#I don't think she needed to read him like that

[themathomhouse]

I have to assume you're deliberately misunderstanding prev at this point, but on the off chance you're not I will repeat what they have explicitly said one more time, with some of my own emphasis because tbh Lucas isn't an especially bad example of what I was talking about. He's just the best known on tumblr. He is, however, awful at acknowledging the work his first wife did on Star Wars and how much that contributed to the success of the trilogy, and, exactly like prev said, has tried to take the reins himself in the subsequent years and demonstrated exactly why she was needed in the first place.

George Lucas isn't a bad film editor. He's also the person who wrote the script and directed (the first) Star Wars. I think it's fair and accurate to say that the (first three) Star Wars films are a product of his vision - and where he was inspired and helped by other directors and collaborators, he's actually great at acknowledging their contribution!

With one exception.

Marcia Lucas is an excellent film editor. She isn't the only editor who worked on Star Wars at all, but, as prev said, the team who worked on the films overall win awards for being particularly good - and Lucas himself acknowledges that he's not the best editor or director! He didn't direct episodes V or VI because he is actually capable of understanding where his strengths lie. This is why he hired other people to edit his films!

One of those people was his then-wife. They are now divorced. Likely because of this divorce, and also because the divorce was partly caused by Star Wars, he now fails to tell the story of how the Star Wars films were kind of a mess when they arrived at the editing suite. Marcia (who had also edited his previous films, because she is a professional film editor and an excellent one) understood his vision and also made several changes without which most people who worked on the film say it would not have come together. George had great ideas, the effects would have been great, but it just wouldn't have sparked a phenomenon the way it did without her work. And he himself used to acknowledge this!

Until they got divorced. Which was right as Episode VI came out. And now he doesn't acknowledge her as much as he really should - and if I remember correctly, Spielberg has called him out on this!

Like I said, I actually don't think he's a particularly egregious example. He's someone who usually is great at acknowledging his collaborators and he's often good at acknowledging where he needs someone else to do something because they are better at it. He hasn't made a film that's anywhere near as good or interesting as the original Star Wars honestly in no small part because he actually has taken a producer role or co-writes or generally just doesn't want to be the director as much since Star Wars. Where he has done, like prev said with the tinkering with the original trilogy, and like EVEN HE says about episodes I - III, the result is just not as good as it could have been.

I'm basically commenting here because your misunderstanding of prev comes off as incredibly bad-faith, especially as this post is constantly just tagged as George Lucas in a way that honestly? I don't think is fair. But prev was actually very specific as to what they were referring to with him, and they're right! Like. Famously right. But I'm hoping that I'm wrong about the bad-faith and this will help both you and others see where prev was coming from, as well as tbh maybe people could tag this as F Scott Fitzgerald because that man literally stole segments out of his wife's diaries without telling her until she read it in his published works, that's more what I was getting at.

I've also just spent all these paragraphs giving context to Lucas mostly because of other posts, when what you're saying is that not only do accolades mean nothing, but it apparently also means nothing that he is not actually a professional film editor. The editing team, of which Marcia was part, was composed of people whose entire job is to edit films. That is why he hired them instead of doing it himself.

okay but if you ever see a male creative who had a string of great work and then everything else he did was dogshit, go to the "personal life" part of his wikipedia and look at his relationships. you'll either find a major tragedy he didn't recover from (completely understandable) or, more likely, there was a woman in his life doing uncredited shit editing his stuff or contributing generally and she's not there anymore.

I told a friend about this phenomenon in literature and he called me weeks later like, I remembered what you said about women doing uncredited work when tim burton came up. he made a string of bangers then everything else just was nowhere near as good. the timeline matches perfectly to when he was with this german visual artist (lena gieseke). he's done some good work in collaboration, but if things were dug into I suspect we would find she did a lot more than people realise.

so yeah whenever you look around like wow women didn't work in history, or, women aren't auteurs, or, there just aren't as many great female writers - societal reasons for that aside, half the time they absolutely did.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

you want more erik? here more erik. him and reader getting caught in different situations

Warnings: 18+, undressing, caught by family member,

Let me know what you want to read about next! I don't have many Erik requests...

—

Getting caught in compromising situations was a recurring event in your and Erik’s relationships. It’s like you were both cursed, and every time you were alone, someone had to come in and interrupt. 

Erik’s mouth moved across your neck while his hands gripped your thighs. The sight of you in that dress sent feral thought to his brain — and dick. You wore it without any particular intentions, but you had to admit that it made your boobs look really good. 

His grip tightened, fingertips digging in just enough to make you gasp. ‘’You wore this just to mess with me, didn’t you?'' he muttered against your skin, lips brushing that sensitive spot just beneath your jaw.

You shook your head, breath catching as he pulled you closer. ‘’Didn’t even think about it,'' you replied honestly, flexing your fingers into his hair as he moved his kisses down your collarbones and decolletage. ‘’But I'm not mad that I did.'' 

Usually, Erik hated to be interrupted when he was gaming, but the controller was abandoned on the couch, and his character left to its death on the screen. 

You grinded against him, feeling him harden in his pants. He groaned into your neck, the sound vibrating against your skin as his hands slid upward. His fingers found the thin straps of your dress, and without a word, he hooked them with deliberate ease and slid them down. 

As much as you wished for Erik to hurry up, taking things slow and savouring the moment was nice too. 

His lips found the curve of your shoulder and you tilted your head back, eyes fluttering shut as he nipped lightly at your skin and pulled the top of your dress down. You felt the chill air on your breasts, but Erik’s mouth quickly engulfed your nipple, and you arched your back instinctively, pressing yourself further into his touch.

It was risky to give in to any sexual activities in the living room on a Wednesday afternoon, but you and Erik were too caught up in the moment to care. You didn’t even think about the curtains not being shut. Such a sight would have given Mr. Wolowitz a heart attack. 

‘’Those tits are so fucking gorgeous,’’ he praised, moving to the other nipple. 

He sucked gently, then harder, sending a bolt of heat straight to your core. 

‘’Erik,’’ you gasped, just as the front door opened and Julia came in, back from her hot pilates class. 

Julia stopped in her tracks, dropping her gym bag with an audible thud as disgust spread on her face. ‘’Oh my god, gross!” she screeched in horror, snapping you and Erik out of your bubble. 

You scrambled to pull your dress up, nearly elbowing Erik in the jaw in the process. ‘’Shit— Julia, hi!” 

Below you, Erik let out a long, frustrated sigh, jaw clenched as he rested his head briefly against your collarbone. ‘’For fuck’s sake,’’ he muttered under his breath.

‘’Seriously? Can’t you do that in your own room? Not the familial couch,’’ Julia continued, voicing her disgust. ‘’I need a fork.’’

‘’A fork?’’ Erik repeated, frowning. 

‘’To stab my eyes with!’’

—

[sailingintothenight]

"The girl in his eyes." Bob Reynolds Imagine.

(Not my gif but give a prize to the people who make them)

Summary: Time together created feelings in the two of you, until the group tries to get him and you to talk, with John urging Bob to talk about "the girl in his eyes." And that creates a big misunderstanding.

A/N: Just a kind of short imagine (around 4K words) cause I'm new here and I don't want to go on too long and bore you all in case this is boring. I'm sorry if there are any grammatical errors. But something I always knew but I accepted today is that some of us write the kind of love we'd like to receive, right? The kind we sometimes can't find, though other did find, I hope. However, in the meantime, don't forget to love yourself please. As a warning, a little angst(?) but with a happy ending! and the word "drug." I think that's all, thanks!

“Lena, did you see (Y/N)—”

The last letter of your name drops to a whisper as Bob stops in front of the long couch, Yelena’s finger pressed against her own lips to silence him, a potato chip sandwiched between her other two before she pops it into her mouth, the bag in her lap, and her full attention back on the phone in her other hand.

She’s sitting diagonally, her back between the cushion behind her and the armrest, her left knee bent down as it falls off the edge to the floor, but it’s the other one that has Bob pressing his lips together as he films this version of you with his bluest gaze, the memory searing itself into his mind. You’re there, asleep, lying sideways on the comfy, fluffy cushions, part of your head on the outside of Yelena’s thigh, a front strand of your hair now falling over your closed eyelids and the border of your nose.

And it's soft for Bob, that image of you, and overwhelming only in the way it forces him to swallow the lump forming in his throat as his feelings pile up inside.

"You need anything, Bob?" Yelena's pointed gaze moves from the paused TikTok video (a cat staring at the camera, a flashbulb fired in right in its face), chuckling as the animal's expression still lingers in her mind, frozen on her phone—the white feline silhouette and wide–open eyes—and she shows it to him. "Have you watched this video?"

Bob nods, and the sound of him trying to clear his throat (so his words don't falter mid–sentence like he knows they will) accompanies the action.

"Yeah, (Y/N) sent it to me a few days ago."

"It's so funny." She laughs softly, and her full attention returns to the device, finger sliding across the screen after saving it to favorites, bringing another chip to her mouth. “That cat is so silly.”

But like a cry, Bob whimpers softly, the tiniest sound in the silence.

“You’re dropping crumbs in her hair, Lena.”

Yelena stops, her gaze sliding from her phone to him and then back down to you, and her slightly oily hand catches the crispy piece that had gotten caught in the strands.

“Relax, Bob. This is the price (Y/N) is paying for using me. She knows it. We shook hands. Now, do you need anything? Or someone, maybe?”

There’s a hint of healthy mockery in her smile, a silent challenge in her tone of voice that’s urging him to answer only with the truth everyone already sees, but the featherweight of her joke feels like lead in his chest and in his nervous hands, covered by a layer of clothing one size too big for Bob.

“No, just… I finished reading a book and thought (Y/N) would be here ready to—”

But there was nothing afterward, just lying there together, in the same bed before sleeping, on extreme sides so as not to cross boundaries but to keep each other company before loneliness settled in every room, when it sometimes forced him to wake up with a gasp and a foggy mind filled with traumatic experiences, talking about books or things.  

But perhaps it was the words left unspoken between you before sleeping (hidden among the ones you did say: goodnight and sleep well), the ones you two avoided saying and pushed aside, along with the feelings that lived dormant in the darkness and accumulated inside each other—the things you both were dying to say but neither of you dared for fear that the already solid pillars of your friendship would crumble because of something as unstable as love.

Yelena waits a second longer, but there is no response from the other end.

“The team and I were talking about you tw—”

Bob knows what it is, the favorite topic on everyone's lips.

“You guys talk a lot, maybe you should shut up for a while. Silence is good sometimes.”

She rolls her eyes, an exasperated look following her action.

“Help me out here for a while, will you? I have a cramp and need to stretch.”

Bob swallows, eyes slightly wide at the prospect of feeling that kind of closeness with you, the kind that comes so quickly it makes him dizzy and ignites the heat in his cheeks sharply. The warmth of your hand, he felt it before, many times, a casual or intentional touch, and it was scorching (when the supermarket was crowded and the crush of people unnerved him sometimes, for example, your fingers would close around his and his hand would squeeze yours), as if it could ignite a forest fire inside him, so wild it seemed it could burn everything—the enemy in his thoughts, his insecurities, his fears, his nightmares.

He didn't even want to think about what it would feel like to feel the heat of your cheek.

But he did.

Bob had imagined it several times already. In a burst of bravery, his heart beating faster than a drug high, his thumb would slide down your cheek, fingers hooking softly around the edge of your jaw.

"Bob?"

"What?"

Yelena drops her things into the armrest, her hand cupping the bottom of your head.

“Put your leg here, Bob.”

He shakes his head, his own heartbeat increasing with the fear and excitement that mix, so close that the line between them blurs, and his somewhat messy, wild hair moves with him.

“I don’t think—”

“Three…”

“What are you—?”

“Two…”

“Lena—”

“One.”

Bob takes a step forward, hands outstretched to stop her without a word, a silent plea in his eyes for her to do nothing, even though Yelena hadn't moved an inch and wasn't planning to either. And with a deep inhalation and exhalation, a failed attempt to fill his lungs with cold air and soothe the heat settling in his chest, Bob switches places with her, even more gentle as you shift in your sleep, your hands close to your face and your cheek now on his leg, covered by his gray sleep pants, but which seem like the finest fabric in the world when Bob feels your heat radiate through your skin until it meets his, every nerve ending.

"You're adorable, Bob." Yelena laughs quietly, but there's not a hint of cruel mockery in her words—never with him—and she leans back on the second–long sofa, phone in her hand again. "Like those boys in her books. Such a gentleman. I know why she likes you so much."

Likes you, being in love—two different scenarios if the feelings on either side were unequal. Either a chasm separated those two feelings, or the first could be the path to get to the other.

“Did I do something wrong to make her not like me anymore?”

The weight of self–doubt about a topic as distant and still foreign to him as love (next to his insecurities) try to bring down the confidence Bob was still trying to build little by little, and Yelena can see them shining clearly in his gaze as he finally holds hers, even in the dim living room light at night, searching for an answer he can't find within himself, not when there's a thick fog between the truth and him.

“What do you mean?”

Bob shrugs.

“(Y/N) is always here with me, but absent at the same time, as if something has suddenly changed between us.”

“You’re overthinking things, Bob.”

There’s affection in Yelena’s words, warm in their attempt to reassure him of a truth hidden among his fears, but he lets out a small sound, something like a laugh without a hint of humor. Just an empty noise.

“Overthinking sometimes allows you to see the smallest things.”

“Like what?”

Bob can see it in his sometimes fragmented mind, every moment together and the way you changed, finding solitude where there was only company, a touch of emptiness when there was always life in your eyes.

But he doesn't know exactly how to explain it, and Yelena nods thoughtfully.

"Why don't you try to think about what exactly you did then? We have a while until the losers arrive with dinner. I'm going to be here with you, but ignoring you at the same time, okay?"

Catching his slight nod, Yelena turns on the couch, face close to the cushion and her phone in between, indistinct sounds from the videos, set to low volume, floating around him so the absolute silence doesn't completely consume him with the severity of his thoughts.

Bob lowers his head and his gaze rests on you, barely listening to the sound of your slow breathing as, in your sleep, your body relaxed, at peace. The curve of your lips is tempting, and he lifts the hand resting in his lap to push that strand of hair away from your face and place it where it belongs.

There, above your eyebrow and with nothing covering it, Bob can see the only physical reminder of the fall of a whole building when your self–control overflowed at the edge of your anger. And like a tiny crack in a surface, the small scar has a slightly different hue than your skin, but it was an imperfection that only makes you more perfect, more real, a whole person and not like a cruel dream from which Bob always wakes up before reaching.

Just like that, your presence in his life became a need.

You were the proof that he was still alive after the unbearable pain, (knowing all have been worth it because he met you) and that his heart hadn't turned to tin. He was still breathing, his heart was still beating, and he'd finally felt the nervous tingle, the fluttering of being in love.

Love, so silent you don't even know you have it until you're full of it.

Love, a silent feeling in a room full of euphoria, and at the same time, it's like an alarm that goes off and no one but him and you can hear.

To be close to you, with you, every day, that’s all Bob wanted at the beginning. But almost selfishly, the passage of time together made him greedy, wanting more from you, a different smile than you had for others, a new kind of laugh, escalating until all his thoughts were about you, daydreaming about how to shake off that title of friend and crown himself with a different one.

It was a silent plea, a hope. It became a desire that made him company through his sleepless nights…

“You need to be direct with her.” Alexei had said weeks ago in the kitchen, when the hands of the clock showed it was too late at night. “Your words must be deep enough to cut like a knife in the heart.”

Bob didn’t even know how he’d ended up in that secret meeting, when all he’d wanted to do was grab a late–night snack from the fridge to leave on your nightstand after you’d joked embarrassingly that you did that sometimes. But, confused and slightly scared, his eyebrows furrowed in surprise as the rest of the men stared at the red guardian and his constantly failing attempt to explain himself properly.

“Maybe not so direct.” Walker shook his head, the usual mocking tone on the edge of his voice. “How about you just tell her in small hints instead of trying to draw blood? You can hint that you like her, but without actually saying I like you.”

Bob blinked, confused, the information coming in too fast as he tried to take it all in.

“Like what?”

Bucky wag his head softly.

“Ask her to teach you how to do things you know she likes. She will feel that you are interested in her.”

And that was exactly what Bob did.

Now, when the doors of the elevator open and some really loud voices pierce the room, his natural protective instinct, (the one that was born the first time he took care of his father after witnessing his first blackout) makes his hand, a second after the resounding sound, move fast to press it against your ear, blocking out the laugh coming from the men.

As a reflex, your body moves in your sleep, but your awakening is less abrupt with his help.

You get up slowly, your mind and gaze blurred as Yelena leaves the living room, patting Bob on the shoulder on her way to the dining room. The edges of your gaze darken after rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands, the pleasant sting creeping around as you chuckle.

“Did I sleep so much I forgot I was lying on your leg?”

Bob chuckles too, and an invisible thread pulls the corner of his lip upward.

“You slept so long that Lena’s leg went numb. Just like mine.”

You let out a surprised laugh, your body slumping back against the backrest.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, you know I’m always here for you.”

“Kids, dinner!”

Alexei’s voice fills the room.

At the same time, as a reflection that you both can’t avoid in time when instinct wins, Bob and you move your bodies to look over your shoulders, heads turning in the same direction, finding yourselves at what your mother used to call, at the perfect distance of a kiss. Bob is so close you can almost drink his breath, stopping yours when his blue gaze holds yours for an eternal second that finish quickly but that feels endless, watching each other's eyes before you both separate, looking forward as a nervous feeling fills your heart.

You walk away first, finding an empty spot next to Ava.

“Dad, will you stop calling us to the table like we’re real kids?” Yelena complains, sitting at one of the heads of the food–laden table as Bob sits in the chair across from you. “Someone here is older than life.”

The rest chuckle, not too loudly.

“But you’re my kids. Now, let’s have dinner like family.”

At some point, there is a back—and—forth conversation around, about a past relationship for some of them, somehow empty, never too deep because talking once about the future they hoped and never got to feel is enough for everybody, but always accompanied by soft laughter that makes the tower feel like a real home after some lost it or never had it in the first place.

“So… what’s your type of man, (Y/N)?” Yelena chuckles, and the sound is full of genuine affection for you, but it hides her desire to steer the conversation in a way that Bob can be included in your words. “You’re always reading, so you must have a type. Maybe someone here is like that.”

The others feign innocence, but the possibility stirs in Bob’s body with a heartbeat that’s too fast, eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion, and a certain weight of worry about not hearing a promising answer.

“Who?” Ava laughs also knowingly, with a certain disdain at thinking of the others and you that way too, and her finger points at Alexei. “Too old.” Then at Bucky. “Way too old.” Finally, at John. “Too much of an idiot. That leaves just Bob.”

Bob swallows at the sound of his name, so abruptly that the food in his mouth makes his expression twist slightly in pain.

The others, expectant, continue waiting.

You clear your throat, your heart pounding against your chest as if it were seeking its own freedom and a way out of a situation that seems unlikely to end well.

“The usual, I guess, just… a nice guy.”

“Oh, come on, that’s not fun.” John grins, malice bubbling up as if he needs to embarrass someone at least once a day to survive. “You could be more specific, like Bob. Right now there is a girl in his eyes so he could tell us what she’s like, describe her so much until we’re bored.”

Bob's gaze meets yours, barely a second before you look away when Bucky speaks.

“I think that’s enough with the jokes, huh?”

But then, to everyone’s surprise and his own, Bob speaks, and with a touch of nervousness bordering on anxiety, he starts talking about her. Just a little, not quite to the point of boring the rest of you.

And you listen, your heart a little cold around the edges. Like a brutal change in the season, the tempest of his words threatens to hurt you without hesitation or guilt, but you listen, because you always tried to be a good friend to Bob, a person he could trust when he didn't even trust his own shadow. And even when he was always full of doubt about himself, about the truth, he seemed to trust your voice more than the enemy within, the one that whispered only cruelty. Even when he became cloudy, pulling the blanket off his head when you asked him to, because that was always the only promise for him that it would all end eventually.

For all those months together, it had been you, and between heartbeats, it had always been him. Until you confused things, apparently.

Until the girl in his eyes arrived.

And it hurts, it burns to think about it, that reality that creeps up on you, that of always being just a friend. And it's like having an empty stomach, an empty mind, an empty heart.

When he's finished, you excuse yourself to leave with a smile and your head held high, leaving the deathly silence behind and missing the way Bob follows you with his eyes, even after you disappear from the room.

"I think we blew this." Ava lets out a small sound, like a worried laugh at possible defeat as she looks at the rest.

"Did you have to go on so long, genius?" A semi–hard object hits the side of Bob's head and bounces off it, without erasing his terrified expression as he looks at Bucky. "We told you you had to flatter her a little, not write her a Shakespearean sonnet."

Yelena frowns.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Some weeks ago we told Bob to try to hint to (Y/N) that he likes her without telling her he likes her.”

“And?”

“And nothing else. (Y/N) came into the kitchen to get something from the fridge, and the conversation ended there.”

“Did she hear you talking about this ingenious plan?” Ava’s hard gaze landed on Bob, and he blinked, innocent eyes set in a look of terror. “Did (Y/N) hear you talking about her, or did she hear you being told by the smartest men in this place how to get your girl?”

As night fell and sent the rest of the team to sleep, the endless talk finished when you had entered the kitchen, a soft sound from your throat announcing your presence first.

“What are you doing up so late, darling?”

“I came to get something to eat.” Bucky’s gaze rested on you, all the way until you closed the fridge door. “Sorry to interrupt your boys’ sleepover.”

“It’s not a boys’ sleepover, (Y/N).” John frowned, slightly offended.

“Men’ sleepover is better.” Alexei smiled, and you laughed with him, his innocence fluttering as the others sighed in defeat.

“Of course, my mistake. Sleep well, everybody.”

“You too.”

The others' voices were an echo, except for Bob's, lips closed as your eyes fell on him in your farewell.

He never said your name, and neither did the others. But from then on, there was only half a life in your eyes, whereas before they had always been full of it every time you looked at him.

The seconds of understanding end when Bob stands up, so fast he pushes his chair back with a dry sound against the polished floor.

His own breathing becomes labored, but he tries to calm his anxious heart.

"You always have to ruin things—"

"Not this time. Not with her." Bob murmurs softly, and when he finally reaches your room, your door is always open for anyone who wants to enter and exist, and that's a mixed relief. "(Y/N)?"

You look over your shoulder, your body facing away from him as you continue to sit in front of your laptop on the desk.

"Yes?"

"Can I come in?"

"Of course."

Bob closes the door behind him, barely making a noise as he ventures inside, feeling the place like untapped territory even though he's been there since his life merged with yours. The sound of his sneakers on the floor is almost nonexistent, but it feels heavy like lead in his pockets as Bob sits next to you, listening to the almost ghostly volume of the video playing in front of you.

"You okay, Bob?"

Your attention is on the screen and your voice is a whisper, but it is an overwhelming force that hits his chest, even harder than bullets in the past.

"Are you?"

You chuckle.

"I asked you first."

Bob hums a reply.

"Do you want to lie down for a while? I finished a new book today and think I can convince you to read it."

You shake your head, but there's a slight, honest smile on your lips.

"I'm not sleepy yet. Maybe later or tomorrow."

Neither of you says anything for a moment, your eyes straight ahead like Bob's gaze lingers on your profile.

Bob knew that you, too, were still learning to use your voice like him, to find the right words—always hidden—so scattered across different galaxies, so far from each other that you still struggled to put them together to say something eloquent, to say what you both truly wanted to say, what you truly felt. Silence had always been your ally and an imposition for him. And that had been his curse throughout his life and yours, always in solitude, until it created his inability to speak.

But not today, not ever again.

“We’re feeling a little much apathetic today, huh?”

It’s not an accusation, but his tone tinges with his sassiness, the kind he used to make direct comments and respond to other people’s jokes, to John’s sarcasm and sometimes Bucky’s condescension. Today, however, his words make you frown sharply as you turn to look at him.

“Excuse me?” His gaze threatens to falter and leave yours when you narrow your eyes at him, but Bob stands firm when what he's said is free to the world, saying out loud what he wants to say instead of letting it perish inside and ducking his head to pretend it never happened. "You're quite bold sometimes, Bob."

“And you’re quite clueless.” He smiles, softly, firmly planted on the floor, his heart pounding in his chest. The electricity, the tingling at his fingertips as the result of this brave act is addictive, like a drug, but ultimately a healthy one, one he wants to get hooked on. “I was talking about you, silly. How can you be so smart and not realize that every word I said was about you, (Y/N)?”

Your frown relaxes, and the gnawing feeling of annoyance at his forwardness is replaced by confusion. His hands cup the sides of your chair, and Bob pulls you closer, gently, not roughly, taking in the way your body has stopped tensing, being brave when he sees your eyes light up with affection again, completely—a little scared around the edges, but finally not halfway.

“When I asked you to teach me how to braid your hair, it was for you—for that loose braid you always have. Your mom did it for you, didn’t she? Every day.” You nod, feeling the heat from his knees radiating against yours. “When I asked you to teach me how to dance to those old ballads Bucky loves so much, I didn’t do it to dance with someone else. I did it because I saw the way he spun you around one night and saw you laugh, and I wanted so badly to be him that I could feel my body vibrate. The things I said in the kitchen, about her hair and her laugh and everything—it was all about you, okay? Can you believe me? Please?”

You nod again, and Bob can see the hope, right next to that desire of a soul crying out for the exact same thing as his, silent but fervent.

His hands cup your face, soft skin over slightly calloused fingers on your cheek and the underside, thumbs gliding to make his dreams (asleep and awake) come true, a touch so tender you feel nothing but warmth at the tips—his face so close his breath mingles with yours.

Your own hands clutch at his arms, searching for something to hold you steady as well.

“I’m sorry. I… I got scared. This is my first time feeling like this.”

“I know. And I’m so sorry, I never meant to make you feel like there was someone else there because ever since I met you, it’s always been you. And if you have any doubts, you are the girl in my eyes.”

Bob leans forward, closing the small space between his existence and yours.

And behind his closed eyelids, like yours, the darkness ceases to be terrifying and becomes pleasurable, for the first time in his life. Time, life itself, the past and future are suspended, unimportant and in an eternal pause in the seconds his lips linger against yours. It's an unspoken conversation, a confession of love without even having to say those three letters. A connection, strength and gentleness, melting away any fear or doubt. The kiss is soft like him, a little shy like you, but real and perfect after every moment you imagined him in your head.

And in a synchronized movement, the two of you separate, breathing in each other's air.

"I'll be back, okay? I won't be long." He whispers, his lips touch yours with the promise of many more shared kisses, before Bob stands.

"Where are you going?"

He stops halfway across the room and turns around, those strands of hair on either side of his face bouncing with the movement.

“I'm going to get you some midnight snacks so you won't have to get up, and that book I was talking about.”

You laugh softly.

“And you're going to tell the others, aren't you?”

“No.” His shoulders slump. “Yes. I have to, honey. Lena and Ava were about to hurt me really bad.”

A nervous but genuine smile appears on that sweet face of him before Bob turns away.

[inseobts]

Hello! I'd like to please request a little scenario for multiple characters if possible; I'm especially interested in your take on this with Law, Sanji and Ace given their backstory. If you're open to writing for the ladies as well then adding Robin into the mix would be appreciated! My idea is simple; an S/O with a child, and the aftermath of discovering that fact. I don't mind if it's an established relationship and there just wasn't an opportunity to meet the kid before or something else, I just like the idea of these characters dealing with the concept of surprise family/parenthood, the angst that may arise from dealing with the role of a stepparent if they want a relationship (and its happy ending if possible!) Good luck with all the requests, I hope you have fun with them!

Found Family (Reader with a Kid)

gn!reader

characters: law, sanji, ace, nico robin

tags: under each character + secret child

a/n: I started it with a fem!reader in mind and changed it to gender neutral only later since the post didn't mention the gender, so please if I missed some changes please tell me

words count: around 0.8k - 1.7k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Law:

Tags: Established Relationship, Surprise Family, Angst to Comfort, Fluff

The wind blows soft through the port town. Law steps off the ship, coat flapping behind him, hands in his pockets. He’s quieter than usual, eyes scanning the street ahead. He’s not here on a mission. He’s here for you.

You sent a letter three weeks ago.

Just one line: “I need to talk. Come if you can.”

Law doesn’t like surprises. But he comes.

He finds you standing outside a small house with peeling paint and flower pots on the windowsill. You smile when you see him, but it’s tight, like you’re scared.

He frowns “You alright?”

You nod “Yeah… I just—can we go inside? I don’t want to do this out here.”

Law follows you in. It’s warm. Smells like soup and soap. A small jacket hangs on a hook by the door. Not yours. Too small.

His sharp eyes catch it, but he doesn’t say anything yet.

You lead him to the living room and sit. He stands. Watches you.

You look down “There’s something I never told you.”

Law’s voice is low “I figured.”

You breathe in deep “I… have a kid.”

Silence.

You look up. His face is unreadable. Like ice. You hate that expression, it means he’s trying to think without feeling. To stay calm.

He speaks finally “How old?”

You blink “She’s five.”

He does the math. That means before him.

“She yours?” he asks, even though he already knows.

You nod “Yes. Mine. The... other parent's gone. Completely.”

He nods slowly. His voice is cold, but not cruel “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was scared.” You twist your hands “We met during a war. We never talked about kids, or… futures. Then we got together, and things felt good. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“You thought this would ruin it?”

“I thought you might walk away.”

He looks away “You didn’t trust me.”

“That’s not fair,” you say, standing now too “I’ve been through things. I didn’t know how you’d react. You’re not… You don’t talk about family. You barely talk about your past.”

His jaw tenses. You hit a nerve.

You try softer “I wanted to wait for the right moment. But there never was one. Until now.”

Silence again.

Then small footsteps.

You freeze.

Law turns just as a tiny figure walks into the room, clutching a stuffed rabbit.

“Who’s this?”

Her eyes are big, curious. Law stares.

You kneel “Sweetheart, this is Law. He’s… He’s my friend.”

Law doesn’t speak. He just looks. She hides behind your leg.

You don’t blame her.

“She’s shy,” you say “But she’s smart. She reads pirates like storybooks.”

Law kneels too, finally, lowering himself to her level. His voice softens.

“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” he says “I’m just… surprised.”

Your daughter peeks out “You talk funny.”

Law blinks.

You laugh nervously “He’s from the North Blue.”

“Oh.” She tilts her head “Do you have a boat?”

Law nods “A submarine.”

Her eyes widen “Cool…”

She steps forward. He doesn’t move.

Then she offers her rabbit “You wanna hold Mr. Bun?”

You almost cry.

Law takes it. Careful. Gentle. Like it’s glass.

He looks at you over her head. Still unsure. Still quiet.

But he’s here, and he’s not walking away.

The rabbit sits on the table between you.

Law hasn’t said much since dinner. He eats quietly, politely. Your daughter sits beside him, munching rice balls like they’re treasure. She’s talking to him. A lot.

“Do submarines have beds?”

“Yes.”

“Do you sleep in them?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you dream of fish?”

“…No.”

You nearly laugh into your cup. Law sends you a look. It says help me. You shrug. You’re doing fine.

When she finishes eating, you ask her to brush her teeth. She runs off with Mr. Bun in her arms. The house falls quiet again.

Law leans back in his chair.

“You didn’t even flinch,” you say “When she offered you the rabbit.”

He shrugs “She trusted me. I didn’t want to break that.”

You nod, chewing on your lip “That means a lot, Law.”

He looks at you. Eyes sharp but not cold “I’m not angry.”

“Really?”

“I’m hurt.” His voice is honest now “You didn’t tell me. I could’ve helped. Been there. Or at least known what I was walking into.”

“I know,” you whisper “I was scared. I didn’t want to push you away.”

“I’m not made of glass, Y/N. I’ve lost family. I’ve lost everything. But I never said I didn’t want to build something new.”

You look down at your hands “She’s my whole world.”

“I can see that.”

“And now that you’ve met her… what do you want?”

He pauses.

That pause stretches long and sharp between you.

Then, softly “I don’t know.”

You nod. You expected that. You’re not mad. Just scared again.

Law stands and walks to the window “She’s a good kid. Brave. You raised her well.”

You smile a little “She’s got my temper.”

“I noticed.”

You walk over to him. You both stare outside. The moon is bright tonight.

“I’m not asking you to be her father,” you say “You don’t have to… take that role if you don’t want it.”

He turns “What if I want to?”

Your breath catches.

“I don’t know how to be that,” he continues “A father. A parent. I’m… I’m a surgeon. A pirate. I know how to fight, how to cut, how to survive. Not how to raise a child.”

You place your hand over his “She doesn’t need perfect. Just present. Just kind. Even I didn’t know how to be a good parent.”

He watches you. Something cracks in his expression.

“I want you.” he says.

“I want you too.”

“But I can’t lie to you… I’m afraid. I don’t want to mess this up.”

You squeeze his hand “We’ll learn together. She’s not looking for perfect either. She just wants someone who doesn’t leave.”

That hits hard.

He nods and then tiny footsteps again.

Your daughter peeks from the hallway “Hey... can he read me a story?”

Law blinks “Me?”

She nods “You have a cool voice.”

You laugh softly “What do you say?”

He hesitates. Then walks over.

“Alright, let’s try.” he says “But only one.”

She beams.

You stand in the hallway, listening through the door. His voice is low, slow, careful. Reading a picture book about sea creatures. She’s tucked in, eyes half-closed. The rabbit is between them on the bed.

Law finishes the page. She murmurs, “You’re not scary like someone said.”

You gasp quietly. Betrayal.

Law chuckles “Someone said that?”

“Mhm. They said you’re all sharp eyes and brooding. But you’re kinda soft.”

Law mutters, “I am never going to live that down.”

You grin and walk back to the living room.

He stays. Finishes the story. Even tucks her in.

When he comes out, he looks… changed.

“You did good.” you say.

“I didn’t even sweat.”

“Liar.”

He sighs, then smirks “Okay, maybe a little.”

You take his hand again “So…”

“So.” he echoes.

“You staying the night?”

He raises a brow “You asking?”

You smile “I have tea. And a couch. Or a bed, if you behave.”

He smirks “I’ll try my best.”

── .✦ Sanji:

Tags: Flirting Sanji, Soft Sanji, Humor, Fluff, Unexpected Bonding, Found Family

Sanji flirts with you every time he sees you.

At the market “Ah, Y/N! Did the sun rise just to see your face today?”

At the docks “Want me to carry those for you, my love? Your hands are far too lovely for heavy lifting!”

Even after the battle in your city, where the Strawhats helped “You’re even more beautiful covered in blood. Should I be worried about how much I love that?”

You never fall for it. You roll your eyes. You walk away. You don’t even blush.

It drives him insane.

“You’re difficult to get,” he says one afternoon, following you through town “but I like that.”

“I don’t fall,” you say flatly “Especially not for men with hearts in their eyes.”

“Ahhh, but my heart is sincere!”

You stop and face him “Sanji. You don’t even know me.”

“I want to.”

You pause. He’s annoying, yes. But not bad. He’s never pushed you too far. Never said anything mean. Just flirty. Charming. Too charming.

You sigh “Fine. You want to know me?”

He lights up “Yes! Of course!”

“Then come with me.”

You lead him through town, away from the market, away from the noise. Into a quiet part of the island. A garden path. A small house tucked in the trees.

He’s still smiling “So this is where the beautiful Y/N hides. A date, then?”

You don’t answer. You open the door. Inside, it’s neat. Warm. Lived-in. There are toys in the corner. A tiny pair of shoes by the door.

Sanji frowns “Is this… your house?”

“Wait here.” you say.

You go into the back room. A few seconds later, you return, holding a small child. Sleepy-eyed. Holding a stuffed whale. While another lady leaves the house as if her job there is finished.

You look Sanji in the eye.

“This is my daughter.”

Sanji freezes.

Dead silent.

You wait.

You expect a nervous laugh. A fast goodbye. A dramatic “I’m not ready for this!” speech.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead…

“Her hair’s like yours,” he says softly “She’s beautiful.”

Your daughter rubs her eyes, looks at him “Who’s that?”

You answer “Just... a friend.”

Sanji kneels slowly “Hi, sweetheart. I’m Sanji. Can I say hello?”

She shrugs. He waves. She waves back with the whale.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Whale.” Sanji says seriously.

You blink.

She giggles.

You didn’t expect this.

You make tea. Sanji helps. He insists, actually.

“She can’t have sugar this late.” you say.

“Then honey,” he says “Gentle on the stomach.”

You watch as he puts her cup in front of her like a butler. Bows. She bows back. You nearly choke on your tea.

“Do you cook?” she asks.

“Oh yes,” he says “Better than anyone.”

She claps “Make us dinner!”

Sanji glances at you. You nod. Why not?

He makes a simple meal. It smells amazing. Your daughter eats two full plates.

After, she sits in his lap and shows him a book of sea animals. He listens. Really listens.

You don’t understand what’s happening.

You were trying to scare him away.

Instead, he’s… perfect.

When she falls asleep, he carries her to her bed. Quiet. Gentle.

He tucks her in, fixes her whale beside her, and kisses her forehead.

You follow him back to the living room in silence.

“Well...” you say, still confused “That wasn’t what I expected.”

He smiles but smaller this time. Softer.

“I flirt because it’s fun,” he says “But I stayed because I wanted to see you.”

You stare at him “You weren’t scared?”

“I was shocked,” he admits “But not scared. You’re a single parent. That’s strong. She’s lucky to have you.”

You look away “I thought it would make you leave.”

“I’m not that easy to get rid of.”

You smile at that and look at him again. This time longer.

Sanji isn’t just charm. He’s heart. He’s warmth.

And… maybe you were wrong about him.

Your daughter’s asleep.

Sanji’s sitting on the couch, arms stretched over the backrest like he belongs there. His jacket is off, sleeves rolled up, and a soft smile on his lips.

He looks so… calm. Like this is normal. Like he wants this.

You sit across from him, legs tucked under you. You sip your tea. Your hands are shaking just a little, but you hide it well.

“Thanks for dinner,” you say “She loved it.”

“She’s adorable,” he says, smiling “And polite. You’ve done an amazing job.”

You stare into your cup “I didn’t do it alone. But… it’s been a long time since I shared her with someone.”

Sanji watches you quietly. No teasing now. Just listening.

You swallow. Here goes nothing.

“So,” you say “I’ve decided something.”

He leans forward “Oh?”

You lift your eyes to meet his “I’m saying yes.”

His brows lift “Yes to what?”

You smile “A date.”

He freezes “Wait. A—really?”

You nod.

“I mean, I’ve been asking for weeks, but I thought you hated me.”

“I didn’t hate you,” you say “I just didn’t believe you.”

“And now?”

“Now I do.”

He stares at you for a second. Then a slow, beautiful grin spreads across his face. Like he’s won a war. Like the clouds finally moved for the sun.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for days.

“You—you have no idea what this means to me, Y/N.”

You chuckle “I might have some idea.”

“Do you want flowers? Candles? Music? Should I wear a suit? I’ll cook, of course—”

You laugh softly “Just come as you are.”

He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly flustered “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

You sip your tea again. Calm on the outside.

But inside? Your heart is thundering. So loud it feels like it echoes in your chest. And he doesn't even know your heart is actually beating faster than his own.

You’ve had to be strong for so long. For your child. For yourself. Love always felt like a luxury you couldn’t afford.

But Sanji… he’s something else.

Not because he’s charming.

But because when it really mattered, he stayed.

And now, you let yourself fall a little deeper.

You stand. Walk over. And press a soft kiss to his cheek.

He goes still.

You pull back and say quietly, “Can't wait for the date.”

His eyes widen, then fill with something warm surprised, happy, maybe even a little nervous.

“You… really?” he asks, softer than you’ve ever heard him.

You nod “Don’t make me regret it.”

His laugh is breathless “Never.”

You smile, heart pounding, but you don’t let it show. He doesn’t need to know yet how much this means.

A few nights later for your first date Sanji goes all out, but not in a flashy way. It’s thoughtful. Intimate.

He sets up dinner on the ship’s deck. Small candles, soft music from a den den mushi radio, and a view of the sea under stars. He cooks something warm and comforting, not fancy, just full of love.

You talk for hours. About silly things, quiet things, your pasts and dreams. It’s easy. He listens more than he speaks, and when he does talk, it’s gentle.

No cheesy lines. Just Sanji. Real and warm.

After dessert, he walks you home in silence. Not awkward, just peaceful. The kind of quiet where you don’t need to fill space.

At your door, he looks at you with hopeful eyes but doesn’t move in. He’s waiting for your choice.

So you step closer.

You kiss him.

Soft. Sure. Just once. But it’s full of everything you’ve been holding back.

When you pull away, he blinks like he’s just been hit by a wave.

You smirk “You were taking too long.”

He laughs, dizzy and full of stars.

And for the first time in a long while, so do you.

── .✦ Ace:

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Angst, Humor, Emotional Reveal, Mutual Feelings Hidden, Teasing to Serious, Marine Conflict

The sun burns above you. You’re lying on the deck of your ship, one leg over the other, a half-empty bottle between your fingers. Ace is beside you shirtless, grinning, sweat on his brow, flame flickering off his fingers like it’s breathing with him.

“You always steal my rum.” you say, kicking him lightly.

“You always keep it warm,” he shoots back “I’m doing you a favor.”

You roll your eyes “Your idea of favors sucks.”

He leans closer, his voice lazy and smug “You didn’t say that last night.”

You groan “Get a new line, fire boy.”

He grins wider. You punch his arm. He fake-winces, like it hurt. It didn’t.

That’s the two of you: teasing, biting, half-fighting, half-kissing. No promises. No labels. Just good fun and bad timing.

Pirate life is rough. You take what joy you can.

“Hey,” you say after a long silence, watching the sky “Wanna hear a secret?”

Ace smirks, eyes still closed “If it’s about that thing you did in the galley with the honey—”

“No, dumbass. A real secret.”

That makes him open his eyes. He turns to look at you “Alright. Hit me.”

You sit up. Serious now. The bottle rests on your knee.

“I have a son.”

Ace snorts “You what?”

You nod, eyes still on the horizon “Yeah. He’s five. His name’s Ren.”

He blinks. You go on before he can interrupt.

“I had him before all this, before the piracy, before you. I got caught in something messy with the Marines. To keep him safe, I left him with my parents. Changed my name. Ran.”

Ace stares.

You keep talking “I go see him when I can. Disguised. Just for a day or two. He thinks I’m some traveling doctor or something. He doesn’t know who I really am.”

You pause. Swallow.

“It’s hell, leaving every time. But I’d rather he grow up safe than have him hunted.”

Ace starts laughing.

You blink “What the hell?”

He’s full-on laughing “Holy shit, you got me! I thought you were serious. What is this, some new kink? Roleplay? Mommy pirate stuff?”

You just look at him.

Dead quiet.

No grin. No tease.

Ace’s smile dies instantly. The flame on his fingers goes out.

“…Wait,” he says “You’re not joking?”

You don’t say anything.

His expression changes fast… shocked, confused, then something close to guilt “You really…?”

You nod once “I’m not playing around.”

He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly tense “Shit.”

“Yeah,” you say, dry “That’s usually the first response.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again “Why are you telling me this now?”

You shrug “I don’t know. Maybe because you’re the closest thing I’ve had to a real connection in years. Or maybe I just got tired of lying all the time.”

He stares at you.

You look away “I didn’t expect you to laugh. That sucked.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“Forget it.”

“No,” he says quickly “I’m serious. That was a shitty reaction. I just… I didn’t think you were the kind of person to hide something that big.”

You exhale “Turns out, I’m full of surprises.”

The silence between you is heavy now. Not like before.

Then Ace says quietly, “What’s he like?”

You blink “Huh?”

“Your kid. Ren. What’s he like?”

You smile a little “Stubborn. Smart. Messy. Loves drawing fishes. Hates carrots. Thinks I have the coolest boots in the world.”

Ace nods, quiet. He looks down, then up at you again.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs “I’m sorry for laughing. And I’m… kinda honored you told me.”

You raise a brow “Didn’t peg you for the emotional type.”

He shrugs, eyes soft “Didn’t peg you for someone with a child.”

Touché.

Ace doesn’t talk much for the next few days.

No flirting. No teasing. Just quiet looks when he thinks you’re not watching.

You try to act normal with some old jokes, same smug grin as always, but you feel it too. Everything changed with that one secret. The space between you now holds more than just fun.

It holds truth. Real, heavy, warm truth.

You’re standing at the helm when he walks up beside you.

“I want to come.” he says.

You glance at him “Come where?”

“When you go see your son.”

Your hands tighten on the wheel “Ace—”

“I’ll stay out of sight. I swear. I just… want to see him. I want to understand what you gave up. What you’re protecting.”

You study him for a moment. His eyes don’t waver. There’s no joke. No smirk.

Just Ace. Real. Honest.

You nod.

Months later — The island is quiet. A small village with stone houses, chickens in the streets, a little bakery that still smells like your childhood.

You pull your hood low. Ace wears a cap, sunglasses... he looks ridiculous, but no one’s looking at him. Just another traveler.

Your parents’ house is at the end of the road. Garden full of wildflowers. Paint peeling on the fence.

Your son is playing outside.

He doesn’t see you at first. He’s chasing butterflies. Laughing. Barefoot.

Ace stops walking.

“That’s him?” he asks, voice rough.

You nod “Ren.”

Ace just stares. His hands slowly curl into fists.

You call out softly, “Ren?”

The boy turns. His face lights up.

He runs to you screaming. You drop to your knees and catch him in your arms. He’s warm. Real. Solid.

Ace looks away.

Inside, your parents keep things short. They know who Ace is. You warned them. They’re not happy, but they trust you.

You all sit outside. Ren sits on Ace’s lap by accident. You try to grab him, but Ace just holds him steady.

“It’s okay,” he says “He’s light.”

Ren shows him a toy ship made of sticks “I made this!”

Ace chuckles “Really? That’s better than some ships I’ve sailed on.”

You stare.

Ren grins proudly “My parent used to tell me stories. About pirates and fire powers. Did you know there’s a pirate who can set his fists on fire?”

Ace raises a brow “Sounds dangerous.”

Ren gasps “But so cool!”

You laugh softly. Ace sends you a small look. It’s gentle. A little sad.

Later, when Ren naps, you and Ace sit on the back porch.

“He’s amazing.” Ace says.

“I know.”

“You’re amazing,” he adds “You left this. For his safety.”

You stare at the grass “I think about quitting all the time. Just staying here. Being at his side full time. But… the world’s not kind. And if they find me—”

“I get it,” he cuts in “You’re doing what you have to.”

You glance at him “I didn’t expect you to care so much.”

He shrugs “Neither did I.”

Then he adds, “But now I can’t stop.”

Your heart stumbles.

“He’s got your eyes.” Ace says softly.

“Don’t get attached.” you warn “This life… it’s dangerous.”

“So is mine,” he says “But that didn’t stop you from letting me in.”

You look at him. Really look.

“I didn’t plan for this...” you whisper.

“Neither did I.”

But here you both are.

And suddenly, fun doesn’t feel like the right word anymore.

The sound of quiet laughter wakes you.

You blink against the morning light, still groggy, still warm under the blanket. It takes a second to remember where you are... your parents’ house, back in your old bed.

And then you hear it again.

Ren’s voice.

And Ace’s.

You sit up, heart skipping.

You slip out of bed, still barefoot, and pad toward the living room. And there they are.

Ren sits cross-legged on the floor, his little wooden ship in one hand, while Ace sits across from him, mimicking an enemy pirate voice.

“Noooo! You got me again, Captain Ren! My ship is sinking!”

Ren giggles and throws a pillow at him “That’s what you get, bad guy!”

Ace dramatically falls back, hands in the air “Ughhh… defeated by the mightiest pirate on the seas…”

Your heart squeezes.

Ace looks so natural. Hair messy. Eyes full of warmth. Like he belongs here.

But then your parents come in.

They freeze when they see the scene.

Ace doesn’t notice at first, he’s laughing with Ren, his smile unguarded.

“Ren.” your mother says, sharply.

Your son turns.

“Come away from him,” your father says quickly, stepping forward “Now.”

Ace blinks, confused “I—”

“Ren,” your mother repeats “Come here.”

Ren looks at you, unsure.

You step in “What’s going on?”

Your father’s jaw tightens “We don’t want him near the child.”

You stare “Excuse me?”

“He’s a pirate,” your mother hisses “A famous one. Fire Fist. He’s dangerous.”

“He’s also sitting on the floor playing ships...” you snap.

Your parents say nothing.

“You trusted me enough to come here with him,” you continue, voice rising “Now you’re trying to pull Ren away like he’s some kind of monster?”

“We’re protecting our grandson.” your father says coldly.

“From what? A man who’s been nothing but kind to him?”

“You don’t know what kind of life he brings.”

“I do,” you shout “I live it too. If you forgot. And yes, it’s dangerous. Yes, it’s hard. But Ace has done nothing but respect my family, protect me, and treat Ren with more care than anyone ever has!”

They go silent.

You’re shaking now, fists clenched.

“And for your information, I love him.”

The words fall like a hammer in the room.

Ren blinks.

Your parents’ eyes widen.

Ace just stares at you.

You don’t move.

You didn’t mean to say it... not like this, not loud, not angry... but it’s out.

And real.

You look at Ace, heart thundering “I love you.”

A beat.

Then Ace stands slowly, eyes locked on yours. He walks to you, quiet. The room holds its breath.

He stops in front of you.

“I wasn’t sure if I should say it first,” he says, voice low “Didn’t want to scare you off. But you beat me to it.”

You blink.

“I love you too.” he says.

He reaches out, gentle, and takes your hand.

Your parents stay silent. Ren looks between the two of you, then claps once like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Can I have pancakes now?” he asks.

You and Ace laugh at the same time, breathless.

And just like that, the tension cracks.

── .✦ Nico Robin:

Tags: Established Relationship, Soft Confession, Emotional Intimacy, Bittersweet Past

It’s late.

Most of the crew has gone to bed, except you and Robin. You're both in the library room. She’s reading. You’re not. You're just holding the edge of a piece of paper... frayed, uneven, and pulsing with life.

A vivre card.

You don’t have to look at it to know it’s still there. Still pointing somewhere far away, where you can’t be.

Robin closes her book softly “Is that what’s been on your mind all day?”

You glance over.

Of course she noticed.

You nod “Yeah.”

She tilts her head slightly “Can I ask who it’s for?”

You hesitate.

You’ve never told her. Not because you didn’t trust her, but because it always felt like a story that belonged to a different version of you. The you from before the sea. Before the Straw Hats. Before her.

But she’s already part of everything now.

So you answer.

“My son.”

Robin says nothing but her gaze sharpens. Attentive. Careful.

“He’s with his other parent now,” you continue, voice quiet “I raised him alone before I joined the crew. He’s the one who said it was okay. Actually, we were always together, in another small crew. Then he wanted a different kind of life. One with… peace. So we contacted his other parent.”

Robin nods, slow “He sounds mature.”

“He was always like that. Smarter than me, I think.”

There’s a short silence.

You look at the vivre card “I haven’t seen him since I joined. We talk through letters, sometimes den den mushi. But I don’t know when I’ll be able to see him again.”

Robin’s eyes soften “Do the others know?”

You shake your head “No. Just you.”

She reaches out. Her fingers brush yours, just enough to touch the vivre card “Thank you for trusting me.”

You smile, small but real “I didn’t know how to bring it up. I didn’t want you to see me differently.”

Robin hums “I already see you. Clearly.”

You blink.

She looks at you steady and kind “You carry something heavy. And still laugh with the crew. Still help cook. Still stand beside me in battle. That’s not weakness.”

Your chest aches in the best way.

She pauses, then adds, “If one day… you want to try and see him again, I’d go with you.”

Your voice catches “Really?”

She nods “Of course. I’d like to meet him. He sounds like someone I’d admire.”

You look down at the vivre card.

Still warm. Still burning.

Maybe not as far away as it feels.

It’s just past dinner.

You’re with Robin as she asked you to stay close. A soft excuse about helping her with some documents. You're both sitting on the floor, back against the wall, a soft lamp between you.

You have the vivre card on the table. You don't always keep it out, but tonight you felt the need to hold it.

You glance at the Den Den Mushi nearby.

You hesitate.

Then pick it up and dial a number you’ve had memorized since your hands first held his.

The snail blinks sleepily… then perks up.

“Hello?”

Your chest tightens at the voice.

You smile “Hey, kiddo.”

A pause, then, “IT’S YOU!!”

You laugh, caught off guard by the pure excitement.

“Oh my god—FINALLY! You didn’t forget me, right? You didn’t sail into a storm and disappear forever, right?”

Robin lifts an amused brow, watching you with quiet interest.

“I didn’t forget you,” you say softly “You know that.”

“Just making sure. I’ve been drawing so many sea monsters lately you would not believe. I made a kraken with three hats.”

You laugh again, voice cracking slightly “Three hats? He must be important.”

“Very.” He pauses, then adds, “...I missed you.”

You shut your eyes “I missed you too.”

Robin looks away respectfully, but stays close.

Then, from the snail: “Hey, wait—who’s near you? Are you with someone?”

You glance at Robin, who blinks, caught.

“She’s... a friend.” you say carefully.

Robin speaks, her voice soft “I hope I’m more than just a friend.”

The Den Den Mushi mimics a shocked face.

“...OH MY GOD. IS THIS YOUR GIRLFRIEND??”

You bury your face in your hand.

Robin chuckles lightly, graceful even when embarrassed “Hello. I’m Robin. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

There’s a long pause.

“...You sound really cool.”

Robin smiles “Thank you. So do you.”

“Wait—how much do you know about them? Like... do you know about the time they tried to cook without instructions and set the wall on fire?”

You groan “Don’t tell her that.”

“It was a microwave! The noodles caught on fire!”

Robin’s shoulders shake with laughter.

You shoot her a glare that holds no heat “I regret this entire call.”

“No you don’t.”

And he’s right. You don’t.

Not even a little.

Later, when the call ends, you sit in silence.

Robin’s hand reaches for yours “He’s amazing.”

You nod, voice soft “Yeah. He really is.”

She squeezes your hand gently “He has your spark. And your chaos.”

You smile through the ache in your chest “He’s better than I’ll ever be.”

Robin rests her head against your shoulder.

“You’ll see him again. When the time is right. And I'll be with you... if you want me.”

"Of course I do."

And somehow, with her beside you, that feels like a promise you can believe in.

[zacolyn]

Okay, so I just wanna speak up on my own opinion of Harry Potter.

I was 13 when the first book came out, and I was already a voracious reader beforehand, which might have helped with my opinion. I did buy and read the first book (despite my father's half-hearted protest about the magic element, he was at least smart enough to realize that his daughter would Find A Way if he actually banned the book from her grubby hands), and....I didn't hate it.

Rowling actually had in me a fan up to the Goblet of Fire, at which point she had apparently decided she didn't need to try so hard and her real viewpoints started to leak through. Her protagonist became an absolute git and I began to despise Harry Potter as much as his actual enemies in the books did, though it seemed no one despised him more than the trollop writing him.

Still, though I got tired of certain elements rather quickly (Gryffindor being obviously favored over the other Houses, for example), I have read all the books, all but the last one in softcover and I can tell you honestly that from the Goblet of Fire on I was reading just to finish the story and keep up with friends who were also reading the books, because by then I had largely stopped caring.

Harry's pain became my pleasure unless Umbridge was the cause. I proudly declared myself a Slytherin because Gryffindor was a stained House full of pompous jackdaws like the Potters, and while I hardly thought Snape would have been the better choice, I firmly believed Lily was an idiot for thinking James was worth a blink.

Of course, this was all by design. Rowling made the Slytherins interesting because their views aligned with her own. They were written with far more depth and love because they were her truth. It's certainly been no hardship for me to walk away from all things Potter knowing that. It was part of my childhood, it certainly did leave an impression and her books will doubtless outlive her as have the literary works of other bigots. I can even understand the pain of giving up something you've developed your personality around, but people who love Harry Potter have a choice to make.

They can either denounce it utterly and totally, or they can continue as they're doing and be labeled an ally of a prominent TERF and antisemite. There is no middle ground to be had here. She certainly doesn't see a separation between her works and her. If you enjoy her work, you are supporting her, either directly through giving her money, or indirectly simply by supporting something you know is bigoted and even racist right through the core of it.

There is no toeing the line. There is no saying you are a Slytherin while denouncing the rest. This is black or white. She will not let you sit in the gray. You are either wholly against or wholly for. I'm sorry. Go read Magnus Chase or something instead. Any number of other magical school books. Make your own even like I'm trying to do. You don't need Harry Potter. You can do better than that.

I'm sorry, I don't believe that anyone who has read regularly since childhood would still count Harry Potter as the best book they've ever read.

[joostglazer]

maar ik ben er nog en jij ook

(but im still here, and you are too)

female reader x vampire!joost

summary: while on vacation in the netherlands with a friend, you find yourself enamored by the strange employee at an internet cafe

word count: 7424

content warnings: 18+ RPF SMUT, biting, blood, blood play, blood drinking, pain play, unprotected piv

a/n: This is for 80 followers!!! Thank you all so so much, I love you all, I love getting comments and questions and all the brilliant kindness you all have shown me in the short time since I joined!

Also, this is a early 2000s AU, not that i lived through that in any meaningful way besides being a dumb child but i have such an affinity for it i had to. internet cafe is soooo 2004-2007 to me.

i think about vampire!joost so much i mind need to make my own headcanons posts because its like bad bad, im obsessed.

You stare at the dingy storefront building, trying to decide if you want to go in or not. It looked…scuzzy. A big sign hangs on the front, kind of flapping in the wind, that reads "YES WE ARE OPEN", a neon sign blinks "OPEN", on the glass door vinyl letters read "Internet Cafe 24/7".

It's two pm on a Monday, so you're not exactly shocked they're open. There's a couple of patrons at the desks, you slink past them as you enter. A stern looking man sits at the desk, he has an eye patch, and a pin on his suit jacket says 'manager'. You're as thrilled as he is to be here, which is to say not very. But your friend wanted to check her email and she had met a guy that recommended this place, so you rent two computers and wait for her. She had gotten sidetracked talking to another girl on the street.

But the next time you come back, two days later just after one in the morning you are a little surprised to see it is in fact still open. You couldn't sleep, and figure it's probably the most pleasant place to spend the night. There's a different employee behind the desk now, of course. He's wearing headphones and an unfriendly scowl on his face, and you want to talk to him less than the manager.

You sigh and steel yourself, approaching the desk. He looks up before you have a chance to say anything, there's a cigarette hanging from his lips despite the No Smoking sign on the wall behind him.

"Ja?" He says simply, blowing the smoke away from you, pushing his headphones to rest around his neck.

"Uh, hi. Can I get two hours on a computer?" You give a small smile.

He blinks at you, his lashes darkened by mascara fluttering. You realize how cute he is when he looks up at you like that, the black eyeshadow around his eyes, they're blue, like ice blue, lighter around the pupil slightly. You're so focused, so entranced by his eyes that you almost don't hear what he's saying. "Why?"

"Huh? Why?" You ask, trying to process the question. You know what he's asking, the manager guy asked the same question the other day.

"Ja. What do you want to use the computer for?" He ashes the cigarette and takes another drag.

"Um. Internet. I'm just here to check my email and like- MySpace." You fumble to get the money from your bag.

"Sending email is extra." He says simply. He doesn't wear a pin like his manager does. You wonder if it would just say 'Internet Cafe Employee' if he did.

"I know. I was here the other day." You sigh, handing over the banknotes.

"It's dumb, huh?" The Employee messes with the little cash register machine on the desk.

"Yeah. A little." You chuckle, watching him put the cash away and gather up your change and a little receipt. He takes a moment to scribble on the receipt before handing it over.

"You're at fourteen." He points out into the rows of computers. You glance at the receipt quickly and see he wrote the number there too and pocket it.

"Thanks, dude." You say, smiling.

He smiles back, it's small, courteous, but it's cute. He's cute.

You find your way to the computer, and are secretly glad the employee didn't sit you next to any of the few patrons here. It's a little close to the desk, actually. But maybe it's just because you're a foreigner and he doesn't trust you, you do feel his eyes on you. Though, everytime you glance over he isn't looking, so you tell yourself you're imagining it.

You're there for about an hour before someone has a problem that the employee has to address. He walks past you to get there, you glance up after getting a chill, goosebumps on your arms, to see him walking down the aisle away from you. You go back to what you were doing, commenting on someone's MySpace blog, but when the employee goes back to his desk, the computer you're at shuts off. "No, wait..What the-" You splutter, watching the screen kind of blink before going black.

You’re scared to touch it. What if the guy thinks you did this! You were just on MySpace, you didn't download any viruses or anything. You stare at the monitor hoping it will come back but it doesn't and you have to stand and drag your feet over the front desk.

The employee is focused on the monitor on his desk, he's typing something, but quickly glances up when you approach. "Uh, hi. Sorry, um- My computer just shut down and like-- I didn't do anything." You gesture behind your back, giving the employee an anxious smile. God, you don't have the money to pay for the computer if you killed it somehow.

He sighs a little. "Ja, ja. Give me a second. You can go sit back down." He waves you off, going back to typing.

You're hesitant to go back, but you do, sitting back down on the plastic chair feeling like that might break under your weight too. It'd be just your luck. "I dunno what happened," You sigh when the employee appears next to you. You didn't even hear him, you don't know how, with those huge boots he's wearing. "I was just on MySpace and then it like flashed or blinked and pbbt- dead. I didn't wanna do anything 'cause-Like, you're the professional."

He listens to you ramble, a smile on his face. You're surprised by how genuinely kind he looks in the moment, not frustrated by your silly incompetence like you expected. "I'm not a professional, but I'll give it a look. Let me in." He plops down in the chair at the terminal next to you, and both chairs squeak obnoxiously as you scoot to make way for him. You would have let him sit where you are but, he insisted.

His knee brushes yours as he leans in to poke at the tower, pressing the power button. Once the machine starts humming he leans back and both of you watch the monitor. He shifts a little in his chair to slip a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his front pocket and lights one as he waits, setting the pack on the desk. You find yourself watching him take a drag from it, exhaling the smoke, but quickly look back to the monitor when his eyes flick to you. You see the smug grin spread across his face in the dark reflection but it's quickly replaced by the boot screen.

The logo for the operating system appearing on a deep blue background, 'unityOS' in white with stars around the word, a little loading bar underneath. It's a good few seconds before the log-in screen comes up, a little jingle playing in the transition and the employee sits up and reaches over to enter the admin password. The desktop has the same OS logo in the corner, you've never heard of it before.

"There. It's fine," He sits back, and smiles at you, pleased with himself. His canine teeth are a little longer, sharper than most people's. But, well, everyone's different. "These things are old, they tend to just crash sometimes."

"Thanks. Sorry for wasting your time, I just didn't want to fuck it up." You sigh a little, feeling embarrassed now. You could have just turned it on yourself. Stupid shit, you mentally berate yourself. Both of you flinch back at the same time, though you don't notice the employee's pouting expression. You're too focused on the sudden pain in your brain.

"That's what I'm here for. I'm happy to help." He assures, still smiling. You nod and hold a hand to your forehead, a dull throbbing there. Probably a headache from being up late and staring at the screen.

"Sure," You kinda just mumble, watching him stand and stretch. His shirt rides up and you get a glimpse of his belly before you quickly look away. "Uh-..I think I got it from here. Thanks, um- Again, yeah."

You hear him chuckle softly above, and you don't look away from the monitor, trying to remember what you're doing. He scrambled your thoughts. He's pretty, too pretty. "Of course. Don't be afraid to ask if you need anything else." He says, putting the chair he used away and left for the front desk.

You log back into MySpace, and go back to what you were doing before the computer crashed. You finally leave the comment on that blogpost, though you can't remember exactly what you wanted to say. You spend the rest of the time making idle chatter with a friend in America who is awake. Though you kind of can't stop thinking about the employee. You had seen his stomach, you were too embarrassed to look too long, but you looked. You keep replaying the moment, him stretching, the skin pale but covered with a layer of hair.

You leave fifteen minutes before your time's up, and feel eyes on your back as you gather your stuff and go. But you don't look back, digging in your bag for the directions back to the hotel you had printed out last time you were there. During the walk back you stick your hand in your pocket and rediscover the receipt, pulling it out to look at it while you wait at an intersection. You realize there, already halfway to the hotel that the employee didn't just write the terminal number on the receipt but his number too. And his name, Joost. You feel foolish for not having looked at it before, but you feel satisfied knowing his name now.

You're out in five minutes by the time you get back to the hotel. You don't dream the rest of the night, which your friend is disappointed to learn the next morning, and she spends brunch telling you all about her dream. You talk about how you went back to the Internet Cafe, but don't tell her about the employee, Joost. You still have the receipt with his phone number on it, but you're too nervous to call. You know your friend would insist you call if you told her, she'd insist you let her listen.

Later that night, your friend tries to get you to go clubbing. You refuse, say you don't feel up to it, say you think you're just going to stay in. It's not totally a lie, you really don't feel up to it, but just because you want to go back to that dumb Internet Cafe again. You don't need to, you could just go out with your friend and forget all about it. You can't, for some reason, you can't just forget the building and guy who works there. Joost.

You fumble in your pocket for the receipt as you walk to the Internet Cafe. He's just cute and kind of interesting that's all. Your friend wouldn't blame you for wanting to talk to a cute guy, you're sure of it. You rub the slip of paper between your fingers, just something to ground you. You pull open the front door and step into the storefront, immediately surrounded by the cool air inside. There's a few people, two of the same people from the night before.

The same employee sits at the desk, you're grateful for that. You'd probably turn right around and leave if Joost wasn't there. He looks up as you approach, smiling already. Like he knew you were there before he looked. He pushes his headphones off his ears, you see this time they’re plugged into a PSP. He puts that down and focuses his attention on you. It’s dizzying almost, his eyes on you like that. They’re so…Almost piercing, so blue, his pupils little pinpricks as he looks you over.

"Didn't expect to see you back so soon." He says, and you look away. You're embarrassed for coming back at all, for not even calling him, for not turning around when you noticed his number. It doesn't help that he was looking into your eyes as he spoke, the eye contact making you squirm a little, discomfort gnawing at you for a moment too long.

You play with the little laminated placard displaying the different services offered. "Um, yeah. Sorry, for- Not calling you, or whatever. I only saw that after I got back to my hotel room." You fib slightly, so you don't feel as embarrassed.

You hear a soft huff of laughter come from him. "It's okay. I thought I creeped you out."

"Oh, no. You're like really cool, actually.." You trail off a little, losing what you were going to say when the bell on the door rings.

"So, how long?" You look back up at the question and find him looking at you head tilted slightly.

"Two hours, I guess is fine. No email, nothing, just using the Internet. Myspace." You fish out the money from your pocket and hand it over.

He scribbles on the receipt, holding it out after completing the transaction. "You're at fourteen." He says, pointing at the computer again.

"Thanks, Joost." You smile as you go to take your seat at number 14 again.

You don't pay attention to the person who came in behind you, logging into Myspace and quickly getting caught up in everything. A few minutes of trying not to eavesdrop but hearing the patron complain about the computers here, you start digging through your bag for your iPod and headphones.

One of your fingers catches something in there and you pull your hand out with a sharp gasp at the sudden pain. You don't even know how a thumb tack got in there but when you reach back in with your other hand, you find that's indeed what hurt you when you fish it out. You wait quietly, patiently, until the other person has given up and left the Internet cafe before you go back to Joost.

"You're bleeding!" Is the first thing he says when you step up. You're caught a little off guard by how quick he noticed but brush it off.

"Yeah, there was a thumb tack in my bag. I dunno where it came from but whatever, uh- Do you guys have like a first aid kit, I just need a little Band-Aid." You mumble, kind of cradling your finger, it doesn't hurt but you don't want to drip blood on the counter.

"Ja- Yes, we do. In the back. I can help, let me help." He stands and steps out from the desk and points at the beaded doorway, pushing open the yellow door and ushering you in.

"Wait, are you the only employee?" You ask, glancing back briefly before the door shuts.

"They won't do anything. Don't worry." He says, turning on the lights. You could have sworn his eyes glinted red in the dark, but there is a little security camera in the corner of the ceiling. You just saw that, you tell yourself that's all it was. The little red light of the camera.

It's a small employee break room with a fridge, microwave, even a coffee machine. It makes you wonder why coffee isn't served in the actual Internet Cafe, the one you've been to before was an actual cafe. "Here, sit." He gently directs you to sit at the small square table.

"Thanks, y'know for doing this." You mutter awkwardly, watching him. He opens a couple of the cupboards, looking for the first aid kit. He's not listening, you hear him mumbling to himself as he looks, 'ik denk..ik denk..'. You feel silly for caring so much about this guy who's basically a stranger, why are you so interested? Why are you even here? You could have just waited for the little poke to stop bleeding and go back to Myspace. You couldn't help yourself.

He sets the first aid kit on the table when he retreives it, and starts going through it before stopping to feel at his pockets. You almost start laughing when you see what he pulls out, a pair of thin rectangular glasses. "You wear reading glasses? How old are you?" You ask, unable to keep the laughter from your voice.

"How old do you think I am?" He asks smoothly, looking close at something he pulled out before opening it. He's careful to grab your hand, holding your finger as he wipes it clean with a little alcohol wipe.

"Uh. I dunno. Twenty five, maybe?" His fingers are cold, you can't really feel the rest of his hand due to the fingerless gloves he's wearing, but his fingers are cold. Maybe he should wear full gloves, you think, if he has poor circulation. But you're not about to lecture a stranger.

"Close. Twenty seven." Joost smiles at you, not quite a toothy grin but you see his sharp teeth. He's pretty, his smile is cute, you can't help but smile back. He finds the antibiotic and smears a little on the small wound.

"You look good. I mean. Y'know. For your age." You stumble over your words, quickly looking away from him. Those eyes.

"Ja? You think so," He smooths a small bandage around your finger. It's intimate. All of this is intimate. It should feel weirder than it does. "Do you think I'm pretty?"

Your brain short circuits a little. Like that computer did yesterday. It's almost like he read your thoughts, though you know better. Telepathy, or whatever, mind reading, isn't real. "Uh- We should be getting back. You should be at work." You chuckle a little, an almost anxious sound.

He sighs and nods. Standing up straight and shutting the first aid kit, gathering the bandage wrappers and tosses it in the trash can. "You're right. Though, you should know..There's hardly any customers at night. We're okay." His voice is low as he walks you to the door back to the Internet Cafe, turning the light off as you go.

"Thanks, again. And sorry, for interrupting your work." You say as if he hadn't been playing on a PSP this whole time. He sits back at the desk, folding his glasses and tosses them onto the desk.

The phone on the desk starts ringing. He says, "Fuck- I'll give you an extra fifteen minutes free. If you want." before picking up and taking the call.

You kind of mumble a yeah, maybe and go back to number 14. You frown at the thumb tack still there on the desk and glance around to see if you can spot a trashcan where you can get rid of it, but almost make eye contact with a guy who is upset his computer shut off. So you quickly put your head down and finally pull out your headphones so you don't have to listen to…Well, everything.

Time passes much faster when you tune out everything around you. You don't realize how long you've been there until Joost is right next to you, smiling as he taps your shoulder a little. "Time's up, unless you wanna pay for more."

"No, no. I should be going, I guess." You shake your head, closing the Internet browser, and starting to put your iPod away.

"Are you going to come back tomorrow?" He asks, watching you pull your bag over one shoulder.

"Maybe. I dunno. why?" You ask, looking up at him, drawn into those ice blue eyes. God, he's almost too much.

"Oh. 'Cause, I have tomorrow off. So." It's like he knows. How does he know the only reason you didn't turn around was because he was here.

"So, I don't have any reason to come back, then." You go ahead and just say it. You watch his eyes shift, the way he looks you up and down again. Really properly taking you in.

"Ja? Just here for me, are you?" He steps a little closer, and you half wonder if his boots are like, platforms or something because he seems so big.

"Yeah, basically." You huff out a little laugh, you're awkward, looking him in the eyes makes you feel funny.

"Do you want to come over to my place tomorrow?" Joost gives a sweet smile and tilts his head slightly as he asks. And…You just can't say no.

"Okay, sure." You nod a little, impossibly endeared by him. There's a funny feeling in you, you chalk it up to a beautiful boy looking at you, inviting you over to his place.

"Cool. Come here, I'll give you the address." He beckons you to follow him to the reception desk, and you do. He sits back down and rips a card off the Rolodex to write down his address. You peer over the desk and watch.

And you notice a small container of thumb tacks by the keyboard. The same kind that was in your bag and hurt you. But before you can think to say anything he's handing over the little card. "I'm up and awake by midnight."

"Really? Real night owl, aren't you?" You slip the card into your pocket, knowing if you put it in your bag your friend would find it.

"Something like that.." He smiles and you feel dizzy. Your head's fuzzy and you don't know when it started. You're tired, you haven't been sleeping good.

"Okay. I'll see you then." You nod a little, and smile back. Stepping into the night seems to clear your head, it's a cool night and it makes you feel much better to be in it.

You look at the little card Joost gave you, just to make sure it's real. It's hard to believe, you don't know what you did to deserve it. A cute guy's number and his address.. You wonder if you really should go, a stranger's place in the middle of the night. But he seemed so nice and genuine. You don't entertain any of the thoughts that come after 'whats the worst that could happen'.

Your friend isn't back when you get to the hotel, which you're glad for. You fall asleep almost immediately. When you wake up later, much later into the next day, your friend still is gone but she texted you about going back with a guy. You find a place for food and fall asleep in the hotel room again. Your friend comes back and wakes you up shortly after. She talks about the guy she met, and you keep thinking about the guy you met.

She talks about going out again, and is so dissapointed when you say you don't want to go out again. You can't tell her why, she'd freak out. Meeting a guy is one thing, she'd be thrilled if it was just that. But you know she wouldn't let you go to a strange guy's place at midnight. You tell her maybe you'll go to the Internet Cafe, and it's not a lie, you need to print directions to Joost's place. She's displeased with that answer, but you know the truth would make her a nervous wreck.

You're not a nervous wreck per se, but you are nervous. It was weird going back to the Internet Cafe and talking to a different employee, a man with dark curls, tattoos on his face and a nose piercing. He was really nice. You hang out in the Internet Cafe until midnight rolls around and then you start the walk, following the directions you printed out.

Your hands shake a little as you walk, as you go to the apartment building, ride the elevator up to the third floor. You worry that this was a bad idea, worry that you should have never agreed to go to the Internet Cafe in the first place. Until you knock twice on the door and wait for a few moments and Joost opens the door. The apartment is dark inside, and he blinks and squints at the bright light in the hallway.

"Hallo. Wasn't sure if you'd come or not." He chuckles as he steps back and lets you in.

“I wasn’t sure either.” You admit with a nervous laugh, blinking trying to adjust to the dark. Letting him take your bag and hang it on a coat hook.

“Well, I’m glad you did." He smiles and starts leading you deeper into the apartment.

"Wait up, please. Ow, fuck." You stumble into the corner of a side table.

"Here, take my hand," He says, reaching out to you, and you do so. Holding his hand, he's cold, noticeably cold. Like your hands get in the winter, but it's summer, and the apartment isn't cold. Maybe just his room is. "Do you want anything to drink? Wine? Beer?" He offers, nodding to the little kitchen space.

"Uh, I dunno. Are you going to?" You ask, leaning on one of the counters, watching as he opens the fridge, making a small bit of light in the dark room. You finally get a decent look at his outfit, a long sleeved polo shirt and a pair of jeans. It's simple but incredibly attractive.

"No, but you can. Don't worry." He assures, and you do feel calm with his words.

"I don't think so. I'll just have like- I dunno, a soda or something, I'm fine," He hums a little but passes you a cherry cola, and takes your hand again, leading you to his bedroom. "So, what did you wanna do?"

The room is decently sized actually, lit dimly with a candle lamp on his dresser, a small TV also on the dresser, displays the DVD menu for a movie you don't know. On the wall, above the bed shoved in a corner is a Nosferatu poster. A cluttered computer desk in the corner, he takes a moment to close everything and power it off. "Uh, I was thinking we could just watch some movies. My roommates are sleeping so we have to be quiet." He sits in the chair by the desk.

You set your still unopened soda on his night stand. "Okay. What kind of movies do you like? Horror, I assume? You like vampires?" You nod to the Nosferatu poster, sitting on the edge of the bed..

"I like them, yeah. A lot. They're really cool, don't you think?" He props an elbow on the arm of the chair, and leans his chin in his hand, watching you, waiting for your answer.

"I mean, yeah. I like Dracula, the original one." You finally open the soda, holding it just so you have something to do with your hands.

"I have that one, you want to watch it?" He offers, sitting up straight. His eyes are bright, the candle and the red walls give them that red shine again. You glance to the small TV and try not to think about it.

"On that? Sure, why not?" You chuckle, even the TV in your hotel room was bigger than his. But you think, he probably can't afford a big, new expensive TV working at the Internet Cafe.

Joost stands and comes over to the bed, feeling around under it and pulls out a big disc binder, swapping the disc in the TV with Dracula. He sits on the inside of the bed, letting you take the outside so you don't feel trapped. You don't, anyways. It's comfortable, sitting with him and talking over the classic film. Neither of you feel the need to pay attention. It's not long, the movie's hardly past the halfway point when his hand comes to rest on your thigh. A silent gesture, though it's obvious what it is.

You knew it when you agreed to come over, you knew more likely than not that he would want to hook up. And, well, you're here aren't you? You're in the stranger's apartment, in his bed, letting him talk to you and touch you. Your friend would be shocked if she knew what you were up to, she was the one who regularly had flings, you rarely if ever did. It wasn't often you found people you were actually interested in. And you certainly didn't go back to their place so quick, you're not a prude but you didn't do this often.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks quietly, his voice light and gentle, his hand moving up to brush your shoulder, creeping toward your neck.

"Okay." You answer with a nod and don't have to wait until he's pressing his lips to yours, and, they're cold. There's a fan rotating in the room, but you can't even feel it where you sit on the bed, and he's still cold. The kiss is fine, but Joost is pushy, his teeth brush your lips almost like he's trying to nip you. He shifts on the bed, hands on you, on your belt loops, tugging.

Quickly he gets you on top of him, hands roaming your body as you make out. He's so much, almost overwhelming, you've never been kissed like this before. With a raw sort of hunger, so needy. It's dizzying almost.

"Ow! Fuck." You gasp suddenly, pulling away, hand instinctively going to the wound. The small cut on your lips.

"I'm sorry.." He mumbles, wrapping his arms around you, burying his face in your neck.

"It's fine. It was a mistake, my lips are dry anyway." You answer, kind of caught off guard by his reaction. By the snuffling you can hear at your neck. Just smelling your perfume, surely.

Joost doesn't say anything before his lips are back on yours, tongue licking at the little split, moaning into your mouth as he licks up the blood. There's not a lot, it's such a small wound.

"I need…I need to," Joost sighs, finally pulling away, almost panting. "I need to taste you, please."

"Okay." You're breathless from the kissing, your mind's fuzzy too, you can't think of a better way to respond.

"You're sure? You want this too? Will you let me bite you?" He asks, looking in your eyes, and you can really see it, the red glint. It's a little scary, the look in his eyes, dark. The very nature of the question.

"Okay. Yes, you can bite me." You nod a little, you trust him, somehow you do. You’re scared, but you trust him. Joost is.. otherworldly, his eyes, ice blue yet so dark, hungry as he looks at you. Those soft hands, cool on your skin as he touches your neck, gently tilting your head. He’s something else entirely, and it’s not hard to deduce what.

He breathes against your skin, tongue flat against you as he sniffs, finding the best spot, you think. Like some predatory animal. “It won’t hurt,” Joost murmurs just loud enough for you to hear. “Promise it wont hurt, just a little poke.”

And it doesn’t hurt. Not how you expected, it’s like getting that big needle popped in you at the doctor, just another blood draw. It runs down your neck, you can feel it, you feel his tongue too, smearing sloppy over the wound. He laps at the blood that runs out, moaning against your skin. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t have an effect on you. You shouldn't feel this way over being bitten but you're hot all over all of a sudden. Maybe it's like, an aphrodesiac or something, or you're just way more perverted than you ever knew.

“Thank you, thank you..Needed this…” Joost’s hands feel you up, slip under your shirt, and you can feel the warmth in his palms as he drinks from you, your blood warming his body.

He groans, rocking his hips up into you as he drinks, sucking at the wound, mustache tickling slightly too. You can feel him as he grinds upward, his cock hardening in his pants. It’s thrilling, you can’t help but marvel at how turned on he is by feeding. The way he moans against you, panting, breath hot on your neck. He comes back up to kiss your lips, smearing your mouth with your own blood, getting it in your mouth, the thick taste of it.

“Can I,” He asks, holding your hips and rutting his into you. “Need you..So bad. Fuck…” Joost whines, eyes stuck to your neck, watching the wound drip. Still so hungry. You’re dizzy, whether from the blood loss or everything else, you’re not sure. You think his head must be fuzzy too.

“Yes, please. Need you too.." You grind down into him, letting him know you need him just as bad, you've soaked your underwear you know that much, leaking pathetically as you dryhump him.

“Oh, fuck,” Joost sighs, shuddering under you. “Mh, hold on. Let me..” He dips down, giving a few more licks to the wound before you watch him nick his finger on a tooth and he rubs the digit to your neck, sealing up the wound with the inky black substance that drips slowly from the cut.

Then he’s tugging your shirt off, pulling his off right after. his chest is hairy and soft slightly. “Can I touch you, please?” You ask, unable to take your eyes off him, finally getting to see him how you wanted to the first day when you saw his tummy, which is also soft. He’s a little pudgy and it’s so beautiful.

“Ja, oké.” He nods softly, watching you. You reach out and feel his chest, careful, gentle with him. He is so warm now, such a contrast to how cold he has been, it’s good to feel his soft, warm body under your hands. You thumb at his nipple with one hand and he stifles a whimper at the feeling.

“You’re so pretty,” You look at his face, your blood smeared all over him, and it’s so hot. “You know that’s like the first thing I thought when I saw you. That you’re so pretty.”

“Really,” You nod at his question, and he smiles, lips splitting to show his sharp teeth. “‘Cause I thought the same thing.”

You pet at his chest, really feeling how squishy he is, before slipping your hands down his sides to feel his hips, the way his waistband has flipped down. He really is so pretty, and still you're surprised you trust him so much. He must trust you too, you realize, the way he sits quietly, letting you touch him all over.

"Can I touch you, too? Please, please…Fuck, you're so pretty, and-Oh.." Joost trails off when you take his hands and place them on your chest, letting him feel you up in return. You can see a trail of blood down your chest, the way he smears it with a thumb, not fully dry.

His hands go for your belt loops, hooking in to pull you down against him as he ruts up. "So pretty like this, covered.. In blood. Fuck," He huffs, swallowing hard. It's so erotic to him, drinking your blood and seeing it drip and smear on you. Well, you're not one to argue. "One more, please. I'm-…I won't take too much. You're okay right? I can..?" He groans, almost a growl, his hips bucking again.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I can take it, you can go for it." You nod, biting your lip a little, feeling the nip of pain of the split there. He whines, obviously watching you. He pulls you against him as he kisses you, your chests pressed together. He delves right into licking into your mouth and moaning against you, the kiss quickly becoming sloppy, the drool running down your chin. Then he's kissing down the other side of your neck and biting into you without any preamble, just taking greedy mouthfuls of your blood. And god it's fucking thrilling, the needy way he kisses the wound and sucks it, like he can't get enough of you. But he's true to his word, not drinking too much from you before he's healing the small wound. He kisses you with blood still in his mouth, it’s filthy and wet and runs down your chin, mixed with spit.

“You’re gonna fuck me now, right?” You ask, more than a little pent up by now, with the way the two of you keep rutting your hips together.

“Ah, ja. You want my cock?” Joost fumbles with his belt, managing to loosen it and unzip his pants.

“Yeah, can’t stop thinking about it when I can feel how hard you are..” you nod, watching him. He shoves his boxers down enough to pull his cock out. It's as if that’s where all the blood he drank went, throbbing in his hand as he strokes himself, just a little relief after finally freeing it. You can't help but stare at the way he leaks, and if you weren't so needy too you'd love to get your mouth on him.

You struggle slightly to get your own jeans and underwear off, but eventually manage. Joost doesn’t even think to ask before his fingers are at your thighs, petting the soft pale skin, creeping upward quickly. He doesn’t waste much time there, feeling how slick you are before grabbing your hips and pulling you close. You sink down slow and careful, both of you sighing when you bottom out.

He shifts a little, squishing one of his pillows behind his back and leans back. Steadying himself so he can hold onto you and thrust into you. He pants against your neck, kissing there, licking at the not yet dry blood on one side. You feel his teeth scrape but not puncture, just teasing. It makes you tense almost, thinking he’s going to do it, going to bite you again. He doesn’t, he just keeps mouthing at your neck.

You grab gently at his hair, tugging it slightly to get him to stop, he moans and his hips jerk up, slamming his cock into you. You’re both still for a moment before you’re holding his face in both hands and kissing him. Both of you muffling each other’s moans as he fucks you. When he pulls away you cover your mouth with your hand, keeping yourself quiet because his roommates are asleep. He's relentless, and you're fuzzy and hot all over, everywhere his hands touch light up with pleasure. He palms your chest, rubbing your nipples and pinching.

"Fuck, Joost," You gasp, rutting your hips down into him, matching his rhythm. "I'm- Oh, fuck I'm close.."

"Me too.." He whimpers, hips stuttering slightly but he keeps his eyes on yours. You can't even think as he stares into you, your brain all scrambled. He feels at your neck, you can feel the spot where he bit you the first time prickle under his touch. You can only sigh and tip your head to the side when he moves in again, you know what he's going to do before he does it, you know what he's going for when he starts probing your skin with his tongue again. Finding that spot, moving down to where your neck meets your shoulder, and biting into the muscle. You can't tell what comes first, your orgasm or the bite, but they coincide and you have to keep your mouth covered as you sob and shake in his arms. It's nothing like anything you've ever felt before, you've never cum this hard in your life, it's just so much.

You don't realize he's finished as well until he's pulling out of you and you can feel it running down your thigh. "Oh, shit, are you okay? You're okay right?" He asks gently, cupping your cheek.

"Uh-huh, I'm okay. I think I need a moment," You nod, kind of slumping in his arms, wrapping yours around him, his sweaty chest pressed against yours. "I just…Fuck.." That was a lot, you're dizzy, your vision a little spotty like you stood up too fast.

"I know…It's okay, you're okay. I'm sorry, I took too much, didn't I? I can't help myself, I've been so hungry and you taste so good.." He sighs, holding you and rubbing your back.

"I'm okay…I don't think I can stand right away, though." You manage a little laugh, resting your forehead against his neck. You kind of wish he were cool right now, his hot sweaty skin isn't the most pleasant thing in the world. He's talking to you, you can't really focus on it, you feel your fingers tingling slightly.

That's the last thing you know before you're blinking awake in a bathtub. The water's cool, reassuring on your skin. "I'm sorry," Is the first thing you hear. It's Joost, he's kneeling next to the tub, gazing at you big eyed, bushy brows pinched slightly in worry. "I didn't mean to, you just taste so good.." His cheeks and nose are a little rosy, it's cute. He's still so cute to you, he drained so much blood you passed out, but he's still cute. He's dressed again, you can see a white tank top in the dim light, one light over the mirror.

"I'm okay, I think. I'm still…I dunno. Dizzy like, out of it, I think." You slip a hand out of the water, wanting to hold his, needing that connection. Not well, human touch, but touch. He's still warm.

"I know, I'm sorry. Um- I have iron pills and there's a good shawarma place down the street that's still open." He rubs your hand lightly with his thumb.

"How do you know it's good?" You ask with a laugh.

"I haven't always been like this you know." He laughs too, it's a nice sound. He's nice, he took you to the bath, didn't leave you there, didn't really hurt you, you didn't feel any pain.

"Yeah, I just I dunno…Usually, you guys- Uh, vampires," It's weird to say it out loud after everything. "Are like depicted as super old and stuff. And you have reading glasses."

"I'm just farsighted, try to go without them usually." He smiles, that pretty smile where his lips curl up all cute.

"Well, anyway, I would like to take you up on your offer. If it's a date..?" You tilt your head a little, regretting it, it's sore now.

"Ja, sounds good. Wanted to ask you out since I first saw you, but it's hard." He frowns a little, looking down.

"Oh, yeah. I guess so, huh? Do you do this to every girl you want to take out on a date?" You slip your hand back, sinking it back in the cool water. It's clean, he must have washed you off and then refilled the tub while you were out of it, you think.

"No. I don't normally fuck my food either, just had to have you though.." It makes you feel special, in a perverted sort of way, even though you can tell it embarrasses him.

"Well, I'm glad. It would've been disappointing if you just bit me and kicked me out," That makes him laugh a little and smile again. Which makes you smile too. "I think I'm ready to get out, now."

"Okay," He stands quickly, his keys on his shorts jangling as he does so. "Here, take my hand. I've got some shirts you can wear if you want, your other one is kind of ruined."

"Oh, man… How am I going to explain this to my friend.." You muse, stepping onto the towel he prepared, glad to be holding him, still feeling lightheaded and weak.

"Oh, no," He laughs, wrapping a towel around you and holding you against him after. "I'll help you figure something out."

You thank him quietly, and lean into his embrace. Enjoying the quiet, calm moment after everything. You really don't know how you're going to tell your friend what happened. How you met a guy at the Internet Cafe, who actually works there, who is actually actually a vampire and you almost died from blood loss maybe but he gave you the best orgasm of your life, and he's also really pretty so you're not mad he almost killed you.

Well, whatever. You'll figure it out, ideally over dinner. And maybe you can exchange numbers so you can keep in contact when you go back home.

[malfoy-mrsdracomalfoy]

Seating Arrangement

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x MuggleBorn!Girlfriend!Reader

Warnings: Adult language, slight bullying, jealousy, slight harassment, ostracization

Word Count: 1765

Summary: Draco Malfoy will do anything to defend you- including silencing a room and... well, you'll just have to read to find out.

Author's Note: I thought I'd try something new and switch up the perspective for a little bit before resuming the usual first-person.

I know nothing about Astoria Greengrass except that she was Draco's canon wife in the series. If you love them as a couple, it's not the read for you. Unless you like drama. Then enjoy xo

Second Person's Point Of View

Draco heads into The Great Hall, thoughts filled with you. He sits next to Astoria and his usual group- more out of habit than genuine desire. Astoria keeps 'accidentally' touching his arm. He subtly pulls his arm away from her touch each time- but she won't take the hint. During the buzz of conversation around him, he finds himself distractedly twisting his snake ring around his finger- a small habit he picked up when his mind has him feeling restless. An outlet. He was missing you a little extra and craved your presence.

Astoria notices and smirks. She leans in with her voice low and sweet. "You know Draco, it's really cute how much your mind is preoccupied these days. You must be thinking of... her." Her voice turns disapproving and she purses her lips, eyebrows slightly pulled together. "But don't you think you deserve someone who's... closer to your status? Someone who understands your world better?"

His eyes narrow slightly at Astoria's words. He turns to face her, his voice cold and even. "And what exactly is my 'world', Astoria? Pure-bloods and socialites? Newsflash- that world is boring as fuck." He continues in a lower voice, leaning in towards Astoria threateningly. "And I'll tell you something else- my world now includes HER. So if you have any smart remarks about my girlfriend, I suggest you swallow them right fucking now."

Astoria's expression shifts from flirtatious to angry in an instant. "Well aren't we protective? When did you become such a romantic fool, Draco? Your father would be appalled." She crosses her arms, tapping a venomous nail against her skin. Draco leans back, his expression cold and distant once more.

"I don't give a damn what my father thinks. I'm in love, Astoria. And unlike you, I actually care about someone other than myself. So you need to shut the fuck up."

The table goes silent, sensing the tension. Blaise watches this exchange with raised eyebrows. Astoria, however, throws her hair back dramatically. "You know what your problem is, Draco? You've gone soft. You're whipped. You'd throw away your entire family legacy for that..." Astoria's words hang in the air.

"For that... what?" His voice is dangerous and low. The entire Great Hall seems to hold its breath.

"For that mudblood." Astoria says, laughing bitterly. "You're whipped." She rolls her eyes. "At least answer this- do you still sleep around? Does she know? You're not the monogamous type." She says, meeting his gaze full-on. Neither of these Slytherins are backing down.

Draco's expression darkens further. He places his hands on the table. "No, Astoria. I don't. I respect my girlfriend and our relationship enough not to stick my wand in every available witch." Astoria swallows hard, suddenly finding Draco dangerously attractive when he's like this. She decides to push her luck, pressing her breasts against the table slightly. "So, you're really monogamous now? No fun anymore?" She bites her lip. "What if I-"

Before Astoria can even finish her sentence, Draco cuts her off- voice commanding. "Not interested, Astoria. Never was, and I never will be." Astoria's face turns red with anger and embarrassment. She leans back abruptly, crossing her legs and trying to regain some of her poise. "Fine, Draco. Keep your wand in your robes for that Mudblood then." She says, voice high-pitched despite her trying to appear calm.

Reader's Point Of View

I head into Dining Hall, oblivious to the confrontation going on. As I walk in chatting with one of my housemates, I feel eyes on me. Following the pull- I lock eyes with Draco- whose already looking at me. He watches me possessively, analyzing my body language and who I'm speaking to- likely in case he feels the need to intervene. I head towards him.

Suddenly, Astoria stands up, intentionally stepping between Draco and I. She smiles falsely at my friend before her turning her cold gaze to me. "Oh, look who graced us with her presence. The mudblood."

Okay, that was really fucking rude. But I decide to take the high road because that's just my character. My friend decides this is too much drama so they leave almost immediately- scurrying off.

"Hello, Astoria. " I say, smiling softly.

She doesn't smile back. Instead she turns her judgmental eyes to my appearance- giving me an unimpressed once-over. "Decided to come out of hiding behind the pile of books you stick your nose in all day?"

I chuckle softly at her comment, deciding to not take her seriously. "Yeah, finally! It got stuffy. That's why I like to enter the snake nest sometimes. It's livelier here." I joke, heading to Draco and sitting on his lap.

"Hey, you." I say to him with a small smile, reaching for his pumpkin juice and taking a drink of it.

The entire interaction takes Astoria off guard. She watches, jaw slightly clenched as I make myself comfortable on Draco's lap. He smirks confidently and wraps an arm securely around my waist.

"There's my girl." He says, giving me a gentle squeeze.

I turn to meet his eye, exchanging smirks with him. He knows I always take the high road and still come out on top.

"This is really good." I say casually as I take another sip of his pumpkin juice. Astoria's face contorts with jealousy as she watches me sit on Draco's lap and take sips of his drink like it's the most normal thing in the world. It is- at least in mine and Draco's world.

She turns to her fellow Slytherins at the table, standing upright with her shoulders back- likely trying to regain her composure.

"You know what?" She says, loudly enough for all of Dining Hall and the Slytherin table to hear her- "I think-"

"Here we go" I whisper to Draco in amusement, suppressing a smile. He chuckles softly under his breath at my comment. We both know Astoria well enough to know she's going to try to cause drama. We both train our eyes on her, and I feel Draco's thumb gently caressing my side- grounding me.

She takes a sharp breath before speaking again- louder this time. "Only Slytherins should be allowed to sit at the Slytherins' table. She glances at my robes for emphasis then looks around the table, waiting for someone to take her side. She's met with silence.

The Slytherin Table's members exchange uncomfortable glances, unsure of how to react. Some of them shift in their seats, clearly not wanting to get involved. Blaise looks at Draco with a raised eyebrow- silently asking Draco what to do. I set my hand against his bicep, rubbing gently- watching his reaction. It's clear everyone is waiting for him to decide how to handle this.

Draco watches the table quietly for a few moments. No one is taking Astoria's side. He suppresses a smirk knowing this is exactly how I handle dramatic situations. I disarm people with either silence or kindness. Both make them either see reason or act out dramatically. The latter reveals their character and makes them look ridiculous.

I look around the table which has now completely stilled- all of them looking at Draco. They'll follow his lead.

"Astoria." He says, calmly but firmly enough for everyone to hear clearly. Everyone knows that this tone of voice means it's time to listen up. Astoria straightens up with a hopeful look in her eye. She really thinks he'll back her up.

"Yes?" She replies softly, batting her eyelashes at him.

"Do you honestly think what you just said holds any weight?"

Astoria nods eagerly, misinterpreting his calm tone for agreement. She does not know how to read a room.

"Yes, I do. Only Slytherins should sit here. Like you and me." She glances at me sitting on Draco's lap still, a jealous edge creeping into her voice.

The table holds its breath, Blaise's eyes narrow slightly, anticipating Draco's reaction. Draco's expression remains neutral, but his voice drops an octave. "And why is that, Astoria?" He asks her slowly, as if he's talking to a small child.

"Because they don't belong. They're not good enough, and they should not be able to sit amongst us." She gestures toward me with a dismissive wave of her hand. Draco's face remains unchanged but his voice is colder than ice.

"Do you actually think you're better than anyone? At all?"

Astoria nods, ignoring the dangerous undertone in Draco's voice. "Yes, I do. Especially better than her." She points to be accusingly. "She shouldn't be here."

I sit confident and poised- I know he'll defend me like the devoted boyfriend he is. It's his character. I feel his arm around me tighten protectively.

"She belongs here just as much as everyone else. If you think you're even an ounce better than her in any sense of the word- you're mistaken. You're the one who isn't good enough. Look how ridiculous you're acting, Astoria. Nothing like a pure-blood of your status should act. You should be embarrassed."

The Slytherins stay still, some letting out a small gasp. She pales and her mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. She looks around the table desperately but sees no support from her peers who are staring at Draco with awe and fear mixed together. He continues calmly.

"She's mine. And what happens when someone tries to mess with something that belongs to me?"

Astoria swallows hard, trembling slightly. "Nothing good." She whispers, deciding it's best to submit before he destroys her reputation entirely. Draco's gaze darkens slightly.

"Exactly." He says, voice like venom. "She sits here because I said she could."

Astoria's face flushes red with humiliation and anger. She knows she's been put in her place and there's nothing she can do about it. Draco turns his gaze back to me briefly before addressing the table. "Anyone else have something they want to say about my choices?"

The Slytherin table remains silent. Not a single person dares to speak up. They know Draco is deadly serious and won't hesitate to defend his position or emotionally, physically and even socially destroy anyone that dares to challenge him.

I press my hand to his knee and give it a small, appreciative squeeze. He places his free hand over mine, squeezing back in response before turning his attention back to the table- his expression the intimidating, influential, commanding leader he is. Everyone remains silent.

After meeting the eye of every single person at the table, he gives a dismissive nod- signaling the conversation is over.

Masterlist

[karikitdemonrp]

Kari sniffled, looking into her papa's eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks as she just sniffled and listened. She looked down for a moment, processing what the hero said and gave a nod while her eyes narrowed a bit in thought. "I... Think I get it." She muttered, voice still slightly trembling as she spoke. She looked back at the projection and sighed. The child slowly backed away from Hawks and went back to look at the journals again, one last time.

There she read a few more journals from her mother. A few from when she was pregnant with her siblings.

"Today is September 29th, I gave birth to my little boy Kitearo a few days ago. It's been exhausting but he's worth it. Lynx has been a huge help in taking care of our son. I looked into Kite's future and I saw he was going to have a lot of siblings. Not my first choice honestly. If you asked me five years ago I would have said two or three kids would be enough, not seven. But it feels right at the same time. While I saw his whole life unravel I couldn't help but feel helpless... But a part of me knows it can't be messed with, even though I want to save my son from an early grave. I'll have to wait until all my kids are born to get the full picture."

Kari frowned, figuring out pretty quick that her mother knew the whole time, or at least had an understanding.

"It's Febuary 23rd. Flo and Fino are a few days old now. I got a bit more of the picture since seeing Kitearo's future. They meet a similar fate. It hurts, but seeing them work hard to protect their youngest sister, a little girl with white hair, something isn't adding up. I know I can't stop it but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt a whole lot."

"It's been a rough few weeks, Shade has been a bit of a handful. Always curious but always quiet which is a bit unnerving. Sure she cries and makes noises but she's more quiet than not. The doctor says she has nothing wrong with her but I still worry. I was able to see into her future. Lynx has his work cut out for him that's for sure. So far I know all my kids and my husband die on the same day, doing the same thing. I can't say for sure where I am but I can make a few guesses. Again that little girl with white hair makes a big appearance. I'll name her Kari. Kari Kana Lee Himura, long name but it looks like it suits her. When she's born I'll hopefully get all the answers and try to write them down."

"Another pair of twins. I'm not super surprised, Lynx had twin younger brothers after all so I think that runs in the family. That and I saw them while looking into their siblings' futures. These two look mirrored, it's kinda cute. I've named them Boom and Beats cuz the symbols on their cheeks are cute music notes. They are the loudest that's for sure, it's funny. I've had so many kids and all of them are so different even though they're under the same roof and have me and Lynx as their parents. I know why they look so different and why their quirks are different, it's a side effect of my quirk after all. But their behaviors and personalities aren't tied to it, I don't think. It's so fascinating to watch them grow and develop... I know I probably only have a few more years to live. I've concluded I die in child birth when giving birth to Kari. I know I'll be leaving behind my family and my friends... But I noted that my nephew is the one responsible for the deaths of everyone, under the control of my sister given his pupils... Something isn't adding up but I'm guessing Kari develops my quirk. If that's the case then she needs to exist. It strengthens our quirk and hopefully she'll be able to help others like I did, in someway. Though that's her choice and I don't want to force it onto her. I'm glad dad talked me into writing that one entry about my quirk, I hope she can read it one day so she can meet me... Well, a snap shot of me. It won't be the same I know but it's better than nothing. I just hope she doesn't hate me or get mad. It's kind of a selfish reason but there's so much going on... I just hope she understands."

Kari sniffled, rubbing her eyes. "I... I don't hate you mom." She whispered after a few moments of silence, hugging herself. "I just wish I knew you." The child gulped and moved to look back at the journal about All of the Above and began taking notes. "But yea, I'm glad grampa talked you into writing about your quirk too... It's gonna help me a lot." She muttered then looked at Hawks. "You think we can go somewhere I can train? I... I wanna try doing this thing mom talks about. I'm not sure if I can get back into that weird mind space thing but... But if I can maybe you can meet my siblings, well a snap shot of them... This is kinda confusing." Kari puffed out her cheeks then went back to writing. "But we don't have to do it today if we can't."

Hawks didn’t speak at first. He just let Kari cry. He didn’t try to hush her or pull her away. He dropped down to one knee so she could lean into him easier, wrapping his arms around her small frame like he could shield her from every painful word she had just read. His wings even curled in slightly, a quiet gesture of shelter.

He held her gently as the sobs came out in waves—her pain wasn’t small, and it didn’t deserve to be treated like it was.

After a long moment, his voice finally came—soft, steady, low enough it didn’t try to overpower her crying but just… sat with it.

“I know, kiddo. I know it hurts. It’s not fair. None of this is. You didn’t get a choice in any of it.”

He tightened the hug slightly, one hand cradling the back of her head.

“But I need you to hear me when I say this next part, okay?” He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, his own golden ones steady and full of something more than just compassion—it was conviction. “She didn’t die because of you. That’s not how this works. She died for you. And that’s something only someone who loves their kid more than anything in the world would do.”

His thumbs gently wiped her tears.

“Your mom knew the risks. She was a top pro. She wasn’t someone who walked into things blind. She fought to bring you into this world anyway, Kari. That means she wanted you here. She made a choice—and that choice was you.”

[l4lenthusiast]

Buttons -Spencer Reid

GirlDad!Spencer Reid x mom!reader

Warnings: Forehead kiss (I think that's it?) No use of y/n

Word count: 662

A/n This was supposed to be a short blurb but I got carried away so first real short fic!!

"No, Lottie, not in your mouth!" You took the pink crayon from your daughter and sat her on your lap. Today you and Spencer decided that crafts could be a fun idea for your freshly two year old, clearly not thinking through all the things she would try to put in her mouth.

Spencer chuckled, putting a small basket on the living room floor with an assortment of buttons, glue sticks, and colorful paper.

"C'mere Lottie." He reached out for the pant leg of her snoopy overalls courtesy of Aunt Penelope on Lottie's second birthday last month. She was spoiled severely between gifts from the team, your family, not to forget you and Spencer, who definitely went a bit over board. Charlotte gurgled something between a "no" and a giggle when Spencer pulled her over.

"Crafts are beneficial for toddlers," Spencer started, laying out the items, giving Lottie her stuffed lamb. "they foster the development of fine motor skills, hand-eye coordination, and creativity." He continued, passing you a handful of buttons.

"Activities like painting, drawing, and using handheld supplies like buttons help refine dexterity and precision." He handed Lottie two buttons, one for her and one for her lamb.

"Crafts also encourage self-expression, allowing toddlers to communicate their emotions and ideas non-verbally." He finished laying out all of the craft supplies and adjusted the white bows in Lottie's pigtails you put in this morning without much of a struggle.

"Do you know what lambs say?" He asked her with interest. Lottie smiled at him before making a "baa" sound, which Spencer greatly praised.

"Okay Lottie," Spencer spoke softly, turning her around to face him. "Why don't you go sit with Mama, and then we can start. Okay?" She nodded her head, shaking her pigtails in the process, and reached out for you.

"Hi sweet girl!" You sat her on your lap and gave her her pink sippy cup half filled with apple juice from snack time earlier.

Spencer held out his hand with a selection of colored paper. "What color do you want?" He asked her, showing off the papers.

Charlotte thought and pointed at a few looking up at you for confirmation.

"There's pink Lottie!" You told her, pointing at the pink colored paper.

"Yes!" She cheered, clapping her hands together and looking at Spencer with a pleading face.

"May me?" She asked him, Spencer had been trying to teach her proper vocabulary by using "may" instead of "can."

He smiled at her, and without putting up a fight, he handed it to her, although it did take a lot to not correct her from "me" to "I."

Lottie sat on the floor next to you, starting to color and place buttons on her page, blabbering only a few words you or Spencer could understand.

"Lottie," Spencer tapped her knee lightly. "Are you done your picture?" He asked her, looking up at you with a smile.

"Need glue." She mumbled. You could tell she was getting tired. You checked your phone to read 12:54. You and Spencer usually try to get her in bed for her nap by 12:30. He gave you a knowing look and started to negotiate with your toddler.

"Okay angel, how about we glue your buttons down, then you go have a nap so your picture will be dry by the time you wake up?" He pulls her into his arms, and she rests her head on his shoulder in exhaustion.

Lottie nods against his shoulder, already half asleep. Spencer smiles at the sight and starts to rock her while picking up some of the leftover supplies.

"Here." You grabbed the crayons out of his hand. "Why don't you go put her up for a nap? I'll clean up." You told him, looking over his shoulder to see your daughter fast asleep.

He nodded back hesitantly and stood up to bring her to bed. He turned around and pressed a kiss on the top of your head, then continued walking towards the stairs to put sleepy Lottie to bed with her lamb still in her grasp.

[maspers]

I remember how when Chapter 2 came out there were multiple people who noticed that Ralsei went largely unnoticed by the inhabitants of the Dark World, like how Queen forgot to bring a cage for him and him otherwise being often overlooked by the other Darkners in favor of focusing more on Kris and Susie (or Noelle). I dunno how prevalent the scrutinization of it was but I do remember it being a weird thing people noticed.

But then Chapters 3 and 4 come along and suddenly the Darkners seem much more aware of Ralsei's presence? Sure, Tenna focuses on Kris a lot because backstory but overall he treats the three heroes as a cohesive group, including all three of them in the different minigames and giving each of them opportunities to shine. Heck, he seems to deliberately draw attention to Ralsei, what with the plushie running gag and all. And while Gerson is obviously most focused on helping Susie, he goes out of his way to bring Ralsei tea and otherwise directly address him. Of course, Gerson isn't exactly a regular Darkner, but in Chapter 2 the Lightners seemed just as likely to overlook Ralsei as the Darkners were, Berdly and Noelle don't seem to comment on him at all, with Noelle only bringing him up as a minor detail to her "weird dream" when she discusses him in Chapter 4. (The Darkners aside from Gerson and Jackenstein in Chapter 4 don't seem to give Ralsei any special attention, but honestly they don't give any of the three heroes special attention, the Ch 4 Darkners are weird.)

Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but it kind of feels like the Dark World is starting to pay more attention to Ralsei because Kris and Susie are paying more attention to Ralsei. Before the events of Ch 1, his Castle Town is pretty much empty and abandoned, and he only really seemed to exist for the sake of acting as a tutorial/guide/moral compass if need be. He's just fulfilling his role in the prophecy, nothing more, so the rest of the Darkners treat him in kind. But because Kris and Susie view him as a person and refuse to let him fade into the background, filling Castle Town with recruits and doing their best to emphasize the importance of Ralsei's personhood, the other Darkners reflect that in their behavior as well. Ralsei suddenly is directly involved in making choices in the plot, and I don't think he understands how to cope with that. Or maybe I'm just delusional?

On a completely unrelated note, there's a nonzero chance that Ralsei is completely off the mark about his role in the prophecy and the "Prince of the Dark" is actually Lancer (or like, some other guy, but it'd be funny if it was Lancer), and I genuinely think if that's the case Ralsei would NOT react well. There's already been some people discussing ambiguity about the terms used in the Prophecy to describe the three heroes, and while it could be a red herring it could also lead to some really crazy twists down the line. And Ralsei... Ralsei doesn't react well to twists, I think.

[pt2change]

landing softly — kim taehyung

pairing: singledad!taehyung x reader

genre: takes place months after, nari loves y/n, tae being vulnerable for a sec, they’re already a family without knowing it :’)

word count: 1,914

a/n: the long awaited part 2 hahah i’m sorry it took so long!!!! i hope it does it justice i woke up in the middle of the night to finish this instead of going back to bed and letting it collect even more dust

↣ bts masterlist

or read part 1 here

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

it had been a couple of months since you met taehyung and nari on the flight.

you and taehyung had exchanged phone numbers at the airport once the flight reached its destination.

you thought nothing of it really, at first the whole situation was just a funny story you would tell your friends.

but then he texted you one day, it was a picture of nari with the plushie she had tried giving to you on that flight, she wants to let you borrow it again, the text read

from that moment, it turned into weekly texts, spontaneous park meetups, and exchanged voice memos about awful work days. then there were “nari wants to see you and say hi” facetime calls that turned into long conversations that would continue deep into the night after nari would run away after about 3 minutes.

somewhere in between, there was having dinner together, the 3 of you. it had become its own tradition.

tonight was dinner at taehyung’s place. sometimes you cooked, and sometimes taehyung did. sometimes it was just “i accidentally ordered too much take out, why don't you come over?”

you knocked on the door three times, and from the other side you hear rapid tiny footsteps running across the hardwood floor, “nari! slow down” you could hear taehyung call out to his daughter from the other side of the door.

the door swings wide up, and nari smiles up at you, already wearing her pink pajama set that you had given to her the last time you saw her.

the smell of cleaning products hits your nose suddenly. it makes sense, after all taehyung had spent the entire day cleaning, he scrubbed every inch down, the counters on the kitchen, the bathroom shined bright, and taehyung vacuumed as much as he could.

nari was only tasked with picking up her toys (which did not get done)

“y/n!” nari exclaims, wrapping her arms around your legs. . “hey, nari,” you place your hands on her tiny back to keep her steady, “oh, i brought that chocolate cake you guys like”

nari yells in excitement, “you need to have dinner first, nari” taehyung says, walking over, and he gives you a quick hug, before taking the cake out of your hands.

you walk in further into taehyung's all too familiar apartment, and start removing your purse and shoes, putting them in their designated places. nari stays close to you, talking about a new show she has started watching.

as you remove your shoes, her little hands grab them and place them onto the shoe rack.

back when you all first started sharing meals, there was a moment of concern from nari because there was no space for your shoes on the shoe rack or that there wasn't a place for you to put your purse. so taehyung and nari spent one afternoon together clearing out the rack, making enough space for your belongings.

“come on, i want you to play with me!” nari says, holding onto your hand, tugging you towards her small bedroom. as you let nari drag you to her bedroom, you pass taehyung and mouth to him a quick “sorry”

when time passes by, taehyung begins to set the table, plates and silverware clinking together, filling the apartment with noise. taehyung hears nari talking and your funny responses get closer to the kitchen as your footsteps fill the small hallway.

“let’s help your dad set up, huh?” he hears you say, to which nari replies a quick “okay”

“ooo, it smells good in here” you think out loud, taehyung faces you to see you holding nari’s hand in one and a pink bunny plushie, one of nari’s favorites, in the other. taehyung can't help but notice how you grab it with such delicacy, both nari’s small hand and her bunny. it’s a sight that makes him smile.

nari then makes her way over to the table, sitting in the chair, placing her doll on the table. “it’s spaghetti,” taehyung says, beginning to serve in a small hello kitty bowl, “i also made garlic bread.”

you grab the served bowl from taehyung, placing a small fork in it, and place it in front of nari.

it’s a routine, taehyung finishes serving your plates and you place them both on the table, both of you at nari’s sides. taehyung grabs the basket of garlic bread and places it in the middle. you grab 2 wine glasses and a green cup with frogs on it, taehyung grab the wine and apple juice from the fridge.

you both sit down, and the 3 of you start eating. the conversation flows great, it’s easy and full of laughter, as it always does. you talked about the different things you have done since the last time you saw each other, work, nari’s current obsession with her barbie playhouse, what she’s learned at school. after dinner, you bring out the chocolate cake, watching nari’s eyes sparkle. you cut each of them, and yourself, a slice.

the conversation continues, and you stay at the table, enjoying each others company.

eventually, nari starts to nod off in her chair. everytime taehyung says something, she sits right back up, saying she’s not sleepy at all. after about the 5th time, taehyung goes around and lifts her out of the chair, lifting her into his arms.

“it’s time for bed” he says, rubbing her back softly. “i don’t want to” she mumbles into his shoulder, yawning seconds later. taehyung pats her back softly, “you can see y/n another day”

you get up from your chair, placing your hand on the small of nari’s back, “let’s get you to bed nari” you whisper.

taehyung turns his head slightly over his shoulder, “you want to help?”

you nod in response, in a way that says “of course i want to help,” and you follow him down the hallway into nari’s bedroom. she’s already half asleep when he lays her down, her small body falling against the sheets and pillows.

you move quickly to her side, pulling her blanket and tucking her in gently. “i’ll come see you again soon, okay nari?” you whisper, and her eyes open just slightly, she nods. just before you walk away, you hear her voice, “y/n?”

you get down to her eye level, “yeah?” you feel her tiny hand reach out to yours, she squeezes it slightly. “i wish you could stay” her voice is soft and serious.

your heart flutters, “s-stay?”

nari nods softly, “like stay forever” she responds, just barely above a whisper, “i wish you lived her…. or we lived with you” her words slowed as her eyes fluttered “i like you alot, y/n” she mumbles.

you brush her hair back, “i like you alot too nari” you whisper. and nari falls back into her sleep, her soft breathing fills the room.

all the while taehyung watched stood at the door, watching in silence. his stomach fills with anxiety.

it’s been him and nari for so long, and now you’re here. you stole nari’s heart, and in a way you stole his too. but he knows you, he knows you have a future full of opportunities. you don't need someone like him infiltrating your life and taking it all away.

you leave nari’s bedside, and walk over to taehyung, placing your hand on his bicep, giving it a light squeeze before walking back over to the kitchen. taehyung takes a deep breath, before shutting nari’s door.

taehyung walks towards kitchen, seeing you stack the plates together and walking over to place them in the sink. “don’t worry about it, y/n”

“it’s okay, i’ll help”

“y/n,” taehyung follows you helplessly, “it’s okay really.”

you start the water, “it’s the least i can do since you cooked for us tonight.”

he stands next to you, your shoulders bumping slightly, “you wash, i’ll dry them”

taehyung grabs a washcloth and waits as you scrub the first bowl. there’s a comfortable silence that fills the air as you wash the dishes. you finish the dishes, and taehyung dries them, putting them all away where they belong.

you lean against the counter. after putting away the last dish, taehyung clears his throat, “she’s comfortable with you” he says softly.

you hand him a bowl, “i’m comfortable with her too” you reply, your voice just as soft. and there’s a silence, “and you taehyung”

you look over at him, handing him the last fork. and he’s smiling. you tilt your head slightly, “what?” you chuckle

taehyung walks closer to you, “i just never expected any of this you know?” you nod in response before he continues, “that day at the airport, i was just so tired, and i thought all i need to do is get on this flight and go home. that was gonna be it”

you nod, “but then nari tried to climb over the airplane seat” you tease

he laughed in response. his eyes lingered on you for a moment, before he looked away. “nari’s mom isn’t around” he says quietly. “she left not long after nari was born. it’s been hard, for the both of us”

you don't say anything, letting the silence sit between the two of you. “nari doesn't ask much about her.” he says, “but when she does, i don't know if im saying the right thing. i don't want her to feel like she's missing something.”

you reach your hand out to grab his, rubbing your thumb so delicately over his knuckles. “i don't think she does. she is so full of joy and curiosity. and she is so deeply loved, taehyung. that’s all you”

his eyes meet yours again, and he takes a deep breath. “she’s so lucky to have you”

in an even quieter voice, “i think i’m lucky too, to have you both in my life” you add.

taehyung’s eyes linger on you, and tension fills the air. you pull taehyung closer by dragging him by his belt loops until your noses are touching. taehyung closes the distance between you two.

you kiss him open-mouthed, the dragging of your tongues slow. your hands slip under the hem of taehyung’s shirt, training his soft skin. taehyung kisses you with more desperation, his hands cupping your face

when you break apart, you're both panting. you rest your forehead against taehyungs, as you try to catch your breath, running your hand down his back

“thanks for tonight,” you whisper, your noses brushing against each other, “it was nice”

taehyung kisses your cheek softly, “i’m glad you came”

you pull away from taehyung, regret visible on your face, “i should probably go, i have work early tomorrow” taehyung nods, and leads you to the door, grabbing your purse as you slip your shoes back on. taehyung places the bag on your shoulder, enjoying the way your cheeks blush.

“I’ll stay” you whisper, and taehyung blinks slowly. “I’ll stay if you ask me to,” you say, bolder this time, “forever, like nari said.” there’s a pause, “or for as long as you’ll have me”

he lets out a quiet breath, “i’m asking”

you can barely holding in the smile that looms across your face, “okay, then i’ll stay”

taehyung doesn’t say anything after that. he didn't have to.

he steps closer, pressing his forehead against yours.

and down the hall is a small girl who is completely unaware that her wish was coming true.

[runforthehillsbestie]

Sympathy For The Devil

Part 6 - home in the stars

Read the story context and warnings here

It's been four days since you arrived at the Hewitt house, and today's weather is the hottest it's been yet. Luda Mae is fanning herself as she rocks on the porch, the rocking chair squeaking with each push of her foot. Her twin stitches are thin and spidery at her hairline.

"Mercy, it's hot enough to fry an egg out here," she says, and she's probably not wrong.

The mid-morning sun is glaring down with a viciousness that causes even the birds to go still. Nothing but a hiss of dry wind now and then, which only serves to stir up warm drafts and somehow make the heat even worse. You're dressed in cut-off jean shorts and a white spaghetti strap top that you found in the closet. It's washed, but there's a huge stain on it.

You're not wearing a bra and Monty has tried just about everything to get a look at your nipples through your shirt, much to your annoyance. You rest your head against the porch railing and gaze out over the unused farmland that's now covered in weeds and dry grass. The air in the distance shimmers a bit.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Luda Mae questions.

"My mother used to get cranky when the weather was hot," you murmur.

"I don't blame her," Luda Mae says. "Feels like hell opened up."

Just then an unfamiliar figure comes into view around a rusty old truck parked down by the fence, trudging up to the house with a basket tucked under their arm. You tense at the sight of the stranger, but they're approaching with ease like they know this place. Uncle Monty's dog confirms this by wagging his tail once, then flopping his head back down on the floorboards with a groan.

"Oh, look," Luda Mae says. "If it isn't Henrietta!"

Oh, you recall hearing that name before.

"It's quite the day, isn't it?" The small woman says with a smile as she comes to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

She has a long-sleeved cardigan on despite the heat and the dress underneath is faded grey from being worn and washed and hung out in the sun. Her feathery, short hair clings to her sweaty forehead.

"Who's this?" She looks at you curiously.

Luda Mae says your name like it's familiar on her tongue, as though she's known you forever.

"This is a first," Henrietta says with a blink. Her voice is soft and hesitant.

"We're keeping this one!" Luda Mae says, leaning over to stroke your hair.

You give Henrietta a weak smile.

"Here." She extends the basket to you. "A little gift to welcome you to the family."

The basket is full of green beans. You burst into a spontaneous laugh.

"Oh, I used to hate these when I was younger!"

Henrietta's smile fades, and her face goes blank, like the face of a mannequin.

"You don't like them?"

"Oh, I do! Um, thank you," you say hastily, and the smile returns to her face like the sun from behind a cloud.

"Good," she says. "I should go. I need to look after the baby."

"Take care of yourself, now," Luda Mae says.

Henrietta turns and shuffles back the way she came, clutching her arms around herself as though she's cold.

"Is she family?" You ask.

"Something like that," Luda Mae says. "Give me half of those beans. If we snap 'em now we'll have something green for dinner. Some sort of stew, I'm thinking."

The screen door slams and Sheriff Hoyt marches onto the porch with his rifle balanced against his shoulder, like he too has had enough of the heat. "I'm gonna go shoot us some game."

Luda Mae snorts. "What are you going to shoot, Charlie?"

"Eh, I'll find something. We're running out of meat as it is. Where'd those beans come from?"

"Henrietta. I'll have to repay the favor later and send something by," Luda Mae says, snapping a bean.

Sheriff Hoyt tromps down the stairs and gets into his car. The engine rattles and then coughs to life. You watch the car pull away, resting your chin on your palm.

"Where's Tommy? I haven't seen him all morning," you say several minutes later.

"I have him mending some things for me down in the basement. I'd have done it myself, but it makes my head hurt," Luda Mae says. As if she can guess your thoughts she adds, "You sit here and finish up with those beans, girl. Then you can go to him."

You blush and dig back into the basket, poking your thumbnail into a bean and yanking out the stringy part.

"You know, it's good of you to treat him so kindly," Luda Mae murmurs after a while. "He ain't ever had that before."

"He looks scarier than he is," you reply, lifting your shoulder in a shrug. "I'm good at figuring out how people are on the inside."

"Well, that's far more than I can say for those children he used to go to school with," Luda Mae tuts. "Nothing hurts the pride more than rejection."

You look up. "Did he ever try to befriend them?"

"I think he knew his place long before anyone tried to put him in it." She shakes her head and rocks some more, lost in her thoughts.

You're also thinking of your childhood. You never had anyone throw rocks or piss on you like Jeremy said they'd done to Tommy, but there had been other things. Mean words the other kids would throw your way, the filthiest curses they could come up with because they thought it was funny to see how it made you blush bright red. The boys would grab you in places they shouldn't, asking if you had scripture verses rolled up and stuck in there. It was a mercy when your father decided to start homeschooling you at twelve, just as puberty started to hit you.

You bite down your tongue until the sting of pain anchors you back in the present, on the porch you're perched on. You take a deep grounding breath. You'll take being here over being back with your father. By the time you're done with the beans, your hands are sticky and smell like crushed leaves.

"What do I do with them?" You ask as you stand with the basketful.

"Soak them in some salt water and just let them stand until we need them," Luda Mae says, getting comfortable in her chair and closing her eyes. You do as she has asked, leaving the pot of salt water and beans on the stove for later.

You wash your hands and dry them hastily on your shirt before you head down to the basement, easing the heavy door open. You hear the rhythmic clatter of a sewing machine. Surely it would be better to sew in natural light, but Thomas probably finds it more comfortable down here. It's also far cooler, you realize as you make your way down the stairs. The pleasant change in temperature livens you up and puts a spring in your step. Tommy is sitting at his work table. He glances up, his eyes dark and searching.

"Hi," you murmur.

He grunts and spins the wheel some more, leaning in to examine the work he's engrossed in, his grubby fingers turning over the material. You inch a little closer so you can watch. His movements are comfortable and familiar and he handles the sewing machine with ease. The needle stabs through the fabric in a blur. After a few moments, he holds up the pillowcase. The tear has been neatly sown together and it looks almost as good as new.

"Did Luda Mae teach you?"

He nods, glancing at you again, perhaps wondering why you're down here bothering him while he's trying to work.

"Can I help?"

He tilts his head.

"I know I'm not very good at sewing, and I don't know how to use the machine, but I can patch up small holes?" You say hoping you can stay here a while longer.

He remains quiet, thinking.

"There's nothing else to do." You admit. "I'm bored."

He lifts his hand to his jaw and scratches, then he points at the chair in the corner, the same one Charlie made you sit on for your 'punishment' on the second day. You drag it over and set it at the side of the worktable, glancing at him to see if he's okay with that. He plucks a pair of plaid boxers from the pile and holds them out to you. There are a myriad of small holes approximately where the balls should be. You can't help but snicker.

"Are these for Hoyt? What on earth does he do with them?"

At least they're clean, you think to yourself, picking up a needle and proceeding to spend an entire minute trying to thread the damn thread through.

You steal a glance at Tommy to find that he's watching you, one big forearm resting on the table. You jump as you somehow manage to prick your finger and look back at the needle.

"Dammit," you mumble quietly.

He reaches out and you flinch out of habit, anticipating a pinch on the arm for your failure.

"Sorry," you mumble.

He takes the thread from you and lifts it to his mouth. You see a pink flash of his tongue through the mouth hole of the mask as he licks the end of the thread. Then he takes the needle and slips the thread through on the first try and hands it back to you.

"Thanks." You hunker over and dutifully get to work.

Your work is hardly perfect, but the threads are sturdy and will hold. You fall into a rhythm, and when you're done with what you're working on, you go to another piece of fabric. A shirt. Too big for Hoyt and too big for skinny old Monty. There's a single tear in the back.

This is one of Tommy's shirts.

You get to work on it, putting in extra care and trying to make it as neat as possible, trying to guess what could've made that tear. Something fairly sharp, like scissors, maybe, because the edges are barely frayed. You're so engrossed in your work that you startle when Tommy hooks his fingers under your chair and drags the whole thing closer to him. You peer at him over your eyebrows, a silent question on your face. His palm presses against the middle of your back, applying pressure.

You pause with the needle half-pulled through the material, trying to guess what he wants. You soothe your dry lips with a sweep of your tongue. Your gaze darts between his legs, almost subconsciously. He catches your jaw and you look up at him in confusion. This time he presses one hand to your shoulder while the other nudges your back, applying pressure from both sides and forcing you to straighten. He grunts and turns back to his work. You were bent over like a shrimp, you realize. Your mother used to scold you for that. Tommy was correcting your horrible posture.

"That's sweet of you." You reach out to touch his forearm, and he huffs and plucks your hand away, pointing to the shirt.

He wants you to carry on. This is an important task and you're not going to distract him from mending every single item in that basket. Intrigued, you watch him. There's no way you can't tempt him to take a break and do something else more interesting, right? You surreptitiously drop your needle on the floor.

"Oh, whoops. I guess I'll have to get that," you say dramatically.

Your knees thunk softly against the floor. Of course, you don't need to do all that just for a needle. You could've just reached down and picked it up. Instead, you crawl under the table and get comfy between Tommy's legs, scratching your nails gently against the worn fabric of his pants. The sewing machine comes to a rattling halt as he pauses. Boldly, you press your cheek against his knee. He smells like musk and salt and iron, a scent that is slowly becoming familiar to you. He leans back in the chair and looks over his stomach, down at you. His hands rest against his thighs, fingers twitching idly. You take one of those paws and press it against your face. You want him to touch you, you have the sudden urge to be close to him, a pull so strong it makes your eyes water a little. His fingers fan out, mapping your face. His fingers pluck and squish at your cheeks and smooth over your eyebrows like he's memorizing you.

You don't close your eyes, not even when his fingers get dangerously close, brushing over your eyelashes. He takes your jaw and turns your head to the side, callused fingertips following the curve of your ear downwards, pressing lightly against the vein that thumps just underneath your jaw. A warm feeling settles in your stomach. You want to take the initiative for once and suck him off just because you can. You barely manage to cup his bulge before he's suddenly standing and lifting you off the ground with him, his hands hooked under your armpits. The world spins for a moment before he deposits you neatly back in your chair. He gives you the needle and a ragged dishcloth to mend and pats you on the head with a heavy, awkward hand. Your mouth drops open, realizing you've been put to work again.

"Hey," you protest.

The air that puffs out of his mouth almost sounds like a laugh. After that you're content to simply sit in companionable silence, your drifting mind lulled into a state of calm by the rhythmic whir of the sewing machine. Sitting with him is also fine, you decide. Half an hour later the peace is broken by the distant yelling voice of Sheriff Hoyt.

"Tommy!"

Tommy cocks his head, listening.

"Get your ass out here!"

Tommy's chair scrapes back as he stands. The ground trembles with the weight of his steps. He grabs a wickedly curved metal hook from the wall and bounds up the stairs, the quickest you've ever seen him move. You scurry after him into the bright sunlight outside the house. The sun is still high in the sky. You're expecting some kind of trouble, so when you see Sheriff Hoyt casually standing there with his hands on his hips, you pause. Tommy looks confused as well, sweeping the area with his gaze. There are no intruders to be found. It's just Sherrif Hoyt with a piece of rope in his hand that leads to the neck of a comically round brown cow. Reality seems to cleave in two. This can't be.

"Daisy?" You gasp in amazement.

At the sound of her name, the cow perks up, dragging the Sheriff forward as she trots up to you. You come down from the porch to sling your arms around her damp, warm neck. It is Daisy!

"This cow is yours?" Sheriff Hoyt gnaws on whatever is in his mouth and spits on the floor. "How can that be? You live round these parts?"

"In the next town over," you say. "It's pretty far from here, though. I didn't even know Fuller existed."

Sheriff Hoyt startles like he's been shot. "I thought you came from someplace far, Missy! Why didn't you say anything?"

"You never asked," you reply, petting the short velvety fur of Daisy's neck.

His eyes narrow and he thumbs the gun holster at his hip. "You got somebody?"

"No." Your response is short and dry.

"Any family?" He prods.

You laugh, the sound flat and dark. "My father probably hopes I'm dead. No one is going to come looking for me."

"Hmmm," he scrutinizes you. "So you're all alone."

"Which is what you want, isn't it?" You meet his eyes.

"You'd better hope you're telling the truth," he replies. "'Cause it won't be too hard to put a bullet in you yet."

"What's all the noise for, waking me from my nice nap," Luda Mae mumbles as she steps out onto the porch, squinting. "A cow? Where'd you get that?"

"It was wandering around on the edge of town. Looking for water, I'll bet," Sheriff Hoyt says. "Well, I got us supper."

"We can't eat her!" You protest. "She's mine!"

Sheriff Hoyt raises his scruffy eyebrows. "You wanna rethink those words, girl?"

"I-I mean, she's pregnant," you shrink under the Sheriff's cold eyes, feeling a chill pass over you despite the heat. "If we wait until she calves then we'll have two cows."

Sheriff Hoyt grins. "Persuasive, ain't ya? You could sell a porno to a priest if you had a mind to!"

"So we won't butcher her?" You ask cautiously.

"Nah, we'll wait." Sheriff Hoyt strolls towards the porch steps. "Besides," he says, leaning in to hiss in your ear, "Veal tastes much better than some dried-up old cow."

He clomps up the stairs and calls over his shoulder, "Tie her out in the field. Plenty of grass to fatten her up!"

You take the frayed rope collar and tug at it. Daisy is fully grown now, but she follows you all the same, just like when she was a calf herself. Your boyfriend had bought the bony little thing as a birthday present for you and it was the one nice thing he ever did. Having her with you now feels like a gift from heaven. You sniffle, trying to keep from crying.

"Don't listen to that crusty old man, Daisy. Nothing is going to happen to you."

You lead her to an old post and tie her up there, crouching to murmur sweet little nothings into her ear utterly delighted to have your animal friend. Thomas watches from where he's standing by the house, absentmindedly scraping his thumb against the sharp edge of the metal hook he no longer needs. Never in his life has he seen anyone care about a cow. As far as he knows, all they're good for is the slaughterhouse.

* * * *

Dinner smells heavenly, but now that you know what meat you're having, it dampens your hunger.

"Why don't you say the grace tonight, dear?" Luda Mae asks.

You clear your throat and rattle through the Grace. Luda Mae looks surprised at how easily it comes to you.

"Well, ain't that a regular sermon!" Sheriff Hoyt sneers. "You sound just like a preacher."

"My father was something of the sort," you say, and then you wish you could take it back.

Why do I ever open my mouth, you wonder to yourself.

Sheriff Hoyt doesn't care, but Luda Mae is excited, asking you what your favorite book in the bible is. The answer is automatic, Psalms. You have the whole thing memorized, pretty much. From there she asks about your favorite chapter, then the verse. The memories begin to resurface, and you can almost feel the pain in your knees again from kneeling on the hardwood floor and reciting the Psalms. It was one of your father's favorite punishments. Somehow he always knew when you'd stopped kneeling properly and would stomp into the cleaning closet to yank you back onto your sore knees. When you grew older you realized he would often watch you through the keyhole, and that's how he knew. For the longest time you really believe he was like god and knew everything.

"Dear?" Luda Mae says.

"Yes?" You blink rapidly and look at her.

"Eat your food. Everything, now. You need the strength."

You swallow hard and look at the meat you've been served. The pieces are fried, lying in a glistening pile next to the string beans, which are salty and buttery. Sheriff Hoyt is eyeing you, licking grease from his lips.

"You go on now," he says. "You need the protein. Of course, if this doesn't suit your tastes we've got ourselves a nice cow out there. Tommy can butcher it up real nice for you."

Those words feel like a fist that wraps around your heart and squeezes.

I can't, you think to yourself, but you're mechanically spearing a piece on your fork and lifting it to your mouth. I'm doing it for Daisy. Dear, innocent Daisy.

Sheriff Hoyt watches you like a hawk as you chew. You can tell he's waiting for you to choke or push your plate away. He's itching to punish you but he needs a good excuse to do it. You try to think of anything other than the slightly tough meat you're chewing on.

You dart a glance at Tommy but his head is bowed over his food. He has stopped putting his face in his food after Luda Mae scolded him twice for eating like that in front of you, but he still forgoes the utensils, choosing to eat with his hands instead. He doesn't balk or hesitate at all. How could you forget what he is? Hot tears spring to your eyes.

I hate you, you want to blurt out. I hate all of you horrible people.

But you don't. You pick at another piece and chew it halfway before you choke it down. Sheriff Hoyt finally grunts and looks down at his plate. You eat about half before you really can't manage anymore. Nobody says anything though, and the rest of it goes to Uncle Monty's dog.

After dinner, the house grows quiet. Uncle Monty is in the living room, leafing through magazines of skimpily clad women, and Sheriff Hoyt and Luda Mae are in the kitchen arguing about something. Tommy is off somewhere, and you wonder if it'll be pushing your luck if you go to find him. You're still contemplating this when you see the dark, fat shape of Daisy moving through the grass, the rope trailing freely from her neck. You know how she likes to run off whenever she can all too well, so you push open the door and go out to snag the rope. She blinks her long-lashed eyes at you, grass sticking out of her mouth as she chews leisurely.

"How dare you look innocent," you murmur. "You chewed through the rope."

There's a fenced area just a little further out where she'll be safe for the night and you won't have to worry about her escaping. You begin to walk her there. The moment you walk out of the pool of light coming from the house the front door crashes open and Tommy comes storming out. He looks angry, and he's coming right at you. You're reminded of just how huge he is as he easily covers the distance in a couple of strides. He could squash you by accident without even trying.

"Tommy," you say warily. "I wasn't trying to run, I swear. Daisy got loose..."

The rope slips out of your hand and the troublemaking cow in question begins to walk off, but you barely notice, distracted by the large man who looks like he's going to square up with you and knock your teeth out. Well, maybe not, but you never know. You've had your fair share of men who are nothing like who they pretend to be. Your brain is flipping between freezing or fleeing. You take a step back and stumble on a loose rock. The rush of adrenaline from almost falling kicks your brain into flight mode. You burst into a disoriented jog to nowhere in particular, just away.

Tommy chases you with a low growl. You're running simply because you're not sure what will happen if he catches you, now that you've made him angry. The noises rumbling out of him are the promise of your undoing. You only manage to take a couple more stuttered steps before he grabs you, his fingers locking around your upper arm and pulling you up short. Your ears ring.

"No," you shriek, "let me go!"

You flail like a fish on a hook, digging your feet into the ground. Your shoulder pops as you strain to pull away. You're back in that cramped, musty cabin, teeth chattering as your furious father rattles you like a doll. That was always the awful part, how you were unable to get away. He was bigger than you, and could nearly throw you across the hall if he wanted to... A sharp slap on your cheek grounds you, and you just stand there and blink dumbly at the man in front of you. His chest is heaving and his dark brown eyes are filled with something. Concern that he's broken you somehow. You're shocked. You've never panicked this badly before.

"I..." Your mouth opens and closes, but no more words come out.

You're present again, standing in the stifling heat of an early evening, crickets chirping and fireflies blinking in the grass. A brief wind flutters Tommy's hair and he pats it down, then reaches out and rubs your cheek like he's attempting to soothe away the slap.

Sorry, his touch seems to say, I didn't know what else to do, how else to reach you.

You stare at each other. Impulsively, you throw your arms around his stocky midriff and bury your face in his chest.

"I'm okay," you mumble, and you mean it.

For a long moment, Tommy stands absolutely still, then his arms curl around you and pull you closer. Contentment creates a safe bubble around you and for a moment you allow yourself to relax and let go of everything but him. Up at the house a door slams, and your eyes blink open just in time to see Sheriff Hoyt disappearing inside. A twinkle high above catches your attention. There's not a single wisp of cloud in the sky tonight, so the stars look like a glittering blanket wrapped around the Earth.

"Look at the sky, Tommy," you sigh. "Isn't it beautiful?"

Tommy doesn't look up, though. He looks at you.

Inside the house, Sheriff Hoyt is scratching an itchy spot on his neck and glaring out the window.

"So are they lovebirds now or what?" He demands. "Look at that whore, cozying up to him."

"Leave them be," Luda Mae says pulling the curtains over the window to block his gaze.

"She's gonna make Tommy go soft," he mutters, squinting through a hole in the threadbare drapes.

"Well, Tommy could use some softness," she replies, idly touching a hand to her neck. "I've never seen him like this. Not that I can remember anyway."

"Seen him like what, all weak in the knees?" He scoffs.

"At peace."

Part 7 - (Coming Soon!)

@typicalchaos, @slut4acotar, @lovelymindescape, @dabisnympho, @thetoastghost222, @night-shadowblood-writes2, @erosmutt, @lilaclichh and @jillian-mill asked to be tagged! I'll add anyone else who asks <3

@runforthehillsbestie

[this-acuteneurosis]

I just found Don't look back (and first of all I love it, you are brilliant, I am barely finished the first fic but I am invested) and I spent some time digging through your tumbler for mentions of obi-wan/leia....because from these beginning interactions I have sense something and I am now invested and kinda confused????

Was this intentional...? Is this going somewhere...? There are no tags for their relationship but by other asks I see on your blog I'm not alone in this thinking.....

I hope she finds happiness. In the beginning I was hoping for some warped way for Han to join her because I love them together so much, but I also do love obi-wan and I am pleasantly hooked on their relationship now

I've answered asks similar to this before, but I keep getting them and we're far enough into the story that I think I can say some things more certainly without spoiling anything, or the plot magically changing on me. So here we go.

So. Like Fire in Our Bones. Leia and Obi-Wan meet for the first time, and I was happy with the scene, and then I posted the chapter and a whole mess of people popped out of the ground were like, "Romance?!?!?!" Keep in mind that this was before the Kenobi show was released as well, so we had no canon where Leia knew Obi-Wan as a child. DLB runs under that assumption.

So I was all, "Oh, surprise," but I'm a very ship and let ship sort of person, and once people pointed it out, I was like, yeah. Sure. They can have this vibe. They would, honestly. I've got a pretty strong head canon that Obi-Wan has been flirting to survive for decades at this point, and Leia is socially savvy enough to roll with that kind of behavior as long as it's not distasteful. She also saves him, and they bond, and I don't have a problem with people reading into that. I think it's reasonable. It's pretty textual at this point.

HOWEVER.

Once upon a time I also thought this story would be 200k words, max. I thought Leia would end the series having reconciled that Anakin wasn't Vader, but wouldn't be close to him. I though Satine would never make an appearance and Cody would be the first clone to like Leia instead of the last, and yeah. A lot of things started changing once I was actually writing the story.

At the beginning of the story, I knew I didn't want to write Leia a romance. A) because I wasn't sure who it should be with and, B) that was way past the where I expected her to be healing wise in her grief. But the story kept getting longer and she and Obi-Wan kept having moments, and I was like, I mean...maybe? Maybe something happens? I can't say no for sure anymore.

BUT!

We're far enough into the story now and I have a much better sense of how this last arc is going to handle the remaining grief Leia is dealing with, and also how much time she'll spend with Obi-Wan. I have no intention of doing a romance for her in this arc. Look how long it took me to get Anakin and Padmé together. We do not have time for that. So I've left Leia with no romantic pairing tags. Officially, the story will not be about her having a committed, happy, healing romantic relationship at this point. It will be about what it always was: cooperation and unity beating back the darkness, and how you have to fight for those things so you don't lose them when you need them most.

But if it makes your heart happy to imagine that all the remaining scenes with her and Obi-Wan are a prelude to something that happens later, feel free to enjoy them that way. Write as much of your own fic or draw as much of your own art as you want. Feel free to share it with me too. I've enjoyed reading the other divergent fics people have done of this story.

Just everyone, please be nice to each other. :)

[rotting-ink]

can i just say that one thing i love abt the Royal route so far, is how well you managed to subtly portray just how detached from the real world the Royal is. like at the start, reading through your blog, and seeing that the Aide and Pasha both consider MC like a lost little lamb, i didn't fully get it? and then i played the demo and oh my god-

the contrast between specifically how the MC views the servants with that Pasha POV at the end. MC thinks they're all grown up, they even make a parallel between themself and Pasha as "sharing a secret" because they both left the house, but the way that they evolved from those experiences is so contrasting it actually gave me whiplash reading it. the way Pavel became so class conscious, realizing and despising the way he and his family would just take take take and meanwhile the MC doesn't even know who their servants are

it's genuinely fascinating to me. like you were right! the Royal has no fucking idea what it is like to live in the "real world". they're stuck inside a little safety bubble, coddled and pampered and told that they don't need to look outside, its ok, just close your eyes and think happy thoughts

makes me wonder if everyone else in the royal family is the same way, or if the Royal had it especially bad by being so sick all the time, treated like a glass doll from the moment they were born. i also love that their ignorance isn't treated as a synonym to innocence. they know violence, they have intrusive thoughts, they grew up surrounded by tragic stories and violent fairy tales and because of that they think they know how the world works

i don't blame the Aide for treating them like a clueless little puppy, honestly i'd do the same

I'M RUNNING LAPS AROUND MY ROOM!!! IM SO GLAD SOMEONE NOTICED!!!

Just wanted to quickly add in, that they have seen some horrible stuff at times, like in the side story with the Goodbye to Pavel. They are quietly reenacting something they accidentally saw, which is a peasant woman being tramped by Pavel's friend's horse, but they are mostly focusing on the senses of it, not the loss of life. The blood, the sound, the crunch, Pavel's hand over their eyes. I wish I could have added a Pavel pov, because while he'd also think back to the experience, he'd think about making sure the Royal stayed on Thunder as he checked on the peasant, watching her slowly die and quietly asking for her name while she struggled to breath, Feeling the moment she did finally bleed out and realising he had no idea how to help. That man's Guilt is endless and so fun to write about. Looking up and seeing one of his friends entertaining the MC and keeping their eyes off the body, while the other friend bemoaned his horse's hooves, caked in gore and the creature itself being spooked. While he himself doesn't even know who to tell that she died.

But it's so so fun. Because the Royal is morbid, even without meaning to. They are surrounded by violence- they can watch the Aide BATTER a man/woman at the resort, but all they think is that they couldn't get their first kiss and then the Aide can basically go down on them. They know violence, they know death, they have experienced pain, their culture has dark fairy tales, and strange history. Their ignorance is built off of never having to step down into someone else's shoes, even when their childhood companion basically "goes missing" and is hidden below stairs. Out of the two, Pavel knows what happened to them and ngl, that's why he remembers them so well.

ANYWAY! So no one in the family is as class conscious as Pavel. He does view his family as parasites who can take and take. Laszlo and Stas is a bit more aware, at least class wise. Laszlo came from a lower noble house in Magyar and his family skirted the class line from time to time. Luckily he's a gem and of course the Tsarina would want to ride him silly. Stas is only aware because he happened to develop a soft spot for a maid. He is curious about her, all things, and so does find out about her life, especially as a Serf. It does upset him, and since bringing her up in life to a Kept Lover, he tries not to think of it too much, given that "she doesn't have to go back there".

It's not that Albina and Abraim aren't aware, they just don't care. Good luck as a Servant with them btw.

The Royal and Tatsiana are... mirrors of each other. Aren't innocent but are ignorant. Focused on other things mostly. Aksana does somewhat know, but deem to give it attention, the world outside of her own. But she is more aware of disabilities, than the rest of the family. The self inflicted pain and hunger she does, but also her fiance. The way he was mocked in fact drew her to him at first, before deciding she wanted him the most. Inga and Kissy seem oblivious, but Inga does see more than she says.

And yes, The Aide does just pat them on the head, knowing they will never see or know as much as The Aide has.

[werezmastarbucks]

U N17

U N7 masterlist 12/14

word count: 7708

music: life goes on by agust d

warnings: stalker stalking, violence, Yoongi's pov present. how y/n goes about handling a stalker is the WRONG way bc she's delulu

author's note: enter deus ex machina. if anybody knows how to write it avoiding the trope, hit me (with a shovel)

you don't wear the green tea perfume anymore; switched to something sweeter, fruitier and bolder. you like expensive perfumes that last on you, so that you can sense them yourself; otherwise, what's the point? Yoongi doesn't seem to be smelling different these days, at least not the last few times you've seen him. it's the same home-yanking woody citrus smell. he is very steady.

you leave the window open checking if the mosquito net is stuck tightly. the late June air is so sweet it makes your heart want to sing. Yoongi and Jungkook think alike, sending you messages at the same time. but they are of very different nature. you haven't seen him since May and don't have the impulse, the stay in Seoul was overwhelming and uncomfortable. the sex hit too close to home, and you even got a nasty feeling like he was crumbling a little. every time the train crosses the fine narrow line at the border of Busan, it's like a mechanic voice in your head says,

you're safe now. you're in the safety zone.

and all Seoul troubles fade away. you're strong. you're responsible for your life. you don't need anyone. the light is soft and mellow, sun is shining at the right angle, and the green streets lined up with fruit trees welcome you home. this is you. a hundred years of exhaustion and heartache slip off of you and leak down the drain taking the nightmares with it. all is well and if this was a book ending, it would be short and sweet. all is well in Busan, no zombie apocalypse for now, days long and sunny in the summer, seagulls yelling in the skies and people walk the streets smiling, breezy, their kerchiefs flying away slowly in the wind from the strait.

so no, you don't want to see him. you don't want the darkness that he brings to your mind nowadays. don't want to engage in the exhausting business of trying to find the balance between loving him and coming undone at the seams. you don't want the burden. he is too pretty to look at without getting tired. because he is the closed chapter that you lost the key to. he is the chapter that never belonged to you and yet you are burdened by the weight of a finished relationship that never transpired.

Jungkook says that something big's about to go down. your hands start sweating. it's been in the air for a while.

you pour yourself some lemonade and look around your shoulder at the pear trees outside. they stand in the glimmering evening mist like a picture from a book of tales. you think you're going to be okay now.

you turn on the live where Jungkook is sitting with his hair in the knot on the back of his head and counting until ten.

"you gotta hurry", he laughs, "let's make it ten million before i say ten. run, beautiful, you gotta run".

he is having a lot of fun lately in his fan interactions. he has always been confident and funny, but these days it's like nothing can hurt him. it's a dangerous notion, bordering a delusion, but he has this foundation under him. without having his experiences, you have no idea what it feels like to be this invincible. you think ten million in ten seconds is a bit of a stretch even for him, and he only makes four and pouts, chuckles, embarrassed. people keep coming. he begins with the usual muttering about nothing.

"kind of forgetting how i used to do this thing".

his eyes are reading comments attentively. they are opaque black with the lack of light.

"what i've been doing? this is what i wanted to talk to you about".

he stretches, then rubs his face, the smile not leaving his lips. he is nervous. still has time to change his mind. you are worried, too, but you have natural paranoia that's been riding you all your life, so you usually try not to overpress people with your concerns.

he talks a little more, comments on others' projects, yaps about the city and Jimin, gets distracted, zones out, giggles, goes to pour himself some alcohol. "Yoongi hyung doesn't drink anymore", he cheers the air. you are surprised. people still keep coming, the chat is as usual, a running waterfall of words.

"this is very important to me", he gets serious, "i want to tell you guys because you are my closest people. i know you understand what i mean", he's all business, as serious as he is with the people in his life. Jungkook is very sincere about the fans and always means what he says. in turn, they respect him and fight for him. it's unlike Yoongi who treats them a little like children. a little like loony siblings.

"i think you get that i am not just a boy from Busan anymore. by the way", he gets very close to the screen, making his funny face, brows together, as he checks the viewers.

"anyway, we have been talking with the hyungs about it for the longest time, and we all see how grown we are now, we're like, adults. i actually have been an adult for a while, and our dynamic is a bit different..."

his eyes get concerned as they move quickly, reading.

"we're not disbanding!" he cries out, "we're not disbanding. just... don't jump to conclusions. we're not disbanding. we will be together for a long time. but..."

he sighs, clearly not knowing how to put it. how do you tell that? twenty million people are catching his every word on live. now, twenty-two. he has broken his own record from back when he was even more famous than now. life getting quieter your ass. you realize you're not breathing like he's about to jump off the cliff.

"well, anyway, two years ago my son was born", he just says, simply. and goes quiet for a second, pressing his lips closed too late. there's still a smile in his eyes, a happy smile that is there when he is sharing something important.

"and i am so in love with him. i have a family. my son's name is Taeyang. i want you guys to call him Tae like we do", he bursts in chuckle. the chat becomes the volcanic vent. messages come so quickly it starts glitching and eventually breaks down.

"oh".

his phone buzzes. your shaking hand is lying on the table as you watch him intently.

"oh, my English teacher has texted", his face lights up in a smile. "Kookie Pookie, you're doing great".

he facepalms at himself at reading it out loud.

"oh, wait, you were never my English teacher".

he is having a bit of a breakdown, giggling, his head deep in his hand. his body is shaking with laughter. once the chat is fixed, it's full of pink and purple hearts.

this sends ripples over the internet. half of the world at least is shaken to its core. Taeyang is a June baby, a Gemini. Jungkook tells the fans about it the next day after his second birthday. and it creates a chasm between the past and now. someone leaves. for months, it's unreal being on the internet. some people are having meltdowns, others have parties. all in all, it goes better than expected. for bts, it means a completely new chapter. they have been free for a while now. ever since Hybe started needing them more than they, it, they have been slowly breaking down the stigmas. at first their clawing for the success was desperate and unrelenting. now their journey to independence has been slow, methodical and calculated. a little money on the side here and there, collaborations with artists from other studios, a little bit of disobedience to test the waters, middle fingers from the stage. the stronger ones were in the avant-garde and the others perching them up in the backs. stronger ones meaning Yoongi, Jungkook and Taehyung. now they are the first ones to relax and finally start enjoying their lives the way they want. buying houses with their own money. changing hair the way they want to. date people. you hear Taehyung has a permanent boyfriend he's been dating for almost a year. and yes, he does look a little like Jungkook, but he's way more feisty.

Jungkook is the impatient one when it comes to the parasocial aspect of it. he wants people to accept it and move on. he wants to not lose them over this, and the real ones don't get lost. that's all he cares about. he doesn't show Yuri or Taeyang but only mentions his name, and that's enough to breathe a little deeper. life hasn't been as beautiful for him as it is now, and that is considering he has always thought he was lucky. long story short, Jungkook is very happy. he feels fulfillment. and he definitely doesn't regret grabbing you by the hips on a rainy night in Prague almost ten years ago. he must think of that night a lot. you know you do. you feel connected to him like he is your biological brother.

Yoongi keeps the iced Americano between his knees and removes it as soon as the glass starts warming up. sunglasses keep the hair away from his eyes as he balances things in his hands: bag, coffee, cap, his phone. he checks the calendar and his eyes scan for the empty spots. no need for more than five hours. he's getting restless. summer has been making him jumpy. plane takes only one hour, he can be done in another three hours and drive to the airport and be back in Seoul by three in the morning. he doesn't usually text hi or what's up, just sends the info like you're a colleague:

"29th Friday, 1st of July, 7th of July, 15th of July".

he gets an almost immediate reply. looks at the watch: Jungkook has started his live. by the time he gets out of this car at the store, the world will be a little different for them all. he will probably be met by the long, screaming faces. demanding: and you???

"i'm busy". "i can move things around". "don't".

he must have fucked up by being alive again. sometimes you look at him like you wish he were dead. not in a mean way, but in a regretful way. that's new, and it's a bad sign.

the car trudges down the wide street and he can see the store doors open for him. people neatly lined up behind the purple ribbons stretched up to the entrance. he throws the cap aside and ruffles and grooms his hair to an agreeable shape. he would have cut it all off but he knows you like it this way. so, it's simple.

"you're busy all four evenings?" "yes". "why?" "because i'm fucking busy".

he leaves the car and puts his phone in the back pocket of his jeans. slides the glasses down onto his face and the smile plasters itself, working for him. you might never love him again and he needs to come to terms with it. he has to accept - he is waving his hand shyly, as usual, turning right and left, pauses for a second, bows to them - that this might be the end.

as the space around him warps, reforming itself into a new era of bts, his most precious asset, he is getting used to the reality that, he thinks, you must have lived with already. being rejected stings in a new way, not because he's never been rejected before. of course he was. he was rejected in ways that are intricately cruel, by Riko. Riko, Riko. he needs to stop thinking about her. he hears she's getting married for the third time; outran him there, too. she is an old crust that doesn't bother him anymore, a life lesson in being too kind. he has to go on live streams and say that no, he is single now. there's no one occupying his mind. Jungkook's exodus has set the new rules and the new intimacy for them and the fandom. like a rock cascade, Jimin and Namjoon come out about being in relationships as well, and now they have two new lines: taken and single. it's messier than people think. Jin is pathologically not capable to be in a relationship; he is having too much fun with his life and career, and keeps talking about the fruits. he likes to be admired and nobody can admire him well enough. Taehyung is actually taken but isn't ready to go into details of his life. Hoseok is a gentleman fuckboy enjoying his persistent youth. Yoongi is clinically unavailable, cursed. he doesn't text you anymore and you don't text him and he is trying to draw the lines around him limiting his new environment. he knows life goes on even in radio silence.

until all shit storm of circumstances comes together: on a July day, he has to go back to Daegu because his mother's cousin is dead and Holly is sick; expecting the call from the vet, he keeps the phone on sound, and that's why he doesn't miss a message from you when it lights up on the screen. a call, after weeks of absence, in the sea of dry notifications:

"i need you".

this is how quickly it changes. despair replaces hope, then hope overtakes, it must be a draining existence. he is pondering for several seconds, his eyes targeting the words, until, in the next message you send him something that doesn't sound so simple anymore: a geolocation link.

you're getting your evening portion of lemonade. can't do anything about it, for the last year you've been living a lemonade life. bubble teas and coffee are in the past and now it's the citrus era. it's so nice to walk a couple of kilometers from the designated coffeeshop on a late July evening when the sun simply refuses to set down.

the evening crowd is getting more and more evened out, rare couples are having dates at the tables by the windows, and the rest leaves. you wait in line as usual, music in your airpods, picturing how your night is going to unfold: you want a movie, a bath, to sit by the windows and look at the pear trees like they are your pets. the cat is probably walking around the garden right now, he really likes being outside in the summer and sometimes he even leaves for a couple of days. but he always comes back.

always comes back.

you notice the eyes watching you from the end of the line, and don't hold the contact for too long out of habit. but then your brain slowly puts the pieces together, like it starts clicking. it's happening gradually, taking you on the road of past memories where small and insignificant interactions now make more sense.

Kim Seongjun, you now remember. the last time at Hybe, about a month and a half ago, he looked pretty let down when you said you don't recall his name. you found this reaction peculiar. you must have seen him two or three times. but you were wrong.

the guy who you always bumped into in the corridor on the way to a lesson.

the guy who almost always went to the gym at ten in the evening, always third wheeling there. the sound designer, your brain always said. working out quietly by the wall.

the guy who helped you hang up the congratulations poster on the wall of Hobi's studio when they returned from America with a Grammy. heavy breathing at your shoulder.

they guy who kept noticing you although you didn't notice him, distracted by others. by Yoongi. too distracted to see that he's always there, at the lunch time, when you were leaving, in the foyer. you even rode in the elevator once.

Kim Seongjun. sounding so similar to Jin's full name, but he can't be further away from him. high shoulders like a bull's, thick eyebrows and ears placed on uneven level on the sides of his head. he stopped you at the corridor at Hybe in May. he said, oh, y/n, haven't seen you in a while! his smile died as soon as your face turned into an akward expression. you felt a little guilty, now you understand why. he saw you but you didn't see him. he smelt you once. he knows where you used to rent an apartment.

you turn again to make absolutely sure it's him. yes. the same expressive round eyes, like a squirrel's. looking at you from under the cap intently, not the way strangers peek at each other at a coffeeshop. he's keeping the eye contact, so you raise your brow to let him know it's a problem, then you make your order.

he lingers at the end of the queue, letting people through before him, and turns his head to follow your movement as you walk away from the register. he isn't really going to order anything. you see the last light throwing the dark sunrays on top of the roofs across the street. now is the hour of sunset. in five minutes, the streets will become bleak. you sit by the wall, claiming one of the many unoccupied tables and take out your phone.

you can call the police, but there's nothing to tell them. i think my ex-colleague, who i am suddenly realizing just now might be my long-time part-time stalker, has followed me to Busan. yeah that's him, his offense is that he wants to lick my pussy and take me on a date.

you consider people around as well but something stops you. while the brain is thinking, the hand actually already knows. there's no moment of hesitation as you open a chat and text Yoongi. you keep yourself casual, don't rush your movements, keep your head high to be able to see his blurry silhouette at the register. he turns around and pretends to study the menu screen. you cross your legs, sip a little of lemonade. he isn't leaving but isn't approaching either. he is the ink spot against the colorful interior.

"i need you".

you send him your location. it's a strange formulation but you don't feel like screaming help. nothing's happened yet. your paranoia has been your friend and your enemy. your mind is completely not okay in general and you don't always trust yourself. most importantly, the memories kick in. of discomfort and irritation, of vague fear when you found a bunch of flowers right at the door of your apartment. he's only left you messages three times and there was no way to take it seriously. boss definitely didn't.

maybe it's a coincidence. maybe he just looks a lot like Kim Seongjun. but why is he staring again then? you hope your face is not flushed.

as the memories of that time kick in, so does the habit of searching comfort in Yoongi even when he himself isn't aware of it. Seongjun was there actually, while Yoongi was training you the ways to fight him. it's comical. he must have even heard your conversations about him.

"i think it's Kim Seongjun the sound designer. you remember him?"

Yoongi is taking it slow although you see the messages are being read.

with how the messengers are built nowadays you even see him leave the chat for a minute. he must go to the Hybe app for employees and look for him. Yoongi understands everything without extra explanations.

he doesn't say anything snappy, he isn't sore or sulking.

"you're sure?" "55% sure".

you have no idea what you actually want him to do here. it's not like he's going to...

"stay there. i'll be there in 30 minutes". "??" "i'm at my parents' house".

seems impossible. Daegu is a hundred kilometers away. then he adds,

"do NOT provoke him"

if anyone in the world knows how badly you want to punch someone in the face at least once in your life, it's Yoongi the boxing instructor.

you look at the time on your phone and start counting. still trying to keep your face looking like you're scrolling instagram. if that isn't a sign from above, you don't know anymore. it's seventeenth of July, he's been somewhere around two days ago, so what's happening now? it's like shooting blind and accidentally striking the bullseye.

he is approaching now and you act normal because you never know what people actually want.

it's definitely Kim Seongjun though; he's wearing the same shirt as in May and the same buzzcut with shades on the sides. keeps sharp sideburns that make him look like an anime character. you stare because he simply sits himself down at your table.

"remember me now?"

you're silent. the indignation rises in you and you have to clutch your phone, begging yourself not to explode right here. he scartches his temple with the dry working finger. hands unmoisturized, not elegant and with sweet pink knuckles destined for a piano. your own knuckles recall the familiar awesome pain of the heavy punching bag. even if he is a little late, you promise yourself to get a piece of this jerk tonight.

"Seongjun, isn't it?" you ask, cautious. you pretend, only half-way, to be surprised.

"took you long enough to memorize my name", he mutters. looks like he's feeling the eyes of the whole coffeeshop on him. also paranoid. great soil for going crazy. you don't like the hostility and heat in his eyes.

"well, you did scold me last month, so now i remember".

he nods. staring into you intently. his eyes slip down to the phone in your hand and you loosen your clutch.

"Seoul is far away from here".

"yeah, so?"

he raises his eyes to you. there's no doubt about it now.

"you think i can't stand up for myself?"

Seongjun scratches his neck slowly. either he's lost his job or sound designers don't have to see coworkers because he has this bristle on his neck going up to his chin. dark, spotty like he has tried shaving and gave up. a person in a state of mental distress, you realize slowly. suddenly, the coffeeshop doesn't seem so safe anymore.

you look at your phone. it's been five minutes. there are plenty of ways to keep him away. you could simply press the emergency and the siren will shatter even the windows in this place. the street is getting grey outside, marine birds flying low above the ground.

"i don't want to hurt you. but you piss me off so bad".

you're taken aback.

"do you even know my last name?"

he pierces you with his dark, unfriendly eyes. the kind of glance men used to give you back when they were boys and you pissed off everybody. you used to like to piss the boys off because they are usually stupid. grown men are way less irritating, they don't provoke and don't say silly smug shit - at least the men you actively choose to be in your life.

you realise that you have so few friends, and absolutely nobody in Busan. that your only best friend is Yuri and you don't know if you can still count Jimin as your number two, because you are not his number two anymore, and fairly so. somehow every Bangtan boy, once you leave his life, gets better. Taehyung gets himself into a stable relationship with the right gender, Jungkook becomes a father, and Jiminie follows. Hoseok only got richer these last two years and Jin simply got even more attractive, forgetting that people are supposed to age. Namjoon seems happier than ever without worrying about you all the time. and Yoongi is the only one who is a mystery to you. maybe he is the only one who feels your absence.

meanwhile Seongjun pronounces your last name, your birth date and your Seoul address, and then hits you by reciting your Busan address, too. you have no idea how long he's been here. whether he's looked into the windows of your apartment. you lean over the table. the time is crawling slowly. it feels like it has stopped.

"and what exactly did i do, may i ask, to anger you so bad?"

he meets your gaze bravely, eyes open only half-way. there's black circles beneath, he's chewing on his lips and looking at your mouth as he says,

"think you can do much better than me? been ignoring me forever".

"you should've been more intense", you hiss, not without a twisted joke in your words.

"i've been there and you never noticed me".

now he wants to get romantic. you throw yourself back on the chair. Yoongi isn't writing anything else, the phone is dead silent.

"oh, i know how it feels, believe me", you feel jaded. almost sorry for this awkward guy. he's massaging his hands on the table.

"yeah, pretty pathetic. but now we..." his eyes get glassy like he suddenly feels the pills kick in. "both are free, right?"

your brows shoot up.

"i've always been free".

"no", he says simply. like this piece of idiot is now going to be careful with his words to you, offer you the chance at dignity by not stating what he noticed while watching you for how many years?

"four years you worked there".

"i thought it was longer. what took you so long? could've come here and chop me in pieces a while ago", you poke him, then continue sipping your lemonade.

Seongjun shifts in his place.

"you're not the center of the universe".

your hand lies on the table.

"wait, you're telling me i am not even my own stalker's first choice?"

he gets flustered. angry. his brows crawl down to hood his eyes. square jaw gets tense. he didn't like that word. you feel the adrenaline kick you in the head stronger than a shot of vodka would now. you can't stop yourself.

"you're telling me you've been cheating on me with other girls?"

his nostrils flare.

"why aren't you responding to me?"

Seongjun's voice gets down an octave, resembling a rumble. a very different rumble, brutal, with less nuance. he is way too manly. he is way to big for you... you notice this too late. he's a big dude. used to measure people in Jungkooks, he has about 0,9 Jungkooks in him. he doesn't have the strength in his back though, slouching. his neck is exposed nicely. you know you're taking too much upon yourself but there's nothing else to do. it's been twelve minutes.

"don't call me that".

"call you what? a stalker?"

the corner of your mouth twitches.

"what else do you call a guy who leaves pathetic messages on the whiteboard and sends flowers saying he wants to lick my pussy?"

he knows you're mocking him. even his stupid face takes the expression of confusion. like he's saying, are you dumb? you won't even call for help?

he has no idea you have the unhinged inside of you, that's been waiting for its turn your whole life. every girl has that. not every girl is unlucky enough to get a chance to let it loose.

he takes a deep sigh like he is finding his patience.

"let's get to a clean slate".

"oh?"

he nods.

"you won't even choke me or anything?"

Seongjun is taken aback.

"why... why would i choke you?"

"um, because that's what stalkers usually do in movies", you finish you lemonade in one big gulp. the ice clinks inside.

Seongjun chuckles, dropping his chin down.

"i did want to hurt you before. do awful things to you. you were so arrogant".

you literally used to sing little songs to people at Hybe when you were in a good mood. and crash into closed doors. for some reason you hate it when people get the wrong impression of you. it makes you grit your teeth not to let a whole lecture come out of your mouth.

"but i am a better person now".

"honestly you look worse than before".

his eyes rise again. it's a rollercoaster. you don't know what you're doing. the frustration that you felt back then is coming back. the audacity to treat you like a sex object, immature pickup lines circling around, only one thing bothering his imagination. and the tone of voice, like he knows you.

"what? see, i remember you. i remember you used to go to gym with us".

"with you".

"with us, that's what i said".

he crashes his fist on the table, and the glass clinks again. a couple smooching over at the window turns to you and looks. you nod at them and motion to Seongjun.

"crazy stalker".

maybe they will-

the hit comes so quickly the world tilts upside down in a fraction of a second. see, that's the problem, if you do stupid shit, you get hit with a table.

for a moment, you can't breathe. a girl shrieks shortly somewhere; it's bells in your head. you have to come round quickly, your brain is on high alert, so your hands start getting you up before the vision returns. the head hums like a metal tube once and starts working again. face is burning. it's like getting out of bath and cracking your skull all over again.

the sling bag heaved up high on your chest actually saved your nose, pushed onto the table like a tit, and not letting you hit it all the way. instead, you feel the burning cut on your forehead, whether it's actual of perceived. blood is trickling down. suddenly, it's a whole different genre of a scene. your eyes open wide as you jump onto the table. instead of fear, rage kicks in. life has fucked you enough. Yoongi always told you to run away from the fight. to keep your head low. that you need to be smart, not hard. but guess all his advice got punched out of your head because you've had enough with these Korean men. hierarchical, patriarchal, smug, dismissive, condescending. you put your knee on the table and launch yourself at Seongjun who is more than ready for you. the cashier is a small girl, not bigger than you, who is hiding behind the register. the guy who is still in the coffeeshop by this time, together with his girlfriend, is a typical local: doesn't get involved. most people don't. they are too scared to get hit with a lawsuit should the fight be happening between spouses.

Seongjun, instead of catching you, pushes you away and then, as you fall on the floor from the table, laughs, grabbing your neck. but now there's finally a window for action: you're at his feet. you punch him in the nuts as hard as you can and, once his hand drops, you get yourself up and start running. phone is left on the table.

"call the police!" the girl by the window screams at her boyfriend. you sway from side to side, the blow on the head still clutching you violently. push the door and yank yourself into the empty, dark street. this is the household district and all action is happening at the center of the city. this is why you like this coffeeshop. there's nobody here at this time.

step by step, the blood is loud in your ears, adrenaline shaking the eyeballs, only keeping you dizzy instead of giving you energy to run. Seongjun is right behind you, slamming the door shut and following you.

sometimes running away seems hard. you run away often. metaphorically mostly. maybe you should've invested into running on the treadmill instead of just walking at the elevation. your feet carry you as best as they can, but Seongjun doesn't have a concussion so he can walk a straight line. the blood is sipping into your eyes and drops from the tip of the nose. his hand on your shoulder, pushing you aside and banging you into the metal surfacing of the shop closed for the night. your foot gives out and the ankle twists, knee bending onto the asphalt and of course catching your body from falling face down, but it scrapes the skin badly. it's like he is not a real human but a scripted villain; but then again you are not surprised because cheesy villains always have the real life prototypes.

it's getting pretty sticky, you think. the street is quiet and beautiful, the lights already lit and giving the illumination to the purple wisteria trees on the sides. you don't wanna die here. you shake your head, hands on the ground, as you steady yourself. Seongjun's hand is on the back of your neck possessively, and your nasty character kicks in again. one thing you probably value more than your life is your pride. it's an unpleasant and persistent instict that always complicates things when they need to be simple. nobody has the right to grab you by the neck unless you want them to. your arm flies up to grab him, but he slaps it away, and you play submissive for a moment, trying to open a window for escape. you can hear him breathe heavily, like he did during the waiting at the Grammy party. seems like you should've known, but it's an illusion of retrospective. you can taste the asphalt even though your face is not on the ground; thick, sweet and salty air of Busan summer is making you stronger, keeping you in an adequate mood, not letting you panic just yet. you fall on your stomach to startle him a little and he can't really see you well as he's bowing above you.

"look what you are doing", Seongjun murmurs. his voice drops a tad, he squats and his grip on the neck loosens. you don't think about Yoongi, can't let your brain lose the focus even for a second; you know he's far away, and it's somewhat a relief because you don't actually want him to get caught up in this. you behaved incredibly stupidly just now, letting your anger disproportional to your skill take over. let him mourn your stupid ass and move on.

as Seongjun bends his knees to squat, he loses about 50% of his balance, and you kick. he almost falls forward, catching himself on the ground, and you crawl violently, scraping your skin on the rough asphalt, from under him. burning sensation kicks you awake and you jump up and start running again, but get blinded by the lights. you can hear him rush after you immediately and head for the car, because it's better to be run over now. it gets a little windy, easier on your burning face. you fly towards the light like a moth, taking a little to the left to circle around it, and your heart drops to quiet when you see Yoongi emerge from a dark green Hyundai. your eyes adjust to the contrast of light and darkness. you move on, crashing into the side of it, the metal door meeting you as another hard, unwelcoming surface, and finally fall on the ground in a lump. Yoongi steps around you, eyes focused on Seongjun behind your back, as he raises his arm. heavy, cracking blow follows, and Seongjun gasps breathlessly, collapses on the road like a cardboard copy of himself. Yoongi ouches quietly, shakes his whole arm like he got zipped.

you pant so hard that everything is doubled. hands clutching your knees, palm dirty and stinging over the open cut, you feel the nasty pain but your brain fails to register what exactly is bothering you. people finally come out from the coffeeshop, and a scared female voice calls:

"i called the police".

"great", Yoongi replies breathlessly, "they can revoke my license right away".

he really did make it in thirty minutes. roads were empty, and he was going two hundred, he said. in a 120 maximum zone. his hand is rubbing his neck absent-mindedly. you force it to make your way to the police first to be done with Seongjun and make sure they won't let him walk in two hours after you leave. you can see Yoongi through the open door behind the officer's back, sitting by the wall on the hard iron chair, phone hanging from his other hand. no idea what he's thinking about. he's pretty. he's getting prettier by the minute since he knocked Seongjun out with one punch an hour ago. your head aches like hell, the spot at the roots of the hair pulsating where it hit the table. all things considered, you look worse than you feel. scraped knees hurt much worse now, plus, the shock starts kicking in. not even the scare that Seongjun gave you, but the strange vulnerability at being manhandled so aggressively. being pushed and punched like that, you like your whole self and feel sorry for yourself for being hurt. you keep answering the same questions over and over, almost automatically, stealing glances at Yoongi to keep you calm. his phone rings, and he starts staring somewhere away, in the direction of the reception. he gets angry. they did warn that, without extra evidence that Seongjun had stalked you like, years ago, in a different city, he will be let go until further notice, depending on how this case develops, if it even does. Yoongi's words ring in your ears, and you have to bite on your lips, thinking of the tone of his voice as he said,

"you know i can murder someone and pay my way out of it?"

you hate that you totally forget to not care about him now. now he is the safest, pushing his hair back in a familiar motion, sighing with his cheeks, knees spread apart, the assaulting fist working open and closed. he had said, fighting should hurt. you move your eyes to the officer's face mouthing words at you. you're finally done. suddenly tired, you feel like you have no capacity to argue, pressing the folded cloth a nice lady had given you, wet with cold water, to your head.

"home".

he sniffs, irritated.

"you might have a concussion".

"home", is all you can muster. adrenaline is gone, and pain reigns all over your body. you can't handle another couple of hours in a brightly-lit hospital, surrounded by more people asking questions, administering injections or whatever, you don't want it.

he opens the door of his car with a swing, this is the angriest you've seen Yoongi, ever. his jaw actually moves sideways like Namjoon's. he looks away, doesn't press it further. incredible how, when you're in the presence of an adult, he lets you choose, actually.

"what are you mad about?"

he tilts his head forward and pouts angrily. your leg is shaking, the little nasty pain in the cut is worse than the dull big pain in your head. Yoongi makes you take two pills of a strong painkiller. he keeps blowing on the knee that he's cleaning; no idea how you scraped it that bad and managed to get so much dust into. it must be the dry, rainless street and all that crawling around.

"nothing".

you hiss and notice tragically that he reacts every time; dabs become lighter. he dabs and rubs the cut the way people usually work on his face. it's fun noticing things like that, where he learnt them.

"you'll just tell me i am victim blaming you".

you chuckle through another huff.

"i did provoke him. hard".

"why'd you do it?"

"i don't know, maybe i am dumb".

his eyes study your face for a while, somber.

"or something worse".

he leaves the knee to rest for a while and gets to your hand. the inside of the palm is less injured, but also grey with dirt.

"and shoulder?"

"stop fussing", you ask. his brows shoot up. you see he takes it as an opportunity to release a little frustration.

"you think i'm overreacting? you're bleeding from your head".

"still?"

you raise your other hand to the head and touch the pained spot. a little bump starts forming and you reach for the bag with ice resting on the mirror shelf.

Yoongi suddenly sighs. he lets go of your palm midway, clutching the pad in his fist as his elbows rest on your knees. he drops his head on them. this is him finally exhaling for the first time tonight. hiding his face in your knees, his shoulders go up and down with deep regret. you want to apologize out of habit but you know there's nothing to apologize for. you're just glad he was there on time. your injured hand lies on the back of his head you used to know so well. remember every instance when he had dyed strands of hair peeking out here, now it's all natural black-brown. it's nice against the scraped skin. you still can't take what happened worse than the physical damage; you know the ptsd will kick in later, and the fright of being stalked might never settle. maybe it's just how you are; you've felt so cosy and protected while living in Seoul, you were surrounded by such loving people that you completely lost your caution. take this one: teleported from another city and ended the fight just at the right moment. and you are more concerned now about how his hair feels under your hand than about the concussion. you've had concussions before. you've never fallen in love with the same person twice.

Yoongi helps you into the bath where your body relaxes and the small abrasions sting, fresh, burning you, and keep you awake. the uneven ache at the top of your head is lulled down by painkillers. you think you're hearing the baby pears ring in the yard and tell him about it.

"pears?" he asks, eyes wide open, "ringing like bells?"

you give a small grin,

"it's probably just in my head".

Yoongi puts one hand on the edge of the tub, and his pink knuckles tense. they are slightly redder from the punch. he gets in your face.

"look to the side. now to the left. do you feel sick?"

you feel sick of his care. you don't mind him near, quite enjoy it, but his voice is too concerned. he lost his usual cool, and you know if the roles were reversed, you'd be even less collected, fretting around him. you shake your head no, something in his hand keeps drawing your glance. his phone rings and you can see it's his mother.

"Holly's sick", he says suddenly.

"how bad?"

"he's old", Yoongi replies, serious. he wipes one hand on the towel, still clutching the edge of the tub like it can slowly drift away from him. you sink deeper into the water, gritting your teeth, flinch with pain. he speaks with his mother quietly and you keep looking at his hand. it makes you angry. but more powerfully, it knocks the ground from under your feet. you'd rather still be in Seongjun's clutch than realize this now. it takes a specific life and death circumstance to shake the whole snow mountain awake. this is the hand that has the death grip on your throat. you've achieved nothing. nothing has been solved. he jumps out and does you a favour, and the timer is kicked back off to zero. all your effort, all the feeling of freedom, the determination to feel happier, gets smothered by this hand. his voice is a low, comforting rumble jumping off the walls of your bathroom. you move and place your forehead to his knuckles, close your eyes as tears release themselves onto his skin. it's all pointless; you love this hand too much and a little break just meant this love has grown and transformed into a deeper feeling. whatever that means. there's no escape, he feels and looks like a husband, sitting with one knee up, silver rings in his ear tugging on the tired earlobe.

Yuri snuck away from Jungkook for a moment, wrapped in her wedding dress like in a beautiful, sugary spider web, getting lost in her long veil and the flying sleeves. there's bright youthful blush on her cheeks, she's coming undone in front of him and understandably needs a second to gather herself. your bridesmaid dress is silky and yellow, her favourite colour. the color of Jungkook's voice.

he is striking, effortlessly magnetizing. you rest your eyes on him while Yoongi is a blood spot, making you anxious.

"you think it's fate after all?" you ask her quietly. someone snaps a pic of you two, huddling together, gossiping. Yuri doesn't drink so she has a glass of zero per cent champagne in her hand.

you feel too insecure to admit you acted completely blindly, acting out the delulu until trululu scenario you manifested for each other.

"because i'm starting to believe it".

she sips and nods.

"yea, i believe in fate", she sounds drunk. this is the most deliriously happy you've seen her. all exes are forgotten. all rainy days kicked to the side. "her name is y/n".

the picture of that moment is still in the favourites folder on your phone. the moment when Yuri called you fate. meaning, you are inevitable. you were inevitable in Jungkook's life span. your will to marry your best friend into wealth and exciting life was unavoidable. you always acted like that was the intelligent, highly-calculated plan you've had all along, and not a drunk fluke, a sudden enlightenment and a funny prank. "look who i picked up at the bar, lmao"

now the real fate has smacked you on the teeth. you think it's inexplicable otherwise, other than by fate. life really went on, huh. it released you of the shackles of anxiety about him. look, you withdrew from Yoongi and just continued living, and the parasite of love didn't vanish but retreated into the depths of your mind, like a shadow enemy or a habit. it's a bit tragic and very pretty to think about, how badly you wanted to survive and did it, changing at your own volition. it's such simple words that carry this genius truth: life goes on.

"it's okay", he says. Yoongi thinks you are finally coming to grips with the reality of what happened, finally feel the fright. you move your head slowly on his palm, gathering his little warmth.

"no, it's not okay", you whisper. Komangi the cat enters the bathroom and rubs his body against Yoongi's thigh.

it was never going to be okay, because Yoongi is beyond okay. he is the dream. the looming inevitability of your life.

the sleep hammers you into bed. you can't even move to find a more comfortable position, just switch off almost immediately. the last thing you see is the love of your life drawing the curtains, knowing that the sun will rise in several hours and burn your faces, like it did before.

taglist: @ktownshizzle , @benyhime , @ryryvna , @amarawayne , @mar-lo-pap , @lili-spots , @kiki-zb

[denial-permanente]

Hello Mrs Edge and Tom. I don't have an account here so I'm using my husband's. I am the "ebony goddess wife" of KC. You posted his message here a few weeks ago.

I want to echo what he said about your blog being so helpful to me (to both of us really). When he showed me this chastity stuff I was turned off by just about everything I saw and I really did not want to think about my husband as a sissy or abused or anything like that. I have read a lot of your answers to questions and I love how you have made chastity about your husband's devotion and not just some kinky sex thing. That is where I am hoping to bring our marriage. Also I am guessing it must be Tom who picks out the pictures but it really has been nice to see images of regular looking black women (and Asian, Indian, etc) and not images that look like cartoons. They help me feel more comfortable about seeing myself the way my husband sees me.

I did want to comment about the crazy changes that have been happening to me for the past few years. I go from feeling cold to getting hot flashes that make me want to tear off my clothes and not in a good way. And I don't "feel like myself" anymore. I want to be intimate with my husband but sometimes I can't even stand the thought of having sex.

I go from feeling guilty for keeping him locked to thinking that if I feel this bad then maybe he should too! lol I've read the questions from other women in "no penetration" marriages. I had no idea that this was a thing until recently but now I understand why. The few times I have tried are just uncomfortable and don't really do anything for me for some reason.

Sometimes when I feel like an orgasm would make me feel better I do make him worship my pussy. It also helps to keep him interested which helps make me feel less guilty about leaving him locked up all the time. I also remind him that he asked for this but I have to admit that he rarely complains.

I am happy to see that you still get pleasure from PIV and you still allow your husband to get pleasure from intercourse although I'm not sure how much pleasure he gets if he has to wear a strap on lol. But I am seriously wondering if I will ever feel like having sex again - I mean intercourse - with my husband. If you have any advice on getting through this I think it would be helpful to a lot of us! lol

Thank you for following up on your husband's post. I totally understand what you mean by you "don't feel like yourself." My change came a bit earlier than most, and it was several years of hot flashes, night sweats, cold spells, and crazy appetite swings. Nothing felt right, and I started gaining weight. My doctor says that my metabolism slowed way down, I was tired, and the last thing I wanted was my husband bothering me for intimate time. When you are not comfortable in your own skin it's just so hard to relax and enjoy intimacy.

It really did take several years for me to get past the perimenopause and have things start settling down. Yes, my husband was locked up for most of it, not that he really needed to be because sex just was not on the table (or anywhere else 😆) anyway. I don't want to say that he was "locked and forgotten" but honestly he might as well have been. A few times I did offer that he just unlock the cage and take it off, more out of sympathy or pity or something. To his credit he remained caged on his own.

When I finally started feeling better, we did get back to intercourse and foxing. Fortunately I did not get the vaginal pain that so many women get after menopause. However, things were definitely different. My lubrication was very thin, and I would get sore more easily. We went through different lubes (and now we us organic coconut butter from Trader Joes lol). Oh, and I'm a lot more prone to UTIs. I used to think it was the vixskin, but boiling and disinfecting didn't help. My gyno told me that it was a common condition, and she gave me some antibiotics which I take a dose of whenever we have sex.

Now, if you are not enjoying intercourse and your gyno can't make any suggestions, it's okay. You already keep your husband locked, so he has already learned... or is learning... how to manage his own libido and how to turn his energy into pleasing you instead of worrying about his own orgasm. This is why I tell women who message me that they do not need to feel guilty about this change in your sex life. He asked for this... to be locked and for you to take charge. This is one of those things that happen in life that you have no control over, so all you can do is control how you deal with the situation.

I am learning that there are more "no penetration" marriages than I ever would have guessed, and while a lot of them are done out of some kind of kinky game, some of them, like yours are more because Mother Nature was not kind. If this is the way you are leaning, please remember that your husband wants all the best for you. You can still reward him with your hands or by letting him rub himself on you (he must have a favorite place lol), and then lock him back up. Or you can use a vibrator to help take the pressure off of him. If you have read some of the other women's stories that have written in, some men find the idea of being denied penetration to be a turn on.

Finally, please keep an open mind. You may come out of this once again being able to enjoy intercourse, at least, when you start feeling somewhat normal... or rather, when all these things that are happening start settling down. And there are a lot of resources and articles for you to check online. You may not feel better about it but at least you'll know that you are not alone. Best of luck hon and let me know how you're doing.