#why are there highlighter scribbles everywhere? I tried that thing where you put two highlighters together to get dye from one to the other

[cleocatrablossy]

Went a bit overboard with the highlighters :]

[alldayangst]

100 letters, just for me (Tom Holland)

All of my fics are LGBT and PoC friendly. PAIRING: uni (fuckboy/frat) Tom x uni reader. Summary: ‘You wrote a hundred letters just for me / And I find them in my closet in the pockets of my jeans / Now I’m constantly reminded me of the time I was nineteen / Every single ones forgotten in a laundromat machine’.

“Walk of shame?” your friend, Camren, sat in the lounge, TV on low as Tom walked with his clothes carelessly thrown on his body, recovered hoodies and jumpers you previously stole sat in a pile as high as mountains in his hands, leading Camren to wonder whether or not it was really the end this time round. “Third time this week!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t be back anytime soon.” Tom slams the door behind him as hard as he could, and just when Camren thinks they can get a moment of peace, they hear a screeching sob rip through the air through the walls of your room. And Camren swears they live in a movie; a scratched CD of a bad romantic drama, that replays the part where the lovers face their problems over and over again.

‘My mouth hasn’t shut up about you since you kissed it’

You remembered the start of this debacle like it was yesterday. You and Tom were in the bathtub and Tom told you to reach inside the back pocket of your jeans, he’d left something important in there. “I’m not ready to get married, if you left a ring in there. I’m only 19.” Tom kissed your shoulder, back cold and pressed against the tub - but he’d been willing to compromise to be the crutch you leaned against, to be the haven you found refuge in. To be the hill you died on.

“It better not be a ring, Holland. I swear.”

“I’ve never met someone who didn’t want to get proposed to as much as you.” He laid his chin against your shoulder once your search become successful, and you found a strip of paper in your trouser back pocket.

“My mouth hasn’t shut up about you, since you kissed it.” You turned to Tom who could only see your face in the corner of his eye, having found a new living situation of the warm, wet slope previously called your shoulder. “Tom, what is this?”

“100 letters, just for you. You’ll find them in every pair of your jeans. I’m with you forever.” He wrapped his arms around your waist and press a hard, loving kiss on your lips, causing you to drop the tiny piece upon which Tom scribbled his message. “Just for me? You stole this from a love letter by Alex Turner to Alexa Chung!” Tom couldn’t take his love-hazed gaze off of you, and kissed you again like he was oblivious to the words you were saying or you were speaking a foreign language he didn’t understand. “You don’t stop complaining, do you?”

Six months later marked the end of yours and Tom’s gap year, and you decided to move in together off campus.

“I can’t find it.” Tom smiled as he shook his head, your orange in his hand as he sat on a stool opposite your lunchbox. He knew you had a presentation that day and was eager to impress, so you’d shoved your most sensible pair of slacks in the washing machine without a care and when Tom went to unload it, his note for you torn into tiny pieces and covered in botched ink slithered out and caplunked into a minuscule puddle on your wooden floor.

“I’m serious, you didn’t write one this time.” You rummaged through your blazer pockets just to check for certain you were right before you turned to Tom with every bit of confidence that he’d truly forgotten to write you a little love letter this time around.

Tom placed the orange back into the fruit basket and opted for a tomato instead. He took note of the shock in your face and the wince you made as he juggled it, and it drew dangerously close to the ground. “Tom, don’t juggle that. If it hits the ground, it will splatter everywhere.” Tom giggled. 

“Have you checked your slacks?”

“You think I haven’t checked my trousers?” You turned your trouser pockets inside out with the flare of pride.”You’ve forgotten. It’s OK, Tom.”

You opened your lunchbox to place your orange in, but a piece of red card occupied the compartment usually owed to your snacks. 

You held the card up: “I love you from my head tomatoes.” Tom chuckled cheekily, not watching as the tomato rolled off the counter and depicted a large, red splatter on the kitchen floor. But Tom promised he would clean it up.

Tom didn’t forget about writing one love letter, until he did. And by that point, his letters had felt almost as autonomous as the days of the week. You didn’t even have to think about it, they just went by. So you’d be raking through every end of the house, expecting to find his letter.

“Tom, where’s the letter?”

“Huh? I don’t know.” Tom locked the door as if he’d been chased by wolves, looking up and down through the peephole and then giving a satisfied lick of the lip.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” 

“As in, I don’t know - you’d have to look for it darling.”

Little did he know that’s what you spent your whole day doing. And you hadn’t found anyone with sharper eyes or a bigger will to find it for you.

You didn’t find the note that night. You didn’t know there wasn’t any.

“I found one! ‘You’re my happy place’.” Huh. Tom hadn’t written a new one in a while. He must have put a note in both of the pockets in this pair of jeans. These jeans had been tossed aside, barely worn, in fact - never worn since you’d tried them out in the dressing room at the store two months ago. You were in awe of how young love could take you so far, and kissed the tired Tom that laid beside you. You pulled back and caressed his cheek.

“Why didn’t you kiss back?” You asked, too drunk on ignorant bliss to acknowledge the warning signs and the parade of red flags that told you to leave before you got truly hurt. “M’ just tired.” And it showed. His hair was matted, clad to his face, a few shades darker that it usually was due to all the sweat. He took in every breath like he’d never breathed before and kept watering at the eye; the kind of cry you did when even the fatigue wouldn’t let you sleep. 

It was inevitable. Three months later, you and Tom broke up. You were freshly twenty, and freshly out of a relationship. Tom moved out of your shared apartment, and you found yourself trying to navigate university with a compass that seemed to only point South. You never had to have friends here before, because you had Tom. It was out of sheer luck that you stumbled upon Camren who not only shared your soul and your mind, but agreed to share your home. Tom Holland quickly became synonymous with London nightlife and out of reluctance to let you go (call it withdrawal symptoms), requested that you continue to see each other as long as romance was left out of the equation. You’d happily obliged and incessantly kept a cobweb-covered carousel going years after it stopped being the main attraction. On the nights you left with Tom, Camren was tossed aside, forgotten like coat in a cloakroom, so it was only fair game that they’d tease and whine at you when Tom left in the morning. If Tom left in the morning.

Tom was ravenous, and you ended up on Camren’s nest of a sofa. “I love the bones off you.” he muttered, and Tom was perhaps too keen to grab a handful of your backside, he docked both hands into both your pockets, fingernails scrambling at little torn pieces of paper. His heart went into panic mode. He squirmed to get out. The piece of paper landed beside you as he forcefully yanked his hands out, feeling like a prisoner freed to a world that was only half of what it was before.

‘I’d be a crazy, blind man to ever leave you.’

The room fell silent. Maybe with Camren’s TV on low, you didn’t have the space to have these moments. To stop indulging in the highs of life and really examine why the lows were the lows.

“Tom. I’m demanding honesty.”

Tom sighs. He’s so different these days, so cold. He unentangles your bodies and huffs and puffs like a little kid who hasn’t gotten their way. This, before you’d even said anything. You don’t know if you can deal with this white noise. 

“I just want to know why we broke up.”

Tom chooses to look at the artwork opposite the couch, because his safe place is no longer his safe place. Because now that you’re demanding honesty, instead of taking it when it comes, his happy place becomes his vulnerable. Tom didn’t like to be vulnerable. It’s why he ended things in the first place.

“Well, we’re in uni..” Tom’s not sure if he wants to continue. He can feel the spotlight on him, you looking at him. He’s center stage but not one for attention. He’s suddenly painfully aware of the fragility of his answer, and worries it will go ‘splat!’ and make like a tomato, and then you’ll really never speak to him again. He furrows his brows as he looks down into his lap, twiddling and pulling at his fingers as if they had the answer (they used to) before he says it in the best way he knows how, your eyes boring into him. “We’re at uni, and there’s so many beautiful women and handsome men, and mighty attractive human beings walking around here, and it’s hard to believe one person you met at a stupid age could compare to the pool of people that are here.”

And how it sounds in Tom’s head, how he meant it is so much better to the way it sounds and means to you. Because words like ‘compare’ and ‘pool of people’ highlight how insignificant and worthless Tom felt he was to you. He felt he communicated how he insecure he was feeling. To you? Words like ‘comapre’ only shine a torch on your own insecurities and phrases like ‘pool of people’ makes you contemplate whether Tom was ever unfaithful, and it made you feel insignificant, worthless. 

“So, I’m definitely not the only person in your life right now.” Tom looks up and before he can say anything- “I’m not something you can butter up and taste when you get bored.”

“Y/N.” Tom starts. “That would never be the way I could see you.”

“I’d like you to leave, Tom.”

And leave he does.

Two weeks later, you and Camren found yourself in a predicament. “Can you get it out?” Camren had their hand down the drain of your bathtub. Cautiously, they launched two fingers in. “Can you get it out?” You asked again, nibbling lightly on the tip of your nails out of nervousness.

“Honestly, it doesn’t feel that big.” Camren stops their search after hooking their finger around the culprit of which blocked your plughole. “It’s a piece of fucking paper.” Camren sighs a breath of relief. “My mouth hasn’t shut up about you since you kissed it.”

You breathe in.

Credit for the gif goes to: /dreamyyholland

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[rokutouxei]

the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | T | [ ao3 link in bio ]

The challenge seemed pretty simple: to try to befriend the university bookshop’s most sour employee, Theo van Gogh. As a literature major with a boatload of book recommendations on her back, it ought to be a simple task indeed. But as she uncovers what lies between Theo’s pages, the more she finds it harder to become closer to him without having to put the feeling directly into words. What can she learn from Theo about what it means to stay—and how can she teach Theo about what it means to let go? | written for ikevamp big bang 2020!

[ masterpost for all chapters ]

CHAPTER 21 OF 22

—The heartbeat is actually the sound made by the heart valves closing. If you, my love, ever hold a stethoscope to my chest I will tell you to listen for the silence in between. What is and what will always be yours is the sound of my heart finally opening.

- "Letter to the Editor", Andrea Gibson.

--

interlude ii

--

In the span of time between understanding and acceptance, Theo half-writes a million letters, all of them suffering the same kind of fate: undelivered. The email gets deleted, the text erased, the sheet crumpled, set on fire. There are too many words he doesn’t have the courage to say, and fuck, he’s not a literature major, after all.

He’s only the arrow shooting forward, not the bow pulling back towards itself.

But every second he spends lost in the memory of her leaves him splitting open, so for the first time in what feels like centuries, he unfolds what he’s kept in his heart the size of his clenched fist. Allows its beating space to unravel. And when he doesn’t have the vocabulary to put it into words himself, he borrows—borrows from others until he finally finds the ones that will feel just right tell.

Until they’re finally just right to tell.

The first letter he ever writes her, he composes outside the gallery of his brother’s exhibit, on the opening day. He’s crouched on the stone steps with a book in his hand, a little poetry book Arthur had dropped by for him earlier that day. For what, the bastard refused to say, but he had that look on his face that Theo hates: that Arthur knows exactly what he’s doing it for.

The first of his letters are spiteful, the words he borrows barbs, promises he doesn’t intend to keep when he rewrites,

I shall forget you presently, my dear, So make the most of this, your little day, Your little month, your little half a year

onto a sheet of scratch paper, one he ultimately throws into a bin before he’s even felt like he’s begun writing anything.

He gathers his heart a little closer for the second one, highlighting a verse in shaky yellow while he’s on a bus ride out of town, on the exhibit’s closing day.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one, Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun, Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood; For nothing now can ever come to any good.

But it is not enough. And even after that, there are an innumerable number of letters that still are not enough. He borrows from everyone he’s learned from her: Shakespeare, Frost, Whitman, Dickinson; he borrows from new names, Allan Poe, Silverstein, Neruda, Keats, Siken; he borrows from poetry, from fiction, from plays. From philosophers, from writers, from artists. The words never seem to be enough to cross the gap between what he’s said and what he should have.

He writes the ten-thousandth letter with his heart beating in his chest so loudly he can barely hear his breath,

And I lean down towards you with muscle and wing, as if to a grave stone, (I put the years to sleep)

my lips seek yours... like spring.

longing, the sear of it, the idea of having touch so warm under his skin the world feels all too cold. He misses her like he would a lost limb. He reads the poem over, and over, and over again until he cannot deny it, and when he does not have the will to deny it he sets it on fire, instead.

Arthur asks him why he’s making it so much harder on himself, asks him why he’s putting himself in all this agony for nothing—Arthur talks like he knows everything. And maybe he does, the fool that he is. “Just call her,” the flirt says, “Call her from my number, send her a message—" But Arthur doesn’t know what happened, doesn’t know what it felt like in that rooftop, the words hanging in between him and her, unsaid, said, told in their heads—but never out loud, not enough to make it come to life.

To make it real.

To make it seem like Theo isn’t just writing a story in his head.

One where she’s only an unwilling participant.

Letters are the one thing Theo can hide behind, besides poetry. He can pour his entire heart in that little sheet of paper, tell her all that he wanted to but never could—send it away, and then not have to wait, expecting a response. He considers it the same as writing a message, stuffing it in a bottle, and then throwing it out in the open sea. It would be great if she finds it. It would be great if she’s moved enough by it that she writes back, that she forgives him, that she continues to wait for him even if she’s already so far away.

If only he could get it right.

The millionth letter doesn’t make it past his desk. He hears the poem from a phone in the bookstore: two literature majors reading from a book on the shelf, reciting the lines, Theo barely hears it over their gasps, but when he does he scrambles to put it into writing, thinking, this is it, maybe this is the one that’ll get me across, says,

It well may be that in a difficult hour, Pinned down by pain and moaning for release, Or nagged by want past resolution's power, I might be driven to sell your love for peace, Or trade the memory of this night for food.

takes the pen in his hand and nearly tears the page when the poets say:

It well may be. I do not think I would.

Theo is on his headphones for the rest of the afternoon, hiding in the stockroom stacking books.

He sits and negotiates, negotiates, negotiates with himself over and over again, like this was a case, like this was a business deal, instead of something else, something that’s less rigid, less in-boxes, one without protocol. Arthur tries to talk him into it. Vincent tries to talk him out of it. In, out, of what, Theo doesn’t know anymore, their voices fading into the back of his mind when he begins to really think about this.

About her, about her hands.

About his.

Sometimes, at night, in bed, before I fall asleep, a poet once wrote, I think about a poem I might write, someday, about my heart.

Theo does the same.

Much to his dismay, however, the world does not fall in around him, does not close him off from the outside world no matter how hard he tries, no matter how much it seems like that’s what ought to happen. The semester rolls on. The exams are still hard. The Halloween Party is still the same talk of the university as it did a full year ago, like the world hadn’t turned upside down for him since then.

The universe had even granted him the most effective way to wallow in his pain, the new girl in their little friend group (the one he was only in because of her) whose heart was a mirror of the girl he’d loved. Why is it that those that do so poorly in romance tend to flock together like recognizing the uneven parts of themselves? She is drunk and talking about someone else, but when she speaks about letters the same way she used to, something in Theo’s heart cries out.

Too bad he still doesn’t have the words.

The closest Theo gets to what he wants to say comes in the form of old memories, a scribble of a haphazardly written note on a piece of clean café napkin, in her handwriting, no, there’s no mistaking it. Heart by heart, Louise B written in familiar cursive. A note from a lost time slipped in a returned book, perhaps on purpose, perhaps on accident. He turns the search terms over and over until he finds it, a rush of air exiting his lungs when he gets to the end:

Now that I have your heart by heart, I see The wharves with their great ships and architraves;   The rigging and the cargo and the slaves On a strange beach under a broken sky. O not departure, but a voyage done! The bales stand on the stone; the anchor weeps Its red rust downward, and the long vine creeps   Beside the salt herb, in the lengthening sun.

Now that I have your heart by heart, I see.

But he doesn’t hasn’t ever had it, not since she’d left, so he doesn’t send it.

Theo doesn’t cry. There is no reason to, he thinks to himself, nothing to be upset about, not when it’s him holding himself back, when this was all his fault. He only sits quiet, repentant. He doesn’t make any mention of her, and when she is mentioned, he doesn’t say a word.

What worth are words now?

This goes on for weeks. And it seems like an eternity later when Vincent catches him sitting in the dining room with that same idle look on his face, that same dull expression, he steps into the light of the older brother Theo has always seen him to be, the older brother he’s always hoped to be—and puts a hand on the shoulder of his lost younger brother, eager to lead him home.

“Theo?”

“Broer.”

Vincent’s voice is soft. Patient. “What are you looking for?”

“I don’t have the words for… this,” Theo says, gestures vaguely at his heart, like pained. “I don’t know where to look for them anymore.”

And his brother smiles like he knows all the answers. (Theo believes Vincent has all the answers.) “There is poetry everywhere, Theo," he says, sounding awfully like her, "Your eyes are focused on the wrong things.”

Like a flash of lightning, he hears it: in the lilt of her voice, the tinkle of laughter, her voice like thunderclouds rolling over a sunlit summer. The poem that found him, instead of the other way around.

You.

Theo immediately goes out to find fancy stationery he knows she likes and gets his best fountain pen and writes; the weight of honesty pins the words solidly onto the parchment. Theo had not known metaphor until that moment, had not understood what it meant when whatever a sun will always sing is you was written, until—

Until it was his heart that was chanting it.

And the day after, he delays the inevitable: seals the letter with glue, sticks a stamp on the upper right corner of the envelope. Theo slips it into the to-mail box without a word, and then exits the post office like he hasn’t left his heart there for sending.

[lovehatemysme]

[Yoosung x MC]

“Are you ready guys?” a classmate of Yoosung’s asked while he set-up the camera pointing at you. 

For a final presentation in a minor subject, they were tasked to interview couples. Since Yoosung was the only one in the relationship, they asked if he could do it. 

“D-do you want us to be in my final presentation?” Yoosung asked one night, he liked the idea that he could brag he has a pretty girlfriend.

You thought it would be fun so you agreed. But now, sitting inches apart in front of a camera, Yoosung now became stiff. Unsure with what to do with his body and his hands. Thank goodness there was a table in front of you, maybe he should just rest his hands on his thighs he thought.

You, on the other hand, leaned on the table while resting your elbows on the table as you crossed your arms, looking rather comfortable.

“So for the first question,” a girl said who stood next the guy who was monitoring the camera, “how long have you been together?” she said checked the first question on the list in her notebook.

“Well that’s easy,” Yoosung muttered, “We’ve been together for 2 years now,” he said in a louder voice. Clearing his throat after muttering. 

“And how long have you known each other?” she asked, a follow up question for the first one. 

“Two years too..” Yoosung said, tilting his head a little to glance at you, you looked at him and gave him an encouraging smile.

His two classmates in front of you both looked at each other, confusion in their faces. “So you guys already dated when you first known each other?” the guy asked.

Yoosung grinned sheepishly as he rubbed his neck, “I guess so, yeah,” he said. You giggled as you remembered Yoosung even asked you to be his pre-girlfriend, and you haven’t even seen each other yet! The girl scribbled again in her notebook. 

“Okay so uhm, in your two years together, what routine, or habit have you formed in the relationship?” 

“Hmm,” you started, you looked at Yoosung. His hand on his chin, his brows furrowed in thinking deep. You smiled and returned to face the camera.

“There’s thing Yoosung does,” you said suddenly, startling Yoosung as he looked at you. “Whenever he leaves for school, he gives me a quick kiss,” Yoosung’s eyes went wide, suddenly embarrassed at what you shared. “And he leaves his special omurice with a note for me to find,” you smiled at him, he gazed away as his whole face went red. “And that’s just one of his habits I guess,” you blabbered as you shrugged. 

Ever since you dated, Yoosung did practice his cooking skills. And if he’s going to be honest, he loves cooking for you. He loves hearing your compliments about his cooking. He still remembers the surprised face you made when he learned how to cook your favorite dish. He chuckled as he remember how he’d spent nights trying to perfect your favorite dish.

“How about your first date? How was it and what did you do?” 

“Oh!” you exclaimed gleefully, a big smile on your face. “Yoosung planned it all,” you grinned as you faced him, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. 

“Oh, w-well.. uhm,” he started to mumble, he looked at you and saw your smiling face, the same smile that made his anxiety go away during your first date. He smiled back at you and faced the camera.

“MC’s my first girlfriend, so I played it safe and planned a normal date,” he had this nervous smile that he always does, a smile that you always found adorable. “We went to see a movie, then we strolled in park and went to a coffee shop,” he clasp his fingers with yours. “Did you like our first date?” he said suddenly to you, a nervous look on his face. 

“Of course I did! You made me a bento box remember?” you can’t help but smile even wider, remembering how he’d put so much effort for your first date. It made your heart flutter, that even though you knew each other for a short period of time, he was just that into you, and so were you. 

Yoosung squeezed your hand, a relief sigh leaving from his lips. He was a nervous wreck during your first date, but your smile and giggles made it all go away. 

“If MC is Yoosung’s first girlfriend, is he your first boyfriend too, MC?” the girl asked as she scribbled down.

You bit your lip, “Well..” you hesitated, even without looking you knew Yoosung was frowning. He knew you dated some other guys before him. 

“I did dated other guys before him,” you said, “But,” you added as you touched Yoosung’s cheek, “my heart is all his now,” you smiled. Yoosung’s frown disappeared, a small o replaced it, then a smile. Blush visibly on his cheeks. You gave him an assured smile while he looked at you in awe. His heart filled with content, knowing that you love him as much as he loves you. He took your hand and placed a kiss, clasping it again with his as he rested it on his thigh. 

“Okay, say one thing that you like about your partner,” the girl said as she scribbled again in her notebook, a few marks here and there until she clicked her pen to focus on your answers. 

“Well I like how cute Yoosungie is~” you said in a singsong voice, in which two of his classmates tried to stop their giggles. “Ah! MC!” Yoosung whined to you, “See? Cute!” you said as you pinched his cheeks slightly. “You’re embarrassing me~!” Yoosung said in a muffled voice as you continue to hold his cheeks. Letting his cheek go, you bit your lip as you leaned to the table, looking at him as you rested your head on your hand for support.

“But it’s true,” you said in a more serious tone, “I like how cute you get when you’re frustrated on LOLOL, you’d ask for hugs,” Yoosung always, always, pulls you into a hug when he loses a game. Holding you makes him calm, his nerves relaxing. “And,” you continued, absentmindedly twirling a curl of his hair on your finger, “I like cute you get when you ask for something,” your voice thick with something, desire? Lust? You both looked at each other, blinking and staring as if you were the only people inside the room. 

The sudden cough from one of his classmates broke off the tension you didn’t even know was there, you suddenly looked away from Yoosung, blood rushing to your cheeks. 

“I- uhm,” Yoosung tried to start, he cleared his throat as he continued, “I guess I like how MC is so kind and helpful to everyone,” he said, tilting his head again to look at you. “She even helps people she barely know.. and she always help me pull an all nighter during an exam,” he said in a sheepish smile. He looked at you with warmth, and you could feel his love. It was during one of those all nighters that you saw him so serious. 

You poked on his cheek as he was so serious on reading a textbook, highlighters in different colors and pens scattered everywhere as well as bits of papers. 

“Yoosung~ let’s take a break,” you said, he yawned as he took your finger that was poking him, giving it a peck.

“Just a few more minutes MC, promise!” he said. “You’re going to pass, I believe in you!” you said. He gave you a small smile, “I know, but I just want to make sure, I want to graduate right away,” he said in a soft voice. 

“But why?” you asked without a thought, Yoosung grinned at you. “So I could earn money and marry you!” he confessed so confidently. 

You fidgeted with your hand remembering it. Sure it wasn’t a proper proposal, but still, it made your heart flutter. 

“This will be the second to the last,” the girl said, “Do you think you’re each others’ “the one”,” another scribble here, and click of pen until she refocus on the both of you again.

Yoosung blinked a few times to process the question, looked at you blatantly and blinked again, you stared at each other until he spoke.

“I do,” he said in a serious tone, no hint of hesitation from his tone nor his face. You wanted to look away from his gaze, but it felt like you were locked on his lilac eyes. It pierces through you, that he was just so sure about you. You were just drawn to his eyes, how honest and sincere it showed off.

Yoosung suddenly realize he was staring for a while, he blinked and looked at the table, sheepish smile on his face as he rubbed his neck, “Well I hope so anyway,” he mumbled. You grabbed his hand and squeezed it, looking at him.

“I do too,” you said. Smiling and returning that assurance he gave you. 

“Okay, this is the last part. Where do you see yourselves and your relationship in 5 years?”

Yoosung let out a little laugh, he’d always dream about your future together. 

“I see myself running a clinic probably,” he rubbed your thumb as he grinned at you, “and we’re probably married already!” he exclaimed, you giggled and leaned onto him. You gave him a quick peck on the lips, “I like that idea,” you whispered to him, returning your focus on the camera you said, “That’s gotta be it,”. 

~~~

5 years later

“Honey~” Yoosung shouted from the bedroom, “come here for sec,” he said.

“Coming!” you shouted back, quickly putting away dishes. “What is it?” You asked as soon as you came inside, Yoosung tapped his thighs, indicating for you to sit on his lap in which you happily obliged. 

“It’s something my professor in college sent me, he said he thinks it would be fun to send it now and watch it,” he said as he pushed back to the chair to give you space between his legs. His head now rested on your shoulder, “I wonder what it is,” he mumbled. 

Clicking the video, he wrapped his arms around your waist, your hands resting above his. 

You laughed and giggled throughout the video, on the other hand Yoosung kept burying his face on your neck. “Gah~ Did I really sound that cringy?” He mumbled to your neck, “It’s okay, you were adorable honey~” you teased. 

Removing his face from your neck and resting it on your shoulder again, he looked up to you as you faced him. 

“Well at least I was right at the last part,” he smiled as he kissed you while his thumb rubbed the metal band on your finger. 

[drdanwrites]

Magical Office: Episode 7 - The Rumors Part 2

Hey guys! So here is the drama packed part 2! I didn’t have time to edit so hopefully it’s okay!!! I hope you all love it! Message if you enjoyed it! xxx

Episode 7: The Rumors Part 2

(Silence befalls Newt’s office as he sits at his desk, he writes feverishly and every couple of seconds stops and turns towards his open case. He takes a moment’s pause and listens intently. When he doesn’t hear a sound, he turns back to his work and begins to devote himself to his work again. Abruptly he is interrupted by the sounds of gagging and heaving coming from the case. The camera catches a small smirk briefly etch itself across his face. Quick as a flash, Newt gets up from his seat and walks over to the case.)

Newt: Good Morning Sunshine

(Mumbles in your voice can be heard in response which makes Newt chuckle to himself. He goes back to his desk to get a small vial of cool blue liquid and some odd looking leaves which were purple. Returning to the case, he calls down to you again.)

Newt: Come up here darling, I’ll get you something for that hangover.

(Footsteps can be heard trudging up the ladder from the case. The top of your head appears following in suit with the rest of your body. The look of you can describe how the rest of your night went. Your hair is all over the place and your eye makeup makes your look like a raccoon. Newt walks over to you and instantly braces a hand behind your head and then brings your forehead to his lips as he plants a soothing kiss. You lift your head and greet the kiss and you quickly move past him to your desk chair and rest your head on the table. Newt brings over his supplies to you and begins to smear the leaf and blue liquid on the back of your neck.)

Newt: There that should help you feel right as rain. (Newt gets up and brings over his sk chair and sits chair. He leans into it and places his legs one by one on top of your desk. He gets comfy for the story he’s destined to tell).

Y/N: Go on then. Tell us what happened last night.

Newt: Oh? What, you don’t remember?

Y/N: Ha ha… spill it Scamander? How embarrassed should I be?

Newt: Nothing too bad my dear, you left to go to the loo but you missed the door and passed out in the doorway across from it. Luckily, Bridget got to you before I did and I told her I was just passing through, which I think she bought. I swear no one ever goes on that side of the house but it must have been popular because a couple seconds later the Minister turned up and helped you.

(As Newt finishes telling the story, you faintly remember seeing two people in that hallway… they had been so familiar at one point. You remain lost in thought, Newt sees this and continues.)

Newt: Of course you wouldn’t stop throwing yourself at me once you woke up. So desperate for all this then? (Newt runs his hand up and down, highlights his body. You instantly roll your eyes and laugh.)

Y/N: The nerve!(You respond, your smile implying the joke.)

Newt: Milton must have had a fun night as well. He’s late for work.

(You stare at Newt with wide eyes as you sip on the tea he had conjured for you.)

Y/N:What? He’s never missed a day of work, let alone been late!

Newt: Bridget swears that the other aurors reported that Angelica hasn’t showed up yet either.

Y/N: Scandal! (You smile and look down at your tea, you are feeling almost fully recovered and you look back up at Newt.) Thank you, you brilliant creature.

Newt:You’re welcome, you lovely beast.

(You both sit together in silence while you both sip on your tea. The office outside is quiet as others are just as hungover. You are the first one to break the silence between you.)

Y/N: I had a really weird dream. For some reason I dreamed that I saw Minister Parkinson and Bridget leaving the bathroom together and they had definitely hooked up.

(Newt, who was in the middle of a sip immediately spit it out in shock. You look alarmed as well, not sure of the implications of what you had just said. Newt quickly wipes his mouth looks over at you. His eyes wide.)

Newt: Are you sure this was just a dream?

Y/N: Yeah, I mean… come on… I know Bridget has a crush on him but… them hooking up in real life? Please. I must have just subconsciously made it up.

Newt: You’re probably right. Weird dream though. Wish you’d dream about us like that.(He winks at you as he collects your empty tea cup and carries his own cup over to his own desk.)

Y/N: Never said I didn’t.

(Just then Bridget comes walking in and the two of you go to pretending that you weren’t just flirting with each other. Bridget looks back and forth between the both of you and looks into the camera and smirks. She walks up to your desk.)

Bridget: How are you feeeeling? You were SOOOO drunk. Like you had passed out in the hallway and I just passed by and saw you lying there! Newt had to help me after… he just happened to pass by. (She looks back and him to see if Newt has reacted to what she said, but he just continues to write on his parchment, ignoring the situation.)

Y/N: Yes, I’m fine, thank you for helping me out Bridget. Did you have a good night?

Bridget: Oh yeah, totally. Those parties are always wicked. Do you want to go grab lunch?

Y?N: Sure! Love to. (To Newt) I’m just going to grab lunch quick with Bridget. I’ll be back soon.

Newt: (Newt hardly looks up when he answers) Hmmm…Sure Ms.Y/L/N.

(Bridget walks about the door ahead of you and you quickly turn back to Newt and blow him a kiss, he looks up and pretends to catch it and smiles back. You close the door behind you. The camera zooms in on Newt’s face and he turns back to his work. His smile grows wider and he shakes his head, knowing he is most certainly falling hard for you.)

(At lunch in the break room, the camera comes in to find Bridget and you laughing at the table. Your lunches spread out having been half devoured.)

Y/N: I can’t believe Finnegan put that charm on the main bathroom. I could hear Hannah screaming when the toilet tried to talk to her.

Bridget: (laughs even harder) He’s been trying to get back at Hannah for breaking up with him for that new Auror Michael. I think that did the trick.

Y/N: Did you hear Milton hasn’t been to work yet today? Apparently they say Angelica hasn’t either.

Bridget: Well yeah, I saw them talking, they never left each other’s sides. Like, I heard they ended up hooking up in Claire’s pool house!

Y/N: No…way…! Who knew Milton had it in him.

Bridget: Speaking of hooking up… rumor is that Newt and you spent the evening alone together too!

(You quickly stop laughing and you try your hardest to not give anything away.)

Y/N: Why would you say that?

Bridget: Rodger went looking for you after Newt left with you. He said he went to see the other beast department workers and they said they hadn’t seen you both…. Where did you guys go?

(Bridget has a huge smirk on her face and she raises her eyebrows up and down suggestively.)

Y/N: I… I don’t know what you mean. After we left Rodger we went over to the other beast workers… he must have missed us. I left to look for the toilets and Newt must have noticed I was gone awhile and found me with you.(You hope your story carries and that Bridget doesn’t catch on.)

Bridget: (Bridget rolls her eyes at you.) I don’t see why you guys just won’t admit that you guys are together.

Y/N: There isn’t anything to tell, really. (Bridget rolls her eyes again and goes back to eating and drinking. The moment has awkward silence written all over it. You chuckle and continue) Actually, you’ll get a kick out of this… so I thought I saw Minister Parkinson and you coming out of the bathroom together. (You laugh hysterically) What a crazy dream right?

(The camera zooms in on Bridget’s face. She looks at you stunned but is trying hard not to show it, tilting her head away from you as she looks everywhere but your eyes.)

Bridget: Ha. How funny.

Y/N: I know. I’m sure you wish right?

Bridget: Yep. I sure do. (She looks down as if preoccupied with something) Ummm I just remembered I’ve got this thing, so bye. (Bridget runs out leaving you stunned.)

(The camera follows Bridget at a distance. She seems too occupied to notice as she goes out into the stairwell and makes sure everyone is gone. The camera stands outside the door and watches through a small window. Bridget gets out a compact quill and parchment paper. She quickly scribbles a note and folds it into a paper airplane and then throws it into the air. It suddenly takes and flies down the stairs with a purpose. Bridget paces back and forth with a troubled look on her face. Suddenly another paper plane lands by her feet and she instantly bends down to pick it up. She looks it over, her eyes seemingly darting all over the page. With a sigh of relief she puts the paper down and catches the camera peering at her through the window. Casually Bridget flips her hair and walks towards the door. The camera moves back to allow her to open the door and walk through. Her faces holds steady as she walks to her office and shuts the door behind her.)

(You finish lunch along and start walking back to your office when you see Newt and Rodger walking into the conference room with Biggles and Claire.)

Y/N: What’s going on?

Rodger: Not sure, Minster sent a memo around asking us to meet him in here.

(The three of you walk into the conference room to see Bridget sitting there waiting. You all take your normal seats, a space open for Milton and the Minister. Moments later Minister Parkinson walks solemnly. He closes the door behind him and sits down without any hesitation. For a second you all sit in silence as you wait for him to reveal the reason for the meeting.)

Minister: Last night was fun wasn’t it? Let’s all thank Claire for another excellent party. (He begins to clap and everyone else begins to clap with him awkwardly.) Though with parties come the after party gossip. It’s come to my attention that there are some rumors going around about potential non reported relationships. (Everyone looks around)

(Suddenly the door opens and Milton bursts in. His clothes are completely disheveled and look as though he was mugged on his way in. He lunges forward towards Parkinson.)

Milton: Minister. Please forgive me, Sir! I overslept! I OVERSLEPT!!!!!

Minister Parkinson: Sit Down! SIT DOWN! (He waves off Milton annoyingly. Milton quickly puts his head down and walks over to his chair and sits down. He tries to fix his hair by smoothing it out.)

(In the background, Minister Parkinson continues to talk about the dangers of gossip and rumors. The camera zooms in on Newt and you. You lean your head over towards Newt. He leans into you as well.)

Y/N: I’m a bit nervous about this meeting…apparently there is a rumor going around about us being an item…

Newt: Don’t worry… it’s fine. (He squeezes your hand under the table.)

Minister Parkinson: Let’s bring some of these rumors to the table and just lay it all out there. Let’s find the truth behind the lies.

(Everyone looks around at each other, not really knowing where to start. Rodger slowly begins.)

Rodger: I heard Newt and Y/N left to go off alone pretty much all night.

Newt and you stare at Rodger incredulously that he would stoop so low as to actually go along with this.)

Minister Parkinson: Interesting… has anyone else heard this?

(Everyone raises their hands, even Milton who sits next to you.)

Newt: Really… Milton?

Milton: What? I have no loyalty to you.

Newt: Right then…. I heard a rumor that Milton and Angelica have been sleeping with each other for years now. (Milton turns to Newt)

Milton: Now see here Salamander!

(The two of the them start shouting at each other trying to deny everything that the other is saying. You finally stand in between them and pull them apart.)

Minister Parkinson: Gentlemen, please! Come down… now… are the rumors true?

Milton and Newt:NO!

Minister Parkinson: See everyone, it’s not work appropriate to go around and accusing people of non compliant things. Now I think we should put all the rumors behind us and all move on.

Milton and Newt sit down and the room becomes quiet again.

Claire: I *BEEP* ed Biggles.

(Biggles groans and hides his head in his hands as the room erupts with groans of disgust.)

Rodger: COME ON BIGGLES!!!

Y/N: Claire! Omg!

Minister Parkinson: I’m dismissing this meeting before we get any more detailed than that.

(Everyone begins to pile out of the room quickly, trying to get away from Claire. Even Biggles struggles to get out of the room and he pushes people out of the way as he runs.)

(It is the end of the day and everyone has gone home. Newt and you stand outside your office door as he locks it. After he is done turning the key he looks down at you and smiles. You look up at him and he gently grabs your face inbetween his hands and begins to kiss you passionately. You wrap your arms around his neck for support and give into the kiss. A cough breaks you two apart as Minister Parkinson walks up to the both of you. For a moment it is tense and you can hear your heart beating in your ears from the kiss and from the nerves of this situation.)

Minister Parkinson: Newt… I thought we talked about this. Did I not as you please report this to WR? If people find out that this is real and not just a rumor there is going to be a conflict of interest. (He pauses) I’m going to have to fire Y/N.

(You are drowning in the beat of your heart in your ears. It is so loud that you hardly hear Newt’s exclamations to this decree.)

Newt: SIR! That is so out of line! Y/N hasn’t done anything to deserve such a drastic sentence. Where is this coming from?

Minister Parkinson: Newt, I clearly explained to you that you needed to report this to WR. I’m trying to protect your job. I mean no offense Y/N but I did explain this was needed if you were going to enter into a relationship with someone from the office. No exceptions.

Newt: (Newt is visibly angry) If you want us to go to WR and report our relationship, fine… we will…. Maybe we’ll get talking about the strange dream Y/N had… you know… the one where she saw you and Bridget together in the bathroom… I bet the whole WR department would love to hear about it… maybe even someone in particular?

(The atmosphere quickly becomes tense as the Minister and Newt stare at one another. Seconds slowly go by before the Minister responds.)

Minister Parkinson: Y/N can keep her job. Consider your relationship registered with WR, no need for paperwork. Good evening.

(The Minister walks away and Newt turns back to you, his blood still boiling.)

Y/N: That was so bizarre! Why would he just change his mind like that? Who is in WR that he doesn’t want to know about Bridget?

Newt: His wife.

END OF EPISODE