#we are still as fond of nature and in fact we’re now studying it

[spoofyleaf]

Mom was right, we will find people who get us.

[jaeminlore]

Landslide | Mark Lee

summary: time makes you bolder. even children get older, and i’m getting older too.

words: 7.1k+

category: teacher!mark, single parent!reader, fem!presenting!reader, graham is the sweetest kid, mark is that teacher that lets kids pick earthworms during recess, friends to lovers, mark’s apartment is flooded so now he has to live in domestic bliss with his secret crush oh nooooo

warnings: talk of absent fathers

author note: it’s my birthday tomorrow so i wanted to give u all a present for supporting me for so long!! here’s to you <3 (cross-posted on /honklore)

Mark helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Mark advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Mark grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Mark.

Mark ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Lee forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Mark giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Mark to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Mark actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Mark did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Mark puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Mark checks his text messages.

There’s one from Taeyong: “I’ve already got Haechan on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Mark forgot that Haechan lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Mark’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Mark didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Mark has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Mark right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

He lets out a quiet sigh, careful not to disturb the children. He only has a short list of friends left to ask, and while he doesn’t think they’ll mind him asking, he really hates to put anyone in that position.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Mark doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Mark gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Mark is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Mark’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Mark gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Mark pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Mark! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Mark is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Lee! It’s rude to call him Mark!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Mark reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Mark.”

Graham pinches his lips together, and then shrugs. “Fine. Mom, we watched Nature Nut today.” He runs up to you and wraps his arm around your middle. “Can we go to the park and look for slugs?”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Mark and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Mark studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Mark acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Mark clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Mark. I’ll text you.”

Mark spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

-

Life has never been very easy for you. From the get-go, you have always been destined to fail, growing up with an absent father and an overworked mother. With a dead-end dream like yours (writing, of all things), it’s no wonder you clung to what little breaths of freedom you had.

He was handsome and bold, with a carefree smile and brown eyes that mirrored the sun. The lead singer of a band, with a voice like chimes. And you fell just as hard as one of your many protagonists. Perhaps the mistake always lay in the fact that you put too much fantasy into reality. You have always romanticized the littlest things, and that comes back to bite you more often than not.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Of course, most people you come to love leave eventually. It’s something you have always remembered; something that sticks in the back of your brain like gum to the bottom of your child’s Spider-man skechers.

Graham is the only constant in your life. Though you’ve been blessed with a decent job editing for a webazine company, and you can work from home more often than not, Graham is the real thing that keeps you alive.

He’s the most precious boy, with brown curls and big brown eyes. He favors his father, and though that should deter you, it reminds you of innocent days, and it gives a new meaning to brown eyes. Graham is not his father, and he never was.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Mark is his teacher.

Mark’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Mark is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Mark glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Mark.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Mark to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Lee?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Mark gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Mark.

“How have you been?”

Mark sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Mark pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Mark. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Mark bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

-

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Lee is coming over, Graham.  Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Lee? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

“Yes,” you say, thankful that he isn’t putting up much of a fight toward cleaning. You’re also thankful he isn’t asking any questions, as Graham always seems to have a few at the top of his tongue.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Mark decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Lee’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are heard before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, and you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Mark’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Mark is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Mark’s stuff.

He surprisingly didn’t bring much, and when you ask about it, he grimaces. “My studio is pretty small so a lot of my stuff was on the ground and got mildewed. Other stuff was in bins so I just left it there. I only need clothes and my lesson plans, anyway.”

“Well, here’s the desk and bed. It’s not much, but there’s a lock on the door in case Graham ever gets too inquisitive — bless him — and curtains so the stupidly bright sun won’t wake you too early.”

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Mark teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Mark mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Mark gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Mark himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Mark has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Lee cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Mark around the house.

“Here’s the guest bathroom. Graham almost always uses the bathroom in my room because he likes looking at the big tub. He will beg you to play with him, but if you’re busy don’t feel guilty telling him no. He knows what no means and he’s good about playing by himself.”

Mark giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

You show him around the kitchen, where you left little spaces for him in the pantry. You show him the garbage bags and the T.V. settings and the list of compostable ingredients. “And also, please come and go as you please. Like, I completely understand that you’re here temporarily and you aren’t a babysitter or anything like that. I don’t expect you to be in charge of Graham any time outside of school.”

Mark blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Mark knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

-

Mark thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Mark gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Mark quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Mark tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Lee! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Mark’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Graham’s room is fairly simple. The small wooden bed is covered in a green quilt, and beneath that, frozen-printed sheets that certainly don’t match. He has a tub of stuffed animals shoved against a small dresser.

Mark gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Mark feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be. Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Mark reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Mark has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Lee?”

Mark grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Mark’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Mark feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s look!” Graham yanks open one of the drawers and begins pulling out the articles of clothing one by one. “No, no, no... Here!” He finds a pair of yellow overalls, folded amongst the mess he made. “I’ll wear these!”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Mark grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Mark, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Mark leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Mark thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Mark takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Mark asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Mark watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Mark, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Mark reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Mark wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

-

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Lee let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Mark trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

You sigh and close the laptop. The manuscript will have to wait. “Ben called. About a week ago. His girlfriend is pregnant. Called me to tell me he wasn’t going to leave her— like that would heal what he did to me. Then he called this morning to tell me they’re engaged.” You burst into tears then, and you feel so pathetic for doing this in front of your old schoolmate, that you hide your face behind your palms and allow your shoulders to shake. “Why weren’t we enough? Why wasn’t I enough?”

Mark scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Mark places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Mark’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Mark says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Mark Lee would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Mark grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

-

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Mark up by jumping on his chest.

Mark sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Mark, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Mark rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Mark and Graham enter.

Mark likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Mark, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Mark rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Mark insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

-

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Mark giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

You sigh and pull your beanie down over your forehead. “You’d think a snow day would tire him out. Thanks for constantly carrying him up the hill, by the way. I know you’re a teacher, but sometimes I forget how good you are with kids.”

“I do have a godson,” Mark reminds you.

“But Mikey is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Mark’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Mark scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Mark is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Mark laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Mark blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Mark is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Mark,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Mark opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

-

Haechan comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Mark, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still high despite its blunt sarcasm. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Haechan, Mark’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Lee’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Haechan looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Haechan to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Taeyong’s, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Mikey, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re rambling and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Johnny about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Mark tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Mark didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Haechan scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Mark’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Haechan grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Mark, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Haechan in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Haechan’s voice cracks

You shoot Haechan a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Johnny’s.” Mark says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Haechan says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Mark laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Mark is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in the shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

-

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Mark is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Haechan’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Mark didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Mark was alone in a dorm with Taeyong, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Mark even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

Throughout your entire pregnancy he was warned not to stay friends with the pregnant girl — it’d be too much for him, he wouldn’t want to become the new father, and all kinds of other stuff people would mumble to him when you weren’t around.

But you never expected him to be anything other than your friend. You never asked him for the help he gave — though you thanked him always — and you never once assumed he’d take the role of Graham’s dad.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Lee?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Mark jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Mark realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Mark holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“You left.” Graham says, voice less watery, like he doesn’t know the weight of his words. He’s focused on the rerun of Adventure Time that’s playing. He’s not even remotely interested in his nightmare now, with his tears dried up, and his eyes drooping back towards slumber.

“I’m going to leave one day,” Mark says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Mark’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

-

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Mark and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Mark’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Mark scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Mark smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, copper brown under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Mark’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

-

“Mark Lee!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Mark has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Mark’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Mark laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Mark.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Mark.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Haechan told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You want to say “You can stay here as long as you want, and long as you’ll let me keep you,” but that would reveal too much, and you don’t want to lose the one good friend you have.

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Mark pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Mark stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

-

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Mark. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

But you won’t see him in the kitchen, reaching for the pancake mix so his shirt rises up and you can see the dimples in his back. You won’t see him humming along to the radio while he works on his lesson plans. You won’t feel his warmth when the two of you stay awake, nursing spiked lemonade and giggling at the commentary videos you find on YouTube.

He’ll just be Mark again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Mark in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say.

Mark confesses, “I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Mark is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Mark bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Mark’s voice is a low rumble. Copper eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

You close your eyes, because his are too honest. He’s open and vulnerable and gentle — a child on the first day of school, ready to make friends. You take a deep breath, try to remember what you were like on your first day. Rosy cheeks and shy glances. Knobby knees and a trusting heart. You reach out for whoever you once were — the Y/n with a heart open and willing to be loved. “I don’t want this to end either. I’m in love with you, Mark.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in onyx black disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.

[honklore]

landslide | karl jacobs

(kindergarten teacher!karl, single mom!reader, oh no karl’s apartment gets flooded so he has to stay at his best friend from high school’s house who also happens to be the mother of his favorite student, karl just being soft and sweet and a great friend, um talk about the baby daddy being a loser essentially, the beast team is there playing the role of karl’s friends from school, graham is the sweetest child, slight angst, fluff, friends to lovers, SOFT KARL, warmth, comfort, romance coded but very light)

listen to: landslide by fleetwood mac, never grow up by taylor swift, growing up by river run north, rainbow by kacey musgraves

Karl helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Karl advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Karl grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Karl.

Karl ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Jacobs forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Karl giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Karl to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Karl actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Karl did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Karl puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Karl checks his text messages.

There’s one from Chris: “I’ve already got Chandler on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Karl forgot that Chandler lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Karl’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Karl didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Karl has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Karl right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

He lets out a quiet sigh, careful not to disturb the children. He only has a short list of friends left to ask, and while he doesn’t think they’ll mind him asking, he really hates to put anyone in that position.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Karl doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Karl gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Karl is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Karl’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Karl gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Karl pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Karl! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Karl is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Jacobs! It’s rude to call him Karl!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Karl reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Karl.”

Graham pinches his lips together, and then shrugs. “Fine. Mom, we watched Nature Nut today.” He runs up to you and wraps his arm around your middle. “Can we go to the park and look for slugs?”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Karl and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Karl studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Karl acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Karl clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Karl. I’ll text you.”

Karl spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

Life has never been very easy for you. From the get-go, you have always been destined to fail, growing up with an absent father and an overworked mother. With a dead-end dream like yours (writing, of all things), it’s no wonder you clung to what little breaths of freedom you had.

He was handsome and bold, with a carefree smile and brown eyes that mirrored the sun. The lead singer of a band, with a voice like chimes. And you fell just as hard as one of your many protagonists. Perhaps the mistake always lay in the fact that you put too much fantasy into reality. You have always romanticized the littlest things, and that comes back to bite you more often than not.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Of course, most people you come to love leave eventually. It’s something you have always remembered; something that sticks in the back of your brain like gum to the bottom of your child’s Spider-man skechers.

Graham is the only constant in your life. Though you’ve been blessed with a decent job editing for a webazine company, and you can work from home more often than not, Graham is the real thing that keeps you alive.

He’s the most precious boy, with brown curls and big brown eyes. He favors his father, and though that should deter you, it reminds you of innocent days, and it gives a new meaning to brown eyes. Graham is not his father, and he never was.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Karl is his teacher.

Karl’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Karl is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Karl glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Karl.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Karl to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Jacobs?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Karl gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Karl.

“How have you been?”

Karl sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Karl pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Karl. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Karl bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Jacobs is coming over, Graham.  Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Jacobs? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

“Yes,” you say, thankful that he isn’t putting up much of a fight toward cleaning. You’re also thankful he isn’t asking any questions, as Graham always seems to have a few at the top of his tongue.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Karl decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Jacobs’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are head before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, but just you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Karl’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Karl is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Karl’s stuff.

He surprisingly didn’t bring much, and when you ask about it, he grimaces. “My studio is pretty small so a lot of my stuff was on the ground and got mildewed. Other stuff was in bins so I just left it there. I only need clothes and my lesson plans, anyway.”

“Well, here’s the desk and bed. It’s not much, but there’s a lock on the door in case Graham ever gets too inquisitive — bless him — and curtains so the stupidly bright sun won’t wake you too early.”

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Karl teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Karl mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Karl gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Karl himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Karl has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Jacobs cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Karl around the house.

“Here’s the guest bathroom. Graham almost always uses the bathroom in my room because he likes looking at the big tub. He will beg you to play with him, but if you’re busy don’t feel guilty telling him no. He knows what no means and he’s good about playing by himself.”

Karl giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

You show him around the kitchen, where you left little spaces for him in the pantry. You show him the garbage bags and the T.V. settings and the list of compostable ingredients. “And also, please come and go as you please. Like, I completely understand that you’re here temporarily and you aren’t a babysitter or anything like that. I don’t expect you to be in charge of Graham any time outside of school.”

Karl blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Karl knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

Karl thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Karl gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Karl quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Karl tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Jacobs! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Karl’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Graham’s room is fairly simple. The small wooden bed is covered in a green quilt, and beneath that, frozen-printed sheets that certainly don’t match. He has a tub of stuffed animals shoved against a small dresser.

Karl gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Karl feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be.

Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Karl reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Karl has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Jacobs?”

Karl grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Karl’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Karl feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s look!” Graham yanks open one of the drawers and begins pulling out the articles of clothing one by one. “No, no, no... Here!” He finds a pair of yellow overalls, folded amongst the mess he made. “I’ll wear these!”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Karl grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Karl, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Karl leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Karl thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Karl takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Karl asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Karl watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Karl, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Karl reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Karl wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Jacobs let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Karl trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

You sigh and close the laptop. The manuscript will have to wait. “Ben called. About a week ago. His girlfriend is pregnant. Called me to tell me he wasn’t going to leave her— like that would heal what he did to me. Then he called this morning to tell me they’re engaged.” You burst into tears then, and you feel so pathetic for doing this in front of your old schoolmate, that you hide your face behind your palms and allow your shoulders to shake. “Why weren’t we enough? Why wasn’t I enough?”

Karl scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Karl places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Karl’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Karl says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Karl Jacobs would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Karl grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Karl up by jumping on his chest.

Karl sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Karl, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Karl rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Karl and Graham enter.

Karl likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of seeing you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Karl, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Karl rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Karl insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Karl giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

You sigh and pull your beanie down over your forehead. “You’d think a snow day would tire him out. Thanks for constantly carrying him up the hill, by the way. I know you’re a teacher, but sometimes I forget how good you are with kids.”

“I do have a godson,” Karl reminds you.

“But Tucker is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Karl’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Karl scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Karl is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Karl laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Karl blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Karl is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Karl,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Karl opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Chandler comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Karl, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still monotonous despite its humor. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Chandler, Karl’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Jacob’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Chandler looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Chandler to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Chris’, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Tucker, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re ranting and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Jimmy about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Karl tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Karl didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Chandler scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Karl’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Chandler grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Karl, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Chandler in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Chandler’s voice cracks

You shoot Chandler a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Jimmy’s.” Karl says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Chandler says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Karl laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Karl is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in a shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Karl is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Chandler’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Karl didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Karl was alone in a dorm with Chris, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Karl even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

Throughout your entire pregnancy he was warned not to stay friends with the pregnant girl — it’d be too much for him, he wouldn’t want to become the new father, and all kinds of other stuff people would mumble to him when you weren’t around.

But you never expected him to be anything other than your friend. You never asked him for the help he gave — though you thanked him always — and you never once assumed he’d take the role of Graham’s dad.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Jacobs?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Karl jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Karl realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Karl holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“You left.” Graham says, voice less watery, like he doesn’t know the weight of his words. He’s focused on the rerun of Adventure Time that’s playing. He’s not even remotely interested in his nightmare now, with his tears dried up, and his eyes drooping back towards slumber.

“I’m going to leave one day,” Karl says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Karl’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Karl and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Karl’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Karl scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Karl smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, stormy green under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Karl’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

“Karl Jacobs!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Karl has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Karl’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Karl laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Karl.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Karl.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Chandler told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You want to say “You can stay here as long as you want, and long as you’ll let me keep you,” but that would reveal too much, and you don’t want to lose the one good friend you have.

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Karl pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Karl stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Karl. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

But you won’t see him in the kitchen, reaching for the pancake mix so his shirt rises up and you can see the dimples in his back. You won’t see him humming along to the radio while he works on his lesson plans. You won’t feel his warmth when the two of you stay awake, nursing spiked lemonade and giggling at the commentary videos you find on YouTube.

He’ll just be Karl again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Karl in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say, just as Karl confesses,

“I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Karl is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Karl bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Karl’s voice is a low rumble. Green grass eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

You close your eyes, because his are too honest. He’s open and vulnerable and gentle — a child on the first day of school, ready to make friends. You take a deep breath, try to remember what you were like on your first day. Rosy cheeks and shy glances. Knobby knees and a trusting heart. You reach out for whoever you once were — the Y/n with a heart open and willing to be loved. “I don’t want this to end either. I’m in love with you, Karl.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in emerald green disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.

[cuppasunu]

CHAPTER NINE

synopsis: you have waited all your life to find yours, while eric loathes the thought of being destined to one. by fate, you have been matched as soulmates, will it end well?

warnings: none

pairing: eric sohn x fem. reader | all of tbz members

genre: fluff, angst

w/c: 2.5K words

by fate masterlist.

fic playlist.

— kyu is listening to... urs by niki

“You know, for someone who’s going to design houses for a living, you’re pretty messy..”

Eric tiptoes around your room for the third time today, following you around with a handful of items he’s been picking up off the floor.

“Hey- I think you meant to say ‘thank you for letting us use this apartment for studying when I clearly have a spacious house that we could have gone to for once’ right?” you rolled your eyes while snatching a few things from his hands and putting it back where you left it.

His jaw falls, “Why are you putting it back- and it’s true!”

“So? I design for practicality and function! What.. can’t you stand a little mess?”

“Okay, as long as we won’t trip some way, somehow.”

You argued that the mess and scattered books on the floor is part of a whole system but seeing an overflow from your shelves, it seems like you just needed extra space. Eric sighed, still eyeing the books you’ve laid down.

“The house is full because the other hyungs are bringing their own projects to work on.. it’s easier to work without distractions here.”

“Okay, but next time we should go there next, it’s closer to campus,” you say, then turning around to point your finger at him playfully, “-and for the record, I do love being neat. I just have a hard time keeping it organized.”

Without skipping a beat Eric says, “Explains why we’re a great match,” then, he looks at you, failing to conceal the way his eyes are wavering, “Being neat comes natural to me, though I think it would be an odd trait to be specifically fond of.”

“...an odd trait to be specifically fond of.”

The likeness of your characteristics has always given you goosebumps. Eric gets lost in his own musings, smiling to himself before catching the undertone of what he just said. He becomes occupied with that struggle and buys you some time to snap out of your own thoughts.

You broke the silence first, “Yeah, the universe must find it pretty funny.”

“We should get back to the script-”

Eric awkwardly sets the rest of your things down, taking a seat on the floor, “Yeah, we should..”

A notification suddenly rang but it was unclear who’s phone it was. You frantically search for your phone, realizing Eric was already reaching for it and you were just a millisecond slower than him.

“You said.. no.. more.. distractions,” he holds your phone away from your reach, waving it back and forth while wearing his signature mischievous grin.

Eric puts no effort into seeing who was actually trying to get a hold of you. Taunting you to no end, he refuses to budge from his seat. When you took a quick glance, you saw that it was Juyeon, distracting you from the fact you had basically crawled into Eric’s personal space. He gulps in nervousness, attempting to steady his breathing while being aware of how your face is in close proximity to his own.

It was dangerous, cruel even, seeing your shirt carelessly dangle off your shoulder—he tried to look away.

The infinity sign really did look beautiful on your skin now in a closer sight. Eric never cared much to look at his own in the mirror.

“Uh- y/n..”

You look down from your phone. Immediately, your stomach twists in knots when you realize that you’re now sitting on his lap, locking him in a straddling position—he has no idea how to start telling you.

“Shi- Sorry!” you yelped, leaping out of the way.

His hand barely lingered on your waist as he assisted on getting you off of him, eyes darting in opposite directions. You’ve always worn the same clothes you’ve been wearing but somehow it feels far too revealing on that exact moment.

You hold your journal unto your lap skipping through empty pages to keep your hands busy while Eric coughs, as if it was done on cue. You could’ve sworn that this was a scene out of a sitcom.

“Who was it?” Eric asked.

“No one.. I’ll reply to it later,” you avoided his question.

When you snatched the phone from his hand, you didn’t know if it was to quickly check the message or hide the name displayed on the screen from Eric.

But, you realized, it no longer mattered when he said, “Tell him to wait, then. We have a project to finish.”

Not that it was supposed to be any of his business. Eric still couldn’t admit to himself that such things genuinely drove him up the wall. He even believes he’s a step ahead of you—keeping his phone on silent. Though, he didn’t know, that too, didn’t matter.

You were already dying of curiosity, trying to think of ways to ask him about a certain “Hanna” who’s calling him at this hour.

In the end, you took none of them.

…

“..find it- I heard they serve the best waffles there,” Juyeon says, looking around the restaurant he’s been talking about. He chose to bring you to a popular spot on your date today, an alleyway lined up with snack bars and cafes.

Only catching the last few words from what he was saying, you mindlessly nodded while whispering yes and no under your breath.

“Y/n.. did you actually listen to what I said?” Juyeon waved his hand in front of your face.

“Oh- oh yes.. yes we should go there. Waffles.”

Distracted, you tried to play it off. A tinge of guilt rumbles within you knowing Juyeon is clearly affected by how indifferent you were acting. He’s been looking forward to bringing you to this place—somewhere he’s been raving about for days.

Juyeon laughs halfheartedly, “I just said.. the store closed, that's why we can’t find it.”

Embarrassed would be an understatement. You knew that saying some excuse won’t make it any better so you quietly apologized for being out of it.

It’s the least you can do to be a good girlfriend.

However, that was also the very core of the matter—being Juyeon’s girlfriend. At first, you both never felt like labeling what you have now would make any difference.

But now, the lack of confirmation is the very thing that makes this all the more.. unstable, uncertain.

“You’ve got something in your mind?” he sits on a bench, pulling your hand down with him.

“Just some things about my career. I recently talked to.. a friend.. that really put things into perspective,” you say a half-truth.

So technically, it wasn’t a lie.

That day with Eric, you definitely took your time talking about careers. But, you had already made up your mind to not tell Juyeon the whole truth. It was far more simple to do, sparing him the details about the fact you are rethinking all aspects of your life choices at this exact moment.

Eric grows more and more annoying each day, the same way he appears to be more and more captivating. You can see why he would have the reputation he once sported before but his charms grew on you so naturally, it looked effortless. His bright personality makes it so easy to be friends with basically everyone.

Sometimes, you want to be selfish and believe a part of that charm could still be uniquely yours to witness.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you sensed Juyeon’s thumb softly caressing your hand. Instantly, you gave him a small smile and told him it’s fine and that you’re going to be okay. Acting like something is not a big deal is the first step of making that a reality.

In this unseasonably warm weather, Juyeon was wearing a sleeveless tank in the middle of autumn. Though most of it is concealed, that small heart peeking through was enough to send your thoughts in a frenzy, again. It all boils down to one choice, is it you or his soulmate? Just because your dream of having a successful soulmate match went haywire doesn’t mean his own should, too.

At least, not because of you.

You finally smiled, taking Juyeon’s hand onto yours.

“Let’s go somewhere else.”

…

Out of all the smart decisions Eric could be making right now, this must be at the bottom of the list.

He’s meeting his blind date any minute now, though he is also seriously debating whether to text her goodbye before they would even meet. A voice calls out his name before he puts his thoughts into action.

“Eric? Eric Sohn?” someone asks, walking up to his backside.

He turns around to see her, letting go of all the other thoughts and facing the fact he can’t just run away now.

“Hi, Hanna- right?”

“That’s me,” she smiles.

Eric recognized her clothing, just like the way she described it earlier through text. And she’s pretty, just like what Haknyeon when he brought up the blind date idea. It would be too shallow to base his attraction merely through appearance, but of course, it doesn’t hurt when you’re getting to know someone who’s naturally appealing anyway.

That seems to explain why she is nervous.

“Do you regret.. coming today?” Eric asks.

Hanna gets taken aback by the question. She didn’t think her words may have hinted that she was, but her aloofness may have spoken for her. Wearing an embarrassed expression, she tries to go around the topic.

“Noo.. no, I don’t regret..” her voice grew so quiet, she failed to even finish her sentence.

Eric responds with a reassured chuckle. He looks around and spots a bench by the food alley. Tapping her arm, Eric leads them to sit down. “You don’t need to lie,” he shakes his head, “I completely understand if you’re.. not very comfortable. Or if something is bothering you, you can be honest. Totally- no hard feelings.”

“Why? Are you regretting coming today, too?” Hanna asks with a playful tone, her eyes are fixed on the brick sidewalk.

Eric notices that and does the same, “I don’t know. I don’t think so- but also, I really don’t know.. why I even came in the first place.”

Thankfully, that didn’t strike a nerve. Eric and Hanna laugh at the same time. In the midst of that mindless confession, they both realized how ridiculous their situation was. Breaking that first barrier allowed the two to finally meet each other’s eyes.

“Honestly, I never really thought that something could come out of this, I mean it was obvious we’re not soulmates..” Hanna starts.

“But?” Eric asks, “there was still a reason why you came, right?”

She nods. Without any substantial experience with relationships, Hanna talks about her curiosity about such things. She would never have the heart to betray her soulmate, but one date with someone that she wasn’t necessarily going to be tied to seemed harmless enough. Eric sat there listening to Hanna, and realized how much his outlook had also changed.

He did have the heart to betray someone—betray you—he just didn’t anticipate how hard it would be in keeping it that way.

After finishing her thought, Hanna was thankful that he never interrupted or made her feel stupid. That didn’t stop her from feeling nervous that she had been too honest with someone she barely knew. “Hearing myself out loud makes it seem like it’s nonsense, no?” she pouts.

Eric chuckled and whispered something under his breath. Hanna raised her eyebrow, shaking his arm, “Hm- what were you saying?”

“I said, you’re cute.”

Hanna becomes flustered with his sudden compliment. She swallowed her words and didn’t bother to reply to him, but hid a subtle smile from him. Standing up from the bench, Hanna starts walking over the alleyway and checking the stalls out.

“Yah.. wait for me,” Eric beams, trying to catch up.

Hanna looks back on him when she stops hearing his footsteps. He freezes on the spot at the sight of you.

“Y/n..”

You glanced at Eric and the girl, connecting the dots. She must be the ‘Hanna’ you’ve been dying to meet. You should say something soon, you thought, in order to not appear too awkward after catching Eric with someone else. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time.

“Hi- it’s funny seeing you here..” you say with an ambiguous tone.

It was clear that Eric was using all his brain power to whip up an explanation for the situation on hand. Although it was painfully obvious that he was on a date with another girl, Eric’s eyes never left you since. There was a shift in his usual air of confidence that Hanna picked up, figuring out that there must be more to your relationship than just mere acquaintances.

“Eric.. just find me later by the sushi place,” Hanna excuses herself in search of the restrooms. Whatever you two had to talk about, she deemed it wasn’t her business to be present. The glare from your stare was hard not to miss.

“I’m glad you’re dating now.. she seems nice,” you mumble halfheartedly, following Hanna’s steps with your eyes.

“We- Hanna and I aren’t dating,” Eric sighs.

“You really don’t have to cover it up if you ar-”

“Why? Is it because you’re with him?” he clenched his jaw, not able to suppress that nasty tone.

“Yes, I am here with my boyfriend—Juyeon,” you muttered, and your fist curls up in frustration. Not only because Eric shouldn’t have the right to get mad at that fact, but also because a small part of you was actually thrilled he cared at all.

The identification of the said boyfriend was unnecessary, you both knew that. Somehow, it seemed more like a reminder to yourself in front of the man that should no longer be wavering your feelings. Now that it’s officially on the table, Eric wishes he could say he’s glad to see you dating, too.

But these days, lying hasn’t been his best suit.

“Well, I hope you have a good time,” you point towards your back, “I should get going.. Juyeon’s probably waiting for me.”

You saw that Eric was either going to say goodbye, or perhaps another thing before you leave, but you start walking away before he’s had the chance to do so. His growing steps consumed you, moments before you felt his hand wrap around your wrist. Then, he comes to halt without even pulling you in like he had intended to.

Looking back at his face, you were puzzled to see him fix his gaze off a distance. His stare bounces back and forth from you and whatever caught his attention with an unreadable message. Your forehead crinkles at this sudden pause, searching his expression for any sort of hint. Eric is witnessing something that completely rendered him speechless.

You don’t understand what could possibly be so surprising—until you see for yourself. Eric was looking at them.

He was looking at Juyeon and Hanna.

previous | next

a/n: okay i know i disappeared without an update for almost three weeks and coming back with a shorter chapter BUT .. im getting there, thank u so much for your patience!!!! it’s been a journey loving writing again and i just really needed the motivation to continue. again enjoy this update bbs <33 ALSO shoutout to my dearest @bbangsoonie hanna for having a cameo in the fic.. did u like my cliffhanger ;))))

taglist: @sunqnyu​​ @haylo4ever @deobi-pabo​​ @lsangyeons @sunwoowuvbot @zyoumeval @nyuwings @hae-chans @mistresskate101 @nanadreamies @bacardihs @sanniescat @gughoul @hhjvlogs @owlieee @sellefics @93s-club @lovecn @silent-potato @pimpnameyannie @lovelyutas @hyunjaethereal (part one)

[mycrofts-gunbrella]

Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Mycroft Holmes x Reader (Part 11)

A/N- Okay so this is just a short 2k fill in chapter! It’s kinda cute and kinda sad but it was too long to add to the last chapter, and it doesn’t fit in with the theme of the next chapter (though it sets it up quite nicely!). The next chapter is likely going to be a bit angsty but I promise it’ll have a rewarding ending to it! I hope to have it written and up sooner rather than later but, until then, enjoy this little piece.

Word Count- 2028

The ten minute drive from Baker Street to the Natural History Museum went by in a flash- most of it being spent by Mycroft giving you a mental tour of the building's various rooms and the 'most appropriate route to take'. Though it did also take a minute or two for you to convince him to not get everybody kicked out for a private visit, no matter how many people were there.. Admittedly, you hadn't been to the museum for 6 years or so now- after living so long in London it feels less of a luxury being only round the corner from it- but walking through the doors made you feel like a child again. Entry to the museum was free, but that didn't mean you didn't see Mycroft swiftly pushing a few notes into the donation bin at the front before guiding you forwards. Glancing up, you eyed the blue whale skeleton that hung from the ceiling and frowned. Mycroft caught your look and spoke up.

"Ah yes, Hope has been a relatively recent addition to the museum. She was found dead on an Irish beach back in 1891. It's a rather beautiful marvel to gaze upon, though, large as she is, she doesn't quite fill the hole in my heart that was left after my beloved Dippy was removed." Your eyes scanned the skeleton of the large mammal once more before looking back at Mycroft. "I did try to convince the board to keep the diplodocus somewhere but all attempts were futile. There's only so much force you can put into such a topic without exposing yourself as-"

"As a man who loves dinosaur bones more than he loves people?" Mycroft shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed.

"The very thing." Lifting your arm, you rested your hand at the crook of Mycroft's elbow to encourage him to move on.

"When we get home and have dinner we can raise a toast in Dippy's honour.. but for now, my mind's been taken over by that huge statue of Darwin." And the pair of you headed off, your hand very much staying place at Mycroft's arm as you wandered through the rooms- Mycroft more than willing to reel off facts about every deceased animal of history and, more often than not, even impressing the workers with his spiel of facts. Though you were very much enjoying wandering aimlessly through the room of human evolution, you most definitely noticed the pull from the man beside you as he was eager to reach his beloved dino-pals. As you turned the corner into the slightly darkened dinosaur room, you tripped over your feet slightly as you felt Mycroft stop in his tracks, his eyes wide and taking everything in. He looked as happy as a boy at Christmas and, quite frankly, it was adorable. You nudged him slightly when he still didn't move. "You okay?"

"Sorry, it just seems as though, no matter how many times I come here, it always feels like the first." He had shaken his head as though to bring his thoughts back to focus before taking a few steps into the gallery and leading you over to the skeletal remains of a Baryonyx. "The name Baryonyx roughly translates to 'Heavy Claw' from the Ancient Greek's 'Barys' meaning heavy and 'onyx' being claw or talon." He spoke, his voice smooth and relaxed as his fingers brushed over the board that announced the name of the creature within the glass. "It was also an excellent swimmer which it would use to its advantage while hunting." You listened to his every word as he spoke, grinning as he excitedly told you how many teeth it had and it's preferred techniques for capturing food before he moved you onto the next one.

"Oh these beauties have always been my favourite." You almost whispered, taking in the sight of the huge triceratops skull. You barely noticed Mycroft's hand shift from his pocket until you felt the heat of his palm against the small of your back, fingers squeezing slightly by your hip as he spoke.

"Mine too. Sherlock used to say they were boring and that we might as well have gone to the zoo to look at rhinos. He ended up spending 5 months trying to prove that the rhinos were descendants from the triceratops and then avoided me for 3 weeks when he realised there was no connection at all."

"That sounds about right. Though I can't imagine Sherlock enjoying it here very much anyway.." Mycroft began to guide you to a small bench just off the side to sit down, still giving you the view of the beautiful dinosaur bones.

"He didn't. When we were much younger he would kick off until Mummy and Father would tell us it's time to go and I had to go with them.. Then as we got a little older and Sherlock properly found his legs, he would simply run from the doors round to the science museum. Of course mummy and father had to follow him as he was so young, but one time I decided to stay here. They didn't realise I hadn't followed them until it was time to go home 5 hours later." Mycroft spoke quietly.

"Found his legs? That's at, what, four? Five? How young were you?"

"I was 9 the first time, I think." Now, Mycroft, you don't just 'think'; you know. Your hand moved to rest above his own on his knee, brushing your thumb fondly over his knuckles. "But it isn't all bad. Some of my best days as a child were spent here, and a lot of the staff were very kind and would teach me extra facts that weren't displayed. There was one gentleman who even gave me his own copies of some books that they had here. I'd wander the whole museum in time but I always found myself back here on this bench just.. watching. This room felt more like home than my very house sometimes. It was the room where I could escape the real world and find peace. Eventually Mummy, Father and Sherlock stopped bothering with the visits because Sherlock found the science museum boring after he'd prove them wrong on something each time, but I'd still pop back in on occasion without them.. Coming to think about it, I've never actually brought anybody here with me at all." You squeezed at his fingers and settled back into the bench.

"Well I am incredibly glad that I found out about your little interest, and I feel even more honoured that you let me come here with you." You beamed. And it was the truth. Evidently, this little museum meant much more to Mycroft than you could have ever imagined and it warmed your heart to know that he trusted you to see him nerd out over some bones.

"Eventually I used this very building as the scaffolding to build my mind palace. My files on Sherlock, very appropriately, are nestled in the human biology room. But most people's information is either stored in the entrance, where Dippy remains over Hope, might I add, or in a few of the rooms I find less interesting.." You didn't have to ask to know he was referencing 'that room with all the bloody rocks'. "I love most of the galleries too much to taint them with information on people that aren't important. The likes of Gregory and Doctor Watson now reside in Hintze Hall as the years have passed." His eyes remained focused in front of him, unblinking, as though he was wandering the very halls at that moment.

"And where.. where are my files?" You had to ask, really. Since he was on the subject anyway. "If you've put them in the marine reptiles room when you know I'm terrified of the ocean I shall never forgive you." Mycroft's hand flipped beneath yours so the pads of your fingers brushed before he blinked and looked over to you, a small smile on his face.

"Here." Oh. Well that's.. something. You shifted to give him a quick kiss on his cheek, knowing he wasn't overly fond of PDA and tugged him to stand.

"And on that note, I think we should go and grab some lunch before you make me cry in front of the dinosaurs."

---

After lunch, you both spent a few more hours walking from room to room (and of course circling round to the dinosaur gallery again) before you decided to call it a day at 4pm. Before departing, you headed towards the toilets that happened to be beside the little gift shop and you had a browse while Mycroft was occupied. Grinning, you picked up a deep blue plush triceratops and stroked a finger across its back. It was just small enough that, after purchasing, you could hide the little guy in the loose fabric of the sweatshirt you wore, acting innocent as you waited back outside near the wall. After going to the bathroom yourself, the pair of you headed outside where a car was waiting for you. Sliding in the back seat, you couldn't contain your little gift anymore.

"Surprise!" You laughed, producing the small toy from under your clothes and into the hands of the man beside you. He studied it briefly before beginning to laugh himself as he reached into his inner pocket and handed you the matching dinosaur, though purple in colour. "God, we're such children aren't we?" You noted as you swapped plushie companions, each of you brushing a finger on its nose as though it were a small pet. "I daren't think what your colleagues would say if they knew you were now the proud owner of a baby triceratops teddy that's.." You glanced at the tag. "..Suitable for children aged 12 months plus!"

"Probably nothing as bad as if they realised said triceratops was going to take proud placement on my desk at home." He beamed. "Thank you, this really does mean a great deal to me." You knew he wasn't just talking about the toy that rolled around his long fingers and you shifted to rest your head lightly on his shoulder.

"We can come back any time. I, for one, know I'll never get bored of looking through the galleries.. Or I'll never get bored of watching you light up as we walk through said galleries. Either or works, really." He hummed in response, his emotions slightly overwhelmed from the day and its revelations into his past. "Plus there were about 10 other little dinos in the shop and I've always been one to want a full collection.. so, if we pace ourselves, that's at least 10 more trips."

"13.. Although that could be tripled if we take the colour variations into account."

"Oh, of course! Can't half-arse a collection or it's just pointless."

"I concur."

"That's settled then. Almost 40 more trips to finish off our collection.. And thennnn we can move onto the figurines." Mycroft let out a laugh beside you and tilted to rest his head atop yours for the remainder of the journey home.

---

The evening between you was shared over a meal (where, as promised, a small toast was made to the memory of Sir Dippy) before Mycroft sat to finish the papers for Greg. Eventually you collapsed into bed at a relatively reasonable time, groaning at the throbbing in your legs from the day's adventure before finally slipping into rest.

---

The next day passed relatively quickly. The morning was spent visiting Greg in his office to drop off the papers before the pair of you took a small stroll through the streets of London. Eventually, Mycroft and yourself even got a text message from Sherlock giving a (albeit half-arsed) apology for his behaviour the day before and the rest of the day was spent in bliss. That was until exactly 17 minutes after you got back home when Mycroft's mobile began to ring. He swallowed deeply, showing you the caller ID of the person he had been dreading to speak to post-Eurus and answering.

"Ah, yes.. Hello, Mummy."

[emixion]

Magic - Day 16 - Maribat March 2021

pixie hollow au time! @maribatmarch-2k21 ao3 link There was something in his room. Damian was sure of it.

He thought it was a bee at first, in which case he would’ve just ignored it, trusting it would find its way out on its own.

Then he caught sight of a large iridescent wing as it flitted across the room and hid in the corner behind his bedside table.

Hmm, strange.

It must be a butterfly, Damian thought. Must be seeking chelter from the rain. Though I have no idea how it got in here.

He decided to investigate, grabbing a small jar to safely secure the creature without hurting it. He was an animal lover after all.

He slowly approached the corner of the room where he saw the creature fly to, jar in hand.

Carefully moving his bedside table, he quickly placed the jar on the wall when the creature flew up to flee, trapping it against the wall.

What. The. Hell.

That sure as hell wasn’t a butterfly.

The tiny creature fluttering about the jar, was a tiny person, with a tiny pink dress and little shoes to match. She had midnight hair in two small braids. The long iridescent wings he’d seen before were attached to her back.

She was…a fairy?!

A very panicked looking fairy.

The tiny fairy was flying frantically around the jar, looking desperately for a way out. It took Damian a moment to pick his jaw up from the floor to register that the fairy must be scared.

He quickly lifted the jar, setting her free and she wasted no time in zooming up to the ceiling out of his reach.

“Um…hello?” Damian said to the ceiling, idly wondering if he was going out of his mind. Seriously, was he seeing things or was there actually a fairy in his room? “Are..are you a fairy?”

The little fairy just looked back at him in fear, pressed against the ceiling.

“Look, I’m not going to hurt you.” He assured. “I just, ah, wasn’t expecting this?” He scratched his head. “God, I must sound crazy.”

The fairy tilted her head, studying him for a moment. She cautiously flew down from the ceiling but stayed above Damian’s head.

“Where did you even come from?” Damian asked, though it was more like he was asking himself. “Grayson used to tell us stories about fairies when we were young, but I always felt like I was too old for them.” He mused, lost in thought. He didn’t notice the fairy fly down to his level until she came into his view at eye level.

“Oh!” He startled, quickly covering it with a cough. “You came down.”

The fairy was still studying him. Up close Damian could see that her tiny eyes were grey and she had itty bitty freckles on her nose. A cascade of gold dust flurried off of her wings in a constant stream.

She reached her little hand out and slowly flew even closer to Damian.

He was so entranced by the fairy that he wasn’t expecting it when she reached out and poked his cheek with a teeny finger.

“Hey!” Damian exclaimed, but there was no bite in his voice, in fact, a small laugh pulled from his lips.

The fairy quickly pulled away, but laughed too. Though the only sound Damian heard was that of a small bell…

“Do you always jingle when you laugh?” He asked. The fairy looked at him quizzically, opening her mouth to say something, but all that came out were more bell sounds.

“I guess you can’t talk.” Damian concluded, but the fairy shook her head vigorously. “You can understand me?” A nod. “And you can talk?” Another nod. “Then why do I only hear bells when you speak?”

The fairy shrugged, just as confused as he was.

“Alright then, I guess we’re just gonna have to play charades.” Damian held his hand out, palm face up. The fairy looked at it for a moment before tentatively resting on his palm, her legs resting daintily beside her in a mermaid position.

“First off, what’s your name?” Damian asked. The fairy scrunched up her face and tapped her chin, trying to think of how to answer. Spotting a book on his desk, she stood up and flew over and pointed to the letter ‘m’ on the page.

“M? Your name is M?”

The fairy shook her head and pointed to the m again.

“Your name starts with M?”

A nod and a smile.

“Okay, what’s the next letter?”

The fairy pointed to an ‘a’.

“A. Okay, let me write this down.”

The game continued until Damian had written out a full name, M-a-r-i-n-e-t-t-e.

“Marinette?” Damian tested, looking at her, “Your name is Marinette?”

The fairy, Marinette beamed and nodded.

Damian matched her smile, extending his hand to the little fairy.

“I’m Damian. Nice to meet you.” he introduced. Marinette took one of his fingertips in her tiny hand and gave it a shake. The air filled with jingling bells.

-

“So there’s a whole kingdom of fairies that lives in a meadow?” Damian asked.

Marinette nodded enthusiastically.

The past few hours had been absolutely fascinating to Damian. Marinette had told (or rather, charaded) him all about herself and the fairy world.

He’d learned that there was a place called Neverland that you could only get to by flying to the second star to the right. Apparently all fairies lived there, in a place called Pixie Hollow.

She’d explained that she was here on the mainland looking for supplies when it started to rain, and not being able to fly in the rain, sought out shelter in a small hole in the wall of his house. Damian was going to have to get that looked at.

“And the tree in the middle, it has all the dust that helps you fly?” Damian continued, looking at the small map that Marinette (with his help) had drawn of her home.

Marinette nodded, the sound of bells jingling as she spoke. It didn’t matter to her that he couldn’t understand, she babbled away all the same.

Damian smiled softly at her enthusiasm, he’d observed that she was quite eccentric and it filled him with amusement.

“So, back to the talent thing.” Damian continued. “You never told me your talent.”

Marinette let outa jingling “oh!” and smacked her head as if she was just remembering.

Marinette flew up in front of his face from her place on the map. She mimed using a hammer.

“A..building fairy?” Damian guessed. Marinette shook her head. She mimed screwing in something with her hand and polishing something. “A…repair fairy?”

Marinette shook her head again, growing frustrated.  She mimed fiddling with something.

“Um…a tinker fairy?” He guessed again. Marinette’s face lit up and she nodded happily.

“A tinker fairy…wow. So you create different things?” Damian asked. Marinette nodded again. “What kind of things do you make?”

Marinette mimed drinking tea, riding a cart, and even pointed to her outfit.

“You made your dress?”

A nod.

“That’s really cool, Marinette.” Damian praised. Marinette’s little face went red, and she waved her hand as if to say “no big deal.”

She then pointed to the pixie dust tree on her map, as if trying to get Damian back on topic.

“Okay, okay, back to the pixie dust. So, how much do you need each day?”

Marinette shrugged, cupping her hands as if to say “this much.”

Damian hummed, writing that down next to the map. Marinette landed next to his hand.

“Is flying fun?” he asked. Marinette nodded, doing a little twirl.

“Showoff.” Damian mumbled, a fond smile on his face. Marinette stuck her tongue out at him.

“I wonder what it’s like.” Damian mused. Marinette’s face lit up and she snapped her fingers, clearly having an idea. “What?” he asked.

Marinette fluttered away from the desk, tugging Damian’s pinky as she went. Damian stood up and followed her, nearly being dragged along. She was much stronger than she looked, especially for such a little fairy.

With Damian now where she wanted him, Marinette smirked and then began flying around him in circles, letting the golden pixie dust encase him.

“What are you- whoah!” Damian yelled as his feet left the ground. He was…He was…

“I’m flying?!” Damian sputtered. Marinette grinned cheekily at him, clearly pleased with herself.

“Did your dust do this?” He asked. Marinette nodded and flew forward take Damian’s fingertips again.

She slowly flew backwards, pulling along a floating Damian as she went.

“Marinette…this is..” Damian cut off with a laugh, smiling at her. Marinette beamed back, pulling him up a little higher.

The next several minutes acted as a flying lesson. Damian was by no means a natural (as humiliating as it was to admit), but he had Marinette to guide him. She gave him plenty of encouragement, patting his cheek and kissing his nose if he got discouraged, and in no time Damian was flying around his room at the same pace as Marinette.

Damian whooped in delight as he flew, even doing a few spins in the air. Marinette put her hands on her hips and looked at him as if to say “who’s showing off now?”

After a while, the dust started to settle and Damian started to sink down to the floor, Marinette tried to give him more dust but Damian declined, insisting she keep it for herself.

-

“It’s getting late..” Damian said, breaking the silence. He was lounging on his bed with Marinette sitting next to him on the pillow. She looked over at him, her grey eyes looking sad as she turned towards the window. “It’s still raining though..”

Marinette looked torn, while she should probably be getting home, it was still raining…and they were having so much fun..

“Marinette” Damian began. “Would you like to stay here tonight?” He asked. “It’s going to rain until morning.”

Marinette’s sad face brightened. She nodded and flew up to kiss his cheek.

Damian chuckled. “Okay, you can stay. We’ll figure everything out in the morning, okay?”

Marinette gave a small salute before snuggling up on Damian’s shoulder. The boy chuckled again.

“Goodnight, Marinette.” he whispered and joined his new fairy friend in the realm of dreams.

[melzula]

hi ! i don’t know if this counts as a whole prompt, but could i request some iroh ii ? maybe their reunion when kya’s daughter went back with bumi to the fire nation and their whole reunion to wedding story ?

a/n: I just did the reunion part of this because it would be hard to cram the whole timeline into one piece aha but nonetheless enjoy!

*based off of these hc’s

The cool breeze of the ocean air does little to calm your nerves as you fidget with the beads that wrap themselves neatly around your wrist and stare out into the open water. The Fire Nation docks are fast approaching, and you foolishly wonder if everything will be the same as it was when you left it behind all those years ago. You wonder if he is still the same, fearing for a moment that perhaps he has forgotten you after being apart for so long, but you don’t have time to dwell on your anxieties when a firm clap on your shoulder breaks you from your thoughts.

“Why the long face, kiddo?” Your Uncle Bumi grins. “I thought you’d be happier to be back here.”

“I am,” you reassure him, “it’s just I’m a little nervous is all. I haven’t been here in so long...”

“Well I’m sure the royals will be happy to see you,” he says. “You were Lord Zuko’s star student after all, and General Iroh is always asking about you.”

“He is?” You gasp, doing your best to quell the excitement that bubbles up inside of you at the news. You always brushed off your infatuation with the General as a silly childhood crush, but if that were the case then the mere mention of him shouldn’t have made you as cheerful as it did.

“Of course! Why do you think I brought you out here with me? Some good old nostalgia would be perfect for you!”

“Uncle,” you say with a pointed look. Bumi grins sheepishly.

“You could use a friend, y/n. And so could Iroh.”

You don’t get the chance to argue or insist that you’re fine, that you’re perfectly okay with the fact that your best friend is your Gran Gran, as the ship pulls into the docks and Fire Nation guards arrive to escort you to the palace. None of them are familiar to you, most of the men you’d known as a child having retired by now, but they still greet you with the same kindness as always, a perk of being the Avatar’s granddaughter and the Commander’s niece.

“I have to prepare for the meeting,” your uncle says as you reach the front gates and are permitted entry to the palace, “but if you want to head off and look for some old friends or even just explore your old playing grounds go right ahead.”

“Good look with the meeting, Uncle Bumi,” you reply before gifting the man a kiss on the cheek and parting ways with him for now.

You find yourself wandering into the gardens, admiring the blooming fire lilies and enjoying the refreshing breeze that blows cooly against your face as you reminisce on the memories you hold in this very spot. If you look hard enough you can almost see yourself sitting underneath the shade of the tree with Zuko and his grandson studying fire bending scrolls and enjoying cups of tea. Life had been so quiet and simple then, so peaceful. Maybe Bumi was right about needing a friend; you’d never felt lonelier in your entire life than you did now looking upon old childhood memories.

“Y/n?” A voice calls almost hesitantly, void of the confidence he’d always held, and despite the fact that your heart catches in your throat at the sound of his voice you will yourself to turn around and face the man you never stopped thinking about.

You can’t help the way your mouth hangs agape at the sight of him; he’d always been a good looking boy, but over the years Iroh had grown into the handsomest man you’d ever seen. He was beautiful with his strong jaw and shimmering gold irises, and despite how much he’d changed over the years he still held that same boyish grin you’d taken comfort in many times before.

“Iroh,” you finally say, heat crawling up your neck as you smile shyly. He’s rushing towards you in an instant, pulling you into his chest for a tight hug and laughing with pure unadulterated joy.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he admits with a sheepish grin, hands resting on your shoulders as he pulls away and looks you in the eyes. You don’t know it, but he’s just as taken back by your beauty. He was used to seeing you running around in your pigtails with your wide smile and a few teeth missing; you were absolutely radiant, your features maturing with the time that had passed, but your eyes still held that same twinkle they always did.

“It’s so good to you, old friend,” you say, smiling fondly as you rest a hand upon his cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

“So have I,” he replies, and you don’t miss the way he seems to melt into your touch. “I have a meeting to attend to, but perhaps you’d like to accompany me to dinner tonight? I want to hear about all of your adventures.”

“Dinner sounds lovely.”

“Perfect,” Iroh grins, “I’ll see you then.”

He parts from you then with a kiss on the cheek, leaving you with a dazed smile alone in the gardens as you watch him walk into the palace.

“We’re having dinner,” you murmur quietly to yourself, an excited smile pulling at your lips as you rush towards your assigned quarters to prepare.

~~~

“A date with the General, huh?”

“It’s not a date, Uncle Bumi,” you remind him as you sit before the vanity and slip on your favorite pair of earrings, a pair your mother had bought for you once during your travels, “it’s just dinner.”

“Sounds like a date to me,” he teases with a knowing grin. “You know, I always had a feeling about you two.”

“You said the same thing about Uncle Tenzin and Aunt Lin,” you retort only for Bumi to grimace.

“I never said it was a good feeling.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you shrug nonchalantly. “We’re just two old friends who want to catch up with each other.”

Oh, but it actually is a very big deal for you. You can’t remember the last time anyone has taken you out to dinner or the last time you had actually dressed yourself up for someone else, and frankly you don’t know why you’re so nervous. It’s Iroh, after all, your childhood friend, why should you be nervous?

“Oh, I’ll walk you out!” Your Uncle exclaims excitedly once you put the finishing touches on your ensamble, and before you can even get up from your chair Bumi is yanking you onto your feet and dragging you out of the room towards the front gates where Iroh is presumably waiting for you. “I only wish your mother were here to see this!”

“Uncle,” you groan in quiet embarrassment, “you seem more excited than I am.”

“What? That’s nonsense!” Bumi scoffs. “Can’t I just appreciate the romanticism that comes with seeing old friends?”

“I see you’re a poet much like your father,” a third voice intrudes, a smiling Iroh startling both you and your uncle. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“No, not at all!” Bumi says before you can so much as open your mouth to reply. “In fact I was just leaving. You kids have fun! Oh, and uh, bring her back home safe and sound and all that protective Uncle junk I’m supposed to say.”

“Of course, Commander,” he says with a slight laugh before turning to you. “Are you ready?”

“I am,” you smile, making sure to give your Uncle a chaste kiss to the cheek before taking Iroh’s outstretched and following him out the front gates. Your Uncle watches your retreating forms with a faint smile and a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Phase one of my matchmaking plan is complete.”

~~~

The royal plaza is beautiful at night. Lanterns hang from the skies and bathe the streets in their golden hue. The restaurants and shops are bustling with customers as lovers, families, and friends all spend their evenings out on the town. No one seems to notice your presence— Iroh had insisted that no guards were needed to escort you both— and for that you are grateful.

“Hungry for anything in particular? I know you were especially fond of dumplings when we were children,” Iroh notes with a chuckle.

“I’d love anything spicy. As much as I enjoy sea prunes and seal jerky, nothing in the south really has that same kick to it that Fire Nation food has.”

“I know the perfect place,” Iroh says, and you have to fight against the way your stomach seems to summersault when he takes your hand in his own and weaves you through the streets.

You end up in a quiet little restaurant together where the food is fresh and the hostess is the sweetest little old lady you’ve ever met, though she brings you way more food than you ordered. You’re eager to scarf down the spicy noodles and steaming buns, so eager in fact that you don’t notice the love stricken way in which Iroh watches you practically inhale your food.

“How’s your family?” He asks behind his cup of tea.

“Good. Gran Gran has been training the new Avatar and my mother helps where she can. My Uncle Tenzin and Aunt Pema just had a new baby not too long ago, a son named Meelo.”

“That’s amazing,” Iroh smiles, “congratulations on your new cousin.”

“Thank you. Our family is certainly growing,” you say with a slight laugh. “And how are things with you and your family?”

“I have to admit, I haven’t really been home much to know,” Iroh chuckles. “This visit is also my first time back in a while. Mother is a gracious ruler and the people love her, my sister is still living her quiet life with her husband out on the farm, and my grandfather comes back and forth all the time. Everyone seems to be happy.”

“And are you happy?”

“I like to think so. I’m the youngest General in the United Forces which is a great accomplishment, and I’m having dinner with a friend I thought I’d never see again, so yes, I’m very happy,” he notes with a wink. You can’t help but roll your eyes at his slyness, a small huff blowing past your nose.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” you tease.

“Really, y/n,” Iroh says, all features void of his previous humor as they morph into a more tender nature. He reaches across the table and rests a hand across your own, a faint smile on his lips. “I’ve missed you, and I’m so happy you’re here.”

“Me too,” you admit with a tiny smile. “It’s been hard without you, friend.”

“Friend,” Iroh repeats with a small sigh, but his smile never falters. He pays for your meal and offers you his arm to guide you back to the palace; you talk about old memories and new ones, your adventures during your time apart, and your excitement to create new ones together. You’ve never been happier, and for the first time in a long time the loneliness that normally gnaws at your spirit is nowhere to be found.

“Can you find your room okay?” Iroh asks as you reach the front doors of the palace.

“I can,” you nod with a smile. “I’m actually staying in the room I had when I was a kid.”

“Go figure,” he laughs softly before gracing you with a sweet smile. “Thank you for accompanying me to dinner tonight. Will I see you tomorrow?”

“You will.”

“Good. I look forward to it,” Iroh says. “Sleep well, y/n.”

“Goodnight, Iroh,” you utter with a small smile, making sure to gift him a kiss on the cheek before disappearing inside. Stunned, the General stands frozen in place with a dazed smile on his face. He hasn’t felt this way about anyone in such a long time, hadn’t felt such genuine excitement and joy, and he had to admit that it somewhat intimidated him. He’d always seen you as the girl he’d grown up with, the one he’d spent his time with stealing desserts from the kitchen and running through the hallways, but now...

“Spirits,” Iroh exclaims with a breathless laugh. “I think I’m in love.”

In the gardens sits the trio of adults who watch the scene unfold before them, knowing looks exchanged among them as they sip their tea and watch Iroh disappear into the palace.

“They make a handsome pair, don’t they?” Zuko notes offhandedly to his daughter. “I give them a month.”

“A month?” Bumi snorts. “No way! Three weeks maybe, but not a month.”

“I have more faith in my son than that,” Izumi says with the shake of her head. “One week.”

“One week?!” The Commander exclaims with a laugh. “Oh, you’re on!”

“Betting over the love life of my grandson and my former student was not how I pictured spending my retirement,” Zuko sighs, but there’s a smile on his face as he considers his grandson courting the granddaughter of his best friend. Life has a funny way of working out sometimes.

And it was going to work out for you and Iroh.

| iroh/atla tags: @nataliahaslosthershit @zukh03s @rainteslerrrr @simpinforsukka |

[xjoonchildx]

guarded | jhs x reader | chapter one: fan mail

summary: you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you.  now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: mafia AU, E2L, slow burn, tsundere, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 2.8K

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

***************************

You stare at the words for a moment before folding the paper in half and slipping it back into the envelope you pulled it from.  

Honestly?  

It’s not the first time you’ve gotten a threat. It happens from time to time in this line of work.

But this note plucks a chord of anxiety inside of you. Must be the eleven missed calls you suspect go hand-in-hand with your little love letter. Your phone hasn’t stopped buzzing for a half-hour now.

“Are you okay?”

Hyejin’s voice filters through your thoughts. She’s taken stock of the strange look that crosses your face in the split-second before you school your features back into a mask of calm.

She’s observant like that.

“Oh yeah, it’s nothing,” you say, shaking your head.  “Just some fan mail.”  

Your phone buzzes against the papers on your desk -- again -- and Hyejin raises an eyebrow.

Make that twelve.

“Tell you what,” she says, standing to stretch her legs. “I’m ready to go blind from reading these files and I could use an Americano.  You want one?”

“Actually yes,” you exhale.  “That’s exactly what I need. You’re a lifesaver.”

She gives you one last are you sure you don’t need to tell me anything? look before opening the door to your office.  You reassure her with a soft smile but the second the door to your office closes, you blow out one long, heavy breath and reach for your phone.

you: what the hell? [ 3:15 PM ]

namjoon: this can’t wait [ 3:15 PM ]

you: clearly [ 3:16 PM ]

namjoon: come in ASAP [ 3:16 PM ]

You groan.

Namjoon knows you avoid that place at all costs.

It’s not a good look for you to be seen there -- and so as a rule -- you’re not.  Your brother is usually understanding about your stance on the matter. But it’s not like him to push so there’s probably a damned good reason why he’s summoning you to his office like some wayward employee.

You glance back at the stack of files on your desk, riddled with notes and highlights.  Even after a morning spent tag-teaming with Hyejin, there’s still a shitload of work to be done. But then you look back at that envelope sitting on your desk and pick up your phone again.

you: give me thirty minutes [ 3:19 PM ]

namjoon: okay [ 3:19 PM ]

Paperwork is going to have to wait.

*****************************

You’re not a moron.  

You know what people say about your family, what they say about you.

You know what they whisper when you show up to charity galas and fundraising dinners. You know what they murmur the second their false smiles fall and you turn your back. They say that the money that paid for your prep schools and top-notch legal education is blood money; paid for by one of Seoul’s oldest and most powerful crime networks.  They say that you took a job prosecuting crime to assuage for your family’s sins.

They’re not wrong.

Your father -- your cruel, unsophisticated father -- shelled out top dollar to put you in fancy schools and fancy clothes and fancy riding lessons.  He threw elaborate birthday parties where he showered you with extravagant gifts in front of guests who were only there to celebrate because they feared turning down the invitation.

So others saw your material good fortune and mistook you for a pampered mafia princess. None of them had to come home every day to the stench of death and destruction. None of them had to endure the gossip and the looks and the cold shoulders.

That was a burden you shared with only one other person.

You and Namjoon huddled together during your lavish and turbulent childhood, leaning on one another for strength because no one else understood. He was the only safe harbor you had in the storm you both lived every day.

And then you left.

You walked away from your father and the Gajog and crossed the country to study law.  Far from the vicious gossip and prying eyes and violent drama that always awaited you in Seoul.  You walked away and decided that you weren’t going to live that life anymore.  

But you also walked away from Namjoon.

Now it’s a cold comfort, seeing your brother seated so naturally at the throne of power your father vacated when he died.  The old-school brute-force organization your father ran for decades is a thing of the past.  In its place, a well-oiled, highly-organized machine -- making far more money and far fewer mistakes.  

Namjoon single-handedly pulled the crime syndicate into a new era, dusted it off and dressed it up.  He legitimized parts of the business, took up residence in one of the city’s most expensive buildings, and basically dared law enforcement to come get him.

They still haven’t.

And there isn’t a day that Namjoon doesn’t cross your mind.  

There isn’t a day that you don’t pray that the menace that existed inside your father never takes root inside of your brother.  You pray that he can shoulder the burden of his responsibilities without rotting from the inside out.  

If anyone can, you tell yourself, it’s him.

**********************

Namjoon cuts an imposing figure behind his grandiose wooden desk.

He’s seated when his assistant first opens the door to his secure private office, but as soon as you follow her inside he makes to stand.

He looks so tall now, you think -- as though it’s been years since you’ve seen him.  

In reality, it’s only been a few months since your last brief encounter, but it’s still hard sometimes to recognize the handsome, polished man in front of you as the kid you grew up with. You’re hit with a pang of regret that it’s been so long since you’ve seen one another face-to-face.

Two men stand guard on either side of Namjoon’s desk, which doesn’t surprise you. Your brother is always surrounded by guards these days.  

The only one you recognize is Min Yoongi, who gives a slight bow in your direction as you cross the broad expanse of the office.  You’re certain you’ve never seen the second man, who stands eerily still on your brother’s other side.  You can feel the stranger’s stare from a distance and avert your eyes.

You bow to Namjoon and take a seat in the plush chair facing his desk.  A fond look passes over his features but when he opens his mouth to speak his tone is businesslike, serious.

“I know you don’t like coming in here,” he begins carefully, “and so I have to apologize for asking you to make an exception.  I hope you understand this can’t be helped.”

“Yes, of course,” you say softly. “Sorry it took me a while.  I’m buried with a new case.”

Namjoon nods.

“That case is the reason why we’ve run into a bit of trouble in the past few days,” he admits. “Some of our friends across town are pretty upset about it.  Apparently very agitated and hoping to leverage the fact that you’ve been assigned to this case to their advantage.”

“I see,” you murmur.

You knew the men you’d been assigned to build a weapons trafficking case against were part of a rival organization -- but on paper they were low-level foot soldiers, considered expendable in a business like theirs.  Why the Ssijog were so worried about losing a couple of nobodies from their ranks was a bit puzzling.

“I guess that explains this,” you say, reaching into your bag for the letter delivered to your office.  

You hand it to Namjoon and he reads the words with a tight expression before turning it over to the man you don’t recognize.  It’s a relief when the stranger’s focus moves away from you and onto that paper. You take the opportunity to get a closer look at him.

The first word that comes to mind is sharp.

Everything about the man is sharp -- from his meticulously tailored suit to his severe jawline to the angles of his body.  Intense dark eyes set in honey gold skin and black hair carefully styled off of his face. You’re caught staring when his eyes snap up from the paper and back to you.

You clear your throat, gaze darting back to your brother.

“They want you to make this go away.”

You sigh.

“I can’t do that. I don’t have that kind of authority. And besides, it would attract all the wrong kinds of attention to me and -- “ you pause, choose your next words carefully, “ -- to my ties to this organization.”

Namjoon concedes your point with a slow bob of his head.

“Right.  So we have a problem,” he admits.  “Because the message we’re getting is that they’re willing to do whatever it takes to get what they want.  And it’s been made quite clear to me that hurting you is not off the table.”

You take in a deep breath.

“This is Jung Hoseok,” Namjoon says after a short silence, motioning to the stranger at his side. You straighten when the man acknowledges you with a barely-there bow.  

“I’ve assigned him to your detail.”

“Detail,” you repeat slowly.  “Like a bodyguard.”

“Exactly like that.”

“Namjoon, I -- “ you look away from the man to turn your attention back to your brother,  “-- I can’t have one of your guys following me around.  People are going to talk.”

“Amsaja,” he sighs, “They talk anyway.”

You bristle at his use of your childhood nickname.  

You know it’s meant as an endearment but it still feels infantilizing in front of his men -- one of whom hasn’t seen you in years, one of whom knows nothing about you at all.  You’re a grown woman, a successful prosecutor, and more than just Kim Namjoon’s little sister.

“Joon -- “

There is annoyance behind the way you fire off his name and one of your brother’s eyebrows lifts in warning.  A silent reminder that in this room, in this building, in this realm, he is the absolute authority.  You swallow back the argument on the tip of your tongue.

“Namjoon,” you start again, this time with a restrained calm.  “Please. Let’s have this conversation in private.”

He drums his fingers across the surface of his wooden desk before nodding his agreement and raising a hand to motion his guards out the door.  You wait until both men are gone and the heavy door to Namjoon’s office clicks shut to speak again.

“You’re putting me in a terrible position here,” you exhale. “I’ve worked so hard to -- distance myself.  I can’t walk around with a reminder of my family history at my heels.”

Your brother stands from his seat and walks to an ornate sideboard, pours liquor from a heavy crystal decanter into a highball glass.  He takes a slow drink before speaking.

“You are worried about your image; I’m worried about your safety.  Those two concerns are not equal. Not to me.”

Your face heats at the kernel of truth in your brother’s assessment.  

Certainly, it’s about how it looks, but it’s so much more than that. It’s about the life you’ve worked so hard to build away from the drama surrounding your family name.  It’s about a future that depends on the burial of your past.

Namjoon leans against his heavy wooden desk, arms crossed.

“You should know me by now,” he continues.  “If I thought these were empty words, I wouldn’t have bothered you with them.”

“I know that,” you admit quietly.  Doesn’t make the pill any easier to swallow, though.

“Hoseok is under orders to stay with you at all times. Obviously, he won’t be physically at your side while you’re working, but he will be close by.  And he will be staying at your apartment for the time being.”

You blink.  “In my apartment?”

A flash of irritation crosses your brother’s face. “Yes, in your apartment.  I’m privy to information you don’t have.”  He takes a long drink from the highball glass.  “It’s necessary until we have this situation under control.”

“I don’t know this man,” you argue, and that eyebrow lifts again at the rising heat in your tone. “Can’t you give me Yoongi or Seokjin or someone else?”

“No.”

“Thanks for considering that, Joon.”

You don’t even bother to hide your displeasure now, climbing out of the plush chair and walking over to the massive window that makes up the back wall of your brother’s office. You look down at the street. From this height, the cars below look like toys and the people look like ants.  

Namjoon joins you in front of the window, drink in hand.

“I don’t want to fight with you, I want to protect you. Jung Hoseok has worked for me three years now and he spent many more years serving in the military.  He is the man I want for this assignment and I need you to trust me on that, too.”

You say nothing, staring out the window and feeling suddenly exhausted.  You hate everything about today -- the letter, the case, this arrangement you now have to endure.  You hate that this is the first real conversation you’ve had with your brother in months and you’re locking horns.  

“Okay,” you whisper after a while, reluctant to let the tension escalate. Your brother has asked so little of you since you severed ties with the Gajog -- and effectively, with him.  You swallow past the taste of guilt when you turn to look him in the eye.

“I’ll play ball, Jaegyueo.”

Your brother seems to soften when you use his childhood nickname in return, shoulders relaxing as he takes another sip from the highball and looks out over the city he basically runs.  

“Thank you, Amsaja.”

*************************

Hoseok

“Has she seen this?”

Hoseok stares down at the glossy photograph in his hands.  

There’s little to be gleaned from the details in the picture.  There are no shadows, no reflections, no personal items to give away any clues as to who took it or when.

You are asleep, one bare shoulder peeking out from underneath your plush bedding -- your hair spilling out onto your pillow. You appear blissfully unaware of the danger standing just a few feet away.

“Hell no,” Namjoon exhales.  “And I would like to keep it that way. She’d probably never sleep again if she saw that shit.”

Hoseok hands the photograph back.

“I need the two of you to figure out who got into her apartment.  And then I need you to bring him here.”

Namjoon doesn’t finish that train of thought -- he doesn’t have to.  Hoseok and Yoongi hear clearly everything he hasn’t said.  

“We’ll find him,” Yoongi vows, and Hoseok nods his agreement.  “It’s gonna be handled.”

Namjoon scrubs a hand down his jaw, eyes still glued to the picture on his desk.

He’s an uncharacteristically even-tempered boss, particularly in this line of work.  Seeing him this unnerved is unnerving to Hoseok, who’s seen him handle countless shitty situations with an unnatural calm.

“She’s my sister,” Namjoon says quietly.  “I don’t expect any of you to understand our dynamic, but I need you to know that her safety is my top priority.”

“Understood,” Hoseok murmurs and in that moment, the heavy door to the office opens wide. Namjoon shoves the photograph into his desk drawer.  

Hoseok studies you as you trail Namjoon’s assistant across the length of this massive office.

The first word that comes to mind is small.

You’re much smaller than Hoseok imagined you’d be, basing that assumption almost entirely on Namjoon’s tall and solid frame.  Physically, you are nearly the opposite of your brother, delicate features set in smooth skin, any appearance of height owed directly to the high-heeled shoes you’ve carefully matched to your business suit.  

Hoseok notes that you have the same stubborn set to your jaw, though -- a defense mechanism that slips momentarily when you lock eyes with your brother.  He catches the brief flash of sadness in your face before you manage it away.

In the years he’s been with the Gajog, he’s only heard your name a handful of times --  almost always followed by hushed exchanges and pained expressions.  Never once has anyone breathed your name in front of Namjoon, though.  That appears to be an invisible line everyone understands not to cross.

But now you’re here, in the flesh. One piece of the puzzle revealed.

Hoseok watches your exchange with Namjoon with curiosity. It’s not the easy back-and-forth one would expect to see between a pair of siblings -- but there is an underlying affection between the two of you. A quiet respect.

Amsaja, Namjoon had called you.  Lioness.

Hoseok doesn’t see a lioness when he looks at you, though.  

He sees a rich girl desperate to prove how much better she is than her own flesh and blood.  He sees a social climber so eager to make a name for herself in this city that she walked away from her own brother to make it happen.  

This is the moment that Hoseok decides that you’re not the kind of person he could ever respect.

Because unlike you, he would never put ambition above loyalty.

Never.

**********************

tag list:

@yoongbug @brilliantlybasicb @lemonjoonah @illnevertrustmyselfagain​@sunkissed75 @taetaewonderland @shadowhale​

[marshmallow-phd]

Healing Touch

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Yixing x Reader

Summary: Medical school abroad was the last line on your to-do list before starting the rest of your life. Everything was going according to plan. Everything, that is, until tragedy strikes your campus. In the wake of a professor’s untimely death, you’re partnered with the cute boy with a breathtaking smile in the newly combined labs. You find yourself unable to resist the dimples and shy glances, but his life is here with no plans of leaving. Will you continue on as planned or will you accept the hand that Fate had dealt you?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Final

**

You were anxious, but you couldn’t describe exactly why. Was it as narrowed down to Ran and Yixing simply interacting? The two worlds colliding? Or was it as broad as the fact that Yixing was stepping into your apartment?

The place wasn’t dirty. Both you and Ran were diligent on keeping on top of the dishes and dusting. You weren’t necessarily the “make your bed everyday” type, but it wasn’t too much of a jumble of sheets. There were no leftovers out on the counter or crusted plates in the sink. The air smelled of artificial citrus thanks to the plug-in that Ran kept up with on a steady rotation.

Ran ushered everyone in and then closed the door with no concern of a noise level. “Pizza should be here any minute.” The only responses she received were silent nods.

It was awkward as the three of you stood around, no one talking, no one moving towards the available seating in the living room. Ran often brought friends over and they naturally made themselves at home. Whenever Victoria or Amber were in town, you met up with them at coffee shops or restaurants serving brunch. Your apartment was not a typical place to congregate. It was your sanctuary, the place you went to in order to get away. Now the outside world was coming in and you weren’t sure what to do.

“Yixing, you want a drink?” Ran offered.

He nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

Ran shot you a very pointed look before whisking off to the kitchen. Yixing’s eyes roamed over the mostly empty walls. Neither you nor Ran were good with tools so ramming a nail into plaster didn’t seem like a logical way to spend an afternoon. Any decorating done to give the apartment a homey feel was done on the side and coffee tables. Ran’s novels were stacked in with your medical textbooks for easy reaching. Picture frames containing silly faces and fond memories sat on top of the wooden surfaces. Your favorite was the one of you and your aunt mid laugh, soaking wet from the water ride that had splashed from behind. Wherever you went, that picture went too. Yixing found it after a few seconds, walking over to it like in a trance. He picked up the cheap, plastic black frame with a gentle hand. A dimple made an appearance in his right cheek as he studied the photo.

“You look like you had fun.”

A small laugh pushed out as the memories of that trip flashed through your mind like a PowerPoint. Lost chargers, multiple changes of clothes from water rides and dropped ice creams, and dozens of wrong turns to get to the right ride. Neither you nor your aunt were good at working the app made for the amusement park, but that only added to the adventure.

“We did,” you replied. “That was right before my freshman year here. One last hurrah before moving on to adulthood.” That was what your aunt had said, anyway, though both of you knew she meant it sarcastically. She didn’t believe in full adulthood. A little bit of childishness was necessary to live life to the fullest – a concept that you couldn’t quite fully understand in words but could when you were looking at her. Yixing nodded, the smile growing by a few centimeters as he set the frame down again. Ran entered from the kitchen and handed him a steaming mug of fresh tea. You nearly hid your face in your shirt when you noticed which cup Ran had chosen or the gesture of a gracious host.

Little chibi figures depicting characters from your favorite drama danced around the porcelain mug. It was cute in your eyes when you’d ordered it from the online shop. Now, it was mortifying. You just hoped that Yixing assumed that it was Ran’s and that Ran didn’t mention anything to the contrary.

“Thank you.” Yixing blew on the steam that danced from the caramel colored liquid and took a sip small enough for a mouse. Still, no one sat. Ran glanced at you with a curious expression. If she was telling you to do something, you weren’t able to pick up on what that thing might be. Miraculously, you were saved by the door knock.

Ran shuffled over to the door to answer it. Yixing leaned down and placed the mug on the coffee table and that’s when it hit you.

He still wasn’t wearing a shirt.

Grabbing his wrist, you pulled him into your bedroom while Ran was distracted with the delivery guy. You let go of Yixing and started rifling through your closet for a more unisex shirt.

“What’s wrong?” Yixing asked right behind you.

You jumped at his sudden closeness but didn’t look behind you. “You’re still just wearing the jacket. When Ran notices, she’ll start asking questions.” Your fingers landed on an old band t-shirt that you hadn’t worn in a while. The black was a neutral color and most of the wording was faded. You doubt Ran would recognize it. “Here. Put this on.”

Seemingly laughing at you in his head, Yixing smiled and unzipped his jacket.

The first time you’d seen him shirtless, you were too distracted by the hiker to take real notice. Now that he was the only one around and standing in your bedroom… heat exploded all over your body. And the jerk seemed to notice as he took his time to take off the jacket and push his head through the shirt. You scurried around him and poked your head out of your room just in time to see Ran hand over the tip, closing the door with the pizza boxes in hand.

“Smells good,” Yixing commented as he snuck up behind you once again. He really needed to stop doing that.

“And its still warm, too,” Ran cooed, having heard him. She took a long whiff. You couldn’t help but take one, too. Delicious. Your mouth was already swimming when you sat down at the table. You didn’t even remember telling your feet to move. Ran grabbed plates from the cabinet before flipping open the lids, engulfing the apartment with that familiar scent. “Bon appetite!”

“Thank you for dinner,” Yixing said again. He was always so polite. It was endearing. So much so that you had paused midbite and started staring at him with a grin of your own pulling at your lips’ corners.

Ran chewed through a mouthful before answering. “No problem. You just have really good timing.”

A silence that you couldn’t quite call comfortable settled over the meal. You thought over and over of what you could say to continue a conversation, but all options fell flat. The consequence of that? Ran jumping in.

“So, Yixing, how do you know (y/n)?”

“We have class together,” he explained, not bothered at all by the questionnaire he was about to receive. Or he was simply unaware that this might only be the beginning.

“Which one?”

“Human physiology.”

Ran’s eyebrows shot up. “The one that just combined? So, did you have the other professor?”

Yixing nodded solemnly. “I did.” Though there were still several bites left of his current slice, he put it down and folded his fingers with his elbows resting on the table. “She was a good teacher.”

“That’s what I heard a lot,” Ran agreed. “It’s scary what’s going on. You never know who’s going to be next. I heard that there might have been another attack today.”

You looked at Yixing thinking that he would do the same given your shared knowledge that there was indeed another attack, but he didn’t turn his head in the slightest. He kept staring at the table. You knew this was bothering him. It was written in every facet of his posture and face. But Ran didn’t seem to notice.

“I think they should send the rangers out and put down the animal. I mean, I hate to kill anything that is just living its life, but there’s obviously something wrong with it. Like it went mad or something. Putting it out of its misery might be—”

“Ran, do you have plans tonight?” you jumped in.

Ran blinked as her mind quickly changed gears. “Yeah. Hae In is picking me up in a few minutes and we’re going to go out. You two are welcome to join us.”

“That’s okay,” you answered for both of you. “Thanks, though.”

Ran grinned cheekily. “I kind of figured.”

A quick succession of knocks rattled from the front door. Ran leapt up and ushered her friend inside.

Hae In, a girl whose personality was as bright as her blonde hair, waved excitedly at you and Yixing. “Hey! Ooo, that looks good!” She was quickly distracted by the pizza, grabbing a slice as soon as Ran gave her the okay. She swallowed down a few bites. “I’m Hae In, by the way,” she said to Yixing. “Are you (y/n)’s friend?”

“Yes, I am,” he said, a bit his previous light coming back. “I’m Yixing.” Standing up, he held out his hand for her to take.

“Nice to meet you,” Hae In shook his hand after wiping the grease off on an unused napkin.

“We should probably get going,” Ran suggested. “You know Marnie will take forever and we want to get there before they start charging covers.”

“No kidding,” Hae In giggled. She waved goodbye and followed Ran out the door.

Yixing turned to you. “They seemed nice.”

“They are,” you nodded as you stood to your feet and started clearing the table of the dirty dishes. Yixing was soon on his own feet, helping by moving all the leftover pizza into one box and then closing the lid so it could fit in the fridge. You rinsed off the plates, the water plashing all over the counter. After a quick clean up, you put the plates in the dishwasher. Yixing had moved on to the living room. He was seated on the couch, leaning forward with his forearms resting on his thighs and looking deep in thought. You sat down beside him. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” he said none-too-convincingly. He sat up so he was now sitting back into the couch. “I’m okay. It’s just been… a day.”

You snorted. “Yeah, you can say that again.”

He didn’t respond to what you had said. He changed the subject in a sharp turn. “This shirt’s comfortable.”

You frowned, confused. “Yeah, its old so its been washed a few times. But it was soft like that when I bought it.” What were you even saying? Why were the two of you talking about your shirt? Honestly, you wanted to forget for a second that he was wearing your clothes at all. Because then you mind drifted to what was underneath the cloth.

“I think I’ve heard of this band,” Yixing said as he tugged on the front where the members were proudly displayed in a tough-guy fashion. There were a few breaks in the plastic-y photo that split some of the faces at odd angles. “They’re a pop group, right?”

You cleared your throat as you shifted in your seat. “Yeah. I guess you could call them that.” Why were you suddenly dying of humiliation? Why should you have any anxiety over what music you liked? One fear might have been that he was one of those people who looked down on others for liking such “shallow music.” You never thought the group in that way. If the vocals were good, who cared if the songs were mostly about love? “I like them anyway.”

To your surprise, Yixing was smiling. “I like them, too.”

In your heart, you were sure he was saying something else. Implying someone else that he really liked.

Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Because… well, you were realizing that you liked him. Very much. More than a friend. You liked Yixing. And you wanted him to like you, too. While you weren’t a mind reader, you thought that maybe there was a chance that he already did.

Going with the second thought that popped into your head, you looked at him shyly. “Thanks for coming along when you did, by the way. I don’t think I would have been to get him help in time if you hadn’t.”

Instead of returning your soft expression, Yixing remained stoic. He reached out and touched your cheek with the tips of his fingers. They were warm against your skin – No, not warm. Even with the minimal contact, you could feel the fire. It felt like a constant wave of sunshine pulsing into your skin. By sheer instinct, you leaned in deeper to his touch. That was encouragement enough for him to shift so now his palm was against your cheek. The reaction to pull away coursed in your mind, but you couldn’t bring it to fruition. If it had been anyone else, you would have been up and off that couch, putting plenty of room between you and them. But with Yixing… you simply wanted to move closer.

And someone did.

You weren’t sure if it was you or him – your money would have been on a mutual understanding, an equal pull that shifted both of you like magnets. But there was no gnashing of teeth or crumpling of shirts. It was a softer collision. A hesitant one. Your hands dug into the cushion to force you not to move as his lips brushed against yours. When he pressed more, his other hand came up and pulled you in closer by your hip. You didn’t resist, encompassing the space that was his lap.

That fire – that heat and warmth like a log alite on a winter’s day – was everywhere now. But just as it was growing, it was also drifting farther back in your mind. Yixing’s presence, his touch, was consuming your thoughts. You were not the kind of person who did this. You shied away from intimate moments like this. The weeks you had known Yixing were short, but that felt like a detail of little consequence. You believed yourself safe in his embrace.

The kiss ended abruptly. With hands that were simultaneously harsh and gentle, Yixing removed you from his lap, placing you on the cushion beside him. He gave no explanation for his sudden switch in direction. You weren’t sure what for, but the urge to apologize was swelling up, like you were the only one who had crossed a line.

“I’m… sorry.”

Yixing rubbed his eyes, releasing a sigh. “No. Don’t be. I just… I need to figure some things out first.”

“Some… things?” Was he… already seeing someone else? That’s what that usually meant, right? In all this time, he had never mentioned having a girlfriend. He wouldn’t have let you borrow his jacket if there was a chance that another girl might see it. Unless— unless she didn’t go to the university in town and they were in a long-distance relationship? The more you thought about it, the more your stomach was beginning to churn.

“I know that’s— What I mean is—” With another heavy sigh and a shake of his head, he stood to his feet. Not looking at you, he concluded, “I should… probably go.”

You were in state of confusion and sadness as he hurried out the door. Your eyes stayed trained on the last space that he had occupied. This was exactly why you didn’t do things like this. No moment of bliss was worth the terrible heartache that was always doomed to follow. Bringing your feet up on the couch, you made yourself as small as possible. Minutes went by. You weren’t sure why you didn’t move. Was there some stupid part of you that was waiting for him to come back through the door? Things like that only happened in the movies or a teen novel. As if to prove yourself wrong for why you were still in that spot, you peeled yourself up and walked into your room.

Laying there on your bed, folded like a store window display, was the jacket. Divided more than ever, you continued to stand in your doorway and stare at the last remaining evidence of Yixing’s presence.

**

As soon as he was outside, Yixing whirled and threw his fist into the grimy brick. Shaking out the pain, he cursed at himself under his breath. Stupid. He didn’t lash out like this. It wasn’t the right way to work out his anger. Even if it was towards himself.

The wolf both cheered at the line he’d crossed and whined at the sudden retreat. Part of him knew what the outcome would be once Ran left the apartment. The right thing to do would have been to say goodbye immediately and leave. But he had you to himself and to a wolf with his mate, that was a drug that couldn’t be discarded. So, he sat down on that couch, waiting for you to join. Sitting so close, Yixing’s muscles had tightened from the restraint. And then he snapped.

The scent rolling from you was too great to resist. Besides, you were leaning in, too. You were wanting it, too. Lips so soft as they kissed him back. Minseok had been right; it was like heaven on earth.

Then his mind pulled him back to hell.

A hiker had been attacked right around the time that he had blacked out. Again. And this time, they’d lived to describe the animal that had charged on him. A gray wolf. The same color as his own fur.

He fought against the thought that it might have been him. He held on tight to the chance that it was coincidence. But if it wasn’t… he couldn’t risk you getting hurt. If he did something to cause you harm… he’d never be able to forgive himself. He needed to get a handle on this, and fast. He just hoped that you didn’t hate him for the stunt he pulled back there.

In his pocket, his phone rang. Thankful for the distraction, he pulled it out and then the gratitude scrambled away.

It was Junmyeon.

Already knowing what this call would be about, he answered it. “Hello?”

“Yixing? Where are you? I need to come back to the house for a family meeting.”

He didn’t even bother to pretend to not understand. He didn’t ask for the reason to cover his current state of mind. “Okay. I’m in town, so it’ll take me about an hour to get home.”

“We’ll wait for you.”

Exhaling as his thumb hit the red button on his phone, Yixing pushed off the wall of the building and hopped into his car. A back and forth debate carried on as he drove down the backroad. Would he tell his pack what was going on and risk being ostracized? Or did he try to do this on his own and risk everything?

[prettywordsyouleft]

Tales of the Bulbury Valentine

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x female reader

Genre: romance / fantasy / time-travel au

Warnings: mentioning of spirits / a sex scene but no details / the concept is a little like Narnia for the time-travelling, I guess?

Word count: 7270

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day! This story was entirely impromptu. I had a dream yesterday with Jinyoung and it was so intense that I spent all day writing it out. I hope you all enjoy it.

Chuckling softly when you looked up at the place your feet had carried you to, you walked up the short set of stairs to the front door and went inside.

You hadn’t meant to come here, of all places, but it wouldn’t be your first time studying within these walls. Still, you had a lot to do, and there was no time to head off elsewhere.

You had to admit, you felt at home here.

“Well, hello again!” the clerk behind the counter exclaimed happily, and you beamed a smile at her.

“You look fetching, as always, Polly.”

Glancing down at her flapper-styled dress, Polly then shrugged. “I’ve worn better and worse here. Are you coming to the party later?”

“Party?” you echoed, glancing up at the board of events behind her. You laughed and shook your head. “Oh, I don’t have a need to celebrate Valentine’s Day.”

“You don’t have to have a need, Y/N. But I see your bag is full. The study halls on campus too crowded today?”

“I guess now I know what all the noise was about,” you admitted sheepishly, and pointed to the closest hallway of the manor house. “Is the library free from the party?”

“What soiree would we hold in there?” she teased, and you rolled your eyes, thinking of countless wonderful opportunities that could be hosted within there.

The library was your favourite place within the estate house, after all.

“I’ll see you later, Polly. The Medieval era awaits me.”

“Not within this place, it wasn’t built until the fifteenth century!”

You laughed as you waved the woman off, greeting a few of the other paid actors as you walked down the familiar hallway to the room at the far left. You could hear all the fuss happening in the grand salon as you passed on by, a pink balloon escaping the room in the process.

You giggled. “When were balloons created?”

“The first attempt was in eighteen twenty-four, so they’re rightfully placed today,” a voice answered, and you turned, grinning at the woman in a lavish bell-shaped dress that seemed to take up more than half the walking space in this corridor.

“You know everything, Marguerite.”

“Not everything. But I do seem to know an awful lot,” she confessed, giggling with you as you both entered the library.

Glancing at your casual attire, she frowned. “You’re not dressed up.”

“I’m not a paid actor here at the estate,” you responded with a small smirk, propping your book bag next to the desk. You placed your hands upon the dark wooden desktop and sighed happily. “I came here for this desk, not for any party.”

“You and this desk,” she griped, shaking her head so much that the ornate wig she had chosen to wear almost toppled off the pins she had used to secure it. Holding her hair, she then smiled at you. “We welcome you every time.”

“I’m grateful, truly.”

“What are we studying today? The French Revolution?”

“Medieval Crusaders,” you corrected, and she scrunched up her nose. “Hey! History comes in many forms, Marguerite.”

“Perhaps you can be a mastermind behind a medieval love story for a play held in the theatre room later this year.”

You laughed and shook your head. “I’m a trained historian, not a writer.”

“Then you can co-direct with your facts and I with my interest in scriptwriting.”

“Perhaps, I could.”

“We’re expecting a lot of visitors today. I put an advert in the paper,” she mentioned as you sat down at the desk and pulled out your belongings. You smiled up at the owner of the estate and nodded as she continued to talk to you about the vast Valentine’s Day plans.

You supposed a place like this needed to get in on all the holidays to bring in patrons outside of the usual curious folk.

It was because of Halloween two years prior that you had stepped into the Bulbury Estate, to begin with. It wasn’t like all museums. Sure, each room was dedicated to some era of history, ranging from the fifteenth century to the nineteen-fifties. However, it was a living environment, and hardly a single mannequin was used. Instead, Marguerite had a small team of historical actors who helped her bring the past to life every day here during the tours.

You found the library on that first night here, the party being held in the grand salon nearby. You had gotten over the noise and opted for someplace quiet. The library door had opened right when you went to enter, and you had shrieked, especially when the man before you looked as if he came from the past himself.

“Y/N?”

Blinking out of your fond memories of the place, you looked up at Marguerite curiously. “Do mind the spirits for me in here as best as you can.”

“Oh, but of course. They are welcome to stay and keep me company as long as they’re quiet.”

Marguerite was naturally quirky. However, her biggest obsession, aside from wearing the most flamboyant of vintage outfits, was the spirits. You hadn’t actually met one yet, but you humoured the woman every time. She was invested in these spirits to the point she talked of them on a first-name basis quite often. They had guided her to buy the run-down estate ten years ago, so she said, and with a stroke of luck, she struck gold – literally – in the backyard and was able to pay for the repairs to be done quite quickly. Since then, she was adamant they ruled the house, and she merely managed it on their behalf.

“I worry about Thomas and Bertha causing trouble today. It is their favourite holiday of the year.”

“Then I hope they can enjoy some quiet time in here with me,” you offered with a grin, gesturing to the vintage armchairs in the room.

“I shall tell them so,” Marguerite announced with a clap of her hands and then a gasp left her. “Oh, dear! I left Joseph unattended in the salon. Who knows what that child has done to the decorations already!”

You didn’t know if Joseph was a spirit or living person, but you ushered the suddenly frazzled woman off and then sat down at the desk. Pulling out a thick textbook about the crusades, you picked up your pen and began to scribble down notes as you read. Aside from the murmur of noise that reached the library from the festivities of the day, you were alone for some time.

Until the door suddenly opened.

Glancing up immediately, you couldn’t control the smile that formed on your lips.

Nor could Jinyoung. “You know, we really need to stop meeting in this room.”

“Granted, it’s the one you’ll most likely find me in every time. But I happen to agree.”

Closing the door behind him, Jinyoung came to your side and peered over your shoulder at your studies. He placed a hand upon the table to balance himself, and you began to inspect the muscles in his exposed forearm until he cleared his throat.

“Your essay topic sounds interesting.”

“I’m enjoying it.”

Jinyoung laughed. “I think you’re the only person I’ve ever met to say they enjoy their essays.”

“Then why study in the first place if you don’t enjoy it?” you wondered and Jinyoung pointed at you.

“You’re not like the rest.”

“I don’t intend to be.”

Sharing another smile, you then turned your focus back to the books jarringly. “I suppose I better…”

“Yes, and if Marguerite finds me not in the Victorian kitchen talking to guests in ten minutes, I guess she’ll fire me.”

“Your Aunt isn’t that cruel,” you told him, and Jinyoung shrugged playfully.

“Maybe if I play hooky with you, her favourite visitor, she won’t mind.”

“I’m hardly her favourite. I’m certain that’s Bertha and Thomas.”

Jinyoung shook his head. “Not you too. The spirits aren’t real. She uses that as a tactic to look kooky to her patrons. It keeps people coming back for more of her stories.”

“You and I both know they’re real,” you countered, gesturing to the portrait of the married couple on the walls. “You’re insulting them by dismissing their existence.”

Jinyoung walked back to your side and leaned down towards you. “Have you seen one of them yet?”

“No, but-”

“Have you experienced anything spooky here at the estate?”

“The door suddenly flying open on the first night I was here.”

Jinyoung stood back up and folded his arms over his chest. “You opened it, stop denying it.”

“I did not! You did!”

“We can argue about this all day but--”

The static sound of the walkie-talkie device in Jinyoung’s pocket interrupted the heated debate and he groaned, pulling it out and spoke into it. “Yeah, I’m on my way.”

“Duty calls. Who are you playing today?”

“Henry, the servant boy who wants to learn how to cook,” he announced, flicking his suspenders lightly over the linen shirt under it. “And a servant I shall be since Emma is playing Lady Crocrombe. See you around, Y/N.”

You were slightly disappointed to see the back of Jinyoung. From the first night on Halloween until now, he was part of the reason you liked coming here. It was unintentional that you arrived on the estate’s doorstep this morning, but you couldn’t deny your hope once you walked through the front doors that Jinyoung would also be working today.

Your feelings for him made you feel warm and giddy.

However, he didn’t get far. Yanking on the door handle several times, he glanced back at you hopelessly. Getting up, you approached him and the stuck door. “It can’t be locked, can it?”

“Nonsense, who would lock a door here?”

“Move aside, let me.”

“Not to sound egotistical, but if I can’t open it, how will you?” he grunted, and you shoved him aside then, placing your hands on the handle and gave it a firm yank.

It didn’t budge.

“We’re locked in. Call for assistance,” you instructed logically, and Jinyoung nodded, fishing out his walkie-talkie. It didn’t seem to connect to anything, the static sounding different this time. You reached into your pocket for your phone, but suddenly there was no signal.

You both stared at one another, perplexed.

Then the phone began to ring. Not the one in your hand, but the old vintage one sat upon the desk. You slowly turned your head to look at it and followed Jinyoung’s cautious steps across the room to it. “I thought that was a prop.”

“It is. What would it be connected to?” Jinyoung murmured, staring at the phone handle before he inhaled a deep breath and answered it. “Hello?”

You couldn’t hear who was on the receiving end. However, Jinyoung visibly relaxed and started to explain what was going on. After a moment, you realised it was Marguerite talking to him, and cast your eyes across the room whilst you waited for the instruction of what to do next.

You had visited this room more than fifty times, and whilst you were certain you couldn’t remember every book title on the bookshelves that lined the walls, you had looked at them often enough to be familiar with the shapes and colours in the very least. One seemed to stand out to you all of a sudden, and you walked over to the black spine, tilting your head to the side to read the gilded title along it.

You heard Jinyoung hang up the phone, and blindly gestured for him to join you. “Have you seen this book here before?”

“Book?” he repeated, coming over. “Which book?”

“This black one. Tales of The Bulbury Valentine.”

“Never heard of it,” he said, peering over your shoulder again. You were surprised by how close he was to you, and your heart fluttering felt nice. You were slightly dejected when he shifted to your side. “Marguerite mentioned she’s tied up with an influx of visitors so she’ll let us out when she can.”

“Right. Well, that sounds fair.”

“I didn’t know that phone worked. Bizarre, don’t you think?” he continued, and you nodded, your fingers reaching to touch the spine of the book.

“Completely.”

“You’re not fully aware of what I’m saying, are you, Y/N? Just pull the book out if it’s got your attention.”

“I’m not one for Valentine���s Day stories, Jinyoung.”

“Why? Hasn’t Cupid ever shot an arrow your way?” he teased, and you groaned loudly, letting go of the book.

“I’m sure he’s shot many at you. Or at all the women around you.”

“Why do you say that?” he questioned, wriggling his eyebrows and smirking when you didn’t answer right away. He stepped in closer again, and you were certain he knew that he made your heart play up whenever he was near you. “Maybe he should have shot you then too.”

“Don’t be daft. Cupid is a folklore at the best of things.”

“Says the historian. Surely, you should know something about Valentine’s Day.”

“Lupercalia.”

“What?” Jinyoung asked, blinking frequently.

“They say it was the Lupercalia ritual in Roman times that started the ancient version of Valentine’s Day.”

“Huh.”

“Lupercalia was a fertility pagan festival to bring in the start of spring and growth. Saint Valentine has been written in the bible and has several ancient merits as well.” Looking at Jinyoung’s bemused expression, you sighed. “So, I know a little about the tradition. It comes with studying mythology in my first year.”

“So, what happens?”

“What do you mean?”

Jinyoung folded his arms across his chest again. “To Valentine’s Day. When did it become a gimmick?”

“I wouldn’t call it a gimmick, Jinyoung.”

“You just said you don’t do Valentine’s Day stories. Do you still believe in the romance of it all?”

“I don’t know what I believe in, but I do know that the history of it becoming what it has is pretty interesting.”

“So pull out the book. You like history, shouldn’t we learn more together?”

“I’m supposed to be working on my essay,” you mentioned, looking over at your discarded study and then back at the book. You grinned at Jinyoung. “I suppose a short look won’t hurt us.”

Reaching again for the spine of the book, you pulled it out from the shelf and opened the cover.

There was only one thing inside. “A key?”

“It’s not a book?” Jinyoung questioned, lording over you to stare at the puzzle before you. Sharing a look, Jinyoung then reached for the key and pulled it out from the book. “Where do you go?”

Looking at the gap in the shelf, you noticed you could see light shining through. “There! The lock is in the bookshelf.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jinyoung breathed, sharing another glance with you before slipping in the key. You heard the lock click and a section of the bookcase swung into a secret room.

You both peered inside, trying to decipher if it was safe to step in. “Does Marguerite know of this secret room?”

“Probably. Maybe not. My Aunt is hard to keep up with.”

“We shouldn’t go inside it then.”

“Logically, no. But aren’t you curious, even just a little?” Jinyoung asked, and you nodded swiftly, taking his hand that he held out to you without any further thought.

You were surprised by how warm he was.

“Let’s leave the door open so we can come back, okay?” you suggested, following Jinyoung into the dusty room.

“Or this could be a horror film in the making, and it creakily shuts behind us,” he mentioned, and you squealed when as soon as you were both inside, it did just that.

Gripping onto Jinyoung tightly, you then thumped him with your spare hand. “Now, what do we do?!”

“You begin to fall together,” a hushed little voice mentioned in the dark, and before you could shriek at the statement, you began to descend at a fast pace through, well, you couldn’t really tell.

Was it time? Realms? You weren’t able to decipher anything apart from it felt as if your falling was endless and Jinyoung’s hand was growing harder to grip onto.

You could barely see him now, but the way he tried to grapple onto your hand made you realise he didn’t want to lose you either.

Eventually, you did, and as soon as you could no longer see him, you fell with a thud onto something soft.

Springy.

Bedding?

Opening your eyes, you then blinked several times. It was day time again, and you thanked the light for greeting your eyes as they strained to take in your surroundings. You were certain this was still the manor house, but not of the present time. Sitting up in the bed, you realised you were up in a bedroom in the west wing.

“It still looks the same,” you breathed, noticing how well Marguerite had done with restoring it. It was as if she had been to the past herself and knew exactly where to place each bit of furniture.

“That makes zero sense,” you chided yourself, though after blinking some more, nor did the notion in your head about this being the past.

“Marguerite!” you called out, and jumped when the door opened, Jinyoung’s aunt dashing into the room.

“Yes, My Lady?”

“Lady—what do you mean?” you asked her and took in her outfit. It was the plainest thing you’d ever seen her wear before. You started to laugh. “You, a servant?!”

“Did you fall ill overnight? Shall I fetch a doctor?! Oh, the Mistress won’t be happy to hear of this at all! I was told to check for any and all chills before your wedding day, and I was certain I caught them all!”

“Mistress? Wedding day? Marguerite, you are talking nonsense. And you look entirely plain.”

You stopped for a moment, frowning at how your accent and word choice sounded different. Older, in fact.

You really needed to stop reading so many regency au stories.

“This is always how I look, My Lady.”

“No, you wear the most flamboyant of outfits. Lace upon textured fabrics and lush petticoats!”

Marguerite started to bounce on the spot, growing increasingly frazzled. “Oh my! You have caught a chill!”

And before you could answer, she dashed out the door and shut it behind her.

“What on earth just happened?” you asked yourself, pulling back the blankets and walking barefoot across the wooden floors to the mirror by the wall.

As you caught glimpse of yourself, you were relieved to find your appearance was still the same. You weren’t anyone else and wondered if you had fallen in the secret room and hit your head and were now concussed.

Pinching yourself, you whined when it hurt to do so.

“I’m not dreaming.”

Pacing across the floor in your nightgown, you raised a hand to your mouth in thought. “Marguerite is acting weird and called me by a lady of status. But she’s the one who owns this place, so why is she dressed as a lady’s maid?”

“Where is Jinyoung?” you asked next, and jumped when the door opened.

You were met with familiar eyes that rounded upon seeing you and then diverted to the walls at the somewhat sheerness of your clothing.

“My Lady, you shouldn’t be out of bed if the chill has caught you! Doctor Park, please forgive her lack of modesty.”

“Uh, er, right,” Jinyoung managed, peeking another look in your direction. You gave him a pointed look back, and his eyes went straight to the ceiling again.

“I’m perfectly fine, Marguerite. It is you who is acting peculiar.”

“Back to bed, My Lady, so the physician can check if your health is quite alright. Your marriage to Lord Maynes is this afternoon, and we must ensure we are sending him a healthy daughter of the manor.”

“I suppose my sister Caroline could step in if I’m not able to,” you offered and then frowned at the name.

Who was Caroline?

“I’ll check Miss Y/N over now if you don’t mind,” Jinyoung gruffly stated as soon as you were back under the blankets. Staring at you momentarily, Jinyoung smiled weakly before directing his next instructions to Marguerite. “I’ll need some water.”

“Of course,” she said, going over to the basin in your bedroom.

“Not that water!” he cried, and Marguerite’s hands shook with surprise. “I uh, will need it fresh from the well.”

“Is that truly necessary?”

“Yes. If a wedding is to go ahead, then it must be at its freshest.”

Marguerite nodded resolutely and dashed out of the room, leaving you both alone. You stared at Jinyoung, hoping he had some answers. He merely shrugged. “When I woke up, I was in a small house, and Polly called me her brother.”

“Polly’s here too? Do you think this is all staged then?”

Jinyoung stared at you. “I said, I woke up in a small house. Not here.”

“So you saw the outside world. Is it modern or-”

“Are you really asking me when we look like this, and you’re dressed in something my great grandmother would wear?”

“It’s rather comfy,” you admitted, and Jinyoung couldn’t contain his chuckle.

“I wasn’t quite expecting to see you in so little just yet.”

“Yet?” you echoed, but he gave you no answer, fishing in his leather bag and looking at all the instruments he pulled out. You shook your head. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“I know that, but given how strange you normally are, and no doubt how you acted upon seeing my Aunt, they’re all convinced you’ve caught something terrible, and the wedding won’t go ahead. From what I’ve gathered, you’re to marry some Lord who will help with the prosperity of the village.”

“Thomas?” you offered and then shook your head. “No Thomas was a…”

“A what, Y/N?” Jinyoung prompted when you trailed off.

Paled, you didn’t blink as you stared at Jinyoung. “A doctor.”

“Bertha was the second eldest daughter of this house. Caroline was barely fifteen when her sister was meant to be married off,” Jinyoung added on, and you stared at him with interest. He coughed awkwardly. “So maybe I’ve been around when my Aunt talks her nonsense a few times.”

“I’m Bertha, and you’re Thomas?”

“And this is a nightmare. What do we do to escape it?”

“Well, what did they do?” you enquired, finding no answer immediately.

Jinyoung got up and went to the window. “Marguerite is finally at the well now.”

“Can’t you say I’m terribly ill?”

“That would ruin the family.”

“Bertha did that by leaving Lord Maynes for Thomas, no doubt,” you airily offered, and Jinyoung spun around, nodding as he returned to your side.

“She married Thomas.”

“Yes, I know of that,” you snapped, the light bulb that had gone off in Jinyoung’s head finally lighting up in yours. “She didn’t marry today.”

“Nor will you. Get dressed now!”

With some effort, you managed to get into a simple empire styled dress, donning a light coat Jinyoung found for you in the wardrobe before taking his hand. Hastily putting on shoes without anything under them, you allowed Jinyoung to take your hand again.

He began to pull you towards the door he came through, but you stopped, looking at the panel in the wall of your room. “This way.”

“There’s no other exit.”

“I’m Bertha right now. This is my room, and I trust my instinct,” you announced, tugging him over to the panel and pushing on it. A tiny corridor appeared, and Jinyoung gave you little time to admire it, shoving you inside and shutting the panel behind him.

You let out a triumphant giggle on being right.

It was arduous in places to navigate, but the secret hallway led to a set of stairs that wound around the house until you spotted a trapdoor. Unlatching it, you then crawled outside, brushing the dirt off your skirt as you waited for Jinyoung to climb out.

He grinned at you. “We’re so looking for this when we’re back.”

“For now, we need to get away so let’s worry about trapdoors and hidden staircases when we’re not escaping, shall we?”

“You’re sassier than I expected.”

You looked at the man who reached for your hand effortlessly and started to run with him across the back of the garden towards the woods. “You hardly know me.”

“That’s not true. I know some about you.”

“That I am history mad and would rather come to your Aunt’s manor museum than spend time in modern places? That’s probably all.”

“You have the most interesting colour of eye too,” he confessed, and you stared at his side profile then, watching his ears turn pink from the admission.

“I’m not sure what made me swoon more then. The fact that you noticed something about me or the way you worded it.”

Jinyoung recovered, thanks to your sentence, and grinned at you. “The fact you swooned is enough for me.”

“Alright, Doctor, it’s on you now. Where did Thomas take Bertha?”

Staring at the small cabin deep in the woods, you were stunned. Jinyoung, equally amazed by the discovery, let out a small whoop of excitement. “It actually is here!”

“You saw it in your head?”

“Vaguely. He directed us here.” Jinyoung opened the door and let you inside. You sat down with a whine, looking down at your ankles that had been rubbed raw from your travels without any socks on.

Jinyoung cleared his throat as he crouched down in front of you, removing one of your shoes before looking up at you. “Do you reckon they were the ones who guided us to this strange world?”

“Maybe they were annoyed with you for not believing they exist.”

“You pointed out that I knew they did.”

“But as spirits,” you corrected, and Jinyoung sighed. You hissed when he pulled off your other shoe, your heel worse on this side.

“It’s a good thing I’m a doctor.”

Unable to hide your amusement, you laughed gently until Jinyoung began to treat the wounds. He did an excellent job with the tools he had, and you wondered if he was just that capable or if Thomas had guided him with this as well.

Jinyoung grinned up at you once he was done. “Better?”

“Much. Thank you.”

There was comfortable silence as you both took in the cabin. There were the basic amenities. A cooking area was nestled next to the open fireplace, and there were two armchairs, one that you were seated upon, facing it.

A small dining table with two chairs and a modest bed filled the rest of the space.

It would do.

However, you would need to work hard for it too.

“There’s little food stored here,” you mentioned once back on your feet and exploring the place.

Jinyoung had just come back inside. “There’s an outside toilet, though it’s not great. But what’s worse is there’s no real firewood. It bet it gets cold around here, so we better gather some wood.”

“How do we go about getting food?” you wondered, and Jinyoung gave you a grim look. You nodded. “Well, I guess we have a lot of adjusting to do.”

By nightfall, you were both exhausted. You had helped drag bits of a fallen tree from the forest surrounding you for Jinyoung to chop up and stacked it inside and by the wall of the cabin for subsequent days.

By luck, you found a chicken coop out back and even better was Jinyoung’s cooking skills as he boiled the bird over the fireplace for dinner. You had managed to uproot some vegetables from a tiny garden and dinner was enough to fill your stomachs.

After some time spent quietly around the fireplace, one too many yawns had sent you both over to the bed.

Jinyoung shook his head. “We’re doing this out of necessity.”

“Neither of us will get any sleep on an armchair.”

“Absolutely not.”

“And we’re adults. Sharing a bed will be fine.”

“It’s a small bed, but we’ll make do,” Jinyoung concluded nervously, and you nodded equally as awkward, before both climbing under the blankets and laying beside one another.

You were stiff for several minutes, staring up at the ceiling. Chancing a glance at Jinyoung, you were surprised to find him watching you. It didn’t make you flinch, rather you smiled. “Do you think Thomas and Bertha loved each other before today?”

“No,” Jinyoung stated, rolling onto his side, so he was fully facing you. You mirrored his actions and propped your head up with your elbow. “I think he was just a friend.”

“Maybe they liked each other a little. I mean, he risked a lot by taking her away from the house on her wedding day.”

“She wanted to escape, what should he have done? Told her no? Left her to an ill-fated match? I can understand why he helped her escape. No one should marry another without love involved.”

You smiled lazily. “You’re quite the romantic, Doctor Park.”

“Please, just call me Jinyoung, My Lady.”

You giggled. “I’m hardly a lady of status.”

“I don’t know, you suit the role,” he said, and you watched him for a moment more.

“Maybe that’s why I come to the manor.”

“Because you’re Bertha in the present day?”

“Do you have a PhD in anything?” you asked tauntingly, and Jinyoung laughed, shaking his head. “We’re just two normal people, really. So were they.”

“Who fell in love,” Jinyoung breathed out, staring at you intensely.

With the humour now gone, you felt your breathing change, growing restricted with all the flutters in your chest. Jinyoung seemed to wrestle with a similar reaction and then cleared his throat loudly, swapping to laying on his back again.

The moment now lost, you awkwardly wished each other a good night’s rest and eventually drifted off to sleep.

You had hoped when you woke up that it would be in the library of the manor where you had last been. However, finding yourself nestled into Jinyoung’s warm side wasn’t all that bad. If you had to be stuck in the 1800s, you couldn’t hope for a better person to be with.

Jinyoung stirred awake shortly after you, and after marvelling his bed hair and him pointing out your own, you both got to work.

Day in and out was much the same. You cultivated what you had, you cleaned and collected wood together, and you even got used to fending off the earth for food to cook each night. He would improve your home little by little, and you became skilled in sewing new coverings or mending clothes along the way.

It brought you both closer to one another, and for a while there, you almost forgot the tally of days Jinyoung had been counting of your stay. It felt comfortable being with him each day and night.

However, when Jinyoung pulled you over to where he had been marking down your stay, you gasped. “It’s been a hundred days already?!”

“Do you think Bertha and Thomas trapped us in this world so they can live as us in the present?” Jinyoung mentioned bitterly, and you shrugged, slumping down into an armchair in shock. He approached you soon after and crouched at your side. “Not to say I’m not enjoying your company. I am. I do. But I kind of would like to go home. I’ll praise my microwave and ready-to-eat foods so much once I’m back.”

“And a flushing toilet,” you offered with a laugh. “Oh, and a shower. Gosh, I miss a good shower.”

“Is the lake nearby not doing it for you, huh?” he asked mischievously, and you pushed his arm off the side of the chair playfully.

“It’s sufficient.”

“You don’t take your undergarments off.”

“I’m washing them too as I wash myself,” you objected, your cheeks flushing with the thought of how easily Jinyoung took his shirt and pants off whenever you went to the lake. You didn’t watch him do it, of course, but you had seen his shoulders and chest, and that was enough to fulfil any desires you had for the man until the next lake visit.

Jinyoung chuckled. “You’re thinking sinfully right now.”

“You are too.”

He shrugged. “You don’t give me much to think like that over.”

“A lady shouldn’t bare herself unless it’s to her husband in these parts,” you stated dramatically, and Jinyoung didn’t laugh as you expected him to. Losing yourself in his gaze as he had already done with you, you instinctively moistened your lips.

You both had been dancing around the unspoken feelings for one another for quite some time now. Naturally, the more you bonded, the more you fell for Jinyoung. He was playful yet incredibly capable. He was there to help you when it was too much and had shouldered your tears whenever you had fits for home.

Even without this experience, you had crushed over him, but now it was beyond a crush.

You had fallen in love with him.

“Was this how it happened for them too?” Jinyoung whispered, and you knew what he meant right away.

“Perhaps,” you said back, your hand reaching out to hold his.

It had been your favourite thing to do all this time. No matter the time of day or night, reaching out to hold his hand made you feel connected, grounded even. Right now though, his touch held a charge that had built to a point that started to buzz throughout you.

It was then that Jinyoung captured your lips in his. The buzz turned into a rush, and you pulled him up to you from the ground, your lips not parting as he, in turn, tugged you from the chair. Now standing, your arms moved to stabilise your balance by hooking together around his neck, your body flush with his.

This kiss was yours alone.

Although you knew you were being guided by the past lovers, this moment was spurred on by your own feelings that had grown. You could taste the hunger, the passion upon his lips and feel it upon your skin as his hands took purchase of your hips, moving downward until he reached your thighs. Hoisting you up, you curled around Jinyoung, pulling back for another breath only to crash down upon his hot mouth once more, kissing him eagerly as he carried you both over to the bed.

Laying you down, he placed a knee between your legs and finally pulled back, his dark gaze washing over you lustfully. “What are we doing?”

“You know exactly what we’re doing, Jinyoung. Something long overdue between us.”

He groaned before leaning down to capture your mouth against his again, hands exploring, trying to undo one another’s clothing. It was easy enough to get his shirt and suspenders off, but your dress slowed Jinyoung down, and he grew impatient with it being in the way.

Sitting up and pushing him back, so you were now resting upon his thigh, you reached for the ties of your dress and loosened them off. Holding up your arms, Jinyoung swore under his breath, his palms pushing the fabric up and over your head.

Just your undergarments remained.

“A lady shouldn’t bare herself,” he reminded of your statement previously, and you smiled, still holding your arms above your head for him to take it off. “Not unless it’s to her husband.”

“Will you marry me then just to take it off?” you asked, and Jinyoung cursed once more at your direct approach. “I’m certain Bertha and Thomas weren’t married whilst they lived in these woods.”

“Are we playing them still right now?” Jinyoung asked, and you shook your head.

“In our lifetime, being intimate can happen regardless of being married or not.”

“In our lifetime, we also have protection,” he pointed out, the flames within his eyes dampening with the further logic he placed over the situation.

You didn’t want this to end here. You only wanted one thing, and that was to feel the culmination of your feelings for him, emotionally and physically. Kissing him with demand, Jinyoung’s resolve broke, his hands taking to the bottom of the fabric and only pulled away to get it over your head. Taking off his pants, he stopped and stared at you.

You finally were as bare as he was.

“I’m in love with you,” he confessed, and you nodded, resting your forehead against yours.

“I know. I am with you too.”

“I know,” he replied with a shared smile, capturing your lips and heart once more.

Two years or so had gone by since you found yourself in this strange world. You had stopped counting how long exactly it had been in this little oasis you shared with Jinyoung. You enjoyed the simple life at his side and the ecstasy that came with loving him during the nights. Somehow, you hadn’t fallen pregnant yet, and even though you had both taken vows last summer in a tiny church in another village, your marital life was childless.

You had to admit you were starting to feel as if your womb would forever remain barren.

Finding your menstrual cycle had arrived like clockwork once again disappointed you, and you wondered why.

“Perhaps it’s the environment,” Jinyoung mentioned, and you shook your head.

“I’m not going back to the township. Out here we can be whoever we want to be.”

“We can be that there as well. We’re married now. They can’t break what we vowed under the eyes of God apart.”

You remained against the idea until one morning someone from your household finally travelled this far into the woods to find you. Marguerite was relieved to see you alive and well, begging for you to return to the house. “They will forgive you of your betrayal, My Lady.”

“What of Caroline?”

Marguerite sighed. “She married the Lord in your stead. She’s rather happy now. She is with child again already.”

You swallowed difficultly, nodding once. “Again. Her second?”

“Third. She bore twins for the Lord.”

Jinyoung reached for your shoulders and gave them a squeeze. “And of Y/N’s parents?”

“They have entrusted the estate to you.”

“Not Caroline? Nor Abigail?”

Marguerite smiled. “It’s time to come home. Your father has fallen ill, and he wishes to see you before he leaves this earth.”

Leaving the cabin was painful. Your lives had been set up there, and yet, you were curious to see the manor again. As Marguerite had assured, your family welcomed you home with open arms, grateful to see you alive and well. Jinyoung was accepted as your husband and took over some of the affairs when your father in this world passed away. Your mother soon too joined him, and it was now your estate with Jinyoung.

But it didn’t quite feel like home.

“My Lady?”

Opening your eyes, you smiled weakly at Marguerite’s appearance. “I’m tired today.”

“You’ve rested enough now, don’t you think?”

“No, I feel I need more sleep.”

“Jinyoung is already on his way back.”

“Back where?” you asked groggily, and when you received no answer, you sat up immediately, noticing the room was now empty.

Getting out of bed, you found the floor beneath you gave way, and the same falling feeling you had experienced four years ago started again.

When you woke up this time, you were nestled in the library next to Jinyoung, your head upon his shoulder.

“Quite the adventure you two took today, huh?” a voice mentioned, picking up the book you held loosely and looked it over.

Blearily looking around yourself, you sat up, staring at Jinyoung when he reached out for your hand. Helping you to your feet, he then let you go. “I suppose Emma needs me in the kitchen.”

Once hastily excused, you stared at his Aunt for some time. Her expression felt knowing about the journey you just took. “It’s the same day?”

“What year did you think of it to be?”

“I just… that dream felt longer than a day. More like years.”

“I’m sure it was,” she answered with a smile, the glint in her eyes confirming your suspicions. “Thank you for looking after the spirits today. They always seem to be on the lookout to play matchmaker. It would have been a disaster if I let them loose on just anyone.”

You didn’t know what to say back, a small smile gracing your lips before you pointed to your things. “I uh, I better clean up.”

“Will you stay for the party, Y/N?”

“I’m rather tired,” you excused, and Marguerite laughed, nodding along.

“Yes, I suppose it was a long journey back too.”

She left you then, and you stared up at the portrait of the couple in the room, wondering just how long they had been watching over you.

And Jinyoung for that matter.

Not really knowing how to comprehend all that had happened, you gathered your books and belongings back into your bag and shouldered it.

It felt odd to be doing tasks you hadn’t done for four years.

Or a day. You couldn’t quite understand time right now.

Still, you took your time, going into the bathroom and rejoiced over hot water when you washed your hands, and then headed to the exit.

Instead of leaving, you turned for the grand staircase, taking yourself up to the bedroom in the west wing.

You marvelled at how identical it was. “Marguerite has been there more than once, I’m sure of it.”

“I think so,” Jinyoung announced, and you spun around, staring at the distance between you both. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I don’t know what’s acceptable or not in this realm.”

“I guess we have to get adjusted to modern times again.”

“In this year we weren’t married,” he mentioned, stepping closer to you. “Not even dating.”

“No, we were almost strangers. A pair who fought over a door opening between them two years ago,” you announced with a grin, and Jinyoung chuckled.

“What if we both agree that Bertha and Thomas opened that door between us?”

“Then I think we’d have to agree that they also took us someplace today,” you answered, taking a step towards Jinyoung. He reached out for your waist, and you almost hummed with happiness.

It felt just as natural as it had before.

“And in that world, we fell in love.”

“Will we in this world?” you wondered as Jinyoung tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“It is Valentine’s Day still. Should I take you on our first date?”

“Was our first date back then when we chopped wood together?”

Jinyoung laughed and leaned down to brush his lips over yours. “I promise I have no need to chop wood in this lifetime.”

“You were awfully good at it, though.”

“So you did watch me.”

“Intently,” you divulged, slipping your hands up over his chest and resting them on his shoulders. “I’d like that date.”

“I’d like it too.”

“And then what happens after it?” you asked, chewing your lip with anticipation.

“Well, it’s our turn to tell the story. Thomas and Bertha have their world, but this is ours. Whatever happens next, we’ll have to write it down in our own book.”

“The Tale of Love: Then and Now,” you named it, and Jinyoung laughed, hugging you warmly.

“Whatever it’s called, so long as you remain close to my heart, I know I’ll live happily ever after.”

_________________

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[gunpowdville]

The Great Flesh-Eating Cake Incident of Year [REDACTED] (Not to be Confused With the Bifrost Incident)

Chapters: 1/2

Words: 3502

Relationships: Drumbot Brian - Raphaella la Cognizi (queerplatonic), Gunpowder Tim/Lyfrassir Edda/Marius von Raum, The Aurora/Nastya Rasputina (although most don’t show up until the second chapter)

Other Things: genderfluid tim, she/her tim, he/fae marius :)

Summary: Brian and Raph bake a cake. Or, they try to. It doesn't exactly go well. (aka, Why Raphaella la Cognizi Should Never Be Allowed in the Kitchen)

read on ao3 here or read below the cut for people who don't like ao3 (i will post the second chapter. at some point. hopefully soon)

Chapter 1

“Try it now.”

“Is it safe?”

“Does that matter?”

Brian gives her what she calls his teacher look, a combination of calm exasperation and gentle chiding. “I would prefer to not fry myself from the inside out, if I can help it.”

“Boring,” Raphaella accuses, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “And you know I’d fix you if you did.” Well actually, she would get Nastya to fix him, as Raph herself has absolutely no self control when it comes to the prospect of tinkering with a complex mechanism and Brian hates being tinkered on without his permission.

“Yes, of course, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt like hell,” Brian points out. “Not to mention how horrendously it would fuck up my systems.”

Raphaella pouts. “So I installed the flamethrower for nothing?”

Brian hesitates. “...I didn’t say that.”

Raphaella perks up immediately, turning her full attention from the clattered worktable to her partner. Brian straightens up and faces away from her, focusing at the blank wall at one end of the lab. He pokes his tongue around the inside of his mouth a little, probing at the new addition in the back. He tests out flipping its settings, making sure everything flows smoothly, then steels himself and opens his mouth, turning it on. Nothing happens.

Raphaella throws up her hands in exasperation. “I don’t understand! That should have worked! It-”

Brian yelps suddenly, clapping his hands to his throat as the back of it heats up rapidly, too rapidly, the heat growing from gently uncomfortable to unbearable in a matter of seconds. Luckily, his systems react before he can, shutting off the new attachment the second it could cause potential harm. The heat fades almost as quickly as it had swelled.

“Ow,” Brian says mildly.

“That was about to work,” Raphaella huffs, hands on her hips, eyes fixed somewhat accusingly on Brian. “If you had just waited a moment longer.”

“It was about to melt my vocal cords,” Brian points out in retort. Raphaella throws up her hands again.

“My husband is a coward,” she declares to no one in particular, with no actual insult behind it. Brian can’t help but smile softly at the endearment. They’re not married, technically, but for all intents and purposes they might as well be.

“I’ve started to become convinced that you’re simply trying to kill me,” Brian remarks to her as she turns back to the notes on her lab table. She shoots him a brightly malicious look, one backed heavily with fondness. “Maybe I am.”

He sits down on the stool beside the lab table and reaches for her, catching her waist from behind and pulling her onto his lap. She leans back into him as he wraps his arms around her, and he rests his chin on her shoulder so he can peer down at the pages of notes in her hands.

“Here, tell me what I’m doing wrong,” Raphaella holds up the notes so Brian can get a better look at them. He hums thoughtfully as he scans her delicate sketch of his body, each part individually labelled with possible enhancements to be added in Raph’s lacy handwriting. Brian’s own handwriting, cramped and blocky, annotates the science officer’s notes with his own observations of measurements and possible difficulties.

In his mind, Brian overlays the sketch on top of the official schematics the doc left in there, focusing on his throat and the new addition, checking for anywhere where it isn’t wired properly or messing with any of his other systems. Nothing. He bites his lip, a very natural bad habit that he’s never been able to shake, despite it splitting the rubber badly. Raphaella hits him lightly in the side of the head when she notices him doing it.

“I don’t think it’s anything you’ve done,” Brian says finally, leaning back slightly on the stool. “I think it’s simply a matter of too much heat.”

Raphaella ‘hmphs’, taking her notes back from him and setting them back on the table. She turns her head to study Brian’s face, placing her hands atop his where they rest over her stomach. He quirks an eyebrow at her, and she regards him silently. He can tell that she’s thinking through what next to work on, now that their flamethrower experiment is a bust.

He gives her stomach a light pat. “If you don’t mind, I was going to go bake something. Tim’s been complaining that there aren’t enough ‘munchies’ onboard. And yes, that is the word xe used.”

Raphaella slaps a hand to her heart melodramatically, the gesture accompanied by a theatrical gasp. “Leaving me for Tim, are we? Scandal.”

Brian chuckles gently as he rises to his feet, dislodging Raph in the process. “Yes, I’ve decided you’re much too cruel and brutal for me, and I’d be much happier feeding Tim for the rest of eternity.”

Raphaella tosses her hair and turns away from him, crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her chin up imperiously. “Good riddance.”

“Good riddance indeed,” Brian agrees drily, with no heat behind it. Raph glaces over her shoulder at him and grins, and he smiles back as he slips out the lab door, tipping his hat as he goes.

Ivy’s reading at the kitchen counter when he enters. She doesn’t look up as he makes his way into the kitchen proper, wrangling his hair into a wiry ponytail and tossing his hat on the counter. He peeks at the cover of her book and makes an intrigued little noise when he notices it’s about prophets and oracles throughout space and time.

“I was going to give it you when I was finished,” Ivy says without looking up. “I thought it might interest you.”

“It does,” Brian tells her, and she smirks, proud of herself. She still doesn’t take her eyes off the pages. Brian leans over, resting his elbows on the counter, and knocks his forehead briefly against hers, a somewhat awkward sign of affection that’s he’s developed with some members of the crew. She responds by patting his head absentmindedly, still not looking up from her book. He smiles, and turns back to the kitchen.

After a couple minutes of rummaging around in cabinets, Brian becomes aware of Raphaella’s presence leaning against the counter to his left.

“Missed me?” he asks teasingly. She rolls her eyes and pokes him in the arm. “You promised you’d teach me to bake.”

Brian pauses, replaying the last ten minutes in his mind to confirm that he has not, in fact, promised her this. And then he realizes that she’s referring to a time quite a few decades ago, when the two of them had been left back on the ship while the others had been out pillaging a nigh-extinct planet. They’d been sharing some pastries that Brian had been experimenting with, and Raphaella had asked him how he’d made them. He had launched straight into a detailed explanation of exactly which ingredients he had used and what amounts of each, and how he had played with the measurements and tweaked the recipe to see how he could improve it. Raph had listened with utter fascination, and after he had finished she had mentioned that it seemed a bit like her experiments, only with slightly different materials. He had offered to teach her a little, if she’d like, and she had said she would love to learn. And now here they are.

“I did do that, didn’t I,” Brian muses. He studies Raph, leaning against the counter, a sparkle in her eyes that both makes him excited to see what she has in store and fear for his life.

“So?” Raphaella raises an eyebrow. Brian considers.

“We are making a cake,” he tells her, keeping his voice slow, steady, and serious. “A basic cake. We are not going to put anything in it that is not on the ingredients list. We are going to follow the recipe. To the letter. And we are not, I repeat, we are not going to burn down my kitchen.”

My kitchen, Aurora corrects him gently.

“Our kitchen,” he concedes.

Raphaella steps forward and takes Brian’s hands, looking him solemnly in the eyes. “I won’t let you down,” she promises. “Trust me.”

“Phee, I love you to death, and I always will” Brian tells her, lifting her hand to his mouth and kissing the back of it. “But I draw the line at trusting you.”

“Rude,” Raph sniffs, while Ivy tries to cover up a snort.

“Practical,” Brian shoots back, letting go of her hands and reaching past her to pluck the recipe from the counter. With a flourish, he deposits it in her hands. “Find me these ingredients.”

Raphaella mutters something about ‘bossybitch Brian’ as she turns away from him and marches purposefully toward the cupboards. He watches her fondly for a moment, before busying himself gathering pans and setting up his beloved electric mixer, something he’d found being sold for scraps on a junkyard planet and had lovingly repaired and repainted with his own two hands. Its name is Small Brian, and it remains one of his most prized possessions.

“Bri, which eggs are we using?” Raphaella calls to him, her head buried deep in the disorganized fridge. Brian abandons Small Brian for just a moment and pokes his head in beside hers.

“Ah, not those,” he says, indicating a half dozen of jet-black eggs glowing faintly from within. “Those are Ashes’. They will supposedly hatch into a rare breed of fire-breathing corvid.”

“And those?” Raphaella points to the other carton of eggs.

“We’re using those,” Brian confirms, pulling the carton out. “Ah. Wait. Not this one.” Carefully, he removes a small, round, green orb from the carton and places it gently on the counter. “An octokitten laid this. We think.”

Raphaella leans over and picks it up, holding it in the palm of her hand and bringing it up close to her eyes. She looks suspiciously like she’s about to slip it into her pocket, so Brian plucks it from her hands before she gets a chance to. She sticks her tongue out at him. He waves her off to go collect the rest of the ingredients, reminding her that the lovely ceramic pot labeled ‘sugar’ is in fact actually filled with gunpowder, and the sugar is in the cabinet to its right. Meanwhile he goes back to fussing over Small Brian.

The mixer isn’t starting up properly, it keeps stuttering and stopping whenever he tries to turn it on. Brian frowns, tapping the top of it with a metal finger. “Come on, love,” he says softly to Small Brian. “Don’t give up on me now. Not after all we’ve been through.”

“Raph,” Ivy speaks up from her place at the counter, her tone amused. “Brian’s talking to the appliances again.”

“If either of you make a joke comparing me to an appliance, I will kill you,” Brian warns both of them placidly, fiddling with Small Brian’s mechanisms until the machine whines and starts up properly. “Good lad,” Brian says, patting the appliance lovingly.

“I saw that,” he adds when he catches the look Ivy and Raphaella share over the counter. Raphaella rolls her eyes and gestures to him to come approve the ingredients she’s gathered. She hooks her arm through his and tips her head onto his shoulder while he checks each one off against the recipe.

“Excellent, that’s everything. Thank you.” he says, kissing her on the top of the head. “ Now we can begin.”

Raphaella, as always, is a very attentive student, listening well and asking questions when necessary. He suspects that she asks some of the questions just to listen to him talk about something he loves, and he adores her for it. They work very well together, the two of them, bantering back and forth as they do. Ivy chimes in on occasion, never taking her eyes off of her book.

Jonny strolls into the kitchen at one point, zeroing in on the chocolate chips scattered across the counter with a predator’s precision. As soon as he spots the first mate, Brian sweeps a knife into his hand and points it at him. “Out.”

Jonny backs away, throwing his hands up in surrender. He’s been killed enough times over messing around in the kitchen that he knows by now that the best thing to do is back off.

All in all, it’s a shockingly peaceful time. Brian hums to himself as he stirs ingredients together, and Raphaella goes through the cupboards, looking for something to play with. She reaches to open one in the back, and Brian notices too late which one it is. Raphaella stops, tilting her head in curiosity as she stares at the contents of the cupboard.

“Oh, Briiiiiiiiaaan?” she calls in a singsong voice, which is usually a sign that Brian is about to either be taken apart or assist in taking apart someone else. “What is this?”

Brian sighs and sets down the bowl, making his way slowly over to her. She raises an eyebrow at him as he gazes silently for a moment at the dismantled skeleton shoved into the back of the cupboard. “Those… are my bones.”

“Your… bones.”

“My bones.”

“Why…?”

Brian shrugs. “It’s not like I’m using them.”

“Right.” Raphaella studies the skeleton for a moment longer, before declaring, “I’m going to make soup out of them.”

Brian starts. “I’m sorry?”

“Your bones. I’m going to make soup out of them.”

“You are not.”

“Bone broth is a thing, isn’t it? Ivy?”

“It is,” Ivy confirms, casually turning a page.

Raphaella grins, gathering the bones into her arms. “Brian soup.”

“Brian s- no!”

“Brian soup Brian soup Brian soup Brian soup-”

“NO.”

“I thought the doc took your bones,” Ivy mentions, as Brian attempts to gently cajole his partner into giving him back said bones.

“I asked her to let me keep some of them,” Brian explains, tugging a rib out of Raph’s arms and dislodging about three more, which clatter to the floor unceremoniously. “They are mine, after all.”

“It’s unusually sentimental of me, I know,” he adds as Raphaella ducks under his arm, executing a perfect twirl to get the bones out of his reach, “I’m not quite sure why I wanted them.”

“For soup,” Raphaella quips, and Ivy snorts as Brian throws himself at the science officer. Raph yelps and scrambles away from him, and so begins an epic chase around the kitchen, Raph struggling to run away while clutching an armful of bones, the owner of said bones following a step behind her, playfully angry.

Brian doesn’t realize he’s started humming to himself until Raphaella turns to face him, jogging backwards, and asks what song it is.

“It’s a new one I’m working on,” he says, using her moment of distraction as an opportunity to trap her in the kitchen, the wraparound counter devoid of exits besides the one that he is currently standing in front of. “It’s called ‘Raphaella Please Don’t Make Soup Out of My Bones.’”

“I hate it,” Raphaella decides, still backing away. She’s almost hit the counter, and Brian smirks at his inevitable victory.

“You’ve barely heard it,” he argues, and begins humming louder. Raphaella’s back hits the counter, and Brian stops. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, he begins tapping his foot along to the tune.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Raphaella starts, but the other foot has already begun to move as well. Just tapping at first, tap tap tapping to a beat in Brian’s head, but the footwork quickly becomes more and more complicated as he eases into the song. Ivy picks it up quickly and starts tapping her fingers on the counter, taking charge of the beat while Brian continues humming the melody.

Raphaella shakes her head, refusing to let his shenanigans charm her, but Brian refuses to give up. He dances his way smoothly across the floor to her, finishing with an elegant twirl and an extended hand. Raphaella regards him with reluctant defeat, then rolls her eyes and takes Brian’s hand.

He waltzes her out into the middle of the floor, two steps forward, one step back. He spins her out, then spins her back in so they’re swaying with her back pressed to his chest. “You’re a master manipulator, you know,” she says to him. He smiles. She twirls him out, then twirls him back in and dips him, effortlessly holding up his mass of metal.

“I don’t remember this step of the cake recipe,” Ivy comments drily. She’s finally looking up from her book and is watching the two of them with an expression that is equal parts exasperated and amused.

“Which step, the bone soup or the dancing?” Brian returns, just as dry. Ivy is saved from having to respond by the arrival of Marius, who comes striding through the door like an invading general, arms spread wide in greeting.

“Well, if it isn’t my three favorite delinquents,” fae says, grinning like a maniac. “Dancing in the kitchen like- wait. Why is Raph in the kitchen?”

“I’m helping,” Raph says proudly, tossing her hair over her shoulder in a decidedly smug fashion as Brian collects his bones and returns them to their cupboard. “How can we help you?”

Marius pulls up a stool and takes a seat next to Ivy, scanning the pages of her book idly. “Tim stole my partner.”

“To be fair, Tim is also dating your partner,” Brian points out, handing the bowl of cake batter to Raph to finish stirring and put in the oven.

“Sure, but she’s being smug about it. So I’m pouting,” Marius replies, metal fingers tapping on the counter. “Oh, also: Tim wanted me to tell you. She/her for the time being.”

Brian nods, taking note of the pronouns. “Well, when you feel like speaking to Tim again, you can tell her that a cake is on its way.”

Marius raises an eyebrow. “You mean that cake that Raph just slipped something into behind your back?”

Honestly, Brian is surprised that this didn’t happen earlier. Slowly, he turns to Raphaella, who meets his eyes with a mischievous smirk as she slips an empty vial back into her pocket.

“What was in that?” he asks gently, not mad, just curious.

“Just a little something I whipped up,” Raphaella says, giving the batter an experimental stir. An odd squelching noise escapes from the bowl, and she quickly lets go of the wooden spoon as a dark tendril of… something curls up around it, possessive and hungry. “Oh. That’s interesting.”

“What the fuck was that?” Marius leans forward over the counter, curiosity evident on faer features.

Raphaella sets the bowl carefully on the floor and steps away from it, circling around it to Brian’s side. He gives her a questioning look, and she shrugs cheerfully, indicating that she has no idea whatsoever the effect of whatever she put in may be. With somewhat tired resignation, Brian steps forward to investigate what has become of his simple chocolate cake.

It’s… alive. The dark, viscous substance in the bowl has begun to writhe and bubble in a distinctively sentient manner, tendrils forming reaching out, looking to grab hold of something. The tendrils feel their way around tentatively, like a newborn animal learning to walk for the first time. The substance itself has an oddly familiar shimmer to it, the nearly oil-black surface revealing colors of every hue and nature when the light hits it.

“That looks like…” Marius frowns, clambering over the counter and dropping next to Brian as what was meant to be a cake slowly drags itself out of the bowl and onto the floor. “Oh, Raph, you didn’t!”

“Don’t touch it,” Brian advises as Marius crouches near the thing to get a better look.

Marius gives the Drumbot a scathing look. “I’m not a moron, Brian, I’m not going to-”

“Mare, get back,” Brian snaps, but it’s too late. The crawling blob has already reached the violinists foot and has clamped on tightly, wrapping its tentacles up and around his leg. He stares down at it in mild concern for a moment, then says: “Fuck.”

What happens next is hard to describe. The viscous thing sort of… stretches itself, until it covers Marius’ entire body, undulating and pulsing, then collapses in on itself, returning to its smaller form, leaving nothing but a slightly steaming metal arm left where the ship’s doctor once stood.

“What the hell did you do?” Brian demands, staring at the (now slightly larger) creation as it drags its way across the floor.

Raphaella doesn’t respond. “I think it ate faer,” she says instead. Then, “where is it going?”

Brian glances at the floor just in time to see the thing disappear into the vents. He lets out a cry, but it is much to late. It’s gone.

“Well,” Ivy says, staring with vague concern at the open vent. “Fuck.”

[hidden-otaku-stuff]

Different but the Same (pt. 6)

tw: A few swears

Word count: ~4.5k

Rating: R18+/M

Omegaverse AU, Rating: 18+/M

Pairings: Iwaizumi x fem!reader, Ushijima x fem!reader

Summary: An unexpected encounter at the Inter-High tournament tossed you into a whirlwind. Being tugged between two males, two different packs, who will reign supreme in this battle for your heart?

Masterlist | prev | next

ch 6: courting

A tapping distracted her as she flicked through the pages of her textbook. A soft bite to her bottom lip before an exaggerated groan left her lips. “This is so boring,” she pouted, glancing up. Iwaizumi was across the table from her, his fingers drumming on the table as he focused on his own homework. His eyes flicked up before they went back to scanning the problems.

“It’d be less boring if you focused on your actual work instead of looking at me.” 

“You’re annoying.”

“You’re just annoyed that I can focus when I study with you, and you can’t.” He brought his cup of tea to his lips, taking a sip. “That or the fact that you didn’t do your homework yesterday when I told you to so now you’re annoyed that you can’t go out.” He flipped a page. 

She grunted, rolling her eyes. He was right. The previous day, she’d insisted on cuddling all day so they’d sat on the sofa watching movies. This morning, she’d woken up to a barrage of texts from Oikawa and the rest of the third-years inviting them out for a day at the mall but Iwaizumi refused because they had homework to catch up on. “It’s not my fault that I wanted to spend time with just you.” He ignored her, scribbling down the math to the chemistry problem. Trying to focus, she leaned her face closer to the text, using her hands to prop her head up. Her eyes shifted once more so that she could survey the brooding ace. The glow of the afternoon sun outside illuminated his natural beauty, from his chiseled cheeks to the light in his eyes. Her mind drifted to their first study session.

It had been their third-year of middle school. They were in the process of studying for their high-school entrance exams. Well, Iwaizumi was. She was studying to pass her final exams. 

He shifted his weight uncomfortably, a soft pink tinge blossoming in his cheeks. “Hey, do you wanna study with me later today?” She and Oikawa were standing by her locker, chatting about classwork when Iwaizumi had approached them. Brown eyes avoided looking directly at her while he waited for her response. 

She turned, a dazzling smile filling her face. “Sure! Where did you want to go?” A tug as she adjusted the shoulder strap on her backpack. He fiddled with the zipper on his jacket.

“How about that new cafe down the street?” 

“Sounds perfect. See you later Oikawa-san!” The setter let out squawks of protest, complaining about being ditched as Iwaizumi offered his hand to the Omega. The pink hint dusting her cheeks darkened to red as she put her hand in his. Giggles slipped from her lips as he pulled her away, ordering his best friend to not follow them. Oikawa’s curses and loud whines faded behind them as Iwaizumi led her out the gates of their junior high. 

Iwaizumi let out a sigh of relief as they slowed down their pace. “I thought I’d never get rid of him.” 

“You can’t say that,” she chided as she nudged him. “He’s your best friend after all!” 

Iwaizumi snorted. “More like I’m the idiot who got stuck with him.” His eyes fell on their intertwined fingers, red roses blooming in the apples of his cheeks as he quickly averted his eyes again. In the corner of his eyes, he could see her soft smile. “I’m really glad you were at that game.” He muttered under his breath.

“Me too.” Iwaizumi jolted, unaware that she had caught his comment. She was like a beam of sunshine, it was hard to be upset or to feel negative emotions when you were around her. “I can’t believe we never ran into each other sooner, especially since we’ve been at the same school this whole time.” The bell chimed as they entered the cafe. Iwaizumi’s head swung around, spying an empty table by the windows. He let go of her hand, placing it on the small of her back to guide her to the table.

“Get comfortable,” he ordered before he let his voice soften. “What do you want to drink?” 

She hummed as she tapped her chin. “Do you mind getting me a green tea?” 

“Anything for you princess.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, practically falling over his own feet as he escaped towards the counter. Her cheeks glowed as her fingers brushed against the warm spot he had just touched. She couldn’t resist the giggles that overtook her as she sat down and got comfortable. A few minutes later, Iwaizumi came back with two cups of tea. She spied the red glow of his ears as he cleared his throat, placing the cups down beside her book.

“Thank you, Iwaizumi!”

He sat down in front of her, taking a sip of his tea to calm his nerves. “Y’know...since we’re mates or whatever...you can just call me Hajime.” Her tongue burned as she accidentally took too big of a sip, eyes watering at the pain. “Oi, that’s hot dumbass!” He scolded, taking the cup away from her as he pulled his water bottle out and handed it to her. 

As she drank the cooling liquid, she sent him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting that.” She swallowed as shyness overcame her nerves. “You can call me (Name).” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but he caught every word. With a grin, he pulled out an entrance exam booklet. 

Twenty minutes or so had passed when she decided she needed a break. Standing up, she stretched. “Where are you going?” Iwaizumi looked up from his booklet, eyebrows furrowing at her sudden movement.

“I’ll be right back, I’m going to go to the restroom.” Her smile blinded him as he slowly nodded, watching her back as she walked away. As she finished her business and finished washing her hands, she looked at herself in the mirror. “I can’t believe I’m here right now.” She squealed as she hugged herself. 

Stepping out of the bathroom, she took her seat back in front of Iwaizumi, flashing him another smile. “Here you go!” Her attention was caught as a waiter delicately placed a slice of [favorite cake] in between them. “Enjoy!” 

“Hajime?” She turned to look quizzically at her mate.

His cheeks darkened as he looked out the window. “I figured I would treat you since this is our first date or whatever.” 

He was startled when soft lips pressed against his cheek. “Thank you!” She squealed, practically bouncing in excitement. A glitter of gold caught the light, causing her to pause. Her heart fluttered. “Is this..?”

He carefully watched her, his heart freezing. “Well, I know I’m your bond-mate, but I figured we’d make it officially, y’know?” His cheeks burned.

“Oh Haji, it’s so beautiful,” she beamed. “Can you put it on for me?” 

She pulled her hair to the side as he stood up, making his way to her side as he placed the necklace on for her. Her fingers brushed the pendant as she looked down at it fondly. “I hope you like it.” His eyes glowed as he inhaled her warm strawberry scent.

“I do, I love it.” Her thumb rubbed the pendant. “I’m definitely the luckiest girl in the world, aren’t I?” Her eyes sparkled, meeting his as she took a bite of her pastry. She let out another squeal, bouncing in her seat. 

As Iwaizumi watched her take another bite of the pastry, he chewed on his cheek. ‘I think I’m the lucky one here,’ he thought to himself as she offered a forkful to him. Carefully eating it, Iwaizumi silently nodded to himself. He was definitely the lucky one.

The memory faded as Iwaizumi let out a deep sigh. A ball of paper bounced off her forehead causing her to squeal indignantly. “Stop getting distracted. You go to Shiratorizawa, shouldn’t you be a better student?” 

“Asshole,” she grumbled. Iwaizumi flicked her, causing her to yelp and protest loudly. 

He stood up, making his way past her into the kitchen to refill their mugs. Her mate placed a fond kiss over the red blemish he had left. “I love you.”

“Love you too!” She replied. “Though I wish you weren’t such a hard-ass,” she muttered under her breath.

“Haaaah?” 

“Nothing baby!”  

****

“I don’t know why I feel this way.” Ushijima laid in his dorm bed, head propped up by his pillow as he stared at the bed above him. 

Tendou glanced over, spinning his chair. “Feel what way, Wakatoshi?”

Ushijima hesitated, brows furrowed. “I...I feel different when I’m around (Name). Almost like I always want to be around her, but when I’m around her, I still don’t feel complete.” He sighed, not looking, knowing that Tendou’s brows had furrowed in that mocking way it does. 

Tendou tapped on his chin. “Do you like her?” 

Ushijima glanced over at the red-head. “Like her? She does a good job of being our manager, I don’t have a reason to dislike her.”

Tendou cackled, “Not like that Wakatoshi! Do you see her in a romantic sense perhaps?” His eyes narrowed playfully, a smirk sliding across his face.

“A romantic sense?” Ushijima thought about it before shaking his head. “I don’t think so. Besides, she already has a mate.” A flicker of pain shot through his heart as his Alpha snarled Vermillion eyes widened at the sudden noise. 

“Your Alpha seems to disagree.” He commented, leaning back and spinning the chair as he thought. “What happened during your tryst at the game?” 

A sigh escaped Ushijima, he didn’t really want to go into details. If he was being honest, he was still embarrassed that he’d so easily lost control. “Nothing really,” he replied. “I was walking to get a water refill when the sweetest scent distracted me. I took her into some locker room to help her through her heat.” He sat passively, recalling some of the words that had left him. Lowering his voice, he added shamefully, “My alpha told her to be mine.” His cheeks felt warm at the admission.

Tendou looked down at his captain. “That’s probably why you feel this way, your alpha already recognises her as your Omega and that’s why you feel so conflicted.” He shrugged. 

“But she already has a mate.” 

“Guessing your Alpha doesn’t really care about that~!” Tendou teased before his smirk dropped, growing serious. “Have you talked to her since it happened?”

Ushijima remained silent a moment longer before sighing again. “I apologized to her for my actions and asked her to be our manager. Since then, we haven’t approached the subject.” 

“Do you know how she feels about it?” Ushijima shook his head. “Maybe she also feels some type of way towards you, but feels confused because she feels an obligation to her mate.” A growl tore from Ushijima’s lips, causing both boys to freeze. “Ushijima.” Tendou adopted a firm voice now, channeling a bit of the Alpha voice he rarely used. “Like it or not, she’s already accepted courtship with another alpha. You either have to let this Omega go, or somehow win her affections.” He looked at the ceiling, “Besides, aren’t Omegas allowed to have two Alphas?” 

“You’re right Tendou.” With that, he stood up. “I’m going to go for a run.”

“It’s nearly curfew!” Tendou cried, as the door snapped shut behind the Apex Alpha.

His feet slammed against the ground, his arms at his sides. Energy pulsed through him, and he pushed himself. Harder. Faster. Better. Ushijima hadn’t been entirely honest with Tendou. The reason that he had followed the strawberry scent was because it was one he had met many years ago. Flashes of images swarmed his mind as he let it wander. 

It was after his final tournament in middle school. The strawberry scent had wafted out throughout the game, but right when he was receiving his Best Spiker Award, it consumed him. Olive eyes glowed as it scanned the audience, subtly taking in big sniffs as he tried to locate it. But somehow the scent had disappeared. “Ushijima! Let’s go to the locker room.” His team-mate shook him out of his reverie. It was just a scent, he thought to himself. Making his way back to the locker-room, he froze. The scent was potent here. He couldn’t stop himself, he followed the scent down the hall and was about to head through the open doors at the end of the hall when a firm hand gripped his shoulder.

“Ushijima! You did an excellent job. You’ll do fine things at Shiratorizawa Academy.” He turned, greeting his coach.

“Thank you, Coach.” 

“Come on, the bus is ready, we’re about to head out.” With his coach’s hand on his shoulders guiding him, he left the delicious scent behind, promising to find it next time. 

The memory faded to black and he silently cursed himself. If only he had been more persistent, if only he had found the source, he could’ve been the one holding her in his arms. The alpha had originally thought that he was going crazy when he scented her again. At every single game he’s been at, he would subconsciously always check the air to see if she was there to no avail. This time, there was nothing to stop him from finding it. It hadn’t been difficult, since she was literally in the middle of the bustling hallway. 

He froze in his tracks, gulping. The source of the scent was more intoxicating than he could have imagined. She was definitely the most attractive person he had ever met, and the scent. His mouth watered at it; he couldn’t remember anything smelling as sweet. Just by this single whiff, he was addicted. If he could replace oxygen with it, he would. Another gulp as he steeled his nerves. As he got closer, he realized why it had been exceptionally sweeter. She was in heat. 

His hand made contact, and he almost shivered at the feeling of her soft flesh under his calloused fingers. A burning feeling coursed through his veins, electricity shooting up his body. He knew immediately that he couldn’t let her escape again, but his team briefly crossed his mind. If he had found her intoxicating, then so would others. She would serve as a distraction. For the good of his team, he had to take care of this heat now. Or at least, that’s what he used to justify what he did. Secretly, he just wanted to hide the Omega away from the world. She was his, after all. Ushijima swung his head around, olive eyes narrowing at the other males. A few other Alphas were tentatively approaching her, but they backed away when they saw him hovering behind her. Ushijima knew he needed to take her away now so that nobody else would have her. 

When the door of the restroom had slammed open and he was greeted with the bitter pine scent, Ushijima had to fight his straining Alpha. He had initially noticed the lingering pine scent masked under strawberry, but had ignored it - assuming that it was from casual brushes with a friend. Now, he could see that the Omega already had an Alpha. With great reluctance, he left, pausing only to whisper, “Better keep a closer eye on your plaything, Iwaizumi. Otherwise someone will snap her up.” Silently he added, The moment you are gone, I will reclaim my Omega. Giving her one last nod, Ushijima stepped out into the hall.

“Wakatoshi-kun, there you are!”

“Hello, Tendou.” 

“Jeez, you reek of Omega, what happened?” Tendou pestered as they walked back to the court.

“I was helping an Omega.” 

“Before our match?” Tendou made a scandalized noise as they re-entered the court before he started cackling. “You sly dog!” 

“Ushijima-kun, get warmed up now!” Washijo scowled. “Don’t disappear during tournaments, you know better.”

“My apologies, Coach.” Olive eyes wandered to the other court, catching a glimpse of the teal-and-white players escorting her. As he went through his warm-ups, he watched the Seijoh pack greet her, recoiling slightly when Iwaizumi snapped at them. She was bundled up in an oversized Seijoh jacket, and was quickly ushered to the coaches’ bench. Her dazzling smile peeked up over the collar, exposing a black choker. It sparked a mixture of happiness and irritation in him. Happy that she was happy, and irritated that he wasn’t the cause of her happiness. A whistle distracted him as their warm-ups ended. He got in line, forcing his attention away from the Omega.

Ushijima stopped at the beginning of the tracks, having finished his run. Heavy pants filled the air, but still he itched to run. He itched to escape from everything, from his responsibilities, from the reality that she was taken already. But he pulled out his phone, drafting a text. 

Ushijima: (L. Name) if you are not busy, can you accompany me to the mall tomorrow? Coach Washijo asked me to buy replacement volleyball gear.

 Of course, it was a valid reason, but he just needed to see her soon. Needed to spend time with her. To be in her presence. 

His phone vibrated. She was quick to respond. 

(L.Name, Name): Sure thing Ushijima-san. Are you free after 4 PM? I know we don’t have practice, but I have a group assignment I need to work on after class.

Ushijima: That’s fine. Thank you. I will meet you at the gates at 4 PM. 

His grip on his phone tightened. He still didn’t really know why her scent was so enticing to him, or why he constantly craved her touch and presence, but he wasn’t going to lose his chance. 

****

The next day, he was greeted with the sight of the lovely Omega standing by the entrance. “Hey, Ushijima-san!” She waved, his heart skipping a beat as he took in her outfit. She had changed out of her uniform and was wearing a (favorite color) blouse paired with leggings. 

“You look lovely, (L. Name).” 

“Thanks! You don’t look too bad yourself.” They started walking towards the bus stop. He glanced down at his outfit. Compared to her, he felt messy. He was just wearing some branded jogging pants and a fitted black long-sleeve shirt. Ushijima banished the thought from his mind. It didn’t matter what he was wearing as long as he was being true to himself. “What did we need to pick up?” Her foot tapped as she waited for the bus to arrive.

“The coaches asked me to pick up some new towels and balls. I was also planning on looking for personal volleyball equipment as well. Did you have anything that you needed to purchase?” Her hair swayed as she shook her head. The all-too familiar strawberry scent was wafted up to him by the action.

“I don’t think so. If anything, I need to go grocery shopping before I head home.” 

“I can go with you for that.” The bus arrived as they stepped in. She waved a hand at him as she looked for an empty seat. There was only one at the very back. His hand found purchase on her lower back as he guided her to the seat, gently pushing her down. Opening her mouth to protest, he held a hand up. “I can stand, don’t worry.” 

She crossed her arms but nodded. “You don’t have to go grocery shopping with me, Ushijima-san. There’s a market right by my apartment anyways.” 

“I don’t mind.” The rest of the bus trip remained in silence as she looked out the window. Ushijima found himself observing her face. The afternoon sun bounced off her (h/c) hair in a way that made it seem (lighter/darker) than it actually was. Her eyes sparkled in the light. 

“Alright, where to?” (Name) asked as they stepped off the bus, hands on her hips as she surveyed the mall.

“I’ll need to visit the sports store for the volleyball stuff.” They walked in together, his hands barely brushing against her cardigan.

“Oh, do you mind if I stop in here?” She halted outside of an edgy looking store. There were signs plastered outside proclaiming their deals in bright yellow and red ink.

Ushijima nodded. “I’ll go with you.” They stepped in together, and he was surprised by the darkness of the store. The external brick-wall facade matched the interior, with all it’s interesting products. He saw a display for one of the animes that Tendou was particularly fond of, stepping towards it to survey all the merchandise. 

“I didn’t know you liked My Hero, Ushijima-san.” (Name) returned, a black bag in hand as she tucked her wallet back into her purse.

“I am not, but Tendou is.” He followed her outside the store. “What did you buy?”

“Huh?” She glanced up at him. “Oh! They had some vintage-style limited edition Godzilla merchandise, so I bought some for Hajime.” Her scent brightened, hiding the hint of bitterness in his own. 

“I see.” 

Was that what it was like to have a mate? To be surprised with gifts randomly? His grandmother had always told him that Alphas were to spoil their Omegas, so he was surprised that (Name) was purchasing something for Iwaizumi. 

They stepped into the sports store, with the Omega following Ushijima’s lead as he made a bee-line for the volleyball section. He browsed their selection of volleyballs, testing them before selecting a few to place into his basket. Ushijima turned, opening his mouth to speak to (Name) only to find her missing. “(L. Name)?” He sniffed the air aggressively in an attempt to locate her. 

“Over here, Ushijima-san!” She waved at him as she shifted through the clothing section.

“What are you looking for?” Ushijima hovered behind her for a moment before shifting to browse through an adjacent rack, picking a few pairs of shorts. 

“I was hoping to get more workout clothes!” She grinned. “I wanted something with more coverage yet breathable, just in case the other teams we play were similar to Kirishima-san’s team.” His nostrils flared at the mention of the other Alpha, lip curling in distaste.

“I will make sure to protect you if that is the case.”

“I’m sure you will,” she shot him a warm smile. “But I think it’d probably be in my best interest anyways. Better safe than sorry, right?” She picked out a few dry-fit shirts and leggings, throwing them over her arm. “Have you got everything?”

“One moment please.” Ushijima stopped at the shoes, snagging a box of shoes. “I am ready now.” 

“Let’s check-out then.” He led the way once more, pausing when her footsteps stopped behind him. She was bent over a display, looking at the products. With an awkward smile, she said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get distracted again.”

He came to stand behind her, looking down. “Why are you looking at watches?”

“I broke mine the other week, and it’s getting annoying being almost late for things.” She picked one up, examining it before placing it back down. “Ah well, I’ll just ask my parents for a new one.” 

“Is that the one you like?” 

She raised an eyebrow as Ushijima picked up the one she had just placed down. “Why?”

“Is it?”

“I mean, it’s probably what I’d end up getting, yes.”

“Alright.” 

“Wait!” Ushijima started walking back towards the cashier. ��What are you doing?” She tugged on his arm. 

Olive eyes looked down at her before gently pulling his arm away. “I am purchasing the watch for you.” He placed the watch and his own purchases on the counter. “Can I have these rung separately? The volleyballs will go under the Shiratorizawa account.” Her jaw dropped, spluttering as Ushijima and the cashier ignored her.

“Hello again, Ushijima-kun!” The cashier greeted. Ushijima had been a regular in the store ever since middle-school. “How’s practice going for the pack?” 

“Good. We’ll be going for the Interhigh nationals soon.” 

“That’s good to hear!” He pressed some buttons. Ushijima pulled out some bills, paying the cashier and taking the bags.

(Name) quickly paid for her stuff, a pair of knee-pads slipped amongst her stuff. Ushijima eyed it, but didn’t comment. “You didn’t have to do that, Ushijima-san!” She cursed as they stepped outside. He stopped abruptly and the Omega crashed into his back. “Sorry!” She squeaked, hands flying up to steady herself against him. 

Ushijima turned back to her, the watch in hand. “Will you accept this gift?” He firmly - but gently - grasped her hand, pulling it towards him as he placed it into her hand.

“Ushijima-san, that was expensive, you didn’t have to get it for me.” 

“I’ve already bought it. Will you accept it?” 

She pouted before giving him a small nod. “Thank you, Ushijima-san.” 

His Alpha preened at his Omega’s acceptance of the courting gift. (Name) slipped the watch on, adjusting it to match her phone. “It’s getting late, I’ll escort you home then.”

“We can just go to the station by Shiratorizawa,” she replied. “I’ll be fine walking home.”

“Is that the closest station to your home?” They stood at the bus station, waiting patiently.

“ No, but I’d have to take a different bus and I’d rather take this one with you.” His brow furrowed. 

“I said I’ll go with you grocery shopping.”

“And I said that wasn’t necessary.” She stepped out a bit, looking at the bus that was arriving. “Now c’mon, let’s get on the bus!” Before he could say another word, she had already hauled herself into the bus. Ushijima sighed, of course she was stubborn. Boarding, his Alpha paced in excitement. He could already tell courting would be interesting.

****

“Hey babe?”

“Hmm?” A warm finger drew small circles on her hip. He hesitated, shaking his head. “What’s up Haji?”

Iwaizumi just chuckled, squeezing her waist. “Nothing.”

“You sure?” (Name) moved to sit up from her lying position only for Iwaizumi’s arms to tighten around her. She tilted her face up, soft doe-eyes blinking up at her mate. “It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Iwaizumi swallowed. How was he supposed to tell his mate that he was worried? That he had caught the lingering scents of Ushijima clinging to her the other day? That he missed her presence at his practices? “Just...” More hesitation. “Just wanted to ask if you wanted to hangout with the pack tomorrow,” he finished lamely, swallowing away his misgivings. 

The Omega hummed, eyes carefully scrutinizing him. “Sure,” she nodded slowly. “You know I'm always down to hangout with you all.” (Name) maneuvered herself so that she straddled him. His hands landed on her hips softly as he peered up at her. The Omega looked beautiful, even when she was wearing one of his old t-shirts that somehow still managed to dwarf her. She leaned down, pressing her lips to his. “I love you,” she whispered, pulling back slightly. He cupped her cheek, a hand sliding up her back as he captured her lips with his. Iwaizumi held her close, hoping that his actions would speak for him. 

I love you too.

Fun facts: 

💟 (Name) actually hates studying and school, and was genuinely surprised when she got good enough grades to get into Shiratorizawa and to stay in it

💟 The Seijoh pack rarely gives them time alone, so (Name) sometimes has fight them for Iwaizumi’s attention and vice versa

💟 Oikawa was banned from most of their study sessions because he would often get bored and distract them both. (Name) would encourage this, and they would both end up being scolded by Iwaizumi 

💟 Even though they were mates, Iwaizumi had spent all day giving himself a prep talk in order to ask her out

💟 (Name) and OIkawa had gone to the same pre-school, but lost contact with one another when she went to a different elementary school

💟 Ushijima thought that he was sick and had gone to the nurse before speaking with Tendou

💟 Every week, Tendou would try to get Ushijima to watch My Hero with him and would even read him scenes from the manga to get him interested to no avail

💟 Ushijima panicked for a few seconds when he couldn’t find (Name) and would have torn the store apart if she didn’t respond to him

💟 Ushijima had tried to get Kirishima’s team banned from playing with Shiratorizawa, but when Coach Washijo heard why, his request was denied. Since then, Ushijima decided that (Name) would not be allowed at practice matches in general

💟 The knee-pads (Name) bought were actually for her. Iwaizumi doesn’t let her play with them unless she has them on

💟 The Seijoh pack was actually scared of losing her and were less energetic whenever (Name) wasn’t around - though they’d never tell her out of fear that she’d feel guilty. The only thing that would cheer them up would be when Iwaizumi brought them her food

AN: I hope you enjoy this chapter and these small tidbits of fun facts! I’ve accidentally extended the story by a few chapters because I can’t bear the idea of letting them go so easily. I’m also entertaining the idea of special ‘bonus’ fluff scenes for when the story concludes or potentially even a prequel story of (Name) and Iwaizumi’s story up until their third year. Please let me know what you think! 

Requests are still open for my 150 celebration! Check out this post for more info

Taglist: @sawamooora  @kriswu46 @pantasticalcat @shadowkunoichi @awuariyuh @4lfalfagarlic @kuroowh0r3 @sourapplex @pastelpuffbar @cutepet09 @michelepiekenma 

Please feel free to message, comment, or shoot an ask if you’d like to join the tag-list!

[luidilovins]

You should turn your post on the Uncanny Valley into a book or something. I am not even kidding, it's brilliant and sorely needed information. Thank you for it.

Tbh its just speculative that the uncanny valley is an inherent biological trait and not cultural or a learned behavior at the moment. A good example would be the cultural phenomenon of colorophobia where in the US we have a longer history of using clowns in our horror pop culture genres than countries like Japan.

Clown entertainment has been around since the Egytian times and maybe some people have always been freaked out by them it honestly just takes one director or author to have an disproportionately irrational fear and good cinematography skills to convince people that they SHOULD hate clowns just as much, (I could say the same about the movie Jaws but thats a bit of a tangent,) or a memorable event that damages the public's trust in something that SHOULD be innocent or harmless. (A good examples being the John Wayne Gacy trials.)

Clowns are also thought to be in the uncanney valley so ita a fairly good argument on cultural phenomenon versus genetic traits. Up until aroud the 60s-70s clowns were actually fairly well liked by the US general public and a lot of older generation still find a fondness in it that would scare the living shit out of their grandchildren.

As far as evidence that I may be right about the "uncanney valley might be because of rabies" theory, there has been a small case study suggesting that the movements of a non-human robot that trigger the effect in us, is also present in people with parkinsons but the sample size is too small for me to be thoroughly convinced.

And don't be mistaken I also dislike this concept because saying that ableism is an inherent human trait is just as bad as saying racism is an inherent human trait. There is little to gain from distrust in the disabled and little historical evidence to suggest it was common or beneficial to discard disabled people. Disabled people's remains have been found time and time again to live to incredibly long livea and be cared for, and participate in their communities. I'm highly critical of this particular case study and I take it with a grain of salt because its on cosmo, but evidence of human disabilities and compassion can be sourced by actual bones and it's been placed on VERY credible sources. NPR, NBC, Discovery, Nat Geo, NY Times, literally the clostest you can get to creme of the crop news articles on DOZENS of accounts and if you have a goddam problem then pay for a tour to the Smithsonian, find an archeologist and coherse them into showing you the bones and then explain phorensics to you because you probably wouldn't understand unless you too were a phorensic archeologist yourself.

What I DO BELIEVE tho is that if the uncanny valley is a legitimate inherent trait, that like most evolutionary traits, it made it this far for this long because it somehow served us benificially. And the biggest benifit I can think of is identifying neuro-infectious diseases because they can spread agressivley, many of them lead to death or lasting effects and are fucking MISERABLE to catch. We're talking brain swelling, fevers, uncontrollable vomiting, tremors, hallucinations, motor and vocal tics, difficulty swallowing, seizures. This could all happen because they eat infected deer meat or because of one bad fox bite. It's miserable if you survive and horrifying if you dont. Rabies can survive in your muscle tissue for years before infecting your brain and once it does usually you only live for about 5-10 days in and out of concious knowledge that you're going to die painfully, and disease aggrivated psychosis. It would be hard to pinpoint the causation because the amout of time before full blown infection would vary too much to assosiate for a long time. So your only option is to hone in on telltale signs.

The disabled people who would suffer from herdeditary or developmental neurological disorders run the risk of prejudice from mistaken identity, but if a human is part of a community, and doesn't die within a week from having a wobbly head, it would sooner or later become apparent that they're not dangerous. I think nowadays culturally people don't press to learn more about disabled people due to social and political prejudice and never fucking grow up past that. Mistaken identity or not. You learn about people from the patterns of their behaviors so even ones that seem abnormal to you become a normal recognizable pattern for them. Fancy that.

We don't get grossed out by chimps or gorillas, who are even more distant cousins, and the proof that we don't have a search and destroy button for anything immediatly related to us is a bunch of bullshit can be found in almost every human's blood on earth. And not just neanderthals, but denisovans as well. And that's not even accounting for genetic backtracking the crossbreeding of other sapiens species before we were whittled down to just the three. What makes the tweet even stupider is that when neandertals still roamed the earth humans were shorter, hardier, and overall more rough looking so we looked even indistinguished then. We Also Chewed On Bones and neandertals handled cold climates better than us based on a study on chest cavity density and, skull nasal intake and heat circulation, providing genetic diversity and the upper hand in survival in the tundras or mountainous regions spanning over Eurasia. If it wasn't for humans fucking neandertals we might not have been able to spread over the contient or diversify the way we did.

So my full hypothesis is that if the uncanny valley is a genetic inherent human trait it was used to benifit people from catching agressive diseases in a time where the benifit of fearing a group member with rabies outweighed the cost of fearing a group member with a disability like parkinsons.

WHAT PISSED ME OFF was the idea that we are DESIGNED to be unwary of our evolutionary cousins could easily be used for white supremacist spaces to justify racism BECAUSE IT ALREADY HAS

So that one tweet that might seem like a quirky thinkpiece in my eyes is just fuel for eugenics trend round whatever number we're on. It's like we don't fucking learn. It would be REALLY easy to retool the concept that it's natural for people to be fearful of whatever the bullshit definition of sub-humans are. Claiming that black people were sub-human thus deserving of mistrust and submission to white ownership worked like a fucking charm.

Maybe if I go to college and major in psyche/socio/civics it'll be my college thesis. Right now I'm more of a hobbyist than anything, but what I DO know is that anyone can make an untested hypothesis to combat another untested hypothesis and it should hold just as much goddamn value. I combatted the idea that the idea that human othering was funneled into an unconfirmed effect that causes disgust and terror based on non-human sapiens is in fact racist and gave what is in my opinion a more evoluntionary practical approach to the uncanney valley.

The generalized links that I used APARENTLY weren't good enough for some people but aparently a single tweet that says "hur dur heedle dee uncanney valley exists because of human cousins" was taken at face value even tho it was probably tapped out in five seconds without regards to the reproccussions. I find a huge discomfort that less than studious links about the evolution of monkey social behaviors that I used as a guideline to explaining my concerns became the focal point for people to nitpick without even having the gall to "well actually" on the subject. That absolute ravaging NEED to rip apart at it and devolve into name calling because I MENTIONED racism is fucking suspicious and I don't trust it. I had to stop looking at the responses because some people were only reblogging and arguing with barely half of my argument and i was getting nowhere fast.

There were a few people that made actual points with cited sources that made their own rebuttle arguments. That I respect. It's just as valid an argument as mine and I'm ALWAYS willing to take on more credible sources to strengthen my stance or gain perspective.

But it's the utter dismissal of a concerning concept that just seeped into the subtext that gnawed at my gut. Some people on top of hating the linked sources I provided, admitted they didn't read it, refused to read between the lines to purposfully misinterpret or derail my main points, and detract that my claim that the tweet was a result of systemic white supremacy saturated into modern science was a bunch of bullshit because I claimed that 1500s anglos invented racism.

The thing is we did invent the racism that we fucking currently subscribe to.

We practice the science that we formulated based on our own social prejudice. Real people die from this.

We remain uncritical of our own theorums that we postulate then pat ourselves on the back like we're philosophical geniuses even though racism is a family heirloom with a new paint job.

We preach the eugenics ideals that we pulled out of our asses to benifit from fearmongering, promises of national security and unpaied labor.

White supremacists create subtext with the intention of it being consumed by accident or in ways that seem palatable.

Fuck.

That.

I don't hate the person who wrote the tweet. Chances are that they gave the tweet as much thought as they took the time to write it and went on their day as a fun little thinkpiece. Everyone on the internet does it. But its that kind of thinking error that needs to be adressed as a progression of historic and scientific prejudice that gets rehashed, recycled and untouched and continually damages and is weaponized against marginalized people. I am not wrong for taking it seriously especially when a bunch of people were sitting around nodding their heads just as effortlessly.

I don't owe the internet any more sources than the tweet. I don't owe anyone on the internet a full scientific ananysis. And the people's reaction to what I had to say was actually what further convinced me I might have hit the nail on the head.

[ithebookhoarder]

Hey! I love your story the gangsters daughter SO much and I was wondering if I could request something based on it?

Where it’s the night before Evie’s wedding and she goes to Tommy’s office to talk as she’s nervous and they have a fluffy moment where he doesn’t think he’s ready for her to get married! ☺️

Cold Feet (Parent!Tommy Shelby x Evie)

A/N: Ok ok ok. First of all anon, how dare you be so fluffing cute?! And second, OF COURSE YOU CAN! I love Evie and I’m always looking for excuses to write for my baby. Also, I’m totally not crying at the thought of Tommy having to let his little girl go and get married and just wanting her to be happy... I just have something in my eye. 

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of smoking. Let me know if I missed anything. 

Masterlist:

Tommy had always known this day would come. 

It was as inevitable as death was for every single living thing on this planet. 

No matter how hard he’d prayed that he’d have just a little more time left, his luck had finally run out. There was no delaying it any longer now that the day was almost upon him when his life would change in a way that would alter his world forever. 

It was tomorrow, in fact, that Tommy would see Evie shed the Shelby name for another. 

True, he could not have chosen a more worthy candidate, and knew Toby would love Evie as she deserved to be loved. That didn't lessen the sting it caused though, to know his days as the only male in her life were now over. Soon, she would no longer be his, no longer living in the same house as him. She would be a married woman, and that filled Tommy with incredible joy, and incredible sorrow at the same time.

This was the curse of fathers. 

It seemed only yesterday that she was small enough to not even care about boys, let alone marriage. He remembered a particular conversation with fondness, when Evie had only been with them a few months or so. 

It had been in the wake of a row over Ada’s most recent conquest at the time. An annoying boy, Liam had only lasted three dates before being scared off by Arthur, John, and Tommy.  Despite being nothing particularly special, Ada had been incredibly enraged, yelling about how she wanted to marry him and that she’d never find love again. 

Of course, Evie had found the whole thing hilarious, if not a little confusing. Hence, when she’d sat up in bed that night, as Tommy passed by her room one final time, he couldn’t help but smile at her quizzical expression. 

“But, Dad. If she loves him what’s wrong with that? Besides, Mum had a baby on her own… if Ada did end up pregnant would it really be so horrible? She’d have a child, like me, and you all warmed up to me pretty quickly.”

“Well,” Tommy had begun, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of this discussion with his only recently recovered twelve-year old daughter. Polly was always far better at talking about this kind of stuff. “It’s… you see… people tend to only have children when they’re married.”

“Why?”

“It’s just how things are done.”

“Well, that’s stupid.”

Tommy smirked. “Most people would agree with you, but a lot don’t. They can be horrible and cruel, even to women who were in love but weren’t married when they had a kid. So, we’re trying to spare Ada from that. It’s fucking complicated, but at the end of the day, she deserves to be happy, doesn’t she?” 

“Yes,” Evie sighed, suddenly staring down at her bedsheets nervously. “But… does that mean Auntie Martha was right? That I have to get married when I grow up? But Dad, the only boys I like are you… and my uncles… I don’t suppose I could marry one of them?”

Tommy immediately bit back his laughter as he shook his head and held her close. “I’m afraid Martha would object to you marrying our John. Besides, you don’t want one of us old men when you can find someone young and handsome who you love very much.”

“But how will I know who that is? Or if they’re good or not?” she asked innocently. 

“I’ll help you,” Tommy offered, not without a little hesitation. To even think such a time would exist, when he would have to part with his daughter, when he’d only just found her again… “You can depend on it. Any unworthy bastards will be driven away by me, and the hounds.”

At that Evie spluttered into laughter, before pressing a kiss to her father’s cheek. “Now that, I would pay to see.”

Well, that day had come and gone and Tommy hadn’t released any hounds. No. The only hound in sight was Cyril, and he’d warmed incredibly quickly to the new member of the family. 

He hadn’t been the only one either. In fact, Tommy had rolled out the red fucking carpet, welcoming the man into the family. Sure, it hadn’t been without its challenges along the way, but as much as Tommy hated to admit it, Toby was a good man. More than that, he’d proved his loyalty to the family, and to Evie, over and over again. 

If he had to part with Evie to anyone, then at least it was to someone as decent as Toby. It made the whole ordeal hurt just a little less as he sipped his whiskey and stared out of the study window. 

Despite the late hour, there were still faint laughs and shrieks of delight echoing from upstairs. Ada, Lara, Polly and Lizzie were most likely to blame, having taken charge of Evie’s so called ‘last night of freedom’. Tommy didn’t know what that entailed exactly and he didn’t even want to try and guess. Not given how much champagne they’d lugged upstairs with them earlier, having returned from a busy evening dancing at a local club. 

If they weren’t all hungover as hell in the morning it would be a minor miracle. 

Still, as long as they got their asses to church on time and didn’t throw up on the minister, then everything would be fine. No. It would be perfect. Tommy had promised Evie that much and he’d be damned before he failed to deliver a promise as solemn as this one. 

She’d done the same for him, twice in fact, even if his union to Lizzie had been a far simpler affair than his first marriage to Grace. 

At least Evie hadn’t insisted on there being a ‘father of the bride’ toast - even if Ada had… Somehow, Tommy knew his would never be anywhere as good as the ones his daughter had given. 

She always had had a way with words.  

“Dad?”

Tommy froze. 

Speak of the devil and she shall appear. 

He was startled by the sound of her voice, echoing from the open doorway, as if summoned by his worry. He’d almost thought he’d imagined it until he turned and saw her standing there, looking a little worse for wear in her finery. 

Apparently he’d been right; she’d had a very fun evening.  

“Evie?” he blinked, clearing his throat as he tried to compose himself. “What are you doing down here? It’s late and I thought you’d be upstairs celebrating a bit longer. Big day tomorrow.”

Evie smiled, shrugging as she stepped into the office and closed the door behind her. She knew she never needed an invitation, having given up knocking long ago. 

“I was but… I don’t know. I just wanted to come and see you, if that’s alright?”

It would always be alright. Tommy hoped she knew that, even if the anxiety in her eyes said otherwise. Then again, he suspected the nervous energy wasn’t directly aimed at him.  

Over a decade later, he knew his daughter better than he knew himself. It was why he nodded, gesturing to the seat next to him in a clear invitation. “Of course it is, but won’t the others miss you?” 

“Oh, they’re all too busy finishing the last of the wine to miss me right away and… I don’t know why but I needed a minute away from everything. It was all a bit… much.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to my world. This family has always been a bit much,” Tommy teased. That was why they both loved them though. The Shelby spirit was strong and made them who they were. They wouldn’t change it for the world, even if it did drive them nuts on occasion. 

And Toby was willingly entering this family, why? 

“I’m almost scared to ask what’s being going on up there.”

“Probably wise, Dad. No one should see thing things I have tonight.” 

“I thought so.”

A laugh escaped Evie’s lips as she sat beside him, accepting the glass of whiskey he handed her without a second thought. It was simply routine by this point, the two of them caught in a silent routine on nights like this when they needed to simply clear their heads and think. 

It was an unwritten agreement between the pair of them. As was the somewhat confessional nature this room had taken on in its time under the Shelby household. So much had happened since they’d first moved in to Arrow House, from Charles and Ruby being born, to losing Grace, to Evie falling in love, Tommy’s ascension to Parliament, losing John and Esme, Lizzie and Tommy’s wedding… 

Only a decade or so, and yet Evie felt like a whole novel would never be enough to capture her family’s history or the almost surreal events that had taken place.

“Besides, it’s been a while since we had a talk like this, Dad,” Evie continued, shrugging as she sipped her drink and stared at the room. “Everything’s been happening so fast since Toby proposed. It feels like we haven’t had a moment to breathe, really. You’ve been so helpful, agreeing to everything and allowing us to turn this place upside down. I can’t thank you enough for that, by the way. I half expected you to be like Arthur yelling at the florist earlier.”

“It’s the least I can do, Evie. It’s not every day my daughter gets married - and he yelled so I didn’t have to. Fucking trying to sneak carnations in when the order clearly said Clematis with the centrepieces.”

Evie snorted, failing to hide the fact hearing Tommy Shelby raging about flowers was possibly the funniest thing to have ever happened. Ever. Good thing he hadn’t been there when someone had accidentally delivered the wrong amount of chairs for the tent erected out on the lawn. She could only imagine the carnage that would have occurred.  

“My knight in shining armour.” 

“Always. No ring changes that, Evie. I’ll always be there for you, whether it be to fend off blind florists or worse.” 

Despite the fact he acted as if he was merely joking, Evie knew her father meant each and every word. He always had. Even with their ups and downs, he had never abandoned her, always trying to do what was best for her, even if he went about it the wrong way from time to time. 

When she thought back now, to the day she’d first met him in that graveyard, on what had been one of the darkest days of her life, she wished she could tell her younger self not to be afraid. To not be angry or scared of the future before her and the wondrous people that would be in it, thanks to the wonderful man she got to call her father. 

“Dad, can… can I ask you a question? About tomorrow?” 

Tommy hummed softly. “I don’t know what I can tell you about weddings, but fine. Of course.”

“It’s not about the wedding per say, more the bit after. I just… I’m scared, Dad. I don’t know why but I am.”

The words made Tommy’s heart plummet before he’d even realised what she’d said. It took everything in him not to panic or try and express the pain he felt at the idea his daughter was scared about what was supposed to be a happy day - a happy and expensive one, even if Tobias had money enough to cover a lot of the costs. 

“Of what?” 

“I don’t know,” Evie whispered, almost as if ashamed to confess it. “I’m so happy and excited to start the life together Toby and I have talked about for years but, now that it’s here? I don’t know. I just … I feel like I’m going to throw up or pass out and I don’t know why. Is something wrong with me? Who gets terrified of their own wedding?”

“Every fucking sane person on the planet,” Tommy countered swiftly, a hand reaching out to take hers. “As someone with experience here, you can trust me when I say everyone gets scared, Evie. Everyone. No matter how certain you are that you love the person or that this is the right next step.”  

“But why?” 

“Because it’s a big commitment,” Tommy continued, “and it’s a new chapter in your life. That’s exciting but also terrifying. To know you have a chance to start a family of your own? To choose your own path? That’s nothing to take lightly, and if I didn’t think you wanted this, or that you weren’t ready, I would have said something before now. You can count on that.” 

He had a point.  

“And I know you, Evelyn Shelby. You have never let anything or anyone stop you from going after what you want, even if it’s scary or someone says no. If being with Tobias is what you want, then so be it. You’re a grown woman, as much as I fucking hate to admit it. I think you’ve proven over and over again that you’re the bravest one out of the lot of us, and I’m so proud of you. Your Mother would be too. She’d want you to be happy and to enjoy tomorrow for what it is: the start of another chapter in your incredible life.” 

The thought of her absence was enough to make Evie’s eyes sting with tears, as was the conviction with which her father spoke about her. The pride was clear, even if he looked a little scared himself at what tomorrow would bring for them all. 

“Thank you.”

Tommy nodded, knowing better than to argue as she threw herself at him, coiling herself around him as she often did. Ever since the first time she’d done it, he’d been unable to resist it. So what? His daughter’s embrace was one of the few in the world that made him feel loved. It was as if her presence alone was enough to restore him, to banish whatever was troubling him. 

The thought he wouldn’t just be able to have such hugs so frequently made his heart ache even more. 

He didn’t want her to go. 

In his eyes, she was still the twelve-year-old girl he’d first met. She always would be, no matter how much she insisted on growing up and being a so called ‘adult’. It was why he planned on keeping her room upstairs exactly as it was now, just in the case she ever needed or even wanted it. 

That, and because he physically couldn’t bear to erase any remaining traces of her from his home. Of course, Lizzie had teased him rotten about it, even if she understood. Still young, Lizzie hated the thought of Ruby ever growing up and leaving her for anyone - let alone a husband. 

At least they had some time left before that would be happening. Tommy didn’t know if he could survive anymore heartache so soon.

“I love you, so much, Evie,” Tommy whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and holding her close. “You’ll always be my little girl, and you’ll always be welcome here. Anytime, day or night. This will still be your home, and we’ll still be your family. If anything, we’re simply gaining more members, not losing any. Understand?”

“Yes,” Evie nodded, wiping her eyes as she shot him a watery smile. “I love you too, Dad, even if I swear I’m supposed to be the one telling you all this. Isn’t it normally the father of the bride who’s supposed to get all teary eyed and jittery the night before?”

“We’ve never been conventional, Evie. In case you forgot, we have politicians, the Lee branch of the family, and Alfie fucking Solomons all coming tomorrow, for fucks sake. Why should we start worrying about tradition now?” 

Evie’s laughter was infectious at the picture of the eclectic scene awaiting them, especially considering how excited Alfie had been at the prospect of attending a Shelby wedding. Oh, Arthur was going to explode at the sight of the Jewish gangster sat in all his finery. That, and when he saw the huge gift he had been promising her for weeks now.  

She couldn’t wait.  

“True. Well, traditional or not, I’m so grateful for the life we have, Dad. I’ll never be able to tell you how grateful I am that you were the person who showed up at that graveyard,” she confessed. “There’s no one else in the whole world I want to be my side tomorrow. You’ll still walk me down the aisle, right?”

Tommy beamed. “How can you ask that, Evelyn Shelby? I’ve always been right beside you and tomorrow is no different. Wild horses couldn’t stop me.” 

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Tommy whispered, “simply enjoy yourself and let me and the others take care of the rest. That’s all the thanks we need… and maybe call once in a while, just so I know you’re alright.”

Evie laughed, knowing she would probably still end up here most of the time anyway after she was married. But she agreed, pleased to put his mind at rest as well as he’d put her own. “I really do love you, Dad.” 

“And I love you too, Evie. Always.” 

[karasuno-chaos]

Resolutions (Daichi x Reader)

Hello!  Happy New Year!  I’m just popping by to offer this little blurb in honor of Daichi’s birthday (Dec. 31) and the new year!  Enjoy some Karasuno third years bonding and the blooming of possibilities. -Giz

Genre: fluff

Word Count:  1,917

Warnings: drinking (but not excessively)

When Daichi pulled the cheap wig out of the bag, his face contorted into something between humor and horror.  Suga cackled at the reaction, apparently pleased with the response to his gift.  Asahi and Kiyoko laughed as well.  Even though you were confused, you cracked a grin.  You didn’t get the joke, but your friends’ amusement was infectious.

“This is terrible,” Daichi said with enough mirth to be half-joking.

“I think you mean perfect,” Suga grinned.

“Is Daichi going bald or something?” you asked in a whisper, leaning across the couch to Kiyoko.

“No,” she chuckled.  “It’s referencing that time the vice principal’s toupee landed on his head.”

“What?” you cried, looking around at the others in demand of an explanation.

“Y/N, you never heard about that?” Asahi asked.

“No!  I mean, I knew the vice principal had a toupee, but I didn’t know Daichi wore it once.”

“It was not intentional, I assure you,” he grumbled.

“So what happened?”

They recounted the event from two years ago.  Daichi’s face twisted ruefully at the memory.  You were amazed you’d never heard this story when it still affected him so strongly.  You and he had been friends through high school and managed to grow closer after graduation, but evidently there were still things you could learn about him.

“I can’t believe you never heard about it,” Asahi said once you had all of the facts.

“We were sworn to secrecy,” Kiyoko recalled.

“Daichi was very strict about enforcing that rule,” Suga snickered.

“Even now I get the sense that the vice principal is going to appear out of nowhere and lecture us.”  The former captain shuddered.  “It used to give me nightmares.”

“I still get nightmares,” Asahi groaned.

“You weren’t even there!” Suga laughed.

“That’s probably for the best,” Kiyoko chuckled.  “I’m not sure he would have survived living through it.”

“I can’t believe I never knew about this,” you said, directing your words to Daichi.  He gave you an apologetic smile and shrugged.  “What other stories did you keep from me in high school?”

“Nothing important,” he promised.

“HA!” Suga snorted.  Daichi gave him a look that you weren’t sure how to interpret.  You glanced at Kiyoko who shrugged and hid her smile in her wine glass.  You huffed out an exasperated breath before taking your own sip of wine.  You could guess at what they were implying.

By graduation, you’d figured out your feelings for Daichi, and so had your friends.  Despite their encouragement, you’d decided not to act on those feelings.  Navigating jobs and post-graduate plans was challenging enough without including a new relationship or a broken heart.  Besides, you were comfortable in your friendship with Daichi.  Yes you wanted more, but you could wait until your lives settled down a little.

Over the past year, though, you’d started noticing a shift in your dynamic.  There were more late night conversations or meet-ups for coffee.  The way Daichi behaved didn’t change, but you’d catch his eye more often, and he’d look at you with softer expressions than he used to.  Suga started teasing the both of you, saying you were behaving like Kiyoko and Tanaka.  You usually brushed it off like you did with most of Suga’s teasing, but your other friends were starting to drop hints that you should start dating, and Daichi managed to dodge their leading questions without denying the possibility.  You figured it was only a matter of time before you talked and made it official.  You just hadn’t had time to have that conversation yet.

You promised yourself to do it this year, but for now, you would enjoy this evening with your friends.  It was possibly the last time you’d get to hang out like this.  Kiyoko was engaged, and by the next New Year’s Eve, she and Tanaka would be happily married.  Asahi was starting to make his way onto the fashion scene in Tokyo, and while he wasn’t the most adventurous person, you knew he was excited about the possibilities before him and would run forward into whatever opportunities he discovered.  You, Suga, and Daichi were finishing up schooling and certifications, but then you’d be settling into careers of your own.  A lot could happen in a year.

You looked around Daichi’s living room at your friends.  Tonight you were celebrating Daichi’s birthday and the end of the year.  Tomorrow you’d make your New Year’s shrine visit and celebrate Asahi’s birthday.  You had two whole days to reminisce and joke around with your favorite people.  You thought it was the perfect way to kick off the next year.

You must have closed your eyes, content with the friendship and wine flowing through you, because the next thing you knew, you were bolting upright as something brushed against your shoulders.

“Whoa!”  Daichi flinched away, surprised by your sudden movement.  You blinked, taking in the blanket in his hands and the dimmed lights.  “Sorry, I thought you were asleep.”

“I think I was,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes.  “What time is it?”

“11:30.”

You looked at your other friends who had also fallen asleep.  Suga and Asahi leaned on each other, a blanket draped across them, and Kiyoko was curled under another blanket at the other end of the couch.  Everyone’s wine glasses had been carefully moved to the kitchen, and pillows were close at hand if anyone woke and wanted a comfier place to rest their head.

“Look at us,” you said with a grin.  “We can’t even last until midnight.  We’ve gotten old.”

Daichi chuckled.

“I debated waking everyone up, but I think we’d all agree that sleep is more exciting than midnight on New Year’s Eve.”  He caught your eye with a smile.  “I guess we are getting old.”

“Why are you still up then?” you asked.  He shrugged.

“Someone has to tuck you in.”

“Not me, not anymore.”  You hauled yourself off of the couch, letting the movement hide the fond grin that pulled at your lips.  “I’m staying up until midnight.  Want to keep me company?”

“Sure.”  He tossed you the blanket in his hands and grabbed one for himself.  “Let’s step out onto the balcony so we don’t wake the others.”

The apartment balcony was barely a balcony, but there was enough room for both of you to lean against the guardrail and take in the stars and streetlights.  Even for the end of December, it was mild, and you were comfortable wrapped in the blanket next to your best friend.

“Did you have a good birthday?” you asked after a moment, gently bumping him with your shoulder.

“It was great.  Thank you for making it happen.”

“No need to thank me.  Everyone was in as soon as I proposed the idea of this get-together.  I think we’re all getting something great out of it.”

“It is nice to have everyone together for a while.”

“Next time will probably be Kiyoko’s wedding,” you mused.

“Crazy,” he breathed.  “Who knew Tanaka’s persistence would pay off?”

“I did,” you chuckled, “but we’re not all gifted with foresight, so I won’t hold it against you.”

“Well did you predict that we’d be the only two awake to welcome in the new year?”

“No,” you admitted.  “But I’m not complaining.”

You smiled, and he grinned back in that slightly soft way he was showing you more and more often.

“I’m not either,” he said quietly.  You felt butterflies and anticipation in your chest.  You turned away before the feeling overwhelmed you.

“Do you have any resolutions for the new year?”

“A few,” he admitted.  “You?”

“A few.”  You checked your phone for the time.  “There’s only a few minutes left.  Care to share any before the new year arrives?”

“If I share them now, doesn’t that mean they might not come true?” he asked cheekily.

“I mean, they might not come true regardless.  Besides, you’re thinking of birthdays and shooting stars.  Those are different.”

“It is my birthday, though.”

“For another three minutes,” you said, checking your phone again.

“Well I’m going to keep my resolutions and wishes to myself, just to be safe.  If you wanted to share any, though, I’m all ears.”

“I think, to keep it fair, I’ll keep my resolutions to myself too.”

“I thought so,” he said with a grin.

“Oh, you think you have me all figured out, huh?”

“Maybe.  I’m pretty close, at least.”

“Bold words, sir.”

“You’re not denying it,” he challenged gently.  You looked at him, studying his face for traces of intention and seeing only understanding.  You felt your face warm under his gaze.

“Alright then,” you said, “if you know me so well, what are my New Year’s resolutions?”

“I’m pretty sure I know one of them.”  He took a step forward, unwrapping an arm from his blanket and reaching for you.  You were sure you were blushing deeply when his fingers reached your cheek and cradled your face, but you didn’t pull away.  You were excited more than embarrassed or nervous, even if your emotions had your head buzzing.

One of the nearby apartments must have been hosting a party as well because you heard a faint chorus of voices start counting down from ten.  You didn’t bother to check your phone.  You didn’t want to look away from Daichi or break this momentum.  You were on the brink of a new year and a new level of your relationship.  A smile spread across your face as the countdown reached zero, and he returned your grin.

“Happy New Year Daichi.”

“Happy New Year Y/N.”

Then, because it was the most natural thing you could do, you leaned forward and met his lips with yours.  The kiss was gentle yet firm, a question and answer and promise all in one.  You didn’t linger in its warmth, though, not wanting to overstep.  This was just the beginning, after all.  You stepped back, and Daichi let you, though his hand held your cheek a second longer.

“Well it’s about time!”

You startled at the unexpected exclamation, and Daichi’s hand retreated to his blanket.  Suga, Asahi, and Kiyoko were crowded in the balcony doorway grinning at the two of you.

“When did you wake up?” Daichi asked.

“A few minutes ago,” Kiyoko explained.

“So are you finally official?” Asahi asked, leading the others onto the small balcony.

“Well, we haven’t actually discussed anything,” Daichi said, and you caught a trace of uncertainty in his voice.  You understood the hesitation.  It was New Year’s, after all.  Sometimes kissing at midnight was just an act of celebration.  But the confidence you’d felt when you’d held his gaze in that second after you broke apart was something different.  You didn’t want this chance to slip away, so you reached for his hand and squeezed it gently.  He glanced at you, and your grin chased away his remaining uncertainty.

“But yes,” you answered, turning back to your friends, “I’m pretty sure we are.”

“I called it!” Suga whooped, slapping Daichi happily on his back.  You laughed, letting go of your new boyfriend’s hand to accept hugs and congratulations from your friends.

As you wished them a happy new year, you couldn’t contain the smile spreading across your face.  This was a new start.  The new year was spread before all of you with its possibilities and adventures.  You caught Daichi’s eye, and from his expression you knew he was just as excited for everything you would get to experience together.

[xae-in-a-coat]

Xaje(Z-Age): The Poetic Murderer

Yours truly made a Kingdom Hearts/Organization XIII Sona recently & finally decided to post about him here due to the fact that he somehow managed to develop an everlasting fear of people stealing his hard earned brain-work over night. Anyway, just take these small scrap doodles & angst ridden quotes I created earlier. None of this really counts as attention-worthy in my eyes, believe me, I am well aware of the fact at this point, but it’s solely for the sake of me not losing my mind over the possibility of my ideas being stolen anytime soon(plus, truth be told, I’ve actually grown quite fond of this miniscule scheme we artists call “character design”). Now, where were we? Ah yes, my quotes & in-game dialogue:

“Shadows can’t appear without light nor can stars shine without the darkness. In conclusion, our worlds require both one & the other in order to exist within a state of tranquil harmony. Perhaps we should start encountering that terribly desirable goal by changing your uneducated perspective.”

-𝚇𝚊𝚓𝚎

“You blinded light dwellers would never understand, you believe that the world is filled with happiness & success, that even in the darkest of times there’ll always be that last sliver of hope worth holding onto, that all of your feeblest dreams will one day come true. Well you’re wrong. The world is nothing more than darkness in itself, and we’re living proof of that. Us Nobodies were once like you, foolish, ignorant, weak, we clung to those same beliefs that you now spout and look where it’s landed us. An endless, inescapable abyss of nothingness in which we gather & begrudgingly call a home. Welcome to The Castle That Never Was.”

-𝚇𝚊𝚓𝚎

“Do I cause you to question the English language itself? Good. Confusion is the mind’s greatest weakness after all. Along with curiosity of course, but I’ll gladly settle for either of the two.”

-𝚇𝚊𝚓𝚎

“Allow me to put a quick end to this poorly written story of yours. It’s plot is becoming terselessly bland & ever so flavorless, these pages could endanger the less prepared minds of vain readers, & besides, not even the characters seem to know what they’re doing anymore.”

-𝚇𝚊𝚓𝚎

“Thank you, but no. I prefer to eat in private. Being here amongst the presence of all your beautiful faces is causing me to feel deeply self loathsome, or for the less educated, gross.”

-𝚇𝚊𝚓𝚎

“Yeah, I study gems. Nothing crazy though, mainly just a load of Google searches & me being pretentious, heh. Anyway, what was that really cool thing you were doing with that giant key just now?”

-𝙹𝚊𝚎

“I’m a poet, just living out my life & writing my own stories I guess. Not like anyone else would bother reading them anyway.”

-𝙹𝚊𝚎

“Hey uh- Is that a pen? Cause I kinda need one right now. Crazy bunch of ideas just flooded my pea sized brain. Wouldn’t wanna forget them right? A mind-full of words now could turn into a completely full fledged story later, who knows.”

-𝙹𝚊𝚎

“Blueberries, literature, & dreams. These are the few things I’ve stayed alive for. Yup, fourteen years of being a hopeless idiot & disappointing everyone I come by.”

-𝙹𝚊𝚎

“But why do we hate darkness even though we’re literally surrounded by it every night!? I thought you Keyblade idiots knew better, I thought you were better! Heh, guess I was wrong… Note to self: Never put your trust in anybody EVER AGAIN! BECAUSE THIS UNIVERSE IS NOTHING MORE THAN A FILTHY BREEDING POT FULL OF EVEN FILTHIER BACKSTABBERS!-”

-𝙹𝚊𝚎

“Unfortunately enough, it seems that I’ve run out of stories to tell… Heh, I should’ve realized this moment was going to come for me sooner or later. A writer’s charm only lasts so long before it fades, just as a pen will eventually run out of ink, or an uncharted idea will eventually be forgotten. Yet again, that bothersome light you use to fight us is no different when compared to those few simpleminded examples. Expiable, inconsistent, just like the hearts you so proudly hold.”

-𝚇𝚊𝚓𝚎

“Why must inspiration always come to me at the worst of times?- Ugh, I suppose that new writing prompt of mine will just have to wait for later, you on the other hand, shall be dealt with now.”

-𝚇𝚊𝚓𝚎

“Your specialty should be renewed into a weapon of some sort. Coming naturally to you in times of need, refined, retrained, & unlike what it was before. Here, take my trusty Fountain Pen for example: From normal size to weaponized! It’s quite fun actually, not that I have a heart to garner the enjoyment of course, but still, one cannot deny when one has alas discovered the thing they endearingly call ‘a hobby.’”

-𝚇𝚊𝚓𝚎

“The beings I once called ‘family’ were nothing more than burdensome unaccepting hate speakers, & surely enough, they still are. It was because of them that I ended my miserable self & landed here, fractured, incomplete, but more relieved than I can ever recall being whilst I still garnered a heart from within. Yes yes, it may not be the most apparent thing to you newcomers, but being a Nobody has its perks, especially if you willingly chose to be one.”

-𝚇𝚊𝚓𝚎

Now for an unanimated cutscene of two characters conversing through the unprofessional script put together by yours truly:

Xaje: We’re nothing more than a stain on the pristinely white pages of your world, an unwanted drop of ink that was never meant to exist in the first place, a thing you unaccepting light dwellers would call ‘a mistake.’ Still we roam freely, collecting the negative reputation you’ve forcefully written us to have. Ever spreading, ever growing, never stopping till we’ve met our untimely ends. Perhaps you & I aren’t so different after all, P/N.

Protagonist: Shut it, I’m nothing like you!

Xaje: Hm, don’t be so foolish light dweller, our respective roles as heroes & well… Antiheroes, will always set us apart of course, but in the end we both want what’s best for this dreaded empire, don’t we? deny it not any further P/N, we’re one in the same, you’re simply far too blinded by the light to see truth when it’s clearly there. Well, if I can’t persuade you now, perhaps I’ll try again another time, good day.

Protagonist: Huh?! Hey, come back! QUIT RUNNING AWAY FROM ME YOU COWARD!

Xaje: You see what I mean, foolish, ignorant, weak. Are baseless insults & vile acts of bullying really your only powers? Tsk tsk tsk, how very sad indeed.

Protagonist: SHUT UP!

Xaje: Till we meet again dearest light dweller, be sure to keep that precious little heart of yours safe whilst we’re apart, won’t you? I find that it can be quite fragile at times.

Protagonist: I SAID BE QUIET!- Aaannnd he’s gone… AGAIN!

-𝙵𝚒𝚗

Progress shots: