” Judy greeted her with a smile. She gestured Dani closer with a spatula so she could give her a brief one-armed hug and a peck on the cheek before returning to task.

“Hey,” Carson said, flicking a towel at his brother’s backside. “If you’re not going to help, get lost.”

Eddie straightened with a scowl, clutching a can of beer in one hand. “Knock it off, Carson.”

“Mom, tell him to get out of the kitchen.”

“Get out of the kitchen, Eddie,” said Judy in an absentminded tone, busy carving an enormous glazed ham and plating the slices.

Eddie shut the fridge door and said, exasperated, “Why do you always side with him?”

“Because she likes me more than she likes you,” Carson whisper shouted, dodging out of the way when Eddie took a swipe at the back of his head.

Which was, of course, exactly when Judy chose to look up from her carving, her face a fixed scowl of displeasure. “Edmund! On Christmas? Really?”

“Wha -?” Eddie pointed at Carson, but whatever excuse he’d been about to say died on the tip of his tongue as his mother returned to what she’d been doing. “Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath.

Carson flapped the towel towards the exit to shoo his brother away, and Eddie went, sipping sullenly at his beer. “Not going to save me?” he asked Dani as he passed her in the doorway.

Dani shrugged apologetically but she was grinning when she replied. “Your mom’s house. Your mom’s rules.”

“Smart girl,” Judy murmured.

Eddie left, grumbling all the while. Carson waved cheerily after him and only stopped when Dani gave him a look.

“What?” Carson asked.

“You know what.”

“He was being in the way,” said Carson as though that justified everything. “He’s always being in the way. I thought you of all people would understand that.”

Even Judy shot her an amused glance at that. Dani crossed the room and snatched the dish towel from Carson so she could get started on the pile of pots and pans that had already accumulated in the sink before anyone had eaten a single bite.

Of course she knew that. Better than anyone. Better than any of them could begin to understand.

Instead, all Dani said was, “And we love him anyway. Because that’s what good siblings do. Especially during the holidays.”

Carson rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Fine.”

Running the tap to fill up the sink, Dani flicked him with water, and he ducked away from the splash with a whine of complaint.

“Judy!” called out Mike’s voice from the living room. “Can you bring out a towel and some soap! We’ve had a spill!”

With a sigh, Judy held out her hand for the towel, which Dani was already passing over to her along with a spare bar of soap from the windowsill over the sink. “Thanks, honey. Carson, can you take out the pie for me, please?”

Carson saluted sharply and moved towards the oven. “I’m on it, boss.”

In a bustle, Judy went out into the living room, leaving Dani and Carson alone in the kitchen. From the open door, Dani could hear her say, “Already, Tommy? I told you to be careful.”

“Sorry, mom. Here. I can do it.”

“It was David’s fault, actually.”

“Hey, Ed? Buddy? You want to test the ‘no fight’ rule of Christmas?”

“Boys, please.”

Dani hid a grin. She twisted off the tap and scrounged around in the cupboard beneath the sink for a pair of pink gloves to start the washing up. Beside her, Carson grabbed an oven mitt and a spare towel, and pulled out a pie, resting it atop the stove and switching off the remaining dials.

“Smells great,” Dani said idly as she reached for a scrubbing brush and soap. “You two must’ve been working all afternoon.”

“It was mostly mom, to be honest. Though I was charged with some last minute grocery shopping. The store was a nightmare.”

Dani gave him a sympathetic grimace. With a smile, Carson set down the oven mitt and moved around her so that she could hand off a pan to him for drying.

“Feel like we should leave this for Eddie and the twins to clean up,” said Carson. “Seems only fair.”

Dani shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, but that’s because you’re too nice.” He nudged her shoulder with his own. “Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

“What? Of being nice? No.”

“No?”

She pushed another clean saucepan, still dripping with suds, into his hands and repeated, “No.”

“Your loss,” he sighed dramatically.

They fell into a companionable silence. From the other room they could still hear the goings on of the rest of the family. Dani listened fondly, while beside her Carson began humming a familiar tune under his breath. They worked in tandem, but as Dani placed the song — one of the many she’d heard at his concert in Des Moines — her movements slowed. His humming was but an echo of that night. Of bright neon lights, and a sweat-crowded underground bar, and thrumming noise vibrating the very floor beneath her feet.

“You know I -” Dani started to say, then stopped, not knowing exactly how to continue. “I went looking for you that night. After the performance, I mean.”

“Hmm?” Carson said, idle and wordless, setting aside one pan and reaching for a clean pot that Dani had just finished washing.

The water was murky and soap-riddled in the sink. A few knives were barely visible at the bottom, and there was still more than one pan handle cresting up through the surface like a sunken bowsprit. Eyes glued to the water, Dani set down the scrubber and steadied herself, hands braced against the edge of the sink.

“I found you. I saw you with your - your friend,” she said softly, slowly, picking up pace when he stiffened at her side, realising the implication of her words. “And I know it’s not my business, but I just - I wanted to tell you -”

She glanced up at him. Carson was frozen and wide-eyed, his hands gripping the damp drying towel as though it were a life line, the only thing keeping him tethered. Dani slipped her hands free of the gloves and reached out to grasp his wrist with fingers that were clammy yet gentle.

“I think you’re wonderful,” Dani breathed, her voice low and her gaze far more steady than her heart beat. She could feel Carson’s leaping like a skittish animal’s beneath her thumb. “And I wish I were half as brave.”

He blinked at her, his brow furrowing slightly, and Dani felt her throat close up around her tongue. She could tell him. It could be their little secret. Something they shared, a flame shielded from the wind by two cupped hands, flickering red-hot against their palms. She could tell him that he wasn’t alone, that she understood, that he didn’t need to hide from her. She could tell him, but the words were strangled at the root, piling up against the roof of her mouth. She could tell him, but he would always be Eddie’s brother before he was hers.

Footsteps behind them. Someone entering the kitchen. Dani snatched her hand away as though scalded, and both she and Carson stepped back from one another. Putting the pink gloves back on to finish the dishes, Dani cast a furtive look over her shoulder.

Karen had paused in the doorway, gripping the neck of the wine bottle in one hand. "I hope I'm not interrupting something," she said with a pointed flicker of her eyes between Dani and Carson.

The idea was so ridiculous — her and Carson — that Dani couldn't help but laugh. That her mother cared to know her so little she could even think they were anything but friends. It was laughable. And so Dani laughed. Beside her, Carson’s expression was pinched, as though it took everything in his power to not join in.

"Is something funny?" Karen asked coolly.

Stifling a giggle behind her teeth, Dani shook her head. "No," she managed. Then she cleared her throat and continued more seriously, "No. Nothing at all. What can I get for you, mom?"

“Well, unless the wine glasses and corkscrew have taken up a new residence, I can get what I need myself.”

Dani handed off one of the last knives to Carson for drying and frowned at where her mother had crossed the kitchen to open one of the drawers. "At least wait for dinner," Dani said, and tensed as though for an incoming blow when her mother sent her a warning glare.

"Not tonight, Danielle," Karen said. "You know how hard Christmas is for me."

Except it wasn't just Christmas. And it wasn't just tonight. It was every night and all the nights that had come before.

Mouth pursed, shoulders tense, Dani stripped off the gloves. Carson must have noticed the hard expression on her face, for he said suddenly, “Hey, Dani, can you go tell everyone that dinner’s ready and that they’ll need to come serve themselves? We’re doing it more buffet style this year, since there are so many of us.”

Exasperated, Dani nodded. Carson nudged her lightly with his elbow and gave her a smile.

“Thanks,” Dani said under her breath.

“Yeah, you too,” he murmured. Then, straightening, he said, “Mrs. Clayton, do you mind pouring me a glass as well?”

Karen reached for two glasses instead of just one, and Dani was able to slip from the kitchen without further incident.

The hallway provided a brief reprieve, caught in between the living room where Christmas music played and the family chattered, the tree glowing with lights fading from one color to another and reflecting off hanging tinsel, and the kitchen where she could still feel the presence of her mother, a shadow at her back. Leaning against the wall beside the kitchen entrance, lingering there for a moment, she went stiff when her mother passed her by to retreat back into the living room. Expelling a slow breath, she startled slightly when the doorbell rang, and felt her shoulders slump with relief.

“I’ll get it,” Dani called out, and made for the door, pulling it open and smiling at the sight of Jamie and Mikey wearing identical grins with curly hair dusted in a cluster of snow. “You’re late.”

“It was Jamie’s fault,” Mikey said, “She forgot to dig out the truck from the snow.”

Jamie rolled her eyes and gently shoved Mikey inside. “You’re one to talk,” she said, shutting the door behind her with her boot, arms laden with presents, “You’re the one who took bloody forever to wrap the rest of those presents.”

“Because you kept complaining it wasn’t neat enough,” Mikey countered with a scowl.

“Are you two going to bicker all night, or are you going to give me your coats?” Dani asked, biting back a laugh when Mikey gave her a sheepish grin and Jamie snorted, setting aside the presents on a nearby side table.

Dani waited patiently as they slipped off their boots to rest against the towel already damp from snow, but as they began to pull off their coats, Jamie wacked Mikey on the arm. “Oi, you forgetting something?”

“Oh,” Mikey said sheepishly, handing Dani his coat and scarf with a small grin, “Merry Christmas, Dani.”

“Merry Christmas, Mikey,” Dani said, chuckling, “Don’t worry. You can tell me again tomorrow morning. You two are coming, right?”

Jamie shrugged, handing over her own baggy coat and old scarf. “‘Course. Wouldn’t miss it,” she said, and jerked her chin towards Mikey with a smirk, “Think this one would have my head if we did.”

But Dani wasn’t particularly listening, her eyes flickering across Jamie’s outfit of black slacks, a slim fitting black button up, and brown suspenders. The top button of her shirt was open, exposing an expanse of pale skin and the long silver link chain that disappeared in the collar of her shirt. Dark-haired and gray-eyed, she looked unfairly attractive.

Swallowing thickly, feeling slightly unmoored, Dani gestured towards the outfit in question. “How very monochromatic of you.”

“Well, I do have a reputation to upkeep,” Jamie said, the corner of her mouth curling into an roguish grin, “The ugly jumpers are for tomorrow, remember?”

“Yeah,” Dani said, chuckling faintly, “I remember.”

Sufficiently breathless over the bright glint in Jamie’s eyes, Dani ducked away around the corner to hang the pair's coats in the closet and settle her heart rate.

“Is that who I think it is?” Judy’s voice rang through the hallway. “There you two are! Come here! Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. O’Mara,” Jamie replied.

Dani grinned fondly, shoving aside thick winter coats in the closet to make room for Jamie’s and Mikey’s, overhearing the warm welcomes around the corner, easily picturing Judy crushing Jamie and Mikey into affectionate hugs.

“Oh, finally, ” came Eddie’s voice next in a teasing tone, “Thought I was gonna have to rally the troops to start dinner without you.”

“Would’ve rung your neck if you did,” Jamie grumbled.

“Now, you two,” Judy admonished, “You remember my house rules, don’t you?”

Dani returned just in time to find Jamie shrugging with an impish grin, hands tucked into her pockets, and Eddie rolling his eyes. Judy in question had her arm wrapped around Mikey’s shoulders, and huffed out a soft laugh.

“You two haven’t changed a bit,” she said, and lightly jostled Mikey’s shoulders, “Come on, handsome. Let’s leave these silly goons to sort themselves out and go greet the others, huh?”

“Okay,” Mikey said quietly, wearing a shy pleased smile, cheeks dusted pink under the attention, letting himself be guided towards the living room where Dani could hear Tommy and David’s kids exclaim excitedly over Mikey’s appearance.

“Look at that, Ed. She called him handsome,” Jamie said with a smirk and some measure of pride, “Don’t recall her ever calling you handsome growing up.”

Eddie glowered, but Dani could see it lacked any real heat behind it. “Don’t recall her calling you pretty either.”

”That’s ‘cause I was the one she was calling handsome instead.”

When Eddie’s expression twisted in mild bewilderment, Dani breathed out a soft laugh and approached the pair. At her appearance, they both turned and grinned broadly at her. Dani blinked, feeling her breath catch in her chest lightly under the attention, her eyes darting between them. She quickly smothered the feeling, pulling her mouth into a small smile.

“You’re just gonna let her talk to me like that?” Eddie said, pointing reproachfully at Jamie.

Dani chuckled and folded her arms. “I refuse to get into the middle of one of these again.”

“Never gonna take a side, huh?” Eddie said, a teasing glint in his eyes, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her in close, “I see how it is.”

“That’s ‘cause I’m secretly her favorite,” Jamie said, smirking.

Eddie narrowed his eyes at her. “Okay, I’m going to let that pass once , since you helped us.”

Dani’s brows knitted together. “Helped with what?”

“Jamie helped us get the venue at the gardens,” Eddie said in triumph. “Turns out there was a long waiting list for a fall wedding, but Jamie managed to convince them to get us a slot.”

Dani went still. Feeling her stomach coil uncomfortably and her shoulders going stiff, Dani looked to Jamie and said, “You did?”

“Sure did,” Jamie said, her smirk outright devilish, “Hard to say no to this prat when he came crawling on his hands and knees, begging me to get you lot a spot.”

“That’s - I didn’t do that,” he said to Dani, “I just think she secretly likes me.”

“You and I both know I didn’t do it for you,” Jamie said with a wink in Dani’s direction.

Not knowing what else to say or do, feeling a swell of unease building between her ribs, Dani chuckled weakly and ducked her head.

Eddie laughed softly. “That’s fair,” he said, his hand rubbing her shoulder, “Gonna have to get you a gift basket as thanks.”

Snorting derisively, Jamie said, “I’ll settle for an open bar tab at the reception, thank you very much. But for now, you can start with taking those presents under the tree for me.”

Jamie gestured with an impish grin towards the small stack of presents that still sat on the side table beside them. Rolling his eyes and sighing exasperatedly, Eddie nodded and did as he was told, leaving them in the foyer with one last kiss to Dani’s head and a pointed look towards Jamie. Sending him off with a cheeky salute, Jamie turned back to Dani, her expression softening.

“All right, Poppins?”

“Yeah. Of course,” Dani said, blinking, “Why?”

Jamie shrugged, sinking her hands back in her pockets. “Had that look about you, I suppose,” she said, watching her carefully, “The gardens are what you wanted, yeah? If it isn’t, I’m perfectly happy and willing to go ring his neck.”

“No - it’s fine. It’s perfect,” Dani said, taking a small step closer, “The gardens are perfect.”

Arching an eyebrow, Jamie slowly said, “But?”

Shaking her head lightly, willing away the tight cincture in her chest, Dani said, “No buts. I couldn’t have pictured a more perfect place, to be honest.”

It wasn’t a lie for the most part. In another life, the botanical gardens blooming under the care of Jamie’s hands would have been more than she could have hoped for. In another universe, she would have been happy, she would have been relieved. Autumnal blooms and golden trees and a hand in her own that was smaller but no less calloused. But this was here and now, and Jamie’s discerning eyes were flickering over her quietly, studying Dani as though she could see right through her, and just as Dani felt her pulse quicken, Jamie’s expression softened.

“All right then,” Jamie said, “S’long as you're happy.”

Feeling her breath catch in her chest, her hands twitching to wrap around Jamie’s, one of the twins called out, “Danielle! Are you just gonna hog her yourself all night?”

Chuckling lightly, wrapping her arms loosely around her stomach, Dani felt her cheeks warm. Rolling her eyes, the corner of Jamie’s mouth curled into a smile and nudged her towards the living room. “Fair bit of warning, the kid has something for you,” Jamie murmured.

“Oh?”

“Mhmm. Wants to give it to you tonight instead of tomorrow,” Jamie said, “Been a wee bit shy about it.”

“You two didn’t have to get me anything.”

“He insisted.” Jamie shrugged. “Kid’s a bit mad about the holidays, you saw what he was like on Sunday.”

Dani would be hard pressed to forget. Arriving at the Taylor household that afternoon with hot chocolate and pastries in hand to a house strewn about in wrapping paper and decorations and a bare Christmas tree tucked into the corner waiting to be accessorized. The day had been spent helping the pair decorate the tree and living room with Christmas music to keep them company at Mikey’s insistence. And afterwards they had settled on the couch to watch White Christmas as the blinking tree lights illuminated the room while Dani desperately tried not to drown in the nostalgia with Jamie pressed beside her. By the end, Jamie and Mikey had ended up chasing each other around the house with wrapping paper rolls after a well aimed thwack to Jamie’s head while Dani watched with exasperated fondness while waiting for the tea kettle’s whistle.

“I saw you, too,” Dani said with a teasing smirk, “I see you still have White Christmas memorized.”

Jamie shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “Dunno what you mean.”

“I also happened to see that you and Mikey seem to be matching tonight,” Dani said, taking a peak in the living room where indeed Mikey was also wearing dark slacks, a button up shirt, and suspenders. The only minor difference happened to be that his shirt was dark green and he was wearing a black bow tie that he was currently anxiously pulling at as he sat on the couch between Judy and Mike. Turning back to Jamie, she grinned. “Cute.”

Huffing out a soft laugh, Jamie shook her head. “Wasn’t my idea. He liked my suspenders and wanted one of his own,” she said, “Put my foot down on the bow tie though. Never would’ve heard the end of it.”

Letting her eyes stray briefly to the brown leather strung over Jamie’s shoulders and pressing into her torso, Dani swallowed thickly and said, “It’s sweet that you indulge him like that. With the outfits and just - all of Sunday.”

“Makes him happy," said Jamie simply.

Before Dani could say anything more, faintly aware that she was looking at Jamie with an expression that was too soft, too fond, there was another yell.

“Hey! Don’t make us come over there!”

Twisting around to frown at the source of the sound, she was greeted with the twins looking at her and holding up their hands in an impatient ‘come on’ gesture.

“Okay, why are you two baffoons yelling and why has no one come to get food yet?” Carson said, appearing from the kitchen with a towel slung over his shoulder and a look of exasperation that resembled Judy’s so much that Dani snickered.

At the sound, he turned towards the pair still lingering in the foyer and sighed, shaking his head. “I see what happened now.”

Jamie laughed and let Carson engulf her in a hug. “Not my fault I’m so irresistible,” Jamie said, shooting Dani another wink over Carson’s shoulder. Feeling her cheeks warm, Dani chuckled weakly as Jamie reached up to ruin Carson’s styled hair, but he was quick on his feet and batted her hand away.

“Think your head is getting way too big to pull out your ass,” he grumbled, playfully shoving her away, and then addressed the living room, “Dinner’s ready!”

They were promptly surrounded by O’Mara’s, finally greeting Jamie with hugs and handshakes. Dani watched with a faint smile, her arms still loosely wrapped around her torso, on the cusp of too enamored. Something nudged her arm and she startled slightly, turning to find Carson grinning at her.

“Some help you were,” he teased.

Her heart in her throat, she fumbled for a response but Carson was already stepping away, helping Judy herd the family into the kitchen to get food. Dani lingered near the back, waiting until the kitchen cleared enough for her turn, letting Eddie sweep a hand over her back as he slipped by in a bid to beat his brothers on getting the best pieces of turkey and ham, and shared a commiserating smile and eye roll with Jamie at the bickering and laughter within the kitchen.

At the dining table, by some miraculous chance, Dani managed to find a seat directly across from Jamie and Mikey, sandwiched between Eddie and Carson. With Christmas music still playing from the stereo and everyone digging into their dinner after a short prayer of thanks led by Judy, she fell back into patterns she’d like to think she’d mastered over the past month and a half. To smile at the right time and comment with the appropriate reply whenever addressed. To laugh under her breath at Carson’s murmured commentary and jokes. To drink her wine and eat her dinner, and not let her eyes linger on Jamie across from her. Jamie with strands of unruly dark hair raked across her bright eyes, Jamie with her infectious laugh, Jamie with those suspenders.

Partway through dinner, Dani came to the realization she was failing miserably when beside her Carson downed a whole glass of wine on one go on a dare by Tommy.

“Where on earth did you learn to drink like that?” Judy asked, eyes wide, slightly aghast but unable to hide her own amusement.

“God,” Carson replied with a broad grin when the table laughed.

And like a gravitational pull, Dani’s eyes immediately darted to Jamie’s to find her already looking back. Feeling her stomach twist not unpleasantly at the amused glint in Jamie’s eyes, they shared slow furtive smirks and a fond roll of their eyes. And just like that, Dani had to twist her hands around the napkin in her lap to ground herself.

In between conversations and bites of food, it was getting harder to not let her eyes stray back, to not linger at Jamie’s comfortable, slouched posture. To not watch Jamie laugh again from some comment by Carson gone unheard by Dani, feeling as though she were underwater, feeling something constrict in her chest. Her teeth clenched, Dani promptly drained the rest of her wine.

Beside her, Eddie leaned close and said, “Do you want another?” When she blinked up at him in confusion, he pointed and added, “A glass of wine.”

“Oh, yes. Please,” she said. Eddie smiled and stood to retrieve another bottle of wine from the kitchen.

Across from her, Jamie was pouring more gravy over her plate, and said with a teasing grin, "Looking to let loose tonight for once?”

Dani laughed breathlessly, feeling her cheeks warm. “Don’t get too excited,” she said, “I don’t plan on having a hangover on Christmas morning.”

“Shame,” Jamie said, still grinning at her, and without warning, before Dani could look away, Jamie brought up a finger between her lips to lick at a stray bit of gravy. Sucking in a quiet breath, Dani swallowed thickly and fixed her eyes down to her plate, shoveling in another forkful of food.

When Eddie returned to the dining room with two new bottles of wine in tow, a few seats down on the other side of the table, her mother perked up and said, “Oh, I’ll have another one of those too, if you don’t mind.”

Dani paused, carefully watching as Eddie smiled weakly and popped open a bottle, filling her mother’s glass until Karen was happy with the amount. When her mother waved him off with a murmured comment Dani couldn’t hear from this distance, Eddie muttered something back with another weak smile as Karen took a long swig from her glass. Knuckles white around her fork, Dani only managed to blink her gaze away from her mother when Eddie returned to her side, filling her glass before setting the bottles on the table and returning to his seat without a word, clearing his throat.

It took her longer than she hoped, to let her shoulders and the grip on her fork relax, to reach for her glass and take a long sip. It was a dark peppery red that settled heavily on her tongue. The kind her mother favored. She rested her glass back atop the table, all the while feeling a stare piercing straight into her. Her eyes darting up, Jamie was watching her with a carefully neutral expression. Slowly, Jamie’s eyebrow arched with a faint look of concern and quiet question. Feeling something unspool in her chest, Dani gave her a slow reassuring smile. Staring at her for a moment longer, Jamie’s eyes darted across her face as though searching for something, and then finally she shrugged before returning to her food.

Dinner seemed to pass quicker after that, leading to conversation over empty plates and letting the kids run around the table, dodging teasing hands with bright laughter. Dani’s hands fidgeted under the table, pulling at her fingers and scratching at a hangnail. In an effort to burn off her restless energy and feel useful, she stood and began gathering the nearest plates to take into the kitchen, but as she reached for Carson’s plate, he batted her hands away. He took the plates from her and set them back down on the table.

“No. Nope. Not happening.”

“What do you -?” Dani started to say but she didn’t get far.

“Tommy. David. Eddie,” Carson pointed at his brothers in turn as he called their names. “You’re up.”

The three of them blinked at him in bemusement.

“I mean it!” Carson snapped. “You’re really gonna make Dani and mom do dishes? Or Ash and Liz? Come on. Don’t be assholes.”

“Why does he get to swear in the house?” Eddie asked his mom, when there was no rebuke forthcoming for language.

“Because I like his message,” Judy replied dryly.

With an arm stretched over the back of Mikey’s chair, Jamie snickered and held up her glass of wine. “Cheers,” she said, and took a long swig.

“Why aren’t you making Jamie help, then?” David grumbled, already standing to gather the dishes.

“With all those elbows being thrown around?” Jamie said, “I’d rather not have a black eye for Christmas, thanks.”

“Never took you as a coward.”

“You wanna go there, mate?” Jamie said with a sharp grin. “I have plenty of arsenal to make you regret it.”

With his mouth thinned and eyes narrowed, David thwacked Tommy on the arm to get him to stand. The pair of them grumbled under their breath to the sound of the table chuckling. Eddie quickly followed suit with a roll of his eyes when Carson gave him a pointed glare. Dani watched with a fond grin and when her eyes met Jamie’s again, they shared a snort of laughter.

“Hey, Mikey,” Carson said, “Wanna come help me choose the next tape to play?”

Fiddling anxiously again at his bowtie now that dinner was over, Mikey’s eyes brightened at the offer and he was nodding, already pushing out his seat before Carson could stand. And just like that, the table began to disperse back around the house with happy chatter and glasses of alcohol in hand.

Dani took the opportunity to dart into the downstairs bathroom and draw in a deep, relieved breath with the door finally shut behind her. Her reflection was waiting for her in the mirror, wan and frazzled. Scowling, Dani reached up to fix her hair, to try and make herself feel more grounded at least superficially. In the time it took her to do her business and return to the chaos, Mike had already brought out his camcorder for the night, and The Beach Boys’ Christmas Album was blaring on the stereo. Casting her eyes around the house, not seeing Mikey or Jamie anywhere, Dani exhaled a slow, fortifying breath, and waded out for small talk.

She managed for the most part, discussing work with Ash and Liz and trying her best to remember the plot of the last book she read. Smiling shyly with a small wave whenever Mike panned his camcorder in her direction. Letting Eddie wrap an arm around her shoulders when the boys were done cleaning in the kitchen. Sharing furtive eye rolls with Carson across the room where he stood by the stereo when the three eldest O'Mara boys smiled proudly, as though cleaning was their idea in the first place. Letting her eyes snap towards Jamie when she finally entered the room, following her closely as she made a beeline towards Carson with two bottles of beer in hand.

Suddenly, Eddie’s arm around her felt like an anvil, sinking her into the carpet floor. She felt too exposed under Mike’s camera, and her mother lingering nearby on the couch, flushed and glassy-eyed and far too familiar.

Swallowing thickly, Dani said to Eddie, “I’ll be right back.”

Mid-conversation with Tommy and his wife Liz, Eddie nodded absently and let her slip away quietly. Delving back into the kitchen, she drained her wine and rested the empty glass on the counter. For a long moment, she stared into the glass, seeing her warped reflection, and with a tight jaw, she pulled open the fridge to retrieve a bottle to refill her glass.

Wandering back out into the hallway, she found herself leaning against the wall once more, mustering up the courage to delve back into the living room. Taking a slow sip of her wine, feeling her cheeks warm from the alcohol, she didn’t notice Mikey wandering up to her from down the hallway until he was leaning beside her, scowling down at his bow tie as he pulled and fiddled with it.

She tilted her head to the side and asked gently, “Having trouble?”

His eyes briefly met hers and he shrugged, ducking his head again. “It keeps getting worse,” he grumbled.

Dani chuckled and nudged him in the arm. “Maybe because you keep messing with it.”

With a huff he rolled his eyes and tugged at the fabric again. “Mr. O’Mara showed us how to do it, but it’s not working.”

When he tugged on it again roughly and sagged heavily against the wall, Dani bit back a laugh. “Okay, come on,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder and guiding him back down the hall, “We’re going to fix this.”

His shoulders slumped, Mikey didn’t complain as she led him towards the bathroom, flickering the lights on and grinning fondly at the lines of frustration and disappointment in his face through his reflection, an uncanny mirror image to Jamie.

“Now, I’m more practised in regular ties and doing it backwards, but we’re gonna give it a shot, okay?”

At his quiet nod, Dani squeezed his shoulders and gestured for him to undo his bow tie as she rested her glass on the counter. With his back to her, she reached over his shoulder to adjust the length of the fabric, and asked, “Is this okay?”

He nodded again. She smiled and began to slowly show him the steps with his back to her. Just as he was in class when challenged beyond his level, Mikey was eager to learn, watching the steps through their reflection. It was a little uneven when she was done, but with some adjusting and pulling, she was pleased with it. Leaning closer to get a better look, Mikey grinned broadly at their reflections.

“Thanks, Dani,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” she said, “Now it’s your turn.”

With a heavy sigh, Mikey acquiesced and undid his bow tie. She took it slow, murmuring encouragements in between her instructions as Mikey’s brow furrowed in concentration while following her directions. Just as they were mid-way through, Dani’s voice faltered when through the mirror, a familiar figure appeared and leaned against the open door frame.

“Was wondering where you two went,” Jamie said.

“Mikey was having trouble with his bow tie,” Dani explained.

“I see that.” Jamie smirked at Mikey. “My services weren’t good enough for you, huh?”

Through his faint blush, Mikey scowled. “Not my fault your memory sucks.”

Jamie snorted. “Yet, you’re the one who thought I was cool enough to want to copy and match.”

If anything, Mikey’s cheeks went redder and he crossed his arms, his shoulders bunching. Dani gave Jamie a reproachful look through the mirror, and in response Jamie rolled her eyes with a good natured grin.

“All right, all right,” Jamie said, flapping her hand towards them. “Carry on. I’m not even here.”

Shaking her head, Dani coaxed Mikey out from his hunched form to return to his bowtie, and in no time he was tugging it in place, squared up and neat.

“There you go,” Dani said, patting his shoulder with a proud smile, “Now you look especially handsome.”

Ducking his head, Mikey murmured, “Thanks, Dani.” And then after a long moment, briefly darting his eyes between Dani and Jamie through the mirror, he said, “Can I go now?”

Huffing out a soft breath, Dani nodded. “Yes. Go on, I’m sure Mrs. O’Mara has snacks hidden for you somewhere.”

His eyes brightening, Mikey grinned and made to exit the bathroom, but was pulled to a stop by Jamie slinging an arm around his neck and pulling him close with a smile. “Aw, mate. She called you handsome.”

“Ugh, get off me,” Mikey grumbled, but made no real effort to pull out of her grasp.

Laughing, Jamie lightly ruffled his hair, and said, “How about we do what we had planned first, and then you can go?”

Mikey’s look was dubious. “Now? Here?”

Jamie shrugged. “Why not? No one’s here to see. That was the point, remember?”

Hesitating briefly, his brow knitting where he remained pressed against Jamie’s side, he finally nodded. Dani watched with a patient, soft smile as Jamie let him go and pulled something unseen out of her pocket, hidden behind Mikey’s thin frame. Covertly passing the object in hand to Mikey, Jamie shot Dani a quick wink over his head with a crooked grin.

Mikey’s cheeks were pink as he turned and held out a small navy box towards Dani, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. “Merry Christmas, Dani,” he murmured.

“Thank you, honey,” Dani said, charmed, taking the box. When she opened it, she smiled broadly to find that inside, nestled in foam padding was a Star Trek insignia silver pendant attached to a simple chain necklace. “Oh, it’s perfect,” she breathed.

“I have one too,” Mikey said, visibly pleased over her reaction, “Mine’s a pin, but I left it at home.”

“You should’ve worn it,” Dani said, “Then we’d be matching.”

Mikey’s smile brightened, and he eagerly said, “I’ll wear it tomorrow.”

“You better,” Dani said, pulling the necklace from it’s box, “We’re going to have to one-up Jamie somehow.”

Laughing, Mikey nodded and turned to Jamie, “Now can I go?”

It took Jamie a moment to answer, leaning against the doorframe with her hands in her pockets, expression soft as she watched them. She grinned and nodded, jerking her head towards the hallway. “Yeah, all right. Out of my sight.”

When Mikey disappeared down the hallway after one last pleased grin, Dani held up the necklace pinched between her fingers and said, “Help me?”

Without a word Jamie pushed herself upright and stepped closer. Heart a sudden claxon in her chest, Dani handed her the necklace and turned on the spot, pulling her hair to the side. Through the mirror, she watched as Jamie reached around and placed the chain around her neck, sucking in a quiet breath at the feeling of Jamie’s warm fingers grazing against her skin as she clasped the lock with an expression that was hard to read. An involuntary shiver traveled down Dani’s spine, her jaw aching from how hard she clenched her teeth.

“There you are,” Jamie murmured, and stepped away, digging her hands back in her pockets.

“Thank you,” Dani murmured, adjusting her hair back over her shoulders and setting the pendant straight so that it hung right over the dip of her clavicle.

“No problem,” Jamie said, nodding towards her with her chin, “Won’t believe how popular their merch is. It’s bloody everywhere. Apparently some Captain Clark bloke is from Iowa.”

“Captain Kirk,” Dani corrected and laughed when Jamie shrugged dismissively.

Then Jamie grinned and said, “Fancy keeping me company outside for a smoke? Came to find you to ask.”

“Yeah,” Dani said, nodding, “I’d love to.”

It was not until Jamie sneaked over their coats to the backdoor did Dani realize what she had agreed to. Carson was nowhere in sight to accompany them like she had expected, to act as a buffer to the nerves straining beneath Dani’s skin. But his boots were already set on a nearby mat, and Jamie was shoving them over towards her after handing Dani her coat.

“His boots are too big, I can’t - “

“Don’t think I didn’t see those heels of yours by the front door,” Jamie said, shrugging into her coat with an exasperated grin, “Honestly. You know how to color match, but you still haven’t learned your lesson on weather appropriate clothing?” A slow grin grew on Dani’s face. Seeing this, Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Raising a preteen really rubbed off on you, huh?”

Jamie stared at her for a moment, and then scowled, her cheeks pink. Dani snickered. “Just put the bloody boots on,” Jamie grumbled, and pulled open the back door, letting in a waft of freezing air.

Huffing at the cold air against her legs, she gave Jamie a mild glare who smirked in response. Without any more preamble, Dani shoved her feet in Carson’s oversized boots and slipped on her jacket and scarf before following Jamie outside on the porch. The temperature seemed to have dropped over the course of the night, the air still but bitingly cold. Dani shivered, wrapping her coat closer around herself as she followed Jamie to the railing, but instead of lingering in the overwashed porch light, Jamie grasped her hand and carefully guided her down the icy porch steps.

“Where are we going?” Dani asked, the boots clunky and loose on her feet, but blissfully warm against the solid foot of snow as they trudged through the untouched expanse of white.

“Over here,” Jamie said, her breath a white mist, leading her towards the old shed near the back of the yard with furtive glances behind them to the backdoor, “Promised the kid I’d quit smoking for the New Year. He’s been on my ass about it. I’m going to have to milk the next few days for all they're worth.”

Dani snorted. “Quitting cold turkey, are you?”

“Is there any other way?”

“Gradually? Like a normal person?”

Pulling them around the corner of the shed, hidden away from view of the house where they could still hear the stereo blasting Christmas tunes at an unreasonable volume level through a crack of a window, Jamie leaned against the shed and grinned.

“You know me,” Jamie said, releasing Dani’s hand to pull out a rumpled pack of cigarettes from her pocket, “I’m an all or nothing kinda woman.”

Dani snorted, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the cold. “You’re in a good mood tonight.”

“Good food and free booze, what’s not to love,” Jamie said with a shrug.

“You mean besides hiding behind a shed in case Mikey sees you smoking?”

Rolling her eyes, Jamie didn’t deign to respond. She plucked out a cigarette and placed it between her lips, flicking a flame to life with a plastic lighter. Dani watched, entranced at the glow of orange illuminating her skin in the dark shadows encompassing them. Jamie’s eyes glinting in the light of flame and embers, cheeks sinking inward until she lifted the cigarette away to blow a thin stream of smoke above them with pursed lips. Dani’s heart was still pounding from the bathroom, crashing steadily against her ribs, the burn of Jamie’s hands lingering against the skin of her neck like an ink blot. She darted her eyes away in an effort to not look at Jamie’s lips when she took another drag.

“You know,” Dani started slowly, “I still have your old lighter.” At Jamie’s questioning frown, she added, “The Zippo.”

Jamie blinked at her for a moment, and huffed out a breath of laughter. “Figured you would’ve pawned that.” Jamie said with a shrug, taking another drag, the embers burning bright.

Dani frowned. “Why would I do that?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because I missed you.”

Jamie stared at her, the air between them abruptly thick. Her stomach whorling uncomfortably, Dani cleared her throat and ducked her head, but then Jamie laughed softly.

“Missed you too, Poppins,” Jamie murmured. When Dani dared to look up again, Jamie's expression was fond as she smiled at her. “Don’t think I told you that before, when you first said so.”

Easily, Dani could recall that day in the alley beside the pharmacy, when things had still felt so fragile between them like a house of cards stacked in her palms. And then the Sunday after that, and the Sunday after that. Smiling faintly, Dani murmured, “You didn’t have to.”

“Well, now you know at least,” Jamie said, taking another pull at the cigarette, and nodded towards Dani with her chin. “Don’t think I mentioned before either,” she continued through a plume of smoke she directed away from Dani, motioning her hands towards her, “Your outfit. Looks nice tonight.”

Dani’s cheeks warmed and she bit back a broad smile. “Thank you,” she said, and stumbled for a reply. “You - um. You look nice too.”

“Thanks.” Jamie slouched against the shed, her smile veering into a smirk as though she already knew this for a fact. “It’s the suspenders, yeah?”

“Um - “ Dani fumbled. “I suppose.”

“Gonna have to wear it more often, then.”

Dani nodded in lieu of a verbal reply, not trusting whatever she might say, praying that the shed shrouded them in enough darkness from porch light to not display the heat spreading across her cheeks.

At that moment, the music from the house blared louder than before, Wham!’s Last Christmas booming through the open window. They both listened with amusement as complaints immediately followed.

“Carson, turn it down!” bellowed Eddie just as David complained, “I can’t hear myself think!”

“With what brain?” Carson rebuked.

“Do you want us to break mom’s rule, because we will!”

“Suck it up!”

Dani met Jamie’s eyes and they both snickered with laughter. The volume in the end did not turn down, forgotten in the midst of continued bickering. Grinning broadly, Jamie lifted the cigarette to her mouth and Dani’s eyes drifted down to watch. When she expelled the smoke to the side, Dani held out her hand.

Huffing lightly with a small shake of her head, Jamie gamely handed Dani the cigarette. “Y’know,” Jamie said as Dani eyed the red stained filter for a moment and took a slow, careful drag, “Could always just have one of your own.”

Coughing lightly, Dani blew out a plume of smoke. “Then that would make me a smoker.”

Jamie rolled her eyes, but when Dani made to hand it back, she shook her head. “Keep it,” she said, “Might be the last you ever have once I quit.”

“Feeling confident, huh?”

“When there’s a promise on the line, sure.”

Smiling warmly, Dani flicked off the ash into the snow, running a thumb over the filter. A thrill ran through her, a shiver coursing down her spine so that she huddled further into herself, feeling the cold bite at her ears and nose and exposed legs.

Chuckling lightly, Jamie said, “Christ, look at the state of you.” She pushed off the shed and held out a hand. “C’mere.”

Dani froze. “What?”

“Put that out and come here,” Jamie said, “You’re freezing.”

“I’m fine.”

Jamie gave her a long dubious look. Clenching her jaw, Dani shifted her weight anxiously on her feet. “Are you sure?”

“Dani.”

“Okay,” Dani said, taking another long, fortifying pull of the cigarette before flicking it in the snow, expelling the smoke through her nose.

Her stomach coiling with nerves, Dani took Jamie’s proffered hand and let herself be pulled closer until they were pressed together in a hug. “That’s better,” Jamie murmured, running her hand up and down Dani’s back, “Warm yourself up.”

Slowly wrapping her arms around Jamie’s waist as though any sudden movement might break the spell, Dani nodded, her heart feeling as though it threatened to burst through her sternum. It was no different than any of their hugs, no different than the long lingering embraces at Jamie’s front door. But the wine had her skin straining and her head buzzing, and worse, she was surrounded by the scent of sandalwood and smoke. Her breath a plume of white in a soft sigh, Dani’s eyes slowly slipped shut and she burrowed further in Jamie’s warmth, pressing her nose into her worn scarf and inadvertently grazed the skin of Jamie’s neck.

Jamie’s arms stilled, her breath catching lightly. “Cold,” she murmured.

A thrill going down her spine at the heat of Jamie’s skin against her nose, Dani said, “Sorry.”

Jamie didn’t reply, unmoving as she held Dani. Frowning lightly, Dani opened her mouth to say something, to say anything, when a familiar jazzy tune drifted from the house.

Huffing a soft laugh, Jamie murmured, “Figures.”

And before Dani could react, Jamie was rearranging their arms. Dani’s breath caught quietly as Jamie rested one of Dani’s hands on her shoulder and took the other to clasp their palms, and then slowly, as though waiting for Dani to stop her, to push her away, she slipped her hand around Dani’s waist. And with Ella Fitzergerald’s rendition of White Christmas accompanying them, Jamie began to sway with her on the spot.

“There we go,” Jamie murmured, their temples pressed together, her breath a hot wisp against Dani’s ear and neck.

Swallowing thickly, her heart threatening to burst through her chest, there was a feeling washing over Dani like a haze, as though the world had narrowed down to just them, in this dark corner in the snow with only the distant porch light and the moon to illuminate them. She pressed her eyes closed and drew in a soft breath, the air bitingly cold as she inhaled, feeling dizzy and enchanted all at once.

“This is nice,” Dani murmured, broaching the long quiet as they swayed.

Jamie hummed softly. “Yeah,” she said. “Was thinking. You could come over again before the New Years. Could watch White Christmas again and pretend we’ve never seen it before. Give Mikey a taste of his own medicine.”

Dani chuckled, and bit her lip at the near imperceptible feeling of Jamie pulling her closer by the waist. “I’d love to,” Dani said.

And before she knew what she was doing, Dani was pressing closer. Wrapping her hand further around Jamie’s shoulders, fingers tangling in strands of curly hair, grazing the back of Jamie’s neck. Ducking her head to bury into the crook of Jamie’s shoulder, nose and mouth pressed against the skin of her throat, making a small sound of contentment.

Jamie sucked in a sharp breath, their swaying faltering for half a heartbeat, and she audibly swallowed hard. Dani’s eyes slowly drifted open, lost in the darkness of the crook of Jamie's neck, straining her ears, feeling Jamie’s hand on her waist dig into the fabric of her coat. They were swaying again, but with Jamie’s pulse a sudden rapid flutter beneath Dani’s nose and lips, she felt as though she was veering over a vast precipice, her stomach dropping at the sensation. Trying to remember how to breathe, Dani slowly lifted her head, smoothing her hand over Jamie’s rigid shoulders and back, gripping Jamie’s hand tight.

Dani opened her mouth to speak, to broach the lingering silence, but the air was still around them, particles of snow drifting so slowly they might as well be fixed motionless where they hovered, and with one word spoken, one wrong movement, the spell between them would be broken. The world moving again, expanding beyond the single point where they clung to each other, pushing them apart.

Exhaling a soft trembling breath, Dani gradually pulled further back until she could finally see Jamie’s face. Gray eyes dark and stormy, expression carefully blank, Jamie met her gaze and the corner of her mouth lifted into a faint, barely there curve. Dani lingered on it, on the scar there painted red and outlined in faint light. It would be so easy to push back in, and press her lips there. To taste Jamie’s mouth of wine and cigarettes, and feel that scar beneath her own mouth and tongue. Dani bit her own lip and watched Jamie’s jaw go taut, the muscle leaping beneath her skin.

Her eyes darted up and met Jamie’s, darker than before, unblinking as they were piercing, and then Dani sucked in a quiet breath when gray eyes slowly traced down over Dani to where they were pressed together before traveling back up, lingering on Dani’s mouth for a long moment before catching Dani’s gaze again.

Dani swallowed hard, her breath caught in her throat, not daring to believe, not daring to hope. A flash of something unreadable crossed over Jamie’s expression like a red flare in the dark, the scratch of a matchstick, a flicker in the strained lines of her face. And in a moment it was gone, in its wake something unreachable and blank.

She couldn’t have been imagining it. The same heat that flared between her ribs and thighs reflected back at her through Jamie’s eyes. The same adoration she’d come to know like the back of her hand since they were children.

The song was ending, transitioning easily to some other tune Dani couldn’t be bothered to name, when it was abruptly cut off to the immediate sound of muffled complaints and bickering. The silence that followed between them was suddenly and unbearably thick.

“Jamie - “

“We should head inside,” Jamie murmured, “They’ll be wondering where we are.”

They still stood so close that Dani could see the shadow of her eyelashes and the flecks in her eyes. The music returned to a chorus of cheers, the volume at a more reasonable level. Slowly, Dani braved another smile and eased closer, knocking their foreheads together. “One more song?”

Stiffening for a moment, Jamie huffed and said. “You’ll be the death of yourself. Your hand is freezing.”

“I can handle it,” Dani said, keeping the ‘with you,’ locked away behind her teeth.

Jamie seemed to have heard it anyway, for she sighed slowly and muttered, “What am I gonna do with you?”

“Dance with me?”

Choking out a thin laugh, Jamie pulled away. “Not when you’re bloody shaking like a leaf,” she said, “C’mon. Back inside with you.”

Disappointment gripping at her chest, Dani felt her face fall as Jamie took a full step back that seemed to feel like a vast canyon for how close they were pressed together before. Dani missed the warmth of her arms immediately, but then Jamie was arching an eyebrow at her.

“Unless you want Judy to come bursting out here wondering what we’re doing,” she said, a teasing curve tucked into the corner of her grin. “Or worse: Ed.”

Stones sunk in the pit of Dani’s stomach, and suddenly reality pressed on her eardrums like a rush of wind. “Right,” Dani choked out, smiling weakly.

She followed Jamie back inside, breathing in relief in the warmth of the house, shedding her jacket and Carson’s boots. Beside her, Jamie exhaled softly and handed over her jacket when Dani held her hand out, a sharp line to her jaw, not meeting Dani’s eyes.

“Just gonna head to the loo,” she muttered. She glanced towards Dani, who nodded, mildly bewildered at the sudden change in disposition. Jamie jerked her head in a short nod and spun on her heel out the kitchen.

A furrow to her brow, Dani followed a few paces behind through the hallway, the front door closet in the same direction, but when she turned the corner, she bumped directly into a broad frame.

“Oh -!”

She almost teetered off balance, but hands immediately grasped her waist to steady her and she looked up to find Eddie grinning broadly at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Suddenly behind her there was a cacophonous noise of cheering and laughter. Twisting around, her eyes went wide in surprise to find Mike’s camcorder pointed in their direction and half of the family watching them with enthusiasm from the living room.

“I cannot believe that worked,” said Tommy, laughing as he spoke.

“Huh?” Dani said dumbly.

“Look up, honey,” Judy said, holding up a point-and-shoot camera at the ready, her eyes bright with fond amusement. Beside her, Carson chuckled, but couldn’t hide his wince of sympathy.

Dread pooling in her stomach, Dani slowly looked up as though awaiting some hungry creature to jump out from the shadows and bite her, but instead she found a mistletoe dangling from the light fixture above her.

“Oh,” Dani said, a small anxious laugh bursting out of her.

And before she could stop herself, she slowly turned and immediately met Jamie’s eyes, watching her with an eerily neutral expression, frozen as though mid step. Rooted to the floor, her heart crashing against her ribs, Dani watched with bated breath as Jamie blinked, and then without a word, disappeared around the corner.

Her throat feeling thick, her stomach churning, Dani turned back to meet Eddie’s grin with a weak one of her own. His hands affectionately squeezed her waist lightly, and all it once it felt utterly wrong. But there was goading and teasing coming from the living room, muffled as though Dani’s ears needed to be popped. With another awkward chuckle, feeling something crushing her chest, her throat thick, she stood on her toes and kissed Eddie’s bashful smile. She ignored the good-natured wolf whistles and cheering and the audible click and flash of a camera.

“I want a copy of that,” Dani heard her mother say in a happy slur when she pulled back, ducking her head away to hide the guilt and indignation gnawing at her, hoping it’d come across as demure. Eddie laughed and hugged her.

It felt increasingly harder to breathe, afterwards. Clutching at a fresh glass of wine after downing her last in one go after finally escaping the clamor to return hers and Jamie’s jackets in the closet. Struggling to push down the thought of how much she had wanted to bury her nose back into Jamie’s jacket, just to breathe her in one last time. Struggling to not grit her teeth at the Christmas music that was beginning to grate on her ears. Struggling to not let her eyes wander when Jamie finally returned to the festivities, her shirt sleeves folded up neatly, exposing the lean lines of her forearms.

She had almost expected the world to settle back on its axis, since returning from outside. With the way Jamie didn’t approach her again throughout the rest of the night, with every corner Dani turned, Jamie would be five steps ahead as though she was just as unwilling as Dani to broach whatever had happened outside. Even still, Dani felt eyes on her. And as though sucked in by a gravity well, Dani kept glancing back, meeting gray eyes that seemed warm and dark in equal measure. And every time their eyes would meet, Jamie would hold her stare until Dani felt rooted to the spot, her feet melding to the floor like just another fixture.

Dani was leaning against the wall, nursing her broad-bowled glass while in the middle of a group conversation with a small cluster of the family when it happened again. The dark form of Jamie slipping by to hover near Carson by the stereo, leaning against a bookcase with a beer in hand and catching her eyes once again. And instead of another faint grin or an arch of an eyebrow, Jamie’s eyes slowly scanned her up and down, lingering on the hem of her skirt before meeting her gaze again and turning away.

Swallowing hard, Dani brought the lip of her glass to her mouth and drifted her eyes down again to those suspenders, lingering there for a long moment before settling back on Jamie’s forearms. She wondered faintly, what Jamie’s forearm would look like if her hand were to slip beneath Dani’s skirt and between her thighs, how the leather of her suspenders would feel in her hands if Dani were to grip them for leverage. Feeling an ache between her legs in response and her breath catching at just the thought alone, Dani clenched her teeth and stood upright to make her excuses to the bathroom when there was the sound of glass shattering from the kitchen.

Dani started slightly, blinking in surprise. On the other side of the room, Carson groaned. “All right, which one of you idiots was it,” he said, but when he turned around to find all three of his older brothers in the living room, he paused. “Oh.”

“Gosh, I’m so sorry, Judy,” came Karen’s voice.

“It’s all right, honey,” said Judy gently, “Watch your feet, there’s glass everywhere.”

The air in the living room abruptly went thick and quiet and suffocating. Feeling her stomach drop, Dani exhaled quietly and started towards the kitchen. She slowed when she was greeted with a pool of wine on the linoleum floor, red as blood, fresh-spilt, shattered pieces of glass everywhere. Jaw taut, Dani looked up to find her mother hunched over in one of the kitchen table chairs, rubbing at her forehead. Just as Dani felt another presence at her side, Judy looked up from where she was gathering the larger pieces of glass and offered Dani a reassuring grin.

“Just an accident, honey. Not our first spill of the night,” Judy said, and then added, “Boys, could you get the mop and broom, please?”

There was movement behind her, but Dani couldn’t be bothered to check, feeling a strain pressing at her shoulders. She slowly edged her way further into the kitchen, carefully skirting around the mess and Judy’s warnings.

“Danielle, be careful.”

She nodded faintly, easing closer to her mom, her throat feeling thick. There was movement again behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder to find Mike and Carson helping Judy with cleaning supplies in hand. Lingering by the entranceway, Dani found both Eddie and Jamie. Eddie with his hands tucked inside his pockets, an apprehensive hunch to his shoulders as he took in the scene. And Jamie with a concerned frown. Swallowing down the swell of acidic shame building in her throat, Dani turned away and moved closer to Karen.

Her eyes were closed, hidden beneath her hand, glasses abandoned on the table where she rested heavily on her elbow. “Mom?” Dani murmured, carefully reaching out a hand to rest on her shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Karen said sharply, “Just an accident.” She then looked up, her eyes glassy, her jaw clenched. “Judy, it’s fine. Let me help. I can fix it."

She made to stand, but Judy firmly shook her head. “You stay right there,” she said, emptying a dustpan full of glass in the garbage, and gestured where Carson and Mike were near finishing cleaning up, “See? We’re almost done. No harm, no foul.”

Karen exhaled and shook her head with a grimace. “I’m sorry. I - “

“Now, none of that,” Judy said sternly, “It’s Christmas. Accidents happen.”

Her expression darkening into a scowl, Karen shook her head again and mumbled something under her breath. Jaw aching from how hard she was clenching her teeth, Dani gently squeezed her shoulder. “Let me walk you home.”

“I’m fine,” Karen repeated.

Dani stared at her for a long moment, scanning over the exhausted and weary lines of her mothers face. The phases of her mother’s inebriation were as constant as the moon; Dani knew them all by heart. “You need some sleep,” Dani murmured, “Let me take you home.”

Karen scoffed, and said darkly, “Why? So you can lord it over me?” She shrugged off Dani’s hand. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need you, Danielle.”

“Karen,” Judy said behind her.

The Christmas music was a ringing in Dani’s ears, the sound feeling utterly like one big joke as her head swam from her own indulgence of wine. Dani pushed it down — the indignation and resentment — pushed it all away and leaned closer to murmur, “I just want you to feel better. That’s all.” Her mother remained quiet, not meeting her eyes. A thick lump appeared in Dani’s throat. “Please let me take care of you?”

There was a long moment of quiet as her mother rubbed at her forehead, and finally sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Fine,” she breathed, exhausted.

Dani nodded and made to help her mother stand, grasping her arm. Eddie finally stepped closer, eyes darting between them. “She can have my old room,” he started carefully, almost hesitant, “If she’d like.”

Shaking her head, Dani murmured, “It’s fine.”

“You sure?” Eddie said softly.

“Yes, can you just - “ She stopped short, irritation bleeding in her tone. She drew in a deep breath, and repeated more calmly, “It’s fine. I’ve got her.”

Eddie hesitated, opening his mouth as though he wanted to say something more, but to Dani’s relief, he just nodded and stepped aside.

Her mother clung to her arm in a painful grip as Dani led them towards the foyer. She tried not to wince, tried to ignore the various gazes of the O’Mara clan in the shape of concern and morbid curiosity, tried to duck her head enough to hide the red in her cheeks as her mother staggered beside her. But when she reached the foyer, she looked up and blinked in surprise to find Jamie there in her coat and boots with two jackets slung over her arms, that old scarf wrapped around her neck.

“What are you - ?”

Jamie shrugged. “Figured you’d need the help,” she said simply.

“Are you sure?” Eddie said from beside her. Dani tensed at the sound of his voice. “I’d be happy to come along.”

Quietly, Jamie looked at Dani with a questioning arched eyebrow and patiently waited. Swallowing hard past the thickness in her throat, Dani murmured, “I've got it, Eddie.”

With a thin, conceding smile, Eddie nodded. Though there was a thin veneer of relief in his expression, Eddie still gamely assisted with letting Karen grip his arm for balance while she slipped on her shoes after muttering darkly, “Get up from the floor, Danielle,” when Dani had crouched to assist her.

Head ducked, running a trembling hand through her hair, Dani slipped on her own heels, only vaguely paying attention to Eddie awkwardly holding her mother’s jacket out. “Uh - “ he started “ - is it okay, Mrs. Clayton, if I, uh -?”

Remarkably, Karen breathed out a quiet laugh that grated on Dani’s ears. “Always were a polite boy,” was all she said.

When Dani looked up again, she found Jamie watching her with a shadow of worry in her expression. Without a word, Jamie held up Dani’s jacket. Forcing out a thin smile, Dani turned and let Jamie help her slip into it, pulling it close around her.

“All good?” Jamie murmured quietly behind her.

Dani nodded, exhaling slowly. Just as she was about to turn around, Carson approached them.

“Hey,” he said quietly, “Anything I can do to help?”

Pulling her lips between her teeth in careful consideration, Dani’s eyes darted over his shoulder towards the living room that was still marginally quieter than it had been all night. Following her gaze, Carson glanced in that direction and then gave her an understanding smile.

“I got it,” he said, pulling her in his arms for a firm hug, “I’ll take care of it.”

Dani nodded, holding him tight and feeling him reciprocate until she could almost feel her bones creak and her throat grow thick. When she slowly pulled away, she felt him give her a warm kiss to her forehead. “Love you,” he murmured.

“Love you too,” Dani said faintly, unable to meet his eyes.

Desperate to leave, desperate to feel the cold against her cheeks again to fight off the humiliation and the burn in her eyes, luck was not in her favor, for Judy was the next to approach her with a look of quiet affection Dani wasn’t sure she deserved.

Dani said, “I’m-I’m sorry, Judy, I’m - “

Judy cupped her cheeks and gave her a look that brooked no room for argument. “You head on home, and get the both of you to bed, all right?” she said, “I want you both bright eyed and ready for another day.” At a loss for words, Dani nodded and let Judy pull her into a hug. “Goodnight, sweet heart.”

“Goodnight,” Dani murmured, her shoulders stiff under Judy’s arms.

Dani was unable to meet her eyes when she was finally let go, turning on the spot where the others were waiting for her. “Let’s go,” Dani mumbled to Jamie, who jerked her head in a single nod, and swung open the door. Offering Eddie a frail smile when he handed her Karen’s glasses, she slipped it in her pocket and let him kiss her head before she wrapped an arm around her mother’s shoulders to guide her outside. “Come on, mom. Let’s go.”

The cold against Dani’s skin was welcomed, biting at her ears and nose in a distracting way. Jamie was already waiting by the porch steps, a hand held out in case Dani or Karen lost their balance. She remained close by as they carefully stepped down the walkway that was now covered in a thin layer of snow, but when they reached the sidewalk, Jamie trudged ahead, kicking at the snowbank separating them from the street to make a path.

Her mother shivered and grumbled under her breath as they carefully stepped through. Dani absently rubbed at her mother’s shoulder to ward away the cold, keeping a close grip on her. When they finally made it across the street up the walkway towards her childhood house, Dani dug her free hand in her jacket pocket and pulled out a set of keys.

“Get the door?” Dani said to Jamie.

With a nod, Jamie took the keys but remained close until they reached the porch with a faint furrow to her brow. It was by some miracle that they hadn’t slipped once during the entire journey.

As Jamie unlocked the front door, keys jingling, the lock clicking open, Karen huffed. “Is she coming inside?”

“Yes,” Dani said firmly, not bothering to check for Jamie’s reaction as she guided her mother through the doorway.

With the door shut behind them, Dani sighed quietly in the darkness of the house and listened as Jamie shoved her boots off, already stumbling around to flick on the lights. The house was cold and quiet and void of any decorations to speak of. Lying in wait for the return of its ghosts. Not in the least bit surprised, Dani shed her coat and shoes, and kept a close hand on her mother as she did the same, swaying off balance as she did so.

“Need help with the stairs?” Jamie asked softly, broaching the quiet.

Karen scoffed wordlessly. Not meeting Jamie’s eyes, Dani shook her head. “No."

Jamie didn’t reply, and Dani didn’t look to see her expression. Instead she took her mom’s waist and led her towards the stairs. It was tricky, as it always was. But Dani was an old hand by now, climbing the stairs, bearing most of her mother’s weight, her labored breath in Dani’s ears. But for the first time, Jamie was a constant presence at her back, and when they stumbled halfway up, Dani felt the press of a warm hand at her lower back, burning through her blouse and keeping her balanced upright. Just the feeling alone cast another shadow of shame over her, burning her cheeks.

Her mother’s bedroom, as it always did, smelled of cigarettes and cheap floral perfume as though that would mask the smell. Karen let out a long sigh when they shuffled inside and pushed out of Dani’s grasp as soon as they neared the bed to sit heavily on the edge of it. The light from the bedside lamps, even as warm as they were, cast her mother’s face in an eerie glow. Her head tilted slightly, Dani could almost see wrinkles there that she had never seen before.

Behind her, Jamie softly cleared her throat. Startlingly slightly, Dani turned and blinked at her, finding her standing at the threshold of her mother’s room with her hands in the pockets of her bulky jacket, looking vaguely uncomfortable.

“You need anything?” Jamie said with a faint frown towards Karen before meeting Dani’s eyes.

It took Dani a moment to answer, but she finally cleared her throat and nodded. “Just um - ” she fumbled “ - uh.”

Smiling gently, a reassuring look that briefly unspooled something in Dani’s chest. “Don’t worry,” Jamie murmured, “Be right back.”

Disappearing down the hall, audibly retreating downstairs, Dani was left to the realization that she was now alone with her mother. The stone that had sunk to the pit of her stomach seemed to painfully twist and deform.

Pushing it down and away, Dani set to work. Retrieving a damp washcloth for her mother to wipe the night’s grime from face. Setting up the bed behind her. Removing jewelry as though on autopilot. Gold rings. A fake pearl necklace. Small stud earrings.

She was setting them away at her mother’s vanity when at that moment, Dani heard footsteps in the hall. Clearing her throat, she stood upright and started towards the door where Jamie met her, a tall glass of water and a small bottle of painkillers in her hands. Instead of handing it over to Dani, she seemed to freeze on the spot, her eyes darting over Dani’s face with a discerning frown. Desperately, Dani gave her a reassuring smile, feeling her cheeks strain.

When Jamie merely arched an eyebrow, Dani murmured, “I’ve got it.”

She looked at her for another moment longer, and then finally exhaled, handing over the supplies. “I’ll wait outside,” Jamie said softly, and when Dani nodded, she grasped Dani’s free hand before she could step away.

Jamie’s hand was warm, as they always were. Her eyes were soft and understanding, her mouth curving into a faint smile. Dani slowly exhaled, allowing the comfort for only a moment, before squeezing Jamie’s hand and letting go. Throat bobbing, sending Karen one last cursory glance, Jamie nodded and retreated downstairs.

“That man of yours,” Karen said behind her, and Dani's spine immediately went taut, “you have a good one, you know?”

A strain was starting to travel up the back of Dani’s neck, a throbbing twinge verging on a headache. She gritted her teeth and turned to attend to her mother who had remained hunched over on the bed. Dani handed her the water in a silent order to drink, setting the painkillers aside to return to work. And all the while, Karen mumbled in between sips.

“You don’t find those very often anymore. Your grandfather wasn’t one,” Karen said, chuckling darkly, a lost look in her eyes, “But your father. He was a good man. Better than I could have ever hoped for. He insisted - he insisted we marry. All because of you. And God I hated him for it.”

Dani froze, feeling something cold wash over her, but she was quick to continue, biting against the tremble of her chin, the ache in her chest, as she pulled bobby pins from her mother’s hair, smoothing out the blonde waves with trembling fingers.

Karen laughed again. “If I have one advice to give you, Danielle,” she started as Dani robotically took the empty glass to set aside and coaxed her mother under the covers, “Don’t hate him for loving you. Otherwise you’ll end up like me. Alone and with a daughter who can barely stand to look at you.”

“Okay, mom,” Dani choked out weakly, a crack in her voice, pulling the covers over her mother’s shoulder as she curled on her side with her eyes closed.

And before she could move away, Karen reached out and grasped her wrist, pulling her close to sit beside her. “You’re happy, aren’t you?” Karen asked, looking up at her through heavy-lidded eyes, both exhausted and piercing all at once. “Are you happy?”

Feeling a burning in her eyes, Dani sucked in a trembling breath and nodded. “Yeah,” she breathed, hastily wiping at her cheeks, “Yeah, mom. I’m happy.”

Her mother blinked up at her for another long moment, and then without another word, twisted away. An unbearable ache in her chest, Dani stood on wobbly legs and made a swift exit, her fists clenched at her side. She turned off the lights and shut the door behind her, leaning against the wood to press her hands to her eyes. Rubbing away the burning and the unfallen tears until she could see stars behind her eyelids, until she could breathe properly again.

It took a long time to feel normal again. Splashing cold water against her cheeks to wash away the sting of her mother’s words. Downing a glass of water of her own in the kitchen, as if she could drown in it. A long time to feel like she could face Jamie again and pretend the last half hour never happened. Tucking it all away until all that was left was this shiny, hollow veneer. Sucking in a deep breath, she pushed her feet into a pair of reasonable boots, and pulled open the front door.

Outside Jamie was fiddling with the keys to her truck. They jangled with a metallic clatter. The scarf was hanging around her neck like a stole nearly down to her knees. Her cheeks were bright and pink with cold, as was the tip of her nose.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Dani said, shutting the door behind her so that they stood alone on the illuminated front stoop of her childhood house.

“Yeah, but I wanted to.” Jamie shot her a grin, which quickly faded. “Your mum all right?”

With a sigh, Dani raked her hair away from her face with one hand, the other tucked beneath her opposite arm in an attempt to ward off the chill. “Probably not,” she said. “But there’s nothing I can do about that.”

“Not your responsibility.”

“Then whose is it?”

“Don’t care. Fuck her.”

Dani gave a huff of laughter. Less because it was funny, and more because it was surprising. Jamie’s crass candor never failed to hit its mark. Arms wrapped around herself and shivering slightly, Dani shook her head.

“Don’t shake your head like I’m wrong,” Jamie said. “Because I’m not. Fuck her. You deserve better. Always have.”

It felt too much like a scene from ten years ago. Jamie, here. Jamie, looking at her like this. Jamie, fiddling with her keys for want of movement. Jamie, all square-jawed and imploring gray eyes. They might as well have been sixteen again.

Dani made an abortive motion, wanting to reach out, to grasp Jamie’s arm, to ground herself in the present, but she stopped before she could get halfway, clenching her fist back to her side and frowning down at their shoes angled in the snow. “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head and laughing softly.

Jamie stared at her. “What for?”

“I don’t know. I don’t – Everything. I’m sorry that you had to help me drag her over here on Christmas. You have enough going on. You didn’t need to do this.”

“Well, if it wasn’t me,” said Jamie. “Then it would’ve been Ed.”

Dani did not reply.

“Right?” Jamie asked, incredulous. “Please, tell me he helps you with this shit.”

“He –“ Dani cleared her throat and glanced over her shoulder as though afraid the door might have opened, as though afraid her mother had been faking the whole thing and would be standing there, listening. “He does. More often than I’d like, to be honest.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Scuffing her heeled shoe against the snow on the front step, Dani said, “I don’t like letting her ruin everything. I don’t want her making things harder.”

“Harder than what?”

Dani shook her head, her arms tightening around her middle and her eyes squeezing shut. She couldn’t say that being with Eddie was an exercise in precarious balance, in the breathtaking knife’s edge upon which every aspect of her life was hung. She couldn’t say that every day she woke up awash in the fear that today would be the day it all fell apart, one thing too many, one little piece out of place. She couldn’t say that because saying it aloud would make it real, because saying it aloud would mean no going back, because all she had was forward. One step after another. Always forward.

Clink of the keys, and Jamie’s voice was a careful thing. “Way I see it,” she said. “Things can’t be any harder than they are. Only different.”

Dani laughed weakly and looked up. “If only that were true.”

Jamie was watching her with a steady gaze. “You can tell me, you know. Whatever it is. You can tell me. I won’t care.”

Dani’s mouth was dry. Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip, and she whispered, “You will.”

Jamie’s eyes dropped to Dani’s mouth, following the movement, and Dani felt a warm tug low in her stomach. A thin thread of something unseen and electric tethered them in place, and then the rhythmic twirl of the keys around Jamie’s fingers went off kilter for just a moment, sending them spinning off over the railing and into the snow bank.

“Shit,” Jamie muttered. She turned and descended the few steps to trample around in the snow, calf-deep, looking for her keys.

Blinking away the coil of heat in her gut, Dani shook her head slightly and went to join her. “Did you see where they went?”

“No,” Jamie said, leaning on her knees and sweeping through the snow with her bare hands, half-crouched so that her scarf dangled and dragged across the bank. “Fuck. Do you have that spare set I gave you?”

“You only gave me a spare house key. Not one for your truck.”

“Shit.”

“Don’t worry. Eddie and I can drive you home, if it comes down to it.”

The snow melted and clung to the skin-toned nylon stockings against Dani’s legs. She scrunched up her nose and shivered, the two of them alternatively sweeping their ankles or wrists through the drift, hoping to hear the tell-tale clink of metal. After a minute or two of them being out of view of the front door, the outdoor light automatically switched off, plunging them into the shadow of the house, which leaned over them like a spectre through the night, blotting out the stars in a jagged silhouette.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Jamie muttered.

She was still crouched over. A length of silvery chain glinted as it slipped free from her shirt and a familiar necklace swung from her neck. Dani went very still, gaze fixed upon it.

It was a silver half-dollar piece. Dani could remember piercing it in Judy’s garage, Mike guiding her hand around the drill bit. Except the chain was different now. Longer than she remembered, and a more expensive material than whatever she could have afforded at the age of twelve.

As if watching herself in a dream, Dani reached out. Jamie froze as Dani’s fingers curled around the chain and gently tugged her upright. Jamie followed slowly, eyes unmoving from Dani. Rubbing the coin between thumb and forefinger, Dani traced the effaced imagery, faded as though from years of being worried in just this fashion.

“You kept this?” she asked, her voice sounding too loud in the quiet darkness of this moment, this brief chamber of the world.

Jamie nodded. Her eyes were dark and indistinguishable, her expression veiled, but there was no mistaking the catch of breath in her throat when Dani’s grip made the chain tug softly at the back of Jamie’s neck. Dani stared, afraid to exhale, afraid to blink, afraid to somehow break this scene, as though they were tethered together by a string of brittle moonlit glass caught in her fist.

There was the gentle drift of snow through the air, grayed flecks falling from the night sky and catching in Jamie’s wild curls like a net of stars. Dani only meant to let the necklace go, but they stood so close together that the furl of her fingers brushed against the corner of Jamie’s collarbone through the unbuttoned gap in her shirt. Jamie’s mouth dropped open to suck in a sharp breath, but she said nothing. Swallowing thickly, Dani dared to let her fingertips trace the hollow of Jamie’s throat, slipping between warm skin and cold chain. The trembling ghost of a touch.

The pulse at Jamie’s throat leapt beneath her thumb. Dani wanted to replace her thumb with her mouth, test Jamie’s heartbeat with her tongue. She wanted to slide her hand to the back of Jamie’s neck and tug her back against the brick cladding, hidden from sight. She wanted — and wanted —

Dani let her hand splay out against Jamie’s sternum. She pushed gently, a steady pressure, maintaining contact, so that she could feel the thud of Jamie’s chest beneath her palm.

“You should -” Dani rasped, “You should take Mikey home. It’s late.”

Jamie nodded. “Yeah,” she breathed. Before Dani could drop her hand however, Jamie covered it with her own, holding it in place. The circle of silver warmed beneath Dani’s hand, and Jamie said, “Wait.”

“What is it?” Her eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness, and Dani could just make out the curve of Jamie’s smile.

“I still need to find my keys,” Jamie said.

Dani blinked and then snorted with sudden laughter. Jamie squeezed her fingers, grinning, still keeping Dani’s hand against her chest in a loose grip.

“Right,” Dani said. “Right. Yeah. I’ll get the light.”

Jamie hummed in agreement. Then she lifted Dani’s hand and bowed her head. Dani watched in abject fascination, not trusting herself to breathe, as Jamie pressed a warm chaste kiss to the peak of Dani’s knuckles before — finally — letting her go.

Dani stumbled up the steps and through the front door. She had to pause in the open doorway leading into the ink-darkened house. There were the shadows of furniture throughout, vague shapes like owl-eyed creatures through the treeline. Dani leaned back against the wall just inside, holding the door slightly shut, trying to give herself space to breathe. Her hand was clenched into a fist. She swore she could still feel the press of Jamie’s mouth against her fingers. Or perhaps that was the shiver of the cold night air.

Flexing her hand, Dani let her head tilt back against the wall. Then, straightening herself with a deep breath, she flicked on the outdoor light and — braced against the chill — stepped out into the cold once more.

#thobm #the haunting bly manor #bring home a haunting #dani clayton/jamie #damie #roman writes #saw the wordcount and thought to myself #'gosh that's finally a reasonable wordcount for once'#as if 20k is a reasonable wordcoutn for a chapter #shoot me

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noctis-noctua · 3 years

Text

Iron Resolve and Refreshing Gales | Overworked Jean x Reader

Relationship: Jean/Reader

Genre: Fluff

Premise: Jean has been pushing herself to the max lately and refuses to acknowledge the detrimental consequences of it no matter who tells her… except for the one person who has her wholehearted devotion.

1754 words.

Here you go! Sorry if it’s a bit subpar - this is my first time writing for Jean, but no complaints here. She’s awesome and I am a total simp for her lmao.

Jean has a destructive tendency to attend to the needs of everyone but herself. It doesn’t matter if the issue is as trivial as finding a lost cat or filing papers - Jean carries out each and every request from the citizens of Mondstadt. These days have been busier than usual. Ludi Harpastum is a few days away and that means that preparations are being carried out religiously. In other words, Jean has people knocking on her door non-stop. Can you help decorate Town Square? Hilichurls are blocking the path that my goods are traded on, could you please clear them out? She hasn’t felt the doting embrace of sleep in two days, nor has she consumed more than a couple of light meals. ‘There’s no time for them,’ she often explains to the other Knights. ‘I’m satisfied with anything I can get.’

Lisa is an early riser. She enjoys taking time to brew a pot of Sumerian tea and read new material as the sun floods across Mondstadt, and to do so she must awaken ahead of schedule. It’s because of this that Lisa arrives at the office before anyone else; 5:00 am to be exact, leaving much time to prepare for the day’s labor. She strides to the library doors before coming to a sudden stop, observing the sounds of a frenzied pen in the room across from hers. Jean’s room. Lisa does not hesitate to open the door, exposing a fatigued blonde reading and marking up a stack of documents.

“Jean, have you been here all night?” Jean’s eyes are dull, leaden bags hanging from beneath them. On the right side of her desk is an almost-spent candle, the dwindling remains of its wax no more than 2 inches.

“Oh, good morning Lisa. Unfortunately, I have. That’s alright, though. The sooner I finish them the sooner I can move on to patrolling.” Her tone is desolate despite Jean’s attempts to liven it. The blaring headache ricocheting in her brain is practically begging her to rest, but Barbatos knows that’s not an option. She still has so much to do, and even after she completes this there are mor-

“[Y/N] hasn’t seen you in days. Not taking a break strains her, too.” Lisa remarks, eyes dancing over the bookshelf. She catches sight of the full series of The Fox in the Dandelion Sea. Mondstadt’s famous romance novels, and one of Jean’s favorites. It’s almost ironic, how such a neglectful Knight came to be a sappy romantic.

“...[Y/N] is strong and independent, Lisa. She has no need for me, and although I’d enjoy seeing her, I know that she is perfectly capable of looking after herself. If I have to push my relationship to the side momentarily to sate the people of Mondstadt, then it has to be done.” Jean responds as she pushes another paper to the side. By now there must be 40 finished pages. It pains Lisa to look at them, much less read them. Making peace with defeat, she suggests that Jean purchases a full meal and exits the stuffy quarters. The Dandelion Knight can do nothing but sigh for the 40th time, doing the best she can to ignore the subtle shaking of her limbs, the thrashing pain in her head, and the gradual blur of her sight.

She’s fortunate enough to finish up faster than expected and spends the spare time making a beeline for Good Hunter. Suddenly, the hunger in her stomach is 10x more noticeable, and nothing else is on her mind but eating some Fisherman Toast. That is until she bumps into a sobbing blob of red, blubbering much as a fish does.

“Klee! Did something happen? Did you blow something up?” Jean interrogates, crossing her arms. The small Knight makes a tentative nod and bursts into another fit of tears. I was really hungry… It’s fine, I can always eat later. Jean comforted herself as she held Klee’s tiny palm, preparing for the damage inflicted.

It’s 11:00 pm. Jean’s ponytail has been ruffled to a point of no return, convincing her to take it down and let the locks of hair flood down her shoulders. New civil letters sit on the mahogany table. Jean prepares another candlestick for the long night ahead, resisting the culling of sleep. It’s much harder to focus than it was last night and nothing but a handful of 10-minute naps and a mushroom skewer are stopping her from dropping dead. Finish fast and I can go home and get a 3-hour nap… Jean’s mind is so adrift and preoccupied that she ignores Kaeya’s presence entirely.

“Busy as always, Acting Grand Master. I heard it’s your 3rd day at the office. I thought I’d take the time to invite you to Angel’s Share.” The Cavalry Captain’s voice is sultry, filling the dusty silence. Jean takes one look at his flamboyant figure and turns back to the envelope in her hand, squinting at the printed symbols.

“Sorry, Sir Kaeya, but I have some stuff to do. I can’t possibly drink - it may impact my performance. Thank you, though.” Kaeya chuckles at that. Stalking over to the paned glass, he observes the joyous city below. Upon closer inspection, Jean looks like absolute shit. Her hair is mussed and her skin is a cumbersome shade, a slight green tone atop her normal paleness.

“Same old excuse. Take some time off. You need some fun, Acting Grand Master. It must be boring to be so serious all the time.” His words are not valuable enough to be met with more than a hum. “Fine, fine, be that way. But know that if you ever want to come down, everything is on me. It’s not every day that you come out. Plus… pushing yourself so much can’t be good for your health, Jean.” The drop of formalities is Kaeya’s last attempt to pull his superior away from the bureau, and then he takes his leave. Jean doesn’t fail to notice the painkillers he slipped onto the papers. That snarky Captain… as crass as he tries to be, Jean knows that his actions come from a genuine concern for her health. Thanking him in silence, she tosses the two pills into the back of her throat.

The evening descended into twilight, then to the darkest hours of the morning, and Jean has not moved from her chair. The herbal pills had dissipated an hour ago, and the pounding of her headache is almost enough to send Jean reeling. She doesn’t stop, obviously; she’s felt much harsher pains. 4:00 am tranquility serves to be helpful for such aches, but now that her entire body is in pain, it’s much harder to soothe. Her head jolts in intervals as she fights the intense drowsiness. Iron as her resolve may be, Jean is human. Her back hunches as her arms catch a drifting head that now lolls on her reports. The flutter of her eyelashes is peaceful in its own right. Slow exhales leave Jean’s body as she sleeps, her body relishing in such a rare moment.

Jean opens her eyes to the scene of a stubby candle that has burnt out. She opens her intricate timepiece in a hurry. 5:00 am. How could she have slept for an entire hour? Dread floods her system as she thinks of how much she has delayed her already bustling schedule. In the midst of her panic, the door opens. It must be Lisa. No one else is mindlessly occupying the building at this ti-

“Hi, Jean. I brought some tea and cookies for you. I’m sure you must be exhausted… it’s been three days since I’ve seen you, after all.” Jean’s stare softens at the sight of her beloved holding a steaming teacup and a tray of shortbread. She caresses the hand that passes the teacup. The comfort of skin is something she longs for, and something she has deprived herself of these past few days.

“[Y/N]... I’m sorry. I’ve just been so busy lately, and…” Her lips become still as you tread your fingers through her hair and press a chaste kiss to her forehead. “...and I’ve missed you.” She revels in the smile that tugs from you. That beautiful smile… Archons, how much she’s missed it.

“Jean, come home. If not for your livelihood, for mine. The bed has been cold.” The desperation in your voice breaks Jean’s heart in two. If Jean is a Dandelion Knight, you are the passionate gales of Barbatos plucking her apart, seed by seed. There is no plausible way for her to stay composed around you. Jean leans into the hand against her cheek, a cat yearning for human contact.

“I suppose I can… do these in the morning.” That earns a swift glare from you. Jean huffs, taking a singular bite of the shortbread. She’s had to explain her Knightly duties to you in many instances, but it always went through one ear and out the other without fail.

“No, absolutely not Jean. Give it to your subordinates. Tomorrow, you are staying with me, no questions asked. I’m sure they’ll allow it - your face looks 5 seconds away from death. Now come.” Jean grimaces at the list of tasks she’s stuck on the table’s edge, biting her lip in a debate against herself. Surrendering herself to the feeble begging of her lover, she mutters a small agreement. The tug on her arm convinces Jean to stand, leaning into your shoulder. She finds solace in the warmth you radiate as both of you exit the Knight’s Quarters arm-in-arm, attached at the hip like lovesick puppies.

The sun has begun to ascend again, accompanied by a saccharine breeze. It smells of sweet flowers and calla lilies. It smells of the fresh fields of Windrise, tangling Jean’s hair.

“Look, even Barbatos is happy that you’re taking a break!” You tease, and Jean cannot help but giggle. She will always laugh at your jokes, and she will always give in to your demands for touch because Jean is a hopeless, pining fool. On the elevated platforms on the Cathedral stairs, Lisa’s plump lips curve as she sees the Dandelion Knight and her precious adventurer roaming the empty streets of Mondstadt. It’s days like this that Lisa is grateful for waking early, so she can experience the morning wind, the rising sun, a delectable dish of tea, and a picturesque scene of a dandelion being burst by the adamant winds.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #jean x reader #genshin jean x reader #genshin jean #genshin impact imagines #genshin #jean gunnhildr #noctis-noctua

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jungwooisms · 4 years

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pairing: tailor!jungwoo x female!bookbinder!reader genre: fluff, angst, smut, period piece others: nakamoto yuta, suh johnny, moon taeil, park sooyoung, lee donghyuck (mentioned), kim doyoung (mentioned), lee ten (mentioned), lee taeyong (mentioned) warnings: cursing, sexual content (unprotected sex, oral f. & m. receiving), drinking, an overabundance of 60′s references, unrequited love word count: 20k

It's autumn in New York that brings the promise of new love Autumn in New York is often mingled with pain Dreamers with empty hands may sigh for exotic lands It's autumn in New York It's good to live it again

1963, Autumn. The small knife in hand cuts through the thin leather with relative ease, stopping at the point you’d marked with a small piece of chalk, you switch to cut the other end of the material. You eye the coffee sitting on the opposite end of your work bench, watching the steam rise from the cup that you’d barely taken a drink from. It was only nine in the morning and you hadn’t slept well the night before, had there not been any orders to fill you would have slept in a while longer.

With the leather finally cut into its allotted pieces you go to move to the bound paper you were trying to cover before you hear someone walk in. The chimes above the door at the front of your shop sound off with a soft resonance, the same sound that had echoed the room for years. Footsteps treading carefully into the center of your shop, you can’t eye the stranger from your closed off workshop unless you open the heavy wooden door.

A quiet “Hello?” rings out, they sound apprehensive and unfamiliar to you. There’s a tinged worry that treads on the lone word, leaving you all the more perplexed as you set down the leather and the semicircular knife onto your workshop table and head out into the main gallery of your shop.

“Can I help you?” Question falling from your lips as soon as you begin to push open the oak door, finding a taller man looking down at one of the fabric laden books on one of the display tables.

“Oh,” his attention turns to you from the book, to the doorway you’d entered from and then back to you. The horn-rimmed glasses adorning his face slipping down the bridge of his nose. “I’m here to pick up an order for Moon Taeil.” His slender hand moves from its once stagnant position to push the glasses back up before moving to his right-side front pocket, “I can show you the receipt if you need it—”

“There’s no need,” you shake your head and raise your hand. Taeil had been a longtime customer of your family’s shop, you assume it’s mostly because of a mutual acquaintance with the Suh clan, but you would never be the one to edge into that conversation unprovoked. “I’ll go and grab your order,” a short smile and you’re turning on your heels and striding into your storeroom/workshop once more.

When you walk back out a few moments later, the books wrapped in brown paper to protect their covers, the stranger is once again looking down at the assortment of books atop your display tables.

“So,” you begin as you hold out the bound books to him, “are you new? I don’t think Taeil’s sent you before.”

He takes the books gingerly, his gaze returning to the soft leather-bound journal after he gives you a short nod in thanks. As if it took him a moment to process the question he blinks and turns back to you, “Sorry— My name’s Jungwoo Kim. I started working for Taeil last week.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you nod, trying to register the face with the name as comprehensively as you could. “Tell him to give me a ring when he needs his next order, I know he goes through those fairly quickly.”

“I will,” Jungwoo smiles, “Before I go do you think I could buy this?” His head nods down to the leather-bound journal he’d been eyeing earlier, “It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

A small smile gracing your lips, “Of course, it’s unlined though. Is that alright?”

“It’s perfect, thank you,” he says as you pick up the book as his hands were already burdened with his boss’ order. “How much do I owe you?”

“No charge,” you shake your head, fingers tightening along the spine. It’s smooth but the ridges of the leather run coarse under your touch, “Think of it as a congratulatory gift for getting a job under Moon. I know he has a reputation for being a bit of a—”

“Hard-ass?” Jungwoo muses, eyes widening as he realizes how he’s just insulted his boss. “And really, I can pay for that, I’m sure it must’ve taken you a while to make it.”

“I’m not sure if that’s the exact term I was looking for, but it does fit,” you laugh, raising the book up. “Don’t worry about it, do you want me to wrap it?”

“If you could,” he offers a smile as you move to the roll of brown paper atop the register table.

It only takes a minute for you to cover it, you’d done hundreds, if not thousands, of wrappings for novels and books. Once you finish tying the twine bow atop the journal, you gently stack it on the books Jungwoo holds.

“I hope to see you here again, Mr. Kim. That is, if Taeil doesn’t scare you off.”

“He’s like a weird mix of my dad and what I’d expect Hardy Amies to be,” you weren’t sure exactly who Amies is or what Jungwoo’s father was like, but you did know Taeil. Oddities and all. “And don’t worry, I have a stronger resolve than most,” he shoots you a wink before spinning on his heels and heading towards the door. He calls out a, “Thanks again for the book,” before shoving the door open with his hip and losing himself in the crowd of the street outside.

1963, Winter There was nothing quite like the holiday season in New York. Shops elevated the grandeur of their storefronts to catch the eye of window shoppers. Your own shop had seen an influx of patrons, as was typically the case around this time of year. But the demands were great, your hands had the slew of papercuts and hastily put on bandages to show it. Not that you minded it all too much, it was great revenue and it had paid for the camel hair coat you donned this evening.

The city was abuzz with life and festivities along almost every street, and while the excitement from Hanukkah and Christmas had died down over the last few weeks, most now looked towards the reining in of a New Year as December thirty first arrived.

“We’re going to be late,” Yuta’s arm slides under yours, the crux of his arm locking into yours as his pace quickens along the dimly lit street. The sound of his derbies clicking against the pavement reverberating around the nearly empty row of houses.

“It’s ten and we’re going to a New Year’s Eve party, I doubt we’ll be late, Yuta.” You let out a scoff, fumbling with your bag for a moment, not sure what you were searching for in the first place. The streetlamp’s orangey glow not aiding you in deciphering the numbers etched into the doorways of the homes.

“Says the person who took five years to pick out a jacket, I’m surprised we got out of your apartment before my hair turned gray— Wait a minute,” his fingers of his free hand trailing up to the dyed platinum locks on his head as he turns back to shoot you a glare, “It did.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” eyes rolling, you nudge him with your shoulder “It’s not my fault your stylist bleached you instead of dyeing you.”

“I feel like an idiot, they can’t even see me to fix it for another week.” He groans as the pair of you make your way to a brownstone tucked away neatly into one of the city’s streets. It would be innocuous from the others aligning the strip had you not been able to hear the gentle buzz of chatter and the occasional laugh drift out from the screened door.

“Did Suh invite the whole block?” Yuta murmurs as he lets go of your arm so that he can jump up the short handful of stairs to the front door two by two.

“It would explain how dead the rest of the street seems,” Musing, you follow him, more carefully as you’d always seemed prone to falling up stairs. The voices grow in volume and now you can even hear the scratchy sound of some music floating from the door. There’s no one at the door to greet you when you walk in, just an array of faces that you seem to recognize while others are brand new acquaintances, Yuta and you drop off your coats in a nearby closet and shuffle your way inside in search for the nearest drink station.

“I’d say his house is beautiful, but I can barely see anything. How does he know this many people,” Yuta questions as he slides out of the way of someone’s elbow almost hitting him in the stomach, “All I want is to get slightly drunk tonight but I bet the alcohol’s already gone.”

“It’s the Suh household you know that’s not going to happen,” a snicker leaves you before you feel a gentle tapping on your shoulder. Stopping in your tracks you’re fully ready to meet Johnathan Suh’s smirk and subsequent banter, but it takes you a minute to realize that it wasn’t your childhood friend that had garnered your attention at all; instead, it was a somewhat less familiar face.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Jungwoo’s cheeks are slightly flushed with a smile, the contents of his champagne glass half-empty as he poses the question, “Can I get you a drink?”

“Oh, sure.” You return his smile, nodding your head as he begins to walk off, only stopped by someone calling out to him.

“I didn’t know Pincushion would be here,” Yuta’s voice draws nearer behind you, it seems like he realized you weren’t trailing after him anymore. You feel his hand land on your shoulder as he continues to talk to Jungwoo, “How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks.” He taps his shoe on the floor, only stepping forward a little bit to let someone pass by behind him.

“Pincushion?” You question, looking from Yuta to Jungwoo with a quizzical look on your brow.

“That thing he wears around his wrist every time he comes in?” Yuta shrugs, “I couldn’t remember his name the first time I saw him, but I could remember that. Hence: Pincushion.”

“Is that what it’s called?” You recall the ball of velvety looking green fabric you’d seen on Jungwoo’s wrist the last handful of times he’d come to pick up the tailor shop’s orders.

“Yeah my grandma used to have one and I stole the needles from it to use as swords for my toys when I was a kid,” his shoulders shrug as he looks past Jungwoo and spots something beyond him. “I see one of those guys with a tray of drinks, I’ll get back to you in a bit.” And with that he’s off, sliding around you and Jungwoo to brush his way through the crowd in a frantic sprint to grab himself a glass.

“Does he know that there’s an open bar in the other room?” Jungwoo asks aloud as he watches your friend disappear into the crowd.

“Not yet but give him twenty minutes and I’m sure he’ll be all over it.” Yuta wasn’t one to drink heavily often, it was more of a holiday thing where he only did it if he knew he wasn’t going into work for the next few days. Needless to say, that Christmas and New Years are binge drinking galore for him.

“So, book binding? How’d you get into that line of work?” You’d been so concentrated on looking for your friend’s brightly colored hair that you almost didn’t hear Jungwoo when he asked.

“Family business, dad’s too sick to come in.” Your eyes flickering over to him, a small shrug of your shoulders.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” his brow contorts into worry for a moment, as if he’d offended you somehow.

“Don’t be, if anything I think he’s playing it up a bit just so mom has to be around more often,” You smile, it was really only minor back issues but the doctor had prescribed bed rest and your father had been milking it for months now.

“Smart man,” a short laugh into his drink before he takes a sip from his glass. “So, how do you know John?”

“Old family friend, plus he’s as rich as all get out so it’s nice to see what it’s like.” You note, looking up to the chandelier overhead. If it were anything but Tiffany you’d be surprised. “What about you?”

“You didn’t hear this from me but Taeil might be secretly dating one of his sisters and she invited the whole shop just as an excuse to see him.” The two of you lock eyes, a playful smirk on his lips dancing in the warm glow of the room. “I’m not complaining.”

“I don’t doubt it,” chuckling for a moment, you then look up as if you’ve realized something. “I should probably go and greet the host; can you imagine how rude of a guest I’d be if I didn’t?”

A ceding nod as he steps away from you, gesturing with his glass towards a side room off the main hall, “I think I saw him in there a few minutes ago.”

“Thanks, Jungwoo,” you move to pass him, heading towards the doorway before you stop for a moment, your head tilting in question, “Want to meet back up later?”

“I’d love that,” a gentle thud in your chest as you nod at him, beginning to move again and question the feeling that had plagued you enough to ask him that.

You don’t find Johnny in that room, or the next, or even upstairs in his own bedroom. You do, however, find him on the second-floor fire escape, the butts of several cigarettes at his feet and a glass of whiskey in his hand. It’s cold, had you known this would be where you’d speak you would’ve brought your coat with you.

“Johnathan Suh,” You begin, crouching down to duck through the open window, catching him as he’s begun to lean against the brick exterior of his home, “Hiding away from your party again?”

“The guest of the hour,” A grin as you walk towards him, “How are you? I haven’t seen you at all in the past few months.”

“I’m good, good… It’s been so hectic with the seasonal shopping and all, who knew journals were a hot commodity for gift-giving?” You sigh, elbows resting against the cold fence of the escape. The time between now and the last you’d seen him had been great, but it had always been far and few in between when it came to his jet setting tendencies.

“Sounds hellish for sure,” Musing, he takes a sip from his glass, the scent of whisky hitting your nose as it nears. His other hand rests atop the rusted metal of the fire escape, impatiently tapping as he looks out into the backyard of his home.

“And what about you, Mr. Start-Up? Tear down any more conglomerates recently?” You query, noticing that he was on one of his inward treks again. Something must’ve come up with his family.

A snicker, as he offers out his glass to you, noticing that your hands were painfully empty, “No, but we’re working on a pretty big acquisition right now. It’s all mind games and if I didn’t make a shitload of money I’d be out of this business.”

“Lucky you though, you’re able to retire at thirty-five if you really wanted to,” musing as you swirl around the contents of the glass, the ice inside clinking around.

He laughs, the cold air mixing with his breath in plumes of white that spiral into the nighttime. You push yourself from the wall, bringing the glass to your lips and downing the rest of the contents as quickly as you can, “This isn’t the time to be hard on yourself, John. I think the countdown’s about to start,” a look at the small wristwatch on your wrist, the time indicating that you had about five minutes until the new year began.

“Shit,” the word elongated exasperatedly as he leans over to catch a glance at the clock face, “Let’s get back out there.”

The two of you amble inside, your cheeks cold with the winter air and hands a little stiff from holding the glass for too long. You set it down on one of the various demilunes scattered around the hall as you make your way back into Johnny’s living room. He’s lost along the way, pulled into a group of businessmen to talk or fawning girls to cajole with, you’re not sure which at this point. All you’re trying to do is find someone you know.

You can try to push through the crowds to find John, but at this point it’d be like trying to part the Red Sea with your own two hands and it was infeasible to say the least. Or you could head to one of the drink stations around the house in hopes to find Yuta, but he was as elusive as a snake and it’d be a miracle if you could find him before the clock struck midnight.

“Sixty!” A choir of voices ring out from a nearby room, you think you can hear John’s voice rising above them all, but it might also be your ears playing tricks on you.

“Are they really counting down the entire minute?” The voice next to you startling you so much that you jump, turning, you see Kim Jungwoo looking off in the direction of the countdown. His brow furrowing in confusion, “I at least thought it’d be the last ten seconds or something.”

“Jesus Jungwoo,” hand over your heart as you try and catch your breath, “You almost scared me to death.”

A laugh, “Sorry about that, I’m a little light on my feet.”

It also didn’t help that you could barely hear with the throng of people surrounding you. The gaiety electrifies the room, as it does the entire world when on the eve of a brand-new start.

“Did you want me to help you find one of your friends? I’m sure they couldn’t have gone too far,” his height somewhat advantageous to him as he scans the crowd, not seeing you shake your head as the countdown reaches thirty.

“I think I’m fine just staying with you,” you don’t notice the way he tenses ever so slightly at your words, a more rouge tint to his cheeks as he looks back to you with a sheepish smile.

“Are you sure?” Eyes widening as your gazes’ lock and you feel the familiar warmth creeping up the back of your neck.

“If that’s okay with you?” You question, the countdown hitting fifteen.

“That’s great— fine, it’s— yeah,” he trips and stumbles over his words, trying to find solid ground somewhere on the confab plain. It’s at that moment the countdown comes to ten, and the pair of you join in for the last seconds of 1963.

Five, four, three, two —

“Happy New Year!”

The clock had struck midnight and he was the closest one to you, you can’t remember if it was you or him that pulled the other closer to share a kiss. The kiss was chaste, but it resounded around your ribcage like the booming of the fireworks being shot off a distant skyscraper. A smile on your lips as you mouth back your own, “Happy New Year!” Despite it being innocent in nature, you know with the way the feeling buzzes on your lips you yearn for something more.

1964, Early Spring. The two of you’d spent time together since that evening, outside of that transactional relationship formed in the commerce of you selling your journals and him picking them up for Taeil whenever he could. It was outside of that realm, more personal as the days, weeks and months had transgressed.

By some miraculous circumstance, and no less of your incessant mentioning, you and Jungwoo had been seeing each other on a regular basis

“Taeil?” The door of the tailor shop opens with nothing short of a struggle. The heavy oak pressing back against your foot as you pry it open, your hands too full to push it.

“Need some help?” A voice behind you, startling you so much that you almost drop the large stack of books in your hand. You look over your shoulder to see Jungwoo standing behind you, his head tilted as if to question how you’d made it this far on your own.

“Thanks,” allowing him to brush past you, he steps into the shop and holds the door open wider as you enter. “Where is everyone?” Noticing that the usual handful of other tailors didn’t seem to be aimlessly roaming the store waiting for a customer to arrive.

“Busy,” He notes, motioning for you to hand him the plethora of journals. Obliging willingly, you hand them off and stretch your arms, surely the strain from the hardbacks would pull your finger muscles. “There’s been an emergency tailoring session, some big shot’s in town and needs alterations done for some party they’re throwing tomorrow night.”

“Explains why no one came to pick up the order today,” you muse, “Shouldn’t you be helping with that?”

“I will be in about an hour,” he sighs as if he’s already imagining the work that he’ll need to put in this evening. “But someone had to watch over the shop today.”

“Do you want company while you wait?”

You’re not sure how you’d gotten roped into staying with Jungwoo until well after the sun had set and the last customer had come in for the day. The lights of the shop are off, save for the small lamp that sits above Jungwoo’s workstation. He sits at his little desk in the back corner of the shop as he sews and hems away. His eyes scan the notes the patron had given when they’d dropped off the clothes, you had to squint to try and read the messy scrawl etched onto the parchment. You sit some desks away, flipping through some editorial detailing the up and coming designers of the fashion world but nothing was particularly catching your eye.

“Three alterations in one night, Taeil’s really trying to work us to the bone,” Jungwoo sighs exasperatedly, his hands falling atop his desk, a needle held between his right index and thumb while his other hand holds the garment he’d been attending to.

“Doesn’t it take a week to do something for just one piece?” You ask, not too versed on the schematics of it all, just acutely aware of when your father had needed suits adjusted as he aged.

“Normally,” he glances over to you, a hazy impatience settling behind his brow as he thinks to the two other pieces he was set to mend. “But it’s nine-thirty now and the guy wants them done by noon tomorrow,” Jungwoo almost barks out a laugh at the absurdity of it all, “I didn’t even get the roughest pieces, Doyoung’ll be up all night and finish five minutes beforehand if he’s lucky.”

“What are they making him do?” Magazine set aside as you stand to stretch, your legs numb with the fuzziness of pinched nerves.

“Some simple inseam stuff like I’m doing, but also taking in a few jacket sleeves and fixing shoulder divots,” He says as if you know what he’s talking about, upon seeing the puzzled expression that paints itself on your face he explains a little more, “It’s nearly impossible to do with the amount of time we’ve been given.”

“Why’d Taeil accept this job then?” Pins and needles poking through your skin as you walk over to him to take a look at what he was working on.

“Because the client’s paying us a fortune,” setting the needle down he pulls a pin from the cushion around his wrist to situate it into an odd angle in the fabric in front of him, “I might actually be able to take you on a real date if I finish this in time.”

“I’ve kind of liked the ice cream socials,” you shrug your shoulders, as he turns to look at you, “And all of the gritty little dives, it’s more memorable that way. Plus, it makes me a cheap date.”

A small ‘tch’ leaving him as he turns back to his work, “You deserve more than that.”

“As long as you’re there I’ll be fine,” you lean down to press a kiss on his cheek, “Now I’ll stop distracting you, I’ll make dinner or lunch or something because I know you’ll be dead on your feet tomorrow.”

“Try and get to bed early,” he says as you go to grab your things from where you’d left them up front, “I know you like to overwork yourself too.”

1964, Summer When you’d been invited to Jungwoo’s small apartment, you’d expected a small dinner and then maybe you’d go and watch television or explore the city afterwards. What you hadn’t expected was to see dark plumes of smoke emitting from under the doorway. You don’t knock, instead you barge into the apartment to find Jungwoo unlatching his windows and opening them to let the smoke escape, the source of the plumes coming from his small kitchen.

“What happened?” You call out as he turns to you, your hand rising to your face as if it could vanquish the putrid smell.

“I cooked,” the last window opens with a struggle, Jungwoo’s arms ache with how much force he had to exert when opening it. He shuffles over to you, seeing that you’d walked into the kitchen to find the source of it all.

“You… cooked....” A charred, black entity sits in a pan that Jungwoo had presumably pulled from the oven minutes prior. “Jungwoo what is that?”

“A loaf!” An almost excited tone cutting through your confusion as you turn and tilt your head at him.

“A… loaf of?”

“Meat!” At least he’s trying to sound cheerful, but that was his disposition most of the time. His hand guides your gaze over to a handwritten recipe atop the counter, he must’ve gotten it from some program. “I followed Julia Child’s recipe.”

“I’m not trying to be mean but that looks like a brick.” Gaze flickering back to the meat-brick.

“Yeah,” a sigh as he picks up a nearby spatula, grazing it atop the burnt meat, it scrapes atop it rather than giving way at all, “It’s about as hard as one too.”

The utter exasperation breaking through in his voice cause enough for you to laugh, the absurdity of it all pricking tears into the corners of your eyes. “We can try and salvage it,” you offer once you calm yourself down enough, the occasional chuckle flitting like a bird around your ribcage.

“Let’s just go to Le Pavilion or something, there’s also a new movie out too, we can try and catch it if we eat fast enough.”

And you do. For some reason Jungwoo orders the most expensive dish on the menu and doesn’t even like it, offering it to you instead with an abysmal pout that almost has you reeling in the small interior of the restaurant. The atmosphere is warm and jovial, met by the sinking sun as the two of you exit the venue, hands interlocked with a faint tightness as if you never wanted to be without him in your grasp again. Jungwoo and you then walk to a theater some blocks away, hands still held and a bubbling silence between you.

The film that Jungwoo had mentioned earlier had been Mary Poppins, some Disney flick starring Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke; you’re sure you’d heard Andrews somewhere before, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“I didn’t realize they could combine live action and cartoons like that,” Jungwoo’s voice full of childlike wonder as the pair of you exit the cinema. The smell of popcorn wafts out of the theater’s doors and the bright bulbs of the marquee overhead creates a strange glow contrasted to the nighttime sky.

“I didn’t either,” you note as a few kids brush past you and begin to race down the street, their voices carrying off into the night. It brings a small smile to your lips as you watch them gallivant around, not a care in the world as they continue to chase one another.

“Do you want me to walk with you back to your place?” Jungwoo offers, extending his hand out to you. You don’t answer aloud, instead just take his hand into yours and begin to walk the steadily emptying streets.

“Have you always lived in the city, Jungwoo?” It takes a moment for you to speak again, instead of just admiring the way that the lights glint off of passing windows and the rumblings of the cars that pass to your left drown out in the other amblings of the city.

“No, my family actually lives up north a little way away.” He hums to himself as he thinks, “I thought I’d always be stuck up there too, but I got the offer from Taeil and moved here as fast as I could. Although I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it at times.”

“I see,” you mutter, not knowing the feeling of leaving your home. It was a foreign concept to say the least, for almost the entirety of your life you’d know you were going to take over your father’s shop one day, and you’d been complacent in the matter. You’d had your hobbies that you dabbled in, but this was a nostalgic comfort that would and had transitioned into your livelihood that would take you no where else other than the little shop you call your own. “Would you want to move back?”

“Maybe when I’m older, sure. But I want to see the world first,” he nods his head, a twitch in his hand as he holds yours, “there’s so much I haven’t done or seen.”

It was a reckless ambition, but Jungwoo lived in that fantasy of the unknown, he had for all of his life. That was what he knew and all he abided by. You’d be fooling yourself if you didn’t worry for him at times, but he’d made it so far and you were curious to see where he was going. There was a creative longing, a desire to make, within him that no one else you’d come across had.

“I love you.” The words aren’t romantic when they fall from your mouth, when they’re swept up in the humidity of the summer air and ring around both his and your ears. This was more of a reckoning, a realization of the culmination of your growing feelings towards him since you’d met him almost a year ago now. A weight you hadn’t realized was there lifting from your chest, a songbird free from a gilded cage.

Jungwoo pauses, his feet stopping on the concrete as you continue to walk, only pulled back when you meet resistance. So, you stop yourself, turning back to look at him, a little ‘o’ on his lips and a confused look gracing his features. Had you said it too early? Or did he not reciprocate your feelings?

“You beat me to it,” a small pout emerging onto his lower lip, “I love you too.”

1964, Autumn “I can’t imagine those are comfortable.” You’re sure the clacking of your shoes could be hear miles away, with the obnoxious way they hit the sidewalk. They were pinching your toes too, and you might as well have put a band-aid on the backs of your heels because they were definitely going to be blistered tomorrow morning.

“They most certainly aren’t, but they are cute.” You note, standing on your toes so you can click the red slippers together three times at the heel. “

Jungwoo stands at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to your apartment, offering out his hand for you to grasp when you carefully make your way down the steps. As opposed to the cool air that had begun to settle into the city, his hand offers warmth against your bare skin as his fingers intertwine with yours.

“Which way to Yuta’s?” He questions, looking over your costume for the evening.

“He lives over in Flatiron, kind of near the shop so it won’t be too far of a walk.” You notice him looking at the checkered dress and bright shoes. “Was Dorthey not a good idea, Mr. Holmes?” Noting his outfit of choice, the pipe held in his free hand, the detective cap as well as the cape to match.

“I think you look cute,” Looking away from you and towards the street you’d begun to walk down.

Yuta’s apartment was small, it being so led to more intimate parties than one would find at John Suh’s home, in a way you appreciated it a little more. Bigger parties with unfamiliar faces made you feel as if you had to act less like yourself and more robotic in your interactions.

“I’ll let you in if you promise not to chuck my house to Oz,” Yuta asks as he joking cracks open his front door as the two of you stand in front of it, “And Pincushion here doesn’t try and solve a murder or two.”

“Hmm I guess that’s doable, right?” You play along, turning to Jungwoo to confirm.

“It might take some restraint but I’m sure I can manage.” Hand under his chin as if he’s deep in thought.

“I’ll take what I can get,” Yuta sighs and swings the door open, “Drinks in the kitchen, I think Hyuck’s trying to do a comedy-musical routine in the living room. I’d steer clear because he’s trying out ‘audience participation’ tonight.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” You laugh as you walk inside, the warmth of the room exacerbated by the sheer number of people crammed into the tiny space.

“I do kind of want to check out Hyuck’s thing,” You mention to Jungwoo after you find a space where the two of you can stand unimpeded.

“I don’t know if I can stomach that quite yet, want me to grab you a drink in the meantime?” Jungwoo asks, looking towards the kitchen and the few people filtering in and out of it.

“That’d be great,” a smile and then Jungwoo’s off to struggle his way through the packed room.

Lip bitten you try and look through the crowd, but the drawls of laughter tell you almost exactly where Donghyuck’s giving his tri-annual standup show. It’s shoulder to shoulder and you can barely hear him over the other going-ons of the party but from what you can ascertain it’s pretty funny.

“Happy Halloween!” A hand on your side as they call out, you turn, and it takes you a moment to recognize the face under the Gomez Addam’s mustache and wig.

“John!” A smile as you move to hug him for a moment, pulling away with your hands resting on his forearms, “I thought you were overseas?”

“I was supposed to be, a nasty storm delayed us by a few days over in Spain so I’m not leaving until Wednesday.” He says, looking over your outfit. “Didn’t you wear this like two Halloweens ago?”

“What no one knows won’t hurt them,” a playful nudge on his shoulder, “And if I were to remember, this wig looks very Elvis of you.”

“You might be able to remember correctly,” The black strands of hair that were pulled back still reminiscent of the shape they once held. “Hey, I was wondering if I could talk to you alone?” John smiles, a nervous tinge to his voice as he continues, “It’s a little loud in here and I can’t really hear.”

“Oh, yeah,” brow furrowing at the attitude shift, “But first I should tell— Jungwoo!” The confused expression on John’s face somewhat laughable as you wave your boyfriend over, spotting him exiting the kitchen with two drinks in hand.

“There you are,” Jungwoo says as he walks over, placing a kiss on your cheek as he hands you a glass. You’re not too sure what the contents are, but it’s warm and smells spiced and oddly autumnal. “Hey John,” he greets with a small nod of his head as you take a small sip from your glass.

“Hey Jungwoo,” a return of the nod, “I should probably let the two of you go, I just remembered I have some calls I need to make.”

“What did you want to talk about?” You ask as John begins to turn on his heels. It freezes him, he looks back to you before offering you a warm smile once again.

“It’s nothing important, I’ll catch up with you some other time, yeah?”

The party goes one without much note after, the most affable thing being that routine that Donghyuck had been preparing. At one point you and Jungwoo had slipped out citing an acute tiredness as an excuse to just walk the city some more. By this time of night, the kids that had gone out in search for candy were slowly waning, now only the belligerently drunk wandered the streets in search of the home they probably lived in.

“You have to admit that the joke about Red Skelton was pretty funny though,” insisting that Donghyuck wasn’t the worst comedian you had ever seen. Sure, his act could be cleaned up a little but there was definitely potential.

“What was it— I know a guy who bought a $99 color TV set. Now every Tuesday night he watches Green Skelton?” Chuckling as he recalls the joke, Jungwoo shakes his head “That was pretty good.”

“That’s the one, he’s no Jerry Lewis but he’s trying his best,” you laugh as you arrive to the entrance of your apartment, “Did you want to come in?”

“I’d love to,” he says, and your heart skips several beats, “but I’ve got a client coming in early tomorrow.” And then your heart drops, “I’ll come by tomorrow after I’m done?”

“Alright,” you nod and you say your good nights, he places a kiss on your cheek before turning on his heels and walking into the darkness of night.

You fumble with your hands, trying to unlatch the small picnic basket that had acted as your purse for the evening, in search of your keys.

“Actually, do you have room for one more?” You’d been too distracted trying to get your keys that you hadn’t heard or seen Jungwoo come back to your stoop.

“I thought you said you had work tomorrow,” a wayward glance to him.

“I do, but it’s dark and I’m kind of afraid to walk home alone, I mean what if a ghost or vampire gets me? I’m too pretty to die right now,” he states, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waits for you to invite him in.

“A big baby, more like it,” you scoff, once again turning to look at your door and stating, “If you are coming inside, can you lend me my own spare? I think I dropped my keys at Yuta’s.”

“Yeah I think I’ve got it on my ring,” he rummages around his pocks for a moment until you hear the familiar jingle of his keys. There are only four that adorn the metal hoop; his apartment’s, his mailbox’s, Taeil’s shop’s, and the most recent addition: yours.

“Roommate not home?” He questions as the two of you make your way inside, kicking off your shoes as you beeline to your kitchen.

“At some B. Altman holiday extravaganza with her beau,” pulling two glasses from a cabinet and grabbing a nearby bottle from the small section of your kitchen dedicated to alcohol, “Nightcap?”

“A small one,” Jungwoo nods as you come into the room, he’s standing over your record player, turning it on and beginning to play whatever was on the platter. You set the glasses down onto the coffee table and pry the cork out of the bottle, pouring two small glasses as he falls into the sofa beside you.

“I hope Delamain’ll do?” You set down the bottle and pass a glass to Jungwoo, only settling down on the couch once your own glass is in hand.

“It’s perfectly fine,” he sips at his glass, setting it down on the settee as he muses some more, “What record is this?”

“Ella Fitzgerald, mom gave it to me for my birthday last year, it’s one of her favorites.” Sipping from your own glass steadily turns into you just downing the liquid in one go. The glass hits the end table with a clink when you set it down, Jungwoo’s free hand resting on your thigh as he listens to the music wafting through the air.

“It’s lovely,” he sighs out as you rest your head on his shoulder, the scent of his Pour Monsieur cologne invading your senses as you settle. The meticulous grazing of his fingers over your thigh cause for you to sigh, wanting to sink further into him.

“Can you kiss me?” The words fall breathlessly from your lips, as his fingers trace the hem of your dress. And he does, turning his head to crash against you with such voraciousness that your teeth click against each other before he steadies and falls into motion with you. The pair of you stay like that for a moment, before you felt his hand slip under your leg, urging you to sit atop him.

You straddle his waist, feeling a hardness beginning to strain against his trousers as you grind down onto his lap. He lets out a moan, probably the sweetest thing you’d ever heard, his eyelids fluttering as you do it again. A smirk graces your lips, your hands trailing from his chest to the button on the front of his pants, the fabric coarse under your touch as you move to unfasten it. Before you could, you feel a pair of warm hands atop yours, you looked up to see a wide-eyed Jungwoo.

“I didn’t think I’d be doing this today, so my underwear isn’t exactly mood appropriate—” He says all too quickly for you to comprehend fully, “Just don’t judge me too hard.”

“They can’t be— Is that Mickey Mouse?” You catch the name on the waistband of his underwear, hesitating on releasing any more of the animated character for your eyes to see.

“And I think you’ve just killed the mood,” he groans, his head falling onto the back pillow as his hands fall atop the couch cushions.

“No, I didn’t,” you lean down for a kiss, rolling your hips over him, feeling that he was almost fully erect. His hands fly back to your sides, guiding you along as he lifts his pelvis to meet yours. “I think they’re cute but maybe leave them home next time.”

“Next time?” He mused, looking up at you through clouded eyes, a joking tinge added to his voice “What makes you think there’s going to be a next time?”

“Call it foresight,” shoulders shrugging as you look down at him, your head tilted ever so slightly “and you don’t seem like the hit it and quit it type, baby.” He’d slept over at your apartment before, maybe you’d had a few drunken makeout sessions but nothing ever this sobering, this far. In hindsight maybe you should’ve been nervous, let the butterflies in your stomach take over and calm you down. You’re not sure why you’d taken such a confident route with him, it just seems like he needed it.

“Baby,” the word fell out as a whisper as you saw the faint pinkness of his cheeks in the glow that emanates from the lamp to his right, “Can you spare me any further embarrassment and just take them off already?”

“It doesn’t feel like you’ve got anything to be embarrassed about,” your hand brushing his away from the front of his pants, you sit up on your knees, “Mind kicking them off for me?”

He readily complies as you tried to maneuver without inhibiting him, you noticed him watching you, a hunger in his gaze that sent shivers down your spine.

“Fuck— is someone else here?” You listen to the familiar sound of your front door unlocking; it doesn’t open but you can hear loud footfalls and an even louder voice talking outside of the door.

“Sooyoung?” You call out after you were sure the voices had stopped, walking to the kitchen when you hear roommate’s keys hitting the kitchen counter “I thought you were staying at your boyfriend’s?”

“The asshole broke up with me because he wanted to be Holly Golightly. Him! He might have the astoundingly good looks for it but I think I’m a little prettier, don’t you think?,” The door of the fridge slamming shut, a rustle around the utensil drawer as she looks for a spoon. She did look stunning as the Hepburn character; you have to admit. “They’re re-airing that episode of Perry Mason if you wanted to watch it.”

“Jungwoo’s actually over so I think I’m just going to call it a night,” You say, leaning against the doorframe, watching her begin to dig into a tub of ice cream. “I’ll be sure to rant about your ex with you tomorrow.”

“You’d really do that?” A sigh as she shoves the spook into her mouth, “I’ll try not to wake you guys up when I get up for work tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Sooyoung,” a smile before you slip away and head back into the living room. “Alright Woo, it’s time for bed.”

“Alright,” Jungwoo pushes himself off of the couch, shouting out a ‘Goodnight Sooyoung!’ before ducking into your room. With his long strides he walks to your bed and subsequently falls into it as you turn to close the door behind the two of you.

“Don’t you want to change, Dr. Holmes?” You note his still costumed self as you look at his sprawling figure on the bed, “I think I’ve got your bed clothes from the last time you were here… Not sure if I cleaned them though.”

He huffs, “Forget it, I’m going to sleep.” He crawls to his side, blanketing himself with your duvet as you go into your bathroom to remove your makeup and change.

You can hear him softly snoring as you exit the restroom, your face still a little damp and the scent of your cleanser tingling your nose. Sooyoung’s turned off the music in the living room, the garbled sounds of the small black and white tv quietly floating in under your door. It takes a moment, but you climb into bed next to Jungwoo, pulling the duvet up to your chin before you shut your eyes and fall into a dreamless slumber.

It isn’t sunny out when you wake up, you don’t want to look at your clock for fear that your alarm was about to go off and you’d miss the opportunity to sleep in a few minutes more. An arm draped over you, even in sleep Jungwoo was a cuddler. Normally you weren’t opposed unless it was the summertime and it was unbearably hot outside.

“You know,” you hear him mumble tiredly, as if he senses that you’ve woken up too, “I always thought your apartment would be much more… bookier.” With the way his voice rasps with fatigue you’re not sure if he’s fully awake or half asleep.

“What were you expecting? Books wall to wall?” eyes still closed as you pull your duvet closer to you, feeling his arm tense around your waist.

“Kind of, something akin to a fairytale library,” his breath hot on your back, the hairs on the back of your neck raising at the sensation. “Like uhm— some Grimm story… Oh,” voice perking, “Can we go for that Halloween next year? You didn’t even tell me what you were going as until I saw you tonight.”

“You want to have a couple’s costume?”

“Yeah,” breathing slowing as if he’s falling back asleep agin,”Maybe Lucy and Ricardo, that’d be fun.”

The next time you wake up, the sun’s blaring into your eyes with an intensity you had never asked for.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” Jungwoo’s mumbling and shuffling around your room, sunlight was pouring in from your windows and he looked heavenly even in his manic state.

“What’s wrong?” Stifling a yawn behind your hand as you watch him frantically feel his pockets.

“It’s nine-thirty, We— I overslept,” another string of curses escaping him as he looks around your room, “Do you have a phone I can use?”

“It’s on the dresser.” You point lazily to the red rotary.

You hear the dial tone ring a few times before someone on the other end picks up, “Doyoung can you put my client on the line?” A pause, “Yes I know I’m late.” Another pause before Jungwoo speaks again, “Hello Mr. Smith? Yes, this is Jungwoo Kim I’m running a little late for our appointment, I’m stuck in traffic and if you could give me another— Huh? Oh, yes, of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Only minorly,” he frowns, “You wouldn’t happen to have a suit perfectly tailored for me to wear, would you?”

“Can’t say that I do, why don’t you just go in what you’re wearing?”

“I am not going dressed up as Sherlock Holmes for this client, I have some pride you know.”

“You’re literally wearing Mickey Mouse underwear,” you snort, “it doesn’t look that bad anyway, just don’t wear the hat and lose the pipe. Maybe the cloak too but it’s kind of sexy.”

“Don’t try to tempt me,” he groans, buttoning and zipping his pants, “I’m late enough as is.”

“I’d offer you an iron if Sooyoung hadn’t broken mine, that shirt looks super wrinkly now that I see it in the sunlight,” you note, he still looked nice though. He would probably look nice in anything he wore.

“Ugh, really?” Hands running over the wrinkled fabric he sighs to himself, “I’d say I’ve looked worse, but I normally have myself together.”

“Good luck. I, for one, am going back to sleep.” You sigh and fall back into your blankets, not wanting to leave the sanctuary of warmth quite yet.

“Now who’s the baby?” He scoffs and you hear him tread to the side of the bed, a kiss planted on your forehead as you crinkle your nose up at him. “I’ll call you later today?”

“I’ll talk to you then.”

1964, Late Autumn. The rain began only a few minutes into your trek to the cafe, your umbrella weeping with the droplets as they roll off its surface as you trudge down the street. There’s a rumble in the distance but you’re not sure if it’s the local train station or thunder somewhere off beyond the city. Your other hand in your pocket, running your finger along the ridges of your shop’s key. While you know you’d locked it, you can’t help but have the underlying fear that you’d left the door wide open so that anyone could just walk in. Although you’re not quite sure what they’d take, a few blank notebooks don’t seem like it’d do too well in any sort of underground market.

By the time you pull yourself from your thoughts you’re standing in front of a small cafe that felt more like a second home to you than your own apartment did at this point. The door swings open, you stand in the entranceway so that you can close your umbrella and leave it in the small stand upfront before you head fully inside. It smells like autumn, or at least the coffee’d variant of it. Pumpkin, nutmeg, and a few other scents you can’t quite pinpoint wafting through the air as you walk up to the counter to place your order. You pick out a few pastries as well and ask that they’re brought out when your coffee is ready. A hand to remove the paper-wrapped book under your arm so you can reach for your wallet, realizing then that the water had soaked into the leather. The wrapping paper now a little damp from where it’d brushed against your coat, you pick it back up as well as grab the receipt from the barista before scouring the cafe for what you’d come here to do in the first place.

Jungwoo’s dozing off when you find him in the back corner of the coffee shop. His jacket slung on the chair beside him, a scarf thrown haphazardly atop it as he leans with his head tilting backwards, pretty much dead to the world. Had the two of you not been frequent customers you’re sure that he would’ve been kicked out by now. But there he was, black turtleneck, tailored pants, and the cartoon bandages he loves so much wrapped tightly around his fingertips.

He doesn’t wake up when you accidentally scrape your chair on the ground when you pull it back to sit across from him nor does he wake when you drop the paper-bound book atop the table with a loud thud. Jungwoo does, however, wake when you brush your hand gently atop his, nearly falling out of his chair as his eyes open wider than you’d ever seen someone’s do.

“That wasn’t funny,” he frowns as you snicker, glancing over to the counter trying to act as if he’s regained his composure, “did you already order?”

“For me? Yes,” you place your bag in the chair adjacent to you, shrug off your raincoat and hang it on the back of your chair. “For you, what is it that you get? Flat white, two sugars, low fat milk?”

“That’s it,” he hums, leaning his head back once more. It must’ve been another sleepless night for him.

“You should be thankful I’ve got an exceptional memory,” you frown as he can’t see you, he overworks himself too much and if you ever try to bring it up he brushes it off with a wave and an excuse of ‘I’m just doing what I love’.

“You know,” he begins, leaning his head back up, opening his eyes to look at you. There was something shining behind them that you’d only seen on a handful of occasions; he has an idea and he’s not sure that you’ll like it, “I was wondering if you’d model a dress for me? Not for a fashion show or anything. I just think it’d look good on you.”

His gaze breaks from yours to look at the aisle behind you, you turn and see the barista coming with your drinks and assortment of baked goods. After a few repetitious ‘thank you’s she leaves and the pair of you are left alone once more.

“Are you flirting with me?” An eyebrow piqued as you look at him. He’d asked you to do some of the strangest things before, going from the mundane ‘I think we need to get annual tickets to the opera just in case I forget your birthday and it’ll be a birthday present’ to ‘I swear to god if we don’t rescue this cat right now I’m never calling you again’. But it was two am and a shitfaced Jungwoo had thought that a raccoon was a cat as it rummaged through the garbage. That had also been the night where he’d serenaded you with his own rendition of Blossom Dearies ‘Dance Only With Me’ and Sinatra’s ‘I’m a Fool to Want You’; he’d broken down crying at the latter and you’d forced him to go to bed early. He only went on the condition that you’d hug him as he slept. It was certainly an interesting way to spend your first date together.

“Do you want me to be? I’d say it’s fairly doable,” He winks as he drinks from his mug, blowing on its contents beforehand to cool the brew.

A laugh, the brown paper under your fingertips wrinkling as you strain your fingers and push it towards him. It slides across the wood with relative ease, you finger partially tearing the paper where it had been dampened by the rain.

“I brought you your book.”

“Unlined and all?” He asks as he sets down his cup, shifting himself forward to get a better look.

“Unlined, flexible binding, the works.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” he sighs, taking the still wrapped book into his grasp.

“I know,” you smile, watching as his fingers toy with the twine that kept it together.

“Hello? Paging Ms. Bookbinder, you there?” Jungwoo’s hand waves in front of your face, suddenly you’re back in reality and trying to remember the conversation. You didn’t realize you’d zoned out that hard.

“Yes Mr. Reichelt?” You question, looking down as his finger’s unlace the twine you’d wrapped around the paper packaging.

“Don’t call me that I am much cooler than Franz Reichelt, and less dead, for that matter.”

“Can you say that after you drink your coffee?” You poke jokingly while he eyes his mug with a wary glance.

“Anyway, were you even listening to me?” He leans towards you, elbows resting on the tabletop and a slight curvature to his smile that looked far too playful for the current moment. It stilled your heart for a second before you shake your head at him.

“Not really, no.” You confess, sipping from your cup, “What is it?”

“I was asking if you would let me make a dress for you. I’ve had this idea in my mind for weeks and I finally got this mulberry silk imported from Lyon and it’s too good not to use immediately.”

“I don’t even need a dress like that, Jungwoo.” You frown, picking at one of the pastries in front of you, pinching off a piece before stuffing it into your mouth. “I’m not exactly the type that goes to parties where I’d need a silk dress.” You think that the last party you’d attended you’d worn a sweater and a dress from your roommate’s closet, nothing remotely close to what he was proposing.

“You don’t even know what it looks like,” he pouts, “All I need are your measurements, you won’t even have to see the thing if you don’t want to.”

A sigh, “Fine. When do you want me to drop by?”

“Does Tuesday around ten work for you?”

“I should be able to get Yuta to look over the shop while I’m gone.”

1964, Winter. The ringing of your shop’s bells draws you to the front room, your hands wrought with binding glue, you try to rub them on the apron you wear to rid yourself of the sensation. Before you can ask what the customer needs you stop in your tracks, head tilting to the side, “Isn’t it your day off?”

“It is,” Jungwoo’s voice is cheery as he walks in further, looking at the array of newly bound books sitting out on display.

“What are you doing here?”

“I can’t want to see you?” You fluster at the words, hard to hide the small smile that forms on your lips.

“I mean, you can, it's just that I’m working.” You motion to the store, to the few customers browsing the items.

“You’ve spent however many nights watching me hem skirts and taper jackets; I think it’s time I return the favor.” A nod of his head as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “What can I do to help?”

“What the hell’s pincushion doing here?” Before you’re able to open your mouthm Yuta’s come out of the back room with a stack of books in his grasp, “I thought you’d be holed up in your shop by now.”

“It’s my day off.”

“And you’re spending it… here…” The thud of books landing on a nearby table as the skepticism in Yuta’s voice rises.

“Yep.”

“He must really like you,” Yuta scoffs, going to grab a different selection of books off of another shelf. He turns to you and asks, “Can you grab me the leather samples from the back? I think Maisel’s coming in today and you know how he gets.”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” You shake your head and head to the back room to search for the swatches.

While he waits, Jungwoo notices a small web lingering in the intersection of two walls, the sunlight glinting off its strands having been what alerted him to his presence in the first place. At first, he thinks to sweep it away with a broom he knows is hidden away somewhere in your storeroom. You weren’t the biggest fan of bugs or arachnids; he was surprised you hadn’t rid your shop of it by now. But he can't find it within himself to brush the web asunder. It had worked hard to build and craft its home; he knew firsthand how difficult creating something from nothing was.

“Her name is Jorōgumo.” Yuta had walked up behind Jungwoo with little announcement. The younger jumps, turning his head to look at the other. “I offered to kill her… him...? For her but she said it was eating the bugs and to let it be.”

Jungwoo eyes the fat-bodied spider, “Why is it named that?”

“It’s a fairytale from Japan, there’s a spider that looks like a woman. It entices men to follow her and then eats them while they’re distracted,” Yuta explains, the sound of the storeroom opening behind him.

“Are you bullying Arachne again?” You frown, handing the swatches to Yuta and looking up to the small web in the corner.

“I am not bullying Jorōgumo.”

“If I’m keeping a spider in my shop, I am not naming it after a monster.”

“And a heretic is better?” Yuta scoffs, tapping Jungwoo on the shoulder, “What do you think, Pincushion?”

“I’m just wondering why both the myths have to be women,” he shrugs his shoulders and looks to you, “Do you think you’d be free this evening so I can take your measurements? I finally have some free time to start working on that dress.”

“I think so,” a nod as you look to Yuta, “Mind looking after the shop for a bit?”

1965, Early Spring “Didn’t you already measure me?” Jungwoo’s hands hold a rolling measuring tape as he holds it up to your forearm as you ask.

“Yeah, but I want to make sure this is perfect.” Tape lowered; he writes down the number into one of the journals he’d brought with him to your apartment. Trailing away from that your eyes look to the bouquet he brought when he’d come over.

“What’s the deal?” Brow furrowing at the pink, red and white blooms, “You never give me flowers.”

“It’s a special occasion,” Beaming, he’s as bright as the sun. A jilted visage against the cool tones of your apartment’s interior. He looks up to you with a vividness in his eyes, “Your boyfriend’s going to Paris.”

“What do you mean Paris?” A hitch in your voice as you ask, a strange and warped confusion overcoming you.

“Taeil got me an apprenticeship with one of his friends, he’s going to be in town in a few weeks to talk about it with me and I want to show off the dress there.” He’s speaking at a mile a minute, a clear excitement as he beams.

“Don’t fall for some mysterious Parisian woman while you’re there,” You poke, still unsure about how you even feel about this.

“I doubt I’ll have time to even wander the city. With all of the workshops and sessions we’ll have. It’s going to be the opportunity of a life— ow—” he says as you gently hit his shoulder. “I won’t fall for some other girl, I promise,” He laughs and continues to take your measurements.

1965, Late Spring “Did you have a good time tonight?” The lock clicking into place as he asks, your footsteps falling on the floor as you make your way to his workbench in the center of what would’ve been his living room had he not made it into a makeshift workshop.

You note the tools, the fabrics and array of swatches that litter his home, the pincushion he wears on his wrist as he works settled onto the tabletop. It’s as if the apartment is a representation of him, messy in ambition but persevering through the struggles as he tries to find the limelight of his own. A smile forming as he walks over to you.

“I had a wonderful time, thank you for inviting me.”

It had been a small gathering at the tailor shop, a small dinner with Taeil, Jungwoo, Taeil’s friend and Jungwoo’s future mentor Ten, and yourself. The entirety of the night you’d felt a knot forming in your stomach, the anxiety of Jungwoo’s future endeavors weighing heavily on your shoulders. You want to be happy for him but the closer it gets to Jungwoo’s departure for Paris leaves you feeling more and more despair at the event of it all.

“Thank you for coming,” Jungwoo’s hands find your sides as you lean your backside against the rough wooden edge of the table. “You made it all the more bearable,” smiling softly in the dim lighting of the apartment, he leans forward and places a soft kiss on your lips. The wine from earlier lingers on his breath, you're sure it does the same to yours, the darkness of the red already making you warm and your body feeling weightless, almost as if you were floating in a pool of water.

You part, staring into each other’s eyes, a silent conversation before he’s leaning in again to find your lips. His kiss seems as if it seeks to steal the breath from your lungs. To devour you entirely until all you can think of is his closeness, the softness of his lips atop yours, of just him. The woolen fabric of his overcoat is rough under your fingertips as you move your hands from the workshop table to his shoulders, gently pulling at the cloth to urge him to discard the garment. His hands leave your sides momentarily as he shrugs the jacket off, the fabric falling and pooling on the floor at his feet. A metallic clang echoing around the space as he leans forward to lock his lips with yours.

“Jungwoo,” you breathe, soft pants escaping the both of you as you turn your head from him, your eyes trailing to the sewing scissors that had clattered onto the floor. Another rustling of fabric and you realize he’s discarded his suit jacket as well.

“Let it be,” a hand under your chin, guiding you back to the comfort of his lips. He presses himself into your touch, the way your fingers dance along the smooth cotton of his starched shirt, fiddle with the buttons and run your fingertips atop the small engravings adorning them.

“Are we really going to do this in your workspace?” You look up to his darkened gaze, your voice caught in your throat as his own fingers move to toy with the neckline of your dress. Gentle, electric touches that have you reeling.

“Does that bother you?” His lips leave yours once more as he places soft, yearning kisses to your cheek, trailing down your jaw and then to your neck. He raises a hand to pull away the neckline of the dress to allow him better access to the apogee of nerves nestled at the point where your shoulder and neck meet. Teeth biting ever so gently that you would have mistaken it as a light graze had you not felt the sharp pinch. It pulls an almost whining sound from your vocal cords, causing your head to tilt to allow him more space to roam.

Lips curling into a smile as he pulls away, his hand sliding from the table to your arm, then raising and gently pulling at your hair, “You didn’t answer me.”

“God, fuck, no it doesn’t bother me,” you trap his lips in yours, tilting your head up so the orange glow of the street lamps outside shine into your eyes before you shut them, finding yourself lost in the entity of your lover. The slowest ministrations of your hips trying to roll against his, to seek out friction and closeness and the yearning of him to once again be a part of you, “Jungwoo.” Your tone is darker, needier, wanting as he presses his clothed self flush against you.

A huff of air escaping you as he once again pulls his lips away from you, and then the gentle rolling of his hips against yours ceases as well. Eyes opening to find him looking over you, not scrutinizing, it seems as if he was rather admiring the picture that sat before him.

Head tilting, the presence of desire absent for a moment as he muses, “I think it looks amazing.” He hums as he lowers himself to his knees, somehow the softness of his voice makes you want to comply with every word uttered, “Can you sit on the table for me?”

Hands brushing against tulle and satin and a plethora of other fabrics you could care less about at this moment in time as you find your hold on the table as you move to sit atop its surface, your heeled shoes clattering to the floor as you do so. Jungwoo’s fingers caress your calves as he leans himself closer to your core, his warm breath making your mind conjure some of the most unspeakable thoughts.

“I’ll have to let the designer know he did an amazing job,” you smile, involuntarily shivering as he slides his hands upwards, the hem of your dress inching towards your stomach the further he ascends.

His face merely inches from your heat now, your hips squirming at the proximity. “I think he’d be appreciative of the feedback,” Jungwoo smiles, his face now obscured from vision due to the collection of fabric, you have half a mind to tear it off of you, not that you ever realistically would. It was far too precious.

The rip of fabric, the coolness of the air hitting your now exposed sex, you whine in protest as he begins to slide the now torn fabric of your underwear away from you.

“I’ll get you some more,” his right hand hovers over you, he uses his middle finger to swipe up the length of your slit, causing you to draw in a sharp breath.

“Are you a lingerie atelier now— Fuck,” you begin to joke before he begins to tease your entrance with the tip of his finger. Your own hand moving to your breast, trying to fondle the mound through several layers of fabric. He slips the rest of his finger inside of you and with a moan you roll your hips to try and meet him halfway.

It’s not until he eases in another finger and begins to languidly move them in and out of you as well as latch his lips to your clit that your vocalizations rise in volume. The digits curl inside of you, his tongue swirls around the sensitive bundle of nerves and your head finds itself lost in the euphoria of the moment, your hand falling away from your breast to find itself running through Jungwoo’s locks. He hums against you as your fingers tighten their hold, nearly sending you over the edge.

“Are you close?” You look to him, lips coated with the sheen of you, a tinge to his voice that straddles between curiosity and a carnal question.

Hand moving from his hair to his cheek you can only nod, trying to roll your hips to the increasing speed of his fingers inside of you. His eyes watching you as you do finally reach your climax, chortled breaths escaping you as well as a slew of incoherent words and his name. Jungwoo can feel the way your walls spasm around his fingers and sighs to himself as he pulls them from you, wishing that it had been more than just his digits that had made you cum.

You sit up, a little dazed and a lot more aroused than you were when you’d first stepped into the apartment. Jungwoo rises to greet you, your lips clash together and you can taste yourself on his tongue as you vie for dominance.

“Switch with me?” You ask, parting for air, voice whispering as your hands move to once again toy with the hem of his collared shirt.

And he does, backing away from you enough so you can land your feet on the floor and trade places with him. Your turn to take control for a moment, you feel the hardness of his cock through his pants as you tentatively palm it, trying to elicit some sort of sound from him.

“Come on, Woo, I know you’ve got it in you,” you tease, running your hand up and down the etching of his member, slowly and meticulously trying to draw him out of his shell.

“Have what—” he cuts himself off as you run your fingers over his cockhead, a low groan as if he hadn’t wanted you to hear it.

“Have that,” you lean forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek. The taste of salt greeting you, the sheen of sweat on his face glittering in the lights dimly illuminating his apartment. You fall to your knees, sending shivers down your spine as the cool air that balloons the skirt of your dress as your knees hit the floor with a dull thud. Hands sliding up his thighs, you move to his belt to hastily unfasten it.

It falls away, as do his pants and underwear, you were going to mention the lack of cartoon characters adorning it, but you were too preoccupied taking him into your mouth to comment.

Tongue running over the slit on his head, it draws the sweetest sounds from him, saccharine-like honey that drips from his moans and rings around your ears. His hand running through his hair, his other gripping the table as he tries to stop himself from bucking into your mouth as you take him further.

Your knees ache from the rough floor, the pain not deterrent enough for you to forget about the wetness between your legs. Fidgeting as your head bobs up and down on his length, you don’t think he takes notice. Yet Jungwoo was more perceptive than he let on at times, considering his hand now rests upon your hollowing cheek.

“Get up,” Jungwoo urges, his voice hoarse as he tries to gently nudge you away from his cock. “I want to cum inside of you.” When you do let him leave your mouth, a thin line of spittle trailing from his head to your lips you hear him sigh out again. It was so easy to get a reaction out of him, he almost feels like putty in the palm of your hand.

The indents from the wood settle into the flesh of your thighs as he helps you stand and lightly pushes you back onto the table. His belt clattering onto the floor as he fully kicks off his pants, his shoes, and briefs.

You wonder at this point if you should take off the dress, but as your hand begins to reach for the zipper, he stops you, “No, keep it on.”

He kisses you again, taking his hands to gently pry your legs open so he can align himself with your core. Lips parting, you feel his cockhead brush up against your entrance before he pushes himself into you, his hands moving to trail up the sides of your legs. Slowly, feeling every inch enveloping him as his fingers tighten their hold on the skin of your hips.

“Fuck,” he moans, fully sheathing himself inside of you. His brown eyes meeting yours, tongue darting out to wetten his lips, “Do you need a minute?”

When you shake your head no you fully expect him to start fucking into you with reckless abandon as he did most nights you stayed together. But he doesn’t, instead he starts to roll his hips into you, not trying to fuck the life out of you, rather trying to gauge how and what made you feel good.

“Woo,” you mutter with half-lidded eyes, hands trailing up his arms and to his shoulders, your nails digging into the now exposed skin. It was sure to leave marks, but only small crescent moons that would fade away come morning.

It’s whispered ‘I love you’s’ that fall from his lips as your forearms wrap around his neck to pull you up

and draw him in closer, a thrumming in your chest each time he says it. And you repeat it back to the best of your ability, to find a constancy in him that hadn’t ever made itself presentable to you in a lover or significant other before.

For a moment you’re able to lose yourself in him, to forget that he’d be leaving you soon and your heart along with it. You’re enveloped in the presence of him and you wouldn’t have it any other way, you wouldn't let it be any other way.

Jungwoo’s thrusts become more sporadic as he reaches his end, one of his hands leaving your side and moving to your clit to try and bring you over with him one more time. You’re sensitive and strung out on him, legs tensing as they try to close, stopping around his waist as you press your forehead to his shoulder.

He cums with little warning, other than his hand moving from your clit and back to your side as he stills himself within you. The sweat collected on both of your bows intermingling when he presses his forehead against yours. His breathing slows as he regains his composer, kissing you as he slides himself out of you. When he pulls away to slide on his briefs you land your feet on the ground with shaky legs, holding the edge to balance yourself.

Jungwoo turns back to you and almost has to stifle a short laugh, your face contorting to the feel of his essence leaving you, it was strange but not overtly bad. Just not something you were fully accustomed to.

“Let’s wash up, hm?” Hand taking yours, he leads you to his small bedroom, only stopping midway inso he can help you out of your clothes. He unzips the dress, the cool air of his apartment fully encasing you as he pulls the fabric off your shoulders. You feel his lips press a soft kiss onto the nape of your neck and he catches the scent of the perfume you’d applied earlier in the evening. The dress falls, pooling at your feet and you step from its depths and onto the hardwood floor. Before you’re able to reach for the dress, Jungwoo’s swept it up, already moving to hang it in his closet.

The two of you shower together, reminiscing on a handful of occasions with him that you’d fully devoted to memory but also of the future as well. Jungwoo was excited to leave, every mention of it fractalizing your heart just a little bit more, not that you’d let him know, you just put on a smile and tell him how happy you are for him.

You borrow a shirt from him to wear to bed, exiting the bathroom while he brushes his teeth and combs his hair. While he does, you wander his room, looking at the shelves that adorn the space. Most books atop them are about tailoring or sewing, things that wouldn’t typically draw your attention. You then spot a few that are familiar, the bindings nostalgic under your fingertips as you trace them, no names or words that addressed their titles.

“I never realized I made you so many,” You muse, looking at Jungwoo who’s just exited the bathroom.

“I have been your loyal customer for a while now, you know.” He notes, falling into his bed and collecting the blankets, he pats the mattress beside him to beckon you closer.

You fall back into the bed beside him after you saunter over, encased in the blankets for a moment by the duvet he tosses atop you before you look to him, “I don’t want you to go.” It’s a simple statement that carries all too much weight for those six words alone, they lie heavily in your chest, saying them aloud does nothing to stop that.

“I know, I know,” There’s a hurt in his voice as he knows just how difficult it’ll be to part from you. “We’ve still got almost two months left before I go though, let’s try to make the most of it, okay?”

1965, Summer It had only been a month since Jungwoo landed in Paris. His French is awful, and he only knows how to call things pretty, cute or something lewder thanks to the teachings of his fellow apprentices. There are bags under his eyes from another sleepless night, a cigarette hanging from his lips (a terrible habit he’s picked up as of late), and the mute sounds of some song playing out of the bar he’d just crawled out of. It’s probably Bridget Bardot but he can’t tell from his position, not that he can understand anyway, he’s barely been able to comprehend his own thoughts.

His fingers ache, only nude bandages that are a little too pink wrapped around them because he can’t find the cartoon ones that you’d given him tucked away in his things. His eyes feel strained, tired, and pulsing from overanalyzing stitching and searching cloth for tears, pulls or other impurities. Montmartre was beautiful, not that he was able to see if often as he was constantly working. And if he wasn’t working, he was probably trying to catch up on lost rest.

This was his dream, a part of it though, the other half had you somewhere tucked away in the echelons of his fantasy life. Although he was doing what he wanted, what he loved, there was something about you being in absentia that had him feeling empty. He’d written countless letters but only signed and sent a handful, worried of saying too much and worried of saying too little. To you and his father, his father that had sent him on this path at a young age. ‘Make something of yourself,’ he’d said when Jungwoo was seven, ‘you’re too ambitious not to.’

If he could laugh at him now, he would. But his father was an ocean away, retreated somewhere in the depths of Jungwoo’s childhood that he’d rather leave behind.

Yet you on the other hand, he’d written you what felt like every day and struggled with each composition. Jungwoo had never missed someone’s voice as much as yours, the gentle feel of your hand intertwined with his or even the sounds of your footsteps trailing through your shop. He’s supposed to be happy, why isn’t he happy?

The cigarette burns, the acrid smoke filtering into his lungs as he inhales, a plume of what’s left leaving him when he huffs out, the cigarette dropped onto the ground, smoldering away. Hand flitting through his knotted locks, the dampness of sweat clinging to the pads of his fingertips as he brushes over his brow.

Most people had dropped everything to work under Ten, a certified maestro of their craft. And Jungwoo had dropped everything, not begrudgingly at first, but as the dog days of the beginning of summer and the end of spring drew near there was a rising anxiety within his chest. If you had asked him not to leave as he was standing at the terminal’s gates, he probably wouldn’t have gone at all.

He’s been giving up more and more lately; sleep, adequate meals, a solitary living space. Jungwoo’s worried when this serpent of work will seek out to devour you away too. It’s not that he wants to let you go, but if he’s to make something of himself he might have to, as cruel and malicious it may seem. In that you waiting for him was burdensome, not to him but to yourself. While he’s off gallivanting in an ancient city you’re in your shop, was he just supposed to expect you to idly sit by and wait for him? He’s not sadistic enough to tether you down to the unknown.

1965, Late Autumn. You’d come home that morning with a new record tucked under your arm, the words ‘Rubber Soul’ peeking overtop the paper sheath that the store had given you as you set it down on your countertop after discarding your shoes and jacket by the door. You hum to yourself, shedding your bag, reaching for the new record, and bringing it over to your player, Sooyoung’s worn copy of one of Billie Holiday’s albums resting on the platter. With gentle hands you remove it from the spindle, tucking it away in its cover before releasing Rubber Soul from its own and setting it onto the player. System turned on, you place the needle on the record and adjust the volume so the first few riffs of ‘Drive My Car’ begin playing through the speakers.

Nodding your head to the rhythm, you set down the cover and make your way to the kitchen, noticing the small pile of postcards and letters you’d received from Jungwoo over the last few months. He’d been so busy he hadn’t really had the time to call or write a lot for that matter. But it wasn’t like calling was free, especially an international connection. With each new card that he sent to you, there seemed to be less that he wrote of and more empty space adorning it.

“Hey,” You hear Sooyoung say as she exits her room, her purse in hand as she heads to the hall tree to grab a coat, “I’ve gotta head in, someone completely ruined the display for the winter collection.”

“I thought you were in charge of that?” A tilt of your head as she passes by. Sooyoung’s one of the floor managers of the flagship B. Altman some blocks away, and that left her unnecessarily stressed by the minute details of the store.

“I am, but I let one of the new girls try and set it up,” a frown as she opens the door, “That’s what I get for trying to take on a protegee. I’ll be back around dinnertime, okay?”

“I’ll see you then,” waving her off with a hand as the door slams shut, the sound of your friend’s key locking the door before the apartment falls into silence once more, the only sound coming from the next song on the vinyl.

Stifling a yawn with your hand you head to the living room, plopping down onto the sofa as you reach for a magazine atop the table. It was one of your roommate’s detailing a plethora of fashion information, this seemed something like Jungwoo could take to more so than yourself. Before you’re able to get lost in the pit of missing him again the phone on the table next to the sofa begins to ring.

“Hello?” Magazine tossed aside, you reach for the phone, pulling it to your ear as you lay reclined on the couch. Fully expecting a family member or one of Sooyoung’s friends over the line you sound a little more crass than normal.

“Whoa,” a familiar, achingly distant voice calls out, “Did I do something wrong?”

“Jungwoo?” Eyes widening, your grip on the phone tightening before your brow furrows and you sit up, “Where are you?”

“I’m actually in a phone booth outside of Ten’s shop right now,” A short laugh, there’s something quiet about it, “I feel like I’m in some sort of film.”

“It sure sounds like you are,” distancing yourself from the line for a moment as the connection pops and crackles. Ear returning to the phone you feel your heart swell as you lean against your wall, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” He sounds apprehensive, as if there’s something ruminating behind his lips, but he was too afraid to say it. “I’m sorry for not calling sooner, it’s just been extremely busy here.”

Twirling the phone cord absentmindedly with your finger you shake your head, not that he could see you, “It’s alright.” The disquiet in his voice putting you on edge, “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been thinking,” He’s holding his breath, and you don’t realize that you are too.

“Of?”

“Ending this.” There’s a pause, a bated breath, and a clearing of his throat before he begins to speak again. It sounds robotic, rehearsed, even. “I don’t want to leave you waiting for me when I don’t even know when I’ll be back.”

“If you don’t think I’d wait for you you’re ridiculous,” A confused tone to your voice, you blink several times as if that were the cure-all to comprehend what he was suggesting. “Is there someone else?”

“God, no, of course not. It’s just—” A break in the facade for a moment before it turns static again, “You deserve constancy. I don’t want you waiting around for me when you could be happier somewhere else with someone else who’s actually there for you.”

“Are you serious?” With the thought of him being an ocean away you could barely go as kicking and screaming as you wanted to, but you can’t. It’s hard to collect your thoughts with so many jumbling around your head.

“I’ll get Taeil or someone to stop by and get my things,” voice muffled, there a small banging coming from the other end, as if someone’s hitting the outside of the phonebooth that Jungwoo was situated in.

“No,” you frown, a heavy feeling settling into your stomach. “I’ll drop the dress and your things off at the shop.”

“Keep the dress, it was a gift,” his voice insists, sounding defeated and tired.

“I don’t want it, I want you, Jungwoo.”

He would rather watch the stars flicker and die from their sepulchered facades in the expanse above, watch the oceans shrivel and continents shrink, than be the source of your privation. It’s as if he can hear your heart break over the line. It isn’t loud, it isn’t ear shattering— it’s a hairline fracture that webs out and settles into every fiber of your being. He knows it because it’s the same thing he’s afflicted upon himself.

“I’m sorry, I love you but there’s no feasible way that I can—” he pauses, and you hear a voice tinned by the crackling line. It’s French, sounds angry and causes Jungwoo to speak into the phone once more, “I— I have to go. I’ll call you back later so we can talk about this, okay?”

“Okay,” the word is lifeless as it leaves your mouth, you hang up and pull the phone away from your ear as if you could still hear his voice after you’d killed the call.

You are a bag of bones, skin, and whatever else deigned itself rotted enough to crawl its way inside of you and flourish. Amber leaves looking more titian as you leave your apartment, a muted tone as you walk the streets and to your shop. The lights inside aren’t as bright as they once were, sounds far too muffled by the blood rushing to your ears as Yuta asks you what’s wrong.

1966, Winter “Try this one,” The bartender standing in front of you sets down another glass. He’d been talking to you on and off the whole night trying to get your opinions on different drinks he’d been concocting to try and get put on the menu.

“What is it?” Amber liquid swirled around what looked like a dried slice of orange. The whiff of something floral and reminiscent of anise hits your nose, causing your face to scrunch. “That’s not straight absinthe and cognac, is it?”

“Cognac Tesseron, Peychaud’s Bitters, simple syrup, and just the smallest taste of absinthe,” Carefully crafted and delicately handled you pick up the glass and observe it some more. “I’m thinking about calling it the Forget Me Not, but we’ll see what management thinks of that name.” Voice tinged with that oddly specific Brooklyn accent he turns to his other clientele, leaving you with the newest cocktail. Lips carefully pressed to the glass you drink, mulling over the flavors as you do so. After thinking about it you set the glass down, lips pursed together, it wasn’t a bad taste you just wished there were sweeter notes to it.

Alone. You sat alone in the dimly lit bar that denoted itself as La Fête. Why, you weren’t sure, but the cacophony of spirits mixed into the glass between your fingers was the only thing that had made you feel well the entire evening. Some comedian stands on the stage a few meters away, giving off a routine that wasn’t hitting as well as it should be. There’s muffled laughs and chortles from the audience in front of him, yet you’d barely heard a word he said.

“Mind if I join you?” A voice rings out to your right; you’re unable to see who it is until they take a seat next to you.

“Mr. Suh,” Eyebrows raised as Johnny turns to face you, “What brings you here?” You hadn’t seen him in a month or so, not after that had happened.

“Yuta told me I could probably find you here, and Sooyoung also told me about trying to cheer you up since the gifts she got you weren’t working,” A smirk playfully bouncing on his lips. “You look awful.” Hands folding atop each other as he adjusts himself in the seat.

“What makes you say that?” Scoffing as you bring your glass to your lips, taking a sip of your drink before setting it back down.

“Yuta did say you were going through something heavy.” His tone lowers, becoming more sympathetic and less lighthearted than it’d been a moment before.

The gentle ambiance of the bar around you, as well as the slew of alcohol in your drink, mellows your inhibitions and voice. It was the calmest you’d felt the entire night. “I just needed a break from all of this,” hand motioning towards your head.

“I can understand that” Pausing for a moment he opens a nearby menu, perusing the selections. “I just came from a conference in D.C., aren’t you going to ask why?”

“Hmm, why?” You pose, head tilting as you turn to look at him.

“We’re acquiring some major stock in Marriott,” “Forcing a bunch of bigwigs to give up their assets is an adrenaline rush I won’t get anywhere else but there.”

“Sounds… fun?”

“In reality it’s just a bunch of stuffy old men with their own hands up their asses, “Although I guess I have to get used to it; I’ll be one of those men someday.”

“Johnathan Suh you will never be like any of those men,” sigh losing itself in your glass as you bring it back to your lips.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” as he closes his menu, he calls the bartender over, ordering some drink that sounded all too extravagant for your taste.

The pair of you sit in silence for a few moments, your glass now set atop the marble bar as your eyes wander around the warm, eclectic interior. “Are you merging them with that Canadian group? I can’t remember their name.” Snapping your fingers together as you try and recall. You look back to Johnny, who was beginning to take a drink of another one of the bartender’s creations.

The glass now moved away, and he frowns into the back of his hand; you wonder if it’s due to the alcohol. Head shaking in the negative he answers, “I actually left that partnership a year or so ago, decided I didn’t want any of ‘Daddy’s Help’ and tried my own hand at it.” Leaning back, he adjusts the lapels of his suit jacket, “And I’ve been doing a pretty good job if I do say so myself.” His confidence was a manic beast at times, but it never failed to make you roll your eyes. “What about you? Gonna commercialize your shop anytime soon?”

“As if,” You snort and look towards the darkened windows of the venue, “I’m perfectly fine in my shop,” Elbow resting on the counter, you lay your cheek atop your hand as your hair falls around your face, looking up at Johnny as your cheeks warm with embarrassment, “It’s all I can manage.”

Johnny laughs, it’s hearty and you feel your pulse rise along with the heat in your cheeks, “Don’t sell yourself short.” Shoulder shrugging, he returns to his drink, finishing it quickly while you sit up, rubbing your cheek.

“We’ll see when I get there,” smirk showing itself again as his fingers trace circles on the light marble of the bar. “Oh, weird, crazy question really,” His hand moves to his jacket, fumbling around one of the inside pockets for a moment as he searches for something.

“Want to go to a wedding with me?” A piece of elegantly cut cardstock tossed down onto the bar, you don’t recognize the names scrawled onto the front of it in some pretentious calligraphy.

“Aren’t you dating that girl?” Fingers pulling the card closer, trying to recall the name, “Yoona or something? Why don’t you take her?”

Johnny almost chokes on his water as you speak, hitting his hand against his chest to get some air. “God no,” He coughed, setting his water glass down. “Yoona’s just a family friend, more like my big sister than anything else. If anything, my sister will get married before me.”

You nod your head in understanding, “Ah, is she still dating Taeil?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t trust them to tell me if it was raining outside or not,” he muses. Suddenly his demeanor turns mischievous, you’re not sure how to properly describe it as he leans in towards you, the smirk back with a vengeance. “But why were you interested in who I’m dating? Are you curious?”

It takes most of your willpower to lean back away from him and roll your eyes as you scoff out, “As if.” He only increasingly gets closer before you put a hand on his shoulder and playfully push him back.

“And what about you?” Does he seem nervous? You hear a genuine interest in his voice, but you aren’t sure if you’re exaggerating it due to the miasma of spirits clouding your senses. “Has any prince charming come up and swept you off your feet yet?”

“Does it look like it?” Eyebrow raised, you motion to yourself, “Yuta told you why I’m here, didn’t he?” Frown settling onto your lips you finish your drink, setting it down back onto the bar with an audible clink.

“He may have mentioned it in passing,” John mutters, finger rubbing along the rim of his glass.

“I haven’t spoken to him in weeks, months even and he has the audacity to send in an order?” You try your best to sound indignant, but the truth was that it’d felt like a stab to your heart to see the hastily signed ‘Jungwoo Kim’ adorning the invoice. Your heart had almost stopped then, you’d thought that you and he were, at that point, separate entities once more. “He made it blatantly clear he wants nothing to do with me anymore, he can go woo as many Parisians as he’d like, I’m over it.” Not yet, you weren’t. But maybe repeating it enough would make it a reality.

“You know what I think?” John asks, finishing the rest of his drink as you look to your empty glass.

“I’m not drunk enough?”

“I think you’re plenty gone. But I don’t think you’ve ever let anything destroy you this much, or if you have, I'm a terrible friend for not realizing it. And with that being said, I will personally take up the reins to try and get you out of this slump,”

“Any other thoughts, O wise and wonderful mood maker?”

“Yeah, this comedian’s garbage. I’ll take you to a Lenny Bruce set one day and you’ll laugh your ass off.”

“I appreciate it,” a snicker leaves you. “Anyway,” your eyes move to your watch, checking the time, “I should probably head back to my place, it’s getting late and I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.” You rummage around your bag for a crumpled mess of bills that you toss onto the counter in front of you.

You stand and begin moving towards the exit when John speaks up, “Want me to walk with you?”

“If you want to,” pausing, you turn back to him and offer a smirk of your own, “it’s not too far away.” The two of you walk in silence through the winding interior of the bar as you make your way to the front entrance, you see through the large wooden doors that it is pitch black outside, thankfully the streetlights adorning the sidewalks keep things fairly visible. When the doors open and the two of you step outside you can’t help but let out a “Shit, it got cold.”

“Here,” John shrugs off his already unbuttoned suit jacket and hands it to you, you can see the thin dress shirt he’s wearing, and you wonder how he’s not shivering himself. “Did you leave your jacket inside?” He asks as you drape the soft fabric over your shoulders.

“At the shop,” Standing outside, your toes on the edge of the sidewalk, your head cranes, trying to remember which way you’d walked here. “It’s…” you look to the signs at the end of the street, “that way,” hand motioning towards your abode once you recognize the names. “It’s about a fifteen-minute walk, I can always call a cab or something, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“It’s alright,” His shoulders shrug as the two of you begin walking, “It’ll help the alcohol get out of your system.” Had he seen you stumbling on your feet on your way out? If he did, he doesn’t say as the two of you walk the uneven streets, pushing through masses of tourists and civilians parading around the city. It’s not long until the crowds wear thin, leaving you, John, and the occasional pedestrian roaming the streets. “I’ve always loved this city,” John muses as the two of you stroll through one of the many parks dotting the town.

Nodding, “It’s lively for sure.” Your hands move to close his jacket tighter around your bare shoulders, “I don’t think I could imagine leaving it.”

“Maybe for a summer home though?” John laughs, moving his hands to his pockets. “I remember how you’d stay inside whenever it snowed or went below thirty when we were kids.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, “I wouldn’t say it’s that much of a problem anymore, I’m just a big fan of the sun in all its glory, not when it’s obscured behind a wall of cl—” Perhaps you would’ve finished that sentence had the heel of your, admittedly too high-heeled shoe not gotten caught between one of the junctures of the sidewalk, causing you to fall forward. You feel a pair of hands on you, one wrapped around your waist and one on your shoulder, as the ground rapidly rises to meet you.

Eyes closed you hear, “Are you alright?” as you’re hoisted back up onto your feet, never feeling the impact of the ground.

“I’m fine.” Once his hands had left you, you raise your hands to your cheeks, feeling the rushing blood warm your palms, “I guess I’m a little tipsier than I thought.”

John looks at you for a moment, and then down to your feet, “I think you broke a heel.” Finger raised; you follow it downwards to look at the heel almost completely detached from the sole. “Here,” voice quickening as if to distract you from it, he takes your arm and puts it over his shoulder so you can lean some of your weight onto him, “wouldn’t want you to fall over again.” After offering him a quick smile and a small ‘thanks’ of gratitude you begin to walk again.

After a minute or so of walking, the pair of you take a turn onto one of the main drags of the city, the cool air soaking into you. “Do you mind if we stop for a second?” You ask, thinking you may have twisted your ankle when you tripped.

“Of course,” the two of you make your way to a bench along the sidewalk, you sit while John stands next to you. It’s a moment of quiet before he speaks up again, “Are you feeling alright?”

You can only shake your head in the negative, for fear that you may explode should you open your mouth.

“What’s wrong?” He questions, sitting down next to you, his hand falling atop yours in an act of subtle comfort.

Everything. Your throat becomes dry as you lean forward and embrace him, unable to vocalize the horrid deluge of hopelessness and heartbreak washing over you.

You had seen the shop where Jungwoo was apprenticing when you’d gone into Taeil’s one morning, it had been featured in some editorial that he subscribed to. Seeing that it was a beautiful boutique and was quite revered among local and international audiences hadn’t dampened the blow at all. Jungwoo hadn’t been lying when he said it was the opportunity of a lifetime.

It still hurt. You’d been selfish in trying to make things work, too absorbed in it you hadn’t felt him slipping away until it was too late. Yuta had sat you down one day and told you to shape up. Jungwoo wasn’t coming back and the sooner you realized it the sooner you’d get over him. You don’t remember how long you cried into his shoulder for. For the eidolon of him was beginning to fade now, the lingering remnants of it still striking you to the core whenever you catch a glimpse of it.

“I just want to go home,” you try your best to sound strong, hating that the veneer you usually kept was able to slip so easily. Pulling away from the other you move to stand, kicking off your shoes and moving to hold them before you begin to walk.

“Aren’t your feet going to get cold? It’s nearly the middle of winter,” John calls out after you as he catches up, unsure of how to go about comforting you.

“I’ll be fine,” your toes cold on the concrete, “It’s only a few blocks away.”

It’s silence once more as the pair of you two amble to your apartment, the windows dark when you approach, Sooyoung must be out again. A sigh leaving you, alone again.

“Thanks for walking with me, Johnny.” You stop, turning to your accompaniment and smiling softly at him.

“Johnny?” His brow raises at that, “Are you sure you’re not still drunk? I don’t think you’ve called me that since we were twelve.”

“Yeah, I know. But I mean it, thank you.” Your other friends had tried to console you but Johnny’s attempt had been the most successful so far that had gotten you to even budge ever so slightly from the slump you’d found yourself in.

1967, Summer. The sparkler hisses as Johnny hands it to you, the bright end flickering with every centimeter the flame engulfs. A smile on your lips as you look to him, an equally bemused smile gracing his face as he steps away and begins handing out sparklers to a few other guests. After the host finishes handing out the sticks a large chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ begins to ring out, directed at Taeyong Lee.

You didn’t really know the guy, but Johnny said he was hosting a birthday bash at a lake house up in the Catskills this weekend and it was a good excuse to get away from the city for a bit. It was a work friend of his, not sure from which endeavor but you aren’t complaining. Work at the shop had been far too busy to manage with just Yuta and you, you’d been looking at several applicants, but you had a difficult time sifting through the resumes. This was a much needed, and much deserved, break away from it all.

Before the sparkler has a chance to burn down to your fingertips you blow it out and set it onto one of the porcelain plates atop the table in front of you. A small crowd had gathered to sing and with the rapidly setting sun it was difficult to see familiar faces among the crowd.

“Looking for someone?” A pair of hands placed on your hips as the question sounds out, the familiarity of it making you smile a little brighter.

“Just you,” You turn, looking at Johnny.

“Oh?” He questions, leaning in for a brief kiss before pulling away, “You’ve got that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“The one that means you’re thinking of something,” A sparkle in his eye, the light from the nearby dock casting a green glow onto the lawn.

“Just work things,” you admit, “Even if I’m miles away from the shop it’s still on my mind.”

“Work’s a sickness, isn’t it?” He mutters, “Well, they’ve already started to start cut the cake, want to head in and grab a slice?”

“Sure,” you say his hands leave your sides, taking one of your hands in his and heading through the lawn and into the brightly lit interior of the home.

“Taeil said he’d be arriving a little later, my sister’s ready to blow a gasket but, when isn’t she?” Johnny laughs as you make your way to a nearby table, grabbing a plate with a precut slice of cake on it before turning back to him.

“Is this from the same bakery who did my cake last year?” You ask with nearly a mouthful of cake.

“I told you I made that cake,” he says jokingly, grabbing his own slice, “And if it were, would you say yea or nay for them making the wedding cake?”

“Yea. Definitely, this is by far the best buttercream I’ve ever had,” you nod, “Although I do need a drink.”

“Amaretto sour?�� Questioning as he sets down his plate, ready to go off and mix your drink himself.

“You know I can’t,” a frown settling on your lips as you take another bite, “Just water.”

“I’ll be back in a sec,” Johnny says and heads to the bar in the next room over.

You move out of the way of the other partygoers looking for food and make your way to a window that looks out at the road in front of the house. As you watch, you see the bright headlights of a car pulling into the drive, trying to careen past the other vehicles lined up there. It must be Taeil.

It’d been a while since you’d last seen him, having to mail his orders to him now that you’d moved shop locations. So, you head to the front door, anxious to see an old friend. The door opens with a swing of grandeur, Taeil Moon stepping inside with a clear look of panic on his face.

Taeil spots you as he enters, rushing over to you, “She’s not angry, is she?”

“Your wife?” You question, putting a finger under your chin in thought, “She’s only told half of the people here how upset she is, so I think you still have time to save yourself.”

“I’d better get in there then,” he sighs, almost brushing past you before he stops, “I should also tell you that—”

You don’t hear what he says, though. Because you hadn’t realized that there was someone standing behind him until they step through the dark entranceway and into the bright lights of the foyer. For a moment it feels like time’s stopped, the plate in your hand straining from the pressure your fingers now exert on it as you lock eyes with someone you hadn’t ever expected to see again.

It’s you who breaks away first, mumbling about needing to find Johnny while it feels as if your heart seizes in upon itself in your chest. Before you’re able to rejoin the party, you feel a hand gently grasp your arm, “Can we talk?” The question is quiet, almost lost in the atmosphere of the celebration as Jungwoo asks.

A strangled gulp as you nod, setting the plate down on a small mail-table before you brush past him exit out of the front door. He follows you wordlessly, from the gravel path that wraps around the house and to the backyard that overlooks the lake. You keep walking, wading through grass that comes up to your knees until you’re standing on the wooden dock, the gentle sloshing of water hitting the posts giving you something else to focus on.

Face green in the light of the dock light overhead, it beams around the soft fog rising from the water as you hope it would swallow you up instead of you having this conversation with Jungwoo.

“You never returned my calls,” he says, standing several feet away. His tone isn’t accusatory, it sounds hurt.

“I kept forgetting.” Liar. Nails digging into your palms as your hands clench with an anxiety that hadn’t riddled you for two years. “And you only called four times.”

“Five.”

“Four.” Resolution in your voice as you try and stand as firmly as you can. The shoes you were wearing were pinching your heels and you want nothing more than to kick them off into the water. You turn to look at him, trying to stay as calm. “Would you have picked up even if I did call back?” A tangling in your stomach as you recall having Sooyoung answer the phone for the next handful of weeks after the two of you had parted, each time he’d called Sooyoung would say you weren’t home.

He hesitates, at least his body does, the words, “Of course I would have,” escaping him before he could prep himself with a more eloquent response.

“You seem to be doing well,” It’s silent until you break it, noting the suit he was wearing was from a higher end retailer.

“So, do you,” a break in his voice as he notices the crack in your demeanor, “I didn’t see you at Taeil’s wedding, I thought he would have invited you.”

“My mother got sick, so I missed it,” you recall having to forgo the event last year. Did that mean Jungwoo had been back that soon?

“You still have the dress.” There had been a melancholy deep set into your bones that had lasted for what seemed like lifetimes, now resurfacing more and more the longer you look at him. You’d forgotten about what you were wearing, the same dress that the tailor had labored unknown hours over and that had been the figurative wedge between you and him. Maybe this was some deity’s cruel sense of irony. “I still think it’s one of the best I’ve ever made,”

“It’s a little tighter now but it’s still one of my favorites,” you can’t lie. Be it from the laborious love that was sewn into every stich or the bygone memories associated with it, it was and still is one of the best pieces you own.

“I really was an idiot for letting you go, wasn’t I?” Hands shoved into pockets, he’s not sure what to do with himself.

“You did what you had to.” Brow hardening, a remembrance of the last time you’d spoken.

“Don’t say it like that,” a soft plea, he’d never meant to hurt you.

“Then how should I say it?” A bitterness you thought forgotten riddled within every word you pose.

“You know I tried to visit your shop when I first came back,” Deterrent of the conversation, he looks across the water to the distant shore. “But it was empty, some guy passing by had said you packed up months earlier and just left.”

“There was a water main break, ruined most of our inventory and we had to rebuild from scratch in a new place.” You still remember the dread you’d felt that morning, walking in to find everything in shambles.

“With John’s help?”

“Johnny helped.”

“Congratulations on your engagement, by the way,” eyes flickering to the ring on your finger, the light of the dock glinting of the main stone. “He’s a lucky man.”

Jungwoo sounds bitter, you can understand why but you can’t understand one thing. “Why did you come? I’m sure that Taeil said that I was going to be here.”

“I don’t know.” The answer is simple, but there’s a heaviness to it that you can feel. “I’m supposed to be flying out to Milan tomorrow. I guess I just wanted to see you again.”

“Did you expect me to fall into your arms, Jungwoo? To take you back?” Lip bitten, you’re sure you were going to draw blood if you kept at it any longer.

“Maybe I did when I came back last year, when I’d tried to see you.” He frowns, “I think now I want to make sure you’re happy.”

Happy. It feels as if that word dances off of the water behind you, across the sound and into the forest. Were you? The encroaching despair that had taken aim and marked you when Jungwoo had left was gone, a memory overwritten by the years that had followed, by the people who had followed. The shedding of yourself that came when he left took a while but without a doubt you can truly say this is the most complacent you’ve ever been.

The door to the lake house opens some ways behind Jungwoo, the lights from inside spreading across the lawn in an obscene spotlight on the two of you. A silhouette stands in the doorway, it’s easy to tell who the figure is as he leans against the door frame. You smile as you look at the outline of Johnny, heart swelling as it once had for the other man in front of you.

“Yeah, Jungwoo, I’m happy.”

#neowritingsnet #nct jungwoo #jungwoo smut #nct smut #nct angst #nct fluff #jungwoo fluff #jungwoo angst #cznnet

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