#Delia x Grace

[stayevildarling]

gosh ur writing is truly amazing 🥹 I'm obsessed! I'm wondering if I could possibly request a Zelda Spellman, Cordelia Goode and reader fic with some angst? I'm currently obsessed with these characters rn and you honestly write them both so well🙃 if not tho that's fine <3

Cordelia Goode x Zelda Spellman x Reader - I'll crawl home to them

A/N: I am obsessed with this request!! Thank you 🫶🏻 I have missed writing for Zelda and after rewatching the whole show I just kept thinking about this idea, Cordelia makes it even better. I hope you enjoy and this is what you wanted <3 For any witch experts on here, please ignore some of the witchcraft and rituals, I wrote it to fit the storyline and it's not too accurate to both Delia and Zelda's powers. Also, I wish I could have carried this on for a lifetime but it was long already.

warnings: mention of death, mention of witch hunters, mention of violence, mention of guns, mention of blood, mention of smoking, angst, fluff at the end

word count: 5k

taglist:

@lunaticwhittaker, @billiebeanhoward, @lanawinters-ily, @kenzbro, @minaslittleone, @httpfiftyshadesofgay, @whitelotus00, @ninaahs, @vintagepaulson, @isle-of-earle, @paulsonsratched, @stepintomyworld, @grilledcheeseandguavajelly, @lucyintheskywithxanax, @fanfics4world, @mymiraclewitch, @hazard-to-myself, @awritersometime, @ohrwurm26, @wastdstime

Sitting at the breakfast table in the academy's dining hall, Cordelia stretches her arms, feeling the satisfying pop of her joints. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the scent of warm pastries, that the supreme had prepared hours ago. Zelda sits across from her, with grace buttering a slice of toast, her usual newspaper beside her. Both women look relaxed, yet tired, the week's demands having taken their toll on the headmistress and high priestess.

As you walk into the room, balancing a tray with breakfast items, you set it down with a soft thud, both of your girlfriends greeting you with content smiles. The three of you had barely seen each other all week, each wrapped up in the responsibilities of running their respective academies. Cordelia lived in New Orleans, running Miss Robichaux's Academy as headmistress plus supreme, Zelda living in Greendale, both teaching and leading the Academy of unseen arts for witches and warlocks. You had originally spent a majority of your time in Greendale, growing up there, before eventually wanting to see more of the world and finding a certain blonde far away.

Fate had bounded you together again, as both Cordelia and Zelda had known each other from countless council meetings in the past and when the three of you reconnected and realised that you all not only knew each other but had a certain attraction towards each other, one thing eventually led to another. You hated the idea of being far from either of your lovers but as the three of you mastered the ability of teleporting, Zelda additionally knowing how to astral project, it made the whole thing a lot easier. The three of you practically lived at Miss Robichaux's now, despite Zelda still calling Greendale her home and making an appearance at her home at least twice a day. This week she had only been in Greendale, as there had been some troubles with newer witches and warlocks at the academy. You had always been stuck in between, wanting nothing more than to help your girlfriends out with the burden that their responsibilities brought. And so you mostly split yourself, teaching and helping Delia in the mornings and working besides Zelda in the afternoon, before eventually collapsing into a bed with either of them, whether that was Greendale or New Orleans.

This is partially the reason why you enjoyed weekends so much as you knew you could always spent it with both of your girlfriends as they made those their priority, knowing if they didn't, this relationship wasn't going to work out. The three of you dig into breakfast, enjoying the rare moment of silence and the comfortable embrace of sitting beside each other. For a while, you simply savour each other's company, the peacefulness of the morning making the moment even more precious.

,,So, what do you both have planned for today?'' you ask, breaking the silence eventually. Cordelia sighs, setting her coffee cup down. ,,Unfortunately, I have an urgent meeting with the council. They've been quite insistent on discussing the new security measures, since.. you know'' she says, Zelda rolling her eyes slightly at her statement. Of course you knew what the supreme was talking about, several academy's and covens having been attacked lately and you knew this was far more important.

As you glance at Zelda, hoping she would at least be free, she shows the same guilty glance as she lights a cigarette. ,,And I'm afraid, I have to join Cordelia'' she huffs, knowing security measures are important but equally she wanted nothing more than to at least have a break this weekend. You nod thoughtfully, forcing a gentle smile and pretending this didn't hurt but at the same time who are you to whine about something as important as this. ,,I'm sorry sweetheart'' Cordelia coos, brushing her hand against your cheek with a guilty expression.

,,It's okay Delia'' you reassure but both witches are able to see right through you, not just due to their magic and abilities but also having been by your side for a very long time and knowing whenever you are playing it cool in front of them. ,,How about dinner tonight? just the three of us?'' your redhead girlfriends suggest and you beam a little upon hearing her offer. ,,Would you both be done by then?'' you ask a little hesitantly, knowing that those kind of meetings can take hours sometimes. ,,We'll make sure we are dear'' Zelda encourages and you trust her every word. ,,I'll take care of it'' you announce happily before Cordelia's brown eyes meet yours.

,,You don't have to sweetheart'' she tries with a head tilt but you are quite adamant, always happy to make your lovers happy. ,,What do you have in mind my love?'' Zelda asks affectionately as she abandons her cigarette in a nearby ashtray. ,,I'll see what I can find, leave it to me'' you announce happily before they nod contently. And so, with a plan in place, the three of you finish breakfast, enjoying the fleeting moment of togetherness before the days responsibilities pull you in different directions. You are the first one to leave, wanting to give both witches some space to prepare for their meeting and wanting to make sure you could make this dinner special. They both part you with loving glances, thank yous and kisses goodbye.

,,I need to stop by home first, Hilda has some kind of emergency apparently'' Zelda announces to her blonde girlfriend with a hint of annoyance in her voice. ,,Oh, is everything alright?'' Cordelia asks, concern laced in her voice, ,,Don't worry, probably a baking disaster of some sorts'' the witch snorts and the blonde can't help but smirk at her girlfriends antics. ,,See you there'' she smiles before they kiss goodbye. While Zelda teleports back towards greendale, you make your way towards the markets, Cordelia getting ready for her meeting and glancing over the documents they had sent beforehand one more time.

As you make it to the markets, you instantly feel at home, as Cordelia would take you here often on weekend mornings, picking up either flowers, ingredients or fresh produce with you. She had always made it a habit but since knowing you she enjoyed going with you even more, even before the two of you had become so close, although as you think about it a little further, you believe one of the reasons you had fallen for the supreme was how she took you around the markets with the brightest smile, holding onto your hand and guiding you from stall to stall with such excitement that it made your heart quickly beat faster for her. You had thought about the kind of meal to make on your way there already and eventually settled on both Zelda and Cordelia's favourite. As you walk through the markets, greeted by some familiar faces as they recognised you by now, you purchase several different ingredients.

Meanwhile, Zelda had made it to her home in Greendale, brushing past Ambrose who had greeted her with a quick ,,Hello Auntie'' before rushing into his room with several books and snacks as if he was planning something. And if Zelda wasn't so busy, she would have investigated what he was up to but she couldn't make the time to care. ,,What is it Hilda? I'm incredibly busy with this council business'' she huffs as she walks into the kitchen, feeling both annoyed and a little on edge what her sister wanted. The blonde stands by the kitchen island, some fresh cupcakes in front of her, as well as a fresh pot of coffee and tea. Zelda approaches with a raised eyebrow before glancing at her sister. ,,So?'' she asks with a raised eyebrow before the blonde looks away, trying to remain serious. ,,Well you have been so busy at the academy and you know.. with your girls'' she begins, giggling excitedly at the later part. ,,And I just really wanted to catch up'' she speaks, forcing a bright smile in the hopes that Zelda wouldn't be too upset and end up killing her for this.

,,Catch up?'' Zelda scoffs almost sarcastically as she couldn't believe her sister made her come all the way here for that. ,,Oh please Zelds, I made your favourite'' she tries with a beaming smile and the redhead simply rolls her eyes before taking a seat, lighting a cigarette and letting Hilda pour her a cup of coffee and slowly sliding a plate with a cupcake in front of her. ,,So how have you been Zelds? the girls?'' she asks excitedly and despite her cold demeanour, the redhead appreciated the gesture nevertheless, after the last year having grown closer to her sister than ever before and even if she wouldn't admit it to anyone or herself she had missed her, especially being so busy lately.

While the two sisters catch up, Cordelia had made her way to the council meeting, making it there way too early but wanting to catch up with some of the people from the academy's that had been attacked and hoping to offer her support if they needed anything at all. As the weather had taken a turn for the worse, you decided that you wouldn't be able to find the last few ingredients at the markets, trying another store but after this also being unsuccessful, you decide to abandon the things you had purchased already at the academy, before heading to Greendale, hoping you could either find some other seasonal things there or possibly being able to ask Hilda for some assistance what to do about this meal, because you knew by now if anyone could cook or bake then it was her. With practiced ease, you teleport into Greendale, stopping by the Main Street first before heading into a shop.

,,You're late'' Cordelia states with a chuckle as Zelda finally joins her for the council meeting, the redhead instantly rolling her eyes. ,,Everything okay with Hilda?'' the supreme asks, always having been fond of her girlfriends sister and especially her kindness and humour. ,,Yeah, believe it or not she wanted to catch up'' the redhead huffs before Cordelia tilts her head a little. ,,That's very sweet'' she coos, quickly stealing a kiss before the two of them make their way into the main room, joining both the council and the other headmistresses and witches and warlocks in charge from academy's around the country. Thunder begins rumbling outside, illuminating the room with bright flashes, matching the seriousness of the subject, as well as a certain witches mood.

Time seems to pass by as slow as possible, Zelda fidgeting with her rings as she was growing impatient, wanting nothing more for this to be over and to smoke, while Cordelia listened intently, knowing the importance of this, despite finding her girlfriends antics quite adorable. ,,You know'' Cordelia begins whispering ,,You can pretend to go to the bathroom and steal away for a smoke'' she chuckles and Zelda smirks, finding more and more reasons why she loved Cordelia. In a swift motion, she stands up, straightening her skirt before excusing herself to the bathroom, the supreme trying hard to suppress a smile as Zelda walks away, swaying her hips more than necessary on the way out, causing for the blondes cheeks to be coated in a slight red shade. For a moment, Cordelia reaches for her phone, checking for any notifications but there aren't any and it leaves a slight bitter taste in her mouth as you hadn't checked in with her yet and it had been hours of them being here.

As Zelda returns a few moments later, having tried to cover up the smell of smoke with some perfume, Cordelia again leans in close before whispering ,,Have you heard from Y/N?'' and the redhead simply shakes her head, however noticing the concern laced in her girlfriends features. ,,I'm sure she's fine, probably getting lost shopping at the markets or blasting music while preparing dinner'' and the supreme chuckles, able to imagine both scenarios so well and so she sighs a little before focusing on the meeting again as both her attention and input was undeniably needed, considering she was the supreme after all.

It's not until hours later when the same concern seems to reappear on the supreme's features and mind as they had both finished the council meeting and neither had a message. Cordelia's concerned brown eyes meet Zelda's green ones and despite the redhead knowing her girlfriend was prone to overreact and worry too much, she also found it a little strange, despite her not one to admit such a thing. ,,I'll call her'' the supreme announces, clutching the phone to her ear in anticipation. ,,Straight to voicemail'' she announces before her eyebrows furrow in confusion. ,,I'm sure she'll be home'' Zelda tries encouraging the supreme before Zelda reaches for Cordelia's shaky hands before the two of them teleport back into the academy in New Orleans.

As soon as they step inside, they find both darkness and silence, the academy both dead quiet and no one inside. All of the witches had left for the weekend and so it was no surprise, however you not being there concerned them. ,,Maybe she went to Greendale?'' Cordelia suggests and despite that outcome not making any sense, Zelda agrees, sure this was just some mixup. ,,Let me go and check, you stay here incase she comes back but I'll let you know'' Zelda reassures, holding onto the blondes hands before pressing a kiss to her forehead in order to ground the supreme a little. With a comforting smile, the redhead disappears in front of the supreme's eyes, quite literally blasting into dinner at her home in Greendale.

,,Zelds? what are you doing here?'' Hilda asks with a hint of concern and surprise after having seen Zelda hours before to catch up. ,,I-'' she begins but before she can finish, the phone interrupts them, causing Hilda to hold up her finger ,,Just a sec''. The blonde hops towards the telephone before speaking ,,Spellman Sister's mortuary, how may I help?'' the blonde speaks with excitement, before her features turn incredibly serious. ,,Oh dear right'' she says, listening to the person on the other side of the phone speak further and share some more details. ,,And you are sure on the name?'' she asks before her features both tense and drop further. Zelda doesn't pay much attention to the call as she had gotten used to them by now, before lighting a cigarette, wondering whether you may have been here and she may have simply just missed you and you may already be with Cordelia by now.

However, with a soft whoosh Cordelia appears right beside the redhead, causing for her features to wash over with confusion. ,,Cordelia?'' the redhead speaks in confusion, abandoning the cigarette she was about to light. ,,I- something is wrong, I don't have a good feeling'' she explains, the concern written across her face. Zelda watches as Hilda returns, her expression unreadable as she locked both shocked and traumatised. ,,Hilda?'' the redhead asks in a serious tone, having seen that expression a few times before. The supreme's head snaps towards the blonde's, not having noticed her presence until now. ,,Um- they- are'' she begins, unable to finish her sentence. ,,They- bringing- a body'' she stutters, before Zelda rolls her eyes, having more important things to worry about as of right now. ,,Well yes Hilda, this is a mortuary after all'' she hisses, but Cordelia can already tell that something was wrong.

,,It's- oh god how am I going to say this-'' she begins, tears welling in her eyes. ,,Just spit it out'' Zelda hisses, not in the mood to deal with her sister antics. ,,It's Y/N'' she finally announces, before the room begins spinning for both the redhead and blonde, staring at Hilda in both disbelief and shock. ,,Oh don't be ridiculous, it can't be Y/N'' Zelda remarks, covering up her inner turmoil and disbelief of her sisters statement. ,,I-'' Hilda stutters, unsure what to say as the people on the phone seemed quite adamant. Cordelia remains frozen in her spot, her worst fear finally coming true and her not having any doubts about this as you had been nowhere to be found. ,,What did they say? how do they know its her? why would she be in Greendale?'' Zelda begins questioning her sister as she paces around the room, lighting a cigarette. ,,I don't know Zelds, I'm so sorry'' Hilda announces, taking a seat at the table as the shock had rippled through her bones.

,,How long until they get here?'' Cordelia finally speaks, meeting Hilda's eyes before the blonde looks down. ,,About twenty minutes'' Hilda announces, offering the supreme to sit but she declines, feeling like her world had stopped spinning when hearing her statement. Zelda remains pacing, with each minute passing, her impatience growing as she lights cigarette after cigarette, chain-smoking her concern away and still thinking this is some kind of mixup. The three of them are startled, as Ambrose steps into the room excitedly, dancing along to some music that none of them could hear. ,,What's for dinner auntie-'' he asks excitedly before laying eyes upon both his aunts and Cordelia and their expressions.

,,Woah what's wrong, who died'' he jokes, assuming this was just some catastrophe at an academy, not realising the extend of the situation yet. Cordelia's eyes swell with tears further as Zelda gives him a glare that could kill him if she tried hard enough. ,,Ambrose darling, they are bringing in a body'' Hilda announces gently, before his features grow serious. ,,It's Y/N'' she carries on before his face turns pale, finally understanding the extend of the situation. His face snaps towards the hallway as he hears a car approaching, quickly glancing at his aunties before assuring ,,I'll go check'' not wanting to put that burden on either of them. ,,Thank you'' Hilda speaks softly, before the real waiting game begins.

Ambrose tries his best to move the body downstairs as quickly and safely as possible. To his surprise, the three women walk down the staircase, joining him with faced filled with hope and anticipation. He is quick to open the body bag, taking a look at the persons features before his heart stops in his chest. ,,I'm so sorry'' he sighs, before their heads snap towards him. ,,No..No.. No'' Cordelia cries out, taking a step closer and seeing your lifeless and pale expression. ,,This can't be'' Zelda sighs in disbelief still, taking a step closer before taking a look at you. ,,That's not her.. that's not our darling girl'' she shakes her head in disbelief, despite the others knowing this was just the shock speaking. ,,I need to.. I need to see her wrist'' Cordelia speaks through tears, before Ambrose glances at Hilda in confusion, the blonde simply nodding through her own tears. ,,She has a little tattoo on her wrist'' the blonde chokes on a sob before Ambrose carefully inspects your wrist, finding the tattoo and sighing.

,,What happened we can fix this, Zelda right?'' Cordelia begs, the shock rippling through her body as she shakes uncontrollably. Now Cordelia was always strong, put together and able to stay calm in situations like these. However after losing most of the people closest to her in her life, watching one of her most promising witches die in her arms, her mother and true mother figure, she couldn't deal with this, not you, not her sweetheart. ,,Ambrose, how long has it been?'' Zelda asks, trying to keep her composure and ignoring your lifeless body besides them. ,,Auntie.. I can't tell like this, I'd need to..'' he begins but his auntie is having none of it. ,,I need to know now'' she speaks through gritted teeth, Hilda in the meantime holding onto Cordelia's sobbing shoulders.

,,Give me some time and I'll figure it out'' he explains, beginning to put on his gown and glasses before Hilda ushers them away and upstairs. ,,Let me make you some tea darling'' Hilda speaks softly, ushering both women to sit down. Zelda remains standing, pacing around the room before again lighting cigarette after cigarette while Cordelia is falling apart on the same chair Hilda had sat her in moments ago. ,,This can't be real, what was she even doing in Greendale for satans sake?'' Zelda hisses, her heels echoing against the floor. ,,I don't know darling but Ambrose will figure it all out'' Hilda tries, trying to remain strong for them, despite the thought of your death also killing her as she had always been fond of you and treating you like a daughter.

It takes around ten minutes before Ambrose rushes upstairs, holding onto the doorframe with a shocked expression, as they all rise to their feet. ,,It's um... it's witch hunters'' he speaks, finally catching his breath. ,,What?'' Cordelia asks in shock before he ushers them downstairs. ,,Remember the bodies you asked me to examine from those attacks?'' he speaks as he examines the bullet further. ,,It's exactly the same like the others'' he recalls. Cordelia's features turn even paler as the extent of the situation settles in. ,,I assume it's been an hour maybe two'' he explains before the supreme seems to snap back into reality. ,,Zelda we need to speak to the council at once, check on the academies'' she speaks and Zelda simply looks at her with a raised eyebrow, caring more about you than any of those things as of right now. ,,We can fix this still, if we try, she may have a chance'' the high priestess speaks, having done her fair share of resurrections herself.

,,Go, we have got this, right Ambrose?'' Hilda offers, before he nods confidently. Cordelia steps over your body before leaning in a little closer ,,You've got this darling, please come back to us'' she begs, a tear running down her features before she presses a kiss to your forehead. ,,I promise we have this'' Hilda encourages her sister, noticing her hesitation. ,,Bring her back to us.. please'' she begs while reaching for your hand and is met with two reassuring glances before the two witches disappear into the night. While they inform both the council and make sure their academies, witches and warlocks are safe, Hilda and Ambrose begin the ritual, gathering the necessary items before beginning the ritual, chanting some latin words and working hard on bringing you back home where you belong.

The last hours had been nothing but painful, after your arrival in Greendale, you had managed to actually gather the ingredients for dinner for your girlfriends. As you glanced at the time, you realised that you still had a while to return to the academy to cook and so you decided to check on Hilda as you hadn't seen her in a week as well as Ambrose. However, you hadn't noticed that someone had been following you, unaware that they had been following you for a while, in New Orleans already days ago and watching your every step, simply waiting for the opportunity to get you alone. Before you knew it and could reach the Spellman's home, they managed to find your trace, dragging you deeper into the woods, demanding answers from you about your girlfriends. They didn't care for you, nothing special, just a simple witch but they had figured your connection to both the supreme and another powerful witch and so they wanted their location, ideally the councils whereabouts to cause as much death as possible.

Much to their surprise, you had remained silent, despite the torture and abuse they had used on you in order to reach their agenda and get their answers. You would have never given anything up, as you would quite literally protect them both with your life, knowing their lives and positions meant so much more than your own. After they didn't get any answers out of you, they felt like they didn't need you anymore, knowing time was running out and so they gave you one last chance before they pulled the trigger, everything going black afterwards. And ever since you had found yourself in this strange darkness. Moments before your life was coming to an end, you had seen a little collection of your happiest memories, growing up in Greendale, meeting Zelda for the first time, teaching alongside Cordelia and spending hours in the greenhouse with her, your first kiss with both of them and your last. After that, everything had been quiet, peaceful and darker than any dream you had ever had.

Eventually, you find yourself in a dark forest and somehow you must have known that this wasn't real as it felt like any other one of your nightmares. Unaware, that you were quite literally fighting death, as Ambrose and Hilda tried their hardest on bringing you back. It was the biggest fight of your life, walking past all of the people you had lost in your life, the people that had guided you, the people that you had lost years ago as they begged you to join them, follow them further into the darkness. But the only thing on your mind was Cordelia, almost being able to feel the way she'd kiss you on the forehead, almost being able to feel the way Zelda would hold onto your hand.

It takes another couple of hours before Zelda and Cordelia return to you, having secured both academies and alerted the council so they could take care of this further as their main concern was you. As they find themselves in the basement again, they are surrounded by candles, Cordelia a little shocked as she knew about the different kind of magic Zelda practiced but never having seen a ritual quite like this and the darkness of the whole thing. ,,Any news?'' the supreme asks, anxiously as she finds Ambrose and Hilda sitting beside you. ,,No.. it's all up to her now, she needs to fight her way back to us'' he explains, before they nod with sad glances, Zelda's green ones meeting Cordelia's brown ones. They join them in the end, sitting beside you on the floor, praying in their own ways, Zelda praying to Hecate and Cordelia begging over and over again for someone to bring you back.

,,You can do this darling, you need to find your way back to us'' Cordelia whispers, tears pouring down her cheeks as it had been hours of them sitting there. And after hours of aimlessly walking through the forests of death, you finally manage to get towards the end, hearing their voices literally calling for you. However, the fight against life and death wasn't that easy, as you walked past what looked like your own grave, your name engraved on the gravestone and the thought of you being buried in this dark forest made you feel uneasy, wanting nothing more than to return home. And so with one last effort, you keep crawling towards them, at this point beaten and defeated by the looming shades of death. And then with one loud shriek you finally take a breath, your entire body on fire and hurting as the wound from the earlier bullet impact that Ambrose had successfully removed stings through your entire body.

,,Y/N'' Cordelia breathes out in relief as she begins sobbing uncontrollably. ,,Oh praise Satan'' Zelda breathes out in relief, wiping at her own tears. Ambrose raises an eyebrow at her statement, before Hilda pats his shoulder. ,,Well done darling'' she praises him as he sighs in relief that this ritual had actually worked. ,,Darling it's okay shh.. don't speak'' Cordelia coos as she watches you struggle against this pain. Zelda could only imagine what you must feel like as of right now, having seen this kind of awakening a few times. ,,You need to rest my darling girl'' she coos before the supreme softly strokes your cheeks, guiding you softly back to sleep as she knows you are safe as of right now.

Eventually, they managed to get you upstairs, into Zelda's bedroom, keeping you comfortable as they had washed and gotten you into some new and less bloody clothes. Cordelia watched in pain as Zelda carefully inspected and treated your injuries, some very visible ones as your body was coated in bruises and cuts from the attack. They both stay right by your side, Cordelia having used one of her spells to ease the pain. Zelda having some magic tea from Hilda right by your side for when you would wake up. The two witches had in the meantime settled on the bed beside you, wanting nothing more than to stay right here for you whenever you would wake next, despite knowing it could take hours, possible days for that to happen as your body needed the right amount of time to adjust and regain it's strength.

The next time you wake it's several hours later, the moon illuminating the dark bedroom. As you open your eyes, you realise the unfamiliar surroundings and panic for a moment until you realise it's your girlfriends bedroom. Inspecting your body and the lack of pain due to Cordelia's magic, you debate whether it had all been a dream for a moment. With shaky legs, you manage to rise to your tired feet, turning on the little lamp in the corner in order to see, before laying eyes upon Cordelia and Zelda, sitting against the head frame of the bed and resting on each other's shoulder, still in the clothes they had been wearing this morning. And then everything dawns on you, the attack, the forest and waking up on the floor besides your lovers. ,,Delia? Zelds?'' you whisper, as the shock of it all seems to drown you for a moment.

They both immediately wake with a sharp inhale of their breathing, before they rush to your side. ,,Sweetheart, what are you doing up?'' Cordelia speaks, her voice filled with concern. ,,I- I woke up'' you explain in confusion, your voice still hoarse from the events. ,,Sit down my love'' Zelda instructs and you oblige, feeling fatigue wash over you. Cordelia helps you to sit down on the bed, before Zelda passes you some water. ,,Drink up'' she instructs and you do as you are told again, the cold liquid feeling nice against your dry throat. As you pass her the glass again, you suddenly find Zelda crying, despite trying to hide her sniffles. ,,Why are you crying Zelds?'' you ask in confusion, your eyebrows knitting. ,,Darling, do you remember what happened?'' Cordelia asks gently, not wanting to overwhelm you with the truth.

,,I think I was dead?'' you question, meeting their gazes as their faces turn a little paler. ,,You're safe now darling, we brought you back'' the supreme coos, before taking you into her arms. ,,Who did this to you?'' Zelda hisses before taking a seat beside you and gently stroking your bruised and beaten cheeks. ,,Witch hunters I think'' you speak, trying to recollect what had happened. ,,I don't know who they are but they..'' you begin but quickly stop yourself, not wanting to concern your girlfriends further. ,,They what?'' Zelda asks with a hint of seriousness in her voice as anger overtakes her and she was for sure going to kill them once she found them. ,,It's okay, doesn't matter'' you quickly try to brush it off but Cordelia can tell there was more to this and she desperately needed to know in order to find them.

,,Come on darling, tell us'' the supreme encourages, gently moving your chin so you can face her. As your eyes lock with her brown pleading ones you begin speaking again ,,They wanted the councils location and both of yours'' you admit, almost whispering. Cordelia's eyes close, instantly understanding the extend of the situation and knowing that this happened because you'd rather protect them both. ,,And then what? they just shot you anyway?'' Zelda asks in confusion, not having the full picture yet. ,,No honey'' Cordelia tries but you simply glance into your lap before explaining. ,,I didn't tell them anything'' you mumble into yourself before Zelda's head snaps towards you. ,,And why ever not?'' she asks in confusion before you whisper ,,Because I would rather keep you both safe''.

The statement causes for silence to fill the room, Cordelia simply pulling you into her arms again, holding you close to her chest, knowing her sweetheart to be a fighter and she knew that you would rather keep them safe, given your history and what a fighter you truly are and how big your heart had always been. Zelda struggles to understand your statement, while she would have told the witch hunters to go to hell and not say anything either, she doesn't understand why you didn't. She'd rather have them find them and fight them herself, rather than seeing you in danger and this extend of pain. Slowly though, as gentle brown eyes meet hers, she begins relaxing a little, understanding how true and how big your love for them truly was in order to sacrifice yourself to keep the both of them safe.

,,You did a brave thing my love'' Zelda finally speaks, gently taking your hands into her own. ,,But do me favour?'' she asks, encouraging you to meet her eyes. ,,Please never do that again'' she tuts and you and Cordelia can't help but chuckle, feeling a little lighter being in their arms again and seeing your girlfriend back in her old antics and habits. ,,Promise'' you whisper before holding onto the redhead. ,,I'll never stop keeping you safe though'' you mumble before she raises an eyebrow. ,,Maybe we can work on other ways for that sweetie'' Cordelia tries before you smile at her with a nod. After being in their arms a little while longer you glance at the supreme once more before fiddling with your fingers as a nervous habit. ,,What's going to happen now?'' you ask anxiously and the blonde can quickly tell what you are referring to. ,,The academies are safe, the council is handling it and will find them, I promise'' she reassures.

,,So you'll both stay tonight?'' you ask and your girlfriends eyes lock as your question kind of kills them both. They realise then that they had been prioritising the academies too much in order for you to ask this kind of question after a day like this. Without speaking, they decide here and there to dedicate more time to you, more time with the three of you and to figure this out for you. ,,Of course we will stay, silly'' Zelda tuts, before lovingly stroking your cheek and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. ,,Bummer about that dinner'' you sigh after a while, causing your girlfriends to chuckle lowly. ,,Are you hungry darling?'' Cordelia asks softly and you shily nod, considering the time. ,,What do you want, anything for my darling girl'' Zelda speaks softly and you shily glance at her before requesting some grilled cheese. ,,On it'' she chuckles before pressing a kiss to your cheeks and leaving for a moment.

Cordelia simply pulls you into her arms, gently stroking over every cut as if you are the most fragile thing on the planet before gently stroking your stomach, careful of the scar that now formed where the bullet had hit you hours before. ,,Does it still hurt a lot angel?'' she asks carefully before you shake your head. ,,Your magic worked well'' you smile before she looks at you in confusion. ,,How did you know?'' she asks before you giggle. ,,Delia I died and then you brought me back, without your magic I'm sure it would hurt a hell of a lot more'' and Cordelia can't help but chuckle despite the seriousness of it all, simply glad to have you back in their arms and to have her same brave girl with the same antics and humour back. And despite knowing this would still be a lot of work tomorrow, both in finding the witch hunters and keeping everyone safe in the future but also working with you through what you had endured. But she feels confident as of right now, having you in their arms, as you quite literally crawled right back to them, never being able to simple leave them like this, even through death.

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

By the Grace Of [Sorcerer Rogier x Fem!Tarnished] - Chapter Thirteen

Summary: The Lands Between are filled with horror upon horror. Delia rushes from one tragedy to the next, until she reaches the one she’s not sure she can take- the price for Rogier’s life.

Author’s Notes: Holy crap, y’all, 5.2K words on this one. And to think, this is a chapter I was worried about making a decent word count for. But I love pain, so it ended up being no problem at all. 😏 Please let me know if I break y’all’s hearts as much as my own!

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Elden Ring

Warnings: character deaths (yes, plural), canon-typical violence, abstract horror? I think? Unedited (basically), unfinished story- read at your own risk!

It was a fitful night’s rest, for both of them. 

Rogier mumbled and murmured, groaning and thrashing, but never waking. He was feverish and shaky. Delia spoke softly to him until he calmed, dozing until it all began again.

When she rose, she felt just as exhausted as she had the night before. She saw a scrap of parchment on the bedside table that she hadn’t noticed the night before. It was a letter, written in Rogier’s trembling hand. 

“I forgot to tell you, but it seems D has a younger brother. I heard he lies in a deep sleep in the aqueduct beside the Eternal City of Nokron. And it’s said he stood before the Prince of Death not far beyond that spot.” She clutched the page to herself, tucking it into her shirt. She pulled on her armor, startling as something clinked softly to the floor. 

Seluvis’s potion rolled across the floor, coming to rest against the bedpost. Delia picked it up with a shaking hand, turning the vial over slowly. 

Could it stop…?

No. 

She’d seen the puppet’s bodies in Seluvis’s basement chamber. 

But… she wasn’t Seluvis. 

She looked back to Rogier, murmuring unintelligibly as he slept. Besides the movement of his lips, he was still as a stone. 

She gently lifted the blanket from his legs. The roots had grown higher, wrapping themselves through and around his thighs. She swallowed hard. 

She was running out of time. 

She might already be too late. 

She steeled herself, raising her travel medallion. 

It was time for some answers. 

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

“So, you had Nepheli drink the potion? Truly? 
Hmm. Then perhaps something was amiss with it.
It's concocted from the finest ingredients. But perhaps I should review the recipe.” Delia was opening her mouth to make half hearted, sympathetic noises when Seluvis went on. “I may have expected too much of her, to begin with.” She snapped her mouth shut, incensed. She had to take a deep breath and push down her anger before speaking.

“What exactly was this potion meant to do?”

Seluvis waved a hand absently, turning to his spellbooks. “Never you mind, it would be far above your understanding.

Delia couldn’t bite her tongue before the words came out. “Really? And I suppose this potion has nothing to do with the puppets in your chambers near Ranni’s tower?”

Seluvis stiffened, turning slowly. The metal mask he wore hid his expression, but Delia could hear the rage in the breath he sucked in.

“You break into a man’s private chambers, rooting about as you please?”

“That’s right.” She stepped closer, lacing her voice with as much venom as she could summon. “And now that I know your little secret, you’ll answer my questions. Unless you share the opinion that my lady would find those chambers… intriguing.” Seluvis flinched, and Delia felt a shot of triumph race up her spine.

“What is it that you wish to know?” Seluvis ground out.

“Does the potion cause harm?” “Physical? No.”

“Does it cause any lasting damage of any kind?”

She could hear the sneer in his voice when he answered. “No.”

She fought to keep her voice steady. “And the body. It remains… it stays… would this keep it from being…” Her voice had begun to shake. She sensed the moment Seluvis scented the weakness in her.

“The body remains in stasis, pristine. Immune to the effects of the world around it. It can be used to fight for you, for menial labor, or to run your errands. Or,” and here, his voice filled with a lecherous glee. “You can use it for more… intimate-”

“No,” Delia hissed. “All I need to know is that it can stop the spread of Death, and that the person can be freed.”

“Death?” There was real shock in Seluvis’s voice. He studied her for a long, tense moment. He spoke slowly. “I see no reason that it can’t. And a person can be freed.” He paused for dramatic effect. Delia straightened, scowling threateningly. “Yes, I’m sure it would work. Although I would need a potion of a… stronger caliber.”

“A stronger caliber?” she snapped.

“I will need to… test a recipe. Come back tomorrow.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“Let’s just say that I have a… scheme, if you will. I would much prefer that it not cross Lady Ranni’s path. And this shall be a most interesting experiment, indeed.”

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Getting the promised information from Seluvis took much longer than Delia would have liked. But she got it, and set out across Limgrave to speak to this Sellen. 

She startled when she laid eyes on the sorceress. 

“Well, well… Seluvis is not a name I ever wanted to hear again…”

Delia had recognized her from Seluvis’s basement chambers. She had anxiously asked if his potioncraft could be trusted. Sellen had assured her that they could. 

“Just beware the cost.”

Now Delia was riding hard back to the Mistwood, anxious to tell Blaidd what the sorceress had said.

“If General Radahn were to die, the stars would resume their movement. And so, too, would Ranni's destiny.”

All they had to do was kill a god.

Blaidd was eager to move forward, pacing away even as Delia finished speaking. “You’re coming too, right? To Radahn’s festivities… I’ll meet you at Redmane Castle in Caelid. The way ahead is pleasingly simple. We fight, sword and fang.”

“I’ll meet you there,” said Delia. “I just have to make one stop first.”

Blaidd gave her an odd look, measuring.

She could feel herself crack under his scrutiny. “Then I’ll see you there soon.”

He let the matter lie.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

“Good, I've been waiting for you. It's finally complete. The perfection of my draught, gleaming nectar-sweet.” Seluvis held out a vial of amber liquid that seemed to glow softly. “Give this to your… friend.” Delia bristled. “It should keep him docile.” “I only want it to keep him alive,” growled Delia.

“Yes, yes. As you’ve said. Although if you do change your mind, your secret will be safe with me.”

Delia clenched her fists, nearly crushing the potion before releasing her grip. She put it carefully away, turning before she killed Seluvis where he stood.

“You’ll need this bell, if you wish to summon him.”

“I don’t.”

“You’ll need it all the same. If it breaks, well… it wouldn’t be pretty.”

She needed him. Just for a little while longer.

She snatched the bell from Seluvis’s outstretched hand, grimacing as she cradled it in her palm.

That didn’t mean she had to like him.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Delia didn’t want to administer the potion. It still made her feel ill at ease. So, rather than make straight for her room, she sought out D. 

“D, can you help me?”

He inclined his head. Delia reached into her pack, withdrawing the dagger. She’d wrapped it in an old piece of cloth, but the moment the blade was revealed, D’s posture, impossibly, straightened. 

"Well, what have we here? How did you get your hands on that dagger?”

Delia paused, unsure whether she should reveal Fia’s name. D seemed to sense her hesitation. “...Well. That hardly matters. I know very well whose dagger it is. Why don't I return it to them for you? Good work, bringing this to me."

Delia handed over the knife, murmuring her thanks. But she couldn’t settle the pit in her stomach. 

“Any change?” Roderika’s voice startled her out of her stupor. The young noble watched her, expression hopeful. Delia shook her head and the other girl’s face fell.

“Not yet, but… I might have a solution.” Roderika’s expression brightened, but Delia shook her head. “I’m not sure whether it will work.”

“You’ll let me know if you need anything, though?”

Delia nodded, forcing a smile. She said hello to Hewg, receiving a grunt in return, and then rounded the corner. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. 

Rogier was as she’d left him, lying with his head turned toward the door. She padded across the room and lowered herself onto the bed. She reached forward to lift his head, allowing herself a moment to caress his cheek. 

She withdrew the potion from her satchel, examining it again. She told herself that she was running out of options. She told herself that this would work. 

She tipped his head gently back. He moaned in his sleep, shifting slightly. She lifted the bottle, losing her resolve at the last moment. She traced one finger lightly over his lips and then steeled herself again. 

She poured the contents into his mouth. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then he coughed. His eyelids fluttered without opening as he began to writhe. 

Delia started to panic. “Rogier?” She leapt to her feet, hauling him up until he was nearly sitting. His eyes fluttered again, the barest hint of green peeking from between his dark lashes. 

His muttering had begun again, frantic. She heard him say “no” and then unmistakably, she heard her name. She looked up and met his eyes, wide and disbelieving. 

“Rogier?” Her eyes flitted all over him; his flushed cheeks, his unfocused pupils, the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Her heart soared- he was awake. She grasped at his hands, but he weakly pulled them back. She looked at him in shock- he’d never recoiled from her touch before. 

She nearly fell backward at his expression. His eyes burned with anger. With betrayal. His lip had curled up. She took him in, dropping his hands, struck dumb by shock. 

“Why?” His whisper was harsh. She met his gaze again, catching a hint of honest hurt there. But already, his eyes were sliding shut, body slumping down. “Why would you…”

“No, no, no, no,” she whispered. “Rogier, no, please.” She fumbled to keep him upright, but he was heavier than before. Her thoughts raced, desperately searching for a better route. But it was too late for that. It was all she could do to lower him back to the bed without bumping his head on the headboard. She stared at him in

“What have I done?” she whispered. 

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

She rode like mad south into the Caelid Wilds. Despair and doubt made her reckless, cutting her way through anything that stood in her path. 

Blaidd was waiting in the courtyard when she arrived, breathless and heartbroken. “Ah, there you are. Took your sweet time. The players are all made up, and waiting for the curtain…” She nodded at him, as distracted as he usually was. “Let’s give them a show to remember, eh.”

He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, drawing her attention. “Just don’t you go dying on me. For Ranni’s sake, too.” She nodded again, firmer this time. 

“Let’s kill a god.”

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

It was a harrowing battle. Radahn was a fearsome foe with an unmatched skill in gravity sorceries, and Delia was left battered and sore after a long fight. Blaidd seemed pleased with their success, and she agreed to meet him in Nokron after checking in on Rogier. 

“The curtain’s riising… on the final act.”

She couldn’t be sure whether it was Blaidd’s portentous words or a strange sixth sense, but she knew something was wrong the moment she set foot in the Hold. Her skin crawled, heart pounding. 

Please, not Rogier. 

She hurried down the hall, stopping dead in her tracks in the doorway of the antechamber outside her room. 

D lay still, sprawled at the feet of a cloaked figure. 

Fia. 

She spoke without turning. “Finally, it is returned to its rightful place. The stolen hallowbrand, of the exalted noble. And now, I must bid you goodbye as well.” She turned then, glaring at Delia from beneath the fringe of her hood. “Though I ask you deliver this message to the Roundtable Hold. I am Fia, Deathbed Companion. Hark, Roundtable. Disturb not the Death of Godwyn, the exalted. We, who humbly live in Death… live in waiting, to one day welcome our Lord.” Her voice grew louder, stronger as she went on. “What right does anyone have to object? Our Lord will rise. The Lord of the many, and the meek.”

She raised her hands. Delia raised her sword. She lunged forward, but too late. The Deathbed Companion was gone. 

Delia fell to her knees beside D, struggling to turn his body. She wrestled his helm from his head, pressing her fingers to the pale flesh of his throat. 

Dead. 

She sobbed, turning to heave over her shoulder. 

“Delia?” Roderika’s voice was panicked. “Oh,” she gasped. “Oh, gods. Oh, D.” She slid to her knees beside Delia, clutching her shoulder with one hand. The other, she reached out shakily to lay on D’s arm. “Delia, the roots…”

Delia nodded woodenly. She’d seen them. 

“Is that what…”

“I think so.”

“And… and Rogier? This is what happened to him?” Delia nodded again. She couldn’t speak around the lump in her throat. 

“And… I think…” she choked on the words. “I think I made it worse.” That unleashed the flood of tears that had been frozen by horror.

“Darling.” Roderika wrapped both arms around Delia’s shuddering shoulders, pulling her to her chest. “How could you have made it worse?” 

It took several moments and lots of hushing from the younger girl before Delia could put together the words.

“I gave him a potion. I turned him into a puppet.”

“A… puppet?” Roderika’s voice shook- in terror or revulsion, Delia couldn’t tell. She felt the other girl release her shoulders and sagged forward, onto her hands. Her tears flowed freely now.

“A puppet. I-I was running out of time, he’d fallen asleep like he said he would and I-”

“Asleep? Delia, what do you mean ‘asleep’?”

“He told me…” she sniffled. “He told me he felt as though he would fall into a ‘fathomless slumber’. He told me he was afraid. And he did. He fell asleep and I couldn’t wake him up.” She leaned back and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, then scrubbed her hands roughly down her face. “So I gave him a potion that would preserve his body until I can cure him. But I… I think I made a mistake.”

Roderika was silent. Delia looked over her shoulder. Roderika’s expression was contemplative.

“Well… can it be undone?”

Delia sniffled again. “I never would have done it if I thought it couldn’t.” Her voice broke again. Roderika leaned forward, taking Delia in her arms again. 

“There, there,” she soothed. “I think you did your best.”

“I don’t think he’ll forgive me,” Delia confessed in a whisper.

For a long time, the two simply rocked together on the floor. Then, Roderika spoke. “I think he will.”

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

When Delia arrived at the crater in Limgrave, Blaidd was nowhere to be found. She waited for several minutes, even considering descending without him. 

Something stopped her.

Something was wrong.

She summoned Torrent, giving him his reins once she’d mounted. He had yet to steer her wrong. The steed ambled South, taking her down a path that seemed vaguely familiar. They followed the path until Delia heard something that made her recognize the area.

Howling.

They were near the Forlorn Hound Evergaol.

She spurred Torrent on, weaving up the path to the elevator and leaping from his back. The howling abruptly stopped as she ran across the elevator.

“Hello?” she called.

“Oh, it’s you.” Blaidd. “It’s me, Blaidd.” Delia felt a crazed laugh bubbling up at the thought that he thought that she might not recognize his voice. The sound died in her throat as he went on. “Old Iji trapped me in here. Told me I’d bring naught but bale to Lady Ranni. But there’s no chance that could happen. I’m part of her being. Her very shadow… I thought old Iji knew as much.”

Delia peered around, wondering why the gaol would not open. Her eyes landed on the gargoyle guard standing watch. She strode to it.

“Honestly,” muttered Blaidd, “I don’t know what’s going on anymore…” The stone key had been removed from its place in the gargoyle’s mouth. Delia breathed a sigh of relief, pulling one from her pack and slotting it. She watched the elevator light and was rewarded with Blaidd’s tall frame a moment later.

“My thanks, friend. I’m going to see mistress Ranni, now. I don’t know what came over old Iji, but even if the odds are slim, I need to check the mistress is safe.”

Delia blanched. “What about Nokron?”

Blaidd barked a laugh. “Oh, you certainly don’t need my help there. You’re quite the warrior, yourself, and more of a scholar than me.” His hand made a muffled thump as it landed on her shoulder. “We’ll see each other soon. Now, Ranni can finally set in motion the fight against her fate she’s dreamt of for so long.”

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

“Iji, what’s going on?”

The old troll looked up from his reading, sighing heavily. 

“I presume you've spoken with Blaidd? Very well. There is something you should know. The Two Fingers gave Blaidd to Lady Ranni, as a faithful follower. Her very shadow, incapable of treachery. But if Lady Ranni, as an Empyrean, resists being an instrument of the Two Fingers, the shadow will go mad, transforming from a follower into a horrid curse. But such is his destiny. In such matters, Blaidd's own thoughts hold no weight. It pains me so, but he must be neutralized. For Lady Ranni's sake.”

Neutralized. 

“Neutralized how?”

They watched each other for a long moment. When Iji spoke, his voice was heavy with sorrow. 

“However we must.”

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Delia crashed into the Hold.

She’d found them, in Nokron. 

Black boluses.

She was sure they would cure the Death Blight.

They had to.

Roderika called her name, but it didn’t slow her mad dash. She threw open the door without bothering to shut it, fumbling at the low table by the fireplace. There was a bowl and spoon there that she managed to pick up after a moment of grappling. She rushed to the bedside, dumping the boluses she’d collected into the bowl and using the spoon to smash them. Then she fell to her knees, raising the bowl and Rogier’s head. She poured the contents into his mouth, careful to slow herself enough to not choke him.

When the bowl was empty, she sat with her back against the bed, clutching his hand in both of hers. She saw Roderika peer around the door frame before retreating quietly down the hall. She closed her eyes.

Just for a moment.

She dreamed as she dozed. She dreamed of Rogier, on his feet and buzzing with the energy she associated with him. She dreamed of his sparkling peridot eyes and the curve of his lips in his tiny, secret smile. 

She dreamed that he spun her around, lifting her in his arms, laughing all the while. She dreamed that he pressed her close to himself. 

She dreamed that he leant down and brushed his lips to hers. 

And then thrust his rapier through her stomach. 

She woke to Roderika’s soft touch on her shoulder. 

“Delia, are you alright? You were crying in your sleep.”

She reached up, smearing tears as she rubbed her eyes. 

“I’m fine,” she said hoarsely. She rose quickly, turning to toss aside the blanket from over Rogier’s legs. 

She blinked. 

Some of the roots had withered and browned. 

“Roderika,” she whispered. 

“I see it,” Roderika whispered back.

The two looked at each other, a slow smile spreading across Roderka’s face. For the first time in weeks, Delia let herself smile, too. 

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

“My lady.”

“Ahh...It was thee. Not Blaidd, it seemeth. Even in my slumber, I sensed it. It is in thy possession, is it not? The hidden treasure of Nokron?” Delia withdrew the blade from her sheath, holding it out to Ranni. “My thanks. Finally, all the pieces are in place. Soon must I begin my journey. Upon the dark path only I may tread. Ah, but before I leave, I shall entrust thee with this.”

She handed Delia an odd trinket, an hourglass with a woman inside.

“My thanks, for thy sterling efforts. A strange gift, perhaps, but a rare sort such as thee would welcome it, I am sure. I am certain now, fate steered us to our reunion. I must thank Torrent too, for his part.” Though her doll’s face did not change, there was warmth in Ranni’s voice. Delia smiled a tired smile. “You may leave now. It was but brief, but thou gavest me fine service.”

The smile snapped off her face, blood running cold. “Leave? But-”

“Mine part is not yet done,” interrupted Ranni. “But almost. Soon enough, I shall aid you with your friend.”

Delia choked back a sob. “My lady, he… he has already fallen asleep…” Ranni said nothing, templing her fingers in thought. “I… I gave him a potion from Seluvis…”

Ranni’s voice snapped. “From Seluvis?”

Delia hung her head in shame. “I didn’t know what to do. I was frightened, I-” Ranni held up a set of hands to pause her rambling.

“Thy intentions are true, of that I am certain. Thou was wise to give it him. Now wish well that it hold him until mine powers be returned to me.”

There was a high, thin, keening sound then, wrought with despair. It took too long for Delia to recognize that the sound came from her. 

Though Ranni’s face was unmoving as ever, there was sympathy in her eyes. 

“Seluvis made well his potions, snake that he was. And thine friend be strong of mind, to be still breathing.”

Was?

“Now, go.”

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

She went, with a sinking feeling, to Seluvis’s Rise.

She found him there, dead.

She couldn’t stop the curl of her lip, even as panic rose up in her chest.

He hadn’t told her how to free Rogier from the spell.

Ranni would know.

Ranni would fix it.

Numbly, she made her way to Iji.

“Oh, there you are. Good of you to drop by. Have you heard? Lady Ranni has departed on her journey. Along the dark path of the Empyrean, from Renna’s Rise, as she calls it. It would not have been possible without you. As Lady Ranni’s war counselor, and moreover, her childhood warden, I express my deepest gratitude. You, and only you, were Lady Ranni’s true champion.”

“That’s not true,” whispered Delia. Iji hummed a question at her. “I said that’s not true. You and Blaidd are her champions as much as I am.”

“Well,” Ijii said slowly. “That may be true, but you are the only one who broke her curse. Who set her fate in motion. And Blaidd…”

“Blaidd’s concern is only for her. His only thoughts, Iji, are of her.” Her voice was too sharp. Her ability to cope was wearing thinner by the day, by the horror of the things she’d seen and done.

Carefully, Iji lowered his book to rest on his anvil, giving her his full attention. He spoke gently, patiently. “I hope that you are not mistaken. Truly, I do.” He looked as though he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. He only picked up his book again, leaving Delia to her thoughts.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Renna’s Rise had been inaccessible before, shielded by some magic.

That magic was gone now. Delia made her way up the ladder, up the elevator, into the loft above. It was empty, save a chest and a portal. She opened the chest to find Ranni’s garb, there- her hat, her dress, her cloak. She fingered the thick fur of the cloak, thinking of Blaidd as she did.

Where had he gone?

She didn’t want to believe Iji’s words that he might turn against Ranni, turn against his own free will. But she hadn’t been able to find him after freeing him from the Evergaol, and she was beginning to fear for him.

Carefully, she folded Ranni’s clothes into a neat bundle, wrapping it all with a short length of rope. Her fingers brushed against the pamphlet Rogier had so lovingly created for her. She felt dizzy with despair. She lifted her head and straightened her shoulders, looking to the portal.

Reaching forward, she let herself be tugged somewhere else.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Delia lifted the tiny doll with shaking hands.

“My lady?” There was no response. She gripped the doll slightly tighter, trying and failing to maintain some semblance of calm. “Lady Ranni.” Still nothing. She made an aggravated sound, shaking the doll lightly between her hands.

She took a deep breath. “I know you can hear me. And I’m not going to leave until you speak to me.”

The answering voice was dry. “Oh? A dogged fellow, aren't we? Or is it merely thy habit, to talk to dolls?” 

Delia sucked in a breath. She’d been half convinced that she was wrong, that this wouldn’t work.

“Fine...fine. I hadn't expected any soul to recognize me in this guise.” Delia arched an eyebrow at that. Really? “But now the cat is out the bag, I cannot allow thee thy freedoms. Perform for me a service, as recompense. Eliminate the Baleful Shadows which prowl these lands. The name of Ranni the Witch is already sullied by thee. I will not brook disobedience in this matter.”

Delia felt her hackles rise. Sullied? She bit her tongue. She couldn’t afford to lose her temper. Not now, not with Rogier’s life on the line. And so instead, she fought her way through dripping caverns, past ants as large as shacks, past a malformed star.

She fought through all of this, not easily, but without pause.

“Let us speak of the past awhile.”

Ranni told her tales of Empyreans and the Two Fingers. Of Blaidd, her vassal shadow, and of slaying her own flesh. Of Baleful Shadows, of Iji and Blaidd’s loyalty- especially Blaidd’s.

Delia fought.

“Blaidd, and Iji both… art willing to give too much to me.”

Until she reached a courtyard, drowned in an awful red glow.

“Ah, should I add thee to the list? Another one, kind of heart. As kind of heart as they.”

Until she saw Blaidd.

“O Shadow, thou’rt the last.”

Shadow. Not Blaidd.

She raised her sword just in time to block a devastating blow from Blai- the Shadow’s- sword.

“Tell the Two Fingers, that Ranni the Witch cometh, to rend thy flesh.” Ranni’s voice was powerful and angry. Delia sidestepped, rolled, used her blade’s enchantment to close the distance. With a powerful thrust, she drove it up, through the chest of the Shadow. “With a fateful wound, ne’er to heal.”

Delia choked back the involuntary sob that arose from killing one wearing the face of a friend.

“Beautifully fought,” Ranni soothed. “My thanks.”

Delia wrenched her blade free with a squelch, doing her damndest not to look at the mask at her feet.

“Now I can finally stand before them. We’ll meet again, my dear. Take this key, and bring me what it opens. And tell Blaidd, and Iji… I love them.” 

There was a tiny ringing sound in the cavern, and then a filigreed key dropped at Delia’s feet. She picked it up with a sigh. She looked up, toward the passage on the far side of the room. Something about it called to her. She moved toward it, hand on the hilt of her sword, and peeked through.

Her stomach dropped at the sight of a vast, roiling lake of Scarlet Rot.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

The path forward had been bloody and fraught with pain.

The key had opened a chest. The chest had produced a ring. The ring had raised questions. Questions had led her to Iji. Speaking with Iji had led her to Blaidd.

Blaidd, Ranni’s most loyal companion and protector. Blaidd, her own friend and helper. Blaidd, driven mad by the nature he sought to master. Blaidd, who had attacked her.

Blaidd, who she had killed.

She’d fallen to her knees at the steps, shock and grief silencing the wails clawing their way up their throat.

She had to tell Ranni. She had to tell Iji.

Iji’s words had haunted her as she numbly followed the draw of Grace.

“I’ll catch up with you soon enough, Blaidd. When I do, I only hope you’ll accept my apology.”

She’d had no tears left to cry when she found Ranni’s lifeless doll body, bloody and still. Her only thought as she knelt had been of Rogier, that she’d well and truly failed him now.

She hadn’t let herself look too closely at her own near-friendship with the witch. 

But she wasn’t dead, and that was one crisis averted for the time being. Delia had let herself be lulled into a sense of relief- that Ranni was alive, that everything would be alright.

Everything was not alright.

At the Hold, in Delia’s chambers, Ranni had produced a necklace, sharp edged and sapphire with scarlet sheen along the points.

Not a necklace. A blade.

Delia recoiled. She could no longer hear Ranni’s voice above the ringing in her ears. Each time she thought things couldn’t get worse, they did.

“It is the only way. If thou hasn’t the stomach for it, I can help thee not.”

“He’ll never forgive me,” Delia whispered.

“Neither wilt he forgive thee if he does not live to do so.”

Delia sucked in a shaky breath. “Is this… it’s because I…” She couldn’t finish the thought. 

She needn’t have tried. Ranni was shaking her head, slowly. “He was at Death’s door, my dear. Thou didst well by him.”

She lifted her hand slowly, offering the blade once more. Delia stared at it. 

She couldn’t do what Ranni asked.

She had to.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She pictured Rogier’s bright eyes and dark hair, the curve of his lips and the arch of his brows.

She blew out all the air in her lungs and reached for the blade.

It took lifetimes to walk the few steps to her bed. It took longer to sit, and longer still to lay a hand on Rogier’s shoulder. She leaned forward to rest her head in the crook of his neck.

“You were right,” she whispered. “The boluses, they worked.” She stroked his sweaty hair back from where it brushed his eyebrows. Careful doses of the black boluses had killed the remainder of the magic roots, and those that hadn’t dried and falled had simply… disappeared.

If only she’d found them sooner.

She lay her head against his chest.

“Come, my dear. Be not afraid. I’ll not let him die, not now. Not after what thou hast done to see him through.”

She lifted her head, turning a tortured expression back to Ranni. “There’s no other way?”

The witch glided forward and rested a pair of hands on Delia’s shoulder, but said nothing.

Delia took in a shaky breath, drawing little comfort from Ranni’s cold hands. She pressed her cheek to Rogier’s. “I’m sorry,” she breathed.

Then she drew back and, with a savage thrust, drove the blade into his heart.

[holly-louisexox]

Ribcage X Andy Biersack- Part 22

Masterlist

"There's one thing you should know about me Delia Vincent, I don't date. Got no heart to break and emptiness is safe, keep it that way."

He was adamant in his choices...

...But then things changed

"This is officer John Davies interviewing the case of a missing person known as Delia Grace Vincent, 2nd of December." The police offer start the interview with Shevy and the band by speaking into the audio recorder that he had brought along for information. "First of all, Does Miss Vincent have anyone on Seattle she may have taken refuge with?"

"No, Delia's from Ohio, she lives there with her parents." Shevy explains. "We came to Seattle for a tour, these guys are in a band, myself and Delia are crew managers and department specialists."

"Would you say this disappearing is out of character to her?" Officer Davies continues to question.

"Very. Delia's been nothing but professional this whole tour, she would never just up and leave like this. Plus her items were still in her hotel room suggesting she never came back last night." Lonny explains, he almost felt like he was having to prove to this police officer that Delia was not a bad person.

"And how do you mean 'she never came back last night'? Where you guys out last night?" The officer asks lifting an eyebrow to the group; he was trying to get every detail out of the group to try and find anything that would lead the team to knowing the whereabouts of Delia.

"We had a show here last night and it was the last show of tour so we went for drinks at the pub down the road to celebrate." Jake tells the officer.

"Did anything happen that could have influenced the disappearance?" Officer Davies asks which makes Andy gulp nervously, was the officer going to completely blame him? He guessed he was at fault for this but he just wanted her back safe, he never wanted her to go missing, to get hurt, or worst, killed.

"I may have had a bit of a disagreement with her last night... She slapped me round the face then stormed off outside." Andy stutters out trying not to let his voice crack and start crying again. "But that was the last time I saw her or heard from her."

"What was the disagreement about?" The officer is now focusing his attention on Andy which made the lead singer feel more nerves and a weight on his chest; he was not about to let himself break down now though.

"I hadn't been completely truthful or fair to her. The truth is I really liked her but was too closed to show it so pushed her away. Then last night I couldn't do it anymore and I realised I needed her so I told her and she reacted badly to it. I can't say I blame her but yeah... She left because of me. We all knew what was going on here in Seattle and I let her leave, it's all my fault." Andy heard his voice crack at the end, felt the tears he was trying to keep in fall down his face.

"You can't blame yourself for this son." Officer Davies breaks his serious vibe to show some sympathy towards the crying singer. "Has anyone had any contact with her since last night?"

"No, none. We've tried calling her and it just rings and rings until it goes to voicemail." Shevy explains.

"Okay that could be useful, if someone could give me Miss Vincent's number, we may be able to track the location of the phone to help find her." Officer Davies announce which instantly brings some hope to the group and Lonny is instantly pulling his phone out of his pocket to search for Delia's number.

"I have her number here." Lonny perks up before reading out the number.

"Okay that will be helpful and we will get tracking made available as soon as possible. If I could also take your number young man so that we can alert you all of any updates." All attention is now turned to Lonny, it would make sense for Lonny to be in charge of updates, he's been the most sensible and head strong so far. "That concludes the interview, the last thing I will require is a recent photo of Miss Vincent so we can identify her."

-----------------------

Waking up Delia was met with foggy vision and a slight headache. She didn't even drink that much last night. Looking around the room she was then confused to find she was not in her hotel room, where was she? What happened? Then it hit her, the tall blonde guy she walked into, what was his name again? Sam maybe? he insisted on a hug then covered her face with a cloth. Did he drug her?

Sitting up made her head spin slightly, but she was determined to figure out where she was. standing up to look out the window she realises she recognises nothing, was she even still in Seattle? Delia then walks over to the door of the room and tries to open it only to realise it was locked. Shit, she was trapped. It was locked from the outside with no way of unlocking it from the inside. Sitting back down on the bed, she then goes to grab her phone from her pocket only to realise that it was missing; it's at that moment the same blonde man from the bar walks into the room.

"Ah, good, you're awake. I hope the room is to your liking." He smiles, his smile was creepy, she couldn't put her finger on why but she felt extremely uncomfortable in his presence.

"Why am I here? Where is this place?" Delia spits slightly trying to hide the fear she felt.

"Never you mind dear, you'll grow to like it here one day." Sam strokes Delia cheek slightly which makes Delia flinch and send him a death glare. "Such hostility, I saw the argument you had with that guy. He wasn't right for you. I saved you, you should be thanking me." Sam smiles again, that same smile that sent a shiver down Delia's spine and not in a good way. 

"You know nothing!" Delia could feel herself getting defensive, she was entering fight or flight mode from the fear she was feeling and right now the fight was winning.

"Was it Andy you got into a fight with? If so he seems to have left a fair few voicemails to you. Ah, this one is my favourite though." Sam grins wickedly now pulling out Delia's phone before playing the voicemail left from Andy.

"Delia, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry. I know I've been a dick and I know I hurt you but please let me try to make this right, please just give me one last chance. If that really isn't what you want to do then I understand. Please just call one of us and let us know that you're safe, we're all worried about you. All I ever wanted to do was keep you safe, now I see I have failed at even doing that." Andy was broken. Delia could clearly hear the hurt in his voice, could tell he was crying. Suddenly all that fight or flight she had in her melted. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be in Andy's arms to bring him some form of comfort, to reassure him that she was okay. She knew that he was blaming himself for this, she didn't want that to happen. This was all her fault. She knew what was going on in Seattle and she stupidly thought she could make it to the hotel alone. Why did she have to be such an idiot?

"Please just let me go." Delia begs feeling a tear fall down her face "I won't tell anyone of any of this, please just let me go."

"Now why would I do that? I can take better care of you than what Andy could, I could make you happy." Sam again strokes Delia's face and this time she doesn't flinch. She just sits there frozen as she feels another tear fall down her face.

"Take care of me? you killed those other women!" She chokes, she was desperate to stop herself from crying, she did not want this monster to see her weak.

"What you need to understand pretty girl, I want someone to share my life with. They were not worthy so I had to... dispose of them so to speak. I need perfection, you've got the looks but I need you to worship me. But let's not move on too soon." Sam smiles sitting next to Delia on the bed.

"You're sick!" Delia spits feeling uncomfortable by the sudden invasion of her space.

"Now, now, let's not be unreasonable." Sam shakes his head slightly before going to place a hungry kiss on Delia's lips. This instantly makes Delia push him off  her which results in a sudden stinging sensation to her cheek. 

He had slapped her. 

"The choice is yours my dear. You either worship me like a good little bitch or you find yourself floating in the Seattle Ferry landing pier." Sam spits as he stands up to exit the room. As soon as he walks out Delia hears the locking of the door. That's when she realises how fucked she is. she has to try and escape this place somehow, but how will she? Could she?

"Andy, please find me. I need you." Delia sobs into the pillow after having thrown herself to lay on the bed.

Hope is the only thing stronger than fear. Delia was hoping, was praying that she could escape this. She wanted to be able to spend Christmas with her family, she wanted to see her new found friends again, but most of all... She wanted Andy to tell her that everything would be okay.

[blxckchxrrybxby]

FaceTime: No Violets in November [Pt. 1]

summary: Wilhemina despises her birthday. Each year is a reminder of her inadequacies. However, this is the year that she deals with her demons head-on. (The intimate chaos of being in a relationship included).

pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Billie Dean Howard x Cordelia Goode x Reader

warning(s): Cursing, perhaps.

a/n: @abeillesurlalunerose inspired the sweet tea part. Also, reader is she/they. More Mina in the next chapter. This was supposed to be a simple one shot, idk what happened.

wordcount: 3,581

“Ready, Babydoll?” Billie questioned as she sprayed herself in perfume—trying to get rid of the smell of smoke. Her hand delicately grasped yours and held it above your head; guiding you to spin, so the falling fragrance would cover as much of you as possible. You were never the floral type, but you didn’t have much of a choice.

“As ready as I’ll ever be...” You mumbled, trying to focus on not tripping over your own two feet. Billie smirked knowingly, watching your nose scrunch up from the last spritz of perfume. It was clear that you were trying to hold your breath so the overbearing scent wouldn’t choke you.

She let out a chuckle and decided to give your nose a quick peck, “Such a cutie, you are.” Your cheeks burned—causing you to shy away and no longer scrunch your nose. Holding eye contact was by far one of the hardest things to accomplish at the moment. Despite your obvious timidity, Billie absolutely loved when you became flustered. “Babydoll, you have no idea what being shy like this does to me.” She stated in a lower voice, bringing her hand up to caress your warm cheek; instantly igniting a fire in the pit of your belly.

You could feel the warmth radiating from her touch and basked in it. Her thumb grazed across your flushed cheek, gradually moving across textured skin and acne. Naturally, you’d fall insecure, but you knew how much she admired every last bit of you. Her gentle touches no longer frightened you.

“B-Billie…” You whimpered, trying to find your voice.

A wicked grin spread across her plump lips at your demeanor. “My, my... I could just eat you up, kitten. Would you like that?” No matter how much perfume she sprayed, you could still smell a hint of tobacco embedded in her fingertips. Your eyes lifted momentarily; catching the blonde’s gaze as she gently pushed your hips against the nearby wardrobe. Her lips immediately attached themselves to your neck, planting tender kisses along the fragile skin. You let out a whine, trying your best to contain the sounds within you begging for escape. You always figured her favor towards your vulnerability was a power move. Quite similar to Wilhemina’s—

Oh shit. Mina.

You cleared your throat, hoping it would help break you out of the sudden bashful spell. Time was ticking and it did not permit for this—no matter how badly you wanted it. “We should really get going. Delia’s probably waiting.” Billie nodded against your neck in agreeance and took a step back from you, but not before giving you a love bite.

“There. A purple accessory to go with your outfit.”

You rolled your eyes—hiding the fact that you absolutely loved the hickey—before you spoke again, “Oh, wait-” She arched an eyebrow at you as she put the perfume back into her purse. After shuffling through your pockets, you pulled out a pack of gum. Opening it, you slid out a stick and held it out for her, “-here.”

Her expression fell as she stared at you, “Darling, are you trying to tell me my breath stinks?” She frowned, cupping her hand in front of her face to blow into.

You immediately rolled your eyes at her accusation, “No, but if you don’t take it, Mina will.”

“Why would Venny want a stick of gum?” She asked with both eyebrows knitting together.

“Wha- No, Billie, I meant she’ll tell you that your breath stinks!” You giggled, elaborating on your statement.

A soft pink hue graced her cheeks as she caught on. “Ah,” Her manicured nails tapped against the side of her purse as she looked away and hid her face out of embarrassment. The humility made her crave a cigarette, “I suppose that’s more logical.”

Billie knew how much Wilhemina hated the smell of the cancer sticks and didn’t doubt for a second the truth you spoke. The last thing she needed was the redhead scolding her for smelling like a walking pack of Marlboro. With a huff, she took the minty offering from you. The silver-covered stick of gum danced between Billie’s fingers for a moment before she finally unwrapped it and slid the gum into her mouth.

After indulging in a piece yourself, you crumbled the wrapper and held your hand out for Billie’s. She stared at you; absentmindedly folding the wrapper as small as possible before placing it in the palm of your outstretched hand. It was a habit she did with not only gum wrappers, but napkins as well. You always wondered if the tendency to fold was something she had been taught growing up or if it was just one of her silly little quirks.

“Thank you, Kitten.” With a closed-mouth smile, you discarded of the trash and returned back by her side within a minute. She chuckled at your eagerness and walked out of the bedroom, “Come, before we’re late.”

You mentally rolled your eyes, finding it a bit ironic that the woman who was always ‘fashionably late’ to events was rushing you. Nonetheless, you followed her with confusion written all over your face as she led you to Madison’s room.

“Uh, Billie? Why are we in here?” You questioned, walking into the room once she pushed open the door.

Madison walked out of the bathroom and jumped, holding a towel tight against her body, “Fucking knock next time, blondie! What if my tits were out?!”

You smiled apologetically at the witch, “Sorry to barge in like this, Madison. I’m sure Zoe finds them amazing.”

The younger blonde glared as you beamed innocently.

Billie ignored the whole exchange and darted directly to Madison’s bed. “That’s rich.” Placing the palm of her hand on the mattress to aid with kneeling down, she continued, “Besides, Madison, you don’t have much to be worried about if—God forbid—anyone did see.” You held in a laugh and watched as the older woman reached under the bed—admiring the way her ass looked in the lilac dress.

Madison rolled her eyes and watched as you stared at Billie’s ass as if you were in a trance, “Perv.”

You scoffed, now looking at her, “She’s literally my girlfriend.”

She shrugged, grabbing a second towel to dry her hair, “I don’t care. Go be gay somewhere else.”

“I apologize.” You held your hands up in mock defense, “Next time, I’ll be sure to switch the gay off before entering.”

Sliding from under the bed with three presents in her arms, Billie stood up and flipped her hair—handing you one of the presents. “Alright, doll, let’s get going.”

You held the gift and nodded, shuffling out of the room as Billie led.

“You’re welcome!” Madison yelled out as the both of you giggled to yourselves whilst descending the staircase.

-

Approaching the coven’s library, you couldn’t help but ask, “Why were the presents in Madison’s room?”

Billie shrugged, “Delia thought it would be the perfect spot since Venny never goes in there.”

You nodded, “Okay, but why didn’t anyone let me know they were in there?”

She chuckled, “You ask far too many questions.”

“And you don’t answer enough of them.” You stated with a pout.

Billie stepped closer to you, smirking, “Babydoll, we love you, but you couldn’t hold water even if it was frozen.” Noticing the slight furrow of your eyebrows, she figured you didn’t understand what she meant. “Must I elaborate?”

“Hold water?”

“It means to keep a secret.” She paused and snorted, mumbling to herself, “God, am I getting old, or is it a southern thing?”

You shrugged, “I doubt it’s the southern thing. I usually understand about 95% of what you say.”

Her expression went blank, “Did you just call me… old?”

You blinked, taking a moment to process what just happened. Clearing your throat, you smiled innocently, “I think it’s time we go in, but I would like the record to show that I am great at keeping secrets! I haven’t even told anybody that you despise sweet tea-”

“Shh!” Her hand immediately covered your mouth. You ceased talking as she looked around as if someone was listening and whispered, “Don’t you ever say that out loud again.”

You nodded slowly at her dramatics as she removed her hand and adjusted the two gift bags on her arm. Biting your lip nervously, you turned towards the door to the library. Your fingertips fidgeted anxiously with the wrapping paper on the present. Billie winked at you and opened the door; letting you enter first while following close behind. Her right hand found the small of your back, slowly rubbing it to help ground you.

As bookshelf after bookshelf passed, you proceeded to walk toward the fireplace. The closer you got, the more Cordelia came into view. She sat in a chair, tapping away on her laptop.

“Please tell me you’re not still working right now,” Billie stated, unamused by the always-working Supreme.

Cordelia jumped—startled by Billie’s voice—and instantly closed her laptop, “Well, hello to you too.” She displayed a bashful smile, standing up to greet the both of you.

“Has Mina made it yet?” You asked in a hushed tone; in case the other woman was somewhere nearby.

Cordelia chuckled softly, “Not yet.” She removed the gift from your arms and wrapped you into a tight hug, “You look amazing, sweet girl.”

You smiled, feeling your face heat up, “Thank you, Delia.” With your face buried against her neck, you took a moment to bask in the smell of her chamomile shampoo and vanilla perfume before pulling back. “You look stunning by the way.”

She grinned in response—absentmindedly smoothing her hands down the front of her long, flowy skirt. “Really? I was hoping it wouldn’t be too much for Mina.”

Your eyes scanned the entirety of the Supreme, “She will love it. Trust me.”

After setting down the gift bags, Billie greeted Cordelia with a kiss and complimented her on today’s outfit selection, as well. You genuinely found the whole thing funny, considering all three of you were wearing purple. The idea was cute, but the execution was questionable. Honestly, it felt a bit… cultish.

You took a moment to look around; admiring the purple and silver decorations, along with the few drinks and snacks placed on the coffee table beside a bouquet of violets. Cordelia had truly outdone herself. It wasn’t so over the top that it would overwhelm Wilhemina, but it was enough to show effort and that alone would please her.

The only thing missing now, however, was Mina.

“I thought she would be here by now,” Billie muttered, looking at her watch, then at Delia.

“She would have been here if she didn’t request to work today,” Cordelia mumbled, adding her gift to the other three.

You furrowed your eyebrows, moving your gaze to the both of them, “I didn’t know you could request to work on a mandatory day off.”

“You can’t, babydoll.” Billie rolled her eyes while texting on her phone, “Venny is just so stubborn that she thinks she can do whatever she pleases.”

Delia hummed to herself, “And her bosses are a bit too…” She paused, thinking of the right word to use, “…intimidated to tell her otherwise.”

You smirked, “So they’re scared of her? And she’s working for them?”

“It appears so.” Cordelia chuckled.

As if on cue, Delia’s phone began to ring. Billie swiftly picked it up from the coffee table and grinned mischievously, seeing Mina’s picture. She answered it without hesitation.

“Where is she?” Mina growled, rushing through the halls of Kineros, as her cane tapped loudly.

You glanced at Delia with furrowed eyebrows; confused as to why Mina sounded so upset. She shrugged in response with the same expression of concern and confusion.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t our Venny.” Billie stated, not at all phased by the redhead’s unnerved demeanor (and most likely using the camera to fix her curls).

“Billie Dean, I swear if this is one of your pranks-” Mina started, sounding beyond irritated.

“Wilhemina, it’s not ladylike to swear, honey,” Billie said in faux innocence.

“I am not in the mood, Howard.”

“You’re never in the mood, Venable.”

“She’s always in the mood for me.” You mumbled to yourself, picking at your nails.

“Stop it, you three.” Cordelia intruded, rolling her eyes at the bickering and somehow back on her laptop.

A moment of silence went by before Mina responded in a relieved tone, “Hello, little one.”

You bit your lip, looking up at the phone in Billie’s hand. Standing from the chair, you walked over and peeked a glance at your other lover from over Billie’s shoulder, “Hi, Mina. We’ve missed you.”

Delia shook her head, mumbling under her breath, “What am I, chopped liver?”

“At worst, you’re nothing short of a five-star Michelin steak.” Billie chimed in.

“How charming of you, Billie,” Cordelia responded with a chuckle.

“For God’s sake, give Y/N the phone if you’re going to socialize with Cordelia the whole time,” Mina stated in agitation.

“Well, someone needs to show our Supreme how cherished she is since you can’t seem to provide her with a simple hello. Where are your manners-” In the midst of Billie speaking, the call hung up. “Did she just-“

“Still no greeting,” Delia mumbled, typing away. Within a few seconds, a low buzz filled the room. Delia looked down—feeling her thigh vibrate. Seeing your phone light up with Mina’s contact picture, she smirked to herself and answered, “Hello there, Wilhemina.”

A soft chuckle could be heard on the other side of the phone, “Hello, Cordelia.”

“Playing phone tag, I see.”

“Unfortunately. It seems no one has their own phone.”

“Isn’t that a shame?” You chuckled, watching the Supreme pout in faux sorrow, “I assume you’re calling to speak with our sweet girl?”

Wilhemina smirked, “Perhaps it was you I wanted to speak with.”

Cordelia hummed to herself, “You know our communication is better done through action, my love. I’ll pass them the phone, hm?”

“Thank you.”

Billie rolled her eyes as you retrieved your cellular device and walked off to a less chaotic place to hold conversation. Cordelia arched an eyebrow and peered at Billie from above her laptop, “Now, why was she so upset to begin with?”

She shrugged, admiring her nails, “You know how Venny gets-”

“Billie,” Cordelia stated in a warning tone.

The Medium huffed and flipped her hair, “Calm down, Delia. I simply told her that Y/N was missing.”

“What?!”

“It got her attention, didn’t it?”

Cordelia shook her head and went back to typing, “You’ve got a few screws loose, Billie Dean.”

“The better for you to tighten, my dear.”

Cordelia looked at her with furrowed eyebrows, “Excuse me?”

Billie scoffed while grabbing her phone, then mumbled, “Now I know it’s definitely a southern thing.”

-

You sighed softly, leaning against a bookshelf, “So… how’s work?”

Her expression noticeably softened at your words, “I know you’re upset, little one.”

“And why would I be upset?” You asked—knowing full and well that you were seething on the inside from her deciding to go to work and not tell you.

“Are the others-”

“I walked away.”

With a deep inhale, she gathered her excuse, “I apologize, I was needed at work-”

“You were needed at home.” You stated with confidence.

“Y/N-”

“How naïve do you think I am? I expect you home within the next hour, Wilhemina.”

You took a moment to take in her features. Everything about her screamed ‘apathetic business woman’ but all you could see was the child in her. The fearful being that was dreading another year of life and despising the idea of celebrating it even more. You knew this was why she had fled the coven and chose to hide within the confinements of her office. She didn’t need another reminder of her age increasing and health declining. However, last year she had promised you growth, and what better way to bring in her new age, than with the first step of change?

No more running away.

-

“Happy birthday, my love,” Cordelia celebrated softly as she placed a tender kiss against Wilhemina’s cheek; handing her the last present. It was the same present you insisted on covering in violet wrapping paper—much like the others. “Enjoy. This one’s from an anonymous source.”

Wilhemina’s eyebrows furrowed at Delia’s words as her gaze met with the witch’s. What anonymous source could she possibly be referring to? She had already opened a gift from each of her lovers. Delia laid her hand on Mina’s—which happened to be resting on the unopened gift—and gave it a loving squeeze. As if to say, just trust me.

 Every year, Wilhemina made it clear that she preferred to ignore the day the universe cursed her with life—however—with three girlfriends who loved her immensely, it was nearly impossible. Although dreaded by Mina, November 11th was a day worth celebrating.

Cordelia perched herself on the armrest of the La-Z-Boy Billie gifted Mina the year prior and absentmindedly ran her fingers through her lover’s red hair. Wilhemina huffed under her breath and began to unwrap the gift; taking her time with precision.

“One of these years, I’d like to actually receive what I ask for.” The redhead grumbled.

Billie rolled her eyes, “Get over it, Venny. We’re not going a year without celebrating you.” Taking a sip of her cider, she smirked, “Besides, it’s a fun way to torture you.”

Once the gift was uncovered, she placed the paper aside and opened the large, rectangular box; revealing one of the most beautiful canes she had ever seen.

You bit your lip nervously and glanced at Cordelia. You had begged her to give Mina your gift; knowing if she found out her ‘little one’ spent so much money on her, she’d pitch a fit. Cordelia continued to stroke Mina’s hair as her gaze remained fixated on the cane. No words left the woman’s mouth. It was as if she were frozen.

 You knew your bottom lip was bound to become raw from how much you were currently gnawing on it, “Do you like it?”

Your words snapped her out of the flashback she was currently trapped in.

Taking a moment to swallow down the aftertaste of inadequacy with the apple cider Cordelia made, her piercing gaze hesitantly met yours. “Little one. Tell me you didn’t.”

You fidgeted with your blouse anxiously, “What do you mean?”

She sat up the best she could, frowning, “Did you buy-”

“I said it was anonymous, Mina. Leave it at that.” Delia stated as she interrupted. “Now, who wants pie?”

“Me, please.” You stated, ready to change the subject. Glancing over at Mina, her gaze remained fixated on the cane in front of her.

“Leave my slice on the table, won’t you, darling?” Billie asked, standing up, “I need a smoke.”

Delia agreed, but shook her head disapprovingly, “Fine, but you need to ease off the nicotine.”

Looking through her purse for a cigarette, the Medium pointed a finger, “Don’t. Tonight is a good night and we’ve already talked about this.”

Delia frowned, “I know, but I get worried, Billie.” She sat the plates down on the coffee table as Billie walked up to her and pulled her over to the side.

While grasping her waist and pulling her flush against her body, Billie began, “Hey…” She spoke softly, easing a few golden strands behind the Supreme’s ear, “You never have to worry about me.”

“I know, but-”

“But?”

Cordelia took a moment to find her words then replied in a hushed tone, “That’s easier said than done. I practically watch you inhale your fate every time you go out on that balcony.” Billie frowned at her statement, but let her continue, “And don’t think that I don’t know about you sharing those cancer sticks with Y/N.”

Her eyes widened as she bit her bottom lip nervously, “Have you told-”

“No, but if she finds out, you’re dead along with the rest of the coven that knows.”

Billie arched an eyebrow, “Who was it that told you?”

“I’m not telling you that, Billie Dean.”

The Medium peered, adamant about knowing who told her business, “Coco? Queenie?”

“Billie-”

“Madison? Nan?”

Cordelia sighed, “Nan.”

You smiled, walking over to Mina. Kneeling in front of her, you placed both hands atop hers. She jumped slightly, bringing her attention to you. “Are you alright, Mina?”

She inhaled slowly to control her breathing. Something you had noticed she would do if she didn’t want to draw in attention to her emotions, “Of course, Little one.”

You tilted your head, “I know you, Mina. Something is wrong. Do you not like your presents?”

“It’s not that.” Her fingers caressed the palm of your hand to not only ground you, but herself.

“Is it the pie? I thought you detested cake.”

“I do.”

“Then… what’s wrong?”

Her fingers intertwined with yours as a soft smile appeared on her lips. With a gentle squeeze of your hands, she spoke quieter than usual, “Not now.”

You could hear the waver of her voice. A few decibels louder and the dam of emotions would erupt. “I understand.” You accepted her decision and forced a smile. “Would you like some pie?”

Her fingers withdrew from yours and moved through your hair. “I’d much rather prefer you instead.”

[femslashrevolution]

Popular Pairing List Update

The following pairings have more than 10 recent posts in their pairing tag, and are therefore too popular to be posted on Rarepair Thursdays:

Aerith Gainsborough x Tifa Lockhart (Final Fantasy)

Amelia Collins x Zoe Miller (Class of '07)

Anaïs Davis x Bobbie De Bruyn (wtFOCK)

Aninlaphat Sawetwarit x Pilanthita Kasidit (The Loyal Pin)

Anna x Elsa (Disney Princesses)

Applejack x Fluttershy (My Little Pony)

Azula x Ty Lee (Avatar: The Last Airbender)

Barbara Holland x Nancy Wheeler (Stranger Things)

Bérénice Leblond x Carla Furiani (Ici tout commence)

Blaze x Kristina Corinthos Davis (General Hospital)

Buffy Summers x Cordelia Chase (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Cady Heron x Regina George (Mean Girls; Mean Girls Musical)

Cate Randa x May Olowe Hewitt (Monarch: Legacy of Monsters)

Clary Fray x Isabelle Lightwood (The Mortal Instruments)

Darcy Lewis x Wanda Maximoff (Marvel Cinematic Universe)

Delia Ketchum x Jessie (Pokemon)

Dorcas Meadowes x Marlene McKinnon (Harry Potter)

Dorcas Meadowes x Narcissa Malfoy (Harry Potter)

Earth x Sun (23.5)

Eileen Dunlop x Rebecca (Eileen)

Eve Unwin x Suki Panesar (Eastenders)

Falin Touden x Marcille Donato (Delicious in Dungeon)

Fluttershy x Rarity (My Little Pony)

Ginny Weasley x Pansy Parkinson (Harry Potter)

Gwen Runck x Nikki (That 90's Show)

Gwen Stacy x Mary Jane Watson (Marvel Comics)

Jack Danvers x Keeley Jones (Ted Lasso)

Kristi Miller x Marielle (From)

Harper Row x Stephanie Brown (DCU; Gotham Knights)

Harumoto Itsuki x Hayashi Fuyu (Chaser Game W)

Ink x Pa (Bad Buddy)

Jamie x Marian (Drive-Away Dolls)

Jiang Zhaoyun x Lan Ze (Legend of Yunze)

Lady Hideko x Sook Hee (The Handmaiden)

Luce x Rachel (Imagine Me & You)

Margaery Tyrell x Sansa Stark (A Song of Ice and Fire)

Padmé Amidala x Sabé (Star Wars)

Prang x Warang (Love Senior)

Sabine Wren x Shin Hati (Star Wars)

The following pairings have been posted less frequently recently, and have therefore been removed from the popular pairing list:

AJ Campos x Paige Evans (Crush)

Alex Cabot x Olivia Benson (Law & Order: SVU)

Amalia True x Penance Adair (The Nevers)

Amanita Caplan x Nomi Marks (Sense8)

Ana Servín x Mariana Herrera (Madre sólo hay dos)

Anne Shirley x Diana Barry (Anne of Green Gables; Anne With An E)

Ava Coleman x Janine Teagues (Abbott Elementary)

Beca Mitchell x Chloe Beale (Pitch Perfect)

Becky Baker x Imogen Moreno (Degrassi: The Next Generation)

Bette Porter x Tina Kennard (The L Word)

Casey Gardner x Izzie (Atypical)

Deena Johnson x Samantha Fraser (Fear Street)

Eleanor Levetan x Gabbi Broussard (Do Revenge)

Frankie Bergstein x Grace Hanson (Grace and Frankie)

Frannie Langton x Marguerite Benham (The Confessions of Frannie Langton)

Héloïse x Marianne (Portrait of a Lady on Fire)

Imogen Temult x Laudna (Critical Role)

Jen Harding x Judy Hale (Dead to Me)

Jules Vaughn x Rue Bennett (Euphoria)

Keeley Jones x Rebecca Welton (Ted Lasso)

Malini x Priya (The Jasmine Throne)

Maria Hill x Natasha Romanoff (Marvel Cinematic Universe; Marvel Comics)

Riri Williams x Shuri (Marvel Cinematic Universe; Marvel Comics)

Shelby Goodkind x Toni Shalifoe (The Wilds)

[iincantatorum]

Ava Lilith Grimhilde-Harrison || delia x will @worldofsenelfy

Ava, the daughter of Delia, the demonic succubus, dream walker, and writer, and Will, the psychologist with a dark past tied to crime, inherits a unique blend of her parents' traits, resulting in a fascinating character with a complex nature.

Appearance: Ava possesses an ethereal beauty that captivates those who lay eyes on her. Her features are a blend of delicate grace and an alluring charm. Her complexion, often pale and porcelain-like, contrasts with her lustrous, dark hair that cascades in soft waves around her shoulders. Her eyes, reflecting the depths of her inner turmoil, hold a mix of mysterious hues, perhaps a combination of deep sapphire and smoky gray. Her overall appearance is both entrancing and enigmatic, drawing others into her sphere.

Personality: Ava's personality is a multidimensional tapestry, woven with both light and darkness. She carries an air of enchantment, possessing a seductive charisma inherited from her succubus lineage. However, beneath her alluring exterior, there exists a growing darkness that mirrors her father's concealed past. Ava is a complex individual, often torn between her inherent nature and her longing for acceptance and understanding.

She possesses a sharp intellect and an innate curiosity about the human mind, likely influenced by her father's profession as a psychologist. This intellectual prowess, coupled with her supernatural abilities as a dream walker, allows her to delve into the depths of the subconscious, exploring the hidden recesses of the human psyche.

Ava's personality is a delicate balance between empathy and manipulation. She can effortlessly weave her way into the hearts and minds of others, utilizing her seductive charm to both understand and influence them. However, this duality within her often creates internal conflicts as she grapples with her own moral compass.

Dreams: Ava's dreams are a kaleidoscope of haunting visions and surreal landscapes. As a dream walker, she possesses the ability to traverse the ethereal realm of dreams, granting her access to a realm where reality and fantasy intertwine. In her dreams, she encounters both beauty and darkness, exploring the depths of human desires, fears, and secrets.

Her dreams may be filled with enigmatic symbols and vivid imagery, reflecting her own inner turmoil and the mysteries that surround her existence. Within the realm of dreams, she seeks answers, understanding, and a sense of purpose, often embarking on subconscious quests that mirror her journey to reconcile her dual nature.

These dreams may serve as a conduit for her evil tendencies, providing a canvas upon which she can explore and express the darker aspects of her being. They become both a source of fascination and a potential catalyst for her personal growth and transformation.

[novas-picrew-adventures]

Here's Ash and Calem from my Vampire AU.

And now, for a shameless self-promo:

I'm writing a Vampire/Supernatural AU where Ash becomes a vampire. Although I am currently rewriting the fic, here is the original version:

You're Not Welcome (You Can't Change my Mind) (2702 words) by Nova_Writes Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime), Pocket Monsters: X & Y | Pokemon X & Y Versions Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Calme | Calem & Serena, Satoshi | Ash Ketchum & Serena, Calme | Calem & Platane-hakase | Professor Augustine Sycamore, Calme | Calem & Satoshi | Ash Ketchum Characters: Calme | Calem, Serena (Pokemon), Satoshi | Ash Ketchum, Hanako | Delia Ketchum, Ookido Yukinari-hakase | Professor Samuel Oak, Platane-hakase | Professor Augustine Sycamore, Satoshi no Pikachu | Ash Ketchum's Pikachu, Pikachu (Pokemon), Saki | Grace (Pokemon X & Y), Sihorn | Rhyhorn, Saki no Sihorn | Grace's Rhyhorn, Zubat (Pokemon), Ookido Shigeru | Gary Oak, Pachira | Malva, Nyoromo | Poliwag Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Vampire Bites, Angst, Fake Character Death, Based on a Dream, dream - Freeform, Ash Calem and Serena are Childhood Friends, Near Death Experiences, Vomiting, Survivor Guilt, Blood Drinking, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Childhood Memories, Vampires, Religious Sigil, Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Art, Traditional Art, Based on a Tumblr Post, Calme | Calem Needs a Hug, Satoshi | Ash Ketchum Needs a Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, Serena Needs a Hug (Pokemon) Summary: After being forced to watch their childhood friend "die" at the hands of a vampire, Calem and Serena attempt to move on with their lives when they move to Kalos. After one of his shifts, however, Calem sees a familiar person; this time, he wants his blood.

[identity-library]

Mental Health (Books)

A:

All Our Broken Pieces (L.D. Crichton)

Lennon Davis (OCD)

A Step Toward Falling (Connie McGovern)

Belinda Montgomery (PTSD)

Lucas (Stage Fright)

Richard (Depression)

B:

Blind Spot (Laura Ellen)

Tricia Farni (Addiction - Drugs)

Bruised (Tanya Boteju)

Daya Wijesinghe (Grief, Self-Harm)

C:

D:

Doctor Sleep (Stephen King)

Daniel "Danny" Torrance (Abuse, Addiction - Alcohol)

E:

Exit, Pursued by a Bear (E.K. Johnston)

Hermione Winters (Sexual Assault, Trauma)

F:

Fight Like a Girl (Sheena Kamal)

Trisha (Abuse, Guilt, Trauma)

G:

H:

Handle With Care (Jodi Picoult)

Amelia O'Keefe (Bulimia, Self Harm)

I:

Icebreaker (A.L. Graziadei)

Mickey James (Depression)

I Hope You're Listening (Tom Ryan)

Delia "Dee" Skinner (Trauma)

Indian Horse (Richard Wagamese)

Saul Indian Horse (Abuse, Addiction - Alcohol, Racism, Sexual Assault, Trauma)

J:

K:

L:

M:

More Happy Than Not (Adam Silvera)

Aaron Soto (Depression)

N:

Nothing but Life (Brent van Staalduinen)

Wendell "Dill" Simms (Trauma)

O:

P:

Power Play (Eric Walters)

Cody (Abuse, Addiction - Alcohol, Sexual Assault)

Punk 57 (Penelope Douglas)

Annie Grayson (Addiction - Drugs)

Manny Cortez (Addiction - Drugs, Depression)

Misha Lare (Depression, Grief)

Q:

R:

Rush (Jonathan Friesen)

Jake King (Addiction - Adrenaline)

S:

Sketches (Eric Walters)

Dana (Sexual Abuse, Trauma)

Six of Crows (Leigh Bardugo)

Inej Ghafa (Trauma)

Jesper (Addiction - Gambling)

Kaz Brekker (Trauma)

Nina Zenik (Addiction - Drugs)

Somebody Told Me (Mia Siegert)

Aleks/Alexis (Trauma)

T:

The Agony of Bun O'Keefe (Heather Smith)

Bun O'Keefe (Abuse, Neglect, Trauma)

Chris (Abuse, Homophobia)

The Beauty of the Moment (Tanaz Bhathena)

Malcolm (Abuse, Trauma)

The Buried and the Bound (Rochelle Hassan)

Leo Merritt (Depression)

Tristan Drake (Abuse, Trauma)

The Good Hawk (Joseph Elliot)

Jaime (Anxiety)

The Immeasurable Depth of You (Maria Mora)

Brynn (Anxiety, Intrusive Thoughts, OCD)

The Luis Ortega Survival Club (Sonora Reyes)

Ariana Ruiz (Sexual Assault, Trauma)

The Love and Lies of Rukhsana Ali (Sabrina Khan)

Rukhsana Ali (Abuse, Homophobia, Sexual Assault, Trauma)

The Mosaic (Nina Berkhout)

Gabriel Finch (PTSD)

Twilight - Series (Stephanie Meyer)

Isabella "Bella" Swan (Depression)

U:

V:

W:

Warriors (Erin Hunter)

Bluestar (Depression)

What Unbreakable Looks Like (Kate McLaughlin)

Alexa "Lex" Grace (Abuse, Sexual Assault, Trauma)

Wings of Fire - Series (Tui T. Sutherland)

Cricket (Abuse)

Fathom (PTSD)

Indigo (PTSD)

Qibli (Abuse)

Sora (Anxiety)

X:

Y:

Z:

[cultofpokeshipping]

Stuck in rarepair hell.....send help!!

[aplacefortheaptch]

🏳️‍🌈 happy pride month + aptch

[intomusings]

﹒﹒   female   names   masterlist     !

in honor of my second milestone on here , i’ve decided to release a master list of 400+ female names i personally love and think could be used more in the community . this was also requested by a few anons and names will be added to the list frequently . the names are sorted by first letter but not alphabetically within each letter category . if you found this useful , feel free to like or reblog to spread this !

A : aurianna, addison, alannah, allegra, alina, alma, andra, avril, abella, arizona, annalise, amelia, aspen, alejandra, ayla, ales, alessia, anessa, asia, aline, adrienne, avery, armani, adaline, arden. 

B : blaire, brooke, brooklyn, bruna, bettina, bianca, becca, bella, bonnie, brielle, blake, bodhi, beverly, bambi, bronte, billie, briar, bria, birdie, brighton. 

C : catalina, cerise, celeste, celene, carson, camila, cecilia, callista, cadence, cassie, carmen, cali, charlie, camryn, camille, clara, claudete, chantel, chachi, capri, cove, chanel. 

D : diana, devi, dylan, daphne, dani, delphine, dahlia, delia, darcy, dawn, davina, dove, daisy, delaney, dua, darya, delilah, dixie, dior, dulce, dina, dayana. 

E : ember, eloisa, eleonora, emara, elena, esme, emery, emmeline, elsa, eva, evie, emmy, estelle, esther, evelyn, erin, eliana, everly, emerson, elle, ezra, eiza, eden. 

F : florence, franny, fiorella, faith, fiona, faye, farrah, freya, fern, flor, frankie. 

G : giulia, giulianna, georgia, ginny, grecia, giselle, genevieve, gabbie, grace, genie, gaia, giada, gemma, geles, genele, gia, gwendolyn, geneva, gracen. 

H : hazel, holland, helena, harlow, haven, hera, haley, houda, heidi, hana, harley, honey, hera. 

I : isobel, ivana, irma, irina, isadora, imogen, isla, ivy, inessa, ibiza, irelynn, iliana, ilana, indya. 

J : juliet, jayden, jordyn, jelena, jodie, jennie, jade, jesy, josie, june, jada, jemmye, jacey, janelle, juniper, jayla, jaliah, jewel, jane, johanna, jolie.

K : kendall, kensington, kennedy, katya, karlie, katerina, kailani, koral, kai, kaia, karma, kinsley, kylie, karina, korinna, karla, kemi, kate, kerigan, kali, kiyomi, kouvr. 

L : lourdes, leandra, london, lucia, luisa, logan, lena, leonora, larissa, lydia, lorelai, lylah, lettie, lottie, lalisa, luna, lara, lia, lorena, livia, layla, leighton, lyra, lola, lainey, laurel, luella, lumi. 

M : maricela, mariana, maeve, mabel, mila, marbella, maia, melody, mimi, monet, malauna, mira, mallory, millie, marla, mia, marvela, marni, madelaine, maleia, magnolia, maren. 

N : nilsa, nutsa, nini, naomi, noa, nevlyn, nathaly, nicolette, nadira, nicola, nova, nany, nala, niaye, nyla, noelle, nathalie, 

O : olympia, orianthi, octavia, opal, oriana, ophelia, orion, oakley, odessa, odette, odelia. 

P : paola, paris, peyton, phebe, priyanka, paislee, paloma, pandora, parvati, piper, perla, pearl, pia, priya, pilar, paxon. 

Q : quinn, quintessa. 

R : rowan, rylie, rosalie, roslyn, raquel, rose, reign, renata, raegan, reyna, ryann, raya, rhiannon, ria, rue, rhodes.

S : serena, serafina, sawyer, sylvie, sol, samira, sloane, silver, sutton, stella, saanvi, sab, seren, seven, sophia, star, skye, sabina, saskia, summer, stormy, salena, sage, sonny, solange, sahar, sumaya, shelby. 

T : tatum, tayler, tara, torre, tia, thea, tyra, truly, thalia, taryn, tampson, tayli, talya, teala, tala. 

U : uma. 

V : valencia, violetta, venus, verity, vanessa, venecia, vinnie, vida, vivienne, valentina, velora, vera, venice.

W : willow, winona, willa, wanda, witney, westlyn, windsor, wilhelmina, wren. 

X : ximena, xiomara, xashary, xena, xyla. 

Y : yovanna, yves, yara, yvette, yasmin, yesenia, yensi.

Z : zara, zion, zoe, zahara, zharia, zella, zendaya, zakiyah. 

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

By the Grace Of [Sorcerer Rogier x Fem!Tarnished] - The “Always good to see you safe” Extra

Summary: Rogier's thoughts on watching Delia die and come back. Takes place sometime after the events of the main story

Author’s Notes: 700 words! Me: starts typing. Husband: What are you doing? Me: Writing! Husband: Writing what!? Me: ……… Husband: *Gets up to look at my screen, throws his hands up.* “Oh, for the love of-!”

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Elden Ring

Warnings: canon-typical violence, abstract horror? I think?

As it turned out, knowing that someone could be resurrected did not make watching them die any easier.

It was knowledge Rogier could have done without.

As Delia went down, he made a choked sound somewhere between a shout and a sob. He backed slowly up, never taking his eyes from the shimmer of runes where she’d been a moment before or the Tree Sentinel circling the spot. The blade through her body would fuel his nightmares for weeks to come. He breathed shallowly, hardly in control of himself. He wanted to race out, to draw his rapier and cast every spell he knew, but there was a reason she had him stay back.

They knew she could come back.

But did they? The voice in his mind sounded an awful lot like D, sometimes. Grace spurned you, once. What if it spurns her too?

“It wouldn’t,” he ground out softly. “She’s better than me,” he added on a breath. 

You allowed yourself to be seduced by Those Who Live in Death, and she allowed herself to be seduced by you. What’s to say she won’t be abandoned as well?

“Enough,” he hissed.

“I agree.” Delia stepped up behind him, startling him so badly that he sat hard on the loamy ground.

Despite her heavy mail- she’d taken to wearing Blaidd’s armor in their recent travels- her step was still light enough to startle him more often than not. He was reminded often, and fondly, of their first meeting.

She was looking at him curiously. “Talking to yourself?” she asked lightly. He hadn’t told her yet about the ghost of D that lived in his mind, but he thought she might have an inkling all the same. 

Instead of answering, he surged to his feet, dragging her behind him to press her against a wide tree trunk that blocked them from the Sentinel’s view. He dipped his head to kiss her. It was desperate, filled with the despair and anguish he’d felt watching her fall, even believing that she’d walk up behind him just as she had. Delia made a startled sound that quickly dissolved into a satisfied sigh. She reached up, pulling him closer by the straps that hung around his arms. She parted his lips with her tongue, exploring his mouth languorously as he tried in vain to still the beating of his heart with one arm braced over her head and the other pulling her against him. 

The effect she had on him was unreal. He might have had an abundance of experience over her, but she never failed to make his knees weak and his chest tight. No matter who instigated the contact, she was always the one in charge.

Rogier loved it.

Well, loved it until she broke away. “You’ve got to let me go, my Love. I need those runes.”

Rogier huffed. “I still don’t see why we can’t test this so-called immortality of mine. You know I hate seeing you take all of the risks.”

“Well,” she hummed. She reached up, straightening his hat and his collar. “I can afford them.” For how long? “But not losing you. Not again.” She patted his chest firmly, kissed his cheek, and drew her blade. She took a few steps before turning to walk backward, tossing him a wink. “I’ll be right back.”

He waved half-heartedly, planted for a moment of indecision. Then he sighed, tiptoed back to his vantage point behind a large rock, and peered over. Delia was as quick as ever, backstepping and whirling and swinging and dodging. The Tree Sentinel put up a good fight, but was ultimately no match.

He did not earn a second victory.

Rogier rose from his crouch and Delia, having just collected her newfound strength, beamed up at him.

His heart melted as he looked at her. Sometimes he imagined that he could feel the shard of glintstone in it, but rather than a painful reminder, it had become a token of her dedication. She cocked her head, expression growing confused.

“What?” she asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He was grinning like a sentimental fool. “It’s just… I…” He felt overwhelmed with gratefulness all over again, having her within reach once more. He pulled himself up, drawing her into his arms. “It’s always good to see you safe.”

[acrossthewavesoftime]

To you my heart I must resign, O choose me for your Valentine!

(x)

It's that time of the year again when one can post the first (surviving) Valentine's Day's missive in North America, sent by a certain John Graves Simcoe to Sarah "Sally" Townsend on 14 February 1779.

Simcoe, who adorned his poem with two bleeding hearts bearing the initials "J.G.S" and "S.T." pinned together by Cupid's arrow, clearly was in love with her, though, as the poem itself acknowledges, he was aware of the fact that a relationship between them would be difficult; the Townsends, who grudgingly quartered Simcoe, were sympathetic to the rebel cause, to the point the assumption persists that Sarah may have been an informant for her brother Robert Townsend, also known under his intelligence alias Samuel Culper, giving him information on the British she received by cultivating Simcoe's trust.

One such tale goes as far as to name Sarah as the informant who made the capture of John André possible. In the wake of André's execution in Tappan, she supposedly confessed her actions to Simcoe, feeling remorseful that she had helped bring about the death of his close friend. Simcoe, deeply hurt she had betrayed his trust and genuine intentions, is said to have lost interest in her romantically, but still kept her secret.

Of course, the story seems rather a bit over the top; what is known about Sarah is that she was a favourite with British officers stationed in the area, and that she kept Simcoe's poem until her death in 1842. She never married, which caused romantic speculation that Simcoe may have been the love of her life after all. Realistically, I think the sentimental value Sarah clearly felt Simcoe's poem had does not necessarily have romantic connotations; she may have decided to keep it because she felt flattered someone sat down to write a piece of poetry about her, and realistically speaking, how often in one's life does one receive an original, hand-written love poem?

But Sarah would not remain the only lady to treasure a poem written by Simcoe; his wife Elizabeth, an as far as I can tell not infrequent protagonist of his poetry, pinned one she clearly particularly treasured to the pages of her Canadian diary/manuscript which he wrote for her to commemorate their 12th wedding anniversary. If he ever wrote her any Valentine's Day-poetry, I can't tell, but he didn't need any specific occasion to compose some lines about making "my Eliza with true passion burn"- a lot saucier than the comparatively tame poem, which even invokes the virgin goddess Artemis by the epithet "Delia", written to Sarah Townsend (and, of course, he also features the most romantic of all things in the world, urns, as @copper-haired-cuddlebug in particular will be aware of):

Fairest Maid, where all is fair, Beauty’s pride and Nature’s care; To you my heart I must resign, O choose me for your Valentine! Love, Mighty God! Thou know’st full well, Where all thy Mother’s graces dwell, Where they inhabit and combine To fix thy power with spells divine; Thou know’st what powerful magick lies Within the round of Sarah’s eyes, Or darted thence like lightning fires, And Heaven’s own joys around inspires; Thou know’st my heart will always prove The shrine of pure unchanging love! Say; awful God! Since to thy throne Two ways that lead are only known— Here gay Variety presides, And many a youthful circle guides Through paths where lilies, roses sweet, Bloom and decay beneath their feet; Here constancy with sober mien Regardless of the flowery Scene With Myrtle crowned that never fades, In silence seeks the Cypress Shades, Or fixed near Contemplation’s cell, Chief with the Muses loves to dwell, Leads those who inward feel and burn And often clasp the abandon’d urn,– Say, awful God! Did’st thou not prove My heart was formed for Constant love? Thou saw’st me once on every plain To Delia pour the artless strain— Thou wept’sd her death and bad’st me change My happier days no more to range O’er hill, o’er dale, in sweet Employ, Of singing Delia, Nature’s joy; Thou bad’st me change the pastoral scene Forget my Crook; with haughty mien To raise the iron Spear of War, Victim of Grief and deep Despair: Say, must I all my joys forego And still maintain this outward show? Say, shall this breast that’s pained to feel Be ever clad in horrid steel? Nor swell with other joys than those Of conquest o’er unworthy foes? Shall no fair maid with equal fire Awake the flames of soft desire: My bosom born, for transport, burn And raise my thoughts from Delia’s urn? “Fond Youth,” the God of Love replies, “Your answer take from Sarah’s eyes.”

[hansolmates]

17 going on 27

summary; one second, you’re sobbing at prom because the most popular guy in school dumps you due to your relationship being a little prank to break your heart. the next? you’re a creative editor at Ego, the hottest young adult fashion magazine. as you try to figure out what’s the deal with this sudden time skip into adulthood, you come across relationships and friendships that are made to be cherished and made to be broken. pairing; photographer!jungkook x editor!reader (f) genre/warnings; fluff, crack, future enemies to lovers, teenage and adulthood angst, time skips from high school!au to late twenties!au, 13 going on 30!au, all your romantic movie tropes come to life! a really big mess honestly, various movie and music references, mentions of sex, use of alcohol, everyone give jin and jimin a big ol hug, language, a surprise guest from the queen of england w/c; 22.6k a/n; it’s that time of the year baby! the time of the year where i binge watch the good ol’ early 2000s romcoms that make absolutely no sense! a huge thank u to @eerieedits​ for making this beautiful banner. vivi got the whole delia’s/claire’s vibe down to a t! 

if you enjoy this fic pls consider giving it a like and a share✨✨✨

March 19th, 2011

Thirty, flirty, and thriving!

You finger the dog-eared magazine, last month’s issue of a shoddy fashion magazine that featured top actress Jennifer Garner on the front cover. Her caramel brown highlights practically glow on the page, blown out and beautiful. You suppress a sigh, you long to be the radiant young woman on the cover. The headline is glittery, sparkly and just begging for attention. 

Swiping a hand through the pages, your eyes are crowded with over-stimulation. Colorful models dressed up in the latest designs, Chanel and Burberry suits you can only dream of, and happy women at the prime of their lives. 

Twenty-seven and in Heaven! You smile wryly at the cheesy rhyme that headlines the following pages, but nevertheless the happy model on the spread does indeed look like they’re in heaven. 

Sure, you’re no shrinking violet. Heck, you don’t even consider yourself painfully average. You may not be on the traditional spectrum of popularity in high school, but you get around and have a wonderful best friend and an even better boyfriend. However given the social classes that preside, you do get those moments where you second guess your life’s position. Good thing high school has an expiration date, and you’re close to the end.  

“Baby Bun, what are you doing?” the magazine is snatched from your grasp, thrown on the table without a care in the world. Jennifer Garner’s hydro-whitened smile gleams tauntingly at you, “reading that junk is gonna mess with your head.” 

Your boyfriend returns from his final suit fitting, his outfit for tonight all pressed and ready to go. He pouts at you, pulling you up by the hand to lead you out of the Men’s Warehouse. Jeon Jungkook. Captain of the lacrosse team, flying by high school with a sports scholarship already in the bag. Eats up attention like plants soak up the sun. Secretly loves taking photographs of his dog and watching Netflix animes at your house. 

“Aren’t you excited for prom?” 

“Excited to listen to LMFAO’s Party Rock Anthem on repeat?” you guaff, “as if.” 

He pinches your arm lightly, “You also forget that we’re gonna tear up the floor to Nicki Minaj’s Superbass.” 

You shrug listlessly, crunching the white plastic closer to your body. 

Before you can suck all the air out of the garment bag, Jungkook carefully extracts it from your grasp, easily holding it between his one arm so he can thread his other hand through yours. “I am excited! It’s just that… Jimin’s not gonna be there and we’re sitting with the Yearbook committee.”

Looking down at the floor you extract your hand from his, slipping into his parent’s Honda Civic. The yearbook committee, meaning you’d be sitting at a table with head editor Jennie and her group of friends. Friends that are popular and pretty, just like Jungkook. 

Jimin is currently on a flight back from Korea due to a family funeral, therefore leaving a seat empty at your prom table. It was only seat that you cared about, other than Jungkook’s. It’s no one’s fault and Jimin of course is doubly upset to miss prom, but without your best friend you’re not sure if you can survive the night. 

One of the few secrets you keep from Jungkook is the fact that Jennie and you aren’t exactly friendly to each other. You don’t know why, maybe it’s the fact that you don’t run the in same friend group or you always win the debate in Civics class, but Jennie clearly expresses her dislike for you as easily as she expresses her love for Jungkook. 

Which makes you incredibly insecure, but Jennie and Jungkook have been friends for longer than you and him have been together, who are you to intervene? 

Jungkook slips in the driver’s seat, but not before pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. 

Right. You’re Jungkook’s girlfriend, and that should matter more than his friendship with Jennie. 

But the smell of his freshly cleaned lacrosse jersey, his duffle bag overflowing with protein powder and unfinished assignments remind you that you have your world and he has his. A conversation about your insecurities could wait until tomorrow. 

“When’s Jimin’s flight?” Jungkook asks, one hand on the steering wheel and the other tapping on your thigh as he pulls out. 

“He’ll be back two hours into the dance,” you report, albeit glumly as you rest your head against the cool window. 

“That sucks,” Jungkook replies, a bit of sadness in his tone, “he has to miss out on his prom night.” 

You shrug, “Prom isn’t everything, it’s about the people you spend it with.” 

“Well then,” he squeezes your thigh, “I’m glad I get to spend it with you.” 

You only have a few hours to get ready until you meet Jungkook at his house for pictures, so when you get dropped off, you tell him that he doesn’t have to get out of the car to escort you into your home. But Jungkook is insistent, putting the car in park and getting out your dress for you with such delicacy that you’re positively sure there’s no wrinkles in the fabric. Taking the dress from his grasp you wish him goodbye and a promise to meet each other later. 

“Wait,” Jungkook is biting his lip, unable to let go of your hand even though you’re already up the stairs. You’re looking down at him, a rarity considering his tall frame. 

“What’s wrong, Kook?” 

“Uh, I was just thinking,” he’s scratching the back of his head, and you soften. The little quirk he has is a sign of insecurity, being the star player Jungkook is forced to exude confidence to a fault. “Maybe, we could skip the prom thing? You said so yourself that prom is about the people you spend it with.” 

Your eyes widen, clutching your dress tighter. “What? Jungkook, that’s ridiculous. Between the both of us we’ve spent a lot of money on the clothes and the tickets.” 

“Right,” he forces a laugh, and you put a hand on your hip to think it out but you can’t quite place what’s going on. “Sorry Bun, I just know how the finale of our favorite anime airs tonight.” 

“You’re so silly,” you chastise, reaching down to pinch his cheek. Normally he hates it, but you can’t help but melt when he leans into your touch a little more. “C’mon, I know suits are stuffy and stuff, but let’s just do this high school rite of passage thing. Afterwards we can go to McDonalds or something and watch the recording.” 

“You’re right,” his face is red, “what was I thinking? Can’t miss out on a night to see my beautiful girlfriend all dressed up.” 

He squeezes your hand one last time, a little too tight for comfort. With a half smile he waves, going into his car and driving off. 

You don’t have time to dwell on his weirdness (and trust when you say that Jungkook is plenty weird and it astounds you how the rest of your class has no idea) so you fly up to your room to get your hair and makeup ready. Your parents greet you excitedly along the way, telling you there’s a package left for you on your vanity.

It’s a plain cardboard box, already cut and unwrapped by your parents for convenience. The address shows it came from Korea, proudly displaying the name of your best friend on the return address. Inside is a beautiful compact, made of brushed gold and pink metal. The makeup inside is a loose glitter from a brand that you don’t recognize, but since it’s a gift from Jimin, you trust his taste. 

I have to be at prom somehow, Jimin’s note on the box reads, don’t overthink and have fun! 

You snort, reading the sticky note over and over in Jimin’s voice. Looking over the shade, you can’t help but grimace at the cliché name. Wishing Dust. The color is a little too white and silvery for your taste, but you’ll wear it in honor of Jimin. 

The dress, the hair, the makeup all come together little by little. You like the ritual of getting ready, building yourself up to the highest order and feeling closer and closer to the beautiful women in magazines. Surprisingly, your favorite part of getting ready is applying the glitter that Jimin gifted you. The puff enclosed is cloud soft, and surprisingly the color doesn’t look too ashen on your skin. The glitter sinks into your skin like a soft butter, accentuating your collarbones and cheeks as if you are glowing from within. 

You smile at yourself in the mirror. A little part of you wishes you could look like this everyday. You wish you could always look and feel this confident, and act mature and graceful. 

A buzzing on your desk stops your wishful thinking, and you frown at the message that lights up your phone. 

Jungkook: sorry bun, but the civic finally broke down and its on its way to car heaven. Could we meet at the party hall instead? We can take pictures there, jennie mentioned yearbook hired a photographer

Disheartened, you send a quick text back saying it’s fine. Any more explanation on your feelings would reveal your disappointment. You don’t know how you’re going to tell your parents that they won’t be taking pictures with your boyfriend anytime soon. So you suck it in and take solo pictures for your parents and some group selfies. This is just one bump in the night, the rest of it should be smooth sailing. 

But when your parents drop you off at the venue your eyes first land on a beat up Honda Civic. You’re pretty sure car heaven isn’t at the prom. 

The rest of your entrance is a blur as you go through every corner of the venue, searching for your boyfriend. You’re clutching his matching flower in your hand, a beautiful red rose with baby’s breath circling around it, all clutched together in a black silk ribbon. You wonder what kind of flower he bought you. 

But it’s nearly impossible to find him. Not at the photobooth, the appetizer buffet, or in the lobby. It’s not until you’re sweating at the brow and nearing the corner of the venue that you do find him.

Lips locked, kissing Jennie. 

The plastic encasing Jungkook’s boutonniere drops, clanging to the ground. 

Whispers of you circle the air, meeting your ears and confirming all your insecurities. 

“Oh my god, I knew Jungkook was cheating on her!” 

“Wow, how pathetic. She ran all the way to prom alone to see this?” 

“I thought his girlfriend was a smart girl. How did she not know that their relationship was a bet all along?” 

Jungkook and Jennie are on the balcony, looking picture perfect in matching formal attire and flowers. The sun is setting, not taking its time as it sinks deeper and deeper into the horizon. The sky darkens and the air is chilly, much like your heart. 

Jungkook's eyes are wide and in shock as he watches you from the balcony, but Jennie’s are sharp and satisfied. Satisfied, as if the whole thing had been orchestrated. 

While you can’t hear him because he’s so far away, you can see the ghost of your name on his lips. Your ears are ringing, numb to the laughter of the students watching and the pity that others are throwing at you. You feel dumb. You feel like throwing up. In a bout of anger your heel digs into the plastic of the boutonniere, crushing the innocent rose in its clear coffin. 

You don’t make it far out the door when one of your favorite teachers snatches you in concern. 

“Honey, any further and you’ll be running on the highway," Mrs. Song jokes, pulling you away from the entrance. 

You feel like a newborn deer in your heels and incredibly heavy in your dress as Mrs. Song drags you over to a staff bathroom. It's far, far away from the actual party. Mrs. Song doesn't say anything, and just gives you a sad smile as she let's you go into the single stall alone. 

Sitting on the toilet and not giving a care that your dress is probably getting soiled, you bury your face in your hands and finally let the tears flow. Fat, frustrated tears roll down your cheeks without a care in the world. 

"Mrs. Song please, I need to get in there." 

"Now Jungkook, I think you've done enough for today. Go back to the party and don't worry about it." 

You can imagine Jungkook now, he hated it when people told him not to worry.  It only made him more annoyed, fists probably clenched under his perfectly tailored suit and his cute teeth uncharacteristically gritted. He cared to a fault, at least you thought he did. He ruined your night, he made you feel so dumb and silly.

But the longer you stayed in the dim bathroom, you could care less. Thank goodness for Mrs. Song guarding the door. Why would he bother to follow you? It turns out all your insecurities are not in vain, and that you’ve been ignoring a gut feeling you’ve mistaken for your lack of trust. You shouldn’t have trusted Jungkook. You shouldn’t have been so tolerable of Jennie. 

Goodness, you feel so stupid. You hope that there are other bathrooms for staff to use, because you want to coop yourself in here until the last dance. Mascara drips on your sleeves, your hands swiping at your cheeks to stop any tears from staining your dress even further. 

The more you hear Jungkook and Mrs. Song argue, the more you want to disappear. You bury yourself on the floor, uncaring of how dirty the tiles are. Glitter smears across your cheeks and sticks to your hands, and you no longer feel like the thriving young adult you once felt when you walked out the door this evening.

All you can do is cry and pray you can get through the night. And the next day, and the rest of senior year. You don’t want to see Jungkook or Jennie until graduation, when they walk out of the door and permanently out of your life. You wish you could skip the rest of the semester, and fastforward to the life you’ve carved for yourself in your dreams since freshman year. You wish you could be like the woman on the magazine, who has her whole life put together. To be a woman who holds all the confidence in the world and doesn’t have to worry about stupid men. 

Just like the cover. Thirty, flirty and thriving. Just like the models in the magazines. Twenty-seven and in heaven. 

Just once, do you want to taste the feeling of having life on your side. 

March 20st, 2021

Your first thought is that you feel disgusting. 

Of course, falling asleep in a random bathroom stall will make you feel those things. Your dress clinging uncomfortably to your sweating form, lulled to the sounds of Mrs. Song’s temperamental voice and Jungkook’s arguing. 

But for some reason it’s a different kind of disgusting. The feeling is rotting in your throat, as if there’s a tang stuck to the roof of your mouth. You also feel impossibly dehydrated, as if you’ve run a marathon. And for some reason you’re sore? Especially in the crotch, and you don’t remember experiencing any cramps yesterday. 

Your hands come to your body, and instead of feeling tulle and taffeta your hands are greeted with a silky black negligee that hangs across your waist. Panic stings in your bones like a stroke of lightning. 

Eyes snapping open, your breath catches in your throat when you take in the room. You’re on a large plush creme couch, large enough to be a bed. The organza curtains are a shade of bottle green and are opened slightly to let the morning sun in. From your view it seems like this is the top floor of the complex, overlooking the city horizon. 

You feel the covers shift slightly, and you realize there’s a naked man sleeping next to you. You scream. 

The man screams back with an even higher pitch, falling off the couch and clutching the sheets like a lifeline. “What?” he panics, eyes darting back and forth across the room like he’s on a reality television show. “What the fuck? Is there something on my face! Why are you screaming so early!” 

The fact that he’s an adult man and you’re seventeen is even more terrifying, and you feel absolutely naked despite the fact that you’re nearly clothed. But what confuses you more is that this man looks awfully familiar. 

Familiar in the sense that you’ve seen him in one too many television sitcoms to count. This man in front of you looks like Kim Seokjin, the protagonist of your favorite television show: Sky City. He has the same plump lips and pretty face, only aged up. But last time you checked on Soompi, Seokjin is supposed to be twenty years old and filming the next season in New Zealand. Arguably he could be his older brother, but he never acted and you don’t think he’d be the spitting image. 

“Seokjin?” you taste the name on your tongue, “Kim Seokjin?” 

Seokjin relaxes considerably, and he finds it appropriate to return to the couch, placing a tentative hand on your thigh. “Right, were you really that drunk? You got my name right, but it seems that you’ve forgotten that the only name you called me last night was sex god…” 

His plush lips meet the ends of your earlobe, and you squeal at the strange sensation. 

You’ve had sex with this man and you can’t even remember it? Furthermore how can a peasant like you be in contact with a celebrity? What on earth happened last night? Shouldn’t you be calling the police or panicking more? Where’s the pepper spray and sharp knives where you need them? You can’t even find it in you to find a sharp weapon at your once cherished-idol, who’s apparently unfazed and drinking in your body like he has a taste of it every night. 

“What’s the date?” you push him away, looking around for any signs of where you are and how you ended up here. 

“It’s the first day of spring,” Seokjin says easily, stretching out on the couch. “I wonder when the cherry blossoms will bloom. Should we have a picnic with Bogum?” 

“Where’s my phone, I can’t find my phone!” 

Seokjin doesn’t bat an eye as he digs through the couch, pulling something from under him. He waves it in front of your face. “That’s not my phone,” you deadpan. 

“Okay I guess you were actually that drunk,” Seokjin rolls his eyes, forcing the large piece of plastic and metal on your palm. “When you went to the bathroom last night you dropped your old phone in the toilet. We picked up a new one on the way to the next bar. Good thing the new Samsung dropped last month!” 

Since when are phones this large? You carry the strange weight in your hands, confused as to why Seokjin thinks this is your phone. You own a beat up 2G that barely gets any reception in the school basement. But when you turn it on, the screen recognizes your face immediately and unlocks. Wow, since when do cell phones do face recognition? 

A selfie of you and Seokjin appears on the homescreen, looking totally happy. 

Is that you? 

No longer do you have acne lining your brows, or uneven skin texture. Your smile is high and prominent. Your visage is clean and done with minimal makeup, highlighting your beauty. 

The date flickers on the top of the screen. March 20th, 2021: 7:42AM.

You scream again. Seokjin screams again for the heck of it. 

“How did this happen!” you shriek, dropping your phone to step up to the window. You bask in your reflection, mildly impressed and even more so afraid of what’s in front of you. Your body has filled out like an adult, and considering it’s ten years into the future, other things have filled out as well. Experimentally, your hands go out to your chest, squeezing. Yep, those knockers were not there the last time you checked. 

“Well, you came back from work completely drained from a shoot and I just finished filming my Everyday Skincare Routine video with Vogue,” Seokjin comes up to you, blanket tied around his waist like a long towel. “We met at our usual bar and do what we usually do when we’re both stressed: bang it out.” 

You watch as Seokjin’s hands snake around your slick silk, hugging you from behind like it’s second nature. “Is this a dream?” you ask yourself, because it’s not unlikely that you’ve had a sex dream with Seokjin and this is the aftermath dream. 

“Nope,” you yelp when Seokjin pinches your butt, hard. It stings. “This is real life, baby.” 

“Are we dating?” 

You feel Seokjin’s grip tense, and he shoves your innocent question away with a coarse laugh. “You know both you and me don’t do serious relationships. It’s why we work so well together, you know that.” 

“Right,” you reply softly. That doesn’t sound like you at all, and it scares you considerably. 

“So, I gotta go,” you panic when he lets go and starts searching around for his clothes. Your face heats up at Seokjin’s perky ass staring back at you, and your eyes dart to a random spot in the corner. “I got a green meeting with Ellen, and lord knows I don’t wanna face her wrath if I’m late.” 

In seconds he’s fully clothed in a plain shirt and jeans, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Call me beep me, if you wanna reach me,” he sings, throwing a wave over his shoulder as he leaves you in the large apartment. 

The door slams with a hard smack and that’s when you collapse on the couch that feels foreign and strange, breaking into tears. 

The next time you wake up, it’s the next day. It’s a glaringly bright Sunday and for whatever reason you’re still in this aged-up body. Maybe time travel makes the body really tired. This isn’t a dream. You panic for the second time, walking back and forth around the loft that’s apparently yours. It seems like it’s yours, because the bills that linger on the coffee table have your name and the pictures in the one bedroom are of you and your family. 

But the refrigerator in the nook is digital and has fancy ice settings, something you could never imagine owning. Your closet is filled with brand named suits, and with every designer label you pass you mentally rack up the total of just one section. It’s enough to pay for your college tuition if your first choice accepts you. 

Wait. You’re apparently twenty-seven, college is long gone. 

Lying in your bed feels better, surrounded by familiar pictures of your cousins and family. Your favorite snacks are tucked with care in your nightstand, and it makes you feel a tiny bit better knowing that your favorite chocolate and chips will never change. 

What happened in the past ten years? Why don’t you remember anything and are you entirely sure this isn’t some strange fever dream? 

Time ticks slowly as you spend the afternoon, glued to your phone. It’s a 25 Note+ and it’s filled with multiple doohickeys and settings that make you feel technologically inept. You never thought you were bad with technology, but clearly these phones have a learning curve attached to them. 

You try to call your family, but according to the voicemail left they’re on a Disney cruise that you paid for. Your heart aches at the excited voice of your parents. Why are they on a vacation without you? 

The next thing you aim for is finding Jimin’s contact. According to Google Maps, you’re not far from your hometown and you know that Jimin’s always wanted to move to the city so he must be nearby. To your chagrin, his name isn’t on your contact list. Strange, he’s always number two on speed dial. 

Clicking on the internet browser, you go to the online Whitepages and search up Park Jimin. There may be a million ones, but maybe you could get a lead. When a picture and an address show up easily with one swipe, you scoff. The internet has no room for privacy ten years later, huh? 

The most casual thing you own in your closet is a Free People dress, reaching mid-calf with flowing bell sleeves. Heck, you couldn’t even find a single pair of jeans. You don’t care however, as you swipe your keys from the counter (you gape, you own a Tesla?) and race down to the parking garage. 

Jimin’s apartment is on the other side of the city. It’s strange, transitioning from high rises and shiny windows to quaint brick walls and lived-in patio spaces. You feel like it’s a race against time as you make it all the way to his room, knocking feverishly on the mahogany red door. 

“What? Who is it?” it’s clear that his room is cheap, the walls thin as you hear his voice shuffle throughout the room. Why are you shaking? It’s just your best friend. 

The door swings open and you and Jimin drink each other in. His baby fat has melted from his cheeks, revealing a handsome and charming jawline. His hair is no longer a natural black, but has been dyed to a sandy blond that suits his tan. His eyes, wide in surprise, are still a soft brown but not as bright as when he was seventeen. 

“Jimin,” your third round of tears hits you like a truck at the sight of your best friend, and you immediately run into his arms. 

But he doesn’t hug you back immediately. In fact, he doesn’t know what to do at all. Your name rolls off his lips like he’s seen a ghost. 

You pull away, as if you are burned. You flinch at the way Jimin regards you. “Is something wrong?” 

“I don’t know,” he looks at you, crossing his arms, “I don’t know what to feel when your old best friend suddenly shows up at your doorstep after ten years.” 

What? 

“Why would I do that?” you whisper, bracing your hand against the doorframe to steady yourself. 

“Well, after graduation you chose a college at the last minute. Decided to go to a prestigious fashion university in Europe. Shacked it up with some British guys and well, forgot about your past but I guess I can’t blame you.” 

“But I couldn’t have left you,” you know you’re not even talking to Jimin, but in fact scolding yourself for being so stupid these past ten years. “I was crying for you that night at prom. All I wanted was for you to be there and hold me!” 

That strikes a cord. Jimin pops his head into the hallway, looking back and forth to see if anyone is watching. He sighs when your tears turn into sobs, shaking your form. “Come in,” he mutters, ushering you inside.

Jimin’s apartment feels more like home than your apartment does. Cosy and warm with the scent of jasmine brewing on the stove. The pour of tea soothes you slightly as you relax on the worn leather couch. 

Jimin hands you a mug, sitting opposite you against the rickety living room table. “Are you okay?” he asks, showing genuine concern for the first time. 

“I’m,” you roll the muddy liquid in your grasp, watching the tea leaves tumble. “I just came back from the hospital, actually. Hit my head drinking last night and I’m suffering from memory loss,” you clutch your head for good measure, feigning injury.  

“Memory loss?” he gapes, unable to see through your lie. 

“Yeah uh,” you wince, “almost ten years of memory loss.” 

Jimin isn’t a man who thinks ahead, preferring to live in the moment. You figure he’s not going to question your excuse. Your former best friend nearly drops his tea in the process, hot drops burning his hand. He hisses, placing the plain mug on the table as he goes to his shelves, pulling out your class yearbook. 

“Ten years,” he shakes his head, looking like he’s just stepped into a Korean drama. “Is that even possible?” 

“Must be,” you sigh, not wanting to delve into the details of how you ended up in the future, “the first thing I did when I woke up was scream my head off. Then I woke up later and the first person I called were my parents who didn’t pick up, and then I wanted to call you but,” you squeeze the cup in your hands, “I couldn’t find your contact so I searched you up.” 

“Should we call the hospital or something? Maybe you shouldn’t be walking around like this.” 

“Don’t worry, they said the memory loss is only temporary,” you force a smile, knocking your head lightly with the heel of your palm, “I just gotta y’know, catch up a little bit. I thought you could help.” 

Jimin is patient, albeit a little nervous, watching carefully as your eyes glaze emptily over the old yearbook. You’re unfazed at the familiar faces and events that are described to you in detail, unable to recall what happened during the events that followed graduation. There’s barely any pictures of you, so it doesn’t help when he tries to explain as much as he can. 

You stop him at the sports section, pointing a finger at Jungkook being carried by his fellow teammates during the lacrosse championships. “What happened to Jungkook?” 

Jimin shrugged, “Blew his sports scholarship,” your eyebrows float to the top of your forehead, appalled that your former love would do such a thing, “decided to pursue his passion and went to an art school for a degree in photography.” 

So much has changed in the past ten years. 

“Hey, can you please stop crying?” 

“I’m sorry,” you warble, wiping at your sleeve as if the fabric didn’t cost hundreds of dollars, “I must be making you so uncomfortable by barging in. I’ll get out of your life—”

“No, not that. I just don’t like seeing you cry,” Jimin sighs, squeezing your knee, “of course I was upset when you suddenly upped and left town to study in another continent. But I was still happy for you. On the internet you seemed tons happier since highschool.” 

“I can say that’s no longer the case,” you mutter sadly, taking a long drag of your tea. The burn flows down your throat, digging you to reality, “I guess I just woke up and wasn’t prepared to be the person I ended up being.” 

“Well, what can your former best friend do to make it better?” 

Your eyes widen at Jimin’s uneasy stare, as if he’s wondering whether he said the right thing or not. 

“Um,” you bite your lip, “will you go shopping with me? I realized I don’t own any sweatpants or sneakers and I would really like to wear something comfortable right now,” you look despondently on your uncomfortable dress, swinging around the sleeves that seem to snag onto everything. 

“Okay,” he nods easily, “will you also buy me new sweatpants and sneakers? And dinner? I really want a New York Strip.” 

“What?” you furrow your brows, “can I afford that?” 

He chuckles to himself, pulling you up and wiping the tears on your face with a tissue from his pocket. You don’t even care to ask whether the tissue is clean, only focusing on the tender gesture that you’ve missed so much. 

“Honey, you’re one of the co-editors of Ego. I’m sure a couple pairs of sweatpants and steak will barely make a dent in your bank account.” 

You’re flabbergasted. Ego? The fashion magazine that’s on billboards and commercials? That Ego? 

After a couple checks through your bank account, and a triple check with a phone call and trip to the ATM, you’re sure the money is yours. It scares you, but also comforts you knowing that you’ve always been able to make it big. 

You barely bat an eye as Jimin tugs you around the city with a familiarity that has you reeling. You struggle to remember the streets you pass and the signs that indicate what part of town you’re in, all whilst Jimin basks in the fruits of your labor. You don’t give a shit, obviously. It makes you happy seeing Jimin slowly melt and grow more comfortable throughout the day. 

This is the kind of life you envisioned. One where comfort isn’t discarded for luxury, where the two cultures can marry. Jimin busts a gut when he sees you angrily shove your Free People dress deep in your shopping bags in favor of a black Adidas tracksuit that makes you feel like a soccer mom. Of course, he doesn’t know why you’re so aggressive with all your luxurious items, heck you even make him drive your Tesla, but nevertheless each passing hour brightens you up considerably.  

When you two arrive at a fancy steakhouse with a dress code, the manager doesn’t hesitate to chide you and suggest the Applebee’s down the street. 

You retort back that you’re an editor of Ego, and in seconds you’d have this restaurant swarmed with bad reviews. You know nothing about culinary review but you’re sure the manager doesn’t know that, and no arguments are placed after that. 

The evening puts you in higher spirits, and you’re almost convinced that you’re a successful twenty-something catching up with your former best friend. You’ve always been mature for your age, high school can do that to a person, and it makes it vastly easier to keep up with the new decade. 

“So,” you help Jimin get his bags up into his apartment. A little part of it feels like a bribe as you carry all the name brands on your arms, but you chalk it up to being compensation for the last ten years, “who are the people you hang out with now? Anyone I know?” 

“Well, Taehyung sometimes drops by if he’s free. He’s traveling the world now, he actually works with you,” Jimin provides the information smoothly, “only he works in the international business column. But surprisingly, the person I hang out the most with is—”

“Jungkook.” 

Standing face-to-face with your old high school sweetheart disarms you, and you’re sorely reminded that just you’re a seventeen-year-old in a twenty-seven-year-old’s body. 

Jungkook looks tired, and he rubs his eyes a bit as if to make sure he isn’t dreaming. You in the flesh, looking purposeful and confident as you hold three bags on each arm, each piece probably costing more than his rent. He’s filled out, what once was lean muscle and minor definition has turned into full muscle mass hidden beneath a large t-shirt and sweatpants that are two sizes too big. His face is still sweet-looking and baby-like, but his hair is overgrown and waving in front of his eyes without a care in the world. 

“Did I mention we’re neighbors?” you can practically hear the wince in Jimin’s voice, probably regretting that he hid that chunk of information from you. 

Jungkook tastes his name on your lips, and it sounds foriegn and strange coming from the both of you. “Good to see you,” he says, voice low. 

You barely formulate a response, replying with an equally nervous “right back at ya” and then you two resume staring at each other. While Jungkook hasn’t seen you in the last ten years, you saw him yesterday. Yesterday, where you started the day all peachy keen and it spiraled downhill shortly after. It’s jarring, knowing that your body doesn’t fit your conscience. 

“Well I uh,” Jungkook lifts his indicator to leave, a large garbage bag, “bye.” 

Jungkook shuffles out of the small hallway, and you get a whiff of his scent. It’s still the same, fabric softener mixed with his own musk. 

“I,” you start off slow, “maybe I should go talk to him?” 

“No,” he warns. “You and Jungkook are completely different people now, he’s just gonna think you’re pitying him if you go up and talk to him out of the blue.”

“But we’ve always been different people.” 

“You really think that?” Jimin shakes his head, “I know what happened at prom was rough but, I really didn’t think much of your relationship with Jungkook before that. It seemed like you were pretty compatible—”

“Up until the point he was kissing Jennie in matching flowers on the balcony like some kind of romance film?” you scoff, crossing your arms, “right. Super compatible.” 

Jimin sighs, as if he’s chastising a teenager. “Prom happened ten years ago, don’t act like it happened yesterday. People change.” 

You frown, because in your mind it did happen yesterday. 

Sleeping last night was hell. It’s one thing to be completely zonked out of your mind and unsure if you’re in a dream or weird coma, but knowing that you’re going to be stuck here for awhile is painful. Your loft is too big for your tiny body, your mattress cold and empty with just you in it. Without your parents to call and you feeling wholly insecure about your rekindling with Jimin, the only person you can really call is… Seokjin. 

And you really don’t want a repeat of your first night. 

So you suck it up, spend your waking hours in your office and quickly learning your tasks for work. You don’t even know what time you’re supposed to clock in, but from a sticky note attached to your MacBook it seems that you have a creative meeting at 10AM. You allow yourself two hours of sleep before you get moving.

The one exciting thing about your morning is that your outfit choices are virtually limitless. You feel like Cher in Clueless, all your outfits color-coordinated and organized by season. You pick out a springy Chanel number, a pale pink tweed skirt suit that has you feeling equally parts cute and an independent working woman. You even make time to buy yourself a coffee, because that’s what adults do right? 

Your office is gorgeous. Also located in the upper part of the city, the glass desk and high windows fit right in. You have an ideas board filled with various designs, fabrics and models to choose from. There’s a little frilly notebook straight out of the 2000s, all filled with phone numbers and special contacts all at your disposal. You even have your own cold press coffee machine complete with a mini-fridge. 

“You’re never this early, nervous for the meeting?” 

You squeal, nearly dropping your coffee as you take a tour around your office. You fight the urge to gape and point accusingly at the woman standing at your door.

“Jennie?” 

“In the flesh,” she gives you a cool smirk, holding her arms out for a hug. It really throws you for a loop, and you’re left stricken in your spot as Jennie closes the gap and squeezes the life out of you. Her grey pinstripe pantsuit crumples against your softer fabric. “You know you can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

“Jennie and you are practically besties,” Jimin sounds a little jealous while saying that, forcing you to scroll through your Instagram page to see the countless selfies of you and your high school rival, “I mean, at least that’s what the internet says. Went to college in Europe together and everything.” 

So it’s true. You awkwardly pat Jennie on the back, and she doesn’t seem to mind when she pulls away and tells you to meet upstairs. You mindlessly follow after her to the conference room, wishing a kind good morning to everyone that greets you. 

Once you make it upstairs, you flinch at the loud screech of your voice. “My favorite editor!” someone in a plaid red suit runs up to you and throws an arm around your shoulders. The editor-in-chief Jung Hoseok smiles brightly at you, leading you to a seat at the head of the table right next to him. You’re cosy with the editor-in-chief? This is crazy! 

“G-good morning Mr. Jung,” you stutter, trying to remain cool. 

“Did something happen to you this weekend?” Hoseok jests, pinching your cheek like a long lost sister. “You always call me Hobi.” 

“Oh,” you force a giggle, “you don’t even know how crazy this weekend was.” 

Hoseok simply laughs and gets himself settled for the meeting.

“I’m so jealous,” Jennie sing-songs, a manicured finger trailing over the back of your chair, “only the best of the best can sit next to the big boss.” 

The comment has you bristling. Are you really friends? Giving her a tight smile, she saunters to another corner of the meeting. On your section of the table is your itinerary and iPad, ready for note-taking. 

“One thing that we do at Ego is consistency,” Hoseok pulls up a projection of this year’s editions, all carbon copies of the same cover. “And while that is admirable, I want to put my top editors to the test and come up with the theme for next month’s issue.” 

Hoseok sends you yet another pearly white smile, and due to the sheer closeness you know that secret smile is only reserved for you. That makes you squirm in your seat, already feeling the pressure building in the pit of your stomach. 

“Take two days off this week to plan. Work out the days you’ll be out of the office with HR, those days you’ll be working in the city, finding ideas and inspiration for the issue. Remember, think outside the box!” Hoseok does a little fist pump, cutting through the air like his life depends on it. 

The whole lot of the group continues to stare at Hoseok, waiting for his next instructions. Then, the adults begin to panic, similar to a high school class that’s been told they have a pop quiz that’s worth half their grade. You sigh internally, you suppose high school never ends. 

“C’mon,” Hoseok urges, flailing his arms around, “get out there! Make moves, make money!” 

But the only moves you’ve made since 2PM are fleeting trips to the bathroom. 

Obviously you don’t have any memory of your degree or experience, so instead of feeling like an editor you feel more like a teenager playing dress-up. You couldn’t even sneakily ask Jennie for help because she deadpanned: “I’m not sharing any secrets, doll.” It seems that being backhandedly mean is a theme in your relationship, so after that you rolled your eyes and locked your door. Thankfully you packed a pair of sweatpants so you can comfortably lie down on the floor while you spread out your workspace. Magazines littered the hardwood, all sultry and sexy looking models staring back at you with the same half-lidded stare and overdone makeup. 

It makes you cringe, thinking back to the other day when you were jealous of these people. Now that you have this life, thriving and full of beauty, is that the only thing you want to show to your audience? How can they possibly relate to models who make triple their salary? What about the authenticity? The ingenuity? 

And that’s when it hits you. 

Scrambling to your computer, you search up a photographer that you know will be completely and utterly transparent. 

My Time Studios: Capturing the raw moment. 

You know exactly what you want for next month’s issue. 

Jungkook does not expect to see you through the peephole of his apartment, fiddling with the threads of your clothes and eyes glued to the ground. He mutters a curse under his breath, jamming his fingers between the metal double lock to swing his head out. He doesn’t even bother to open up all the way, just enough to stick his face out. 

“Jungkook, hi!” he still can’t believe you’re around. Jungkook winces at your tone, high and sounding like a teenager. He thought by now you’d be traveling the world, climbing to bigger and better things. Then again, the upper part of the city is certainly an upgrade. He just thought you’d want to be far, far away from him. “I b-brought you McDonalds.” 

You hold up a greasy bag of fast food, and his nose immediately responds to the smell of fresh fries and a quarter pounder (with cheese, of course.) It annoys him that you still know his weakness, but he isn’t going to go that easily. 

“Why are you here?” he asks a little too sharply, hands gripping the doorknob. 

“I wanted to offer you a job,” you get straight to the point, as if you know your time at his doorstep is limited. 

He scoffs, “You? Want to put my photos on Ego? You know my business extends to weddings and the occasional Bar Mitzvah. Why would you want me?” 

You frown, crossing your arms. He looks down at your attire, a nicely fitted suit on top, but the skirt is replaced with grey sweatpants. Comical, really. “I’ve always loved your photos,” you admit to him, “you know that. And they’ve gotten so much better since then.” 

The furrow between Jungkook’s brows softens a fraction, smoothed by the honesty in your voice. You’re right, you always made sure to tell Jungkook how much you loved his other talents. Namely, the photography, and sometimes his singing. He can still remember how easily you slept in his arms watching Sky City for hours, all at the melody of your favorite song. While his teachers and classmates loved to venerate his position on the team and his ability to garner attention, you encouraged him to work on the things that mattered to him the most, even in secret. 

Nevertheless, that was ten years ago. 

“I don’t need your charity,” he spits, “Jimin might be able to be bought by some designer clothes and an eighty dollar steak, but not me.” 

The pain in your gaze is glaringly evident, and you don’t even try to hide that you’re upset as the paper bag falls against your lap. If there’s one thing Jungkook knows he’s good at, is hurting your feelings. 

“You think this is charity?” you whisper, hurt delicately lacing your voice. 

“Are you kidding? Last month you got Xu Minghao to photograph your spread for Ego. He’s photographed the damn Queen of England,” if you notice that he’s babbling about reading your magazine, you don’t show it in your face, “the point is, I don’t understand why you’re trying to come into my life again. I don’t want to get involved in your fancy dinner galas or anyone else from high school. So please, just go back to your picture perfect life.” 

And without another qualm he slams the door in your face, effectively shutting you out. It doesn’t feel as good as he wants it to feel, clearly. He feels even shitter than before. His eyes glaze over to his rickety coffee table, cluttered with bills and credit card payments that should’ve been dealt with a long time ago. 

He slugs himself over to his couch, throwing his body over the couch that’s way too short. His legs dangle in mid-air, but it doesn’t stop him from throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the sunset. The bills can wait a little longer. Seeing you was too draining. 

The nap turns into a full-fledged night’s sleep, and by the time he wakes up the sky is dark and it’s the start of a new day. 12:08, the screen of his iPhone confirms. Feeling even crustier and worse than before, his stomach decides to harden the blow and go straight for the gut. He’s sorely reminded of the food you offered him hours ago. 

Quickly pulling on a large denim jacket, he grabs his keys and heads for the 7-Eleven down the park. Nothing like a frozen pizza to fill the gut, fast and cheap. Despite the fact that it’s dark and late, there're still some stray people in the park. A few homeless, some high school stoners who are meeting in secret, and you are typing away on your MacBook. 

Wait, what? 

You’re sitting on a bench in the park, typing away without a care in the world. Shoving soggy fries that he earlier refused in your mouth, you let a couple stray potatoes hang from your lips as your eyes succumb to the screen. You look positively silly, still in a pink blazer and baggy sweatpants. 

He must have been staring a little too long, because soon enough you turn your head, gasping at his figure. You quickly avert your eyes, but don’t make any move to leave the park. That interests him further. 

Shamelessly, he calls your name. His legs get to you in an instant, towering over your tiny figure. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I’m waiting for Jimin,” your eyes flicker to your open laptop, “and working.” 

At least one of those reasons is a lie. Last time he checked, Jimin always sleeps over at Yoongi’s house on this day. He knows it’s a lie, and you know he knows it’s a lie, but neither of you make the effort to correct it. 

“And what could you possibly be working on at 12AM?” 

“Finding a photographer,” you hunch over your laptop, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t have much time and none of my usual contacts are good enough. This project is… personal.” 

It makes him want to ask further, he can’t lie and say he isn’t intrigued in the kind of vision you’re going for in your next issue. “But why can’t you work at home?” 

“Don’t wanna go,” you reply casually, “it makes me feel lonely.” 

Lonely? You feel lonely? He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated at the display of nonchalance. Back in high school he always encouraged you to feel confident, but not like this. “Hey, it’s nice that you feel comfortable enough to chill in the park at 12AM, but it’s really dumb. You’re lucky you haven’t gotten mugged from all that money you’re carrying around!” he gestures to your fancy clothes and laptop, “and if you feel so lonely, call up one of your rich friends I’m sure they’ll—”

“Oh my god, Jungkook,” you slam your laptop shut, darkening the two of you. “I thought you wanted me to go back to my ‘picture perfect life’, so why do you care?” you get up in his face, standing on the bench so you’re nearly eye-to-eye, “why don’t you pester those kids over there? Tell them to drink their milk and go home,” you scoff, shoving your stuff in your bag. You don’t spare him another glance as you stalk off in the other direction. 

He groans, unable to untangle himself from the mess, “Where are you going?” 

“To a park where you’re not in!” 

Despite the exchange for sweatpants, you’re still wearing shoes not fit for walking. They’re little white pumps, not too tall but not remarkably comfy either. However, that doesn’t deter you from getting the heck out of there, seemingly walking in any possible direction to get away from Jungkook. 

“You’re being ridiculous,” he chastises once his hand clasps around your hand, pulling you around. 

There’s a little resistance, as you try to hide your face to no avail. Jungkook fumbles a little, not thinking you’d be crying. But tiny, shy tears are pooling around your eyes, looking flustered at your display of emotion.

“God,” you mutter to yourself, “I feel like such a kid.” 

That strikes a chord in the twenty-something man. The last time he saw you in the flesh was when you were both kids. Young, unbridled, and stupid. Well, only Jungkook was the stupid one. 

“Do you want me to take you home?” Jungkook offers, feeling guilty about his roughness. 

You shake your head. “No, I told you I don’t want to.” 

“Can I at least call you a cab? Or a friend so you won’t get lonely?” 

“Jungkook, if I had that option would you think I’d be here right now?” he’s trying, he really is. But you’re equally as miffed about this whole situation and at a loss. The two of you engage in a staring contest. It only takes a few seconds for you to crumble, and he frowns when you shiver in your thin blazer. 

Instantly, he rips off his jacket, pulling it over your body. It’s huge on you, swallowing your body and hopefully containing some of his residual heat. 

And finally, he relents. “If you want, I’ll come over and stay until you fall asleep.” 

“Okay,” your eyes widen in instant agreement, pulling something out of your pocket. “Will you drive?” 

His eyes widen at the shiny, minimalistic car key. Your sudden one-eighty has him second guessing his decision. “You drive a Tesla?” he gapes, taking your key like he’s holding the Hope Diamond. 

You got your license in February. One month ago, and only because the instructor felt pity on you since it was your second time retaking it. The fancy car terrifies you, and you’re sure Jungkook has much more experience driving (over ten years worth.)  

You shrug, “Not very good at driving. Haven’t had much practice.”

“Um, the car drives itself?” 

“It does?” you tilt your head, dazed, “wow, technology is amazing.” 

He shakes his head, putting a hand on your back so you can lead the way. You must be tired, because it seems like your head isn’t entirely there anymore. He takes charge, buckles you in and takes a couple minutes to fumble with the car settings. Nevertheless the drive home is smooth (and it takes all of Jungkook’s willpower to not squeal in excitement when the Tesla does in fact, drive itself.) 

You lead him inside your loft like a tiny zombie, throwing your shoes to one corner and throwing your jacket on the kitchen table. 

“Must be hungry,” you can’t even form complete sentences, “there’s food in the fridge, Kook. Sorry if it’s not to your taste.” 

Shuffling away to your room, Jungkook is left to gawk at your apartment. The baseboards of your walls are crusted in pretty pearl designs, swirling around the whole expanse. There’s a television that stretches the wall of the little living room, with a sound and video game system he’s only seen in movies. Your tables are meters and meters of granite, and he wonders how the floor of your apartment can hold all this weight. 

But he supposes it’s because there’s nothing much to hold. No pictures line the walls, only vague looking art to fill up blank space. There’s no touch of warmth despite the heating system under the floor that relaxes his toes. For such a big home, he can only imagine how small you must feel in it. 

Your fridge is just as empty, decorated with a couple of sad-looking salads and some protein shakes. He sighs, grabbing two chicken salads and a banana shake and bringing it to your coffee table. It’s a little two quiet for his liking, so he turns on the television real low just to make the room feel a bit fuller. 

Halfway through one salad he realizes he probably should’ve made you eat as well. Even though these salads aren’t remotely filling, they’re much healthier than some soggy fries. A piece of limp lettuce hangs from Jungkook’s mouth, suddenly feeling guilty for soaking up all of your amenities without inviting you. After all, it is your house. Wiping some sauce from his lips he dusts off his pants, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he makes his way to your room. 

Calling your name, the only reply is the whir of the heater. He only cracks the door a tad, but he sees you slumped against the edge of the bed, bare feet hanging from the end. You barely made it, your clothes strewn across the floor, an oversized t-shirt ruched across your barely covered thighs. Without a thought he quickly scrambles to move you closer to your pillows, and then wraps your body in your plush duvet. You’re out like a light. 

You’re sleeping, so Jungkook should go home. That’s what you two agreed to. He goes back to his late dinner (early breakfast?) mindlessly listening to an infomercial on rare dollar coins. He’ll leave after he eats. 

He didn’t leave. 

Jungkook awakes to a scream, your shrill voice echoing all the way down the hallway into your living room. It takes a second for him to register the empty white walls and the fact that he’s not in his apartment, but eventually it goes back to the point that you’re in distress. He jolts, scrambling off the couch to run to your bedroom. 

“What is it?” he exhales into your doorframe, socks sliding. 

Your hair is in a disarray, shirt rumpled and face scrunched in pain. You shove your phone in his face. “Since when did Iron Man die!” you cry, genuinely horrified at whatever entertainment article you’re reading. 

He slumps against the wall, running a hand over his dry face. “Since Endgame, obviously. That was literally two years ago. Is that why you woke me up?” 

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t know!” 

“Have you been living under a rock or something?”

“Or something,” you frown, throwing your phone across your bed, “I guess I should go get ready for work.” 

Jungkook watches as you shamelessly hop off your bed, uncaring that your shirt has ridden up, revealing the full expanse of your thighs and then some. You pull out a pair of sweats from a shopping bag, nicking off the tag to put them on your legs. 

“Do you have work?”  you ask casually. 

“Uh, no,” Jungkook coughs, crossing his arms. It’s been awhile since he’s had a solid gig. Two whole weeks have been spent doing more personal work which was fine, but at the same time his bank account could beg to differ. “I’m off today.” 

“Oh, alright,” you shrug, “do you know where I can buy a good camera?” 

“Why?” 

“Gonna go take pictures,” you snatch your wallet and keys from your bedside, stuffing it in a fanny pack. He watches you curiously as you zip your bag shut, muttering something about how you can’t believe that fanny packs are back in style. Swinging the strap over your back, you brush past him. “You can stay if you want,” you add pointedly, before you slip into the bathroom. 

Jungkook doesn’t understand as to why he’s slipping into sensory overload. The house is a shell of itself and the antithesis of a rainbow. Maybe it’s the fact that he woke up ten minutes ago or how you look completely peaceful and want to leave as soon as you wake up. Or how shocked you were that Iron Man has passed and you’ve completely missed Phase 3. Or that you’re not even thinking about breakfast or not wishing him a farewell, practically throwing him into your apartment like a second home. 

He wobbles back to the couch, trying to look as nonchalant as possible as he drapes the fuzzy blankets over his body. He flips through the channels, before finally settling on an old episode of Sky City. 

When you walk out into the living room, you scrunch your face in pain when you make eye contact with Kim Seokjin’s on screen appearance. Oh, how things change. Jungkook knew how much you loved watching Sky City, indulging in the protagonist's attractiveness. 

“Y’know,” Jungkook says over his shoulder, “if you leave me here, I could steal whatever I want.” 

“Go ahead,” you reply flippantly, already slipping on your sneakers. “There’s nothing of value here.” 

What is wrong with you? 

“Wait!” Jungkook throws all his pride at the window, unable to conceal his worry for you. Half your body is out the doorway, and you’re looking at him like he’s grown a second head. His voice takes up the entirety of the room, startling you. “I need to come with you,” he finally settles on, looking serious. “You’re going to buy the wrong camera.” 

“Okay,” you concede immediately, throwing the keys on the couch, “you drive.”

Jungkook must know something’s wrong with you. 

You don’t know how to act around him. Your heart is hurt and your body is a decade older than it was a week ago and everything in your life and mind is a complete wreck. It still aches to look at him, despite the fact that you want him around, all the time. You wish you could know a little more about your adult life, you feel like a proverbial Bambi sitting in a car worth more than your childhood home. It’s a wobbly, shaky road to adulthood, and you’re not having it. 

Jungkook sleeping over is the last thing you thought would happen last night. You didn’t even think he’d relent to coming to your house, since he was pretty hellbent on not being your photographer. 

But now he’s driving your Tesla again, after you instructed him to park the car where you parked it last time. That way, you can go back to the playground you were in the night before. You have a vision for the issue and it starts there. Fiddling around with the expensive camera Jungkook picked out, you feel his gaze burning into your shoulder. 

“Am I doing something wrong?” you ask archly, “I read the manual and everything. Or are you just being a perfectionist again?” 

“What’s wrong with being a perfectionist?” Jungkook shoots back, putting the car in park. As soon as the car stills in the parking lot, he grabs the camera from your grasp like a petulant child. “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t break it. Face it, you’re terrible at technology.” 

“Excuse me! I have a Samsung 25+ and a Tesla!” 

“Yeah? So why did I catch you struggling to use your pay feature on your phone when we grabbed coffee?” 

“It’s new,” you mutter under your breath. Everything is new to you. 

With a growl you snatch back the camera, and Jungkook for once doesn’t act like a baby with a sharing complex and relents. Of course, Jungkook manages to calibrate the camera and figure out the color balance before you could. This only annoys you further, wondering why Jungkook is still sticking around after all this time. 

“Alright,” you step out of the car, slinging the camera around your neck. “Thanks for driving me around, your apartment’s just down the street, right?” You dart your hand out, and Jungkook reluctantly hands over your key beeper. Maybe it’s because he seems to love the car so much, that he has a hard time giving it back. “I’ll see you around.” 

“Wait,” is that his word of the day? Wait wait wait. 

“What is it now, Jungkook?” 

He’s never seen you so full of negative emotions. You’ve been waiting for him to tire of you all day, from your clipped replies and unease ever since you two stepped out of your apartment. 

“Um,” he looks embarrassed, scratching the back of his head, “are you really going to take pictures? You always took really blurry pictures in high school.” 

The mention of high school has you icy, gripping the matte black digital camera to hold your feelings at bay. “Yes, I’m going to go take pictures because the photographer I wanted so rudely rejected me,” you revel in the way he shrinks, probably regretful already. “So if you’ll excuse me, I have a deadline.” 

He continues to follow you, all the way to the park. You make your way to a little garden, and start to take some test photos next to the little daisies that decorate the patch of dirt. You practically feel Jungkook breathing down your neck, feeling antsy everytime you click the shutter. Ignoring him is difficult, especially when he makes little noises of discomfort when you presumably do something wrong. 

“Jungkook, are you going to say something?” you seethe, not caring that the heavy camera strains your neck when it falls against your chest, “or are you just going to make me wait.”

Jungkook’s face is scrunched up, and finally he blurts, “I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry for what?” 

“For saying your life is picture perfect,” he sputters quickly, looking very sweaty. Jungkook always got sweaty when he did things a little too hard. Playing sports, thinking, campaigning on video games. “I—I didn’t mean it. I don’t know. I guess I was just upset at myself and I took it out on you.” 

“Well why are you upset at yourself?” 

“I’m upset because I—I don’t know, it’s complicated,” he plops down on the nearest bench, and while you follow him, you don’t let yourself sit next to him. If you do, you know your subconscious will want to wrap your arms around him and comfort him. That would probably be the worst possible action to perform. “I don’t really do the whole photoshoot thing. Like I said, I’m just doing some weddings and parties here and there. I shouldn’t have said those things about Jimin and how you’re only talking to us out of charity. It’s my fault for not considering how complicated your life could be too,” he looks down at the ground, shameful, “so if you still want me, I would really like to photograph for Ego. And I would also really like that camera back.” 

Unable to resist, you reach over to give him a pat on the shoulder. “I forgive you,” you reply numbly, thinking he was going to apologize for something else. You suppose he’s forgotten about that fateful prom night, just like everyone else. “It’s actually not for Ego, at least not yet. My boss is pitting us against each other, the best idea wins the cover theme.” 

“Don’t worry, we’ll win,” his face eventually breaks into a grin when you remove the camera from your body. “Come to daddy, baby,” he cooes, holding the shiny new camera in his hands like a newborn. 

“Gross,” you twitch, although you’re feeling all the more relieved knowing Jungkook will now be taking the visual reins. “You haven’t had a chance to look at the contract made up, but being paid five-hundred okay?” 

“Five-hundred a week?” 

“No, per day,” you correct, “why wouldn’t I pay you just like I pay the others?” 

Jungkook’s dark brows fly to his forehead. He practically chokes on his spit at the way you put Jungkook in high regard. A blush overtakes his visage, proud and pink as he rushes to get away from you. 

“You don’t even know my concept,” you called after him, chasing the midday sun. 

Jungkook is already in position, fitting the lens between two buildings. The afternoon sun looks like an egg yolk, melting between the clouds. “Well then is it?” he asks, bending down on one knee to get the perfect angle. 

“Well, yesterday when I thought of the idea I just wanted to be reminded of how easy being a kid was,” you don’t even know if Jungkook’s listening properly, given the rapid click click clicks of the shutter and Jungkook constantly moving around to get as many shots as possible. “I realized that not everyone can relate to the models or the clothes we advertise on Ego. Why would I want to see people I actually admire? Like, my friend’s older brother. Or Jimin, president of the drama club. Or even Jungkook, captain of the lacrosse team.” 

“So, nostalgia. The 2000s are back in style, I like it,” he replies simply, tilting the camera towards you, “pose for me.” 

“What? Jungkook,” you frown, holding a hand over your face. He doesn’t relent, continuing to snap you in different angles. 

“Oh! That was a nice one,” he turns the camera to reveal the screen of your furrowed brows, hand over your face, “looks super grunge. Totally a throwback look.” 

“Jungkook, I don’t model. I’m just the one who throws the ideas.” 

“Yeah, but. Wouldn’t it be cool if the readers of Ego could see the genius behind the paper and ink?” he gestures vaguely to your outfit, “and you’re wearing Fila. So that’s like, kind of designer?” 

“I don’t know,” you hug yourself, “I’ll think about it, okay? Let’s focus.” 

“Fine,” Jungkook stops buzzing around you, putting the camera down and following you as you walk back to your car. You don’t think you really need anymore park photos, and Jungkook seems to telepathically agree as well. 

“We need to plan some outfits and some backgrounds. I’ve already arranged a meet up tomorrow in front of our old high school with a couple of models. The school is on a grade-wide trip, so we’ll even have access to the track and field. I was also thinking disposable film? We could scan those.” 

“Alright, who are your models?” 

“Oh, you know. Just friends from school. I wanted it to be as authentic as possible. Taehyung flew back from Hamburg last night, so he said he’ll come. Jimin, obviously.” 

“Well you only had like, two friends in highschool.” 

“And you,” you clip on with a frown, “so don’t dress like a potato sack tomorrow, okay?” 

“I’m not modeling.” 

“Well, I’m still looking for a celebrity model to tack onto so. Don’t look like a chump.” you stick out your hand, while Jungkook pouts at your outstretched limb. If he feels sore that you called him a chump, he doesn’t comment on it when he clasps his larger hand in yours. “Partners?”

“Partners.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me your celebrity model was him?” 

“I specifically told you not to dress like a paper bag. Why did you continue to do so!” 

“You didn’t specify that your model was Kim Seokjin!” 

The current conversation is hushed, hissed between large reflective light panels and a parked car that held all your rented equipment. Currently, Taehyung, Seokjin and Jimin are huddled on the bleachers of your old stomping grounds, laughing at whatever funny video Seokjin has pulled up. They’re all dressed in variants of the same sweatsuit, a combination of Taehyung’s choosing since he’s one of the many color coordinators at Ego. 

But you haven’t started yet, and you would like to get some morning shots in before it gets any warmer. Jungkook is still petulant, pretending to buy time by balancing his tripod. He’s wearing his Birkenstocks, so old they’re definitely the same pair from highschool, and yet another black sweatsuit. 

“Seokjin’s like a big, fat cheeseball,” you assure Jungkook, who’s actually shaking from being in the presence of a celebrity. “No reason to be nervous.”

“That man has literally been part of our Sitcom Sundays for three years,” he gripes, “of course I’m nervous!” 

“Just go to the car. If you want to change I’m sure Taehyung’s brought something that fits you.”

“Well if they see me change they’re gonna see I’m trying too hard,” Jungkook pouts, he actually pouts. 

“I can’t,” you turn around, your Miss Frizzle-esque solar system dress whirling around your waist. The stars twinkle, glittering into Jungkook’s eyes. “Jungkook, do whatever you want. But we need to start in ten! No, five! I’m not paying you to try on Balenciaga and Off-Brand!” 

If Jungkook is shocked by your sudden snippiness or need to get things wrapped up, he doesn’t say anything to it. For once, he’s quiet about his needs and you’re thankful for it. Once he’s gone, you have a chance to breathe. It’s all wholly overwhelming to dive right into the job. Your brain is still in 2011 unfortunately.

“Babe, everything alright?” 

Seokjin appears behind you, having ditched Jimin and Taehyung after he saw you and Jungkook argue. He smooths his hands over your biceps. You’re still unsure over the exact nature of your adult-self’s relationship, but it seems that sans sex you two are relatively close with each other. 

“M’fine,” you mumble tiredly, trying not to stiffen under his hold. You suppose Jimin isn’t going to be the friend you confide into this lifetime. “I’m just nervous. We’re doing all this work and it can potentially go down the drain after this week. What if my idea’s stupid and we’re wasting time? Jennie texted me that her concept is going to be killer and now I’m scared this concept is too aesthetically soft and people don’t care about nostalgia anymore and I feel like simultaneously throwing up and crying—” 

“Whoa whoa, who’s replaced my confident editor and where did she go?” Seokjin decidedly goes with the notion that you’re definitely not fine. He swings his neck back and forth, peering behind the bleachers and over the football field. “My confident editor would never talk bad of herself like this! She commanded a whole crew of fifty within seconds when she did the Kim Taeyeon shoot in Milan! She never cowers under a challenge, the challenge cowers to her!” and in his gallancy you no longer try to shy away, in fact you even giggle at his silly way of comforting you. “And most importantly, she’d never compare herself to a wench like Jennie.” 

Seokjin doesn’t hesitate to swipe the moisture right under your waterline, making sure any traces of your crying are undetectable. “W-wait,” you sputter, “you mean, me and Jennie aren’t actually friends?” 

He chuckles, pulling you into a hug. “Even now, you’re such a good actress.” 

You let Seokjin continue to hold you as the pieces in your empty mind come together. If Jennie is truly not your friend and you two have been faking it all this time, how serious is it? And if so, are you the competitive type? You know for sure Jennie is, and will she stop at nothing to make sure she gets the spread? 

This fear is combined with an equal amount of sadness. You were a little excited to have a lasting friend from college, but your mother always told you to never believe anything on the internet. You suppose those selfies of you and Jennie on your Instagram are nothing but a facade. 

But at the very least Seokjin’s care for you isn’t fake, and you’re thankful that you have at least one friend in this life. If you didn’t do this time skip, would Seokjin remain your only friend? You try not to think too hard about it, “Thanks, Seokjin. I really appreciate you.” 

“Will you appreciate me tonight then?” Seokjin makes a move to kiss your neck, and the moment is promptly ruined. 

Shoving him away you say firmly, “Touch me like that again and I’ll rip your dick off in front of this whole crew.” 

“I love it when you get feisty,” Seokjin melts, but salutes you like a drill sergeant as he runs back to the men on the bleachers. 

It’s then you feel a presence looming over your shoulder. Tall, dark, and emanating. He’s changed, in favor of some fitted jeans and a plain white shirt, paired with black boots. Jungkook is behind you, glaring over your shoulder at Seokjin. So much for showing off your professionalism. Crap, how much of that did he hear? 

“Jungkook, I–”

“Let’s start,” he mutters gruffly, stepping past you to get to the equipment. 

You slap a hand over your face. It’s going to be a long day. 

However, the hours following are probably one of the brightest hours of your life since you’ve appeared in your future-self’s body. At first Jimin was anxious at your invitation, despite being in the high school plays and being okay at public speaking, he didn’t know he’d have the potential to be a model. A couple test shots and some coaching from Taehyung, Jimin is a natural, his photogenic energy strong enough to compete toe-to-toe with Seokjin. 

You also have to hand it to Taehyung, who has been running back and forth between modeling and choosing outfits for the boys. Jimin and you didn’t run in the same group as Taehyung back in high school, but time changes things and if given the opportunity, you would’ve loved to be friends with him back then. 

By the time you are done for the day and you feel like all the possible shots have all ready been taken, you circle around the school. You previously went inside empty classrooms, posed in the cafeteria, even pretended to reenact your school rendition of RENT in the auditorium. 

Everything is mostly packed up and put into the car by the time the sun is setting, and you just wanted to perfect this one shot. 

The gymnasium looks a lot smaller than it did as a child. As a teenager, you constantly feared getting hit in the face by a stray wiffleball, or throwing up during the pacer test after the 100th lap. But now, it just looks like an old gym. 

“It smells like sweaty balls in there,” Taehyung curses, adjusting the patterned button down by smoothing down his chest. He jabs a finger in the boys locker room, where Jimin comes out with another new outfit. 

“I think the sandwich I left in senior year is still there,” Jimin adds, pulling the collar around his burgundy knitted sweater. 

The back of the gym is decorated in balloons. Overnight you managed to build a balloon ring off of Pinterest, one of your proudest moments as you made Jungkook haul the rainbow colored arc and shove it into the trunk. Seokjin is sitting directly under the arc, decorating a letter corkboard. It’s one of those cork boards all the teachers display in class, often decorated with some witty quote or a basic “Welcome to Mr/Mrs/Miss _____’s Class!” 

Jungkook is setting up the camera on a tripod, wanting to do it the old fashioned way. Aside from the freakout he had in the beginning when he realized he was photographing Kim Seokjin, he’s been quiet and strictly professional throughout the whole ordeal. It’s amazing to see this side of him, as he seamlessly transitions from shoot to shoot knowing exactly what he has in mind for each photograph. His direction is soft but impactful, and the boys have no problems following directions. 

“Okay boys, everyone under the arc!” 

Working like this is a rush you can’t even imagine. In high school the path you were in the process of choosing wasn’t clear cut up until this point, but now you know exactly what you want to do for the rest of your life. 

Seokjin holds the finished corkboard in the middle, a proud Class of Ego in white block letters. 

Jungkook only gets a few shots in before Seokjin bemoans, letting the corkboard fall in his lap. 

“Guys, this picture’s gonna stink.” 

Jungkook’s appalled, “Excuse me—” 

“Because you two aren’t in it!” Taehyung agrees easily, “c’mon, JK. Put your camera on timer mode and let’s have all of us in it!” 

A blush melts on Jungkook’s neck, all the way to the tips of his ears. “What? No, that’s silly Tae. I really don’t—agh!” 

The three men are in a controlled frenzy, aiming to get their mission done. Seokjin rounds the camera and makes quick work of enabling a timer and a burst shot. Jimin pulls you by the waist, tugging you ungracefully to the center of the arc. Taehyung is doing a pretty good job of hauling your muscle hunk of a photographer, pressing his shoulders across yours. 

And finally, Seokjin hands you the corkboard. “You should be holding it. After all, you’re the brains behind it!” 

At first it feels awkward, squished between new friends and old friends. First loves and last loves. Despite his warm bicep pressing against you, Jungkook is akin to a sheet of cardboard, arm-to-arm and stiff as a board. 

“Alright people, let’s move it!” Seokjin yells unnecessarily loud, the noise echoing throughout the high walls. “Last couple shots here, and we’re not re-doing it because I’m tired as hell! So look alive and pretend to like each other!” 

The first click of the camera stuns all of you, akin to many terrible school photos where the flash disarms you and your face twists. But that click suddenly gets Jungkook into gear, and you feel him slide a hand over your shoulder, squeezing you toward him so you’re pressed against the side of his chest. He still smells like floral fabric softener, and that makes you smile. 

And suddenly you feel like you’re seventeen again, surrounded with the people you care for the most. 

“So, the tabloids are true huh?” Jimin smirks, waving a flimsy fry in your face. 

“T-tabloids?” you sputter, dabbing the ketchup off your cheek. The greasy burger slips off your grip and onto your plate.  Your expression says it all, it’s painfully innocent and genuinely confused as you attempt to swallow the cheese and lettuce as fast as possible. 

The crew sans Seokjin is eating a very late dinner with you at the restaurant of their choice. They put it to a vote, while you desperately wanted some McDonalds everyone else voted for a more high end restaurant. After all, you’re paying. 

“Ah, don’t try playing coy with us,” Taehyung jests, “the office talks.” 

“Well, whatever you’ve heard isn’t true,” you huff, crossing your arms. “At least, not anymore.” 

“What?” Taehyung bugs out, “I thought you loved your no strings attached relationship with Jinnie.” 

“I guess I did,” you frown, deflating against the plush booth, “I don’t know. I don’t know what I liked back then.” 

You resume eating your burger, trying to ignore the worried look Jimin sends you. He reaches over the table to press his thumb to the little 11s in your forehead, a product of stress. “Does your head still hurt?” he asks. 

Jungkook’s chewing slows considerably. He’s been strangely quiet this evening, opting to order a handful of appetizers and gorging on every single edible thing on the table like a glutton. But at Jimin’s question he turns his head to look at you, “Why would your head still hurt?” 

“She hit her head when she went out drinking with Seokjin last week,” Jimin supplies, “messed with her memory.” 

“Chim,” you frown, gently shoving him off you, “I’m fine now. Pretty much caught up. Just reevaluating my life choices, okay?” 

“How could Seokjin let that happen?” Jungkook asks, putting his fork down. 

“He wasn’t even there,” you shake your head, trying to clear Seokjin’s name as fast as possible. After all, this lie is completely fabricated, a blanket to cover the magical properties your true nature being here has. “I’m fine, Jungkook. Don’t worry about me.” 

He huffs, resuming his meal. “Wasn’t worried,” he disarms, reaching over the table to snatch a mozzarella stick. 

You cover up your disgusted expression by wiping your chin with a soft blue napkin. Jungkook is really out here inhaling the whole table and being a bit of a jerk. 

“Well,” Taehyung claps his hands together, regarding all of you with a closed-lipped smile stretched so wide you’re worried he’ll break. “This is nice. I can’t imagine a time where I’d be reunited with you three. It’s weird. But a good weird.” 

“Ditto,” Jimin echoes, lifting his glass to clink with Taehyung’s. Throwing an arm over your shoulder he remarks, “could’ve never imagined my ‘ol best friend would’ve wanted to pursue fashion.” 

“What?” you glower, pinching his thigh, “I love fashion! I spent months planning my Clueless Halloween costume and our summers cosplaying!” 

“Right, Cher,” teased Jimin, “that yellow plaid suit that made you look like a bottle of mustard?” 

“You little–” 

Taehyung begins to laugh when you start to tickle Jimin in the sweet spots, causing Jimin to curl his leg around your ankle and pull you onto his lap for a hair pull. It’s all in fun and nothing hurts, but you’re so caught up in it you’re sure people are worried about your well-being. Even Jungkook is laughing, egging Jimin on while Taehyung weakly attempts to pull you away. 

If you could rewrite the last ten years of your life, this moment would define the remake. 

“Why are we here?” 

“For research purposes.” 

“Are you sure the actual purpose is because you don’t feel like working in the office?” 

“Jungkook,” you groan, tired of his infinite amount of negativity. “This was our senior trip! Of course I want to get a couple shots in before my big presentation.” 

“You’re risking my baby’s life,” Jungkook cradles the digital camera closer to his chest, swaddling it between its felt case. Ever since you purchased the camera, Jungkook has been unable to let it go. This adoption is both equal parts cute and strange, and you’re a little too scared to ask for it back. 

“I promise, no big rides,” you roll your eyes, “your baby will be fine.” 

The local amusement park is a fan-favorite amongst the city-goers, a reprieve from the hustle and a chance for you to spend your copious amounts of money on overpriced sugar and popcorn. The last time you went here was two weeks ago—in your mind. In Jungkook’s mind it was over ten years ago and he probably doesn’t even remember the time spent roaming the artificial floor and the infinite amount of bubbles that seem to eject from the air to add to the whimsical charm. 

Jungkook isn’t even paying attention, citing it as an artist block because he’s going through sensory overload with the amount of stimuli in the crowd. Screaming teenagers wailing under him from a nearby rollercoaster, the smell of sticky caramel apples pumping through the diffuser stands, and the amount of gaudy color that decorates every single logo of the park. 

He plops himself down on a nearby bench while you wait in line to get some food. It’s early in the morning and a weekday, so you figure this is the best time to get some photographs in without any passerbys. You figure Jungkook will get the hang of it once he has some food in his stomach. 

“A funnel cake?” Jungkook is bewildered when you return with the confection in hand, “it’s ten A.M.” 

You raise a brow, knowing how much Jungkook loves sweet foods. The funnel cake especially, he ate at least three when you went to your senior trip, one for every meal. But you’re an adult, or at least posing as one, and you shrug loftily, plucking a hot piece of fried dough from your plate. “Alright then,” you reply, “I’ll just eat the whole thing.” 

Once the cake touches your tongue, you can’t help but make an exaggerated moan in pleasure. You can feel Jungkook squirming like an earthworm next to you, either from the scrumptious smell of funnel cake or the way you’re so enthusiastically eating it. 

“W-wait,” Jungkook’s stomach growls at the perfect moment, “I want some. But I don’t want to get the camera dirty, pass me a napkin.” 

“I can just feed it to you!” you quip innocently, immediately ripping off a piece and shoving it between Jungkook’s pink lips. You feel a little slick in the finger, saliva briefly coating your digits before you pull away. You swallow, feeling a familiar tingle in your tummy and a sickening heat low in your belly. 

You fight back a sigh, wondering if your libido also did a massive growth spurt in your twenty-seven years of age. 

Jungkook is placated at the touch of food, and you take turns feeding yourself and feeding him while more customers trickle in the park. Confectioners sugar dusts Jungkook’s long-sleeved tee, the white color staining the dark fabric. You reach to pat his chest, ignoring the toneness that still remains from high school. 

“Alright, let’s ride,” you declare, pulling Jungkook up once you’re done eating. 

“Do we have to?” 

“What happened to the adrenaline junkie I once knew?” 

“He realized being an adrenaline junkie doesn’t make money and he should stay on the ground.” 

“Alright, Negative Nancy,” your reply has no bite to it, and suddenly you wished you invited Jimin or Seokjin before Jungkook. Jungkook may have the talent, but he certainly doesn’t have the attitude. You don’t even get why he’s still defensive, after all you thought he apologized in the beginning. It’s not like you’re the problem. 

“Gimmie your hand,” your thoughts cut out when Jungkook offers his large hand in front of yours, palm up. 

“Why?”

“C’mon,” he whines, settling for snatching your hand instead. His palms feel larger, rougher as they enclose your smaller hand. “Now hurry up and walk in front of me. I’m gonna take a picture.” 

You already have a feeling as to what this picture is going to look like, so you scrunch your nose. “That is so cheesy.” 

“It’s for the nostalgia factor, now hurry up and pretend we’re on a date.” 

You roll your eyes but relent, jogging a few steps ahead so you can get into character. This pose used to be a popular one, where the sweet boyfriend would be dragged around by the girlfriend’s hand, tugging him to wherever she wanted to go. It’s super cliche but if Jungkook figures it’ll fit your theme, you’ll do it. Eventually you forget that you’re holding his hand, and point ahead to some rides you want to try out. 

“Oh, Jungkook! Remember that one?” you point to a teacup ride, with guests spinning vigorously through their own seat. “Jimin got so sick he fell asleep in the car for an hour!” 

Jungkook doesn’t reply, so you turn around and face him. Click. Jungkook smirks at his little trick, which makes you rip your hand from his and walk further. 

“Hey, hey,” he chuckles, the first smile of the day. Food really does make him peaceful. “The shot looks good, you look good.” 

“Could’ve just asked me to turn around and pose,” you huff. 

“Then it would ruin the fun,” he replies, “now c’mon, let’s ride the teacups. For old time’s sake.” 

Ten minutes later and the both of you are soon regretting that decision. You’re once again slumped on the bench, this time unable to keep your head up so you rest it on Jungkook’s shoulder while he leans on your head. 

“Haven’t rode that since I was a teenager,” Jungkook moans, holding his stomach. “Remind me not to eat so fast before getting on that kind of ride.” 

You mirror his expression, feeling green. “Is this what late-adult life feels like?” 

“Yep,” Jungkook replies, unbeknownst of how shocked you are at how weak your body has become. “You wake up with back pain, pre-arthritis from all the typing you’ve done over the last decade, and a lot of stress. Definitely not the fantasy you’d imagine from your 20s.” 

“You think you’d be less stressed if you kept your lacrosse scholarship?” 

“Nah, I think I saved myself,” Jungkook shakes his head, “before I could be any more awful than I already was.” 

You refuse that notion, sending him a bitter smile. “Well, look at me. I became awful right after high school.” 

“I didn’t mean you—”

“I know,” you hold up a hand to stop him. The two of you follow a red path up the hill, leading to a simple cable car ride. It’s a slow travel ride, made to get from one side of the park to the other with a beautiful view over the lake. “But you see those tabloid articles. They must be true.” 

“I—I didn’t think they were all true,” Jungkook’s lying through his teeth to make you feel better, but you don’t care. “Why do you sound unsure?” 

You shrug, “Probably wasn’t sober for most of my bad decisions,” considering your friendship with Seokjin and his boisterous drinking attitude, you wouldn’t be surprised, “If they weren’t true, I believe Jimin and I would’ve stayed friends. I can’t imagine why I left my home like that. But I guess it doesn’t matter too much because I came back. And I mean, we’re here together doing work,” you gesture between the small space between each other, “I think that counts for something.”  

The two of you walk in silence for a bit, contemplating. The line to the cable car isn’t long but it’s slow, considering the cable only moves a couple meters a second. The take-off area is a risen slab of concrete, and the cars are continuously moving so you have to hop on one car as soon as another guest exits. 

There’s a little bit of space between it, a centimeter gap that could be nerve wracking if there’s no staff around. You think nothing of it as you fiddle on your phone, waiting for the staff member to let you and Jungkook in on the next car. 

Jungkook enters first, taking great care to cradle the camera in one hand so it doesn’t sway against the car. The car swings a little as well, and Jungkook holds out a hand for you to grab. 

Instead you focus on how the once bright glassy pink is sun-ravished, faded and rusting on the metal door flaps. The color is almost pearlescent, vastly different than the vivid color you saw two weeks ago. You almost want to reach out and touch it, wondering where that quality went. 

“Bun, be careful!” 

The tip of your heel nicks on the stepping stone, slipping like butter as you topple forward. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up, hauling you into the car just as the metal door locks into place. The hard plastic of the camera digs into your chest uncomfortably as you plop on top of Jungkook, between his legs as half his thighs rest against the uncomfortable seat. 

“Were you not watching where you were going?” Jungkook huffs, blowing his bangs over his forehead. 

Instead of an artful answer you blurt, “You, you called me Bun.” 

His eyes widen at your response, and his grip loosens around your body. His eyes dart anywhere but your face, his cheeks ruddied and stained coral as he moves to remove you from his body. “It was a slip of the tongue,” he coughs, turning on his camera and getting shots of the lake. 

You huff in response, sticking to your side of the carriage. “I missed it,” you murmur to the wind, although you make yourself loud enough for him to hear. 

You try to bury your sour expression in your sleeves, just to hide how absolutely childish you feel. You don’t even care that Jungkook is trying to take pictures of you looking out the view, only trying to eradicate the feelings that are still down deep in your blood. Even the twenty-seven year old Jungkook is charming, albeit in a completely different way. 

The grown, mature Jungkook toots to his own horn. He isn’t concerned about a team or an image, and gave it all up to pursue an art he loves. The lacrosse jerseys exchanged for bulky long sleeves, the sport for a camera, and a mask for his true image. 

“Let’s go,” Jungkook takes your hand again when the ride stops, not letting go until you’re on steady ground. You figure he must think you walk like a toddler barely on her first mile. 

Would Jungkook like you even as an adult? With all this money, this power and this confidence you envisioned as a seventeen-year-old, it still doesn’t feel enough for him. In fact, you feel like a sore thumb sticking out, decorated in silly rumors and expensive clothes that separate you far from your roots. 

“Hey,” Jungkook touches your arm, pointing to a basketball carnival game, “remember this one?” 

“Yeah,” forcing a smile, you follow him to the small crowd that starts to form around the basketball game. The baskets are a short distance from the player, but so high up that it’s hard to tell the shape of the hoop. “I tried to tell you that it was completely rigged. From an angle you can see it’s still oval-shaped.” 

“And I told you it didn’t matter if the hoop was an octagon, I’d get you that prize,” he jerks a thumb to the prize booth, where a blue Piplup plush sits proudly with all the other starter Pokemon. “And I did.” 

“It’s still in my room,” you reply proudly, even though Jungkook is acting almost immaturely smug. “I, I mean it’s still in my room in my parent’s house. It’s probably lonely because my parents have been on a cruise for almost two weeks.” 

He raises a brow, eyes drifting to the booth. “Should I win another one to keep your bed in the city warm?” 

“That sounded oddly sexual.” 

“You know what I mean,” and Jungkook’s rolling up his sleeves, handing you the camera. 

“Jungkook,” you whine when he pulls out a roll of bills from his pocket, as if he prepared for this moment, “Jungkook c’mon—I don’t need any stuffed animals. Ugh.” 

You swear that the majority of your day is spent watching Jungkook blow cash on a low-quality stuffed animal with packaging pellets for the inside. Turns out carnival technology has also enhanced over the years, and it takes both your whining and the clerk’s whining to stop Jungkook from blowing his entire wallet to get one basket in. Eventually the staff relents and lets Jungkook take a Piplup keychain instead, glumly handing it over to you. 

“I like this better,” you chirp, clipping the ring onto your car keys, “now I can bring Piplup everywhere.” 

A small, barely there smile appears on Jungkook’s face. 

The rest of the day melts away like that, and before you know it the sun is slipping into the horizon and you’re being dropped off at your apartment. Jungkook even insists to walk you to your door, because your prizes are heavy. (Yes, he went back for the oversized Piplup.) 

It’s all too familiar, the way the walk upstairs is achingly slow, as if the moment is stretching itself down the hallway. How Jungkook looks so prideful holding the fruits of his labor, following you with a tug of your hand because the prize is too big for Jungkook to see straight. 

At the same time it’s different. The way you wobble around the hallway because you’re a little tipsy from wine flights is noticeable, even cute. How easy it is to not feel nervous when you clutch at his hand. How you two look like a seasoned couple, coming home from an all-day date. 

It ends at the front door, and you crack it open so you can slip your prizes through the crack. 

“Thanks, Jungkook,” you hold up the SD card that held all the precious memories of this week. 

This is where you part ways. You’ll spend the rest of the night editing your presentation, while Jungkook promised to go to a bar with his friends. A little part of you hoped you’d be invited, but you knew that would be impractical considering you have work in the morning. 

“Break a leg,” he says, leaning on the balls of his feet with his hands in his pockets, “you’ll do great. You’ve always been meant to do great things.” 

The investment he lays on you is insurmountable, and you feel yourself flush with simultaneous excitement and anxiety. Unknowing how to calm your nerves, you give him a small “thank you” and put your hand on the knob to slip away. 

“Wait—” 

You blink, a deer in the headlights as Jungkook swoops down and kisses you. 

You’ve received kisses—kisses reserved for a twenty-seven year old, before. Seokjin is an eager lover, and you felt it that fateful morning and even during your photoshoot when he tried to be sneaky and pull you away. Fleeting bites, kisses to the neck that are wet and hot.

Jungkook’s kiss does not feel like that. It feels like home. It feels like coming home after a long day of work, wrapping yourself in an old afghan and a hot cup of tea. The feeling of hot laundry, fresh front the dryer and smelling of floral softener. It tastes like ten years lost in a void, returning to your senses and lighting you up.

He holds you as if you’ll disappear right in front of him. Large hands cup your face, like a precious thing he never wants to let go. Your hands can do nothing but grapple after his, nails digging into his skin. 

“Good night, Jungkook,” you send him a lovestruck smile, a puppy love face. 

“Good bye, Bun,” he replies simply, jogging down the hallway. 

Being twenty-seven starts to feel a little more like heaven. 

Jennie used to annoy you in high school, but now she just down right scares you. 

Her presentation is one straight out of a thriller, with red shadow lights and neon green splattered in the dark room. Her models are intense, her designs are beautiful but overwhelmingly chaotic, and the whole affair is rather grotesque. The headline Fashion Suicide glares at you in a morbid scarlet font. 

Hoseok sends her a tight-lipped smile, and presses a button on his desk. “I need my antacids, Krystal,” Hoseok deadpans. 

Nothing betrays Jennie’s wicked expression, in fact her smirk widens at Hoseok’s fear. 

You on the other hand, are cool as a cucumber when you walk up to the front of the conference room. In fact, you barely have to say anything as the presentation presents itself. Jungkook took the liberty of making a video compilation for you, one that they could use in YouTube and Instagram promotions. 

“This, is preserving our youth,” you declare proudly, letting the video play. The music that accompanies it is very coming-of-age, like a yearbook slideshow of all the pictures you took. Taehyung, Jimin and Seokjin hold their arms around each other in matching attire, looking like friends for life. There’s even some videos of you and Jungkook at the park, playfully arguing at each other. “I’m tired of seeing people who could care less about my life, who I can’t relate to.” 

“This issue is for the unsung heroes—my best friend’s older sibling, the captain of the football team, and the black sheep with a dream.” 

The video cuts to Jungkook, looking ultra cool at the camera while he’s dictating Seokjin’s moves. It was taken on your phone, and you’re zooming in on Jungkook’s serious face before it breaks into a laugh, eyes crinkling and bunny teeth showing at whatever stupid thing Seokjin said. 

And finally, the video fades into a mock cover. The five of you are beaming at the camera, cheek-to-cheek as you hold up the placard: Ego: Class of Youth. 

Needless to say, the issue is yours. 

You ignore Jennie’s icy stare as you leave the room to negotiate with the creative teams on a set schedule. However, it seems that you can’t get a bit of rest when Jennie waits for you in your office.

“Jennie, get off of my desk,” you frown, watching a coffin-tipped nail flicking against a photograph of you holding hands with Jungkook in the amusement park. It hangs on a corkboard, standing up with all the other ideas that you and Jungkook have spent the last week meticulously planning.The black enamel scratches at your smiling face. You are not having this, not after all your hard work and all the meetings that have just been planned. 

Her feet dangle in the air, kicking back and forth as she sings your name. “You’re still such a child,” she sighs dramatically. “In fact, I think your cute little-wittle idea would suit something more like Highlights or Disney Monthly.��

“You’re just upset I did better than you,” you cross your arms.

Jennie’s nail slices your visage in half. 

“You’re right,” Jennie turns a 180 and gives you a bright, candy-coated smile. “Your idea is so good, it doesn’t suit Ego. In fact, I’m sure the editors at Mono will pay a pretty penny.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Ugh, you are such a fake.” Jennie giggles, “now, did you send this idea to Namjoon yet? Their publishing date is two weeks before ours, so I’m sure they’re getting to work on this whole Throwback Thursday spread.” 

You can’t believe the words coming from Jennie’s mouth. Before all of this, just how awful of a person were you? How could you sabotage your company on the regular, just to get paid a little extra dough for a rival company? It makes you think about what could’ve possibly changed. Had leaving your friends without a care in the world made you into this lost adult, grappling at the seams for attention? In college, did Jennie coerce you into being manipulative and backstabbing, and because without Jimin and needing confidence in a friend, you reluctantly agreed?

The coffee from this morning starts to back up in your throat, but you immediately tamp it down. No, you can’t be pushed around like this. You can’t keep pushing people around. You don’t want a life like this, and if you ever return to your old life, you’ll damn make sure you’ll create a future without Jennie in the picture. 

“I’m not going to send anything to Mono, and I’ve already fessed up to Hoseok,” you lift your nose in the air, voice impeccably clear for someone who’s absolutely bluffing. But Jennie’s face hits the ground, immediately buying your lie. You suppose you did become a good actress after ten years. Maybe Seokjin taught you a few pointers. “So if I were you, I’d swallow your tongue before words get around. I worked it out but don’t be surprised if a pink slip comes your way.” 

Turns out that no matter what, high school never ends. There will always be backstabbers and freaks and geeks. A mean girl that you subconsciously try so hard to appease, a grade that defines your life, and drama up to the neck. 

“He doesn’t like you, y’know,” Jennie whispers, but the words are loud and clear and you know exactly who she’s talking about. “Never had, and never will.” 

“You’re wrong,” you hold your hands, clasping them together to keep them from trembling, “he likes me.” 

So you leave the office, determined to prove yourself. That kiss last night was nothing short of magical, and it took a lot of strength for you to not drive up to Jungkook’s apartment in the morning in the hopes for another one. You pick up a pizza near his place, filling it up with your favorite toppings on one half and his favorites on his. A bottle of peach champagne is nestled between your arms. In the bathroom while waiting for your pizza, you’ve wriggled out of your tight suit and into a blue hoodie and bicycle shorts. Tonight, you’re celebrating. 

You’re vibrating as you’re knocking eagerly on his front door, excited to tell him the news. You hear a rustle from the couch, and some blankets shifting about. He must’ve passed out after going to the bar, how cute. 

But when the door opens, the vision in front of you is far from cute.

A woman, with cat eyes and a slim figure, tilts her head at you. She’s dressed in a large white shirt, transparent enough to show her lacy black bra and panties. Bruises decorate her neck and thighs, like red and purple gems. Her long black hair swishes, slightly frizzy at the bottom. 

“Can I help you?” her voice is sultry and velvety. “Are you looking for JK?” 

It’s obvious as to what transpired. Jungkook dipped after kissing you and fucked another woman. A woman who’s the complete opposite of you. Someone flirty and sexy and willing to give Jungkook what he wants. You don’t know who you should be mad at. 

“Who’s at the door?” Jungkook calls from the inside, and you nearly drop your bottle at the sound of the rasp. They must’ve had a fuckfest if they’re just waking up now.

Your cheeks are burning. Your heart is aching. And the vile that bubbled up from Jennie’s tirade is now resurfacing. From the way your eyes are watering, you must look like a crybaby. 

“Say, JK,” the woman closes the frame tighter around her small head, preventing you from seeing inside and for Jungkook to peer, “do you have any pathetic ex-girlfriends?” 

“No,” comes the muffled reply, “come back to bed, it’s getting cold without you,” the pizza starts to burn uncomfortably against your grip, “why the random question?” 

“Dunno, seems like you’ve had at least one.” 

At that moment, your savior appears in grey jeans and a beige hoodie. Jimin walks up to the floor, clutching a bag of groceries. It’s not hard to put two and two together as he spots you looking incredibly small in front of the strange woman, trying so hard not to break down. 

Your tears finally fall when Jimin reaches you. “Wrong room,” you mutter under your breath, quickly following your old best friend when he shoves you in his apartment. 

No words need to be explained when Jimin leaves the groceries on the coffee table and he’s pulling you onto his lap. You clutch him like a koala, rubbing mascara and blush all over his clothes as you sob. He pats your back and soothes your hiccups by offering you a glass of water. The stages of your meltdowns are pretty cut and dry, even after ten years. He still encourages you to finish the whole glass. He makes sure you have something to eat. He cuts your pizza into little bite sized pieces and feeds you. He doesn’t pressure you to talk until you’re ready, although he has a hunch as to what’s going on. 

And when you talk, he doesn’t expect a firm, “Take me home,” from you. 

“O-okay,” Jimin agrees immediately, pulling you into a sitting position. “Uptown, right? We can call an Uber or something and order from a restaurant.” 

“No,” you reply firmly, “Home-home. I want to go back to my parent’s house.” 

“That’s fine too,” he squeezes your shoulder, accepting the fob you hold out to him, “it’ll take about an hour, but I think the drive will be nice.” 

So you two sneak off into the sunset, clutching twin slices of pizza as you roll away into your Tesla. Jimin is right, ten minutes into the drive and you’re soothed by his smooth driving and the scent of fried cheese and dough. Your friend has been calm all this time, so you figure this is the right time for him to pop off. Again, this is also part of your breakdown routine. 

“Say, does this thing do calls?” Jimin asks, fiddling with the settings on your steering wheel, “Tesla, call Jeon Jungkook.” 

“Jimin,” you say weakly, although the little malicious side of you wants to goad him on. You don’t bother to fight the best friend territorialism, you just watch as his hands clutch at the steering wheel as the speakers ring. 

Jungkook picks up on the second ring, “Hey!” he says brightly, and it makes your chest pang to know how oblivious he is, “how did the presentation go?” 

“Fuck you, Jungkook!” you cover your free hand on your ear at Jimin’s shrill yell, louder than the speakers that carry Jungkook’s voice. “Fuck you for breaking my best friend’s heart twice!” 

The silence is deafening. It’s scary, like you could slash a butter knife right through the tension. 

Jimin continues, “I can understand high school because you were a real doofus, but this! You fucking lead my best friend on, only to fuck another girl right under her nose! She came all the way to your apartment from a long-ass day at work to celebrate and you ruin that day! I thought you’ve grown for the better but turns out nothing has changed since prom night. You’re still the stupid, confused little boy that doesn’t want to admit how they really feel,” you gasp at the blow, watching Jimin’s gritted teeth as he zooms down the freeway on a mission. “Good fucking riddance, Jeon!” 

Jimin punches the “hang up” button. A couple seconds of heavy breathing, and he turns to you with a gentle smile. 

“So, you want to listen to Taylor Swift’s new album?” 

Your room is lost in time. The Hunger Games novels are stacked on your shelf, looking old and worn. A Glee poster hangs over your four-poster bed, the yellow and red faded and the corners hanging by a thread from the old tape. The sheets are a pale pink, ruffly and definitely not in style anymore. When you sit on it, it creaks uncomfortably. 

You hug yourself, tucking your knees in as Jimin marvels at the room with an equal amount of awe. 

“If you could, would you go back to high school?” Jimin asks, sitting at the edge of your bed. 

With a lazy shrug, you smile at your collection of polaroids that are hanging above your vanity. You’re still hurt, but the pain is no longer rolling in waves. “Maybe,” you reply, “probably would’ve taken you to Europe with me.” 

He chuckles, “Is that the only thing you would change?” 

“If I knew what I knew now?” you tilt your head, “I don’t know.” 

Jimin gets off your bed, pressing a kiss into your forehead. “I’m gonna raid the kitchen and see if we can make something for dinner, yeah? Since your parents are on vacation and your fridge is probably empty, don’t  judge me if there’s only Totino’s pizza rolls and nuggets in the freezer.” 

When Jimin leaves your room, you quietly close the door and lock it. You lean against the cracked wooden door, falling onto the carpet and letting the tears fall. Is this what the rest of your life is going to be like? Evading pain and working too hard and trying everyday to stay afloat? Is adult life always going to be this difficult?  

These past two weeks have been nothing short of a rollercoaster. Major highs and major lows, and after today you thought you reached the end of the ride. However, it’s looking like the ride has no destination in mind, rolling in waves and finding a new hill or loop to catch you off-guard. 

“Are you kidding—how did you know we were here?” Another corkscrew. 

“You’re a turtle on the road, Jimin. Now move out of the way.” 

Jungkook’s voice startles you, and you tense when you see the gold door knob jiggle. Of course as strong as Jimin is, he’s no match for Jungkook. You hear Jimin grumble to curse Jungkook out, and the sound of him stomping down the stairs. 

“Hey, open up. Please,” Jungkook’s voice is weak and strained, and you only hug yourself tighter as the knocks continue. “Or, don’t. It seems like you can listen to me perfectly from here. I can hear your breathing.” 

You don’t say a peep, preferring to let everything fizzle out. Hopefully Jungkook will give up, say a pathetic sorry and be on his merry way. You don’t know why he’s followed you all the way over here, why would he bother coming when the damage is already done. 

There’s a slide of fabric across wood, and you can feel the door shake against your back as Jungkook leans on his side out in the hallway. 

“Back in high school, Jennie proposed that I date you to get back at you for stealing Jennie’s sewing sample and getting the higher grade,” you close your eyes, letting the story unravel. “She wanted to build you up before breaking you down, and back then I was vulnerable and thrived on attention, so I thought nothing of it.” 

You hear a breathy exhale from his side, as if it pains him to continue, “But obviously, it wasn’t true and I only realized it until I was way too deep. I liked you, so much. Heck, I think I might’ve loved you. We were so wrapped up in this relationship I even convinced myself it was real, until Jennie said she’d crush you at prom night.

“I should’ve tried harder to convince us not to go. I should’ve told Jennie to fuck off. I should’ve come clean. I should’ve done something,” his fist bangs against your door, the vibrations of the impact thrumming in your back, “seeing you so beautiful in that dress all heartbroken because I didn’t act sooner. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Hearing him pour his heart out is like watching your memories in his shoes. The pieces find homes and paint a picture left unfinished. 

“And then when you showed up at my doorstep, I was so angry. I knew you felt it. But I wasn’t upset at you, I was upset at myself. I felt so fucking guilty. I hated how easy it was for you to let me back into your life. I hated how easy it was to fall for you all over again. I knew how much I didn’t deserve your forgiveness, but you gave it to me and I was too selfish to refuse. I had so much fun, the most fun I’ve had in awhile. 

“I’m sorry I kissed you. I didn’t intend for it to I just, I couldn’t help myself. And then I was so scared that I turned away and made the second biggest regret to date.

“But it proves that we’re not meant to be together. I don’t deserve you,” the last part is hushed, a nail in the coffin, “we can’t turn back the time, but if I could I would change it all. I would be by your side and make your world even better than it is right now. I’m sorry it’s too late.” 

You clutch your mouth, suppressing the cries that muffle through the door. You hear Jungkook get up from your old carpet, turn the other way and head downstairs. 

Your first love just closed the chapter for you. His words show how much he cared for you, but didn’t know how to express it. How immature he was, how he realized everything too late. And now, he wants to set you free. Even if it is a good thing, it still tears you to shreds. 

Moving to your vanity, you pull out the chair and lean your head on the table, eyes poking through your hair. You look awful. The skin under your waterline is puffy and your eyes are red and bloodshot. Your forearms feel greasy, and you lift them up to reveal glitter painting the entirety of your skin. Your eyes dart to the open glitter, the package that Jimin gifted to you that fateful prom night. The compact is broken in half and left on the table, probably a product of your younger cousins fiddling through your old room. 

Ignoring the sticky feeling, you let yourself continue to cry. You feel like you’re stuck in the bathroom of the prom venue, waiting for an opportunity to sneak out and go. 

But you want nothing more than to go back to that moment. As amazing as your twenty-seven year old life is, you’re not ready for it. You don’t want a life without Jungkook, or a life having to constantly catch up and mend your relationship with Jimin. You don’t want to be the backstabbing bitch that tips off other magazines, or the two-faced woman who messes around with others for the sake of pleasure.

You long to go back. You long to live and grow. To be seventeen and have time to grow in-between. 

When you lift your head from your vanity, you’re ten years younger.

You scream. 

Your parents dash to your room with a kitchen knife and a confused face. With a wary smile and a teary gaze you say that it’s only a pimple. Your mother giggles and drops the knife, hugging you and helping you conceal the invisible mark. The hug is so warm and so missed that you nearly sigh in content. You’ve missed them. 

It’s a little strange to think well beyond your years, your brain still reeling from the trip you’ve just had. Your hands smooth over your body, the previous curves and maturity hidden away in your skin. That’s okay, you don’t mind waiting anymore. There’s much more important things at hand. 

If Jungkook isn’t going to realize his mistakes until it’s too late, you have to speed up the process. 

Stealing your parent’s keys and hopping in your Accord, you drive off to Jungkook’s. Hair and makeup not done, and still in your plain shirt and jeans. An hour from now, Jungkook will text you saying his car is down and he’ll meet you at the venue. 

It’s still rush hour, so he doesn’t notice when you park a few houses down. He’s sitting on his front porch, looking out the road. There’s really nothing in front of him, he’s just staring aimlessly, probably nervous about what’s about to go down tonight. You suppress a sigh, engraving the vision to memory. He looks great in his fitted black suit and tie, a little silver pocket square on the breast to match your dress. 

He gets up quickly when he sees you, as if caught in the act. Staring at your plain clothes he asks, “Bun, why aren’t you dressed? Prom’s soon—”

“Jungkook, I want to break up.” 

You see it in his eyes. Vulnerability. No longer do you feel insecure, the future told you that Jungkook genuinely did care for you back then. Or in this case, right now. His usual cheery expression crumples at your feet, and his hands fall at his sides. It feels a little unfair, knowing that you have experience under your belt, and Jungkook’s experiencing these feelings for the first time, unprepared. 

“What?” he wilts, “why?” 

“I know about Jennie’s plan,” you say instantly, unfazed. You give him a tight-lipped smile when realization hits his face. “So I know this whole relationship is orchestrated. The sewing sample fiasco is wrong, obviously. But I’m not going to get mad at you, I know she played you as much as she played me,” you clasp the straps of your purse, stopping you from fidgeting, “we graduate in a few months anyway. We don’t have to see or talk about this ever again. You should go enjoy your prom night with your other friends.” 

The present-day Jungkook is still young and confused. He’s at a loss, looking like he’s on sensory overload as he absorbs all the information. You see his eyes flicker to where your Accord is parked, your prom dress hanging on one of the arm pulls. You never even pulled it out of the bag. 

“Here,” you pull his corsage from your purse, placing the white rose atop the porch. If you try to put it on him, you fear you may never leave. With a determined huff, you turn around in the direction of your car.

“Where are you going?” he asks, clutching the railing of his porch, “what about prom?” 

“I have other plans,” you shrug over your shoulder, “have a good night.” 

You don’t look back, although you feel Jungkook’s stare burning in your head. You take great care in going into drive and punching in a new destination in your clunky GPS. This time you have to do things one at a time, once you get your Tesla ten years from now, you’re sure this process will be much easier. 

Jimin’s family comes out of the airport, looking impeccable as always. Ten years younger, with puffy cherub cheeks and bright eyes. To your surprise (but also all things considered, it’s Jimin), your best friend comes out in a three-piece suit. It’s burgundy, and suits his dark hair well. He places his luggage into your car, hugs his family good-bye and waits for them to depart in their cab. 

“You are all dressed up, and for what,” you chuckle, driving out of the airport.

“Well, when you sent that voicemail that you’d be waiting for me, I changed in the bathroom,” Jimin quips, already fiddling with your radio to play some poppy overplayed music, “but why aren’t you dressed? I thought we were going to be fashionably late to prom. Spill.”

“Hm, let’s talk about it in the morning. I wanna enjoy my prom night,” and you reach over to ruffle Jimin’s soft black strands, “y’know, you’d look really sexy as a blond.” 

He pulls down your mirror, positioning it over his face. Pursing his plush lips, he tilts his head. “Yeah, maybe when I’m older,” he grins at his reflection, “so if we’re not going to prom, let’s go get pizza.” 

So the two of you get pizza. But not before you take your prom pictures. Your parents meet you at the park with their old digital camera, ready for your impromptu photoshoot. Jimin uses an old tarp to cover the car up while you change in the car, shimmying in your sparkly silver tulle dress. Your hair is held up and away from your face, looking clean enough to be presentable as you pose for the camera. The two of you pick yellow dandelions from the grass, matching flowers as last minute dates. Your parents coo and are happy for you, knowing that even if you don’t attend the actual dance, the pictures will last forever and you’ll smile at them for years. 

Eventually you tell Jimin about Jungkook and the whole fiasco (sans the ten year mental time jump.) The reaction is expected, Jimin says he wants to fuck Jungkook up. Surprisingly for him, he doesn’t have to do much to console you. In fact, you sip coolly from your smoothie and say Jungkook will probably let Jimin get a punch in even though Jungkook can bench press his tiny body in half. But you tell him you’re okay, and all you want to do is go home and binge watch. 

Jimin carries the pie in his lap while you pull up your driveway. The smell of toasty cheese and fresh dough fill your car. 

“I want to watch Sky City,” Jimin sing-songs, “Kim Seokjin is God’s gift!” 

You crinkle your nose, “He’s alright.” 

“What! You thought he was so hot like, last week.” 

“Things change.” 

Jimin makes it to your room first, saying he’ll take care of setting things up. He’ll probably steal all the available cushions and make a fort for himself while he puts a picnic blanket on the floor in front of your television. You can imagine him hogging all your stuffed animals, placing it on his side of the carpet while he rifles through your drawers so he can change out of his suit. 

Your parents tell you to take out the trash before you have fun tonight. Careful not to get your dress dirty, you hold it away from your body as you waddle out the front door. You make it two steps into the driveway before the soggy trash bag is whisked from your hands.

“I got it,” Jungkook says quietly, and it takes little to no effort for him to haul the large bag into the waiting trash can. His shoulders are slumped under his white button-up, his suit jacket probably stuffed somewhere in the back of the car. 

“Jungkook,” you reply, dumbfounded, “it’s only eight, prom isn’t even over yet.” 

“I know… but then I realized you weren’t gonna get your money’s worth if you didn’t go. I asked the waitress if she could get me a doggie bag for my date and,” he holds up a stapled bag, presumably the dinner that was supposed to be served, “it’s your favorite.” 

“Thank you,” you give him a small, grateful smile as you accept the bag. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.” 

He bites his lip, stuffing his hands in his dress pockets. “A-and you told me before you left that I should go spend prom night with my friends,” he ruffles his hair, blown out of the pomade and falling into his eyes, “and then I realized that you were right. Jennie and all those people out there aren’t really my friends. They like my rep and they like my attention, but they don’t like me.” 

You shake your head, “Jungkook, you’re very likable. Jennie and her group are just one bad bunch.” 

“But I don’t wanna be liked by my rep. I wanna be liked for the things I love,” he steps a hesitant step towards you, and he relaxes when he sees that you don’t recoil, “I haven’t told anyone this. But I want to drop that sports scholarship. I applied to an art school, and I got in.” 

Suppressing a grin with a bite of your lips, you cheer silently in your head. Things are changing. “I’m so happy for you, Jungkook. Congrats.” 

“And I’m sorry for all the fucked up things I did. Jennie may have manipulated me but I definitely was a big part of it,” Jungkook pulls the words out of the sky, finally having enough time to formulate an apology, “but please don’t doubt for a second that my feelings are fake. I really like you, and I wish we got to know each other under better circumstances.”

“I wish we could’ve,” you echo sadly. “But our futures—” 

“I don’t want to lose you.” 

“I liked you, so much. Heck, I think I might’ve loved you.”

You shake your head, frowning at his kicked puppy expression. “I’m considering a fashion school in Europe,” you reach for Jungkook’s hand, squeezing it. Letting him know that everything’s going to be okay. “You and Jimin can visit me during the breaks, Europe has some great spots to photograph.” 

Something in Jungkook’s gaze tells you that it’s not enough for him. He wants to be selfish and hold onto you tighter, but you know that’s not good for the both of you right now. “That’d be nice,” he says vaguely, giving you a pained smile. 

Jungkook rubs his thumb over your hand, relishing in the softness of your skin. “You look really pretty,” he says, looking forlornly over the dress. He can only imagine how ethereal you’d look under the fairy lights that decorated the venue, “I wish we could’ve had one dance.” 

You shrug, “The night’s still young,” you gesture to the space in the driveway, and the lights that overhead the garage. 

The slow Taylor Swift music that plays from his pocket is muffled, but it doesn’t deter either of you as he places his hands on your waist and you wrap his around his neck. You’re wearing your bunny house slippers and Jungkook’s neck is moist from his nervous sweats, but you know that this memory will be engraved in your brain for years to come. 

It feels good to know that from now on, you don’t have to be so concerned about the future now that you’ve had a taste of it. All you want now is to take it one day at a time. At this moment the, the only thing you want to do is focus on how you’re going to hold onto Jungkook for the last time. At least for now, who knows what will happen in the future. 

“I really want to kiss you, Bun,” he leans in, foreheads touching, “but I don’t deserve it.” 

“You’re right,” you tease, “you don’t.” 

He frowns playfully, “Ouch. But fair.” 

Yet you figure you’ve made enough headway these past few weeks, and you deserve to be a little selfish. One last kiss, you think to yourself. Your fingers flatten against the pressed material of his collar, meeting in the middle to clutch Jungkook’s slim black tie. Jungkook bites his lip, looking down at you for permission. With the tiniest of nods, you get on your tippy toe toes you lean forward and you can smell the apple cider lingering on his lips—

“Ohmygod—are you broken up or not!” both of you whip your heads up to see Jimin hanging over your open window, looking absolutely bored. His arms dangle over your sill, wearing a frayed high school jumper. “Either tell him to get lost or invite him over to watch television because I’m hungry!” 

You pull away from him fully, squeezing his biceps. “Want pizza?” 

He shakes his head, “I think it’s a trap. Jimin’s waiting for me to come up so he can rip my head off,” he gives a tentative wave to the second floor, but Jimin just scoffs and goes back inside, “but I’ll see you Monday.” 

“Okay. Good night, Kook.” 

“Good night, Bun.” 

Your heart pinches a little as you watch him drive away. Before, you knew what the end game was between you two. It didn’t end pretty. Now, you’re not so sure. At the very least, it isn’t ending on a sour note. 

Some time later.

“Your majesty,” you give her a practiced smile, taking careful measures not to brush the lady’s shoulders too hard in the fear she’ll whittle away, “emerald is an impeccable color on you.” 

The Queen of England (the McDuckin' Queen of England!) just laughs at you and waves you off. You can’t believe you’re photographing a real queen. This is like the childhood equivalent of meeting Malibu Barbie. You thank every single choice and mistake you’ve made in your entire life that has brought you up to this impeccable moment. She’s a vision, you could cry. In fact, you’ll cry later in the comfort of your hotel room. “Do you think the photographer will take long?” she asks, frowning, “I have drinks with my friends in an hour.” 

You smirk, pleased to know she’s still kicking it in her golden years. “Yeah, just so long as my husband doesn’t get distracted. Fifteen minutes, tops.” 

“I’m not distracted,” Jungkook huffs, pulling away from his tripod. He gives up on trying to stabilize the camera, instead preferring to go freehand for this one. He gives you an incredulous look, hands on his hips, “I have two queens in my viewfinder and I only got room for one. Get out of the shot, Bun.” 

With a playful roll of your eyes, you step away from the lady of the hour to let Jungkook do his thing. He’s right in his element, blurting choreographed poses and telling the lighting people to move at his beck and call to get the perfect angle. You stand a distance behind him, letting him take control. 

“I’m so hungry,” your whisper is low enough to blend between the jazz music, but loud enough for Jungkook’s ears to listen in, “please tell me you’re almost done.” 

“Oui, oui.” 

“Wrong language, Kook. Please don’t offend anyone,” and discreetly, you take one step closer in your Tory Burch flats, “did you get any candids of me and the Queen?” 

“Duh, Bun,” you can’t see his face but you know he’s grinning, “Jimin will faint.” 

"Oh, yes! Thank you, I love you," you gush, reaching over to discreetly pinch his butt. 

He shakes his head, looking over his shoulder to give you a brief smirk, "Show me how thankful you are tonight." 

So silly, you think. It's amazing how well you work together as two separate entities of a photoshoot yet share a brain cell in the presence of each other. In another world, Jungkook said if given the chance, he'd be by your side and make your world a better place. 

Ten years later, it's exactly that and more. 

[loverofallthingssarah]

Did you really want to hurt me?

Request: s3 cordelia x reader where reader is a top bc i cannot see pre!supreme cordelia topping lol

WARNING: SMUT, angst, mommy kink

Word Count: 1.2 K

A/N: I AM SO SORRY I TOOK IT IN THIS DIRECTION ANON! i hope you like it though! if anyone wants to be added to my nsfw taglist lemme know

Cordelia Foxx had finally regained her vision after the thoughtless act of Myrtle, but she was more blind than ever. She could see all the chaos around her but yet couldn’t see you. You - who would sacrifice all you’ve known just to see that carefree smile grace her face one more time, but she couldn’t see you.

Whenever you were around, it was like she looked right through you, but it wasn’t like this before. Before all of this happened to the Coven, you were Delia’s go to person whom she trusted with everything. You both would laugh and giggle every night away while sitting on her bed, and you could have sworn when she looked at you - she saw you, the real you. But now, all she did was look past you, as if you were no longer her person. It scared you, but you had always been so strong and commanding. The last thing you wanted was for someone to see you weak, especially over something that others might find so trivial. You never felt like you truly belonged until Delia, but now you truly felt like you were lost after she pushed you away. How could you let yourself care for someone when you knew nothing could ever truly come from it. You were a student… she was your teacher… of course, you didn’t truly mean anything to her. But you thought, after she left Hank… maybe just, maybe you would have a shot, but you were wrong as always.

Today you were moseying around the library after everyone presumably went to bed trying to find a book you had a report due on in a couple days. You were always the last minute kind of girl, but you came out in the end. While your fingers brushed the spines of the books, you heard a familiar voice behind you, “Why are you awake at this hour?”

“I have to find that book you assigned for the book report,” you say without hesitation as you look Delia in the face. She rolls her eyes, “Don’t you ever plan ahead, that report is due Friday, Y/n.”

“Yeah, well… it’s not like you care,” you snipped back. Normally, you would never talk to Delia like this, anybody else yes, but not Delia. You were just tired of the way she forgot about your very existence unless to scold you for being you.

“What does the m-mean?” she stammered out.

“Nevermind,” you say as you push past her to leave the library, but you feel her hand wrap around your wrist. You turned around and something within you snapped. You took your hands and wrapped them around her waist as you backed her into a bookshelf. Delia’s breathing picks up as she feels what’s about to happen next. “I missed you,” your lips crashed onto hers as you kissed her with fever, your teeth sunk down on her bottom lip and you heard her moan out. That moan spurred you on as you started kissing down her neck, leaving your teeth marks along in the wake. You could feel her pulse quicken under your lips and that excited you to no end.

Your hands found themselves pushing up her dress around her thighs, and as your fingertips scratched at the skin they found, Delia’s hands pulled at your loose-fitted t-shirt, as you heard her groan out, “M-more.”

“More will come soon enough, princess,” and you feel her shiver as your hand brushes against her soaked panties. You feel her squirm under your touch and you chuckle as you tease her through her panties. She lets out a guttural groan to let you know she’s had enough of your teasing, and you decide to have mercy on her.

You sneak your hands into her panties, “So wet for me, princess.” Delia lets out a strangled whine and you slowly start rubbing her clit. Her whines turn into muted moans as she tries to keep herself quiet to not wake the whole academy.

You hear her whisper out, “p-please…,” and that is all it takes for you to slam three fingers inside her center. Her teeth sink into your shoulder as she tries to quiet her screams of pleasure as you rail her against the bookshelf. The hard she bites, the faster you fuck her. Books started shaking their way off the shelves and it was long forgotten about the other residents in the academy. The only thing you both were chasing is Delia’s high, and you knew she was right there at the cusp of climax.

You leaned down and licked her pulse point before whispering in her ear, “I know you’re close, princess. All you have to do is say the magic words…”

“P-please m-mommy,” she moans out into your shoulder. That’s all it took for you to reach down and twist her clit which sent her over the edge. She bites down into your shoulder one last time as she rides out her waves of pleasure.

When Delia finally recovers, her hold on her loosens as her muscles relax. Your fingers slide out of her slowly, and she whimpers at the loss of contact. Her head slowly breaks apart from your shoulder as her eyes connect with yours, “I missed you too.”

There are so many unspoken words between you, but before you get a chance to speak… Delia softly grabbed your hand and led you out of the room. There were so many words you wanted to utter, so many feelings you wanted to express, but with her soft hand gripping yours - you were lost in the moment, lost in the feelings. When she pulled you into her room, she led you over to the bed and slid in. Her scared eyes found yours in the darkened room as she patted the other side of the bed wanting… needing you to slide in next to her. So you did, you slid in and wrapped your arms around Delia as she snuggled in against you.

You both started drifting off to sleep, and you could feel your lips utter, “I love you, darling.”

The sun crept in Delia’s window as the rays woke you from your slumber, your arm reached around to find a cold empty mattress. You sat up and looked around the room. Sliding out of her comfy bed, you decide to look around the academy to find Delia, but from room to room she is nowhere to be found. No one knew where Delia had scurried off to. The one place you haven’t looked is in your room, but why would she be in there? Giving up, you head to your room to lay down and think about what you want to say to Delia the next time you see her. What you saw when you entered your room surprised you… you saw Delia sitting on your bed with both of your suitcases packed. She was looking down at the ground unable to meet your eyes.

“Delia, what’s going on?” you ask unsure of the circumstances. Delia looks up at you, her gaze still unwilling to meet yours, “Y/n, you have to leave Robichaux’s.”

Your blood ran cold.

nsfw taglist: @orchid-fairy @rainbow-hedgehog @twistedpoeticjustice @mrsdeanhoward @citizenoftheworld-stuff-blog @commanderspeach @sapphicforsarahh @lntlmate @talulahmae @billiedeansgirl

[cordeliasdarling]

will you still love me

pairing: cordelia goode x reader

word count: 1116

summary: reader comes out as non binary to delia

extra notes: ahh this has been in the works for so long and i finally did it. this became a thing because as nb myself, i wondered what it could be like telling delia. idk, i was having a gender crisis and wanted to load it on cordelia 😭

also i know this won’t get many interactions due to the nb element (unfortunately) but i hope non nbs will like this too?

****

You could practically feel your heart thumping through your chest. Not even the therapeutic act of watering the green plants in your room could soothe the anxiety manifesting inside you. Your hands trembled slightly, causing the watering can to accidently spill some water on the desk that occupied the corner of the bedroom you shared with your girlfriend.

You'd been with Cordelia Goode for almost a year now, you loved her more that life itself. She knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes, apart from this one thing, that you were planning on tell her when she came back from her meeting with the council.

The 'thing' was, that you'd recently discovered that you idendified as non binary, but you hadn't mentioned this to Cordelia, or anyone at all, for that matter. It was still so new to you, telling your girlfriend seemed even harder than admitting who you were to yourself.

"It's okay, she won't hate you, she's not that type of person." You tried to reassure yourself, taking deep breaths. Cordelia surely wouldn't love you any less, right? She was extremely open minded, of course, she was part of the lgbt community herself.

But what if she doesn't want to date someone non binary?

Worry seized you by the throat, and breathing now felt like a hardship. So you set the watering can down and practically ran to the garden, feet almost slipping on the stairs and the recently polished flooring.

Once crisp winter air hit your face, it  started to calm you down. The cold air caused small prickles against your skin, but it was a nice sensation. Your heartbeat began to regulate, thankfully.

"Are you okay (Y/N)?" A familiar voice startled you. Looking up, you realised that Madison had been outside the whole time, and judging by the cigarette in her hand, she'd been having a smoking break.

"I'm fine, thanks." You mumbled, your gaze dropping to the floor, almost afraid that Madison would somehow read your mind and find out, but you had to remind yourself that Madison wasn't clairvoyant.

"Could have fooled me." With narrow eyes, the blonde witch examined you, trying to figure out what was going on.

"I'm just.. well.. uh-" It was impossible to explain the feelings. Madison tilted her head, showing that she was listening. "I'm going to tell Cordelia something, and I'm scared how she's going to react."

"Please don't tell me you've been cheating or something." She sighed, jumping to conclusions. You shook your head in horror that she could even think you would ever cheat on your beloved girlfriend.

"No! I would never!" Your voice was on the edge of annoyance, but you calmed yourself. Now wasn't the time to be annoyed. Before you could say anything more, someone else's presence interrupted you both. Looking behind you, your stomach soared, a smile automatically gracing your lips, like it always was when Cordelia appeared.

"Hey there sweetheart, I missed you." Your supreme gave you a tight hug, giving you all sorts of butterflies in your stomach.

"I missed you too. How was the meeting?" You asked, not registering the fact that Madison had disappeared, because Cordelia now had your complete attention, as usual.

"Good actually, they like the idea of creating a new school in Europe!" Her eyes sparkled with happiness. You felt relief on her behalf, you knew how anxious she'd been about it.

"That’s brilliant darling, I'm glad."

She nodded, but her smile faded slightly when she held your hand and noticed how clammy it was. It was a tell tale sign that you were stressed about something. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

A nervous chuckle left your lips, looking anywhere but her. "Nothing." But your voice changed to a higher pitch, yet another one of your tell tale signs.

"Mhm, now the truth." Cordelia rubbed your arm soothingly.

You met her eyes again, taking a deep breath. It was now or never. "Actually, there's something I want to tell you.. can we go to our room?" She nodded, and used her transmutation to travel to the bedroom in a split second.

The both of you sat down on the bed, Cordelia immeditely taking your now shaking hands into hers. Her eyebrows were furrowed in worry, but she stayed silent, patiently waiting until you were ready, which you were thankful for. She was always so good in these situations.

"So.. there's something about me that I've discovered, it's taken me a while to come to terms with it, but I don't want to keep it from you any longer."

She nodded, rubbing small soothing circles with her thumb on the back of your hand. "You can tell me anything."

Taking another deep breath, you had to make sure of one thing, "I don't want you to think any differently of me, hopefully you'll want to still be with me, but I understand if you don't." Your sentence made Cordelia frown even more.

"Honey, nothing in the world would make me think differently of you. Please, you're worrying me." She nibbled her bottom lip in concern.

"Okay, here goes. I'm.. I'm non binary."

There it was, you'd done it. Technically that was the easy part, saying the words. Now the hardest part; waiting for the reaction. It could either go well, or terribly bad. There was a silence. Your heart sunk. Surely that meant she didn't accept it.

You moved to stand up, but a gentle hand on your shoulder stopped you. Your eyes watered, refusing to look up.

"(Y/N), did you really believe that I would think differently of you?" Cordelia spoke softly. Finally you looked up, seeing the smile on her face.

"I don't know.."

"I love you, (Y/N), nothing would change that, especially not the fact that you're non binary. I want you to be you, that’s all I want." Her words filled your heart with happiness.

"Really? So this doesn't change anything?" Hopefulness overtook your worried tone.

"Of course it doesn't." She pulled you close, wrapping her arms around your waist and kissing your forehead. "I do have a few questions though, if that's okay."

You nodded, that was to be expected, but you didn't mind at all. “Can we discuss that tonight though? The stress of planning to tell you has exhausted me.” You chuckled, now knowing how foolish you were to think that Cordelia Goode would break up with you, when you knew she was the most understanding and kindest woman in the world.

“Of course, we’ll take it all at your pace.” She smiled again and held you close, leaving a kiss on your forehead.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

****