#so when words are used in the past tense or emphasized in certain ways it packs so much meaning into something so small

[contagious-watermelon]

I feel that much of my issue with the terms AFAB and AMAB is that people, having acronymified them, have begun treating them (or, really, have treated them as such for years) as direct analogues to the terms male and female. There is a distinct problem present here as well as elsewhere, where people will assume that the problem underlying certain bigotries communicated through language is within the language itself, and that as such, changing the language is and should be sufficient to extricate the bigotry.

This is, obviously, not true, but it has its teeth deep within the queer communities on this site, and in the in-person communities I've had the limited ability to interact with. People understood that calling trans women male and trans men female was a harmful way of referring to other people, but they have misidentified the problem to be the so-called gendering of the terms, which can be used to refer to both sex and gender (as those concepts were relatively synonymous when those words came about, and now "female" is used as the adjective form of "woman"), and coined new terms to — initially — emphasize that the maleness and the femaleness were not innate nor by choice.

The flattening of them into acronyms, and subsequently the shifting of them from past into present tense, has essentially morphed them into the new "trans-inclusive" words for male and female. The discussion entirely side-steps the fact that there can be no one-size-fits-all replacement for male and female because of the fact that the categories existing as they do is the entire problem in the first place. You cannot do trans activism by doing a find-and-replace of all the times you say "female" to replace it with "afab." You especially cannot do this without the implication — inherent in the concept of sex as immutable and entirely objective — that transsexual people fundamentally cannot exist. If you use those terms to refer to anything but the category a person was sorted into at birth based on their physical outward appearance, you have reinforced the idea that that assignment was, in essence, correct.

In short, the use of AFAB and AMAB to refer to anything other than the specific act of that doctor — or whomever it is, I've only attended one birth and quite obviously I do not remember it — writing an "M" or an "F" on your birth certificate, is an implicit admission that you fundamentally do not believe that transgender people really can be their actual gender, nor that transsexual people can truly change their sex.

[mindutme]

T’owal T’uesday #7

I’m currently reading The Left Hand of Darkness for the first time and really enjoying it! Because there’s so much interesting worldbuilding and so many invented names and concepts, I keep thinking about conlangs as I read it. I thought this passage from the beginning of chapter 12 would work well in T’owal:

Chapter Twelve: On Time and Darkness

Meshe is the Center of Time. That moment of his life when he saw all things clearly came when he had lived on earth thirty years, and after it he lived on earth again thirty years, so that the Seeing befell in the center of his life. And all the ages up until the Seeing were as long as the ages will be after the Seeing, which befell in the Center of Time. And in the Center there is no time past and no time to come. In all time past it is. In all time to come it is. It has not been nor yet will it be. It is. It is all.

Here is that passage, translated into T’owal:

Wot Te Hath Yu: Dafe Lo Ksot a Lo Sud

Hú Mésye Híl Lo Ksot. Mó fdú e wun lel hath psil pwa fen fdu mo fen fan fop mo kuth ex, a nul ot fdú e wun lel hath sgem mó. Óksed ót í, é Fén Fan híl fen fdu mo. A gás ex psil Fen Fan dé xen gas ex nul Fen Fan e Hil Lo Ksot. A e Hil hú hox gás we a gás k’a. Hú e gas we ex dá. Hú e gas k’a ex dá. Hox we hú dá, a hox k’a hú dá. Yo hú dá. Yo hú dá kúth ex.

Below are a few notes on bits that I think might be interesting.

T’owal has quite a few ways to refer to time, several of which are used in this text.

Pwa is a moment or an occasion; it can refer to a single instant or a slightly longer period, as long as it is being conceived of as a single unit.

Fen most directly translates to something like “instance,” though it can be translated as “time” as well. It’s used a lot for a certain kind of nominalization, making aget “to celebrate” into fen aget “a party” (an instance of celebrating, or a time that you party). Frequently repeated in this text is Fen Fan, “The Seeing”—an instance of seeing, or the time when Meshe saw.

These two words are combined in this text in pwa fen fdu mo, translating “that moment of his life.” Since fdu is “to live,” fen fdu is a life, or an instance of being alive (in this case it doesn’t really make sense to translate fen as “time,” but if you did it would be “that time that he was alive”). Possession is indicated by putting two nouns next to each other, so pwa fen fdu is “the moment of the life,” and pwa fen fdu mo is “the moment of his life.”

Gas is for periods of time on any scale, thought of as durations rather than moments. In this text that comes up a few times, like gás ex psil Fen Fan “all ages before the Seeing,” and e Hil hú hox gás we “in the Center there is no time past.”

Then there’s the verb ksot, which is roughly equivalent to “pass” as in “three hours passed.” This is what you use when you want to refer to time as a general concept, along with the nominalizer lo. So the title includes Lo Ksot to mean “Time,” since in that sense it doesn’t refer to any specific time, either a moment or a duration. This is also what’s used to translate “The Center of Time,” Hil Lo Ksot.

Finally, there’s the verb de “to endure” or “to last.” It’s used in this text to translate “all the ages up until the Seeing were as long as the ages will be after the Seeing.” Specifically, it takes the place of “were as long as,” which in T’owal is more like “lasts the same as.” It could also be nominalized like ksot: lo de is basically the same as “duration,” so you could also translate lo de fen aget as “the duration of the party” or “the time that the party took.”

One last time-related note is to do with the words we, k’a, and yo, which are used to mark the past, future, and present tenses respectively. They’re almost always used following a verb to mark its tense, though they can usually be dropped if the tense is clear from context. Sometimes to emphasize the tense they can precede a verb instead. That occurs in the last two sentences: Yo hú dá, “it is,” emphasis on the present tense (more neutral would be Hú yo dá, or just Hú dá). Right before that, the same thing happens but with negation preceding the tense markers: hox we hú dá “it was not,” with the emphasis on the non-past-ness. It’s actually a bit ambiguous as to whether the verb is being negated, or just the tense!

In this text I decided to do something a little different with the tense markers. There’s nothing in T’owal grammar that prevents me from attaching we or k’a to a noun instead of a verb! Lots of modifiers are flexible in what part of speech they modify—for example, that verbal negator hox also means “zero” when it’s applied to a noun instead. So to translate “there is no time past and no time to come,” I used the tense markers directly on the nouns: gas we “time past” and gas k’a “time to come.” You could similarly modify a pronoun or another noun, like sú we “my past self” or tyot af k’a “this place in the future.”

[moxfirefly]

Hey I kinda wanna make a request (don't know if I have already)

13:I’m not wearing anything under this

26:Don’t make me pull over - that’s it

29:Scream for me. I want everyone to know how good I make you feel

Praise Kink

Over-stimulation kink

With the loveable nerd donnie?

If this isn't possible I understand, love all your work by the way

I have never seen a more perfect set up. Friend you’ve got it!

Rated Explicit (18+ only)

He exactly knew what you were trying to do from the moment you climbed into the truck in that frilly little sun dress. In fact he would bet a kidney that the choice of wardrobe on the hot summers night was catered to distract him to the point of muttering to himself.

Donnie was and is, a safe driver.

But that stupid dress had mysteriously ridden up your thighs when he hit a pothole somewhere into his drive through Manhattan. It was a fun little activity the two of you did all the time, a means of getting away, AC on high and privacy you both didn’t get often.

But you had intentions.

Intentions that hopefully would lead to the a very good outcome. So when Donnie saw your hands smooth over the tops of your thighs, his eye would twitch. Never mind when you crossed your legs and that defiant flimsy fabric just allowed more skin to show.

“-could you believe the nerve of that guy? Anyways my boss fired him, good riddance honestly. What about you babe? How was your day?” Donnie had absorbed cero information for the first time in his life, he was at a red light, big brown eyes blinking at you.

You smirked, uncrossing your legs, crossing them the opposite way you had previously.

“What’s your game plan here?” He asked, you almost snorted.

“Whatever are you saying my dearest? Can a gal know how her man’s day has been?” Oh you were a clever sneak but your eyes always betrayed you and when the corners of your mouth shot up in a fit of laughter, Donnie frowned. “My day is great! Just somewhat distracted by a certain someone, you know if we crash it’s totally your fault” He honked when the guy in front of him didn’t move at the green light.

Wanting to make things even more savory, you played with the hem of your dress. “I love when I distract you, it’s a favorite past time of mine” You lifted it and reveled in Donnie almost cracking his neck to see what you were doing and then back to the road ahead.

“I’m not wearing anything under this” You spoke, a sultry hint to your words. You were in fact bare, with every intention of teasing him into having to do something about it.

He bit his lip and shook his head, this was so not happening right now and you sure as hell weren’t...

“Y/n...” Your name sounded like a demand the moment he saw your palm run over the hood of your sex. He kept a good handle of driving and sneaking glances at your lap. Your legs spread enough for you to slide a finger in between your folds and to Donnie’s pure teasing realization he heard how wet you were. You relaxed back, soft touches working you up and Donnie soft little churrs picking up volume. When you pushed that digit inside of yourself, he gripped the steering wheel. “Don’t make me pull over” It was that stern voice he used on occasion.

With another turn on a less trafficked street, you turned to him, digit slowly pumping in and out of you and said, “Or what?” You grinned mischievously. “-That’s it”

Donnie parked the car by the sidewalk, not really caring that even if it was relatively late pedestrians were still passing by here and there. He reclined your chair, enjoying the little yelp that exited your mouth. Pushing your hand away he popped his own digit into his mouth before teasing it at your entrance. “Have you been walking around this city with no underwear? Answer me” You stifled a giggle by biting your lip but that quickly melted into a moan when he pushed his much larger digit inside of you. Your thighs shook with the delightfully stuffed sensation it brought.

“You haven’t answered my question” He thrusted his finger, moving just the way he knew that could illicit the best response.

“So what if I did?” Defiant words for somebody in a precarious position. Donnie had that little twinkle in his eye, the one you knew all too well.

“Nobody, and I do mean nobody, has or will have the right to see this” He emphasized the last word with a harsher thrust of his finger that made you choke. “I guess that only leaves one other option, reminding you exactly who you belong to” That sentence was enough to make you want to scream internally, pushing the usually chill terrapin to these extents wasn’t the easiest. Sometimes one had to play dirty, which you we never opposed to doing so.

Somewhere between a moan and a full body shiver you felt Donnie crook his finger. That first release whenever sought out like this, always made you just a little dizzy, made your joints protest from tensing so much. Your hands flew to his chest, the firmness of his plates grounding you back from your high.

“Say ‘thank you, Donnie’, come on baby, use your words” He swelled with pride seeing your mouth start to move but nothing resembling the words coming out.

So naturally, he started up again.

You squished your thighs together, trapping his hand when the oversensitivity hit but he only ‘tsk’d’ his disapprovement and gave your thighs a soft slap. “Don’t squeeze, don’t squeeze” Trembling thighs obeyed and separated enough for him to continue his strokes, thumb circling over your clit with enough pressure to make your hand fly up to your mouth.

Just like that he pulled another orgasm out of you, but did not stop his motions over your clit.

You started to squirm, breath hitching into embarrassing squeaks and all the more he glued those precious brown orbs of his to you.

“Well?” He barely sounded strained, he was hardly even breaking a sweat.

“Thank you! Thank you!” You shut your eyes when he didn’t stop, every nerve in your body felt over exposed, saturated with the constant onslaught to your sensitive nub.

One more, yanked from your body, hard enough you felt a rush of something in your brain and that jelly like feeling hit your limbs. He fucked his finger slowly in and out, bringing you down into a somewhat false sense of security. Your hazy vision found the window on your side, a few pedestrians passing and the idea that somebody could’ve heard...

Pulling out his digit, Donnie popped it into his mouth. “I had a very nice date planned out, but then again this isn’t far off from the original plan” He pulled you up into a sitting position but maneuvered you onto your knees to face the car window. He bunched up your dress and nudged you forward to rest your hands on the glass. “You like making a spectacle? Walking around with nothing under your dress?” Donnie spoke those words against the back of your head, he enjoyed the scent of your hair. Gripping your hips he pushed you against the prominent bulge.

Oh how your thighs shook. Your breath fogged up the glass as you heard him unzip. “Dee-ohfuck” He ran the length of his cock through your folds, squeezing your thighs for the right pressure for the teasing friction. “Aren’t I a nice guy? See how good I treat you?” He hunched over you, chin resting on your shoulder. A large three fingered hand landed on the glass next to yours, it gutted him to see the contrast in size, to see your pinky wrap around his much thicker digit. “Tell me how it feels, when I push into you” He whispered against your shoulder, slowly sliding in and stretching you out.

It was tricky, the space wasn’t too small but between both seats he found a good spot to stand (or more so bend) and give you the first thrust that left your mouth hanging open. “So so so good,” You muttered with a shaky voice. “And? What else?” He loved the way you swallowed letters the moment he thrusted just a little harder. “You’re so fucking big, you do this so good, god Donnie nobody’s fucked me like you before” There was deep rumbling churr against your neck, he tasted salt and your perfume when he licked it.

“You’re the best, you’re the fucking best!” You moaned out, loud enough you felt embarrassment as somebody passed by. Naturally Donnie noticed, smirking against your neck. “Now we’re shy? Now you want to be a good girl?” He hooked an arm around your waist and absolutely threw caution to the god damn wind.

He sped up, deep thrusts that were fully determine to make you scream your head off. Right there with his hips smacking against your rear he spoke the words you knew would be your undoing.

“Scream for me, I want everyone to know how good I make you feel” He drove into you with that very purpose in mind. That long cock of his hitting exactly the spots you needed in order to do so. In order to scream your head off when your release came suddenly and so devastatingly strong, you felt something gush out of you. It’s intensity made your eyes shut tight as you rode the high. Feeling teeth at your shoulder and a muffled string of curses and your name you felt warmth shoot into you.

You don’t remember Donnie shuffling the two of you onto the couch but at some point you’re there. Body slumped, dress still scrunched up as Donnie rummages through a small bin for some wet wipes. “Did you cum on the chair again?” You asked him sleepily and with a smile, you still had enough gas in the tank for a few jabs. He had bag between his teeth as he stumbled to push up his pants. Dropping the wipes near you he smirked.

“No, but you did” He declared quite triumphantly.

Your foggy dopamine ridden brain took a bit to load.

“I squirted!?” You wanted to sit up but that wasn’t gonna happen any time soon. You covered your face, embarrassment clear. Donnie snorted and rubbed your rear affectionately. “Please, if it were up to me I’d leave it there like a badge of honor” He stifled another laugh when you peaked through hands and glared.

“By the way...” He kissed your arm.

“Hm?” The sensation lulled you.

“I love you” His words were soft yet serious.

“I love you more” You whispered back.

[caiuscassiuss]

oppa! | ot7 (I)

Description: Being raised by a caring yet distant father, a close, tight-knit family is the one thing you have craved in your short life. After your adventurer father remarries a rich woman, you’re stuck with seven new brothers. Seven very hot, very different men. This is not what you meant by family.

Arc 1: Stepbrother Introductions

Genre: OT7 x Female!Reader | Brother’s Conflict AU | stepbrother au | fluff | slice of life (For this chapter: PG 13) WC: 15k Warnings: swearing, dub-con (??). In later chapters there will be explicit mentions of depression, panic attacks, thoughts of suicide, self harm, and graphic smut.

Chapter 1: Enter the Oldest Type, Jin!

Fiddling with the charm on your phone, you looked down at the blue text bubble that spelled out the address of what might possibly be your home for the next few years.

You had googled the place as soon as you got home, expecting it to be a random apartment somewhere and boy oh boy, you were wrong. First, the house (not apartment) was on the outskirts of Seoul, on one of the hilly inclines overlooking the Han River. Second, the place where it was located was expensive.

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head when you saw the housing prices of properties nearby on this popular real estate app. Sure, your father was a celebrity adventurer with his own cable show and so you were used to a certain amount of comfort, but this type of wealth was way beyond your league. Who was this woman that your father married, Jesus Christ?

On the Google streets view (you swear you aren’t weird), you saw the place had at least 2 gates to get through and your father hadn’t told you of any code or given you any pass to get through. You had a feeling if you tried to go in there blind, you would be immediately detained by the police.

Biting your lip, you paced on the fluffy carpet that felt like a dream. Your father was gallivanting off in some remote corner of Nigeria, so he was bound to have no cell service there. You knew no one in the family— much less how to contact them so you could meet up for a coffee or something. It would seem rude not to do something…

Your apartment doorbell buzzed throughout your apartment. Folding your arms over your chest, you shivered as you walked towards the doorway. You had turned up the Air Conditioner too high to ward off the muggy Seoul heat and now it was freezing inside your apartment.

“Hello?” you asked in to the intercom.

“Hi, is this Y/N?” a masculine voice asked at the other end.

You frowned and shifted your weight on your other leg. You don’t recall expecting any guests today.

“Excuse me?” the man asked again after you refused to respond.

“Hi, sorry, who is calling?” you said politely.

“I’m Seokjin, Seoyeon’s son. I’m your, uh, new brother?” he said haltingly, his voice raised at the end.

Gasping softly, you felt your mind pile up with questions and questions until it was spinning. How did he get here? How did you know who you are?

“Oh! Uh, yeah, please come on up.”

You pressed the button to allow the elevator to go to your location and you heard a bright “Thank you!” before the intercom shut off.

You zoomed around your apartment like a psychopath, picking up spare pieces of clothing and putting the dishes in the dishwasher. Your apartment reeked of mild depression, suppressed anxiety, and the beginnings of an unhealthy reliance on take out and that was not the first impression you wanted your newfound brother to have of you.

Putting your hands on your hips, you scanned the now clean apartment. It looked like a moderately adjusted human lived here.

Good timing indeed, as your buzzer sharply rang throughout the apartment. Taking a deep breath, you grasped the door handle and pulled it open.

Your lungs really said “Bye, sister!” and decided to quit working as soon as you saw this man. You couldn’t breath because standing in front of you was one of the most beautiful men you have ever seen in your life.

He was tall, taking up the entire doorway with his height. A dash of neatly groomed, brown hair graced the top of his small head and big eyes peered at you curiously above a strong nose and a pair of big, pouty lips the color of strawberries.

The second thing you noticed about him after his overwhelming beauty was his navy scrubs and the large badge attached to his pocket that read “Kim Seokjin; Pediatric Doctor at Seoul National University Pediatric Group”. You’ve seen people in scrubs and they were, favorably said, unflattering but on this man… he looked like he stepped out of a catalogue.

“You’re Y/N, right?”

Speechless, you nodded.

His entire face lit up with a grin. “Oh, that’s a relief. It’s fantastic to meet you, I’m Kim Seokjin. You can call me Jin though.”

Your voice decided to be nice and start working. You held out a hand and he reciprocated with a handshake. “Hi, I’m Y/N. It’s really nice to meet you. Please, do come in.”

He took off his sturdy shoes politely at the doorway and you retreated further into the hallway of your apartment.

You shivered again through your thin top and crossed your arms. God, you were going to have to raise the temperature. It felt like a fridge in here.

Jin turned around with a smile on his face before his eyes went wide. His eyes flickered down your body and quickly flickered back up to your face.

“I’m sorry if this is a bit sudden,” he started, red climbing up his neck and rising up to his cheeks. “I—” His eyes flicked down again before staying resolutely at your face, despite his very red cheeks.

Did you have a stain on your pants or something? You cast your eyes down at yourself and—

Oh.

Your very regrettable decision of turning your A/C up resulted in stiff nipples poking out from your thin top. To make matters worse, your crossed arms emphasized your breasts.

You felt yourself going red as an unflattering squeak left your mouth. Pulling a cardigan from behind the couch (there goes your good first impression), you quickly threaded your arms through the sleeves and covered your chest.

“I am so sorry—”

“It’s alright!” he said, his voice unwieldy. Jin’s eyes widened again as he realized the meaning of his words. “No! I mean— ugh,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands.

You giggled as you saw his mature composure crack in front of you. 

“I must seem like a pervert,” Jin groaned. “Here I was, hoping to come off as a cool older brother, and I just,” he shook his head. “Forgive me.”

The awkwardness defused, you laughed again, ultra conscious of your chest. “Please don’t worry about it! I had hoped to make a good first impression as well but look at me! Pulling clothing out of furniture.”

He snorted and you both started laughing, filling up your once silent apartment with sound. 

As the laughter died down, you offered him a seat on your couch. He gladly took the invitation, throwing in a joke about being on his feet all day.

“Yeah, I’m sorry to barge in all of the sudden. I didn’t have your contact information— only your address and I realized that you had no way to get to our house. So, here I am,” he grinned, eyes forming cute half crescents.

“I actually have to thank you for it,” you said, setting down a glass of water in front of him. “I was thinking of going to your house myself but I saw the security around it and I knew I’d probably get detained or something.”

“Well, it’s good that it all lined up so well,” Jin commented. “I better introduce myself, don’t I? I’m just a pediatric doctor with the SNU pediatric group and 26— the oldest of all of us. I was born in Gwacheon and moved to Seoul to attend university.”

You smiled softly, despite your unease at his use of the word “just”. “A pediatric doctor? That’s very nice. What made you want to be a doctor?”

Jin’s smile grew strained and you saw his broad shoulders tense up. 

Feeling like you wanted to hit yourself over the head, you threw out your hands in apology. “I didn’t mean to—”

He shook his head. “Please, don’t worry about it. It’s a common question. I chose this specific profession over the OR or surgery because, as a child, I knew someone who was injured a lot and I couldn’t help them at all.” He grimaced, but pasted on a very good smile. His eyes were crinkled at the edges, his head tilted upwards, but you could see through it. “Now I can, yeah?”

“I get what you mean,” you said sympathetically. You were often sick as a child too, and it was… difficult, when your father was off scampering across half the world. 

Jin straightened up in his seat and lost that faraway look in his eyes, zeroing in on you. “What about you, Y/N? You’re college-age, yeah?”

“Yes, I’m 21 and attend Yonsei University as a junior. Although it’s not as exciting as wanting to be a doctor, I want to be a counselor one day,” you told him, your eyes cast down “I want to help people.”

“That’s really admirable, Y/N. If you ever need any help getting an internship or opportunity, I know some counselors and I’d be more than happy to facilitate a meeting,” Jin smiled warmly at you.

A blush infused your cheeks. “I, ah, thank you. I actually work as an operator on Crisis hotline right now, but I’ll definitely need all the help I can get.”

“Of course! You’re my cute younger sister now.”

“I’ve never had a sibling, I’m very excited to have seven older brothers now,” you grinned.

“Yeah! About that,” he coughed awkwardly, “— are you considering moving in with us? Your father told my mother that you would be moving, but I wasn’t sure if you were completely willing?”

You nodded. “I’m considering it. I’d like to meet everyone first, however. Just to get used to your personalities.”

“Completely understandable, all seven of us can be,” he paused, “—a lot. However, if you’re up for meeting a few of us, I can take you to our house for a visit. I can drop you back and everything.”

“That’d be lovely.”

He waited patiently for you as you locked the door to your apartment, carefully watching you as you stepped into the elevator.

“Where did you park?” you asked, craning your head upwards to look at him. “I hope you weren’t forced to park on the street, it can be very expensive.”

He shook his head. “I found the visitor parking, it’s all good.”

The doctor led you through the underground parking, weaving through cars and concrete beams with ease until you stopped in front of a bright white car with a silver trident in the middle of its grill. Eyes wide, you knew what this car was. Your dad had admired Maseratis for the longest time, and this one looked to be very new.

Jin gestured to the white Maserati, looking unfairly suave in his scrubs and next to his fancy car. “Hop in.”

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Mature Type, Namjoon! 

Chapter 2: Enter the Mature Type, Namjoon!

Jin was a model driver, driving carefully on the streets of Seoul. He looked both ways before crossing an intersection and took slow turns. However, it amused you how he hissed at the console as it beeped to warn him if there was a car or curb too close to him.

However, as you looked out the window, the streets got quieter and the houses a whole lot bigger as you crossed into a residential part of Seoul. You were driving parallel to the Han River, and you saw many people doing water activities or boating to cool off in the hot September weather.

Jin slowed down as you entered an avenue lined by trees and you could see a guardhouse at the end of the picturesque street. However, the two of you avoided the guardhouse completely and took what was presumably the resident’s entrance, where he passed by easily with a scan of a barcode on his tire.

“Do you drive, Y/N?” Jin asked, one elbow resting casually on his open window and the other on his lap.

“No, I never really had time to learn.” More like you never had someone to teach you.

“Okay, so we’ll just need a resident pass for you,” Jin muttered to himself, eyes focused on the street.

He drove through large, green spaces with the occasional building speckling the landscape. You gripped your purse harder. Green spaces unencumbered by large buildings blocking the view were rare in Seoul, the cost of natural land so astronomically high only wealthy business people or very famous celebrities being able to afford places like this. You gulped. Their family was definitely out of your league.

The car stopped in front of a very modern looking townhouse and the garage opened, Jin driving into what seemed to be a much more expansive parking garage under the house. However, instead of boring concrete and fluorescent lighting, sandy colored marble and warm lighting lit the space as you descended through the underground.

Biting your lip as Jin backed in his car easily with just one hand steering the wheel, defined forearms catching your attention, you mentally smacked yourself. He’s your brother, for god’s sake!

You froze up as the doors started to lift up like wings on a butterfly, but relaxed. This level of wealth would definitely take some time to get used to.

He placed a warm palm on your shoulder, his fingertips reaching your collarbones, as he guided you to the entrance, up the dimly lit stairs and to a large, wooden door.

“I wish I could’ve taken you through the front door since it’s much more impressive,” he sighed, and pushed the wooden door open with a thumbprint scanner. “However, welcome to our humble abode.”

An abode it was, but humble was it not. You were only on the ground floor, but the ceilings were very high and you were surrounded by many floor-to-ceiling windows. The main theme of the building was warm marble and dark, rich wood with jewel tones interspersed between.

“Woah,” you breathed out. “You guys have a lot of space.”

“Yeah, “ Jin grimaced. “We kind of need it when some of us like to roughhouse and tend to break things.”

You laughed as he then guided you towards a spacious living room, a large window overlooking the Han River and greenery.

“Sit tight, I’ll get us something to drink,” Jin said, his voice getting fainter as he strode to a room off the massive living room.

Ankles crossed together, you peered at the large room. At first, it looked neat. Everything was in its place and perfectly coordinated by the eye of an expert designer. However, you could see the signs the place was well-lived in. The wear-and-tear of the orange and beige blanket emblazoned with an H that was thrown over the chair of the couch, the mess of wires from various gaming consoles, and even the small depressions on the pillows. 

A shelf of colorful books framed the huge TV and you stood up, perusing them. You expected the books to be typical, non-offensive living room books with dust on the covers but to your surprise, the books on the shelves were well loved with their cracked spines and rounded edges. Tracing over your fingers over the books you whispered the titles to yourself.

Candide, Crime and Punishment, The Metamorphosis…

“I’m sorry, but who are you?”

A deep voice echoed behind you and you jumped in surprise. Whirling around you saw another tall man with neat ash blond hair, glasses neatly perched on his straight nose with a pair of fierce eyes peering out from behind the frames. His charcoal suit was well-fitted to his body and his build reminded you of a tiger; sinewous muscles cording his arms, back, and thighs and tensed, ready to jump into action.

A nervous smile crawled up your lips. “I’m Y/N L/N. Are you one of my new brothers?”

The man relaxed minutely but the fierceness of his eyes did not subside. “I am. I’m Kim Namjoon, it’s a pleasure to meet you Y/N.”

He strode across the room in long, confident strides and took your hand. His handshake was strong and you tightened your grip in response, narrowing your eyes at him. His right eyebrow quirked, but he said nothing as he turned his attention to the bookshelf.

“So, what caught your attention here?” He murmured, tenor voice traveling the length of your spine and stroking your sensitive skin. “Is it… this?”

He pulled out a copy of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, obviously less worn than the rest.

A smirk tugged at your lips. “No, not that one.”

He stared at you longer, before crossing his arms over his powerful chest. “Oh? Enlighten me, then.”

With nimble fingers, you pulled out a red, slim novel and handed it to him. You carefully tracked his reaction as he took it from your hands, face and eyes saying nothing. He ran a thumb over the agonized face on the cover, and you felt a shiver go down your arm at the sheer sensuousness of it.

“Clockwork Orange,” he breathed out. “Interesting. Are you a Lit Major?”

You continued to stare at the bookshelf, feeling his eyes boring holes into your face. “No, I’m not. I’m majoring in psychology.”

He hummed, eyes tracing the rough artwork of the novel’s cover. “I liked psychology, but at that point I was already double-majoring. I majored in philosophy and business, which are not as different than they seem.”

“Are you out of university, then?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual.

Namjoon nodded affirmatively. “I’m 24, but I matriculated at SNU when I was 18. I run a conglomerate group now.”

Trying to keep your mouth from falling open in shock— what kind of twenty something year old owned a large business, much less a conglomerate— you nodded coolly.

“Given or made?” you questioned, an edge in your voice. Something about Namjoon made you want to test him, to prod at him constantly.

His fierce eyes turned to you and they blazed. 

“Made.”

Your lips lifted upwards, minutely, until you heard a clinking of glasses.

“Y/N? Sister-dearest? I got you— oh!”

Jin stopped in shock at the sight of you two seemingly huddled together in front of the book case.

“Do you two know each other?” Jin asked, absolutely bemused, as he set down a pitcher and some glasses on the coffee table.

“We don’t,” Namjoon answered. “However,” he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, “—I can see we’ll get along nicely.”

You did not get the same impression, but you digressed. He was one of your brothers now. Another factor was that one of his biceps, even though it was hidden inside his suit jacket, looked like it could strangle you.

Jin continued to stare in suspicion, before shrugging his wide shoulders and settling down on the couch.

“So what were you chatting about then?”

“A couple of books I had on the shelf. Y/N has some interesting taste,” Namjoon commented.

Jin snorted into his water with lemon. “Oh, ew, now I have two bookworms as siblings? Reading was the worst part of university. I liked all the practical stuff.”

“Sometimes I can’t believe that rational parents would let you near their kids,” Namjoon retorted, helping himself to a glass.

“And I can’t believe some women come near you,” Seokjin replied heatedly.

The two of them stared at each other seriously before breaking out in guffaws, hiding your expression behind your glass of water. This was such a weird dynamic and it was only two of them. Well, the best you could do was adapt the situation.

Just like you always had.

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Rough Type, Jungkook! 

Chapter 3: Enter the Rough Type, Jungkook!

As the three of you chatted about yourselves (apparently, some of the brothers were biologically Seoyeon’s children or were adopted), Jin’s eye caught the clock behind you and his eyes widened.

“Oh dear, it’s almost 6 o’clock,” Jin fretted, leaping up from the couch. “Everyone should be arriving home soon– excuse me,” he said as he retreated into the kitchen.

“Ah, I guess that means I should get going,” you said apologetically to Namjoon, standing up and straightening your ruffled skirt.

“Please, stay for dinner,” Namjoon smiled, gesturing for you to take a seat.

“Yeah, Y/N, stay for dinner!” Jin yelled from the kitchen.

“I mean, if you’re sure…” you trailed off, hoping you could stay. You felt too lazy to cook for yourself tonight.

“Please do, we hope to see you a lot more around here,” Namjoon said, warm smiling at you.

The security system dinged, signalling a door had opened within the house. Namjoon’s ears perked up.

His eyes flew towards the doorway. “That must be Taehyung or Jungkook, coming in. They’re usually the first to arrive.”

You wondered why both of those names seemed familiar and a heavy door slammed shut.

“Jungkook-ah! Your new sister is here! Come and greet her, you punk!”

The footsteps thud to a halt at the foot of the steps and you spin around in your seat.

In the hallway, a buff man in a loose-fitting white t-shirt and grey joggers stood in front of you. In almost humorous contrast to his hulking, muscled body, the cutest face with big eyes and pouty lips you have seen peered at you.

He looked familiar to you and you bit your lip, trying to figure out where you had seen him. Oh wait! Charger guy!

“Jungkook! You’re in my Calculus class, right?”

“Yeah…” he whispered, looking at you like he saw a ghost.

“It’s so funny that you’re here. It’s nice to meet you as my brother,” you grinned at him, tilting your head to the side.

He nodded mindlessly, frozen at his spot in the hallway.

“Jungkook? Are you good?” you prodded.

Namjoon snorted as he kept on typing into his phone. “Jungkook can’t speak to girls, so he gets frozen like this from time to time. Hyung, you fix him.”

“I’m cooking, you dolt!”

“And I’m trying to earn money so I can provide the food. Go.”

Jin shot you a look, as if exclaiming “look at how I’m treated around here!”, and dusted off his hands. Striding over to a frozen Jungkook, Jin poked Jungkook’s very built chest.

Jungkook still didn’t move and Jin pursed his lips. He poked him again. “Yah! Why aren’t you working?!”

The youngest brother broke out from his trance and looked at Jin seriously. 

“No.”

“Pardon?” you asked, wondering if you misheard.

“No.” Jungkook shook his mass of black, shaggy hair and ran a tattooed hand through it, looking in disbelief at the ground. “No, no, no, no, no no.”

Your slight smile is frozen on your face and you feel your shoulders tense up and, nervously, you look to Jin.

“Jungkook—“

“Fuck!” He threw his hands in the air. Jungkook pointed a finger at you, a line creasing at his forehead. “I did not sign up for this! Fuck!” 

Spinning around, he marched back into the hall and you could see the powerful muscles in his back tense through his thin t-shirt.

“Well…”

Jin, with his hands rubbing his temples, sighed heavily and deflated at the counter. “God, I’m sorry about that Y/N. I don’t know why Jungkookie is acting like that; he’s normally really amiable and nice.”

You laugh softly, trying to defuse the awkward tension that had settled around the kitchen. “Jin-ssi, please don’t worry about it. It’s a huge shift in his life and some people are going to take it harder than others. It’ll take some time, but I’m sure he’ll get used to me being his sister.”

Namjoon scrutinized you with hooded eyes. “You’re very kind. I hope my brothers don’t take advantage of it.”

Your grin cracked a bit. “We’re family. I don’t mind.”

—————

Jungkook would not come down from his room, despite the hilarious mix of threats, blackmail, and aegyo Jin tried to coerce him down with.

You could hear Jin rapid-fire lecturing Jungkook outside Jungkook’s bedroom door and Namjoon sighed, his temples in his hands. 

“Hyung, just give up. The kid’s being moody again.”

Jin acquiesced with ill grace, throwing in a last good “You punk!” up the stairs. He stomped down the carpeted stair well, retying his apron and set to reheat many of the things.

“See if I feed him tonight, that ungrateful brat…” Jin hissed, moodily chopping some screen onions.

Namjoon leaned towards you and beckoned your ear towards his and you obeyed, curious. His scent wafted towards you, yet was not as punchy as a normal cologne. It was subtle and musky, carrying notes of old books and bergamot. Perhaps it was a lotion?

“Jin says that all the time, but will leave him leftovers anyways,” Namjoon whispered into your ear, making you unconsciously shiver. “He’s too much of a pushover.”

You snorted as Jin came out of the kitchen with a dish in hands. “Yah, what was that, Namjoon?”

“Just commenting on how good your food is, hyung,” Namjoon replied coolly and leaning away from you.

Jin glanced suspiciously at Namjoon, before setting down the dish. You gasped, immediately getting to your feet.

“Oh, I’ve been such a rude guest! Can I help in any way? Set out the dishes or something?”

The apron-clad doctor clutched his heart, and wailed, “Look! My cute dongsaeng! Finally, a member of this household that is kind and offers to do their part!” Jin’s voice got progressively louder as he directed his voice up the stairs.

You muffled your laugh with a cough, and turned to Jin again. “Jin-ssi?”

Jin shook his head, clicking his tongue as he directed you to stay in your seat. “No, sweetheart, you’re a guest. Joonie-ah, set out the plates.”

Namjoon got up to get the plates, but as he did, his phone buzzed. Namjoon’s forehead creased as he looked at whatever was on his screen.

“Hyung, Taehyung-ah won’t be here today. Apparently his shoot on Jeju is lasting over night.”

Jin sighed, bustling around the kitchen. “How about Hoseok? Yoongi? I know Chimmy is out of the country right now.”

Taehyung, Hoseok, Yoongi, Chimmy, you memorized in your head. These were the four brothers you had yet to meet.

Namjoon snorted and put down the silverware, forks and spoons tinkling brightly. “You know Yoongi— he’s like a stray cat. He’ll be here when he wants. As for Hoseok, I think he might’ve just fallen asleep at the studio.”

“I’m sorry Y/N, I wish I could’ve introduced you to our other brothers,” Jin apologized. “Now, you’re just stuck with us two grandpas.”

You shook your head. “I’m just happy I could have dinner with you guys. Thank you for inviting me over.”

Jin watched you with a fond smile and Namjoon contemplated you carefully again.

Everything was set out and the three of you dug into Jin’s delicious food.

“Jin-ssi, this is very good. Your food tastes delicious. Did you put brown sugar into the sauce? It really rounds out the taste,” you complimented.

“I haven’t heard a compliment from these ungrateful brats about my cooking for 10 years,” Jin sighed dramatically. “Such a cute dongsaeng.”

Namjoon shook his head at Jin’s immature antics. “I might as well introduce you to Jungkook, since he elected not to do it himself.”

“You seemed to know him from university, yes?” Jin asked.

Nodding, you dabbed your mouth with a napkin. “I know of him, yes. He’s in my calculus class? Although, I feel like I might’ve had him in some of my core curriculum classes.”

“Jungkook is at Yonsei for a technology degree, although at first he was reluctant to go to university,” Namjoon revealed. “He wanted to be a Pro-Gamer and streamer full-time, but Seoyeon, Hyung, and I convinced him to get a degree.”

“He chose technology because he wants to combine his passion for gaming and technology into something in the future,” Jin continued, taking a sip of his water.

“That’s a very smart move of his,” you said politely. You wondered why Namjoon referred to his mother as ‘Seoyeon’. Maybe he was one of the adopted ones?

“That brat upstairs might look like he just screams at the monitor and works out, but he’s much more,” Namjoon reflected.

———- 

When you were cleaning up, you felt bad that Jungkook hadn’t had dinner yet. That man must need like four square meals a day and tons of snacks to keep up his bulk.

“Jin-ssi, Namjoon-ssi, I’m going to deliver some food to Jungkook. He must be hungry,” you called out, scraping some of the food onto a plate.

“You don’t have too, Y/N, he usually sneaks down to get something from the fridge,” Namjoon said as he typed furiously on his phone.

“Don’t worry about it, I want to help him,” you grinned, climbing up the stairs.

Namjoon mumbled something suspiciously like, “You’re too kind for your own good” but you had already gotten to the second landing. Stopping in front of Jungkook’s door, you knocked.

“Jungkook-ssi?” you said when no one responded. “You must be a bit hungry, so I just got a plate together for you.”

Complete radio silence. 

Exhaling sharply through your nostrils, you pouted and bent down to set down the plate next to his doorway.

“Well, if you change your mind, I put it next to your door. I’ll be going now!”

You strode down the hallway, making sure your footsteps trailed off. You hid behind a corner, making sure to conceal yourself completely.

After waiting a few minutes, you were sure he wasn’t going to come out  but his door clicked open and Jungkook emerged in a grey-blue hoodie. He took a surreptitious glance around the hallway before his eyes found you behind the corner.

Blushing, you decided to wave at him. To your surprise, instead of scowling or ignoring you completely, Jungkook’s face turned tomato red as he hurriedly gathered up the plate and slammed his door.

You scratched your head. Maybe he was shy or something.

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Bright Type, Hoseok! 

Chapter 5: Enter the Bright Type, Hoseok!

“So, how were your brothers? Nice? Weird? Ugly?” Hyerim pestered as you walked by the subway.

You bit your lip. “Um, really different?”

Hyerim fixed you a look.

“Okay, so I met three out of the seven yesterday. The oldest one— his name is Seokjin, but I call him Jin— is 26 and he’s a pediatric doctor. The other one—”

“Wait, Seokjin?” Your friend squinted at you. “Does he happen to work at SNU Pediatric Group?”

Blinking, you turned to her. “Yeah? How the hell did you know that?”

Hyerim let out a half strangled scream as you stepped down the stairs of the station. You were instantly surrounded by dozens of power blue ads with a purple suit-clad man in the middle, perhaps in the middle of a hip trust, all reading Happy Birthday in aesthetic cursive.

“Hoe! He’s my brother’s fucking doctor, I can’t believe this!”

Your eyebrows nearly touched your forehead. “Shit, really?”

“Yes! Holy shit, did you not listen to me complaining to you about how hot he was? And now he’s your fucking brother? The star must’ve aligned for me! This must mean the rest of the brothers are good looking!” Hyerim squealed.

“Does Jongin not exist anymore?” you asked as you both swiped your subway passes.

“Shhh, just because I’m off the market doesn’t mean I don’t get to look,” she giggled, her pony tail swishing back and forth.

You shook your head, amused at her antics, and continued.

“Anyways, the other brother I met is some fancy-schmancy businessman. Namjoon-ssi is 25? 24? He’s older than me but graduated from college when he was just 18.”

Hyerim’s eyes took on a perverted light and she simpered underneath her hand. “Oh? Am I hearing of sugar daddy material?”

You squawked and hit her shoulder. “Hyerim, stop! These are my brothers, not matches on Tinder!”

“I don’t care, you need a boyfriend— even if it’s a secret and taboo one,” Hyerim said, pushing her hair off her shoulder.

Rolling your eyes, you sat down in a seat next to her. “Anyways, the boys invited me to dinner again tonight in hopes we’ll catch more of the boys in the house. Jin-ssi says trying to get them all in one place is like waiting for a blue moon— it’s very rare.”

“So are you going straight there or going home to change?”

Shaking your head, you gestured at a laminated white pass in your hands. “I wanted to get there early today so I can go home early. Jin-ssi drove me home last night and I don’t want him to be caught in rush hour traffic again.”

Hyerim peered at the pass in your hands. “Hannam the Hill? Hey, doesn’t Han Hyo-joo live there? The actress from Brilliant Legacy?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you leaned into the hard plastic seat. “I don’t know. Probably? All I know is that the place where they live is very ritzy and takes like two security gates to get into.”

“Okay, they’re all sugar daddy material then,” Hyerim commented. She ducked to avoid a hit over the head and you huffed, crossing your arms.

“Stop, they all do pretty well for themselves and I heard my stepmother is some fancy businesswoman from a well-to-do family. They’re just my family now.”

“The train is approaching Yangwon station. I repeat the train is approaching Yangwon station,” the bright voice announced over the intercom.

“Oh, that’s my stop,” you remembered. 

“Wait, you said you met another brother. Who is he?” Hyerim asked as she patted her nose with a compact.

The train slowed to a stop and you got up.

“My other brother is Jungkook. The one from our Calculus class? The streamer?”

Smirking, you dramatically walked away and heard Hyerim’s shriek of disbelief as you stepped onto the train platform.

————— 

“I’m sorry, what?” you asked the guard in disbelief.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but your visitor pass has expired,” the security guard said calmly, eyes scanning you detachedly. Like you were another crazy female.

You were going to kill Jin. Forget his awesome jajamyeon, you’ll bitch-slap both him and Namjoon into another dimension.

“Are you sure you can’t just let me in? Like, call the house or something,” you asked desperately, hands crumpling the visitor pass.

The guard looked like he desperately wanted to roll his eyes, but he picked up his corded phone.

“Building 10, yes?” he asked boredly.

“Yes.”

He waited for the call to be picked up but after several rings, no one picked up.

“Apologies ma’am, but no one appears to be at the house. If you’re done, I’d like to ask you to leave and come back later,” the man said with an air of finality, and turned back to his station and looked at the 6 monitors surrounding his desk.

Your mouth open, you were aghast at his lack of sympathy. He could’ve at least offered for you to let you wait! It was nearing sun down and the boys had invited you to dinner again, and it would be rude to be late.

You don’t even know why they needed this much security. Sure, Namjoon was the CEO of a large conglomeration but wasn’t as high profile as Samsung’s chairman or someone crazy like that. It wasn’t like one of your brothers was a high-profile celebrity, right?

Standing on the sidewalk and looking like an idiot, you decided to call one of your damn brothers. Huffing, you flipped open your phone and selected Jin’s contact. After several rings, the call picked up.

“Y/N?”

“Hi Jin-ssi, sorry to bother you right now. I’m sure you’re busy right now,” you apologized, accidentally meeting eyes with the security guard who stared at you suspiciously.

“You’re fine! Is everything alright?” Jin asked, his voice tinged by concern.

You bit your lip as the security guard raised an eyebrow and picked up his phone, his eyes not letting go of you the entire time.

“I’m trying to get to the house, but the guard told me the visitor pass expired,” you explained, breath hitching as the guard spoke rapidly into the phone.

Jin swore over the phone, the sound muffled as he moved his phone away from his face.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N, Namjoon and I were so sure it was still active. Sit tight wherever you are, I’m texting one of the boys to get you through the gate. Hoseok is about a few minutes away from you.”

“Um, I don’t mean to rush,” you said, eyes widening as the man gestured to get out of the guardhouse, “— but I think the guard is about to detain me.”

“Goddamn security,” Jin hissed. “I’m calling the guard office right now, I am so sorry.”

He hung up and the guard continued to advance towards you, and you grasped your phone a bit tighter. The summer humidity suddenly pressed into your skin, slipped between your waistband and collar to make you sweat. Your eyes flickered to the station. No one was in the guard office to take Jin’s call so you steeled for yourself for what was about to be an ugly confrontation.

“Ma’am, I firmly ask you to leave the premises before I am forced to—”

“Y/N!”

The guard and you turned in the direction of the sound, and you saw a man in a bright yellow windbreaker and black sport shorts somehow jogging towards you in socks and sandals.

“Y/N,” he said, out of breath, as he stopped in front of you and the security guard. He held out a hand as he put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

“Hoseok-nim,” the guard bowed in respect, “Do you perhaps know this young lady?”

You got a good glimpse of him as he lifted his head and tennis cap. He pulled down his white mask and you saw his pointed nose, unfairly smooth skin, and sharp chin. You sobbed inwardly. Did all of your brothers miraculously get the luckiest scratch off tickets for the genetic jackpot? The man grinned at you and nodded in affirmative at the guard.

“Yes, I do,” Hoseok said, straightening up.

“I’m sorry, the young lady did not have the proper credentials to enter. My apologies.” The guard continued, speaking to Hoseok as if you did not exist.

Hoseok’s happy expression vanished and his brows furrowed. “Please, don’t apologize to me. My sister looked frightened. My brothers and I would appreciate it if you treated her a bit more politely.”

You hadn’t even noticed how frightened you were as you felt a drop of sweat roll down your temple and the shivers stop.

“I apologize, young lady,” the security guard said, taking off his cap and bowing politely. You smiled tightly and accepted with grace, gesturing for him to get up.

“That being said, we haven’t had time to get her resident pass processed. I’d like to add her to a list of visitors so a mix-up like this will not happen again,” Hoseok said seriously, staring down the security guard underneath his tennis logo cap and eccentric outfit. It almost put a smile to your lips, to see a beefy man in a suit and tie nearly cower under a boy at least half his age and centimeters shorter than him.

“Of course. Hoseok-nim, young lady,” he bowed, and the security guard scurried towards the office.

Hoseok turned towards you and his face brightened, rounded cheeks pulled upwards. “Hi Y/N, I’m so sorry for this mess,” he said, eyes shining with regret.

“I completely understand,” you placated. “You’re… Hoseok-ssi, right?”

He beamed. “Yes, I’m Hoseok. I’m 24, the middle brother. Please, call me oppa, we’re siblings now!”

He slung an arm over your shoulder and you couldn’t help but beam along with him. His bright energy was so infectious and immediately warmed you to him, drawing you into his orbit.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you replied, smile tugging at your lips. “I’m Y/N, 21 years old.”

“I’m so excited to have a cute younger sister,” Hoseok confessed as he walked you through the streets towards the house. “I was always jealous of my friends that could take care of their younger sisters, even though they acted like they were annoyed by them.”

You grinned more brightly. “Me too. I’ve been an only child all my life and having seven new brothers is very exciting to me.”

“You might want to take that back when you’ve met all of us,” Hoseok laughed. “You’ve met Jin-hyung, Namjoon-hyung, Jungkook-ah, right?”

Nodding, you spoke, “Yes, I have. Jin-ssi and Namjoon-ssi are very nice to me, but I don’t think Jungkook-ssi liked me very much…”

Hoseok waved it away. “Don’t worry, Kookie-ah doesn’t socialize well with girls. Or people. It took him ages to warm up to us after he got back from his grandparents.”

“Kookie-ah?” you asked curiously.

“Yes,” Hoseok grinned as he turned you onto a familiar street. “It’s our nickname for our youngest. He’s too cute not to tease.” Hoseok frowned as he remembered something. “Even though he is taller than me now.”

Hoseok was pretty tall himself, and you were starting to think that if you all took a family photo one day you’d look like the dwarf in the middle. Namjoon, Jin, and Jungkook just towered over you.

“On the other note, what do you do, Y/N? I’m curious about what my younger sister does.”

“I’m a university student at Yonsei, Hoseok-ssi,” you coughed, still not comfortable calling anybody oppa. “I’m studying psychology so I can be a counselor.”

“Yonsei? So my dongsaeng is a smart nut, I see,” Hoseok teased. “Did you know Jungkook before you met him as your brother?”

You shook your head. “I saw him around, but I only knew of him. What about you, Hoseok-ssi? What do you do?”

“I’m a dancer,” Hoseok announced, the house getting closer in view. “I’m part of this dance group, Neuron. We travel to perform and compete in competitions.”

“That’s awesome!” you clapped. “You must be very persistent. I tried ballet when I was younger and it was a disaster.”

“I haven’t heard that before,” Hoseok said, looking curiously at you. “Most people have told me I must be very talented or pull girls easily. But you’re right, I worked very hard.”

“What can I say?” you shrugged. “I just see through people.”

Hoseok guided you up the front steps of the doorway, fumbling through his pants to get his key. As he unlocked the front door, you heard the rumbling of a car going through the streets.

Going at least 100 kilometers per hour, a metallic blue Lamborghini skidded to a halt in front of the house. The weird doors stretched upwards and you saw both Jin and Namjoon emerge from the car.

“Y/N? Baby? Are you alright?” Jin asked worriedly, running up the front door.

“I’m good, Jin-ssi,” you comforted but he ignored it, taking your face in your hands and tilting your head to his view.

“Aish, those damn security guards!” Jin complained, clutching you to his chest and turning to Namjoon. “It’s your fault! Why did you give her that pass! She could’ve been detained! Put into cuffs like—like a criminal!” he ended dramatically.

Namjoon looked flabbergasted. “Me? You’re the one who got it!”

As the two descended into bickering, you peered at Hoseok from in between Jin’s arms. Your eyes screamed save me!

Hoeseok helpfully pried you from the still arguing doctor’s arms.

“Sorry about that, Jin is a bit protective over all of us— he practically raised us. We call him our mom sometimes,” Hoseok revealed, getting you into the house and leaving the now huffing and puffing duo on the doorsteps.

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Moody Type, Taehyung! 

Chapter 7: Enter the Moody Type, Taehyung!

As you entered the house, the faint strings of what might be a Daniel Caesar song flowed throughout the house.

“Oh goodie, Taehyung must be here!,” Jin clapped, setting down his keys on a hook near the door. 

Namjoon snorted. “He’s the only one of us that listens to this moody shit.”

Through drought and famine, natural disaster, my baby has been around for me.

A door slammed somewhere on the ground level, and the click clack of heeled boots echoed like muffled gunshots on the marble of the house.

Kingdoms have fallen, angels be calling, none of that could ever make me leave.

Turning the corner, your heart stopped.

Leaning on the wooden doorway was the most heart-breakingly beautiful man you’ve ever laid eyes upon. His dyed ash-grey hair was messy around his face, but behind his bangs peeked half-lidded eyes shaped like tear drops. A strong nose and pink lips, like the petals of a flower, were parted open as he stared through you.

“Oh? Is this our new sister?” he said softly, his gravelly voice filling the hall.

You grinned uneasily, fighting off the urge to cover yourself with a blanket or something. It wasn’t that his gaze was improper; those mercurial eyes just seemed to look through you.

“Taehyung, meet Y/N. She is our stepfather’s daughter,” Jin said carefully, eyes flicking between you like a tennis match.

It’s not fair, you thought. His clothes shouldn’t even match. The silky sleeveless tee had a paintbrush stroke across the chest and was bunched into baggy canvas pants covered in paint. It should’ve made him look like those wacky tube inflatables near car dealerships yet he looked like he walked out of a magazine.

“It’s nice to see you, Y/N,” Taehyung nearly whispered, head tilted to the side like he was evaluating a particular interesting museum installation. He made no move to shake your hand or embrace you.

“And you too, Taehyung-ssi,” you replied, bowing politely. He inclined his head.

“Well, I better get back to my red room. My pretties are coming along nicely,” Taehyung pronounced matter-a-factly, spinning sharply around to disappear into the dimly lit hall.

Namjoon face-palmed. “Well, now it sounds like he has a kinky sex dungeon. He just sees the world a bit differently than us, that’s all. It took some time for us to interpret his words when he came to us; for example, his pretties are his photographs.” The businessman looked suddenly pensieve. “Perhaps that’s why he’s so good at what he does.”

“Oh? What does Taehyung-ssi do?” you inquired, feeling like a strong breeze had swept into the room and left as suddenly as it came. You know that feeling? Where your skin tingles in the aftermath, your lips are suddenly dry, and like you could be knocked over the lightest touch.

“He’s a magazine editor, Y/N-ah,” Hoseok grins, putting down his heavy dancer bag on the couch carelessly. “It’s this really new-age, artsy magazine with a cult following. Maybe you’ve seen it? I think he named it something cryptic like ‘V’.”

“I’ll look into it, then,” you beamed, hoping to diffuse the weird tension that had settled on your shoulders.

———- 

Hoseok excused himself to take a shower and Namjoon had to take an important phone call, so it was just you and Jin left.

“Well, I know us five are at least here, and I know Jungkook is due to arrive soon from the gym. However, I don’t know if someone is going to drop by so I just leave an extra plate in the fridge just in case,” Jin said, stroking his chin.

“So, what’s on the menu today?” you asked playfully, taking a seat on the barstool.

Jin ruffled through the fridge, the fluorescent light highlighting his casual t-shirt. “Well, with what we have in the fridge, I can make some Chap-Chae and perhaps Kimchi Jjigae. However, we’d have a lot of chicken left and we need to eat it soon. Hm…”

“Jin-ssi, I know a good chicken recipe. Dakgangjeong? It’s this crispy fried chicken slathered in sweet and spicy sauce.”

The doctor frowned for a moment, leaning against the countertop.

“Is someone allergic? Or doesn’t like Chicken?” you asked worriedly, biting your lips.

Jin shook his head and chuckled. “No, everyone really likes fried chicken here. I’m just trying to remember if we have the ingredients.”

“That’s a relief, because it’s one of my favorite comfort meals.”

Opening the pantry, he bent down to look for something. “I think we do have everything here, thank goodness,” he grinned at you as he got up. “Do you cook a lot?”

“Yup, it’s my hobby,” you revealed, washing your hands at the sink. “I had to learn how to give myself food as a child.”

“Okay, awesome! You get started on the chicken and I’ll do the other dishes,” Jin said brightly, putting some ingredients on the table.

“Sounds good to me!”

You probably weren’t meant to hear it, but Jin giggled underneath his breath, “I have a sous-chef now.”

————

You put the finishing garnishes on your chicken and stepped back. The glaze looked very savory underneath the kitchen lights and dipping your finger into your glaze pot, it also tasted very good as well.

By the looks of it, Jin had finished with his two dishes. Wiping his hands with a towel, he put his hands on his hips and yelled, “Children! Get down here to eat, you punks!” 

As soon as you set down your plate of chicken, a multitude of footsteps resounded throughout the house.

Namjoon strode in first, only in a white shirt and trousers, and nodded coolly at you. The man looked very attractive out of his form-fitting workwear, and you wish your gaze hadn’t lingered on his tan, exposed skin.

Hoseok and Jungkook came in second, rough-housing with each other in the doorway before taking their seats. Hoseok greeted you brightly but Jungkook stared at you without a word before averting his gaze.

Finally, V came into the dining room in a more casual outfit of an oversized shirt and lounge pants, but still exuded an air of effortless grace. He grinned at everyone and plopped down into his chair.

“Alright everyone, eat up!” Jin fussed, setting down the steaming hot bowl and plate he was somehow carrying. You trailed after him with your dish grasped with both hands, hoping you wouldn’t accidentally trip and spill your hard work over the very expensive carpet.

You had to lean over Jungkook to place your chicken in the middle and you heard a startled “eep!” from beside you.

“Jungkook-ssi, are you alright?” You asked, sitting down in your seat next to him.

He nodded wordlessly, his ears red and gaze intensely focused on his plate. Running your eyes over him, you shrugged and grabbed your chopsticks.

The whole family dug in, loud and boisterous as people argued over which cut was better and devolved into personal attacks. Something warm curled up in your chest and warmed your cheeks, hoping to constrain the ridiculous smile that threatened to split your face. Is this how family looks like?

Watching Jungkook engage Taehyung in a very one sided conversation about the benefits of eating a certain part of the meat versus the other was very different than your empty apartment and lukewarm food.

“Wah, hyung, you’ve really outdid yourself with the chicken,” Hoseok gushed as he took a big bite of your chicken. “Please make it for us more!”

Jin chuckled, and set his chopsticks down. “I didn’t make it, so you’d have to ask her if you want more.”

Namjoon, with a strange light in his eyes, gestured to the nearly empty chicken plate with his chopsticks. “You… made this?”

Nodding in affirmative, you took a sip of your cola and cleared your throat. “Yes, I hope you guys liked it.”

Jungkook choked on his water and Jin rushed over to roughly pat his back. “Breath Jungkookie, breath!”

Hoseok yelled in delight and took out his handphone. “My cute little sister made this for me? Wow, my friends are going to be so jealous!” he grinned, snapping a few nice pictures of your glazed chicken.

Jungkook recovered at this point and was trying to fend off mother-hen Jin. “Hyung, I’m fine! I swear! You don’t have to baby me!,” he whined, cheeks red. “Besides, it was probably a bone or something.”

Your oldest brother huffed and sat back roughly into his seat, muttering something about ungrateful kids, while you tried to roll Jungkook’s comment over in your head. Bone? You used boneless chicken?

Deciding to push it away from your mind, you discreetly glanced at your cell phone and realized it was nearing 8 o’clock.

“Oh dear,” you muttered, catching the attention of the men at the table. “It’s almost 8 o’clock and I need to get home to water my plants,” you fretted.

As if on cue, a crack of thunder shook the table and you heard the rain start to hound at the windows and walls.

“Well, I be-leaf they’re getting watered,” Jin commented, cleaning up the last parts of his plate.

Staring at him in disbelief, you started to giggle and soon you were clutching your stomach with how hard you were laughing. 

“Did she like his shitty joke that much?” Jungkook whispered not so discreetly to Namjoon, who looked a bit weirded out himself.

“I’ve- I’ve never met a man with such awful jokes,” you laughed, wiping a tear from your eyes. “But I can’t help finding them so funny.”

The doctor aha-ed and pointed at Jungkook. “See? My jokes are so bad that they’re good!”

Snorting in disbelief, the youngest brother leaned back into his chair with his arms crossed over his built chest. “She’s our sister, she’s obligated to,” he murmurs sulkily. He sneaks a peek at you and you giggle at his adorable moodiness, to which he reddens and avoids your gaze.

Namjoon looked worriedly out the window, quickly turning on the news with his phone.

“— strong windstorms and rains are going to be surrounding Seoul overnight—”

“I can’t, in good conscience, let you go back home in this weather,” Namjoon stated, eyes flickering between you and the loud weather outside.

You hesitated. You were kind of worried for Mr. Ukyo, your cute succulent on the porch. “I—”

“Y/N, please,” Hoseok begged. “What kind of brothers would we be if we left you alone tonight? Stay in. We have a guest room with all the stuff you need.”

“I… okay. Thank you guys,” you smiled uneasily.

Hoseok laughed and patted your back as he got up to put his plate away.

“Sleepover…” Taehyung mumbled as he passed by you. On his way out the door, he gave you a boxy smile that tugged at something in your head.

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Cool Type, Yoongi! 

Chapter 7: Enter the Cool Type, Yoongi!

“Hi, my cute dongsaeng!” announced Hoseok as he strode into your guest room. “I come bearing gifts!”

You grinned at your exuberant brother as he danced through your doorway, having a pile of stuff in his arms.

“We usually don’t have guests over, but sometimes our mother stays at the house and now we have a bunch of, uh, woman stuff,” Hoseok coughed.

“Thank you, Hoseok-ssi,” you said, moving to sort through the items.

“Call me oppa,” Hoseok whined.

Namjoon peeked through your doorway and saw Hoseok pouting at you, and instantly wacked the back of his head.

“Yah, you literally just met her today. Let her grow more comfortable with us first,” the businessman scolded, before turning to you.

“We have some t-shirts and shorts that don’t fit Jungkook anymore but please don’t tell him that we kept his childhood items,” Namjoon shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “I got you a toothbrush and toothpaste, plus some face products.

“You’re really kind, I feel like I’m in a hotel,” you joked, moving to plug your phone into the wall outlet. The place felt like your hotel suite suddenly got upgraded. This guest room was bigger than your entire living room and everything was so nicely decorated, you couldn’t help but gawk like a tourist at the fancy light fixtures and furniture. Maybe if you broke a vase you’d have to work in a host club...

“Ah, really? That’s nice to hear,” Namjoon said, sitting down in an armchair near the window overlooking Seoul and the Han River. He steepled his fingers together, tilting his head at you. “However, if you moved in, this room would be yours.”

Your slight smile turned slightly downwards and Hoseok, sensing the change of mood easily, turned over and whacked Namjoon over his head.

“Who’s the one going too fast now?” Hoseok retorted, before plopping down on the chair opposite of Namjoon.

“No, no, you’re fine, Namjoon-ssi,” you acknowledged. “I just… I don’t want to intrude. Plus, the amount of testosterone in this building…” you trailed off.

“Y/N-ah, we just met you but we already know you’d be a good fit with our family,” Hoseok said, smiling softly at you. “Seriously.”

“I don’t want to seem overbearing and I know you’re very independent, but the idea of you living alone worries Jin-hyung and I,” Namjoon confessed, wringing his hands and looking towards the window. “What happens if there is any emergency? Or you got sick? It’d be hard for us to take care of you.”

Tears welled up at the edge of your vision and your mouth twitched downwards. Quickly pressing a hand to your mouth, you averted your eyes from the boys.

“Y/N-ssi, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” Namjoon asked worriedly, getting up from the armchair.

You waved him away, discreetly wiping your nose. “I-I’m fine, Namjoon-ssi. Really. I’m just really emotional all the sudden, that’s all.”

“Y/N-ah, are you sure?” Hoseok piped in concern, craning his neck to see your face.

A hand thrust some tissues in front of you and you took them gratefully, dabbing at your eyes.

“I- I just…” you sucked a breath in, and turned towards the fretful pair of brothers. You suddenly beamed at them, eyes crinkling into crescents and grin splitting your cheeks despite the visible tear tracks on your cheeks. “I’ve never had someone care for me. Thank you.”

The two boys felt their heart stutter at the surprisingly vulnerable confession from the ever-polite yet distant you. They shared a look.

We’re in trouble.

———-

The house quieted down and all the lights were turned out as the rain seemed to get louder. However, despite the busy day, you tossed and turned in the very comfy cotton sheets.

Turning on your side, you watched the rain stream down your window in awe. While the window was big, a building partially blocked your view of the Han river and the Seoul skyline. You unplugged your phone from the charger on the wall and looked at the time. 1 A.M.

For some reason, you couldn’t sleep. Perhaps it was the unfamiliar environment or the dozens of thoughts crowding your head, but you couldn’t force your head to turn off despite counting hundreds of sheep.

Letting out a frustrated groan, you untangled yourself from the sheets and set your feet on the heated marble. Padding quietly to the door, you tried your best to open and close the heavy wooden door softly.

The house seemed bigger when it was not filled by the loud voices and eclectic, varied personalities of your brothers. Clutching a throw blanket over your shoulders, you made your way down the stairwell with only the city’s lights shining through the large, floor-to-ceiling windows around the house.

Flicking the low lights on in the kitchen, you searched the many cabinets for where they kept their tea packets. You finally found a jar of chamomile tea in a corner of the pantry, turning on the tea kettle and waiting for it to boil.

Leaning against the corner, your eyes got accustomed to the dark of the living room and roved over the personal effects of the brothers. There was a large picture of all seven boys on the mantle of the fireplace with their mother sitting in the middle, however, you could not see the faces of the two brothers you had not met due to the reflection in the glass.

Could you see yourself living here? With the amiable and fussy Jin, and the mature, erudite Namjoon? Wake up every morning to see the infectiously bright Hoseok at the counter and the mercurial Taehyung floating through the house like a wraith? Even go to school with your confusing classmate, Jungkook?

The kettle whistled loudly and you took it off its burner, pouring water into a cup. Flicking off the underhead lights in the kitchen, you padded towards the living room and curled up on the outrageously soft, leather couch. Blowing on your tea, you took a sip as you gazed in wonder at the rain streaming rivers over the large, bay window.

For years, the rain had been your only friend when your father traipsed the globe. It had softly knocked at your window to check if you were okay when you were sick and playfully splashed you when you were sad. The rain sang you to sleep every night when you were young and alone, afraid of the thundering din outside.

Looking at the portrait of the seven boys, you saw a new family.

Smiling into your tea cup, your mind was made up.

A loud beep rang throughout the house and a click reached your ears. Your eyes tried to look through the darkness at the basement entrance, where a figure clad in all black emerged. Feeling a momentary panic seize your heart, your fingers tightened over your mug and you tried to think straight. This was probably your other brother, Yoongi or Chimmy.

“Oh? Who are you?” A raspy voice said, shutting the door behind him. “Are you one of my brother’s girlfriends?”

Shaking your head, you got to your feet. “No, I’m your new sister, Y/N L/N.”

The figure made an affirmative noise and removed his shoes at the massive shoe closet next to the entrance. “Ah, I see. I’m Yoongi, your second oldest brother.”

A crack of thunder shook the house and a few seconds later, bright white lightning flashed through the room and illuminated you both.

In that split second, you saw pitch black hair constrained by a headband. However, what caught your attention was his eyes. Contrasted against pale skin and fierce, arched brows, were lids shaped like the outstretched wing of a bird. He stared at you lazily before they widened minutely.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Yoongi-ssi.”

“You too,” he mumbled and bowed politely, shuffling up the stairs like a gloomy specter.

You blinked a bit at how calmly he took this into stride. Christ, were your brothers fazed by anything?

—————

“Y/N-ah. Y/N-ah, wake up!”

You groggily opened your eyes to see Jin close to your face, his brows bunched together in concern.

“Y/N-ah, are you alright? You’re on the couch.”

Straightening up you could see that you, indeed, were still on the couch. You must’ve fallen asleep while watching the rain.

“Oh, yeah, I am,” you stated, rubbing your eyes and yawning. “I must’ve fallen asleep here last night.”

Jin sat across you and looked worried. “Did something happen last night? Was the guest room not comfortable? Did—”

“Oh no, nothing like that!” you tried to say. “The sound of the rain was better here.” 

He looked at you strangely but accepted it with a shrug of his shoulders. “Anyway, I’m about to make breakfast, why don’t you clean up a bit? I’ll wake up the other brothers.”

You nodded and almost stumbled trying to get off the couch, before Jin caught you with an arm. You turned your head to see his face uncomfortably close to yours.

“Careful,” he whispered, his minty breath trailing across your cheeks and his eyes roving your face.

You felt your cheeks heat up before you almost threw yourself out of his touch. “Yeah, um, thank you!” you yelled behind you before you fled to upstairs.

————

By the time you cleaned your face and put on a bra, all of the boys— in various states of consciousness— were gathered around the dining counter.

“Y/N-ah!” Hoseok said enthusiastically, obviously one of the more awake ones. He wore a pair of flowered pants that ahjummas usually wore and white, long-sleeved tee. “Yoongi came in last night, he’s our other brother.”

“We met last night, Hoseok-ah,” Yoongi mumbled into a large cup that, hilariously, was engraved with the words “Daddy-Size”. “I came home around 1 AM and saw her on the couch.”

“Oh, was everything alright?” Namjoon inquired politely, stretching his broad muscles as he yawned. Even his loungewear looked professional.

Smiling uneasily, you took a seat at the counter next to Jungkook, whose head was buried in his arm. “Yeah, couldn’t sleep and the city lights calmed me down,” you reassured.

Jungkook suddenly jerked awake next to you, alarmed eyes peeking through his messy black hair. “H-huh?”

You grinned at him. “Good morning, Jungkook-ssi.”

He mumbled a good morning in the direction of the ground before his eyes zoomed into something at your collarbone.

‘Y/N-ssi, i-is that my shirt?” he asked shyly— the first words he has directed towards you.

You looked at the oversized navy shirt, which you had tucked into the pair of denim shorts you wore yesterday. “I think? Namjoon told me it was one of your own.”

His gaze whipped to Namjoon and he started sputtering as Namjoon snickered, putting on a pair of thick-framed glasses.

Suddenly, Jin swore as he looked at his phone. “Sorry guys, but there’s an emergency at the hospital. I need to go,” he said rushedly, racing to the closest to put on a pair of tennis shoes. “Yoongi, cook for them!”

He shut the basement door with a slam and suddenly the house was silent.

“Yoongi-hyung, please,” Taehyung, who had emerged from some hallway, begged with a pout on his petal lips. His voice was extra raspy this morning.

The black-haired man grunted before hiding his face behind his coffee cup. You took that as a no.

“We’re going to starve,” Jungkook complained into Hoseok’s shoulder, who cooed and patted the muscled man cutely.

“Well, I can cook for us if you’d like? As a thank you for letting me stay over?” you said nervously. All eyes turned towards you and you gulped, not used to having all of your brothers’ attention on you.

“That’d be lovely,” Namjoon said, squinting at a novel he had produced out of nowhere.

“Aw, is our cute dongsaeng going to cook for us? I’m living the dream,” Hoseok sighed dramatically.

You snorted and got out of your seat. “I saw enough ingredients for what I want to cook, so just sit tight.”

The boys thanked you and some exited the kitchen towards the living room. You tried to remember where you saw the ingredients yesterday, but the kitchen was extremely big and had those weird cabinets where you had to push in a certain corner to open.

“Uh, where are the onions?” you asked no one in particular.

“Yoongi-hyung,” Hoseok nudged the still tired looking man. “Next to Jin, you know the kitchen the best.”

The black-haired sighed heavily and got out of his seat, leaving the “Daddy-Size cup” on the counter. He opened the fridge and bent down to a drawer you hadn’t seen. “Green onions.”

You took the bag and thanked, expecting him to leave the kitchen. “What else do you need?”

He stood there, eyes boring a hole through your face. Even as he was sleepy, he still looked like a cool older brother.

Scanning the ingredients, counting the things you had and didn’t, you turned back to him. “Um, I just need butter, tomatoes, and cheese.”

Wordlessly, he grabbed the ingredients and set it down on the counter next to you. Really expecting he’d leave, he surprised you by pulling out a chopping board and knife.

“How do you need the onions and tomatoes cut, Y/N-ssi?” he asked roughly, raspy voice causing the hair at the nape of your neck to rise. You shook your head. He’s your brother, for god’s sake!

“I need both diced, but slice some of the tomato into thin wedges for presentation,” you asked politely.

He nodded and washed both of the vegetables, before quickly and neatly dicing them with an experienced hand.

You broke the eggs and as you whisked the egg mixture with a pair of chopsticks, you decided to break the silence.

“How old are you, Yoongi-ssi?” 

He didn’t pause in his slicing. “25 years old. How about you?”

“21, but turning 22 soon.”

Yoongi hummed and started on the tomatoes. “Ah, that means you’re university age then. Are you attending university right now?”

Nodding, you grabbed some salt and pepper to add flavor to the omelette.  “Yeah, I’m actually attending Yonsei with Jungkook-ssi. What about you?”

“I’m a freelance producer,” he said carelessly, neatly scraping diced tomato onto a plate. “But I graduated from an arts college overseas in classical performance.”

It seemed like many of the brothers were artistically-inclined, you noted as you washed the spinach. But it amused you that this cool-looking brother of yours, with pierced ears and effortlessly stylish street clothes, could play a fancy-looking instrument.

Your step brother cleared his throat and he stepped back. “Is there anything else you need me to do?”

You looked at the finely chopped tomatoes and onions and shook your head. “No, that’s all. Thank you for helping out.”

He inclined his head and padded out of the kitchen, collapsing on the couch with his hoodie over his head.

Turning on the heat, you put the omelette mixture in the pan and waited for it to cook through. As you were gathering the other ingredients to put in the pan, a chin nestled itself onto your shoulder.

“Oh? What is this?” a deep, husky voice rumbled next to your ear.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Taehyung’s finely chiseled face so close to yours. Squeaking, you turned your attention back to the pan.

“Breakfast omelettes, Taehyung-ssi,” you replied a bit shakily, feeling the weight of his head on your shoulder and his breath puffing into your ear. “I hope you like it.”

Adjusting his bent over position, he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face into the crook of your neck. “I will, Y/N-ah. It’ll be delicious.”

Your face flamed and you willed the egg to cook faster, trying not to focus on how his large hands pressed warmly into your stomach.

“Hyung!” Jungkook exclaimed, barrelling out of nowhere. “Hyung, you can’t do that! Stop!” 

“Oh? Why not?” the editor asked monotonously, his lips moving over the sensitive skin of your neck. You stiffened and muffled a squeal, neary getting hot oil over your fingers. Your muscled classmate tried, unsuccessfully, to tug Taehyung’s arms from your body but for some reason, Taehyung’s hold on you was ironclad.

In the midst of Jungkook screaming in the background and the shouts of your other brothers, Taehyung sighed heavily and melted into your body. “I miss this,” he murmured.

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Cheeky Type, Jimin! 

Chapter 8: Enter the Cheeky Type, Jimin!

Over the next few days, you slowly got used to the vibrant and varied personalities of the boys. The brothers were a rowdy bunch but they coaxed you out of your shell with unintentional hilarity and clumsy warmth. Even Jungkook, with your weird first meeting, took to accompanying you throughout school and engaging you in shy conversation. Visiting the house frequently, someone was always there to entertain you and coerce you into trying to move into the house.

However, as the days passed by, you saw neither hide nor hair of the mysterious seventh brother. None of the brothers seemed to be fazed. One day, as Namjoon drove you home, you decided to press the subject.

“Namjoon-ssi? Who is my seventh brother? I haven’t heard much of him,” you inquired shyly.

He hummed, leaning an arm casually against the window and driving between lanes with just one hand. Namjoon didn’t drive as recklessly as Jungkook, per se, but he seemed to think other cars were just nuisances on the road.

“I was wondering when you’d ask about that. Our other brother is not home a lot because he’s usually on tour,” Namjoon revealed in his deep voice. “He’s an idol.”

You gasped and looked at Namjoon in surprise. “You’re fucking with me.”

He chuckled, a chocolatey, rich sound that filled your ears and did funny things to your belly as he turned to exit the highway. “No, I’m not. Our little Chimmy is an idol.”

Taking out your phone, you opened up the web app. “Chimmy? Is that his name? Or does he have a stage name I need to find.”

Namjoon shook his head. “No, his name is Jimin. 23 years old, debuted 3 years ago.”

Smacking your head, you exclaimed, “Oh wait! I know him! I saw his birthday ads all over Seoul a few days ago. Wow, my brother is a celebrity, huh?” 

Typing his name into the search bar, millions of results popped into your browser. Gorgeous, fan-taken photos filled the image section and you clicked on one.

Wow. Jimin looked ethereal on stage, in a loose, white shirt and tight, black pants as he performed some sort of strenuous dance move. His plump lips, sharp jawline, and high cheekbones were still stunning in low quality photos. You were seriously starting to think your stepmother secretly paid for them from a lab. It really wasn’t fair that you, an average 4, were now related to solid fifteens. 

You clicked on a video with nearly 12 million views of him at a fanmeet event, his eyes crinkling and lips pulled up in a grin as he did aegyo for his adoring fans.

“He’s very popular, isn’t he?” you asked Namjoon rhetorically.

Namjoon snorted. “An understatement. We can’t go out in public with him unless he covers his hair and his entire face. He has security tailing him when we go to crowded places, it’s ridiculous.”

Something clicked in your head. “Ah!” you exclaimed. “That’s why you guys live there! And here I was, thinking you were all paranoid.”

His laugh filled the car again and you got a whiff of his musky cologne as he leaned over to adjust the air conditioner. “Yeah, even when we moved there a few years ago before Jimin’s popularity exploded, he had some crazy fans. Seoyeon, Jin, and I decided to choose Hannam Hill for their security.”

“You’re such good brothers,” you grinned at him. You swore you saw a hint of red beneath his collar as he cleared his throat.

“And we’re lucky we’re gaining such a good… sister.”

You tapped at your purse. “At least with my residence pass I won’t be detained now.”

The man next to you groaned and nearly facepalmed into the driver’s wheel.

“Do you have to remind me of this? I take it back, my sister sucks.”

——— 

Jungkook and you walked through the campus gates, finished with the Calculus class and exhausted after the test.

“Wait, shit, did I derive number eighteen right?” you fretted, your sweaty hands fiddling with your bag strap. “Oh my god now, I didn’t foil correctly!”

“Relax, Y/N, you did fine,” Jungkook snorted, no longer as painfully shy as he was when he first met you. You never did get why he had such a violent reaction to you at first, though.

“Easy for you to say, Mr. I-don’t-study-yet-I-still-get-A’s,” you huffed in annoyance, accidentally bumping shoulders with him.

He laughed and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. An ‘eep!’ escaped your mouth but you found you couldn’t protest as Jungkook looked down at you with the cutest, bunny smile you had seen.

“Relax, Y/N. It’s just one test.”

You sulked and crossed your arms, trying to push the heat in your cheeks away. Clearing your throat you ducked from underneath his arms. You thought you saw a flash of disappointment in Jungkook’s face, but you quickly linked arms with him so you could walk more comfortably. His eyes widened and he looked upwards, the tips of his ears a flaming red.

Ignoring several stares from your fellow university students, you walked to the campus parking lot where Jungkook had parked his car.

“Jungkook-ah? Which car did you drive today?” you asked, flushing a bit as you heard your own words. Imagine what the you from a few weeks ago would’ve said. What kind of rich bitch did you turn into?

“The silver one. The Mercedes,” he said casually but you knew he was beaming with pride. He had revealed to you, one day when driving home, that he bought this car with his streaming money and not with cash from his brothers or family. Jungkook was insanely protective of this car. 

“Gotcha.”

Throwing your bags into the backseat, he started up the car. Feeling that it was a bit hot, you decided to roll down the window. Fumbling for a hair tie in your bag, you decided that putting your hair up would be smart.

“—gry, Y/N?”

“Huh?” you asked confusion, hair tie in your mouth. 

“I just asked if you were hungry, Y/N?” he said, voice trailing off in a question as he looked up from his phone. His eyes widened at you.

“Um, not really? But if you are, I can whip us up something once we get home,” you said confidently, twisting your hair into the tie. Huh, when did you start calling it home?

“... Jungkook?”

He nervously cleared his throat as you looked at him, pulling back your hair into the tie. The tip of his ears were red and he seemed a bit flustered. Your brother fumbled with the controls, accidentally turning on the windshield wipers. Biting back a smile, you smoothed down your hair.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

————— 

The house was silent as the two of you entered. It seemed no one was in the house today, all of your brothers very busy with their respective jobs.

“I’m going to take a shower, Y/N, “ Jungkook said as he climbed up the stairwell. 

You hummed affirmative as you threw your bag at the foot of the coffee table, collapsing into the comfy leather couch. Switching on the TV, you couldn’t find anything interesting so you settled on an entertainment channel.

“Thousands of fans crowded Incheon Airport’s International Terminal today…”

Snuggling into a sun spot on the couch, you nuzzled your face into a pillow. The warmth made you feel drowsy and you decided a quick nap was alright. Nodding off, you could hear the shower turn on upstairs.

“...as international Hallyu star Jimin arrived back in Korea …”

—————

“Oh? Who are you?”

You groggily opened your eyes to the high-pitched voice that was honey to your ears, an unconscious “huh?” coming out of your mouth. In your bleary vision, you saw lavender-blonde hair and pink, plump lips hovering above you.

The man snickered and you felt a smooth hand grasp your jaw to turn your head upwards. Your eyes focused and you swore you were still dreaming, because the face so close to yours could only be an angel’s. Ethereal eyes like a storm looked lazily down at you, his high cheekbones and narrow jaw highlighted by the warm light of golden hour.

“Are you a fan? You shouldn’t be here,” he scolded in a sing-song voice, clicking his tongue as he stroked a thumb over your chin.

You couldn’t think after being awoken from such a deep REM cycle and being near such an unearthly man, your thoughts jumbled and disjointed.

“Naughty, naughty girl,” he whispered, minty breath puffing against your face. “Well, if you’re here, I might as well make the most of it.”

With strength you hadn’t expected, he suddenly caged you into the couch— a leg between yours and the other on the floor, his hands trapping your hands above your heads. His silk shirt brushed against the exposed skin of your belly, making you shiver.

“H-hey!” you said, regaining your thoughts. “What the hell?”

He chuckled, a cruel edge to his voice as his face neared yours. “Oh, playing the innocent card are we?” His lips neared your ear and you froze, eyes wide as his plump lips brushed against your earlobe. “Don’t worry, baby girl, you’re pretty enough to pull it off.”

The man started to press a kiss at space between your ear and neck, and slowly started to trail down your sensitive neck. You inhaled sharply as his teeth and tongue prodded at your skin and he snickered, his voice vibrating against your skin. An involuntarily squeak left your lips as he bit playfully at your collarbone.

“H-Hyung?”

You both turned to see Jungkook, hair still wet from the shower, staring at you two in disbelief. His eyes were wide and his lips were opened in shock as he suddenly froze in the middle of the living room.

“Jungkookie!” the man said brightly, no trace of the breathy, seductive voice he had used to lull you into a trance. His limbs no longer trapped you as the lavender haired man sprang up and ran to the stock-still Jungkook.

“Aw, Jungkookie, I missed you,” the familiar yet still unknown man cooed as he clung to Jungkook’s broad shoulders. “It’s been so long,” he whined, lips pursed in a pout.

Still breathless from lavender boy’s attentions, you sat up on the couch and saw stars as the blood rushed to your head. Blinking to clear it away, you reached up to your neck to touch the spots where lavender boy had touched.

“Jungkook-ah?” you whispered, voice rough from lack of use. “Who’s this?”

Your classmate still stared at you in shock as lavender boy clung to him like a leech, cooing at Jungkook.

“Aw, is this your girlfriend, Jungkookie?” Angel boy said fretfully after a moment of silence. “I’m so sorry, I thought she was a fan! Forgive me!”

You cleared your throat nervously, righting your disheveled clothes and messy hair. “Look, I have no idea who the hell you are, but I am not Jungkook’s girlfriend nor your fan and either way, you should not be— be assaulting unsuspecting girls who just wanted to nap!”

“Who the hell am I?” Lavender boy retorted rudely, no longer seductive or cutesy as his eyes narrowed at you. “I live here, wench!”

“Well I’m about to, fool!” you sneered, crossing your arms.

“Jungkook-ie, call security as I deal with this clearly crazy lady!” The still unknown boy huffed, advancing towards you.

Jungkook finally got out of his trance and grabbed Jimin by the shoulder. “Jimin-Hyung, stop! Haven’t we talked about her in the groupchat a lot? She’s our new sister!”

Jimin froze and his eyebrows lifted minutely, whirling around to look at Jungkook. “Wait, what? We have a sister now?”

He looked at you differently, eyes scanning your figure disinterestedly. “Did Seoyeon—” he spat out the name like it was stale gum in his mouth, “—find another baby we didn’t know about? Another poor bastard like me?”

You got whiplash with how much he changed moods and started to inch away. Well, it seemed like your step brother was nothing like how he portrayed himself in the videos you had seen online about him. A frown pushed at your lips.

Jungkook pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, hyung, mom got married again to Y/N’s father. She’s our new step sister now.”

Jimin stayed silent before he turned to you again, his eyes mocking. A shit-eating smirk crawled up his lips. “Well, sister dearest, welcome to the family!”

Arc: Character Introductions Ended. Press [ X ] to continue?

A/N: If you’ve watched BroCon and you’re curious to who each person is based on, here’s the guide:

Jin (Doctor) = A mixture of Uyko and Masaomi

Namjoon (Businessman) = Natsume

Jungkook (Gamer/ Uni Student) = Yusuke

Hoseok (Dancer) = Himself lol he was supposed to be Subaru but i didn’t want to make him super angsty. Don’t worry, in this story he’ll be more than just his stage persona :)))

Taehyung (Magazine editor) = Louis

Yoongi (Producer) = mixture of Yuusuke’s tsundere-ness and Iori’s calmness

Jimin (Idol) = Fuuto with a bit of Tsubaki’s personality

Anyways, if you enjoyed it, please comment and reblog!!! I appreciate any feedback you may have, whether it be a sentence or a whole dang paragraph— I love it all :))) Please, if you’re doing okay, please help me pay for school through my Ko-Fi (link in my profile).

Arc II: Decisions and Settling In will be released in a month!! Comment if you’d like to be tagged :))

[theewokingdead]

Wer'cuy

Chapter 15 of “Another Way” - A Mandalorian x Fem!Reader story

{Chapter List}

Wer'cuy - [Wair-COO-ee]- It was ages ago. - colloquial, often used as “Forget it” or “It doesn't matter” Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ ONLY Summary: Din must learn to trust Bo-Katan in the midst of preparing to face Moff Gideon. Words: 5.9k Warnings: Language, mentions of pregnancy.

The air is heavy with tension, making the cockpit feel suffocating, as if the duralloy walls are closing in around you. Standing with your arms folded across your body, you watch Din stand in front of the comm system, contemplating whether he should make the call. Honestly, you can’t blame him for being hesitant

Your mind recalls what you told Din after leaving Bo-Katan on Lothal.

Even if Bo-Katan’s somehow grown as a person and is no longer a psychopathic terrorist, I know we could never trust her, could never forget what she has done.

It hardly been three weeks and nothing has changed since then. Why should you trust anything she has to say?

“Are you sure you want to do this?” you inquire, understanding completely if he wants to walk away.

“It’s just a call,” Din replies without looking at you. “It shouldn’t be this difficult to make.”

“It’s difficult because we don’t know if she’s trustworthy,” you enlighten him.

“Cara trusted her,” he says gently.

“Cara’s parents weren’t killed in an attack orchestrated by Bo-Katan’s group,” you remind him harshly, as if he needs reminding. “She, unlike you, has no reason to distrust her.”

You realize you are talking about her in the present tense as soon as you finish speaking.

“Had…,” you solemnly correct yourself. “Had no reason to distrust her.”

Din turns and looks at you glumly. “I know. But what could it hurt? She could know nothing at all. Fuck, she could lead us on a wild Bantha chase if she wants to. But she’s the only lead we have right now. There is no other option but to sit here with our thumbs up our ass while Gideon runs free.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you say, “I mean, I wouldn’t be mad if I had something up my-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Din gently scolds, a gloved finger pointed at you.

You can’t help but let out a stifled giggle, which seems to melt his tension. He lets his shoulders fall while releasing a breath.

“You’re right,” you assure him. “It won’t hurt to at least make the call. So, what are you waiting for?”

Nodding, he turns back to the comm system. Reluctantly, he activates the device and initiates the call. Before you know it, Bo-Katan is shimmering blue in front of him, a self-satisfied smirk on her face when she seems to recognize the man projecting in her presence.

“Well. Look what the loth-cat finally dragged in,” she greets, speaking with a certain smugness about her. Her performance is impeccable. You wouldn't believe that Din just put her in her place a few weeks before if you hadn't been there to witness it.

“To what do I owe this honor, Mand’alor?” She emphasizes the word mockingly, as if hoping it will push his buttons, causing you to silently pray to the Maker he can keep his temper in check.

“You know why I’m here, Kryze,” Din scowls. “Don’t make me spell it out.”

Bo-Katan sniggers. She reaches for something on her belt, unlatching it and taking it in her right hand. Suddenly, you hear the familiar hum of the Darksaber, and you watch as it glows beside her on the holoprojecter.

“Bet you regret giving this up now, don’t you?” she questions pompously.

Oh, here we go, you think. It's a good thing you're not in view of the holoemitter, otherwise she would see you roll your eyes.

“Not nearly as much as I regret letting you live,” Din sneers. “Or have you already forgotten my mercy?”

She chuckles as she deactivates the saber and returns it to its place. “I didn’t think Children of The Watch were trained to be merciful. Or is that no longer the way?”

“We learned from the sins of our precursors,” he retorts, jabbing at the ruthless acts of her past.

The smirk slowly disappears from her face. “You know, you’re rather unagreeable for someone who has come to me for help. If I didn’t know any better, I’d be inclined to say I’m your only hope. Do you really dare to test my patience right now?”

Din’s glare doesn’t soften. “Let’s get this over with so we can get on with our lives. Preferably without the other in it.”

Bo-Katan’s lips curl into a wicked smirk once more. “Funny you think you'll get rid of me anytime soon.”

“What do you know?” he questions.

“I thought you wanted no part of it?”

You hide your head in the palm of your hand, trying to hide your own annoyance. Then you rub your temples with index finger and thumb, hoping to release the tension before you burst.

Fucking children, you think.

“Things have changed,” Din simply says.

“You don’t say.”

“Fucking hell,” Din swears, his patience wearing thin. “Don't waste my time playing children's games. Especially when lives are at stake. You allowed your family to be destroyed. I won’t let you do the same to mine.”

Bo-Katan's face slides into a look that you’ve never seen her present before. Not even when Din defeated her and held her within an inch of death. Her postures slumps and eyebrows cross in a deep frown, grimacing out of regret and sorrow as all evidence of pride or arrogance drains from her. Even from across the room, the pain hidden behind her disconsolate face is clear to you.

“Enough,” you say, stepping closer to Din and the holoprojector, tired of the blows they are unnecessarily dealing to one another. “You are driving a wedge between yourselves with all your bickering. That is exactly what your enemies want. For you to be separated.” You look at Bo-Katan. “Didn’t you say that very thing?”

“I did,”she responds simply.

“Have you ever stopped to consider the possibility that Gideon wanted this to happen?” you propose. “That he intentionally lost the saber to Din to create a divide between you?”

Din scoffs. “That’s ridiculous.”

“You’ve believed far more ridiculous things with less evidence,” Bo-Katan grumbles.

You turn to the holoemitter, shooting her a glare before you turn to Din.

“What makes it so hard to believe?” you question. “Gideon has been trying to wipe Mandalorians from the galaxy for years. Putting you two against each other makes his job a lot easier. I mean, why waste time going after two people when you can just let them kill each other?”

“She has a point,”Bo-Katan concedes.

“I know.” Din sighs, knowing he can’t argue your points.

“We share a common enemy.”

“That doesn’t make us friends,” he growls.

“No,” Bo-Katan agrees. “But your riduur is right. The last thing Gideon wants is for Mandalorian forces to gather against him.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like we know where to find him,” you say.

“What has Cara told you about the Imperials?” Din asks bluntly.

Bo-Katan chortles in a way that makes it clear she knows more than you think. “It’s not what she told me…but what I told her.”

You and Din briefly exchange looks before turning back to the holoprojector.

She continues, “Everything you think you know about Mandalore is wrong.”

“What do you mean?” you question. “Sabine confirmed what Din already knew of the planet, what he had heard from his people, from Fett. It was destroyed by the Empire, inside and out, during Operation: Cinder.”

“Boba Fett was somewhere between a sarlacc stomach and Tusken camp on Tatooine when Mandalore fell,” Bo-Katan responds, her eyes narrow. “Sabine, meanwhile, was protecting Lothal rather than her own people. They, too, seemed to have forgotten that you shouldn’t believe everything you hear. I admit that I, too, once believed the rumors. After Alderaan, anything seemed possible.”

“What changed?” you ask. “Why are you so certain than the planet isn’t in pieces right now?”

“I did what no one else dared to do: returned to Mandalore,” she reveals, much to your surprise. “The planet is no less fractured than when the last of the Mandalorians left. Cinder was probably never carried out or it was just an absolute failure; I am not sure which. At some point, it seems, the Imperials believed that no one would seek to take Mandalore back, so they began operating a base there while allowing rumors that the planet was destroyed to spread.”

You think back on your conversation with Sabine Wren, trying to find any sort of point to argue.

Has no one gone back? To at least see if anything’s salvageable within the domes? To try to put it back together?

Why would they? she had responded. A planet that was once seen as a symbol of strength and endurance was reduced to a physical representation of our failure and humiliation.

It was logical that no one would ever go back, that the Imperials thought they could operate there undetected. And apparently that had been…they still are.

“You can probably guess who orchestrated that operation.”

“Gideon,” you breath, almost in disbelief.

“And now that he has escaped-”

“We’ll find him on Mandalore,” you finish.

“How long have you known this?” Din asks, sounding snappy.

Bo-Katan hesitates to answer, and he seems to realize that she’s known for a while.

His anger rises. “You’ve known this whole time and have said absolutely fucking nothing?”

She immediately turns defensive. “You disappeared for months, and when you finally came around, you were up in arms over Death Watch. Then you decided that you wanted nothing to do with the planet, said that I should be ruler of the – what did you say, ash and glass? Only problem is that I’m not the true ruler.”

Din huffs as he puts his hands on his hips and turns away. “Maker, fuck. Not this again.”

“I don’t like this any more than you do. But we can’t ignore it. Not anymore.”

She sighs, then continues, “Most of the Mandalorians I once represented – that my sister represented - are dead. The remaining clans follow the old laws. They respect tradition, and will only follow whoever has earned the Darksaber rightfully. Anyone else is just a pretender to the throne, and the pretender and all who follow will bring nothing but death and destruction.” She pauses, then adds, “Whether you want it or not, you are Mand’alor. You alone can unite the clans.”

It all makes sense to you. Why Din was raised to believe the planet to be cursed, that anyone who goes there would die. Because they truly believe it. However little you may know about the history of the planet, it's obvious that it has been cursed with death and destruction ever since the rightful ruler has been called into question.

Din looks back up at the holo, shaking his head. “I’m not looking to rule.”

“You know, being Mand’alore isn’t as difficult as you make it out to be. You’d be merely a figurehead when we don’t need you to fight, and a commander in chief when we do.”

“So a mercenary to my people,” he scoffs. “I don’t want that life, Kryze. Not anymore.”

“You are welcome to find another way to defeat Gideon, but given that you came to me for help, you already know there aren't many options.”

“What makes you so certain that there’s anyone to fight?” Din questions, seeming to remember everything Sabine said.

Bo-Katan furrows her brows. “You have no idea how many Mando’ade there are, do you? There are plenty. Beyond your Tribe and other Children of the Watch. People who’ve kept the culture alive all across the galaxy. Just as you were adopted, the culture gets passed on.”

“But do you know they will want to fight?” Din presses.

“You know as well as I do: they don’t want to spend their lives hiding like sand rats. They haven’t had an interest in fighting because they haven’t had a cause to rally behind. Now they do. In you. If you call, they will rally behind their Mand’alor. The Resol’nare demands it.”

He remains silent.

“All you have to do is give the command. Call the sons and daughters of Mandalore to fight, and I’ll handle the rest. Help me unite the clans and bring down Gideon, and I will back whatever you want to do after. Give me one standard month, then I’ll prove to you that victory isn’t out of reach. Ori’haat.”

Din looks at you, but you say nothing, stunned by the things Bo-Katan is saying and asking of him.

“Fine,” Din concedes. “Rally the sons and daughters of Mandalore. Tell them… Tell them if they want to restore glory to their homeworld, if they want peace…that their Mand’alor requests their assistance against the Imperials.”

Bo-Katan’s lips curve into a satisfied smile. Bowing her head slightly, she says, “As you wish, Mand’alor.”

“One month, Kryze,” he reminds her.

“I’ll be in touch soon.”

Din switches off the holoprojector and the room falls silent, the tension somehow thicker than before. His right fingers fidget at his side as he stands in place, staring at where Bo-Katan’s face just was.

“Well… That went better than expected,” you say nonchalantly, trying to hide the shock in your voice.

He doesn’t immediately respond. Instead, he looks forward. It’s clear his mind is swirling.

Finally, he quietly demands, “Tell me I made the right choice, riduur.”

Truthfully, you have no idea what to think, and you haven’t had time to really comprehend everything. Choosing not to question his decision, you step closer to him, then place a reassuring hand on his armored shoulder.

“You made the right choice.”

Din looks back at your hand. “Then why doesn’t it feel like it?”

He turns and walks past you, heading toward the lifttube. You follow, stepping in beside him.

“Bo-Katan said it herself,” you reassure him. “There aren’t many other options, if any at all.”

“I just wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

“We win this and we will have peace and security,” you say confidently. “We won’t have to worry about the Imperials anymore.”

“At what cost?”

You stare to him with confusion as you walk down the gangway of the ship. “Are you having second thoughts about going after Gideon?”

“No,” he responds immediately, but you can see the uncertainty. He hangs his head and sighs. “I don’t know.”

Before you reach the arch of the city, you stop, causing Din to stop as well, both of you standing beneath the blazing sun of Nevarro.

“Yesterday, you were prepared to tear the universe apart on your own just to find him. What’s changed?”

He doesn’t respond immediately. Standing with his hands on his hips, he stares down at the burnt sand, contemplating his answer.

“Mandalore fell with millions of warriors trained in the art of war fighting for it,” he finally replies, his voice somber. “Millions reduced to hundreds at the hands of the very same enemy we intend to fight. How do we know this time will be any different? That we aren’t just setting ourselves up for failure?”

“We can’t know anything for sure,” you reply bluntly. “But things are already different this time. The Imperials aren’t nearly as strong as they were before. They’re hanging by a thread. If united, I believe the Mandalorians can crush them.”

Din nods, as if believing you. “Let’s say we go through with this. We united the people. We win Mandalore. What am I supposed to do once it’s all said and done?”

“Bo-Katan said she’ll support whatever you want to do.”

“That’s Bantha shit and she knows it. Do you really think the people will be okay with me walking away after the war they waged for me? After asking them to make sacrifices for me?”

Frowning, you fold your arms, knowing that you can't really respond to his questions.

“I don’t know, Din.”

When his eyes finally leave yours, you follow his gaze across the area to see a couple of mechanics working on a ship. One of them seems to pay you no mind, lost in his repairs, but the other, a male Mimbanese with red skin, seems to be catching glimpses of the two of you out of the corner of his blue eyes. You eye him suspiciously, and he returns to his work.

Din turns and heads into the city. You catch up, walking alongside him in the square, which is mostly empty this early in the morning.

“If I abdicate, I’ll go down in history as Mandalore the Asshole Who Abandoned His People,” he says nonchalantly, casually walking along the city.

You suppress your laughter.

“That’s ridiculous. They’d never call you that,” you jeer. “The title is far too long. Mandalore the Asshole, however…”

A small smile appears across Din’s face.

You look up at him as you walk.

“Or maybe they’ll call you Mandalore the Redeemer,” you suggest. “The one who redeemed not only himself, but his people as well. The one who saved them and their planet from the clutches of the evil Empire. The one who will be respected and revered for years to come, no matter how long or short your reign.”

His throat tightens with a small chuckle. “You are the only person whose opinion I give two shits about.”

“Well then,” you say, stopping once more. “You want to know what I think?”

Din turns to you, seeming eager to hear what you have to say.

“I think this is the best way for everyone to get what they want,” you confess. “You told me that I deserve the galaxy. That you could give it to me as Mand’alor. Well, I want a safer galaxy. For us. For our children to grow up in. We get rid of Gideon, we can have that. Meanwhile, Bo-Katan gets the clans and Mandalore back. If you don’t want to rule, then there shouldn’t be a problem. If there is-”

“Then it’s Bo-Katan’s problem,” Din interjects, seeming to be on the same page as you.

You smile, reaching a hand up to cup his face. “Ah. There’s the Mando I know and love.”

In a blink of an eye, a week passes. This is the longest you’ve been on Nevarro, and you honestly can’t complain. Din spends a majority of the days studying maps of Mandalore that Bo-Katan sent to his holopad or helping Karga with his various needs in the town. You, meanwhile, can usually be found wandering around the city or just outside its walls. Outsiders may find the ashen world of black sands depressing, but you find comfort in it. The arid air, which is usually filled with the laughter and joy of children, reminds you of what you like about your homeworld.

Perusing the market is your favorite pastime, seeing all the wares that the people of the planet have to offer. You're thankful that the scents of all things being cooked are not as pungent to you as they were last time you were here. Since you stop by her stall at the same time every afternoon, you quickly become acquainted with the woman selling blue cookies. She can always count on you to buy a couple for snacking on before setting off for a walk along the lava flows just outside the city. You’re happy here, though you’d be even happier if the threat of war wasn't always lurking in the back of your mind.

On the seventh day, you notice the jewelry stall you scanned during your last visit has returned to the bazaar. This time, it’s not the various trinkets that catch your attention. Rather, it's the stall holder’s wife, who you remember seeing with a swollen belly. Today, she is sitting in a chair, tinkering with some wire, while a small bulge is hidden under the cloth that is tightly wrapped around her abdomen. A tiny head with dark, fuzzy hair peeks out from the cloth. His tiny features are visible, and you can see that his mouth is slightly open as he slumbers against his mother's chest amidst the buzz and commotion of the bazaar.

“May I ask how old the baby is?” you question politely after admiring the scene from afar for too long.

“Hardly a week,” the woman replies, glancing up at you for a moment before returning to her work.

“Aw. Still so new,” you coo, a small smile on your face as you admire the child. “How are you working? You must be tired.”

“No rest for the weary, I’m afraid,” she replies.

“Can I do anything to help you? I’m a quick learner and pretty good with my hands.”

She looks up at you, shooting you a small, sleepy smile. “I’ll manage.”

You nod, not wanting to push.

The woman narrows her eyes as she looks at you, as if trying to remember something. “You look familiar.”

You’re surprised she recognizes you. “Oh. You must remember me from the last time I was here looking at your jewelry, several weeks back. Your husband tried to sell me a lava stone bracelet.”

“Ah,” the woman replies before chuckling, setting the piece she’s working on aside. “The one he mistook as pregnant, right?”

You nod, smiling. “The very one.”

“I’m sorry if he offended you,” she apologizes. “You must excuse him. He has a bad case of foot-in-mouth disease. Never quite thinks through the things he says.”

“It’s okay,” you giggle. “Apparently he has a bit of clairvoyance. The next morning, I realized I am, in fact, pregnant.”

“Well. Congratulations then,” she acknowledges, smiling brightly. “Just don’t tell my husband. He’ll get a big head about being right.”

You laugh. “Deal.”

The woman gestures for you to sit across from you. “I’m Eliana, by the way.”

You give her your name as you take a seat.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she greets, and you’re pleased to have made a friend. Especially one that’s not a bounty hunter. “Your first?”

“Yes.”

“How far along are you now?”

“Uh…” You’re embarrassed that you can’t quite remember right away. “Nearly fourteen weeks, I believe.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been worse.”

Eliana chuckles. “It’ll get better. The second trimester generally isn’t too bad. I hate to break it to you, but the third trimester will hit you like a hovertrain though.”

“Something to look forward to,” you reply sarcastically.

She looks down at the babe sleeping on her chest, then bends forward and kisses the top of his head. “It’s all worth it. I can promise you that.”

While chatting with Eliana, the afternoon passes quickly. Eventually, she shows you how to weave wire around large stones to create beautifully decorated necklaces. She also teaches you how to make a bracelet with knots and colorful beads, something you enjoy doing to pass the time.

“Does this look alright?” you question, holding up the bracelet for her to see.

“Beautiful,” she assures you before looking down at the babe eating at her breast. “You’re a professional already.”

You smile from ear-to-ear, proud of your creation.

As you set the bracelet down, you catch sight of Din as he enters the bazaar. Although he is walking casually, his eyes are scanning the area as he moves, surely on a mission to find you. His helmet is tucked under his arm, as he usually has it these days, his other arm bouncing as he moves. The breeze light tosses his cape around, which swings behind him as he moves. A smirk appears when you see the dozens of small holes on the cape, contrasting against the brightly shining armor. I have got to get him a new one.

Gazing at him adoringly, you watch his head turns in your direction. From across the square, your eyes lock. He smiles, clearly delighted to see you, then makes his way toward the jewelry stall.

Din greets the two of you as he approaches the stall. “I was wondering if you’re ever going to join me for dinner?”

“Yeah. Of course,” you say, rising from your seat. “Sorry. I didn’t realize how late it is. I've lost track of time with Eliana here.”

“You selling jewelry now?” he questions with a smile, indicating all the wares in front of you.

Laughing, you pick up the bracelet you made. “No. But I am learning to make some.”

Din takes the bracelet in his hand, examining it. “You made this?”

You raise an eyebrow, then jest, “You say that like you don’t believe I could do that.”

“No! No. I-uh-you uh,” he splutters before clearing his throat. “You did good.”

“Good?” you question, continuing to tease him.

“I mean…” He looks down at the bracelet, smiling proudly, trying to collect his thoughts. “It’s beautiful, riduur. Just like you.”

“Now you’re just trying to suck up to me.”

He turns his head away from you and looks to Eliana. “How much?”

Eliana seems surprised, as if she wasn’t expecting the question. “Well, seeing as I used your wife for labor, it’s all yours.”

Din obviously doesn’t accept her answer. He pulls out several credits of different denominations from his pouch and holds them out for her. “This should cover it.”

Eliana looks from the money in his palm to him, her brows raised. “That…That’s more than it’s worth. I can’t accept that much.”

“I insist. If not for the jewelry then as a gift for the child.”

She hesitates for a moment, then takes the money from his hand. “Thank you. That is very kind.”

“He’s always had a soft spot when it comes to kids,” you say, smiling. “Whether he’ll admit it or not.”

Eliana chuckles, then turns to pack up her stall for the night.

Din rolls his eyes, trying to hide a smile, then begins to walk away. You turn to catch up with him.

“You know what? Maybe I don’t want to give you this after all,” he says, moving to tuck the bracelet into the pouch on his belt.

“What?” you question, almost surprised. “You got it for me?”

He furrows his brows. “You didn’t think I bought this for me, did you?”

“No. I just assumed it’s for one of your other wives,” you jest.

He stops, cocking his head at you. “Let me see your hand.”

“Or what?” you question. “You’ll add Bo-Katan to your secret little harem?”

As he shifts his weight to one leg, his eyes shoot daggers at you. “Give me your damn hand.”

Giggling, you offer him your right wrist. He carefully wraps the bracelet around it, tying off the knot in a way that will stay in place.

“There,” he says, finishing it off. But he doesn’t allow you to retract your arm. Instead, he grabs your hand, raises it to his lips, and plants a kiss on its back. “I hope that it will remind you of how amazing you are and how much I appreciate every little thing you do.”

“Should I be concerned by how sweet you’re being?” you question, a sly smile on your face.

His eyes crinkle at the corner as he chuckles. His laugh is as fresh as a breeze on a sweltering day; an invigorating breath of life.

“Can’t I just do something special for my riduur every once in a while?”

You are engrossed in each other, so much so that you don't notice the footsteps quickly approaching.

“Mando!” you hear, Greef’s voice sounding urgent.

The two of you turn toward him, confused.

“There’s something you need to see.”

“Go home, Mythrol,” Greef commands gruffly, leading you into his office.

“I just have one last thing to finish up then I-”

“Now,” he bellows. “Or do you want another thirty years thrown onto your sentence?”

“Okay, okay. Jeeze.” The blue amphibious amphibian man rises from his seat. “A please would’ve been nice,” he grumbles before leaving the room.

Greef closes the office door, ensuring that no one outside can hear or see inside.

“What is this all about?” Din questions, setting his helmet down on an empty chair.

“I’ll let you see for yourself.” He approaches the holoprojector on his desk.

This can't be good, you think, crossing your arms.

Those few seconds it takes him to press the device's button seem like an eternity. Suddenly, Moff Gideon appears in front of you, flickering in various shades of blue, and it’s clear you were right: this is definitely not good.

“Din Djarin. Or do you prefer to go by Lord Mandalore now?” the message begins. “I was wondering when we would meet again and am delighted to hear that our reunion is imminent. I look forward to delivering in person my sincerest congratulations on your new marriage and impending parenthood. It’s a shame the bastard child may never know its father.”

You feel your stomach drop, as if you'd fallen from hyperspace, and instinctively your hands reach for the small bump, as if wanting to protect the child growing inside. He knows. How could he know?

Din's anger appears to be rising as he glares at the holo, standing with a fist clenched at his side.

“You may think you have some idea of what you’re getting yourself into, what Bo-Katan is getting you into, but you have no idea. I have no doubt that you will make a valiant stand, but I think we all know that, in the end, you and your remaining clans will be squashed like the insolent little pests that you are. Unfortunately, it’s too late for you to turn back now. The question remains: will you follow through with your plan or will I have to come to you…on Nevarro? Truthfully, I hope to be able to show you have Mandalore fell. Either way, I look forward to your demise. Long live the Empire.”

The message ends, and Gideon disappears.

“Damn it,” Din swears, pounding his fist on Greef’s desk. “That fucking bitch.”

“What?” You’re obviously confused. It takes you a moment to understand what he’s saying. “You think Bo-Katan had something to do with this?”

“Don’t you see? She’s playing us,” Din roars. “She’s only ever been willing to help us when it benefits her. When it helps her take back control of Mandalore. Now, she’s just trying to get me killed.”

You’re even more confused, trying to understand what he’s thinking. “Gideon killing you doesn’t make her Mand’alor.”

“She’s playing dejarik, cyar’ika. We are all pawns in her game, and she is going to take pieces out one by one until she gets what she wants." Without another word, he moves to the holo.

“You know that’s not true… What are you doing?” you question, watching him as he starts to make contact with someone.

“I’m not playing her stupid fucking game anymore,” he growls.

“Din. Please,” you beg, knowing he’s going to confront Bo-Katan. “Stop and think for a minute. I mean, what if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not wrong.”

“But what if you are?” you insist. “If you piss her off, then we may lose the only chance we have to end this.”

The second you finish speaking, Bo-Katan’s form appears before you.

“Lord Mand’alor,”she greets. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so-”

“Cut the formalities, you traitorous bitch,” he growls, the fire in his eyes burning away the warmth that usually accompanies them.

Bo-Katan hardly seems phased by the accusation. “What did I do this time?”

“You know what you did,” Din snarls.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be specific.”

“Din, please,” you beg quietly, wishing you could reason with him before he does or says something he’ll regret. You can’t quite pinpoint why, but your gut is telling you that Bo-Katan isn’t betraying him. Your mind is swirling, trying to figuring out how you can convince him.

“Gideon,” Din states, ignoring you. “I know you told him everything.”

“Why would I tell him anything?”Bo-Katan asks.

And then it hits you. “Din,” you growl brashly, ensuring he can’t ignore you any longer. He looks at you, and you add, “It wasn’t her. Gideon knows about the baby.”

“The baby?”she questions.

“See?” you point out, nudging your head toward the visibly confused holo of Bo-Katan. “She only knows about our marriage. Not that I’m pregnant. But Gideon knows. Someone else has to be feeding him the information.”

Din is silent, as if trying to remember if the pregnancy had in fact never been mentioned to her.

“It wasn’t me,” Greef finally interjects, his hands raised innocently. “And as far as I know, Nevarro is good and clear. But if there are any Imperial sympathizers here, you can bet I will punish them accordingly.”

“Will someone tell me what in Malachor is going on?” Bo-Katan asks, seeming confused.

Din huffs, and you know he knows he was wrong. “We received a message from Gideon,” he reveals. “He knows everything. He knows about us wanting to invade Mandalore.”

Bo-Katan eyes seem a mixture of hurt and angry. “And the first thing you think is that I'm trying to cross you?”

“Do you blame me?” Din asks rhetorically. “It’s not exactly easy to trust someone who ran a terrorist organization that committed atrocities against their own people. Who staged attacks against innocent people to play the hero and gain support.”

“No. I can’t blame you,”she responds meekly. “I’m aware of the things I’ve done, and I will spend the rest of my life paying for the consequences of my actions.”

As if to regain her composure, she glances downward for a moment, like she does not want to allow herself to feel any emotions. When she looks back up, she continues, “Look. I know you have every reason not to trust me. My loyalty to our people, our culture –it cost me everything. I can’t change the things I’ve done…but I can help frame the future. We can frame the future. Of Mandalore. Of the galaxy... To do that, we need to be able to trust each other. The fate of our people rests in our hands. In your hands. Our strength does not lie in our numbers, but in our unity. It depends on it. I can’t do it without you.”

Din looks down at the ground, like he doesn’t want her to see him as he considers what to do.

Bo-Katan speaks her next words in Mando’a, grabbing his full attention. “Ni dinu ner gaan naakyc, jorcu ni nu copaani kyr'amur ner vod.” Honor my offer of truce, for I would not willingly shed my brother's blood.

Your eyes gleam with sympathy as you look at Bo-Katan, and you find yourself believing her. She doesn’t want to betray Din. She truly just wants to unite her people, to bring them home. She wants to undo everything she’s done.

“You want Mandalore to be everything Satine thought it could be,” you murmur, realizing why she’s so adamant on restoring the planet. You think of the look that was on her face a week ago, when Din mentioned how she destroyed her own family. “For her legacy to live on.”

“My sister and I had our differences, and unfortunately those differences tore us apart,” Bo-Katan discloses, and you can tell she’s being honest. “Maybe if I had been good at something other than war, she would still be alive.”

Guilt creeps in, knowing you had encouraged Din to distrust her. Perhaps people can change after all.

You turn to him, looking at him with soft eyes. “Din…,” you call softly.

You don’t have to speak further. He knows exactly what you want him to do.

“We all have pasts we aren’t proud of. Myself included,” Din says solemnly. “N’eparavu takisit.” I eat my insult. The Mandalorian version of “sorry.”

Bo-Katan nods, accepting his apology, and awkwardness fills the air.

“How do we proceed now?” you question, changing the topic.

Din’s silence allows Bo-Katan to offer an opinion first. “Now that Gideon is aware of our plans, we need to move quickly from here on. Every minute we waste gives him an opportunity to either slip away or better prepare for battle.”

“I agree,” Din immediately concurs, leaving you surprised that he didn’t argue with her for once. “What do we have to work with?”

“The number of our forces is growing, and we could do better with time, but I feel at present we can repel the Imperials,” Bo-Katan assures him. “As I am afraid this transmission will be intercepted, I won't divulge any more than that. It would be better if we discussed matters in person.”

“Let’s get this ball droid rolling then,” you suggest, eager to move forward before Gideon can do any additional damage.

“Can you be here in three standard days’ time?” Din questions.

“Yes. Plenty of time to grab additional recruits on the way.”

Din seems to accept her response. “Exercise discretion. We don’t know who we can trust.”

“Of course.”

“Do not mention anything of the message from Gideon to anyone,” he adds. “Assure the others that speeding up the timeline changes nothing. Tell them if they wish for peace…to be ready for war.”

With those words, you straighten yourself. Deep down, you’re terrified, though you don’t let it show. There’s no stopping it.

The war is here.

{Next}

Who's the Imperial informant? We'll find out! Mando'ade - Mandalorians (pl) - sons and/ or daughters of Mandalore Dejarik - holochess Mand'alor and Mandalore are used interchangably. Mand'alor is Mando'a while Mandalore is basic, but they both mean the ruler of the planet Mandalore.

[secretlittl3whore]

Not a Nightmare

Summary: You’re reminiscing over the last year when you hear Bucky having a dream in the other room, but it’s not the kind of dream you were expecting.

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes

Warnings: smut! Unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your Willy). A little angsty first. Swear words. 18+ y’all please!

Enjoy my sweet nymphs. As always, you can request ;)

——

His nightmares kept him up most nights. It had been that way since i had connected with him in South America. He wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore, he really didn’t even know who he was, except what he could glean from the Captain America exhibit and from what I could share of what Steve had told me. Part of me wondered if I made the right decision to follow him instead of returning to America, but when he recognized me and in the two weeks I was down there, attempted multiple interactions with me, I couldn’t deny him when he asked me to stay. I wish I understood why he asked.

Now here we are in Bucharest. Times are calmer for him, but the nightmares...they’re worse than anything I expected. Sometimes, he will awake screaming at night. Others he’s trying to fight some imaginary enemy and doesn’t wake till he’s forced. On occasion, I have been the victim of a night terror. His vibranium arm crushing my throat or him slamming me into the floor. Bucky always felt like shit afterwards, no matter what I said. At one point he tried to kick me out of his apartment and his life, saying he was too dangerous for me. I sat outside the door for six hours, listening to him cry. When I finally had knocked, he practically ripped the door of the hinges to grab me back in. He dropped to his knees that day, his arms wrapped around me as he buried his tear covered face against my stomach. It broke me to see him in such a vulnerable position. I remember running my hands through his hair for what seemed like forever until his grip around me loosened and his arms fell limply to his sides.

“Why did you stay? After, after all I’ve done?” His voice broke, as more tears slid down his face. My own eyes welled with tears as I kneeled in front of him. Slowly and gently, I took him in my arms, pulling him against me. Bucky tensed for a minute, but then slowly wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in my neck. I went back to running my fingers in his hair, contemplating my response.

“Because I want to be here for you. In every way possible.” A silent sob racked his body and I felt more of his weight on me as he crumpled. Bucky laid his head in my lap and brought his flesh hand to rest on my hip. He kept his vibranium on the floor, away, fear radiating from the way he curled it away from me. “Give me your hand Bucky.” He raised his head off my lap with wide open eyes.

“But...” he started to protest, but i shushed him, placing my finger on his lips.

“I’m here for you in every way.” I emphasized the last two words with a small smile. I wasn’t afraid of him and I certainly wasn’t afraid of his arm. “That means,” I reached for his hand and took the cool metal fingers within mine, “you don’t have To worry about keeping yourself from me.” Reluctantly he allowed me to bring his arm up to my lips. I knew he couldn’t feel it, but I kissed his had, listening to the soft whirs and enjoying the feel of the cool metal against my lips. Bucky continued to cry for a while more, my sleep shorts practically soaked and my legs so numb that I was probably going to have to crawl to bed. But he never let go, never moved his head, and never tried to remove his arm from my grasp.

Since that day, he has been exceedingly touchy with me. It was clear he was touch starved, I would be too, if all i ever knew was a harsh hand. I started to notice it when I had just returned from the market with groceries one day. I swore he had been asleep on his makeshift bed and I was trying to be as quiet as I could, but then felt a presence and a hand on the small of my back. I threw him a small smile over my shoulder before returning to my task. He stayed there for the entire time I put the groceries away, leaning against the fridge door and absentmindedly rubbing the exposed skin of my back. It was the hardest fucking lesson to learn, but I finally had enough willpower to not jump when he placed his cold fingers against my skin. I honestly loved the feeling of his metal pads dragging softly against the small of my back, but gosh dang were they freezing! Even despite the fact that he wore gloves almost all the time.

Nonetheless, i started to notice it more and more after this. Him standing close to me, having his hand on me at any point (or simply just brushing it against me), sitting near me, and my favorite, him laying his head on my lap when I’m sitting in the couch.

Had I fallen in love with the super soldier? I cannot deny it.

—

A whimper from the living room ripped me from my head. I sat up in the bathtub, trying to see if the sound was just in my head. Another whimper told me it wasn’t. I wrapped myself in a robe and padded softly into the living room where Bucky slept.

He wasn’t thrashing around, but his face was contorted in an expression I couldn’t read. Suddenly, a small moan left his lips and I just about swooned. What was this man dreaming about? At that moment, his blanket fell to the side and I averted my eyes respectfully, but definitely didn’t miss the tent that had formed in his sweat pants. I turned to walk away but then he moaned again, this time saying a name...my name.

I felt hot, not just in my face, but also in between my legs. He was dreaming about me? I almost didn’t believe it, but the man said my name yet again. Fine, if he says it again...

“Y/n...” Bucky moaned, a little louder this time. Damn it. Mustering all my confidence, I walked over to the sleeping man. It was a risk, and I knew it, but I’ll be damned if I lied to myself and said I didn’t want this man. Kneeling beside his bed, I gently brushed some of the hair out of his face. The super soldier startled awake and grabbed my hand harshly, breathing raspy. “y/n...what?” Voice sleepy.

“You were dreaming.” I said simply. He sat up quickly and pulled the blanket over himself, averting his eyes from my gaze. “Bucky,” he still refused to look at me. “Do you want me?” Bucky immediately snapped his eyes to mine, a clear and potent blush on his face. I heard him swallow hard before replying in the most quiet of voice,

“Yes.” Inwardly I celebrated as loudly as I could, but I kept cool on the surface. I surged forward and captured his lips. He responded immediately, moving his lips against mine. Without breaking the kiss, I straddled his lap wrapping my arms around his neck. Tentatively, he brought both hands to my hips. I licked his bottom lip and invaded his mouth when he opened. He moaned into my mouth as my tongue danced with his. When I pulled back, our breaths were short. His blue eyes glistened with tears,

“Are you sure you want me?” If it had been any other moment, I probably would’ve just cried and held him in my arms, but there was such a confidence within myself that I decided against such a meek answer. Instead, I pulled at the tie of my robe. Bucky almost instantly grabbed my hands, his eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

“Showing you just how much I want you.” As he relaxed his hands, I pulled the robe off. The cold air within the apartment perked my nipples. Bucky’s eyes traveled my body, but he didn’t move. Slowly, I led his hands to my chest. His metal hand played a dangerous game of temperature play with my breasts and a moan escaped from me. My cunt ached and I knew that I was wet from anticipation.

That moan must’ve given him some sort of confidence because he started to knead the fleshy mounds. He then dipped his head low and took a nipple into his mouth.

“Buck,” I moaned. His tongue laved over the nipple and I felt his teeth pull gently. I was a raspy, moaning mess by the time he switched over to the other nipple. Need friction. Taking his flesh hand from my breast, I guided it down to my aching cunt. Bucky stopped his lavishes on my nipple as he stared at me.

“I’m...” Bucky averted his gaze, “I’m out of practice.” Before he could get into his head and start comparing himself to his 1940s version, I kissed him deeply.

“So am I, we’ll learn together.” Bucky inhaled deeply and dropped his head to my shoulder. A finger touched my sensitive nub and I jerked. He started circling that area with his thumb as his other fingers explored, gathering wetness. A finger entered me and I gasped at the feeling. Another entered. Moving in and out, curling, and gently stretching me. I was a moaning mess at his musings. A white flash smashed my vision as he hit a certain spot within me and I moaned loudly. Bucky started kissing and licking my shoulders and neck, marking the skin as he paid attention to this spot within me. My moans spurned him on as he quickened his pace, still making sure to play with my clit.

“Buck...Bucky.” His name a mantra on my lips as I grasped his hair, my head falling backwards. His metal arm reached around my back, holding me in place. My orgasm was building, toes curling, that warmth within my belly. His fingers pumped and curled, edging me to the end. In a another flash of white It surged through me and I came on his fingers.

He looked surprised and proud of himself as he brought his soaked fingers to his lips. I almost came again as I watched him lick each one clean. His pupils blew out and he pulled my face to his, smashing his lips against mine. Tongue surged past my open lips, bringing the taste of me. Bucky lifted me off his lap and gently turned us around, laying me on his bed, but never breaking the kiss. He worked his pants off.

I pulled back from the kiss, my lungs screaming for air. He leaned upwards and I finally caught the full show. His dick was massive, too swollen and red. The veins popping. And fine curly hair at the base. He was Definitely bigger than I have ever had. I gingerly reached out and wrapped my fingers around him. Shit, he was thick, I could hardly touch my middle finger to my thumb. I looked up at him. His eyes were closed, mouth opened just a bit, and his hands were in his hair.

“Buck?” I brought his attention to me and he released his hands from his hair. “What’s wrong?” He had tears in his eyes again.

“I don’t want to be something you regret y/n.” He cried. I reached upwards and guided him down to my lips. His tears dropping onto my cheeks.

“Never. I’ll never regret you. I love you.” I whispered into his ears. Bucky froze. Oh shit, did I go to far?

“Say it again.” He spoke finally, still frozen in place, his ear next to my lips. I swallowed hard before repeating,

“I love you.” Bucky reached down between us, pumped himself twice, before lining himself up at my entrance. He pushed forward gently. Even with just the tip inside, I could already feel the stretching. He entered more, going slow. Bucky and I moaned loudly as he became fully sheathed inside. I grasped at his shirt, feeling full. There was a dull pain within my cunt and I breathed through it, the pain finally turning to pleasure. Almost as he could sense it, Bucky started to move. The rhythm was slow at first, him enjoying and getting reacquainted to the feeling.

My entire being felt jolted with every roll of his hips. His pubic bone was hitting my clit so perfectly that even at this slow pace, I was sure that he would throw me over the edge again. Bucky leaned closer to me, making sure to keep his weight on his forearms, and buried his head within my neck again. Wrapping my legs around his waist, i fisted my hand within his hair. He groaned and snapped his hips hard against me. The sound that left my mouth was pornographic, and he definitely liked it. Bucky started snapping his hips into me at a bruising pace, drawing moan after moan. I was incoherent, arching my back into him. He suddenly grabbed my hand from his back and thrusted it against the bed, holding it at the wrist. His metal hand hoisted my hips higher, and at the angle he was going, he was smashing into that special spot. I came in an instant, screaming loudly.

He didn’t let up his pace. Pulling out almost entirely before slamming back in. Both hands were now at my hips, gripping hard. There would be bruises in the morning. Groans and moans were rushing past his lips as he powered through, his stamina definitely a byproduct of the super soldier serum. Another orgasm built within me and he leaned over my ear,

“Fuck y/n, I can feel you clenching. Can you give me another doll?” I threw my head back as he bit into my neck.

“Bucky!” I cried as the orgasm came. Bucky slowed his pace, pressing open mouth kisses to my skin. He then began to work a mark into my neck. My body was on fire and really sensitive. I moaned loudly, fisting my hands into his shirt. For a moment I wondered why it was still on, but I figured that although he may be confident to be within me, he may not yet be confident to show me himself fully, and that was okay, we could work towards that. Once he was proud of the mark, he placed a loving peck to it before moving towards my face. Not an inch was left unkissed. He leaned his forehead against mine, blue orbs staring into mine.

“Ready?” He asked. I nodded slowly, kissing him gently. Bucky picked up his speed and this time, it was more brutal than before. Pubic bone smashing against the sensitive bundle of nerves, wet legs and balls slapping against skin making the most perverted of sounds. Bucky’s hands gripped mine. I arched into him again, writhing, unable to control myself at the amount of pleasure within. My moans were incoherent, his name slipping from my lips. Suddenly his hips stuttered and he slammed into me, wrapping his arms tightly around me and crushing me against his chest. His release came with my name on his lips, a string of soft repetition. For a while he held me, his cock warm within me. And then he pulled out, laying beside me. Sweaty bodies, heaving chests, and the smell of sex was an intoxicating combination. I felt drained, but happy.

Curling against him, I wrapped my leg around his hip, just to feel him against my cunt. Bucky reached down and pulled the blanket over us. As I felt sleep take over, Bucky pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“I love you too Y/N.”

[hes-writer]

Reign (3)

Summary: harry sees something he's supposed to have

Warnings:  angst in the beginning, angst in the middle, angst near the end

Word Count: 4881 words

A/N: @devilinbetweenthesheet-s : dont cheat and don’t do drugs, kids

Tarnish (1)  .  Halo (2)  . Reign (3) . Trial (4) .

Errors (5) . Ruin (6) . Crumble (7)

Error Taglist

____

A writer that cannot write is dead.

When one loses the ability to tell their stories and anecdotes through the mere action of swirling words together to create an imaginable atmosphere of real-world fantasy; they are dead. A writer recovering from the mundane and mediocre way of penning experiences to bounce back into what they used to be is difficult. It is easier to free fall and drown in the depths of despair. The moment thoughts and rumination fog up to form a blurry image of conviction is a warning sign, blaring at the back of their minds and sometimes even in their faces.

Harry is a writer--or, he was. Picking up the pen to style the words lingering in his head used to be as easy as blinking; quick and natural. Now, the words claw at the swell of his throat, trying to spit an adjective to describe the way he felt. It was at the tip of his tongue, waiting to be lathed into existence. It did not matter if his cognition was mingled with various chemicals aimed to be able to feel happiness.

He was sober but he had trouble placing his finger on why it was so strenuous to narrate his feelings throughout the breakup. Being high or drunk was never the answer for him. Weed made him tired and made him have a case of cottonmouth. Harry learned from a young age that he should only ever engage with alcohol if he was in a mindset and setting that catered to increase existing good vibes. He thought that maybe he was in an odd phase of perceiving the opposite, and so he intoxicated himself enough to understand that it didn’t matter if he was soaked head-to-toe in sobriety or whizzed out of his mind by the amber liquid swirling in the glass in his hand. But that wasn’t the circumstance. It also didn’t matter if he was grasping his favourite pen to write--because it was comfortable--or tapping his calloused thumbs against his phone keypad. Hell, it didn’t make a difference when he sat down and prepared his typewriter to indulge in a headspace of vintage songwriting. Maybe that would help.

It didn’t.

He had stories to tell. Everything was laid out in misty overcast yet Harry’s great ideas morphed into gentle mistakes, harsh mistakes and discoveries that had him almost ripping his hair out of the roots of his scalp. When he felt the wave of his ocean-thoughts rise and peek where the sand shifted, his fingers were ready to move and discern for the eyes to see. But with each fritter, he couldn’t seem to get even two paragraphs in to decide that it was utter shit.

Harry was old enough to understand that slumping on the wet sand was a part of life. Sometimes picking up a fistful of grains and throwing them back to the sea was a great way to release frustration. But it seemed like this plunge of his ability to write was a hole of quicksand. He was trying his hardest to displace himself as swiftly as possible but it only made his scenario worse. The muddy sand clung unto his legs like sticky glue, heftier with each effort to leave. He wanted to move on. He wanted to forget everything that occurred in the past four years. Harry wanted to erase Y/N from his life because she wasn’t around anymore to bring those memories back to sparkly existence.

What he needed to do was nestle himself into a certain depth, calmly, in order to pull a limb out and ensure that his progress on the so-called ‘moving on’ did not have any drawbacks. Until then, he cannot possibly create songs that he was well-known for if he wasn’t patient enough.

He wanted so badly to tell his side of the story. Harry craved to think as clearly as he did when he told Y/N about his plan for their future. Admitting to his feelings was a hard route. Sure, he can be vulnerable but it took a great deal of convincing on his part to immerse himself in the deepest parts of his brain to understand why he felt the way he did. He usually had the means of songwriting to help him out but that obviously wasn’t working out that good for him.

___

Harry was packing the rest of Y/N’s things in boxes to be picked up later in the afternoon. He was annoyed at first at how she depended on him to fold her clothes properly instead of doing the bundle of the work herself. But he guessed that she didn’t want to be around him for longer than she had to. To be frank, he also did not want to indulge in what might turn into an argument if they spoke about the reason for their breakup. It was just a bit confusing because he had an urge to still want her around despite their less than likely situation.

Torture. If Harry had one chance to describe the way he felt right now; it was torture. With every nook of Y/N’s side of the closet emptying into brown, cardboard boxes--he physically how much she had integrated her life with his. How much space she took up in his life. How his clothes and her clothes were so interchanged between them that he couldn’t decide if the gray pull-over was actually his or hers. And in a moment of selfishness did he tuck it away for his safe-keeping despite seeing the tag imprinted on the inside; a shop that he hadn’t set foot in so it was a guarantee that it was hers.

Her scent embedded in the thin threads of each fabric wafted to his nose; each with a new wave of memories engulfing his senses as if each piece garnered a specific scent tailored to a specific event. Like her sunflower sundress--it smelled of fresh flowers as if the print was a scratch and sniff that released a fragrance. Or their DIY-ed tie-dye shirt of pastel blue and cotton candy pink. It was a matching piece made out of the cheap dye and a simple white tee but it was theirs. Things like these made Harry want to yell in frustration because every time he thought that he was completely over her-- Y/N appears out of visibly nowhere and towers over him.

Seeing her for the first time in days was a breath of relief. She looked fine. Glowing even, and Harry did not know what to make of it. As sadistic as it sounded, he was expecting dry-stained tears and a birds’ nest of hair trampling her head. Instead, Y/N was dressed for comfort in her baggy jeans and an even looser sweater covering her body. Her lips were drawn in a thin line, giving him a nod in greeting as he gestured to the boxes littering the floor.

Harry offered to help--it was the least he could do. And somehow, silence protruded from the tense atmosphere, begging to be cut by a knife yielded through their voices nipping at each others’ emotions.

“Let go of my damn hand,” Y/N stated, her hard stare could turn Harry into stone. He just wanted her to listen before she left.

He shook his head in denial of her request, tightening his grip further. “No. Listen to me, Y/N,”

“What do you possibly have to say that will change anything between us?”

And maybe it was her fault for assuming that he wanted to fix things. The sliver of hope thinly dressed behind closed lids enabled her to think that maybe he was going to say that he wanted to make things work again. That he had broken up with Camille and he realized what a stupid he had done throwing away everything they built up to for the past four years for an affair that couldn’t quench the thirst of his desire to have a family.

Harry sighed, a shadow of mischievous smirk painted on his lips. But maybe it was Y/N’s sight in deception because she could never see Harry as anything other than sweet and kind Harry incapable of hurting a fly.

“What? I don’t intend to. We’re broken. We’re beyond fixing,”

The hitch in her breath was as sharp as the stare he was searing her with. Forcing her to please understand that this would be their last conversation--if time and fate were on their side. “You’re not something I would take the time to handle,”

“Stop saying shit you don’t mean, Harry” Y/N rolled her eyes in annoyance. His macho act was barely an act and more like a stage curtain easily pushed with a flick of a wrist.

“Things I don’t mean?”

“You heard me,” She crossed her arms over his chest in defence, leaning against the closed trunk. “Say what you will but our love was real. Don’t make me seem like I’m crazy. Don’t tell me that I’m a mistake,” Her voice was filled with confidence because she knew the affection that Harry diffused.

The cradles of his palm at the small of her back when they had to walk past a crowd. The subtle graze of the back of his fingers caressing the bare skin of her arm. Kisses pressed to her temple as she read a novel and swirling fingertips twirling her hair. These were acts of love that happened nearly every day in their relationship. A routine that felt different if it wasn’t done to or with each other.

Exasperatedly, Harry felt the same itching crawling up his spine. His ego ballooning into a delicate size and one more word from Y/N’s lush lips would have him on his hands and knees, begging for her back.

“This, us, was a fuckin’ mistake,” Harry’s accent thunked heavily in her cochlea, practically spitting the words out of his mouth as if they were poisonous. Ringed fingers gesticulated the space between them to emphasize how much of a misunderstanding they truly were. “I should’ve known the second things went further than planned,”

Y/N felt her heart drop to her full stomach. The feeling so nauseating that she instinctively palmed her belly over the fabric to protect her little baby from his harsh words. Even though they weren’t directed towards anyone but Y/N. She didn’t think that their unborn child deserved scrutiny from their own father.

“You don’t mean that, Harry.”

Because how could he? Not when he emulated sincerity through his syrupy voice. Not when he spent hours loving on her tummy and spoke to it like he would if she were pregnant. Especially not when every kiss from him felt like a buzz of electricity coursing through her veins because he was the main distributor of her happiness.

Harry truly was an asshole for making her hope and wonder of what the future held when he was unsure himself. He did want a family. That was a statement in all its truthfulness. What he wasn’t sure about was if he wanted a family with Y/N. He could have a family; kids of his own in his own time. But Y/N didn’t have to necessarily be the mother. So was he besotted with the concept of family and marriage regardless of who it was with?

“But I do,”

The rain started drizzling in frequent spurts, planting a fat droplet on her cheek that could be argued as a tear escaping Y/N’s eye. It hurt a lot to hear that from him. The man of her dreams blatantly denying each sugary word because his plans had changed.

“You’re a goddamn mistake is what you are,’

“Why are you. . .saying all these things to me? Are you trying to hurt me?” The shakiness of Y/N’s tone had Harry swallowing his words down his strep throat.

He shook his head in disagreement, “No, I’m not. ‘M just tryna make you see my side. So you can understand,” His head dipped to the side, softening his tone yet stern as though he was speaking to a child.

And that was one of the reasons why Y/N didn’t believe his all-too stoic demeanour about her. Harry was great at making others see his side regardless of how much in the wrong he was.

So why was he struggling?

___

Needless to say, he wasn’t very respectful towards Y/N any other time afterwards. He had unblocked her number months after blocking it at one point and demanded answers that he didn’t have the right to know. In retrospect, Harry was embarrassed by the way he acted. He did cheat on her and suddenly he was a saint because she moved on quicker than he thought she would? Unbelievable.

In his defence, the night he became the drunk caller was the same night he fought with Camille about having children; having a family they can call their own. Ever since that discussion did Harry notice a dispatch in their relationship. It was like they were aware of a missing link that had disappeared in their connection, but neither one of them wanted to be the one to bring it up. Harry supposed that now that Camille knew what he wanted (and vice versa)--she was feeling the pressure of giving in to him. Don’t get him wrong, Harry absolutely wanted a family and he thought that Camille was the right partner to build it with. However, he couldn’t help the voice at the back of his mind slyly whispering that he had forced her to give him what he wanted for the sake of saving their failing relationship.

___

It had been two and a half years since he mildly and miserably accepted that his dream family was being erased like a pencil on paper.

The first year; Harry still clung to the obscure hope that Camille might change her mind of having kids. Many fights sprouted between the two of them concluding in them sleeping at different places for weeks on end until they eventually crawled back to each other like an invisible string. The second-year; Harry brought up the idea of adoption. It was a hard choice for him as he desperately wanted kids of his own. A boy that looked like him and his love or a little girl that smiled at him with deep dimples mirroring his own.

And Harry liked to think that he was just on the edge of convincing Camille to consider the option when his tour was scheduled a few months after. A new dealbreaker was that Harry wasn’t going to be around much to watch and nurture the little bub they might’ve adopted. It was a sudden intrusion to think about since Harry was good with kids. He knew that. That was why he had three godchildren of his own. But what hit him the most was how sure Camille sounded when she yelled at him about leaving for months at a time and returning for a bit, only to leave again. Now, Harry hadn’t considered that part. But surely he will be ready to choose between a family and his career, right? When the time comes, he thought.

___

It pained Harry to admit that his relationship with Camille was dwindling down the drain. The knowledge that there was no future--the one that Harry envisioned--for them was getting more and more real each passing day. 

A late-night grocery trip was one of the many examples that had Harry rethinking his actions for the past couple of years. It was the time period where night owls arose and barely any customers littered the aisles. Still, Harry made sure to keep his hoodie up to shield his face.

Camille had an early flight to Milan in just a few hours later that day and she wanted to purchase some things to bring with her; in case they weren’t available in the country. So here they were at three in the morning.

As Camille walked ahead of him in her sweatpants and a plain tee, Harry couldn’t help but let his eyes flicker to the clothing section to his right The first-floor space was decorated with pastel blues and pinks; a stroller was displayed with a price would not make a dent in Harry’s bank account.

“‘M just gonna grab somethin’ over here, Cam,” Harry muttered as he pointed a thumb behind him. She nodded, “Meet me at the produce? Need to get you some fruits,”

Harry felt guilt thudding his chest because although he was losing feelings he thought were written in stone, Camille appeared to care for him the same way she always had.

He walked to the brightly lit area, puffing his cheek as a cute onesie caught his eye, “You’re so golden” with the word ‘golden’ printed in a shiny, yellow glimmer. He smiled at the thought of baby angel cooing at him as he tickled her tummy. Harry passed by the shoes next, picking up a pair barely the size of his palm. His mind flashed back to a conversation with Y/N years ago,

___

“I’m just saying,” Y/N took a bite of a pickle she held on her left hand, “Baby shoes have no business being that expensive,”

Harry chuckled from his place across the counter, “Babies need shoes too, love,’

She grabbed her fork and stabbed a piece of strawberry from her bowl, “I didn’t say the don’t need shoes. For tiny things, they could at least be a bit cheaper,”

Harry watched as she munched on a pickle on her left and took a bite of a strawberry on the other. His tongue poked out in a gag at the odd combination, resorting in glare and a huff from Y/N.

“You should try it instead of judging me,’

“No, thank you. Watching you eat it is enough for me,’

___

Harry craned his head at each aisle, hoping to find Camille and to distract himself from the endless Y/N related thoughts that somehow returned to his brain. He needed his girlfriend to remind him that he cannot just knock on Y/N’s door and ask her about the baby she has. If he could hold them for a bit because his baby fever was through the roof.

Locating the produce section, Harry whistled mindlessly as he searched for a blonde head of hair, failing to notice that there was a basket in front of his feet. He had kicked it, jolting him out of his thoughts in a hurry.

A man with brown hair sporting an outfit similar to his (sweats and a hoodie), chuckled at him as Harry leaned down to retrieve the gray basket filled with a jar of pickles.

“Sorry man,” Harry muttered, holding the handles up for the man to carry.

“It’s alright, it happens,” The guy had not seen his face yet, too busy inspecting the carton of strawberries.

He decided to continue the conversation, “Strawberries and pickles? Odd combo, huh,” Harry was briefly reminded of Y/N’s obsession with the two rival products.

“Yeah, m’lady loves ‘em. Had a craving in the middle of the night. She’s in the car right now with our lil bubba,”

Harry’s heart fluttered at the mention of a baby. He needed to get his rails in check. He cannot keep having his heart bursting with adoration at the mere mention of a baby.

“I’m Connor,” He said, finally facing Harry after choosing the best carton.

“I'm--,”

“Harry!” Both men turned their heads towards Camille carrying a basket full fruits and green veggies, “Got you some stuff to blend for your smoothies,”

Connor squinted his eyes at the couple and Harry internally screamed because he knew that he and Camille had been recognized. “Harry. Yeah, I know you,” The sudden hostility made Harry confused as Connor grasped his basket from him in a harsh manner, heading towards the checkout.

The rest of the time inside the store was filled with curiosities as Harry carried the paper bags towards the car, barely recognizing Connor’s figure heading towards his own vehicle. Luckily, Harry has parked only a few slots away and could inconspicuously watch Connor and his so-called ‘lady’.

Except, Camille was ushering him to hurry up as she still had a few things to pack at home.

___

On most days, Harry was used to waking up alone. Used to feeling the shiver crawling up his side, used to seeing the indent left by Camille’s body instead of her. He had grown familiar with the sudden cast of loneliness blanketing him thicker than the duvet on top of his body.

The early morning trip to the store had tired him out, paired with the overthinking of the man named ‘Connor’ that flipped his attitude towards him quicker than he could kick the grey basket with his feet. He flopped back to the mattress after washing his face and brushing his teeth. It was noon when he jolted out of bed again at the sound of his front door opening, voices filling the empty space that had Harry running towards the foyer in case there was an intruder.

His tense shoulders sagged in relief when he caught sight of his mum and Gemma, “Oh, s’just you guys,”

Both women looked up at him at the top of the stairs, “You forgot we were coming over for the weekend, didn’t you?” Gemma teased as she headed to the living room. Harry followed, walking down the stairs.

He scratched the nape of his neck nervously, “No. . . “

“Can you help me reach this, H?” Anne called out from the kitchen.

His mum gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, “Yes, you did, by the way. Slept through the whole morning. Good thing Camille let us in before she left,”

At the sound of a bag crumpling and squeals echoing the hollow house, Harry scrunched his nose in curiosity, briskly walking where Gemm was currently holding up tiny baby clothes in front of her. “Who’s that for?” He thought of any possible friends that had had a baby recently but couldn’t recall any.

She immediately stuffed the clothing into the bag, nervously placing a hand on her chest, “Gosh, Harry, you scared me,” Her brows went high on her forehead in alarm, sharing a look with her mum trailing behind Harry.

“Well? Did I miss something?”

“Oh, it’s for one of my friends,”

Harry contemplated on his next words, “D-did you know that Y/N had a baby?” It couldn’t be right if his sister and mum knew about his exes baby and not him, right? That’s just plain odd to still be in touch with an ex's family. His brows furrowed in suspicion as both of them declined his question.

“What? Nooo,”

Awkward silence filtered through the air as Anne sipped water from her mug and Harry was slowly putting the pieces together. Gemme dove to the centre of the couch where her phone was when it rang suddenly, surprising all three of them. Harry was quicker, eyeing his mum and sister and inspecting the emoji substituting as a name before sliding his thumb to answer it.

"Hey, Gems! Are you coming to the park? We're waiting for you,”

Harry felt his heart drop to his stomach just as the phone nearly slipped from his clutch. That voice. He could recognize it from everywhere having spent nearly every morning for the four years that they were together hearing it lulling him out of sleep. It was Y/N’s voice calling his sister who was looking extremely anxious.

He tapped on the ‘mute’ button, “What does she mean ‘we’?”

“Nothing! Give me my phone back,” Gemma tried to reach for the device but Harry held it high beyond her reach.

“I saw the picture you sent me. I told you that you and Anne didn’t have to get me anything,” Harry felt dizzy. “Connor and I got some things a few weeks ago. But that skirt is so adorable!”

One part of him was glad to hear her voice. In fact, Harry found himself smiling too, despite what he just heard. Connor. “Harry, won’t be there right? Hello? Have I been talking to myself this whole time,” Y/N laughed a little; she had a habit of talking endlessly when she was excited. It made Harry more sombre, letting his guards down and his arm in reach for Gemma to grasp.

“Hey! I'm just organizing the clothes, see you soon!" Gemma jammed her finger on the red end call, anxiously glancing at her brother, piecing everything together.

“Who's Connor?" Could it be that the Connor he met last night was the same as Y/N’s? The one who bought pickles and strawberries--one of Y/N favourite food combinations? He mentioned that he had a little girl and Y/N just called to meet his sister and his mum at the park. And baby clothes?

Anne and Gemma looked at each other, quickly deciding that for the benefit of Harry that they should tell him at least a little bit. He was looking as if he was going insane, especially with his bed head pointing his hair out in different directions.

“He’s Y/N’s partner”

Harry gulped, reeling his thoughts to a halt, “Partner? And the baby is...?” The last bit of confirmation was all he needed to lash his feelings out.

“Is... waiting for us at the park! Sorry H gotta go,” Gemma was swift enough to gather all the bags without having Harry chase after her. His state of confusion and shock was enough to render him partially speechless and immobile.

“Hey wait!”

Anne garnered his attention, “Oh, Mrs. Q from next door wants me over for dinner. I’m sure wants to see us both. Why don’t you get ready, Harry?” Anne tugged his arm in the direction of the staircase pushing him to stumble up a couple of steps.

Harry was confused. He made the sounds of his footsteps creeping up the wooden stairs, hearing his mum quietly talking to Gemma on the phone, “Elmsway Park, you said? How long till you're home? I’m not sure how long I can keep him occupied,”

With that being said, Harry was out of his house, silently unlocking and locking the door. He was dressed in some basketball shorts and a graphic tee, slipping on the first pair of sneakers he had tossed aside. Harry jogged to his car, typing in the name of the park on his phones’ GPS. The route was only a few minutes away so he decided to take his time, gathering his scattered thoughts along the way.

He parked just beside the playground scouting the trees around the premises. Harry decided that it was the perfect day. The sun was out. It wasn’t too humid and the birds were chirping on the branches. He could see why the playground was full of children running around in delight. The green patches of grass were partially filled with picnic blankets and food to be shared. Families laughed with each other as one in particular caught his eye.

It made him smile at first, seeing just how adorable the couple was with their baby. He exited the car, making sure to lock the vehicle. With his hands jammed deep in the pockets of his shorts, Harry could feel the tethered grass rubbing against his legs. As he got closer, he couldn’t help the twinge of familiarity spark in his chest, recognizing that what he was staring at was Connor playfully chasing a little girl of about two-years-old as she squealed at how close he was getting to tagging her.

Harry stood by a tree, shielding him away from view. He tried to appear invisible without seeming too creepy. He knew that it was only a matter of seconds before his eyes found the woman he had been missing, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Connor picked up the little girl in his arms, dotting pecks all over the girls’ cheeks, causing her to giggle and push his face away with a tiny palm. And there she was standing outside the raised platform of the playground, coming up to the both of them with a juice box in hand to hydrate the little angel. Connor turned his attention to Y/N, planting the most adoring kiss on her lips that made her smile so wide and the baby cover her eyes. They laughed together, looking like a picture-perfect family.

Gemma sat on the bench, flickering her gaze to the precious family in front of her and to the figure of her brother walking away from the scene. Her heart broke for Harry, and it cracked, even more, when he turned back. This time, watching Connor and Y/N cheer on baby angel to go down the slide. Both of them clapped their hands in enthusiasm as the girl hesitantly slid down the plastic slide. The smile on her face was infectious.

It almost made Harry smile, too.

___

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[imaginationjunkie]

Say the word

Jason Todd x Reader

It’s kinda heartwarming

I tried to control my fast breaths, lifting my head from the crook of Jason’s neck to give him a lazy kiss. Deliriousness coursed through our veins, minds hazy from the aftermath bliss of an intimate climax.

Being apart for weeks for his mission and my conference clearly had one gigantic perk- the mad intense I-missed-you-so-fucking-much sex.

It doesn’t matter if it was the first or the thousandth time, the feeling of his body against mine never failed to weaken my limbs to mush and warm my heart, like it’s soup being heated up on a stove.

A smile split my lips as I tried lifting my naked body up from his chest, and failing. The thick, muscular arms that were tightly wrapped around my waist stopped me from doing so. It made me smile wider and lean down to put my lips on Jason’s.

“You know you’re gonna have to stop doing that right?” I murmured, running my fingers through his dark raven locks. A chaste kiss was placed on my cheek by his smirking lips.

“Hmm? Doing what?”

I leaned down so that our bare chests pressed against each other, lips hovering over his. My whisper was naughty as I answered him.

“Why should I? We both seem to like it so very much,” Jason nuzzled his nose against mine with a mischievous smirk.

“Because if by any chance I get preggers before marriage, my parents will chase you to the ends of the earth and decapitate the crap out of you,” I whispered jokingly, but meant every word. “And then after they’re done with you, they’ll feed me to the demons.”

My ever-so-daring boyfriend’s reply was to lowly chuckle and simply kiss my shoulder. 

Affection came naturally to us now, especially since Jason had been touch starved practically since birth. The first few months of our relationship, I had to have a mental debate every time before touching him; how far I should go with the cuddling, to hold his hand or not, put my legs on his body while cuddling or not...

Unlike his brother Dick, who much to Jason’s irritation loved pulling me into a tight hug every time we met, Jason just wasn’t the affectionate type.

After a few months, I understood how badly he needed to be touched- to be loved, to be comforted. When he got the message that it’s okay to hold me as much as he wants, that there’s finally someone he can lose himself in, someone he can love, he found a way to touch me every spare moment we spent together. Kissing my neck, nuzzling his nose, holding my hips, putting his large hand on the small of my back or around my waist, constantly lifting me onto his lap- the list’s never ending.

“I’m serious, a child out of wedlock is beyond just a sinful taboo in my family,” I booped his nose, leaning my forearms on his chest to hold my upper body up.

Jason pretended to be lost in thought for a while before suddenly rolling our bodies over to our sides, the ridges and sinewy muscles of his defined chest flush against my back. He tucked the messy portion of my hair out of the way before kissing from my neck up to the back of my ear. 

“Well since marriage is out of the question, I’ve no option than to not make my pull out game weak,” his tongue darted out to lick my ear teasingly.

Ignoring the pang that hit my heart at his statement about marriage, I turned to swat his chest teasingly. My lips were unable to hold back a grin at his reference to WAP .

“What? You’re the one who keeps dancing to it every morning,” Jason grinned back at me.

“It’s 4 am, we should sleep,” I shook my head at him, turning to face forward again. Jason and my shared bedroom turned dark as he flicked the dim bedside lamp off, making the glow of moonlight our only source of light.

The warmth from having his arms encased around me brought a serene feeling, making me think about how impossible it’d be to live without Jason Todd. 

“I love you,” he murmured against my neck.

My eyes closed shut, senses overwhelmed with the depth of my feelings.

“I love you,” I whispered back.

I had an amazing life- loving and supporting, albeit sometimes overbearing, parents, a great job, a pretty apartment, and a man I’m certain I’d love and be loved by for the rest of my life. For the entirety of my existence, I’ve had the one thing Jason never did- stability. 

But when it’s meant to be, it’ll always be. 

God, fate or whatever higher force is up there looking over us made sure to let our souls find each other. Cherish each other. 

I knew Jason’s views on marriage and children. It was hard enough for him to indulge himself with something as normal as a committed relationship, that too for two and a half years; but it’d actually be impossible for him to be a husband, a father. He didn’t have a basic job in the least, and thus didn’t think tying the knot and being a family man would be suitable for him. 

Ever since I was a little girl, one of the things I’ve wanted greatly was to be married to the man I loved someday. But for Jason I could give it up. I could give up the hopes of having a ring on my finger and a baby on my belly, because he means more to me than anything ever will.

¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡

*2 months later, New Year’s eve night at the Wayne Manor backyard*

“Damian, those aren’t fireworks, they’re explosives!”

At my alarmed exclaim, Dick quickly snatched the big box from his younger brother’s hands, waddling his finger as if to say ‘no no’.

“They’re fireworks,”  Jason assured from behind. “The kid and I labelled it explosives so Dick doesn’t steal it,”

Dick’s face scrunched up in confusion, “”Why would I steal your fireworks? I’ve better things to do for fu-”

“Miss, the barbecue is ready. Would you like to add the last bit of sauce on top?” The always-polite and everyone’s favorite Alfred smartly interrupted Dick from saying the curse word.

Every time I practically forced my boyfriend, his brothers and father into having a family night, Alfred let me help with the food; and since I suck beyond words at cooking, he always gave me the easy tasks to do.

Now if you’re thinking that prevented me from considering myself as the world’s second Martha Stewart, you’re wrong.

I clapped my hands together in delight, “I’d love to!”

“No she wouldn’t,” Jason, Dick and Tim said at the same time.

I turned to them, perplexed at their concurrent interference. 

Taking note of the unusual shiftiness in the boys’ stances, I raised a brow- “And why is that?”

Out of the three suspicious-looking brothers, Dick replied- “Because there’s only 20 minutes till midnight and you have to help us set the fireworks off!”

Now both my eyebrows rose, and I crossed my arms against my chest.

“So you’re telling me,” I said in slow amusement, dragging the words sarcastically. “That three of the strongest night vigilantes of Gotham, one being a violent nutcase once,” a look was thrown in Jason’s direction, “Needs an ordinary girl to set off fireworks?”

This time Tim responded, “Well you see, we’ve never set them off. None of us has ever had the chance to have a normal new years with fireworks and a countdown,”

“Really?” I deadpanned, voice turning into a shrill by the end of the question, “So have I been planning and working my ass off every new year’s for the past three years to make robots happy?”

Tim realized his mistake, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head before trying to redeem himself. “But we’ve never had a family new years, y’know, with the barbecue and fireworks,”

“Also, you’re nowhere near ordinary,” Jason added in a low voice as he came to stand behind me and kissed my temple. I rolled my eyes at the cheesiness, wrapping an arm around the middle of both the boys’ backs.

Right then Damian piped in, surprising everyone. “Plus you’re not a girl, you’re a woman,” he emphasized on the last word, making Jason scoff with a smirk and everyone else laugh.

It didn’t take long for me to grow on Damian, making him accept and like me. From what I heard from his brothers and Alfred, he didn’t like most people and never went easy on newcomers. I was especially concerned about getting Jason’s family to like me, since he didn’t have much of a good relationship with them and I wanted to change that. In the end everyone ended up accepting me; and gradually even treating me as one of their own. Dick and I were practically best friends.

Despite what he used to say, I knew Jason loved them all like they were his own blood; so I knew that it meant a great deal to him to rekindle his relationships with them.

Bruce Wayne’s voice spoke for the first time that evening, “Good evening, my apologies for the delay,”

An awkward silence took over our so-far cozy night. All of the boys looked other directions, not acknowledging their dad who never bothered to show up to any family days on time. I tried my best to knit the boys together, help them get close and create a bond; and saying that I succeeded wouldn’t be a lie. But the fact that Bruce couldn’t even take one day off from his billionaire/ vigilante duties sort of upset me every time.

Jason scoffed, his mouth opening to say something undoubtedly snarky to his father. But before he had the chance to I stepped on his shoe and gripped his hand tightly, silencing him.

“It’s okay Bruce, at least you made it,” I smiled.

The excruciatingly tense atmosphere was cracked by Dick, “I still need help with the fireworks, anyone up for it?”

“I’ll come!” I was quick to squeak and walk towards him.

“Me too,” Damian grumbled, following me.

Tim was the last one. “Yeah, me as well.”

“Great, so you guys do the fireworks and Jaybird and I will be right back!” Dick clapped his hands together in perky delight, pushing Jason’s back forward as they walked into the manor. From the distance, I saw Jason shrug Dick’s hand off before glaring at him. Again, confusion filled me at their strange behavior tonight.

“What was that about?” I asked Tim.

He smiled, “Nothing, probably just vigilante stuff.”

As the minutes passed by, the new year came nearer and nearer. The three of us successfully managed to set off the first batch of fireworks, looking up at the sky and laughing freely. Even Bruce had a small smile as he took a sip of his drink, looking up and the lit up sky with a hand in his pocket.

When it was about 10 minutes to the clock ticking 12:00 am, worry started to cloud the excitement I was feeling; but Tim and Damian were quick to distract it.

“Now can we do the grand purple one?” Damian gave me a rare pleading look.

“Yeah we can, but where’re Jason and Dick? They’re gonna miss new year’s,” I voiced my concern. 

Right then, my phone started ringing. 

Incoming video call from mom.

I answered, knowing that my parents were calling to say Happy New Year like they did every year. What rendered me surprised after receiving the call was that almost my entire family was on the frame of my mom’ video- two of my aunts, uncles and all the cousins I’m close to. Which are a lot.

I’m a family person, if you couldn’t tell already.

“Hi baby!” My mom grinned.

I grinned back, glee taking over the initial confusion.“Hey y’all! Are you having a New Years party without me?”

One of my younger cousins replied, “Sort of, now show us!”

My brows furrowed, “Show you what?”

A string of ‘oh shit’s sounded from mom’s side, further increasing my confusion.

Out of the blue, Dick intervened from behind me, “The fireworks of course!”

A sudden bang! took us all by surprise, and I looked up to see the huge purple fireworks lighting the dark canvas of the sky up. A wide grin split my lips, along with all the other boys as they whooped at the different shades of purple. It happened to be my favorite color. 

I felt the familiar warmth of Jason’s body against my back before hearing or seeing him. The digital clock on the top corner of my phone read 11:55 pm. Not being able to contain my excitement, I subconsciously shoved my phone to Tim, who was beside me, while my family was still on video. I raised a hand to point at the sky.

“Jay look, it’s all so purple!”

And then something happened. Something I wouldn’t even dream of imagining.

Jason’s larger hand rose to the level of mine, which was still pointing up at the sky. He spread my fingers out so that my hand was displayed open. I turned to look at my boyfriend, not quite understanding his intentions.

His eyes were trained on mine, a golden and purple reflection from the fireworks and balcony lights visible on the glossy blue orbs. 

Our eyes stayed on each other’s as I felt something cold graze the top of my ring finger.

In the background I heard Dick harshly whisper, “Tim, the song!”

I wasn’t dumb. I knew what my boyfriend was holding on top of that finger.

Jason’s lips were an inch away from my ear as he spoke clearly, not a hint of hesitation in his voice, “Just say the word, and I’ll put a ring on you.” 

I couldn’t even look at it as I tried to get over the giant bucket of emotions that was thrown over me. Shock, flabbergast, sheer happiness, disbelief, excitement, a rush of adrenaline. My heart threatened to beat the crap out of my chest.

“Jason,” I whispered, my eyes fluttering shut as he put his chin on my shoulder, inches from mine. “What. Are. You. Doing??”

He bit his lip, smiling before cryptically answering. “I love you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to get married?” I questioned again. “Do you think I’m pregnant? Are you doing this cause-?” my voice was breathy.

Jason smirked, his unoccupied arm going round me from behind to rest on the other side of my waist. “No baby, I don’t. The twenty something negative pregnancy sticks on the bathroom trash sort of made it clear that you aren’t pregnant.”

I couldn’t hold back my own grin from his teasing. For the first time, I turned my head to look at our hands. The sky was phenomenal in the background of them, a swirl of blue, red and purple as Damian and Dick continued setting the fireworks off. Tim was holding my phone up to where Jason and I were standing, undoubtedly showing the scene to my family. Now I knew why they were all gathered together to call me.

“You asked my parents?”

Jay rubbed his nose on my cheek, his smart-assery coming to action as he quoted my words from that night two months ago- “Of course, wouldn’t wanna be chased to the end of the earth and be decapitated the crap out of now, would I?”

The boys all had blinding bright and hopeful grins on their faces; even Damian! Alfred’s expression could only be described with one adjective- delight, and Bruce had an odd smile as he saw the straight-out-of-a-movie scene unfold.

I turned my head to the side to look at Jason again, grin faltering to a small smile.

This time nervousness coated his expression and words as he asked once again, “Will you marry me?“

I heard my mom speak through the phone, “Oh come on, stop torturing the poor boy! Answer already!“

Taking a deep breath, I leaned my head even closer to Jason’s. His blue eyes pierced into mine with their intensity, and my lips touched his as I said the word softly. 

“Yes.”

[sanababes]

The more, the merrier

Pairings: fem!reader x poly!SaYeon (Minatozaki Sana/Cho Miyeon)

Warnings: smut (hair pulling, daddy kink, thigh riding, bondage, a bit of overstimulation???) 

-----------

The sun sets over the horizon of Seoul's sky as you stare mindlessly outside the wide windows of your classroom. The faint sound of your teacher discussing something about the origin of a certain Korean literature is barely audible. You sighed gently before shifting your gaze back to your desk, it was all good and your day went well until Miyeon decided to extend her class for an extra hour.

You looked towards the older woman in front as she passionately covered the topic with its major details. The bright gleam coming from the recessed light on the ceiling hits her smooth and porcelain skin. Miyeon's eyes are sharp but vibrant which you liked a lot as she continued with the lesson, but seeing her laid beneath you while her body trembled in pleasure was more of your taste.

"Miss L/n, are you still with us?"

You flinched at the sudden call of your name. Your classmates started to holler around in a teasing manner, much to your dismay.

"Yes, ma'am…" you muttered, embarrassed that Miyeon caught you gaping at her shamelessly.

The latter gives you an innocent smile before getting the attention of the other students back to her discussion once again. 

'Tsk, the nerve of this woman.'

---

Miyeon's class has finally ended and you immediately took a breather while dashing out of the lecture room. You were too preoccupied with your thoughts that you didn't notice your phone vibrate, indicating someone is calling you. You finally grabbed it after a whole minute and answered the call which seemed to be a little urgent.

"Hey, Y/n/n. Are you done with your classes?" 

A distinct voice speaks up from the other line. You unconsciously let out a silent laugh before replying to the latter, "Sana unnie? You called, and yeah, I just finished them. What's up?"

"Hmm, nothing much. I'm done with my schedule for the week so…" you hummed, waiting for her to continue.

"Would you like to come over?" 

Your eyebrow raised in interest, but you already predicted what the woman was up to. Nevertheless, you still agreed.

"Uh yeah, sure. I'll be there in a few." Sana lets out a few giggles before hanging up with her usual farewell.

You chuckled at her cute demeanor, at the same time, Miyeon had a glimpse of you walking towards the school's exit. She had a mischievous smile written on her lips as her legs strutted swiftly to catch up on you. The students around began to murmur endlessly while a certain brunette triumphantly clings to your arm. Your eyebrows furrowed and almost pushed whoever the person is when a playful whisper sends goosebumps down your spine.

"Hi baby," you promptly tensed up but the way Miyeon's hand rubs gentle circles on your back helped to calm you down. 

"Can't you keep your hands to yourself? They'll probably start some nonsense rumors again." you groaned out. She had the nerve to laugh in the spur of the moment before purposely making her voice a lot louder, "Aigoo~ My dear, sister. You shouldn't act like that when unnie is babying you."

You swear to your life that the cringe you've felt after she said that was uncomparable. All you wanted to do was to dig a hole in the ground and yeet yourself in it. Your face contorted in a grimace of pain. A kind of pain that you'll never have the ability to look into any of these students nearby straight into their eyes.

"Fuck…" you dropped your head down, not wanting to see any of their reactions.

Meanwhile, Miyeon is having a fun time from teasing you. She loved how you would react and began to feel the need of doing it quite often. But, there was a specific reason. Miyeon loved getting you riled up. The way you get rougher and the inflamed gaze on your eyes just hits the right spot in her. 

"Let go," you said through gritted teeth. The latter had yet to realize that you've already walked a block away from the school premises.

"What? But why? My car is just parked a few streets away." she mutters. You rolled your eyes and tried to loosen her grip on you, "I told you, let go."

"I won't, but maybe, until you give me a kiss." 

You let out a harsh scoff before looking at her, her eyes reflecting an enchanting aura you knew very well, "You've got to be kidding me… I think that sister and shit roleplay had gotten inside your head now." 

She chuckled slyly before brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear, "Then why are you getting bothered so much? I thought it was just some 'nonsense' as what you call it. And it was a made-up rumor so they wouldn't be skeptical of our relationship, I'm sure you're aware of that since none of them are true. Am I right?"

You tried to keep your expression neutral as possible, knowing that Miyeon could make something a big deal so quickly. But she was indeed correct, all of the people in school believed your wonderful-sister relationship. You can't even recall how and when it happened, nevertheless, you were the type who wouldn't care too much so you just shrugged it off and played along.

When it comes to your bond with the brunette, you don't even know what kind of relationship it is. The two of you just started fucking each other at some point within the past few years and kind of became an affinity you couldn't let go easily.

"Fine," you looked around your surroundings, feeling a bit wary that someone might see the two of you. It would surely cause a lot of trouble if they saw you. And you weren't worried for yourself, you're mostly concerned at what it might result in Miyeon's future in teaching and you never once thought of disrupting her long time dream carelessly.

You guided her into a hidden alley nearby and she already brought your lips together before you did. You unconsciously pinned her against the wall, one of your hands cradled the back of Miyeon's head so she wouldn't feel too uncomfortable. Her tongue runs swiftly against your lip as she takes it between her teeth simultaneously. You groaned eagerly before hiking the pencil skirt she was wearing higher, caressing the soft flesh near Miyeon's throbbing heat. A hushed whimper came out from her as you took it as an initiative to pull away, but not completely, just letting your lips hover against hers.

"Getting a little greedy, aren't you, Y/n/n." she cooed.

You just smirked and fixed her skirt back to its knee-length position, "I'll accompany you to your car and then I'll get going." 

"Do you want me to drive you home?" Miyeon asked while running her hands through her hair.

"No need," the two of you proceeded to walk to the next street until you spotted Miyeon's car parked in front of a bakery. 

Your phone dinged and you immediately fished it out of your pocket, Sana's name was flashed on the screen and her text read, "What's taking you so long?"

"Who's tha-" 

Miyeon scoffs as soon as she had a glimpse of the name shown on your phone. "Excuse me?! So now you prefer going over to that girl's house instead of mine, huh?" 

You chuckled at her statement before dismissing it quickly, "I'm just going to hang out with her for an hour or two."

The latter glares at you, suspicious and having an idea of your possible motives.

"Bring me with you."

"What? But I-"

"No buts, bring me with you or I'll drive you back home."

You huffed frustratingly before giving in to Miyeon's request, "Fine, don't cause any ruckus when we get there."

---

The tension in the air was getting too much suffocating for you, Miyeon and Sana were literally cursing each other through their own eyes as they seated with distance on the bed of Sana's tiny apartment. You couldn't help but laugh silently at their looks, and if looks do kill, they're both probably dead right now.

You stood up from your seat on the couch nearby the girls' place and grabbed a glass of water. Your throat just dried up from the silence resonating throughout the small unit, also, your boredom was getting the best of you. Glancing at your phone, 30 minutes have passed by just like that and Miyeon and Sana are still in a silent battle with each other. Deciding that their childishness is simply just some funny business, you jogged towards the bed then jumped on top of the soft mattress. Sana just uttered a confused 'Eh?' while Miyeon just stared at you, puzzled at your sudden change of demeanor.

"Are you guys done at mentally killing each other?" 

You alternate your gaze between the two of them as they sheepishly avoid any eye contact. 

That was until Sana spoke up, clearly sulking as she went through her words, "Why did you bring this bitch here? I said we would spend time together, alone." she mumbled while emphasizing the last word. Miyeon visibly frowned at what the latter said.

"Well, the more, the merrier," you smiled teasingly before closing your eyes and leaning against the headboard.

Not even a few seconds have passed, you felt a weight settled on your lap, meaning one of them is now on top of you. 

"Y/n… You're not letting her join us, aren't you?"

You opened your eyes, but there's no more signs of mischief on them. Sana gulped audibly which made a smirk plaster on your lips.

"Why are you such a brat today, hmm?" your hand slowly nudged the strands of hair which covered her gorgeous face from your view. Without any warning, you joined her locks together and pulled them from behind. It drew a filthy moan from Sana as her lips part in slight agony.

"I-I'm sorry," her breath hitched, feeling your hand toying with the waistband of her laced thong.

"I'm sorry, what?" you raised an eyebrow as you pulled on her hair roughly than before.

"Daddy… I'm sorry, daddy." 

You moved your hand down to swipe the tip of your finger against her damped core. Miyeon just sat on the edge of the bed like a tamed puppy wanting the attention of its owner, her jaw was clenched as she watched you and Sana with jealousy. You continued to tease the woman in your lap while a series of gentle cries came out from her mouth.

Deciding that Sana still haven't had enough, you ushered Miyeon to sit beside you which she immediately obliged. You released your other hand from Sana's hair before using it to hold Miyeon's chin as you leaned closer to her, "Can you do something for me, babygirl?"

The latter nods, melting further into your warm touch.

"Bring out your rope and vibrator for me."

Beads of sweat started to form around Sana's forehead as you continued to assault her swollen clit. Her thong was no longer on her, the piece of clothing had been resting on the floor for a while now. The latter is only wearing her baggy white tee that made her perky nipples noticeable under the thin piece of clothing. 

Miyeon obediently followed your orders as she brought two of the toys you requested in no time. You motioned for her to stay put, grabbing the rope from her hands first.

"Let me know if it's too tight," you said while grabbing Sana's waist from behind.

You hooked your chin on her shoulder as you pressed your lips against the back of her neck. You gently tied the rope around her chest before speaking up, "Hands on your back." Sana immediately followed your command, her wrists also being binded by the rope. You let her wear her shirt on since the thick thread could leave marks on her precious skin.

After a few checks and securing the final knot, you pushed her harshly onto the bed while reaching for the vibrator. The Japanese had her face tucked in her pillow as you pulled her hips and turned her body around. 

"You're always the prettiest when you're tied up like this, Sana-yah." you smiled, the woman underneath you squirms needily as you propped your arms between her.

Well, she was indeed gorgeous in her vulnerable state right now. Her eyes soften as you capture her lips slowly, unaware of the toy that's nearing her dripping core. 

Once you slipped the vibrator between her wet folds, Sana's back arches in shock as the pleasure suddenly overwhelmed her body. Strangled whines and moans began to erupt from her while you kept on kissing her roughly. Miyeon couldn't help but to get entranced at how you handled the latter. She never experienced being fucked hard by you as she usually only lasted for a round or two. But seeing how good Sana must be feeling, she suddenly had the nerve to stop being so obedient, even just for a while. 

You pulled away from Sana when a tug on your blouse disturbed you from continuing to keep your lips locked from the woman beneath you. You gave Sana a last glance before leaving the toy clenched inside her dripping cunt, "Enjoy your little punishment, my pretty slut." you breathed huskily. "And if you cum without my permission, you'll need to last longer through the night, darling." 

The latter tried to tug on the rope as she started to mutter a few complaints, her hips grinding against the toy inserted in her at the same time. You let her blabber apologies while proceeding to tend on Miyeon who's sitting on her knees with her eyes locked onto her lap.

You sighed empathetically before reaching your hand out for her to take. She looks at you reluctantly before succumbing to your embrace. You leaned in to kiss the girl as her arms naturally wrapped around your neck. Your hands traveled down to her skirt as you unzipped the hindering material, tugging on it repeatedly until Miyeon got your intention. 

After stripping all of her clothes, you pulled the latter to let her settle between your legs, the two of you facing Sana who's been uttering whines for a while now. Miyeon looks at you, conflicted at exposing herself in front of the Japanese who's trying to keep her eyes on you, silently begging for permission so she can finally have her awaited release. 

"Be thankful that I'm still giving my attention to you, baby. Why don't you be a good girl and ride daddy's thigh, hmm?" you gave her a warning gaze, she didn't have any choice but to obey your command.

Miyeon proceeded to straddle your left thigh as she starts to grind herself against the rough texture of your black jeans. Her ragged pants made you grin from ear to ear, your hands snaked up to her mounds as you grazed your thumb to her hardening buds. The latter whines at the contact while you latched your mouth into the sensitive part of her back.

"That's it, Miyeon-ah. You're doing so well right now, babygirl." she felt you smirking against her skin.

You couldn't have any less effect on her as the wetness spreading on your thigh proves you right. You let Miyeon do her best to reach her high, your gaze then lands onto the other woman who's starting moan louder than before. Sana's eyes started to flutter close while she tried her best to hold her orgasm. You also noticed her body shaking uncontrollably, meaning she's trying her best to keep up with your demand.

"Y-Y/n, I can't…" she rasped out shakily. "Huh? You can't what, Sana-yah?"

You glanced at the arousal leaking from her cunt, she couldn't reply well but a frantic nod answers your question. Meanwhile, Miyeon is starting to reach her limit too. Her grinds are getting sloppy and her hips stutters nearly every thrust.

"Nghh, daddy, I'm gonna- fuck!" you hummed soothingly as Miyeon leans her head back in ecstasy. She releases a prolonged moan while avoiding eye contact with the suffering Japanese in front of her. 

"You can cum too, Sana." you looked at her half-lidded eyes while rubbing Miyeon's tummy in a comforting manner.

The older lets out a loud mewl as her body washes through intense shockwaves. You let Miyeon lay down onto the mattress before assisting Sana by removing the vibrator from her worn out core and aligning it to her mouth instead. She looks at you with teary eyes before languidly licking her own juices.

You threw the toy away and gave Sana a gentle peck on the forehead. Your hands then went on to untie the knot on her wrists as you helped her to get the rope off her body, kissing the leftover marks on her chest, arms, and wrists.

You laid them beside each other, the two are still clearly averting their gazes from each other. Hopping off the bed, you grabbed some warm water and towels to clean their mess. They even tried to help you out as you gently wiped their bodies but you sternly told them to just rest.

After placing the used towels away, you joined the girls in the bed before giving each of them a kiss.

"You did well, unnies."

(a/n: ya'll how was it??? PFFFPFFFPFF i would appreciate some feedback 😊)

[tokoyamisstuff]

Betrothed - Illumi Zoldyck x Reader

Chapter 3: Blood

Summary: While treating Illumi’s wounds, you learn something about his past.

Warnings: Well...blood. Mentions of past abuse. Choking.

Words: ~1800

Story Masterlist

“You could at least try to relax when you’re at home, Lumi.”

As usual, every muscle on Illumi’s body was tensed as he shifted around on the small wooden chair, his upper half completely bare.

Running your hands over his delicate skin, you couldn’t help but humming happily while opening the first-aid-kit.

Lumi.

That nickname wasn’t really creative, you had to admit. Yet there were still many thoughts connected to it.

How it sounded a lot like ‘Luna’, for example - the latin word for ‘moon’. Illumi pretty much had a moon face anyway.

A wet and warm feeling on your fingertips got you down to earth again - it was your husbands blood, steadily running down his whole back. Quickly, you got a gauze pad to absorb it and started working.

Had it come to you fancying him that much that you already lost yourself in daydreams?

The deep cut on his shoulder would most likely leave a scar, no matter how well you’d treat it. Yet what bothered you more was the fact that he had acutally tried to hold the gap together with his way too big needles.

“Sorry...” you whispered as you tugged them out of his flesh, but he wouldn’t even flinch.

He insisted it was fine, and you knew that he was used to the pain. But he could still feel it, even if his face remained as cold and calm as always.

God knows what’s going on in his head...your husband was very hard to read, actually.

But you knew he wasn’t just a puppet for his family. Illumi had some thoughts of his own, and you burned to get through to him.

The flesh wound was still bleeding, and since it hadn’t been properly closed in hours, you needed to clean it first. “I’m so sorry” you repeated, pouring some disinfectant into the cut.

“Stop apologizing.” The way he emphasized the words made him almost sound irritated.

“B-But I-”

“You’re assisting me as I demanded, so there’s no rational reason for you to say something like that.” It were moments like this that made you think Illumi actually tried to calm you down - the best he knew how. Through choosing his words wisely.

After the bleeding stopped, you began stitching up the wound while your husband was still sitting as if frozen in place.

“I-I just don’t want you to feel more pain than necessary...” He was used to way worse. You were well aware of that fact, and yet-

“Y/N.” Hearing your name escaping his lips, you immediately got attentive. “Is that the reason you’re holding back while sparring with me?”

For a long while, the room fell completely silent.

Because both of you knew he was right.

“I see.” Before you could even think of an answer, Illumi jumped up from his chair, running his hand over your handiwork. “Thanks for the bandage.”

Oh god, he was preparing to leave again. Maybe forever this time.

Soon, he’ll tell his parents you were unfit for an assassin’s spouse - too soft and weak.

Death was a bearable punishment for your shortcomings, but simply being thrown out like a toy one has grown tired of?

How pathetic, being afraid of conseqences you now only imagined. Knowing very well that empathy was considered futile in this environment.

And yet you were shocked it came that way, only because of you speaking your mind.

“Illumi, wai-”

He cut you off right there, turning around with his hand reaching for your neck.

Illumi’s aura had always been intense, laced with a bloodlust that seemed like it was imprinted on him at his very birth.

You’ll never get used to seeing him like this.

“Are you scared?” he asked just before his fingers wrapped around your throat, repeating the question at your lack of reaction. “Are you afraid of me?”

Slowly but increasingly, the pressure on your neck began to become discomforting, making you wince a little.

Yet your look wouldn’t falter, rather decided taking on a staring contest with him.

“I’m afraid of you leaving me.”

Just like that, he retracted his hand.

The look in your eye gave it away. Every word, every syllable you spoke was true. 

Even Illumi could tell just how much genuine affection they held - and he wasn’t immune to it either.

You cleared your throat and he only now realized just how much force he had used on you. Yet instead of apologizing as would be appropriate, he decided on continuing his interrogation.

“Why?” Illumi croaked, sounding a little bit broken. Hewasn’t able to speak any more, still baffled at your statement.

To ever think you could caught him off guard with such a simple sentence - but even through his poker face, you could feel his mind racing.

You sighed quietly, nervously tapping with your foot. “Do I really need to repeat that? It’s embarassing...”

No answer. Instead he stared you down even more intense.

“I like you, Lumi. This is my home, and I feel happy when I’m with you. Simple as that.”

Finally, he gave in to his exhaustion and took a seat on the sofa, with you following him closely after.

No matter what might follow, right now he needed some time. That much was obviously. So you just try to share your calming aura in silence.

You knew that puzzled expression way too well.

He’d put it on whenever something went past his comprehension, like when you once asked him about thinks he enjoyed or his dreams for the future.

“You look so sad...” you had once commented at an old photo of his. If you had to guess, he was about 4 years old at the time it was taken.

“Dunno” he tried to avoid further conversation back then, “Can’t remember.”

Just how often did you want to tell him that it was wrong? That his parents - no, his whole family - was full of sociopaths, and that they had stained his innocence through their wrongdoings and overeagerness?

And yet you had always kept quiet in the end.

Because you knew what it meant to him. The last bit of his sanity would probably break down if he knew all of the pain he had endured was wrong and abnormal.

Yes, their bonds were sure strange ones: They manipulated and harmed each other, all for the sake of the greater goal and the continuation of their bloodline.

That was probably how criminals beyond redemption desperately try to cling to their last bit of humanity - through the only people they can trust and be close to: Other murderers.

But at least you wanted to make him learn how to feele truly loved: For what he really was, and not only his obedience or achievements.

Right now, however, his elbows were resting on his knees, he was bent over and holding his chin with his hands. That position made it even harder for you to read him.

“I trust you with my life” you said without the slightest hint of hesitation in your voice. “It belongs to you ever since the day we married.”

Illumi cocked his head upwards, empty orbs staring holes into you. 

“They think I’m a monster.”

Huh?

Usually, Illumi isn’t really a man of many words. That fact should change tonight.

“I heared them talk” he began explaining as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “About regretting training me so harshly. I was their first child, more like an experiment at how to raise an even more powerful assassin.”

You nodded in silence, trying to signalize him that you were listening - and that you cared.

So he kept on. “I’m the reason my brothers were allowed more freedom. Having the right to feel and think on their own. And now Killua has left us. If I hadn’t been a failure, they would’ve trained him stricter.”

He blamed himself, thinking he was responsible for being a failed experiment.

Dear god.

“Mother said she’s afraid of me. I was 10. Everyone else at the family at least bear certain, acceptable emotions. She said I’m dead on the inside and it freaked her out.”

Every single word of him shot needles into your heart, tears already filling the rim of your eyes. You grabbed the fabric tight, trying to hold yourself together for your sake. 

“Illumi...”

You knew from the very second that many things were haunting that poor man’s conscience - but what he had just confided was just hard to bear.

In an attempt to comfort him, you instinctively shuffled closer until there was no gap between the two of you. It was an awkward closeness, but soothing nonetheless.

“It’s okay” he spoke in a tone that was unfamiliar soft for his standarts. “I understand how you all feel. I may not be able to emphasize with any feelings, but I can intelectually comprehend them.”

“Now cut it out!” This time it was you disrupting him, through a soft poke on his already injured shoulder.

"That’s bullshit and you know it. No person is absent of all emotions. You just shoved them into the back of your head and tried to surpress them. With your kind of childhood that was probably the only way to survive without completely losing it.”

His eyes shifted between your face and the place where your shoulders would touch, soaking every word like a dry sponge.

“And you do care about your family, right?” Well, how couldn’t he? It was the only way of mimicking normalcy he could pretend to have. “You’d do anything to keep them safe.”

“I just don’t get it” he murmured as you softly caressed his hand. “My allies are usually also mass murderers and psychopaths. But you are almost perfectly normal.”

Normal? You were an assassin too, goddamn it!

“Most would describe you as a very kind and sympathetic person. You should despise or at least fear me. They all do.”

“Not everything has to be logical, Lumi. I don’t think it makes sense either, but I also doubt that you’re a bad person. You’re much more of a victim.”

“Is that so...” That question sounded more like he was highly doubting it.

Just now you were realizing how slumped he was leaning back on the couch. That whole conversation had probably drained his energy reserves more than any mission ever could.

“Rest now, dear.” Carefully, without alerting him, you wrapped your arm around Illumi’s head and gently led him to your lap. “We can talk later.”

Much to your surprise, your husband would slowly close his eyes, swiftly drifting into sleep at hearing the steady beating of your heart.

“I’m sorry for frightening you, Y/N” he whispered those last words barely audible, fingers squeezing the flesh of your thigh ever so slightly.

“You didn’t. You never do.”

___

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[valkyrieofsmut]

can’t write? Sweetie you wrote sexual stories of made up characters because your sex life is probably non existent, isn’t that more sad? :(

I have been infected, now, @invisibleanonymousmonsters !

This is my first hate mail! Wow! I thought it would come so much sooner, since I kept seeing other people I think of as good writers get it. I guess that means that I have finally made it as a good writer! ...or something... 🤣

Ok, so, let's start with what is meant. That's sweet of you to worry about my sex life, but I get it at least about once a week. That's besides the point, though, as I'm a demisexual, and I enjoy sex as a concept immensely, and participating in it is nice! But I pretty much write to get rid of all my excess sexual energy, because it would exhaust me if I tried to physically do it all! Also... not to doxx myself... but people get off to my voice, and I have very good reviews! And no, just because you don't understand the inner workings of how demisexual or asexual thoughts or desires work, doesn't make it sad. I'm just very attracted to a certain type of personality and this way, I can indulge as much as I like and never have to worry about being tempted to cheat or anything. And, besides! Content creators are givers! We help others who want to have these lovely thoughts, too, but maybe aren't as good at the creative part of making the situation.

Now, yes, I did comment that it was possibly jerks who were jealous because they couldn't write who had to troll invisibleanonymousmonsters, because I was trying to give something positive to cancel out the negativity. And while it was just a comment and I wasn't saying any specific claims, I now stand by my comment. Here, let me help you, and I'll put a picture of the ask to refresh your memory:

The c in can't should be capitalized, because it's the beginning of a sentence. You should have a comma after 'sweetie' since it is an interjection addressing the person you're speaking to. 'Wrote' should be 'write' because while, yes, I have written in the past, I also continue to actively write! So the current tense of the word is appropriate. Next, non existent is not what you mean. Nonexistent (no space) means something that doesn't exist, or you could possibly have meant non-existent, which means that something doesn't exist, but you think it should. Also, the last half of the sentence; while a comma is properly used, it is all insinuation. Isn't that more sad than what? That you can't write? Thank you for being honest, by the way! I appreciate when people can admit to their own faults. Anyway, it would be better if you re-emphasized what you were referring to, since the conversation was going to a whole new audience, otherwise you run the risk of alienating your audience. Final note? It is very unprofessional to use emoji when writing, though I do understand that this was an informal note, but to improve your writing, keep in mind that you should be describing the emotions so that the readers can picture them clearly instead of taking the lazy way out and using an emoji.

Though I'm sure that this is too long for you to have finished reading, I hope you have enjoyed the lesson. If you ever need help writing in the future, please feel free to ask, and at least give yourself a reference name so I can tell it's the same person if you're going to stay on anonymous.

[readingwithlemons]

The Training Scene

 Edited 8-21-21

Prompt Scene to the Series: Rising Sun

Description: Y/N and Jasper are in charge of training both the other Cullens and Uley Pack, how to fight an army of Newborns. Still on touchy ground, Paul realizes the cruel severity of his imprint previous life and the rest of the pack seem to gain more respect for the tiny leech.

Word count:1902

DISCLAIMER: I USED SOME OF THE DIALOGUE WRITTEN BY MEYER IN THIS PROMPT. I USED THEM AS A WAY TO FIX MY STORY IN WITH HER STORY MORE FLUIDLY.

Warnings: physical fighting, foul language, talk of death

a/n: Paul and the rest of the pack will be wolf form for most of this scene anything in Bold will be the conversation between the pack.

I avoided looking at anyone in the pack as they walked through the tree line. While my family gawked and stared at the large pack, I stood tensed, swallowing the pings and pangs of guilt I felt for not sharing this detail with my family. However this wasn't my information to give them.

Trying to refocus my thoughts towards helping Jasper with plans of training. It became hard to drift from the grey-silver wolf that held my shattered heart in his hands. Anger and Embarrassment still flooded through my system from our last conversation. I was hurt that he had thought so low of me and that he felt the need to scream at me in front of the whole pack.

I flinched as the memory of what I said popped back in my head. 

~

“Do you really think I wanted to be this monster?” I spun around to stare at him. Ignoring the eavesdropping teens behind me. Paul's face still held the ame disgust, as it did after Jacob told everyone of the newborn army.

“You honestly think that I asked to be this bloodsucking filth.” Paul's face flashed in shock at my phrasing.

" I had a life." I stressed the last word " A good life. With a doting husband, who I only recently found out, killed himself because he couldn't protect me." 

I never told Paul about Jonathan...or anything about my past because…Well he never seemed to care. Hell, Alice and Jasper are the only ones that even knew about Jonathan's suicide...maybe Edward but- \

Finally looking and registering the blank look that was Paul’s face now. I felt nothing but anger as I tried to bite my tongue from telling him anymore. He doesn't deserve to know about Jon. He doesn't get to use that against me like he uses everything else to attack me.

He just doesn't understand the fuckery that I've had to deal with. “ Did you know that one of the uhh-” I looked back at the ground “side efforts~” 

I almost laughed at my word choice. “Of being a leech is that you can’t kill yourself.” I could hear his heart skip a beat. “ Yeah... we can kill each other just not ourselves.”

A laugh escaped my throat, then another , then another. I shook my head, trying to pull myself back together. “And I know that because I tried every single method of the book."

“Even lighting myself on fire, did nothing but tickle me.”

"Y/n" I heard him breathe, then I felt the tiniest brush of a touch on the top of my shoulder. Jerking away from him, and looking back at his face. I saw the disgust that had laced in his expression and eyes were gone. In its place, was an expression of remorse. 

Full on laughing I tried to continue my speech, “It’s hilariously fucked up isn’t it” If I could cry I would be. I swallow the dry sob in the back of my throat. 

“Well my whole entire existence is fucked up actually.” I started to calm down. “ If it wasn’t, I would be 6 feet under right now.”  

“ Y/n” He started but I held up a hand to stop him, but he squeezed out “ It was a bad choice of word-.” 

"Of course!" I blew up. " Because you didn't know." I raised an eyebrow as he raised a hand to touch me again. He put it back down as when he saw the flames in my eyes. I continued "Because you never gave me the chance to explain to you what I went through. You just assumed that I asked for it ." 

"I'm done with having to defend myself, morally from you."   I turned and headed back to my vehicle, ignoring Paul's yells, as I slammed the car door. Bella would just have to get a ride from Jake. 

~

A wave of calmness hitting my system pulled me from the embarrassing memory. My eye shot up to Jasper, who was on the other side of her. He was still staring straight ahead. 

“Welcome” Carlisle spoke, I let my gaze settle on his relaxed stance out in the middle. My father has always amazed me with his calm appearance. 

"I know it must be a difficult thing for you to come." Then he went on to explain that Edward would be acting as a translator, so that way they don't have to phase if they don't want to.

“Thank you” Edward replied in a gruff tone. “We will only watch and listen, but no more. That is the most we can ask of our self-control.” I was thrilled more by that statement than I should be. I was hopeful that maybe I would be able to leave this place without a glance at a certain wolf.

“That is more than enough,” Carlisle smiled calmly. “My son Jasper” his right hand moved to gesture  “And daughter, Y/N '' his hand then shifting slightly to me, I nodded in acknowledgement to Carlisle gaze.

If I was still human, I would have had thousands of tiny goosebumps, up and down my arms right now. It felt like there were at least a thousand eyes on me.

"-have experience in this area. They will teach us how the newborns fight, and how they will be defeated. I’m sure you can apply this to your own hunting style." I heard a low rumble among the wolves 

“They are different from you?” asked Edward. Or Sam? This is getting confusing already. Carlisle smiled, “How about I let them explain.” again gesturing toward Jasper and me before stepping back to stand next to Esme. Jasper and I both walked up from the back to where Carlisle stood in the middle. 

I took a quick glance at Jasper and knowing, he would want to talk more than I did but I promised to speak mainly to the wolves if he explained more to our family. So that meant this question was for me to answer. 

Directing and keeping my attention to Sam, I tried to stay unfazed as I spoke “Yes, as they are still very new to this life. The Newborns will be full of frenzy driven by the brute strength given to them from the blood that still lingers in their system."  

"The newborns will fight amongst themselves. As of today we know that their numbers sit at 20. Ten for us and ten for you, with that it shouldn't be too difficult. but it's highly likely that their numbers will either lower farther or raise. ”  A rumble of excitement seems to run through them. 

“We are happy to take more than our share. If necessary” Edward translated, I notice the change in the tone. I smiled, “We will have to see.”

“ What makes you two more qualified on this matter than any of the others?” Edward spoke again. 

 There was a rustle next to me as Jasper took a step forward. Arms behind his back, his stance reminded me of my first meeting with him after I changed, posed and ready for a fight. 

“Y/N and I were forced into this life for the same reason as these newborns were forced. Except developed a conscience that our creator-" spoke with clear disgust in his tone. " -did not have control over." 

I heard a small gasp behind me and a small rustling of feet behind me. Clearly Bella did not know this strange detail. Jasper began to pace. I always picked on him when he did this. 'Your military is showing', I would say. But right now, it was nothing short of intimidating how he stood. 

“We know how to defeat them because we know what it's like to be them.” “Thank you” Edward quickly cut him off. “We will watch now.” Nodding Jasper turned to face back to our family. 

“There are 2 things you need to know, 1. Don’t let them get their arms around you; they will crush you instantly. 2.” He stopped turning back to face the wolves.

I flashed a look at Sam, the black wolf stood taller staring back at the ex-major. 

“ Don’t go for the obvious kill “ Jasper spoke clearly emphasizing each word wanting them to understand him. “ They will be expecting that. “ Jazz relaxed “ and you will lose. “ Sam let out a huff in response. 

“ Y/N and Emmett, you are up first.” I heard a mumble pass down the wolf line as everyone spread back leaving me and Emmett at different ends of the field.

“This should be good” Emmett spoke now, seeming to warm himself up, rubbing his hands together. 

“Emmett relies on his strength very much like the newborns.” Jasper said “ so he will be a good example for you.” He looked between Emmett and I. "Start whenever you are ready." I smiled at Em “Don’t hold back” cockily,  he let out a bearish laugh at ending it with a smirk. “Not in my nature” and he charged.

I felt the wind as he chucked me in the air, quickly catching myself in a landing spin charging back at him. It seemed not even a long second had passed before I had his large head smashed into the ground. 

“Again” Emmett growled. Smiling, I pushed away from him. I tried to ignore the huffs and snorts coming from the wolves' side.

“Don’t lose your focus” I told him “Following your emotions is only making your moves more predictable.” He nodded, standing up and heading over to his end of the field again. I nodded toward Jasper who agreed with my assessment, gesturing to continue with Emmett.

Taking my place again, Emmett charged and within the next minute he was already calling for another rematch. 

"Don't turn your back on your enemy." Jasper spoke with an eye roll. 

**Paul’s Pov**

"Y/n is kicking his ass." laughed Jared. Silently laughing with him I watched as Y/N jumped on top of the big Cullen twisting him mid-air and slamming him into the ground again. 

"That she is, " agreed Sam lightly chuckling.

Watching her first stand across the field from that large Cullen made my insides twist in worry; however, as I watched her pin him in no time flat, it seemed to bring a sense of pride in me. It only made me feel even more guilty. I shouldn't be happy to finally see her again. I didn't deserve it. Not after what I said about her.

"God, please just apologize to her already" spoke Leah, before I could reply Sam growled softly

" Leah," he warned.

"Shut up" I replied harshly. "I'll keep my thoughts to myself."

"What? I am only trying to help! Out of all of us. I'm the one who knows best how to handle the emotional range of a woman." Quick to defend herself, I realized Leah made sense.Before anyone could really respond to her statement. We watched as Gruff-man walked off the field. Leaving only Y/n on the field...undefeated. Edward stepped up, Jacob tensed as Edward's death flashed in his thoughts

"Jake" Sam barked

Watching all the Cullen's fight each other it was clear to anyone that both Y/N and Jasper were the only experienced ones. Either of them lost a fight with any of the others. It made me wonder…

"We're done for the day"

------

[shoichee]

Red Rose

Part 3 of the Pun Fest collection!

Akashi x Reader

Word Count: 4,355

Synopsis: You made it a challenge for yourself as the esteemed 1st year class clown to get a reaction out of Akashi. Not just any Akashi, however. Boku-Akashi. Things quickly get too out of hand.

Note: I will be trying to avoid describing the “color” of Akashi’s eyes because they are actually a non-diegetic effect, where the animation/visuals are flashy/emphasized for the audience to see, but in the canon universe, they don’t actually look like that and no one will actually see said animations, and such.

»»—————　☼　—————««

“...and after that, his ass fell flat on the floor right in front of everybody! Can you believe that?”

As your voice chimed throughout the halls, your fellow classmates were stifling their laughter but chortles still escaped from their suppressed lips. Hayama smacked your head in utter embarrassment.

“You’ve already told that story to everyone, c-cut it out already!”

“Kotarooooo,” you pouted. “Not my fault that they kept asking for me to retell it again.” You stuck your tongue at him.

“Tch,” he clicked his tongue, figurative irk marks popping up on his temple. “You needa show some more respect to your senpais!” With that, he started grabbing your head to mess with your hair.

“H-Hey! It’s not my fault that you tried to impress a passerby 3rd year girl by doing a failed dribbling trickshot,” you vehemently protested, trying to rip his strong grip off your poor hairline.

Your classmates were either watching with complete entertainment or with concern for your safety as both you and the Uncrowned King were duking it out and sidestepping each other. 

… That is, until they grew increasingly uncomfortable after spotting a particular redhead walking in their direction. 

You and Hayama were too invested in the playfight to notice the unforeseen deathly silence and chilled air that accompanied it.

“Kotarō.”

With a simple call from his airy tone that still somehow glaciated the sunniest of atmospheres, he halted both of you (with his hand still fisted in your hair and you still pulling his cheek) to turn your attention to the person to whom the voice belonged.

Akashi Seijuro.

“C-captain!” Hayama separated from you at an inhumane speed that rivaled his lightning dribbling. You stiffened yourself straight like a plank.

You’ve heard the rumors. From whispering gossipers to personal testimony from your blonde best friend, you knew his presence meant anything but pleasant. 

“Did you forget that we had practice today?”

Holy shit. You glanced in the corner of your eye to see Hayama paled before he gulped. Was he gonna be okay?

You dared not move a muscle from where you stood, hoping not to attract the basketball captain’s attention, but you knew you stuck out like a sore thumb after seeing how all the students huddled closer to the walls while you were stuck in the middle along with Hayama and Akashi.

“I knew that you forgot, so I came by for your sake so we can all start practice together as an absolute team.”

Ah… there was his infamous favorite word.

Akashi flickered his catlike gaze to you. He didn’t miss the way your body was paralyzed by fear, but he slightly narrowed his pupils at the fact that you almost looked curious about him.

“We’re going.” He gracefully pivoted around to walk the opposite direction in where he came from.

“I-I’ll see you later, dummy,” he whispered, giving you a playful wink before he strode up to Akashi’s pace, but you knew from his tense back that he was scared shitless of whatever inevitable punishment drill he was going to be tortured by.

You recovered from your stupor and tried to ease Hayama with a joke. “Don’t act all tough, Kota! I know you’re gonna akashit your pants!—” You snorted trying to finish your one-liner but finding your own joke funny. “P-pf-pfft, don’t slip on the floor again, okay?”

And just like that, with your words, the students around you eased up and let out soft chuckles.

Hayama turned back around even as he continued walking. “Oi! Watch it, kid!” He made the motions of pointing his eyes to you, but you knew that he was grateful for you in trying to unravel his bundle of nerves.

Akashi, still walking, merely glanced back at your figure, unamused at your “joke” but nonetheless almost impressed that you actually had some type of leadership charisma to be able to uplift a crowd’s mood in an instant.

. . .

Everyone released a huge sigh of collective relief once the basketball-player duo was out of sight.

“Are you insane, (l/n)?” Another good friend of yours went up to your side. “You had the balls to literally say such a thing in front of him? Of all people?”

“Well, it’s not like, I’d get sent to the faculty office because of him…” you muttered. On second thought, you probably would. This was Akashi Seijuro you were talking about.

Everyone started clamoring as they all started seeing you in a much higher regard; some of them even looked at you with starry eyes and others swore to be your new admirers. The rest, though, thought you had just sealed your fate by getting under Akashi’s radar.

“You’ll be missed and honored,” a classmate said, giving a solid pat to your right shoulder. “What type of flowers would you like for your funeral?”

“Hmmm,” you hummed, pointing to your chin and staring at the grand ceiling. You turned to them. “Roses as red as Akashi’s hair and the blood of his victims.”

“(l/n), you did not—”

“Oh my god.”

“Is it too late to become religious just to pray for your wellbeing?”

You just summoned chaos in the hallway for the next hour.

---------

The next morning was just another indication of a mild, warm day in Kyoto as you walked past Rakuzan’s school gates. Or at least, you thought the morning would be fine. Even with your thick uniform blazer, you swore that you felt cold chills running down your spine every now and then when you were strolling your normal route to your class.

There’s the cold chills again. 

You stopped and looked around your shoulders and behind your back. No one shady was near; they were all too busy chatting with their friends or changing their shoes in their lockers to care much for your presence. Those who noticed you nearby had already given you a friendly greeting.

You hesitantly walked again, being your usual carefree self but now being hyper aware in tracking the students around you. Your eyes widened.

There.

Had you blinked in that moment, you would have surely missed it, but a flash of red flitted around a corner of a hallway. You sighed and groaned inwardly.

Your classmates were right: you were going to die by the hands of a certain redhead.

This was the price you had to pay for not passing up the perfect opportunity for an iconic line.

---------

“Say,” you said turning to your friend once you entered your classroom. “Has Akashi ever shown a side other than being a calm freak?”

“I don’t know if you ever wanna see anything different than that,” she replied, looking up from her homework.

“Imagine him laughing, though. That’d be news of the century.”

“Dear god, I can’t imagine him laughing other than the kind of scheming cackle you’d get from the TV show villains.” You bursted into a fit of snorts while other students, who were secretly eavesdropping out of curiosity after hearing Akashi’s name, snickered.

Another student wedged himself into your conversation. “No one’s ever seen him show any side of him though. Honestly, he’s like a demon.”

“He’s a 1st year student just like the rest of us,” you chided. “Come on, he’s human too. He wasn’t born to be a calculating machine.”

Everyone in the vicinity gave you incredulous looks (for valid reasons, to be fair).

“Hmph!” You crossed your arms. “I’ll prove it to you guys! He’s not as stone-cold as you think!”

“(y-y/n)-san…” Your friend from earlier tugged onto your sleeve. “You’re really fun to hang around with and all, but…”

“Yeah, um… We know you’re competitive and don’t like to back down, but I think you shouldn’t tread into this type of… dangerous territory.”

“Did you already forget what happened with Hayama-senpai yesterday?”

Pretty soon, a large chorus of agreements and mumbles spread throughout your class. Irked, you pouted as you continued to cross your arms.

“I’m gonna make him laugh, and I’ll do it.”

“Uh..”

“Um…”

No one had the heart to disagree with you when you looked like you sparked a fiery aura around yourself as you raised your fists, ready to take it as a challenge for yourself. 

Your classmate sighed. Welp, there’s a reason why you got along with Hayama so well in the first place.

You were both so overly enthusiastic and reckless.

---------

You’ve been thrumming your fingers on your desk throughout your classes, staring blankly as you start stringing up ideas on how to accomplish your “challenge.”

Succeeding in making Akashi laugh is like Hayama agreeing to let the dentist extract his snaggletooth. You’re basically asking for the impossible.

Maybe you should’ve settled for a more realistic goal, but then again, this entire ordeal was an entire miracle on its own.

Ah ha. You stopped your finger taps, hitting a fist to your palm in realization. Maybe you just need to get a reaction out of him, and the rest will eventually fall into place.

At the same time, your friend looked at you in worry; you were making odd hand gestures and mumbling to yourself as you went too deep within your thoughts to regard your surroundings.

Oh dear.

---------

Once lunch began, you immediately left class after incoherent chants of “seeyah” and “gotta go” to go look for Hayama’s corpse and pay your respects for the poor 2nd year after yesterday.

You bought sweet bread from the student store for his offering before you went to look for him.

At the sight of the completely lethargic Hayama, you ran up to him in mock grief.

“Ah, spirit-sama!” you cried out, bowing with your hands clasped together (the bread secured in between). “Please at least tell me that Kota died peacefully—” He interrupted you with a chop to the head.

“Ow! Please don’t curse me, spirit! I didn’t treat him that poorly when he was alive…” You winced, rubbing your head in an attempt to soothe the impact. 

“I’m not dead, idiot!” he retorted, but his banter lacked bite, and both of you knew why.

You sighed before you flashed him a genuine worried expression. “Are you okay, though?” You promptly handed him the bread, and he immediately did a 180, hooting and having starry eyes at the package.

“Of course I am,” he said, munching on the bread. “Not! He made me do so many extra drills and exercises that I seriously thought I was gonna die!”

“Okay, before you totally freak out, but please don’t freak out,” you started. You told him about your plan about Akashi.

“You’re gonna WHAT—”

“SHHHhhhHHH—” You clamped over his mouth despite him still chewing. “What did I just say?”

“Reo-nee! Ei-chan!�� he called out while you still attempted to close his yapper. “Save meeeee!”

The said Uncrowned Kings nearby eyed you two before looking at each other and shrugged; they strolled up to you.

“Oh? (y/n)-chan?” Reo tucked his strands behind his ear. “Has he been causing a ruckus?”

“I have not—”

“Actually, since you’re here anyways, I wanna ask you all something,” you said. “What do you know about Akashi personally?”

“Huh?” was all you heard from the Uncrowned Kings.

“Well…” Reo hummed. “I might know a thing or two about Sei-chan…”

“I’ll just go get lunch,” Nebuya called out.

---------

Day 1 of the Challenge.

Thanks to Reo, you knew most of Akashi’s schedules so you can find the perfect opportunities to “safely” encounter him.

You waited behind a corner of the hall that you knew Akashi would walk through to get to the student council room during lunch. Peeking out, you looked for scarlet hair, ignoring the judgmental (and curious) glances thrown your way here and there. 

The moment you saw that everyone instantly collectively vanished, you knew Akashi was extremely nearby. You took a huge breath, expanding your chest to the point of exaggeration, and turned around the corner to finally meet the infamous emperor. 

You casually strolled, putting up an impeccable act that you were naturally there rather than staking out the same spot for 20 minutes. 

There he is. 

You purposely got closer, hoping the closeness between you two would catch his attention. He walked without a change in expression, however, impassively eyeing you before turning his gaze back to the front. That’s when you saw your opportunity.

You almost bumped into him, but you jumped away at the last second while putting your hands up in surrender.

“W-whoa! Wahh, sorry, Akashi-san!” you quickly apologized in a bow. “Luckily, I had my emperor’s eye to foresee the future and prevented any mishap on my part.” You peeked up from your position to see him standing with his back to you, head turned to the side. 

A few beats of silence passed before he said, “Your head is too high.”

“Huh?” You were thrown off. That was the last thing you expected him to say. “Wouldn’t my head not be high because I’m bowing?”

He was still assessing you from the corner of his eye, and you willed yourself to return his stare.

“Stay out of my way.”

“Then you should take your own advice,” you huffed, getting up from your bow. “Yesterday morning, I knew you were watching me at some point before you disappeared.” 

But he just turned his head back to the front and continued his intended course for the student council room.

Day 1 Results: he scared the daylights out of you instead of you trying to unnerve him.

---------

Day 2 of the Challenge.

What the hell did he mean by “your head is too high?” You still couldn’t decipher his cryptic line. Maybe he just said it to everyone, but that would be really corny of him; he wasn’t that type of person.

Did he think you were too much of a peasant to even talk to him?

You gritted your teeth. You weren’t gonna give up any time soon.

When everyone was dismissed after school, Hayama let you accompany him to Rakuzan’s spacious gym, under the belief that you were going to go home right after.

As soon as you were both in front of the bulky front doors, you marched right in, catching the blonde off guard so much at the fact that you waltzed in there (full knowing Akashi was in there). He couldn’t yank you out in time even with his lightning reflexes, and you skipped around, being careful to stay near the gym walls to not disrupt anyone. You plopped yourself on one of the further benches where you knew none of the players would ever sit, and as soon as you knew Akashi was in earshot (who was ignoring your existence), you smirked.

“Hey Kota!”

“Huh?” He looked up from rummaging through his duffel bag.

“I’ve heard shogi is being played a lot more by people our age for once, but don’t you think it’s such a dread to play such a dull hobby?”

“Yeah, righ—oh.” He swallowed back his answer in seeing Akashi behind you a few meters away, being as still as a statue.

You gleefully looked behind you, hoping for any entertaining response.

Without moving, he slinked his pupils to you before grabbing a water bottle and leaving.

“C-c-can you just drop this entire thing already?” Hayama runs to your side to give your shoulders a firm shake. “I swear to god, you’re not gonna live at this point!”

“You’re right,” you said. “Just for today, I’ll have to retreat before I’ll die.”

“Not just today!” He shook you harder. “I mean stop this for good!”

“Kota, I already signed a death certificate the moment I bumped into him yesterday. Might as well go all out.”

“Oh god, you started this yesterday?”

“Well, I gotta go! See you tomorrow!”

“... More like see you never.”

Day 2 Results: his reaction was inconclusive, but it was more of a failure than success.

---------

Day 3 of the Challenge.

You were pondering about how to annoy Akashi next, both excited and terrified about where this was going to end up.

“(l/n).”

“Y-yes?” You stood straight up from your seat the moment your homeroom teacher called you.

“During lunch, please make your way to the student council room. You’re needed.”

What in the world was going on? 

You fidgeted in your seat for the next few hours, shooting anxious glances at the clock every so often. All your classmates’ words of encouragement went through one ear and out the other.

“You’ll be fine!”

“I’m sure a teacher just wants you to help out with some workload…”

“We’re rooting for you!”

As the lunch bell rang, you braced yourself before you promptly made your way to the room that reeked of that particular chilled atmosphere that repelled most students away.

You prodded the door open, slipped in, and softly clicked the door shut before turning around to face the poker-faced terror sitting on his desk, watching your every move.

“Right on time.”

“You called me here?”

Akashi paid no heed to your outburst and continued. “I’ll admit. I’m quite interested in you. You have the innate sense of magnetism that draws others in.”

D-did he just compliment you?

“I would like to put your leadership to the test. You’re now vice.”

“What? You can’t just make a decision like that!”

“I ordered him to quit. There shouldn’t be a problem.”

What the hell?

What the hell, what the hell, what the hell—

Akashi looked at you like he was peering into the depths of your conscience and simply gave a civil smile.

“I hope you will contribute greatly to this school.”

Day 3 Result: a miserable failure.

---------

Day 4 of the Challenge.

You’re stressed, and it’s all Akashi’s fault.

Which made you even more determined to ruffle his feathers and rile him up.

When news broke out of your new “promotion” as vice president, your classmates celebrated for you and your already high popularity skyrocketed. Your teachers didn’t want to hear you talking about quitting when you “haven’t tried anything yet to know if this job was for you.”

The Rakuzan’s basketball starters (minus Mayazumi) were initially ecstatic for you as well… until you told them about Akashi’s string-pullings. 

“I’ll make sure Sei-chan won’t do anything, okay (y/n)-chan?”

“Thanks a bunch, Reo-kun… or should I say… Reokunma (Rilakkuma bear)?” You snapped your fingers at him. He just stared at you and patted your head, totally disregarding the fact that you made a pun.

“Just pack in the muscles and you’ll have nothing to worry about!” Nebuya flexed his biceps before getting a scolding from Reo.

“Shortie! Call me whenever you need help!” Hayama dropped his elbow on top of your shoulder to emphasize his point.

“Argh, Kotarō! You’re not that much taller than me at all!” You rolled your eyes. “If anyone, why don’t you say that to Akashi?”

“Say what.”

Oh fuck.

“S-Sei-chan!...” Reo walked over to Akashi. “If you’re here for us, I thought practice didn’t start until much later!”

“I am here for (y/n).” 

His irises contracted, highlighting his feline pupils. “I am depending on you as vice president to make this school an absolute powerhouse.” 

He still somehow made that sound extremely condescending, like a king encouraging a mere peasant. 

You were scared out of your wits, but you weren’t going to crumble so easily. Not until Akashi did first.

“Buh-bye, everyone! Good luck in practice later!”

. . . 

The walk back to the office was painfully silent. You decided to break it.

“I’m not taking back what I said, prez, you’re a shortie.”

He paused in his steps. “You run your mouth while knowing no bounds.”

“You’re just a spoilsport, y’know.”

“My orders are absolute.”

“You know, you’re scary as shit, but the whole ‘absolute’ line kinda grows old when I hear it every time I talk to you.”

Palpable silence blanketed between the two of you once again at your words.

This guy can’t even crack no matter what you do.

You stepped into the office and followed him to his desk. He walked to grab a pen from a drawer before he approached you.

He stepped forward, thrusted the sleek, black fountain pen to your face, and jerked back the writing instrument at the last millisecond. 

You froze, forgetting to breathe as you felt the pen nib harshly prodding the tip of your nose.

“Do not make me repeat myself. My orders are absolute.”

He then gave you some paperwork and assignments to complete like nothing ever transpired. 

Day 4 Results: you thought being relentless in your attacks would prove beneficial, but you’re starting to regret everything.

---------

Day 5 of the Challenge.

Maybe you needed to avoid direct confrontation, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t get a reaction from him in other ways.

One small perk of being vice was the fact that you no longer needed to tail around Akashi in order to bump into him “coincidentally,” but you’re not sure if this sole advantage could outweigh the disadvantages, particularly one that might result in your early death.

You’re frankly not as scared as you should be, even though you definitely were at those times you were with Akashi. If anything, it pissed you off that he’s always able to get you to jump out of your skin.

He’s just a 1st year. He’s just a 1st year.

You went to the student council room early to tape on a note to his desk, so there wouldn’t be a chance that it would “fall off his desk” and that “he didn’t see it.”

Roses are red,

I suppose you’re “absolute.”

You’ll still be knocked dead,

And there’ll be no dispute.

You snickered. It was too funny to pass up.

Before you left, you took the time to survey around and get a solid look at the office interiors for the first time (since Akashi’s presence made it impossible for anyone to not pay attention to him).

It was ridiculously tidy, all the wooden furniture polished to the point where their mahogany varnishes shined. Books were meticulously ordered by alphabetical order and genres, and they looked like they were all dusted at every free chance. The rugs showcased simple circles, but the minimalism of them added to the office’s air of crisp cleanliness. The gray curtains gently framed the wide window behind Akashi’s desk. But what really caught your eye was a board of shogi and its pieces tucked away in a corner on a high shelf.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try knocking on Death’s door again.

. . . 

Akashi’s shoe clicked on the floor as he opened the door. His steps continued to echo throughout the small room as he walked to his desk to start his work, that is, until he saw your note.

“Oh?” A grin snaked its way onto his face by the time he read the last line.

He severely underestimated you. You unexpectedly had tenacity.

No one has ever defied him repeatedly so openly before.

His expression put the notorious Cheshire cat to shame, his ulterior smile occupying half his face as his eyes widened in excitement equivalent to a predator.

Feeling pumped for the first time in a while, he decided to expend his energy on shogi. He carefully brought down the board and placed it onto his desk, going through the familiar motions of unpacking and setting up a game, before he froze.

There were various pencil doodles on each shogi piece. All of them were variants of :/ and :). 

You were taking a jab at his personality as well as his mannerisms.

He barked an amused harsh laugh. 

. . . 

Day 5 Results: truth be told, you were too scared to see him face to face right after your double stunts; since you knew his schedules, you only came into the student council office when you knew he wasn’t inside.

---------

Day 6 of the Challenge.

Continuing to avoid him would already confirm to Akashi that you were actually shaken up by the high possibility of him retaliating, and you definitely weren’t about to give him the satisfaction. 

You went to class as always, and by break, you feigned innocence as you strolled into the council room, seeing Akashi leaning against the table.

“Good morning, Akashi.”

He nodded in acknowledgment before he gave a full, predatory smile, his pupils focused on you. 

“To continue to fuel diligent work, it’s beneficial to recognize one’s efforts by giving gifts.”

What? Was he not going to bring up what you did yesterday?

He pulled out a single red rose and gracefully tilted it for you to take. You warily plucked it out of his hand.

In a different context, it would’ve been sweet or even romantic, but you knew Akashi ticked a different tune.

“I do hope that you will continue to stay and become even more efficient with your work.”

You gazed at the rose at your hand, confused, as Akashi started walking back out, heading for the door.

You gasped.

“... Did you overhear our conversations the other day in the hallway?”

He chuckled. 

“I know the future, because I am absolute.”

“Bastard.” You clicked your tongue, turning to Akashi. “You knew the entire time?” 

“Shogi is easily applied to every aspect of life. Move the correct pieces and you will always win.”

You turned back around to avoid letting Akashi see you in an embarrassed state. He played you like an absolute fiddle. 

You scowled, and you were about to cross your arms in defiance until the sunlight from the window cascaded on something where your “note” used to be.

“Akashi, what’s that on your desk?” You tentatively walked up to the table to see a stainless glass vase with a single dark burgundy dahlia resting daintily against the inner rim.

His hand was on the doorknob before he turned back to face you.

“Dahliang,” his tone of voice light, almost mockingly saccharine. “Do be careful from now on.”

He left.

Day 6 Results: he completely destroyed you at your own game and sealed the final nail to your coffin with a pun.

---------

End Note: Black dahlias (which are actually dark burgundy in color) symbolize signs of warning, betrayal, and other negative emotions.

[margridarnauds]

a@fallenidol-453 and @any59

YOU ASKED FOR IT. 

So, first off: Let’s start off with a story. I’m in my flat in Ireland, doing....Celtic Studies things. Namely, looking at Quinn’s workbook, flipping between it and Strachan’s paradigms, crying. Okay, not really crying, more “knitting my brows and scribbling furiously, because WHY is this language like this?” 

My housemate comes in with a friend of hers. We have the usual smalltalk, you know “What do you do here?”  “Oh, Celtic Studies.”  “Celtic Studies!” *I tense as I prepare for the inevitable “So, do you have any family.........” question* “Well, we just so happen to be fluent in Irish!”

Now, this is much rarer than a lot of people would think in Ireland, because the Irish education system is.........shit when it comes to teaching Irish. I literally never had someone in Ireland tell me, “Oh, I LOVED studying Irish! It was my favorite class!” And the more someone loves the Irish language, the more that they generally hate how it’s taught. So, I’m like “Oh, cool! Here’s what it looked like a thousand years ago!” and I show off my paradigms, going to the first page, which is the section on definite articles. 

There’s this moment of silence as she looks at it, HER eyebrows knitting just like mine were a few minutes ago. “Is that....Latin? It looks like Latin.” 

Now, there are two options with this story: One is that she was lying through her teeth about knowing Irish fluently in order to impress the naive American. Problem with that is that, of course, you risk being called on it. BUT the second is what I’m going with, namely that the language has changed a lot more than people generally think it has. (There’s about the same period of time between Old Irish and Modern Irish as there is between the creation of Beowulf and the present day. Imagine trying to read Beowulf without knowing ANY Old English and you’ll see the problem straight away.) This is actually a problem, because a lot of the time, people will see foreign-born Celticists writing in Old Irish/Middle Welsh/etc. and instead of thinking of us as professional scholars who are taking advantage of a dead language in order to send what are essentially very niche memes (not necessarily even “meme” in the sense of joke), they think “Oh! The dumb foreigner’s mangling the language! So funny!” 

...and yes. This has happened to multiple people I know, including myself. It’s annoying. 

So, how much has the language changed? There are essentially five stages of the language that we are able to trace: Primitive Irish, Old Irish, Middle Irish, Early Modern Irish, and Gaeilge/Modern Irish + Proto-Celtic which is the sort of shared ancestor between all the Celtic languages and the reason why some of these words are confusingly familiar and my brain needs about twenty minutes to reboot when I’m going in-between Middle Welsh and Old Irish. 

Going back to our friend, the definite article: In the modern language, there are two forms of the definite article, as you’ll learn in your very first lesson on Duolingo: An (singular) and Na (plural). You can see this reflected all over the place, probably most obviously in the names for instutions like “An Post” (the post office) and An Garda Síochána (The Guard of the Peace, the police force). 

In Old Irish? There were multiple forms of the definite article, and they had to agree with the gender, person, and case. In the Middle Irish period, those distinctions gradually fall away, becoming even pronouned in the Early Modern Irish period, leading to the language as we have it in the modern day. 

Some other changes: 

- Loss of deponents. Old Irish used to have a system that was like the deponent verbs of Latin, where you had words that LOOKED passive, but were active in meaning. As time went on, they totally dropped those, taking different approaches to how to deal with the old deponent verbs. (Sometimes they’d use, say, the verbal noun form AS the verb, sometimes they’d apply deponent endings to verbs that hadn’t been deponents before.....it’s a mess.)

-Loss of the neuter gender. Gone entirely, save for a few fossilized examples, though with some efforts to bring it back in some form in the interest of non-binary people. In the time of Old Irish, however, there was a full neuter gender, complete with a neuter article. 

- The loss of declensions. “BUT,” you might say, if you’ve studied Modern Irish, “Modern Irish HAS declensions!” And you’d be right! It does! Five, in fact.  .......Old Irish had thirteen. 

What happens over time is that people look at all those declensions and are like “That is an ASSLOAD of declensions, let’s simplify!” And so they start treating some declensions like they’re another declension, so the number of declensions goes down over time as the others all get sorted into new categories. 

Also, the categorization is different. In the modern language, you just hear that the declensions are decided by the endings, which.....is probably one of the reasons why so many people hate learning Irish, because it seems arbitrary, when, in reality, it isn’t. In Old Irish, we actually go back even FURTHER in time, to Primitive Irish (which ended around the 7th century) and, even further back in time, Proto-Celtic, because that is where the declensions actually come from. Irish used to look quite like Gaulish or Latin, with similar endings - “Fer” was “viros”, which became “viras”, “ingen” was “enigenā”, which became “inigena”, “rígain” was “rígainí” in the Proto-Celtic, “athair” was “ɸatīr” in the PC, “túath” was “toutā”, “Día” was “Dewos”........etc.

That’s why “fer” and “Día” are both o-stems, despite looking almost nothing alike, it’s why they behave the same way - They shared the same endings back in the day. That’s why we call them o-stems in the first place, it isn’t because of what’s IN them, it’s what used to be in them. 

“Ingen” is an a-stem for the same reason. 

“Rígain” is an i-stem. 

“Athair” is a r-stem. 

There’s METHOD to the madness, I promise. 

- There’s a loss of distinction of sounds - Old Irish was very strict on “This is spelled with an A and THIS is spelled with an O and those are TWO DIFFERENT SOUNDS.” Middle Irish was like “Eh? Let’s make it a general “schwa” sound.” So the spellings vary a lot starting in that period, Early Modern Irish only adds to the confusion (a favorite Celticist Hobby is pointing out the sometimes flat-out *weird* Early Modern Irish spellings of Old Irish names because *oh, boy*), and by the time you get to the modern language, a lot of things are spelled quite differently from what you’d think. Some consonants also soften in their sounds - the preposition “Co”, for example, becomes “Go”, “ocus” becomes “agus”, etc. 

- Univerbation. Essentially, Old Irish had a LOT of compound verbs like do-beir, do-gni, at-tá, ad-cí, ro-cluineathar etc. And, in the modern language, “do-beir” becomes “tabhair”, “do´gní” becomes -“á dhéanamh”, etc. Essentially, they took what’s known as the protonic form of the verb, which is the version we would use following a conjunct particle like “ní”, which expresses a negative form of an action, and they made that the regular form of the verb. They were like “Nope, don’t want to handle it, not today, Satan.” And sometimes, those forms would evolve as well, so I could be looking at a verb in Early Modern Irish, go “that looks vaguely familiar” and then realize that it’s a VERY mutated form of an Old Irish word. 

- The ~copula~. So, the copula is....an alternative to the substantive verb used in certain circumstances, indicating a state of being. Which seems really....grammar-y, but all that really means is that it translates out to “is, am, are” in English. If you ever read any medieval Irish texts, you’ll notice a lot of syntax that’s like “Cold is the wind from Norway”, “It is not a good thing you have done”, etc. The reason is because, in the actual Irish, all this would have begun with a form of the copula. It was a VERY popular way of starting off a sentence, instead of the usual Verb-Subject-Object form. In the Old Irish period, the copula was inflected, meaning that, like the definite article, it changed depending on certain factors, namely person, number, and tense. “Am” would be “I am” (”Am rí” - “I am a king”) “At” would be you (sing.) are (“At gataige” - “You are a thief), “Is” would be “he/she/it is” (”Is lóech” - “He/She/It is a warrior”), “ammi” would be “we are” (”Ammi druíd” - “We are druids/magicians”).....etc. Now, once again, starting in the Middle Irish period, you have people going “............that is an ass-load of work, let’s just use the third singular and call it a day.” This is why, in Duolingo, you have to say “Is cailín mé” a thousand times. In the Old Irish period, you would just say “Am ingen”, but, with that loss of distinction of the copula, pronouns become increasingly important to the Irish language. Some of this was already present in Old Irish, with the 3rd sing. copula being used for the sake of emphasis, “It is I who takes Bres to the trash fire, where he belongs”, sometimes with an emphasizing pronoun for added drama, but it eventually gets to the point where the others are consumed entirely. 

- Independent pronouns also come into their own, being uniformly used after the copula, with the infixed pronouns that had been uniform going away. So, for example, if I wanted to say “I kill him” in Modern Irish, I would say “Maráim é” - if I wanted to say it in Old Irish, I would say “Nan-Marbu”, with the no being what’s known as a meaningless conjunct particle (it’s there to say “LOOK! AN INFIXED PARTICLE!”).

- A lot of the verb forms, like the nouns, get smushed together - There were at least three different forms of the preterite (in Modern Irish, known as the “Simple Past”) in Old Irish, in Middle Irish, the S-preterite gradually grows to dominate, to the point where now, there is only the simple past, with endings varying depending on if you’re talking first or second conjugation verbs. Likewise, the future tense goes from having five different categories of future tenses to being divided into first or second conjugation verbs in the present day. 

Overall, there’s more, there’s a lot more, but I think that you can get the gist. When I see primitive Irish, I’m like “Okay, it’s Old Irish - The Latin edition”. It looks WEIRD, but it looks OLD and, for the most part, fairly recognizable. We don’t see it that often, outside of an ogham stone, that’s why we make such a big deal when we do. Old Irish, I’m like “FRIEND....who sometimes scares me”, Middle Irish, I’m like “Okay, this is a bit weird, but I can understand most of it, especially if I’m reading an edition where the editor explains things”, Early Modern Irish looks, to me, like everything’s been tossed into a blender. I KNOW that some of the words look familiar, but it’s HARD and it kind of hurts my brain to stare at it for too long. Modern Irish actually looks better, because it’s streamlined, the spellings are consistent, etc., but it still looks......almost eerie, actually. It also shows in how these things are taught - If you’re in an Old Irish program, you’re taught Old Irish and Middle Irish; if you’re in a Modern Irish program, you’re taught Early Modern Irish and Gaeilge (or you’re expected to know Gaeilge off the bat.) And what should probably be mentioned is that, actually, there was likely only ever a brief period where “Old Irish” was actually spoken or written - Kim McCone pointed out in an article that, actually, in some of our oldest, most sanctified sources for Old Irish, the Wurtzburg Gospels, we’re already seeing traces of Middle Irishicisms. It’s likely that, among the general populace, they were already simplifying their speech, but that the scribes who wrote this stuff down, that literary elite, took a conservative approach to the language, essentially a medieval Irish Academie Francaise, and they tried to preserve the “pure” form, only to lose the battle as time went on and even they started using these forms of the language. It’s also why we put SUCH a massive emphasis on dating....(besides the fact that it’s the closest thing we can come to dating anything, *badum tss*): Scribes, along with copying old texts, would actually sometimes put older forms of the words in newer texts in the hopes of it looking older or more authoritative. There are some bardic poems in the 16th century that are actually EERILY good. Likewise, you have some scribes looking at an older text and being like “Oh, that doesn’t look how it should! I should fix it!”, only to drop a Middle Irishicism on an Old Irish verb. And sometimes a scribe will try to correct the correction and makes it even worse. We have to analyze the whole text, weighing all of it together to see when a text might have actually been composed. 

We talk a lot about how Irish has survived over the years in spite of everything, and that’s IMPORTANT, but I feel like it’s also important to say that it’s changed, it’s reinvented itself. It isn’t static and it’s never really BEEN static, and I think, my ongoing confusion aside, that that’s really important. I can’t translate an 18th century Irish text, at least not EASILY (even though I want to do my PhD on an Early Modern text so RIP me), but someone who got their PhD in 19th century Gaelic Literature also can’t translate Old Irish (and yes.....it has happened where people act like studying Irish literature = being able to “explain” Old Irish materials to me. Because, again, Dumb Foreigners Can’t Know What We’re Talking About) We’ve got to work together to get the fullest possible picture. The language had a past, it has a future. 

[donttouchmeimwriting]

Argo ch. 2

Friday the 13th - Friendship/Romance - Jason Voorhees/OC M/M ship

2084 words, 3rd person POV

I love to hear feedback on my fics so please don't be shy! You can also tell me your thoughts on anon if you don't want your name on your comments!

Cross-posting on FFN under PyroTheWereCat

...

Meeting Lijah face to face threw off Jason's rhythm for the rest of the day, and for the entire day after. He had no idea what to do with himself. He could go home, but his mother would want progress by now and he did not want to try to explain how he let Lijah go when even he didn't know exactly why he did it. He could start planning the killings of the other counselors, but he couldn't focus long enough to think about that. His mind was stuck on Lijah, and he determined the only way to get unstuck was to see him again. He had to know why he wasn't afraid and treated him so kindly. There had to be some sort of motive.

Darkness fell over the camp that Friday night, and Jason patrolled the outskirts until every last fire went out and all noise had subsided. His blood was on fire, and he could not rest until his curiosity was sated. He quietly crept to the counselor cabins, searching for number five. Would Lijah be alone? Was this a good idea to come here at all? Jason berated himself internally for his interest in this person. This was stupid. Why was he here? He could easily just kill them all and return to his mother as usual. What was different this time?

There, a little distance from the other cabins, Jason saw a large number 5 painted on the side of the building. The lights were off, save for one room where the soft yellow glow spilled out into the woods where Jason stood. He steeled himself, prepared to fight if an ambush awaited him. Not quite ready, but ready enough, he approached the window and peered inside.

Lijah's bedroom was relatively tidy, minus the small heap of dirty clothes in one corner, and some posters with ragged edges and some tears that were taped to the walls. A dresser stood on the right side of the room next to the door, a small radio and some books resting atop it. Above the dresser hung a simple mirror, and it reflected Lijah's slim legs as he lay on the bed on the opposite end of the room. Jason turned his gaze to the left, seeing Lijah in a thin t-shirt and boxer briefs, reading a book on his bed. Was there ever a time he did not look so at peace?

Jason contemplated simply letting himself in, but he felt compelled to avoid scaring Lijah as long as he could. He sighed heavily and knocked on the window, hoping this wasn't the worst decision he could possibly make. Lijah gave a small start at the sound and turned to see who had made it. To Jason's surprise, Lijah's eyes lit up and he smiled as he set the book down and hopped off of the mattress. He lifted the window open and stepped aside for Jason to climb through.

"Hey!" Lijah greeted cheerfully, "I was hoping I'd get to see you again!"

Jason awkwardly clambered into the room, his size proving troublesome for the space provided by the window. He grunted as he heaved himself through, but he managed without Lijah's offered assistance. He closed the window behind him and turned back to Lijah, the closeness of the walls and ceiling emphasizing just how much of a height and width difference there was between them.

"Have a seat!" Lijah insisted, patting the bed, "Make yourself at home. I was just reading a few chapters to make myself tired enough to sleep, but I can stay up to hang out with you."

Jason sank into the mattress, watching Lijah the entire time. Was something wrong with him that he didn't perceive a threat from Jason? Or maybe he was just leading him on and tricking him into trusting him, and then he would turn against him later. Lijah stepped over to his dresser to retrieve one of the books. Jason saw that it was a spiral bound notebook with a pencil jammed in the binding. Lijah brought the notebook to the bed and climbed up to sit next to him, folding his legs underneath himself.

"I figured since you don't talk, this might help if you want to tell me something about yourself or ask me questions," Lijah explained, "Are you comfortable with writing?"

Jason shrugged. It had been a long time since he had written anything, not counting his own name in the dirt yesterday. He was able to read, but he wasn't confident in his spelling or handwriting. He accepted the notebook anyway, having some questions for Lijah that he could not express through body language.

"cant rite good. ELijah college?" he wrote, needing to spell the full name and crossing out the 'E' to get it right.

"Do I go to college?" Lijah checked, and upon Jason's nod, he elaborated, "Yup, I'm on break right now, but I'm going back in the fall for my senior year. I'm studying psychology and sociology. I'm hoping I can get into social work or therapy or something and help a lot of people."

Jason's frustration increased at this declaration. There was no way he was this good. There had to be some dark side to him somewhere.

"What about you?" Lijah asked, "Do you live around here? And, I don't mean to be rude, but how old are you?"

Jason nodded and returned to the notebook.

"live with Mother by camp. im 23."

"Oh, nice, you're only two years older than me!" Lijah commented, "Do you get along well with your mom?"

Jason nodded and pointed to Lijah as a means to ask him the same question.

"I don't live with my parents anymore," Lijah answered, his tone changing very slightly to hint at some discomfort, "They're good people, but I couldn't live in that environment anymore once I started college. I've pretty much been living either at school or at summer camps for the past few years, but I'm looking into apartments for myself so I can have a place to live after I graduate."

There was the lead. Something must have been wrong with Lijah's family life to force him out on his own, and the implication that he didn't have friends to stay with made the mystery all the more enticing. He remembered the female counselor from the day before who had asked to go with Lijah before he and Jason had met.

"frends?" Jason wrote, "girl frend?"

Lijah laughed, and Jason felt a shiver at the sound for some reason.

"I get along with everybody, but I don't really have any close friends," he said, "I haven't dated anyone for a while now either. I've been focusing on myself and getting through school, though also the people I tend to date are...not the best for me."

From what Jason had seen of Lijah from afar, he seemed like he had lots of friends and was close with many people, but now it seemed he was just as alone as Jason himself. He stared at Lijah for a moment, trying to figure him out. It was then that he noticed some tiny details about Lijah's face that he hadn't seen in the woods yesterday.

Lijah had freckles on his nose, and his eyelashes were long. His eyes were a greenish hazel, and crinkled at the corners when he smiled. His usually fluffy brown hair was somewhat damp looking, possibly from a recent shower. Jason couldn't explain it, but Lijah was rather pleasant to look at.

"So you don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but I'm a little curious," Lijah prompted, snapping Jason back to reality, "Why do you wear a hockey mask? Is it good for keeping bugs out of your face?"

Jason tensed. He didn't want Lijah to see his face under the mask. That would surely scare him and make him hate him like everyone else. Jason shook his head and tried to think of an excuse to write down, but all he could think of was,

"i like it."

Lijah nodded upon reading this.

"That's a good, solid reason for anything," he agreed, "I should start living by that a little more, honestly."

Jason relaxed at this, relieved that Lijah accepted that answer. He wasn't sure why, but he was beginning to want Lijah to like him. It was almost like when he was a child and wanted to be friends with the other kids at camp, but this felt different somehow. Lijah didn't have friends of his own either, so they would only have each other if this worked.

Jason did not even think about possibly killing Lijah at this point. He was far too invested in who he was as a person, as well as excited at the possibility of having a real friend, to remember what his mission was. Mother wasn't expecting him back until August. It should be fine.

"Alright, Jason, I'm gonna tell you something and I don't want you to get upset," Lijah began, scratching the back of his head, "But I figure if you wanted to, you could have easily killed me a few times by now, so I think I'm safe. I honestly thought you were gonna kill me yesterday in the woods - we've all heard the stories of the Killer of Crystal Lake or whatever; they warned me of the history of this place when I was hired - but I like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt and treat everyone the way I'd want to be treated. I figured if I died, I would die putting my best foot forward, and, wouldn't you know it, I did that literally."

Jason blinked. Was that really all he'd needed to not kill people? Someone being nice to him?

"For the record, and I'm sure you know this already, but I'm not scared of you now. People don't have to look a certain way to be good or bad. And, hey, if you helped me out and came to visit me like this, you can't be all bad, can you?"

Either Lijah was too naive for his own good or he was very good in the field he was studying. Perhaps both? Jason wasn't sure. He picked up the pencil again to write,

"can i see u more?"

Lijah read this and nodded.

"I'd love that!" he enthused, "Please, come see me this time of night any night you want. I've got lots of books to read, I've got food in the fridge, you can shower here if you want to...I'm the only one who uses this cabin, so really, I don't mind you being here and making yourself comfortable."

Jason wasn't an expert at body language or understanding people in general, but it was clear to him that Lijah desperately wanted a friend. He felt a twitch at the corners of his mouth, a small smile breaking through. Whatever this was between them, they both wanted it, needed it, and Jason looked forward to exploring an actual friendship with someone his own age. Maybe he could bring Lijah back to Mother and show her that there was someone special in the outside world, someone who cared about everyone.

It was a nice thought, but nice thoughts never lasted long.

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

Jason and Lijah spent several hours that night getting to know each other. Jason could not believe how easy it was to communicate with him and even more so how easy it was to let his guard down. He found himself having fun, something he couldn't remember the last time it happened. Lijah did grow quite tired after midnight, however, so Jason excused himself through the window to allow Lijah to sleep.

He returned to his temporary campsite in the woods to get some rest as well, wanting to have plenty of energy tomorrow to spend more time with Lijah. He wondered if he had tried to approach the counselors he'd killed differently, if he had a more approachable mask and cleaned up the rest of his appearance, would he have been able to befriend them too? He doubted that notion the instant it materialized in his mind; those counselors weren't like Lijah and would have been afraid of him either way. Lijah was special...Jason could feel it deep within him. Just a few hours with him made Jason reconsider killing anyone this summer.

He hoped Mother would approve.

[hes-writer]

Favourite (2)

Summary: harry loves one of his children less

Warnings: angst

Word Count: 1804 words

A/N: y’all know I’ve been feeling sensitive about posting this piece so if you have any comments BE NICE BE NICE BE NICE 🥺

Part 1

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The events from the previous weeks rattled the Styles’ household. Caleb woke to a tense morning the next morning where his dad was nowhere to be seen and Beatrice was holed up in her room. Dinner was even more awkward when silence draped over their backs like a cold blanket. Y/N tried her best to continue a dwindling conversation but there was only so much she could say until Beatrice’s silence towards Harry’s questions started to suggest that she didn’t want to speak to her dad. The youngest daughter, Ruby, seemed to be the holy grail of each family dinner when she babbled about her day in pre-school.

Beatrice was set to leave home in exactly two days. Y/N could feel a sense of pride seeing her eldest leave the family home, setting off to university and becoming her own person. Y/N knew that Beatrice had a difficult time separating Beatrice, Harry Styles’ daughter, to just Beatrice. Y/N looked back to when Beatrice was younger--an unexpected surprise that she learned to love when she felt the first symptoms of morning sickness--how she was bound to change her and Harry’s life forever. 

___

Y/N wasn’t sure if her brain blocked out the memories of Harry being hostile to their first child until recently; maybe it was a denial that there was no way Harry could blatantly show anything less than love for their child. But the more Y/N thought about Beatrice’s birthdays, recitals and school events; all she could see notice now was Harry’s distanced posture. His distraction when Beatrice performed on stage, the excuses when she had a dance recital, and unenthusiastic greeting of ‘happy birthday’. 

Harry leaned his shoulder against the door frame of the barren room, observing the bed and bedside table as it was stripped bare of the flower-printed sheets, watching his wife flip through the photo album filled with Beatrice’s accomplishments. The parents could not help but let a wave of nostalgia wash over them. The lamp on the bedside table lit the entire room. The fairy lights that were hung on her wall were taken down a few days ago; one of the items that Beatrice packed last. 

“She asked me to help her put the lights up,” Harry whispered, tracing his fingers over the cream walls, walking over to where Y/N sat on the mattress. “I told her I was busy and she did it by herself,”

Y/N sighed, lifting her head to direct Harry to the spot beside her, “I know,” She sunk with Harry’s weight at her side, his slouched shoulders further emphasizing his despondent mood. “We raised a good done, hm?”

Harry shook his head in disappointment, “No..not me,” His chest ached with missed opportunities to bond with his daughter; all because he couldn’t get over the fact that she came as a surprise. He was at the peak of his career and he wasn’t too glad that he was forced to push everything back--his album release, promo, and tour--to the next year all because of a child that he didn’t even plan on having in the first place. 

In retrospect, Harry should have known better. He should have reacted like a mature adult, a father-to-be and became an actual dad to Beatrice instead of holding a grudge to an innocent little baby. He still had a successful career that he always dreamed of but he can never turn back time for all the shortcomings he had with his child. 

Harry felt extremely guilty for missing Beatrice’s childhood, so he tried to compensate for the guilt looming over him by presenting his younger children the type of love that he failed to give her. How daft was he to not notice his actions would only push her away from him? That, to Beatrice, it was Harry’s way of highlighting the fact that he would never accept the way she was conceived? 

“What’s this?” Harry mused, tilting his jaw on where her hand rested to keep the page bookmarked. 

“Jus’ some pictures over the years. Wanna see?”

Here Harry was, flicking the glossy pages of an old photo album, looking at a dopey-smiled Beatrice on her first day of kindergarten. Her hair was in pigtails done by Harry that morning because Y/N had an early day at work. She was saddened that she couldn’t go but Harry reassured her that he will be there every step of the way. It was a half-lie. Harry dropped her off, took a quick picture and left the premises as soon as he could, missing the way his daughter’s eyes glazed over. Lips formed a pout and her tiny chin quivered as she watched her dad drive off in his black Range Rover.

The next photo was 7-year old Beatrice in her pink long sleeve and a wispy tutu wrapped around her waist. Her hair was pulled back in a ballerina bun; this time was done by Y/N if the slickness of her hairstyle was anything to go by. The left page was of Beatrice on the sidelines of the auditorium. The room was partially filled. Harry concluded that it was before the performance because of the dimple printed on her cheek since the right page showcased a sullen girl surrounded by her dance mates and their parents. Harry could remember Y/N’s frantic phone calls that night, asking ‘where are you?’ and ‘what time are you getting here?’ as the faint music blared through the speakers. 

Harry gulped at the memory. He came home to find Beatrice asleep in her costume, a plastic tiara gripped in her hand. Y/N said that she wanted to give it to him. Beatrice could at least give him something from her performance because he didn’t make it.

__

Y/N’s phone buzzed in her pocket, halting Harry’s thoughts as she answered the call. She pointed towards the door, mouthing silently that she had to answer it. “It’s Beatrice,”

Harry’s brows perched on his forehead, nervousness filled his body at the sound of her name. He didn’t even make things right before she left; too afraid of rejection when he deserved it. 

His fingers flicked through the pages. Beatrice’s piano recital. 

She was fourteen at that time. Caleb was sat on the seat next to him while Ruby was being nursed in Y/N’s arms. Beatrice peeked through the curtains, wanting to make sure that her dad was planted in his seat. She was excited to showcase the skills she learned in the past year. She was hoping to impress Harry in musical terms when she won first place. Beatrice was sure of it! She practiced for long hours until her fingers were stiff from overuse. Her other tries to catch her dad’s attention garnered her little-to-no attention and this was her last idea. 

Y/N gave her daughter a thumbs up as Beatrice walked towards the grand piano center stage. 

Beatrice was in the middle of her piece when she heard her Caleb’s curious voice over the silent crowd, “Dad, where are you going?”

She looked up just in time to catch Harry’s emotionless eyes. His expression was painted in annoyance and his phone was clutched in his hand. Beatrice’s fingers jittered with a shaky breath, feeling her fingertips trace over the wrong keys and eventually stopping altogether. The crowd gasped, murmurs flittering in and out of her ears as she stared at her lap. She tried to compose herself, maybe even pick up where she left off and continue playing as if she didn’t stop. The show must go on, right?

When Beatrice gathered enough courage to continue, she took a deep breath and lifted her head towards where her family sat. She was certain that her dad took his seat again but she could not be more wrong. Beatrice was just barely able to see Harry’s blazer flapping as the door closed shut behind him. 

__

“She ran off stage after that,” Caleb spoke from beside him. “Didn’t want mum around. She kept asking for you but you left or something,”

Harry closed his eyes tightly, tears dripping from the corners as he breathed out a sigh. He did. He left the building as soon as he could. The urgent phone call he received was from Jeff relaying that the media claimed to have found where his kids went to school. He couldn’t jeopardize their safety because of people wanting to meet him; because of him. There was no way he would let anything hurt his children. 

“I know I haven’t been the best dad to your sister,” Harry shut the book softly, wrapping his arm around Caleb’s broad shoulders. “But I really do love her,”

Caleb’s curls tickled his ears as he nodded, “She knows,”

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise, “Really?”

“Yeah. Before she left, she was talking about everything she was gonna miss. She said she was going to miss you, even if you, and I quote, ‘might not miss her’,” Caleb formed his fingers into bunny ears.

Harry desperately wished that he was brave enough to fix his mistakes. A simple, wholehearted talk with Beatrice might’ve been all he needed to start mending his relationship with her. But he stood back like a coward; hiding from his own daughter because of an irrational fear of rejection. Instead, he walked by her room, door left wide open as Beatrice gathered clothes from her closet to pack in the next box. Each time he would pass by the hallway to his and Y/N’s room, more of her items would be packed up, taped and ready to go. Packed boxes slowly filled the hallway and her closet emptied as her clothing was folded in an organized manner.

First, it was her desk. Her pens and notebooks leaving the cluttered space empty. Then, it was her hangers stripped off her dresses, jackets and coats. Her shoes were the next to go, leaving more space in the downstairs closet by the door until only one pair remained unpacked; the one she used to walk out of their house. Next, it was her dresser packed with moisturizers and makeup closed tightly to prevent spillage. Beatrice peeled off her duvet and bedsheets to wash the night before she left, opting to sleep next to Ruby on her final night at home. 

One image that he kept reeling in his head like a film projector was Beatrice climbing the metal steps of the ladder from the garage. She placed it sturdy on the floor before she stretched her hands to unhook the fairy lights from the wall. Unlike before where Beatrice knocked on his office door, hesitantly asking for help to put up the fairy lights--she didn’t ask for Harry’s help taking it down. 

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A/N: I know that a lot of people might've wanted a full circle ending where Harry apologizes but I'm pretty happy with this ending because it's open-ended. 

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