#everything i make is surface level at best. even if i pour my heart and soul into something; even if it’s from a personal place of heartache

[eenochian]

i know it’s stupid for me to be doubting my writing skills rn, like i’m literally getting more attention on my fics now than ever, but i’m just so unconfident in everything i’ve written lol. i’m putting out things that i’m happy with, but there’s always that voice telling me it’s shit and that i should just stop – and, it feels selfish, being insecure despite the support. like i’m not appreciative enough and i’m just being an attention whore. now i’m just sitting here, staring at a blank draft for the past 5 hours. i have the idea, i have people asking for the chapter, and yet i’m paralyzed trying to write.

[thebabblingbrookenook]

Not Like This

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x Female Reader

Summary: You’ve kept your feelings for Anthony in check for a long time. That all changes when he crosses that line himself. Can you move forward together, or will this drive you apart?

Warnings: Foreplay, Heavy Petting, Fondling, Plenty of other good stuff

Word Count: 6.4K

Author’s Note - @colettebronte what would I do without you to read over all my tippy-tappies. Thank you so much.

____________________________________________

Lies! 

It was always a lie with him. How were you ever supposed to get over your trust issues when the person you thought you would never have to second guess constantly led you astray? His word was supposed to be as good as gold. If you couldn’t rely on the local weatherman, then how could you possibly be expected to rely on anyone else? 

Staring out your living room window, you scowled at the rain pouring from the sunless sky. This day was far from the promised clear skies with a light breeze. It was the exact opposite, and it laughed in the face of all of your scheduled plans. Plans that you had been looking forward to for days. Plans that weren’t easily rescheduled due to the company they required.

Anthony was almost impossible to pin down these days. When you met at uni, you were both unencumbered, free to do exactly as you pleased. There weren’t any responsibilities lurking over you like a wet blanket. If he called you at 1 AM on a weeknight you could talk to him about nothing for two hours until he would finally fall asleep. If you invited him out at the last minute to grab a bite to eat, he’d drop whatever he was doing and meet you at the hole-in-the-wall pub you loved to frequent. But you weren’t at uni anymore. You were both proper adults now. Well, at least he was. You were giving it your best effort, but still found yourself flailing most of the time.

You missed him. You missed the way things used to be. The easy laughter and the companionship. The sense of being understood and feeling less alone. You missed arguing with him over stupid things that didn’t matter. You missed spending Sundays with his chaotic family, and watching him transform into a completely different person in the presence of his mother. And even though you shouldn’t, you really, really shouldn’t, you missed the ache in your chest when he smiled at you. The heat that blushed your skin whenever he touched you. Even though you knew those touches were never meant as more than friendship.

Those were dangerous feelings. Feelings that you had murdered a long time ago. You had to, there was no other choice. You were friends and nothing more. If you let yourself imagine any other reality for too long, it would have ruined it all. Anthony was the kind of man that it would be easy to love, and that was a trap that you weren’t willing to walk into. 

But that didn’t stop you from missing him. It didn’t stop you from the ugly jealousy you felt when you took a back seat every time he got a new girlfriend. It didn’t stifle your rage when one of those aforementioned women mishandled the fragile, loving heart that he liked to keep hidden below the surface. His current infatuation was the worst offender of them all. Siena…

The on-again off-again nature of their relationship was exhausting to watch. He wasn’t perfect, he made his share of contributions to their toxic dynamic, but never in your life had you seen him allow himself to be treated this way. She held him under some sort of spell that you would never understand. The man that you knew, normally confident to an obnoxious level, was reduced to crippling insecurity when they were in one of their down-swings. Unfortunately for everyone else, that insecurity usually presented itself as frustration and anger, making him unbearable to be around at times. 

That’s normally when you lost him to his other mistress - work. You would never begrudge him the success that he had built for himself. You were proud of him for everything that he had achieved. Running a thriving company at the age of thirty-two was no small feat. It was just disappointing when he buried himself there, once again leaving you at the mercy of his robust schedule. You were forced to live on whatever meager scraps he had left to give. 

Which brings you back to now. Your throat burned with the effort to hold back your tears when you read his easily predicted request to reschedule.

A: It’s really coming down out there. Can we maybe do this when there isn’t a real threat of drowning?

You rolled your eyes. He could be so fussy sometimes. You would have been willing to be soaked to the bone if it meant spending some time with him. Not ready to give up just yet, you sent an alternate solution.

Y: Coward… Maybe we could go visit your mum instead. I haven’t seen her for ages. We could bring dinner.

His answering response took longer than it should have. Your stomach twisted in knots while those three little dots taunted you. You were expecting paragraphs, but what you got instead…

A: Don’t be mad…

Your heart sank. This didn’t bode well.

Y: Too late. That definitely shouldn’t have been your opening statement if you had any hope of avoiding my wrath. Now I’m primed for conflict. Explain…

You tried to deflect with humor to hide the true extent of your disappointment.

A: Good to know. I’ll adjust my tactics for the next time I fuck up… 

A: Violet Bridgerton would be overjoyed to see you. You should go… I just can’t come with you.

Y: Uh oh. Why not? Did you piss her off again? I told you to dial it back with the mansplaining, Ant. 

A: I DO NOT MANSPLAIN!

A: I just know a lot about a lot. I offer my wisdom where I can with simple and efficient instruction. It’s called being helpful.

Y: Did you just mansplain mansplaining to me? You’re unbelievable…No wonder your mum doesn’t want to hang out with you.

A: Good God, you’re bratty. My mother adores me. 

Y: Then why can’t we go visit her tonight?

A: Well… when it started pissing down rain I assumed we wouldn’t be able to go hiking. I knew you wouldn’t mind postponing for more sensible weather, so I made plans for my evening. You deserve the day you had your heart set on, not consolation plans. We’ll map out a whole day… Just for us. I promise…

The day you had your heart set on… You didn’t need hiking for that, just him. It took everything in you not to respond with bitterness.

Y: You promise?

A: I swear it. Still friends?

Y: TBD

~~~~~~~~~~

The rain stopped two hours later… It was clear now, that nature, and maybe even the weatherman, was openly mocking you. All you could do was laugh at the absurdity. If you didn’t laugh, you might cry, and nobody wanted that. You needed to find something to do. Something that would take your mind off the lingering disappointment that was trying to coax you back into bed for the rest of the day. 

You decided to visit Violet. You didn’t need Anthony for that. The two of you had grown close over the years, developed a relationship of your own. The fact that you had been waiting for an invitation from her son to pop by for a visit suddenly seemed ludicrous.

Like he usually was, Anthony had been right about his mother’s joy in seeing you. When she opened her door to find you standing awkwardly on her steps, she hugged you so tightly it practically squeezed the life from you. When you offered to take her out for a late lunch, she declared that idea nonsense and insisted that you come in and catch up. Her chef had prepared a generous midday spread in anticipation of Colin stopping by. Apparently Violet had volunteered to watch the little ones while Colin surprised his wife, Penelope, with a weekend trip for her birthday.

“I’m so glad you decided to come and see me today,” Violet said, handing you a perfectly made fresh cup of tea. It was no surprise that she didn’t even need to ask how you took it. “I was just thinking about you this morning. Anthony had mentioned that you planned to spend the day together…”

You didn’t miss her subtle attempt at finding out why you weren’t currently with her son. You always had a sense that Violet was quietly rooting for the two of you to end up together. You didn’t have the heart to tell her that you were nothing more than friends. 

“We rescheduled,” you smiled tightly, taking a sip from your tea.

Almost imperceptibly, her eyes narrowed, and then softened as she observed you. It was impossible to hide from her. “We… or he,” she asked knowingly.

“We both agreed hiking might be better on a day when it wasn’t pouring.” Her unspoken interrogation tactics sent you into an anxious babble. “I asked if he wanted to do something else, but he already had plans. It’s fine. I know he’s busy. He promised to set aside a day just for us.”

“Being busy doesn’t justify being inconsiderate, dear. His father and I taught him better than that,” she huffed in frustration. “I love my son, but you’re too easy on him.”

You felt yourself sink in your chair. “I don’t think I’m too easy on him. I just know how much he has on his plate. I’m trying to be con- …” You paused on the last word, realizing the trap she had expertly set for you.

“Considerate?” Violet smirked, finishing your sentence.

“Fair enough,” you conceded. “I brush it off just as much for my benefit as for his. It takes a lot of energy to be mad at him, and he’s a lot better at arguing than me. Besides, I know it is never his intention to hurt my feelings.”

Violet sighed, clearly weighing how to proceed. “Regardless of his intentions, however benign they might be, he still needs to know when something he’s done has hurt you. Aside from Benedict, you’re his best friend. If anyone has the privilege of being direct with him, it’s you. Anthony is brilliant in a lot of ways, but emotional intelligence is not his strong suit. He’ll gladly take the path of least resistance if you let him. As long as it is easier to disappoint you than someone else…” She held your gaze, making sure you were listening to her words. “Well, you’ll never be prioritized in the way you deserve if there isn’t a consequence for him to consider. I know he values you, but darling, occasionally you’ve got to make him work for it.”

His words from earlier in the day echoed in your mind. I knew you wouldn’t mind… so I made other plans. God, that was pathetic. She was right, he knew exactly how much he could get away with, and it was nobody’s fault but your own. Could he take his head out of his ass every once in a while and see below the surface - yes. Was it fair to expect him to read your mind - probably not. 

“Make him work for it, huh?” You asked, a trace of a smile playing on your lips.

“Oh, absolutely. When have you ever known Anthony to shy away from a good challenge?” She patted your hand affectionately. “I think the person you need to worry about having a little more consideration for is yourself, y/n.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Your afternoon with Violet had given you a lot to think about. If you wanted things to change, you needed to do your part. It was going to take a lot of trial and error, and it was probably going to be messy and uncomfortable for a while, but he was worth it. Your relationship with him was worth it. You were worth it. 

You wouldn’t lie, it scared you. But the idea of resenting him scared you even more. For years now, he has been the one solid presence in your life. He was fiercely protective, loving you in the ways that he knew how, showing you parts of himself that you suspected others were not privy to. That wasn’t something that you took lightly, and it wasn’t something you were willing to gamble with. If a potential fight with him now meant the possibility of having him close years from now… you’d risk it all.

It was well past dark now, the rain had resumed its onslaught, and you were huddled safely beneath the warmth of your favorite cashmere throw on the sofa. Book in hand, your eyes scanned the words on the page, begging them to take you somewhere else. In the end, your efforts were fruitless. After the third pass over the same sentence, you admitted defeat. Your mind refused to be dragged away from him. You were going to need assistance. Wine, you needed wine. 

Reluctantly, you uncurled from your blanket and trudged off in the direction of the kitchen. You had just turned the corner down the hall when the buzzer at your front door sounded, freezing you in place. With the intensity that you were currently staring at said door, you would have thought you could see right through it.

A quick glance at your phone told you it was far too late for any rational person to come round.

Inching slowly towards the door, you jumped when the loud, incessant buzzer sounded again. Your heart thrummed in your chest. Anyone showing up at nearly midnight couldn’t be anything other than trouble.

You pressed your ear against the sturdy wood door, listening for any signs of distress or malintent. Silence, aside from the heavy beating of the rain.

“Who’s there?” you braved.

“Open up and find out,” replied a muffled voice, distorted by the thick wooden door separating you. You were kicking yourself for not heeding Anthony’s suggestion to install a peep hole. He could never know about this…

Leaving the chain latched, you cautiously cracked the door open just wide enough to peek out. 

Standing there, sopping wet and shivering with the cold, was Anthony Bridgerton. His brilliant smile was only made more adorable by the chattering of his teeth. He held up a bag of Chinese take-away from your favorite local spot. No doubt an attempt to wiggle back into your good graces. Or maybe he just knew that the promise of food would at the very least grant him access over the threshold. 

“Dumplings for my Dumplin’...” he beamed. When you made no move to unlatch the lock, his lip jutted out in a pout that he borrowed from his brother. “Oh, come on Sass. Let me in. You don’t want me to catch a chill, do you?”

Standing your ground, you schooled your features, hiding the slight lifting at the corners of your mouth. He only used that nickname when he was prepared to resort to Level 5 groveling. Sass, short for Sassy, previously known as Sassy Pants.

“You must really think I’m easy, huh? You thought I would just open wide at the sight of you holding wontons?” You heard the unintended innuendo the moment the words left your mouth. “What kind of girl do you take me for?”

The smirk he now wore was trouble personified. “You know you want it, Sass. I even got the special sauce you like. And if that’s not enough,” he paused, pulling something from behind his back. “I also brought wine.”

Now he was speaking your language. Without saying a word, you closed the door in his face and took your time unlatching the metal chain from its sheath. The look on his face was priceless when you reappeared a moment later. “For a second there I thought you might actually leave me out here.”

“Me too,” you admitted, only half joking. “But that’s a good bottle of wine.”

He followed you down the hall towards the living room to deposit your bribe on the coffee table. When you went to make your way to the kitchen he reached out to gently clutch your wrist, effectively halting your steps. “Ah, ah, ah,” he tutted. “You sit down and get comfy. I’ll grab us some plates.”

“Okay,” you shrugged, nuzzling back into your previously vacated spot on the sofa. “The wine glasses are…”

“I know where they are,” he grinned, draping your blanket over your lap. “Give me a second. I’ll be right back.”

He returned a moment later with his arms full, balancing the items with precision and grace. You always loved watching the way he moved. Every step was laced with purpose and intention. Every turn of his head, or flex of his fingers radiated capability. His shoulders were built to carry responsibility. His posture was centered and balanced. Poised to lead. It was comforting - the way he was just so… Anthony.

He took his place next to you on the sofa, pouring you a healthy glass of wine. “What are you doing here, Anthony?”

“Do I need a reason other than I wanted to see you…” he asked without meeting your eyes, piling food onto plates for the both of you.

Your mouth watered from the wafting scent of steamed dumplings being pushed into your lap as a hopeful distraction. He was clever to ply you with food and drink, but it wasn’t enough to nullify the suspicion building in your brain. “If it were six o’clock, then no, you wouldn’t need any other reason. But at midnight… I have a hard time believing you just couldn’t live without seeing me until morning. So how about we try this again. What are you doing here, Ant?”

He finally looked up from his food to face your questioning. “I had a shit day and I was feeling restless. I just needed to be somewhere…” he paused, an unsettling despondency creeping into the depths of his dark eyes. “... with someone that felt like home. I know I could have gone to Ben’s, but you were the one I really wanted. I miss you. We used to do this kind of thing all the time…”

A snarky response about canceled plans danced on the tip of your tongue but your irritation was quickly losing steam. Something about the slump of his shoulders and the set of his jaw made your eyes burn with unshed tears. Releasing the last remnants of bitterness, you plopped a dumpling into your mouth and lovingly chastised him. “You could have at least called instead of showing up like a crazy person in the middle of the night.”

“Why,” he grinned. “Did I scare you?”

“No.” you protested immediately.

Glossing over your false declaration, he teased, “You could have avoided the fear if you would have just let me install the security system I recommended.”

A change of subject was in order. “So, you had a rough day, huh?”

He shot you an incredulous look that told you he was well aware of your redirect but he relented nonetheless. If the size of his answering sigh was any correlation, it was a rough day indeed. “How much time do you have?”

“Apparently, all night,” you smirked before popping another dumpling in your mouth.

“Do you remember the Whitehall account I was telling you about?”

You sat back and let him get everything out. Most of the time very little participation was required of you in these types of conversations. He looked for your occasional affirmation or nod of agreement, but for the most part, he always worked it all out on his own. He just needed to process out loud to another person.

Over the next hour, the two of you polished off your midnight dinner and opened a second bottle of wine. It was a relief to just be in his presence. There was nothing to get between you. No distracting work calls or annoying girlfriends to pull at his attention. The sound of his laugh eased the ache in your chest. This was the day you had your heart set on. You didn’t need an activity or a fancy outing - just him.

When his eyes closed, head drooping to rest on the back of the sofa, you gathered your dinner plates and walked them into the kitchen. You’d wake him once you’d finished tidying and prepped the guest room for him to crash in for the night. 

You were elbow deep in soapy water when you felt him come up behind you, reaching his arms around you to place your empty wine glasses in the sink. Instead of immediately moving away, he lingered, the heat from his body caressing down your spine. Pressing his chest to your back, his arms locked around your middle, squeezing you in a tight hug. You let your head fall back to rest on his shoulder.

“Thanks for tonight,” his voice was soft and low in your ear.

Not ready for the embrace to end, you brought one soapy hand to clutch his forearm that held tight to your waist. “I’m glad you came. Even if it was at an unreasonable hour.”

The breath from his laugh tickled your neck as he bent to bury his face in your shoulder. You weren’t complaining, but this was an unusually long hug. His nose nuzzled against you, and you melted into him.

“You smell nice,” he purred. His hands unlocked from around you and his fingers brushed along your waist, settling on your hips with a firm grip. “You feel nice too.”

Your body froze against his. What was happening? He’d never spoken to you like this before, let alone felt you up. His roaming hands were making it hard for you to think. The close proximity was covering you in a lusty fog, throwing your reasoning skills out the window. Your entire body was humming with excitement, begging that small part of your brain that still had questions to shut the hell up. This was Anthony… your best friend. Dangerous, this was dangerous. But on the other hand, this was Anthony… Gorgeous, sexy, tempting Anthony. The same Anthony that snuck into your dreams at night to unravel you - mind, body, and soul. This would literally be a fantasy.

“Anthony,” your voice was breathy and dazed. “What are you doing?”

“Something I’ve been thinking about for a long time,” his lips pressed into the skin at your jaw. “This feels so good. Do you want to feel good with me?”

His words dripped down your body like warm honey, collecting at the apex of your thighs. A surge of desire spread through you like a wildfire, sending your heartbeat into a crazed frenzy. Answering his question, you captured one of his hands, sliding it up your body to cup your breast. The warmth of his palm seeped through the thin fabric of the tank-top your wore sans bra. You were dressed for bed when he showed up on your doorstep, wearing little more than a camisole, drawstring pj shorts, and fuzzy socks. 

There was a sudden intake of breath at your brazen form of consent. He held you securely, lightly squeezing to get a feel for the weight of you. Your nipples hardened at his touch, clearly visible beneath the pale pink cotton separating your skin from his. 

Moving forward, he pressed into your body, pinning your hips between him and the cold marble countertop. You could feel him, firm and commanding, growing harder in his snug jeans. His mouth tasted every inch of your skin from your earlobe to shoulder as he drug the thin strap down your arm. His lips left a trail of electricity in their wake, each spot they touched creating a new pulse point beneath the surface. 

Turning your face to him with a gentle pull, those devilish, hungry lips finally devoured yours. Of all the times you thought about kissing him, not one compared to the real thing. Your senses were bum-rushed, temporarily rendering you deaf, mute, and blind. But the taste of him… God! It enveloped you, forever altering your palate. Sweets would never be as sweet, and salt would lose its bite. Flavors you once craved would now always seem bland in comparison. 

His tongue was strong and insistent, exploring your mouth with fervor, coaxing yours to play with him. The intensity of what was happening was starting to make you lightheaded. Only when he broke the kiss were you able to acknowledge the existence of anything outside of where your bodies touched. 

Your lust-filled eyes watched as your top was pulled down, exposing your breasts to his onslaught. The look he gave you was deadly as he cupped you tightly and bent his head to suck your puckered nipple into his mouth. The wet heat of his tongue swirling around had you shivering in his arms. You could feel your legs go slack, his body now keeping you from slumping to the floor. 

His free hand ventured to the knot in the drawstring of your shorts, expertly untangling the silk bow. He had always been good at multitasking and this was no exception. 

Very slowly, his fingers pushed past the elastic band resting against your tummy, and went in search of the welcoming slit between your legs. His fingernails scraped across your skin as they traveled through your pubic hair, finally gliding inside to find you dripping with desire. The unhurried, languorous strokes liquified your bones. You were about to cross the point of no return. Soon, you would lose all sense of reason. You had to decide now. Were you really going to fuck your bestfriend? Your body screamed a resounding “Hell yes,” but your heart was waving frantically for your attention. 

You needed to know what this meant before anything else happened. You needed to know if this was real. You knew yourself well enough to know that you wouldn’t be able to walk away from something this monumental unchanged. After all this time, why now?

“Anthony, wait…” His hand stilled but he didn’t remove it. “I need to ask you something.”

“Mmm, what’s that,” he hummed, still nibbling along the cord of your neck.

You almost stopped yourself from asking because you were afraid of the answer, but you needed to know. “Who were you with tonight before you came here?”

Every inch of him went rigid. He pulled his hand from your shorts and splayed it across your abdomen in a steadying gesture. “Y/n…” he whispered, almost begging you not to make him say it. He knew you wouldn’t like the answer.

“Were you with her?” You had to gather the courage to say her name. “Siena?”

His silence was deafening. His voice startled you when he finally spoke. “It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter. You’re the one I want to be with right now.”

Right now… That was where your fear lived. Was this just a pleasant distraction for him? Something to get lost in for a few hours before running back to her. Your heart was already breaking.

Gently, you stepped out of his reach and adjusted your clothes so that you were fully covered. Without a drop of anger, you said, “We can’t, Anthony. I can’t…”

The look of pure devastation that darkened his face almost sent you straight back into his arms. “Did I misread? That kiss… that was… it felt like you wanted this too. Is it me? Have I done something wrong?”

You were reaching out for him before you even registered that your feet were moving. “Anthony, no. Of course not. I do want this, and that’s the problem. If I’m being honest with myself, I think I’ve wanted this for a long time. I want it. I want you. Just not like this…”

“I don’t understand,” his brow was creased with worry.

Violet’s words from earlier that day were echoing in your mind. She was right. Sometimes you have to put yourself first. You had already decided that your relationship with Anthony was worth the risk of upsetting the balance a little. This was a prime example of that. Twenty-four hours ago, you wouldn’t have stopped him. You would have convinced yourself that this was what he needed, and you would deal with your own repercussions later. But now…

“I’m afraid,” you confessed.

Panic flashed over his face. “Of me?”

“If we sleep together, I’m going to love you.” You met his troubled gaze. “And I can’t afford to love you if this isn’t real.”

“You don’t believe this is real for me?” Hurt… he was hurt.

“I think part of it is real,” you blinked back your tears. “But can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me that some part of this wasn’t because she hurt you tonight?”

“It’s over between us. We’re finished. There is nothing left worth turning back to. And when I finally realized that, I saw things with more clarity. You…us… it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

You could feel the adrenaline coursing through you. He was saying things that you always wanted to hear, but was it enough? “Will you still feel this way a month from now? Because I will…”

He stepped closer, taking both of your hands in his. “Yes, I think I will.”

“I need you to know, Ant. I need you to be certain. You’re too important to me to risk crossing that line for a maybe. And I don’t want our beginning to be built on someone else’s ruins.”

A single, silent tear dripped down your cheek. This was a lot harder than you thought it was going to be.

He pulled you in, crushing you against his chest. “I’m sorry, y/n. I’m sorry. You mean everything to me. Please don’t hate me for this.”

Wrapping your arms around him, you allowed yourself a moment of indulgence. His warmth and familiarity were soothing, and the faint scent of amber that lingered on his clothes from his cologne brought you to a place of safety. You committed it all to memory, storing the moment in your heart, just in case this was the last time…

Reluctantly, you removed yourself. You needed distance for what came next. “Anthony, I don’t hate you. I’m not sure I could ever hate you. But…”

The words were stuck in your throat as you bargained with yourself not to cry. 

“Say it,” he begged. “Please, just say it. I can’t take the silence.”

“Sometimes I feel like an afterthought, and that, I do hate. It hurts, Anthony. I think of you constantly. About what you need, about how you feel. I know you care for me. I know that… but sometimes this friendship is unbalanced. That’s partially my fault. I never told you what I needed. I never asked for more. So, this is me asking.”

“I - I didn’t realize… What can I do? Tell me how to fix this,” he implored.

“Consider me,” you poured out. “Prioritize me on occasion. See beyond yourself to the person standing in front of you. Did you even think about what something this huge would mean for me in our relationship? Did you think about tomorrow? Did you weigh my risks when you weighed yours? You and me… it’s one of the only good things I have, so I have to protect it. I know it’s different for you, and that’s okay. I just… I just need you to think of me, because it’s hard for me to think of myself.”

Determination transformed his posture. “I can do that. I promise to take my head out of my ass if you promise to keep being honest with me. You’re a better liar than you think, Sass.” His thumb swiped across your cheek, wiping away a tear. “Maybe this makes me an idiot, but I was completely in the dark that you were feeling any of this. You’re always so strong and unbothered. So easy… but I should have known better. I could have looked harder. Just know, it was never because I didn’t care. I trust you implicitly, so when you tell me you’re fine, I take you at your word. I never want you to think that I find it easy to set you aside. I took you for granted, and that hurt you. I’m sorry - truly. It was never my intention.”

You smiled up at him, exhaustion suddenly soaking through to settle in your bones. “I know, Anthony. I know.”

His remorseful expression was laced with pain and sadness. “Do you want to know what hurts me in all of this?”

The thought of being the one to cause him pain was like a punch to the gut, but the two of you had decided on honesty, and it was only fair that he should be able to speak freely. You gave him a silent nod and braced yourself. “It hurts to know how much of yourself you hid from me. It hurts to know that there is at least a small part of you that doesn’t trust me enough to let me see those pieces. Like you’re just waiting for me to let you down and prove yourself right. If you want me to see you, really see you, you have to give me a fighting chance. You have to let me look.”

True terror took hold of you at his words. “And if you don’t like what you see?”

“Then we face our demons together. You show me yours and I’ll show you mine. We trust each other. We make each other better. I’m not going anywhere. Are you?”

“No,” you assured him. “I’m not going anywhere either.”

“That’s a relief,” he laughed, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.

“So, what now…” you asked nervously. This was new ground and your legs were still shaky.

“Now - now I go home. It’s late. We’re both exhausted. This was a lot, but I don’t regret it. None of it. Do you?”

“No,” you whispered. “I’m still a little shaken, and definitely… stimulated, but no. No regrets.”

“Stimulated, huh?” He smirked, quickening your heart rate with a single look. “Are you sure you don’t wan-”

“Anthony…” you cut him off.

“I know, I know. Not like this. I can respect that… even though it’s killing me not to touch you right now.”

“Yeah, it’s going to be a long night,” you agreed. 

You walked him to the front door so that you could lock up behind him. He watched you with amusement while you unlatched the chain and twisted the bolts keeping the dangers of the outside world at bay. “You really should let me install that security system.”

“Goodnight, Anthony,” you offered him a resigned sigh. 

He turned to you from the small porch outside your door. He was lingering, but you didn’t mind. You could feel the words building in him, gathering courage and composure. “Can I see you tomorrow,” he asked, the fear of rejection hovering over him.

“I’d like that.” It would be so easy to invite him back inside and let goodnight turn into good morning, but you only possessed so much self control. “Call me… AFTER 10AM, please. Someone rudely kept me up half the night.”

“What an inconsiderate prick,” he scowled playfully.

Your laughter was cut short when he took a very intentional step into your space. Slowly, as not to spook you, he lifted a hand to the side of your face, sliding his fingers into your hair to hold you by the neck. His eyes bore into yours, perfectly conveying the need that was now burning in his chest. Your tongue reflexively ran over your lips, wetting them in preparation. You didn’t step away. You didn’t break his stare. One more kiss wouldn’t make a difference, right?

He was gentle this time, tentative even. But when that familiar taste washed over your tongue, you opened your mouth for him, welcoming the invasion. You fought the urge to wrap yourself around him and drag him to the ground right then and there. 

When he finally pulled away, you were both panting and out of breath. “Sass…” the low vibration of his voice snaked its way down your body, curling deliciously deep in your stomach. “Tomorrow… A month from now… It doesn’t matter. How I feel isn’t going to change. I know you need more than words. Promise me that you’ll let me prove it to you.”

“I’ll try.” It was all you had to give right now. 

“Me too.” And then he was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sleep was a stranger to you for most of the night. Competing images clamored through your brain for hours after he left. The feel and the taste of him. The pain and confusion behind his eyes. Your own fear threatened to rise up and wash you out to sea. 

The relentless tossing and turning only served to deepen your exhaustion. Eventually, you accepted your fate and dragged yourself from bed and went in search of coffee. 

The rain still refused to ease, casting a dreary grey over everything. The idea of sitting alone, pathetically waiting by the phone for Anthony was unbearable. This new state of limbo that you found yourself in was the most unsettled you had ever been. You were standing on a terrifying precipice. No matter what happened, your life was going to drastically change. Too much was said for things to stay the same. You would either move forward, together, or, you would go separate ways.

Not knowing was a special kind of torture. Even the worst case scenario outcome would come as a relief. At least then the waiting would be over.

You had to chastise yourself for the better part of the morning. Old habits really did die hard. You tried, because you promised him that you would. You tried to stop anticipating the dreaded other shoe. You tried to not assume that he had spent the whole night thinking about what a colossal mistake he was making with you. You tried to believe that he would prove it.

Consumed by your internal battle, you almost didn’t hear your phone buzzing.

It was Anthony - one minute past ten. 

He sounded relieved to hear your hello. “You answered,” he sighed.

“You called,” was your reply.

“I was up all night,” his sleepy voice confessed.

“Yeah, me too.”

A long, pregnant pause filled the space between you.

“Day number one, Sass. I haven’t changed my mind. Are you ready to let me start proving it to you?”

This was it, the moment you had been begging for all morning. The moment that ended the waiting. 

“I’ll try,” you promised with a smile bright in your voice. 

________________________________________

@faye-tale @eleanor-bradstreet @musicismyoxygen84 @bridgertontess @heeyyyou @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @queen-of-the-misfit-toys​

[scardey-cat]

So... I deleted everything off my tumblr, again. It's not like anyone is missing my lukewarm takes anyway. Even now, I'm struggling to type something, ANYTHING, but I feel like, "What's the point? No one cares." I don't mean in a "woe is me" kind of way. It's just a matter of fact. (Okay, maybe a little, but it's not the main focus here).

I intentionally drew away from people and keep everyone at arms length in an attempt to stay safe. It worked, and I've really come to enjoy my privacy. But now, I have no real connection to anyone. Even with the family members I'm still in contact with, I never go beyond surface level conversations with them just to stay safe. It makes sense then that no one bothers to think of me. Because there is literally no one by design.

For the most part, I'm perfectly fine with this. I enjoy the freedom that solitude has given me. Just the ability to exist and simply be without anyone there cast judgment ... but sometimes, in moments of weakness, I do wish there was someone. Not just someone who I could talk to or check in because they remember I existed. I want someone I could be completely exposed and seen with only the kindest, loving eyes...

What a cost it would be, though. What it would take to break down every defense I've ever built, leaving myself raw for someone else to feast upon. Just being perceived as being vulnerable puts me in a state of fight or flight. There's not a chance in hell one of us isn't leaving that situation for the worst.

No, I think it's best I continue to keep my distance. I'll continue to spill my secrets in the starlight, pouring my heart and soul out to the Void. He's a great listener ...maybe one day he'll say something back.

[canned-goose-feathers]

XII.

“Grian!”

The voice pulls him out of his work. His . . . work. Right. What was he doing again? A glance down at his hands tells him he’s digging underground, burrowing too-tight tunnels like a mole. He wriggles backwards, hissing as dirt and grime clings to his feathers.

Grian finally surfaces to see Pearl’s lovely smile and the underside of the Entity. She offers him a hand and he takes it. Her skin is warm; So much warmer than the cold of his little tunnel. He hadn't even realized the chill below until the blaze of her hand began to soothe his numb fingers.

“Doing a little off-camera mining?” she says, nudging him with her elbow. The laugh he lets out is hollow.

That’s how he’s been feeling the past few weeks. Like he’s had his insides scooped out and all he is now is a husk of a person. A shell. A vessel. The last thought makes him shudder.

“You alright? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.” Pearl looks a bit worried and, gosh, why wouldn’t she be? They’re usually inseparable, but he’s been a bit distant from everyone, save for Scar and, now, Mumbo. Guilt squeezes his heart.

He looks down at the ground. “I’m sorry, been feeling a bit under the weather.”

“Oh?” she says, then her lips twitch, “Mumbo have anything to do with that?”

His brow furrows, but the look on her face when he glances up makes him turn red. “Pearl! No! It’s not—”

She cackles loudly as Grian does his best to hide behind dirty wings. She shoulder checks him and he stumbles from the weight of it, nearly falling over. “I’m kidding, obviously. But you should have said something, I could have helped, you know. Make you soup or something.”

“I’d like to remain alive, thank you.”

“You like my soup!” Grian levels her with a stare. Pearl puts her hand on her bow.

“No, yes, of course, I love your soup!” The words fish out of him, unstoppable, and even as he's saying them Grian knows he's made a mistake. It’s too genuine, fear of the Entity's hunger coming back tenfold and leaking into his voice. Pearl’s hands lift from her bow and she holds them up, palms open and bare.

“Is it . . . are you having issues again?” Her words are halting, unsure, unwilling to put words to the thing that both of them prefer to gloss over, to the thing that exists but for their purposes does not.

Guilt and fear crush him in equal measure, pulling his feathers slick against him, smaller and less appetizing to a predator. He wants to tell Pearl everything. If anyone is going to be accepting and willing to help, it will be her. But he can’t; he knows how she sees him and he can’t bear to make that image any worse than it already is.

“No, it’s not that, I promise. We’ve got our deal, yeah? Don’t worry about it. Like I said, I’ve not been feeling good lately.”

"Alright," she says, clearly unconvinced. There's a beat of awkward silence, then "You know you can tell me anything, right Gri?"

And he does. He does, but not this. Pearl . . . They went through so much and Grian had taken the worst of it, they both agreed on that, but he’s been doing so good. He wants to scream in frustration, a boiling feeling in his chest so furious at how far back he's been dragged. Anger lights in him and his lips twist, but before he can recover from it, he's hit with an overwhelming wave of fear worry protect that nearly drops him to his knees.

Pearl's hand lands on him and the fear spikes. He jerks away, his lips moving and words spilling from him before he can stop them.

"Don't touch, don't touch, no, no." He claps his hand over his mouth and wants to scream with the effort of shoving the entity away. Pearl is staring at him. Blue eyes flicker over his form and he feels opened, his skin cut through by the sharpest blade so his insides can pour out, stained and ruined, food only for maggots. He wants to vomit as horror and realization crash into him.

Mumbo . . . Mumbo knowing would hurt. It would hurt so much. But Pearl knowing would break him. He knows with absolute certainty that Pearl's rejection isn't something he'd survive.

And yet as his heart starts to slow its rhythm in his ears, he doesn't see disgust on her face. Her brows are pinched together and her hand hovers in the air.

"I'm—"

"Grian." Pearl's voice shuts him up. "Please tell me what's happening. I just want to help you."

He just shakes his head, his hand still hovering over his mouth like he can stop the words that are being screamed in his head. He pushes back safe, family, helping to the Entity and it seems to calm, but the roaring never fully stops.

"Grian," Pearl says. Her hand touches his shoulder.

"You'll hurt him," he says softly. He's shaking. He can't even tell if it's him or the Entity. Everything is so muddled, his brain feels like it's been whisked for too long.

"I won't, I promise," Pearl says. He breaks at the sweetness in her voice and pitches forward into her arms. Angry, frustrated tears rush out of him and he balls up his hands in her jacket. He just wants to shut up, wants to shove all of this down and continue like normal, go back to pulling pranks and being a nuisance.

Then again, he was doomed the moment Pearl saw him. She's always seen right through him.

"Can you tell me what's going on?" She's speaking softly, like she's talking to a wild animal. Her fingers run through his hair softly and it only makes him shake more.

He shakes his head.

"Why not?"

He swallows, tries to hold back the words but he's weak. He's too beaten down to hold much of anything back. "You'll hate me."

She hums. "What makes you think that?"

"I'm not— you just will." He shuts his eyes tight, afraid that if he opens them he'll see her. She just falls into silence.

There's a soft sound not far away and he can feel Pearl shift. He goes to raise his head, but her fingers press gently into his skull and he goes easily with the pressure. He feels her head shake, then there's the soft sound of wind and silence again.

She doesn't give him the chance to question it. "Gri, you know I can't hate you. Can you just trust me? Please?"

Grian buries his head in her chest, wishing that he could just disappear from here. He can hear the Entity whining, feeding off of his fear and anger and wanting more and more to shove her away, to bring its vessel back home. He hates it, hates that Pearl wants to know, hates the thing in his head, hates how weak he is.

It turns out, he doesn't get to choose.

"Stop," he whispers against his will, "Hurts."

"What hurts?" Pearl says.

"Hurting him. Why?" He's still now as his will slips between his fingers, his trembling stopped in the face of the thing above them. He can feel the pressure in his head coming from the beast above them. He wonders if Pearl can feel it too.

"Grian?" Pearl leans back a little, but Grian doesn't follow her. He feels limp, his eyes glassy and nearly unseeing.

"You hurt. But. You are." He can feel his features twist in an unnatural way, a caricature of emotion that's not quite right. "Why?"

Pearl has this look on her face that Grian feels like he's seen before, but he's barely functioning enough to understand his own emotions, certainly not someone else's. "Are you . . . Are you Grian?"

Grian blinks. He sags a bit as his control loosens. Pearl, thankfully, still has a hold on him and feels as he sinks. He's lowered down until he's sitting. Every movement feels heavy, like he's pulling heavy strings for his own body. He feels his head twitch to the side once, then again.

Pearl sinks down to her knees, her hands still on him. The touch makes the Entity growl. Grian wonders if she can hear it; she must, because her hands retract from him, though she still holds them up.

"Can you tell me who you are?" she says, her voice as calm and gentle as ever.

"Why do you hurt?" he croaks.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I didn't know. Can you tell me, so I don't do it again?"

"He– I– don't want you to know. Know? About . . ." He can feel the Entity struggle, pulling levers it doesn't understand. He can feel frustrated tears rush down his face. His fingers clench into his thighs; at least he knows that pain is him.

"It's okay," Pearl shushes him. She slides one hand under his, detaching him. It's grounding, feeling her soft skin against his. "Can I talk to Grian? He can help."

Grian feels the moment that the Entity lets go of him. He collapses, curled up until his elbows dig into the dirt and he can press his head into the ground. He screams. It's a furious thing that bubbles out of him so quickly he can't stop it. He doesn't want this. He didn't mean to do any of this, and now he can't control himself, can't even stop the hunger–

That thought makes his voice clench painfully, his scream strangled into a whine. Pearl is still there, still just barely touching him. Her hands soothe along his curled back, carding through soft feathers, not quite preening but enough.

It feels familiar.

[mochikeiji]

Gojo Satoru

↠ Pairing: Gojou Satoru x F!Reader

↠ Warning: bby gojo having heavy thoughts and sadness after everything. (pls hug) angst to fluff.

↠ a/n: ironically, his name is the title for this xD also thank you so much for the love from my recent works o(^▽^)o♡ have my love too!

↬ Word Count: 1.9k

Everyone has their beginnings. While some were blessed to start out life with good fortune and the right path, there were some who struggled through their way in living. For Gojo? He didn't really care. Not when he was already being worshipped for being born in this world, not when as a child he had barely lifted a finger before his life was already planned out for him. It was as if he was simply taking the red carpet to luxury. He already has everything. Truly, he claimed, he was indeed the honored one.

He wasn't one to be wary of his own feelings. What was there to be thought about if he doesn't know what are these stuff running through his head? Not that he should give a single mind to it. 

But as he sat down at the tub of his bathroom— tweezers between his fingers, one at a time he plucks out the small shards of glass that had dug themselves onto his skin from the previous mission he was sent on solo, he started to wonder why he was staring blankly at the crimson liquid trailing down his damaged skin. Why did he felt so empty?

Maybe if Shoko were around to patch him up, he would've have had someone to pester for the day. Maybe he wouldn't have gone home to the lonesome apartment he owns, hissing at the pain from each shard taken out of his body.

Pain

That was strange. He never experienced that. Not even when he's in battle with the strongest forms of curses. No matter how many gashes of wounds he's collected, they always heal themselves quickly. It was unfamiliar that it began to frustrate him. He doesn't like it. Not one bit. It hurts. It hurts so much, yet why was there still something making his heart clench?

Loneliness. Abandonment. Broken.

Gojo was a fool for losing the only person that has come close to understanding him. If only he understood what Geto was going through; if he knew what the hell were all those troubles and emotions were maybe he would've still had his only best friend here with him. But no. It slowly came crashing down on Gojo's eyes that though he was the honored one,

He was the lost one.

A broken soul being held by strings as he was only guided to follow along the path that was planned out for him, but never what he planned for himself.

Why was he remembering all of these now? It had been years after the downfall. He should've moved on from it, be the usual cherry top, annoying idiot he was to his students and colleagues. God, he hates this. Falling, falling, falling.

Only the weak fall

Was a statement drilled into his system right from the start. The never ending worship that has earned him the title of being the "strongest" was what he kept pursuing. Believing.

Was the Gojo Satoru at his weakest point?

"Fuck." the unusually large shard of glass falls on the tiled floor, removed from the left side of his chest. Near to the scar that trails from the base of his throat and down to his navel; the reminder of why he shouldn't be left vulnerable at any cost. The hideous flaw that will forever be marked on his body, the one he desperately hides behind those prideful remarks and grinning faces. It saddens him, it hurts him, it angers him. It makes himself lose his own sanity.

The stinging started to kick in on his chest, no longer can he tell if it was from the wound or the clenching of his heart. He was strong, he was suppose and always will be strong. "Why?" the tub cracks from his grip. His free hand coming up to his eyes, eyes that people loved enough to fall in a trance— enemies crumbling and begging for mercy upon them.

Gojo felt ashamed.

Shameful. He grits his teeth hard when the small trickle of the uncharacteristic tear falls from the heavenly eye. It falls down to the porcelain surface, mixing with the trail of blood that was slowly draining down, "Why?" he finally looks down at the fatal wound, attempting to stop the bleeding with his bare hands pushing his chest. The blood smearing all over his upper body, shading the past scar that it made it look like it was there again.

"Why?"

Gojo speaks a little louder, sweating profusely as the dam inside him broke. Like an endless waterfall it was the tears fall. It made him sick. This was all not him. This wasn't the known shaman in the jujutsu world. This wasn't the boy raised from the family of the strongest. This wasn't the strongest.

"Stop."

This wasn't any of him.

"Make it stop."

Then who was he?

"Please, make it stop."

"Satoru?"

Entire body freezing. It was the first time he felt fear rushing through his veins; the fear of being seen like this. It wasn't because he didn't trust you. Good gracious, you were the last and only person Gojo ever holds onto after the years being glued together by faith and his attempts of flirting. No, he didn't want you to see this unknown person that was sitting in the bathroom of your shared apartment. Right, he forgot he was living with you.

Huh, he forgot. You were there.

There knelt down to his level, wide eyes meeting the now visible broken ones that was glossy with tears. With careful movements you raised an arm to eye level, pleading silently for permission to touch him. And for the time, Gojo was actually wary. He's faced a lot in the years spent as a sorcerer, as the strongest. Never the weakest. So when your lips curled into the same smile you'd give him during your moments of vulnerability. The cute, little curve you give when you couldn't help but just admire him or when you're about to utter out his 3 favorite words, he finds himself leaning forward to rest his cheek against the warmth of your palm. He allows the pestering tears to fall omly to be caught with your thumbs, shooing them away from his features.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

When your hand pulls away for a short moment, Gojo silently whines at the lost of contact. The tightness in his chest coming back. The feeling of abandonment crosses his head for a second before you placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, holding up the tweezers he had dropped a while ago, "I'm here now."

I'm here now

That was his line. His line for when there was someone in need of help. The line that shimmers hope on the darkest moments of anyone's life. The line of the strongest. The ones who were only truly honored of saying.

Hope. It had a different form today. One that was right in front of him, plucking out every leftover shard on his body with gentleness he never got to witness as a child. The soft cooes and from time to time kisses on his scalp made his senses more focused on there rather than the stinging sensations running through his skin. Exactly how people react when there is hope.

And where there is hope,

"I love you, Satoru."

There is love.

Warm water from the shower cap started pouring down to his tensed muscles, washing out the combined dirt and blood away from him, cleansing his own form of curses that has shaken up his being. When did you finish patching him up? And why wasn't it as painful as it was when he did it?

He watches you move the small container that reeked of the scent of his blood and that inflicted his injuries far from his sight. Immediately, Gojo felt empty once more and was about to call you when you came back holding fresh towels on your hands. "Do you want me to join you?" he couldn't say yes faster than ever, almost as if he was relieved when you offered.

When you had finally stripped yourself off of your clothes and settled in between his long legs, there was nothing but the sound of the shower on echoing in the room with the two of you just staring back to one another.

Too good to be true, you were.

Gojo wanted to speak. Wanted to tell you how thankful he is that you were here to pull him away. To save his life, but all he could do was stare back into the void that of before. He sees the way your hands map around his torso in attempt to rinse him completely. Coming in contact with the old and new scar, softly tracing them as you felt his eyes wonder to yours. There was no sign of disappointment nor a hint of harm or disgust. Only something he never understood that it made him sob unexpectedly, startling you that left you pulling him into your embrace which he latches his face onto your neck and arms surrounding your body whole.

He cries.

All the frustration of not knowing whatever was happening, the mistakes he wishes to correct and the past he hoped to save along with the title he swore to maintain. It all falls on the smaller body he treasures in his arms at this very moment. He clutches, he palms, he roams. Whatever he can do just so he can fully grasp the idea that someone was there. You were there, and he wasn't alone anymore.

"I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough."

It would shock the world and break the hearts of many to hear these very words uttered from the mouth of the honored one. And Gojo wishes that everyone could hear it. That it would somehow reach the skies to wherever his best friend was too. To you, the person he loved the most. He was sorry that he wasn't the Gojo Satoru in your eyes.

"No, Toru. No." you push him back gently only to pull him in for a soft kiss, "I don't need you to always be the strongest. Let alone apologize for being vulnerable." he listens as he nuzzles against the palms meeting his face. The ones that held him together when he was falling apart.

His lips wobbled a bit when you land kisses on his scars, "These may not have been the good ones in your life, but these do not make you for who you are, Satoru." he hums in content when you rub down to his chest soothingly, the feeling that you has him yearning for more. Needing for more, "It's okay to be lost, and it's okay to be weak. But it'll never define you."

"I need you to be just you."

You pull him down, letting him cry all his heart out to your naked chest. He let's you have your way to him. The emotions, words, and treatment. All so unfamiliar. And he finds himself wanting. Needing more.

All his life he thought he had it all.

But never in his life has he lived it.

"What am I, (Y/n)?"

Cooing softly as the small of his voice. Like the child who never got to experience what love was. The child raised to already has to burden such responsibilities and stand. Gojo can feel himself breathe in relief as he whispers an "i love you" with a small kiss on your skin when you uttered out the words that has set his locked up self free. Free from the strings that's been taking over. The cage he was kept from all of his living.

The curse of his gift

And being honored of what he truly deserves.

"You're Gojo Satoru."

Just Gojo Satoru.

© all content belongs to mochikeiji. Please do not repost or copy, ありがとうございました!! (=^･^=)

[licncourt]

Louis as an unexpected optimist

So I'm back on my Louis meta and I think something that is really integral to understanding Louis as a character is realizing that he's actually an optimist at heart. He's obviously very depressed, he's grieving, he's overall A Mess but when you examine his actions and the way he interacts with the world, it's from a place of hope.

When Lestat finds him, Louis is suicidal and actively engaging in self-destructive behaviors he's hoping will allow him to end his life passively BUT the moment Lestat offers him another chance, a clear path forward, he takes it without hesitation. Louis wants to believe in something. He's looking for a reason to do so.

When he's at the lowest point of his life with Lestat, he immediately makes a 180 when Claudia comes into the picture. In spite of his sadness and anger, he immediately latches onto hope in the form of fatherhood, onto everything a child symbolizes. Again, a path forward and a reason to go on are offered and he takes it without hesitation.

It's only when his family is gone and there's no obvious better life to work towards that he becomes completely adrift and lost in a way he wasn't before, even after Paul. He was still FEELING then, and where there's emotion there's the capacity for happiness. It's the empty, apathetic hopelessness that actually represents rock bottom for Louis.

Once again though, when the path opens up for a reunion with Lestat, he casts aside everything from the past in order to start fresh with the man he loves. As much anger as he obviously was holding when Daniel interviewed him, he doesn't hesitate to release it in to give them the best chance.

(If you want to consider mid to late canon, this trend continues in his openness to Lestat after pretty terrible 90s/00s Lestatiness, but the characterization of everyone is so bad that I'm not using it as real evidence.)

Basically, no matter how bad things get or how awful his mental health is, Louis retains his belief in better things. He continues to read, to look at art, to admire the beauty of the rain and the flowers and the candle flames. Even at his lowest point, he describes the world with such reverence and appreciation. Louis at rock bottom is still a Louis who stops to share the loveliness of the cypress trees at night and all the wonderful things about his daughter with a stranger, even when it wasn't necessary for the story.

The same Louis who told Daniel "that's it, there's nothing else", also describes seeing the world through his eyes as being "like love". And you can see that in how he recounts what is otherwise a terrible time in his life:

"The moon was large over the cypresses, and the candlelight poured from the open doors. The thick plastered pillars and walls of the house had been freshly whitewashed, the floorboards freshly swept, and a summer rain had left the night clean and sparkling with drops of water. I leaned against the end pillar of the gallery, my head touching the soft tendrils of a jasmine which grew there in constant battle with a wisteria, and I thought of what lay before me throughout the world and throughout time, and resolved to go about it delicately and reverently, learning that from each thing which would take me best to another."

The only part of late canon I think is really wonderful for Louis' character is the Prince Lestat epilogue. In spite of absolutely everything that's happened, Louis calls becoming a vampire and all it's brought with it "the greatest adventure of his life". On the surface level, it's a strange comment for him to make when he seems to have been so unhappy for literally all of it, but that's only partly true.

In reality, he never lost that spark, it's always been there even if was subtle or less obvious than his sadness and he's always searching for better things. Louis is a true optimist because no set of bad circumstances ever sways him entirely from hope. Real optimism is finding hope 'in spite of', not simply enjoying life when it's easy and happy.

[wizkiddx]

supercluster

this is my entry for @hollandsrecs 'toms birthday fanfic fest' event - go check it out!!! I know its a early but im v bored so have it now. also im acc kinda really proud of this one, any feedback would be v appreciated 🤍

the prompt was: 'you and tom are best friends and you tell him that you love him on his birthday'

summary: its toms birthday but he has a few things to get off his chest and into the night sky, y/n joins in with a bit of a revelation too

best friends -> lovers

warnings: mentions of alcohol, bit angsty but promise ends all fluffy and a shit tonne of dialogue

wc: 3.5k ishhh

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Everything got a little too wild and stuffy in the living area, Haz and Harry screaming sweet caroline, whilst Greg (Tom’s stunt man) was pouring *another* round of shots. The sweatiness and clamminess of the room meant Y/n took a moment to escape, sliding out the double doors, and closing them softly behind her to ensure no one would notice her little escape. Something about the midnight air, the slightly dewy smell of the neighbouring fields, felt like it was refreshing Y/n from the inside out. When she turned around, back facing the fancy rented house, she was slightly shocked by Tom standing in the garden. It was his birthday party after all. In all honesty, Y/n felt a bit guilty she hadn’t noticed he wasn’t in the thick of it with his brothers and castmates.

His silhouette was set against the clear night sky, the stars extra prominent this evening and the moon casting a soft glow off the left side of his face, exaggerating the natural contours of his jawline and cheekbones. Clearly, he was enraptured by the sky, staring up at it with a thoughtful look on his face.

And Y/n recognised that look instantly; she knew what he was doing.

In fact, he had taught her to do precisely the same thing. As kids, the Hollands, Y/n’s family and another two families from the local area all went camping together. It was an annual event, ‘the Kingston collective camping adventure’ as Dom had named it. Y/n couldn’t remember a year when they hadn’t gone actually - it was that much of a tradition.

One year, though, when she and Tom were about 9, her mothers’ due date coincided with the camping dates. So, sensibly, the decision had been made that Y/n and her brother would just be looked after by the Hollands - whilst her mum and dad were safely tucked up in bed at home, awaiting the arrival of her littlest brother.

Y/n, her brother Alex, and Tom were all sharing a tent, and it must’ve been at least midnight that Tom was awoken by shuffling and zipping up of the tent. He’d realised she was gone through sleepy eyes and, without a second thought, went to go find her. Sure enough, she wasn’t far away, not even 50 metres from the tent, crouched on the grass. Immediately Tom’s presence had been noticed, making Y/m quickly snivel and wipe her face.

“Are you upset?”

“Go away Tom.” The comment didn’t do a lot, though; instead, 9-year-old Tom had planted himself down next to her - his pyjamas getting wet on the moist grass floor.

“Are you missing Auntie Sarah and Uncle Mike?” In the same way that Y/n called Nikki and Dom auntie and uncle, the Holland boys mirrored the nicknames for her parents. Y/n replied with a long sigh before hiccuping, failing to control the stream of tears. Yes, he was right - this was her first night away from her parents- but she wasn't about to spill her heart out to the 'stupid boy' who had stolen one of her marshmallows that evening. Tom’s little brown eyes swelled, looking slightly terrified and out of his depth, whilst with all his 9 years of wisdom, trying to come up with an answer.

“Do you want to play football to forget about it?”

Unsurprisingly Y/n shook her head violently. Tom cursed inwardly at himself for saying the wrong thing, apparently football wasn't the answer to everything. The two children went back to silence until Tom had the metaphorical light bulb moment. “My mum told me something for when I got to sleepovers? Look!” He grabbed Y/n’s little hand, extending it upwards towards the night sky.

“No matter where you are, you’re all looking at the same stars too, right?”

Tom jumped a little before looking over his shoulder and recognising Y/n with the softest smile that grew across his face. Y/n slowly walked to his side, arms crossed over her chest to try and keep the cold at bay, joining Tom in staring up at the starry expanse.

“How do you always know?” Tom spoke in a breathy chuckle, shaking his head slightly. It was true, she did always know - but his question was somewhat irrelevant. They'd spent most their childhood together, they were as easy to read as a children’s book to each other.

“Missing home?”

“Sort of, I got my own slice of home with the boys and-and you but… pads, mum dad yeh, feel like on your birthday your always supposed to see your family.”

Although Harry, Harrison, Sam and Y/n had managed to fly out to surprise Tom on his birthday- prior commitments meant his parents and youngest brother hadn’t been able to make it. They four arrived yesterday, greeted by a very shocked and pretty emotional Tom - who had clearly been missing the sense of home somewhat. He’d been away shooting a film, then straight away launching into press for the next spiderman movie. It had been a long while since he’d been in London - half a year in fact.

This time too, he’d been away without a single family member or friend - that was another truth he’d learnt about growing up. Your friends and family, they all get lives of their own. Tom used to be a trailblazer, the first to get a job, the one everyone was super proud of. They still were, of course, but didn’t dote on him in quite the same way - everyone had their own shit to deal with. It was yet another reason Tom wasn’t welcoming his birthday as much as he usually would.

“Your parents did always spoil you rotten.”

“They spoilt you worst and you’re not technically their kid.” Y/n rolled her eyes, even if it might slightly true - muttering a ‘touche’ at the brown-haired boy next to her. Their families had always been close; naturally the adults seemed to gravitate more to the kids that weren’t their own. The ones who you could ‘give back’ at the end of the day. It just so happened Nikki and Dom had always loved having Y/n around, maybe a bit more than anyone else.

“Have you had a good birthday then? You should be in there with Greg pouring that shitty vodka down your throat.” Y/n questioned, whilst shrugging back toward the house, the dull thump of Jacob's playlist just audible. Still, both stared upwards, standing close enough that their upper arms were both pressed up against each other. She expected a jovial answer, but even from his tone, it was evident there was something up. He sounded…weary?

“I’m bloody glad you all came...don’t get me wrong, I love Z and Jacob and everyone but….”

“Shitty week?”

“Shitty birthday week of promo and press.” Tom scathed, and Y/n nodded. Even if she couldn’t understand what was so bad about press, she knew that Tom hated it passionately. And in the same way, he loved all his castmates dearly, but they hadn’t known him his whole life. They didn’t understand why he did every little thing; their values lay just that bit apart. It just wasn’t the same as being surrounded with his family - you and Harrison adopted Hollands too.

“I just feel like I’ve spent all week trapped in a room answering the most stupid, irrelevant and inconsequential questions... Everything’s just so surface level and fake and, and I-“He cut himself off, for the first time meeting Y/n’s eyes. In all honesty, Tom got a bit caught up in the stars reflecting off her piercing y/e/c eyes before changing tack.

“Will you do me a favour?”

This wasn’t spoken with the normal Tom tone. It wasn’t joking or jovial; it wasn’t an ‘off the tongue’ thing. This was spoken with such seriousness and gravitas coming from his deep voice that Y/n replied equally truthfully.

“Always T, you know that.”

“Will you please ask me a personal and serious and deep question?”

She got where he was coming from too.

Clearly, even though the evening was supposed to be a light piss up in celebration, it had instead unearthed some darker thoughts that Tom had been harbouring away. Perhaps he never even realised he needed such seriousness, or perhaps with his castmates he hadn’t felt comfortable exposing himself like that. Either way, Y/n was going to respect him now. It was technically his birthday, too; the clocks had already struck 12 - it was now his day.

It wasn’t tricky to think of one; she’d often wondered the same question of him - never with the opportunity to ask. The question popped into her head again, almost as soon as Tom asked for one.

“Okay…. What’s your deepest regret that makes you feel guilty for feeling because in the grand scheme of things, it minor? Like such a 'first world problem'." What do you regret that’s just completely selfish?”

Tom immediately stiffened, his jaw tensing as he worked through his thoughts in his head. Scared she’d pushed it too far, Y/n averted her gaze back to the sky, chewing her bottom lip slightly. It took a moment, but then she saw Tom turn towards her, in the peripheries of her vision. With a tightly closed-lip smirk on his face he joked “If your gonna ask questions like that, we better sit down.”

And so they did, both sitting crossed legged on the ground, knees brushing against each other. Just on the grass lawn, almost mirroring themselves all those years ago as kids in that camping site. Y/n wondered if she should offer to play football instead - to cheer him up.

“Missing out. I miss out months at a time. Miss out on seeing mum and dad, miss out on the pub quizzes with the boys, miss out seeing you… I mean, I didn’t even know you had a new job until you mentioned it this morning. I miss out on time with nana Tess and all my grandparents, and that’s scary cos… well, every time I go, it could be the last time… I don’t know, I just… I get so much, get to travel, to see the world, but… sometimes it feels like I’m sacrificing the foundations. And without the foundations….”

“The walls come crumbling down.” Y/n finished off his sentence quietly, barely whispering the words - but from Tom’s nod of agreement, it seemed like she’d hit the nail on the head. There was silence for a beat till Y/n whispered to him.

“Well, happy birthday to you” Trying to bring the mood up a little, she bumped his shoulder, and Tom chuckled breathily.

“Seriously! This is helping me out. I-I just need to get everything out and start my 25th year fresh.”

“Hey, if that’s all you want, I’m getting a refund on my present- we can just get deep and interview each other.”

“I’m game, except I’m keeping the present too.”

“Just because it’s your birthday and I’m a bit tipsy, I’ll allow it.”

“Okay, well then, Y/n L/n”, He spoke formally, leaning in closer and making her giggle a little. “What’s your biggest regret?”

“Honestly?” Tom just repeated her in reply, but this time it was a statement.

"Honestly."

He really was going deep too. No holding back now. Y/n sucked on her cheek before replying. “Not travelling with you when we were 19… I was just so determined to get to uni and start grown-up life, but… well, grown-up life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I should’ve tried to stay a kid longer, messing about on your film sets and pretending it was work. I think I would’ve learnt more from seeing the world with you.”

“Well, I am very knowledgable.”

“Shut up, you drop out- who didn't know what a drag race was.” She wasn’t wrong, and whilst yes, he had dropped out to be a film star - he was still a dropout. (with exceptionally poor knowledge of RuPaul) He scowled, then leaning back on his hands, so he was half reclined on the grass as Y/n thought of her next question.

“Whats your biggest worry?”

“Easy.” He chuffed, making Y/n furrow her brows at him. Clearly, he’d already thought of this. “That I finally settle down with the love of my life, and then the fans or press or paps ruin it.”

It made sense; every time Tom had gone public with a relationship, it had ended in a minor car crash. Typically it was also the girl who got hurt; she was the ‘victim’ in everything. Though Y/n had seen first hand the effect it had had on Tom - he never made it out damage-free.

“You make it sound like you’ve already got this dream girl queued and waiting.”

“I wish”, Tom sighed, as Y/n took the opportunity to completely lie down on the grass, staring up at the dark abyss. She’d always loved the stars and had become a bit of a geek on them as they’d grown up too- and maybe it was all down to Tom on that camping trip. Following suit, Tom copied her, his head resting on his hands that were crossed behind his head, taking in the moment of pure peace as they lay on the grass.

“You see that bright one there?” Pointing up, Y/n shimmied closer to him so that he definitely saw the same thing as her. “It’s actually not one. Look closer.” Humming, Tom shifted a bit closer, so her shoulder slotted under the side of his body just the teeniest bit. It meant he could follow her direction and squinted up at the little patch of the sky.

“ 5…maybe 6? What is it?”

“The pliedes supercluster…. basically a big group of stars that all were born from the same place- the same stellar nursery.”

“But they’re moving now?” She hummed in confirmation to his question, briefly glancing at the way his eyes were fixed on the sky. For the first time he seemed genuinely interested in hearing her stories of the stars. It usually was an eye roll and ‘you’re so lame’.

“They’re called the sibling stars… like everything in life, as they get older they drift apart but…. but to us down here? They’ll always be associated together because they have a gravitational effect on each other. They’ll always have their thing tying them together. Like an invisible string.”

“Sounds like you’re being metaphorical.” Tom chuckled, expecting a taunt back but receiving nothing except a gentle agreement.

“Theres also actually 7. The last one people can only sometimes see… it’s a pulsing star, so comes and goes.”

“They do that?”

“Yeh, and no matter what… if you can see it or not, it’s always there. Always having an impact on its family.”

Biting his lower lip slightly, Tom repositioned his head slightly, Y/n’s words taking time to be fully absorbed. He was sure she was making parallels to him. Barely there, appearing and disappearing, but always a part of the family.

“You are being metaphorical.”

“Maybe.” She whispered shortly. “Metaphors depend on who’s listening and if they draw parallels to their own life. It’s subjective. You can’t tell anyone what is and isn’t metaphor…. it takes the beauty out of it.”

“Right, sure... But if you were…. me, harry, Sam, pads, you, Haz, Tuwaine? That the 7?” Y/n held back the little smile at his words. Tom wasn’t as ‘head in the clouds’ as she was- he was literal. Also, he was bloody stubborn when he wanted to be.

“I wasn’t being metaphorical T.” He knew she was lying. She knew that he knew. But it still helped him, made him feel a bit better. That he was always, in some way, having some effect... lives always intertwined with the people he cared about the most.

“Tell me another story about another star.”

Time for the rest of the night kind of got lost. The two young adults just lay on the grass, entirely in their own little world, using each others body heat to keep themselves warm through the early hours. Neither felt remotely tired, Y/n whispering her little stories of both the myths and science of the old stars, pointing out each planet. Meanwhile, Tom listened in awe, for once not taking the mick out of her incredibly geeky hobby. Instead, he found himself getting fascinated by all the little intricacies Y/n was so passionate about.

It was only when the stars began to fade, as orangey-red hue started to seep up from the horizon the either noticed the time. It was now the morning of the next day, the house long since had turned silent behind them - presumably, everyone finally passing out shit faced.

As the stars’ light was overtaken by the rising sun, Y/n ran out of stories; the two settled into silence - neither quite ready to go to bed yet.

“It’s still my turn,” Tom spoke into the sky before pivoting his head to look Y/n in the eye, seeing the confusion in her furrowed brows. “It’s my question to ask. My turn.”

“Aren’t you sick of my voice yet?” There was absolutely no reason that they were both whispering. It wasn’t like anyone was trying to listen or that they’d disturb anyone else my talking normally. But it was nicer that way. It felt calming... intimate even.

“One more. And then you get one more… and then we really should probably go to bed.” He didn’t want the night to end; he was immensely enjoying this weird grey time between being 25 and 26. But it was cold, Tom could tell Y/n had started to feel it a little more. To be fair, she was only in a floral day dress, not much in the way of warmth. With a hum of agreement, Y/n smiled lightly at him, urging his question.

“Whats the biggest secret you’ve kept from me?”

With a bit of a scoff, Y/n sighed and closed her eyes, trying to draw some strength she wasn’t sure she had. It wasn’t like she needed to wrack her brains to come up with it - she knew instantly. Almost painfully too.

“Uhm, honestly?” Now even more intrigued, Tom nodded, using his foot for nudge hers - encouraging her to speak. “Probably how much you mean to me.”

“Oh” He couldn’t help it; the sound just slipped out his mouth without checking with his brain first. That answer had just been so unexpected. He had honestly been thinking that it would be something about how ‘fame had changed him’. After hearing that, Y/n turned her head up the sky again, feeling like her cheeks were on fire with embarrassed heat. Tom knew he had fucked up.

“No, I… I didn’t mean- just just ask me too.” With a sigh, Y/n waved off his stumbled answer as he tried to cover himself.

“This is stup-“

“Ask me!” For the first time in 5 hours, Tom spoke at an normal volume - but it felt painfully loud, like a shout.

“What’s the biggest secret you kept from me?” Her tone was defeated, but nevertheless, he answered.

“How upset I was when you didn’t come when we were 19. I got why, but it was still annoying. Felt like you were picking uni friends over me-“ At this point on any other evening, Y/n would have interjected and argued. None of this situation was normal, though, so she chose to hear him out. “- I know it’s stupid, but…. I guess that’s how much you meant an-and still mean to me too.”

There was silence for a couple minutes, waiting whilst the sun started to peep over the horizon, the lone witness to an otherwise very private conversation. That was until Y/n barely spoke, more like mouthed 2 simple words.

“I lied.” The intensity of the way Tom stared at her made Y/n wish that the sun hadn’t been so bright, that they were back in the darkness that hid her face more. “Biggest lie I’ve told you … that I’m not in love with you.”

Y/n didn’t see because she couldn’t face looking at him, but Tom’s face erupted into the most prominent, toothiest smile. Whilst Tom was enjoying the moment of being absolutely ecstatic, Y/n was waiting for a response- feeling her world come crashing in. That she'd just destroyed one of the most important friendships in her life too.

But then he said the opposite of what she thought he would.

“I lied too.”

That had her attention, whipping her head toward him as Tom rolled onto his side on the lawn, balancing with his head resting on one hand. “I lied that I’ve not been completely under your spell since we were kids at that campsite, and you were homesick.”

Y/n’s heart was literally in her mouth, brain overwhelmed but one overriding thought oh so bloody clear.

She’d lost control of everything, arching up to mirror Tom. Using one hand, she reached out to cup Tom’s jaw, to which he instinctively leant toward - until their lips were mere centimetres apart, hot breath fanning over each other.

Y/n no control as she whispered those 3 words against his lips. No control at how immediately after he pressed his to hers; no control as Tom guided her to roll on top of him, knees either side of his torso as his strong arms wrapped around her back.

Once again, time was lost between the two, only pulling apart when their lungs burned for oxygen.

“For the record, I love you too.” Grinning from ear to ear, Tom used one hand to gently stroke his thumb across her cheek, switching his focus from her left to right eye - in wonder at how the early morning sun reflected from her y/e/c irises. He’d always thought she was beyond beautiful, but when she was this close to him, with the sun rising behind her in such a way - she looked damn ethereal.

“Happy birthday T.” Nodding in agreement, Tom chuckled before finding her lips once again, whispering against them.

“Yeh, happy damn birthday to me.”

~~~~let me know what you think ;) ~~~~~

tagging: @hallecarey1 @hollandfanficlove @crossyourpeter

[bbangsoonie]

goal: your heart

member: sunwoo genre: fluff word count: 5,423 synopsis: due to a budget cut, you have to follow the soccer team around for both the school newspaper and yearbook despite knowing nothing about sports. before you know it, you find yourself warming up to the team’s star player, who you swore was the most annoying and arrogant person ever.

a/n: this is a part of the star player collab with @atbzkingdom​ for sunwoo’s birthday! (also, this will be written with the american academic calander in mind)

You knew exactly what you were doing. You were the top student of both your class and school and the leader of many clubs. Your college application was full of achievements and your essay exquisitely written. The only problem? You had no idea what to do after graduation. You didn’t know where you wanted to go or what you wanted to study.

Growing up, everyone told you that you’d eventually find something you love. By senior year, you thought you would at least have an idea by now.

But nope, you were even more lost if anything. Dream job? That was just a capitalistic lie meant to make people happy to slave away for money.

Grumbling, you listened as your friends rambled on about the campuses they visited. It was only the first day back and everyone was already obsessing over one thing and one thing only.

“Y/n, you’re so lucky,” Juyeon pouted. “You don’t have to worry about getting into a university. Your stats are literally perfect.”

“I have other things to stress over,” you groaned. “At least you know what you wanna pursue.”

“Y/n has other things to worry about. She’s about to graduate without ever finding love,” Younghoon teased.

“It’s all our fault,” Jaehyun squinted as he pinched his nose bridge. “We raised her standards too high. I’m sorry, Y/n, that I can’t take responsibility.”

The notebook in your hand threatened to fly over to his seat. Luckily for him, he was saved by Juyeon’s very unnatural attempt at changing the subject. He inquired about the school newspaper that was barely spared in a major budget cut last year.

Thinking about it made you sigh. You had poured in so much effort over the years for the paper and it was almost taken from you. The school was cutting funds for a lot of clubs and diverting the money to the many sports teams that brought home trophies.

A part of the negotiations to save the newspaper club was to feature more sports events and student athletes in order to garner support for the teams. You weren’t pleased with the decision. Your plate was already full without trying to inflate the ego of players who had a god superiority complex. Jaehyun was a great example of the type of jock you didn’t want to raise on a high pedestal.

You had also promised Kevin, the president of the yearbook committee, to help out with photographing games since you had to attend them anyway. Despite the many tasks assigned to you, you were relieved that you could spend your last year continuing to write articles.

“Does that mean you’ll get to come to practice with us? The basketball team is always on my ass about introducing them to you. Now I can finally stop being pestered to be the middleman,” Jaehyun grinned.

“No shot,” Younghoon shook his head. “My swim team has already tried but Y/n puts up a cold front.”

“Hey, I’m a delicately guarded rose with sharp thorns,” you joked, making Jaehyun pretend to gag. This time, the notebook hit his arm.

“No one is good enough for our Y/n,” Juyeon defended. You turned around to coo at him and said something about him being the only nice one as Younghoon guffawed.

The first day of soccer practice meant you had to stay behind after dismissal to meet the team. The coach introduced you to the players and beamed when he got to the last one.

“This is our ace, Sunwoo. Although I’m sure you know that already,” he said proudly.

To be honest, you had no idea who he was. The school was too big to know everyone and you had absolutely no interest in sports. You rarely even went to Juyeon and Jaehyun’s basketball games and Younghoon’s swim meets.

Not wanting to offend anyone, you simply smiled. Sunwoo, catching your hesitance, raised a brow. However, he kept quiet until he approached you during one of his breaks.

“Do you really not know me?” he asked as he took a seat next to you on the bleachers.

Surprised by his sudden question, you blankly stared at the boy in front of you. Sweat was dripping from his hair but he paid it no attention as he chugged an entire water bottle.

“How cocky are you?” you scoffed.

“You really don’t know our soccer team’s star player, Kim Sunwoo?” he gaped.

“Sorry to disappoint but I really don’t care or know much about soccer. Or any other sports for that matter,” you shrugged.

“You’re going to write about the soccer team… when you don’t even know who we are or what we’re doing?” he asked incredulously.

“That’s why I’m here to observe,” you snapped back.

Finding you amusing, he finally wiped away his sweat as the coach blew his whistle to gather the players again.

Sunwoo always gave it his best but for some reason he found himself practicing extra hard that day. Knowing your eyes were on him motivated him to show off his skills by annoying his teammates and stealing the spotlight. After his third goal in a row, he looked at you to see your reaction but was baffled to see you busy writing something down.

Frustrated and peeved, he kicked at the grass with a huff.

When practice came to an end, he snuck up behind you to see what you were so intently focused on. Reading the notes on your notebook, he hummed.

“So that’s what you were doing instead of watching me,” he mused.

You were listing physical traits and personality attributes of each player. He scanned the paper for his name and frowned when he saw what you wrote about him.

“Arrogant and conceited? That’s all you have to say about me?” he whined.

“What? It’s true,” you deadpanned.

“Haknyeon gets “tall, bubbly, and extroverted” but I get “arrogant and conceited”? That’s not fair. This is biased journalism!” he exclaimed.

Realizing that practice was over, you gathered your belongings and stood up to leave. With his cheeks puffed, he watched as you left the field. You were unlike any person he had ever encountered.

“Sunwoo? Kim Sunwoo?” Younghoon repeated with his eyes wide. “The soccer caption Kim Sunwoo?”

Jaehyun and Juyeon’s chopsticks froze midair in shock. Finding their reactions odd, you nodded as you took another bite of your lunch.

“I can’t believe the lady killer got rejected by the man hater,” Jaehyun broke out into a fit of laughter.

“Now that’s a title I’d like to see on the school newspaper,” Younghoon snickered.

“Okay, first of all, I did not reject him because he did not come on to me,” you rolled your eyes. “Secondly, who the hell is he anyway? Why do you all know him?”

“He’s notorious for his fuckboy image. Although I think that’s an exaggerated reputation,” Juyeon said you picked out all the vegetables from your plate. He willingly moved them to his own and you smiled gratefully in response.

“So my first impression of him was correct,” you said.

“He’s not that bad. He’s actually pretty cool. Rumors don’t do the sweet guy justice,” Juyeon explained.

“Our lovely Juyeon sees the good in everyone,” Younghoon gushed as he pet his friend, earning him a smack on the back of his head.

“We were partners for a history project,” Juyeon clarified. “I got to know him a bit and he’s a good guy. Just enjoys attention a little too much. Like Jaehyun.”

Weirdly offended, Jaehyun scowled. You shrugged it off, returning your attention back to your food. You had no intentions of getting to know Sunwoo anyway. At least, that was the plan until he bombarded you in the hallway while you were walking to class.

He blocked your path with that irritating smirk on his face. Exasperated, you asked him what he wanted.

“So I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday,” he started.

“Oh, so you do think?”

“Hey!”

“Do you think you can move and get out of my way?”

“Anyway, as the president of the newspaper club who’s in charge of covering the soccer team, I think you lack way too much information about the sport. And our school’s players.”

“How do you know I’m the president?”

“I asked around.”

You look at his eyes, trying to peer through any ulterior motives. He was being suspiciously generous. But he wasn’t entirely wrong. Even you thought it was ridiculous that a person who didn’t know a thing about soccer had to write articles about it.

You were also aware that any interviews with the athletes would be surface level stuff that all the students probably already knew. You were the only one out of the loop.

You pursed your lips, annoyed that he was right. Realizing that you were in agreeance, Sunwoo grinned.

“I am offering you the very special privilege to follow me around and learn everything there is to know about the team. For the paper of course,” he quickly added the last part after seeing the look on your face. “I can teach you about both soccer and my teammates.”

After pondering his proposal, you finally nodded.

“Deal,” you eyed his happy expression. “What do you want in return?”

He was taken aback by your question. He hadn’t expected you to assume that he would demand compensation. Your presence and attention were what he was after in the first place. However, he couldn’t let the opportunity pass by.

“Bubble tea,” he declared after some thought. “You can treat me to bubble tea after practice and I can tutor you then.”

“Fine,” you sighed before pushing him aside to make it to class before the bell rang. He was left behind with a stupid smile on his face.

The first tutoring session was extremely awkward for you. You weren’t used to hanging out with guys other than Juyeon, Younghoon, and Jaehyun. They were the only members of the male species you didn’t despise. This riled up Sunwoo’s competitive side. He was determined to get close to you.

He couldn’t stand having someone not like him. He was used to being on friendly terms with everyone—including teachers and even wallflowers. He had a strong desire to receive acknowledgement from everyone.

Perhaps that was why so many girls fell for him.

Nevertheless, the wall around you remained thick and high. Just as he was well known for his playboy persona, you were infamous for never letting guys in. You cold heartedly turned down any and every guy who asked you out. And there had been a lot.

Sunwoo, on the other hand, was excited to spend time with you. Bubble tea was just an excuse to meet you outside of school grounds.

His phone dinged, notifying him of a text. Haknyeon had sent him a screenshot of a post made on the school’s gossip page and wrote “this you?”. He snorted at the content speculating his relationship status after supposedly receiving another confession and rolled his eyes. Curious, you asked him what he was looking at.

“Ah, it’s nothing,” he shook his head as he put the device away. “Just the stupid tea account.”

“Oh you mean that anonymously run social media page that popped up over summer break?” you frowned.

You hated everything about it. It spread rumors, without fact-checking, and started drama. It resulted in both a breakup and the end of a friendship in the span of two months. It was exactly what you and the school newspaper stood against.

Nothing could be done to stop the false information and invasion of privacy because it wasn’t officially affiliated with the school and the students continued to feed into it. People even sent in stories to be posted.

“So tell me what you do know about soccer,” he leaned in and propped his chin on the palms of his hands.

“I know the very basics from catching glimpses of the World Cup,” you leaned back on your chair, making him pout.

“Well, to be honest, explaining the rules is a lot easier to do when directly pointing things out during a game. There’s a match airing tonight. Do you want to come over and watch it with me?” he asked expectantly.

“We can watch the replay tomorrow during study hall,” you said.

“Then we can start by talking about me today,” he chirped. “My squad number is 19 because 9 is usually worn by centre forwards but I wanted to be special and added a 1 in front of it. I’m the centre forward, which is the main striker. That means playing offensive is my main objective. Which is why I’m the highest scorer on the team.”

You wanted to wipe the smug look off his face. It irked you how he so easily bragged about himself.

“I also really like movies and can play the guitar. A true all-rounder and romanticist,” he smiled.

He continued to reveal fun facts about himself for another half an hour. It was only at the end that you realized most of it was useless when writing for the paper. You groaned, realizing you had fallen for his trap.

Still, you learned some things about soccer and his position in the team. Following him to the cafe hadn’t been a complete waste of your time.

The next day, Sunwoo hunted you down to make sure you kept your promise about watching the game together. He dragged you to the computer room during study hall and pulled out the earbuds he prepared. He had purposely rummaged through his drawers the night before to the share wired ones with you.

You had to admit he was extremely helpful when explaining the rules and strategies of soccer. Despite being uncomfortable with the proximity of his body to yours, he was a great teacher. He made everything sound so simple. After you began to understand the game, you even found yourself enjoying the match.

After spending a week with him, you hated that you couldn’t say you still disliked him. After all, you two met almost every day for hours.

You had a gut feeling that you would come to regret it and were proven right. You had a bad feeling the moment you saw Jaehyun run up to you as if his life depended on it. Panting, he barely pulled himself together to show you the post that made him immediately report to you.

“KSW and Y/INITIALS seen cozily spending time together. Will he be the one to finally break through her?” you read aloud.

A photo of your backs from the computer room and a mosaicked side shot of you two at the cafe were attached to the title. The comments under the post were even more ridiculous.

“A challenge to be anticipated.”

“Poor girl will only end up as one of his many heartbroken playthings.”

“I know who KSW is. Who’s Y/INITIALS??”

“The legendary man hater? With a guy?? Wow how good must he be 👀”

“Damn so she rejected me for him?”

Your blood boiled and you shoved the phone away. Trying to calm yourself down, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. And failed.

“What is this, fucking Dispatch?” you exploded. A few students passing by stared at your outburst and widened their eyes when they saw that it was you. You sighed, knowing that the whole school saw the post.

“I’m not a celebrity! Why are people so invested in fake rumors about me?” you yelled, trying to keep your voice to a whisper as you pulled Jaehyun into an empty classroom.

“I’m sure it’ll blow over,” he assured.

“If I ever find out who the admin of this page is, I will ruin them,” you glowered.

You almost didn’t go to the soccer practice that day. But you knew that avoiding him would only add fuel to the fire so you sucked it up and went to the field after school as usual. You heard the hushed murmurs that stirred among the team when you arrived and you wanted to turn back around and leave.

Before you could, however, Sunwoo appeared and shut everyone up with a warning glare. He announced that the coach would be late and to start by running laps.

You were more annoyed than upset about the post. It just stupefied you that people really had nothing better to do than gossip about you. You didn’t think you were that interesting.

You were so close to escaping after practice but Sunwoo caught you trying to sneak away. He stood in front of you, crossing his arms as if to ask where you were going. Giving up, you muttered a “fine” and waited for him to change out of his uniform.

This time, you two wordlessly agreed to go to a different cafe. With the bubble teas on the table in front of you, you sat in silence until Sunwoo finally spoke up.

“Don’t mind what the post or others say,” he huffed.

“I’m not too bothered by it,” you shrugged.

“Good. Because I want to get to know you as just Y/n and Sunwoo. Through whatever you wish to tell and show me. I feel like we’re always just talking about me.”

His words left you speechless. Juyeon hadn’t been kidding when he mentioned how thoughtful Sunwoo was. You felt your heart warm as you smiled.

“Well what do you want to know about me?” you asked.

“Anything. Everything.”

So you spilled about your interests, hobbies, and goals. It was strange. Although it hadn’t been long since you met him, you felt comfortable around him. He made you feel at ease and you didn’t think twice about opening up to him.

You told him about your struggles as a high achieving student. About the pressure you felt and how embarrassing it was to tell people that you didn’t have any dreams.

With your grades, all the teachers expected you to apply to medical school. On the other hand, your parents encouraged you to work towards a high paying and stable salary as a corporation employee. Your friends suggested that you go for something in journalism because of your passion and commitment to the school newspaper.

But the club was just something you did for fun. You didn’t know if you liked it enough to pursue it as a career.

Sunwoo listened attentively as you went on about your concerns. From the outside, you looked like you had your life together. You were the perfect student and the girl that many guys chased after. But as he spent more time with you, it became clear that you were very uncomfortable with boys.

“Can I ask how you got so close with the Bermuda line?” he asked.

“The Bermuda line? What’s that?”

“You’ve never heard of the term? Juyeon, Jaehyun, and Younghoon are called the Bermuda line because they’re the most popular athletes out of all the sports teams. The girls say that once you fall for them, you’re stuck in between them forever because you can’t get out.”

You hadn’t laughed that hard in so long. You knew they had fans but found it hilarious how the trio even had a nickname.

“Oh man, I can’t wait to make fun of them for this,” you laughed, nearly in tears.

When he told you that they actually took great pride in the title, you bursted out in laughter again. Their self love truly was on another level.

“So how’d you end up friends?” he asked again.

“Juyeon, I’ve known since middle school. We were in the same class for all three years. Jaehyun didn’t go to the same school as us but he was friends with Juyeon because they played basketball together. I met him and Younghoon at the end of freshman year. They kinda crash landed into my life but we really clicked so that’s why I still bless them with my friendship.”

Sunwoo giggled at your own overwhelming confidence. He loved that you never sold yourself short. He didn’t notice he had been staring at you until you pointed it out. Blushing, he insisted that it was nothing and took another sip of his bubble tea.

Two months passed by and you eventually came to call Sunwoo a friend. Younghoon teased you about him being more than a friend and at first, you thought he was crazy. But with him planting the idea in your head, you began to question your own feelings. Cursing Younghoon, you blamed him for confusing you.

As the designated photographer, you tagged along to the soccer team’s last match. The entire team was nervous as it would determine the winner of the tournament. Even Sunwoo was anxious.

Before the game started, you offered him a supportive smile and he felt all worries lifted off his shoulders. He erased all thoughts of winning and losing and just concentrated on the ball. He wanted to enjoy the last match of the season and look cool in front of you. That was all that mattered to him.

Fortunately, he got both plus the win. The crowd erupted into cheers as he scored the winning goal just seconds before the whistle was blown to signal the end of the game. His knees fell to the ground and his teammates rushed to surround him.

Seeing how happy he looked brought a smile to your lips. He jumped up and scanned the bleachers for your face. When he finally spotted you, he broke away from his team to run up to you and embrace you in a giant hug.

Caught off guard, you froze as his teammates hooted and applauded. You felt your cheeks heat up at the attention.

“Congratulations,” you chuckled, patting his back. “You did well.”

“Did you get a lot of pretty pictures of me?” he grinned, pulling away to look at you.

“No, I only took pictures of Haknyeon,” you joked. By now, he was used to your teasing and simply ruffled your hair in response.

“There’s gonna be an after party tonight,” he brought up carefully. “I’d really like it if you came. Only if you’re okay with that type of scene though.”

Surprised, you nodded before you fully thought it through.

That was how you ended up moping at Jaehyun’s house. The invitation was extended to the Bermuda line as well and they were all planning on dragging you there. Younghoon was excited at the thought of finally going to a party with the whole group and Juyeon was picking out an outfit for you from Jaehyun’s sister’s closet.

“I don’t know if I trust your fashion sense,” she made a face at the top he held up.

This was your first party and you weren’t sure how you felt about it. There was a reason you hadn’t gone to one throughout your high school years.

Nonetheless, you were dressed up in an outfit that definitely reflected Jaehyun’s sister’s style more than yours. She fawned over how pretty you were and urged you to go with the boys.

So you walked through the doors and into the house vibrating with music. Everyone who recognized you was shocked to see you there. Feeling awkward, you stuck by Jaehyun’s side as you maneuvered around the throng of people. When he finally caught sight of Sunwoo, he dipped and left you alone with him.

“Thanks for coming,” he shouted over the loud music.

“Thanks for inviting me,” you shouted back.

Sunwoo offered you a drink, which you declined. Following your choice, he opted for a soda instead as well. You weren’t much of a dancer so you enjoyed people watching instead. It was fascinating to see your classmates have so much fun.

You giggled when you saw Juyeon be so painfully oblivious to a girl’s advances and walked away to dance with Younghoon. Meanwhile, Jaehyun was having the time of his life flirting with girls. You blocked your eyesight when you saw him leaning in to kiss one of them.

“Ugh, gross,” you cringed. “I do not need to know this side of my best friend’s love life.”

Laughing, Sunwoo offered to take you outside for some fresh air and a change of scenery. You gladly agreed and let him guide you to the backyard.

The night sky was full of tranquility that contrasted the chaos that ensued indoors. You sat on the grass and Sunwoo joined next to you.

“You look beautiful today,” he commented.

“Only today?” you laughed.

“Especially today,” he answered in a serious manner. His sincerity made you clear your throat and look away. He stunned you by cupping your face with his hands.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

“Are you drunk?” you blinked.

“I haven’t had a single sip of alcohol.”

His voice was slow and raspy. Your heart was beating faster than you wanted it to and you knew the corners of your lips were betraying you.

“You can either lean in or pull away,” he said as he brought his lips closer to yours.

Your heart now felt like it was about to jump out of your chest. Red alarms were going off in your head and you didn’t know what to do. All you knew was what you were only a few centimeters away from kissing Sunwoo.

So you did what any insane person would do and closed the gap between your lips. You wanted to punch him when you felt him smirk but he pulled you closer and held onto you tightly.

The weekend passed without much changes in your relationship with Sunwoo. You were worried that you had either ruined your friendship or that he was sick of you but Juyeon reassured you that he probably wanted to talk about it in person. Anxiously, you overthought things until Monday finally arrived.

Wanting to keep yourself busy until you met Sunwoo, you stopped by the club room early in the morning to import the photos from the last game. Shortly after you connected the camera to the computer, you heard a knock on the door.

Startled, you looked at the door and saw Jacob sheepishly poking his head through the door. You told him to come in and he took a seat next to you.

“Kevin told me to drop by before class for an interview,” he said. You nearly facepalmed. You had completely forgotten about that. You were supposed to interview him for the paper.

“Oh yeah! Hold on, let me go get my notebook,” you searched through your backpack to find it.

The volleyball player was this month’s star of the month and you had to write a piece on his past achievements. He was extremely kind and was careful not to use any advanced sports terminology to make sure anyone could easily read the interview, which you were grateful for.

Before you parted, he gave you a side hug out of habit and apologized when he realized that it was only his first time meeting you. You laughed it off and insisted that now you could be friends since you two hugged already. Relieved that you weren’t disturbed, he happily waved goodbye to you as he walked away.

Being in a different class than Sunwoo meant that you had to wait until lunch period to see him. You honestly didn’t even know if you wanted to see him. You weren’t ready to face him yet.

When the bell finally rang and it was time for lunch, Juyeon forced you to go to the cafeteria instead of hiding out in an empty classroom. The moment you sat down with your tray, however, you felt all eyes on you. Your stomach dropped, knowing it couldn’t be good news.

“Y/n, is this true..?” Jaehyun asked, showing you the new post on the gossip page. You hated that you were always right about bad intuitions.

KSW and Y/INITIALS caught making out at last night’s party… is BJY a side hoe?

You had no idea when a photo was taken in the brief second you and Jacob hugged that morning. When you scrolled and saw the next part, your heart dropped.

A shocking revelation of history: Y/INITIALS and SYJ used to date in freshman year. Does this have anything to do with the swimmer and basketball players always next to her?

You felt your breath caught in your throat as you read through the comments.

“Isn’t BJY on the volleyball team and SYJ on the baseball team?”

“Wow she clearly has a type.”

“I guess athletes just hit it well 👀”

“And here I thought KSW was the hoe… who’s playing with who?”

“Aye so KSW finally managed to break through her. Thanks for my $10 bro.”

“Aren’t the basketball players LJY and LJH? And the swimmer KYH? The Bermuda line, right?? I always thought she had a thing with one of them.”

“So much for the icy Y/INITIALS. She was acting all pretentious when she was already having all her fun.”

Juyeon grabbed the phone out of your hands and glared at Jaehyun. You never thought your past relationship would ever get exposed. There were only a handful of people who knew about it and it had stayed hidden under the rug up until now. It was something you wanted to bury and never think about ever again.

Shakily, you got up and ran out of the cafeteria with Younghoon calling out after you. You ran as fast as you could. You didn’t stop until you busted through the doors and collapsed on the rooftop. Your lungs were on fire and you closed your eyes to stop the ringing in your ears.

Meanwhile, Sunwoo was running across the school to find you. When he didn’t see you in the club room, he changed his target and sought out Eric.

“Is it true?” he demanded when he finally saw his friend.

“I can’t believe people already figured out that it’s me,” Eric sighed.

“Is it true?” Sunwoo repeated.

“Yes, yes, it’s true,” he answered with his hands up in defeat. “She never wanted anyone to find out. We didn’t exactly end on good terms. It’s something I’m not proud of.”

“What happened?” he asked, trying to contain his anger. “What did you do to her?”

“I…” Eric trailed off. “I cheated on her.”

“What the hell, Eric?” Sunwoo yelled.

“I-I was stupid! And young. It’s the biggest mistake I made in my life,” he admitted.

Frustrated, Sunwoo left and ran off in search of you again. When you weren’t anywhere to be found, he checked the rooftop as a last resort. He didn’t expect to actually see you there.

“Y/n,” he breathed. You felt a lump form in your throat. It was the first time he had addressed you by your name.

“Get away from me,” you glared. “Was I nothing but a bet to you? Was I just a challenge for you to win?”

“Y/n, I never placed bets on you. I don’t know what other people have been betting on but I have always been genuine with you,” he affirmed.

You refused to let your tears fall. There was no way Kim Sunwoo was going to see you cry.

“I like you,” he confessed. “I like you a lot. I meant to say this that night but got too flustered. So I wanted to tell you today. Whenever I see you, the butterflies in my stomach won’t go away. When I don’t see you, I miss you like crazy. You inspire me to become a better person and all I want to do is hold you and call you mine.”

And now Kim Sunwoo has officially seen you cry. He bent down to wrap his arms around you as you sobbed into his shoulder.

“You’re an asshole,” you mumbled after you calmed down.

“I think you mean the opposite,” he chuckled. “Whatever barriers you put up to protect yourself, I’m going to take them down one by one. With you. Together.”

“Who said I’m helping?” you muttered.

“Then I guess I have to work twice as hard to prove myself,” he softly smiled.

“This is embarrassing,” you groaned.

“This will only be embarrassing for me if you reject me,” his hand reached out to the nape of his neck. “So what do you say? Will you go out with me?”

“I’ll think about it,” you huffed, prompting a chuckle from him.

[loonysama]

Happy Birthday, Queen Anna of Arendelle!

This snippet comes from my forthcoming Frozen Fever rewrite, "Pour Some Sugar on Me."

❄️ 🌻 ❄️ 🌻 ❄️ 🌻 ❄️

Elsa hiccups several times in a row, releasing a fresh supply of beautiful pink snowflakes. Anna marvels at her sister’s unintended magic floating freely against the clear June sky. Despite the flurry swirling above her head, she feels flushed, and fans herself with her hand.

Elsa wobbles as she walks, trips over her dress, and even falls to her knees once. “Wheeeeeee!!!! It’s jus–hic– like ice skating, Sis!"

Anna holds on to Elsa’s elbow and silently giggles as she savors the opportunity to be able to take care of her. It’s an important job, and Anna takes it seriously.

Elsa, still stumbling, lets out a laugh from the bottom of her belly, such that Anna has never heard from her before. “Oh, Ann--hic--a, I think I must be dru--hic--nk!” she giggles.

“I’m so sorry, Anna. I had this whole day planned--hic--out, and it was going to be so special, you know, to--hic--make up for all the birthdays you..., because of me. Ugh..." Elsa looks down to the side, and whispers, "I ruined everything-” punctuated it with a loud hiccup.

Anna, who can’t help but laugh at Elsa's pout, says, “You haven’t ruined anything. This is the best birthday I’ve ever had!”

She brushes some snowflakes off the seat of a chair, while Elsa, horrified, notices the chaos her snowflakes created, and nearly falls out of the chair laughing.

Somehow, though, like usual, Kristoff manages to turn chaos into something somewhat functional. He stands on the cake table, holding the cake with a few holes carved out above his head so a blue-mouthed Olaf can’t get to it. He clumsily hops onto Sven’s horns, but with Sven licking at every snowflake that catches his eye, his antlers are hardly a level surface to balance on. Anna, too absorbed in her sister's condition to notice, finally pays attention when Olaf tugs on her skirt and asks if he can have some cake.

Before answering, Anna takes in the full spectacle of Kristoff holding the (most likely very heavy) cake in front of him, while balancing on Sven's antlers. His own bright pink snow flurry swirls above his head.

“Oh, wow!” she gasps and puts her hands to her warm cheeks. She’s instantly drunk on his crinkling eyes and gently curved lips.

“Happy birthday,” he says softly and intimately, as though they hadn’t all but broken up the day before. His voice, extra smooth against all his rough edges, gives Anna a fever.

Sven tosses him to the ground and he falls onto his knees in front of Anna. The pink snowflakes swirl around him and Anna eyes grow wide. He leans back in his heels, ignoring the pain in his knees, and, heart pounding, looks at his snow flurry for guidance. One look into Anna’s hopeful eyes and the words flow so freely that he sings them:

"I love you, Anna!"

❤ 🌻 ❤️ 🌻 ❤️ 🌻 ❤

[troquantary]

Edward Cullen: That Boy Ain’t Right

So I was doing a reread of @therealvinelle 's collection of Twilight metas, as one does, and in "Edward, Denial, and a Human Girlfriend" she mentions that she doesn't believe Edward is sane. I thought, "ha, yeah, he's definitely not," and also, "but wait, what does that mean exactly, please say more about that." But since she's already inundated with asks, I've decided to use my own head-muscle and explore this idea. (TL;DR: I start out more or less organized, synthesize some points Vinelle has made across several posts (and have hopefully linked to them all where relevant but please tell me if not), touch a little on narcissism, then take a hard left into the negative effects of being a telepath.)

Just a couple things to note at the outset, though. Theses have been written already (probably) about Edward as an abuser. Edward being insane doesn't negate that at all; he's definitely an asshole and just...a disaster of a human being. (I find it more funny than anything, but YMMV.) I'm also going to try to avoid talking specifically about mental illness and how it relates (or doesn't relate) to abusive behavior -- that's territory I'm not really equipped to discuss, like at all. My starting point is "Edward has a deeply warped perception of reality," not "Edward has X disorder."

So: deeply warped perception of reality. The evidence? Goes behind a cut, because my one character trait is Verbose.

Vinelle provides a great example of it in the post linked above, which I'll just quote because she does words good: "[Edward] keeps acting like his romance with Bella is a romantic tragedy, and all the cast of Twilight are actors on a stage making it as sublime as possible." Edward's the one to pursue Bella, but he does so with the full belief, from the very beginning, that it will never last; Bella will "outgrow" him, go on her human way, and he can spend the rest of eternity brooding magnificently over his too-short romantic bliss. [Insert premature ejaculation joke.] Turning her is never an option, even though Alice, Noted Psychic, says that romancing Bella will either end with her dead (exsanguinated) or dead (vampire).

This framing, where he's a dark anti-hero in love with -- but never tainting! -- the pure maiden and eventually leaving her in a grand, tragic sacrifice to preserve her soul? It's fucking bonkers. Bella isn't a person to him in this scenario. As Vinelle points out, Bella's never really a person to him at all; he falls in love with his own mental construct, cherry-picking from what he observes of her behavior and her responses to his 20 (thousand) Questions to convince himself that she is the ideal woman.

Bella's not the only one who gets the projection/cardboard-cutout treatment. Edward sees everything and everyone through a highly particular, personalized lens. He filters his entire reality, which we all do to an extent, but the thing with Edward is that he starts with his conclusions and then only pays attention to the evidence that supports those conclusions. Often that evidence consists of what he admits in New Moon are only "surface" thoughts -- but recognizing that limitation doesn't keep him from taking those thoughts as representative of what people are. Edward then becomes absolutely convinced by his own "reasoning" and won't be swayed from what he has decided is Objectively True. It's obvious with Bella; it's also painfully obvious with Rosalie. (Vinelle explains this and brings up Edward's raging Madonna/Whore complex in the same post, so refer to that again -- she's right.)

He also catastrophizes. Everything. Bella's just vibing in her room, rereading Wuthering Heights for the 87th time? She's gonna be hit by a meteor, better sneak into her room while she sleeps. Bella's going to the beach with the filthy mundanes their human classmates? She's gonna fall in the ocean. Jasper's cannibal pals are stopping by for a visit, but know not to hunt in the area? DISASTER, DEFCON 1, ALSO FUCK YOU JASPER FOR EVEN EXISTING IN MY AND BELLA'S SPHERE YOU UNSPEAKABLE BURDEN. Edward must believe that Bella is vulnerable and in near-constant peril, to support the reality he has created in which he is the villain turned protector and maybe?? hero??? (!!!) for his beloved. So when the actual, James-shaped danger arrives, he goes berserk, snarling and flipping his shit and generally not helping the situation. His fantasy demands that Bella remain human, so instead of doing the very thing Alice, Noted Psychic, assures him will neutralize the threat (and not just a threat to Bella, either, but to Bella's family and any other human James might decide to include in the "game"), he vetoes it immediately, no discussion. Bella Must Not Turn, and he sticks to those guns despite James nearly reducing her to ground beef, despite leaving Bella catatonic with depression (but human! success!) in New Moon, despite Aro's order and his family's vote and, let's not forget, Bella's clearly and repeatedly stated desire to be a vampire. It's going to happen. But he doesn't accept it until Renesmee busts out of Bella like the Kool-Aid man and the poor girl's heart finally, unequivocally stops.

Sane people don't behave this way. I don't want to slap labels on Edward, but I can't help but note that he comes across as highly narcissistic. He's the only real person in his universe, the lone player among us NPCs. That probably has a lot to do with him being frozen in the mindset and maturity of a seventeen-year-old boy, but I think it's also just...him, on some fundamental level. His failure to connect with others and recognize them as full, independent beings with their own wants and priorities isn't like Bella's failure -- she's badly depressed. Edward is...something else, and I get the sense that his sanity has been steadily deteriorating over time. And a cursory google of narcissistic traits turns up some familiar-looking stuff. He's self-loathing, yes, but also grandiose; he hates himself for the monster he is (and hates most vampires besides Esme and Carlisle for their monstrosity, too) but still feels superior to humans, to the extent that he felt entitled to human blood and resented Carlisle for depriving him of his "proper" diet. He eventually returns to Carlisle, but he's far from content -- the beginning of Midnight Sun finds him in a state of ennui, bored and dismissive of (if not outright disgusted by) everyone around him, that has apparently persisted for years and years. He doesn't play the piano, he doesn't compose, he doesn't enjoy anything...at least until Bella comes along and then he becomes obsessed to a disturbing degree with her and his new, romantic tragedy spin on reality.

[Next-day edit: I’m not sure where else to fit this in, but the way Edward casually contemplates violence against people who have, at best, mildly annoyed him is...chilling. I have a hard time writing off his strategizing how to murder the entire Biology class as a result of bloodlust -- it’s so calculated, nothing like the blackout state of thirst Emmett describes when he encountered his own “singer,” and that is probably the default for when a vampire is extremely thirsty. But even ignoring the Biology class incident, Edward still does things like consider, with disturbing frequency, how he might grievously injure or kill Mike Newton, all because...Edward considers him his romantic rival (despite Bella barely giving the kid the time of day). He thinks about slapping Mike through a wall, which might be an amusing slapstick image, except as a vampire Edward’s actually capable of turning this boy’s skeleton to a fine powder. So it’s, y’know, kind of sick when you think about it.

But even worse than that, when Bella tells Edward about how she flirted with Jacob to get at that sweet, sweet vampire lore, Edward chuckles and then, after dropping Bella home, flippantly observes that now that the treaty’s broken, why not genocide? I’m not even kidding, it’s right there in Midnight Sun; he seriously thinks about the fact that he’d be technically justified now in wiping out the entire tribe because a teenager tried to impress a girl with a spooky story. That is fucked. Remember, Edward was there with Carlisle when the treaty was first established. He knows how remarkable it is that they even came to a truce in the first place, that it was only ever possible because Carlisle is...well, Carlisle, and that it marks a pretty significant moment in supernatural history. He doesn’t care; he doesn’t respect it, or he’d never think something like “Ha ha, if I went and killed them all, I wouldn’t even be wrong. I mean, I won’t do it, but I’m just saying, I wouldn’t be wrong.”

Again: not the thought process or behavior of a sane person. (Or a person that respects life in general -- sorry Carlisle, big L.)]

Finally, whether he's a narcissist or not, I think the fact that Edward has constant, unavoidable access to everyone's thoughts is a powerful contributing factor to his instability. He can tune out the mental noise to an extent, but he can't stop it -- so he comes to rely on it like another sense. This causes issues with disconnect and lack of empathy, of course, but there's another facet to this shit diamond: he's basically experiencing a ceaseless flow of intrusive thoughts. His narration in Midnight Sun suggests that he "hears" the words people think, can "see" what they visualize in their mind's eye, and can sense the emotional "tone" and intensity of their thoughts. Therefore, perceiving Jasper's thirst through his thoughts makes Edward more aware of his own, "doubling" the discomfort. This would be a lot to deal with even from just his immediate coven members, but Edward gets all of this pouring into his head like a firehose on a day-to-day basis because the Cullens live right alongside humans. I know Meyerpires have galaxy brains or whatever, but that's a ton to process.

Besides the compounding effect on his own thirst when he "feels" the thirst of others, Meyer never suggests that Edward has difficulty separating his own thoughts from other people's; even when he was newly turned, he recognized Carlisle's "voice" in his head as Carlisle's. That would create a whole different host of issues around identity, but it looks like Edward's escaped that particular torment. However, I can easily imagine that what he does experience is just shy of unbearable nonetheless, with an eroding effect on his sanity over decades. He can't sleep to escape it; he's on a dishwater diet and probably (like the rest of his family) experiencing a perpetual, low-grade physical discomfort due to his thirst never being fully satisfied; and he's around far more people than is the norm for vampires -- even discounting all the humans, his own coven is unusually large -- meaning more noise.

Honestly, it would be weirder if he were all there, considering.

And even though I feel like I lost a sense of structure around where I started ranting about telepathy, I've written like 1.5k words about Edward fucking Cullen and I think that's enough for one post.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Just friends

Pairing: Sky x reader

==============================

After an entire night of sipping beer and looking for someone to connect with, Y/N finally found a guy that truly stood out. Tall, broad shoulders, dirty blonde hair that reminded her of a certain Specialist she wanted to forget and those eyes….Phew, those emerald green eyes that drew her in with their promise of a good time she’s been looking for truly captured her attention.

Standing a little too close to him in order to keep up a conversation with music blaring, Y/N allowed herself to lean into his lean body, his hand resting on the small of her back. His lips called out to her, or the beer in her system made it seem so. Whatever the case may be, she didn’t really care. 

Y/N wanted someone to feel close to and he looked like someone appropriate; similar to the very cause of the aching heart she’s trying to ignore. The way he looked at her showed he’s just as interested as she is, but his eyes kept glancing at something or someone behind them.

Irritated with his loss of focus, with her index finger on his chin, Y/N demanded his attention unapologetically.

“Ignore a fairy and she leaves.“ Y/N said with a light tone, but she hoped her pursed lips and slightly narrowed eyes were a warning he’d read.

Chuckling, the guy, Porter, nodded, licking his lips. Following his gaze, Y/N turns. Tossing her hair over her shoulder to make sure nothing obscured her vision, she gnaws on the inside of her lower lip.

On the far end of the room stood a handsome guy taller than Porter. He’s leaned against a wall, muscular arms crossed over his chest, hair floppy with blond bangs that fell on his forehead. He held a pensive look on his face, lips pressed together and dark blue eyes sending daggers Y/N’s way. 

Sky.

“Who is he?“ Porter breaks up the little staring contest with a question. Turning to him, Y/N gives him an innocent smile, shrugging.

“No one important.“ She informs him, placing a hand on his chest. Trailing it upwards, she holds onto his shoulder and looks into his eyes.

Raising an eyebrow, Porter glances at the guy and at Y/N once more, tilting his head. “Not a jealous boyfriend or anything?“ He questions, unconvinced by her previous answer.

Y/N sighs, faking a smile that never really failed to trick those around her; especially not him. She could never fool him, even when she tried. Somehow, he always knew better.

“Nope.“ She says, popping the P for effect. Feeling her heartbeat quicken its pace, she keeps that smile frozen on her face as if she had used her ice powers on herself, knowing it’s rehearsed to perfection.

“Does he know that?“ Porter asks, smirking. 

Rolling her eyes, Y/N let him go, moving out of his embrace. 

It took her a moment to stop herself from blowing up on the guy, annoyed by his constant questioning. She figured he’s a senior in Specialist training looking for a way to blow off steam that wouldn’t ask too many questions, but Porter proved to be anything but.

“Be right back.“ She taps his arm, turning around and walking towards the door.

Leaving the basement, she sits on the steps. They’re cold but she’s used to cold - she’s the ice queen anyway. She knew she’d have to be waiting patiently only for a short time. Moments later, the door opens again, the man who couldn’t keep his eyes off her coming outside.

“Took you long enough.“ She huffs, focusing her eyes on the ground in front of her instead of him. She didn’t have to look at him to know who it is. She knew by the sound of his footsteps, the left one always releasing a slight creak on the floorboards as he stepped with his entire foot while he only stepped with his heel on the right one.

Taking a seat next to her, Sky doesn’t look at her either.

“He’s not good enough for you.“ With those words, Y/N feels his piercing gaze on her. The emotion in Sky’s eyes is fathoms deep, yet they carry the warmth and life of the sunlit surface. They have a thousand hues of blue and a small touch of hazel radiating in softly swooping arcs and they leave Y/N breathless, as they always do.

Blood rushes to her face, turning up the temperature in her head to a dangerous level and it wasn’t from his eyes on her…it was that statement. His sentence had pissed her off enough for ice to swallow the steps they sit on; enough to lose control.

“You don’t get to say that.“ Y/N spits, standing up. Body rigid from anger, hands clenched so tight she felt her knuckles turning a pale color with a disruption in blood circulation. “Or anything to me. Ever.“ She turns to him with narrowed eyes.

Sky didn’t look away, no matter how cold her glare got. She hated how he could withstand it as it tore her apart.

“I only have your best interests in mind.“ Sky dares to say, fixing his tender gaze upon her as if his words were meant to calm the storm inside. His fingers twitch, like he can’t decide if he should reach out or keep physical contact to a minimum in fear of making the situation a lot worse.

Looking up in disbelief, Y/N releases something between a choked sob and a chuckle. Biting her lower lip to keep herself from shouting, her eyes fall back on the man before her.

“Don’t. Just…don’t.“ Placing a hand on her hip, she uses the other one to point her index finger at him.

“You said we were friends and then you kissed me! And then you told me we would never happen!” Shaking her head, Y/N sighs. “You can’t do this to me. You can’t stare down every guy I talk to or tell me they’re not good enough or...” Pausing, she stops before she breaks her own heart. 

She thought, ‘Friends don’t look at friends the way you’re looking at me now’, but what’s the point? He’s determined it means nothing. That she means nothing.

Standing, she points her finger at him again, “Stop. Alright? I’m tired of waiting, I’m tired of arguing! Just leave me alone.” 

Standing as well, Sky seems to have made up his mind and went for it. He grabs her finger, wrapping his hand around her entire fist with ease, pulling her closer to him. Flush against his firm chest, Y/N dares not look up, feeling his raging heartbeat through the palm pressed over his sternum.

“I never meant to hurt you. Do you know that?“ He whispers. His warm breath reaches her forehead, fanning away a couple of loose strands of her hair.

"Sky, I can’t do this right now.“ She feels her head spinning. Being so close to him was too much too fast. Especially after he broke her heart.

“You’re my best friend.“ Sky’s voice breaks, his chin resting atop her head. 

She could feel him pulling her closer, pressing his body against hers in a mock embrace, but she’s just a frozen statue in his arms. There is no way for her to relax. If she did, she’d break and she never wanted to break in front of him. Not again.

Placing both palms against his chest, ignoring the way his heart rushed with the contact, she pushes with all her might. Moving away as Sky stumbles backwards, Y/N turns her back on him. Feeling her chin tremble as his warmth leaving her body renders her as cold as the ice in her veins, her eyes close She never found the cold bothersome, not until she felt the warmth of Sky’s embrace and tender kisses.

“Yeah, well…things changed. You know very well how that came to be.“ Y/N’s response is surprisingly calm, but she’s certain Sky could read her emotions even without looking at her properly. After all, he knew her for so long…In a way, they grew up together.

“Why am I to blame for that, huh? I can’t help how I feel.“ Sky defends, lips parted as Y/N scoffs, turning back to face him.

She shakes her head slightly. It feels surreal that she has to have this conversation with him again.

“You left me standing there without a word. I poured my heart out and you had nothing to say! You couldn’t be with me? You’re not good enough? You can’t give me the answer I want? Well, guess what? I can’t give you the answer you want either.“ Y/N’s voice trembles as she speaks, feeling every muscle in her face clench under the pressure of keeping a straight face. Her entire body shakes, but she’s determined to keep herself centered.

Going to a dance with her best friend was meant to be fun and an experience she’ll never forget. However, the entire night she was stuck with Riven while the guy she wanted to dance with was away flirting with Stella, Bloom, everyone but her. She didn’t mind Riven, he’s definitely someone she considers to be very close to her heart, but she was in love with his roommate.

The guys took her home, Sky walked her to the door to make sure she got in safely. It gave her butterflies, but it was just who Sky is. He always made sure she was taken care of and protected. Always.

However, that night, Y/N was unsheltered, vulnerable in every way possible. She couldn’t keep her secret any longer.

Turning back, she looks at him, shaking. Averting her gaze to the right, only to focus it back on him, she wraps her arms around herself for reassurance.

“Everything okay?“ Sky steps closer, tilting his head.

Shaking her head as an answer, Y/N musters up some courage fueled by years of jealousy and heartache.

“Do you love me?“ She blurts out, slightly bouncing on her feet though the heels she wore made her feet hurt.

Sky smiles widely, rolling his eyes at her playfully before answering. “You know I do.“

Shaking her head furiously, feeling her heart beating so fast her head is pounding and her knees are weak, she explains.

“No, I mean. Do you LOVE me?“ she emphasizes, leaning on her right leg more for balance. She watches the look of realization cross his face, confusion taking place. He didn’t say a damn thing, just looked at her like she had uttered the most atrocious insult.

Blinking fast, she bites her lip so hard, feeling a metallic taste of blood in her mouth as a result.

“Sky, do you?“ Her voice cracks, the last part coming out almost as a whisper.

Sky stares at her, searching for an appropriate answer in her eyes in hopes of escaping this entire conversation, but he’s dead silent.

“Say something!“ She whisper shouts, desperate for a reply. She had opened up to him, completely vulnerable and at his mercy and all he gave in return was a lost stare and fast, shallow breathing by the way his chest moved.

Until he moved toward her, pushing her against the locked door. Before she has a chance to say anything, his lips capture hers and her eyes widen in shock. Arms wrapping around her waist gave her courage to entangle her hands in his hair, drawing him closer to her.

Breathless, she couldn’t think, she didn’t want to. Being in the moment, drowning in his tender, yet passionate touch was more than enough.

But as unexpected as the kiss was, so was the moment Sky broke it. He steps back, lips swollen and smudged from hers, even more kissable than before. He opens his mouth and Y/N’s ready to hear him say it back, to promise her they would try, but when Sky speaks, her heart breaks.

“I…I can’t give you the answer you want.“ Sky spoke slowly, continuing. “You’re…you’ve always been out of my league.“ Taking a step closer, he keeps talking as she grimaces at the unwanted closeness. Moments ago, Y/N wanted him closer, but it made her queasy now.

“You’re just so…perfect!“ He exclaims, outstretching his arms in her direction.

She tries to step back, tensing up as she realizes she’s backed against the door already. She has nowhere to run.

“I’m not good enough for you. I will NEVER be good enough to be with you.“ Sky’s arms return to his side, understanding she’s not interested in any sort of touching.

She nods in disbelief, not believing his logic nor the words he spoke. “You don’t get to use that as an excuse. Especially when it’s not true. But if this is the way you want to handle things….Then this is goodbye.“ 

Barely holding back tears, she watched Sky turn around, leaving her broken and alone with her heart bleeding on the ground after he so carelessly tossed it from his hands.

What hurts is that he didn’t even try to fight for her to at least remain a friend. He didn’t even try to stay. He simply stole her peace of mind and stomped on her heart and left.

In the end, the night was definitely one she wouldn’t forget, simply not for the good memories.

“I just want you back.“ Sky’s eyes brim with tears he hadn’t shed in years, leaving her speechless, but firm as he continues. “I’m not me without you.”  

Y/N couldn’t give in. Sometimes you have to take care of oneself and this is one of those times. She gave him every chance and when it came down to it, he didn’t take them. 

“I wanted many things and I didn’t get any of them. I don’t blame you for not loving me back, Sky. I don’t. I just wish you would understand how it feels for me.“ She says softly, feeling a crack in the tall, icy wall specifically meant to keep him out of her heart.

“I never said I don’t love you back”, Sky breathes out as the door opened again, Porter stepping out. 

Porter’s eyes immediately find hers, showing his concern and caution. “Everything okay here?“ Porter asks.

Folding her arms across her chest, she releases a shaky sigh. Did Sky really just admit he loves her too? Was it serious or just a way to keep her close?

She can’t make that into something it’s not. Not again.

“We’re okay. No biggie.“ She plasters a smile that Sky could read as a fake one a mile away, but Porter seems to be clueless.

“Want me to take you to your room?“ Porter returns her smile, standing in front of her. She notices he keeps glancing back at Sky, unsure of what went down moments before he arrived.

“Unless someone has something against it?“ She looks at her former best friend, hoping he’d give her a reason to stay. One word would be enough, to say that he really does love her again. She saw him saying it in her mind a thousand times, but in reality, his lips parted without a single word leaving his mouth. 

He didn’t care that much after all. If he did, it wasn’t enough. It’s just not enough.

Taking Porter’s hand, she smiles genuinely now, pulling him along without looking back.

“Let’s go.“

And all Sky can think of as he watches them leave is that it might take his whole life to make it right, but he truly felt he did the right thing for her; for them. He never dreamed it would have broken their friendship. 

Perhaps he’s guilty for the kiss he’d have died if he didn’t feel against his lips that night, because letting her go without ever tasting her would haunt him forever. 

Joke’s on him - the kiss, she, would haunt him regardless. It was the first time he felt connected to anything, but he isn’t good for her. Not now when his father is back and adamant on ruining his life.

He must protect her from Andreas and he will. Even if it costs him everything.

PART 2

[snackhobi]

pairing: jungkook x reader / word count: 7.4k / genre: pacific rim au with brief smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: there are no secrets in the drift. if jungkook were to see the mess inside your head and heart, laid utterly bare, he’d turn away from you.

warnings: sexually explicit content (briefly), unprotected sex (please be safe when you have sex) / reference to injuries but nothing graphic, giant robots powered by love punching big alien monsters

a/n: this is a birthday gift for the amazing @yeojaa​. happy birthday, erin. this is completely self serving and is stuffed full with inside references that I hope you’ll enjoy. I wrote this in two days and it kicked my ass because I did so much reading and researching that turned out to not even come up in the story 👁👄👁 you know when I said I was studying? I lied. I was writing HAHAHAH ily I hope you like it hhhh (this is unbeta’ed so please forgive any mistakes it’s 1:30am as I’m scheduling this) (also summaries are so hard, I’m sorry)

Jeon Jungkook really is the perfect posterboy for a Jaeger pilot.

Broad across the shoulders and trim at the waist, all sharp punches and hard muscle, resilient and tough, with a face that’s the perfect balance of angles and softness; the cut of his jaw easing up and into his pretty mouth, the line of his brows subdued by his warm eyes—he’s a Goddamn vision, raw masculinity overlaid on rich veins of boyishness, glittering stratum that sparkle and shine even under the harsh lights of the Shatterdome. 

He pouts when he thinks and his hair hangs a little in his big, big eyes and he has dimples that appear when he grins, teeth poking out onto his pretty pink lips, like someone took a rabbit and turned it into a man and packed on pounds of muscle alongside. Undeniably powerful and strong, but youthful and sweet, too.

Alongside Kim Taehyung—arresting and beautiful and somehow affable and approachable, all at the same time—they’re exactly what South Korea needs right now, propelling the country’s new look for their renewed assault against the kaiju. They’re the lucky new Rangers who’ve claimed ownership of the only Mark-5 that their homeland has produced, Bulletproof Striker, a fucking gorgeous Jaeger bristling with the latest and greatest technology that the world has produced.

But that doesn’t mean they’re the best that South Korea has to offer.

Cypher Zero is smaller, lighter, older, but she’s fierce. Just like her pilots. You and Yoongi might not be the burning beacons of hope that Jungkook and Taehyung are, polished and buffed to a squeaky shine, but you don’t need to be. You’re vicious and victorious and show no signs of stopping. The kaiju kills painted on your Mark-4’s shoulder are evidence enough of that, notches for each monster taken down, spray painted in one tiny corner of the huge swathe of burnished metal plating, the red edges of her midnight skin.

Bulletproof Striker is almost untouched, deployed just once since her recent launch, flawless exterior so at odds with Cypher Zero’s battered facade. Cypher’s beautiful, of course, but bears the history of your skirmishes, inside and out: scuffed paintwork, dented metal, rust dripping down from the ladder rungs dotted across her, melting into the obsidian of her hull. 

Jungkook and Taehyung move in a way that’s practiced, disciplined motions of combat that their Jaeger echoes in turn. Her mechanical movements reflect those of the men inside her head, skilled and superb. Stunning. But you and Yoongi? You fight dirty, violent and rough; messy bar room brawls; shattered glass and clawing hands in beer soaked backrooms, tinged sulphur yellow under dirty lightbulbs; two kids who fought against a world that was against them. 

(Two damaged people coming together in the Drift to make something even stronger than the sum of your parts.)

(Two damaged people who survived the rough hands of the Jaeger Academy, trying to take them, push them, shape them, break them.)

(Life isn’t kind. You’d learned that young, surrounded in the splintered remnants of your childhood home, the facade of family and happiness already gone, long long long ago, leaving you aching and lonely and cold. The prospect of fighting thousands of tons of alien hatred, lifting out of the depths of the uncaring, dark sea? At least you can see the kaiju coming. Broken households and loneliness? A little harder to lay your hands on.)

(But out of everything you lost, you’d gained one thing—Min Yoongi, another quiet, damaged thing, but with the biggest depths of warmth and love underneath that hard surface; your best friend, your brother-in-arms, growing alongside you, with you. Damaged kids turned bitter teenagers turned razor-edged adults, outcasts in solitude, but together. Not alone.)

(The deeper the bond, the better you fight. Falling into the Drift with Yoongi had been easy, years of tangled connection bleeding into the images that flashed across your brain. The same memories from different angles, overlaid with different emotions, undercurrents eddying under the surface that caught both of you and swept you up in its flow; the same mind, bridged by hundreds of tons of metal and technology and firepower underneath you, linked together in the silence of the Drift.)

There’s reverence, in the way these two new pilots look at you both, reverence and awe and respect alike: older Rangers, more experienced, history written across the worn edges of your Drivesuits, the paint flaking away from your battle armour, scuffs and scrapes on the once unblemished veneer; knowledge etched into the feline slant of Yoongi’s eyes, the turn of your shoulders and hips. 

You know Jungkook’s track record. You know of the endless months of assessment and sparring and psych evals and Drift tests and simulation drops that every successful Ranger has to go through, and Jungkook had trumped them all, stood atop them like a conqueror surveying his hard-won lands—gifted, talented, some even said God-touched. And yet for all this indomitable talent and skill, there’s still humility at his core, a willingness to defer with respect.

That deference is obvious whenever he sees you. Jungkook’s dark eyes will touch your own, for a moment, dark and deep and bright—and then his gaze will skitter away, cockiness and bravado dissolving into something submissive, yielding. (Shy.) You’ve watched him orbit you, the younger ranger caught in your gravity, always nearby—the Shatterdome is only so big, for its magnitude and sprawling corridors—but never broaching that final gap, that little step, into Cypher Zero’s space, Yoongi’s space, your space. Keeping himself at arm’s length.

South Korea’s golden boy, less afraid of the Kaiju than he is of his sunbaenim.

Jungkook and Taehyung are both beautiful. But you and Yoongi are less so, unapproachable in ways that the younger pilots aren’t, private and prickly, like grasping a patch of stinging nettles with bare hands, stinging and burning.

As if Jungkook isn’t terrifying and gorgeous in his own ways. As if he doesn’t shine brighter than the sun himself. Taehyung moves through the world with a thoughtless, charismatic ease that Jungkook doesn’t share—but he’s still magnetic, bold and brilliant, monstrously skilled at everything he puts his mind to, training again and again and again to get it right, get it right, get it right. 

To get it perfect. 

But there’s no level of perfectionism that can surmount the twisted, unpredictable nature of the kaiju belched forth from the breach. No matter how good you are, how strong or fast, how smart or seasoned, sometimes you still get caught in that hurricane, even in a Jaeger.

It doesn’t matter how many engines are packed into each muscle strand. It doesn’t matter how fast the pistons and levers and gears shift and move. It doesn’t matter that the pilots in her cockpit are impeccable and incredible. Under the cloak of deepest night and pouring rain, blanketed in darkness and water from the heavens above and the sea below, movement is impossible to track—and when Steelbrute rises from the waves, no one sees the kaiju coming.

Bulletproof Striker takes the hit. Jungkook and Taehyung fight back but they’re blindsided and overwhelmed, and their Jaeger falls to her knees in the churn of the Pacific Ocean, salt water crashing over her in choppy waves as Steelbrute’s merciless maw gapes wide open.

Cypher Zero is 250ft tall and weighs 1410 tons. You and Yoongi are tiny specks of organic matter in a fearsome behemoth of titanium and tungsten and graphene and circuitry, commanders of a weapon that’s the same size as a skyscraper—and yet you wouldn’t think that for how fast you move. Zero hesitation. No verbal communication. Cypher’s legs cut through endless waves and gain momentum with each crashing step that slams into the seafloor before you leap forward in a flurry of motion and Drift powered fury. 

Your motions in the Conn-Pod are ragged and incensed, your arms and legs moving in sync with Yoongi, with Cypher Zero, a snarl ripping out of your co-pilot’s usually quiet mouth as the kaiju lurches underneath you. The world narrows down to this: throwing yourself into the fray, jagged knuckles edged with plasma pummelled into Steelbrute’s skin in a scuffle that’s vicious, aggressive, until Bulletproof Striker regains her footing.

The sun is rising, grey and cold on the horizon when Steelbrute finally sinks into the sea, toxic blood flooding the water with neon blue. When you step out of the cockpit, Yoongi’s fringe is matted with sweat, and you can feel all the places the circuitry suit sticks to your skin—piloting a Jaeger is mentally and physically exhausting, every muscle and organ and bone working overtime for endless hours as you fight tooth and nail. Without the helmets in the way, there’s nothing stopping you bumping your foreheads together, heedless of the sweat slicked there; Yoongi’s hand rests at the back of your head, a familiar cradle.

“All good,” you say. Yoongi lets out a quiet bark of a laugh, rough and exhausted.

“I want a nap,�� he says, like he always does, even if you’re a long way away from that, still fully suited and due to speak to the Marshalls. There are so, so many things separating you from the bliss of sleep.

One thing that’s not part of the normal routine, though, is the other pilots catching you, demanding your recognition, respectful (Taehyung) but insistent (Jungkook). You know that Yoongi doesn’t like attention or hero-worship, but there’s nothing except gratitude, here, bent heads and words of thanks. You’d saved their lives, after all. Saved their Jaeger from being torn apart, pain screaming through their own bodies of flesh and bone, connected to their metal monster. Of course they’re grateful.

You dismiss it with a hard cut of your hand.

“It’s nothing,” you say. 

You’re speaking the words you know are in Yoongi’s head—years of friendship and shared Drifts leaving his thought processes wide open to you—although you know you’re sharper than he is, harsher than he is, even, for all that he looks like the cold one from the outside. Long lashes and silken hair don’t translate to something soft and feminine and pretty, and you’re all ragged edges and rough parts, bleeding into the delivery of your words. Yoongi rounds the words in his mouth and places them into the world with a rumble of quiet strength that belies his past, but you? Your tongue is cutting and terse and drips with distrust, even when you don’t mean it to, staring at these two boys, Jungkook’s eyes so brown and large when he stares back at you.

The truth is that you care about humanity, of course. You care about humanity and you care about the millions of people in the cities that line the coasts and further inland, and you care about your fellow pilots, skilled but soft-hearted as they are. You’re stronger. You have to be. That’s what Yoongi is, that’s what you are: fighters. You fight dirty because you fight to win, not to protect yourselves. You’ll fight and you’ll die for this, for them, even if there’s no friendship there. Not yet. You’re still too distant, for all that you’d thrown yourself in the line of fire to rip the kaiju from the younger Rangers. 

And when Jungkook levels a look at you, there’s a flicker of something. A spark. All the glittering of his warm eyes comes together like the cascading sparks of molten fire that fall when metal is cut through— his eyes score through you, down down down, right to your core, underneath all the armour you’ve laid about yourself throughout your life. Your heart stutters. You’ve been watching Jeon Jungkook, and he’s all cocky Ranger bravado, or innocent brown eyes and shy, curving smiles, and yet. 

And yet. You know he sees this soft part of you, somehow. Past the thorns and sharp leaves, past the hard husk, into the rich, bursting sweetness inside, oozing red gems of pomegranate that yield so easily to the fingers and mouth.

(He’s temerarious and modest and wickedly perceptive too, it seems.)

“That was our kill,” he says suddenly. Taehyung—the voice piece of the two, the one who’s been smiling and speaking, easy and slow—goes still at his side.

“What?” Yoongi’s eyes pierce through him, but Jungkook keeps his focus on you.

“Steelbrute. Our kill. It was a hit from our rockets that took him out,” Jungkook says, eyes still glinting with that sparkling shine. Slicing through you with an explosion of light. “Not your blades.”

Silence steals over you, for a breath. It’s never truly silent in the Shatterdome, an iron fortress that never sleeps, but for a second, there’s quiet. It wraps around you. Tight. Almost deafening.

But then you break that silence.

You laugh. 

You laugh at the cheeky grin that pulls at Jungkook’s lips, the boyish lift to his face.  You laugh at his shamelessness, the sudden 180 from his earlier fear. You laugh at the way he’s diluted this astonishing, formidable thing—humanity coming together to destroy alien predators that threaten the planet—into a competition.

“You’re a menace, Jeon Jungkook,” you say.

Stinging nettles you might be, but if you’re grabbed hard and fast by confident hands, you don’t wound. Jeon Jungkook defers to respect, avoids confrontation, bows his head and quiets his mouth, but he knows, now, that he can do this. That he can push you like this, and you’ll let him, sway against it, let yourself be pushed.

Yoongi slides you a glance out the corner of his eyes, a light touch, a tacit agreement to an unspoken question.

“You can have it. Steelbrute’s yours.” There’s the smallest curl to your lips as you speak for you both. There’s something weirdly easy and familiar to this, to this interaction, even if you’ve barely exchanged words before now, giving this triumph to the other pilots hand over fist.

(Giving it to Jungkook on a platter.)

You can see the flare of triumph in Jungkook’s eyes. You know it’s not for the notch of their first kill, one they can add to their Jaeger. It’s for something far harder to achieve, something far more ephemeral: digging down and past your cool veneer and lifting out a smile, spreading it across your lips like warm butter, liquid gold.

And he keeps making you smile. 

Jeon Jungkook, you find, is a force of nature, relentless, an ocean. Sometimes he’s soft, loving waves of glittering blue that crash on pearly white beaches, playful and bright. Sometimes, he’s intense, the crashing waves of a storm tossed sea, powerful and unstoppable. Always, he’s striking, even when he’s not trying—even more so because of it, moving without thought or uncertainty, a silence settling over your thoughts whenever you see him like this. See him in this raw state, so unafraid where before he’d curbed his tongue and bent his head in front of you. Now, he’s just himself, without filter.

Taehyung is there too, of course. Both pilots join your small, fiercely private circle, not just a path from you to Yoongi any more. They become intertwining lines, a pattern that’s drawn between the four of you, pilots, friends. And you learn, that for all that you’d thought that Taehyung was the dominant one outside of their Jaeger, social and extroverted and unabashed, Jungkook isn’t quiet. Not when he’s comfortable.

(Not, now, when he’s with you.)

He’s a myriad of things, endlessly deep, so different from you, from Yoongi, but—the truth of it settles inside you, your joints, the marrow of your bones, the blood that pulses forth from your heart each time it beats in your chest, liquid life running through you. 

Drift compatibility.

Not that it matters. You already have a partner. You’re never going to open yourself up to anyone that isn’t Yoongi, who’s seen every part of you already. There’d been no fear about letting Yoongi see inside your brain, your heart, the raw, bleeding parts of you—because he’d already known them. Just like you’d known his. Yoongi stands to your right, inside the Conn-Pod and out, a driving force, even in his silence. 

But Jungkook is softer, sweeter, for all his raw power and skill, respect engraved into his every motion, even when he’s teasing and making you laugh. Even when he ignores the social guidelines that he should follow, does follow for others, everyone except you. 

And you don’t mind. You don’t bite out insults at him when he slides into the quiet hollow you’ve scraped out, a small space with just enough room for the people you keep in your heart. You’re still barbed and spiked, warding away unwanted attention, but for Jungkook, the claws retract. 

You’re still you, of course. Jungkook calls you mean, says that you bully him, even as he’s flopped across your bunk, eating your rations, shovelling coveted popcorn into his mouth. He might pout and sigh and cry oppression, but you’re soft on him and he knows it. That quiet hollow in your heart is a little larger, now, a little louder. Jungkook is brazen in his claim of this space, spreading each of his limbs wide as he fits himself into every part of it. He doesn’t know every piece of your past, and you don’t plan to let him see all the messy parts bundled in your chest, but. But he’s still there.

And you let him stay. You make a home for him inside you and let him take the key. He might tilt his head and goad you, might pretend there’s a genuine challenge in the set of his jaw, but you know it’s all tempered with admiration, veneration. Friendship.

(And where he clearly respects you, you admire him in turn. You’re reminded of your differences every second he moves and breathes and just exists in front of you, but you don’t have to be similar to someone to realise just how incredible they are.)

(But though you’re different, there are similarities. You’re not a mirrored image, a reflection, like you are with Yoongi. Instead, you’re a line drawn between two separate places, an isohel, sun lighting up your world for the same sweep of the clock even for how far apart you are. Sharing that same, tenuous thing, for all your contrasting parts.)

(This thing that’s growing, held in your hands. This soft, gentle thing, shimmering, frail, unfurling slowly but undeniably. Tinged with happiness, disbelief. Disbelief that you’ve found this, that you can see Jungkook across the echoing cavern of the Shatterdome’s main hall, so far in the distance, barely visible at the foot of his Jaeger—and something will settle in your chest. Featherlight, iridescent. Something comforting.)

When you fight the kaiju, now, it’s with a deeper reserve of desperation. Taehyung and Jungkook aren’t just fellow pilots, dongsaeng that you’re obliged to look after: they’re your friends, something more than that too, part of the rare handful of people in the world who understand, this overwhelming pressure to fight and win and protect the things you love. The people you love. They understand what it’s like to step into someone else’s head, to be connected to that person on a level that’s unfathomable, anchored in a depth of love that’s endless. You’re their aegis, now, their shield.

(Jungkook’s shield.)

Maybe that’s what’s to blame. Maybe that’s why you’re so sloppy, this time. Maybe that’s why you throw yourselves in the way of the blow that was meant for Bulletproof Striker. Maybe that’s why Ojousan shreds Cypher Zero’s chest apart, her head, why Yoongi is almost ripped from you, his fear and pain screaming through your neural connection. You feel everything he feels and more beside, your heart hammering in your throat as you scream, Jaeger’s arm swinging up and around in tandem with your own motions as you try to rip the kaiju away, anything to protect Yoongi, so scared of losing him, always always always, scared of being left alone.

But you’re not alone. 

Bulletproof Striker lifts up like an avenging angel. Her horns roar a challenge, an echoing battle cry as the younger pilots move in. Heavier and stronger, keeping her balance even in the turbulence of a fight, she takes the hits, gives back her own, sends the kaiju down into the crashing waves, waits for it to rise. But the monster is crafty and quick and even as you’re lifting your left arm—Yoongi’s hurt, so hurt, you know this, feel this, but he moves with you to ready the plasma cannon buried in the mechanics of your Jaeger’s hand, even if he’s keening with pain—you watch as the other pilots, too, fall victim to the clawed tail of the kaiju, screeching through layers of alloys and across their Conn-Pod.

Terror strikes through every part of you and morphs into hate. You hate the kaiju, hate your own weakness, hate the pain that’s been saved from being written into your own body while Yoongi screams and sobs even though he still fights. Your motions are anguished and desperate as you battle to overcome this beast that’s almost taken away everything that matters to you—and Cypher Zero, Yoongi, as damaged and hurt as they are, come through. (Like they always do, for you, always.)

And somehow, despite everything, for all the self-hatred and pain and fear, you pull through. You pull through. Damaged and hurt but alive.

Barely.

Barely alive. 

(One hand gives, the other takes away.)

It takes hours for them to pick Yoongi’s Drivesuit from his body, crumpled around him from Ojousan’s claws, cutting into the soft flesh of his body, body ruined further by the fighting he’d been forced into despite his injuries; so many of Taehyung’s bones are shattered, and when you finally see him awake and with his eyes open, there are burst blood vessels that cast red across the usually warm expression, his friendly eyes.

You should be grateful that they’re alive. You should be on your hands and knees, weeping, benedictions dripping from your graceless mouth as you thank whatever merciless God above decided to turn their gaze on you and grant you this leniency. So many pilots have died and will continue to die, you know this, but somehow your partners are still alive.

And you are grateful. You are. But there’s bitterness on your tongue, twisted across your palate, sour and acrid and filling you with its taste. You’d been foolish and reckless and you’d almost lost the things you cared about most, even if you’d destroyed the kaiju, torn it apart and left its fluorescent indigo blood to corrode the ocean. 

That’s what’s important, isn’t it. Saving humanity. One person, two people, four people—you’re the tiniest cogs in a whirring engine of billions. Unimportant. Just a spinning part that keeps the machine going.

When you’re not with Yoongi or Taehyung, an unmoving presence from their hospital beds, a hovering gargoyle carved from stone, you’re with Jungkook. Always, always, always. Somehow you’d both escaped without the injuries inflicted on your partners—you’d manage to break your little finger, and Jungkook had a black eye and a twisted ankle, and the both of you had mottles of bruises cast across your skin, pulled muscles, an ache carved into your bones, but that was it. That was it. It was almost laughable, how unscathed you are.

You hate it.

(It should have been you.)

Your legs—unbroken, unharmed—hang over steel scaffolding, motionless as you watch the tiny specks of people scuttling across the catwalks that criss-cross Cypher Zero’s body. You can see under her skin, damage peeling back all the layers of metal that should be holding her together. Endless showers of sparks fall and scatter as she’s stitched back together. Your beautiful girl is so damaged, so disfigured.

(You’d caught Yoongi as he’d fallen from the harness, listened to the horrible noises that had torn out of his lips as he’d dripped blood and pain over your shaking hands.)

The bland food you’d scraped off your dinner tray settles fitfully in your stomach, still one second, nausea bubbling up your throat the next. 

It’s one of the rare times you’ve been alone, since… since everything. You’ve been taking comfort in Jungkook’s presence, unwavering and understated, needing someone there when staring at Yoongi’s battered face proved too much. Even with his own upheaval Jungkook’s been there, at your side, always close. Eyes locked on you and taking everything in, the tired set to your face, the expression that tugs down your lips, and still, he stays.

But he’d disappeared after you’d eaten, a peculiar look on his face—you know him well enough now to recognise that look, that it means he’s got something in his head, some plan he means to unfold. It’s the first time you’ve seen it since Taehyung had been pulled out of the Conn-Pod. It’s some semblance of normality, an expression of something other than pale-faced dread and bone-shivering guilt. 

(You feel it too, that survivor’s guilt. Taehyung and Yoongi will recover but it’ll take time and so much suffering and you wish you could take that from them, heft that burden onto your own shoulders.)

(You know Jungkook feels the same.)

(You see it written in the tense lines of his body. Hear it unspoken in the words he shares with you. The bruises on his skin melt from red to purple to blue to yellow, but even if his body heals, his brain and heart bear the scars of helplessness.)

Jungkook reappears, finds you at the heavy steel door that leads into your room, rusted and worn but silent as it swings open in front of you. His eyes are wide and he’s breathless, like he’s been running, chest heaving as he sucks in air through his parted lips, a flash of teeth and tongue as he smiles.

Despite everything, you smile back. Helpless for that smile, always, happier now for the sight of it, for how little you’ve seen it. You want to see that smile every day. You don’t want him to worry for anything. You want him to feel the same way you do, when you see him: that quiet, maybe selfish thought that things are okay. 

Maybe he does. (His eyes are so warm.) He presses something into your hands, something soft and round like a well-practised secret, and then he’s gone. You can tell by the gait of his stride that he’s going back to Taehyung, giving you a moment of lonely reprieve to wash the grime and dirt off your useless body before you follow in his footsteps, stationed at Yoongi’s side.

The door swings shut behind you.

You lift your hand.

It’s an orange.

It’s a small, overripe thing, hard nub of the stem falling away from the skin with only the lightest brush of your fingers. You stare at the fruit, its brightness cutting through the muted sepia tones of your surroundings, a point of colour in an otherwise dull room.

You haven’t seen an orange in months. Rationing is tough on everyone, even Jaeger pilots. You’d mentioned in passing, so long ago, an old habit of yours. Before something else floated above it, more important and interesting, you’d made a fleeting statement that had flitted across the surface of the conversation: you liked eating oranges in the shower. Liked that nice, cool citrus sweetness in your mouth while the rest of your body was caught in the fall of warm water.

It’s such a small, tiny thing. Just the briefest lament—there are more important things than the fact you can’t have shower oranges any more, after all—and you’d forgotten you’d even mentioned it.

But Jungkook hadn’t.

It’s almost syrupy sweet, this orange. You savour each slice, pressing them between your teeth, feeling the rush of juice burst forth through the pith and skin, and it’s so good you could cry. 

You do cry.

Your mouth is full of orange and your eyes are full of tears and your head is full of—of—something, something so all encompassing that it overwhelms you, water cascading down the aching planes of your body as you crumple inwards. Jungkook had protected you with the overwhelming power of Bulletproof Striker, and he’s protecting you now, soft and considerate and kind, vulnerable and human. Stripped of tons of metal and technology, Jungkook wears his beating heart on his sleeve and is none the weaker for it. 

This seemingly small thing means so much, so so so much. You understand him, and he understands you too, knows that this gesture is indicative of support and care and nurturing, a tiny fragment of peace he can offer you in the tumult of everything out of your control. 

A tiny fragment of peace that’s part of a greater whole, all the things that Jungkook gives to you.

When the Marshalls gather you and tell you the plan going forwards, you’re unsurprised. 

It makes sense, of course. Four pilots down to two still leaves a pair, and Bulletproof Striker is nearly functional even if Cypher Zero will stay out of commission while she’s rebuilt. Simple maths. One Jaeger, two pilots. You and Jungkook.

You’re scared.

You know you’re Drift compatible. Every fight in the Kwoon Combat Room is evidence enough of that. A dialogue, each challenge is meant to be a dialogue to show physical compatibility, and it is: there’s perfect sync in how you each move to strike, even if your motions are so different, muscles burning and breaths coming faster each time you attack, parry, strike, block. It’s not about winning or losing. It’s a conversation, one that you and Jungkook fall into without thought.

And he would be the perfect partner. That much isn’t in doubt. Loyal and open and strong, honourable and brave and kind—and you know him, have grown to learn so much about this golden boy, this bright, brilliant boy. He’s fucking indomitable and anyone would be lucky to find themselves in the same Jaeger as Jeon Jungkook.

But there are no secrets in the Drift. 

To let someone in, you have to trust them. And you do, you do trust Jungkook, probably far more than makes sense, some unspoken thing between you burning like a wildfire. But while you trust him, confident in his strength and his heart, you trust yourself less.

You’ll be flayed open, naked and defenceless. He’ll see right to the core of you, every dirty corner of your crumpled soul, every shameful part of your foundations, uneven brickwork layered into your shaky temperament; strong one second, weak the next. He’ll see that you’re hard inside, too, biting and acidic right down to your shrivelled heart. This nascent thing that you’ve been building with Jungkook, been keeping safe in the cradle of your careful hands, will sputter out and die.

“Baby.”

Yoongi’s voice is comforting, a familiar rumble that rolls through your ears as you rest your head in his lap.

“And I mean that you’re literally being a baby,” he continues, and you curl your lip back from your teeth in a small snarl, menacing.

Yoongi just continues to thread his hands through your hair.

You’ve Drifted with Yoongi often and long enough to know how every thread of thought unspools in that skull of his. You know he has every confidence in the unshakeable pillar of your soul. He’s a brother to you, a connection that thrums deep in your veins even without the intimacy of the Drift, and the love you hold for him is undying and true.

But whatever you have with Jungkook is so timorous in the face of that.

“It’s different.” Yoongi looks down at the twist of your face. You know his thoughts and he knows yours too, your face and heart an open book to him. “But different isn’t bad.”

You keep your mouth shut, keep the words swallowed down in your throat, shoved down to the pit of your stomach. Keep it secret. Keep it safe.

“Baby,” he says again, softer, lower. This time, you know it’s an endearment. 

At the end of the day, no matter what fear grips cold and endless at your insides, you’ll do it. You’ll Drift with Jungkook. You’ll throw everything you have into the pyre, watch it burn and turn to ash, if it means you can keep everyone safe. To save Yoongi, Taehyung, Jungkook—you’ll open yourself up to the mortifying ordeal of opening up, laying yourself bare. You have to.

It’s chaotic, anyway. The day that your practice Drift is scheduled is the day the next kaiju rises out of the breach, that dreaded rift between our world and theirs, because why would you be allowed to breathe, even for a second?

It’s a scramble into the cockpit. There’s no time for trial runs or test Drifts. You fly or you fall. Everyone’s in a state of orderly upheaval as you’re suited up and left to stride forwards into a Conn-Pod that isn’t yours, in a Jaeger that isn’t yours.

(Left to stride forwards to stand next to someone who isn’t yours.)

Your Drivesuit is grey. Jungkook’s is white. There’s a subtle hologramatic sheen laid across the planes of his armour, leaving him a multicoloured vision that shines out under the flicker of the cockpit’s endless tiny buttons and lights. Your own suit is a matte, gunmetal with accents of burning scarlet, far more battered and worn. Dark and wild in the face of Jungkook’s radiance. He’s the perfect answer to the kaiju invasion. You, though, feel like an interloper in a space that wasn’t designed for you, this circle room that’s been home to Jungkook and his true, real partner. 

But he’s looking at you like there’s no one else he’d rather have by his side. 

He doesn’t care that everything about this moment just cements how he’s too good for you in every conceivable way, elevated above you. Doesn’t care that you’re just a temporary stop gap. There’s trepidation, of course, skittering nerves that dance across his face for this first Drift, surrounded by all the commotion that’s swallowing the world up outside the cockpit. But there’s also that fire in his eyes, one you’ve learned to expect: Jungkook is a wildfire and will surmount any obstacle in a blaze of white-hot light.

And he wants you along for the ride.

(Burns bright for it.)

“You ready?” He asks, and the tiny tremor in his words takes you off guard even as it soothes a balm over the rash of apprehension that prickles across your skin.

(Because he’s nervous, too.)

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you answer, truly.

His eyes crinkle into a smile, crescents of happiness as his lip peels back from his teeth. It should be jarring, seeing his sweet bunny smile in the pit of a Jaeger, so at odds with the military polycarbonate that girds his body with protection, the masculine edges of his face—but it’s not. The world is just a backdrop to Jeon Jungkook, dropping away as you fall into his eyes, twinkling stars of brightness and warmth that hold you safe, even now.

Peace and contentment steals over you. You’re almost shocked by it, the way your own face softens into a smile, the rising beat of your heart. Every ragged messy edge in you is smoothed over by Jungkook’s presence and you glow for him.

When the Conn-Pod drops, there’s the familiar weightlessness, the sway of your body in the harness as you fall. Anticipation roils through you as Bulletproof Striker’s head locks into place, whirring mechanisms securing you to nearly 2000 tons of metal, so much heavier than your own Jaeger. You’ve taken Jungkook’s usual place and he’s taken Taehyung’s, the right hemisphere, the dominant pilot, familiar with this machine in a way you’re not.

Not yet, at least.

“We’ve got this.”

Jungkook’s voice cuts through the noise, the AI talking at you, a narration of events you’ve long grown used to. You turn your head to look at him. He’s already looking at you, intent and sincere. Like always.

“Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, we have.”

There’s no point being afraid. In a few seconds, Jungkook will be in your head, washing over every part of you—and you’ll be in his, pressing your ethereal touch into every facet that comes together to make Jeon Jungkook who he is.

Seconds pass. There’s a little hitch in his breath, a stiffness to his limbs, and he shuts his eyes. You breathe in deep, deep, deep, sucking in a harsh breath into your greedy lungs—

—the timer hits zero—

—and then the Drift slams into you all at once, all encompassing and consuming, threading your minds together.

(Drifting with Yoongi is easy, the familiarity of coming home after so much time away.)

(But this?)

(This is throwing yourself into a cold lake on a hot summer’s day, bracing and refreshing and breath-stealing all at once, shocking life into every one of your limbs, so sharp and fast you’re scared you might drown before you breach the surface, water holding onto you and not letting you go. This is driving reckless and fast down empty roads, watching the world pass you in a blur, laughing in delight at the pleasure of it all. This is scaling a cliffside with nothing but your own hands and determination, digging your fingers into the unyielding rock, pulling yourself up-up-up, never letting yourself fall.)

(This is having Jungkook beside you. This is having Jungkook diving into the lake with all the grace of an Olympian before he rises to the surface, tosses his hair carelessly out of his face, and spits a mouthful of water at you with laughter in his eyes. This is having Jungkook behind the driver’s wheel, shifting gears without thought, looking away from the road to watch the way your hair dances in the wind. This is having Jungkook climbing beside you, waiting for you at the top, holding a hand out to pull you up and over so you can sprawl out beside him, exhausted and exuberant at the top of this mountain, basking in the sun with Jungkook just a hair’s breadth away from you.)

(He takes one look at you. He takes one look at all the dark of your memories, the cascading mess of your insides, the hidden things that are open to him in the Drift, cut open and peeled back for his gaze—and he doesn’t look away.)

(He sees everything, past skin and muscle and bone and nerves, even deeper, right into your heart—)

(—all the torrents that eddy the deep waters of your soul—)

(—and he doesn’t look away.)

(He doesn’t look away.)

(Can’t look away.)

(Doesn’t want to.)

(Never wants to.)

(Jeon Jungkook takes one look at you, your whole being, and he knows you.)

(And he doesn’t want you any less.)

It’s just a second, a flicker, a breath, this first connection in this Drift, falling into each other. But it’s also a lifetime, two lifetimes, four lifetimes; your memories, Jungkook’s memories, Yoongi’s memories in yours, Taehyung’s memories in Jungkook’s. Layers and layers and years and years piled over one another, a tumbling sprawl—but it’s easy. It’s easy, so easy, Jungkook seeing you, you seeing him, everything he is, everything you are, everything you are to each other, with each other, for each other. The important things. The things you need to know to navigate this together, in sync even before now, reading each other to a level neither had even realised.

And when you’ve killed the kaiju. When you’ve walked Bulletproof Striker back to shore, brought her back to the Shatterdome, back home, it doesn’t end. You lift out of the Drift, step out of your Drivesuits, as different as they are (as different as you are), and it doesn’t end. 

Jungkook’s eyes linger, as heavy as a physical touch, and even as congratulations for a successful drop are bandied about you, he doesn’t leave your side. He keeps his hand against yours—not intertwined, but brushing, the curl of his fingers against your own. Touching. You’re not the protector here. He’s protecting you, in a way that doesn’t leave you feeling inferior or weak. You feel soft and warm and small and safe, pulled inexorably towards him, supported, buoyed up, and you don’t feel selfish for it.

Because he wants this.

He wants to be your comfort and your support.

He doesn’t want it to end.

(You don’t want it to end.)

And when you finally break away from those crowds, released from the shackles of responsibility and expectation—when you’re finally left alone, the two of you with each other, there’s no hesitation when you come together.

He lays you out beneath him and has you sobbing, back arching into the pleasure he draws out of your body, playing you like a maestro. Because he knows you, after all. He knows exactly how to trail his lips across your skin, your neck and stomach and thighs, painting marks across your body like it’s his personal canvas. He knows exactly how to have you twisting underneath him, how to pull those pretty sounds from your lips, fucking you with his fingers and his tongue until you’re a shaking mess. He kisses you sweet, merciless, letting you claw at his skin as you beg for more, more more more, wanting it, needing it, wanting him, needing him.

And you know he’ll give it to you. He’ll give himself to you, give you everything you ask for. You know how he wants to see you fall apart and you know how to move your body to have him gritting his teeth and staring in awe. You know how desperate he is to worship you, to show you his adoration and reverence, and you open up for him, unfurl like a flower, dripping nectar. When he finally presses into you, hot and long and thick, it’s so good you could cry. You draw him in-in-in, into your body and arms and heart, pressing your lips to the sweat at his brow, the taste of skin and salt and Jungkook bursting across your tongue.

There’s no Drift here, no curl of memories and unspoken thoughts between you. It’s physical and human, the crash of your bodies against each other, skin on skin, the thrust of his cock pressing into the dripping folds of your cunt. It’s the other half of that connection, the final piece, this thing you have with Jungkook, this perfect balance you have with him. It sears itself across your body and into your soul: it’s pleasure and passion and devotion carved into each touch of your lips and fingers, each roll of your hips, each time Jungkook makes you cum, gasping for him.

When he’s finally come apart inside you, spilling into your willing heat as you shake beneath him, arms and legs wrapped around his body as you pull him as close as you can, unwilling to let go—it still doesn’t end. You’re so wrapped up in Jungkook, in his arms, his heart, and you know he won’t let you go, either. He presses his lips against yours, chases those kisses, quiet and chaste to open-mouthed and dirty as the mood takes you, and then Jungkook rolls over you again, a spark in his eyes as he decides he’s still hungry for you.

You know, now, that all that time ago, when you carved that space for him into your chest, he’d done the same for you. He’d laid his heart at your feet and waited there, kneeling, for you to accept it, patient and willing. Staring at you with all the deep love you never thought you deserved, never thought you’d receive. But here he is. Here he is, love burning in his dark brown eyes. Eyes that have seen all the damaged, aching parts of you and love you anyway.

“I’m yours.”

Jungkook shines so bright at your words, a supernova of joy. His smile is so wide and his gaze is so soft, for you, for you, for you.

“Everything I am is for you,” he murmurs, letting the words curl into the air, settle across your skin, sink deep inside your chest. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel this touch of him inside you, wrapped around your heart.

And when you lift your hands, he comes so easily. He presses his cheek into the curve of your fingers, lets you hold him, lets you cup those lovely cheeks in your palms.

“I love you,” he says.

Right now, in this instant, there’s nothing but him. No kaiju, no Jaegers, no crumbling world, nothing. There’s only him, and you, together.

“I love you too,” you reply—and when you smile, gentle and tender, Jungkook falls in love all over again.

Burns bright for you.

[marchyslove]

That Smile

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

It’s our one-year anniversary and I have no idea where he’s taking me. I see a blanket in the back seat, and I know it’s going to be something romantic because that’s how he is. He’s not one of those over-the-top romantics, but he has his moments.

We pull up to a big open park, not many people around but it’s dinner time so no surprise there. He got out, almost sprinted around the car to get the door for me.

~~

*11 months earlier*

“So this is your place.” It’s exactly what you’d expect of someone like him, big, fancy, granite countertops, leather sectional, open spaces, a balcony with a hot tub and some couches. Rich people might not always look rich when you see them out on the street, but once you see where they live, there’s no denying they have money.

“It’s beautiful.”

He scratched the back of his neck nervously, “thanks, I’m not around enough to make it look the way I’d want it to, but I was thinking in the summer I might move some stuff around… make it more home-y.”

I eyed the guitar in the corner, ‘cliché,’ I thought. So many douchebags have guitars on display with no idea how to play them. So I challenged him to it. “you play?” “Yea, I do.” “Are you good?” “I’ve got a couple songs up my sleeve,” he said with a chuckle.

I plopped myself on the couch and pretzeled my legs, staring at him eagerly, “well, by all means, I’d love to hear one.” He didn’t hesitate, walked over and picked up the guitar, he came back and sat right next to me.

“any requests?”

“you know any Clapton? Cliché I know, but I love his music.”

“not cliché at all, anything specific?”

“surprise me.”

In an instant I knew the song, my favorite. When I was younger my mom and I would always listen to 70’s and 80’s radio whenever we were in the car together. Softer, slower music, played later in the day. Then there was bedtime radio that started at 9 at night. It would always start with “Wonderful Tonight” by Eric Clapton.

He must’ve noticed the smile on my face, because he started smiling too. “You like this one?”

“Love,” I answered, almost too quickly.

His smile grew.

He had one of those smiles that could make flowers bloom, or make babies stop crying. It wasn’t perfect by any means, even a little crooked, but it made fireworks go off in my stomach.

“It’s a great song, and easy enough to learn cause it’s slower. Not too many different chords.”

“It’s one of my favorites. The lyrics are incredible.”

“Can you sing?”

“Not even a little bit, I’m so bad.” Trying to find something to change the subject I started glancing around the room. My eyes went to the balcony. I got up from the couch and went over to the door. I felt a presence behind me. “We can go out if you want.” So I opened the door and step outside.

The warm, summer breeze felt like a hug. I walked around a bit, glancing at the lights and down at the street below. “Careful,” he said as he took a cautious step towards me. I didn’t realize how much I had been leaning over the edge. “Heights never really scared me.” “Well that’s good, but still… careful.” “I always am.”

I looked up; outside the city the stars were a little more visible. “Beautiful,” I said under my breath. Again, I felt a presence behind me. “You big into astrology?” “Only enough to know my star sign, and that it apparently fits me well. Beyond that, I just like to look at the stars.” “Do you know the names of any of them? Or constellations?”

My confidence grew a little bit. My summers laying outside in the grass playing around with the app on my phone that labeled the stars if you point your camera at the sky were finally about to pay off.

“That one is Sirius. It’s the brightest of them all.” “That’s easy to remember. That’s one of the dippers right?,” he asked, pointing up. “The big dipper, the little dipper is right there, and over there is Ursa Major, its shaped like a bear.” “That means there’s an ursa minor, right?” “Very good work detective,” I teased jokingly, pinching his cheek. He gave a giggle and winked at me. My heart skipped a beat.

“So you know a decent amount about stars?” “I know where they are and how to find them, I don’t know much past that.” “Impressive,” he said as he kissed my cheek.

~~

We walked for a little bit towards the center of the park. He carried the basket; I had the blanket. “I’ve never heard of this place.” “I had to do a bit of research to find it.” “Any reason you chose this park in particular?” “You’ll see.” There’s that smile, after a year I still get the same fireworks when I see it. I glance over at him, and he’s already looking at me. “What are you looking at?” “My girl,” he said with a wink.

He stopped walking abruptly. He looked up at the sky, then around the park. Looking back at the car he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He put down the basket and looked through his phone for something. “Are we stopping here?” “One sec, I have to check.” “What’s the difference between here and 5 feet away?” “You’ll see, but I have to make sure we’re in the right spot.” He put his phone back in his pocket, took 8 steps forward, turned back towards me and grinned, “here.” “Fair enough,” I walked over.

He laid out the blanket, put the basket on it. I hadn’t seen him pack the basket; I actually only saw it for the first time when he picked me up today.

He opened the basket and pulled out a bottle of wine and two glasses. I sat down and started pouring. “Shit, give me one second,” and before I realized what was happening, he was running back towards the car. I took this opportunity to sneak a peak in the basket. Chocolate covered strawberries, little triangle-cut sandwiches, a little bin of grapes, some crackers- “no peaking!,” he yelled as he made his way back to me. “Too late babe.”

He was carrying four pillows and dropped them when he came over. “What are these for?” “Comfort, we might have the blanket, but it won’t be comfortable without the pillows.” “Yea, I guess I could’ve put that together.” “I mean if you had an idea of doing more, the pillows will definitely help,” another wink.

He had all the makings of a douchebag, on the surface level. He has that superiorly confident look to him. The way he walks, he doesn’t think he’s better than anyone, but that’s the vibe you get from him if you judge him solely based on looks. If you saw him on the street you might think he was the biggest fuckboy on the planet, but then you talk to him.

He’s goofy, in the best way. He’s smart. You wouldn’t think it, but he’s better at quick mental math than anyone I’ve met, and he knows geography like he’s traveled the entire world himself. He likes to talk about anything and everything. On our first date we spent an hour talking about different birds we’d both seen, and our favorites. He likes loons because they sound funny, I like bluebirds because of their beautiful color. I didn’t have much interest in birds until that conversation. Now every time I see a bluebird I think of him. My family went on vacation last month and we rented a lake house. Every morning I’d hear the loon calling and think of that smile.

“Hey you, whatcha thinking about?,” he poked my cheek, I snapped out of my zoned out state, “you.” He turned away a little but I saw the blush creeping onto his cheeks. He had pulled everything out of the basket and tossed it to the side. “Grapes?,” he offered, holding one up in front of my mouth, I opened, and he placed it in my mouth gently, like it was fragile. The sun was starting to set, that’s when I realized there were no lights around. All we had was a tiny lantern he had pulled out of the basket. The view we had of the sunset was incredible, I hadn’t kept track of time on the drive here, so I really had no idea how far outside of the city we were. “How much research did you do exactly?” “Alright to be fair I asked a buddy if he knew any romantic spots and after I got him to quit joking about sex, he gave me a few. Then I googled them and found this place.” “It’s beautiful.” “Not as beautiful as you.” “Oh hush-,” he interrupted me with a kiss.

We ate as the sun set, starting the strawberries just as the last bits of golden light dipped below the horizon. He turned on the lantern.

The glow lit up his face, he was really handsome. His skin looked so smooth and he had those long eyelashes that all guys have, it made me jealous. That smile, again. He kissed me, again. He shut the lantern off while we were kissing. He pulled the pillows over and put them behind us, he laid back and spread his arm out. I laid down and put my head on his arm.

He kissed the top of my head, “Sirius,” he pointed toward the star. “Glad you remembered,” I teased. Another wink. He pointed up again, “look.” As I glanced up, there was a light that shot across the sky. “A shooting star. I’ve never seen one,” he was staring in awe. “Make a wish.” “I don’t need to, I have you.” I rolled my eyes, “you are such a cheeseball.”

We laid there pointing out the different stars and constellations. “You’ve been studying,” I glanced up at him. “I wanted to impress you,” he stated, followed by another kiss. I’ve never seen the stars so bright and clear. “Is this why you were so stingy about the spot?” He looked down at me, “I needed to make sure the view was clear so we could see everything.” Like I said, he’s not a huge romantic, but he has his moments. We kept watching the stars in the most comfortable silence. Then, almost as if he let it slip out accidentally, he whispered, “I am so in love with you.” I waited to see if he’d say anything else, but he was quiet, a nervous quiet. “Ditto,” I giggled and glanced up at him. And, without fail, there it was again, that smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay be nice! It's my first work, and like I said- I don't consider myself to be much of a writer. I hope you guys like it, I kept thinking about the idea and wanted to give it a shot! I purposely left names and too-specific details out so people can think of whoever they'd like, and hey! feel free to add the person you thought of to the tags if you reblog, I love stuff like that! Maybe I'll write more if people like it enough :)

If you like it please give it a like and reblog, it would be much appreciated!

[genshin-impacted]

liquid courage // Kaeya x Reader

Word Count: ~3k

Notes: gender-neutral reader, Kaeya/Reader; cw alcohol, established friendship; friends to lovers (real quick); tons of flirting/bantering (and kissing), PDA, third-person POV of relationship

Summary: And there it is again-- another chance to back away. You wonder how many times there have been close calls like this when the flirting feels all too real and your feelings almost bubble to the surface. Tonight, the two of you are a little tipsy, a little braver, and more reckless-- and you do not back down from Kaeya when he looks like he wants to kiss you.

.

.

Kaeya is an intelligent, well-to-do charming individual and the whole of Mondstadt knows it. As far as the citizens know, he’s the captain of utmost chivalry (especially to the elderly population), and to the Knights, he’s a thinker who, despite his status and position, keeps people at arm’s length.

Except for you.

For most of the people in Mondstadt, they take a look at you and Kaeya and there is no doubt you are the closest of friends. When you buy dinner at The Good Hunters, you always order skewers for Kaeya, and when you are late for your nightly drinking, Kaeya subtly slides his drink to the side to save a seat for you. In both daylight and nighttime, the two of you exchange words in a fast-paced banter that makes it easy for either of you to get along. Or so the common folk assume; they certainly do not converse with Kaeya the way you do, which has always, in some way or another, included some back-and-forth-- some more flirty than others.

"The bed was lonely without you," Kaeya croons when you finally get back from a week-long journey. You choke on your spit when he gives you his best sultry stare. Before, this statement would have turned heads, but the Knights and citizens of Mondstadt are far too used to hearing these snippets of your conversation-- not that it makes it any less interesting to listen to. (And if people take notes on the flirty comments for future use, that is neither here nor there.)

"The feeling is mutual," you coo, recovering quickly as you grasp your hands in prayer. "I spent every night looking at the stars and thinking how much they reminded me of your eyes."

"Oho, thinking of me before you sleep, huh?"

"Every night--"

God forbid a child hears the two of you, but for the most part, you keep it friendly. A jab here-- “I didn’t know you were such a… slacker”-- a flirty remark here-- “Kaeya, just who are you trying to show off to with that outfit”-- whatever makes the other's lips upturn and whatever comes to mind first almost like a battle of wits. However facetious your comments are to each other, the people do not question your friendship for the times you bump shoulders after coming home from an expedition in varying levels of wear and tear with a grin on your faces.

(“I’m just glad Kaeya has someone to look after him,” Jean answers when someone asks about the two of you. She pauses and sighs. “...And the other way around.”)

For whatever reason, no one has ever taken your flirty remarks to each other seriously despite how long they’ve been going for. Nothing has made them question your friendship for how long it has stood or how real the flirty remarks are (if they ever have been in the first place).

The problem with joking about something or doing something ironically is that oftentimes it ends up being quite real.

"Sir Kaeya," you say dramatically one day when Kaeya comes back from an expedition that takes twice as long. You place your hand over your heart, ignoring the way it beats rapidly at the sight of him safe and sound. "Oh, how I have missed you."

"And I, too, my dear heart," Kaeya replies back without a beat in between. And it seems you cannot hide the relief on your face because he drops his flirty grin to settle into a soft smile. "Worried about me?"

Without a flirty remark to hide behind, you can only nod.

(If not for the fact that sometimes you actually feel your face warm from Kaeya’s comments or praises-- and more so when they are actually genuine-- you would have been otherwise ignorant to your own growing feelings for a certain cavalry captain.)

Kaeya always ruffles your hair then, even if you squawk at him and jab at his non-injured side, and those feelings are placed in the back burner to brew later.

The tender moments come and go, and neither of you is the type to sit in it, for how easy it is to clear the air and go back to bantering. You don't mind either way if you were honest. You're the only one who Kaeya shamelessly flirts with and you're the only one privy to the thoughts he holds (especially when drunk). You hold a special position as his friend and he has a special place in your heart as well.

You would be lying to say that everything between the two of you was platonic, not when sometimes you catch yourself staring at Kaeya when he's not looking or wondering briefly what his hair would feel like through your fingers. (You attempt to run your hands through it once but he's much too quick and tall for you to catch him unawares, and now it has become a game that usually ends up with your hair looking like a nest gone wrong.) The thoughts come and go, and you are content with being Kaeya’s friend, for now.

"Another, please!" You wave your hand in the air as you grin, Diona huffing even as she provides two new drinks for you to bring back to your table. "Thank you," you sing, walking with a sort of sway that makes you spill some of the drink on your hands. You're buzzed, that much is certain; you lick at your hand to save what you can before you slam the drinks down in front of Kaeya.

"Bottoms up," you cheer, clinking glasses with Kaeya who laughs a little more freely now that he has a few drinks in him.

"Are you sure you can handle any more?" Kaeya asks, swirling his drink with an amused smile. "No use in pushing yourself. If you're trying to drink as much as Rosaria, you might as well stop now."

"Friends that drink together stay together-- or however that phrase is supposed to go," you say, waving your hand flippantly as Kaeya snorts in his drink. "Something, something, I can drink more. Trust."

"Stop," Kaeya laughs, putting down his drink and throwing his head back. You grin up at him when he throws his arm over your shoulder. "You didn't even give me a real reason."

"You didn't give me a reason when I caught you day drinking the other day," you retort playfully, and Kaeya snickers again, putting his hands in the air.

"What, can't a guy enjoy a Death After Noon... after noon?"

"You're terrible."

"I'm terrific."

You're warm from the drink pouring down your throat and the arm comfortably hooked around your shoulder. If Kaeya notices you lean into him more, he does not say a word, but you joke again, not straying an inch from his side as though you're addicted to his warmth. And aren't you, in a way? With how you keep coming back to the thought that your best friend is one of the most attractive men in Mondstadt, that his eyelashes are unfairly long, and that sometimes you wish you could kiss his eyepatch-- just to see if you can fluster him like he always does to you with you.

Ah, you think, feeling the heady pull of intoxication, there are those thoughts again.

You laugh lightly at something he says under his breath about one of the other customers in Cat's Tail and take the moment to push the thoughts away when Kaeya suddenly cups your face. You would complain about the way he maneuvers your face to his pleasure, turning your head this way and that, but you laugh instead, inwardly pleased by the attention.

"What is it?"

"Lipgloss," he says, and you blame the alcohol for dulling your senses when you only stare blankly at him, wondering if you accidentally missed a piece of the conversation. He snorts when he sees the evident confusion and explains, "Lipgloss-- are you wearing them right now?"

"No?" You ask back, laughing as you shyly swat his hands away to no avail, "I don't think so?" When Kaeya only hums, you reply back almost instinctively, spurred on by your thoughts and-- well, your remarks have always been on the cusp of being real. You press your lips together as your heart races. "Why, they look kissable?"

"Very," he says teasingly, and you smile widely at him as though the two of you were not in an intimate position.

There's always a way out, you realize, at every step of the way-- to deescalate, to redirect the conversation, and treat it as a joke. You could have changed the subject and talked about how dry the weather has been; Kaeya could have replied back as sultry as ever and dropped his hands from your face.

But he doesn't.

Instead, his thumb surreptitiously brushes over your bottom lip, and you look up at him and wonder what your eyes look like to him at the moment.

It would be easy to playfully push him away and call him a flirt. But you don't.

You meet his eyes and say, "Why don't you find out for yourself?"

There is a pause, then-- "Alright." And you can feel Kaeya close the distance between the two of you, his free hand wrapped around the arm you placed onto the table. Your breath hitches when Kaeya stops with his lips an inch from yours and looks at you searchingly.

And there it is again-- another chance to back away. You wonder how many times there have been close calls like this when the flirting feels all too real and your feelings almost bubble to the surface. Tonight, the two of you are a little tipsy, a little braver, and more reckless-- and you do not back down from Kaeya when he looks like he wants to kiss you.

Your eyes flutter closed, and that is the last thing Kaeya needs to close the distance completely.

It is a kiss that is all too chaste-- something that, when people think of Kaeya, is not what they would associate him with. But this is a Kaeya you're familiar with, have seen a glimpse of-- and you are warm everywhere when Kaeya gently slides his lips over yours and tilts his head to fit with you better. Everything is hazy, and you think it's the alcohol, but you're hyper-aware of the softness of his lips on yours, the way your hand reaches out to hold onto the front of his shirt, and the way he holds you so tenderly.

You think you can kiss him forever.

(Neither of you takes note, but the bar has quieted down considerably as the table next to you stares, gaping as the two of you kiss. And with their heads turned, others turn with them as the two of you inadvertently pull the rug from under all of them. The two of you are dating? Since when? Was the flirting never just a joke? What was happening?!

I need a drink, someone says, and the rest of them nod in agreement, much to Diona’s dismay.)

Kaeya is the one that pulls away first, laughing under his breath. “Are you even breathing?” He asks you teasingly, his hand still cupping your face. “I know I take your breath away, but you can’t faint on me.”

You snort, your hand raising up to cover your smile. “Sorry,” you drawl, watching as his hand falls to your thigh. “You were just so breathtaking I forgot how to do anything.”

“Well,” Kaeya says, his voice low enough to be a purr. “You sure knew how to kiss, though.”

You laugh, waving your hand flippantly. “Why, thank you,” you simper, doing a mock-bow. “Same to you. Excellent skills, Sir Kaeya; my heart skipped a few beats there.”

Kaeya lets out another laugh as you pick up your drink and smile into it. And like that, you two are where you first started-- almost.

The two of you talk about whatever comes to mind, bantering ever so often. But for the rest of the night, Kaeya’s hand stays on your wrist, his thumb rubbing over your hand absently, and you catch yourself staring down at his lips as he talks. If you end up in his space again, you stay a little longer, even as you start to sober up and feel your eyes grow heavy.

“Aw, is it your bedtime?” You hear Kaeya say from the temporary darkness you placed yourself in as you bury your face into your arms on the table.

“Shut up, Kaeya.” You snicker, swatting away his hands when they poke at your cheek. “It’s been a long day.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll just have to walk you home now, don’t I?”

This time you are the one looking up at him searchingly, watching for signs of whether he’s joking or not. Your eyes stop at his lips and you turn your head into your arms again. “...Sure,” you say. “Thanks.”

You aren’t sure if you can ever flirt with Kaeya in the same way again, with how your heart skips at the thought of him, but you will manage if that’s what you have to do. You push your stool under the table and throw Kaeya a smile when he opens the door for you to exit first. (You don’t know why Diona glares at the two of you when you wave goodbye, but judging by the cat-nipped smile on Kaeya’s face, you can probably ask him later.)

You’re surprised from your thoughts when you feel a weight on your shoulders, and when your hands reach up to touch it, you feel fur wrapped around your neck. It smells like Kaeya.

“You looked cold,” Kaeya says when you look at his cardigan wrapped around you before glancing back at him. He does not let you provide a response when he starts walking ahead of you. When you make a noise of displeasure, running to catch up to him, he laughs, quietly slowing down his pace until the two of you are walking synchronously.

For once, the two of you are silent.

Every so often your hands brush over his, and your thoughts are loud when they tell you how much you want to hold his hand. You think you will dream of that kiss you shared with him tonight, and then tomorrow the day will begin as normal, teetering on the edge of platonic and romantic. The more you think about the less fine you feel about leaving everything as it is. You don’t want to overcomplicate things but there are so many questions that you want to be answered. Did that kiss mean anything? Does Kaeya have feelings for you? Does he know you like him?

The walk to your home is much too quick this time around, and you are already shedding the cardigan Kaeya has given you as the two of you reach your doorstep. Wordlessly, Kaeya takes back his jacket and you open your mouth without anything to say.

Of all the time for you to be speechless in front of your best friend, it had to be now.

“Kaeya--”

“Good night then,” he says, a second faster than you. With the moon behind him, it’s hard to see his face, but you can imagine how his lips quirk up into a soft smile with how he speaks to you-- and your heart tightens. “Be sure to drink some more water. Can’t have you waking up with a hangover now, can we?”    

You nod, lowering your head. “Yeah,” you say. “Same to you.”

The silence is deafening.

Without another word, you hear Kaeya’s boots shift the gravel underneath his feet, and though there is no more liquid courage coursing through your veins, you tell yourself to be reckless anyways. Your relationship will survive, you tell yourself. Whatever happens, Kaeya will be important to you.

You call out his name.

When he turns around, you ask him to kiss you again.

It’s hard to imagine what sort of expression he has on his face when you’re in uncharted territory, and the slow response has you sweating bullets. But then you hear a quiet “Alright,” and Kaeya is in front of you, putting his hands onto the wall behind you.

You are ready when he dips his head down to kiss you again.

It is just as good as it was the first time.

You wrap your arms around him, a hand buried into his head (finally!) and another clasped behind his neck as he pulls you closer to him with a hand on your waist. Those with Cryo Visions run cold but Kaeya’s lips are nothing but warm as they nip at you and press onto yours over and over again. You bite back a pleasant gasp when you allow him entry, his tongue sliding across yours that has you hazy.

You break away first, and you note vaguely that you are not the only one breathing heavily.

“On a scale from one to ten,” Kaeya says, holding you close to him with a grin, “would you say that was better than what we did in the tavern?”

You roll your eyes even though your face warms at the comment. “Bold of you to assume I would kiss and tell.”

“I do well with constructive feedback, you know,” he quips, making you laugh. “What? Are you saying I don’t?”

“No,” you say, breathless from the kiss and from the elation that everything was okay. “No, I’m just thinking how I would write an evaluation for you with strengths, weaknesses, and improvements--”

Kaeya kisses you again and you forget what you wanted to say.

“...Is this all I have to do to win an argument against you?” He says teasingly, and you headbutt into his chest, much to his amusement.

“It’ll stop working eventually,” you say, settling your hands behind his back as you rest your face onto him. He hums as he holds you close, and you look up at him again and grin. “Guess you’ll have to see how many times it’ll work though.”

And Kaeya laughs into the kiss as you pull him down for another one.

[imagines-all-day-everyday]

Privileged (Pt 34/?)

Summary: Lincoln’s death proves to be the breaking point of more than one relationship as *yn* and the rest of the group plot how they can take back Arkadia and save their people.

Warnings: ANGST, swearing, violence

Notes: Based on 3x10 “Fallen” of The 100.

‘Privileged’ Masterlist

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

*yn* could practically smell the fresh water trickling down the rock surface as the group approached the cave entrance.

They had been walking in complete silence for the past hour. Not a single word had been exchanged, not even a glance had been shared.

The tension was palpable, so thick that *yn* swore she could smell it mixed in with the smell of the fresh dew and wet grass.

She could feel her heart hammering in her chest as the group fell into a line as they walked behind a huge boulder, revealing the entrance to the hideout. 

She felt a breath catch in her throat as she turned the corner to see Bellamy standing just inside the cave. His wrists were bound in front of him and she could see that he was chained to the wall. 

Their eyes met for a fleeting moment before she averted her gaze and followed Sinclair inside. She could practically feel the rage radiating from Octavia who was following closely behind her. A part of her was scared to even turn around and risk making eye contact with her. 

“Where’s Lincoln?” *yn* winced at Bellamy’s words.

There was a pause and then, “Pike put a bullet in his brain.” Octavia spoke, her voice void of all emotion. *yn* came to a stand still and couldn’t help herself but look up at Bellamy once more. 

He was already looking at her, clearly trying to gage her emotions. She simply stared blankly back at him. Bellamy swallowed, his eyes growing glossy as he looked back at Octavia who still had her back to him. 

“O, O I’m so-”

*yn* flinched involuntarily as Octavia swung around, a grunt leaving her mouth as her balled up fist collided with his jaw. Miller sprung to his feet as Sinclair and Marcus immediately took a few steps towards the siblings.

Bellamy took a step back as he recovered from the blow, his eyes wide as he stared back at his sister. Octavia glared at him for a few moments before she raised her arm again, this time landing two punches on either side of his face in quick succession. 

“Octavia that’s enough.”

“O, stop.” 

*yn* and Marcus both spoke at the same time as they simultaneously stepped even closer. 

“Stay out of this.” Bellamy ordered, his gaze flickering between them both. Blood was beginning to ooze out of freshly made cuts on his cheeks. 

Moments after the words had left his mouth, Octavia descended on him once more. This time landing blows to his stomach and arms. *yn* could see that Sinclair and Bryan were averting their gazes, both clearly feeling queasy at the sight. All it took was another punch for Marcus to crack, shaking his head as he turned his back from the pair. 

She knew that she didn’t owe Bellamy anything, that she should hate him with everything in her for what he did. For how he betrayed her and her friends, her family. But the sight of him wounded and in pain was making her feel sick. So sick that she knew she couldn’t stand by and watch it continue.

“That’s enough, O.” *yn* spoke once more as Octavia shoved Bellamy against a wall to knee him in the stomach. 

“*yn*, leave them.” Elijah murmured softly, gently grabbing her arm to cease her moments.

“Get off me.” *yn* snarled, yanking herself out of Elijah’s grip instinctively as she watched Bellamy sink to his knees, crimson red blood now pouring out of what looked like every inch of his face. 

She distanced herself from Elijah’s hold despite the protests from the rest of the group. In the midst of her rage, Octavia shoved at her blindly as *yn* tried to pull her off Bellamy. *yn* gritted her teeth and shoved Octavia back, forcefully enough that Octavia stumbled back enough for her to shove herself in-between Bellamy and Octavia. 

“Get the hell out of my way *yn*.” Octavia hissed, her eyes burning with rage as she glared at Bellamy over *yn*’s shoulder. 

“No.” *yn* answered firmly. 

“I won’t warn you again.” 

“Go ahead.” *yn* spoke matter-of-factly.

“*yn*-” Marcus began but stopped himself off when *yn* rose her hand to signal him to stop. “No. Let her hit me if she wants.” *yn* answered, her eyes never leaving Octavia’s trembling figure.

Octavia eyed her for a few moments before drawing her arm back, her fist clenching into a ball. *yn* mentally braced herself for the pain as Octavia’s arm began to sail through the air towards her. However, the blow never came as Octavia stopped short just inches from *yn*’s face. 

“Just move *yn*.” Octavia spoke, her voice growing desperate as it wavered and tears streamed down her face.

“No.” *yn* repeated firmly and she knew in that moment that Octavia was not going to harm her. 

“You’ve made your point. Don’t do something that you’ll regret.”

“How can you defend him? After all he’s done, to Trikru, to us - to you.” Octavia snarled. *yn* ensured to keep her face neutral as she locked eyes with her friend.

“There’s been enough bloodshed. Don’t forget who your real enemy is. Pike is still in control of Arkadia. We all need to be at our best if we want to stop him.” *yn* spoke calmly. As she talked she could physically see Octavia slowly beginning to calm down, her fist was now at her side and her chest was beginning to rise less frequently.

Octavia took one glance at *yn* before moving her gaze to Bellamy. Tears were still spilling down her cheeks at a rapid pace, her bottom lip trembling as she opened her mouth to speak.

“You’re dead to me.” 

The silence following Octavia’s words were deafening as the group watched her shoot Bellamy one last hateful look before she stormed out of the cave. The rest of the group did not dare utter another word as they all began to busy themselves with setting up a fire and gathering food to eat.

*yn* stole a glance at Bellamy as she made her way over to her bag. She felt her heart sink at the sight of him, still slumped over on his knees. Heartbreak was evident on his features, his face now covered in cuts that were still bleeding profusely. She looked back at her bag, spying the small medical kit that Abby had obviously packed for her.

“Fuck.” She muttered under her breath. Letting out a huff as she pulled it out and made her way back over to Bellamy. She could feel pairs of eyes on her as she came to a stop and crouched down so she was eye level with him.

“Sit up.” She ordered, sitting back on her haunches. “Before I change my mind,” she warned as she opened the medical kit on the ground.

Bellamy manoeuvred so he was sitting up right, his back pressed against the cave wall. The pair stayed silent as *yn* began to gently wipe the blood from his face. *yn* glanced over her shoulder to see Elijah staring at the pair. She inhaled sharply and turned her attention back to Bellamy.

Bellamy’s eyes never left *yn*, analysing every inch of her face. He watched as her brow furrowed and she bit her lip lightly in concentration. He wanted nothing more than to cling to her, fall into her open arms as she told him that everything would be ok. 

*yn* could feel Bellamy’s eyes on her and she did everything she could to avoid locking eyes with him. She felt a tug at her heart strings as she places rubbing alcohol into a deep wound and Bellamy winced. Her instincts were screaming at her to envelope him in a tight hug, to run her hands through his curls and whisper comforting things into his ear. 

Those thoughts were quickly drowned out by an overwhelming feeling of resentment that suddenly washed over her. If it hadn’t been for Bellamy’s actions, she would be able to hug him. To kiss him. To love him. But he had chosen Pike over their relationship. She could never hug him like that again.

“Thank you.” Bellamy murmured, breaking *yn* out of her thoughts.

“I’m not doing this for you.” *yn* heard herself answer coldly back. “I know Octavia will grow to regret this one day. If you’re scarred, she’ll be constantly reminded of what she did.” 

Bellamy fell silent once more, nodding feebly at her words as *yn* finished applying the last of the ointment. He glanced down at his restrained hands, blinking hard to keep more tears at bay.

“Lexa’s dead.” He muttered.

“What?” His words made *yn* jerk her hand back from his face and for the first time since she had sat down, her wide eyes locked with his deep brown ones.

“Lexa’s dead.” He repeated. 

“How do you know? How can you be sure?” She queried, her brow furrowing once more as her mind raced at a million miles an hour.

“I know. Trust me on this-”

“Don’t.” *yn* cut him off suddenly, her eyes blazing with a new found anger. “You don’t get to say trust me, not after what you did to me- to us.” She corrected herself. Bellamy eyed her for a few moments, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something before sealing his mouth shut again.

“I need to go talk to the others about this.” *yn* sighed, dumping the cloth beside Bellamy. All too soon, her warm body vanished from his side as she rose to her feet and made her way towards the rest of the group.

“I’m sorry.” Bellamy mumbled under his breath. “Fuck I’m sorry.”

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

“You want some?” 

*yn* looked up from the flames flickering at her feet to see Elijah holding out a palmful of nuts and berries. She nodded, shooting him a grateful smile as she picked up a few and popped them into her mouth.

The feeling of food on her tastebuds seemed to remind her body of how hungry it was and sure enough her stomach let out a grumble. Elijah let out a small chuckle and pushed the rest of the food into her open palm.

“Here, take the rest. You need to eat.”

“Thank you.” She whispered, shooting him another smile which he returned as she greedily shoved the berries into her mouth.

Guilt nibbled at her insides once more at the thought that she was leading Elijah on. Using him as a distraction and a shoulder to lean on.

“We should get a patrol started.” She heard Bryan say. She immediately pushed the thoughts of Elijah to the back of her head. She needed to focus and any thoughts other than survival were a distraction. 

“I agree, although I think we’re too close to the grounder blockade for Pike to come searching.” Marcus remarked.

“Yeah, but are we safe from the blockade?” Bryan queried.

“If we stay on this side of the line we should be fine.” Marcus reassured him.

“They’re grounders. Are you sure they’ll play by the rules?” Bryan spoke back and the tone of his voice caused *yn* and Octavia to send him warning glares.

“What like when Pike played by the rules and slaughtered the army sent to protect us?” *yn* bit back. She clenched her jaw as she glared at Bryan. She could sense Bellamy’s eyes burning holes through her.

“Yeah but-”

“Hey, Pike will want you dead now too.” Miller piped up, raising a brow up at his boyfriend. And everyone knew that what he was really saying was “Are you sure you want to keep arguing with *yn* Kane?”

That message seemed to get across to Bryan who nodded glumly. “If we take Pike out, we can go home.” Elijah added.

“And if we take Pike out, then grounders will lift the blockade.” Harper spoke.

“That’s right. We become the thirteenth clan again, those are the terms.” Marcus nodded. 

“But those were Lexa’s terms. If what Bellamy says is true and Lexa is dead, how do we know the next commander will honour them?” Sinclair piped up, voicing *yn*’s own internal worries.

“One problem at a time.” Marcus shut him down causing *yn* to roll her eyes.

“And what about Clarke? If Lexa’s dead she won’t be safe in Polis.” Miller continued.

“Clarke made her choice.” Octavia snapped causing everyone to turn to look at her. “The only thing that matters now is killing Pike.”

*yn*’s frown deepened. “Octavia’s right. Once we reassume our place in the commander’s coalition, Clarke will be safe.”

“Yeah but we aren’t in the coalition, are we?” *yn* spoke. “Who knows how long it’ll take before we become the thirteenth clan? I know getting Pike is important-” She continued, shooting Octavia a glance, “but Clarke has sacrificed so much for all of us, we can’t just-”

“-We can just.” Octavia cut her off, thrusting her dagger into the ground as she looked at *yn*. “What the fuck is wrong with you? First you let Lincoln die, then you protect Bellamy and tend to him and now you’re trying to stop us from killing Pike because of Clarke? It’s like you’ve got no fucking spine-”

“-Octavia, I understand you are grieving but watch your fucking mouth or-”

“Bellamy, come in.” Bellamy’s radio suddenly crackled to life, interrupting the impending ticking time bomb that was *yn* and Octavia. “It’s Monty, I’m in trouble. Please say you still have your radio.”

Sinclair looked between *yn* and Octavia before slowly grabbing the radio and moved to give it to Marcus but paused. “If we respond and Pike’s listening-”

“Go to channel seven.” Bellamy’s gruff voice spoke up. Everyone turned around to look at him in the corner. “Please say you still have your radio, that’s seven words after the word trouble, it’s code. Go to seven.” He continued, his voice flat and void of emotion.

*yn* eyed him for a few moments before turning to her father who was already looking at her questioningly, seemingly waiting for her to make the call. “Do it.” *yn* nodded, stealing one last look at Bellamy before turning her attention back to the radio. She could feel Octavia shooting daggers at her and felt herself clench her fists at her sides as white hot rage bubbled within her. 

Sinclair gave Kane one last look before hesitantly flicking to channel seven. “Bellamy? Are you there?” Monty spoke.

“Monty. It’s Kane. What’s wrong?” Marcus answered after a few moments, exchanging another glance with *yn*.

“Pike knows that I helped you get out.” He spoke and *yn*’s heart dropped. Even though he betrayed her for his mother, Monty was still family. 

“Can you get to the drop ship?” Kane asked.

“I think so.”

“Go there, I’ll bring you in.” Kane ordered. “Stay off the radio. Over and out.”

“Ok hold on, what if it’s a trap and Pike’s waiting?” Harper queried.

“That’s why I’m going alone.” Marcus sighed as he rose up from his seat on a rock.

“Like hell you are.”

“No way in hell that’s happening.”

Octavia and *yn* both spoke simultaneously, shooting each other glares as they both rose to their full height. 

“They’re right.” Miller added as he got up. “Monty saved our lives, I’m going too.” 

“No you’re not. If it is a trap, I’m not marching our entire group into it.” 

“If you don’t want me going, you’re going to have to kill me.” Octavia answered as she shrugged on her jacket.

“She hopes it’s a trap.” Bellamy remarked dryly causing Octavia to shoot him a glare.

“I’m coming.” *yn* spoke up, locking eyes with her father. “Someone needs to make sure things don’t get out of control.” She added, raising a brow as she glanced at Octavia.

“Well he’s coming too.” Octavia bit back as she turned her attention to Bellamy. “We need a hostage to trade for Monty.” Her tone mocking as she sneered at her brother.

“It’s a good plan.” Kane admitted. “We’ll keep him chained, someone gag him.”

*yn* bit her tongue as she glanced at Miller to see him already looking at her, clearly trying to gage her reaction. He could tell she wasn’t pleased.

“Sir, with all due respect Bellamy’s-” Miller began.

“-He’s the enemy.” Marcus cut him off, sending *yn* almost a pointed look before looking back at Miller. “Do as I said.”

*yn* inhaled a sharp breath, attempting to mask her displeasure at her father’s words as she moved to go begin collecting her things. “Are you sure you want to go?” Elijah’s voice piped up from behind her.

“There’s every possibility that it’s a trap.” He continued once she had turned around to lock eyes with him.

“I’m sure.” She nodded, looking over at Octavia who was sharpening her sword. “Octavia’s a loose cannon right now. I need to look out for her.” 

“You sure that’s the only person you want to look out for?” Elijah queried, unable to hide the jealousy woven through his tone. Regret slapped him in the face the second the words slipped out of his mouth and he could see *yn* visibly flinch at his question.

“Are you seriously bringing this up right now?” *yn* snapped, feeling her face flush at his unexpected question. 

“*yn* I-”

“I can’t deal with this right now, we can talk about it later.” 

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

“Can we talk?” 

Octavia ripped her eyes away from the path in front of her to see that *yn* had fell in line with her.

“About?”

“Take a stab at it and have a guess.” *yn* huffed.

“Not literally though... please.” She added and Octavia couldn’t stop the sharp chuckle of amusement that passed through her lips.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said what I said.” Octavia admitted, throwing *yn* off guard.

“Oh I-”

“I know that you couldn’t have stopped Lincoln. It wasn’t fair for me to say that. And Bellamy-” Octavia cut her off and glanced over her shoulder.

“-I know it’s easier said than done to completely cut off someone you love. But what I said to him was true. He’s dead to me.” She continued, her face hardening as she spoke.

A few moments of silence passed between the pair as *yn* racked her brain to think of something to say. But as she opened her mouth to finally speak, Octavia beat her to it.

 “Look, I mean it when I say that I’m sorry, I don’t blame you for Lincoln’s death.” Octavia sighed as she came to a stop, turning her body to look at *yn*.  “But I do blame my brother and Pike. And if you come in-between me and killing Pike, I won’t hold back next time.” 

Before *yn* could even process the words that had just left Octavia’s lips, she was already turning away from *yn* and marching towards the drop ship once more.

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

“We’re about a minute out from the drop ship.” 

“I’ll scout the perimeter.” *yn* spoke, slinging the gun that was draped over her shoulder into her hands. “Keep close to each other.” She said before splitting off from Octavia, Marcus and Bellamy. 

She moved as stealthily as she could behind the makeshift fence that her and the other delinquents had made to keep the grounders at by. That battle seemed like a lifetime ago now.

“Monty?” She heard her father call out as she came to a halt at an opening in the fence line. It was just big enough that she could squeeze through if needed and allowed her an almost perfect view of the drop ship entrance.

 There was complete stillness as *yn* positioned her gun on a small ledge, placing her finger on the trigger as she waited.

“Get outside! Now!” Octavia bellowed suddenly. *yn* looked over her gun to see that she now had her blade pressed to Bellamy’s throat.

*yn* watched with bated breath as the flaps of the drop ship fluttered and a shaky Monty Green edged out into the sunlight. Her finger flew back to the trigger when Pike stepped out behind him, a gun pointed right at Monty’s temple.

“They followed me. I-I’m sorry.” Monty spoke quietly.

“Let him go Pike!” Kane yelled, but *yn* could see even from where she was standing that he was beginning to shake slightly.

“Can’t do that.” Pike answered calmly. 

A gun shot suddenly rang out, narrowly missing Octavia’s foot. *yn* immediately begun scanning the forest in the direction that the gunshot had come from.

“It’s over. Put down your weapons.” Pike ordered as he stood directly behind Monty, completely erasing any chance of *yn* or Marcus getting a clean shot.

“Come on Marcus.” Pike goaded as another shot rang out. “I promised Monty’s mother that I’d bring him home alive, don’t make me a liar.” 

“Fuck.” *yn* muttered under her breath as she watched her father relent, dropping the machine gun to the ground with his hands raised in defeat.

“Now you.” He ordered to Octavia, who promptly brought her blade closer to Bellamy’s throat. 

Her eyes darted around rapidly until finally she spotted one of Pike’s men peering out from behind a tree. She didn’t waste any time, steading her hand and holding a breath as she trained the rifle onto the target. 

Pike’s head jerked up in surprise as the bullet found it’s target, hitting the man square in the shoulder causing him to let out a groan as he dropped to the ground. 

“*yn*, that wasn’t very nice.” Pike drawled, shaking his head before muttering something into his radio.

Octavia let out a yelp in surprise as Bellamy suddenly gripped her arms and yanked the sword out of her hand. He overpowered her quickly, pulling her down so she fell to her knees. 

*yn* reacted instantly to Bellamy’s betrayal, her rifle finding another one of Pike’s men. This time the bullet went through his bicep. 

“You shoot one more bullet and a bullet will end up in Monty’s skull.” Pike threatened, clearly growing angry at *yn*’s defiance. “And you know I’ll do it. So reveal yourself *yn*.”

*yn*’s finger wavered over the trigger as she locked on to another one of Pike’s soldiers. She glanced over to see Monty shaking, his eyes squeezed shut as Pike pressed the gun further into his temple. “Shit.” She cursed, finally relenting and chucking the gun to the ground.

Pike’s face lit up in smug victory as she inched out of her hiding spot with her hands raised in surrender. “Very good.” He smirked before letting out a shrill whistle.

A dozen more soldiers immediately sprung out of their hiding spots and hurried towards their group. Octavia groaned as soldiers forced her hands in front of her and placed cuffs on her.

*yn* didn’t even flinch as two men grabbed her by the shoulders and roughly forced her hands together to bound them with rope.

“You don’t look so good.” Pike remarked to Bellamy as he leant down to pick up Octavia’s dropped weapon.

“I’m fine.” Bellamy answered back as he glanced over at *yn* who was currently staring daggers at him.

“You’ve got about five seconds to make me believe that you’re still with me.”

“All the other’s are in a cave not far from here-” 

“You motherfucker-” *yn* spat, moving to step towards him but was immediately stopped by two pairs of hands gripping her shoulders.

“You son of a bitch!” Octavia shrieked at the same time, however she was able to break free of her captors hold. *yn* could do nothing but watch in horror as one of the guards stepped forward and shocked her with an electric baton. Octavia fell to the ground in a crumpled heap, her eyes fluttering shut as she slipped into unconsciousness. 

Pike barely spared her a glance before looking back up at Bellamy. “Give me the coordinates.”

“I don’t have the coordinates.” Bellamy immediately answered. “But I can take you there.”

Pike eyed Bellamy for a few moments before nodding. He stepped forward and cut Bellamy’s hand restraints. “Gag the prisoners, we’ll head out immediately.” 

*yn*’s body tensed as she watched Bellamy approach her, the gag that had been over his mouth now dangling in his hand. “Don’t fight me on this.” He warned as he came to a stop in front of her.

The two other guards nails were basically digging into her flesh as they held her still. Her eyes narrowed as their gaze met fleetingly. There was something in his eyes. He was pleading with her to keep quiet, but there was something else. Something that she could not quite place her finger on. Despite every fibre of her being screaming at her to fight back, she didn’t. Instead she stayed perfectly still as he gently placed the gag into her mouth and tied it behind her head. 

“Let’s get going.”

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

*yn* pressed her tongue against the material in an attempt to alleviate some pressure. She knew Bellamy had tied it looser than most would, but the fabric was beginning to mix with her sweat and rub painfully against the corners of her mouth.

She was walking beside Monty who was occasionally stealing glances at her. She looked ahead of her and studied Bellamy’s figure for a few moments before her eyes flickered to her surroundings. They had initially begun on the right path to the cave where the rest of their group was hiding. But *yn* swore that they should have started to travel south a few minutes ago. 

“You sure about the route?” Pike’s voice broke the silence. “We’re getting close to the blockade line.”

“Kane intentionally set up out here, didn’t think we’d risk it.” Bellamy answered and her heart rate increased when she sensed a subtle edge to his voice.

“Well he was wrong.” 

*yn* risked a glance behind her to lock eyes with her father and she knew with one look that he’d picked up on it too. She ensured to keep her face neutral as Bellamy suddenly began to lead the group down a small slope.

Right towards the blockade line.

“Hold on.” Pike ordered causing the entire group to come to a sudden halt.

“It’s alright, the cave’s just on the other side.” Bellamy assured him and if *yn* didn’t hate him for what he had done she could have leapt into his arms and kissed him right then and there.

“Keep a sharp eye out.” Pike ordered, his gaze meeting *yn*’s briefly. She kept her face void of all emotion, simply staring back at him until he turned his head once more.

She inhaled a sharp breath as the group began to move forward, half of them completely oblivious that they were about to cross into grounder territory. All it took was one more step from Bellamy and a loud warning horn sounded, echoing through the trees.

“The blockade!” Pike shouted, grabbing his rifle immediately as he frantically looked up at the trees. “Anybody got eyes?”

*yn* watched as the panic grew in his eyes as the rest of his soldiers muttered frantic ‘no’s’ back at him. “Back to higher ground!”

*yn* watched as Pike turned around and the second his back was turned, Bellamy leapt forward and grabbed the gun out of his holster. 

“Drop your weapon!” Bellamy thundered, pointing the gun at Pike’s head.

“What the hell are you doing?” Pike yelled back, his face contorting into a mixture of confusion and fear.

“Drop your weapon!” Bellamy repeated. *yn* saw one of the soldiers move to aim their gun at Bellamy and she reacted instantly, stomping on one of their feet and using this as leverage to swing her other leg around to knee them in the stomach. The man moaned in pain and *yn* swung around, pressing her boot onto his back to send him hurtling to the ground.

She could hear grunts from behind her and she knew that Octavia was doing the same.

“We bring you Chancellor Pike of the sky people.” Bellamy continued, his eyes never leaving Pike as he spoke. “O, can you translate?”

“osir bring yu chancellor pike gon skaikru!”

“You’ve killed us all!” Pike snarled.

“Take him and lift this blockade.” Bellamy continued, ignoring Pike’s words.

The second that the translated words left Octavia’s lips the sound of arrows whistling through the air echoed in *yn*’s ears. She jerked her head around as the bodies of Pike’s men hit the floor, dead before the could even touch the ground with arrows protruding from their chests.

She could do nothing but watch as dozens of grounders suddenly appeared from the trees and the thick undergrowth, all surrounding them within a matter of seconds. 

As *yn* bent down to grab a knife out of one of their pockets to cut herself loose, she saw Octavia doing the same thing out of the corner of her eye. “Octavia no!” She shouted when she saw her grip the knife and glare at Pike.

Kane reacted instantly, grabbing her by the waist seconds before the knife in her hands embedded itself into Pike’s chest. 

“No. The Grounders are going to need him alive. They didn't get justice for Finn. We won't get away with that again.” Marcus warned her as she struggled against his hold.

“Well in that case.” Pike spoke before swinging around to shoot Bellamy. 

Before *yn* could move to stop him another arrow shot through the air, landing in his shoulder. One of the grounders stepped forward and landed a blow to his temple. *yn* watched unsympathetically as the grounder kicked him in the stomach as he crumpled to the floor, knocking him out cold. 

“Where are you taking him?” Marcus asked as the grounders stepped forward and picked up Pike’s body.

“To the new commander.” The grounder answered as *yn* hurriedly pulled the gag down to around her chin and made her way towards them.

“May I join you?” Marcus asked, pulling up his leave to reveal the mark burnt into his flesh before *yn* could protest. “We’re the thirteenth clan.” 

The grounder eyed it for a second before looking at Marcus. “Don’t slow us down.” He warned before stalking away.

“Dad, what are you thinking? We don’t know anything about the new commander.” *yn* queried the second the grounder was out of earshot. “*yn*’s right, what if they won’t even honour the deal we made with Lexa?” Bellamy piped up.

“I have to try.” Marcus answered. “Being the thirteenth clan is the only way that we survive.”

“Then let me come with you, you need someone to look out for-”

“No *yn*, it’s too dangerous. Especially with them thinking that you’re malak al maut, the new commander may want to take your power for themselves.”

“But I-”

“Go home with the others, tell everyone what happened here.” Marcus cut her off, stepping forward to embrace her in a tight hug. “Our people will need a leader now that Pike’s gone.” He mumbled into her hair. “And I’ll look out for Clarke.” 

“I’ll tell Abby.” *yn* murmured as she realised that despite every bone in her body wanting to protect her father, that he was right.

Marcus smiled softly and nodded in thanks, finally releasing her from his tight grip. “Come on *yn*, I’ll help you out of your cuffs.” Monty offered. *yn* gave her father one last look before mumbling a ‘coming’ and following after Monty, leaving Bellamy and Marcus alone.

Marcus took a few steps forward so that his chest was only inches away from Bellamy’s. He looked over Bellamy’s shoulder to ensure that the others were out of earshot before locking eyes with Bellamy.

“Did you do this for *yn* and Octavia, or because it was the right thing to do?” He asked.

Bellamy rolled his eyes and turned to walk away, “you’re welcome.” Marcus gripped Bellamy’s forearm, ceasing his movements as he leant in closer. 

"It matters. Until you see that, you'll still be lost." 

With that Marcus gave Bellamy one last earnest look before turning on his heel and following after the grounders that were already out of sight. Bellamy eyed his retreating figure for a few moments before making his way over to *yn* and Monty.

*yn* glanced at Bellamy warily before looking back at Monty who was shakily cutting the rope binding her wrists. “My mum turned me in.” Monty mumbled to her as he finished freeing her from her constraints.

She was so angry at Monty for betraying her and the others but as she studied him for a few moments she couldn’t help the wave of sympathy that washed over her.

“We should head back to the others as soon as possible.” She muttered, glancing at both Bellamy and Monty once more before turning her attention to the dead bodies of Pike’s soldiers to see if they had any weapons on them that may be of use. She crouched down over one of the men and began to fish through his pockets.

“You’re family.” She heard Bellamy murmur to Monty. “You’ll figure it out.” He spoke once more and *yn* glanced up in time to see Bellamy patting Monty on the shoulder comfortingly.

She jumped back when the body in front of her suddenly sprung to life. The soldier gasped as he began to sit up, but unfortunately for him he didn’t get very far. 

*yn* flinched as Octavia leapt forward and plunged her dagger into his chest, killing him instantly. She watched with wide eyes as Octavia pushed the knife even further into his flesh as she locked eyes with Bellamy.

“Jus drein jus daun.” She spat venomously. 

Her eyes were dark with blood lust, swimming in the desire for violence and revenge. It was enough to send a chill down *yn*’s spine. She watched as Octavia’s face went as still as stone as she emotionlessly pulled the knife out of the soldier’s chest and began to walk in the direction of the cave.

*yn* swallowed before flickering her eyes up to see Bellamy’s gaze was already fixed on her face. The pair eyed each other for a few brief moments before *yn* rose to her full height and followed after Octavia.

Even though neither had said a single word, *yn* knew exactly what Bellamy was thinking. Despite everything that Bellamy had done, they now had one thing in common.

Both were seriously worried about Octavia and what she was capable of doing.

Part 35

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

osir bring yu chancellor pike gon skai kru = we bring you Chancellor Pike of Sky Crew

Jus drein jus daun = blood must have blood

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

EEEEEEP, *YN* AND BELLAMY BACK TOGETHER AGAIN (KINDA)!!!  As always, feedback would be super super appreciated and you can give it back HERE!

TAGS:

@captainpineapplesbloguniverse @moodboards57 @reyeswritings @sheebthezeeb @endgametike @badbitch101 @previouslyforgotten @nutterbutter2885 @earthtobear @istlynn18 @illyrianbae @fandomcrib @mick--schumacher @wanheda101 @princekooks​ @lilulo-12​

[thatslikely]

Stowaways - G.W.

Stowaways- George Weasley x Fem!Reader (former Gryffindor)

Warnings: none! just tooth-rotting George fluff :)

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: Sorry this took so long! This is my longest fic to date, and I’m so proud of it. I love Georgie so I’m glad to finally write for him. Hope you guys enjoy this one <3

Just a reminder: Y/N is Your Name and flashbacks/thoughts are in italics.

93 Diagon Alley is a place of wonder, mystique, and above all else, joy. A place where all your best memories are enshrined, a place where you can be your best self, alongside your doting fiery-haired boyfriend, who wears his ginger mop of hair like a halo. Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes occupies most of the address, its orange and purple exterior lightening up Diagon Alley effortlessly.  

Its interior is just as magical, the multiple levels of the shop are engulfed with shelves stocked full of Fred and George’s mischievously ingenious products. Some threatened to transfigure you into an eye-popping xanthic canary, while others could spontaneously spawn a whole swamp in the blink of an eye.

Everything within its walls brings smiles to children of all ages, and it could be argued that George is still one of those kids too.

The store seems to make George truly come alive, even more than he was at Hogwarts just a year prior. The look in his eyes as he skillfully operates the store with Fred reminds you of the glow that your face used to hold as a child as you looked longingly through countless toy-store windows around December.

While the shop is the main source of his pride and joy, even its power couldn’t halt the toll of a busy workweek. Every day, new shipments had been zooming in and out of the store, sales at an all-time high. The new lot of Hogwarts students must have a mischievous streak, for student-sent owl orders in preparation for the school year were arriving daily by the barrel-load.

It was finally Friday evening, and George trudged up the back stairs to the flat, his eyelids droopy and back hunched. His lack of energy, however, couldn’t take away from the playfully handsome purple and brown ensemble he wore. He pitifully fiddled with the keys before finally turning the lock, entering the flat promptly, taking in the familiar home-y aroma.  

He promptly plopped down at the small breakfast table near the kitchen, a tired sigh escaping his lips. He pressed his elbow onto the surface of the table, his arm supporting the weight of his head that his neck couldn’t bear any longer.  

“How was your day?  You look absolutely exhausted,” you asked with concern. You already knew you would have to plan something to cheer poor George up.

“I am simply dying, Y/N,” he said, while pretending to go limp like a corpse, “there’s no hope for me. Tell Mum and Ginny I love ‘em.”

“Not even your own twin brother, huh?” you asked sarcastically. He could only respond with a zombie-esque groan.  

You sarcastically rolled your eyes at his dramatic display, glad to see his lack of energy didn’t affect his sense of humor. You walked over to your tired George, who had his head now resting on the back of his chair, eyes spaced out at the ceiling.

You calmly sat down next to the Titian-haired love of your life and laid your head on his strong shoulder, your arm slowly snaking up his back. The motion of your hand alternated between tracing soothing circles lightly on his strained back muscles and massaging his tense shoulder.

He turned his face to you, painted with a soft and grateful grin, glad to finally be home, especially with you. For a few serene minutes, comfortable silence filled the air.  

George had nearly drifted off before the both of you were disrupted by his stomach emitting a loud growl. “I take it you’re hungry, Georgie?”

“Apparently so,” your boyfriend responded, patting his stomach.  

He languidly started undoing his bright amaranthine purple tie when you asked, “Do you want icky leftovers or yummy takeout? I know what I’m voting for.”

“Such a tough decision…” George responded with a wink.

----

By the time dinner was over, the tired look in George’s eyes remained, but the delicious takeout helped remedy his splitting headache.  

The two of you quickly settled on the comfortable marmalade-hued couch to watch one of your favorite muggle movies (it was a comedy of course). George’s laugh never ceased to make your heart flutter, even after all these years. The way it used to echo so freely through the crimson Gryffindor common room, and now through you two’s cozy flat, couldn’t help but make you fall even more madly in love with him. 

George somehow brought out the kid in you that laid dormant for so many years. With him, the world seemed so vibrant; there was always a little adventure waiting for you both, even in mundane activities like laundry. He would bunch up the freshly-washed paisley and tessellated dress shirts that he wore down to the shop daily, pelting them at you like the snowballs that he enchanted to hit Quirrell all the way back in third year.  

You loved George with all your heart, as did he.

After a while of movie-watching, George drifted off into a light sleep. His hazy dream was filled with thoughts of the school he called home for so long. The smell of the burning logs and pumpkin that would drift through his nostrils every morning as he walked down the steps from his dorm; the sound of first years’ giggles as they messed with one of his pranks.

His brain then swam through the blurry memories to the first time he met you, the real you, drinking Firewhiskey and playing truth or dare in the back of the common room with the Golden Trio and crew after a victorious Quidditch game.  

He thought of your first date, your face scrunched with belly-aching laughter as you tried stuffing in as many sweets as you could on a snowy Saturday at Honeydukes. The way the twisted rainbow lollipops and chocolate frogs made your face uncontrollably grin cemented what he swore the moment he first saw you: he vowed to never stop making you smile.   

He couldn’t live a day without your joy-filled face; it enchanted him like the beautiful glow of fireworks against a smokey black sky, like the addicting feeling of adrenaline from breaking the rules.

----

“Georgie,” you whispered, “Georgie!”  

Your drowsy boyfriend slowly drifted back to reality after hearing your soft whisper, your hands lightly tapping his chest to an invisible rhythm.  

He released a yawn before asking, “What is it, angel?”  His eyes fluttered lazily, and his lips were quirked to the smallest of smiles.

“I just wanted to make sure you didn’t fall asleep on the couch for the night,” you said caringly, “I knew you’d be even sorer in the morning if you did.”

George’s heart warmed at your thoughtfulness. He quickly took in his surroundings, which starkly contrasted his dreamscape. The television softly droning cheap infomercials instead of the muggle movie he fell asleep to, the blinds closed to hide the velvety black sky, and bits of buttery popcorn strewn across his chest and lap.  

He sat up tiredly, swiping his hand carelessly through his vermillion-pigmented locks. He rubbed his umber eyes as you brushed loose kernels from his clothes to the carpet.  

George muttered, “I love you, Y/N,” quietly, thinking you wouldn’t be able to hear it.  

You did, however, and you reciprocated an “I love you, too” sweetly. You stood up from the couch, extending your hand to help droopy-eyed George up. He took your hand and he rose before walking towards the kitchen, drawn to the stark blue light of the refrigerator.  

The fridge doors popped open, revealing tupperware full of picked-at leftovers, a few odds and ends, and a half-drank bottle of Dragon Barrel Brandy. He groaned at the meager scraps of food occupying the fridge, shutting the door disappointedly. The crisp air that surrounded him with a chill dissipated within an instant.  

“Georgie, I think we should go off to bed. Tomorrow's Saturday, and I have a big surprise for you planned,” you said excitedly, coming up behind the man of your dreams, resting your hand steadily on his shoulder. He leaned into your touch as you guided the sleepy boy to the bedroom.

As the two of you laid down to go to sleep, facing one another, George asked in a tired, raspy voice, “What’s the surprise, darling? Or will I have to find out tomorrow?”

“You know I would never spoil a surprise. Don’t worry, you’ll love it.”

----

George awoke to the delectable scent of freshly-fried bacon and eggs wafting from the humble kitchen. The other half of the bed, he noticed, lay empty, the cozy handmade quilt blanket you usually dozed under laying askew. Sunlight poured through the windows, letting his linen covered body bask in golden morning rays.  

After minutes of continuing to peacefully lay under the covers, absorbing the pure morning ambiance, George finally decided to get up and follow the delicious aromas emitting from the kitchen like a bloodhound.  

As he entered, you were bent over the stove, guiding a spatula around in a lightly tarnished pan, appetizing pancakes browning within. You were still in your sleepwear, wearing oversized plaid pants that dragged across the tile and one of George’s shirts, which was huge on you and smelled strongly of his cologne.

He snuck up behind you quietly as a mouse, before unexpectedly poking the sides of your stomach. You let out a shocked, “George!” before bursting into laughter. Your chuckles blended with his effortlessly, creating a beautiful symphony.  

“Morning, darling. I see you’re making breakfast,” George said with a smirk as he surveyed the surrounding food-covered counters. He seemed in a much better state than he was yesterday, his tired eyes replaced with resplendent brown and gold-speckled ones, which were flooded full of energy reminiscent of his adolescence.  

“I am! And I made all your favorites, so get excited! The day’s only getting started.” You sent him a knowing wink, and he responded with a child-like grin. George giddily opened a cupboard, grabbing two shiny ceramic plates. He forked some already-cooked bacon and eggs onto each plate, shaping the food into two adorable smiley faces.  

“What did I ever do to deserve such an amazing girlfriend like you?” George asked after giving your cheek an affectionate peck.  

“The real question is, what didn’t you do? You’re perfect in my eyes, Georgie,” you heartfeltly admitted as you carried a small plate stacked with butter and syrup-coated warm pancakes coated to the table.  

George had beaten you to the breakfast table, waiting patiently until you finally sat down in the chair to his side. He eagerly stabbed a forkful of egg, stuffing it into his mouth. While Ron was usually credited as the biggest food-lover of the Weasleys, there was no way you could deny that George was runner up.  

He gulped down the rest of the meal quickly, sending breakfast-filled smiles in your direction after every bite. After both of your plates were squeaky-clean, you ventured to the bedroom to get ready for the busy day ahead of you. 

You instructed George to wear “something comfortable,” and he happily complied, throwing on a cream-colored, pin-striped short-sleeve oxford with a pair of worn jeans. You selected something equally as comfortable, and adorable.  

You were in the middle of packing a backpack full of snacks and water when George finally asked, “So… when do I get to know where we’re going?”

“We’re going to Hogwarts,” you said promptly with a knowing smile, greatly contrasting George’s look of perplexion.

“And how exactly are we going to manage that, love? Surely they wouldn’t allow an impromptu visit like this, even good ol’ McGonagall?”  

“Well, let’s just say Hogwarts doesn’t actually know we’ll be there.” 

----

Platform 9 ¾ could be seen bustling with life, the delicious taste of magic floating through the air. It sent you back to all of those years you spent before term, pushing a luggage-stacked trolley across the station.

The scarlet express heaved tufts of smoke from its chimney, a piercing shriek occasionally echoing from its whistle. The magical platform was coated with clumps of young witches and wizards and their parents; the brick floor could barely be seen under all the boots.  

You bid goodbye to your parents, ready to start a new (magical) chapter of your life. As you skipped gleefully to the entrance of the enchanted coach, you caught sight of a rufescent sea of wizards bickering and chuckling with each other. There were six carrot-topped wizards in total: a middle-aged and balding father, an equally middle-aged warm and caring mother, a short and freckle-ridden son who appeared to be the oldest, a tall and stuck-up boy with pretentious-looking glasses who was tightening the crimson tie around his neck, and two identical-looking boys who seemed to be first years as well.

One of them could be seen tieing the stuck-up boy’s shoelaces together, a mischievous smirk on his face as he did. The other was distracting the glasses-wearing brother, shooting the knotter an occasional sneaky glance.  

You smiled at the sight before stepping into the train, eager to make new friends. You felt a little less nervous upon seeing students chatting in their compartments; pure joy from students’ laughing and yelling filled the corridor.

You looked around in search of a promising compartment. Finally, after what felt like hours of looking, you settled on a compartment filled with three other first-years. There were two girls and a boy: one of the girls, Angelina, was animatedly recounting a story, the other, Alicia, sprinkled in witty comments, and a smitten-looking boy named Lee was blushing in the corner, listening intently.  

After a while of bonding with your new friends, the train slowly began to chug along the tracks,  rhythmic clanking creating some pleasant background ambiance. The train began to gain speed before your compartment door was slid open by none other than the vexatious redheaded twins.  

The twin who tied his brother’s shoelaces together, who you later learned was named Fred, confidently took a seat next to Lee. They quickly struck up a conversation, seemingly clicking almost instantly. The twin who served as the distraction for his poor older brother, George, sat down next to you timidly.  

At first, George was too shy to say anything other than a meek, “hello”, but as soon as the trolley stacked with sweets rolled around, he became quite talkative. He was very observant; he would enchant you with beautiful descriptions of the most minute details in the most mundane things.  

George was so observant, in fact, that he noticed you didn’t get anything from the trolley, despite the look on your face saying that it wasn’t by choice. He could only afford a single chocolate frog with the spare change his mother gave him, which he handed to you with a toothy grin.

You yanked on George’s long arm, pulling him behind one of the large brick pillars supporting the platform. “Okay, George, for this to work, we can’t be seen by anyone.” You unsheathed your wand from your pocket, preparing to cast a spell.

“I’m going to cast a disillusionment charm, okay? This should make us blend in with our surroundings so we can sneak onto the train.  If I do it correctly, we should be able to see each other just fine, though.”  

After receiving an accepting nod from George, you gave him a light tap on the shoulder with the tip of your wand. Camouflage slowly dripped down his body, as if someone poured some sort of invisibility paint above his head. Just as quickly as he faded into the pillar behind him, he returned back to normal colors. You hoped he was still invisible to everyone else.  

“Wicked,” he uttered, checking out his arms as they turned invisible and back.

You did the same to yourself without hesitation. George watched with curiosity as you blended seamlessly into the platform; he then admired you as your features slowly returned from invisibility. Every eyelash, every blemish, and every inch of your lips never failed to go unnoticed by him.

“What’s the next step of the plan, Captain?” George asked with a salute.

“So, without being seen, once all the students are off the platform and on the train, we need to sneak onto the caboose, where we should be able to ride safely. After that, it’s smooth sailing to Hogwarts!”

“That sounds easy enough… I think,” George said with his hand in his palm, thinking over the steps of the plan intently.  

“Oh trust me, it’ll be great! I mean, if you can set off fireworks during an exam guarded by Umbridge, you can sneak onto a bloody train.” You gave George a reassuring thumbs-up.

“Don’t even remind me of that soul-sucking bright pink nightmare!” George said with a sarcastic eye roll.

As students slowly started filtering into the train, your time to strike inched closer and closer. Finally, the clock struck eleven, and you and George were dashing across the platform to the back of the train with your hands intertwined with one another’s.

You and George leaped onto the back ledge of the train just in time, for the scarlet locomotive slowly started rolling along the tracks just as you latched onto the railing. The both of you broke into cheers of triumph the moment the train was out of the vicinity of the station.  

“Y/N, look at the window, there’s no reflection of us in it. We really are undetectable,” George mentioned, gesturing towards the window.   

It was unsettling to not see your usual features bouncing off the window, but you were thankful that your charm had worked.  

You moved to sit on the ledge of the train, which was small, only about a foot wide. You put your legs through the wide rails so that the soles of your sneakers nearly dragged on the tracks. George took a seat next to you, his lanky legs sitting crisscross.  

The scenery that the express heaved through was breathtaking; it was even better feeling the crisp air on your face. The rolling moss-tinted hills, vibrant green and yellow trees that dotted the horizon, and worn stone archways that cut through the landscape allowing the train to huff on. All of it reminded you of the impressionist paintings in museums.  

The sunlight bashfully peeked through the clouds like the small flashes of vibrant strawberries hiding under their large green leaves on a serene spring day. The air tasted sweet and refreshing; it felt like you hadn’t ever breathed until your lungs were filled with it.

You and George sat peacefully in silence, listening to the noises of the express and the faint chirping of birds, reflecting on the past. Eventually, he said softly, gaze pointed to the scenery, “I can still remember the moment I realized I was in love with you.”

He continued, “It was the start of fifth year, on this very train. The moment you sat down in the compartment next to me, I just knew.  Everything was different. There were so many things I never noticed until then; it was like my eyes were finally open.”

Silence filled the air. You couldn’t think of what to say, and even if you did, you wouldn’t know how to say it.  

“Everything about you looked so beautiful all of a sudden. The way you moved or swished your wand, the way your lips enunciated every heavenly word that fell from your tongue. All of it.”

George turned to you nervously. What if I messed it all up? What if that wasn’t the right thing to say? he thought. You stared down at the track, lost in the depths of your mind. 

Everything George had ever spoken to you danced through your brain like ballet; his words sounded like rich and eloquent poetry, even his simple cheers or quips at teachers. Your heart felt like it was beating a million times the speed of the chugging crimson engine.

You rapidly pivoted your head to him, his uncertain gaze immediately locking deeply with yours’. Your eyes were clouded with determination and passion, which reflected in the kiss that you swiftly pulled him into. His lips felt magical against yours’, still oozing with lively youthfulness as always.  

George tenderly tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, you wrapped one of your hands around the nape of his neck. The kiss softened, becoming something slow and loving. Your other hand intertwined delicately with his’, which lay softly on your thigh.  

After a while of sugary sweet kissing, George’s lips parted, uttering an “I love you,” lightly.

“I love you, too. Promise me you’ll marry me someday?” You asked, still heavily under the angelic ginger’s trance.  

“You know I couldn’t marry anyone but you, Y/N.”

----

The sun slowly retreated behind the horizon, painting the sky a brilliant and fiery orange, which nearly matched the hue of George’s wind-swept hair.  You languidly rested your head on his broad shoulder, staring out in the distance. Your face lingered with euphoria, courtesy of George’s amazing kisses which had just peppered every inch of it.  

The backpack stocked with snacks you perfectly packed was now filled only with empty food wrappers. Most of the various foodstuffs had found a new home safely in your boyfriend’s black hole of a stomach, leaving you with mere crumbs to chew.  

“Georgie… why’d you have to eat all the snacks?  I’m starving,” you asked dramatically, pretending to be skin-and-bones. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t save enough for you, darling. I would give you some but… y’know… they’re in my stomach.” George petted your hair caringly with a regretful smile, his strong fingers gently brushing through your strands, taking in the familiar scent of your shampoo.

As you sat, gaze towards the breathtaking sunset, George mechanically started braiding a small section of your hair. He had always been an expert at braids; Ginny taught him how to fourth year. His mind was elsewhere than your strands, however, for he was plotting something significantly more mischievous.  

George retracted his hands from your hair, the soothing touch of his fingers dissipating from your scalp. He stood up from the cozy spot beside you, turning to peer through the window of the coach. His eyes scanned the corridor like a hawk, his brain spindling abstract ideas into a devious plan reminiscent of the schemes he so often plotted back at Hogwarts. 

“Georgie, what are you doing?” you asked quizzically. 

After one final glance through the coach window (bearing no reflection), he said with a devilishly handsome and mischievous smirk, “I have a plan.”

Before you could interrogate him any further, in one calculated motion, he swung the emergency door open, leaping inside the train full of students.  

If anyone was skilled enough to pull off whatever he was set on doing, it was George. While Fred was often the instigator of the twins’ famous pranks, George was often pulling the weight of the trick.  

You just hoped the disillusionment charm hadn’t worn off yet.  

----

George silently crept through the corridors of each enchanted coach, elaborately dancing around stray students who occasionally ditched their compartments. His face was scrunched with determination as if he were a raider searching for the holy grail.  

It took all his self-control, and more, to resist sneaking into Malfoy’s compartment and giving him a slap across the head; it was even harder resisting giving Ron a friendly spook, along with the other members of the Golden Trio. He decided to stay on track of his mission, for you and you only.  

Every coach he passed through, he became increasingly more irritated and nervous. Now that he was an adult, there wouldn’t just be a simple ten points deducted from Gryffindor, no. Sneaking onto a train full of students and stealing candy from the poor old lady’s trolley of sweets would be a hefty fine. Molly would definitely not be pleased.  

Finally, in the coach closest to the engine (and unfortunately furthest from the back), laid the trolley, luckily unattended. It was practically overflowing with classic sweets that he used to enjoy so much: colorful Berties Botts Every Flavour Beans (he swears he got a booger flavored one once), towering stacks of frosted cauldron cakes, clear-as-glass sugar quills, and chocolate frogs.   

George, of course, knew your favorite anything and everything like the back of his hand. He swiftly grabbed a package of candy from the bottom rack of the trolley, a twinge of guilt hitting him in the heart. The kind old lady would be down one treat. His guilt was quickly alleviated when magically, another perfectly packaged sweet filled the empty space.  

The expedition back to the caboose was a decidedly more risky one; it’s a lot more obvious that someone is invisible when a piece of candy is levitating midair. Luckily, the darker it got outside, the more students opted for the comfort of their cozy compartments, which fostered the perfect environment for sleeping. After all, when he and Fred would pull pranks on the train, this was the hour they’d hit the hardest.  

He was nearly to the back coach when a now sixth year Neville Longbottom emerged from his cabin, a defeated look on his face. A harshly conquered game of wizard’s chess could be seen, Luna Lovegood sitting next to the board with a neutral smile resting on her lips.  

George had tried to dance around Neville, but Longbottom’s clumsiness was no match for him. Not even a second passed before Neville rammed headfirst into George’s chest, falling backward. He laid on the floor for a minute, dumbfounded, before cautiously getting up, reaching for the floating sweet that George grasped high above his head.

George couldn’t help but mutter a low ‘sorry’ to poor Neville before rapidly darting past him towards the door. Neville looked around suspiciously for a minute longer before accepting the fact that he had likely been the subject of another foul prank.  

Finally, unscathed, George returned to the rear of the train, where you lay half sprawled across the ledge sleepily. Your eyes were closed, your ears focused on the calming rhythmic rattling of the wheels on the track.

A small smile couldn’t help but creep onto George’s face at the sight of you asleep. He gently tapped you awake, a soft hum escaping his lips. Your eyes fluttered open, a loving look glazing them.  

“What is it, Georgie?” you asked, taking in your surroundings.  

“Just wanted to make sure that you didn’t fall asleep here. You’d be sore by the time we get to our destination if you did,” George said with a wink. 

He outstretched his hand like Prince Charming, helping you stand up from the floor. Your rubious-haired boyfriend inconspicuously held his other hand behind his back, concealing the candy in his large palm.   

“Where did you go, George? One moment you’re out here with me, next moment you’re off into the train packed full of people!” you questioned curiously, inspecting George from head to toe.

“Well, you said you were hungry, so naturally....” he said, “I had to get you something to eat.”

George held out a single chocolate frog in his hand like a proud little kid. He wore the exact same smile he sported first year: a look radiating innocence and kindness. You gingerly accepted the frog, slowly unwrapping the chocolate and stuffing the card in your pocket for Ron.  

“...just like first year,” you muttered, barely able to make a sound.

You were seated on the tail of the express once again, eyes pointed towards the inky black and star-blemished sky. George quickly mirrored your actions, comfortably sitting next to you. While you munched on your chocolate frog joyfully, George rested his head on your shoulder, even though he was very much taller than you. He momentarily began humming a lullaby he learned as a baby; the vibrations emitted from his voice box resonated comfortingly through your body.  

His angelic humming echoed lovingly through your brain all the way to Hogwarts.

----

The train screeched to a halt at the Hogwarts station behind the school. The soothing rattle of the train ceased, to your dismay, and exuberant students began to flood out of the express like a tidal wave. You and George trailed far behind the various cliques of students, cracking jokes at the expense of the new first years.  

“Look at that poor one!  He’s fixed to become the new Neville!” you said laughing, before getting a playful elbow from George.  

“McGonagall will have quite the handful with those two over there. Reckon they’ll be tricksters like us?” George asked with a nostalgic laugh, pointing at two boys who were sneakily distributing some sort of (surely hexed) candy to their gullible peers. They looked so much like Fred and George did in their first year, down to the very same expression.  

“No doubt about it,” you said confidently, darting your eyes comparatively from the boys to your boyfriend. “It really is quite uncanny.”

Soon enough, the towering main entrance to the castle was opened with a swish, and the distinctly familiar smell flooded your nostrils. You were finally home once again. Not much had changed since you left, besides the absence of all of Umbridge’s devious decrees, replaced with some friendly-looking paintings.  

“Looks the exact same, doesn’t it?” George whispered, careful to be unnoticed by the excited soon-to-be-sorted first years who were guided to the Great Hall. You nodded yes, clenching his hand harder with exhilaration.  

Instead of risking getting caught during the time-honored Sorting Ceremony, you and George walked aimlessly, enjoying the unique ambiance of the school. After a while of galavanting around the halls, you climbed the moving steps towards the Gryffindor tower.

“Open up, it's George,” he whispered to the portrait of the Fat Lady with a smirk, and surprisingly, she obliged with a pleasantly surprised smile. Your stare flickered from George to the portrait, mouth agape.  

“Let’s just say, me and the Fat Lady have a lot of… history. Oh, not like that!” George let out a laugh followed by an adorable wink.

You gravitated towards the comfortable crimson couches which sat by the large and inviting fireplace, dragging George’s hand behind you.  

Your body melted into the red plush of the couch, the soft material much more desirable than the stiff metal rails of the express. Your carrot-topped better half took a seat next to you, his body intertwining with yours.

Gryffindors threatened to flood into the common room any given moment, so you wasted no time pulling George’s soft shirt to your chest for a gentle and loving kiss.  

“Blimey! Get a room you two!” Ron said, walking towards the two of you from the portrait, gagging.

“I guess the charm’s worn off, Georgie.”

“Just in time, too,” he said with a slightly cocky smile.  

You turned to Ron, who reluctantly held his arms out for a hug. You ran to him with all your might, meeting the messy-haired ginger’s chest. “I’m so glad to see you again.  It’s felt like ages.”

“Glad to see you too, Y/N,” he said with a genuine smile.  

Harry and Hermione entered not long after, a matching perplexed expression on their faces.  “Y/N? George? How’d you get in here? Surely McGonagall wouldn’t permit a visit such as this?” Hermione asked, giving you a small but confused hug.  

“Well, the thing is, no one knows we’re actually here,” George said, a grin on his face.  

“How’d you do it? Sneak in here, I mean,” Harry asked, eager to learn a new way to sneak to the school.  

“Snuck onto the express. Brilliant idea and execution courtesy of my dear Y/N. She’s a genius in training. Learning from the best, of course,” George said sarcastically, his thumb pointing to his chest.  

“Very funny, Georgie.  This one was all me.  My magnum opus, some would say.”

----

The ensuing night was amazing. Laughter echoed through the cherry-tinted walls of the common room like a magnificent orchestra; classic games like spin the bottle and truth or dare were played religiously.  

By the time it struck midnight, your mind had nearly escaped to your hazy dreamscape too many times to count. It had been a long day; you started early with cooking a full breakfast, sneaking onto the Hogwarts Express, and partying for hours into the night with the Gryffindors, all with the love of your life. To say you were exhausted was a massive understatement. 

Harry had graciously offered his comfortable bed to you, Ron reluctantly sacrificing his to George. “You owe me one,” he repeatedly grumbled to his older brother, who plastered a sickly innocent smile on in response.  

George took quick notice of the unfathomable exhaustion plastered onto your face from his couch across from you, immediately announcing to the chatting group of friends, “I think it’s time for me and Y/N to turn in for the night. See you all in the morning.”  

‘Goodnights’ drifted in and out of your ears as George picked you up from the couch bridal-style, carrying you light-as-a feather up the steps to the boys’ dorms. He could envision a furious Head Boy Percy demanding, ‘Put her down, George!  Girls sleep in the girls’ dormitories, boys in the boys’!  They have that rule for a reason!’ 

He smiled as he creaked open the sixth year boys’ dorm’s door, laying you peacefully onto Harry’s scarlet four-poster bed. He grabbed some cozy knitted blankets, gently setting them over your body.

“There you are, angel, have a good nights’ sleep. I love you with all my heart,” George cooed.  He turned to Ron’s bed with a smile before you grasped his hand desperately.

“Before you go to bed Georgie, did you have fun today?  I know you super were stressed out yesterday and all,” your words came out slurred and tired, some borderline incoherent.  

“I have fun any time I’m with you, darling,” he said, smoothing your ruffled hair. “But yes, I had the time of my life with you today. Just being with you makes my day infinitely brighter. You’re like my little sunshine.”

“And will you actually marry me someday, Georgie?” you asked, your droopy eyes filled with an unfathomable and everlasting love. You were deep under the heavenly redhead’s spell once again.

“I always keep my word, darling.”