#foam mattress. so you end up REALLY sinking into it when you’re in it and it’s super cozy the first few nights but then miserable after like

[chordsykat]

If you’re willing to do those character questions, how about 2, 8, and 9 for the Baen-Shee gals!

Sure I am!

2. What is their grooming routine? (how do they treat themselves in private)

Nita: She certainly has everyone beat on the longest haircare routine. Her hair is insanely long, chemically straightened, and I imagine, has the honor of having been worked on by practically every stylist in Hollywood. That said, it's her pride and joy. She brushes her hair exactly 100 times every morning and wraps it up at night to minimize damage and tangling. She has a strict hair washing and conditioning routine, along with a custom-formulated hair mask that she uses once a week.

When it comes to everything else, I imagine it's significantly less involved and pretty normal on the day-to-day. Nita is fond of soaps that are obnoxiously fragrant to the point that she doesn't need perfume. She likes to go out in the sun and is big on the SPF in all her lotions and balms. She is that person who always has some. She will put it on you without your consent.

Caj: I see her spending a long time "pampering" herself to mean she's got a lot of bandages that need changing. She's lucky to have been blessed by the Life God(s) and canonically said to be one of those celebs that never age. Therefore, I think she's a basic shampoo, body wash, five minute shower-taker with minimalistic aftercare. She probably uses aftershave as frequently as perfume and cologne because I see her as being into spicier scents.

Cherry: Not big on heavy smells and perfumes (they make her gag) and is more interested in natural/organic bodycare stuff. She adores a good soak in the tub, though. With a good joint, of course. And some wine. And something really trashy on the TV in the next room she can listen to so things like drips of water coming from the sink don't drive her bonkers.

Sparkles: I like the idea of Sparkles' aftercare involving shaving and oiling her bod to get that smooth, slick, bodybuilder look -- as a tactile enjoyment sort of thing. And despite appearances, I have said before that she has excellent hygiene and takes good care of herself. She's just really rugged and not put off by the idea of getting messy, shortly after a scrub. :D

Eden: Had no idea they made soap that wasn't gray, on a rope, and smelled like a hospital. Has been doing the lukewarm shower thing as far back as she can remember and was unaware that humans still used bathtubs (she thought they were house-pools). Is amazed to find out that toothbrushes can have all sorts of different bristle layouts and come in such a wide array of colors.

8. Describe the place where they sleep. (ie what does their safe space look like. How much (or how little) care / decoration / personal touch goes into it.)

Nita: King sized bed that her tiny ass still manages to take up most of, if you happen to be sleeping with her. Way-too-many pillows to be comfortable. Silk sheets, memory foam, and would love ordering a mattress that comes in a box just so she can watch it roll out and take shape.

Caj: Basic bed setup. It is always made unless there's sex being had in it. Has insomnia and a truly awful sleep "schedule" - often only 3-5 hours per day. She passes out wherever her body can find the ability to shut down, comfortably.

Cherry: Cherry doesn't need an especially large, comfy or cushy bed and is another one who is comfortable taking a snooze pretty much anywhere. She is the opposite end of the resting hours spectrum as Caj and looks forward to frequent naps where she can quiet her busy thoughts. Likes cold sheets in the summer and having music playing while dozing off.

Sparkles: Likes to curl up like a puppy sometimes. I'm never letting this idea go.

Eden: Used to cots, hospital-beds, and other "sterile" bedroom furniture. Considers boxsprings and bedframes a rare luxury. Really likes ultra-soft mattresses and is fascinated with waterbeds. Probably also big on way-too-many pillows and fluffy comforters. Definitely has a stuffed animal or two. Something quirky, like a cat-thulhu or squid or crow or bunny with three ears.

9. What is their favorite holiday? (How do they relate to their culture/outside world. Also fun is least favorite holiday.) 

Nita: Had a friend post this morning about how they like to go to the beach on New Years Day, and since it's my favorite holiday, it's also going to be Nita's. The ritual my friend had was for good luck/prosperity in the new year... the usual stuff. I think with Nita living mostly in warmer places during her lifetime, and the whole connection the show itself has with oceans in general, this would be fitting for her.

Caj: Goes all out for the 4th of July. She's there in spirit but her use of popular American iconography could use a little help in the authenticity department. She doesn't quite get that cardboard standees of Jimmy Carter aren't as 'Merican as those of George Washington. The Independence Day banners she makes at the Fed Ex store by herself often feature clip-art of cowboy hats and AR-15s. Has a tradition of inviting Skwisgaar just so she can watch him get really drunk, overdo it on hotdogs, get sick and pass out while hitting on the Jimmy Carter standees.

Cherry: One of the things she'd wanted to do after the Baen-Shee tour was over, was to petition the United States government to recognize 4/20 as a national holiday. She had made soft-plans with Snoop to march on DC and everything. Sadly, it none of it came to be. :(

Sparkles: Arbor Day. Sparkles doesn't need a special day to celebrate how awesome trees are. She's just happy to have everyone else celebrating, too.

Eden: It's almost gotta be Christmas, for how utterly insane and commercialized and extravagant it gets. Again, she's probably never seen anything like it. I guess this could also mean she hates it? ...Her favorite day might also be Easter, though. Because bunnies. :)

Here's a link to the original set of questions. Thanks for the ask, buddy :D

[timextoxhajima]

Love Me A Little Less: Chapter 8 - Hypocrite

LOVE ME A LITTLE LESS CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Member: (3rd person pov) arranged marriage au with Lee Juyeon

Genre: angsty wangsty

Taglist: @hyunjaethereal @sunwoowuvbot​ @suzy-rainbow​​

“Why did you come back?”

Jang Won’s consciousness had been flitting in and out of a state of being awake when Juyeon slides the door of her bathroom open, the rolling noises waking her up from her drowsy trance. 

“Sorry, just go back to sleep,” Rubbing his damp hair with a towel, the pajamas that Mr Ro managed to salvage from the Manor’s guest closet (that part of the closet used to belong to Younghoon) somehow fit him better than expected. “I know you had a long day, so.”

“It’s been a long day for the both of us so just shut up and get in bed,” Jang Won mumbles, loud enough for him to hear. Her back rests against the bolster placed in the middle of the bed, and a light clicks off somewhere in the room as Juyeon turns it off. The room was painted in a gentle mandarin shade from the nightstand lamp on his side; it reminds her of sunsets and fruit baskets. 

She feels the mattress on the extreme end sink as Juyeon shuffles in, then the room dims when he turns off the lamp on the nightstand. 

The distant chirps of crickets in the courtyard down below where the wedding was held manages to seep through the gaps of the balcony doors, and Jang Won could just barely make out the glowing ring of the moon if she pushed her head into the pillow a little more. 

“Jang Won.”

She sucks in a deep breath, eyes still fixated on the glow in the sky. “What?”

“I’m sorry.”

Surprise. Chirp. Blink. 

“What for?”

“Calling you a hypocrite.”

Jang Won turns, and Juyeon turns as well, upon hearing the shuffling. His eyes are two orbs of glass from the bare illumination from outside.

“I... can never understand how much you’ve gone through, and so I have no reason to call you that, and I’m sorry.”

“Forget it-”

“No, please,” There’s a hint of desperation in his voice that keeps her from turning away. Chirp. “I said something I cannot take back and-”

“I know. And... I’m sorry you were dragged into this mess. I really am.”

“Fruits from the same tree,” He whispers, and Jang Won can hear his gentle scoff. “Look forward to our Guatemala honeymoon. I promise you’ll have the time of your life.”

“I haven’t heard someone make a promise to me in a long, long time.”

And even in the shitty lighting, Jang Won can make out the little smile he has on his face. 

“I’ll be the new standard. Trust me.”

“That’ll probably the first and last thing I’ll do.”

Juyeon quietly chuckles in the darkness.

“Goodnight.”

“Night.”

If Jang Won had a choice, she definitely would’ve had chosen another way to last remember her mother, even if it meant the same outcome. It had been any normal day for her - school at one of the most prestigious academies. At the time, Juyeon’s name had already been spread far and wide for being both a chaebol and somewhat of a likeable personality in school. Jang Won would know, since she’s spent countless of days listening to the likes of her friends swooning about Lee Juyeon from the Stanford Academy. 

On the days they were a little bolder, they’d ask Jang Won to strike up a conversation at one of the events The Board likes to organise. Of course, being the girl she is, she doesn’t care. 

“Sure,” She’ll always say, but empty-handed she’ll return to her friends. Jang Won would be lying if she said she didn’t gain some kind of sickening pleasure from seeing disappointment wash over their faces when all she did was basically nothing.

That should’ve been the prime thing about being 16. That should’ve been it. Teasing each other about boys, boys that she couldn’t care any less about. 

That really should have been it.

But the ghastly outline of her mother’s skull had been etched into her head as the days passed, and before she could realise it, Jang Won had lost all memory of how her mother used to be like; how she even looked like within the walls of The Kim Mansion. 

Her mother belonged within the cream, marble walls of the monument erected in the corner of street where the country’s tycoons all lived in. She belonged in the safety of a living hall with a rug made from bear fur and a fireplace keeping her and the cup of hot chocolate on the coffee table warm. 

Not here. Not letting the amber strips of light pasted into the ceiling shine through her paper-thin skin, as if Jang Won couldn’t already see the blue veins under her mother’s forehead. 

The first major thing that Jang Won would never forget was watching her older brother fight with her father. That was the one time she had seen Younghoon yell at Kim Jo-Pil, as if they weren’t related, as if Kim Jo-Pil wasn’t the adult in the room.

While Jang Won wished with all her heart that she could remain angry with what her brother said, she knew that it was the best choice. Her mother was on a ticking time-bomb anyway. It had been a matter of time before she took her last breath.

Yet, for some reason, it was the one time that she had seen Younghoon been so coldly caring, and her father so warmly unbothered. The scent of the expensive, first-class hospital ward is still stuck in her nose, and probably would for the next year or so. As she listened to her brother beg her father to let her mother go peacefully, without having to live through the pain, she let her tears stain the bedsheets by her mother’s hands. 

“Won-ie.”

Jang Won looks up upon the hoarse voice, eyes tearing when she can see how resigned her mother is. The fight is no longer glimmering in her eyes, because she knows she’s fighting a lost war. 

“After this, you’ll only have your brother left, and you must promise me you will do everything you can to protect him, like he will for you.”

Jang Won shakes her head, fingers interlocking with hers, and for a split second, she’s almost afraid she could tear her skin. “No. You’ll do that for me. I’m not old enough to take care of him.”

“You’re a smart girl, Won-ie,” She manages a grin, and it tears Jang Won apart to see how hard she had to try. “I know... that this wasn’t what we wanted.”

“Yeah, it’s not,” Jang Won frowns, swallowing the chunk of tears and snot in the back of her throat. “Nobody’s gonna help me build Hera’s Manor if you don’t. What’s Younghoon gonna do? Sit by and eat popcorn?”

“He probably would, wouldn’t he?”

Jang Won can feel her lips quiver, brows furrowing and her head slowly becoming heavier. 

“Listen, Jang Won. The Board will not be kind to you, and we’ve lived by The Board for more than 7 generations. Things will not go your way but I promise you... not everyone is as venomous as we think they are. Some, yes... but not everybody is out for blood. These people will come and help you when you most need it, and you must be kind, whenever you can.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Jang Won’s voice cracks and she doesn’t notice that the bickering outside the ward has ceased. Younghoon enters alone. “Tell me this again next time. I’m not gonna remember it.”

“I’ll always be with you, whether you know it or not, okay? I love you, Hera’s princess. Oh, my little girl.”

It’s a monumental effort on Jang Won’s part to keep herself from physically doubling over as she sobbed, her mother’s hand pressed into her cheek. 

She shuts her eyes, letting her face contort into a horrid mess of emotions when her mother turns to look at her son. 

“Hoon-ie... Promise me you’ll take care of Jang Won?” She holds out an arm, and her son cannot bring himself to take it, in fear that it would be the last. 

“I’ll always take care of her anyway,” His voice cracks, only worsening the hiccups in Jang Won’s chest. “You can remind me some other time.”

And again, with more effort needed, she smiles. “Come here, my Prince Artemis.”

Younghoon feels like there are roots coming from the ground and holding him to the concrete, but he manages to drag himself to her bed, kneeling down to rest his arms on the mattress. 

“You both... have been my everything. Thank you for teaching me what love is, when I thought I’ll never know what it is. Thank you for teaching me how to be a better mother than any other role I could ever have.”

Younghoon winces and looks down. “Stop-”

“I am... so proud of the two of you, and I’ve been so lucky to have the two of you as my children. There’s nothing I would change. Absolutely nothing.”

Finally, Kim Jo-Pil enters the ward. Hands in his pockets. Eyes unable to look at the breathing corpse on the hospital bed.

“Jang Won, Younghoon, let’s go. The two of you still have school tomorrow.”

“No, wait, please,” Jang Won shakes her head, tightening her grip on her mother’s arm. Her father already has one arm around Younghoon’s shoulder, but even the most obedient son looks reluctant.

“Father, please,” Younghoon frowns, tears brimming. 

“Let us stay for the night, please?” Jang Won’s brows furrow back, pushing herself back towards the wall as her father rounds the end of the bed.

“Father,” Younghoon anxiously tails his father, now trying to get a hold of Jang Won. “Just let us stay for this one night.”

“No, your mother would not approve of you staying here tonight.”

“Mom,” Jang Won whines, wrist already being pulled. “Please...”

“Mother, please. Please, please, please let me stay.”

Juyeon halts the brush in his mouth, instantly turning to exit the bathroom. The late morning sun drizzles across the length of the room as he watches Jang Won twitch and shudder under the thick blanket.

“Younghoon... do something...”

He frowns, returning to the bathroom just to get the toothpaste foam out of his mouth. Walking around the bed, he now notices the pool of tears stained into the pillowcase beneath her cheek. Her face is puffy and her cheeks are pink from the anxiety.

It’s a pinch in his gut, when the only time he sees this vulnerability in her is in her sleep.

“Jang Won,” He whispers, resting one knee into the bed and gently tapping on her shoulder. “Hey.”

“No, no, no... don’t make us leave...”

“Jang Won.”

“Mr Lee.”

Juyeon turns to the bedroom door, surprised to see Mr Ro already entering. Automatically backing off, Juyeon watches as the butler presses a warm cloth to her cheek and shove a mini canvas into Jang Won’s hold.

It was painted, with bumps from acrylic paint, and signed Yoo Se Kyung. 

Her breath slows, but her grip around the canvas tightens, and she stops talking. Mr Ro shifts back, clearing his throat and gathering his palms before his abdomen. He bows to Juyeon, eyes plastered to the floor.

“Does this happen often?”

Mr Ro resumes his upright stance, eyes glancing at Jang Won. “Every year, around late spring into summer, it comes back to her. The memories of visiting her mother in the hospital. I wouldn’t disclose too much - that’s for her to share when she finally trusts you, but I’ve been meaning to tell you about it before you leave for your honeymoon. I just didn’t expect it to come so quick.”

Jang Won’s tears have stopped, and her grip around the canvas has loosened. Mr Ro removes the cloth and bows to Juyeon, turning on his heels to leave the bedroom.

“Mr Ro.”

The butler halts, head turning to look back over his shoulder.

“‘Finally’ trusts me?”

Mr Ro offers a weak smile. 

“I haven’t seen her share a bed with anybody, nor care so much, ever since her mother passed.”

Juyeon sighs exasperatedly, scratching the skin on his cheekbones as his eyes flit to her for a split second. “That’s only because you have nowhere to house me, and that she needs me for the marriage.”

The elder lowers his head and shakes it gently. “I’ve known Jang Won for the entire 22 years she’s been alive. Some part of her trusts you, and I know you don’t see it, but I can.”

Pity washes over Juyeon first, then pleasant surprise, and finally, obligation. Is this how it feels like to have someone you want to protect?

“Breakfast is in the dining hall. Jang Won will wake up soon and she’ll confirm the itinerary for your honeymoon in Guatemala next week.”

“Oh, did she say if I needed to be there?”

“Only if you want to. Jang Won’s instructions were to keep it optional for you in case you had other obligations to tend to.”

Mr Ro walks off after giving one final bow to Juyeon, leaving him awkward by the bed. His heart sinks when he turns to her, sound asleep and holding almost no hint that she had been previously crying, having nightmares.

It’s a punch to the gut when he realises he’ll never be able to fully comprehend her pain, and even then, he wouldn’t have the autonomy to tell her that he knows how it feels - because he doesn’t.

Sitting by her edge of the bed, his brows furrow across his forehead as he gently pushes her hair out of her face. He needs to remind himself that sympathy and pity is the last thing she would want, so he makes it a point to remember the promise he made Younghoon.

Juyeon’s care for Jang Won has far exceeded his own expectations, and thus, will far exceed hers. Unable to erase the idea of himself that Jang Won had previously implanted in his head, that he was a coward, from that conflict they had in her office the previous day made Juyeon a little more rigid and his head a little clearer. The resolution he makes to protect her will far supersede his ability to care for her.

Kim Jo-Pil’s gaze cannot be torn from the sight of Lee Juyeon, gently stroking the head of hair of his daughter. The door had been left ajar when Mr Ro left and he had partially heard the conversation between his new son-in-law. He had expected Juyeon to be colder, conservative, as poisonous as his daughter had seemed to be.

So when Juyeon touched Jang Won with the weight of feathers and cotton and looked like he was memorising all the features on her face, the exact color of every strand of her hair and making one of those silent promises in his head, Kim Jo-Pil cannot help the twist in his left eye-lid. 

He pulls away when Juyeon finally removes himself off the bed, backing away from the door and hurriedly scurrying away. Just before he can reach the stairs that lead down into the main hall, he hears the door down the corridor he was just in creak open.

“Mr Kim.”

Kim Jo-Pil stops, turning to face the source of call.

“Juyeon,” Kim Jo-Pil bows deeply. “I... Didn’t know you were staying for the night.”

“It wasn’t planned,” Juyeon shakes his head. “But... I must ask.”

Kim Jo-Pil sucks in a deep breath, already knowing what was in his head.

“Why did you come back?”

[mandelene]

If you're still taking requests, can I have ℧ with Arthur please 👀

You sure can! 💕

The Tea Party and the Promise-Breaker

Word Count: 1690

“But you said you were gonna play tea party with us!”

“I know, darling, but I’m quite tired and—”

“You promised!” Amelia screeches.

Arthur swears he feels something in his skull rattle. He did promise, but that was before he worked three 16-hour shifts at the hospital and started to feel unwell. He woke up yesterday morning to a sore throat, but he refused to call out sick over something so trivial. Now, the sore throat is worse, his head hurts, his sinuses burn, and he can feel his nose beginning to run.

This is his first day off all week, and although he’d love to play with Amelia and Madeline, he simply doesn’t have the energy to entertain them. He wishes he could have a two-hour nap, but that won’t be possible since Francis is working until the early evening, which means Arthur is in charge of supervising their two six-year-olds for the day.

“You never want to play with us,” Amelia accuses him, sounding genuinely broken-hearted.

He knows it isn’t easy for the girls when he’s not home very often, and the last thing he wants is for them to think he doesn’t love or care about them—nothing could be farther from the truth.

“Okay, I’ll join the tea party,” he surrenders, overwhelmed by guilt. “Would you girls like me to set the kettle?”

“We’re gonna have imaginary tea, Dad,” Amelia explains, a little exasperated by how out of the loop he is. “But you can bring your own tea if you want…And bring cookies, too!”

“All right. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Yaaaaay!” Amelia cheers, jumping up and down several times before grabbing Madeline’s hand and dragging her toward her room. “Let’s get all of the toys, Maddie!”

When the girls are out of sight, Arthur releases a cough he’s been suppressing and buries it into the crook of his arm. A tea party won’t be too labor-intensive at least. He’d rather sit down and drink tea with the girls than have to run around with them in the yard.

He makes himself a large mug of tea with honey and lemon. Then, he grabs whatever leftover pastries are in the fridge—Francis is always baking something for the girls, it seems like. Thankfully, he finds some chocolate chip cookies as well as financiers. He sets them on a plate, gathers extra silverware and napkins for the girls, and makes his way back up the stairs, clearing his aching throat along the way.

When he arrives at Amelia’s room, the little children’s activity table that she normally keeps against the wall has been moved to the center of the room, along with two children’s chairs and two beanbag chairs.

Arthur doesn’t particularly like the seating arrangement, but he knows better than to complain. He places the treats, napkins, and his tea on the table and makes himself as comfortable as he can in one of the beanbag chairs, letting his weight sink into it with a sigh.

Amelia and Madeline have lined up their teddy bears and dolls around the room, and Madeline seems to have drawn a sign on a poster board that proudly says, “MADDIE AND AMELIA’S TEA PARTY.” The text is surrounded by doodles of flowers, teacups, and stars.

“What a beautiful sign, Madeline,” Arthur compliments her.

She sheepishly smiles and hugs her favorite teddy bear, Kumajirou, against her chest. “Thank you…Daddy, you didn’t wear your tie. You were suppose’ta dress up for the tea party.”

He looks down at his attire and frowns. Yes, perhaps flannel pajama bottoms, a black t-shirt, slippers, and his gray bathrobe weren’t a great stylistic choice. Both of the girls are wearing dresses and tights. “My apologies, ladies. I can change, if you’d like?”

“It’s okay. You just havta act like a gentleman,” Madeline instructs, and Arthur can’t help but smile at how endearing all of this is.

He should enjoy it while it lasts—the girls won’t be interested in having tea parties with him when they’re older. Although he’d rather be in bed, he’s glad he agreed to this.

“I’ll try to be on my best behavior,” he assures them before taking a sip of his tea.

“You havta stick your pinkie finger out,” Amelia reminds before pretending to pour tea for herself and Madeline from their children’s tea kettle and into plastic teacups.

Arthur puts his pinkie out and nods. “Ahh, how could I forget? So, tell me, has anything interesting been happening at school?”

Amelia immediately begins to talk about how some other girl in their class recently got a new bike, and how she feels awful that she’s six and a half years old and can’t ride a bike yet. “Will you teach me, Dad?”

“Of course, love. When summer comes we can think about it.”

“Promise?”

He’s learned his lesson about making promises. “We’ll see,” he says instead, ignoring the expression of disappointment on Amelia’s face. He takes a napkin from the table, excuses himself, and blows his nose softly, wincing at the ache in his sinuses…He’s feeling a bit feverish as well.

“Are you okay?” Madeline asks him, concerned.

“I’m just a bit under the weather,” he admits. “So, no hugging or kissing—I don’t watch you girls to catch this.”

Madeline doesn’t seem to be willing to let the subject go just yet. “Did you take medicine?”

“I will in a little while. Thank you, poppet.”

Amelia stands up and comes over to him to yank on his arm. “You havta go to bed, you’re sick. You always say we can’t play when we’re sick and havta rest, remember?”

Arthur feels his patience thinning, but having an excuse to lie down for a moment could be worth it.

“I can’t go to bed. I have to take care of you girls. It’ll be lunchtime soon, and I have to—”

“No, mister.”

“But I—”

“No buts!” Amelia scolds him, and for a second, he forgets who the adult in the room is.

He picks up his mug of tea and begrudgingly follows Amelia back to the master bedroom, where he obediently lies down on his and Francis’s bed, groaning when his sore muscles meet the memory foam mattress.

“We’ll take good care of you!” Amelia exclaims, exuberant.

Arthur’s not too sure he’s looking forward to this, but as the girls go and conspire out in the hallway, he allows himself to close his eyes for just a moment…Only a moment…He has to stay up to watch the girls…

The next time he opens his eyes, Amelia is poking a thermometer against his mouth, waking him from a very brief snooze.

“You’ve gotta take your temperature, Dad.”

Now that his body has had a taste of sleep, he feels absolutely exhausted. He takes the thermometer from her and puts it under his tongue, curious to see what the reading will be. When it beeps, he grimaces at the number taunting him. A hundred and two point seven. That’s thirty-nine degrees Celsius—enough to signal to him that this is probably more than a mere cold.

“Do you have a fever?” Madeline asks from the end of the bed, eyes shimmering.

“No,” he lies. “I’m fine, girls. It’s nothing to worry about…You should both return to the tea party. I’m going to rest here for a moment and—”

Amelia touches his forehead with her cold hand, and he shivers. “You need medicine.”

“I’m all right for now, girls. Really. Go back and play.”

To his surprise, the girls do leave, and he lets out a sigh of relief…That is, until he hears Amelia talking to someone over the house phone in the distance.

He jolts out of bed and dashes over to her, but it’s too late…

“Papa wants to talk to you,” she says, matter-of-fact.

Damn.

He takes the phone from her, feeling a growing pit of dread in his stomach. “Hello?”

“Arthur, why didn’t you tell me before I left the house this morning that you were feeling ill?”

“I’m fine, Francis.”

“I’ll be home in an hour.”

“You don’t—”

“See you then.”

And just like that, Francis hangs up.

Arthur puts the phone down and prepares his most intimidating scowl, ready to direct it at Amelia, but then she pulls on his arm again and says, “We can play tea party next time. Don’t worry. You’ll be all better soon.”

The scowl disappears and is replaced by a wistful smile. “Thank you, love. I’m sorry our plans have to be put on hold. I’ll make it up to you both, all right?”

The girls nod, and Arthur sends them off to finish the pastries that are still waiting for them in Amelia’s room. In the meantime, he finishes his tea and blows his nose again. He sucks on a cough drop and grits his teeth against the immense pressure in his sinuses. After seeing the color of his mucus, he’s willing to bet he has a sinus infection.

He leans against the headboard of the bed and falls asleep against his will.

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

“Come, mon amour—you’re going to have a sore neck and back if you stay like this. Lie down properly,” Francis coaxes him, bracing his head for him.

Arthur’s not sure how long he’s been asleep, but he lowers his head so that it’s on his pillow and lies flat on his back. “…You didn’t have to come home early.”

“I’m glad I did—you have a fever, and a high one at that,” Francis says, setting a damp hand towel on his feverish brow. “Did you really think you’d be able to tend to the girls when you’re like this? It’s dangerous. You should have told me.”

“…'m sorry,” Arthur mumbles, still incredibly tired. The towel on his head feels nice.

“You just wanted a reason to leave the tea party, didn’t you?” Francis jokes, brushing his hand against his warm cheek. “The girls told me about it.”

“Oh, of course. The next time I’m asked to play dress-up or ‘hair salon’ with them, I just may have to give myself bronchitis.”

Francis laughs and kisses the side of his head. “Conniving man.”

[jawritter]

No, Screw You Sweetheart

Summary:  You HATE Dean Winchester, I mean really, REALLY hate him.

Written for: @anaelsbrunette Birthday Celebration! Happy Birthday hun!! 💜

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Prompt: Move away from the door and let me at him.

Warnings: Smut, unprotected smut, fingering, a little bit of a daddy!kink, girl on top, language. I think that’s about it.

Word Count: 2016

A/N: This fic is completely unbeta’d so all mistakes are mine! Please DO NOT COPY MY WORK! Feedback is golden! Hope you all enjoy this one! I decided to take a break from the Christmas fics to bring you some porn, so here ya go lol.

**MASTERLIST**  **BECOME A PATREON**

Dean and yourself had a bit of a love/hate relationship. Okay, maybe that was a little harsh. You and Dean had a “you get on my last dying nerve, but since killing you will upset your little brother I’ll choose to just let you live,” relationship.

That really doesn’t sound any better, does it?

Normally you could ignore your distaste for the eldest Winchester. Normally you stayed out of each other’s way. When you worked with the Winchesters you usually worked mostly with Sam. Not this time. This time you had to work with Dean, solo, on a witch hunt. Therefore all of Dean’s little annoying habits were all right in your face, and dammit, you had enough of his shit to last you a lifetime. By the time you got back to the bunker, you were ready to pull your hair out; or his...

Dean being who he is, he couldn’t just leave you alone, could he? Fuck no, he had to press his luck, and in extension press your buttons. So when he walked by you and childishly tugged on your hair, not hard enough to hurt you but just to get on your nerves, you lost it. 

Way deep down you knew that giving chase is the exact reaction he wanted out of you, but that annoyingly gorgeous face, peppered with those annoyingly adorable freckles just got under your skin some type of way, and it was on. 

Dean bolted through the hallways of the bunker towards Sam’s room, knowing damn good and well you had every intention of jumping on top of him, and getting him back in whatever way you could think of that would inflict pain, but no permanent damage. Starting with those damn perky ass nipples that drove you crazy. Always seeming to stand out teasingly against his tight undershirts, giving you just enough of a tease to send your imagination into overdrive. 

Okay, maybe there wasn’t as much “hate” involved in this relationship as much as there was a lot of pint of sexual frustration on your end. 

“Sammy,” Dean yelled, bursting through the door of Sam’s bedroom, and jumping over the bed to hide in the far side of the room. “She’s trying to kill me!”

Sam confusedly jumped to his feet and stood at the door of his room, blocking you from getting to a cowering Dean, who was having a damn hard time hiding that smirk that was pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

“Move away from the door and let me at him, Sam. I promise I won't cause any permanent damage. Not like you Winchesters can actually stay dead any damn way.”

Sam gave his brother a narrowed eyed stare as Dean snorted out a laugh, leaning against the brick wall of his brother’s bedroom before turning his gaze back to you who was doing everything you could do to get past the overly tall Winchester and to the elder asshole in the room. 

“I’m just spitballing here Dean, but I’m pretty sure that you asked for this, whatever you did,” Sam said, still blocking the door to his room where Dean was peaking around his brother, daring to move closer. 

“Bullshit,” Dean mocked annoyance. “I did nothing worthy of the pain she’s wanting to inflict on me.”

“I doubt that,” Sam said, looking over his shoulder at Dean, who was staring at you with an impish grin on his perfect face. He looked almost boyishly adorable when he did that, and it got under your skin just how much it seemed to send a torrent of butterflies loose in your stomach every time he looked at you that way. The nerve of him.

“He pulled my hair,” you tell Sam accusingly. Sam rolled his eyes as Dean stuck his tongue out at you.

“You know what,” Sam said, grabbing Dean by the collar of the shirt and you by the shoulder, guiding you towards Dean’s room. “I think I know what needs to happen here, and I never thought I’d say this but you two have left me no choice.” 

Sam came to a stop in front of Dean’s door and opened it before shoving the two of you inside together. “You two need to fuck. I’m tired of this middle school teasing going on between the two of you. Handle it like adults, and leave me alone.”

With that Sam slammed the door, leaving you alone with Dean, who immediately started backing up with his hands in the air. 

“Look, I had nothing to do with that,” Dean said earnestly. “I was just giving you a hard time because I like to get a rise out of you, that was all Sam.”

Your eyes narrowed at him and you took a threatening step closer to him. “You like to ‘get a rise out of me’, do you Winchester?” you asked, watching those jean-clad bowed legs as they backed him up towards the wall of his room. 

“Well, yeah. You're cute when you're mad,” he admitted with a smirk, licking those damn lips of his as his eyes raked over your unashamed. 

Your mouth hung open in disbelief as you stared at him, all joking and playfulness falling from your stance as you stumbled over your own thoughts. 

Of everything you expected to come out of his mouth, that was not what you thought he was going to tell you. To save your dignity you did the only thing you could think to do, hoping that he hadn’t noticed you falter, and praying that you could walk out of here with your head held high, and your self-esteem mostly intact. 

“You’re such an asshole, you know that? You’ve been driving me fucking crazy this whole hunt because you think it’s cute?” 

You hadn’t realized you were backing away from him, not until he started to slowly stalk his way towards you as his olive-green eyes darkened. 

“That’s what I said. Don’t think I stuttered,” he said, his deep rumble becoming impossibly deeper as you took another step back and he matched your pace, slowly narrowing the space between the two of you.

“The teasing, the immature little pranks, the nitpicking over every fucking thing I did on this hunt, It was all to just get under my skin,” you asked him.

“Yup, you got a baby girl,” he practically growled as your back hit the bedroom door, and he closed the distance between the two of you, standing practically chest to chest with you. Your heart was beating so loud against your rib cage you were pretty sure he could hear it from where he was standing practically chest to chest with you.

“Screw you, Winchester,” you retort in a breathy, much less fiery comeback, to entrapped in the way his body was practically pressing you into the hardwood of the door behind him; in the way his scent was all but seeping through your skin and into your bones while his dark gaze did all but ruin you without even laying a single hand on you. 

The smirk that he gave you in response nearly knocked you breathless, his gaze shamelessly sinking down your body and utterly soaking your panties in the process. “No, screw you, Sweetheart.”

Dean’s lips came crashing into yours in a bruising, fire laced kiss. Invading your mouth with his warm, wet tongue, licking into the heat of your mouth shamelessly as your fingers carded through the short hairs at the base of his neck and goosebumps erupted over your quickly overheating skin. 

“I fucking hate you,” you growled at him, biting down on his lip hard enough to get his attention but do no real damage. It would be a shame to damage such a pretty face after all. 

Dean chuckled darkly as his hand made quick work of unbuckling your pants and shoving his thick fingers into your underwear, running across your slick soaked folders, teasing your entrance, and putting a delicious amount of pressure on your already throbbing clit.

“Oh honey, your mouth says you hate me, but these ruined fucking panties you’re wearing are singing a different tune,” he said, lips brushing against your own with every word. His warm breath fanning over your face as you check flush with arousal, and two of his thick fingers sink deep inside of your already fluttering walls while his thumb continues its agonizingly wonderful circles on your little bundle of nerves. His fingers curling and pumping, driving your hire in a hurry, and before you knew it you were all but begging him for that release he kept you teetering on the edge of, but not letting you fall completely over. 

“Please Dean, please,” you beg him, moaning as quickens the pace of his fingers. 

“Please what baby, tell Daddy what you need,” he said, nipping at your lips your legs begin to shake, and your walls start to crumble around his fingers.

“Please De, let me come,” you beg him. His teeth scrape your pulse points and his fingers dive deeper into your fluttering heat. 

“Go ahead, baby girl. Come for Daddy,” he growled against your lips. 

Your orgasm railed through your body like an out of control freight train as your walls clamped down around his thick digits while worked you through your high, swallowing your moans as you shook in his hold until you were all but limp against him. 

“Fuck Dean,” you gasp as he picked you up as if you weighed nothing, and carried you over to his bed, peppering you with little kisses before dropping you down on the soft memory foam mattress. 

“Still hate me,” he asked, laying down beside you and letting your roll him onto his back and straddle his hips, looking down at his gorgeous green eyes as your fingers trail down the freckled sin of his chest before you grip the hymn of your shit and pull it over your head, slowly peeling off each layer of clothes and only getting off of him long enough to remove all your clothes so that you could sink down on his thick, throbbing length, smirking as his mouth goes slack when he’d become fully sheath inside you. Stretching you in the most amazing way. 

“I can’t fucking stand you, Winchester,” you tell him, lifting off of him before slamming back down on his length, enjoying the little whimper that left his lips as he started to lift his hips to meet each painfully slow roll of your hips as you slide up and down his length, dragging it out and torturing him just as he had you through this whole hunt. 

“Your perfect face, and that cocky ass attitude, someone needs to put your in your damn place.”

You quickened your pace and he all but arched off the bed underneath you, hands finding your hips and helping you ride him; perfect white teeth sinking down in his lower lip so hard that it was practically bleeding before he could bring himself to answer you, his cock throbbing inside your velvet heat as you both barrelled towards your release quickly. 

“Then put me in my place baby girl,” he growled as your second orgasm flowed through your body and hot ropes of come painted your walls as he yelled into his release underneath you. 

Hours later Sam had not seen either of you and was starting to worry that he’d made the wrong call by putting the two of you in the room together and telling you to “work out” your problems. So he quietly slipped up to Dean’s door, cracking it just enough to see inside, noting how you were both curled up into each other’s hold sound asleep with clothes littering the floor, and sheets barely covering your modesty. He smiled to himself as he shut the door, laughing as he made his way down the hallway to the library. Now maybe the two of you would be just a little less annoying and he could finally get some peace and quiet.

Forever Tags: 

@deandreamernp

@forgetthisbull

@miraclesoflove

@deanwanddamons 

@rvgrsbrns 

@chevyharvelle 

@onethirstyunicorn 

@i-love-superhero 

@lyss-dw79 

@magssteenkamp 

@lemondropirwin 

@squirrelnotsam 

@hobby27 

@spnbaby-67  

@mrsjenniferwinchester 

@defenderrosetyler 

@screechingartisancashbailiff 

@thecreatiivecorner  

@vicmc624 

@busy-bee-angel-misska 

@justanotherwinchester

@brilovesdeanwinchester

@idksupernatural

@lyarr24 

@amandamdiehl 

@miraclesoflove 

 @emoryhemsworth 

@dean-winchesters-gardian-angel 

@softsebastian 

@tatted-trina6

@anaelsbrunette 

@hayleeharling   

@flamencodiva 

@coldmuffinbanditshoe 

@dirty-pan-goblin 

@itmejado 

@supernatural3002 

@teresa-67 

@thoughts-and-funnies 

@hearteyes-j2

@miss-nerd95 

@writers-whirlwind

@peaches007

Dean’s Babes

@forgetthisbull​

Jensen and Dean’s Babes

@msmarvelouswinchester​

@akshi8278​

@love-jackles-37-blog​

[djmarinizelablog]

hi! read your last ask and you said that you took up creative writing classes so you might have a wider knowledge about this but i was wondering when u mentioned different writing styles (like minimalistic, hightened imagery, linear vilennete and all of that) could you maybe explain the difference and what they really mean and maybe examples in our own levihan nation and writers? this might be asking for too much but i was pretty lost and i'd like to know more about all that. however you are def free to ignore this too!

Did you just ask me to write a comprehensive poetics essay, Anon? (I love writing about writing lmao)

Super long post ahead, and I’ll be citing certain fanfics that I’ve read so far and those that I think somehow exemplifies all the different writing styles I mentioned in the previous post. 

First off, the ones I listed beforehand (minimalistic prose, heightened imagery, poetic language, linear narrative, non-linear vignettes) aren’t the only types of writing styles. There are more if you consider the variations of tone (humor/comedy, sentimental, macabre, noir etc), narration/perspective (first person, second person, third person omniscient/limited), and language (dialogue-heavy or action/scene-driven). And the nice thing is that you can actually use of one or two of them in your work---or all of them, if you’re feeling bold. 

As Hange always loves to do: “Let’s experiment!”

--------

I’ll start with minimalistic prose. It is what it is: short, clear, and concise. Think less is more. You have an economy with words where you disregard most adverbs and focus more on the context to make way for meaning, thus allowing the readers to create their own interpretations of your writing. I think the method here is to write your intended draft first, and then cut the unnecessary words to flesh out the scene even more.

Notice how @stereobone wrote this paragraph of Black Dog (an Eruri fic):

Isabel's voice wakes him, brother, brother, has him sitting upright in bed and grabbing for the knife under his mattress. He braces himself for the attack before he realizes there isn't one. There is nothing in the darkness but him and his heavy, panicked breathing. Levi's heart feels like it's trying to beat its way out of his chest. He drops the knife on the mattress and shuts his eyes and tries not to think about Farlan's bloody resigned face before he was eaten. He tries not to think about how he left them. How it's his fault.

It’s very simplistic in language; the paragraph lets you focus on Levi’s innermost thoughts while he deals with an external action (ie, having nightmares). The author hasn’t unraveled the rest of the plot yet, but you already know where the tension is coming from.

Next is heightened imagery. If you’re familiar with the different figures of speech (metaphor, simile, personification, hyperbole, etc), then this is where they all come into play. I think the challenge here is being able to balance it well with the text itself and make sure that the imagery actually clarifies the context of the paragraph instead of convoluting the intended meaning. 

Here’s an excerpt from A Dangerous Game by just_quintessentially_me:

Hanji watched Levi, standing there, head bent and bloodied handkerchief pressed against his arm, and was reminded, irrationally, of a night years ago. When her parents had taken her to the circus. [. . . .] Holding her parent’s hands, she’d gaped, head craned back as she watched the spectacle, a cacophonous mixture of sound and color. At the center of it all, she’d spied a boy. Among the twisting colors and tricks, he alone, was still. [. . . .] The boy was high above, balancing on a platform atop a long pole. In front of him, stretched an audaciously thin rope. Below, no net waited to catch him.

[. . . .]

When Levi looked up, his expression was set - like the boy before the tightrope. And she knew, with sinking certainty, he was going to take the step. Into thin air.

Gray eyes met her gaze and held it.

“Yeah. I’ll go.”

At the door, Kenny smiled.

See how the powerful imagery of the boy on the tightrope was able to fuel the tension in that moment among Levi, Hange, and Kenny? 

I think poetic language is akin to heightened imagery, except that the former is more focused on the actual language. It’s very lyrical, wherein you can actually hear the lulling song of the sentences in a rhythm. One of my favorite works that does this is Deep sea baby by @smallblip. Here she makes use of various setting and scenery to create this entire atmosphere of Levi and Hange’s relationship:

Hanji knows whatever life they've led, this is her favourite.

The one in which her and Levi see the sea for the first time together.

The one in which she’s the Commander, and him, her Captain. And between them, a river of words left unsaid threatening to break the banks.

One day they must cross the ocean, but today they visit the shores again, without the kids this time. And Levi learns why when he watches her peel at her clothes. Her harness comes off first, then her blouse, then everything else, like a little dance for an audience of one. Levi tries not to stare, but he’s already seen her by candlelight in the dead of the night. And yet she never fails to take his breath away.

She makes her way to where the white foams dredge the past up the shores of the present.

"Come on Levi! The water is warm!" she says, and he hears it like a call to come home- where the heavens collide with the sea.

He takes off his clothes and folds them in a neat pile beside Hanji's mess. He swims out to join her.

It’s hauntingly poetic, the way the author is able to connect the metaphor in “a river of words” to the actual body of water right in front of Levi and Hange. Good poetic language is able to tighten up the texts together while keeping the sentence structure flowing with apt figures of speech.

When it comes to narratives, it only comes down to linear or non-linear. See how @lostcauses-noregrets does her opening statement in Trains (also an Eruri fic):

Levi hates trains. To be fair, Levi hates all forms of public transport, but he reserves a particular loathing for trains. They’re dirty, noisy, smelly and worse, filled with people. People who, heaven forbid, might attempt to speak to Levi, engage him in conversation. Levi’s worst nightmare is being stuck on a train with some friendly fuck who wants to pass the time making small talk. Admittedly it’s not a problem he has to deal with too often, his general fuck off demeanour deters all but the most aggressively friendly and hopelessly inebriated. But that doesn’t stop Levi from hating trains.

It’s a short fic and it’s very dependent on the linearity of events happening. But with that banger of a first sentence, the beginning already gives you enough of an idea of Levi’s pet peeve in the story, which in this case, is trains.

Here’s another hot and steamy fic called keep him waiting by keobuns that shows a linear narrative: 

He’s sitting with them in the back of the lab, nursing a cup of tea — it’s still pretty full, and even cold now, for he was far too distracted listening to Hanji talk to properly drink — when he sees it. Hanji’s too preoccupied with overexplaining the same Titan experiment they’ve gone over a hundred times to notice his stare. They just continue on and on and on, gesturing with their hands, pointing with their fingers, flexing their wrists…

Ah. Levi has to bring his teacup to his lips to hide the way his lips tremble. Hanji has incredibly nice hands.

The entire story just revolves around Levi simping for Hange’s hands and how it all goes down from there. But you as a reader are kept wanting more with every paragraph and every sentence that the author constructs (and trust me, it’s not just the sexual tension between Levi and Hange that keeps us going).

Now, as much as I love the straightforwardness of linear prose, non-linear writing brings a different round of ideas onto the table. It can create recollections from flashbacks, heighten the perspective or interior turmoil of a character due to trauma or grief, or even just re-invent what-if scenes that the characters have imagined themselves. 

Gnossiene by @thatalmondgirl​ is one of my all-time favorite Rivetra fics. In this excerpt, you will see how she switches between the past and the present, and how it affects Petra’s POV as a conflicted character:

Contrary to popular belief (fuck Auruo) Petra actually didn’t cry easily.

Alright, she could admit that at some times, she was...emotional. It was far from a weakness, but even she could admit that they sometimes got in the way and walled off all rational thought. Anger, frustration, sadness, hell, even happiness. The only one she could easily compartmentalise away was fear, which probably stemmed from her military career. Even so. It was never easy to separate all the others from her actions, think from a clean slate like the Commander could do, like the captain. [. . . ] Petra groaned, splayed out across her bed. She drew her arm across her eyes, willing the tears to go away. She’d already blown through her tissue box.

“Petra, a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.” Mama sat on the end of her bed, with Petra on the floor between her legs. Even though Petra argued firmly that she was old enough to brush her own hair, Mama had insisted. Unfortunately, Petra wasn’t old enough - and probably never would be - to disagree with her mother.

“I know, Mama.” Petra grumbled.

“I don’t think you do. Else you wouldn’t be crying, would you?”

[. . . .]

“But a man shouldn’t complete you when you complete yourself. Maybe he’s an extension to your house. So you’ll be sad if the extension is compromised or burns down. But you still have the main house. And if it’s strong, the main house can still be standing even after the worst storm.”

Aside from Mama’s crazy metaphors that sometimes didn’t make sense, her message hit home. Even if it hit home years later.

See how it switched in between the before and after? 

An off-shoot of non-linear writing are vignettes (a layering of scenes separated by section breaks) wherein this writing style allows writers to curate scenes in terms of fragments, creating some kind of mosaic for the readers once they finally see the big picture. Nakimochiku’s I’m leaving, are you coming with me? stacks up scenes of interactions between Levi and Hange, enough to depict the kind of relationship that they have as young lovers in a school setting. You can string these fragments together, rearrange them in a different order, but in the end, you will still get the author's clear goal of highlighting how Levi and Hange’s relationship develops over time.

Those are the styles that I mentioned in my previous posts, but as I’ve told you, there’s more to writing than those, so I’ll give a short run-through of other methods in writing. 

Whether it’s dialogue-heavy works such as from my window to yours, or action-driven scenes like Carnivores (a Levi x Reader fic by CaptainDegenerate) that propel the story forward, we as readers should be able to follow through the actual storyline that the authors intend to take us. 

A third-person limited (we listen to Hange’s thoughts in Clockwork by @tundrainafrica) vis-à-vis an all-knowing/omniscient narration (the moon is dark by @sayonarasanity alternates the perspective of Levi and Hange) should be able to make us understand why the author chose this particular kind of point-of-view in order to tell the story. 

And lastly, having a solid and consistent tone throughout the work (the macabre of Even Humanity’s Strongest could make mistakes by Rimeko versus the sweet sentimentality of Flowers for You by @fanmoose12) should be able to set the atmosphere that the authors want us to imbibe as we read through their works. 

So there’s your crash course on writing and reading. Enjoy? :) 

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Behind Closed Doors

Keanu Reeves x OFC (Emma Mathers)

Masterlist Prologue

Warnings- Tiny, tiny bits of angst, but not a lot.

Chapter 1 The Pancake Disaster

2 Months later

The mattress dipped gently, though, it was a small body flinging itself on top of hers that awoke her, just past seven am. A tiny, though excitable voice shrieking, “Emma!” Right into her ear was enough to finish the job, and with a suppressed groan, she turned onto her back, careful not to let Matt fall off her, even if he’d really only be hitting the memory foam.

Groggily, Emma wiped the sleep out of her eyes, coming to her senses. Stretching and yawning, she found it hard not to return Matt’s little smile, "Good morning,” she smacked her lips, trying to wake herself up some more, totally not prepared for him to leap back into her lap, “What’s up kiddo?” It wasn’t like the twins hadn’t woken her early in the morning before, she’d been living with the Reeves’ for going on two months and she’d found that kids seemed to enjoy awaking with the sun. Though, it was odd for Matt to bound into her room with such urgency, with his teeth already brushed and without his sister.

“Daddy’s making pancakes,” he jumped up excitedly in her lap, and Emma had to hold him at the hips to ensure he didn’t toss himself off the bed by accident, “But he’s terrible at it!” Crawling out from the safety of her embrace, Matt crept to the edge of her bed, nearer to her side, jumping off and proceeding to tug on her hand encouragingly, “You need to come help him, or its gonna be a disaster!”

Chuckling quietly, Emma shook her head, running her free hand through her caramel highlighted hair, kicking off the sheets. Swinging her bare, tan legs out of bed, it was almost a struggle to keep up with Matt without stumbling over her fluffy slippers, “Slow down Matty, I still have to brush my teeth.”

“Ugh,” Matt pouted deeply, as if she’d just ended his world. Though, his expression perked up soon after and he let her hand go, “Okay! But you have to come soon, before daddy burns the kitchen down,” he made a few explosive noises gesturing wildly with his tiny arms, and Emma couldn’t help the splitting grin that painted her features. They’d come a long way since that first meeting; Matt had been the first to warm up to her, and now, there was very little that he didn’t want Emma around for. And Poppy, while it had taken her a couple weeks, she’d more or less broken out of her shell, probably finding it nice to have someone to do her hair and who’d let her paint their nails. By then, it went without saying that the children absolutely adored Emma, and she’d be lying if she said that she didn’t feel the same. Matt and Poppy had filled a void that Emma didn’t even know was there until they’d made her laugh. Time spent with them was incomparable, and every time she’d though she couldn’t be amazed by them, they'd do something so beautiful that she couldn’t help but adore them even more.

And then, there was Keanu. Like his children, he had a colorful personality, never ceasing to amaze her. Though, the affections she’d grown for him……they were different. In quiet moments, Emma had found that she’d lost an hour or two just thinking about him; how bright his smile was, how his deep, rumbling chuckle warmed her heart and how even the slightest of touches could make her stomach flutter, and when he was around, watching him with his kids was almost enough to make her heart burst. He wasn’t around very often, owning a successful company and being a movie sensation did eat up a lot of his time, but when Keanu was there, he was always putting out his best for those two.

“Emma!” Matt broke her thoughts, and Emma hadn’t realized that she’d just been lingering near the door of the adjoining bathroom. Her bedroom at Keanu’s house was near triple the one she grew up in back in Nevada, and the one in her old apartment might have been a matchbox compared to it. The room was beautifully decorated too, modern minimalism matching the rest of the house.

“Yeah,” she shook off her thoughts, “Sorry hun. Why don’t you go wait in the kitchen and I’ll be out in a few.” With a quick, purposeful nod, Matt ran out of the room, his light footsteps barely audible. Shaking her head, Emma just chortled softly at his behavior, eccentric, much like his father’s.

In the bathroom, she made short work of quickly freshening up, deciding that she’d head out in her pajamas, an oversized cable knit sweater and a pair of shorts, and shower after she’d been covered in flour, batter, syrup and whatever else they’d decided to get into in the kitchen. Grabbing a hair tie off the counter, Emma maintained eye contact with her reflection on the awning mirror over the sink as she piled her hair into a messy bun at top her head, tendrils carelessly curtaining the sides of her face and the little diamond studs adorning her ears twinkling lowly. Free of the moisturizer she'd worn to bed, Emma dabbed a nearby hand towel below her eyes and on her cheeks, soaking up whatever water had remained after she’d rinsed her face, and finally, when she was finished, she headed out, intent on the kitchen downstairs.

Downstairs, Emma was almost stunned by what she’d walked into. The typically blindingly white and ever spotless kitchen was far different that it had ever been since she’d moved in. Clutter adorned the counter tops and the marble island, while there was a growing mountain of dishes in the deep farm sink. There was a spill on the floor too and all in all, the kitchen looked as if a small tornado had wreaked havoc on the room. And something was definitely burning. After the initial shock had passed, Emma rediscovered her voice, though her tone was still laced with an air of confusion, “What is happening in here?”

As if caught in the act of doing something insanely criminal, Matt, Poppy and Keanu all looked up at her from where they’d gathered around the island. Keanu was at the electric stove, a frying pan on one of the flat burners, while the twins were a safe distance away from the action, attempting to help by taking turns stirring the batter and both perched on the counter. Their printed pjs, Poppy’s with Disney princesses and Matt’s with race cars, were messed up with flour, and Keanu’s face was the same.

“We’re making you breakfast.” Surprisingly, it was Keanu who’d spoken up, looking bewildered and far out of his element. Then, smiling sheepishly, he cast his head down, “But I guess we’re just giving you more work, aren’t we?” He sighed, clearly embarrassed that his sweet gesture had gone awry, “I’m sorry-”

“No,” Emma blushed, she couldn’t believe that he’d thought of her, gone out of his way to try to make her breakfast for no foreseeable reason. “Its okay,” she reassured, cautiously approaching them, “I am so, so grateful that you thought of me, and tried to do something so sweet, really,” gently, she touched Matt and Poppy’s faces, quickly pecking them on the foreheads, “But maybe I could help too?” And by help, Emma actually meant take over so she could do some damage control and save Zelda, the housekeeper, the task of a huge clean up.

Before Keanu could oblige or protest, Poppy spoke up, telling the whole truth as children usually did, “It was daddy’s idea Emma! You should thank him!” She beamed, all but hopping onto Emma’s waist.

“I…..” Keanu stuttered, visible parts of his cheeks going tomato red, “I just- it’s just…..You know, you do so much for us. You’re up early every morning, making us breakfast. You take care of us, I just thought that we should do something nice for you,” he rambled on, avoiding her gaze. It was true though, while Emma had been hired to care for the children, preparing their meals, getting them ready for the day, watching them when they weren’t with their tutors and everything in between, she'd started picking up after him too. Tossing his laundry in with the kids' and making him meals so Zelda wouldn't have too. “Maybe we should have just taken you out,” he finally concluded with a quiet laugh, "Would have saved you the trouble of having to come in here and dealing with this disaster."

"Its okay," tentatively, Emma squeezed Keanu's surprisingly firm bicep reassuringly, and when he glanced at her, the moment feeling more intimate then she'd intended, her breath hitched. Still, her hand lingered, and Keanu didn't seem bothered enough to pull away. Emma held his gaze, her heart jumping after he turned a bit more, the space between them almost becoming mute and his chest close to her face, his stare penetrating. "Um," she cleared her throat quietly, knowing that the kids were watching and that their behavior was borderline inappropriate. They were too close, she was holding on for too long. But getting lost in his eyes seemed so much easier than letting go.

“It’s okay,” Emma repeated, trying to shake off the feeling that came with being in close proximity to her boss, “Why don’t I finish this, and you can……”

“Make coffee,” Keanu interjected when Emma trailed off, “And start cleaning up. I can do that without,” he gestured widely with his hands, the way Matt often did when he was flustered or excited, “Burning it.”

Smiling giddily at his erratic behavior, almost mesmerized by Keanu, Emma nodded stiffly, “That’s uh…..” Emma laughed breathlessly, vaguely aware of Matt striking up some harmless mischief off to their sides, but knowing that they only had a matter of minutes before……

A distressed scream erupted, followed by Poppy’s despondence, “Daddy! Emma! Matt put pancake batter in my hair.” When they turned, lo and behold, Poppy’s dark strands were streaked with the batter, some of it already on her pajamas and in her hands, while she was on the verge of tears.

“Matt!” Emma and Keanu scolded in unison, and immediately, she slipped past Keanu, scooping Poppy up on her hip, walking over the sink to start washing the sticky batter off before Poppy could really start crying. “Why’d you do that, Matty?” Keanu continued behind them, his stern side coming out. “You need to apologize to you sister,” he explained, lifting Matt off the counter, setting him on the floor, “We’re not supposed to pull mean pranks on each other, remember.”

“Yeah,” dejected, Matt dragged himself over to where Emma had just set Poppy down, parts of her hair still wet and a frown still painting her face. “I’m sorry Pop,” as she leaned on the sink Emma folded her arms, watching with a soft smile as the siblings made up, the sweet moment between them making her wish she had a sibling, and worse yet, making her want kids of her own. It wasn’t quite in the cards for her just yet though, Keanu paid well, but not that well, she lived in his house and it would be exceptionally hard to raise a kid when most of your time was spent taking care of someone else’s.

Still, for as long as it lasted, Emma could make do with doting on Matt and Poppy, feeling a swell of pride when they did something so magical that it reminded her of the purity of children, like when the two decided to hug it out, quickly forgetting how upset they both were. That was one of the greatest things about kids; they were so innocent that the notion of holding grudges was completely foreign to them. It was so…….untainted.

As he wiped down the counter, trying to clear a decent work station, Keanu found himself occasionally stealing glances at Emma, leant on the sink with her arms folded. She looked beautiful, almost ethereal, with her hair up in a bun, wispy honey hued strands curtaining her flawless features, oversized beige sweater guarding her perfect curves, and tiny shorts that boasted her smooth, tanned legs, the light sheen of lotion still present. Keanu thought that he'd ever met a woman quite so naturally stunning.

She's too young for you, was what the voice in the back of his mind protested, along with several other valid arguments. But for some reason, tearing his gaze away had continuously proven to be a trying task. Keanu didn't want to look away, as corrupted as it was, he wanted to hold Emma; trace his thumb over her pink, plump lips, feel her hot breath fan his cheek, know what it was like to have her satiny skin brush against his.

He wondered if she knew her effect, what it did to him when she swayed her hips as she walked, or gnawed on her lower lip between thoughts. Keanu wondered sometimes, how easy it would be in another situation, to have her all spread out under him. Or simply, to just have her company, listen to Emma talk about whatever she wanted, be the man she went to for the most intimate of reasons, a shoulder to cry on, when she wanted someone to make her laugh.

A crush.

That's what he might have called it twenty something odd years ago. But at his age, Keanu thought of it as more of a fantasy. A very cliché one at that; lusting over the nanny. Maybe if she wasn't the nanny………. Oh, but she was. The one that his children, the apples of his eyes, his pride and joy, the two best people in life, adored to death. Keanu wasn't sure if they knew it themselves, but he could tell; Poppy and Matt were growing affections for Emma that ran past likenesses, they loved her.

The relationship that Emma had grown to share with his children was one of the more unadulterated things that had fueled his ridiculous attraction to her. They adored her, and she them, and it was warming to see her laugh with them, care for them, the way a mother might. Still, there was so, so much more than Keanu liked; her laugh, that little half smile she’d offer him when they bumped into each other in passing, the way having her around felt. Like she made their home more complete, the one missing jigsaw piece that was so satisfying when it was slipped into place.

Hoping she wouldn’t notice his lingering stare, Keanu carried on with clean up, a grin ever present on his rugged features as Emma continued without much concern; getting the kids to help set the table without fuss and finishing the pancakes while she was at it. It felt so normal, so domestic, Keanu was usually so busy getting ready to leave that he was often left grabbing what she’d carved out the time to pack for him, kissing Matt and Poppy just as he left. But that Saturday morning, he got the chance to live almost the way he’d hoped to with Diane; the twins’ mother, before she walked out on them.

Before the painful memories could wash over him, Emma was calling everyone to sit for breakfast and Keanu once again sank into the present. Laughing when Matt and Poppy did something cute, smiling brightly when Emma doted on them and eventually, when it was over and they’d hurried off to the TV room, feeling a sense of giddiness that accompanied being alone with her. “Did you do this a lot when you were a kid?” Keanu probed as he and Emma finished up in the kitchen.

She was busy clearing the table, collecting the jug of orange juice to be returned to the fridge, “I guess,” Emma shrugged dismissively, her expression troubled, and Keanu was worried that his seemingly innocent question had struck a nerve, “My parents weren’t around a lot when I was a kid.” Swallowing thickly, she continued shuffling around the large kitchen, “Making ends meet wasn’t always easy for them, you know?” Gathering the plates, she moved over to the sink, “My mom stayed home to take care of me, and the house, and my dad worked two jobs. He worked really hard for us, and….”

“Em,” Keanu frowned, noting her tormented expression as she dumped leftovers from the children and packed the dishwasher, “If it's too hard to talk about, you don’t have to tell me. And I didn’t mean to upset you, if I’d known-”

“It’s not your fault,” she turned towards him, straightening up and smiling faintly so he could be reassured, “And it’s fine really. It's just hard to talk about, but I don’t mind telling you,” moistening her lips, “I was around six, when my dad died, he was at work; fell off a scaffolding and had a heart attack on the way to the hospital,” it was easy to tell how hard she was fighting the wave of emotion, the way she struggled to contain tears while biting her lower lip. But still, he was grateful that she felt comfortable enough to open up, it felt like they were closer. “After that, funeral expenses blew our savings, and my mom had to work. She hated leaving me with my grandmother, but she had to.”

Slumping his shoulders, Keanu yearned to reach out, pull her into a hug and let Emma know that she was always welcome to find comfort in him, but seeing her the way he did was already crossing so many lines, he didn’t think he could trust himself to take her into his arms. “That must have been hard,” he sympathized instead, “And you were just a kid.”

“Yeah,” she forced a watery smile, probably hoping to ease his worrying, “But life’s like that right? He left us way sooner than anyone would have liked, but I’m glad to have had him when I did. Both my parents, they taught me that sometimes you’ve gotta bust your ass for the good life, but that just makes it even better when you get it,” she sighed quietly, ���I wish he could have been here for the big things, birthdays and graduations,” she sniffled, “But I’m thankful for what I did have, and I hope one day, I can be that kind of parent for someone else.”

“That’s beautiful,” Keanu hummed with a soft smile. It couldn’t have been easy growing up without her father, but Emma still seemed so content with what she’d gotten. Grief, it hurt people, it could change them too, and he knew that all too well, but Emma had been so young that it had shaped her instead. Molded her into the kind of person that was caring, kind and driven. Someone you wanted to trust and whose presence emanated warmth. “You-” Keanu leaned back, expecting to brace his hands on the counter, though swearing loudly when his left hand landed on the top of the stove. “What the fuck?”

In an instant, Emma was at his side, weaning Keanu’s hand out of his own grasp, hissing empathically at how the base of his palm had taken on an angry red tint, “Shit,” her hands were so soft and smooth, her touch soothing, “We need to get some ice on this,” when she moved away, grabbing a dish towel as she headed to the fridge, Keanu’s face fell further, already missing her touch. Though, when Emma returned, a couple blocks of ice wrapped up in the patterned fabric, pressing it to his hand as she held it up between them, Keanu’s eyes fell on her once again. With her head downcast, it was hard to decipher her expression, though, he could see her brows knitted in worry, “Does it hurt like this?”

When she glanced up briefly, their eyes meeting, Keanu stumbled on his words. He wasn’t expecting to be that close to her that morning, or, well, at any given point. He liked it though, maybe too much. “A little, but it's no big deal,” he shook his head slightly, his gruff voice low, “Thanks Em.”

“Of course,” she swirled it ice around a bit more, “You know, the kids love having their boo boos kissed,” Emma teased lightly, not thinking too much of it, “Think they get that from you?”

Chuckling quietly, Keanu replied, also without much of a protesting thought, “Maybe.” And just like that, the moment unfolded, so quickly that it felt completely natural, like her soft, supple lips were meant to touch him. They weren’t too warm on his skin, and could hardly be considered medicinal, but Keanu swore his hand felt ten times better when Emma pulled away, once again laying the ice on top of the burn. Simultaneously, they raised their heads, that time, their jaws slackened as their eyes met. “Em….” he groaned quietly, knowing that if he leaned in any closer they’d be no point of return, yet Keanu ached to. He wanted to kiss her, feel her mouth respond against his. But he couldn’t, and more importantly, he shouldn’t.

At the very last minute, right when Keanu swore that Emma was leaning up to meet him halfway, her pupils dilated, her breath slow and ragged and his chest just and inches away from hers, he rediscovered his self restraint, abruptly turning his head away. Clearing his throat, Keanu shoved his feelings down, irrationally disappointed when Emma stepped back, easily reading the shift of the moment, “Matt has swim practice today right?” It was honestly just a ploy to make professional conversation, change the topic so they wouldn’t need to have an uncomfortable conversation.

“Uh,” flustered, Emma seemed unsure of what to do with herself, and if Keanu wasn’t mistaken, there was a disappointed glint in her dark eyes, “Yeah, at three.” Gnawing on her lip, she fiddled with her fingers, “I should go see if his bag is ready, I can't remember if I packed it or not.” Keanu knew it was a lie; Emma didn’t forget things like that, and worst yet, he was almost sure that he’d hurt her. Yet, she didn’t give him a minute to apologize, or say anything really, hurrying out of the room with nothing more, leaving him tormented and feeling more guilty than ever.

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

[egcdeath]

a blip in the reader-verse

chapter 6: extra! extra! read all about it

series summary: a minor mistake causes a shift in the multiverse that only you have the capacity to fix.

chapter summary: you kept your friends close, and your enemy even closer.

pairing: politician!andy barber x journalist!reader, steve rogers x reader

word count: 4k

warnings: american politics, fake dating/marriage, angst at the end, heavy codependent behavior at the end

author’s note: i saw @jtargaryen18 post about politician!steve a while ago and must’ve internalized it because this chapter pretty much wrote itself. just a heads up: all of my political knowledge comes from political sitcoms, so sorry in advance if i get some things wrong. another warning is that there are still some very unhealthy relationship dynamics at play here, so promise me you won’t be like reader okay?

previous chapter / series masterlist

Is Andy Barber Really the Best for Our Nation’s Future?

Opinion

by Y/N L/N

Feb 7, 2021, 4:36 PM ET

After tonight’s debate, the question that’s begged is if Andrew Barber is truly fit to run our country. Although he’s clearly a front runner for his party’s nomination, he’s shown time and time again that he may actually be our weakest candidate.

His weaknesses were highlighted during the debate, with his dodged questions and vague answers. At this point in time, it’s hard to tell if Barber has a platform at all.

With Super Tuesday just around the corner, I ask you to reevaluate your support for Barber. Though a charming candidate, it seems that that’s all he has, his charm. His policies are weak, and borderline impossible, and he certainly isn’t the right person to become the most powerful man in the world.

—-

When you became conscious, you were no better than unconscious. Your eyes opened and were immediately met with a harshness from the sun peeking through a window. You shifted away from the brightness, body sinking into a memory foam mattress while your nude form rubbed against similarly soft sheets. You sleepily rubbed your eyes before they flitted throughout the room you were in. Observing an oddly clean, generic looking area, you’d quickly connected the dots that you were in a hotel room. A rather fancy one at that. 

Soft breathing came from next to you, and as you turned your head a bit more, you were met with the back of a fluffy and dark haired man. You weren’t completely sure, but judging by your history of finding your way to Steve, you’d assumed that it was some alternate form of your partner.

The man in bed next to you yawned, and haphazardly threw an arm in your direction, before rolling over to greet you, “morning sunshine,” he slurred sleepily.

The beard was a bit of a surprise to you. Though you’d begged and begged your Steve to keep it, he often refused for one reason or another. Seeing the man next to you who (what was now much clearer to you) a version of your boyfriend, was a rather pleasant surprise. 

“Morning,” you responded in an equally sleepy manner, ignoring the rhythmic vibration coming from your night stand.

“Mm, you should get that,” he mumbled, pressing a disoriented peck to the side of your head while you reached over to grab your phone, which you could now see was the perpetrator of the vibrations.

“Hello?” you asked into the phone.

“Are you dumb? Or are you fucking stupid?” Aaliyah’s voice scolded through the phone. “Do you know what kind of position you’ve put me in? This is a fucking mess, Y/N. All for some dick? How could you be so careless?! Jesus!”

“What are you talking about?” You glanced over at Andy, and sat up a bit, pulling the crisp blankets over your body in an attempt to retain some form of modesty.

“Don’t play dumb with me. You’re fucking Andy Barber, but you’re writing articles about him like you just watched him kill your dog. You realize that this puts all of us at risk, right? You’re gonna lose your job, I’m gonna lose my job since I decided to edit and publish your shit, and you and I will lose any sort of journalistic integrity we’ve ever had, or will have, for the rest of goddamn time! Seriously, you could’ve had anyone, but Andy Barber? Andrew fucking Barber?” she groaned over the line.

“Uh, I’ll uh, call you back,” you whispered.

“You’re joking right? Are you with him right now?”

“Aaliyah!”

“Oh my god, you’re with him right now. You’re a fucking mess,” she huffed before hanging up.

Why did the universe have to send you off to such a shitshow?

You rolled out of bed, and sulked into the bathroom, desperate to find out what was going on. While sitting on the toilet, you scrolled through the wall of notifications; tweets directed at you, messages from confused friends begging you to call them when you had a chance, and even the occasional concerned email. 

You grimaced as you read through each one of them, eventually clicking on the article that many seemed to be referencing, which included a paparazzi photo of you and this Andy Barber character entering a hotel together sometime in the late night to early morning, partnered with an article or two of your own criticizing him. At first, you wondered if he was some sort of celebrity, but what you ultimately found out was much worse. 

He was a politician. A senator who was running to be president.

You screamed into your hands, before tossing your phone aside, and starting a warm shower for yourself. Perhaps the shower could help jog your memory a bit. 

Stepping into the steamy chamber, and letting the water pelt down onto you did do wonders for you, and it gave you a moment of focus. With both your memories from this universe, along with the information you’d been given through your phone, you were able to piece a few aspects of the universe together.

You were a journalist, a popular one at that, Andy was Steve, but not Steve, and also a presidential candidate. Aaliyah was your editor, and a higher-up at the Times, and you were about to have your ass handed to you over an affair. At least Andy wasn’t married.

Your shower must’ve taken longer than you’d expected, as there was a soft knock on the door after some time. 

“Everything okay in there?” a slightly muffled voice asked.

“Yeah. Just peachy. Why aren’t you more worried about this?” you called back.

“I have a good publicist. And campaign manager. I just have a good team,” Andy paused briefly. “When you’re ready, room service is ready.”

----

Over aggressive mouthfuls of fresh fruit and bitter coffee, you conversed with Andy.

“How are we gonna fix this?” You questioned while setting down your fork.

“Well, it’s simple. We just have to find some kind of spin to this whole story. Maybe you were just interviewing me, or getting a soundbite from me.” “Why would you agree to get a soundbite from someone who clearly has it out for you?” You set your fork down, and crossed your arms over your white robe clad chest. 

“That’s a good question,” Andy nodded a bit, “a good question for someone else to answer.”

“Why don’t we let your publicist figure out how to play this?”

“I’d say I’m a bit of an expert at this at this point, but I’ll call my team.”

“You do that, I need to assess the damage to my career,” you huffed, moving to sit on the bed so that you could aggressively scroll on your phone in peace.

Andy called someone, and you patiently waited while he chatted with them. 

“Okay, Y/N. We can’t leave through the front, so my guy’s gonna pick us up in the garage. We have like, half an hour,” he tossed his phone aside, then maneuvered himself to get in bed with you, setting both hands down on either side of you, and placing a soft kiss on your lips. He slowly began to inch down your body, untying the belt of your robe as he did so, when you interrupted him.

“What do you think you’re doing, Andrew?”

“We have time.” He looked up at you.

“We are not doing this. What do you think got us into this mess in the first place?” you frowned, moving one of his hands so you could slide away from him. 

“Are you serious?”

“Yes! Why aren’t you taking this seriously! Do you realize that both of our careers are at stake here? I don’t want to lose my job because I’m having an affair with you. You shouldn’t want to lose a shot at office for a woman you’re not even with.”

“Come on, we’ve been doing this for almost a year, and you only have a problem with it now?”

“Yes! The public had no idea before! They’re going batshit now! And the worst part is that I’m the one taking the most heat,” you sighed, and Andy gave you a frown. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N. You know I didn’t want this to happen.”

“It’s kinda too late for sorries now.” 

——

You stepped out of your suite about five minutes after Andy left, suitcase in tow, blocky sunglasses on your face, and a heathered grey peacoat draped over your shoulders. Although you were stressed from the controversy you’d found yourself in, you couldn’t help but feel the buzz of excitement from having to hide from the paparazzi. At the same time, you felt quite bad for this version of yourself.

When you finally got out to the designated Cadillac, you asked for his driver to roll up the partition, like you’d done a million times before, then looked out of the tinted windows. The ride was pretty awkward, considering you were in no mood to talk to Andy, and Andy felt bad about the issues he’d imposed on you from his own carelessness. He set a cautious hand on top of yours, and though you were agitated, it did brighten your mood the slightest bit. 

After what felt like forever, you arrived at his campaign building, and you were ushered into a small, soundproof space, with a large and round pine table in the center of it. Surrounding the table was a very tired looking Aaliyah, and… Tony Stark? 

“How’s everyone’s weekend been?” Tony asked, breaking the ice as you and Andy settled into your seats.

“Are we really doing small talk right now?” Aaliyah deadpanned, “sorry, that was uncalled for.”

“Alright, straight to the elephant in the room then. You two were out spotted, big deal, happens all the time to politicians and their mistresses-“

“I’m not his mistress! You know this, Tony,” you huffed.

“Tony knew and not me?” Aaliyah gasped.

“Well-“ you began. 

“Save it.”

“It was on a very need-to-know basis,” you muttered.

“Back to what I was saying. I suggest that we don’t address it, unless addressed.”

“I don’t know if you’re dense, or what, but that’s the exact opposite of what we need to do. We have to get on top of this story before the story is that you,” Aaliyah gestured at you, “are packing your shit at the Times.”

The door shot open, and quickly closed. A slightly flustered blonde man stumbled through. “Sorry to interrupt,” he began.

Aaliyah rolled her eyes at this notion, muttering a ‘sure you are’ to herself. 

“We just finished polling numbers, and Andy, you’re up?” He projected the screen of his iPad onto a TV in the room, then passed the device over to Andy on his way to sit down.

“Thanks, Vis,” he gave him a curt nod.

“Why would our candidate allegedly hooking up with someone who hates him boost him in the polls?” Tony asked.

“Middle America loves a family man, you know that,” Vision said in a matter of faculty manner. “Andy has had a hard time connecting with that demographic because when they see him, they see an Elitist East-coaster.”

“Hooking up with a hot reporter does not make you a family man,” Aaliyah retorted.

“That brings me to my next point. If you don’t mind, I’d like to add a proposal of my own,” Vision stated, and received a shrug from the rest of the room. “Well, if we need to put a spin on this, the obvious choice is to explain that they’ve been seeing each other the whole time. Under wraps, of course. The photos the paparazzi received are not damning by any means, and look more romantic than sexual, to be quite frank. Y/N wrote those articles to throw the public off her scent, and she didn’t really believe anything she said, and Andy? He’s just a good, all American man who was tired of keeping his relationship under wraps. Everything’s to gain from this plan.”

“Well, I lose my journalistic integrity. That’s a pretty big loss to me. I may never work again,” you rubbed your forehead in a distraught manner.

“You won’t have to worry about working when you’re the First Lady. Think about it, if we can get votes from the swing states, we’ve secured enough electoral votes to have a Barber win. All over a little character rebrand.”

“Excuse me, the First Lady?” You nervously glanced between Vision and Aaliyah while you attempted to pick your jaw up from the floor.

“Well, yes. We can’t exactly get the full ‘family man’ look without Mr. Barber being a real husband.“

“Are we talking, real wedding?” Aaliyah questioned.

“Yes. You just have to be legally bound together for around four years, eight years tops. About twelve would be preferable, but I understand that not everything works out.”

“I don’t object to that,” Andy winked and nudged you a bit.

What a mess.

“Back to what I was saying, we’ll probably need about a two week PR period before we do a press briefing announcing the engagement. Give or take. During that time, we could have your publicist arrange all sorts of good photo ops for you two.”

“Either way, my career is ruined,” you sighed, and Andy set his hand on your back.

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“You don’t have to do that. We’re not currently standing in front of 30 cameras.”

“Well, we should prepare for when we are in front of 30 cameras.”

“Is it though?” Vision interjected, bringing you and Andy back from your aside. “We can just deflect, maybe have a few of your friends make articles about how what you did wasn’t all that bad.”

“Is it not a valid criticism of me that I was sleeping around with the person who I was also slandering?”

“Is it not possible to criticize someone you care about? In fact, helping someone learn how to improve can be very romantic,” Vision shrugged. 

There was a brief silence throughout the bunch while everyone pondered a counter argument. 

“That right there, that kind of insight is why we call you the Vision,” Tony shook his head and proudly clapped the man on his back.

“So it’s settled then? We’re really doing this?” You glanced around at your peers while Aaliyah spoke. “Any objections, love birds?”

Andy shrugged, “I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life with her.”

You, on the other hand, weren’t so sure. 

——

Barber and his Greatest Critic Break Bread Together on Friday

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Y/N L/N Announces She’s Not Resigning from Senior Position, and That She’s Been Seeing Barber!

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BREAKING! Barber Announces Relationship with Critic Y/N L/N

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Is L/Nber the Ship that Shows us How Relationships Are More Powerful than Politics?

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Our New Favorite Political Power Couple Showed Up Together at a Rally, and We Couldn’t Be More Excited.

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Barber 7 Points Ahead in the Polls, Leaving Loguidice and Kline Trailing Far Behind

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Was Y/N Really in the Wrong?

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“L/Nber” Celebrate Valentine’s Day Together 

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These L/Nber House Hunting Photos Are Giving Us Life!

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This was your reality for the next two weeks. The news cycle was filled with a plethora of articles about you, some criticizing you, some criticizing Andy, but most, supporting the two of you in your romantic endeavors. Unsurprisingly, the world loved a good story about two attractive people getting together. 

During this period, you didn’t particularly feel like leaving, though the thought had certainly crossed your mind. You just weren’t sure that you wanted to be dealing with those terrible symptoms again in the midst of an already stressful stage of your life. At the same time, it seemed like the universe was not going to be fair with your time in this reality. You were convinced that you were here for the long haul, or at least, until Andy proposed to you. 

Although it was a bit annoying, cameras around every corner, a watchful eye on everything that you or Andy even considered doing, you found yourself growing on Andy. In some ways, he was a bit more intense than Steve, whose personality had mellowed out a bit since the Snap.

This had been the first time in all of your travels where you felt like ‘Steve’ was the one pursuing you, and in all honesty, it made you feel good. Even if everything the two of you did had an aftertaste of artificiality.

You spent more and more time with him every day, staying together with him in hotels across the country, visiting local businesses with him to get the perfect photo op, and attending galas with donors. It seemed like in every candid photo of Andy, you weren’t too far behind. By the time the day of your proposal arrived, you weren’t even all that opposed to the marriage. 

When the proposal finally arrived, the two of you were sat inside a rather fancy restaurant, finishing up your meal when Andy settled on one knee in front of you, “Y/N,” he began, and you felt the all too familiar tremble of your watch on your wrist. 

You almost had to restrain yourself from exclaiming out loud. It’s not that you didn’t like Andy or anything, he’d genuinely grown on you. In the least cheesy way, it wasn’t him, but you. Being somewhere so unfamiliar for so long had begun to create a cumulative exhaustion that wore a bit more on you every day. Feeling homesick was an understatement.

You brought your hands up to your face, and gasped dramatically, squeezing your eyes shut to see if you could possibly produce a few tears, while mobile cameras and a few professional flashes were directed towards you. A few warm droplets slipped down your face, and for a moment you weren’t even sure how fake they were. It seemed like once they started, they couldn’t stop.

You missed Steve, your Steve, the man you’d fallen in love with. You missed your friends, teammates, and family. You missed the stability of knowing what the world held for you next. 

In the midst of Andy’s proposal, in what should’ve been the happiest moment of your life, all you could focus on was your overwhelming desire to have a sense of normalcy in your life once again. 

——

You woke up in a cold sweat, heart racing in your chest, and shaking your ribcage. You looked up to the ceiling of what you had grown to know was your room in the Compound, your real room, and felt your eyes well up in tears that stung you. 

You sat up, and took as deep of a breath as you could manage, when you noticed Wanda sitting by your bedside.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” she said softly, coming closer to you, offering you a glass of water before sitting at the foot of your bed. 

“Where’s Steve?” you asked, trying to gauge where you were. 

“Honey,” she sighed softly. “I’m so sorry. He’s still missing.”

Your lip trembled as you took a sip. You really were back home. 

“I know you’re hurting, but when you feel a little better, we’re going to Medbay. Banner decided that we should probably keep an eye on your vitals, but you were gone before we even had the chance to get you there.”

You gulped down the water, then set it on your bedside table, “so was that all just a dream or something? Why isn’t Steve back?” you huffed frustratedly.

“I don’t know why he isn’t back, but I don’t think you were dreaming. I was trying to watch your dreams, but I couldn’t read you, or your thoughts at all.”

“Hmm,” you mumbled, throwing your legs over the side of the bed, “let’s go.”

As you settled into the cold, and sterile medical facility you were hooked up to a plethora of monitors, and a cacophony of devices beeped as they read your physical state. 

You tuned out the words being spoken around you, zoning out and looking forward to your vital signs monitor. Your mind wandered to your last few thoughts in your previous reality, the desperation to come back, to see your estranged lover again. You couldn’t help but to feel disappointed, lamenting the fact that you’d found your way home, yet felt the ever present void in your heart where your Steve used to be.

“Y/N?” a voice asked you, and you glanced in its general direction. “What happened while you were out? What did you see? Did it work?” Bruce pelted you with questions.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it yet,” you sighed softly, bringing a hand up to your neck and rubbing it. “The watch worked though, I was definitely in other universes. I just couldn’t reach him. Bring him home. I failed.”

“Do you think he’s really out there?” Bruce whispered to Wanda hoping that you might not pick up on it.

“I’m… I don’t know. I just don’t know how likely it is that we’ll manage to find him,” she responded in a hushed tone. You bit back tears as she spoke, resuming your empty gaze on the pixelated green text of your heart rate on the monitor.

“I’m sorry, guys. I have to go back,” you interrupted. “I can’t give up on Steve yet. I know he wouldn’t give up on me.”

“Y/N, you could be gone for centuries before you find him, then return back here with no time passed at all, and possibly no Steve. You don’t deserve to take on all of that pain,” Wanda set a hand on your shoulder. “Steve would’ve wanted you to move on from him. To find happiness without him.”

“I can’t do that, Wanda. Without him I don’t even know who I am,” your voice trembled as you spoke. “He’s literally been my only tether through all of this.”

“I just don’t know that this is the best thing we could be doing. Sure, you’re physically fine, but it almost seems like you’re doing worse emotionally than you were before you left,” Bruce added.

“I’m not!” you sniffled before continuing. “I’m just tired from going to all those new places.”

Bruce and Wanda didn’t seem too convinced. “Don’t you guys believe in me? When have I let you down on a mission before? I’m gonna find him, okay? I’ll find him if it’s the last fucking thing I do,” you blubbered.

Wanda’s hand slid down your shoulder, and to the watch that was currently on your wrist.

“Don’t,” you uttered, swinging your opposite hand to grab onto your own wrist. You were aware that there was absolutely no way you could overpower her in taking the watch from you, but even in your minor hysterics, you were able to think fast enough to press the round button before the watch was able to be taken off of you.

You, and your wrist shook. Wrist shaking from the watch, and promise of sending you elsewhere, and you from a mixture of sobs and adrenaline. Though not the most ideal exit, it was an exit nonetheless.

You weren’t even sure if you cared that you were on good terms with your teammates anymore. 

You just needed to be with Steve again.

[coepiteamare]

i am your ocean (your little mermaid)

pairing: taehyung x female!reader genre: angst? warnings: angst, implied sex, lapslock, broken hearts word count: 1.8k

drabble series: things you said: things you said too quietly summary: perhaps you’re fated to love him like the little mermaid, forced to pick between a broken heart and shattered one. (alt. everything blurs into a haze of heartbreak in the presence of tears.)

the pitter patter of raindrops against your windowpane, against the floor of your balcony, picks up in speed, blurring the view outside into a haze of lights, nondescript storefronts and smudges of colour from umbrellas as people avoid the rain. you watch the rain collect on your window, reaching out for other droplets and merging into one, picking up speed before falling when the weight of water is too much to bear. 

it makes you think of the little mermaid. 

the little mermaid was always your favourite disney movie. at age 5, it’s because you believe love conquers all, because you cry tears of crystal fairytales and bleed happy endings. at age 8, it’s because you too would give up worlds and your voice for a chance to meet the person you love. they’re out there somewhere, maybe separated a world away, but they’re there and one day, you’ll break barriers between worlds to hold their hand. at age 12, it’s because her hair is as red as her passion, burning bright against the blue sea as she cries “but daddy, i love him!” at age 16, it’s because you finally come across the original tale, learn how the little mermaid never gets her happy ending because she falls in love with a man engaged—in love with another woman—and despite her life on the line, refuses to give up on the idea of love. instead, she plunges a knife into her broken heart, hears the sad eulogy in the melody of his heartbeat entwined with someone that isn’t her, throws herself into the ocean and seafoam she becomes, each faint pop of foam a whispered reminder that for some, happy endings don’t come true. at age 16, you learn that sometimes love does not save you from the waves of reality, that some fates were written to end unhappy.

it feels a little like that now as you card your fingers through his sweaty locks, dyed red like ariel’s, bright red against the blue of both your feelings. “reminds me of the little mermaid,” you tell him, fingers gently brushing against his face, down his neck, back up to his hair. the breeze from your window settles into a cool chill on your skin, so you wrap the blanket around your naked body a little tighter and cling a little closer to his body, skin warm and still slightly sweaty. 

it feels a little like love as his chuckle reverberates through the mattress and through the crevices of your bones, low and dark, void of humor. “not what i was going for, but i’ll take it.” 

his hand settles on the small of your back, his face brushed with the white glare of his screen. 

“do you want to talk about it?” you rest your chin on your arms above his chest. he momentarily shifts his gaze from his phone to you, eyes just as dark and stormy as the sky outside, and you pull your gaze away, an attempt to stop the swell of feelings you catch every time he throws a glance in your direction. you place your ear down instead, listening to the staccato of his heartbeat, just as bruised and battered as yours. 

his sigh floods the air as he taps two fingers under your chin, a silent request, and you gently push yourself up to meet his lips. 

he tastes like heartbreak and bad decisions, like half-assed texts and read receipts, but when he kisses you like this—soft and slow and sweet, all adagio against the speed of the city—the storm of your thoughts come to a halt. he makes it hard to not dive in headfirst, let the waves float with the waves away from shore. you sink into the kiss, lose yourself in the press of his tongue, distill the buzz of insecurities in the rush of your feelings. you let yourself forget that you aren’t her; instead, you submerge in the moment and feel the world dissolve on your skin as you pull him a little closer, closer, until the two of you are pressed skin against skin, space nonexistent as the kiss gains momentum. 

until he gently drags his teeth against your bottom lip and pulls away, breaks surface tension, leaves you stranded in the sea of his being, shore miles beyond reach without a life preserver to cling on to. 

you repeat the action, bite your lip between teeth to prolong the moment, drag every second to be longer. but time still slips between the cracks of your desperation like sand, filters through the fissures of your insecurities, and spirals out of your grasp faster. you’ve already lost him to the vibrations of his phone, a text message that lights up his eyes. 

you brush your thumb against the hickey on his neck and feel the sadness crash over you, a loud tidal wave of quiet resignation: you can mark him all you want, but he’s not yours. never was, never will be. 

but you, you are his. your heart is tucked behind your ribcage, but it beats for him.

because it’s so easy to love taehyung who feels things like the sea, wide and vast and open. taehyung who smiles like the sun on the horizon, warm and fuzzy and beautiful, always beautiful and always out of reach. it’s hard to not, even if the only times he comes over is when you ask, painstakingly typing over (and over and over) only to end up with the same message of, “hey can you come over?” even if he never stays long. even now, as he picks his clothes off the floor, slipping long legs through black pants and popping his head through a gray hoodie. 

“not staying?” you sit up. it’s habit to ask at this point, even though you know the answer, know the sheepish smile and shrug of his shoulders a little too well, his mannerisms pressed into the mold of your thoughts. 

“sorry,” he sounds apologetic, but you know he isn’t. 

you know you won’t be the person he searches for in the sea of people, the person he spends his heart on, even if you spend every last cent, every wish, your everything on him. you won’t be her. but you peek your hand out of the covers anyways and reach out, grabbing on to the edge of his frayed hoodie. he turns around, eyebrow raised.

you open your mouth, but the words sink into your thoughts, distort like it’s filtered through water, and everything catches in your throat. it’s quiet: the pitter patter of raindrops against the windowpane, against the balcony floor. 

stay with me.

you feel his eyes on you as you drop your gaze to the floor, to the toes peeking through the sheets your body is wrapped in, hand still gripping his hoodie. 

don’t leave me here alone. 

maybe your last page doesn’t end in happily ever after. 

do you wish i were her?  

“do you think the little mermaid was a fool for keeping her feelings to herself, not letting him know she loved him?”

he furrows his brows, mouth quirked in confusion. he mulls over it, chews on your words until the thoughts burst on his tongue. “i think she told him in the ways she knew how, in the ways she could.” he gently pries your grip off his sweater and holds your hand in his, mindlessly rubs the back of your hand with his thumb. “i think people in love are always expressing their love in one way or another. the other person may be oblivious to the intention, but i don’t think it goes unnoticed.”

“was she a fool for falling in love with someone already in love with another? for choosing them over herself?”

he chuckles softly, bemusement in every rise of his chest. you watch as he gently lets your hand go and tucks it neatly on your lap. “i think we’re all fools when it comes to love, but there’s no pause and play button, is there? we don’t really get to choose to whom we fall for or when we stop.” he squats down to eye-level as he drapes your duvet over your shoulders, fiddles with the edge, eyes never meeting yours. “but i do think she chose to do what she thought would hurt her less. she wanted to stay by his side, even if it hurt to see him with someone that isn’t her: it broke her heart, but i think it would have shattered had she stopped his. there are fates worse than death.”

the room floods with the sound of raindrops picking up in speed, pelting against the windowpane, against the balcony floor. the quiet settles around the two of you, just as thick and heavy as the duvet on your shoulders, and the two of you stay like that awhile, lost in thought. 

there’s a ghost of a hand on your shoulder, a slight squeeze, before he plods towards the door. 

you are the casualty from casual relationships, a willing prey caught in the trap of a hunter unwilling to kill. there is no pause or stop button in sight. no end to your story, no matter how many pages you turn. 

you turn your gaze to the window. the raindrops cling to the window, becoming bigger and bigger. they tremble to hold on, to stay together, before collapsing, dispersing back into tiny droplets. they then repeat the process over and over and over again, tirelessly building before breaking apart. 

“i love you” you say quietly. you let the words fall from your lips, dribble down your skin like water droplets, and dissipate in the ocean of your feelings. watch them dissolve into the seafoam of your being and sink down, down, down. 

the wind doesn’t have a chance to deliver your words, message drowned in the sound of the rain coming from your open balcony. you see his reflection through the mirror--the way he shoves his feet into his slides, sticks his hands into his pocket--and watch him close the door, never once looking back. 

everything blurs into a haze of heartbreak in the presence of tears. 

you let your body fall into your mattress, pinned down by your feelings, and curl up, wondering if this is what the weight of her knife felt like. maybe he was right in that there are fates worse than death. perhaps you’re fated to love him like the little mermaid after all, forced to pick between a broken heart and a shattered one. 

the enfilade of rain continues and pelts against the windowpane, against your balcony floor.

A/N: this took me 2 weeks to write for no reason other than i am dumb. i find it hard to write for tae: i’ve scrapped and rewritten this story thrice (it initially was supposed to be an actual little mermaid fic, then it changed to a siren fic, then it became this.) i still feel a bit iffy about it, but i’ve also looked at it for too long AND i have quite a few darlings in this one, so up it goes. idk why i’ve decided christmas/christmas eve is the time to post angst, but here it goes.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Octa A-kun’s Heart-Thumping Day!

For the 1200+ follower milestone, here is the next part of the cursed raven’s story!

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4 l Part 5

Today’s tale involves Octavinelle A-kun in a pinch...?! Fight on, Octa A-kun...! You can do it, Octa A-kun...!!

My name is Kon...! I’m just your average, everyday Octavinelle student. I tend to blend into the background, so a lot of my classmates call me Octa A-kun.

I’d say that my favorite food is salted fish, and I happen to like whatever seems to be popular these days. I have the window seat in my home room. Most of the time, I just go with the flow, but I like to keep my head low and stay out of trouble!

All I really want is a quiet, peaceful life!

...So—you may ask—how, then, did I find myself in this pinch?

An arrow whizzes at Octa A-kun’s head, tearing off his fedora and pinning it to the wall behind him. It just narrowly grazes his hair, ripping off a deep green strand with a sharp jolt. Octa A-kun squeaks in terror and collapses onto his rear end.

“Pardon moi, Monsieur Kelp,” comes the light-hearted chirp of his assailant. A young man in a bob cut steps forth, a bow in his hands and a quiver strapped to his back. The billowy white feather tucked in his hat bounces with each stride. “I was in need of some early morning target practice.”

Third year and Pomefiore vice-dorm leader, Rook Hunt, according to the rumors. Be wary of him--once he fixates on something, he will not relent.

“A-Ahahaha...I-It’s fine, senpai!” Octa A-kun stutters, scrambling back onto his feet. He glances at his poor hat, skewered clean through--he’d have to file a request for a replacement later. Azul would charge a fee for it--with interest.

“Ah, how merciful you are, Monsieur Kelp~” Rook laughs as he approaches, each step in his boots the resounding thump-thump of a predator on the prowl.

Octa A-kun shrinks against the wall. “U-Um...! Do you need something from me, senpai...?!”

“Hohoh. How perceptive of you.” Rook plucks his arrow--and Octa A-kun’s hat--and holds his weapon up in the sunlight, his green eyes focusing on the gleam of the arrow’s dagger-like tip. “I’ve merely come for a query, my friend! No need to make such a frightened face.”

“Just a question i-is fine. But it has to be a quick one...! I have to meet up with my partner for a project...”

“But of course. I will not keep you for long.” He tucks the arrow back into his quiver and replaces Octa A-kun’s hat upon his head. “Be honest with me--that is all that I ask of you.”

Rook maintains the curve to his lips as he brings his face closer to his prey. His smile darkens, and the glimmer in his eyes fades into something far more cruel.

“...You would not happen to have been sent by one Roi de Fort, have you? To, perhaps, spy on a little black bird?”

Octa A-kun pales. Sweat collects on his forehead. A lump forms in his throat.

“I-I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT...!!” he blurts out.

Unconvincingly.

Rook’s eyes narrow. “I have requested for you to speak naught but the truth, have I not?”

He reaches out and takes ahold of Octa A-kun’s collar, pulling him close--so close that the poor boy can make out his own fear-stricken expression in the green of Rook’s eyes.

The hunter still smiles, his teeth a stark, blinding white.

He’s beautiful, Octa A-kun realizes. Beautiful, but deadly.

“Y-You’re being r-really scary, senpai...! P-Please don’t bully me...!”

“La vérité, Monsieur Kelp?”

A drop of sweat races down Octa A-kun’s profile. Pupils dilated, breath hitching, body trembling.

In the distance, a bell tolls--granting him an opportunity to escape.

“Would you look at the time...!! I...I really gotta go now!! M-My project partner’s waiting for me, ahahaha...!! E-Excuse me!” Octa A-kun shouts shaking from Rook’s grip and sidestepping the hunter.

He begins to speed walk away, hands balled into fists and arms swinging stiffly, when Rook calls out to him.

“...Monsieur Kelp.”

Against his better judgement, Octa A-kun dares to glance back.

Rook is staring right at him, his gaze piercing.

“Know this: if you betray her, there will be more for you to worry about than damaged articles of clothing.”

And with that remark, Rook allows his prey to retreat.

But he watches every step of the way.

Until Octa A-kun is nothing more than a dot in the distance.

“Welcome to my roost,” Raven declares with the wave of her hand. “Ignore the mess, and make yourself at home.”

“D-Don’t mind if I do,” Octa A-kun says, carefully ducking into the attic space.

Mess is a bit of an understatement. Raven’s room is piled high with tomes, loose papers scattered on the floor and smears of ink all over.

Tucked away in a corner appears to be a mattress, with a blanket in a nest-like shape, a pillow laid in the center. A bookshelf overflows with volumes on ancient curses, while a strange teardrop shaped seat, decorated with ribbons and wisteria, hangs by a window.

Set upon a large desk is a snuffed out candle, a quill set with a magic gemstone, and several empty bottles and blank labels. A basket spills out its contents--herbs, flowers, and fungi--next to a mortar and pestle.

What really catches Octa A-kun’s attention, however, is the strange collection of glass apparatuses and tubes that line the desk. A small flame dances under the rounded part of a flask, heating up a rose-gold concoction.

“Looks like you keep pretty busy, huh?”

“You could say that. I like to remain productive.”

Octa A-kun offers a timid smile. “Um, if I may ask, what is it that you’ve got brewing at your desk...? I-I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

Raven pauses.

“...Do you know that feeling of rediscovering a part of yourself you thought you had once lost? Or the rose-tinted glasses which clouds one’s vision? The wonderfulness of meeting an old friend? Think of those things, set in the color of dawn, beckoning a new day.”

“E-Eh?” Octa A-kun combs his brain for a response. “Uh...you mean nostalgia?”

“Precisely. This is my latest creation--Nostalgia. It took me two whole weeks to get this new ink color just right, but it shall be lovely to write with.” Raven puffs up a bit with pride. “Oh, but enough about my personal projects. We need to work on that Magic History assignment, yes?”

“Y-Yes. That report on Unique Magic Development...” Octa A-kun’s eyes follow Raven’s hand as it trails over a series of books on a shelf.

Hexes, and How to Break Them. True Love’s Kiss: Panacea or Poison? Ancient Curses: A Collection of Anecdotes. Journal of Magic Medicine, Issue 32: Jinx Edition.

“Ah, here it is.” Raven fishes out a maroon book with a few sticky notes jutting out of it--Unique Magic: Nature & Nurture--and hands it to Octa A-kun, along with a spare quill, an inkwell, and a fresh sheet of paper.

She gestures toward the seat adorned with wisteria. “Have a seat and work on your half of the report. I’ll be working on my half at my desk after I clean up. We can compare our halves and edit as is necessary when both parts are complete.”

He complies, sitting where he is directed and flipping open Unique Magic: Nature & Nurture.

Two sticky notes immediately pop out at him. One sports a list of various unrelated words (Nostalgia, Sorrow, Regret, and an L word that appears to have been blotted out, left illegible).

The other sticky note has a little diagram labelled Unique Magic, a heart in the center with arrows pointing outward. Needs faith, trust, and a little pixie dust, one arrow remarks. Infusion of feelings requires experience, says another. Practice with Nostalgia, a third states.

Octa A-kun slowly lifts his eyes from the page--carefully watching Raven tidying up her desk.

With the flick of her magical pen--or quill, rather--she extinguishes the flame beneath her flask and sets it into a test tube rack to cool. Raven collects her plants into a basket and tucks them under the desk, along with the rest of her glassware. Then she gathers stray papers and pops open her drawer to stow them away--

And that’s when Octa A-kun catches a glimpse of it.

An unopened letter, in a pale blue envelope.

To My Dearest Raven scrawled across it.

“...And that is the g-gist of it,” Octa A-kun concludes his report, “dorm leader.”

“Excellent work, Kon-san. You efforts are greatly appreciated.” From behind his ornate office desk, Azul clasps his hands together and beams. “I suppose there is no longer any need for Floyd to pay your friends in Pomefiore and Scarabia a little visit.”

“Boooo,” Floyd groans from beside him.

“Th-Thank you for your kindness, dorm leader!” Octa A-kun gushes--if only to (poorly) mask his own fears. He wants to sink into the couch cushions and disappear like sea foam. “B-But...But if I can make a request, sir!”

“What is it?” Azul sounds mildly annoyed, but Octa A-kun steels his courage and persists.

“Um...i-if possible, can you assign s-someone else to check on Miss Raven? I-I’m scared of what Rook-senpai will do to me if I make the wrong mo--EEP!!”

Before he has even finished his sentence, Floyd is flying at him like a shark tearing through water.

WHAM!

Octa A-kun screams as Floyd’s foot connects with the couch, boxing him in and nearly knocking the furniture over. Azul’s glasses flash a pure white, and he makes no move to restrain the feral eel.

“What was that, Konbu-chan?” Floyd asks--no, demands--as he leers down at him. Teeth gnashing. “Did I hear you right? Umineko-kun got in the way?”

“E-Eeeep! Ch-Chill out, Floyd-senpai! You’re...you’re scaring me!!” Octa A-kun whimpers, his poor heart pounding out of his chest.

“Speak freely, Kon-san,” Azul prompts, waving a gloved hand to silence Floyd--but his tone is just as icy and cruel as the eel’s eyes. “What is this I hear about...interference?”

“W-Well...h-he seemed to know that you sent me. And he said he might...do things if I make a misstep.” Octa A-kun furiously shakes his head. “I’ll need a replacement hat after th-that encounter...I-I’m sorry, dorm leader, but I r-really don’t want to be involved in this any more than I have to...!”

Azul leans back in his chair, and his face settles into a serious expression.

“Uwaaah, Jade wasn’t kiddin’ when he said Umineko-kun was guarding Black Pearly like a shark on sunken treasure,” Floyd flicks his tongue along his teeth, which gleam dangerously under the lights of the VIP room. “Even the low level lackies get chewed up and spat out, ehehehe~”

“This is not funny, Floyd. This just makes things that much more difficult,” Azul snaps, pushing his glasses up.

“It’s fine, it’s fiiine,” Floyd insists dismissively with a giggle. “I’ll just follow Konbu-chan--and if that creep Umineko-kun gets close, I’ll beat’em bloody~”

“I-Isn’t that a bit extreme?!” Octa A-kun protests, only to earn a withering glare from Floyd.

“Shut your trap, guppy. No one asked for your opinion,” Floyd hisses--then his expression brightens considerably when he addresses his dorm leader. “Ne, ne, Azul! Can I, can I?”

“Absolutely not. We still need to collect more information before taking such drastic action,” Azul says, his voice tinged with irrtation. “Might I remind you, Floyd, that Octavinelle is, once again, in poor standing with the headmaster? It would not do to further tarnish our reputation with another incidence report.”

“Laaaame~” Floyd pouts, backing away from Oct A-kun. “I’m not allowed to do anything fun anymore.”

“As I was saying,” Azul continues, ignoring the eel, “thank you for bringing this to my attention, Kon-san. Your work here is done--you are relieved from your duties until further notice. Dismissed.”

“Y-Yessir!! Th-Thank you so much, sir!” Octa A-kun breathes a massive sigh of relief. He is quick to gather his coat and hat, then bow to his senpais and hurriedly exit.

Azul pinches the bridge of his nose.  “...This will become a problem if it persists.”

“I don’t get it, Azul!” Floyd whines loudly, slamming his hands on his dorm leader’s desk. “Why don’t we just kidnap Black Pearly already and make her ‘n Jade ‘fess up? That’d be sooo much easier than dancing around Umineko-kun!”

“That is not how proper reconciliation works, Floyd,” Azul points out. “If we are to fix this mess, then we cannot hope to resolve it overnight.”

He thinks of the details Octa A-kun had divulged--the countless books that litter Raven’s abode, the fixation on work, the strangely named ink, the interest in curses...Surely they must all mean something.

He pauses, before adding, “...I feel as though I am missing a vital piece of the puzzle.”

“Ehhhh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Call it...octopus’s intuition. There is something bigger at play here, something far more powerful than you or I can comprehend.” Azul folds his arms. “And if we intend to bring back Miss Raven into Jade’s arms, then that is one puzzle piece we must find.”

“Hmmm.” Floyd leans down, peering into Azul’s solemn face--then breaks out into a toothy grin. “Ne, ne, you really care a lot about Jade, don’t you?”

“Hmph. Don’t be ridiculous,” Azul snaps, lips pursing into a straight line. “This is merely a case of an employer fretting over the well being of his employee. Jade cannot perform at his best if he is emotionally distressed. I am simply doing my due diligence as his employer to ensure that he is content--it benefits the business.”

“Ehehehe~ In the end, Azul’s heart is juuust as squishy and soft as his octopus form~” The eel wraps his arms around Azul, squeezing the dorm leader against his chest. “That’s sooo cute~”

“FLOYD, DO NOT PRESUME TO KNOW MY INTENTIONS...!! AND UNHAND ME THIS INSTANT!”

“Nope! Don’t wanna~”

Octa A-kun is halfway down the corridor when a hand clamps down--hard--onto his shoulder. The student squeaks in terror as he is whipped around--and comes face-to-face with his smiling vice-dorm leader.

“Good evening, Kon-san,” Jade says nonchalantly, his tone light but his aura dark. “Might I have a moment with you?”

For the third time that day. Octa A-kun’s stomach sinks--but he lacks both the strength and the willpower to resist.

“S-Sure...Wh-What is it?”

Jade cranes his head down, his single golden eye glowing despite his sinister shadow. “I have received word that you have been snooping around campus. Naughty, naughty Kon-san. You should know better.”

Octa A-kun instinctively takes a step back, putting some distance between him and his vice-dorm leader--the information broker of Octavinelle. No secret can evade him, it seems.

“Th-The dorm leader asked me to...!” he confesses, cheeks turning pink in embarrassment.

“Please, be at ease. I do not bite,” Jade says smoothly, chuckling into his glove. “Now then, my sources tell me that you happened upon Miss Raven’s quarters. Is this correct?”

“Y-Yes...”

“Then let me ask this of you--did you, by chance, see a blue envelope?”

“Blue envelope...” Octa A-kun’s eyes light up in realization. “A-Ah, I do seem to recall seeing something like that. She...She keeps it in a drawer. It was unopened.”

“Unopened...?” Jade repeats the word carefully, as though handling a delicate artifact. He brings a hand to his chin in contemplation, his brows furrowing. “It is no wonder why she continues to behave in such a vehement manner,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Um...vice-dorm leader? Is everything alright?” Octa A-kun asks nervously.

“...No. It is nothing, I assure you.” Jade composes himself, smiling once more--this time, without a hint of darkness to it. “Think nothing of it, dear Kon-san. Please, do retire for the night--that was all I wished to know, fufu.”

“O-Of course, vice-dorm leader...”

Jade sees him off with a polite wave.

Octa A-kun waits until Jade is completely out of sight before he collapses into a heap on the ground. He clutches onto his stomach, which twists and knots with fright, and sniffles softly to himself.

Why, oh, why was he not sorted into a normal dorm with normal non-scary students and normal, healthy relationships with their peers? No, instead he’s trapped in the mermaid mafia and witnessing Overblot incidents every single month.

Go to Night Raven College, they said. It’d be fun, they said. You’ll get a great education, they said.

J-Just...Just give me a quiet, peaceful life already...!!

[an-annyeoing-writer]

Baekhyun x Reader: like home.

Word count: ~1,7k

Genre: fluff

Guys I’m getting ill, having a headache, period just started, it’s late, let me just, 

It wouldn’t be a lie to say that you hoped for a restful and intimate vacation. That’s not what you got in the end, but you weren’t all that surprised. Disappointed – for sure, but it’s not like your hopes were high in the first place. You enjoyed what you’ve got, nonetheless. And you had a lot to enjoy, as even among your beloved one’s busy schedule and your own loneliness, through the huge windows of the hotel room you saw the foreign city that you wished you could make your own. You loved it here – you loved the night view, you loved the city when you strolled through it alone, but making sure to catch beautiful sights on pictures to show him later, you loved the other’s smell that already sunk through the room and your bed sheets, and you loved how high in the sky you were, nowhere you’d ever be alone with your own, pitiful budget.

Your small heaven was not yet full, though, as you waited, not patient enough to let your wine glass rest for too long, but patient enough to not let the slight alcohol haze knock you out too soon. The glass was halfway empty when the door moved and the familiar silhouette tip-toed through it sluggishly.

The man blinked at the presence of light he didn’t expect to be brightening up the hotel room – it was as dim as you allowed it to be, just a few sconces here and there, the main chandelier off and dark, so that it wouldn’t contrast too much with the darkness outside and irritate you.

“Ah, you’re not asleep yet.” You glanced at the clock on the wall – it was over midnight, but not as late as you expected it to be. You got up quickly, helping him out of his jacket and hanging it carefully above the bag he didn’t care to bring anywhere more suitable.

Stepping further into the room, he didn’t think much before throwing the shirt over his head and onto the floor and pacing straight towards the bed. You stopped him, as gently as you thought was still firmly enough for him to acknowledge your intentions over the powerful call the bed pulled him in with.

“I ran you a bath. You can’t go to sleep dirty. And with all that makeup on.”

He groaned softly at the hassle, but obediently followed as you intertwined your fingers with his, pulling him towards the spacious bathroom attached to your room. It was already lighted slightly as well – also dimly as to not annoy him or yourself, but enough to point at the middle of the room, where the bathtub stood, spacious as well, with its own heating and filled with warm watter that flowed with thick foam and bubbles, smelling soft and luxurious, making the both of you even sleepier – you felt like you could as well just fall asleep in there, with the never-ending warmth and soft headrests that imitated pillows and happened to be just as comfortable.

“It smells good” he whispered; you pushed him towards the bathtub, using the opportunity to gently massage his back for a few seconds. The tension of his muscles was slowly subsiding, all the pent-up stress finally letting him go as he unhurriedly stepped towards the tub and you went towards the sink and drawers, looking for the cotton pads and the skin-care products you two used (even though he was ensured you have your own – you liked their smell, that’s all).

You pulled a chair to sit next to the bathtub in which Baekhyun was already half-lying, with nothing but his neck and head resting in the air, but his eyes closed and his breath calm and slow. You pushed the messy bangs off his face and put some oil on your hands, gently massaging it into his skin. He opened his eyes only for a second to glance at you, and then closed them again, letting you put the substance over his eyelids as well, getting it all over the mascara and shadows, and then proceeding to massage the skin for a few moments – not for the oil anymore, but to provide him with the sheer pleasant sensation. He hummed in approval, corners of his lips lifting ever so slightly.

You waited for a few moments before picking the pads and gently wiping the oil off with micellar water.

“Is that how you usually do that?” Baekhyun asked, instantly recognizing the smell without even looking.

“Why? Is it wrong?”

He just shrugged in response; his eyes didn’t open until the make-up was all off, leaving his natural skin, darker and ridden off any unnatural colors, a bit dry from the merciless treatment of the last days and overall tiredness; some cream and a decent amount of sleep and water should fix it, soon.

“Come in here” he mumbled, forcing himself off the headrest and sitting up in the tub. “There’s enough space.”

“I already showered.”

“I don’t care.”

You laughed softly at his thoughtless response, but without further objections took the pajamas off yourself and slowly dived into the water behind him, taking over the headrest and letting him rest against your chest, his hair also full of styling cosmetics that needed to be taken off before sleep as to not strain the poor strands any longer.

“You had a long day, pretty boy” you whispered, and he hummed in response. “What are the plans for tomorrow?”

He let out a small whimper, clearly not pleased at your choice to spoil the moment with such unpleasant thoughts.

“The schedule starts at noon. Let’s sleep in” he announced finally, but before you could ask any more uncomfortable questions, he grasped your hands and put them on his head, motioning you to take care of it instead of talking, and you, although unwillingly at first, abandoned the topic and reached to the nearest drawer to take a hair conditioner, putting a rich amount over his hair, hoping to get all the substances on it to dissolve before washing them off with a shampoo. Your fingertips danced across his face and scalp, gently scratching the tired skin, serving to bring it back to life as much as to push his own self further into the sleepy state with the slow massage.

“You need to move a bit, I can’t reach everywhere when you lie on me like this” you informed him patiently.

For a few moments he didn’t respond and you thought he’s going to ignore you, but he turned out to be gathering all his leftover strengths before pushing himself off and hanging his arms over the tub’s edge, resting against them instead. You patted his head gently and then moved a get a better angle, going back to massaging his scalp, washing off what was left in there despite the water carelessly dripping onto the tiles, both off your hands, his arms and hair.

“We need to get in the shower to get it all off you” you finally announced.

“Let’s just sleep here” Baekhyun opposed.

“No, you’re so sleepy you wouldn’t even notice if you drowned, and having your corpse in a bathtub would not be the best accent to my vacation.”

He huffed, not too bothered, though – being dramatic would be a waste of energy, and he didn’t have much of it left either way.

You didn’t really know how you made it to the shower in the end, having him sit on the chair inside and washing him off with lukewarm water; his eyes closed trustfully, allowing you to get the water all over his hair and face. He made no motion to stand up when you were done and you almost thought he fell asleep in this position – until he glanced at you, and then at towels on the hangers, giving you a clear hint at what he wants you to do. And as much as you wanted to just dry yourself off and go straight to bed, you took the towel and gently traced it along his face, then pressed into the scalp, getting some of the moisture out, and then into his back, chest, and all the other places he needed it in until he was almost fully dry.

He took the towel out of your hand to, although sluggishly and not as thoroughly, return the favor, and eventually wrapping it over the nape of your neck and pulling you into a slow, lazy kiss.

“Let’s sleep in tomorrow” were not the words you expected to hear from him now, but somehow, they were full of love and appreciation – a small promise, the tender intimacy being his own love language that you were still learning to reciprocate as well as you could. He looked as if he wanted to pick you up and carry to bed, with the way his arms wrapped around you now, pressing your naked form into his chest, but you knew he’s too tired to do so, and you untangled yourself from his embrace, hanging the towel by the shower. Your pajamas, abandoned on the floor, were soaked through among all the other things, but you couldn’t care less now – you thought about picking a new set, but truthfully, it didn’t seem all that important. Maybe it felt a bit strange to walk naked by the huge windows of the hotel room, although at this floor no one would see you unless purposefully trying to – especially with the dim lights that didn’t share much. But it didn’t matter, either; what mattered, was the slow dip of the mattress, promising soon-to-come rest, and the arms that wrapped around you, not too strongly, not intensely at all, but enough to let you feel at ease in the strange room, strange city.

“Do you really want to sleep in? There’s so many things I want to show you” you spoke suddenly, turning to face your beloved one.

But his eyes were already closed, his chest moving slowly, his breath calm and his mind full of love keeping him in the deep, peaceful and well-deserved slumber.

Please, reblog if you enjoyed.

[seiya234]

the haunting of dipper pines

“At the end of the day, it was as easy as biting into an apple. 

The power lingered in him for only that day.

Henry lingered within him for far, far, far longer than that. 

(a land of deepest shade)

Willow told him once that the mind was like the ocean. 

There was the shore where people ran in and out of the water and onto land again. There were the waters where sunlight infiltrated, the waters where the more recognizable sea creatures lived. Even the twilight zone, where things began to get dark, still would occasionally burp up something recognizable.

Then there was the deep. The black. The vast expanse of the ocean floor where there was still so much unknown. And so much that would never be known. 

“Uh-”

Willow rolled her eyes at him. “So the shore is like, shallow currents. That’s where we dwell most of the time. And then the dark is where things you never think of, or don’t want to think of, or parts of you you don’t acknowledge- that’s where all that lives.”

“Sweetie,” Dipper began. “I... I don’t think that’s how minds work.”

“That’s how mine does.”

“Okay but your experience doesn’t-”

Dipper stopped. Willow’s eyes were cold, far too cold for a sixteen year old.

“Uncle Dipper, it’s a fucking metaphor.”

Willow never swore in front of him. He immediately dropped it. 

The worse of it was, he realized later that she was right. Because in his Shack, there were the places he spent the most time- the living room, the kitchen, the porch and front yard. There were the places he only occasionally went- his bedroom, stan’s office. 

And then there were the dark places. 

The basement. The apple tree.

Where there were gold bricks littered everywhere, lives once lived but forgotten with the weight of who he was now, and the motes of everyone he had ever eaten-

-“Boo,” said a far too familiar red headed face in front of him, before disappearing.-

-but he never had to pay attention to those.

----

(oh you’re going to lose control tonight) 

The first time was right after Ian’s surgery, when he was looking for some nightmares in the fridge, and out of the corner of his eye was a beautiful woman , antlers full of withered fruit and tiny white flowers. But for obvious reasons he had quite a lot on his mind, and it was easy to put down as a figment of his imagination-

-”Does your imagination come to life? Cause like, you live in imagination?” Mabel had asked. “Um. No...Yes... kind of?” Dipper responded. “But if something’s in there, it’s real now, one way or another-

-easily forgotten before going back out into the real world to deal with yet another disaster. 

But then the Flock began to complain about pulling up hanks of red hair amidst the grass. Cleanly cut severed hands and feet began appearing on the roof, out back, and on one memorable occasion in the dishwasher. Flannel shirts would appear on the back of the chairs in the kitchen and just as quickly disappear again. 

Thick rimmed glasses laying on the bathroom sink, that faded away just as Dipper would reach for them.

Late at night, aimlessly changing channels on the tv, watching the dreams of the multitude, and the smell of woodsmoke, slightly musty apples and mustier books, and an undercurrent of blood and sweat, the smell so strong that Dipper whipped around expecting to see Henry standing there right behind him, but he wasn’t he never was never would at least for another few centuries it was Dipper all alone...

Dipper settled back into the couch. He was alone, a part of him would always be alone, and while on any other night that would send him into an angst spiral but tonight it was kind of comforting.

Strong, care worn hands fell upon his shoulders, and Dipper knew without looking that one of the fingers would have a simple silver band with a little chunk of cubic zirconia, that the back of the right hand would have a scar from a cat scratch, that little red hairs poked up from the fingers...

the hands gave Dipper’s shoulders a squeeze and then they weren’t there.

They never were there. 

---

He began to see Henry.

Henry, opening the fridge, and vanishing.

Henry, chopping wood in the yard before vanishing.

Henry, digging under the couch for the remote before, wait for it, vanishing yet fucking again.

The first hundred times, Dipper thought he was imagining things.

The second hundred times, Dipper thought he was about to undergo yet another bad spell- perhaps all these apparitions were harbingers of what was to come? 

By the 347th apparition of Henry, Dipper finally was forced to accept that these... these motes. They were real.

They were Henry.

Or rather, they were parts of him. 

---

(for when you’re gone, i’m a severed soul)

Mabel and Henry’s room, oddly enough, didn’t carry quite the weight that one would imagine that it would. 

Because after that it had been Willow’s room, and then her great-granddaughter, and then Mike's and then...

Point being, so many people had lived in that room, made that the heart of their Shack, that the Mabel and Henry shine had worn off of it for the most part...

Except for the nights when he needed it to be their room. 

The nights when he needed to crawl under one of the many blankets Mabel had created over the years out of her old sweaters, sleep on top of the jersey sheets that Mabel loved but always pulled up and off the mattress, the pancake pillow that Henry slept on and the Pile of memory foam pillows and stuffed animals that Mabel used...

Nights where he would crawl into their bed and remember falling asleep between them, between them with the triplets mixed in there, between them and three to seven grandkids, and Henry’s weird cat that farted all the time, and then just the three of them again, at the end, grey hair and wrinkles and divots in the mattress. 

Nights where he wouldn’t sleep because he couldn’t sleep but he would just set his mind adrift, and do his best to Not Think for awhile. 

And now, nights where he would be in there, and feel the weight of an arm over his chest. Sometimes that arm was wearing an old Oregon State sweatshirt. Sometimes it was bare, showing freckled skin and red hair. And sometimes, some rare times, it was joined by the gentle sound of snoring in his ears, the tickle of hair against his forehead, a foot bumping into his. 

Dipper didn’t turn to see if he was there.

He never was.

-----

For awhile he didn’t acknowledge the motes; because surely they were only unknowing recordings of fleeting moments of time.

But time passed, on and on and on, and the fragments of Henry kept interrupting his solace, so finally Dipper began to talk to them.

They didn’t answer.

He told them about his day.

They didn’t answer.

He broke down in tears in front of them.

They didn’t answer. 

He screamed. 

They didn’t answer.

He raged.

They didn’t answer.

He gave up.

They didn’t answer.

Then one day when he was looking in the mirror, trying to lick some blood off his face, he saw Henry behind him once again.

“Why don’t I see Mabel like I see you?” Dipper asked him, not expecting an answer.

“Because you didn’t chew her soul into a thousand pieces,” Henry answered primly.

Dipper whirled around.

He was gone.

But now Dipper knew they could talk.

---

(from dust and ashes i have called you)

Footsteps upstairs again.

It wasn’t the Flock, Dipper knew that in his bones. He tried to not be a dick about it but... the Shack was his place, his sanctuary. The Flock were welcome to every other part of his mind but here.... here be dragons.

So it wasn’t the Flock. 

The footsteps paused, then turned around and began to walk again. From what it sounded like, they were headed towards the triplets’ old room.

Towards Dipper’s old room. 

He looked up and he could practically see each board of the ceiling ever so lightly wiggle as the steps walked across them. The steps got to the door of the triplets’ room, and then paused.

That pause was familiar; how many times did Henry go up to check on the kids when they were growing up? 

Pause. Then slowly walking back across the floor, headed towards the stairs down.

Dipper tensed on the couch. Would this-

The wood on the stairs began to creak.

Then it faded as it got to the stairs in Dipper’s eyeshot.

Then the footsteps were gone. 

----

After the first time, Dipper began to see Henry in various reflective surfaces. Never for very long, but it was enough to begin a conversation.

“Is it really you?” Dipper asked Henry in his coffee one morning.

“I mean, yes, but I could just as easily still be a figment of your imagination,” Henry replied a few weeks later from the window pane.

“I don’t remember you being this rude when you were alive,” Dipper said primly into his pot of soup. Said rudeness did also put a point into his theory that all of these Henry-visions were hallucinations on his part.

From the blackness of the switched off tv, Henry primly responded, “I apologize for my crankiness, but it’s been a rough century.” 

Dipper couldn’t argue with that.

Time passed.

“I’ve eaten untold numbers of souls,” Dipper said to the Henry who was lurking in the bathroom mirror. “What makes yours different?”

“Because I am special to you,” a Henry sitting on his porch reading a book replied a month later.

“Because you started to pay attention and now you’re looking for me,” another Henry cooking in the kitchen said a year later.

“Because,” and this was Henry’s breath hot in his ear, “Because you are so very lonely.”

----

(so pale so cold so fair)

There were the motes of Henry that were actually awake and aware, that spoke to him, even for the briefest moment. 

But more often, the fragments of Henry’s soul showed up as little repeating events, flashes of the life that Henry lived in the Shack.

So Dipper would go to get something from the vending machine basement door, and look and see Henry assisting an invisible patron, a book in his hand.

Henry, vacuuming a rug and talking in such a way that Dipper knew it was Stan on the other end. 

Henry, running through the living room, chasing three little stars that were long gone by now.

Henry, swinging on the porch swing, holding Mabel’s hand, but he wasn’t holding Mabel’s hand, he was holding fucking air, just like he was nothing but fucking air-

(he took the porch swing down for seventy two years after that, putting it back again when he had finally forgotten why he had taken it down in the first place.)

----

He was trying to figure out which ascot color was better when Henry appeared from behind in the bathroom mirror. 

Dipper didn’t bother to look back, knowing from bitter experience that like Eurydice Henry would only disappear.

“I.. I feel...you got two minutes Dip,” the Henry behind him said. 

Dipper froze. Two minutes. That was nothing. That was forever.

“Uh. How do you feel?”

“Hm. Kind of like the very essence of who I am was broken into literally millions of tiny shards of being, and that I only have the briefest flashes of consciousness before fading away again-”

“Uh.”

“It’s surprisingly hard work coalescing back into a regular soul, did you know that?”

“I mean yes? but-”

The Henry in the mirror was now right behind him, looming over him. His flannel was gone and now he was only wearing a worn black t-shirt, the kind that came in packs in Wal-mart. 

“I’m scattered. I’m missing. I’m missed. And then before that-”

Paloma glared at him in the mirror.

“I was tortured to death and then they took my soul, they broke and twisted me and grew a tree from me and they broke me so how the fuck do you think I’m doing?”

They stared at each other for a second. Then it was just Henry again, and he sighed.

“I’m sorry Dipper. That wasn’t fair. It’s been a long-”

He was gone.

Dipper didn’t see another Henry for five years.

---

(where did you sleep last night?)

He began to remember things that he had long forgotten.

Obviously, he prioritized henry and mabel and stan and kids memories above all else but well, he was old. He had countless friends and family now, lived untold numbers of lives, hadn’t had a second to rest, reset, renew-

So while he remembered quite a lot of that most precious time, he began to remember-

-watching the kids’ play at school and Henry having to sit in the last row because he was so tall....

-hiding behind the couch while some terrible movie Acacia picked was on and Henry, reading and smiling self indulgently...

-dinner at Greasy’s with Henry and that one documentarian, what was his name again? Oh yeah, James! 

-kneeling on the floor, praying loudly because apparently those were the only prayers that counted-

(wait)

-dad’s hand shoving the kitten into the sack, shouting incoherently at him while he cried, knowing what was going to happen next

(wait)

-his girlfriend’s brother, reaching into his chest and grabbing his soul, taking it to his mouth-

(w͓̜̙͈ a̬̯̘͙̯͎ ì̬̤ ṭ͟)

He began to remember things that he had long forgotten...and he began to see things that he had never knew in the first place.

-----

He had a million things he wanted to tell Henry when he finally appeared to Dipper again but the first thing he managed was “I think you’re bleeding into me.”

“Huh,” said the empty flannel shirt that was laid over the back of the porch swing. “I guess we should have expected that.”

Dipper tensed for the shirt to disappear, but no it was still there, so he went on. “I guess it’s kind of fitting. You know. Because of-” Dipper waved the head over his head, and was relieved that the empty shirt chuckled.

“Oh yeah, that. Remember when I wasn’t able to read what I wrote for a month?”

“Yup.” 

The silence stretched. Dipper realized he was waiting for an apology.

“I’m not going to apologize,” the shirt said. “I thought about it- and I could have said all that better. But I’m done apologizing.”

There was a pause. There was a roar in Alcor’s chest- Henry had been rude! Henry had hurt his feelings, his feelings!- but Dipper ignored it, because if he gave in to it.

Something precious would be irrevocably broken. Maybe future Henrys wouldn’t know it, but Dipper would, always and forever. 

So instead he smiled and only said, “Water under the bridge.”

“Good.” Then the shirt disappeared.

But Dipper felt like he would see it again sooner rather than later. 

----

(all the trees of the field will clap their hands)

The Shack began to come alive again...no. Wait.

Not quite. Not quite alive. More the pale imitation of the already pale imitation that was in Dipper’s mind. 

But

There were the sounds of a house lived in. A toilet flushing, the washing machine on a rough spin cycle, clatter of fork and knife on plate... 

The temperature would drop at night and the windows would rattle as if they were being opened- Henry always liked to keep it cold at night when he slept- and rise in the day- because Stan would go around closing all the windows and refusing to turn on the AC to save money... 

It began to feel like Dipper was constantly walking into rooms that people had just left. A turn into the kitchen, and there would be dirty plates and cups on the table, with scraps of unfinished food. The bathroom would be fogged up, with a wet towel hanging to dry and condensation on the mirror. Muddy shoes, the mud still wet on the soles, left on the porch in front of the door. 

The TV turned to the informercials you got after the cartoons died at three am when he walked in, a bowl of popcorn kernels next to the couch, and he had been so close, so close, so fucking close-

But at the end of the day it was just Dipper, out of sync with a reality that had long left him behind.

----

finally, finally they began to just talk. to be.

Conversations began and ended mid-sentence, and it didn’t matter if a year or five or fifty or a hundred had passed, but they began them effortlessly once more.

Here and now, Dipper had Henry all to himself, and they talked and talked, unraveling each memory they had made together, good and bad. Unraveling each one, savoring it, getting the other’s point of view.

Here and now, Dipper had Henry all to himself, unbothered by the passing of time outside of their minds. They talked about the kids. The kids and the grandkids and the great-grandkids, and all the great-great-grandkids that Henry never had a chance to know. 

Here and now, Dipper had Henry all to himself, in a way that he never could have any of his family, because Henry didn’t leave him to get reincarnated, couldn’t leave him for another life, and now all they had was time. Time for Henry to read all the books of the world through the resources of Dipper’s memory, time for infinite amounts of stuttering conversations and bread and apple pies that Dipper hadn’t tasted in eons left on the stove for him. 

But there was one subject that neither of them were ready to broach, and Dipper hoped they never did.

----

(maybe i will always haunt you)

“You know this isn’t going to last forever, right?”

Dipper turned around.

There was no one there.

----

“I think I’m almost done.”

Dipper didn’t say anything because he knew it was true. Henry was able to appear to him for longer and longer periods of time, looking more and more complete. 

“There’s... there’s something I feel a pull to, I think that’s my next life.” 

Dipper still didn’t say anything.

“Look, please tell me you aren’t going to spend whatever we time we have left together giving me the silent treatment.”

Finally, Dipper spoke. “I’m not giving you the silent treatment.” 

Henry peeped over the tops of his glasses and gave him The Look and oh yes, his soul really was close to being reunited. 

“You know... you know I have to go right?”

“Yeah.”

“And that it’s not good for me to stay like this indefinitely?”

“Yeah.”

“And that petulance is unbecoming in a man of your age? “Henry!” 

The redheaded man smirked. “There we go. Now are we actually going to talk about how you feel or what?”

Dipper grimaced. Ugh. Emotional honesty. 

But he did manage to say, “I’m not ready for you to go.” 

Henry sighed. “I know. I’ll admit, I’m not entirely ready to leave either.”

“Then stay.”

“I can’t. I miss them.” He didn’t have to say who it was he missed because Dipper missed the same people.

“I...I could m̫͓̝̳͓̘ḁ̞͍̘͇͓k͙͉̥e̮̰̗̦̺̫̞ you stay.”

Henry smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile, and his shadow began to stretch, the air around his head growing heavy, and the smell of blood filled Dipper’s nose. “You could try.”

The tension rose in Dipper, and then just as easily, faded away. “Yeah I could couldn’t I.”

Part of him still wanted to rage and scream, to get into a long, drawn out fight with Henry, to wail and gnash and exclaim how unfair it was to Henry, to the world.

But the world had changed, and Dipper, somehow, had changed along with it. He was older now. And he had had Henry all to himself for a millennium. 

He had had to eat Henry’s soul out of sheer desperation, to save his brother from further torture, a twisted gift to grant him the power to destroy a den of evil....

But this time, this span, had been a gift in its own right as well.

“Are you mad at me?”

“About what?”

“About... about what I did?”

Henry thought about it for a minute, giving the question the weight it deserved.

“I was a little upset, yes, for about fifty years. Because it did... hurt. Losing myself. Trying to piece myself back together. But deep down, I was never mad at you Dipper. I understood, understand.”

Henry grabbed Dipper’s hand. “And if you remember, I told you to do it as well.”

Another time, there may have been some sobbing, some crying about absolution and lack of deserving, and gnashing of teeth and rending of metaphorical hair.

But Dipper was older. And things changed.

And this time had been a gift, so instead he contented himself to let the conversation slip to lighter topics, to relish the little time he had left with Henry.

---

(and see the flaming skies!)

one day he came home and he was alone.

[starkerforlife6969]

I’ll Be Home - Starker

@starkersecretsanta @lilsoshie For you <3 

The story starts when Soldier Tony comes home for a few days, and is introduced to the love of his life. 

TW: Mentions of war, overload of fluff, A/O dynamics, mutual pining

Happily Holidays, my dancing sugar plums! 

Tony remembers his first station. 

Just off the coast of Kuwait, he was a fresh recruit, eighteen years old and awkward with a gun in his hand.

Though the army is Alpha-only, Tony had never really thought he’d want to join until he finished school. He remembers that first year, remembers the fear, remembers the confidence building, remembers the shared-smiles of people in his platoon. 

Stephen had been his bunkmate during training camp, and the two have been inseparable since. Stephen’s an irritating, self-righteous ass, a damn fine medical doctor, and Tony would lay down his life for him. 

One night in February, fresh off the plane, their general hires out a bar and fills it with dancers and family and lays on a huge spread. Tony’s just about to treat himself to the most expensive drink on the menu, when Stephen taps his arm. 

“Anthony, I want you to meet my brother. General Rogers had him flown out as a surprise for me.”

Tony lifts his eyebrows, already a little bemused at the softness around Stephen’s eyes. He’s never seen that before. A gentle smile on the doctor’s face, relaxed in a way that’s impossible to be unless you’re home.

Out from behind the other Alpha, a little omega steps.

He can feel his lips part, feel his mouth drop open a little in awe. The omega is beautiful. Tony’s never seen anyone so beautiful in his whole life. He has dark hair like Stephen, but it’s all fluffy and curly. He’s tiny, with huge honey eyes and lips like pink oceans. 

Tony doesn’t know what love at first sight is. He’s never read about it in books, never known anyone who experienced it, never heard stories. All he knows is that the second he lays eyes on the boy, he can see it all. In a flash he sees a future of shared smiles and kisses, he sees a family of curly haired children and a dog running in with the paper in his mouth. He sees the boy in white walking down an aisle, a veil framing him in all his glory, he sees-

“Peter, this is Tony, he’s the most narcissistic, egotistical, brilliant soldier I know. I’m very proud to call him my friend. Tony, this is Peter, the best little brother in the world and Brooklyn’s finest obstetrician in training.”

Okay, Stephen’s gotta be pretty drunk to be this nice, but Tony doesn’t even have the focus to mock him for the sentimentality. Peter. Perfect, beautiful Peter Strange. He’s got the loveliest blush on his cheeks, ducking his head like he’s shy and Tony’s heart-

Peter holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he beams, a sunbeam, a fucking ray of sunshine- “and I’m not very good, Stephen’s the real doctor.”

Stephen scoffs in outrage and Tony grins, tipping his head.

“I’m sure that’s not true. There’s quite clearly something special in your family’s genes.” Tony murmurs, feeling stupid even as the words leave his mouth. He can just picture this omega with babies now, babbling in his arms, babies with big eyes and soft skin and-

A woman from across the bar calls Stephen’s name and he wanders off leaving the two with each other. Peter blushes again.

“Let me buy you a drink.” Tony offers and Peter smiles.

“No, no, please let me buy you one. It’s the least I can do- thank you for-for your service, it’s- so- so brave-“

Tony laughs, feeling a little giddy. “I’ll have a beer. And I’ll get you a…” he glances at the drinks on the board. “A blueberry horizon.”

The omega hops onto a barstool and Tony slides in beside him. Peter nods delightedly. “Okay. Are they nice?”

“I think you’ll like it, I have an eye.” The alpha hums, “it’s very sweet. Like you.”

Another glorious blush.

Tony remembers that night. Eighteen years old and his first time back. He remembers talking to Peter all night, remembers them leaning into each other, feeling the heat of the omega’s body, he remembers Peter’s giggle, remembers steadying him when the two had gone outside for some fresh air.

He remembers the starlight in Peter’s eyes, and the flush across the bridge of his nose.

“I want you.” He’d whispered, drunk off alcohol and lust.

Peter had blinked up at him sweetly. “Want me to do what?” He’d whispered back, and Tony’s chest had clenched something fierce. 

“To…to take a walk with me.” He’d offered instead, holding out his arm like a gentleman. “To look at the moon with me.”

Peter had been speechless for a moment, looking up at him in wonder. “It’s like an old movie.” He’d beamed and Tony laughed. 

They’d strolled away into the darkness and by the time dawn came up, Tony was in love.

***

It’s been a few years since then. Tony’s twenty-five now, and his six-year contract has finally come to an end.

“You’re not gonna stay on?” Stephen asks in surprise, renewing his contract as a field medic for another five.

“Enough for me,” Tony murmurs, looking up at the moon the way he always does when he feels like he could finally get everything he wants. 

The problem with only being back in America a few weeks at a time is that over the past few years, he and Peter have only seen each other on a handful of occasions. They’re friends. Peter writes and sends care-packages to both his brother and Tony.

On average, Tony’s seen him maybe two days a year for the past seven years. 

Each time Peter is more beautiful. Last time was at a New Years Party, with Peter breathlessly regaling him with a story of a premature birth, hands moving expressively, as the two of them leaned against the railing on the roof and watched fireworks going in the distance. 

“I’ve missed you, Pete,” Tony had admitted, wincing at his own lack of tact. “I never get to see you.”

“Aw, Tony,” Peter had knocked their hips together, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder. “I miss you too. But it means we always have lots to talk about when you’re back.”

They talk and talk and they have a good time, but there are topics that are never touched on. 

Tony’s never asked if Peter’s seeing anyone. Never broached it with Stephen either. It hadn’t seemed fair to express any sort of interest, to stake any sort of claim, not while he was away so often. The thought- the miraculous thought- of Peter liking Tony back, and then having to wait for him. To wait alone for a few days of snatched contact, to be lonely and unsupported and-

The thought was too agonising. 

So, Tony has waited and waited and-

“I want to go home. Settle down. Be around.”

Stephen smiles, pouring the both of them some bourbon. “Any idea where you’ll go?”

Tony takes the glass as it’s offered. “Brooklyn, maybe.”

Stephen chuckles in surprise. “Well good, keep an eye on Peter for me. He adores you, you know.”

Tony’s fingers tremble and he hopes it’s true. 

Stephen gives him a look then, curious and frighteningly intelligent, but he doesn’t say anything. They play cards and drink bourbon and Stephen accuses him of cheating.

At the end of the night in their bunks, Stephen talks into the darkness. 

“I’ll miss you, Stark. You’re…you’re like another brother to me.”

Tony says, “I’ll miss you too,” and thinks about what it might be like having Stephen as a brother-in-law.

He thinks it might be pretty great. 

***

As a young Alpha in Brooklyn fresh out of the army, he’s treated with a lot of respect. People nod at him, offer to buy him drinks and clap him on the back like he’s an old friend.

He finds a place to rent and gets a great deal even though he doesn’t need it. He’s got a lot saved up. His fingers itch to call Peter, but first he goes to a few job interviews. Tries to get a feel for living in the city and having his own space after so long of sharing and barracks. 

He gets the first job he applies for. It’s as a security consultant for a big firm. It’s good pay and the female Alpha who shakes his hand is no-nonsense and impressed with him. 

He buys himself a bed.

He spends a lot on it. It’s ludicrously big and the mattress is extra plush, queen, memory foam. He gets a fancy headboard and high-thread blankets. When he tries to sleep on it that night, it’s a little awkward. He sinks into the softness, feels unnatural. 

He tells himself he wants a change, but he’s lying. The bed isn’t for him. 

It’s for the softest, most beautiful, most deserving person Tony knows.

***

“Tony!” Peter cries, leaping into his arms in the March sunshine and clutching him tight. Tony lifts him clear off the ground: breathing him in. 

Tony’s in uniform. He feels more comfortable in it, but also, he thinks that maybe- maybe Peter likes seeing him in it. A few people on the street around them aww and applaud, but Tony has eyes for none of them. 

Peter’s in a bumble bee sweater and white jeans, looking so pleased to see him that Tony wants to- wants to make his move. 

But no. It’s not the right time. He’s just got back, he’s just moved to Brooklyn, he’s just started his job- it’s too soon. 

“Wow,” Peter murmurs, tracing his finger down the jagged line near Tony’s eye. His touch is like heaven and Tony leans into his caress. “A close call?”

“Real close.”

“I’m glad you’re safe.” Peter whispers, eyes huge, “and it’s very, very handsome.”

The scar had bled and bled and hurt like a bitch when it happened-

And Tony would do it again in a heartbeat, just for the way Peter wets his lips as he looks up at him. 

***

Over the next few months, things move slowly. 

Tony has a few bad dreams, writes letters to Stephen, and does his job. He buys more furniture, puts down more roots in the form of a real oak coffee table and a tv with cable. 

He visits Peter at the hospital he works at. He sees Peter as everything he knew he could be. Capable, brilliant, eyes flickering over information and reassuring to the pregnant Omegas. Peter’s hands are confident, assured, as they touch round bellies or squirming, wriggly babies. 

After his shift, they go and get lunch. 

“It’s like watching Stephen,” Tony says in awe, “you’re brilliant.”

Peter blushes and smiles, a classic Tony adores, and takes a bite of his salmon. Tony watches it go past his lips. “Well I think you’re brilliant.”

“And devastatingly handsome.”

“It’s devastating alright,” Peter teases. “So, what’s new? Have you made any friends in your building yet?”

Tony makes a face. “Why on earth would I want friends in my building?”

“Fine, Mr Grumps, what about…um…have you been…dating, or- or anything? Seeing someone?”

Tony stills, eyes flickering over Peter’s face trying to read him. What does that mean? But the omega looks carefully schooled, focused on his lunch. Is Peter asking as a friend? Or asking because- because- “I’m not seeing anyone,” Tony murmurs, waiting for Peter’s reaction. “Are you?”

“You’re- me? No, no…”

“No?” Tony hums, “no Alpha swept you off your feet?”

Peter’s honey eyes meet his. There’s silence for a beat, before Peter looks away. “Well, I mean- it’s just hard to find the time.”

“Is there someone you’re interested in?” Tony asks, voice a little too rough.

Those big, beautiful eyes keep looking at him, and then Peter’s pager beeps and they both seem relieved.

Tony finishes his lunch alone and tries to think. Maybe it’s time, maybe it’s time he made a move. He’s wanted Peter since that night in the bar. He’s back now, he’s-

But no. No, it’s not the right time and Peter’s right. The omega works so hard and doctors’ shifts are long and tiring and-

No. Not yet.

***

Peter’s apartment is all bronze accents and fluffy pillows. It’s near the hospital and has a pretty good view that makes up for all the sirens that go by. 

“I swear you’ve spoilt me.” Tony moans after he’s finished dessert. Peter’s cooking is phenomenal. After three helpings of spaghetti and chocolate brownie for dessert, he’s so content he could purr. 

Peter laughs, licking chocolate from his fingertips in a way that’s obscene. “I love watching you eat. I wish I could just feed you all the time, make sure you’re getting enough.”

It’s a very omega thing to say to an Alpha. Very traditional. Very domestic. Very intimate. What does it mean?

“It’s late,” Peter says, standing up and stretching. Tony can’t drag his eyes away from him. From the gorgeous figure he makes even in his frumpy green sweater with the floral collar and chocolate on his mouth. 

He pulls himself to his feet and reaches for his coat. “You’ve got an early shift-“

“No, I mean-“ Peter takes a step closer, swallowing hard, looking brave. “I mean, it’s late, you could…if you wanted, you could just stay over…”

Tony frowns, “what do you mean? The commute will be a bitch in the morning.”

Tony doesn’t understand when Peter looks embarrassed. “Nothing, no, don’t worry, I was just being silly, sorry.”

Tony doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like Peter looking awkward and humiliated. He feels like he’s missed something. “Pete?” He prompts gently, “are you alright? Was it a…was it a bad shift today?” That happens sometimes. Tragic things happen and Peter gets small and sad and needs someone to lean against for a few days, Tony gets that. “I’ll stay, sweetheart-“

“No, no, you don’t-“

“Hey, hey,” he collects the boy into his arms. “I’m here for you, okay? I’m here for you.” He kisses Peter’s temple: holds him tight. It takes a second, but eventually Peter relaxes into his embrace and they stand there, wrapped around each other.

Eventually they pull apart a little, and Peter peeks up at him.

Maybe now, Tony thinks to himself. Maybe this is the moment, maybe this is the right time-

But no. Peter’s had a long day and-

Warm and soft and perfect is the kiss placed onto the corner of Tony’s mouth. 

He’s so stunned that he can only stand there, unmoving, staring down at the omega in shock. 

Peter’s the colour of a rose petal, looking like the bravest thing in the world. 

Tony can’t even move. Does this- is this-

Peter stretches onto his tiptoes, hands still clutching Tony’s shoulders, and slower, much slower, presses another little butterfly kiss right onto the corner of Tony’s mouth.

He can hear his heart beating in his ears- is this- does he-

He’s hyperaware of his hand on Peter’s waist, one on the small of his back, of how they’re pressed together, of how perfect-

“Tony, I really like you.” Peter whispers, breath fanning over Tony’s face. “I was um…I was wondering if-“

“Yes,” Tony croaks, “yes, yes, yes, yesyesyesyes.”

Peter makes the most adorable sound of delight, and kisses Tony right on the mouth.

He tastes of chocolate and love and Tony sees it all again. He sees the golden mornings and the crosswords in bed. He sees the dog coming into the kitchen with the paper in his mouth, he sees a future, his future, with the love of his life-

“Hey Tony,” Peter giggles, lashes all wet with tears, “I adore you.”

Tony lets out a sob and buries his face into Peter’s curls. 

Coffee tables and cable can go screw themselves. He doesn’t need roots to be tethered somewhere- with Peter, he’s always home.

***

On Christmas Eve, Christine and Peter are making mince pies and competitively quoting It’s a Wonderful Life, and Tony’s in the living room, phone to his ear.

“How’s Christie?”

“You just spoke to her-“

“How is she really, Anthony?”

Tony sighs. “She misses you, but we’ve got her, Stephen, don’t worry. She understands. It’s just hard.”

Stephen’s silent for a while. Tony wonders if he’s thinking about his contract. Stephen clears his throat: “It’s a squeeze the three of you in that tiny flat, when are you and Peter going to get a house?”

“We’re gonna start searching after Christmas,” Tony chuckles, “Guess what I’ve got Pete for Christmas.”

“Something ingenious no doubt. A framed photo of yourself?” 

“Ha ha. No, get this,” Tony drops his voice, “it’s a puppy.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh,” Tony grins, “Rhodes is bringing it over tomorrow morning, crack of dawn.”

“Tony, he’s going to love it.”

“I know, right? Best-present-ever-sex is definitely on the table.”

“That’s my brother, Tony.”

“Not literally on the table, Christie’s here-“

“I’ve got you something.”

Tony laughs in surprise. “Really? How’d you pull that off? You didn’t have to do that, Stephen-“

“Shut up and let me tell you what it is.”

“Is it good?”

“Obviously. You’re going to feel bad about making sex jokes.”

“I’m excited.”

“Christie should’ve put it under the tree- in an envelope.”

Tony hums in surprise, looking under the tree where all the presents are. Sure enough, there’s a red envelope with his name on it. He examines it curiously. “What is it?”

“Open it, you moron.”

Tony rolls his eyes, balancing the phone in the crook of his neck, and opens it up. Inside is what looks like an old letter. He glances at it in confusion. “What am I looking at here, Doc?”

“It’s a letter Peter wrote me a very long time ago.”

Yes, he can recognise Peter’s handwriting now, doctor-scruffy with lots of loops. It’s very sweet. Tony gets the gist of the first few paragraphs. Peter asks if Stephen’s safe, tells him he misses him, how his studies are going and then- and then-

You might not remember but you introduced me to one of your friends when you were here last month. His name’s Tony. Is he single? He’s got the prettiest dark brown eyes and he was really nice to me and I was just wondering if he’d told you about me? We went for a walk and we talked all night. Do you think he might like me? Could you tell him I say hi? Don’t make me sound like a dork! He’s not like any Alpha I’ve ever met before. And mom said to call her! And-

“Holy shit.”

“Indeed.”

“A month after we met- a month after-“

“Yes, Tony,” Stephen sighs, but his voice is fond. “I’ve had the pleasure of seeing you two pine for seven years. I thought you might like it. I don’t say it often, but I do love you, Tony. I’m very glad you’re with my brother. However, you do worry. You’re a soldier and you have a keen sense of time and when to do things, but you hesitated with Peter. I’m not sure why, maybe you thought he didn’t like you, but regardless, I think, in love, just doing what feels right is okay, from time to time. Especially with you and Peter.”

“Stephen…”

“Merry Christmas, Tony.”

“I’m so glad I met you. You’ve changed my life.”

Stephen sniffles, like he might be crying. Tony calls Christie in, to let the two of them say goodbye, and heads into the kitchen.

Peter beams at him, flour on his cheeks. “George Bailey, I’ll love you till the day I die!” He quotes merrily, skipping over to peck Tony’s cheek, and Tony thinks about Stephen, and about love and about the puppy he’s going to give Peter tomorrow and the dog it’ll grow into and the kitchen they’ll have. He thinks about timings and all the waiting and the missed moments and then- he doesn’t think, he just does.

The first thing he says is: “I love you so much, Peter.”

And the next thing he does is get down onto one knee. 

--

merry christmas @lilsoshie your prompts were all equally amazing so it was really hard to choose, so I tried to merge a few of them together. I hope you liked this and that you have an amazing Christmas! All the love in the world1 

#starkersecretsanta2019

[thisbrokenmask]

Moving On

Title: Moving On

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: Established relationship, fluff

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1.7k

Song inspiration: Moving On

A/N: Another one of my submissions for ficswithluv’s Bulletproof Bingo Event, and this one is especially poignant for me as I got the keys to my new apartment today! It’s also my first time living entirely on my own - no fellow students, no partner - so I’m very excited to be taking on this next adventure! 

Also, in case you didn’t notice, I’m a bit soft for Yoongi :) 

“Is this the last one?” You turn to see Taehyung pointing to the box at his feet and nod in confirmation, watching as he immediately bends down to lift it. He doesn’t mention your lack of sarcastic comment that the last box sat in the middle of the room is clearly the last one, and you try not to frown at how effortlessly he lifts it and turns to take it out of your apartment. You remember how you’d had to slide it across the floor once you’d filled it not even a week ago, but you aren’t about to question your significantly stronger friends when they’re helping you and your boyfriend move. 

Once Taehyung’s footsteps disappear down the hallway towards the elevator of your soon-to-be ex-apartment building, you turn to look around the now-empty room that was formerly your lounge. The TV is no longer on the wall, the wide expanse of blue somehow looking smaller without a flatscreen in the middle of it, and all of your photo frames are securely packed away, their hooks removed from the walls and the holes filled in and painted over. 

Your footsteps echo on the bare wooden floors as you turn to wander towards the kitchen, the rugs you’d used to cushion the floor already rolled up and waiting inside the truck outside. The ghosts of tummy-aching laughter and birthday songs ring in your ears as you try to remember all of the celebrations and movie nights that have happened here over the years. You subconsciously step to the side to avoid the end table that’s no longer there, a short chuckle passing your lips as you realise how deeply this action has seeped into your muscle memory. It’s understandable, given how you’ve lived here for just over three years, but you still can’t help but laugh at yourself. 

The white kitchen cupboards gleam in the sunlight that seeps in through the window above the sink, all of them meticulously wiped clean and emptied. A soft smile graces your face as you remember all the dinners you both cooked here, the glasses of wine you giggled over, even the few times you made love on the floor when the bedroom was just too far away from the front door after a date night. 

“Ready to go?” A pair of arms wraps around your waist and a chin settles on your shoulder as Yoongi whispers in your ear, his deep voice the most sinful ASMR you’ve ever heard. The warmth of his chest against your back helps to soothe the nerves that have been creeping up your spine for the last few days. While you’re glad to be out of the small, cramped apartment that you could barely afford by scraping your earnings together three years ago, you’ve never been good with saying goodbyes, even to places. 

You remember the first night you spent here, the two of you sat on the floor with a few take out containers between you. Boxes sat on the counters above you and took up the floor in the next room, and a mattress was waiting on the floor in the bedroom for when you eventually collapsed into bed together, frameless until later on in the week. Your belongings were threadbare at best, a lot of secondhand pieces making up the most of your possessions, but it was finally your own space. The two of you, together.  

“I think so,” your whispered reply is shaky as you place your hands over his where they rest on your stomach, his hum of amusement rumbling against your shoulders. 

“Don’t tell me now you want to stay?” he teases, turning his hands over to lace his fingers with yours. 

“Definitely not,” you laugh, squeezing his hands in return. “I’m glad to be leaving, really. We’ve outgrown this place and I’m ready to move on.” You nod to yourself, feeling your confidence rise with each word, knowing that you mean them all wholeheartedly. You’ve definitely outgrown this apartment, both of you now making much more money than you’d ever dreamed of three years ago thanks to Yoongi’s growing success in freelance music producing and your own writing career taking off just over a year ago. 

But it’s not just the money. The two of you have gone from strength to strength as a couple, weathering the storms of being broke, missing out on dream jobs, stress-fuelled arguments and late nights spent deciding whether to pay the bills on time or eat more than packet ramen for the foreseeable future. You’re ready to keep moving forward through life with him, already knowing that you’ll stay by his side for as long as he’ll have you. 

The man who lives full time in your heart starts to sway slightly, his hold on you guiding your hips to follow his from side to side. “Yeah?” His nose nuzzles into the spot just below your ear, your breath catching in your throat as he places a gentle kiss to your pulse point. You nod weakly, your confidence slipping at his question. “Then why do you look like you’re going to cry?” 

With a deep breath, you close your eyes and pull your hands from his. You feel him tense slightly, but he relaxes as soon as you guide his hands to the slope of your body between the dip of your waist and the curve of your hips. You finally turn in his arms, looping your arms around his neck, unable to blink back the tears in your eyes despite the smile on your lips. His eyes are watching you carefully, dark and deep and attentive as always, even when the black hair of his fringe threatens to overlap them. It hides his eyebrows, but you know one is cocked slightly to match the lopsided smirk he’s giving you. 

“Because, this is where we grew up, Yoongi,” you tell him, watching as his expression relaxes from a teasing smirk to match your soft-eyed smile. “We went through so much here; the good, the bad, the ugly… the fun.” You pull gently on the hair at the nape of his neck at the memories of the kitchen floor you’d just been reminiscing on and grin, a deep sigh sounding when he closes his eyes and bites his lip before staring straight back at you, pupils dilated. “We’ve got so many memories here,” you continue, looking around at the empty walls and pretending to ignore the way he grips you tighter. “I know it’s not the best apartment, but it was us. This was our home, and I’m going to miss it.” 

Yoongi’s stare softens once more and he internally curses how he knows he’ll never win against you; you hold his heart in your hands and he worships how gently you hold it, never squeezing too hard or letting him feel like you might drop it. 

“I won’t miss it,” he says quietly, catching you off guard as he leans in a little closer.

“No?” He shakes his head. “Why not?”

“Because you’re my home,” he states, as if it were a fact universally acknowledged. “As long as I’m with you, I’m more than happy.” 

“You’re my home, too,” your watery smile threatens to push your tears down your cheeks, but you manage to catch yourself before they do. You smile instead, adoration clear in your eyes as you look up at him. 

Yoongi’s heart beats wildly at the conflicting emotions coursing through his body, wanting to make sweet, reverential love to you, fuck you against the wall until you know nothing but his name, and simply hold you tightly against his chest, all in equal measure. You bewitch, ensnare and captivate his senses all at once, always have done, and he constantly struggles with how he can possibly express how much he loves you. He wants to worship every inch of you and yet feels too inadequate to even gaze upon your body. He wants to wait on you hand and foot and give you anything you want, but also wants to see you thrive in your own spotlight, carving your own path as you go. He’s torn between fierce attraction and heady admiration at every turn, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

As his friends have repeatedly said, he’s whipped. 

And guess what? He’s proud of it. 

You’re the woman who has stood by him despite everything, despite all the hardships you easily could have upped and walked away from. You’re the one who comforted him when his own parents refused to recognise his dreams, letting him vent and cry rather than telling him they weren’t worth the pain they caused him. You’re the person who admonished him for wanting to give up on his dreams of music, even when it was barely bringing enough money to the table despite keeping him up all night. You were the first person he wanted to tell when he finally sold a track for a decent amount of money, running home to show you the cheque in person because he could barely believe it himself. 

And here you still are, in his arms, gazing up at him like he’s worth more to you than the whole world, a position he still doesn’t feel like he’s even close to earning. You entered this flat together and you’re leaving together, off to take on new adventures together on stronger legs. Your new apartment is bigger, with enough room for Yoongi to have some proper equipment in a proper studio space while you have your very own writing desk in your new office. You’ve been able to upgrade your bed from a rickety-framed double to a memory foam-topped queen. There’s even more space on the kitchen floor. 

You smile as he lets his forehead rest against yours, both of you closing your eyes as you breathe into the same private space between you. As you feel his hands move around to rest at the base of your back, you feel a new surge of confidence fuelled purely by the love you feel radiating off of your partner. As long as you’re with him, you feel invincible.

“Let’s go,” you say, not moving an inch. 

“Okay,” he whispers back, pulling you closer so that your chests are pressed firmly together. 

A final deep breath, you pull apart. 

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” 

If you would like to read any more of my writings, please feel free to check out my masterlist here. 

[yootaesowlwrites]

Requested by: No one.

A/N: Ah, another Sunday, this time it’s still morning when I wrote this, another personal issue at home, another emotional rollercoaster, although this one... this one is just a bit more... well, I feel comforting, and yes, I consider this to be a part 2, to THIS imagine.

Warnings: Angst, fantasy, comforting?, fluff at the end, nudism.

Word Count: 1 508.

They sat across from each other in his apartment, the soft plush couch in his living room was large allowing them to sit crisscrossed facing each other, he had reached for her hands to hold them, the oversized sweater he wore covered his hands, hiding their hands inside it, he stared into her eyes, seeing how tired she was, how it appeared as if the life had been drained from her, her spirit almost broken.

His thumbs rubbed slowly soft circles on the back of her hands as he held onto them, his mind showing him images of her smiling and laughing, the nights when she called him to come and get her from her house, her red glossed over puffy eyes, it all made sense now, everything, even why she never wanted to tell him.

It’s not something anyone can just say or share, especially so close to home, especially someone so close to them, he wasn’t sure what he should be feeling, he was shocked at her story, sad she never told him, but he understood why, it probably wasn’t easy for her to tell him right now, to share her story with him, but he felt more relief that she trusted him enough to tell him, now he would know why he was comforting her, why she was crying.

His vision became slightly blurred as his eyes glossed over, tears forming in them, she gently squeezes his hands as she noticed it.

“Why are you crying?” She whispers, her voice cracking even while whispering.

“You’ve been through so much, and you still managed to keep a smile, every day,” Jin whispers. “No one should be going through that, absolutely no one.” He placed one leg on the floor and moves closer to her, releasing her hands. “The suffering, the emotional abuse.” His arms wrap around her, pulling her closer to him, her face moves to the crook in his neck. “I’m here for you, I’m here to listen to you, or if you just want to cry, please, please don’t feel like you should keep it to yourself.” One hand moves to the back of her head, caressing her, his fingers entangling with the strands of her hair. “You must be so exhausted from everything.”

He was, even though he just listened to her, but just listening to it, hearing the exhaustion in her voice, made him tired, he couldn’t even begin to imagine how it must be living there, every day, putting up a fake smile, trying to stay positive.

“Should I go run us a bubblebath?” Jin asks as he moves back, still whispering, his hands moving to her shoulders, a gentle hold on them. “Or do you want to go lay down?” It wouldn’t be the first time that she would spend the night at his place, it had become more frequent over the past couple of months that she had started leaving some of her clothes behind, and he would always make sure they were clean and ready for her when she would come over.

“Will you sit with me in the tub?” She asks, her voice just barely above a whisper, his hands slowly move down her arms, back to her hands.

“Of course I will,” Jin says, he lifts her hands, bringing her them towards his lips and softly kisses her knuckles. “Come, let me go run us a bubblebath.” He releases her hand and stood from the couch, his hand extending to her, she looks up at him and placed her hand in his and stood from the couch, his fingers wrapping around her hand, he leads her towards his bedroom and through to his bathroom. “Choose which one you want.” He releases her hand and leans over the tub and puts the bathplug in before opening the water, her eyes scan over the endless bubblebath options, before picking up a lilac coloured bottle and handing it to him.

He nods his head as he opens the bottle and pours some of the liquid into the tub before closing it and handing it back to her, she places it back on the shelf with the other bottles, she turns back to him, and he moves closer to her.

“Can I help you?” He asks, she nods her head, knowing what he was asking from her.

“Yes, please.” She softly says as she shrugs off her jacket, dropping it the floor, his hand's mover to the hem of her shirt and his fingers curl around the fabric, lifting it upwards, she lifts her arms allowing him to remove it and drop it onto her jacket, seeing as it was late in the night, he wasn’t surprised that she didn’t have a bra on, his hands move to the pj shorts she had on, his fingers curling around the elastic before finding the elastic to her panties also, he slides them down her legs, bending down to one knee as he does, she steps out from them, and he moves them to her pile of clothing on the floor, he looks up at her before standing from the ground.

“Here, let me help you in,” Jin says as he takes hold of her hand again, she steps closer to the tub and steps in, feeling the warm foamy water around her legs before sinking down in it, he releases her hand and quickly removes his own clothing before climbing into the bathtub with her, sitting across from her, he closes the water that had filled the tub before he reaches for her hands and holds them, staring into her eyes, the eyes that held too much sadness behind them, carried such a large burden, a burden no one should ever have to carry.

They sat there in the tub, holding hands underneath the water as the foam slowly evaporated, the silence felt almost comforting, there was no tension in the air, no stiffness, nothing but calmness surrounding them, the minutes slowly ticked by as if time had slowed down.

“I think we should get out.” She says, her voice louder than before as she felt more relaxed, her muscles no longer feeling as stiff as before. “Before it becomes too cold and we freeze.” A smile spreads across his lips as a giggle escapes from him, he stood first before helping her stand, he quickly got out the tub and wrapped a towel around his lower half before helping her out the tub and wrapping a soft towel around her.

“I wouldn’t want you to freeze to death,” Jin says as he carefully dries her. “There, all dried.” He picks up the pile of clothes on the floor, tossing it into his laundry basket. “Your clothes are still in the same drawer, clean and fresh just for you.” She nods her head and leaves the bathroom as he begins drying himself.

He exits the bathroom after draining the tub and making sure everything was back where it should be, his eyes fall on her as she pulls the t-shirt down while she neared his bed, she quickly got dressed and wanted to get onto the plush bed that seemed to be calling her name, his mattress always felt so nice and soft, especially when pulling the thick covers closer during the coldest winter nights.

“Would you like t watch a film?” Jin asks while pulling on some underwear, he pulls on some long pj bottoms before making his way to the bed.

“Sure.” She says while getting comfortable on his bed. “But I’m not really in the mood for one, so you can pick one you want to watch.” He climbs underneath the covers before reaching for the remote controller and switching the tv on.

“Are you sure? I can keep it off.” Jin says as he begins scrolling through the endless movie options causing a faint smile to form on her lips.

“Yeah, it seems like you want to do that.” She says while staring at him, a smile grows on his lips before he puts the remote controller away after finding a movie.

“If you want me to turn it off, I will,” Jin says as he turns to look at her. “I don’t need to watch a film.” He wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. “Come on, you’re too far away from me.” She lays her head down on his chest, her eyes moving to stare at the big screen on the wall, one arm moves over his stomach, his hand immediately taking her hand, interlacing their fingers while his other hand moves to her head.

They stare at the screen, the moving pictures becoming blurred as the noise coming from it became nothing but background noise, he carefully listened to her breathing, she listened to his heart beating steadily, his fingers gently comb through her hair, her breathing becoming slow and steady, her eyes shut as the world fading away from her.

“You deserve to be happy all the time…” He mutters.

[marlahey]

I wish I had a steadier hand (or the words to bring you back again)

a little voice fic pairings/characters: sam/bess, my genuine gasps of pained adoration, sam’s truly incredible apartment is a character in and of itself warnings: sad sad sadness, yearning you could make a whole blanket out of episode tags: missing scene(s) set in/immediately after the end of 1.07 (ghost light) lyrical title courtesy of: quiver – lonas notes: I am a fucking wreck. goodbye forever. also I just get the sense that once samuel had tacit permission to touch bess, he’d never stop. can we tell that I am touch-starved sad quarantine bitch or what?  dedicated to @moxyphinx​ who did not bat an eye when I asked her to exchange numbers and immediately listened to several voice notes of rambling, incoherent emotions. thanks for making me feel so seen, shawna. thanks as always to @missgoalie75 for going ‘Fuck you’ at the exact scene I wrote at 3am on thursday. best beta there is.  a canon-based mirror to you got a friend in me; they’re very similar because an episode actually gave me nearly exactly what I wanted for the first time in my life and if I tell y’all that I screamed. 

* They arrive at Samuel’s apartment. Bess has no idea how they got here. She doesn’t know a lot, right now. The weight of his arm around her back’s been so constant (for the last...hour? How long did it take them to walk back?) that when the door closes behind them and Samuel finally releases her, Bess feels like she might float away. 

“Bess.” His voice is distant, distorted, like she’s underwater. “Bess.”  She starts. Samuel’s tugged her down to sit on his bed. The soft thread of his blanket tickles her bare legs but that too, somehow, is removed—as though Bess is outside of herself, watching the way Samuel ducks his head to catch her eye.  “What do you need?” The full glass windows throw amber streetlight across the apartment, cutting sharp shadows over his face. At least he’s not asking if she’s okay. Bess opens her mouth to reply but nothing comes out. The memory of her father screaming at her in the street crests up, a tidal wave. 

Samuel draws her in, absorbing the sound of her choked sob. He cradles her head as she falls into the curve of his neck and Bess has never felt quite so fractured, before. Can she shatter and sink at the same time? His voice pulls her back to the surface, low and urgent just above her ear.   “We don’t have to talk about it. If you want me to, I’ll take this to my grave and we don’t ever have to speak of it again. If you want to go home, I’ll take you.” 

Panic seizes inside her chest, that urge to flee. Bess shakes her head, trying to stand, but Samuel won’t have it. He cages her in with his body, unyielding, the refusal absolute.  “Hey, hey. C’mon Bess. Just talk to me, okay? Do you want to look for him?” He pulls back, his grip still firm around the soft bends of her elbows. The light reflects oddly in Samuel’s eyes; they bore into her. “If you wanna go back out there right now, I’ll help you search all night until we find him.” (She believes him. She can feel the truth of his words in her bones.) Bess hiccups. It feels like she’s gasping for breath. He brushes her tears away, pushing back her hair. Beneath the worry there’s something so tender in his expression that it stuns her into stillness. “Tell me what you need. Just...” Samuel’s voice wavers, just for a second. “Bess, please just let me help you.” She doesn’t know what she needs. Bess just knows she doesn’t want to feel this, like she’s drowning. But Samuel’s there, with his steady gaze and uneven smiles and guitar calloused fingers on her skin. His eyes rove over her face like he’s searching for something. She wonders if he can see her panic before Bess surges forward, catching his very faint breath of surprise with her mouth.  Samuel freezes.  (She wishes she had the excuse of being drunk. Bess banishes the thought as quickly as it comes.)  A beat of perfect silence rings through the apartment.  Samuel’s hand slides up to her neck, over her thrumming heart, in a touch so light it’s almost reverent—fresh heat burns in Bess’ eyes. He kisses her just once, like he could break her if he’s not careful, which—maybe he can.  Or maybe she’s already broken. Then it’s over, before Bess can even take another breath. Samuel pulls away very gently. She’s slow to open her eyes, more reluctant to face him than she could ever admit aloud. The only word Bess can really land on to describe his face is pained.  Guilt rears up in her chest. He thumbs at more tears that she hadn’t even realized had fallen.  Bess barely recognizes her own voice. “I’m so—” Samuel silences her with a shake of his head. “Don’t be. It’s okay. You’re okay, right? With—” He falters. She feels unsteady. “With that?”  Bess thinks of what he’d said to her tonight, before everything fell apart. You make the bad days okay. She just nods.  One corner of his mouth lifts in that way it does when Samuel wants to reassure her. Bess lets it work.  “Want me to take you home?” he asks gently.  Bess shakes her head, almost surprised at herself. She can’t remember the last time she didn’t want to be alone, so fiercely it could have choked her. Samuel nods towards the head of the bed.  “Sleep?”  Bess stares at his pillows like they’re alien. Words stick in her throat, raw as they finally come out. “I don’t know if I can.” His understanding is more than she can bear. Samuel reaches for the sleeves of Bess’ jacket. When it slides away and he gets up to leave it on his chair, a question leaps from her mouth. “What about you?” His smile tilts higher on one side as he shrugs out of his button down. “Got a foam mattress in the closet.” “You don’t—” Bess can’t articulate it, suddenly. Their fight comes rushing back. You’re too messed up to let anyone care about you. “Can you...” She doesn’t trust herself to speak anymore so Bess just reaches for his hand. The air feels loaded with something unspoken, but Samuel just follows as Bess leans back onto the bed, curling into herself; he folds around her, tucking himself so tightly into all her spaces that her shoulder blade leaves the mattress to lean on his chest instead. The apartment narrows (she loves his space so much but it’s too big now, like she could lose herself in the emptiness) into the strength of his body, the weight of his arm over hers.  Samuel’s breath is warm on her neck. He doesn’t move to take his hand back. “Okay?” he murmurs. Not, are you okay, but is this okay? She nods into the pillow. Bess can make out the familiar shapes of Samuel’s production set up; the memory of Electric Lady stings. The ceiling offers no comfort.  “He,” she starts, and finds a lump in her throat. I haven’t seen him since we recorded. “You don’t have to explain, Bess.” Samuel tightens his grip. “You don’t have to say anything.”  Yet more tears slide past her nose—will she ever stop crying—and Bess is grateful he can’t see her. Though that may just be his grace, pretending he doesn’t know. The ever restless city sounds just far enough away through the open windows. She exhales shakily. Samuel doesn’t say anything else. He hooks his chin over her shoulder. Exhaustion seeps in her bones but Bess’ mind won’t let her rest, even when his breath goes deep and even. She tries to close her eyes but her father’s face: listless, livid, practically unrecognizable— is seared in her mind.  She lays awake for a long time. It doesn’t feel real—tonight, this moment, herself—and then Samuel’s lips press into the only bare skin he can reach. (The dark behind her eyes is safe, now. Just for a second.) Bess can feel his gaze on her face but she has no idea what to say, or do. He shifts against her like an instinct. She’s struck with the sudden, overwhelming fear that Samuel’s about to pull away, to leave, and her free hand is already reaching back for his arm—a plea Bess can’t voice, something in her that’s too fragile to bring into the light. He presses, almost impossibly, closer.   Bess can close her eyes, finally. She doesn’t sleep more than she passes in and out of almost-dreams (the apartment women, Louie dressed as Hamilton, Ethan’s grandfather); she returns to herself once to Samuel’s fingers trailing gently up her arm, from her wrist to her elbow and back. The steady rhythm of it is like a blanket wrapping around her. Pale dawn is creeping in the next time she opens her eyes. Bess’ head feels foggy from lack of real rest. She rolled all the way onto her side at some point and Samuel had followed. “Want anything?” His voice is soft, a little hoarse. “Water? Food?” Bess shakes her head.   “Did you sleep at all?” She shakes her head again. Samuel leaves a featherlight kiss at the very top of her spine, a wordless empathy. She couldn’t stop the shiver if she tried. Bess almost wishes that they’ll never have to look at each other again, if only so she doesn’t have to face however things may have changed—if only she could just be safe, for once. Are things different? Or is Bess the one that’s changed, now? She rolls over to face him before she can decide. Samuel’s eyes are very soft. He reaches out and brushes some fallen hair back away from Bess’ face. His callouses graze her cheek.  Bess knows she should say something. Anything, really. But she has no idea where to begin or how this is supposed to end and Samuel must see the fear on her face, because one corner of his mouth lifts. “It’s okay, Bess.” She feels small, somehow. “Is it?” His expression is careful, guarded even. “It doesn’t have to mean anything, if you don’t want it to.” Do you want it to? She doesn’t have enough courage for the question. Not now, anyway. Maybe not ever (or maybe Bess is just a coward and he’s been telling her something all this time that she’s too afraid to hear). “I don’t—” she starts, then stops. She tries again. “Should it?” I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what to do. Samuel smiles. He looks almost sad. “I don’t think you want me.” He says it with such certainty, like he’s already resigned himself to the truth. A dull, familiar frustration rises in the pit of her stomach, like smoke from an ember. It’s a feeling only Samuel can ignite. 

“How do you know that?”  His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Because if you wanted me, you could’ve had me the second you walked up on that stage at Saint C’s alone.”

Something in Bess comes undone. But Samuel doesn’t let her reel back. He holds her face so she has to look at him when he says again, “It’s okay, Bess. It doesn’t change anything.” “How can it not change anything?” she demands, horrified to hear her own voice break. Samuel leans a little closer, his face serious. “Because I care about you more than I care about my—” Bess sees a flicker of the boy who’d awkwardly asked, are we good? only a few hours ago— “About us being anything more than together in the music. You’re so good, Bess— Yes,” he insists when she shakes her head, rejection after rejection echoing. “You are. I’ll believe it for you if you can’t, but you are.”  She refuses to cry anymore. Bess blinks until she can see Samuel clearly again. He strokes her cheek a little like he’s unaware he’s doing it, like he’d never stop unless she asked him to. “I know you have a lot of shit in your life, okay? I know it’s hard and I know you think you have to do it all on your own.”  Her breath hitches. Damn it. Bess wraps her hand around Samuel’s wrist as though it could just anchor her enough. He ducks his chin, looking at her through his pale eyelashes. “I just wanna be here for you, if you’ll let me.” She nods, maybe a little desperately, and that’s apparently all Samuel needs. He pulls her towards him with both arms now and presses his mouth to her forehead. Bess lets him. She lets him trace the edge of her spine, over and over like he could wear a line far enough down to sink beneath her skin. She lets him tuck her into him and curl his hand along the back of her neck, where she’ll never stop feeling at her most vulnerable for a reason Bess still doesn’t understand. But finally, finally... She falls asleep.

[softlyjiminie]

sempiternal | k.s.j

⇢ pairing(s): gryffindor!seokjin x hufflepuff!reader  ex-slytherin!yoongi.

⇢ word count: 8.4K

⇢ genre: angst, fluff, hogwarts!au.

⇢ summary: love has many obstacles, more often than not, it is eternal and unchanging; an everlasting love.

⇢ warning(s): please read! swearing, breakups, semi-violence.

⇢ author’s note(s): hey guys! here’s another Harry Potter inspired fic, i worked real hard on this one, it’s been a year in the making so i hope you enjoy! you may read slytherin!yoongi here to understand.

the summer of your fourth year had to be one of the worst summers you’d ever had. your heart broken and torn and ripped and hurt from the year’s endeavours. you had wasted hours with soggy cheeks and a hoarse throat, the other girls in your dorm smoothing down your hair and whispering ‘he didn’t deserve you’’s into your ear as you fell asleep. 

min yoongi. the boy you trusted with all your heart, and gone and ruined it just for a bit of fun. you could still feel the ringing in your ears as the howler spat his venomous words. the ringing didn’t stop after that. 

at least not until seokjin came along.

you were back in the muggle world, with your muggle things and muggle life, trudging through your local corner shop, just looking for something, anything that you could stuff your face with and have no regrets. you wanted to forget. with tired feet, dragging across the store’s floor, you had finally reached the till, plopping the almost melted tub of ben and jerrie’s ice cream onto the counter.

you looked up with a sour face, trying to ignore the fact that the flavour you’d picked had been one of yoongi’s favourites when you introduced him to muggle treats. with a pang in your heart you met a pair of whisky coloured eyes and plump pouty lips that belonged to none other than kim seokjin.

kim seokjin.

fuck, it was kim seokjin.

the gryffindor boy with the soft blonde hair and sweet grin, who was a favourite amongst all of the houses. jin had been popular from his very first year at hogwarts, winning over everyone with his kind heart. he’d soared through the ranks in his house’s quidditch team, now acting as gryffindor’s prized seaker. the girls loved him, and you could see why. gasping, you looked away from the older boy, in his sixth year moving onto his seventh. 

you missed how his lips twitched up into a soft smile as he scanned your tub. you shoved your fingers into the depth of your pocket, ready to pay with a bill or two before seokjins’s soft voice filtered through the air between you. “hey, YN. don’t worry about it, it’s on the house.” 

you felt yourself melting at his soft tone, his honey brown eyes causing warmth to drift over your skin. how did he have that effect on you? You barely knew him. “t-thank you seokjin-“ you blushed, scooping up your bag. the older gryffindor offered you a dreamy smile before shaking his head and running after you once he realised you were leaving.

“you know-“ he hummed, walking you to the sliding doors. “i’ve seen you around, you seem like a nice girl that i’d like to get to know better,” his words sent a pang of warmth to your heart. “if you don’t mind waiting for me, my shift ends in a few minutes and we could hang out for a bit.”

you were hesitant at first, but stayed nonetheless, jaw dropping when seokjin rolled out of the store in a fitted white t-shirt and black skinny jeans (after changing out of his uniform.). he really was effortlessly beautiful. some would have called you foolish for trusting a boy you’d just met, but he was sweet, walking you to the nearest park and devouring your ice cream with you. 

cookies and cream had never tasted so sweet, the memories that go with it becoming much fonder.

“i’m sorry about what happened with yoongi,” the blonde mumbled, as you spooned the last of the frozen desert into your mouth. you flinched, suddenly feeling the ringing from the howler again, and seeing the slytherin’s vacant expression as you ran past him. seokjin knew he had hit a nerve, his hand quickly engulfing yours. “you were really brave for handling it the way you did, i-it gave me the courage to talk to you today,” his thumb smoothed over the back of your hand, and you gulped, losing yourself in the coffee of his eyes. “you deserve better-“

‘i deserve someone like you.’ you had finished off in your head, leaning into him. your vision became clouded just at his touch, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks. the moment was rushed, you’d only just met him, but you’d never been treated with such gentleness, like you were the most expensive thing in the world. seokjin’s eyes flicked down to your lips and then back up to your eyes and you so desperately wanted to meet him in the middle. just a kiss. 

but he was gone as soon as he came. disappointment burying itself in your chest as your eyes fluttered open once again. seokjin was still holding your hands when your vision refocused, his grip on you not loosening. his whisky eyes noted how you posted and looked away from him. “Y-YN... i’m sorry,” he sighed, causing you to gently switch your gaze over to him again. “i know you’re hurting still and trust me, i really do want to kiss you but i don’t want you to feel like i’m taking advantage of you. i’ll wait until you’re ready, if you want me to. ” 

your heart fluttered at the blonde’s words, but you could still feel the disappointment in your veins at the thought of waiting, even if it was best for you. “come on now,” Seokjin grinned, trying to make eye contact with you as you looked away from him to cover your pout. “don’t  be upset YN, won’t you give me a smile?” 

he was crouching in front of you now, palms resting on his knees as he pulled funny faces to make you laugh. you couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up in your throat when he sent a particularly weird one your way. 

the gryffindor boy beamed adorably, his dark eyes twinkling under the light of the rising moon. “there’s that smile, pretty girl.” 

a romance bloomed for you that summer, with seokjin being a muggle himself it was easier to meet up and organise dates. true to his word, the soon-to-be seventh year refused to kiss you or carry out any public displays of affection with you until you were ready so it took you almost two weeks to convince him to let you hold his hand. 

he treated you like a delicate and wilted flower, watering you with the affection that you craved and might not have gotten with yoongi. he tended to your bruised petals, and lifted them high once again, the colour returning to your life. 

seokjin was what you had needed all along. 

you hadn’t kissed, like he promised until one night where you had invited him to meet your family, they were comforted and surprised at the fact that seokjin was a muggle like yourself. your mother even more so when she pulled you aside to comment ‘that’s not how i expected yoongi to look’ in which you blushed, catching the blonde’s eye from across the room as he wrestled your little brother into the carpet (much to your father’s delight). 

“that’s because he’s not, mum,” you’d said in a hushed whisper, helping her to whip the cream for desert. “that’s seokjin...”

your mother hummed, staring between the two of you before giving you a small nod of approval. “well, i think he’s cute.” 

after a dessert of warm apple pie and cream (or ice cream for your brother.), yourself and seokjin had headed up to your room for some alone time together. You’d shut the door behind you, turning around to find the tall blonde laughing at an old photo of you, which you’d swatted away with a pout.  “your parents are really lovely,” jin whispered when you’d decided to curl up for some cuddles on your single bed, even if it was quite the squeeze. “your brother too.”

you smiled at him, twirling a golden strand of his around your finger, feeling his eyes drifting of your face.  “they really like you seokjin, if you’re not careful, mum might not let you leave, you’ll be on washing up duty for life!” you gasped between small pockets of laughter, causing the boy you’d been dating to laugh loudly.

“so they really like me?”

“Indefinitely.” 

“maybe more than your other boyfriends...?” 

you knew he’d been referencing yoongi, careful not to mention his name. you’d  never had a boyfriend before the slytherin boy anyways. 

“hmm, i’m not sure...” you pretended to tease, almost instantly regretting your decision when Seokjin rolled over your smaller frame, leaving your side. His palms fell flat either side of your head, sinking into the memory foam mattress as he caged you in. suddenly one hand was at your stomach, pinching your side until you were crying from laughter and gasping for air. you had no idea he knew you were ticklish.

your brother must have told him.

“s-seokjin!” you cried, burying your face into his hard chest as he tickled you mercilessly. “i can’t-“ 

he didn’t allow you to finish, tickling you further with a devilish smirk spreading across his lips. “say i’m the best!” 

“y-you’re the best! seokjin-“ 

his fingers paused, palms stretching out by your head again as you tried to regain your breath with a smile. you noticed then, how the pretty his eyes looked when the light hit them properly, how plush his lips were and soft his hair. it seemed as if seokjin was looking down at you with just as much awe, because suddenly he was swooping in, hands finding your cheeks as he sunk lower to brush his lips over yours. “c-can I kiss you?” he mumbled nervously. 

you nodded. “please...” 

his lips touched yours ever so slightly, and it’s only when you parted yours that he begun to kiss you fully. the plush pillows melding with each other perfectly, as your fingers threaded through tufts of his golden locks. jin’s hands slipped down from your cheeks to just under your shirt, soothing your heated skin as you worked your lips against his in a desperate attempt to taste more of him. 

one kiss turned to two, and two to three and soon enough you were full on making out on your silly childhood bedsheets. it was only when you could hear the little thump of your brother’s footsteps against the hard wood of the stairs that you jumped apart, straightening your clothes.

seokjin was the first to stand, knowing it was him that your younger sibling sought. with careful steps, he made his way over to the door, offering you the brightest of smiles before saying. “there’s more where that came from pretty girl.” 

you could have passed out on the spot.

confessions of love came not long after, with your impending return to Hogwarts coming up. seokjin had come to pick you up from your house in his parents’ car at around seven, promising your father you’d be back by eleven-thirty at the latest. he drove you both to the highest point in your home town to watch the sun go down and the city lights switch on, the sight taking your breath away. 

the blonde had treated you to an elaborate picnic of home cooked goodies that he’d made and a tub of your new favourite ice cream of vanilla cheesecake. you’d sat munching the treats on the hood of the car, before laying back and watching the stars, pointing out constellations whilst holding hands.

and whilst star gazing reminded you of yoongi, you couldn’t find it in you to miss him. 

seokjin looked down at you, your head resting on his chest with the stars pairing up in your eyes and he couldn’t help but blush when you met his gaze. “will it be the same?” you mumbled to him, thinking of your return to hogwarts. the older boy was to become a seventh year, and it would be his last year at the legendary school for practicing magic. He would be busy with his N.E.W.T.S and you with your O.W.L.S since you were moving into fifth year. would the feelings that sparked between you both change? for better or for worse? you heart couldn’t decide. 

as if he was reading your thoughts, jin silenced your raging mind with a soft peck to your lips, which deepened when your fingers met his hair, pulling him closer. “i’ll still love you all the same.” he whispered against the seams of your pink lips, not quite wanting to pull away.

“you love me?” you gasped, voice barely above a whisper. all you could see was jin , all you could taste was jin and all you could breathe was jin. all you needed was jin. you heart pounded viciously against your rib cage as he slotted his body against yours, looking down at you with so much love. 

“i do.” 

and then you smiled, with bleary eyes and a raging heartbeat because not once had anyone of romantic interest said those words to you, not even yoongi. so whispering back, you uttered the words. “i love you too,” 

your first few weeks back at hogwarts went smoothly, with you settling into a routine and managing to get top grades in the first-term assignments. your professors had suspected that you’d do exceedingly well in your upcoming O.W.L exams. 

you heard tales of jimin and jungkook’s adventures with taehyung in the muggle world and secretly wished that next time they’d invited you. although you’d run into Yoongi on the first day back, seokjin never complained about you not introducing him as your boyfriend, nor did he push for any explanations when he’d walked in on yoongi trying to make amends, resulting in you becoming a blubbering mess the second you’d left that room.

seokjin was an angel, a sweetheart and you’d never been so happy, memories of your ex becoming faint as you made new ones with the blonde gryffindor . people called it the honeymoon phase and maybe it was, but you wouldn’t let other people’s spite get in the way of you being happy. at least that’s what you hoped for.

a few weeks at hogwarts turned into a month or so, with the winter air fast approaching and first signs of snow fall around the corner. you’d  found yourself scurrying through the halls of the ageing castle, desperate to find your boyfriend; who had promised you an evening of hot chocolate and cuddles to make up for a date night you’d both had to miss. 

seokjin was busy, being the headboy of gryffindor had started to take up a lot of his time that he usually left for you, on those nights where you’d meet outside the kitchens for a quick kiss before bed. quidditch practice had also picked up a tonne, with an important gryffindor vs slytherin match coming up that even jimin was training for. 

it wasn’t just those things, that took up your time with him. the older boy had started hanging out with his teammates more, cutting into scheduled dates and even went on trips to hogsmead without you, only remembering when he found you half asleep outside his common room waiting for him. ‘darling...’ he’d say, lifting you bridle style, and humming in content as you nuzzled into his chest. ‘what’re  doing out out here?’ 

‘waiting for you’ you’d mumble back, still half asleep. ‘we have a date planned don’t we?’

‘maybe another time.’

sometimes it felt like you were giving more than you were getting. you didn’t want to fall into that trap again. 

your winter robes swished at your feet as you trotted down to the gryffindor common room, trying to meet jin before he had the chance to run off with one of his mates. you were walking so quickly, you hadn’t had the time to slow down before you collided with the gryffindor girl jimin had the hots for. “on YN! i didn’t see you there!” she exclaimed, grabbing your shoulders and giving you the once over to see if you were alright. 

you smiled at her softly. “sorry, i wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

“ah, it’s alright,” she blinked, looking at you as if there was something more to say. “did you need something? last time I checked you were a hufflepuff, no?” 

the pair of you shared a sweet laugh before you managed to calm down enough to tell her where you were headed. “i-i’m looking for seokjin,” you strung together the words through your final puffs of laughter. “we-we’re meant to be hanging out today...” 

you bite your lip, refraining from mentioning going on a date and watched with a patient stare as the gryffindor girl wracked her brain for memories of her headboy’s location. “he’s  in the library!” she nodded, furrowing her brows as if to confirm her guess. she took note of the way your eyes lit up, sure, the library was an odd place to host a date, but you didn’t mind. “with Namjoon, I think he’s studying.”

you tried to hide the drop of your smile as you thanked the girl, heading towards the library in an even bigger rush than you were in before. you were mad, borderline livid, storming through the rows and rows of books that decked the shelves of the dusty library, your nose twitched at the musty air, but you chose to ignore it, waltzing right over to our target. You couldn’t believe seokjin was willing to miss yet another date.

you found both boys tucked into a corner of the room, books of charms and defence against the dark arts spread across the sleek mahogany table. you allowed yourself a few seconds to calm down, knowing that your face was probably heated high with rage and you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of namjoon. 

you didn’t know the purple haired boy all too well, but knew enough to be aware that despite having a quiet and perhaps even shy exterior, he was one of the best and bravest wizards in hogwarts. he was also in the year above you. when you’d finally worked up the courage to approach the table, namjoon was the first to notice you, his quill pausing midair as he glanced between your - still raging - face and his older housemate. “uh- hyung,” he coughed awkwardly as you silently seethed above him. seokjin didn’t budge, too focused on his notes. “hyung-“ 

“what namjoon-ah? i swear to merlin if you’ve spilt your ink again i-“ the blonde looked up, exasperated expression falling away as his quill stopped dead on the page. jin could practically feel your anger, washing over him in boiling waves like heated lava. He was in trouble. “oh.”

Your nose scrunched up. “damn right, oh.” you watched as your boyfriend’s face contorted into a sheepish expression, his gaze flittering down to his stilled hands. 

“i’ve forgotten something haven’t i?” he whispered, the swell of his lips caught between a set of perfectly straight, pearl white teeth. 

“oh of course not, only another date.” 

both males seated at the table flinched at the sarcasm that dripped from your voice. namjoon raised his hand slightly, cowering under your sharp glare when you turned to face him. “t-to be fair, he does have N.E.W.Ts to study for-“ 

“shut up namjoon!” yourself and your boyfriend, very nearly, shouted earning yourself vicious hushes from students that were also in the library. the purple haired boy shrugged, trying to turn back to his work, leaving you and seokjin to deal with each other. 

you felt your heart sink when he looked up at you, this hadn’t been the first time Jin had skipped out on a date, and you doubted it would be the last unless you put a stop to things. you couldn’t help it when a sad pout pushed at your lips, your boyfriend’s large hand coming round to cup your smaller ones. “oh honey. please don’t give me that look,” You turned away, opting to look out of the window instead of into his eyes, you were more likely to give into him then. “YN... i know you’re upset with me, but i promise to get better at this, i hate seeing you sad and the fact that i caused it makes it worse. i’m such an idiot.” He brought your hands to his lips, pressing a kiss atop your knuckles with a downtrodden look.

you blushed, feeling the weight of his stare get under your skin. he was always able to do that, make you smile. 

“won’t you give me a smile pretty girl?” 

And with that you broke out into a large, unstoppable grin. 

the air was cold against your cheeks and nose, the bobble hat and scarf your mother had sent you, doing their best to shield you from the cool, crisp weather. hogsmead was littered with crystal snowflakes, blankets of the thick white layers stretching as far as the eye could see. you rubbed your gloved hands together in order to create some form of warmth, or perhaps it was to do with your nerves.

a few days after your confrontation in the library and some seriously overbearing affection from your boyfriend, he had decided to treat you out on the next trip to hogsmead. you had been bursting with excitement at the thought since then, every date with seokjin was just as nerve wracking as the last. 

from inside the three broomsticks, the boys you had known to become your friends observed you with care and curiosity, the stomachs filled with warm pie and sweet butterbeer. “someone should go and  get her,” jimin mused from over his plate of half eaten pie, he was starting to lose his appetite as he watched you through the window. “she’s bound to catch a cold out there.” 

jeongguk looked up from his plate, crumbs dusting the outer corners of his lips as he munched on his slice of cherry pie. “what’s she waiting for again?” the younger asked, spraying his slytherin and hufflepuff companions with an assortment of pastry crumbs. 

the pair cringed with disgust, wiping away their clothes as taehyung looked up. “she’s waiting for jin, they’re supposed to have a date today...” the Hufflepuff boy was already trailing off when his housemate hoseok let out a deep snore from his seat, slumped over the table. he’d  had a late night sneaking around with his newly found slytherin girlfriend. “i saw him earlier on though, with his quidditch team...” 

the boys fell silent, hoseok’s snores filling the air between them. jimin sighed; pushing his seat back to stand up and meet you outside. with a hat tugged over his luscious silver locks, he left his friends sitting solemnly at the table. the fifth year slytherin resisted the urge to retreat to the warm arms of the establishment once he was outside, his arm sliding around your shoulders for warmth. you jumped when you noticed.

“what’s been keeping you outside, away from the pie, YN?” the boy asked from beside you, you craned your neck to look up at him allowing your breath to catch at the sight of the snowflakes resting on his lips. jimin had always been charming and you would be a fool to say that you didn’t think he was attractive. so it came as no surprise when girls went after him, deeming him the catch of the century. the heartthrob of your year. and still, park jimin had always remained the humble boy you had met during first year, never letting the attention get to his head. park jimin may have seemed like a player, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake, but what no one seemed to notice is that girls only wanted him for his pretty face and toned body. you only hoped that certain people saw past that, looking at the sweet boy who looked out for you so much. 

you could see the concern wavering in his dark eyes, so you grinned up at him ignoring the cold dry stretch of your lips. “i’m waiting for seokjin,” you hummed, watching a puff of air fade into the snow scene. jimin flinched from beside you, arm tightening ever so slightly before he relaxed. “we h-have a date...”

jimin would have never missed the little tremble in your voice. part of you already knew that your boyfriend wouldn’t show up, you’d seen him babbling away with his teammates already and yet, you trusted him. trusted him not to break another promise. to not let this be just another honeymoon phase. 

“at least i thought we had one.” 

the silver haired slytherin sighed down at you, squeezing your smaller frame into the warmth of his body. “how about we go get you that pie, yeah?” he offered in a whisper and you nodded, ignoring the swell of heart break in your chest. 

the halls were empty, as they should’ve been that night, with seokjin on hall monitor duty since we he was a prefect. he didn’t mind being up that late, seeing as it was a late start for him the next day. that didn’t stop him from feeling tired though, slips of exhaustion tingling in his brain as he walked mindlessly through empty halls.

the elder boy rounded a corner, only to be met with a shadowy figure at the other end of his path. as they stepped into the candle light, the blonde deemed the figure to be park jimin, his moonish hair was ruffled and a smirk lay delicately on his lips. some people called him a bit of a sleaze but seokjin knew better than to tell you that. 

“jimin!” the gryffindor called out, earning a look of surprise from the younger boy, before a deep scowl. “what are you doing out here all by yourself?” 

the silver haired boy rolled his eyes with a ‘tsk’ storming last jin, who held a look of shock before running to catch up with the slytherin. “it’s none of your business, is it?” 

“i mean it’s awfully late,” seokjin tried to reason, carefully matching his steps with the boy. after all, jimin was yoongi’s cousin and their families had quite the reputation. “i could always deduct house points you know...”

jimin froze, closing his eyes as if to calm himself before turning to face the older boy. “you have a thing for being late or on time don’t you?” he paused, allowing seokjin to think. “you’re  never late to class, to meals and most certainly quidditch practises, but you never seem to be on time for dates with your own girlfriend...or do you even show up at all?”

the gryffindor seventh year froze in his spot as jimin spun on his heel, walking backwards in the direction of his dorms. a cruel smile of a true slytherin crawling onto his lips. “deduct house points for that, why don’t you?” 

whispers trickled through the classroom as a ravenclaw prefect slipped into your class, handing a note to your transfigurations professor. your eyes barely peaked up from your scroll, where you furiously scribbled ahead in your notes, desperate to finish your work ahead of time. your professor had a thing for letting students leave early if they completed their work.

the professor cleared their throat from the head of the classroom, silencing the whispers from your classmates. a mixture of ravenclaw and hufflepuff. your heartbeat soared when you made eye contact with the prefect, gaze skittering to jeongguk who was sitting beside you with lips pursed in curiosity. 

the professor coughed again, causing your line of vision to shoot to them, and he offered you a gentle smile. “YN, you’re needed just outside the classroom.” 

“now?” you stuttered, anxiety sky rocketing. 

he nodded, opening the door for the prefect who was leaving. “now.” 

you swallowed nervously, packing up your belongings as jeongguk gave you a reassuring grin. the class talked in hushed mutters as you passed, your body twitching with anxiety as you left the room. with your eyes trailed on your feet in shame, you lifted your head onto to be met with a familiar stare. “s-seokjin?” you asked in surprise, truth be told, after the incident at hogsmead, you had been hesitant to see him. it turns out he felt the same. “wh-what are you doing here? did you pull me out of class?” 

he nodded, answering the questions swirling in your mind. “i needed to see you, it couldn’t wait,” the blonde paused, as if to seek your permission. he owed you an explanation and you bobbed your head slightly, an indication for him to proceed. “i-i know it looks bad, that i didn’t show up to hogsmead and that i’ve been ignoring you, but trust me YN, when i say that i’m going to make it up to you.” 

you swallowed thickly at his words, folding your arms so that one hand could desperately clutch an elbow as if to soothe your nerves. with a bite of your lower lip, you glanced up at seokjin once more, an earnest and sincere expression painting his heavenly features, an expression you had seen many times before. you could feel yourself melting into the warmth of his gaze, your mind screaming to forgive him just so you could be close to him once more. 

“i’m so sorry, pretty girl,” seokjin added, noting your hesitance to reply. the seventh year took a step forward, closing the distance between you as he reached out to brush a finger down the apples of your cheeks. you could feel yourself keening into his touch, giving into that guilty pleasure. To the risk of heartbreak again. “i promise i won’t miss out on another date again, i’ll treat you to a nice night out and we’ll spend the evening together and-“ you frowned at the familiarity of his words, each syllable recognisable to your ears. seokjin had said it all before, so why did you give in every time?

did he really care about you? were you really just a mindless fifth year, blindly following someone she loved? insecurities  crept up your throat at the thought, choking you from the inside and tearing apart every fibre of your being. it’d only be a matter of time before seokjin left hogwarts and found someone his age. someone he could make it out of the honeymoon stage with. the blonde noticed the frown on your lips and the creases at your forehead. “pretty girl, please give me a smile?”

not this time. 

“seokjin,“ you sliced through his words with a wavering voice, your boyfriend’s hand retreating from your face as he looked at you in shock. “you know i love you, you know i do but i-i think we should take a break. recently it feels like... i’m not getting what i give and i want to say but until you can prove me wrong... i just don’t want to end up like how yoongi and i did before. i don’t want to be your temporary fix.” 

you stood still with a clenched fist until you finished, eyes that were screwed shut opened to find that your boyfriend was completely silent. his eyes told you that he wanted to speak up and you wanted that. you wanted him to say something, something to convince you that you didn’t need space or time apart, and that he wouldn’t let you be just a passing phase. seokjin stood before you, mouth opening and closing as he fought an internal battle. 

with a shake of your head, you stepped away from him, a cloud of disappointment settling between you. his silence was enough. “i’ll see you around then, seokjin .” you breathed, gaze falling to the floor.

“YN..” 

“please don’t pull me out of another class unless you have something important to say,” you cut him off bitterly, turning away with a swish of your golden embossed robes. “my grades are important to me.” 

the halls were once again empty, a sort of coldness settling in them as seokjin patrolled them once more. paintings talked and whispered about his heartbreak, the frown on their golden boy’s face was far too much for them to handle. leaving them to turn away in despair.

he’d fucked up, he really had.

in his mind, seokjin had been doing right by you. he told you loved you, he made you laugh, he made you smile. but telling someone you love them and loving them are two different things. seokjin didn’t know that you felt abandoned, he didn’t take into account that he was creating a repeat of your last relationship. he wanted to do better for you, and he wasn’t. 

so here he was, the gryffindor boy finding comfort on the cobblestone floor of his favourite place away from home. his dark eyes following the magic sprouting from his wand, casting his patronous just to keep his bitter heart company. the scops owl danced around him, wings of blue flapping and shedding its diamond tears. the blonde could only watch with parted lips as his patronous burst into pieces, revealing a munching slytherin before him.

it was common for yoongi and seokjin to cross paths when the elder was on hall duty, more often than not the slytherin boy found himself talking to the house elves who gave him cookies and milk late at night when he couldn’t sleep. the two would bump into each other in the winding halls and magical staircases, share an awkward smile and wave (more like yoongi was grimacing) before heading in opposite directions. tonight was no different, except yoongi noticed something.

seokjin was sad.

the younger boy, with his hair dyed a simple black, knew the familiarity of sadness’ wake. he knew how much it would help someone to offer them a smile or a hand in times like this. yoongi chewed the dry skin at his bottom lip before taking a step towards the elder and holding out half of the cookie he had left. “it looks like you could need it.” the slytherin mumbled gruffly, looking away for a second.

seokjin’s lips parted once more, the words catching on the rim of his mouth as he stared up at the younger boy. not once had they had such a, for a lack of better word -civil- interaction. there had always been the space between them, the elephant between the two. you. but, now it seemed, they shared common ground. you had left both of them. 

“thank you.”

yoongi looked conflicted for a second, debating whether or not he should stay and comfort the elder. his bed seemed much further from his mind than he had hoped for, at this point. “are you...” he started, tongue peeking out to wet his lips. “are you okay, seokjin?”

the question startled the elder, perhaps just a bit, still not used to this level of attention from the boy who’s girlfriend he’s stolen. he couldn’t help when his lips begun to form the words. “no, not really.” 

“wanna talk about it?” 

“y-yeah, sure.” 

at this point the slyhterin had bunched himself up beside seokjin, looking at him with sleep ridden eyes but an expression that said he was ready to listen. and yet, the blonde felt himself hesitating. why did it have to be yoongi? of all people, to find him here in this vulnerable state, it had to be the boy who probably hated him most. 

“YN left me,”He muttered, throat closing in fear of judgement from the very boy who lead him to YN. “we, uh...she broke up with me.” 

a pause. 

yoongi gasped. “Oh wow.” 

seokjin looked up, a fire ready to set ablaze in his eyes as he stared the slytherin down with ease. “what’s that supposed to mean?” 

yoongi shuffled, looking up at the ceiling as his dark hair fell over his eyes, it was almost as if he hadn’t been sure what to say, then again he’d never expected to find himself in kim seokjin’s company. 

“it’s  just that...it’s clear as day to anyone...how much she loves you,i don’t think anyone thought it would end. i never thought it would end. you were her forever it seemed.” yoongi confessed with a slight frown and a crease to his brow, the storm of hurt rumbling behind his black magic eyes. “yoy were her forever and not me,” he turned to seokjin, angry at him, angry for him, angry at himself. “you were supposed to be her forever and not fuck up like me, for merlin’s sake you piece of shit.”  

the gryffindor blinked as he shuffled away from his younger, not quite expecting him to lash out in such a way. “yoongi...” 

“no, shut up!” the latter growled, his voice eerily hushed for the venom laced in his tone. yoongi stood, past emotions rushing through him as he tried his best not to combust. thoughts and feelings of that fateful day blasting a chill through his veins. “I bet you promised not to hurt her, I bet you promised not to be like me.” The words spilled before Yoongi could stop them, white hot anger flashing behind his eyes as his word slurred with fury, Seokjin flinched at every syllable of truth hitting home. “Didn’t you?”

“i did,  I promised…” the elder remembered, frowning at himself as yoongi sat down, the anger having rolled out of him by now. the two sat together in the dark halls, emotions swirling through their minds and hearts as they reflected. 

a moment passed.

“so, how do you intend to keep that promise?”

“wh-what?” the blonde babbled sheepishly, surprised by the slytherin’s sudden change in attitude. Yoongi smiled sadly at his elder, running a hand through his blackened locks, pushing it out of place as he eyed Seokjin. “What do you mean?”

yoongi hummed slightly, kicking his foot on the cobblestone floor as he chewed on his lip. He hadn’t meant to blow up at the gryffindor earlier, too many feelings from the last year still resonating within him at the time. however, now he felt a sense of guilt, wanting to help the poor headboy especially if it meant helping YN, who deserved all the best. “I just mean… you promised her that you’d be better than me, so you have to show her that.  I didn’t mean to blow up at you so bad, but I felt like we both had things to say.” 

“what i’m trying to say, is that if you’re going to make it up to her, you need to show her what she means to you.” the younger noted, distantly. 

seokjin’s brow creased. “how do I do that?” 

yoongi smiled softly this time as he stood, placing his hand on the older’s broad and firm shoulder. “that’s for you to figure out what I couldn’t.” he mumbled softly, bidding the gryffindor a good night as he stepped out into the darkness.

your shoulders sagged as you dumped your bag against the door, shrugging off robes and collapse on your bed. You’re exhausted, the hours of herbology notes you’d written up had finally taken its toll on your cramping hand. 

you desperately want to nap, just a few seconds before the girls get back from their classes and start to squeal over how your infamous best friend kim taehyung snuck his muggle pet into hogwarts. you swear their giggles and claps gave you more migraines than watching jimin endlessly flirt. 

you’re only two steps away from your bed, the smooth honey yellow sheets drawing you in when a warm hand slips over your mouth and another pulls you into a firm chest. 

a horrified scream escapes your lips, was this a prank? were you being attacked? did one of those horrible slytherin boys that picked on everyone sneak into the dorms? a million and one thoughts popped into your mind, and you only wished you still had your wand on you. you’d stupidly left it in your robes.

the stranger whispers short shhs into your ears, but you’re too busy rustling and kicking your legs to care. with heavy breaths you bite on the hand, gagging at its salty taste and jab your elbow into the ribs of your attacker, pulling yourself away from their rather large frame. 

“hey hey! YN, it’s me!” the stranger cries, holding a hand to their ribs as the suck the blood from their wounded hand. he pants, his robes disheveled as you eye him up and down. 

you’re mad, more than so. how dare he come into your private space uninvited, holding you in such a way and giving you such a fright that you screamed louder than the herbs you’d been studying earlier. “by merlin! seokjin what the hell? what do you think you’re doing?” you start, face heating up at all the fury you’ve kept hidden. you try to convince yourself that the anger you feel is because of him sneaking up at you, and not because of the yearn in your heart that comes after seeing him for the first time in a while.

the blonde wipes his hand on his robes, crimson blood blending in with the red of his house. the colour stings your eyes, a reminder of his place in hogwarts. above you. the doubts from times with yoongi creep into your mind, and it takes you a second to remind yourself that you’re better off without him. both of them. 

“i’m sorry, i know i shouldn’t be here, but i had to see you.” 

the words, as sweet as they sound, make you curl into yourself. they would have made you blush before, they would have made you smile. but your heart still hurts from where be betrayed your trust. your eyes meet his, they’re still as warm and as inviting as you remember, and maybe a little more dull. you wonder if he’s taking things well. you know that you aren’t, you miss him.

you want him to stay, but you don’t want to give in.

“you have three minutes to talk, starting with why and how you’re here.” you say pointedly, wrapping your arms around yourself as you cast your gaze aside. your ears detect the small gasp of joy that the gryffindor lets out and your body reacts to the steps, desperately needing his touch after all these weeks.

he blinks as he shuffled towards you, rubbing his thumb over his own knuckles. “i missed you,” seokjin breathes, he knows that he shouldn’t have said it. He can tell by way your face contorts in a slight pain and the way your hand comes to grip your chest from over your shirt. ‘don’t’ he hears you mumble and closes his eyes softly. “i used a disguising spell so i could follow some girls in, and hid behind your door. i’m here because...because i realised how foolish i’ve been, i know that ive hurt you and im here to desperately ask for your forgiveness,”

you blink, frowning at him as he speaks, you’re not used to apologies. but this isn’t yoongi, this is seokjin. “i don’t care how long it takes, i’ll wait for you because i realise how much i need you here.” the blonde finishes, grasping your hand with need. the simple touch sends you into a spiral, your cravings for his closeness raging on as he pulls away. 

“seokjin...” you whisper, so close to him that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. 

“i don’t need an answer from you now, just for you to come to the quidditch match on friday.” the taller asks, his tone pleading slightly. he doesn’t know what he’ll do if you say no, fear wrapping around his heart and squeezing. 

you shook your head, not sure if you were agreeing or disagreeing. you watched with forlorn eyes a the elder wizard moved to kiss your knuckles, standing upright to exit through the door. “i can’t promise you that.” you mumble quietly, letting him walk toward it.

“then just seeing you is enough.” 

the cold air nips at your cheeks as you stand in line with your fellow hufflepuffs. the hands of frost pinch at your skin, and tickle your nose, wrapping their evil arms around your waist as you shiver with annoyance. taehyung looks down at you and smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you into him. his sweater is warm like the honey yellow that drips from its fabric, and you cling to him more in search of it. 

girls squeal around you, they chatter about their favourite quidditch players. jimin is all that they mutter, and while he’s your friend you can’t help but he chanting for someone else in your head. 

“seokjin’s playing today,” a ravenclaw giggles, casting you a side glance as yourself, taehyung, hobi and little jungkook advance in the line. “i wonder who she’ll be cheering for now that she’s had a taste of both houses.” 

the snide remark sets a blaze off in your chest, but you instead, squeeze your housemate’s hand tighter. the boys continue excitedly, going on and on about how jimin trained on end for this. yet your mind lingers on the gryffindor himself. you wonder if he’s thinking of you, of how you would calm him before every match. you feel your heart skip a beat at the thought as you pass through the gates, into the stalls.

students from all years, hufflepuffs from all ages sit with one another and chat excitedly, but you don’t miss the way their loud words become hushed as you and your friends walk by. “don’t worry about them,” jungkook reminds you when you sit down, his bright doe eyes giving you comfort. “they’re just jealous.” 

“of what?” you mumble; there’s nothing that you have. you’re no longer with the golden boy of hogwarts, what else is there to be jealous of? 

hoseok leans over taehyung’s lap to reach for you, his mouth covered in the chocolate frogs that he’d brought from hogsmead. “you’ll see!” 

the boys all share a look and a giggle, you swore they acted like gossiping girls sometimes. you shake your head and roll your eyes, settling into the seat. the hard wood makes your thighs uncomfortable and your teeth still chatter from the cold. a tap on your shoulder makes you turn around. 

“YN LN?” the boy asks, adorning the signature ruby robes. you nod, and he looks relieved, pulling something from his cloak and passing it to you. “this is for you.” 

he speaks, but doesn’t saw where the brown paper package is from. you allow your fingertips to touch at the material as the boys around you stare. you gasp in awe when you tear open the paper, revealing seokjin’s deep red sweater, his name printed on the back. 

‘i love you, please wear this.’ the note reads, and you clutch the clothing to your chest, catching the eye of seokjin as he whizzes out into the pitch.

screams echo in your ears as the final minutes before half time tik closer and closer. you had never understood sports, muggle or wizard like, you had always found them particularly boring. quidditch in a way reminded you of the football your father watched on a sunday down at the pub, either coming back extremely heartbroken or so excited that he’d press sloppy kisses all over your face. 

the students around you jeer at slytherin players as the zip past on their broom, chasing after the infamous golden snitch. you pay little attention, playing with the loose thread of the gryffindor’s sweater, having slipped it on. the fabric smells like him, like comforting nights spent by the fireplace in his common room. you close your eyes and can almost feel his arms wrap around you, and his plush lips press soft kisses to your hair. if you close your eyes you can imagine what it’s like to be with seokjin again. 

the excited chanting suddenly turns into worried gasps, and your eyes shoot open. you seem him, seokjin, spiralling down from the highest point. his broom appears busted and the other players of his team are chasing after him. your heart stops in your chest as you notice jimin heading down after him as well, the mop of silver hair fluttering with the rapid breeze as he zooms after your lover. 

you can feel fearful trembles start to wrack your body, your friends beside you holding you close as you all sit on the edge of our seats. waiting for impact. waiting for the scream of pain.

it doesn’t come.

instead, the blonde stops inches from the ground, his broomstick shooting up into the sky. the wands of his fellow housemates on the ground, follow him and suddenly the sky appears less grey and more...

orange. 

bursts of red and yellow spout from his broom, the petals coating the entire pitch and all the stalls as seokjin circles it, followed by his team mates. the students of hogwarts look up to the skies in awe, giggling and dancing in the petals. you catch two, holding them in your palm as you rub the silken petals. red and yellow, tangle together. 

jungkook shakes your shoulder, pointing up. “what?” you mumble, but replace the tone with a surprised gasp as seokjin comes to a halt on his broom in front of you. he holds out two whole flowers, one a deep rouge and the other a sunset yellow. he looks to you with shy brown eyes and parted pink lips, and you can feel a thousand and one pairs of eyes on the two of you.

“chrysanthemums,” you whisper, taking them lightly and tilting your head to meet his gaze. “they’re my-“ 

“your favourite... i know,” the gryffindor smiles, pointing to the plants in your grip. “yellow is for love and red for loyal love.” he explains, nearing you and you tune out the squeals of girls nearby. “YN i know, that these last few weeks have been hell without you, to which is a fault of my own. i let myself take you for granted, instead of showing you what love should be. you deserve every ounce of love and everything good from then on. i promise from this forward; to love you eternally...that is, if you shall have me?” 

“seokjin...i love you too.” you whisper, rushing forward through the stands to capture his lips in a soft, emotional kiss. you feel the truth in his words and the love that he once gave, relaxing into him as you fight the tears of longing in your eyes.

the klaxon sounds for the end of half time, but you ignore it, kissing him until the moment remains eternal in your mind.