#AND MY NAME WRITTEN IN HIS HANDWRITING?? HELLO INSANE

[fishsticksart]

Francesca - Hozier

If someone asked me at the end, I'll tell them put me back in it

[Francesca, Hozier // The Ghosts of Paolo and Francesca Appear to Dante and Virgil, Ary Scheffer // Francesca, Hozier // Canto V, Inferno, Dante Alighieri // Francesca (Official Video), Hozier // Francesca, Hozier // Ship on Stormy Seas, Ivan Aivazovsky // Francesca, Hozier // Canto V, Inferno, Dante Alighieri // Paolo and Francesca, Mosè Bianchi // Francesca, Hozier // Paolo and Francesca da Rimini, Gustave Doré // Before Romeo and Juliet, Paolo and Francesca Were Literature’s Star-Crossed Lovers, John-Paul Heil // Paolo and Francesca, Frank Dicksee // Francesca i Paolo, Ludwik Wiesiołowski // Before Romeo and Juliet, Paolo and Francesca Were Literature’s Star-Crossed Lovers, John-Paul Heil // Paolo and Francesca da Rimini, Dante Gabriel Rossetti // Francesca, Hozier // Francesca (Later with Jools Holland), Hozier on BBC Music // Canto V, Inferno, Dante Alighieri // tumblr user @handgf // The Kiss, Auguste Rodin // Paolo e Francesca, or Morte di Paolo e Francesca, Gaetano Previati // Hozier // Hozier // Hozier]

[goldenwilliamson]

Letters

pairing: george harrison x reader 

summary: george is away on tour and you receive a letter from him in the mail

warnings: none!

word count: 730

When you open the mailbox you almost squeal at the sight of another letter from George. He’s currently away on tour in America and although you two talk on the phone every other day, he also always manages to send a letter once a week. 

You run up into the house, tearing into the envelope carefully so you don’t completely damage it. You unfold the page long letter to see George’s neat and familiar handwriting. Just seeing your name written in his cursive sends warmth through your entire body. You missed him so much, but these letters granted you a little piece of him to hold on to while you patiently awaited the boys return. 

Y/N, my love,

It’s George (your boyfriend/bestfriend/greatest annoyance), I can’t begin to explain how much I wish you were here with us. The Americas are very interesting. The girls are crazy - don’t get too jealous. I seem to have adopted the role of the ‘quiet beatle’ which has attracted many fans to me. I’m sure you’d get a kick out of this idea, seeing as though I’m never really quiet when I’m with you. Always bashing on some instrument or chatting your ear off. Anyway, thought I’d write to let you know that I haven’t yet forgotten about you, though the image of you in my head is beginning to fade. Only joking. But I do love you, very much. I plan on calling you after I finish writing this letter, which I suppose would have already happened by the time you receive this. Now please call me when you finish reading this because I miss your sweet voice. 

Yours, George. x

You grin the entire time, hearing his voice in your head as you read his heavily sarcastic words. Immediately, you walk to the phone, dialling the hotel number that he had scrawled on the bottom of the letter. Still clutching the paper in your hand, you eagerly wait through the dial tone to hear his voice. 

“Hello,” George answers.

“Hi Georgie," you say. 

“Hi darling. You received my letter then?” He asks and you nod despite his ability to see you through the phone.

“I did. Quiet Beatle, eh? Quiet my ass,” you tell him which makes him laugh.

“I thought you’d enjoy that,” he says. 

“How have the shows been?” You ask.

“Wild. The girls scream the whole bloody show, we can’t even hear ourselves play. It’s insanity over here,” he explains and you shake your head in disbelief.

“I wish I could see one,” you sigh.

“It’s not that exciting love, and I’m not joking, you wouldn’t be able to hear a single note over the squeals,” he explains. 

“Yes, but at the very least, I’d be with you,” you tell him and you hear his sigh through the phone. 

“Only a couple of weeks now darling, then I’ll be back at home,” he promises. 

“I’m counting down the days. It’s getting lonely, I’ve been thinking of hiring a gigalo,” you joke which makes George laugh loudly through the phone. 

“Not a bad idea, I’ll wire over some money for you,” he plays. 

“I knew you’d understand,” you continue.

“I’m afraid can’t speak long, we’re leaving for the airport in a half hour,” George says apologetically.

“I understand, write me a letter on the flight. Post it when you land,” you ask him. 

“I can do that,” he says, and you can almost picture the smile he’s no doubt wearing. 

“Well, I love you G,” you say, letting him get back to business. 

“I love you, darling. Don’t miss me too much,” he says. 

“I’ll try not too,” you laugh, “Bye now.”

“Bye love,” he says finally before you hang the phone up on the hook. 

You let your hand rest against the phone for a moment, savouring the sound of his voice which is still lingering in your memory. As much as you miss him, you’re happy when he’s away on tour as it means he is doing what he loves. Everyone has told you ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder’ hoping to make you feel better about the distance between you and George, and you now know there is merit in the saying. You both seem to fall even more in love with each other once you are reunited and you hold onto that whenever he is away. 

[miraculouspenta]

Your Name, My Name

...I wrote this fic to bribe @nyx-in-line to sleep... (I mean, it did work)

Masterlist

What would you do if one day instead of writing your name on your exam paper you write someone else's? Erase it, rewrite, right? The thing is, no matter how many times you try to change it, it always ends up the same. It's not your name written, but a random person's. You would probably freak out. Could you have forgotten how to write your name? Or was someone unknowingly controlling your body? Well, you wouldn't if you were in this universe. In this universe, it is very much normal if you write someone's name unconsciously thinking it's your own you are jotting down. But why? Simplest answer? Soulmates. The name you would've written down, would be your soulmate's. Of course, this only happens after you turn 16 but it won't stop until you meet your soulmate… or your soulmate dies... Yeah, let's hope for the first option. With that information in your head, let me tell you the story of how this power couple met. 

6 years, it's been six years since his mother dropped him at his father's doorstep. And in those six years Damian Wayne couldn't believe how much he's changed. Physically, he is much taller, he has a broader chest, and a deeper voice. Mentally, he no longer has the urge to kill, he does whatever he can do to avoid it. Emotionally, he feels love, happiness even though he doesn't show it. And now on his sixteenth birthday he is actually excited to be dragged around by Grayson. Apparently Dick had other plans. 

"Happy birthday, Damian!" Dick shouted as the younger boy descended down the stairs to the dining room. "Thank you, Grayson," Damian replied. Breakfast went on as normal, added by a couple of hugs and birthday wishes. But normalcy can only last so long in the Wayne household. "So…’Dick dragged out, "You excited to figure out your soulmate's name?" Damian blinked. "What is a 'soulmate'," he said, putting quotations around the word. Everyone at the table stared. 'You don't know what a soulmate is?' Their looks screamed. Finally, Bruce answered, "A soulmate would be someone who is destined to be by your side. It could be a platonic bond or a romantic bond." Damian nodded as a sign that he understood then continued, "And how do you discover your soulmate's name?" The whole family gave him the basic rundown even though they were still reeling in from the shock that Damian didn't know about soulmates. 

After breakfast, they all gathered in the living room. There was a pile of gifts all wrapped up and addressed to Damian. After opening them one by one and making notes on who he needs to thank later, someone shoved a pen and paper into his hands. "So? What are you waiting for? Write your name!" Steph said enthusiastically. (Alfred was recording, shh, it's a secret) Damian did just so and on the paper was soon written in neat handwriting the words Marinette Dupain-Cheng. 'Ms. Dupain-Cheng, you must be an angel if the universe decided to pair you with me.'

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A couple of days later, across the ocean, a Marinette Dupain-Cheng had just also turned 16. As soon as she woke up, she rushed down to find her parents who wished her a happy birthday as soon as they saw her. "Maman, Papa, do you have paper? I want to know who my soulmate is," the girl asked her parents. Marinette's been waiting for this day her entire life! Well, except that year she had her first crush. That year she was worried. 'What if her crush isn't her soulmate?' But it fizzled out after a year, aside from that year she had been ecstatic. 

Instead of plain white paper like she was expecting, her parents gave her a pink card decorated with ladybugs, since she had been obsessing over them for a good while, along with a glitter pen and a frame. "It's the first time you're writing their name sweetheart, it needs to be special," her mother Sabine said. Marinette hugged her parents and took the items out of their grips. She set them on the table and began writing in faux calligraphy. Damian Wayne was written on the card. 'Well, Damian, I'm excited to meet you."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Two years later, Marinette had applied for an exchange student program wanting to travel the world now that Hawkmoth isn't tying her to Paris. She ended up in Gotham, New Jersey and she had never been more grateful that she had taken up self defence when Hawkmoth showed up. Thanks to Jagged, she had a very comfortable place to live. And as for where, she would be living with her 'uncle'. Jagged, as a native Gothamite, had a mansion on the safe side of the city and it was by no means small. When Jagged mentioned his old friend Bruce Wayne, Marinette was intrigued. "Is he related to someone named Damian Wayne by any chance?" she asked. 

"Damian Wayne? Of course, Damian is ol' Brucie's son!" Jagged answered her. She then proceeded to tell her self proclaimed uncle that her soulmate's name is in fact, Damian Wayne. The next thing you know Marinette is being dragged out to Jagged's car, well it was more of a limousine rather than a car, and he asked the driver to drive them to the Wayne Mansion as he dialed Bruce.

"Hello?" the voice from the other line came in. "Rock 'n Roll Brucie! I'm heading off to your place! And I've got my niece with me," Jagged said. "I'm not your niece Jagged!" Marinette said. As soon as she said that, a faint "It's contagious!" could be heard from the other side followed by a "Boys!" "Sure Jagged, I'll tell Alfred," Bruce said to his friend. "Thanks Bruce! See ya in a bit!" 

Not even thirty minutes later, they pull up at the big mansion. An old gentleman introduced himself as Alfred before letting them enter. "Brucie!" Jagged raced to him and gave him a hug, "Ya look older than the last time I saw you. Anyway, this is my niece!" "I'm still not your niece, Jagged," the girl mumbled as she rolled her eyes, "Pleasure to meet you." The eldest Wayne child smiled brightly and introduced himself, "Hi! I'm Dick! This is Jason, Steph, Barbara, Tim, Cass, Duke, and that is-" "Damian, Damian Wayne," the youngest cut off. Marinette smiled and stuck her hand out to initiate a handshake. 

"Why hello, Damian. My name is Marinette, Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

1087 words

I'm surprised that I wrote 1087 words tbh, my stories usually end with around 500 words. Oh, and I made this into an audiofic (it's my very first so don't expect it to be good). If the hyperlink doesn't work try this; 

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1ZI2S7_mU5o--CviVAi0-Ky3TUWcX1laJ/view?usp=sharing

XOXO ~𝓔𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓮𝓷

Permanent Taglist

@animegirlweeb @insane-fangirl-of-everything @nickristus-dreamer @miraculouslydumb

[izzyfandoms]

Sleepality - Inky Freckles

SHIPS: Sleepality, background Virmile and Thomgan, and mentioned Dukeceit (though neither of them show up)

WARNINGS: Remus sends one text message with an implied threat (not towards the recipient), very very background sympathetic deceit and remus (they aren't acc in any scenes), mild swearing

GENERAL TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @ajdraws0430 @phantomofthesanderssides @creativity-killed-thekitten @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @because-were-fam-ily @imtryingthisout @a-creepycookie @emo-disaster @littlestr @spooky-scary-virgil @fuyel @mimsidoodles @soupgremlin @aroaceagenderfluid @birdsbookshiddeninrealbirdsskin @quirkalurk @gingers-trashy-stuff @iinyxtello @justaqueercactus @melodiread

Masterpost

Patton chewed distractedly on the end of his pen, tapping his foot on his bedroom floor as his eyes remained on his clock, watching as the seconds and the minutes ticked by.

Five minutes. Ten seconds.

Five minutes and ten seconds until the moment he turned sixteen.

January 15th, 1:46 am on the dot: the exact date and time of Patton’s birth. Precisely sixteen years after that moment, his soul would open up, and the bond between him and his soulmate would be formed, like an invisible string from one soul to the other. Any ink spilled on Patton’s skin would show up on his soulmate’s, too, and vice versa. Of course, nothing would happen if Patton’s soulmate wasn’t also sixteen yet, but it was still a big moment in his young life.

(If he even had a soulmate, that was. Most people didn’t, but Patton wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t hopeful.)

Four minutes. Thirty-six seconds.

Patton got up from his desk, pacing around the room a few times before sitting down on his bed, leaning back against the pillows and pulling his knees to his chest. Despite the coolness of his room, and the goose-bumps on his arms, he was dressed in a worn blue t-shirt and pyjama shorts, revealing as much skin as possible, just in case. His father, Roman, had gifted him a new pack of pens – the ones made specially to be safe for skin – and he’d picked out the glittery light blue one, his favourite colour, ready to write.

Three minutes. Twelve seconds.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Patton mumbled.

Three minutes. Seven seconds.

He yawned loudly, stretching and almost dropping his pen. It was late – much later than he usually stayed up. Patton was a well-behaved kid; he went to bed when his father told him to, never stayed out past curfew. He was usually fast asleep by 11pm at latest, so this was rather unusual for him.

Tonight was one of a kind, after all.

Two minutes. Fifty-one seconds.

The tick of the clock was maddeningly slow, every second seeming to take hours. Patton couldn’t wait for when he didn’t have to keep watching.  

He reached over to his bedside table, taking his phone and switching it on.

There was one new message, from his uncle Remus, sent a few minutes ago.

UNCLE REMUS

tell your soulmate if he ever hurts you ill rip off his dick and shove it down his throat

Patton sighed, switching off his phone and placing it back down beside him. He wasn’t sure why his uncle was so certain that he had a soulmate – he claimed it was because he was psychic, though his husband, Janus, had chided him and told him not to get Patton’s hopes up.  

It was hard not to be hopeful. Impossible.

One minute. Forty-nine seconds.

Patton chewed nervously on his lip, looking over his freckled arms and wondering what exactly he’d write to his soulmate.

Would a simple ‘hello’ suffice?

There was no point in writing a whole paragraph, especially when it was statistically unlikely that Patton even had a soulmate – and even if he did, perhaps they were younger, and their connection wouldn’t start until his soulmate turned sixteen, too.

One minute. Zero seconds.

A minute. A minute. A minute. Just a minute until Patton (maybe) talked to his soulmate for the first time. That was so little time – though it felt like so much.

Patton couldn’t help but burst into delighted laughter, and he was sure that if anybody was watching him, they’d think he was insane. The hope bubbled up inside him, like a cup overflowing with water, unable to be suppressed.

Fifty seconds.

He moved forward, and then lay down on his back, spreading his arms out like a starfish.

Patton tried to keep the hope down, tried to keep it from spilling over even more. Or maybe that was nausea, swirling in his stomach, but it almost felt too good to be that. Too happy. Too excited. Both, maybe.

Forty seconds.

Patton twirled the pen in his hand.

It slipped from his fingers, hitting the carpet with a quiet thump.

He bent down – wobbling slightly and nearly tumbling right off his bed – picking it back up and then sitting up again. He moved so his back was pressed against the wall, and tilted his head up to look at the pattern at the ceiling, counting each swirl.

He glanced back at the clock.

Twenty seconds.

His heart thumped loudly in his chest, and his eyes remained on the clock, watching it tick.

Ten seconds.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Zero.

Zero. Zero. Zero.

Patton sat up straight, squeezing the pen tightly, so tightly that his nails dug into his palm.

He pulled off the cap, dropping it on the bed beside him and holding the tip just above his wrist. His hand shook (nervousness or excitement? Both) as he pondered what to write for another moment.

He pressed the pen to his skin.

Hello?

Hopefully that was good enough.

Patton waited a few seconds, almost a whole minute, and then sighed, leaning back so his head hit the wall and closing his eyes. He was disappointed, but he knew that it was his own fault. He shouldn’t have let himself get so hopeful. Maybe he didn’t have a soulmate – that was alright, his uncles weren’t soulmates and yet they were wonderfully happy together.

(But his brother, Emile, did have a soulmate, and there was something amazing about the way he and Virgil could practically read each other’s minds, communicating effortlessly without saying a word. Patton wanted that. He really, desperately wanted that, more than anything else in the world.)

He wouldn’t cry.  

He wanted to cry, but he wouldn’t.

His lower lip trembled.

All of a sudden, Patton felt a funny sensation on his wrist, like someone else was writing on it – the non-existent pen so light on his skin he almost couldn’t feel it. Almost.

Patton’s eyes shot open, and he immediately lifted his wrist to stare at it, wide-eyed.

His breath stuttered at the words now written in black ink just below his greeting.

holy shit

Before Patton could truly process what was going on, before he could regain his breath, the sensation resumed, and more words began to appear below those first ones.

hi

guess im ur soulmate lol

Patton couldn’t help but giggle, practically vibrating with excitement.

He picked his pen back up, ignoring the slight stain he’d left on his bedsheets. He’d spilt enough juice and milk on his bed to care about one little stain, especially right now, when he had a much more important thing to focus on.

Oh my gosh!!!!!!

Soulmate!!!

Im Patton!

Patton Picani!!!

thats a lot of exclamation marks babe

Nervousness tinged the edges of Patton’s bubble of excitement, enough that he almost didn’t notice the use of the word ‘babe’, which made his heart skip a beat.

sorry

not a bad thing

its cute

Patton bit his lip, wiggling excitedly as his heartrate increased. He watched as the words continued coming. They were messy, but Patton was sure the handwriting was the prettiest he’d ever seen, though he could admit that he might’ve been a little biased. He would read a million books written in this handwriting.

im Remy

Sanders

my bdays acc the 16th lol

tomorrow

i turn 17

Its my birthday today!!!!

Only after Patton wrote that did he realise how obvious it was – of course it was his birthday – but he didn’t particularly care. The ticking of the clock had faded into background noise, and it was hard to believe it had ever annoyed him so much, though it was impossible for him to think of anything negative right now. He was floating on cloud nine.

happy birthday

were running out of arm space

id have to strip to get leg room

wanna gimme ur number?

Okay!!!

They quickly exchanged phone numbers, and Patton immediately grabbed his phone, creating a new contact labelled ‘Remy’ followed by seven colourful hearts – a rainbow of love. But before he could text Remy, Remy texted him first.

REMY:

what time is it for u

Patton glanced at the clock.

PATTON:

Almost 2am

REMY:

same

Realisation struck Patton, and his eyes widened with guilt and concern. He bit his lip, and quickly resumed typing.

PATTON:

Oh my gosh im so sorry!!!! Did I wake you up?

REMY:

nah babe dw bout it

i was already up

i always sleep late

PATTON:

That sounds unhealthy :(

Get some rest!!!

REMY:

ha

u sound like my dads lol

PATTON:

What are they like?

REMY:

my dads?

its just the three of us

their names are logan and thomas and theyre the sappiest motherfuckers on earth

gotta love em tho

theyre gonna be real thrilled when they find out bout u

bet theyll love you right away

wbu  

whats ur fam like

PATTON:

Oh! Well ive got my dad

His name’s Roman

He works in theatre!!! Hes so cool

And I’ve got my older brother Emile hes 22 and hes a therapist

He uses cartoons to help people!!

Hes also got a soulmate his name is Virgil and hes a florist

They got married last year and the wedding was so much fun!!! So many pretty flowers!!!

And I’ve got my uncle Remus hes my dads twin hes a writer and his husband Janus is a lawyer theyre also both so cool!!!

And that’s everyone!!

REMY:

if theyre all as sweet as u sugar then im sure ur all v popular

PATTON:

Well we do have dinner with our neighbours a lot!!!

Mrs Smith gives me lots of candy

Its often stale but I eat it anyway cos shes just so sweet!

Sweeter than her candy lol

Patton’s door suddenly swung open, and he jumped, his phone slipping from his fingers and landing right in his lap. His father, Roman, stepped inside, yawning and rubbing his eyes, wincing at the bright light that hung from the ceiling.

“You still up, Pat?” He asked sleepily.

He squinted, his eyes landing on the still-on phone in Patton’s lap.

“Who are you te- by the glittering horn of a unicorn! Is that writing on your arm?” He sat down, taking Patton’s arm and looking over the words. He then glanced back up at his son, his eyes shining excitedly. “You have a soulmate,” He breathed.

“I do!” Patton exclaimed, bouncing excitedly in place. “His name is Remy and he turns seventeen tomorrow and he’s just so cool!”

Roman beamed. “Wow, I’m so incredibly happy for you, Pat!” He said. Then, he chuckled, his smile turning a little teasing. “But... it’s late, and you really should be sleeping. And I’m betting that Remy should be, too.”

Patton pouted a little. “But it’s a Friday! I don’t have any school tomorrow.”

“But the family’s coming over tomorrow at 10 for your birthday, and I know you. You’re gonna be all grumbly in the morning, instead of our happy-pappy Patton, and that’ll be even worse the less sleep you get.”

Patton drooped, like a little wilting flower, but couldn’t deny that his father was right.

“Okay...” He frowned, picking up his phone, switching off the screen without looking at it, and holding it against his chest. “Can I at least say night to Remy, first?”

Roman smiled. “Sure.”

He leant forward, squeezing Patton’s arm supportively, before pressing a quick kiss to his son’s forehead. Roman gave him one last smile, affectionately ruffling his hair, before pulling back and standing up. He brushed the non-existent dirt from his pyjamas.

“Goodnight, Pat,” He said. “And happy birthday.”

In the excitement that was talking to Remy, Patton had almost forgotten that it was his birthday, and he blinked in surprise as Roman left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Patton then took a deep breath, before switching his phone back on to see whatever messages he’d missed.

REMY:

u rlly r an angel huh

PATTON:

Awwwww!!

Your making me blush

REMY:

thats the goal babe

PATTON:

Such a flirt!!

REMY:

im gonna be ten times more flirty when i get to see ur pretty face in person

PATTON:

How do you know Im pretty?

You havent even seen me yet

REMY:

i can just tell

im awesome like that

i bet ur the cutest person in the whole damn world

the whole damn universe

but while were on the subject of seeing each other

were waiting to meet naturally right?

PATTON:

Yeah!

Its good luck  

REMY:

yea

PATTON:

Welp!!!

Dad says I gotta go to sleep now!!

Night <3<3<3

REMY:

night xoxox

Patton switched off his phone, placing it on his bedside table and getting off the bed. He wobbled slightly as he stood up, suddenly realising how tired he really was, and quickly walked up to his fairy lights, switching them on before switching off the main light. He then climbed back into bed, settling in the soft nest of pastel pillows and blankets, and his last thought before he fell asleep was of his soulmate.

He barely knew Remy, but he already couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with him.

***

The sound of the alarm from Remy’s phone rang through the room, waking him up suddenly. His immediate reaction was to groan, shutting it off quickly and then returning to the warm comfort of his mattress and pillows and blanket. It was the weekend, he had no plans, so if his dads wanted him up, they could come in and get him up themselves. Remy wanted to sleep.

Then, the memories of the night before flooded back to him, and he shot up in bed, pulling out his arm and staring at it wide-eyed.

The words Patton had written last night had now been washed away – likely to leave room for new words and new conversations – whilst Remy’s words still remained, though now a little smudged and faded. The only sign that Patton’s words had ever been there in the first place was the new word on his wrist, just below his palm, in baby blue, like the ones before.

Morning <3

Remy grinned, jumping out of bed much more enthusiastically than he usually did, grabbing the black pen on his bedside table and rushing to the bathroom, thankfully not bumping into either of his dads on the way there.

He washed his arms as quickly as he could, leaving them a little sore and red, though he didn’t care, and uncapped his pen with his teeth, leaving the lid in his mouth.

mornin

!!!!!

Do you always get up this late?

Remy laughed. The handwriting was a little larger and a little neater than his, and each i was dotted with a heart, which made him even more convinced that his soulmate was probably the cutest person on earth.

what time is it

10:30

later usually

what time did u get up

8:30

oof

i could never

What do you do for school then?

suffer

Remy took the pen lid out of his mouth, pocketing it and twirling the uncapped pen between his fingers, watching as more light blue words appeared on his arm. The sensation was feather-light, barely there, but impossible to ignore.

Aww no!!

I don’t want you to suffer :(

dw babe ive got coffee

life saver

id die without it

100%

Well make sure you don’t drink too much!!!!

Its bad for you!!

dw my dad always tells me that

he keeps an eye on it

Which one?

logan

Okay

There was a brief pause, and Remy almost continued writing, but he got the feeling that Patton wasn’t done, so he just waited patiently, tapping his foot against the tiled bathroom floor.

Do you mind if I doodle on my arms?

I usually do when Im bored but I thought Id ask

I wont if you don’t want me to tho

go ahead

what do u doodle?

I usually just connect my freckles

Like little constellations!!!!

It was impossible to keep the grin on Remy’s face from widening – Patton's enthusiasm was adorable and infectious – and he sat down on the edge of the bathtub, crossing one leg over the other as he pressed his pen to his skin and continued writing.

u got a lot of freckles?

Yup!

Theyre everywhere

everywhere?

Yeah!

hm

one day  

im gonna kiss every single one of your freckles

(Perhaps that was a little bold for only their second conversation, but Remy was a natural flirt, and Patton was his soulmate, after all. He’d back down at any sign of discomfort, but so far Patton had seemed receptive.)

every single one

Thats a lot of kisses

not enough

but itll be a good start

A little, swirly scribble appeared just beside the words Remy had written – the universal key-smash equivalent for soulmates writing on their skin. Just the thought that he was already able to fluster Patton so easily made Remy very, very happy. He grinned.

Gtg! Presents time!

Ill talk to you later <3<3<3

later xoxo

Remy fished the pen lid back out of his pocket, capping the pen and pocketing it. He then strolled back out of the bathroom, down the stairs, and towards the kitchen.

His fathers were both sat at the kitchen table, eating breakfast and talking. Their legs were pressed together under the table, and it was clear they’d just been flirting. Both Logan and Thomas looked up when Remy entered the room, surprised.

“What kind of natural disaster got you up before midday?” Thomas joked.

Remy waved his arm, showing off the writing, and Logan choked on his coffee. Thomas patted his back a few times worriedly, and Remy waited impatiently for the conversation to resume, tapping his foot against the floor.

“Is that what I think it is?” Logan asked incredulously, once he was breathing again.

Remy nodded. “Yup. Can I make coffee?”

Thomas nodded slowly, but it was clear he was much more focused on the previous topic at hand.

“You have a soulmate?” He asked. “Oh my gosh! What’s their name? Aren’t you gonna tell us about them?”

“Well, his name’s Patton,” Remy began, heading towards the coffee machine and immediately getting to work to make himself a large mug. “It’s his birthday today – it was actually, like, 2am, or something – and he’s real cute. I think you’ll both like him.”

Thomas exchanged a look with his husband – the former much more openly thrilled, whilst the latter looked more confused, though undeniably pleased. He then stood up, opening his arms immediately.

“I think this calls for a family hug,” Thomas grinned.

Logan sighed, but put his own coffee mug back down, getting up obediently.

Remy groaned. “Really? Before my coffee? Do I have to?”

“Yup! Right now,” Thomas said, wrapping one arm around Logan’s waist and resting his chin on his head, keeping his other arm outstretched, awaiting their son. “This is a big moment! It calls for a family hug. C’mere.”

“There is no point refusing, Remy,” Logan said dryly. “I learnt that a long time ago.”

“Aww, you love me.”

“Of course. That is why we got married, after all.”

Remy groaned again. “Are you two really flirting, right now? Gross.”

“Well, if you want us to stop flirting, you’re gonna have to join the hug.”

Remy sighed exaggeratedly, dragging his feet as he walked up to his dads, reluctantly joining the family hug. Then, he pulled back as quickly as he could get away with, making a face and turning back to the coffee machine. He quickly made himself a large mug – with excessive amounts of milk and sugar, something his father would usually criticise, though he seemed to turn a blind eye for today.

Remy then sat down at the table, beside Thomas, sipping eagerly at his coffee and leaning back in his chair.

His fathers didn’t take their eyes off of his arm, clearly reading the words, and after about a minute, Remy rolled his eyes, placing the coffee on his table and crossing his arms.

“What are you looking at?”

“Attitude, Remy,” Thomas sighed. “Be nice. And we’re looking at your arm because we’re excited! You have a soulmate, that’s a really big deal! We should celebrate.”

Remy perked up. “Celebrate?”

Logan nodded in agreement. “Perhaps tonight we could have dinner at the Italian place that you like.”

“Ooh, the one with that fancy pasta?”

“Weren’t we planning on going there tomorrow?” Thomas asked his husband.

Remy blinked, surprised. “We were?”

Thomas blinked, and then gave his husband a slightly sheepish smile. “I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that.”

Logan sighed. “Well, I think we can put that off for tomorrow, then. Today... you may invite a few friends over.” Remy opened his mouth, but Logan quickly continued, interrupting him before he could speak. “Three friends, maximum. No parties.”

Remy pouted. “Only three? Lame.”

“If you complain, we’ll bring it down to two.”

“Three sounds great!”

***

Patton picked up his phone, holding it to his ear as he paced casually around his room.

“Emile!” He greeted. “How are you?”

“Happy birthday, Pat!” Emile greeted cheerfully, and Patton could practically hear the usual smile on his face. “And I’m doing great. Virgil invited his brother to dinner yesterday, so that was fun, and I had a real breakthrough with one of my clients, too. You?”

“I’m good! Hey, do you think this counts as Remy and my anniversary? I mean, I know we haven’t actually really met, yet, but it’s been a year since we first spoke, and we are soulmates. Does that count? Would it be weird to count it?”

Emile hummed. “I think that if you want it to count, it counts.”

“That’s a bit vague,” Patton sighed.

Emile laughed. “That’s just how it works, I’m afraid. How is Remy anyway? It’s his birthday tomorrow, right?”

Patton perked up at the opportunity to talk about his soulmate. “Remy’s great! He got a new job at the Starbucks near his house; he’s pretty excited about it. And yup, it’s his birthday tomorrow! He turns eighteen. It’s a funny coincidence, isn’t it? That our birthdays are so close?”

“It’s actually a lot more common for soulmates to have these similarities than you’d think,” Emile said. “Close birthdays, close locations, things like that. I mean, Virgil and I were both born in the same hospital.”

“Really? Oh, that’s cool!” Patton smiled.

He sat down on his bed, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged, and moving so his back was against the wall, half-sitting on one of his pillows.

“Yup! I’ve researched a lot about these things,” Emile said. “And- oh, Virgil, there you are!”

Patton heard rustling on the other end of the line, like Emile was temporarily putting his phone down, probably to greet and kiss his husband. He waited patiently, humming a song from the Steven Universe movie and drumming his fingers against his leg. His eyes scanned the various words written across his arms. Shiny black and glittery light blue. There were doodles, too – lines connecting the dots of his freckles, done by himself, and little stars and moons and hearts by Remy.

Then the rustling resumed, more movement, and Patton stopped humming.

“Morning, Pat,” Virgil greeted.

Patton smiled. “Virgil! How’s work going?”

“Not bad. I helped a guy arrange a hate-bouquet for his ex-boyfriend yesterday, so that was fun.”

“Sounds interesting!”

Virgil hummed in agreement, and it sounded like he was nodding. “I’m gonna hand the phone back to Emile, now. Happy birthday, kid.”

“Thanks!”

There was another moment of rustling, and then Emile returned.

“Okay, Virgil and I have to get to work,” Emile said. “We’re stopping by later for dinner, dad already knows. And, before you ask, no I will not tell you what your gift is, you’re gonna have to wait and see.”

Patton pouted. “Aww, okay. Bye!”

“Bye!”

Patton hung up the phone, before switching over to the texting app, and opening up his conversation with Remy.

PATTON

Hey im running out of space

So im gonna clean my arm

Can you too?

Remy responded almost immediately, as he usually did.

REMY

sure

one sec

Patton smiled, getting up and pocketing his phone. He headed over to the bathroom, quickly scrubbing away the words on his arms (he could leave the ones still remaining on his legs and torso, for now), and watching as Remy’s words disappeared at about the same time.

He then returned to his bedroom, sitting back down on his bed and fetching and uncapping his favourite pen.

The moment the tip of his pen touched his skin, a small black dot appeared just below it, like Remy was doing the exact same on his side – unintentionally trying to write in unison. All of a sudden, a wave of peace and happiness washed over Patton, but the emotions didn’t come from within himself. No, they came from an outside source, from somewhere else. Not from him.

From Remy.

At first, Patton was confused, disoriented, and then his heart skipped a beat, and he lifted his pen from his wrist.

The feeling stopped.

He then returned the pen to his wrist, creating another dot of light blue ink. For a moment, nothing happened, the feeling didn’t return, but then a small black speck appeared just beside his.

This time, the happiness was joined by an almost cautious excitement, tinged with something else.

What was it?

Love?

Love.

It felt like Patton was loving himself, except the love came from elsewhere, it came from Remy. Like a warm, comfortable blanket of love, wrapping around him and keeping him safe.

Patton beamed, wide and toothy and delighted, leaning back against the pillows and practically wiggling with excitement, careful to keep his pen tip on his wrist. A similar, thrilled feeling came back at him, and Patton quickly realised that whatever feelings he was getting from Remy, Remy was probably getting some very similar feelings in return from him.

damn babe

either something v weird is happening to me or thats ur feelings im feeling

I can feel it too!!!

Oh my gosh!

good i was worried i might be drunk

Have you been drinking?

nah thats why i was worried lmao

would be v weird to be drunk with no booze

Well that sure would be unusual!

The feelings from Remy weren’t constant, they only surfaced when both Patton and Remy were writing at once – flashes of emotions that were practically addicting. He wanted to keep feeling those feelings forever.

this is v weird

on and off

think itll get more constant the more we talk?

like we wont need to be both writing at the same time to feel it or smth?

Yeah!

I think so

Thats what happened with Em and Virge at least

cool

cant wait

There was a brief pause, and then Remy’s writing resumed.

can we doodle?

might make the empathy connection thingy better

Sure!

Patton giggled, unable to help himself, before pressing the tip of his pen to one of his freckles and drawing a thin line from it to another. Then another and another and another. Over and around the written words. He wasn’t making any specific shape or pattern in particular, just connecting the numerous dots. As he did this, Patton felt new shapes and doodles appearing on his legs, though he couldn’t see them through his trousers. Hearts and stars and moons and pawprints, most likely. The last one was new – Patton’s favourite.

He could feel Remy’s peace and contentment and love (love, love), like it was flowing through the air and seeping through his skin, filling him with happiness. Sometimes, it even increased for a brief moment, usually just after Patton’s happiness bubbled over into delighted giggles. It was a cycle – happiness creating happiness creating happiness.

Patton loved Remy. Remy loved Patton.

Love. Love. Love.

***

“Hey, Remy!”

Remy glanced up from his phone, straightening up as noticed and watched his best friend, Toby, approaching him. His foot tapped impatiently against the pavement, and his sunglasses were on to shield his eyes from bright midday sun.

“Gurl, what was taking you so long?” Remy complained, stuffing his phone into his pocket and crossing his arms, practically pouting. “I’ve been waiting here for, like, hours.”

Toby gave him a dry look. “I’m ten minutes late.”

“And that’s, like, ten hours in gay-and-in-a-hurry time.”

“In a hurry? What the hell are we even doing? Your text was very vague.”

“Well, it’s my dad’s birthday in a-”

“Which one?”

“Thomas. Bitch, stop interrupting me.”

Toby laughed, and Remy glared at him. He held his hands up defensively in mock surrender, and then gestured for Remy to continue.

“Anyway, it’s my dad’s birthday on Sunday and I’m supposed to get him a gift. I dunno what, though, so you’re gonna help me.”

“I’m pretty sure you know him better than I do.”

Remy shushed him. “Gurl, I am not letting you get out of helping me. So, we’re going to-”

He suddenly froze, going silent. Remy’s brow then creased, too, and after a moment of stillness he began to rapidly pat his arms and legs, like he was looking for something, though he didn’t seem to find it. Toby gave him a bewildered look.

“Dude, what are you doing?”

“I can feel Patton’s emotions,” Remy said.

He could, but only barely – just little hints of Patton, pricking the edges of his soul – much less than he was used to, but still impossible to ignore. He was used to these feelings by now, always recognising them immediately, though this time it was... different.

“Okay... so, he’s writing to you? Isn’t that normal?”

Remy looked back at him, looking just as confused as Toby. “No, he isn’t. He isn’t writing to me. No ink.”

“He... isn’t?”

“I can always feel it,” Remy explained. “Always. But not right now. Why... why-” He froze, his eyes widening behind his dark sunglasses.  

“What?”

“He must be close. He must- oh my god, he must be close!” Remy looked around quickly, at all of the surrounding pedestrians. None of them looked right – none of them were Patton – but he could practically sense him. He was so close.

Toby blinked. “Really?” He asked incredulously.

“Yes. Yes, really. I know what I’m talking about!” Remy exclaimed, perhaps a little harsher than intended. “The empath shit only happens when you write or when you’re close. Gurl, that’s, like, common knowledge.”

Toby held his hands up. “Right, uh... sorry.” He cleared his throat. “So, how are we gonna find him?”

Remy’s brow scrunched up in thought. “I don’t know.”

His best friend shrugged, even more lost than he was.

“Maybe... maybe...” Remy continued, trailing off, before he suddenly straightened up. “It’ll get stronger the closer I get to him, so I just have to follow where it’s stronger, right? Like... like getting warmer and colder.”

Toby nodded slowly. “That makes sense. So, uh, walk around, and we’ll go in the direction that makes it stronger.”

Remy immediately began to pace in circles around Toby, pulling a slightly panicked face when at one point the feeling completely disappeared. Then, it got stronger, a wave of anticipation and curiosity, nervousness and excitement.

It suddenly hit Remy that if he could feel Patton, then Patton could feel him, too.

Patton was probably looking for him.

The corners of Remy’s lips twitched up into a smile. He was practically oozing excitement, and it was contagious, as Patton’s also seemed to increase – even Toby began smiling, too.

Toby patted him on the shoulder.

“Go on, follow your gut. I’ll be right behind you.”

Remy immediately turned on his heel, sprinting in the direction the emotions seemed to be coming from, and Toby almost tripped over his own feet following him. The empathy got stronger and stronger and stronger with every step, until it was even stronger than it usually was, and as his excitement further increased, so did Patton’s.

He rounded a corner, and immediately ran right into someone running at a similar speed, and they both tumbled to the ground with two loud thumps.

“Ah, fuck,” Remy groaned, closing his eyes and massaging the bridge of his nose as a jolt of pain shot down his leg.

“Oof,” The other boy winced.

His voice was like a bell, ringing through the air: suddenly the only sound that Remy could hear.

That was when Remy realised that Patton’s emotions were now equal to his own – mixing together in Remy’s soul until they were one and the same. It was almost like they were thinking and feeling as one, which was rather disorienting, to say the least.  

Patton... Patton was right in front of him.

Remy opened his eyes, immediately coming face-to-face with the most gorgeous person he had even seen – a wide-eyed and freckled boy, about a year younger than Remy, staring back at him with parted lips and an equally startled expression. He was wearing a blue and grey t-shirt, showing off his arms and the words Remy had written to him today, and all the constellations he’d doodled on his own skin. Now, Remy could see the stars that he’d been missing, and, in his opinion, they were even better than the ones in the night sky.

Patton.

Patton, Patton, Patton.

“Patton,” Remy breathed.

“Remy.”

Remy laughed, uncontrolled and loud and delighted, sitting up straight and taking Patton’s hand in his own, squeezing it. It was warm and soft, Remy never wanted to let go, and when Patton squeezed back, he felt... complete. Perfect. Heaven.

Patton smiled – like a shining sun, one that thankfully didn’t hurt to look at, as Remy couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

“Wow,” Remy laughed. “You’re... wow.”

“Wow,” Patton echoed.

People were probably staring at them – Toby included – but Remy couldn’t take his eyes off of Patton to check. Patton seemed to be doing similarly, his eyes slowly taking in every part of Remy’s body, before returning to his face, staring into his eyes.

Patton’s eyes were brown, like honey in the sunlight. Beautiful.

“It’s... it’s nice to finally meet you,” Patton said softly.

“Likewise.”

There was a beat.

“You are gorgeous,” Remy continued, the words coming out before he could stop himself. He almost regretted blurting it out, but then Patton’s face turned a particularly pretty shade of pink, and Remy immediately grinned.

Patton squeezed his hand. “You, too.”

“Oh, I know I’m hot, babe,” Remy said, making Patton giggle. “But you, you’re... you’re an angel. Like, damn, how the hell did I get so lucky? I must’ve done something really freaking amazing in a past life to have deserved you.”

“You’re even more of a flirt in person,” Patton smiled, a little teasingly.

Remy laughed. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I warned you.”

“You did,” Patton said, smiling fondly.

“Is it too soon to ask if I can kiss you?” Remy asked suddenly. His tone of voice was casual, like he was joking, but they both knew – Patton could probably sense – that he was serious.

Patton didn’t hesitate, answering quickly. “No. I mean, yes. I mean... no, it’s not too soon. Please?”

Remy didn’t waste any time, reaching forward, carefully cradling Patton’s face in his hand and kissing him gently. His lips were soft and warm and Remy never wanted to stop kissing him. Patton covered Remy’s hand with his own free one, kissing back a little clumsily, though it was without a doubt enthusiastic.

Then, he got a little too enthusiastic, and Remy tumbled backwards, pulling Patton along with him.

They broke apart, and after a moment of startled – slightly awkward – silence, they both started laughing loudly, and Patton climbed off of him. He finally stood up, holding out his hand and helping Remy up, too.

The pedestrians that had been watching them had mostly all moved on by now, leaving only Toby hovering awkwardly nearby. He had his phone out, trying to distract himself, give them some privacy, though he was undeniably still keeping an eye out. It wasn’t every day you saw a soulmate pair’s first meeting.  

Remy took Patton’s hands in his own, looking him over again and again and again.

An idea came to him – not a new one, one he’d thought about and talked about and dreamed and daydreamed about a million times – and he grinned in a way that he could feel made Patton’s heart skip a beat.

“Remember how I said I wanted to kiss every freckle?"

[officialthiamlibrary]

Soulmates/mates thiam?

Hello friend! Here are some of our favorite soulmate fics! 

Isn’t Something Missing by xTarmanderx (Mature | Complete | 86K) Tags: Human Theo, light smut, angst with a happy ending Summary: Liam knew something was missing from his life. Why did everyone else have the name of their soulmate and his was missing? A Peek Inside: “You. I just don’t know how I got so lucky,” he said honestly. Theo’s eyes softened and for a moment, Liam thought this might be it. Theo was going to lean in and kiss him, he could feel it in his bones. His eyes started to flutter shut as he leaned closer. Their lips were almost touching when headlights hit their faces, startling them apart.

I’ll Hate the Goodbye, by Skaboom (Teen | Complete | 5.9K) Tags: Human AU, Soulmate AU, TiMER Fusion AU Summary: In a world where you can get a device implanted on your wrist that will count down to the exact second you will meet your soulmate, a lot of the guessing is taken out of the love game. For Liam Dunbar, a devout believer in the Timers, however, it’s more complicated. He got his Timer when he was 14 years old, but 10 years later, it’s still blank, and he’s starting to feel desperate. When he meets a ruggedly handsome bartender who thinks the Timer’s are nothing more than a self-fulfilling prophecy, and refuses to ever get one, Liam finds his world, and his search for his soulmate, turned upside down. A Peek Inside: “I think you should get that damned thing removed. I’ve seen you in here, drinking yourself into a stupor over some other person not being your soulmate four times this year alone,” he said. “And every time you do it, you’re missing so much of your life. Think of the fun you could be having if you didn’t spend so much time worrying about who your soulmate is.”

Gone, by Thinking of Theo (mjsakurea) (Teen | Complete | 1.3K) Tags: Soulmate AU, Angst Summary: Soulmate AU where the last words you will ever hear your soulmate say are written on your wrist. No way to know who your soulmate is until they are gone. Liam has three words. Theo has one. A Peek Inside: It was only when Liam was a teenager that he learned the true darkness behind the words on his wrist. As a child, his parents and other adults had shielded him from the fact that those words were the last words a person’s soulmate would say to them. It was cruel, in Liam’s opinion.

you know you like it [but it drives you insane] by lameassthiam (Not Rated | Complete | 6.7K) Tags: Soulmate AU Summary: a soulmate AU consisting of Liam being super dense and Theo being a Fall Out Boy obsessed little shit A Peek Inside: In his god awful handwriting, Liam scrawled STOP LISTENING TO FALL OUT BOY BEFORE MY BRAIN EXPLODES BEFORE WE EVEN MEET across the expanse of his wrist. Liam was thankful that his soulmate didn’t have the same ability as he did, for he knew his soulmate’s response probably wouldn’t be too kind. His gratitude toward the universe dropped off a cliff when there was an abrupt change in the music and all he could hear was the alarmingly loud sounds of Ce Lo Green’s F**k You in his mind.

You Are Made of Something Holy by SophieTrancy  (Explicit | Complete | 67K)

Tags: AU Soulmates, Deafness, Fluff and angst Summary: Liam couldn't remember a time before the voice. His voice. His mate's voice. His parents had always told him stories of Soulmates, two people who had been promised to each other the very moment they were brought into this world. Soulmates can hear each other. But only when they curse. But Theo? Theo was not what Liam had expected. A Peek Inside: But there his mate was. Right in front of Theo, telling him all the words he had ever wanted to hear, the words that would’ve made the whole world go silent around him. There were the hands that would hold him, the lips that would kiss his, the body that would make love to his, the voice that would laugh at his jokes, the smile he’d fall to his knees for, the arms that would hold him at night. There was the heart that would love his.

Almost, by Captainmintyfresh (Not Rated | Complete | 1,9K) Tags: Soulmates, mention of Scallison Summary: Every day you get one sentence your soulmate said that day on your wrist A Peek Inside: Ten years, too many sentences for him to remember but enough that it left his stomach twisting uncomfortably whenever he thought about it. Some days there were words that make Liam's eyes widened and force a wristband over the fresh words so people won't see the words scrawled there.

----& its companion piece

I don’t care, by Captainmintyfresh (Not Rated | Complete | 1,7K) Tags: Soulmate AU Summary: The companion piece to 'Almost' A Peek Inside: For Theo it was a life line, it was the knowledge that if he was lucky there was someone out there for him. There was someone that he would always come first too. To someone he'd be the prize not a participation medal

My world comes alive with you | Thiam Week 2017 Day 5 by Former_Princess (Teen | Complete | 4.6K) Tags: Soulmates Summary: Nobody said you need to fall in love with your soulmate Thiam Week Day 5: Soulmate AU A Peek Inside: Liam looked down at his phone again and just started a game when he heard the clatter of a skateboard hitting the ground and a pained groan. Turning his head and looking up, Liam saw Theo on the ground and his skateboard a bit further away. The older clutched his left arm and glared at his board. Liam just to walk over and check if he had broken anything. Doctor’s son and such, you know?

Spoiler Alert by 2ILoveFanFiction3 (Not Rated | Complete | 1.6K) Tags: Soulmates Summary: Nobody hated their soulmates first words. Nobody but Liam Dunbar. He was going to find his soulmate and give him a piece of his mind. But what if his soulmate was so freaking attractive that he lost his own mind? A Peek Inside: He has sported a permanent scowl for weeks and his temper always seemed to be simmering, waiting to break free. It only got worse as he proceeded to read the next book and then the next.

Technicolour Beat by AngelOnFire (Katherine3) (Teen | WIP |10K) Tags: Soulmates Summary: Liam is a good, well-behaved Christian boy. Theo is a drug dealer living in his car. And it just so happens that they're soulmates. Every person has the initials of their soulmate written on their wrist in their soulmate's handwriting. The mark is black, but becomes colourful the moment you touch your soulmate. The colour of the mark changes depending on your soulmate's mood. A Peek Inside: He tapped at his wrist as he repeated all the colors in his head: Red was for anger, blue was for sadness, orange meant happiness, purple meant scared, pink was worried. Even bored had a color, it was grey. But for now his mark was just black.

Red by ExtraSteps, AJP_37 (Mature | WIP | 141K) Tags: Character death, graphic depictions of violence, slow burn Summary: Theo returns from hell but has lost all of his powers, including his chimera status, making him completely human. He also has a red string of fate wrapped around his left wrist, connecting him to Liam, the one who brought him back. When Malia attacks him, she nearly kills him, and Liam and Lydia step in, all but forcing Scott to bite him and make him a werewolf. Making Theo pack, and the growing connection between him and Liam, changes the whole outcome of season 6. A Peek Inside: Hell was hungry, and with each passing moment, Theo felt parts of himself slipping away. Josh’s electricity no longer hummed and sizzled along his skin, absorbed into the earth and drawn away. The poison he had stolen from Tracy had soaked into the ground aeons ago. Even the strength and hyper-awareness of his chimera was dulling more and more, until all that was left him was desperation and the heart thudding slowly in his chest. And Tara was determined not to let him keep it.

[king-finnigan]

For the drabble game and Geraskier! Soulmates AU and 15 - “If you think I don’t feel anything for you, then you’re more stupid than I thought.”

The second Jaskier turned 16, he had sat down at his desk in his room, pen in hand, his skin barely illuminated by the candle light. He had been all giddy and excited, as he had put the tip of the pen against his left arm. ‘Hello! I’m Julian.’ he had written on his skin. And after that, he had waited for his soulmate to write back. He waited minutes, hours, days, until the ink had faded and eventually disappeared. He had tried to contact his soulmate a few times after that, but all attempts remained fruitless.

Until one day, when he was 18. He had recently set out on the road to become a world-renowned bard, and he had just finished writing another ‘Hello, how are you?’ on his arm, something that had become a strange sort of habit, something he would do on the third day of every month. His soulmate had never said anything back, and Jaskier - which was his name, now - had started to suspect he might not even have a soulmate at all.

That was, until letters appeared on his skin, under the sentence he had written mere minutes ago. It was a strange feeling - it tickled a bit - but it was overshadowed by his own giddy excitement at the fact that he did have a soulmate, and his soulmate was writing back. 

‘Hi Julian.’ it merely said, but Jaskier figured it was better than nothing. He also had the sneaking suspicion that his soulmate was a man, the handwriting scratchy and uneven. Of course, a girl can have shitty handwriting as well, but it’s less likely, he supposed.

‘What’s your name?’ 

His arm remained empty for a few minutes, until: ‘Prefer not to say.’

He smiled at that. So his soulmate was shy. That happens. Good thing he could hold a conversation on his own fairly well. 

‘Alright. Can I call you darling, then?’

‘Fine.’

After that, he had managed to get his darling to open up more and more each and every day. He learned that his darling had a horse named Roach, he learned that his darling travelled around the Continent, he learned that his darling didn’t usually speak to a lot of people, because they were scared of him. So, he figured his darling might have a visible scar of some sorts, or might be tall and muscular, which would make him intimidating. Or something like that. He also learned that his darling had no objections against Jaskier drawing flowers on his skin when he had nothing to talk about anymore. In fact, his darling sometimes joined in, and drew some flowers of his own as well. Either way, Jaskier got to know a great deal about his soulmate, and he started to yearn for the familiar tickle on his skin, started to feel fluttering in his stomach whenever he read his soulmate’s words. In short, he started to fall for his darling.

But there was one slight problem: his soulmate didn’t want to meet him. He said it would be better if Jaskier stayed far, far away from him, for reasons undisclosed. In all honesty, it did hurt his feelings a bit, and sometimes he wondered what he’d done wrong for his soulmate to never want to meet, but he also supposed that with time and patience and dedication, the day his soulmate said ‘yes’, might eventually come anyways.

Still, he can’t help but look around the room expectantly as he enters a tavern in Posada. He drew a little flower behind his right ear this morning, a little gift for his soulmate, who would only see it if he looked in the mirror long enough - which Jaskier suspects he doesn’t do, given how low on confidence his darling seems - but it would be an easy way for Jaskier to identify his soulmate, if he happened to stumble upon him.

But when he tries to sing a few songs and gets food thrown at him, he secretly hopes his soulmate isn’t here, at all - it’s a bit of an embarrassing ordeal, truth be told, and would be a terrible first impression. 

He sighs, gathering bread from the floor when he spots a man, sitting in the corner of the tavern, the light shining through the dirty window illuminating his white hair, his black armour and his two swords. Jaskier immediately knows this man is worth getting a closer look at, as his ‘this is something interesting’-alarm rings in the back of his mind.

And, admittedly, it doesn’t go great. The man - Witcher, as Jaskier finds out - walks off without saying more than ten words, emanating an air of ‘please don’t follow me, fuck off’. But of course, Jaskier’s never let himself be stopped that easily. 

So he jogs up the path, catching up to the Witcher, noting in the back of his mind that the mare walking next to Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken, is chestnut, with white markings, which sounds exactly like the horse his soulmate described to him. But then again, a lot of horses do really look alike, so he brushes it off.

He’s barely aware his mouth has run off without him, until he finds himself getting an idea. “Ooh, I could be your barker! Spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia, the- the Butcher of Blaviken!”

The Witcher slows to a halt, and turns around. Which is when Jaskier spots something small and black, tucked between the back of the Witcher’s right ear and his silver hair - a lone flower, adorning his skin, exactly the same shape as the one Jaskier drew behind his own ear this very morning. 

“Come here,” the Witcher grunts out, and Jaskier can’t help but step forward, the gears in his head turning, as realization slowly starts to dawn on him. The chestnut mare, the fact that his darling hasn’t told him his name, that his soulmate travels around and scares people off, and the small flower behind his ear - all things that point to one thing.

Geralt of Rivia is his soulmate.

His train of thought is cut short when Geralt punches him in his stomach, and Jaskier doubles over, gasping for breath, as the Witcher turns around, starts walking again.

He scrambles to get up. “Darling,” he wheezes out, and Geralt stops immediately, freezing in place. “It’s you, you’re my darling.”

Geralt turns back around, his expression open and vulnerable before he seems to snap closed, face once again even and guarded. “Julian?”

He grins, finally straightening again. “It’s Jaskier, now, but yes. It’s me.”

Geralt looks at him for a second, before turning around. “Go away. You’re better off without me.”

Jaskier frowns, but jogs to catch up with the Witcher, stopping him with a hand on his arm. He circles around Geralt, hand moving up, fingertips lingering on the small flower behind his darling’s right ear, until Geralt moves his head away with a jerk. “I’m not going anywhere without you, my darling. I’m not letting go now that I’ve finally found you.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds, as Geralt glares at him. “Why? I’m a Witcher, I’m terrible company, and I’ll only bring you more harm than good.”

Jaskier frowns. “You’re my soulmate. And even if you weren’t, I love you. I’m not going anywhere without you,” he repeats.

“You love me.” It’s not even a question, but more of an incredulous statement, one clearly meant to label Jaskier as insane or stupid, and the bard scoffs.

“Yes, I love you. You say you’re terrible company, but I’ve gotten plenty of comfort from your company on the road.” He holds his left arm up, and, though completely covered, they both know what hidden conversations lie beneath the fabric of his doublet. “You’re funny, and kind, and you try to be tough but you’re incredibly gentle. I know you, and I love you.” He huffs out a laugh. “My darling, if you think I don’t feel anything for you, you’re more stupid than I thought.”

Geralt continues staring at him for a few more seconds, before walking past Jaskier. “Fine.”

He frowns. “Fine what?”

“You can come along.”

Jaskier grins, bounding after Geralt, looping one of his arms through the Witcher’s, earning him an annoyed sigh. “What, don’t I get a kiss from my dearest darling?”

“No.” He can hear the implied ‘not yet’ in the hesitation in Geralt’s voice, and his smile grows wider.

“Alright, later, then.” He’s surprised to find himself not minding one bit - for now, he’s content to just be here next to Geralt, to have finally found his darling. 

***

Send me a situation and a sentence, and I’ll write a drabble!

[inthispagewestanikon]

Special Scenario - MINO “Fiancé” part 2

I’m back with part 2, it took long enough lol but I hope you enjoy <33

Word count: 2.202

Mino’s POV

After I left the building and stared as she went her way I felt as if the world had stopped completely, maybe I haven’t even fully processed what had happened inside that elevator; it’s like I’ve waited for this moment for so long and now that it happened I don’t even know what to do with myself.

I saw a taxi pull over and a lady came out so I rushed to get to it before it took off. As I sat down in the car and the driver asked me where we were going I kind of stuttered before the adress to my studio just rolled out of my mouth. 

The ride wasn’t long and it wasn’t expensive. I got off and entered the building where my studio was located, I greeted the doorman and entered yet another  elevator, as soon as I did the memories rushed back and it hit me...I had kissed my ex who I’ve been in love since my school days and in a few days she is going to be someone else’s wife. I laughed out of dispair, I remember this one night specifically which we were at a park and we were laying on the bench and we told each other that we’d get married for sure when I made enough money as a rapper...at least one part of it came true. 

I got off the elevator and walked to my door, typed the passcode and finally was in my safe haven, I could now be myself and just let every and any feeling pour out. I saw a pen and doodled over a paper going through the scene one more type and the word 'fiancé’ kind of come out in the paper and I added ‘my’ in front of it and chuckled at how childish that look so I said the words out loud and a depressed feel came along, it was funny and sad.

I started working on the beats I was producing for my new album but for the past 2 hours I have been doing that all of them sounded like trash to me. I stretched my arms and the paper came into my field of vision, the words “my fiancé” written down and a melody hit me. 

I stood up and went over to the piano playing some lines trying to give life to what was in my head, when I got the base down I went back to the computer and started adjusting and adding more things. I came across this old folk song and it was like it tied everything together, so I sampled it and worked it into the base from the piano. 

After a few hours I had the whole melody down and I loved it, now it was time to figure out with the lyrics. As I was getting ready to go into that I got a call, Zico’s name popped up in the screen and I picked up.

“Oh, yes Hyung..What’s up?” I said.

“Mino-ya, what are you doing?” He asked.

“At the studio” I replied and he laughed.

“Yah, go out and get some air, you’re there everyday” I laughed at his advice.

“Look who’s saying that” I laughed more “Ah, that was funny...yes hyung I’ll do that” 

“You better!” He warned in a joking tone “I’m hanging up now, bye”

“Bye hyung, take care” I said. 

Even though I’d love to do exactly what he told me to I just couldn’t stop now, I was in the zone and don’t want to get out of it and I’m sure he is the one who’d 100% understand that so I went back to my lyrics.

On the same doddled paper I started by writing random words, the process of creating lyrics was harder than the beats because it hss to rhyme, it has to go well with the melody and it need to make sense whilst the beat is more of a feeling. 

Two hours went by and all I had were doddles and the same two words. The sky was dark and I knew I had been in there for too long. Maybe it was time for fresh air and some food, I realized I hadn’t eaten since I left the restaurant earlier. 

I left the studio room and made my way to the elevator while stretching my back, after hours sitting it sure was aching. I pressed the button and the doors opened, I entered and was about to go on my phone, just when I unlocked the scene hit me and the sentence “stop playing around and just be with me” came into my mind and the doors were about to close so I frantically pressed the button to open the door and ran back to my studio. 

I sat down and picked up the pen writing down that sentence and from then on the rest just rolled out. My handwriting looked like shit because my thoughts were moving faster than my hands could move but in like 15 minutes I had the lyrics down.

“Knock knock I miss you But I can’t have you (So, sad) Drip drip I pour out my tears But you still hide your fine figure (You’re so mean) You’re friendly to others, but chic towards me Where’s all the stars in Seoul Oh, in your eyes When you’re with him you’re in Dystopia If you follow me it’s Utopia [Hook] Pretty woman Wo wo you’re so elegant I look at you from all angles, and you’re still so pretty I’ve just realized, my woman Woman, my blue bird  Hide well my lady (My lady) I can see your hair, where are you Where are you? I can’t find you, come out (Come out, come out wherever you are) I’ll go wherever you are, I’ll go [Verse 2] Shh don’t stay a word, let’s just run away Stop playing around and just be with me During the summer I just want to walk in your eyes We’re both risqué, risky risky oh I miss your body, and I’m lonely Help feed this thirsty dog Don’t be embarrassed like a coiled up cobra, alright? [Hook] Pretty woman Wo wo you’re so elegant I look at you from all angles, and you’re still so pretty I’ve just realized, my woman Woman, my blue bird  Hide well my lady (My lady) I can see your hair, where are you Where are you? I can’t find you, come out (Come out, come out wherever you are) I’ll go wherever you are, I’ll go [Verse 3] You’re a pie in the sky Woo, I swallow my spit  You’re my main, I’m your chewing gum Woo, let’s boogie on & on We’re on fire, I can finally breathe, I’m all for you Beautiful you’re pretty, pretty

Come out come out wherever you are  I’ll, go  Come out come out wherever you are I’ll go wherever you are I’ll go

Now all that’s left is recording the lyrics and add it on top of the beat. 

I started recording it but it wasn’t sounding right. I took several breaks and walked in circles around the room trying to figure out the tone, nothing. I listented to the beat again and again, but still it wasn’t right.  Honestly, this wasn’t  just a song, I was sending a message, it was my answer to this fucking marriage and I wanted her to get it as soon as she listened to it.

I sat there in deep thought fow a while and I started mumbling the words until I finally got how the chorus would sound, so I started from there and the excitment from that part being just right led me to recording the rest of the song. 

I was almost 7AM when the demo was complete. I hadn’t had any sleep, but the song was ready and I wanted to get it to YG as soon as I could. I didn’t care I looked like shit, I just got inside a taxi and head over to YG building. 

I went up to the producers room and told them I had something good for the next realease. So I played the demo on my phone and by the look on their faces, I did great.

“Mino ya, this is a single, really” one of the producers said.

“Yah let’s take it to president Yang” The other one added.

“wah, I’m so glad you liked it, I worked on it all night” I smiled.

“Yeah, we can see” We all laughed.

They then called in his office to schedule a meeting and while that was being taken care of by the secretaries we all went to the cafeteria to eat something and a meal was indeed much need because I was running on coffee since yesterday.

“Yah mino, you need to watch your health” one of them said as we were eating.

“yes you need to listen to your hyungs” the other added.

“yes yes” I said while bowing in apology.

We finished the meal and were hanging out at their studio room when the president called us up to his office. 

Once we got there the receptionist said we could enter the room as he was already waiting for us.

“Oh, Mino! How you’ve been?” YG greeted me.

“Hello! I am good” I bowed.

“Glad to hear! So, I’ve heard from these guys that you have something good for me, let’s hear it” He said and I immediately pulled out my phone and played the song.

The room was quiet for about 30 seconds before YG gave that smile he has when he likes something and I could finally breathe again. 

“This is good material, Mino, really” He said “That’s a single” He complemented and I smiled a bit flustered with the compliment.

“Thank you, Presindent” I bowed. 

“Of course, few adjustments here and there and it’ll top the charts for sure” YG remarked “Actually, let’s release a full album” After he said that my soul left my body and came back, a full album? Is he serious? Has he gone insane?

“P-President, is this a joke?” I asked innocently.

“Of course not” He laughed “You’re surprised, right? Well, you’re one of our greatest artists, you always bring good material both solo and for WINNER, so I want to give you the chance. Do you think you can do it?” He finished and looked at me with a raised eyebrow. 

“Of course I can! Thank you so much, Presidente, for this opportunity I promise I’ll do good” I bowed and was sincerely moved by the trust he was putting in me. I have waited for this chance for a long time and knowing the President of the company trusts me enough to realeae a full album is amazing. 

We left the room after chatting for some more about group activities and producing for others artists and I was on cloud 9. 

(...)

The next two months went by so quickly, I was in meeting after meeting, recording after recording, everything to get this album to perfection. There was going to be 12 songs that I, myself, composed and produced.The work I put into this was immense I couldn’t wait to put it out there for my fans to listen and for her. I also filmed a music video and the preparation was exhausting, but this meant more than just awards and charts, I kept thinking that if I couldn’t relay this message to her with words I’d do it through art, which is the one thing that might have kept me from sinking low after the news that the one and only woman I’ve ever loved will soon carry another guy’s last name.

(...)

The wedding was a month away now and the single realese date was due to two weeks before the cerimony. I peeked at the date engraved on that envelope “10/12/2018″  I still couldn’t wrap my head around it and even if I buried myself in work that kiss was what started it all. The questions in my head kept me up at night and she was all I could think about. “Is this how this it’s going to end? Is this a “the one that got away situation”? What if she still loves me and is waiting for me to say something? If so, what can I say?” It was like this all day everyday and I got absolutely no answer whatsoever.

(...)

26/11/2018 came and the music video was released, I was pumped but the whole time I keep thinking about what she was thinking and then an idea came to my mind. I grabbed my phone and copied the link to the video and searched through my contacts until I found who I was looking for, hers.

I sent the link along with no context, if I did all this so my art could speak for me then there were no words that I could say to her and after all the years we’ve known each other, I know she’ll get it, she always gets it because she, like no one else, gets me.

Sooo, it took me long enough so I made up for it with a long part and I didn’t want to say anything but there is room for a part 3 idk you guys let me know...

Anyways, hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing <33 I promise not to take 2 years to update this lol,

Ana.

[jjkfire]

i miss writing so much! read through some of my yet to be finished updates and i just want to have the time to finish them ): anyway tldr is life has been crazy but uhh happy early lunar new year! here’s a short preview of navy... a rather big scene which i think is funny in its own way lol. there’s no context because it’s a snippet but imagine this fight actually playing out... as in have you ever fought with someone and when it’s all over you’re like that was stupidly hilarious! yes, that’s the mood for this one aha. also will probs delete this later because i am posting on impulse lmao

“Huh, so that’s why they went unanswered?” Jungkook asks, but he isn’t exactly expecting a reply because the whole situation was just insanely ridiculous to him. There’s a beat of silence, maybe two and then he just bursts out into sudden laughter. Nobody says anything as he guffaws to himself with his eyes shut because for some reason, his laughter is terrifying. It’s loud, almost forced and quite honestly, you’re scared.

“This is just too funny,” He shakes his head before he cards his fingers through his hair in frustration. “So, all this time my letters were— a-and all these years— I mean all of this is just too funny.”

He’s not completing his sentences and you don’t understand why. He says it’s funny but he’s quite obviously angry. No, not just angry but furious. You’ve never seen him like this in all the years you’ve known him.

“What… what letters?” You manage to ask, and at that Jungkook just laughs through his nose, once again shaking his head.

The room is silent and it feels like you’re the only one who isn’t in on the joke. Though, the joke seems to be a very terrible one considering everyone has some sort of uncomfortable look on their face.

“I sent you letters when I moved to Seoul. If I remember correctly, five of them—”

“Six, actually,” Your mother mumbles but Jungkook’s piercing gaze tells her she shouldn’t speak anymore.

“I sent you six letters,” He emphasizes the number. “You didn’t send me any emails so I sent you letters hoping you would—"

“What are you talking about? I sent you emails! You didn’t reply to any of them.”

“Come on, Y/N. You never sent me anything.” He says it rather nonchalantly, but it sounds like an accusation to you. Oh, now you were furious too.

“I did! I sent it to kookster and you never replied!” You grumble, the anger you’ve been holding in all these years spilling out. “k-o-o-k-s-t-e-r was your email and I sent you dozens of them and you never replied!” You shout, hands balled into fists as you spelled out his childhood email account.

“That isn’t my email and you know it!” He shouts in return. “You sent that song to my email so don’t even try to weasel your way out of this one.”

“Yeah, I sent that song to the kookster email so what are you—”

“There’s a z! kooksterz, with a z!” He interrupts, now his hands busy with his phone as he furiously scrolls through his email. “Y/N, you know this. Look, if you want to lie at least try to be convincing, won’t you?” He asks, while he slams his phone on the table, his finger shaking with anger as he points to the email address on the top.

You hear a muffled laugh from one of the ladies and although you were angry, you almost felt like laughing too. This whole situation seemed ridiculous.

“This isn’t… I mean I— I swear,” You squint at the email with eyebrows pinched together in confusion. It’s the one you sent with the busanbeats account you had made on a whim. It was addressed to kooksterz, that is with a z as Jungkook has reiterated and you didn’t understand how because— oh wait. You bolt upright the moment it hits you. It was all coming back to you, the shattered pieces of your drunken memory.

That night you had downed multiple bottles of soju and when you finished up the song you deliberated if there was a z in Jungkook’s email. At the time, you couldn’t quite remember what his email was but it just seemed very likely that Jungkook would’ve added the z given that it had been in trend to do that when the two of you were kids, and so that’s what you went with.

Why then were you so adamant back when you were a teen that his email was— oh, you remember now.

“Y-your mother. I asked her back then if I had your email right. She said it was right. K-o-o-k-s-t-e-r, no z…”

“Wait—” His mother panics, hands flailing in the air. “Don’t drag me into this I… I wouldn’t have lied! I had no reason to! I just reiterated to you what he told me on the phone. I must have it written down somewhere in our old phone book.”

“But Jungkook I—”

The chair screeches when Jungkook rises to his feet. The arguing ceases as he pockets his phone and smooths down the front of his shirt.

“This is just— I mean, this is hilarious!” He exclaims, shaking his head. It was all he seemed to be able to do in response to all that he had heard. “I need to take a walk,” He finally says after he takes a final look around the room.

Just like that, he was gone and you were left sitting there, dumbfounded. It was just so much to take in and all you could do was laugh to yourself. Your mother, Jungkook’s mother and all the ladies were talking over each other, trying to explain it all to you but, you couldn’t seem to process any of it.

“I’m uhh, I’m going to go check on Jungkook,” You say suddenly before you got out of your seat, in a quieter manner compared to Jungkook and with a few steps, you were out the front door.

//

and before you think it’s like cliche just you wait lol. this next part, it ends before it gets there but if you’re asian... do you know typical aunty behaviour? that’s what happened. like all the aunties will gather and they will all share one braincell.

//

The first time your mother saw the letter in the mailbox, she thought it had come from her rather eccentric cousin from Seoul. When you were young, you were the only one who would listen to his weird stories. Uncle Fancy, was the nickname you had decided on and he loved it. It was some sort of bond the two of you had and who was your mother to stop that. Every once in a while, he would send lengthy letters from Seoul with a few pictures attached. They were never regular photos, they were rather avant-garde. Some of them bordered on nudity, other times drug use was involved. He wanted to tell real stories through pictures he had said. Your mother obviously wasn’t pleased with this. He also had godawful handwriting. She was not quite sure how the mailman could ever decipher the address he wrote on the front. So, when she saw that rather thick envelope in the mail addressed to you with rather terrible handwriting on the front, she just called out saying “Uncle Fancy sent you a letter.” You grimaced upon hearing that. The last letter he sent quite honestly scared you a little. The pictures were weird, the stories he wrote even weirder. You weren’t quite sure you wanted to subject yourself to that again. “Umm, you can throw it out…” You mumble. “If he asks, just tell him we never got it… please?” Your mother agrees to that, simply placing it in the drawer for the time being before she threw it out.

But, then came another, and a week later, another. It was weird. He never usually sent so many. He said his photography was a work of art, that it took time. It was so odd that he was sending letters so frequently. When the fifth one came in, curiosity got the better of her and she finds herself opening up the letter.

Dear Y/N,

It’s Jungkook! Maybe my other letters got lost in the mail—

 Dear Y/N,

 Oh my god. Your mother panics. Pulling the drawer open with such force that it almost comes out. She opens one of the old letters.

Jungkook here! I —

Your mother gasps, quickly ripping the next letter open

Dear Y/N,

Hello! This is Jungkook

Oh god, oh god, oh god. This next letter, it can’t—

Dear Y/N,

Jungkook ag—

 She stuffs all the letters into the drawer at the sound of someone coming down the stairs. Oh my god, is all she can think.

By now, you’ve openly ranted about how much you hated the boy. You didn’t even want your mother to say his name in the house. So, when she tried to bring up the letters, you wouldn’t even let her complete the sentence. She started the sentence with Jungkook and that’s as far as she got. It seemed like you had a separate fight with him. You were shouting on the phone just the other day and she pretty much thought it was Jungkook you were talking to. Nobody else ever got to your emotions the way the boy did. Perhaps you had a crush on him or that he was your best friend and you felt abandoned, your mother couldn’t really tell. All she knew was that you really hated him now. So, she keeps those letters in the drawer, unsure what to do with them. Perhaps, she’ll bring them up again once you’ve calmed down.

[thebluenoteblog]

Just Between Us

Summary: You knew when you met Artturi that he was to young for you. Still, that didn’t stop you from falling for him.

Player: Artturi Lehkonen

Word Count: 1.9k

Requested: Hello! could do a imagine with Artturi Lehkonen where he falls in love with an older woman, but she is afraid that everyone can criticize her and offers him to have a secret relationship and he accepts even reluctantly wanting everyone to know about the courtship between both. I love your writing! 💕

You met Artturi in a club. The music was loud and you were both a little tipsy and probably not making the best decisions. You could tell just by looking at him, his clothes, the way he carried himself that he was younger than you. However, it was late at night and the atmosphere had you feeling some kind of way. He was cute. So, when he asked you to dance… you said yes.

You ended up in the back of an Uber before the club had closed down, abandoning your group of friends. You arrived back at your house and there was very little conversation. The words exchanged between the two of you would not be classified as small talk.

The next morning, you didn’t wake up until eleven and you were sporting a hangover and a collection of hickeys all over your body. You supposed you deserved that for hooking up with someone so much younger than you. You also deserved to wake up alone, because that’s what happened when you hooked up with attractive guys who were noticeably younger than you.

You took popped a few pain killers to help with the hangover and went about getting ready for the day. It wasn’t until after you’d done your makeup and dried your hair that you walked out of your bathroom and noticed something written on a sticky note on the bedside table opposite of where you’d woken up.

You picked it up and read it over a few times, laughing a little as you did. I had a great time with you last night. At the club. Not the sex. That was good too. I’ll stop, just text me.

Underneath the messy handwriting was a phone number. You almost threw the sticky note away. You didn’t need to be getting involved with a younger guy. That was the last thing you needed, actually. However, some nagging feeling in the back of your head stopped you. Maybe it was the amazing sex. Maybe it was the way he’d made you laugh in the club. You didn’t know. Whatever it was, you placed the note back on the end table and went about your day, the boy from the club rarely leaving your mind.

****

It wasn’t until the next day that you finally broke and entered his number into your phone. It was a day after that when you texted him for the first time. You didn’t know what exactly to say so you tried a few different things. Hey, it’s the girl from the other night. No. Hey, remember leaving me your number a few days ago? No. Hey, if you’re up for it, we could check out another club this weekend. That was probably the best it was going to get.

You pressed send and waited for a response. You waited for a long time. Eventually he did respond, I’m going to be out of town for work until Wednesday. How about when I get back we go out for dinner instead?

You paused when you read this. He couldn’t have been any older than twenty-five and that was just a guess. What job did he have where he was traveling out of town for a week at a time? Better question, why did he want to take you to dinner. You were thirty. At least five years older than him.

However, there was that nagging feeling again, and you couldn’t turn him down. Yeah, that sounds nice. Just let me know when.

You texted back and forth with him for a few more hours that night before you finally fell asleep, phone still in your hand waiting for his next response.

****

He texted you the name of the restaurant, the time he would pick you up and then followed it with a second message that read, wear something nice. You stared at your phone, confused. Then decided to google the restaurant.

It was a very nice restaurant. Too nice.

You texted him back, I can’t let you spend that kind of money.

He responded quickly with, It’s nothing. Be ready at six.

Insane. But you did as he asked, wearing a dress and a pair of heels from the back of your closet. When he picked you up, he actually came to your door which you hadn’t expected. He opened the car door for you. A very nice car. You were seriously beginning to wonder if you’d just agreed to go on a date with a drug dealer or someone with connections to some powerful crime family.

You didn’t figure out who he was until you were at dinner and the waiter addressed him by his name after taking his drink order, “I’ll have that right out for you Mr. Lehkonen.”

You’d turned from watching the waiter disappear around the corner to stare at Artturi. “Okay, what’s going on? Do you like own this place or something?”

He laughed, “No.”

“Then how did the waiter know your name?” You asked.

Artturi shrugged, “He must be a hockey fan. The boys and I come here a lot. We tip well. The servers tend to like us.”

You stared at him blankly for a moment, then slowly the pieces clicked together. A foreign guy in his mid-twenties with a shit ton of money to burn living in Canada who travels a lot for his job. You suddenly realized where you’d heard his name before. “You’re a hockey player?” You asked hesitantly, dumbfounded.

He nodded slowly, “You didn’t know that?” He asked, “Most people around here know.”

“I’m not big on sports,” you said, “I don’t dislike them… I just don’t have the attention span to follow a team for an entire season.”

He frowned, nodding again. “Maybe you could come to a game sometime. You might like it. It’s different, being there I mean.”

You smiled at him, “I would like that.”

****

You went on four more dates over the course of five more weeks before he brought up you going to a game again. He mentioned it casually while you were waiting in line for movie tickets. “There’s a game tomorrow night. It’ll be a good one. I could get you tickets if you want to come.”

You stared at Artturi, surprised for a moment. Then slowly nodded, “Yeah, that sounds fun.”

He smiled at you, “The game starts at seven, but you should get there early for warm-ups.”

Again, you nodded.

When he dropped you off that night, you didn’t want him to leave. So, when he walked you to the door, you invited him inside for a drink. You never made it to the alcohol.

****

They won. They won and much to your surprise, you had enjoyed the game. He’d skated over to you a few times during warm ups to show off what he could do with the puck and you’d laughed at how proud he looked.

After the game, you left. Heading home with a smile on your face. You got a text not long after from Artturi, where are you?

Home.

The dots appeared and disappeared a few times before a message finally came through, why didn’t you come down? That’s what the pass was for. I wanted the guys to meet you.

You frowned, staring at the message for a long moment and contemplating a response. Were you letting this go to far? You couldn’t actually start a relationship with Artturi. You’d learned since you started seeing each other that he was only twenty-four. A year younger than you had originally guessed. Not only was it unrealistic to date someone that much younger than yourself at your age, but he was under the constant watchful eye of the media.

You didn’t need all of the hockey world judging you for robbing the cradle.

I don’t think that would be a good idea.

He responded quickly with, why not?

What if it gets out that you’re seeing a 30-year-old woman? I don’t think we should see each other anymore.

Again, he spent a very long time typing the message before it came through. Finally, when it did, all he’d said was, I’m coming over.

****

You opened your door and he waited for you to motion him inside before walking around you and into the house. “Why does it matter?”

You closed the door behind him, “Why does what matter?”

“If people find out that we’re seeing each other,” he stated, clearly annoyed. “Why does that matter?”

“It matters because I don’t want that kind of negative attention, Artturi,” you said, “and as much as you make it sound like you don’t care I know you would.”

He shook his head, a sigh falling from his lips. He didn’t want this to end. He didn’t want to stop seeing you. He hadn’t had as much fun with a woman as he had with you in the past month as far back as he could remember. “I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend tonight, and now you’re telling me that you don’t want to see me anymore.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You hadn’t expected that. You hadn’t expected him to want to commit to you. Now that the option was on the table, that same nagging thought was in the back of your head that had stopped you from throwing away his phone number all those weeks ago. You didn’t want to walk away from it. You didn’t want to walk away from him. “It isn’t that I don’t want to see you,” you said. “It’s just that I don’t want people judging us for it. I don’t want people to know.”

He frowned, “What are you saying?”

“What if we just kept it a secret?” You said, “Just the two of us. At least for now.”

He stared at you, contemplating his answer. It was an easy one, really. He knew that he wanted to be with you. He knew that he didn’t want to walk out that door in a few minutes knowing that he’d just walked away from an opportunity to be with you. Though a part of him was hoping that if he hesitated long enough, you would decide that you would date him like a normal person. You wouldn’t make him sneak around behind his friends backs and hide everything from the media.

He didn’t think you realized that this would mean you couldn’t keep going out in public together all the time. You couldn’t go out multiple nights a week like normal couples did. Not with the media nosing around in his life. Not if you wanted the secret to remain a secret.

You weren’t changing your mind. You were holding his stare, waiting for an answer.

Finally, when he decided that you weren’t going to budge on this, he took a step forward and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in for a kiss. When he pulled away he looked down at you and said, “If you want to be my girlfriend in secret, then that’s what we’ll do.”

You smiled up at him and hugged him tightly, burying your face in his chest. Over the top of your head, he stared at the moonlight shining in through the window and frowned.

[justlightlysedated]

sugar and spice and everything nice

Michael looks down at the address written on the paper in his hands and sees the name of the bakery written in Isobel's loopy handwriting, and then looks back out of his windshield at the shop he's parked in front of. 

It's nestled between a bookshop and a coffee shop, arguably the best place to be if you're a bakery, especially with the name, Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice.

But the display in front of the window looks like it came out of a spread for the fictional magazine, Witches Brew Weekly, and Michael wonders exactly what kind of cake Isobel had made here.

He also wonders exactly why she's throwing a Happy Divorce Party, but sometimes it's better to not understand the workings of his sister's mind. He goes crazy trying to figure her out on a daily basis.

Michael inhales deeply, and tells himself that looks can be deceiving, prime example being himself and how people react when he tells them that he owns his own flower shop and studied horticulture in college.

He grabs his cowboy hat from where he'd set it on the passenger seat and puts it over his head as he gets out of his truck.

Michael walks towards the bakery, eyeing the display with some more interest as he gets closer.

The spiders crawling all over the cupcakes look too real and are creeping him out a little bit, but there is something oddly charming about the three tiered cake depicting the beheading of Anne Boleyn.

Michael walks in through the door, and jumps a little when there is a creepy haunted mansion style doorbell ringing through the room announcing his presence.

He bites down on the smile that wants to pull at his lips and looks around the place.

The color scheme is all dark, mostly black and white but with dark red and dark purple accents. There are three display cases practically caging in the six small tables with two chairs each, made up of glossy purple wood and black glass panelling one with normal looking breakfast pastries and muffins, the other with a different kinds of cupcakes each depicting a Summer yet halloween based theme, like two ghosts snorkeling or a skeleton tanning, and the last, right in front of double doors that Michael is sure lead to the kitchen with a register perched on top and a few baskets full of what looks like freshly baked bread, and underneath on display through the glass beneath a sign that says, Our Specialty One of a Kind Divorce Cakes, No Two Cakes Will Ever Be the Same, We Guarantee, are an array of cakes that could pass for wedding cakes if it weren't for the terrifying scenarios being depicted.

Before Michael can get any closer to see what he can make out beside the one where it looks like a tiny fondant bride is tossing her tiny fondant husband into a wood chipper, the double doors opens, and a young woman with long dark hair held away from her face by a black visor with the name of the bakery and the skull and crossbones design that is at the front of the store stitched with holographic silver thread on the rim. She's wearing a black apron with the name Rosa stitched in the front with the same holographic silver thread over an outfit that wouldn't be out of place in the middle of a mosh pit. She's carrying a tray of what looks like caramel apples with a little sign that says, If you spend more than 20$ you get me for free! and looks up, mouth open like she's about to say something and she stops, giving him a very obvious once over, before making a face at the cowboy hat.

She still smiles, bright and wide and a little flirty, red lips coming off more like a warning than a beacon, and sets the tray down in the space between the register and the first basket of bread.

"Well, hello there," she says, as she leans against the counter. "Welcome to Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice, where we make all of your not so sweet dreams come true. What can I do for you?"

Michael blinks at her, "Shouldn't it be sweet dreams?"

Rosa's grin turns all teeth and predatory, "If you're in them, then sure."

Michael just smiles shaking his head a little before he tugs out the paper that Isobel had given him.

"I'm here to pick up an order," he says and hands over the paper.

Rosa takes it and reads it quickly before making a face, kind of like the one she made when she saw his hat.

She walks to the double doors and pushes open one of them yelling, "Someone's here to pick up the Ice Queen's order!"

Michael would protest the use of the nickname but he knows it's probably something that Isobel would like.

There is a startled yelp, and then the sound of something metal clattering to the floor, before someone is cursing low and fervently.

Rosa just lets the door fall close and turns back to Michael, "The Chef will be right with you."

Michael nods his head and casts a look around the shop and his gaze is caught by the window display again.

"You design all of these?" He asks looking back at Rosa. She has that air about her that tells him that she's artistic, but she shakes her head.

"No," she says sounding amused. "Most of the designs are Alex's, except for the spider collection. Alex mostly keeps me around because I'm much better at customer service than he is."

"Which really isn't saying much," a dry voice says from the double doors.

Michael turns towards the newcomer and feels almost like he's been hit across the back of the head with a baseball bat.

While he blinks dazed and confused, it's almost like everything is moving in slow motion.

The vision stands for several still seconds right in front of the door, being illuminated by the light coming from the kitchen, making his messy hair that is sticking up all over the place, kind of glow golden like he has a halo. He's wearing the same visor and apron as Rosa, but his apron is covered in flour and butter and chocolate and what looks like food coloring. Alex is stitched in the upper right corner of his apron in a rainbow colored thread.

That combined with the dark, dark eyes that seemed like they could swallow Michael whole and he would enjoy every minute of it, and the luscious full mouth, that purses into an annoyed expression the longer that Michael stares at him, makes him consider the warmth jolt in his stomach with the utmost seriousness.

He turns to Rosa to say something, turning his back to Michael and Michael's gaze drops right to check out his ass, and it's almost too good to be true.

Michael feels the hot bolt of attraction and the gooey warmth in his stomach combine to conspire against him.

He has the brief and totally insane thought of what flowers they'll have at their wedding and if they would be in season, before he snaps himself out of it and looks into Alex's narrowed pissed eyes and realizes that maybe the whole slow motion thing had been in his head and smiles as apologetic and charming as he can.

"So sorry," he says. "I kind of spaced there for a second. What were you saying?"

His eyes dart over to Rosa who looks entirely too amused, so he probably hasn't fucked up beyond repair.

Not that there is anything to fuck up.

Alex clears his throat pointedly, and Michael looks over to him immediately. 

Alex's brow is still furrowed, but he seems to be more confused than angry.

He inhales deeply like he's steeling himself and then moves to the side and Michael sees that while he'd been busy committing Alex to memory, they'd brought out a rolling stand with a huge open white cake box, the name and logo of the bakery stamped on the side, the cover is propped open so that the cake fits and there is what looks like a black veil covering the cake from view, and Michael's curiosity peaks, overwhelming the stupefying feeling of attraction, and he leans forward, on the only empty space on top of the counter.

Alex's brow furrows even more, but he just takes a deep breath and lifts the veil over the cake.

Michael has a moment where he thinks that he's been transported to a gallery, because what Alex unveils could very easily be mistaken for a painting.

"Isobel wants you to take a picture even though I already uploaded the time lapse video on the shop's Instagram-"

"Is that a replica of Judith beheading Holofernes but with my sister?" Michael interrupts him leaning even closer, trying to get as close a look as possible.

The cake is three tiered and covered in white icing, with a pillow and pearl buttons design, that Michael remembers from the wedding cake that Isobel had when she married Noah, five years ago, seemingly bursting out of the cake, is the bloody scene, depicted in some kind of frosting or fondant, tiny Isobel with her knee right on tiny Noah's chest, one hand in his hair, holding his head at an angle that exposes his neck and the other holding the hilt of the sword, as she slices through. There is realistic looking blood, and Isobel and Noah are very recognizable, and it's literally the most amazing thing that Michael has ever seen in his life.

He looks up at Alex, who blinks twice at him before speaking.

"Yes," he says shortly, bordering on defensive. "I talked with your sister and she told me her story while I sketched out some ideas, and afterwards she chose her favorite."

Michael just exhales and wonders if it would be creepy to tell someone that he just met that he thinks he's in love with him.

"It's one of the most-" Michael starts and stops looking for a word to say, and Alex just sighs, like he's tired and cuts him off.

"Disturbing things you've ever seen?" He says, a little mockingly making air quotes and rolling his eyes.

Michael's complete attention focuses on Alex's fingers, long and pale and strong and covered in rings silver and black, and several bandages.

Michael stares obviously enough that Alex fidgets a little, looking at his hands and scoffing.

"Don't worry," he says dead pan. "It's not my blood. I only save the blood sacrifices for when I'm making pastry."

Michael laughs, a startled burst of giggles that he can't seem to really control, and Alex freezes completely on the other side of the counter, not moving, barely even breathing.

"I was actually going to say, it's one of the most amazing things I've ever seen in my life," Michael says and sincerely as he can.

Alex just stares at Michael with wide eyes, and he looks a little panicked and like he really needs to bail the scene, but as he turns to Rosa, Rosa turns away, heading towards the entrance.

"I'm taking my fifteen minute break," she says.

Alex opens his mouth, and Rosa cuts him off as she pulls her phone out of her pocket.

"Yes, I'll get you the French vanilla iced latte."

He makes another attempt to say something, but the doorbell rings out again, and this time Michael lets  the smile take over his face.

When he turns back to look at Alex, Alex is staring at him with a furrowed brow.

Michael licks his lips, but before he can say anything, Alex is speaking.

"The amount pending is 60$," he says, and moves towards the register, pulling a receipt notebook from a pocket hanging beside the register and starts to write out the receipt.

Michael pulls out the money that Isobel had given him, the amount due plus a large tip.

Michael leaves the money on the counter, and pulls his phone out of his pocket to take a picture of the cake.

He sends it to Isobel and she immediately responds with a bunch of excited and happy emojis, and a text demanding that he hurry up and get back to her place.

Michael slides his phone back in his pocket without answering her, and turns to Alex who is counting the money and putting it inside of the register before he tears Michael's copy of the receipt off the notebook and hands it to him.

Michael takes the receipt and before Alex can say anything else, his eyes fall on the caramel apples with the sign that Rosa had set down earlier.

"Does that mean I get one of those?" He asks pointing at the apples.

Alex purses his mouth and gives him a look.

Before he sighs and looks down at the apples.

"I like experimenting with flavors in my baking and sometimes it works really well, but most of the time it's a disaster. I still test them out on customers to see if they like them."

Michael nods his head slowly, "So the apple is the experiment you're testing today?"

Alex smiles, a quick brief thing that Michael almost misses, before he grabs one of the plastic cake knives from a jar full of them, and a small white ceramic plate.

He lifts one of the apples on to the plate, using the side of the knife, and then sets the plate down in front of Michael.

He takes the knife and places the edge right by the wooden stick.

He pushes the knife down, and Michael expects resistance, so he's surprised when the plastic knife just falls straight through, cutting the apple in half easily, only a slight crunch towards the bottom.

He parts the two halves and pushes one aside and then starts to speak again.

Michael looks away from the interesting layers of mousse and jelly and cookie, and looks at Alex and then can't find himself able to look away.

"It's a dark chocolate mousse sitting on top of a layer of hot mint jelly and a shortbread cookie infused with jalapeños and lime, shaped into a sphere and covered in a shiny red mirror glaze," he says, pointing out every layer with a finger, and looking so animated that he almost seemed like a different person.

"I'm calling it the Poison Apple. The idea behind the flavors is that they'll balance each other out, and I really like a little bit of heat in my desserts, something that I became fond of when I was overseas. But it's not exactly everyone's cup of tea."

He looks up straight into Michael's eyes and stops talking.

Michael licks his lips and looks down at the dessert. 

"That actually sounds awesome," he says honestly, before he looks back up at Alex who flinches a little like he got caught doing something he shouldn't.

Michael just smiles as reassuringly as possible and asks, "Can I have a fork?"

Alex stares at him for another long moment before he reaches down beneath the counter and pulls out a silver fork, and hands it over to Michael, who takes it smiling at Alex, who continues to look at Michael suspiciously like he's expecting something bad to happen at any moment.

Michael just pulls the plate closer and tries a forkful, making sure to get a little bit of everything, and he barely hesitates as he takes the bite. 

The flavors explode on Michael's tongue one after the other starting with the slightly bitter chocolate and then a sharp burst of lemon and the heat coming from the shortbread before there is a soothing coolness coming from the jelly, and Michael doesn't really understand it and he never in a million years would've thought that the flavors would go together, but it actually works.

"Wow," he says and looks at Alex who is just blinking at him like Michael is being confusing. "It's amazing."

He can't help but sound awed. He hadn't really expected it to taste as good as it did, and he wonders how much of it is due to the fact that Alex was the one who made it.

Michael eats most of the case, knowing he's making the most ridiculous faces, but every time it hits him different.

Alex just continues to stare at him, gaze intense, and Michael finds that he really likes it.

He looks up at Alex then, and Alex is licking across his bottom lip, and Michael feels a pulse of heat go straight down the back of his neck, and he doesn't think that he's ever wanted anyone the way that he wants him, right now, but he also doesn't think that he's wanted to keep someone as much as well.

Before Michael can make any decision, Rosa is moving behind the counter, and Michael's gaze falls on her, and he wonders how long she'd been watching.

The knowing smirk on her face tells him that it was long enough.

Alex jumps back, startled and he looks from Michael to Rosa before he grabs the coffee in her hands and walks straight through the double doors not even looking back.

Michael sets the fork down slowly and he looks at Rosa, who gives him a sympathetic smile, before she motions towards the cake with her chin. "Need some help with that?"

Michael nods his head, and Rosa covers the cake back up.

Together they get it secure to the back of the truck and Michael promises that he'll drive slow.

Rosa turns to walk towards the bakery and then she turns back to Michael.

"Look," she says, a protective edge to her voice."You seem like a nice guy, and you obviously speak Alex, but Alex has been through a lot, and if you're just messing with him-"

"I like him," Michael blurts out, and rubs the back of his neck when Rosa looks at him, feeling a little embarrassed as he looks away from her. "I like him a lot. It actually feels a little insane how much."

"Good," she says and Michael's gaze snaps back to her.

"You gotta be a little insane to try and date Alex," she says, shrugging a little as she turns back towards the bakery. "He's really fucking weird."

And with that and a cheerful see you soon that she shouts from the open doorway, almost getting drowned out by the doorbell.

Michael shakes his head and gets into his car.

Something crinkles as he sits and he pulls the piece of paper from beneath his thigh and looks at the address for the bakery.

He's almost completely sure that he'll remember the way to get back here even without an address, but he pulls his phone out and saves the address in his contacts. 

A pop up appears asking him if he wants to add sugarandspice on instagram, and he clicks yes, and starts the truck.

His phone buzzes with a notification and he smiles when he sees rosa.zombie. is now following you.

He pulls away from the curb and finds his head full of thoughts that are entirely premature, but he can't exactly help himself. 

He wonders if Alex will accept edible flowers and potted herbs in exchange for taste testing more of his flavor experiments.

*

The picture posted on Rosa's instagram before seven in the morning is of Michael eating one of the mousse cakes disguised as a caramel apple with a rapturous look on his face, and Alex is staring at him like he's confused and absolutely flabbergasted.

The caption for the picture is:

rosa.zombie. he is eating one of @manelydead's super special recipes. obviously, he's an alien.

Followed by the following comment thread almost immediately after posting:

lizziethestrange HOLYSHIT!!!

delucastyle holy shit

valentimcsexy hoLY SHIT

iamcamiam holy shit

manelydead Don't any of you assholes sleep in???

guerinsflowers @manelydead 😉😉😉

intergalacticbitch @guerinsflowers you fucking better not!

[useless-slytherclaw]

Chapter 19: Cousins

Regulus was surprised when Narcissa replied to him.  He hadn’t been sure that she would believe he was really alive after all this time.  He was sitting in the library when Kreacher brought her response.  The library had become his refuge- his and Iset’s.  Now that the room had been cleaned, it was a nice place to stay.  There was silence and the bookshelves muffled the sounds coming from the rest of the house to some extent.  

At first, when Kreacher set the letter on the oak desk in front of him, Regulus could only stare at the letter.  His name was written in a familiar neat, cursive hand.  The handwriting was a bit different than he remembered, but it had been seventeen years.  Part of him was scared to open the letter.  He could feel Iset’s eyes on him as he reached into the desk and pulled out a heavy silver letter opener.  

His eyes raced over the short letter, and he glanced at his watch.  He really hadn’t expected Narcissa to want to meet with him; let alone do so so urgently.  Still, he had asked for this.  He carefully folded the letter and put it back in the envelope.  

“She wants to meet me,” he told Iset as he stood up.  Iset set her book down.

“That's good right?” 

“I think so,” he said.  “Tell Mrs. Weasley that I won’t be in for lunch.”

Iset nodded and picked up her book again.  Her movement was casual, but he thought he could see the worry in her brown eyes.  “Be careful, someone might recognize you.”

“Don’t worry.” Regulus left the library and went to his room.  He glanced at the place where the newspapers about the Death Eaters had been.  Someone, his brother or Remus, had taken them down.  He hadn’t thanked them though he should.  But for now, he went to his closet and took out a white silk button-up shirt.  The black one he was wearing would be too hot in the sun.  He hoped that what he was wearing wouldn’t stand out too much as he had no practice blending in with muggles.  While it was strange to hear that Narcissa wanted to meet him in St. James Park, it was smart.  There would be no Death Eaters in a place so packed with muggles.  After he changed his shirt, he brushed his hair again.  Then, he picked up the heavy silver ring that Kreacher had left on his desk.  The Black Family signet ring.  He turned it over in his hands a few times, before sliding it on his finger and heading out.

Regulus managed to apparate close enough to St. James Park that he didn’t need to use a point me spell to find it, which was good because there were muggles everywhere.  Regulus wasn’t sure he had ever seen so many of them, not even in Kings Cross Station.  He wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to find Narcissa in this mess.  Still, he moved into the park as she had said.  The grass was brilliant green in the sun and it would have been beautiful if there weren’t so many people.  

Some muggles gave him curious or appraising looks, but nothing that suggested they thought he looked absurd.  He wasn't sure he could say the same about some of them. Jackets made out of plaid. Tank tops over shirts.  Strange fabrics with geometric patterns and bright colors.  Had muggles always dressed this strangely?  Regulus had never really had a chance to observe before.

Regulus was relieved when he reached the spot mentioned in the letter.  He was early, but that didn’t bother him.  Moving so that he was in the shade, Regulus leaned against a tree trunk.  It was nice to breathe fresh air after days stuck inside Grimmauld Place.  Letting his head fall back and rest against the wood, he waited as the people walking by made a constant background chatter.  

The sound of a gasp, much closer than the other voices got his attention.  His eyes flew open.  Narcissa was standing there; she had her hand over her mouth and her blue eyes were wide.  Regulus studied her, even as he straightened up and took a few steps towards her.  Her hair was still dyed white blonde.  There were fine lines around her eyes and mouth, but she still looked like herself.  He’d expected her to look older after having seen Sirius, but he supposed that Azkaban had aged Sirius beyond the twelve years it should have been.

“Reg,” she said.  There was a small quiver in her voice and the sunlight made her eyes shine.  Regulus opened his arms, offering a hug.  He was slightly surprised when she accepted it.  He breathed in the smell of her expensive perfume, it was still the same.  Though she also smelled like roses.  

“Cissy,” Regulus said, not sure what else to say.  He released her from the hug.

“I can’t believe it,” her eyes were searching his face, though what for, he didn’t know.  

“It’s rather insane, I admit.”

“I’m so glad to have you back,” her voice was still full of emotion.  “At least I got you back.  Merlin, you look so young though.”  

Regulus let out a single chuckle.  “I’m the same age I was the last time you saw me.”

“Yes,” she said, and her eyes were sad now.  “But I was young too.  We were all so young.  I didn’t realize it until… until…”

“Your son,” Regulus finished for her.  She nodded.  “You’re only two years older than him.”

“I guess it’s true then, that he’s mixed up with the Dark Lord.”

Narcissa let out a single, brittle laugh.  “How could he not be?  With Lucius,” Regulus noted that the way she said Lucius was much colder than it had been seventeen years ago.  “And Bella.  He is living in my house, Regulus.  How can Draco not be involved.”

“I’m sorry, Cissy.  I am.  I wanted…” He trailed off.  He wouldn’t tell Cissy about the Horcruxes.  The Dark Lord could dig the information out of her brain if he wanted.  “I wanted to stop anyone else from being stuck like I was.”

“Can you do it, Reg?” She said.  Her voice was completely serious, and her eyes were focused on him.

“I’ve already started.”  He forced himself to sound confident.  For a long moment, they just stared at each other.  Blue eyes to blue eyes.  

“Do it,” Narcissa said at last.  Regulus didn’t have to ask what it was.  His stomach flipped uncomfortably; he didn’t want to do this.  Gritting his teeth, Regulus reached out for Narcissa’s mind.  

Narcissa and Bellatrix are standing together in an expensively furnished sitting room.    They’re young.  

“He trusts me, Cissy.  Me!”  Bellatrix’s eyes are bright, almost fanatically so.  “He’s trusted me with something special.”

“What is it?” Narcissa asked, curious, but not nearly as excited as Bellatrix.

“I can’t tell you,” she said with a smug smirk.  

~

“What did you do?” Narcissa’s voice was hard and accusatory.  She was toe to toe with her husband.  Lucius was older than Regulus remembered, his hairline was receding and starting to show grey.  

“The Dark Lord left it in my care.”

“And you should have kept it safe, not sent it to the school.  They are kids, Lucius.  What if something happens to Draco.”

“Everyone knows the monster only attacks mudbloods.”

“Everyone thinks that!” Her voice was going shrill.  “We don’t know anything.”

~

A woman with matted black hair that fell past her waist was standing in the Malfoy’s marble foyer looking incredibly out of place.  He hardly recognized Bella when she looked up.  Her cheekbones stood out in her emaciated face.  Her black eyes stood out against her ghost pale skin, shining with madness.  

“Hello little sister,” Bella said with a grin that showed yellowing, horrible teeth.  

“Bella!” Narcissa’s gasp was half horror, half surprise.

“Did you miss me?” Bella still had that horrible smile.

“Of course I did!”

~

Bella, older and still haggard, but cleaner and more filled out.  She was pacing up and down the library while Narcissa sat on a bench to read.  

“I need to make sure that it’s safe!”

“I don’t know what you are talking about Bella.”  

“The Dark Lord, he entrusted it to me!”

Narcissa sighed and turned the page of her book.  The contrast between them was incredible.  Narcissa was like ice, sleek, blonde, cold, elegant.  Bellatrix was like a midnight storm, dark-haired, wild, and barely tamed.  

“I can’t help you with that, Bella.  You never told me anything about it.”

“I need to get to my house!”

“You stand a good chance of getting caught that way,” Narcissa said, frowning over the top of her book.  “Send someone else.”

“No one except for me can open the gates.”

“Not even Rodolphus?”

“Not even Rodolphus,” she said with a wicked grin.

~

The Dark Lord sat at the head of the Malfoy dining table.  The light from the overhead chandelier was not flattering on his pale, snake-like visage.  His crimson eyes were on the table in front of him, and one gaunt hand was stroking the head of a massive snake.

“Draco,” the voice was cold and high.  The boy sitting next to Narcissa stood up.  He had the pale Malfoy hair and a slightly narrow face.  He didn’t look like a Black.  

“Come here,” the Dark Lord spoke again.  “Your aunt speaks highly of you.”

Bellatrix was sitting to the left of the Dark Lord.  Her eyes were shining with devotion.  

“Come on Draco,” she said.  “The Dark Lord wants to honor you with the dark mark.”

“Silence, Bella!”  She shrank back in her chair, but the devotion in her eyes did not so much as flicker.  “She is right, Draco, I wish to invite you to join us.”

Narcissa was frozen in her seat.  Her pale face was a mask of calm.  But her hands were gripping tightly to her skirt.

~

“You will kill Albus Dumbledore, Draco.” The Dark Lord’s voice was somehow colder and crueler than before.  “You are in a unique position at the school.  I believe you can do this.”

“I won’t fail you, Lord,”  Draco said.  He stood back ramrod straight and head appropriately bowed.  His hands were pressed to his sides to hide the shaking.  But, the Dark Lord wasn’t looking at Draco, he was looking at Bella and his eyes were wicked.

“Good,” the Dark Lord stroked the head of the massive snake by his side.  “Because if you don’t, both of your parents will die.”

Draco’s hands clenched on his pants, but he didn’t say anything.  

Regulus gasped and took a step back when he felt his mind return to his body.  His emotions swirled chaotically.  Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself.  He could deal with his own emotions later, right now he needed to deal with Narcissa.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.  He wanted to hug her, to hold her, as he had done all those years ago when they lost Andy.  But, that wasn’t how Blacks did things.  “I promise that I will do everything I can to end this.”

“Everything?” Narcissa asked him.  

“On the family name, Narcissa.  I’ll do my best to end this.”

“Good.”  Narcissa’s face was cool and collected, but her eyes were dangerous.  “My son means more to me than anything.  I lost Andy, Sirius, you, Bella, my parents, and Lucius.  I had my son.  I can’t lose him.”

“You won't,” Regulus said, turning away.  “I’ll write to you.  It’s best if we don’t stay too long.”

“I’ll see you when this all is over, Reg.”

“When it’s all over.” 

Keep reading on AO3

[sarahjtrash]

An Untimely Admission

2.3K, Jurdan, Rated T

Jude shares something she's been keeping secret during an inopportune moment.

A/N: Despite what the summary may suggest, I just want to say this isn’t a pregnancy fic. Nothing against those, but I don't really write that. Fluff and angst still ensue. Enjoy!

-o-0-o-

Jude couldn’t take it anymore. 

While she understood that being exiled and keeping her title a secret was the politically wise thing to do, she couldn’t watch Cardan pursue his carnal desires anymore. It didn’t matter that she knew he would never fully pursue these women, that he would crawl into bed with Jude and whisper sweet nothings in her ear. She was tired of being sidelined in her own life once again. So when Cardan leaned down to whisper something in Nicasia’s ear, Jude handed her drink to the nearest courtier and stormed out of the hall. 

She heard Nicasia’s laughter follow her out the room. 

As she walked, she pulled her jewelry off and dropped it on the floor. While Cardan and her agreed that it made more sense for them to win over courtiers this way, she hated it. She had the same privileges in almost anything being fair game in the hall for political advancement; however, after three months of it, she wanted to punch something. They always tumbled together afterwards, neither going farther than chaste kisses with a stranger, but Jude was tired of playing these wicked games. She wiped her sleeve against her face, trying to stop the tears that rolled down her face, surely smearing her makeup. 

Whatever the guards and servants wanted to say about the state of their supposed seneschal didn’t matter. 

When she reached the end of the hallway, she turned towards her old rooms instead of the king’s suite, refusing to share a bed tonight, or perhaps any night in the future if she had it her way. Cardan could certainly find himself someone else to satisfy him.

That thought seemed to work like a summoning as she heard quick footsteps following behind her.

“I don’t want to talk right now,” she said pathetically. 

She heard Cardan stop moving. “Please don’t run away,” he quietly begged.

She whipped around quickly, her jealousy quickly becoming anger. “And what would it matter to you?” She hissed. 

His face morphed into something she couldn’t recognize. “Let’s not do this in the hallway.”

Her blood positively boiled. “Or what?” She seethed, “Someone would hear us? What a catastrophe that would be.”

Cardan’s face changed to match hers. “You can stand here and yell all you want, but I am going back to the King’s chambers.”

Jude watched his back as he strode away from her and damned herself when she followed him after a few seconds. It amused her that he had to refer to their bedroom as ‘the King’s’ for fear of discovery. His cloak billowed behind him, emanating power as he strode down the halls like he owned them, which she supposed he did. 

When they finally reached his chambers, Jude fifteen paces behind, her anger began to swell once more as they entered the room, and he gently closed the door behind them.

His entire demeanor changed when they crossed the threshold, and his eyes filled with care. “What’s wrong?”

It was exactly this kind of mind game that drove her insane. “I don’t think you get to ask that.”

He let out a frustrated sigh. “I am really exhausted of fighting you, Jude.”

“Then don’t.” 

“I can’t do that if you’re not telling me what’s wrong.”

She crossed her arms and broke his infuriatingly concerned gaze. “Every day in Elfhame, I am constantly reminded of how inadequate I am. I have fought tooth and nail every day for years to crawl to where am I. Which by the way, where I am is a Queen without a crown and a title no one knows about. And I was willing to accept that. So stupidly willing to accept that. Now, all I have is a husband who can dance and swoon and kiss whoever he desires, and I just get to watch while everyone thinks I am a petty, dumb mortal.”

“We can march into that throne room right now and declare you the rightful Queen.”

Her eyes felt like stinging once again. “That is not what this is about. You just party and seduce all the time, without ever caring about—“

She watched the frustration build in him, as he spat out, “You know as well as I do that you are held to the same standards that I am.”

“And what good does that do! If you even cared a little a bit, you would know that I haven’t tried to be seductive towards a courtier in over a month now. I just wait like a naive, trained dog for you to crawl home and get a good fuck in. Do I have any affect on you or do you just enjoy watching me suffer?”

He tried to reach for her, his voice begging a little. “You know what you do to me.”

She stepped back from his advances in disgust. “I should have known. Everyone in your life leaves you or betrays you for one reason or another. Maybe it’s the disappointment or the lack of concern you have for others, but everyone in your life has been part of a sick twisted game, and I am finished being a pawn Cardan. I must be such an idiot, one who watches you drink and play and then gets repeatedly fucked over. Could you even imagine that? How awful it is to be in love with someone who is constantly trying to best you? And you let yourself get fooled time and time again because maybe this time they’ll behave differently.” 

Cardan’s eyes grew wide as saucers as Jude’s heavy breathing filled the room. 

“You’re so inconsiderate to everyone around you that I’m not surprised that Balekin—“

“Jude,” He interrupted her sentence. 

“You can’t even let me finish one sentence. It’s like when I speak—“

“Jude,” He practically yelled at her. 

Anger filled her, and she couldn’t help the glare that she hoped buried him six feet under. “If you’re so inclined to hear yourself, then what,” She spat. 

“I think you should stop speaking—“

“And you’re so controlling and goddamned—“

“Before you say more things that you don’t mean,” He finished loudly.

Their breathing settled between them, and tension filled the room. She thought about what she could say that would ruin him as much as he ruined her when she realized what she’d admitted.

Her thoughts must have shown on her face because he said, “Sometimes Jude, I really wish you couldn’t lie.”

She wouldn’t give him the reassurance of admitting that she meant what she said. Instead, she chose to let him believe the worst. “I think it’s best that I leave.”

He didn’t say anything as she walked out the door. 

-o-0-o-

Three days later, Jude felt awful. 

She still saw Cardan daily at meetings and the revel last night, but neither deigned to speak with the other more than necessary. They played their roles of King and Seneschal, so that no one would notice anything amiss. It drove Jude insane. All she wanted was to apologize, let him know the truth, or at the very least say hello. All she got, though, were cool glances and smirks thrown her way. 

If she truly wanted what she claimed she did the other night, she knew that she would have to instigate relief efforts, no matter her pride. For the past two days, she’d written and rewritten a letter over and over, trying to explain what she meant. Eventually, she left it short and handed it off to a servant as she walked towards a dueling ring in the courtyard. 

The other letter she’d written was to the bomb demanding her presence in training gear. In the palace, she was Jude’s most worthy adversary. After the better part of an hour, sweat dripped off Jude as she blocked and deflected the bomb’s jests and strikes. Her mortal heart pounded in her chest. It felt so good to release herself like that his that she’d forgotten all about the three little words she wrote on that sheet until she heard an approach from behind.

“My queen?” Cardan called almost hesitantly. 

The bomb instantly stopped fighting and sagely made no noise as Jude turned around. 

“Is this true?” He asked, there was more than just desperation in his voice, almost as if he hoped for answer. 

“Would I lie to you, Your Highness?” She asked. 

He licked his lips in a way that set Jude on fire. “I have need of Jude, Dear, if you don’t mind her leaving the session early, Bomb.”

The bomb said, perhaps too innocently. “I don’t think she minds at all.”

When they reached his room, Cardan held out his hand with the letter in it. “I’ve received word that perhaps you’re ready to end this little feud.”

She took the letter while watching him. “And is this word to be trusted?”

“I feel inclined to believe so.”

As Jude unfolded the letter, she already knew what she would find. It was something that had taken her days, to draft. It was incredibly short and simple, and barely reflected her thoughts. 

In her own handwriting, the cream paper read, 

I didn’t lie.

She pretended that she was mulling over its contents, that it was some long policy proposal instead of a flimsy admission. In an uncharacteristic manner, Cardan patiently let her stare at it. 

She decided she wasn’t quite done with their little game. “Anyone could have written this.”

Cardan’s eyes drifted to the letter as well. “Though true, it appears to be in your handwriting.”

“Anyone can fake that.”

He leveled her a look. “The servant said, ‘From your seneschal, Jude Duarte.’”

“Perhaps a twist of words.”

“Jude.”

HIs name seemed to rattle through her, and she remembered why she even wrote that blasted piece in the first place. 

“For the more hurtful things I said the other night, I apologize. For others, I meant what I said.”

“And what part was that?” He challenged.

She rolled her eyes and looked off. “It seems to have escaped me.”

“Liar.”

When she looked back at him, she said, “I hate you.”

He watched her very intently. “I know.”

She inhaled deeply and panic seemed to fill her bones as she thought about her next words. It would probably take her months to say it if she didn’t let it escape. It would be so easy to fall into their little game once again, but Jude felt her tiredness from before sweep through her. In the long run, that was not what she wanted. Not at all.

“But,” she paused, drawing a shaky breath. “I also love you more than I ever thought possible.”

A small goofy grin pulled at his lips as he reached out for her. She obligingly tucked herself into his arms as hers wrapped around his neck. 

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He teased. 

She leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Is that all you wish to say?”

He pulled her slightly closer, a new hunger filling his eyes. “Not in the least.”

“Then the King shall speak his mind.” She brought her hands down to his shoulders.

He released a pathetic little nose laugh. “I have never been more envious of your ability to lie.”

“It never really seems to do me any favors,” she said quietly. 

His hand made a smoothing gesture on her back, and he brought his gaze down to hers. “I think you underestimate its success rate.”

“Stop avoiding the topic.”

“I am also quite envious of your earlier courage,” he said.

Jude gave him a significant look, and he sighed before saying, “But, the answer to your question is yes.”

“I never asked you anything,”she said confused. 

“You most certainly did. The other night you asked me if I ‘could even imagine that?’,” He asked in a terrible impression of her voice, “‘How awful it is to be in love with someone who is constantly trying to best you?’ Jude. Jude. My dearest Jude. I have never met anyone who holds my heart so dearly and still manages to behave as an adversary.”

She laughed a little at that. 

“Like I said, though, my answer is yes. I can most certainly imagine that because I am so tragically in love with you that it pains me despite all you have done to try and undermine me.”

They paused for a second and let his words settle, but it didn’t take long until they were suddenly a clash of lips and tongue. It felt like breathing for the first time and that every barrier they’d ever put between them came crashing down with their words. Jude pulled on his hair slightly, needing him to just be closer to her. Her heart may have just about leap out of her chest, and she couldn’t help the small sound that escaped her when he pulled away. 

“Jude?” He asked. 

She knew her pupils were dilated and her breathing heavy, but at that moment she couldn’t find an ounce of her to care. Anything he asked, she’d be willing to do. “What?”

“While I appreciate our vigor, I have but one request.”

She cocked her head at his tone. 

“I understand that your training is important, but I think we would both benefit if you bathed yourself before we continued.”

Jude’s mouth opened slightly in fake astonishment, and she pulled away. “If you can’t appreciate me while I’m in this condition, then I must really question your previous declaration.”

Jude stepped toward the wash room, watching Cardan’s shocked face, before turning around and strutting away, perhaps swaying her hips more than necessary. When her hand reached the doorknob, she threw him a significant look. “Perhaps you should call for a servant. There’s one spot on my back I can never reach.”

“I believe I could help,” he all but growled before approaching her quicker than Jude had ever seen.

[iwillgiveyoumyhappiness]

전웅, Jeon Woong

anonymous asked:

I suddenly had an idea where you text your number neighbour and it turns into a sweet and hella flirty text flirtationship and one day you two decide to meet up for real and they are the cutest person you have ever seen?? It sounds cute to me aaah -1102 :)

Group: AB6IX

Member: Woong

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She would hate to admit her dissatisfaction with life to anyone, but at the same time, she wanted to rant and scream about it. 

It wasn’t that she hated life itself, nowhere near being depressed and filled to the brim with self-loathing, it was just that sometimes living as an adult was the hardest thing to accomplish. Between bills, rent, deadlines and all of the above, it often weighed on her mind. 

In summary: she was being crushed by a mountain of things to do and she had no escape or outlet for her frustrations. She was drowning in the common grind and it was draining her. The dark circles under her eyes were proof enough of that. 

That’s why when she saw a sign hanging out of her across-the-hall neighbor’s door that said: “I’m bored, single and lonely—text if you are, too” with a big smiley face and a phone number, she was of half a mind to actually accept the offer. 

She stared at the sign for a moment, contemplating. She tilted her head from side to side, almost as if searching for any trickery that could’ve been hidden there. 

Nothing. Just a piece of cardboard stuck onto the door with blindingly fluorescent duct tape. Maybe the handwriting was a little messy, but other than that, she didn’t see any reason to be suspicious. 

With a shrug, she pulled her phone out of her pocket, taking a quick picture of the sign. She’d forget the number if she didn’t have some sort of memory of it now, she knew that much. 

She wouldn’t call right away. She wasn’t that desperate for something outside of the norm that she’d text him that quickly. At least... She didn’t think so. 

Though, it came to her attention that she could’ve been wrong when she realized that after cooking up dinner for herself, the first thing she did was open up a text conversation with her mystery neighbor’s number. 

She’d never met her neighbor before, if she was being honest. Which—in this situation—she considered a good thing. He’d moved in just recently and she’d only caught brief glimpses of him when they both left for work in the mornings.

They didn’t even end up leaving the building together. He always took the stairs, but she opted for the elevator since she was a self-proclaimed zombie when she first woke up. 

Accepting her fate, she huffed out an, “I’m insane” before typing out what she hoped would be a good opener.

Hey.

Sure, it wasn’t the most interesting thing to say, but it was always a reliable ice-breaker, in her opinion. She waited for a moment before three familiar dots started hopping about near the bottom left-hand corner of the screen. 

Sorry, who’s this? 

That was to be expected, but still, it made her roll her eyes a little. 

Haha! XD Sorry about that. I’m your neighbor from apartment 24.

Oh, hi! How’d you get my number? 

She furrowed her brows. She went into her picture gallery, tapping the picture she’d taken of the sign outside his door. She sent it with that caption: “This is how”. 

About a minute passed before be replied back with:

Oh my God. 

My friends came over last night super drunk, so I bet that was them. That has ‘Kim Donghyun’ written all over it.

Her eyes widened. 

Oh, she typed back. Well, this is awkward. 

A little bit, yeah. 

She could feel her cheeks heating up with embarrassment. 

I guess I’ll just go then. 

She honestly didn’t expect a reply back at all, but the one she received back shocked her even more than anything she could’ve thought up. 

Wait a moment. Shouldn’t I be the one to decide that? I mean, you texted me first, after all. 

Her interest was piqued. 

And how are you going to decide that, sir? 

Send me a selfie. That’ll help me decide. 

The thought ran through her head to mess with him a little. 

Oh? Are you a very shallow person, then? she asked. 

The answer was fast, no break in between. It was a rapid-fire conversation, in a way, all initial awkwardness having melted away. 

Why do you think so?

It seems to me like your trying to decide my worth by how pretty I am. 

Who says you’re pretty?

Who says I’m not? 

Their playful banter went on for about two more hours before they realized that they were getting nowhere. And that it was almost midnight. 

Huh. Well, I haven’t succeeded in getting a picture of you.

And I haven’t gotten one of you, she replied. So, we’re both a little stuck, aren’t we?

Guess we’ll just have to continue this conversation at a later date, then. 

Guess we will. 

Oh, by the way! You should take the sign off your door. 

Why? You don’t want me talking to anyone else? 

She chuckled at the bold response, nibbling her bottom lip in concentration while she tried to think of an answer. She kept wavering between something a little coy and something equally as forward. They both had their drawbacks. 

What if I don’t want you to? What’re you going to do about it?

There was too long of a pause between messages. She groaned to herself, “I knew I shouldn’t have chosen the gusty one.” Just as the words left her mouth and she was about to toss her phone on the other side of the couch, her notification bell dinged. 

She stared at her phone with a mixture of surprise and hesitance. 

Guess I better go take that sign off, then. Hate to disappoint a pretty neighbor.

How do you know I’m pretty?

How do I know you’re not?

Maybe her answer wasn’t so bad after all. 

That’s how they remained for weeks on end. Despite living directly across from each other, neither of them had taken the jump off of the proverbial cliff to visit each other. 

She knew it would be easy to do so—stand up off the couch, walk a few feet across the hallway and knock on the door—simple as that. But there was something holding her back; an undeniable force. 

Sometimes, she even made the stretch to run back into her apartment if she saw him coming. Probably making herself look like a complete fool to any witnesses, but she felt it was worth it. It was as if she liked him so much that the very thought of him terrified her. 

It was a strange, twisted feeling that she could quite place. 

He made her chest tighten and her stomach do way too many uncomfortable back-flips, and she didn’t even really know what he looked like. Blurry glances and uncomfortable side-long looks from out of her peripherals didn’t give her a very good make on his features. 

But for whatever reason... That had absolutely no baring on the way she felt. 

She didn’t even really know what she was feeling. Just weird.  

She supposed a big reason she was scared about meeting him in person—despite him having suggested it a couple of times—is that she was afraid that he wouldn’t like her as much in person. 

They could be all fun and flirty with each other over the phone, but she knew she would buckle the second she came face-to-face with him. She was worried she would disappoint him if they met. 

She could be cool and collected for a distance, but if she met him, what if she wasn’t as pretty as he expected? What if she wasn’t as charming as she was over text? What if, what if, what if. It was a frustrating cycle. 

And underneath it all, there was an underlying fear that she would be disappointed by him as well. What if he was this fun, slightly awkward, likable person over the phone, but in reality, he turned out to be a massive asshole?

She was worried about not living up to expectations, but she was also worried about being let down, silly as it was.

She flopped down on her bed, exhausted after a day that she thought was too long. Getting reprimanded always took a lot out of her, especially when she wasn’t even clear on what she did wrong. Sad as it was, she’d gotten used to the verbal abuse to the point that she was almost numb to it. 

A familiar brrrring made her head pop up from her mountain of pillows. 

She glanced at the clock. Almost 10 at night. She walked to the front door, leaning toward the peep-hole. She couldn’t make anyone out. 

“Hello?” she called through the wood. “Is anyone there?” Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, reading the familiar contact name of: ‘Neighbor Boy’. She knew his name—a pretty one, Jeon Woong—but she still refused to change his contact info. 

He would always be Neighbor Boy to her. 

She unlocked her phone and read the message in her head. It was stupid, but she’d always played around with different tones of voices in her thoughts. What does he really sound like? she wondered.

Hey, there’s someone at your door?? I don’t recognize him, but he looks like  a delivery man. 

She furrowed her brows. 

A delivery man this late? Still, with a shrug she shot back a quick, “Thanks, hot-stuff”—a nickname she’d given him that she would only ever use over the phone; if she said it out loud, she’d explode with embarrassment—and opened the door.

What she expected was a package to be laid at her feet. What she got instead was a bouquet of vibrant irises shoved in her face, obscuring her view of whomever was on the other end of it.

She raised her hand and pushing the bouquet out of her nose, sneezing right after. She tried to shoot the mystery-florist a look, but they’d covered their face. 

She cleared her throat. “Excuse me?” she said. 

The person—a man, she assumed by the physique—stayed quiet, his face hidden behind the fragrant purple petals. Slowly, he pulled the arrangement down, revealing his face inch-by-inch.

He had pale, clear skin, the softest, floppiest-looking hair, a sharp jaw-line, a nose that rounded out cutely at the tip, naturally pouty lips and soft, kind eyes that were painted with the most beautiful shade of milk chocolate. His ears were stained with a bright, embarrassed red. 

Her eyes widened. Without any words being exchanged, she knew. She just knew who this person in front of her was. 

“Hot-stuff?” she breathed out, the nickname unintentionally slipping out. She tried the play it cool, but it was hard when her neighbor turned out to be literally the most attractive person to breathe air. 

At least... To her, he was. 

He gave a shy smile. “Hi, Gorgeous,” he chuckled adorably, returning the nickname. His tone was even better than she’d imagined. Not too deep, not to high. Slightly velvety, she’d say. A solid baritone. 

He rubbed the back of his neck, gulping visibly. It was hard to believe that this cutie in front of her was the same forward and confident tease she’d been chatting with for a few weeks now.

He cleared his throat. “I know this is kinda sudden,” he started off, “but I just really wanted to meet up with you, and well...” He held the flowers out to her, avoiding eye contact. “We were both taking too long.” 

Her eyes widened a little. “Oh,” she stuttered dumbly. “Oh.” The realization finally dawned on her to take the bouquet he was so delicately offering to her. “Irises,” she said, taking them into her arms and giving them a quick sniff. 

“They’re very pretty,” she told him, nibbling her bottom lip. She was never the one who received flowers. Usually, she’d be the one giving them out. It felt nice to be doted on, for once. “Thank you.”

He nodded, trying to keep his smile at a minimum. It wasn’t working. “No problem,” he said, shifting his weight from the balls of his feet to his heels periodically, giving off the vibe of a child waiting at the bus-stop. “I just... I thought you deserved something cooler than roses,” he admitted. Another precious chuckle. “So I Googled the meaning of different flowers.” 

She couldn’t help but laugh at that, successfully breaking through any tension that they might’ve had. “Oh, yeah?” she asked. “And what did doctor Google say about Irises?” 

“Hope,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets.

She quirked a brow. “Hope, huh? Hope for what?” 

He took a deep breath, seemingly trying to gain a little courage. “Hope that you’ll agree to become my friend. And hope that if you like me enough as a friend, you’ll want to date me.” 

Her jaw dropped.

He gestured to the bouquet. “That’s why I got those flowers,” he said. He gave her a heart-melting smile. “I was hoping to brainwash you into liking the me outside the screen.” 

She looked down at her feet, a small smile playing on her lips. “Can I tell you a secret?” she asked softly. He nodded. 

She leaned forward with her hand cupped around her mouth, like she was going to reveal a grand truth or tell an old tale. He leaned in too, turned his head so that his ear was angled toward her; he didn’t want to miss a word, already stuck on her voice.

“I already do,” she said simply. “I like the fact that he’s just as awkward and nervous as I am in real life. I like the fact that he’s trying to woo me. I like the fact that he Googles things he doesn’t understand fully, ‘cause bro, me too. I like the fact that he makes me laugh and I like the fact that he’s convenient.”

He pulled away with furrowed brows. “Convenient?” he echoed.

She nodded, a grin on her face. “For sure!” she said. “If I end up liking the real you enough to date you, I’ll only have to go across the hall for date-night.” She shrugged. “Doesn’t get much more convenient than that.” 

His cheeks heated up a little bit. “Well, then...” he said. “I guess I’ll just have to try really hard to get you to like the real me enough. It’d be a shame to pass up such a golden opportunity.” 

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Maybe I love him. Just maybe. 

Hey, 1102! I hope things are going well for you and that work’s not killing you too much. Keep fighting and being your cool-self and it’ll all work out! 

This is a pretty late posting, but thank you so much for this request. It was literally the cutest and I loved writing it. I, too, have been swamped as of late, so I haven’t had as much time for writing recently. :’) Lord, give me strength.

Have a good day/evening/night!

[roxyspearing]

A Bad Call

Written for @spngenrebingo...this is angsty AF so be prepared!

Word count: 1,277

Characters: Reader, Dean, Sam, reader’s family (mentioned), something that goes bump in the night. (no pairing)

Warnings: ANGST, major character death, big old plot twist, betrayal and deceit, descriptions of major injuries

Square filled: Wrong Number

Stomping downstairs, you tried to decide which of your favourite curse words you were going to use on whoever this person ringing you non-stop for the last ten minutes was. Just as you got to the hallway, the phone cut off once more. Glaring at it, you stood and waited, minutes ticking past, but the phone stayed blessedly silent. With a sigh of relief, you turn to head back upstairs to your lovely warm bed, and have one hand on the bannister when -

*ring ring......ring ring* With an almost inhuman growl, you grab the receiver.

“Who the HELL is this and what exactly is the life or death situation that has you ringing me incessantly AT 2AM IN THE MORNING! And it better be a life or death situation or I’m gonna make it into a death situation. YOURS!!” Your scream peters off, and you’re met with silence. “Well?! Speak UP, dammit!!”

“Um...I’m so sorry. I must have the wrong number. I was trying to call my brother, Sam?”

“I am definitely not Sam.” You say between gritted teeth.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry. This handwriting got all smudged, I’ve been out in this rain for the last hour...”

“Well, boohoo- hello?” Your eyes widen at the sounds of groaning and crashing that comes over the line. “Hello? Sam’s brother? Are you OK?” Oh shit. Is this man actually in a life or death situation?

“Shit. OK. This is gonna sound insane. But I need you to get to this address, right now.”

“Excus-” Almost dropping the phone at the yell, you grab the pen and paper next to your phone and write down the address.”

“What do I do when I get there?” You ask.

“Tell you when you get here...gotta go!” The disconnect tone clicks in, and you slowly hang the phone up. This has got to be a dream, surel- you yelp as you pinch yourself. OK, definitely awake. Looking at the address, you frown at how familiar it looks...

The cemetery. The goddamn cemetery. You drive past it to and from work every day. No wonder that address looked so familiar. Pulling in through the gates, which you could’ve sworn are usually locked at this stupid o’clock time of the morning, you wonder where to start looking for this mystery man. Cutting your engine off, you’re reaching for your jacket when you hear it. Stepping out into the cool night air, you wait for the sound to come again. Very faintly, you can make out the same crashing sound from earlier. Following it, you find yourself outside one of the mausoleums, only the door has been smashed in. With a shaky hand, you push the splintered remains open, and take a step inside. The air is dusty, more so thanks to the broken open tomb in front of you, a pickaxe, a poker and some cannisters lying on the floor next to it. But your gaze is fixed on the wall opposite you, which a man has just been thrown against by a shadowy figure.. which just disappeared?!

“HEY!” You yell, running over to the guy trying to catch his breath back. “What... what the hell was that? Where’d that guy go? And why the hell are we in a damn mausoleum??”

“I’ll explain everything.” Mystery man says, his green eyes meeting your disbelieving gaze. “But first, I need you to get that poker, and watch my back. Gotta burn that bastard before anyone else gets hurt.”

“WHAT?!” Following mystery man, you take the poker being offered to you. “Wait! Give me one good reason why I don’t hit you with this and go get the police?”

“Because if you do that, more people are going to die. This spirit is vicious.”

“SPIRIT!?”

“Yes. Spirit. Now shut up and keep watch.” Mystery man turns away from you, and you watch incredulously as he picks up the cannisters, and pours gasoline and what looks like salt into the open tomb.

“Jeez. Mausoleums are cold.”

“That’s not the mausoleum. Shit where’s my lighter?” Mystery man starts patting himself, and you gasp as that earlier shadowy figure appears right behind him.

“Watch out!!” Instinct has you swinging the poker in your hands, but you almost drop it as it goes through the shadow figure like he was air. “I...WHA???”

“Got it” The yell comes from the other side of the mausoleum, where mystery man ran to at your earlier yell. Glancing over, you see him fiddling with a shiny object. A shiver runs through you, and you turn back to find that figure stood right next to you.

“ARGH!!” The poker drops from your hands as the figure grabs you by the throat. You claw at his grasp, but to no avail. You’re almost unconscious when a strange warmth meets your body. As you get much needed air into your lungs, you watch in shock as the figure burst into flames, before fizzling out of sight for good.

“Shit. You OK? Here, sip this.”

“I - Start explaining.”

Monsters are real. Holy shit. Once Dean, as you found out mystery man was called, had explained, your first question was to ask if he was crazy. When he assured you he wasn’t your next question had been for booze. A lot of booze. Leaving you inside the mausoleum, Dean had gone and grabbed a bottle of whisky from his car.

“So, I owe you a massive thank you.” Dean says, taking a sip from the bottle and handing it to you. “There’s not many people who would’ve done what you did tonight. I just don’t understand how I got the wrong number.” He continues, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket.

“Let me see that.” Taking the paper, you glance at him. “What number is that?”

“A seven.”

“That’s a four.”

“Dammit. Excuse me a second. Taking another sip, you watch as Dean talks to who you assume is Sam. “Well, he’s on his way over. We weren’t sure which cemetery was right so we split up. You might waiting til he gets here, then we’ll drop you home.

“Sure. So, what other monsters are real?”

About half an hour passes, and then you hear it.

“Dean?” You keep silent, and watch as Sam walks in and around the tomb. “De- DEAN!” Sam drops to his knees besides the bloody and broken body of his brother, his green eyes now blank and unseeing.

“Sorry. I had hoped to kill you both together, but Deanie boy worked it out.” You chuckle as Sam turns around, but before he can reach for his gun you wave your hand, pinning him in place against the tomb.

“Who the hell are you?” Sam grunts.

“You know, it is so offensive that neither of you recognised me. Bet you wouldn’t even recognise my family if I told them their names.”

“Your family?”

“Well, you would refer to them as a coven. Let me clear the cobwebs for you. Boston, couple of years back? All we were doing is killing the odd douche bag jerk, making the world a better place, and you and your brother came and I’murdered my entire family! You’d have killed me if I hadn’t been in the hospital. Who’d have guessed that burst appendix would be my life saver?”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh I know. But the problem is, I want to do this. I’ve waited, and I’ve schemed long enough. I was the one who made that spirit, and I was the one who made that sudden thunderstorm come along. And now I’m the one who killed the Winchesters. Say night-night Sam.”

Forever and evers:

@like-a-bag-of-potatoes  @thing-you-do-with-that-thing  @jayankles  @grace-for-sale  @atc74  @mrsbatesmotel53  @gryffindorofcabin21  @dolphinpink310  @goldenolaf25  @kdfrqqg  @ellen-reincarnated1967  @fictionalabyss  @heyitscam99  @just-another-busyfangirl  @amanda-teaches  @tn-grayson  @girl-next-door-writes  @feelmyroarrrr  @blacktithe7  @masksandtruths  @maui137  @holyfuckloueh  @tina8009  @polina-93  @emoryhemsworth  @whimsicalrobots  @x-waywardaf-x  @be-amaziing  @horsegirly99  @bitterstar88  @hunterswearingplaid  @deangirl7695  @thisismysecrethappyplace  @calaofnoldor  @randomparanoid  @flamencodiva  @beththedemonhunter

[huphilpuffs]

between the lines

summary: Dan’s failing his English class, so Phil is enlisted to tutor him. University AU. word count: 3350 rating: g warnings: none a/n: Written for @phanfictionhoe for @phandomficfests holiday exchange! I hope you like it! And big thanks to @insectbah for beta’ing.

ao3 link

“Hey Dan?”

He looks up, hands hovering halfway to his backpack. The only good part about English class so far is that he doesn’t have a textbook to carry around with him.

“Yes, sir?”

His tutor smiles, kind.

All the staff here seem too kind. Dan kind of wishes they were scary. That would make it easier to hate them.

“Do you have a class now?”

Dan swallows. “No, sir.”

“Can we talk for a moment, then?”

He lifts his hands from his bag. Walking into his tutorial today had already been dreadful. The heavy feeling he’d been carrying in his chest since a few days ago comes back. He settles back into his seat, listening to every other student leave the room with rustling papers and loud footsteps.

The doors at the uni are too heavy. They always fall closed with a loud thud.

His tutor comes towards him only after the last student’s left. Nathan, he told them to call him during the first tutorial. Calling people with actual PhDs by their first name still feels foreign on Dan’s tongue, though.

He sits down across from Dan, still smiling.

“I’m sure you saw your grade on the first essay,” he says.

Dan swallows. The pressure in his chest is worse. “Uh, yeah.”

Nathan nods. “As you know, a 36% is a failing grade.”

“I know,” says Dan. “Am I–”

He cuts himself off. Asking if he’s in trouble sounds stupid. He’s supposed to be an adult now.

Supposedly.

Nathan shakes his head. “No, you’re okay. There’ll be opportunities to bring your grade up,” he says. “Actually, the professor is working with the university to help students who are struggling. We’re trying to match students up with student tutors. Are you interested?”

He isn’t, not really. But Dan nods anyway.

Nathan smiles, again. “Okay. I’ll email you once I know the details, okay?”

Dan just nods dumbly, slumped back in his seat.

“You’re free to go,” says Nathan.

“Oh,” says Dan. He stumbles to his feet, slings his backpack over his shoulder, and rushes out the door.

He has almost an hour left before his metaphysics lecture.

And he really needs coffee.

---

He gets the email with the details on a Tuesday.

A few hours later, he gets another email from a guy called Phil that’s a little less formal, a little more nerdy. It’s almost enough to put Dan at ease.

He reads it sitting in his ethics tutorial, waiting for the class to start.

Hello,

My name’s Phil and I’m going to be your tutor for ENGL10021. I’m a third year student doing English Language and Linguistics, by the way. I’ll be on campus tonight if you want to meet up. Let me know!

Phil ^.^

---

His brain feels numb when he leaves the tutorial.

Ethics is confusing. His brain is all muddled. There’s an essay coming up and the thought of it has his breaths coming quicker, tighter, a little too desperate. Dan clutches the straps of his bag and rushes down the stairs, almost stumbling over his own feet.

He needs more coffee.

Not that it fixes anything.

Dan ends up at Starbucks, one near campus that’s always too full. Someone pulls the door open. Dan rushes in before it falls closed. He feels jittery. His heart’s beating too fast.

He takes two steps into the store before realizing he’s not paying attention.

“Fucking shit. ”

Dan blinks. He’s standing still, suddenly, and there’s a boy standing in front of him, staring with wide eyes. His shirt is stained, wet and sticking to his skin.

It takes Dan a moment to realize he’s drenched in the shit, too.

“Fuck,” he repeats. “Watch where you’re fucking going, why don’t you?”

“I–” says the boy. He looks almost defensive, but it fades into something softer. “Sorry, I will. You should, too, though.”

Bitterness flares, angry, in Dan’s chest, but he doesn’t argue. The boy lingers there for a moment. He has black hair, cutting across his forehead in a fringe that mirrors Dan’s, and his eyes are still just a little too wide.

“I, uh, have a lecture,” the boy blurts. His coffee — iced, thankfully — is half empty, the plastic lid hanging off the straw, but he doesn’t bother to fix it before leaving.

Dan leaves without getting coffee.

---

His leg is bouncing when he sits down at the library.

The floor, Green 2 because it’s the only social one in the main library, is full of people chatting with their friends and Dan feels stupid, sitting at a table by himself. He didn’t even have time to go back to his room to pick up his English books.

He should have gotten coffee before coming, he thinks. It’s the only thing keeping him going by this point.

“Dan?”

He jumps, swivels in his chair and–

“Fuck, please don’t say you’re Phil.”

The boy standing there offers half a smile. “Sorry to disappoint?”

Dan’s leg starts bouncing again. His chest feels too tight. He tries to remember the topics for his ethics essay to distract himself, but all that does is make his breaths come faster, his mind go a little more hazy around the edges. He doesn’t want to think about philosophy.

Uni’s making him not want to think about anything.

“Hey, you okay?” says Phil.

He forces his eyes open. Phil’s sitting across from him now, his bag on the table. There’s a coffee-coloured stain on his shirt.

Dan helped put it there.

“I can’t fail this fucking class,” he says. “You can’t let me fail.”

Phil frowns. “Why would I let you fail?”

Dan shrugs, motioning vaguely towards Phil’s chest. He’s still not breathing properly.

“Oh, this?” Phil’s smile quirks wider, happier, a little more crooked. “It’s nothing. I’ll get my mum to wash it tonight and it’ll be fine.”

He sounds so genuine that Dan manages to stop jittering for a moment.

“Now, tell me about yourself?” says Phil. “What are you studying?”

Dan manages half a smile back. “Philosophy,” he says. “Since English clearly isn’t my strong suit.”

Phil laughs, and the tightness in Dan’s chest starts to fade.

---

“Did you get a chance to meet your tutor?” asks Nathan after the next tutorial.

Dan’s hand is hovering on the doorknob. Everyone else has already left, and part of him wonders why he didn’t rush out of his seat to avoid this conversation. He turns around, smiling.

“Yes,” he says. “Thank you for arranging it.”

“Of course,” says Nathan. “Do you think he’ll be able to help you?”

His smile grows a little more genuine, then. He tries not to think of Phil telling him about the time he forgot to study for his first exam because he was too busy binge-watching Buffy for the too-manieth time. Dan had told him, in turn, about the time he forgot to study for A-levels because of Mortal Kombat.

“Yeah, I think so.”

Nathan just nods, and doesn’t say another word as Dan slips out the door.

---

“So I looked at your essay,” says Phil as he sits down at their next meeting.

He booked a room in the English department this time, one with big windows open into the hallway that make Dan want to squirm in his seat every time someone walks by. Not that it matters what the English profs think of him. He’s probably never going to come back after he’s done this course.

“And?”

Phil smiles. He drops Dan’s essay, annotated in red ink, onto the table between them and his backpack onto the floor. There’s a little Yoshi plushie hanging off the handle.

Seeing it eases just a bit of Dan’s anxiety.

“I think you overanalyze.”

“That’s what Nathan said, too,” says Dan. “I, uh, don’t really know what it means.”

Phil chuckles, but it doesn’t seem mocking. “It is kinda vague, huh?”

Dan nods. He reaches forward, grabbing the essay to read some of the notes Phil made, written in messier handwriting around Nathan’s.

“You’re a philosophy major, right?” says Phil.

He hums. “Yup.”

“That could explain it.”

“Oy!” Dan looks up. Phil’s leaning forward in his seat, grinning. “Is that a jab at my major?”

Phil lifts his hands, hitting himself in the forehead as he does, swiping his fringe away from his eyes. He laughs, and his tongue pokes out between his teeth, and something goes tight in Dan’s chest.

He tries not to think about it too much.

“Not at all,” says Phil. “Or maybe a little. I don’t know. You just seem like someone prone to overthinking things. But that’s not a bad thing.”

He seems sincere. Dan can’t bring himself to be upset about it.

His finger drifts along the edge of his essay as he looks back down.

“Fine, then tell me about this overanalyzing thing.”

---

By their fifth session, Dan knows more about Phil.

He knows about his schedule, which leaves his Tuesday afternoons free at the same time as Dan’s are and usually has them booking their meetings then. He knows he plays Mario games, like Dan does, and grew up playing something called Bubble Bobble that had Dan teasing him about being old.

Phil’s favourite type of book is horror, Dan had learned last week, after wondering if it was the type of story they were analyzing that made the class so hard.

“I couldn’t have done lit,” Phil had said. “All the character-driven plots would have driven me insane.”

Dan had bit at his lip, offered a grin. “I like them,” he’d said. “Even if I over-analyze them.”

Phil had nudged their feet together under the table, back at the library that time. “That’s why philosophy’s perfect for you,” he’d said, smiling.

He’s smiling again today, over the edge of his syntax textbook, as Dan highlights passages in a short story called The Yellow Wallpaper they were asked to read. Dan has to force himself to stare at the text instead of the way Phil’s eyes seem to shine in the too-bright light of the English Department.

Dan drops the highlighter when he’s finished reading. Phil’s textbook is already closed and resting on his lap when he looks up.

“You did well,” he says.

“You haven’t even looked over my work,” says Dan.

“I saw what you were doing.” There’s a hint of laughter in Phil’s eyes as he says it. He leans over the table, closer to Dan, and tugs the text towards him. “What’d you think of the ending?”

Dan groans, letting his body collapse onto the table. “Now you’re just asking me to overanalyze.”

Phil laughs, warm and happy, and knocks their knees together under the table. They’re sitting closer today.

That’s another thing that’s changed over the past few weeks.

“Unless you come up with a true conspiracy theory,” he says, “I really don’t think you can overanalyze this ending. It’s pretty abstract.”

“Pretty? It doesn’t even make sense.”

He glares at the story, groans, and presses his head into his elbow to ignore it, just for a moment.

Then Phil’s hand is settling on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

“You don’t have to write an essay on this one, remember?” he says. “You just have to understand it enough for a quiz.”

Dan smiles even though Phil can’t see it.

Phil’s hand stays on his shoulder until Dan lifts his head and gets back to work.

---

Their sixth meeting is back in the library.

Phil shows up with his backpack on his shoulders and two cups of coffee in his hands. He sets one, the one with Dan’s name scribbled across the side, in front of Dan, grinning.

“Do you like caramel macchiatos?”

Dan reaches for it. The cup is warm against his palm, the drink too hot when he takes a sip, but Dan smiles at the sweetness anyway. Of his drink, and, he realizes a moment after the feeling settles in his chest, of Phil, too.

“Yeah,” he says. “I like them.”

Phil’s smile only widens.

He takes the seat next to Dan, humming around a sip of his own drink as their knees brush together under the table.

“Good,” he says. “It’s getting chilly outside, you have to take care of yourself.”

Dan nods, presses his leg back against Phil’s. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” says Phil. “Besides, I have, uh, YouTube money to spend.”

His cheeks go a little pink, and Dan knows he should be taking out his essay outline to have Phil help him look it over, but he doesn’t want to. Not when Phil’s scratching at the black ink scribbled on the side of his cup with the tip of his fingernail, staring at the tabletop. Not when his leg is still pressed against Dan’s.

“You do YouTube?”

Phil’s chuckle is quiet, almost embarrassed. “Just a bit. It doesn’t actually make me enough money for Starbucks, but it’s fun,” he says.

“I do too,” says Dan, and Phil looks up, eyes wide. “Not enough to make any money, but it’s, uh fun. Yeah.”

“That’s awesome.” Phil’s smile has spread across his whole face again. “What kind of videos do you make? Would I like them?”

“Um, how do you feel about self deprecating humour and attempts at self-analysis?”

His gaze flits over Dan’s fringe, over his hoodie. “Let me guess, you went through an emo phase, too?”

“I’m not sure if I resent or appreciate your use of the past tense,” says Dan.

Phil laughs so much his tongue sticks out between his teeth and his shoulder presses against Dan’s.

Dan has to try very hard not to let warmth bubble up in his chest again, without coffee to blame this time.

---

They meet up at Starbucks the eighth time.

Dan has another caramel macchiato in his hands, his final essay laid out across the table between them. Phil has a croissant that has his fingers a little buttery, so he smudges oil on the paper whenever he points out an error. He picks it apart and pops bites into his mouth, grinning around them as Dan marks the recommendations in red pen.

“There’s not much to correct this time,” says Phil.

He still has a little bit of food in his mouth. Dan thinks he should probably be more disgusted than he is.

“I already corrected most of it,” he says, smiling to hide the warmth he feels in his cheeks.

Phil shrugs. “Still, you’re learning how to write for English instead of Philosophy,” he says. “It’s getting easier, isn’t it?”

The corner of his mouth is quirked up, his smile crooked. Dan doesn’t realize he’s drawn a slash of red ink across the page until Phil’s eyes crinkle with a quiet giggle.

“End of the semester getting to you?”

His foot nudges Dan’s. He blames how small the two-person Starbucks tables are, wedged into a corner like this with their long legs. It doesn’t keep his chest from going warm, though. He’s grown used to that, when Phil says something nice and he feels his whole body react to it.

“A bit,” says Dan. “It’s not even done yet. We’re just getting a break then it continues.”

“With exams,” says Phil. His nose crinkles, and Dan’s stomach goes tight. “It’s pretty much a study break.”

“I’m just gonna procrastinate studying until the last day, I already know it.”

Phil’s smile softens then. He takes another bite of his croissant, swallowing it with a sip of coffee, letting the silence linger. Dan takes a sip of his drink to fill it, to ignore the way his heart is suddenly pounding for no reason whatsoever.

“Maybe I could remind you to study?” says Phil. His cheeks have gone pink. He’s fidgeting over the table so much Dan’s fairly certain he’s going to tear his bread to shreds. “You know, if you give me your number.”

Dan wants to quip that they’d probably get too distracted talking to actually study, but his throat goes tight before he can. He hands over his phone, and tries not to let Phil see his smile.

Tries not to admit he’ll miss this, once his English class is over.

Phil texts him, and grins when Dan’s phone vibrates on the tabletop. He doesn’t go to grab it at first, but Phil keeps staring at him, all wide eyes and expectation.

Dan can’t help but smile when he reads the messages.

Hi it’s Phil ^.^ I was thinking we should meet up after your exam

if you want I mean

no pressure

He grins as he types back: ill text u when i get out

Phil clicks his tongue. “Grammar, Dan. You’ll never get your grade up like this.”

Dan’s laugh rumbles as they both set their phones down to finish their drinks, to look over the rest of Dan’s paper.

Their legs are still brushing under the table.

---

They text over winter break.

There’s a conversation on the train about whether all the snow is melting as he gets further south. And another where Phil asks about his childhood bedroom, for whatever reason. Dan sends him a picture of Bangy just so he can sit down on the sofa and imagine the way Phil’s eyes gleam when he’s happy.

He gets a message on Christmas morning that comes with a picture of Phil in his pyjamas, hugging a gift box to his chest.

Dan smiles so wide his mum asks who he’s texting in the lilted voice that makes his cheeks burn red. He hopes Phil can’t tell in the photo he sends back.

They do talk about schoolwork, sometimes, in timed study sessions. Dan’s pretty sure he’s too distracted to remember anything about Parfit or Kant or Plato, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when he needs to catch up on studying, alone late at night, and not when Phil admits studying together is a little distracting, too.

One time, Phil makes a comment about how they’ll need to play their new games together sometime.

Another, Dan insinuates that Phil will see his room back at uni, and Phil doesn’t protest.

And there’s a text on New Years, at midnight, that makes Dan’s whole body go warm and giddy, just a little bit of alcohol in his stomach and a lot of thoughts he probably shouldn’t have in his head.

He’s dreading finals when break ends, but he smiles the whole train ride home.

---

They meet up outside Starbucks after the final.

Or, well, between Starbucks and the lecture hall when Dan wrote the test, because Phil’s walking towards him, bag slung over one shoulders, bobble hat on his head.

Dan’s steps are bouncy. His shoulders feel light, his bag filled with only his wallet and pencil case, a whole semester of work falling away. He doesn’t mean to when he reaches out, wraps an arm around Phil’s shoulders, but Phil’s arm curls at his waist and he’s pretty sure it’s okay.

Phil’s grinning. His cheeks are rosy, the tip of his nose red with winter cold. Dan smoothes a bare hand across his cheek. His heart is racing with the knowledge that he can, that Phil isn’t flinching away.

And he kisses him, soft and warm and grateful.

Phil kisses back.

His whole body feels warm when he pulls away, even as the wind sweeps under his jacket. His cheeks, he knows, are bright red. So are Phil’s, though.

“Shit,” says Dan.

“What?”

“Didn’t mean to do that.”

The corner of Phil’s mouth quirks, eyes falling to the ground between them. His blush blooms up his cheeks, pinkening the tips of his ears more than the cold already had. Dan’s not sure if it’s intentional or caused by nerves when Phil squeezes his hip.

“I’m glad you did,” says Phil. His voice is shaky. He draws away slowly, tucking his hands into his pockets and tilting his head so the bobble on his hat flops to the side. “Still want coffee?”

“As long as you’re not going to tutor me again.”

Phil laughs and leads the way to Starbucks.