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onceattwice · 4 years

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TWICE Reaction: Wisdom Teeth

PAIRING: TWICE x Reader

REQUEST: can i request twice’s s/o getting their wisdom tooth out and being all cute and crazy not knowing what she is doing.

TAGS: Fluff

NOTES: This was really fun to write on! To whomever requested this one: thank you and sorry this took so long to get out!

WORD COUNT: 5,403

IM NAYEON

Nayeon sat in the waiting room, idly flipping through a couple of magazines. Every so often, she would check her watch, internally counting down the minutes before she could see you again. You should be finished at five o’clock. Of course, she’d come thirty minutes early just in case, since she was your ride home.

She stifled a laugh as soon as she saw that Dr. Choi had rolled you out of the surgery room. You looked like you were blackout drunk. “Y/N is still a little hazy from the laughing gas but they should be good to go in a couple of minutes. We suggest you keep them here until the laughing gas leaves their system completely.” She nodded quickly, affirming that you would indeed be staying here.

“I brought some energy drinks for her but I’d rather not have her spill it all over my car,” Nayeon joked lightly with the surgeon. He chuckled in agreement but quickly excused himself, claiming that he had another appointment to attend to. She politely waved him goodbye. As soon as she had heard the light click of the closed door, she turned around so she could take a proper look at you.

You had your eyes closed, and although it looked like you were sleeping, she wasn’t entirely sure that was the case. Logically, she knew that you were fine and that the doctors here at ‘Kim & Turne’ were Korea’s top-notch oral surgeons. However, that didn’t prevent the small pinch of panic from flowing through her system. She stomped down the impulse to call Dr. Choi back into the room, and instead opted for sitting down in the small metal fold-able chair beside you.

As soon as she had sat down, you suddenly sprung up like a maniac. Nayeon screamed out in surprise, her arms flailing beside her. “Y/N! What is wrong with you?!”

“Woogly boogly my booty,” you answered with a stern and serious expression. Nayeon sat in complete shock and disbelief. Suddenly, she exploded in laughter.

“What in the world are you talking about?” Instinctively, she reached for her camera. From the many years of living with Jeongyeon and Momo, she’s learned to just go with the flow and capture whatever you were saying so that she could use it as blackmail later down the road. Nayeon was a little sad that she wasn’t able to capture your first line, but at least now she’d be able to record the rest of it.

“You’re really pretty, are you dating anybody?” Your words were slurred together, almost as if you were a foreigner to the language. Swaying side to side, she noticed that you were starting to interest in your arms.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Are you dating my arms? My arms look pretty gnarly, I should’ve known it was a bad idea to make them my wingmen.”

She cackled at your response. Although she very much did enjoy your arms—as being wrapped around them was one of her favourite nighttime activities—she would not go as far as to say that she was dating your arms.

“Nope, not your arms. I found something much better.” She zoomed in to your gaping mouth. Your eyes were a little unfocused, but she found hints of disappointment and disbelief within them.

“How cold of you, you’re hurting their feelings! So cold, to break up with them right in front of me. So cold.” You wrapped your arms around yourself, mumbling nonsense in an attempt to comfort them.

“I think you’d be glad to know that you’re actually dating me,” she chuckled in amusement. You were being so ridiculous at the moment, but she also found your actions to be quite endearing.

“Oh great, I’m a homewrecker!” You broke free from your arms, extending them as far out in front of you as possible. Nayeon expertly dodged them. Again, years of training from avoiding Sana’s grabby hands. However, Nayeon didn’t have much experience when it came to you crying. Thus, she was absolutely bewildered when you looked up and you had tears streaming down your face.

“My arms have always been there for me. I can’t believe I just betrayed them like that! What kind of human am I?” Wailing in despair, you slumped back down onto the medical bed. Nayeon just stood there, not knowing what to do. Honestly, she found the entire conversation to be quite entertaining, but now that you were crying, she had no idea what to make of the situation.

“There, there,” she awkwardly patted your back, in the hopes that you would stop crying. At this point, she still had her camera pointed towards you, expecting you to surprise her with another one of your mood swings. But instead, you just lied there with your eyes closed.

Shaking her head in disbelief, but with a hint of fondness, she tilted the camera towards herself and said to the lenses, “You are never going on laughing gas again.”

YOO JEONGYEON

Jeongyeon was fully aware of the effects of nitrous oxide, aka laughing gas. That’s why she’s currently seated in the waiting room with a professional Canon EOS RP camera. She tried to convince Jihyo to be her “light person”, but unfortunately she declined, claiming that she was not going to get wrapped up in her shenanigans again.

Your relationship with Jeongyeon was quite a silly one. Neither of you were scared to make a fool of yourselves. Therefore, this lead to the creation of an album titled “HAHA”. It was filled to the brim with silly video clips of both of you. Admittedly, it wasn’t a very original name. However, in one of the earliest clips, Jeongyeon produced her signature ‘haha’ laugh. Except she then proceeded to choke on her rice cake.

She was cleaning her lens when the doctor informed her that you would be stationed at one of the private waiting rooms. They claimed you were being a little too energetic and proposed that she stayed there with you until the gas left your system entirely. She readily agreed and happily made her way to the room.

Jeongyeon had seen her fair share of laughing gas videos online, most of which consisted of hysterical laughing, inappropriate questions, and overall confusion. However, she was not expecting to see you flopping around on the medical bed in complete tears. She faintly debated filming you just because you looked like a fish on land, but ultimately decided that’d be a little mean.

Your eyes were bloodshot and you had small drops of snot leaking out of your nose. She immediately ran over to you, leaving her equipment by the door. “What’s wrong?”

“My legs are gone! They cut them off!” You were hiccuping and furiously wiping away at your traitorous tears.

“No, they’re not.” Jeongyeon deadpanned.

“Well then explain why I can’t walk!” You wailed as you sniffled angrily. Truthfully, Jeongyeon thought you looked like a small baby. In a way, it was kind of cute how upset you were. She sighed and tilted her head at you.

“Yes, you can. You just haven’t tried yet.” This seemed to provoke you even further.

“Yes, I have! Look.” You proceeded to throw yourself on the ground. She gasped in shock, scared that you might have hurt yourself. Before she could even process the situation, you began to flop around. Jeongyeon bent down and placed her hands on your arms in an attempt to try and calm you down.

“For the love of all that is holy, please stop moving.” She laughed as she tried to control your relentless squirming. Too busy enjoying the scene, she completely forgot about her camera. You were pouting, desperately trying to escape her hold.

Soon after, the sound of the door opening resonated throughout the room. Jeongyeon looked up to see a young lady enter the room. She was wearing scrubs and introduced herself. After hearing a lot of commotion from outside, she just wanted to come and check-in with you guys.

Before your girlfriend could reply, you looked up at the nurse, eyes crazed, and shouted, “Look! I’m as useless as Magikarp now. I’m a Magikarp! Mag-i-karp!”

There was a small pause. Suddenly, Jeongyeon and the nurse both burst out laughing. Both of them were so caught off guard by your sudden exclamation. Tears began to spring up in Jeongyeon’s eyes as she doubled over in laughter. Gosh, you were just too darn adorable. Right this moment, she decided that she was going to keep you forever.

The nurse propped her arms on a nearby counter in an attempt to stabilize herself before she collapsed in laughter. “Please tell me you got that on camera.”

“Oh shoot!”

HIRAI MOMO

Momo was already seated in the private patient waiting room. The doctors informed her that you would be wheeled into the room after the surgery and that she could either take you straight home or wait for the laughing gas to wear off. She decided that she would be taking you home straight away as you would likely be more comfortable there.

You got wheeled into the room looking absolutely dazed. Momo thought it was quite funny that you were sat in a wheelchair. She quickly thanked the assistant, grabbed the chair handles, and prepared to push you out of that center. However, before she could move, a plethora of incoherent mumbling flowed out of your mouth.

“Hm?” She bent down in an attempt to try and hear you better. Leaning over your shoulder, her eyes trained on your mouth as she tried to piece together what you were mumbling.

“I said I want kisses.” You turned your head up slightly, pouting as you tried to catch Momo’s lips in yours.

Momo’s face immediately flushed as she swiftly backed away. She stood up, back straight as a board, and pointedly avoided the assistant’s stare. A boisterous laugh echoed through the room.

“I’ll leave you guys alone.” The click of a closed-door helped to indicate to Momo that the assistant had left the room.

“I-I’m not too sure that’s a good idea. You just finished your surgery after all.”

A sharp whine escaped your throat and you begin to thrash around in your chair. Momo’s eyes widened in surprise as she tried to stabilize the chair. But to her dismay, her hands fumbled and the wheelchair completely tipped over with you in it. Various pitched squeaks escaped her throat as she desperately ran over to check your body for injuries.

There you lied, completely motionless but still laughing like a maniac. Crouching down, she lightly scolded you for acting so carelessly. However, you just opened your arms up wide and tried to pull her into a hug. Momo was so caught off guard that before she knew it, she was lying on the ground with your arms wrapped around her torso. Her cheeks were stained red with embarrassment as you rocked her back and forth.

“I caught my prize,” you whispered into her ear, causing Momo to become flustered for a different reason.

“Oh yeah?” She patted your head, deciding to play along with you for now. However, she was only met with silence. Confused, she pulled away slightly so that she could look into your eyes. She doesn’t quite know what she was expecting but she definitely wasn’t expecting to see you looking back at her with the softest gaze ever. Speckles of love splashed across your irises, making Momo’s heart flutter uncharacteristically.

“Yeah.” You smiled dopily at her.

“And what’s the prize?” She whispered seductively into your ear, relaxing a little in your arms. If you were going to be so cute and cuddly, then she was going to enjoy it while it lasted. ‘Thank god we’re still in the post-surgery private room,’ Momo briefly thought.

“A big fried rice cake,” You replied, squeezing her even tighter in your grasp.

“Big?” Momo squeaked indignantly. That was not what she thought you were going to say.

“Indeedly so!”

“You’re sooo sleeping on the couch tonight!”

MINATOZAKI SANA

Sana drove over to the building at which you were currently undergoing surgery for your wisdom teeth. In theory, she would arrive right when you finished. She was your ride home since you wouldn’t be able to drive home yourself.

When she arrived at the clinic, they immediately directed her into a small white room after she checked in with the receptionist. After closing the heavy wooden door behind her, she quickly scanned the room for you whilst also taking note of the slick interior design.

There you were, situated on one of their hospital beds with a nurse gently holding your arm. She was mumbling something that Sana couldn’t quite make out, but it seemed to relax you. She huffed, a little annoyed because the nurse was a little too close for her liking. Clearing her throat with a sharp ‘ahem’, Sana stood by the front of the door, staring at the woman expectantly. The nurse quickly acknowledged Sana’s presence and politely stepped away from you.

After she explained that the gas would leave your system soon, she left the room in a hurry. Grateful for the privacy that the room allowed the two of you to have, she quickly stomped on over to you and started to inspect your face. There was slight bruising in your cheeks but nothing to be concerned about.

However, what was concerning was the fact that you had tears streaming down your cheeks. You looked up at her with a small pout and glistening eyes. She furrowed her brows in confusion and instantly situated herself in the remaining space on the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“My dog is dead,” you mumbled dejectedly, voice filled to the brim with pain and sorrow. Sana, however, could only chuckle in amusement. She had no clue what you were going on about.

“Honey, you don’t have a dog.” She rubbed your back comfortingly, hoping to calm you down a little. Your only response was a cry of despair.

“Well, I don’t anymore! It’s dead!” You buried your face into her neck, weeping miserably. You clung onto her white shirt, soaking her shoulder with your heartfelt tears.

Sana thought you were being extremely adorable. She softened a little at how much you cared about your supposed ‘dead dog’. Honestly, it was a true reflection of how much of a loving and emotional person you were. She wrapped her arms around your torso and lightly rocked you back and forth. She never really knew how to comfort you with words when you were crying, but she was a master at physical contact.

Your sniffles resonated throughout the room, but you were finally starting to calm down a little. Sana’s hand cupped your cheek, bringing it away from her neck. You let out a small whine in protest but she just rolled her eyes. Giving you a quick peck on your forehead, she wiped away the remainders of your tears.

If Sana were, to be honest though, this whole situation was more than a little amusing to her. You didn’t even like dogs, you much preferred cats. She genuinely had no idea where you got your ‘dog’ from. She booped your nose lightly and giggled playfully when your eyes suddenly went hazy and unfocused.

Maybe she could have a little fun with this. Deciding to indulge your laughing gas antics, she softly asked, “What was your dog’s name?”

Once again, a couple of tears welled up in your eyes. When you jutted out your bottom lip, Sana, in turn, cooed at how adorably soft you looked. She reckoned she looked much of the same whenever she was around you though. Her love for you goes beyond plain-

“Her name was Sana.”

You got pushed off of the bed.

PARK JIHYO

She double-checked her bag before getting a manager to drive her over to the clinic. Jihyo didn’t trust herself to drive the car as she knew she would likely be spending the entire ride taking care of you. Thus, she got a manager to come with so that they could drive on the way home.

When she arrived, she immediately got led to the room that you were staying in. After your two-hour wisdom teeth surgery, they had placed you in a private post-surgery room with an assistant to watch over you until your girlfriend arrived. When she entered the room, the assistant left. On his way out, he reminded Jihyo to sign some papers at the front desk before leaving. Jihyo agreed readily to his request.

As soon as he was gone, she ran over to your side. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a hamburger on crack,” you replied groggily. Jihyo raised an eyebrow in confusion. Had the laughing gas not left your system yet?

“Do you think you can stand?” She placed a hand on your elbow, gently tugging it. This prompted you to slowly stand up.

“Do you think my legs ever get sad?” You whispered dejectedly as you directed a small pout towards Jihyo. She led you away from the bed, carefully thinking of a response in the meantime.

“No, I don’t think they do sweetie.”

“They carry me everywhere but I’ve never carried them!” You reasoned with Jihyo, panic flooding into your eyes at the thought. Bewildered, Jihyo looked back at you. She opened her mouth to tell you to stop being so ridiculous, but to her surprise, tears were falling from your eyes. Your bottom lip trembled as you anxiously played with your fingers.

“I’m a terrible human.”

“I don’t think it’s physically possible to...carry your legs.” Jihyo giggled, a little amused by your antics.

“I’ll never know until I try.” Your girlfriend let out a high pitched yelp as she watched you drop yourself onto the floor. In a desperate attempt to try and carry your legs, you hugged them close to your chest and started to shake your bum on the floor.

Jihyo laughed as a constipated look overtook your features. You were slowly scooching forward on the clinic’s dirty marble floor.

“Dear god this is embarrassing,” she grinned as Jihyo pulled out her iPhone. A true testimony to her impeccable idol skills, she somehow managed to capture some flattering angles—as flattering as one could look wiggling on the floor—of you. She quickly sent the 30-second clip to the TWICE group chat, thoroughly enjoying your small lapse of judgement due to the gas.

A couple of minutes later, although you were still a little woozy from the laughing gas, you did seem to be thinking a little clearer. The hazy look disappeared from your eyes as they did a small scan of the room.

“Why am I on the floor?” You asked Jihyo confused. All you got was a cheeky wink as laughter carried throughout the room.

MYOUI MINA

To be quite honest, Mina was a little terrified. She’s never taken care of someone post-surgery before and she was more than a little anxious that she wouldn’t do a good job. She had done plenty of research beforehand of all the foods you could and couldn’t have, as well as some special aftercare techniques to ensure you wouldn’t get an infection. By all means, she was completely prepared. However, she didn’t feel as though she was.

Mina had definitely seen her fair share of laugh gas videos online so she kind of knew what to expect. But when you got wheeled into the room, looking as hammered as can be, Mina began to freak out. The nurse quickly reassured her that yes, that was normal and that no, you would not look like that forever. She let out a sigh of relief. Truth be told, she much preferred your original face.

When the assistant left the room, Mina sat patiently, waiting for you to say something weird. She reasoned that she just had to let you do whatever you wanted to do and that there was no real way for her to stop you. She just prayed you wouldn’t reveal anything too...scandalous about your relationship. You also did not need to air out any dirty laundry either.

However, to her immense surprise, you just sat there staring at her with a look of wonder. “Y/N?” She whispered cautiously, careful not to set you off on a tangent although realistically she understood that that is not how laughing gas works.

“Can we cuddle? I miss you.” You responded in a tone that was just as gentle as the one Mina had used. She blinked twice, a little confused, but ultimately decided to grant your wishes. You rarely ever asked for physical affection, not to mention in such a careful and fragile voice.

She climbed onto the clinic bed, careful to not rock it too much. You didn’t seem to mind too much though as you hastily, and quite clumsily, made room for her to sit. As soon as she got herself situated on the bed, you wrapped your arms around her torso in a huge bear hug and pulled her down into a lying position.

A small puff of air escaped her lips due to her surprise but she quickly grew comfortable as the familiar scent of your laundry detergent filled her senses. From there on, you didn’t say much. You would periodically shift a little, burying your face into her neck, but aside from that, you didn’t say a thing.

A nice peaceful calm settled in the air. Mina let out a sigh of relief, secretly glad that she didn’t have to take care of a crazed version of you.

“I love you.” Your words were muffled against her sweater, but the meaning was not lost on Mina. She cooed slightly at how adorable you were being. You guys rarely said those three words, only saving them for special occasions. That way, it made them sound even more meaningful than usual.

She let out a small breathless chuckle, her cheeks red at the implication of your words. “I love you too.”

KIM DAHYUN

Did she look like a tourist with that huge camera bag swung across her chest? Yes. Did she look ridiculous? Also yes. As soon as Dahyun had arrived at the clinic, she requested to have a private post-surgery room. Of course, they complied with her wishes. After all, she was Kim Dahyun of Twice.

She had managed to drag one of the managers into the room with her. The manager was in charge of setting up the lights as she positioned the camera. Her experience of being an idol was coming into handy. Dahyun knew just how to get the perfect angle so that you would still look pretty, even if you were acting absolutely ridiculous.

A knock on the door shook Dahyun out of her concentrated stupor. “Please come in!”

When the employees helped you into the room, they were surprised to see such a professional set up. They were also surprised to see the manager sitting in the corner, panting from exhaustion. Dahyun shot them a disarming smile. Confused and slightly scared, they gently led you to the clinic bed before swiftly exiting the room.

Dahyun clapped her hands together in excitement. Now comes the fun part! However, much to her dismay, all you did was lie on the bed with your eyes closed. You weren’t acting like those people that she saw on YouTube. Dahyun pouted, a little disappointed that you were taking a big nap. At least you looked kind of cute with that big bandage wrapped around your head.

She smiled lovingly, albeit a bit defeated, and began to dismantle her camera and lights. Just as she turned off the camera, she heard you let out a small groan of pain. Her head snapped in your direction.

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

You groaned again in response. Dahyun carefully set her camera on the ground before approaching you. When she arrived beside you, she noticed that you were holding your leg. Pain crossed your features as you mumbled a bunch of nonsensical phrases.

“What’s wrong?” Panic flowed through her veins as she desperately searched your body for wounds. Had the surgeons messed up? Before she could come to a conclusion, you suddenly shot up, completely dismissing your previous leg pain. Dahyun yelped as she jumped back in surprise. You stared at her, a serious expression crossing your features.

“I have the sexiest legs in this entire universe.”

Dahyun blinked twice.

“Huh?”

“My legs are sexier than Momos. My legs are so hot they could fry perfect sunny side eggs.” You then proceeded to place your index finger on your thigh as you made an unnaturally loud-sounding sizzle, all while looking very constipated.

Dahyun let out a boisterous laugh, completely caught off guard by your actions. She could even hear the manager laughing along with her.

“Yes, your legs are very hot,” She placated. However, instead of calming down like she thought you would, you began to pout even more. Crossing your arms around your chest, you turned yourself away from her.

“I bet you think Momo’s legs are hotter.”

My god, you were adorable. Dahyun stifled a laugh by cupping her hands around her mouth. “Sure sounds like someone’s jealous.”

“Of those dumbbell looking legs? Never.” You snorted, a little offended that she would ever insinuate otherwise. Dahyun let out a very amused laugh.

She was definitely going to tell Momo you said that.

SON CHAEYOUNG

Was she going to take advantage of your laughing gas situation? Yes. Was she going to paint your face and then take photos for blackmail? Also yes.

Chaeyoung happily collected her various brushes, as well as her colourful palette of paints, and gently placed them in an art bag. Soon, she would be departing from the dorms and on her way to the clinic. To her calculations, she should arrive as soon as you finished your wisdom teeth surgery.

“Maybe I could paint Y/N as Mona Lisa.” She adopted a thoughtful expression but quickly tossed that particular idea in the trash can. “Nah, I like the clown idea better.”

When she arrived, she noticed that she was receiving quite a few odd looks from the receptionists. Chaeyoung looked down at her bulging black bag. Now that she took a proper look at it, it did kind of look like a body bag. She rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. “Ah, just some outfits for my next photo-shoot,” She said. You know, like an absolute liar.

They nodded understandingly and seemed to quickly forget about her presence as they went back to work. Soon after, Chaeyoung was directed into a small white room with waxed wooden floors. They told her to wait here as they went to grab you. She bounced in her seat in excitement, mentally preparing herself to make you the prettiest clown in the entire universe.

You got wheeled in on a white bed, seemingly asleep. Chaeyoung grinned evilly as soon as the assistant had left the room. “Attack!” She screamed her battle cry before whipping out her brushes.

She made quick work of the paint, mixing various colours expertly to get just the right shade of red. Truth be told, she was a little skeptical as to why you were not waking up. However, she got so caught up in her work, she quickly forgot about it.

A couple of minutes in, she had already successfully, although a little messily, painted the white around your eyes and lips. She also managed to finish the red nose and cheeks. All in all, she was pretty proud of herself. In-between sessions, she would take photos of you from various angles. When she took a quick step back, she realized you looked absolutely comical.

Laughing in amusement, she decided to stop there and just let you wake up naturally. Washing her brushes in the nearby sink, she eyed you carefully, excited to see what you would do after you woke up.

When you eventually did wake up, you stared at her groggily, confusion contorting your facial features. Chaeyoung stifled a laugh. The clown makeup was truly spectacular. Dare she say it was her best work yet.

It was time for the reveal. Chaeyoung opened her phone camera and directed it to your face. At first, you were extremely surprised by the sight. However, you didn’t say anything. You just touched your face gently, pinching and stretching your skin. She chuckled at how adorably confused you looked.

“I guess the laughing gas still hasn’t left your system yet,” Chaeyoung deducted.

“Chae?” You mumbled, a little disoriented. She hummed playfully, happily awaiting for your response. She desperately wanted to hear your thoughts. You looked up at her in amazement, eyes full of wonder. “The plastic surgery was a complete success. I look gorgeous.”

Chaeyoung doubled over in laughter, hitting her head on the bed in the process.

Sure, she later ended up in the ER, diagnosed with a slight concussion. And on top of that, after the laughing gas left your system and you realized what Chaeyoung had done, you started to ignore her, despite her best efforts to cheer you up.

However, it was all worth it in the end because she really did get some amazing blackmail photos.

CHOU TZUYU

Tzuyu, despite her member’s constant reassurance, was still a little scared about having to take care of you. She’s never had any of her friends or family members have surgery. And the time that Jihyo had received her knee surgery, Tzuyu wasn’t even around her. Jihyo had stayed home with her parents, absent from all of their scheduled activities.

She nervously played with her fingers, patiently awaiting your arrival. When you finally did arrive in the post-surgery room, she was so stunned by the immediate bruising of your cheeks, she had barely paid any attention to what the assistant had told her.

When she realized that she had zoned out, she sheepishly asked the employee to repeat it. They smiled kindly before quickly giving her a small summary of what they said before leaving the room.

According to the assistant, you were to stay there until all of the laughing gas had left your system. You might say or do weird things, but that was all normal. Tzuyu pulled out her phone and quickly set her timer for ten minutes. That should be enough time for the effects to wear off. She sat ramrod straight, a little awkward and unsure of what to do next.

However, when you groaned in apparent pain, she immediately rushed to your side. “Are you okay? Where does it hurt?” She grabbed your hands, hoping some physical contact would help comfort you.

“My tummy.” That was not the answer she was expecting.

“Your stomach?” She asked bewildered. You just had a wisdom teeth surgery, there was absolutely no reason for your stomach to be hurting. She patted your stomach lightly whilst staring at your face, trying to pinpoint where exactly the pain was coming from.

Another small groan left your throat as she apparently touched a sore spot just above your belly button. Tzuyu was definitely panicking by now. Her eyes shot back and forth as she scanned the rest of your body. What had they done to you?

“You fill my tummy with butterflies.” You grinned cheekily at her, any supposed pain was quickly forgotten. She gaped at your words, unsure of what to say. Tzuyu’s cheeks lit up like a Christmas tree, the redness quickly reaching the tips of your ears. There was no reason to be so nervous, she reasoned with herself.

Dear god, you were being adorable. Even under the influence of laughing gas, you were still a smooth talker. She giggled as the sudden invasive feeling of being a high school student with a crush filled her system. She felt oddly flattered and more than little flustered. Her eyes softened as her entire body relaxed.

However, your expression quickly suddenly turned serious. “I’d appreciate it if you could stop though. I need that room for food.”

Tzuyu burst out in laughter, completely caught off guard by your sudden change in demeanour. Yup, there was no reason to be nervous after all.

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 3: Signed In Blood]

Series summary: You are an overwhelmed and disenchanted nurse in Boston, Massachusetts. Queen is an eccentric British rock band you’ve never heard of. But once your fates intertwine in the summer of 1974, none of your lives will ever be the same...

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, physical frailty, sneaky foreshadowing.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

The cashier blinks at you as he scans the items in your basket: two Cokes, an orange juice, a Mountain Dew, a grape Fanta, a box of Ritz crackers, a KitKat, three packs of cherry Pop Rocks, and assorted bags of Lay’s chips. “You must have, like, a lot of kids.”

“Something like that.”

Terminal E of Logan International Airport is bustling with swiftly-moving businessmen dragging rolling suitcases, tidy-looking flight attendants, careening toddlers and frazzled mothers. The band is waiting at the gate; their plane to Heathrow is scheduled to board in thirty minutes. Our plane, you correct yourself. I’m going too.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I ran out of paper bags but I can check in the back if you want—”

“Oh no,” you protest, slapping a ten-dollar bill onto the counter and gathering up the snacks. You’ve cultivated a stubborn solidarity with your fellow service industry employees. “That’s cool, I’ve got it. Thanks. Have a great day!”

“You too! Good luck with your kids!”

You laugh as you trot away. Yes, my very large, extremely anarchic British children. You could have sent Freddie and Rog for the snacks, but you don’t trust them not to try to steal something and end up getting strip-searched by TSA; Brian is still too weak to go anywhere alone; and John...well, John dissolves into blood-red cheeks and averted eyes if you ask him anything. You weave through the crowded terminal, shifting your arms to keep the snacks centered.

“Wow, you have your hands full there!”

You peer around the heap to see a businessman in a powder blue suit, neatly combed black hair, mid-thirties, benign smile. Your arms are beginning to ache. “Ha, yeah. I guess I do.”

“Need some help?” he asks, still smiling.

“Oh, thank you so much, but I’ve got it—”

“Nonsense.” He cheerfully plucks the chips and Pop Rocks out of your grasp. “Where are we going?”

Oh no. You know this type of man. He’s the guy who flirts with the nurses while his wife is recovering from a gallbladder removal, who tries to impress you with his mid-level accounting job and Marshall Field's neckties, who obliviously—or worse, forcefully—offers assistance when it’s least desired. He’s the type to play superhero so he can get a taste of what it feels like to be someone who matters. He’s not usually dangerous, but he is viperous if his fantasy gets interrupted, bitter and desperate and striking out like a wounded animal. Jesus christ, I do not have time for this bullshit today. The muscles in your forearms are screaming now. “Seriously, I can handle it. Thank you. Can I get my snacks back? My friends are waiting.”

His smile falters; suddenly, Mr. Aspiring Superman doesn’t seem so benign at all. And you can’t help but notice that his grip around your criminally overpriced airport snacks doesn’t loosen. Oh fucking hell. “What the hell’s wrong with you? Are you stupid or something? Don’t you get it, I’m trying to help—”

“Hey, baby!” chimes a voice from nowhere. An arm appears around your shoulders, pulling you in; John lands a series of kisses across your neck and jawline as the businessman gawks, speechless and horrified. “Did you finish shopping? Oh, you remembered my Coke! Thanks, baby. You’re the best. Come on, they’re gonna start boarding soon...” He stops, stares at the businessman, points with narrowed steely grey eyes: “Are those my Pop Rocks?”

“Uh, uh, yeah, uh...” The man hastily shoves the snacks into John’s hands and flees. John immediately backs away from you, clears his throat, casts his eyes down the opposite end of the airport terminal.

“Oh my god,” you say, stunned. “I’ve never heard you talk that much at once. Ever.”

He flushes and combs his agile fingers through his hair. “Yeah, I’m so sorry, I just thought...I saw that he was...I figured that would get him to piss off without causing a scene...I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that, I—”

“No, John, seriously, that was brilliant. Thank you.”

“Yeah?” And you think you can detect something in his voice like hope: cautious, fragile hope. More than that, you can still feel his lips against your skin, hot and sure and assertive, almost dominating.

You grin over at him as you walk together towards the gate. “I bet everyone thinks you’re real innocent because you’re the shy, quiet, mysterious one or whatever. But you have some serious game under all of that, don’t you?”

John chuckles out of pure shock, still not looking at you. “I doubt it.”

“I’m onto you, bassist. Those groupies aren’t going to know what hit them.”

Wait, he has a girlfriend, isn’t that what Freddie said? But if he does, John doesn’t correct you.

“Do I see my beloved Pop Rocks?!” Roger squeals when he spies you both. John tosses all three packets to him. Roger rips one open, pours the entirety of the contents into his mouth, then motions for you to pass him the can of grape Fanta. He gulps the Fanta and drums his palms against his thighs as his mouth erupts into sugary explosions.

“Majestic,” you comment.

“Wha...?! I will not be outdone!” Freddie seizes all the remaining Pop Rocks—both packs—and empties them into his mouth, then douses them with Coke. Dark fizzing soda and ruby crystals spew out of his nose. Roger throws back his head and cackles like a hyena as John launches balled-up napkins at Freddie. You ignore them and check on Brian, who is lounged sideways across five seats.

“How you doing, Bri?”

He groans in reply. You give him the orange juice and Ritz crackers.

“Eat, please, Bri.”

“I can’t. I’m dying.”

“You aren’t bloody dying!” Freddie sighs, exasperated, still mopping Coke off his face.

You lay the back of your hand against Brian’s forehead and frown. “You’re burning up, Mr. May.”

“I’ve got aspirin somewhere...” Roger says as he rummages through his luggage.

“He can’t have it. His liver’s still recovering, no over-the-counter meds.” You take two still-cold cans—your Mountain Dew and Bri’s orange juice—and press them to Brian’s cheeks. John, without speaking, lays his Coke against the back of Brian’s neck. “Think you can make it through a six-hour flight?”

Brian’s glassy eyes roam to you. “No offense, but I would literally rather be disemboweled by rabid opossums than spend another night in Boston.”

“Opossums very rarely contract rabies. But your point is noted. We’ll get you home.”

“Thank you,” Brian breathes, drained. “And thank you, John.”

“Not a problem.”

Freddie squats in front of Bri in skin-tight jeans littered with patches, brushes the mess of curls off Brian’s forehead, and pushes a Ritz cracker into his mouth. Brian grimaces but chews it reluctantly. Freddie grins. “You must be truly desperate to trust your wellbeing to Deaky.”

“He’s unexpectedly ferocious,” you warn Brian. “He ran off some creep at the snack stand. Kid could definitely murder you if he tried.”

“Yeah? Well done, Deaks!” Roger gives John a high-five, then aggressively ruffles his hair and growls. “Who’s my favorite little killer bassist?! Grrr. Grrrrrrrrr. Come on. Show me them pearly whites, Mack the Knife.”

John chomps at Roger’s hands in his very best impression of a shark. Roger laughs and yanks teasingly at John’s hair, his face lit up like the Boston Harbor on the Fourth of July.

The next time you look for Freddie, he’s disappeared. You finally spot him several seats away, bent over a notebook and scribbling furiously, snapping his fingers over and over again and murmuring to himself: “Killer bassist...killer woman...killer bitch...killer queen.”

~~~~~~~~~~

When boarding begins, Freddie and Roger practically carry Brian onto the plane. They drop him into a window seat and Brian promptly drapes a sweater over his head and falls asleep. You sit beside him and flip through a fashion magazine you found in the pocket on the back of the chair in front of you, but Roger keeps interrupting by ranking the pictured outfits on a scale of one to eleven.

“Why eleven?”

“Because I gave that neon yellow coat three pages ago a ten, but now I like these rainbow pants even more. So they have to be an eleven.”

“Okay Roger.”

Freddie and John sit in the row in front of you and alternate between scrawling in their notebooks—song lyrics for Freddie, sketches of some kind of amplifier for John—and tossing peanuts into each other’s mouths. John doesn’t speak to you, but he keeps glimpsing back between the seats like he’s considering it. When Roger gets up two hours in to take a smoke break and chase down extra peanut packets for Freddie, John finally turns around and peeks over his seat.

“Why don’t opossums get rabies?” he asks.

“That’s what’s on your mind?” you tease, sipping Mountain Dew.

“Maybe.”

“Okay. Buckle up. It’s technically possible for opossums to get rabies. But they have naturally super low body temperatures, like 94 or 95 degrees Fahrenheit. So the virus usually can’t survive in their system. Thus, squeaky clean opossums.”

“Well. Minus the ticks and fleas and dirt and rubbish and all that.”

“Most of the cute things in life are at least slightly grubby.”

“Like Roger Taylor.”

You laugh. “That man has definitely been submerged in garbage at some point.”

“You have no idea. But you have to learn to be a Londoner now. We wouldn’t say grubby, we’d say dodgy.”

“Dodgy. Got it.”

“Show me. Use it in a sentence.”

“Roger is super dodgy, while Brian is much less so. Jury’s still out on John.”

“Well done.” He applauds.

Now you reach out to touch his hair, like Roger did earlier; it’s impossibly soft and downy, comforting, almost homey. John smiles patiently. “You have fantastic bone structure, you know,” you tell him. “You should cut this off one day so people can see it.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. But in the meantime...” You gently thread your fingertips through his locks, twirl a strand, observe that those blue-grey eyes that seemed steely back at the airport are now as soft and innocuous as morning fog. Roger reappears with his loot of peanut packets and gasps, pretending to be scandalized.

“What’s going on here?! Jesus, Deaks, I leave you alone for three minutes and you’ve got her all enamored with your soft cuddly exterior and latent homicidal tendencies.”

“It’s a winning combination.” John catches the peanuts that Roger hurls his way and turns to split them with Freddie.

You gaze up at Roger and beam. “Hey, dodgy Rogey.”

“Oh, you think that’s charming?” He slinks into his seat and drapes an arm across your shoulders. “You realize you’re one of us now, right? That makes you dodgy too.”

“As long as I don’t have to participate in any scandalous naked photoshoots.”

“Oh my god, that was one time! Freddie, Fred, hey, Freddie, why would you show her those...?!”

Hours later, when the plane hits the runway at Heathrow, Brian jolts awake and clutches for you like a staircase railing. He’s cooler to the touch now, appears less feverish, insists he feels better; nevertheless, Freddie and Roger escort him all through the airport like intense and sunglasses-armored Secret Service agents flanking Nixon, steadying him on escalators and dragging his luggage. As the five of you descend into the arrivals area, Freddie points to a group of young women and shrieks in delight, waves, blows flirtatious kisses all the way down the steps.

“Freddie!” the blonde one calls, leaping in her heels and grinning enormously. She’s holding a large, glittery sign that reads: Welcome home, Queen! Freddie races to meet her, sweeps her off her feet, dips her halfway to the floor and kisses her deeply, theatrically. The blonde woman in his arms giggles and buries her fingers in his mane of shining black hair.

“Darling?” Freddie says, spinning to find you, flourishing his artful hands. “This is Mary Austin, the love of my life. Mary, this is our new best friend, Florence Nightingale.”

“Well,” you confess. “That’s not my actual name, obviously. It’s—”

“I quite like Florence Nightingale,” John says. “I’ve always fancied the name Florence. That’s where Dante was from. He was exiled during some political conflict and ended up bouncing around all over Italy. He eventually landed in Ravenna and finished The Divine Comedy there. By the time he died, he hadn’t seen Florence in twenty years. But Florence was always home.” He smiles at you in an off-kilter, crafty sort of way that tells you you’ve at last been admitted into the diminutive, highly selective circle of people that John calls friends; and you feel like you’ve won the lottery for the second time in forty-eight hours.

“Hmm,” Freddie replies, puzzled. Mary nods uncertainly. Then John turns to greet a petite auburn-haired girl in a simple turquoise sundress and with long, bone-white legs.

Brian pulls you away to introduce you to his girlfriend, the one he was always trying to call on the hospital phone. He rests his hands on your shoulders as he presents you. “Chrissie, I love this woman.”

Chrissie glowers and crosses her arms. “Oh.”

“Wait, no, sorry, I mean she saved my life. She was my nightshift nurse in Boston. I was completely lost before she found me, tremendously depressed. You know how I get. She’s come to London to look after me. Then we’re going to convince the record company to hire her as our travel nurse.”

“Oh!” Now Chrissie softens. She has wavy brunette hair, plump cheeks, marvelous wide-set blue eyes, a completely uncomplicated presence. She embraces you kindly, gratefully. “Thank you so much, love.”

“No, please, it was my pleasure! Bri is a perfect gentleman. And a genius. But you already know that.”

“Chris, I was hoping she could borrow our couch for a few days until she finds her own place...”

“Of course!” Chrissie replies, fussing with your hair, studying you, her mind roiling. “What’s ours is yours. But it’s not much, I’ll warn you.”

“I’ll pay rent. And cook and clean. I’ll be a certified house wench.”

Chrissie laughs, then screams as Brian staggers and collapses to the floor. “Bri—?!”

“He’s alright,” you announce calmly as everyone crowds around. You claw through your luggage, pull out an instant cold pack, crack it and press it to Brian’s forehead. He stirs and mumbles something about New Orleans. “Rog, can you flag down a taxi? We gotta get him home.”

“Sure, you got it.” Roger darts off. And as Chrissie, Freddie, Mary, John, and John’s girlfriend—whom you gather from their conversation is named Veronica—scuttle to reassure Brian and fetch him water, you lock stares with Josephine. Roger’s girlfriend—super casual, not exclusive, that’s what he told me—is beautiful and slim and tan and dark-eyed and, worse than all of that, palpably clever. She considers you silently, and what crosses through her pristine, heart-shaped face is not mere suspicion but knowing; and perhaps there is acceptance there as well.

No, not acceptance, you realize. Resignation. Disappointment. Powerlessness.

You tear your eyes away from Josephine and turn back to Brian: tilting a bottle of water against his lips, pulling him to his feet, fanning him with airplane tickets, leading him to a bench to wait for the taxi. The others help, oblivious to the shadow that has marauded through the room like an eclipse.

I won’t end up like her, you think to yourself with savage determination. I won’t let myself love him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Brian sinks into a plush orange lounge chair as you and Chrissie cart the luggage inside. You get a tour of their tiny apartment, shove your few remaining belongings beneath the couch where you now live, and drop into the plaid cushions, covering your face with your hands.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe I did this. I quit my job. I left Boston. I’m living on some random couple’s couch in London. Oh my god.”

“Hey,” Chrissie says warmly, lifting your chin. “We aren’t so random. We’re your friends. Maybe we’re even your destiny.”

“Jesus, you’re something out of a fairytale.”

“You’re the one who’s going to be cleaning my house, Cinderella.” Chrissie tosses a bag over her shoulder and heads for the door. “I have to swing by work and see if my students killed the substitute teacher today, will you two be alright here?”

“Of course,” you say. Brian gives her a groggy thumbs-up.

“Okay. Bye for now. Love you lots, Bri.”

“Love you,” Brian replies weakly. Chrissie departs into a bright London summer. Brian looks over at you sorrowfully, guiltily. “I miss New Orleans.”

“What do you miss about New Orleans, Bri?” You know Queen stopped there before they came to Boston, before they came into your life.

“Can I confess something to you?”

“Sure.”

He stares at the wall, vacant, acutely distressed. “I think I’m in love with a stripper called Peaches.”

“Oooookay.” You snatch up your purse and dash for the apartment door.

“Wait, no, really, I—”

“Don’t tell me about it. Call Roger or someone. Or, better yet, write a song about it and make some money so we can all have mansions with swimming pools one day. Do you need anything from that grocery store on the corner?”

Brian sighs mournfully. “I suppose not.”

“Alright. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Then you’re getting homemade chicken noodle soup. Everything will be better now, Brian. I promise. Everything will go back to the way it should be. Now that you’re home. Now that you’re here.”

Brian echoes quietly to himself as you open the door and sunlight floods in: “Now I’m here.”

#queen fanfic #queen #queen fic #roger taylor #roger taylor fic #john deacon fic #john deacon #borhap #but you can never leave #but you can never leave series #but you can never leave fic

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luxexhomines · 5 years

Note

Hello! I was reading through your blog and wanted to ask if you could write for Tsumugi with a female S/O who is the Ultimate Witch? In or out of the V3 universe is fine. Thank you!

Hullo, anon! Thanks for the request!! Although Tsumugi isn’t my favorite character, I so enjoyed writing this. I put it out of the V3 universe, so there are no spoilers for anyone wondering. Wasn’t sure if you wanted the reader be doing “real magic” or magic tricks, so it’s a little vague, haha.Icon credit to 64pxs! Also wow my third request finished in one day although it’s past 1AM & technically a new day here now!

Guess I’d classify this as fluff, too. It’s not that long, so it’s not under the cut. Here you go!

Tsumugi x Female! Ultimate Witch! S/O

You knocked on her door and grasped the doorknob, fully intending to open it and peek in the gap, but your plans were abruptly foiled by her voice.

“Don’t even try,” she cackled. “The door’s locked and I’ve got a chair keeping it closed, you know?”

When you tried to turn it, it was true. It wouldn’t budge an inch.

“Oh, come on, Tsumugi!” You whine right outside the door, making sure she could hear you loud and clear. “I haven’t seen you leave that room for a third day now! I know that you’ve got snacks and a bathroom connected to your room, but that can’t be healthy,” you beg. “Please come out…”

Either she’s ignoring you, or she’s ignoring you. Two perfectly possible options. You could even hear her plaintively humming a random tune, a tune that seemed reminiscent of a folksong–but what did that matter now, when part of her reasons for doing so was to drown out the sound of you?

“Can I at least come in, Tsumugi?” You knock on the door again, but you’re soundly rejected.

“No! You’re not allowed in here for the rest of the week, even if I do come out of the room,” she says firmly.

She was getting strangely obsessive about hiding the contents of her room from you, and you were extremely worried. The only times she ever pulled stunts like this was when she hadn’t finished preparing a cosplay for a con coming up soon, but the problem was that there were no cons coming up soon. As you understood it, she had taken a leave from work to do whatever it was she was doing in that room, and you had no clue what was so important that she’d take a week off of work to do it. She thrived off of that income to make living wage and make cosplays in addition to all her the money from her sponsors.

You could only sigh at the plain white door and walk back to your own room, resigned to your lonely fate for the rest of the week. It was anyone’s guess what she was doing or why she was hiding it from you, including your own, despite being her girlfriend.

You supposed you’d go practice your magic for the upcoming magic show you were holding while Tsumugi did…whatever it was she was doing. There was no time to waste at her doorway, calling her name to a silent answer or pounding on the door in exasperation.

You took a deep breath and gathered your focus for the first act, a rather simple attention-getter with birds flying from your sleeves like colorful ribbons spewing from them. Somehow, it was always the easiest magic that was easiest to mess up, so you ended up practicing the act for at least an hour, worried about the possibility of success in a live performance.

Falling back on the bed, you pant slightly in exertion. Who said magic was as easy as waving a wand? That’s only what magicians wanted other people to believe, after all. If the magician was dropping dead from exhaustion, no one would enjoy the show–no, it was much better for them to believe that the magician possessed unlimited amounts of mana and could continue performing magic for an entire day but just ended it at around an hour for the audience’s scheduling convenience.

But even magicians weren’t immortal. You decided to take a break and walked to the kitchen, grabbing a drink of water to hydrate yourself before returning to practice, throwing a bitter, yearning look toward Tsumugi’s closed door.

It was going to be a long week, just you and your magic.

On the day of the magic show, you hoped Tsumugi would emerge from her cave, maybe make an appearance. But it was fifteen minutes before the show, and she still hadn’t come.

You let out a sigh of disappointment and return to your dressing room as you pick at your ratty, ripped seams of what used to be a smart looking, black long-sleeved tailcoat and matching pencil skirt. You’d had it since your very first show, and you liked it very much, but it was ready to retire and had been for a while now.

In fact, you were surprised Tsumugi hadn’t commented on it–she usually would make note of any clothes you owned that were no longer serving a functional and aesthetic purpose and bring you out to buy new ones. Speaking of Tsumugi, your dressing room just burst open with a long, blue-haired girl in spectacles and carrying what looks like a newly pressed outfit in black.

“Tsumugi! You’re here,” you gasp. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

She rushes over to you, out of breath and frenetic.

“Oh, good, you’re in your dressing room! Take this,” she thrust the plastic protected outfit at you along with a box of what you assumed to be shoes. “Sorry I’m late, it took me so long to finish this. Go change, your show is starting in ten minutes!”

You look at her in confusion, but do as she asks. You’re used to her frantic nature, even if she was rather laidback most of the time. When you finish dressing, she claps her hands together in delight, and swooning.

“Oh, I knew you’d look great in this! I’ve had this idea for forever, I’m so happy I finally get to see you wear it. I can die happy now,” she declares passionately, almost drooling with excitement, her blue eyes glimmering brightly.

You examine the outfit, which includes a pair of white gloves, black heels, a black top hat, and a similar black tailcoat, black dress shirt and pencil skirt, along with a tie of your favorite color wrapped snugly around your neck that curves over your bust gently.

“Tsumugi, you made this for me?”

She nods proudly.

“I think I did a bang-up job of it, too! It’s absolutely perfect for you,” she beams at you, as lovely and warm as the golden sun, and you can only grin like a fool in response.

“You sure did. You sure did,” you repeat, amazed by her accurate, neat needlework and toiling dedication she had offered you in making the outfit.

“Now, go out there and amaze the crowds,” she encourages you, giving you a light push on the back and going out to join the audience below.

The magic show goes splendidly–you don’t know if you’ve ever done a better job, and all kinds of flowers, roses, daffodils, daisies, skyrocket toward your lone figure standing at the center of the black stage, hoping to be caught by you. You wave at the audience happily and skip on and off the stage to the standing ovation before exiting for good.

Luckily for you, Tsumugi is waiting at your dressing room, so there’s no need for you to push through the masses to find her, and you immediately envelop her in a hug, tackling her, and her breath leaves her with the impact you’ve come at her with. She wraps her arms around your back, and you can feel her pride for you simply seeping out like radioactive waves.

You don’t let go of her for a long, long time, and when you finally let go of her, you smile at her in a daze. You can’t believe your girlfriend is this gorgeous, kind, devoted, thoughtful girl standing in front of her.

“I think I’m in love with you, Tsumugi,” you say, staring straight into her eyes, endless pools of blue.

She smiles back, pushing her spectacles up slightly.

“A good thing, too, because I think I’m in love with you, too. That is, if you couldn’t tell after I spent over a week cooped up in my room to make this ensemble for you,” she replies, gesturing at your outfit.

You pat her on the head.

“Yes, yes, I know, good girl. But I was so lonely,” you pout. “Did you have to leave me alone like that for such a long time? I could have died of loneliness!”

She simply laughs full-heartedly.

“I suppose we’d be in trouble if you were a rabbit, huh? But there’ll be no more loneliness on my watch. That sounds rather presumptuous of me to say, but you can trust me on that,” she smiles charmingly as she puts a hand on her hip.

You laugh back at her, sharing in her joy and playfulness.

“You’d better live longer than I do, in that case,” you tease.

Tsumugi bends toward you and places a small kiss on the tip of your nose.

“Your wish is my command, royal magician of the court,” she chuckles.

You smirk and slip a hand around the small of her back, pulling her in closer so that both of your bodies are pressed against each other, and kiss her on the lips deeply.

“Then, my first command is that thou shalt stay at my side for the rest of our mortal lifespans.”

You can feel the corners of her lips stretch out and upward at this, and you take that to be her response as you draw her in for many more sweet kisses.

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