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sweetestlamb · 3 years

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No Tears Left To Cry

Summary: The hormones rage on as our favorite angsty couple tries to navigate this new layer of their relationship.

Author's note: It’s been a while but there hasn’t been a day I haven’t thought of these twos and their mishaps. Summer break is getting closer for me and I truly want to continue this story for as long as possible, into their college years and adulthood and maybe even babies and all that jazz. Anyway thank you soooo much for my fighters in that sacred chat who give me nothing but positive energy and support, but special thanks to @serxeins who is always the first to comment and shower me with support. It means a lot, I can’t believe people are still reading this honestly, it feels like True Beauty ended forever ago but y’all are still here rocking with me. Now, without further ado I give you Junjin in lust and pain.

"You're in a good mood today." He tries very hard to stop the spread of the smile on his face from growing wider but it's futile completely useless, as soon as that pretty smile and those hypnotic eyes flash in his mind he's a goner. Love drunk on the mere memory of Sujin. Her lips on his own still swimming in his thoughts and shoving all other inklings to the side, there is nothing but her and her body pressed tightly against his as they devour each other. It was messy and uncoordinated but it was without a doubt the best kiss he had ever received.

He was probably her first and he can’t stop the pride that surges at that thought.

I’ll be the first and the last.

"I had a good day." He answers the new worker simply sharing none of the thoughts flooding his head, the owner of the café had finally given in and hired someone to replace Jukyeong after she had quit to pursue makeup full time. It was weird to have someone new there, but at the same time he was extremely proud of her for going after what she wanted. It was about time, he was tired of catching her watching videos on YouTube in the break room and even more tired of her trying to practice the perfect cat eye winged liner on him. Her cries of his eyes being the perfect shape falling on deaf ears. There was no way he was allowing that, he still had a reputation to uphold.

"Girlfriend?" He glances over at the younger boy, they had spoken cordially here and there since he started working here but this was deeper than they had ever gone and he wasn't sure if he was ready to share that much with someone he barely knew. Knew firsthand how damaging gossip could be.

This is between him and Sujin and nobody else.

And this thought makes him start to think critically about their relationship- how complicated and confusing it is and then he realizes with terrifying clarity that he's never officially asked her out. He's hers and he desperately wants her to be his, but beyond the kiss there has been nothing concrete, no words to turn this dream into a reality.

Will you go out with me?

Do people still ask that question or is that considered old fashioned? Does their kiss mean that they're together now? He has no idea how to bring this topic up without painfully embarrassing himself in front of Sujin and it takes a long minute for him to shake from his reprieve and notice that Dosan is still waiting for his reply.

"There's someone special." He leaves it at that and gratefully the other boy doesn't pry, humming as if he understands and cheerfully greeting a customer leaving him to zone out before he hears a familiar voice, a sneer turns the corner of his lip down completely eradicating the smile that was once there.

"I don't need coffee. I'm here to talk to him."

Without pause he tugs the apron over his head, shaking his hair back into place before folding the thick cotton and shoving it in a cubby.

He nods to Dosan briskly, "I'm taking lunch I'll be back in 20," the other boy watches him with wide curious eyes but nods in reply and he walks out of the café certain that he's being followed. He walks further turning a corner until the café is no longer in sight, then he spins around and his teeth clench from the greasy smirk he sees on that scumbag's face.

He shoves his fists in his pocket to prevent himself from driving them into that smeary face.

"You don't look happy to see me. That hurts." Baekyung tuts mockingly, his smile growing wider until he’s looking almost overjoyed and he has to hold on the thin reigns of his control.

"Why are you here?" He has an idea but he wants to confirm his suspicions, Sujin's rejection and another failed attempt to push him away fresh in his mind. The sting still bruising his heart.

"To see this. Your face after losing the thing you want most. It was only a matter of time, she's min-"

He feels when it snaps and he's brutally shoving the other boy into a wall in the alley, his arm tight across the other boys chest.

Thing.

That was what he used to refer to Sujin, as she was just a toy for them to fight over and it makes him reel with pure unaltered hatred for the boy in front of him.

After recovering from having the wind knocked out of him, Baekyung is all smiles again. He desperately wants to knock it off his face.

"Are you going to hit me?" There it is. The tone of the other boy's voice sends a chill down his back. It's enough to force him to let go, retreating far from the other boy. Baekyung sounds elated at the prospect, even rising his chin in a move that's too eager and accepting. He stares at the other boy in unbridled shock finally understanding what's going on.

He had suspected all along, that there was more to the other boy’s story.

His unexplained anger, his entitlement and almost obsessively claim on Sujin. All the times he claimed that Seojun would never understand them, the puzzle unblurs and he knows what he’s looking at now. It looked like a monster, acted like one and hurt others like one, but he can finally see clearly now. The other boy was just another victim, who had decided to hurt others instead of hurt himself. It makes the anger inside him simmer away into a vapid nothingness.

"You want me to hit you. That's why you're here." The smile finally slides off Baekyung's face, but he doesn't stop there raising his voice, "You feel bad don't you? Sujin's she's different from you and you hated that. She's ready to fight and it makes you sick because you're not that strong. You wanted her to stay complacent because it would make you feel better. She told me everything. Your words did nothing but bring us closer, she trusts me and knows she's not alone. Ever. I'm not going to hit you. This is what you deserve, I won't give you an easy way out."

The taller boy flinches at his carefully chosen words, and he nods in confirmation knowing everything he said was true.

He starts to walk away. This isn't worth his time, he already knows where Sujin wants to be and has seen that she's willing to fight for what she wants. This is beneath their bond, what they have is stronger than all obstacles they might encounter.

He's unprepared for the loud cracking cry behind him, it momentarily stops him in his tracks.

"You'll never understand! You're not like us at all you have everything, your life is perfect! You'll never understand Sujin like I do! You have a mom that loves you. What do we have?"

He can't help the rush of sympathy that swells up at the other boy's inadvertent confession. Sujin hadn't told him that, not so plainly but he had figured it out on his own. Noting all the different things the other teen had cried that he would never understand Sujin.

It's another reason why he was unable to strike the other boy. He couldn't bring himself to be anything like those cowards who bullied and tormented others.

He turns back with a sigh, "I know I'll never understand Sujin completely, I don't need that she is her own person. But have you ever asked yourself why you're trying so hard to keep her caged when you know exactly what she's going through? Why does her wanting more make you so angry? Do you even care about her happiness or do you just want someone to suffer with?"

Cold droplets drop on his forehead and by the time he's peering up a heavy sheet of rain is pouring down on them without any warning.

When he looks back Baekyung's face is wet. He chooses to believe it's from the rain but the agony on his face makes it hard to pretend. It feels wrong to be witnessing this, so without another word he turns around, walking away for good.

The café is empty when he gets back but he's not surprised, they only get a few regulars on a good day and rain is known to keep people inside.

Dosan doesn't ask any prying questions but he does shoot him a inquisitive look, he pretends not to see him once again not in the mood to bare his inner thoughts to a stranger.

Instead it drives him to do something stupid.

He sends it before he can second guess himself and then hides his phone from himself and gets back to work, wiping down takes no one will use and wondering what Sujin of doing right now and if she'll smile that cute shy smile when she gets his message.

I miss you babe.

"Mom! I'm home!" Gowoon yells out tugging her wet boots off and tumbling into her house, the smell of bean paste stew wafting through the air and making her stomach grumble in anticipation.

She makes a beeline for the kitchen, looking left and right before sneakily getting a spoon and quietly opening the steaming pot. But just as she's about to bring the spoon to her eagerly waiting lips she hears a voice, "No wonder your mom told me to watch the soup."

She almost jumps before turning around to see who is behind her.

"Unnie!" She cries flying across the kitchen to hug the other girl, smiling when her embrace is readily accepted. She only remembers after that she's wet afterwards and pulls away with apologies on her tongue, but Sujin waves them off smiling gently at her.

Sujin-unnie is so pretty, breathtakingly so. There are countless boys who like her but she never sees the girl around any of her admirers, seemingly oblivious to all the attention she's garnering. She would be jealous of the other girl's effortless beauty if she wasn't beautiful inside too. Always willing to stand up for someone and fearlessly charging into danger to protect those she seemed worthy. For some reason she was lucky enough to be on that list of people although she was a nobody. It still feels surreal that she's allowed to call the other girl by such a familiar name.

"Gowoon ah? You look a million miles away, what are you thinking about?"

Without hesitation she responds honestly, "How beautiful you are."

It's the first time she's ever seen Sujin blush and it's so cute she can't contain her squeal, smiling brightly at the older girl.

"Unnie, what are you doing here though?"

Sujin looks like a deer caught in the headlights at her innocuous question and immediately she regrets it but it's her mother's voice that answers her question in the end.

"I dragged her here after finding her in the rain. Bean paste stew tastes better when you eat it with a lot of people. Enough questions now, go wash up so we can all eat when your brother gets home." It's only then that she realizes that Sujin is wearing one her brother's old sweaters, one from the donation box that they hadn't yet got around to delivering to the local shelter. The huge sweater is paired with her skirt from school, forming an outfit that only Kang Sujin could make fashionable.

Her unnie really is the coolest.

She nods at her mom's order, bouncing off to her bedroom to change into comfortable clothes. Minutes later when she hears the front door open, she knows that it has to be Seojun, so she races out to greet him first.

"Oppa! You're finally home!" He looks taken back by her greeting, lifting an eyebrow at her in question.

"Why are you being so nice? What do you want?"

She cries in fake offense, pouting and hitting him in the chest.

He recoils in pain screaming in a most unmanly fashion, "Hey! Watch the goods, this is what keeps the girls coming back you know."

She grimaces in disgust, sticking out her tongue ready to make a rebuttal but Seojun is no longer looking at her, eyes locked over her shoulder and his face contorting through a slideshow of emotions from shock to regret all in a blink of an eye. She looks over her shoulder in confusion, catching Sujin's eyes narrowed in an unreadable emotion before it washes away.

"Your mom said to tell you both to come eat."

She expects her brother to react similarly to her, and ask the other girl what she's doing here. That question never comes thought instead he throws up his arms and starts stuttering out, "I-I was just joking! There are no girls, there are definitely no girls!"

"What?" She replies having no idea what's wrong with him but he's paying no attention to her now, trailing after Sujin who's walking back to the kitchen looking like she belongs here, with them.

Watching their retreating back she wonders if she's missing something.

Something huge.

With a nonchalant shrug she follows them into the kitchen, too hungry to play detective.

She blacked out.

That's the only way she can describe it, after running out of Suho's place her mind went blank and when she resurfaced she was outside of his apartment. With no memory of going there, her body operating on autopilot.

She hadn't even realized it was raining until suddenly the drops weren't hitting her anymore.

"You're getting wet. Come inside dear."

It was Seojun's mom.

Instantly her body was warmed at the voice and once again her body was moving without her permission, up the elevator, through the door, into a change of clothes and now sitting at the table and eating dinner with them.

She's too numb to feel the full brunt of her embarrassment.

So she slurps at the delicious soup instead, not ready to face the swirling whirlpool of her emotions at least not yet.

His eyes are heavy on her skin, had been since he followed her into the room. Her annoyance at his earlier statement had already faded away, it was hard to be jealous of some imaginary girls when she was the one here in his sweater eating with his family, with his eyes burning through her skin.

With the memory of his text message making her insides squirm.

Another nickname and she had none for him, was too awkward to get the affectionate names to even wrap around her tongue. What would she even sound like calling him baby or honey? She was too embarrassed to find out so she hadn’t replied, just took the butterflies that fluttered in her belly at his brazen message.

Then more memories assault her.

It was only hours ago that they were outside tangled and panting against the wall, his hands hot on her waist and her neck, his tongue hot in her mouth.

Stop it.

She screams at herself, scared of her own thoughts. The shock and anger of seeing her mother hasn't worn off, not the slightest. But seeing him lights a different flame and she has no clue how to deal with the warring emotions in her body.

So she drinks more soup.

Absently listening to their conversation, it's sweet and domestic and makes her ache like there's a gaping hole in her chest.

"Do you like the soup?"

She waits for someone to answer, but it's silent and only then does she lift her head and realize that the inquiry was directed at her.

Oh.

She always forgot that she was allowed to be a part of this. She wasn't just an outsider looking in.

"It's delicious." She answers, voice small.

The older woman smiles appreciatively at her before turning to her daughter and she's off the hook, or so she thinks but then she feels a hand on her naked leg and it's only years of repressing herself that stop her from jumping out of her chair.

"What are you doing?" She hisses at him, too quiet to be overhead and continuing to eat to dissuade further suspicion.

"You were trembling. I wanted to warm you up." He whispers back just as discreetly and her whole body heats up at his words, wordless at his bold declaration.

She has no reply. Nothing besides beating fire with fire.

Finding courage she wasn't aware she had, she places her own hand on his thigh higher than he dared to explore. Preening when he actually does jump and pushes away from the table, admitting defeat earlier than she had expected.

She had barely even touched him, why was he so jumpy?

Both his mother and sister look at him with large eyes and she has to stifle a giggle when he lies about forgetting to do his homework and disappears into his room.

She sips innocently at her soup. Enjoying the warmth and the savory broth.

Before she knows it, the meal is done and Gowoon is traipsing to the living room most likely to watch whatever drama has captured her attention this time.

"It's time for The Noona Next Door Who Buys Me Grilled Steak!” The girl answers her accidentally happily skipping off.

She doesn't follow the other girl, shaking her head at yet another ridiculously specific title that tells her everything she needs to know about the show.

Wordlessly she starts to clean up the table, but almost instantly a small hand halts her action.

"Don't worry about that dear, you're the guest. Junnie will take care of that when he's done ‘doing his homework.’ " She says the last part with air quotes and she tries her hardest not to react, but a bubble of laughter escapes.

The older woman smiles easily back, suddenly looking tired and reminding her that the woman was just in a hospital bed only weeks ago. Feeling selfish she implores, "Are you feeling better now?"

"I'm doing great. Thank you for asking, you don't need to worry about me."

It's already too late, she can't turn off the worrying she has for this entire family.

"I'm happy you're okay." She stills at the warm hand on her cold fingers and suddenly the day comes crushing back.

She feels exhausted.

And she has nowhere to go.

"Of course you'll stay here. It's a storm outside. You'll stay in Seojun's room."

She freezes at the offer, had she said those words out loud? She hadn't meant to.

Then she crystallizes further at the scandalous offer, heat rising under her collar until she's certain that her face is as red as a tomato.

Stay in Seojun's room.

The war rages on and suddenly images of them on his bed fill her head and she can feel his pillow beneath her head as he peers down at her, bracketing her in and slowly leaning down to kiss her, pushing his tongue into her--

"And he will sleep here on the couch."

She feels as if she's going to burst from the torrential emotional hurricane ravaging her body and instead of declining she feels her head nodding in agreement.

I'm such an idiot.

The apartment is eerily quiet, Gowoon had hugged her good night easily accepting that she was sleeping over, and then her mother had patted her on the back making her eyes water when she pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. She'd barely heard the goodnight that followed.

She doesn't know what to do now. Seojun never came back after their moment at the table, she has no clue what that means and if she should be worried. Had she done something wrong?

Leaning down onto to couch she rolls herself into a ball, tugging off the throw that hung over the back of the couch and using it to cover her, thankful that it’s big enough to sufficiently cover her body.

Fatigue finds her as soon as her head hits the cushion and this is the reason that she misses the creaking of a door opening and soft footsteps crossing the room. She almost jumps out of her skin when she feels a sudden weight on the couch right beside her feet.

"Are you staying over?" Her skin pebbles at the deep timber of his voice, the lowing sound cutting through the splatter of rain landing on the window outside.

"I can't go back to Suho's." Her mother's pathetic face stains her eyelids and force her to open her eyes. She isn't expecting him to be so close, sitting on the floor with his face right beside her own.

She wants to kiss him.

The idea is so immediate that she doesn't even know how to deal with it.

So she just decides to accept it. She needs a distraction, an escape from her reality.

She starts to lean forward, eyes locked on his lips inching closer and closer and when they're only centimeters apart she closes her eyes again.

Expecting to feel electricity shooting up and down her body. To feel the current when his lips touch hers and everything in the universe finally makes sense.

But she feels nothing. Just air. Peeling her eyes open, this time she's eye level with his knee and before she can ask him what he's doing, beg him to kiss her until her mind shuts off he's bending over, slipping his hands under her body and lifting. She's too stunned to do anything but let herself be lifted and then carried, her arms instinctively curling around his neck.

His beautiful tempting neck that's dangerously close.

She presses one hot kiss against it, inhaling deeply when he groans at the peck.

"Stop." He sounds breathless and she's tempted to do it again but she reigns herself in, feeling weightless in his strong arms as he carries her to his room, the door clicking resolutely behind them.

He hadn't meant to stay in his room for that long. Her touching him back took him to their kiss in the hallway and if he stayed any longer everybody would know that he was having impure thoughts, thus he had run like a dog with it’s tail between its legs. Once alone he'd taken a cold shower but it did nothing to stop his thoughts, images of her in his sweater and her hand on his thigh gripping him as he stood naked under the onslaught on the water pouring from the shower head.

The urge coiling in his blood. An urge he had been finding it harder and harder to resist lately.

He wanted to. So damn badly it made his head spin but he couldn't, not with her right outside.

There was no way he would be able to look her in the eyes after doing that so close to her, so he forced himself to only shower ignoring his bodily desires..

But after the shower he'd been too scared to go back out. He didn't have control of himself yet, it was too soon. Everything she did egged him on and fueled his fantasies so he decided to stay hidden, she would be gone soon enough. She had never slept over before.

Then Suho's messages shocked him into action.

Is Sujin with you?

Is she okay?

Tell her I'm sorry. I didn't think she would react that way. It's my fault. I wasn't thinking.

He didn't bother to text back instead calling the other boy to hear exactly what he'd done and what he was sorry for.

Suho was as frantic as he'd ever heard him but eventually he got the truth out of him and suddenly he felt like the biggest piece of shit on the planet. While he'd been perving on her and hiding away like a coward she'd been suffering all night and he had no idea.

He didn't even deserve to be her boyfriend.

So he goes to her and he knows what she's trying to do when she tries to kiss him and he's so tempted to just let her, maybe they both need this...

But in the end he stands up, he can't let his hormones take control. This isn't what she needs, and he refuses to be a distraction, not now when he knows he wants to be her everything.

Carrying her to his bedroom is a spur of the moment decision and he expects more of a fight, it's Sujin after all. But he's shocked when she folds into him like she's starved for his touch and is further flabbergasted when she presses a mind numbing kiss to his throat.

It takes Herculean strength to tell her to stop when his body especially one particular organ is screaming, go go go.

He eases her down onto his bed and groans because he knows he'll never get that torturous image of of his mind. Her hair spills across his pillow and he wants desperately to bury his face in it and breathe her in, he draws away before he succumbs and does just that.

"Kiss me."

She looks like sin, squirming on his sheets in his sweater her bare legs peeking out from the short skirt and he retreats quickly, but not fast enough because she's latching onto his shoulders and dragging him back to her. He tries to fight it but she's so strong and he can feel his own strength melting under her seductive stare. She tugs him down powerfully and he feels his arms collapsing but at the last moment he juts his head to the side, her lips landing on his cheeks instead.

She lets out a long suffering and impatient sigh before hissing out, "Why won't you kiss me? Why are you fighting this?"

He can detect the frustration in her voice but deeper down he can hear her fear too, the fear that he doesn't want her. Irrational and stupid. He twists out of her hold, laying beside her eyes pinned to the side of her face.

"Because I know this isn't about me. Or us. I want you. So badly. All the time."

She blushes prettily. He wants to taste it.

"Then why are you--"

"But not like this. Not when you're hurting and you just want a distraction. You know how I feel about you. Don't use that as a weapon against me okay?"

With a gasp she's turning to face him, he hides nothing and he watches as the frustration that was once there fades away and only hurt is left in its abandon.

When she opens her mouth and he can see the apologies in her eyes, he places a single digit against her lips.

"Don't say sorry. If you want to apologize let me hold you."

She stares at him like she's never seen him before, eyes wide and moist and for the first time he doesn't wait for her consent. He can't stand that lonely devastated look on her face, not when she's not alone because he will always be here beside her if she needs him.

Gentle as the wind, he wraps his arms around her pushing himself into her in lieu of dragging her to him.

I'm yours.

The move says and he hopes she can hear it too.

He starts to pat her back and lightly stroke her head, pressing his neck into her face and wrapping an arm around her waist and that's all it takes for her to start shaking in his arms. There are no tears but he can feel her sorrow in every harrowing inhale and exhale, in her fingers tightly gripping his night shirt. He rocks them back and forth, wishing he could drain all the pain from her body and absorb it into his own.

"Why can't she just disappear? Why appear in front of me when I've accepted that I don't have a mother. I have no one, I'm an orphan." Her voice is crushed ice and he wants to kiss her all over and tell her that she has him, will always have him and he loves her, loves her much that it frightens him because he's never loved anyone this much except his mother and sister but he doesn't say any of this. He can't.

This isn't about him. Or them.

This is about a girl who needs a mother and doesn't know if she'll ever have one.

He can't fix this and he won't try.

He simply holds her tight and lets her grieve.

Holding her until she falls asleep in his arms, her head on his chest. So close to that heart that already belongs to her. That is beating for her.

That is broken for her.

#true beauty #true beauty fix it #bmtl #junjin #I'm back #with more feels and more hormones #more action later this chapter was just about comfort #soft saturdays

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enviedear · 4 years

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the empty feeling → draco malfoy

DESCRIPTION ⌙ in which malfoy is consoled by a girl who can’t help but fall for him.

PAIRING ⌙ draco x fem!reader

WORD COUNT ⌙ 2.1k

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

you thought the reason your heart never fully recovered was because of the fact you had to see him everyday.

every single day you saw him. he was laughing, bickering, looking out a window, eating, reading, and in conversations. you couldn’t help but watch. you tried not to. you tried to make the love you had for him diminish. or maybe at least dull. it wouldn’t work.

you didn’t mean to fall in love with draco malfoy. however you did. your heart overruled your brain. at least when it came to him.

you think back to the day you knew you loved the slytherin boy. it was a foggy and rainy day that truly began at a slug club meeting.

“dreadful weather we’re having right, miss y/l/n?” slughorn asks you.

the rest of the slug club stares at you as you respond, “i quite like the rain. i get the best sleep when it rains.”

he nods and replies,”ah, just like your father. i remember he loved to listen the rain when he was your age. does he still listen? to the the rain, my dear?”

you didn’t want to talk about your father. not that you didn’t love the man, but you knew there wasn’t much you could indulge. he kept his work close to him and never really told you much. you knew slughorn would eventually lead the conversation to your fathers work.

“sometimes professor. he’s usually busy these days though.” you say, looking down at your ice cream.

busy because of people like zabini and crabbe’s parents. as you looked back up at slughorn you didn’t miss the sly look blaise gave you. you quickly turned your attention back to the professor.

“ah! i wouldn’t expect him not to be. amazing work your father does, making such simple objects into wands. you know my dear, i heard he turned a rusty old spoon into a very powerful wand!” slughorn boasts for you.

you smile as a response and allow the teacher to spark conversation with the other club members.

what slughorn forgets to add is that the wands your father has begun to produce are being used by many deatheater families. since the wands cannot be tracked, and are easy to pass off as illegitimate objects. they buy them for their children and it’s not as if your father or the ministry can do much about it.

plus, your father shouldn’t have to loose his job just because others take advantage of him. and even if he did make the damn things trackable that would be putting a target on his back.

as you mull over your thoughts slughorn stands and bids you all a goodnight. you politely tell the man night, and walk out of the room. you were going to head to the hufflepuff common room, but as you passed moaning myrtle’s bathroom you stopped in your tracks.

you heard crying. and the cries weren’t myrtle’s usual wails, but a boy’s. on further inspection you found that they also weren’t just any boys cries but, malfoy’s.

you slowly creeped into the abandoned bathroom, making sure to not alert malfoy that you were there.

he sat by the sinks and looked utterly distressed. his eyes a deep red. he looked completely broken. you’d never seen the boy like this. and it broke your own heart.

against your better judgement you cleared your throat to make yourself known.

he looked up at you, defeated.

you didn’t say anything as you bent down and gave the boy a hug. he didn’t say anything as he hugged you back. he just let his tears escape onto your shirt.

eventually he let you go. you didn’t have the slightest clue what to say. nothing seemed right.

“don’t tell a soul about this.” malfoy grimaced, getting to his feet.

you looked at him shocked, “i wasn’t. i-“ he cut you off with a scowl.

“draco you have to trust me. please i won’t say anything just.. take care of yourself.” you said.

he didn’t reply. he just walked out. leaving you confused.

after that day you couldn’t see draco malfoy as a nuisance. no, after that day you couldn’t help but to romanticize the boy. you didn’t think he bullied because he was hateful. no not at all. you thought he did it because he was lonely, sad, or upset. you found his worst qualities easy forgivable. you knew he was broken. but you also knew it wasn’t an excuse, you just couldn’t help it.

so you continued to watch him daily. eyeing him as much as you could. you began to love the way his face would turn into a sneer at the slighted inconvenience. you loved the way he held his cup. you loved the way he looked over his books. and for some reason you began hoping. hoping that maybe one day he would eye you too.

alas, the boy went and broke your heart by dating pansy. you knew it wasn’t done to be malicious. you knew he didn’t know about your feelings. you knew he was probably very happy with pansy and she with him.

though, you’d still find the boy in the bathroom on a regular basis and have to console him. each time you’d think he’d come around. each time he did not.

you kept hoping though. it proved you detrimental as you went from being a happy and loving person to someone who harbored far too much loathing. you couldn’t help it, you felt so cheated. how could you love and care for this boy and he not even say a word to you?

your friends noticed your behavior.

“y/n you’re taking out whatever is upsetting you on us. and you won’t even tell us what’s wrong.”

then your teachers.

“miss y/l/n your grades are slipping. and you’re not acting like yourself at all. is everything ok?”

then your sibling(s).

“i didn’t do anything to you, stop treating me like this y/n.”

and finally your parent(s).

“honey, are you sure everything is alright at school? you don’t have to go back if something is seriously wrong.”

you were better than before. you were finally home. you didn’t have to see the boy anymore. you didn’t have to be reminded of him every waking moment.

but still, you weren’t you.

you never told any of the people worried about you why exactly you weren’t ok. you hated the thought of being this upset over a boy you genuinely barely knew.

and even though you told yourself repeatedly that you in fact did not know malfoy, your heart proclaimed otherwise.

when you returned to school, this time in your sixth year, you decided that you needed to avoid the problem.

so you did. you ate breakfast and dinner without looking up from your food. you paid far too much attention in class. you never went to hogsmeade. you isolated yourself.

and it worked, more than less. you only caught a glimpse of malfoy a handful of times. each time less painful.

by november you began to forget about your weird fascination with malfoy. but when you received news that he and pansy had broken up your heart fluttered just like it would have a few months ago.

but still, finally you felt more like yourself. you began talking to your friends more. you went on a couple of dates. started helping out first years. everything was falling into place.

you tried to ignore the off feeling of emptiness that still lingered in you.

it’s january when you bump into him, on your way to the astronomy tower to meet your friends.

“sorry.” you say, continuing on your path.

“wait, come here, y/l/n.” he says, causing you to double back.

you turn to face him not even slightly happy that you’re allowing this exchange.

“i- well, i wanted to thank you for never telling anyone about last year. i’m sorry i was so brash to you,” he pauses. “that’s all.” he says.

you look at him stunned. it took him a year to apologize. although you knew he had no idea the amount of internal struggle he has caused you, you feel your blood boil.

“i’m glad you spent an entire year gaining the courage to apologize for your behavior. however, i don’t accept your apology. you’re such a coward, malfoy. i mean, you’re afraid that people would find out i consoled you. as if it’s even a big deal. just leave me alone.” you seethe.

whole-heartedly you couldn’t help your outburst. the boy just aggravated you. how could he apologize now?

“i’m sorry i didn’t apologize sooner, but if i were you i’d take the apology i was given.” he glares at you.

“or what malfoy? what could you possibly do?” you ask.

“i never said i’d do anything! i just suggested you take the apology. i’m sorry i didn’t tell you sooner, okay? you just looked so put off all the bloody time. i didn’t want to bother you.” he groans.

now your ears were hot and eyes stone cold.

“put off?” you spluttered, “it’s your fucking fault i looked so put off. you worried me to no end. i never knew if you were ok! and although i know it’s not my business it still hurt. i was so upset for you. and then you wouldn’t say a word to me. and then you dated parkinson. and-“ you stop yourself.

“you just apologized too late, alright.”

he looks at you bewildered, “i’m sorry i feel like i’m missing something.”

you roll your eyes, “i loved you draco. i don’t know why but i did. i wanted to make sure you were ok. everytime you needed me i was there. i never even asked for anything in return, not even human decency. but i shouldn’t have had to ask for that. you should have been nice to me. i was beyond nice to you.”

he furrows his brows,“i am truly sorry, y/n. i didn’t know. i was being selfish and i can admit i used you for your kindness. but if you’d give me the chance i’d be good to you. good for you. i- i never meant to hurt you.”

your cold gaze didn’t leave, “i don’t believe you.”

he sighs, “come here.”

he holds his hand out to you and you take it cautiously.

he leads you into the place where it all started, myrtle’s bathroom. he begins pulling a book out from his bag, and then he hands it to you.

“just look it over.” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

you open the book and are immediately greeted by drawings. illustrations littering the pages, and they’re all of you.

you turn to one page, it’s a drawing of you outside studying. underneath the picture sat draco’s neat writing.

she came to calm me down today. fourth time this week. she still hasn’t told anyone. that means a lot to me. i again didn’t tell her why i was upset. it seems stupid to tell her about my problems. she’s too pure for them. i’d never want to upset her. i think i love her. i don’t know how. i barely even talk to her. but her hugs are nice. and she’s always so kind. i just wish i knew how to tell her what’s going on. i wish i wasn’t so scared of her rejection. it’s all too much. at least i have this. all of these pictures of her. now i cant forget her even if i tried. but of course, i’d never want to forget her.

you look up from the page. you cant help the few tears that escape your eyes.

“you loved me? the whole time? and you didn’t tell me?” you ask.

he bites his lip, “you didn’t tell me either. plus i knew i was a prat. i didn’t think you’d even want to be loved by someone like me.”

you huff out a pained breath, “draco i have loved you since the day you allowed me to comfort you. i wanted nothing more than to help you and to make sure you were ok.”

he doesn’t say anything, instead he envelops you in a tight hug. the embrace eases your worry and soothes the empty part of you. the two of you continue to hold eachother for minutes on end, and by the time you pull away you know draco meant every single word.

“please never stop caring.” he tells you.

“never.” you agree.

and you mean it. you can’t stop the way your heart beats for the blonde boy, and you didn’t want to. you love him. almost as if you needed to.

#draco x y/n #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco x you #draco malfoy #harry potter #hogwarts #draco x hufflepuff!reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco one shot #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy x reader #draco lucius malfoy #draco x reader #—myfics !

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pi-cat000 · 3 years

Text

Magnus Archives/BNHA (1)

Fandoms: Crossover between The Magnus Archives & My Hero Academia

Characters: Jon and Martin (friendship)

Summary: Jon and Martin are reincarnated into the BNHA universe after failing to prevent the apocalypse. They compare their quirks to their respective Entities.

Will probably post on ao3 at some point.

(Part 2 here)

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“They registered my quirk as Veracity you know.”

“Veracity?”

“Yes. Quite abstract. I suppose they thought they were being poetic…” Jon mutters, bitterness colouring his tone. He stares out at the playground, watching his age mates run about in a boundless display of youthful energy and innocent excitement.

From his place on the bench beside him, Martin hums, halfway between sympathetic and thoughtful, “I think it’s a nice name. It softens the edges a bit.”

“I should have expected it…to have a quirk like this… after we saw what your one did,” he curls his small child hand into a fist, “I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.”

Quirks. The strange and wondrous abilities gifted to people of their new reality. Jon had hoped, when he hadn’t presented with one at the usual age of four, that he would remain quirkless. He had suffered enough with having terrifying abilities in his previous life. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t get his wish.

Martin reaches out, hesitates, then pats him lightly on the knee, “You’re taking it a lot better than me. At least you didn’t breakdown and spend the night in hospital.”

“I suppose,” he frowns, glancing sideward, “Though our situations are hardly comparable.”

Martin’s quirk put any person he touched with both hands into a fog-filed, alternate dimension/temporal pocket. Its similarity to The Lonely had been poorly received by both of them. Especially, considering Jon had been the one to suffer through its first accidental activation. While he had found himself lost and alone in a grey, fog filed, void, a hysterical Martin had been rushed to hospital. There the doctors had had to wait for him to calm down enough that a Quirk specialist could walk him through the process of reversing the effect.

“You thought you had trapped me for good. Of course, you would take that poorly.”

The quirk specialist had banally called it ‘Cloud Prison’ like it wasn’t the residue of a primordial fear god leaking into their new reality. Not even six years of a second life could dull the pain and terror that had been their final moments before the apocalypse. To suddenly have such a stark reminder shoved in their faces had shaken them both.

“I would never have done that to you on purpose,” Martin murmurs, probably drawing the same connection as Jon, “It just happened so suddenly…”

“Yes, well, I am now painfully aware of how volatile and uncontrollable a quirk can be.”

Martin winces, “Does it activate every time you ask a question? You can’t control it at all?”

“It seems to be automatic. If I ask anyone a question they must answer truthfully. There is also a lovely mental component,” He lets his resentment grow, “so I can feel their unease when they answer. I’ll know if the person is trying to fight or when they’re trying to leave out an important detail. It is very similar to…before.”

He grits his teeth. There were no Entities in this word, aside for the residue that lived in their memories but sometimes that could be just as bad. The last thing his recovering mind needed was a reminder of how he had slowly lost his humanity.

“I also feel them. The people I trap alone in the fog.” Martin adds and shivers, “It’s horrible.”

“Yes. It is.”

They both sit in silence as the light began to fade.

Their time at the park is almost done. Soon they would have to return to the foster home they both shared. Jon, being a mentally unstable adult trapped in the body of a child, had been too much for a young single mum who had never wanted children. He barely remembers her leaving him at a local shopping centre being hardly old enough to walk at the time. Martin’s parents had died in a villain attack, because, alongside fantastical powers, this reality was full of brightly coloured Heroes and Villains like they had woken up inside a comic book. Six years in and it still felt too surreal to be real.

“Well, we don’t have to use our quirks. It’ll just never touch anyone with both hands, and I’ll ask all your questions for you so you won’t have to worry either.”

Jon scoffs, “You can get away with wearing gloves. No need for anything dramatic.”

“You know what I mean Jon.”

“Reo,” he interrupts, “please remember to call me Reo. We already attact more attention than is probably good for us.”

They weren’t Martin Blackwood and Jonathan Sims anymore. That life was behind them. Here, they were Jiro Shirakumo and Reo Tsukauchi and the sooner they acclimatised to using their new names the better. Maybe, one day, he would even start feeling like ‘Reo’ and ‘Jon’ would fade away like a bad dream.

“You’re one to talk. We would attract less attention if you would loosen up a bit. I mean, I’m not perfect, but kids don’t talk so formally.”

“I would rather not suffer through the indignity of dumbing myself down on top of everything, thank you very much.”

“It’s not that bad. Why are you always so prickly?” Martin pokes him in the shoulder, grinning now, forcing Jon to shuffle away, “Normal kids smile every now and then you know.”

“I think you enjoy being a ‘normal’ kid a bit too much.” Martin had settled into his second skin with more grace than Jon had. Not that he was trying very hard.

A laugh, “Well yeah, I mean, no responsibilities, no nightmare monsters, no conspiracies, no apocalypse. It’s nice.”

“Oi Jiro!”

A heavy-set kid, two years their senior, stomps up and glares at them, “you and the weirdo coming or what because I don’t want to miss dinner again,”

“He has a name you know,” Martin reprimands, smile quickly turning into a stern frown, “Maybe you should try using it.”

“Tch. Whatever. Mrs Suzuki said to be back by five and I’ll get in trouble if I leave you losers behind, so you better hurry up.” The boy storms away, back to his group of friends, who all look their way and laugh.

“I don’t remember kids being so mean when I was young the first time around,” Martin complains, standing and brushing himself down, “You would think they’d have better things to do.”

He shrugs. Child bullies were so far beneath him that he barely registers when they shout insults at him, shove him into walls or knock books out of his hand. Not like he didn’t deserve a little hardship after dooming his entire world. Besides, Martin took offence enough for the both of them, getting into plenty of arguments on Jon’s behalf. Of course, now they both had somewhat threatening quirks, their fellow housemates were a lot wearier when it came harassing him.

“Come on.” He stands as well, “I for one do not want another lecture.”

“Mrs Suzuki does like to drag them out,” Martin agrees as they trail along behind the older kids.

Their neighbourhood is full of two-story apartment blocks and tightly packed houses which line the relatively quiet streets. It is only a short ten-minute walk from the park to the share-house and one he is intimately familiar with seeing as his carers force him to take it twice a week for ‘the exercise.’ At least the weather is pleasant here.

In the fading light of the afternoon Martin’s wispy, cloud-like hair and blue pupilless eyes catch the glow so they are almost orange. Martin’s strange physical features had become more pronounced since his quirk’s activation. Apparently, it was genetic, something a quick glance at the few photos Martin had of his biological family confirmed. This world sported many people with odd features and he just hoped that his own plain appearance, straight black hair and dark eyes, would remain that way. All he wanted was fade into the background and live his second life as peacefully as possible.

...

(Part 2 here): Jon learns more about his truth-quirk and deals with other people learning about his truth-quirk.

#the magnus archives #tMa #jon sims #martin blackwood #bnha #Baku no hero academia #CrossOver #angst #reincarnation #they are both about six years old in this fic #loney martin #the eye jon #fanfic #Hero/Archivist Au

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theawkwardterrier · 3 years

Text

and the last age should show your heart

Summary: In which a recovered Kate is ready to settle into normal married life; her husband makes things difficult; and challenging each other does not stop with the wedding.

Read on AO3

Although he could clearly see the progress of her recovery himself, Anthony insisted on having her examined several times over by the most reputable medical men in London in order to ascertain that she was truly through with her convalescence. Kate bore this first with amusement, then with impatience, and finally with distinct ill humor.

“I do it only out of concern for you,” he emphasized the afternoon he informed her that he had made another appointment (the fifth) for tomorrow. “It’s clear that your leg can bear weight well enough, but always best to be thorough. Were we to have an incomplete understanding of the healing process and thus allow further injury, I should never forgive myself.”

Once, some version of herself would have softened at such an expression of attentiveness from him. An even earlier one than that would have been astonished that anyone except Mary or Edwina would ever have so concerned themself with her at all. Those versions, however, had been allowed the freedom not only of all the floors of the house but of the glorious outdoors as well without an overly bothersome husband admonishing at every turn to take care.

This Kate, a veteran now after months of marriage - too much of that time spent indoors if not in bed - said testily, “Then it sounds as if your concern is truly for yourself, although it is I who has found herself most inconvenienced. In fact, as you have barely believed me able to leave this bed, it strikes me that these last few months have been startlingly advantageous when it comes to indulging your more wicked tendencies - and you have little anxiety over my injured state then.”

She did not gesture to the rumpled sheets among which she sat, but he took her meaning well enough, fingers stilling on the cravat he had been retying after their (not quite) brief midday interlude together. “That is unfair, Kate,” he said, ironclad voice masking what she suspected to be actual hurt, although she did not know whether it stemmed from the insinuation that he preferred her without independence, kept captive to his whims, or that he cared little for her comfort or enjoyment when in their bed.

Neither was true, so she allowed herself only another moment of stewing before she forced her eyes to his and said, “I know. I apologize.”

“Excellent.” He finished the knot and turned to check it in the glass, face smoothed cheerful once again. “Then Mr. Josephs and I shall see you tomorrow at half three.”

She cut her growl short, merely seething as he placed a kiss on her forehead and took his leave. (Even as she fumed, she could appreciate that he held back the urge to whistle as he did so. Just as she could appreciate that whichever tailor had cut his breeches was most certainly not paid handsomely enough for it.)

They had a perfectly civil meal together that evening, and a night which one would not precisely call civil but which was certainly enjoyable all the same, and when they laughed together over breakfast, Kate felt them thawing back to their particular normalcy. However, when Mr. Josephs failed to impress as he allowed himself to be forced to stay a mere hour before declaring Kate fully healed and Anthony tried to insist on a sixth visit, she put her foot down, literally and hard and atop his. He was quite lucky that she no longer had need of a walking stick or he would have had that to contend with as well.

“No!” The word came out nearly as a snarl. “I am sorry, but regardless of your misplaced concerns, regardless of your overprotective nature, regardless of whether I fall down a dozen times in the doing of it, tomorrow I am going to put on a dress and style my hair and take tea with your mother.”

“You could—”

“At her home,” she said, and this time, even spacing and perfectly bitten off enunciation and all, it was most definitely a snarl.

All of the Bridgertons had been excellent company during her recuperation - despite his considerable efforts, Anthony could not keep her confined entirely to bed, and she was able to venture downstairs to host various pairs and groups of them over the past months even when she was not receiving most callers. Their frequent visits provided significant entertainment and what Kate only half jestingly referred to as “dispatches from the outside world.” As such, she was comfortable in the drawing room at Bridgerton House even as tea with her mother-in-law expanded to include all three of her older sisters-in-law and Daphne’s infant daughter Amelia.

In fact, she was feeling more than comfortable, she was feeling rather splendid, having the chance to be out somewhere, stretching her limbs and speaking with people, even in such a small and familiar setting. While she was aware that one day this would be her home rather than Violet’s, an idea which still intimidated her, right now it was simply somewhere different from the house where she had been trapped for months and wonderful for it.

A good quarter hour had been spent admiring each facet of Amelia as she slept in her mother’s arms, and even that was wonderful. Kate could not keep her eyes from the baby’s fingers. How tiny they were! She could hardly understand how Daphne could sit so serenely when they looked delicate enough to break at a touch. It struck her that sometime soon she might have her own child with infinitely breakable fingers for whom she would have to care; even with her injury, she and Anthony had not been doing very much to prevent such an occurrence. One might say the opposite, in fact…

She drew her mind quickly from thoughts of her husband before a blush could overcome her face, and listened instead to Violet recounting the latest trials through which Hyacinth was putting her governess. The dowager viscountess sighed at the appropriate places and her tone was all motherly despair, but Kate detected a slight smile at the corners of her mouth. Kate herself was attempting to cover a laugh by holding her cup to her mouth, hoping that none of the others would notice that she had allegedly been sipping tea for nearly a full minute.

“Would you like some more, Kate? Or perhaps a biscuit to accompany? You seem to have quite the craving for tea today.” Eloise was unfortunately too astute for either her own good or Kate’s.

“Oh, I really—”

“I would quite enjoy tea and biscuits. Thank you for offering.”

Kate’s cup came down hard onto her saucer, mirth transformed into confused suspicion. “Anthony? I had thought you were spending the day on some business with Lord Ellsworth.”

“Ah yes,” he said, literally waving a hand through the air as he walked further into the room toward them all, his brother Benedict following behind. “We concluded earlier than expected, but he mentioned something which put me in mind of some papers which I realized are in the desk in my study here.”

“Where they remain even now, despite how imperative it was that we come find them at once,” Benedict murmured. Kate had noticed that while he did not quite have Anthony’s ready control of a room or Colin’s easy charm, he was still as witty as the rest of his family, simply a bit less loud about it, particularly in company. Although not, she thought, quiet enough, based on the glare his older brother cut his way; Benedict ignored it easily, placing both hands on his mother’s shoulders from behind and bending to kiss her cheek.

Anthony, meanwhile, gave up on his brother and moved onto pestering his sister. Well, not pestering, precisely. He merely hovered implacably over the place where Francesca sat beside Kate, and his patience was rewarded when she sighed and stood so he could take her seat.

“Don’t let him bully you so,” cried Eloise.

Francesca shrugged her slim shoulders as she moved to sit at the pianoforte instead. “I don’t mind. He wants to sit beside his wife. I think it’s quite sweet, actually. Very romantic.”

“See, I’m romantic,” Anthony said, leaning over to speak softly to Kate, although he barely needed to move to do so. By her measurement, if he intended to sit this close, Francesca could well have stayed put.

“Romantic is not precisely how I would put it.”

“How would you prefer to phrase it? Charming? Besotted? A steadfast and wonderful husband?”

“Trying,” she offered through gritted teeth. “Difficult. Unnecessarily meddlesome.” She considered moving into the bit of empty space remaining on her other side, but she knew that he would only move closer, and besides, it was actually quite comfortable to feel him pressed warmly against her. Still, she gathered her irritation as she added, “I truly don’t know what you expected us to be doing in your mother’s drawing room in the middle of the afternoon which would necessitate you coming to inspect—Anthony, are you listening to me?”

“Are you certain you would not like a footstool?” he asked, ignoring her entirely in favor of frowning down at her leg, covered as it was by the fabric of her dress. “No one would object if you needed to prop your leg. It’s only family after all, and everyone wishes you to be comfortable.”

Despite it all she felt herself softening at that. “My leg is fine,” she said, tone easing like a kite when the wind slows. “But thank you for being so considerate.” And then, because she truly could not resist, she added, “In fact, it seems that all the recommendations regarding moderate activity and returning to a regular routine are doing me a world of good.”

And likely because he could not resist either, he responded, “What seems good today might turn regrettable tomorrow. Only remember then that there is no shame in admitting that you have overexerted yourself and will be more comfortable at home.” A look of nobility which undoubtedly hid a smirk came across his face. “I shall certainly not preen about it should I turn out to be right.”

She spluttered, then glared, forgetting that they were visiting, that they were surrounded by other people. Anthony had always been able to vex her into forgetting herself. “You will not be right, but for taking that tone, I am going to have Cook prepare tripe and boiled turnips every day for the next week.”

“She was my cook first,” Anthony protested, likely turned a bit childish by the thought of such fare. Kate didn’t disagree; she would need to have an alternative menu prepared for herself if she indeed made good on her threat.

“Yes, well, she likes me better.”

“She does n—”

“Your tea, Anthony.”

Violet’s pointed voice startled Kate back to awareness. Judging from the looks the rest of the Bridgertons were giving them, ranging from Benedict’s vague amusement to Eloise’s relish to Francesca’s sympathy, Kate guessed that it was not the first time her mother-in-law had attempted to draw her husband’s attention to the cup she was extending to him. Anthony, clearly better practiced at glossing over such moments, merely took his tea and sipped at it politely.

“Delicious as always, Mother,” he said, all correctness. “I’m so very glad we were both able to join you this afternoon.”

Kate narrowed her eyes, and she would have kicked him would it not have been too obvious. As it was, she simply said, “Oh, yes, it has been absolutely lovely,” and decided that she would take him further to task when they returned home.

“Well, marriage does seem to have some practicalities to recommend it if nothing else,” Penelope commented as she and Kate walked down the street to the subscription library of which they were both members. The weather had shifted from a damp gloom to an unseasonable brightness, and Kate took in the air, refreshingly cool but not chill, with relish. “Had we needed to wait for my mama or one of the maids, busy as they were assisting my sisters, we might have been forced to postpone our outing for another week at least.”

It did still surprise Kate that she was now considered a suitable chaperone - at this time last year, she would have expected herself quite a bit more likely to reach such a position simply due to age rather than via marriage. However, she knew well the desire to make one’s unwedded state a casual fact so as not to cause awkwardness for others, and she suspected that Penelope was attempting the same now.

Studiously not thinking of her argument and subsequent reconciliation with Anthony the previous night, Kate said lightly, “Yes, not needing to be accompanied everywhere is one aspect which I have found to be worthwhile,” but did not dwell further on the topic.

Nevertheless, it was clear that her marriage was on the minds of others. As Kate and Penelope entered the library, several of the other ladies inside glanced at them and then immediately began whispering to their companions. Kate was not conceited, but she had little hope that anything other than her arrival had caused the reaction: Penelope, already sliding away to examine the shelves, had managed to leave the house in a day dress of pretty pale blue muslin rather than one of her mother’s more noteworthy choices, and the tongues had scarcely ceased wagging over Kate’s hasty wedding to the very eligible Viscount Bridgerton before she had quite publicly broken her leg and all but disappeared for months.

She had some friends, and her family of course, but never having been among the fashionable set nor a particular standout in any way other than her plainness and relationship to Edwina, she was not exactly a known quantity among the ton. In a strange way, her unremarkableness had made her even more an object of fascination.

I am going to have to entertain sometime soon, she thought with dismay. Else I will never have anyone used to me.

But that would come sometime later. For now, she could simply browse the shelves in the hope of finding something new and diverting. She had already devoured Miss Austen’s latest, of course, and Mrs. Gorley’s work was not precisely to her tastes, but she did think she spied a copy of Walter Scott’s Waverley just there - it had been published months ago, but had been so popular that she hadn’t a chance to read it before now.

Elevating slightly up onto her toes, Kate reached for it, fingers grasping the spine and just beginning to pull the volume down when an altogether too familiar voice said, “Ah, I thought that was you, Kate. Here, allow me.”

Her husband’s hand, warm and broad, brushed beside hers and removed the book, bringing it down to a more comfortable height with a bow. She accepted the volume with a brief “Thank you,” glancing sharply around at everyone watching before she ground out in low tones, “You just happened to be passing, I assume?”

“Of course.” He was all innocence. “Quite the lucky coincidence, I would say.”

“Quite.” Her teeth were going to crumble in her mouth at this rate. She forced her jaw to relax and painted on a cheerful expression. “Well, thank you for the assistance. I shall see you this evening.”

“You are most welcome.” Tilting his head with the smile she was certain had charmed altogether too many women, he added, “But must I truly wait until this evening? Surely I could accompany you for the rest of your afternoon - I am already here after all, and have little else to occupy myself.”

Hitching up her own smile even as she knew that it would do nothing to deter the gossip she could fairly see floating around the two of them, she said, “I am afraid that I am already accompanied. See, Miss Featherington and I were so enjoying our time together.”

Penelope had been standing silently beside the adjoining bookshelf, clearly relying on the wisdom of animals and small children that if you stayed entirely still and quiet perhaps you would not be noticed. Her eyes widened fractionally as she realized that it had not worked and that she was in fact going to need to step over and be polite, but she did it anyway, curtsying to Anthony and greeting him. (Kate had noticed that for all of Penelope’s wallflower ways, that manner in which she, by preference or fate, tended to fade into the background, she had little trouble speaking with Anthony, intimidating as he was.)

“Wonderful to see you, Miss Featherington, as always,” he said, bowing in return. “How fortunate my wife is to have your company. I wonder if you would not mind allowing me to share in that pleasure as well?”

Had the situation been different, perhaps Kate would have sympathized with the way Penelope glanced hastily between the two of them, trying to conceal the vague panic on her face. She might have even found it amusing. As it was, she tried to communicate without words precisely how much she had been looking forward to some time without the presence of her intrusive husband.

“Well, this is meant to be the ladies’ library,” Penelope finally ventured and Kate fairly beamed.

Too soon, however. Anthony waved a hand. “Ah, do not concern yourself. I shall step out as you finish your browsing, and then we can all ride together in the park. After all, being in the barouche might offer a respite for my wife, given her injury. What a splendid idea, Miss Featherington.”

“Oh, but I—”

Penelope’s words seemed to dissolve in the air as Anthony gave another one of his charming smiles, bowed, and left, the door clicking quietly closed behind him.

“It is no matter,” Kate said before Penelope could add any sort of apology. “You did wonderfully - it is no fault of yours that he is so persistent.” She sighed. “The park will be lovely, I am sure. And I did manage to find a book before he arrived.” Turning her back on the onlookers still gawking at them, she added even more quietly, “Next time I shall simply neglect to share with him my plans for the day. He will not find me so easily then.”

Beginning to look just the slightest bit mischievous, Penelope asked, “Oh, but will he not simply begin to have you followed?”

Kate set her shoulders. “Then I shall at least lead him on a merry chase about London, and see how he enjoys that.”

“It was lovely of you to accompany me today, but may I say, Kate, how unkind you are to allow your sister to learn of your recent exploits only through Lady Whistledown.”

Edwina turned slowly on the spot to face Kate as the modiste pinned expertly at her hem. Her expression, once fully revealed, was far more playful than her disapproving tone had indicated. Kate wrinkled her nose at her, but her sister only laughed.

“The latest issue had much to say regarding the ongoing tension between yourself and your husband. The two of you are apparently engaged in ‘a battle of wits and wills.’”

“Wills and whims is perhaps more accurate.”

“Regardless, she seemed to find the affair most entertaining. Her description of the way you tried to ensure that he had an engagement for fencing with his brother while you paid calls, only to have him bring two brothers along to join you - the whole thing was quite amusing.” It truly was unfair how Edwina only looked lovelier when she put on that impish smile to tease Kate. “Considering how sharp her pen can be, it is remarkable how affectionate she remains toward the pair of you. I believe she is quite taken with you!”

“Yes, her devotion to the idea of our love match is quite remarkable.” Kate turned away to examine some ribbons, although she knew that it would not dissuade Edwina from continuing the conversation.

And indeed: “The idea of your love match?” She could practically hear the appearance of the frown. “Perhaps it was not immediate, but now...Kate, the two of you are quite mad for each other and I know you too well to be convinced otherwise.”

Kate thought of Anthony offering a dowry for Edwina, the comfort of his voice, his reliable presence during storms, the way he always made certain that his family and duties were entirely taken care of. She thought of him with his hair rumpled and boyish in the privacy of their home, how with a few words, a simple stroke of the hand, he could make her feel utterly beautiful, actually cherished in a way she never could have imagined for herself. She thought of all the times over the months of their marriage when they simply sat together, talking of events both large and inconsequential, how he listened to her opinions and how she liked to listen to his (even when they were quite clearly flawed), how she appreciated making him laugh such that the burden of his responsibilities weighed less if only for a short while. She pictured the glint in his eye as he tried to verbally best her and the one when he had decided that there had been enough words between them for the evening and he would prefer instead to rob her of the ability to speak.

She sighed. “You are not incorrect,” she said, twisting the end of a white satin ribbon so that it curled around the tip of her finger. “It is only that—I have found it surprisingly simple to be married to him, but there has been little chance for me to truly learn how to act in this new time of my life. I am a viscountess now, a wife, and I can scarcely settle into either role when I am constantly wondering when he will arrive to try to distract me from my tasks.”

“One might think that it would be easiest to learn how to be a wife when your husband is constantly beside you,” Edwina noted, although her voice was kind if not entirely filled with understanding. “However, of a more pressing nature: it seems that you need not wonder long today.”

Puzzled, Kate turned, the question of precisely what her sister was talking about already on her lips, but found that she did not need to give it voice. Through the large window in the front of the shop, it was easy to spot Anthony striding up the street, eyes fixed and grin wide.

“Allow me to guess,” Kate said as the door to the shop opened to admit him. She placed one hand on her hip, tapping her chin with the other in mock thought. “You bribed my maid into telling you where we had gone and then simply happened to be in the area?”

“Your mother told me where you were with no bribery involved,” he said cheerfully. “And it did in fact so happen that I too had business only on the next street. Now—” He glanced around at the modiste’s assistant, who had remained ducked into a curtsy at the sight of him. “Please fetch the viscountess a seat.”

“I have no need of a seat,” Kate protested.

“As we shall be going soon,” he nodded. “Very sensible of you. Once Edwina has finished, there is a new cake shop I am eager to try. I believe that they have a confection made with lemon syrup which will be much to your liking, Kate.”

His outward manner was one of simple, practiced courteousness. In reality, she knew that he was attempting once more to win his way, but she also saw the smile, which was honest and directed only at her.

“I suppose we may add such a venture to our plans,” she agreed with a sigh. If nothing else, she would at least get some cake from the arrangement.

“Not to credit myself exceedingly,” Colin said as he and Kate walked together from the drawing room at Bridgerton House. “But I daresay none of my siblings would have made quite so good a partner, so it really was a good showing on my part to introduce you to Anthony and facilitate your joining the family.” The two of them had been paired together during charades following supper, and it was no boast to say that they had absolutely trounced the others.

“Not to credit yourself exceedingly, of course,” Kate said dryly. “Particularly as that introduction was made more in the spirit of your own entertainment than it was in hopes of our future together.”

“Ah, Kate, what a blow.” He pressed a hand to his chest.

Her mouth twitched uncontrollably into a smile. “You do not deny it. I judge my aim to be true.”

“Well, I shall take the acclaim for your wedded bliss, regardless of my original intentions.”

“Yes,” she said. “Our bliss.” But her smile faded a bit and she knew that she saw.

“My brother continues to exasperate, I gather.”

“He would certainly say the same of you,” Kate said, trying to tease. It was true, but she also found that she did not particularly care for others speaking against her husband, even if they might be correct.

“Oh, he has called me much worse than exasperating. Indeed, I recall—”

“You recall what?”

Kate turned just in time to see Violet fall into step with them, smiling briefly at her daughter-in-law before she turned to her son and said keenly, “Well, what is it that you were speaking of?”

“Only the tendency of your eldest son to irritate those around him,” Colin replied smoothly. “Tell us, Mother, did his nature show while he was still in his swaddling clothes, or did it only reveal itself once he began speaking?”

“Oh, hush. He was perfect, as all my children were, you know that.” She swatted lightly at his arm, before dropping her voice and adding, “Although there are perhaps some stories I could tell…”

“I for one would enjoy hearing them,” Kate said.

“Of course you would.” Violet’s light tone shifted just the slightest bit as she added, “You know, I can certainly have a word with him if he truly is causing you trouble. A reminder of one of those stories might serve well as a warning.”

Kate glanced over her shoulder at where Anthony was coming down the hall behind them, listening intently to something that Gregory was saying even as Hyacinth bobbed at his elbow and tried to interrupt. He really would make a wonderful father someday; in certain ways, he had already been playing the part for years now. She sighed, her heart softening a bit once again, and turned back to her companions.

“Please, do not worry yourself. Truly, all is well between the two of us, and I can certainly manage the situation if need be.” She linked her arm through Violet’s, a devilish little smile touching at her lips. “However, knowing one or two of these famous stories of yours might not go amiss. They sound ever so fascinating, after all.”

“How kind of you to allow me the pleasure of a dance,” Anthony said as they waltzed together a week later at Lady Vincent’s. “I have noticed you are less than satisfied to see me of late.”

“I would be perfectly happy to see you if only you did not force me to do so quite as constantly,” Kate reminded him. “And if you continue chasing me down and making a nuisance of yourself, perhaps in future I shall dance with your brother instead. If he is not much more accomplished than you in that area, these days he at least strikes me as less vexatious.”

“Who, Benedict?” He snorted, looking to the edge of the floor where his brother was sipping extremely slowly from a glass of punch, likely to avoid his mother’s latest attempts at matchmaking. “You are misled.”

“A pity. Luckily, I was referring to Gregory.”

“I had not realized they allowed waltzing in the schoolroom.”

“Ah, well, I suppose I shall have to make do with you. Only pray remember even as I grant you that, it makes you not a jot less maddening.”

Her coiffeur for the evening involved cascading curls; they fluttered with his breath as he bent toward her and said very softly against her ear, “After this insufferable affair has come to its end and I have taken you home, I shall remind you precisely how I can madden you, and how very much you can enjoy it.”

The flush which crept from cheeks to throat to collarbone and down along her décolletage felt apparent even to her, and she could tell from the gleam in his eye that he well enjoyed watching it spread. That look of superiority could not stand, so she mastered herself, leaning in to give a whisper of her own. “Perhaps I shall deny you such an opportunity and madden you in my stead. Turnabout being fair play, after all.”

“I should like to see you try,” he said, voice still low. “It has not escaped my notice that I am not the only one in our marriage with...robust appetites.”

The music was coming to a close; there was only a moment more for them to speak this way. She had the chance for the last word, and she seized it.

“Ah, Lord Bridgerton. You should have known better than to challenge me.”

Kate surveyed herself one final time with a surprising degree of satisfaction. Although Lady Bridgerton had insisted on expanding her wardrobe considerably before the wedding, there had been little opportunity to show off the modiste’s fine work; sitting in bed or around the house with her leg thrust awkwardly forward called more often for clothing in the category of old and comfortable rather than fashionable. Although Kate had never cared overmuch about how she dressed, wearing something new which suited her was a bit of a treat.

She was taking her enjoyment where she could these days. Anthony had become, if anything, more persistent in his intentions to find her wherever she went, leading her to make good on her threat not to allow him to pay her interest in a more private setting.

(Although she had obeyed only the letter rather than the spirit of his condition of faithfulness so long as she did not bar him from the bed, she had no worries on that score. He loved her, she knew that, and besides, between his usual responsibilities and his determination to chase her down at every opportunity during the day, and his attempts to seduce her all night, where would he find the time to stray?)

While her prohibition clearly seemed to have an effect on him, given the time he was investing in attempting to convince her to give over to him and the snappish manner he had taken on over the last several days when she had not, she was not finding the situation precisely easy either. As Anthony had pointed out, since their marriage, she had become accustomed to having certain needs met, and now that she was aware of those needs, it was most displeasing to have them remain unsatisfied.

“Excellent.” She jumped a bit at hearing Anthony’s voice in the doorway of their bedchamber, pretending to herself that it was merely because she had expected to have a bit more time to depart considering the appointments she knew he had scheduled today. It had nothing to do, of course, with the fact of him here in the flesh after she had been recalling that flesh so vividly to mind. “Are we going out, then?”

She ignored him, picking up the lead from the side table as she called Newton’s name sharply. Unfortunately, he simply continued to doze on the floor beside the bed. Holding back a sigh, she went over and attached him to it, which did manage to wake him. Instead of stretching and standing with any degree of dignity, however, he immediately leaped up, panting, and attempted to pull her from the room. It was only her preemptively planted feet which kept her from being towed gracelessly behind.

Although she had purposefully avoided eye contact with him, Anthony, still lounging in the doorway, said blithely, “I had been hoping to have an opportunity to take some air. A walk with the creature will be perfect.”

And that, for some reason, was it. Perhaps because it had been going on so long, or perhaps because she had spent the past several nights lying inches away but not touching him even as her fingers fairly itched to do so, or perhaps it was because Newton was behaving ridiculously, or because Anthony was insisting on joining them only to spite her (he did not even like her dog enough to use his name), or some combination of all of those factors and more, but her voice went quite deadly, coldly dignified, as she said, “My apologies, but you shall not be joining us, my lord. You shall stay here, and I will speak to you upon my return. Now, if you will excuse me.”

Luckily, his spine had gone straight with shock at hearing her tone, entirely devoid of teasing or requisite argument or begrudging capitulation; she did not think he would have moved over on his own enough for her to pass. As it was, even as she and Newton descended the stairs and departed the house, she nearly expected to be followed.

She did not expect the small pang which struck her when she realized she had not been. After all this time, she had managed to push him away and she was unsure what it might cost her.

Newton’s energy had flagged after less than an hour - the consequences of short legs, she supposed, and perhaps the interrupted nap - but she forced the two of them to stay out for a respectable interval. It had been hard-won, after all.

When she finally returned, she removed her bonnet, saw Newton settled and lapping noisily at a bowl of water, and spoke briefly to the butler and the housekeeper before she asked where her husband was and braced her feet toward his study.

She was somewhat surprised that he was still in the house, although it was entirely expected that he would withdraw from their bedroom rather than remaining there at her order like a caught child. The way he moved his pen across the page, all tightly wound fury, his choice not to look up although he surely heard her tread or her light knock - all just as she predicted. Even the way he spoke when he finally chose to wipe his pen, set his papers aside, and look at her, the ringing command of, “I will not be addressed in such a way, Kate,” was the voice of the viscount, precisely as she had known that it would be.

But she had not known she could respond similarly until she did. “Then do not require it of me, Anthony,” she said: the voice of the viscountess, although she had never before heard it from her own mouth.

He looked for a moment just as taken aback as she felt, the mask dropping briefly. It was enough to soften her, making her sigh and walk in toward him, closing the door behind herself. She leaned on the corner of his desk nearest him, hands clasped and resting against her skirts.

“Anthony,” she said, gazing down at him. “Anthony, this is becoming absurd. Will you please tell me what on earth you have been thinking of?”

He said nothing, mouth pressed mulishly inward, but he turned just the slightest bit toward her, angled his legs so that they were nearer hers, and she recognized the space he was opening. She reached down to take his hand, pressing it to her lips.

“Please.” Her words were becoming ever softer. “Please, I must know what is going through your mind. Will you tell me?”

Although she had heard him speak clearly mere moments before, when he finally began to talk, his voice was hoarse enough that he had to clear his throat once, twice, before he was finally able to be understood.

“It was your injury at first. Needing to stay close to you to reassure myself that you truly were well and would not be overcome, yes, but…” He inhaled slowly and deeply before he continued. “I am certain that no matter how long my life, I shall never forget the sight of you beneath that carriage, so still and silent.” His gaze met hers, and she saw the shine of tears there. “If such an accident could happen once, it could happen again, and I would—I could not have borne it had anything else occurred, but more than that, I could not take the chance that I might be away from you when it did. What if you needed me and I was off looking at accounts, or taking care of some foolish errand, or sitting about playing cards, or doing anything but all that I could to help you? So I made certain that I would be near you as often as I could.”

“Anthony—” she started, but now that he had begun speaking he could not seem to stop himself.

“I know the extreme unlikeliness of you breaking another limb while trying on gloves or sitting taking tea or what have you, but I could not take the chance. And beyond that...I know you have doubts regarding my foreshortened life. Nevertheless, your advice was to ensure that whenever my time comes, I would be without regret. And aside from neglecting the continued well-being of my family and tenants, the thing I would regret the most is not spending enough time with you.”

His hand, which lay so naturally in hers that she had nearly forgotten she was holding it, tightened as he faced her. “It took me too long to understand that I loved you, and longer still to realize that you have become my favorite person to spend time with. Having you at home for all of those months made it terribly easy for me to become accustomed to being around you for hours or days at a time, and even that might not have satisfied me. Truly, I am not certain that ninety years beside you would be enough.”

Emotion seemed, for a moment, to eclipse her ability to speak. She had the feeling that anyone might have reacted thus to such a declaration of love, but she was only just finding out what it was to be loved, that it was possible for her to be desired. She had spent her life up until the last months believing that if she did not remain a spinster altogether, her prospects were limited to those desperate for any sort of wife. Hearing these words from someone who loved her truly and especially was quite overwhelming.

Even knowing that it would not be truly comfortable for either of them, she could not help herself: she relinquished his hand and settled herself in his lap, pressing her forehead into the space between his jaw and throat as they both breathed together. He did not seem to mind the discomfort, holding her tightly.

When she had finally mastered herself, she said, still a bit shakily but making the best of it, “I must say that I don’t know that spending every moment of the next ninety years together is truly practical.”

She seemed to be able to nearly feel his answering smile. “Perhaps not, but one cannot make such a statement before making the attempt.” And then the smile was gone again from his voice, although she hoped not far. “I know that my mother wishes often that my father could be there to experience life beside her. For the larger moments, of course - when Hyacinth was born, and seeing my brothers off to school and to university, and for all the courtships and marriages and births to come - but for all the little in-betweens as well. I never—” He cleared his throat once again. “I do not want to reach the end of my life, whenever that may be, without knowing that I experienced you smiling at me, or handing me cups of tea just the way I like them, or telling me about whatever you have read lately absolutely as many times as I could.”

“What about hearing me play the flute as many times as you could?” she asked, holding back a sniffle. He really was quite sweet sometimes - as sweet as he was irritating, which meant abominably so.

Close as she was, she felt the wince even as he checked it a second later. “And hearing you play the flute, of course.”

“Then I shall be certain to play for you this very evening.” He did not respond but she resisted prodding him into agreement, choosing instead to say gently, “You know, I’m quite honored that you took my advice with such seriousness, but I wonder if you have forgotten the other part of it. Spending all this time worrying over regrets rather than settling into the wonder of each day...We are trying to build a life, and I want you to have a chance to revel in the array of it rather than attempting to hoard memories by volume."

“You think perhaps that I shall miss the forest for the trees? That in turning greedy for as many tiny moments as I can have, I shall forget to enjoy our life together as a whole?”

“Just so,” she said, relaxing further against him. "Not to mention the practicality of it all. Even if you were with me all day long from the time that you awoke - and I fear I would turn murderess in such a circumstance - but even so, there would be some second that your back was turned, some word or gesture that you missed. And besides, one day there might be more than us two in our family and I should hope that you would want to collect some fatherly experiences as well. Considering how much time you have spent only trying to follow me about…”

“How I should manage with a child or more I cannot think." Resting his cheek on the crown of her head, he sighed against her. "Must you be so impossibly sensible all the time?"

"Yes, I absolutely must," she said solemnly, although she was quite glad to hear his own good sense finally reasserting itself. "However, indulgent wife that I am, I shall make you a bargain: you might not be able to see me all the time, but we may arrange some—" She held up a finger for emphasis before he could get any ideas. "Some outings together during the day, and perhaps find some mutual activity to partake in. And we shall spend every evening that we are able together."

"I still will not have my fill of you."

"Perhaps. And perhaps I never would of you. But whether ten years or thirty or ninety together, we can make each day have been enough."

He groaned, leaning back as much as he was able. The chair at his desk truly was not intended to hold two fully grown adults. "Some healthy debate is one thing, but I dislike truly arguing with you: today was more than enough."

"Really?" She had begun tracing the buttons of his waistcoat, just lightly. "It is only afternoon. I can think of certain activities to occupy us for some time yet."

Before she truly registered the motion, she had been lifted into the air, his stride easy and purposeful as he carried her across the room.

"Have I told you lately how much I appreciate your mind? You really do have some marvelous ideas."

"And what if I had meant we should spend the rest of the day playing chess? Or visiting your mother?" she said, although she knew he could hear the joy in her voice.

"I could convince you otherwise," he said. "Believe me."

She did. Not that it would do to tell him, but she would not have taken very much convincing at all.

No one was overly surprised when Kate delivered a baby midway through the next year. In fact, if she heard Simon correctly as she passed his study at Hastings House before they announced her condition, there had been some playful questioning over whether Anthony understood the precise mechanics of things.

“Considering the amount of time you spend together, one would think the newest Bridgerton would have appeared already,” her brother-in-law had laughed.

If it had been one of his own brothers speaking, Kate suspected that the remark would have earned a swift smack upside the head, but as it was, her husband only replied, his voice like a hand on the hilt of a sword, “Remember that is my wife you are speaking of. And I’ll have you know that I could easily spend quite a bit more time with her, new Bridgerton or no.”

“Well.” Kate could not see past the cracked door into the room proper, but there was enough surprise in his voice to picture the Duke of Hastings with his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. “Apparently that is your wife we are speaking of.”

And despite the foolish masculinity of their conversation, it had made her smile.

She smiled quite a lot these days. Not so much when Edmund was being born, painful as it was, but in the months afterward, even with the baby so very small and fretful, she could not help herself as they settled into being a family.

In the past, she had considered the idea of waking with a smile to be the stuff of daydreams and silly novels, but no longer, and as she typically greeted the day wrapped in her husband’s embrace, she felt that she could be forgiven for the sentimentality. They always managed to have at least a few moments speaking together in the mornings before Anthony had to be up for some appointment or Kate needed to be off to meet her mother or sister, or her mother- or sisters-in-law. (Sometimes it was more than a few moments filled not precisely with speaking, which Kate found to be a rather delightful way to start a day.)

Afternoons found them often apart, although not as often as most married couples: few wives had promises of the favor of their company for a midday walk solicited so frequently, and most husbands avoided tea with the ladies like the plague rather than arranging to be welcomed to it. Seeing him appear in the doorway was always cause for a smile - although she did admit that it turned devious on the occasions that he realized too late that she was entertaining certain members of the ton who he typically preferred to avoid. It always suited her to have an ally, and as he was the one insisting on being present, he would have to take the bad along with the good.

In the evenings, so long as they had no other engagements, they would sit together after eating and share tales of what they had seen and done while apart during the day. He was well known for a most impertinent and absolutely entertaining impersonation of Lord Liverpool, but refused to allow her to show off to his family her impressions of the ladies of society - apparently it would give Eloise and Hyacinth ideas.

As if those two could not come up with ideas perfectly well on their own, and would regardless of any influence, but she let him have his fantasies.

Eloise herself took a seat between Anthony and Kate one morning as some of the family sat together in the drawing room at Violet’s new home. Kate, although she was now capably assuming the role of viscountess in true, had been a bit relieved that when her mother-in-law left Bridgerton House, the center of the family had shifted with her; she did love them all, but she was fairly unaccustomed to people turning up and going in and out at all hours. Violet was not even currently at home - she had gone calling and left her children with the run of the place. Not, in Kate’s opinion, a completely sound decision, considering the particular children involved.

Eloise, for example, had not actually sat between her brother and sister-in-law, but had more accurately placed herself practically atop the two of them: had Anthony not begrudgingly shifted over, Kate might have had to balance a grown woman in her lap along with her baby son. Leaning over, Eloise cooed at Edmund, who only smacked his lips together and yawned before dozing off again.

“How lucky you are, Kate, that he is still so small and sweet.”

Kate recalled how three nights past he had kept the house up until the wee hours and nearly had the nurse in tears. “Oh, I believe he is on his company behavior for you.”

“There will come a time where he has no company behavior,” Eloise predicted, nodding sagely. “He will forget all of your good instruction and simply stomp about. Or perhaps mope. He might take after Benedict - he was a mopey sort.”

At the sound of his name, the brother in question looked over from where he had been gazing absently through the window and pulled a face at his sister, although he ended up grinning a bit when she gave one right back to him. Kate was glad to see it; he had been unusually quiet over the past month or two.

“Luckily,” Eloise continued, “he will be at school by then, for the most part, and scolding him will be someone else’s concern.” Turning toward Anthony, she asked, “I wonder, however, how you plan to keep yourself occupied for the foreseeable future.”

“I beg your pardon?” Anthony said, in that familiar ‘your mind is completely confounding, Eloise’ voice.

“Well, Kate will be spending the next years child-rearing, and running Bridgerton House and Aubrey Hall, and playing hostess, and—” She waved a hand. “Viscountessing. So will you be taking up a hobby to occupy yourself until your children are grown? Fishing, perhaps, or gambling on horse races? Oh, I have it: you shall write poetry.”

Kate suppressed a snort while Anthony visibly gathered himself. “If you will recall,” he started with stiff patience, “I have my own responsibilities as well. And there is no reason for Kate to raise the children by herself - Mother and Father were partners in that as in everything, and we shall be as well.”

They had spoken of this before, but Kate could not help but bend her face toward the baby and pretend to adjust his cap. Each time she had heard him mention this, the delight of the thought nearly overwhelmed her.

When she looked up, Anthony was staring past Eloise and right at her. “And besides,” he said, barely for anyone but Kate. “I believe my time will be quite consumed otherwise, and well spent for it.”

“I would tend to concur,” she said, knowing that he was not referring to the music lessons he had recently begun, or even activities of a more personal sort. But before he could crow the victory for having gained her agreement, she smiled at him and waited, knowing that he would be unable to keep himself from smiling back.

#Bridgerton #Bridgerton fic #Anthony Bridgerton #Kate Sheffield #The Viscount Who Loved Me #I didn't mean to but probably should have known it would happen anyway

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horrorstreet · 4 years

Text

Soulmates Surprise

Request: BRAHMS ,,, i need ,., stinky wall boy thirst or ill combust please im begging you

Request sent in by: Anon

Summary: In a world where soulmates injuries appear on the others skin, you feel the pain of Brahms burn at a young age and live your life the best you can. When you get a nanny job at the Heelshire mansion, things take an unexpected turn and Brahms gets the biggest surprise of his life.

Brahms x reader

Warnings: Angst, burns, scars, blood, bullying.

Quick Note!: I had this sitting here for the longest time and didn’t feel great about it but I tried to make it better. So so so so so sorry for the wait. I hope you enjoy!

Almost everyone is born with a soulmate. Some are born without that special connection to someone their souls are tied to. While most would say that it was a curse to not find the person who would bring you happiness, some would call it a blessing. It happened not too long ago that people began to receive soulmates and no one knew where this strange change was coming from. Scientists still scramble for a reason for what caused the strange connection that tethers two people together and it has yet to be discovered, remaining a mystery to all. In this world, when one is connected with a soulmate, any injury that their partner receives will appear on their soulmate's body and the pain carries along with it and there is no finding to prove a way to prevent this. On the bright side, when one finds their soulmate, all of those injuries and the pain that comes along with it disappear. Almost as if time erases the marks it has made on that person leaving them spotless.

You were born in perfect health, a happy baby, and your parents thought you were just precious. All was well and your parents were convinced you would live a happy and safe life up until your 8th birthday. You had been enjoying our 8th birthday, happy to be growing up and getting presents and eating cake when it took a turn for the worst. Little did you know that it would be the last day of your “normal” life. It wasn't long after you turned 8 that something felt strange to you. You were playing in your room with all of your new gifts and toys when you suddenly felt suffocated. The air you inhaled felt thick and you began to cough. You had dropped everything you were holding to the floor, bringing your hands up to your neck and started coughing harder and harder trying to breath in the perfectly clean air around you. You parents ran into your room hearing your struggle and tried patting you on the back, not aware of what was going on. Your coughing started to mix with horrifying screams as you felt a serious burning cover your neck. It was the worst pain you had experienced so far in your life and the day your parents feared had finally come. Your hands desperately clawed at your own face, peeling off the skin which was seemingly melting away around your right eye while your parents tried to stop you from doing any further damage but it was too far gone to save any skin now.

After the first wave of pain hit you, your parents rushed you to the hospital as fast as they could, not caring for anything else going on around them. It was common for a hospital to be full, soulmate injuries happening all the time. It was actually the most common place to meet your other half but this was not your case at all and wouldn't be for a very long time. Doctors and nurses rushed you into the emergency room, alerting the workers of what had happened to you and successfully catching the attention of everyone around you including waiting patients. When others around you had seen your melted face, many vomited right then and there while others shied away from the sight, close to adding to the mess of puke already on the floor. The nurses' faces went pale as they looked over your injury and you began screaming again, feeling a horrible pressure press up against your burn. Your soulmate must be trying to fix their own burn on their own because the pressure felt a lot like a small hand pressed up against the side of your face, making the burning sensation even worse. The nurses' eyes dripped with tears from the sight of the terribly injured child before them but quickly collected themselves like they were taught to and knew that they had to get themselves under control for your sake and to make you feel better and heal as fast as you could. You cried out for your parents as you were taken away by a doctor and her nurses around her. “Everything is going to be ok.” They promised you. “It will all be better soon.” But the scar the incident left behind would only bring you more pain than you ever would have expected.

Upon waking up, you were unable to see out of your right eye and began to panic. “Mommy! Daddy! … Mommy!!” You screamed out, thrashing around in your hospital bed. Nurses quickly rushed into the room and held you down to prevent you from messing with your face for a second time, worrying that they were too late. Another ran in and stopped when she saw the heartbreaking scene and slowly walked over to you. “My dear, you are going to have to calm down. You are hurting yourself.” She instructed, taking your small hand in hers. “Mommy?” You hiccuped, your face wet with tears. “No, darling. They will be back soon.” She told you, giving you a sad smile. You took a small shaky breath, tears still falling down your face and nodded to her, curling your small hand into a fist in her hold, slowly pulling away. “Why can’t I see?” You whimpered, reaching a hand up to touch whatever was keeping you from seeing. “No,no! Don’t touch it! You have a wrap over your face to help you get better ok? You won’t be able to see for awhile.” She explained. “Oh…” Was all you could think to say and laid back down with your face pointed at the ceiling. A few of the nurses left your hospital room while others stayed to check your vitals which did startle you. Who were these people and where were your parents? All you wanted was your parents.

It wasn’t until the next day did your wish come true. Your parents rushed into your room to see you and your mother crumbled into your father's side in tears. You recognize your father standing in the door and reached out for him. “Hello, princess …” He smiled at you, taking your hand. “Daddy!” You giggled, wincing at the sharp pain that shot through the injured half of your face. “Yes, hello! How are you feeling?” He asked you, gently brushing your hair out of your face. Your mother cleaned the tears off of her face and smiled at you, taking your other hand. “I can’t see.” You told them, looking over at your mother. “What?” You mom asked, her face dropping. “My eye is covered. They said it was going to make me feel better!” You happily explained to her with the part of your smile that wasn't covered. “Oh… dear, you frightened me …” She sighed, a hand resting on her chest. “I'm sorry, mommy.” You apologized, squeezing her hand. “Oh! Dear, no! You are perfectly fine!” She chuckled, running her thumb over your hand. Your smile returned to your face after hearing your mother's words and you told them about all of the nice nurses that had been helping you while they were gone. They were pleased to hear about how well things went and made sure to thank all nurses and doctors that helped their daughter recover. You went home with the bandage still on your face which meant you would need your parents help getting around and taking care of the injury but you weren't complaining.

Your parents loving looks towards you never changed unlike those around you. As you healed, you were able to remove your bandage from off of your eye and you were absolutely happy to be able to see everything from your right eye again. Your skin felt like it was tugging at the side of your face and everything felt so rough to you. The first time you looked into the mirror after the incident, you almost didn’t recognize the reflection staring back at you. Your hair was untouched and so was your eye but the skin on the right half of your face was red and scarred and you feared yourself for the longest time. Your parents explained to you that nothing had changed about you as a person, your face just healed the best it could and tried its best to return to its original look. They made you feel proud of your appearance and body but others did the opposite.

“Ew! What happened to your face!” They would point and laugh and grimace and when you tried to tell them what your parents had told you, they completely broke you apart. Unfortunately for them, you weren’t one to take insults like that. You shot back 10 times harder and let your young voice be heard. It happened all the time but you had already accepted yourself and what had happened so any negative comments people would throw your way would do absolutely nothing to you and only made you feel more and more confident in yourself. “They don’t know what it’s like and that’s ok. I am beautiful.” You encourage yourself with your head held high.

_______

“Good luck and we love you.” Your mother sniffled. “Please, don’t cry, mother! I will be back soon. I will visit as much as I can.” You told her, taking her hands. “I know, I know. But you’re just so far away.” She wiped her tears away, reminding you of that day in the hospital. “You stay out of trouble, now.” Your father smiled, bringing you into a hug. “I can’t promise anything.” You chuckled. Your father shook his head and let you go and you took a deep breath. “Bye mom … dad.” You waved, trying your hardest not to cry. “Goodbye, dear. We love you.” Your mom waved back, standing at her husband's side. “I love you guys more. Goodbye.” Your mom shook her head and continued to wave as the car you got in drove off down the road, the figure of your parents getting smaller and smaller.

When you were too far to see them anymore, you moved out of the window and sat down. “Quite the goodbye.” The driver said, looking at you through the mirror. “The hardest.” You replied, looking down at your bag. It was silent for a while till the driver spoke up but not without hesitation. “I know this may be rude …. But I was wondering what is on your face?” He asked, glancing at you through the mirror every other second, most likely examining your mask. You were silent, thinking of how to answer his question this time around when he spoke up. “I'm sorry… I shouldn’t have asked …” He apologized, scratching his stubble covered chin. “No, no. It’s ok. Uhm, when I was younger, I got a pretty nasty burn. It bothered people a lot so I figured I would wear a mask. Makes it easier for me and them.” You told him, reaching under your mask to itch your scars which he noticed. “Is it uncomfortable?” He asked again, not bothering to look back at you again. “Yeah,” You sighed. “It gets on my nerves a lot.” You said to him, pulling your mask back into place. “You don’t have to wear it here. I'm not one to judge.” He smiled. “Are you sure?” You asked, reaching up to take the mask off. He nodded his head and looked back at the road to focus on driving and you thanked him. You smiled and removed the mask from your face, undoing the straps and putting it in your bag.

_______

“Here we are. You sure you don’t want me to drive you all the way up there?” He asked, turning around to look at you, not flinching away at your scar covered face at all. “I'm alright. Thank you so much. You really do have a kind soul, sir.” You said while pulling your bags out of the car. “Well, thank you too. And hey, as much as people might get in your hair because of the way you look, you keep moving forward. You're a strong kid. I can tell.” You nodded at him and waved goodbye as he drove off back to the main road. You walked through the large open gates and up the gravel path to the large house that awaited you.

“Uhm …”

Knock

You hit the door with your knuckles and waited for someone to open the door. You jumped out of your skin when you heard the door open, its old hinges screeching against each other. “Hello?” You called out, walking through the door. “My name is (y/n). I'm the nanny?” You raised a brow and set your things down on the couch by the door and looked around. You wandered around the house, peeking into every room to get a feel for the place when you stumbled across a neat, typed out sheet of rules that sat right next to a porcelain doll. “Brahms?” You picked the doll up and held it out in front of you, really questioning if this is what you came all this way for. “Oh my god. What did I just get myself into.” You mumbled to yourself. “Ms (L/n) I presume?” A voice greeted from behind you. You gasped and carefully laid the doll down on its side to turn around. An older lady stood at the bedroom door with a smile on her face, waiting for your reply. “Mrs. Heelshire. I am so, so sorry. The door just opened … on its own? So I walked in but no one was there.” You explained to her in a flustered manner. “No worries, it must have been Brahms that opened the door. I'm surprised he did that.” She gestured to the doll. You gave out a few laughs before looking at her face and realizing she was serious. You cleared your throat and looked down at your feet and back up to her. “I am glad you have already had the chance to meet and hold Brahms. He really does seem to like you.” Mrs. Heelshire shrugged. “Oh, yes. He is a very lovely boy.” You nodded which made her smile. “I'm glad to hear that. Me and my husband are leaving tonight so I figured I would explain everything to you before we left.” Mrs. Heelshire said while walking over to the doll and picking it up off of its side to sit it back up.

_______

“Goodbye.” You closed the door behind the two and let out a long breath. “Oh my god. Oh my god. What the hell.” You panicked, looking around the large house. You were about to enter the kitchen when you heard a door slam shut, making you yelp. “Hello! Who’s there!” You shouted out, grabbing a large knife to protect yourself with. Another door slammed shut behind you making you scream and run up to your room with the knife held tightly in your right hand. “Brahms! If this is you!” You shakily called out to the boy. “Play with me.” A young boy's voice called out to you. The adrenaline racing throughout your body made your heart pump and brought tears to your eyes. “Ok. I'm coming.” You took a deep breath and put the knife down, making the decision to play it safe in case there were to be an actual child running around the long halls of the large mansion. You walked into Brahms’s bedroom and slowly walked over to the doll sitting on the bed. You looked around to see if there was an actual child hiding somewhere nearby but when you found nothing, you quickly looked back over to the doll. “You wanna play?” You asked the doll, picking it up and resting it on your hip. “Well, that isn’t on the list, so.” You scolded him, picking the paper up off the covers and reading over it.

You started with his lessons, sitting him by you while you struggled to play the piano. After about an hour of that, you picked Brahms up and carried him to a large chair that you pulled in front of your own seat. You picked up a poem book and began to read to him loud and clear for as long as needed and played his music. You walked around the house with Brahms to clean the place up, dusting, wiping things down, sweeping and mopping everything you could while swaying to the sound of the song playing in the background. When the music stopped, you left Brahms to put everything away. When you came back, Brahms was no longer sitting where he once was and you felt your heart pounding in your chest. “Brahms?” You yelled, quickly walking all throughout the house trying to find where he went off too. “I'm sorry. I forgot about the rule to never leave you alone.” You apologized to him once you found him looking out the glass doors that lead to a balcony on the top floor. You picked him up and looked outside at the green trees surrounding the place. It was warm enough that you wouldn’t want to layer up during the daytime so you figured it would be nice to take him to the balcony.

Lifting the latch to the door, you pulled them open to let in the fresh outside air. “Nice, isn’t it.” You smiled walking forward to lean on the railing with Brahms still in your arms but you weren't expecting the railing underneath you to be so weak and crumble apart when you put your weight on it and you fell forward. The broken stone stabbed into your stomach as you fell down to the ground, trying to curl your body to keep Brahms safe but you were too late in catching yourself and began to fall off of the balcony. You let out a very loud scream as you fell off the platform, throwing Brahms behind you so he didn’t fall down with you. You had thought that you had met your end until you felt a large hand grip the back of your shirt and prevent you from falling all the way to the ground from the top floor. The person behind you grabbed your leg and pulled you back onto the balcony, hugging you close. You were about to scream out for the stranger to let you go but felt a warm feeling flow throughout your body. Your burns marks began to disappear and the scratches and stab wound closed up and the dark blood that stained your clothing was the only proof left that it had actually happened.

Brahms felt the change as well and let you go so he could back away to reach his hand under his mask to feel his face. It felt smooth under his touch for once and he was startled. What have you done? Where were his scars? He snapped his head up to look at you and you quickly stood up to run off. You didn’t catch him speed off until he was already through the doors, the doll in his hand. “Wait! Hold on!” You called after him, quickly getting up and pulling your mask off of your face to let it fall to the ground. You had abandoned it with the broken stones that made up the railing of the balcony and left the doors open as well. You sprinted after him, catching his sleeve in the process and pulled as hard as you could. Brahms stumbled back and wrapped his hand around your neck, lifting you up before slamming you into the ground. Your head collided with the hardwood floor of the house leaving you dizzy and causing Brahms to feel the same. He loosened his grip on your throat and waited for the throbbing in the back of his head to stop before looking back at you. When he felt his airway closing up as he held his large hand down on your throat, it finally hit him. “Soulmate.” A deeper voice whispered. His hand lifted off of your neck allowing you to take a deep breath of air and pulled you back into his lap.

The doll was discarded by a decorative chair by the both of you and his new free hand came over to wrap itself around your body. He held you as close as he could, his mask getting in the way of him pressing his face into your hair. He removed his mask without a second thought and nuzzled his face into your neck. He had never felt this type of calm before. It was new to him and it made his heart beat fast and his skin tingle. You tried moving away from the man holding you but his grip on you only got tighter. He found his other half and there was no way he was letting you go now. “You’re my soulmate.” You whispered, trying to comprehend everything that was happening. You closed your eyes and leaned back into Brahms chest and felt a feeling that you had never felt before.

Love

You felt at home in his arms. You didn’t care if it was in the snow, in the heat, or in the dirt. Wherever he was, was where your home would be. He felt the need to be closer to you than possible and just held you there, enjoying the time he was sharing with you. “(Y/n)...” The low voice spoke just above a whisper. Hearing him speak made you want to cry a river of tears of joy. His voice was like a sweet melody in your ears, so soft and soothing and you could listen to it all day long. You could listen to it for the rest of your life.

#brahms heelshire #brahms #brahms the boy #the boy #brahms x reader #brahms imagine #brahms heelshire x reader #slasher blog #slasher x reader #slasher x s/o #slasher x you

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nancysgillians · 3 years

Note

I'm so invested in this AU that I'm coming of anon to continue asking! So, one of the big things with Grey's anatomy is always the mid-season/end of season catastrophe, right? What are some of the big ones you can see happening in Glee's Anatomy?

oh dang the mid season and end season and sometimes even first episode ill never forgive the show for george catastrophes are the most memorable and traumatic things on grey’s. this is glee characters so these won’t be too heavy as i personally can’t put them through too much trauma. it is a fine balance of hijinks, comedy, and drama on glee’s anatomy.

there is much triggering content so i put it under a cut and will tag it with anything people need! for more info about this au check here and here.

some of the things i imagine would happen in glee’s anatomy;

- burt has a heart attack kurt’s fourth year as a surgical resident and mike handles the case. kurt trusts mike but rachel believes she could do better and kurt has to remind her that if she had the chance to marry finn it would make burt family and you can’t operate on family and rachel is kurt’s family. its a wonderful hummelberry moment. kitty is the intern who assists and that’s when kurt recognizes kitty’s talent for cardio. there’s a freak storm that has the ER swamped and causes the power to go out temporarily during burt’s surgery. santana forces kurt to the ER to support incoming traumas and keep him from hovering. burt recovers and there are no complications.

- they’ve all finished residency and are thriving in their fields. tina is in a car accident on the way back from an organ recovery surgery. everything seems fine when they are brought to the hospital but kurt ends up discovering that tina has a brain tumor. mike shuts down and quinn can’t operate on her fiance (yes i slipped in poly quinntike) so kurt has to operate. quinn and mike are banned by tina from interfering and since the tumor is not impeding her abilities, decision making, etc. there is no reason for her lovers to take over making medical decisions. quinn and kurt get into a heated argument mercedes is caught between that almost causes quinn to lose her job when marley talks to the chief of surgery about what is going on. tinas surgery goes well and quinn and kurt reconcile but quinn asks for a sabbatical to take care of tinas recovery and ends up starting research on an award winning neuro technique.

- early on in their surgical residencies, santana struggles with following the rules when she thinks there are morally right ways to handle a case. santana and brittany are on a peds case where santana suspects that the father is abusing the child. they gather a ton of evidence and call family services. brittany covers for her after surgery when santana tries to keep the father from finding the kid until family services can intervene but santana gets cornered by the uncle who she believes is sympathetic and would take care of the kid. it turns out it was the uncle who was harming the child and santana has to set off the fire alarms and evacuate the building to get away from the uncle. santana receives several third degree burns and a broken arm from the physical altercation with the uncle but the kid remains unharmed. santana is treated primarily by mercedes. this is the case that makes brittany focus on being an OBGYN rather than a peds surgeon while santana buckles down on the rush of adrenaline caused from crisis situations. she’s working on controlling her impulses with the hospital ordered therapist.

- finns death happened in the hosptial. this is the worst catastrophe and it impacts them all. this happens when they are in their third year as surgical residents. blaine is actually the last friend to see finn alive and their conversation was an argument about how to treat a patient. though it ended with them confirming weekend plans to hang out with kurt, puck, artie, mike, and sam, blaine will always remember that finn told blaine he sometimes takes too many risks in surgery when a more conservative approach will also save them. a shooter lockdown is called at the hospital and everyone is at work but no one can reach or find finn. finn is hidden in a nurses lounge with the nurse the shooter is looking for. finn takes a bullet for the nurse right before they are found. the nurse does her best but finn did not have much time left and he leaves her with some final words to pass onto his friends and family. this incident is hugely traumatic and pretty much impacts the whole hospital staff - the nurse quits, most of them are mandated therapy following the trauma and kurt and rachel take a whole month off for bereavement.

- blaine’s grief following finn’s death is held tightly bottled. blaine tries to be strong for kurt who is in turn hiding his grief from blaine. blaine is also taking on a lot of finn’s cases and questions himself daily on what the best course of action is while seriously struggling with his mental health. enter a 14 year old who is gay bashed by school bullies that blaine, puck, and santana have to treat. during surgery puck is candid about being a bully and so is santana and they regret the times they would taunt kids about being different. blaine, who is already feeling this case is too personal, starts to spiral and confides in his colleagues that he was gay bashed at the same age and it caused him to become a surgeon. he vents his frustration about what happened and how it changed him. the kid pulls through and blaine breaks down post-surgery. blaine texts kurt to head home without him and blaine heads to the local bar. matt the bartender ends up calling kurt to come pick up blaine hours later when he passes out at the bar. blaine starts to lash out at colleagues at work, he spends a lot of time at the bar, and kurt and blaine have trouble communicating and they consider taking a break (they are currently engaged at this point). there's a turning point in one of their arguments when blaine makes a comment about him taking too many risks and how even finn thought so. kurt figures out that blaine needs to talk to a therapist more than just the hospital mandated sessions. kurt goes back to therapy as well and learns to share what he’s feeling regarding finn’s death.

if you recognize some of the storylines adapted - good. there is not a single tragic event that grey’s has not covered at this point but i refuse to subject the glee group to all of them!

#tw: death #tw: abuse #tw: car accident #tw: heart attack #tw: gay bashing #tw: gun violence #glee's anatomy #glee au #glee crossover #nd #new directions

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peach-the-owl · 4 years

Text

Child of the Nein

When you first meet (Mighty Nein & Child!Reader) Part 1

This popped into my head one day and I don’t think I‘ve seen anyone else do something like this so I thought: Hey why not? You know because a child in a group of adventurers couldn’t possibly go wrong

Also they may not be 100% accurate to their back story but I kept them as close as I could

Jester

Jester weaved her way through the streets of Nicodranas until she had reached the edge of the port side city. Looking now at the necklace upon her, lost in thought, her bittersweet thoughts of home quickly interrupted however by rustling bushes nearby. Thinking one of the guards had found her she readied herself to run, only to freeze when a child looking no older then 8 comes tumbling out of it.

You pick yourself up off the ground and brush off some dirt, you then look up to see a pretty blue lady in front of you. She seemed nice, and it’d be rude not to say hello to her. "Hello, pretty blue lady." You give her a wave and a smile, which is happily returned by them.

"Hello! What's a cute little kid like you doing here all alone?" She kneels down and pokes your nose when asking, causing you to giggle.

"I’m exploring!" You state eagerly.

"Oh, I see. Where’s your momma and papa?" You look around before giving a shrug. "Do you have a momma and papa?" You shrug again, not knowing how to answer.

"Hey what’s that?" You ask pointing to the pendent on her waist. This caused her eyes to brighten more.

"This is my symbol of the Traveler, have you ever heard of him?" You shake your head and lean in closer to hear more. "Well he’s a really cool guy and can do really amazing things."

"Wow! That sounds awesome! Oh, I’m (y/n) by the way!" You say, realizing you forgot to introduce yourself.

"I’m Jester." Jester holds her hand out for you to shake, which you eagerly do.

"So Jester, what are you doing here all alone?" You ask, mimicking her earlier question. You see Jesters smile drop a little.

"I made a really powerful man reeallly angry, but he was also a big jerk so he had it coming, *sigh* but to stay safe I have leave home."

"Can I come! I love adventuring and exploring, it’ll be sooooo much fun with someone else too!" You bounce on your feet and look at her expectantly. Jester did like the sound of having someone to travel with and an opportunity to talk more about the Traveler, and by the looks of things you didn’t have anyone else with you (which is a little sad for someone still so young).

"Of course you can!" Jaester agreed, having you around seemed like fun not to mention you reminded Jester of herself when she was young and couldn’t wait to introduce you to the ways of the Traveler and all the mischief you two would make. What could possibly go wrong?

Nott

Being the young runt in a clan of goblins made things hard for you, being seen as weak and useless lead to them constantly bullying and pushing you around. One day while forced to help carry some of the heavy equipment for the torturer you had slipped up causing everything you carried to crash to the ground. You try to ignore the yelling and ridicule from the torturer but you could feel the tears pricking your eyes which lead to more yelling, you slowly pick yourself up and start going to grab the equipment. It’s then you notice the stares of the assistant on you, you duck your head down lower and continue about your prior job.

Nott watched from a safe distance as her "boss" yelled at the smaller goblin, she knew better then to intervene. Still she couldn’t help but feel some pity for the little one as she understood what it’s like to be bullied for being different, and she’d be lying if she didn’t admit to feeling her maternal instinct kick in for the child. When the torturer finally left Nott decided to make her move, carefully approaching them.

"It's no fun being bullied around is it." Her shrill voice causes you to stumble a bit. After a brief moment of pause you you slowly shake your head. "Do you even like it here?" You didn’t know what she was getting at, nonetheless you shake your head again. After a longer pause you figured the more one-sided conversation was done so you once again go back to heaving the equipment along.

"What if we could leave?" Now she had your full attention.

"H-how do we do that?" You voice came out quiet and scratchy, due to hardly using it.

"I’m not sure yet but I’ll figure something out."

"Ok… but why-why help me? I’m not very big or strong, I’d probably just hold you back." You look into her big yellow eyes in search of an answer, unsure if you could actually trust them.

"I used to feel the same, still do sometimes, but I think since we both don’t like it here we can help each other out." Being young the logic seemed sound enough for you.

"Alright, let's do it." You wanted to shout with excitement but kept you voice down not wanting to redraw the attention of the torturer.

"I’m…… Nott, that’s N-O-T-T." Nott gave you a faint smile, you stare at her with a confused expression which she catches onto. "Oh that’s right, you don’t know how to spell do you. That’s alright, can you tell me your name?"

"I don’t got one. They just call me runt because that’s what I am." You look down to the ground, suddenly finding it more interesting as you shuffle your feet about. Nott pondered on this for a moment before lighting up with an idea.

"How about I call you (y/n), has a good ring to it don’t you think?" The name sounded a little strange to you but in a good way, definatly not a traditional goblin name, still you liked it all the same. Giving Nott a nod and your first real toothy smile in awhile (hey that rhymed), you both decided to sneakily think of ways to free yourselves from the clan. What could possibly go wrong?

Caleb

The people here in Vergesson Sanatorium said you were psychotic. Being 5 you didn’t know what that meant, all you can remember is watching as the "pretty colours danced" and now you where here in this big boring building. They say it’s for your own good, that it’s the only place you’ll get the help and care you need. Again you didn’t quite understand what that was supposed to mean, you had asked if you could go home once but they said that this was your home now and it would have to be until you were older and fully recovered. Everything they said just left you confused and with more questions; why couldn’t you go home, what were you even recovering from, and many more all of which you never got the answer to. There were other people "like you" here but many of them didn’t seem much fun or up for a chat leaving you bored to wits end, but that all changed (when the fire nation attacked) when you bumped into someone while roaming around. You crane your neck up to see a man with messy reddish hair, next to him laying on the ground was a guard, you could recognize that uniform anywhere. The man then turns to look at you with a glare, you stare into his eyes for a moment before pointing to the guard.

"Is he sleeping?" It seemed like an odd question but you had always been a curious soul. The man looks between you and the guard, his glare having now turned into a deadpanned expression.

"Ja, he is." Is his responce to you before he starts walking away, you take this as a sign and follow him. Not without noticing a small red puddle by the guard as you pass them, however you just thought he must’ve had too much tomato juice before taking a nap. Continuing through the winding halls of the sanatorium you realize you’ve never been to this area yet.

"Where are we going?" You pipe up, causing the man to halt his movement in surprise so wrapped up in his objective he didn’t realize you had been following him.

"I am leaving." He put a big emphasis on the I hoping you take the hint, you didn’t.

"Can I come? Please it’s so boring here, everything’s the same, I wanna go outside and-"

"Stop!" You stop and look at him, his eyes calculating you, not that you would’ve caught onto that. After a moment of your little staring contest he mumbles something you can’t quite catch, other then the words "small" and "useful". "Very well," he says loud enough for you to hear now, "you may come along but you must listen and do exactly as I say, understand."

"Yeah, ok!" You couldn’t contain your enthusiasm, practically bouncing around, finally you could leave this boring place and go somewhere more exciting. You would’ve run to give this man a hug but he held up his hand, once again stopping you.

"First rule, none of this… over excitement. Second rule, stay as quiet as possible, we don’t want to attract any attention." You immediately stop and give a slight nod to show him you were listening, just like he’d asked. After what felt like hours of wandering to you, you finally find yourself back in the colourful outside world, it’s also at this time you realized you never gave this man your name.

"I just remembered that I forgot to tell you my name's (y/n). What’s yours?" You look to him expectantly, waiting for him to tell you his name. He turns to you, a slight annoyed expression on his face. Opening his mouth to say something he hesitates.

"My name… is… not important right now." He says, carefully picking his choice of words. "First we must focus on leaving the area undetected, and remember to stay quiet." You give a quiet "oh yeah" before following his lead and sneaking off. At last you were free from the sanatorium, with a strange and scruffy man… What could possibly go wrong?

Caduceus

You pushed through the thick vegetation that surrounded the area going as fast as your legs could carry you. You can hear your mothers words repeating in your head; "My child, you must hurry! Go! Seek help at the Blooming Grove!" You’d heard of the place before, from others in your clan, but never visited it yourself. None of that mattered at the moment as you continued to traverse through the sharp, thorny vines, giving little thought to the various cuts you were receiving. Finally after days of running and hiding you see a graveyard, and based upon what you were told it matched the description of the Blooming Grove. You only take a few steps forward before your knees buckle under you, the exhaustion of tireless travel and the various wounds having finally crept up on you to take their toll. You pass out soon after.

Another day of tending to the graves of the departed had become a pleasant routine for Caduceus, however he did have to admit it felt lonesome since the last of his family had left to seek a cure for the blight that plagued the area. The sound of a soft thud draws him away from his thoughts, he looks over his shoulder but doesn’t see anything at first. Slowly he makes his way over to the source of the sound and scans the area, surprised to find a rather young firbolg laying unconscious a few feet from the entrance of the temple. He scans the area again but finds no one else in the immediate vicinity, as he makes his way closer to the child he soon notices the many cuts and bruises that litter their body. It's as if some maternal instinct kicked in as Caduceus carefully gathers the child into his arms and brings them into the temple without a second thought. He gently lays them on one of his sisters beds and begins treating their wounds, patching up the smaller cuts with bandage and using his magic to heal the more concerning gashes that covered the youngling.

You slowly creak your eyes open and immediately notice your new surroundings, you also couldn’t help but notice the bandages that now coverered your arms and legs. "Good to see you’re finally awake." You shift you’re attention to the door where the pink haired firbolg stands with what looks to be a fresh kettle of tea. "I’m Caduceus." He says gently, seeing the slight confusion on your face.

"Ummm… hi. I’m (y/n)." Despite everything you find it hard to form words, settling on the awkward greeting. He laughs softly before setting down the kettle and pouring a cup of tea, the gentle aroma wafting around you. He silently offers you a cup which you happily accept, the awkwardness of earlier quickly melting away.

"So tell me (y/n), what are you doing here all alone?" He gives you a concerned look, you shuffle in place, trying to find the right words to use.

"My… my home got raided by a tribe of forest giants, my family tried to settle things calmly but they wouldn’t listen. My momma told me to look for help at the Blooming Grove, and from what I was told this seems to be the place." The was a long pause once you finished your story, the silence feeling suffocating the longer it went on.

"I’m sorry that happened to you, and while you did find your way here I… I’ve been the only one here for the last 5 maybe 6 years now." The information slowly sinks in and as it does your ears flatten and your tail wraps around your legs, curling yourself into a ball. Tears well up in your eyes at the thought of everything you did being for nothing, only when you felt Caduceus' hand gently place itself on your back did you snap back to reality and redirect your attention onto him. "It’s not all bad if you think about it."

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"You’re still alive and you were able to make through the dangers of the forest and find your way here without ever having been here before. I don’t think that’s just some coincidence, I believe you were guided here for a reason, that somehow someday you and I will have a greater role to fulfill."

"You really think so?" You rub the tears from your eyes a bit and give him a rather adorable doe eyed stare. He gives you a kind smile and nods. His words defiantly helped you feel a little better, and the both of you now had each other for company until destiny decided to call you elsewhere. What could possibly go wrong?

Part 2 will be out soon-ish (hopefully) with the rest of the Mighty Nein I didn’t feature here (obviously)

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aquaminwrites · 5 years

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Paper Cranes | Kim Taehyung (M)

PAIRING: Kim Taehyung x F!Reader

GENRE: Fluff, smut, angst. Non idol AU. College AU. Best friends to lovers. Slice of life.

WARNINGS: Explicit sexual content, unprotected sex (stay safe!), so much fluff you might pass out

WORD COUNT: 18.3k

DESCRIPTION: It is said that if someone folds 1000 paper cranes, they will receive one wish. Kim Taehyung has been folding you paper cranes since he was six years old. He won’t tell you what he’s going to wish for once he reaches his goal, but even into your twenties, all you know is that he’s been wishing for the same thing every time.

You’re six years old when you receive your first paper crane from Kim Taehyung.

Your first year of elementary school is almost over—there’s only two months left until summer break, and you’ve been counting down the days until you are finally free to wake up as late as you want and play with your friends until the sun goes down.

That’s also why it strikes you as odd that there’s a new transfer student, his newly assigned seat right beside yours, being introduced to the class. His eyes are big and wide underneath a fringe of dark brown hair, and he’s cute in the way that all kids are cute—with rosy cheeks, big ears, and a shy demeanour that tells you that he would most likely rather have stayed at his previous school.

After a brief introduction of Hello, I’m Kim Taehyung, he shuffles over and takes his seat. He doesn’t really look at you, keeping his head down as he pulls his notebooks from his backpack. You see that the margins are covered in doodles, little cartoons and make-believe stories etched onto every far corner of the page.

You open your mouth to introduce yourself, but the sound of your teacher’s voice has you facing the blackboard once more. You try not to think too hard about the new boy sitting beside you, gently humming to himself as he doodles butterflies in an open meadow.

At recess, you’re playing with a few friends, doing cartwheels and rolling around on the grass. You’re giggling with your friend, Chaeyoung, when you hear a ruckus happening not too far away.

“Hey! Please, no, give it back!”

You glance over and see a group of three known playground bullies who have circled Taehyung, holding his notebook up above his head, so high that he can’t reach.

“What’s so special that’s in here, anyway?” One of the bullies taunts, as he starts to leaf through the pages. “This your diary or something?”

“Please, just give it back,” Taehyung begs, trying to jump up to grab his book.

Another bully places his hand on Taehyung’s chest and shoves him back, and the suddenness of the motion has the smaller boy falling and landing hard on his tailbone.

It’s when you see tears pricking his eyes that you begin to fume. You distantly hear Chaeyoung hissing at you to get back here, you’re gonna get in trouble! as you stomp your way over to the group of boys, ones that you know are in a grade higher than yours. So why are they picking on little kids anyway?.

“Hey,” you bark, tiny fists with white knuckles at your sides. “Leave him alone!”

The bully holding the book swivels in your direction and snorts. “Or what?”

Not one to back away from a challenge or a fight (to Chaeyoung’s dismay—you hear her groaning as she catches up with you), you defiantly stare him right in the eye before you wind back your foot and kick him in the shin—hard.

He yelps and drops the book, and you’re quick to snatch it back. “My big cousin is thirteen and he does judo,” you warn, venom dripping from your voice. “So I suggest you leave both of us alone if you know what’s good for you.”

Having recovered from the kick, the bully glares at you with flared nostrils, and he takes a step forward as if he’s ready to continue this fight. You just lift your chin and cross your arms over your chest, one eyebrow raised. When he sees that you’re not about to back down, he lets out a grunt and mutters, “Ain’t worth it. C’mon, guys.”

And just like that, they turn around and leave.

You hand the book wordlessly back to Taehyung with a trembling hand as Chaeyoung runs over and basically tackles you with a hug. The boy is still on the ground when he accepts the book from your grasp, looking up at you with shiny, doe eyes.

Chaeyoung can’t help but gush in her excitement. “You are so cool! And so tough! Wow! Wait—are you shaking?”

“Oh my gosh, Chae-Chae, I was so scared!” You wail, dramatically collapsing into your friend’s arms as the adrenaline bred from confrontation finally starts to slow. “I thought I was gonna get punched in the face for sure!”

Chaeyoung gasps. “You really think they would hit a girl?”

You roll your eyes. “Dummies with no brains will hit anyone.” You sigh and then turn to ask Taehyung if he’s alright, but when you glance over, he’s already gone. The only evidence that he’d been there in the first place was the patch matted grass where he landed from the fall.

After recess, you and Chaeyoung file back into your classroom, and you wander back over to your desk. To your surprise, there’s something resting atop it, though you had cleared it before going outside.

You get closer and notice that it’s a paper crane, folded with a ripped out page of a notebook that has doodles of butterflies in an open meadow on it. You glance at Taehyung, and he meets your eyes and offers up the tiniest of smiles.

“Is this for me?” You have to ask.

His smile widens, boxy and adorable. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

You cradle the paper sculpture in your hands and examine it carefully. Along the top of one of the wings, in surprisingly neat penmanship, he’d written, “Because you stuck up for me.”

“What they did to you was wrong,” you reply quietly, thumb running along one of the creases. “I hate bullies. I always have.”

Taehyung looks at you with something you can’t quite pinpoint dancing in his vision. After a beat, he gently says, “Don’t throw it away, promise?”

“I would never!” You gasp with mock-indignation. Taehyung just patiently waits for the response he wants to hear, his heart-shaped lips settling in a neutral line. You sigh, and then sincerely respond, “I promise.”

His boxy smile returns, and you can’t help but grin as well.

Maybe the new kid isn’t so bad after all.

—

You’re ten years old when you finally ask why he’s folding all those cranes.

It turns out that the Kim family had moved walking distance from your house. Their home is a little more isolated, with Taehyung’s parents owning a small strawberry farm with a decent amount of property. It’s ten minutes away by foot, and only a few minutes if you take your bike.

After that first meeting, you and Taehyung become the best of friends. He makes you laugh with his silly but innocent way of speaking, often acting out skits and things he’d seen on television for you because he knows it makes you giggle when you hear his girly falsetto.

It soon becomes routine for the two of you to go to and from school together, since your house is on Taehyung’s way. Every morning for the last four years, he’s either walked or biked to your house to pick you up. Sometimes when he shows up early, your mother ushers him inside for a post-breakfast snack. Other times, he brings your family baskets of strawberries from the farm, just because he knows how much you like them.

All the while, Taehyung still gifts you with paper cranes.

You think you’ve amassed around a hundred by now. Taehyung likes to make them for you on your birthday and special holidays, interspersed with random ones when he finds an interesting piece of paper he think you’d like, or even newspaper clippings, and his own doodles on lined paper. You keep every single one pressed flat and placed in a shoe box under your bed.

They’re all different sizes, and some of them were made with pieces of scrap paper. But they always have a message written on the wings, and you always cherish them because Taehyung took the time to make them for you.

On the day of your tenth birthday, you throw a party in your backyard. It’s the end of summer, just before school is meant to start up again, and you’re finally an age that has two numbers in it. You feel older, more mature.

And as an older, more mature version of yourself, in your pursuit of knowledge, you can’t help but ask Taehyung as he digs into a second slice of cake, “Why do you fold so many paper cranes?”

Taehyung’s eyes go wide, as if he thought you knew already. “You mean you haven’t heard of the legend?”

You narrow your eyes at him. Taehyung is a few months younger than you, so he’s still nine, a child.

“No?”

Taehyung shovels more cake into his mouth while he speaks, clearly ignoring Chaeyoung’s look of both disgust and fascination from where she’s been snacking on popcorn not three feet away.

“They say that if you make a thousand paper cranes, you get one wish,” he says simply without offering up much else in terms of explanations.

You wait for a beat in case he’s just taking a dramatic pause, as he’s known to do. When he contentedly licks the icing off his fork, you can’t help but regard him curiously. “What are you wishing for?”

Taehyung only offers you a wink in reply. “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

Taehyung ends up getting you a charm bracelet with your birthstone on it, as well as a charm with the letter “T” that dangles down from one of the beads. Your mother tells you later that night, after the party has cleared out, that Taehyung saved up all his allowance to buy that for you. She heard so from his mother. You feel warmth rise up to your cheeks as you think of your best friend and his kind, boxy smile and the ten paper cranes he’d neatly stuffed into an envelope in lieu of a card.

This time, the message on the wings says, “You’re finally double digits! Happy birthday! Love, your best friend, Tae-Tae.”

—

You’re thirteen when you start to look at him differently.

“You want me to what?”

You roll your eyes in an attempt to act flippant, though the hands worrying at the hem of your shirt give you away. “Come on, Tae, it isn’t that big of a deal.”

“Sorry,” he holds up his hand, his eyes still squinted in confusion. “But you want me to what? Why me? Why now?”

You groan, already embarrassed by the question you’d posed in the first place. At the insistence of him repeating your request, you fear you might actually spontaneously combust. The two of you are in your room, sitting on your bed, and Taehyung is staring at you as if you’ve grown a second head from the top of your shoulder.

“It’s just a kiss, Tae. I don’t want to start high school without having kissed anyone before. And you’re my best friend, I trust you.”

“Chaeyoung’s also your best friend,” Taehyung grumbles, his shoulders slumped as he glances anywhere but you. “Why don’t you just ask her?”

“I’m not attracted to her, you dummy,” you huff, arms crossed over your chest.

Taehyung, a budding flirt, cannot help but quip, “So, you’re saying that you find me attractive?”

You roll your eyes again so hard that you’re fairly certain that you just saw the back of your skull. “Don’t be stupid. Are you going to help me out or not? Because if not, I’ll ask Jimin or something, he probably wouldn’t ask as many dumb questions—”

“Jimin?” Taehyung gawks. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

You don’t know why, but you’re surprised when he agrees. You asked, after all. What had you expected? Taehyung is a lot of things, but he has never once let you down in the seven years you’ve been friends. The weight of the verbal contract starts to sit on your shoulders, not to mention the act in question that is about to take place. You wipe your damp palms against your shorts and scoot a little closer to Taehyung, who is staring intently at you with his big, beautiful brown eyes.

You’re so close to him now that you can feel the body heat he radiates. Your eyes scan all over his face, and you think to yourself that he’s grown up a lot since you met him all those years ago. He still hasn’t quite grown into his ears, and he still has the scrawny gangly quality that all early adolescents have in their limbs. But you suppose he’s objectively cute, and not a bad face to kiss for your first.

When you get close enough, you let your eyelids close and you tilt your head just slightly in anticipation. Taehyung meets you halfway, and you feel your heart hammering against your chest as soft, gentle lips press lightly to your own.

You’re expecting a quick peck, for it to happen and then be over. What you’re not expecting is for Taehyung’s hand to reach up and cup your cheek when he senses you trying to pull away, thumb grazing over your skin as you allow yourself to sink into him just a little more.

After a few seconds, Taehyung drops his hand from your jawline and you slowly pull apart. You instinctively run your tongue along your lower lip before nibbling on it slightly, too shy to look at Taehyung in the eye as he scratches the back of his head.

After a thick silence, full of something you can’t quite explain, Taehyung clears his throat.

“So, uh,” he begins, his voice cracking just slightly at the end. “Was it okay?”

You finally look at him, his eyes warm but also apprehensive. You can tell by the way the muscles in his shoulders bunch, and he curls inward as if to make himself smaller. You hate when he does that.

“It was perfect,” you say honestly, sending him the tiniest of smiles, if only so that his worried frown would go away. “Thank you, Tae. Really.”

He clears his throat. “Uh, yeah, no problem. Hey, look, I have to head back home, I promised my parents I’d help with some stuff on the farm tonight. So I’ll see you at school on Monday?”

You watch dumbly as Taehyung is already up and off your bed, straightening out his clothes before making a beeline for your bedroom door. You barely have the chance to say a proper goodbye before he makes himself scarce, slipping out of your room, barreling down the stairs, and out the front door.

Your hand rests upon the warm indent of where Taehyung had just been sitting moments before, and you furrow your eyebrows in an attempt to understand what just happened. You were the one that asked him if the two of you could kiss, so why do you feel so weird about it now? Why did Taehyung touch you like that, like he really wanted you to be in his arms?

You raise your fingertips to softly run along the edge of your lower lip as you replay the kiss in your mind. A thought threatens to weasel its way into your consciousness, but you shove it down and pretend as if the butterflies in your stomach are only a result of being kissed for the first time. You tell yourself it isn’t because of Kim Taehyung, and that you’ll see him at school on Monday and everything will go back to how it was.

Although, you find it harder and harder to keep those thoughts at bay when you discover the paper crane folded in your locker with a small, single heart etched onto one of the wings.

—

You’re seventeen when everything changes.

You and Taehyung pretend the kiss never happened. You never talk about it after, and part of you wonders if Taehyung wants to talk, but is just too shy or nervous to say anything. Either way, as soon as high school starts, there’s no time to think about such silly things as a preteen kiss.

Everything feels the same, but also different. Your friends start to worry about things like popularity, something that wasn’t that big of a deal just a few years ago. Friend groups split up and people move on to different cliques, girls start wearing tighter clothes and the hallway by the boy’s locker room always smells like cheap body spray.

The one constant in your life, though, is Taehyung.

The two of you share a good number of classes together, and you still walk to school side by side every day. You always sit together at lunch in the cafeteria, and are always speaking in stupid inside jokes that make your other friends roll their eyes at you. You know there are rumours about you and Taehyung, but both of you constantly squash them down.

But it does’t help that neither of you have dated over the past four years since entering proper adolescence. You both just tell people that you don’t have the time, or that you just haven’t met anyone worth being with. And besides, you’re happy with how things are. Why would you want them to change?

You’re best friends, and you always will be. That’s all.

You’re in your senior year and it’s right around the time that everyone is receiving their admission packages for university. You had worked really hard the year previous to get good grades, and you just hope and pray that it’s enough to warrant an acceptance to your dream school.

When your mother hands you a thick, large envelope with the university’s header in the upper corner, you practically rip it from her hands and tear into it right in front of her. Happy tears blur your vision as you squeal upon reading the first line.

Dear Y/N,

We are pleased to offer you early admission to Seoul National University…

The first person that you want to tell is Taehyung.

You grab your heavy winter coat, tug on your boots and mittens, and run as fast as you can down the street towards the Kim’s farm. It had snowed the night before, so it takes you a little longer than usual as your boots crunch through the freshly fallen tufts of white. Because Taehyung’s area is a little more rural, the plows have a harder time getting there to clear everything away. But you pay no mind, overjoyed at the news you can’t wait to share.

When you get to the house, you knock on the door before peering into the side window. You wave at Taehyung as he comes down the stairs, a look of surprise on his face at your sudden appearance.

“Hey,” he greets, opening the door for you. You step inside and he offers to take your coat. He’s grown tall, you realize, as he easily moves around you to hang your things in the hall closet before ushering you further into the warmth of his house.

“Are your parents home?” You query, poking your head around the corner into the empty living room.

“No, they had to go run some errands,” Taehyung shrugs. “Winter’s pretty slow for us here, anyway.” He leads you upstairs to his room, a place where you’ve been thousands of times, and he plops down on his bed as you take a seat next to him. “So to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

You try to ignore how Taehyung man-spreads across his duvet, and how thick his thighs have become since he started working out with that sophomore friend of his, Jungkook.

Finally, you blurt out with the biggest smile across your face, “I got in.”

Taehyung immediately sits up, pin-straight. “You did?”

Your smile somehow gets wider as pride and joy spread across his face. “I did.”

“Y/N!” He beams, jumping up and gathering you in his arms. “That’s amazing! You did it! I’m so fucking proud of you!”

You wrap your arms around his neck as his find your waist and you bask in the feeling of being held by your best friend. He’s always been so warm, and on a cold day like today, you welcome his embrace and his love for you.

Finally, you remember to stop thinking of yourself for five seconds and ask, “What about you?”

Taehyung suddenly goes still, and his grip on you tightens just slightly. “I…I’m not going.”

You pull away and look up at him. He’s dejected, eyes downcast and his face angled away from you as if he thinks you’ll be disappointed in him. You’re not, though. You never could be.

Sighing and running your hands along his shoulders in comfort, you say, “I’m sorry, Tae. I’m sure you got offers from other schools though, yeah? You worked just as hard as I did last year to get your grades up.”

“It’s not that,” Taehyung sighs, a crease forming between his brows. “I got in.”

You’re officially confused, taking a step back to purposely put yourself in his line of vision. “You got in? So what do you mean you’re not going? I thought the plan was that we were going to go to Seoul National University together.”

Taehyung exhales hard through his nose and scrunches his face, his eyes closing. It’s the face he gets when he’s overwhelmed with stress, unsure of how to articulate his words. You wait for him to be ready, smoothing out the collar of his sweater to keep yourself occupied. His hands grip tighter on your waist, and it takes you a second to realize that he’s still holding you.

“My parents need help with the farm,” he says quietly. “I declined my offer of admission.”

At those words, your heart breaks and your mind starts to race. Every thought you have at first is selfish—what will you do without Taehyung? The two of you have spent over a decade together, seeing each other damn near every day. Will your friendship survive the distance between Daegu and Seoul? The plan was to always stick together, to experience college milestones side by side.

You force yourself to push those thoughts aside so that you can focus on Taehyung. You know that SNU is his dream school, too. And not only did he get in, but he had to turn them down. You know that it wasn’t an easy decision for him to make, but he’s always been selfless like that—he’s always put you first and taken care of you, so it’s no surprise that he would do the same for his blood family.

“But it’s not forever, yeah?” You ask gently, brushing a strand of hair away from his eyes. “I’m sure that since you got in already, they can hold your admission until you’re ready.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he nods, but you can tell that he’s done talking about it. He doesn’t want to think of a reality where he’s stuck on his parents’ strawberry farm laying down fertilizer while you’re off in the big city making new friends and having new experiences. You see it in his eyes when he finally meets yours. He’s scared. Terrified of a future without you.

Always able to read his mind, you pull him in for another hug, nuzzling into his neck as you murmur, “You’re my best friend, Tae-Tae. Just because we won’t live down the street from each other anymore doesn’t mean I’m just going to forget about you.”

His inhale is shaky, and it takes all of your willpower not to cry, too. “Promise?”

You don’t know what possesses you, but you rise to your tip toes and press a soft kiss against his cheek. He whips his head to face you with wide eyes, but you just send him a tiny smile and reply, “I promise.”

The rest of senior year, you and Taehyung are practically inseparable—even more so than before. You find out that Chaeyoung also got into SNU, and the two of you manage to work it out so that you two can be roommates when you move into the dorms. You find solace that you at least won’t be completely alone in a different city, though your heart still hurts at the thought of Taehyung missing out on his opportunity.

The two of you spend as much time together as possible, almost as if the clock is ticking down on your friendship with your imminent move coming up. Summer is full of laughter and long nights by the river, reminiscing about simpler times when you were kids. When things didn’t seem so complicated, and distance was never an issue.

Your moving day rolls around faster than you could have ever anticipated. You’ve loaded the last of your things into the back of your parents’ van when you see Taehyung jogging down the street towards your house.

You’d texted him earlier that morning to let him know that you were leaving soon. Of course, he’d known that it was going to be today, but he still wanted to make sure he got to say goodbye to you before you drove to Seoul and out of his life.

When he reaches you, his eyes are misty and red and you’re sure you look just like him. It feels like the end of a chapter, like a pivotal moment where you’re stepping away from your childhood and moving into life as an adult.

Taehyung stops at your feet and just stares at you for a second, his eyes darting all over your face. You look up at him, doing the same, until a tear slips from the corner of your eye and then suddenly you’re sobbing into his chest and he’s holding you and whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

“You’re going to do great,” he promises, rubbing small circles on your back. “You’re going to make so many new friends, because it’s impossible for people not to love you. You’re going to become the city girl that I know you’ve always dreamed of being, and you’re going to make Seoul your bitch.”

You laugh at the last comment, pulling away to look at him again. “Thank you, Tae,” you hiccup.

He smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “And you’ll call and FaceTime me all the time, right?”

You sniffle, giving a nod. “Of course.”

Taehyung reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Promise?”

You exhale shakily, but meet his gaze head-on. “I promise.”

He looks down and something in his line of vision glints. He notices the charm bracelet on your wrist, and he can’t help but chuckle. “I can’t believe you still have that.”

“Of course I still have it,” you say with the tiniest hint of a smile. “It reminds me of you.”

You hear your mother calling you from the passenger’s seat of the van, ushering you that it’s a long drive and you need to leave now.

Taehyung clears his throat a few times, trying to be strong for the both of you. He takes your hands and presses something into your palm, and from the feel of it, you already know what it is. The paper crane in your hand makes you cry more, and Taehyung presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Go on, Y/N. Go find your future.”

Your lower lip trembles as you speak. “I don’t want to leave you.”

This time, when he smiles, the warmth is back in his eyes. “You’re not,” he swears. “We’re best friends, remember? Wherever you go, I won’t be far behind. Just wait for me, okay?”

You promise him again, because how could you not?

“Okay.”

Once you’re in the car, you put your headphones on and select the playlist that Taehyung made you of all his favourite songs. It reminds you of him, anchors your heart in Daegu, where he remains on his parents’ farm until it’s his turn to pursue his dreams. You look at the crane that you hold like a precious gem in your palms, and the tears start welling up again as you read the message written on one of the wings.

“Don’t forget about me while you’re off at university. I know you’ll do great things.”

—

You’re nineteen when you meet Park Jinyoung.

You notice him immediately when you walk into one of your tutorials—an elective on music history that you take because you’ve heard that the professor gives great lectures.

Also, because Taehyung was the one who introduced music to you all those years ago, and you’ve grown to love it too. He also loves hearing about what you’ve learned in lecture when you do get the chance to talk, which, as the years go on, becomes less and less.

It’s no one’s fault, really. Distance makes things hard, as do the responsibilities that come along with being a university student. You have paper after paper due, and Taehyung tells you that he doesn’t want to bother you when you’re in the middle of your studies. Your schedules also just don’t align, with him still helping on the farm and having to be up at the crack of dawn and going to bed early, and with you opting for afternoon and evening classes so that you can get a little more shut eye to start your day.

He still mails you paper cranes every now and then. Not as often as he used to, but it still makes you smile when you get to add another one to your growing collection. You must have close to five or six hundred by now, and you’ve had to start a second shoebox to make sure everything fits.

But Park Jinyoung is different. And he’s here.

For one, he looks like a Disney prince. Like someone had pulled him from a designer fashion catalogue and plopped him in the middle of your tutorial. You’re nearly late, so the only remaining seat is next to him. He smiles shyly at you when you sit down, and you try to hide the blush dusting your cheeks behind the length of your hair.

You dig into your bag for your laptop and flip it open as your TA walks into the room, prepared to take notes. But then you check the battery on your computer and notice that there is definitely not enough of a charge to keep it alive for the duration of your class.

Cursing yourself for not charging it overnight, you notice that the man sitting beside you has the same model. You muster up all your courage, turn to him and ask, “I’m really sorry about this, and I’m usually not this unprepared, but do you happen to have a laptop charger I can borrow? We have the same one, so I figured—”

He smiles at you and your stomach does flips. “Of course.” He pulls the charger from his backpack and hands it to you, and you gratefully take it and plug in your computer. “I’m Jinyoung, by the way.”

“Y/N,” you introduce, shaking his offered hand.

“You know,” he says after a beat, a drawl in his voice that has a tiny hint of mischief in it. “Letting you borrow my charger is a pretty big favour, considering that we’re basically strangers. I think I might need some kind of repayment.”

You raise an eyebrow at him curiously. “Oh? Like what?”

“A cup of coffee,” he states. “After class?”

There’s no use in hiding your blush now. You smile, biting your lip. “I can do that.”

It doesn’t take long for Park Jinyoung to become your boyfriend. You and Chaeyoung move into the off-campus apartments after your freshman year, and it turns out that Jinyoung lives in the building next to yours. He’s as sweet as they come, the perfect, doting partner, someone that loves you and isn’t shy about it, either.

He holds your hand in public, guides you by the small of your back through large crowds, brings you flowers just because he feels like it, and proudly shows you off to his friends when you’ve hit the six month mark of your relationship.

His only thing is that he thinks the charm bracelet you’re wearing is weird. So he asks you to take it off. And so you do, and sits in your jewelry box, pretty much forgotten.

Things are good. Really, really good.

But of course, life always likes to throw curve balls your way.

One afternoon, you’re sitting on the couch with Jinyoung in his apartment, his arm wrapped around your shoulders as you watch some true crime documentary on Netflix after an early dinner. It’s just starting to get good when your phone rings on the coffee table, the loud buzzing startling you as you take a look at the screen.

You pick up and in a confused tone, answer with, “Mom?”

“Hi, sweetie,” she replies, sounding tired.

You sit up straight, suddenly on high alert. Your mother doesn’t really like phone calls, much prefers texts for some reason (she’s partial to emojis, and you almost regret downloading the keyboard onto her phone), so the fact that she’s calling at all is unusual.

“Is everything okay?”

She’s quiet for a second, and you can hear your pulse in your ears. Jinyoung pauses the movie and adjusts how he’s sitting so that he can fully face you. He gives you a curious look but you just shrug your shoulders helplessly.

Finally, your mother sighs and says, “Taehyung’s grandmother passed away two nights ago.”

You suddenly feel cold all over. Why are you only hearing about this now, from your mom of all people? Why hadn’t Taehyung told you himself? You try to think of the last time you spoke to him, and you realize that it’s been months. Ever since you and Jinyoung started dating, you’ve completely neglected him. And the realization that you promised you wouldn’t starts to weigh on you, and you’re crying before you know what’s happening.

“When’s the funeral?”

“Tomorrow,” she responds. You immediately stand up and swipe at your eyes, grabbing your coat from the front hall of Jinyoung’s apartment. He rises to his feet and pads after you, confusion plain as day on his face.

“I’m getting on the next bus,” you say. “See you soon.”

“What’s going on? Is everything alright?” Jinyoung asks in a minor panic as you grab your things and already have a hand on the doorknob.

“Family emergency,” you say, already weary. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back for class on Monday.” You rise to your tip toes and press a lingering kiss to his lips, to reassure him more than anything that you’re going to be okay. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” he murmurs against your mouth, stealing another peck. “Text me when you get to your parents’ house, okay?”

You nod. “Okay.”

You manage to catch a late bus to Daegu, and you make it home just before midnight. You text Taehyung to let him know you’re coming home, and you just get a heart emoji in response. You know how close Taehyung and his grandmother were. She practically raised him while his parents were busy making ends meet. She was always so kind and so warm, a precious soul who treated you like you were also her grandchild. She used to braid your hair and make you flower crowns when you were small, and the world is a little less bright without her.

It feels weird being back home. Since Seoul is so far, you don’t get to visit as often as you’d like. You really only make it home for the holidays, and even then, you don’t stay very long. But now that you’re here, everything seems so small. Everyone knows everyone else’s business, and it’s just not like that in the city. Everyone there is too busy focusing on achieving the next goal to worry about the trivialities of others. There it’s so loud, with cars and buses and drunken college students in the streets every weekend.

Here, it’s quiet. And in your neighbourhood too, it’s dark. Living on the border between rural farmland and suburbia means that there aren’t as many street lights to illuminate the roads. You haul your overnight bag over your shoulder and make your way up the driveway to your front door.

Your mom is there before you can even knock, pulling you into her arms in a tight hug. You can tell she’s been crying. Taehyung’s family is your family too, after all.

“You must be exhausted,” she says, kissing your crown. “Why don’t you wash up and get some rest?”

You can’t help but agree, your back stiff from sitting on a coach bus for three and a half hours. But once you’re all settled into your old room and lying in your childhood bed, you find yourself unable to fall asleep. You toss and turn for about fifteen minutes before you rest flat on your back and sigh loudly.

Turning your head, you see the framed photo of you and Taehyung from his birthday the year you turned eight. It was winter wonderland themed, and you and the other kids were allowed to make snow forts in the big field behind their house. The photo was of you and Taehyung cheek-to-cheek with rosy cheeks and noses from playing in the snow. It makes your heart ache thinking of the pain he must be in. So you send him a text.

[Sent 12:31am] Y/N: Hey. Can I call?

[Received 12:33am] Tae-Tae: Ok.

You tap the phone icon beside his name and wait as it rings. Taehyung picks up almost immediately, but he’s quiet on the other end.

You take the opportunity to speak first. “Hi.”

After a second, Taehyung responds, voice heavy with melancholy. “Hey.” He lets out a derisive laugh with no joy behind it whatsoever. “It’s good to hear your voice again. I was starting to think you forgot all about me.”

You don’t know how to address your absence in his life, and you don’t think you’re ready right this second to tell him about Jinyoung. So you deflect.

“How are you holding up, Tae-Tae?”

He’s quiet again, and you hate it when he gets like this. When he doesn’t know what to say, or how to process what he’s feeling aside from crushing despair, so he just stays quiet because he knows how much you hate to see or hear him cry.

Finally, he croaks out, “I’m not.”

You feel a tear slide from the corner of your eye down your cheek as you sit up in bed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He laughs again, hollow and empty. “What would be the point? She’s gone.”

“Tae…”

“I’m really sorry,” he cuts you off. “But I just…” He sighs hard on the other line and you play with a loose thread on your comforter as you wait for him to be ready. “Is it okay if we talk tomorrow? I just…have some stuff I want to say that I can’t do over the phone.”

You bite your lip, exhaustion just now beginning to settle into your bones. “Y-Yeah. Okay. Sure.”

“Okay,” he repeats, more to himself than anything. There’s another long stretch of silence, and then quietly, he adds, “I miss you.”

Miss. Not past tense. Present tense. His choice of words doesn’t escape your notice, and guilt starts to weigh heavily on you. Taehyung is supposed to be your best friend in the whole world, the person you’d spent every day with from ages six to seventeen. You love him, and he loves you, and you’re supposed to tell each other everything.

So why is it that he couldn’t tell you about his grandmother? And why is it that you feel like you can’t talk to him right now?

You realize you’ve gone quiet on your end and respond, “I miss you too, Tae. Try to get some rest, alright? I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you.”

He takes in a shaky breath and lets it out slow. “Okay. Goodnight.”

And then he hangs up.

The funeral takes place on a dreary Saturday. It isn’t raining, but it’s overcast. Taehyung stands with his family as he grips his mother’s hand. You stand with your own at their side, though you can’t quite see Taehyung when he’s flanked by both his parents. You hear him though, the quiet words of encouragement he sends to his mom, his voice thick as he works through the tightening of this throat to offer her comfort.

Other people in the neighbourhood, aside from just Taehyung’s family, also show up for the funeral. His grandmother was loved by many, and it at least warms your heart to know that she lived a long, happy life.

After the burial is over, Taehyung’s family hosts a reception at their home. You smooth out the fabric of your black dress after one of Taehyung’s cousins offers to take your coat. Gazing into the living room that is packed with friends and family, you try to spot Taehyung, but can’t seem to find him.

You wonder if maybe he’s in his room, just wanting to be away from all the noise for a second. You know that he wants to talk to you, to tell you something. But you can’t help but be a little worried, especially after how he’d ended the call last night. You know he’s hurting, and all you want to do is help.

So you slip past the crowd huddled around the refreshment table and tiptoe upstairs and down the hall, towards his bedroom.

You notice his door is slightly ajar, and he’s sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. You knock gently so as not to startle him, and he turns to look at you before rising to his feet.

He’s taller now, you notice. Broader too. He’s grown into his ears, his hair getting long with his fringe obscuring his eyes. His heart-shaped lips are pressed tightly together in a worried frown, and there’s a crease forming between his brows that you want to smooth out with the pad of your thumb. He looks…handsome. Different, but he’s still Taehyung. Your Taehyung.

You hate how breathless you sound as you say, “Hi.”

Taehyung doesn’t move at first. He just looks at you, eyes darting all over your face. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. You can’t stand the thick tension that settles between the two of you, so you boldly stride over to him and loop your arms around his middle, burying your face in his chest. He stiffens at your touch, but after a second, you finally feel him embrace you back.

You squeeze him a little tighter and that’s when the dam breaks.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, leaning his weight on you as you feel tears hitting your shoulder. You rub small circles against his back as he cries, his body wracked with sobs. You guide him back towards the bed and help him sit once his breathing evens out, and you fetch him some tissues from his desk so that he can blow his nose.

You sit beside him, still rubbing his back with your head on his shoulder. He doesn’t really make any move to touch you or hold your hand like he used to when you were kids and one of you was having a hard time. The thought of it makes your heart sink. Have you two really grown so far apart?

The silence is long and awkward. Something you’re not used to with Taehyung. But you suppose, it’s been two years since you’ve properly seen him in person. Even when you’d come home for winter break, things with your family are always so hectic that you never really get to see anyone outside of your extended relatives before you have to go back to school. There are so many things that are different now. You aren’t children and life stops for no one.

“How’s Jinyoung?”

You whip your head to face him, eyes wide. You never told Taehyung about him. Not for any particular reason, it just…never came up.

You swallow past the dryness in your throat. “How did you—”

“Your tagged photos on Instagram,” he replies quietly, staring at the floor. “I saw it last night before you called. And,” he notes, gesturing to your bare wrist. “You’re not wearing your bracelet anymore.”

Your hand immediately stills.

“Why didn’t…” He reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. You move your hand away from his back, settling it into your lap to nervously fiddle with your fingers. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?”

You search for words, but come up short. “I…”

“You what?” Taehyung spits. “You get your first boyfriend, and then what? I don’t exist anymore?”

It’s your turn to sigh. “Taehyung, you’re not being fair.”

“No, you know what, fuck that,” he seethes, getting up from the bed so that he can pace back and forth in front of you. You look up at him helplessly, wringing your wrists as he fists at his hair. “You promised me, Y/N. You fucking promised.”

You’ve made so many promises to Taehyung in the past that your brain short circuits trying to figure out which one he means. Frustrated, you challenge, “Promised what?”

You regret the words as soon as they leave your parted lips. Taehyung stops, his hands now hanging limply at his sides. His hair is a disheveled mess, and you swear you catch a glimpse of a falling tear as the light catches it on its way to the ground. When he answers, it’s barely above a whisper.

“That you’d wait for me.”

You feel your heart fall into your stomach, and you stand up, reaching for him. “Tae, I—”

He moves away from you, and you retract your hand as if you’d been burned. He reaches for something on his desk, and you can’t help the shaky exhale that leaves your lungs when you see that it’s another paper crane. This time, it’s made with black paper, and you can see the inscription done with silver ink.

“Here,” he mumbles, holding it out for you to take. “I made it for you yesterday when my mom told me you’d be coming back.”

You accept it, because how could you not? Wave after wave of guilt washes over you. It shouldn’t feel like this, you think, with Taehyung. This is your best friend in the whole world, the one you share everything with. Guilt isn’t something you should feel for having met someone, for accepting love from someone else. It isn’t fair that he’s making you feel guilty for being happy. For living your life. Nothing about anything makes sense anymore, and when you look back up, Taehyung is already halfway out the door.

“Tae,” you call out one last time. He turns, and his face doesn’t suit the sadness that mars it. You don’t know what to say, so you settle on, “I’m really sorry.”

He offers you a solemn half nod. “Thank you for coming. Grandma would have been happy to see you.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you in the solitude of his empty bedroom.

You look down at the paper crane, heavy in your palms. You read the words etched onto the wing and it makes you hate yourself just a little bit more.

“Thank you for not forgetting about me.”

You allow yourself just one minute to cry. One minute to face the fact that you feel like you’re losing the most important person in your life, and you don’t know what to do to fix things. You let yourself break down from the sadness of being all alone in a house that used to feel like an extension of your home. But now…it’s just a house. It’s just a house in a small town that has nothing left for you.

So after your sixty seconds are up, you muster up all your energy and do the only thing you can.

You go back to Seoul.

—

You’re twenty when the shift happens.

It’s also when things start to fall apart.

You haven’t spoken to Taehyung since his grandmother’s funeral. It’s been months. Your birthday came and went without a text from him, and it was the first time you cried yourself to sleep since you were in high school.

You feel like a piece of your soul has been ripped from your body. And what’s worse is that you know that if you were to give Taehyung a call, he would answer. Regardless of whatever fight you two are having, no matter how angry or frustrated or confused you are with how you feel, you know that if you need him, he will be there for you no matter what.

But you don’t call.

Because you’re scared.

Scared of what, you aren’t entirely sure. But after returning to Seoul from Daegu, something changed. You’d started isolating yourself more, focusing only on school and not spending time with any of your other friends or going out like you used to.

Jinyoung notices as well—notices that you don’t invite him over as often as you used to, that he needs to coax affection from you when you used to give it so openly. He definitely notices when you fake an orgasm just to be done with sex. Your mind has just been so preoccupied, and part of you had believed that being intimate with your boyfriend would snap you out of it.

But the entire time, your mind is elsewhere. And you don’t know how to ask him to stop, so you squeeze down on him and moan like you know he wants to hear, arching your back off the bed just so that he’ll hurry up and get off of you.

Once he’s finished, Jinyoung rolls back onto the mattress and stares at the ceiling. Your room is dead silent, save for the sound of the both of you catching your breaths. You take your blanket and tug it up so that it’s covering your nose and mouth, hoping that he won’t notice your obvious discomfort at just lying in bed beside him.

Jinyoung exhales hard through his nose. “You wanna tell me what’s on your mind?”

You bite your bottom lip so hard, you’re sure you’ve broken skin. “Nothing’s on my mind.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Jinyoung remarks, sitting up and running a hand through his dark hair. He leans his elbows against his bent knees and stares off into the distance. “I know you’re in love with someone else.”

His remark shocks you so much that you sit up and scoot away from him, sheets clutched tight to your body. “What are you talking about?”

Jinyoung observes your body language and snorts, but it’s not one full of mirth. It sounds sad, like he’s finally coming to terms with something he’s been wrestling with for months.

“Even now,” he notes, lightly gesturing to your posture. “I just told you that I know you’re in love with another man, and instead of reassuring me and telling me that I’m crazy, you’re hiding. You’re hiding because you know I’m right.”

Your mouth feels so dry. You try to squeak out, “Jinyoung, that’s not true, I just—”

“Don’t,” he says with a tone of finality to it. He reaches down and grabs his boxers first, then slips out of your bed to gather the rest of his clothes. “I’m not stupid, Y/N. I know you’re not happy. Fuck, I’m not happy. And that’s not what a relationship is supposed to be. It’s supposed to be two people in love, not one person in love and the other pining over some guy from back in Daegu.”

Your blood runs cold. “W-what did you say?”

He exhales slowly, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. His face is scrunched in regret, as if he’s just revealed something he wasn’t supposed to know.

“When you came back from Daegu after you had that family emergency,” Jinyoung explains, “You seemed…different. Sadder. You wouldn’t talk to me about it, so I spoke to Chaeyoung. She told me about that friend of yours, Taehyung? The one who would always send you the paper cranes in the mail?” He chuckles derisively. “Best friends since age six. How am I supposed to compare to that?”

Your lower lip starts to tremble. By now, he’s fully dressed. “Jinyoung, you’re being unfair.”

He laughs again, louder this time. “I’m being unfair?” He scoffs. “You’re supposed to be my girlfriend. We’re supposed to be partners. If you’re having a hard time, you’re supposed to be able to come to me. I’m the one who has been here through everything, and yet I’m the one being tossed aside like I don’t matter.”

“But you do matter,” you insist, shifting to rise to your feet. Tears are blurring your vision now, but through the mist, you can see Jinyoung holding out a hand to stop you.

“I get it, you know,” he says, so quietly you almost miss it. “Really, I should have seen it coming. You used to talk about him all the time. Your friend from Daegu. You never told me his name because you wanted to protect me, right? Didn’t want me to know that you were only dating me so that you could get over him?”

You’re more confused than ever. “No, Jinyoung, that’s not it, you have it all wrong, I love you, I—”

“Please,” he cuts you off, voice strained. “Please just…let me talk, okay?”

You hiccup through a quiet sob as you hug your knees to your chest under the blanket. You nod. You can see in his eyes that he’s really hurting. And so if he needs to say his piece, you will let him. He deserves as much.

“I should have known right from the beginning when I found those boxes of paper cranes under your bed.”

Your heart stops dead in your chest and suddenly you’re furious. Wave after wave of confusion, anger, and betrayal wash over you as he continues to speak. Jinyoung was snooping around your things? Had he read all the messages that Taehyung had written for you over the years? Those were meant for the two of you only, not for anyone else.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to calm your mind. You want to scream at him. You want to tell him to get out, to leave, to never speak to you again. But then you open your eyes, and you see him standing by your bedroom door, eyes full of tears, heartbreak weighing his shoulders. And that’s when you know that you can’t.

As much hurt as you feel right now being confronted in this way, you know that Jinyoung is hurting even more. You don’t know exactly how long ago he found the cranes—he may have mentioned it, but you still can’t properly focus. You just know that the two of you aren’t meant to be. Maybe you were when you first met, and the two of you really were happy for the year and a half that you dated. But the space between you, both physical and metaphorical, is too great of a gap to conquer. And at this point, you don’t even know if you want to try.

And it’s the uncertainty that Jinyoung reads on your face clear as day.

“I’m going to go,” he says, placing a hand on the doorknob to your bedroom. “But we had a good run, yeah?”

A tear slips from your eye and rolls down your cheek. “The best.”

He shoots you a half smile before shoving his free hand into the pocket of his jeans. “Lock up after me, okay?”

You don’t shift to rise from the bed, but agree anyway. “Okay.”

And then you’re alone.

You slide your clothes back on, a simple tank top with an oversized hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. You make sure the front door to your apartment is locked, your fingers lightly grazing over the door handle where Jinyoung had been not moments earlier.

It’s hard to breathe in the silence. You feel your lungs starting to constrict, and then the tears start pouring out. You slide to the ground, back against the door as you cry into your sleeves. It takes you a minute to gather the strength to get up in search of your phone, but all you know is that right now, you’re not okay. Right now, you can’t be by yourself.

You’re dialling the number by muscle memory alone before pressing the device up to your ear. It rings once. Twice. Three times. And then—

“Y/N?”

His voice floods your ears and you let out a sigh of relief as it washes over you. It’s just your name, but when he says it, it sounds like music. You’ve missed his deep baritone so much over the past year that as soon as he speaks, you immediately break down again.

“Tae, I…I…”

“Where are you?” He immediately asks. You hear him shuffling, and the sound of car keys. “Are you at home?”

You sniffle, trying to calm your breathing. “Y-yeah.”

“Okay,” he says gently, and your heart clenches. You really don’t deserve a best friend like him. “I’m on my way.”

He hangs up before you get a chance to argue. You text him your address just in case he’s lost it, although you know that he probably knows it off by heart by now. You know that Taehyung is driving all the way from Daegu, so you curl up on the couch and decide to watch a movie to distract yourself while you wait. The movie plays, some chilling true crime documentary, and you jump slightly when you hear a knock on your front door.

Turning off the television, you scramble over and peer through the peephole.

It’s him.

You throw the door open and you’re breathless, looking up into the molten brown eyes that you hadn’t realized just how much you’ve missed. You just stare at him for a second, eyes searching his face, his brows furrowed in concern. He’s doing the same, taking you in, as if it’s the last time he’ll ever lay eyes upon you.

“Hi,” he says in a rush. You launch yourself into his arms at that, pressing your face to his chest and collapsing into a fit of sobs. Taehyung holds you steady, stronger arms than you remember leading you back into your apartment as he closes the door behind him with his foot.

He guides you to your couch and sits you down before you’re clinging to him again. You feel like an idiot for calling him and making him drive all the way down from Daegu just to comfort you through a break-up, but you suppose that’s the magic about Taehyung. You didn’t even have to ask, didn’t have to say anything other than his name and he was already on his way over.

Taehyung’s arm pulls you closer to his side, and you end up halfway in his lap with your head resting on his shoulder. Your nose brushes against the crook of his neck, and he stiffens for just a second before relaxing once more. He smells like cedar wood and cypress, a comforting smell that fills you with nostalgia.

After a few seconds, you squeak out, “I’m sorry, Tae-Tae.”

He glances down at you, and you can’t help but notice how close his face is to yours. “For what?”

“Making you come all the way here,” you say, moving away from him to give yourself a little distance. The rush of emotions filling you is too confusing—you blame it on the fact that you haven’t seen your best friend in about a year, and not the fact that he’s even broader and more chiseled than the last time you saw him.

Jinyoung’s words echo through your mind and you squeeze your eyes shut. You were just dumped by your boyfriend of over a year, how are you already thinking about someone else? You feel so conflicted, because you don’t want Jinyoung to be right. You don’t want to admit that somewhere deep down, over the course of your lives together, you started feeling something for Taehyung.

Who else would drive all the way down from Daegu to Seoul just to comfort you because he knew you couldn’t be alone? Who else would set aside whatever hurt he felt over the fight you had that made you not speak for a year, just to be by your side at this very moment? Who else does any of the things that Taehyung has ever done for you?

Your chest feels warm, and you know that Taehyung is watching you carefully. His arm is still around your shoulders, but it’s loose, and leaning more on the material of the couch than your body.

He fiddles for a second with the material of your sweater’s hood before letting out the tiniest chuckle through his nose. You turn to face him curiously, and his eyes are distant with thought.

When he notices you watching, he gestures to your clothes. “That’s my hoodie. I was wondering what happened to it.”

You look down at your sweater and swallow past the dryness in your throat. It is Taehyung’s, you realize. You had swiped it from his closet before leaving Daegu. It was your favourite hoodie of his, one that he always let you wear, even though it was his favourite as well. He always said it suited you better, so he just let you get away with it. You had brought it with you to Seoul so that you could bring a little piece of him with you, a small comfort in a difficult time of transition. You’d worn it so many times over the past few years that you forgot it was even his.

Taehyung looks around. “Is Chaeyoung home?”

You shake your head, using the sleeves to dry your eyes. “She’s at her boyfriend’s place tonight. Jinyoung was over, and…”

The implication is there, and you see hurt flash over Taehyung’s expression for just a fraction of a second. It’s there and gone so quick that you’re unsure if you actually saw it or not. You bring your knees to your chest and make yourself small on the couch. Taehyung notices and scoots closer, hand resting directly upon your shoulder as he brings you back into his warmth.

“It’s okay,” he says quietly. “You can talk to me.”

And so you do. You tell him about what happened with Jinyoung, leaving just a few details out. You tell him about how you knew that it was over with Jinyoung a long time ago, but just didn’t have the courage to end things. You tell him how much it hurt to realize you had fallen out of love with him when it was clear that he was still in love with you. He talks you through your breakup, lets you know that you’re an amazing person and the right guy will come along one day and sweep you off your feet in the way that you deserve. That you’ll be loved unconditionally, and that when it’s the right person, you’ll just know.

You look up at him then, and a silent moment passes between the two of you. Taehyung’s lips part gently, and you swear he’s getting closer. You feel drawn to him, like the pull of a magnet, but you know that this isn’t right. Jinyoung left only a few hours ago. And while you can’t ignore the way your heart hammers in your chest, you know that you can’t. Not right now.

“I’m tired,” you whisper before he can get any closer. “I think I need to go to sleep.”

Taehyung gives a quiet nod, but doesn’t look away from you for a second. You swallow, and decide to let yourself be selfish one more time.

“Come with me?”

Taehyung doesn’t need to be told twice. You take him by the hand and lead him to your room, shuffling through your belongings to see if you have anything big enough for him to wear to bed. He’s already in a loose shirt, but his jeans pose more of an issue. You see a pair of Jinyoung’s sweats in one of your drawers, but the thought of giving those to Taehyung seems disrespectful to both of them.

“Hold on,” you say, before darting out of the room and towards Chaeyoung’s down the hall. Her boyfriend, Namjoon, is pretty tall and you know he’s left some clothes here before. You find a pair of pyjama pants in her closet and rush back to give them to Taehyung.

After he changes, the two of you slip under the covers. It isn’t the first time you’ve shared a bed together, but it’s the first time you’ve done so as adults. Taehyung turns to face you, and you do the same. You feel a tear slip from your eye, and Taehyung lifts his hand to brush it away with his thumb.

“Why are you crying?” He asks, voice deep and gentle.

“I don’t know,” you admit, scooting a little closer. “I missed you, Tae.”

He offers you a smile. “I missed you too, Y/N.” His hand moves from your face to rest along your waist, and you bite at your bottom lip to prevent any unwarranted sounds from escaping at his touch. But you don’t shy away from him either, letting him touch you, letting yourself be held by someone you care so much about and who you know just wants to protect you and keep you safe. “Get some sleep, yeah? We can go for pancakes in the morning.”

You smile at that, an ear to ear grin that has Taehyung smiling in turn. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he promises. He leans in and brushes a soft, barely-there kiss to your forehead, and you’re glad it’s dark in your room so he can’t see the blush that paints your cheeks. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Tae-Tae.”

You wake up the next morning feeling more rested than you have in ages. You move to sit up but realize that you can’t budge. You glance over to your side and see Taehyung fast asleep, his dark hair mussed and his cheeks puffy. He’s got a leg slung over yours and his arms hug your back to his chest, and he’s snoring just slightly as day breaks through your window.

You can’t help but smile and allow yourself to sink back into his grasp for just a few more minutes.

Finally, the two of you get up and head over to your favourite hole in the wall diner for breakfast. Taehyung’s only been to Seoul a few times, so it’s a big deal for him to be in the city. He looks at everything with wide eyes and an even wider smile as you walk down the busy streets. You know that he wants to be here, wants to live an exciting life in the city with you nearby. You want that, too. You always have.

You get to the diner and you both order short stacks with way too many sugary add-ons. You’re digging into your breakfast when Taehyung says, “I’ve been meaning to tell you, I have a surprise.”

You crinkle your nose at the sight of him chewing with his mouth open. “Gross, Tae. What is it?”

He swallows with a roll of his eyes to get you to quit nagging, and it warms you to see that nothing has changed between the two of you. Finally, he announces, “I’m moving to Seoul.”

You nearly choke. “W-what?”

“My parents don’t need my help on the farm anymore,” he declares, and you can see that he’s practically vibrating with excitement. “I contacted the dean of admissions at SNU. You were right, they held onto my admission offer until I was ready. I’m moving here and starting work on my degree.”

After your brain finally processes the information, you lay your utensils down and slip into the opposite side of the booth where he’s sitting and hug him close.

“You’re moving here?”

“I’m moving here,” he affirms. And you feel your heart soar. The world is shifting, and you can’t help but feel like things are starting to move into place.

The two of you catch up over the rest of breakfast, and you offer to help Taehyung look for apartments while he’s here. He tells you that he still has to get back to Daegu, and that his parents are probably going to be worried if he doesn’t return soon. You promise to keep an eye out for listings for him anyway, and you can tell he’s just as excited to be getting out of Daegu as you were. Probably even more so, since he’s been trapped there even longer.

When he leaves, it’s with a bear hug and a promise to keep in touch, for real, this time. You both swear that you’ll never let anything like that tear your friendship apart again, and you tell him that you’ll count down the days until he moves to Seoul.

You get back to your apartment, and you feel lighter. Happy. You think to yourself that you should be sadder, more melancholy over your breakup, especially since you did love Jinyoung and the two of you were together for a long time. But as you tidy up your apartment a little before Chaeyoung comes home, your mind begins to wander.

You start to ask yourself if you were only with Jinyoung as a distraction, if he was right in that you were only using him to forget about someone else. And then once the distraction wasn’t working anymore, you stopped trying to pretend. You run a hand through your hair, wincing at the thought. You hope Jinyoung finds someone who will love him the way he deserves to be loved. He’s a good person, and he deserves a happy future with someone who will cherish him.

Once the common area is clean, you shuffle back into your room only to spot something on you desk. You let out the tiniest laugh at the sight. It’s a paper crane, made out of some scrap paper that Taehyung had no doubt found on your desk. You pick it up and look at the message written on the wing, something you haven’t done in over a year.

It’s longer than the other notes you’ve gotten from him, spanning over both wings, but then you realize that it’s a quote. You’ve heard him say it before, in quiet, contemplative moments. It brings a smile to your face as your eyes dance over the neat penmanship.

“Close friends are truly life’s treasures. Sometimes they know us better than we know ourselves. With gentle honesty, they are there to guide and support us, to share our laughter and our tears. Their presence reminds us that we are never really alone.”

You chuckle to yourself before carefully pressing the crane flat and holding it close to your heart. Taehyung always did love quoting Van Gogh.

—

You’re twenty-one when you realize you’re in love with your best friend.

With Taehyung living in Seoul, it’s like nothing ever changed between the two of you. You hang out nearly every day, sleeping over at each other’s apartments a few times a week when it’s too late to walk home and neither one of you feel like spending money on a cab. Seeing him happy and thriving in the city brings you more joy that you can express. He takes up darkroom photography as a hobby, and you love looking through his contact sheets to pick your favourite shots.

The two of you are closer than ever. It’s confusing, feeling this way about Taehyung. But you can’t ignore how your heart feels when he’s nearby, how you get nervous around him when he looks into your eyes for a second too long. You tell yourself it’s nothing when you wake up with his arms around you, holding you like you’re lovers, and remind yourself that you’re just friends when he presses kisses to your forehead when you say you have a headache.

You may have been using that excuse a little more liberally than necessary in the recent past.

You’re in love with Taehyung. And admitting that to yourself is easier than you realize. It’s the fear of the unknown, of the possibility of rejection upon confession that has you waiting for the right moment to tell him.

Because how could you not? You two have never kept secrets from one another before, and you know that even if he doesn’t love you like you hope he does, you’ll find a way to work past it. You would rather tell him the truth and hurt for a little if he doesn’t reciprocate, than never tell him and keep more secrets from your best friend.

It’s the end of the year already, and everyone around you is abuzz with talks of New Year’s celebrations. But around this time, you never really think about New Year’s, if you’re being honest. You care more about the fact that it’s Taehyung’s birthday, and that you finally get to celebrate it with him in Seoul after so many years.

You manage to gather up your friends to throw him a surprise party in your apartment, which is where they’re all hiding, now. You and Taehyung had gone shopping for his birthday, and you had plans to go for dinner and drinks later. You tell him that you have to drop off your bags at home first, since you don’t want to bring all your stuff to the bar, and he agrees.

You open the door to your apartment and immediately slap your hand over your face when you see that your polite house guests have all taken off their shoes and left them along the front hall. You chuckle and take Taehyung by the hand, who is also biting back a smile, and lead him to where you both know your friends are attempting to hide.

With a flick of your finger, you switch on the lights. All of your friends jump out of their hiding places and scream, “SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TAEHYUNG!”

He’s laughing so hard that his eyes have turned into crescent moons. Jimin emerges from the kitchen with a cake and lit candles, leading the singing when it comes time to shut the lights off again. Taehyung looks over at you with adoration in his eyes and you give him a one-armed hug.

“Make a wish,” you gesture to the cake. His eyes linger on you for a second longer before he turns and closes his eyes. He’s quiet for a few seconds, and then blows them out, getting all of them in one long breath.

Everyone cheers and claps before someone, presumably Yoongi, puts on some background music. It’s a chill hip-hop playlist that he curated a while ago that often plays when everyone gets together. If there’s one thing Yoongi is good at, it’s creating sonic atmospheres that fit every situation.

The party is in full swing. People in the kitchen are taking shots, a few of which you and Taehyung participate in, while others are in the living room either having nonsense conversations or playing Settlers of Catan. You notice Taehyung nursing a drink from the corner of the room, observing everyone quietly until he sees you watching him. You put your cup down and walk over to him, taking his free hand in yours and lacing your fingers together.

“I have a gift for you,” you whisper into his ear, needing to rise to your tip toes to do so. He turns to you with a grin and then gestures to the party.

“This wasn’t the gift?”

You laugh and shake your head, a warm and comfortable buzz humming through your veins. “Trust me. You’ll like this gift more.”

You sneak him away to your room, which you had expressed to your friends prior to their arrival was strictly off-limits (Chaeyoung graciously offered to use her room for everyone’s coats and bags). Once the door is closed and the two of you are alone, suddenly, you feel really nervous. Taehyung stands by your desk and his eyes dance over the little trinkets and things, as well as photos he’s taken that you’ve pinned to your wall.

While he’s distracted, you pick up the gift you bought him from under the table and hand it over. It’s in a bag with multicoloured tissues sticking out from the top, and he takes it from your hands with a boxy smile.

Moving the tissues aside, you see his face shift into a look of awe when he pulls the heavy book from the bag. He stares at the cover, holding the tome in his hands as he struggles to find words.

“It’s letters from Vincent Van Gogh to his brother Theo,” you say, just to cut the tension. “I know how much you love him, and I read a few parts of it from a copy I found at the library a while back. I figured you would like it.”

“It’s perfect,” Taehyung breathes. “Thank you, Y/N. For…everything.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply, suddenly bashful. You look up at him and his eyes are on you, and he’s looking at you in a way that you can’t quite read. It’s now or never, you decide, and you take the book from his grasp and lay it on your desk. “I have something else for you. But you have to close your eyes.”

Taehyung cocks his head to the side but agrees, closing his eyes until they fall shut. Exhaling shakily, you take a step closer until you’re nearly toe-to-toe. You gently cup either side of his jaw and lift yourself up, pressing your lips against his. The kiss is soft and lasts only a few seconds, and when you pull away, you lean into his ear and whisper:

“I love you, Taehyung.”

You move to take a step back, bashfully looking away when you feel his arms loop around your waist and tug you flush against him. His lips are on yours again in a split second and you whimper against his mouth as he kisses you for all he’s worth. His hands are everywhere as your fingers tangle in his hair, both of you desperately trying to get closer and closer.

“Never thought I would get to do that again,” he jokes when he finally breaks away for oxygen. Then, as if he’s suddenly remembered something, he says, “I have a gift for you too.”

Your eyes automatically dart down to the growing bulge in his pants. He laughs and swats at your arm.

“Not that, you perv.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a paper crane, one made with paper that has little pink and red hearts all over it. He re-shapes it so that it stands up on its own and gives it to you, and you look up at him curiously before looking at the message.

Your heart nearly stops as you read the words.

“Because I love you.”

Tears are in your eyes as you repeat them. “You love me?”

Taehyung’s grip on you tightens, and he leans his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he affirms. “So much. And for so, so fucking long.”

You kiss him again at that. It’s slower this time, and now that you have both spoken your truths, there’s no need to rush. You’ve loved Taehyung your whole life, and you’ll continue to love him for the rest of it. You feel the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and then you’re tumbling down, taking him with you. The length of his body is pressed flush to yours, his strong, lean thigh parting your legs as he slips his tongue in your mouth.

The moan that escapes your lips as he grinds into you is lewd and you have to remember that all of your friends are literally just down the hall. You try to be quiet but Taehyung is having none of that, his large hands playing with the hem of your shirt until he’s tugging it up and over your head.

His lips are everywhere, worshipping you with his mouth and tongue as he nips at the curve of your breast and maps out galaxies across your ribs and stomach. Under his questing fingers and insistent mouth, you feel like an absolute goddess. His touch is so reverent, so intoxicating, that you nearly cry out his name as he presses a kiss to your core through the denim of your jeans.

“F-fuck, Tae,” you whimper as he begins to slowly unzip your fly. “Please, I need you.”

“I have been waiting for years to hear you say that,” he admits, working the material down your legs. He drags your panties down too, and you sit up to unhook your bra. He’s still fully clothed, you realize, but there’s something so sexy about how he’s looking at you, crouched at the foot of your bed, your bare legs thrown haphazardly over his shoulders that you don’t protest just yet.

He presses a kiss to your inner thigh and you can’t help but shiver. The smirk he sends your way is devastating, and you feel yourself getting even wetter at the sight of him with his mouth so close to where you desire him the most.

“Keep your eyes on me, baby,” he murmurs before he’s flicking his tongue directly against your clit. You yelp, not expecting it when he closes his lips around your sensitive bud and alternates between sucking and flicking motions. Your thighs tighten around either side of his head until he pins them open, exposing you completely.

His eyes never leave yours as his tongue gets to work exploring you for the first time. He licks a stripe up your cunt, not too hard, but just enough so that you know he’s there. He pays extra attention to your clit, noticing just what makes your body sing and sigh so that he can do it again and again and again. You jolt slightly when you feel one of his fingers prodding at your entrance, and Taehyung kisses your mons gently.

“Really want to fuck you with my fingers,” he admits. “I’ve been dreaming of it for so long. Can I…?”

“Yes,” you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair. “Please, Tae, fuck—”

“So fucking beautiful,” Taehyung groans as he gathers your wetness on two of his fingers and starts to press them into you. You moan at the stretch, of the feeling of him touching you so intimately. You feel his knuckles slipping past your folds until his fingers are buried deep. Then he curls his fingers in a come hither motion and tugs gently on the front of your walls, and your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head. You slap your hand over your mouth as he rubs that spot over and over, lips and tongue back on your clit. You whimper and try to keep quiet, but the slick sound of Taehyung’s fingers fucking into you and his tongue lapping at your most sensitive area are just too much.

You feel yourself starting to shake, like that coil inside of you is about to snap. You can’t believe how well Taehyung knows your body already, how he can tell exactly what you need. You feel yourself teetering along the edge, and you gasp out that you’re close. Taehyung takes his free hand and fondles your breast, pinching at your nipple until you’re crying out.

“Come on my tongue,” he moans against your skin. “Come on my tongue and my fingers, come for me baby, c’mon, soak my face, I know you can do it—”

Your orgasm hits you so hard that you nearly scream. Hands fisting the sheets, you squeak out his name and buck your hips, grinding against his mouth as you come. His fingers keep working inside of you, as does his tongue on your clit, to prolong your pleasure for as long as possible. When the feeling starts to border on pain, you whimper and squirm away.

Taehyung kisses a wet trail up your stomach and between your breasts, stopping to lavish each nipple with attention as you impatiently tug at his shirt.

“Get naked,” you whine, gripping his sleeve. “This is torture.”

Taehyung smirks at you, purposely slowing down as he licks and suckles along your neck. “Baby, I haven’t showed you torture yet,” he purrs with an edge to his voice. You can feel how hard his cock is through his jeans, and the rough scratch of denim against your sensitive core is becoming too much.

You start to grind against him, aching for some kind of relief, and it’s your turn to grin when you see him squeezing his eyes shut.

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me,” he pants, sitting back on his haunches as he peels off his shirt. You get to work on his belt and his jeans, unable to stop yourself from staring when you see just how big he is. You look up at him with wide eyes and he laughs breathlessly. “You really know how to make a guy feel good, you know that?”

He moves to kick off his jeans and boxers, and then you’re finally both bare, both exposed and vulnerable for the first time. Taehyung places his hands on the bed and crawls over you, pressing his lips to yours to kiss you slowly. The kiss is gentle at first, and then becomes more insistent as he adds more pressure. His tongue on the seam of your mouth coaxes you to open up not only your lips, but your thighs as well. You part both for him as he settles himself against your heat.

Your thumbs massage gentle circles against his jaw as his tongue gently caresses yours. You hitch your leg over his hip and bring him closer, moaning quietly as you feel the underside of his cock brushing against your clit.

“Condom?” He asks, panting. You shake your head.

“I’m on the pill and I’m clean,” you say in a rush. “Just wanna feel you. I trust you.”

“M’clean, too,” he promises, dipping down to kiss you again. “Been waiting for this moment my whole life. I love you, Y/N. So much.”

“I love you too, Tae,” you murmur against his lips. You trail your hand down to grip his cock, hot and heavy in your palm. You take some of your slick and pump it along his shaft, and you love the groan that leaves his throat at the sensation. Then you guide the head of his cock to your soaking entrance, and he slowly pushes into you.

The stretch is immense, but not painful as he fills you inch by inch. This, you realize, this is how it’s supposed to feel when you’re with the right person. Taehyung fills you so completely, like the missing piece of a puzzle, and you whimper out his name once he’s reached the hilt.

You feel his hot breath against your neck as he just stays there for a minute, cock pressed deep into you, unmoving. It’s as if you’re both memorizing each other, this feeling of being so close and yet needing to be closer still. You squeeze your walls down on him just slightly and he chokes on a breath.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “We really were made for each other, huh?”

“Yeah,” you breathlessly agree, turning to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I feel it, too.”

He pulls out nearly all the way before thrusting back in, slowly, so that you can both savour the feeling. You sigh out his name and hook your legs around his waist, urging him to go deeper, harder.

Taehyung obliges, his lips never leaving yours as he braces his knees on the bed and one hand against your headboard, and starts to fuck you harder. The way he rolls his hips makes you dizzy, and you’re clawing at his back to pull him in even more. It’s so intoxicating, having him this close, bare skin against bare skin, offering up your rawest forms to one another. You feel his heartbeat against yours, pulsing in rhythm.

You whimper at his next deep thrust, one that has you shifting slightly up the bed. The pleasure is starting to overwhelm you. You’ve never felt more safe in anyone else’s arms, never felt more loved, more adored. Taehyung makes your heart soar, and the realization that you want to be with him forever brings tears to your eyes. You gasp out that you’re going to come, and his fingers are on your clit in an instant, somehow always knowing exactly what you need.

His name falls from your lips as you come, clenching down on his cock like a vice. He thrusts shallowly through your orgasm to prolong it as long as possible, his arms holding you as you quake and shiver from the aftershocks. Once you’ve come down, your eyes flutter open and you see Taehyung gazing down at you, his eyes full of wonder.

“You look so beautiful when you come,” he confesses, blush dusting his cheeks and chest. You laugh, a little breathless, and reach up to kiss him.

“Your turn to show me what you look like,” you purr against his lips. “Fill me up, Tae. I want to feel you, please…”

Not needing to be told twice, Taehyung adjusts the angle of his hips and starts fucking you harder, the blunt head of his cock pummelling against your g-spot. You feel that familiar heat starting to pool again, and you’re still shaking from the overstimulation. But Taehyung sees this and keeps doing it, keeps focusing on fucking your g-spot over and over until you’re moaning loudly and the bed frame is rattling against the wall.

“Come with me, baby,” Taehyung begs, lips and teeth on your neck. “I know you’ve got one more in you. Need you to come with me. I’m going to count you down, and then you’re gonna come on my cock. Okay?”

You feel your walls fluttering already, but you try to suppress your urge to come and weakly reply, “Okay.”

“Okay,” he pants, fucking you harder, the wet slap of his hips against yours obscenely filling the room. “We’re gonna come together in five.”

He maintains the same pace, but thrusts a little bit harder.

“Four.”

Harder still. It’s when his fingers land on your clit that you actually let out a scream.

“Three.”

You’re a mess as he fucks you faster, stapling your hips to the mattress with every thrust. You’re certain you’ll bruise after this, marks you’ll wear like badges of honour. But that’s for later. Right now, you need to come, and he’s stalling. You blink up at him and see that he’s watching you, making sure you’re paying attention.

“T-Tae…”

“What number are we at, sweetheart?”

You shiver at the pet name, and manage to squeak out, “Two.”

“Mm, good girl,” he grunts as he buries his head into the crook of your neck and delivers another particularly hard thrust. He feels you shaking underneath him as he furiously rubs at your clit. He can see in your eyes your desperation, your need for him. But he wants to stall for just a second longer. Just a little bit longer—

“Tae,” you cry out, your throat dry. “P-please, I can’t h-hold it, I—”

“One.”

Come, you hear him order. You feel like you’re floating. Like there’s nothing that exists in the universe except you and Taehyung, bathed in a beautiful white light as pleasure ripples through your bodies at the same time. It’s overwhelming, how good he feels, how intimate and right it feels to be with each other in this way. You cling to him, holding each other as you both reach euphoria in the safety of one another’s arms. You feel him filling you with thick ropes of come, marking you as his, and you take all that he has to give until you’ve both come down from your highs.

He lifts his head to look at you, gazing into your eyes before you pull him in for a kiss.

After he pulls away, Taehyung murmurs, “Thank you.”

“Hm?” You nuzzle your nose against his. “For what?”

He grins at you, big and boxy, and the sight alone makes you smile.

“For making my birthday wish come true.”

The two of you quietly clean up and get dressed once again, remembering that there’s a party just outside in the next room. Taehyung helps you straighten up your hair as best he can, though it still looks a little matted in the back. And you try to tame his hair as well, though your determined fingers had been keen knotting his locks. Once you both look somewhat presentable, you place your hand on the doorknob.

“Wait,” Taehyung says. You turn to face him, and he simply kisses you. You melt against him, so happy to finally be able to do this whenever you want. He pulls away and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you respond, and give his hand a squeeze. You intertwine your fingers and open the door, stepping out to rejoin the party.

Chaeyoung is the first to notice when you come back and she literally screams when she sees the two of you.

“Finally! Oh my god, Namjoon, look, it finally happened!” Chaeyoung is still screaming, tugging on her boyfriend’s arm. Everyone then turns and sees the two of you holding hands looking bashful, along with the blossoming dark marks dotting your neck, and a chorus of cheers rings out through the room. You playfully glare at your friends that are blatantly exchanging money, and hide your face against Taehyung’s chest when Jimin and Jungkook come over to high-five you both.

“We have been waiting for this day since forever,” Jimin drawls, alcohol slurring his words slightly. “Kookie and I had a bet to see if you would get together before the end of the year, and you just made it with a day to spare. So now Jungkook owes me fifty bucks.”

“Two more sleeps!” Jungkook whines. “You lovebirds couldn’t wait for two more sleeps?”

“Regardless,” Jimin interjects. “Thank god it finally happened. I don’t think I could have waited much longer.”

“Hey,” Chaeyoung butts in, Namjoon watching her in amusement. “You don’t get to complain about waiting for those two idiots to get together. Did you know I was there when they met? And did you know that I figured out that Taehyungie had a crush on Y/N the second week that he joined our class?”

You look up at Taehyung in alarm. “You’ve liked me for that long?”

Taehyung blushes, suddenly bashful as he gives your hand a squeeze. “Yeah. Since the first day we met. Chaeyoungie figured it out and flat out asked me one day at recess. She had me cornered, so I had to tell her. But she promised she would keep it a secret. And, apparently to her credit, she has.”

“Damn right, I have, I’m a great friend,” she grumbles. “Even though it literally killed me to see you both not acting on your feelings for over a decade.”

“Enough about that,” you say hastily, waving your arms. “It’s Tae’s birthday. Did you want to open presents? I can get you a slice of cake.”

Taehyung just chuckles and nods at your obvious ploy to divert your friends’ attentions. “Sure. Let’s go open presents.”

“Can I also just say,” Jungkook declares, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I don’t know what was going on in there, but Tae, you deserve a high-five.”

You swat at your younger friend in dismay. “Jungkook!”

“You were pretty loud,” Chaeyoung admits with a shrug. Jimin nods pretty vigorously.

“Neither of you noticed when we turned up the volume on the music?”

Taehyung glances at you and scratches at the back of his neck. “Uh, no…we were…a little…preoccupied.”

You groan and slap your hand over your face. “Did everyone hear us?”

From across the room, Yoongi barks, “Yup.”

You’re about to hang your head in shame when Jimin lifts his cup. “I propose a toast!”

You and Taehyung are handed drinks, some fruit punch concoction that Seokjin mixed up. You all raise your cups as Jimin ponders what to say. Suddenly, he snaps his fingers, and beams at the two of you.

“To wishes coming true.”

You lean up and peck Taehyung on the cheek.

“To wishes coming true.”

—

You’re twenty-three when Taehyung folds his 1000th paper crane.

Being with Taehyung is like a dream come true. He really is unconditional with his love, and even when he simply looks at you, it makes your heart beat a little faster against your ribcage. He’s just so passionate and so open about his love for you, and being with him is incredible.

Not that it isn’t also without hardships. Every relationship falters from time to time. Angry words are exchanged, stubborn attitudes have gotten in the way of reason and logic and instead allowed for emotion and hurt to rule. But you always come back to one another, always talk it out. Because you both know that love is a choice, and that being in love and staying in love takes work. And so you both put in the work.

It doesn’t take you both long to decide that it’s time for the two of you to move in together.

And after months of planning, it’s moving day. It’s a day that’s been a long time coming. The two of you were already basically living together in Taehyung’s tiny bachelor apartment, but this new apartment is going to be the both of yours. A shared space for the two of you, one that you can make a home.

You’re unloading the last of the boxes from the truck into your new place, surveying the area with a sigh. You and Taehyung have already decided on what colours to paint the walls and what art to buy, so it’s just a matter of getting everything unpacked and sorted.

“Are there any more boxes left in the truck?” Taehyung asks, stretching out his spine with his arms raised above his head. You plop down on the couch and groan, shutting your eyes for just a second.

“That’s the last of it. Finally.” Cracking an eye open to peer at your boyfriend, you ask, “Did you want to start unpacking now?”

Taehyung shrugs, lifting the lid off a box that’s labelled Kitchen. “Might as well. We can unpack for a bit and then maybe go get something to eat in a few hours?”

You rise up to your feet, heading for your new bedroom. “Sounds like a plan. I’m going to make the bed and unpack our clothes, okay?”

He’s already trying to figure out the best place to put your drinking glasses, peering at each cabinet for what feels like the perfect spot. “Okay. I’ll come help you once I finish up in here.”

You make your way into your room, the bed having already been delivered and assembled prior to your actual moving day. You, being the more organized of the two of you, had scheduled your moving day so that it would be a little later in the month. That way, you and Taehyung were able to order your new furniture and assemble it without all the clutter of cardboard boxes getting in the way. Now, it was mostly just a matter of unpacking your essentials and decorating.

Unpacking goes relatively smoothly. You’re done organizing yours and Taehyung’s clothes, placing his silk button-ups on hangers so that they can be properly stored. There’s a pile of flattened cardboard boxes on the ground in the corner of the room, a symbol of your triumph and accomplishments. You’re feeling good, having found your second wind, and reach for another box.

When you lift the lid, you suddenly freeze. It’s the box you packed that has three shoe boxes in it, and you gingerly lift out each one, placing them down on your bed before doing away with the larger cardboard box. You take a seat at the edge of the bed and place one of the shoe boxes in your lap. You lift the lid and see all those paper cranes, made of different sizes and different kinds of paper.

You can’t help but smile, thinking about how Taehyung’s been getting back into the habit of making you paper cranes again recently. He had stopped for a while when you first started dating, maybe giving you one every few months, but as of late, he’s been making them more and more. And the messages he’s been writing on the wings have been for little things, nothing major or monumental like when you were kids.

You recall just last week, he made you one that just read, “Because you made me the best coffee ever” after you bought a new Nespresso machine. Taehyung always did like celebrating the everyday moments, the ones that you would have probably overlooked. That’s one of the things that makes being with Taehyung so exciting, so wonderful. He makes every day seem like magic.

You’re just in the process of reading some of his old messages, the ones with messier penmanship that were crafted by a child, when you hear a throat clearing by your bedroom door. You look up and see Taehyung smiling at you, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Kitchen’s mostly unpacked,” he states, wandering over to you. “What are you looking at?”

Gesturing to the boxes, you smile, “The cranes that you’ve made me over the years.” You scoot over to make room for Taehyung, who immediately takes a seat at your side, thighs touching as he loops one arm around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder. Pecking you on the cheek, he gives a low whistle.

“That’s a lot,” he notes. “I can’t believe you kept all of them for all these years. When you see them all in one spot like this, it looks kinda crazy.”

His tone is bashful, almost a little embarrassed. You turn to face him, pressing a sweet, soft kiss against his lips. “It’s not crazy,” you promise. “It’s a beautiful, romantic gesture, and it’s made me so happy ever since we were kids. And it still makes me happy when I look at them. So there.”

Taehyung laughs at your tone of finality and nuzzles his nose against the crook of your neck. “Okay.”

You lean into his embrace, an automatic reflex at this point. You shuffle through the cranes until you find the one you’re looking for. You gasp when you see it, and you carefully pull it out. It’s old and worn, yellowing along the edges, but it’s the one. The one made from a ripped out piece of notebook paper, with butterflies drawn all over it, flying through an open meadow. Your eyes start to well up when you read the first message Taehyung ever wrote for you: “Because you stuck up for me.”

“The first one I ever made you,” Taehyung notes quietly, his arm tightening around your waist. “I remember that day so clearly. I remember when you came over and scared away those bullies, I thought you were an angel.”

You laugh at that, nudging him playfully. “Oh, come on. That can’t be true.”

“It is,” Taehyung insists. “You’ve meant so much to me since we were little kids, you know? And I’ve loved you ever since then. We’ve seen each other grow up, seen the best and worst parts of one another…” Taehyung sits up a little straighter and looks deep into your eyes as he says, “No one in the world knows me as well as you.”

You lift your hand to brush his fringe out of his eyes, lingering to softly caress his cheek as he leans into your touch. “The same goes for me,” you promise. And then you joke, “I feel like you know more about me than my mom does.”

He laughs at that. “Probably.” Taehyung suddenly goes quiet, his eyes focused on the boxes of paper cranes on the bed. “How many have I made for you?”

You ponder for a second. “A lot. Maybe around nine-hundred…”

“Nine hundred and ninety-nine,” he replies. “The one I gave you three days ago was number nine hundred and ninety-nine.”

You cock your head to the side. “Why did you ask if you already—”

Taehyung suddenly looks nervous. You see it in how his expression changes, how his shoulders curl inwards and how his foot taps anxiously against the ground.

“I love you,” he says, and it sounds like he’s saying it for the first time. He reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. “I love you, and I want you to have this.”

It’s a paper crane, one that he takes his time properly re-shaping so that it can stand on its own before laying it on the flat of his palm and extending it out to you.

“Number one thousand,” you remark with a smile, picking it up and holding it in your hands. You frown slightly, noticing that it’s heavier than it should be. It feels a little like something is inside of it, and you regard Taehyung curiously when you see that there’s no message on the wing like their usually is.

He bites at his lip slightly, and you feel your heartbeat drumming faster and faster.

“Open it.”

With shaking fingers, you carefully unfold the piece of paper until it’s flat in your hands. You look up at Taehyung, tears rolling down your cheeks, as he slips from the bed and takes your hand, lowering himself to one knee.

Taped to the inside of the paper is an engagement ring, along with the message, “Will you make my wish come true?”

You can barely see Taehyung through the tears, but you’ve never been happier. The way he’s looking at you now, open and honest, makes you even more sure of your answer.

“I know we’re young,” Taehyung says in a rush. “And I know we’re just moving in together now, and that I’m still only halfway done school. But we can always wait to get married, it doesn’t have to be anytime soon, I just needed to ask you because if I didn’t, I was going to explode, and I—”

“Yes,” you laugh, wiping hastily at your eyes. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Taehyung carefully removes the tape from the ring and slips it on your finger, his boxy smile practically blinding as he takes in the sight of you as his fiancée for the first time. Once the ring is securely on your finger, Taehyung kisses you, and it’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. You quickly clear everything off the bed, albeit a little hastily, as Taehyung’s curious hands start to wander, and your clothes, one by one, hit the floor.

You take your time with one another, committing each other’s bodies to memory with your mouth and hands before Taehyung finally slides home and has you seeing stars. His touch is like fire, melting away any fears or insecurities about the future until all you can see and feel is him on you, inside of you, offering you forever and you gladly accept with an open heart.

Boxes are left abandoned for the echo of moans along the temporarily barren walls. You never do finish unpacking the rest of the apartment that night.

Instead you fall asleep, tangled in the arms of your soulmate, bare skin against bare skin. You can’t wait to spend the rest of your life with Taehyung, though it wasn’t as if living without each other was ever going to be an option, anyway. Not with how the universe put the two of you together. Your best friend, your fiancé, and two years later once Taehyung gets his degree, your husband, and a few years after that, the father of your children.

You’ve never been loved so wholly, so completely, so unconditionally as you have with Taehyung. And while it might have taken him a thousand paper cranes to muster up the courage to propose, but you can’t help but think that he’s been making every single one of your wishes come true since he walked into your classroom in Daegu all those years ago.

You can’t wait for forever with him. So for now, you sleep, the brilliant diamond resting upon your ring finger full of promises of a bright, beautiful future with Taehyung by your side. Just as it was destined to be.

A/N: Finally, it’s done! I hope you liked it. I’ve never written in this kind of format before, so I hope it all made sense. Let me know what you think, and please share it if you enjoyed! Constructive feedback is always welcome :)

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on-fic-writing-spree · 3 years

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Chapter 11: Pride

Notes: Pride is just a manipulative bitch, I dunno what else to say about that lmao

Word count: 3129 words

Written with the help of @justfor2am !!!

Next Chapter: TBA

Find the rest of the story here!

——————

Roman was barely conscious for everything that had followed, and was only half aware that her wrists were bound in cold metal against a wall. The room was so dimly lit she could hardly see, but that mattered little right now. She had to escape, but his magic was so wore down, there was almost nothing left. Roman pulled as hard as he could against his chains but it made no difference, and trying to summon anything only left her feeling more exhausted.

The new side, still to be named, had waited for a few more hours to continue their plan. Roman was ridden of, and as long as nobody went looking for him, they could get away with whatever else they needed to. What they hadn’t expected was for Patton to mistake them for Roman, making some overly-excited comment about the new outfit. Not that they had minded, rather enjoying the compliments that Patton showered them in, and made no move to argue that they weren’t Roman. ‘Roman’ asked Patton where Virgil had been, and after receiving an answer, hurried off to find him. Now is Virgil mistook them for Roman... well this could go horribly well or awfully perfect.

Meanwhile, Virgil was still holed away in their new room, having carefully pulled its things out and making the space feel a little bit more like home… or at least, what they felt home was supposed to be like. They were surprised to have Roman return to them so quickly, and the fear of being cast out stirred up inside themself again from where they stood by the window. And yet, part of it was almost happy to see Roman again. “Hey again, is everything alright?” they asked.

‘Roman’ had nodded and flashed a happy smile at Virgil. “I hope you’re finding everything to be adequate for the time being... I’ve been working on a little something for you since I heard you’d be coming around. Are you still settling in?” they promoted, holding out their hand to Virgil. “I know we got off to a rocky start, and this doesn’t really make up for it, but I was hoping it could be a start,” they murmured, glancing a bit away from Virgil, almost looking ashamed. “I don’t know how interested you are, but I’d like to start over. If that’s alright with you?” they finished with, looking back to Virgil again.

Virgil had been a little taken aback, to tell the truth. The idea that Roman would ever want to touch them, let alone offering first was dizzying enough, but to put in the effort to make them feel more comfortable was… nice, actually. Really nice. “I… I would really like that, actually,” it said, taking Roman’s hand with a tentative grip, light enough to still pull away. “To be honest, I’m still trying to get used to all of this, but I do want to get to know you better,” they said, unable to fight the shadow of a crooked smile on its face.

‘Roman’ grinned softly at the response, pulling Virgil close and giving them a little spin before starting to walk, moving their fingers to intertwine with Virgil’s. “Well I’m more than happy to tell you anything you’d like to know. Come on, it’s just down through here,” they said cheerily, stepping down some rustic looking spiraled stairs. Roman hadn’t ever bothered to actually fix them up, since the area never got used. The new figment lead Virgil to a room with a wooden door, grabbing out a key and unlocking it before pushing it open, standing out of the way to let Virgil walk in.

As Virgil followed, they felt like their entire head was going to combust from ‘Roman’s’ suave movements alone, and they held on a little tighter than before as the two walked toward’s their next destination. It was slightly confused at first, but upon walking into the room, Virgil could feel their voice being swept away. Before their eyes was a lush and ornate garden, and there was a twinkle in the air that made Virgil’s chest tighten up with anticipation, and their head felt foggy. But realism still itched at the back of Virgil’s mind, despite Virgil’s desire to ignore it. “I don’t understand… what’s all this for?” It asked, turning to face ‘Roman’, a mix of glee and worry stirring up inside. They weren’t exactly sure what kind of answer they were hoping for or were expecting honestly.

Sighing softly, ‘Roman’ began to speak again. “I was really shitty to you before, and I just... wanted to make sure you felt welcome here. You didn’t deserve the things I said to you,” they murmured. “Truthfully, I wish I could’ve been more like you. You’re so strong, Virgil, and smart too,” they complimented, a soft look on their face. Glancing back at the garden, they seemed to perk up some. “Oh I almost forgot! I haven’t even shown you the best part,” they said, before hurriedly running ahead through some doorways made out of large bushes, looking like it was just out of a movie. The soon stopped, grinning softly and gesturing, where quite a few cuddly animals roamed the grass.

Any more compliments and Virgil might never shake off the pinky hue their face had taken on. They were grateful for ‘Roman’s’ sudden burst of excitement, and trailed after, not-so-subtly fanning their face. But whatever else the other side had been saying was lost on Virgil’s ears. A small rabbit hopped towards Virgil’s feet, and they scooped the little thing up with a cautious hand, beaming. “You really didn’t have to do all of this,” it mumbled, the delightful fogginess from before setting in again. “But it’s really sweet of you, thank you.”

“Well of course I had to,” ‘Roman’ murmured sheepishly. “It’s worth it to see you so happy. Besides, the blush is a nice bonus,” they flirted lightly. They took a seat on the ground, letting a few of the rabbits jump towards them, smiling some and petting them. “There’s a few things I have to attend to. Would you mind staying here a while? I’ll come back with lunch and we can have a little picnic, get to know each other a bit better?” they offered.

Virgil nodded, almost too eagerly; there was just something about how ‘Roman’ was behaving that they couldn’t place that made them feel wanted. “Yeah, of course! I’ll wait for you, I mean, there’s so much to look around at…” they trailed off, mesmerized by the view. Virgil would wait happily as long as ‘Roman’ wanted to, with how safe this place felt. It could hardly remember why it was nervous about being around the other in the first place.

Smiling at the response, ‘Roman’ stood up again. “I’ll see you again soon, my little meadowsweet. Feel free to look around—there’s plenty I didn’t show you.” They left with a hum, shutting the door behind them. They didn’t lock it—the illusion of choice and comfort for Virgil, it was just easier that way. And besides, the others would question if they heard Virgil shouting. That’s the last thing they wanted. They stepped into Roman’s cell, ready to patronize the other as a grin seeped across their face. “Getting cozy there Roman?” they asked. “Don’t worry, I’ve already taken care of Virgil, nobody’s questioned where you went. They all think I’m you... must say something about you, doesn’t it?”

Roman glared up at them. “You won’t get away with this, whatever the hell you are, you can’t keep this game up forever.” Even with his brazen words, it was obvious that Roman was still recovering from… god knows what this other creature did to him. His eyes lacked their usual spark, and the lack of blood flow to his arms wasn’t exactly helpful either.

“Oh but Roman, I already am,” they answered with a grin.

“So what’re you going to do with me, then? Am I no longer the thorn in your side that I was? ‘Cause if you let me out, I can show just how much of a pain I could have been,” Roman snarled.

“Good to know I didn’t take any of that hideous anger. I’m not sure yet, I rather enjoy being prince. I think king fits me better though, don’t you?” they asked, tapping their index finger against their chin. “Maybe I’ll keep you here and just take your place. No one would dare to question a king, you made it so they wouldn’t. Ah yes, that would do nicely,” they hummed, pacing the room slowly. “Oh and by the way... Virgil’s happy, I’m sure you’ll be glad to know. The poor thing doesn’t have a clue what hit it. Nobody will find it again...”

At the mention of Virgil, Roman yanked harshly against her chains again, “What the hell did you do with them?! Where are they, you better fucking tell me right now!” He shouted, eyes sparking red if only for a feeble moment. “You are no king, just a fool and a liar playing dress up. This isn’t your world to play with, and if you think for a second no one will catch on, you’re an even bigger fool than I thought.”

The trait merely laughed at the response. “Oh Roman, poor poor Roman, I think you forget... I’m still you. They don’t think any different. They have no reason to,” they answered. “You may call me the fool, but I at least know how to use the way Virgil feels about us to my advantage. Funny that you didn’t notice before, it’s in love with you,” the murmured, looking amused as they looked at their nails. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to tell you though, seeing as you nor it are getting out anytime soon. Virgil’s in its own little magic forest... it’ll be lost on its own soon enough.”

A million and one questions were running through Roman’s mind at the moment, from the point that Virgil loved him to the magic forest. She shook her head and glared back up at the other. “You’re horrible using them like that! Let me remind you that Virgil has yet to do anything that warrants this sort of treatment!” She gritted her teeth, “You’re a bully, and a prick, and the most obnoxious son of a bitch I’ve ever met.”

“Virgil wasn’t anything in the first place. It was a mere mistake. We should’ve ridded it earlier, and you know that as much as I do, but I guess it makes me the bad guy to be honest about it;” they muttered.

Roman sighed, resting her head against the wall. “But can I ask for one thing, since you’re so clearly acting as the high-and-mighty king right now?”

“What is it Roman?” the trait asked, bored by the question. “Hurry along now, I did promise Virgil a lovely lunch. Poor thing is eating right out of the palm of my hand you know.”

“Two things, and don’t lie and tell me you’re actually eager to get back to them,” Roman snarked. “First things first, I don’t know who you think you’re fooling with that outfit, but it’s loud for even my tastes. I mean, black with ruby accents? You, my formidable foe, look like an emo nightmare, and not in the good way,” she started, testing the waters, trying to get a rise out of this strange side. “And, for my question, could you get a little closer? I know you must find my voice annoying, and I’m sure a whisper would be much less grating on your ears.”

“I’m far from eager about it, though Virgil certainly misses me,” they remarked, a grin on their face. “And perhaps I don’t look exactly like you, but a look change is easy,” they added with a shrug, simply snapping their fingers as their appearance shifted. “Though I’m certain I look twice as good as you either way,” they finished. Despite their words; they indulged in Roman’s request, coming closer and kneeling in front of her, waiting for the response.

Roman grinned, and blew a raspberry in the other’s face. He was nothing if not a child at heart. “Fuck you, and fuck everything you stand for. As soon as Virgil realizes you’re not me, they’re going to flip their shit, and it’s not going to be pretty. You’d be lucky if you escape with all of your limbs intact.” He knew Virgil wasn’t violent in the slightest, but the other didn’t need to know that. “And you still look like a freak show,” he quipped. “Maybe it’s the stupid smirk on your face, you look much better without one,” Roman taunted, mildly amused by himself for actually pulling such a stupid stunt off.

The trait gritted their teeth, wiping the spit from their face. “Roman, you keep forgetting, you’re not the only part it fell in love for,” they muttered, wiping the spit off on their pants. “Even if the paranoid freak figures it out, do you really think I’m stupid enough to let it out? It wouldn’t dare hurt me. At best, it would feel bad for causing such horrors to us, and I’ll make sure it knows it’s all its fault. No amount of reassuring from you will fix that.”

“You motherfucking—“ Roman started off blazing with anger again, but cut himself off. Her shoulders sank once more as the wheels in her head finished turning. “You’re doing this just because you can. There’s no rhyme or reason, is there? You just want the world, and to step on whomever doesn’t fit your idea of it. There isn’t a drop of remorse in your body, is there?” She wasn’t looking at them anymore, but at the floor as she pieced everything together. “And, even so, I still don’t know what to call you. You’re not Cruelty or I’d be way worse off, you’re not Hatred or Anger…”

“Oh don’t fool yourself, Roman, I don’t step on what I do for no reason. Virgil wasn’t part of the plan, we both know that. Logan’s lovely, I wouldn’t dare to hurt him. But I certainly wouldn’t hesitate to do the same with Remus,” they shrugged. “Simply put, mistakes don’t belong in my world, and as long as I’m living, it is my world.”

“You think you’re perfect,” Roman mumbled, and he almost laughed. “Logan and Remus are almost the most polar opposite sides you could have compared, of course you like Logan. They’re efficient and quiet and do as they’re told. Remus is anything but those things.” He looked back up at the other. “The only thing that matters to you is for everything to be exactly the way you want it, because obviously your way is better than anyone else’s.” Roman stared them in the eye, “You’re arrogant and see no flaws in anything you do. A perfectionist through and through… I know you’re name. You’re Pride.”

“Pride, huh?” the villain grinned. “I like that actually. It suits me well. Well... whatever this may be, I have something to be tending to,” he hummed. “Ta-ta, Roman. Oh, and don’t let me catch you mumbling to yourself anymore, yeah? Be a shame if I’d have to silence you,” he remarked, stepping out the barred door and locking it behind him.

Roman waited to the count of twenty before returning to his struggle against those dammed chains. He had to get out of here, Roman didn’t want that slime ball of a side nosing anywhere around his creations. The clattering of his shackles resounded in his cell, and Roman let his arms fall back against the wall. Whatever charm was on this place, it kept him from using any of his powers. So, she resorted to the only other option left, as humiliating as it was. “Hello?! Is anyone there?!” he shouted into the air.

Virgil had been humming softly as it pet the animals, peaceful and content. Well, at least until it heard some rattling. It stood up, taking one of the bunnies with it and carefully started stepping towards the noises. They had done some exploring, but not much without ‘Roman,’ not wanting to get lost. But curiosity got the best of it, and it couldn’t help being a little concerned about the noises it approached. It hadn’t made out the words that the person had said, but knocked lightly on the stone wall, which was covered in vines and leaves. “Hello?” they called quietly, still nervous as their heart pounded, pulling the bunny a little closer to their chest.

Roman flinched; to be entirely honest, she didn’t think that would work. But it was this particular voice that mattered more to Roman in this moment, and she leaned as forward against her chains as she could, speaking again, “Hello?! Virgil, is that you? Say something, anything, are you alright? They haven’t hurt you, have they?” she asked frantically.

“Ro... man? Woah, woah, wait, slow down—what do you mean?” Virgil was trying to wrap their head around half the words Roman had said, and frankly, they were failing miserably. The kneeled down next to the wall, setting down the bunny gently, that cuddled up to their thigh. “Has who hurt me? Nobody’s hurt me Roman—what happened to you? I thought you said you had some things to take care of then you’d be back...” Virgil wasn’t exactly sure if they should be scared, concerned, or just bluntly hurt, and somehow, they managed to be all three.

“I’m trapped somewhere, you have to to help get me out of here!” Roman answered quickly. “The place you are in now isn’t safe, you’re going to get lost in there forever if you don’t find a way out now. There’s someone walking about that looks just like me, their name is Pride, you cannot under any circumstances trust them! They locked me up, and I’m not strong enough right now to get out on my own. Please, Virgil, I need your help.”

Virgil froze up a bit at that. “Oh.” The response hung heavy in the air. They knew Roman couldn’t have just been being nice to them, of course he couldn’t. They were foolish for ever believing there was any good will to it. Still, even though it stung, Virgil couldn’t help hoping that it wasn’t true. “And all the rabbits, and hand holding... oh...” Virgil continued quietly, trying to connect the dots. They took a deep breath, doing their best not to cry. “I want to trust you, I want to say you’re the real Roman, I do but—given what you just told me, how can I even trust you?” they asked.

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Tag List (ask to be added)

@genderfluidmoma

@sinuous-scakt

@youremotionallystablefriend

@alinatheanimelover

#sanders sides #remus sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #creativity sanders #fanfic

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jj-ktae · 4 years

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Game Ten - Enjoying -

Title : Survival Games Genre : AU, Angst, Fluff, Romance Pairing : Taeyong x You (reader) Summary : A deserted island and no hope left. There is only despair and this boy, Lee Taeyong, who seems to be the only survivor. You both were on the flight KAL134, from Auckland to Seoul. Words : 4454

Teaser - Discovering - Sharing - Thinking - Accepting - Hoping - Breathing - Missing - Treasuring - Longing -

Game Ten - Enjoying

It’s a different type of survival.

It’s wrapped into cotton, soft and sweet and cuddly. You go to sleep feeling complete and wake up mesmerised.

And it’s all thanks to Taeyong. He doesn’t change much but gets more obvious. There’s no hiding when he wraps his arms around your neck in the middle of the beach, no blushing when he pecks your lips, no embarrassment when he takes care of yet another bruise on your body.

It’s surprising.

Taeyong feels at ease with this situation, like he expected it to happen and was preparing himself to become a perfect boyfriend. Come to think of it, he has been doing the same thing when you were on your own in that jungle, minus the kisses.

It feels like he unleashed a love beast, smiling and unable to take his hands off you. You find yourself scolding him gently when he cuddles in the morning, blocking your body until you’re a suffocating mess.

His cheeky giggles are priceless, every single time.

His friends look appeased, their smiles making them look more relieved than anything. It’s like Taeyong is out of a hell he had been pushed into all his life.

One night you decide to try to know more. Taeyong has been asking questions about your life in New Zealand but never did he talk about his own past. You want to know why he acted the way he did, what he meant when he told you he would have loved to feel important back then. You drag Taeyong into the jungle one evening, looking for a place where it’s peaceful yet pretty enough to have that type of conversation.

You offer him the fruits you picked earlier that day, trying to make him comfortable enough but he seems to be cautious.

“Why are we eating this here?” He peels the tropical fruit – you’ll never remember its name but it’s juicy - and offers a piece, his free hand swatting yours as he feeds you.

You watch in awe, as he licks his fingers off the sweet juice and goes back to his task. Now isn’t the moment to focus on his actions. Taeyong is horribly attractive and hot without even trying but this isn’t the problem. You can do it.

“I thought we could stay…just the two of us…?” You find it hard to be convincing. Most of the time you prefer staying at the camp, the idea of walking down the jungle inducing a bit too much anxiety for your own good.

Taeyong knows it, he probably knows everything about you and his ability to observe things makes him snort sweetly, a smile appearing on his face as he leans against the rock next to you. “What do you want to know?”

“W-What?” he takes you off-guard as always with his no-bullshit policy. That’s something you have yet to get accustomed to. Taeyong doesn’t bullshit and hates beating around the bush. He might have taken forever to tell you his feelings but now that this is done, you discover how much of a franc person he can be. Especially when he not-so-subtly told Solene to stop following him because he had no interest in her and would rather spend time with you. She looked hurt but quickly recovered, mocking him for being so full of himself. Taeyong nodded, not the least offended by all the shit she threw at him before walking away, peacefully.

“You brought me here, brought fruits,” He shows your bag and the scenery before finding your eyes. “You look like you’re walking on eggs. You’re stuttering, too.”

You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest and looking bewildered. “And what makes you think that?”

Taeyong adores your annoyed face but keeps a straight expression, playing along. “You’re not so discreet, miss. You’d be the first one caught in a mission.”

Your smile flatters, the reference bringing you back on what you brought him here for. There is a whole part about Taeyong that you need to know about and something tells you it’s not going to be the most endearing story.

That is, if he agrees on telling you more.

As always he notices, his mouth forming a straight line as he nods. “So this is what we’re talking about….I guess I won’t be that mysterious guy anymore…” he tries to play it cool but deep inside he is freaking out. It has nothing to do with not wanting you to know more about him. He doesn’t want to hide anything but maybe you shouldn’t know more. He has done things he isn’t proud of and his story is not a fairy tale.

On top of that, Taeyong would never be able to handle it if you’d ever start pitying him.

You catch him deep in thoughts and try to stop him from overthinking the situation. “You don’t have to tell me anything. If you’re not comfortable it’s okay. I just…really want to know more about you and there’s nothing except that moment we met on that beach until now...” You trail off, biting your lip and looking away.

Taeyong puts your bag away and gives you the rest of the fruit you both started eating. “I want to put my head on your lap. Therapy style, you know,” he moves until his head finds your lap before smiling. “You have to promise that nothing will change. That you’ll still stay by my side.”

He looks awfully genuine, his eyes captivating as he finds a good position on the ground.

He makes you go vulnerable. The way he talks added to the way he looks at you breaks all the barriers. You feel naked, like you can’t protect yourself anymore but you understood that he is the one taking that spot now and preventing you from being exposed to the bad things of the world.

Taeyong is that unflattering and loyal barrier, the one you know will always be your ally.

You melt as he keeps on staring, hands letting the fruit rest next to you to cup his face with tender hands.

“There’s nothing you could say that would ever make me leave your side, Taeyong.”

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and you guess it’s the first time he hears this because when he opens them, they look shinier than before.

“Thank you.” Is all he answers, before starting from the beginning.

He looks hesitant at first, but doesn’t leave any details. You listen carefully, as he starts talking about his childhood. He tells you he was a very weak kid with not even an ounce of spitefulness. His childhood wasn’t so bad because he had a very protective older sister but he could see his parents weren’t glad with how weak he looked. He explains he gained weight in primary school and ended up being bullied for being “fat”. He tells you he didn’t care at first, until his sister started protecting him and he was mocked even more for being fat and hiding behind a girl.

He stops from time to time to smile at you because your face falls. He chuckles when you whisper about uneducated kids and how you would have probably beat them up for being so stupid.

“That was the problem. My sister isn’t that much older than me yet she was way stronger. I have nothing against it, these kids did. There was nothing I could have done; my sister was so worried and I couldn’t tell her to stop. She would go around and kick them, she even told my parents. They weren’t happy and said I should be able to look after myself.” Taeyong tries to give more details so he wouldn’t look miserable, but he notices your face and forces himself to continue.

Taeyong keep on going. He talks about how it kept going until secondary school, how he would be mocked and how he decided to lie to his sister when she went to high school and couldn’t look after him. He tries to explain how it transformed him into a bastard in high school, how he became a bully as soon as his body started changing with puberty. He was able to stop this mess by joining the group of bully and did the same thing he resented the most: hurt the others.

“I thought I was taking revenge, but not even once did I feel satisfied. Maybe I thought it would protect me. I don’t know, I was quite stupid back then.” He sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at the sky. Your hand goes to his hair to brush the locks away and scratch his scalp in hope it’d make him relax a little bit. He quickly looks at you and closes his eyes in order to continue.

The story gets darker from here. Taeyong doesn’t know how to explain that moment when he had enough of being a bully and decided to free himself from the group. It looks like it’s a painful memory for him as he tells you how he ended up being rejected by his own group and by the rest of the school. He speaks fast, like he wants that moment to disappear but still tells you how he went back to being their victim.

“I went back to the start. I was the one being bullied for not following them anymore. But then, I wasn’t the same. I wasn’t the chubby and shy kid they got to know in primary school. One day, as I got my backpack stolen and received a note saying to come and take it back after school, I decided to stop being a such a weakling.” Taeyong stops and raises a hand to rub his face. “I took my backpack and beat two of them. I didn’t know how to fight, but I had strength so I hit and hit until I couldn’t breathe. The first one ran way but the other one…”

You stop moving, head tilted to the side, “What happened to him?” you encourage, voice soft enough to give him strength.

“He ended up at the hospital.”

You gasp, a hand going to your mouth in shock. Taeyong stops, worry appearing on his face when he sees you react.

“I was so upset. I didn’t even notice how I had broken his nose, how he was barely breathing. I couldn’t stop until a teacher came and pulled me away. I was…enraged.” He finishes.

You don’t know what to answer. Even though bullying is horrible, you can’t exactly say he was right.

You can’t blame him though. Taeyong waits, expectant, waiting for you to tell him he is nothing but a monster. He is used to this. Nothing was the same in his neighbourhood after this. Nothing was the same in his entire life.

But you don’t move. You hand goes back to petting his hair and you’re staring back.

“Then..?”

He tries to compose himself when you only ask for him to continue and picks to ignore the uneasy feeling in his chest.

“Then it quickly went downhill. The kid’s family went to the police station, but since I wasn’t legal they told my parents that I should probably go to a detention camp. They agreed. I was sent there two years before graduating. The kid went to the hospital and I heard he was in an intensive care unit.” Taeyong shrugs like it doesn’t matter anymore, but the regret is here.

You on the other hand, know enough about being left-out to understand how he feels.

“They didn’t know what to do with us. I wasn’t like the other kids. They were out of control, they would fight and steal and be disrespectful. I was lucky enough to have a reputation. I was the kid who almost killed his classmate. No one dared to mess with me. There were three kids, all speaking English, who could walk by our horrendous courtyard. I don’t think they ever understood what this place was. They kept on staying behind the fence, probably talking about the kid sitting away from the others. They were so damn goofy, they insisted until I answered and I finally did. They didn’t know what I had done and were always trying to make me feel better, never asked anything. Jaehyun would give me money so I could buy myself things and Johnny would sneak among us when we were allowed to go shopping with a supervisor.” He smiles then, “It’s not like I was a monster anyways…”

“You were not a monster. As much as I hate fights, you were too young to know what you were doing, and no one tried to help either. There’s only so little one can tolerate before doing something stupid.” You try to reassure him because it obviously affects him. You can see the worry, even after this. Taeyong looks like he hopes the guy is okay now.

“They tried to find us jobs that would accept us. Coming from a detention camp meant forgetting about high positions and university. They brought many people but no one cared. One day, two officers from the foreign legion came. We were about to turn eighteen and it meant either detention for some of us, or liberty. I was smart enough to agree going with the foreign legion. Considering the kid’s family, they would have probably asked for prison. This is how I went abroad.”

“This is where you learnt about all this…”

Taeyong nods, “It wasn’t easy. I’m not going to complain because I agreed to it, but it was hell. The foreign legion is worse than the army and they love leaving us in the woods, or kidnap us in the middle of the night to test our resistance. It turned out that I had handled too much to cry or beg for it to stop. At the beginning, I felt alive. No one was being rude or fighting, no one was being disrespectful, no one cared about me and this is what I wanted. I wanted people to leave me the fuck alone. I didn’t want to be ‘fattyong’ or ‘the kid who attempted murder’, I was the Asian solder, the one coming from a detention camp and doing what he was asked.”

He sits again, stretching his now sore limbs. “Then I understood my limits. I was losing way too much weight because I wasn’t focusing on the important and ended up being left out by the group. I was too weak to continue, I got left in a damn river at 3 in the morning and collapsed because of the cold. It’s only when they told me that I had to take care of myself that I decided to stop. I understood I was suffering willingly because I was trying to punish myself. I was hating myself for being such a weak bastard, for not meeting my parents’ expectations, for leaving my sister behind and for almost killing a kid who didn’t deserve such a fate. I couldn’t stand seeing my own impoverished face. When I realised that, I was literally a recluse, I had no idea how to deal with normal human beings. It’s not a happy story. It wasn’t a happy story. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, a tired smile appearing on your face. “How did you meet Doyoung, though?”

“Doyoung? He was the doctor’s son. He would come every week with his father and was even more asocial than me. He hated every kid. His father owns his own hospital now. Before leaving I told the guys I would come back and when I called them, three years later, to let them know I was done with the foreign legion, they wasted no time inviting me with them on their trip. It turns out they had become good friends while I was away.” Taeyong finally looks happy when he mentions his friends, you see it from the way he grabs tiny stones and throws them.

After a while he talks again. “I thought you’d tell me how much of a freak I am. I was so damn anxious.” He admits, his face falling.

You smile, feeling more in love because of his sincerity than disgusted. Taeyong has been through a lot and deserves happiness. You’re willing to give him just that.

“You do know you’re important to me, right?” you ask out of the blue, suddenly desperate to let him know he isn’t alone and can rely on you. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I don’t resent nor pity you, Taeyong. I’m just glad you feel comfortable enough to share this with me.” It’s true. You feel nothing but tenderness for the boy, whose face lit up instantly.

Taeyong doesn’t know what to do with himself. He has no experience in that field and it makes him all weird and fuzzy. He likes the feeling and tries to come up with something but the words get caught in his throat. He wants to yell and cry.

He isn’t even sure he deserves someone like you.

So he doesn’t try to be fancy and keeps it simple. He approaches you and takes your face between his two shaking hands.

“I love you.”

You tell him you do, too.

Taeyong feels lighter. It’s like he has nothing to hide, like you know him fully and love him for what he is. That night he carried you back on his back, ignoring the elderly people looking at you two. He covered you and kissed your forehead, his body nestled and mouth whispering sweet words until you fell asleep.

He is in deep trouble now, though.

Especially when he tags along during your shower session. You almost beg him to come and he agrees, knowing damn well he isn’t going to enjoy the moment you both end up washing each other. He knows it’s natural for you, but he doesn’t think he can handle such situations yet.

He forgot to tell you the part where he only touched a woman once, during one leave at the foreign legion when he had way too much to drink.

Taeyong doesn’t know if you’re questioning yourself. Maybe it’s only him, but he feels too many things to ignore them. You probably expect him to be the manly guy who can handle any situations.

Unfortunately, he knows more about tropical plants than desires.

“Do you want me to wash your hair? One of the lady made this with sand and herbs.” You’re still wearing that tank top and he hates how the water made it turn awfully transparent. You’re showing him a pot with a weird, sticky substance and he has to tear his eyes away from you.

You smile. “Are you okay?” he has been acting weird lately, like touching you hurts him.

Taeyong breathes out, nodding softly and turning around to kneel in the water. “Sure.”

You comply, ignoring the awkwardness and working on his hair. They might be dirty but they are always so soft. You hum absent-mindedly, rubbing the skin as Taeyong becomes a puddle of grunts.

He is done for.

“Don Juan is back!” Johnny mocks as soon as he sees him. Mark laughs like a kid and Doyoung scoffs, whispering about love fools as he is counting his medical supplies.

“I wish.” Taeyong’s answer makes them halt. It’s true that he changed since he is in a relationship. He smiles more and looks truly happy, but the real Taeyong would never react that way.

“What’s happening?” Doyoung tries, throwing a bandage into his bag. “I can’t help. We don’t have Viagra here.” He laughs when Taeyong makes a face but stops when he doesn’t hear his friend deny anything. “Wait…do you have trouble…?”

“No!” Taeyong is quick to throw him an empty bottle. “I’m not- it’s not-,” he sighs. Maybe these guys aren’t the best counsellors in this island. “I don’t know…I don’t think I can…” he tries but stop, embarrassment evident on his face.

Jaehyun gets up from his position on the ground. “When was the last time you had sex?”

Mark almost chokes on his water, his body raising from the ground. “I think someone called my name. I…have to go.”

Johnny laughs, nodding. “The real question is, have you ever had sex with anyone?”

Taeyong shrugs, makes a face and even pinches his lips. “I did. Once.”

Three voices make him jump. “Once?!”

Two women turn around questioningly, making Taeyong close his eyes in despair. “Yes, once. Do you want to write it in big letters on the damn sand? Taeyong’s almost a virgin!”

“Bro, we’re just shocked. With a face like yours we thought you’d get laid every night. No wonder you didn’t even give your number to these girls back in New Zealand.” Johnny raises two hands in protest. “There’s nothing wrong with being…inexperienced. Right, guys?”

Doyoung nods, closing his bag with a sigh. “I spend too much time at the hospital anyways. What’s your problem, though? Just tell her.”

Johnny scoffs. “He doesn’t want to, why would he come and ask us dumbass about it otherwise? Concentrate, Doyoung.”

Taeyong coughs, “It’s not about telling her. I’m not going to ask for anything. I just…don’t know how to deal with myself.”

“Oh,” Johnny clicks his fingers, feeling like a genius. “You’re like a horny teen who doesn’t know how to deal with himself, then. Well it’s easy, you have to find a quiet place and then you grab your-” before he can finish Doyoung throws him the bottle he received from Taeyong earlier.

“Why are you telling him that? Seriously Taeyong, explain it to her. Tell her you’re inexperienced and being too intimate makes you uncomfortable because you don’t know how to deal with your emotions. She doesn’t look like a stupid girl. Do not listen to Johnny or you’ll end up polishing your meat like a creep in the jungle. You don’t want to be a creep.”

Johnny laughs loudly. “Polish your meat. I like that one. Okay then if we have to listen to our doctor, go and tell her. Then maybe from time to time you can-”

“SHUT UP!”

Taeyong is paralysed. He doesn’t know how you ended up on his lap but here you are, reading something he doesn’t care about and playing with your hair. You found this place away from the camp and insisted on staying here for the night so he complied because he can’t say no to you.

You’d ask him to fish with his teeth and he’d try.

But now you’re moving way too much. Taeyong tries to act like he is resting against that tree but he just can’t. His whole body is so tensed it hurts his back and legs but he can do it.

He can act like everything is fine.

It’s when you stretch that he stutters a couple of broken words. “Hurts- my…leg.”

You apologize quickly, moving away so you can kneel and pat his sore limbs. “I’m sorry, I’ll just lay down next to you, then.”

Taeyong still looks disturbed. You try not to focus on it but you can feel it. He avoids contact at all cost and is always super busy when you become too clingy. You lay down and go back to the story when you hear Taeyong’s voice, distinct yet soft.

“There’s something I need to tell you…”

You put the book away and roll on your side to look at him. “Yes?” he looks too worried to make you think he is going to say something positive.

“I have no idea how to explain it to you so, forget my bluntness. I feel uneasy whenever we’re intimate because I’ve only been physical with a girl once in my life and I don’t know how it is to have a girlfriend. I don’t know what to do with myself because I feel this pull toward you but at the same time, I don’t want to do something inappropriate.” He breathes loudly when he is done and waits for you answer.

Nothing comes.

You tilt your head, brows furrowed and Taeyong thinks you’re about to kick him for being such a pervert.

He doesn’t know you’re actually relieved.

“Do you want me to stop touching you?” You try slowly, not really understanding why he looks so uneasy.

“No! I mean- wow, that sounded desperate.” Taeyong’s laugh betrays his nervousness but he shakes his head before you think he doesn’t want to be around you. “It’s because I really want you to touch me that I’m uncomfortable.”

His answer makes you blush. Taeyong never sounds creepy when he speaks, even when he talks about how he needs you but doesn’t know how to deal with the matter.

“Would you mind if I was…more intimate?” You ask again, earning a grunt from Taeyong who doesn’t know what to answer.

“You don’t have to. I’m not saying this to push you into anything.”

You sigh, finding a sitting position in an instant. “I’m just asking if that would make you uncomfortable. You’re not being a push-over.”

Taeyong waits, eyes scanning the beach before looking at you again.

“No, not at all. I don’t want to disappoint you, that’s all.”

It’s funny how Taeyong became so insecure. He used to be so confident in his skills, so serious and unflattering when he would scold you for being a cry-baby.

Now he looks vulnerable and fragile. You can see how he doesn’t want to lose you.

You think it’s adorable.

He looks puzzled when you get up. Your book is left on the beach, completely forgotten as you straddle him.

Taeyong raises his hands, shocked to see you sit on his lap. He doesn’t protest but you don’t let him. Taeyong needs to feel more confident in himself so you’ll give him what he needs.

He is breathless when you kiss him.

Your gentleness destroys him. The way your lips trap his breaks him. Your core against his body annihilates his soul. By the time he is on the sand and into you, both his body and his soul are a mess.

Even though no one knows when they will be out of here, he prays all the gods.

Taeyong doesn’t want it to end.

You both wake up to people yelling though.

It’s noisy and scary so you both get up at the speed of light, glad you decided not to sleep naked.

The camp is going crazy by the time you join everyone and just like that, Taeyong’s prayers vanish.

There, in the endless sea, was a boat.

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okamirayne · 3 years

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Hi Rayne!! Just finished (yet another) re-read of BtB, and I don't think I've cried this hard in a long, long time - it was very cathartic. But, feels aside, I was wondering if you could tell us a bit more about Karibi? She's fascinating and I'm just dying to know more! (Sorry if this has been asked before!!)

Hi there, my lovely Anon!

Apologies for the delayed response. Aw, luv. Always so, so chuffed to learn someone has revisited the series and even more touched to know it hits you in the feels <3.

But, feels aside, I was wondering if you could tell us a bit more about Karibi? She's fascinating and I'm just dying to know more! (Sorry if this has been asked before!!)

Karibi! <3 Firstly, no, this hasn’t been asked before, so imagine my excitement regarding an OC ASK -- can you picture it? TREBLE IT. XD

Another dear Anon asked about Naoki in a previous ASK and I thank you for your expressed interest in Karibi! It’s a funny one because I have two Karibi OCs -- the edited version I inserted into BtB and the original, original version. Given that we’re talking about BtB Karibi...let me rewire my character brain a moment and firmly draw a line or two...or twelve....

Right! A Third War orphan, Karibi grew up in the orphanage outside of Konoha and proved to be quite a handful over the years given her feisty nature, constant escape-attempts, insistence on dressing and behaving like a boy (for which she earned consistent bullying and beatings), and her rough-housing free-for-all scraps with other kids -- as well as her routine habit of stealing food from the kitchens to give to a stray dog who constantly hung around the outskirts of the orphanage. It was easier for her to attach herself this dog than other kids who came and went, just like the voluntary care-givers. Her mischief-making, stealthy tactics, “never stay down” stubbornness and streetwise attitude soon caught the attention of a retired Konoha ANBU veteran (a patron of the orphanage) who interrupted a violent fight between Karibi and a group of local boys who’d stoned the dog to death. Observing how fiercely she fought (always getting up when knocked down) despite being outnumbered and beaten, the ANBU veteran recognized her potential, promptly adopted her, and trained her in ninjutsu, genjutsu and chakra control.

Their relationship was close, until it wasn’t.

Advancing quickly through the academy and ranks – winning zero friends along the way – she was soon put forward for ANBU by her adopted father, who immediately cut his ties to her, damaging an already tentative trust. Intended as a solo agent, she was immediately assigned to a 3-team ANBU unit named Team Yokai consisting of herself, Genma, and Naoki (Captain).

Enter in, bonding.

It was here, after a lot of boundary testing and testosterone busting, that she finally formed some hard-won emotional attachments after beating Genma and Naoki bloody in taijutsu combat – taunting them constantly to get up (“seven times down, eight times up”). While she was promptly one-upped by both in ninjutsu, her genjutsu prowess brought her right back onto an even keel with them both. Perfectly balanced, respect began to form between them – then friendship – which later led to a lover’s trine between the three of them. This was intense but short-lived; Karibi soon recognised that though she loved them both, she preferred women and also realised Genma and Naoki’s feelings for each other went a hell of a lot deeper than ‘close friends with benefits’. She knew they’d fallen for each other before either admitted it to themselves, let alone each other.

The three of them were inseparably close.

They were more than her friends or comrades – they were her family.

They kept each other going.

Karibi allowed Naoki to establish a permanent telepathic link with her whereas Genma only allowed it during missions and in the bedroom. Karibi kept her mind open to Naoki always, though he never intruded until years later after being listed as Killed In Action.

His death blew a hole in their world.

Their team was dismantled.

They would not accept another Captain.

To make matters worse, due to the unbroken telepathic link and the resulting ghost of Naoki’s presence in her head, Karibi never truly believed Naoki had died and her adamant ‘denial’ of this ‘fact’ created a heart-breaking rift between her and Genma.

This rift between them grew darker and wider as Genma turned to solo deep-cover missions and Karibi turned to drink when she wasn’t neck-deep in assassinations and a failed “could’ve been” relationship. And then one day the edge of all the smashed glass bottles in her life looked very, very tempting.

Genma found her, just in time – the first time at least.

Treated and cleared of suicide risk, Karibi was soon diagnosed as schizophrenic given the “voice” of her dead Captain in her head and this threatened her position in the ANBU – but her brokenness caught Danzō’s interest.

After a failed attempt to recover her relationship with her civilian lover and unable to mend the rift between herself and Genma, she signed on for a ROOT initiation mission – which sadly finished what she’d started with the bottle – though it was an impulsive and sudden decision rather than a deeply pre-meditated one. She disobeyed orders when sent into a child-trafficking operation being run out of an orphanage. This was a trigger for her. Rather than complete the ROOT mission of kidnapping a couple of kids for ROOT grooming, she murdered her ROOT partner and slaughtered the “nuns” who were supposed to be taking care of the children rather than indenturing them into the sex-trade to raise funds. When the ninja traffickers showed up, she lit the building on fire, and while the children escaped she made damned sure not one “piece of trash” running the trafficking ring got out alive.

She went down fighting in flames.

Her death was the final crippling blow to Genma. He went to Mizugumo immediately after that. Then he went to his own personal hell before Kakashi met him there in ANBU’s gutter and helped drag him out of it years later, saving him from the same fate as Karibi when he almost identically mirrored the blaze of glory tragedy with his suicide attempt in Tanzaku years later.

Random Trivia:

Karibi loved dogs and often kept an eye out for Inuzuka women looking for a bit of rough and tumble.

She dealt with a lot of possessive shit from Naoki. He was very possessive of his family/lovers and was only just about able to accept Karibi being intimate with others, even after he’d stopped sleeping with her. Genma always joked that Naoki only accepted her activities because her preference was for women, not men.

Karibi, like Naoki, felt strongly about the abuse of children, given certain illicit incidents she’d witnessed at the orphanage -- she and Genma understood Naoki’s childhood trauma and were the only ones who could handle him when he flew into a rare rage

Her favourite catchphrase was “seven times down, eight times up” (“Nana korobi, ya oki” which means “Fall down seven times, stand up eight.” It means choosing to never give up hope, and to always strive for more.)

While her ANBU step-parent/mentor abandoned her in the end, she retained the green knit scarf he gifted her (the only gift she’d ever received from him other than her training and removal from the orphanage)

She began to fall for a civilian woman -- the scariest thing for her, other than losing her teammates.

Karibi’s top value was “resilience” and never giving up – which made her suicide attempt so painful for Genma to accept

She turned to Naoki for help retrieving memories about her parents – this enabled him to perfect his own kinjutsu to reverse memory erasure

She had a plethora of ear piercings and a tattoo Naoki inked on her hip

She loved various green teas

She had a crush on Kurenai – round about the same time Genma did, which made for an interesting competition between them….and a somewhat unfair irritation towards Asuma.

She was a bit of magpie in the ANBU and stole items on missions, donating them privately to the orphanage

She loved berry-picking and was very well-versed with poisons

Genma gave her chickenpox and she gave him hell for it

She almost managed to shove a spinning top up Genma’s ass – almost.

Genma accidentally broke her baby finger playing “thumb wars” and it never set properly on the joint, causing her to have a crooked little finger

Most of her illusion/genjutsu techniques focus around folklore creatures and light, which came in handy on missions dealing with highly suspicious village folk

Her dream goal was to one day be Goei Shotai to a female Hokage – a dream Genma later lived out for her when Tsunade came into power

Naoki was with her telepahtically when she died, as Genma was with Naoki when he died -- in that way, Karibi was not as alone in death as Genma always feared.

Wow, that was LONG. Sorry, Anon! I absolutely love character-writing and development....I get carried away even if most of their story never makes it into the actual written piece. Thank you for asking about Karibi, I hope this insight gives you some answers! <3

#OC asks #Karibi #BtB OCs #BtB series #BtB Asks #BtB Ask #Genma #Naoki #Team Yokai #break to breathe by okami rayne #btb series #break to breathe #okami rayne #okamirayne #okami-rayne

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charlettebffxiv · 4 years

Text

Prompt #2: Sway

“Put your back into it! Long arms like those shouldn’t struggle with a thin trunk like that!” Bobocufu’s voice was high-pitched, almost childlike, and even the most demanding of statements she made sounded partly joyous. Charlette had a theory that it was because of this the lalafell was such a demanding leader. “The hearth needs wood if they’re going to be ready in time for All Saints!” they had received quite a large order, the town's carpenter Winneth having been tasked with carving decorations specific to this twelvemoon’s celebration. A hundred-and-fifty logs of walnut wood and barley a sennight to collect them by the deadline. “C’mon you three! Swing hard, strike true, clean cuts and quickly, before the Shroud decides it would rather keep these trees and sends woodwrath our way!”

Since being handed over to Bobocufu and the contingent of the Botanist guild that made its home in Willow’s Heart, Charlette has known little more than back-breaking work. She never expected caring for the wilderness and harvesting its bounty would be so incredibly demanding. No, when this was being bestowed onto her as penance for her misdeeds during her quest the Elder’s made it sound like it was a kindness, a gift! “Immerse yourself in the peace of the forest, Charlette. Let it be a time to reflect on and recover who you are.” High Archvisit Aemeric’s words had stung, the entire ordeal of her meeting with the Elder’s feeling like a cruel joke after the Twelvemoon she had already endured. But part of her couldn’t help but accept it, believe some of it and make an honest attempt to do just that. But why has it been so difficult? The question floated through her mind as she made the final swing of her axe and the aged walnut tree toppled over to the whoops and cheers of her fellow workers. “Thassit! Get ‘em down and get those branches off, we’ll give Winneth her order days in advance and give the green here new land to fill.” Bobocufu’s jubilance called out louder than the swing and thud of the axes at work, it begged the question of what she was more excited about; completing the order early or seeing a new swath of life fill a dead clearing. Perhaps that’s where Charlette needed to go? Maybe if she saw the Elder’s intentions and understood Aemeric’s point a little better, she could find that kind of joy in this work.

Then maybe they would let her go after the rest of those tomes…

“No dreaming Charlette.” a hand patted at the back of her shoulder, a Wildwood elezen with bright-blond hair smiling at her as he whispered to her. “Before the little-bully sees you staring into the wood again.” she nodded her thanks, looking down at the old tree she had felled, it’s life spent, its wood having turned a darker brown due to burrowing insects and parasitic mistletoe leeching away its life force. It didn’t take long to cut away the branches and remove the wilting leaves, Charlette and her companion working away at separating it into even logs, timing their swings to land one after another, like builders hammering in pillars for a foundation. THUD, thud, THUD, thud, THUD, thud…

“Maxim…” the blond elezen looked up at the sound of his name, the question in Charlette’s tone pulled at his curiosity. “That is my name.” he joked, the dead-look Charlette gave him only making Maxim giggle louder. “What is it?” it sounded almost like he was bracing himself for something. “Why are you a botanist? Why did you take up this profession instead of joining the hunters with your brothers?” he leaned back from the gouge he had been hacking to roll his shoulders and wipe sweat from his brow, taking the time to think before he answered. “Because I’m terrified of your mother.” The Bellamy matriarch had a reputation for being a strict and uncompromising leader for the hunter’s of the village. But she knew that was not the reason. “Honestly, why choose this over everything else you had in front of you. Hunting, crafting, adventuring. What was it that drew you to botany above all else?” she was picking for any kind of insight she could find. Maxim turned back to see where Bobocufu was, the lalafell currently helping their midlander companion haul logs onto the chocobo-driven cart. Once he seemed satisfied they were safe, Maxim leaned toward Charlette the two of them like gossiping hens, bent over their woodwork. Whatever he was going to say must have deep meaning to him for all this caution. Surely. Maxim took one more look over his shoulder, the conspiracy of it all building until finally... “I’m in love with Bobocufu.” Charlette shoved him away, pushing his shoulder with a disgusted “Uugh…” Maxim trying to protest the truth of this through chuckles he did not really try to hide. “Tis true! Despite our age difference she is the one! Ever since I first saw her peering through the tall shrubbery, grass stains on her tunic, mud across her face I was smitten!” For all his flaws, Maxim was good at levity. Hand on heart, he pleaded for his ‘love’ between looks to make sure the subject of his joke couldn’t have heard a word of it. “I just wish for the day I can bounce her on my knee at our bonding ceremony! Having her complain all the way down the aisle about wasted flowers and time.” Despite how it frustrated her, Charlette couldn’t help but smile. He reminded her of Franklin, of the jokes and tricks her entire generation of trainees at the Archive had to suffer due to being in the same group as Franklin. A flutter had made itself known in her chest as those memories came back, and it grew as Maxim pulled a laugh from Charlette, his need to sway her mood into the light added strength to the wings of that feeling.

It was just too much…

Charlette felt it threaten to wash out, the flutter had turned into a whirl of sadness, anger, confusion. All of it and the struggle to keep it down bringing a stiff edge to her voice. “We should get back to it.” her first swing, THUD, hit the wood so hard her axe dug too deep leaving Charlette to angrily yank at it. Maxim, confused by her sudden shift, walked around and offered to help by way of reaching for the handle. “Careful, it will come out too fast and hit you-...” she raised a hand up at him, cool words cutting his down. “I don’t need your help.” Maxim backed away with hands raised as Charlette clasped it with both hands, lent her full weight back into the tug and pulled the axe free. It swung backwards and came dangerously close to hitting her on the nose before she tightened her grip and gained control of it again. Maxim looked at her, lurching his head toward the axe with wide-eyes, the words unspoken but clear; I told you so. Charlette huffed out a frustrated breath and bowed her head. “Sorry, I just... “ brushing sweat-damp strands of her hair from her face she shook her head, Maxim walking around to his side of the trunk without a word and picking up his own axe. “It’s okay. I think I can understand… a little bit. You don’t want to be out here. Not like the rest of us.” his voice had become sheepish to some degree, careful. “But… if I can give you some advice. Let us help you, in our way.” he dipped his head toward the others working in the clearing, each of them struggled with something, but all of them had a friend to help. “Y’know, like how old Bobocufu is never too proud to let me pass her the tea leaves from the top shelf.” he clasped his hands in front of him, a faux-dreamy sigh like a teen in love escaping him “I do so love it when my dearest needs me.” Charlette shook her head, picked up her axe and returned to their work, but not before given Maxim what she could “I’ll try…” Because maybe that’s where she will find herself again, as Aemeric had suggested. In new people to rely on.

#ffxivwrite2020 #ffxivwrite

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forestwater87 · 4 years

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Cutting Myself on all this Edge

This post has no reason to exist, except that I keep bothering my friends with literally dozens of messages making fun of this and I need a place to keep it all.

What is “this”? Oh, just some people having some Fucking Strong Opinions about how Harry Potter is the Pied Piper (they use that comparison multiple times. It gets old fast) leading our children into the End Times with its pro-illuminati Satan-worshiping witchcraft lessons. You know, the usual.

And no, this isn’t a battle of Forest vs. the Crazy Christians; I’m like 94% sure I’m not working through any sort of religious trauma, partly because I never went deep into this kind of mentality but mostly because I’m just delighted by The Cutting Edge, a website for a very specific type of Christian (no, not you, Catholics. You’re specifically not invited to the Cutting Edge club because you worship demons) interested in the New World Order, the evils of public schools, and Satan’s favorite color.

No, really.

Satan’s favorite color is green. They don’t . . . really explain why.

This site still exists and is the best thing I’ve ever seen. Hours of fun for the whole family. I mean, look at their logo:

And look at their illustration that goes along with their particular Harry Potter series:

Are you not entertained?!

I cannot stop reading these amazing essays -- which delve surprisingly deep into Potter lore, considering they say that there is no sufficient reason for a Christian to ever read a single page of these books -- and I can’t keep harassing my friends with thousands of notifications, so here we are.

Starting small, let’s read the book review for Harry Potter and the Sorceror’s/Philosopher’s Stone. Or, as they prefer to call it:

This book chronicles Harry's first year at the Hogwart's School of Wizardry and Witchcraft. Prepare to be shocked for the bold, blatant, and bodacious raw Satanism that underlines this story! Since "proper"Drug Use is essential in opening the centres of vision and achieving higher consciousness, we should not be surprised that First-Year students learn Drug Use, Drug creation, in a way that makes Drug use seem glorious! You will be shocked to see '666 ' in the story line, and symbols of Antichrist receiving a "fatal wound"!

That’s the entire subtitle. That’s just how they roll on

THE CUTTING EDGE

Part 1: The . . . Plot? I Guess?

This story introduces us to Harry Potter, an orphaned boy sent to live with his "horrible" Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and their fat, obnoxious son, Dudley.

I feel very comfortable with the fact that Cutting Edge has chosen to put scare quotes around the word “horrible,” like that’s up for debate. Combined with the very normal and sane opinions expressed elsewhere on the site, this really bodes well for their ideas about parenting and childcare in general.

all through this book, any non-witch folk -- like Vernon and Petunia -- are depicting in disgusting language.

Typo is theirs, as is the apparent offense they take to the fictional depiction of people who are very much not real. While there hasn’t been any exciting formatting going on yet in this essay, I will replicate it as much as possible, and any changes made will be clearly indicated through square brackets and ellipses.

Non-witch people are known as Muggles , and they are depicting as being "dumber than a box of rocks", of being physically obscene, and of living the most boring, unimaginative lives possible.

I was going to argue that this isn’t true, but I suppose we don’t really meet any cool Muggles in the first book. I guess I have to give them this, but I don’t feel good about it.

Witches, on the other hand, are depicted as being very smart, very "with it", of being physically normal, and of living wonderfully exciting lives

It bears repeating:

a flashback scene to the time 10 years earlier when Harry's Mom and Dad were psychically murdered by evil Lord Voldemort

Okay. Now I’m no Potterologist, and so I’m hoping any true believers will correct me if I misinterpret the holy texts,* but I don’t think Harry’s parents were psychically murdered by anyone. I’m pretty sure they were quite literally, physically made dead. Just because it’s a beam of magic doesn’t mean it’s not physical anymore, does it? Voldy didn’t Professor-X Harry’s parents and they died of three D10 psychic damage or anything; he just fucking killed them with a wizard gun. Am I wrong here?

*By which I obviously mean Harry Potter. It teaches children how to become Satanists; we’re clearly dealing with a book of immense spiritual relevance.

Skipping a little bit of plot summary, which is a combination of, well, summary of the plot, although Cutting Edge is determined to get Hogwarts’ name wrong, and a little bit of baffling End-Times(?) nonsense thrown in for funsies --

Of course, a Christian would be immediately alerted to this turn of events [in which Harry defeats Voldemort and is scarred] because soon a supernaturally powerful global leader will demand everyone on earth take some sort of a mark in exactly this place on the body.

What?

-- and there’s some weird formatting things going on that I think are supposed to imply something sinister but really just come off as goofy:

They have Harry on a boat headed for nowhere and they had every intention of keeping Harry from ever attending Hogwarts School. However, Harry receives supernatural assistance.

(It’s not letting me do colors on desktop, which is stupid, but that “supernatural” is supposed to be both bold and red)

There’s a long description about the difference between the Real and Fantasy worlds, which apparently Satanists try to live in both of (and so does Harry, making him also a Satanist. This is actually one of the less-stupid arguments Cutting Edge has for Harry’s Satanism, so just go with it) that’s honestly more boring than funny so I’m skipping it. Then we get to a much more fun section: why Rowling’s descriptions of Muggles are . . . teaching children to hate Jesus?

Part 2: Rowling Hates Muggles

Rowling consistently depicts people who do not practice Witchcraft in most obnoxious terms. They are depicted as being really, really dumb, boring, and living a life not worth living . We share these examples, below, with you so you can appreciate the truth of this statement. Uncle Vernon was also the only Muggle quoted in the book as being really opposed to Witchcraft; therefore, when readers see how stupid, ugly, and boring Vernon is, they get the idea that all people who are opposed to Witchcraft must be as stupid, ugly, and boring as Vernon is.

... Are all people opposed to Witchcraft cowardly bullies?

I mean, you are the one going after a children’s book for daring to entertain children, so if the shoe fits . . .

"Harry was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang ... Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader." [p. 31] How do you know your own child does not think of you in these terms? After all, you are a non-magical Muggle.

I actually can’t complain, because this is just accurate. I 100% hate my parents and think they’re stupid because they’re not literally witches/wizards. Our relationship has never fully recovered.

"Uncle Vernon made another funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on." [p. 47] Remember Adolf Hitler, the most famous Black Magick wizard in modern history? He depicted Jews as Rats in his Propaganda Machinery, convincing the Germans they should extermination the "vermin".

GODWIN’S LAW HAS LANDED!

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN AND EVERYTHING OUTSIDE OR IN-BETWEEN, WE HAVE OFFICIALLY COMPARED HARRY POTTER TO HITLER!

We find it highly interesting that, later in the book, when the Evil Lord Voldemort is supposedly killing the unicorn in the Forbidden Forest, the color of the blood of the unicorn is silver!

Okay, but like . . . why? I mean, it immediately follows a description of the Bloody Baron, who is depicted with silvery blood because he’s, like, a ghost, but I’m not sure what that has to do with unicorns or with Satan. Are unicorns associated with Satan? Is silver associated with Satan?

Is everything Satan? Am I Satan?

There’s a lot of rage at a gentleman named Chuck Colson throughout this section, who apparently made the grave error of telling parents it was okay for their children to read Harry Potter because it doesn’t involve contact with the supernatural. And I’ll admit, that seems like a pretty bad defense of the books, because if you define “supernatural” as ghosts, poltergeists, or whatever the hell Voldemort is, then there is absolutely a metric buttload of supernatural stuff in here.

Arguably, a better defense of why it’s okay for children to read these children’s books is that they are books made for children, but YMMV on that one. Probably depends on whether or not you think children are sitting in the giant metaphorical (or literal? Not sure Cutting Edge gets metaphors) lap of the Antichrist every time they pick up the books.

(A visual reminder.)

Part 3: Basically Part 2, But This Time There Are Colors

The next section is on colors, which are very important to Cutting Edge. As linked back in the very beginning of this post, there is an entire essay devoted to the demonic colors used in the Harry Potter books, but we get just a taste of it here:

Rowling makes use of vivid colors in her story line. Some of these colors are consistent with the colors preferred by Satan and his followers in the Occult. Rowling's use of such vivid colors also enables her to paint the Fantasy Reality of Witchcraft as THE most exciting place to live. Wizard of Oz uses the same technique: when Dorothy is in her real world in Kansas, the color is black and white, but when she steps into her Fantasy Reality, the scene explodes in the most wonderful color.

Interesting interpretation. An alternative view is that Rowling needs to use more descriptors for things within the Wizarding World, because her readers won’t have the same frame of reference to draw from that they do with real-life objects and events in the Muggle World, and one can assume that these lovely descriptions are part of her being a, y’know, good and evocative writer, and the colors are just related to how she pictured the world she was creating.

But I mean, yours is good, too.

Actually, the citations provided by Cutting Edge don’t depict anything especially vivid; it’s not like she’s throwing massive amounts of purple prose at the descriptions of the Satanic green of Harry’s eyes. In fact, the only enhancer used is “emerald” at one point. For the most part, this essayist is just . . . noticing when the word “green” appears in the text and calling it a siren song to entice good Christian children out of the colorless world of reality and goodness and into the technicolor dreamland of magic and mayhem.

Also, please remember that Satan has a favorite color, and it’s green. For all birthdays and Christmases (or wait, whatever the Satanic version of Christmas is! Halloween?), please make sure all gifts are green or green-adjacent.

Even though Harry is nearly as powerful as a Black Magick practitioner, and could easily have decided to go over to that side, he declines to go over to the Dark Arts. Dumbledore assures Harry that he is not evil as Lord Voldemort. However, as a symbol of the Black Arts he could perform, Rowling makes Harry's eyes green.

This observation -- and I use the term loosely -- implies that every single Slytherin and villain of the Harry Potter series would have green eyes, to demonstrate their capacity for evil. The fact that this is obviously not the case must just be a red herring.

Part . . . 4, I think?: Drugs, Magic, and Magic Drugs

Harry and his friends learn how to makedrugs, and the glory of taking them.

The fact that they don’t actually take any in this book is entirely irrelevant. (”Drugs” should also be red as well as bolded. It’s very serious business.)

The plant, wormwood, contains thujone, an hypnotic drug, banned by the FDA since 1915 [Christian News, "Latest Potter Book Meets Cautionary Response From Christians, July 17, 2000] ; further, wormwood is used to make Absinthe, a hallucinogenic liquor. Therefore, the drug to which Rowling makes reference is very real, and is so dangerous the FDA has banned it -- to this day, it is banned!

While thujone was illegal at the time of this essay in the United States, it was actually never banned in the UK . . . you know, where these books take place and were written? I don’t think Rowling gives a solitary fuck about our FDA standards. Also, I don’t know if you could just straight-up buy wormwood on whatever the equivalent of Amazon was in 1998 (was it just Amazon?), but you sure can now. Can’t be all that scary.

You can hardly get a better description of drug use, and drug glorification than this!

I wonder why they keep using red to emphasize all these evil things . . . you’d think they’d go with Satan’s favorite color/the sign that Harry is the Antichrist to really jazz up all of the evil.

"The drug message in this book is clear. To reach your goals in life like Harry Potter, you need to know how to make drugs and take drugs in just the right way or else you are a 'dunderhead' and will never succeed." [http://www.fflibraries.org/Book_Reports/HarryPotter ; written by a physician and father who asked to remain anonymous].

The fact that this URL doesn’t lead me to that review is one of the saddest things I’ve faced all month.

The sections on spellcasting are far less interesting, reiterating a pretty simple refrain: all magic is bad, because the books say some magic is good then the books are bad, it’s all teaching children about Satanism. Rinse and repeat.

During final exams, teachers passed out special quills with which to write; these quills had been "bewitched with an Anti-Cheating spell". The reason none of the teachers felt they could trust the honor of the students to not cheat is obvious enough; in Witchcraft, no Absolute Good and Evil exists. All objective, eternal standards of conduct and morality have been rejected. Therefore, teachers knew full well that all the students would cheat on their final exams if they thought they could get away with it. It is a sad commentary that teachers had to place an Anti-Cheating spell on the quills to prevent exams cheating. Christian parent, is this the "morality" you want your students to learn?

Now, it might just be my obvious Satanist addiction to witchcraft talking, but doesn’t it seem more likely that there’s an anti-cheating spell because sometimes . . . children cheat? And no amount of Good Wholesome Christian Teaching is going to completely eradicate the desire to cheat on a test, because of course it isn’t.

It’s not because the school has taught the students that cheating is okay and cool and sexy or whatever -- in fact, if you want evidence that there is an absolute moral standard against cheating, it would be that the teachers are actively taking steps to prevent it! If witchcraft really was all about how there’s no such thing as good and evil . . . well, for one thing they wouldn’t teach Defense against the motherfucking Dark Arts, but they also wouldn’t care if their students cheated enough to provide anti-cheating quills, because they wouldn’t consider cheating a bad thing, because they wouldn’t consider anything a bad thing!

Also, I’m not sure what listing all of the spells in the book and what they do really says about Satanism, except that . . . spells exist, and are used? Which I feel like you should really expect from the book about magic and wizards; if that’s an alarming surprise, then you’ve made a wrong turn somewhere way earlier down the road.

Part whatever: Seriously, Rowling is just ALL ABOUT Satan

This entire section is basically about how JKR must be a Satanist, because she apparently depicts the world of magic and the occult with perfect accuracy, and how could she do that except through being an active practicing witch herself?

Mirrors are believed to be a portal to another dimension, including Time. Occultists believe they can go forward or backward in Time with a mirror being one of the Dimensional Portals. Harry encounters a mirror, "magnificent ... as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet ... Harry stepped in front of it. He had to clasp his hand to his mouth to stop himself from screaming ... for he had seen, not only himself in the mirror but a whole crowd of people standing right behind him ... 'Mom?', he whispered. 'Dad?' They just looked at him, smiling ... Harry was looking at his family, for the first time in his life." [p. 208-9]

Intriguing theory, except of course for the fact that the mirror isn’t a portal to jack shit; unless you count the weird trick where he can get the stone (and only the stone) through wishes or whatever the fuck these idiots do, and all it does is show someone what they want. It’s not actually reaching into the past to find Harry’s parents or whatever, just like it’s not actually reaching into a parallel dimension future where Ron is the king of everything. It’s just . . . idk, reading their subconscious and throwing up a neat visual or something. With magic. It’s complex, but it’s definitely not what Cutting Edge says it is.

Not pictured: a portal to another physical, metaphysical or temporal dimension. It’s literally . . . just a mirror, but a mirror that reflects your insides instead of your outsides. It’s clever or something.

Do you realize Rowling has just made the creator of the Sorcerer's Stone 666 years old? Do you realize what this means? Since the number, '666', is a symbol of Antichrist and his Mark of the Beast [Revelation 13:18] and since Rowling ties this number to the Elixir of Life, Harry Potter is teaching children that the way to achieve eternal life [Elixir of Life] is to obey the Antichrist and take his Mark of the Beast!

Fucking. Yes. I don’t even have witty commentary for this, I’m just delighted by every word in that section. I’m smiling so much.

This is a gift and we’re reading it for free!

Wonderful! We have the forbidden practice of drinking blood in this Potter book, forbidden in Scripture [Genesis 9:4-5] but practiced regularly in Satanism. I wonder if Chuck Colson, Focus On The Family, and Christianity Today ever told their Christian followers about this? Have they even read this book, before they issued their acceptance of Potter?

Don’t you dare try to employ sarcasm. People who believe in the Illuminati and New World Order are not allowed to be sarcastic -- even if the thought of this faceless stranger typing that little clever “Wonderful!” and smirking to themselves about how witty they are is a very, very good mental image.

Also, what the fuck did unicorns do to deserve being associated with the Antichrist? I mean, I get the color green; it’s the color of nature and the outdoors, and that shit fucking sucks. (Fuck you, trees!) But unicorns?

Unicorns have never done anything to anyone, ever. Unicorns couldn’t be Satanists if they tried.

This means evil Lord Voldemort -- whose killing curse upon Harry, his Mom, and his Dad had rebounded against him when Harry did not die -- is near death, and is seeking to drink the Unicorn's blood to stay alive long enough to finally achieve eternal life through drinking the '666' Elixir of Life.

Yes, that is -- sort of -- the plot of this book.

This is the specific New Age doctrine being taught here: people will have to draw their temporary spiritual life from The Christ until the time comes when their individual consciousness will have been raised so much they will achieve their personal godhood, and live forever!

This concept is genuine New Age, is consistent with prophecy, and Rowling depicts it very well!

Christian parents, do you want your child to be taught this New Age doctrine? Can you see Harry Potter playing the Pied Piper and leading your children straight to the Mark of the Beast?

Pied Piper count: 1 (that’s not a lot so far, but it’s used in like every essay. It’ll come back)

I don’t know how to tackle this, because I’m not sure Cutting Edge really understands that Voldemort is the bad guy in these books. Children aren’t going to read this book and then go, “Cool! I’m gonna go stab a unicorn and drink its essence because my favorite role model You-Know-Who told me to!”

The unicorn blood thing is unilaterally portrayed as a pretty bad move. Voldemort’s goals in general are pretty obviously not great ideas. I know Cutting Edge doesn’t have the benefit of hindsight here, but Voldemort’s quest for immortality and how bad and wrong and fucked-up that is, is kind of one of the major through-lines of the entire story. It could be argued that it’s not Voldy’s desire to live forever that’s wrong so much as his whole, like, genocide thing, which is legit . . . except that all the methods to attain immortality involve killing someone, or stealing something, or otherwise being Not a Good Dude.

Voldemort is Not a Good Dude, and I don’t know how to communicate that any clearer than the books written for third graders already did.

Part 6: I don’t really know, I just wanted a chance to break this endless essay up and this seemed like a good place to do it. So let’s talk about spells some more

Many spells require both the taking of drugs and demonic possession, so it is a matter of gravest importance that Harry is actually going to learn to cast spells. When Chuck Colson dismisses the casting of spells as innocent and of no real importance, did he know this fact?

I seem to have missed the part where Harry goes off his ass on LSD and gets possessed by B’aal. Was that in the Silmarillion?

whenever a witch changes the physical characteristics of something, he or she is practicing very high-level witchcraft, has a high level of demonic possession, and has had to carry out human sacrifice themselves or have someone else do it for them.

“It’s fiction” is often a bullshit excuse to justify bad framing, but I feel like it applies here, because maybe in the “real” world spellcasting requires you to trip balls and summon demons, but it’s extremely obvious that it doesn’t work like that in Harry Potter! You can’t just say that’s what the books are teaching when the books aren’t actually teaching anything even close to that!

(I’m starting to feel like my emphasis italics are having a similar effect to Cutting Edge’s red bolded letters. Fuck if I’m gonna stop using them, though.)

If Harry and his pals were wearing goat heads and putting virgins into a giant blender or something I think you might have an argument here, but when the people reading your essay have eyes and can see that the things you’re describing aren’t anywhere in the books, you’re just lying. And it’s very obvious, and I still love you, Cutting Edge, but you’re being disingenuous and it’s starting to kill my joy-boner to constantly have to point out the ways you’re misunderstanding a children’s book, especially when I think you’re kinda doing it on purpose. So how about you chill just a little bit and we’ll all read some Harry Potter together.

Magical Drafts and Potions , by Arsenius Jigger. Some of the potions are very real, very deadly.

Wait, did Rowling publish this one, too? How do you know what’s in the book? Does the book list some real potions and how to make them, or is this another thing that’s only available in the Cutting Edge’s copy of the books?

Students were told they could also "bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad." [p. 67] These three creatures are important to an occultists. Satanists have always revered the cat because of its reputed "nine lives", which is a symbol of reincarnation. Cats are also symbols of a witch's familiar spirit.

They have revered the frog because his prominent bulging eyes represent the All-seeing nature of Lucifer. Frogs are also consistently used in many of the potions witches concoct. They revere owls as a symbol of occult wisdom and omniscience -- again because of their eyes.

So fuck cats, I guess. They’re being pretty unfair to owls and frogs too -- especially insulting their poor eyes. They can’t help it! -- but I’m a crazy cat lady and I’m not feeling this slander.

Actually . . . my cat looks pretty high right now. Maybe she is channeling Satan.

Okay, never mind. Fuck all these animals. They’re all evil. This article is entirely right, and I renounce all of my previous statements.

McGonagall has obviously mastered her Craft because she was the tabby cat seen by Uncle Vernon reading a map, back in chapter one. Remember that any time a witch or wizard practices transfiguration, they need expert spell-casting, and demonic possession. I bet no one ever told you that little fact, did they?

No, they didn’t, because it’s not even remotely relevant to the fictional book written for children.

Like, I’m trying very hard to not question anyone’s religious beliefs, so if you believe in the occult and magic and all that then more power to you, and maybe it’s totally valid to think that real-life magic spells requires demonic possession. That doesn’t make it true in the books, though! Stop making shit up!

Potions Class -- taught in one of the dungeons [p. 136] How disgusting must the atmosphere for this class, and others, taught in a dungeon, which was built to torture people to death?

If only the classroom, teacher, and overall environment for the Potions classes was meant to be as viscerally unpleasant as possible. Then putting them in the dungeons would be a really good idea, to reflect the Slytherins’ backwards beliefs and the misery of their intolerance.

Like, JKR isn’t this subtle. When you name one of your antagonists “Bad Dragon,” you’re not aiming for this subconscious-symbolism bullshit.

Part 7: Did you think this book had a good moral? Fuck you!

The fundamental occult/Communist philosophy

Well, I guess we’re talking about Communism now! Because if there’s anything Harry Potter is interested in above all else, it’s Communism.

My favorite things about these essays is how they will pull in other social ills -- abortion, public schools, communism -- and slap them into their argument regardless of if it makes any semblance of sense.

Anyway, Cutting Edge actually has a legitimate argument here, although they take it about 50 steps too far:

the "Ends Justify The Means" permeates this entire book. To achieve a goal deemed good, Harry and his friends consistently break rules, steal, and use Witchcraft against others.

It is true that Harry and his friends break the rules, lie, and otherwise do “bad” things in the service of an ultimate good, and that they suffer relatively few consequences for it. This is a legitimate point, and actual people who know things agree.

I’ve been struck speechless by this article before, but this is the first time it’s because I think they might have an actual point.

Hermione was very mildly punished [for her lie to the professors about why they were fighting the troll], but her lie cemented a friendship with Ron and Harry, leading a child to conclude that her lie served an excellent purpose, and could not be considered 'wrong'.

I mean . . . yeah? I don’t think it’s entirely reasonable to assume that children will take that lesson away, but I read it as a child and I certainly didn’t think Hermione was wrong to lie -- nor do I now, which I suppose proves just how powerful the Satanic conditioning was.

Professor Quirrell told Harry, "There is no good or evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it ." [p. 291] This is standard Witchcraft, and standard Illuminist doctrine. This doctrine is the guiding light to those Illuminists who are driving the world into the Kingdom of Antichrist. This doctrine is very seductive to those immature children trying to grow up in our current culture; since a child's inherent nature is evil, he will find such philosophy more appealing than the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Christian parents, beware!

Oh thank God Satan, we’re back to the bullshit. I was getting seriously weirded out by the idea that they had good points buried in here somewhere, but now we’re just faced with the argument that the bad guy says . . . bad things . . . and is defeated because his bad ideas are obviously bad and wrong . . . and this proves that the book is teaching children to believe the bad things?

No one reads these books and wants to be the bad guys, Cutting Edge. Kids aren’t buying Harry Potter wands and robes to pretend that they’re Quirrell, trying to keep people from finding out they have a Dark Lord on the back of their head. (Though now that I’ve mentioned it, that sounds like a very fun game.)

Depicting bad things in a way that makes it clear -- to children, I must reiterate -- that they’re bad isn’t the same thing as romanticizing or promoting those bad things. This is basic stuff, CE.

Revenge Motive : "Hagrid almost had to drag Harry away from Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying, and Much, Much More , by Vindictus Viridian." [p. 80] Throughout these books, seeking revenge and attacking your enemies is high on the priority list of Harry, his friends, and other students. Do you want your children to adopt this most Satanic attitude? Notice the first name of the author of this revenge book, above, is named "Vindictus, i.e., Vindictive".

Students are taught to depend upon Witchcraft for every part of their lives . All food is conjured up rather than prepared, all the dishes are conjured clean, and even the hospital depends upon Witchcraft to get students well [p. 156]. Neville Longbottom, one of the more clumsy students, received a crystal ball from his grandmother called a Remembrall . The ball glows scarlet if you have forgotten something you should have done. [p. 145]

That’s . . . fuck, that’s actually kind of another good point. Stop kinda making sense, goddamn it!

A lot of the criticism is just that the things wizards do are cool, which will make kids want to become witches/wizards in order to do those cool things, too. And to be fair, the stuff Harry et. al. does are cool, and I did want to be a witch when I grew up. Fortunately, I was in third grade, and so my options for witchcraft were relatively limited; by the time I was old enough to pursue the endeavor properly, I was also old enough to know that it was actually nothing like Harry Potter. If magic actually was anything like those books make it seem, we’d have a lot more witches running around, zapping shit.

Possible reference to homosexuality . When I was first researching Harry Potter, I examined several pro-Potter websites. The author of one of the articles said that one of the probable developments she felt would occur in the latter books was the advent of homosexuality in the story theme. She said such activity was only hinted at in the first books.

Oh dear god, Cutting Edge found the shippers. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.

(I wonder if this means they’ve also read the Draco Trilogy.)

I do have to take issue with one last point in this bit about morals, where they talk about how scarring it might be to a child to see Voldemort possessing the back of Quirrell’s head:

Rowling could not have created a better description of demonic possession by a dark and powerful demon! Christian parent, is this the type of thing you want your child to bring into their minds?

Thing is, I’ve been in a lot of Christian circles for most of my life, and this sounds exactly like the kind of dark, traumatizing thing many religious parents would be happy to put into their children’s minds.

Part Almost Done: Definitely Intentional Satanic Symbols, Really

Hey, did you know the number 11 was occultist? I didn’t, and when I Googled it, 4 of the front-page results were Christian or conspiracy groups making this claim, 2 were unclear, and 3 actually seemed to indicate some level of belief in the power of the number 11. Though I might’ve stacked the deck with the word “occult”; when I changed my search term to “magic,” I found almost exclusively positive articles about the symbolic power of the number 11, so . . . Cutting Edge isn’t necessarily wrong.

But boy, did you know how many times the number 11 shows up in Sorcerer's Stone? Not very much, but if we stretch our credibility a little bit, we might see something spooky!

Harry was eleven (11) when he was admitted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The number eleven is considered sacred to the occultist, as it is the first primary number. Occultists will also add up numbers to get an occult number that is sacred; thus, I was highly interested when the bank vault maintained for Harry by his Mom and Dad before their death was numbered '713' [p. 73]. When you add '7 + 1 + 3 = 11'. Then, we learn that, in the money of the Fantasy Reality, "twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle". When you add 2 + 9 = 11.

When Harry found the wand that was meant for him, it turned out to be 11 inches long! [p. 84]

The Hogwarts Express Train left at 11 o'clock from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. [p. 91]

Oh man, that’s some convincing evidence. Evidence of what, I have no idea, but it uses math and I’m sure it’s very alarming!

" Sorcerer's Stone " is also called the "Philosopher's Stone", and is very, very Satanic! Rosicrucianism teaches that an Initiate will pass through five stages to become the highest Adept possible, to be most proficient in exercising the power of Satanism. They call this process the "Five Stages In The Transmutation of the Soul". The final stage is depicted by the Phoenix Bird; the Adept is then said to have achieved the "Sorcerer's Stone". Thus, the fact that the term, "Sorcerer's Stone" is in the title of this book suggests that the ultimate goal of all students at Hogwarts is to achieve the Sorcerer's Stone.

Wow, that sure is an interesting interpretation of the rock that shows up in the book for like 6 pages and then is immediately destroyed! Alternate theory, if you’re open to it: It’s a rock, named the Philosopher’s Stone because the Philosopher’s Stone is historically the name of a rock, called the philosopher's stone, and it's literally just a rock and doesn't mean anything Satanist because it's a fucking ROCK.

(Pictured: A rock)

There’s a really odd part right after the long discussion about how alchemy and unicorns and whatnot are Satanic Illuminati symbols, where CE just takes a moment to explain the game of Quidditch. No commentary beyond a sassy little “[Even the Quidditch balls are 'enchanted'].” Just . . . sort of letting you know how the game is played.

To be fair, this is quite a valuable service, since I don’t think anyone actually understands how Quidditch works, but I’m not sure what it’s doing sandwiched between two declarations of Harry Potter’s obvious evil.

PART THE LAST THANK GOD: WHO THE FUCK NEEDS A SUBTITLE IT’S ALMOST OVER

The first few paragraphs are standard boilerplate conclusion stuff, reiterating the rest of the story, continued misunderstanding that bad things are done by the bad guys, no there really are drugs and Illuminati propaganda in here I promise, yadda yadda. Nothing noteworthy except for the fact that I found this sentence absolutely hilarious:

But, most horribly, we see depictions of Satanism that are truly End of the Age. We see the symbol of Antichrist, the Unicorn.

And so I leave you with this one final thought, because it’s all I can fit into the saggy mush that was once my brain:

From Genesis through Revelation, God demands His people separate themselves from the evil around them! SEPARATE! SEPARATE! SEPARATE!

S E P A R A T E

#harry potter #hp #rowling #jkr #this doesn't really count as fandom history does it?#i did discover this amazing site through f_w #tagging this as Christianity would be mean i think #but i'm ignoring the wank mostly and sticking to the FACTS #'facts' like 'harry potter's eyes are the color of satan'#WAKE UP SHEEPLE #this is the world's longest post and i'm not sure it's interesting to anyone except me #i got very tired at the end of this can you tell #i refuse to even consider editing this #you will take my thoughts as i have them #if the 'read more' doesn't show up IT IS NOT MY FAULT I FUCKING PUT IT THERE I SWEAR IT #quotes aren't showing up on mobile #can't do red text or fun fonts on desktop #this post is a goddamn disaster and it's what both i and this essay deserve

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