#courtesy of - me wanting to throw out pieces of fics that i might never finish

[atlantablack]

humming with the birds

on ao3 as well

Saturday 8:54 AM: Have a safe flight, Cap. Try to not worry too much about things on this end. 

Saturday 9:00 AM: Thanks, Sam. Stay safe. Call if you need me.

——

Sam can’t help but wonder in the days that follow Steve going back to New York, if he hasn’t made a mistake. Signed his life away to an impossible cause. It’s already been six months of chasing dead ends and coming up with nothing but dust and dirt and blood. If the two of them combined couldn’t find the ghost wearing Bucky’s face, then how is Sam supposed to find him all alone? 

But in the end, a week into his solo ghost hunting mission, it turns out he needn’t have worried — the ghost finds him. 

——

He’s packing his bag, getting ready to follow another lead Natasha’s passed him, when a gun presses itself to the back of his head. He goes very, very still. His knife is strapped to his thigh. His gun on the side table five feet away. Neither doing him a lick of good when the shape of his death has already been pressed into a bullet. 

“Turn around. Slowly.” The voice that speaks is low and rough, and despite never hearing Bucky talk he knows without a shadow of a doubt who he’s going to see when he turns around. 

Sure enough, when he turns, palms carefully turned to the ceiling he finds Bucky staring at him from underneath the brim of a nondescript tourist hat proclaiming “I love Glasgow”. The lighting is too dim to make out Bucky’s face, eyes lost to the shadows, mouth a thin line that does nothing but leave a chill spinning its way down Sam’s spine. 

“I take it you’re not here to apologize for the steering wheel then?” He drawls, meeting Bucky’s eyes over the barrel of the gun. 

Bucky shifts, mouth twisting, face tipping into the light for a second just long enough for Sam to catch sight of storm cloud blue eyes. “Stop following me. Rogers went home. You should do the same.” 

And Sam can’t help but bark out a laugh at that, disbelieving and furious all at once. “You’ve been tracking us all this time haven’t you?” 

The gun doesn’t waver but Bucky smirks, chin dipping like he doesn’t want Sam to see. “Go home, Wilson.” 

“You can’t be that oblivious. If I go home Steve will be back out here tomorrow. You gonna break into his room and threaten him too?” He snorts at the very thought. Can’t see any way that scenario ends except with blood. With Steve back in a hospital room. 

The thinnest line of tension threads through Bucky’s shoulders, and the gun shoves its way under Sam’s chin, finding purchase in the hollow of his neck. “Don’t worry about it,” Bucky snaps, stepping in closer and grabbing Sam’s wrist in a bruising grip where he’d been inching towards his knife. “Just do as you're told, and go home.” 

Now see, if Sam was smart, if he had someone to go home to, if he didn’t swallow danger and come up breathing adrenaline — well maybe he’d listen. Maybe he’d take the easy out Bucky is giving him and go back to DC and tell Steve that he wasn’t going to risk his life chasing a ghost that doesn’t want to be chased. But there’s a gun to his throat, fingers so tight around his wrist that he can feel all the little bones creaking beneath metal fingers, and his pulse is a bullet, is a dying star. An explosion that bursts out of his mouth and spills all over the floor between them when he says—

“Make me.”

Bucky laughs. A dry, rough sound that spreads the room and catches on all the fine hairs standing at attention on the back of Sam’s neck. His brain is screaming, danger. But his heart is screaming, I have teeth too, let’s see whose are sharper. 

“I could kill you right here, sweetheart,” Bucky says, still laughing. “Could take you apart until you tell me every secret Rogers has ever whispered to you. What are you going to do about it?”

There’s nothing but sincerity ringing through Bucky’s words. Sam’s death being dangled in front of his face as nothing but an irrelevant move in this chess game he’s unwittingly begun playing. And he should be scared. He knows this. Is scared if his racing heart, his pulse pounding out a war chant in his ears, is anything at all to go by. But the gun is warm against his skin, a threat that presses closer with every thick swallow. The fingers around his wrist are tight enough he’ll have bruises so stark everyone will be able to see the exact shape of Bucky fingers pressed to his skin. And yet. . . he’s not scared. Not in a way that holds weight. 

“Go ahead then,” he says softly, pressing closer until he can see every storm cloud gathering in Bucky's eyes. Wets his lips and grabs his knife with his other hand, presses it to the wrist of the hand holding the gun. “If you want me to stop chasing you, then kill me.” 

Bucky is silent for a long while, gun never wavering as he searches Sam’s face for something. And if Sam were to examine this too closely, to examine his own motives for being so foolhardy as to call the bluff of an assassin that has been stalking him for months with no one the wiser — well he’d find nothing he cares to think about too closely. Knows that his heart has never stopped carrying death wishes in the shape of Riley’s name, which is to say, that he has never stopped craving flying or falling, one and the same. 

“You’re not doing this for him,” Bucky says eventually, stepping back, gun falling to his side. “Who are you doing it for?” 

It’s stupid the way he immediately misses Bucky's grip on his wrist. Stupid how he already misses the fading adrenaline. “You seem awful sure of that,” he says evenly. 

Bucky shrugs, holsters his gun and tips back and forth on his feet while he considers Sam. “Stop following me, Sam. This is going to be the only warning I give you.” 

The jolt of hearing his own name from Bucky's mouth leaves him silent for long enough that Bucky turns to leave, doesn’t even think twice about turning his back to Sam, and he’s flinging the knife in his hand before he can think it through. 

Bucky dodges it, of course, stares at the door it’s embedded itself in, and then stalks back across the room to slam Sam into a wall. If Sam were the type of man to pray in his last moment he thinks maybe he’d start praying right now. Bucky’s face is a graveyard, the ghosts of every person to die at his hands thick in the air between them, and Sam has already called his bluff once, shouldn’t have pushed his luck a second time. 

He can’t move at all, Bucky’s body a long, hard line against his, keeping him effortlessly held against the wall. The metal fingers around his throat flex once and he swallows convulsively, holds Bucky’s gaze and waits. Can’t do anything but wait. Fancies he can hear a funeral march playing in the distance and wonders how long it’ll take Steve and Natasha to figure out what’s happened to him. 

“You’re not going to stop following me,” Bucky says quietly. It’s not a question, but Bucky licks his lips and pauses like he’s waiting for an answer regardless. 

“No,” Sam replies softly, tracks Bucky’s throat as he swallows, and then glances back up. “No. I’m not going to stop.” 

“I could kill you,” Bucky repeats, a shadow of lost confusion flashing its way across his face. “Go home Sam Wilson. Go back to Delacroix. Or DC. Go home.” 

And that. . . that scares him. The clear implication that Bucky knows about Sarah. That leaves frost growing on his tongue. But he still isn’t going to stop. And Bucky still hasn’t killed him. So there’s really only one thing left to say once more—

“If you’re going to kill me, then I’d really rather you get on with it.” He smirks, presses his weight forward best he can, and hisses as Bucky’s grip tightens on his throat. “Otherwise, get the hell out of my room.” 

Bucky’s silent for a very long time. The minutes stretching between them and Sam is too warm pressed up against the wall, Bucky’s body one long line of heat. There’s a razor sharp tightrope under his feet and he wants to jump off of it, wants to take the knife out of the door and cut the rope to pieces. Wants to keep pressing forward until Bucky’s body turns into something he can understand, until they’re both just bodies giving and taking. 

Sam has always had a thing for walking the edge of too much, for flying too close to the goddamn sun. Has always had a thing for smart men with steady hands and pretty mouths, and fuck if Bucky Barnes doesn’t tick every box Sam’s ever had. He should be praying for his life and instead all he can think about is the way Bucky’s mouth, his goddamn mouth, won’t stop parting all slick with confusion. 

“Go on,” Sam hears himself say, voice low, heat snaking through the words. “If you’re gonna kill me, baby, let’s get started. La petite mort.” He’s so warm he thinks he’s going to burn up, and Bucky hasn’t moved an inch, every line of his body pressed against Sam’s is a taunt, a temptation. 

Bucky shivers, pupils blown wide, nothing but a thin ring of winter sky left. His hand falls from Sam’s throat and he grins, viciously pleased and presses forward with his full weight until their nose to nose. “I’m not going to stop following you,” he says once more for good measure, laser focused on the way Bucky’s mouth parts trembling. 

And in the space of a breath, Bucky’s across the room, wide-eyed with red spots high on his cheeks. He swallows hard, opens his mouth and then shuts it again. Is out the door in a flash,  once again nothing but a ghost. Nothing left behind but the bruises blossoming across Sam’s skin. 

He stands trembling against the wall for a long time, rolling the entire thing over and over in his mind until it’s sharpened into a point. Thinks once, I wanted to kiss him, and then, I wanted to send him to his fucking knees. Doesn’t know what to do with that. Only knows that it was a bad idea he would have followed through on given one more minute with Bucky pressed against him. 

He goes to bed without packing, and when he wakes it’s to a text from Natasha saying to stay right where he is, because — and get this — Bucky has been spotted in Glasgow. What a fucking surprise.

[snowdice]

Rats, Pizza, and Supply Closets (Part of the Cuffed Universe Series)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan/Remus/Virgil (a bit more Logan/Remus focus)

Characters: Logan, Virgil, Remus

Summary: Logan is very surprised by the fact that Remus did not come to this pizzeria with the goal to capture him, and now that they’re both here, it turns out their objectives align far more than expected.

AKA: The First Truce

This is a Cuffed Universe fic.

Previous fics in this series:

Tea, Cookies, and Handcuffs

Matboards and Subway Sandwiches

Espionage and Iced Coffee

Popcorn and Podcasts

Extras:

Moving Day

Notes: Non-consensual drug use mentioned, morally grey Logan, cop Remus, being restrained, one theoretical mention of eye injuries, human trafficking mentioned

Look at the boys! They’re getting along! Well.... Remus and Logan are getting along.

One would think, that is, one would think if one had even a single iota of sense in one’s monkey brain, that it would be difficult for a new hire to so quickly gain access to the location that one’s underground drug dealing operation ran out of. Particularly, one would think one would be cautious after having recently refused to pay for services from a cybercriminal.

Luckily for Logan, it seemed Haynes had a few disconnected synapses in his brain, and all it had taken was a fake ID and some forged paperwork to get hired on as a handyman for the business he used for money laundering. In addition to his work dolling out controlled substances, Haynes also owned a local rip off of a Chuck E Cheese called Cheeezeee the Cheese Rat. It was a dirty establishment with questionable food offerings and even more questionable decor.

Many times this week, Logan had found himself distracted by the large mural of a rat made out of cheese who was holding a smaller hunk of cheese as though he planned to eat it. Logan couldn’t help but stare at the image in horror, his mind desperately searching for some meaning in the piece. Was it meant to be a visual representation of pantheism wherein all things no matter the way humanity views them are ultimately the same and are god? That god is the creator, consumer, and consumed and god is reality itself. Was is a commentary on thoughtless, damaging consumption whereupon in one’s hunger and lust one eventually consumes themselves thereby destroying the vessel which one seeks to feed? Was the commissioner just deranged?

“Dude, for the 50th time, it is just a mural of a dumb character for kids,” the woman standing at the counter in the middle of the kitchen said as she sprinkled what could maybe pass for cheese on slabs of glorified cardboard the establishment called pizza crust. “I don’t know what to tell you. Just stop thinking about it and fix the sink.”

Logan tore his eyes away from the monstrosity he’d been staring at through the kitchen food window for the past minute and turned his attention back to the tool kit he’d been provided. He selected the correct tool and climbed back under the sink. He listened to the sounds of the woman continuing to make the “pizza.” Honestly, even if Logan did not know they were selling drugs out of the back, he still may have reported them to the authorities based solely on their food handling practices. In fact, perhaps the food was a worse offence considering that those buying their drugs knew they were purchasing and consuming harmful substances.

The underside of the sink he was under was disgusting, but the work wasn’t difficult. He’d learned enough about being generally handy from his father when he was young, and he had brushed up on those skills in the first apartment he’d shared with Virgil as that landlord did not care enough to fix things in a timely manner.

He still had his head under the sink when he heard footsteps enter the kitchen. He recognized Haynes’ voice as soon as the man spoke. He was explaining a few things about how his operation ran to whoever else was there. He used vague terms, but it was still a rather risky move with Logan and the “chef” in the same room, though it was quite possible she was in on the drug selling as well.

Logan finished fixing the sink without paying the conversation much mind; he already knew why he was here, and it was not to glean information. Logan intended to swipe what the man owed him as well as a steep amount of interest for his trouble. Then, he planned to send all of the information he had acquired about the business to the local law enforcement and let them deal with the rest.

He slid out from under the sink and glanced up. Immediately, he met the eyes of one of the room’s occupants and froze. He and Officer Remus Royal stared at each other for a few long moments before Remus tore his gaze away and looked back at Haynes. Logan breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn’t stupid enough to attempt to confront Logan in front of the drug dealer. That would have very likely ended badly for them both.

No longer being directly watched, though he imagined Remus was still tracking his movement from the corner of his eyes, Logan cleaned up his tools slowly and stood. His next task was to change a few lightbulbs behind the stage of the animatronic show, and while things had inevitably just changed, he still planned to at least keep up appearances until he could come up with an escape plan. He left the kitchen and moved towards the supply closet. He stored the toolbox there and his hand hovered over one of the screwdrivers for a moment, but he ultimately decided to leave it be. Remus was an inconvenience, but he couldn’t see himself stabbing the man through the eye socket with a screwdriver. He turned to the box of lightbulbs, wondering if he should take them with him or just completely throw out any pretenses of still intending to complete his handyman duties. That decision was made for him when the closet door suddenly opened.

Logan tensed for a fight, mind analyzing the situation. He didn’t have the element of surprise and Remus was bigger, but it was a smaller space that was more familiar to Logan. For most opponents, he’d want to try to angle them away from anything that could prove a fatal or extremely harmful improvised weapon, but in all the times Remus and he had fought in the past, the man always gentled his touch before it could do any true harm and never applied excessive force. Logan had found himself extending the same courtesy. So, in this case, the strategy would be to try to push him towards more deadly weapons which he would be unwilling to utilize. Of course, Remus still had the advantage as he was nearer to the door and Logan was more pinned into the back of the closet, but there was also a light switch right next to Logan and if he could turn it off…

“What are you doing here?” Remus asked the second the door closed behind him.

Logan hesitated. “You seem surprised. Are you not tracking me?”

His body language seemed to communicate that he didn’t intend to jump at Logan in the immediate future, but Logan still eyed him suspiciously. “Believe it or not,” Remus said. “I do have other jobs to do besides chasing you. I honestly did not expect to find you fixing a sink in a crappy pizzeria.”

“You’re truly not here for me?”

“You sound hurt,” Remus teased. “Apologies, I thought you knew this was an open relationship. I see other criminals all the time. Don’t you see other cops?”

“You’re the only one who’s ever been able to even partially keep up with me.”

“Well, I’ve been told I have quite the stamina,” he said, eyes sparkling.

Logan shifted slightly to the side but stilled again when Remus’s eyes immediately tracked the movement. “Stamina doesn’t provide much advantage when stuck in a closet with your opponent,” Logan said idly.

“Oh, I’d beg to differ,” he said lowly.

“So why are you here?” he asked instead of engaging.

“I’m undercover to help bring down Haynes,” Remus said. “He’s into some even skeevier stuff than his rat-infested restaurant”

“I’m aware,” Logan said. “I was actually planning to send an anonymous tip to local law enforcement when I was finished here, though it seems that will be unnecessary now.”

“You were?” Remus asked. “Why?”

“He owes me money, and besides that, he’s an asshole.”

“Asshole might be an understatement for a human trafficker.”

“A what?” Logan asked.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you know?” he asked, and suddenly the rat themed restaurant for kids took on an even more dark nauseating tone.

“I wouldn’t have done any work for him at all if I’d had even an inkling that he partook in that business as well,” Logan spat. “I’m taking him down even harder now.”

There was a moment of silence where Remus considered him, eyes unreadable and head slightly tilted. “So, we’re both here for the same reason,” he said.

“I guess we are.”

“Huh.”

“If you attempted to arrest me, it would blow your cover,” Logan pointed out and tilted his head, “and it would make my objective more difficult as well. Considering the severity of his crimes, would you be willing to make a temporary alliance just to make sure Haynes gets what he deserves?”

“Are you going to drug me at the end of it?” Remus asked.

“We’ll institute a 20-minute grace period after we’re finished. You don’t attempt to arrest me, and I don’t attempt to incapacitate you after we complete our objective.”

Remus took a moment to think through the offer, and then shoved his hands in his pocket. “Deal.”

“Very well,” Logan said. “So…”

The closet door was opened suddenly by a figure in one of the restaurant’s uniforms. “Wha-?” he started, but Remus reacted quickly, grabbing the person and slamming his hand over his mouth. Logan leaned forward and shut the door once Remus has wrestled him inside.

“Virgil?” Logan asked.

“Oh! Hey Virge,” Remus said in surprise. “You’re working at a pizzeria now?” Virgil tried to respond, but whatever he said was muffled by Remus’s hand. “Oh, right,” Remus said. “I’m going to uncover your mouth, but you have to promise not to scream.”

Virgil nodded vehemently.

“Wait,” Logan said, his eyes narrowed on Virgil. “He’s lying. He’s going to scream.”

Virgil shook his head in denial.

“I know you Virgil,” Logan said. “I can tell when you’re lying.” There was always a crinkle between his eyes because he overcorrected on trying to look earnest.

Virgil made a muffled whining sound in the back of his throat.

“Look,” Remus sighed. “I’ll take my hand off your mouth. Don’t scream, and we’ll talk it out, okay Virgil?”

Virgil nodded again, crinkle still prevalent between his eyes, and Logan pressed his lips together to watch.

Remus slowly removed his hand from Virgil’s mouth. There was a short moment of silence. Then… “AAAAmphpmphmpmphpm.” Logan slapped his own hand over the man’s mouth when he started to yell.

“I told you he was going to scream,” Logan commented idly.

“Mphfmkr,” was the angry reply as he tried to fight against Remus’s hold.

Remus sighed. “I was trying to be nice to you, Virge. Now we have to gag you.”

Virgil’s struggling increased, but Remus was easily able to hold him. Logan and Remus awkwardly managed to exchange their hands, so Logan was able to turn around and search the shelves for something to gag him with.

“Here,” Logan said. “This rope is still packaged so it should be clean.”

Virgil whined it protest.

“Well it’s that or duct tape, Virgil and I don’t relish in the pain that would doubtlessly result from the process of removing it.”

“Fmf. Ff.”

It was a struggle to get the rope between his teeth, but they managed it after a bit of wrestling. “Can I borrow your handcuffs?” Logan asked Remus.

“This time he asks,” Remus snarked, but handed them over.

Virgil made muffled irate noises behind the rope as he was cuffed to the metal shelving unit; Logan imagined whatever the man was trying to say was quite inspired.

“Sorry Virge,” Remus said, patting him on the head. “See you later.”

They shut the closet door behind them, and Logan locked the door with the keys he’d been provided. He handed the keys to Remus. “You’ll let him out after?” he asked.

“Of course,” Remus said. “I’ve got the emo.”

Logan nodded and turned from the closet. “Let’s go get a rat,” he said darkly.

Want to read more? The next installment is:

Kisses and Thai Noodle Leftovers

[springday-aus]

SVT’s Wonwoo: Daytime Scares

—

Fic Written by: Admin Grandma of @springday-aus​

Moodboard Link: created by Admin Grandpa

Main Characters: Y/N [fem. reader] and Seventeen’s Jeon Wonwoo

Other Characters: OCs [Ae Jae, Mi Jeong, Yoojin, and Minjae], Chaeyoung (BlackPink), Yongsun (Mamamoo), Seventeen [Seungkwan and Mingyu] 

Genre: fluff, romance, comedy, college!Wonwoo

Type: one-shot writing piece

Word Count: approx. 11.6k

Plot Summary: Wonwoo is nothing more than an attractive stranger in your ethics class. You have no relation with him whatsoever, but that changes when you suddenly have a nightmare that he tries to kill you. That’s a whole level of psychoanalyzing you would rather not dive into. But now things get weirder when he’s starting to talk to you. 

→ Based on the AU prompt: “I had a dream that you tried to kill me and now I’m scared of you” 

Sleepovers typically mean movies, gossip, and face masks. It’s a fun time to be with your friends and it’s good for lowering stress after midterms. The only level of stress here is would be finding a movie to watch—which probably should have been selected beforehand. But, in your defense, it was hard enough to schedule this hang-out; who has the time to actually schedule the activities? 

So, right now, you lay comfortably on the carpeted floor of Ae Jae’s studio apartment with Mi Jeong. You two are on your phones, trying to find a movie to watch. Meanwhile, Yoojin scrolls through her laptop—connected to the projector—browsing through her Netflix account. 

“What about Hustlers?” Minjae asks. 

“I could really use some J.Lo right now,” you say with wiggling eyebrows. 

“Ugh, we can all use a little more J.Lo,” Mi Jeong says. 

“That movie is too recent,” Yoojin says. “We can’t find that on a streaming site.” 

“Hello?” Ae Jae says. “Have you heard of Dailymotion?” 

“Do you want me to just pull up one of those illegal websites?” Minjae asks. 

Yoojin turns around to face her. “Ma’am, that’s called pirating.” 

“Exactly.” 

Mi Jeong laughs at them. Yoojin gives her a pointed look, but you all know it’s no bad intentions. 

You set your phone down and sit up from your previous position. “Might as well. We can probably browse through the other movies and figure out some other options to choose from.” 

“What I’m hearing is,” Ae Jae says, “is that we don’t have to pay to watch these new movies.” 

Yoojin rolls her eyes and moves out of the way of her laptop. “I guess we have nothing to lose.” 

“No fear of the viruses?” you ask. 

“Potato, potato,” Minjae says. 

Yoojin shrugs. “Fire away, Minjae.” 

You watch her practically jump over from her previous spot to the TV to type in one of her illegal sites, which you may or may not have frequently used—thanks to her. You can only laugh at her antics. 

It’s nice to be with your friends again. It’s been a while since you had properly sent time with them. With the assignments and overlapping work schedules, you’ve all kind of distanced yourselves from one another and, with midterms coming up, things were just piling higher. After midterms week finished, when things calmed down, you and your friends aligned your schedules to catch up with one another. 

But who knew it would take nearly two hours to figure out what to watch? Granted, one of the flaws within your friend group is the fact that most of your friends (you included) are incredibly indecisive. 

As Minjae moves from one page to the next, everyone else silently scans the movies presented in front of them. 

“The live-action Lion King is out,” Mi Jeong says. “That could be an option.” 

“Hm,” you say. “I’m pretty sure it’s just the same as the original one.” 

“It is,” Minjae says. “But we can just put it on a list of things we could watch. We can still look.” 

“Let’s just do that,” Yoojin says. 

About ten movie pages (and a list of six possible movies to watch) in, Minjae gets into the horror movie section. You tense up from the movie covers—each one making your stomach twist in apprehension. The one thing each one of your friends know is that you get easily scared, which means you dodge horror movies like the plague. 

“Oh, what about It: Chapter 2?” Ae Jae asks. 

You start to whine, realizing where this is going. “Nooo.” 

You’re ignored. 

“I still haven’t watched the first one,” Minjae says.

“What?” “That was literally everywhere.” “How did you manage to miss one of the biggest horror movies?” 

Minjae shrugs off the questions. “I just never got to it.” 

“It’s a good movie,” Mi Jeong says. “Right, (Y/N)?” 

You scowl at her. “No, it’s not.” 

Yoojin snorts. “You probably didn’t even watch it.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Since (Y/N) and I haven’t watched it,” Minjae says. “Should we just watch it?” 

“NOOO—” 

Everyone ignores you. 

“Since it’s kind of old,” Ae Jae says. “They’ll probably have it in higher quality.” 

“NOOOO—” 

“You’re probably right,” Yoojin says. “Oh, 1080hd. That’s fancy.” 

“GUYS. IS ANYONE GOING TO LISTEN TO ME?” 

“I found it!”  

You let out a long sigh, kissing a month’s worth of sleep away. You mumble under your breath. “Guess no one cares about my well being and health.” 

You move yourself to properly lay between Mi Jeong and Minjae, throwing another pillow down. All three of you are on the carpeted floor with too many pillows to count. Ae Jae moved herself and now, she lies on her bed with Yoojin. A blanket is placed on your head and shoulders, ready for cover whenever Pennywise’s face appears on the screen. 

You’ve never wished for poorer eyesight until now. You will never understand the trolls that found this clown attractive. A shudder runs down your spine, seeing his face flash in the lightning from the sewer. You quickly pull the blanket over your head to erase the image. 

You feel a couple of tugs. 

Mi Jeong’s pulling on it. “Jesus Christ, it’s just a clown!” 

“John Wayne Gacy was just a clown too and he turned out as a murderer. This one just happens to be supernatural!” 

Minjae starts to tug down the blanket as well. “Be apart of the friend group!” 

“NO!” 

A pillow is flung towards you, in courtesy of Yoojin, who yells down at all of you. “Be quiet!” 

“I want new friends.” 

It’s 3am—you’ve all moved on from It and onto some generic cartoon movie. You were the main advocate for another movie, in an attempt to rid yourself of the horrific images Pennywise provided. Mi Jeong and Minjae are both asleep on each side of you—both with pore strips still attached on their noses. Yoojin snores lightly from Ae Jae’s bed, whereas Ae Jae is up with her elbow propping up her head. 

“Hey,” she says. 

“What?” 

“You up?” She gives you a teasing smile. 

You roll your eyes at her. “This is your fault. Of course, I’m up.” 

“What? You really can’t sleep because of the movie?” 

You stare at her, but refuse to actually move. “Believe it or not, terrifying images of a killer clown that’s telling me I’ll float isn’t a good sleeping mechanism.” 

She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again, once the words come to her. “They help Mi Jeong sleep.” 

“She’s got a different way of thinking.” 

“Hmm, you’re right,” Ae Jae says. “Do you just want a melatonin instead?” 

You’ve got nothing to lose. “Sure.” 

She manages to get up, without waking up Yoojin, and walks over to the bathroom. She opens the cabinet, looks through it, and pulls out her melatonin gummies. She pops the lid open, walks towards you, and hands it over. “Take two and you should be asleep in thirty minutes.” 

“Thanks.” You take a couple, as she advises, and hand the jar back to her. You slowly chew on them, keeping your eyes on the screen in front of you. The images start to pass like a blur and you can’t retain what you’ve just watched. 

About twenty minutes later, your eyelids start to droop, feeling the melatonin kick in. You begin to feel a bit tired, so you fully close your eyes and drift off to sleep. 

You find yourself in a sewer, blindly moving through a lightless tunnel—with no clue as to how you ended up there. It’s dark, you note to yourself, and it smells foul. The muddy water splashes with each step and it rises as you go through, practically filling your boots. There’s a mist as well, blocking nearly half of your sight of the tunnel. You try to squint through the fog, trying to make out what’s ahead. 

You’re able to see a small light at the end. As if you had no control over your body, you run towards it—but it never gets any bigger. You can feel your heartbeat pounding against your chest as your legs keep you running. 

But then you slip. 

You swear you had felt a pull on your leg, but you couldn’t tell due to the murkiness of the water. You end up on your hands, your lower half is soaked, still in the water—you can’t even make out your reflection. You look closer at it, trying to see what could be underneath it. Suddenly, a hand pushes your head down. 

The dirty water fills up your nose and you struggle to escape from this person’s hold on you. As you’re submerged, you hear it. The familiar voice, but you can’t pinpoint where you’ve heard it. 

“Can you float?” 

You freeze, hearing those words. 

The hand lets go and you resurface, taking in a deep breath of much needed air. You look up at your tormentor, who looks down at you with a smirk. His teeth are sharpened, shining with the little light of the tunnel. His eyes are dark and long eyelashes curl on top of his eyelids. Raven-black bangs stick to his forehead—from sweat or water—you couldn’t tell. You look up a bit further, spotting the deviled horns on his head. 

You put it together. 

It’s Wonwoo. But, what’s he doing here? 

He tilts his head at you, pitying you as if you were a lost kitten. His lips fully curl from a smirk to a sinister smile. He lowers his head closer to you. 

“Can you float?” he asks. 

You don’t have the words to answer him; you don’t think you can find any. 

He asks again. “Can you float?” 

Before you say anything, he shoves your head underneath once more. 

It’s been two weeks since the sleepover (and the last time you had proper sleep). Classes have started up again, but you’re already tired. It isn’t even from the goddamned workload (which you are definitely not doing). Since the sleepover, you’ve had the same recurring nightmare over and over. Same place, same face. 

Right now, you sit at a table in the dining hall with a single coffee mug that’s already empty. You wait for your friends to arrive at the table, tapping away at your phone, trying to make yourself busy. 

“What’s up,” Chaeyoung says. She takes the seat in front of you and sets her plate on the table. She spots the sad coffee mug and looks between it and you, before asking. “Is that all you’re getting?” 

You set your phone down. “No, I also had a bowl of ice cream earlier.” 

“(Y/N), it’s noon.” 

“Sugar means energy.” 

She lets out a sigh—not surprised, just disappointed. You would think after knowing you for so long, she would get used to your horrible eating habits. She is your meal buddy after all. She takes a stab at her food. “So how was your mid-semester break?” 

“I think we both know that break is a joke.” 

“Still.” 

“Well, I got to meet up with some of my old friends, spent some time with family—you know, all the good stuff.” You lean on the table with an elbow propped up and a hand underneath your chin. “How was yours?” 

“Eh, I did the same thing. It was nice to chill for a bit, but then I remembered how many readings I have to do.” 

You force a smile at her. “I haven’t done any of mine.” 

She throws her head back with a laugh. You start laughing too, at yourself and at her. 

Yongsun comes around to the table. She sets down another cup of coffee for you, which you previously asked for, and her own plate as she sits herself next to you. She looks between you and Chaeyoung. “What’s going on?” 

“Nothing really,” you say. “Just talking about how oh-so productive we’ve been since break.” 

She gives you a bitter look with regret evident on her face “That break is a joke. I got nothing done either.” 

“Glad to know everyone is on the same track.” You take a sip of your coffee. 

“No offense,” Chaeyoung says. “But you look really tired. Are you okay?” 

Yongsun laughs, nearly choking on her food. “It’s the exams creeping up, that’s why her eye bags are a darker shade.” 

Your eyebrows slightly rise. “Not wrong, but doesn’t mean I don’t feel attacked.” 

“Are you having trouble sleeping again?” Chaeyoung asks. 

Yongsun takes a closer look at you. “You know, now that she’s said something. She’s not wrong. Are you okay?” 

You sigh and take another big sip of the coffee. “My friends made me watch It.” 

“That’s all?” Chaeyoung asks. 

“Kind of.” You set the coffee down and lay your head on the table. “I’ve just been having the same nightmares for a while now and I can’t sleep.” 

“What do you see?” Yongsun asks. 

“Why? Are you going to psycho-analyze them like you do with the others?” Chaeyoung asks. 

“Absolutely.” 

“Oh my god.”

“Now,” Yongsun says. She fully turns to you, pointing at you with her spoon. “What happens in your nightmares?” 

You hesitate. “The nightmare overall…. it makes sense but there’s a piece that I can’t figure out.” 

“What?” Chaeyoung asks. “You know what, just explain the entire dream and we’ll figure it out.” 

You scratch the back of your ear, feeling a bit sheepish of the whole thing. “Do you guys know Jeon Wonwoo?” 

There’s a silence, but you can practically see them racking their memory for him. You look between them, seeing if either one of them would know him. It’s ideal that they don’t, but if they do, they could probably picture it better. 

“Jeon Wonwoo,” Yongsun mutters under her breath. She speaks louder the second time. “That name is so familiar but I can’t pinpoint where.” 

Chaeyoung looks confused as well. “I get that. I feel like I know him too.” 

“What does this have to do with anything?” 

You let out a long sigh. “Because my nightmares are essentially him just trying to kill me.” You don’t take notice of Yongsun’s frantic typing on her phone. “I don’t understand why it’s him specifically.” 

Chaeyoung hums, nodding along to what you’re saying. “Maybe it’s just a random face from memory—you could have just seen his face and now it’s stuck. Is he ugly or something?” 

“He’s in my ethics class,” you say. “And he’s definitely not ugly.” 

“So he’s attractive and trying to murder you?” 

“Mmhm, basically.” 

“Is there a kink you aren’t sharing with us?” 

“No, who wants to be murdered?” 

“There’s lots of college kids who want to be murdered, (Y/N),” Yongsun says. 

“Okay, fair point.” 

“In other news though.” Yongsun pauses and sets her phone down for all three of you to see. “I found him and I can confirm that he is hot.” 

You take a peek at the Facebook profile—the familiar face is in the little profile image and you shudder out of habit. You move away from the phone, feeling uncomfortable from his face. “Yup, that’s him.” 

“Jesus,” Chaeyoung says. She grabs the phone and zooms in on the image. “This is the face you’re seeing? How can someone look like that?” 

You grimace. “I can’t.” 

“What do you mean?” Yongsun asks. 

“I sit in the front, far away from him, so I don’t have to look at him anymore.” 

“What do you think this means?” Chaeyoung asks. 

“From my perspective,” Yongsun says. “Maybe you’re scared of how attractive he is.” 

You and Chaeyoung squint at her, both not understanding. She continues. “This can mean a lot of things. I need the context.” 

You try to recollect your dream memories. It isn’t hard, considering the fact that you’ve had the same nightmare for a couple of weeks. Although, there have been odd additions every once in a while. Just last night, you were on an empty road rather than a sewer. Sometimes there was the pile of children there and would start floating in front of you. Wonwoo stood in front of it, just staring at it, before turning his head to you to start shoving you into the water. 

You shrink in your seat. You feel like throwing up. 

“Well?” Yongsun asks. “Any details?” 

You grimace again. “I would rather not share while we’re eating.” 

Chaeyoung looks at you with a bit of worry in her eyes. “Do you think you’ll be okay?” 

“Yeah.” You drown the rest of your now-cold coffee down. “It’ll be fine. It’s not like Wonwoo’s a friend. How hard could it be to avoid him?”

Another restless week passes and you’re convinced your sleeping schedule will never bounce back. You rub your eyes, trying to wake yourself up somehow—it’s your third cup of coffee of the day and it’s done nothing for you. 

It’s 11:20am and class is supposed to start in ten minutes. The class is already half full of students. Everyone else fiddles with their phones, or talks to others about weekend plans. You sit in your seat with a laptop out, fully blanking out, but attempting to stay awake. Granted, you can just ditch, but attendance counts and if your GPA is below 3.0, you can kiss that scholarship goodbye. 

You groan from the thought of being in this class for an hour. You lay your head on the table, feeling the cold table pressed on your cheek, and closing your eyes for just a moment. 

Suddenly, a chill comes over you and you feel more awake than ever. You open your eyes, only to see Wonwoo walk in. His backpack is slung over one shoulder; he wears a soft, black cardigan that’s tugged on his hands to form sweater paws. He has his hair down, tousling through his bangs with his long fingers. He looks like such a soft boy. 

Despite his boyish looks, you felt your body physically react. Chills run up your spine and you felt the hairs on your arms raise. You feel more alert than you’ve been in weeks. You quickly sit up and straighten out your back at his presence. That’s right: you’re in ethics. You always forgot, until you came to class, see him and the nightmares become daytime horrors. 

You let out a sigh. Somehow, you feel more exhausted than before, despite feeling more awake in Wonwoo’s presence. Once the professor arrives, she immediately starts her lecture. Frankly, you can’t even remember what she’s talking about. It all goes in one ear and out the other. You simply type away, your note page expanding as each minute passes. 

An hour eventually passes and you let out a breath of relief. 

“Alright class,” she says. “Remember for the next class, we will be working on our papers, so bring those laptops fully charged and be prepared for discussion.” 

Everyone, including yourself, groans. 

“We need to start preparing for the final and, from my previous feedback, I hear this is really helpful. So, prepare yourselves.” Your professor shuts off the monitor and starts to shut her books. “Now, get out.” 

No one had to be told twice; everyone practically floods out of the room, ready to take a nap or eat, or whatever else college kids do. With the combination of your previous exhaustion and the lecture, you were moving slower than usual, not wanting to tire yourself out further. You could feel your body nearly shutting down again. You close your eyes once more as you rotate your neck around. Once again, you feel the chills creep up your back.

You follow your instincts and open your eyes, spotting Wonwoo from the corner of your eye. Unknowingly, you flinch, immediately looking away from him. He tries to smile in your direction on his way out, but you move your body away from him, trying to look preoccupied as you shove your books into your bag. 

Once he leaves, you let out a long sigh you didn’t realize you held in. Resting your head on the table, you close your eyes—only to see the images of Wonwoo from your nightmares with devil horns. You sit back up, rubbing your eyes and trying to shake the sight of him out of your mind. 

This is going to be harder than you thought. 

“Paging Sleeping Beauty, are you awake?” 

You slowly sit up from the library table, trying to keep your eyes awake as you lean on your hand. “Yes, sir. I am physically present.” 

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow at you. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“When am I ever okay?” 

“Fair.” He sets down his books in front of you and takes a seat. “How much did you get done?” 

“I just finished the draft and took a lil nap.” 

“In a public space?” 

“I didn’t get robbed. I’m fine.” 

He blinks at you, shakes his head and tries to move on from the odd comment. “Anyways,” he says, pulling out his laptop. “I finished my essay earlier during class, so.” 

“So it might be garbage?” 

“Hell no.” He opens the laptop, mindlessly moving the mouse around. “I’m just saying, consider the conditions when you read this. I was in a highly stressed environment.” 

Seungkwan and you have the same professor for ethics (just at different times), so it only made sense to work together for this paper. You two knew each other from a previous class and bonded over a mutual friend of yours, Soonyoung. Obviously, suffering is the only way to bond with other college students, hence your blossomed friendship with Seungkwan. 

You rub your eyes, trying to keep yourself awake in front of his laptop. But, it doesn’t help and the words start to blur together. After the third sentence, you lean back and close your eyes in an attempt to regain your focus. 

“Hey.” You feel his hand on your shoulder. “(Y/N), are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine.” You reopen your eyes, to see concern in Seungkwan’s eyes. He doesn’t even have to ask for you to answer. “I just haven’t been getting much sleep lately and there’s only so many sleeping pills a person can take.” 

“Is it stress?” 

“Not… not exactly.” 

He raises an eyebrow, leaning his chin on his hand. “Do tell, (Y/N). If not stress, is it a lover?” 

You give him an unamused look at his teasing. “Ha ha. No.” You shift in your seat. “I’ve been having nightmares about this guy in my class.” 

“Ooooh?” 

“Stop it.” 

He pouts. “Can you at least tell me who? I might know who it is.”

You rub the back of your neck, feeling a bit apprehensive. The problem is that he does know everyone. Apparently, everyone else seems to know Wonwoo, one way or another. He does have that reputation of looking like a moody emo bad boy. The fact that he’s good looking means he gets away with being creepy. But then again, he is polite to everyone—a very well mannered boy. You sigh, feeling the exhaustion hit all at once.

“I have a suspicion that you know who it is,” you say. You let out another sigh. “It’s Wonwoo.” 

His eyes sparkle with interest. “Jeon? Jeon Wonwoo??” 

You let out another sigh and place your head in your arms, muffling the groans you make. “Jesus, of course you know him.” 

He makes a face. “Why?” Before you can answer him, he leans closer to you. “What’d he do?” 

You can feel yourself inwardly cringing before the words even come out. You feel embarrassed about making a big deal about this small thing. “He’s done nothing to me. He’s just scary.” 

“Wonwoo is one of the least scary people I know.” He moves away, looking off into the distance as if to collect his thoughts. “Minghao… He’s on that list, but Wonwoo? He’s like a scared cat…” At this point, he’s just mumbling to himself. 

You look up, resting your head on your folded arms. “Earth to Seungkwan?” 

“Right, back to you.” He pauses. “So these nightmares, are they that bad that you’re losing this much sleep?” 

You nod. 

“Wow, is he that scary to you?” 

“Well, considering in the dream that he’s trying to murder me… I would say he’s pretty scary.” 

“Okay, but what’d you think about him before?” 

“Before what?” 

“Like, before you started dreaming about his face and death.” 

You blink, staring at him for a bit, lost in thought. You haven’t really thought about Wonwoo without the devil horns, but then again, you don’t really talk to him. It’s a required class, so there’s a lot of people in this lecture hall. Also, it’s a lecture hall, it’s not like people have a chance to interact with one another. The only reason why you’ve heard of him is because of your mutual friends. You admit though, he is attractive. 

But you couldn’t let Seungkwan know that. He would never let it go and he’s friends with Wonwoo. Who knows what he’d do with this information. 

“I was neutral about him,” you say. “Since I don’t really know much about him.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t even find him attractive?” 

You grumble as you begin to sit up. “Can we not talk about this and go back to suffering?” 

“Ugh.” He throws his head back in a dramatic fashion. “I wanted the tea though.” 

“This ain’t a tea shop honey, so I’m not giving you any.” You put your attention back to his laptop. “Let me just go over this draft and you can trash mine.” 

You push your laptop towards him with the draft of your paper open. 

He clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Fine, but I want details later.” 

“Boba break?” 

“Boba break.” 

Your professor sets down her books on the podium. “Alright class, please pull out your drafts. Your classroom partners are already assigned on the classroom page. If you can’t find it, it’s also on the projector.” 

Your eyes don’t move away from your computer screen. The list of peer review partners has been pulled up and you scroll through it to find yours. You can only stare once you spot it. 

(Y/N) and Wonwoo

This can’t be right. 

You look from your screen to the projector. Your names are clear on the screen. 

(Y/N) and Wonwoo

Someone clears their throat, snapping you out of your inner panic. “You’re (Y/N), right?” 

To your right, Wonwoo stands with his messenger bag, a couple of textbooks in his hands, and a polite smile on his face. You can only nod, feeling the chills run up your back. He takes the empty spot next to you and sets down his things. Having him sit so close to you… it’s even scarier than you even imagined. 

He glances at you with a small smile. Ugh, he is handsome. You’ll give him that.

As he turns his head, you get a closer look at his profile. In an instant, you see the devil-horned image of him flash. You shudder, turning away and wordlessly setting your laptop closer to him. 

You manage to speak up, but it gets quieter as you talk. “Here’s my draft. You should be able to make comments… suggestions or something…” 

He gives another smile (although you don’t see it) and hands you his laptop. “I have my draft on here too. I’m sorry, but it’s still a bit messy.”

His voice is so soft, despite his cold features. You take another glance at him to take his laptop. Your hands brush against his and you try to ignore the goosebumps that raise on your arms—whether it’s from fear, you can’t tell. 

For a while, it’s quiet. Everyone is working on peer-editing their partner’s drafts, including you and Wonwoo. You both read through one another’s drafts. Ugh, he’s such a good writer. This was supposed to be a rough draft, but he makes it look like the final draft. This thesis makes sense; the support from the text is present; the counter-argument is made and redirected back to the thesis. Meanwhile, your draft probably looks even more half-assed than you originally intended for it to be. 

You go through the document again to try to give some feedback on his draft, despite how hard it is to make something up. By the end, you only manage to give him three comments. Turns out, you had finished earlier than you’d thought. You look around, seeing everyone still working and interacting with their partners, before looking over at him.

He stares intensely at your screen, still scrolling through the hot mess you call a rough draft. Every couple of seconds, he types a comment and you feel yourself flinch at how hard he presses on the keyboard. You knew it wasn’t the best, but there’s no way for it to be the most awful thing you’ve written. You hadn’t even realized you’ve been staring until he turns his body towards you. 

You lightly flinch at the sudden eye contact and, unconsciously, inch away from him. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he sets your laptop next to you. 

“I wrote a couple of recommendations as to how you could expand on your argument further. I think you have a solid thesis and the evidence you provide from the texts are very strong. I didn’t know what else I could add, so I did the best I could to add some comments to help. You don’t have to use them, but they were just some ideas I thought you could use.” 

He gives you another smile and you couldn’t help to feel a bit touched. Typically, people half ass these types of assignments. To see that he actually put effort into it and even added in ideas you can use... 

You push his laptop further away from you and he immediately scrolls through it, before you can get a word in. That’s probably why the word vomit began and you haphazardly try to explain things, without even looking at him in the eye. 

“I couldn’t really add in as much as you did. I thought it was really well thought out and made some really good points. I just made a couple of comments on word choice, grammar, and how it all connects. You’re a really good writer so you don’t have to really pay attention to these things. They really don’t make a big difference or anything. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you anything particularly helpful…” 

You trail off from your nervous rambling, glancing up at him to take in his reaction. He looks rather sheepish; his hand rubs the back of his neck and light blush dusts his cheeks. 

“It’s really nothing… I’m not that good…” 

This vision of Wonwoo is definitely a 180 from your nightmares. The stoic and heartless image of Wonwoo with devil horns flashes once again. But then, you take another look at him. All you see a shy boy, flushed from a couple of compliments from a classmate he doesn’t even talk to—well, at least, until now. 

You both sit there for a bit in silence, fiddling with your laptops in an attempt to work on your drafted papers. From what you can read, he put a lot of thought into his recommendations. After about five minutes, as the conversation around you begins to stir up again, he turns his body to you. 

“Are the comments okay?” He pauses. “Were they able to help you?” 

You hum and give a small nod. “I think with your suggestions this paper will be a bit easier to write.. I’m sorry for not being able to help you much with yours.” 

He speaks in a small voice that you almost don’t hear. “You did help though…” 

You give him a sheepish smile. “Not really. I gained more from this than you were able to… it’s unfair, sorry...”

“You shouldn’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong, you tried your best.” 

You let out a light laugh. “Did I though? I’m sure you’ve gotten more helpful feedback from other people.” 

“Well, most people here don’t really care about this since this doesn’t ‘count for points.’” 

“You’ve got a point.” 

“Alright,” your professor says. “Considering how much you’re all talking, I’m assuming you’re done exchanging your drafts. If you’re done, you can leave. Consider it a reward for finishing early.” 

You start to pack your things, as does Wonwoo. The both of you remain silent for a while, but, as you get up to leave, he speaks up with a soft voice. 

“Did you want to work together on this paper later sometime?” 

Before you can answer, he continues. “I just meant, like… I know you and Seungkwan work together and I was wondering if I could join you two or something. You don’t have to! I was just curious since Seungkwan and I work on it together too and I just thought it would be good if we all meet up.. together or something…” 

“Oh…” Frankly, you didn’t even know they were working on the essay together too. No wonder Seungkwan’s draft was so good—that son of a bitch. On one hand, you already know Seungkwan is most likely to agree. On the other hand, you are still unsure you’re mentally prepared to willingly spend more time with him. 

He’s nice, but you’re apprehensive as to how your brain is going to interrupt this. Who knows what your unconscious can unload? What if he transforms into a demon in your next dream? What if he turns into one of those gross monster-sized spiders and eats you whole? 

Another chill runs down your spine, but you fake an unbothered smile. “I’ll talk to Seungkwan.” 

He smiles back; it’s small, but genuine. 

You sit at the library, tapping your fingers on the table as you wait anxiously for the boys’ arrival. You flip your phone over again, to check the time and any new text notifications from Seungkwan. You were starting to regret all your life’s decisions. Okay, maybe that’s too dramatic—even for you. But, you are regretting your decision of joining Seungkwan and Wonwoo’s study session. 

To be honest, when you said you would talk to Seungkwan, that was 100% a lie. So, when you get a text from Seungkwan… you are more than shocked to find that he has oh-so graciously arranged the study session for you. That also meant getting a couple of pokes from him. 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. As if he knew someone was talking shit, he enters the library and easily spots you in your usual corner. He drops his backpack onto the table and sits himself across from you, pulling out his laptop and textbooks. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I had a couple of questions for my professor and…. I forgot how much that man likes to talk.” 

“Hm, sounds like someone I know.” 

“Ha ha, very funny (Y/N).” He opens his laptop and starts to skim through his books, but, eventually, he gets bored and looks back at you.

You feel his eyes on you and look up from your own laptop. “What?” 

“From our last conversation, you said you were scared of Wonwoo.” Save it for Seungkwan to be blunt rather than beating around the bush. 

“I didn’t say that—” 

“It was implied.” 

Your lips purse, finding yourself at a loss of words. “What about it?” you mumble, shrinking into your seat. 

“Soooo,” Seungkwan says. “Why did you agree to the study group?” 

You frown, squinting at him. “I’m sorry, but who decided to put us all into a group chat???” Your frown becomes a pout. “You can’t just put me in a group chat, ask about a meeting time, and think I’m going to be the asshole who says ‘oh no, I can’t make it.’ Then have you point out that I’m not doing anything.” 

He shines a bright smile at you, ignoring your negative tone. “You wouldn’t have joined so otherwise.” 

“Ha! So it was a ruse!” 

“Of course it was.” He leans back to his seat. “You were so scared of him—look at you now, you’re making plans with him.” 

“You made the plans.” 

He waves a finger at you, “Semantics.” 

You can only roll your eyes at him and type away, trying to sort out and prioritize on your latest assignments. “Why do you care so much about what I think about him?” 

He blinks and you swear, for a second, he seems to have run out of words. You raise an eyebrow at his silence. 

“Well... “ He stammers. “I—I just... just want all of my friends… to—to get along and be… friends.” 

Your eyebrows furrow and you hum along, but you don’t believe a single thing he says. “It’s all the subconscious. I never had a problem with him in the first place.” 

“Problem with who?” 

You both turn around to see Wonwoo and another boy standing next to you two. From the unfamiliar voice, you can assume it was said by Mingyu—the other participating victim in the groupchat Seungkwan made. 

“No one,” Seungkwan says. “Problem with no one—right, (Y/N)?” 

You can only stare wide-eyed as you glance between them. “Yes, what he said.” 

Mingyu laughs. “Uhm, okay.” 

They both seat themselves at the table with you and Seungkwan—Wonwoo on one side and Mingyu on the other. They both give you a friendly smile and start to pull out their materials. You can only smile back awkwardly, typing away at your laptop. 

“No offense,” Mingyu says. “I’m glad to be here, but I’m confused why I’m here.” 

“It’s a study group and you’re our friend,” Seungkwan says. 

“We’re not in the same class.” 

“Moral support.” 

“For what?” 

He glances at you, which makes you narrow your eyes at him. He turns his attention back to Mingyu. “For things.” 

Mingyu raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“So,” Wonwoo says. “Shall we get started?” 

“What should we start on?” you ask. 

“I was thinking maybe the essay since that’s due the soonest,” Seungkwan says. 

You all nod along, even Mingyu. 

“So, I’m not involved either way,” Mingyu says. “This is fine, I totally don’t feel left out.” 

Seungkwan shrugs. “You can do other assignments too.” 

Mingyu pouts and his silent sulking is ignored. 

You and Wonwoo chuckle at their antics. “Sorry buddy,” he says. “This plan wasn’t scheduled well.” 

“Hey!” 

Wonwoo ignores Seungkwan and turns to you. “Were you able to work on the essay?” 

You shift in your seat, feeling awkward from suddenly being in his direct line of vision. “Yeah, I did—it’s coming along. Thanks again, by the way.” 

“It’s not a problem. I’m glad I could help,” he says. “Did you want me to look at it?” 

Your eyes widen, meeting Seungkwan’s, who makes a face. To be honest, you haven’t worked on it since you opened it during class and you’re too embarrassed to say you’ve been procrastinating. It’s due in two days and who says you can’t write an essay in one night (who isn’t a professor). 

“Are you having trouble concentrating again?” Seungkwan asks. Before you can answer, he interjects himself. “Is this because you’re still having sleeping problems? Dude, just keep popping those pills.” 

The other two’s attention have been turned to you. You inwardly groan from the eyes and try to focus on Seungkwan—but your body responds for you with a grimace. “Can you not say it like that? It’s melatonin and they’re technically vitamins.” 

“Hmmm, sure.” 

“You have sleeping problems?” Mingyu asks. 

You sheepishly rub the back of your neck. “Yeah, it’s not that big of a deal though.” 

Seungkwan snorts. “Sure it isn’t. It’s not like you were nearly falling asleep when editing my essay just a couple of days ago.” 

You smile. “I bought you boba though.” 

“But can I really be bribed?” 

“Of course not,” you say. “Because no one can afford your high maintenance.” 

Seungkwan’s jaw drops from your bluntness, but there’s a small smile in it. Mingyu doubles over in laughter and Wonwoo tries to hold his in—the smile on his face gives it away, causing you to laugh as well. 

Seungkwan quickly straightens up in defense. “This is what I get for trying to be nice.” 

You give him another teasing smile. 

“Okay, okay,” Mingyu says. “How bad is this sleeping problem?” 

“It’s..” You click your tongue, recalling as to how bad your sleep schedule has been since these nightmares began. “It’s really bad, dude.” 

“You know,” he says, turning his body towards you. “There are foods good for sleep.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, one time I made this banana almond parfait.” 

“Oooh, sounds fancy—”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Seungkwan says. “But I doubt that’s going to help (Y/N)’s situation.” 

“Why not?” Wonwoo asks. 

You’d almost forgotten he was there for a second. 

“It’s a subconscious thing.” 

Wait a second. 

“So it’s psychological problems?” Mingyu asks. He props his chin into his hands. “Do tell.” 

You stifle a laugh. 

Wonwoo is the one who speaks for you. “Mingyu, you just met her and you already want to open up her psyche?” 

“What’s a better way to get to know someone?” 

“Anything else, bro.” 

Mingyu’s lips purse, then form into a pout. “Booooooooo.” 

“Okay,” you say. “Let’s just move on. We actually have to work on this essay.” 

“Boooooo!” 

“Shut up, Seungkwan.” 

“I don’t care what anyone else says,” Chaeyoung says. “Lizard people are real.”

Yongsun nods along, digging her spoon further into her ice cream. “I’d buy into it. Matthew McConaughey has a lizard smile.” 

You can only sigh in disappointment and put your head in your hands. “Why am I friends with you people?” 

Your comment is ignored and Chaeyoung continues to talk. “Controversial statement: Shawn Mendez? Lizard person.” 

“Oh my God, he kind of does.” Yongsun shows her screen to the both of you. “He has the same lizard smile as Matthew.” 

As the two continue to converse other celebrities with lizard qualities, you sit at the other side of the booth, playing with your food. Dining hall food isn’t great, but it is free. What’s the point of these dinners, if you’re just going to want to throw it back up from these types of conversations? 

A couple of weeks ago, y’all had a whole conversation as to how Ted Bundy got away from his crimes for such a long time (to be honest, he wasn’t even really attractive so….). Then, last week, y’all talked about white boy names—the looks you got from people with those names were absolutely hilarious. Side note: you don’t give a solid shit to anyone named Todd (what Todd have you met that WASN’T an asshole?). 

By now, you’ve just learned to sit back and let these topics just… happen. At some point, these conversations are going to bite you in the ass. 

“(Y/N)?” 

You look up from your plate. 

“I thought that was you,” Mingyu says with a smile. 

You return it with one of yours. “Hey, Mingyu, right?” 

“Yeah! I’m Seungkwan’s friend—although, I’m more known for being Wonwoo’s.” He pauses, before mumbling to himself. “And Jungkook’s…” 

“Wonwoo?” Chaeyoung asks. 

“Jeon Wonwoo?” Yongsun adds. 

“Yeah,” Mingyu says. “You know him?” 

“We’ve heard of him,” Yongsun says, nudging your rib. You smack her elbow away. 

Chaeyoung scoots herself over. “If you want, you can sit with us.” 

“Sure,” he says. “I have class in an hour, so I have time.” He sits himself next to her and looks between you and the other girls. “So, what are we talking about?” 

Yongsun swallows her ice cream, pointing her spoon at him. “Lizard people.” 

You push her spoon out of the way. “Can we please move away from this subject?” 

“They! Are! Here!” Chaeyoung bangs her fists on the table, along each syllable. 

You put your head back into your hands. “Oh my God. You need to stay off the internet.” 

“Lizard people…” Mingyu says slowly. “What is this exactly?” 

You look up, eyes wide and warning. “You do not want to ask her that.” 

“So, there are theories that some people roam around Earth—” 

“And, so it begins.” 

Chaeyoung ignores you. “—as lizards. They are living amongst us and planning to overthrow the human race.” 

“We’ve possibly identified a couple of them,” Yongsun says. “Hear us out. Matthew McConaughey and Shawn Mendez. Thoughts?” 

“You do not have to answer them, by the way,” you say to him. 

As if Mingyu was possessed by someone else, he nods along as he listens. “I could definitely see that. They have weird face structures.” 

Your jaw drops from his participation in your weird dinner discussions. Your respect for him as a person has dropped. “Dude, don’t encourage them!” 

Chaeyoung points at him, as if he isn’t present. “I like him better than that Wonwoo guy.” 

“Ditto,” Yongsun says. 

“I thought you guys didn’t know him?” Mingyu asks. His head tilts to the side—for a second, he looks like a puppy. 

“We don’t,” Yongsun says. She slurps up the remaining ice cream melting from her bowl. “(Y/N) mentioned him and we looked him up—he’s just as hot as (Y/N) said.” 

Your cheeks flush and you flick some of your water in her direction. “That’s not what I said!” 

Her lips purse in response and she continues to slurp from her bowl. Meanwhile, Chaeyoung gives you a look, which you refuse to acknowledge. 

On the other hand, Mingyu’s attention has been turned to you in interest. His eyebrow raises and you start to squirm. 

“So,” he says with a twirl of his fork. “What have you said about Wonwoo?” 

You’d honestly thought this conversation was behind you, especially since you had dodged away from the topic during your study group a couple of days ago. The difference between Seungkwan and these two is that these two have very little regard for your opinion. While they are your friends, they are also very invasive and you are very sure that they will ignore your protests. It’s almost as if they had heard your thoughts—they answer the question for you. 

“She said he’s attractive,” Chaeyoung says. 

“Technically,” Yongsun says. “She said he wasn’t ugly and I think she also said he murders her.” 

Mingyu turns to you with surprise. 

Just when you thought you had died before, you were sure that you have died now and were stuck in your customized purgatory hell. 

“That,” you say into your hands. “Was not what I said.” 

Yongsun squints at you. “Are you sure? Because I distinctly remember you defining your death kink with those weird dreams.” 

You stare at her for a while before deciding on what to say. “Are you on crack? I was sure that your crackhead energy was drained last week during your history exam.” 

“How dare you? I am completely sober.” 

“Debatable.” 

You both turn back to the other two at the table, where Chaeyoung continues to eat and Mingyu stares off with confusion evident in his features. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “But what’s the piece I’m missing?” 

“I’ll give you a short version,” Chaeyoung says. “You see, (Y/N) has been dreaming about Wonwoo murdering her and we think it’s a loo—hey!” She grabs a napkin to wipe her, now, wet hair. 

You give her a bright, fake smile as she playfully glares at you and the glass of water you’ve flicked on her. Yongsun chuckles at your antics and turns to Mingyu. “Either way, it’s 100% repression.” 

“Repression of what exactly?” you ask. 

“Attraction,” Yongsun points out. 

You flick some more water at her, ignoring her yelps. You turn your attention to Mingyu. “Ignore them and everything they’ve said because it isn’t true.” 

“Lies!” Chaeyoung says. “Yongsun’s right. It’s probably repression because Wonwoo is definitely hot—stop throwing water at me!” 

You ignore her once again, flicking more water from your glass. “I did not say he was hot. I just admitted that he wasn’t ugly!” 

As you continue to attack your friends with your water, Mingyu stays silent, but makes note from the conversation. Oh, how things will become more interesting….

You continue to type on your laptop, wrapping the conclusion paragraph with one last sentence. You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” you mutter under your breath. This god forbidden essay is done and you can easily turn it in. You look up from your screen, where Wonwoo continues to type on his. 

His glasses sit on the edge of his nose and his eyes are narrowed, as if to physically focus on the words. You have to admit: the glasses suit him and his oversized sweater. While he has worn them every once in a while, this is one of the rare times you’ve seen him this close up. He looks like a soft boy molded from a John Green book. 

You look a glance around and, seeing how he’s gathered the attention of a few people, you can tell you aren’t the only one who’s noticed. To be fair, if it wasn’t for your nightmares, you would be a lot more attracted to him. 

Admittedly, it has been nice to spend this time with him—you managed to reduce some of those nightmares and get a bit more sleep. You might even admit that he’s a friend more than just a classmate now. 

Speaking of friends, Seungkwan and Mingyu are pretty late. It’s been 20 minutes of just you and Wonwoo. You don’t mind, but you all made a plan to meet here (since the essay is due tonight). 

“Are you done with your essay already?” 

Wonwoo’s voice snaps you out of your inner ramblings. You look towards his direction, freezing from the sudden eye contact. “Huh?” 

He clears his throat. “Are you... done? With the essay?” 

“Ah, kind of. It’s probably bad, but it’s done.” 

“I’m sure it’s fine. Let me see.” He gestures to your laptop. 

“Compared to your English major ass?” You pull the laptop closer to you. “No.” 

“(Y/N),” he says with a sigh. “I’m sure it’s not even bad.” He gets ahold of the top of your laptop, lightly tugging it away from your grasp. You can only pout as the device is taken away from your hold and he begins to read. You place your chin into your hands, watching Wonwoo’s eyes dance from sentence to sentence. 

You didn’t realize how long you’d been staring until he makes eye contact with you and sets your laptop back near you. If he noticed, he doesn’t say anything about it. 

Wonwoo adjusts his glasses, pushing them closer to the bridge of his nose. When his face comes to view, there’s a small smile. “I told you your essay was fine. In fact, you could probably turn it in right now.” 

Your lips purse, considering the idea, even though you were already planning to. Originally, you wanted Seungkwan to check it too—especially since he saw the real rough draft of it, which was a blank document. 

“I kind of wanted to wait for Seungkwan,” you say. “Since we all agreed to do it together.” 

He nods along with your words. “It makes sense.” He looks at you with a head tilt, thinking aloud. “Where is Seungkwan?”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” you say with a small laugh. “Is Mingyu coming?” 

He checks his phone, wrinkling his nose as he squints at the screen and scrolls through his messages. “Honestly, I have no idea—last time I checked, he was supposed to.” 

“Yeah, I ran into him yesterday and I assumed he was coming too.” 

“Oh yeah,” Wonwoo says. “How was the lunch?” 

“It was actually pretty funny beca—” You stop. You didn’t mention anything about lunch… so, how did he know about that? Your eyes narrow at him. “Did Mingyu tell you already?” 

“Uh.” Wonwoo’s eyes shift. “Kind of?” He hunches a bit more over his own laptop, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Mingyu basically tells me everything.” 

Mingyu basically tells me everything. 

Oh, no. 

You try to recall exactly as to the different topics during that one hour lunch with him. He was almost late to his class, since he was in a heavy debate with Yongsun and Chaeyoung as to whether or not Perry the Platypus cosplayers are considered furries… 

It was a conversation that you had to be there for, in order for the context to be understood. 

There was also the topic of whether Twilight should be watched for ironic purposes and/or the cinematic value of it. There was also discussion about what was the weakest element—which Yongsun was debating on the side of water. 

You were getting off track; curse your friends for having such bizarre conversations. That line shouldn’t have triggered you, but for some reason, it feels off—as if there was something you were forgetting. You look at Wonwoo, who’s sitting across from you with flushed cheeks.

Wait a second. 

She said he’s attractive. 

Death kink with those weird dreams. 

(Y/N) has been dreaming about Wonwoo murdering her. 

Just when you thought things were just starting to become normal-ish between you two. 

Your face flushes as you remember all the things your friends said… which were most likely echoed to Wonwoo through Mingyu (seeing how much blush is present on his face). 

There’s only one thing you can say. “I can explain.” 

He lets out a little, breathless laugh—but it sounds more like an uncomfortable one. 

“It’s not as bad as it sounds, I swear.” 

He pushes his glasses up once more. “You—you don’t have to.” 

“It’s okay,” you say. “I should explain myself. It’s not supposed to sound as bad as they made it out to be and it��s not even your fault. I don’t even know why my subconscious chose your face out of anyone else’s. Yongsun said it’s repression, but you probably already know that and—” You sigh. “I’m—I’m sorry.” 

“For what? It’s not really your fault.” 

“Yeah, but I guess, it’s just in general.” Your fingers glaze over the keyboard, absentmindedly toying with the keys. “Over break, I watched a horror movie with my friends and then I started getting nightmares. Again, I don’t know why your face was there, but… it just was.” 

“I’m not mad,” Wonwoo says. “And it’s not your fault—you don’t have to apologize.” 

There’s a small silence, which is just you and Wonwoo looking at one another with wide eyes, unsure as to what happens next. 

“I will say,” Wonwoo says with a small voice. “I’m a bit flattered.” 

“That I dream of you murdering me?” 

“No.” He lets out a small laugh. “That your subconscious ‘chose my face.’” 

You chuckle rather sheepishly when he took the words from your previous rambling. “Yeah… Seungkwan suggested that it was just a face that was most memorable.” You let out a long sigh. “And Yongsun likes to psychoanalyze into things.” 

“So, do you… think my face… is attractive?” 

You look up at him from your keyboard, only to see him dodging your eyes. His Adam's apple moves as he swallows. On the table, you can see that his hands are curled underneath the sweater paws, moving as he fiddles with his fingers. You can feel yourself shrinking into your seat, shyness overpowering you. 

“Well….” you say. “You are… attractive…” You say the last part quieter than you intended, but Wonwoo’s eyes meet yours once the words are said. 

His face turns a shade darker and he smiles a bit wider than before. “Even.. Even if I was part of a nightmare?” 

You nod, but look off to the side to shake off the embarrassment. 

“I think you’re attractive too.” 

Your head turns to him, but his concentration is back to his laptop. While he can act like he didn’t say anything all he wants, the redness of his ears give his emotions away. You press your lips to repress your smile. 

A bag being thrown into the table interrupts your moment. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Seungkwan says, clearly out of breath. “This ladder here wanted to stop by Starbucks and there was a line.” 

“How was I supposed to know?” Mingyu yells. 

“It’s Starbucks! You should have known!” 

“You couldn’t have sent a text?” you ask. 

“My phone died,” he says with a pout. “Speaking of which, do you have a charger??” 

You can only sigh in disappointment, but rummage through your bag nevertheless. “You’re lucky I brought this one.” 

“You’re a lifesaver.” 

“I know, I know. Now sit down and shut up, people are looking.” 

When you open your eyes, you’re running—from what, you are unsure of. This tunnel is nearly pitch black dark. A part of you is calm, but the other is panicking. Probably due to previous experiences you’ve had in this subconscious. You continue to run, refusing to look back at whatever remains behind you, but you can hear its footsteps echoing. 

Your shoes are soaked and continue to splash against the muddy waters, as you continue to run. It stays dark for so long, but then it gets lighter, as if the sun poured itself into the tunnel. The footsteps stop. Whatever’s behind you diminishes. 

But you can’t stop running towards the light, which burns closer and closer. The light embraces you, shining brightly and bouncing along your surroundings. You try to shield your eyes from the sun, only to be greeted by shimmers. Your vision starts to clear, enough for you to identify your surroundings. 

You’re at the park. But what for? 

You stand in the grass, surrounded by trees and rose bushes. The flowers are just in bloom, blossoming towards you, as if you were the sun itself. The skies are clear of clouds and the sun shines down, but it isn’t beating. Butterflies flutter and graze above the ground, but they don’t get close enough to you. The birds are chirping lightly, sounding like a song’s melody. The air is fresh and the aura is soothing. 

As you walk through, you start to soak in the aroma. To the side, you notice a small hill with, no doubt, the best view. A picnic blanket is laid out, along with plates and other objects. 

Someone else is also there. 

It’s a familiar figure, but you can’t make out who it is from the distance. 

You call out. “Hello?” 

The figure turns and there Wonwoo sits.  He has his glasses intact, but, instead of the casual wear, he’s a bit more dressed up—his white button-up showcases his nicely built chest and his slacks reveals how long his legs are. 

He smiles at you, white pearls sparkling and eyes shining—you feel as if it’s almost like the buds have bloomed as well. For a moment, you think you’re stuck in a picture. 

And then the wind blows, brushing his hair against his forehead. 

“Are you coming, (Y/N)?” 

---

Your eyes shoot open. The warmness in your chest is gone and is replaced by the coldness of your sheets. You shift under the covers and attempt to sit up. 

The grogginess stays, but one thing remains in your mind—what was that and why did the dream change? 

It’s 11:15am once again and you sit at your unofficial reserved spot. Your head lies on the desk, awaiting for the other students and your professor to arrive at the lecture hall. Tiredness continues to overpower you as your eyes consistently flutter to shut and reopen. 

A knock on the table interrupts your attempted naptime. You look up to see Wonwoo’s face above yours. He gives you a small smile as he sets his bag on the seat next to yours. From his presence, you sit yourself up and rub your eyes, in an attempt to wake yourself. 

“Are you tired?” he asks. 

You can feel yourself internally curling from his close proximity. “Yeah, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

He lets out a small, airy laugh. With a shake of his head, he jokes. “Still getting nightmares about me murdering you?” 

A blush creeps up to your face. “Ha… Not really,” you say. It’s not like it’s a lie, but it’s not exactly the truth. You unconsciously move yourself a bit further from him as you recall the image of him surrounded by roses. “It’s probably just insomnia—bad sleeping habits most likely piled up.” 

He nods, humming along as you speak. He rummages through his bag, pulling out his laptop and notebook. His side profile is illuminated through the sunshine that’s reflected on the window. He looks like he’s sparkling… 

You quickly turn away as soon as he moves his head towards your direction. God, you were starting to stare a lot more than usual. You shake your head as you try to refocus on what you were doing. 

What were you doing? 

Closing your eyes, you try to regain your train of thought—only for you to lose it immediately after. You eventually decide to pull out your laptop and open up your lecture notes. On another tab, you see the essay that you’ve already turned in. 

“Oh,” you say. You turn back to Wonwoo, “I almost forgot, did your essay turn out okay?” 

“Yeah, it took a little bit of editing but I turned it in on time.” 

“I’m sure it turned out great,” you say. “You’re definitely getting an A.” He gives you another shy smile and his cheeks start to blush. You shift into your seat, trying to find a comfortable position. “You’re really smart anyways,” you mumble. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” you say. “Nothing at all.” 

“Well, I’m sure you’re getting an A too,” he says. “It was really well put together. At least, from what I remember.” 

“Ehh.” You shrug your shoulders. “We’ll see.” 

“Give yourself more credit, (Y/N),” he says in a softer tone. “You’re really smart and it’s okay for you to brag.” He turns his attention back to his laptop. His red ears have made a return. 

On the other hand, you position yourself in your seat to straighten up and hide your smile. You take the opportunity to glance around, noticing the other students who’ve entered the lecture hall. Others are starting to enter as well. 

You check the time on your laptop and it looks like it’s time for class to begin. Your professor arrives as well and sets up her materials. 

“Open up your textbooks and turn to page 304. We’ll start with the four categories of ethical theories.” 

Without turning from your laptop screen, your hand hovers over the textbook in your bag, but Wonwoo’s whisper interrupts your movement. 

“Did you forget your book? I’ll share mine with you.” 

You should probably say no, but your hand speaks for you, moving away from the bag. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.” 

He gives another smile, leaning closer as he scoots the book towards you. Your professor continues to lecture, going over the slide’s content, but you can’t concentrate—not when Wonwoo’s this close. He smells like fresh laundry, the kind that you want to wrap yourself in before the warmth is gone. When you look at him, the sparkles return, along with the image of him from your dreams. 

“Hold up,” Seungkwan says. “Yongsun thought that water is the weakest element? It’s clearly fire.” 

“That’s what I said!” Mingyu yells. He sighs in disappointment from the recollection of the conversation and moves his strawberry milkshake to the side. “Fire is just a stupid element that can be destroyed by water AND all living things need water in order to survive. There are so many benefits to water and—” He stops himself with another sigh and takes a long sip of his milkshake. 

Next to him, you shake your head with a small laugh. Taking a fry from your plate for a bite, you can only observe and let the conversation take its course. While your focus remains on the other two, your eyes glance over towards Wonwoo, who sits in front of you. 

“I think earth is debatable,” Wonwoo says. “But, I feel like fire is the weakest due to the fact that it’s more destructive rather than productive.” 

While the essay was already due, Seungkwan invited you to dinner at a nearby diner. You figured that it’d be nice to not eat dining hall food for once, so you agreed. But when you got there, you didn’t expect Mingyu and Wonwoo to already be there—hence your current position in front of Wonwoo, next to Mingyu, in a booth, while they’re arguing about the strongest element. 

You blame Yongsun and Chaeyoung for this chaos; if they hadn’t pulled him into this conversation, he wouldn’t have brought it up now—which also dragged Seungkwan and Wonwoo into the discourse. 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you say. You continue to gnaw away at your fries, even when all three of their eyes land on you. Typically you’d refuse to engage in these conversations, but you refuse to let them walk around without an argument. 

Seungkwan clears his throat, as if he was asking you to elaborate. Meanwhile, Mingyu continues to sip on his shake and Wonwoo has an eyebrow raised. 

You let out a sigh from the eyes and toss the half-bitten french fry back to your plate before speaking. “You can argue that fire is the weakest, but we cook with fire and that’s what allowed our society to thrive because we started to have less time devoted to farming.” 

Seungkwan and Mingyu’s jaws slightly drop from your point, while Wonwoo smiles. 

“We can technically live without fire,” Seungkwan says. “We can go back to farming and let the animals thrive.” 

“First of all, cold temperatures are a thing and fire provides warmth. Secondly, did you not hear me? Cooking gave us more time to further develop society, so, without it, we would figuratively and literally be unable to live.” 

“She’s got a point,” Wonwoo says. 

“Thank you.” 

Seungkwan’s mouth moves, but no words find their way out. 

“Wow, I left Boo Seungkwan speechless,” you say, as you begin to finish off your fries. “You’re welcome.” 

Mingyu looks on impressively. “Niceeee.” 

“That’s a very hard feat,” Wonwoo says. “I’ll give you points for that.” 

Seungkwan has suddenly regained interest from Wonwoo’s words. He leans his chin on his hand, moving uncomfortably closer to Wonwoo, who attempts to swat him away. “When did you two get along so well?” 

“We have class together,” you say with narrowed eyes. 

“And I sit right next to her,” Wonwoo adds. 

Mingyu smiles slyly. “Since when did that happen?” 

You miss the way he looks over to Seungkwan. Wonwoo blinks at the question and you suddenly have developed more interest towards the salt on the fries. 

“I feel like we shouldn’t be here,” Seungkwan says. 

“You invited me,” you say. “But okay.” 

“I know that,” he says with a huff. “But it just feels like a moment we shouldn’t be in.” 

You roll your eyes in response, but the smile on your face shows no malice. Wonwoo remains quiet—scratching his neck, feeling the heat creep up to his face. 

“So, are you dating yet?” Mingyu asks as he glances between you two. 

“Oh my God,” Wonwoo mutters. He lays his face onto the table with a thud and you almost choke from Mingyu’s directiveness. 

Mingyu goes on, ignoring both of your reactions. “You both like each other right? Well, at least, I know Wonwoo does.” 

“DUDE!” 

“Oops.” Mingyu’s lips pull back. He turns to Seungkwan. “Should we leave now?” 

“Please don’t,” Wonwoo whispers. 

Your jaw drops as you watch Seungkwan nod, smiling at you like nothing’s happened. Seungkwan and Mingyu side out of their side of the booth, but. before they leave, Mingyu drops one hand on each of your shoulders. “Don’t worry about the check. Consider it a present from your cupids.” 

“You owe me one, (Y/N)!” Seungkwan shouts from the door. They both head towards the door, giving both of you little waves with their fingers. 

Both you and Wonwoo sit in silence, not knowing what to say to the other. But, in all fairness, Wonwoo owes you the explanation. 

You swallow, suddenly feeling your throat dry up. “If it makes you feel better…” 

He looks up at you from the table. 

“I like you too.” 

A smile grows on his face and he starts to sit up slowly. “Really?” 

“What can I say?” Your smile mirrors his. “My subconscious chose you before I could.” 

He lets out a chuckle, readjusting his glasses and fiddling with his fingers, before settling them on the diner table. They’re free from the usual sweater paws and tap against the bright countertop. 

“Just to be clear,” he says. “You aren’t scared of me?” 

“Well, I was before,” you pause. “But that was before we even really talked or hung out. And now….” 

“What about now?” 

You blush, remembering the roses, the sparkling, the picnic—it all sounds so… nice. You couldn’t think of the words and Wonwoo could sense that. 

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.” 

A sigh of relief escapes you. “Maybe next time then.”

His smile grows. “So, there’s a next time?” 

You nod, feeling the butterflies in your stomach and your heart pounds in your chest. His hand moves towards you, closer and with caution—so yours meets his halfway. When your fingers intertwine, he looks from your hands to you with sparkling eyes and you can feel the warmth return to your chest. 

This. 

This is what feels right. 

[chyrstis]

WIP Saturday (so much for Friday)

Tagged by @shallow-gravy @raisinghellinotherworlds and @fadedjacket! You’re all way too kind (and also patient! <3), and here I am trying not to squeeze this in too late (never mind the fact that it’s Saturday and not even Wednesday)

Tagging: @writerofblocks @sharky-broshaw @amistrio @geronimo-11 @guileandgall @painterofhorizons @redroci @ma-sulevin @narcis-the-monk @teamhawkeye @finefeatheredgamer @fluttyseed @sneaky-apostate @hawkfurze @scarlettkat86 @strafethesesinners @risenlucifer @ofravensandgenesis @marymay-fairgrave @cclkestis and anyone else that’s interested! This is totally a free tag, and I’d love to see what you’re all working on.

Random aside, but I’d definitely post the new WIP I ended up writing earlier today courtesy of @writerofblocks providing some excellent inspiration, but...I think I’m going to hold onto that for later, b/c that might be a little too much spice to slip in here.

First off, a small moment from the Trap fic, which I’m still hoping to finalize most of the outline for soon! Just a friendly car chase, no big deal:

---

“Go, go, go!”

Her foot hit the gas, and they flew out after it, not wanting to give it a decent chance for a lead. The more time between them, the less of a shot they had to corral it.

It just sucked that of all of the vehicles they had to offer, the van ended up being their pick, because the space it had didn’t do shit to help its max speed.

Coming right up behind the tanker, Hana dug for the radio by her side and put a call through. “H to Shurky, we’re coming up on you two, so you’d better be ready to work your magic!”

“Ten-four on that, pretty lady! Oh, wait. Fuck! Wait, let me just-”

Some arguing filtered through, nothing she could suss out while barreling down the road mid-car chase, until Sharky’s voice came back over the line.

“Yeah, we got you covered, Dep! Got a whole lotta shit just ready to throw and-yo, I see you there!”

Gunfire echoed briefly before cutting off, all while a cold sweat settled on her brow.

Jesus. They weren’t supposed to hit trouble this soon. Did they know?

A bullet clipped the windshield, spidering the glass as she moved back, and she swore under her breath.

---

Next, how about a little more No-Cult AU? Part 2-ish of the paint saga, which I’d love to finish within the next week or so. *crosses fingers*:

---

Sharky switched to the earlier photos. Tilted his phone and studied them, and still couldn’t tell jack-shit.

Another image came through in the middle of this, this time of John’s hand holding up what looked to be two separate paint color cards. Both were the kind of red he seriously had no hope of telling apart, and as Sharky focused in on them, he caught two different names.

“…Heart what?” he muttered, reading no joke, Heartthrob as one of the colors.

the fuck man?

Not happy with either?

im over here digging holes covered in dirt n shit and ure asking me to tell u whats better Candy apple or fkin cherry

cant even tell if ones lighter n the other

Digging?

Taking a picture of where he was, Sharky sent it along, and John didn’t wait long to respond.

Ah, you’re busy. This is a bad time.

its ok Sharky replied, typing fast, just weird to ask

the hells the red for anyway? thought blue was your thng

The boathouse, remember? It was red.

It was?

Thinking back to that night, color didn’t even click for him. Shit, he’d barely had his own feet under him as he slipped into the place, and nearly pitched over the edge of the boat into the river. But after avoiding hitting his head, and losing his balance he’d fired it up and booked it.

Didn’t even stop to question anything, not even the keys left on the workbench nearby. Seriously, how did he end up being the first person to try this shit at all?

Raccoons, or hell, even a wolverine could’ve run off with them, and he didn’t know what was funnier, the idea of a wolverine trying to handle a boat, or John trying to work any of that lawyer mojo against something ready to claw his face off.

But thinking back to the boathouse, red kinda made sense. Well, judging from what he’d seen under the burnt and charred pieces he’d broken down and thrown to the side while taking it apart.

---

And finally, maybe some Sharky/Hana/John? John drops by their place earlier than anticipated on their calendar, which throws off their groove a bit, but he’s got a few reasons for it.

---

“Dude, it’s just past four. You check the clock at all ‘fore heading over?”

He hadn’t, admittedly. Just left his room as soon as possible without looking back, and frowned when Boshaw aimed a knowing smirk right at him. “Should I have?”

He shook his head as he plopped down onto a nearby chair. “Nah, it’s cool, man. Cool to see you, and cool to-“ he yawned, the rest of his answer swallowed up by it. “Cool to have you by and shit.”

Groping for his shoes, he pulled at the laces, loosening them enough to put them on, and rubbed at his eyes before lacing them up. Not saying anything else, he’d switched to humming something off-key, and try as he might, John couldn’t recognize a single note of it.

“Can’t really stick around long, ‘cause the first round of shifts are starting, but if you wanted to talk to H, she’ll be up in a bit. She can’t do early. Shit, I can’t do early, but you do what you gotta do, I guess.”

“It’s a small price to pay to keep things as they are.”

“Yeah, I guess. But you’re looking like you just sprang up, ready to fucking go”, Charlemagne groused. John raised an eyebrow at him, watching as he shook his head at him. “You even sleep?”

No. John said nothing, but just as he was considering it, Boshaw snorted.

“Nah, probably don’t much. Well, I’m out. Whoever’s supe this week’ll ride me if I’m late, so just lock up behind me.”

He jogged over to the bed, and dipped down towards the pile of blankets. There wasn’t much of Hana that either of them could see above what she’d wrapped around her, but once Charlemagne found her, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, tenderly brushing her hair back as he did.

Glancing away, John waited until he was back in front of him to make eye contact again.

[mybeautifulbeautifuleternal]

i couldn’t utter it, i couldn’t whisper it (my love for you was silent); iii

Chapter Three - Bad Luck This Family Has

rating: its a gen fic for The Umbrella Academy

words:3.8k

chapter:3/10

First / Previous

warnings: canon typical for tua

AO3

a/n: I blame @sam-writes​ for pretty much all of this!

Summary: In one world, the young teenager hid when she abruptly found herself pregnant and she gave birth in secret, left the baby on a random doorstep, and never looked back. Unfortunately, this isn’t that world. In this world, Reginald Hargreeves finds her and takes her baby. It doesn’t end well.

Vanya was heading home from practice — still riding the high she got from the successful run from today’s piece. She was crossing the street on her last leg of the journey when the window display from the bookstore caught her attention. It wasn’t the Umbrella Academy Comics - she had seen them all when they first came out — they weren’t all that special really.

No — what had caught her attention was the bright red typewriter sitting above them. It was an idea that had been brewing in her mind for a while — something her therapist had said to her.

And seeing it sit above the stories of her siblings — she decided she was going to do it. She was going to tell the world her story. She wanted to finally be heard.

*

Charlie was laughing at Zara, a common occurrence nowadays, when the bookstore caught her attention. She paused her walking, allowing Zara to outpace her for a moment before he doubled back.

Vanya’s young face stared back her from a hundred copies of a book — that she apparently wrote.

Charlie stepped inside the store and bought four — she’d drop off ones for her brothers before she went home for the evening to start reading her own.

*

Charlie ended up throwing the book across her apartment. How dare Vanya write that that that awful crap! She had dug deep into their childhood and had thrown every dirty little secret that the Academy had to the wolves.  

The only things that weren’t in her little book were the things that she didn’t know — mission statements and one on one conversations. But all the little tortures from their childhoods — the casual cruelties — were now being read by anyone who picked up a copy of her book.

All of the ways dad used to train them, the ways he’d set them up against each other, the way he was never actually proud of them regardless of the show he’d put on for the cameras…

But how was Vanya to know about any of that…she had never been included enough to know that dad was a massive dick, even to his supposed favorites.

The more that Charlie thought about it, the more she realized she couldn’t actually be mad at her sister. The Academy had almost 10 years of the spotlight but Vanya was always in the shadows. She had no way of actually knowing the damage she was doing.

It didn’t make anything she wrote any better but Charlie knew she’d reserve judgment till after she’d talk to her.

She owed it to her sister — even if they weren’t giving the same courtesy.

She just hoped she could talk some sense into her brothers — they weren’t going to like any of this.

*

Charlie woke up to the sun streaming across her face from her living room. She had stayed up late waiting for Five — she needed him to catch her up and his plan for the End. It seemed like she fell asleep on her couch waiting for him to come home. She wasn’t surprised — the couch was comfortable and she felt safe with the Green around her.

She stretched on the couch a little more and settled in. She didn’t feel like getting up right away. As she closed her eyes, she angled her body to get some more sunshine, allowing it to warm her to her bones. As she did, she smiled a little. It was a small joke from their childhood — that Charlie could be nourished by the sunlight like her plants were.

Mom had told her she just had poor circulation so she was always a little colder than her siblings. Charlie had solved that issue by staying in the sunshine whenever she could — and when her siblings found it funny, she leaned into it. It was just a small thing but it made her siblings happy. She’d do anything to make them happy.

Eventually, she gave a deep sigh and heaved herself from her spot. She knew she would have a busy day and needed to get a start on it. As she was getting her breakfast ready for the day, she frowned out the window - she didn’t think it was supposed to rain today but the weather forecast had been wrong all week.

As she locked up her apartment, she went down to the main floor to gather some food. If she knew Five at all, he would be running on almost empty and while dad had prepared them to fight in sub-optimal conditions like that — he was now dead and couldn’t control them anymore. She went into the back room and grabbed a backpack from her Homeless Bags, shoving some children’s clothes for Five. She’d never tell him that they came from the kids’ section of the store but they’d be the only ones that would fit.

It was completely ridiculous that he was still running around in the Academy uniforms. Charlie knew that only Luther still kept his — the rest had destroyed them on their way out the door.

She brought the bag back out to the Tree and filled up the empty space with baggies of nuts and some loose apples and carrots. They were Five’s favorite when they were kids and she hoped he hadn’t changed enough that he wouldn’t eat them now.

Finally packed with everything she thought she’d need for a day of dealing with Hargreeves Family Bullshit, Charlie left the Flower Shop to track down Five.

*

Allison was frowning down at her plate. After her discovery the night before, she and Luther spent most of the night going over the tape again and again and again. She was tired of trying to find ways to either blame Mom for what happened to Dad or to absolve her of her actions.

They had left the security room to find Mom, trying to get some answers about that night.

And Mom couldn’t give them any of the answers they needed. Instead, she was more focused on making them so breakfast - which looked delicious.

“We need a family meeting. We need to decide what to do with Grace.” Luther interrupted her thoughts.

“With Mom.”

Luther sighed but agreed, “with Mom.”

“Well, you can collect our brothers and I’ll gather our sisters.”

“Why do you get the easy job?” Luther was almost whining and Allison didn’t blame him but no way was she going to try to track down their brothers if had a different option.

He shut up quickly at her look.

“I guess I’ll be looking for our brothers. Any suggestions on where to start?”

“Well Five did stay here last night and I think Klaus might have as well. So 2 out of 3?”

He just sighed again. She laughed at him but didn’t offer to go after them herself. She was going to enjoy the time she had with her sisters this morning —  much less annoying.

*

“Do you seriously still not understand the chain of custody? If you touch it, I can’t use it.”

Diego smiled to himself just the smallest bit. As much as he loved helping people, Eudora made his day so much better whenever she appeared — even if it was only to yell at him.

The smile fell off his lips at the sight of the bullet though — that particular kind was manufactured in the 1960s so he was confused why it was in a recent shootout in 2019.

He lifted his hands to show off the gloves he carries with him — Diego didn’t like the Police Academy, but he remembered much of the policies and procedures they had drilled into his head. And he made sure to follow them whenever he was working closely with the police. He didn’t want to ruin Eudora’s career as much as he believed she’d like it so much more doing it his way.

“Let me save you some time running ballistics. These nine-millimeters haven’t been manufactured since 19-”

“1963. Odd, I know. Matching casings were found at a murder scene last night. Ishmael’s Towing.”

Diego followed Eudora as she started to move away from the crime scene, focusing on what she was saying.

“The driver?”

“Found him hanging from the ceiling. Looks like he must have known something after all.”

“It’s a shame nobody told you to go talk to him,” Diego tried not to brag too much but it was hard not to sometimes. He knew that the driver would have important information and he had told her as such — if only they would listen to him occasionally. He smirked at Eudora’s look of irritation.

“In the span of 24 hours, I’ve had attacks in three different places across town. Whatever this is, whoever this is, they’re not slowing down. So, if you really give a shit and you’ve got any fresh ideas, I’m all ears.”

Diego had to give her a fond look at that. He loved her for her heart. She adored the city so much she’d ask him for help — even if he didn’t follow the rules.

“The guy’s kid, in the doughnut shop?”

“I’ve got units tracking the extended family in case anyone goes after him.”

“Well, this place must have surveillance footage.”

“No, it doesn’t exist. The first unit on the scene clocked two shooters fleeing the premises, wearing, get this creepy kids’ masks.” Eudora sounded completely done with the case.

Diego gave a deep sigh. He didn’t know when the city decided to go completely crazy but he was worried. He wondered how much extra time it would take if he added Charlie’s shop and Vanya’s apartment to his route. The rest of his siblings were staying at the Mansion and were protected there but not his sisters. He absentmindedly decided to do a daytime run of the path as he answered Eudora’s non-question.

“This city is really going to shit, huh?”

*

Five grimaced as he ran the needle through his arm. He couldn’t believe that he let those two get the jump on him like that. He really was getting old if Hazel and Cha-Cha got the better of him. And of course, the only band-aids that were in the house had childish trains on them. Trains! Of all things.

6 more days then he’d be dead or drunk.

He wiped the blood off his wound, dressed once more in the awful Academy uniform, finished packing his back, and opened his window. Normally he’d either Jump or take the front door, but he needed to conserve his energy and that meant no Jumping or aggravating talks with his siblings. He just knew that they’d have a load of stupid questions for him that he didn’t have the time to answer them.

Of course, it was his luck that Klaus was dumps- dumpster diving?!? Why was this his life and why did he want to come back and save his siblings again?

A flash of Luther’s hand outstretched to pull him up; the glint of Diego’s knives killing the men attacking him; the feeling of Allison holding him up when his repeating Jumps left him weak; Klaus’ babbling a comforting background noise; he and Ben curled up in the library together; the flicker of Vanya’s uncertain smile; the sight of raspberries growing up between his bed and the wall when Dad was being stingy with the food as a lesson.

He sighed deeply. He could try lying to himself all that he wanted to but of course, he was going come back for them. They were the only things that kept him going all those years.

He ignored that thought — again — and proceeded to ignore Klaus’ inane muttering as well. Five didn’t have time for him right now.

“I’d ask what you’re up to, Klaus, but then it occurred to me…I don’t care.”

“Hey!” Klaus laughed as he moved to the edge of his dumpster, “you know there are easier ways out of the house buddy?”

“This one involved the least amount of talking. Or so I thought.”

“Hey, hey, hey, so…You need any more company today? I could, uh…clear my schedule.”

“Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

“Oh, this? No, no. I can do this whenever. I’m just-”

Five rolled his eyes when Klaus slipped and fell back into the trash.

“I just misplaced something. That’s all,” Klaus’ voice echoed out from the dumpster. “Oh! Found it! Thank God!”

Five grimaced slightly as he watched Klaus take a bite of a half-eaten bagel. He was completely certain that that bagel wasn’t Klaus’. He couldn’t say too much, however. He’d eaten much worse in the apocalypse.

He had saved Charlie’s food for as long as he could — her fruits and vegetables always lasted longer than normal — but eventually, he finished them and had to struggle to find food.

Now, though? Klaus had the option to not eat that but decided to do so anyway.

“Delicious.”

“I’m done funding your drug habit.”

With that, he turned and walked away. He didn’t need Klaus for what he had planned for today and he knew that Klaus had the singular habit of extending conversations to longer then they needed to be.

As he walked down the alley, he spotted a large van parked at the end. That was exactly what he needed.

He thought about picking Charlie up as he started the engine and made his way out of the alley — he wanted some intelligent conversation and maybe a second set of eyes.

*

Klaus ignored Ben’s judgmental stare boring a hole in the side of his head as he spat out the bite of bagel he’d taken. He’d had enough of that through the years that it was second nature.

What wasn’t second nature was ignoring the peach growing into existence right in front of him.

He beamed though! Only one person could do that and right now she was his favorite sibling. He turned and spotted her coming down the alley from the opposite direction cranky Five had left in.

“Schwester! Beloved Charlie, you’ve blessed me with a delicious peach but do you think I could get some apples as well? I’ve been having the craziest cravings for them lately and-”

His sentence was cut off when Charlie, the darling dear, grew some apples and shoved one in his mouth. He just took a bite from it, chewed, and swallowed. He may not have been the smartest of the bunch but he knew better than to anger Charlie girl. He remembered Spring of ‘03. Plus he wasn’t going to waste an apple. He hadn’t been lying when he said he was really craving one. He packed up all the newly grown fruit and stored it away in his various pockets. He wasn’t going to waste any of the food that she grew — she had a talent for it, after all the practice she had when they were young.

As he was chewing, he flapped his ‘hello’ hand at her and felt warm when she repeated the gesture.

“As much as I love you dear schwester, I can probably guess you’re looking for snarky little Five?”

When she nodded, Ben’s comment of “why isn’t she actually talking? I haven’t heard a word from her yet,” was only barely heard as he gave Charlie directions on where their smallest brother left to.

When she left to follow Five, she first leaned over and gave him a faint kiss on the cheek.

What a treasure she was. He finished up the apple and turned to continue his dumpster dive.

He had to find that stupid book.

*

Five made it to the end of the next block before the passenger side door was opened and a bag was tossed at him. He had spotted Charlie’s distinctive hair when he glanced right earlier so he was too worried about what was in the bag but he still winced a little when it hit him. He reached into the bag as he made a right turn and laughed a little when he grabbed an apple. He shot Charlie a glance and a small smile, which she returned before he focused again on the road. He wasn’t going to try having a conversation with her until he could give her his full attention.

As he pulled up across from Meritech, he sat back a little in his seat and fully opened up the backpack. It was stuffed full of easy to eat food that Charlie had Grown for him as well as a change of clothing in his size.

“Trying to tell me something?”

Just that you look like an idiot roaming about in that stupid Academy uniform.

“Well tell me what you really think, then.”

Tell me what to watch for and go change in the back.

He made sure she could see him roll his eyes but started to tell her about Meritech and everything he had managed to find out about it yesterday. He was startled when he heard a croaking sound come from the front seat. His head popped out of the pullover and glanced at his sister. She was laughing. Huh. He finished changing, glad to be out of the uniform, ignoring the warm feeling that was growing in his chest.

They spent a couple of minutes catching each other up on what happened since he left her at the Academy when he left with Klaus before Charlie shifted to look fully at him. He gave her his attention and waited for what she had to say.

I’m gonna head home. There’s a couple of paperwork things that popped up yesterday that I need to deal with, then I might make my way back here or to the Academy. I have a feeling that the house is going to be the center for everything this week. Make sure you eat everything I packed for you, ok?

“You know I’m older than you right? Like decades older than you?”

Like that’s gonna stop me.

She reached over and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze that he reciprocated before she left the van.

Five watched her walk away for a while before he once again focused on his mission. He would only admit it to himself but damn was he glad to be home.

*

Vanya didn’t really know what she was doing here — visiting Leonard at his store. Being with Leonard at all really. But as she gazed around at all the beautiful wood carvings, she gave a slight smile. They really were gorgeous. She took a closer look at the smaller figurines he had placed on the shelves.

One of them took her back to her childhood. It was a small bench with some flowers placed at the base of it — it was nothing too special but it reminded her strongly of some of the happiest days she could remember.

Charlie was always found outside, whenever she had the chance. Mom had even joked sometimes that Charlie was more plant-like then they thought — that she could gain her energy from the sun in the same way her beloved plants could. The seven of them laughed at that a little but it was true. She was at her happiest when she was outside surrounded by the Green she grew and the sun that nourished them.

The one memory Vanya was thinking of though — it was all of them outside. They were probably thirteen years old and Dad was away on a business trip — he’d even taken Pogo with him so it was just the eight kids and Mom. They had free run of the house and light schooling, no training to speak of. That particular day, Vanya remembered, it was blue skies and sunshine. It was special because the rest of the week it had been pouring buckets — they had been stuck inside and left to entertain themselves with what they could find in the various corners and cracks that the mansion had. But that day; the sun was shining, the breeze was blowing, and the birds were singing. Mom had let them sleep in and had agreed to allow them to eat outside for both lunch and dinner.

And during the afternoon, Charlie had Grown the most beautiful garden the rest of them had ever seen. There were flowers bigger than her head with colors she didn’t think possible. And the smells! Oh, every next step brought a new smell and they were all glorious. Charlie had Grown the various flowers into amazing shapes and structures but Vanya’s favorite were the benches found right in the middle of the garden. Created from some sort of vines and trees, there were four of them big enough for three people each. Charlie had also grown their favorite fruits and veggies, even branching into nuts, all over the backs of the benches so they could snack as much as they wanted too.

As much as Mom loved them, she had a strict order to not feed them too much. But with Dad and Pogo gone, Mom had taken to turning the other way so she never saw it when Charlie Grew them more and more treats to eat.

The eight of them had laughed and played and joked with each other all day, showing off their powers — they’d even convinced her to bring down her violin to play for them. Vanya knew she wasn’t very good yet, not at that age and only having been playing for a couple of months but when she played that afternoon…she was on top of the world. It was the best concert she’d ever given and she didn’t think she’d ever be able to top it.

They had fallen asleep outside that night, under the stars with blankets made of grass, curled up together.

It was one of Vanya’s most cherished memories — she didn’t even place it in her book; she didn’t want anybody to be able to ruin it.

And one little wood carving managed to bring back that sense of happiness and contentedness that had been missing from her life — only weeks later Five disappeared and the home felt a little more like a house.

She left Leonard’s shop that day with the little violin player and the garden bench.

[scarlct-vvitch]

fic where peter falls in love with wade and Deadpool but doesn’t know they’re the same and feels super guilty because he’s dating both and wade (and Deadpool) are totally oblivious and then when peter finds out they’re the same he just freakin hates himself a lil bit lol

this was sent to me at least a year ago. i am. going to hell.

“So,” MJ begins, sliding into the seat across from Peter and handing him his coffee, “how are things going with your boyfriends?”

Peter glares. “They’re not boyfriends, MJ. I just–happen to be dating two people at the same time.”

MJ gives him a look.

Peter does his best to look innocent as he sips his coffee.

“It’s been what, almost two months? At some point you’re crossing a moral line.”

“I know, I know. I think I hit the wrong side of morality the first time I agreed to go out on a date as Spider-Man.”

“With Deadpool.” MJ points out.

“With Deadpool,” Peter agrees. “And Spider-Man really, really likes Deadpool. But at the same time, Peter really, really likes Wade. And now I don’t know what to do.”

“What you have to do is pick one, Peter. You know that.”

Peter sighs. He knows. He never meant to date two people at the same time–after all, he never expected to like Deadpool as much as he does–but now that it’s happened, he’s let it go on too long. He has to pick one of them, which is far less simple than it sounds. He likes Deadpool’s honesty, his humor, and the natural chemistry they seem to have when they work together, but at the same time, he likes Wade’s brains, his kindness, his quirks. He could see himself being happy with both of them.

Which makes this really hard.

He takes another sip of his coffee. “Yeah, MJ. I know.”

——————————————————

“Hey, Deadpool?” Spider-Man asks a little cautiously. They’re perched on a rooftop, Deadpool sitting close enough that their thighs touch. His leg is warm.

Deadpool looks over at him. “Hm?”

Even through his mask–which Spider-Man has never seen him without–he looks hopeful and honest, and Spider-Man wants to throw himself off the roof.

He’s been thinking about this all night, and he figures Deadpool would prefer if he just rips off the band-aid. 

“I’ve been seeing someone else,” he spits out too fast, and if it was anyone but Deadpool, he would have had to repeat himself.

Deadpool blinks, looks at him for a moment, then just says, “Oh.”

“I–I should have told you earlier, and I’m so sorry, Deadpool, I–”

“I’m seeing someone else, too,” Deadpool cuts him off.

Spider-Man blinks. “You are?”

Deadpool nods. “I was actually gonna tell you soon, too. I’ve–kinda been seeing someone else for most of the time I’ve been seeing you,” he admits, looking down at his lap.

“Me too,” Spider-Man says, looking out over the city. It feels like an enormous weight is off his shoulders. He turns to Deadpool and holds out a hand. “Friends?”

Deadpool smiles and takes it. “It would be a fuckin’ shame to break up Team Red!”

Spider-Man rolls his eyes. “I still never agreed to that name.”

“You’ll grow to love it,” Deadpool grins.

Spider-Man groans and lightly shoves him.

“Speaking of love,” Deadpool waggles his eyebrows, “Tell me about your side piece!”

Spider-Man shoves him again. “Only if you tell me about your side piece, asshole.”

Deadpool considers, then nods.

Spider-Man thinks for a moment, then looks back at Deadpool. “His name is Wade, and I’m not giving you a last name or you’ll stalk him,” he starts.

Deadpool gives him a funky look, but gestures for him to continue.

“He’s a little older than me, he used to be in the military, and you both have a strong, strong love of terrible Mexican food,” Spider-Man finishes, leaving out the part about the scars because he figures it’s not his place to say anything.

Deadpool’s expression is hard to read, but Spider-Man can tell it’s not normal. He almost wants to squirm a little bit under his gaze.

About fifteen seconds pass before Spider-Man can’t take it anymore. “Your turn,” he says, and Deadpool almost seems to snap out of it.

Deadpool thinks about it for a long minute, and Spider-Man thinks he might back out. He’s always been a little touchy about important personal information, so it wouldn’t be all that surprising.

“His name is Peter,” Deadpool starts.

Spider-Man blinks. Funny coincidence. 

“He’s a photographer for a newspaper.”

Spider-Man blinks again. Okay, weirder coincidence. 

“He likes old movies and every other week he goes to his aunt’s house to watch one with her. It’s cute,” Deadpool finishes, and he still has that weird look on his face.

Spider-Man figures the look on his face is pretty weird, too.

Because Deadpool just described him. Down to his biweekly movie nights with Aunt May. That he’d told Wade about two days ago.

Deadpool and Spider-Man stare at each other for a very, very long time in silence. 

In general, Spider-Man avoids texting or calling other people around Deadpool, for courtesy and privacy both, but after about two minutes of awkward silence, he reaches and pulls his phone out of his pocket. Deadpool watches him.

He tilts it so Deadpool can’t easily see what he’s doing, and he calls Wade.

Five seconds pass.

Deadpool’s phone starts to ring.

Spider-Man almost drops his phone as he springs to his feet. “Oh my god!”

Deadpool stands up with him, albeit a little slower. “There’s no fuckin’ way,” he says softly.

“You’re–you’re Wade!” Spider-Man says, and he can’t fucking believe it. “Oh my god, how did I not notice? How did I not notice?” he shouts, mostly to himself at the end. At this point, he’s pacing in a circle with his hands on his head. He probably looks like a crazy person.

“You wouldn’t notice if I taped my license to my suit, Spidey. The real problem here is how the fuck I didn’t notice. I’m a super spy!”

“You are not a super spy,” Spider-Man says immediately.

“Am too,” Deadpool–Wade?–retorts. “Or, I was, before I was dating two people who are the same fucking person and I managed to not notice.”

“So you…you really are Wade?” Spider-Man asked cautiously, since technically they hadn’t confirmed it.

Deadpool, after a moment, nods. “And you’re Peter. Holy shit.”

Spider-Man nods. After a moment, Deadpool suddenly starts to laugh. He starts laughing harder and harder until Spider-Man is sure someone down on the street could hear him.

“Dude, what?”

“You tried,” Deadpool struggles to speak, “to break up with me so that you could keep dating me.”

It is kind of funny. Spider-Man chuckles. “You were going to do the same thing.”

“I totally was,” Deadpool agrees, “but you did it first.”

Spider-Man rolls his eyes. “Just wait ‘til I tell MJ about this. She’s never gonna let me live it down.”

“Oh, I won’t, either. Can I be there?” he asks.

It’s still a little bizarre to hear Deadpool talk about MJ. It feels like his worlds are colliding. Deadpool is Wade. Wade is Deadpool. 

“Can you take your mask off?” Spider-Man asks instead of answering.

Deadpool tilts his head, considering, but after a moment, he reaches up and pulls it off.

It’s, admittedly, jarring to see Wade’s scarred face in Deadpool’s suit. But at the same time, it makes so much sense. Wade’s athleticism, complete disregard for his general safety, the way he always seems to know everything about everything around him–that’s all Deadpool.

But the uncertainty in his eyes, the way his scratches over his head nervously, that’s all Wade.

Spider-Man walks over and puts his hands on the sides of Wade’s face. “Holy shit.”

Wade laughs softly, then brings his hands up to the edge of Spider-Man’s mask. He pauses for a moment, until Peter nods, then he gently pulls it off.

“I knew you were hot as fuck under the mask. I fuckin’ knew it,” he mutters.

Peter rolls his eyes. “Sure you did. Just like you knew you were dating the same person twice.”

Wade laughs, then leans in and kisses him softly on the mouth. Peter smiles and leans into it, and it’s bizarre and sweet and perfect. When they pull back, Wade is looking at him with a goofy grin.

“Yes, you can come with me to tell MJ. It’s about time you met her anyway,” Peter admits. “How does tomorrow sound?”

“Perfect,” Wade grins impossibly wider, then leans in to kiss him again.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Happy Together : 3

Admiration

Character(s): (deceptively) dark!Steve

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. It goes without (and with) saying that this is 18+.

Series Synopsis: The reader is stood up while awaiting a blind date, instead finding herself keeping company with the restaurant’s famous owner; Steve Rogers. After that night, she tries to forget her humiliation but she just can’t shake one thing about that night: him.

Chapter Summary: The reader gets a surprise.

Notes: Okay, so I’m in a bit of a limbo trying to decide what to focus on now that Witness is all done (except for posting). I’m also working on raffle winners. Hopefully, when I hit 1000 followers and get some stuff sorted, I can open real requests (although I might do it for a short window as I’d hate to let people down), but that’s for the future.

This series is gonna get weird in a bit. Like, I mean dark!Steve is a beast but this version, well let me personally apologize to Marvel and Chris Evans for what I have done.

Thanks to everyone who reads and as always, I looked forward to hearing from you in the replies/reblogs/tags/asks. <3

After purchasing his copy of Inferno, Steve typed on his phone swiftly and tucked it back in the inside pocket of his jacket. You paid for your magazines and shielded them beneath your wool coat as you braced yourself for a brief dash through the rain. He opened the door with another ring of the bell and directed you out ahead of him, pausing just beside you under the awning. A silver car pulled up, the same you had seen that day at the park, and Steve's hand gently nudged your arm, urging you towards the car.

He stepped ahead of you and briskly opened the door, waving you within and you ducked into the vehicle, eager to be out of the shower of cool spring drops. Your hair was half-soaked from only seconds in the downpour and your wet ponytail clung to the collar of your jacket. Steve sidled in next to you as you moved across the leather seat, fumbling your magazines as you settled against the opposite door. A dark screen separated the backseat from the front, the driver still a faceless steering wheel.

“Whew,” Steve pushed back the hair which had fallen forward in the rush, “It's almost refreshing after the winter we had.”

“Yeah,” You agreed flatly, embracing the magazines as you kept your eyes forward.  Even as you pressed yourself to the door, he felt entirely too close. “Thanks for the ride.”

“No problem, but we better tell Deni where to go.” He tapped on the black screen with two knuckles and it jolted down slightly, enough for sound to pass through. “Your address?”

“Um,” You hesitated to say. You hadn't really thought this out. Steve had been nice but he was a complete stranger. A stranger you had managed to run into several times in a city so big you never saw the same face twice. It was too late to go back, you resigned as you looked out at the rainy pavement. “It's ------.”

“You haven't stopped by the restaurant yet,” He remarked, his arm stretching across the seat as it had done on the park bench.

“Sorry, I've been working. I've got a quite a few commissions.” You laid the magazines flat on your lap, nervously resting your palm on the top cover.

“Well whenever you find a chance, the meal’s on me,” He smiled. “And the wine.”

“I can't do that. Really, I'll come, but I can pay for myself.” You already felt as if you had accepted far too much and with every favour, you felt more of an obligation to the man. You didn't like that feeling. You had worked for two years to become your own person, you weren't going to toss it away over a five-star dinner.

“I'm sorry your date never showed up,” He said plaintively, “He missed out.”

You winced and cleared your throat. Even he knew you had been stood up. “He had an emergency and well it just didn't work out anyways. He's not really my type.”

“You have a type?” He smirked and you suddenly felt as if oxygen was foreign to your body. A martian trapped on a planet not your own. He was looking to you expectantly as you tried to muster words and answer.

“Well, I don't know. I guess we just didn't, um, mesh,” Your fingers tapped nervously on the magazines. Tension rose between you, the warmth of his arm across the seat seeped around you.

“Hey, I keep forgetting to ask. You got a business card? I've been thinking of a rebrand for Spice next year. In this business, you gotta keep on top of trends,” He spoke casually but there was conspiracy in his tone. “Maybe you can send me some pricing and stuff.”

“Uh, maybe,” You cursed your own savviness at keeping cards on your at all times. He already knew your address, did he need everything else? You could feign not having one but you were sure he'd find a way to get your info. You flicked out a card and held it out to him. He took it and read the small font, running his index along the edge. A glimmer of victory shone in his eyes.

The car came to a stop and you looked over as it pulled into your lot. Thank God. “Um, this is me.” You squeaked, thankful for the out. “I appreciate the ride.”

“Anytime,” He slowly lowered his arm back to his side as you opened the door and climbed out.

You looked back briefly as he said goodbye, the rain having slowed to tolerable. His eyes devoured your every move, clinging to you until the door shut. You swirled around to hide the bob in your throat as you tried to swallow your discomfort. It had to be all in your head, right? Your past just made you distrustful; cautious. You walked up to your building and into the lobby. You glanced over and the silver car remained on the street. You unlocked the main door and let yourself in, happy for the protection of the self-locking entrance. The car didn’t move was even as you stepped onto the elevator, its silver body visible just through the front doors. Even as the doors closed, you could still the vehicle looming like a phantom; watching, waiting.

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

A couple days and nothing unusual happened. You spent Tuesday morning at your desk. By four, you were content with all you had done and finished up your emails. You had managed to convince yourself that you had been reading the situation too closely. Not a peep or sight of Steve. You realized now he must have asked for your card as a courtesy, his offer of a free meal extended without expectation of fulfillment. You felt even more the fool for thinking it had been more than chance. You were still the antsy woman who had been stood up at the hippest joint in the city.

As the weather grew nicer you tried to get out more. The winter had been long and frigid, many of your nights spent wrapped in a throw as you hunched over your tablet. You wanted to enjoy the sunshine before it got too humid to breathe. You threw on a zip-up hoodie and grabbed your purse, ambling down the stairs with your headphones snug over your ears. You turned on some dreamy Hozier melodies and disappeared into the endless stream of pedestrians on  the New York streets.

You took your usual route, the noise of traffic muted by your music and you turned into the park, heading along the benches as the smell of pollen filled your nose. The tulips were start to open up and the trees had full branches as the leaves had returned in lush prestige. You turned down the path that led to the sanctuary where the municipal council was trying to preserve a piece of nature in the urban jungle.

There were small checkpoints along the path, a bench and the occasional picnic table to rest or sit and take in the rare palatial scene. You sat on the bench and watch a squirrel climb the winding branches, leaping bravely from one to the next. You smiled as you enjoyed the moment of peace, the rhythm lifting you up as you leaned back and stared at the clouds through the leaves. You should have brought a sketchbook you bemoaned to yourself. Well, maybe next time.

You sat until the day began to dim to evening and you stretched before setting off the way you had. You stopped at the first curve of the trail, your eye caught by an unusual rustle of a bush. Your heart caught but you found it to be nothing more than a breeze. You chuckled to yourself and carried on. That path was empty as the night loomed. You could see the edge of the park just ahead and you relaxed just a little.

You took out your phone to restart the song and were suddenly pulled off-balance. A thick arm wrapped around your middle and pulled you into the thicket, turning you and pushing you against a large oak. You tried to shove yourself away and break free from between the tree and your accoster but they were too strong. 

You clawed at the thick forearm and another hand came up, the edge if your vision catch the hem of white rag. The smell that hit you was sickening as you were smothered and you tried not to inhale but your only alternative was to suffocate. Your head turned woozy and your vision blurred, your body falling limp as the black swallowed you up.

****

tags: @ruff-m3rc @alexakeyloveloki @lanabanana-86 @sathlens @jessieray98 @kellyn1604 @ahideousthinginside @ironlady1993 @kloe-iel @grayxswan @iheartsebastianstan @myboyfriendgiriboy @tanelle83 @patzammit @phoenix21love @they-call-me-le @iheartsebastianstan @spaghettirogers @buckycaptspideypool @bethanyzed @meaganottiz02 @patzammit @breezy1415 @beautiful-and-strange @momc95

[jjkfire]

me: bro don’t do it. don’t start another fic that you won’t finish. ok but imagine e2l jungkook

(don’t click if u hate unfinished fics)

jungkook // enemies to lovers // 3k words

With the rain pouring down outside, you hum delightedly as you bite into your juicy chicken sandwich that you had lathered in honey mustard. Sure, it wasn’t particularly healthy, but you could care less about that, especially when it’s 9 pm and you had just gotten off work. Not to mention the fact that you’re completely drenched seeing as you had forgotten to look at the weather app, again. At this point, you could care less. To be quite honest, you’ve become numb to everything. You guess that’s just what being another cog in the capitalist machine does to you.

It’s been over a year since you moved to the big city for a job. At the start you were a bright-eyed college graduate, ready to take on the world. Now, you’re just a shell of a human being, and one of the only things that can bring you joy is the very chicken sandwich you’re feasting on.

You like this place at this time of the night. It’s not as busy, just the soft chatter of some of the customers or rather the collective munching of all the other people who just got off work, feeling and looking exactly like you. The standing bar by the window is where all the tired, beaten down employees find solace with earphones plugged in and glazed over eyes looking out into the streets ahead. That’s your routine and just like any other night, you’re doing the same. Slowly chewing, as your mind drifts off somewhere, the music playing in your ears barely registering.

Tap.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You see a semblance of a figure standing in front of you on the other side of the window pane, but you’ve encountered enough oddballs in all your trips to this store that you’ve learnt to ignore anyone that stands in front of the window. Most times, it’s some crazy guy, going on some rant, expecting you to care. Your eyes only refocus when the person next to you taps you on the shoulder and directs your attention to the man waving wildly in front of you. You squint, trying to make out the person’s face through the rain, but by then the person has moved on, disappeared. You only shrug at the person who tapped your shoulder, turning your attention back to your sandwich instead.

“Y/N?”

It’s soft, but you think you hear someone calling your name over the music.

“Y/N!”

You pull out your earphones, head whipping around just to make sure you weren’t going crazy and oh god, when your eyes meet his, you sure hope this is just a fever dream.

“Christ, it’s like you’re on a different planet. I’ve never had to work so hard to get someone’s attention before,” The boy in front of you says as he wipes his rain-soaked face with a paper napkin.

“Jungkook?” You mumble, confused, staring at him with your mouth hanging half opened. What was he doing here and more importantly what was he doing here talking to you?

“Yes, sweetheart,” He smiles. “Keep looking at me like that and I might get the wrong idea,” He smirks.

God, he hasn’t changed at all.

“How is it possible that every time I see you, your ego is just 5 times the size it was before?” You question. “How do you manage to find space to keep it in that tiny brain of yours?”

“Easy,” He grins. “I store it in a bigger organ,” He directs your attention simply with his eyes, looking down towards his nether region.

You swear you almost throw up in your mouth. You simply shake your head at him, placing your earphones back in your ears before you turn towards what mattered the most. Your chicken sandwich.

“Oh come on,” Jungkook chuckles, yanking your earphones out. You absolutely hated it when people do that. “That’s no way to treat an old friend. Why the cold shoulder?”

“In what universe were we ever friends?” You ask. “Acquaintances maybe, but never friends.”

“Ah, that hurt,” He groans, clutching his chest. “You mean you don’t consider all the times I chased you around school with worms in my hands, quality time with a friend?”

“No,” You answer, with a curt smile. “And just in case you’re wondering, activities such as yanking my hair, putting tadpoles in my water and double knotting my shoelaces together under the table are also other events I don’t consider quality time with a friend.”

“Shame,” The boy pouts. “I really thought we were the best of friends.”

You roll your eyes at him, though a hint of a smile shows.

Jungkook, truly and genuinely is nothing more than an acquaintance… even if, both your parents wish otherwise. See, the two of you attended the same primary school and that’s how your mother had met his. After yet another torturous day at school with Jungkook attempting to put a live frog in your bag, you had ran up to your mother in tears. She assured you that she was going to have a stern talk with this Jungkook boy. She stepped up, ready to give the boy a piece of her mind when Jungkook’s mother stormed right up, ready to fight. It was hostile at first but soon enough the mothers were laughing together. Wait. This wasn’t what you wanted. After a lengthy chat, one that basically had both you and Jungkook ready to take a nap right on the bench the two of you had been sitting on, you heard your mother making plans to have tea with his mother one day. Hold on. You definitely didn’t want that. Yet, it happened. Jungkook never got reprimanded for trying to put a live frog in your bag and as your mother became friends with his mother, and later, best friends, Jungkook would soon earn a pass to play whatever heinous prank he wanted on you. Oh, but that meant so did you and so began the war between you and Jungkook.

Though you’ll agree that you weren’t quite as creative as Jungkook when it came to coming up with disgusting pranks, you could hurt him in different ways. See, Jungkook wasn’t the most studious kid and he was abysmal at math. You’ve seen him try to hide his report card many times, yet somehow or the rather, courtesy of you, it would end up straight in his mother’s hands. Oh, you still remember the way he would look at you. If looks could kill, you would’ve been dead and buried 50 times over. In any case, whatever amount of nagging Jungkook got wasn’t your problem. If he wanted it to stop, he should spend less time collecting tadpoles and more time studying.

Your war with Jungkook continued on until you were 12. By then, you had many battle scars. You’ve had gum stuck in your hair, had your shoes dipped in sewage water, your textbook put up onto the ceiling fan, among many other seemingly ‘harmless’ pranks that your mother would shrug off. If you had to go on living like this, there’s no telling what you would do to the boy. Luckily, as the year came to a close, and all the students got their results from the national test, you receive the best news you’ve ever heard. You had almost leaped with joy when Jungkook’s mother told you which school was bound for, it was the one just a few streets away, while you, you had gotten into a private school in the neighbouring district considering that you had passed the test with flying colours.

So began the ceasefire between you and Jungkook, or so you thought.

Granted, life was better now that you didn’t see Jungkook every day but that didn’t mean he was out of your life forever. Perhaps, you thought now that you and Jungkook were at different schools, your mothers wouldn’t be close considering they didn’t get to catchup every time they picked the both of you up from school. Oh, how wrong you were. Not only did your mothers stay friends, but soon enough, your fathers became golfing buddies too. Great. Just wonderful.

The worst part about having your fathers become golfing buddies was the fact that they would have these huge get togethers with all the other golfers and their families. They were quarterly events and though the adults had great fun with their booze and chit-chat, it was almost always awkward for the kids. All the kids would be lumped together in multiple ‘kids tables’ and everyone would just sit and stare at each other, trying to make small talk. Though you hated it, the food was almost always amazing and even if you had to be seated next to Jungkook, you didn’t mind because that meant his brother was never too far away.

You’ve had a crush on his brother, Junghoon, for as long as you can remember. Sure, he was four years older but he was everything Jungkook wasn’t. He was nice, sweet and best of all, he never tried putting tadpoles into your drink, or sticking gum in your hair. In fact, you think he’s the only one that listens to you and tells Jungkook off for misbehaving. He was an angel, your saving grace, the boy you would forever be in love with. Jungkook tells you that you’re wasting your time, that his brother has been dating the same girl since he was 11 and he was 17 now. Just because there’s a goalkeeper in front of a goal, doesn’t mean you couldn’t score, you would remind him.

So, that’s how those quarterly dinners went. You dreamily conversing with his older brother while Jungkook made his moves on all the girls in the room. That is, until Junghoon started bringing his girlfriend to the events. Now, you had to sit there and watch them act all lovey-dovey while you were stuck next to Jungkook. Wonderful. Of course, it was of no help that puberty seemed to hit Jungkook like a train. He went from looking lanky and shabby to… hot. As much as you hated the boy, you couldn’t deny that he was plain attractive. If anything, the girls at the dinners, constantly trying to talk and flirt with him was a glaring reminder of how good looking he’d become. It wasn’t like you were staring but he had a well-built chest, solid thighs and of course his face that bordered between cute and straight up sultry depending on how he styled his hair. Towards the later years, he started leaning away from his favourite bowl cut, which meant it started getting harder to pretend that you most definitely thought he was handsome and if he wasn’t the Jungkook that you knew, you’d be like any one of the other girls trying to strike up a conversation with him.

Despite it all, you still looked forward to the dinners because of the delicious food, and perhaps also because you and Jungkook would sneak towards the table at the back where the bottles of wine and hard liquor were placed, often stealing a sip or two when no one was looking. As the years went by, the two of you got bolder, both pouring yourselves a generous serving of whiskey and of course pouring in some coke after that to make it seem like you were good little kids, sipping on soda. Though from afar, it may seem like you and Jungkook were friends, you were adamant that the two of you were nothing more than acquaintances. It wasn’t very easy to convince people because he often posted up pictures of the two of you. He usually looked great in them meanwhile he usually caught you while you’re placing your spoon into your mouth, or while you’re in the midst of sneezing. It was deliberate of course and you had expected nothing less from Jeon Jungkook.

Though Jungkook and you didn’t share the same circle of friends, most of your classmates knew him. With a face like that, of course they did. Of course, the fact that he was exceptional at sports didn’t help. He’d gotten close to some of your friends when he would meet them at sports meets. All the schools in the same district would often duke it out before moving on to the next level, and the next until they reached the state level and finally, nationals. Jungkook got as far as the state level when it came to swimming. Honestly, he had the talent to go all the way, but he was always too busy trying to chat up girls instead of trying to best his own record. In fact, you think he only decided to be a swimmer because he could post pictures of himself in that itty-bitty swimming costume and get all the girls to swoon. Also, yes, you’ve been forced to attend his swim meets, usually at the request of his mother and god, it was torture trying to pretend like you weren’t staring at the boy half the time. You just had to admit that you loved the fact that he had that V-line. God, what you’d give if you could just run your finger along— no, never mind, thoughts like that weren’t meant to be wasted on boys like him.

Many times, you’ve had girls in your school come up to ask you if you could perhaps introduce him to them. You would often say no, but that you could give them the next best thing and that is his number. Can’t you at least only give my number to the hot ones? Jungkook would ask you when he saw you at the quarterly dinners. You would tell him that each time you gave out his number was only revenge for each tadpole he had put into your water bottle back in primary school. God, you’re so petty, he would groan. He promised he’d get his revenge on you too.

As high school rolled on to college, Jungkook had learnt that mentioning your name to his mother gave him the all good sign to go hang out until whatever time he wanted. If my mum calls, just tell her I’m with you, he would say. Truth is, the two of you really would be together, except on the opposite end of the same club. So, you’d oblige when he would ask you to pose for a picture together. In fact, you needed to send one to your mother too because you had told her the same lie, that you’d be hanging out with Jungkook for the night. The two of you usually staged the photo, walking to a nearby restaurant, to sit down and snap a picture before heading to the club.

Back at the club, the two of you were truly acquaintances at best. A rare smile, an even rarer few shared sentences and that was it. Of course, barring the times Jungkook would send his friends your way for a neat little prank. You had caught on pretty quick though. Anytime, a boy would approach you, your go to sentence would be, if Jungkook sent you then sure, I’d give you my number but only if we split whatever it is he’s giving you. So that’s how you ended up with a few extra ten dollar bills by the end of the month. Even so, it started getting annoying, so of course, you had gone up to tell Jungkook that you’ve had enough. At that he only scoffed before telling you that each time he sent a boy your way was only revenge for all the times you had given out his number. He promised that unlike you he only sent the good-looking boys your way… because it looked like you could use a good lay. Oh, you wanted to strangle him right there and then.

After that, you got smart. You told any of the boys that came your way that you were willing to pay double of whatever Jungkook was paying if they would kick him in the balls for you. Turns out boys aren’t quite loyal and after being assaulted a few too many times, Jungkook learns to stop sending boys your way. You thought that would be the end of it, that you would be able to enjoy your nights in peace but You should’ve known better. Jungkook was hard to miss at the club. He was loud, obnoxious, and god, did he look good in a button down. If anyone looked closely, they would’ve mistaken you for any other girl, almost drooling as you watched him sip from his whiskey glass, seated on the couch with his legs spread out. He would wink in your direction, as if inviting you take a seat. Fuck, what you’d give to do just that. To grind down on him and put your hands on his broad chests that you— no, wait, thoughts like these really shouldn’t be wasted on boys like Jungkook. Of course, your mind would never really listen, so you would find one of his friends instead, giving Jungkook a full view of what could have been if he wasn’t such a dickhead.

Ignoring Jungkook was a tough task, really, and honestly if he tried anything more than harmless flirting with you, you think you would end up under him in less than a second. Which of course, is bad news. You truly had no self-control when it came to handsome men, but to be fair… look at him. Would any sane person say no? However, fortunately for you, you would get your one and only true, clean break from Jungkook. University. The two of you had gone to universities on opposite coasts and so, the two of you hadn’t seen each other in three good years. You had spent your breaks volunteering and travelling and it seemed so did Jungkook. Whenever the two of you went back home, one of you would have already left. Of course, you still knew what he was up to. It seemed like he was getting even more attention in university. It shouldn’t surprise you. Being on a university campus meant everyone was your age and equally as horny, so of course he was having fun. To be fair, so were you. In any case, you think whatever lingering attraction or rather lust you felt for the boy, had long died away. Yes, that is what you thought… until of course you find Jungkook standing in front of you after four long years of not seeing him and against all laws of nature, it seems like puberty had hit him a second time. That or your dry spell was just really starting to get to you. You reasoned that you would be okay, that this would be the one and only time you and him would run into each other in a city so big, but no, you would run into him time and time again. Then he would convince you to do something so stupid, that you believe the only explanation to you saying yes was that you were possessed. That’s the only way to think about it… because why else would one say yes to sharing a studio apartment with the devil incarnate, Jeon Jungkook himself?

click for some more secret sauce (aka my collection of unfinished fics bc i have no self control)

[girlafraidinacoma]

In The Lap of the Gods: Chapter Six - Fanta-seas and Denial

Summary: What do you get when you mix a tight-knit art community, young, hot-blooded twenty-something university students and good old-fashioned British Rock & Roll? Probably the next best hope for art and music that generation has to offer. With her friends’ band skyrocketing to fame, what exactly does a girl do when she suddenly finds herself sitting in the lap of the gods? The answer: do the only thing she can do, rise to the occasion of course!

Pairing: Gwilym Lee!Brian May x Original Female Character

Author’s Note: Sorry, not sorry for the incredibly late update dudes. Was super uninspired for months, had a break down, got over it, bon appetit.

( gif credit goes to @queenmercurys.)

Kind of AU, contains both elements from real life and the Bo Rhap universe, so imagine whoever you prefer whether they be the real thing or the Bo Rhap Boys–be free.

[Link to Ao3 fic!]

Chapter Playlist:

Both Sides Now - Joni Mitchell

Astral Weeks - Van Morrison

Chapter Six - Fanta-seas and Denial

Ealing, December 1969.

“You’re incorrigible. I’ll never finish at this rate!” Wyn cried, throwing her arms up.

“Nobody told you to leave it until the last minute to work on your project.” He grumbled. It seemed like only yesterday that she began her first day at the Ealing Technical College and School of Art, but December had finally crept in, summoning the looming toll of due dates and unfinished critical projects.

“I honestly didn’t mean to forget, I thought I’d still have a week, not three bloody days.” Wyn whimpered a little pathetically, feeling the mounting panic bubble inside at the thought of not submitting her work on time. Currently, they were seated on the floor at the centre of Wyn’s dorm room, the space her easel usually occupied, cutting out various images and words out of several dozen stacks of magazines, newspapers, catalogues and a charitable helping of Woman’s Weekly – courtesy of Jer Bulsara.

Wyn’s dorm was a site Freddie had quickly grown accustomed to during their past few months of friendship. He liked her place. Sure, there were several others that lived on her floor and there’s only the bare modicum of privacy, but it was a decently sized space for a dorm, generous even, were it not cramped with half-finished canvases and art materials at various stages of use. Despite this fact, Wyn had tried her very best to make it up as nice as she could without having to open a Better Homes magazine. It was a place of barely organized but brightly coloured chaos.

The room itself was divided into two halves, one half where she slept and lounged, and the other half reserved for her work. The narrow bed which she slept in had been pushed up flush against the far corner of the room for the spatial economy. There was an olive-green loveseat with faded upholstery situated opposite the bed, and next to it was her bookshelf (definitely someone’s previously discarded woodworking project), keeping her collection of vinyls, novels and art journals. The side of Wyn’s room that served as her work area had a very large window that provided her place with natural light from about six or seven in the morning to four in the afternoon. Beside the window was a small desk, perpetually cluttered with paper, and a heavy wooden trunk packed to the brim with art supplies. One would think she’d been living there forever with all the stuff she’d accumulated in the past four months; the result of which was an assemblage of mismatched furniture that on its own were rather forgettable or borderline hideous, but somehow miraculously worked together, grudgingly made ‘cool’ by the person inhabiting it.

“Now who’s incorrigible?” As much as Freddie teased, it only took about five minutes of begging and a promise to cover one of his shifts at the Kensington stall for Freddie to generously acquiesce his time to help her out with one of her class assessments, to her supreme relief.

“Besides, they only want proof of concept. The whole thing’s not due until the end of Christmas hols.” Wyn said, flipping to the next page.

“Sure, sure.” The man rolled his eyes, waving a large pair of shears around. “What’s the focus for this piece anyway?”

“Oh, you know, just a bit of social commentary about defining identity through materialism and the like.” She told him, picking up a scrap he’d just finished cutting out, “These little bits here, will eventually be put together and build up a face or whatever, then I think I’d slather some paint on it, use some charcoal and call it a day, probably.”

“Is it still Granger and Warton assessing?”

“Warton is on leave, taking the airs in Bournemouth. Connelly is subbing in.”

“Even better, Connelly likes anything that’s remotely opinionated. He’ll be eating this all up with his Sunday roast.” He laughed. It gave her that smidge more comfort to hear his approval and she told him just as much.

She and Freddie were both dutifully attending to their work when out of the blue, Freddie sniffs the air, saying: “Have I told you how much your room smells?”

“Oops,” The girl said sheepishly, “Sorry. Let me just open a window. Afraid I’ve gotten quite used to it.” Briefly, she pattered away from him to do just that, lighting a rosemary and orange-scented candle, a gift from an aunt who had taken up chandlery upon retirement.

“Yes, the smell of varnish does tend to make the uninitiated rather queasy.” He nodded. “Lucky for you, I know the smell intimately. Unlucky for you, it still makes me queasy. Unless… you’ve become a junkie, in which case there are better highs than paint fumes, my dear.” A hand rose to Freddie’s chest, playfully aghast.

Wyn shook her head with a laugh. “I don’t even realise sometimes, too stuck in my work.”

“Still, you should always remember to take care of yourself. What good is your art if you’re not there to appreciate it? I’d rather have you, than a painting.”

Wyn dropped the page she was holding and looked at him. “Always so sweet. Where would I be without you, my dearest Freddie?”

“Probably still glued to a wall in that function room with the horrible punch.” Fred snarked, letting out an inelegant snort in the magazine his face was buried in.

So far, they were amassing a pretty sizeable pile of clippings and Wyn wordlessly congratulated herself and Freddie for making progress, but the good feeling didn’t last long. The two had been quiet for a while, with only the sound of snipping and paper tearing to fill the silence when reluctantly Fred releases the lip he had been gnawing on for a solid two minutes and clears his throat. “I’ve got something to tell you,” He says, putting down the pair of scissors he was using. “Actually, I could use your opinion.”

Still focused on an area she was clipping, Wyn nodded. “Spill, it’s not like we’re going anywhere soon.”

He exhaled deeply and gave what could be likened to a formal announcement. “I’m thinking of seeing Mary. Scratch that, I’ve seen Mary and had a cup of coffee with her, and I’ve been thinking about doing that more.”

There was sudden a hush that came about the room and settled in like a third guest. It took her several moments to process and Wyn gently reminded herself to lower her pair of scissors, lest she accidentally hurt a friend. “Wait, Mary, as in 'the coat's BIBA', Mary? As in Brian’s Mary? That Mary?” She gauged him with a puzzled look.

“As in Brian’s ex-girlfriend, Mary Austin, Yes.” Freddie confirmed, not blinking.

“So, you want to go see Brian’s ex, that is what you’re saying?”

“Ex, being the operative word, but yes.”

“You don’t think that’ll put a wrench into things?” She asked with a furrowed brow. “Smile hasn’t even begun performing again yet with you as the lead. Do you understand where I’m coming from, how precarious your situation is?”

“I don’t know,” It was his turn to shrug, eyes large and expressive. “I think she’s sweet and gorgeous and she doesn’t mind my teeth. Wait, where did you hear about Brian and Mary anyway?”

Wyn shrugged, “Roger told me.”

“That gossiping cow.” Freddie scowled.

“Well, no, we were just talking and the subject came up,” Wyn said levelly, grabbing a new catalogue from the stack.

“Oh, it came up naturally, did it?” He asked, picking up his scissors and cutting the page he was on a tad aggressively. “Not that you were asking after a certain boy with a guitar, needling poor Roger until he revealed whether said boy was single or not?”

“No,” She denies, “Roger and I were just talking about that night at the bar, and he just happened to mention that until recently Brian had been seeing Mary and hinted that maybe Brian was still interested in seeing her.”

Freddie had narrowed his eyes. “And Roger told you that, did he? Are you sure this isn’t about you and Roger?”

Her head quirked. “Why would this be about me and Roger?”

Freddie laughed. “Maybe because Roger thinks you’re fit and he’s trying to eliminate the competition by hinting that one of his friends might be keen to reconnect with an ex so that you won’t consider that friend as a potential romantic partner?”

“Or, you’re spinning this intricate web because you’re in denial that Mary wants to be with Brian and continuing to see her might ruin your chances with the band?” She offered sweetly.

“Or, this is about you and Roger.” Wyn had to roll her eyes at that.

“This is so not about Roger.”

“Brian, then.”

“It’s not like that.” She shakes her head, eyes trailing to the ground.

Freddie was not convinced, “I saw you and Brian looking cozy together. In that booth, on the way home, going for a little shopping trip…”

“We went shopping to feed you!”

“It’s probably what set off Rog in the first place.” He said in sing-song.

“N-no, the man doesn’t even flirt with me--” She was growing exasperated quickly.

“So, you admit that you flirt with Roger all the time.” Freddie was a dog with a bone.

“That’s just the way we talk to each other! He just thinks it’s a bit of fun, and I’m not about to let him think he can get a rise out of me.” Freddie could have sworn her voice rose an octave.

"I think you have a crush on him."

"I do not have a crush on Brian."

"Who said anything about Brian?" Freddie cracked a devilish grin at having caught her out. He batted his eyes at her.

The girl, on the other hand, was at a loss for words, opening her mouth and closing it again a couple of times, before scoffing. “Oh, shut up. You haven’t proven anything. Go see Mary then if you’ve already made up your mind.” She resigned, covering her discomfort with a laugh. Wyn looked down and busied herself by neatening the growing pile of magazine and newspaper trimmings she was collecting, forcing her hair to fall and obscuring her face. She absolutely was not going to let her friend see the burning flush she was newly sporting.

Fred chuckled beside her, examining his manicured hand. "I honestly wonder what fantasy world you're living in, darling. You're so caught up in it."

Instead of answering him directly she chose to switch to diversionary tactics. "You say that like it's a bad thing, or like you're not right there with me. You're just as mad as me." She poked his cheek.

"True, darling." He conceded, "I definitely see the appeal; I mean who wouldn’t want to escape this old tedious business for one in a fantasy book?” Freddie sighed dreamily, “I say, human ingenuity peaked when we learned we could just imagine ourselves far away from here.”

The girl hummed, gladdened to finally be talking about something else again. “Where everything is weird and wonderful, and you finally belong…”

“You can be anyone you want to be.”

“And bugger the rules because there are none.” She supplied without missing a beat.

“Get out of my head, Wyn Clemens.” He chided her. “You know, this reminds me of when Kashmira and I used to spend all our time in the afternoons together lying on a dusty floor, making up crazy stories.”

A fond smile came over Wyn’s face. “Oh? What about?”

“Well, tis a tale of a long and arduous quest to save the magical Kingdom of Rhye,” He said indulgently, “Your usual fight between the forces of good and evil, brave knights, lavish castles, rival queens, and a sprinkling of anthropomorphic animals.”

“Ah, but of course! I wouldn’t expect anything less.” She leaned back and drew her legs under her chin. “Pray tell then, merry minstrel, regale me with the story of Rhye.”

Freddie sat a little more upright in his spot, his teeth showing in a big smile. “Alright, so, it all began when the White Queen was abducted from her castle. Now in hopes to rescue her, her brother, the handsome Prince, scours all the land gathering knights…”

Wyn had already forgotten they had been arguing not two minutes ago. It was like that with her and Freddie, they never could stay cross with one another for long, always managing to read what the other was thinking. It was shocking how close the two had gotten in such a short span of time. Suddenly the prospect of Freddie graduating brought a sinking feeling to Wyn’s chest. She silently hoped he’d still have time for her, or would deign to remain her friend. The future always seemed so unsteady. Standing on its precipice, Wyn supposed that if she’d have to drink some horrible punch at some mediocre party, she’d rather be suffering through it with him than without him.

[shreyamistry]

This is me sending in requests! “I don’t care what anyone else thinks.” AME Mackenzie x MC, from the Fluff/Angst list. I would die of happiness if you used they/them pronouns for the MC. Also “you make me feel safe,” for Sabina x MC, ditto on the pronouns. Lastly, “I’m right where I belong.” For Annabelle x MC. I totally get if that’s too many, if you only do one, the first is my first choice! Love you, Nate! Hope you’re having a day/week as amazing as you are. 💘

Pairings: Annabelle x MC

Title: Dressing The Part

Word Count: 2k

Summary: The Duke decides to celebrate Hannah with a ball in their honor for this upcoming forced marriage. Annabelle can’t wait to see Hannah, but can the Duke ruin the night by opening his mouth and making them wear the most hideous dress they’ve ever seen?

A/N: Kylie (as a MH stan, your main blog icon makes me happy lmao, my favorite is Abbey)!! Thank you so much for the requests I’m so happy!! I haven’t got a chance to write Annabelle or Sabina yet so I’m excited! Look out for the other two, they’ll be their own post! Just in case I get any comments, I know that Annabelle is a lesbian and identifies as lesbian, this fic with the use of they/them pronoun for MC in no capacity is trying to deny that or take away her sexuality, the request called for a nb (they/them) lesbian MC and that’s what I did. If you have questions, google is free!

Thanks for reading! I hope you like it!

Hannah’s hands brush against the fabric of their dress, looking over the intricate patterns and designs, her lips curled into a frown as Briar brushes through their black hair. Briar can’t help, but frown at the pensive look on her best friend’s face as she places both of her hands onto Hannah’s shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

“Are you alright, Hannah?”

Hannah glances in the mirror on their vanity to see Briar watching them. They look at the ribbons sewed onto the dress in an abundance picking at it with their fingers. “There’s..just a lot of bows, Briar.”

“I can find a different dress, I mean Duke Richards might be very against it, but-” Briar starts to ramble on, as she places the brush on the vanity whirling around to see even more confliction on Hannah’s face, noting to be quiet letting her mouth fall closed resting her hands in the pockets of her apron.

“It’s quite alright. Don’t distress over me.” Hannah forces a smile, “I may look the part, but it doesn’t mean I am the part. Do you suppose… Miss Parsons may admire the dress?” Hannah glances at Briar to check her honesty, noting Briar’s tell in the back of their mind as scratching her wrist. They watch as Briar scratches her inner wrist smiling brightly.

“Quite positive she’ll admire it,” Honesty doesn’t quite reach her words, “Are you trying to impress her?”

“Can you leave me for a moment?” Hannah asks, their hands picking at the bows on the dress refusing to meet the gaze of their best friend. Blinking back tears as Briar nods with a sympathetic smile, squeezing their shoulder as she glides out of the room her hands clasped behind her back. The sound of Lady Grandmother’s voice is heard talking to Briar reassuring her of Hannah’s dress fitting and dressing going smooth.

They take a heavy breath, freeing themselves momentarily of their discomfort before plucking the scissors off of the sleek white vanity, before pocketing it into the satchel wrapped around their leg. I am… Lady Hannah and I can do this. They think to themselves before rising from the chair exiting through the door which Briar left moments earlier joining Lady Grandmother and Briar in conversation. Gratuitous, kind, and sweet.

Mr. Harper and Annabelle stand around with Prince Hamid and Mr. Chambers talking over paperwork and business activities with Mr. Knoevi. It warms her heart to see the secret smiles Mr. Chambers and Mr. Knoevi share, and the flush that rising in Mr. Chambers cheeks as he notices looking away from her and Hamid’s prying eyes. She smoothes the fabric of her deep green dress suddenly feeling nervous about seeing her fiance in the ball thrown in their honor by their actual fiance.

“Miss Parsons, is everything all right? You seem distracted.” Prince Hamid comments, turning his head to the side in a comforting understanding way. She nods forcing a smile to her lips letting her hand fall onto his arm.

“You know how these balls, time-consuming, lacking entertainment, and Hannah isn’t here yet.” She frowns at the last part and he shakes his head yes in agreement.

“Well, should you want to cause mischief,” He crooked his eyebrow at her with a smile, “I am a conversation away.”

“We shall attack by the night’s end.” She grins. The music from the band begins to swell loudly drawing the attention to the main doors preparing for Hannah’s arrival. Applause ripples through the room as Duke Richards presents himself through the door, a courtesy showing that Annabelle could see her friends around her and Mr. Sinclaire across the way not participating in.

“Thank you all for…”

The Duke addresses the group as Annabelle catches snippets of the gossip around her surrounding Richards, Prince Hamid’s off comment about his business relations lately sounding of particular interest to her - as she may use it to help Hannah with their problem - before the noise of the band cuts off all conversation between the group again.

Her heart jumps in her chest as she spots Hannah across the room, their smile thin and faded as they wave happily at their guests shaking a few of their friends from knitting circle’s hands. She couldn’t help, but excuse herself from the men pushing her way through the crowd that begins to return to the ball at Hannah’s request.

“Miss. Parsons!” Hannah’s voice cuts through the final few people as Annabelle passes Henrietta and Mr. Marlcaster, she clasps her hands around her lovers smiling brightly as she finally reaches Hannah. “I’m delighted to see you here!”

“As am I, Hannah.” She brings one of Hannah’s hands to her lips kissing the back of their hands. “You’re a breath of fresh air and beauty tonight, when you mentioned the dress being fashion forwarded I hadn’t the slightest clue you meant in this way.” She glances down at all the lace trimmings and ribbons adorning the dress. Her hands move to pull on one of the bows, her forehead creasing with a frown.

“It was the Duke’s grandma’s in her youth.” Hannah replies, “It’s quite ugly isn’t it?”

Annabelle tries to cover her chuckles with her hand, failing miserably earning her a giggle from her lover. “It is quite ugly. I see why the Duke finds the beauty in it, an ugly soul is attracted to ugly clothes.”

“Miss. Parsons.” Hannah gasps with a grin, “You devilish woman.” Annabelle laughs freely in response to their words, before letting Hannah lead her away from the door into the thick of the ball out of the prying eyes of those around them in the open. “Are you feeling alright? You seem quite out of it.”

“A conversation I had with Duke Richards earlier-”

“DARLING! Must you share our indecent moments with your companions? That’s very unladylike. And you’re slouching, you’re going to wrinkle the dress. And don’t think I didn’t hear you speaking about the state of the dress, that is a family heirloom.” The Duke hounds them with question after question leaving Hannah no room to reply or defend themselves, cowering away from the Duke as a caged animal may. Tension settles in Annabelle’s bosom, as she watches them retaining her anger with the Duke inside her to fore long his abuse against her lover. “Leave me now.” He demands, waving away the both of them with his hands after he finishes his one-sided conversation with Hannah.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Hannah whispers, their eyes burning with tears brushing past ball guests towards the patio not far from their location. Annabelle hesitates only a moment before following after her to ensure the Duke does not follow the both of them. Shoving her way out of the door, she sees a trail of footsteps off to the side quickly dashing after them hiking her dress up off the floor following the shallow steps towards the garden.

She finds a tearful Hannah sitting on the bench near the flowers, throwing things from the bench. Annabelle quickly approaches falling onto the bench besides Hannah fiercely gripping their hands to stop them from moving. “Hannah stop!”

“It. Needs. To. GO!” They yell, fighting Annabelle back for the scissors in their hands, the fabric of the bow on the front half cut. “I can’t deal with this Annabelle!” Their tears stream down their face, as they pull on the scissors nearly wrenching them out of Annabelle’s hands. “You shouldn’t even be here!”

“I’m right where I belong, Hannah.” The fierceness in her eyes causes Hannah momentary shock, allowing Miss. Parsons to quickly gain better hold on the scissors. “I wouldn’t rather be anywhere in the world except on this bench alone with you.”

“I…” Hannah trails off, before letting out a loud sob tucking their face away refusing to look at Annabelle. “Please, Annabelle. Leave me to solitude.”

“No.” Before they can get another heavy-handed pull, Annabelle leans in wrapping her arms tightly around her lover’s crying form, holding them to her chest shushing their sobs as sweetly as she can muster. Her hand running up and down Hannah’s back, soothing them into the touch as Hannah clutches onto the back of Annabelle’s dress. Resting their face on Miss. Parsons’ chest. Their grip on her never wavering clinging to their life support in human form.

The pair sits in quiet, the occasional sound of Hannah’s sniffles interrupting them followed by the sweet soothing of Annabelle’s reassurances. The moment seems to last an eternity as Hannah picks themselves back up from the pieces they’ve broken into. Enjoying the warmth of Annabelle’s form for a few more seconds before sitting up completely to face her, the back of their hand brushing against their cheek.

“I will help you,” Annabelle whispers, producing the scissors from the bench. “You’ll just leave unpleasant holes if you snip away without any care.” She brings the scissors to the first bow, looking around the fabric for the perfect place to start snipping, lifting a corner as she slides her scissors underneath before coming down on the fabric placing the bow onto her lap as she looks at the dress. “There.”

“Thank you.” Hannah sniffles.

“There’s no reason to thank me, Hannah.” She smiles softly at them, bringing her own hand to their cheek letting it rest gently on their skin, brushing her thumb back and forth gently hiding her smile at the way Hannah leans into the touch. “Shall, we finish de-hidifying this dress?”

“Please.” Hannah laughs, turning on the beach so their back is towards Annabelle. “Removing the back bows off might have resulted in an injury had I done it myself.” Annabelle chuckles in response.

“Then it’s a good thing, I was here to prevent that.”

Moments pass in comfortable silence as she finishes removing the last of the bows. She tucks them onto her lap underneath the others smoothing them over her lap to help keep them organized. Hannah turns in their seat to face Miss. Parsons again.

“I won’t provoke you further by asking,” Annabelle reassures, “But are you feeling okay, my love?”

“Yes.” They smiles taking her hand, “Because of you.” Leaning in Hannah steals a kiss from Annabelle who falls into the shared contact, resting her hand on the back of Hannah’s neck, deepening the shared moment between the pair. The moment lasts a million years in Hannah’s mind sharing the connection of a kiss with her lover. Annabelle clinging tightly onto them before breaking the kiss with a deep breath a smile tugging at the corner of their lips.

“We should be alone far more often.” Annabelle grins.

“I’ll make sure of it.” Hannah grins back, placing a sweet kiss to Annabelle’s lips one last time. “Shall we spend the rest of our lives in this garden?”

“So long as it includes kissing you, I should spend my life with you anywhere.” Annabelle brushes her nose against Hannah’s, their forehead resting against one another’s. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be than with you, you’re my home, Hannah.”

“I love you deeply, Miss. Annabelle Parsons.”

[artificialqueens]

The Language of Flowers, Chapter 2.5 (Multi) - Albatross

AN: Well the first Witney/Courtney-centric chapter is here and as mentioned before; they’ll have a .5 in the title to distinguish from the Shinkx-centric chapters. Trixya will start appearing in the next chapter and will be featured about equally on both sides. The next update for this particular piece should be up in about 4-5 weeks. I’ve finally gotten a start on the sequel to ‘Say My Name’ and the first half of that will be posted in two weeks. Not sure about the title yet but its going to feature a throuple, so yay for that people who’ve been asking for more throuple fics.

“Maybe it’s time for a change,” Katya suggested in a casual voice as she sipped her soda, “This could be the sign you’re looking for.”

Courtney groaned as her head fell forward into her arms and collapsed against the granite island counter top in her neighbor’s kitchen. She really did not want to deal with this right now; earlier today she had just received word from her upper management that the office would be relocating at the end of the month. 'Don’t worry,’ they assured her. She’ll still have her job…she’ll just need to commute 40 minutes to get there…provided that traffic isn’t too heavy on the way, of course. Besides, what are the chances of traffic backing up during rush hour?

What a load of bullshit…But Courtney would never say that to them; she just grinned and told them she’d think about it over the weekend before confirming that she’ll be moving along with the rest of the staff. They were very agreeable, she had to admit, they even offered a small pay increase to offset the cost of gas but still…a 40-minute minimum drive every day? Both ways? God, this day just sucks!

“I don’t know what else I can do, Kat!” she exclaimed in a beaten voice. “Our rent’s already skyrocketed and I don’t have time to find anywhere cheaper. Where else can I find a job that pays this well on such short notice?”

“You could always move in with me,” Katya said suggestively. Even before Courtney raised her head, she knew Katya was doing that stupid eyebrow wiggle that would almost always crack her up. Today however, it only did half of the job but at least it got a smile out of her.

“Hard pass,” Courtney shot back firmly. “I hear enough of you across the hall as it is. Don’t need to be sharing a bathroom and bedroom wall with you too.”

“Can’t say I don’t get good reviews,” she stated proudly. “And speaking of reviews; why don’t you give me yours tonight?”

Suspiciously, Courtney asked, “For your show or…?”

“Both,” Katya replied with a flirty wink. Courtney didn’t bother to hide her less than amused expression until Katya finally cracked in her facade and broke down laughing. “Fine, just the show,” she relented through her own amused chuckling.

“Alright,” Courtney said with a sigh, “I’ve got nothing better to do. Why not drown myself in alcohol as well?”

“Great! Besides, there’s someone I want you to meet…” Katya mentioned with a secretive smile.

Immediately a red flag went up in Courtney’s mind as she asked warningly, “You’re not trying to set me up on a blind date, are you?”

“No, this one’s mine…for now…” the younger blonde reassured her yet couldn’t resist the temptation to add in, “But if you like her, I’m willing to share.”

“No.”

“Fine, don’t say I didn’t offer,” Katya replied with a bright, yet concerning smile. “I think you’ll find her…interesting.”

“Can’t wait,” Courtney responded with a sarcastic eye roll.

***********

As Courtney has learned from plenty of experience with Katya; you should always be wary whenever she gets mysterious. If there is ever a time when she’s not gleefully telling you what she’s thinking, no matter how bizarre or off topic it seems, always proceed with caution. And tonight that’s exactly what Courtney was determined to do. She’s known for quite awhile that Katya has been a regular performer at the local burlesque shows but she had yet to see any of her recent gigs. Katya often raved how she’s changed her act up over the last few months, sometimes working with a partner and other times not, but Courtney has been leery about attending ever since a rather raunchy display she had witnessed some two years ago, courtesy of Katya dragging her there after work one day. To put it bluntly, more modesty could be seen in most porn she had watched than what had been showcased on the stage that night. Needless to say, Courtney was somewhat reluctant to experience a second round of that mentally scarring performance but the number of drinks she was planning on consuming tonight would probably be enough to block any memory from forming…so she hoped. And she was well on her way to reaching that amount by the time Katya’s number had actually started.

If you asked Courtney how Katya’s act had gone over, she could say with perfect honesty that the crowd loved it. She distinctly remembers the other patrons screaming their heads off and throwing tips to the stage, all while begging for more. If you asked her what Katya actually did during her performance, then you might get a vague or fudged answer. To her irritation, she spent the majority of her time trying to peek through the bobbing heads and flailing arms just to get a glimpse of what Katya was doing. If the silhouette reflected on the walls behind her were anything to judge by, then the blocked view might have been a blessing in disguise. Every so often Courtney was able to spot Katya between the gaps in the crowd and she had to admit, Katya looked absolutely stunning tonight. Her make up was flawless as far she could tell with the distance and her body was perfectly toned and showing just the right amount of skin in her tight leather outfit. It wasn’t too gaudy nor too conservative and Courtney would bet anything that someone else helped her pick it out. Not to say that Katya couldn’t have found it on her own but her style always tended to be more flashy and this particular outfit looked just bit out of her normal comfort zone…more subdued and mature than what Courtney remembered from the last show.

All too quickly, Katya finished her number to the roar of the crowd and Courtney was left to make her way back to the bar. Within a few minutes, the giddy blonde joined her, now changed into more comfortable every-day clothing and eager to listen to Courtney’s review. Not wanting to disappoint her friend by admitting she couldn’t even see most of the show aside from what the shadows implied, Courtney exclaimed repeatedly how much the crowd had gone wild when she took the stage and of course complimented her whole look tonight. Katya drank it up with a bright smile and ordered herself a bottle of water to re-hydrate after such an intense performance. As she slowly winded down, Courtney asked about the person she was supposed to be introduced to. Katya’s smile grew to an alarming size as she told Courtney that the woman in question was actually the one performing at the moment and pointed towards the stage. Curiously, Courtney turned away from her friend in time to see a body wrapped around a flimsy ring become suspended into the air. An audible gasp left her as watched the young woman twisting her limbs effortlessly as though she weren’t hanging several feet above the crowd and easily could come crashing to the floor with one wrong move.

Reality had a way of escaping as Courtney stood mesmerized by the performance but by the time the mystery woman descended and disappeared backstage, the ice in her glass had mostly melted and Katya’s water bottle had been replaced with a soda. “She’s something, huh?” Katya asked knowingly.

“I’ll say,” Courtney replied, thoroughly impressed by the show.

With a playful wink, Katya added in, “Should see her in bed…loves the kinky shit.”

At the moment Katya made her last comment, Courtney had the misfortune to have been taking a sip of her drink and promptly began choking as the implication registered in her mind. “You and her have already…?” she asked in disbelief as she grabbed a napkin to clean up the mess she had made.

“Yep, for the past couple of weeks,” Katya confirmed proudly. Doing her best to sound enticing, she proposed, “And there’s still room for one more…we’ll go easy on you…at first.”

Courtney couldn’t even bring herself to dignify the offer with a verbal response. She simply glared at Katya until she had the good grace to give a slightly shamefaced smile. Shaking her head in disbelief, Courtney asked aloud, “Why am I friends with you again?”

Katya’s only reaction was to let out her trademark cackle and press a soft kiss to Courtney’s cheek as a way of apology. “Save some action for me, Kat,” a voice called out teasingly.

Still in the same outfit she had just finished performing in, the young and slightly out of breath entertainer joined the two blondes at the bar and flagged down one of the servers. As they waited for her drink to be mixed, Katya introduced the two women, “Court, this is Violet. Violet, this is Courtney, my neighbor from across the hall.”

“Ah, so you’re the one I’ve heard about,” Violet mused as she took the first sip of her drink.

Shooting a wary look toward Katya, Courtney asked, “What have you heard exactly?”

Giving a dismissive wave of her hand, Violet replied nonchalantly, “Nothing bad, just that you’re joining us tonight.”

“Katya!” Courtney all but screamed at her friend. Her cheeks were a fiery red as she turned to glare the other blonde but the way she was struggling not to laugh gave Courtney reason to pause. Glancing back at Violet, she found the younger woman watching her in amusement and suddenly it clicked that they were just trying to rile her up. Rubbing her fingers along her temple, she grumbled, “This is going to be a long night, isn’t it?” and ordered another much stronger drink.

**********************

Looking back, perhaps she ought to have begun ordering fewer drinks once the night had turned into the next day. Perhaps she ought to have just stopped drinking altogether after realizing she had been bitching about her job for the last half hour. And perhaps she ought to have called it a night once she found herself eyeing up both of the younger women consideringly. But the moment she knew that she was absolutely, 100%, without a doubt in too deep was when she found herself in the back seat of an Uber making out with a certain someone who may or may not have been her neighbor. Her entire body felt overheated and on edge as she frantically clutched at the other woman’s clothes in a halfhearted attempt to remove them. A hand brushed hers away every time she began making process and when she finally pulled away to question it, she found a brunette eagerly awaiting to capture her lips herself. The last thing Courtney truly remembered was a hand carefully cradling her cheek as a tongue licked its way into her mouth with considerable practice.

Some time later, Courtney found herself waking up on a couch she vaguely recognized as Katya’s, listening to some very vocal calls of said woman’s name. If she had to guess, she’d say Violet was fully enjoying herself at the moment but hardly the same could be said for Courtney. She was very tempted to wander across the hall back to her own apartment but the instant she tried sitting up, her head began spinning and throbbing to the point where it was not worth the effort. Falling back onto the couch, she wrapped herself in a blanket Katya must have draped over her and buried her head beneath the throw pillow in a futile attempt to block out the noises drifting from the bedroom. By the time she fell asleep, Courtney felt confident she could probably give a more accurate description of what Katya had been doing to Violet than what had gone on during her performance. If she had to choose two words to describe Violet after just meeting her tonight, they would undoubtedly be 'loud’ and 'explicit’.

When Courtney awoke the second time, she found herself feeling decidedly worse and even the smell of food did nothing to improve her mood. Katya could be heard singing/screaming off key somewhere behind her as she clanged around in the kitchen. Grumbling to herself, Courtney rolled off the couch and groggily made her way to the island countertop. Seating herself parallel to Violet, who seemed to be borrowing some of Katya’s garish clothing for the time being, she slumped over the counter and held her hands out imploringly for coffee. Sliding her own mug across the empty space into the awaiting grasp, Violet greeted her with a taunting, “Morning, sunshine. Sleep well?”

Glaring at her as she took a deep swig, Courtney swallowed the much needed caffeine and asked reluctantly, “What happened last night?”

Without missing a beat, Katya brightly asked as she prepared their breakfast, “Before or after you passed out on the couch?”

“Before,” Courtney replied in a no-nonsense tone, “I heard quite enough this morning to piece together what happened after.”

Taking pity on the hungover blonde, Violet gave her a very brief and very censored version of the previous night’s events following their introduction to one another. Evidently, Courtney had drank far more than she had originally planned and some time after she met Violet, it began to take its effect. Aside from her alcohol-induced ranting about the recent ultimatum with her job, apparently Courtney also had hit on the very openly gay bartender (who promptly confiscated her keys) and nearly got into a fight after someone had spilled their drink on her shoes. The two women ushered her out of the club before anything became physical and no sooner had they entered the Uber driver’s car than Courtney decided then would be the best time to force her tongue down Katya’s throat.

Although Katya was snickering in the background at this part, Courtney had never felt more ashamed and was instantly apologizing for her actions to both women. Each brushed it off and began eating the meal that Katya had finished placing in front of them; a slightly burnt, semi-circular mystery food that ended up looking more like thick crepes than the fluffy pancakes they were probably intended to be. They tasted much better than they looked to each of the women’s secret relief…especially after you cut off the blackened edges. Downing more of the coffee, Courtney asked what happened after they arrived back at the apartment complex.

“Well, Violet and I were going to put you to bed but it seems your apartment key was also on the same ring as your car keys- you’ll need to stop back at the club later to pick those up by the way…So we brought you back to my place and got you settled in on the couch…We didn’t think you’d want to wake up in my bed to find Vi bent over with a-”

“No! Thanks!” Courtney interrupted with wide eyes, “Don’t need to hear any more about that, trust me. Heard plenty already.”

“You were right, Kat…” Violet interjected with a teasing smile, “She is cute when she gets flustered.”

Narrowing her eyes at both women, Courtney drained the final remnants within the mug and muttered, “I hate you both.”

Leaning forward to pry the cup from the older blonde’s resisting hands, Violet asked casually, “So what job is horrible enough that it drove you to drink as much as you did?”

While Violet poured a second mugful, Courtney groaned softly and replied, “It’s not the work itself that’s the problem; it’s the fact that starting next month, I’m now going to have to drive probably an hour both ways every day to get to it! If I enjoyed the position more maybe it’d be a different story but…I’m just not happy there. I miss my old job, to be honest.”

Pushing the steaming cup back in front of the Aussie, Violet proposed simply, “Then why not go back to it?”

“The pay wasn’t as good…” Courtney admitted as she took a shallow sip, “And it was barely more than part time…I was working at a clothing boutique as well to cover the missing hours.”

“Mm…if you don’t mind me asking, where was the job at?” Violet asked curiously.

“The flower shop on 34th,” Courtney stated with a hint of longing in her voice, “'Marcie’s Marvelous Arrangements’. You know, the one right across from cafe?”

Nodding, Violet answered calmly, “Uh-huh, I’m very familiar with that place…They’re one of my biggest competitors…One of my previous assistants left to go work there a few months ago…”

“Oh! Sorry,” Courtney apologized as her cheeks filled with pink.

“Don’t be. Her choice, not yours…” Violet told her kindly. “But, you know…if you’re interested…I do have a full-time position for a florist that needs filled…and I can guarantee we’ll pay you better than at Marcie’s.”

“Really?” Courtney exclaimed gleefully. Suddenly her hangover seemed much more manageable than it had five minutes ago.

“Uh-huh,” Violet drew out with a lazy smile as she side-eyed the other blonde, “It’s funny…I could have sworn that just the other day I was telling Katya what a difficult time I was having finding another florist.”

Not even daring to make eye contact with the other women, the grinning blonde choked back a laugh and replied in a strained voice, “Did you? Don’t remember. Maybe that collar was tighter than I thought last night.”

“Mh-mm,” Violet said with a knowing tone as she leant with her hand on her cheek, “Must have been…Hard to imagine you pulling off a stunt like this without blurting it out midway through. Isn’t it nice when things work out, though?”

**************

Some time after breakfast, Courtney showered and changed into some of Katya’s less flamboyant clothes before taking an Uber with Violet back to the club to pick up her keys and car. While she was there, she apologized repeatedly to the bartender (after Violet pointed out which one it was) for her behavior the previous night. He accepted with a gracious smile and informed her that she wasn’t the first and probably wouldn’t be the last any time soon. She left feeling a good deal less shameful than when she had arrived and drove Violet back to her own apartment. As she dropped her off, Violet asked her to come by the flower shop tomorrow afternoon to sign the paperwork for her job offer. She was very adamant that it be in the mid-afternoon as it would be less busy and of course, her business partner would also be there to meet her. Courtney admitted that she was rather excited to meet her future boss but the way Violet had snickered at that statement gave her cause for alarm…and as it turned out; that feeling was quite an understatement.

If she had any idea what Sharon would be like upon meeting her, she would have been far less optimistic as she walked into the shop for the first time. The older woman seemed friendly enough at first; she greeted her with a welcoming smile and asked how she could help her but before Courtney was able to get a single word out, Violet swept in beside her and announced sweetly that Courtney was about to become their newest florist.

“What?” Sharon asked venomously as a scowl worked its way across her lips.

Unaffected, Violet reiterated in a defiant tone, “You said we needed a third assistant so I went and found one.”

Courtney could hear the shop’s door opening behind her but the majority of her attention was on the sudden realization that this was all news to Sharon. The resentful look on her face deepened as she replied sarcastically, “And let me guess, this one’s name is Daisy or Lily or some shit?”

Violet’s lips curled into a smirk as she replied coolly, “Nope…it’s Courtney.”

“Right…And what’s her last name then?” Sharon scoffed as though she were waiting for unwanted punchline from the younger woman.

“'Act’,” Courtney supplied with a friendly smile. Sharon’s eyebrow arched at her voice, seemingly caught off guard by the accent. Not that this was an unusual occurrence but the icy glare that seemed to be boring deep into her soul was a little more than unsettling at the moment. She almost wanted to crawl into a pit and die as Sharon stared at her like she was some insignificant insect unworthy of her time. Her gaze barely left Courtney’s as she traded cutting remarks with Violet, who simply deflected every possible argument she could have had with considerable ease. She clearly had years of experience butting heads with Sharon and now she was an expert in providing rational counter-statements in the most annoying way she could manage.

Courtney stood awkwardly at the counter as she tried not to fidget with the sleeves of her sweater; she was unused to being argued over as though she weren’t even there. Even when she chanced a glance towards the shop’s work area, she found that the only other shop assistant was looking quite uncomfortable as well. It seemed as though she were debating if she should leave the room or not. When Sharon finally began to address her personally, Courtney did her best to remain polite and friendly. Her answers were honest regarding her past experience at 'Marcie’s’ but Sharon was not the type to be easily impressed, even though Violet pointed out that their other assistants came in with no experience whatsoever and they had worked out well. That particular comment earned a powerful glare from the older blonde.

Finally after what felt like hours of debate and interrogation, Sharon relented with a very long-suffering sigh and proceeded to print off the paperwork. With the older woman’s guidance, Courtney rushed through adding in her signatures and initials until they came to the section discussing her salary. Violet filled in the field herself and Courtney would later swear to Katya that she had never seen anyone look as pissed off as Sharon did once she saw what Violet had written.

“That’s more than what the other girls were hired at!” Sharon remarked in a fierce whisper.

“She’s worth it!” Violet argued firmly. “Trust me. You have for everything else!”

Upon hearing that final declaration, Sharon held her tongue until the forms were filled out in their entirety and she quickly paper-clipped them together to be filed that night. Courtney was glad that Violet seemed as eager to leave the shop as she was following that exchange but the smirk she sent back to her partner as they left had definitely crossed a line. Courtney could tell that Sharon was fuming before the door had even hit the frame. As the pair walked towards their cars, Violet pulled her aside and told her, “She’ll get over it, I promise. Her attitude in there has nothing to do with you or me, she’s just…going through some shit right now.”

“And you’re giving her an outlet?” Courtney asked wisely.

With a secret smile, the brunette confirmed, “If she takes it.”

“You’re a good friend,” Courtney commented sincerely.

“Yeah, but don’t tell anyone,” Violet said with a playful wink, “I have a reputation to protect.”

******************

It had been just over three weeks since she began working there and Courtney was already feeling at home. Aside from Sharon, she was welcomed into the fold with open arms and got along quite well with the other women. Ivy and Jinkx especially had taken to showing her how the shop ran, which was a good deal more relaxed than at 'Marcie’s’. Granted there was always an underlying air of professionalism but Courtney loved the fact that her coworkers genuinely got along, if you discount Sharon and Violet’s near daily arguments that is. Previously, she would only see her coworkers as mere work relationships; she never really considered them her friends, especially not the ones from the office who often were much older than her. But working at 'Pines and Needles’ made her rethink the possibility entirely. More than once she found herself wanting to go out with the girls to brunch or something but the closest she came in those first few weeks were the times when Violet would make an appearance in Katya’s apartment…or perhaps 'when Violet could be heard from Katya’s apartment’ would be more accurate.

As she worked on gathering up her courage to invite at least one of them out for a social call, the shop became slammed with a new wave of customers. There hardly seemed time in the day to talk about anything other than orders, much less if someone would like to grab a drink with her after work. Finally the rush began to die down in the late afternoon and the girls were able to resume their normal duties. Ivy was helping Violet tidy up in the front and Courtney was left to bring in the new packages that had been dropped off in the back of the building. Usually the deliveries were scheduled to arrive in the early morning so as to keep the flowers fresh and avoid the confusion of coordinating the restocking with the orders to be filled but today the wrong vases had arrived with the shipment so Violet sent them back to be corrected. It was an easy enough switch to make and there was no shortage of vases in the meantime, the only unfortunate part of the scenario was that the replacements arrived during the tail end of the lunch rush. There was hardly any time for Violet to even check that this shipment was accurate before she had to dash off and help with the next customer. The boxes were left sitting in the delivery area for most of the afternoon until a break in the onslaught finally gave Courtney a chance to bring them in.

She was used to heavy lifting, thanks to both 'Marcie’s’ and her own habit of going to the gym, but the sheer size of some of the boxes was a bit daunting for someone to carry in on their own. Taking a deep sigh, she got to work on the smallest boxes first and quickly made noticeable dent in the number. Twenty minutes later, all that was left were eight or so of the largest boxes she had saved for last in the hopes someone might come and help her. But as she took a brief glance to the front of the shop, she could see that both Violet and Ivy were assisting customers. Oh, well. Help certainly was not on its way anytime soon so she might as well get this over with. Thankfully the boxes weren’t too heavy but carrying them was a bit awkward for someone of her size. She could barely see over the top and mostly had to rely on her own memory of the shop’s layout to navigate her way safely through the storage area.

The first box made the task seem easy enough but by the time she began working on the third, her muscles were screaming at her to take a break. Part of her problem had been slowing down and allowing her body time to realize just how tired it truly was. Her fingers were aching, her feet were sore, and her back was quickly developing a sharp pain. At least she was almost finished…

Still moving at a tentative pace, Courtney proceed up the steps from the delivery area into the break room. She was just starting to turn towards the storage area when the box she was carrying became noticeably lighter. A pair of well manicured hands joined hers in balancing the load and guided her effortlessly towards storage room. As she heard the heels clicking against the tiles, Courtney felt confident that it was Violet that had come back to help. Only rarely did Ivy ever wear anything other than flats while working. Craning her neck over the top of the box, Courtney was shocked to see a swath of blonde hair instead of brunette. Was Sharon actually helping her? And why did she come back to the shop? Her shift ended hours ago and she promptly disappeared into her apartment without another word.

A multitude of questions raced through her mind but as soon as the box was on the ground, only one remained, “Who are you?”

Arching an eyebrow at the inquiry, the mystery blonde said flatly, “That’s how you thank someone for helping you?”

“What?” Courtney asked confusedly, before remembering her manners, “Oh, right, right. Thanks…but who are you?”

“Willam,” the young woman replied simply as she started to exit the room.

Following after her, Courtney asked cautiously, “You…don’t work here, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Then why are you…?”

“Violet asked me to come check on you when I came in,” Willam said offhandedly as she stopped at the fridge for a bottle of water. “Said you’ve been back here awhile. Guess she wanted to make sure you didn’t get your tiny little self killed moving those boxes.”

Feeling a her lips curl downward, Courtney replied defensively, “I’d say I managed quite well on my own, thank you.”

Taking note of the change in tone, Willam told her mildly, “Don’t take it personally, princess. It’s just an observation.”

Courtney’s eye twitched at the unwanted nickname, something Willam certainly did not miss as she studied the other blonde. Trying her best not to let this young woman annoy her any further, Courtney replied bluntly, “Well, you can tell her I’m almost done; there’s only a few boxes left.”

She was starting to march outside to bring in said boxes but the way Willam stared at her as she made her way to the door made her stop in her tracks. Somewhat irritated, Courtney snapped tiredly, “What?”

Ignoring the tone, Willam asked, “Aren’t you going to ask for help?”

“Why? I did the rest by myself,” Courtney responded as her arms crossed involuntarily.

Setting her water bottle on the counter, Willam stated in a candid voice, “Because you didn’t have a choice…Now there’s someone else here and you’re not going to utilize that? Look, princess,-”

“Stop calling me that,” Courtney interjected.

“-It doesn’t make a difference to me one way or another if you’re set on carrying all those boxes by yourself. But I’ll tell you this now; there’s nothing wrong with asking for help, especially if you need it. You don’t have to do this all on your own and no one here expects you to. They all help each other and if you’re smart, you’ll accept it. Now…what do you say?”

Running her hand sheepishly along her upper arm, Courtney had to admit she was right. She wasn’t sure why she felt so defensive about finishing the task alone. Maybe just to prove to herself that she could…Taking a thick swallow, the older blonde asked softly, “Can you help me with the last of the boxes…please?”

“That’s better,” Willam stated as she ushered Courtney outside. With the two of them working together, they managed to carry in the remaining boxes in a mere five minutes. Now that she finally had a chance to rest, Courtney collapsed into a chair and tried to will her feet to stop throbbing.

Sitting down beside the Aussie with a smug look, Willam placed a cold bottle of water in front of her and taunted lightly, “See? You don’t always have to do it the hard way, right, princess?”

Side-eyeing the dirty blonde for a moment, she accepted the bottle and tiredly told her, “Please stop calling me that…and thank you.”

“Any time…princess,” Willam replied with a smirk.

Courtney rolled her eyes yet couldn’t stop a smile from working its way across her lips. After being friends with someone like Katya for so long, Courtney learned to recognize when to just accept playful teasing as an unchanging form of communication. Though she wasn’t entirely fond of the nickname, it was starting to grow on her the more Willam said it. While relaxing for a few minutes that she had definitely earned, Courtney made polite inquiries with Willam. She learned that the young blonde was friends with both of the owners and made occasional visits to the shop. Tonight, in fact, she was going out clubbing with Sharon. This lead to a passionate discussion between the two of their favorite hot spots to visit. Courtney was surprised to learn that there was quite a bit of overlap in the clubs each frequented and even some of the employees both knew at the venues.

As they were exchanging contact information to meet up at some point, Sharon entered the break room from the shared door to her apartment. The sight of the two getting along so well caused her eyebrow to arch. As she stood beside them, she addressed Willam, “I see you’ve met our new…assistant.” The final word seemed to be struggle for her to say without sounding sarcastic.

“Mh-mm…” Willam replied with a lazy smile, “She’s cool.”

“Really? Mm.”

To Courtney’s astonishment, Sharon actually seemed intrigued by the statement. She gave the younger blonde a considering once-over and almost instantly Courtney could tell that Sharon’s opinion of her had risen. Mentally thanking Willam for whatever influence she might have had over her friend, she gave Sharon a shy smile and announced she ought to be returning back to her shift soon. Nodding her head approvingly, Sharon turned to ask Willam, “Ready to head out?”

“Yeah, my car’s down the street. Let’s go before I get another ticket.”

As they left through the back door to the delivery area, Sharon called over her shoulder, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Courtney.”

Her smile became the brightest it had ever been while working in the shop as she called out a quick goodbye to both of the women. Even though it was small; it was still progress and Courtney would gladly take anything she could get from Sharon…and she even made a new friend to boot. Things were really starting to come together for her.

***************

Over the coming days Sharon’s attitude towards both her and Violet had significantly improved to the point where she no longer seemed to resent Courtney’s presence in the shop. She still argued with Violet from time to time but it was more like friendly squabbling than anything. Courtney learned from Willam that the two had always done this for as long as they have known each other and it never really amounted to anything serious. Although Violet did have a special talent for knowing which topics would annoy Sharon the most and often used that to her advantage. There were times when Willam would visit the shop while both of them were working and they seemed to have developed a game as to who could make Sharon leave first. Courtney often found herself watching these moments with great interest and even begun keeping a mental score.

Of all the people she had met through this job, Willam was the one that fascinated Courtney the most. She was flamboyant and mouthy, down to earth yet still so untouchable until she deemed you worthy. Slowly but surely, the two were spending more and more time together and not just at the shop. In the beginning, the two would simply meet up at the club and it was there that Courtney got to experience the power Willam held over others first hand. Something about her made people pay attention to her, whether she was acting as the life of the party or just relaxing with Courtney in the booths. No one seemed to be immune to her boisterous charm once it was directed at them.

Willam was even somewhat well known at a few venues but every time she entered it was like they were all seeing her for the first time. Courtney herself was no stranger to being the center of attention and at times she had even competed a little for it but with Willam, something made her stand back with the rest of the crowd and watch her work her magic. Drinks seemed to flow endlessly for her and not just because she had a way with the bartenders. Admittedly, Courtney was a bit jealous at first, often times it’d be up to an hour before she was offered a drink from some random stranger but Willam usually found one within the first ten minutes she appeared at the bar.

And more often than not she’d repay the gesture in such a way that it left the men craving for more. One of the first nights they had gone out, Courtney was shocked to find that in the few seconds she had turned away to pick up their drinks; Willam had already been handed one and was promptly drinking it out of a stranger’s mouth. Granted it was only a single shot so there wasn’t much to drink, but the lip lock that resulted from it left the man speechless as they broke apart. He was wide-eyed and slack-jawed as she flounced away from him, sending a flirty wink back in his direction as she pulled Courtney with her towards the crowd.

Their nights out in the club often followed the same basic procedure; arrive early, drink and dance, break apart if they found someone who piqued their interest and then if everything went right, they’d following the other person home before the morning light broke. It was all a very predictable routine and one that Courtney had little interest in deviating from at this time. But about two months after their club-hopping became a regular thing, one of them broke that pattern.

It started out as a typical night; Courtney and Willam both drank until they had a good buzz going and then promptly disappeared onto the dance floor. They remained side by side for some time until Courtney turned her attention to a slightly scruffy gym rat that had caught her eye. The pair were dancing fluidly together but as Courtney worked up the courage to ask if he wanted to leave with her, his sight drifted to another man and instantly Courtney could see the change in his expression. His gaze became more attentive as he excused himself to go dance with the newfound eye-candy. Courtney wasn’t particularly bothered by the development, just slightly annoyed that she might be leaving alone tonight as no one else had really seemed like a viable option to her.

She remained on the dance floor until the end of the song then slowly worked her way through the sea of grinding bodies towards the restrooms. While in the stall, she heard the bathroom door being roughly pushed open, followed by the sharp clicking of two pairs of heels. A brief moan echoed before being quickly cut off by what Courtney could only assume was another person’s mouth. Finishing up, Courtney kept her head low as she walked past the pair of women making out against the parallel wall and made quick work of washing her hands at the sink. As she dried her hands, she chanced a glance into the mirror and found that the women still had yet to move any further from the door than when they first arrived. They were frantically feeling each other up, one of them already slipping a hand beneath the other’s tiny dress while the other moaned eagerly into her mouth. Her cheeks were burning at the unashamed display but as she turned around and got a better look at the pair of blondes groping each other, she was startled to find that she had recognized one of the girl’s outfits.

“Willam?!?” she called out in astonishment.

Almost instantly the pair broke apart and Willam’s hand retreated from beneath the other girl’s hemline. For a split second as she turned around, Courtney swore she saw a look of guilt over the dirty blonde’s face but she quickly fixed as much of neutral expression as she could manage as she stared at her shocked friend. Courtney could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to gather her thoughts. There was a twinge of some foreign feeling in the pit of her stomach but right now she didn’t have the brain power to try and figure out what it meant. The pair stared at each other in silence until Willam’s anonymous partner slipped from behind her and promptly left the room. All at once Courtney seemed to regain the ability to speak but the best she could work up was a series of simple words like, “How-What-?”

Before she could attempt to create a more coherent sentence, Willam grabbed her hand and pulled her out from the bathroom. Courtney gave up trying to speak until they were in Willam’s car with the radio playing softly to fill the dead air. Although they weren’t driving, Willam’s hands were clutched around the steering wheel in a near death-grip. Courtney couldn’t help but to notice that Willam seemed almost afraid of what her reaction would be now that they were truly alone. This was the closest Willam had ever come to showing weakness around her thus far. Taking a deep breath, Courtney asked, “You and…her…was that serious?”

Willam gave her a confused, in-what-way sort of look and immediately Courtney back-tracked to try again, “I mean, were you attracted to her…like-”

“Yeah, I was,” Willam said briskly as she focused her gaze on her shaking hands.

“Oh,” Courtney replied lamely. Try as she might, she couldn’t come up with a better response. She wish she knew what to say to make it right but everything she thought of seemed clumsy and awkward.

There was a small moment of silence before Willam gave a heavy sigh and turned to ask, “Look, I like men and I like women…Is that a problem?”

“No, no! Not at all-” Courtney began quickly.

“Good,” Willam said in a slightly relieved but still defensive tone. “Cause if it is; you are definitely working in the wrong shop.”

Distracted, Courtney continued on, “I mean, I kind of like women, too? Not that I’ve really done much with them…but I’m open to it…If I like them that is. Wait…” Courtney paused as her mind caught up to what Willam had said, “What do mean 'wrong shop’?”

The two stared at each for what felt like minutes; Courtney in innocent confusion and Willam in a stunned disbelief. Finally, Willam broke the silence as she realized Courtney genuinely didn’t have a clue as what she was referring to. “Oh my god,” she exclaimed softly. “You are unbelievable. You have no sense of gay-dar, do you?”

“I know about Violet!” she said defensively as her cheeks tinted a light pink.

“She’s not the only one, you know.”

“Who else?” Courtney asked, very much taken aback at the knowledge.

“Pretty much everyone that’s ever worked there! The shop’s not located in the center of the gayborhood for no reason!”

“What?” Courtney all but shouted at the revelation. “No way.”

Rubbing her hand over her temple, Willam gave the older blonde a pitying look and asked, “Look, you’re off on Wednesdays, right?”

As Courtney nodded, Willam told her, “Come by my apartment tomorrow around four and we’ll head over to the shop. I want to show you something…We can go to dinner afterwards.”

Courtney looked uncertain but agreed to meet her friend as she planned. A great deal of her was curious about what Willam had said and wanted to find out more. It honestly had never occurred to her to question what her coworkers’ sexualities might be. Not that she assumed anything but it wasn’t really a topic she gave much thought to prior to Willam’s statement. Now she was genuinely wondering though…

The next day Courtney spent more time than she cared to admit getting herself ready to meet up with Willam. On her days off she usually made it a point to put in as little effort as needed and just relax in her own skin but today she at least wanted to look somewhat cute. Not because of Willam, of course…although Courtney was sure that she wouldn’t be leaving her apartment looking anything less than her best…No, her coworkers would be there, she told herself. She didn’t want them to see her in her baggy, lazy day clothes with no make up…Although she had see Sharon in her flimsy night clothes already and of course she’d seen Violet in various states of undress- No! That’s enough of that. Courtney decided she will be keeping her thoughts far away from those memories, thank you very much. Although she hadn’t heard them lately (small victories), she’s still seen enough skin from both her and Katya to last a lifetime.

Upon arriving at Willam’s apartment, she was less than surprised to find the other woman dressed as though she were heading out for another night on the town. Her long, dirty blonde hair was hanging loosely in her trademark beachy curls and her makeup was blended perfectly to look messy yet still put together, a technique she’s spent years perfecting. To top it all off, she was wearing her typical stylish heels, a vaguely shiny top (probably to compensate for the lack of the usual glitter around her eyes) and a skirt so light and thin that even a gentle breeze could raise it up past her thighs. Though Courtney wanted to remain casual and comfy, she couldn’t help but to feel quite under-dressed in her own outfit; a flouncy white skirt, pink halter top, chunky heels and just enough makeup to hide any blemishes. Next to Willam, she looked rather plain and boring to her mind but there’s not much to be done about it now.

They drove together in relative silence and parked just up the street as a midway point between the shop and the cafe they’d be visiting afterwards. At Courtney’s urging, the parking meter was paid for the next few hours unlike Willam’s usual gamble of taking the spot and hoping a meter maid wouldn’t be walking by any time soon. That was just one of Willam’s habits that bugged Courtney ever so slightly; she never understood why Willam would even chance a ticket worth a minimum of $30 instead of just tossing in a few quarters for a couple of hours. Better safe than sorry to her mind but its not her call to make. At least this time, Willam listened and actually paid the meter for once.

The shop wasn’t too busy at this time of day and they easily snuck in without being noticed by the other girls, aside from Violet at the front counter. She waved at them carelessly and returned back to chatting on the phone as she flipped through her order sheets. 'Probably negotiating with another supplier,’ Courtney thought. It was hard sometimes to find reasonable prices as Courtney had learned but she always thought Violet did a wonderful job working her magic over the phone. And she was kind of looking forward to seeing what new stock would arrive in the next few days…

Willam led her with an air of determination up the steps to second level and brought her over towards the edge of the banister. Leaning against the railing, Willam reaffirmed, “So you said you knew about Violet already, right?”

“Yeah…she’s dating my neighbor. Well, they’re sleeping together…at least…they were for awhile,” Courtney said in an unsure tone. Now that she thought about, she wasn’t entirely positive what kind of relationship those two had. Violet certainly was coming over to Katya’s on a regular basis but it was hard to say if they were anything else going on with them anymore…she’d have to ask about that later.

Unconcerned with the details, Willam stated, “Good, don’t have to explain that at least…Now, take a look down at the work stations…”

Standing next to Willam, she focused her sight down into the alcove and found the other two florists enjoying the quiet reprieve between rushes. “Jinkx and Ivy? What about them?”

“Just watch for minute, princess,” the dirty blonde assured her.

Slightly miffed with the return of the nickname, Courtney did as directed and studied the two women as best as she could. Jinkx was reading as per usual ever since she found a hidden collection of books about two weeks ago and Ivy was sitting next to her, tapping away at her touch screen. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary but Willam wouldn’t have pointed it out if there wasn’t something she wanted Courtney to see. Focusing her attention even more, she found that the two women were in fact quite close to each other…enough that their shoulders would brush occasionally. It was a bit odd to her that neither of the women thought to move apart just a little bit further to prevent that from happening but that sort of thing didn’t bother everyone so to each her own she guessed. After a few minutes, Ivy gave a little yawn and slouched her way into leaning heavily against Jinkx’s side. Though the redhead didn’t make a comment on it as far Courtney could tell, it was plain to see her lips curled ever so slightly as her friend used her as a makeshift pillow while she scrolled through her phone. The two shared a brief glance towards each other after a few seconds and almost instantly a smile broke out across their faces. With Jinkx’s silent approval, Ivy nestled further into her side until she was comfortably resting her against the other’s shoulder with a content look on her face.

Courtney gasped as her mind finally began connecting the dots and she turned to Willam with a shocked expression. “Are they both…?” she asked, unable to finish her sentence.

Shrugging, Willam replied, “Not sure about Ivy, to be honest. She’s the only one I haven’t figured out yet but Jinkx definitely has an interest in women…Ivy, especially…But whatever Ivy’s orientation is, the feeling isn’t mutual.”

“Oh,” Courtney mumbled with a hint of sadness. “I feel kind of bad for Jinkx…”

“Don’t be…” Willam said in her confident, yet blunt manner, “They’re better off as friends. Jinkx’ll realize that soon enough.”

Curiously, Courtney asked, “How do you know?”

Before Willam could answer, a voice from below the balcony caught their attention. “Hey,” Sharon called out to Courtney, “Isn’t it your day off?”

“Yeah,” she replied sheepishly as she stared down at her boss.

With an amused expression, Sharon arched her eyebrow and asked, “So what are you two doing up there then?”

“Teaching Courtney about the facts of life,” Willam stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Right…” Sharon drew out with a disbelieving nod of her head. Very quickly she determined that whatever they were up to, she wanted no part of. Letting her eyes drift down the dirty blonde’s outfit, she smirked at the view and told the young woman, “Love the lace by the way.”

While Courtney’s hand immediately shot down to hold her skirt firmly against her thighs, Willam shamelessly spread her legs apart just a little bit wider as she leant against the railing to ask knowingly, “Your favorite pair, weren’t they?”

“They were,” Sharon agreed with a reminiscent glint in her eyes. “You always did look good in cerulean.”

“But you’re more into red now, huh?” Willam taunted with a smirk.

Sharon seemed taken aback by the question but quickly retaliated with, “And pink’s your new favorite, isn’t it?”

At once Willam’s expression shifted dramatically from teasing to stunned to as close to embarrassed as Courtney ever saw her. She wasn’t sure what the two women were talking about but she was certain Sharon had won that round hands down. Almost to prove her point, Willam ushered Courtney out of the shop, much like a dog with its tail between its legs, and refused to make further eye contact with anyone else as they left. The last Courtney saw of the older blonde was the look she and Violet shared of smug satisfaction, although what Violet was so proud of as she watched the exchange, Courtney could only guess.

It was about fifteen minutes into their meal before Courtney dared to broach the topic she was dying to talk about, “So…you and Sharon?”

“Uh huh,” Willam confirmed in a huff. She clearly didn’t like losing face in front of anyone and was still annoyed by the recent events in the shop.

“Are you two still…?”

“No.” Willam answered quickly. “Haven’t for a few months now…It was casual, never meant anything.”

“Ah,” Courtney said understandingly. The situation sounds similar to Katya and Violet’s.

Elaborating further, Willam added in, “She found someone she’s actually into so we just decided to make a clean break of it.”

“Oh!” Courtney exclaimed in interest, “Are they dating?”

“No…” Willam trailed off as though in thought, “It’s a little bit of a…tricky situation.”

Courtney was pondering if she should keep asking questions about her boss’ personal life without her knowledge when Willam decided to dangle the information in front of her enticingly. “Do you wanna know who it is?” she asked with a playful smirk. The older blonde was nodding her head vigorously until Willam shot down her hopes with a simple, “Then go find out…”

At once, Courtney’s face dropped and she sent a halfhearted glare to Willam for teasing her. To her surprise Willam encouraged her with, “Seriously, go find out! It shouldn’t be that hard if you pay attention. Just watch her for a little bit and once you know what to look for; it’s really obvious.”

“Alright,” Courtney agreed reluctantly. She’d humor Willam and at least try but she had serious doubts she would be able to figure out who Sharon was interested in. At least Willam seemed to have some faith in her to put the pieces together.

*********************** For the next week or so Courtney made sure to pay special attention to Sharon’s interactions with everyone that came into the shop, whether they were a customer or business relation. By the fourth day, she feared she wasn’t being as subtle about it as she had hoped. Sharon had begun giving her weird looks almost every time she glanced over and more than once she even asked the younger blonde, “What?” in increasingly suspicious tones. And Willam was certainly no help. Every time Courtney tried to weasel the information out of her, the dirty blonde just distracted her either with a quip or a taunt or just flat out laughed at her. She was very close to giving up but for every exasperated sigh, Willam just gave her some more prodding and suddenly she found herself watching Sharon again. This routine repeated itself on an almost daily basis until Courtney finally found the answer she was looking for.

One day as she was working the morning shift, she noticed Sharon at the register scanning the bar code on the back of the book. It seemed odd to her at first, as there were no customers at the time, but she brushed it aside and returned to working on the order sheet for that day. Shortly after, Sharon stepped into the alcove to cut off a strip of ribbon and promptly disappeared into the break area with both items for a good five minutes. When she returned, she was empty handed and Courtney figured she must have taken them next door to her apartment for some reason. She didn’t have a chance to give the situation much more thought before the usual morning rush swept into the building and quickly occupied everyone’s attention. Jinkx arrived to begin her shift as the crowd died down and between them, they were able to restock the shop’s floor just in time for the second wave to hit. For the next few hours, the three women were dashing back and forth to assist customers and grab a few bites of their lunch. When it all finally died down, they were absolutely beat. Courtney’s own shift would be ending once Ivy arrived so she offered to restock the work station for them as Jinkx took a much needed break.

Noticing the colored cellophane was running low, Courtney decided to bring in a few rolls from the storage room just in case they happen to run out during the night shift. As she was balancing the box in her hands, she stumbled upon a scene she never thought she’d witness. Jinkx had her arms wrapped tightly around Sharon’s midsection with the most joyful smile Courtney had ever seen from her and Sharon was actually allowing it! She even had a content smile of her own as she returned the embrace and toyed with a lock of her employee’s hair. It almost seemed entirely unreal until Courtney noticed what Jinkx was clutching in her hand; the same book and ribbon she had seen Sharon with earlier!

The longer she stood in the doorway, the more Courtney could feel the blood rising to her face. She was having an intense internal debate of whether or not she should hide in the storage room for a few minutes or continue past them like nothing was unusual until fate decided to make the decision for her. Before she could mentally prepare herself, Sharon caught her staring and almost instantly a noticeable blush graced her cheeks. The pair soon broke apart and Courtney rushed past them with her eyes glued to the ground as she mumbled an embarrassed, “Pardon me.”

For the rest of her shift, she couldn’t bring herself to look directly at either woman as she tried to process all that she had discovered. It was a huge relief when Ivy arrived early to take Courtney’s place and like a shot, Courtney sped over to Willam’s apartment. Calling the dirty blonde as she entered the elevator, she confirmed, “You’re at home, right?”

“Yeah,” the distracted voice answered, “Just painting my toenails. Got tired of looking at the old polish on them. Why?”

“Open your door,” Courtney replied as she stood impatiently outside of the apartment.

In less than 20 seconds, the door was pulled open and Courtney was met by a vaguely confused look. The expression only deepened as Courtney blurted out, “It’s Jinkx!”

There was a slight pause as the younger woman’s mind caught up with what Courtney was referring to but once she did, her eyes rolled as she muttered, “Took you long enough.”

As soon as Willam moved aside to let her in, Courtney threw herself down on the couch and excitedly began narrating the scene she had walked in on. Willam listened with an amused smile as she returned to painting her nails while Courtney enthusiastically recollected all of the other instances she had overlooked prior to this revelation. Over the coming weeks, Courtney made it a habit to stop by Willam’s apartment after work and keep her up to date on the latest gossip regarding those two. Willam wasn’t particularly interested herself but she never interrupted Courtney as she gushed over the little shared moments she occasionally found herself walking in on. The most recent development was Sharon’s encouragement of Jinkx’s newest passion; creating arrangements based on the special meaning assigned to certain flowers. There was something in the quiet and comforting way that Sharon showed her support for Jinkx’s interest that Courtney found to be utterly adorable. But even as infatuated with their relationship as she was, a part of her was frustrated that neither woman was inclined to pursue it further. She was voicing this opinion to Willam and even begun hinting that they ought to take a hand in the situation but Willam immediately shot the idea down with a firm denial.

“But they’d be so cute together! Why can’t we help that along?” Courtney argued as she curled her legs onto the couch with a glass of wine in her hand.

“Leave it alone, Courtney.” Willam stated with an unyielding, no-nonsense tone. “They need to work things out for themselves. Nothing good’ll happen if you try to push them before they’re ready.”

As tempted as she was to try and pout to get her way, this unusually serious manner from Willam gave her a moment’s pause. In the few months they had known each other, Courtney came to realize that once Willam’s mind was made up, precious little could be done to change it and being that this would involve one of her closest friends? Well, Hell was more likely to freeze over than for Willam to willingly play a role in getting the two women together. With a very reluctant huff, Courtney relented, “Fine. I won’t get involved in their relationship.”

“Thank you,” Willam replied sarcastically as she pulled back the tab on her beer can.

Though Courtney hated to admit it, she knew this topic was settled and she would have to keep her promise. She had so many ideas for how encourage the pair to admit their feelings but if Willam caught even a whiff of a plan; she would certain go off on Courtney without hesitation. Despite her teasing of the older blonde, Willam was quite protective of Sharon, as she was with any of her friends, and if someone was stepping out of line, Willam had no problem letting them know.

The two reclined on the couch in peace as some program played across the screen but a nagging sensation in the back of Courtney’s mind kept her from truly paying attention. She knew she was forgetting something but for the life of her, she had no inkling as to what. It was only when a commercial for local storage room rentals came on that she finally remembered. “Oh, yeah. Do you have anything planned for Sunday?” she asked Willam.

Thinking for moment, the dirty blonde replied, “Not that I know of. Why?”

“I need to leave my apartment for a few hours that afternoon. Do you mind if I hang out here?” Courtney asked as she gave her friend the best set of sad puppy eyes as she could muster.

“Ugh, fine. If you have to.” Willam muttered with an exaggerated groan of annoyance. “I hate having to be so nice to you.”

Rolling her eyes at the unconvincing display, Courtney cooed sweetly, “Thank you, Bill.”

Try as might to hide it, Willam’s lips curled into a pleased grin as she questioned, “Maintenance again?”

“No, Kats is just moving in. Thought it’d be nice to give her some space as she gets settled in her room,” Courtney replied back with a shrug as she returned to watching the TV.

At once, Willam’s attitude did a complete 180 and she icily asked, “Who’s 'Kats’?”

Turning back at the sharpness of the tone, Courtney responded slowly, “My neighbor, Katya…Bill, I told you about this already.”

Shocked, the younger woman demanded, “When?”

“Last week!” Courtney insisted as her own emotions began to get the better of her.

The two held each other’s gaze in a combative stare-down but Courtney had no clue as to why Willam was acting like this. She knows she mentioned it before; she was almost certain she still had the text saved in her phone from when she first told Willam. Either the other girl missed that part of the message or just didn’t read it but either way, she had no call to act so bitchy about it now. Courtney had done nothing wrong and not even Willam was going to make her feel like she had. Taking a deep breath in order to keep her voice level, she asked calmly, “Why do you have such a problem with this?”

Willam’s hand twitched ever so slightly, almost enough to make Courtney question doubt if it even happened, but to her surprise Willam’s offended demeanor quickly dissolved into one of gloomy disappointment as she asked, “Why didn’t you ask me?”

Taken aback, the blonde stumbled, “I-Would you have wanted to?”

“I don’t know!” Willam blurted out defensively as she crossed her arms and pulled her legs closer to her chest. “Maybe?”

Despite her earlier intentions, Courtney did feel a twinge of guilt for not even considering asking Willam if she would want to move in with her. Moving across the couch to Willam’s side, the older blonde explained, “It was nothing personal, honestly. She already lives across the hall so it just made sense to move in together. We’d thrown the idea around before but never gave it much thought until they raised our rent again last month. Katya was the one who introduced me to Violet, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Willam answered dismally.

Giving her friend a soft smile, she apologized, “Really, Bill, I’m sorry I didn’t ask you. I promise that next time, you’ll be my first choice.”

Though she tried to resist it, a grin reappeared on Willam’s lips as she retorted, “I better be, bitch, or this friendship is over.”

[mmmuses]

top 5/bottom 5

Rules: tag the person who tagged you, always post the rules, answer the questions, and add the date!  

Tagged by @chelidona Thank you so much for thinking of me, my friend. :-)

What are your five most popular works? (starting with the most kudos)

1. The Prairie -- a 19th-century Poldark AU (446)

In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

My very first Poldark AU, the plot bunny coming courtesy of @rainpuddle13. I’m very proud of this piece.

2.  Nampara Garage (366)

He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.

A Modern Romelza AU.

My very first MODERN Poldark AU, another plot bunny from @rainpuddle13. All kinds of role reversals in here. This one has been so much fun to write it has distracted me from the other WIPs I have going. I’ve discovered how much I like to write these characters with modern voices, particularly because it allows me to give the women characters far more agency than they would have been allowed back in the 18th century. 

3.  Awaiting Julia (262)

Ross and Demelza are expecting their first child. Inspired by the 2015 production of "Poldark" with some references to the original written works by Winston Graham.

Oh... this one holds such a special place in my heart. After I finished writing Six Months I knew I wanted to explore the time where they were waiting for the arrival of their first daughter, and have a little fun with it. Since I’ve never a) given birth or b) have kids, I solicited help from anyone who wished to respond and made some wonderful friends in the process. 

4.   Nisqually -- The Poldark Prairie Saga, Part II

Join the Poldarks, their family and friends as they battle treacherous river crossings, time and the elements to establish their new homestead in the Nisqually of Washington Territory, learning what it takes to survive and flourish in this rugged new country.

When I reached a natural ending point for Prairie I knew the story had to continue. It’s been such great fun researching and learning so much about my own back yard. Now that they’ve almost arrived at their destination the fun can really begin!

5  Three Weeks (167)

The story of Ross and Demelza's life during the three weeks that pass while their marriage banns are being read.

My first multi chaptered Poldark fic. I was still learning about the books, so this is primarily based on S1. I should re-read this sometime!

What are your five least popular works? (starting with the least kudos)

1.  God Only Knows part 10 from Moments from Poldark (29) (Series 3 spoilers)

Following the events as described in the original source material (NOT the show). A letter to Demelza, early January 1794. Unbetaed.

This is when I started writing “I wish there were” moments of rather than MISSING moments from S3. Because heart. I’d watched a documentary about the Beach Boys recording their album Pet Sounds, which has this song on it, It’s been one of my all time favourite songs and it just seemed to work with these two idiotic kids. 

2.  My Wife, My Son, My Life (35) part 14 of Moments from Poldark (Series 3 spoilers)

Ross returns from Roscoe to rediscover those he left behind. A missing moment from Poldark, episode 3.03. Unbetaed.

Again... easing my poor book lovin’ soul with these. 

3.  Hands, Heart and Soul, part 15 from Moments from Poldark (36) (Series 3 spoilers)

A whispered comment, overheard, leads to much-needed atonement.

MORE OF THE SAME. This time helping Ross extract the boot from his mouth following his snarky comment about the men of Cornwall and their attraction to his wife. Well not all of them, but one? Definitely. Watch your back, Ross, Or, better yet, use your words!

Tie for 4 & 5, each with 39 kudos

4. ‘Tis good, ‘tis fiddy, ‘tis right, ‘tis proper part 13 of Moments from Poldark (Series 3 spoilers)

Christmas at Nampara as seen through the eyes of Prudie.

Nothing but fluff fluff fluff from my favourite episode in Series 3.

5.  Relief, Sweet Relief part 12 of Moments from Poldark

A journey comes to a long, awaited end for Ross and Demelza. First impressions, written in drabble form. From S3.03.

Ross’s return to Nampara after his multiple month *rolls eyes* trip to Roscoe to seek information about Dwight’s whereabouts. My very favourite Romelza moment from the series. 

Are you surprised? Why?

About the least favourites? No, because they are all series 3 based, and the folks in the US haven’t seen the show yet. I plan on re-posting them after each of the episodes this autumn, so I hope folks enjoy them here. 

I’m still overwhelmed and so gratified by the popularity of Prairie, and I am thrilled to see Nisqually on the top five list, too. For me to take these characters out of their usual time and territory and throw them into the wild west of America? You all had a great deal of faith in me to write something that you would still find compelling enough to hang in there through the end. Thank you so very much.  

Optional: If you want to calculate this, what are your works’ average number of notes?

Oh...you’re asking me to do maths. Bad rabbit. 

I’ve no idea.

Today’s date, so you can see how your results might change if you do this again in a year.

10th August 2017

Tag six people to do this next!

@xxsparksxx @rainpuddle13 @jomiddlemarch  @mayyourbeardnevergrowthin @redpensandgreenarrows @darkhawkflying 

[taesthetes]

Hi cat, what advice do you have to keep a writer's inspiration/motivation up and going? Your masterlist has me in awe of how many fics you've written (they're all written very well btw 👌🏽) I've barely written anything all this year, I've finally started something, and it's really messy but I'm excited and yet kinda scared because I've never written something this long 😅😭 Thank youuuuuuu *hugs and kisses* 💓💓

Hello there, sweetpea! 🌸 First of all, thank you for reading my fics!! The thought of people actually wanting to read my writing still seems surreal to me even now haha 😅 And secondly and more importantly, congratulations on starting your first writing piece of the year! 🎉🎉 I’m so proud of you! that’s a huge accomplishment in itself already because the first step (in this case: starting to write) is always the hardest to take, in my opinion.

Pertaining to having constant writing inspiration and motivation, I’ll divide my advice up for the two separate topics. Personally, I constantly have ideas roaming my mind, but I simply lack motivation to write them all. But here are some things I learned about inspiration and motivation.

My advice for inspiration:

Use your personal experiences. I frequently formulate storylines about the things that have happened to me, and in my point in life right now, I’m in college where I have gotten a bunch of crazy experiences. That’s why my recent fics are mostly college au. Sobriquet was written almost identically to my own experience, whereas Caprice stemmed from me seeing a guy in my chem class regularly playing pokemon go instead of paying attention to class and grew in my mind into a fic idea. You can embellish and fluff up your life experience if you don’t think it’s interesting enough, thus whipping it up into great fic inspiration.

Use your dreams. Not everyone remembers their dreams when they wake up, but I remember a lot of the ones I have, and I use them as inspiration for writing. The majority of the dreams I wrote about in The Universe of Us are ones I actually had and then altered them slightly to fit into the storyline. I also have a lot of bizarre dreams that can actually turn into some very interesting fics lmao

Embrace the fangirl life and use it in your stories. Do you like Disney stories? Harry Potter? Anime? Find inspiration within other fandoms you enjoy. Write a hogwarts au, write a hunger games au, write a fic based on The Little Mermaid, etc.

Listen to music. Music is a huge source of inspiration, and you can think up fic ideas based on lyrics for example. Taylor Swift songs always help me when I’m trying to write a angsty scene, like a break up.

Check out prompt blogs. There are many blogs (ex: @/dailyau or this post that compiled a lot of au’s) out there that have writing prompts, which is super handy, if you lack inspiration. You can read through some of the prompts and see if any of them catch your attention.

Read. A lot. Writers get inspired by other writers. A wonderful way to fuel your imagination and inspiration and make them widen their horizons is by learning from other writers.

Be observant. Observe your surroundings, and you might just spot some inspiration. See the two baristas at your local coffee shop always bickering? Or perhaps, notice the boy who made a very creative promposal? Pass by someone and overhear them say something very interesting? You can turn those observations into fic ideas.

Be open to requests or suggestions. Your readers may have interesting ideas, and if you lack inspiration, you can open requests. You are by no means obligated to write them all, but they can spark up some inspiration. You can hold a drabble game, such as having them send in a song to write a song-inspired fic or picking a one-liner prompt. There are a lot of prompt lists out there that you can use for drabble games (ex: here, here, and here)

Daydream. Honestly, just relax somewhere with no distractions that makes you feel calm and stress-free. And let your mind wander. I get inspired as I daydream during car rides or whenever I’m simply sprawled out on my bed, doing nothing except making up ridiculous scenarios in my head.

My advice for motivation:

Be excited about writing. You certainly aren’t going to get any motivation if you’re not excited at all about writing. And, you said you’re excited and a little scared about your writing? That’s great! You should definitely feel excited about what you’re writing. You’re eager and happy to write then. And feeling a little nervous and scared is also good because that adrenaline rush and the feeling of butterflies in your stomach also adds a bit to the excitement, right?

You have to love the idea you’re writing. If you don’t like the prompt you’re writing, you aren’t going to feel very satisfied with your writing. You might even start to dread writing it and lose motivation. So, make sure that you actually genuinely enjoy the idea you’re writing.

Set the mood for writing. Is there a certain time you write best? Is there a certain place that you enjoy writing in? Do you write better when you listen to music? You will feel more motivated to write if the setting is ideal for you.

Write your short fics all in one sitting. This is just something that works for me personally. I have a super short attention span, which leads me to losing motivation quickly. This is why the majority of my fics are 1k to 4k oneshots because I write the entire fic at once. If I get an idea for a short fic, I write it immediately whether it be on my phone or my laptop because I know I won’t be motivated to write it in the future.

When you think of an idea for a long fic or series, wait a day before you write it. This is another thing that personally works well for me, but might not work for others. With long fic or series ideas, I want to know that I will finish it. I know I won’t be writing it all in one sitting since it’s going to be a long af fic, but I don’t want to write like 10k and then suddenly be like “I’m throwing this out. I don’t like this idea anymore.” I’m a very lazy person, and I don’t want to trash 10k of writing that I had spent hours on. So when I want to make a series or simply a long fic, I think of the idea and mull over it for a bit for a day or even weeks. And then, the next day or week, I ask myself, “Am I still interested in this idea?” If it’s a yes, then I begin to write it.

Make an outline of your fic before writing it. I only use this for long fic ideas that I have, but it works with any fic idea. Having an outline is sort of like seeing a schedule or a to-do list, which is quite motivating because of the sense of accomplishment and pride in yourself that comes when you check off something on the list (or checking off a scene you just completed writing from your outline). And studies show that people are more motivated to do something if they have it written down somewhere and see it daily.

Share and talk about your fic ideas with a friend. I never realized this until now, but having a friend hype up your ideas really boosts up your motivation to write them out. I tell all my fic ideas to fae and she’s always super supportive of them. I sometimes ask if I should do this or that, and she gives suggestions (oh, look at that, more inspiration courtesy of friends!!). I also give her various excerpts of the fic I’m working on, and she yells at me about them, so it’s like constant motivation throughout the writing period. So thanks, pablo, even though you show your support by screeching at me in all caps @zephyoongist​

It’s okay to take a break from writing. If you are feeling unmotivated for a certain idea, don’t force yourself to write. Take a break. Go write a different scenario or make a snack or hang out with friends. When you come back, you will feel refreshed and ready to write. You can reread your writing with fresh eyes and may have new ideas or inspiration on how to continue the fic.

Just write. Let out all your emotions and everything you want to say or convey. Don’t be afraid that it won’t make sense. It’s okay for your fic to be messy during the writing process. You can always go back, cross things out, move sentences around, revise it, and fix it up until you think it’s perfect.

I hope these tips are helpful to you! It’s like 3 am for me now, so I should go to bed, but this is also my prime time for writing, so I’m a little conflicted lmao but anyway, once again, CONGRATULATIONS ON STARTING YOUR FIRST WRITING MASTERPIECE!!! ☺️❣️Best wishes for your writing journey, and I know your story will turn out amazing! And I hope you send me a link to your writing if you do publish it because I’d love to read it 💞💞 And, here are lots of hugs and kisses being sent your way from me to you as well 💌

[letdecemberburninflames]

Top of Our Class

Chapter 11: Epilogue

Fic Type: Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter Crossover, (half)Elf!Reader, Slytherin!Reader, Draco Malfoy x Reader

Warnings: Sad? (Is that a warning?)

Draco had been sentenced to two years in Azkaban, but you didn't care. He was a self-centered jerk and you never wanted to see him again. You couldn't find a job in the anywhere, so you had no choice but to leave. You didn't really want to stay in the Wizarding World anyway; there were too many bad memories. You moved to Middle-Earth and went to study healing, though you continued to live alone, enduring the harsh words, whispers, and rumors.

---

One day after you had finished healing wounded Elven soldiers, you came home exhausted but happy. Things were starting to go back to normal, though things might never be normal. Molly had been seriously injured in the Wizarding War and was still recovering, and Draco was out of Azkaban, or at least he should be. You had grown to hate him for being so ignorant and stupid, for thinking he had no choice. You knew you could never forgive him, even if you wanted to. 

You had moved to Rivendell, in Middle-Earth, where your mother was from and where you were born. You lived in a cottage along the river. The Elves there were in need of someone who could heal, so of course you took the job. Day and night you had cared for the sick and wounded. It kept your mind off the past, but you disliked it. As soon as you had gotten there you had reunited with your cousin, Legolas. You had missed him very much, and he came from Mirkwood to Rivendell to visit you often. It was storming outside and you were curled up near the fire with a cup of tea and your very-old-but -miraculously-still-alive cat, Tundra. The home was small but very clean, decorated beautifully. You had always wanted to go to study the ancient spells and history, but you couldn't afford it, so you had gone into healing. 

A sudden knock at the door interrupts your thoughts. You went to go let whoever was out there in; no one should be out and about in this weather. When you opened the door a man wearing a cloak that obscured his face stood there.

"You have no idea how far I've traveled to find you." Says a familiar voice as Draco Malfoy pulls down his hood.

You slam the door in his face. You never wanted to see him again, not after he betrayed you....

You open the door again, and out of common courtesy only, ask him in for tea.

As he sits down at the kitchen table he laughs. "You know, I expected to see kids running around here. I thought you would have married someone." He smiles humorously at you, and you return his look with a glare, as you slam a teacup down in front of him.

"Why? Because I'd have a husband, settle down, be a mother? You should know me better than that." You can't keep the anger out of your voice.

"You never know. A lot can change in two years." He sips his tea.

"Besides, I'm only nineteen." You say, voice shaking. "And I don't want to have anything to do with you, so as soon as you finish your tea you can leave." You shout at him, surprised by your own outburst.

"What?" he splutters, spewing tea everywhere.

"Because of you I am whispered about and ridiculed and I couldn't get a job anywhere, it's a miracle I even have one! I had to leave the Wizarding World because I had no place to stay, no job, and everybody is dead!" you practically shout. "I lost everything because of you! Everything! I was tortured on your dad's orders, I had to quit school, my parents are dead, and I had to go work as a healer because I don't have enough money to teach at Hogwarts since I used all of my savings paying for this house and for a job I don't want! All you cared about was yourself!" with that you burst into tears, not even noticing the taken aback, though slightly annoyed look on Draco's face.

"I'm sorry Y/N, I..."

"Sorry isn't going to cut it. You chose yourself and forgot about everyone else. You thought you had no choice. You were scared of You-Know-Who, you coward!"

He gets up from his chair and puts an arm around your shaking shoulders. "You know what the worst part is?" he asks, and you look up. "I never stopped loving you. And you know why? Because you kept believing in me. You stayed loyal to me, to the point where it destroyed you. Do you remember when you asked what the Amortentia potion smelled like to me? It smelled like home, the metal of a Snitch, and you; the sea, warm amber, and fresh, clean linen. The only reason I ignored you is because I didn't want you to get hurt. I didn't want to make it look like I cared about you, that you were my weakness. And I'm sorry if you hate me, because I want to take care of you the way you took care of me." He smiles down at you sadly.

"What do you mean?" you ask.

"I mean that I want you to come live in the Malfoy Manor. As a friend, of course." He adds when he sees your startled expression.

"I'm sorry, but I'm just not ready yet." You say, wiping the tears from your eyes. "I'm not ready to go back." He stares, and you look down at your hands. "I'm sorry. I don't love you anymore. I'm not who you think I am. I'm not that innocent schoolgirl that needs saving and I realize now that I never was."

"No, you don't understand. That's never who you were..." Draco begins to argue.

"Oh really?" you snap back, "Why then, are you always trying to save me?" Malfoy's mouth opens to retort, but before he can even get a word out you start in again. "I had that situation with Blaise completely under control, and you just came bursting in like you owned the place!" You throw your hands up in complete disgust, "Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was? To have to be rescued all the time?!"

Draco's eyes held a stony cold look you knew so well. "If I hadn't rescued you, you know what would have happened? He would have raped you. And if you hadn't ended up pregnant with his child, you would have been his slave! Do you even know what he did? The girl before you he used the Imperius curse on. She had no choice but to do everything he said, everything! He even sold her to other students for his own profit. I saved your life, you should be grateful!"

"Grateful? Grateful! How many times have I lied for you? Most of which you don't even know about! All of Six and Seventh Year I spent making up excuses for why you weren't in class! And why weren't you in class? Because you were trying to kill the headmaster and lead an attack on Hogwarts!"

He grits his teeth. "I. Had. No. Choice."

"The only reason you thought you had no choice is because, again, you were trying to save me! And from what I saw, your father deserves to die anyway." Your cold E/C eyes shoot daggers in his direction.

"My father was wrong to think that killing others is okay. He was also wrong to discriminate against Muggle-borns. But he is still my father, and I honor him." Draco's voice was tight.

"Yeah, well if it wasn't for your father, mine and my mother would still be alive." Your own voice was about to crack from the emotional strain.

"And how exactly is it my father's fault your parents are dead?" He snaps back, defense rising in his voice.

"Your father used Legilimency on me! He combed through my memories, he already knew my father was an Auror! He knows where I live; your family came for dinner when I was twelve. Then, he had my father killed and my home burnt to the ground! Not to mention my mother, who had already died thanks to that goddamn law!"

"Fine. If that's how you feel, that's just fine." He stood, pulled on his cloak and let himself out with a slam of the front door. Your drop your head in your hands, exhausted, furious, and heartbroken. You wished he hadn't come, you had wanted to avoid this, but there had been no way around it.

---

A year later he appeared on your doorstep again. Again he apologized, and again he asked you to come live in the Malfoy Manor. In the time since his last visit you had forgiven him, and yourself. You also apologized for the way you acted, and you proposed an offer. "If I come to live in the Malfoy Manor, I want you to pay for me to go back to school." You looked him straight in the eye, and you knew he knew that that was the only way you were going anywhere without a fight.

"I don't want you hurt again. I don't want people to know you are associated me, they'll..."

"Think the worst? They have been doing that since I was born. And what were you planning to do? Have your parents lock me in the cellar again?"

"I guess you better get packing then." Draco says with his familiar smirk. And you did.

---

You moved into the Malfoy Manor and started school at a wizarding university. You had always had an interest in the ancient arts, so you went to Euro-Glyph, a "wizarding school of extraordinary languages" in London to become a wizarding archaeologist. You studied ancient curses, spells, and magic for the Ministry of Magic for several years before returning to the Malfoy Manor.

---

You and Draco were very happy, although you both got angry at the disgusted stares you got when walking down the street. Draco, because he was an ex-Death Eater, and you because you were with him. Draco tried to get you to leave him many times because of all the people's accusing stares and harsh words, but you took no heed of them, or him. You were offered a job teaching Ancient Studies at Hogwarts, and you took it. Two years later, Draco proposed to you, and you got married. The wedding was small, but it was enough for you two.

---

You loved falling asleep next to him, you felt warm, safe, and secure there lying by his side. And he loved loving you. Every kiss tasted like a piece of heaven, and every inch of your body was euphoria of perfection to him. Later on you found out you were pregnant with a baby boy, your first child. You and Draco were overjoyed when you found out. Scorpius looked just like his father, though he had inherited your book smarts. Two years later you became pregnant with your second child. Unfortunately, the Ministry of Magic had called Draco to come to London. You both knew that this day would come eventually, but you never knew when. He had to be interrogated since he used to be a Death Eater, even after he had spent his time in Azkaban to make sure he wasn't practicing the Dark Arts. No one was allowed to come with him, and if he was found guilty they could execute him on the spot.

"Please don't go." You whisper in his ear as you hug him tightly.

"I'm sorry, but I have no choice. I don't want to, not with the baby on the way, but..." Draco rests his hand softly on the side of your swollen belly.

"When the Ministry calls you have to go." You recite the words he had said so many times before, tears in your eyes. 

He had no idea how long he'd be gone, or if he was even coming back at all. This was heart-wrenching because you were already seven months pregnant with your second child.

Draco bends down till he's almost eye-level with your first son, little two year-old Scorpius, who was clinging to your dress being very brave by trying not to cry. "Scorpius, I need you to take care of mommy while I'm gone, okay? She needs extra hugs because she's very tired from carrying your new little brother or sister for so long." Draco smiles up at you before turning back to Scorpius, picking him up and hugging him tightly.

Scorpius wraps his arms around his neck and whispers, "Are you going to be back for my birthday, daddy?"

Draco smiles sadly. "Maybe." He places Scorpius in your arms and kisses you softly before turning towards the waiting carriage.

"Bye-bye daddy." Your little boy waves goodbye to his father for what may be the last time.

---

The days dragged on. Draco wrote almost every day, but that didn't make up for him not being home. When Scorpius turned three Draco sent him a toy broomstick for him to ride that hovered only a few feet off the ground. He didn't seem to care for it much, preferring the book of best loved children's poems that his aunt had sent him. But he missed his father very much, and often cried at night because Draco wasn't there to tuck him into bed. 

Then, very suddenly, you became very ill. This was not good at all since you were in your last weeks of pregnancy. It got so bad a nurse from St. Mungo's had to be called in to take care of you. You slowly got better, though only a week before the scheduled due-date. Luckily the baby was alive and healthy. You often felt him or her kicking and knew he or she was going to be a very active child. You were on Maternity leave from teaching at Hogwarts, and on October 12 you gave birth to a wonderful, lively, little boy. 

Perseus looked as much like you as Scorpius looked like Draco. He had brilliant E/C eyes and H/C hair, and was very active. It broke your heart not to have Draco by your side, for him not to be able to hold his newborn son.

---

It was almost three months after Perseus's birth that Draco came home, alive and well. Perseus was by now learning to walk and babbling away. He got himself into a lot of sticky situations, and once even stole his brother's toy broomstick, and he nearly gave you a heart attack when you walked into the nursery and he was zooming about on the broomstick, he had literally learned to fly before he could walk. Scorpius was now learning to read. He was only three, and had no interest in broomsticks, but rather preferred books. He had already memorized all the letters in the alphabet and their sounds by himself from a book. Draco was devastated that he had missed so many important moments of his sons' lives.

---

Family gatherings were always stressful. Lucius disliked you greatly, and Narcissa wasn't fond of you either. They had disapproved of Draco offering to take care of you. They definitely weren't happy when he payed for you to go to back to school. They were downright furious when he proposed to you. They hadn't wanted you to be the one to bear their son's children, and you offered to leave many times, but Draco wouldn't let you. Lucius wanted you to leave. He tried to drive you and your baby out once when Draco had taken a trip to Diagon Alley. He almost succeeded. Draco had come back just in time to talk some sense into his father.

---

You kept teaching even after you were married and had given birth to both your children, and you lived with your husband and sons in the Malfoy Manor. Scorpius was the first to attend Hogwarts, being the oldest. He never cared much for Quidditch, but was extremely smart. He was the top student in every class, beating everyone by leaps and bounds. When Scorpius was made Head Boy you and Draco were so very proud off him. Perseus on the other hand, loved Quidditch. He became Seeker, like his father, though in his first year. When he was made Quidditch Captain you and Draco were so happy for him. Draco loved you and your boys so much, and you were so very happy together as a family.

[stargazerdaisy]

Jacob-Verse - The song Skye and Ward first danced to at their wedding. Go! In fact, give us the whole wedding in general. Or link me to the wedding. Whatever.

Here it is: the Skyeward Jacob Verse Wedding.  If I tried to make this a full, coherent fic, it would literally never get finished.  So instead, you get statements and snippets that add up to the entire event.It’s at their home in Tennessee. The SHIELD team flies out for it. 

It’s in their backyard, at sunset.

Skye hadn’t wanted anything too fancy, but Ward still had a very traditional mindset from his Very Proper™ upbringing in Massachusetts. But mostly, he wanted to give her all the things she never had and never dared let herself dream about. So it’s a small ceremony, but white dress, suit, walking up the aisle, etc.

Skye’s dress was a strapless floor length dress, gathered at the bust, but flowing gently down. Almost Grecian style. She did opt against a veil though. Instead she had flowers in her hair (baby’s breath). And sandals. Because it was August in Tennessee and she wasn’t about to wear heels and trip and fall in this dress. Her bouquet was freesia and hydrangea. 

Ward wore a black three piece suit with a cornflower blue tie. Skye tried to talk him into going more casual, but he stood firm. It was his wedding, he was wearing a suit. But at the reception, he did lose the jacket and rolled up his sleeves. The tie was gone by the end of the evening as well.

Jemma and Bobbi were bridesmaids and they wore white blouses with skirts that were the same blue as Ward’s tie. (Skye wouldn’t hear of getting them fancy dresses they’d never be able to wear again. The outfits were beautiful, but casual enough to both match the wedding and be worn again. Jemma wears her skirt often.) Their bouquets were similar to Skye’s but more white freesia, so the blue popped out. 

Fitz and Trip were the groomsmen. Instead of full suits, they wore vests instead of jackets. Same tie as Ward though. 

Coulson walked Skye down the aisle and gave her away. For as complicated as Ward’s relationship with the man had been, they had come to an understanding, and Ward knew it was what Skye wanted. Her dad wasn’t exactly an option anymore and despite Hunter’s offer, Coulson was the one she wanted in that role. (There may have been a few tears from him when she asked him. But he’ll never admit to it.)

The ceremony itself was short and sweet. They wrote their own vows and while they might have been a bit unconventional to others, they were perfect for Skye and Ward. 

They both cried.  

(So did Bobbi…. And May, but if you ever mention it, she will kill you.  Seriously.  You wonder why you’ve never heard about Agent MacIntyre?  That’s why.)

The reception was at their house as well and it was a freaking awesome party.  They had it catered by a local bbq place (and this is Tennessee, so you know it was good.)  And the wedding cake was made by a bakery in town.  It was small, mostly just for them to cut, but it had flowers on it and was chocolate cake inside.  The desserts were actually cream puffs, because this bakery made THE MOST AMAZING CREAM PUFFS EVER and Skye picks up 2 dozen almost weekly.  

Skye changed in a shorter dress partway through the event, because “No way in hell am I not going to dance all night, because this is my wedding dammit, and I want to have FUN, not be tripping over that beautiful gown all night.”  Ward talked her out of the cowboy boots.

There were lanterns and fairy lights hung EVERYWHERE.  The whole backyard basically glows and it is every bit as magical as Skye had hoped.  

They had a rockin’ DJ who plays all sorts of music, but it’s all fun and upbeat, even when skipping through genres like Ward can do with languages.  

Except their first dance.  

That was an incredibly sappy, almost syrupy love song.  It actually took them quite awhile to find the song they wanted, because they didn’t really have a song that was their song.  So they were going through lists of songs and Skye was making fun of most of them for being waaaaay toooooo cheesy, but when that song got mentioned, she said, “I actually don’t hate that.”  There were a few others that made it to the short list, but they hadn’t found *the one* yet.  Then one night, they were driving back from somewhere in the truck, and that song just happened to come on the radio, and Ward looked over at a getting-sleepy Skye, and she was smiling and her eyes shining, and he just knew that was the song for them when she snuggled up against his arm and started humming along.  

It’s “Breathe” by Faith Hill.

So they’re out on the dance floor, with eyes for only each other, and no one had ever seen either of them smile the way they are right now.  It almost knocks you over how in love they are.  Ward had never looked happier or softer that he did in that moment.  Skye was the most grounded and secure she had ever been in her entire life.  They both knew they belonged with the other and nothing would ever come between them again.  It started out with them dancing normally, Skye’s hand on his shoulder, his on her hip, almost waltzing.  Then he folded their clasped hands against his chest and pulled her closer, arm around her back.  She was singing along softly with the song and he tucked his head down against hers and murmured how much he loved her.  It was hands down the most romantic and magical moment of their lives.  The rest of the night was a blast.  

Bobbi took charge and made sure that they ate something.  “You never eat at your own wedding, everyone says, and they’re right.  But I’m not letting that happen to you, so SIT NOW.  Everyone can wait for you to eat something before talking to you again.”  Skye even managed to avoid getting bbq sauce on her dress.  (Hunter got it on his shirt though…..)  

When they cut the cake and Skye totally smashed it in Ward’s face.  She was giggling like crazy until he smashed it back and then they were both laughing and kissing and it was adorable and gross at the same time.

They didn’t do the Father-Daughter, Mother-Son dances.  Because, just, not.

The Chicken Dance may have played.  And Trip may have been the most fantastic chicken ever.  (And Fitz may have gotten it all on camera.)

Thomas was there and it meant everything to Ward.  Thomas didn’t stay all night, but he was there for the ceremony, and some of the reception, and took a few months to genuinely congratulate his brother and new sister-in-law.  He was a bit taken aback when Skye practically leaped at him to hug him, but he hugged her back.  

Eventually the end of the night came and it was almost time to send them off.

“But you haven’t thrown the bouquet yet!” Jemma shrieked.

Skye laughed.  “Okay then, let’s do that.  Because I, for one, am anxious to get to this honeymoon thing everyone raves about,” she said waggling her eyebrows at Ward.

“Gross, Skye,” Fitz complained.

“Too bad, Leopold.  It’s my wedding and I’m allowed to do that.”  Skye stuck her tongue out at him.

All the single ladies gathered in the middle of the dance floor and Skye turned her back to them.  She chucked it backwards and it landed perfectly in May’s hands.  The look of utter shock and disgust on May’s face was almost the most memorable moment of the evening.

Next it was time for the garter.  Because Skye had on a knee length dress, Ward didn’t exactly need to do the whole under-the-skirt thing (plus, he didn’t like an audience for stuff like that).  So he just slipped it down her leg with his hands, then turned around to launch it to the waiting guys.  

It hit Fitz in the face.  He turned white.  Then got this dopey, happy smile on his face and wore the thing like a tiara until he went to bed that night.

Jemma, Bobbi, and the rest of the team assured the happy couple that they’d made sure everything would get cleaned up properly and put back in order at the house.  Congratulations, hugs, and well-wishes were exchanged and finally it was time to go.

Rather than throwing rice, they had opted for bubbles, and they were nearly coated in them as they ran out to the coat.  

True to their word, no one had tied tin cans or anything ridiculous to the truck.  But as they pulled away, a glowing “Just Married” showed up on the tailgate, courtesy of Fitz’s magic.  It was, in all, the most perfect day ever.