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whatwouldvalerydo · 2 years

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Finding you - part 2/9

Day two of the festival brings with it a sassy Lachlan (@kc-and-co ) and Jonathan getting to relax while spending a day with him.

He woke up to the sound of voices outside somewhere in the distance as people were on about with their daily tasks at the festivals or they were making their way back towards their sleeping areas from a late party. Lachlan was still sleeping soundly next to him, an arm draped around his waist, Jonathan initially being reluctant to even move as to not wake him up.

But he needed to get the day started and also grab a few coffees and oddly enough a pain killer, despite him not drinking that much the previous night.

Slowly adjusting his position, he let out a soft exhale as Lachlan didn’t stir. Taking hold of his wrist, he gently lifted it, Lachlan finally coming to, taking his hand away to only pull Jonathan closer, mumbling something about it being too early.

Letting out a soft chuckle, Jonathan shook his head “I need to get coffee.” He whispered.

“No. Stay.”

Turning around to properly look at him, he smiled “I really need to go. I’ll be back.”

Lifting his hand, he held it up “Five more minutes, then we both go.”

But of course five minutes was never a good idea, a snooze to the otherwise pretty tight schedule Jonathan held in check resulted in an extra hour of napping, him actually waking up in a panic, searching for his phone, Lachlan barely getting up to rub his eyes “What’s wrong?”

“I overslept.”

“So?” he asked nonchalantly “What time is it?”

“A bit over eight thirty. Want a pain killer?” he held out a small bag filled with Muggle pills.

Blinking at him, Lachlan fell back groaning “I thought it was twelve or something. At what time do you open the tent?”

“Six in the evening, maybe five if we’re all awake and sober by then.”

Giving him a serious look, Lachlan clicked his tongue “Really? I bet you everyone is asleep and you’re the only one up and about.” Lifting his brows, he added “Am I wrong?”

“No. I usually am the first one up.”

Lifting his hands up in a dramatic fashion, he let them fall as he huffed “I rest my case.”

Frowning, Jonathan added “Someone needs to be responsible.”

“You’re always the responsible one. Tonight, you drink and I take care of you.” Pointing a finger as Jonathan began to shake his head, he added “Neah uh, no, you’re doing it. No going back.”

“No. If you want, we’ll drink together but no hard stuff, it makes me sick.”

Rolling his eyes, Lachlan supported himself on his elbows “That’s because you drank vodka, tequila and some other stuff that ONE time. You’re doing this my way. I promise you’ll have fun. I’ll be there. Now, where can I go get coffee from?”

“I’ll show you.”

Waving his hand about, he shook his head “No, you draw me a map if you want, but you’re not going anywhere. Alright?” getting up, he looked through his bag, waving the phone in Jonathan’s face “Or share our location, all good. I’ll have my phone with me this time.” Seeing his reluctancy, Lachlan ruffled his hair, Jonathan eventually agreeing.

That didn’t mean he did not pace back and forth until he saw him coming back, Jonathan going out on the small terrace his tent had, sitting down, trying to find a relaxed pose. As Lachlan sat down with a big smile on his face, he offered the coffee proudly alongside some natural juice and breakfast “Told you I could do it.” He winked as he placed everything down “Your coffee.” He handed it out, Jonathan taking a sip, sighing softly “I’m really sorry about last night. I should have told you I was going away.”

“It’s fine. No harm done.”

“Don’t lie. You were crying and while I might not know where I am or what to do with myself half the time, seeing you like that…”

Placing a hand on his shoulder, Jonathan smiled “Don’t do this to yourself alright. I’m not mad.”

Looking up at the clear summer sky, Lachlan addressed a question Jonathan never thought he would hear from him “How many times have I made you feel like that?”

Jonathan tensed suddenly, eyes watching him “Hey, hey, look at me.” Positioning himself to sit in from of Lachlan, he held his gaze “I worry yes, not because you get lost or don’t remember details, it has nothing to do with it. I worried and I worry because I care about you. And a festival yeah it’s fun, but a lot of bad things can happen. Last year was the first time for me, Aiden and his girlfriend back then. We didn’t know any better, took a drink from a stranger and ended up drugged out of our minds and hooked up, all of us. Trust me, sometimes it can end up way worse.”

Bursting out laughing, Lachlan barely got it together “You hooked up with a guy and girl?”

“Not my proudest moment and that was after I made a wanted poster with my photo and number asking people if they wanted me, I got calls until like a few months ago. Worst thing is we all remember different parts of that night. Surprised Aiden wanted to join us again this year.”

“You and him?” he gestured, Jonathan groaning.

“Yeah and that guy is as straight as they get. So, yeah, I was worried you might have ended up with a bad crowd, took something, I don’t know. Can you please stop laughing?”

“Alright, alright. Surprised is all. But you can’t have a festival without a wild story.”

“Yes and no.” Jonathan added “You can have fun, get drunk, still have a story.”

“Oi Jonathan you up?” the very sound of Karl’s voice made Jonathan wince slightly. Glancing at Lachlan, he just shrug his shoulders, taking a sip from his paper cup.

“Back here.” Jonathan said getting up, Karl walking over “You good?”

“Yes, you?” Jonathan only nodding “Good. Can I have a word with ocean eyes over there?” Karl asked pointing at Lachlan.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” But despite Jonathan’s words, Lachlan still got up, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Sure, where at?” Jonathan looking at him like he had just his mind.

“A bit further down the road.” Lachlan gesturing for him to lead the way, patting Jonathan on the back. Getting out of ear shot, Karl looked over at Jonathan who was ready to sprint towards them, Lachlan crossing his arms over his chest “Look man, I don’t know you, but I also don’t want this to be a problem.”

“This? You and me? Me and him? What are you getting at exactly?”

Karl’s eyes went directly to Lachlan’s face when he asked about himself and Jonathan, but he chose to go about it another way “He obviously cares about you, but we’re here to enjoy ourselves. I’ve never seen him like last night…”

“And that has nothing to do with you. I appreciate the concern you have for him, but he can handle himself. As far as I’m concerned, I’m none of your business. So let’s enjoy yourselves as you said and not make this a big deal.” Nodding since he knew he made his point, Lachlan smiled.

“I’m sorry but how long have you known him?”

“That has nothing to do with anything. So, let’s shake hands, for his sake and pretend we can get by a few days.” Lachlan added extending his hand, Karl reluctantly shaking it “Brilliant. First beer’s on me.” Walking away, he turned around suddenly “Oh and thank you for today. We’ll make good use of it.” Karl looking positively confused “I’m certain you’ll manage the tent without him. Smashing idea.” Laughing, he turned to look at Jonathan, him giving him a puzzled look.

“All good?”

“Yes, we have all day to our own, no need to work today. Show me around, let’s have some fun.” Circling his arm around his neck, he pulled him back to the tent so they could finish their coffees and breakfast before going on to enjoy their days.

“What did you even tell him?”

“Nothing much, don’t worry about him. He needs to relax a bit.” But Jonathan still noticed the small frown between his brows.

But if it was one thing Jonathan didn’t want to do was argue. And a day with just him and Lachlan lounging about, having fun with the different activities, checking out stalls, dancing, taking photos, that sounded divine in his mind so he went with it.

He allowed for him to choose his drinks, but by the time the concerts started and more music was blasting around them, the ground shaking underneath their feet from the bass, Jonathan was tipsy to say the least. Leaning against Lachlan, his head bobbed against his “You got me drunk.” He laughed, something he would often do when too much alcohol was involved “And I need food. Snacks, particularly snacks.”

Once that was out of the way and the haze somewhat subsiding, they sat together in the lounging area, enjoying a beer “I missed this.” Jonathan admitted, Lachlan turning his head to look at him “Us. I was so used to being with you on a daily basis that last year felt so wrong.”

“You got to travel, have fun. We did get to see each other too, but things change, people do too.”

Slightly slurring his words, Jonathan admitted “I miss you. And I did lie.” He pointed to the bird tattoo “It doesn’t stand for freedom or the bullshit I said. It’s a reminder of our date.”

“I know.” Lachlan admitted quietly, letting out a small chuckle “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that nervous before.” Both of them laughing as they remembered their date “I like you like this, more confident, sure of yourself.”

“Not there yet, not as much as I would like to be. Hopefully soon.”

Sitting up, supporting his weight on his elbow, Lachlan asked “What’s missing?”

“Accepting” he lifted a finger “Admitting fully” he counted another “Being honest to people who deserve it.”

“Aren’t you all those things? Because from where I’m standing you are.”

Scoffing, the back of his hand gently smacked Lachlan’s chest “Neah, far from it. Been running from a lot ever since I can remember.” Lachlan pointing a finger at himself, Jonathan’s eyes widening “No, God, not you. I can’t imagine the world without you in it.”

“Good.” He smiled, tipping his beer against Jonathan’s, a soft clank between the bottles echoing between them.

“Lachlan, Jonathan!” Aiden’s voice was heard a few feet away from them, him waving “Are you coming with us to dance?” looking over, Aiden was with a familiar girl from that year’s festival, Karl also next to him, a guy whom none of them knew holding his hand, causing Lachlan to almost scoff.

“You want to go?”

“If you want. If not sitting her with you is fine with me.”

Lifting his eyes, Lachlan yelled across “We’ll pass, see you tomorrow.” Jonathan also waving at them with a goofy smile.

Watching them leave, Lachlan grimaced, Jonathan laughing “Trust me, I don’t really like him that much either, but him and Aiden are good friends. So we tolerate him. He’s not all that bad, not when you get to know him, you can rely on him but he is just a bit too out there.”

“I noticed. Well if he ever bothers you too much, tell me. I can hop on a train and come beat him up for you.”

Laughing, Jonathan shook his head “I’d rather you didn’t end up in a fight because of me. Plus I can hold my own, but I don’t like it when it comes to that.” Looking into Lachlan’s eyes, he asked “Can we not talk about him anymore?”

“Sure thing.” Leaning in, Lachlan smiled “We can do whatever you want.”

#jonathan king #lachlan murray #hpma #harry potter magic awakened

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billconrad · 3 months

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Anger Inspires, Exercise Expands, Sleep Mulls, and Writing Vets

My family has had 1,000 watts of drama over the last months, but I do not wish to share my chaotic details because I am a private person. Umm, truth. I really want to share this mess and would value your input. Alright, alright. You deserve a hint. Borderline Personality Disorder. If you know somebody who suffers from this malady, you know how much destruction it causes.

The drama caused many painful emotions, angry thoughts and serious courses of action. It has caused multiple sleepless nights because my mind would not let the problems go. Anger was chief among my feelings and I was surprised how many great story ideas I developed during my angry thought process. Fortunately, I have learned to have a notepad handy and recorded many ideas, including eight article concepts, an entire chapter for an upcoming book and two short story ideas.

My idea for this article was to share my ideas and evaluate them, but as I looked at the chaos I reordered, it occurred to me that the ideas were not that great. But way? I decided to figure out what was going on.

I have always been a creative person and have had many great ideas over my lifetime. My highest periods of creativity occur when I exercise, go to sleep, and write. The more I thought about these specific activities, the more I realized they inspired different kinds and levels of creativity. Here is what I have learned about myself.

I used to think I got my best inspiration during bike rides and hikes. When I exercise, I let my mind drift while I explore nature and work my muscles. I am sure that during this time, my circulation improves, sweat expels things my body does not need, and my mind works at peak effectiveness. Why? Coordinating one’s feet during a hike or moving the handlebars on terrain is mentally challenging. Yet, this activity does not require pure mental power; it uses muscle memory. I equate this in computer terms when a graphics card does most calculations while the main processor acts like a symphony conductor.

I do not always get new ideas during my exercise, but I do think about many topics. Going along the trail is a perfect setting to identify, explore, and solve problems. Now, I save up problems for when I exercise and have found many great solutions. Yet my new article/plot ideas are unfocused (lofty), and only 30% are suitable for being written up.

Right before I go to sleep, I always think about my stories. This includes reviewing the plot, imagining the characters in situations, and devising book marketing solutions. I have concluded that my creative output is poor during this time.

Yet pre-sleep provides the perfect environment for getting comfortable with my plots and characters. This time allows me to develop details, connect ideas, and take pride in my creation. The result of my effort shines when I use my outline to write the story. I occasionally solve problems or develop something new, but it is rare. Also, as I am falling asleep, I often forget to record my ideas.

When I write, my creativity is cold and direct. My core focus is to evaluate the present sentence and, once satisfied, create the next. When I get stuck, I briefly distract myself or change locations to joggle my creativity. While writing or editing, I rarely get big ideas or solve big problems. Instead, I focus on grammar, flow, motive, and logic. Still, it feels good when I fix a flaw or have a creative moment.

To further define this time, I have an example. If a person asked me to sit down and write a story about unicorns, I would be lost. I might be able to develop a unicorn story during a bike ride, but it would not be significant. Yet, I know when I could think up a fantastic story about unicorns.

When I get angry, my creative output is raw and never-ending. I am sure the adrenaline is pumping through my veins, and my fight-or-flight mechanism is at full power. The result is a nuclear cluster bomb of thoughts, ideas, courses of action, and feelings.

When I calm down and evaluate my creations, I find them out of the box, illogical, uncompromising, and wacky. I estimate that 20% of this mess is helpful. Yet, the few gems certainly qualify as creative.

Of course, there is a problem with anger-inspired ideas. Being upset is not desirable, and I certainly do not wish to get angry for the intent of writing. Yet… I value this time, and when I am not angrily thinking about my core issue, I use this time to develop story ideas.

This article vetted many issues. I now know what to expect when I think about problems. I also know creativity is complex and inconsistent. Hey, that’s a creative conclusion.

You’re the best -Bill

July 03, 2024

Hey, book lovers, I published four. Please check them out:

Interviewing Immortality. A dramatic first-person psychological thriller that weaves a tale of intrigue, suspense, and self-confrontation.

Pushed to the Edge of Survival. A drama, romance, and science fiction story about two unlikely people surviving a shipwreck and living with the consequences.

Cable Ties. A slow-burn political thriller that reflects the realities of modern intelligence, law enforcement, department cooperation, and international politics.

Saving Immortality. Continuing in the first-person psychological thriller genre, James Kimble searches for his former captor to answer his life’s questions.

These books are available in softcover on Amazon and in eBook format everywhere.

#writing #ideas #creativity #life

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sparklingchim · 2 years

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hi!!! for the lwh drabbles I'd die happy after seeing just some fluffy slice of life between mc, jk, and baby nabi 🥺🥺🥺🥺 or maybe jealous jk (my actual kryptonite) thank you queen and lwh is the best ever!! you're so so talented 🥰🥰🥰

"When do you think she'll say her first word?"

You look at Nabi, pondering for a while. "I'd say like, when she's eight months old?"

Jungkook gasps, mock offense lingering in his voice as he says, "Really?"

"I mean, isn't that like a normal age for the first word?"

"Yeah, but-" He settles his gaze back on Nabi, who's sitting on his lap. He has planted his feet up on the couch to have his legs directly behind her so that she can lean her back on his thighs. "I bet she is one of those super babies who start talking pretty quicker than the average age." He squishes her doughy cheeks with his fingers. "Isn't that right, baby?"

"You're a goof," you say and watch Nabi squeak in delight as Jungkook continues to play with her cheeks.

"I bet Nabi's gonna say her first word at 6 months," Jungkook proclaims.

"That's a month away."

"Nabi is a smart baby," he says. Jungkook leans closer to her and Nabi starts giggling. An automatic smile curls around both your lips. "Say da-da." But Nabi just raises her hand, aiming it at his face. "Come one, baby. Da-da. The one you love to wake up at night with your crying."

But Nabi's having none of that. Her tiny fingers find his piercing and she's immediately absorbed in playing with the metallic ring around Jungkook's bottom lip.

Suddenly, Jungkook's phone lights up beside him.

"Mhm?" he mumbles as he glances at his screen. He got a text message from an unknown number.

You sneak a peek at his phone. "Just ignore that. It's a guy I was with last night."

"Haven't gotten these kinda messages for a while." Jungkook opens the chat and immediately blocks the guy. His list of blocked people consists of random dudes you gave Jungkook's numbers to.

Jungkook can't recall when, but a few years ago you had complained about a guy who you had met in a club. He persistently tried to get your number and because he was extremely annoying and couldn't take no for an answer, you gave in. Which resulted in him constantly calling you and bombarding your phone with texts. So naturally, Jungkook said, "Just give assholes like that my number. I'll deal with them."

And from then on, you started giving Jungkook's phone number to every man you didn't want to encounter again.

But he's not complaining. There's something oddly satisfying about knowing that at the end of the night, when you're hooking up with someone, it's not your number you recite to those guys. (Though he has to admit, he finds himself cringing at the dirty texts those men sent sometimes.)

He used to actually answer the calls and tell the desperate men to fuck off, but now Jungkook doesn't bother anymore and blocks them right away.

"Well, it's been a while since I've been with anyone."

"And I thought you were finally only giving decent dudes chances."

You blink, taking full offense. "I am only spending time with decent dudes."

"Then why am I the one receiving all the booty calls from the guys you hooked up with?"

You try to hide your embarrassment by scooting closer to him and pressing your cheek into his shoulder.

"For the record, the guy who just texted you was actually decent." You hug his arm with your hands. "He was tall, had tattoos and had a well groomed look. Oh, and he smelled really good!"

"So?" he asks, jerking his shoulder forward to make your head move and get the answer to his question. "Why am I the one who gets complimented on how good my lips felt?"

Your eyes bug out. "Did he actually-" You try to grab his phone but Jungkook stops you by lacing his fingers through yours. When you hear him chuckling you know he was trying to make fun of you. "Stop saying stuff like that," you grumble.

"Answer my question," he nags.

"I don't know," you sigh. "He was good but...didn't make me cum."

"And that's what you call a decent guy?"

"At least he tried to!" you defend.

Jungkook arches his pierced brow. "That's like, the bare minimum."

You let go of his hand and pat Nabi's arm. She babbles something with a frown on her face.

Jungkook had more questions lined up at the tip of his tongue but honestly, he had enough of imagining you in bed with an incompetent douchebag.

"Don't worry. I'm a big girl. I know how to take care of myself," you tell him. You feel the hot gaze of Jungkook on you, so you crane your neck to look up at him. "What?"

"I've never made a woman not cum."

"Uh, that's great. Never doubted that you're one of those incapable men."

"No, I mean-" He looks down between your legs and then up to your eyes again.

You lean back and flick his forehead with your fingers. "Ew. You've got a girlfriend."

"Oh my God, she's not my girlfriend."

"Whatever you say looser." You roll your eyes. "Can we watch something now?" you ask, pointing your chin at the TV. You try to change the topic cause...the conversation was taking a weird direction.

"Gotta feed her first," Jungkook says, holding Nabi against his chest as he gets up from the couch.

"Noo, I wanna do that." You get up as well, your arms reaching for Nabi.

Jungkook carefully transfers Nabi into your hold. When you look down at her she has a little smile on her lips, gurgling happily. "Then I'll pick the movie," Jungkook announce as he grabs the remote.

You grumble in defeat. Jungkook's gonna pick an action movie and you'll be bored for most of the time.

"Fine," you say, turning on your heels as you saunter into the kitchen and away from the marginally strange tension caused by Jungkook's peculiar glances at you.

#this takes place after chapter 2 !!#darly asks #anon #fic: long way home #long way home drabble #not proofread yet cos im tired n will sleep now <3 #jungkook fic #dilf jungkook

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my-reality-my-rules · 2 years

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How to make peace with failures i don't understand, every time when i don't shift ,i feel like dude that's fake people tell you fake stories and no one has ever shifted

[thanks for this ask!]

before i say anything else, i want you to know that what you're currently feeling is incredibly valid. i don't think i can stress how important this actually is. people make jokes about not being able to shift yet all the time, but it's really a sad thing—something that i admire your tenacity for, but a heavy burden nonetheless.

don't undersell the weight that it puts on you. when i started my shifting journey, there are times where shifting started to look less like something to enjoy, and more like a chore. that failure to shift (especially to fandom shifters) takes a toll because there's that underlying thought of When is it my turn? and Why can't I have that?.

it leaves a bitter taste, doesn't it?

I'm not saying this to mock anyone, but because i know how it feels. my eight months are nothing compared to, say, those who have been at it for nigh two or three years. but the wait, the anticipation, and the constant longing is the same.

i don't know what to say to make anyone feel better, because at the end of the day someone or no one at all could follow what i say. but, if there's one piece of advice i could give, it's to find victory where it counts.

things haven't been going well in my CR, lately. ya girl got rejected from two uni's :'DD and one of the teachers i contacted for a recommendation isn't replying at all. i didn't attend my batch's graduation ball and one of my dogs passed away. I'm in my room, crying and reading fanfiction, listening to bo burnham on loop as my parents go on about 'the future you would have, you useless child-'.

it's that feeling of being left behind in PE all over again: the last person to run, the weakest link, or the heavy weight on a team.

and in shifting, it's being made to watch as people find happiness in their lives, while you're rooted in one spot, seemingly indefinitely. it's being hungry but not having enough money for food, and seeing someone else eat what you wanted to buy. it's noticing how the popular kids at your school laugh freely and carelessly, while you're being shoved or ignored.

and on most nights, it's as if your best isn't good enough.

I'd like to think that every world always finds a balance. maybe it's a result of bad choices, and we're facing the consequences. maybe it's the calm before the storm. maybe it's the jump before the fall.

one thing stays the same: they all happen, eventually. and as things slot into place, you'll realise that they're meant to be there. maybe it's chance, but it would make sense one day, and you might even be able to laugh and smile about it.

- - -

(1) separate the failure from your identity.

they do shape you to be the person you become, but you are not defined by them. that you're not shifting to your DR right now does not mean that you aren't a shifter, or shifting at all. you keep on going, even if it hurts, because that's the price of happiness, and the gift of failure: you build your identity on your journey.

(2) overcome your fear of failure.

it is natural. rome burned in one day, odysseus waited for a decade to return home, and lincoln was defeated in the elections four times. this implies that even the best things or people in life were not always so great. it's cliché, and perhaps over-romanticised; but failure does not equate an end—it's a stepping stone. you'll face setbacks, you'll find humiliation, you'll get criticism. and it's called life. it's how things are, and the first step in overcoming failure is to accept that it occurs even to the best of us.

(3) humble yourself.

no, don't take this the wrong way. failure can be what humbles you, what makes you feel horrible about feeling good. at the same time, there's a difference between pride and self-respect. you don't make peace with failure by ignoring your own body's call for help, or by endlessly consuming guilty pleasures. some people have it easy, and some others have to work for it. it's how it is, unfortunate as it sounds, but that isn't a cause for being idle and letting yourself stagnate.

#currently listening to 'look who's inside again'#my only inspo atm #punching the air rn #shifting #shifting realities #reality shifting #desired reality #shift #Esther's shifting posts

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amjustagirl · 3 years

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when the sun loves the moon: chapter 8

chapters: one.~ two.~ three.~ four.~ five.~ six.~ seven.~ eight.~

pairing: bokuto koutaro x f! reader genre: romance, fluff warnings: one (1) non-explicit bedroom scene wc: 5.8k

It’s long past dawn when you wake.

Morning light streams through the gap in the curtains, drizzles in like honey, comforting like a warm cup of tea. Your body reacts before your mind, tensing up as you recall the events of last night until your brain kicks in, reminding your feral self to breathe, to trust. It goes against every instinct you have, learnt from flailing against bullies in the sandbox to shooting retorts from the hip like a revolver, your words your bullets against cocky boys in university, at work.

No one’s ever been on your team. Well except your mum, and you thought Kou was (he wasn’t, for a while) though now he swears on everything he has that he’s on yours (and always will be).

You’re undecided whether to trust him.

You peel away the blankets, getting up to brush your teeth, cleaning your molars, incisors, readying them for an inevitable battle before you splash water on your face. Shadows streaked beneath puffy eyes, you try to smear them away. It doesn’t work. You’re a wreck.

It’s unfair that Bokuto, on the other hand, looks far from a wreck. He grins at you, straight white teeth, dazzling smile.

“Good morning, baby!”

You croak back an approximation of a good morning to you, too. He doesn’t look put out by your lack of enthusiasm, sits on the bottom of the bed, feet kicking out, heels bouncing against the carpeted floor. He looks too excited, it’s too early for this, you’re barely awake, your heart still feeling as if you shoved it into the dishwasher and then the dryer for good measure –

“I fixed the problem, baby!”

He says it as if he’s fixed some household appliance, not some relationship-ending obstacle that’s larger than both of you combined. But he’s grinning, white teeth straight, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he beckons you over.

You stay by the toilet sink, clutching it for dear life.

“You fixed the problem”, you echo. Your brain a blank slate now, nothing’s whirring. It staggers to a stop. “I – what. How.”

“I told the world the truth”, he says simply, as if honesty is the answer to every problem.

“It can’t be as simple as – wait. What?!” His words finally hit you like a runaway bullet train, leaving you flat on the tracks.

“Bokuto Koutaro –“ you ground out.

“Don’t say my full name like that, you sound like my mum –“

“What. Did. You. Do?!”

It turns out that for all Ono-san’s flaws, he’s managed to turn Bokuto Koutaro into someone – something, a product that’s appealing to a wide audience, a golden boy to everyone – not just to you. Mr. Popular indeed, and Kou plays that up unknowingly with his good nature and boyish good looks. The world loves him even as it hates you, and he harnesses it to his advantage.

The result?

An Instagram story, roughly thirty minutes long, shot in Shoyo’s room while you were sound asleep.

He starts by thanking everyone for their support, the V-league trophy shining in his hand as congratulations roll in from his fans. Then he sighs, and when someone takes the bait, asking him why he seems so down despite the glorious victory the night before, he whispers that he’s got a secret to share, and with a too-wide smile, declares that he’s madly in love, though he refuses to say with who.

You’re about to karate chop him across the back of his head because that’s exactly what you were afraid about but then the video diverts your attention, as his recorded self begins to lament about mean comments on fan websites, taking care to refer to the names of said sites, before entreating his fans, his supporters to be kind, to be good and bowing his head to ask them to be happy for him.

You flick to the offending fan sites. The comment threads have exploded, the cavalry activated, and most of the rude comments have been quashed to a measly corner, everyone defending your right to privacy, your right to decency and respect. This is – this is so weird and you’re not sure that what’s on the screen is real because you’ve only known the world to be cruel, the world to be unkind.

You’re wrong after all.

“I’m on your team”, Kou murmurs, breaking you from your state of near hysteria. “Me and Shoyo and ‘Tsumu – he said Kaiyo helped, and Omi and Meian – all of us. They helped me with what to say, Shoyo helped shoot it and – and I hope you’re okay with it.”

Your stomach rumbles, the one organ that’s still operating amidst all this turmoil.

“Kou”, you say. “Would you like to grab brunch with my mom?”

Your mum replies so quickly to your text that you half suspect her thumb was just glued to the screen, and her head is outside the door when the lift door slides open and you and Kou walk towards your childhood home. You can see her itching to pinch his cheeks, but restrains herself when you shoot her a warning look.

“Hello auntie”, he chirps. “Sorry I’m here empty handed - ”

“Not at all! Come in, come in. You must be hungry after all that excitement last night”.

She bustles him in, leaving you outside still struggling with your shoes. You sulk, crossing your arms. She’s obviously already chosen her favourite, offering him a mountain of french toast drizzled with honey that would make his nutritionist weep, but he thanks her sweetly and fills his plate, calls her auntie when she insists.

“Do I get any breakfast at all”, you grouse. “Me - y’know? Your daughter. The fruit of your womb, your own kid - not the first guy I bring home.”

Bokuto perks up. If he had a tail, it’d have wagged itself off his bottom by now. “Eh - eh? You mean I’m the first guy you’ve ever brought home?”

He’s looking at you with those googly, sparkly eyes that makes you want to melt but you are not going to do so in front of your mom. “Maybe”, you say gruffly, swallowing your share of french toast. “Ma, don’t - where was I supposed to find time in school or during work to date?!”

“It’s okay, at least you finally brought this lovely boy back.” She reaches out, pinches his cheek like you know she’s been itching to the minute Kou walked into the apartment. Bokuto grins at her good-naturedly, taking his cheek pinching in stride, accustomed to it by the grace of having two older sisters and a bevy of aunts.

“I’ll try my best to make sure I’m the only boy you bring back”, he tells you and you can just see your mother swoon. You’d very much like to join her in said swoon but you can’t, so you just slip your hand into his under the kitchen table, and squeeze it tightly. Then you have to let go immediately to stop your mom from whipping out all the accursed baby photos -

“Mom! No one needs to see that - “

“Look, wasn’t she such a cute baby? She never wanted to wear clothes, just used to run around the house without pants -”

“You seriously don’t need to embarrass me, mum - ”

“She was always so fierce, even when she was just a toddler, she would pee on anyone that she didn’t like - “

“Right, okay mum that’s enough - “

“Auntie, can I see more please?”

“Bo, please don’t encourage her - “

“Baby, baby, I’m your Kou -”

“Not anymore, you’re not.”

He pouts until your mother offers him another plate of french toast, perking up when she whispers the magic word bacon, and the minute your back is turned to put your plate in the sink, they’re exchanging numbers.

“You don’t need to get her number, she’s embarrassed me enough”, you complain half heartedly after you finally manage to extract yourself from your mother’s clutches, though she sends you off with a tupperware full of leftovers and a stage whispered - “hold on tight to this one and ask him next time whether I can squeeze his biceps, they’re the size of my face” to which you hissed “you have his number, ask your weird questions yourself!” - that Bokuto gamely pretended to not overhear.

“I like your mum!” he says later. “She’s great!”

“She is”, you admit. “Despite her propensity for embarrassing me -”

“The baby photos were really cute by the way”, he laughs.

You roll your eyes. “Both of you are just gonna ruin my reputation but yes, that notwithstanding - she’s an amazing mum.” You kick a stray pebble that committed the grave sin of being in your way. “I don’t know how she managed to do it all herself when dad walked out on us, holding a job to pay the bills while making sure I turned out somewhat okay. I guess that’s why we’re so close - cos it’s always been just me and her against the world.”

“Not anymore”, he says, stopping you in your tracks by leaning his head heavily on your shoulder, pulling you into his broad chest.

“Kou - what are you doing! Wait - oi! Don’t do this in public!”

He doesn’t let go of you despite your protests.

“It’s not just you and your mum against the world anymore. I’m gonna show you that I’m on your team too.”

You scrabble against his bicep that’s caging you into his form (your mum is right, his biceps are indeed magnificent but you’re never telling her that), twisting until you meet his gaze, face to face.

“You - You’re amazing too, did I tell you that? This morning was - I don’t - I don’t know how to thank you.”

(for standing up for me. for teaching me that there’s kindness in the world for me too)

He blushes bright pink at your praise, hiding his heated cheeks in your hair. “You don’t have to thank me. I love you so much, baby”, he noses through your hair to press his lips to your forehead. “Wanna make sure you and the whole world knows it.”

“I think they already do”, you chuckle lightly, swaying in his embrace. “I guess it’s my turn to let the world I love you too.”

When Bokuto says he wants the whole world to know he loves you, he really means to shout it from the top of every rooftop in Osaka and tell everyone on the street who’d bother to listen to him. He follows up the first instagram story with another, more detailed rendition of the threats you both received, the nasty comments, the script written with the help of Ono-san and Kuroo. It’s a hit, garnering so much sympathy and support for your relationship that he has to later plead with his fans not to go after the maker of said threats (you and he both agreed that Yuki’s just a child, she doesn’t deserve to go through trial by fire with an angry mob).

Finally convinced, you allow him to post a photo of you on his Instagram.

'I'm on her team' he captions it simply. Both the Internet and your mother swoons.

The rest of the season passes with little incident, though for some reason (Kuroo and Kenma are behind it, you’re sure), Bokuto’s schedule fills up with interviews with the rest of the Jackals (Omi tries to tap out by pretending he has a cold, but gets pulled back in anyway) and the questions are designed specifically to allow him to ramble on and on about you.

It’s some silly game where each of the participants have to either answer the question they draw from a jar (rigged, you’re sure) or eat some ghost pepper (you sure hope there’s a vat of milk backstage) when Bokuto’s asked to spill a secret that the world doesn’t know.

“I’m in love”, he chirps. “Does that count?”

(your sweet, sunshine boy)

Miya Atsumu scoffs. “As if the world doesn’t already know that.”

“You’re one to talk when you spend all your time talking about your wife and kids like a fishmonger in the wet market -”

“You’re such a kill-joy, Omi-kun - you should talk about your darling Azumi-chan, light of your life, the only one who can make this grump actually smile - ”

“I’m going to kill you with the help of Kaiyo, you watch your back tonight -”

“My darling wife would never hurt me -”

“I’ll bribe your twin to poison your food -

The interviewer smiles indulgently at them all. Probably sedated with horse tranquiliser or something, because most interviewers would have fled from this clown house by now. “Congratulations, Bokuto-kun. I’m sure our viewers are very happy for you!”

He bounces in his seat, enthusiasm beading from every pore. “Yeah - she’s the best! Patient and so smart and funny and brave and fierce -”

“Is marriage on the cards for you soon?” the interviewer cuts in.

Bokuto leans his elbow on Atsumu’s shoulder to prop up his chin, a dreamy expression on his face.

“Marriage...” he trails off.

Atsumu reaches around to snap his fingers at him. “Earth to Bo-kun - yeah y’know marriage? That thing you do with the ring - “

Sakusa scowls, still sore from bickering with Atsumu. “From what I understand from Kaiyo, you didn’t even propose with a ring, just rocked up at her door after you knocked her up - “

Bokuto pays the squabbling duo no mind, rockets right off his chair, back ramrod straight. The interviewer makes a discreet motion to the cameraman to capture every movement of the irrepressible man.

“I need to get a ring! Tsum-tsum, d’you think Kaiyo would have any recommendations?”

“Good that you’re asking Kaiyo, she’s probably the only Miya who can be trusted, not this damn idiot -”

Atsumu hollers, shoving Bokuto off to scrabble at Sakusa’s chair. “Oi! Who’re ya callin’ an idiot!!”

Kenma sighs, eyeing the exasperated PR managers who’re attempting to get Bokuto to sit back down. “That’s another part of the interview that we’ll need to edit out.”

Kuroo just smirks over his clipboard. He’s enjoying this far too much. “We could always do a blooper reel. Makes for great entertainment!”

Despite Kenma’s practised slouch of nonchalance, they both crowd into your office to show you the video. “I actually have work to do, unlike some of you”, you inform Kuroo sourly when he sprawls on your desk.

“You’ll thank me after watching this video of the love of your life - it’s gonna go viral.” He sing songs, batting your hand away when you try to shove him off your papers, shoving the phone in your face instead.

Your face feels like it’s been baked by the sun by the time the video ends.

“I’ve said before there’s a desk in our Osaka office that could have your name on it.” Kenma says, expression deceptively neutral. “If you want.”

“If you wait a week more before you move to Osaka, I’ll win the bet with Kenma”, Kuroo whispers.

That - even though you spit your outrage whilst he swears he’ll split the prize with you, that motivates you out of spite to move that very weekend back to Osaka, luggage in tow, without a place to stay. Your mother sends you off with her love and a tupperware full of homemade miso that you’re apparently meant to make something edible for ‘that lovely boy that I’ll hopefully call my son someday’ - to which you replied “mum, you know he’s the better cook”, ignoring the fact that she clearly saw that damn video and a bullet train ride later, you find yourself on Bokuto’s doorstep at exactly eleven o’clock on Saturday night.

You ring the doorbell and after two minutes of waiting, you debate the wisdom of trying to surprise your boyfriend who’s known to sleep very soundly after a long day of practice (he drools, he snores, but you still love him so) and consider whether your arms can withstand lugging all your bags to a hotel for the night when the door swings open.

Bokuto, all sculpted biceps and carved thighs stares down at you, mouth agape, towel wrapped loosely around his waist.

“Surprise?” You say feebly. His biceps are indeed magnificent.

“Baby”, he breathes, blinking. “What are you doing here? I thought you were only visiting me next week? Not that it’s a bad surprise - it’s a good surprise! I’m just - I thought - ”

“I moved back to Osaka”, you interrupt. He continues to stare at you.

You’re sweaty even though it’s freezing tonight, your arms ache, you had to shove your way through a whole bunch of tourists with too-large cameras and too-slow a stride to make your way to your boyfriend’s apartment, and you’d really not like to get him arrested for public indecency because if that towel slips any lower, someone is going to call the police -

(the police should also arrest you, because your thoughts are also exceedingly indecent and immoral and not same for public consumption)

“If it’s not a good time, I can go find a hotel - “

“No!” At that, he finally springs into action, collecting all your bags up effortlessly, lifting them with one arm. Is that how he trains his biceps to look that good?

“Come in - you can stay, I just - it’s a good surprise baby - ”

Your tupperware of miso teleports itself into the fridge and your luggage finds itself piled in a corner of the living room. The cacti in the balcony sway, waving at you - welcome back. The moon is round and full, placid, implacable. You wonder if she envies you tonight.

“I won’t be here long”, you tell him. “I’ll move out once I find an apartment to rent -”

“Don’t!” he exclaims, spinning around so fast he nearly spills the tea that he’s brewing for you. “Move in with me, baby - I’m a good housemate, I’ll cook, I’ll clean - I’ll go get your favourite set of sheets right now so we can change the bed - ”

“Okay, okay”, you laugh, at his boyish enthusiasm, and he prances over to your seat, crowding you against the dining table, punctuating your breath with kisses until the tea grows cold “But there’s really no need to change the sheets - they’re fine as they are now.”

“Are they?” He backs you against the counter, a predatory gleam in his eye.

You find that it’s a good thing he had the forethought to take out fresh sheets, because he follows you into the shower even though his towel is still damp and well -

“I guess we really do need new sheets”, you pant, as he noses at you, running large, warm palms over your marked back, making sure you’re not dead yet (though you will be if he goes another round which from the look of things, might be possible - help).

“I’ll carry you if you can’t walk tomorrow”, he grins wolfishly, pulling you back in his lap, gearing up for the next round of the night.

It’s been exactly seventy three days since you’ve moved in, your clothes snugly tucked into the wardrobe beside his, the box of miso you brought with you washed and empty, its contents used up in countless stir fries and soups that he prepares for dinner and bento boxes for you to bring to work. You’ve added a couple of leafy friends to his menagerie of cacti, there’s an extra desk you’ve set up for your work, and he’s never thought his apartment could look more welcoming, could feel more like home.

He knows he’s impulsive, he knows he’s been described as over-eager, but when he passes a tiny jewelry shop run by an smiling obaa-san that reminds him of your mother, when his eye is drawn towards a silver platinum ring with pearls inlaid - delicate yet so strong, just like you. He knows it’s the one. So he buys it on the spot, brings it home, tucks it in his sock drawer that only he digs into, because it’s a mess undecipherable to you, and all that’s left to do is to ask.

Easier said than done.

“Will you marry me?”

“Absolutely not.”

Atsumu looks up from his phone, scrolling through the never-ending treasure trove of pictures of his family. “Try that again, with more feeling this time.”

Bokuto huffs, knees aching from the cold floor. “I put plenty of feeling into that!”

“For once, I agree with Miya”, Omi pipes up, leaning against the lockers. “You just sound constipated.”

“I’m just nervous”, Bokuto whines. “What if she says no?”

“She’s not gonna say no!” Shoyo fans him with a towel that seems suspiciously like Kiyoomi’s (Hinata, get your dirty mitts off my face towel or I’ll send that video of yours to Kageyama), his most ardent supporter til the end.

“But what if she does - ”

“She’s put up with you for so long, do you seriously think she’s going to say no?”

Bokuto gasps, hand pressed to heart. “Omi-omi - I knew you were my friend -”

“ - I regret ever saying that.” Kiyoomi snaps his locker shut and proceeds to seek refuge in the toilet. It’s quieter there.

Akaashi just looks at him when he asks if he can practice his proposal, his eyebrow doing that weird scrunch thing it does as if it’s trying to imitate a caterpillar wriggling out of its cocoon in spring. Kuroo whips out his camera, and when he guffaws please, go right ahead, there are far too many red flags to ignore and he rather not give Kuroo blackmail material on a silver platter.

Kenma doesn’t even pick up his call. Neither does Tsukishima.

By the time the first match of the season rolls around, the ring has been sitting in its box for a month. He keeps putting the proposal off because - one, he hasn’t practised proposing enough yet, and two, he hasn’t found the perfect yakiniku place to pop the question yet, and three -

You might say no. Oh gods, he really hopes you don’t.

So when the microphone is in his hand after the first win of the season (because he managed to score the most points in the match, and his teammates shoved him right in front), he really doesn’t know what possesses him to respond to a question about what he’s hoping to achieve this season. The correct answer is to say - to win the V-league championship trophy again, but for some reason his tongue betrays him, and forgets years of PR training and conditioning in one fell swoop.

“I wanna get married”, he says, and the interviewer reels back, hell, the entire arena shudders, but everyone stays silent from shock.

Shoyo is probably the only one who reacts, the wings in his heels allowing him to sprint to his bag, emerge with the velvet box. He passes it to him wordlessly as the interviewer finally comes to his senses.

“Bokuto-senshu”, he clears his throat. “Do you have good news to share with all of us?”

“I hope so”, he says, before clutching the box and dashing towards the stands where you sit, flanked by Kaiyo and Yua. They part like the sea and he falls forward on one knee.

“Hi baby”, he says.

You sweep his sweaty hair from his forehead, with a gentle, warm hand, and your smile shines brighter than anything in the sky. “Hi Kou. You have a question for me?”

“Yeah”, he replies, a grin already growing on his face, stupid and loud and earnest.

“Go on then”, you urge, and he has to resist the urge to lunge at you, cover you with kisses.

“I wanna be on your team forever”, he says, snapping the box open. Then for good measure, because he has manners, knows how to be polite, he adds -

“Please?”

His fingers are trembling too much to pick up the ring, so you do it for him, slipping it onto your fourth finger. It catches the light.

“You were always on my team”, you cupping his face to whisper against his lips. “Or to put it more clearly - yes Kou, of course I’ll marry you.”

There’s a roar of approval from the audience when he kisses you to seal the deal, but he doesn’t hear it. The world doesn’t exist when there’s you, there’s you, there’s you -

“I guess we don’t need to announce the engagement since you’ve pretty much declared it to the world”, you remark when he has to come up for air.

He looks around.

The coach looks amused. Shoyo’s tearing up, sobbing into his towel. Omi’s mouth is doing the weird thing where he tries to pretend he’s not smiling but he really is. Atsumu is leading the rest of his teammates in hollering and hooting at the two of you. Kuroo gives a little wave from a seat to the left, camera out and filming the whole thing. Akaashi’s gonna flip ‘cos he couldn’t make it today, and so missed the event, Tsukishima’s gonna snark that he’s glad he did.

“Let’s give them even more to talk about”, he says, pulling you in for yet another hungry kiss that’s probably not appropriate for public consumption, but he’s done hiding his love for you, clinging onto you until Ono-san comes over, apologetically pulling him away.

He backflips and whoops when he’s back with his team, stares longingly at where you’re seated and before he leaves the building, the entire proposal goes viral, and congratulations start pouring in from family, friends and fans. Your mother and mother in law are united in their horror when you tell them flippantly that you wouldn’t mind eloping next week, Bokuto nodding his head happily behind you, imagining a future where he gets to call you his wife – that has a nice ring to it –

“You need to have a wedding!” your mother gasps, and your mother in law starts recounting the number of people they do need to invite (the Bokuto clan is fairly large) and they both volunteer to plan your wedding jointly since neither you nor Bokuto can be trusted.

“Fine”, you shrug. “But if it gets overboard, we’re gonna go to the nearest Shinto shrine, sign the papers and elope.”

Bokuto perks up. “Ooh – can we go for yakiniku after?”

You do in fact run away from the stuffy wedding banquet held in a hotel that’s far too grand with chandeliers and wait staff in waistcoats once all the toasts are done, holing up in Bokuto’s favourite yakiniku place in Tokyo with your closest friends – the MSBY boys, the Fukurodani team, Akaashi, Kuroo, Kenma, even Tsukishima cracks a smile, that old grump and the night doesn’t end until everyone’s stuffed to the gills with barbequed meat and overflowing with beer.

“We’re married”, he says, ring clinking against his glass mug when he finds you, hidden in a corner booth, resting from the excitement of the festivities of the day. Your shoes are off, the train of your gown tucked underneath you, makeup smeared from laughing and crying but he thinks you’re the most beautiful person in the world, nay - in the entire universe.

“We are”, you say lightly, scooting over to let him squeeze in next to you. “Do you regret it already?”

He looks at you as if you’ve grown two heads, but then bursts into a grin when he realizes you’re teasing him. “Never”, he vows. “I’m gonna be on your team for life.”

(yellow sunshine lights up the dark, grey earth. your boy, your boy - who’s pure gold, who is your world.)

“It’s a good team to be on.”

His grin softens into a smile that’s too full of love for you. “The very best”, he says simply.

You lean your head against the plane of his shoulder, humming, content. You wonder if the sun and the moon envies you now. You feel sorry for them.

A decade at your job, but you’re still not accustomed to doing interviews.

That’s always been Kou’s thing, even after he hung up his boots and retired from playing professional volleyball, joining the men’s national junior team as an assistant coach. He charms his interviewers and fans alike with quotable responses and boyish enthusiasm, his antics and answers genuine, undeniably him.

You, on the other hand, work in jobs that don’t require you to be the public face of anything – you draft contracts for heaven’s sake, there’s nothing interesting about that. But when Kenma drops you a call and has the courtesy to ask if you’d mind being interviewed by some business magazine for their cover on young and upcoming female legal counsels, you say yes anyway because well – he’s always been a good boss and hardly asks you for much, so what’s this to you.

The interviewer’s some young journalism student, freshly hired out of school, and she’s nervous, asking you about your career trajectory, the difficulties of working in a male-dominated field, the challenges you’ve faced along the way. You provide her with neat, colourless responses that wouldn’t get either you or Kenma in trouble, though you stare at her with enough contempt to make rattlesnakes flee when she asks about your husband, your Kou.

“Do you ask the professional men you interview about their wives?” you bite, voice chilling enough to freeze her blood.

“N-no I – uh – it was one of the questions my boss sent me with – “

You exhale a sigh, gaze softening as she backtracks, pen clutched in her arm, clearly panicking.

“It’s tiring sometimes y’know? To always have people wondering whether I got my job because of who my husband knows, or to explain to people that no my husband doesn’t mind that I kept my job even after marriage and kids because he supports my choices – we’re a team and we support each other. That’s what a marriage is about y’know? My marriage isn’t diametrically opposed to my career.”

Your interviewer’s gaping at you, possibly because it’s the first genuine answer you’ve given her this morning.

“I don’t mean to be rude but um – I think our readers would like to know how you seem to do it all then. You’re married to a former pro athlete, you have three kids under the age of seven and you have a demanding job. How do you manage?”

“I have an understanding boss”, you say dryly, and you’re sure Kuroo’s going to send you and Kenma a barrage of memes that he thinks makes him cool when the interview is published. “But I also have a very understanding husband who thinks the best job in the world is being a dad to our three boys – our home is pretty chaotic most of the time, and when he’s busy with work, we’re lucky enough to have the grandparents step in. They’re always itching to spend more time with our three little monsters. We make a great team – him and I.”

She giggles. “You’re a lucky woman, then.”

Your eyes crinkle at the corners. “I am. I wish everyone is blessed with someone as wonderful as my Kou.”

The door clatters open, sunlight spills in.

“Baby!”

“Though he does have a bad habit of interrupting my work to drag me out for lunch”, you add, and your interviewer laughs again, immediately charmed when Bokuto strides in, baby strapped to his chest, a booming hey hey hey as he greets her. She looks star struck, though it’s only natural you suppose – he still looks incredibly striking, black and white hair still defying gravity, chest broad though his midsection is just a smidge softer (more of him to love, you tell him when he pouts), eyes bright, still pure gold.

“She always skips lunch when she gets too engrossed with work, gotta remind her to eat”, he says in a stage whisper, disarming her with his charm immediately. She looks like she’s about to melt into a puddle when the baby gurgles and he coos, smacks a hearty, wet kiss to his little son’s cheek.

“I won’t keep you then”, the interviewer bows, clutching her notebook and recorder.

“Only if you’ve gotten everything you need from me”, you tell her, frowning, but she waves you off, thanking you for your time before scuttling off like a scared rabbit.

You turn to Bokuto. “Kou, sweetie – “

“I missed you”, he pouts, before holding out Kousuke to you, all of nine months, happily drooling over his papa’s chest. “We missed you and you know if I don’t drag you out for lunch, you’ll sit at your desk and eat or worse, not eat and that’s not healthy –“

“Fine, fine. Let’s go for lunch then”, you take your youngest son in your arms, peppering kisses to his pink cheeks, as he squeals and waves his fist. You look around, expecting to see your older sons. “And – “

“Kouichi has a play-date with Sachiko, remember? Omi’s taking them out to some museum cos he got free tickets, and it’s his day off. And Kouji is off on an excursion with the pre-school to the zoo.”

“So it’s just you, me and the little man here?” Kousuke tries his valiant best to eat his fist, giggles good-naturedly when he fails.

“Just one little monster instead of three”, he laughs and you pinch his cheek.

“Exactly how long were you standing there eavesdropping on me?!”

Bokuto doesn’t seem one bit ashamed, just chuckles low and sweet, pulling both you and the baby into his arms. “I’m just happy you still think I’m wonderful”, he says, smile still full of sunshine and love, even after years of marriage and kids, of sharing a life, of building a home together.

“You are”, you reply.

You’ve known from the time you’ve met him that Bokuto Koutaro’s a good man with a kind heart. Over the years, he’s shown you that there’s goodness in this world – beauty, happiness, kindness, too. You see it in the way he teaches your sons to be good, to be kind themselves without even thinking, reminding them to say hi to that quiet child in their pre-school, because everyone deserves a friend, to wave and say hello to the old lady down the street because she’s lonely, to bring treats to share with their friends.

“You’re the best man I’ve ever known”, you add, your words earnest, true.

“I uh – “, he stumbles a little as little Kousuke squawks before he steadies himself, chuckling down at you. Tears line his lash line like pearls, shining like moonlight.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?”

He says it even though the moon is somewhere on the other side of the world, a running joke between you two to refer to his fumbled first confession of love – but it’s tender, heartfelt, a phrase that you know he now says when his too-big heart is too full of love for you.

You smile back at him, a lesson you’ve learnt from the sun.

“I could die happy”, you say, and then you echo your words to him, said all those years ago. “Or, to put it more clearly – I love you too, Kou.”

m.list.~ taglist.~

a/n: and we’ve come to the end of bo’s tale! i hope you enjoyed it, and if you do, pls do send some love or your thoughts!!! love hearing from you guys <3

#haikyuu angst #haikyuu romance #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #bokuto koutaro #bokuto x you #bokuto x reader #bokuto x y/n #bokuto koutaro x reader #when the sun loves the moon #msby 4

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phr0gie · 4 years

Text

sleep softly, love; genshin impact

synopsis: how i think certain genshin impact characters would fall asleep next to you for the first time :)

note: hihi! so i finally feel like i’m caught up enough in genshin lore that i can start actually writing for it!! yay!! anyways, i’m sorry if my portrayal of them is a lil ooc, i’m still getting used to writing for them. still, i hope you guys enjoy! :D

pairings: xiao x reader, diluc x reader

tw: mentions of nightmares and death in xiao’s, mentions of alcohol and suggestive themes in diluc’s, ooc characters, mostly j fluff, not proof read (oops)

wc: 2k

masterlist

xiao:

the first few times you bring up sleeping next to him he’s probably going to turn you down

you see, xiao doesn’t really need to sleep, nor does he want to

he finds the idea of lying in a comatose state for eight hours in complete darkness to be “weird” and a “waste of time”

and his opinion on the matter doesn’t change for a while

that is, until you confess to him you’ve been having nightmares

these nightmares were like nothing you have ever had before

they shook you to your very core and, rather than the dream just leaving your mind after you woke up, they followed you around for days

once you confide in xiao about these terrors, he grows very concerned

in the past he’s known people who have been plagued with nightmares as a result of a dangerous curse that, more often than not, ended in death

the thought of you, the person he cares about most, succumbing to such a terrible fate frightens him more than anything — not that he’ll ever admit this to you.

and so, reluctantly, xiao agrees to spend the night with you

just this once, to protect you

You roll over to face him and for a moment he panics. To Xiao’s knowledge, couples who slept together often cuddled with each other. While he did occasionally enjoy a few close moments with you, Xiao couldn’t say he was very taken with the idea of physical contact — especially in a situation that left him so vulnerable. To his relief, however, you stay on your side of the bed. Your hand rests on top of your pillow and slowly, almost cautiously you maneuver it so it’s lying a bit closer to Xiao — a silent invitation to hold your hand, is what the adeptus recognizes it as. This gesture was not foreign to him, you did things like this often. You always kept your hand outstretched to him. Even if he were to pull away or turn his back, your hand was still there. You were still there.

“Xiao.”

Your gentle voice catches his attention immediately. As he looks into your eyes all he can see is admiration, his heart clenches at the feeling it gives him.

“Thank you,” you say softly, “for being here for me like this.”

Xiao simply nods his head at you in response.

“Sleep,” he whispers, his tone commanding yet soft, “I will be here when you wake.”

He desperately wants to say more. To let you know that he would always be there for you, that no challenge would ever be too difficult if it was for you, that he would rip the moon from the night sky if it meant that you would rest a little easier. Yet, the kind smile you give him shows that he need not continue. You know he loves you, you have never once doubted it. You are aware of the burden he carries and how it affects him. You know that one day he will be able to share with you the confessions of love and vulnerability that are buried deep inside him. For now, this is enough. He is enough. And so, with a content smile you snuggle even further into your pillow.

“Goodnight, Xiao.” You whisper before finally closing your eyes.

Xiao stares at your resting form for a while. It is not until your breathing evens out and he is sure you are asleep do his eyes flicker from your face to your hand lying closely to him. All of the sudden, an overwhelming urge to hold you in some way overtakes the adeptus. Again, Xiao was not the biggest fan of physical affection, however, something about you looking as peaceful as you do in this moment evokes something from him. And so, he decides to finally accept your invitation. As his palm meets yours in a tight hold — not tight enough to wake you, of course — Xiao allows himself to indulge in the warmth and safety you provide him, just this once.

Neither of you have any nightmares that night.

diluc:

you and diluc are in a fairly new relationship.

having just started seeing each other a few months ago, it’s only natural to not have done anything too domestic quite yet.

not to mention, our ever stoic winery owner is a bit shy when it comes to his affections.

the two of your were every content with your soft, simple touches.

hand-holding, hugging, and subtle kissing kept you both very satisfied.

until you decide to get drunk at dawn winery.

your work has been k i l l i n g you recently

commissions are beginning to pile up, hilichurls have invaded the area you were supposed to scout next, and you couldn’t help but think that you were getting a bit rusty with your weapon.

all and all, you are very stressed out.

you desperately want a chance to relax.

originally, you had planned on just having a drink or two and ranting to your ever so reliable boyfriend.

however, a drink or two turned into three, then four...

before you knew it you couldn’t remember how many you had and it was rather late.

being the gentleman that he is, diluc forces offers you his bed for the night

seeing as you were in no condition to return home on your own, he has no choice.

it’s the responsible decision.

however, he’s still very flustered about the whole ordeal

Dulic thinks you are a handful. Especially right now.

He huffs as he attempts to open his bedroom door one-handed. The other appendage preoccupied with keeping you slumped against his side so that you don’t fall over.

“I knew you shouldn’t have had that last glass of dandelion wine.” He mumbles, gently scolding you.

You simply blink up at him, a bored expression on your flushed face.

“You sayin’ I can’t hold my alcohol?” you hiccup, “I’ll show you…”

You attempt to push off of him, but his hold on you tightens.

“No,” he grunts, “You won’t.”

Finally the door opens and Diluc lets out a sigh of relief. Swiftly he lifts you up — earning a small ‘woah’ and a giggle from you — and carries you over to his bed. He then sets you down and turns to his dresser to get you some clothes to sleep in. He picks out a large, white, long-sleeved undershirt and. Your lips curl into a suggestive smirk and you chuckle.

“Oooh,” you tease, “Master Diluc how bold of you, are you going to dress me?”

The pyro user looks absolutely mortified but you pay no mind to it, too busy laughing and hiccupping at your own joke. A prominent blush grows on Diluc’s face as he shuffles over to you.

“Of course not!” he stutters, dropping the clothing article gently on your head. He then grabs a pile of his own clothes and makes a beeline to the door. Just as he is about to exit he turns to you.

“Wait here,” he instructs, “and try not to fall asleep yet.”

And with that, the Diluc dashes down the hall, presumably leaving you to get changed. You do just that, tugging off your shirt and removing your bottoms. You huff as you lift your boyfriend's shirt up and over your head. As soon as the garment falls over your shoulders and past your knees, you’re hit with the rich scent of chestnuts and mahogany — the scent of Diluc. His undershirt is so baggy and so warm that you cannot help but feel at ease, Diluc always did have a way of making you feel safe — whether it was the hand he always places on the small of your back when he guides you around town or the look in his eyes when he spots you across the room, so sure that you’re the one he’ll always search for. The red-head returns a moment later clad in a dark, short-sleeved undershirt, similar to the one he gave you, and a pair of soft pants. In one hand, Diluc holds a fresh glass of water and in the other a pillow that seems to be smaller than the ones laid out in his bed. Diluc gently sits on the edge of the bed and pats the spot next to him, beckoning you to sit next to him. As soon as the bed dips with your weight, Diluc is handing you a cup of water.

“Drink,” he instructs once again, “so your hangover doesn’t kill you tomorrow.”

You do as you're told, dutifully downing the refreshing liquid. The minute your lips leave the cup he takes it from you, setting it on his bedside table. Then, Diluc picks you up once more and positions you so you are laying properly on the bed. He pulls the covers out from under you and makes sure you’re tucked in well.

“There,” he says finally, pulling the comforter up to your chin, “are you comfortable?”

However, he does not receive an answer. You’re already half asleep, head slumped against the pillow, mouth hanging wide open. Diluc smiles in spite of himself. He should be mad at you, he knows he should. But, as you lay there with your hair a mess, wearing one of his shirts, in his bed, Diluc cannot help but fall even more hopelessly in love with you. Stroking your hair a few times, he finally leaves a light kiss on your forehead. Hesitantly, he gets up, being very careful not to jostle you. He’s about to head to his living room to sleep, but he can barely make it two steps away from the bed before a hand shoots out and grabs his wrist. He turns to see you, still snug in his bed, a pout adorning your features.

“Where’re you goin?” You grumble out sleepily.

Diluc looks at you curiously.

“I’m going to let you sleep,” he whispers, “You need to rest.”

He attempts to remove your hand but your grip only tightens. Suddenly you pull him down, your faces only inches apart. You wrap your arms around his neck and rest your forehead against his.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice soft — so soft that Diluc doesn’t think he would have heard it if he weren’t so close to you, “stay.”

The blush from earlier creeps back up Diluc’s neck and rests upon the apples of his cheeks. Hearing you plead for him like this evokes a sense of warmth within the pyro user. He’s never felt so wanted before you. Ultimately, Diluc gives in and indulges you — how can he not? Crawling into bed next to you, he stiffens when you rest your head on his chest and wrap your arms around his torso. Diluc stays up a little while after you doze off, admiring you.

Diluc thinks you are a handful. However, he thinks he can handle it if at the end of every day he gets to hold you like this.

please do not steal or repost my work, thank you!

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcanons #xiao x reader #xiao headcanons #xiao #diluc x reader #diluc headcanons #diluc #frog.fiction

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chubbology · 3 years

Text

A Little Incentive

prompt: someone skinny grows chubby on their partner's good cooking and insistence they eat well

From the tempting smell of bacon and syrup that wafted into the room, I knew she’d outdone herself this morning.

“I made breakfast,” she stage-whispered to me. I grinned and turned over in bed, feigning sleepiness even though what I really wanted was to sit right up and take that plate from her hands.

Then my stomach growled and she laughed.

“The others are jealous,” she said. “But I told them they already had a habit of eating breakfast. You’re the one I need to hammer it into, by any means necessary.”

I took a deep breath and sat up in bed, pushing hair out of my face. “Consider me incentivized.” I took the heaping plate of breakfast food that she pushed at me, then the fork, and started into the chocolate chip pancakes, which were half soaked in syrup. Also on the plate lay bacon, eggs, hash browns, a muffin, and…

“French toast sticks, too?”

“As a reward for finishing all your exams! I know you like them.”

I thanked her. She poked my side and smiled fondly at me. “At the beginning of this semester, you would have said this was too much. I hope you know that it makes me the happiest girl in the world that you’re eating properly now.”

In response, I took a bite of extra crispy bacon and groaned in pleasure. As she got ready for the day, I considered her comment. Eating properly. She and I had different definitions of that, or used to at least.

My first two years of college were hard. Working part time, taking hard classes, dealing with an awful roommate. I barely took care of myself. I thought eating properly was eating at all. But then I met her and we hit it off, became friends and then more than friends, then moved in together with a couple more roommates just barely off campus. All the while, she made a point of showing me each day what eating properly meant to her: big meals cooked in the kitchenette or piled onto plates in the dining halls, snacks throughout the day, and never forgetting dessert. It kept her chubby, but she didn’t mind. I certainly didn’t.

“Bye!” I called out as she left for her last day of exams. She seemed confident about how hers had gone so far. Me? Not so much. I was never a good test taker.

I finished my plate down to the crumbs. I went and leisurely washed the dishes. I had pretty much nothing to do today. From the silence coming from the other bedrooms, I knew I had the apartment to myself, too. I could go outside, but it was too hot. And like hell I was going to go to the library again until I absolutely had to. There were always video games, but I stayed up late last night staring at screens, trying to forget my poor performance on my own last exam of the semester. I felt burnt out on everything.

I blinked in confusion when I realized I’d opened the fridge. I closed it. I literally just ate, so I don’t know why I’d…

The next three hours, I spent back in bed. Looking on my phone, resting my eyes, worrying about exam results, and tugging on my pajama pants. They were tight because I was so full. Eventually I decided to do something productive, starting with a shower. Maybe I could drive to a café or something, hang out there.

After showering and dressing (since I wasn’t exactly full anymore, I figured the tightness of my shorts was from bloating) I wandered into the kitchen for something to snack on. The fridge was always well stocked, and I eyed the rest of the batch of muffins in tupperware. I heard her voice in my mind: It makes me happy when you treat yourself.

What the hell. I took out the container, opened it, and took a bite out of the cinnamon raisin muffin. I closed my eyes. Big and sugary and so good. Better than the first one, maybe, because it had cooled off and I could better taste the flavor. I ate another one. And then I treated myself with a third before closing the lid again. There were still eight left.

I tried putting the container back in the fridge, but something stopped me. Go ahead, I heard her say. You don’t eat enough.

Slowly, I opened the container again and ate two more of the muffins. They were just so good. Then I put the container away, firmly slamming the fridge door and biting my lip. Truth was, she stopped telling me I don’t eat enough months ago.

I went back into the bathroom and took a good look at myself, which I’d avoided doing before. Truth was, my shorts were tight because, thanks to my partner’s cooking and our lingering stays at the dining halls and my new penchant for snacking, I had filled out more than a little. I’d put on my own chub. My shirt clung to my sides, which were soft and rounded (Is that why she poked me?), and upon closer inspection, I couldn’t deny my face looked tubbier, too.

I stood in quiet shock for a while, gently pressing my palm to the outward slump of my belly, its natural shape when I didn’t suck it in. (When did I start unconsciously sucking it in?) After a minute of dazedly contemplating my weight, I rummaged around for a dusty scale and stepped on it with bated breath.

My jaw fell open. My whole face, my neck, my ears flushed red, even though there was no one to see me there, finding out I was thirty seven pounds heavier than expected.

Forty pounds? Almost forty pounds? It was impossible. I didn’t look that much bigger.

But she had always said I was too skinny. So maybe twenty of those just filled me in? And then the rest was…extra? Forty pounds.

The surprise waned after a few more minutes of checking myself out in the mirror. I found I wasn’t as upset as society had led me to think I would be.

I did go to a café later that day. My newfound self-awareness didn’t kick back in until after I got a grande frappe and a scone. At my table, I thumbed the belly that now warmed a small part of my lap before eating and sipping my treats anyway.

My shorts felt so tight after a while, I just unbuttoned them and hoped no one would notice.

I spent a few hours there, reading and browsing my laptop and giving my soft belly secretive, intrigued touches before I started thinking about the six remaining muffins at the apartment. When I got back, I found I was in good company.

“I really did good on these,” she said, swallowing. “Want one?”

I took one, trying to hide my sheepishness. Did she guess it was me who ate the five that were missing? Or did she think it was our other roommates? Did she think…

“You want to get a late lunch?” “I think I need new clothes.”

We stared at each other. She chuckled, “Sorry, what?”

I flushed, tugging conspicuously on my shorts, not quite able to find the words. “Need to go shopping.” I’ve gained almost forty pounds. Forty pounds! My throat constricted.

“Oh.”

I looked up at her. “You’re a good cook,” I said, grinning. Still a little embarrassed.

But now she was a bit pink in the face, too. “Yeah, we should go shopping. Um. You aren’t mad. Are you? I just really like to cook and bake, and you really were too skinny and—”

“No, no! I’m not mad. I—”

Am I going to get fat? I wanted to ask her suddenly, and I felt very warm. I’m always eating these days. What if I outgrow the new clothes I buy? What then?

“I hope you know I think you look good,” she blurted. My thoughts ceased. “Really good.”

Suddenly, I was aware I’ve been sucking my belly in again. Would it be weird if I stopped? Just let it...swell out? I took in a deep breath, then let it all out, not sucking in this time. Her wide eyes fixated on my chubby lower belly.

“Thanks,” I said, trying not to be awkward. “To be honest, I only noticed recently that I look…different.”

Her eyes met mine and she looked very adoring. I’m sure my expression was identical. “Just a little. I was surprised how much your appetite grew.”

“Yeah. You still want to get lunch?” I asked. “Kinda feel like the dining hall.”

Kinda feel like going all out.

I won’t get fat.

Only a little, maybe. Not the end of the world.

“Okay,” she squeaked, as if hearing my thoughts. “Good idea. After all my stupid exams, it’s time to treat myself.”

I wholeheartedly agreed. So we went.

I loved how she looked shyly excited the whole time, as I overdid the second and third helpings. It seemed to make her overdo it some, too. Which spurred me to make it a competition, and there we sat together, overeating like a couple of chubby fiends.

“Still think you’re too skinny,” she taunted me, as we left, already discussing plans for dinner.

Thank you to the reader who commissioned this work!

I'd love to write more. Check me out <3 etsy.com/shop/Chubbology

#weight gain #fic #female feeder #nonbinary gainer

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

Wen Ruohan/Wei Wuxian?🍉

Forked Path - ao3

“You did me a favor, and I intend to repay that,” Wen Ruohan said, adjusting one of his gauntlets in irritation – more at the fact that he was sinking back into that old nervous tic, a tell that he’d thought he’d eliminated years ago than at the actual request, ridiculous as it was. “But to confirm, you’re certain that this is what you want? It’s not in my nature to stop midway, so if you have any hesitations, exercise them now or not at all.”

The two rogue cultivators looked at each other and after a few moments of clear silent communication and struggle, they looked back at him and nodded. The man did so reluctantly - Wen Ruohan looked at his wife, the immortal mountain’s disciple, and her nod was far more firm.

“Very well,” he said, lips twisting in distaste. He hated owing people favors, especially when they rejected his preferred counter-offer to graciously allow them to work for his sect, but he wasn’t yet so ungracious that he wouldn’t live up to something he had to do. “We are therefore agreed: in the event both of you die prematurely, I will take your son into my sect to be raised therein, rather than allow him to be raised alone outside or in the Jiang sect."

He paused, frowning. "To be clear, however, I am not going to raise him myself! He’ll be brought up among one of the branch families.”

Dafan Wen had some kids around the same age, didn’t they? That was pretty out of the way. With luck, he could avoid having to see the brat at all…and that was all assuming that these two died, of course. Still, based on their level of certainty and the association of the immortal mountain with divination, Wen Ruohan was going to assume a worst-case scenario was likely to occur.

“That’s fine,” the man said, his voice oddly sarcastic. “We don’t expect you to do more for us than you do for your own children.”

That pricked at Wen Ruohan’s pride, since he didn’t have a conscience to be affected.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked with a frown. He had two sons of his own, and they were being raised perfectly well by his wives, as far as he knew. It wasn’t really his concern until they were old enough to actually start getting started in cultivation, swordsmanship, or even the scholarly arts, at which point he would naturally take over their education with the assistance of many able tutors – he was far too busy to waste time with them, squalling brats that they undoubtedly were, until then.

“Nothing,” the woman said, and she looked amused – he almost suspected she was amused at his expense. “After all, with hard work, even the sharpest sword can be ground down into a needle.”

That wasn’t how that idiom went at all, but Wen Ruohan was too lazy to correct her.

Later, though, after they’d left, her words kept pricking at him in the same matter as idiomatic needle – it occurred to him that he didn’t much like his wives, even though the connections they’d brought to his sect were exceedingly beneficial. It was said that where there was a father, there was a son, the two invariably resembling each other, and he’d assumed that that would be the case here…but on the other hand, if he left all the initial raising of his sons to those wives he didn’t like, wasn’t he risking them raising the children to be just like theminstead of him? Grinding down his sons’ edges, so to speak?

That would be utterly unacceptable.

He was so busy, though. Beyond his own cultivation, his sect now controlled over a third of the cultivation world, and he was ambitious to raise that to half, and then perhaps even further. How could he waste time on something as pointless as taking care of small children?

On the other hand, he supposed that in the long run he’d actually be saving time if he at least made sure they were raised up right. After all, he’d always assumed that his two sons would be his right and left hands, his able aides capable of enacting his will, and obviously it would be a disaster to find out later on that they’d been spoiled rotten or rendered stupid....

No, he was sure his arrangement was fine. How much damage could his wives do in just a few years?

…perhaps it wouldn’t be that bad an idea to check in on them.

Just to make sure.

He definitely wasn’t going to raise that stupid Wei boy, though. Favors had limits!

“Your accomplishments do you credit,” Wen Ruohan said to Wen Qing, and even meant it the way he didn’t mean most of the things he was forced to say at these stupid discussion conferences.

After all, Wen Qing was of his bloodline, if distantly – Dafan Wen was a branch family – but at any rate, they shared a surname, and it was sheer pleasure watching her put all those other ‘promising’ young masters in their place. Anything that added a sheen of glory to his sect was a good thing.

She saluted deeply, trying to hide the way she was beaming, and Wen Ruohan wondered once again if it was time to bring her back to the Nightless City as his ward instead of leaving her out in the wilderness with the rest of Dafan Wen. To get the sort of medical skills she had at her age showed promise and talent, and he needed people of promise and talent, especially ones with his surname, if he were going to make good on his intention to conquer the cultivation world.

He would’ve brought her back years ago, in fact, except that Sect Leader Nie said that children were fidgety, flighty creatures that were bad at dealing with change and that he’d be better off sending medical texts and tutors to Dafan Wen rather than bring Wen Qing back to the Nightless City over her father’s protests. Normally, Wen Ruohan would have disregarded advice he didn’t like and proceed with his own intentions regardless, but Sect Leader Nie had been helping him deal with his own sons ever since he’d reclaimed them from his wives, who he’d discovered had been ruining them, and it seemed unwise to dispute with him regarding matters of child-rearing at that point. After all, if he wanted Wen Xu to end up as even half the son that it looked like that Nie Mingjue was going to be, he needed the man’s expertise, and that meant making compromises, irritating as it was.

Compromises like not just killing Wen Qing’s father for refusing to hand over his children, despite it being easier to accomplish. Or not killing Sect Leader Nie himself, no matter how irritating the man was, because now his sons loved that old bastard.

(Wen Ruohan had spitefully decided to get back at Sect Leader Nie by spoiling his youngest son, who seemed at first glance to be more like the lazy scholarly type, beyond belief. It seemed to be working very well so far, including in causing Sect Leader Nie no end of frustration at his extremely clever-when-it-came-to-evading-work second son; Wen Ruohan, satisfied, viewed this result as being wholly due to his own efforts.)

“How did you find that talisman you mentioned in your last paper?” he asked Wen Qing lazily. “I hadn’t seen it before. Was it in one of the books I sent, or somewhere else?”

In truth, that had been the most interesting aspect of the presentation from his perspective – he didn’t have either talent or interest in medical cultivation, but he could recognize firepower when he saw it. Just because the talisman worked on disrupting things at a very small level for medical reasons didn’t mean it couldn’t be repurposed for larger things…

“Oh, no, Wei Wuxian invented it,” Wen Qing said. “He used it to blow stuff up until I convinced him to make a smaller version for me.”

“Wei Wuxian?” Wen Ruohan asked, frowning, and then recalled – ah, yes, the Wei boy. His parents had died some five or eight years back, if he recalled correctly, and he’d had to go fetch him pursuant to that old agreement; it had been extremely annoying at the time. He’d been in the middle of a very nasty argument with Sect Leader Nie at the time, the one that had led him to think his most serious thoughts to date of eliminating the man entirely, and then, just as he’d been on the cusp of making a decision, he’d received word of the deaths of Cangse Sanren and her husband Wei Changze.

Naturally, he needed to find and recover their son as he’d promised long ago, which given how unreliable reports of the location of rogue cultivators was naturally became a colossal waste of time, but on the bright side it had at least given him a chance to vent his spleen and get out some of his rage on something other than wringing Sect Leader Nie’s neck. It turned out that Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze had died in some obscure night hunt in Yiling, but figuring that out had all but taken a full-scale canvass of six different territories – and then Sect Leader Jiang, who hadn’t bothered to do anything near the same level of search and had opted to search the various towns individually on his own, as if that would ever work, had tried to leapfrog off the back of his hard work, thinking he could just thank him and take the boy away just like that.

Wen Ruohan had refused, of course – he had the parents’ personal request, and that outweighed Wei Changze having been a former servant of the Jiang sect or Cangse Sanren being possibly a former lover of their sect leader – and it had turned into something of a political mess for a while.

That had been where he’d gotten most of the venting out, actually.

Sect Leader Nie had sided with him in that fight, though, rather viciously, and by the end of it all Wen Ruohan was reminded of why exactly it was that the man was a useful ally to have around. He’d also forgotten what exactly they’d been fighting about, but he wasn’t going to admit that, so he just magnanimously forgave him. It had all turned out rather all right, and Wen Ruohan had put the boy out of his mind shortly thereafter.

Why would he come up now, all of a sudden?

No, wait, he’d sent him to Dafan Wen, just as he’d planned. And of course Wen Qing was from the main branch of Dafan Wen as well – she would’ve been raised with Wei Wuxian as a little brother.

“How is he doing?” he asked, more out of etiquette than actual interest, but Wen Qing lit up and started talking about how her little shidi was a verifiable genius, and so good with her actual younger brother, and whatnot. Wen Ruohan nodded, pretending he was listening, and cast his eyes around the rest of the discussion conference, looking for a distraction – there was Sect Leader Nie, who was generally good for a laugh, but he was scolding that second son of his for failing one of Lan Qiren’s classes and having to be sent a second time over. Jiang Fengmian was comforting him, telling him that he was sending his son as well this year, and of course Jin Guangshan’s heir was of age as well, and would undoubtedly be going, too…

Hmm.

“If he’s such a genius, he should interact more with his peers,” Wen Ruohan announced. “I’ll recommend him – and that brother of yours, I suppose – for the lecture series at the Cloud Recesses this summer.”

It wouldn’t do to be left, after all.

“You…you will? Really? That’s wonderful! Thank you for the opportunity, Sect Leader Wen! They’ll treasure it! How can we ever repay your kindness –”

“As long as they impress me with their talents,” Wen Ruohan said, already imagining Jiang Fengmian’s constipated expression at seeing his lover’s son that was stolen from his grasp wearing Wen sect colors and, in an ideal world, smearing his own son into the ground with his superlative skill. “That will be repayment enough.”

“You need to get laid,” Sect Leader Nie said, and Wen Ruohan was reminded again of why he despised the man and should have killed him years ago. Why hadn’t he done that again? “As a matter of cultivation.”

“You’re joking,” Wen Ruohan said, putting down his bowl of wine and staring at him in disbelief. He hadn’t expected the man to actually be serious. It was rare enough an event, but in fairness to him, he never joked about matters of cultivation. “How does one help the other?”

“It’ll help balance you out.” Sect Leader Nie thought about it. “Or at least let you get out some of that nervous energy that makes you a paranoid megalomaniacal little bitch about eighty percent of the time.”

That sounded a bit more in character.

“If dual cultivation could fix personality problems, Lao Nie, you’d be immortal.”

“Who says I’m not?” Sect Leader Nie asked, teeth bared in a smile. “Only time will tell. Haven’t I already outlived my father?”

Wen Ruohan rolled his eyes. Sect Leader Nie had outlived his father because when he’d started in on a qi deviation like every other member of his blasted family, he, Wen Ruohan, had personally dived into the irritating bastard’s spiritual consciousness and dragged him back out again. It was very much not something that people were supposed to do, being more likely to cause qi deviations in the person doing the rescuing than resulting in an actual rescue, but he’d never cared what people were supposed to do and, really, it would be extremely annoying to have to do without him now that he’d invested all that time and effort and figured out how to get some real use out of him. Anyway, they both seemed to be fine and possibly they were also soul-bonded now - he wasn’t actually sure, Wen Qing always got a weird expression on her face whenever she talked about it, and he usually stopped listening at that point.

He didn’t really care. As long as it didn’t interfere with his plans, what did it mtter?

“Who exactly am I supposed to be dual cultivating with, exactly?” he asked dryly, deciding to address the matter head-on because that was the only way Sect Leader Nie understood things. “Don’t volunteer yourself again. I already told you that I refuse to indulge your ridiculous kink for dangerous people.”

Anymore, anyway.

Sect Leader Nie made a face at him, but Wen Ruohan ignored him. He might’ve fallen for that before the whole spiritual consciousness-soulbond business, but now he knew for sure that it was a kink, so – no.

Nothappening.

“You have a kink for things that increase your power, I don’t know why you’re being so judgy about my kink,” the other man grumbled. “And I don’t know, find someone – not another wife, you hate your wives, and anyway they’re much happier with their other lovers.”

“I didn’t pick them because I liked them,” Wen Ruohan pointed out. “I picked them because I wanted to absorb their sects and all the aligned sects associated with them. Which I did.”

“See, this is your problem! You married for power, rather than power, if you get my meaning –”

This was true. If any of his wives could cultivate worth a damn, maybe he’d care more about them. As it was, getting a son on each of them had been an exercise in willpower.

“ – and now you’re too busy pursuing power to fuck anyone else. You really need to get it out of your system. Find someone who can kill you.”

“No one can kill me,” Wen Ruohan said. “I’m the closest thing the cultivation world has to a god. Everyone should bow down and worship me.”

Sect Leader Nie started muttering something about megalomania again, but Wen Ruohan ignored him. It wasn’t a qi deviation talking if it was true.

“I bet we could find someone who could kill you if we tried,” Sect Leader Nie finally said. “And if they’re powerful enough to kill you, they’re probably powerful enough for the dual cultivation to improve your own cultivation, which is all you care about…we should start a war, maybe.”

“A war? Against who? And why?”

Sect Leader Nie frowned thoughtfully, stroking his chin. “The Jin sect?” he suggested, probably because he’d never liked Jin Guangshan. “Or the Jiang sect? Or both, I guess, since they’re allied. They’re next on your take-over list, aren’t they?”

“You’re next on my take-over list,” Wen Ruohan said threateningly, except Sect Leader Nie only laughed at him. Which was fair, he supposed, that whole soul-bond thing made the whole conquering business somewhat unnecessary – Qishan Wen and Qinghe Nie were bound together now as thoroughly as if he’d married the man.

Which he hadn’t. And wouldn’t. No matter what stupid snarky comments Sect Leader Nie said about Wen Ruohan treating him as a de facto consort on account of not having devouring his sect whole.

(Which he wasn’t going to do either - his sons still loved the man, and by now they were as thick as thieves with the Nie boys. What was he supposed to do, disappoint them? It’d be the same as disappointing himself, and he wasn’t about to do that.)

“I suppose we could start a war against the Jin and Jiang,” he allowed. His plan had always called for battle eventually, since he knew there was a limit to how many sects he could absorb through political, marital, economic or other means. As long as the other Great Sects stood against him, he’d never be able to achieve total domination – plus, he’d have to continue to suffer through those awful discussion conferences with the boring lectures and the petty politics of it all. Why couldn’t they see that they’d allbe better off under his dominion? “I could send Wen Zhuliu –“

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not how you fight wars honorably, and also because I hate that man’s guts. I can’t believe you gave him your surname.”

Wen Ruohan rolled his eyes yet again. Such petty concerns were beneath him. “If we launch a surprise attack using him assassinate the Jiang sect leaders, thereby bringing down the Lotus Pier, the war will be over sooner,” he pointed out.

“Makes it harder to assimilate them into the Wen sect afterwards, though,” Sect Leader Nie pointed out, and damnit, he had a point. “Not to mention you’re going to want some experienced people policing your waterways when you finally take over…”

Damnit.

“Fine,” Wen Ruohan said. “We’ll declare war the old-fashioned way. Maybe we’ll find someone on the opposite side that can impress me, and then I’ll marry her – or him – and be done with the whole business. Happy now?”

Sect Leader Nie made a maybe-so gesture with his hand. “Anyone who can match you in power can probably kill me,” he said regretfully. “Would you consider sharing –“

“Paws off my hypothetical future consort, you beast. Anyway, aren’t you already pursuing Lan Qiren because he nearly slit your throat with a guqin string once?”

“A man can look!”

“Say,” Sect Leader Nie said, staring at the army of fierce corpses currently shambling along to the tune of Wei Wuxian’s flute, advancing inexorably towards their enemies – an entirely new cultivation style that the boy had recently invented. In an effort to impress his benefactor Wen Ruohan, apparently. “Are you sure about the no sharing rule?”

Wen Ruohan stared at the grown man perched on a tree like a demon, wrapped in shadow and crackling with power, eyes glowing as red as the sun-patterns on his clothing, who seemed to want nothing more from the world than to serve it up to Wen Ruohan on a platter.

“Yes,” he said, voice only a little strangled. Maybe Sect Leader Nie had a point about power being a kink for him. “I’m very sure.”

#mdzs #wen ruohan #sect leader nie #wei wuxian is sir not appearing in this fic #my fic #my fics #forked path

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mggpleasedontlookhere · 3 years

Text

checkmate

summary: where y/n and spencer live in a world of soulmates; but how magical can it really be when the last words of your lover are the only indication of their existence.

word count: 7,054 reading time aprox: 26 mins

warnings: character death, angst

a/n: this is my comeback fic, I hope you like it. I made sure to make it extra angsty to compensate for my disappearance :) also this fic can be read by anyone!

masterlist

Chess is a meticulous endeavor, not only in its cold and calculated nature, but also in the player’s ability to detect insecurity flash across their opponents' eyes, the unconscious idiosyncrasies that foretell future moves, and the slow descent into hopelessness that disintegrates the former’s conviction. Most will point out the cruelty of the game, how callous it must be knowing your end eight moves before it happens. However, others will oppose this notion as it is the game; one must lose to win.

It’s all a matter of who plays their pieces right.

Before that pivotal moment, players can only maneuver through a black and white arena. Fingertips would drum in anticipation while the other would hover over their pieces, striding across the board with purpose. Regardless of the disparity between the players’ experience or skill, there is always one factor, unmoved by player attributes, that is not a disadvantage nor luxury for either party: time.

Even in the checkered plane, nothing will matter. The players will cease to move, forced to end the game by the lack of time. This mechanism in nature acts as a failsafe if either individual is unable to conclude the game. In other words, there are only two outcomes: winning the game by will or letting time take that will away from you.

However, what is not noticed is the growing ache in the winner’s chest, disappointment beginning to fester inside of them because of their loss in deciding. In that split realization, the winner is placed on an equal plane as the loser, wondering if they ever really won at all.

This middle plane is beautiful and tragic simultaneously—maybe the beauty is in the tragedy. But as my palm leaves a bloodied handprint pressed against Spencer’s chest, all I can see is the world around me turning red.

Please be okay, please be okay for me

My mouth would silently mutter in tandem with his desperate and reaching touches, a mantra I convinced myself could surpass time, all while knowing my will was seized from me the moment Spencer uttered the words imprinted at my hip.

October 27th

2 days before

Water vapor collected around the coffee mug pressed to my lips. Although it’s ironic to call it a ‘coffee’ mug considering it was filled to the brim with scalding tea. The tips of my fingers and the skin of my palms tingled at the heat given off. My thoughts drifted to the explanation of the first law of thermodynamics that Spencer had kindly explained during the walk home from the night before.

An unconscious smile brushed over my lips briefly, reminiscing the blissful moments of the team gathered around a bar table after finishing up a briefing about a local case. A warm cloud of content passed through my chest while a lightness traveled from the bottoms of my feet to the summit of my forehead. The herbal tea traveling down my esophagus countered the cold nipping of the autumn air, bringing a welcome equilibrium to my wellbeing.

I shrugged the knitted blanket over my shoulders further, staring into the calming view that the apartment window provided. Across from the building was a small, abandoned park. Most of the neighbors had steered clear of the area as it didn’t meet anyone’s aesthetic standards—well, except for mine.

Half of the trees have lost their leaves, counting down the days to winter. The park benches were covered with tangled vines, even some lacking required wood boards. In summary, the place was an overgrown jungle that no one was willing to inhabit. In result, the once communal area was condemned by the normal folk for being ‘too dead.’ However, I would oppose those who claim the lack of life in the park considering life is not only just living, but it is to invite death.

In my observation of the park, a soft reflection suddenly appeared beside the yellow oak trees. In my peripheral, I can see my roommate creeping up behind me with his limbs moving catlike. I bit my bottom lip to conceal the amused huff threatening to escape me, instead settling to blowing over the steam rising from my cup.

Just before I saw his head bobble over my shoulder, arms stretched out above me, I whipped around his lanky figure and ducked under his arm. “You know for an agent; I expected a better performance.” An inaudible yelp interrupted the fit of giggles I was in as some of the tea spilled onto my blanket. “Now look what you’ve done! Do you know how hard it is to get dark liquids off cotton?”

“Just some hydrogen peroxide will do the trick,” Spencer shrugged, insisting to pull off the semi-damp blanket off my shoulders. “Plus, you messed up my bit!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot I was living with a five-year-old,” I teased, nudging him.

Spencer craned his neck to the side, letting the sore tendons and muscles stretch out from just waking up. All without forgetting to let out an obnoxious yawn in addition to his exaggeratedly extended arms. “I’ll have you know that this five-year-old has three PhDs and three bachelors,” he boasted.

“...and daddy issues.”

Before I can find a way to defend myself, the same blanket that brought me solace previously was transformed into an unmerciful whip. Spencer chased me around the couch until I slipped and toppled over the cushions, landing on the throw pillows. I buried my head into the leather arm, shutting my eyes, while I replicated the nature of Spencer’s antics by emitting ridiculous snores.

“You can’t touch me while I’m sleeping,” I murmured, feigning my slow lull to slumber. “It’s socially unacceptable.” During my spiel, Spencer had playfully grabbed my ankles and dragged me to a sitting position.

“SPENCER!” I gasped, clutching one of the pillows in hand and smacking him over the head with it. “You do not handle people like that! No wonder why you also have momm-”

Spencer’s palm gently nudged me back onto the couch mid-sentence, leaving my frame to hit the cushions with a loud thud. A boom of laughter filled the empty space of my chest, my breath thinning as dopamine jumped from my brain’s synapses. An enchanted smile caressed the corners of my mouth mirroring the one Spencer was sporting.

In these insignificant interactions, I would think back to the times where our comfortability was limited and reveled on how much our friendship grew over the years. There was a sense of solace that overwhelmed me knowing that introducing—and working on his—humor brought an auspicious light to the darkness that often clouded his mind.

My lungs deflated with a hefty exhale, my arm slinging across my eyes in relaxation. Clamored feet and the rug shifting against the wood floor caught my attention. Freeing my line of vision, I was met with a raggedy-haired genius with barely a foot between us. I reached out to comb through his locks, the webbing of my hands catching the tangled curls. “You need to shower greasehead.”

“Actually, the buildup of sebum and laloin in the gland of the hair follicles—coined as the sebaceous gland—offers moisture and protection, given that it is regulated upon its natural equilibrium.” Spencer leaned into the soft touch of my fingers, like how a kitten purrs against their owner’s affection.

“Well, I don’t know about you almost-birthday-boy, but I don’t think you want to go into the next chapter of your life smelling like you just changed out of your first diaper.” I pushed myself up the couch, gesturing Spencer to the hallway bathroom. “This is the big 31!”

“Y/N, we had a party for my 30th. I think I’m good to last for the decade,” he huffed, walking towards his bedroom to grab a change of clothes.

“That’s not the spirit, Dr. Reid!” I yelled across the room. “I swear Spence, you’re the only person who’d turn down a party... And, you even turned down Rossi’s invitation to go all out in his backyard.”

“Another year to celebrate the ever-closing gap between my time on earth and my imminent demise—oh, and how can I forget celebrating it in an open space full of ticks and pollen,” Spencer sarcastically jested, his voice bouncing off the thin white walls.

“At least you’d know your soulmate, right? Then I wouldn’t be the only one to deal with your ‘Debby Downer’ ass,” I added on, rolling my eyes at his usual pessimistic rulings.

“I would prefer nihilistic, but if that vernacular serves you then to each their own.”

“Hey, maybe after you die, I and your soulmate can mourn over you—bond and all that—and then I can steal them away,” I teased.

I looked to the lightning bolts etched into the crevices of my thighs, my fingertips tracing each design until it fell onto the carved words at my hip. In a way, the stretch marks made beautiful vines attached to the faded letters, covering the obvious red scratch marks that had resurfaced from my bad habits.

I kissed my fingertips before planting them back onto the markings, chuckling to myself of the intimate gesture. Unconsciously, I began to rub at the tattooed words once again, hating how their protrusion made my skin crawl.

“I mean I’m dead, what can I really do?” Spencer called out, stopping in his tracks when he reached the bathroom door. He faced me as he spoke, going on about his birthday celebration tomorrow—half of his speech unheard to me—until he requested my immediate attention. “You have to stop picking at the words, Y/N. You’re going to end up hurting yourself.”

“I know, I know,” I sighed, letting my dominant hand fall to my side. A pout fell on my lips at the loss of the small satisfaction scratching granted me. “But the words are just so uncomfortable sometimes. I mean you got lucky with the whole soulmate placement.”

Spencer brought his free hand to his chest, thumb tracing over the small words typed on the skin. “Yeah, I guess I did get lucky huh.” A soft smile grazed over his lips while his eyes were still trained on the unknowing figure resting against the couch.

“What does your marking read aga-”

“Spence, what’s it say on your che-”

I groaned in playful disbelief at the coincidental timing. “You know at this point I’m starting to think we’re telepathic, Spencer.”

“That’s actually what my tattoo is,” he laughed. “It’s my name.”

“Oh yeah,” I nodded, remembering the first time we brought it up in the early days of meeting one another. “Must’ve saved a lot of name tags in elementary school” I teased.

Spencer shook his head, shuffling into the bathroom with a lightness in his steps. With the closing of the door, my gaze fell onto the marking once again.

Regardless of the mechanics of soulmates, I was never worried about the possibility of not meeting them. I was already at my happiest knowing shared moments like these were good enough. However, unbeknownst to my ideal wishes, an irking desire still lingered in the back of my head while fingers hovered over the imperfect skin.

October 28th

1 day before

“Kid, you can’t sit there and tell me that finding your soulmate can be ‘scientifically extrapolated.’ That’s not the point,” Morgan amusingly shook his head at Spencer, ruffling the top of his head as he brushed past him.

“Okay,” Spencer tutted, “tell me. What ‘is’ the point then?”

“Well, all I’m saying is that finding your soulmate—if you have one—is supposed to come supernaturally.”

“Morgan, did you just try to win over boy genius here by talking about the supernatural?” With a tilted smirk, I nursed the half-filled flute between my fingertips. My gaze flickered over to a pleased brainiac sharing the same mischievous glint found in my eyes. I let my head fall back against the couch cushions, my eyes fluttering close to the sound of grown children bickering.

“Alright,” Morgan raised his hands up in defense. “All I was pointing out was that things like these can’t be solved by numbers and science.”

“The same can be said about Newtonian physics, but look where we a-”

Morgan flung a ball of crinkled wrapping paper Spencer’s way, aiming for his head. Spencer attempted to dodge the projectile—emphasis on attempted—only to have it hit him square in the face.

“So much for those Newtonian physics, huh?” I teased while getting up to open another bottle of champagne. Spencer slouched in his chair, the paper cone hat on his head shifting to the side. A grimace replaced the smirk he initially wore, muttering about how he was going to get Morgan back.

“Y/N! Bring that bottle over here when you’re done.” Morgan called out as I walked into the kitchen, pausing the ongoing discussion of the case we planned to tackle. “Also, bring another juice box for Reid here!”

A chorus of laughter followed my ears which each step, a grin finding the corners of my lips. I rose to the tips of my toes to reach for the unopened bottle in the alcohol cabinet. I made my way to the freezer, taking out the bucket of ice I stored away hours ago. When closing the appliance door, my eyes landed on a picture magnetized to the surface.

It was a physical reminder of the time that Spencer convinced me to dress up as Amy Pond, the eleventh doctor’s sidekick, for comic con. He too was dressed up in the doctor’s attire: a brown corduroy suit, a bowtie, and a sonic screwdriver. We both had silly grins planted on our faces, it seemed like nothing could tear down the joyous bubble we were in. Upon reflecting on the memory, the kitchen door swung open revealing a merry Spencer.

“Hey, I was supposed to be getting you that juice box,” I joked.

Spencer shook his head, pushing past me to get to the cupboard. “Very funny,” he droned, sarcasm dripping off his words. I leaned against the counter, setting the bucket of ice to the side. I analyzed his movements, noticing how often he fidgeted with his fingers or how his legs would clumsily turn inward at times.

“You know,” he paused, turning around to face me, “In some countries ruled by military dictatorship, staring could be deemed as a call for execution.”

I crossed my arms, challenging him. “Well last time I checked; we aren’t in any of those countries. Is that right, Dr. Reid?”

“Unfortunately,” he chuckled. “Did you need anything?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“Well, by the way you were checking me out, I would think you needed something.” He sauntered over to the opposite counter across the kitchen, hoisting himself up on the granite. I watched as the casual smirk fell off his face after failing his initial attempt to sit. The second attempt proved to be better, although that didn’t stop me from rolling my eyes at his impotence.

“You know,” I repeated his words, grabbing the champagne and ice bucket as I began to stroll out of the room. “I’m really starting to think you have a better chance at ‘extrapolating’ your soulmate rather than finding them.”

“Wait!”

I whipped around to face him with furrowed eyebrows. I nodded for him to continue, watching as a sly expression reappeared on his face. “You forgot my juice.”

I sighed, setting the items back down on the counter before reaching for the fridge. “You are a grown man, Spence,” I gesticulated at the boy. I grabbed Spencer’s favorite sparkling water and left it aside. “You couldn’t get your own?” I raised my eyebrows at him, ducking out of the refrigerator door.

He crossed his legs, still propped up on the counter. “Well, you did call me a five-year-old and it is my birthday,” he argued, shrugging his shoulders tauntingly.

“I said that the other day, and considering it’s your birthday, that would mean you’d be old enough to conduct yourself,” I countered.

“Actually, it’s grammatically inappropriate to say, ‘the other day’ when the event in question occurred yesterday,” he began to ramble. With an unimpressed nod, I began to slowly back away from the scene until I was abruptly stopped once again.

“Wait!”

“What!”

“You forgot to put it in a cup,” he meekly suggested, his face evident of mischief.

“You’re clearly enjoying this aren’t you?” I groaned, shuffling towards where he was. “I’ll give you something to enjoy...” I whispered to myself.

With a plan set in motion, I sauntered over to where Spencer sat. Once I was in front of him, I made sure to give no indication that I was moving beside him. Instead, I leaned forward, letting our chests press together as I reached up for a mug. I would be lying if I denied the faint blush warming up the apples of my cheeks or the tightness of my throat from this proximity. In a nervous hash, I could’ve sworn hearing Spencer’s breath hitch as my chin brushed against his neck.

Feigning a confident disposition, I dropped back to the heels of my feet, finding myself to be inches away from the enamored and naive genius. “You need this?” I murmured, trying to maintain a collected tone of voice. However, Spencer did make it difficult with the intensity of his penetrating gaze or the way his breath fanned over my sensitive skin.

For a lasting moment, I began to dissect the small specks of hazel hues in his eyes and how a dark pool of brown surrounded his irises. The tip of his nose was flushed in crimson and his mouth hung in what seemed like anticipation and hesitation battling it out. “Uh, yeah... thank you.” His Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped, linking his fingers with mine to take the mug.

Without breaking eye contact, he set the mug aside and away from view. I opened my mouth to say something, but I soon discovered a dessert residing in the back of my throat. Slowly my composure unraveled, leaving me and Spencer in a purgatory of uncertainty and elation. I heard my heart thump against the walls of my ribcage as my eyes traveled to the parting of his lips, his tongue ever so often swiping against the skin.

I shook my head out of the trance we were in, popping the hypnotic bubble forming around us. With a trepidatious smile, I gestured to the living room, suggesting going back out there. “Do you want to...” I tied my hands behind my back, stepping away from him slowly. He nodded in response; his mouth tightly pressed into an awkward line.

With less than obvious movements, we both tiptoed our way back to the liveliness of the other room, soon forgetting about the juice and cup all together.

“Bye guys, thank you for coming! See you tomorrow.” I politely bid everyone a farewell, sending them safe wishes home as they excited through the front door. “Pen, are you coming with us tomorrow?” I received a tipsy nod and a few stumbling feet, but nonetheless confirmation for the case. Spencer was to the left of me doing the same, enduring some last-minute birthday teasing from Morgan before he made his exit.

With the slow creaking of the door, I leaned against the wood, letting my legs slowly slip down the floor until I was sitting. I tilted my head up, staring at an exhausted Spencer before making grabby hands at him. He snorted at the childlike request, aggressively pulling at my wrists until I landed into his chest.

“Alright birthday boy, just because you’re older doesn't mean you can get all strong on me,” I warned, nuzzling my heavy head onto his shoulder. A pleasant silence surrounded us, our bodies maintaining an equal balance as we leaned onto each other. On another note, it reminded me of Newton’s principle of force that Spencer explained to me a few months back. How Newton’s cradle, a simple office trinket, exemplified conservation of momentum and energy. In this fragment of space, it felt like that with Spencer—it always felt like that: a comfortable momentum.

“Hey Spence?”

The quiet continued to spread throughout the atmosphere.

“Spencer?” I pressed my chin against his chest, feeling his arms find their way to my lower back. He hummed in response, his eyelids resting at a closed position. “I’m sorry about that thing in the kitchen... I was just messing around.”

He took a while to react before sighing and pressing a tired kiss to the side of my head; with that, I knew things were okay. “Oh! I didn’t give you your present yet.”

I melted away from his arms, scurrying off to the couch. In an exaggerated reveal, I pulled a small parcel from beneath the cushions, glee filling my eyes as I watched the bow on top spring out. I extended my arms towards Spencer, eager to have him open it.

He walked tentatively towards me, taking purposefully leisurely strides. At one point he began to act like he was in a slow-motion sequence, causing me to threaten the integrity of his present. With raised hands, he sat next to me on the couch and gently pried the gift from my hands. “What did you get me this time? Let me guess. From the size and shape of his package here,” he turned the box around in his hands, shaking it up, “and the sound to force ratio-”

“Just open the damn thing, Spence.”

He smiled at my usual impatience, letting his fingers glide against the edge of the parcel. Finally, with gentle hands, he picked apart the wrapping paper, careful not to rip the heart sticker that held the presentation together. He gathered the bow in his palm, and gently pressed the sticky side of the accessory to my cheek.

I cringed at the feeling, but that soon dissipated hearing the mollified chuckle escape Spencer’s mouth. With a determined huff, Spencer pulled the last pieces of wrapping paper from the box and was left with a frayed book in his palm.

“The Parliment of Foweles...” he whispered; an unreadable expression crossed his features.

I curled into my own body, anticipating some form of reaction. “I... I remember you told me the first time we really sat down and got to know each other that your mom used to read that to you when you were younger.” I picked at the stitches on the couch, a lump forming in my esophagus as my tongue swelled. “It’s first edition...” I smiled, insecurity beginning to conquer my excitement from before.

“Sorry, if you don’t like it... I was just-”

A pair of arms pulled me into a secure embrace while a tender hand came around to cup the back of my head. An inaudible expression of gratitude was lost in between babbles of endearment and soft caresses. Spencer pulled away with pools of adoration, he clutched the book in hand as he pulled me under his arm. He ran his thumb along the deckles that adorned the sides of the pages, his palm tenderly feeling the roughness of the old woven spine.

To open the book, he singled out a random page and lightly flicked a few pages to the side before I halted his movements completely. “Wait!” I requested. “I want you to read it after the case so we can do it together,” I sheepishly tucked a hair behind his ear, hiding the careful blush on my cheeks. “If that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah...that’s fine with me,” he breathed, his eyes locked onto the soft curves of my face. I pulled my hand away, tugging my sleeve further down my arm. “Oh! That reminds me.” Spencer places the book behind him and headed over the coat rack next to the front door. Sliding his hands through various pockets, he finally pulled a small box from one of the compartments.

He tentatively approached me, turning the object in hand. “I know it’s my birthday, but... I wanted to do something because you’ve made everything better in these past years,” he confessed, fidgeting as he came closer. “Being with my mother always felt like home, and I just... you became that for me, so thank you.”

My fingers reached over to his open palm, approaching the velvet box as if it was fragile. I glazed over its general shape, turning it a few times between my hands. “Spencer...I don’t even know what to say.”

“Well, you can start by opening it,” he smiled.

I shook my head, gently prying the box open. Inside laid a beautiful heart-shaped necklace with words etched into the metal. Once I read the words, a heavy breath escaped my lungs, and my shoulders lost all tension. “Spencer...”

“I thought that it would be easier to have the words of your soulmate above your heart rather than you tracing over your hip,” he professed. “I also know that even if you deny not having any connection to this soulmate thing, it often brings you comfort when needed.”

My attention went to him the second he uttered those words. “How did you know,” I mumbled with an enamored chuckle.

“Well, whenever we’re in the field, I could tell the times you get nervous or need reassurance by the way you subtly touch your hip.”

“I thought staring was punishable by death,” I joked, referring to his argument earlier today.

He brushed it off with a wide smile, combing his hands through his hair. “I know we have a hefty case tomorrow based on what Penelope showed us last briefing, so I hoped that this would make you feel better,” he confessed, shrugging his shoulders and leaning back into the arm of the couch.

“Thank you, Spencer...really,” I wrapped my arms above my head, trying to attach the unlocked chain around my neck. “Can you...?”

With gracious hands, he lifted the chain from my fingertips and wrapped it around my neck. The skin of his fingers would occasionally brush the back of my neck, sending euphoric chills down my spine. I felt myself squirm under his touch slightly, although it wasn’t enough to be obvious. Lifting my hair to the side with his wrist, he clasped the necklace together, letting the cold metal kiss the skin.

I turned around, appreciating the trinket in my hands. I shook my head in disbelief, watching as some of the moonlight that seeped through the window reflected off the metal. “Thank you, again, Spencer.” I nodded, bringing him into a meaningful embrace. My head rested in the crook of his neck, an aroma of pine, vanilla, and old books surrounding us. “This really is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever possessed.”

He scoffed, gently wrapping his hands around the small of my back. “Everything pales in comparison to you.”

October 29th

...

I twirled the metal heart in between my fingers as Hotch’s words failed to reach my ears. I would look up occasionally to see the pictures, but we’ve been dealing with an unsub who showed no mercy to anything morally reprehensible. I sighed, swinging my feet under me as I pretended to be enveloped by the case file in my other hand.

“Since we’re dealing with a L.D.S.K-”

“A long-distance serial killer,” Emily intercepted, nodding towards the team.

“We’ll have SWAT patrol the surrounding rooftops. Emily and I will stay with the defense team here.” Hotch pointed to the house of the unsub’s target. “Morgan, Y/N, and Reid will go through the floors of the apartment building with the strike team—witnesses stated that he was located on the 5th floor, but we have to be ready for anything.”

I looked over to Morgan with a determined expression. His face hardened at the words and his lips was pressed into a tight line. In my peripheral, I could see the way his veins would constrict against the skin as he clenched his fists.

This case hit him particularly hard considering we couldn’t save the unsub’s last victim. It was a 4-year-old little girl, and we were misinformed about her possible location. By the time we got to her, she was faced down into a park well with a single bullet hole above her heart. I watched the slow diffusion of her blood, and how the water turned to a murky black. I couldn’t imagine Morgan’s guilt considering he was so sure of himself when reaching a breakthrough with the unsub’s whereabouts. The parents of the child would soon blame Morgan for his ignorance, spewing derogatory slurs in their distress.

“We’ll get him Hotch,” Morgan assured, “This time, we’ll get him.”

Spencer noticed the certitude in his voice, sharing a look with me to give extra attention to Morgan out in the field. I smiled at him, warmed at the concern that the genius had over his friend.

“I’ll be working with local PD to hold a press conference to keep the public on the lookout,” JJ expressed, crossing her arms.

“Since...last time, we figured that unsub finds enjoyment in toying with us or singling us out. So, keep each other in check and make sure to report back in your earpieces every five minutes.” Hotch himself seemed perturbed by the unsub’s earlier actions considering he had his own toddler to deal with. “Penelope has sent the coordinates to everyone. Remember the profile, and don’t leave yourselves vulnerable. We’re dealing with an elusive unsub that won’t stop at nothing to satisfy himself,” Hotch spoke with a quiver in his voice.

I bit the inside of my cheek and breathed heavily through my mouth. My hands began to drift to my hip but momentarily stopped as I remembered the chain around my neck. I slumped into the chair as Hotch dismissed the team, sending them out for their respective assignments.

“You, okay?” I whipped around to the sound of JJ’s voice. She leaned against the doorframe with an expression full of concern. Looking behind her, she noticed Spencer noticeably pacing through the bullpen waiting for a specific someone. He attempted to disguise his eagerness by counting tiles on the floor or squares on the ceiling, but to JJ he was easily discernable.

I let a dry laugh, shaking my head. “After what happened, I’m a bit worried—not about me—but Morgan and Spence.” I swiveled around in the office chair a few times until I landed in front of JJ.

“You know you fidget the same way as Spence,” she pointed out, grinning at the similarity. I shook off the oncoming warmth that flooded the skin and looked elsewhere. “You’re right to worry about both of them though. But you know how stubborn and determined they are.” As she began to walk out, she left a lingering message that soothed my nerves. “Plus, Spencer may have that IQ of his, but we all know runs things between you all.”

She wasn’t wrong. I’ve always kept a watchful eye over the both of them—maybe Spencer a little more—but nonetheless, I deeply cared about both of them. It was relieving to know that Spencer’s circle of trust exponentially grew from Morgan to JJ to me. It symbolized the growth that Spencer was mostly oblivious to, but it meant more to me than I can explain, seeing how he opened himself up to happier possibilities.

A sharp exhale left my lungs while my lips formed into a sly smirk. Without another minute to wait, I left the round table behind JJ, leaving Spencer to stop dawdling. “You ready genius?” I walked out into the hall, not sparing a glance at the figure trailing behind me.

“With you? Always.”

“Nothing here,” a voice confirmed in my earpiece. My gun hung low in my hands while I tiptoed through the floor of the apartment building. “You know Y/N, if I knew that the unsub was going to the pick a building in the area we resided in, maybe I would’ve considered having the party at Rossi’s instead,” Spencer joked.

I bit the smile growing on my lips, focusing on the assignment on hand.

“Maybe after the case, instead of reading that book in our apartment we can go over to that small library/cafe we’ve been meaning to go to,” he continued to drone, forgetting about the connection of everyone’s channels.

“Reid, if all you’re gonna do is flirt with Y/N, leave the damn channel,” Morgan warned. Hearing the worry in his tone, Spencer straightened up, coughing to cover up his soft apology. Being separated didn’t help the irrational thoughts that built up in the back of my conscience; I can’t even comprehend what’s probably going through Morgan’s head.

“You good?” I mumbled into the com; my eyes straightforward while I advanced towards the hall. Morgan didn’t respond, an inaudible huff coming through the speakers.

“I’m moving up to the top floor. Y/N and Reid, go back down to the basement and see if we missed anything,” Morgan broke the awkward silence with an austerity in his words. The silent hum that came afterwards was worse than earlier. I turned off my earpiece, sensing a conversation about to ensue between the two gentlemen.

The thickness in the atmosphere was similar to the air that surrounded me and Spencer when competing in recreational chess. Whenever I attempted to put his king in check, he would block the move by maneuvering another piece in front of it. This would lead to a game of cat and mouse until I would figure out that the entire time, Spencer had been deluding me into false security while checking my king piece. Ultimately, I would lose to Spencer. However, there were games where I’d outmaneuver him or win by dumb luck.

I’d like to think that I developed some sort of intuition for his behavior from playing against him, but he’s deemed unpredictable every game. He was always sharp, eight steps ahead and aware of all possibilities. I guess that’s what make him an effective profiler, always thinking in the future.

I ran down the stairs, still armed, when Penelope’s voice ran through the earpiece. “Updates! Updates people.” The joy in her voice always relived me of the gloom that usually surrounded me in the field; hopefully she has the same effect on Morgan.

“Hey, Pen.” An invisible grin was evident in my words, knowing she’d pick up on it.

“Hello, my love, seems like at least one person is happy to see me,” she verbally jabbed at the lack of response from Spence and Morgan.

Still no response.

“Sorry, they’re working out their marriage at the moment,” I teased, hoping for the usual distasteful comment I usually get from Morgan.

Still nothing.

An unnerving feeling crept up the back of my neck. “Penelope, can you check if their coms are still workin—shit.” Before I could finish, a long buzz of static came through the speakers. The only comprehensible words that were picked up was the beginning of my name before cutting off.

I bit my lip, pulling out the small piece of technology and tapping it a few times. “Come on... dammit.” After playing around with the earpiece, I grew frustrated with it and stuffed it into my pocket.

I paced in the small landing between the stairs, thinking of a new gameplan. I ran my fingers through the ends of my hair, feeling the split ends prick at the skin. I felt a mountain growing in at the bottom of my stomach, leaving my esophagus constricted without air. “What would Spencer do,” I mumbled to myself, gripping onto my necklace.

“Spencer...Spencer...”

Before I could finish the mantra, a shot rang out from above me, and the crashing off glass followed. In the split moment, my legs grew a mind of its own and sprinted to higher ground. Suddenly, the sweat perspiring off me turned cold, and my heartbeat slammed itself into my spinal cord as I ran. My feet forgot its exhaustion while my mind devoured every irrational thought, and combined it with adrenaline.

The single thing that drove me over my limits was knowing that the person who fabricated and would shoo away these thoughts was somewhere I didn’t know I could get to in time.

Spencer’s POV

I tiptoed into a vacant suite of the building, still antsy about the scolding I received from Morgan. The conversation after didn’t help considering it was all a reminder to be aware and focused on the task at hand. I knew Morgan was filled with the need for redemption despite the team forgiving him of his ignorance. So, I shook off the creeping feeling and abided by his instructions.

Deciding to update Y/N and Morgan about my whereabouts, I spoke into the coms only to have static come out of it. I tried once again but failed to reach anyone. The room around me shrank as a sharp exhale left my lungs. I swallowed the buildup of saliva in the back of my throat, feeling uneasy about not knowing what’s to come.

Seeing at the area was clear, I looked out of one of the windows. Initially I cringed at the accumulated dirt and grime in the glass panes, but that all dissipated when I spotted the quaint park that Y/N loved. No one else had any interest in the community lot, seeing as people would coin it—or what Y/N would tell me—the park of death. But to her, she saw the opposite as she always does.

The light feeling of reminiscing my interactions with Y/N soothed the disconcerting atmosphere, keeping me grounded. Although the sentiment ended as soon as it started when I spotted one of the apartment walls was spray-painted with black letters.

Zugzwang

A blaring shot rang out and glass shattered into the room. I ducked into the floor, shutting my eyes. My head spun as the boom impaired my hearing. The window was forcibly open, the shards resting beside me. Left disoriented, I groaned, only feeling the after wave of vibrations on the ground. However, I soon found out that the quake of the floor wasn’t from the initial shot, but the rapid clobbering of feet inching closer to the suite and a shadowy figure preceding it.

Y/N emerged from the doorframe, panting. Eyes were laced in fear while they bore into my own. My stomach twisted into knots from previous events while I contemplated what had occurred. The presence of Y/N wasn’t even strong enough to relinquish the egging feeling crawling in my skin. I anticipated Morgan to appear, considering he was closer to the scene.

Where was he?

Another thing I didn’t anticipate, a second shot.

“Spencer?”

January 3rd

Three months after

My thoughts antagonized one another while I stared out into the world from the eerily quiet apartment. The living room was cold and empty despite the array of furniture scattered about and the broken picture frames lining the walls. The vapor rising from the cup of tea drifted into the air, vanishing into nonexistence. It’s funny how that could happen in a matter of milliseconds.

The pain the lived inside the chambers of my heart was no match for the burning of skin I felt when holding onto the steaming cup. The only worthy adversary would be the rush of self-resentment that coursed through me when picking up the book. I deserved it though. I deserved the spikes through my stomach while my fingers trailed the deckled pages, reminding me of the first time I held the book, its previous owner present with me.

I would remember our time together.

I would remember the promise shared between us.

I would remember the bloodied handprint pressed against my chest.

Now all I had was the physical manifestation of what’s left: the necklace. As cruel as it was for me, I kept it in the book, using it as a bookmark while I lost myself into poems. After a while, the inked words lost their meaning to me, becoming an empty cacophony that encased the jewelry.

Every time I grasped the chain in my clutches, a numbed ache would make itself known at the pit of my stomach. It clawed at my intestines and made the entirety of my body system obsolete. With that, I was abandoned with the sinister hauntings of my own mind—a part of me that I was once praised for.

A genius. A prodigy. Hidden behind the real mess of a guilty man.

I ignored the smashed chess board and pieces that laid still at my feet, concentrating on the snowflakes that littered the park across from the building. The grounds looked beautiful, covered in layers of pure white. I sipped at the tea once more letting my mind deteriorate with a sophisticated nonchalance.

What a tragedy it was to know my soulmate, especially right under the tip of my nose. What a cruel joke life had played.

I wished I had more time.

It was easier to let the guilt consume me rather than pondering on what I lost—who I lost. Had I lost myself too? Maybe, it didn’t matter. In some masochistic way, I enjoyed the guilt because it was a way to remember that at one point someone made for me existed. I used it to relive the moments I could never get back.

All that remained was an empty shell of a man, staring out into a dull world, wondering how time took everything away from him.

taglist: @rexorangecouny @howdycharlie @honeymilk-4 @linthebinbag @andreasworlsboring101 @ssareidbby @kyleetheeditor @fanofalltheficsx @jimilogy @lulwaxim @jhillio @m3ssytrash @haylaansmi @meowiemari @ashwarren32 @codyf3rnsupremecy @goldentournesol

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donkey-hyuck · 3 years

Text

— i tell all my friends about you, i don’t even care —

word count- 1.3k+

genre- boyfriend!au | high school!au | absolute FLUFF

pairing- baseball player!jeno x gn!reader

warnings- cussing | mentions of food (s’mores) | the most cliche plot ever

—————

jeno was whipped for you; absolutely fucking whipped. everyone knew that. your friends knew, your parents knew, hell, even the faculty knew. he was a shy little thing, and while courting you (if you would even call it that anymore) it made him even shyer than he already was.

the relationship between you and jeno was fairly new. you’d been together for about eight months. and the two of you had just been comfortable with the increasing amount of pda.

before confirming your relationship with each other, all jeno would ever gush about was you. he was pretty well-known in your school so everyone heard about the little thing he had for you, except— ironically— you. he ranted to his friends and even his coach as if they were his love therapist.

so when he finally had the courage to go up to you and actually hold a conversation, all you did was laugh in his face. and not in a mean way at all did you laugh, teasing him. it was more of just a laugh of disbelief. never in a million years did you expect the jeno lee to have a crush on you— some nobody. you weren’t mad about your status in school, in fact, you honestly couldn’t care less. but the reality was, jeno was confessing his liking towards you. in front of, what seemed like the entire school, in the hallways of your calculus class.

“i like you… uhm a lot. would you.. maybe…. like to go out on a date with me…?” his voice was quiet but his friends made sure that the kids surrounding them were quiet enough for you to hear him. the silence was broken by your stifled laughter which made jeno turn a bit pink and you then realized what it looked like.

you had nothing against the kid, you just didn’t believe him. throughout high school, he only ever had one other partner that lasted around a year and their breakup was a mystery. but that was another story for another day, plus it wasn’t your story to tell.

gasps were heard until you gasped yourself and waved your hands in the air, almost like a white flag.

“no!!” you shouted at first. then you realized that you were just as awkward as he was, “i mean. no, i didn't mean to laugh. i just… i didn’t expect you to tell me out of the blue. we barely even talk to each other and i guess i was just shocked that you’d ask me..” you trailed off your sentence. it made him laugh wholeheartedly, you were as cute as he thought of you in his dreams.

“so… is that a yes or a no?” he smiled at you, still as red as ever.

“it’s,” you looked back at your friend who looked at you with hopeful eyes. “i would love to go out with you, lee jeno.” cheers were heard from his rowdy friends as well as your rowdy classmates who just seemed to be in the right spot at the right time.

jeno smiled even harder at your response and hugged you. then thinking, he thought that it would’ve been quite awkward if he just hugged you after that whole scene. so he let go and held you by your arms before actually letting you go to grab something from his bag.

“uhm, here’s my number. i’ll text you all the deets later. and thank you.” your eyes opened wider, confused as to why he was thanking you. “for what?”

he smiled cheekily, “for giving me a chance.”

~ 8 months later ~

“yeah she’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” jeno sighed whilst talking to his best friends that invited the two of you to a bonfire. and as much as they loved how much jeno has changed, sometimes he gushed over you a bit too much. they rolled their eyes while groaning to each other. maybe you going out with him wasn’t a good idea after all. but then they looked at each other then over to the lovestruck boy. he was utterly in love with you, they could see it in the way that he looked at you.

you and jeno had been sitting side by side sharing a blanket, while the rest of the dreamies sat around you plus your friend that was able to tag along as well. all of your friends were sick of the two of you already and it hasn’t even been a year yet.

“we get it. you and y/n are together and in love. like a match made it heaven. you don’t gotta boast about it all the time,” complained haechan who was teased by the rest of the people surrounding the bonfire saying that he was just jealous of you and jeno’s relationship.

“i’m not saying that! it’s kind of annoying that they are the only couple yet we’re all here lonely and sad as fuck while they’re being all lovey-dovey,” he defended himself and complained some more which made the people laugh even more.

“hyuck it’s okay. we’re not even that lovey-dovey,” you snapped back, still laughing at the salty boy. but that remark made all of your friends go after you.

“puh-lease!” “i beg to differ!”

“quit lying!” they were all just teasing you but they kind of agreed with haechan, even if he was complaining about the two of you. it made you and jeno roll your eyes before declaring the arrival of the s’mores that mark and renjun went to go buy down the street at some seven-eleven.

the night air was quite chilly, so after you shivered a bit (and dwelled on the choice of shorts you wore), jeno looked over his shoulder, covered your legs even more with the blanket you two were sharing, and asked if you wanted to wear his zip-up hoodie. you replied with a shake of your hands but he declined to listen to you and wrapped it around your body. but after a few minutes of just speaking with your mutual friends, you noticed that he was a bit shivery because of the light wind that passed by. and as a result, it led you to try and wrap the blanket around his body as you clung closer to his arms. your actions made him smile (it reaching up to his adorable eyes) as he enveloped you tighter into his embrace and breathed in the natural scent of your shampoo.

jeno was so in love with you.

~ 2 years later ~ lol spongebob

he stayed completely infatuated with you years later. nothing much has changed besides your comfortability with each other. but you wouldn't ask for more. jeno was all you needed and you were all jeno needed.

as cliche and sappy as it sounded, the two of you made each other everything that you were and jeno was so glad to have asked you out when he did. he thought that if he didn’t, where would you two be now? still not engaging with each other? he didn’t want to think about it but whatever it was, his heart still beat as fast as it did when he asked you out that day.

you were thankful as well. jeno was your first real relationship and it already lasted this long. to be honest, you didn’t think a relationship that involved someone like you and jeno would work out. mostly because you two were shy and work oriented. but in the long run, everything turned out to be okay. in fact, everything turned out to be more than okay.

jeno was still as whipped for you as he was the day he realized he caught feelings for you. he was utterly in a protective and loving trance when it came to you and everything you did. sometimes, he would still gush to his friends about you, proud to show you off and tell everyone in the world that you belonged to him.

#happy jeno day ♡#nct #nct dream #nct u #nct jeno #nct dream jeno #nct scenarios #nct drabbles #nct dream scenarios #nct dream drabbles #jeno imagines #jeno fluff #jeno scenarios #jeno drabbles #jeno blurbs #loml <3

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aworldinsideaperson · 4 years

Text

A Well Kept Secret - George Weasley (Part One)

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Food mentions, talking about food, one night stand (no smut) having a child, getting pregnant, being pregnant,

Summary: A one night stand with George produces a child and a secret.

Trope Series: Secret baby.

A/N: This one is going to be in two parts (possibly three we will have to see) but I just started writing this last night and couldn’t stop so here it is.

@izzytheninja @youto-believein

It was a chilly evening in the Fall of 1997 when it all started, two lifelong friends meet in a London pub for a drink or two to take the edge off of their worries and fears as war wages around them. A red haired man sat beside a girl He’d known for the last nine years, they were nearly three drinks deep as their fingers brushed. With a soft intake of breath they looked to each other, her eyes wide as she stared up at him; his eyes had trained on hers as his tongue slid over his lips then dropped to her parted lips. That’s when he knew it was over and his life would never be the same. Little did he know how one night of pure bliss with his schoolyard crush would change both their lives in the ways that it did.

It was only one night. It was only supposed to be one night no matter the feeling that had arisen as they kissed on her bed that night and whispered “I love you” in the dark. The world was far too dangerous to start anything more than that one night and so they kept it at that though it was hardly a surprise to anyone when their glances to each other were lingering or their goodbyes just a touch too long. It was eight weeks before Y/N realized something was off.

The missed period. That’s what did it for her. The most obvious of symptoms but now as she looked down at the stick waiting for an answer things fell into place. She was sick to her stomach so often her diet consisted mostly of crackers the last week, she was exhausted though she had chalked it up to the stress of the current situations the suddenness of it started to make sense. Her mind ran through a checklist of symptoms her mother had claimed during her second pregnancy and with each check mark left her mind became more certain and as the timer went off and her eyes focused on the results she wasn’t as shocked as she should have been.

She was having George Weasley’s baby.

With a hand pressed to her stomach her mind raced. The Weasley family were targets, and England wasn’t safe. So with a single letter owled to her parents Y/N was packing her bags and was off to the states.

She settled into a small town in Missouri. Hermann, population now 2,401 with one on the way. With her life’s savings she paid cash from a tiny shack of a house in the center of town and tried to live her muggle life. At only 19 she was receiving dirty and pitying looks alike as he stomach started to grow beneath her waitress uniform.

At 29 weeks pregnant she received the news, a letter from her parents proclaiming the fall of Voldemort and the end of the war, they begged her to come home. As she looked down at her swollen stomach she hesitated and wrote them a single word response. No.

She had planned to return to London, her home for her whole life, but fear continued to stop her. Voldemort was gone, the Weasley family had lived, George had lived, her family was safe, but the thought of showing up so many months later after no words to George frightened her beyond any unforgivable curse. And so she did it alone. She gave birth to their son alone. She held a first birthday alone, and then a second, and a third all alone. Each year as his birthday drew to a close Y/N wondered if she should write to George, if she should tell him of their son, tell him about his big brown eyes and thick red hair; to tell him of all the mischief their three year old caused. And every year she remembered that it was meant to only be one night. The night had been filled with passion and confessions of love but she not only had to worry about rejection for herself but for the small boy that crawled into her bed when the wind was too loud and begged for just one more bedtime story before she turned out the light. He thought his father was gone, that he had loved him and wanted him but that now he was gone. She couldn’t put her son in a position to be rejected. Not by his own father.

And so she stayed. She stayed away from England, away from her family, away from George. Until an owl arrived on her doorstep 2 weeks after Graysen’s third birthday, an envelope at its feet. With a sigh she took the envelope inside and tore into it, inside was an invitation to her sister’s wedding. It read...

Please join us for the wedding of Alexa & Dawson

The First of September, 2001 at six o’clock in the evening

Dawson’s Family Home

Painswick England

Reception to Follow

Also inside the envelope was a letter, a plea from Alexa to come home, to “Bring Graysen and come home. Just a few weeks. Be my maid of honor and let me meet my nephew.” And so, filled with guilt, Y/N booked the plane tickets and a week later the two of them flew to London.

**********

Leaving the safety of the home she had built made Y/N’s blood run cold, on edge every time she left her parents house, every flash of red hair was a Weasley in her mind and every time it wasn’t she’d breathe a sigh of relief. Until the day the air caught in her lungs as a tall red haired man spotted her across the street. Identical to the one that played in her mind all the time.

He raced across the street and threw his arms around her, barely taking notice of the small red haired boy holding tightly to her hand. “Y/N!” He exclaimed. “How long has it been?”

Y/N used her free hand to pat him on the back. “Almost four years, it’s good to see you Freddie.” She pulled away, her eyes darting to her son, standing at her feet looking up at the man with curiosity. It was then that Fred looked down too and in that moment he realized her long kept secret and she knew it.

“And who’s this?” His voice tentative as he looked between her and the boy.

“This is Graysen.” She smiled and crouched down beside him, the two of them now looking up at Fred. “Graysen, this is one of Mummy’s friends from school, can you say hello to Fred?”

With a glint in his eyes a grin spread across his face. “Hello Fred!”

Fred now too crouched down to a closer height. “Well hello to you too Graysen,” Fred held out his hand and Graysen grabbed it. “How old are you?”

Graysen smiled and jumped up and down. “I just turned three in July!”

Fred faked a shocked face. “Three in July? You’re awfully big for three.”

“Mommy said I got it from my Daddy.”

Fred mumbled under his breath. “I bet you did.”

Y/N gave him a smile and picked Graysen up. “Well we best get going, I have to pick up my dress for Alexa’s wedding, it’s in two weeks.”

Fred nodded. “Right, well I’ll let you get back to your errands, but only if you agree to come to dinner at the Burrow tonight. You spent so much time at our house during breaks Mum will be thrilled to see you.”

“Oh Fred I don’t know I wouldn’t want to impose.” She said, shaking her head vigorously.

“You wouldn’t be, you’re invited. Please come, bring Graysen and your partner.” He insisted, looking to the little boy.

Her voice became small, “Actually it’s just Gray and I.”

“All the more reason to come then.” He was certainly persistent on the matter.

Y/N smiled softly at him, “You’re not going to accept no are you?”

He shook his head, “Not this time.”

“I’ll be there, six as usual?”

“Mum does like to keep a tight meal schedule these days.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Perfect.” With that the two parted ways and Y/N regretted coming home.

**********

Fred strolled into the shop, two paper bags in hand, each filled with food from their favorite muggle dinner in London. Walking up to his brother and setting the food on the counter Fred narrowed his eyes at his brother. “George?” He began, “You remember like 4 years ago, there was a night you didn’t come home?”

George turned from his brother as the corners of his lips turned up at the memory.“Yeah, why?”

“Where were you?”

George rolled his eyes and sighed. “I told you before, I’m not telling you, I was safe that’s what matters.”

Fred rolled his eyes too and mumbled under his breath. “I don’t know if you were as safe as you could have been.”

George turned to him in confusion “What do you mean?”

Fred shook his head. “Nothing, just make sure you’re ready to go by six, you know mum doesn’t like us being late.”

**********

At half past five Y/N sat in front of her parents' empty fireplace, Graysen playing on the floor in front of her as a million thoughts raced through her mind, how could she have said yes? How could she have agreed to dinner with the family of her son, a boy they didn’t know existed, that they didn’t know was theirs. She had considered leaving him with her parents but Fred has specifically invited the two of them and so as the clock struck quarter to six she wrapped Graysen up in her arms and the two of them apparated to the Burrow. Placing Graysen on the ground and holding tightly to his hand Y/N knocked on the front door three times.

When the door swung open Molly Weasley stood on the other side, face bright and smiling and she pulled Y/N in for a hug and ushered her into the home.

It was as bright and warm as it had always been, filled with noise and people.

“Who’s this?” Molly asked smiling down at Graysen looking around the magical house in wonder.

“This is Graysen, my son.”

Molly looked at her with wide eyes, “Your son?”

“Yes, he’s why I left the county.”

Molly gave her a smile and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You did the right thing dear, it wasn’t safe.”

“I know, but I should have come back sooner.” Her voice was soft and filled with sadness.

“What’s done is done, now come, we’re all sitting down to dinner.”

Walking into the kitchen felt so normal, she’d taken so many meals here in her youth it felt so natural to take the seat she’d always held, right beside George, though his seat seemed to be empty.

The table filled, Aruther and Molly at the heads, Ginny and Harry, Hermione and Ron, Bill, Fleur, even Percy and his wife had joined the fray tonight but the twin’s seats still remained empty at six oh one when there was a loud crack and the two cackling gingers appeared.

“Sorry we’re late mum, one last customer and all that, you know how it is.” Fred smiled as their laughter died down and they looked to the table.

When their eyes locked the room went silent. Y/N and George just stared at each other, until Graysen pulled on her arm for her attention. That’s when George looked to the small boy beside her and his heart soared then sank. Silently he went to his seat, the one beside Y/N, just as it has always been back when they were younger. Though this time they stayed nearly silent as they filled their plates and ate, Y/N keeping a close eye on the boy next to her as he fed himself small spoonfuls of the concoction he’d made of his plate.

“So Y/N,” Fred spoke. “You introduce Georgie to your son?”

Y/N swallowed and shook her head. “George? This is my son Graysen.”

George leaned around her to get a good look at the boy, the red hair and the big brown eyes, there was no doubt that he was a Weasley. “Hello Graysen, it’s nice to meet you. I’m George.”

With a full spoon still in his mouth Graysen attempted a smile and waved his little hand in George’s direction. The normal conversation resumed and George turned to her and asked. “How old is he?”

“He just turned three.” She stated, her eyes trained closely on her plate.

“He seems like a sweet boy.”

“He is, he’s adorable and an absolute terror at times. His tantrums have been known to shake walls.”

Arthur chuckled, jumping into the conversation. “You know, the twins were like that too when they were young, thought they were going to bring the whole house down once or twice.”

Y/N smiled and stayed silent, the rest of dinner focused entirely on the food in front of her and keeping Gray’s mess contained to his plate. Dinner was cleared and everyone ushered themselves into the living room, Graysen and Victoire sat in the middle of the floor playing, everyone else sat around them on couches and chairs. It was all polite conversation until Fred turned to her with a mischievous smile, the same one his twin got, the same one that Graysen got, the one that indicated a terrible, terrible, idea.

“So Y/N,” Fred began, “Who’s Graysen’s dad?”

Y/N tried to smile but the panic was clear on her face. “Wow, right to the hard hitters.”

“Shouldn’t be a hard question.” His tone flat, no hint of laughter in his voice. And so the interrogation began.

“You don’t know him.”

“Is he a wizard?”

“Yes.”

“Come from a big family?”

“No just him and his one sibling.”

“A twin?”

“No.”

“Parents names?”

“Mark and Anna.”

“What happened to him?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Did he go to hogwarts with us?”

“Yes.”

“Gryffindor?”

“Yes.”

Fred paused his rapid fire and his eyebrows rose. “Really?”

That was when it dawned on her, she’d slipped. There were only four Gryffindor boys their year. Fred knew it wasn’t him, and there was only one other redhead. “Fuck.” Y/N stood up quickly, picking Graysen up in her arms as she walked swiftly toward the door. “I’ve gotta go.”

George stood up after her following the two of them to the door. “Y/N wait!” He shouted but without a second thought a crack filled the air and she was gone.

George stormed back into the room, his eyes full of rage. “I can’t believe you!” He yelled his anger directed at his twin as the rest shuffled from the room.

Fred huffed. “Why are you angry with me? I was just asking questions about his father.” A sly smirk on his face as he leaned back in his chair.

“Because you know it’s me and you pushed her anyway!” George grew more angry by the minute.

“I did that for you! Do you really think she was going to tell you when she’s kept it from you this long already? No!” Fred now stood, face to face with his twin.

George choked on his words, clenching and releasing his fists as he tried not to attack the man before him. After a moment, his breathing calmed and his voice steadied. “That’s not a decision you get to make for her or for me. Now I have to go fix this and I’ll be lucky if she lets me in.” And with that George turned and walked out the door.

#Tw: food #tw: food mention #tw pregnancy #tw children #tw one night stand #george weasley #george weasley imagine #Harry Potter series #harry Potter series imagine #george weasley x reader

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the-witches-you-couldnt-burn · 3 years

Text

Should have known better

Prompt: when ur reading fanfic and one character was cooking and the other comes up to them and they start making out and everyones like starting to take their shirts off and the author STILL hasnt mentioned anyone turning off the stove

My first attempt at Dickinette. I hope I did it justice!

Here’s my favourite ratatouille recipe! It’s amazing!

Ao3

—————————

Warnings: mild sexual content & mentions of gun violence, gangs, bullet wounds, fire hazards and unplanned pregnancy

The keys jangled as he took them out of his pocket, the lock clicked open and the old apartment door creaked. He took two steps into the hall, dropping his bag with a thud and closed the door behind him. Running a hand through his long, sweat slicked hair he sighed. Today had been a long day.

A deep inhale inflated his chest, but the black police vest he wore restricted it’s full extension. The smell of a wonderful home cooked meal made his stomach growl. Ratatouille, his favourite.

His heavy boot laden feet created echoing footsteps as he walked into the grey tiled kitchen. His wife stood at the stove humming, the google pad’s screen was lit with the ingredients list. She scooped and flipped the squared vegetable mix before putting the lid upon it for the meal to soften. She turned to her sketchpad, inspired by something unknown. Drawing captured her full attention, her brain’s need to replicate the idea on paper outweighed her focus on her surroundings.

He should have known better. He grew up with vigilantes and superheroes. He should have know never to sneak up on someone, especially if they knew how to fight; although this rule doesn’t count for villains (they know what they did).

For Marinette, it had been a long day of ripped seems and designer’s block.. It was nearing on eight when she finally started dinner. Looking at the clock she sighed, ‘Dick’s working late again.’ She hoped he wasn’t caught up in the shooting across town. Two gangs had a disagreement over territory and many civilians got caught up in it. She wanted to help but she had been banned from heroine duties for the time being. Her last ladybug adventure resulted in a bullet to her leg, which was still healing.

Dick took her to the hospital stating she had gotten caught in the crossfire (which now reminds her they need to restock the medical supplies), and they discovered that she was four weeks pregnant.

In present time she was still well within her first trimester, just starting her second month; and she was feeling it too. Vomiting each morning wasn’t fun, more so when it started happening more frequently throughout the day. Their midwife reassured the young couple that it was completely normal, but if it keeps up to come back as it may become hyperemesis gravidarum which will harm the baby.

Baby.

She was still trying to wrap her head around it. She had turned twenty-four last July and Dick was only older by a year. They weren’t planning on this and they had taken all of the precautions to prevent it. Yeah sure, they were married but it hadn’t even been two years! Her worry for the future faded as she reminisced on her husband’s reaction to the discovery. He was shocked for a few seconds before jumping up and down like a toddler who got a toy, beaming with joy. Tears of happiness pricked his eyes, threatening to spill on a moments notice.

Another symptom that weighted upon her was fatigue. She was no longer a teen who could challenge the world with a pen and a cup of coffee. She was a tired, pregnant adult who had to give away her coffee maker due to the temptation being too strong. No more late night or all-nighters designing clothes and completing commissions. She had to lessen her commissions due to the stressful nature of them but working from home, in her own studio helped. It had been a month since she found out and now she just wanted to hibernate due to lack of energy.

Putting down the spatula, she scooped up the pen, suddenly inspired by the mix of colours; an autumn playsuit came to mind. Biting her lip as she drew, neglecting her surroundings, the blare of the news channel becoming white noise.

She should have known better. She was a superhero, albeit she was benched at the moment, but still! The first rule of ‘herodom’ was to always do the right thing, but the second rule was to always be aware of your surroundings.

Arms wrapped around her waist, a small gasps left her mouth and her elbow drove straight back into her captor’s chest. A masculine groan came from behind her, but she paid it no mind as she tried to get out of the man’s strong grip.

“Mari, Mari! Calm down it’s me” Her husband said breathlessly. Her jab winded him, although it was softened by his police uniform, Marinette’s miraculous strength was powerful to say the least. He just wish he didn’t have to be on the receiving end of it.

“Ma moitié! Why would you do that!?” Her anguished cry caused him to hide his chuckle in her neck. Her heartbeat made its presence known within her chest and her breathing was still shallow. Turning within his embrace, she faced him with a pout on her face, “You jerk, you scared me!” She whimpered, her pregnancy hormones had blurred the line between her emotions causing her mood to flip like a switch.

Dick looked down at her with a guilt riddled face. “Shoot Mari, I’m sorr-“

Before he could finish apologising Marinette tugged him down and connected her lips to his. She leaned back into the countertop, cupping his cheek and jaw with both hands. Dick eagerly followed her lead.

He picked her up, his hands moulding the flesh of her thighs. He had done this before, but took extra precautions this time due to her still healing leg injury. He moved her away from the countertop and sat her upon the plush couch. He hovered above her, lips only splitting for a millisecond for air before closing the gap once more.

Marinette pushed on his shoulder and swiftly flipped him so that she was on top. The quick motion caused his head to slam back into the wall, the noise halted their make-out session. Her eyes widened, the cloud of lust had evaporated and rained down on her parade. She apologised multiple times to him, eyes watering in the process.

Dick just laughed before pulling her back in for another kiss. In contrast to the sloppy wet kisses before, the gentleness off Mari’s lips now made him feel like he was made of glass. She filled it with her remorse over hurting him. But as the kiss continued it shifted back to the momentum and passion they had before.

Her hands trailed up his chest, she shivered into the kiss; he had just taken off her shirt, leaving her in her bra. His thumb brushed under the mound of her breast, he felt her furious heartbeat through he skin.

Her focus lowered to his bare neck. Placing kiss upon kiss there and biting occasionally, leaving a trail of pink marks for his colleagues to see during his neck shift. A hand ran down her back as it arced, pushing her bosom into his chest.

They broke apart, foreheads pressed together, bodies flushed against each other’s. She peppered his face with kisses, “I love you”s were stated after each. He returned this action with the same fervour.

Something was wrong though. It was a sudden onset plaguing thought that something wasn't right. They had tried to ignore it but it had become like a tugging string tied around their hearts, signalling an oncoming danger. Wordlessly the two scanned the apartment, neither wanting to part from their entanglement.

Confused the two looked back at the other. Neither finding what set off the warning sensation. As their eyes connected, realisation washed over them like a bucket of ice water. They inhaled the burnt air and scrambled apart; both exclaiming “Fuck!”

Running into the kitchen, the tiles were cold against her bare feet. Dark unventilated smoke hung in the air. Upon entry to the room it was a wall of heat, it was a wonder the smoke alarms hadn’t gone off yet. Dick grabbed a nearby tea towel and swatted at the smoke, he shuffled towards the burners, mouth and nose hidden within his elbow.

Marinette opened all nearby windows, she hoped that the neighbours on the floors above didn’t question the smoke. The couple worked together to set up a system of fans to push out the smoke from the kitchen.

“If Alfred were here he would kill us.” Dick solemnly nodded in reply, ‘we should have known better’. He scraped the burnt black char into the bin, while Mari held the pan. Once the pan cooled down enough it went into the bin too, there was no saving it.

Dick tied up the yellow bin bag and placed the spatula into the sink. “Soooo... want chinese? If you’re up for it, it’ll be my treat.”

Her stomach growled as her eyes flicked to the clock, it was almost nine and she hadn’t eaten since breakfast at seven. She nodded, “sounds good let’s go!”

She walked towards the door, hand on the handle when she realised that he hadn’t followed her. Turning back around she saw him staring at her, cheeks flushed, unmoved from his position next to the bin.

“Um babe?”

“What’s wrong Ma moitié? I thought you wanted Chinese.” Her head tilted, confused at his actions.

He cleared his throat, eyes flicking away. “Babe you’ve forgotten your shirt.”

“Shit” left her lips as she bolted back to the couch, vaulting over a counter much to Dick’s disapproval. She heard him scolding her from the other room, but was too hungry to care.

Walking back to him, now appropriately dressed, she grabbed his hand, pulling him out the door. He just sighed, following his crazy wife, throwing the bag into the complex’s dumpster on the way to the car.

No one was getting in between her and her noodles.

#maribat #mlb x dc #dc x mlb #marinette x dick #dick x marinette #dickinette #Alfred shivered at the sensation of burning food #Alfred would be disappointed #never get in the way of Mari and her noodles

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doiefy · 4 years

Text

yellow // na jaemin

genre: fluff, angst, soulmate!au, slice of life pairing: jaemin x gn. reader (feat. lucas) warnings: none word count: 1.4k

a (possibly non-canon?) epilogue to blue that i’ve been meaning to write for weeks and finally got around to. and just in time for my lovely beta reader @neojaems’ birthday!! hope you have an amazing day and thank you again for all your support while i was writing blue. love you bub <33

would definitely recommend reading blue before this (it’s a long one, but also my baby). there’s a lot on soulmate mechanics and the other characters here that probably won’t make sense without the context of blue.

You never realized how much you missed Seoul.

It wasn’t the busyness you missed—the hustle and bustle of city life was ever-present in Hong Kong where you’d moved to three summers ago—nor was it really the people you had to leave behind. And as a matter of fact, you hadn’t even thought much of Seoul while you were gone, too caught up in hectic schedules and settling into your new job. Only when you arrived in the Incheon Airport did you notice a certain emptiness being filled with the familiarities of your mother tongue, the sights and smells of your city, your home.

You supposed your home was no longer limited to just a city though, not when the love of your life had eagerly dropped everything to be next to you. Home was in his arms.

After everything, after Jungwoo and Mark and Donghyuck and Jaemin… it seemed so unreal. You’d reread the test papers again and again, struggling to decipher some of the intricate characters of a language you were still so clumsy with, scared you would wake up from some fantasy the universe had so cruelly shoved into your head. God knows how long you sat there, fingers tracing over the coloured stripe at the top of the page. But you never found a mistake in the results. You never woke up to the coldness of an empty bedroom. Your test had come back yellow.

The morning after your arrival in Seoul, you woke up just before sunrise, to comforting arms around your waist and the faintest sounds of morning traffic outside. You lay there for a few minutes, and when you realized there was no chance of you falling back asleep, slipped out of bed.

“Where are you going?” You heard Lucas murmur softly as you slipped into a pair of jeans and a sweater, his voice swallowed up by the pillows.

“Just taking a walk. Might grab us some breakfast while I’m at it.” You leaned over to press a gentle kiss to his forehead, brushed a few pieces of his brown hair aside. “I’ll be back in a bit.” He mumbled something in reply before promptly burying his head back into the duvet, and you felt the corners of your lips turn upwards fondly.

It was cold out; much colder than what you’d become accustomed to in Hong Kong. Autumn was upon you, and the cold wind swept away the scarce bit of warmth that’d accumulated in your layers of clothing. You made your way down the street towards the Han River, where you could watch the sunrise. The park was relatively empty at this hour; you could spot only a few joggers making their morning laps and a group of kids on the basketball court, passing a ball back and forth between them. You used to come here with Mark in the 70s, long before the city built sidewalks and fences and recreational centres, when there were only small paths leading down to the riverbank and an elderly man offering boat rides at the dock.

The leaves at your feet scattered, parting for you as if you were a gust of wind rushing past. They skittered along the sidewalk, rolled and tumbled over themselves, collected in piles next to the brick fences of the park and in the muddy puddles of the main road. The breeze danced by your side, laughing mischievously in your ear while trying to grab the cap you wore on your head.

Someone was sitting in your usual spot: the carved wooden bench by the waterfront that Mark had shown you years ago. You’d brought Donghyuck and Jaemin here, and you made a note to show Lucas as well when you took him on a tour of the city. But for the time being, you awkwardly made your way past him to look for a different spot. Until you recognized him.

He was just as you’d met him some eight or nine years ago—dark eyes, fair skin, a fitted black sweater and wool coat, his hair now dyed black and swept back neatly. He looked a bit older, more rugged than you remembered, weathered by age. A surge of memories washed over you and you stopped, wondering if you were seeing correctly.

“Jaemin?”

He looked up, shocked, confused. The two of you stood there for a moment, unmoving, as if both uncertain of what to say. You were suddenly aware of the blue pendant hidden beneath your shirt, the way the coldness of the glass pressing against your skin brought back memories of purple irises, glasses of wine, softly whispered words in the early morning hours.

“What are you doing here?” Jaemin asked, smiling as he invited you to sit down. “I haven’t seen you in years.” There was a certain sadness to his voice, and you couldn’t help but feel an unsettling bit of guilt in your chest. It was only inevitable that you drifted apart, you supposed, when your phone calls and text conversations came to a stop, when you began to busy yourselves with your own lives.

“I just got back. Last night,” you explained, sitting down next to him. Perhaps the decision to move back to Seoul was a bit abrupt, now that you thought about it. At least, abrupt enough that he didn’t hear about it through your friends.

“Hong Kong just wasn’t for you?” He raised a brow. “I heard it’s a beautiful city.”

You giggled, shaking your head. “It’s lovely there, Jaem.” The old nickname came naturally, and you didn’t know how to feel about it. “But I never intended to stay that long anyways. It wasn’t a permanent thing. It was just to…”

“Catch a break. Get away from all the changes here.”

You gave him an amused look. “How did you know?”

He smiled sadly. “You left so suddenly, I figured there was something bothering you… Mark getting married. Doyoung’s passing.” A pause. When he spoke again, his voice was small. Far from disappointed or bitter or sad, but quiet, thoughtful, in a way that reminded you of Jungwoo. “And me.”

“Not you, Jaem,” you murmured, looking wistfully out at the water and now reminiscing the summer you’d spent here with him. “Seoul is just… too many memories, too many emotions. Sometimes I need time away from all the reminders. To find some sort of calm.”

“Did you find what you were looking for then?”

For a moment, you thought he meant Lucas, and you wondered how he could’ve possibly known. You laughed, nodding.

“Yes,” you said. “And among other things. I found him. My soulmate.”

There was a moment of surprise before his face lit up with a genuine smile. Some time ago, maybe he would have thrown his arms around you in a bone-crushing hug. Some time ago, he might have taken your hand, told you he was thrilled for you, kissed you on the cheek, whispered something only the two of you could understand. But as much as your mind drifted to those times, you were content with what it was now.

“Oh my gosh, you found them,” he repeated excitedly as he held you at an arm’s length. “What’s he like?”

“He’s, well—” You paused for a brief moment before continuing shyly. “His name is Lucas. And… he’s wonderful, Jaem. He’s funny, he’s kind, he’s smart… I got lucky.”

“Not lucky,” he corrected you, beaming. “You deserve each other.” He sighed, and his eyes glazed over, the way they did whenever he broke away from the present reality to visit some moment in the past. “You deserve so much, Y/N. So much more than what I gave you, you know?”

“Don’t discredit yourself like that,” you chided him lightly and he laughed, shaking his head.

“I’m happy for you. Really.”

Happy that the universe finally gave you what you needed most, his eyes seemed to say. Happy that after all these years, you still remembered him. So many unspoken words, but there was no need to vocalize them—you sat there in comfortable silence, and you knew. It almost felt like old times: wordlessly watching the sun rise over the city, watching the world come alive from slumber. Knowing that you were in two different worlds, yet not quite apart either. Your paths would continue to diverge; you would return to the boy asleep at home and he to the girl waiting for him, you to your life and he to his. But the diverging of two lines could only mean that they’d intersected at some point in the past.

The sky glowed golden above you.

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