#he always makes me laugh and our inside jokes are incomprehensible in the best way

[trashbaget]

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[cavalierious-whim]

The Weight of a Kiss (FE3H)

Sylvix | Canon-Compliant | 5 + 1 | Teen | Complete Five times that kisses are greetings, and the one time they aren't. Funny, how things change.

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A/N: Read here on AO3 for better formatting!

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A kiss that is never tasted, is forever and ever wasted.

1.

Felix is a scrawny little thing. It’s the first thought that comes to Sylvain. He’s got the same coloring as Glenn even if he’s only half his brother’s height. He shies away, fingers gripping at Glenn’s trousers tightly. Sylvain waits patiently as Glenn reaches around, urging Felix forward. Just a gentle hand against his back.

“Come on, Felix,” says Glenn. Felix is surprisingly stubborn in his own right, unwilling to budge at first.

“It’s alright,” says Sylvain to Glenn. “He can take his time.”

“Felix,” says Glenn once more, gentler, like coaxing a newborn fawn. “Just a hello, that’s all that’s needed. And then you can leave.”

The way that Felix pouts is adorable, his cheeks puffed out slightly as he surveys Sylvain with a wary look.

“I don’t bite,” says Sylvain, thinking that it might help.

Felix finally steps forward until he’s right before Sylvain. The cool springtime breeze lifts his bangs from his forehead. Felix stares from underneath long eyelashes, dark amber eyes watching Sylvain with a calculating stare. Interesting, Sylvain thinks. Felix might be a shy crybaby, but there’s more to him than meets the eye.

“You don’t bite,” says Felix. More a statement than a question, an acute observation.

“I promise,” says Sylvain.

Felix purses his lips and then says, “Shame. Glenn needs someone to knock him down a peg.”

Sylvain’s mouth falls open and he glances at Glenn. They’re far enough that he can’t hear the exchanged words, but Glenn’s prone to having a biting wit. He wouldn’t have found the comment amusing, not as Sylvain does.

Or Felix, judging by the tiny quirk at the corner of his mouth. Suddenly, Sylvain’s not sure if it’s a joke.

“A proper greeting is expected,” says Glenn from behind them, breaking their quiet moment. Sylvain doesn’t miss the sly, amused smile that he wears.

“Right,” says Sylvain.

“Ugh,” says Felix. Still, he stands straight and readies himself.

Sylvain leans forward, gripping Felix by the shoulders gently. He presses a kiss to one cheek, and then the other. Felix repeats the gesture, Sylvain having to lean over slightly for him to reach. When they’re done, they pull back, staring awkwardly at each other.

Then, Felix makes a gagging sound, pretending to retch.

Sylvain follows suit, saying, “Gross. So, so gross.”

Glenn laughs loudly, amused by their reaction to expected societal customs. At least, he laughs until he has to follow suit.

2.

Over the years, it becomes kind of a game to them. Well, more so for Sylvain. Felix tries his best to disappear and skip formal greetings entirely. He rarely succeeds, Glenn dragging him to the front of the manor by his shirt sleeve.

Felix looks more and more like Glenn every year. At eleven, Felix is past his crybaby stage for the most part and now spends his days emulating his older brother. Glenn’s a good guy, but Sylvain wonders if his personality is one to be adopted. But, with Glenn, as a knight now and rarely home, Sylvain knows that Felix will do whatever possible to cling to what he still can.

They’re close in height now, Felix’s amber eyes nearly level with his gaze. Now, or never, Sylvain thinks. Just get it over with. Sylvain leans over to press the sloppiest kiss that he can manage across Felix’s cheek.

“Disgusting,” snaps Felix, already pushing Sylvain away before he can plant one on his other cheek.

“Oh come on,” says Sylvain, “It’s proper.”

“Properly annoying,” says Felix. His hand finds Sylvain’s face, pushing at it hard.

Sylvain snorts before trying again. “Our fathers are watching.”

At that, Felix stops resisting, letting out a loud sigh instead. “Formality can kiss my ass,” murmurs Felix.

Sylvain pauses at that, still holding Felix’s face between his palms. “Since when have you cursed in such a way?”

“I only learn from the best,” says Felix. They both look to Glenn who smirks right back. The best, indeed. Then Felix says, “Well then, get on with it.”

Sylvain lets out a soft laugh and pecks Felix’s other cheek lightly, giving him a rest from their usual antics. It’s Felix’s turn next, reaching out and grasping Sylvain by the shoulders. His face is terse and serious as usual when he leans forward.

The kiss is soft against his cheek, and then again on the other. Then, Felix’s hand darts out, finding its target easily on Sylvain’s chest. Felix squeezes Sylvain’s nipple tight through his linen shirt and roughly twists.

Sylvain yelps, falling over, watching as Felix runs away with a smirk.

Rodrigue can barely hide a smile behind his hand. Sylvain’s father’s mouth is pulled into a terse frown. Glenn’s nearly doubled over with raucous laughter.

And Felix is long gone, having entirely disappeared. Sylvain grunts as he finds his footing again. He’s going to kill him the next time that they spar.

3.

Sylvain doesn’t want to be here. It’s a foreign feeling, nearly incomprehensible. Fraldarius manor has always been a place of respite for him, but now it’s just dark and foreboding. The dark cloud that hangs over it permeates everything around them.

Glenn’s dead, far before his time, and doing what he did best; protecting those that he loves. Sylvain wonders what makes Felix angrier; that Glenn is gone, or that his brother died protecting Dimitri, and not him.

Felix, for once, meets them at the front of the manor, hands clasped behind him properly. He looks like he’s aged five years. He looks angry and sad and depressed. He looks like a shell of himself, barely there, quiet and distant.

He doesn’t look at Sylvain, he looks right through him.

“Felix,” says Sylvain, his voice quiet. He doesn’t know how to do this, he doesn’t know how to approach him. He feels utterly suffocated; by expectations and propriety, by the weight of war on the horizon, and the way that Felix looks like he’s just about died on the inside.

Sylvain misses Glenn, but not as much as he misses his best friend.

“Sylvain,” says Felix. His tone is curt, almost unfeeling, but Sylvain knows that it’s not directed at him. Felix has never dealt with his feelings well, lashing out at the slightest of things. Glenn’s always helped temper him. Without him here, Felix is a dark ball of angst with nothing to butt heads against.

That worries Sylvain.

For the first time, Sylvain thinks, he wants to greet Felix the proper way. Felix will likely hate it, but Sylvain’s the kind of person who grounds himself through touch. He reaches out, fingers sliding along Felix’s shoulders. Felix is thirteen, too young to look so old and broken.

Sylvain leans forward. Felix’s cheeks are cold against his lips and he stiffens against Sylvain’s hold. One kiss, and then two. When Sylvain pulls back, Felix’s hand lashes out, fingers curling into his sleeve tightly.

They both freeze. There’s a beat, and then Felix says, “Don’t. Don’t leave me as he did.” Felix makes no move to return the greeting, but the look that he gives Sylvain is utterly heartbreaking.

“Oh, Felix,” says Sylvain, pulling him in close for a hug. Proper manners be damned, he doesn’t care. Felix is hurting, Sylvain’s hurting, the entire damn household is hurting. “I won’t, I promise. The only way I’ll leave is if we die together.”

“A promise,” says Felix. “A promise never to leave each other.”

But even as he says the words, Sylvain wonders if it’s a promise that he can keep.

4.

As it turns out, Sylvain’s shit at keeping promises.

Years pass and things change. Felix does what his father asks and sets on the path to becoming a knight. Even if it’s the last thing that he wants. He goes off with Dimitri, only to come back angry and sardonic and calling their prince a Boar.

Meanwhile, Sylvain’s father leads with the expectation of marrying him off early for even earlier grandchildren. Sylvain wants nothing to do with that at sixteen, seventeen, even eighteen. He wears women on his sleeve because it’s easier than commitment, and he doesn’t care what the lasting effects might be.

He sees Felix again when he’s nineteen and his heart flips upside down, seizing in an unfamiliar way. Felix looks less like Glenn and more like himself, and Sylvain finds that he cannot stop staring.

Ingrid punches him across the shoulder and tells him to pick his jaw up off the ground. Then, she tells him to not even think about it.

When Felix greets him, his lips are tugged into a frown.

“You didn’t write,” says Sylvain, his tongue strangely tied.

Felix frowns. “Neither did you.”

No, Sylvain hadn’t. Sylvain had been too busy dodging his father, dodging marriage proposals, and dodging responsibility. Not that Felix is any better; he’d run off to squire, following in Glenn’s footsteps, anything to get himself killed early. The ultimate honor in the wake of his dead brother.

The two of them are a mess, Sylvain thinks, and not for the first time.

Felix is the one to reach out first, finely boned fingers sliding along Sylvain’s broad shoulders. Sylvain towers over him nowadays, so he leans over, as expected. Felix kisses one cheek, rather aggressively, and then the other, and then pulls back stiffly.

When Sylvain repeats the gesture, it’s softer and with more poise, but that almost makes it worse. When he pulls away, Felix scoffs, scowling at him angrily. His gaze drops from Sylvain’s face, down to his feet and then he sneers.

“I’ve heard the stories,” says Felix. “Ingrid’s told me. Don’t expect me to peel you up after I find you drunk on a tavern floor. That’s on you.”

Years before, the harsh words would have been joking, maybe even funny. But now, they sound bitter and sour.

Sylvain wonders what it is that made Felix so.

5.

Five years is a long time, and yet, it passes in a flash.

Sylvain’s been north, hunting down Adrestian troops that find their way into his lands. Meanwhile, his father holds the fortress, and with it, Sreng. The country isn’t above using wartime to launch strategically placed attacks.

He’s weary. He’s tired. It’s been a long day of battle and reunification. The Professor’s alive by some fucking miracle. Sylvain needs a woman, a cup of strong wine, and a bed.

At least, it’s what he thinks until he sees Felix, bloodstained and hardened, a shell of the boy he once was. Sylvain stares at him in surprise, wondering how he could have ever thought he’d looked like Glenn.

And, while most lose those harsh edges and the chips on their shoulders as they age, Felix hasn’t. He’s only gotten worse it seems, snapping acerbic quips at anyone who comes his way. Ingrid, bless her soul tries. And fails.

“Felix,” says Sylvain as Mercedes heals his arm. He’s got a pretty terrible gash and the warmth from her hand is welcome.

Felix doesn’t say anything, but he does look at him with hollowed-out eyes. Sylvain swallows. He’s handsome, beautiful even, in his own way. Sylvain’s never felt his heart twist like this. And then Felix sneers, annoyed, and looks the other direction.

It feels like a loss. There will be no kisses or cheeks cradled gently by fingers, despite how annoying manners can be. Sylvain wants the familiarity of it, he misses being normal because nothing is anymore. Everything’s gone to shit.

Sylvain’s surprised at how much he yearns for even a crumb of recognition in Felix’s cold, dead stare.

Mercedes hums, her fingers rubbing along the skin of his forearm lightly. “At least he looked at you,” she says. “That’s more than the rest of us.”

Perhaps it’s not as much of a loss as he thought, but it stings all the same.

+1

It’s strange being here.

The Gautier Fortress rises above him, cold and empty. It doesn’t feel like home. If Sylvain had his choice, he’d never step foot here again. But, the Margrave is dead and Sylvain’s been saddled with responsibility since before he could walk.

He reaches out, resting a hand against the cold stone of the archway.

He misses his mother.

“Sylvain,” calls a voice from behind him. A voice that shouldn’t be there. A voice that Sylvain had thought he’d never hear again.

Felix had been very clear in his intent the last time they’d spoken. He’d leave and go far away, living by his sword, and dying by it too. Their promise would be broken because that’s what they do best.

Sylvain turns. Felix has already jumped down from his horse and is marching up the stairs. Sylvain shouldn’t be here, but neither should Felix.

“Felix,” says Sylvain.

When Felix stops before Sylvain, he hesitates, mouth twisting slightly as he thinks. He doesn’t know what to say; he clearly hadn’t planned this. That’s unlike him, Sylvain thinks. Felix is ever calculating, planning things to the tee. Sylvain’s the one that takes risks.

Except for lately. He hasn’t taken a risk in what feels like years.

“Well then,” says Felix, irate. “Get on with it.”

It takes Sylvain a moment to realize what he means. Manners and propriety haven’t been a part of their life in nearly a decade. Instead, Sylvain says, “You’re here.”

“Glad to know you aren’t blind,” says Felix. A pause, and then, “Get on with it.”

Sylvain wants to reach out to him and pull him close. His fingers are itching to curl into Felix’s hair and brushing it back, scratching at his scalp. The way he used to when they shared a bedroll in a single tent, keeping warm on the cold nights and waiting for the end to come.

They’ve never talked about that.

Sylvain reaches out tentatively. Felix’s shoulders are slight compared to his own, but no less powerful. He grips them tightly and pulls Felix forward. Felix follows easily, willingly, eagerly, even. Odd.

A kiss to his right cheek, Sylvain’s mouth lingering. And then he presses in for the left and Felix turns his head. Their lips meet and sparks fly and they’re kissing. Felix is aggressive, pulling Sylvain closer, his mouth slipping open as he tries to stake his claim.

All they’ve ever done and they’ve never done this. A kiss hasn’t ever meant so much, and Sylvain cradles Felix’s cheek, thumb sliding across his cheekbone, trying to temper the movement. Felix reluctantly acquiesces, pressing against Sylvain slower and softer, with a tentative arch of his back.

When they part, they’re both breathing heavily. Sylvain stares into Felix’s eyes and he sees so much there, so much that’s waiting to be said. So much that Felix probably never will because he’s emotionally stunted on his best of days.

But still, Sylvain loves him, he’s loved him for years.

“You’re here,” says Sylvain again, still cupping Felix’s jaw.

“I’m here,” says Felix. “I promised.”

Sylvain wants to cry. Or laugh. Or die. Instead, he leans down to kiss him again.

[icedthoma]

While crying with Todoroki. Are they angsty tears? are they happy tears? I don't know. But I want Todo because. MY HEART. belongs to this boi.

18. While crying

Modern AU!

Just when you think the day can’t possibly get any worse, it starts to rain. 

Now, you don’t hate rain, but there’s the kind of rain you can laugh in while jumping around in stray puddles or run through screaming with your best friend, and there’s the kind of rain that chills you to the core and drenches your socks, sucking every last bit of warmth out of you. 

Guess which kind of rain you’re experiencing right now?

You’re silently trudging through the pouring weather, umbrella-less and soaked to the bone, the prospect of getting to the nearest place of shelter all that’s encouraging you to keep putting one foot in front of the other. 

All you want at this point is to go home. 

The sudden sound of your name draws your attention amidst the onslaught of rain, and raising your gaze from the slick sidewalk, you squint through the moisture in your eyes (half from the rain) to where a tall figure is standing in front of you, all concerned eyes and red and white hair. 

“What are you doing here?” Todoroki Shouto asks incredulously, immediately stepping forward so the umbrella covers both of you. “Aren’t you on a...?”

You’re well aware how awful you look at the moment, but at the sight of your best friend, you abandon all attempts to save your dignity and throw your arms around him, vaguely hearing the small oof that escapes him as he stumbles back a few steps under your sudden weight. You feel slightly bad about hugging him with soaked clothes, but that’s quickly tossed out of your mind as the heat Shouto naturally emits transfers from his body to yours, your frantic shivers quick to disappear. His free hand not holding the umbrella finds its way around your upper back, holding your shaking frame closer to him. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, breath lightly tickling the shell of your ear. “Can you walk a little bit further? There’s a cafe not too far up ahead down the street. I don’t want you to have to stand in the rain any longer.”

You nod, face still buried in his shoulder, and he takes his jacket off without another word and tugs it around you, wrapping one arm around your shoulder and keeping you at his side until you reach shelter. Once inside, you choose one of the bench seats to huddle in, figure swamped in Todoroki’s jacket while he shakes his umbrella off at the front of the shop, placing it inside the umbrella holder and sliding into the bench right beside you instead of sitting in the one across. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he gently prods, and you hide your face deeper into the jacket’s collar while you speak, the words rushing out of you in a way that would be nearly incomprehensible to anyone except him. 

You had been asked to go on a movie date with someone in one of your classes, which was all you had been talking about to him for the three days leading up to it. No one had ever asked you out before, and you were finally starting to believe that maybe you weren’t so hopeless in the love department after all, only to be left standing outside the movie theater for almost an hour, your supposed date in question finally answering his phone after your third call to tell you that it had been a dare all along. Angry that you had naively gone along with his game, you had been walking home when the skies opened up above you, turning this already crappy day even worse. 

“That piece of--” Todoroki cuts himself off, because the cafe is rather empty and he’d rather not draw any more attention to you than necessary. “The next time I see him, I’m going to...” He tightens his hands into fists, jaw furiously clenched. 

“S-Shouto!”

“He hurt you, my best friend, and is a terrible person for not even bothering to tell you the truth before the day came! How can I not want to beat him up?” he hissed. 

“I’m not defending him,” you murmur, hot tears pooling in your eyes as you voice the concern that had been rolling around in your head this whole time. “I just--it felt really good, to think that someone possibly had feelings for me. And I got my hopes up...so stupid, right? I should have known no one would ever like me that way.”

He’s staring at you with a dumbfounded look on his face. “Are you crying?”

“No,” you say shakily, jerking your head away so you face the wall. “It’s just from the rain. I’m f-fine.” 

Todoroki gently turns your face back towards him, his previous anger replaced with genuine confusion. “You...you really think that lowly of yourself?” he asks softly, brushing away the stray moisture by your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. 

You can’t bring yourself to answer. 

“Because you shouldn’t,” he insists. “You’re always making people smile and laugh, and your jokes are actually funny. You send me memes when I’m having a bad day, and you’re kind to everyone in our class even though you might not be friends with them. You’re smart and a hard worker and have great taste in music--” Shouto pauses, taking a moment to breathe in deeply. “--so don’t stress over that loser, as he’s clearly the one missing out.”

All the water your clothes had absorbed might as well have evaporated from the blush that floods your cheeks, heating you all the way down to your toes. He really thinks that about you?

Leaning over, Todoroki unexpectedly presses his mouth to your cheek, the last tear left on your skin gone with the retreat of his lips. “So don’t feel bad if you’re still single. You’ll find someone you genuinely like one day, who will love and appreciate you for the beautiful person you are.” With one last soft smile, he lets you lean your head on his shoulder while he orders your favorite dessert. 

Having calmed down enough to acknowledge the pounding of your heart as you rest on him, wearing his jacket and surrounded by his scent, part of you believes that day might come sooner than you think. 

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one year event masterlist

[weasleydream]

Forever and a day

Hey guys Hope you’ll enjoy and as usual, likes, reblogs and feedbacks are greatly appreciated!

Masterlist

(gif not mine)

The night was like the ones you only see in the middle of summer even though it was Christmas. The deep blue sky, almost dark and dotted with thousands of bright stars, was only lightened by the moon, a fantastic crescent illuminating the garden of the Burrow along with Fred and me. The only thing blurring periodically our sight was the cloud forming in front of our mouths when we breathed, except that, this was a magical vision. 

The Burrow, as each and every Christmas, was animated and full of joy and laughter. It was awesome, really, but Fred and I had needed a bit of time alone as we hadn’t had a lot of occasions since his departure from Hogwarts, a few months ago. We had escaped the loud cheers, preferring the peaceful silence of the night, accepting the biting cold as it gave us an excuse for cuddling, losing ourselves in the stars. 

A particularly violent shiver shook me, and Fred tightened his grip around my waist. 

“We can go back inside, if you want.” he said while rubbing my sides with energy. 

“No, I want to stay.”

I looked up again to the stars and noticed a few seconds later that Fred’s gaze hadn’t followed mine. 

“What? Do I have something on my nose?” 

“Except that adorable red colour, no, you have nothing.” 

“Yeah, that’s because I love Rudolf the rednosed reindeer.” I declared before chuckling when Fred frowned. 

“Is that another muggleborn reference?” he asked. “Dad never told me about this one.”

“I guess you know him as Patrick the red tailed niffler.” 

In front of Fred’s incomprehension and once my laughters had eventually calmed down, I explained who Rudolf the rednosed reindeer was. 

“And we wonder why muggles don’t believe in magic,” he mumbled. “If they present it like something that childish…”

I didn’t want to debate on the muggle’s capacity of imagining what magic could be - I knew it could turn into a heated argument - and decided to change the subject. 

“If nothing was hanging from my nose, then why were you eyeing me so intensely?”

Fred’s cheeks and ears, who were already red because of the freezing air, darkened and I smirked when he scratched the back of his neck, a recurrent gesture that never failed to show when he was nervous.

“That’s because, well, the moonlight… It makes you look, err- it makes you look cool, I mean- Stop laughing, I just wanted to compliment you!”

Indeed, I was laughing softly, melting on the inside because he was so cute when he was nervous… And Fred was almost never nervous. He was always so self confident, such an adorable and cocky boy, yet when he wanted to express his deepest feelings, he became a stuttering mess. And I loved this side of him, way more than the side that always wanted to dye my hair in green, that was for sure. 

“And you did well complimenting me, Freddie. The moonlight suits you too pretty well, love.”

And it truly was, from the freckles on his nose that contrasted with his pale skin to the sparkle in his eyes and including his hair that seemed softer than ever, everything of him which was usually awesome appeared just perfect under the moonlight. No kidding, my boyfriend was the best of all. 

Fred chuckled, mumbling something that sounded like “Your compliment was still better than mine” and pulled me closer to him. We were sitting on a bench, far enough from the house to be sure nothing - or no one, and especially not George or Ginny - would disturb us. We were still stargazing, both lost in thoughts deeper than the other could imagine, and not necessarily really happy. When a shooting star crossed the sky, that’s all naturally that my dearest wish crossed my mind, and fear flooded suddenly in my body. 

I hope we’re all gonna survive this war. 

I immediately felt the urge to be comforted by Fred, like every time I thought of the war inexorably approaching, and like every time, he tightened me a bit more and laid soft kisses on my hair. 

“It will be okay love. We’ll be okay.”

“How can you be so sure? Fred, it can happen so fast…”

“Y/N, listen to me.” His tone was firm but it was only to make me calm down, I knew it. “As long as I’ll be there, nothing will happen to you, I promise. And as long as you’ll be there, nothing will happen to me because I just cannot bear the thought of you being alone. Do you understand? I’ll be yours for forever, and you’ll be mine for forever. If you keep that in mind, then we’ll stay together.”

Our foreheads were now pressed against each other, and my hands were cupping his cheeks. Fred’s eyes were burning, a flame I had only seen a few times making them shine brighter than the sun. It was pure love. At the moment, I was so scared, so terrified and yet feeling so stupid for doubting of us that I reacted the only way I knew. 

“Forever? It isn’t long enough for me, love.”

“Then let’s say for forever and a day.”

“It doesn’t make that much of a difference, does it?”

“A lot can happen in a day.” he whispered before leaning in and pressing his lips against mine. 

And as the fire of our love was slowly consuming us, as the cold air seemed to disappear to be replaced by a warm atmosphere, I was so absorbed in the moment, so focused on his lips and his hands, that it never crossed my mind that Fred had expressed his deepest feelings without stuttering once. 

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

“Molly, you better tell these delinquents to stop their traffic!”

“That’s not traffic, dear aunt Muriel, that’s business.” said Fred with a smirk before tying an imaginary tie. 

Muriel grumbled and threw an imperious glance at Molly, who didn’t do anything but shrugging. 

“They don't listen to me, Muriel. I’m sorry.”

This dear old aunt Muriel had accepted to hide her family, the Weasleys being in danger now that everyone knew Ron was with Harry, and Fred had made a scene as he wanted me to hide with them. Muriel had firstly refused, pretending she wouldn’t have the energy to bear one more person. 

“Trust me, you’ll never survive with me if she doesn’t come with us.” He had muttered, after what Molly had ordered him to shut up for once and had pleaded my cause.

Muriel hadn’t had any other choice than accepting, and I suspected her to know Fred would have found a way to make me come here anyway. As a revenge, she had decided to be more insufferable than usual, which was an exploit according to George. 

“Shut up, it will begin!” suddenly exclaimed Bill, who was here with Fleur for one of the visits that were becoming more and more frequent as the weeks passed. 

Everyone gathered around the radio, Muriel complaining that she was busy writing a very important letter - Ginny confessed to me she had read a few sentences, and Muriel was in fact writing to one of the old blabbermouths she had for friends. After several hissing begging her to shut up, we all waited for Lee to begin his emission. We waited, but… Nothing.

“I don’t understand…” muttered Bill. “I thought-”

“Do you think it means something happened to him?” I asked, petrified at the thought that one of my best friends could be hurt because he had always kept bringing us hope. 

“No, he’s too smart to be caught.” assured George. 

But I caught the worried glance he exchanged with Fred. The silence seemed to last forever, and Bill eventually stopped trying.

“Maybe he just can’t right now,” he said. “I’ll keep trying to catch the signal, we’ll see.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Ginny’s voice was blank, and I turned to see that her face was pale. However, the flame of her determination was burning in her eyes. 

“Harry is at Hogwarts, and apparently the fight is for soon.”

Fuck. That was the first thing that came to my mind. As my brain was trying to process what Ginny had said and what it implied, Molly pressed her on with interrogations. 

“How do you know that? Ginny, is Ron with him? Is he safe? Ginny!”

Without a word, she handed her mother the false galleon I recognized easily. 

“Mum, we’ve got to go to Hogwarts.” said George. 

“How?” asked Molly with a quiet voice.

“The Hog’s Head. There’s a tunnel leading to the room of requirements.” replied Ginny. 

Molly sighed and murmured she had to warn the order. Fred and George got up in the same movement, and I immediately did the same. 

“Y/N, you stay here.”

For a second, I thought it was a joke. A particularly bad one, but a joke. However, I had never seen Fred being so serious. His jaw was clenched and he was frowning, and at the moment his eyes were darker than they had ever been. 

“I- what?” I asked in disbelief. 

Fred glanced at George before sighing. He grabbed my hand and half dragged me to the room we shared with his twin. He sighed once more and quickly passed a hand in his hair. 

“Y/N, I want you to stay here with aunt Muriel.”

“Are you crazy? I won’t stay on the sidelines, Fred. Don’t count on it.”

“Love, please, I just-”

“No!” I yelled. Fred winced. “There’s no way you’re going to fight without me!”

“Love, I just want you to be safe.” He grabbed my hand and lightly kissed my knuckles. “How long will be our forever if something happens to you?”

“Why do you keep thinking I’m the only one who could get hurt? Fred, I know how- how reckless you can be and… And I need to be with you, Fred, I need to be sure you won’t do anything stupid, you understand?”

“And if something happens to me? Y/N, if I die-”

“Don’t say that!” I squealed.

“If I die, who will keep you safe?”

Maybe Fred hadn’t heard me, all absorbed in his thoughts as he was, or maybe he felt the need to get this out of him. I would understand, I was feeling the exact same thing, I wanted to say out loud that maybe I would die too. This way, it would be real, totally real, and I could focus on something else. The way of keeping us alive, for example. But if something had to happen to Fred, if despite all my efforts, his fate was to leave me, then I knew what I would have to do. It was obvious.

“If you die,” I murmured, “then I’ll make sure our forever is still a thing.”

“Don’t say that. Y/N, please, don’t say such a thing. I- I forbid you to… Y/N, if I die- if I don’t make it out alive, promise me- promise me you’ll live. No matter what love, I need to know you’ll carry on.”

“Only if you promise the same.”

And that promise was sealed with the saddest kiss we had ever shared, our tears giving it a salty taste, our hands grabbing the other’s clothes in the same way you grip on the last thing that makes you alive. And it was true; at the moment, Fred was the only thing that helped me stay sane, and I had the firm conviction that our survival depended on each other. 

From the moment I had stepped in the room of requirements until the moment everything had gone black around me, from the moment Fred had made me swear to stay next to him until the moment I had lost him between two green flashes of light, from the moment I had stumbled upon Percy to the moment I had run into Fred’s arms, my own body had been controlled by the most primitive survival instinct. A rage I didn’t suspect had taken over me, making me kill enemy after enemy, without ever considering the fact that they were human. One the wrong side, maybe, despicable, for sure, but still human, with maybe children that were waiting for them at home. Not one second did I think of anything else than being enveloped in Fred’s arms after the end of the war, enjoying our victory hopefully without any loss and living our life like we deserved. But I had to get through this, I had promised him I would, and he had promised me too. 

I was unable to open my eyes, my body being entirely sore and my head seeming on the verge of the explosion. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t move to get rid of this small pebble that was planting itself in my shoulder blade. The blood was rushing behind my ears, and the sound was not without recalling the sound of a river. It was somehow soothing. 

And slowly, or as it seemed for me as I didn’t have any way to measure time, the adrenaline in my veins disappeared, letting my heart beat less quickly and I could eventually hear what surrounded me. At first, it only sounded like a buzzing, and some noises gradually distinguished themselves. Steps near my head. Loud voices. Laughters. Cries. And after the hearing, it was my sight that came back to normal. 

The light surrounding me was forming a bright halo behind my closed eyelids. When my eyes were finally used to such a brightness, they flickered open. The very first thing I saw was a bunch of vaults above me, some of them half destructed and the sky being visible in some places. The second thing I saw was a glimpse of red hair. A smile immediately stretched my lips before disappearing. It was George, and something was wrong.

“George?” I asked quietly, my throat being so sore that this only world almost made me throw up. 

When George looked at me with puffy red eyes, my stomach twisted into a painful knot. It took a lot of energy for me to do something as simple as looking around me, but nowhere did I see the smile I needed. I wanted to ask him where Fred was, if everyone was okay, but I only managed to moan weakly. Much to my horror, tears flooded from George’s eyes and he pulled me against him without an ounce of delicacy. He just tightened me against his chest, clutching desperately on the back of my shirt, loud sobs shaking his shoulders. Without even knowing what had happened - or knowing it but refusing to believe it - I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him as tight as I could, feeling the tears rolling on my cheeks despite myself. 

George cried for a long time, and so did I without even being fixed on why we were such a wreck at the moment. When finally he stopped crying, he pushed me back just enough to look at me in the eyes without letting go of my shoulders. And when I looked into these eyes I knew so well and not only because they looked like Fred’s, when I saw the most heart wrenching desperation I could ever see, I slowly understood. And slowly, I felt the same desperation invading my eyes, and an excruciating pain taking over my body, because he had promised. He had promised nothing would happen to him. 

George grabbed my hand and without a word, he helped me get up.  My legs were too weak to support my own weight, let alone the weight of my pain, and I clung onto him like the lifeline that prevented me from drowning in my sorrow. We walked slowly, one step after the other, and it felt like we were struggling against a powerful courant. When they saw us, George’s siblings - I couldn’t recognize who -  stepped backward, none of them saying anything. Another step, and another. Arthur helped Molly get up, and she obliged in a painful sob. 

When she got up, I saw Fred’s body.

His clothes were torn and dirty. Blood covered the fabric and his skin. His eyes were closed, and he was still smiling. But he was dead. 

My knees gave up on me and I fell on the ground. I grabbed his hand desperately, his skin was as cold as ice and I didn’t recognize its touch, which used to bring me so much comfort because it was always so warm. And the tears were continuously rolling, blinding me whereas I wanted to memorize each detail of his face. Then the sobs arrived, all more painful than the precedent but still pleasant compared to the pain in my heart. George was crying next to me, an arm still around my shoulders, and we stayed like this for a long time. 

The night was falling on the castle, yet what remained from the Great Hall was still full of broken souls like George and I. People who weren’t ready to leave the last place they had seen their loved ones. George’s family had come back to the Burrow, preferring to mourn Fred in the intimacy of their house, but we weren’t ready yet. We were still sitting on the ground, in front of an empty place where Fred’s body had been laying before being carried away. 

We were staring blankly in front of us, George’s arm around my shoulder and my head resting on his, probably doing the same thing, namely recalling Fred. 

“I didn’t say I loved him…” My throat was sore after all the sobs that had shaken my body, yet I needed to say it, because the guilt and the regrets were suffocating me. 

“He knew it.” replied George, his voice as weak as mine and oh so broken. 

And I couldn’t know it, but George was remembering the last time Fred had rambled about me in front of him. “You have no idea on how much I love her, Georgie.” he had said with a goofy smile. “I would do anything for her… She’s the love of my life, I know it. You know what? When all of this is over, I’ll marry her.” 

“He knew it and he loved you too, Y/N.”

“And he loved you too. He was so proud of you, George.”

And we burst into tears, hugging each other with the same strength we wanted to hug Fred with, with the desperation we shared of having lost one of the most important persons in our lives. 

We cried because Fred was dead and at the moment, it felt like we would always cry because this loss was too much for us to bear. 

“I’ll be yours for forever, and you’ll be mine for forever. If you keep that in mind, then we’ll stay together.”

“Forever? It isn’t long enough for me, love.”

“Then let’s say for forever and a day.”

“It doesn’t make that much of a difference, does it?”

I was so stupid, because now, I would give anything for just one more day with you.

One day to say I love you. 

One day to live the forever we deserved. 

[echo-three-one]

A Forgotten Memory

An Alex x OC fic

Link to chapter 1 (here)

Prev (XI - Alex)

Next (XIII - Alex)

Reviews Appreciated. Enjoy the fic!

XII - Samantha

She never expected Alex to handle the situation maturely. She expected him to badger him into going with him on that vacation. She wanted to go for closure's sake, but that would be too unfair for him. He wouldn't want that. Alex was a perfect boyfriend material for her, it's a shame he's a CIA agent.

She gave him a thumbs up as he raised an olive green shirt he tried on, honestly she thought he'd look good on any outfit. She opted on simple clothing as all of this were just temporary and Alex already made the call and would extract them to safety the day after tomorrow. A deep sigh as the idea that it's all over.

They spent the rest of the day at their room. The tv tuned in to local news, talking in a language she found incomprehensible. Alex seemed to be intently watching, guess he's the kind of person who's really into current events, translating headlines for her, which she found kinda sweet.

Samantha plopped her head on her mattress, they apparently rented separate beds, making her think this was another sign from whatever Fates were weaving their destinies, to which she almost want to believe in.

"Real for your thoughts?" Alex joked, offering her a coin from the country they're in. Samantha once again laughed at him for it, he really knows how to cheer her up.

"Say, if you weren't a "CIA Agent", what would you be?" she asked, mouthing the term CIA Agent.

Alex hummed as he thought of an answer.

"Dad always said I'm good with people. That's why he wanted me to pursue Sales or Marketing or any Business course." he chuckled at the idea.

"I bet you'd look good in a suit." Samantha chimed in, mentally fighting herself not to imagine him in one. She has to let go of him, for her own heart's sake.

"Yeah? I wore it a few times. I actually feel like a hundred grand when I wore it." he smiled as his eyes trailed off to memory lane. Samantha tried her best not to admire the scenery infront of her. This was harder than she thought.

"I wonder if our paths would cross if we were somebody else..." Samantha asked another follow up question.

"Maybe, I'll get sick and I'd be admitted to a hospital you're stationed to." He replied, amused at the story he's forged.

"Yeah, what are the odds." She dismissed, laughing at the absurdity of his imagination.

"I'm gonna miss you." He stated, completely off topic and completely serious. Samantha thought she already cried everything she could for today, but tears started welling once again. She felt that her movements were automatic, as she quickly dove to Alex's bed and tackled him with a hug. Alex didn't hesitate and quickly gave her a kiss. It felt hot, wet and longing. As if they were deprived from each other for a very long time, their tongues clashed inside their mouths, as they held their breaths neither one of them wanted to break free from each other.

Their hands started grazing against each other, desperately longing for each others touch, his rough palm against her smooth thigh. Each slide sent shivers throughout her whole body. She convinced herself that this could help her move on, even though she believed it would just worsen their case, but she was only human and this what what she yearned for ever since last night. She was willing to add one last memory of him, one she convinced herself to be the final one.

Alex was very responsive to her, he couldn't deny that he liked where this was going. Besides, he was the one who bargained her for an extension. He lied down and let her take the lead, following what she wanted to happen and letting her take over. Following every order she whispers without hesitation. He understands what she felt and he feels the same. They'll be away from each other in two days, it's only reasonable to make these count.

###

Samantha traced Alex's cheek with her index finger, feeling the thick beard brush against it as she slides it up his hair, spreading her palm and feeling his head with it. She never felt this sexually contented in quite a while, a feeling she's deprived of after the loss of her long term boyfriend. Her touch seemed to startle him as he slowly opened his eyes and smiled, letting out a sexy groan and reaching for her. Samantha shifted her position so Alex could spoon her from behind, letting his warm body heat up her naked back. She let out a contented sigh and slowly urged herself to sleep.

~

The sound of children lauging and running outside the streets woke Samantha up, with a quick glance she found out that Alex was nowhere to be found. She hastily put on her clothes and looked at the window. A sigh of relief escaped her nostrils when she found him playing with the children. It was a heartwarming view, adding fuel to the flame labeled "My love for this Man", a flame slowly being extinguished by time. The kids stopped playing and started pointing out to the sky, waving like excited people when Titanic left the dock. She saw Alex turn to her and gave her a sad frown.

"I thought it was tomorrow." Samantha asked as soon as Alex entered the room, quickly picking up the little things they owned.

"I'm also worried why we got extracted earlier." Alex replied, holding her shoulders and staring at her. He's CIA but Samantha could actuly feel the sadness in his aura, despite him good at concealing emotion.

Samantha followed as they make their way to the aircraft.

"Why is it a day earlier?" She heard Alex yell as the loud whirring of the propeller filled the area.

"It's secret orders. The Head believes that the assumption that someone within the CIA is in kahoots with Nero is still in play." the pilot replied. Alex tapped his shoulder and escorted her to the plane. She couldn't believe it, but she's flying home. A plethora of mixed emotions overwhelmed her as they slowly ascended from the little town which housed them for a day, the view of it getting smaller and smaller as they flew farther away back home.

As soon as they descended and stepped out of the plane, she quickly pulled Alex for one last message. He's going to be busy now as she overheard the mole they're trying to catch.

"Hey. Guess I brought you home safe, after all." He laughs, tapping her shoulder.

"Yeah. You're a man of your word after all." She smiled and hugged him tight, not minding the people around them. Then from the corner of her eye, a tall intimidating figure stood. It was her father.

"I guess this is goodbye." She whispered.

"We could still talk after the briefing." Alex countered, still hopeful.

"My Dad's here. He's going to send me away. Thanks Alex... For everything... I'm sorry I can't be there for you..." she sobbed.

"I fully understand, Samantha. You're a memory worth treasuring. Heck, maybe when I retire, you're still ummm available.. so why not?" he joked. A joke he wished would be half true.

"Don't get your hopes too high, Alex. I don't want to live waiting for uncertainty. I'm done with that." She smiled and bid him one last goodbye. Tears were shed and hearts were broken... but life must continue to go on and experiences will then become teachers for the future. Samantha thought, the idea of moving on from two men in a span of a month was tiresome and heart aching, but she believed that she's strong enough to face it all in due time.

Alex walked away to the briefing room not leaving his eye on her, Samantha did the same as she walked to his father. They're both going to miss each other a LOT.

"My beautiful Sammy! You're safe!" Richard Coleman, her father, hugged her dearly. She could feel his worry fade away the moment he saw her in one piece.

"Dad." she cried.

"I'm sorry I brought you in this mess... I tried to make your life normal but-" the head apologized and Samantha cut him off.

"It's okay Dad. I could handle the experience. Besides, the CIA did a good job protecting me. And that's on you, right?" She laughed, trying to hide the pain.

"I see you've acquainted yourself to my general duties." he replied.

"Yeah. A little bit."

"I've come to make amends, as a father and as the Head of National Defense." The tone shifted seriously, Samantha's heart raced at what's going to happen next.

~

"MK Ultra's successful memory alteration serum." The doctor proudly said infront of the head of defense and his daughter.

"Directly injected to the subject along with a narration of a certain script, made by our scriptwriters, we are able to implant, alter or delete selected memories from our patient." he added. Samantha shuddered at the idea, it's somehow cruel and inhumane but also what she might need to live a normal life.

"This means we could remove her memories of the IP address and everything that's happened to her in the past weeks?" Richard queried.

"Yes, we could make it look like she had a vacation somewhere." the scientist replied.

"She has to make a detail of events that we could forge. If she cooperates, this will be a 100% success." The scientist supplemented once again.

"So, what do you say, Sammy? Is this enough for you to start a normal life?" Richard asked, Samantha was overwhelmed at the decision she's going to make. It was too hard for her to let go of Alex's memories, but then again... they weren't meant to end up together anyway. A huge price to pay for a shot at a new life.

"Before I go, can I atleast have one last request?"

She spoke, determination filled her voice.

"Sure, what is it?" Richard agreed.

"A pen and paper." She said, tears falling out of her eyes.

[goliath-de-senfina-sango]

Teller of Tales

The trio head through the portal to explore Danny's brand spanking new Sanctuary and are a little awed by all that he managed to make.  They meet a facinating new ghost, who has a deal for them.

ao3

When Danny took Sam and Tucker through the portal and into his Sanctuary, he was glad to see that he wasn’t the only one floored by how much of it there was, or how complex it had turned out. “I don’t think I’ve ever even made a drawing this complicated and detailed before,” he said as they reached the roof of the main portal building and house. It was at the heart of what looked to be a town or maybe even a city, which was surrounded by a dense forest, with a mountain to one side, a massive body of water that Danny would call a lake but that looked so vast an ocean felt more appropriate on the other, and even misty clouds of every kind of color he could see passing by a point of brilliant light. “I’m glad it’s been keeping Walker out as much as it has, and every other ghost too. That means we can explore it!”

“Danny, this place is magnificent!” Tucker wrapped him up in a tight hug and squeezed nearly hard enough to crack his back. “Dude, you made a whole ass town that’s almost as big as Amity Park! I wonder how stocked up this place is. You’ve got copies of our hoverboards here too, so what are we waiting for?”

“I say we take a look at that forest, it’s practically screaming ‘enchanted and full of mystery’, and maybe we can even figure out what all goes on in that head of yours.” Sam poked Danny’s head with a laugh and called up her own backup hoverboard, hopping over the ledge and onto it before Tucker could catch up. Tucker, of course, swerved off to see if he could find anything substantial in the town, which meant splitting up, which had Danny reaching out to grab them both.

“Guys hold up! Are we really gonna go into a freshly made place that I made mostly subconsciously while in ghost form and do it while splitting up? Are we the Scooby gang?”

“Take full offense from this but you’re baby,” Tucker said with a snort. “Your subconscious mind didn’t come up with anything that might hurt us.”

“Maybe not on purpose, but I might’ve made some parts of this place uninhabitable to regular humans, but perfectly safe for a ghost to be floating around in.” After all, a ghostly mind set deeply into a Passion could easily forget things like safety regulations for squishy humans. Young Blood wasn’t even malicious or Obsessive and look at how he’d turned out.

Sam rolled her eyes but circled back around to the boys. “Fine, we can stick together and tour your McMansion together, you lil show off, but if so then how about we take a look at the edges to see what we can learn about how well defended this place is? It’s meant to be your Sanctuary, so you’ve gotta have some way of keeping ghosts out without just shotting at them.”

“We can work our way through the town and out into the forest, guys, you know that right? We’re literally starting from the middle.” Danny sighed, shaking his head. “The defenses are clearly working because nothing’s actually done anything to us yet, they can wait.”

It took a bit of back and forth but eventually, they all decided on a direction to go and headed for the lake instead of the mountain. After all, if the water was safe for humans, they could all go for a swim. The trio set off and found what looked to be empty homes, some buildings that could be shops, a few restaurants that just needed stocking up and customers, and other places that looked all but ready to be populated by people stuck on the ground and people who could fly. There was a warehouse full of Focuses, cameras, and replicas of every robot or project that Danny and Tucker had ever put together before, along with a few that stored Fentonworks non-violent products too. “This place looks like someone’s fantasy dream town where you can sit, relax, chat up a ghost, and then head off into the unknown in your very own - oh wow, Danny is that the Specter Speeder?”

“Well, I may have gone over Mom and Dad’s blueprints a while back for it, but only because I wanted to see if I could develop ya know, a space ship from it.” Danny felt his cheeks burning and gave Tucker’s shoulder a light punch to try and wipe the grin off his face. “Shut up.”

“Actually, the closer we get to the forest, the more ‘port town’ vibes I’m getting,” Sam mused. “Danny, didn’t you say you wanted to be a pirate once when you were a kid?”

“Shut uuup, noo.” Danny pulled his hood over his face, even as he turned invisible. Ok, so maybe it did look like the perfect place for a pirate who hit land on an undiscovered island to have set up their own little town. That proved nothing.

Just as Sam opened her mouth to keep teasing him, Danny popped into visibility and transformed entirely, shooting into the air with plasma gathered in his hands. It felt like the pull of some massive celestial object focused on him and his sanctuary alone, getting closer and closer, and Danny was all but certain he couldn’t do much on his own against it. He reached into his Sanctuary, felt it reach back, and begged it to hide . The partly cloudy sky went dark, the clouds now stretching over the whole expanse of the island, and in the mountain, Danny could feel the hum of railguns warming up and ready to fire like Danny couldn’t on his own.

The clouds were parted by something vast and incomprehensible that sung every song never known by mortal ears, and looking at it was looking upon all that had ever happened throughout the whole of humanity, listening to every story ever told to another person, and Danny nearly unraveled before he could look away. Something like a bell tolled and that massive shape resolved itself into something steadily smaller and simpler, while a voice called out to them - when had Tucker and Sam joined in him in the air? - with a deep baritone voice. “ A̸̢̦̮̥͚h̴͉̟̳͙͈͎̩͡, my sincerest apologies! I hadn’t expecte d any mortals or bridge spirits to be here and so came to investigate this lovely new place in an old er form. Perhaps this is easier on your minds and senses?”

The being settled into the shape of a male presenting person with grey skin, a white shirt, black pants, and a purple trench coat. They were also wearing glasses over eyes that were green at a glance but any lingering eye contact showed every shade of green and violet that could be thought of, and Danny struggled to keep his gaze on the center of the being’s forehead. They smiled with shark-like teeth and held out a hand. Danny, after likely too long, regained enough sense to shake their hand and cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, this is uh, this is a lot easier. Hi. I’m Danny.”

“Hello Danny, I’m recently going by Ghostwriter! And who might you all be?”

“I’m …. Tucker Foley. Tech master extraordinaire.” Tucker shook off his awe quickly enough and gave the Ghostwriter some finger guns and a grin, shaky as it may have been.

Tucker’s joke seemed to snap Sam out of her own stupor and she shook the ghost’s hand warily. “Sam Manson, curious to meet you.”

“It’s always good to be curious! I came here sensing both a new place to learn about, the gateway to this lovely little planar system, and also I sensed a curious mind like my own seeking new fascinating secrets to uncover. Considering only one of you is capable of creating a Sanctuary, I imagine it’s you, Danny?”

Danny nodded and scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, about you coming here, can I ask uh, what was up with that mind-melting form you were just in?”

“I’ve never properly understood Lovecraftian Horror’s until now,” Sam muttered with a shiver. Tucker elbowed her in the side.

Ghostwriter tapped their chin with a hum and looked around at Danny’s spooktacular bachelor pad and clapped his hands with a grin. “I propose a trade! If I tell you about myself, as the answer to your question is best answered with story, then you all tell me about your selves. Deal?”

The trio looked between each other and nodded, Danny holding out his hand to shake. “Deal. Can we take this to the cafe down there though?” Danny pointed exactly to one of the cafes in his Sanctuary and slowly relaxed his panicked grip on the place. If Ghostwriter wanted trouble he clearly didn’t want any with Danny.

They sat down, Danny found some tea, coffee and all the things required to make hot chocolate inside, and offered everyone. Tucker accepted some iced tea, while Sam and Ghostwriter got coffee, and soon Danny sat down with his own hot chocolate and everyone else’s drinks. They appreciated the drinks and took big sips before the Ghostwriter began to speak.

“Oh, but where to start, where to start? If you have time, I can start even at the very beginning of it all?” The trio looked between each other and shrugged; it was the weekend, they had plenty of time. Ghostwriter seemed delighted by that. “The very beginning it is!” Music began to play, soft and mysterious in their minds.

“Before all that you see around you, before the swirling mists and oceans of darkness, before the very concept of Being, nothing was all that was. No past, present or future, no light or darkness, simply a blank nothingness.” On the table, a portion of the air became… empty, in a way that Danny felt in his soul, and he ached to fill the void. “Now, no one, not even myself or my siblings, knows why what happened happened, but for whatever reason or unreason, something began to Exist. Now, the very first something is what some call ectoplasm, others magic, and countless other names, but my siblings and I simply refer to it as the Realms themself being born.” Green light shone in the center of the void and quickly expanded to fill it up, accompanied by glorious and triumphant music.

“Now, while the Realms were the Something to all the Nothing at its edges, it still had just about nothing in it. So, it got to making things within itself from itself, and after a bit of experimenting with half-formed ideas like any creative soul, the very first Realm - the first universe was created. Inside of this universe, there was a great deal and the forces that be happened to be rather proud of themself but had no one to share their creation with. So, they created a soul, and a vessel to house that soul in so that someone could experience what they had made. There was, however, the issue of longevity, which was solved somewhat easily enough, by moving the soul into yet another vessel.”

The shape of a person appeared, surrounded by others, and a light slid out of one as they fell, before being nudged into the next, back and forth. “Now, what with the flexibility of how the Realms interact with time, the soul of their creation was able to hop from mortal vessel to mortal vessel, back and forth across history. Each time the soul left a body it simply went to the edges of the universe before being guided to its next life. And so it went until all the mortals were gone, but the soul was now so complex from experiencing life as every mortal that it could fit in larger vessels from which to appreciate the world. So, they became each planet in turn, and then each star, and each galaxy and cluster, and black hole, until that universe finally went dark, and the being had been everyone and everything in it across its lifespan.”

The light grew brighter and brighter with each leap it took until it burrowed down deep enough to contain that light, and the images Ghostwriter showed them zoomed out to show a solar system. And from there, the light flowed all around it, even jumping to other systems, until the light was too bright to contain in those planets and so it became all the light there was. Abruptly there wasn’t any light at all. An emptiness that the soul grew and grew to fill.

“And so in the cold, dark, quiet of the seemingly dead universe, the being that experienced Existing in a way the Realms could not did what it hadn’t the chance to between all its various lives with their fresh starts and clean slated beginnings: remembered. They experienced all that they had gone through, the scope of their life unfolding to be felt in its entirety in a way that could only be done when unbound by flesh and stone and plasma confines.”

The darkness shrunk as the grey light grew, and then the darkness was a ball within a green expanse. “And then they Were, and the universe ended with a bang, as they who I call mother and you can refer to as Queen Death, was born into the Realms properly.” The ball cracked and trembled before exploding in all directions, the bits of the cosmic eggshell being tossed to the edges of what they could see on the table. A being outlined in grey that held every color there was within, spun around in excitement, and reached out, taking one of the fractured shells of her egg and molding it like clay into another ball, then doing the same with another.

For a long moment, the trio stared at the little queen Death making universes all around her, Tucker sipping his tea as he did so. While Danny was still processing and Sam struggled to find her words, Tucker set his cup down and cleared his throat. “So, there’s a lot to unpack there, and I presume that you’re one of those souls that finished maturing inside of their universe - what are your pronouns by the way?”

“Ah yes, those, I go by he and him for now.”

Tucker nodded and hummed. “So there’s a Queen of the afterlife then? Queen Death?” Ghostwriter’s face fell from that of an eager storyteller to something sour, bitter, and full of grief.

“Not anymore, sadly. Once Mother had adjusted to Being, she realized that she too could create in this wonderful place from which she came. She crafted for herself a lovely palace made half from concepts rather than stone or metal or wood, though it was made from all that and more too.” Death was shown molding the very mist around her into an intricate and beautiful landscape and building, before stopping and sitting cross-legged in her throne, tapping her chin. “But Death knew something was missing from her experience, something she’d had once before: companionship.”

Death was shown leaving her castle to go and gather the broken bits of her eggshell, and took them into her palace, before splitting one shell chunk in two and twisting the two into eggs. Green light gathered in each of her palms and flowed into the shells. “Mother made my eldest siblings, who would go on to name themselves Entropy and Peace. Unlike with her own experience with being guided into each new life, mother decided her first children would have a less lonely experience.” Blue light flowed from one egg and golden to the other and back, with the guiding hand of Death.

“Peace and Entropy would know each other in a way few still living gods do, for they were each other at times. And when they emerged, they gazed upon Death’s palace and kingdom with wonder, and they were a happy family.” Blue and Gold silhouettes hatched from their eggs, both donning violet. The three laughed and hugged and danced, crafting and playing. “And Death, and the Realms, decided to create again, and this time they would act together. And this time,” Ghostwriter said with a chill in his voice and his drink boiling, “the Realms would act on their fascination with balance.”

A violet light appeared as Death molded an egg all her own, and it pulsed and dripped with what felt to be oddly malicious. Entropy and Peace went about exploring their mother’s world while this happened and even took a few discarded shells to craft a universe of their own. Death and her children soon went about covering the table in art and Realms, along with Realms simply spawning from nowhere. The dark purple egg hatched, and the other universes shook.

“What if I told you that the force that brought Existence into Being made mistakes? What if I told you that gods can die?” Ghostwriter gestured to seven eggs orbiting each other, bands of light flitting between them all. “The third child of Death called himself War, and he was the first to disrupt things and give Peace a job to do.” War walked over and flicked the bands of light between two of the eggs, forcing the soul out into the Infinite Realms early, and it grew into a small green being. Peace flew over, and gently nudged the being back toward its egg, but not before drawing from within a blade and cutting through the tiny being. It returned to a ball shape and flowed back in.

“Ghosts of the dead, as you might call them, are souls set adrift from the path between lives, and Peace made it his job to take them back where they go. Sometimes War did this many times at once, and I, curious, asked Peace to allow a few to stay. After all, they were going to end up here again anyway, weren’t they? And so, we tried that, and due to the boundlessness and chaotic nature of the Realms these ghosts found themselves evolving and mutating over time, some of them fulfilling a passion from their previous life and finding their way back home into the next life, while others stayed here and grew and grew and even figured out a way to reproduce - sexually and not. Those ghosts born in the Realms from the dead we call Deathless because they never died.”

“So you’re the reason we have ghosts and stuff?” Sam frowned at the Ghostwriter and the story unfolding before their eyes froze. “Because you wanted to see what’d happen?”

“The name I first took was Curiosity, my dear, and actually I was the first ghost, made rather curious for a reason. It was something new. If I may?”

“Sorry.” The writer waved it off and the story continued.

“Peace forged a sword within himself that he used to set free souls that had gone too long outside of their shells, their minds dissolving under the pressure of an eternity they weren’t mature enough for yet. Many of the elder Deathless he granted such Peace granting tools, and so when a ghost went mad with age they were cut down and their soul returned to their egg. But if that were the last of War’s troublesome and destructive actions, this tale would have a happier ending.”

The violet War wrapped himself in black and red and forged within himself a ring and from that ring beat drums and played bagpipes and ripped chords that called out to something burning hot inside of Danny that had his chocolate evaporating out of his cup. “A god or a ghost can craft from themselves an artifact of power that embodies their very self, their greatest passion. Peace acted as a knight to Queen Death, while Entropy became the watcher over things, and War… War crafted his own place, a fortress beyond our immediate sight, and started taking ghosts there.”

War took the tiny green ghosts far from the others and brandished his ring at them, and from it a sickly purple light seeped out and infected the ghosts, turning them a toxic looking blend of green and purple. Danny shivered, and Sam set down her coffee, looking pale and furious. “Before we knew what he was doing, we thought of War simply as seeking conflict, as his name implied. But war, oh war is not just violence, it is imperialism, it is slaughter, it is conquest it is a͜ h҉un̵g̸er̶ ̸th҉at ca̴nnot be sat̶ed ųnt͜i̷l ͜all͢ i͏s͝ c̸o̡ns͢umęd ̕an͏d̴ ̕li̷k͝e͞l̢y̕ ev͜en͢ ͟not t҉he̛n.” The sickly purple and red light spread further and further, seeping into the ground and choking the air.

“When the dead forge artifacts that outlast them, they make them from the ectoplasm of the Realms and have them resonate with that ghost’s soul, thus allowing any Dead, Deathless, or even a living mortal with the same soul or at least born of the same soul as the ghost who made it to use it. When one of us does it though, well, we’ve got a universe worth of energy to work with, replenished by the Realms, so we reach inside and forge our relic from our own soul, and a bit of ectoplasm. Queen Death made her crown of Fire as a light to keep back the darkness, and to assist her in managing the ebb and flow of souls across the cosmos.”

The palace courtroom came into view and violet War marched forth toward his mother, his purple and red, and black ring pulsing with the beat of wrath. “As her Majesty Queen Death put to work her latest project of making systems out of Realms that would regulate themselves, her third eldest child marched into her throne room with a ring made from the collective heat and metals of stars within him, his malice, his corruptive hunger that would take and steal and conquer, and he stole from her what was her own, the Crown of Fire that lit the darkness of the Infinite Realms, and with a sword stolen from a Peacemaker he earned his most hatefully spat title, the Filthy Mother Killer.“ The kaleidoscopic crown atop Death’s head turned sickly and purple-green. A sword the color of bone pierced Death’s center and the whole Sanctuary shook with a screech.

“Peace ran to mother's palace to ask what had happened, for all the Realms felt it when Death died, and oh, how realization crashed down upon that which could call itself the Realms themself, and oh how it wept and oh how it raged, as the sword that would cut free the souls lost and tangled in obsession too deeply to pass onto their next lives alone and gave the infant Realms peaceful deaths was used to reach into Peace itself and oh how the Realms wailed with fury as the Fright Knight was forced into being under the service of the Usurper, and struck even his sibling Entropy, now Clockwork, giving them their famed scar.” Gold was encased in bone white armor and it’s violet cloak ignited. They struck blue Entropy and soon the gods all over clashed, and the tabletop was swallowed by a rainbow of violence and dripped with emerald blood.

“And so, the Corrupter of Worlds threw the Realms into the most horrific war, beyond mortal comprehension, as the gods grieved and raged and fought with all they had, but could barely scratch their elder brothers. Until finally, finally, Clockwork sealed Fright Knight away in the nightmares his sword now caused. And finally, Entropy itself rallied their brothers and sisters and we sealed away the vile Mother Killer in the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep.” Ghostwriter banished the images, his eyes burning amethyst and crimson and he took deep breaths, while the teens leaned back, wary and filled with their own impotent rage.

When finally he seemed to calm, the Sanctuary not writhing and rumbling with the force of his rage, he did a little gesture and the mist coalesced once more into a little stage. A foundation of stone formed and over it lay an ocean and from within it grew a tree of bark and steel, surrounded by breezes likely large enough to dwarf Jupiter’s red spot, mold growing at the bottom of the tree while a star roared to life above it. “Though War was locked away, the Realms did not know rest. So they set to work putting together their daughter's last project: a planar system. And ages beyond time passed, until one day, every god and spirit woke to the sound of a scream. And that, my dear Bridge Spirit, is where I believe your story begins.”

Danny sat there, turning over the story that he’d just been told in his head, and tried his best to process it. He wasn’t sure how to do that, though, with the enormity of it all. So, Tucker cut in for him, like always, but with a rap. “Yo, Danny Fenton, he was just 14-“

“Ai dios- stop!” Danny snorted a laugh and shoved Tucker’s face, and the trio descended into a fit of giggles. “Alright, my story isn’t as much as yours is, but, well.” And so, taking turns picking up where the others didn’t know, they told their story to the Ghostwriter. They could process the meaning of life later.

[nonstoplover]

it's all an act ~ Zach Herron (requested)

request: "Can you write a zach x reader fanfic where Zach likes the reader A LOT but doesn't tell her which makes Jack annoyed so he flirts with the reader to get Zach jealous and tell the reader. Tyyyyyyyy" by @mirainthedark05

words: 2.3K

approximate reading time: 15-20 mins

a/n: aye kiddos i gOt A rEquEsT. i'm so happy, i love writing for you guys. i hope this met your expectations, love. i tried really hard. (and please consider the fact that i wrote it at 1am and english is not my main language). i still have to get more into this request writing thing, it's not as easy as it seems! but i do be enjoying it lots so i can't wait to continue doing it!! anyway babes i hope you enjoyed this sweet little nothing i put together. let me know what you think and please send in requests if you have any ideas you'd like to see written!

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Jack's Perspective:

"Zach, you gotta tell her how you feel." I groan at my best friend who's laying on his bed, a frown still on his face from the previous complaint he made about how sad it is that (y/n)'s not his girlfriend.

"I can't," he sighs.

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I don't want to lose her, and if she doesn't feel the same way, that's what's gonna happen. I know it," Zach shrugs.

"I already told you that there's a really high chance that she does like you back."

"You can't know that."

"And what if I do?"

"You're just saying things, Jack," he looks up at me, his eyes showing me anger.

"Ugh, you're so infuriating sometimes, Herron." I throw my arms in the air. "Anyway, all I can say to you then is that you shouldn't be surprised if a guy comes in the picture and sweeps her off her feet and you can just watch it happen from the sideline."

I exit the room to escape his stubborn suffering and his sullen huffs follow me in the air as my mind is still racing about how childish he can act at times. I want to help him more than anything, I know how much he likes her and I want him to be happy.

I slump on the couch still deep in thought, trying to come up with an idea to get the truth out of Zach in a way (y/n) can hear it. And as my mind replays the previous conversation, a lightbulb feels to light up inside my head.

A guy comes in the picture and sweeps her off her feet.

Maybe I should make Zach jealous! I have to make him actually realise how easily he can lose any chance he has right now with her. I have to make him fight. Even if it's me he's fighting. I can only hope that he won't be too mad at me.

(y/n)'s Perspective:

"Wow, (y/n), you look absolutely breathtaking today!"

I hear Jack's voice as soon as I enter the boys' house. A blush immediately creeps up onto my cheeks as I mumble a quiet thank you his way.

From the corner of my eyes I can see Zach's head snapping up and when I turn my glance there for a moment I can swear I see him glaring at the other boy, but the next moment it's gone.

Oh what I'd give to hear a compliment like this from Zach, I think as I sit down on the only free space on the couch, between Jonah and Jack, trying not to disturb the videogame the eldest boy played.

As soon as I'm comfortable, Jack moves and easily slides closer to me. My eyes stay focused on the floor as his arm moves uo to rest on the back of the sofa. He's not touching me at all, but still it's like his arm is around my shoulder and it starts to make me nervous.

Does Jack like me?

I hope that's not the case. I like Jack, but only as friends. Though we've never really been that close, and maybe this is the reason. But I just don't want to hurt him if he decides to actually make a move.

He never acted like this before. What has gotten into him?

As I try not to look at anyone, Jack speaks up once more, breaking the silence.

"I wish I was your mirror, so that I could look at you every morning."

My breath hitches in my throat. Did I hear it correct? What is going on? Is this a prank?

"Uhm, thanks, I guess." I glance at him, a small smile making its way to my face as soon as I lock eyes with his shining brown ones that mirror nothing but honesty and some kind of brotherly love, a mixture I already got quite used to from the three oldest boys.

Since I made friends with the band, Jonah, Corbyn and Daniel always seemed to look at me like a newly found little sister (though there's really not much of an age difference between me and them), whilst Jack and I never seemed to totally break the ice yet. We were great friends, but I could still feel the distance between us.

And with Zach? Well, I like him since we first met, but most probably my feelings are not returned. At least that's what all my pointless trying resulted in. He never made a move and whenever I tried to give him a sign, it went unnoticed. Or purposefully ignored. But other than that, he's like my bestest friend, and that's more than I ever imagined to happen so as long as I still have him in my life, I decided that I can manage to put my actual feelings aside.

Now as I'm staring in Jack's eye and I can see that the ice has broken and him and I got to the 'sibling zone', I'm finally sure that he only says these lines to make me laugh, and suddenly I calm down and manage to answer properly. "You're not quite bad yourself," I reach up to playfully ruffle his noodle-like locks.

He chuckles at my action before moving his hand from the back of the couch to my shoulder, pulling me into his side.

I snuggle closer to him, finding a comfortable position on his shoulder for my head. I can feel him take a deep breath in as his shoulder raise in the motion and then his voice is back again.

"It’s said that nothing lasts forever. Will you be my nothing?"

It's my turn to giggle now before I look up at the side of his face. He shoots a quick glance at me before turning his joyful eyes back on something in front of us.

"Do you make these up or did you memorise them from a shitty pickup line listing website?" I ask.

"Oh, hey, don't think I'm not capable of saying things like these by myself," Jack turns his head down towards me with fake offence on his face.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry."

"And there's plenty more where that came from," he wiggles his eyebrow at me.

"I can't wait to hear them all."

I almost burst out laughing, and I can see the exact same thing in his eyes as well, but we manage to stay silent and turn our attention back to the tv screen, watching as Jonah still plays the game.

Jack's fingers mindlessly play with the hem of my t-shirt's sleeve and we're sitting in absolute peace right until a few moments later Zach jumps up from the armchair he was sitting on and storms out of the room.

"Where are you going?" I call out after him, wide eyes staring at the doorway he disappeared at.

"I need some fresh air," he shouts back and even in that short sentence I can hear his anger.

Though before I could ask him about it, the front door slams closed with a loud bang, making my body shake in surprise.

"What has gotten into him?" I look up at Jack only to feel even more confused a second later.

His eyes shine with excitement instead of the worry similar to mine I expected to see.

"What?" I ask in confusion.

When I get no reply, I turn around to look at Jonah, but it's pointless as he's still deeply concentrating on the game, not noticing the mundane things happening around him.

I look back at the curly haired boy before shaking my head. "I think I'll go check on him."

"Yeah, great idea!" Jack nods vigorously right away and I frown at him, still trying hard to understand what has gotten into him as well.

His smile and shining eyes don't halt for a single moment as he's watching me and in the end I simply shrug, moving to stand up and follow the youngest band member.

I find him only a couple seconds later, he's sitting on the stairs in front of the front door.

"Hey," I say as gently as I can manage.

Zach mumbles something in response, but it's absolutely incomprehensible.

"How are you?" I try to make him speak up, maybe even fill me in with the reason(s) behind his weird and sudden storming out.

"Do you like him?" He asks back immediately, confusing me even more.

"Who?" I frown at him in thought.

"Jack."

"Yeah, of course, he's pretty nice." I nod, still not understanding where he wants to go with this.

I can feel his body stiffen next to mine and glancing down I can see his fists so tightly squeezed that the knuckles are turning white.

"If my opinion even matters, I don't think you should get together with him." Zach speaks a minute later.

I almost choke on air as his words enter my mind.

"Why would I even want to get together with him?" I exclaim after managing to kinda pull myself together from the shock his question caused in me.

"You just said you like him." Zach finally turns his head towards me, a frown crossing his forehead.

"Yeah, as friends. Or as a brother. I thought you meant it like that."

"What? No," he shakes his head multiple times

"No?" I ask back, not understanding what he's trying to say with it. "He's like a brother to me, and I'm like a sister to him. What do you mean 'no' ?"

"But... you were flirting." Zach points towards the house above his shoulder.

"Yeah, as a joke." I say, still not really knowing where he wants to go with this.

"So you don't like like him?"

"No, I never did." I almost laugh out loud by the strange image his accusation generates in my mind before mumbling something else so quiet I don't think he can hear me. "I mean, I like someone else, how could I like him?"

"You like someone else?" He repeats and my cheeks immediately start growing red by the fact he heard it and now asks about it.

"Yeah," I mumble again.

"You never told me." Zach says in a playful, joyous tone, but I know him well enough to hear the tension in his voice. "I thought we were best friends."

"It never really came up." I shrug shyly. "So what's up with you? What made you storm out of the house?"

"No, no, wait. Who do you like?" Zach ruins my plan to divert the subject within a second.

I take a deep breath and look in his eyes. He seems nervous.

"It's you, dumbass, in case you haven't noticed." I manage to answer without my voice breaking and eyes moving away.

"Me?" He asks back, and all of a sudden his whole face starts shining as a huge grin spreads across his face, eyes open wide and glimmering with happiness.

I nod, my heart suddenly beating really loud and fast. "Why?" My voice is so high pitched by now it's like a mouse is speaking.

Zach bursts out laughing and grabs my hand before moving to stand on his knees in front of me, slowly calming himself down.

And just as he quietens, my heart feels like to be getting only louder and louder as it frantically beats. The world aroubd us seems to freeze and go absolutely silent as we're staring at each other.

"I like you too," Zach confesses and it's like the world stops spinning in this very moment. "Half the time I got too embarrassed to say anything about it. I was afraid you don't feel the same and that I'd only ruin our friendship."

"I like you ever since I met you."

"Good, me too."

We grin at each other and as the world's noise slowly starts to come back, we're gripping each other's hand in a comfortable silence, finally having said our feelings out loud.

"Finally, guys, I started to think I'd never see this happen." I suddenly hear a happy exclaim coming from above us, from the front door of the house.

I spin around to smirk at Jack whose wide smile seems to split his face in two.

"You planned this, didn't you? It was all an act." Zach says.

"No shit, Sherlock." Jack chuckles back at the younger boy.

We both stand up and walk up the stairs to be next to him, our fingers still interlaced, slowly swinging back at forth between us.

When we reach Jack, he immediately pulls his best friend into a hug. "I told you so," he whispers in his neck loud enough for me to hear it and I just shake my head, watching the two of them interact.

"I'm glad for you, guys." Jack says as they part and we make our way back inside the house.

"Why, what happened?" Jonah asks from the couch, still playing the video game.

"Zach finally confessed to (y/n)."

"No way! Really?" The eldest boy immediately pauses the game and jumps up, smiling at us wide. "We were all rooting for you two."

I shyly smile at him in response before I feel Zach gently tug at my arm.

"Let's go upstairs, I think we have a lot of things to talk about," he says and I nod, a giggle of disbelief escaping my mouth as I think about how I never expected this to happen when I came over to their house.

As we're making our way up the stairs, suddenly Jack's voice fills the air again as he exclaims to Jonah, making all three of us chuckle.

"I can't wait till Corbyn and Daniel gets home and I can tell them the news. I finally have a couple bets that I won!"

.::the end::.

my masterlist

[musicallisto]

♬ Pour Your Heart Out (Ashton Irwin)

( I PROMISED I had stopped writing about real people, because, in hindsight, it’s kind of weird to them (esp. bc 5sos used to say they feel sorta uncomfortable with fanfic, I don’t know what their stance is now), and I had done a pretty good job of it for a few years. but then this idea came and as much as I tried to repress it, it wouldn’t go away. I blame @softeninglooks​ and our walk down memory lane for prompting me to write this eventually. I think it’s supposed to give me some kind of closure with the rabid 5sos stan I was in 2015-2018, a parting gift to that teenage girl, a reconciliation of sorts, if you will. In a way, this is all a metaphor for my own state of mind regarding Ashton, whom I adored so very dearly during those years and that I think I’ll always like, deep down. Anyway, y’all don’t care about my Freudian portrait and with good reason, so like, enjoy. )

word count: 4.0k words

summary: In which you cross paths at the hotel bar with a handsome face you prayed to God you would never see again.

warnings: angst, alcohol, foul language, gets a bit steamy, implied sex (but no smut!). we’re gonna be antagonizing Ashton a lot in this one so if you can’t bear insulting him (which I wouldn’t lmfao) I guess don’t read?

soundtrack: ♬

FOR A PLACE so upscale and brimming with obscene luxury, New York City’s Fifth Avenue Hotel’s bourbon was horrendous.

Or maybe it was merely because you’d never been an avid drinker anyway. All alcohols merged in your throat in some bubbling fire, until you couldn’t distinguish anything inside you.

Which was exactly why you were leaning your elbows on the bar, mindlessly playing with a finger of whiskey in your glass, the hem of your slit dress hugging the cold feet of the bar stool, and a completely absent look in your tired eyes. Because you wanted to drown all that stirred inside of you - a chaos in your chest, an incomprehensible riot in your stomach. All because the universe and its sickening sense of humor had thrust in your mind memories you’d rather forget, like a knife to the chest.

All because your work had sent you to a gala in New York City on the exact same night he would be there as well, playing in Brooklyn to a crowd of adoring admirers.

Not that it mattered anyway. The day you left, you had accused him of only adoring himself. You were a revolted fury, and you had spat out every single word you could before your mind would go numb and your throat would constrict forever.

You regretted all of it. The fighting, the accusations, the way you had slammed the door when you had left. Something in your chest, however, growled that you still resented him for never reaching out to you.

And just like that you both had returned to your respective nights - he in the spotlight and the unconditional love, you in the business and the casual dates. It was a crash like no other, coming down from the high of being his goddess every day and every night, but you managed. You always did. You were strong, resilient. Stronger than a sudden pang of nostalgia and certainly stronger than the foolish hope that you’d somehow run into him in New York...

And even if you did, he wouldn’t recognize you, anyway. Your hair was different, your face more tired despite the golden hues that the ceiling lights cast on your cheeks. He was different, too - and in all likelihood you would see him on the arm of a young and beautiful starlet. Not that it would matter to you, or that it would break your heart to see someone in your spot, or that it was any of your business who he shared his nights and secrets and tears and laughs with - no, you were stronger than that. You downed your bourbon. Disgusting, and you were still too acutely aware of your emotional confusion for your liking.

A light breeze suddenly breathed on your neck, slightly lifting your dress around your ankles, and the rustling sound of a door opening barely made its way to your ears before you drowned it out. Maybe the alcohol was having an effect after a —

You turned your head around. Your beath hitched. Your vision was suddenly restricted to a single tunnel right in front of you - a tunnel one single silhouette occupied entirely, making his way to the reception with nonchalance, his hair tousled from the autumn wind of the city. Your eyes traveled to his face of their own accord. Before you could make out the outline of his eyes - Gosh, his eyes, you remembered them so vividly, the spark that inhabited them whenever he would play music to you -, you had frantically turned around.

“Bartender, please. Another,” you signaled.

Maybe it wasn’t the best choice to get another drink when you were already starting to hallucinate, but a sudden urge had overpowered you, almost to the point of nausea. The bartender’s empathetic shake of the head did nothing to alleviate the shrill alert that had suddenly overcome you.

“Sorry, miss. The bar is closing for the night.”

“Deliver it to my room then,” you pleaded, and you thought for a moment that your sincerely distraught expression would be enough to convince him. But he shook his head once again as he turned to wipe a plate, his voice dropping.

“I don’t mean to pry, miss, but I don’t think it would be good for you. It’s getting late. Maybe catch some sleep?”

Heavens, you wished nothing more than to go to your room and sleep it all off - to wake up to an empty room and an empty heart, devoid of fear, hurt, and passion, but you were certain now that you wouldn’t catch any sleep that night if you chased it for hours. Not when closing your eyes meant seeing him again, striding towards the reception with his natural ease and focused gaze, that same one he had when he walked up to you for the first time... Almost unvoluntarily, you had turned around once more on your stool. He was leaning on the reception desk and chatting with the receptionist - judging by the bright smile lighting up her tired features, he still had all of his charm and humor. You found yourself observing his back, his relaxed shoulders, then his neck, the ink where you used to leave bruises... his hazel eyes, familiar and stunned... his eyes? He had turned around, mindlessly playing with his keycard, and was now looking straight at you, a glimmer of astonishment pulsing through his pupils. A cold shiver washed over you. You returned to your drink. Empty. Dammit.

You hated them, all the steps that had let you to that moment. You hated your firm for sending you to a gala in New York of all places, on that night of all nights, booking you a ridiculously expensive room in that hotel of all hotels. You hated the bartender for not refilling your glass, and yourself for thinking that running into Ashton would make for a sweet reunion like in the movies. You hated him for walking up to you, footsteps all but timid, bathed in the assurance you knew so well - the one he had after playing a show, when he perspired confidence and enthusiasm, when the blood in his veins pounded against your skin in the dressing room backstage — Godammit, why couldn’t he be in a groupie’s bed, and why couldn’t you actually hate him...

And yet, when he spoke, his voice was soft and warm.

“Y/N?”

You couldn’t have turned to face him, even if you had wanted. The voice that called out your name was that of a stranger. The last time you had heard it in his mouth, it was but a strangled cry, a crack that shrouded what little of his Australian accent remained, enough to remind you of home. There was no space for a home in his voice anymore; he could’ve blended with the locals perfectly if he had wanted.

Somehow, yet... you would have picked him in a crowd of billions. Something about his radiance.

“What are you doing here?”

“Same as you.”

“Oh, you’ve started a band?”

You rolled your eyes. You hated him. Always joking. Always fun. Always affable...

“Work.”

“Of course.”

He had mumbled, his gaze dropping to the empty drink in your hands and its pitiful foamy stains. You almost clicked your tongue in annoyance. He was bitter, unusually so; you much preferred the upfront and unwavering Ashton, the one who had told you without blinking that you might as well leave him, since you hated him so much.

Still, for a reason incomprehensible to you, he hoisted himself up on the barstool immediately next to yours. You could've sworn you heard the vibrations of his heart, though you couldn't tell if they were caused by his post-concert adrenaline, or your warm breath on his tense hand.

“What?”

“It was always work.”

“On your side too, Ashton.”

You almost shivered when pronouncing his name. The chant that used to paint your lips, like a prayer you would whimper in the crook of his neck.

“I know.”

You would've expected an apology, and obviously there was none. There never was any with Ashton, no matter how profoundly he wounded you. Why would he need to? He was so unapologetically himself, so radiant and imperial, like a solar king... and you but a common girl in his wake.

You refused to go over all the reasons that had caused your constant fighting and eventual breakup - you had thought them over time and time again, tossing and turning in a bed too cold. And if you let your mind wander astray, it would inevitably come back to his hand on the small of your back, the devilish grin you heard in his voice when he whispered in your ear, and the pulsing between your legs only he could vainquish... it was the last thing you wanted to think about when you were alone with him, with a luxury suite all to yourselves...

With a stir, you finally looked up to him. The fire in your throat, from all the glasses of whisky, instantly descended to your chest, your stomach, then lower, as your eyes trailed down his figure. He looked tired, but blissfully so; the same disheveled hair, tanned and slightly clammy skin you woke up to in the morning. His eyes - Gosh, his eyes - detailed you with this amused attentiveness he always had. And the top buttons of his shirt, untied, revealed the beginning of a strong torso you had cried and laughed and moaned into until the ungodly hours of the night... a few more tattoos, a face older, eyes and jaw sharper, and yet you recognized the stranger in front of you. You had been everywhere inside of him, seen everything; your body ached suddenly for his touch, his warmth, his burn.

Biting back an expletive and squeezing your legs together to calm the throbbing, you grabbed your glass and... Still empty. Dammit!

You hated him.

And yet the sound of him murmuring your name, soft and tender, like a sunray on your eyelids, was an abominable indicator that you didn't really.

“Come on, I'll walk you to your room.”

He extended an arm towards your shoulder; instinctively you bolted up from your stool. Your hand grabbed your handbag; his, hesitant, fell by his side.

“You're the last person I'd want with me right now.”

You're the last person I'd want with me in front of my room.

“Y/N, come on. You can't stay here and drink all your problems away.”

“Yeah, you'd know about that.”

Low. So abjectly low, even in your slightly ebriated state, even in the irascible torpor clouding your mind. Did you regret it, when his gaze darkened, when his lips - Gosh, his lips - twitched in a scowl?

“Fuck you, Y/N.”

“No, fuck you, Ashton.”

Your voice had raised as he stood up from his barstool; his somber figure, now entirely devoid of its post-concert enthusiasm, facing you like an angered god, reminded you all too well of all the nights spent arguing and making up. This time, however, you would utter your parting words. Or so you promised.

“Fuck you, Ashton, you want to know why? Because you're a self-absorbed asshole who doesn't care about anyone but himself. Everything in our relationship was about you. You, you, you, always you, like you were the goddamn center of the universe, and I swear to God, for me before anyone else, you fucking were. All my friends, all my family, everyone in the whole damn world only ever cared about Ashton Irwin. Everything was catered to Ashton Irwin's best interest. Everything calculated to please Ashton Irwin. Everything to prioritize Ashton Irwin's career, Ashton Irwin's comfort, Ashton Irwin's fun. And you know what? Fuck that.”

Your words weren't slurred, you hadn't drunk that much, even. Why, then, was the world suddenly spinning around you? Why were your tears brimming to the surface of your eyes? Why did you get the urge to fall in Ashton's strong arms and close your eyes forever in his embrace?

You opened your mouth to resume, breathless, but your train of thought derailed for a second when your eyes fell on his dark gaze, piercing through you with the intensity of a titan, and every inch of your skin combusted simultaneously. You swallowed, hard. Where were you? Right, fucking him. No! Absolutely not! Not fucking him! Only fuck him!

“All I wanted was you to see a person when you looked at me... not a freaking satellite. And the worst thing is I didn't even see myself when I looked in the mirror, didn't even hear myself in my thoughts. I was you, entirely you, I had you everywhere on me, in me.”

You inhaled deeply, but still, the tears were threatening to spill. To hide them and simulate assurance, you grabbed your handbag, raised your chin, puffed out your chest. A chest your dress did its best to showcase in the most sensual and classiest way, obviously.

“I would've liked our story to work out, truly.”

Oh, how I wish our story had worked out.

“But we're better off on our own, I guess.”

You were about to turn around when a hand grabbed your wrist, and your heart stopped beating for a second. Heavens, it was the first time in years you felt his skin on yours, and your nerves were seconds away from combustion.

When he lightly tugged on your arm to make you face him, however, you swore something in your core exploded.

“You say that as if you hadn't hurt me too,” he stated coldly.

His eyes, dark golden under the lights, eyeing you up and down, stopping imperceptibly longer than decent on your cleavage... his now harsh features, so alluringly enticing... an interdiction you would be willing to die just to taste.

“You'd never talk to me. I'd never know what was wrong, what you wanted, what you needed. I couldn't guess, Y/N, I can't read your mind! You never told me anything - don't you think I suffered from your silence? I loved you and I never knew if you loved me back or if you resented me!”

“You shut me up. You're so important, why would you bother with my input? Better keep my mouth shut, and save everyone the trouble.”

Without realizing, you had both started striding towards the elevator. Too focused on the argument, on your raising, raspy voices, on the brush of his shaky fingers against your skin, you didn't tell him to leave you alone.

Maybe you didn't want to.

“That's bullshit, Y/N, you know it. I always cared about you, more than anyone else.”

“Oh, really, now?”

“Yes, really! Remember how I'd fly all the way from L.A. on each of your birthdays if I wasn't there, no matter what we were doing the day after? Remember all the songs I wrote you and never sold, because they were gifts to you? Remember all the journalists I told off because they disrespected you? God, Y/N, if you weren't so focused on your self-loathing, you'd see that I sacrificed so much of my career, all for you.”

You pressed the button to call the elevator.

“You're one to talk about self-loathing! And is that supposed to make me feel better about feeling like a burden?”

“Stop twisting everything I say, you know very well you never were--”

“Well that's the thing with you, Ashton! I never know! I never know anything! I wasn't your girlfriend, I was just a you in a song!”

The doors opened. You both stepped in. You furiously hit the forty-ninth floor button. Twenty-five excruciatingly long seconds ahead of you.

“You created this idealized version of me in your head, and because I wasn't as perfect as you thought--”

“I wouldn't call being a self-obsessed prick not being perfect--”

“Will you let me talk? Jesus, I can't believe - this is ridiculous - I fucking hate you!”

“Good, because I fucking hate you too!”

And with that the screaming match died as suddenly as it had started, with two panting hearts suspended in the air, facing each other mere centimeters away.

All you could focus on was the boiling fury pulsing under your humid skin, Ashton's face, contorted with exasperation and yet still as handsome as ever, his breath fanning over your mouth... the unquenchable burn in the pit of your stomach and between your legs, the unshakable pull toward him.

Your mouth and throat, all your soul had spat out all the7y had. Now they desperately needed something to fill them back up.

You took a step forward; he did too. Your lips came together immediately after.

Instead of stepping back, he pressed you closer to his body, as if he had wanted to consume you whole, his embrace erratic and furious. With a swift motion, he had pinned you to the back wall; when he lifted a hand to cup your cheek, you swatted it away and deepened the raging kiss instead; you were two pyres desperately clinging onto each other, kissing and biting and grunting. Your head filled with a flurry of touches and colors, the warmth of his lips under yours and the throbbing of your blood desperate to mix with this, and your unforgettable hate for him and how fucking putty in your hands you were, and as you bit his lower lip and he let out the rawest of moans in your mouth and your entire body trembled, you were not sure if you wanted to devour him or be devoured.

“I still hate you--” he murmured against your parted lips, but you shut him up with your tongue.

When his hands tentatively settled on the small of your back, though, sliding under your dress, you let them in. Maybe you did hate him, but you needed him, you needed him filling every angle and inch of your body, every crack of your soul, every side of your senses, just as much as he needed you.

Like someting out of a frenzied dream, the elevator doors opened, and he broke the kiss abruptly, so much so that you barely bit back a whimper. The somber, sinful look he gave you for a split second, though, was enough to make you shiver in anticipation. You grabbed his arm, making sure not to look at him - he didn't deserve it just yet -, and strode towards your suite.

You had barely turned on the light and closed the door behind you when Ashton swooped down on you like a starved man. His lips found yours like they had so many times before, his grip so mean on your back, his other hand tugging at your hair lightly to keep you in place. Your mind pleaded you to push him away; instead your body grinded against his, and a hundred flares roared everywhere he kissed you and everywhere you wanted him. Would you regret this in the morning? Undoubtedly, but his lips were biting your neck and you were sighing and moaning and praying to God he wouldn't let you go, so you couldn't care less about the shame and guilt you'd feel waking up.

Your dizzy head didn't register he had unlaced your dress until it fell to the floor. Still savoring the ever familiar taste of his tongue, you made work of his shirt - your burning skin couldn't stand the agony of being far from his anymore -, but he pushed you back on the bed instead.

Almost bare on your bed, your hair fanned out like a halo around your disdainful face, your breath erratic, you were traversed by a shiver when Ashton took off his shirt and crawled over to you. Your breath hitched. You swallowed. His face hovered just above yours. He bit his lip, and something growled in your belly.

“Can I--”

“Do it,” you spat, your eyes stern steel.

If you let him see how desperately you needed him, nothing would cure the guilt and hatred you'd wake up to. Better to pretend you were still the mistress of your soul... not to give him the satisfaction of owning you whole.

Though as soon as his lips scraped your collarbone and his hands cupped your breasts, then lower, lower, tantalizingly lower, you forgot every good intention and every strong facade. All that remained were the delicious ache at the tip of his fingers, and his name, like a prayer to a demon.

*

New York City was always a hundred times more beautiful in the dead of the night. Faraway lights pulsed like a thousand stars in the ink sky, and a distant buzzing climbed up along the buildings, slithering into the windows. The light breeze from outside, skimming your bare skin, was enough to kept you awake. So were your thoughts, and the heavy, steady breathing in the bed behind you.

For this night, and for this night alone, you had belonged to him and to him alone, like you had countless nights before. For this night, and for this night alone, you had slipped back into his arms, his strong and comforting embrace, the familiar caress of his skin, and his voice lulling you to sleep.

And the worst of it all was that you had enjoyed it. Sincerely, not as an expiatory, but rather a delicacy.

You couldn't promise that this was a one-time thing. You couldn't promise you would turn your head and never look back. If you could've, you would've up and left in the night for him to wake up alone. It was a worthless pact. You already knew you would break it.

You already knew a part of you, so detestable and therefore humane, would always run back to him in a world of billions.

You exhaled heavily. The flow of air from the street was a welcome reminder that a fresh and beautiful world existed outside of this bedroom where you had abandoned everything.

You didn't hate him. Not really. But you ached whenever someone uttered his name in your presence.

He had been your first love. The hollow in your chest when you thought of him was simply the part of your heart you had given him, all those years ago.

You turned around. His chest rose and dipped peacefully in your bed. As always, he remained unbothered, unatteignable, and maybe it was for the best. You shook your head.

Then your eyes fell on the door instead. Nothing kept you in this city anymore. You could walk away with only your lingering smell and the trace of your nails in his back to keep him company. But running away would be weak, unhonorable, and most importantly an incomplete goodbye that would precipitate you back in his arms the next time you'd see him.

The skyline called out to you once again. The air was getting chillier by the minute, but you remained by the window, quiet. Up above the horizon, the blinking light of an airplane crossed, indolent as a swan, the navy blanket of the sky, and your chest filled with a bittersweet wistfulness.

You would wait for the sunrise.

You were certain, after all, that dawn would break.

[nextgensquad]

hey pearl, so i just finished reputation and i loved it!! i really wish there was more of it, so i’ll just ask about the story arc i was most interested in - what happens to abby after the events that have elapsed? does she get together with james? what does her child end up being like? where does her life go from this point?

(companion piece to this)

one.

AbigailLongbottom has had a plan for her life as long as she can remember.

It’sthe third time she goes to see her grandparents, when she’s seven years old,and the first time she’s old enough to have a memory of the visit. Her brotherJake goes in first, and then Neville takes her hand and lets her clutch ittight before leading her into the quiet room where his parents are. Abby hidesbehind her father and peers out at the two strangers, their glassy eyes andgreying hair, the way they don’t recognize their grandson.

“Daddy,”she whispers, tugging on his arm, “I’m scared.”

Nevilledraws his arm around her and takes her to the side of the room. “There’snothing to be scared of, Abby. They’re your grandparents, remember?”

“Iknow.” Abby wrings her hands together. “But I’m scared for them. They don’tknow me. They might think I’m an evil witch like Bella—Bellatrix Lechange.”

Neville’slips quirk. “Honey, nobody on Earth could ever think that. You’re theirgranddaughter. They’ll know it deep down, okay?”

Abbylooks over at her grandmother, talking with Hannah about an incomprehensiblesubject. Jake is trying to show his grandfather an easy, colorful game on hisnew smartphone. The room feels so small, to have two whole lives containedhere. Their jug of water is half-empty on the dresser. She knows if she looksinto the fridge, there’ll be barely anything there. A deep, irrepressiblesadness takes place inside her chest until she feels like she can’t breathe.

“Daddy,”she cries. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wanna—”

Nevillescoops her into his arms and takes her out of the room before the panic attacksets in. Abby cries in his arms that whole afternoon, for her father, for hergrandparents, for herself. She’s too young to comprehend that sort of pain, tooyoung to understand where it comes from.

Thatnight, when she gets home, she decides she’s going to save them.

two.

Whenshe’s seventeen, she gets an early acceptance to St. Mungo’s apprenticeshipprogram under Healer Robbins and the first place she goes is straight to herfather’s office to tell him; the second place is the garage in downtown Londonwhere she knows her best friend has snuck out to that weekend to get hermotorcycle fixed up.

“Abby!”Lucy Weasley says in delight, swooping her up in a hug. “That’s amazing! You’rereally gonna go save the world, aren’t you?”

“Justthe people who need it,” Abby says with an embarrassed laugh, disentanglingherself from her best friend. “Like you, if you aren’t careful at your racethis weekend.”

Lucyflashes her a smile, all teeth like a shark. “I’m always careful.”

‘Careful’is not the first word that comes to mind when one thinks of Lucy Weasley. Sharpand wicked and ferocious, maybe. Always with a hand on the wheel and a foot onthe gas pedal, pushing further and faster and higher and better. Reckless andrestless. Running from something, running from everything.

Abbyloves her, but she worries. If she doesn’t have the hands that heal, the magicof a medic, will Lucy be okay? Will Lucy come back?

Sucha Gryffindor instinct, her mother hadtold her once, smiling fondly, brushing Abby’s blonde hair back into a braid, towant to save everyone else from themselves.

It’shard to feel like she belongs in Gryffindor, surrounded by Potters and Weasleysso full of fire and rage and glory, but sometimes the word bravery fitsinto her heart just right. Just good enough to make her smile.

three.

She’snot going to tell anyone about the baby. She’s not. She’s going to wake uptomorrow and go to the clinic and get rid of it. That’s what she’s going to do.

It’sthe only thing to do. The only course of action that makes sense.

Shehas a plan. She’s not going to be pregnant at nineteen. She’s going to graduatefrom the St. Mungo’s apprenticeship, she’s going to become a Healer, she’sgoing to save her grandparents and Lucy and everyone else in the world.

That’swhat she’s going to do.

She’ssitting at her kitchen table when Fred finds her.

“Hey,”he says softly. “I was looking for Lucy, is she… are you okay?”

Abbyswallows. Shakes her head.

He’sthe first person she tells.

IfAbby is a healer, then Fred is a fixer. He repairs Lucy’s motorcycles with thesame care he takes with his cousins, firm and gentle and easy. Fixes cars withthe delicate determination of someone capable of reaching into something’s gutsand pulling them all out one by one and rearranging them into something thatmakes it all worthwhile. Takes science and turns it into magic.

Heasks her if she wants the baby.

She’sgoing to say no.

Theword “yes” comes out of her instead, small and terrified, a fluttering birdtrying to take flight.

four.

Hergrandmother offers her a candy wrapper.

Abbyturns it over in her hands, smoothing out the wrinkles and then twisting itback up again. Beneath it, her stomach is round with the shape of her child,and her grandmother smiles at her, with no comprehension of the new lifegrowing in there.

“Itold him the child would be a Longbottom,” she says conversationally. As if hergrandmother can understand. As if the words won’t just slide through Alice’smind like water down a pipe. “The gossip blogs all think it should be a Potter,obviously, but…”

Shecurls her free hand around her stomach, protective already. “It’s important tome. That this is a Longbottom child. That this is—that you’re—”

Alicereaches over and presses her hand over Abby’s, against her belly. It’s such astrange and startling gesture that the tears disappear from her eyes as shestares at her grandmother.

“Doyou understand?” Abby whispers, desperate and hoping. “This is yourgreat-grandchild. This is—this is proof, you know. That you survived. Thateverything you went through, everything you did—it was worth it. Because Dadexists. Because Jake and I exist. Because…”

Alicesmiles at her. It’s a vacant smile. A faraway smile. But she doesn’t pull backlike she always does. Doesn’t spook away from her granddaughter’s touch, whenAbby places her other hand, candy wrapper clutched between her fingers, on topof Alice’s. Doesn’t move at all, the two of them sitting in the quiet, coldhospital room, listening to the child inside her.

five.

Lucycurls up in the hospital bed with her. “Am I the godmother?”

Abbylaughs, interlacing their fingers. Her daughter sleeps in the crib just nearby.Every bone in her body aches from exhaustion. “Of course you are. You and Al.”

“Don’tyou need a third?”

“No.”Abby leans her head on Lucy’s and glances up to the doorway, her gaze seekingout the familiar figure situated in the chair just outside her room. “She’s gota lot of people who love her around here.”

Lucyfollows her gaze to where Fred is sitting, half-asleep with his head in hishands, still wearing the clothes he had been in when he’d taken Abby to thehospital. She shoots her best friend a fond smile.

“It’strue. Potter, Weasley, Abbott, Longbottom. Killer combo right there. Nothingbut love.”

“Yeah,”agrees Abby, her voice softened with tiredness and peace all at once. “If there’sone thing our families do right, it’s love.”

six.

Eleanorhas her grandfather’s green eyes.

Shecan tell it shakes James, just a little, when he comes over to her house.Bright, bright green, the same shade as his brother’s, set in a Weasley-roundface, framed by tufts of Abby’s blonde hair. The Longbottom nose and the Abbottlips and the Potter spirit all wound up in one little girl.

“Ifeel like I should be jealous,” he tells Abby, as Eleanor bats at his face withtiny fists, giggling with a baby’s delight for finding new objects of attention.“That those green eyes skipped me entirely.”

“Alsays we should start telling people he’s the father,” Abby says, looking upfrom her papers to smile at them. “Just to confuse the tabloids.”

Jamessnorts. “It would work, too. Do you know that fake baby rumor is still goingaround? That she’s some sort of fucking—sorry, sorry—a magic doll.”

“Shecan’t understand you yet, you know.”

“I’mtrying to cut down the cursing in advance.” James flashes her a sheepish grin. “Justso I’m prepared.”

Abbywatches him thoughtfully for a moment, as he leans in to make faces at hisdaughter, adoring and generous with the love he’s always tried so hard to keepcrushed inside him. Pulling it all out from deep within his heart to lay itbare at Eleanor’s tiny feet.

It’snot perfect, not now, not ever, but it’s not what it was nine months ago. Jamesisn’t who he was nine months ago.

She’snot sure she was ever supposed to be a mother. She knows James was never meantto be a father. Parenthood sits awkward around the both of them, a fragilething they keep grasping at with both hands, trying desperately to be good atit. To be good for her.

It’snot what she thought it would be, but it’s theirs.

seven.

Freddoesn’t kiss her for the first time until Eleanor is three years old, potteringaround the garden under her grandfather’s watchful eye, the two of them standingin the shade of the gazebo and laughing about old jokes, times before thefuture had taken a hold of them.

“Whattook you so long?” Abby asks him, breathing soft, when he pulls back.

Hehesitates, trails his fingers down her bare arm. The cool metal of hisprosthetic glints under the afternoon sunlight. Abby catches his hand and holdsit tight.

“Ididn’t want you to think—that this was because of Eleanor—or James,” heexplains, halting and nervous where he’s always been so steady, so gentle. “Becauseit’s not. It’s you.”

Abbyslides her free hand into his dark curls, pushes herself up to kiss him again. It’ssweeter now than it would have been if he’d done it three years ago, or whenthey were teenagers. Before they knew the places they were meant to be, thespaces they were meant to take, the people they were meant to love.

Sweeternow that they’ve made it here, past the pain and the heartache and the mess.She smiles into the kiss, thinks—This was worth it. This was worth all ofit.

Oneday, her grandparents will open their eyes and see it, too.

[ohmyuqi]

𝙇𝙚𝙩’𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝 𝙖 𝙢𝙤𝙫𝙞𝙚?” (Mark lee x reader)

𝙇𝙚𝙩’𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝 𝙖 𝙢𝙤𝙫𝙞𝙚?(Mark Lee x Reader)

Rating: PG

Warnings: highschool! au ; movie theater worker! mark au

Loosely based of real life events. (Not including mark lee of course)

——————————-

It was a Sunday evening, you were being lazy at home like you always did.

You were a homebody. Not really interested in partying or going out. Why’d would you go out when you could be binging your favorite movies on Disney Plus? As you were doing right now.

You’re phone buzzed with a text. It was your older sister, reminding you you had agreed to go watch a movie with her best friends.

“Fuck,” you were half way through Bambi and did not feel like going out with a bunch of strangers your sister was close to.

You brushed it off and unpaused the movie.

“Bzz,” you phone went off again.

2 unread messages

Bijou (big sis): Remeber our plans?

Bijou (big sis): meet me @ the movie theater in 10

‘Ten minutes??’ You looked at the time on your phone. Wasn’t it 4:00 like a minutes ago?

Ten minutes, ten minutes! How were you supposed to get ready in ten minutes?

You were surely going to look terrible, you thought. Not to mention you were going to see people you didn’t know. Important ones, your sisters best friends.

Instead of freaking out you decided it was enough time wasted and you had to get ready.

You left your hair as it was and slipped in some skinny jeans and an Iron Maiden band tee. You put on some concealer under your eyes and did your eyeliner. You decided you looked fine and it was time to go.

You drove to the movie theater and looked inside. There was your sister and her two best friends. Haylee and Cole. You saw them once in drivers Ed but never paid them any attention.

You really didn’t want to go in there alone so you decided to text your sister.

Y/n: Bijouuuuu

Y/n: Meet me outside please 🥺

You leaned on the wall of the theater, waiting. You hear her footsteps, and each foot step brought a new wave of anxiety.

“Hey baby sis, come in!” You sister looked great. She had cute mini skirt on and bomb ass makeup, you felt a little outshined by her. She always looked great.

“I’m not a baby.” You grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest.

Your sister pinched your cheeks. “You clearly are if you want me to walk you inside!” She teased, and it made you feel a little better.

“Does my eyeliner look okay?” Bijou took your hands in her and looked you in your big, starry eyes.

“You look great, n/n, don’t worry. They’ll love you.” She said it with the most sincerity in the world. And that in itself meant the world to you.

“Now come on, let’s go make new friends!”

You were at the counter and remembered.. Mark.

Fuck, it’s Mark.

Mark was a cute guy who worked at the movie theater. You had seen him a couple times when going but had never talked to him.

He went to school with your older sis and was friends with her.

The first time you saw him you immediately commented on how cute he was.

“Did you see the guy at the cashier? He was so cute!”

“I know! He goes to my school, his name is Mark and he’s a junior. He’s a good friend of mine, you know,” Bijou smirked

Now you both meet again, and there he was. In all his cute cashier glory.

“Two tickets to jumanji please,” your sister handed him a couple dollars.

“Hey, Jou. Uh, I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Yep, she’s my baby sis!” She smiled warmly at Mark.

You awkwardly glance and try not to meet eyes with him, which inevitably fails.

He hands you both your tickets. “Enjoy the show.”

You got and meet Haylee and Cole. The more you talk to them, the more you realize it was nothing to worry about. They were super friendly and were very easy to get along with. You knew they would soon become good friends of yours.

Cole bent over and gave Haylee a quick peck, “I’m going to get snacks, you guys want anything?” You all kindly rejected the offer and went to the go see the movie.

It came time that the movie ended and you all had a good time. The movie was great and you would make benign comments here and there making your new friends laugh.

“Ugh, I’m so hungry!” You complained, putting your head on your new friends shoulder. “Agreed,” Haylee chimed while walking with you to a bench.

You walked to the food court area and met eye to eye with Mark. Your sister Bijou walking closely behind you.

“Hey, Bijou! And ugh, hey Y/n,” Mark greeted you and your sister.

“Hey Mark, this is Y/n, as you now know, my baby sis,”

Mark looked you up and down and glanced at you Dark clothes and reserved demeanor.

Mark scrunched his nose, “EW! She’s emo!” Mark goes on and makes a big scene, pretending to be disgusted by your “emo” look.

Bijou laughed along with him and went along with the act. “Yeah, she’s totally emo. She listens to mcr or some shit.

Another worker friend of Bijou chimes in, “Holy shit, she looks like an e girl!”

“Holy shit, you’re right.” Cole joins the conversation and adds to the huge amount of clowning you were getting.

“.. it’s just the shirt,” you say awkwardly while glancing at the popcorn kernel by your foot.

Well more like intensely staring through the kernel at this point.

They all laugh at your response, “she’s so cute,” Haylee says.

“Can I have my drink now?” You say, slightly irratated by the fact that you were being clowned AND were slightly hangry.

He hands you the drink, your hands brushing in the process. You look at Mark and blush a little. As he looks away, you could tell if he was embarrassed or scared. Probably the latter but the looks of it.

You’re sister and you bid farewell to your now friends.

On the ride home you look all over Instagram for his account. You had attempted to do it before but had no idea what his last name was or anything.

You knew he went to school with your sister and was a junior. And his name was Mark.

Even with this information you couldn’t find his account anywhere, you were a little discouraged.

As you kept searching you got a notification.

mark.lee01 has started following you. 1m

You heart starts to race. Mark is following me? Did he look for me too? What?

“Mark followed me?” You told bijou. She seemed as confused as you.

“Really, Mark? That’s so not fair!”

“You have a gf, shut up Jou.”

You got another notification.

(Y/n instagram): you got a message from mark.lee01

‘He dmed me too? What the fuck? Is this some kind is cruel joke?’

“HE JUST DMED ME AHSJAJSHAK,” you informed your sister while also making incomprehensible noises. You just liked him that much.

“I wonder what he said...,”

“Well, there’s ink one way to find out.”

[avengerscompound]

Nat says...

Nat Says... : A Clintasha Fanfic

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Clint Barton x Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count:  1934

Warnings:  Smut (M|F, M|F|F, F|F, phone sex, mild d|s, following instruction, voyeurism, oral sex, vaginal sex)

Synopsis:  On her way home from a long mission, Natasha has some tasks that you and Clint need to perform.

A/N:   Images in the fic are important to the story.

Nat Says...

The question was innocent enough.  Natasha had been away for a week now and was finally on the way back.  It would be another five hours before she got back to the compound.  She missed you.  She missed Clint.  She was sick of pretending to be someone she wasn’t.  She was sick of being a spy.  She just wanted to be Nat again and the way she knew how was to talk to you.

So why on Earth did you answer with...

You bite your lip stifling a laugh at the stupid joke and Clint looks over at you.  “What are you up to?”

“Nat just texted me.”  You answer.

“What did she say?”  Clint asks sitting up a little straighter.  Clint’s phone chimes before you can answer and he reads it looks at you looks down at the text again shakes his head and starts typing.  You start laughing again.

Clint’s phone chimes again and he smirks at you and moves closer to you.  “Guess what you just started?”

As if in answer, you feel your own phone vibrate.

You look at Clint and he quirks an eyebrow at you.  “Don’t lie to Nat.  You should know that by now.”

You get down on your knees between his legs and start trailing your fingers up and down the insides of his legs.  “Did you rat me out?  Is that why I’m down here?”

“You know I did.”  Clint teases.  His phone chimes and he checks the message.  “Nat says get on with it.”

You chuckle and unzip his fly, nuzzling at his bulge and teasing it with your fingertips.  His already semi-erect cock stiffens and you pull his underwear down.  There is another chime of the phone as you run your tongue up the base of his shaft.

“Nat says she wants me to take photos,”  Clint says, his voice a slightly higher octave than normal.  Something about the request makes your scalp tingle and your cunt flood.  You smile at Clint and run your tongue over your bottom lip.  “Well, we had better give Natalia what she wants.”

You lap your tongue over the head of Clint’s cock graphically before sucking on the head.  You look up towards the phone as you move, making sure you’re putting on a show for Natasha.  You start slowly moving up and down on his length.  Swirling your tongue and using it to massage his shaft.  Clint’s moans are occasionally dotted with the swish sound of him forwarding his photos to Natasha.

You start to deepthroat him.  Pushing him as far as you can, so your airways are cut off.  Making yourself gag.  The phone chimes and Clint let out a strangled moan.  “Nat says she wants you to … to… stick your finger…”

You hum and smile up at him around his cock before slowly pulling off.  You look up at Clint and slowly suck your finger, coating it with your saliva.  He groans and shifts his hips forward in the chair.  There is the swish of him sending another photo of you.  You then return to sucking his cock, but your hand slips between his legs and as you massage his perineum with your thumb, you tease his asshole with your slicked finger.

You continue to bob up and down on his cock and Clint continues to take photos and send them to Natasha.  Gradually your finger moves deeper into him until you find the spongy smooth surface of his prostate.  You stroke it making Clint jerk up and the sound that he makes is so animalistic and raw you have to squeeze your legs together to relieve the ball of tension building in your core.

Clint starts to lose complete control under you.  He stops being able to take photos, his head just rolls back and he squirms, moaning and grunting.  “Oh fuck, babe.  Fucking hell.  I’m gonna… you better…”  His phone keeps chiming but he ignores it. His cock jumps in your mouth.  The salty tang of his precome coats your tongue.

There is a buzz in your pocket as your phone vibrates.  You pull it out with your free hand without easing up.

You comply, taking a photo of Clint.  His head has rolled back and his eyes are closed.  It looks like every muscle in his well-defined arms is pulled taut as he grips the couch cushions.  You ease your finger from his ass and send the picture to Nat.  Clint whines as you wipe your hands on a wipe.  “Sorry, love.  Boss’s orders.”

Your phone chimes again.

“Nat says you have to go down on me.”  You relay to Clint.

“Seems fair.”  He says as you both position yourself on the couch.  You lay back, half leaning against the arm, and he pulls your pants and underwear off in one go.  There is nothing sexy about the move.  They’re just in the way.  You chuckle at him as he positions himself between your legs.

He places a sloppy open-mouthed kiss over your labia, swirling his tongue around.  Your skin is already tingling and it’s a sweet relief.  You moan softly and another message comes through from Nat.

You comply, sending her a photo of Clint his tongue focused to a point as he circles it over your clit and his fingers digging into the flesh on your thighs.

You moan, and your hands start to shake.  Clint pushes his middle finger into your cunt and curls it, seeking out your g-spot as he sucks on your clit.

You can feel your orgasm approaching.  It swirls through you and presses down on your core.  Clint has started making pleased little-humming noises that are easily getting drowned out by your moans.

It takes you longer and longer to reply each time, as your orgasm gets closer and closer.  You can barely focus and you tremble.  At least one message you send is incomprehensible as autocorrect does it’s best working out what you mean when you just press random letters.

The yes is all you can manage.  It feels like your blood is boiling in your veins.  Clint drags his fingers over your g-spot again and again as his tongue expertly works your clit.  His other hand is on your hips, holding you in place as you writhe under him.

You drop the phone.  Any care for its wellbeing is completely gone.  You arch back opening yourself up to Clint.  His lips press down on your clit and he flicks his tongue over it’s exactly what you need, you buck up under him and come.  “Fuck.  Clint.  Oh god.”  You cry out.

Clint continues to run his tongue up the length of your pussy.  A smug grin is plastered on his face as he drinks up your fluids.  As he removes his fingers, your phone chimes again.

Your phone rings and you answer it as a video call.  Natasha’s face comes up on the screen.   She looks tired but her green eyes are glinting with mischief and that sexy half smile of hers playing on her lips.

“Hello, moyá khoróshaya.  And is plokhóy mál'chik there?”  She asks.

You sit back against Clint so she can see you both and he puts his arm around your shoulder.  “Hey, Nat.  We’ve missed you.”

“You can’t possibly have missed me as much as I missed both of you.”  She says.  “I don’t like what you’re wearing very much.  What is that?”

You hear Sam make a noise of outrage.  “How do you even get away saying that to them?  You are way too scary for your own good, spider.”

You and Clint stifle a laugh as you remove your clothes.  “I’m sorry if I offended either of you.”  Nat teases.  “I do love the way you look.  You have no idea how much I miss seeing you and touching you.”

You take her meaning and you and Clint start running your hands over each other.  You skim your fingertips over Clint’s chest and down his abs.  Clint cups your breasts and teases at your nipples as he leans in and starts kissing your throat.  You hum, moving closer to him, so his thigh is pressed against your sensitive pussy and your grind against it, letting your fluids smear onto his skin.  “Is this what you want.  Do you miss this, Nat?”  You purr.

“Mmm… I do.  I can’t wait until I’m there with you.  Not too much longer.”  She hums.  “I hope you haven’t been letting Clint get away with too much, málen'kaya moya.”

You push Clint onto his back and start sliding your pussy up and down on his cock.  His hands continue to massage your breasts as he looks up at you.  “No, Natalia.  Of course not.”

“Oh show me.”  She says smiling brightly.

Clint moans.  “You’re killing me here, Nat.”  He says, grabbing the phone.  He points it at you, so he’s filming for Natasha.  You take his cock and guide it into your waiting cunt.

“That looks so good,”  Natasha says.  “I can’t wait to have some of that.”  The way she says it is like you just showed her a cake you baked.  Her meaning behind it send a shiver through your spine.

You start rolling your hips and bouncing on Clint’s cock.  Clint continues to film you.  Natasha will make a comment every now and again.  ‘You’re so lucky to have her to look after you while I’m gone, Clint.’  ‘You have no idea how jealous I am right now of you guys.’  Each time she speaks it’s drowned out by a graphic moan from Clint.

You start rolling your fingertips over your clit and it’s not long before another orgasm hits.  You groan with it your legs trembling.  You feel Clint’s cock start to throb inside you.

“I think you should give our little kisa a break, Clint.  Why does she always have to look after you?”  Natasha asks.  Just like she was concerned you were doing too much of the cooking or something.

Clint growls and flips you onto your back.  He keeps the camera pointed at you as he just starts railing into you. You grasp at the end of the couch with one hand as you continue to rub your clit.

“I really can’t wait to see you, Clint,”  Natasha says.  You take the phone from him and angle the camera to show Clint.  His face set, his muscles straining as he fucks you hard.  “That’s the way.  Come on now.”

Clint groans.  “Oh fuck, Nat.”  His hips snap forward and he comes, spilling into you. You moan with him continuing to work your clit so that as his cock pulses you bring yourself over with him.

Clint collapses down on top of you and snuggles up under your chin.  “Only a few more hours, moi dorogiye.”  Natasha said.  “I can’t wait to be there with you.”

“We can’t wait either.”  You and Clint almost say in unison.

“I better go. See you soon.”  Natasha says.

“See ya, pervs,”  Sam calls from across from her.   You disconnect the call and you and Clint start laughing.

“That’s going to be a fun flight for her.”  You say.

Clint shakes his head and sits up.  “She should have known the risk.  Sam never misses anything.”  He says as he starts gathering up the clothes that have been strewn about.  “We’ll just make sure she has a nice welcome back to make up for it.”

His phone chimes again and he pulls it out and looks at it before laughing again.  “Nat says if she’s in trouble so are we.”

[alabamagirlinagreatbigworld]

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes How do you measure, measure a year?

I hate how far back I have to scroll in my phone to find pictures of us. Two years of memories without you in them. It is still incomprehensible that I am living life without you in it. I hate that as time goes on, even Facebook erases our memories. And, it’s even worse because you aren’t here to make new ones. If they all disappear from pictures, will they eventually start to disappear from my own mind? Even worse than a life without you in it, is a life where our memories are faded or even forgotten.

Two years. Twenty-four months. One hundred & four weeks. Seven Hundred & Thirty days. Seventeen thousand five hundred & twenty hours. One million fifty-one thousand & two hundred minutes. Sixty-three million seventy-two thousand seconds. Each one feeling like forever.

I can still feel the shock & denial I felt when my mom called me at work to tell me you were gone. It took at least an hour to sink in. At least an hour for me to realize you were gone. An hour for me to start this journey of grief that is never-ending. I remember not knowing what to do. Like anything I could do would change it. I drove home from work. My mind somewhere else. My phone ringing. My text message notifications beeping. Surely one of them would be you. This was definitely a mistake. And then it wasn’t.

I came home to a busted water heater. My kitchen floor flooded. Water still spewing out onto the floor. I looked up. I laughed. It was like your final joke. One more prank. Anything to make me smile. A laugh even better. I turned and walked away. Ignored the reality of everything going on at that moment.

I had so many questions. So many unfinished conversations. So many things I wanted to say. So many hugs left to be given. Memories to be made. As I rode to your mom’s house from Atlanta, I couldn’t grasp what was happening. What would happen. I don’t think I have ever been to your parent’s house when you weren’t there. Drew met me in the driveway with a big hug and an I love you. You’d be so proud of him. I hugged and cried my way through everyone and knew exactly where I needed to be. I slipped away down the hallway and into your old room. Your old bed still there. I laid down, still crying, random memories flooding my mind. Your beta fish that used to sit on that wicker shelf. The see-through phone that I thought was so cool & wanted to badly. Sitting in your closet listening to song from the Karate Kid like we had any idea what love was. Emptying our oh so important purses to trade items with each other. Waking up scared because I had slept with gum in my mouth and was afraid your mom would be mad. You telling me you weren’t going to sleep. You were just resting your eyes. Sounds of laughter. Your mom telling us to be quiet because your dad was sleeping. Our times spent bunkered down in the hallway because there was severe weather. Your dad at the other end of the hall, watching the weather on tv. Trying to keep us quiet so he could hear. Standing there as if he would stop the tornado to keep us safe. I even remembered your first cuss word after your go-cart wouldn’t start. I was shocked. I though the world would end when you said it. You just laughed. I remember riding the go-cart, being chased by the rain, and watching it spread across the field, finally catching up to us. Gilbert Court. Oh the laughs at Gilbert Court. Our tiny one-bedroom apartment covered in sunflowers. It was the best thing ever. Two a.m. trips to Wal-Mart because we could. Silly outgoing messages on our answering machine. Ridge Road. Driving on campus to the one class we had together, laughing as you tried to parallel park. Laughing harder as we had to change places so I could parallel park for you. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. The memories came from further back and extended through that final week of your life. Your last message being so trivial. A picture of paperwork, lying on the floor of your office. A little note that said, I’m still at work. And that was it. That was the last memory I would ever have of you.

I know you would hope I would have recovered by now. That the loss wouldn’t be as tough as it is for me. I know you would shrug off the fact that you were that much a part of my life. That I depended on you so much more than you depended on me. You were my best friend. My soulmate of sorts. My rock. My place of understanding. Of calm. You were my nurse. My protector. You stood up for me when I didn’t have the energy to stand up for myself. You were always there. And then you weren’t.

Every morning feels like Groundhog Day. Shortly after waking up, I realize, once again, you’re gone. Maybe it’s because I look up and see your picture on the wall. Maybe it’s because I pick up my phone to call or message you. Maybe it’s because I need to talk to you. I need your advice. Your support. Your unconditional love. And on really bad day, it’s because I’ve woken up with tears already streaming down my face from the reality hitting in a dream.

There are days I think I won’t make it. Days I think it’s time to give up. Days that feel so overwhelming, I see no way I’ll make it until the next. Most of the days are like this. But every now and then something beautiful happens. A clover appears in my car out of nowhere. A sunflower in the most random of places. An old card you sent me out of place and found at the right time. Always a funny message to make me laugh. A picture taken for scenery on your birthday with an angel-shaped cloud as clear as a crystal.

I know you watch over me. I have no doubts. But you are the lucky one, my dear. You are dancing in the streets of heaven with loved ones gone before you. Still watching your loved ones left behind. You’re still cheering for me. I feel it. Sometimes I think I hear it. Sometimes I do something outside of my character just because I know it’s what you would advise. I think about the things I was struggling with when you left. The parts of them I still struggle with now. I envision you in heaven, banging your head, because you know what God has planned for me. And you hate to see me sad. I think about the struggles you faced. Your desire to be better each day. Your attachment to the article of the girl who wrote about living, after being diagnosed with terminal cancer way too soon. She was your goal. You were going to go back to school. Be a Nurse Practitioner. A better mom. A better wife. Better to yourself. You wanted to get in the best shape of your life. Not because anyone thought you should or pressured you to. Because you wanted to be the best version of yourself for you. And my heart breaks all over again that you didn’t have time to fulfill all your heart’s desires.

Then I think about my life now. How far into abyss I’ve slipped. How disappointed you’d be in me. I’m sure you sit up there yelling at me to get up. Get out of bed. Get out of the house. Do something. Anything. Live. And I try. I want to live for me and for you. But grief is crippling. Loneliness is dark.  Such a huge part of who I am is gone. It feels like I can’t move because I’m not whole. Like I awoke and suddenly had no legs to stand on my own. Because you were gone. And you were a part of me for as much of my life as I can remember. Until you weren’t.

I remember your memorial service. Parking lot overcrowded. Lines around the building. I sat in a chair thinking I’d write what I was going to say about you the next day. But instead, I sat there staring. All the people around me who loved you. Yet I was alone. I was in awe of how many lives you touched. I remember telling someone, in my entire life, I can name people who haven’t or don’t like me. But in my entire life, I can’t name one person who didn’t like Nicole. I like to think you were my angel. My rock. My support. My soft place to land. I’m territorial when it comes to our friendship. But the truth is undeniable. You were that person to everyone you met. You made lives brighter. You made problems lighter. When I think about it, I can’t imagine how heavy it must have been for you. Not only carrying your problems but carrying the weight of others so they wouldn’t have to do it alone. But you never made me feel like an inconvenience. You never hinted that you couldn’t bear the weight of anything else. When you talked to me, I was all there was. And I am certain every other person you encountered felt the same.

Coming up with the words to say about you might have been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Only to be overshadowed by having to stand in front of packed chapel and say them out loud, knowing you were lying there just in front of me. I wrote for hours. Write. Erase. Start over. Repeat. Each time I would read what I had written, I would realize, this is all about me. How I feel. My experience. And that did not do justice to your life. You were so much more than a part of me. You were a part of everyone who met you. And you deserved to be remembered as you were. Not as I felt. I pulled through with a combination of laughs and tears and even a cuss word, just for you. I go back and read those words now and then. I still laugh. I still cry. I still wonder if I even came close to putting you on the pedestal you earned. And I cry some more. Who will tell my story? Will anyone show up? Am I even half the person you were? Am I even that person to one person? Have I had a positive impact on anyone? How do I do better? And, how do I do it now that I am not whole?

I can’t believe it’s been two years. I can’t believe every year will add another and the clock will never stop counting the seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years. I can’t believe this is who I am in now. Who I’m forced to be. After years of swimming, bicycles, sleepovers, secrets, notes in the hallways, inside jokes, family vacations, a lifetime of firsts, our friendship has also experienced all its lasts. I don’t know how to accept it. How to move forward. How to feel whole again. Because throughout my entire life you were there. Until you weren’t.

[anastasiaskarsgard]

Can I request a story about a girl that runs away from home angst angst angst! And then meets Andy and Bill but Bill has a gf but fights with her and he hits on the girl and maybe they even hook up but Bill is seen with his gf again and the girl feels stupid.... angst and smut and fluff. This might be like too much for one drabble. You are a 👸 and I 💕❤️😍🥰.

Gif is @godfreysteel

This is a really involved request so I’m breaking it into 2 parts. Here’s PART 1.....

Randi has been my best friend since Junior High. We had been attached at the hip, right up to a little over a year ago, when her Aunt died and left her a house in Hollywood. She moved out there, begging me to come but I had a perfect boyfriend that begged me not to go, and since he was a new doctor, it wasn't as easy to move for him. As soon as Randi left, he insisted I move in with him since he was worried about me living alone and my lease was up. He had such a pretty house it was tempting, but i still was hesitant. He said he understood and just loved me so much that he worried. I was actually very flattered he held me in such high regard. He was a gorgeous wealthy doctor, from a prominent family, and I was nothing special.

When he bought me an Afghan Hound puppy I named Danger, I was overjoyed. Since my apartments didn't allow dogs and he was hardly ever home to keep Danger company, it was only logical to move to his home. I didn’t think twice about it. And he was being so accomodating and enthusiastic, I couldn’t help but get affected by it. He told me to donate all my old stuff, and we’d get all new stuff together to start our new life. He was from a really rich family, so money was not an issue for him. He actually called it a non-issue, which as time progressed I learned was his way of saying it wasn't up for discussion.

Non-issues could be positive or negative talking points where he had made the decision for us. Most of the time, they benefited me, or appeared to be for my best interest. For instance; my job.

I actually had met my boyfriend at my job. I worked at a gym checking people in, but considering our turn over, I was often called in to cover or train new hires. His time was limited and he felt very strongly about spending what little free time he had together. The entire month, I’d been forced to come in for one reason or another, and although he made it clear his displeasure, he still surprised me with a wonderful 1 year anniversary gift of two weeks in Hawaii. I was so excited to go until my job informed me it wasn’t possible. When I told my boyfriend the news, he told me to give notice and I could find something else when we returned. It was a bit crazy and irresponsible, but I threw caution to the wind and he was so happy I had chosen him. The trip also made me miss my first week of school, but my boyfriend said that a little time off wouldn’t kill me and I had thought he was kidding and enrolled anyway, willing to just make up my lost week. Not having a job or any bills, would make it that much easier to catch up on.

For the first time in my life, I felt like I had someone that was truly in my corner. My friends thought I was the luckiest girl in the world and even I felt like it was insane, driving up to my huge home on a golf course, that I had decorated with my doctor boyfriends money. The fact he looked like a model only made it that much more surreal, eventhough he was a bit intense. Intense might be the wrong word. Possessive maybe? But I didn’t think of it as a negative, more as a flattering positive trait.

He worries about me, and liked to always be in contact with me. Since he was often in surgery or unable to answer the phone, it was imperative I answered when he called. When he called while I was in class, I knew he’d be upset I ignored his call, but I was sure he’d be ok once I was out and explained why I pressed send to voicemail.

As soon as I got out, I tried to call him repeatedly, but got no answer. This wasn’t entirely unusual, although most Monday’s, he was more readily available since only emergency surgeries happened mondays. I was shocked when I arrived home and found his Range Rover home. The front door was open ajar so I parked behind him and wandered inside. I wasn’t ready for what I’d find.

It looked as though we had been robbed. Furniture was thrown about, the 75” flat screen had been pushed over and smashed. Several decorative items were smashed to pieces. The more I looked around though, the more clear it became that nothing was missing. Just broken. We’d been vandalized!

My poor baby Danger was hiding under the dining room table and upon realizing I had entered, was overjoyed to see me. I bent down and embraced him, giving him ear scratches and loving on him thankful he was unharmed. Things could be replaced, but not your loved ones.

I looked up to see my boyfriend storm out of the office.

”thats fucking rich! You greet the dog before me.” he spat.

”what happened here?” I asked cautiously, slowly rising to my feet to give him a hug and a kiss. He was acting rather aggressively but I was sure he felt violated in a way, by someone coming in our home and destroying it.

”YOU FUCKING HAPPENED TO ME YOU FUCKING WHORE! I AM NOT ENOUGH FOR YOU? YOU CANT JUST BE HAPPY WITH ME? YOU THINK I DONT KNOW WHY YOU WENT BACK TO SCHOOL?” he screamed at me.

I froze. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know where this was coming from and he was looking at me like he expected an answer. When I didn't answer he grabbed a lamp and threw it against the wall, and then made a beeline straight for me. I still was in shock so I just stood there, staring dumbly, expecting to get slapped or pushed, when I heard a low growl.

My skinny little brave Danger was standing between me and my boyfriend, trying to protect me. My boyfriend froze, looked down and started to laugh like a maniac. This reaction was far more unsettling than it sounds, and Danger and I grew more restless if that's possible. I all of a sudden had an overwhelming urge to get out of there. I wasn’t concerned or interested in trying to understand my boyfriends words or behavior, I just wanted to be away from him.

”I’m gonna go. Come on Danger, ” I said as I slowly backed away. I didn't want Danger to bite him, or get kicked or something, and make an already volatile situation even worse.

”Hang on, just a moment. Can you answer me one question before you walk out of my life?” he asked me in a tone I’d never heard, dripping with sarcasm.

Normally I'd say you already asked it, but I didn't feel now was the time for jokes. I desperately wanted to leave but I wasn’t an idiot, and knew that playing along with an obviously bat shit ass crazy person, was safer than pissing them off more.

“Go ahead.”

”Do you know what the best thing about being a doctor is?”

I wasn't expecting that question and almost automatically answered with ”saving lives.”

He chuckled darkly, sending a chill up my spine. How was this the same man? How had I missed the potential lunatic that obviously was just beneath the surface? Lost in thought, I cried out when he suddenly lunged forward and seized Danger. Danger yelped, followed by the most awful crunching sound I’ll never forget. Dangers gangly little body, instantly fell limply to the ground and all I could do was stare in utter horror.

I looked up into his eyes and I didn’t even know who I was looking at. This was just incomprehensible to me. My mind kept spinning in circles, unable to grasp the situation at hand.

My boyfriend stepped over Dangers lifeless body and pulled me into a tight embrace. He sniffed my hair and growled in my ear, before biting me on my neck hard. I cried out and He chuckled before grabbing me by my hair, and dragging me in the restroom, where he made me flush my birth control pills.

“You’re going to marry me and be my perfect little housewife, and never hurt me again.” He cooed in my ear.

When I didn’t say anything he grabbed my chin and forced me to look up at him. I couldn’t get what he’d done to Danger out of my head and was terrified. He could see it in my eyes, but the look of concern and empathy he gave me made me want to scream. “I love that idea. I’m just sad about Danger.”

In reality, I wanted to vomit, but I let him lead me to the bed to lie down, trying to think of any way to escape. I was convinced I really would vomit if he tried to fuck me. He kissed me gently on the forehead and breathed a huge sigh.

“Will you feel better if I do something with the body? I promise to get you whatever dog you want to replace him, but with us about to have a family, we can’t have an aggressive dog. You understand right baby?”

I nod as he rubs my cheek, looking in my eyes adoringly. He tells me to sit tight while he takes care of Danger, and he’ll be right back.

I wait a beat and peer downstairs at him and watch as he puts Danger into a big black trash bag, and I wait till he goes into the garage before running downstairs. I didn’t care about any of my belongings, I just needed to get to my car.

I grabbed my purse, and I ran. I got in my car and pulled away just as he was running out trying to open my door. Thank God it lockswhen you put it into Drive. I drove off watching him in the rearview mirror running back inside. My phone started blowing up, and I became aware of location capabilities with cell phones so I threw it out the window. Looking back, that was a bit overzealous, but I was terrified.

Somehow I found myself on the highway and didn't stop till I reached Hollywood. I'd been to the house before, and thank goodness by the grace of God remembered how to get to Randi.

I told her everything and she insisted that I was home. She’d just been hired for a big horror film and she said I could be her assistant. She was supposed to meet the director the following morning and shed just bring me along, to introduce us. She was positive he’d hire me on too, so I was amped.

When she told me it was filming in Canada, I was even more enthusiastic. My ex knew Randi lived in Hollywood, so going away a few months to another country was ideal. That way when he inevitably went looking for me, he wouldn't be able to find me, and hopefully would give up.

The next morning Randi shared all her things with me to get ready. We are the same size shoe and since we are both thin, I can fit in her clothing for the most part. I’m taller and bustier, but for the most part, we can share.

I’m not very high maintenance, so the extent of my beauty routine is shower, brush my hair, light make up, and a spray of body spray or something, and I’m good. Randi said I could have a maxi dress since it had always been too long for her to wear, and was too form fitting for her taste.

I was surprised how close we were to the studios, and arrived in no time. Security gave us a little map and instructed us how to get to where we were supposed to go. I had never been to a movie studio, so I was as bad as a tourist looking around. We arrived at the proper building to find a photo shoot underway.

“There he is.” Randi said, pointing out a tall dark haired gentlemen in his late thirties, early forties, having an obvious problem with something. He turned and saw us and did a double take. He made a beeline for us with an enormous smile eventhough you could tell he was having a bad day. I liked him right away.

“Today has been a disaster, we have done all we can do without the model. She’s an hour late! Bill has limited time in LA, and it’s not like the man doesn’t have obligations.” He ranted at no one in particular.

I nodded with a sympathetic look on my face, although I had no idea who Bill was.

“Who have you brought us Randi?”

“Andy this is my best friend Liv. Liv this is our new boss, Andy. And this is a photo shoot for a magazine to promote Something Bill is doing, and Andy is his best friend so he’s here to complain.” Randi teased.

“I’m also good friends with the photographer and we are supposed to have lunch after this. Can you excuse me? Do not move. I’m serious.” Andy said and then rushed away

“He couldnt take his eyes off you! He’s not usually so obvious. He’s usually the most chill guy,” Randi mused.

“He’s just stressed out and I mean maybe I look familiar.” I guessed.

“Oh sure. It has nothing to do with being a living breathing Barbie. Old school big titty Barbie.” Randi chuckled.

Andy and a petite lady hussled over to us, and the lady grabbed me by my face and pulled me down to examine my features. She smiled and turned to Andy happily.

“Oh meu deus Andy! Como você encontrou um em tão pouco tempo? Ela é ainda melhor que a falecida! Ela é exatamente o que eu imaginava. ela é a mesma taxa? diga a ela para se preparar.” She tapped her wrist and rushed off.

“What just happened?” I asked.

“I hope you don’t mind, but you’re first job is right now. She said you were exactly what she envisioned for this shoot, and you need to go to hair and make up immediately.” Andy pleaded, putting his hands together in a prayer pose.

“WHAT? Oh no! I’m not a model. I never want to be famous.” as my stomach did backflips and I felt like the air had left the room.

“That’s something you don’t hear very often in this town but It pays $7500 and I’d owe you one.”

“$7500 to take a couple pictures? I’m wearing clothes right?” I have no desire to be in this industry, but I wasn’t crazy either! As long as I’m not naked, I’m game.

Andy let out a whole hearted laugh, “you’re wearing a gown even. Not that type of party. And you’re taking pictures with the star of the movie you’ll be working on with us. You did want to be Randi’s assistant correct?

I nodded vigorously, and got a thumbs up from Randi. Everything was falling into place! ”lead the way then sir!”

His face lit up and he led the way over to a room that had more make up in it then I’d ever seen. As soon as I walked in, three people pounced on me. One attacked my hair, saying they needed to straighten it, although it was straight. They set to work, raving about they could not believe I had so much hair, and that I was an actual natural blonde. When I told them I was growing it long to donate to cancer kids, they nearly fell over.

“Do you know how much thick natural blonde hair that reaches the lower back is worth?” The hairstylist exclaimed. “And your hair is silky and healthy, girl keep it.”

“I’ll just grow more. No biggie.”

“I think that’s very nice. Good for you, people should be so kind.” The girl working on my nails said, smiling warmly up at me.

“I can’t wait to see where your career goes!” The gentleman doing my make up surmised. “You are a true natural beauty.”

“I’m not doing any more of these. I don’t want to be famous, I just am doing it for Andy.” They all looked at me skeptically, but set to getting me where the photographer needed me to be. As the time pressed on, I could feel my self nodding off, but suddenly movement caught my eye. I couldn’t turn my head, but noticed a gorgeous man glaring at me in the mirror. I wasn’t sure how long he’d been there.

“If It were up to me, you’d never work again. Do you have anything to say for your disrespect?” The tall, statuesque man, with strikingly handsome facial features, and the greenest eyes I’d ever seen sneered.

”I literally just got hired forty five minutes ago and have no issue with never modeling again anyways. I'm doing this as a favor, for my new boss. Thanks for being a dick tho. Everyone has been such a joy, I was starting to think Hollywood had a bad rep for nothing.”

Everyone in the room was silent and all looked to the man for a reply.

”whos your new boss?” he inquired.

”I don’t feel comfortable giving his name to strange men, and since he’s a director it’ll sound like I’m name dropping and I’m not the type.” I said waving my hand dismissively.

He chuckled and rolled his bright green eyes. ”i think you're talking about my good friend Andy Muschetti. Does that sound right?”

”give this man a prize!” I joked. “Please don’t get me fired best friend. Are you Bill by chance?”

“You think I wear a tuxedo and bedazzle my face before i leave the house in the regular?” He asked incredulously.

I looked down at my lap so I didn't have to make eye contact with anyone.

I looked back up to the beautiful man, but he’d disappeared. I wasn’t surprised he was kind of an ass. Gorgeous men often are, I just hoped he wasn’t going to go talk shit.

A short time later they were done and had me put on a Zuhair Murad dress that was was worth more than my car. It was a beautiful charcoal velvet that looked like it’d been custom made for me. I couldn’t believe how awesome I looked, and ran out to find Randi, only being allowed to wave before they lead me to take my solo shots.

I looked around for the beautiful man, and found him standing next to a brunette woman, having a tense conversation, that was very quickly turning into an argument. He was trying to keep her calm, but she was not happy in the least, and I gasped when she struck him. Embarrassed, I put my full attention on the person translating instructions from the photographer, refusing to look back over at them, even as they began yelling at each other in some strange language. Did no one speak English here? He stormed outside with the woman hot on his trail.

“Ok someone go find Bill, we are just about ready for him.” My translator yelled, and I saw Andy and Randi, briskly walk outside to find him.

I felt kinda bad for snapping at him. I was going to be as nice as possible to him. Maybe I had judged him too harshly.

“Perfect honey! Sad confused, not sure look honey! Yes!” Several more people had shown up and were all talking about me like I wasn’t there.

Bill walked up looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, and looked down his cute little button nose at me. I know he was trying to be stuck up, but he was so fucking cute, I just wanted to boop his nose.

“Where do you want me?” He huffed.

“I need you to come up behind her, and embrace her around the waist, with one hand by her face. Sweetie you stand sideways with your back to Bill and look up arching your back a bit.” We were told as we got in our places. He was humming some unidentifiable tune in my ear. I was trying not to think about his hand on my waist, or his hot breath on my neck. I wasn’t sure if the bright lights were the only thing making me sweat.

“Touch up! They’re sweating!” Someone shouted.

“Do I make you sweat princess?” Bill growled.

“No.” I squeaked.

He firmly pulled me against him and when he felt me stiffen up, he chuckled mischievously.

I moaned sexually, causing him to sputter and cough a bit. I turned around grinning ear to ear. “Don’t start no stuff, won’t be no stuff.” I said playfully. I normally am not so confident, but his semi inappropriate behavior and the way he looked at me made me feel strange. Good strange I was pretty sure. He didn’t break our eye contact for far longer than was polite, before taking some hair and tucking it behind my ear tenderly.

“Bill stop giving this poor girl goosebumps! My Lord! And I’m not sure if you guys are aware of how obvious a moment you guys are having in front of all these people. One of them being your crazy girlfriend Bill.” He said as he touched us up. “I mean you’re both some of the most attractive people I’ve ever seen so I can’t blame either one of you, but thought I’d let you know.”

“It’s not me, its all the people staring at how gorgeous she is,” Bill scoffed.

“I doubt your girlfriend likes how you’re looking at her either. Normally I’d stay out of it, but you’re good people Bill, and I keeps it real with my people.”

“I told her it’s over, didn’t you hear us a few minutes ago?” He sneered. He winked and walked away.

“What a weird guy,” I mused aloud.

“Gorgeous though right? Every girl that meets him wants to fuck him but he’s always had a girlfriend. I’ve seen them fight a few times, but today is the first time he’s ever yelled. They’re Swedish so I don’t think they yell very often. ”

“I just got out of a terrible relationship yesterday so I feel his pain.”

“I’ve worked with him for years and have never seen him give anyone a second glance and yet today he can’t take his eyes off you.” He smirked.

“I’ve destroyed my lungs proficiently, she looks perfect, if you could just give me the once over, we can be done before lunch.” Bill said as he walked towards us. He plopped down in the chair beside me and squeezed my hand. “Please forgive my behavior up until now. It’s been a stressful day and flirting has never been my strong suit.”

I looked at him and he appeared to be sincere. I smiled weakly and told him I hadn’t even thought he’d been out of line. He’d put some space in between us when we returned to shooting, and was exceedingly respectful and careful. One of The last shots, they wanted me to be on my knees in front of him, reaching my hands up looking to the side, putting my face right against his crotch.

“I apologize in advance,” he drawled. At first I was confused why he was apologizing, but it became all too clear, the longer my face was pressed to his growing bulge. He shifted uncomfortably, and looked down at me as tho he was in pain. I mouthed the words ‘it’s ok’ and smiled up at him and that seemed to help him a great deal, although not so far as tame his prominent erection. I was actually firmly pressing my face against it now, to save him the embarrassment of his issue, and assuring we don’t have to stretch this out longer than needed. I’m sure It was all very artistic looking but it was hard not to laugh at how not artistic it felt. I looked to Randi, she was smiling with two thumbs up, blissfully unaware that I was battling Bills dick.

“Okay! The final shot is going to be her standing facing Bill but twisting her upper body away, facing the other way, while Bill I need you to press your body into hers with one hand at her chin with your thumb on her lower lip. Her eyes are closed and yours are fierce Bill. Determined but not angry.”

I felt my face heat up as we tried to do as we were instructed. This was all too much, I couldn’t help but giggle. I apologized and tried to look sexy again.

“No smiling honey. You’re a desirable sex goddess, and he wants you, but you know you shouldn’t.” The translator instructed passionately.

“It’s not too much of a stretch,” Bill said quietly so only I could hear. I felt my face flush and blush at the same time, if that’s even possible.

I heard that mischievous chuckle again, and it took all I had in me, not to knee him in his gut. I refused to look at him though. I don’t think I could handle it anyway. Far too much man-pretty had his body pressed against mine.

“Psst.”

I’m going to kill this guy. I’m not looking.

“Are you ignoring me?” He whispered.

“Ok so then I guess that’s a yes.” He hummed.

He was impossible. I’m trying to maintain bitch face and he’s asking dumb questions and making various sound effects! I must say tho, for just having a pretty public break up, he was in a good mood.

When it finally was over, and Bill and I set off to change our clothes and get some make up off, I was surprised to see they’d all left already. The make up I was wearing felt more like ear paint, and soap and water wasn’t having too much of an effect on it.

“You look so helpless, can I help you?” I turned to see Bill standing there looking at me like I was pitiful. “I have make up remover pads.”

“Oh my goodness thank you!” I smiled. “You’re my hero.”

“Can I?” He asked, referencing using the pads on my face.

“Sure.” I said, eventhough I wasn’t sure why he wanted to do it. He was so gentle, I closed my eyes and waited till I was sure he was done. Europeans have way different personal boundaries than Americans, so this was probably normal.

“What’s your name?”

“Liv.”

“What’s that short for?”

“Nothing. That’s my whole name.”

“Me too! I mean my name is Bill obviously but people always think it’s short for something but nope.” He chuckled. “You didn’t really even need any face make up. Your skin is flawless.i left your eye make up on but it looks pretty epic.”

I opened my eyes and we locked eyes for a moment, but Randi came bounding in the room, causing Bill to leap away from me. Randi didn’t appear to notice tho, as Andy and a few other people came in too.

“Everyone ready to eat. I insist that everyone let me buy them lunch at Morton’s.” Andy said.

Randi grabbed my hand and mouthed if I was ok, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. Ok maybe she had picked up on something. I looked at her like she was crazy, and avoided looking in Bills direction again.

“Let’s go eat! I’m famished!” I said.

“You girls are coming? Yay!” Andy said enthusiastically. “Most models aren’t big fans of food.”

“She eats whatever she wants and doesn’t go to the salon or have any work done. Just keep her fed and she’s beautiful and sweet. Try to starve her and she’s the definition of hangry.” Randi teased.

I laughed till my face hurt as she told everyone about a party in highschool where everyone brought their own booze, but I brought a gallon of milk and a pound of Oreos and actually finished them. Late that evening, everyone wanted Jack in the Box and since I was the only sober person, I got nominated to drive. It was pretty uneventful, until I turned to get everyone’s money and they were all nude. Randi did a perfect imitation of my total over reaction. Thank god she left out the part about me crying. I really thought we were going to get arrested and they refused to put their clothes back on, so I thought any minute I’d hear sirens. Luckily the drive thru people thought it was hilarious too.

We all made our way out to where everyone was parked, and found Bills girlfriend waiting there. As we pulled out, I looked back in time to see Bill march past her, climb in his car, leaving her standing alone in the parking lot yelling something after him.

“Did you see that? What’s their deal?” I asked Randi.

“Who?” She asked me.

“Bill and I guess that’s his ex-girlfriend or I don’t know...”

I look at Randi and she’s looking at me funny, “Are you crazy? You need a nice guy, he’s like foreign and he’s a celebrity. And I know you, you’re not a rebound type and both of you have no business looking at each other like you were.”

“Oh my gosh! I’m not even asking like that. Last thing I want is a guy!” I sulked. “Was it that obvious?”

“Mmmhmm.” She smiled knowingly.

“He’s around beautiful women all the time and probably has 9 million fan girls. It’s not like he’s gonna follow me in the bathroom or something.”

Randi looks at me doubtfully.

“Don’t look at me like that! If he does, I’ll kick him.”

“I’m kidding. Actors only go for girls that throw themselves at their feet. Their egos don’t allow the risk of rejection.”

“Perfect. I hate feet.”

[junghelioseok]

change. | 05

↳ a kind, handsome stranger makes you question your deteriorating relationship.

◇ taehyung x reader | jungkook x reader ◇ angst | fluff | smut ◇ 3.1k [5/10]

notes: it’s literally been one year (a little over?) since i posted chapter 1 of this fic and i am so fucking sorry it’s taken this long. but! things are finally happening, y’all. hope you enjoy? maybe?

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | epilogue ✓

Nineteen unread messages.

For a long moment, you can only look at your phone in disbelief, as if the words on the screen will disappear if you stare long and hard enough. But when they stubbornly remain, you heave a sigh and click open the notification, already knowing exactly who is responsible for bombarding you with so many texts last night.

[8:24pm] Jin: Fucking finally! It’s about time you left

[8:25pm] Jin: Have fun with Taehyung. But not too much.

[8:29pm] Jin: Are you there yet?

[8:36pm] Jin: Hellooooo, earth to {Name}. Are you dead? Do I have to call the police?

[8:42pm] Jin: There’s no way you’re not at Studio V by now, young lady. Don’t ignore me

[8:42pm] Jin: What’s this Taehyung kid doing to you? Don’t forget that you have a boyfriend

[9:21pm] Jin: Okay, now I’m starting to get a little worried

[9:22pm] Jin: Don’t make me come over there

And so forth. Jin’s last message, sent at precisely eleven o’clock, declares his intent to file a missing person’s report if he hasn’t heard from you in the next twenty-four hours, and you can’t help but laugh as you open up the keyboard and type out a response.

[8:12am] You: Wow Jinnie

Your phone buzzes with an incoming message almost instantaneously.

[8:12am] Jin: SHE LIVES

[8:12am] Jin: Now spill, what the hell happened to you last night?

Rolling your eyes at his insistence, you swipe open his contact tab and tap the phone icon. As the call connects, you meander into the bathroom, grabbing your toothbrush and squeezing some toothpaste onto the bristles. Seokjin picks up two seconds later, squawking incomprehensibly, and as you put him on speaker and plop your phone on the counter, you marvel at how easily you can still hear him over the sound of the faucet.

“Hi Jinnie,” you greet dryly. “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah, good morning and all that.” Jin’s pleasant tenor filters through the speaker, undeterred. Vaguely, you can make out the sound of sizzling from his end of the line, and deduce that he must be cooking breakfast. “Now spill, damn it! What happened yesterday?”

“I went to an art gallery,“ you reply, giggling when Seokjin lets out a derisive snort. “Because unlike you, I’m a cultured lady.”

“Cultured, my ass,” Jin retorts, and you can practically see him rolling his eyes. “Are you going to tell me about Taehyung or not?”

You laugh, tapping your phone’s screen to life in order to check the time. “I have to be at work in an hour, bud. Why don’t I tell you over dinner tonight?”

He lets out a pleased hum. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll bring the food and you provide the wine?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” Jin says. “Seven okay?”

You nod, despite the fact that he can’t see you. “Seven’s perfect. See you then.”

“Bye, {Name}.”

Smiling, you end the call and finish brushing your teeth, already beginning to plan what you’re going to wear for the day. As you wander into the kitchen and start up the coffeemaker, you unlock your phone again to scroll through the most recent headlines, but a little red message notification catches your eye before you can open up the news app. Curiously, you tap it open, eyes widening when you see who the sender is.

[10:24pm] Taehyung: it was really nice to see you again. sorry we had to cut our conversation short but i hope you got home all right!!

A smile breaks across your face as you read his message. It was sent yesterday, shortly after you left the gallery, and you deduce that it must have quickly been buried beneath Jin’s slew of messages. Pulling a mug out of the cabinet, you spoon in some sugar while formulating a response.

[8:31am] You: It was nice to see you too! I got home just fine, thanks for the cab. I’m getting my own next time though :)

You stare down at the screen for a few more moments after pressing ‘send’, a fond smile lingering on your face. But then the smell of coffee is assailing your nostrils, the last dregs dripping down into the pot, and you tear your gaze away from your phone in order to pour yourself a generous helping.

/// 

Your inbox, when you arrive at work and log into your computer, is nearly bursting with new emails. Immersing yourself into your work, you don’t get another opportunity to check your phone until lunchtime, but as soon as the clock on your monitor reads noon you are leaning back in your chair and stretching your arms overhead with a sigh. Working the kinks out of your neck, you idly tap your phone’s screen to life and are immediately greeted by the sight of two new messages. A smile creases your face as soon as you see the senders’ names, and your smile only grows as you read the first text.

[9:12am] Taehyung: not if i can help it :) and you’re welcome. glad you made it safely

The second text, however, wipes any happiness away and replaces it with concern.

[11:28am] Jungkook: God, I’m having the worst day

Immediately, you type out a response to Jungkook. You’re certain he won’t see it until much later—he’s always been terrible with responding to messages, even when not inundated with work—but the fact that he’d taken the time to text you still warms your heart.

[12:07pm] You: Sorry babe. Don’t forget to take a break and eat lunch, okay?

You remember to send off another quick thanks to Taehyung before replacing your phone in your pocket and pulling out your own lunch. Meandering your way towards the kitchen, you greet a few colleagues before heading inside to plop your food in the microwave. As the timer runs down from one minute, you pull out your phone again and see—much to your shock—a new message waiting there.

[12:14pm] Jungkook: I won’t. Eating now, actually. But my kimchi fried rice isn’t as good as yours

A laugh escapes you as the microwave dings. Opening the door, you pull out your own container of kimchi fried rice, still chuckling at the coincidence.

[12:16pm] You: oh yeah? Guess what I’m eating then

[12:17pm] Jungkook: You’re joking. Kimchi fried rice? Really?

[12:17pm] You: I cannot tell a lie

Taking a seat at one of the several tables scattered around the kitchen, you begin eating leisurely, keeping one eye on the news broadcast playing on the television mounted to the wall. It takes a few minutes for Jungkook to respond this time, and you wonder if work is giving him trouble again.

You’re proven right when his text finally comes, popping up onto your screen with a soft ding.

[12:21pm] Jungkook: Fuck, how are people so incompetent? I have to go, sorry

Biting your lip, you type out a quick goodbye.

[12:21pm] You: Don’t bite too many heads off. Love you.

Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t respond. With a soft sigh, you set your phone back down on the table and fix your attention on the television once more, idly watching the headlines scroll along the bottom of the screen as you finish your lunch.

///

You don’t hear from Jungkook again for the remainder of the workday. The sun is already setting by the time you leave your office building, and with an added stop at the wine store, your commute home takes fifteen minutes longer than usual. You change into sweatpants and an oversized sweater the minute you walk inside, and half an hour after you crack open the first bottle of wine, Jin is knocking at your door with a gaudily decorated white plastic bag in hand. “I see you started drinking without me,” he says dryly as he steps inside, hanging up his jacket and immediately making a beeline for the cabinet where you keep your wineglasses.

“Guess you’d better catch up then,” you reply with a grin, taking the bag from his hand and peering inside curiously. “Chinese?”

He hums. “Of course.”

“Perfect.”

Together, you and Jin make your way into the living room. Your best friend makes himself comfortable on your couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table, and you playfully nudge him off as you try to find a place to put down your food. He shoots you a mock glare and takes an enormous sip of wine, watching as you take a seat beside him and dig into a box of kung pao chicken. “So?”

“So what?” you ask innocently, selecting a piece of pepper and popping it into your mouth.

Jin slaps the armrest in indignation. “What do you mean, so what? Don’t test me, missy!”

You giggle as the tips of his ears begin to flush pink. “Okay, okay,” you relent. “Taehyung. Let’s see. Taehyung was… well, he was just as charming as I remembered. We wound up talking for almost three hours yesterday, so I’m sorry I didn’t text you.”

Jin sniffs, but you can see the smile twitching at the corners of his plush lips. “Whoa, three hours? Damn. You can’t even talk to me for that long.”

“That’s because you’re insufferable,” you retort instantly, drawing a chuckle from you companion.

“Duly noted,” he says. “So, what did you talk about, anyway? Your whole life story?”

“All my deepest, darkest secrets,” you say, trying and failing to maintain a solemn expression. “No, but really, we just talked about the usual. Friends, family, pets. That sort of thing. He’s got a puppy named Yeontan—a Pomeranian. Super cute.”

Jin tilts his head curiously. “A Pomeranian? Those are yappy little dogs, aren’t they?

You shrug. “Taehyung said that Tannie doesn’t really bark all that much, actually.”

“Mm.” Jin lets out a thoughtful hum, tilting his head back and taking a long sip of wine. His gaze slides back over to you after he sets down his glass again, his brown eyes glimmering with mischief as he waggles his brows suggestively. “So, what else happened? Did you get his number like you wanted?”

Wordlessly, you click open your phone and scroll to Taehyung’s contact information, stored safely away under his name. “He gave me his business card too,” you say, showing Jin the screen. “And he called us friends when he introduced me to Yoongi, so that was nice.”

His brows furrow. “Who’s Yoongi?”

“One of his college friends,” you explain. “He was at the gallery opening too.”

“Ah.”

There’s another question on the tip of his tongue—you can see it forming in his eyes as he licks his lips in preparation to voice it, but a knock on your front door interrupts him before he can even open his mouth. Jin jolts at the unexpected noise, his eyes widening in bewilderment, and you offer him an equally confused shrug as you rise to your feet and pad over to answer it.

To your utmost surprise, Jungkook is standing on your welcome mat when you swing the door open, bundled in a dark wool coat and a black scarf. “Hey,” he says, raising his gaze from his phone to give you a wan smile. “Just saw your message. I didn’t bite any heads off, I promise.”

Laughing softly, you step aside to let him in. “That’s good to hear.”

Jungkook echoes your amusement as he crosses the threshold, tucking his phone back into his pocket and beginning to shrug off his coat. As he unwraps his scarf and moves to hang it on one of the hooks near the door, his gaze skitters down to the men’s shoes sitting on the ground beside your own, one dark brow disappearing up behind his neatly-parted hair as he stares at them. “Is Jin here?”

You nod, and Jin must have heard his name because a moment later his head pops around the corner of the entryway. “Hey, Jungkook,” the older man greets, stepping forward and extending a hand. “I thought I heard your voice. Good to see you.”

“You too,” Jungkook replies, gripping the proffered hand and giving it a firm shake. “What are you two up to tonight?”

“Wine and Chinese food,” you say, reaching out to smooth down the rumpled lapel of Jungkook’s charcoal suit jacket. There’s no doubt that he just left the office, and your heart flip-flops in your chest when you notice the exhaustion lining his handsome face. “Do you want some?"

“I’m all right,” Jungkook says, and maybe it’s your imagination but you swear you detect a hint of annoyance in his tone. Shrugging it off, you instead grab his hand to pull him into the living room where the takeout boxes are still scattered across the coffee table, interspersed between two half-full wine glasses. Jungkook takes in the sight slowly, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around yours, and when he speaks again you are certain you hadn’t imagined the annoyance in his voice. “Looks like you two were having fun,” Jungkook says slowly, releasing your hand in favor of picking up one of the white containers of food and peering inside. Then he looks toward Jin, who is still hovering near the entryway uncertainly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your night. Guess I should’ve called beforehand to see if you already had company.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jin reassures, and you wonder if he can sense the sudden tension in the air as clearly as you can. When he begins inching toward the coatrack, you decide that he can. “I should probably get going, anyway.”

Jungkook places the takeout box back on the coffee table. “Have other plans?”

Jin shrugs, and you marvel at his ability to feign ease despite the tense atmosphere. “I’ve got some work to do. Duty calls, you know? Besides, I’m sure you want to spend some quality time with {Name} without me hanging around.”

His laugh sounds entirely too brittle, and when Jungkook glances away, Jin meets your gaze and forcefully mouths text me later.

You nod. Jin hesitates a moment longer, as if unwilling to leave, but another look at Jungkook’s furrowed brow has him grabbing his jacket off the rack and sliding his arms into the sleeves. “Well, I’m off then. Have a good night, guys.”

“You too,” Jungkook intones coolly.

“Bye, Jin,” you call after your best friend’s retreating figure, waving farewell as he disappears around the corner. You listen as his footsteps recede down the corridor, and it’s only once the front door opens and clicks shut again that Jungkook speaks, his voice soft.

“I see you were having a good night without me.”

He’s upset. You can tell from the way his jaw is clenched, his throat bobbing harshly as he resists the urge to raise his voice. You’ve seen him yell before—he gets worked up during conference calls far too often for his own good—but you’ve rarely been on the receiving end of his anger. Something must really be bothering him, and you tentatively reach out and lay a hand on his arm. “Jungkook,” you breathe. “I would’ve invited you over—“

“But you didn’t,” he interrupts bitterly, wrenching away from your touch and leaving your hand to fall aimlessly to your side. “You invited him.”

“I made plans with Jin this morning,” you try to explain. “You’re always welcome to join us, of course, but you seemed busy earlier and I didn’t know when you would be done with work, so it didn’t occur to me to ask.“

Jungkook scowls, his dark brows furrowing even further. “So Seokjin was the first person you talked to today?”

“What?” you ask in disbelief. “I… I mean, I guess so? But that’s not out of the ordinary; he’s my best friend. You know that.”

The words don’t seem to reassure him in the least. Jungkook’s expression remains pinched, and when you look into his eyes you’re alarmed to see the anger simmering there. “How am I supposed to know that for sure?” he snaps.

Your jaw drops. “What?” you ask, utterly dumbfounded by his jealousy. “Are you seriously doubting if we’re just friends?”

He cocks a brow. “Are you? Or is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Jungkook,” you begin, your mind reeling wildly as you try to process what you’re hearing. “What are you even talking about? Of course we’re just friends… he has a boyfriend, for god’s sake—“

The dark-haired man barks out a humorless laugh. “One I’ve never met.”

“Namjoon’s really busy!” you defend. “And it’s not like you have a lot of free time to socialize with my friends either—“

“So this is my fault?” Jungkook interrupts, his other eyebrow rising up to join the first.

You let out an exasperated huff. “That’s not what I said. All I know is that Jin has made an effort to invite us out for happy hour on multiple occasions, and you haven’t been able to make a single one.”

Jungkook snorts. “Like you so kindly pointed out, I’m busy. But you’re more than happy to go skipping off to join them for drinks, huh? You mentioned that they’re both bi once—how am I supposed to know that nothing’s ever happened?”

Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes beginning to prickle at the corners, but you swallow the tears back down and look up your dark-haired boyfriend. “Don’t you trust me?”

His gaze drops to the carpeted floor before rising up to meet yours. “I don’t know anymore,” he says after a few seconds. And then: “But I do know that I need to leave right now.”

“Jungkook…” you begin, voice wavering as you try and fail to find your next words.

He gives you a long, hard look, his expression unreadable. Then he’s turning on his heel, his suit jacket flapping as he strides silently down the hall. You hear the rustle of cloth as he grabs his coat off the hook, and wince when the door slams shut behind him.

A full minute ticks by—each second passing at an agonizingly slow pace as you hope against all hope that Jungkook will come to his senses and return with an apology on his lips. But the night steadily darkens outside, and you remain alone in your living room with cold takeout and unfinished wine. Slowly, you make your way over to the front door and twist the lock shut.

And only then do you allow your pent-up tears to overflow, streaming down your cheeks as you crumple to the ground.

[previous] [next]

[kreekey]

He Turns Me On, But Doesn’t Touch Me (Ch 2)

Chapter 2/?: “I got a message on acid that you should destroy your ego, and I did.”

Pairing: John Lennon/Paul McCartney

Genre: Angst, Hurt

Words: 4682

Chapter Summary:  

John only ever took LSD in the studio once, accidentally. Typical of his character, Paul takes care of him. His affection, as impenetrable as it seems, cannot save John from his own desires.

(See the AO3 Post for author’s notes)

“It’s been coming for a long time. It’s often the best way, without thinking about it too much. Just slip into it.

“You dissolve into each other. But that’s what we did, round about that time, that’s what we did a lot. It was very tiring, wasted me, always wasted me. But [I thought] ‘I’ve got to do it, for my well-being’.”

 ~

John Lennon made it easy for you to wish you’d never met him. Especially if you were Paul McCartney and you were running up to the rooftop to save the man from falling to his death.

The absence of John’s vacant stare on him in the control room should’ve tipped Paul off sooner, added to the fact he stopped hearing clumsy jokes tumbling from the corner. But it took until George Martin stepped back in from nowhere, notifying the band that John will be back in a moment. He’s looking at the stars on the roof. Now, John was certainly getting more eccentric, but he wasn’t so strange as to stop in the middle of a recording session to look at a boring British sky. Not while in a proper state of mind, at least. The realization that John must not be sober quickly brought the realization that a tripping John should not be left alone on a roof thirty feet high without rails. Which is why Paul is where he is now: crashing through the roof’s doors to save a man on LSD from probable death or injury.

But John was found perfectly safe. There was no danger. John felt as safe as a baby in their mother’s arms as he stood against the very edge, teasing the drop. The sky looked too fantastic to take a single step back. Leaning into the door frame, Paul watched him for a moment. The cool wind combed his hair and his ragged breaths were smoothed by the stillness. He was as fascinated by John as John was by the night.

“Johnny?” Paul spoke as softly as the breeze. He took a tentative step forward, careful not to disturb. But John was untouchable, unflinching. So, Paul let out a tense breath, putting his hands in his pockets as he finished his strides. There was no danger. When he was an inch away, close enough to recognize the way soft brown hair curled upon his head, Paul didn’t pull John away from the edge. Instead, he took his place beside him.

“Aren’t they fantastic?” John asked in child-like wonder, turning his head to Paul. There was a hope in his eyes, shining through his old-fashioned glasses. There was an epiphany that, when remembered in two-days time, would mean nothing. Right here and right now, John was convinced that life was beautiful.

Paul paused to explore John’s glassy eyes. Despite himself and despite the knowledge that by all accounts the sky was ordinary, a smile spread across his face like butter. Without ever having to stare at the stars, he answered, “Of course, John.”

Turning back to the sky, John embraced the soft warmth radiating from his chest. He let himself believe that the connection he had long missed was somehow remade. They stood there for a long while and John gently swayed against the other’s arm, unaware, like a human tuning fork. Paul took his time before gently tugging at John’s shirt and saying, “You’re goin’ to get cold, y’know. Let’s get inside.”

Harrison and Martin, the only ones still left working, perked their ears in the control room as John and Paul made their way onto the studio floor. John was still caught up in his universe, and Paul was trying to ease him out. It was hard to hear any reassurance when his eyes were busy roaming the floors, then the equipment, and then the crew above. It was as if it were Abbey Road Studio’s first reveal.

John made his way to the control room by deliberately double-checking his steps up the staircase, occasionally braving to look ahead before continuing with the same intensity. It got better when he remembered Paul was right behind him, holding him up with a strong hand on his back. Martin watched the curious sight, deciding that it was just another one of John’s quirks that he’d discovered too late. Geo leaned back in the chair beside him, smirking.

When John finally opened the control room’s door, he stood there timidly with all eyes on him. Paul squeezed inside behind him imperceptibly. A dizzying array of buttons, switches, sliders, and doo-hickeys held John’s fascination as the proper thing to say became a haze. The ability to express himself became as dry as his mouth.

Finally, after a glance at the sky, he managed, “Wow, look at that.” Paul and Martin realized the statement’s anti-profoundness when they craned their necks upwards to see… a ceiling. John still stood stiffly, wondering if that was the thing he meant to say.

But George Harrison didn’t bother looking up. The silent connection he had with John ever since their first horrifyingly amazing trip together was enough to explain everything. Geo smiled when they made eye contact and John was zapped with the realization that oh, I must have taken acid. It wasn’t a great revelation, as John blurted simply, “Well, I can’t go on. I feel strange and I have to go.”

It was interesting to face the three reactions. George held onto his smirk, watching without a word. Martin let out a slow sigh, trying to understand the inner mechanisms of John Lennon. The producer’s innocence hadn’t caught up with the Beatles’ increasing adventurousness. But Paul looked at him as one would at a child who’d made a mess of his food as if he were a helpless little boy. Maybe he’d understand me, John thought lazily, if he bothered to try acid like the rest of us. He could finally float down to our level.

The four decided to continue to try and record on the studio floor, after much convincing for John. Making what felt like his second-ever trip down the Abbey Road stairs, John relished in every creak of the steps. When he finally joined the rest at the base, he found that he wasn’t being led to a similar warmth that he felt on the rooftop. Rather, John was handed a colourful Rickenbacker, a mic, and nonsensical lyrics scrawled onto a messy page. The others’ explanations didn’t help him to sing a single right note.

“You’ll have to do it and I’ll just stay and watch,” John stepped back from the mic after Martin called the Beatles to stop for the fifth time. He held his hands up as if he was caught back in Hamburg in a dirty alley and shook his head, continuing tentatively, “Is.. is that alright?

Although the rest went on without complaint, John felt an uneasiness creeping up from his toes. It became uncomfortable to watch them work as if John was invading their privacy and forgetting that they were playing some of his own writings.

About twenty minutes later, John piped up again in his most polite voice, “Is this alright?” He was answered with some overly kind confirmations that yes, John was welcome to sit there and watch. Geo was the only one who didn’t coddle him, cracking a joke that didn’t completely make sense to John but made him laugh nonetheless. His anxiety subdued for a moment, before beginning to bubble up again.

Less than an hour later, John interrupted with a frantic, “Are you sure it’s alright?” They assured him again and sat him down, but it didn’t do much good. The creative presence of John was torn down by fervent apologies for nothing.

“It’s useless without a capable John,” Martin sighed. “We’ll break early for the night.”

  Paul opened Abbey Road’s doors, Geo and Martin already departed. He found John bouncing on his toes on the edge of the concrete stairs going up to the studio. From the vantage point, John looked around the streets, face contorted in thought. London was still quiet and dark, hiding a way back to a spot in bed next to Cynthia in their family home.

“Macca, I told the driver to come, didn’t I? Where is he?” John huffed, his voice a shade uneven.

“You scheduled him to come when we were supposed to finish the session, and we were supposed to pull an all-nighter. He won’t be here for hours,” Paul tiredly made his way past John, onto the sidewalk. “Don’t drive yourself home, you’re in quite a state. That’s why I don’t take the rubbish, look what it’s done to you!”

Behind him, John nodded without a word. The solution seemed easy enough: Just wait for the driver to come. It made enough sense at the time.

When Paul glanced back and read that on the other man’s face, he groaned. Of course that wasn’t going to happen. Before he could refuse, John was roughly grabbed and pulled along for the short walk to Paul’s Cavendish home.

  John stumbled in Paul’s living room, similar to how he’s been stumbling along all night. They hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights, content with the moonlight pouring from the large window on the far wall. “I think you stole some of me gran’s knick-knacks,” he called to the unseen Paul, who’d gone into another room.  The long, glass vase of yellow daffodils lifted from the mantle dirtied John as he turned it in his hands. The stem seemed to bend between the water and the air. He knew that it was just some sort of refraction of light, but a spot in his brain nagged of something fantastic yet gleefully incomprehensible. The science teacher at Quarry Bank once tried to explain it to the class using all the proper words. John was busy watching the flower for the flower.

Paul’s entrance back into the homely living room was not acknowledged by John. He had just rediscovered the joy in watching the flower for the flower. Paul looked at him in that way again, as if John were a simple child and Paul were the adult. John shrunk at this misunderstanding, determined to change it tonight.

“D’you think this flower’s bent? The stem, I mean?” John held the vase up and spun it for effect as he found his way, sitting on a quaint coach.

“No, John,” Paul bit back a rude smile.

“Looks it though, doesn’t it?” John stuck the vase between them on a littered coffee table. The vase revolved in his fingers as he added, “But any gardener would tell you the water’s… well, it’s watering it, obviously. It’s letting it grow. There’s no real harm done. Just looks like it has a bad effect, is all.”

“Hm,” Paul wanted to roll his eyes.

“But to the untrained eye…” John went on lowly. “Let’s say you, Paul, you or me. To the average idiot, wouldn’t they be too afraid of what the water seems to be doing to the flower to realize all the good it does? I mean, it looks a little funny, but you look at the way it’s colours have all this great vibrance and psychedelia… The water makes it seem to bend, but it also makes it grow, doesn’t it? It’s a little scary at first, a little mind-numbing, but you’ve got to get over it, Paul. You’ve got to accept it and embrace it. At some point, anyway.”

There was a silence as Paul tittered, amused. John clicked his tongue and reached into his trouser pockets, throwing a metal pillbox onto the coffee table. Its occupants were made a bit too obvious by the psychedelic images painted on the cover. The hazy point or high metaphor or trippy comparison was thrown into the air, and Paul didn’t see much but rambling. He was too busy lighting a fag and sitting on the sofa to bother looking up at the clatter of John’s actions. There was no need to. That’s how he felt, anyway.

There was a chuckle from behind Paul’s cigarette smoke, saying, “You don’t know what you’re saying, you knob.”

“You don’t understand what I mean, Paul… You’ve not understood me for a while now,” John murmured, melting onto the floor, sitting in that peculiarly cross-legged way he often did.

“That’s not true,” Paul leaned in to find John’s avoidant eyes. “We’ve just written an album together, remember? You can’t do that with someone you don’t know, can you?”

John hummed in discontent, head in hand. It was no use fighting Paul. Paul held so much sense and responsibility and attentiveness that it sometimes felt like trying to argue with a professor. And John knew he was almost always wrong, anyway. As much as he wished him away, John still felt a watchful eye drilling into the side of his head.

The thick silence that enveloped them sickened Paul to his stomach. The ticks coming from the grandfather clock were the only ones making conversation. John fiddled his fingers and refused to lift his eyes from the floor, so the two drifted further and further apart.

Another sip of water drowned Paul’s worries before he stood, fished out one of the larger doses from John’s pillbox, and swallowed it in a gulp. It was all so accidental and delicate, Paul seemingly moving as a man possessed. John didn’t dare breathe, so as not to break the fragile balance. Taking his place beside John for the second time this night, Paul copied the other’s body and sat cross-legged, so close that they were practically on top of each other. It only became believable when John turned and found Paul’s kind eyes staring back at him. The silence seemed to turn to a harmonic hum and they finally faced each other, naked and vulnerable. Paul’s never felt his heartbeat melt with another’s like this before.

It was unclear if Paul was only hallucinating the stars in John’s eyes. Not that it mattered. All his worries turned to dust, if only for a moment.

A moment turned into many, and the hour hand of the clock moved faster than it ever had before. They’ve been staring at each other absurdly long now, locked there by a merciless force. The magnetism between them caused John’s hands to shake, trying to resist from immediately pulling Paul into him, to finally hold each other. He knew better than to reach for Paul, only allowing himself to brush against him. They sat there for almost enough time to grant John life-long euphoria, but not quite. He’d need an eternity more of Paul to be satisfied. It was an indescribable, unattainable pleasure.

Staring at Paul was like staring at the morning sky. It was breathing fresh air, it was tasting crisp fruit. It was something John hadn’t done in a long time. Paul’s eyes contained the universe, and John didn’t need anything else. He walked in and explored every crevasse, every curve, every reflection, and every bump because it was all-encompassing and all-important.

At some point, Paul broke the silence, saying, “When does it end?” His voice came from somewhere far off, his mouth out of focus. John was reminded of where he was.

“Depends,” John spoke deeply, delicately. A cryptic smile crawled onto his face. “For hours, at least. Hours and hours.”

Paul’s slow nod and anxious eyes made John feel a bit lighter. He’s finally letting go of a bit of that responsibility, he thought. They’re finally getting to be curious, half-hazardous children again, which hadn’t happened for a while. Not since before they realized they were a phenomena, at least.

Of course, Paul will always take that responsibility a bit better than John, who wanted to run away and drop it like a hot pan. John felt a bit powerless beside him, a bit more squat. That’s not how it used to be. During the dance they had, it seemed that John’s toes were always being stepped on. Paul knew how to dance, though. He could do it with a thousand birds at three in the morning, but touching his best mate’s hand and meaning it just didn’t come as easily.

John was about to grab Paul’s wrist to desperately pull him into his own wonderful universe. Before he had the chance, Paul stood and stretched his neck awkwardly, consciously. He said sheepishly, “I’ve got to walk into the garden, for my well-being.” John felt transported into the middle of an Arctic night and Paul pushed open the sliding door, stepping into his familiar but John’s unknown. The latter sat there, pushing his knees into his chest, back to the garden. It was a bit shameful to already wonder when Paul will come back in. He cursed himself for being so helpless and surrendering himself to someone who just left, even for only a second. The world was directionless without Paul’s eyes.

John turned his attention around the living room again, dizzy from all the eye contact. It felt unnervingly just out of the realm of familiarity. In Mimi’s house, there’d be small, endearing trinkets strewn all over the home. As strict as she was, in some ways, Mimi was as funny as John. Eccentrically painted china, unknowable wooden figures, and enigmatic paintings mixed with the standard, suburban design of the building and its furniture. Then, the globby Sgt. Peppers poster, painted especially for the upcoming album, would come into sight. Sgt Peppers was Paul’s idea in the first place, of course. It reminded John that Paul owns every inch of this house. It felt as though Paul was controlling every floorboard and every edge of plaster, which John was intruding on. Burying his head between his knees, John screwed his eyes tight, waiting for the return of a warm presence.

When paisley shapes just began to swirl into his dark vision, John heard the glass sliding open again and felt the night wind rush around him. He waited until he could lift his eyes again, for footsteps to come in and kneel in front of him and comfort him. Instead, Paul’s stare on the down-trodden John made the room unbearably stuffy rather than safe. John waited. There was a throb of the stars. A pulse of flowing blood. A beat of silence. Then, a thud of the door shutting again.

John became hyper-aware of his state: A heavy breath out of the nose. Dry mouth. Shaking, but only as roughly as the grass sways. At the very least, John could still clearly see the outline of his shoes in the darkness. So he stayed frozen, waiting for the only knight he’s ever known. He became aware of how alone he was.

Eventually, Paul would come back inside. Only for moments. Not to resume what they had before. They’d sit around, moving like slugs, trying to explore all the shapes in their sight. Across from each other, not at each other. Paul stretched himself as if he was trying to contact everything in the house. John sat closed off and tight to himself, like a coil. Soon enough, Paul’d excuse himself and step into the garden. John didn’t turn and look into the glass to see what the other was doing, knowing it’d be silly to be that desperate. There were no acknowledgments at Paul’s comings and goings. He’d dissolve into and out of the scene and John would become emptier every time.

It was hard to distinguish between the times John felt loved and the times he felt distant. Often, Paul would sit beside him, right beside him, only just touching, and something would flow between them. John would feel a little less cold and he’d come closer to saying what he needed, “Touch me.” Paul was tired, but he was there for him. That is, until he wasn’t and he had to go excuse himself to the garden. It was completely understandable. In the garden, there was no underlier and Paul didn’t need to feel as if he were about to confront something. Yet John still felt like a girl left at the doorstep without a goodnight’s kiss. After an inconclusive amount of time, Paul would come in and sit just out of focus and their wavelengths would begin to overlap. The whole thing would start again and John was too distracted to make it into anything more.

Once, on another indefinite cycle, Paul came in sat cross-legged right in front of him. There was no reason why, just as there was no reason why John’s breath hitched in his throat. He couldn’t help but let it happen and stare back into the abyss. It felt good just to see him. Superficially, of course. Paul is the beauty in life. Not the stars, which John abandoned hours ago. Lifetimes ago.

“You’re beautiful, y’know,” John simpered after noticing the way Paul’s lashes curled above his eyes. It was one of the clearest things that were said in the hours of quiet and occasional murmuring. It was one of the most transparent things John still needed to work up the courage to admit. “Used to tease you about it. You, being the Cute Beatle. I used to get jealous of it, of all the birds you’d pull ‘n all the love you got. But, they were right about you. I understand it now.”

“Hm.” Paul’s mouth barely opened at all as he said, “You still do. You still tease.”

John laughed airily, despite himself. He didn’t mind that Paul just said almost nothing in the face of a hefty confession, albeit an obvious one. There was a clouded vision of a boyish face childishly hiding behind a mustache, responsibility, fame, and success. But he would always reveal himself when he laughed. It made John’s world shine. That’s why John didn’t mind when Paul smiled back at him, glossy-eyed and non-processing, unchanging. There was a love that John felt bubbling up within him, tearing out the things that used to make him hesitate.

It was a love that didn’t need to hurt. But of course, like many things in his life, it often did. Perhaps because of his own doing. Sometimes it left John floating on cloud nine, feeling as if life was beautiful… until the trip was over and John was back on Earth, the stars gone from the sky. He’d glance over and Paul would be staring at him, confused because he never lifted his feet off the ground.

But John started to believe that Paul had finally caught up to him, just now. He believed that someone had finally seen life as he did. It was so perfect that John didn’t stop himself from gripping one of Paul’s wrists, pulling him towards him a millimetre at a time. Their breaths were intermingling and hot. There was more intimacy than with any girl either had ever picked up at 1 AM. Paul’s eyes widened and started bouncing back and forth between John’s face and his own helpless wrist, but this was ignored. John let his body lean forward and close his eyes, their noses bumping, his thoughts so clear and confident under Paul’s alluring spell.

Then he felt Paul’s wrist tug back, very gently. Gently wanting to escape John.

When John opened his eyes, jumping back to reality, Paul wasn’t facing him. He was staring at the carpet, silent, his lips pulled into a tight line. It was impossible to read his downturned eyes. John wanted to mumble an apology. Nothing came out. It would do no good to try and contact Paul, as they were now a million miles apart.

Sitting there in the room that’d just turned freezing, the two pretended the other wasn’t there. The more John thought of it, the less he could breathe. John didn’t allow himself to do as he needed, not anymore. That would mean doing something stupid, like saying, “Please, I’m sorry.” or “Please, don’t leave me.” or “What did I do wrong?” What was Paul supposed to say to that? John had snapped out of his delusions. It felt terrible.

“Well, I think I’d better get to bed now,” Paul whispered after some time. This sentence made John’s world stop turning. It confirmed that he did ruin everything. That his desires were destructive, unearned.

As Paul picked himself off the ground, their thoughts became dissonant. Paul handled himself carefully as if every limb were made of lead. His legs lifted him up the steps to his bedroom, going further into the inky darkness, further from John. John followed the pinpoint of Paul’s soul, bobbing up and down upon the stairs, leaving him behind. It was a deliberate process. He waited, foolishly, for Paul to turn and say, “You’re goin’ to get lonely, y’know. Let’s get to bed.” But Paul left him, muttering something about the guest room. Something else important missed John’s ears as he was busy trying to bear the steadily lifeless atmosphere. Those four or five or six-hundred hours they spent together had crumbled.

“Paul?” John said, and the creaking of the steps stopped. “You won’t sleep.”

From midway up the stairs, Paul said, “…I know that. I’ve still got to go to bed, John.” The creaks hadn’t resumed, not yet. John swallowed thickly. What could be said to get Paul to turn around? It was true that they’d better stop. That was a lot of fun, now Paul knew he had to go and sleep this off. That was the difference: Paul knew when to stop, but John wanted to hang on to it all for as long as he could, even if it was long gone.

“Paul,” John’s feeble voice echoed through the halls. “Don’t go. I think… I think I need you. Not just for tonight. I think I… ” The end of his sentence refused to come out of his mouth.

Paul hesitated, believing this is just a hallucination. John didn’t finish, John didn’t stand up. John did nothing that could be construed as concrete or sincere.

“John, you don’t need me, you never did. I’ve got to sleep this off, it’s wasted me,”  a far-off voice answered. ”I think you’ve got to sleep it off, too. It’s getting to you.” He sounded drained and exhausted, matching the mood.

And then in an instant, John was alone. Alone, because that was his natural state. His proper state. It was no surprise anymore, considering all John does. He took the kindness Paul offered and he twisted it into something he knew he didn’t deserve.

When Paul came downstairs in the late morning, there was a boy unconscious on his couch. There was a sense of normalcy. It was easy to pretend it was just like any other lazy morning because Paul thought of only the morning. The boy radiated innocence. As long as John doesn’t stand and try to explain and excuse everything, it’d be okay.

Paul knew he shouldn’t let John stay much longer, yet he began to brew tea for the two anyway. Paul knew that he should stray away from the man, but he set down a mug and began to shake John awake nonetheless. It was always obvious it’d be best to stray from John. That never stopped Paul before.

John heard a soft “Good morning” before he could process anything else. Opening his eyes with a smile, he saw his best friend standing over him, and he was safe. The night before had not yet set into his mind. For now, it was calm and it was good. We’re better off this way, Paul thought, choosing every word. If we just forget it ever happened, we’ll be okay. John made it easy for you to wish you’d never met him, but you could ignore that thought. It just meant ignoring a part of John as well.

 ~

“There’s something disturbing about it. You ask yourself, ‘How do you come back from it? How do you then lead a normal life after that?’ And the answer is, you don’t.”

[manako-no-yami]

a kindness

Rating: T Relationship(s): DazAtsu Tags: Major Character Death, Suicide, Angst Summary:

“Eventually, whether or not we like it, all of our successes and failures will amount to nothing more than dust in the wind. Everything you hate, everything you love. In the end, it all will be wiped clean.”

“I guess…you’re right.” It’s Dazai-san, after all. When has Dazai been wrong? “But I think people’s feelings are still important. Even if in the future no one will remember and no one will care, people don’t have a choice but to live, and to feel.”

for day 4 of @dazaimultishipweek2019!

-

“Atsushi-kun.” Atsushi looks up, tilting his head.

“What do you think is man’s greatest tragedy?”

Atsushi settles down next to Dazai, folding his legs beneath himself, and thinks for a moment. Man’s greatest tragedy? Meaning…the saddest thing that can happen to a person?

“I think it’s…to be alone. To be alone, and forgotten.” To be alone again...for no one, not even the other Agency members, to acknowledge that he exists and that he’s alive… Just the thought sobers him, makes him want to curl up into a ball.

“That’s right. To be forgotten.” Dazai smiles ruefully. “But everyone is forgotten, eventually. It may take longer for some than others, but eventually all will fall victim to obscurity. That’s man’s greatest tragedy—and our greatest relief.”

Dazai looks calm, at peace in the soft light of a sunset. Inscrutable. A strange feeling wells inside of Atsushi, something that he can’t place.

“But what do you mean by that, Dazai-san?”

 -

Atsushi looks around the office, holding a stack of files.

“Where’s Dazai-san?” He asks.

Kunikida lets out a derisive snort.

“Off being Dazai, probably.”

Atsushi opens his mouth, ready to ask, Shouldn’t we look for him? but then thinks again, and remains silent.

After all, how many times has Dazai done this? Pulled a disappearing act, run off to who-knows-where to do who-knows-what, only to reappear later that week, none the wiser? Atsushi sets the files down on his desk, and gets to work organizing them. He glances over to his left, where Dazai’s desk sits, empty, and tries to ignore the paranoia clenching in his gut.

 -

“Nothing, really. Just that, eventually, whether or not we like it, all of our successes and failures will amount to nothing more than dust in the wind. Everything you hate, everything you love. In the end, it all will be wiped clean.”

Atsushi rocks back, tilting his head to look at the sky.

“I guess…you’re right.” It’s Dazai-san, after all. When has Dazai been wrong? “But I think people’s feelings are still important. Even if in the future no one will remember and no one will care, people don’t have a choice but to live, and to feel.”

“‘ And that’s what it means to be human ’...is that right?”

Atsushi looks down at where his fingers are twisted in his lap.

“That’s what I think, at least.”

Dazai hums thoughtfully.

“‘ No choice ’, huh…I suppose that’s an interesting thought in its own right.”

“What do you think, Dazai-san?”

Dazai gazes expressionlessly at the city lights.

“About what it means to be human?”

Atsushi nods.

“I think…you’re better off asking someone else, Atsushi-kun.”

 -

As the day wears on, Atsushi gets more and more agitated.

“Hey, brat,” Kunikida says. “Are you paying attention?”

Atsushi jerks upright.

“Huh? Oh! Yes, sorry, Kunikida-san. I’m paying attention. Could you repeat that, please?”

Kunikida sighs.

“If you need me to repeat it, that means you weren’t paying attention.”

“…Sorry, Kunikida-san.”

Kunikida pinches his nose. “Listen, you need to stop spacing out like that. All Agency members should be on top of their duties, follow the rules, and uphold the collective good image with the best of their ability at all times. I know you look up to him and that he’s your mentor, but don’t be like Dazai, that guy is a terrible example. Instead, you need to—”

“Now, now, Kunikida,” Yosano interrupts. “I think it’s just been a long day. Atsushi is just a little tired, yes?”

Atsushi gulps.

“N-no, I’m fine, I can still work—”

“Don’t be silly, you’re worried, aren’t you? Kunikida, let him go. None of those things are pressing matters at the moment, anyway.”

Kunikida flounders.

“But—”

“Atsushi, go on now. You can leave for today, I’ll deal with this guy.”

Atsushi looks between a fuming Kunikida and an unruffled Yosano, and slowly stands up.

He gives them a small bow, a quiet “have a good day,” and is out the door before the minute is up.

 -

“Atsushi.”

“Yes, Dazai-san?”

“I think you should know…your senpai is a very tragic person.”

Atsushi laughs lightly.

“I think you’re a very dramatic person, Dazai-san. But if you say so.”

Dazai chuckles.

“I suppose you’re right about that.”

Atsushi squints a little as a gust of wind blows past them, making his eyes water. He holds his hand up to block it, and through the gaps of his fingers the last dying rays of sunlight glimmer, before the sun sinks below the city’s skyline.

“Atsushi-kun,” Dazai says again.

After a pause, Atsushi turns to look at him, quizzically.

“What is it?”

“Atsushi-kun, someday…” Dazai sighs and lies down on his back, head pillowed by his hands, and closes his eyes. “Someday, you’ll forget me, too.”

 -

It’s one of his favorite places to walk. In hindsight, he wonders if that’s why Dazai chose it.

The riverbank, where he first met Dazai. Where he thought he was going to die, and decided not to. Where Dazai had thought he’d go to die, and then didn’t.

It’s the perfect time of day, too. Sunset. The sky glows pink and orange, and the water reflects it in fluid shapes. The sound of the water rushing fills his ears, and Atsushi takes in a deep breath of fresh air.

He notices a group of people collected near one of the riverbanks, whispering and chattering amongst themselves. Curious, he walks closer to see what they’re pointing at.

 -

Something in Atsushi freezes, stiffens. The lights around them begin to flicker on as darkness takes over, and the wind suddenly feels much colder. Biting.

“No,” he hears himself say, firmly. “No, I won’t. I could never forget you, Dazai-san.”

How could he even say that? Think that?

“As long as I live, I’ll never forget you, and what you’ve done for me.”

I love you, he wants to say, but he doesn’t.

Somehow, Dazai seems to hear it anyway.

“You just feel that way because I rescued you. But you forget, Atsushi-kun, that there are other good people out there. People much better than I. If it’s the goodness of that action that fuels you, know that it doesn’t come from a goodness in my person.”

Atsushi wants to leap onto his feet and shake him. He wants to grab his hand. He wants to lie next to him, close enough that when they look each other in the eyes, they can taste each other’s breath.

What’s the difference between a bad person doing good things, and a good person doing good things? Why must Dazai make that distinction? Why does it feel like sometimes, he’s the only one who sees the light that shines inside of Dazai?

“But it wasn’t someone else, Dazai-san…it was you.”

And it will always be you, he thinks.

 -

At first, it doesn’t register. He blinks, staring at the rope dangling from the top of the bridge, the way the shoes drag limply across the surface of the current.

His first thought is, Is this a joke?

His next thought is, Is this a set-up by the Port Mafia to throw us off their trail?

He doesn’t realize he’s stumbling past the group of people until the shock of the coldness of the water seeping through his pants stirs him from his trance. He stands there for a period of time, he’s not sure how long, the cold current brushing past him, simply staring in complete incomprehension. He thinks he whispers his name.

“Hey, kid,” Someone says, and tugs his arm. “Kid, did you know that guy?”

Did he know him? Of course he knew him. Those bandage-covered wrists. Those hands. That coat, that shirt. The dark brown hair. The pants, the shoes, everything.

Of course he knew him.

He’s being tugged out of water, back onto the bank, hands gently steadying him as he sways on his feet.

This can’t be real, right? This can’t be real. Absolutely not.

None of this is real.

“This isn’t happening,” he murmurs to himself. “Dazai-san, this isn’t happening, right?”

But then he remembers what Dazai had told him.

 -

“You are too kind, Atsushi-kun. One day, that kindness will hurt you. When that day comes, you’re better off hating me,” Dazai whispers, eyes distant.

“Or forgetting me, like everyone else.”

 -

Atsushi knees weaken. Everything is blurred, coming together, converging as tears collect in his eyes and begin to drip down his face. His palms scrape the pavement as he collapses. The image of the rope swaying, dark brown hair swinging in the wind, bandages unravelling around limp wrists and trailing through the water is branded in his eyes.

He can hardly breathe around the tightness in his throat.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

“But I can’t,” he sobs. “I can’t, Dazai-san. I just can’t.”