#Go out of your way to spend Valentine’s Day together three years in a row but STILL not say anything

[slxsherr]

You're My Favorite Explosion

read part I here and part II here

pairing: charlie walker x bimbo!fem!reader

summary: your relationship isn't perfect, but neither of you could imagine being with anyone else.

wc: 1558

warnings: fem!reader, cursing swearing, kinda angsty, oral sex (m!receiving), unprotected sex (p in v), creampie

bimbo!reader and charlie have a pretty chill senior year imo, since charlie’s busy with you he never gets roped into jill’s ghostface plan.

bimbo!reader ends up being pretty good friends with kirby, completely oblivious to her and charlie’s past. it leads to some awkward situations, but eventually you figure out it’s best not to involve the two. 

bimbo!reader buys charlie three months of a horror movie themed subscription box for christmas and he nearly screams when he opens it and a slasher’s head pops out like a jack in the box. he got you a heart locket with his initials engraved on the back, he’s embarrassed bc he thinks it’s cheesy but you love it. 

bimbo!reader is charlie’s first new year’s kiss, among other new year’s firsts ;)

bimbo!reader and charlie say “i love you” for the first time on valentine’s day. 

bimbo!reader and charlie go to the beach over spring break, and he nearly cums in his trunks when he sees you in your skimpy little bikini. he worries some surfer dude is gonna steal you away from him, but his worries are quickly laid to rest when you spend the whole time doting on him. you’re worried he’s gonna burn, he’s so pale, so you make sure he reapplies sunblock and ask him to get your back and shoulders bc “skin cancer isn’t sexy, baby”.

bimbo!reader gets upset during prom season, charlie never asks you to be his date so you feel like he doesn’t wanna go. he just thought it was implied you were going together, plans a cheesy promposal to make it up to you.

bimbo!reader gets nominated for prom queen and actually wins, but refuses to dance with the prom king bc you don’t wanna dance with anyone else but charlie. 

bimbo!reader almost doesn’t graduate bc of some misunderstandings in class, but charlie helps you appeal to the teachers and turn in your missing assignments so you can graduate. 

bimbo!reader throws charlie a party when he gets accepted as a film major at usc.

bimbo!reader drags charlie to parties, beaches, concerts, anything to spend time with him before he leaves for college, since you're not going to the same one as him.

bimbo!reader and charlie get into an argument before he leaves, he says things he doesn't mean, things he shouldn't have said, and you let him know that he's free to fuck whoever he wants at usc since he's single now.

college!charlie regrets the whole stupid argument, his first few weeks of college are shit bc everyone is more pretentious than him, none of the girls are you, and he's pretty sure his roommate has been using his shampoo.

college!charlie leaves a party early when a drunk girl tries making out with him, her lipgloss is nauseating, and he misses your soft, fruit flavored kisses.

college!charlie finds you walking down greek row on his way back to his dorm, crying with your heels in hand, and he doesn't hesitate to console you.

“Why are you crying?,” Charlie asks, standing in front of you, surprising you. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask him, tone accusatory, ignoring his question.

“I should be asking you that question, but I’m not. Why are you crying?” He repeats his question, watching your mascara run down your cheeks as you sniffle. 

“I got dragged to a stupid frat party,” you answer, throwing your arms over his shoulders to pull him into a hug. 

“Is that it? Nothing happened?” He asks, his own arms wrapping around your waist and holding you close to him. 

“Not really, I just wish you were with me,” you say, and Charlie can feel your tears through his shirt, dampening his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice cracking as he holds back his own tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“Can I stay with you tonight?” You ask, ignoring his apology. 

“Anything you want,” he says, and the two of you separate to begin walking to his dorm. 

It’s almost as if nothing has changed, Charlie is the same as before you broke up, offering to switch shoes so you don’t have to walk barefoot. He stumbles at first in your heels, but once you manage to give him tips through your laughs he’s able to walk normally. Thankfully his dorm isn’t far, soon you’re both in the elevator, and he’s able to shamelessly take off your heels to walk down the hall to his room. 

Charlie has half a mind to block the door with a chair, but figures his roommate will just go home with a friend or a girl from the party he left him at. Instead, he focuses his attention on you, watching you strip out of your revealing outfit and going through his dresser to wear one of his shirts. He wonders if this is what you would’ve done every weekend if he hadn’t said what he said when the two of you had that stupid fight, but he tries not to think about it too much as he changes clothes and joins you in his twin bed, way too small for both of you and forcing you closer together. 

“I forgive you, Charlie,” you say after a while, head resting on his chest, your breaths syncing with his as the two of you begin to doze off. 

“Thank you,” he says, voice soft as his eyes well with tears.

“I love you, baby,” you say, moving on top of him, straddling his hips. “I love you so much,” you say again, leaning down to kiss him, and he can taste the faint trace of fruity lipgloss you wear, most likely having worn off throughout the night.

“I love you too,” he says when your lips separate from his, feeling you pepper kisses across his face. “I’ve missed you so much,” he says, hands massaging your hips as you grind on him, your kisses trailing lower, across his jawline and down his neck. 

“Me too, missed you so much,” you say, moving down the bed, pulling down his boxers to reveal his half-formed erection. 

You don’t waste time, spitting in your palm to wrap around his shaft and licking at the tip languidly. It gets messy quickly, as he leaks pre and hardens fully, you start drooling. Your own underwear is damp just from listening to his moans, walls clenching around nothing when you hear him whimper when you suck on his tip. He pulls you away from his dick, and you move back up the bed to kiss him at his request. 

“You don’t have to do that, let me–” he says, trying to switch positions, but you stop him. 

“No, I wanna ride you,” you say, lining him up with your entrance, your underwear pushed to the side, sitting on his cock before he can try to flip you over again.

“Fuck,” he moans, feeling your tight walls for the first time since before the semester started, holding your hips in a bruising grip to keep you from moving. 

Your nails scratch against his lower stomach, leaving thin red lines as you try to move, desperate for any movement. Throughout your breakup, you had been far too miserable to try to find someone else, and your sex drive had almost completely disappeared once your pretty boyfriend wasn’t around. Now that he’s under you, buried deep inside you, stretching you on his cock and setting a fire inside you, you can’t hold back. 

Prying his hands off your hips and holding them down on either side of his head is easier than you thought, and you intertwine your fingers as you lift your hips up, squeezing them when you slam your hips back down. His voice is heavenly, encouraging you to keep a steady pace as you bounce on his dick, moaning wantonly as you connect your lips to his in a sloppy kiss.

It’s messy, desperate sex, both of you giving and taking pleasure from the other, eager to let the other know how much they were missed. You let go of his hands to move his hair out of his face, gripping the dark locks when his hands grope your tits, pinching your nipples before moving down to tease your clit. 

Your pace falters from the sudden stimulation, and he takes the opportunity to plant his feet and grab your hips, fucking up into you at a faster pace. He reaches deeper this way, making you keen in his ear as the two of you approach orgasm. Thin red lines run from his shoulders to his chest, your nails marking him as he pinches your clit, and you cry out as he keeps fucking you through your release. 

“Fuck, baby, just a bit more,” he says, voice strained, feeling you shake as you tense up in pleasure. 

Your words are more like whines, slurring out barely comprehensible ‘i love you's and begging for him to cum. It’s what sends him over the edge, hearing you begging for him to finish, and his pace falters as he cums inside you, haphazardly bucking up into you as he rides out his high.

For the first time since he started college, Charlie falls asleep peacefully, your warmth soothing him. It’s easy to drift off when he doesn’t have guilt, remorse, and longing gnawing at his heart.

[jillianallen14]

Spirk fanfic rec

Some amazing Spirk fanfic to bless your dash because I’m falling in love with this shit all over again (this is like the 10th time this has happened lol):

Entering Orbit:  Jim escapes to Iowa to avoid the media frenzy following the Narada incident, but a late-night miscommunication results in Spock turning up on his front porch; rated m; 30,957 words

Papers in the Roadside:  Non-Starfleet AU. Jim owns a small bar in Chicago, keeps on picking up strays and taking care of everyone no matter how hard it makes his own life. Spock is a journalist writing feature articles for the Chicago Tribune; he depicts the world with uncanny skill, but hides more than one personal drama and is possibly under surveillance from the Vulcan royal family. They meet by accident just before their lives start to spin out of control; rated e; 49,637 words

Take Refuge in What You Know:  AU - Kirk has moved into a apartment/house and wants to get to know his neighbors. He meets his neighbor Spock, a loner who suffers from extreme agoraphobia. Kirk thinks he's beautiful enigma; rated e; 120,334 words

Listen, this is not only my favorite Star Trek fic of all time, it’s also one of my favorite fanfics in general. It’s right up there with Text Talk and The Shoebox Project from the HP fandom, which if you’ve read, you know are incredible and frankly life-changing. And this fanfic changed my life. The description the author gives doesn’t do the beauty of this fic justice. I suffer from agoraphobia and Spock’s depiction as an agoraphobic man was probably the most well-researched, sympathetic, empathetic, caring, realistic portrayal of what it’s like to be agoraphobic that I’ve ever witnessed in fiction. It made me cry like a child because I had never felt so seen and understood. This writer is incredible, and this fic is incredible. I can’t recommend it enough. It’s an AU, which I’m usually pretty wary about, but it barely even feels like an AU. It just feels like Jim and Spock. The author’s understanding of both of their characters’ is perfect, like just a spot-on portrayal of who they are. This fic genuinely helped me accept who I am and helped me understand that I am capable of & deserving of love. If you don’t read any other Star Trek fics (and you def should read more Star Trek fics because they’re amazing), then let this one be the one you read. I dare you not to read it three times in a row like I did.

Observations:  First Officer Spock comments on life aboard the Enterprise and his service under Captain James T. Kirk; rated m; 500,000+ words.

So the author of this fic actually did a thing where they made this fic into two books (similar to what The Shoebox Project authors did many years ago in the HP fandom). They don’t get any money from people buying the books; the cost is just to go towards producing the books. This fic is the equivalent of two LARGE novels. We’re talking 600 pages & up. It’s a huge fic. Now, that being said, I read it in one day. ONE DAY. It’s that good. This is another one of my all-time favorite fics, though not quite as dear to my heart as the one I listed above. It’s focused on AOS, and tbh, I forget that what happens in this book isn’t actually canon. Like it’s so well-told, it just feels like it’s now part of the timeless story of Kirk & Spock. The “professional” Star Trek writers would never be brave enough to do what this author does with Kirk and Spock, though. This fic will make you angry, will make you laugh, will make you cry. It has such a good grasp on every single character. It also shows the love between the crew of the Enterprise, which is always a treat, and it’s beautifully done in this fic. It has a sorta-enemies-to-lovers arc between Spirk and an enemies-to-close-friends arc between Spock and McCoy that is beautifully done and fleshed out. This fic is definitely a journey to go through, and I can’t recommend it enough. It’s extremely slow burn, and you will want to slap both Kirk and Spock (and McCoy) upside the head at certain points lol. 

Of Coffee Beans and Green Tea Leaves:  The progression of a relationship, through Coffee Beans and Green Tea Leaves. Basically, it’s an AU where Kirk works at a coffee shop to pay his way through school, and Spock visits often. rated t; 16,429 words

Love, love, love, this fic. It’s cute, it’s in character. They have kind of a rocky start together, so it’s got a little bit of that Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy i-hated-you-but-now-i-love-you-marry-me vibes to it. I’m a sucker for that, if you haven’t figured that out by now lol. It’s really good, and a really enjoyable read. And it’s not too long, if you’re in the mood for something on the shorter end of things.

 Please Don’t Touch the Vulcans:  The "yes" is out of Jim's mouth before he can think about it. Jim is chipper about having time off for the holidays. He asks everyone if they want to spend time together but sadly, everyone ditches Jim over the holidays because they have plans. McCoy visits his daughter, Nyota visits her family, and everyone splits. Not knowing Spock has feelings for him, Jim doesn't even bother asking if he wants to spend time together figuring he has something to do. Something cute, romantic with the boys spending time with one another and confessions; rated m; 17,690 words

Super cute and has lots of Sarek, which idk about y’all, but I’m always a fan of. Sarek and Jim kind of get to know each other a bit, and it’s cute. Sarek knows about they’re in love before Spock & Kirk know lol. If I remember correctly, there’s also some appearances from everyone’s favorite: Old!Spock! You also get a little bit of jealous and protective Young!Spock. So you’re in for a real treat with this one. 

The Ren shat’var Trilogy:  A split-second decision changes Jim's life forever, as he enters into a bond with Spock in the face of certain torture. Enemies to the Federation emerge from unlikely places, and the command team must contend with unexpected threats, as well as challenges within their own intense relationship. In this three-part series, the Enterprise races across the galaxy to confront the unknown, and Jim and Spock discover the true significance of their unprecedented connection; rated e; 184,411 words

Textual Attraction:  Valentine’s Day does not bring up pleasant memories for Cadet Kirk. But the serendipitous switch-up of his cell phone with a particular Vulcan professor’s will make his day far more interesting –and romantic. Perhaps some new memories can be made! 15,900 words

SO GOOD. Just SO good

Spaceman:  Academy AU. Five times Spock realizes he's attracted to a barista at the academy spaceport, and one time he decides to do something about it. rated t; 3728 words

Short, sweet, funny. You’ll love it.

Subtext: Texting your Vulcan first officer in the middle of the night is never a good idea. Especially when you have an obsessive crush on said Vulcan.The holidays are approaching and Jim is left entirely Spockless aboard the Enterprise when his First takes shore leave on New Vulcan. After some midnight pining, Jim sends a text he instantly regrets. That is, until Spock responds and willingly continues their textual communications to an inevitable conclusion; rated t; 13,032 words

Cute, sweet, funny. It’s a texting fic. I think you’ve probably figured out I love those. This one makes me laugh so fucking hard. Like actually laugh-out-loud-omg-did-i-just-snort kind of funny. Spock is great in this one

All Spock Wants For Christmas:  While Jim is away on a delegation mission, he panics about what to give Spock for Christmas. With help from Bones and Uhura, and in between some spam texting with Spock, Jim realizes he already has the perfect gift. And all it needs is wrapping paper and a bow; rated t; 11,966 words

And here we have another cute, sweet, funny texting fic. Sue me lol

The Morning After:  Jim convinces Spock to take shore leave with him on Risa, hoping the time together will help re-solidify their bond of friendship after some recent tension. Meanwhile, Spock convinces himself he's on Risa for one reason and one reason only, to prevent his wayward captain from getting into trouble. After a passionately illogical night of Romulan Ale and chocolate infused liquor, everything changes when Jim wakes with something other than a hangover filling his head. Something he's sure neither he nor Spock can handle. Because if Jim knows anything for sure, it's that his messed up thoughts belong nowhere near Spock's clean, ordered mind; rated m; 50,381 words

HAHA. This fic fucking cracks me up. You’ve got drunk boys pining over each other & not realizing it. You’ve got accidental marriage. You’ve got bed sharing. It’s great, it’s cute, it’s funny. 

Take This Sinking Boat (And Point It Home):  In which Spock pines, Jim isn’t stupid (except he kind of is), and Christopher Pike has had enough of this bullshit; 6698 words

Pike is great in this one, and it’s super, super funny.

Extracurricular Activities:   Spock returns to the Academy from a tour of duty to find an intriguing cadet captures his attention; rated e; 15,433 words

Veritas: Basically, Kirk and Spock are on trial because the Federation thinks they are emotionally compromised by each other, which is putting the lives of their crew in danger. They have to convince a court they’re not actually in love with each other. They think the claims are bullshit. They think it will be easy to prove that they aren’t in love or emotionally compromised, damn it. It isn’t; rated m; 186,80 words

This one is so, so good. A real gem off of Fanfic.net. I remember it was actually one of the first Spirk fanfics I ever read, and it blew me away. The progression of their relationship is really well-done and interesting. It has star-crossed lovers vibes and has some really emotionally intense moments in it, especially for Spock. 

A Habitual Affection:  Living in 1930s New York with the Vulcan you're secretly in love with is no simple thing. But Jim never liked anything simple. And then, the big snowstorm hit...; rated t; 7998 words

A beautiful TOS fic about one of the gayest episodes of Star Trek. Love this one. 

Atlas:  Between what was and what will be stands James Tiberius Kirk, in all his fractured patchwork glory. Because saving the Federation was only the beginning; rated t; 135,529 words

A beaut. Really great characterization, and the progression of Jim and Spock’s relationship is really well-done.

[gukyi]

that’s the spirit! | myg

summary: min yoongi hates halloween. as his best friend and resident halloween-lover, that is simply unacceptable. but when halloween night rolls around and you and min yoongi feel farther apart than ever before, you discover that what’s come between you is more than just a bad trick, and that no matter what day it is, loving him is the sweetest treat of all.

{college!au, friends to lovers!au, halloween!au}

pairing: min yoongi x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, a little angst? (a little i promise) word count: 8k (woohoo! i did it!) warnings: alcohol consumption, underage drunkenness in flashbacks, misunderstandings, helpless but mutual pining, halloween parties, this is halloween during college, what else do you expect a/n: some scenes inspired by love, rosie, my absolute favorite rom-com! happy halloween, and i hope this brings some joy to your life before armageddon i mean election day rolls around! much love 🎃💜

Min Yoongi hates Halloween. 

Which is ridiculous, because you assume that there must have been at least one time in his life where he liked it. Halloween is a universally-liked holiday. It was the one day of the year where he, an unbridled child rebelling against authority, got to dress up as his favorite book character, superhero, or movie star, hang out with his friends past sunset, and solicit strangers for free candy. Free candy! How could anyone hate that?

But the thing is, it doesn’t matter what Min Yoongi was like in his youth. Ever since you met him, he has hated Halloween. For reasons completely unbeknownst to you. 

Unfortunately for Min Yoongi, just because he hates Halloween doesn’t mean that he gets to spend his October pretending that it doesn’t exist. Because, unlike him, you do not hate Halloween. In fact, you rather like it. So much so that Min Yoongi has to deal with the holiday no matter what. For better… 

“Ah! What the fuck!”

Or for worse.

You pop your head out of your bedroom to find Yoongi about to throw down with the fake skeleton you’ve propped up by the door, one of those cheesy ones from Spirit Halloween that make a zombie sound whenever its artificial brain can sense someone near it. He’s got this wide-eyed look on his face, fists up in front of him like he’s going to beat the damn thing senseless, even though Min Yoongi is barely five-feet-ten and has a body that functions exclusively on iced coffee and could probably get taken down by the average third-grader. 

Min Yoongi does not have a flight instinct. He only knows how to fight. 

He’s muttering to himself by the time you emerge completely from your bedroom, grumbling about how he nearly wet himself at the sight of the thing, fingers glossing over the plastic bones as he inspects them. There he stands in the doorway of your apartment, curled-up fists tucked inside the too-long sleeves of his too-big hoodie, pink lips parted in innocent confusion as he blinks at your apartment’s new resident. 

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” You chide from where you stand in your room, watching as Yoongi jerks his head up. The sound of your voice seems to catch him off guard for a minute, eyes wide in shock before he realizes that it’s you and his whole body relaxes. “Was that you I just heard screaming outside my apartment, Min Yoongi?”

“No,” Yoongi deadpans, fully aware that the both of you know that it was him. “Must have been someone else.”

“Yes, of course, my mistake,” you tease, coming up behind him to rub his upper arm, the palm of your hand pressing against the worn fabric of his hoodie sleeve as he sighs. “You don’t have a problem with my festive decorations at all, do you?”

“Not those,” Yoongi frowns, pointing to the orange and black streamers hanging above your apartment window, to the mini pumpkins sitting in the center of your dinky kitchen table, to the construction paper cutouts of black cats decorating your walls. He rounds on the skeleton, propped up right next to the door with the sole purpose of scaring whatever visitors you have. “This, I have a problem with. What is this thing?”

You smile proudly. “Reginald.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Yoongi looks at you, positively flabbergasted. “You named it?”

You scoff. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I? I bought him, he’s mine now, and he needed a name. So I named him Reginald. What’s the issue here?” You weren’t about to buy a twenty-five dollar plastic skeleton, set him up to be your personal doorman, and not give him a name. 

“The issue is that this—” he motions to Reginald’s face, “—is the first thing I see when I walk into your apartment, instead of—oh, I don’t know—you,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Aw, I’m touched,” you say, pressing a hand to your heart. “Didn’t know you always wanted to see my face first thing when you come over.”

Yoongi’s gaze drifts down towards the floor, thumbs twiddling. “Well, yeah,” he mumbles, words barely audible. “Why else would I come over?”

“I don’t know, for the ambience, maybe?” You say with a shrug, watching him slide his backpack off of his shoulder and onto the floor by the couch. “Anyway, maybe if you had come with me to Spirit Halloween when I went shopping for decorations, you wouldn’t be so surprised.”

“I had two midterms that week! Two!” Yoongi reminds you.”

“I’m just saying,” you tell him, hands up defensively as you make your way to the kitchen, fishing out two teabags from the cabinet as you set the kettle to boil. You never used to like tea, but a year ago Yoongi convinced you to try this jasmine flower one from the Asian supermarket downtown and you haven’t looked back. Now there’s always at least three spare boxes in your kitchen cupboards, for you and for him. “No time is a bad time to get into the Halloween spirit.”

Yoongi sighs, loud and obvious, because this is the third year in a row you’ve brought up this conversation and it’s not any more convincing than it was the last two times. “Do we have to do this?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t we just pretend it’s November Eve?”

“Come on, Yoongi,” you plead, because he’s never given you a good explanation as to why he refuses to spend Halloween with you, and you just want to know why. “Won’t you just celebrate this one stupid holiday with me?”

“So you admit it’s stupid?”

“That’s not what I meant.” You frown at him, crossing your arms as the kettle starts whistling. 

Yoongi exhales, reaching over you to pour the boiling water into your teacups, matching His and Hers ones you bought from the sale section of Target last year for Valentine’s Day. “It’s just not my thing. You know that.”

“But we’re college students,” you exclaim. “Halloween is the best when you’re a college student! You get to dress up as whatever you want and go to five different parties and spend the night with your friends without your parents chaperoning you.”

Yoongi purses his lips, unconvinced. “So… basically an opportunity to get piss drunk in a frat house? No thanks, I’ll pass.”

“You know that I wouldn’t care what we did if you celebrated Halloween with me,” you say, leaning against the counter as you hold your mug in your hands, the heat warming your palms and steam brushing against the skin of your cheeks. “Even if we just stayed in and watched a movie. Or played one of those horror video games Jungkook’s always talking about.”

“That sounds worse,” Yoongi admits with a helpless laugh. It really does. Neither you nor Yoongi have ever been huge fans of the horror genre Jungkook loves so much. 

You chuckle. “Honestly, yeah, forget I said anything about that.”

“You know I just don’t care for Halloween that much,” Yoongi says, gazing down into the swirling brown of his mug, the steam from the water making his glasses fog up. “It’s nothing personal.”

You sigh. That’s about as good of an answer you’re going to be getting out of him. No matter what you suggest, whether it be a house party, a night in, or even just a candy feast, he has always declined, citing his unexplainable dislike for the festivities. The only reason he deals with the holiday in the first place is because you love it so much. 

“Will you at least help me carve some pumpkins please?” You ask, a last ditch effort to get him to participate. “The supermarket on Fifteenth Street is having a sale on them, and I wanted to decorate the windowsill. It’s easier with two people, you know.”

Yoongi narrows his eyes, looking hesitant. 

“Oh, please, Yoongi? Just this once? It’s not even, like, a strictly Halloween thing. It’s just a fall thing! Plus, we can roast the pumpkin seeds after for a snack,” you plead, placing your cup down on the counter so you can tug on his arms, hands wrapped around his wrists as you stare into his eyes, positively desperate. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Yoongi says with a huff, that resigned tone to his voice that signifies that he’s caving in. “Yes, we can carve pumpkins together. That I will do.”

“Oh my God, really? Yes! Yay, thank you so much!” In a fit of excitement, surprise, and joy, you pull Yoongi in for a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck as he tilts back in shock, tea spilling out over the edge of his mug and onto the linoleum floor beneath your feet, drops of it splashing against your skin. 

“Whoa, whoa, okay,” Yoongi says, taken aback. Still nestled tightly within your arms, he carefully sets his mug down onto the counter so as to avoid more spilling, his other hand pressing against the small of your back. “I didn’t know pumpkin carving was so important to you.”

You laugh, pulling away as you look into his eyes, crinkled up into fond little crescents. “It’s not. But you are.”

“So cheesy,” Yoongi chides.

“You love it,” you remind him, pressing the side of your body against his as you lean against the counter together. Instinctively, you let your head flop onto his shoulder, fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck. “Thanks for doing this for me,” you say softly. 

“Of course,” Yoongi says. “Anything for you.”

“Look how festive campus is!”

Yoongi chuckles as he watches you skip down the main walkway, the one that winds right from the west to the east side of campus, relishing in the feeling of autumn. Yoongi always forgets that it’s fall until it hits him like a brick to the head, and suddenly it’s getting dark at five-thirty and he can’t go outside without a proper jacket anymore. It’s a week until November, and Yoongi still refuses to wear anything heavier than a denim jacket, no matter how cold it gets. It can’t be winter yet, right?

“Wow, all the tones really fit the spooky mood,” you tell him, leaves crinkling as your feet step on the fallen foliage, brown and orange and yellow and red.

“How convenient it is that orange happens to be one of Halloween’s signature colors,” Yoongi chides with a roll of his eyes. “Is the Castle still hosting that party next week?”

“The costume one? Yeah, I’m pretty sure,” you tell him with a nod. “We’re still going, right?”

“Only because it’s our first year,” Yoongi reminds you pointedly. “And since you wanna celebrate together so badly.”

You scoff. “Don’t act like it’s such a drag. I know you want to spend time with me.”

Yoongi chuckles to himself, casual and cool. He knows you’re just teasing him but quite frankly, if Yoongi could spend every day of the rest of his life with you, then he would. If he could turn himself into a witch and cast a spell to keep you by his side for the rest of time, then he would. From the moment the two of you met in your dingy dorm, you clicked. And Yoongi knew, in that moment. He just knew. 

“Oh my God, look at the pumpkins!” 

Your voice breaks him from his thoughts, your finger pointing excitedly at the carved pumpkins outside of the dormitories that line the walkway, lit candles nestled safely inside. They’ve got everything from the college logo to video game characters to the face of your lovable-but-memeable university president carved into them, decorating the street with a little more personality than normal. 

“They’re so cute, holy shit,” you tell Yoongi fondly, all endeared and heart-eyed, the same way you get when someone walks their dog through campus or a professor sends out an update email with a picture of their newborn grandchild. Yoongi’s only known you a couple of months, but already he’s starting to figure out what makes you tick. “I love them. Don’t you love them, Yoongi?”

You turn around to meet Yoongi’s eyes, and when he looks back at you it feels like his whole heart is lighter. He sees your smile and it makes his body fill with warmth, like someone’s wrapping a blanket around him, like a warm cup of hot cocoa on a cool autumn afternoon. He looks back at you, and it feels like everything is right. 

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, grinning. “I do.”

The lopsided legs of your creaky kitchen table tremble as the pumpkin hits it. 

“Damn, is this thing heavy or am I just getting weaker?” You ask, smoothing out the newspaper spread out on the flat surface of the table, two college students’ best attempt to avoid a mess. They’re old student copies with headlines like Brand New Cafeteria, but is the Food Even Any Good? and New Semester, New Me! sprawled across the front. You care about your school news, you really do, but the members of the newspaper team that hand out the papers practically stuff them down your throat whenever there’s a new issue, which is three times a week and at every street intersection on campus. So you’ve had extras lying around. 

“Nope, they’re definitely heavy,” Yoongi agrees as he plops his pumpkin onto the table next to yours with a thud. “Though it’s not like I go to the gym much anyway.”

“Didn’t we say we were gonna try and be healthier this year, since we’re graduating?” You ask. 

“That was before that new doughnut place opened up next to the ramen restaurant three streets up,” Yoongi reminds you. 

“Maybe grad school?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, reaching over the table to grab the pumpkin carving kits the two of you bought from the drugstore down the road. “Caution. Keep out of reach of children ages three and under,” he reads. “Welp, guess I can’t do this then…”

“Ha ha, very funny,” you say with a deadpan frown, grabbing onto his wrist. “Hold on a minute, Mr. I Promised I Would Do This For My Best Friend.” Yoongi exhales dramatically as you pull him back towards the table, though it’s not as if there was much resistance from him in the first place.

You pry open the plastic wrapping that surrounds the kit, the orange tools eventually popping out of their casing and onto your newspaper-ed table. Sure, you could have probably pulled out two knives from your kitchen drawer and it wouldn’t make a difference, but spending ten dollars each on these two little pumpkin carving kits didn’t seem like a waste of money. For the sake of Halloween spirit, right?

“What do you want to carve?” You ask, handing Yoongi your open kit as you gaze at the instruction manual. Pumpkin carving shouldn’t be too difficult, should it? You cut open the top, pull out all the gunk from the inside, and then carve a face, or something. 

“I’m not a very good artist,” Yoongi admits, looking hesitant. 

“Well, the good thing about pumpkin carving is that no one expects them to look nice,” you point out. “I think I want to do that anime eyes face emoji. You know the one. Let’s see…”

You grab a hold of the plastic knife that came with the kit, hover the tip over the top of the pumpkin, and stab. It sinks into the squash up to the hilt. That’s the good part. 

The bad part is that, because you’re holding onto a knife made out of non-recyclable plastic, moving it once it’s inside the pumpkin is exceedingly difficult. You pull it right and left fruitlessly, watching as the knife sits firmly in place, the handle bending with the curve of your fingers if you tug on it too hard. 

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Yoongi says with another sigh, abandoning his own pumpkin, which he has already de-stalked in the minutes you weren’t looking his way. “Let me help you.”

Suddenly, you feel a warmth wrap around you. A figure presses against your back, this musky, coffee-laden scent surrounding you, and you watch as Yoongi’s calloused hands slowly envelop yours, fingertips pressing firmly against your skin. It makes you freeze up instinctively, jumping at the sensation of his body around yours, of his torso pressed against your back, of his breath tickling your ear. 

“Relax, alright?” He says, voice calm and gentle. He brings your hands to the knife, lets his palms rest against them as your fingers slowly wrap around the handle. You can feel him breathing, feel the slow rise and fall of his chest against you, the heat of his mouth just inches away from your cheek. “It’s just me.”

You force a chuckle. “You just surprised me, that’s all.”

You feel Yoongi pause behind you. 

“Seriously, I’m fine. Help me,” you insist. 

Steadily, albeit a little bit tentatively, Yoongi does. His hand wrapped around yours, together the two of you carve out the top of the pumpkin, his chest pressed firmly against your back, body engulfing you. He feels so close, so goddamn close, like there is barely an inch of space in between the two of you, like if he were to bend down right there and if you were shift yourself around you would see nothing but his face right in front of yours, his hazy brown eyes looking back at you, twinkling in the white light of your kitchen. 

It almost makes you want to turn around and look. 

“There we go,” Yoongi says, voice suddenly soft, quiet like there’s something else weighing on his tongue. “What are you thinking of carving?”

“I don’t know,” you murmur, lips upturned. “Maybe you?”

“I don’t make for a very attractive pumpkin picture,” Yoongi says with a shake of his head, even though that’s total bullshit for a number of reasons. 

First of all, a pumpkin portrait is by no means meant to be an attractive portrayal of you, unless you’re Keanu Reeves and you look photogenic no matter what. Second of all, there has never been a time where Yoongi has not looked good. He always does. He did during finals week when his body was made of nothing but iced coffee, he did in freshman year when the two of you would stay awake until the early morning getting vodka spilled all over you in frat houses, and he does now, tired eyes and soft skin, dark hair and pink lips, standing in your apartment like he belongs here, like this is where he was meant to be. 

“I think you would,” you tell him honestly. “You’d look good no matter what.”

Yoongi’s silent at that, but you can tell from the way his cheeks are turning red he’s taken the compliment to heart. It makes you want to shower him in them. It makes you want to freeze this moment in time, suspended in reality, and stay like that forever. 

“Then I’ll do you,” he says with a grin, because what else would he say? Who else would he choose? You are going to put two matching pumpkins on your windowsill, and they will be of you and him. Messy, Picasso-style portraits carved into the orange skin. Two best friends, together even as fucking pumpkins. 

You will carve out a picture of him, and he will carve out a picture of you, and isn’t that what this is really all about?

“Do you think people are gonna get the wrong idea about us?” 

“What do you mean?”

Yoongi turns around to face you where you stand in front of your dorm mirror, this giant plastic one hanging on two hooks that you’ve latched onto the door of your room. He knows that you can see him in the mirror, staring back at you with a black mask over his face and a cape draped over his shoulders, the giant yellow emblem printed out on a piece of paper and taped onto his chest. It’s a last minute costume, for sure, but it gets the job done nicely. 

“I mean,” you say, fixing the cat ears that sit atop your head. “Do you think people are gonna think we’re a couple, or something?”

Yoongi grins nervously and hopes that you don’t notice. “I mean, we’re just going to a frat party. I doubt it’s going to be light enough to see anything at all. Why?”

“Well, I don’t want people to get the wrong idea about us,” you say, adjusting the mask over your eyes. Yoongi, unabashedly, rakes his eyes up and down your figure. Your black turtleneck and skintight leather leggings don’t leave very much to the imagination. You’re definitely much more in costume than he is, to say the least. 

“We’re freshmen, people already have the wrong idea about us,” Yoongi scoffs. 

You turn around just so you can shoot a frown his way. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Why are you so worried about people getting the wrong idea about us?” Yoongi asks you, an eyebrow raised. This does not exactly bode well for him. “We can be Batman and Catwoman together no matter what people think.”

“I don’t know, I guess I just—” You stop in your tracks, letting the words fall off your lips and crash to the floor. “Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“What? You can tell me,” Yoongi says, concern lacing his voice. He rushes over to you, the two of you staring at your reflections in the mirror. Two friends, clad in black, wearing matching costumes. If Yoongi wasn’t sober right now, maybe he would actually do it. 

Maybe. 

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing,” you shrug it off with a shake of your head. “I’m happy to be doing this with you. Even if your costume totally sucks.”

“Hey!” Yoongi exclaims defensively. “It is not my fault you came up with this idea last minute even though you already owned everything. I had to pay twenty-five cents to print this in color, you know.”

“A Twenty-five cent costume and you still look good.”

You and Yoongi smile at each other in the mirror, lips turned up as you stare at yourselves, wondering if this is all you will ever be, or if there is something more. 

Yoongi sure hopes it’s the latter. 

And he’s determined to find out, once and for all, tonight. 

You’ve just lit the candles that sit inside yours and Yoongi’s pumpkins when you hear the knock at your door. 

You’re sure that Yoongi can hear you from a mile away as you scurry towards the door, white platform heels clapping against the floorboards with every step you take. You’re going to have to practice walking in these a bit more. Maybe you shouldn’t have bought them only a week before Halloween, and maybe you should have at least tried to break them in a little bit. 

“Hello?” You swing open the door. 

“He—whoa,” Yoongi begins before his eyes widen to the size of the moon as he fully takes in the sight in front of him. “What’s with the—uh, the… dress?” He’s scratching at the nape of his neck, eyes sweeping up and down your body. 

You hold out the skirt of your sequined, bedazzled dress as best you can, and grin. “I’m a gogo dancer! What do you think?”

“Wow, I—” Yoongi starts, a little speechless. “I don’t know. Wow. You look… you look nice, Y/N.”

You smile, thankful for the compliment. Yoongi seems weirdly breathless, blinking more often than usual, like he’s trying to convince himself that what he’s seeing is real. Although, you will admit that this dress is much more sparkly than anything else you have in your closet. You reckon a few disco balls were sacrificed to make this costume. 

“Why—uh, why did you call me over? Did you need something from me?”

“Actually, yes,” you say, ushering Yoongi into your apartment. 

As he’s walking inside, Yoongi notices the pumpkins sitting on your windowsill. “Hey, those look cute together.”

“Don’t they?” You say proudly. Nobody else has commented on them, but then again, you live on the fifth floor of your apartment, so you don’t imagine many people can even see them from ground level. But it’s nice to know that they’re there, and that they mean something. Not to a whole lot of people, but to you. And to him. “But that’s not why I asked you to come over.”

“Why, what’s up?”

You freeze when he looks up at you, like you can hardly will the next few words to come out of your mouth. They’re stuck at the dam of your lips, refusing to budge, because there is this tiny, this little part of you that doesn’t even have the courage to ask. To say it. Because you know already. 

“Hoseok’s throwing a party tonight—”

“No.”

“You didn’t even let me finish!”

“But I know what you’re going to say,” Yoongi says like it’s obvious, because it is. “You’re going to ask me to come with you. And I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, Y/N, but I am not going to go. I’m just not.”

“But it’s not a shitty frat party or anything!” You exclaim, desperately trying to dig yourself out of a hole you’re already six-feet in. “It’s at his place, an apartment across campus, with just some friends of his. There won’t be crazy music and sleazy guys and jungle juice. It’s just going to be a house party.”

“I don’t care, I don’t want to go,” Yoongi tells you. “There’s nothing you can do to change my mind.”

“Why? Why won’t you go?” You demand, because the least your best friend of nearly four years could do is give you a real reason. A real reason as to why he hates Halloween, why he never wants to celebrate it with you, why he never wants to go out with you on your favorite night of the year. 

“Because I just don’t want to! Why can’t you just accept that? I don’t want to go!”

Silence. It’s almost as if Yoongi’s shocked he was even speaking so loudly in the first place. 

Next to you, the candles flicker. 

“I don’t get it,” you say, resigned. “I don’t understand. This is our very last year to celebrate Halloween as college students, as best friends, and you can’t even give me a real excuse as to why you won’t come with me.”

Yoongi frowns. “What do you mean, ‘a real excuse’?”

“Exactly that,” you say sharply. “A real excuse. Even when I offer for us to just stay in and eat KitKats and watch a shiity movie you refuse. All because it’s Halloween. I don’t get it. It’s not the crowds, and it’s not the drinks, and it’s not even the other stuff, like the pumpkins and the decorations. Is it me? Am I the reason you don’t want to celebrate Halloween?”

“No, what the fuck, it’s not you!”

“Then what is it, Yoongi?” You plead, not even making an attempt to lower your voice. Can’t he hear the sheer desperation in your voice? The hopelessness? “Why won’t you just tell me why you don’t ever want to celebrate this goddamn holiday with me? Is it my fault?”

“I just don’t!” 

The sound of Yoongi’s shouts echoes throughout your living space, bouncing off of the walls. You look back at him, feeling helpless, but he doesn’t look angry, or enraged. He looks exhausted. Like this conversation has knocked the wind right out of him, stolen the breath from his lungs. Like suddenly the pot has boiled over, only it’s extinguished the flames that kept it burning. 

“I just don’t,” Yoongi repeats, fists clenched tightly by his side. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

He gives you one last tired look, matching your own defeated expression, before turning around and walking out of your apartment. The door shuts firmly behind him, neither a slam nor a gentle stop, leaving you stranded in the middle of your living space, watching his silhouette disappear. 

You sigh. You don’t think Yoongi will ever tell you why he hates Halloween. And while that may be no fault of your own, you can’t help but feel like it has something to do with you. 

Yoongi could probably count the amount of times he’s gone to a frat party on one hand, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t already know everything there is to know about them. In his eyes, once you’ve been to one, you’ve been to them all. 

Still, he supposes that it being Halloween makes this one a little different. Everyone’s in some sort of costume, whether it be good or bad or just plain old lazy, and there are at least a few orange and black decorations lining the walls of the Castle, and they’ve curated a playlist with Halloween songs as well as rap songs Yoongi has heard plenty of times before, so for once, Yoongi will give the fraternity a bit of credit when it comes to their Halloween party-planning. 

Beside him, you take another giant chug of your drink from the orange solo cup in your hand, wincing as the alcohol burns your throat on the way down. 

“Hey, take it easy, okay?” He says, though he doubts you can even hear him over the music, loud in the kind of way that his ears are going to be ringing far into tomorrow morning. 

“I’m fine!” You shout back, even though you are definitely not. The entire room reeks of a mixture of vodka and sickly sweet soda. 

“I just want to make sure you’re not overdoing it!” He tells you as the two of you get shoved together from some massive guy pushing past Yoongi and sending him crashing towards you. He catches a glimpse of the contents of your cup, eyebrows raising when he sees that it’s almost empty. You just got that drink five minutes ago. 

You smile. “I’m not!”

The song changes, and Yoongi swears that he can feel the entire house shake as everyone screams, cheering as they bounce up and down, dancing to the beat. Next to him, you are finishing the last few drops of whatever’s in your cup, finding an empty ledge to place it down on when you’re done, and pulling him in close to you. 

“Let’s dance!” You shriek excitedly. 

And who is Yoongi to resist?

He lets you take your hand in his own and parade him around the tiny little space the two of you share, a couple square feet of freedom in this crowded room, chock full of sweaty bodies just like his. Yoongi may not have had as much to drink as you, but the little bit of alcohol in his system is already shutting down normal mental processes like not-staring-at-you-constantly and pretending-that-he-likes-you-just-as-a-friend, sending him into a tizzy whenever he meets your starstruck eyes.

Even in this dingy, sweaty, unventilated fraternity living room, you are beautiful. You are beautiful here, and you are beautiful at three in the morning after twelve straight hours of studying, and you are beautiful after spilling the dining hall’s chicken noodle soup all over yourself. 

God, you’re the only person Yoongi is looking at in this room. You’re the only person he sees. 

Shaking his head, Yoongi abandons those thoughts as the song comes to an end, a hand wrapped around your wrist as he leans into your ear. “Do you wanna go outside? It’s hot in here!”

“Okay, whatever!” You agree easily, too easygoing after you’ve got a few drinks in you. 

Yoongi grabs a hold of your sweaty hand and tugs you towards the back door, one that he thinks leads to a fenced in backyard. You squeeze through the crowd, getting a couple of drinks spilled on your shoes on the way until you reach the back door and Yoongi fumbles with the knob, shaking it a couple of times before it gets loose. Eventually, the two of you stumble outside into the backyard, where a couple of people are playing beer pong and a couple of others look like they’re making out. 

It’s a frat party. What else did Yoongi expect?

It’s the end of October, and Yoongi doesn’t even have on a jacket, but the chill of the night has little effect on him after being in a room that’s felt like one hundred degrees for an hour. Out here, Yoongi feels like he can finally breathe. 

“It’s kinda cold out here, don’t you think?”

Yoongi doesn’t even have time to respond before you’re wrapping yourself up in him, curling into his body and placing his arm around your figure, letting the heat from his frame radiate onto your skin. 

“Better than being in there,” Yoongi reasons. 

“But aren’t you having fun?” 

He looks down to see you looking up with him with big, wide eyes, like you’re afraid that he isn’t having fun, or afraid that you’re enjoying this night more than he is. It makes him smile. “With you, I am.”

You grin at that, turning back to face forward, head pressing into the crook of his neck. “That’s good to hear,” you tell him. “It seemed like you were kinda nervous.”

“Nervous?” His voice cracks as he says it. Fuck. 

“Yeah, is there something you wanna tell me? It looks like you’ve been dying to say something all night,” you comment mindlessly, clearly much more observant now than you are when you’re sober. Or perhaps, Yoongi’s just more obvious. 

He takes a deep breath, pressing his eyes shut tightly. This is his chance. He knows it. 

“Actually, yes, there is,” he says, and it feels like he has to force the words out of his mouth because they’re refusing to come out on their own, pausing at the edge of his lips. It feels like he has to overcome his own mind in order to tell you, feels like every word is a sucker punch to his lungs. 

You pull away from him, looking up at Yoongi with big, blinking eyes. It’s a clear night, and Yoongi knows because he can see the fucking stars reflected in your pupils, see them twinkling as your glossy eyes gaze back up at him. You look up at Yoongi and God, you are just so beautiful. You are beautiful, and Yoongi wonders, then, if you know. If you know how Yoongi looks at you. If you know how he feels about you. He is so in love. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. You are beautiful and he is so in love, and he’s been dying to tell you that and this might be his only opportunity to do so, because tomorrow will be a new day and Yoongi won’t have the guts tomorrow. This is his only chance. 

You deserve to know. 

“Well?” You ask him. “What is it?”

Yoongi wraps his arm around the small of your back, pulls you into him, and presses his lips to yours. 

Hoseok’s party is fun. It’s definitely one of the better ones you’ve been to in your four years of university so far. There aren’t too many people, and the drinks are actually good instead of just burning your throat, and his music taste is impeccable. 

And yet, you don’t think you’ve ever been so unenthused at a party in your whole life. Thriller by Michael Jackson blares from Hoseok’s television speakers, chatter fills the room, and Hoseok’s girlfriend, Haebin, is constantly checking up on you, but never has one place felt so empty. 

It’s not really very difficult for you to wonder why. 

“Hey, Y/N!”

You whip your head around to find Haein standing by the kitchen table, gesturing towards Hoseok as he’s looking up the recipe for a drink he wants to try. 

“You want one? Hoseok’s trying to make Long Island Iced Tea,” Haebin asks. Next to her, Hoseok is struggling to get the measurements right. At least he’s making an attempt. 

You stare down at your nearly-full cup of strawberry daiquiri. You took one sip when Haebin first handed it to you thirty minutes ago, and haven’t touched it since. “No, I’m alright, thank you.”

Haebin sighs, patting Hoseok on the back encouragingly before she makes her way over to where you’re sitting on their couch, pressed up against the arm of the sofa as you mindlessly swirl the drink around in your cup, eyes zoning into the whirlpool you’re creating. She sits down next to you with a smile, with the kind of look on her face that makes you simultaneously thankful for and dread the conversation you’re about to have.

“Hey, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing, I’m fine.” You don’t even believe yourself when you say it. 

“Listen, you don’t have to tell me. I just know that Halloween is your favorite holiday and I was wondering if there was something getting you down tonight,” Haebin says in that comforting, gentle sort of way, like an old friend who knows all your tells. 

“It’s not a big deal, really. I think I’m just out of it tonight,” you say, not drunk enough to divulge more information but also not sober enough to keep your mouth completely shut. 

Haebin smiles at you, lips pursed. “Alright then. If everything’s alright.” She pushes her hands onto her thighs as she gets off of the couch, heading back towards the kitchen to help Hoseok figure out how to mix drinks. But before she leaves you alone, she turns around and says one more thing. “You know, I don’t know why Yoongi’s not here or anything, but I wish that he was. You always look so much happier whenever he’s around.”

And that just sends your mind into meltdown. 

Defeated, alone, and best friend-less, you place your cup down on the end table to your left and get up off of the couch, beginning to gather your belongings, your coat and your shoes and your bag, tugging your arms through the sleeves as you storm towards the door, eyebrows knitted together, lips pursed.

“Hey, where are you going—?”

“I gotta go, Haebin. I just—” You pull on a shoe, tugging at the boot as it slips over your heel, “—I gotta go. Thank Hoseok for me, okay? I have to go.”

You only have time to catch Haebin nod, wordless, before you tug open the door to Hoseok’s apartment and stomp outside.

This is the worst Halloween of your life, bar none. The time when you were four and you tripped over a curb on the sidewalk, spraining your ankle doesn’t even come close. It’s your very last year to celebrate Halloween as a college student, to celebrate it by getting dressed up in a low-effort costume and spending time with your friends, and your best friend isn’t even here. He refused. 

He refused and you still don’t know why, but worst of all he refused and you still wish he was here. You wish you could have spent time with him tonight. More than anything else. You wish you could have spent the night wrapped up together on your couch, or on your bed, watching your favorite television shows and enjoying each other’s company. You wish you could have curled into his body as the television blared, pressed your head against his shoulder and felt the warmth of his skin on yours. God, you wish you could have. 

You wish you could have told him. 

You wish you had the guts to. 

Twenty minutes later finds you outside one of the dozens of frat parties likely occurring on campus right now, the bass from the music so loud that you can feel it in your eardrums even outside of the building. No part of you wants to go inside something like that, but at this point you start to wonder if maybe hopping different frats is actually your best idea. Get a drink, get drunk, and then move onto the next one. Rinse and repeat until you don’t remember a thing about this terrible, awful night. 

As you walk along the sidewalk, you spot another student sitting on the curb underneath a leaf-less tree, a cheap black drugstore masquerade mask covering the top half of his face. He doesn’t seem to be having a particularly enjoyable night either. 

Normally, the last thing you’d want to do is sit down next to a stranger whose face is disguised, because who knows what could happen to you if you do, but there are at least twenty people surrounding the two of you, loitering outside the frat house in the hopes that they can eventually get inside. And honestly, you could use a fucking break. 

As casually as you can possibly manage, you take a seat next to the boy, a few inches apart from him as he looks up at you. You can’t make out too much in the dim light of the frat house, but he’s illuminated just enough for you to see his eyes widen at the sight of you. 

“You don’t mind, do you?” You ask. 

He shakes his head. 

You smile in thanks, shifting around where you’re seated on the cold cement, eyes drifting all over the place, from the houses across the street to the road to the people standing around, anything to avoid turning back towards the boy and initiating an even more awkward conversation. Sitting down, the world stops spinning, just a little bit. You didn’t have too much to drink at Hoseok’s, but it was enough to loosen your mind. 

“Can I say something?” You say loudly, turning towards the boy. 

It was enough to loosen your lips too, apparently. 

The boy stares back at you, silent. 

“I’m sorry, I just need to get this off my chest.” You close your eyes, breathing in and breathing out, feeling your chest rise and fall. “I am not having a great night. And I wish I was out here with another friend of mine, instead. He’s my best friend, actually. He just… didn’t want to come out tonight with me. But I wish he was here, because I love spending time with him, and I miss him.”

The words spill off of your tongue like lava from a volcano, bursting from your lips completely unfiltered. It surprises you, a little, how much you actually have to say. How much has been weighing on your chest.

You don’t expect him to respond. Truthfully, you can’t even believe you’re unloading all of your baggage onto him in the first place. Since when are you the type of person to tell other people about the tragedies of your life?

But then, he says, “You do?”

And it makes you wonder what else you’ve been keeping hidden. 

“Yeah, I guess I do,” you realize. “I love spending time with him. He makes every day brighter, turns everything he touches into laughter. And I wanted to spend time with him tonight because I actually thought he would want to. You know, we carved pumpkins together a few days ago. Of each other’s faces.” You force out a laugh. “We carved each other’s faces into pumpkins and he still isn’t here tonight. I wanted him to be here because he’s my best friend, and because he makes me so happy, and even other people are noticing what effect he has on me. Noticing how fucking happy he makes me. Because he does. I feel like I’m a better person with him. I want to spend the rest of my life with him and he’s not here and instead of going to look for him I’m sitting here telling you the sob story that is my life and I just wish—”

“Does that mean you love him?” The boy asks softly. 

“What?”

“Does that mean you love him?”

You turn to look at the boy, eyebrows raised, almost ready to deny such a thing, but when you open your mouth, nothing comes out. 

How could you say you don’t love Yoongi? Of course you do. He is your best friend. You never want to live a day when he’s not by your side. You want to spend the rest of your life with him. He makes you smile and laugh like it’s nobody’s business, brightens your day without even trying. Just seeing him is enough to lift your spirits. Seeing his face on the other side of your apartment door, all ripped jeans and Converse sneakers, hands wrapped in the sleeves of his hoodie, dark brown eyes blinking back at you, pink lips parted in a grin. That image you have of him in your head—it’s one you don’t ever want to forget. He is standing in your apartment, lips upturned, eyes crushed into crescents, smiling at you. He is mid-laugh, grinning from ear to ear at something you said. He is right there. 

“Well, yeah,” you say, because what else are you supposed to do? “I guess I do.”

Suddenly, your chest feels a whole lot lighter. 

The boy next to you smiles, the dim light barely illuminating his features, but when you look at him there is something so strangely familiar about him, about the way he blinks at you, about the peak of his Cupid’s bow, about how his lips are stretched into a grin. It couldn’t be him… could it?

But before you have time to ask, he is leaning towards you and pressing his lips atop yours, crashing your mouths together in a desperate, messy kiss. His palm presses against your cheek and you can’t help but sink into it, sink into the way his other hand curls around to rest on the small of your back, let yourself be engulfed by him. 

You’ve never kissed Yoongi before, but you know that this is what it must be like. 

You know, from the way your blood starts to sizzle, sparks rushing through your veins. From the way your heart is pumping, loud and clear in your ears, like it’s been jolted to life. Like a shock is running through your body. Like a warmth is filling you up, from the inside out. 

When you part, as Yoongi takes off his mask, he can’t keep the smile off of his face. “I knew it. I knew you loved me.”

“What are you doing out here?” You ask, positively shocked. “I thought you hated Halloween.”

“I do,” Yoongi confirms. “Or, well, I did, I guess.”

“Then what changed?”

“You. Us. We changed,” Yoongi says, motioning between your bodies. “I hated Halloween because it had bad memories for me. Nothing crazy, but, yeah. You don’t remember?”

“What?” Your mouth drops open. “What should I remember?”

“We kissed that night.” Yoongi begins, eyes shifting down towards the ground. Clearly recalling this is awkward for him. “Halloween, freshman year. Outside of the Castle.”

You don’t remember this at all. 

“Well, I kissed you and you kissed me, and I thought that we had established then and there that we liked each other. You know, like, really liked each other. But you were so drunk that night. I don’t know what you had, but you could hardly walk by the time I got you back to your dorm. Your roommate was furious with me.” He shakes his head at the memory, replaying in his mind like a movie. “And I thought, okay, we’ll just talk about this tomorrow. But you must have had a wicked headache or something, because I saw you the next day and you said—”

“God, whatever happened last night, I don’t want to know.”

It’s the middle of the day, the sun high in the crisp November sky, but you have been cradling your forehead ever since Yoongi last dropped you off, back at your dorm, when you were slowly starting to crash. 

“What?” His voice is hollow, empty. 

“Last night fucked me up real good,” you say with a huff, shaking your head. “I’m glad I don’t remember what happened last night.”

As Yoongi traipses back to square one, his heart shakes in its cage. 

“I guess you just didn’t remember,” Yoongi tries to explain, much to your horror as you realize that you and Yoongi have been crushing on each other hopelessly for three years extra without you even realizing it. “So, uh, yeah. That’s why I didn’t like Halloween.”

“You kissed me that night?”

“What?”

“You kissed me that night? Outside of the Castle?” 

A tingling on your lips. A faint feeling of warmth. You remember bits of that night. It was cold, and you were freezing in your costume. And you and Yoongi had gone outside to escape the crowd, and he said something, and then you said something, and then he—!

“Yeah.” Yoongi nods. “I did.”

“And I didn’t remember?”

“I mean, you were really drunk.”

Your shoulders sink, the thought of Yoongi, helplessly pining after you for three more years because he thought you didn’t like him like that, because he thought that the love you shared was one-sided, still sticking by your side as your best friend. At the thought of him deciding it was better to be best friends and keep that love hidden than tell you and risk it all over again. At the thought of him accepting what he thought was his fate. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. What else is there to tell him? If you had remembered, if you just didn’t say those words, if you had just told him how you felt, this would have all been so much easier. 

“It’s okay now,” Yoongi says, expression growing fond as he pulls you in for a hug, sad to see you so gloomy. “You love me and I love you. What more could I want?”

A realization dawns on you. 

Pulling apart from him ever so slightly, you quirk an eyebrow. “You know, you could have just kissed me again the next day, and then we wouldn’t have had to deal with all of this. Plus, you would have still liked Halloween.”

Yoongi scoffs, pressing a kiss to your icy cheek. “So what? I like it now, how about that? I fucking love Halloween now. It turned my best friend into my girlfriend. She’s the love of my life. We can celebrate every Halloween together from now on until the end of time.”

You grin, pressing a kiss back on his little button nose, pink from the cold. Finally. “That’s the spirit.”

↳ don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[forzalando]

royally screwed | fw | pt. two

pairing: prince!fred x princess!reader word count: 2.4k warnings: cursing, mentions of meals/food, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers a/n: hello friends! happy valentine’s day!!💛the long awaited part two is here and i hope you all enjoy!😊bonus points if you catch the subtle hp references in this chapter hahaha thank you to @spacexcowgirl​ for beta reading, i love you dearly!! you can read part one here

summary: Prince Frederick Weasley of Burrow was a twin, but unfortunately, at least in his mind, he was born the eldest twin, meaning it was his duty to inherit the kingdom. Since the young age of ten, Fred knew that he was to marry Princess Y/N Y/L/N of Diagon, and over the years they’ve both come to dread the day. With the eve of their wedding closely approaching, their disdain for each other begins to worry their respective families. However, there is a very fine line between love and hate.

Y/N awoke the next morning and immediately recounted the previous day’s events; she could feel the puffiness in her face and eyes from the tears shed after her Mother left her room. She had hoped that their conversation would go differently, but it was done and there was nothing left she could say regarding the matter.

A sharp knock on Y/N’s chamber door had her jumping up and crossing the room faster than her feet would carry her. She stumbled a bit, almost crashing into the door before pulling it open, only to see the most peculiar sight.

Frederick Weasley, with his siblings stood behind him, although George was standing rather close so that he could pinch his brother’s ear.

“Well,” Ginny goaded, “go on then, you arse.”

Fred turned swiftly to shoot his sister a glare, but George’s grip on his ear had him wincing in pain.

“You better get going or I swear I’ll rip it off,” George grumbled, struggling to hide the jesting smile creeping on his face.

“Fine, fine,” Fred huffed. “Princess Y/N, I would like to apologize for my behavior last night. It was entirely unacceptable and I hope that you can find it in your impossibly sma-”

Ginny quickly stomped on Fred’s foot, interrupting what Y/N was sure would be an insult.

“Pardon me, your impossibly large heart, to forgive me. I was also wondering if you would care to join me for breakfast in the drawing room.”

George promptly let go of Fred’s ear, but not without one final yank, and the entire clan of Weasley siblings looked at Y/N expectantly, awaiting her answer with fervor.

“You must be absolutely mad, Frederick Weasley,” she scoffed, folding her arms across her chest in defiance. “After your attitude last night, which you had for no reason, I might add, and you come knocking on my door to ask if I want to have breakfast with you? I don’t want to see your face unless I have to!”

“I’m trying, Y/N! You said that the least I could was try, so here I am, offering to spend time with you when I’d rather lick the floor in the foyer.”

“Well, then, feel free to go scrub the floors with your tongue because I will not join you for a meal today or any other day!”

Fred stalked away with no objections from his siblings, who were all laughing at Y/N’s quip. She had a satisfied smile on her face as well, but it quickly fell when she averted her gaze to the three other Weasley siblings.

“Now what exactly did you think that was going to accomplish?” Y/N spoke with a, mostly, playful glare to the three standing before her.

“Honestly, we were hoping a bit that you wouldn’t answer the door. Mum made us drag him down here,” George answered with a shrug of his shoulders.

“But, now that we are here,” Ginny said excitedly, “will you have breakfast with us?”

Y/N smiled softly; she could never say no to spending time with her only friends.

“Let me get dressed and I’ll meet you…where should I meet you?”

“The drawing room…” Ron mumbled, hoping Y/N wouldn’t recall that Fred wanted to take his breakfast there as well.

“You three are insufferable,” Y/N laughed, “however, I’ll be there in ten. Hopefully he will be gone by then.”

Y/N gently shut her door and quickly threw on a dress and her day slippers; her mother would absolutely have a fit if she saw the disheveled state she was in, but Y/N simply couldn’t care.

After a quick glance in the mirror, Y/N hurried through the castle corridors that she had come to know so well and made it to the drawing room in record time. To her delight, Frederick was nowhere to be seen.

“Good Morning, dear,” Queen Molly said warmly from her seat. “Have you by chance seen Fred this morning?”

Y/N heard the quiet snickering of Ron and George and then a hushed “shut it” that could only have come from Ginny.

“Oh, yes, Queen Molly, he stopped by my chambers to apologize. Very out of character for him, I wonder if someone slipped something into his morning tea.”

Molly Weasley hummed lightly, taking the slightly sarcastic tone of Y/N’s voice to mean that things hadn’t gone as she directed.

“That’s lovely, dear, maybe you’ll actually have a civil conversation in the gardens.”

Y/N set down her tea slowly, trying not to act shocked because she had no knowledge of a walk in the gardens.

“The gardens? I didn’t know anything about the gardens,” Y/N mused inquisitively.

“That’s where Fred is right now, I told him you’d be along in a few minutes. He even looked a bit excited,” Molly teased.

Y/N snorted inelegantly and immediately covered it with a cough; she rose from the table and looked pleadingly at George, hoping he could come up with some form of an excuse that would save her from time spent with Frederick, but George refused to look at her and continued eating his breakfast unbothered.

“I’ll go meet him now, Queen Molly. I’m sure he’s awfully busy so we can make this short,” Y/N said with a smile.

“Fred is free all day, I cleared his schedule, dear.”

“Brilliant,” she grimaced.

With a half-hearted wave, she left the drawing room and begrudgingly walked towards the gardens, smiling politely at each person she passed. Even if her future husband did not care for her, Y/N took comfort in knowing that his family and the people in the castle did; she hoped it would make the rest of her life tolerable.

All too soon, Y/N felt the sunshine on her face as she stepped into the magnificent palace gardens. She could spot Prince Frederick’s fiery hair a mile away; he was standing near the rose bushes twirling a yellow one between his long fingers.

The rustling of the grass between Y/N’s feet caused Fred to turn around to find the source of the noise.

He stalled a bit; even though he despised the Princess of Diagon, he could never deny that she was breathtakingly beautiful. Her hair was unkempt, a soft pink, cotton gown swished around her legs as she stalked toward him, and her face was set in a scowl but even the worst grimace could not distract from her captivating eyes.

It was entirely infuriating, and it made Fred want to hate her even more, but some intrinsic force wouldn’t allow him.

“What are you staring at?” Y/N asked, her eyebrow raising.

“Nothing,” Fred replied with a shake of his head. “I’m just thinking of all the ways I’d rather spend my morning.”

“Well, it seemed like you were staring at me. Do it again and I’ll push you into the rose bushes, I don’t care if you are the future King.”

Fred turned his head and tried not to crack a smile, but failed miserably as the corner of his mouth quirked up involuntarily.

“Let’s get this over with, Y/N, can your stubby legs keep up?”

“It’s not my fault you shot up like a bloody bean pole; you went from stumpy to looking like someone sewed tree limbs together and animated them.”

“Most women like tall men.”

“I like tall men, Frederick, I just don’t like you.”

A stunned silence fell over the two royals, only the sounds of the rustling leaves and nearby animals could be heard.

“I suppose that’s why you like Prince Cedric, then?”

“Beg your pardon?” Y/N’s eyes widened, confused at the sudden interrogation.

“Your conversation with your Mother last night, how you begged her to marry him instead. Or my brother. Or that horrid Malfoy.”

“You had no right – that was a private conversation. How dare you eavesdrop on my personal business? Every time I think you have a shred of decency you prove me wrong, Frederick Weasley.”

Fred stepped in front of the Princess, blocking her path and preventing her from walking on.

“Prove you wrong? I had come to your room to apologize when I heard you plotting with your Mother to run off with someone else and disrespect my family.”

“I would never disrespect your family. They’ve never been anything but good and kind to me, the last thing I would ever want to do is hurt them. I haven’t the slightest idea how you’re related to any of them.”

“Oh, I know, you have them all wrapped around your little finger,” Fred scoffed.

“I’m not going to stand here and fight with you, Frederick, I don’t have the energy. Can we please just keep moving and we can tell your Mother we had a wonderful time and learned so much about each other.”

Y/N stepped around Fred, lightly grabbing his wrist to pull him along through the endless rows of flowers.

“She’ll probably quiz us and you don’t even know my favorite color,” Fred griped.

“It’s purple, I think,” Y/N blurted. “I overheard you telling your Mum years ago that you wanted purple frosting on some dessert. I figured that meant it was your favorite.”

“And you remembered?”

“There aren’t a lot of things I forget about the people in my life, Frederick. If it’s important to you, I’ll remember.”

“But you don’t care about me, why did you even bother?”

Y/N sighed and shook her head before turning to look at Fred, shielding her eyes from the sun.

“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t hate you. I don’t particularly like you, maybe in a different life we’d actually be friends, but I don’t hate you. I don’t hate anyone.”

Fred realized this was the longest they’d gone without arguing in years, and it was barely one tenth of a conversation. He turned his head slightly to watch Y/N, taking in the way she gazed lovingly at the surrounding flora, and noticed her eyes linger a bit longer every so often.

“Yellow,” Fred mumbled.

“What was that?” Y/N asked.

“You look longer at the yellow flowers. Yellow is your favorite color.”

Y/N smiled softly, the same smile she’d given Fred when she had arrived the day before but it was infinitely more sincere.

“If you were like this all the time, you wouldn’t be so bad Frederick.”

“Who says I’m not?”

Y/N rolled her eyes and this time Fred could not contain himself; he laughed loudly, and the sound triggered a fluttering of sorts in the Princess’s chest. They continued their walk, chattering idly and the Prince even picked a blooming yellow rose and delicately handed it to his Princess.

“I really did want to apologize last night, you know,” Fred assured. “I didn’t have any reason to be so rude when you arrived, I guess it was just…habit. We have a way of getting under each other’s skin.”

“Apology accepted, for your rudeness yesterday, of course. But, you owe me another.”

“Another?”

“Yes, for eavesdropping on me and my Mother.”

“That conversation involved me, I hardly think it’s one I shouldn’t be aware of if you’re trying to finagle your way out of our betrothal.”

“It may involve you, but it was a private conversation.”

“That involved me.”

“My God, I’ve said it before but truly every time I think you can redeem yourself, you do or say something completely asinine. Do you have any manners?”

“You were talking about me, I felt I had a right to listen!”

Y/N groaned loudly in annoyance, drawing the attention of the nearby guards.

“I don’t even believe you wanted to apologize, you had the chance this morning and just insulted me like you always do! Every decent part of you is nothing but an act!”

“You don’t even know me,” Fred seethed.

“No, I don’t, but it’s because you won’t let me!”

“You’ve never even tried, don’t attempt to play me for a fool, Y/N.”

“Well, I’m trying now. I’m trying now and still all we can do is fight.”

The two stood toe to toe, breathing heavily and staring into each other’s eyes. After a few moments, Y/N looked away and sighed deeply. It sounded almost dejected, Fred realized, rather than the anger he had expected.

“Go ahead of me back to the castle, please, I’d like to actually enjoy the rest of the walk.”

“I don’t have to take orders from – ”

“You’ll do as I say, Frederick Weasley,” Y/N snapped.

Fred wanted to argue; God, did he want to argue with her until he was blue in the face, but something about the tone of her voice frightened him a bit. So, he scoffed and stalked back to the castle, swinging his fists by his sides and gritting his teeth.

He passed by his twin, giving George a half-hearted wave before entering the castle. It wasn’t hard to sense the tone of what had transpired, and George shook his head and took off running towards the gardens to find Y/N.

“Oi! What did he do this time?” George shouted as he slowed to a stop in front of Y/N.

“Just the usual. Acting like a pompous prick that can do no wrong. He was nice for two minutes and then refused to apologize for eavesdropping last night on a conversation between me and my Mother!”

George rolled his eyes and raked a hand down his face, massaging his temples in preparation for the headache that his brother always managed to give him.

“Y/N, you know he’s not malicious, he’s just an idiot sometimes,” George offered.

“I appreciate you defending him but at the moment it’s going in one ear and out the other, Georgie.”

He laughed and slung an arm around the Princess’s shoulders, joining her on the remainder of her walk through the gardens. He noticed Y/N twirling a yellow rose around and every so often lifting it to inhale its sweet scent.

“Stealing flowers from our gardens, eh?” George jested, bumping his hip into Y/N.

“Frederick picked it for me, actually,” she mumbled.

“Well, that’s sweet. You two can get along, is what I’m seeing and hearing.”

“It was a momentary lapse of judgment,” Y/N sighed, before throwing the perfect rose to the ground and ensuring her slipper crushed the delicate petals.

When they were good and flattened into the Earth, she swore she felt an ache in her chest.

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[becaeffinmitchell]

Fic: what i have (is who i carry home) (1/1)

Summary: Chloe, as it turns out, loves Valentine's Day.

Of course she does. Beca can't say she's surprised in the least.

aka, five Valentine's Days Beca Mitchell's had.

Note: After ten thousand years, I’m free! Or, you know, after eight years, I’m finally posting my first Bechloe fic. Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone 🥰  Gif credit goes entirely to @evenstars​ (thank you so much again!)

Words: 4,954

Read below or on AO3!

--------

i. 2012, Freshman Year, Barden University

There are so many other things Beca would rather be doing.

Like go to the dentist. Actually show up for class. Spend time over dinner with her dad and the step-monster.

Okay, maybe not that last one. Nothing in the world would make her choose that.

But here she is, in that stupid red hoodie, holding that stupid bow and arrow, standing in front of people, refusing to sing that stupid song with Amy.

*

 Later, back at the auditorium where they have Bellas practice, Aubrey's voice is shrill and loud. (As always, Beca thinks.)

"Beca, you really need to be picking up the slack. We need every dollar that we can raise so that we have enough to cover our journey to the semi-finals, and you're dead last in our fundraiser right now."

Amy mutters something under her breath, soft enough for Beca to hear something about — the bus? The Trebles? She doesn't really know. Whatever it is, it's not something she wants to get in the middle of.

"Maybe we can think of something new to do." Beca's tone is dry, and she schools her expression into something neutral on her face, her head tilted slightly, knowing that Aubrey has to know she isn't just talking about the fundraising activity.

It's just — she can feel the potential of these girls, okay? And it's such a shame that they're stuck doing the same three songs, over and over. If she could at least try, show them her arrangements, maybe they'd have a fighting chance.

"I have the pitch pipe, and I say we do this exactly how we have been doing it."

Beca is about to say something snarky, something she knows is going to get under Aubrey's skin, when Chloe's voice rang out beside her.

"It's okay. I'll do it with Beca tomorrow."

She hasn't even noticed Chloe approaching them in the midst of this, so her head whips around so fast at the sound of her voice.

"Don't you have a class during that time, Chloe? That's the whole reason why we couldn't pair you up with Beca." There's something about Aubrey's clipped words that is super careful and controlled, like there's more that she wants to say but isn't.

Chloe shrugs, before turning to Beca with a beaming smile. "It's okay, skipping out on one Russian Lit lecture won't make a difference."

 *

 Chloe, as it turns out, loves Valentine's Day.

Of course she does. Beca can't say she's surprised in the least. She thinks she doesn't know anyone who's more enthusiastic about everything and anything.

There's something about Chloe that feels like embers starting at the base of Beca's dead, cold heart, warming it up and turning itself three sizes larger.

It's not a thing she wants to unpack right now; she's not the type to get attached to people, and especially not when she's going to go through with her plan, and leave at the end of the school year. It doesn't matter if her dad helps her or not.

"Do you have any plans for tomorrow?" Chloe's voice, melodic as it comes, breaks the silence as they walk towards the south quad. She looks ready to go through the entire residence hall, her angel wings bouncing behind them.

"It's a day corporations literally invented to convince everyone to buy cards and chocolates and flowers at jacked up prices, so..."

Chloe lets out a happy sigh. "Maybe so. But it's also a day to celebrate love! And love is so awesome. I love love. And I'm not just talking about romantic love, though that is nice. You can also celebrate the love from all relationships in your life. Like your best friends, or your parents, or your siblings."

Beca raises an eyebrow, because Chloe is just so goddamn earnest. She tugs at her hoodie. "Let me guess, you and shower guy have a date?"

"Who, Tom?"

"How many shower guys do you have?" There's a beat. "Actually, don't answer that."

 *

 So here she is, still in that stupid red hoodie, still holding that stupid bow and arrow, standing in front of people, and singing a duet with Chloe Beale.

 *

 The next morning, Kimmy unceremoniously drops a box at the foot of Beca's bed, a loud thud waking her up.

There's a sleeping mask, a whole clip of flash drives, two huge jars of peanut butter, and cans of Red Bull in the box. There's also a card, and her name is written carefully in the middle of an envelope.

Happy Valentine's Day, Beca!!!! I've said this before, and I'll say it forever: I'm SO glad that I met you. I LOVE that you love music like it's the one thing you can't live without. It's something that really resonates with me, too. You make us better. :) :)

xoxo,

Chloe!

 *

 Beca drifts off to sleep that night, the music still playing in her headphones. She's wearing that sleeping mask across her eyes.

 ------------

ii. 2014, Junior Year, Barden University

 The thing with Jesse is, he really loves these grand gestures of romance.

Sometimes Beca thinks that that's his favorite part. It's almost like he's in love with the idea of being in a relationship.

Worse still, in love with the idea of her, like she's this perfectly scripted character who exists for him.

Last year for Valentine's Day, Jesse had shown up at her dorm. Well, outside of her window actually, boombox on his shoulder. She'd tried not to wince, her lips pressed together into something resembling a smile (she hopes) to the strains of In Your Eyes, at the ungodly hour of dawn.

It isn't even that she had just gotten to sleep like, two hours before that. Or the very clear and enunciated "fuck off!" that her neighbor gave them, complete with a dramatic slamming of her window. At least she doesn't have to deal with that now, now that they've all moved into the Bellas house, newly renovated.

It was just a lot, right? And maybe she should have been a better girlfriend to anticipate it this year, or at least match some of that. Rise up to his level, or something. She just has a reservation to a fancy Italian restaurant in Midtown, and she made that way in advance. So maybe she gets points for that?

January rolls into February, and she dreads it. Every day is a countdown to The Fourteenth.

 *

 Here's the more pressing thing: Chloe seems sad. Not all the time, but Beca catches it occasionally.

She presumes she knows her best friend pretty well by this point, until she's doing things like failing a single class on purpose so that she doesn't graduate. For the second year in a row.

And Beca gets it, at least on an abstract level. If she starts thinking about what comes after graduation — and that's in a year and some — she gets nervous, too. But in no version of her reality does she get so paralyzed with fear, that she would opt to repeat her senior year like it’s groundhog year.

She wishes she could know why, for certain. She can't help if she doesn't know what's going on in Chloe's head, but for the first time, it's Chloe's turn to clam up and switch the subject.

So Beca doesn't push. She hopes it's enough to keep her afloat as she works through whatever it is. She doesn't really know what that entails, but music? Music she can do.

She pours her energy into putting together a really solid mix for Chloe; it's all the songs that remind Beca of her, and their friendship. She picks songs and arranges them and removes them before she puts them back in, because it has to sound right.

Beca feels like the world's biggest dork for giving it to her the morning of Valentine's Day.

Well, second biggest dork, because she intercepts Chloe leaving the gift boxes in the room, for her and Amy.

"Hey, uh. Happy Valentine's Day," she says, handing her the flash drive — one of the many that Chloe has gotten her over the years, like she's her supplier — and hoping she doesn't look as awkward as she feels. "It's not anything like your, like, super thoughtful gifts." She gestures in that general direction. "But you're my best friend, so... here."

She gets pulled into a hug, and Beca can't be sure, but it sounds like Chloe's 'thank you' is strained and she's about to cry.

Beca hopes it's enough.

 *

 "So, Jesse gave you just the one earring?"

Beca's back from the dinner. It was... nice? There was a string quartet and Jesse made them play John Legend's All Of Me, and Beca didn't actually die of embarrassment when he started singing along, so she'll chalk that up as a win.

"Yeah, it's like — symbolism, I guess. From the movie." Beca shrugs, chewing on the popcorn she's made that Chloe is currently stealing. She thinks about lightly smacking her hand away, but ends up shifting the bowl so that it's nearer to Chloe.

Does she regret putting Don't You (Forget About Me) in their setlist? Maybe.

Probably not, all things considered, because it worked well together with the other songs, and they did win the finals that year. But it elevated the movie to mythical and legendary status for Jesse, and if he does that arm raising motion one more time during squabbles he wants to get out of? Beca might lose it even harder.

"Is it symbolism or a metaphor? I could never tell the difference."

"I think it was a metaphor in the movie," Beca starts, a thoughtful expression on her face. "But more of a symbol for like, me and Jesse? Oh my god." She presses her free hand to her eyes. "You're such a nerd. Stop making me think deeper about this than I need or want to."

"I just think it's nice," she hears Chloe say.

Beca hums, tone neutral. "It's something, for sure. Wait." She whips her head to face her best friend. "You didn't go out tonight? Ms. 'I Love Love'?"

Chloe chuckles lowly, quietly. "I have all I need here in this house, anyway."

 *

 When Beca goes to the kitchen in the middle of the night for a glass of water, she thinks she hears the soft strains of her mix playing from Chloe's room.

   ------------

  iii. 2017, Brooklyn, NY

 It's apparently the warmest February in New York on record, but Beca is still fucking freezing.

The incessant chill envelops the air, and she pulls her coat closer to her. She's bundled under layers, but the radiator in their tiny little apartment is, as most things in it, almost completely busted.

Jesus Christ. It's cold.

 *

 Amy is convinced she's cold because she's moping, because she's sad about breaking up with Jesse.

Beca knows she isn't, and it's not just the long distance thing.

They'd given it a fair go, and it sucked that he got busier with classes and she tried to solve all of the music industry's problems as an associate producer, working hours trying to make tracks sound... sonically unrotten.

It's not just the long distance thing, because if Beca was honest with herself, it was probably a sign that when he told her that he was thinking of completing his studies in California, her immediate response was that of neutral indifference.

So, she is totally fine.

 *

 Beca hears Chloe singing softly before the door even opens, and she can hear it swing open too, and she knows Chloe is about to shrug her coat off —

"Don't bother, it's also cold in here," Beca says, from under the covers.

Then, her eyes track Chloe as she walks to the radiator —

"I checked, it's working. Supposedly."

"Aww." Chloe strides the distance — not that it's that long — and sits down on their shared bed. "You're so cute when you're grumpy."

"Aren't you freezing?" she chooses to deflect the comment, hugging herself petulantly. "Hey, how was your date with that guy at the clinic?"

Chloe hums noncommittally. "We went for coffee and he double-booked me with another girl."

"Dude. What a dick." Beca feels a flash of — annoyance? Chloe deserves the world. Chloe deserves everything she wants. "I'm sorry."

"I know. It's okay though." Chloe smiles at her. It's that smile that Beca catches that she thinks it's just for her, but she's also a logical person who knows that Chloe has that ability to make people feel like they're the most important person in the world. "I've got all I need right here."

Warmth pools at Beca's stomach, and honestly. It's a nice change from the freezing.

 *

 It's 2 AM, and they're cuddling, because of course they are; because Chloe is warm; because Chloe is an embrace personified; because... Chloe.

Beca stirs awake, and she feels Chloe's breath tickle at the base of her neck. She shifts, not uncomfortably. Then, Chloe's hand drifts sleepily, and lands somewhere on Beca's hip.

And then.

And then.

There is a sudden, startling clarity in Beca's mind, knocking the figurative breath out of her. Her eyes fly open.

She loves Chloe.

And not in the same way where she loves the rest of her found family in the other Bellas.

Oh no, a voice sounds in her mind.

Oh, this is very bad, she thinks.

She can't believe how still she is right now, feeling the entire weight of Chloe's body in contact against her. Feeling her slow, steady breathing against her back. She's not even cold anymore.

Okay. So she loves her best friend. Cool, cool, very cool. That's totally fine. She can handle this.

Chloe's been such a fixture in her life, at every turn; in every note in between the downbeat and upbeat that is her life. Music is in Beca's veins, her whole life, but music flows right through Chloe. She's tucked warmly in the melody, a motif throughout the entire song.

Holy shit, Beca thinks. She's been in love with Chloe for so long, she doesn't even know when it started.

 *

 Okay, so. There's a weird spot on the ceiling, right? And Beca just keeps staring at it, because if she closes her eyes, she will feel Chloe's presence so keenly, pressed next to her.

She can't do anything with this knowledge. She can imagine it now, Chloe giving her a comforting hug but tells her, sorry Beca, I love you but not in that way.

It's five whole years of friendship, of Chloe by her side no matter what, and that is the one thing that she's got that she doesn't want to risk, just because she had this stupid revelation.

God. It's so stupid. It'll pass. Right?

 ------------

 iv. 2018, Los Angeles, CA

 What is really fucking weird, even in the grand scheme of things, is journalists asking her if she's doing anything for Valentine's Day.

Which, like. First of all, Beca's not stupid, she knows it's a way to suss out her personal-slash-love life.

She's kept that pretty close to her chest for now.

But also, there's literally nothing to tell. She's not being defensive because there's something to hide away. Beca is knee-deep in work all the time, and she goes home to an apartment that feels too big for just herself. It's a big change from the entirely too cramped apartment in Brooklyn.

Sometimes she finds herself missing that very specific part of her life. Not the struggling and being unhappy doing work with no integrity, obviously. But Chloe is now a message and three hours ahead, instead of being a daily fixture in her apartment, and it leaves Beca feeling off-kilter.

But maybe that distance is a good thing, after... you know. Revelations.

Anyway.

Her work ethic doesn't stop rumors. She's linked to every guy available — and some not — every single time one of them likes her Instagram posts. She's pretty sure she's had at least two full relationships, according to the National Enquirer.

Theo gleefully sends her screenshots. She tells him to fuck off.

 *

 Chloe Look out, super star! I'm going to be in LA for a good friend's wedding in February!! If you think we're not going to hang, you're sorely mistaken.

 Beca is busy, but she sure as hell isn't going to miss Chloe coming to LA.

 Beca You have good friends outside of the Bellas? I am shocked, Beale.

 Chloe Don't be jealous 😉

 She's not. Not because of that, she catches herself thinking, and frowns at herself. Not because of anything, she decides. It's also exactly how she decides she doesn't have feelings for Chloe anymore, because Chloe is happy with Chicago, and Beca has work, and honestly? Best outcome out of every outcome possible.

Still, Beca offers up her apartment for the long-ish weekend that Chloe would be in town. She's not a monster, and Chloe has like, a mountain of student debt.

It's the least she could do.

 *

 (Beca thinks back to that first performance at the Citadel, just under a year ago. Thinks of all the nerves she's never felt before, while she's walking to the microphone. She's always had the girls on stage with her, but not this time. Her family would be seated in the front row, supporting her no matter how far she goes.

She gets to bring them up on stage this time, of course, but it's also a temporary balm and she knows it. But that's fine, she can figure that part out.

It's the after that smarts a little.

After the performance, after the event, after she feels that pit, growing and clawing from her stomach when she sees Chloe lock lips with Chicago.

After she walks away with Theo, trying her level best to carry on a conversation as if she's not affected by what she'd just seen; trying not to think of all the what-ifs.

After, on the plane back home, when she directs a small smile at Chloe's direction. If she's happy then she's happy for her.

It's the least she could do.)

 *

 Chloe's flight reaches the airport at 7 in the evening, and Beca's right there at LAX, waiting for her to emerge. She can see a couple of people with the big paparazzi cameras, training their lenses at her, but she doesn't care.

There's a flash of red as she sees Chloe running to her, and thankfully she catches her.

"Oh, I've missed you," Chloe says, so earnest and sincere as always; always, and Beca can hear her own heartbeat. She's almost worried that Chloe can too, like a traitorous Tell-Tale Heart.

"Yeah, well, regular sight for sore eyes, that's me." That's good, right? She hits jocularity right in the bullseye with that, as if she can't feel the top of her ears growing hot.

Chloe just laughs; like another kind of warmth. She draws her in again, hand rubbing up and down Beca's back.

Beca thinks she's stupid, for feeling like she's home.

 *

 They get to Beca's place, Chloe appraising the place appreciatively as she wheels her luggage in.

"This is already at least fifty times nicer than our little shoebox in Brooklyn," she observes, and Beca shrugs, a little embarrassed.

"I mean, the label's paying for it, and it's like, it's — it's ridiculous." There's a voice at the back of Beca's head repeating, our little shoebox, and she wants it to shut up.

But it is ridiculous. She has so much space, and two rooms; she sleeps in one and the other one is where she works. She's pretty sure she spends more time in the latter than she does the former.

"Anyway, uh, so here's my sort-of office, it's a bit of a mess right now." She waves her hand around (god, why is she using her hands so much) at the room with her equipment and instruments, before stepping to her bedroom door. "And here's the bedroom, which, like. You should take the bed. My couch pulls out and it's really comfortable?"

"Don't be silly," Chloe tells her, looking back at the king-sized bed. "We've slept in way more crowded spaces. This will be perfect."

Beca swallows, hard. Perfect.

 *

 Falling back into a routine with Chloe is scarily easy.

She's been here for less than three hours, and Beca's already back to being attuned to her. They put on some music in the background, she listens to Chloe talk so passionately about school and all the stuff she's learning, and Beca is so proud.

She brushes her teeth and changes into her pajamas after Chloe does, exactly like how they used to, and climbs into her bed.

"Oh, shoot, I almost forgot," Chloe's saying, and Beca cocks her head curiously to see what she's forgotten. Her best friend comes back with a box, and hands it over to her.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Bec. Also, I don't think flash drives are in fashion now," she winks. "So your Google Drive storage has been renewed, for all the audio files you need to back up. Don't worry, I didn't look at anything else."

"Wh — oh. Oh, right, Valentine's Day, gifts and all," Beca says, and looks at the box in her hand. "Wait, is this —"

"Chocolate from your favorite place in New York? Yessss," Chloe says, a laugh coloring her tone. She settles back into bed. "Not that you have a shortage of chocolate places here, but Amy reminded me of the time she ate most of the last box after how you were saving your favorite pieces, so I thought I'd bring some here for you."

Beca's heart clenches.

"Thanks, Chlo." She's pretty proud of how unwavering her voice is. "I miss it."

"It's been tough for me too, not having you in my orbit," Chloe says, bumping their shoulders together.

"Yeah? Must be extra tough, because Chicago's not around either." Then she's scrambling. "Not that I'm like, comparing myself to your boyfriend in any way."

She sees Chloe's mouth twist to the side. Beca's eyebrows knit together.

"Chlo?"

"He's not my boyfriend anymore." Chloe's words are slow, measured. Like she's afraid of setting something off.

Beca pauses, as she takes it all in.

"Oh. I mean — Are you okay?"

"Yeah. It's been..." Beca sees Chloe's furrowed brows as she thinks. "Three months, almost. Just right before Christmas."

Beca thinks back to Christmas; to the group messages, the online gift cards and food deliveries made in each other's names. Nowhere in her memory exists this piece of information, and she's pretty sure she's not been that shitty of a friend to miss this.

It feels a little bit like being hurt, actually.

"Oookay," she says, licking her lips a little, letting the air out of her slowly. "Okay. Well. Good night, Chloe."

 *

 Beca can't fall asleep, and she's pretty sure she knows why. It's been an hour of staring at the ceiling, and she tries to will her stupid mind to shut down for the night.

She thinks Chloe must be asleep by now; her body clock must be three hours —

"Bec?"

Beca pauses for so long that she thinks Chloe might actually think she's asleep.

"Yeah."

She feels Chloe shift. "I want you to ask me."

Beca wants to be obtuse and frustrating; wants to pretend she doesn't know what she's talking about. Instead, the confusion and hurt win out.

She pushes herself up on her elbows, then into a sitting position. It doesn't feel like a conversation that they should have lying down. She waits for Chloe to do the same, before finding her voice and words.

"Why didn't you tell me that you and Chicago broke up?" Dimly lit by the street lights outside, Beca sees her shift in place, and she feels Chloe's hand reaching for hers. "I thought — well. You know. That we tell each other things."

Which is slightly rich, coming from her, she knows. But still.

Chloe sighs, just quietly. "Because I have feelings for someone else."

Beca blinks, taking that in. It's a weird feeling because she's simultaneously crushed and hopeful, and maybe it's the hour, or maybe it's Chloe's hand in hers, but as her eyes sweep across Chloe's face, Beca is emboldened.

She leans in, and time feels like it's slowing down as she closes the distance and presses her lips on Chloe's, roughly and then temperately.

Beca's not the most impulsive person. In the moments, though, when she is, they always leave her wondering if she'd done something stupid — like punching creepy middle-aged a cappella guys, like leaving in the middle of a fight, like pulling the girls up on stage during her solo set.

Like kissing Chloe Beale in her bed.

So she pulls back suddenly, as quickly as she had started it, an apology already stumbling out. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I just assumed, I'm so sor—"

Chloe makes a noise; something that sounds like no, her eyes so startlingly blue even in this light, and Beca freezes. She's sure her brain is working out some sort of rambling apology or excuse, maybe pass it off as a joke somehow?

But Chloe pulls her back in, both thumbs lightly touching Beca's cheekbones as she meets their lips again.

This second kiss is deeper, slower, more connected. It takes her breath away, as her hand curls at the back of Chloe's neck. Chloe tastes like mint and sweetness and sincerity, and a little like hopeless optimism on Beca's part.

A soft gasp escapes, and Chloe pulls away this time.

Beca has a tentative smile on her face, as she takes in a breath heavily; the questions written so plainly on her face.

Chloe's eyes shine.

"It's always been you, Beca."

 ------------

 v. 2020, Los Angeles, CA

 Having your anniversary on Valentine's Day is good. And bad.

Mostly good, because it means that Beca has that to help keep herself honest and not forget it, because it's impossible to.

Also, she won't forget, but, you know. Just in case.

Bad, especially last year, because it fell right around the Grammys weekend, and apparently when you're nominated and win pretty much... every single category you're in, that's kind of a big fucking deal.

(It started with Best New Artist, and by the time she's on that stage a fourth time, she literally had no other words and nothing but so much gratitude.)

But yeah, so last year's Valentine's Day-slash-anniversary was overwhelming. People contacting her from all corners, wanting to congratulate her and get some sound bites; the internet pouring both support, and scathing critique on her and her music.

Beca wishes she could say she rose above it, that she was as cool as her publicist thinks her to be.

Instead, Chloe had to deal with her, a stressful human ball of anxiety and nerves. Amazing, wonderful, sweet Chloe, just happy to be around her during these exciting and utterly vulnerable times.

 *

 This year, though. This year she's older and wiser.

Hopefully.

This year, the day falls on a Friday, but they've decided to celebrate it the next day and through the weekend instead, because Chloe has a seminar she needs to attend for school, and Theo had packed Beca's entire day with a long meeting.

Key word: had.

At 7 AM, as she wakes up groggily and checks her phone, the invite has disappeared from her calendar, presumably rescheduled for some other time. She vaguely notes the message from Theo about entire teams not being available, and Beca's not going to question the reason why, because she's immediately looking up flights to Ithaca and books the first one out.

 *

 (I'm not private jet rich, dude. Also, carbon footprint. Text to Amy, because of course.)

 *

 Here's her plan:

She'll make a beeline to Chloe's apartment (Beca's been here plenty of times, in the past couple of years; met her friends here in Cornell, hung out with them, appreciated that they're her support circle while she's here), and she'll say something incredibly dorky, and Chloe will kiss her, and then, they will properly celebrate.

God, the things Chloe can do with her mouth; the sounds Beca can get her to make.

Beca doesn’t even bother squirming in the plane seat.

 *

 Chloe I have a surprise!!!

Whereeee are you? 🥰🥰🥰

 *

 Here's what happens instead:

Beca has to fly back home — noun, the place where she lives; noun, Chloe — because while she was spending six hours flying east, Chloe had done the same in the opposite direction; her seminar being canceled (something about the professor being sick?).

She can't believe it.

Okay, she can maybe believe it.

God, the Bellas are going to have a field day with this.

 *

 In the group chat, Chloe's taken a selfie of herself in Beca’s apartment and captioned it: I flew here a day early to surprise Beca, but she flew to Cornell instead to surprise me too 😂

 Emily OMAG YOU GUYS that is SO CUTE!!!!!!

 Beca reads Emily's text, shaking her head, knowing that this is the younger girl's version of restraint.

 Flo One time I thought a guy was going to propose to his girlfriend on the plane, but turned out he was having a heart attack instead.

 Jessica&Ashley #justsoulmatethings

 *

 Rush hour in LA is so horrible, and it's nearly 8 PM when she finally gets back to her apartment. She jogs all the way from the Lyft to her door.

Beca never jogs.

Her own door flings open, and she sees the smiling face of the woman she loves.

"Flying cross country for me is so romantic."

"You did that too," Beca points out, a small smirk on her face.

"Yeah, but you did it twice." Chloe beams, and kisses her again, and again.

[nobodyfamousposts]

Blue Memories (lbscexchange2021)

Yay! It’s Valentine’s Day! 

Soooo....who wants a sad?

He opened the door for Marinette and gently escorted her inside.

She looked around, surveying every detail. The baby blue of the accent wall. The furniture in all of its strange varieties of makes that still somehow fit together. The assortment of decorations from the little black cat figurine that had been a joke housewarming gift from friends to her potted plants lined up at the wide windows—still tenderly cared for, even in her absence. All things that were part of the home. All things that made the home their own.

And yet, not a single hint of warmth came to her eyes.

“This is…my house?”

Ours, he didn’t say.

After all the things they had experienced throughout the years—the monsters they’d fought, the battles they’d won, the people they’d saved…

It seemed so surreal that it was something as simple as a car accident that would take her down.

She stepped through the entryway into the main room—tentative. Unsure. Like she didn’t think she belonged. Her grip on her cane tightened, belying her anxiety.

He rested a hand on her shoulder in reassurance. Allowing her to use him as her other support as she was forced to confront a home she didn’t know and memories she couldn’t recall.

“Just…take a bit of time to familiarize.” He whispered.

I will be with you every step of the way.

She took a breath but nodded before moving forward, and for a second—

Standing tall, wearing her suit like armor, her shoulders broad and head high in steely determination even in the face of overwhelming odds—

Luka could see the courageous young woman he loved in this stranger’s frame.

For her part, Marinette was…handling the circumstances if nothing else.

She stepped away from him, standing with only her cane and her one good leg for support. Rather than immediately head for the couch or any place to rest, she wandered the room, taken in by the all of the remnants of a person she used to be.

There was an array of frames along the wall as she passed, each containing memorabilia from newspaper clippings to artwork to awards. She gave them a cursory glance, none of them really standing out. At most, she barely touched one that contained a pink ribbon—

“Isn’t this a bit much? And a bit silly?”

Alya had gasped in mock outrage. “Girl, this is your own design house! We have to have a ribbon cutting ceremony to make it official! Otherwise, what have our years of labor been for?”

Marinette giggled. “You mean my labor?”

“Hey, don’t forget who did the interviews.” The other woman said with a wink.

More giggling.

“Of course, of course! I never would have gotten this far without you. Any of you.”

“And don’t forget it!” More giggling. “And besides, a happy opening is a sign of a happy beginning. This is your dream, girl! Go all out and enjoy it becoming real!”

“Okay, okay! So how will we do this?”

Luka smiled as he brought over the fancy scissors.

—pink ribbon, a couple inches thick, contained in a frame along with a picture of a group of strangers standing outside a building.

He carefully took their bags back to their his room, allowing her a moment to reflect and himself time to gain some composure.

To think it would be a car accident that did this. Not some epic villain battle, no. A stupid car accident because of her insistence on meeting him at the airport and some idiot who decided to run a red light. He'd consider laughing if he wasn't on the verge of breaking down…

But…she needed him. More than ever now.

When he returned, she was standing at the wall aligning with the window, lightly touching the dollhouse that was stationed there.

“Do we…did we have kids?”

“No.” Not yet.

It was grand—a four storied house with five rooms on each floor, each fully furnished in different ways. Its outside had the design of a cozy cottage, with walls were painted with a soft pink as well as white doors and window shutters. All of which were moveable, to her amazement.

“Where did we even get something like this?”

It had been a labor of love.

She hadn’t wanted to leave the kwamis stuck in the Miracle Box with no idea of the happenings in the world. And as they had begun spending more time outside, Marinette had been insistent that the kwamis deserved their own space outside of the Box. It had taken her weeks to make it—and multiple failed attempts.

She gave them their own home within hers. She’d wanted them to feel welcome.

It may very well have been the first time the little gods had cried.

“It was…a project.”

She frowned, but didn’t speak further. Her gaze turned to the nearby shelf on the adjoining wall. Holding a number of books. A single bin full of yarn for knitting. Two guitars rested along the side.

“Luka, it’s beautiful, but…why?”

“Why not?” He smiled.

“But…I’m not much of a guitar player. You know that. I’m not like you, Mr. Top 20 three-weeks-in-a-row. I still don’t know how to play the guitar.”

She moved to put it back in its case, but he pulled her back and into his lap along with the guitar. Her squawk of surprise only made him grin, and he placed a kiss to her head.

“That just means you’ll have more opportunity to learn.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

“Do you play?” She had asked, curious as she looked over the two guitars.

He smiled bitterly.

“Wow,” Dingo whistled as he peeked through the curtains. “Quite a crowd out there.”

“I’m not sure I can do this.” Luka muttered.

It had been one thing when he had been playing with Kitty Section. But the band had gone their separate ways and now he was playing center stage.

“No worries. It’s only your first show. If you choke, who will even remember?”

He sighed. “Yeah, see, that? That’s not helping.”

“I’ll tell you something that will, though…” Dingo trailed off with a smirk. Before Luka could react, the other wrapped an arm around his neck and dragged him to view the opening in the curtain.

“Dingo!”

“Take a look!”

Luka glared at his friend—or tried, but Dingo’s grip around his neck really kept him from turning in any direction besides the one the other wanted.

Dingo, for his part, didn’t even have the grace to look back, instead grinning at something through the curtain.

“A certain little lady in the center seat of the middle row.”

Luka froze. And immediately, his eyes glanced over the crowd, searching for…

Dark hair.

Blue eyes.

A bright neon pink sign with his name.

Her smile.

He breathed.

“Mari…”

Dingo clapped him on the back and released him.

“If you can’t play for your fans, play for her. You know she’ll always listen…”

“Yeah.” He answered.

What else could he say?

He’d built up his music career over years. For all that she had been busy with her own design house, she had still be there for him every step of the way. Supporting him. Inspiring him.

And now only one of them still knew that.

“Congratulations on the release of your new single!”

Ah.

He winced as the flashing lights hit him.

For all the time he spent on tour, he would never get used to this.

“Thank you.”

He knew better than to respond. It wouldn’t be enough. It was like an avalanche of questions and microphones barreling down on him.

“Mr. Couffaine! How do you feel about your ranking on the Music’s Top Ten?”

“Is there any truth to the rumors that you are doing a collaboration piece with Jagged Stone?”

“Are you really having an illicit affair with XY?”

“Luka Couffaine, you just completed the last stop of your world tour! What are you going to do now?”

Finally, the one question he wanted to answer.

“I have someone to see.”

It had been both a dismissal and an explanation as he took his leave to wait for his ride.

Tomorrow was their anniversary, after all. He’d managed to schedule the end of his tour to give him just enough space to make it back in time to spend it with her.

Marinette was probably already waiting at the airport at this moment.

Or at least…she should have been?

He checked his watch. Was he early? A bit, but not by much…it had been a little last minute for her, though. Maybe she was caught in traffic?

His phone rang. Was that her?

“Hello?”

“…”

“…”

“…what?”

He winced and turned away, trying to fight back the burning in his eyes.

Maybe she saw his reaction because she went silent as well. The tension of the room heightened, near to the point of stifling. For all that he wanted to reach out to her, there was a distance between them that felt…impassible.

He heard her move further into the room. Closer to the kitchen, it sounded like. He listened as something seemed to slide briefly across the countertop, as if she had picked up something for a closer look. Despite his better judgement, his curiosity got the better of him and he turned to see—

It had been hell. The date. The entire day. Hell. To the point he was convinced that some higher powers were giving a sign that this relationship wasn’t meant to be.

Except it wasn’t a sign, it was a fucking billboard.

He’d had it all planned out. Picking her up in his new car. They would have dinner together, followed by a movie, coffee and dessert at a nice little cafe he’d heard good things about, then a stroll by the Seine.

Except whatever higher power up there hated him, apparently.

First the car—the brand new (okay, only slightly used) car he’d recently purchased wouldn’t start, so he’d had to ride his bike to reach her. This meant the restaurant was a no go, meaning his reservation that he’d put in a good month in advance went to waste. Marinette had suggested they just walk to the movie which he was fine with, except that it started raining and the theater in question suffered a power outage. Desperately trying to salvage the night, he’d led her to the cafe anyway only to find they had apparently gone out of business the day before.

Luka was…done. He was just done. He’d apologized profusely and tried to call a cab for her before he’d walk home in the rain so he could scream into his pillow.

Suffice to say, he was pretty sure the date was a bust. And would likely be the first and last he’d ever get with her.

But while he’d been on the phone discovering that traffic was backed up and even THAT much of the night wasn’t going to go right either, Marinette had noticed a little souvenir kiosk under an awning nearby. He hadn’t known what specifically had caught her eye, but when she returned, it was with a thermos of tea she had brought from home and two little mugs she’d just purchased—both with their own different engravings.

She passed the "I AM WEIRD" cup to him. Was…was this a joke? Was she saying something?

He wasn't sure what it was until he saw her blushing as she sipped from her own cup, clearly displaying the engraving of "I LOVE WIERD".

The night went wrong in so many ways. But there…huddling from the rain under the storefront tarp, sitting next to her...he felt warmer than the hot tea could have been responsible for.

She held the “I LOVE WEIRD” cup gingerly, staring at the porcelain as if it could tell her its secrets. But when nothing could be found, she set it back at its previous place and continued on.

Marinette’s gaze had moved on to the next item of interest. She peered into the various photographs lining the top of the nearby shelf. Each contained images of a young couple. A man with teal hair and a lip ring along with a woman with dark blue hair and earrings. The pictures varied—them hugging while bundled up in the winter season, him picking her up and her holding him tightly for balance, them dancing at an outdoor festival, them making silly faces in a photobooth. Each one of them smiling.

One that kept her attention, however, had the man in a tuxedo and the woman in a stunning floor length dress. It was white with an illusion neckline, and bore the images of petals. But the truly striking feature was the airbrushed effect at the bottom of the dress as it changed from white to vibrant teal and finally to black—a clear match to the hair of the man standing beside her.

It was a wedding.

She had said he inspired her dress. That she had made it with him in mind. He had believed her, of course. He never needed her to prove she loved him.

But oh, how his heart had sung seeing her like that. In his colors. Showing the world whom she belonged with.

He had barely heard anything the priest had said. He had to have stumbled in his vows at least twice. He was torn between burning to touch her and yet not wanting to dare to—that something so beautiful shouldn’t be touched.

He would never forget the way she had reached out for him instead and held his hands with hers as she said she wanted to start a life with him.

She picked up the picture.

“It’s beautiful.”

It’s her.

“It’s beautiful. And I can’t…I don’t…”

Like gravity had failed her, she collapsed rather than sat onto the sofa—

That ugly, ugly leather sofa that Jagged had insisted they take with them from Marinette’s brief stint as his personal designer.

“No, you keep it, Mari. You’re gonna need something to spruce up your new place.”

“Jagged, seriously. That thing is hideous and I don’t need it.”

“What are you talking about? It’s perfect! It’s leather! And sturdy! And you can even pull it out into more of a bed. Besides, who knows when you’ll be bringing a studly young man to your place and need something to ‘rock it’ in, eh?”

“Oh my god, Jagged, please don’t!”

“Ey, Luka! Come on, mi boy, back me up!”

“Luka, don’t you dare—!”

Luka, for his part, kept his focus on cleaning his equipment and wisely said nothing.

He moved to her side without thinking.

“Mari…”

“What…” She looked up at him, hopelessly lost. “What now? What do…we do?”

She held the picture frame to her, as if trying to fill the hole in her heart that once contained years worth of love.

“I don’t know what…I don’t know how to…”

She sobbed.

If the phone call had shattered his world, this had crushed the remaining pieces.

“What…what are you saying?”

The doctor sighed.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Couffaine. But the damage of the crash and the shock of the incident has led to some trauma. We are running tests, but there is no way to tell just how great the extent is or how long it will last.”

He barely heard the words for what they were. Percentages. Chances. Outcomes. Luck.

She’d always beaten the odds before, hadn’t she?

She could…

Surely, she could…

He barely noticed when the doctor had led him to the white—white, white horrible white room.

And the all too pale and shaken woman resting inside.

“Who are you?”

It was her eyes.

Her beautiful blue eyes.

But not a trace of familiarity.

“Hello, Marinette.”

He smiled, trying to not let tears fall.

“My name is Luka…”

He slowly moved to sit beside her, taking his wife into his arms like he always did.

It…wasn’t the same.

"It'll be okay..."

Throughout his life, Luka had always been a river. Slow. Steady. Constantly cutting a path through life and through the world.

Luka was a river.

But for Marinette, he had been her rock.

“We’ll make new ones.” He promised her.

Day by day. Moment by moment. He would stay with her and make new memories.

It wouldn’t replace what was lost.

But they would make it together.

[juminsmysticmc]

Aaaa, I also forgot yestrerday so I'm glad that it's today! Can we have rfa (or rfa + vandy if u like) with mc who don't want to get married but still wants to spend life with them, have family ane all. Thank you for that blog!

RFA with a Mc who doesn’t want to get married 

Hey! I am glad that I wasn’t the only one who forgot, lol. I decided that I will only do the RFA or the Minor Trio for each request, I hope it’s okay, please be free to request the Minor Trio again, yeah? Please tell me your opinion after you read this, okay? Love youuu!

Jumin

Your heart was beating crazily as you saw the back haired man get on his knees in front of you.

Your eyes looked around at all those people who saw you and waited for your response.

You knew Jumin for 11 days and knew that you wanted to spend your life with him. You loved him. Everything about him made your heart beat quicker and made you feel emotions no one else could make you feel.

However, you never wanted to get married.

You already witnessed how marriage changed people.

Friends, your own parents, neighbors.

Everyone.

You wanted this love to last forever.

,,Yes,’’ you lied, making him happy and kissing your soft lips.

He held your hands in his and smiled so happily.

But eventually, you had to tell him that you actually didn’t want to marry.

Not because of him, but just because you didn’t want to.

When the RFA Party ended and only the member themselves stayed, you pulled your fiancé towards a quiet corner.

,,Yes, my wife to be?’’ he asked you all lovely.

You pressed your lips together.

,,I want to spend my life together with you,’’ you said.

,,Me too,’’ he responded.

,,I want you to become the father of my children,’’ you went on.

,,I would love that too,’’ Jumin laughed, blushing a bit.

,,But I don’t want to get married,’’ you ended your speech.

,,I feel the- what? But… earlier you said…’’ Jumin gasped.

His eyes were open wide as he observed you.

Your hands were sweaty. You were nervous.

For sure, this wasn’t an easy step.

,,Marriage changes love. I want this love to last forever. I promise you I will stay forever by your side, but not as your wife but as simply your partner. I don’t need anything else, but you,’’ you told him, kissing him on his lips and taking away his fears about the non marriage…

Zen

It was Valentine's Day when Zen returned home with a lot of red roses and chocolate.

,,Happy Valentine’s Day, Princess,’’ he told you and kissed you, putting the bag with groceries on the floor and hugging you.

He still felt bad that he didn’t ask you to be his wife.

,,I promise you, as soon as my family finally approves me, I will take you as my wife and make you the happiest woman in the world,’’ he promised you, implanting a kiss on your head.

,,Well,’’ you began.

,,I never want to live a second without you, but honestly speaking, Hyun, I don’t want to get married,’’ you confessed, biting your lip as you waited for his answer.

,,Huh?’’ he asked, kind of confused.

Wasn’t it every woman’s dream to walk down the aisle in a white dress?

,,I don’t want to get married. Like, we could use the money better for our future children. Not being married is so much better, less work, and doesn’t cost that much,’’ you told him, taking his hands.

,,Jagjya, money isn’t an issue for me, you know?’’ he asked you, worried that you may think that he didn’t have enough money to marry you.

,,I know, but I just don’t want it… I don’t need a wedding as long as I have you, I don’t need marriage to make a family with the man I like,’’ you told him.

,,A family as a non married man… guess my family will never approve of me…’’ he mumbled.

You suddenly felt bad. Was it that important to him…? 

Instead, he surprised you with a totally different topic.

,,Since they don’t approve of my job, myself, or my lifestyle and wouldn’t even accept that I am not married, let’s do a baby right away!’’ he laughed and took your body in his embrace, slowly taking off his jacket....

Yoosung

After a while of being together as a couple with Yoosung, it finally happened - despite not being married, which wasn’t a problem for you, you got pregnant.

For Yoosung’s mother, something horrible.

,,Tell Mc that I will pick her up next monday to choose a dress with her,’’ his mother told him at nine a clock, after you spent the last three hours vomiting.

,,Sorry, babe,’’ Yoosung said, looking apologetic into your eyes.

You got up, pissed, and out on your shoes.

,,You know, Yoosung,’’ you began, looking into his sleepy eyes.

,,That’s the reason why I actually am against marriage. I love you and I want to spend my life with you. I want to have more children with you, but I don’t want to get married.

It’s stressful. It’s something I didn’t want to have, but now for your mother I have to try on a white dress, even through this is against my wishes, and I honestly don’t want to live life like that!’’ you told him and went into the kitchen, leaving Yoosung in his bed alone.

,,Mc, wait!’’ he called you, jumping up too and running behind you.

,,What do you mean with ‘something I didn’t want to do’? You don’t want to get married?’’ he asked you again.

You explained to Yoosung that you loved him dearly, but that you simply didn’t want to get married.

Yoosung nodded.

,,Besides,’’ you began, ,,you need to spend your life with me, not with her. And if you can’t do that even through we aren’t even married, imagine how a married life will go!’’

You ended your sentence and began to cook the food.

With that, Yoosung disappeared.

You heard him yelling for about ten minutes before he came out, ready to eat breakfast.

,,What happened?’’ you asked him, concerned.

,,I told my mother to find my sister a husband and instead leave my girlfriend alone because she will live with me forever even though she won’t be my wife,’’ Yoosung told you, making you smile brightly.

Jaehee

Finally, marrying for the both of you wasn’t a problem anymore.

However, deep inside you didn’t want to get married.

Sometimes you were just scared of changes and wanted to keep things the way they were - for example the relationship between you and your girlfriend Jaehee.

However, you were afraid of her reaction.

Both of you decided to sit down with a coffee around the table while the doors of your coffee shop were closed.

,,Thank God we closed for lunch time,’’ Jaehee laughed as she brought you your hot meal.

,,Yeah,’’ you responded, thinking how busy you were for the last four hours.

,,Okay, Mc...there is something off, please tell me what’s wrong?’’ Jaehee asked you.

,,I’m sorry, Jaehee… I was just worried… like, I am afraid of what will become of us if I tell you what is going through my head,’’ you honestly began.

,,Just tell me, nothing will change. I promise you,’’ she assured you and took your hand.

,,I...I love you and I want to stay with you and have a family, I want to work with you, be your best friend and so on… but I don’t want to get married.

I don’t know why, but I am just against it.

The whole attention, the money… I just don’t want to. Is that okay?’’ you asked her, playing with your hands and licking your lips nervously.

Jaehee stayed silent for a few seconds, but then smiled.

,,Mc, I would never force you to anything if you don’t want to, it’s okay. As long as we are together, I’m okay with it,’’ Jaehee said as she took your hands and smiled even warmer.

,,As long as you’re happy, I’m happy too,’’ she nodded.

Saeyoung

Saeran was healthy and happy by your side, Jumin managed to do something with the twins’ father after a long time, and everything was returning to normal.

You and Saeyoung were engaged for three years by now and the wedding preparations finally began.

However, the stress did too.

You and Saeyoung went to sleep alone for three nights in a row by now and both of you were unhappy 24/7.

You were simply unhappy with the theme he decided to go with and… well, you didn’t know what he was angry for.

But he was, and the more he was, the angrier you got.

It didn’t take any longer when you spoke up the fourth day.

,,I can’t take it anymore,’’ you hissed, making Saeran look up from his plate.

,,I don’t like the location, I hate the flowers, sorry Saeran, but no!’’ you hissed, since he chose the flower, making Saeyoung glare at you for hissing at his brother.

,,I don’t like the dress, I hate the shoes, and I dislike the decorations. I don’t like the food, I simply don’t like -’’

,,The groom either?’’ Saeyoung asked you, hitting the fork on the table and standing up, making him look taller than you.

,,His attitude,’’ you hissed.

,,Good, cause it’s the same for me,’’ he groaned.

,,Good! Same here!’’ you yelled.

,,Let’s call it off!’’ he hissed and turned away, regretting his words right away.

,,Yeah! PLEASE!’’ you shouted, feeling better now.

However, a big misunderstanding was growing in the room.

Thank God Saeran asked both of you if you were breaking up.

,,NO! YES!!’’ both of you responded at the same time, looking at each other’s eye with panic written all over your face since no one expected the response.

,,We aren’t breaking up, are we? I mean, I still love you… I just want to call off the marriage…’’ you mumbled, now slowly tearing up as you realized that your fiancé was breaking up with you.

,,NO NO NO NO NO!’’ Saeyoung whined, jumping over the chair and hugging you.

,,I thought you were breaking up with me…’’ he whined and kissed you on your head.

,,Let’s stay together, but let’s call off the wedding…’’ he whispered and finally felt much better.

MASTERLIST 1

MASTERLIST 2

MASTERLIST 3

07.03.2021// 22:05 MEST

[nonagesimus]

(Fic) if you think it’s love (it is) - Sastiel ~2.5k

(AO3 Link)

Sam decides it’s time Cas finally gets that date. Happy Valentine’s Day, sastielers!

It was three days after the grace-extracting experiment. They had been quiet. Researching, looking for cases. Sam had calmed after the spell failed - for about a day. Since then Castiel had caught him staring in quiet moments, hovering over books with his gaze in middle distance instead of on the pages, chewing his fingernails. When he’d asked was was bothering him, Sam had said nothing. So, he waited. If Sam wanted to tell him something, he would. Eventually. Apparently three days was that eventually.

“I- I’m sorry if this is weird,” was an auspicious start, as he stepped into the library, but Castiel just waited for him to continue. “Dean told me - just mentioned, really - that while you were human you had kind of a… date that wasn’t.”

Which, yes, it probably was a little weird. Castiel was still unsure of what social cues he’d missed or ignored in that particular situation. But none of that was Sam’s fault. “I did,” he confirmed, neutrally.

“So, did you ever get a date?” Sam seemed to be very focused on carefully placing his coffee mug on the table without spilling anything. “A real one?”

“No,” Castiel said. “I think I’m ok without one, though.”

“No!” Sam’s voice came out a little strangled. “No, you- let me take you out.”

Castiel took his attention completely off the book he’d been scanning to fix his gaze to Sam, who at least had looked up at him now. Wide-eyed and a little paler than normal. “You want to take me on a date?”

That made Sam’s gaze skitter back to the table. “I just feel like you should have one.”

Castiel’s instinct was to push. Past the nerves, and the averted eyes, and the skip he could hear in Sam’s heartbeat. If he pushed, he thought, that might make Sam back off. “Ok,” he said, instead.

“Ok?” The word seemed like it rushed out of Sam’s chest involuntarily, breathy and relieved. “Ok. Great. Would- uh. How about the day after tomorrow?”

It wasn’t like Castiel had plans.

If he had, he would’ve cancelled them.

“How do I know you know what you’re talking about?” he asked Sam the next day, while he was watching him eat breakfast. “What’s the best date you’ve ever been on?”

Sam, to his surprise, flushed a little. “Ok, uh. There was this date I went on at Stanford. And- so you gotta understand it’s like a six hour drive from Palo Alto to LA,” he said, smile already curling the corners of his lips. “And Jess said she wanted to make a trip down, and I wasn’t sure. Twelve hours in a car is a long time, unless we wanted to get a motel or somewhere down there, but she was really into the idea, so… We go. We’d been together, like. Six months? I think.” His eyes had softened, looking into his memories. “Turns out she wanted to drag me to this bookstore she’d gone to with her family. They’d visited her Freshman year, taken a trip down to see the sights and…” He trailed off.

“And?” Castiel prompted.

“It’s called The Last Bookstore,” Sam said, focusing in on Castiel again. “It’s this huge place downtown. Bottoms floor is new books, top floor is all secondhand. Themed rooms, art features, the lot.”

“Sounds like your kind of place,” Castiel said.

“It was,” Sam said. His smile went distant again. “It took me an hour to realise that Jess liked it, sure, she thought it was a great bookstore. But it wasn’t six-hour-drive worth it to her. She just knew it would be to me.”

Castiel nodded, considering it. “That does sound nice.”

“We were so tired driving back I almost crashed the car,” Sam said. “But yeah.”

The next day, to Castiel’s surprise, they started early. Sam drove, did not tell Castiel where they were going. He’d packed a backpack, and didn’t protest when Castiel inspected it - it contained food. sandwiches, fruit, and carrot sticks, a thermos of coffee. Enough for Sam for the day.

“I’m guessing we’ll be out for a while,” he said, zipping it back up.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Unless- if you’re not having a good time just tell me. We can always go back.”

“You’re the one who wanted to take me out, Sam,” Castiel said, calmly. “I’m trusting you to do it.”

But Sam was nervous. Clear in the tension of his hands on the steering wheel, the set of his jaw. That, more than anything else, contributed to a quiet drive. Not uncomfortably - Sam had spent enough of his life on long car rides, and Castiel had certainly learned to bear them since he lost his wings. Sam took occasional sips from the thermos, they listened to local radio stations fade in and out, and watched the Kansas greenery go by. Until, a little before ten in the morning, Sam guided him into a small museum surrounded by short hiking trails.

And it was guided - Sam kept opening doors for him, kept hovering his hand near Castiel’s lower back, watching him out of the corner of his eye. They made it through three rooms - full of life-size dioramas, and informative placards, and really big rocks - before they spoke.

It wasn’t that it wasn’t interesting. A level of information the hovered in-between the levels that Castiel did know -  the macro of heaven and the extreme micro of the world he now lived in with the Winchesters. As well as the displays, he watched Sam out of the corner of his eye. He had wondered if he’d linger close the whole time, that hand near the small of his back, a steady presence at his side. But, no, Sam orbits. Sometimes looking at the same displays as Castiel, sometimes across the room. Always aware of him, it seemed.

“So,” Castiel said the next time they felt themselves side by side, looking at a series of miniature log cabins, each in different stages of completion. “If this is supposed to be a bookshop moment, like Jess gave you, why here?”

Sam worried at his lip, cheeks a little flushed. “I don’t know if this is that special, but - and do correct me if I’m wrong, but I hope I’m not - you’ve experienced so much of history from the outside. Just through heaven’s point of view. And then you came down, and you fought with us, and you stayed with us. It made me think you might be a little interested in seeing more things from our perspective.”

“Oh.” Because of course models and dioramas were not just models and dioramas.

“Besides,” Sam said, with a little more confidence. “After the whole molecules discussion it was pretty obvious dinner was a bad idea.” He flashed a quick grin.

Castiel wished he’d brought a flower, like he had when he’d been wrong about it. For some reason it felt like it might’ve jinxed it. Was that a holdover from being human or just from spending so much time with the humans he was with? The same result either way.

Two hours had gone by, spent in equal contemplation of the exhibits and the man who had brought him to see them, when Sam suggested they head back to the car.

“The museum is open until five,” Castiel pointed out.

“We’ve got a location two,” Sam said, “And they close at five as well. We leave now we’ll have a couple of hours once we get there.”

Another three-ish hour drive then. “Using all your ideas on one day?” Castiel asked, moving with Sam towards the exit regardless. “There’s time.”

Sam laughed. “When have you known us to have this many days off in a row?”

It was true. Not just in the always-an-impending-catastrophe way, either. Castiel had been able to tell there was energy building up in Sam when they were in the bunker. That he was healing, but that also meant that a growing part of him was yearning to work again. Maybe planning this had partially been a way to burn off some of that.

Sam pulled open the passenger side door for him.

The set out again. Sam ate some of the food he’d packed for himself one handed - Castiel busied himself helping open and close containers, pouring from the thermos. Watching Sam drive. A shorter drive, but only slightly.

“This is,” Sam said, guiding Castiel towards the entrance, “The Cosmosphere.”

This one - this one Castiel liked better. There was something endearing, something comforting, something familiar about how hard humans strived for flight. And he understood, now, the lack of it. This was something that was too often missed, in heaven. They’d watched humanity grow, obviously, but they ignored how much of it had been under their own power. That the ‘hairless apes’ had taken stone, and steel, and fire, and built themselves wings.

He was staring up an a model of Saturn V when he noticed how closely Sam was watching him.

There was anxiety in his eyes, but also a fondness. A warmth.

Castiel’s chest was warm, too.

They lingered right up until closing time, walking so close as they left that it was easy for Castiel to brush their shoulders together, watch Sam duck his head and smile.

And he’d known. He’d known, as soon as he heard the way Sam’s heart skipped when he’d asked if he could take him out, at every door he’d opened, how he’d been watching Castiel closer than any of the exhibits. Sam opened the door of the car for him again, and Castiel stopped to grip his arm, feel it solid and warm under his palm.

“Thank you for this, Sam,” he said.

Sam’s answering smile was bright, and open, and felt a little like sunshine. “There’s, uh. There’s one more thing. If you want to do it.”

Castiel tilted his head. “Oh?”

“Suns gonna be down in about an hour,” Sam said. “I thought… If you wanted to I thought we could stop and stargaze for a while.”

It sounded romantic.

It was cold, in the December air, but Sam had managed to stow blankets in the car without Castiel noticing. He draped one over the hood, and piled the others on top of them. He didn’t feel the cold, not like Sam did, but the blankets were an excuse to sit closer that completely necessary. Shoulders pressed in together. One ankle thrown over one of Sam’s. They talked, a little. Mostly they stared up at the sky. Sam finished the lukewarm coffee left in the thermos. Castiel listened to him breath, to the beat of his heart.

After a long time, Sam made a slightly apologetic noise, sliding off the hood of the car. “This isn’t great date talk, he said, “but we should get going, and I really need to take a leak before we drive home.” Then he tramped off into the undergrowth off the side of the road.

There weren’t any roses nearby, but Castiel could smell wildflowers still somehow hanging on in the cold. Quietly, he made his way into the dark to pick one, carefully selecting a bloom that had no crushed petals, wasn’t too close to wilting. A brief thought to Dean’s advice, and he removed his tie, opened an extra button on his shirt.

It felt a little ridiculous but when they got inside the car, and the interior light turned on, Sam’s eyes flickered down to the newly exposed skin.

Castiel held out the flower towards him.

Sam took it, hand soft and reverant, grin blooming on his face. “What’s this?”

“For you,” Castiel said. “You took me out, the least I could do is get flowers.”

Sam flushed, gently tucked the flower into one of the buttonholes in his shirt. “Thanks,” he said, so soft it was almost whispered.

They drove.

Sam was clearly exhausted by the time they got back to the bunker, yawning so wide his jaw cracked and then looking shame-faced. “Sorry,” he said.

“Hm,” Castiel said. “Maybe next time it could be one trip out per date, not a marathon.”

He cracked a grin at that. And, after all this time, it was nice to see an exhaustion that felt pleased. Satisfied, not just harrowed. “I’ll keep that in mind, Cas.”

“So.” Castiel paused at the corridor that lead towards the bedrooms, turned to face Sam. Wondered if he should be pushing this far. “There’s a proper way to end a good date, correct?”

Sam’s eyes flickered instantly to Castiel’s lips, which made him feel unaccountably pleased. “That’s ok, Cas,” he said, instead of leaning in. “That’s- that’s more for proper dates, not. This.”

So there was the line. Driving a total of nine hours across Kansas, carefully selected locations that he’d thought Cas would like, sitting shoulders pressed together on the hood of the car. Standing right up against it, but Sam had drawn a line, and this was it.

“This meant something to you,” Castiel said, stepping one foot over. “More than just doing something nice for me.”

“Cas,” Sam said, shaking his head, gaze down, self-deprecating smile. “You don’t have to-“

“I would like it,” Castiel interrupted, stepping closer, second foot over the line, and taking Sam’s hand, “If you let it mean something to me too.”

Sam’s eyes met his, expression disbelieving, almost scared. But he didn’t pull away, didn’t shift as Cas leaned closer. Not all the way. He was sure, he was so sure but- but if he was wrong.

He wasn’t wrong. Sam, breath unsteady, hand tightening around Castiel’s, closed the last of the distance. As kisses went it was gentle. Chaste. All too brief. As Sam drew back a noise of protest slipped out of Castiel’s throat involuntarily; he shifted with him. Sam’s free hand moved to his jaw, guided him into a second kiss, slower and deeper, and that, that was what Castiel wanted. He let his hand splay at Sam’s lower back, drew him in closer, opened his mouth so they could taste each other.

They broke apart eventually, Sam’s thumb stroking up and down the side of Castiel’s hand.

“So,” Castiel said, “Next time, I’m taking you out. Give me some time to plan it.”

Sam ducked his head, but not far enough Castiel couldn’t see his smile. “Ok.”

“I’m going to kiss you again,” he said. “If that’s alright.”

Sam’s smile brightened, and leaned in to meet him.

[all-an-act]

Possibly another adopted by tokomaru hcs but if they were all adopted together?

I gotchu~

~ Mod Noire

"We'll Save You"

(TokoMaru x Platonic!Warriors Of Hope)

They heard that they were going to be adopted by Komaru and Toko, and were all instantly ":O" faced.

Masaru and Nagisa immediately take on the protective roles of the rest, stepping in front of them at all times, as if ready to accept a beating in order to protect the others.

This deeply saddens Toko, who reassures all five kids that they have nothing to worry about.

Monaca gets shunned for a while by the other four, despite deeply regretting all she had done to them prior.

This is intervened by Komaru, who stages a mini "intervention", so to speak. She basically allows Monaca to express her regret, and the other Warriors to hear her out.

"Deal with it." - Komaru, in the middle of a peaceful argument with Toko.

Masaru, surprisingly, broke down crying, and the other Warriors were not happy.

Kotoko WAS READY TO THROW HANDS-

Honestly, if it weren't for Monaca and Nagisa, both Komaru and Toko would have probably gotten killed by Kotoko's wrathful self-

Jataro was the comfort to Masaru, and Monaca joined in on that after mediating the fight.

If anyone says the word "gentle", I kid you not, Nagisa socks them in the jaw so fast-

NOBODY gets to hurt HIS little sister. His words, not mine.

Kotoko helps Monaca bedazzle her wheelchair with cute jewels, stickers, and googly eyes!

The first time a Warrior called one of them "mom", it was completely an accident.

And it was, surprisingly enough, Jataro who said it.

Toko was helping Jataro sew up his mask after it had come apart, when he blurted it out.

"Thank you, M-M-Mom."

Toko's heart felt like it could burst right then and there.

But it shattered when he began apologizing for it.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't know what g-g-got into me... I didn't mean t-to... I'll never s-say it again, I p-p-promise..."

Toko hugged him so tight, she almost squeezed the oxygen out of him.

"N-No! No! I like that you see me as your mom, because that's what I a-am now!"

Jataro was confused. All his life, his mother hadn't wanted him. The idea that someone did, especially someone so kind and sweet, baffled him. It just seemed so foreign to him, and the warm affection almost seemed to burn.

"N-N-Naegi-San, too?"

"Yes! Naegi-San is happy to be your mom, too! We love you! We both love all of you!"

The first secret came from Monaca, where she revealed that she had faked her disability. She was willing to give up the faking, but wanted to keep her wheelchair for comfort. Komaru agreed to this, and allowed her to keep her wheelchair as a comfort item.

Kotoko and Nagisa were a bit upset about that, but they eventually forgave Monaca, understanding that she only used it to obtain sympathy enough to escape from the abuse of her brother and father. Masaru and Jataro forgave her right away.

Nagisa revealed once that he was getting picked on in school, and that he wanted to be homeschooled because of it.

Genocide Jack was NOT HAVING IT.

He showed up at the school, and threatened the kids' lives with scissors had a talk with them.

That was when Nagisa realized that he really could depend on the two women. He did begin to show affection, albeit in his own kuudere way, much more often.

For example, he was a lot less snarky when correcting their grammar, math, etc., and he genuinely smiles and compliments them all the time.

Kotoko gave the first hug. She was so overwhelmed with emotion, that she shamelessly, unapologetically hugged both Komaru and Toko!

Uncle. Makoto. Is. Their. Favorite. Person. In. The. History. Of. Everything.

NOW, LET'S GET INTO HOLIDAYS WITH THIS FAMILY-

Komaru and Toko totally put all five of the kids in therapy for their trauma.

None of them are upset with it, though. They actually appreciate it.

New Year's is a surprisingly fun holiday with this family!

Kotoko, Masaru, and Monaca stay up to watch the ball drop with Komaru!

Nagisa, Jataro, and Toko are all out before eleven o'clock.

The four that are awake do fun things while waiting for the ball to drop!

For example, Monaca reads them her favorite books! She takes requests, though, and if one of them requests a specific story, she will try her best to read it. Komaru makes sure not to request anything too difficult for someone her age.

Masaru gets them all to play ping-pong with spoons and mini cupcakes.

The rounds are as follows: Masaru vs. Monaca, Masaru vs. Kotoko, Masaru vs. Komaru, Komaru vs. Monaca, Komaru vs. Kotoko, and Kotoko vs. Monaca.

Kotoko paints all their nails. Yes, even Masaru's. Masaru genuinely doesn't care, and he wants his the brightest, boldest red color she has. Komaru goes for a paler green. Monaca goes for bright green. Kotoko gets her nails painted by Masaru and Monaca; one hand for each of them.

Kotoko ends up with a half pink, half black handset, courtesy of Monaca and Masaru, respectively.

Toko and the others are disappointed that they missed all the festivities, but Komaru reassures them that there's always next year.

Valentine's Day is another fun holiday for them!

Jataro saves up all his allowance for almost four months in order to buy everyone presents!

Precious babey-

Jataro ends up giving Komaru a Ouija board, tuna eyeballs, and a new electric fan to talk to.

Yes, Jataro has witnessed her strange habits, and is curious of them.

He gets Toko a little clip-on nightlight to help her through her fear of the dark. She clips it to her shirt twenty-four-seven, and always makes sure that it has batteries.

Masaru is given a cool red basketball with his name written in white letters. He never plays with it, though, preferring to keep it in a safe place, where it won't get dirty or broken.

Nagisa is gifted a large encyclopedia. It's a simple gift, but he appreciates it, and gives Jataro a long, genuine hug.

He gifts Kotoko with a cute book with kawaii, adorbs stickers. Surprise, surprise, everybody wakes up with their faces stickered, and there are stickers all along the walls, floors, and appliances. Anybody who comes over thinks it's cute, and that only encourages Kotoko to "spread [her] adorbs-ness everywhere"!

He gives Monaca a sewing machine, because Monaca had brought up her love of fashion. He thought that maybe she would want to design her own. Monaca burst into tears, exclaiming that she felt so selfish for accepting a gift from someone she used to treat so cruelly. Of course, Jataro reassures her that that's in the past, and they're siblings now. Monaca ends up with a soft smile, and hugging the life out of a very blushy, flustered Jataro.

When St. Patrick's Day rolls around, Monaca puts her Valentine’s Day present to use! She makes cute green outfits for everyone, and takes their senses of style into account. Masaru's is designed like a jersey, Kotoko's has lots of glitter and frills, Komaru's and Toko's are designed like schoolgirl uniforms, Nagisa's is formally styled, Jataro's is leathery, and her own looks steampunk.

Kotoko convinces everyone to go look for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, or at least some leprechauns.

They didn't find any. :(

April Fool's Day is a D A N G E R O U S day to exist, as long as they live with Masaru.

Masaru is basically a miniature Kokichi Ouma when it comes to pranks.

He switched the sugar for salt once, and Kotoko ended up sick for two weeks, considering she eats too much of it, and probably eats it in spoonfuls.

Mother's Day is a fun one! They split Mother's Day up into five days, that way each kid got to spend time with each mother.

On the first day, Toko took Masaru to a basketball game that she had scored third-row tickets to prior to Mother's Day. He cheered so loud, and it warmed her heart to see his joy at her surprise. Masaru ended up giving her a pack of colored chalk for her to write on her chalkboard with. Komaru ended up taking Nagisa to watch Harry Potter in a theater with her, after realizing they had both read the book. In return, he gave her a meal of tuna eyeballs that he cooked, himself. They weren't perfect, but... he tried. :'3

On day two, Toko took Nagisa to go write short stories together. They googled writing prompts, and each used the same one to comprise a story of under five thousand words in ten minutes. Then, they judged and gave constructive criticism to one another. He gave her high-quality pens to write down her ideas with. Meanwhile, Komaru took Jataro to plant a garden of vegetables in the backyard, and tend to it everyday. Sometimes, Jataro talks to their plants when he feels lonely. He gave her a pretty rock. Again, he tried. :'3

On day three, Toko took Jataro on a food tour, where she drove around and they got a small snack from every food place they drove past, eventually ending up with a whole big meal! He gave her a pretty flower. All the while, Komaru took Kotoko to a fashion show where they showcased pretty glittery idol clothes and lolita clothes. She gave Komaru a song she had written in her honor. Yes, Kotoko actually spent weeks writing a song for Komaru, and even got the other Warriors to play the instruments for the music. Masaru played guitar, Nagisa played the piano, Jataro played the drums, and Monaca played the bass. Of course, Kotoko was the vocalist. (Band AU?)

On day four, Toko took Kotoko to a Morning Musume concert. I swear, everyone must have had bleeding ears from how loud Kotoko screamed for it. She ended up getting an autograph and a picture with Tanaka Reina, so she was a very, very happy girl. She gave Toko a pink card that had a painted sweet message on it and was practically swimming in pink glitter. Meanwhile, Komaru took Monaca to play video games and order Monaca's favorite food. It was something simple, but something Monaca really appreciated. They played Pac-Man, Super Smash Bros., Sonic The Hedgehog, and Crash Bandicoot. And they had tons of fun. Monaca gave her a cute new outfit, made in steampunk design, that she made, herself.

On day five, Toko took Monaca to a planetarium, where they looked at all the beautiful constellations. Monaca, being the smart cookie she is, told her all their names, what they represented, etc.! And at night, they went stargazing for real, Monaca pointing out her favorite constellations again. Monaca gave Toko an invention of hers: a program she designed that filters out spelling errors, grammar errors, etc., and suggests new ideas when writer's block comes around. Meanwhile, Komaru took Masaru to play laser tag! Komaru got "shot" sixteen times, while Masaru got "shot" three times. The two made jokes about it the entire way home, and it was just an overall fun day. He gave her the baseball that he had batted to hit the final, winning home run in his last game. It was the only winning baseball he had ever hit, so Komaru felt quite special receiving the gift.

Now, onto Father's Day~!

Genocide Jack takes an hour to spend with each kid!

He plays soccer, basketball, and baseball with Masaru for the first hour!

He reads stuffy, boring novels with Nagisa for the second hour.

He cooks the best, most fanciest meal with Jataro for the third hour!

He acts out movie and show scenes with Kotoko for the fourth hour.

He helps Monaca make inventions and sew for the fifth hour!

He refuses all of their gifts in return, however, as he doesn't believe that children who have been hurt in the past, just as Toko herself was, should be allowed to pay homage to adults.

Despite them not technically being his kids, he cares enough to step into that role for them, Toko and Komaru allowing him to do so.

The fourth of July is great!

Genocide Jack brings up the idea of taking the kids to a carnival for it, to which Toko and Komaru agree.

They all get facepaints, funnel cakes, and they ride all the rides!

They play most of the games as well, and win eight or nine stuffed animals!

It becomes an annual tradition to take the kids to the carnival for the Fourth Of July!

For Halloween, of course they're all the cutest things!

Masaru is Yasutaka Okayama. Nagisa is Albert Einstein. Jataro is Frankenstein's Monster. Kotoko is a Fairy Princess. Monaca is female Izuku Midoriya.

Kotoko has no issue using her cuteness to get extra candy.

When Thanksgiving rolls around, it's always fun!

Toko and Komaru prepare dinner the night before, while the Warriors aren't allowed downstairs. They have to call if they want something, like water, and there is a bathroom in the attic.

In the morning, when the actual cooking happens, Kotoko and Masaru beg to help, but only Nagisa is allowed to, because Nagisa is the responsible one.

Even so, they invite their family members that they are still in touch with, such as Uncle Makoto, Aunt Kyoko, Aunt Aoi, Uncle Byakuya, Uncle Yasuhiro, and even Genocide Jack makes his "grand appearance".

Honestly, it shouldn't even be surprising at this point.

Christmas is another fun time!

They do Secret Santa, but Komaru and Toko make sure that they get each other.

Masaru gets Jataro; he ends up getting Jataro a whole new array of spices and flavorings for his cooking hobby! Jataro appreciates this greatly, and uses it whenever he cooks.

Nagisa gets Kotoko; he gets her a toy microphone that works like a real one, just on a smaller scale. Nagisa can now consider himself the reason "One Room Sugar Life" is belted through the house at two in the morning every day.

Jataro gets Monaca; he buys her a whole stack of fashion magazines with her beloved Big Sis Junko in them, along with new fabric to sew with. She appreciates the gifts, and assures Jataro that he can revel in despair with her when she obtains it.

Monaca gets Masaru; she gifts him with a ping-pong set, a table tennis set, and an air hockey set. Masaru is surprised that she cared enough, to which Monaca replies, "Monaca is a changed person now. Monaca cares about you now."

Birthdays are the same as Christmas, but all their efforts focus on that one person.

They grow to all love each other very much, and all of them would happily die in defense of the others.

Monaca even eventually gives up on her obsession with Junko, hope, and despair, with their help.

All the Warriors will forever appreciate everything that Toko and Komaru have done for them.

Overall, just a completely wholesome family.

[yandere-society]

The Ultimatum

Synopsis: Valentine’s Day has rolled around once again, and just like last year, you plan on spending it with none other than your emotional support dog. What you don’t know, however, is that you have an unexpected visitor awaiting for you at home.. and not only does he have a loaded gun on his hip, but he also has your beloved pet in his lap.

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Word Count: 6,000

Admin: @tatertotthethot​

Valentine’s Day Event Masterlist

Trigger warnings: yandere-themes, signs/mentioning of mental disorders such as: anxiety, depression, PTSD and dissociation; Mentions of gang violence; Depictions of gore; nonconsentual kissing (nothing sexual); no dogs were harmed in the making of this…

“Here you go, guys.” You said as you handed the couple across the counter their drinks. You returned their smiles and bid them a good day, but as soon as they turned away and linked their fingers together on the way out, your expression settled into one of disdain.

Baley, your manager, noticed it. But like always, she chose to ignore it. She’s very much use to your secretive, albeit bitter distaste towards romance. She’s been working along side you for two years now, and knows that you’re a big advocate for holiday decorations. You’ve decked the place out on Halloween, thanksgiving, Christmas— even fucking Saint Patrick’s day. But for Valentine’s Day, all you did was slap some heart shaped stickers on the window and didn’t even look too happy to be doing that, either. But she’s never been one to push.

“Guess what I’m doing this evening,” She hinted, hanging the ‘closed’ sign on the door.

“Hm?” You asked, having zoned out while rinsing your shot glasses out.

“I’m gonna eat the rest of my edibles and read some alien erotica.”

Not expecting anything less from her, given her personality, you only choked out a laugh and shook your head. It’d be more amusing if you knew she wasn’t kidding. Baley has a weird obsession with aliens and you never took her serious about it until you bought her a tentacle dildo as a gag-gift on her birthday, and instead of laughing about it and going off into a banter like you were anticipating, she started screaming and jumping up and down like you just handed her the last Golden Ticket to the fucking chocolate factory.

“What about your boyfriend?” You asked, forcing yourself to engage in conversation to keep you from spiraling.

“He’s out of town. So I’ll be thinking of him as I read about the alien king abducting me and using my tenta-holes—“

“Never mind.” You cut her off, trying to let that lighten up the mood. You appreciated the effort, but it didn’t work. You just wanted today to be over.

It’d be a whole lot better if only you could tell her the truth and come clean about your past. But it’s not like she’d believe you, even if you had the guts. But in all honesty, her fantasy about alien abduction was more believable.

You’re a barista making $10 an hour, living paycheck to paycheck and inhabiting the house your grandmother left you in her will. You have no car, you rely on public transportation; all your clothes are from goodwill and when you’re not working at this shop, you spending your life in confinement of those walls with your dog, as a recluse.

If you even dared to tell Baley that, just three years ago, you were living in a million-dollar mansion in South Korea, and had a luxurious wardrobe from big-name designers and that you didn’t even own a pair of fucking socks that were under $100.. she’d look at you as if you were the alien. She wouldn’t entertain the bigger half of the story, about how you were engaged to a man who’s now serving a life sentence and could possibly be put on death row for committing a robbery that left one of the international banking systems short 23-million won— which would amount to be approximately 20 million dollars in America... you would’ve lost her at the word Fiancé.

It’d be easy to prove, though. Your associations to the crime may not show up in your background check, being as you’re back here in America and was never detained, and the news isn’t relevant enough to circulate here. However, a simple google search would reveal it all, even with pictures of you two in public.

But not even you wanted to look up his name to know what was going on with his case. You were still ambient to forget about him, in a way. You wanted to ignore his existence. You fucking loath that man.. you swear, you do.

You had fallen back into a brooding silence again without even meaning to, and although you were busily cleaning up off muscle memory, you were detached. He still has that effect on you. And truth be known, the first year you spent in lonesome isolation after leaving Korea was just a change of scenery but not very different from the lifestyle he had subjected you to. But even still, it was so much better than living with him at the estate. And now, with your dog Sweetpea there, you feel safe again. At least you were in the same place you grew up, and felt closer to your grandmother—

Fuck, you missed her so much. He wouldn’t even let you visit her in person before she past. The man owned his own private jet and it never had any maintenance problems until the one fucking night you needed to go back home. You only got to speak with her on the phone, and bawled your fucking eyes out and spewed out an incoherent apology just hours before her heart gave out. That’s when she told you that she left you the house, and how sorry she was for kicking you out of it because you didn’t pursue the career field she wanted you to go for.

If only they would’ve arrested Taehyung a month prior, you could’ve been there for her. You could’ve hugged her and the two of you could given each other the apology you both deserved.

“Hey..” Baley’s voice suddenly came to your left ear, the only one that you could actually hear out of. Your right one, despite being 80% deaf even with a functioning hear aid, was faintly ringing from the emotional tangent you had accidentally drifted into.

You looked over at her, and broke down. Although she could never fully understand, she still gave you an empathetic frown and was pulling you into a hug before you could sputter out an apology— not that there was any use for one.

You had secrets that still haunted you, and will always impair your daily life— much like your botched eardrum and this shitty device you spent way too much money on. That’s another thing you only had Kim Taehyung to thank for, along with your fucked up shoulder.

You had to carefully elevate your arms but eventually returned the hug and cried a little harder, not able to help it. Sweetpea was a great reciprocate for affection and did a swell job with distracting you, but as far as human comfort goes, you haven’t had so much as that in.. well, seven fucking years. Tae was always big on affection, and also comforted you when you needed it. But it was redundant and didn’t have a sincere effect, being as he was the very one that initially caused the hurt it derived from.

“I don’t know what the hell is going on with you, I never do... but I want you to know that I can see how strong you are. You’re doing a great job at making it through each day...” she muttered, rubbing your back as it shook with each silent sob. You felt bad when you heard her own voice beginning to thicken, but that was no surprise. She was a sympathizer and a little bit emo in general. Seeing others cry was enough to jerk a tear out of her, and you loved that about her. She’s a weirdo, but she’s pure, and she’s very good hearted. You could even say that you may have deeper feelings for her as well, and they may even be mutual, but you were no good for her. Hell, you were already putting her in enough danger just by being an employee at her shop. If you were to let your relationship stem past being friendly coworkers, or even hung out with her outside of work, that could pose an actual threat to her safety.

So, even though you wanted to lengthen the embrace, and longed to tighten your arms around her even more, you pulled back and wiped at your face, giving her a weak grin and a nod instead.

She squeezed your shoulders one last time before taking a step back, recollecting herself.

“You go home. I got everything else.”

You sheepishly nodded again, thanking her one last time before collecting your things and booking it out of there. Had you not felt so broken and defeated in that moment, you would’ve refused. But her show of affection triggered a deep, dire need to give and be given more comfort.

Fortunately for you, though, you had a special someone for that. Your dog is the only living creature on this planet that can be trusted with the revelations of your past. She’s the only reliance you have for receiving unconditional love and support without any judgment... probably because she doesn’t even understand what the fuck you’re saying half the time, nor can she repeat the shit you say, but as far as comfort goes, it’s always a guarantee.

— That’s just in her nature, like most pets. Pitbulls, however, are very sensitive and attentive to certain emotions— especially depression and anxiety. They’re just as good with protecting their owners, as well as they are with babysitting them. Everyone knows pitbulls have a notorious and misguided reputation for being aggressive. But little do most know, before dog fighting became a popular thing and defamed their personalities, pitbulls were primarily referred to as ‘Nanny dogs’. They’re great with babies in general, and very domestic and charismatic by nature. But despite being big, loveable goof balls themselves, they can literally sense stressful emotions and will know what type action to take in order to sedate them.

Sweetpea may not have professional training and certification but it is by her true nature and personality that you call her an Emotional Support Dog. When you’re having another one of your episodes— panic attacks, senseless paranoia, nightmares— she’s running to your aid and doing anything she can to distract and get you to play with her. When you’re depressed and spiraling into another breakdown, she licking at your face and sitting in your lap, not even seeing the problem with her being three times bigger than the average lap dog—

“Kneehemplamaforseeking?”

You sucked in a breath and blinked over at the PetsMart employee, smiling a few away from you. You probably looked lost, and in a way you quite literally were. You hardly remember walking in the direction of this store, let alone entering it. But this a common thing for you, so you easily just went on about your way despite the sudden worry of missing your bus... again.

“I’m sorry, what’d you say?” You had asked, turning your good ear towards her and watching her lips move.

“Do you need help looking for something?” She repeated, carefully annunciating her words this time, now that she could see the device in your ear. In today’s age, most people mistake it as a bluetooth— which has unknowingly saved you from accidentally talking to yourself in public, more than you would know.

You shook your head in response to the lady, and checked the time on your phone. You had 30 minutes left, thank God.

“No thanks. I’m just here to get some treats and waste some time before my bus comes. It’s windy as hell outside.”

“Ah, it certainly is,” she agreed, making her way to the next aisle. “Be safe out there!”

“I’ll try.” You muttered to yourself, grabbing a bag of bacon strips off the shelf— the very thing you had ultimately came for. It should’ve taken you no more than 5 minutes to grab and go. But it wasn’t uncommon for you to take much longer and aimlessly wonder down multiple aisles only to get one or two things from the same aisle, though. You do it at every store you go to, if you can stand to be outside of your home or away from work.

After checking out, you made it a mission to stay present until your bus came. By the time you got home, you were more stable.. up until the bus driver— a sweet elderly man who’s been transporting you on this route for last couple of years, handed you a rose on your way down the stairs.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, young lady.”

You had the strength to give him a genuine smile, but as soon as you stepped off and the doors closed, and the bus engine picked back up and left you with a gust of wind, you broke again.

Taehyung always gave you a bouquet of blood red roses for Valentine’s Day. He knew you were a sucker for them. And you still are, but sentiment wasn’t the only emotion to come now. They brought on an ache. A pain. A worry. A twinge of longing, but a fuckton of resentment.

You wanted to throw it on the ground and stomp at it.. better yet, you wanted to set it on fire and watch it burn while smoking a much needed cigarette. But first, you need to see your dog. You know she’s just as anxious to see you.

You trudged up to your door and was quick to unlock it... but frowned when you didn’t see her on the other side. Maybe it was because your ears were ringing again from how worked up you’d just gotten. But usually, the mere sound of your key twisting at the lock would have her running to the and practically beating it down, and you’d opened to see her gleefully wining out and wagging her tail.

But she wasn’t there.

“Sweetpea?” You called out, making it a point to swing the door shut behind you. Still, nothing—

Whimpering. You heard her whimpering and your head snapped over to the hallway. Your heart began to race. Your bed door was open, as always, and you could hear her in there but she wasn’t coming out. Only whimpering for you to come to her.

Fearing the worst, thinking perhaps she’d hurt herself to the extent that she couldn’t move, you barged down the hallway and listened with a sickening sense of uneasiness as her whimpering turned to muffled howls.

“Sweetpea, wha—“

You screamed. Sheer horror and white-hot adrenaline erupted through your veins and scorched your nerve endings, leaving you numb in the limb to the impact of the floor beneath your kneecaps. All you could feel was the volcanic eruption of despair in your chest and the strain in your diaphragm.

Sweetpea was okay, but very much in danger. She had a muzzle on, and her big, canopy-like ears were peeled back and her big, doughy eyes were wildly beading dead at you as she struggled and pawed at the carpet, watching you fall to you fall out. She was so worried to get to you but she couldn’t, do to the death grip of the man who was holding her by a leash. She couldn’t even interpret the lethality of the weapon that was also aimed at the back of her head— a glock you specially recall being the weapon of choice when Taehyung pistol whipped a man’s head open before emptying all twelve rounds in his magazine into his face.

Now, all you could envision was the same being done to that sweet face and big, bulbous head.

You screamed out and wailed even louder, not even looking at the intruder or registering who it was. Because you already fucking knew and in your mind it was too late.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” He roared, making you and Sweetpea flinch. You stopped screaming but your breath was ragged beyond your control. Your vision was bouncing between his fierce scowl and Sweetpea’s fearsome one. You dove forward, intending to crawl and beg but two pairs of shoes stepped out from where they’d been standing behind the door, and their hands gripped you by the biceps before hauling you up to your feet. You didn’t even try to resist them. You knew better than that. But fear still had you discombobulated and speaking out to yourself, feeling incredibly dizzy and disarrayed.

“Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!”

“You’re not dreaming.” Taehyung snarled, palm itching to slap some sense into you. But even within the three years he’s spent in bitterness, it didn’t change the morality he did have in relations to you. He’d never hit you out of anger.

But then he realized the real reason why you were saying that, when your knees suddenly gave out and the hold his men had on you became the only thing keeping you up right as you fainted out. He didn’t realize you still had that problem, and it hurt him to see that now.

Back when he had you in his possession, you had accidentally witnessed an execution down in the basement of his mansion. It was the first time you fainted, a d your body came toppling down a good ten-or-so steps, which were made of cement, and you were lucky to have only broken your nose and dislocated your shoulder.

Guilt crashed over him, suddenly. He meant to terrorize you in a way that wasted little time to gain submission, but he didn’t mean to trigger your PTSD— although he knew it was likely. Given the resolve, he put the gun back in its holster and stood up, beckoning for Yoongi to take the leash. Jungkook easily held you up by the waste and waited to pass you off to your fiancé before bringing your wrists behind your back. You slowly came to as he did so, and your head lolled back up only for your entire body to snap back into attention all at once, now that you were face to face with the Devil himself.

“Come on, you fucking idiot!”

Your head snapped over and you began to panic again as Yoongi fought with your, trying to drag her over to her cage by the leash. She was putting up one hell of a fight and audibly wheezing from the choke, her eyes now bulging as she looked at you.

You bucked against the both of them, your maternal instincts causing you to go feral as you saw red.

“QUIT! YOU’RE FUCKING CHOKING HER, YOU FUCKING PRICK! PICK HER UP!”

“She’s too squirmy!” He shouted back, the shock of your outburst causing him to lose tension and Sweetpea lunged the both of them forward. Tae was shouting at Jungkook to hurry with the restraints and squeezing you tighter, but you were kicking and flailing like a fish out of water now.

“MAKE HIM STOP!” You cried out, but was forcefully silenced by the gigantic hand that grabbled around the entire bottom half of your face— including your nose. Having been in this situation before, knowing his antics, you knew he wasn’t going to let you breathe again until you did as told. So you were forced to settle down but was still desperately pleading with your eyes, crying as your dog continued to heave against the menstruations.

“Yoongi, for fuck sake, the dog is 50 pounds. Just pick her up and put your in the kennel.” Tae stressed, eyes still locked with yours.

With a grunt, Yoongi tackled your dog and trapped her in a bear hug, snatching her up off the ground. You wanted to scream at him again but you were actually starting to struggle for oxygen, chest jolting with an involuntary attempts to inhale.

“Alright, they’re on. I just gotta link them.”

Tae’s hand finally dropped and you hacked out, swallowing as much air as you could. Now that Sweetpea was safely in her cage, you had time to worry about your own safety, but the look on his face wasn’t giving off such a merciful vibe.

“You do whatever you want to me. I don’t care. I won’t fight back... but if you hurt my dog—“

“If I hurt your fucking dog, it’ll just be tough shit for you. I’ll still do whatever the hell I want and unless you need me to prove that, I suggest you stop with ultimatums..” he chuckled, but it sounded so cold and twisted. He was on the verge of snapping, and was fighting to keep as much composure as he could right now, for your sake.

But he was on a heist right now, you readied yourself for the unknown when he punctuated his sentence by grappling your throat with the same, vandalized and accessorized hand he just smothered you with— fingers digging in at the sides. Your breathing was once again constricted and your eyes reddened in strain, your voice dying out.

Tae may not beat you, but he knows your worse fear is dying by suffocation. Hence, why he’s so big in breath play.

“Can you?” He reiterated, snarling his teeth at you and revealing the top and bottom pair of golden, fang-shaped plates framing his pearly white canine teeth. Back in the day, you found them so extravagant and tasteful, but now you found them all the more threatening.

He waited until your eyes began fluttered back before letting go again, and Jungkook’s body was the only thing that saved you from falling back. You never understood why, but for some reason, Jungkook was the only person Tae allowed to be in closer range of you, even when it wasn’t necessary. He even reminded you of that when Yoongi had stepped a little too close and Taehyung shot a glare over to him that had him taking a couple steps back. But Jungkook was apparently free to stand there, holding you up even as you regained your footing. You feared that one day it will all make sense, but for now, you were thankful that he was there to at least to save you from collapsing.

It’d be great if they weren’t even fucking here, at all.

“Go put the kennel in the car— not on the seats, though. Hobi will kill me if I fuck up the interior.”

“Please let me rehouse her.” You begged, cringing as his eyes returned to you. They looked even more colorless than before. “I’ll come with you, but I don’t want her there with us.”

“She’s fine. As long as she doesn’t shit and piss everywhere and doesn’t chew any of my shit, or try to attack me, I’ll let you keep her.”

“You were just holding a fucking gun to her head, Taehyung. Please let me rehouse her. My friend Baley will take her. All I gotta do is leave her in the cafe with a note— I have the keys. I’ll even let you write the fucking note yourself and we can go...” It was significantly getting harder to speak, now that your airways were irritated and your unsteady emotions were only making it worse.

You had already accepted your fate, but had a twinge of hope left that he’d at least hear you out on that request. His features had softened into a crestfallen display of guilt, and remorse. But your faith in him shattered all over again when he stubbornly shook his head and reached for the gun again. You were just about to throw another fit until he pulled the magazine out and showed it to you.

It was empty, until he pocketed it and pulled out a fully-loaded one and clipped it into place, before putting it back in the holster.

He tricked you, and although it was still pretty fucking evil, you were relieved. He never intended to shoot her and wouldn’t have been able to, even if his finger applied enough pressure on the trigger. But you were still very much in the midst of an abduction, and you still hated this man for what he was doing to you now.

“Why are here?” You croaked.

“To come get you and our new pet,” he announced, faking the enthusiasm before reinforcing his glare. “I’m... incredibly pissed about the fact that abandoned me.. but even more so offended by the negligence to stay updated.”

His eyes then caught the flash of a blue light at your ear. Your hearing aid was dying and faintly peeping in your ear. The remembrance had his entire demeanor shift to a sullen one, like a switch.

“But at the same time—“ his voice had fallen into a lower pitch, almost to the point of being a whisper as he stepped closer and easily molded his hands around your face. You suddenly felt fragile, but not in a way that made you giddy, like it use to. Now, you had to swallow down the bile in your throat and fight against the nausea as his suddenly lips came near.

“—It’s really hard take that out on you, when I can’t even blame you for it. But It’s been three fucking years, honey. Three. How could you not even have enough concern for my well being, to not even send a fucking post card? Did you really think you‘d never see me again, and that you had snuck away from me? I knew what you were doing, and where you were going before you even boarded your fucking flight.”

“You’re suppose to be in jail. I thought you were letting me go.”

“First of all, you didn’t even know the original plan to think that it had failed. All my charges have been dropped and the suspicion of my involvement dismissed. Namjoon has been found guilty and is now serving that sentence, like I had initially plotted from the beginning. You never knew shit to fucking assume anything!”

You glared at him despite the jolt that came with his drastic notch in volume, and not your tongue as he went on.

“But I did allow you to leave the country, but only to give you space and to let you touch base with... whatever the fuck it is that you still find valuable here. I didn’t think I’d have to clarify the circumstances of your stay, but for you to not even reach out.. and the fact you got some shitty, minimum wage job on top of it all, when you still have access to the saving account I’ve put in your name.. You really thought we were over? You haven’t even checked the news articles to see any updates on the case. I’ve been out for a week!”

He was still holding your face but his hands were shaking and the pressure was increasing again. He always pulls back and regains control over his temper before inflicting harm, but it’d be foolish to not expect him to one day lose that control. He’s hurt you on ‘accident’ before. He’s slaughtered many people, more than you’ll ever know to keep count. Nothing is sacred.

But now, you are a lot more contempt and able to tolerate the fear of him hurting you on impulse, being as Sweetpea was out of harms way and no longer in the room. You were still shaking though and had closed your eyes, bracing for it. But the jerk of shock only came when his suddenly lips covered your’s, and Jungkook finally backed away.

The kiss only lasted about three solid seconds before he pulled back, and was heavily panting through his nose. You dared to look up and caught a glimpse of the physical pain marring his features. His eyes had gone watery and his jaw began ticking like a time bomb, nostrils flaring and chest rising. He pressed his forehead against your’s and snaked his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck, trying to fight off his own sobs and choking on them more and more with each second.

“You hate me.. you haven’t even missed me.” His voice was so thickened by his emotions that it deepened the natural richness he already had, making it sound contorted and almost inhuman. A tear dropped down his nose bridge and hit your quivering lips, and for the life of you, you couldn’t fight back the heart wrenching burn it inflicted on you.

How could you still feel anything for this man? It can’t be. It just fucking can’t be..

But it was. You were so bewildered and petrified by the oncoming sympathy that it stunned you into a froze state of shock. He kissed you again, thinking it was a show of fear for own safety— and he was right to interpret the fear, but it was with different cause. He was steadily conjuring up feelings that you wished you could’ve watched burn, like you had intended to do with the rose your bus driver gave you. But here you were, heart bleeding for him.

You still didn’t reciprocate the kiss but it brought on more involuntary anguish.. you cried harder and so did he, and as he leaned your head back to kiss at your neck, you stared in perplexing awe at the gigantic bouquet of roses sitting on your nightstand.

“It’s okay. I‘ve missed you too fucking much to punish you now.” He calmed, and took a good 30 seconds to regain his composure. There was still a groggy undertone in his next words, but once again, he was back in his domineering mindset. “But I ain’t cutting you that much slack.”

You yelped when he suddenly shoved you back, straight into Jungkook for the nth time. He heatedly wiped at his eyes and stepped back, and it was the first time you took in how much more muscular and rigid he’d become over the years.

Before, he was a lot more slender and you’re certain that the very shirt he’s wearing now use to be at least 2 sizes too big on him before.. however, the black silk was skin-tight and clinging to the humps of his biceps, and straining around the buttons between his pectorals. His skin was more pale than ever before but now you could see a tattoo curving along his temple, arcing aside the edge of his pierced brow. The word that was written in elegant, cursive writing made your heart palpitate and your stomach twist even more.

Honey. That was your signature endearment. That was the name you’d given him in place of your real one the very night he met you, and asked for it.

This crazy motherfucker really is obsessed with you. How he can lie to you, deceive you, punish you and drive you fucking bonkers and stalk you down only in the act of what he calls love.. and for it to actually be a form of true—albeit dangerous love, was beyond you.

The scripture on his handsome, albeit matured face distracted you for a few seconds. You snapped out of it when Jungkook suddenly hauled you up by the midsection and slammed you down on the bed, pinning his hand down between your shoulder blades and rendering you defenseless.

“What are you doing? Taehyung! Please! Get him off of me!”

“If I could trust you to stay still, I would.” His voice was neutral again, despite a offhanded sniff. You struggled to look back, but it was no use as he was standing out of view.

“Stay still for what?”

“Do you still have your ring?” He asked instead, ignoring you.

“It’s in my nightstand drawer. Now tell me—“

“Told you she kept it,” Jungkook finally spoke— and just like it was back then, it was a very rare occurrence for when he did speak on your behalf. That’s another thing nobody else dared to do, unless asked. But knowing that he was the one stalking you for Taehyung made you all the more disturbed with him.

“Fucking creep. You’re hurting me!” you screamed at him, and he had the audacity to increase pressure. Tae said nothing, nor did he stop his friend from retaliating.

“I also know about your little affair with your coworker. Since when did you start swinging both ways?”

“What are you talking about?” You growled, and he only snorted in response.

“She knows you like her. She knows you stare at her ass every time she bends over and that you bend over on purpose to make her look at yours. She knows you like it when she slaps it.”

You, one again, went unmoving.

Jeon Jungkook is her fucking boyfriend.

“What does Jk even stand for?”

“Jackson. But he doesn’t like to be called Jackie, and you know how I am about nicknames. So I call him JK.”

“Don’t you fucking hurt her, Jungkook. You leave her alone. Tae, don’t you let him—“

“Don’t you worry about me.”

“BALEY?!”

Baley walked into view, an unreadable expression on her face. The mere realization of what was happening finally over filled your mental tolerance and you brain suddenly launched you away from reality.

The beach. You were at the beach with your cousins, all of you a little over the age of 18. You were on spring break your senior year in highschool and talking about the future. Graduation. Prom. College~

“She’s zoned out.” Baley said, and Jungkook finally let go. You were indeed paralyzed and had completely dissociated, talking to yourself. Taehyung, with a fully-loaded syringe in his hand, leaned over to look at your face. Your pupils were dilated, eyes stargazing in general, lips softly moving as you babbled nonsense. He hated knowing that it was coming to this, but he swore he’d earn your forgiveness.

“I’m gonna get your ear fixed.. or at least get you a better device. We’re gonna be okay. We’re so fucking rich now, I don’t even know what to do with all our money— only to turn it into more. I won’t have to work as much. We can get married, have the best fucking honey moon we can imagine. We can get started on a family. I’ll win your dog over, too. I promise.”

He sank the needle into your bicep, and you didn’t even flinch. Only blinked in rhythm as a tear fell.

“I’m gonna be a forensic scientist, like Mawmaw wants me to be.” You incoherently muttered, having said that to your friend, Jessica, on the beach.

It was insensitive, but he couldn’t help but crack a grin at that. Whatever memory you were reliving at the moment, was quite sometime before you actually began your classes for such profession. He bent down and kissed your cheek one last time as he injected the entirety sedation serum into your system and pulled it out. But you were oblivious to it all.

“I think I’m smart enough...”

”You’re very book smart, baby. But you’re probably gonna drop out after three semesters and become a bar tender at a strip club, because you’re not fit to be a homicidal investigator. You’re too soft.”

“I’m not..”

“You sure?”

“I’m gonna be a forensic scientist, like Mawmaw wants me to be.”

“Well, you’re gonna become my wife before you become anything else.”

“Ew, don’t even play like that. You’re my cousin.”

“Jeez..” Baley muttered. “You really have driven her a little bat-shit, huh? This is way more disturbing than I anticipated—“

“Babe, lets go sit in the car. Come on,” Jungkook hurried, pulling her out of the room.

Taehyung continued to whisper sweet nothings into your deafened ear, but the last night you heard before it all went blank was the perfect, bittersweet saying that bidded you goodbye for the night.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Honey.”

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 15: A Sheriff

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Emma steps in

Read on AO3

Emma Swan was having a craptastic day. 

After ten years in a row of solo Valentine’s Days, she didn’t expect the holiday to still get to her. And yet it had.

Maybe it was Storybrooke, with cutesy paper hearts in the windows of almost every store on Main Street. Maybe it was her roommate Mary Margaret, who kept believing in True Love no matter how hard she was proven wrong. You’d think a woman sneaking around with a married man wouldn’t be such a romantic. But you’d be wrong.

Maybe it was Henry. Regina had put her foot down on them spending much time together, and it had been a few days since she’d seen him. For all the confusing feelings Emma had about Henry and about the thought of being his mother, she missed the kid. He was good company. He was a believer too, and he wanted her to join him in his delusion, the whole fairy tale thing. True Love’s Kiss and Happy Ever After and Good Triumphing Over Evil. Too bad he looked so much like the person who had put the nail in the coffin of her ever believing in True Love again. 

That night was supposed to be girl’s night. Mary Margaret had called it “Galentine’s Day,” which was very Mary Margaret. Emma joined the group at the Rabbit Hole for an evening of forgetting about the men in their lives. Or the absence of men, as the case may be. 

The good times had lasted about an hour, until Ashley’s boyfriend Sean showed up at the bar with a ring and a bended knee. Ashley said yes and they left together. After that Ruby drifted over to some rowdy college guys and Mary Margaret announced her desire to go home to the only men who would never let her down--Ben and Jerry.  

Later, as she walked around town, Emma had seen David Nolan in the window of Dark Star Pharmacy. He’d had his back to the window, in front of the Valentine’s Day card display. He’d walked away with two pink cards, despite the fact that he only had one wife. She didn’t know whether to feel worse for Mary Margaret or for Kathryn Nolan.  

In the end, this was yet another Valentine’s Day alone. Not just single, but without friends or family too. At least this year she had a job and a decent place to crash. 

Emma had considered spending a quiet night at the station. It had been months since she’d been elected Sheriff, but she still hadn’t gotten a handle on all of Graham’s old files. There were a lot of them, and none of them were dated so it was almost impossible to get an idea of the timeline of criminal activity over the years. 

But then she heard a woman shriek over by Granny’s Diner. 

Sometimes Emma missed the days when she could stumble on a situation like this and then decide to turn around and walk the other way. A big part of surviving in all the various tight spots she’d been in was knowing when something was Not Your Business. Best way to get out of trouble was to never get into it in the first place.

But she was Sheriff now. Duly elected by the people of Storybrooke. As a public servant, public safety was Her Business. 

“I can’t go with you!”

The woman’s voice shouted again and Emma picked up her pace. The woman sounded drunk and upset. The fact that the man talking to her sounded calm and sober did not ease Emma’s mind. 

She turned the corner and saw Gold. 

Landlord, loan shark, pawnbroker and power broker, he’d been at the top of Emma’s list of shady characters for a long time. The fact that he’d helped her get elected only made him more suspicious. A man like that didn’t do things without an ulterior motive and she already owed him a favor because of that thing with Ashley and Sean’s baby.

 Gold had his hands out to a woman who was bent over and crying. Had he hit her? Was he about to?

Emma had never officially met Mrs. Gold, but she had seen her around town. She was usually dressed like she was now--big hair, high heels, clothes either too short or too tight or both. Graham had a stack of files on Mrs. Gold. People could be close-lipped about their landlord, but everyone had a wild story about his wife. 

Nobody ever mentioned how young she was. 

It was hard to tell with the heavy makeup and the heavier crying, but Mrs. Gold looked barely out of her teens. And Gold was easily in his fifties. Everyone talked about them like they’d been married for years. How old had she been when they’d gotten married?

Emma’s opinion of Gold went down another notch. 

“Is everything alright?”

It was a pretty standard opening question for a cop. Part of Emma was still surprised to be asking it instead of hearing it. She put her hands on her hips to clearly display her badge.

“We’re fine.” Gold held up his hand. Like he could stop her from getting closer.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Emma said calmly as she pushed past him. 

Mrs. Gold was bent over double, clutching her stomach. What the hell had he done to her? Squatting on her heels, Emma touched her on the shoulder.

“Mrs. Gold, are you okay?”

Drunk, red, teary eyes slowly tried to focus. Mrs. Gold’s mouth opened, but then she shook her head and started crying again.

“Sheriff, I appreciate your concern. As you can see, my wife has had too much to drink and I’m trying to get her home.”

Emma looked at Mrs. Gold. “Do you want to go home with him?”

This time, instead of shaking her head, Mrs. Gold closed her eyes and sank lower to the ground. Still balanced on her heels, she curled herself into a ball. Emma stood up and looked at Gold. 

“That isn’t a yes.”

He rolled his eyes, which did not help his case. “Please, Miss Swan, this is a private matter.”

Emma made a show of scanning Main Street up and down. “Pretty sure it’s happening in public. You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“I already did: Mrs. Gold had too much wine at dinner and now she’s throwing a fit. I’m trying to get her back to the house, where she won’t be a public nuisance any longer.” Gold’s consonants were clipped, and he spoke with a biting quickness. He was irritated. 

Irritated. While his wife was crying in the street.

She crouched down again. “Have you been drinking, Mrs. Gold?” Obviously she had, but it was important to let the woman speak for herself. Gold had to know she wasn’t just going to take his word on what was going on.

“I had a bottle of wine,” Mrs. Gold’s voice wobbled. She was still crying. “And I didn’t eat dinner.”

“That’ll do it,” Emma nodded. She held out her hand. “You wanna try standing up? I can take you in the diner for some food, coffee.”  

She shook her head. “I wanna roll in a ditch and stay there forever.” She broke down in a fresh wave of sobs that toppled her over and landed her butt-first on the sidewalk.

Emma winced and picked Mrs. Gold up. The woman clung to her as they stood, like an old cartoon of a drunk leaning on a lamppost.

“Thank you, Miss Swan,” Gold said smoothly. “Do you want to try to walk her to the parking lot or shall I bring the car around?”

Emma adjusted her grip on Mrs. Gold. She was light and tiny--helpless. “I haven’t determined that she wants to go home with you, Gold.”  

He looked shocked, offended. “What difference does that make? The state she’s in, she doesn’t know what she wants.”

Is that the way you like her? Emma was smart enough to not voice her suspicions out loud. But she knew enough about Gold to know that nothing was beneath him. This woman wasn’t safe.

Gently extracting herself, Emma put her hands on Mrs. Gold’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Mrs. Gold, can you talk to me for a sec?”

Mrs. Gold put a hand up to her mouth and nodded. 

“Can you give me a word?”

After a moment’s thought, Mrs. Gold closed her eyes and said, “Yeah.”

“Do you know that man standing behind us?”

This question was met with a glare, first at Emma, then at Gold. “Mr. Gold is supposed to be my husband,” she slurred. “He’s supposed to care about me.” She began to push against Emma’s grasp, shouting at Gold. “You’re supposed to love me, you bastard! I put up with so much shit for you!”

“Okay.” Emma cut off the drunken rant before it could build up steam. “Do you want to go home with him right now?”

“No.” Mrs. Gold was swaying on her feet, but she knew her own mind.

“Okay,” Emma nodded. “I won’t let that happen then.”

“Sheriff Swan, this is ridic--”

“She said no.” Emma spun around to face Gold. She didn’t yell at him. She didn’t have to. Sometimes doing the right thing was complicated and messy, but sometimes it was amazingly simple.  

She left Gold standing in silence and turned back to Mrs. Gold. “Now, do you have somebody you can stay with tonight? Friends? Family?”

Mutely, Mrs. Gold shook her head.

“Do your parents live around here?”

Her face crumpled like a paper bag and she began to cry again.

“Okay.” Emma gave her a few awkward pats on the back. “It’s okay. We’ve all been there.” She’d certainly been there more times than she could count.

“As you can see,” Gold’s cane tapped on the sidewalk as he stepped closer, “my wife doesn’t have anyone in her life but me.”

And who’s fault is that? Emma wondered. Out loud all she said was, “Not while I’m around.”

“What, precisely, do you intend to do with her?”

“We’re going back to the station.” Emma helped Mrs. Gold get her arms into her coat and began to half-lead, half-carry her down the street. “Is it okay if I help you walk?”

Mrs. Gold nodded and took a few staggering steps on her own. If it weren’t so cold, Emma would have told her to take off the heels.

Gold followed behind them. “Sheriff! You can’t just run off with my wife!”

Emma looked over her shoulder at Gold. “Well, I could arrest her for public drunkenness. And I could arrest you for interfering in police business. I could get out the handcuffs and the tasers and the billy clubs, because you two are clearly a danger to the safety of the town.” Emma took a moment to let her words sink in. 

The problem with being the only cop on duty was that she had to be both Good Cop and Bad Cop. 

“Or,” she went on. “We could, all three of us, take a nice walk to the station. Maybe the night air will clear our heads. I sincerely hope Mrs. Gold finds a quiet place to throw up because the sooner she gets sober the better.” She started walking again and shouted back to Gold. “You can come with us or you can go to hell, but I’m not gonna drag both of you.”

****

Emma was able to get Mrs. Gold all the way to the station bathrooms before she threw up. Gold trailed behind them the whole way. Was he slow because of his cane or because he didn’t want to come? Either way, he was standing outside the women’s room when they emerged.

When she saw her husband, Mrs. Gold shrank back. But she didn’t start crying again.

“Office is through that door,” Emma pointed behind Gold’s shoulder. “Feel free to have a seat, we’re gonna go get some water.”

She took Mrs. Gold to the water cooler around the corner. The tank was made of glass, likely from the fifties or sixties. The whole station was outdated like that, a time capsule. Maybe that was why Graham had so many paper files. The budget didn’t have room for a computer made after 1983.  

Mrs. Gold took quiet sips out of a paper cup. Her face was splotchy from emotion and booze. Mascara had smeared all over her red-rimmed eyes. She was staring into the middle distance, swaying like she was about to tip over.

“Hey, now that you’re inside, you should take off those heels.”

It seemed to take Mrs. Gold a minute to register what Emma had said. Slowly, she nodded and stepped out of her shoes. Now she looked even smaller, even younger, even more vulnerable. 

Everyone she’d talked to about Mrs. Gold acted like she was worse than her husband. That she was loud and lewd--shocking in how boldly she flaunted their sex life, whether people wanted to hear about it or not. Emma had gotten the impression that she was some kind of accomplice, an equal partner in a two-person reign of terror. 

But that wasn’t what she saw in front of her. True, appearances could be deceiving. But if Emma had to guess which version of Mrs. Gold was an act, she’d put her money on it being the heartless, hypersexed, trophy wife. Not the pathetic lightweight shaking like a leaf the middle of in a police station. 

She had to get to the bottom of this.

“How are you holding up?”

Mrs. Gold took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “Been better,” she croaked out after a minute. “Been worse, too.”

“Scale of one to ten where one is the best and ten is the worst?”

“Eight,” she said after thinking about it. “Maybe nine.”

“What’s a ten?” Emma asked, genuinely curious. If getting so drunk she fought with her husband in public and got the attention of the cops and then threw up in front of a total stranger wasn’t the worst night of Mrs. Gold’s life, then what was?

But Mrs. Gold just shook her head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah,” Emma backed off. As much as she wanted to get the full story on this woman, there were more important things to deal with right now. “Let’s get back to my office.”

Gold was standing by one of the desks in the bullpen, reading the paperwork some idiot officer had left out in the open. When they came in, he opened his mouth to speak, but Emma hurried Mrs. Gold into the office and shut the door.

“Do you want me to make him go away?” she said before she sat down.

“How?” Mrs. Gold’s voice was thick. “No one can make Mr. Gold do anything. He can do whatever he wants.”

“Can’t be that hard. I’ll just kick him the knee.”

To her surprise, Mrs. Gold snorted at the joke. “Ankle,” she corrected. “It’s his ankle that gives him trouble.”

“Good to know, next time we get in a fistfight.” She looked Mrs. Gold in the eye. “But seriously. Would you feel more comfortable if he was somewhere else?”

Mrs. Gold shook her head. “I’d only feel more comfortable if I was somewhere else.” She wrapped her arms around her stomach and sank into the chair across from the desk.

Opening a drawer in the desk, Emma pulled out a box of Kleenex. She also grabbed some of the protein bars she stored in the office for lunches. And, out of the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, she got the big stuffed Officer Teddy that they gave to kids when they were in crisis. Mrs. Gold was not a kid, but by God she looked like she needed a teddy bear. 

Emma set everything on the chair beside Mrs. Gold. She didn’t take anything but a tissue. 

“Do you mind talking about what happened tonight?”

“I should get a lawyer,” Mrs. Gold whispered. Then she cracked a miserable smile. “But Mr. Gold is my lawyer!” She pressed the Kleenex to her eyes and sobbed. 

“Hey,” Emma tried her best soft voice. “It’s okay, Mrs.-- Hang on, what’s your first name?”

Mrs. Gold looked up, suddenly suspicious. “Am I under arrest?” 

“No,” Emma said quickly. “It’s just weird to say ‘Mrs. Gold’ all the time, like you’re my third-grade math teacher.”

“Well, get used to it, Miss Swan.” She sniffed and straightened up. “I work damn hard to be Mrs. Gold, and I’m not going to be called anything else.”

Walking behind Graham’s desk--her desk--Emma leaned back in the rolling chair. “Is it always work? Being married to him, I mean.”

“Didn’t used to be,” she said quietly. “It was always a challenge, but it used to be fun, you know?”

“Not really,” Emma admitted. “I’m not big on commitment.”

“He used to be wonderful.” There was a misty light in her eyes now. “Especially when I was good, when he was happy with me. He could be so inventive and dedicated.” She sighed. “Mr. Gold could do things to me I didn’t even know I wanted.”

“But only when you were good?” 

The rumor mill had plenty of stories of Mrs. Gold proudly walking around town with bruises and burns. Apparently no Valentine’s Day was complete without her stocking up on rope and duct tape. Was that for when she was good or when she was bad?

Mrs. Gold shrugged and looked away. “I don’t expect you to understand how Mr. Gold and I are together.”

“I understand BDSM,” Emma said evenly. 

Mrs. Gold looked at her, with a blank confusion that didn’t come just from being drunk. She didn’t say anything, so Emma went on.

“That’s what it is, right? Sado-masochism? Dominance and submission? Bondage?”

A blink. “What?”

Emma put her feet up on the desk, trying to look cooler than she felt. It was weird to talk about this stuff in an otherwise normal environment while she was on the clock. But apparently the Golds got a thrill out of shocking vanilla people. So she’d better not act shocked. 

“Not everybody’s from Storybrooke, Mrs. Gold.”

She slumped forward. “I didn’t realize there was a name for it. Do a lot of other people do this stuff?”

Emma’s attempt not to be shocked didn’t last long. She sat up in the chair, took her feet off the desk. “You didn’t know? Wait, are you two not a part of a community?”

“What do you mean?”

Yeah, that made sense. Gold was one of those doms. Self-titled, self-taught, probably got kicked out of any reasonable BDSM group he tried to get into. Predatory. His current wife was young, maybe curious about kink, and he’d been oh-so-happy to be the only teacher she had. He’d trained her to trust him, to rely on him completely, so he could abuse her any sick way he wanted to. He probably told her it was all okay because they were kinky. That living in fear was what the lifestyle was all about. 

Son of a bitch.

Mrs. Gold looked over her shoulder through the windows that looked out at the bullpen. Gold was still standing there, leaning on his cane. Waiting.

Emma clenched her jaw. “There’s… a lot… I want to talk to you about, Mrs. Gold. But right now the most important thing is making sure you’re safe.”

She shook her head. “I’m safe.”

“Earlier you said you didn’t want to go home with him.”

“I was drunk,” she shrugged. “I was upset. I made Mr. Gold angry and I was afraid to face the consequences.”

“Are you afraid of him a lot?”

“No-o.” Mrs. Gold looked down at the tissue in her hands. “Not a lot.”

Emma pressed in. “When was the last time you were afraid of your husband?”

Defiance flashed in her eyes, but then disappeared. Mrs. Gold hung her head. “Last night,” she whispered. “I did something really bad and I thought he was going to hurt me. Like, really hurt me, you know?”

“More than just a spanking, huh?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. “But he didn’t! That has to count for something, right?”

Emma closed her eyes so Mrs. Gold couldn’t see her rolling them. “Maybe something, but not much.” She took a deep breath. “I’m gonna ask you a question, and I want you to think for a second before you answer it: Do you think your husband respects you?”

“No, of course not.” Apparently she didn’t need to think about it. “I’m just a stupid whore, Sheriff. Why would Mr. Gold respect a trashy slut like me?”

“Because you’re a person!” Emma shouted and Mrs. Gold winced. From the other side of the glass, Gold looked up. 

She balled her fists, trying to keep her anger from getting the better of her. Emma liked action. If there was a problem, she wanted to do something about it. If the thing to do involved punching a violent predator, then that was even better. 

But she couldn’t do that now. Cursing Gold out about the meaning of the words “safe, sane and consensual” would make Emma feel better, but it wouldn’t help Mrs. Gold. Right now, the most important thing was giving this girl the mental tools to protect herself. Or at least let her know that she was in danger.

“Mrs. Gold,” Emma said after a minute. “It’s important to me that you understand some things. I don’t know what your husband may have told you, but I want you to trust that I’m telling you the truth. Can you do that? Can you trust me?”

Mrs. Gold swallowed. “What are you going to tell me?”

“Just that… you and your husband are not the only people in the world who like doing stuff that other people might think of as unconventional. There are a lot of people who like, say, mixing pain and sex. Or pretending to be roles that they aren’t.” She hesitated before she admitted something personal: “I was with a guy who told me he never felt safer than when he tied himself up with rope.”

It had meant a lot to Emma, the first time he’d asked her to tie his hands behind his back. He’d told her he trusted her, and she had trusted him--right until it had all fallen apart.

“Are you serious?” Mrs. Gold’s brow was furrowed. “There are other people like us?”

“Yep,” Emma nodded. “More than most people think. In fact, there are enough people like this that they can get together and talk about it. They talk about this stuff so much that there are rules that a lot of these people agree on.”

“What kind of rules?”

For a second, Emma didn’t know where to start. As much as she was talking, her real experiences with kinksters was very limited. Even in the best circumstances, she wasn’t one for clubs or social groups. Nothing with the promise of a community or lasting relationships--that wasn’t her style. One-on-one was better. Emma liked semi-anonymous one night stands. No strings, just rope.  

But that wasn’t what most people wanted, and it definitely wasn’t what Mrs. Gold needed.

“Consent is a pretty big rule for most communities. Making sure that a person isn’t put in a situation they didn’t agree to. So communication is important too. The person being done to has to say what they want and the person doing the thing has to say what they’re planning on doing--and they both have to agree. Am I making sense so far?”

“So it’s like a deal?”

“Yep,” Emma said, glad that something was clicking with Mrs. Gold. “Negotiation is a big part of it.”

“I already made my deal with Mr. Gold.” 

“Well, it’s not something you only talk about once.” She lowered her voice. “Does your husband talk to you before you do a scene?”  

“A ‘scene’?”

No surprise that Mrs. Gold didn’t know even basic vocabulary.

“Yeah, before sex or play or punishment--whatever it is you do when he has power over you.”

“Mr. Gold always has power over me. He can fuck me whenever he wants to. That’s the deal.”

Emma frowned. “Does he get to hurt you whenever he wants to?”

“He can,” Mrs. Gold admitted with perfect calm. “He can do anything to me, or make me do anything. And that’s consensual. I agreed to it when I married him.”

“Does it ever stop? Do you ever have, like, a time out? A rest period? Or are you guys always… in that zone?”

Mrs. Gold looked away. There hadn’t been a trace of embarrassment during the rest of the conversation, but now she looked ashamed. 

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s… It’s been a while since we’ve actually done anything.”

Interesting. “And whose decision was that?”

“Oh, Mr Gold’s. I’ve offered tons of times, but he hasn’t touched me in months.”

“So he decides when you don’t have sex as well as when you do?”

“I guess.”

“Was that a part of your deal?”

She shifted in her seat. “I never thought it was a possibility that he wouldn’t want to do things to me.”

“But you really like it? You think he’s a good partner?”

Mrs. Gold’s blue eyes looked up at Emma. Every fiber of her being radiated sincerity. “The best.”

“Wanna tell me how you feel about not having sex for months?”

She looked away. “I hate it.” 

“Have you told him that?”

“No!” she almost laughed. “I was starting to tonight, but it didn’t work out for me.”

Emma didn’t laugh. She rested her arms on the desk and leaned in to look Mrs. Gold in the eye. “Listen, I’m not a marriage counselor. I’m not an expert in kink. I’m a sheriff. There is clearly a lot broken with your relationship, but I’m not going to be able to solve any of it. No one will be able to fix you guys unless you’re both willing to admit that there’s a problem and work towards a solution.”

Mrs. Gold looked down. “We never had problems before.”

“No, you did. But it sounds like Gold was really good at making you think they weren’t problems. Point is, there’s only so much I can do from a law-enforcement standpoint. I can arrest your husband--but only if you’re willing to press charges and make a statement about any past mistreatment.”

“Wait, who said anything about arresting Mr. Gold?”

“I’m just trying to think of a way to keep you safe. It’s my opinion that the easiest way to do that right now is to keep you separated from your husband. Now, you said you don’t have anyone you can stay with. If you want, I can pay for you to get a room at Granny’s.”

“I don’t need your fucking charity!” Mrs. Gold spat out the last word. 

“Okay,” Emma went on. “My other option is to keep you here in the station overnight. You admitted to being drunk, I can give you a safe place to dry out.”

“But you also want to make up some charge to put Mr. Gold in jail?” Her voice rose as she spoke. “That’s ridiculous! If those are the choices, then yes, by all fucking means, arrest me instead of him!”

This was wrong. Emma knew that it was wrong. Putting Mrs. Gold in the holding cell would be a completely a bass-ackward perversion of justice.

But she was damned if she could think of a single other way to fix this. 

If Mrs. Gold insisted on blaming herself, if she wasn’t going to press charges against her husband, if she didn’t even see that she was being abused--then nothing Emma did or said would change her mind. If Emma forced the issue, then she would be telling Mrs. Gold what to do instead of letting her actually make a choice. And if Mrs. Gold was ever going to be able to break out of her situation, it had to be her choice. 

“Do you wanna put me in handcuffs? It wouldn’t be the first time!”

The transformation was so fast Emma almost didn’t recognize that it was the same person speaking. So this was the version of Mrs. Gold that everyone had a story about. The version of Mrs. Gold that was in Graham’s file. Sparkling voice, chipper smile. She was even posed with her legs splayed open like a pin-up model.

Emma sighed. 

“It doesn’t have to be this way. Remember that. You don’t have to throw yourself under the bus for him. And you don’t have to do things you don’t want to do.”

“It’s really cute that you think that, Sheriff!” Mrs Gold stood up and stepped back into her shoes. She dropped the crumpled Kleenex on the floor and kicked it out of the way with her shiny black heels.  

She didn’t stagger or wobble as she opened the door to the office, but she did stop in her tracks when she saw Gold. Emma was close enough that she could hear her swallow. 

Taking a strange kind of mercy on the girl, Emma pushed in front of her to talk to Gold herself. 

“I’m keeping Mrs. Gold in the holding cell overnight, just until her blood alcohol level goes down a bit.”

“That’s not going to happen, Sheriff.” 

He didn’t move any closer, he didn’t try to reach for Mrs. Gold. He stood very still, with both hands on his cane in front of him. Emma narrowed her eyes. 

“Are you going to try to stop me?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said smoothly. “But I couldn’t help overhearing the end of your conversation.  Mrs. Gold offered to have herself put under arrest. Allow me to make a counter-offer.”

“She doesn’t want to go home with you.”

“I know,” he said. “So my offer is that I stay in the station tonight.” He looked over his shoulder at the jail cell behind him. “Assuming, of course, that you make sure Mrs. Gold gets back safely to the house.”

This was ridiculous. Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you confessing to a crime, Gold?”

“Quite the opposite.” Bastard had the audacity to grin. “I’m hoping this act will prove my innocence.”

Emma clenched her jaw. He was full of shit, but how could she prove it? Gold was giving her exactly what she wanted. There had to be a catch. 

“Is this your favor?” she asked. “Are you calling in what I owe you for Ashley’s baby?”

He gave a little shake of the head. “What this is, Miss Swan, is the right thing to do.”

“Why?” Mrs. Gold’s voice pierced through the quiet station. When Emma turned around, she saw she was crying again. “Why would you do this for me?”

Gold’s expression softened. To Emma’s surprise, she actually believed that he was capable of feeling sorry. Either he was very good, or there was more to him than she’d thought. 

“Like I said, Mrs. Gold, it’s the right thing to do.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. He set them on the nearest desk. “You didn’t bring your purse to dinner. You’ll need a key to get back in the house.”

Mrs. Gold just stood there, confused and stunned. Emma stepped forward to take the keys and give them to Mrs. Gold.

“I’ll drop you off,” she told her. “It looks like the car key is on here, but you’re still in no state to drive.”

Nodding slowly, Mrs. Gold looked at the keys in her hand. Then she looked up at her husband. “I’ll give these back to you tomorrow.”

“That’s fine,” he agreed. He shifted his gaze to Emma and smirked. “Assuming I’ll be a free man tomorrow?”

Emma rolled her eyes and began to usher Gold backwards to the cell. “Since I’m not actually booking you for anything, sure.” Once he was inside, she shut the door. “I swear, if this whole thing has been some kind of kinky game--”

“It’s not, Sheriff,” Gold said calmly. “The wellbeing of my wife is the most serious matter in the world.”

“Uh-huh.” Emma locked him in. “You’re gonna have to work harder on that.”

[curiousconch]

Someone Else's Christmas Star

An OH Christmas One-shot

Synopsis: Casey performs in Edenbrook's annual Christmas charity concert. Set in the time jump of OH Book 2.

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x MC / Rafael Aveiro x MC

Words: 1.4k+

Rating: G / Fluff sprinkled with a little bit of angsty dust

Author's notes: This was mainly inspired by that Christmas Concert scene from Last Christmas where the adorable Emilia Clarke sang her own upbeat rendition of Last Christmas by Wham! (watch it here, I swear it gives off major Christmas cheer vibes). Disclaimer: all characters belong to Pixelberry, I am just borrowing them. Thank you for reading! ❤️

This will probably my last work this year. I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas! 🌲❤️

It was Christmas Eve, and Edenbrook's atrium was a buzz with activity. Tonight was their Annual Christmas Charity Concert, where the first year interns are performing. It's been a long standing tradition and honestly the closest to an initiation rite the interns can have. As if Dr. Ramsey's snobbery wasn't enough torture.

"Dr. Valentine, can I talk to you for a second?" Esme approached the blonde doctor at the nurse's station, mustering the courage she needed to make her say yes.

Casey turned to face the young intern as she closed the clipboards of her last patient for discharge. "Mind if I sit down first?" Casey's feet hurt from standing up all afternoon, as a lot of their patients were in a rush to get home before tonight.

"Uhhh, sure," the intern nodded, leading them both into the cafeteria.

"What's up?"

"Well..."

Casey eyed Esme suspiciously, it was clear this was a situation she would rather not do.

"We don't have all day, Dr. Ortega. Spill."

"Can you be our lead singer tonight? Gary can't just freaking keep a tune."

***

Three hours later, Casey was wearing a green elf outfit adorned with multi-colored fairy lights all over.

"I did say no right? I said no so many times. Why am I here?" she asked her boyfriend, who was fussing all over her along with Sienna.

Bryce put on a matching green Santa hat on her head and grinned his effervescent megawatt smile.

"Because you're absolutely one talented singer, baby. And people can't miss out on that gorgeous voice of yours," he said as he kissed her forehead, making Casey's cheeks cluster.

Sienna giggled behind her while she secured the wide black belt around her waist, completing the costume.

"You'll do great, Cass, the kids will love you!" she said, mentioning the main audience of the concert, who was also the beneficiaries of all the donations from it.

Casey rolled her eyes, but couldn't help herself from grinning. She loved the kids, remembering her recent visits to the orphanage with Bryce. She was an orphan herself, so it wasn't hard for her to fit in with them.

Bryce pinched her cheek and planted a peck on her glossy lips. "You can do it, baby. I love you," he winked then playfully spanked her ass, then left the room with Sienna before she could retaliate. Casey felt her face burn, still getting used to the way she and Bryce fit like a glove. They were only dating for a few months, but theirs were so uncomplicated that it didn't take too long to be comfortable around each other.

Bryce was the one who were there for her all those nights. He was there when she was at the brink of death, he was there when she tried to wrestle with her trauma. He was there when she dealt with her heartbreak. And this Christmas, she wouldn't spend it alone, because her wonderful, lovely and magical Bryce was there to be with her.

She recalled how she spent last Christmas in an unimaginable demise, that she instantly pushed the very thought of it to the back of her mind. It wasn't long that Esme called her at the back of the makeshift stage, letting her know that their number was up next.

With a brief intro, they climbed the platform. Casey stood in the middle, illumated by the bright spotlights. As she waited for the other interns to setup, she waved at Gabriella, Tony, Chris and the other familiar faces of kids sitting in front. They beamed at the sight of her.

As the applause and Bryce's whistles receded, Casey's blue eyes caught a glimpse of the familiar green bomber jacket a few rows back. Her breath hitched as she saw his arms wrapped around the shoulders of another, making her freeze for a few moments.

"That's my baby! Wooh!" Bryce's cheer echoed though the makeshift concert hall, eliciting a few snickers and chuckles from the other surgical interns. She immediately snapped out of her trance.

She smiled back at her boyfriend, and took a deep breath, before singing the first line in acapella:

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart

But the very next day, you gave it away

This year, to save me from tears

I give it to someone special

With that the band came in, playing in an upbeat tempo to the synchronous cheer of the audience.

She repeated the chorus, but now to the accompaniment of Esme's electric guitar, Mitch's drums, Sokh's trumpet and Gary's tambourine.

She twirled around, smiling widely before she took the wireless mic and stepped down the stage to approach the kids, singing the verse as she patted each of the kids's heads:

Once bitten and twice shy

I keep my distance but you still catch my eye

Tell me, baby, do you recognize me?

Well, it's been a year, it doesn't surprise me

"Merry Christmas!" the audience shouted, participating into the song.

I wrapped it up and sent it

With a note saying "I love you" I meant it

Now I know what a fool I've been

But if you kissed me now I know you'd fool me again

In response, Casey walked down the space in the middle of the hall, nodding at the familiar faces of her patients who were spending their holidays in the hospital, as she continued the tune.

She sang back the chorus again, waving her free arm in the air. As the music transitioned to the second verse, she walked towards Sienna, Jackie, Elijah and Aurora, the group of friends she now could call as her own family.

A crowded room, friends with tired eyes

I'm hiding from you and your soul of ice

My god, I thought you were someone to rely on

Me? I guess I was a shoulder to cry on

She stepped towards her man, and Bryce didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her waist, dancing with her as she sung the next verses.

A face on a lover with a fire in his heart

A man under cover, but you tore me apart

Now I've found a real love, you'll never fool me again

Together, they danced, temporarily forgetting the hundreds of eyes watching, as Casey sang the chorus again and again.

Bryce twirled her one final time before he brought her back the front, and helped her climb back onto the platform, winking with pride.

She swayed her hips to the chorus one last time, as the rest of the audience clapped and sang along.

Last Christmas

I gave you my heart

But the very next day you gave it away

This year to save me from tears

I'll give it to someone special

As the instruments played the outro, she pointed at each of the interns laughing and twirling, as the rest of the stage lit up in a burst of joyful color.

Once the song ended, Casey and the interns bowed down to raucous applause that even Dr. Ramsey can't help but join in.

"Baby you were incredible!" Bryce gushed as he embraced her, lifting her petite figure up from the ground. "You're my sexy shimmering Christmas star!"

She squealed in delight, her arms enclosing his neck as she pulled him to a kiss.

"Get a room, you two!" Jackie belched, as Elijah, Aurora and Sienna approached the two and the interns.

"Yeah, it'll take a whole lot of Christmas miracle to separate this pair of lo-" Elijah was interrupted by the barrage of youngsters who stampeded towards Casey.

"You were awesome up there Caseeeeeyyy!"

"Yeah Casey so cool!"

"Way to go auntie Casey!"

She crouched down to talk back to them, Bryce lifting one little girl onto his shoulder to the kid's absolute delight. The interns were beyond amazed at the sight.

"Thanks, Dr. Valentine," Esme grinned, as she tackled a young boy who was pulling the Christmas lights around her.

"I was just trying to keep up with you guys," Casey winked, to the chuckle of rest.

Several paces away, brown eyes watched the joyful cluster with a mixture of sadness and longing. He knew she wasn't his anymore, that she was someone else's Christmas star now. Yet he couldn't stop thinking about the million regrets he had since last Christmas.

Nimble fingers tapped him on his shoulder, making him turn away from the sight.

"You ready to head back? Your vovo's waiting," Sora spoke softly, as she handed him a bag of goodies.

Rafael took it from Sora's hands, forcing a smile and nodded. "Let's go."

Sora took his hand and together they walked away. Raf looked sideways, catching a final glimpse of Casey and Bryce. It was at that moment that he began to doubt himself, when he started to realize that he didn't entirely move on. He realized much later, that he really chose not to.

Tags: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[eleven-times-lively]

The Wedding

In which you and Fred finally tie the knot, but not before some nerves get in the way.💕

Summary: Fred Weasley x Reader get married Word Count: 2908 Note: I was reluctant to post this as Chapter 1 didn’t seem too well received. I welcome feedback and constructive advice!

You stirred as you started to wake up. Your head on your fiance’s chest, limbs entangled. You breathed in Fred’s scent: musky but fresh, like an open field. You were still for a moment, smiling to yourself. Engaged, you thought. None of it seemed real yet. It had been two days, and while you knew you were now betrothed, the realisation of “holy crap I’m going to be married to this man” hadn’t quite fully set in. As if hearing your thoughts, Fred stirred.

“Morning beautiful.”

“Hi Freddie”, you grinned ear to ear.

He leaned forward and kissed your forehead. “What’s got you so excited this morning love?”

“Nothing in particular, Freddie. Just waking up with you is all.”

He brushed a hair from your ear, sitting up in the small bed in the small flat you shared. You both hoped to move to something more suitable for marriage in the future. “I love you so much, doll.”

You straddled his lap to adjust to him sitting, not in a peculiar way, just becoming comfortable. “I love you, Freddie.” You leaned forward to kiss him. He kissed back, humming into your lips, the moment could have lasted forever.

*5 months later*

You and Fred had been planning for months, with some assistance from Ginny, Molly,

and Fleur. It was Christmastime, and you were set to be wed on Valentines Day. You had chosen

France as the location. The wedding would still be small, but it felt more special than something you’d do at home in England. And besides, Fleur knew all the best spots and you trusted her, she was your Matron of Honour after all. Fred had predictably selected George as his best man.

“What’s it matter if the flowers are peach rose or beach rose?” Fred asked with a groan. It had been a long day.

“Elegance!” Fleur exclaimed, seemingly floating across the room with her clipboard.

going between various boards with information around the room.

“That… and, Freddie, you of all people should know that the pinkist, peachiest roses are my favorite.”

“I do, love. This is all just stressful.”

“That it is.” chimed Ginny, who had married Harry just two years earlier. “How much is left to do?”

“Well I think-” you had started to say when Fleur piped up from her clipboard.

“Finalising the flower arrangements, the seating chart, and arranging for a photographer… oh and the cake!” she paused before the last piece, as if it had slipped her mind, but of course nothing could when every little detail was plastered somewhere around the room.

It was getting late, and everyone was growing tired. Harry and Bill came to fetch their brides as you turned to Fred. “Ready for bed, love?”

“Absolutely!” Fred exclaimed, giving you a quick kiss before practically dragging you upstairs.

*2 months later*

It was February 13, the night before your wedding. You were staying with Fleur in the Delacour family home with Ginny, Molly, Hermione, and Angelina. Fred, along with George, Harry, Ron, Bill, Charlie, and Arthur were off in another cottage. It was late and you were up with Fleur and Hermione.

“Are you nervous?” Hermione asked from above her teacup, perched on the couch across from you in the living room.

“I’m nervous that something may go wrong, but as for the whole marriage part of it, not at all. Fred is the love of my life. I’ve known him for ten years, and there’s no one else I’d rather spend the rest of my life with.”

You thought Fleur was just about to fall out of her chair. “Mon dieu! Nothing goes wrong at a wedding I plan....” she trailed off, remembering her own wedding. “Do you think anything will change between you two, in the relationship?” She had collected herself and was gazing into her tea, as if the leaves had just told her some terrible news.

“I mean, I don’t believe so. Are we meant to just change our whole dynamic with the flip of a switch just because our names are together on a piece of paper? Or perhaps expect things to go awry the moment we say ‘I do’?” you chuckled at your own remark. “Freddie and I love each other, and I don’t think our almost ten year relationship can get any stronger. We can be married with no trouble at all.”

“Exactly. It’s been just over a year for me and Ron, and if anything, we are more in love than before.” Hermione added.

Fleur huffed so low you almost didn’t hear it. “Just be careful.”

With that the three of you retreated to your rooms, ready for the day ahead.

                                                              ***

The next day you woke up extra early. The ceremony was set for one, but Fleur insisted you wake up at seven to have enough time for “preparations”. It was now eight and everyone was getting ready. Fleur (and Bill) insisted on paying for hair and makeup services for the six of you. Hours later, you had put on your dress and were just about ready to leave for the venue. Your dress was simple, yet stunning. Fitting and flattering on top, full length and expanded outward past the waist, donned with long, lace sleeves and dipped neckline, you looked like a princess. Being in France and being spoiled by Fleur certainly made you feel like one. Fleur was your only bridesmaid, as you and Fred had agreed to keep it to one each to avoid any hurt feelings, thus avoiding a wedding party of over twenty. Fleur wore a gown similar to yours. I was baby blue and strapless, but featured the same lace bodice and a less flared skirt.. The wedding colors were decided to be peach and baby blue, something you and Fred came up with without assistance. 

                                                              ***

Fred and the others hadn’t woken up until around nine, as there wasn’t much to do. Ron, Harry, Bill, Charlie and Mr. Weasley all put on their suits of choice for the occasion. Meanwhile Fred was in the fanciest suit either of you had seen, picked out by Fleur. He sported a peach bowtie that surprisingly complemented his complexion. His boutineer was made of a trimmed peach rose and baby blue wildflowers. George matched him to a tee, but in a less flashy suit and a baby blue bowtie. You figured that the guests would need something to tell them apart. Fred and George were in one of the upstairs bedrooms shortly before having to leave.

“I’m bloody terrified, mate.” Fred had tears in his eyes, seated at the end of the bed.

George stood above him, consoling yet almost unsure of what to do, as he’d never seen emotions like this from Fred. “You aren’t having second thoughts are you? I can’t imagine you are.”

“What? Bloody hell George of course not. But what if I’m not good enough.”

“What in the world do you mean Fred?”

“I mean sure we were cute in Hogwarts, and even past that, but what if that’s all we are? Some teen romance that’s living on borrowed time? What if we get a month into this and realise we’ve been living some kind of pipe dream and we aren’t equipped for marriage?” Fred was sobbing at this point, something very unusual. Bill, Ron, and Charlie rushed upstairs at the sound, knowing a problem calling for a brother’s understanding needed to be solved.

“Fred, don’t talk like that. Look at any of us and you’ll see none of that is true. Ron and Hermione, George and Angelina, even me and Fleur, we knew our wives since Hogwarts, and none of us could be happier.” Bill chimed in from the back.

“I can’t exactly relate here, but even I know you sound crazy… more than usual.” Charlie added from next to Bill.

The four of them stared at Fred, who had collected himself. “I know that, and I know I’m being irrational. I just want the best for her… for us.”

“Of course you do, mate.” Ron chimed in. “And you know what? When you start thinking like that, in terms of “us”, that’s how you know you’re ready.” George and Bill gave nods of approval at his remark.

“Alrighty then. Well in that case, we have a wedding to get to!” Fred stood up from the bed, seemingly renewed, as he darted out the door.

                                                               ***

The ceremony hall was immaculate. Rows of perfectly lined chairs to accommodate the Weasleys, friends, and your family. The ceremony had begun, the enchanted organ playing a soft melodic tune. Fred had come down the aisle, and when he did Mrs. Weasley was already in tears. She was in disbelief that her baby was getting married, with all but one now wed. Fred couldn’t stop smiling from ear to ear. Nothing particularly exciting had occurred yet, but as he stood before the crowd, he was full of more glee than ever before. George and Fleur came next, arms linked and Fleur carried her small bouquet. They both looked stunning, and happy to be the only two chosen to be in the wedding party. They took their respective places, with George and Fred exchanging and a small hug. Finally, it was your turn. You had lost your dad in the Battle of Hogwarts, and had no brothers or close male family members. However, the Weasley family had come to feel like your own, with the older children becoming your closest friends.. The doors opened and everyone rose, to see you arm-in-arm with Bill and Charlie. If Fred wasn’t crying as the doors opened, he certainly was as you came down the aisle. A collective, yet soft gasp came over the crowd, stunned at your beauty. You had tears in your eyes you were trying to hold in. Holding your large bouquet and enjoying the moment, you reached the front of the room. You hugged the brothers as they took their seats.

“Hi.” you whispered at Fred, so low that not even the officiant had heard. You handed your bouquet to Fleur and took Fred’s hands.

“Hi yourself, gorgeous.” his trademark smirk came out with his words.

You were both trying to hold back the tears that yearned to flow. Fred caught up in your beauty and grace, and you in the prospect of being connected to the man before you for eternity. 

“Dearly beloved…” the officiant began; you and Fred never leaving each other’s gaze. After a few moments, “it has come to the portion of the ceremony for the couple to recite their vows. Y/n and Fred have chosen to write their own. The miss will begin.”

You took a deep, shaky breath, Fred smiling down at you as you began. “Fred,” you got the one word out when your voice broke and the tears began to fall. You giggled, as it was almost comical. “Fred, my love, my rock, my angel.” now he was crying. “From the moment I first saw you, I knew you were the one for me. Your kindness, wit, and damn... that smile, I’ve loved you since day one. I have loved the same man since I was fourteen, and now I’m here today marrying him. It was said to me by a friend that I’d know I truly wanted to spend forever with you once we’d been through hell and back together. Fred, we’ve been through more than most together, only growing stronger. You’ve been there through the good, the bad, and the ugly, and have still managed to stick around. From our first date, first kiss, first love, you’ve been the most amazing person I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. You have an affect on me I can’t explain. Fred, you make me a kinder, gentler person, my equalizing force. Bloody hell, you’ve got me up here pouring my heart out in front of our family, you bloke. We’ve had quite the time together, I can’t wait to continue this wonderful journey. I love you Fred, more than anything, therefore I pledge my faith to thee.” Fred looked down at you as if you held the most beautiful parts of the world in your hands. He had tears streaming down his face and he mouthed an ‘I love you’ at you.

“And now for the vows prepared by Mr. Weasley.”

“Y/n, you are by far the most gorgeous, kind, smart, caring, witty, and did I mention beautiful, person I’ve ever had the grace to know. You, quite literally, came tumbling into my life, and damn if it didn’t make it better by tenfold. You are truly a force of nature, my dear. Through our ups and downs you’ve taken life by the bootstraps and walked through with grace and such conviction that the Earth stops for you, or at least I did. I remember our first kiss, y/n. It was a month after I asked you out, and we were in the astronomy tower. I leaned down, whispered “can I kiss you?” and your reply was a simple “well I’ve been waiting for a month, Fred.” as you pulled me in yourself. It’s that drive, that conviction, and the undying love that stems from it, that has kept me around all these years. It also doesn’t hurt that you’re bloody stunning. George said to me the day after we met, “I have a good feeling about her mate, better keep her around.” and damn if he wasn’t right. You’ve proven to be an amazing person, and even better partner… in life and… other endeavours. I want you to be my Mrs. Weasley forever, y/n, therefore I pledge my faith to thee.” He was grinning, and still crying, as were you. You were impressed with the poignant literary skills your husband had brandished.

“And now for the rings.” The rings floated in, enchanted by one of the Weasleys. “Miss y/n will begin.”

“Fred, I present you this ring as a reminder of my constant, undying love. From this day forward, I vow to love, honour, cherish, and respect you. In sickness and in health, in poverty and wealth, till death do us part. With this ring, I thee wed.” You slipped the ring onto his finger.

“Y/n, I give to you this ring as an object of my love, passion, and faith to you. From this day on, I promise to love, honour, value, and hold you in the highest, as long as we are wed. For sickness or for health, for rich or for poor, till death do us part. With this ring, I thee wed.” He slipped the ring onto your finger, giving your hand a kiss.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. Mr. Weasley, you may now kiss your bride.”

His arms wrapped around your waist as he dipped you both and brought you into the most loving, meaningful kiss you’d shared. The moment could have lasted a lifetime, neither of you wanted to break. He pulled his lips away slightly. “I love you, y/n”, before you both resumed your standing positions. Fleur returned your bouquet as you and Fred stood forward and clasped hands.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I now present to you, for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Fred Weasley!”

Cheers erupted from your audience and you and Fred commenced the recessional, followed by Fleur and George. Everyone streamed out, all ready to enjoy the reception ahead.

                                                               ***

Before heading to photos, you and Fred had snuck away to a hidden bedroom within the reception villa. You wanted a moment alone in each other’s company before your night was focused on the party and your guests.

“We’re married now, love.” Fred was once again fighting back tears as you both sat on the bed. “I’ve wanted to call you mine, officially, since fourth year, and look at us now… Mrs. Weasley.” The word sounded like pure honey coming off his tongue.

“I love you, Freddie, I can’t wait to begin this new chapter with you… Mr. Weasley.” He brought his thumb up to wipe a tear from your cheek that had fallen.

The two of you were silent, enjoying the warmth and company. You stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, the same thoughts seeming to run through your heads. You rested your head on Fred’s chest. He kissed your forehead before setting his chin down on your head. The moment lasted forever, you both finding solace in the other’s steady breathing. Fred sensed you about to fall asleep to the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest. He kissed your forehead and you stirred. You lifted your head up enough for him to kiss you on the lips. The deep kiss evolved as you both sat up and you straddled his lap. You began to kiss down his neck when he had to interrupt.

“Hey, y/n?”

“Hmm?” You said, now fiddling with his bowtie.

“As much as I want to absolutely ravish you, that should wait for tonight. We have a party to attend, you’ll never believe who the guests of honour are.” You huffed, genuinely disappointed. “I knowwww”, you said, dragging out the last letter.

He picked you up bridal-style, carrying you out of the room and outside where the photographer and your family were waiting. You shared in one last  kiss before embarking on your first adventure as a married couple.

[lassieposting]

Vile and Mevolent, for the romantic headcanons?

Who goes to bed late and who wakes up first?

Both Vile, because he very rarely sleeps through the night. He'll go to bed whenever Mevolent does, but he has nightmares and a hard time switching off the hypervigilance, so someone coughing three rooms away or walking by at the far end of the hall or laughing in the gardens will startle him awake and he'll struggle to resettle. A lot of the time he gets up multiple times during the night, then comes back to bed once he's confident there's no threat. The sunrise, the dawn chorus, the fire in the grate burning down to embers (less crackly noise, more cold), and increased footfall in the hallways will also wake him up, so he doesn't normally sleep past when the servants start their work.

Mev, on the other hand, sleeps like the dead, and only gets up at a reasonable hour because he's got shit to do - if he's got the time to lounge in bed till noon, he'll do it. He sleeps through most of Vile's nighttime activity, but when it does wake him, he can usually calm Vile down enough to coax him back to sleep.

Who sings during daily activities (shower, cooking, etc)?

Mevolent. Some of the Faceless hymns are catchy. He's got an okay voice, so Vile doesn't mind. It amuses him how upbeat some of the tunes are for songs that are mostly about the faceless ones laying waste to the planet, though.

Who takes care of the other on sick days?

Mevolent. Not that he has to do it often - they're both incredibly tough, and sorcerers are immune to most mortal illnesses, so the only thing likely to bench either of them for more than a few hours is a Serious Injury. And? Mevolent is a sensible, rational man. When he has a Serious Injury, he goes to Nye, because Nye is by far the most competent surgeon on Mevolent's staff, and Nye fixes him up.

Vile is not a sensible, rational man. Vile is a torture survivor. He won't let Nye get within thirty feet of him, because Nye was the one advising Serpine on how much more he could take before it killed him. He's wildly unpredictable when he's hurt, because he goes into self-preservation mode, and everyone around him becomes a threat. And to make everyone's lives even harder, he has a tendency to mask an injury and try to fix it himself, because he's surrounded by the same people who tortured him and he cannot afford to show weakness. So once Mev wins his trust, he's pretty much the only person Vile will let take care of him when he's hurt.

Who gives unprompted massages?

Vile. Mevolent spends a lot of time sat at a desk, and gets the stiff neck/shoulders/back accordingly. Vile will come up behind him to look over his shoulder at what he's doing, and absent-mindedly do Mev's shoulders while he's at it.

Mev will give massages too, usually to make Vile go all drowsy and relaxed after a few rough nights of little sleep, but he asks first.

What activity do they do together in sync?

Compensate for each other's weaknesses in battle. For Mevolent, this means keeping an eye on Vile's blind side: usually, his magic does this for him and gets him around just fine, but a battlefield is so chaotic that it's difficult for him to tell his fighters' life energy and the enemy's apart. For Vile, this means being fast enough to hit anything Mevolent can't. For all that he's "slender", Mev is a big, strong guy; he's the tank, and his equipment shows it: heavy armour, massive greatsword. But the tradeoff for that sword's powerful swing is slower speed. Vile is smaller, faster and his armour moves with him, so he'll take out anything that gets too close to Mev before he has time to swing. They're a highkey unstoppable team in battle.

Who gives nose/forehead/hand kisses?

Mevolent. Vile is more neck/shoulderblade/wrist kisses.

Who gets jealous?

Both of them, but Vile is the one you really don't want to cross; he's lost everything he cared about before and it completely broke him, so he absolutely will not tolerate competition. There's a rumour that the real reason Serpine tried to pull off a sloppy assassination - when he's always been so meticulous about his schemes - and then fled the city is because he found out that when Mevolent asked what gift would prove his love, Vile asked for Serpine's head. It's also a popular theory that Serafina's death, officially a "tragic accident", was in fact the deliberate removal of a rival (although, the court is divided on whether Nef or Vile arranged it).

Mev is a lot more chilled about his jealousy. It comes with having the power to grind your rival's entire bloodline to dust whenever you feel like it.

Soft kisses or passionate kisses?

Both.

Who brings the other food at work?

Vile will load up a plate of leftovers if Mevolent is balls deep in A Project and misses a meal, and take it up to his office so he'll still eat something. He actually has a better handle on When Mevolent Last Ate than Mev does.

Who made the first move?

Lowkey both of them. It was a blazing row during a post-battle debrief-slash-dressing-down that unexpectedly became an adrenaline-fuelled angry fuck. Neither is really sure who pounced first.

Who won’t dress in costume unless it’s a couple costume?

Mevolent won't dress up unless it's like, a super fancy, elegant masquerade ball costume. Vile is an introverted antisocial buzzkill and won't dress up at all.

How was their first date like?

They went riding. Vile was at the point of recovery where he was climbing the walls with cabin fever, and short walks in the palace gardens weren't cutting it anymore, so Mevolent took him outside the city to let off some steam.

Who writes love letters/notes to the other?

Both of them! The early years of their relationship were during the war, when they'd often find themselves leading the offensive on completely different continents. This being the 1800s, they'd communicate primarily by letter; incorporeal visitations were a thing, but still in the very experimental stage, and Teleporters were precious.

Originally, Vile would send field reports, and Mevolent would respond with written orders. Professional. Brief. Succinct. Then Vile has his injury. They get closer while he's recuperating, and when he goes back to the front, his orders arrive with a postscript, more or less saying, "How are you holding up?" He adds a postscript of his own to his next report - essentially, "I'm fine" - and then, after a bit of consideration, decides that sounds too brusque and adds a little funny story about something that happened with one of his soldiers recently.

The postscripts get longer. They share little anecdotes, celebrate each other's victories, comfort each other after defeats. Vile sends Mev three scrawly pages of absolute filth, which is delightedly received halfway across the world. Mevolent spells Vile's name differently on every single letter, and somehow never manages to spell it the same way twice (Veighle? Vyle? Veele? Véle? Vile is ready to end him and his medieval approach to spelling.) They even send each other little trophies or souvenirs, squeezed in at the very end of a crowded parchment.

"V - Saw this and thought of you. M"

"M - You'll probably laugh at this as much as I did. V"

Who firmly believed the other was their soulmate from early on?

They're too bitter and jaded and scarred to believe in soulmates. Vile was the one who immediately thought Mevolent Got Him, though - "finally, here is someone who shares my appetite for destruction."

How much do they touch each other (PDA)?

Rarely, in public. Once Mevolent is fully established as ruler of the world and he can be open about his relationship without risking his crusade, they might dance together occasionally, or touch one another's arm to get their attention, or murmur in one another's ear. But they were a secret for over a century, and they very rarely interact publicly in a way that would be out of character for a lord and his general. Vile still usually enters rooms behind/"guarding" Mevolent rather than on his arm (with a few exceptions, usually when Mev wants to make a point). The main "PDA" for them is that they use each other's names, rather than "my lord"/"general", and Vile will look Mevolent in the eye, which isn't really permitted for anyone else.

Do they have cute nicknames for each other?

Vile is "V" a lot of the time.

How do they feel about Valentine’s Day? Do they go on a date?

Valentine was a Christian saint, and Mevolent only endorses the Faceless religion, so while V-day might still exist in Leibniz, it would only be in the homes of those brave enough to flaunt the laws around false gods and banned faiths, and would probably not be openly celebrated.

Public marriage proposal or something private?

Private. The first anyone else hears about it is when someone notices that Mevolent's changed his family crest. It's normal for sorcerers to either impale their crest (split the shield down the middle, with half your crest on one side and your partner's on the other) with their new spouse's, or include a nod to their spouse's crest in their own, by adopting one of their tinctures or bearers or something. The gossip circuit goes wild trying to figure out what prompted the change - nobody recognises the impaled crest, and Mevolent's shown no interest in any young ladies of good family since Lady Serafina's tragic passing. Rumours abound. Changing your crest is something that happens after you get married, not before - so at some point, their lord and master got secretly married and didn't tell anyone.

Eventually, someone points out that Mevolent took Lord Vile off to one of his summer palaces for a few weeks several months ago, ostensibly to renovate. That summer palace is small as palaces go, and quiet, and that trip could...feasibly have been a honeymoon, a newly married couple wanting some privacy. But if that's true...they've been married almost a year, and nobody knew a damn thing.

After changing the crest, Mev announces a month of feasting and festivities to celebrate. He manages his public image carefully, and he knows that the commonfolk won't give a damn that he's gone and married his heathen lover, if it gives them an excuse to get drunk and stuff themselves on his dime.

Vile, being an intensely private person, took forever to okay the crest change, but since most of the court is terrified of him, he only really gets questioned by a few people.

How long into the relationship before they had sex?

Their relationship literally began with a post-battle adrenaline-fuelled angry fuck. They hooked up long before ever developing Feelings.

Who drops innuendos at random?

Neither of them are hugely inclined towards innuendoes, but it happens for both of them occasionally.

Who makes romantic surprises without a reason to?

They both will, but the definition of romantic varies wildly. "I've arranged a showing of an opera you like" and "I've kept this prisoner until you got back so we can interrogate him together" are both under the umbrella of "romantic surprise" for these two.

How likely are they to have sex in a non-bedroom location?

Very. Mevolent's throne is a popular pick. The carriage, the bathtub and every flat surface in Mev's rooms are also A-OK.

Who said “I love you” first and when?

Vile really struggles with the big three. Everyone he's ever said that to, he's lost, usually in horrible ways. He's lowkey convinced himself that if he doesn't say it, he won't ever lose Mevolent.

So it's Mev that says it first, and it's kind of in the middle of a religious crisis. He's fairly convinced the gods would overlook him fucking a heathen, given all the good he's done in their name, but then one night they're in bed together, Vile is dozing off on his chest, and he's got this warm fuzzy feeling like this is How Things Should Be, and he's not really been in love before but he's pretty sure that's a much more serious sin. Vile mumbles at him to ask what he's all fidgety about, and "I think I might be falling in love with you and that terrifies me" comes out during the resultant conversation.

Who will sing cheesy romantic songs when drunk?

Mevolent. The cheesy romantic songs are from like, the middle ages. It's a bit like your older boyfriend trying to seduce you with dad-rock - cringey, but in a funny, I-love-you-but-god-you-suck kinda way.

[zenithlux]

Only the Best (VergilxReader)

In which you decide to celebrate a special Valentine’s Day with a certain, blue devil and with what you hope is an equally special gift.

Happy Valentine’s Day Ya’ll ^^ Hope you enjoy 

You've been with Vergil for almost eight months, yet Valentine's Day felt like it was going to be the most terrifying day of your life.

You had yet to decide if that qualified as being over-dramatic.

After a year and a half as Vergil’s “confidant” (the word “friend” apparently didn’t exist in his dictionary), you knew that Vergil didn’t care for holidays. Dante claimed that his brother often forgot them entirely, as he never had a reason to celebrate. And while you understood that, you were very different. Holidays were a chance to try something new, unwind, and just spend time with others. It was probably something you got from your father, who always found the craziest reasons - usually an obscure celebration of some kind - to come home with your favorite food and simple presents.

So, when you did start dating Vergil (which had surprised even you, as you evolved from “acquaintance” to “companion” after a rather honest, late-night conversation), you’d often wondered how you would handle this particular difference between you two. Every holiday since that night had been filled with excited people and other things to do. Halloween had come and gone, and you were happy to help with a costume party at the orphanage (and had been quite amused at the Batman costume the kids had begged Vergil to wear). Thanksgiving had been completely out of your hands, as Kyrie and Nico cooked everything while you were stuck at work. It had been Vergil who had dragged you out of bed after your overly long shift to join them at a rather impressive dinner. You expected Christmas to be the most difficult, as it involved presents (which Vergil always claimed he didn’t want). But his family had kept him busy on that one, and he'd actually accepted your gift in private; chocolate strawberries (you never told his family of that one) and a silver star charm for Yamato; a reminder of your first real date to the planetarium.

You were thrilled to find that attached to Yamato’s hilt the very next day. 

But Valentine's Day was something else entirely. There was no family to back you up (though Dante had cheekily offered). No chaos to hide behind. Just you and Vergil and some kind of present because you really just couldn't help yourself. And as much as he adamantly declared that he didn't need gifts… he'd never declined the few you’d given him. 

But you've also never tried to give him something so… frivolous. You’d considered buying another series present - books had been your go-to for your random bouts of gift-giving - but that seemed too simple. Too obvious. And it wasn’t often that you’d had a significant other on Valentine’s Day, and you were (mostly) certain that Vergil wouldn’t remember it. So, as you wandered the seasonal aisle at your favorite store, you were bouncing with nervous energy, determined to find something that would work. 

Except nothing felt right. It didn’t help that Vergil despised the color red on anything that wasn’t Dante’s jacket. 80% of everything you saw was already out of the question. The teddy bears were too bright. The larger stuffed animals were too cumbersome. The chocolate wouldn’t fit his tastes (you had to go far out of your way for that). He wasn’t interested in any other candies (a real shame, though you were happy to enjoy whatever sweets he passed on). The cards were all too impersonal. And the longer you circled these three aisles, the more frustrated you got. 

There had to be something. Anything that would earn that rare, adorable, and sincere smile you only saw when others weren’t around. But you couldn’t imagine giving any of these things to him… and you were quickly running out of time. Maybe if you’d thought about it sooner you could’ve done something more personal. A handwritten letter an option, though you’d only given him one of those, and you hadn’t actually seen anything but a curious, raised eyebrow when you handed it to him. The bookstore wasn’t too far away… you could always fall back on that…

“Hey!”

Nero’s voice almost startled you, and you weren’t sure whether to feel relieved or even more embarrassed. Fortunately, his knowing smile was all you needed to wave back. “Last minute shopping?” You said. 

Nero sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Honestly? I almost forgot about it.”

You laughed. Like father like son. “Well, Kyrie seems easy to shop for. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Easier than finding something for my old man, huh?”

Yep. You’d be caught. Though you really shouldn’t have been surprised. While Vergil never outright announced your relationship, everyone in the family knew. Maybe it was the way he’d started sitting beside you at every outing or leaving early to walk you home. Or possibly the nights he spent at your house instead of Devil May Cry, watching TV (which he hated in any other circumstance), or talking over tea (which he hated a little less). The most obvious sign was his lack of response to Dante’s teasing after months of harsh denial. That had been the metaphorical nail in the coffin that confirmed what everyone you knew already assumed.

Regardless, you couldn’t help but feel a bit self-conscious. “You’re not… wrong.”

Nero laughed. “Whatcha thinking of getting him?”

You sigh. “Nothing at the moment.”

“Then you’re overthinking it.”

You blink in surprise. “What do you…?”

“He’ll love anything you buy,” Nero said with a shrug. 

“...Are we talking about the same man?”

Nero laughed as he picked through the top row of teddy bears. “I’ve only known him for a few years, but even I can tell when he’s committed.” You blushed at that, though Nero didn’t notice as he pulled down a light pink bear holding a white heart. “Trust me. Find something that speaks to you or whatever, and it’ll be enough.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “I’m sure I’ll figure something out.”

And after another loop around the aisle, you found it. The perfect gift. And that’s when the wheels started turning, piecing together all the ways to make it a Valentine’s Day he might actually enjoy.

After all, only the best was acceptable for your handsome, blue devil. 

Two days later, you couldn’t contain the painful bundle of nerves that had your stomach in knots and your heart nearly bursting from your chest. It was the first time that you’d officially invited him to your apartment, as he often just showed up on your doorstep whenever he wanted. Granted, he always conveniently knew when you were there, and you’d never had a reason (or a desire) to turn him away. But those impromptu meetings were usually dictated by him. So even he had been a bit surprised when you asked him directly with a specific time in mind, and a promise of a good meal. 

You didn’t mention the holiday, and you’d glared Dante into submission before he had a chance to spoil it. But you didn’t miss the smirk on the younger twin’s face, or the subtle thumbs up he gave you when Vergil wasn’t looking. Unfortunately, Dante’s “encouragement” hadn’t helped your nerves in the slightest. Neither had an entire day of cooking, or the panic trip to the store when you realized that you’d bought the wrong wine. Then you’d spent way too long debating if you should or shouldn’t put the rose petals on the table, or light the strawberry-scented candles, or…

A gentle knock at the door brought your thoughts to a screeching halt. You took a long, deep breath, smoothed down your blue dress, and greeted your partner with the most genuine smile you could muster. “Welcome!”

That ever familiar, curious eyebrow raise shot back at you, but you merely stepped aside to let him in. “Just in time,” You said as you wandered back to the kitchen. “The steak’s almost done.” Why were you so nervous? You felt like a teenager on a first date, not a full-grown woman having dinner with someone you’ve cooked for at least a dozen times by now. But then your thoughts strayed to the present and you swallowed another bout of nerves. 

“Are you alright?”

You jumped much further than you meant to and flushed likely as bright as a strawberry when he had to grab you before you tumbled straight to the floor. “Fine!” You said. “I’m… fine.” 

He wasn’t fooled (was he ever?). “Are you…” He paused, brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, really.” You said. “Honest. I’m just…” The words ‘Losing it’ crossed your mind, and you sighed as he gently pulled yourself away. “I guess I should just get it over with, huh?” You could feel his eyes on you as you half-scurried out of the kitchen, only to return with a small, blue box with a simple, black bow. “I know, I know,” You said hastily as his eyes flickered between you and it at least twice. “You don’t like gifts. But today’s special.” You held it out to him. “So… here.”

It felt like an eternity before he took it from you, though it could’ve only been around thirty seconds, tops.  Mercifully, he didn’t waste time opening it, and your heart twisted when his eyes widened ever so slightly. The blue dragon plush was a bit larger than your hand, so you knew it would fit perfectly in his palm… if he’d actually take it out of the box. Instead, he simply stared at it, as if he wasn’t certain what it was. “When I was out shopping,” you said. “I kept thinking of what would mean the most to you.” His eyes flickered to yours. Still, he said nothing. After another deep breath, you continued with as much confidence as you could muster. “So I thought you would want something small that your brother won’t see, that can keep you company when I’m not around.”

After another quiet moment, which wasn’t nearly as nerve-wracking as the last one, he finally lifted it. You smiled, relieved when it did, in fact, fit perfectly in his hands, its little legs dangling just off the sides. “Your perfume,” He said in a very matter-of-fact way. But you didn’t miss the slight twitch of his lips. So close. 

“I may have slept with it the last few days,” You said. “And wearing your favorite perfume. Of course.” Finally, as the last of your nerves slipped away, you gave him a rather cheeky grin. “If you ever need more, you’ll have to come back for it.”

Finally, finally, it happened. He smiled. That genuine, relaxed, Vergil smile that you would give anything to see every day of your life. And it wasn’t a grin like Dante or Nero, but a gentle show of emotion that fit him just right. “This is very thoughtful, my love.”

Your heart fluttered in a mix of surprise and adoration. You couldn’t recall if he’d ever called you that. Maybe you missed it? Unlikely, as you had a feeling you’d never forget such a thing. Especially not when it was said with such astounding tenderness; the kind of tone that only he could ever pull off. “I’m glad you like it.” 

Then a much smaller box practically appeared in your hands, and it took far too long for you to realize it. “I’ve been informed numerous times this month that today is Valentine’s Day,” He said. Your eyes snapped to his in surprise, and you felt your cheeks flush as his fingers brushed yours when pulled his hand away from yours. “My brother stayed out of this purchase, of that much I can assure you.” 

You couldn’t hide your gasp when you saw it; a silver heart necklace with glittering sapphires in the shape of a V. “Vergil…”

“It hasn’t been long,” he said as he slowly took your hand. There was a hint of nerves in his voice, something that you’d never heard before. But it made your heart swell as he pushed through it, and brushed his thumb along your check. “But you’ve already managed to steal my heart.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that. “Now that’s something Dante did have a hand in, yes?”

Vergil snorted but didn’t deny it. “He may have mentioned kicking me out soon. I can’t fathom why.”

You paused for a moment, even though you already knew what you wanted to say. “There’s plenty of room here,” you said as you confidently met his gaze again. “I wouldn’t mind having someone else around more often if you’d like. And your little dragon would probably prefer this place to your brother’s.”

He watched you, expression calm, face unreadable. You tilted your head. “Is everything…”

The world stopped when his lips brushed yours, but he pulled away long before your heart found its way back to its body. “I would happily live here with you, my love,” He said, smirking when he saw how much he’d caught you off guard. But, in a surge of unprecedented confidence, you practically crashed back into him with a much deeper kiss than his had been. This time, he didn’t pull away, and you knew you’d be more than happy if he never did again.

[bensakindofmagic]

Chapter Eighteen

A/N: look at how fucking soft he is in this pic, i'm weeping, imagine opening facetime and seeing that face

Warnings: none, just fluff

w/c: 3.1k+

Chapter Eighteen 

Filming was tough. The light was sparse in Scotland at that time of year, so everything had to be ready to go the second the sun came up in order to maximise productivity. It was cold and windy, and often raining, and if it weren’t for a delightful cast and crew you would have been thoroughly miserable. You weren’t nearly so close with them as the Borhap boys, but they kept you in decent spirits. The real hardship, however, was being away from Ben. For as long as you’d known each other you hadn’t spent more than two days apart — even when you were barely on speaking terms you still saw him everyday. Your colleagues noticed how often you were on your phone during breaks (and you were sure there were some people who resented what they perceived to be anti-social behaviour), but it was because every time you looked Ben had sent you a dozen messages: pictures of Frankie, a link to a video that he thought you’d find funny, news articles that he thought would interest you, pictures he found on the internet, but more often than not just a message to say he missed you. You guessed that the separation was probably harder for Ben, given that he was the remaining party. You left for a new environment that he had never been in, and while you ached for him often, work kept you busy and there were plenty of people round to distract you. Ben was left with a hole where you used to be, an empty place on the sofa or at the table, and a sudden lack of company (though you noticed on social media that he was suddenly spending a lot more time meeting up with old friends, which made you happy). But at certain moments, like when you were standing in the pouring rain and shivering as the sunlight began to dwindle, you were desperate for him to wrap his strong arms around you and carry you to bed, where he would proceed to hold you tightly until all the chill had been chased from your bones. You felt a buzz in your pocket, somewhere in the great depths of your coat. It was a message from Ben asking when you were due to wrap for the day. 

Y/N: about 5.30pm. can’t wait to have a shower i’m freezing my bollocks off

Ben: You don’t have any bollocks 

Y/N: well not anymore obviously!! 

Ben: Facetime at 6?

Y/N: better make it 6.30, it’s going to take a while to warm me up

Ben: Wish I was there to help ;)

You were relieved when the director declared that there wasn’t enough light and you’d have to wrap it up for the day. Performing your duties as swiftly and efficiently as possible, you raced back to your hotel room and peeled off layers of clothing that had seemingly frozen onto your skin and jumped in the shower. You stood under the water for a long while, letting it hit your head and trickle down your body, warming you up little by little. You thought back to times when Ben would be in that shower with you, and your whole body would feel as thought it was on fire, though it had nothing to do with the scalding water. But the smile that adorned your face at the memory was melancholic, and soon you longed to be out of the shower and on your laptop to talk to him. You made a cup of tea, put on your fluffiest pyjamas, and sat down on the bed to call Ben just in time. His name popped up on your screen with a now familiar ringtone. 

“Hey, Benny!” you delighted as you saw his face on your screen, as close as he could feel in the present circumstances. 

“Hi gorgeous!” he smiled brightly and held Frankie up to the screen to wave hello with her little paw, “I’ve missed you.” 

“What, since we facetimed last night and texted two hours ago?”

“Yes. I’ve missed your cuddles.” 

You sighed, you’d missed his too. The long distance would have been okay if it weren’t for how much you ached to hold each other. Day-to-day, Ben expressed most of his affection through touch and you could see more and more how tough he was finding being denied that. 

“I was thinking about you in the shower today,” you mused. 

He smirked, “Is that so? What were you doing while you were thinking about me?”

You rolled your eyes and laughed, “That’s not really what I meant,” — though the question was certainly warranted, Ben didn’t need to know the answer just yet — “I was thinking about how much I miss you holding me. Not to get too soppy or anything.”

“Well you know how soppy I am, love,” he assured. That made you smile. 

“I just miss touching you — not in a sexy way! Although that too — it’s the feel of you, you know?” 

He nodded, reassuring you that he knew exactly what you meant. It hadn’t even been a month and you were both struggling more than you cared to admit. You’d missed your first Valentine’s Day together, and even though Ben had sent you flowers and you’d had a long and eventful video chat, part of you felt like you were missing out. You’d spent much of the early part of your relationship hiding it from those around you, and though you had those three precious weeks to be unashamedly in love, you now felt bitterly as though you would miss the best part of the honeymoon phase. 

“So tell me about your day, love.” 

You related all the gossip that the day had brought, jokes shared with your colleagues, how someone had to go running off through the highlands chasing a false beard that had been torn off by the wind. He laughed in all the right places and asked all the right questions. He, in turn, told you that he’d gone to the gym (which he’d been doing more often since you’d been gone), and met with a director for lunch to talk over a possible job. He was excited about it: you could see how much he wanted it, despite trying to convince you (as much as himself) that it was early days and he wasn’t getting his hopes up. He remarked how’d he’d sneezed five times in a row which he was sure was some kind of record — you laughed but noticed how he looked a little paler than usual and how he kept sniffing, and predicted that he was about to get a cold.

You accepted the call to receive an image of Ben wrapped in a duvet cocoon with a steaming mug in hand and tissues strewn about the place. 

“How’re you doing, darling?” you cooed. 

“I’m sick.” His nose, red and sore, was clearly blocked. He was pale and clammy, and his hair, damp with sweat, hung limply over his forehead. 

“Mm, I can see that.”

“See? I told you I couldn’t cope without you!” he whined. 

“It’s just a cold, Benny, you’ll live. Just drink lots of fluids and get plenty of sleep, okay?”

He frowned, looking remarkably like a toddler who’d just been denied an ice cream, “I was looking for sympathy, not instructions.”

You laughed and soothed him as best you could. As much as you opted for the ‘tough love’ approach, you wished you could be there to make him cups of hot water with honey and lemon, and bring him a new box of tissues when he finished the last one, and cuddle on the sofa with him watching old Disney movies. You wanted to stroke his hair and tuck him into bed. 

Apparently he wanted the same because after chatting for a little while, when his eyelids started to droop and his head got heavy, he quietly asked, “Will you sing for me?”

“Sing? What do you want me to sing for?” 

He shrugged, an embarrassed smile lacing his lips, “I’ve missed it. You sing all the time when you’re here, the place feels empty without it. I’ve been playing music a lot but it’s not the same.”

You chuckled, and went quiet. You allowed the silence to seep into your soul, to expand inside you and push all the noise for your mind. In its place a melody began softly and it danced off your lips.

‘Looking out on the morning rain, I used to feel uninspired, 

And when I knew I’d have to face another day, Lord it made me feel so tired.

Before the day I met you, life was so unkind.

Your love was the key to my peace of mind.’

The tiredness abated from Ben’s face, instantly soothed. Frown lines evaporated and his skin was left velvety smooth. His eyes fluttered closed, calmed. Even in the slightly pixellated image of him on your computer screen you could see how he ached for you, and how your voice helped to soothe that pain.

‘When my soul was in the lost-and-found, you came along to claim it.

I didn't know just what was wrong with me till your kiss helped me name it.

Now I'm no longer doubtful of what I'm living for, 

’Cause if I make you happy I don't need to do more.’

It seemed the more Ben was dulcified, the more your own agony grew. The softness of him was intoxicating, and it exposed how much he needed you. Guilt flared in you at not being there to look after him, and your own selfish desire to be near him added a sharp longing to your cocktail of grief.

‘Oh, baby, what you've done to me,

You make me feel so good inside.

And I just want to be close to you,

You make me feel so alive.’

His head got heavy, his shoulders relaxed as he leaned back on the sofa, and slowly you saw sleep settling weightily over his features. You indulged yourself by watching him for a few moments, chest rising and falling steadily as he began to snore, but soon the pang in your chest became too intense to bear. You whispered, “I love you,” into the boundless space between you before ending the call and quickly opening a new window on your laptop. 

———

Ben had been feeling particularly sorry for himself. He never coped very well when he was ill (being a frequent sufferer of man flu), but this was worse than usual. For starters, he didn’t get sick very often anymore so when he did it felt all the worse, and he hadn’t been this unwell in a while, and to top it all off, Y/N wasn’t there to look after him. Every morning he’d wake up in an empty bed, hardly able to breathe and feeling like his whole face had been plugged up. He’d drag himself to the kitchen, cocooned in his duvet, get himself some hot water and a piece of toast because that was all he could bring himself to make, before collapsing on the sofa, drifting in and out of sleep, some crappy movie on in the background, and ordering food when he couldn’t be bothered to get it himself. He was pretty sure that you would have been horrified had you seen the state of him — he didn’t like to look in the mirror because it frightened him how much he looked like a ghost of himself — but really he just wanted you there to look after him. He kept finding himself daydreaming about you, whispering soothing words to him as he slept, holding him close against your body. Sometimes he got so lost in his imagination that he could almost feel the touch of you, and for a moment convinced himself that you were there, that you would sit down next to him any second with two cups of tea and some sassy remark. To be honest, he had been like that most of the time you’d been away; he had felt the void of you more acutely than he had anticipated. But this constant state of semi-waking delirium had amplified it. So when he heard a knock at the door, thinking that he must have ordered take-away and forgotten but opened it to find you there with an armful of groceries and a grin, he assumed he was dreaming. 

He sighed melancholically, “Y/N.” 

“Oh Benny, are you okay?” 

Your tone didn’t seem right. You never sounded worried in his imagination, only gentle and calm. His heart started to beat faster. 

In a voice that sounded far away, like he was underwater, he heard you say, “Darling, let’s get you into bed. You don’t look good.”

“Wait, you’re really here?”

“Of course I’m here,” you said, ushering yourself inside and laying your things down before placing your palm against his forehead. He closed his eyes, falling gratefully into your touch. Your hand felt cool against his burning skin, and he almost collapsed with relief to have you beside him again. He could see you were worried, your movements suddenly infected with a slightly frenetic urgency, but all he felt was elation. He let you shepherd him into bed without resistance, and drank eagerly from the glass of chilled water you placed in his hands. 

You tucked him under the covers, and knelt beside the bed, stroking your fingers with the most delicate touch over his cheek. It made him shiver. His eyelids slipped closed and he felt the heaviness of the past few days evaporate into weightlessness. In those few hazy moments before sleep overtook him, still sceptical of the veracity of his own senses, he mumbled, “Will you still be here when I wake up?”

You smiled tenderly, “Of course I will, love. I’m going to look after you,”

You knew Ben was pretty unwell but hadn’t anticipated quite the extent of it. He seemed to be delirious, and the glassy look in his eyes made you wonder if he ever knew you were there. He was burning up when you tested his temperature, so you got him some water and sent him to bed. It broke your heart a little to shut him off in the bedroom as soon as you had reunited with him after missing him so deeply, but it broke your heart more to see him so sick, reduced to a shadow of himself. You kept yourself busy while he slept, walking Frankie, cleaning the apartment which had unsurprisingly fallen into a state of neglect, and getting a stew on to be ready by the time he woke. Your mind wandered back to him often, the thought of him curled up under the covers like a child. It took all your strength not to climb in next to him and cuddle him until he felt better. But you knew that would do nothing for his fever. 

He woke up a few hours later and trudged back into the kitchen where you were sat quietly entertaining yourself on your phone. He’d thrown a hoodie on, pulled up over his head with his hands stuffed in his pockets. 

“Hi gorgeous,” you beamed, standing to meet him. He looked better already; his eyes were less puffy and some of the colour was returning to his face. 

“Hey,” he said hoarsely, “I wasn’t sure you’d be here when I woke up. I thought I’d dreamt you.” 

You opened your arms and he shuffled gratefully into them, letting his head fall against your shoulder. He exhaled, relaxed, while your fingertips trailed gently across the back of his neck. 

“I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere until you’re better.” 

He pulled back to meet your eyes, searching them for the truth, “Really? Won’t you have to go back soon?”

“They’ll just have to cope without me, because clearly you can’t.”

He shook his head before burying it in your neck again. 

“Come on, I’ve made dinner.” 

Ben ate hungrily, glad of a proper, hearty meal. You sat at the table for hours, surreptitiously filling up Ben’s glass to make sure he was drinking plenty of water, revelling in being in each other’s company again. It was bittersweet. Despite your assurance that you’d stay as long as he needed, you both knew that come Monday — Tuesday at the latest — you’d have to head back to Scotland. But for the moment you talked and laughed, and nursed Ben back to health. You decided to go back to your own apartment overnight to make sure Ben got a good night’s rest, as well as reduce the risk of you getting his cold. He made you promise him that you’d come back first thing in the morning, which of course you readily did. And when you did return, already making breakfast by the time Ben surfaced, he was looking healthier still. 

“‘Morning cherub,” you cooed. “How’re you feeling today?” 

“All the better for seeing you,” he smiled and hugged you from behind. You kissed his cheek and he detached himself, allowing you to hand him a hot mug of honey and lemon. 

By the end of the weekend Ben was almost completely better. He had even managed to go out for a walk with you and Frankie. He could speak properly again, without his ‘m’s turning into ‘b’s, and his spirits where infinitely raised — until he saw your packed bag, ready to go again, as you sat side-by-side on the sofa.

“When’s your flight?” he sighed, disconsolate. 

“First thing in the morning, taxi’s picking me up at 6.” 

His shoulders slumped. “You can’t go yet, I’m still sick,” and he coughed lamely, pouting like a toddler. 

“Considering you’re a professional actor, that was thoroughly unconvincing,” you deadpanned and swiped your thumb over his cheek. “I’ll come visit again soon.” 

“I don’t want you to come visit,” he lamented, leaning into your hand, “I want you to come home.” 

“What do you mean, love?” you faltered, frowning. 

He sidled closer to you, resting a hand on your knee. He was quiet, eyes fixed on your lap, but when he looked up he was absolutely focused, intent. 

“Move in with me.” It wasn’t a question. 

You were overwhelmed with green. All you could see was his eyes and the determination in them, their confidence in you. The love and the warmth and the longing made them sparkle. 

Your voice was hushed but firm as you replied, “Okay.” 

The next thing you knew he was kissing you and your world was revolving. Everything you felt and heard and tasted was him and that was all you wanted for the rest of your life. 

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