#i started writing this one in september. the rings were supposed to be an inside joke. this aged like milk. oh well

[jeonqkooks]

obs drabble request for when jk and oc ditch class for the day to do something spontaneous 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

our beloved summer; a drabble

"I can't believe I let you talk me into ditching class."

"Y/N, it's an elective class. And you told me you handed in your midterm paper last week. You'll live."

"I would've preferred to maintain a perfect attendance rate!" You roll your eyes, but you still settle down next to him on a bench in the middle of this empty park near the store that Jungkook just dragged you to half an hour ago. It's a beautiful spring day, flowers blossoming all around you, painting everything in vibrant colors, eclipsing the residual melancholy of winter. Part of you is glad that you let him kidnap you from class; you prefer this to being stuck indoors for most of the afternoon anyway. "Whatever. Take your photo."

Your boyfriend grins brightly like a child in a candy store, admiring the ring on your finger before he kisses your hand. The fleeting feeling of his lips on your skin makes you soften, eases the harmless furrow between your brows that never held much annoyance in the first place.

The thick clay ring on your finger is heavy and uncomfortable, but you have to admit it's cute. Silly and might be more appropriate for a 7-year-old child, but it's cute. It's adorned with SpongeBob's face, two buck teeth and giant doe eyes and all. You would've loved shit like this when you were a kid.

He's wearing a matching one on his finger too, though his is pink instead of yellow, Patrick Star instead of SpongeBob SquarePants.

Jungkook holds his polaroid camera with one arm outstretched, while his free hand raises to fit into the photo, showcasing his ring for the shot. You scooch closer to him, mimicking his pose to display your yellow accessory. It takes him to a brief moment to adjust the angle, and before he snaps the photo, you press your lips to his cheek. You feel his bunny grin widen, and for a second you worry that the brilliance of it might just blind the camera.

The photo comes out a bit blurry, a bit out of focus, though it still managed to capture your happy faces and the rings, the carefree crinkle of his eyes and the pink tint on his cheeks. You know instantly that this is one of your favorite photos that you two will ever take.

"Okay, so what are we doing now?" you ask, watching him tuck the polaroid safely into his wallet.

"I don't know. What do you wanna do?"

"What do you mean you don't know? You abducted me."

He shrugs casually. "We could just sit here then. Enjoy the sun."

"You abducted me just to sit around?"

"Stop saying I abducted you. I'm your boyfriend."

You make a face, as if to try to weasel the last word in and argue that yes, Jungkook did abduct you today. Yes, he's also your boyfriend. Both of these things can be true.

Nonetheless, you still let your head rest upon his shoulder, still let his arm wound around your frame to hold you closer. You don't remember the last time you allowed yourself to be in the sun and enjoy a nice day out without worrying about getting ahead of schoolwork or internships. It's nice, like time has stopped for a while just for you to relish the feeling of warm sunshine on your skin.

"I get sleepy if I stay in the sun for too long," you say, already sensing it creeping up from behind your eyelids.

"Then sleep. Just do nothing for the rest of the day," he murmurs, angling his face to the right so he can press a kiss against your forehead. "I know you barely slept last night."

You didn't tell him that you did, in fact, stay up until 5:30AM, hunched over your notebook, trying to finish a piece that you wanted to submit for an internship application. The only person you did tell was Taehyung, when you texted him in the middle of the night with a bunch of keyboard smashes to complain about how tired you were.

You call his name softly, as gentle as the cherry blossom petal that sways in front of you before it falls to the ground. "Did you get me to skip class just so I would take a nap?"

Jungkook's reply is immediate, a half-steady No, but you know he's lying. He has a tell when he lies, one that makes the end of his sentences come out with a tiny lilt, makes his voice go just a note higher.

Looking down at your hands resting next to each other, you keep your lips pursed as your chest tightens. He'd convinced you to miss class because he knew you wouldn't do it on your own accord just to stay home and catch up on sleep. The rings catch on some light, the pit of your stomach catches on some butterflies. Jungkook is warmer than spring itself.

You intertwine your fingers and close your eyes, mostly because you feel them start to burn and you'd rather not dwell on that thought right now. You'd rather focus on the weight of the ring on your finger and how comforting your hand feels in his, how his thumb rubs over your skin back and forth like he always does.

The thought that Jungkook cares about you enough to make up a dumb excuse just so you would care about yourself more - you'll have to shelve it away for later, to mull over when you're alone.

"Love you," you say quietly, squeezing his hand once.

More petals fall. Another kiss pressed against your forehead. "I love you too."

[vickyvicarious]

Letters van Helsing has now read:

9 May - "I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk together freely [...] I shall try to do what I see lady journalists do: interviewing and writing descriptions and trying to remember conversations. I am told that, with a little practice, one can remember all that goes on or that one hears said during a day. [...] I have just had a few hurried lines from Jonathan from Transylvania. He is well, and will be returning in about a week."

24 August - "I found my dear one, oh, so thin and pale and weak-looking. All the resolution has gone out of his dear eyes, and that quiet dignity which I told you was in his face has vanished. He is only a wreck of himself, and he does not remember anything that has happened to him for a long time past. [...] ...after saying that she could never mention what my poor dear raved about, added: 'I can tell you this much, my dear: that it was not about anything which he has done wrong himself; and you, as his wife to be, have no cause to be concerned. He has not forgotten you or what he owes to you. His fear was of great and terrible things, which no mortal can treat of.' [...] I have had a great shock, and when I try to think of what it is I feel my head spin round, and I do not know if it was all real or the dreaming of a madman. You know I have had brain fever, and that is to be mad. The secret is here, and I do not want to know it. [...] I took the book from under his pillow, and wrapped it up in white paper, and tied it with a little bit of pale blue ribbon which was round my neck, and sealed it over the knot with sealing-wax, and for my seal I used my wedding ring. Then I kissed it and showed it to my husband, and told him that I would keep it so, and then it would be an outward and visible sign for us all our lives that we trusted each other; that I would never open it unless it were for his own dear sake or for the sake of some stern duty."

17 September - "Jonathan wants looking after still. He is beginning to put some flesh on his bones again, but he was terribly weakened by the long illness; even now he sometimes starts out of his sleep in a sudden way and awakes all trembling until I can coax him back to his usual placidity."

18 September - "But it is here that the grave shock that he experienced tells upon him the most. Oh, it is too hard that a sweet, simple, noble, strong nature such as his—a nature which enabled him by our dear, good friend's aid to rise from clerk to master in a few years—should be so injured that the very essence of its strength is gone."

He has also read Lucy's diary, the first entry of which (24 August) contains these lines: "I must imitate Mina, and keep writing things down. [...] Last night I seemed to be dreaming again just as I was at Whitby."

So, the impression he will have of the facts, upon writing his letter to Mina today, goes something like this:

Mina's then-fiance went to Transylvania and was supposed to return by around 16 May.

Instead, Mina found him terribly ill in a hospital in Budapest on 24 August, about three months later. He had been raving about great and terrible things, but could no longer recall them.

He had written a record of these things.

No one knows what is inside his record, but Mina has possession of it.

He is still fragile/slowly recovering.

Mina was with Lucy on Whitby, where Lucy was likely first attacked.

Mina kept a thorough record of those days.

So his goal in asking to speak to Mina is likely to try and get access to her journal from Whitby, and Jonathan's journal as well if he can manage it (less directly linked but suspicious). Not knowing that she has already read Jonathan's journal, it probably feels like a huge ask (since she sealed it up with great deliberacy) and he probably expects her to have no knowledge of the significance of anything she remembers from Whitby either. No wonder he is so polite and apologetic in his letter.

[merci-bitch]

Her Lover

Alma LeFay Peregrine x fem!reader

Warnings: abuse, swearing, death, fluff, angst

Words: 5k

A/N: it’s been a while, hasn’t it. Lol. I’ve been having my exams and shit and I’ve been working on this for the longest time so I’m really sorry if there’s a word that’s not supposed to be there, I don’t really proof read. But hopefully more stuff shall be coming soon. Ta ta! Xx

Jake was surprised, it was all real. What his grandfather had told him, all those stories. They were real. It was unbelievable. At first, when he saw the boomed children's home he didn't really believe it. As that man said at the pub. 3 September 1943. No one survived, but then how come Miss Peregrine's letter had only come 2 years before to his grandfather. How was that even possible?

When we first entered the loop, he of course ran away and nearly got himself killed. Thankfully his new friends saved him from those angry Walsh people. The house looked so different from those ruins he saw. It was actually a very beautiful house. Big and tall and all those flowers growing up on the sides. Completely different.

Miss Peregrine wasn't anything like he'd expected. Not at all, despite from all the stories he'd got from his grandfather. Apparently she was the bird flying above him and his father when they first arrived to Cairnholm. Ever since Jake arrived, he'd notice that on the bird's right hand, her ring finger. There was a small ring with a single diamond. Jake knew it wasn't probably wasn't his thing to ask, but he didn't see anyone else then the people he'd already seen. His grandfather had never really mentioned anything or anyone else then the ones he'd already talked about.

He had helped Emma with the baby squirrel, it was a bit awkward wrapping the rope around her waist. He'd noticed Miss Peregrine's glare, it was uneasy. As if she felt some sort of jealousy? But that was ridiculous. Absurd. Jake had agreed to join them for supper. Emma was helping him in his grandfather's old room. He just couldn't but ask.

"Emma, could I ask you a question?"

"Jake, I told you that there are questions I can't answer." Emma said as she tied his tie.

"I know, but it's just. Does Miss Peregrine love you? Like, that way?"

Emma stilled. Almost uncomfortably.

"Jake. What's got you to even think of such disgusting things?!"

"I'm sorry! It's just, I saw her glare." Jake held his hands up in defeat.

Emma let out a sigh. Looked down before looking up again. "You must understand. Miss Peregrine, well all of us lost someone dear. It's taking her long time to actually get back to who she is. So please, stop asking questions." As she finished speaking the bell rang. They both walked down together and Jake almost sat down on Millard.

"Millard. Go and put some clothes on. Polite persons do not take their supper in the nude."

Jake almost felt sorry for him, he didn't mean to take his place really. He couldn't see him, obviously. He was, well he is invisible. During dinner, he couldn't help but stare at Miss Peregrine's right hand with that ring. Her long slim fingers with those long nails. The ring was silver. The small diamond was pretty. And shiny.

"Claire, why aren't you eating?" Miss Peregrine asked, looking with worry to Claire. Chewing on the piece of food.

"She's embarrassed in front of Jake." Hugh said, leaning over to Claire.

Jake shook his head. "Don't be. Please."

Claire looked over at Miss Peregrine with a small smile and Miss Peregrine sent Claire a wink before turning back to her own food. Claire grabbed the chicken leg and put it behind her head and a few seconds later she put the clean bone back on her plate.

"So Jake, what's your peculiarity?" Horace asked. Leaning over the table a bit to see Jake as he asked.

"Oh, I'm not peculiar." Jake stammered.

Enoch put down his fork and knife and said, "And that, my friends, is why he will not be staying with us. No matter how hard we try to persuade him."

Miss Peregrine spoke up again. Her voice light but firm. "We've spoken about this. Jake is just visiting."

Hugh opened his mouth, "He might want to say."

"Don't you want to stay, Jake?" Olive asked.

"Tonight? Or..-" Jake didn't get a chance to finish of his sentence before Claire irrupted him.

"Forever! You should stay forever." Her smile big.

"Why would he, if he doesn't have to? He can live out there, grow older, have a good time instead." Enoch said. Trying to make a clear point of why he didn't want Jake in the house. Jake could feel Emma slightly lift from her seat despite being strapped down. She was getting uncomfortable.

"He'll leave, just like his grandfather did." With that, Enoch started eating again and Emma got up and practically ran out of the room despite her heavy shoes. Miss Peregrine's call for Emma didn't stop her. As Emma left, a clothed Millard came into the room. Excusing himself. Sitting down and starting to eat his own food.

"Deep breathes Alma, you know how dear Enoch gets with new company."

Miss Peregrine closed her eyes at the voice inside her head. She was right. She slowly got up as the telephone rang. "I think you should all get ready for movie time while I answer that."

"But you always let us stay for it." Claire begged. Miss Peregrine turned around and gave the children a glare that almost scared Jake. She was a strange woman, yes she was. Miss Peregrine stepped out to the hallway, to the ringing telephone. This time, she nearly didn't answer it. Wishing the voice inside her head would come back. Missing the touch of that person with the voice nearly threw her off guard. She nearly kicked herself from going off schedule. Shaking her head, she answered the telephone and went on with the schedule.

The time went on, again. Horace's projected his dreams. One particular dream made Alma tense up. She couldn't watch it. She turned on the lights and heard all the groans from the children. It was almost re-set time. Olive asked Jake to stay and see the re-set. Enoch clearly didn't want him to. Alma felt herself chuckle softly. The arguments between Enoch and re-set. Alma stepped out in her raincoat and put on her gas mask after putting on the music. Run Rabbit Run. She would always sing along to the song-Alma kicked herself mentally again. She stopped her clock, she turned it 24 times to represent the 24 hours of the loop. She took of the gas mask and smiled towards her children.

She said her goodnight to the other children as Emma and Jake made their way out the door. Her smile faded as they disappeared from her view. She closed the door, knowing Emma would lock it. She slowly made her way up the stairs, to the end of the hallway, to her bedroom. She opened the door and walked in and closed the door again and locked it. Leaning against the door and closing her eyes.

"You know me better then I do. Can't seem to keep nothing from you. How you touch my soul from the outside. I still love you even though I'm scared. Learning to be grateful of myself. I wish I could love me like you did, how I wish I could trust myself like you did."

She moved from the door and towards her desk and sat down and started unpinning her hair. Brushing through her hair slowly. That black-blue hair. The little curls. She got undressed and dressed in her lacy nightgown and brushed her teeth and took off the makeup she'd been carrying during the day. She laid down in the cold bed, shivering slightly. Falling asleep after a few minutes.

***

"Clarice! Clarice come on. We have to get back. We can't stay in La Pari forever. We've been gone 7 years too long!" Claire let out a groan and stopped walking. "But Y/N! I love Paris!" Y/N shook her head. Her little sister was definitely a number. "Well, you wrote to Alma we'd be home, so let's go." Clarice didn't move. "I? I didn't write. She's your wife." Y/N felt herself tense up. Oh no. Y/N had forgotten to write, and she'd hopped her darling sister had written.

"When was the last time You wrote back home Clarice." Y/N looking over at her sister, with a glare almost identical to Alma's. Clarice bit her bottom lip. "5 years ago." Y/N felt her head spinning. She sat down and rubbed her forehead. Clarice started laughing. "What's so funny?!" Clarice threw her head back in laughter.

"Oh lord, the handful you will get when you get back. I mean Abe will definitely be in her side." Clarice said while patting her older sister's shoulder. "God. She'd kill me. I swear, I didn't mean to forget and I thought you'd been writing." Clarice shook her head. "But you're right. Let's go home."

***

"Jake, you're back. How wonderful." Miss Peregrine said as she held the Ymbryne tight to her.

"How's it doing?" Jake asked. "Emma said it was an Ymbryne."

"She. Not 'it'. Ymbrynes are always female." Miss Peregrine said as she looked up at Jake. "And Emma was quite correct. This is Miss Avocet." Miss Peregrine continued to give Miss Avocet the medicine.

"Her loop's in Blackpool, England." Jake said. Miss Peregrine slowly turned her head up towards him and saw him holding a piece of paper. "That was a private letter, Jake." She said as she put down the medication.

"Who is Mr. Barron?" Jake asked, slightly raising his voice.

Miss Peregrine's face expression turned blank and her right hand came almost protectively over Miss Avocet.

"Miss Peregrine, if my grandpa was involved with dangerous people. I need to tell the police." Miss Peregrine looked up at Jake again, her brows knitted with confusion.

"Police? Are you implying Abe died an unnatural death?" Her voice going quiet.

"I found him in the woods, with his eyes missing. I'd say that was pretty unnatural." Jake said as he watched Miss Peregrine raise from her chair. Miss Peregrine looked at Jake in disappointment, snatching the letter out of his hands.

"Unless essential, I don't discuss unpleasant matters. An Ymbryne's duty is to protect children, Jake." With that, she left the room, almost in a hurry.

"I'm not a child! He wanted you to tell me everything!" Jake shouted after her. Jake let out a sigh of frustration and walked down the hallway and was stopped when both Enoch and Olive came into his view.

"Oh. How frustrating for you. Between Miss Peregrine's rules and my housemates' little pact not to scare you off, it's like no one's telling you anything." Enoch was sarcastic. Olive stood quietly behind him. Jake leaned forward.

"Why don't you, then? It's not like you want me here."

This time, Olive spoke up.

"Enoch, you can't. You promised." Enoch looked back at Olive before answering.

"Olive's right. I do know someone who can get away with breaking rules though. Want to meet him?" Jake looked a bit uneasy at Enoch before following him up the stairs. Olive behind them.

"Enoch, don't do this. Please!" She grabbed his arm, begging him not to do whatever he was going to do.

"You want to spend time with me and Jake, we can all play together. That's what you said." Enoch said as they reached a door at the end of the hallway. Olive stood in front of them. Not letting them pass through the door.

"Well, here we all are." Enoch said. Olive looked up at him with a bit ready expression. "Move Olive."

"If you're going to be like that, then I don't want to be your friend." With that, Olive left. Sobbing quietly to herself while walking down the hallway.

"Enoch, leave Victor alone. It really upsets Bronwyn." Fiona said as she walked up to Enoch and Jake. Enoch put both his hands on Fiona's shoulders, "Stop fussing, Fiona. Don't you think Jake should meet everybody?" He said while looking over at Jake.

"He's trying to frighten you away, Jake. He's always jealous of Abe. And now he's jealous of you. Come and play with us instead."

Enoch crossed his arms and looked at Jake, waiting for an answer. Jake didn't really know what to say.

"I'd quite like to meet Victor." Jake said after some time. Enoch smiled and ruffed Fiona's hair. Enoch opened the door, letting Jake walk in. "After you."

In the middle of the room there was a bed, covered in thin layers of fabric, and Jake saw Victor, lying there. He slowly walked in, moving with small steps towards the bed.

"Hello, Victor. I'm Jake. I'm sorry to disturb.." Jake looked down at Victor. His eyes were missing.

"Yeah, he can't hear you." Enoch said. Enoch got on his knees and opened Victor's shirt and put the heart he held down into Victor's chest. Jake saw how Victor's chest started to heavy. Almost like a jump scare in movies, Victor sat up and looked over at Jake.

"Hello, Jake. I'm Victor. Do you want to know what killed me?" Almost like a puppet he was. It scared Jake and he ran out of the room, downstairs where Miss Peregrine and the rest of the children were waiting.

"Ah, there you are. Is Enoch with you? It'd time for our daily walk." Miss Peregrine said.

***

Alma walked into the room where Victor lay. Sighing once seeing Victor's covers down. She pulled them up, making sure they covered him and slowly sat down. Noticing the tear falling down his cheek. Softly wiping it away and pulling him up and held him against her chest.

One of the most disappointing things she'd ever done. How she couldn't be able to save Victor, how she'd let her poor child die. She never meant for him to die, she never meant for Bronwyn to lose her brother. Alma felt herself tear up.

"It's alright Alma, you did what you could and for that, Victor will forever be grateful."

She really wanted to believe those words. Oh, how hard life could be. She couldn't let herself to cry. She'd always say it was alright to cry, but Alma just couldn't. She slowly put Victor back in his place and looked at her watch. She had a few minutes before the children would be back, but she had to keep schedule.

Alma walked out of the room, closing the door. Walking down the hallway to the right and then further down that hallway and then into her own bedroom. Closing the door behind her, locking it. Just in case. She quickly walked over to the dressed against the wall, opened a drawer and pulled out a shirt that didn't belong to her.

Sticking her nose deep into the fabric, closing her eyes and breathing in the familiar sent. Holding onto the shirt tightly. Alma felt her eyes sting.

Why did life have to be so cruel? Why couldn't just one person live a life and be happy. Is it only fairytales that get their happy endings and not people in the real world? Was the 'perfect' life all just a big lie that you were told on the television outisde loops? Why couldn't you just live yourself in your dreams? Wouldn't life be so much better if you could? It would save all troubles from people.

Alma slowly sat down on the bed. Still holding the shirt tightly to her. Breathing in the sent again. Letting her eyes roll back for just a second. Accidentally losing herself in the sent. Letting a soft moan escape her mouth which caused her to blush. Hand covering her mouth as she blushed even more.

"My shirt hm?"

Alma turned around with a gasp. No one was there, she let out a sigh. Alma got up again, checked her clock and put the shirt back in the drawer and walked downstairs. Waiting for the children to arrive back home.

***

"Clarice, where was the loop again?"

"You can't be serious. We lived with Alma for years, you're married to her for gods sake!" Clarice sat down in the damp grass, crossing her arms. Letting out a huff.

"Awh, stop acting like a bloody kid! Maybe help me instead of acting like such a bloody moron!" Y/N answered to her sister.

She let out a huff and sat down on a rock. Y/N felt bad. She'd been gone 7 years too long and Alma probably thought she was dead. Just because her little sister didn't write as she used to. Y/N reaches into her pocket and pulled out a few photos. Photos she took, before she left.

Most were of Alma. It was one of the only times she'd let her time be taken from her. She missed the bird.

"Could you stop sobbing and perhaps do something to help? You cant stare at th-hey. Y/N. Was that Abe?"

Y/N looked up and saw nothing. She turned to her sister and hit the back of her head.

"Very funny."

***

The children were packing after they're realisation that they couldn't stay. As Alma had finally gotten the suitcase to close, thanks to the twins, the doorbell rang. How odd. She hadn't expected anyone. Alma walked up towards the door and opened the door and felt her whole body tense.

"Miss Peregrine, what a pleasure to meet you at last!"

Mr. Barron was holding his hand shaped knife against Jake's neck. Alma felt her breathing stop for only a second. What on earth was happening?!

"May we come in?"

Alma took a few steps back, letting him inside the house. Her children standing on the stairs.

"Children! Would you make your way down the stairs, please?" Mr. Barron shouted.

Alma raised her voice. "I give the orders in this house, Mr. Barron." Looking at him sternly.

"Not today. You should know that Jake has served his purpose. If you value his life, I suggest everyone does as they're told. Children!"

Alma raised her finger and shushed him. "No one tells my children what to do!" Alma turned around, a split of disgust in her expression. "Children, come down here, please." Her voice was strong but soft.

The children made their way slowly down the stairs.

"Miss Peregrine-"

"I thought I told you to be quiet." Alma snapped back at him. Giving him one of her famous death glares. She slowly made her way around again to look at her beautiful children. Knowing she might never see them again.

"Children, for Jake's safety, we're going to do what Mr. Barron asks. He wishes to take me with him to his rendezvous in Blackpool. So, for his protection, he'd like me to assume bird form, preferably caged. And he'd like you to make your way into a lockable room, such as the parlour." Alma turned her frame towards the parlour then back to her children before turning around to look at Mr. Barron.

"As he won't release Jake if he fears an attack could be mounted upon him once he loses his leverage. Correct, Mr. Barron?" Alma raised her chin, showing how she awfully despised him. Mr. Barron was at loss of words.

"You're sacrificing yourself and all of us, for Jake?"

Came behind her, Alma turned around and looked at Enoch.

"Me. Barrons travels with a Hollow, Enoch. Once it arrives here, we're all dead." She could almost feels Mr. Barron's wicked grin behind her. Alma saw Horace lean in to whisper something to Enoch but didn't bother to listen. It took everything not to shed a tear. She'd lost everything now. The woman she loved the most, her dear children. Everything.

She moved towards the parlours door and said her goodbye to each child that passed her, ending with a hug from Emma and the twins which made her she'd a tear. Once every child was inside the parlour, she grabbed the door handle to each door and took a deep breath and looked over her children.

"It's been my privilege, to care for you all. Goodbye my children."

Alma closed the doors and turned the lock and turned to face Barron, showing her anger through her tear stained cheeks. Taking steps forward.

"Now let him go."

"Oh, but the fun's just begun Alma." Barron let out a low chuckle.

"How dare you speak my name, filthy bastard." Alma tightened her tone. Growing more impatient by each second that passed.

Barron let out another chuckle, this time of surprise.

"My my, what words those pretty lips let out. Tell me, how's dear old Y/N doing?"

Alma clenched her jaw. Feeling as she might explode.

"How dare you speak her name?! How dare you come here, act like you own everything I have. You took her from me! How dare you mention anything of her's. I know what you did to her family, how her parents practically coward before you. On their knees begging to not die. Letting their dear children's lives pay their depth."

As Alma continued, Barron only chuckled. Jake was confused. Who was Y/N? What did this woman mean to Miss Peregrine?

"Technically I wasn't the one who sold her, her mother was. Her dear parents are still loyal to me as ever. I'd never gotten a chance to meet dear Y/N. So tell me, where is she?"

This time, it was Alma's time to be confused.

"What do you mean by that. No tricks Mr. Barron. I want the honest truth."

As he let Jake go, letting out a groan. "Listen, lady. I'd never meet her. If I had, do you think I'd be asking you? So come now Miss Peregrine. Where is she. Her mommy and daddy just wanna say hello."

Alma felt herself start to tremble. Y/N hadn't been in Barron's possession.

She'd spoken to Jake. Begging him to care of her children before turning into bird form. Flying into the cage. Leaving with Mr. Barron. If her dearest was really alive, she'd never see her again. Nor her beloved children.

***

"Emma, I have a question. Look-I know you don't answer them but it's about something Miss Peregrine said before she turned into a bird. Who's Y/N?"

Emma went quiet for a moment, not really wanting to speak. Jake let out a sigh and continued to talk.

"Mr. Barron said he'd never meet Y/N before. What does this mean-who is she?" Jake looked t Emma who's eyes looked at his. A slight tone of happiness appearing on her face.

"So, that means she could still possibly be alive." Emma's smile got bigger.

"Who is she? Is she another peculiar?" Jake was growing impatient.

Emma sighed. "Alright, if I tell you. Will you stop asking?"

Jake nodded his head and sat down and waited for Emma to speak.

"Y/N came to our home years ago, before Miss Peregrine had made the loop. She came with her sister Clarice. When they came they were both pretty young. I think Clarice was 15 and Y/N perhaps 20. I heard Miss Peregrine talk with them about what had happened to them. It wasn't really, nice."

Emma sat down herself and took a deep breath.

"Mr. Barron came to their house, in the middle of the night and killed their brother, well took his eyes. He was around 8. She talked about how their parents had sold them to Barron for their own safety. But before Barron could touch them they'd ran away. They'd taken the boat and arrived here."

Jake listened as she explained more about Y/Nk's past. But there was just one question bothering him.

"What about the ring on Miss Peregrine's finger?" Jake asked.

"Y/N and Miss Peregrine kinda fell for each other. A few years after the loop was created, they got married. Then again a few years later, perhaps 7 years ago. Both of them left, Y/N and her sister. But after two years they stopped writing back home. We heard nothing from them and since Barron wanted to recreate the experiment Miss Peregrine told you about.”

Jake nodded, shocked. He had nothing against the LGBT community but he’d never thought Miss Peregrine was a lesbian. Perhaps she wasn’t, maybe just fell for the one person she trusted most.

They went on, the plan to save Miss Peregrine.

***

“Clarice, fix it. Please. Something has happened.”

Y/N was panicking. The loop was gone, not a child in sight. Alma wasn’t here either. Clarice had the peculiarity of restoring time, she restored the loop. Made everything go back to normal. The house looked itself again but no child was there. What the hell happened. How long has the house been like this? Clarice was too busy walking to her room.

Y/N looked around, saw suitcases. Were they leaving? But why, and where? It felt strange being back in the house, but with everyone gone. Y/N walked around, touching the walls and everything. Y/N walked upstairs and into the bedroom she once shared with Alma and closed the door behind her. Alma’s perfume hitting her like a smack in the face. The scent of smoke, flowers.

She pulled open the drawer and pulled out one of the dark blue lacy nightgowns and spelled. Alma. Y/N looked out the window. It was dark and it was raining. Y/N loved the rain. She walked over to the window and sat down by the window and opened it to listen to the rain and felt herself drift off into sleep.

***

Alma opened the door and walked in. How in the hell was the house still standing? She hadn’t reset the loop. She was wet and she was tired and drained. She quickly walked into the bathroom connected to her room and took a warm, long and hot shower. She wrapped the towel around herself and stepped out. Looking in the drawer for her nightgown but it wasn’t there. Alma turned her head to the figure she saw sitting by the window and nearly had a heart attack.

She grabbed her pillow and hit Y/N with it multiple times.

“You reckless little-“

“Alma, hey! Stop hitting me!”

“I have every right to be angry at you! I thought you were dead. For 7 years you’ve been gone and then you stop writing?!”

Y/N could see Alma’s cheeks turning red from anger. She stepped forward, grabbing the pillow out of Alma’s hands and kissed her knuckles. Which made Alma shut up.

“Why’d you do that to me, to the children.” Alma’s voice was on breaking point.

Y/N looked up, into those blue eyes. “I never meant to. I forgot to write-“ Alma cut her off with a snort.

“Of course you did.” Alma took the nightgown from Y/N and dropped her towel and put it on. Feeling Y/N’s eyes on her. It made her shiver. Then she felt arms wrapped around her waist and a soft kiss on her right shoulder. “I’ve missed you. Please don’t leave again.” She felt Y/N shake her head and turned around in her arms and kissed her lover on the lips softly. Nearly losing herself in her lover’s lips. Laughing softly after feeling Y/N’s hands tickle her sides.

“I hate you.”

“You love me birdy.”

[phykios]

honesty and promise me, co-written with @darkmagyk [read on ao3]

Update: Annabeth has not done what needs to be done. 

August moves over into September, hot and sweltering days giving way to the first few hints of the coming autumn chill. One unseasonably cold night, Annabeth had gone to bed wrapped in one of Percy’s old Paris Opera sweaters, waking up with it and wearing it home to ward off the chill of the morning drizzle, like some a normal girlfriend would. 

It’s a problem, she knows, but she just cannot quit this man. 

And boy did she try, about a hundred different times. 

One time, she spent an entire Tuesday before seeing him googling around until she found a picture. It was three years old, and it showed Mittie--oh, sorry, Her Royal Highness Margherita--at a soccer game in Moscow. Next to her is the handsomest man in the world. Percy’s hair is shorter, and something about his windbreaker reminds her of some of the crew boys she knew at Harvard. They aren’t touching, but they are both smiling. This is the kind of girl Percy deserves. This is the kind of girl he should want. His type. She reminds herself of it for hours before meeting him at a show. But the smile he gives her is nothing like the one in the pictures with the princess. And when he whispers what he wants to do to her that evening, she just can’t do it. 

She even took him to his favorite pizza place once to soften the blow. But then she thought about how her dumping him would forever taint the magic of Antonio’s for the both of them, and she just couldn’t abide that.

So she kept putting it off. And putting it off. And putting it off.

And then he asked her to dinner with his parents again, on his one night off in three weeks.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to bring you something?” he asks for the fourth time, concern making his connection thin and tinny.

“It’s just a little stomach thing,” she lies, shaking out a ramen flavor packet. “I’ll be fine. You go have fun with your mom.”

“Okay. I’ll call later to check up on you.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m just going to be asleep.”

“Talk to you later.”

“Yeah.”

He clicks off. Her apartment is very quiet. For lack of anything else to do, she decides to check her mail.

Who even mails anything anymore, she thinks.

Rifling through the pile of wasted paper, she sighs at the banality of it all. Junk, junk, junk, NYCB brochure she needs to cancel, junk… Harvard?

She peers at it.

The red seal is unmistakable, as is her name, printed in neat, black ink. “Ms. Annabeth Chase.” Why are they contacting her? And more importantly, who the fuck gave them her address?

Hands shaking, she unfolds it. “Dear Ms. Chase,” it reads, “Thank you for your generous contribution to the Harvard Graduate School of Design. As one of our most promising graduates, we are so pleased and thrilled to receive your encouragement. With your gift, we were able to reach our fundraising goal of $2.5million, which will go to support the various operations of the school, so that we can continue to provide a top-notch education for your fellow students. You do make a difference for us, and we are immensely thankful for you!” And then it goes on. “As a thank you for your generous gift of $15,000, we would like to invite you to the Alistair Moore dinner for distinguished graduates and faculty. We would be delighted to receive you at...” 

She can’t finish, dyslexia scrambling the words in front of her. Or maybe that’s just her, trembling so hard she has to sit down. Fifteen thousand. The Alistair Moore dinner. She knows it well, yet another fancy networking event, like the Eta Industries party. Bile rises in her throat. Who would…

The answer hits her like a freight train. Only one person would be so bold. 

Crumpling the letter in her fist, she pulls out her phone, dialing the number she still stubbornly has memorized, despite deleting it off her contacts list. 

She isn’t sure if she’s upset that she gets his voicemail, or relieved. “Hey, dad. It’s me,” she says, grimacing as she starts off like he wouldn’t recognize her voice. Like it’s any other phone call. “I got your message. The Alistair Moore dinner? I’m not going. I told you, I don’t want your help. I don’t need your help. What I need,” she sneers, “is for you to butt out and leave me the hell alone.”

Then she hangs up, before she can chicken out and delete it.

She shoves the letter into her recycling bin, down to the very bottom. Out of sight and out of mind. 

Well, her night is pretty much ruined. 

Ramen growing colder, she lies on her couch, her head hanging over the edge, studiously not looking at her phone. She shouldn’t have left that message. She shouldn’t have opened that letter. She shouldn’t have rebuffed Percy’s invitation. Or maybe she was right, in all those situations. Who the fuck knows. Who the fuck cares. Her leg bounces, frantic, stomach roiling.

Like a gunshot, her phone vibrates on her coffee table. Annabeth catapults herself up, reaching for it, nearly dropping it, even as her eyes begin to blur. Please let it be her dad. Please let it be anyone else but her dad. Please. Please. Please. 

checking in, writes Percy. feeling any better?

With a sob, she hits call. He picks up after the second ring.

“Hey,” he says, softly. “Everything okay?”

“Can,” she hiccups. God damn it. God damn her. “Can you please come over?”

She can feel his demeanor change over the phone. “I’ll be right there,” he says, calm and collected. “What’s your address?”

Her address is supposed to be a secret. No one is supposed to know where she lives. She doesn’t even like Luke knowing where she lives, and he might be the closest thing she has to family right now. But she tells Percy, and he promises to be there within thirty minutes. Throwing her arms over her face, she lies back down, breathing through her nose so she doesn’t vomit.

He makes it in twenty. here is the simple text, devoid of any hearts or emojis, and she buzzes him up. Less than a minute later, he knocks on her door. “It’s open,” she calls, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. 

Softly, the door clicks open, someone smoothly and quietly stepping inside. “Annabeth?” 

“Here,” she moans. She should get up to greet him. She can’t feel her legs. She can’t feel anything at all. 

The couch dips as someone sits next to her, a warm, large hand on her shoulder, and she can’t help but open her eyes. Percy is there in his blue sweater that she returned the last time she had slept over at Nico’s apartment, his brow furrowed in worry, but he’s smiling a little, too, just happy to see her, to see that she’s safe. In his other hand, he holds up a plastic bag. “I brought you a cookie,” he says, gently. “Chocolate chip.”

Annabeth blinks. “It’s… blue.”

He nods. “It is.”

Blue cookies. His mom’s special recipe, he had told her, for bad days of aching feet, harsh dance instructors, and school bullies.

The dam breaks. 

She launches herself into Percy’s embrace, sobbing. He tucks her head into his neck, his arms coming up around her. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.”

“I’m--I’m so sorry,” she gets out, in between heaving breaths. “I just--I didn’t want to be alone and--”

He shakes his head against hers, his nose in her hair. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

They sit there for a long, long time, him holding her as she cries, pathetic. She can only imagine what it must be like from Percy’s end: here he was, having a lovely dinner with his mother uptown on his night off, only to get a frantic call from his hookup, demanding that he drop everything and rush to her side. And he did. He even fucking brought her one of his mom’s special cookies. 

She does not deserve this perfect, amazing man.

It’s that thought more than anything else that pulls her out of her spiral, her sobs abating somewhat. “There we go,” he says, sweetly. “I’m going to get you some water, okay? Be right back.”

Resisting the urge to hold onto his sleeve like some kind of child, she lets him pull away, stepping into her kitchen. Head aching and eyes puffy, she can’t even really register the fact that he is in her apartment right now. Her secret hideaway. Her sanctum sanctorum. He can see her tasteful couches and her expensive coffee maker and her giant TV screen. 

But honestly? She doesn’t care about any of that right now. All she cares about is the long, solid line of Percy’s body next to hers as he sits back down next to her, handing her a glass of water. She drinks it down, greedily, falling back against him, his hand automatically coming up to her shoulder, and she turns into his side, drinking him in, just as desperate.

They don’t speak, just holding onto each other. 

As she drifts off, there on her couch, her arm around Percy’s midsection, she only has one real thought in her head. 

Forget the apartment--this is her sanctum sanctorum. This is her safe space.

***

Annabeth wakes up in a bed that isn’t her own, in an apartment that isn’t her own. 

It reminds her, weirdly enough of her mom’s apartment, she thinks as she sits up in the soft, cream sheets, here in New York. She had only ever been a handful of times, whenever her mother deigned to claim her for their allotted family time. She doesn’t remember much about that place--mostly the skyline through the window, the low, uncomfortable furniture, the spotless, empty kitchen. 

Across from the bed is a mirror, squat and wide. Annabeth has her hair back, her face devoid of metal. She looks tired, she thinks, and maybe a little older, dark, heavy bags beneath her eyes. She’s wearing a real, actual set of pajamas, rather than a sweater or an oversized shirt, pale pink silk tight around her body. 

Shaking her head, she looks down, and spies a thin band of gold on her left hand, which rests on her stomach, sporting a slight, but noticeable curve. 

Only then does she realize it’s a dream. She lets out a grateful sigh. Just a dream.

It seems like a pretty boring one, too. She’s older, a little fatter, and has a nicer apartment. Somewhere in the distance is the indistinct sound of a person singing. And beyond that the even more indistinct sound of the city. 

Stumbling out of bed, her feet falling into a pair of soft, pink slippers, perfectly positioned next to her bed, she makes her way out into the apartment. The walls are cream, decorated with generic seaside landscapes, a nondescript sailboat in the background against an unchanging, cornflower blue sky. 

The kitchen is empty. Breakfast is cooked, laid out on a placemat at the kitchen island, but no one is there eating it. No one is there cleaning up, or making coffee. The food looks delicious, like a magazine spread: a perfectly made bowl of granola and yogurt, a lemon poppyseed muffin, a glass of orange juice on the side. Nutritious. Small. 

It’s weird. It’s really weird.

Moving on, she enters the living room. There’s a little girl on her knees, maybe three or four, she’s wearing a red pinafore over a white polo shirt and Mary Janes shined like the top of the Chrysler building. The preschool version of a prep-school uniform. She’s hunched over the glass coffee table, frizzy blonde curls bouncing as she moves her hand back and forth, scribbling with a colored pencil on a piece of paper. 

All of a sudden, she notices Annabeth standing there. 

“Mommy!” She jumps up, holding the pencil behind her back, her green eyes wide with apprehension. “I--I was--”

She hears whistling, and turns to see… well, it's Percy, but he looks nothing like her Percy. His hair is cropped shorter, parted and moussed perfectly flat. He’s in a three piece suit. He’s in trousers. Not a pair of sweatpants or a muscle tee in sight.

He stops when he sees her. “Sorry, didn’t know you were awake, wouldn’t have been singing.” Which makes no sense, Because Annabeth loves Percy’s ambient music. He looks around her, speaking to his--to the girl, “I told you you’d have to stop when mommy got up.” 

Annabeth glances at the little girl, who nods too solemnly. 

“Don’t worry,” this stranger wearing Percy’s face says, “She’s ready for school. She is ready for her Math qualification. I only said she could draw for a little, to calm herself down.” He glances at the girl again. “Put your things back in the art box, and we’ll go to school. I have an 8:30 meeting with the board.” 

The little girl runs off. Holding her paper and her pencils close to her chest, like she’s afraid someone is going to take them away from her. Maybe someone is. 

Percy turns to her. “I confirmed our reservations at 7 tonight at Sarabeth’s with your mother’s assistant this morning. And the nanny is going to stay late, so we don’t have to bring her.”

The her in question reappears just then. She’s so small. And she’s carrying a backpack. She looks like that breakfast, out of a magazine. But normally kids in magazines smile. 

“Are you ready?” Annabeth’s voice finally says.

A beat, then she nods again. “Yes, mommy.”

“Good,” she says. Outside, the sunlight through the windows isn’t so bright anymore, but dark and cold, like a solar eclipse. “Make me proud.”

And she turns to go back to bed, but the floor has disappeared, and she steps on nothing, tumbling down into the void.

With a start, she wakes up again in her bed, to the smell of breakfast in the air. Which is confusing, because she’s pretty sure she fell asleep on the couch, and she usually doesn’t wake up in time for breakfast, let alone actually make it herself: she has Percy for that, now. 

Right. Percy. 

It comes back to her in flashes: the donation, the voicemail, calling Percy out of desperation. Inviting him into her room, her bed. Falling asleep in his arms. 

She physically shakes her head, roughly scrubbing her face, forcing herself further into consciousness. The light coming through her window is grey and weak, doing absolutely nothing to help her out. The morning feels muted, for some reason, like it’s very far away. Maybe it was her nightmare.

She can’t hear Percy, Annabeth realizes. That’s what’s wrong. She can smell breakfast, but she can’t hear him puttering away. She doesn’t hear the clanking of pans as he tries to be quiet, or his off-key humming, or the dull thump of footfalls on her floor as he practices his steps. 

God, how late did she sleep? If he has to leave for a morning class he usually makes sure to wake her up, first. For a kiss if nothing else.

But when she pads out to her kitchen, she’s stunned to find Percy still there, sitting at her warped kitchen table. There are two plates in front of him, eggs and bacon untouched and cooling. He’s fully dressed, too, in his dark jeans and stupid dance pun t-shirt: “Girls Just Wanna Have Buns,” his sweater on the empty chair. Annabeth had been weirdly looking forward to wearing that this morning; he likes seeing her in his clothes, and she likes seeing him without them. It’s a system that works for them, typically leading to a lot of smiles, a couple giggles, and maybe another round or two before he has to leave.

He’s not smiling now. His gaze is fixed on his plate, hands in his lap. “Morning,” she croaks, softly.

Percy lifts his eyes to her, unfathomable like the sea. “Morning.”

Something in her stops her from sliding into the seat across from him. Standing gives her strength, gives her power that she doesn’t want to give up. She may not be able to tell what Percy is thinking right now, but she knows when someone is gearing up for a fight. “What is it?”

“What is what?”

“What’s the matter?”

He is uncharacteristically still. Annabeth has gotten so used to him expressing himself via his body, the stillness is unsettling. Percy holds her gaze for a moment, then sucks in a breath, sitting up a little bit straighter. “I kicked over your recycling by mistake, and when I was cleaning up, I…” He bites his lip, a little ashamed. “I accidentally read some of your mail.”

“Okay.” He can’t be that broken up about her junk mail, can he?

It’s only then that she sees it, laid out neatly next to the breakfast plate. The letter has been carefully uncrumpled, but the red Harvard seal is as obnoxiously bright as ever. “I don’t mean to pry, but…” Percy licks his lips, gathering his words together. “I thought you didn’t get into Harvard?”

She doesn’t say anything.

“It’s just--this is from the Graduate School of Design,” he continues, looking at the page as if to confirm it. “And the dean says you were one of their ‘most promising graduates,’ here, so. That means you have, what, a master’s degree? Right?”

Still, she doesn’t say anything.

Percy rubs a hand over his mouth, square jaw squaring further. “I guess I just don’t understand why you lied to me.”

“I never--” she blurts. 

“I mean, were you trying to spare my New Yorker sensibilities by telling me you didn’t get in? Did you think I would actually care?”

There’s nothing she can say in response. So she doesn’t. 

After a moment, he blows out a sharp breath. “So. Fifteen thousand dollars, huh.”

She sighs, looking away. It’s not like Annabeth doesn’t hate it, too. “I didn’t do that,” she says, crossing her arms. “My dad did it, he just put it under my name.”

“And, he did that… why? I mean,” he tilts his head, a little bewildered. “I thought you guys weren’t on speaking terms.”

“To try and get me to network again, probably.” She shrugs. “And I’m not on speaking terms with him. He just hasn’t gotten the memo yet.”

He hasn’t raised his voice at all. He hasn’t moved from his seat, or made any kind of threatening gesture, but like an approaching storm cloud, she can feel the anger rolling in, dense and crackling. “Does he do this a lot, your dad? Throw his money around for you?”

“It’s not like I asked him to.” 

But he’s shaking his head, rueful. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. You know, I thought it was weird that you could afford an apartment in the East Village with a bedroom on periodic architecture contracts, but I’m guessing he pays for that, too?”

He’s right, of course, but that doesn’t stop her from bristling. “It’s a trust fund,” she snaps. “It’s still my money.”

“A trust fund,” he says, softly. “Right.” 

Anger lances through her, cold and burning. Just because her dad had set it up for her didn’t mean that she wouldn’t use it. “Yeah, a trust fund. Is that a crime, now?” 

He opens his mouth as if to say something, then snaps it shut with an audible click. Pushing his chair out, he stands up, hands flat on the table. “I should go and get ready for my class. I’ll… I’ll text you later, okay?” Percy takes a step towards her, hands reaching for her on instinct, then pauses. “See you around.”

Percy leaves without so much as a look back, closing the door so quietly she can barely hear it over the roar of blood in her ears.

[blueberry-sunghoon]

"meet me at the ice rink after school" | park sunghoon

words: 5.3k

genre: high school romance, fluff

warnings: none that i can think of

i hope you like this story :))

☆September 2013☆

One late summer afternoon, you and your best friend Sunghoon were at the ice rink, your all-time favorite hangout spot. Of course, your skating skills weren’t nearly as stunning as Sunghoon’s, but throughout the years he had taught you enough so you could manage yourself on the ice. Sunghoon liked to show off new moves he had learned every time he saw you, and he loved to see how your face lit up with amazement when he pulled it off perfectly. 

You mainly liked each other’s company, though. When you both were skating with each other, you were free to tell each other everything from your joys to your worries, trusting that the other would laugh with you or be there to comfort you. To each of you, skating with the other felt like home. Today especially, you both needed that. It had been a long day for the both of you; it was your first day of fifth grade, which also happened to be your first day of middle school.

“Today was rough,” you said as you skated alongside Sunghoon. 

“Yeah. I didn’t think we would end up not having any classes together. Being apart from you for the whole day… ” Sunghoon sighed before he finished his sentence, “that’ll take some time to get used to.”

“By some miracle, we ended up in the same class every year from kindergarten to fourth grade,” you replied. “Obviously I didn’t think we would have every single class together until 12th grade, but I didn’t think about how hard it would be to be without you.”

“Me neither,” said Sunghoon. "After we got off the bus in the morning and I said goodbye to you, I only saw you once more the whole day. Unfortunately, we were in the hallway and you were way too far away for me to say hi to you. But sitting through eight classes without you in any of them felt really weird, like there was something missing.”

“I didn’t see you at all. All I could do was sit through all my classes, lonely because I barely knew anyone. I missed you, Sunghoon. I don't know how I’m going to do this,” you said with a cracked voice. 

Sunghoon noticed you were about to cry, so he stopped skating and hugged you tightly. He let you rest your head on his shoulder as you cried. “It’s okay, y/n, don't cry.” 

“It’s not okay!” you retaliated. “How am I supposed to survive middle school without you?”

“We won’t be without each other,” Sunghoon assured you. “I’m still alive, you know. We can still hang out like this after school. And once school clubs open up, we can find one we both like. In the meantime, I’m sure you’ll make some new friends; you’re good at that. You won’t be lonely for long, I promise.”

There was something so reassuring about Sunghoon’s voice that made you feel better. He was right; he wasn’t going anywhere. Even if you couldn’t be together in class, you would still see each other all the time. “Thanks, Sunghoon,” you said softly.

“Mm-hmm,” he said as he pulled away from the hug and wiped away one last stray tear from your face. “Are you good to keep skating?”

“Yeah,” you answered, and the two of you continued to skate. The two of you were quiet for some time, and then a lightbulb went off in the boy’s head.

“y/n, what’s your locker number?”

“56. Why?” you asked.

“Nothing,” Sunghoon said slyly as a sneaky smile crept up onto his face, “I was just curious.” 

~~~

The next morning in second period, you were daydreaming instead of paying attention to the teacher. Among many other things, you were thinking of why Sunghoon wanted to know where your locker was. I’m sure it was nothing, you reasoned, but for some reason you couldn’t push the thought away.

After what seemed like forever, the bell rang and the class was dismissed. Your locker was right outside of that classroom, so you went there to switch out your things. As soon as you opened your locker, however, you were surprised to see a sticky note posted on the inside of the locker door. You were more surprised to see Sunghoon’s handwriting on it. Sunghoon had written you a note. It read,

What do you call a factory that makes okay products? Satisfactory!

You playfully scoffed at the joke before you continued to read the note. 

Now you have this corny joke to remember me by all day so you won’t miss me as much. I’ll see you after school :)

From, Sunghoon your favorite person

P.S. My locker number is 179. Do what you will with this information ;)

You were so happy that your best friend had done something that special for you. You took the note and carefully placed it inside the cover of your binder so you would never lose it. 

179, huh? You made sure to write Sunghoon a note in reply and put it in his locker before the day was over. 

And so began a tradition between you and Sunghoon. Every day you would place a note in the other’s locker, whether it was a corny joke or a word of encouragement if one of you had a big test or a blank note on April Fools day. You never skipped a day; the only way one of you wouldn’t receive a note was if the other person wasn’t at school that day. This continued far beyond the fifth grade. You kept this up all the way through middle school, and now, almost all the way through high school.

☆March 2021☆

You and Sunghoon were now high school seniors, still each other’s closest friend. 

Friend. You now shuddered to think of the word. You didn’t regret being by Sunghoon’s side for as long as you both could remember, but over the last two or so years you had developed feelings for him. You wished so badly that you could be more than friends, but you never brought the subject up to him because you didn’t want to risk what you’ve had since you were babies. The sophomore version of you figured that it was probably just a phase, that soon enough your little crush would go away and you wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. 

How you wished that was the case.

Instead, your feelings were stronger than ever, and you found yourself constantly worrying. High school graduation was only three months away, and after that, the two of you were heading off to different universities. Would I have missed my chance by then?

Sunghoon, who was sitting next to you in history class, tapped his pencil on your desk, shaking you from your thoughts. You whipped your head in his direction, confused. He then pointed his pencil at the teacher, who was looking at you and expecting an answer. “I asked you a question, y/n.”

You glanced around the classroom and noticed that the whole class was staring at you. Embarrassed, you mumbled, “I’m sorry, Mr. Kim, I didn’t hear your question.”

Mr. Kim sighed in frustration. “I asked you what year the French Revolution started.”

You hesitated for a second. “Um, was it 1799?” you guessed, unsure of yourself.

“No,” he replied sharply. “1799 would be the year it came to an end. The revolution started in 1789. y/n, this is the third time I’ve caught you daydreaming during my class this week. I suggest you start paying attention.” And with that, he continued teaching.

You heard a few snickers around the room and you felt humiliated. You felt more blood than you thought you had rush to your face and you slouched down in your seat in shame. 

Sunghoon glanced over at you sympathetically. He gave you a sympathetic smile as if to say, “I’m sorry,” and you reciprocated his smile.

You tried your hardest to pay attention to Mr. Kim for the rest of the class period, but it wasn’t easy. In fact, you were so far gone that the bell’s ringing at the end of class escaped your notice. As Sunghoon was packing up his things, he noticed you staring off into space, so he tapped his pencil on your desk once again. “Class is over, y/n,” he said. You saw that half the class was already gone and Mr. Kim was giving you an evil look. “Oh,” you said as you began packing up your things. 

By the time you started to pack up, Sunghoon had already finished. You were lucky that he was nice enough to wait for you. “I’m sorry, Sunghoon,” you said apologetically.

“Don't apologize, y/n. I have no problem waiting for you,” he replied. “I have lunch right now anyways, so it doesn’t matter if I’m late.”

What did I do to deserve such an understanding friend?

Finally you finished packing up your things. “I’m ready to go now,” you said to Sunghoon as you put your backpack on.

“Okay, then,” he said. “Let’s go.” You walked with Sunghoon into the hallway.

“Is it an A day or a B day?” you asked as you walked alongside him. “I’m either going to study hall or AP Bio right now and I have no idea which one.” You hoped it was an A day, because you needed some time to yourself after what just happened in history.

“Today is a B day. You have a double period for Bio.” 

You sighed in frustration. “Ugh.”

The two of you went quiet for some time. Then Sunghoon finally broke the silence. “y/n, are you okay?”

You quickly glanced at your friend, not knowing what he was referring to. “Yeah. What made you think otherwise?”

“You seem so unfocused lately.”

“Okay, Mr. Kim,” you said sarcastically.

“I’m serious, y/n. And I’m not just talking about history class. Like, you’re always on top of things. These days you seem so forgetful. For example, you’re the one to always remind me whether it’s an A day or a B day, yet today you had no idea. I know you tend to daydream easily, but these days you just seem so out of it. Is there something on your mind? You know you can tell me anything.”

I like you, Sunghoon. I like you a lot, but I have no idea how to tell you. I’m scared of ruining our friendship. I have the constant feeling of running out of time before we go to college, and I don't want it to be too late before I finally get the courage to tell you how I feel.

Of course, you couldn’t tell him any of that. All you could say was, “Don't worry, Sunghoon. I’m fine.” You felt a bit guilty because you rarely hid things from Sunghoon. He was aware of nearly everything that had ever worried you. But you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him about this.

Sunghoon didn’t believe that you were as fine as you said you were. He thought that there was no way something wasn’t bothering you, not with you like this. However, he wasn’t the kind to pry, and he trusted that you would come to him once you felt comfortable. He said, “Okay. If you ever need anything, you know I’m here for you.”

You simply nodded, and the two of you continued to walk in silence until you approached the AP Bio classroom.

“I’ll see you later,” you said.

“Yeah. Um, I have ice skating practice after school today, but I’ll FaceTime you as soon as I get home. I’ll see you then.” He then smiled at you and said, “Keep your head up, okay?”

Once again, you responded by nodding your head. Sunghoon waved you goodbye and he was off to his next destination.

You watched hopelessly as he walked away, and you didn’t enter the classroom until he was completely gone from your sight.

~~~

As soon as you got home from school, you went straight to your room and onto your bed. You pulled your sheets over your head and closed your eyes, trying hard not to think about anything. You were mentally exhausted from thinking so much. Of course, your efforts to not think about the things that stressed you only made you think about them more. Finally, you felt yourself drift into sleep.

After some time, your eyes fluttered open and you checked your phone to see the time. You were out for two and a half hours. You wanted to face your problems instead of avoiding them, so you sat up on your bed and decided to call your friend Sunoo. Sunoo’s good with stuff like this, you thought as your phone rang. You bit your nails as you anxiously waited for him to pick up.

“Hey,” you heard Sunoo say finally.

“Hey Sunoo,” you replied. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much, how about you?”

“Well, I kind of wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Go ahead, I’m listening.”

You took a deep breath to get rid of the nervous energy before you explained. “See, there’s someone that I like. A lot. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this way, but I don't know how to tell him how I feel. We’ve been friends for a long time now, and the last thing I want to do is ruin our friendship right before we head off to different colleges.”

“Oh,” said Sunoo. “Sunghoon, right?”

You felt your heart skip a beat and you raised an eyebrow. That’s suspicious. That’s weird. I’m pretty sure I never told Sunoo that I like Sunghoon. In fact, I didn’t tell anybody… “Um, yeah. How did you know it’s Sunghoon?”

Everyone and their uncle knows you and Sunghoon like each other. I’m pretty sure you two are the only people who don't know. You guys make it painfully obvious, Sunoo thought. “Um, uh, well I know Sunghoon has been your closest friend for a long time now. I figured if there was anyone you liked, it would be Sunghoon.”

“I suppose so,” you said.

“You should tell Sunghoon how you feel.” 

You didn’t answer. You wished there was another way around this problem, but there wasn’t. The only option you had was to tell Sunghoon how you felt about him.

“y/n? Are you there?”

Shaken from your thoughts, you hopelessly said, “I can’t, Sunoo. I’m too scared.”

You heard Sunoo sigh before he responded. “There’s a chance he might like you too. But you have to shoot your shot, y/n. Because if you don't, one day you’ll be forty years old, wondering what might have been if you had told the boy you liked when you were 17 how you felt.”

You hated how right Sunoo was. “Sure, there might be a chance that he likes me too,” you started, not believing for a second the statement you just said, “But what if he doesn’t? I will have ruined our friendship.”

“I doubt something like that would ruin your friendship,” said Sunoo. “The bond between you two is incredibly strong, probably stronger than you realize. It’s gonna take a lot more than that to break you guys up. Of course, if he didn’t reciprocate your feelings, things might be awkward for some time, but eventually things will return to normal. Sunghoon would never leave you no matter what, and I know you wouldn’t leave him either.”

“Yeah, I guess so. But how do I even go about telling Sunghoon that I like him?”

“y/n, you’re way overcomplicating this. It’s a lot easier than you think. All you have to do is say the words: ‘Sunghoon, I like you.’ Repeat after me: ‘Sunghoon, I like you.’”

“Sunghoon, I like you,” you mumbled with clenched teeth.

“Louder, y/n, I can’t hear you,” Sunoo teased in a singsong voice.

You took a deep breath. “Sunghoon, I like you.”

“That’s more like it,” Sunoo said, satisfied. Then, all of a sudden he got an idea. “Don't y’all leave notes in each other’s lockers every day?”

You weren’t sure where Sunoo was going with this. ��Yeah, why?”

“Slip a note in his locker asking him to meet you at the skating rink tomorrow after school. It should be easy to tell him then.”

You had to admit that it was a good idea. Wait. Tomorrow? “Tomorrow? That soon?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Sunoo answered without hesitation. “I don't see why not. Otherwise you’ll keep pushing it off and you’ll never actually do it.”

At this point, you were almost infuriated by how right Sunoo was. 

“Okay, bet. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“You better. In fact, I’ll make sure I call you before I go to bed to ask you how it went.” 

You laughed a little. “I hear you laughing!” said Sunoo in a playful tone. “I’m serious, I will call you.” 

You heard your mom call you for dinner. “Yeah. Listen, Sunoo, I have to go now, but thanks so much for the talk. I really needed that.”

“No problem, y/n, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay, bye.” 

You put down your phone. I can do this, you said to yourself, feeling more determined than ever.

~~~

Not even five minutes after Sunoo got off the phone with you, he received another call. Who could that be? He thought to himself as he looked away from his homework and at his phone. A sneaky smile appeared on his face when he saw who was calling him. 

“Hi Sunghoon,” said Sunoo as he picked up the phone.

“Hey,” said Sunghoon. “Uh, I called because I need to talk to you about something.”

Sunoo could see where he was going. “Of course. I’m all ears.”

“Well, there’s someone at school that I’ve liked for a while, but I really don't know how to tell them. I’m also worried that I might ruin our friendship.”

The smile wouldn’t come off Sunoo’s face, no matter how he tried. Are y/n and Sunghoon really that oblivious? “Park Sunghoon, it’s about time you talked to me about this.”

Sunghoon was confused. “What do you mean?”

“It’s y/n, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” said Sunghoon, more confused than before. “But what do you mean ‘it’s about time’?”

“Sunghoon, everyone knows that you like y/n. I’m not sure you could make it any more obvious. The way you look and smile at them when they’re talking to you says everything. You’re obviously whipped. When I first noticed, I was so excited for you, and I wanted to talk to you about it. But I didn’t want to bring it up first because that might have made you uncomfortable. So I waited. It’s been two long years.”

Sunghoon could feel his face flush red with embarrassment. Sunoo really said “This you?”

“Oh,” Sunghoon replied softly. “Well, does y/n know? Do you think they like me too?”

No, they don't know. They’re just as oblivious as you. It kills me how unaware of each other you guys are. Sunoo took a deep breath and chose his next words very carefully. “I can’t say. The only way you’ll know for sure is if you ask.” 

“But I can’t tell y/n how I feel. I might ruin our friendship.”

Oh my god, thought Sunoo, it’s almost like they share the same brain. Sunoo assured Sunghoon that he wouldn’t ruin his friendship by telling you how he felt about you. Then, to spice things up, he decided to give Sunghoon the same suggestion he gave you.

“Wait, you might be on to something,” said Sunghoon.

“I know,” said Sunoo, “it’s a gift of mine.” 

“That’s actually a good idea, Sunoo. I’ll try it. I have to go now though, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Alright, see ya.”

Sunoo hung up the phone, feeling quite proud of himself. “I love it when a plan comes together,” Sunoo said out loud as he continued his homework. 

~~~

It was third period the next day. Calculus was your favorite subject, and the one you usually paid the most attention in. Not today, though. All you could think about was going to Sunghoon’s locker and putting the note in there. Once you did, there would be no going back. 

You pulled out the note you had written from your folder. Meet me at the ice rink after school today, there’s something I want to tell you :) was what you had written. You stared at the piece of paper as if it would eat you alive. Your hands became sweaty and you could feel your heart racing. How could something so simple torment you so much?

The sound of the bell ringing interrupted your thoughts. Calculus was over, and it was time to go to lunch. You packed up your things and left the classroom. This was usually the time of day when you would slip your daily note into Sunghoon’s locker, so today before you went to lunch, you started to make your way there. It was the same time that Sunghoon would normally do the same thing (except he was on his way to physics), so you two would cross paths in the hallway. 

Today when you crossed paths, you quickly said “hi” with a smile to each other. Of course, you both knew that you were going to each other’s lockers, but what you didn’t know was that you had the exact same message for each other. 

As you approached Sunghoon’s locker, your heartbeat quickened and your temperature rose, making your glasses foggy. With shaky hands, you put in the combination on the lock and opened his locker. You stood there for a moment, negative scenarios flashing through your mind. You thought about what you would be risking (which, by the way, was everything). We’ve built so much over the years. Do I even dare? 

You fixed your gaze on the small, blue, diamond-shaped magnet on the door of Sunghoon’s locker. Every day since fifth grade, you would use that magnet to attach your message to his locker. He had managed to keep the same one all these years. You were so used to seeing it everyday, yet soon enough you wouldn’t be seeing it anymore. That reminded you that you didn’t want to lose your chance with Sunghoon. It’s now or never.

You took a deep breath, then attached the note to the inside of the locker door. Before you could think about taking it back, you closed the locker shut and headed off to lunch. There was no turning back.

After lunch, you went to your locker to switch out your books. Once you opened it, you saw Sunghoon’s note... It wasn’t anything near what you were expecting. Your heart skipped a beat, and your eyes opened wider than you thought they could. "Meet me at the rink after school, there’s something important I need to tell you."

As if you weren’t more nervous today than you had ever been in your whole life, Sunghoon’s note sent you into anxiety overdrive. What could Sunghoon possibly have to tell me? There were endless possibilities. You thought for a second that maybe, just maybe, he wanted to tell you the same thing you wanted to tell him. But you immediately rejected that idea and laughed it off. Don't be ridiculous, y/n. 

You convinced yourself that it likely had something to do with his ice skating - he probably had been invited to a championship or something like that. It wasn’t the first time Sunghoon had invited you to the rink so he could tell you something important. It was just a coincidence that you both had big news that day. You switched out your books and walked to your next class feeling confident. 

~~~

When you made it to the rink after school, you saw that Sunghoon was already there, putting on his skates. “You’re late,” he teased. 

“Yah, no I’m not! Just cuz you got here first doesn’t mean I’m late. I’m here after school, aren’t I?” you said as you playfully punched his arm. 

Sunghoon burst out into laughter. “y/n, what was that? That didn’t even hurt.”

“I could have made it hurt if I wanted to,” you teased. “You’re lucky I’m nice.”

You went to get your skates, and a few minutes later you both were skating alongside each other. You and Sunghoon were talking to each other, but it was mostly small talk. It was obvious that you both were preoccupied with what you wanted to tell each other. 

“How’s your sister?” you asked.

“She’s doing good.”

A pause. 

“Have you decided on a topic for the English essay?” Sunghoon asked.

“I’m most likely going to do the Civil War. You?”

“I’m doing the Industrial Revolution.”

“Nice.”

Another pause.

Sunghoon sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair, a habit you noticed he had when he was nervous. “Let’s get rid of the elephant in the room. We both have stuff to tell each other," he said.

You felt your heart rate go up and you found yourself playing with your fingers to ward off the nervous energy. “Mmm-hmm.” 

Sunghoon noticed that you were a bit uneasy. “Do you want me to go first?”

As much as you wanted to say yes, you didn’t trust yourself to not chicken out at the last minute. It took every nerve in your body for you to say, “I’ll go first.” 

“Okay. I’m ready when you are.”

“It’s definitely a big one,” you said. You stopped skating, and Sunghoon followed. You were so nervous that you couldn’t even make eye contact with him. I can do this, you thought to yourself as you began.

“Well, Sunghoon, we’ve been best friends since the beginning, you know? And, um, through all these years you’ve been there for me through thick and thin. You’ve honestly been the best friend I’ve ever had. Well, you see, it’s been about two years since I started feeling differently about you. I’ve been dying for so long to tell you how I feel, but I was scared that I might ruin our friendship. But I’ve been thinking a lot about my feelings lately, and I just can’t hide this from you anymore.”

Are they about to tell me what I think they are? Sunghoon thought to himself.

You took a deep breath before you continued. “I guess what I mean to say is,” you said as you finally looked up to make eye contact with Sunghoon, “is that I like you, Sunghoon. Could we be more than friends?”

At this point, you were insanely anxious. Your heart was beating out of your chest, and you thought you could faint. And it didn’t help that Sunghoon wasn’t saying anything, just staring at you. What you didn’t know was that he was just as anxious as you; he was just better at keeping it all in than you. He could hardly believe that he had just heard those words from you.

You immediately broke eye contact with Sunghoon and looked off to the side so he couldn’t see how embarrassed you were. “Or not,” you mumbled. “I mean if you don't wanna be more than friends that’s okay I mean we can still be friends that’s completely fine I just hope I haven’t ruined everything oh God who am I kidding what have I done-”

You were interrupted by the sound of Sunghoon sighing. Out of the corner of your eye you could see him smiling from ear to ear. You turned your head to face him and said, “What?”

“Stop rambling already.” 

Before you had time to process what he said, he leaned in and quickly, yet softly, kissed your cheek. You were in utter shock and disbelief, and you felt your face go hot. A tiny smile came across your face.

Sunghoon saw your glasses fogging up and that’s when he knew you were blushing. He decided to tease you. “Aw, I make you flustered.”

You became playfully defensive and flicked his hand. “Yah! No you don't.”

Sunghoon laughed. “Yes I do,” he said as he swiftly took your hand and intertwined it with his. He swung your hand up and down and his smile got even bigger as your eyes lit up. “You look like the pleading eyes emoji right now.”

You let out a nervous yet happy laugh. “Sunghoon, you’re killing me.” Never in your wildest dreams did you think this moment would ever come to be.

Sunghoon cleared his throat. “In all seriousness though, y/n, I really like you too.”

“I’m so glad I was able to get that out,” you said as you let out a happy sigh. “I’d been keeping it in for a long time. I was so worried about messing up our friendship and especially over the past few weeks I’ve been worried about once we go to college, we’ll be physically apart. Thankfully, though, yesterday I talked to Sunoo about everything and he really helped me muster the courage to tell you how I feel.”

Sunghoon’s heart skipped a beat when you mentioned Sunoo. There’s no way. “Oh, you talked to Sunoo? I heard he’s good with stuff like that. What did he say?”

“You know, he told me that it was better for me to shoot my shot so that down the road I wouldn't regret not taking a chance. And he was right. I don't regret this at all.”

“Well, I’m glad you told me, because I would really like to be more than friends with you. And, um, I’m not worried about going off to different colleges or being physically apart. I believe in us; we’ll find a way.”

“Then I’m not worried about it either,” you said, relieved. 

“I’m glad,” Sunghoon said. “Does Saturday work for a date? I can pick you up at your house around 7:00.”

“That sounds great, Sunghoon.”

“Perfect,” said Sunghoon, his smile bigger than ever. “You wanna keep skating now?”

“Yeah,” you answered. “I’d like that.”

You and Sunghoon continued to skate, and the rest of the afternoon was filled with happiness and laughter. The smiles never came off either of your faces, and neither of you had even thought of letting go of the other’s hand. The two of you were so happy in this moment and you didn’t want it to end. 

All good things must come to an end, though, and your afternoon with Sunghoon was no different. Sunghoon felt his phone vibrate in the pocket of his hoodie and he pulled it out. His mom had sent him a text. “My mom’s asking me where I am,” said Sunghoon with a twinge of disappointment. “I guess I can’t blame her; we’ve been here for almost four hours. I should get going.” 

“No problem Sunghoon. I should probably get home as well. I need to get started on my homework.”

You and Sunghoon left the rink, still holding hands. You two were parked next to each other in the parking lot, and there you said your goodbyes. Before you went in your car, however, you thought of something. “Hey, Sunghoon, did you have anything in mind you wanted to tell me when you invited me here? You know, anything not related to what I told you?”

“Nope. That was exactly it,” Sunghoon said with a smile. “Believe it or not, I also talked to Sunoo yesterday evening.”

“No way,” you said, a bit dumbfounded. “Did you actually?”

“Yeah. Looks like great minds think alike.” He gave you a wink, and before he turned around to get in his car, he said, “I’ll see you on Saturday.”

[rubysunnday]

Dear Mother,

A/N: Inspired by the post about what Mrs Shelby’s name is. It’s also inspired by my first ever fic on here, The Letters, since it’s almost been a year since I posted it. 

Her name had become a taboo. No one dared to mention the same of Mrs Shelby - the woman who’d thrown herself into the Cut because she went out of her mind. It was always “Mrs Shelby” or “the Shelby’s mother”. 

Her name had died with her. She didn’t even have her name on the grave. Just mother. 

Y/N Shelby didn’t even know her mother’s name. It was nowhere to be seen within the walls of the house and there was no record of it in any photo album or bundle of letters. 

She was a ghost - a nameless whisper on the wind. 

Y/N never asked about her mother’s name. Her brothers had told her she’d died from an illness - slowly wasted away before their eyes until she was no more. It was the truth, in a way. Her mind had give up and her body had followed not long after. 

She’d thrown herself into the Cut and had sunk to the bottom - like Ophelia when her lover had murdered her father. Left behind was an already broken and bruised family who’s eldest members were about to go to war. 

Y/N didn’t remember her mother. She didn’t remember the screaming, the crying, Tommy trying to shield her, Finn and Ada from their mother as she went out of her mind. 

Committing suicide was no way to go. A mother committing suicide was another thing entirely. How could she be so selfish and abandon her children? 

That was were the fear and suspicion of the Shelby’s had begun. All because of their mother. And they used it to their advantage, quickly becoming the most feared and respected family in Birmingham.

But no child should have had to grow up hearing whispered secrets about their mother and how it wouldn’t be long before the children followed her into the cold, icy depths of the Cut.

Y/N Shelby had no mother. Polly tried her best but she was never a maternal person - the loss of her children had damaged her beyond repair - and Y/N missed the nurturing nature mother’s apparently had. 

She didn’t remember her mother. There were pictures of her in Tommy’s house - of her with John, Arthur, Tommy and Ada. She looked beautiful - like a Hollywood movie superstar. She was picture perfect, smiling at the camera with a loving hand on John’s shoulder and her arm around Arthur’s waist. 

It was a snapshot of a forgotten time - before the demons invaded her mind and ripped her soul from her mind. And it wasn’t a true snapshot, not really. She’d suffered with the demons for years before that image, but it only got worse.

But Y/N took that image of her mother - looking perfect and like a porcelain doll. And she wrote her a letter. She introduced herself, told her what she looked liked and what her favourite things were and put it in her desk draw.

For the next twelve months, Y/N wrote a letter to her mother every day. She poured her heart and soul out to this invisible woman who’s name no longer existed and who’s image was frozen in a dusty photo on her brother’s desk.

8th April, 1923

Dear Mother,

I turned nineteen today, Nothing spectacular happened - I had a nice meal out with Ada and went riding with John and Arthur. Tommy vanished off to London - again - and I didn’t see him all day. Not quite sure what I’ve done to piss him off but, alas. 

Polly gave me your necklace today The string of pearls you bought with the first bit of money Arthur made. I’m wearing them, and your engagement ring, as I write this. I look like a proper lady with my new dress on...

It’s been sixteen years since I last saw you. I’m doing alright without you but it’s hard. I see Ada with Karl and Polly with Michael and my heart aches for that. But i know I can never have it and will never have it. 

I hope you’re alright, wherever you are, mother.

All my love,

Your ever loving daughter, Y/N x

As the days and the weeks went by, the bundle of letters got bigger and more tattered. She told no one about her little ritual - she knew they wouldn’t approve. Her family never dared mention their mother for fear of bringing about a curse.

Y/N was never that superstitious. No curses existed - it was just poor luck and death threats. 

1st August, 1923

Dear Mother,

I feel like I’ve almost caught you up on the past sixteen years. The Great War, Tommy’s wedding, both of John’s weddings and his gaggle of small humans he calls children. There’s almost nothing else to say to you.

Not that you’re actually here, that is. I doubt you were ever really here.

I wrote my brothers letter when they were in France. That was different, though, because they wrote back and sent me little things. I still have the violet John sent me from the Somme. 

I have all your things. No one else wanted them - they say they’re cursed or some shit like that. I was never that superstitious, it’s just life attempting to play God. No one has a say on who gets to be a survivor and who gets to be a martyr. 

I like to think of you as Ophelia. She sang to herself as she drowned, oblivious to her death. I hope you were like that, finally at peace with yourself as you floated down the Cut with the fallen flowers and leaves around you like a halo. 

There’s me trying to romanticise your death. No one even mentions you by name so forgive me for trying to make you seem more alive than apparently you are.

Well, you’re not alive are you. You’re dead. 

You have a grave. It’s up on the hill by the old tree that was used for hangings back in the day. Near Tom’s house. It’s an alright spot, I suppose. Nothing special. No one ever visits you, however. Your name isn’t even on the pebble someone put there as a marker.

We couldn’t afford a headstone. We can now but Tommy would murder me if he knew I did that. He hates talking about you.

No one ever tells me about you. All I have are a few photos that are practically falling apart and your clothes and jewellery. 

Anyway, I need to go. Family meeting and all that shit.

Your ever loving daughter,

Y/N x

By the time Christmas came, Y/N’s desk drawer was full of letters to her non-existent mother. Each letter was bundled together by month with colour coordinated ribbons for each month. February was purple, September orange and so on. 

She’d told her mother everything she’d ever wanted to. Her first kiss, her first love, her first break up, the time she got shot, the numerous times she almost died. 

She had no need to tell her anything anymore. Her mother felt so much more real to her now than she ever had before. 

She made her decision on Christmas Day evening. Everyone else was inside Arrow House watching the children open their last few presents and drink the remaining of the wine and whiskey. 

Y/N slipped outside, grabbed her horse, and rode up to the hill were the old hanging tree had once been. Her mother’s grave sat to the left of the tree - a tiny mound of earth with a pebble as its only marker. Y/N dismounted from her horse and approached the grave, clenching the letters tightly.

Twelve bundles. Almost 365 letters. 

Y/N found some twigs and branches and made a small fire at the foot of the grave. A moment later it roared into life and crackled away, casting an orange glow over her face.

She spread Tommy’s coat out on the ground and sat down, cross-legged, in front of the fire, clutching the letters. For once, she wasn’t wearing a dress belonging to her mother. Instead it was a mismatch of her brother’s old trousers, shirts and waistcoats. 

She started with the first of January. 

Y/N untied the ribbon and pulled out the first letter, the date neatly scrawled on the top left of the envelope. She read it through once, flipped it over to look at the address and then put it on the fire.

The paper curled as it burnt away, the writing fading into nothing but ash and sparks. 

The second of January followed suit before the first of January had even finished burning. 

Each letter curled and burned in the fire, the words and the sentiments becoming nothing more than ash. 

Fifteenth of February quickly followed the fourteenth. 

Twenty-eighth of April was followed by the twenty-ninth. 

Each and every letter was add to the fire until she was only left with one. 

25th December, 1923

Dear Mother,

I’ve told you everything. 

There’s nothing left to say, now. I’ve spilled my darkest secrets and untold stories to you. 

I’ve moved on, now. I still wish I had you around but I’m coping with it. I wish you were more than just words and pictures and jewellery. But nothing is fair. 

I’ve burnt all the letters and I hope the words reach you. I hope their spirit and their meaning reach you and reassure you that your daughter is doing fine. 

You used to be mine but now you belong to the world.

I only wish I’d learnt your name.

All my love

Your ever grateful and loving daughter,

Y/N Miriam Shelby

[bqstqnbruin]

Can I get 35, 36, 50 from the angst list with Seguin please??? Thanks! 😊

35. “I loved you. I loved you so much but you hurt me.”

36. “They warned me about this.” “About what?” “You.”

50. “I’m sorry I’m not enough for you.”

This is the LAST BLURB which I think brings the total to 26 (idk I lost count, y’all) shoutout to @mbarzals @pucksnsticksnhockeyboys @verdandi-storm @maybehockeymaybenot and the anons who made this a full send team effort because I’m the worst and couldn’t think of how to write this to save my life, but this got long so have f u n

See ya!

Boston, December 6, 2011

Tyler Seguin: healthy scratch for tonights game against Winnipeg. Bruins’ Tyler Seguin will not suit up for tonight’s match against the Jets, for . . . 

You couldn't help but groan at the headline that popped up on your phone while you were in class, thankful that no one heard you, or, at least, no one acknowledged your groan. Tyler’s antics were getting to be too much for you. If he kept this up, you thought Boston would trade him. Actually, you knew Boston would trade him. The team didn’t take shit like this, going so far as having people standing outside his hotel room so he wouldn’t sneak out and party.

‘You need to call me when I’m out of calc’  you text him, already feeling the anger boiling up inside you. You knew you were overreacting, but you knew he did something stupid, even after you told him that his actions have consequences, multiple times. He didn’t seem to think so, telling you that your ‘baby sitting’ was getting annoying. 

“What?” he says, calling you the second you step out of the classroom.

“Wow, hi to you, too.’

“What do you want?” he snaps. 

“Ok. You do not need to snap at me. I’m just trying to ask why are you scratched tonight?”

“I got hurt at practice.”

“You don’t get listed as a healthy scratch for injury. I’m not stupid Tyler, don’t treat me like I am.” 

The cold Boston air hits your face when you exit the building, heading back down the street towards your dorm. The wind made your eyes water, tears rolling down your cheeks to complete the upset expression that was already plastered on your face. 

“Fine, I missed team breakfast, happy Mom?”

“Fuck off, Tyler,” you say into your phone, hanging up on him before either of you could say any more. You loved him, you loved that he was doing what he was passionate about, but you just knew that he was going to ruin it somehow. You didn’t plan on leaving Northeastern, but he was definitely going to be leaving Boston. 

Your phone starts ringing with a call from Tyler an hour after you get back to your dorm, interrupting the studying that you were doing for your upcoming finals. 

“What?” you answer, giving it back to him.

“I’m sorry,” he squeaks out on the other end. You wait in silence, wanting him to go first, “I was pissed that I got scratched but I made a dumb mistake so it’s my fault and then when you asked me to call I panicked and took it out on you and I’m so sorry,” he says in one sentence. 

“Ty, I get that you were mad, but you can’t take it out on me like that. This is what they warned me about.”

“About what?”

“You. Your anger. It’s not ok.”

“I know,” he says, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

La Jolla, July 4, 2013

“Well, what do we do now?” he asks you. He just got the call that he had been traded to Dallas in a seven player trade, the two of you sitting on the couch of your home. You were visiting your hometown for the Fourth of July. Your entire family was outside, playing, talking, laughing, enjoying themselves by the pool in the warm summer sun while you two were sitting inside, the chill from their air conditioner adding to the goosebumps you already felt from the news.

You take a deep breath, scared of what his answer you be to: “What do you want to do?”

“It’s not what I want but it’s what I think we have to do.” Neither of you can look at each other. You don’t want to break up, but how are you going to stay together when he’s off to Texas and you still have two more years in Boston? “I’m sorry I’m not enough for you,” he lets out, looking down at his hands in his lap. 

“What?” 

“If I were better then I wouldn’t get traded. I wouldn’t be leaving you. I wouldn’t-”

“No, hey,” you cut him off, “You can’t blame this entirely on yourself,” you say, immediately regretting adding in ‘entirely,’ “This is just hockey. This is just the business of the sport. You’re more than enough, Ty. You always have been.” 

Boston, November 5, 2013

This was the first time you were going to see Tyler since he got traded, his first Boston game since he was traded after their last cup run. You hadn’t talked much since he moved to Dallas, only a text here and there, specifically today to ask you if you could see him after the game. 

The two of you planned to meet at McGanns, right near the Garden. You were nervous to see him, unsure of what would happened between you. Part of you was relieved that he wasn’t there before you, debating on waiting in the cold that had come early to the city, completely skipping over the fall that was supposed to come. 

You still cared for him. He was your first love, something you could never forget.

“Hey,” he says, standing awkwardly next to the table. You weren’t sure what to do, settling on getting up, an awkward hug before you both sit down. “You look good.”

“So do you.” If felt weird. It felt like he wasn’t your Tyler. You sit there in silence for a few minutes, just looking at the menu, both of you pretending that this wasn’t killing you inside.

“I have to tell you something,” he says, out of the blue. You look at him, waiting for him to continue. “I start seeing someone in Dallas.”

You know you looked shocked, no matter how much you tried to hide it. You nod, trying to figure out what to say in response. You hadn’t even thought about another guy, your friends dragging you to frat parties, trying to get you to look in the direction of the hockey team since they decided that was your type, but none of them were what you wanted. None of them were Tyler. 

“I need you to know,” he starts, closing his eyes. You had never seen him like this, nervous and all, “I need you to know that I loved you. I loved you so much it hurt.” His words take you by surprise, especially given the past tense. Loved. Not love. 

You take in a deep breath, putting your coat back on. “It couldn’t have hurt that much that you fell out of love so quickly,” you say to him, getting up and leaving him alone at the table, the wind hitting your face as soon as you left. 

Dallas, September 9, 2019

Your new coworker, Kayleigh, convinced you that getting a dog would help you with your move. That way, you would have someone to talk to while you were trying to make friends at your new job. You took Cooper to the local park, enjoying the Dallas sun while you watched other people with their dogs running around. 

There was on guy in particular you were focused on that Monday afternoon, finishing the work you had to take home. There was something about him, you couldn’t quite figure it out. The tattoos? No. The beard? No. Even with the sunglasses he had on, the way he was playing with his dogs was still a turn on for you. All you could do was hide behind your own sunglasses and watch.

You were focusing on your computer, unaware of the dog coming barrelling at you. 

“Cash, no!” you hear someone say as a black dog comes running towards you, licking your face before running around with Cooper. “Sorry about that,” the tattoo beard man says, standing in front of you, blocking the sun.

“It’s no problem,” you laugh off as he sits down next to you, watching your dogs play. “Cooper could use some friends.”

“Is he your only dog?”

“Yep. You?”

“Two others.”

You fall into an easy conversation with this guy, not even knowing his name. Something about him was familiar, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. You look at his shirt, a gray dry fit, a familiar logo sitting on it. “Oh, did you go to Northeastern?” you ask, pointing to the small husky emblem on the sleeve.

“No, my ex went there.” 

You take off your sunglasses, him doing the same. “Tyler?”

[sicjimin]

Could you maybe do a morning sickness taekook: Taehyung knows he’s pregnant but hasn’t told jk yet. Maybe they are getting at dance practice or something and taehyung starts to feel sick but He normally get nauseous easily anyway for jk doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary and just is like “if youre tummy is getting upset we can leave.” (Thought it sounded cute.) and once tae gets sick ge reveals the truth Sorry if doesn’t make sense

A.N : AJSHDJSJDNS THIS IS SO CUTE I LOVE THIS SO MUCH anon ur mind ... i love it. As someone who likes morning sickness a lil bit too much, im having so much fun writing this one. I hope you like it and this one living up to your expectations :D

TW : emeto, graphic descriptions of vomiting, mpreg

Jungkook's birthday is in 3 days.

Taehyung always believes in Angel, and maybe this is one of Angel's ways to give happiness to his and Jungkook's relationship. Taehyung eyes get teary when he sees the positive sign on the test pack and the little USG photo in the maroon box. His hands grazed it slowly before moving to give his stomach a gentle rub. Yes, after keep feeling nauseous for almost a week, having the worst episode of vomiting in the restaurant bathroom with Jimin beside him 3 days ago, it was his breaking point to take a pregnancy test. To have it aligned with Jungkook's birthday is giving it a plus score, he gonna make it as Jungkook's gift.

He didn't know which one that he should be grateful for, the fact that Jungkook is oblivious of how frequent he's gagging on his hand and feeling nauseous in one day—he gets worried, even insisted on taking the older to the doctor, but because it never really turns into vomiting session and Taehyung always said his stomach is upset because of food, the younger grows used and only give him water and soothe him when the wave comes— or the fact that the time nausea becomes unbearable is always when he's not with Jungkook. Either it's on 2 AM —this got him grateful too that Jungkook is a heavy sleeper— or when he's with Jimin. His soulmate has been catching Taehyung harshly vomiting two times, one in their office bathroom stalls when they had recording, and another one when they went out 3 days ago.

Taehyung is itching to tell his husband. The image of having the younger calming him down when he's getting sick and take care of him when nausea crashes him just so tempting. But he needs to be patient, he only needs to hide his sickness for 2 days and after that he will get all the pregnant person privilege from his husband.

---

Taehyung believes that his Angels approved his surprise plan and aligned everything so it works well as he's getting the worst morning sickness episode on September, 1st.

The first one comes in the morning, where he burst into the bathroom while Jungkook was peacefully brushing his teeth. He didn't have it in him to care about the "not getting sick in front of Jungkook" plan as his cheeks were already puffed with murky liquid that urging to come out the moment he woke up. So he runs and harshly opened the lid that immediately followed with a rush of yellow murky liquid that he has been holding back and another fresh stream from his stomach splashing to the water inside. Some of it splatters to the seat as the force was .. quite big. Taehyung has never been a quiet puker.

"Baby what happened? Are you sick?", Jungkook worried voices seeping into Taehyung's ears. He managed to shake his head before his shoulder bent further, almost making his head dive deeper, as another harsh retched bringing his dinner filling the bowl again. He coughs few times as the remnants of rice are stuck on his throat. He lifted his head and gasping for air before wipes his runny nose and lips, then tossing the tissue along with his vomit. That's when Jungkook speaks again, " What do you mean you're not sick? Taehyung-ah, you're clearly vomiting!"

Oh, he's using "Taehyung". he's serious.

"Not Taehyung. That's not my name", Taehyung pout. "And I'm sure i am not sick!", he adds. Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, " Huh? explain?"

Taehyung huff, "My name is baby or babe for you! I don't know a Taehyung, and yes I'm sure I'm not sick, maybe this just food poisoning? the bulgogi I ate last night is kinda weird, don't you think so?"

"Huh? but I'm fine? I ate the same bulgogi?"

"Then maybe my immune is shit. Don't worry, baby. I'm fine. If it get worse i will tell you okay? Now just continue to prepare yourself while I finished this. We need to leave for practice in an hour", Taehyung says, positioned himself back facing the bowl.

"You're not done?"

Taehyung body is already jerked forward with an empty gag, before he nauseously answers, "No, more". As it on cue, another liquid rushing from the older lips. Taehyung goes for 2 more rounds of sick until he's empty and manages to let go of the toilet.

The second one comes when they were in practice. It's not a rare sight if BTS's choreo has a lot of jumps and runs and .. moving. Queasy stomach didn't help the situation at all. It was their second time to re-run the chorus part, when suddenly a harsh wave of nausea hits Taehyung, making him stop midway and bent on his waist with one hand cradling his stomach, another clamped his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut as his breathing becomes quicker, his eyes ringing with loud music that still thumping.

"Taehyung-ah, you're okay?", Hoseok's hands settled on his back, giving it a tap a few times. Taehyung sucked a deep breath as he straighten his body when he's sure enough that he won't spill his stomach content on the floor there, " Yeah, I'm fine hyung. Just a little bit nauseous"

Hoseok nods and yells, "10 minutes break everyone!"

Taehyung dragged his body to the couch, his hand still rubbing his stomach, begging the baby inside of him to stop playing around. He was catching his breath when he feels the other side of the couch dipped.

"Baby, are you okay?"

Maybe his baby recognized their father's voice and protest because they have been kept for too long, a harsh gag suddenly hit him and making Taehyung's body jerked forward, not only once but thrice until he almost considers running the bathroom. He squeezed his eyes shut again and try to control his breathing, finally, the wave lessen. He gulped audibly before opened his mouth, hoping that it would be a word that comes out, not his breakfast, "I'm fine"

Jungkook sighs and plants a quick kiss on his forehead before standing up as Hoseok's voices calling them back echo through the room. Taehyung managed to go through the whole practice without gagging on his hand, but it changed when he stopped moving and rest to catch his breath. He sits beside his husband that also panting with a bottle of water in his hands. It's just silence between them, only loud breathing sounds when another wave of nausea hit Taehyung, breaking the silence with an ugly gag from his throat. This one wave is more persistent as the feeling of gag still lingering behind his throat, making his eyes teary.

Jungkook that has grown used to the sight only place his hand on the older knees, "If your tummy still upset, lets just go home"

Taehyung supposed to giggles when Jungkook called his morning sickness as a mere upset stomach if his body didn't rock with wetter gag—he's sure he's going to throw up.

"I'm going to throw up", Taehyung urgently mumbled under his hand that clamped tightly on his lips before he runs to the bathroom. He almost cries when he sees his lunch morph into a murky liquid mixed with bile in the water below. He's tired. He rubs his stomach gently, " Baby please don't make me too sick"

"What baby?"

Taehyung jumps on the sudden voice. Then he feels another hand rubbing his back, "Are you still feeling sick hm?"

"Mhm", another trickle of bile escaped from Taehyung lips. He groaned softly, " Baby stop this"

"I'm not doing anything though, do you want me to stop rub your back?", Jungkook chime in, absolutely confused. Taehyung manages to let out a laugh before another trickle of vomit spills from his mouth. He spat the last thick saliva hanging on his lips before flushed the toilet and stand up. Jungkook trailed behind him like a puppy, until they reached the practice room.

"Is it really bad Taehyung-ah, are you okay? You need to take the anti-emetic medicine the doctor gave you!", Jimin greeted them with a worried ramble.

"Huh? what doctor?"

Taehyung giggles at his husband's confusion, completely enjoying it. He goes to his bag and grabbed the box and water. His throat burns after all the commotion, "Open this"

Jungkook, still in his confusion phase, opened the box.

"Happy birthday baby"

The younger gasp, "What ... what does this mean? Is this a prank?"

Jimin chimed in from behind, "Yah! what prank? Congrats Jungkook-ie, i can't believe a baby like you gonna be a father"

Taehyung laughs when he sees Jungkook's clueless expression, "So, you're not getting food poisoning or just an upset tummy?"

Taehyung shakes his head, "No dummy, that morning sickness. Do you really think I could get an upset tummy for more than 3 days?"

"Oh god. How far?"

"6 weeks now"

"Yah! Jungkook why are you crying", Jimin laughs from the side while Taehyung frantically wiping the younger cheeks that suddenly brimming with tears, " Baby why are you crying?"

"No, i love you. This is the best gift ever", Jungkook shakily says. He grabbed Taehyung wrist that still busy wiping his tears and pull it closer," Thank you"

Taehyung smile as he hides his face on his husband's shoulder, embracing the soft cologne scents that still emits from his shirt, "Now you're responsible to be with me every time I get sick. I've been sick alone or with Jiminie and that's suck"

Jungkook giggles when he hears Jimin protest, "Yah Taehyung-ah what do you mean i'm suck?!" before he adds, "That's what you deserve for hiding such a thing from me, baby"

[seostudios]

零 don’t cha

synopsis: who would’ve thought that dating you; the perfect it girl. would be this much trouble? definitely not nakamoto yuta as he decided to become someone more significant to you. was this your average fairy tale or was this a tragedy?

genre: fluff, angst pairings: yuta x fem!reader info: ceo!au, non-idol!au, ceo!yuta, ceo!model!music-producer!nct, rich!au, mentions of proclaimed death, cheating, brother!johnny, assistant!haechan!jungwoo wc: 6.8k

a/n: lol this is NOTHING LIKE WHAT U REQUESTED I’M SO SORRY..... i mean in the beginning it is but it just took a turn and i was writing whatever came to mind... like 2/3 of the story isn’t even a yuta x reader fic it’s jsut about everything else! i hate myself for doing u dirty but i hope u read this! it’s actually good (imo) since i worked awhile on it and it’s one of my longer fics. 

She was fierce, elegant, beautiful. An unmatched package for any walking figure. Her person, running a multi-millionaire business by herself. Doing it for who? Her and Suki; the fiery red betta fish, placed on her nightstand. Yuta was just like you. Although Yuta is fierce, charming and quick on his feet, he still manages to be just the opposite around you. Yuta is on the right path, growing his empire little by little. You started as an insufficient secretary for an Electric Power Corporation but, those late nights and overtime paid off as you are now the CEO of your own retail company. Yuta waltzed into your business while he was an errand boy for Moon Taeil, a good friend and business partner of yours. Taeil had been worried about his future and decided he would've let Yuta go under your wing for a couple of weeks.

That brings you here, September 2019. The vibrant hues of autumn settling into the busy streets of Seoul. "Good morning Ms. Seo." The receptionist, Chaewon, greeted with a bubbly smile like any other day. "Yuta is waiting for you in your office," She informed, watching your small strides turn into a jog towards the elevator. When you reached the top floor where your office and meeting rooms were located, "Did you receive John's fax? He told me your father wanted an opinion!" Haechan, your assistant, asked swiftly, sticking to your hip as you stepped out of the conveyor, pushing his glasses up. "Oh, can you tell him to print whatever he sent and meet me for lunch? I heard he's back in the city." He nodded before running back towards his cubicle to make the requested phone call. That's when you were finally able to enter the office. "So... The rumours are true, you did decide to visit." You grin like a Cheshire cat plastered onto your face, you made long strides beside Yuta, who was staring into the traffic abyss below you two. He hummed before turning over to you; "How is my favourite person doing today?" He asked cheerfully before inviting himself to sit on your chair. Dragging yourself yet again, towards Yuta. You stood in front of him before seating yourself on top of the desk. He watched as your posture slumped and brows knit with a childish frown displayed. "Not well," He decided to sit up in his seat, hands combing through his dirty blond locks. "John's back in town, I'm pretty sure he brought Gyunghui." You roll your eyes unknowingly at the mention of your elder brother's proclaimed girlfriend. "I mean, who gets married after dating for 6 months?!" You groan, disappointed in your brother's decisions. Yuta's eyes crinkled at the corners before he threw his head back in laughter. Was this the reason you were so upset? "Y/N they've been friends for 10 years, I think it's safe to say they'll be okay." He responded with a smile. Straightening up, you huff and look the other way, crossing your legs. "Ugh, Whatever..." You look back down at him, "How is Jin Nyun?" Yuta's face fell, 'Can't we go one conversation without mentioning her?' He pondered momentarily before looking up at you with a soft smile, "She's amazing. She went out of town for work," He sighed, "Again." Your brows furrowed for an instant. He seemed upset. Why wouldn't he be? You'd be furious if your lover set off on multiple business trips every week. That's when it hit you, "What is she again? Job?" You question. "She's a photographer." Now that's bullshit. You knew for a fact, she wasn't big enough in the industry to leave on trips on multiple occasions for a photoshoot. "Why?" He asked, and you couldn’t explain the sense of innocence you felt from him, so oblivious to the situation he's in. "N-Nothing just wondered." You stutter out. He observed you quietly but decided to leave it like that. Raising your wrist, you glance towards your watch, "It's nearing noon." You whisper, Yuta looks up, "Plans?" he questioned with a brow raised. You nod "Lunch with Johnny," Smiling you reminisce back to when you and Johnny ruled overtop Seoul, with two successful companies in powerful industries. "I'll walk you out then," Yuta chimed, jumping from his seat, bringing his hand out for you to hold. "Oh! What a gentleman." You giggle, watching his cheeks tint in a shade of red.

⋆

"You sure there isn't going on between you and Yuta?" Your brother asked playfully, watching as Yuta walked you towards the small cafe at the end of the street. "He has a girlfriend, John," Can't a man and woman simply be friends? What's with him? "So?" He shrugs laughing before whining from the sharp pain in his calf where you managed to land a hand kick at. "What? From what I've heard from Taeil and Mark," Mark is Yuta's closest friend. "She's not all she says to be," He brushed it off his shoulder, "Maybe she's just a workaholic?" You suggest, "We both know an amateur photographer like her isn't that busy." The two of you erupt in a fit of knowing laughter. "You're too dangerous, Johnny," You kiss your teeth before being served the lunch you had Johnny order earlier. "But on a serious note, you should find a boyfriend." He makes a disgusted face, looking you up and down. "Before you age, aren't you almost 24?" He questioned, "Yea, but-" "Mom was pregnant with you at 24." He finishes, before receiving a well-deserved step on his big-toe. "What?! I just want what's best for you!" He barked, "You think that's Yuta! He's my friend and not to mention a business partner!" He lifted his hands, trying not to engage in an argument that might have you ignoring him (again) for months. "Alright, I know!" He sucks in his breath, "Lunch is almost over, kiddo. Try getting in that office and doing something extravagant as always." Johnny grabbed your empty plate and stacked them on top of one another, cleaning up as much possible. "You should have dinner with Gyunghui and me tonight? I'm sure you don't have plans." His eyes lit up at the mention of Gyunghui. It almost warmed your heart. "I wish! I gotta help Yuta clean his apartment tonight," Way to go Y/N! You just made the worst excuse possible. Yuta was probably going to be spending his evening kicking back and relaxing without Jin Nyun. Now that you've told Johnny this, you'd have to go through with it. "Oh?" Johnny's face turns into something more sinister. But you laugh it off knowing he's probably thinking of something perverted. "Okay! Gotta go!" "Not so fast," He grabbed the back of your arm, seating you back down, "You pay today." He smiled before grabbing his briefcase and jacket, exiting happily.

You slump into the cushion before grabbing your purse from the inside of your jacket pocket. After you pay, you pull out your phone, dialling Yuta's number. The call didn't even reach the first ring before he picked up, "Hello?" He was first to speak too. Weird. "Hi, It's Y/N-" "I know, we've had each other's numbers for three years now." You chuckle, "Okay... We have plans tonight, my friend." You can hear the evident groan on the other end. "When and where?" He asked. "After I get off around four and your place!" You cheer before silencing, waiting for a response. "Okay, good." He paused for a moment before continuing, "I need to clean this place up anyways, you can help out." He stated. "Perfect." You replied.

⋆

Who would've guessed that your evening is being spent by scrubbing a sink with floral gloves? "You know," You started. "We could've gone out for dinner and hired someone for this," Yuta, who was behind you wiping the kitchen counter. "Yes, but it's unnecessary." He says. You groan, "Can't we watch something on Netflix? This place was already clean when I came in!" You whine, stomping your feet like a child. "No," He simply replied.

"Okay! Let's see what's on Netflix..." You mumble, before looking over to Yuta beside you on the couch. He seemed tense, uninterested. It was odd to see him like this, "Are you okay?" You tediously asked. He murmured something under his breath before sucking it in. "This is weird," He said, "Why are you trying to hang out with me while my girlfriend is out of town? Are you into me or something? I just find it weird!" He finally let out. So this is what has been bothering Yuta. Did he feel uncomfortable with you? He's acting like a completely different person from who he was earlier today at the office. "I'm sorry? I don't know what to say..." You exhale, "We're friends, and friends hang out. Plus, I needed an excuse to get out of dinner with Johnny and Gyunghui." His face fell, a pang of guilt waving over him. Did he seriously think you were trying to get into his pants (He's not wrong)? God, who did he think he was, making such assumptions. "Oh- Fuck. Sorry Y/N. I don't know what got over me." He throws the blanket to the side before leaving the living room towards the bathroom. It wasn't supposed to hurt. I mean, you've always had these hidden feelings for Yuta, but you still treated him like you would to a friend. "Hey, I think I'm just really stressed with Jin Nyun. She's never home." He bellowed, pumping his fists into the air before letting out a stressed groan. "She's really getting under your skin, huh?" You say, "Deeper than I thought." He made his way back beside you. "Let's- Let's just play this movie." He massaged the back of his neck, now focused on the movie displayed on the flat-screen TV.

⋆

"Y/N!" You pull the phone from your ear for a moment. Johnny was exceptionally loud at ten in the morning. He sounded like he had something urgent to tell you. But, you out of everyone had no time to listen to his girl talk, especially when you're in a meeting room with ELLE magazine staff, discussing your new line of clothing and having your collection featured in this month's issue. "You won't believe-" "Johnny! I have a job to do!!" You screech, hearing his apologies moments after. Ending the phone call, you enter the meeting room, "Sorry, where were we?" Assistant editor, Myeong-Ko set this meeting up with you to discuss your fall collection. "Since you've gained an audience over the past five years, we'd like to include you're best fashion pieces on our models and October issue."

Finally, you thought you'd be stuck in that meeting for ages! It's a little past noon, you are positive that Johnny's at home relaxing on his day off, you decide to call him back on your way to your late lunch with Yuta and Taeil. "Hello?" You are greeted by Johnny's panting voice with Gyunghui's giggles heard; not wanting to know what was going on the other end of the phone, you cut to the chase. "Johnny, what'd you want to tell me earlier?" You hear the 'Ou' loud and clear as he remembers and laughs aloud, "Guess who asked Doyoung out at a club in Ilsan?" You wrinkle your forehead, looking up at the sky, thinking. "No clue," "Jin Nyun!" Johnny said. Now, this was a disaster. You thought Jin Nyun had been smart enough to not cheat on her boyfriend with his old drinking mate. Did the news reach Yuta? "Did he tell him?" You asked hesitantly, "No, he told me to tell you to tell him." And with that, big brother Seo ended the call to return to doing god knows what with his wife. That's when you reached the front door of this eatery. Yuta gave you directions to this new Tteokbokki place, a ten-minute walk from the main street. You walked in, recognizing the blond from a mile away, eyes glued to his phone in the corner booth. "Y/N..." He said, standing up and brushing off the crumbs of what seemed like a cookie off his lap. He looked awful, the ache in your heart wondering who caused him such discomfort flamed the anger bubbling in the pit of your stomach. "Hey, hey. What's wrong?" You watch him slumped back into the seat, not bothering to sit in front of him, you went into the seat beside him. No matter how weird it looked, to be seated in a booth beside each other, it looked like he needed someone right now. He wore a Nike sweater with basketball shorts and sneakers. You bring your hand to his cheek to lift it and get a good look at him. A sharp pain filled your body, seeing his tear-stained cheeks. He wasn't okay. Looking all worn out and out of place wasn't Yuta. He was always looking ethereal to everyone else. Why did he look so helpless? "Let's go to my apartment, I live a few minutes away." You whisper, watching him nod softly.

⋆

It's nearing seven in the early hours of the evening. Yuta hasn't left your living room couch since he just had his heartbroken. It seemed to be that Jin Nyun broke up over text with Yuta telling him he wasn't enough to satisfy her needs. He also mentioned her telling him she met someone a couple of months ago and has been seeing him, but didn't she try sleeping with Doyoung? "Yuta, stop sulking over a girl who doesn't even have her priorities straight." You said, closing the freezer door with another tub of green-tea ice cream. "One year." He mumbled, almost incoherent, "I gave up a year of my life to be cheated on for god knows how long!" He barks. You hand Yuta the ice cream, before standing there, thinking. What could cheer him up? "Oh! I know!" You run into your bedroom, walking out with a bowl. "Suki, say hi to Yuta. He's feeling down... Make him happy, please?" You ask the Betta fish in the bowl before placing her on the coffee table in front of Yuta. "Wha-What?" He expressed his amusement from your odd liking towards this redfish. "Say hi to Suki, Yuta!" You cheer before pointing at Suki. "You're kidding me?" You turn to look up at you, with your hands placed on either side of your hips, 'She wasn't kidding' he turns back and hunched over to look into the bowl "Hi Suki." 

"Are you still thinking about her?" You ask, nudging Yuta. "Surprisingly, no," He said, staring into the black screen. You raise a brow, curious. "I've been thinking about you." He sighs before looking at Suki, who was moved to the table beside the couch so she could 'get a better look at the movie.' "Oh?" This was interesting. Why would he think of you? Were you that significant to him now? "It's just that, you just took the day off... To take care of me." He mumbles. "It's not that big of a deal, I- you was hurt. Of course, I have to be there for you!" You fiddle with the blanket, "You're really important to me." The now tongue-tied boy's head shot up, turning to look at you. His bewildered face softened in moments before he gathered the courage to reply. "You're really important to me too." You rip the blanket off you, throwing it in Yuta's direction. "It's almost midnight. I think we need to eat dinner before bed." You tell him, making your way into the kitchen. "Before bed?" He asked. "You are spending the night, right?" You asked, stopping in your tracks. "Oh, Are you okay with that?" He asked, getting up and trailing behind you. You throw a quick 'Duh?' towards the boy earning a couple chuckles your way. He sat on the island stool, watching you pull together something some-what edible for you two tonight. "I want to apologize for the other night again, I shouldn't have assumed or acted like that," 'He said that out of the blue.' You though before scrunching up your face before cracking an egg, "I hope you like French toast." You say, dodging the unneeded apology.

⋆

Nakamoto Enterprises. Never thought you'd walk into Yuta's building with a pair of jeans and a sweater. Most of your trips here were business-related, and you often showed up in a suit. "H-Hi Ms.S-Seo!" Yuta's assistant, Jungwoo, said, greeting you. "Hey Jungwoo, is Yuta out of his meeting yet? He promised me tacos," You said, rubbing your belly enthusiastically, earning a couple of giggles from the tall-boy. "Ah! I heard him mumble something about tacos earlier while fixing his dress-shirt." He said, remembering. Just then, you see Yuta walkout, Jungwoo covers his mouth, tilting towards you. "I heard he dyed his hair and got all dolled up for you Y/N, don't mess up." He said before waving goodbye and wandering off towards his associates. "New do?" You said, combing your fingers through Yuta's rosewood locks. "Just for you." He smiles before walking out with you. After his breakup with Jin Nyun, oddly, he's been on top of his game. You'd think you would have to take a week off to help the pain go away. You knew how much he loved her. Now? Now it was like the two of you had this new sort of bond.

What you weren't aware of was that Yuta has a new spot for you in his heart. Somewhere he held dear. Yuta never expected to move on that fast, but he knew you were always there, just waiting to break out and roam freely in his mind. You made his insides twist in a way Jin Nyun couldn't, but something in him knew it was too soon. "Something wrong?" You asked the boy zoning out at the red light, "No, I'm good." He replied, hand gripping the wheel. Although his mind was flooded with innocent, pure thoughts of you. Tonight, something in him wanted to tear you apart in his penthouse. Always chasing after something that didn't want to be chased after, or so he thought. "Can we get ice-cream... I finished the one at home." He contemplates what to do for a minute before answering proudly, "Nope!" He said. He looks so confident but, he almost melted when you called his place home. "Why not?!" "I'm cooking dinner." He replied, now focusing on the road. You huff and sit back in the seat, staring out the window. The beating in your heart, drumming loud in your ears. Is it possible he feels the same? Or is this way of coping without Jin Nyun... If you thought this evening couldn't get any better- you were wrong! Mark and Taeil decided to drop by while you hung around Yuta's suite. The four of you were feasting on the take-out the two boys brought over. Guess Yuta doesn't have to cook. "So, Mark, you're a producer?" You asked before taking a bite, "Yea, Johnny helps out sometimes." Oh? Johnny helping make music? I guess you could see that in a way, he does have a few specialties in the Arts. "Y/N! Congrats on ELLE, by the way!" Taeil interrupted loud and cheerfully. Your eyes crinkle at the sides while you show him a toothy grin. "I'm proud," Yuta said, bringing his hand up to ruffle your hair. 

⋆

The winter chill settles in, as the streets were now covered in a thick blanket of white, footsteps and paw prints being crisscross along the sidewalks. You sported a simple city chic black coat pairing it with a white turtleneck long-sleeve sweater dress. You admit, though the layered clothing appeared to keep you all warm to the naked eye, your exposed legs seemed to be coated in goosebumps as you speeded towards the tall building. "No pants?" Haechan asked, handing you a coffee. "My mom's coming in today," You confess, Haechan's facial expression remained still as if he was already aware of your guest. "She's in your office, let me take your coat." You thank the younger boy before skipping into the elevator beside the main lobby. Before you reached the top floor, the lift stopped on the tenth floor. "Taeyong?" You ask, the man wearing a black mask with his suit. "Y/N? Oh my god, hey." Taeyong was a good friend of yours. He even works under you. Though you'd think having a comrade by your side while you are at your job, it had driven you two apart, both of you only meeting during promotional seasons. He was hired as one of your models and editors. Being successful, he often modelled for Taeil and Kun, another business associate of yours. Though losing a friend hurt horribly, you were still happy for Taeyong and his newfound profession. "Oh my god, I forget you're my boss sometimes," He said, removing his mask. "Haven't seen you in weeks." You chuckle softly before speaking, "We need to catch up, I heard you were the model for our ELLE issue, and you are going to star in an advertisement for Kun?" He nodded. "Kun wanted me and someone, named, Ten to star in the advertisement for his new diamond sets." Your mouth goes slightly agape at the mention of the name, immediately squealing to yourself. "Ten?! Ten Lee?!!! I've been begging his agency to have him model for us! How come Kun gets him that quick?!" Taeyong threw his head back slightly before erupting into a fit of laughter. You seriously were jealous, and it entertained the boy. The elevator stops on the 20th floor. "My stop. Good luck getting Ten. I'll tell him your hot. Maybe then he'll consider..." Taeyong joked before waving goodbye. The rest of the ride up was quiet. You made sure to fix the end of your dress before meeting with your mother. Exiting the chute, you made your way to make your mother a quick cup of coffee from the instant coffee machine. It was no macchiato but it'll make do. 

"Why are you late?" Your mother questioned once you walked into the room. "I was just getting you coffee," You voiced before walking and taking a seat in front of your desk. Taking files and shoving it out of the way. Handing her the coffee, you finally take a sip on your drink, which was now as cold as the snowfall this season. "So, Mom. What brings you here?" You asked. "Can't I visit my daughter?" She replies, offended. "No, you can't." You scoff, "What do you want?" You interrogate, and that's when you see her shoulders drop as she grips the coffee cup. You knew it. "Listen, sweetheart..." You hum, she continues. "It's ... It's just that you're almost 25! An unmarried chairwoman is humiliating. I don't want Johnny or your father to be ashamed of you, so get your shit together is I give your hand in marriage to another man." Your mother scoffs, the innocent facade fading. Though she had no right to talk to you like that, it felt like a slap in the face. You thought that was the end of it, but no. She had more to get off her chest. "You're friends with Mr.Nakamoto, Mr. Kim, Moon, and that model kid Taeyong. All single. Yet you're still single. Get your shit together, Y/N. I can't always run after you-" "Leave." You were now standing up from the little office chair, pointing towards the door. This was wrong. You shouldn't be disrespectful to someone attempting to fix your own mistakes right? "Farewell then, Goodluck." Unfazed, she exits while you stood in the empty room, the silent room. The only detectable noises were the sound of hurried footsteps, the squeak of doors and the printers from co-workers. 

⋆ 

Saturday nights were known for the shenanigans Yuta, and you pulled. Though tonight, the two of you decided on dressing like sophisticated businesswomen and men, like you weren't already! Come on, you two are multimillionaires. Now, heading to Ryunique, a Fusion restaurant along Gangnam-gu. Today, you squeezed into the most elegant dress in your wardrobe. A black short tulle-skirt lace dress, the double-layered stand-up collar. Especially with your partner in crime who decided on wearing a black satin button-up dress shirt with black pants and his long hair slicked back. You two were the main attraction of the night for sure. "What if we pretended to have American accents?" You joked, exiting the car. "We don't even know English Y/N." The two of you broke into small fits of laughter. "All right, enough jokes. Let's head in." Patting the ends of your dress, you fix the watch on your wrist and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "Good evening," The tall man at the front desk immediately greeted, standing up and walking towards you two. "Hello, we've got reservations." He clicks his tongue before grabbing the laptop on the desk and placing it on the counter. "Name?" "Mr. and Mrs.Nakamoto." Okay, maybe you two took it too far, to look like a dirty rich couple coming to shower money on these restaurant folks, but it was all in good fun! 

Did wealthy people seriously come here to spend hundreds on Pork Belly, Jowl and Shrimps? Damn right! It was delicious, "Yuta. Give me a bite, please...!!" You beg him. He ordered Beef and Salmon. In other words, tonight's special. "Finish what's on your plate first, Mrs.Nakamoto." He tells you, smiling, before cutting a piece of his Beef and placing it onto your plate. Since when were you so spoilt. By Yuta out of everyone. "I can't believe you made it seem like we were married," You said snickering. "I wasn't going to do that at first, but something about 'Mr. and Mrs. Nakamoto' sounded nice." He plays with the leftover salad on the plate, "It has a nice tone to it, right?" If you weren't in a five-star restaurant, you would've choked, but in attempts to keep your cool at Yuta's shameless behaviour in public, you look up and give a smile. "Mhm! Perfect, we should use it more often!" There you were, fighting fire with fire. "Y/N- You can't just-!?" He stops in the middle of his sentence to fill his mouth with the salad. "Check!" He calls out, as you sit there playing with an olive. You sure do have him wrapped around your finger. Sadly, even Saturdays come to an end. "Shouldn't the guy be walking the girl home?" Yuta asked. "Right? I was thinking that. I guess I'm the man here." Playfully Yuta nudged you. Before pulling you close, his arm envelopes around you. "I'm a man." He assures more to himself than you, "Sure..." Dragging your feet towards Yuta's doorstep, you let out a yawn. "Oh god, I gotta play the man role now." He mumbles before unlocking his front door. "You're sleeping over. Can't have my damsel walk out alone in the dark." He whispers to your half-asleep figure leaning on the doorframe, dozing away. 

⋆

Your nose scrunches as your eyes take in every ray of light, and without a doubt, you know you've slept in today. What day was it? Was it still morning or past noon? Where is your phone? Wait, where were you? It took a little adjusting for your tired eyes to realize you were in Yuta's bedroom. Oh, you must have slept over. Looking to your right, you see shirtless Yuta, sprawled across the bed. Hold on. Catching a double-take on what you are looking at... shirtless Yuta... God is on your side today. He turns his head over, an evident smirk displayed. “Like what you see?” He asked, “As if!” You reply, taking the pillow from underneath your head and throwing it at him. “I’m gonna shower, make breakfast will ya?” You request, before marching into his bathroom. ‘What's that smell’ you wonder, skipping into the open kitchen. You’ve always admired the interior of Yuta’s place. Modern yet cozy. “I hope you’re craving egg fried rice.” Yuta said which you happily replied with a hungry growl. “Hungry as a hippo today!” You make your way behind him. You have this urge to back hug him, to wrap your slender arms around his waist, indulging in his scent. “Wh-What are you doing?” Yuta asked. He felt a shock when you wrapped around him, nuzzling yourself into his neck. “I don’t know..” You confess, before it hit you. “Oh my god..! I didn’t even know if you were okay with that! I am such a perv, why’d you go hug him Y/N! Stupid, Stupid, Stupid...” You didn’t realize it there but Yuta turned off the stove when he turned around to grab your wrist from leaving, pulling you back into his embrace. This time he wraps his arms around you, pushing your head into his warm chest. His hand made it’s way to pet your head for a moment before he broke the embrace, the two of you got a glimpse at one another, safe to say he feels the same right? Yuta turns to reach up at the cabinet to serve the two of you. Walking over to his dining table he places the plates while you get some water. “Eat up Mrs.Nakamoto” He chirps, before sitting. 

“Yuta I’m gonna wear your sweater!” You shout from his closet, “Mkay!” He replies. Yuta and you decided on skipping work, and spending your Sunday relaxing in his suite. Grabbing his basketball shorts and sweater you tie an extra tight knot on the waist so you didn’t have to hold it whenever you needed to move settings. “Wow, so cute.” He flirts watching you being swallowed by his clothing. “C’mere,” He pats a spot beside him, which you gladly accepted sitting cuddled up beside him. The two of you have still not confronted one another with the fact your feelings were now out in the open. He knew how deeply in-love you were with him, it was getting so hard to hide.. It kind of just, spilt. Yuta only confirmed his by hugging you back. It was more so a silent confession between the two of you. The promise to be with one another till the end of time being hidden somewhere in that heartwarming moment in the kitchen. “So, are we like?” You start, looking up at him to see him nodding with an eye crinkling smile. “Good.” You state, punching the air in victory. He places a kiss on the top of your head. A thank you. 

⋆

A year ago, today. You and Nakamoto Yuta came clean about your growing feelings for one another. Now you were happily in love. Work was the same as always. Only a few changes this year had occurred. Johnny, finally becoming a father. Taeyong had been promoted and was now working more flexibly, letting the two of you hang out. Lastly, but not least, you and Yuta. Not a peep from your mother since that day at the office and no word from Jin Nyun either. You've noticed her attempting to rekindle a spark on multiple occurrences, but as foretold, Yuta steered clear. Now you were living happily, right? Wrong.

It’s not everyday that your best friend comes back from the dead. On April 23rd, 2011, 15-year-old, Jaehyun, had been announced dead in a fatal car accident. The car drove off the Banpo Bridge in the middle of the night, which led the authorities to believe he was drunk driving. There was hope he was still out there, but as the years progressed, you lost hope. Jaehyun’s dream was to become a designer. Though you’ve always wanted to become an interior designer, in a way to pay your respects, you’ve followed his desired path. But, to say the least, you learnt to love this path. It’s where you met Yuta and the people you can call your closest. Now, almost ten years later. You receive a call. "Hello?" On the other end of the line, you could hear soft breaths. Feeling a little uneasy, you call Yuta. Who was idling on the couch, silently over to listen to whatever was going on? "Hello? Who is this?" You ask once more. The breathing halts and, you hear a flimsy cough, "Is this Y/N?" You look over to Yuta, who seemed concerned. "Y-Yes." You answer. The man laughs wholeheartedly for a minute too long before a pause. "Who is this?" You asked, "Jung Jae-" "Don't even finish. Is this some sort of cruel joke?! Who are you!?" You were furious. Yuta backs away to watch from a distance, but ready to comfort you if anything. "Who said I was joking? 66-2 Gongpyeong-dong, Jung-gu, Daegu. Thursday night." He finished with a smooching noise at the end of the line. He ends the call, and you adjust your seat on the island stool. "Jaehyun's dead, right?" You mumble to yourself, still audible to an oblivious Yuta. "Baby? Tell me what's on your mind. You know I'm here," He doesn't know Jaehyun. In fact, he has no clue about how you were in the past. The heartbreaks you've had. "Jaehyun." Yuta furrows his brows. Who is Jaehyun? A past lover, perhaps? Hopping off the stool, you make your way towards the master bedroom. Pulling out a duffle bag from underneath the bed. Although this phone call seemed like some sort of sick set-up, you couldn't help it. A small portion of you knew there could be a chance Jaehyun was still alive. 'Johnny and Jaehyun were friends too,' You thought. He must've been informed about his whereabouts if he was alive. Ding. Perfect timing, such an emotional time, being interrupted. Yuta calls you from the door.

"It's Johnny!" 

The timing couldn’t be any better. Just in, that your elder brother had gotten a text, similar to the call you received. He ran into the bedroom, seeing you packing. Turning around, you noticed his suitcase in hand. “Did he?” Johnny questioned. How could he believe a mere text from an unknown number? You scoff, “Yea, I got a call, I don’t buy it though. He’s dead.” You fumed. “Then why are you packing?” He interrogated. He’s right, why were you? “I-I-I don’t know! Just- Just get in the car.” You throw the keys of your minivan off the bed towards Johnny, who catches it, happily. “Apparently I don’t exist. What the hell is going on!?” Yuta roared. Stopping your actions, you walk over to the boy standing behind Johnny. “Jung Jaehyun died in a fatal car accident in 2011. Someone is claiming that he’s alive.” You answered, watching his expression change from dumbfounded to intrigued. “Why does his death concern you guys?” He asked. “He is-was, my best friend.” Yuta brings his hand down towards your hand, grabbing to caress it with his finger. He could only imagine how dreadful this might be, “When he died... Did they find his body?” He asked. Cautiously. You suck in your breath in realization. No, they didn’t. Looking up to Johnny with a glint of hope glistening in your eyes. Was he really alive? “Go, I’ll take care of work.” He says after wrapping his arms around you. “Thank you." You whisper before grabbing Johnny and walking out. Yuta sighs, "She forgot her bag." He said to himself.

"We have to catch the next train Daegu." You say to Johnny, driving. "I booked our tickets as soon as I got the text. We board in two hours." Prepared as always. Johnny drives over the highway, lights on full beam. You watched how the bright lights played in the pouring rain. This was going to be the only time. You'd be close to relaxing before the next chain of events. But all your mind wandered to was Yuta. How Yuta was doing was your main concern as of now. You're nowhere near understanding how he must feel right now. "He's fine," Johnny interjected, knowing that face you made. "I hope so. We went from watching Netflix to this." You whisper. "It's Yuta, Y/N. He understands." He assured.

Now, here you were in a small but nicely decorated cafe on the outskirts of Daegu. It was Thursday morning, you weren't meeting potential Jaehyun until later this evening. But to take extra measures, you came by earlier to rent the cafe for the evening. Paying was generous. Johnny mentioned he'd be visiting his friend, and for you to fill him in on what went on tonight. He wasn't being selfish, leaving the work to you. It was more selfless than selfish. Johnny knows how much of a role Jaehyun paid to your life before and after.  So leaving your first meeting after ten years to just the two of you was all you could've asked for. "Excuse me! Ms.Seo?" The cafe owner calls for you. "Since your guest won't arrive until later tonight, why don't I make you some brunch?" She offers, "Please? Haven't eaten since last night," You two share a small laugh before she heads off into the kitchen.'You're early.' A shiver ran down your spine as you read the notification.  Jheez, couldn't Jaehyun just enter like a human and not some creepy pedophile. Came all the way from Seoul to see you, can't you be normal? 'Come in?' You hit send. Good thing you were meeting on a full stomach, or else you’d be a little over emotional. What’d he look like? Did he still had the shy boy persona? Or has he grown out of it? The questions that flooded your mind were interrupted by the chime of a bell, indicating someone has entered. “Y/N I missed you” 

Meanwhile, at Nakamoto Enterprises. "Jaehyun. Jaehyun. Jaehyun. Jaehyun." The name lingered Yuta's mind. Did he know him from somewhere? "Jungwoo!" He shouts for his assistant, who dashes in. "Yes?!" Yuta looks out the bay windows, contemplating his own move. "Jung Jaehyun. Who is he?" He asked, still gazing at the rainy window. "He is one of the three founders of JYX Co. He requested a meeting with you last month, something about investing." Jungwoo said, reading off the tablet in hand. Impossible. If he died, then why? He must've been trying to score a meeting with Yuta after hearing about his relationship with you. But that’s not where he knows Jaehyun from, is it? 

Sitting in an empty coffee shop with your proclaimed dead best friend was horrifying but still patched up a hole in that broken heart of yours. “Can’t believe it's you...” You said happily, towards Jaehyun. He grew. Going from the lanky fifteen-year-old to a well built and sophisticated man. After rekindling the friendship, he mentioned what happened that night. "Everything you heard is correct, I drove off the Banpo bridge." He started. "But I was pulled out by this older man by the shore. He took me in and brought me to his place in Daegu." He stops to look up at you. "So, you just decided to start new?" You ask. He nods. "I'm sorry I couldn't bring myself to come home. I'm sorry for what I put you through." He apologized. Though a regular person would've been fuming at the fact he just up and left. You were just relieved. "It's okay, Jae. You're here now." You smile, continuing. "I became a designer for you, and frankly, I'm loving it." He laughs, grasping your hand resting on the table. "I know, I've been keeping tabs on you." He confesses. "So, Nakamoto Yuta." He says, watching your cheeks redden. "What about him?" You huff, in a childish manner. "One year? When is he gonna put a damn ring on it?!" He joked, watching you cover your face. "I don't know..." You mumble, "Anyways, Johnny's at Minhyuk's place. Wanna go?" 

⋆

"I knew you sounded familiar," Yuta spoke, seeing Jaehyun walk-in with you this afternoon. "Huh?" What was he going on about? "That's the first thing you say when you see me? No 'I miss you'?" Jaehyun mused but laughed aloud when Yuta hands him a strawberry shake. "No, but is that enough?" He threw a wink, "Still remembering my favourite drink too, huh?" Jaehyun said. You stood behind, dumbfounded. "Hold on... You two know each other?" You question amazed. "Oh yea, Yuta was my roommate in uni." Yuta made his was beside you, making sure to give you a tight hug before a kiss, which made Jaehyun and Johnny gag. You sit on the large living room couch, Yuta's arm wrapped around you. Jaehyun on your other side, sharing a bag of chips with you. A film you were definitely not paying attention to playing on the screen, too distracted in your thoughts. Jaehyun was home. You were home in Yuta's arms. The two most important men back in your life. If you heard this was how you'd end up, you wouldn't believe it. The chances of getting together with Nakamoto Yuta. A name with millions of dollars tied to it, and finding your best friend again, Jaehyun, whom you thought was gone forever. Whatever you did in your past life, seriously paid off. 

This is my happily ever after.

[let-it-raines]

Walking the Baseline (Year: 2015)

Summary: This should be the happiest he’s been in years, but it’s not. He and Emma already had wildly different schedules, but now that she’s no longer on tour, it feels like they barely see each other. When they do, it’s for a day here, a week there, two if they’re lucky. That’s no way to live when his girlfriend is carrying their baby and freaking out about it more than he is.

If only he could have a bloody break from tennis to focus on his personal life for once.  

He’s got to be careful what he asks for.

Rating: Teen +

a/n: Hello again! I know these have been slow going, but I’m here with another installment! This may or may not be the last one. I haven’t decided on that yet, so we’ll see what happens there as I know there are many more things that could be told in this universe but don’t know how much motivation I have to write them 😘

ao3: 2012 | 2013 | 2014 | 2015 (CURRENT) | 2016 (original one-shot) |

Tumblr: 2012 | 2013 | 2014 | 2015 (CURRENT) | 2016 (original one-shot) |

-/-

November 2014.

Shit.

“This is bad,” Rob says from across the room, as if that isn’t the most obvious bit of information on the planet right now. “What are you going to do, mate?”

He wants to do a myriad of things, but he can’t right now.

“Play my match and then call Emma and make sure she’s okay.” Killian shrugs and bends down at the knees to squat against the wall. He hits the timer on his phone for a minute, and he tries to focus on that instead of the news Ariel just texted him.

He’s not doing great at that. All these years of being able to block life out before a match have suddenly deteriorated.

“Do you want to call her now?” Robin prods.

“She won’t answer if I call now. Watch.” Killian exits out of the timer and hits Emma’s number on his phone. It rings and rings and rings, and she never answers. He stands from his squat and tries again. Still, no answer. “Emma, darling,” he speaks into the phone, “I’m about to play, so I can’t talk to you anytime soon. I love you. Everything is alright, yeah? We knew this was going to happen at some point, but I’m sorry it happened this way. I’ll call you as soon as I can. You and the babe stay safe, alright?”

“Do you think that’s going to do any good?”

“No,” Killian answers honestly, “it’s not. She’s going to be freaking the hell out, and nothing is going to calm her down, certainly not me.”

He thumbs through his phone once more, looking through his texts and clicking on the links Ariel sent him. It’s pictures of Emma in her neighborhood, which is supposed to be private. That is a lie, though, because someone managed to take pictures of Emma walking to get her mail, her clothes tight enough that the roundness of her stomach is obvious, especially compared to how she usually looks.

It’s not good. Not good at all.

After the US Open, Emma stopped playing, telling the WTA she was out for the rest of the season on injury. A few people know because of how often Emma has to get drug tested, but it’s all been a well-kept secret.

That is no longer true.

Bloody hell.

“Mr. Jones,” the tournament director says when he pokes his head in the warm-up room, “it’s time to go.”

“Aye, I’ll be right there.” He stands from his squat and stretches out his legs, jumping up and down a few times before grabbing his racket bag from the floor. “Rob, get Ariel to try calling Emma while I’m playing. She’s more likely to talk to her than any of us.”

“I’ll try.” Rob nods and claps his hand over Killian’s back. “Good luck in your match. I know it’s a rubber, but don’t be a loser.”

Killian blows air out of his nose with his laugh. “I’ll try not to be a loser. My fucking motto for life.”

-/-

Killian isn’t a loser that day, but he is out of the tournament. He hates the season-ending final, how it’s a round robin event. He lost the same amount of matches as the man who got to advance to the semi-finals but because he lost three more games, he’s packing his bags to go home.

(Though, he didn’t hate it when he won it years ago, but now is not the time to think of his own hypocrisy.)

To his home here in London, half an hour away from the tournament, instead of back in America with Emma. It’s been odd staying here for the past two weeks. For so long, he was used to living here alone. Sure, Ariel and Rob would pop in, especially after Milah, but it was his home. It was a place to sleep and shower and watch television between having to constantly be on the road and in the air. Then Emma came along and though she’s here less frequently, she’s made her mark.

Some of her clothes litter his closet, her mugs fill his cabinets, blankets she has bought are in the baskets in his den. She hasn’t been here since mid-September when they needed to get away for a little while, but she’s still everywhere. Killian has been finding her bobby pins in his carpet the entire time he’s been here.

The only thing of Emma’s that isn’t here is Emma.

The sun has set outside, darkness taking over, and though it’s past midnight in America, Killian presses Emma’s name on his phone as he sets the timer on the oven for his dinner.

“Hello?”

“Now, tell me why you’ll answer your phone at one in the morning but not during daylight hours?”

“Because I’m a stubborn ass with no real sense of time.”

Killian huffs and moves to his living room, plopping down on the couch. “Now, I thought that was me.”

“It is. We both are. It’s why we’re dating.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“Well, I could say other things, but I’m trying to work on my dirty jokes, trying to say fewer of them.”

“Oh, you should never do that. I like when you’re dirty.” Emma’s silent on the other end of the line, and Killian waits for her to speak, to make another joke, to ask him if he could litter this conversation with innuendos. When she doesn’t, he decides it’s better to bite the bullet now than to drag it out. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I want to change what I was wearing to get the mail this morning,” Emma says through gritted teeth. “I don’t know how I could have been so damn stupid.”

“It’s a private area. You thought you were safe. It’s understandable, love. Don’t beat yourself up about it. You were going to have to tell everyone eventually.”

“Eventually being the key word.” She whistles, and if he had to guess, she’s sitting in bed with a tub of icing in her lap and one of her favorite shows on the television. She’ll beat herself up about the icing tomorrow even if she shouldn’t. “Mary Margaret took my phone for a little while so I couldn’t check anything online. That’s why I didn’t answer you when you called earlier. It’s been…a day. I’m sorry you didn’t make it to the semi-finals.”

“Yeah, me too,” he tells her, allowing himself to wallow for a moment. “I get to come home to you sooner, though.”

“I’ve saved the tree for you to help me put up. And Mary Margaret has started on the sides for Thanksgiving. There’s going to be so much food for you to pig out on before off-season training starts.”

He can hear the smile now. Good.

“There’s nothing I’m looking forward to more. I’ve heard there’s such a thing as a dad bod, and I fully intend on getting one this holiday season.”

Emma blows air out her nose. “You and I both know that’s not true. You’re too vain for that.”

“I am devilishly handsome, aren’t I?”

“I’ll let you keep thinking that. Killian?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine. I mean, I’ll be fine. This entire…situation has sucked, but I’m slowly coming around to it. What happens, happens, and I’ll deal with it. If I can get through half the things I’ve gotten through, I can get through a human being growing inside of me and the world knowing about it. I think the hardest part is how bored I am. Do you have any idea what it’s like to constantly be on the move and then for it to suddenly stop?”

“No, I don’t.” He pulls a blanket over his lap to warm him. “I hope I never find out.”

“I hope you don’t either.” Emma yawns, and the corners of Killian’s lips tug up. Maybe this means she’ll try to sleep instead of staying up worrying all night. “I think I’m going to go to sleep. Or at least try.”

“Goodnight, Swan. I love you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

-/-

Killian gets two weeks off in Florida for Thanksgiving and to have a break from training. It’s lovely to do nothing if only for a moment (he would be horrible having to take the extended break like Emma) and to spend it with Emma and her family, but then it’s back to practice and tweaking his game during the off-season.

Rob and Nemo work him harder than they ever have, bemoaning him about his slow legs and his age – he’s nearly twenty-nine, which was once considered ancient in his sport – but he keeps pushing through. Hours are spent on the court and in the gym, and the rest of his days are spent with Emma, going on walks and watching TV in their house. She’s still practicing and going to the gym, even if those are modified to how they were before, and if Killian closes his eyes, it’s almost like normal.

But then, slowly, December passes, Christmas lights everywhere fading a little every day, and Killian is packing several suitcases for the month he’s going to spend in Australia. Three years ago, Australia is where it all began for them, and it’s odd to be going without Emma.

She’s made a rule that most of their conversations have to be about things other than the baby. Part of it is because Mary Margaret overloaded Emma with baby talk. It was constantly about names and clothing and what color the nursery should be painted. If it wasn’t that, it was book after book about pregnancy, hormone changes, and the many processes that happen when giving birth.

Even for Killian, who isn’t particular about medical procedures, that was too much. He loves Mary Margaret as much as Emma does, and while she’s great most of the time, it all has been a little much.

The media attention has been too.

Thus, Emma’s rules. Their lives are supposed to go on as normal with the occasional conversation about the baby, usually when it’s absolutely necessary or when it’s late at night and they’re in bed or lounging on the couch watching TV and Killian’s hand finds Emma’s ever-growing stomach.

He thinks that’s what’s so bloody difficult for him as he zips up his suitcase. He’s going to be gone for a month, and in that month, everything can and will change.

Killian is missing seeing his child grow and missing being with his girlfriend, and as much as he loves what he does, as passionate as he is about having the fucking best job in the world, he would trade it all to not have to give up so much of their lives.

Emma would never let him.

She’d slap him if she knew he was even having these thoughts.

“Do you like this jacket?” Emma asks as she shuffles through their closet next to him. “I mean, I like that it’s red, but do you think it’s too bold?”

Killian turns and looks, glancing up and down at Emma. “I like the red leather.”

Emma nods and smiles, looking at herself in the mirror and tugging the coat over her stomach. “One day again, it’ll zip up.” She rolls her eyes and then begins to take it off, but Killian stops and walks toward her, running his fingers over the lapels until she’s flush against him.

“One day,” he echoes before dipping his head to her neck and running his lips across her jaw, “but for now, I think it’s fine to not have you covered up.”

Emma cranes her neck and makes a nose he’s going to memorize and take with him all the way to Australia. “That was a horrible line. You need to be a better flirt. This isn’t working for me at all.”

His hand falls from her shoulder and slowly makes its way to her ass before he has a firm grip. She makes that noise again, and Killian smirks against her neck.

“Well,” he drawls, making his accent as thick as he can as he nibbles at her ear, “I have forty-five minutes before I have to go. What do you say I use about fifteen of those focusing on you?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Oh, absolutely. I want to take in as much of you as I can while I can.”

“Dirty,” he whispers in her ear before kissing her and walking her out of the closet and back to the bedroom.

-/-

January 2015.

ES: Good luck today, babe! Or tomorrow. I’m not really sure what time it is in Australia, but I do know I will not be awake for your match.

Killian laughs at his phone. He’s been here three weeks, and Emma still hasn’t gotten the time difference down. He figured she wouldn’t be too bad with it since she makes this trip every year, but according to David, he changed all of Emma’s clocks and she never really knows the difference after the first two days.

It’s technically yesterday afternoon back home, or at least it was when she sent this, and he texts her back, thanking her and promising to call after his practice.

He’s got the first night session match in RLA tonight for his quarterfinal match, and if that weren’t three in the morning back home, he knows Emma would be up for it.

He wouldn’t ask anyone to be awake at that ungodly hour for him.

“Have you finished your hair yet?” Ariel asks.

She’s sitting on his bed in his hotel room, has been for an hour even though he definitely did not invite her over, and he’s had to listen to her rambling about sponsorship pitches and contract negotiations and all the things he hates the entire time. So he’s spending a little extra time messing with his hair and shaving his beard. She’s used to this, of course, and probably knows the exact amount of time it’ll take him to get ready better than he does.

“Not quite, love.”

“You know you’re going to put it under a hat and get it all sweaty, right? It doesn’t matter what it looks like.”

Killian shakes his head and puts his razor down before walking out of the bathroom to peek his head over at Ariel. “Are you really that bored that you can’t find something else to do other than bother me?”

She sits up and props herself on her elbows, her red hair flowing down her back, but a small bit gets stuck in her eye. She quickly blows it off. “It’s a big match day, and you’re nervous. I’ve been sent here to keep you occupied so you can’t think about how nervous you are or how much you miss Emma or how much you want to write an entire book of poetry about how much you love her.”

“I have never said that last part,” he counters.

“But you’ve thought it, Mr. Darcy. You and your big ole heart and your obsession with your girlfriend and your baby.”

Killian chuckles and leans against the wall. He crosses his arms over his chest and arches a brow. “Am I not supposed to be in love with my girlfriend and our child?”

Ariel shrugs. “I just think that for someone who loves a woman that much, there might be a ring and a question rattling around somewhere.”

His eyes roll, and outwardly, he deals with the question with annoyance. Inwardly, his heart quickens and he thinks some things he’s been trying not to.

Some things that, well, shake him to his core and make his breathing a little more difficult than normal.

He and Emma have talked about marriage, but it’s always been brief, seemingly inconsequential. It’s something they’d consider a long way down the road, maybe when their lives are normal, when they can profess their love to each other without any professional blowbacks.

With how the game is progressing and how long players are starting to play now, and more than just the top guys, he doesn’t know when that’ll be.

Killian loves Emma. Emma loves him. They’ve both made each other better people and committed to each other and to their unborn daughter, and Killian doesn’t see that ever changing, marriage license or not.

“A,” he whispers, his fingers tapping over his bicep, “Whatever happens with us is as much up to Emma as it is to me. We like how things are now, and I can write a book of poetry on our love no matter if she is my wife or not.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I just want to go to that wedding. I feel like it would be the party of a lifetime.”

“Tell you what, I’ll take you to the party of a lifetime when I win this damn tournament. We’ll go clubbing like we both don’t go to bed for ten when we can.”

Ariel winks. “You’ve got yourself a deal. Now, come on, we’ve got things to do, and you’re making us late with all your unnecessary primping.”

“Because I’m that damn good-looking and should accentuate it when I can.”

Ariel rises from the bed wand comes over to pat his shoulder. “Whatever you tell yourself to sleep that night.”

-/-

Killian runs through his practice with ease, and he feels good. He’s seeing the ball clearly, doesn’t feel any aches in his body, and though his opponent has handed Killian’s ass to him on a silver platter many times, he’s feeling good about tonight.

Until he isn’t.

It’s the second set when it happens.

Killian is up a set and has two break points to solidify a lead when he’s running down a forehand and loses his footing on the court. His ankle is the first thing to twist, and before he can think, he’s propelling forward toward the ground.

For the entirety of his life, Killian has been told not to fall on his wrists. It’s the first thing any athlete learns. Hell, it’s the first thing anyone learns, but instinct takes over him in that moment. He’s trying to keep from landing flat on his face, and so he lands on his left wrist.

His fucking left wrist, which has caused him trouble his entire career.

Now, though, as he sits on his courtside chair and the tournament medical examiner touches him, he knows this is worse than any injury he’s had in the past.

Fucking hell, he has to pull out of the tournament.

He doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to play for the rest of the season.

Shit.  

Should have fallen on his face and knocked out his teeth. He could still play with no teeth.

-/-

“It’s a fracture,” a doctor tells him that night as he sits in a hospital bed in nothing but one of those awful paper gowns. “You’ll want to consult with your physicians back in Britain, but I’d say a ten-week recovery at the least, six months at most.”

“That’s not exactly a short time span,” Killian grumbles. “You can’t give me something more exact?”

He shrugs. “I think it’ll most likely be about three months for you, but you won’t know until you start playing again. It’s more the rehab than the recovery that I would worry about.”

“Thank you, Dr. Weissman,” Rob tells the doc, dismissing him before Killian can take the piss out of the man for doing his job. Dr. Weissman nods and leaves the room, and all that’s left are Killian, Rob, and Ariel. Nemo is back at the hotel, probably watching the video of Killian ruining their season over and over again. “How are you feeling, Jones?”

“Just peachy,” he lies, flashing them his brightest smile before it falls. He pushes his hair back and yanks at the strands, pulling hard enough for it to hurt. “Fuck.”

What has he done to himself?

People are playing longer now, but what if he isn’t one of those? What if this is the injury that begins the slow deterioration of his career? The one that whittles him away from a great player to a star trying too hard to hang onto his shine?

He hates himself for even thinking that because it’s conceited and self-loathing and all the other things he’s tried not to be lately. He was the one who had to talk Emma through something similar, to tell her that the pregnancy wouldn’t be the end of her career, that one day she’d be standing at the top of the podium again with a shiny trophy in hand.

It all felt so convincing when he was telling her that.

But he’s also an asshole who can seldom take his own advice.

And what Emma is going through is much harder than what he is, so how dare he even compare the two situations?

Seriously.

Fuck.

-/-

February 2015. 

David picks him up at the airport in Florida, but it could have been a stranger and Killian wouldn’t know the difference. He’s been moping on a plane for twenty-four hours and doesn’t notice much of anything.

That is until he walks in the front door of his home and is wrapped in the tightest embrace he’s ever felt. Emma, like always, smells of vanilla and flowers, and he inhales her scent. It’s been a month without it, and he never wants to lose it again. Her hand comes into his hair, scratching down to his skull, and she pulls him as close as possible, her stomach pressed between them. She’s seven months along now, was six when he left, and the difference feels almost impossible to describe.

He tries not to think of all he’s missed, not when he’s back in her arms once more.

What a beautiful place to be.

He’s thought that his world was falling apart, that he had no control over anything, and it was one disaster after another.

As his uninjured arm run up and down Emma’s back and he continues to breathe in her scent and her warmth, he’s reminded that his world, the most important one, is more solid than it’s been since he lost Liam.

If his brother could see him in this moment, even when his mind and body are at low points, Killian would hope that Liam would be proud of Killian’s accomplishments instead of disappointed in Killian’s failures.

“I missed you,” Emma whispers against his cheek.

“I missed you, too, Swan. You have no idea how much.”

“Are you okay?”

“I will be.” His hand comes to rest in her ponytail. “I promise I will be.”

-/-

The world seems to stop for the both of them, and it’s not just because Killian spends his first week at home moping in bed, watching more TV than he has in years. Emma joins him, lounging with her legs crossed over his, basically using his body to make herself comfortable when her back is sore, and if it weren’t for food delivery services, they likely wouldn’t eat. Well, at the very least, they wouldn’t eat any proper meals. Emma’s doctor wouldn’t like that.

Killian’s doctor, on the other hand, has encouraged him to stay active but to rest his wrist. He’s not supposed to pick up a racket except to lightly hit a few forehands, and he definitely isn’t supposed to do any weight work in the gym lest he wants his arms to become horribly unbalanced.

It’s a change in lifestyle, and Killian hates it.

He obviously still hates himself because he spends a hell of a lot of time online looking at articles and tweets about the Australian Open. Half of them are about him, half are about the eventually winners, and a small sprinkling are about how Emma couldn’t defend her title because of her pregnancy.

That sends him into another spiral, and in the darkness of their bedroom, he reads article after article about how Emma Swan will never come back to the game, about how she’s ruined her career, about how if she does come back, she shouldn’t have a protected ranking because pregnancy is not an injury and does not merit any help in building back a ranking.

Absolute bullshit.

How is the WTA the largest sports organization for women and yet it has no pregnancy protections for its players?

That sets him off more than anything else, and as Killian reads article after article and tweet after tweet, and he hopes to God that Emma hasn’t spent her nights reading this like he has.

What kind of darkness has he stumbled into, and how does he get out of it?

“Get up.”

Killian groans and rolls over, burying his face in his pillow and trying to go back to the sleep he didn’t know he’d fallen into. His head is screaming at him.

“KJ, get up.” He feels Emma’s hands on him, shaking his shoulders, but he ignores her. The last thing he wants to do is open his eyes and get out of bed. “My water broke.”

He immediately flips over and sits up, staring at Emma who is standing over the bed with her arms crossed over her chest. “Are you serious? What are you doing just standing there? Have you called your doctor? It’s too soon for your water to have broken.”

Her eyes roll. “My water did not break. It’s noon, and you’re still in bed. Get up.”

“Now, that’s just cruel. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“I didn’t expect for you to be coherent enough to really listen.” Emma sits down on the edge of the bed and leans in to kiss his cheek and brush his hair back. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“Now I’m never going to believe you if you tell me your water has broken.”

Emma shrugs. “Next time I say it, I promise I will mean it.” Her hands wander down his side, moving over his collarbones and through tufts of hair on his chest. She’s always fond of doing that. “Look, I get the moping and the internet doom scrolling. I’ve been through that, and I support you doing whatever you need to do.”

“I feel like there’s a but coming.”

“But,” Emma continues, “this baby girl is coming in two months, possibly less, and I don’t know if you’ve looked in the nursery since you got home, but it’s all boxes and disassembled furniture.”

“You didn’t get to all that while I was gone?” She yanks on his hair, and he grits his teeth to keep from yelping. “Only teasing, love.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t get to it. All of this baby stuff freaks me out and after putting together one railing for the crib and having a hormonal meltdown because I didn’t want it to be my fault if the crib fell apart while she was sleeping in it, I stopped. Figured it’d be better if you were here.”

“So that it’d be my fault if the crib fell apart?”

“Exactly.” She tilts her head toward the bedroom door. “I made you coffee, so get your ass out of bed and lend me a hand.”

He raises his broken, wrapped up wrist. “Was that pun intended?”

“Believe it or not, no.” She leans in to kiss his cheek once more. “I’m not going to kick you while you’re down.”

“You’re just going to kick me out of bed.”

“Exactly.”

His legs slowly drag him out of bed and to the kitchen, where he takes the pain medication he’s allowed to take, downs some water, and drinks his coffee. It’ll be awhile before the caffeine and medication kick in, so he tries to blink himself awake to get rid of the sleepiness and the pain.

It doesn’t work.

He does, however.

Emma’s been up for awhile and has moved all the boxes in the nursery into their own sections. It’s just as chaotic as it was before, but it at least looks a little more put together. Killian settles down in front of the crib, reads through the instructions, and he starts piecing things together while Emma works on the dresser. She flits around the room, helping him when he needs it, and as much as he’d like to say they finish quickly, they don’t. It takes them all morning just to do those two pieces of furniture and for him to fix the roller on the glider, and he’s exhausted.

Maybe he can convince Emma to take a nap with him later.

After he exercises. He has to move a little today. His body hasn’t been this stiff on a non-tournament day in ages.

Okay, so maybe nap first, then exercise. That sounds like a better plan.

“What the bloody hell is this doing in here?” Killian asks. He bends down and picks up Emma’s gold medal, dangling it on his arm, which is a much safer space than the floor under a stack of books where it was.

“Oh, yeah,” Emma hums, “Mary Margaret wanted me to display that in here.”

“Why?”

“Well, she wanted me to put some of my trophies in here, but I said that was weird and probably a little dangerous. But then she suggested we do, like, this little wall collage of some things about us for her. That’s the achievement I’m proudest of, at least professionally, and I figured it would be kind of badass for my kid to know her mom was an Olympian.”

“Is,” Killian corrects while he walks toward Emma and tucks some strands of hair behind her ear. “Her mom is an Olympian. Present tense.”

Emma shakes her head and looks away, eyelids covering those beautiful green eyes of hers. “Was. I don’t know if I’ll ever get back to competition, Killian. I’ve been reading what exactly my body is going to go through, which, big mistake by the way, and I don’t know how I’m going to get back into competition shape to work my way back up to the top. I spent most of my life conditioning my body to be an athlete. I don’t think it knows how to be a mom and an athlete.”

“You’re always going to be an Olympian and an athlete,” he promises, meaning every word, “and it’s not going to be easy getting back. The cards are fucking stacked against you. But if there’s anyone who can persevere through hardship, it’s you. And me and the babe will be right here with you.”

“Except you’ll probably be back on tour traveling again. Hopefully your wrist will be healed soon, way before she comes.”

Killian leans forward and dips his head down to rest his forehead against Emma’s. “I’m staying with the two of you for as long as I can. Can’t get rid of me that easily, Swan. You’re stuck with me for life.”

“That isn’t as appealing sounding as you think it is.”

Killian tilts his head back with laughter before kissing Emma’s temple. He still hasn’t brushed his teeth this morning and has some major coffee breath. He’s surprised she hasn’t kicked him out of the house yet. She surely will if he attempts to kiss her.

“Let’s install these shelves and then go take a nap, yeah? Get rid of all our fears for a little while with sleeping. Maybe we’ll even go for a walk tonight since the neighborhood is now extra secure.”

“Sounds like a plan, KJ. Oh,” Emma gasps, moving away from him and reaching into a basket to pull out an old book. “I meant to tell you this, but I was shopping for books online and I found one from when I was a kid. I used to read it in the foster system, and I don’t know, it would bring me comfort. I thought maybe it would be a good name for her.”

She hands him the book, and he looks over the cover, reading the words written in large print.

“Olivia,” he whispers, sounding out the name on his tongue. “Olivia Swan-Jones.”

He can’t wait to meet her.

And he can’t wait for her to see what a badass her mom is, and how Emma is definitely going to stand at the top of that podium again.

Hopefully he is too.

-/-

-/-

tag list: @capthamm​ @qualitycoffeethings​ @klynn-stormz​ @scarletslippers​ @jrob64​ @snowbellewells​ @therealstartraveller776​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @sherifemma​ @galaxyzxstark​ @galadriel26​ @idristardis​ @karenfrommisthaven​ @teamhook​ @spartanguard​ @searchingwardrobes​ @jamif​ @shireness-says​ @ultimiflos​ @nikkiemms @onepunintendid​ @bluewildcatfanatic​ @superchocovian​ @killianswannn​ @carpedzem​ @captainkillianswanjones​ @mayquita​ @marrtinski​ @mayquita​ @mariakov81​ @jennjenn615​ @onceuponaprincessworld​ @a-faekindagirl​ @scientificapricot​ @xellewoods​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @stahlop​ @kmomof4​ @tiganasummertree​ @singersdd​ @tornadoamy​ @cluttermind​ @lfh1226-linda @itsfabianadocarmo​ @iam2307​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @kktabjones​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @ouatxxxxx​

[hopelikethemoon]

Pretty Woman (Javier x Reader) {MTMF} [smut]

Title: Pretty Woman Rating: Explicit Length: 3700 Warnings: Angst (discussions of depression, therapy, etc.) and Smut (Bathtub sex) Notes: You can find the Maybe Today, Maybe Forever Timeline here. Set in September late 1997. It starts with Javier POV and jumps to Reader’s.  Summary: Javier and Reader go to therapy and try to work on things.

Taglist:  @grapemama​​​​​  @seawhisperer​​​​​ @huliabitch​​​​​ @pedropascalito​​​​​ @rogrsnbarnes​​​​ @thewallpapergoesorido​​​​​ @twomoonstwosuns​​​ @gooddaykate​​​​ @livasaurasrex​​​ @ham4arrow​​​ @hiscyarika​​​​ @plexflexico​​​ @readsalot73​​​ @hdlynn​​​ @lokiaddicted​​​​ @randomness501​​​ @fioccodineveautunnale​​​  @roxypeanut​​​ @just-add-butter​​​ @snivellusim​​​ @amarvelousmandalorian​​​​ @lukesrighthand​​​ @historynerd04​​​ @mrsparknuts​​​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​​​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​​​ @exrebelshocktrooper​​​​ @awesomefandomsunited​​​ @ah-callie​​​ @swhiskeys​​ @lady-tano​​​ @beskar-droids​​​ @space-floozy @cable-kenobi​​​ @longitud-de-onda​​​ @cool-ultra-nerd​​​ @himbopoes​​​ @findhimfives​​​ @pedrosdoll​​​ @seeking-a-greatt-perhaps​​​ @frietiemeloen​​​ @arrowswithwifi​​​ @random066​​​ (more tags in the replies)

Javier slowly rocked his lower jaw as he stared at the therapist. The older woman had asked him to ‘talk about what was on his mind’. There was a lot on his mind. How specific did she want him to get? 

He scrubbed his hands over his face, glancing to his left towards the window. It was a gorgeous day outside, it seemed like a damned shame to be trapped inside talking to a shrink. He’d had to talk to therapists before. Psych evaluations were a commonplace when you handled guns for the government. But none of that ever delved into the sort of shit this meeting was supposed to delve into. 

“Whenever you feel ready, Mr. Peña.” 

Javier swallowed thickly, slowly looking back at Nancy. “There’s a lot to say.” He admitted, brows drawn together as he rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip. 

“Let’s start at the beginning, alright? How did the two of you meet?”

“Work.” Javier scratched at his jaw. “She came to Colombia in 1987.” 

Nancy nodded slowly, “And when did your relationship begin?”

“1992.” He sank back on the sofa, rubbing at the back of his neck, letting his hand linger there at the curve of his throat. “Our daughter was born the following year.” 

She wrote something down in her notebook, nodding her head thoughtfully. “And how was that experience for you, Javier?”

There it was. 

“Not great.” Javier admitted, staring at the ground. “It was a fucked up situation for both of us. We kept our relationship a secret for about a year. I wasn’t really involved, at all, during the pregnancy.” 

“Why not?”

“She cared about her job at the DEA more than I did. I mean, her reservations weren’t without cause. They treated her like shit for being pregnant. Knowing what I know now, I don’t blame her.” Javier shifted in his seat. “We’ve hashed all of this out before. It’s a dead horse we keep beating.” 

“What do you mean by keep beating? That implies you’ve had this conversation with her more than once.” 

He clenched his teeth together and nodded. “Yeah.” Javier twisted the ring on his left finger nervously. “Look, I know I’m not fucking innocent in all of this. I think I fell in love with her in the summer of ‘89. Or at least realized I was in love with her.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I knew she deserved better than me—”

Nancy interjected, “What do you mean by that?” 

“That she deserves better than me? Exactly what I said.” 

“Why do you think that?”

“You’ve met her.” Javier folded his arms across his chest, feeling defensive. “She’s perfect and I’m… Look, I’ve fucked up a lot. I can own that.” 

“No one is perfect,” Nancy shook her head slowly. “Do you think that might put a weight on her?”

“What?” Javier frowned. “I think she’s perfect. That’s my personal opinion and that’s not going to change.”

“Isn’t that opinion the reason why you don’t think you’re good enough for her?”

He looked away. “No.”

“Then what is the reason?”

Javier pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, “I don’t know where to begin with that one, Nancy.” He admitted, rubbing at the crease between his brows. “I fucked up a lot before her. Before our relationship.” He exhaled heavily, “She was a damn good agent and I’m the reason she had to leave that behind.” 

“Do you feel guilty about that?”

“So many questions.” He huffed. “Yeah. Of course I feel guilty about it.”

“But you feel responsible for her losing her job?”

Javier swallowed thickly. “Yeah.”

“And why is that?”

“That night was a long time coming, but I shouldn’t… We were both drunk.”

“You were both under the influence.”

“I think we were shot for shot.” He frowned, thinking back to that night. “Yeah, we were. She left before I had the chance to tell her that I didn’t want it to be a one night stand.”

“Do you resent her for that?”

Javier rubbed his thumb over the ring on his finger, nodding slowly. “But I’m just as much at fault. I chose not to confront her for three months. I thought she just didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“And how long has it been since your daughter was born?” Nancy questioned. 

“Josie? She’ll be five in May.”

“No, your newborn.” She made a note in her journal, before flipping back a few pages, humming thoughtfully.

“She’s three months old.”

“I see.” She nodded. “You have a pattern, Javier. Something happens and you wait… What are you waiting for?”

Javier stared at a spot just above Nancy’s head, his jaw clenched tight. “I decided a long time ago that I would rather have some of her, rather than none of her.” He admitted, rubbing at his eyes then. They burned with the pull of emotion he felt. “I love her.”

“There is no question that either of you love each other. You shield each other from your own pain at the detriment of your wellbeing.” She closed her journal, shaking her head. “You understand what your partner is going through, don’t you?”

Javier nodded slowly, “Postpartum depression. I should’ve seen it sooner. She wasn’t herself, but I just thought...” 

“That what happened in Colombia was happening again?”

“That she almost died and she realized she didn’t want this.” 

“But that isn’t the case, is it?” 

Javier shook his head. “I checked out a book at the library. I want to figure out how I can help her.” 

“The fact that you’re here is proof enough.” Nancy told him warmly. “I have worked with couples who refused to participate. Husbands — partners — who didn’t think they needed to be involved in this process.” 

“I want to help her.” Javier said resolutely. “I want to help both of us get back to where we were before. Better than we were before.” 

He knew there was shit. Unintentional pain they’d inflicted on each other. And this funky little room with a bonsai tree, miniature fountain, and overstuffed sofa was going to be the place they figured it out. 

Nancy smiled at him, “You both love each other very much, Javier. That is not something you should worry about with her.” 

“Thank you.” He said, rubbing his hands together. “Is there… homework or something?”

“There is.” She laughed softly. “I’m suggesting that both of you engage in intimacy with each other before our next session. It doesn’t have to be anything more than holding each other’s hands or perhaps even a massage. But I want you to listen to each other and speak to each other.” 

“And that’s it?” Javier frowned, leaning forward. “Shouldn’t there be more homework?”

“The issues you’re both facing won’t be solved overnight.” 

“Well, thank you.” Javier glanced at his watch. “I have to go pick the kids up from the sitter.” 

“I’ll see you next week.” 

 ----

 Therapy was weird. You had spent so many years bottling everything up. For a while you had Connie, Steve, and Javier to vent with, but then the Murphys left and your relationship with Javier changed. And then you had Connie again — but even with her there were issues you didn’t want to burden her with.

So you carried the burden. 

That was something you had identified with Nancy. You and Javier were two extremely similar people. Whether it had always been that way or proximity had guaranteed it — you reacted similarly. 

Which did fuck all when it came to voicing frustrations. 

For three months you slept beside Javier, oblivious to the fact that he thought you’d unofficially ended things with him. Either he was too good at hiding his emotions or you had been too wrapped up in yourself. 

And you had. 

Nancy reassured you that everything you were feeling was valid. Those fears, self-doubts, worries — they weren’t your fault. But you’d have to work to get rid of them. And it might not be easy. 

You weren’t particularly fond of the way she had you reflect on your relationship with Javier. There were sore spots that were still sore and she knew exactly how to salt the wound. 

“Are we allowed to talk about therapy?” You questioned, tucking your legs beneath you as you settled onto the sofa, grabbing the blanket off the back and pulling it around you. “Or is it a secret society?”

Javier hummed thoughtfully, clicking his tongue against his teeth as he settled down onto the sofa beside you. “She didn’t say.” He glanced at you. “I won’t tell if you won’t tell.”

You laughed softly, shuffling closer to him so you could sink into his side. “I found it frustrating, but in a good way.”

He readjusted the blanket so it was around both of you, curling his arm around your waist and pulling you in closer. “Yeah. It was rough. I didn’t think it was revolutionary—“

“No!” You shook your head. 

“But it was nice to talk to someone outside of it.” Javier squeezed your arm. “Did she give you homework?”

“A journal.” You answered. “She wants me to write down the good things that happen every day.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

Javier tilted his head to look at you, “She told me to engage in intimacy.”

You blushed. “That’s definitely because of my session.” You turned into him, pressing your face against his shoulder to hide the warmth in your cheeks. 

“Now you’re gonna have to tell me, baby.”

You groaned, shaking your head. “It’s so stupid.”

“I’m sure it isn’t.” He rubbed your back. “Tell me.”

You pinched his side lightly. “Shut up.” 

“Ow.” Javier laughed. “I wonder what Nancy will think about that.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Really?”

“Javier.” You pursed your lips and attempted to pout, but he was undeterred. Nancy had told you to discuss things after all. “Fine.” You crossed your arms across your chest and sighed. “I don’t even remember what we were discussing, but we got onto the topic of sex and how that area of our life was.”

“Ah.”

“You should’ve realised where this was going.” You scolded him. “We’ve had our dry spells. But you haven’t touched me since April.”

Javier raked his fingers through his hair, sighing heavily. “Because I was afraid.”

“I know. But it’s almost October.”

“And with everything you’ve been dealing with—“

“Almost seven months.”

“Shit.” He rubbed at his jaw. “How the hell has it been that long?”

“I’m not breakable.” You reminded him. 

“I know you’re not.” He squeezed your shoulder three short times, before he leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“And sex is good for mental health.” 

“Well then, it’s decided.” He teased lightly, playing his fingers over your hair. 

“Let’s watch the movie and see where the night goes.” You told him, reaching up to brush your fingers over his jawline. “Does that sound like a plan?”

He nodded. 

 ——

“Is that movie why you wanted a big bathtub?” Javier questioned, arms folded against his chest as he watched you leaning over the side of the tub to test the temperature.

“Maybe.” You clicked your tongue against your teeth and stood up straight, turning around to face him. “You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.”

“It was an interesting choice.” He drawled out, pushing away from the wall, taking a step towards you. There was a look in his eyes that had your heart racing. “That piano scene.”

You smirked at him. “Right?” You tilted your head as he drew nearer, your breath wavering as he crowded into your space. “Were you inspired?” Fuck. You hoped the answer was yes. You had missed this — him. 

Javier canted his head to the side as he closed the distance between you, his breath was hot against your lips, but he didn’t kiss you. Not yet. 

He ran his hands along your waist dragging them down to your hips. There was a certain reverence to his touch. “I don’t know how he did it. Not kissing her.” He lifted his hand and traced his thumb over your bottom lip. 

“Because it makes for a good movie.” You whispered, curling your fingers around the back of his neck. “But don’t make me wait, Javi” 

Javier brushed his lips against yours, hesitantly at first, before he slanted his mouth hungrily over yours. It was the sort of stoke-your-fire kiss that you had been dying for. Even after Sofia, you had just wanted to be kissed like you were alive. Passion, need, want. 

But you didn’t dwell on the past. 

You moaned against his mouth, your fingers sliding through his hair. With your other hand, you started to unbutton his shirt, greedily trying to get under the layers that he’d kept between the two of you.

Javier had the same idea, peeling off your sleep pants, fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear before he stopped. He pulled back, looking downwards. “I haven’t seen these in awhile.” 

“I was hoping the movie might be inspiring.” You whispered, sliding your hand over his chest seductively, before you took a step back to pull off your top, showing off your matching bra. “You like?”

He leaned down to kiss you again, dragging his teeth over your bottom lip. “I love it.” He brushed his nose against yours. “I love you.” Javier trailed a row of kisses along your jawline, down your throat, his tongue darting out over your collarbone. 

You reached for the counter behind you, fingers gripping at it for support as Javier’s mouth continued downwards. He pressed open-mouthed kissed over your stomach, leaving no patch of skin untouched. He nipped at you, teeth catching soft skin before his tongue soothed the same spot. 

Javier rose back up to his full height, his hand slipping in between your thighs as his mouth caught yours again. You draped your arms over his shoulders, nails scraping against his back as you rocked into his touch. 

He stroked his fingers over your cunt through your underwear, his thumb expertly finding that little bundle of nerves that had arousal flooding your system. You were already slick with want, you could feel the way your underwear was clinging to you. Feeling his fingers on you was better than anything you could’ve done for yourself. 

You reached down to work on his pants. You fumbled with his belt, forcing it open, before you slid down the zipper and shoved them down his hips. 

Javier took a step back and kicked them off, followed by his boxers. You couldn’t resist leaning back against the counter and raking your eyes over his naked flesh. “Like what you see?” He questioned with a smirk.

“Oh, yeah.” You laughed breathlessly. You moved in close to him, one hand sliding around the back of his neck as you leaned up to kiss him, while your other hand moved downwards and curled around his cock. You stroked him slowly, your thumb dragging along the underside of his cock — before you released him and stepped around him with a teasing grin. “The bath is getting cold.” 

You could feel Javier’s eyes on you as you leaned over the side of the tub and tested the temperature again. He took the bait. He moved towards you, his hands curling around your hips, sliding up your waist. With deft fingers he unclasped the back of your bra, before dragging your underwear down your thighs. 

“Javi.” You breathed out as you stood back up, leaning back against him. His mouth was at the crook of your neck, his tongue darting out to tease you there. His hand skimmed over your stomach, fingers leaving patterns against your skin. 

“Baby,” Javier whispered. You tilted your head to look at him. “Can I tell you that you’re perfect?”

Your brows furrowed and you laughed. “Yes?” 

“Because you are.” He drawled out, squeezing your hip as you turned around to face him. You ran your hands over his arms, tilting your head as you looked up at him. “You’re fucking perfect to me.” 

You smiled up at him, “Why don’t you get in the bathtub and you can show me how perfect you think I am.”

Javier sank down into the first bathtub first, wet fingers gliding through his dark hair as he settled back against the wall of the tub. Your eyes wandered over him, watching the way the water lapped at his skin as he moved in it. The way his cock jutted upwards from beneath the water. Fuck. 

“I missed you.” You whispered as you climbed into the bathtub and settled onto his lap. 

Javier gently trailed his fingers over your breast, his fingers curling around your ribs, “Can I?” He questioned, brushing his thumbs over the skin beneath your breasts. 

You nodded slowly as you leaned in to kiss him. A moan slipped past your lips as he grasped at your breasts, palming them roughly. One time, years ago, you told him not to touch your breasts, and ever since then he still asked you for permission to fondle you. No one could claim he didn’t listen to you. 

You pressed your forehead against his, breathing raggedly as you lifted up on your knees. “Need you.” You mumbled, curling your fingers around his cock as you guided him to your center. 

Javier hissed out your name as you sank down onto his cock, his hips rocking upwards to meet you. You clenched around him as you settled back into his lap. “Fuck.” He leaned back against the tub. “You feel so fucking good, baby.” He ran his hand over your stomach, before he grabbed at your hip tightly.

You arched your back, rolling your hips as you ground yourself against him. Everywhere he touched felt warm — and his hands were everywhere. He ran his hands along your sides, gripped at your hips hard enough to leave bruises, and cupped your breasts with both hands. There was no part of you that felt untouched by him. 

Javier drew his knees up behind you, causing you to lean forward. He tangled his fingers in your hair, cradling the back of your head as he drew you back to him so he could kiss you. His tongue slipped past your lips, dragging over your tongue as he kissed you so thoroughly. He started moving beneath you, his cock barely leaving you before his hips met yours once more. 

Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin. His hand smoothed up your back, clinging to you as you moved together. “Close.” You warned him, your inner walls already starting to flutter around him. 

“I know, baby. Let go.” Javier urged you as you worked his hand in between your bodies, his fingers seeking out that little bundle of nerves that would set you careening over the edge. Your body tensed, pleasure rocketing through you as he pressed into you — filling you up completely as you came apart around him. Your name was on his tongue as you felt him spill within you seconds later. 

You let yourself sink forward, resting against his chest as you basked in the pure pleasure of your release. You had missed that. The moment where it felt like the two of you were existing in the same space at the same time. 

“I love you.” You whispered, brushing your nose against his throat, smiling at the way he was running his hand up and down the length of your back. 

“I love you too.” Javier murmured, squeezing your hip. “Nancy might be worth her prices.”

You snorted. “Calm down Richard Gere. Are we going to talk therapy while we bathe?” You pulled back, grinning at him. 

The look of adoration you found in his eyes made your heart ache. “I’ve missed seeing you smile like that.” He lifted his hand and cupped your cheek. 

You leaned into his touch. “We’re not out of the woods yet, Javi. Sadly, I don’t think we can fuck my depression away. Though I’m not opposed to trying.” 

“We can give it a valiant effort.” Javier’s lips curved upwards at the corners. “I want us to get better.”

“Me too.” You sighed, tracing your fingertips over his chest. Reluctantly you rose up on your knees, letting his cock slip out of you so you could readjust yourself, laying back against his chest. 

Javier kissed your shoulder as he curled his arms around your waist. “What’s going in your journal today?” He questioned, nuzzling your shoulder.

“Josie drew me about a dozen pictures while she was with Monica this afternoon.” You pursed your lips as you thought. “There was a breakthrough on a case at work, which was nice. I actually felt pretty excited about that.”

He splashed you playfully. 

“Easy!” You laughed. “I’m getting there. And finally, convincing you to finally watch Pretty Woman with me is my last entry for the day.”

“That’s all?”

“Oh, am I supposed to put sex in my journal?” You tilted your head to grin back at him. 

“That’s my proof that I’m doing my homework.” He teased. 

“Don’t worry, babe. You’re in the journal.” You promised him. 

You knew you weren’t going to suddenly overcome this. But for the first time in weeks you actually did feel good. Maybe it was talking to Nancy, maybe it was finally figuring out why things between you and Javier had been strained. 

But that didn’t change the fact that an unwelcome visitor would still crawl into your mind tonight and try to convince you that you weren’t enough for your family. Tomorrow you would still catch yourself floundering under the weight of your worries. There was no magic switch that made it go away. You had to keep fighting it until one day it wasn’t lurking around the corners of your mind. 

These were the good moments that reminded you of what you were fighting for.

[tamakiamajikistentacles]

Breathe For Me {Hitoshi Shinsou}

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! So sorry it took me so long to get this out to you all, especially with how short it is but thank you so much for your patience. September had a lot of unexpected things come up but here’s hoping we don’t have any more surprises!

From the moment the call went out on her radio that one of the heroes on the scene was down, a weight settled uncomfortably in her chest. It grew heavier as the attack that had put them out was described and when they finally said a name she was sure it had squeezed all of the air from her lungs.

“I’m closest, I’ll get to him,” she radioed back, moving through debris despite hesitant protests crackling back at her from colleagues and heroes alike.

She ignored all of them, pressing forward as she tried to breathe. She had to breathe.

She couldn’t understand how teachers in a renowned hero high school could pile so much work onto first years, and general studies at that. Two essays and four exams in one week had taken so much out of her and it was only Thursday. Honestly she wasn’t sure how she was going to get through Friday and surely a pop quiz or two. Just thinking about what else her class would need to do was enough to have her stressed to the point where her neck and shoulders ached from tension.

Her bag hung heavy in her hand as she made her way through the halls of UA towards her locker. It wasn’t until she was double-checking her notes to ensure she had everything she needed for her homework that she realized her English textbook was still on her desk.

Letting out a heavy sigh she trekked back to her classroom and grabbed the book, tucking it into her bag and retracing her steps back to her locker for her coat. She froze mid-step on the stairway though as a bright bolt of lightning flashed beyond the darkened window to her left.

It felt like her entire being was crashing down as a loud crack of thunder followed the flash and she slumped down onto the stairs, face buried in her hands as hot tears began to pool in her eyes at the realization that she didn’t have her umbrella.

Looking back on that moment later she was aware how trivial it seemed to be crying over not having an umbrella, especially when her coat was a windbreaker with a hood that was more than fine for the quick walk to and from the train station on her way home, but it was simply the final push over the edge after a week of compounding stress.

The tears flowed faster the longer she sat there, her sobs growing louder as they bounced off of the walls of the stairwell as her shoulders shook. Her chest heaved with each wild breath she tried to catch until her lungs wouldn’t take anything in, her throat constricting as her skin heated in panic.

If she couldn’t handle a little unexpected rain how was she supposed to keep her head when she was a first responder? If she couldn’t balance first year high school work how could she expect herself to save someone in need? If she—

“Hey, you need some help?”

She looked up with wide, wet eyes to meet concerned purple ones.

“It’s a panic attack, we can get you through this, okay?”

Blinking rapidly and feeling her cheeks flush even more with slight embarrassment, she nodded and garbled out some variation of the world ‘yes.’

A small smile crossed his lips and an emotion she didn’t recognize flashed in his eyes, but she focused instead on his hands gently taking hers.

“Breathe for me,” he said softly.

For the next few moments he guided her through breathing, his hands raising hers slowly as they took matching breaths for so many counts and lowering as they blew them out. With each breath she could almost feel the blooming spores of anxiety wither inside of her lungs.

When she had calmed down, he let his hands fall from hers and scooted back on the step they both shared.

He smiled. “Feel better?”

“Yeah… thank you,” she murmured, pulling her sleeve down to wipe at the mostly dry tears on her cheeks. “Thank you for helping.”

“Oh, you’re welcome. My panic attacks get pretty bad too,” he admitted sheepishly, “so I know how much they suck. I’m happy I could help.”

They sat in an easy silence with only the pattern of rain beyond the window pane audible. Then she turned and introduced herself quietly, grinning as she did the same.

“Well Shinsou, I’ve got a train to catch to get home but I hope you know how much you helped.”

“What kinda hero course student would I be if I didn’t?” he joked, standing to walk her to her locker.

She remembered laughing and making small talk about their respective classes as she gathered her coat and they set out together to the train station, learning that he was a second-year transfer from general studies to the hero course and that he lived not too far from her.

It was the start of something beautiful that first time he made such a request for her breath.

He requested it again many times throughout that year as she felt the overload from schoolwork and when she felt she wasn’t giving him her all as a girlfriend once they got to that point in their relationship.

He said it in a soft coo each time he came back from a work study battered and bruised but alive.

He huffed it through tearful laughter as she sobbed that now that he’d graduated from UA she wouldn’t see him as often and followed it with a promise to talk to her every day.

He murmured it against her lips as he kissed her just after surprising her with the question of moving in with him upon her own graduation ceremony’s conclusion.

He whispered it into her hair after she cried happy tears following a choked “yes” when he presented her with a ring for her left hand and a simple question.

Each time she would comply. When he asked so sincerely, she would always breathe for him.

The memories played on a loop in her mind as her feet carried her around piles of rubble and through clouds of dust and smoke until she could see a battered body in the charred remains of an office flower garden a few meters ahead. The sight of pale skin against the rust-colored mulch sent chills down her spine as she grew closer until she was able to drop to her knees beside him.

Dark bruises had blossomed during the length of time he’d been in the thick of the villain attack but the inflamed color on his chest served as evidence of the hit described over the comm. His hero suit was torn off completely from the waist up and his support items were nowhere to be found.

She laid shaking fingers against his neck to search for his pulse and her heart jumped into her throat when she couldn’t find it. Her other hand hovered over his parted lips and she couldn’t feel breath from either his mouth or his nose and her panic skyrocketed.

“No,” she murmured, her hands dropped to his chest, “no, no, no, no, no.”

Pure, ice-cold fear gripped her chest and made it nearly impossible for her to take in a breath but she sucked in as much air as she could as she threw down her medical bag. There was no time to freeze, no time to fight for air in her own lungs when Shinsou needed it more.

Making sure he was in the best position she let her training take over and started chest compressions. Tears welled in her eyes as that ridiculous old British song played on a loop on her head to help her keep the rhythm steady. When she would lean down to breath for him his lips were warm just like always but it wasn’t the same when they weren’t pressing back.

His handsome face was smudged with dirt and maybe blood but she didn’t care, the now-falling tears leaving clean streaks down his cheeks as if he himself were the one crying.

The sight broke her and pitchy, gasping sobs came from her as she continued trying to revive him, her compressions frantic and probably too rough, sure to leave even more bruises on his smooth skin.

She wanted to bargain with whatever higher power would listen and be benevolent enough to bring him back but she knew in her heart that it wouldn’t help her. This was her job and she would do it—he would breathe again because of her. He had to.

Through her tears and the sobs wracking her body she could only manage three words, echoing the soft order that served as their first meeting—"Breathe for me!"

Long moments stretched on as she continued chest compressions and giving him every panicked breath she could, the phrase chanted like the prayer it was. Until finally, with a choked gasp, violet eyes opened and sucked in a long-awaited breath.

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! This was actually surprisingly difficult for me to write but I’m happy its finally finished!

[themadauthorshatter]

It's September, witches, bitches, and litches(I'mso sorry for any offense, I was trying to be funny!)!

Let's see what mischief is in for the Skellington triplets this time!!!!

It is the next day in sunny Halloween Town and Jacob has been let off the hook for the day's meeting, so Jack and the Mayor can discuss something in private.

That leaves Jacob free to do whatever he pleases!

WITH LUNA AND DAEMON AT HIS SIDE.

He asks why they're following him and Luna states sharply that Jack told her to keep an eye of Jacob so he doesn't do anything crazy. That makes sense, but why is Daemon following?

He's BORED.

Jacob's glad to hear that, at least, because he's going to keep his brother entertained with an exploration around town, specifically what's on the outer limits of the town.

Luna warns him against it and Daemon's skeptical, but neither are able to stop Jacob as he slips through the bars of the town gate, explaining that they should stop him, then.

Daemon follows because he's bored, but Luna also follows, very reluctant.

Jacob teases her, asking if she's afraid.

She's not afraid. She doesn't want to get in trouble, lest they forget how mad their parents get when they misbehave.

Jacob corrects her: They don't get in trouble, if they don't do something they're not supposed to.

Luna, fed up, asks if he's been hanging around those bastards Lock, Shock, and Barrel, who are listening behind some tombstones and are all very offended by Luna's insult toward them.

And Jacob's response that no, he'd never go within a mile radius of those three reprobates, not with being the next Pumpkin King amd his father on his back.

Luna asks if he DOESN'T WANT to be his father's heir and Jacob kicks up a stick, asking back if SHE'D like the position instead.

She doesn't, because Jacob is the eldest, therefore making him the heir by tradition. And he's a boy, which us another strike against her.

Daemon reminds them both that tradition and gender be damned, they're ALL the same age. Imagine a Halloween with all three of them after Jack steps down.

Jacob muses that it sounds like fun while Luna sighs that she'll be the ring leader of two out of control hell hounds that are her brothers.

Daemon gawks at her, because he doesn't even take his EYES off of the line, much less set a toe outside of it, so how dare she.

Before she can correct him, Jacob dashes up a hill and stands still, staring long enough for his siblings to catch up.

Turns out they found the treehouse Lock, Shock, and Barrel reside in, and where Oogie Boogie used to be.

Luna is a little freaked out at the fact that it has now started to fall apart and Daemon, who pulled himself up to look, dips back down because he heard rumors that there have been a alot of bugs that remained and are still residing there to this day.

Jacob asks, a little nervously, where these rumors came from and who's been saying them.

Daemon shrugs, admitting he just heard it from Corpse Kid and Vampire Kid and it just stuck with him because some bugs are kind of hard to kill.

And then there's the fact that Lock, Shock, and Barrel are still hanging around, for some stupid reason.

Luna hugs herself and notes that knowing WHO lived there, under the house, and what he did, it doesn't make any easier to look at, even with the knowledge that he's gone by their father's hand.

And Santa's boot, which Daemon adds before sighing that he'd actually like to meet old Saint Nick one day, if it's okay with Jack and Chris Kringle himself.

Those words make Jacob's uneasy look turn to determination as he clenches a fist; now he doesn't just want to exceed Jack and everyone else, he wants his brother to meet Santa Clause.

He's also mentally wondering how he missed the woods with the doors, seeing as how he knows the town very well by his age, even semi-hallucinating/visualizing a map he'd drawn to find the holiday doors.

He's pulled out of his thoughts when he hears Daemon shrieking and falling down the hill.

Turns out a butterfly is flying around him and won't leave him alone no matter how hard he tries to smack it away.

He shouts for either of his siblings to kill the butterfly because it's trying to kill him.

Luna pulls him up and swats it away, givung a sound of disgust because while she likes wearing dresses and playing with her hair, she's not a fan of things like butterflies.

She calls for Jacob, asking if he's coming, because Jack's bound to be finished with his meeting by now and is probably looking for them.

Jacob nods and follows them, after one last look at the treehouse and watching the butterfly circle him before flying away.

Luna was half right, Jack IS done with the meeting and is looking for them, except he brought Sally and Zero with him.

He asks where they've been, and Daemon somewhat saves Jacob's ass by saying they were looking for something interesting and found nothing, except for a good walk.

Somewhat because when asked what they were looking for specifically, he replies by offering the encounter with a killer butterfly.

Jack asks him to repeat so he KNOWS he heard that Daemon was attacked by a BUTTERFLY.

He was, and it did not help that Luna and Jacob stood by and did not help him in the slightest.

Sally, not buying this BS and genuinely curious, asks where their walk took them, while they walk home.

Luna offers an answer, which Jacob would know.

Jacob bites that she was there, too, so she should answer.

She would, but all she did was follow him, so his call.

Jack tells them to not argue because all they want to know is where they went, not if they had some sort of competition. He and Sally are asking because good on them for exploring a little and they want to know what their kids are up to.

Jacob relents and says they were just wandering until they accidentally found the old treehouse. They didn't go inside. They just went there and saw it from the outside, that's all.

Daemon backs his brother, saying they found it on accident and turned around, because it's evil.

Sally calms him by explaining the place itself is not evil, but kudos to the teiplets for no going in to explore.

Luna asks if it's because of all the bugs and Jack explains it is not because of the bugs. It's because he doesn't want them going in and getting trapped there with no way out, and doesn't want Lock, Shock, and Barrel to be anywhere near them because those three are still living in the house.

Jacob is silent as he listens, zoning out and thinking about the rumors and the fact his brother is probably going to be in on the idea of finding the holiday doors.

While the family continues home, the butterfly we saw earlier flies over to a crouching Lock, Shock, and Barrel, whispering into Lock's ear about what it found.

Shock asks what it's saying and Lock explains that they found their way of helping out their old friend, said way being a zoned out Jacob as the family returns to town.

With a bonehead even more clueless than Jack, it'll be easy to bring Oogie back, they just need to get him to walk a little further away than he should and they've got him.

Barrel, in a moment of realization, asks if they should really ask JACOB for help.

Sure, it'd hurt Jack the most, because Jacob's the eldest, and he's really good at sewing, but that's qhen he needs to keep his hands busy, and he's walked into trees mutiple times, sat and stared at a wall for hours on end, accidentally lit himself on fire, and made a bookshelf fall on top of him. To sum it up: he puts the E in idiot, for a guy who's his father's son.

He offers they go for Luna instead, who's worked in Dr. Finklestien's office the most, is very meticulous in her sewing, and is the only girl, so they can use that to draw her to them. Shock explains why THAT is a bad idea: Luna is not stupid. She has been sharp enough to see when people lie to her, just like Sally, and is the most obedient out of all three triplets, so she's a no go.

Okay, okay, that leaves the youngest, and arguably easiest to deal with, Daemon.

HA! Fools! They have never heard the series Pirates of The Caribbean, which Daemon watched on marathon on one Halloween night, or a particular man named Captain Jack Sparrow.

Five words:

Genius diguised as a fool.

Lock laughs and states the two of them are lying, because he's only seen Daemon following his brother and sister or either if his parents. There's no way he's a genius.

Shock challenges Lock, then, asking him to try and talk to Daemon and also try to get him to do something Lock wants him to do, maybe try pranking him.

We end with the triplets with their parents, Sally braiding Luna's hair while Luna vigorously sews a horned hat for Daemon, who's writing and solving math problems, while Jacob and Jack look over Halloween plans.

Jack notices that Jacob looks confused about something and asks what's on his mind.

The question turns everyone's heads:

Who lived under the treehouse, what happened to said person, and why did it happen?

[dorevenge]

where ignorance is bliss - chapter 2: where grass was green

SUMMARY: Obadiah is off to Washington to assist with the war in Vietnam, and Peggy and Maria grow closer, as Maria learns something she wishes she didn't. [AO3 LINK]

CHAPTERS: 1 [2] 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 ☆

November 15, 1959 – Bronx, New York, Obadiah’s Apartment

Struggling to find ways to pass the time after the war, Peggy frequented my apartment. The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division (or, S.H.I.E.L.D., as everyone says to save precious time) has been involved in the fight with Vietnam for a few years now. Obadiah left for Washington right after the Stark Expo to give weapons consult in the war, and I haven’t seen him in almost three months. We would write letters sometimes, and phone even less. I moved into Obie’s apartment to take care of the place while he was away for an indeterminate amount of time, and Peggy crashed in the living more times than she would care to admit.

“Did you love him?” I ask, fixing the two of us another round of Old Fashions. The empty Chinese carryout containers are scattered across the coffee table before us. There’s a good restaurant between the S.H.I.E.LD. Headquarters and the apartment, and Peggy will frequently grab something on the way here.

“I only knew him for a couple months,” Peggy replies, taking the glass. I curl up next to her on the couch, our heads leaning in towards each other. “So it’s hard to say. It could have been. We were both young, thrown together during some of humanity’s darkest days. We were all looking for something to believe in.”

She swirls the glass in her hand, lazily watching the whiskey fall back down the side before continuing.

“What about you and Obadiah? Is this love?”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” The corners of my mouth curl downwards on their own. Peggy notices. Peggy always notices.

“Trouble in paradise?”

“It’s more like paradise when he’s gone rather than when he’s here.”

“Why is he your boyfriend if you don’t even like him?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I take a large gulp of my Old Fashion, the whiskey burning the back of my throat. “He’s my fiancé.”

Peggy sits up, and my head slides off her shoulder to the cushion of the couch.

“Your what?” She takes my left hand into hers and finds my ring finger bare.

“I keep it in my sock drawer. Whether out of safekeeping or embarrassment, I’m not sure.” I sit up.

“When did this happen? And why did you say yes?” She looks at me with a tight expression, concern and worry on her face. Her red lipstick is all but gone, a faint imprint of it left on the rim of her class, and her usually tight curls hang loose around her neck and chin. If she weren’t so upset, I’d reach out to tuck one of them behind her ear.

“The last day of the Expo. He… He’s comfortable. We have our routine. We play chess together, I straighten his ties, I smile at the men he wants to invest in his company. I get some of the profits for my charities, and we make each other look good.” I frown at the empty glass in my hand and contemplate fixing another.

Peggy sets down her unfinished drink and looks at me. She has a way of effortlessly shifting her gaze from disapproving to comforting in a second. I never know if I’m going to be talking to the “unrelenting founder of S.H.I.E.LD.” Peggy or the “let’s go shopping and day-drinking” Peggy.

“I’m sure there’s a man out there that complements you and makes you feel good. You just-”

“-haven’t found him yet,” I finish her sentence. I’ve heard it from everyone – my parents, coworkers, strangers who learn I’m 23 and still unwed. 24, I remind myself; my birthday was on the fifth, less than two weeks ago. I feel the effects of the whiskey settling in, my eyes growing heavy and my weight shifting to my stomach. “You’re lucky to have experienced two great loves.”

“Daniel is far from a true love, hence why I stay with you the majority of the week. I’m also fourteen years older than you and have had more time to find them. I was 24 when I met Steve; there’s still plenty of time.”

“There doesn’t seem to be many men like Steve left.”

-

Peggy was gone without a word the next morning, and I am left alone with a pounding headache. By the time I wake, its well past noon on Saturday, and the mail’s already been delivered under the door.

I rifle through the envelopes once my toast is done, the coffee pot almost full, and the majority of the mail is addressed to Obadiah. Bills and letters of interest from inventors that I’m supposed to forward to him in DC. There’s a letter addressed to me in his precise, meticulous handwriting, but the one that interests me most is from Roxxon Oil Company, a large, thick packet with “CONFIDENTIAL” stamped across it. Naturally, I open it.

Maybe it’s the lingering hangover or the knowledge that Obie would forgive me for anything under the sun, but I rip open the envelope as I sip on my morning coffee, pouring all its contents out on to the table.

Most of the information doesn’t interest me, talking about drill efficiency and rigs and pipelines, until I find the balance sheet and investing information. I did get my master’s in accounting, as Obie tends to forget as he relegates me to a trophy wife. As I drift back into sobriety, the pieces start falling into place. Roxxon isn’t investing in Stane International; Stane is investing in Roxxon, and they were already profiting, working together, inventing together. The copies of the blueprints are of Obie’s design, seeking to create clean energy to replace gasoline down the road. In the last two years, Obadiah has made hundreds of thousands of dollars, with deposits and withdrawals from countless accounts, and reinvesting it, the paper trail deliberately as confusing as possible. I’d call it embezzlement if it weren’t his own company.

I get a scratch piece of paper and start doing the math. It isn’t adding up. Nothing is adding up, the dates and locations, let alone the cash, with several documents addressed from Russia. I sit up, my heart in my throat, pulsing so hard it feels like the world around me was shaking.

Obadiah is not a sneaky man by nature. I knew that he was interested in me before he realized it; I knew when he was going to ask me to go steady with him; I know when he is on the brink of a great new idea. He tries his best to hide things, but every move of his body betrays him. I’ve caught him sticking things in the back of his closet and under his bed more times than I could count, and I’ve never had the opportunity to check with him there. But seeing as he’s away…

Kneeling, I fumble underneath the bed frame until my fingers find purchase on a briefcase, and I slide it out. I wrestle with the knobs until I realize there’s a four-digit code keeping it locked. Before I mess with the dials, I notice the number. 0213.

“Oh, Obie. Do you have to be so predictable?” February 13th was our first date; he chose the day before Valentine’s Day because he believed the holiday of romance should be reserved for people already together, and he made a spectacle on 14th because we were together at that point, by his logic.

The top of the briefcase pops open at my touch, and inside I find numerous telegram slips, copies of both those sent and received. I sift through them quickly, none of them really catching my eye, filled with code words that I didn’t have the motivation to try to decipher. One of them caught my eye, and this is one of the only times Obie’s over-organization paid off because the telegrams were in chronological order.

RECEIVED

September 21, 1957

To: Stane, O.

O., I am glad to hear you secured the trust-fund. Let me know what day you’ll tie the knot, and I’ll tell you where to wire the funds. I might just send you a gift to celebrate.

NEFARIA, G.

SENT

September 28, 1957

To: Nefaria, G.

I’ll be traveling for work extensively the next four months. Please send files to Location 2. She can’t know anything.

STANE, O.

RECEIVED

September 30, 1957

To: Stane, O.

O., safe travels. Remember the end goal – the reactor that threatens our future. It cannot be manufactured by anyone but us, for our sake.

NEFARIA, G.

Prior, my heart had felt like it was running a mile a minute; now, it feels still in my chest. Dead in the water, like a stunned minnow tossed in to attract larger fish. “The trust fund.”

I had been courted before for my parents’ wealth. In college, a boy had pursued me relentlessly. He made me feel beautiful, special, and like the only star in his sky. He had convinced me that love was this roller-coaster rush of emotions, one collision after the other, until his dormmate clued me in on his intentions. That’s why I try to keep Obie in the dark about what I’ll inherit, how big my trust-fund really is. Growing up, I was unaware of how good we had it; all my friends in boarding school were from the same social and financial class, we all vacationed at the same spots and shopped at the same boutiques. It took a lot of eye-opening experiences at university for me to realize life was different for others, and it honed my ability to detect insincere motives. Too little, too late, but I won’t let it happen again.

With shaking hands, I put the papers back in their order, and I snap the briefcase closed, pushing it back under the bed with a force. I return to the kitchen table where I had spread the other documents out, collect them, and place them back as they were. I’m not sure if I need to try to seal it to make it look unopened, or if I should destroy the whole thing. He hadn’t asked me about forwarding this one specifically, so he might not be expecting it. Under the documents, I find the letter addressed to me again. Obie’s handwriting hits me differently now. How well do I actually know the sender?

Mar- (God, I hate it when he calls me Mar.)

I am writing to you with success here in Washington DC. We have made valiant efforts with the war. We expect Vietnam to concede soon. Our troops are vigilant and the best America has to offer, and their farmers pose no threat to us or the hope of victory. I expect to return home to you Friday the 15th of November. I’m sorry, darling, that I missed your birthday, but perhaps I can make it up to you.

See you soon at home,

Your Obie

Friday. Today was Friday.

The living room was a mess. Peggy’s and my drinks and dinner dishes scatter the room, the mail on the table, and I look equally disheveled. I know Obie would be disappointed, as the apartment is always speckless when he’s here.

I am a flurry around the house, collecting garbage in the bin and dishes in the sink. I tie the heaping garbage bag and leave it by the door, and rush to check my appearance in the bathroom. A scarf around my hairline will make the windswept, frenzied style look intention, and I change into a simple blue sundress. Obie didn’t have a dishwasher, so I put an apron on to protect my dress from the dishwater.

As I was setting the last glass out to dry, a knock resounded from the front door. I could feel it reverberate in my chest, and my heartbeat pulsed in every finger in my hand. Shaking, I set the glass down, wiped the water off my hands, preparing myself to smile and wine-and-dine the man I’ve already committed myself to.

[whumplikeyoumeanit]

red

A/N: requested by @dropofmagic. I might write more of this in the future—it was pretty fun, and I kinda want to see where it goes. 

Warnings: injuries, captivity, violence

Summary: Harry Potter is missing, and Draco Malfoy is assigned a new Auror mission in France—little do they know it will bring them closer together than ever. 

Words: 3k

Harry didn't have his glasses on when they came for him.

He stopped to wipe away the rain from his lenses (a Muggle habit, he knew) when the first curse struck him in the middle of his spine. There wasn't enough time to fight back before he heard "Stupefy!" and everything went dark. He can still hear the way his glasses shattered when they hit the pavement, as well as the dread that sunk in as they fell.

Now, it's a blur. He's only been missing for a week (he keeps track by tying knots in his shoelace), and still he knows nothing. It's difficult to determine what his captors truly want, mostly because they speak French and Harry's blind as a bat. He's picked up a few French phrases just by knowing Bill and Fleur, but it's not enough to help him. They might as well be speaking Gobbledygook.

They haven't threatened or demanded ransom yet—the only thing they do is beat him until his head rings like a collection of church bells. His leg is broken from yesterday's beating, and he can't see it well enough to know how bad it is. All he knows is that it hurts like hell every time he moves. He's sure he's covered in bruises—each beating leaves him whimpering like a child, but he couldn't see the bruises if he tried. Aunt Petunia used to say he was legally blind (which, he found out later, was not another Dursley insult but actually the truth).

Merlin, he misses his glasses.

Escaping? Well, he's tried that, too, but without his wand, a mode of communicating, a way to see his exit, he's fucked. He's tried attacking the guards and unlocking the door but it's all impossible. It's been a week—seven days—and all he can do is bleed.

_______________________________

It's been two weeks since Harry Potter went missing, and Draco can't stop thinking about it. "Get your head out of the clouds, Malfoy," snaps his superior officer from beside him.

He blinks at her. "Sorry, Officier Boucher."

"Don't be sorry," she says, and he sits up straighter. "Pay attention. You're up next. And fix your face—you look like your mother just died. You should be happy—this is your first solo assignment, Officier. You're truly a part of Le Bureau des Aurors now, eh?"

"Oui," he says back, but his heart's not in it. His arms and legs feel heavy, weighed down by something he can't quite explain.

He knows she's frowning, but before he can compose himself, she taps her clipboard against his arm. "Don't worry, d'accord? You've been training for months. You have nothing to be nervous about."

It's not the new assignment he's worried about.

The Capitaine gives him an assignment up north—residents had been reporting sightings of low-level neo-Death Eater activity, as well as a possible abduction, so it's his job to head over there and shut it down before it can get out of hand. He can handle it—he's not worried about a few morons in black hoods—he's worried about Harry. They weren't friends, per say, never have been, but they have a connection, and something twists inside of him at the thought that he's missing. There are a lot of people out for Harry Potter's head, even after all of the good he's done, and Draco doesn't know what he would do if something…

He doesn't want to think about it.

Draco takes the train at Paris Montparnasse to Lezardrieux, where his new assignment was last spotted. He loves the train—the way he can blend in so easily with the Muggles, the way he can sit in peace with only the rumble of wheels against tracks beneath him. Besides, it gives him plenty of time to think. On his way, he researches his assignment—he took everything the Archives des Aurors had on them back in Place de Furstemberg where their headquarters were located. They don't have a lot on them, only on people who they've captured like them.. Neo-Death Eaters can't stand alone—they're too cowardly, he thinks bitterly—so they tend to congregate in large groups, refusing to voice their opinions in public now.

It's a five-hour train ride, and Draco can't research the whole time. He tilts his head against the window and tries to sleep. He's disguised as a Muggle, anyway, as the Death Eaters have planted themselves in a Muggle-heavy area to avoid detection, disguised by an enchantment that makes others see Muggle clothing instead of his Auror uniform.

The train drops him off a few miles from his destination, but he doesn't mind. It's too conspicuous to Apparate straight to it—with wizards like this, they've probably put up detection charms to sense any magical person coming for them. He explores the town—it's a small town, a mostly elderly population. Everyone keeps to themselves, fishing and shopping and staying in their homes, which is what makes his job so difficult—almost every house seems uninhabited, but he's not authorized to enter magical or Muggle homes without an explicit reason. Currently, he has nothing.

How is he supposed to find these bastards?

_______________________________

Harry hasn't had his glasses for three weeks now, and he's stopped trying to see anything. It's useless now, as the room they keep him in is so dark that he's barely able to see anything other than moving blobs anyway. There are twenty-one knots in his shoelaces; he grazes over each one with his fingers, counting. It's one thing he can do in this hellish room of nothing.

He's learned the routine. There's no daylight in this room, but he knows that when the light under the locked door flicks on for the first time after he wakes, it's mealtime. It takes around twenty seconds for one of his captors to stagger down the stairs—the heavy-footed one, usually—and unlock the door. He gets another minute to eat the sandwich they give him, drink the water bottle, and hand his garbage back to them before they get angry. Then he waits a few hours, until the light flicks on again, and they beat him until they seem satisfied and leave again. Then he tries to sleep, and it starts all over again.

He's tried, a few times, to lunge for the wand he knows they must carry, but he misses every time. Aunt Petunia was right—he truly is blind.

She used to take his glasses away when she was angry with him. Only good boys get glasses, she'd snap, holding out her hand. Give them to me, Potter. Now, or I'll take your pillow, too.

Please, he'd beg, don't take them, please, I'll go under the stairs, I'll be quiet, I'll be good, please—

She'd give him that glare, and he would start to cry, taking his glasses off. Don't be a baby—this is your own fault! If you hadn't botched Dudley's dinner then I wouldn't be taking them at all! Harry would cry and cry and cry. Without his glasses, the world was a blurry whale waiting to swallow him whole.

He feels like he's back at the Dursley's now, locked under the stairs, with only his shoelaces and his thoughts to keep him company. No pillow, no glasses, no freedom. At least dust doesn't rain from the ceiling. Was it his fault, maybe, that he got himself into this mess? He should've checked behind him when he'd stopped to clean his glasses, should've just let the rain drip down them, should've stayed a few more minutes at the Ministry before going home.

He wonders if anyone is even looking for him.

The lights under the door flick on, and Harry flinches so hard that his hand leaves his shoelace to brace himself so he doesn't fall. It's the heavy-footed one—Gérald, he thinks—and the man mumbles in French as he comes down the steps. Harry's heart slams against his ribs so hard that he can feel it in his head, pounding and pounding, as the footsteps come closer. He knows what time it is. "Please!" he cries out, just as the door opens, and naked fear runs down his spine. "P-please don't—just tell me—tell me what you want, please, I'll—" Gérald kicks him this time, his boot slamming into Harry's already abused ribs; he gasps for air, curling around his stomach and trying to crawl away.

Click. Flash.

Then it continues. Harry can feel the next kick coming— "Stop, stop! Please!" And this time it strikes him in the face, pain blinding him as it surges up his broken nose, rebreaking the bone where it had already begun to heal wrong. "What—do you—" He can't even draw a full breath before another kick crashes into him, and wetness runs down his face. He curls up as small as he can.

Click. Flash.

He hopes the smaller he is, the less pain he will feel, and he's so scared now, so goddamn scared, 'cause it hurts so much that this doesn't even feel like his body anymore— He can sense the man take out his wand, can feel Dark magic flood the air, and his fear multiplies into terror so violent that for a second he thinks he might piss himself. "N-no!"

Click. Flash.

Then the curses hit.

_______________________________

It's been four weeks since Harry Potter went missing, and Draco's still assigned undercover to this lonely little French town, unable to contact anyone in case the neo-Death Eaters overhear and flee. He misses him like he misses Hogwarts uniforms—every time he sees him, he knows exactly how the world works and what it means to him. They'd started talking after the Battle of Hogwarts was over, in September, when all of the students were invited back to a half-built school for free to spend a year safe and worry-free. Dead professors were replaced by worried parents, janitors and assistants replaced by shell-shocked survivors, orphaned students given permanent residence inside the castle.

As both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor Tower were wrecked in the battle, houses moved together—Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, Gryffindor and Slytherin. He and Harry shared a dormitory with the incoming seventh years, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike. "Thank you," Draco said first, as they were unpacking their things. They hadn't spoken since he'd tossed him a wand during the battle.

Harry kept his head down and took a moment to answer. "For what?" he said finally.

"You know. Saving the world."

He shrugged and kept unpacking. "I wasn't alone, Draco."

They weren't friends. Not at all. But they became hesitant acquaintances—sharing a dormitory will do that to you. Harry stopped calling him Malfoy; he stopped calling him Potter. When Harry woke up screaming from his nightmares, Draco pushed a glass of water to him and waited for him to fall back asleep. When Draco received a Howler from his parents warning him never to come home, Harry was there to set it on fire.

As he walked to one of their classes—Reconstruction, the professors called it, but it was really just a course on how to rebuild after everything they'd lost—a few of the Hufflepuff girls approached him. They were young, maybe fourth years, and one of them was crying. "How could they let you in here," she cried, and her friend's pigtails shook, "after everything you've done?" Draco simply ducked his head and tried to keep walking, but they persisted.

"You're one of them!" spat another. Draco cleared his throat as if to say something, but nothing came out. His fists closed. He knew what he was, he knew what he'd done, but… His chest felt tight. He hated to be reminded of it.

"Can you let him through?" said someone new, and when Draco turned to look, it was Harry. He looked tired, as he always did these days, but irritated. "He's just trying to get to class."

The girls shared glances, as thought to argue with him, but no one wanted to debate with Harry Potter. They dispersed with a chorus of muttered jeers, one rubbing the back of the crying girl, and Harry touched the back of his elbow. "C'mon," he said, as though nothing had happened. "Let's go." As the crowds dissipated and the sunlight filtered in through the graying corridors, he said something so quiet that Draco had to strain to hear him. "They used to do that to me, too."

They weren't friends. Never. But they were there for each other as only survivors could be.

Now, Draco walks out of the small marketplace, dipping in between the Muggles as they busy themselves with their shopping, he tries not to think about Harry. The Ministry of Magic must be doing something to help its missing savior—besides, it isn't his problem. He has his new assignment now, and it's not his responsibility to—

He takes a step back. It's a minute detail, but it's there—blood spotting through the gloved hands of a man buying sandwiches a few feet away from him. "Merci," says the man to the cashier, and as he heads for the door with his paper bag, Draco follows him, casting a minor disillusionment charm on himself as he goes to make sure he goes undetected. He's not dressed like a wizard, but Draco's trained to spot the little things—the way the pocket of his jeans has the faded shape of a wand, the way he takes short glimpses at every person who comes near him, the way a hint of disgust weaves into his expression when a Muggle woman bumps into him. He must be one of them.

The man leads him back to a house at the edge of Lézardrieux; along the way, he notices the blood on his gloves and shoves his hand into his pocket with his shoulders hunched. It's one of the smaller homes: a red-brick gone brown with time in desperate need of some repair. He opens the door and slips inside like he's got something to hide—Draco wonders whose blood is on his hands. A Muggle, perhaps? A witch who disagreed with their cruel ways?

Draco sneaks inside without a problem, countering their protective enchantments and slipping inside. He can sense the Dark magic as soon as he enters (after years of being drenched in it, it's not difficult), and his disillusionment charm melts right off of him. It's everywhere—that, combined with the Death Eater masks strung up by the doorway, is enough to convict anyone. Doing a nonverbal revealing charm, he finds four people in the house: two upstairs, one in the room across from him, and one in the basement. He catches the first by surprise with a Body-Bind curse and casts another Levitation Charm so that his body doesn't hit the floor. He doesn't bother to brief his victim—he just stuns him and moves upstairs to finish them off. They're not difficult to fight—a couple minutes of dueling and they're on the ground, too.

Now, he moves into the basement, where the fourth figure is located. Possible abduction, the Capitaine told him before. He sets down the stairs. "Whoever's down there," he shouts in French, "come out now!" With no response, he unlocks the door with a quick swish of his wand. Ready to fight, he jabs his wand into the darkness and lights its tip.

There's a scream.

Before him is a young man with scraggly black hair and green eyes squinting at the bright light. He looks wild, worn ragged by weeks in captivity, and his pupils shrink to pinpricks at the light. His leg is twisted beneath him and his stubbled face is a mess of blood and tears. Bruises purple over his swollen skin. His shirt is half-torn off of his body, and he retreats into the fetal position, taking huge, rasping breaths as he tries to shield himself from Draco.

He knows that scream.

"Harry?"

The man only holds himself tighter, hands locked behind his head as though to protect himself from another strike. "Please, please…"

Draco doesn't have time for disbelief; drops to his knees beside his friend. The Bureau des Aurors taught him to assist the victims in the field, but not...this. he conjures a blanket and drapes it over him. "Harry, it's me—it's me, Draco." Crouching by him, he touches his shoulder, trying to jolt him back to reality. Harry lets out another small scream. "I'm here to rescue you—look at me, hey, look at me. I'm not gonna hurt you. It's me." Still touching Harry's arm, he grabs the two-way radio from his belt and speaks directly into it in French. "Bureau, I've got three aggressors and one victim down—gonna need medical assistance here—no option for Apparating. Quick."

When he puts the radio down, he gets to work, healing the injuries that he can, trying to get him lucid again. "It's Draco, it's me, c'mon Harry, stay with me..." He casts bandaging charms and is starting on the broken knee when he sees Harry half-sitting up, dazed eyes drifting into empty space. "M-Malfoy?"

Draco smiles, and touches both his shoulders, holding him upright as he sways, a little out of it. "Yeah, of course it's me, I thought we were done with the last name shit—now you gotta let me check you out—"

Before he can finish, Harry sags against him, throwing his arms around his neck, and he's crying. Crying. He can barely get a word out through his tears, but he says this: "Is this—are you really—really here?"

Draco hugs him back gingerly, not wanting to hurt him more, and something expands in his chest. "Yeah, it's me," he assures him, as the hug gets tighter.

"They—they're gonna—they—"

"No," he interrupts, "they're not. You're safe now, Harry. Promise."

Harry sobs into his shoulder, trembling hands clutching at his uniform, fingers moving over the cloth as if trying to determine if this is a dream. "Thank you," he chokes out. "Thank you."

Draco holds him tighter.

[dirtymikekidd]

I’m a miserable f*ck

This is going to be the place where I write down how the day’s events have effected my interpersonal feelings. This first post will be a lot of random stories from my life that I feel like have shaped how I look at life.

I’m setting a course to change my outlook on my life. There has been many things that I’ve not been able to let go of. Most of them are little things that really shouldn’t bother me let alone still be thinking about years later. Hell I still think back to when I was in 8th grade. I was on my way to my history class. There was a girl that I had the hots for at her locker, which was right next to the class I was running late for. I decided to make a joke about a haircut that I had seen to her. you know, trying to break the ice. It kind of worked. She hadn’t ever given me the time of day. But I managed to make her laugh. The tardy bell rings, and I got into class. I only had a few seconds of feeling on top before the teacher,    Mr. H., made a comment to me, which killed my feelings of elation. It was something along the lines of “Don’t even try, she’s way out of your league.” 

It was one of the only times I’ve ever put myself out there like that. It felt like a huge slap in the face. I was 13 when that happened. I’m 27 now. Anyway, I’m getting a little off topic. I don’t expect anyone to read what I type here. I just know that it’s making things worse by keeping everything bottled up. 

Let me start off by saying, I’ve gone through things that I can only hope that my children don’t ever have to go through. Growing up I became my family’s mortician. Not because we were intentionally killing any animals, but because I lived on a farm and you know, diseases and wild predators. Either way I’ve buried 1 dog, 3 cats, 3 sheep, a stillborn foal (baby horse), and roughly 10 chickens. I do think dealing with all of it as often as I did, has made me numb to death.

 I was around 9 when I dug my first grave. It was for our dog, Auggie. he was a fat golden retriever. Like fat enough to get the nickname of “the coffee table”. You could put a cut of water on his back and it wouldn’t spill. He ended up being put down by gun... He either had a seizure or was electrocuted (because he used to lay up under our Christmas tree). Anyway so something snapped and he suddenly didn’t know who we were. He was growling and barking at my sister and me. My mom let him outside. Normally we wouldn’t put him on a chain or in a fenced in area because we lived in the middle of no where, and he wasn’t one to run off. This time he did. We found him at our closest neighbor’s house, roughly a quarter to a half mile from our house. Mom brought him home and put him in one of the spare horse stalls that we had. I overheard my mom and dad talking about how they weren’t sure what to do with him, as they were worried what he might do to me and my sister, or what he’d do to the other animals. It was decided it was his time. My dad asked me to go outside and dig a hole. But not by any barn openings or where water ran off. So I dug a hole. 4ft long, 3 ft wide, and about 3 ft deep. I went back in after it was dug, and my mom told me to stay in the house and don’t look outside until she came back in. She went outside carrying a .22g pistol. I knew what was about to happen. and even though she told me not to look outside, I still did. 2 shots rang out, Auggie dropped into the hole I had just dug not even 20 minutes before. A moment later another 2 shots rang. I didn’t know why it took 4 shots until I overheard my parents talking about it. Apparently Auggie was fat enough that the first couple bullets didn’t actually kill him. And when he dropped into the hole, he was crying in agony. The second 2 shots ended his suffering. He was my best friend growing up. And I hate that his life ended that way. I don’t hold any of it against my parents. I know they were trying to protect their family unit. I still think about him to this day.

The cats were inside/outside cats. Or as my dad called them, barn cats. In the 14 years we lived on the farm, we had at least 20 cats. Most of them were either hit by cars or another animal killed them. We had one cat, Thomas, who had just showed up one day. He looked just like Garfield. He had a huge gash on his front leg and a bowel blockage. Mom talked my dad into taking him to the vet. We got him all fixed up and basically adopted him. He became a mostly indoor cat, but he would still get let outside. He never took off anywhere. He would just kinda hang out in the barns hunting mice or laying in the sun. One Sunday morning I got up and looked outside. And there he was laying at the end of our driveway...internal organs hanging out. There was a blood trail that looked like he was hit in the middle of the road, then drug off to the side. I buried him right next to Auggie. the other two cats were killed by a dog we had been watching for a family as they went on a missionary trip.

The sheep were for a 4-H project that me and another kid had been working on. Let me rephrase, we were supposed to be working on it together, but he took off and I couldn’t get ahold of him. Anyway, so I don’t actually know what it was that killed them, but some animal had gotten in and ripped up their necks

The stillborn would’ve been the fifth horse born at our house. It was my dad’s dream horse with the color of its’ fur. It holds the record for the biggest sized hole I’ve dug to this day.

The chickens..... that’s a grave I wish I could’ve done differently. They’re the only mass grave I’ve ever dug. Two holes about 3 ft deep and about a foot wide. They didn’t make it through the sickness that most chickens go through in the first year or so of their lives.

Continuing on the subject of death..so back in 2008 my mom was kicked in the chest and arm by one of our horses as we were getting ready to start cleaning stalls. My dad took her to the hospital because they were sure she had a broken rib. She had x-rays done and what they found was worse.. masses in her lungs. The doctors did a full body MRI. Masses in the lungs and a couple more in the brain... cancer... stage IV lung cancer that had spread. We found out on New Year’s day. Within a couple weeks she was starting chemo. By September she had a treatment called “Gamma knife surgery” on the mass on her frontal lobe of her brain. They continued the chemo on her lungs, and things seemed to be going into remission. Her battle finally ended at 10;45pm on June 5th, 2010.... I wasn’t home when it happened. I was 2 towns over celebrating my best friend’s 16th birthday...I still haven’t been able to forgive myself for not being there...

I’m not sharing these details because I want sympathy. But because I’m stuck living in the past and I’ve never been able to get out of my own head. As the title says, I’m a miserable fuck because of it.

The next post will job stuff..