#why do i have to snap and yell at my patents and my brother when they ask me to do something and i get overwhelmed?

[heavierthanlaila]

You deserve love. You’re a good person despite your mistakes. You’ll be loved. And you’ll only be able to accept and embrace the love if you love yourself first!!!!!!! Treat yourself with the same kindness you want to receive!!!!!!! Things will get better in shaa Allah

thank you for the sweet message but I'm sorry but i have to give a counterpoint to something you said.

who said i don't love myself? and what would self-love do in front of this raging ocean of deprivation? i do try to give myself all the love she needs but i cannot give her the love i was supposed to receive from the people in my life. it's very extremely cruel to demand people like me to just make due with whatever love they can conjure for themselves in order to open the door to human connection and love even though it has been an established fact that people don't grow or heal without the halo of love and kindness that comes from people around them. I'm not gonna deny the positive impact the lack of love did to my life. i did learn through it how to love and depend on myself and build my boundaries and enjoy my own company. HOWEVER, a hole has been ever-present in my heart. a hole that can only be filled with outside love. i spent my whole life just searching for a love that lasts. a love that gives me the push to be okay again. a love to keep me going. but this love seems impossible to obtain. i search for it in friends, in family members, in random strangers, in romantic loves, in allah but I can never reach it and im absolutely tired.

i used to be a good person (or try to be one) but my fairh has been tested and I'm actively failing that test. i just don't see the point of this test. why isn't this test easier? why is the road to allah so harsh and filled with traps everywhere? why does it have to be a test after test after test? why is the answer to navigate these tests safely is also hard to get? to be okay as a human being you have to pray but prayer is one of the heaviest things on my heart which makes me a hypocrite. i don't know anymore other that allah is the one true god but i don't know how to reach him and why is it so hard to reach him.

[khneltea]

Day 6: Flustered

Like a Baby Otter

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This was it. This was where she would die. She had faced countless monsters, demons straight out of her nightmares, the end of the world, her greatest nemesis, herself. How could this be the end? It couldn't be, it couldn't.

But it was. She could feel death calling to her. Agony crawled up her throat, heart twisted and cold. Betrayed by the person she called her brother in a parking lot behind a Taco Bell.

"Mari, I swear to kwami, if you do not get out of the car, I will break down the door myself and carry you in there over my shoulder."

She glared at the grey fuzzy fabric on the vintage car's roof. "This car is worth more than your salary tripled. I'd like to see you try, traitor."

He groaned, and she heard a loud slap. "C'mon, Mari. I'm supposed to be the dramatic one, not you."

"Yeah, well you should have thought about that before you dragged me to a Taco Bell to have a date with Jon." Marinette hissed, curling up against the dog plush toy she kept in the car as a pillow.

She refused to make a statement on who she got it from. ("I don't see why I need a reason to get a stuffed toy.") Nor did she go into detail as to why she made it a little flannel jacket ("They were leftovers!"), and she rebelled against the very idea of talking about it in English ("We are French, we speak French!").

While Adrien was her brother by all accounts except blood, he was also a romantic, and a massive dork. He saw Marinette, in all her flustered glory, pining over the sweet Metropolis boy with the clunky glasses and the cute dimples. The one who lent her his flannel jacket when she got cold on her first day at the University of Metropolis. Adrien saw the way her eyes lit up whenever the black-haired boy walked into the room, the way her cheeks flushed when she waved at him.

Adrien also saw the way the blue-eyed boy's gaze always roamed the room, landing on her without a fail. The way his dimples deepened, and his laughter became fuller as he stared into Adrien's little sister's crystal blue eyes.

He thought things would run their course. It was only a matter of days. One of them had to step up to the plate and ask the other out. But days turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into a semester. They were no closer to getting together than they were at the start.

So, Adrien decided they could use a helping hand. Another week of subtle nudging went by, and all that came out of it was a pitiful "not-a-date" amusement park outing that set them back a further two steps because the two became even more awkward around each other, if that was even possible. This may have also led to the incorporation of Kujo, the flannel-wearing dog plushie, into the Dupain-Cheng sibling's daily car rides.

Adrien snapped. He had had it with the two idiots oblivious to the other's feelings. They were going to get together by the end of this week, whether it was by fate or by his own hand. It had nothing to do with the fifty dollars he bet with Damian about Jonette (Marinette and Jon's ship name, patent pending). Nothing. How dare you even insinuate he would bet on his little sister's love life. For shame.

He was about to yell out for Plagg to come out, hoping to scare Marinette, when the gods decided to favor him for once.

"Mars?" His sister jumped up, smashing her head against the backseat.

"Jon?" She bounded out the door, leaving Adrien gobsmacked. He had been trying to get her out of the car for the past ten minutes— "What are you doing here?"

Jon rubbed his neck and glanced at Adrien. "Adrien said you wanted to talk with me? I don't know why we're in a Taco Bell, of course. I mean, not that Taco Bells aren't good, but they're not where I expected we were gonna meet— not that I didn't want to meet you because I did want to meet up with you—"

Oh god. Someone, anyone, please take Adrien out of his misery. There were two of them.

Adrien did what he did best. He meddled in his little sister's love life, yet again.

"I'm starving," he groaned, slinging an arm over Marinette's shoulder and pulling her forward so she was closer to Jon. "I'm gonna head inside, order something for all of us, then come back out. Jon, do you want anything?"

"Uh, you choose, I trust you." Jon fidgeted with his glasses, noticing the increase in proximity with Marinette. Adrien gave a feral grin, patting his little sister on the shoulder. Oh, Jon better put trust in him after today.

"Great, have fun, you two!" Before any of them could protest, Adrien bolted out of there faster than they could say 'Superman'.

And then there were two.

mwahahaha that's the end of day 6, folks! sorry to leave you like that, but i hope you enjoyed it. as always, like, comment, and reblog! big shoutout to the lovely people at @maribat-calendar-events for creating supermari may 2022, and I'm looking forward to seeing what you all are creating for this month. ciao <3

tag list: (OPEN, COMMENT UNDER MASTERLIST TO BE ADDED)

@verymuchimmortalcat @wolfy-kat @couffeeine @jumpingjoy82 @iloontjeboontje @literaryhiraeth @11thgradewriter @toodaloo-kangaroo @aespades @myazael

[softlyjiminie]

nine months from now | m.y.g

⇢ pairing(s): boss!min yoongi x reader, mentions of vmin + namjin.

⇢ word count: 16.5K.

⇢ rating: 18+, mature.

⇢ genre: smut, angst, fluff, un-expecting parents!au, parents!au.

⇢ summary: his was not supposed to happen. this was never in the plan. a sudden, unexpected turn of events leads you into a world of baby bottles and baby grows, it just so happens that the cause of this mess is your boss...min yoongi.

⇢ warning(s): please read! mentions of infidelity, insecurity, unexpected pregnancy, light!description of birth ( pain, water breaking ), soft smut, dom!yoongi, sub!reader, unprotected sex ( please wear protection ),  mentions of one night stands, mentions of drunk sex,  phone sex, oral sex ( female receiving ), masturbation ( male + female ) , light!praise kink, pregnancy kink, daddy kink, dirty talk and swearing.

⇢ author’s note(s): hey everyone! this is a kinda late birthday fic for our wonderful boy min yoongi! i love parent aus and i just got to thinking about how yoongi would be the most amazing dad and boom dis bad boy popped out. I hope you enjoy reading and as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!! also thank you to my wonderful gigi ( @fantasybangtan​ ) for this beautiful banner, love you so much :(

one month. two blue lines.

this was not supposed to happen. this was never in the plan. you were supposed to work your ass off, show off your skills, get promoted and live a comfortable life. there was no time in your plan for this.

no time in your plan for a baby.

you feel as if the whole world has been drained away as you sit on the edge of your bath tub, your chest rising and falling with panic —you hadn’t even noticed, not until it was too late. your period had always been irregular, is it was easy for you to miss the signs. it couldn’t be happening. it can’t be happening. “how can this be happening?” you whisper to yourself, the lump in your throat makes your voice sound hoarse and weak.  

“well, when two very special people love each other..” your roommate, yura, begun as she rests her head on your shoulder and grabs your trembling hand. she had always been a joker, much to the chargen of your half brother, seokjin.

“she knows how it works, yura! it’s the sex that got her there!” your sibling yells, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at you with a scolding disappointment. you’d never seen him so angry before, face red and the vein in his neck on the verge of bursting. you could tell he was trying to reign in his temper and you knew it was more than just rage he was feeling. seokjin had never known his farther, your mother was too ashamed to ever tell him and so he spent most of his life living with a hole in his heart. “do you even know who the father is?” 

you flinch at his sharp tone, knowing it was only his self inflicted conflict that was so venomous. yura’s head snaps up to glare at seokjin, lips parted in shock at he continues his rant. “how irresponsible could you be, YN? getting pregnant at this time in your career, how could you be so stupid?” 

“seokjin, enough!” yura snaps furiously, standing up with her hands resting comfortingly on your shoulders. she stares him down, rendering him silent and huffs. “YN is a grown woman...twenty-four years of age, meaning, you can’t scold her like a child anymore. it’s her body, her life and she’ll do as she damn well pleases. “

the sounds of their voices fade to nothing but static as they bicker back and forth about you. it’s almost as if you’re not even there, mind a million miles away. the mere thought of a life growing inside you has you spiralling and it’s not until seokjin puts a hand on your shoulder, that you look up.

“do...you know who the father is?” yura asks you quietly and avoids your gaze at his flits between hers and seokjin’s face.

“i do,” you twiddle your thumbs nervously, thinking back to the only occasion you can remember. you rub your eyes as they slowly begin to water, your brother and best friend nuzzling into you to help calm your nerves. “i know exactly who it is.”

seokjin and yura share a look, worried for the name about to pass your lips.

three months.

the walk to the top office is a brisk and daunting one. thousands of scenarios occupy your mind but you remember your brother’s advice and try to keep a steady head. you relax your stance as the elevator doors close in front of you, letting out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. a hand comes to rest on your lower stomach, reaching for the bump that was barely visible. 

you’d been to various different appointments over the last few weeks, blood tests, ultra-sounds and a paternity test. groaning, you remember the face of the assistant, her pointed nose tilted up in disgust when you begged her for any disgarded coffee cups the executive had lying around. all you needed was the tiniest trace of saliva to confirm your suspicions.

reaching your desired floor, you step out of the lift, and the sudden feeling of exposure crawls up your spine. patent heels click and clack against the smooth marble floor as you head to the front office. the light shines through the glass panes but it doesn’t lift your somber mood.

“i have an appointment with the executive?” you smile politely to the receptionist behind the desk and hand over your ID badge. she’s surprised, to say the least, when she checks it over and you can tell she’s unsure of how someone of your position would get an appointment on such short notice.

she lets you through regardless, mentioning to the executive that you’ll be up soon and too expect you. your once calm and collected walk is now weak and wobbly at  your ankles, you shake as you knock on the door and quiver when a deep voice beckons you in.

the room is bright, illuminated by natural light that shines through the glass panes directly onto the office. it’s sleek, black accents run through out the room with shades of whites and yellows and greys for contrast. a long desk, also black in colour, sits in the middle of the room, in front of the largest window that looks out onto the busy streets of seoul. you wonder if people ever look up and try to imagine what would happen in a room like this. the though of what’s about to happen sends chills down your spine. 

your patent heels sink into the carpeted floor, the softness and uneven ground do nothing to help your quaking knees. 

MR. MIN YOONGI 

the letters are engraved into the golden placement with thick, bold letters and reading it makes your heart race. the man himself is oblivious to your entrance, once deep red and burgundy hair having faded into his natural jet black roots. he wears a navy suit, tailored perfectly to fit his shoulders and his tie sits promptly around his neck, not a hair is out of place.

he hadn’t always been this perfect, you of all people would’ve known that. min yoongi was notorious in your company for his simple two step manoeuvre; flirting and fucking. whilst you had yet to fall victim to his charms, you knew to steer clear of him at company parties. yoongi had been a simple project manager at the daegu branch of your company, The Red Label, an up and coming fashion brand in south korea— before being unexpectedly promoted to executive to the seoul branch. you heard the last one had quit from heart break caused by the man himself. 

you, yourself were a new fashion designer, fresh out of college when you joined. you were happy to say that your designs had been worn by many idols since you started your job, including the infamous jeon jungkook.

you remember meeting yoongi at the annual anniversary party, drunk memories of the night suddenly becoming more and more clear. 

“yes?” he asks, looking up from his papers with a thin-lipped smile. he’s trying to be polite, you can tell, but you hate the way his black eyes watch you with discontent. you doubt he recognises you, remembers what went down a few months back. 

“hi...” you breathe, the anxiety from your thoughts rushing in. yoongi simply stares you down, his dark eyes watching as you shuffle under his gaze. he leans back in his desk chair, boredom etched into his features.

“look ms. kim,  i’m a busy man and have plenty of meetings to attend to today... so id prefer it if you didn’t go wasting my time.”

heat flushes through your veins and tingles at your fingertips, the words you had chanted to yourself in the mirror as practice have suddenly gone astray. you look to yoongi, his impatient stare boring holes into your very soul and you can tell he’s growing irritable. 

yoongi opens his mouth again to start a simple attack. “as i have stated already, ms. kim, i am a busy man with many duties to attend to today, so if you don’t mind-“ 

you hate this, you hate him. you hate how he thinks he can talk to you like you’re beneath him. especially after what he did to you. 

“i’m pregnant.” you blurt out, your rigid frame becoming lax as you realise what you’ve done. you watch as yoongi’s face contorts with confusion, what does this have to do with him? he must me thinking.

“why-?”

“it’s your child,” you snap back, suddenly gaining the roaring confidence seokjin had instilled in you many years ago. you march your way over to his desk, slapping down a file of all the tests you’d gotten, this paternity test with his DNA and his name in thick bold letters standing out on the white pages. “the documents are all here, if you don’t believe me.” 

the colour drains from yoongi’s face as he realises the severity behind his once careless actions, he never thought this would happen, he always thought he’d been, “safe? didn’t we use a condom?” he mumbles quietly, embarrassed and ashamed. 

“you insisted that we didn’t need one, you were too intent on getting your congratulations for your recent promotion.” you explain curtly, wrapping an arm protectively around your stomach. 

it was only then that yoongi noticed, the small curve of your stomach that was carrying a life that he had helped to make.  whether he wanted it or not, yoongi was going to be a father and he could tell by the fire in your eyes that you were going to do everything in your power to provide for this child. 

he sits back in his chair and runs a hand over his face, letting it cup his chin as he thinks. “okay....okay, fuck. what do we do now?” 

“well, i...” you hesitate, opening your mouth in a silent gasp. you step back from the desk and start to twiddle with your thumbs as you huff, nervous. “i don’t want this baby, my baby to grow up without a father. i’ve seen first hand how painful that can be. i also understand that, considering our circumstances, it might not be the best idea but i still believe you should take responsibility of a father and help look after them as well.” 

your answer is thoughtful, none of your words are fuelled by malicious intent. you want the best for the baby, your baby, his baby. yoongi’s heart clenches in his chest, his baby. 

“when’s your next appointment?” he asks in a whisper, a million and one thoughts rushing through his head at once. you look surprised, expecting yoongi to try and pay you off and keep quiet.

“next monday.” 

“good, i’ll be there.” 

three months, one week.

“is there any particular reason in which you’re not letting me attend today?” your brother hums, your only thought from then is to only roll your eyes as you pack your bag. phone, keys, purse. seokjin watches as you flutter about, fluffing your hair and straightening the sweater you wear, so it sits over your small bump just fine. 

shaking your head, you attempt to hide the nerves that crawl up your throat in fear of spewing them all out onto the floor. you’d blame it on early morning sickness. your older brother eyes you suspiciously, dark brow arched perfectly as a finger rests on his top lip. he knows you like the back of his hand, everything there is to know about you. he knew you were excitable when it came to things like new music or watching re-runs of americas next top model. he knew you were shy with physical contact and intimacy. he knew that sometimes you got so anxious and scared, especially with deadlines that your words became jumbled up and you’d forget your name. 

he knew why you were being so quiet today. 

you ignored him nonetheless, looking ever so slightly flustered once you’d finished getting yourself ready. you hadn’t felt this way since you’d submitted your first design to the Red Label. 

“are you sure? i know you hate all the machines and the gel the put on your tummy-“ the elder rambled and watched you collapse onto the couch beside him, you clasp your hands over his knee and sigh at him. clearly exhasperated.

“yoongi is coming,” you grumble eventually, curling in on yourself with a large pout. seokjin narrows his eyes, ever since finding out and confirming that yoongi was the father, he had been far from happy. seokjin remembered referring to the man as a pompous piece of poop, except more foul language was used. “i know you don’t like him, but we decided to try this co-parent thing? i’m just nervous that he’ll want to drop out as soon as he sees the baby-“ 

frowning, your brother shuffles over to you and presses a light kiss to your forehead as an attempt to comfort you.  “and if he does, we’ll figure it out together. promise.” 

you nod in affirmation, leaning into seokjin’s touch. he gets up to check the door a while later, calling out for you confusedly. “YN, there’s someone here to see you?” 

following his voice, you find yourself side by side with your brother, facing a man about your age if not younger. he’s dressed formally, in a black suit and white shirt, a bow tie around his neck. he offers you a boxy grin and you frown. 

“who are you?” 

“ah, you must be YN.” 

“yes, she is, but who are you?” seokjin cuts in before you can open your mouth, moving stand protectively in front of yourself and the baby. confused, you’re eyes widen and you shuffle back in the doorway to protect yourself further.

the man’s enthusiastic grin drops slightly as he readjusts his tie, coughing and holding his hand out to your older sibling. “taehyung, kim taehyung...” he introduces himself and falters when seokjin doesn’t take his hand. “i’m mr min’s driver, he sent me to collect ms. kim for her appointment today.” 

“driver? collect my sister? why i oughta-“ 

you set a palm on your brother’s chest and push him back lightly, smiling at taehyung as you do so. “jinnie,” you warm him and ignore his angry stare before addressing the driver. “i’ll be ready in a moment, taehyung.” 

quickly, you run back into the apartment to grab your bag and coat, returning fully dressed and ready to go. taehyung is already waiting with the door open by the car outside. you turn to your brother and hum. “i’m mad at him too, for sending a driver, but at least let me rip him a new one myself.” you say, breathlessly.

“with pleasure.” 

“a driver, really, min yoongi?” 

you storm past the man himself, anger flaring up within you at just the sight of his stupid designer suit and stupid pointed leather shoes that were probably imported from italy. he‘s a stupid man. who even wears a suit to a hospital appointment? 

yoongi stands flabbergasted, hands up in defence whilst taehyung only shrugs his shoulders and mentions he’ll be parked in the private area. the executive quickly follows you, surprised that you can even walk that fast with growing life inside of you and bends over with palms on his knees when you stop at the receptionist desk.

“i didn’t think it was smart of me to delay the appointment by meeting you at your own home, ms. kim.” 

rolling your eyes, you lean up to the receptionist, ignoring the way your name rolls so greasily off of yoongi’s tongue. “appointment for YN kim? 2:30.” you beam down at the man behind the desk, who’s eyes light up when they notice you.

“YN! lovely to see you again, you’re right on time!” he hums and checks you in on the computer as you spare a quick glare to the man behind you. the receptionist follows your gaze and leans in to whisper. “is this the baby father?” 

a light chuckle wafts past your lips and you nod as you tie the appointment slip from him. “why yes hoseok, he is.” 

“how unfortunate that his personality doesn’t match his looks.” 

you giggle and bid hoseok goodbye, walking down the hall to your doctors office for your ultrasound. yoongi mostly follows and stays quiet, sensing the anger and resentment you have for him, building. he sighs in the waiting room, knowing that he has to find some way to get a long with you and change your impression of him for the sake of his child. 

“miss kim for her ultrasound? oh and is that dad?” your doctor asks as she leads you into the room, helping you onto the bed and allowing you to push up your jumper for the jelly. yoongi feels a pang of guilt resonating in his chest, knowing that he should be the one helping you, but stands awkwardly to the side nonetheless. 

shuffling up on the seat, you look to yoongi expectantly to introduce himself and he jumps up, fixing his suit as he leans forward to take the doctor’s hand. “min yoongi...uh... dad.” 

“dr park, or you can call me dr jihyo,” she smiles, getting ready to apply the jelly to your stomach. “you know the drill YN, it might be a little cold,” yoongi watches quietly as you nod in confirmation, flinching when the cool substance comes into contact with your tiny bump. “alright! good job mum! let’s get you all set up.” 

it takes a few minutes for dr park to set up the monitor, using a device that yoongi doesn’t recognise to scan for what he assumes is the baby. yourself and the doctor chat idly, and yoongi realises how scary it must’ve been to do these things on your own for the first time. his train of thought is cut off by the sound of a steady, tiny heartbeat filling the room. 

that’s his baby, your baby. 

“your baby sounds nice and healthy,” dr park hums happily, tilting the device to get more of a view of your little peanut. she points her finger on the screen and turns back to smile at you. “here they are, hiding from us.”

you giggle happily and for a split second, beam over at yoongi as you witness the life you’ve created together. “is that our baby-?” yoongi half whimpers, taking a step forward to take your hand in his. you jump at the feeling, his change in attitude but appreciate the support nonetheless, on the edge of tears yourself.

these last view weeks had been daunting, life changing, but seokjin and yura had been there for you every step of the way. holding your hand and coming with you to check ups. 

“yes sir! i’m going to print out some pictures of the scans for you both, while we’re here, would you like to know the gender of your baby?” she asks politely and taps away on her computer.

“no, thank you.” 

“yes, please.” 

you send a glare yoongi’s way, fired up inside as he matches the look. 

“yes!”

“no!” 

the tension thickens in the room, so much so that a knife wouldn’t be able to cut through. dr. park stands from her chair, arms up to ease you both and coughs for your attention. “how about i print those pictures and you two can decide when i come back?” she suggests as you rip your hand from yoongi’s, who feels the walls build up around you again.

“that’d be great, thank you doctor.” he hums, watching as the doctor leaves the room before turning to you with a deepest scowl. “what was all that about, ms. kim? you were acting like a petulant child.” 

you growl deeply, sitting up and wiping yourself clean of the cold jelly. you pull down your sweater and turn to look at the man with a dark frown. “me? a child?” you tsk, looking him up and down. “i didn’t see you taking any initiative when it came to the baby until wanting to know its sex! as far as i’m concerned, mr. min, you’ve acted as nothing more than a sperm donor i actually have to see,” you spit, ignoring the pang of guilt you feel when yoongi visibly flinches at your words. “and for the love of god, it’s YN.” 

“well, YN,” he starts to argue, brushing off the hurt. “this is a first for me too, and if we’re going to make it work we have to compromise. i get it, i haven’t been much  help or support but i am trying to get better, for you and the baby.” 

you falter, you know that you have been tough on him but he is also making an effort by even showing up at all. sighing, you look to yoongi thoughtfully. “you’re right and I am sorry for lashing out, but this is one thing i won’t change my mind on. we have many decisions to make together, but this one i need for myself.” you say, rubbing your arm sheepishly.

“that’s fine, we can make that work.” yoongi smiles softly, to which you can’t help but return.

five months.

some would be shocked at the progress yourself and yoongi had made, having a baby really changed people. yoongi was much sweeter now, having dropped most of the formalities in favour of your ‘beautiful’ name, or so he called it. the executive brought you lunch almost everyday, left snacks and sweet notes to aid your cravings and ease your hormones. 

yoongi even offered to send you money for groceries, claiming he wanted the baby to have a healthy lifestyle from early on. of course you refused it, whilst you loved the support you were getting from him, it sent chills down your spine at how fast he’d changed.

“but what’s so wrong about that?” yura asks you one night. the pair of you are both cuddled up under heaps of blankets, your feet on her lap as she munches on the kale chips yoongi had given you that day. she inspects the green crisp for a moment, blinking before popping it on her tongue and crunching happily. “free food? comfier clothes? a driver? sounds like the life to me, YN.” 

you snatch the bag of chips away from your roommate, knowing it’ll spoil her appetite before your brother brings over dinner. peeking into the bag yourself, you swipe a few of the healthy snack for yourself, grimacing at the taste. what kind of sane person combines kale and chips? who? and it didn’t help that your cravings had kicked in. 

“there’s nothing wrong with it, i just don’t want money spent on me.” you whine and pout, shoving the chips away from yourself. 

yura only rolls her eyes and flicks your forehead. “but the moneys not for you it’s for miss yura junior over here!” she coos, raising her voice by a few octaves to talk to your bump. you watch with furrowed brows and a slight grimace as your roommate continues to make sounds horrifyingly similar to breeding cats.

“please, stop.” 

“nono, she loves it.” 

just at that moment, seokjin makes his entrance with bustling bags carried by his poor boyfriend- namjoon. you push yura away from your bump in order to make an effort in reaching namjoon but he leans down and kisses your forehead.

“you mean, he,” your brother comments and settles himself in the kitchen to prep you a meal. “i can already tell, that little critter in there is a boy and none of you can convince me otherwise.” he insists loudly, causing namjoon to roll his eyes.

“maybe YN’s results will...” yura turns to you with a mischievous glint, itching her fingers up your side knowing full well how ticklish you were. you’d probably sock her in the face with how much you wriggled. 

“and there’s not a chance that either of you will find out, i’m under strict instructions to keep the results from you. all of you.” namjoon interjects pointedly, sagging into the seats and rubbing his arms from all the shopping your brother made him carry. yura sticks her tongue out at him. “now what’s this about baby daddy money?” 

pulling the blankets up to your chin, you sigh, pouting over at namjoon. namjoon was like a second elder brother to you, quiet and helpful much unlike seokjin. you suppose that’s why the pair made such good partners, they balanced each other out well. “yoongi has been sending things over to help take care of myself and the baby but, it’s too much!” you huff and throw yourself back into the couch, sinking in and away from the world. “he even moved my desk at work, closer to his!” 

joon tilts his head, looking at you with a knowing smirk and taps his nose. “sounds like this yoongi guy has a thing for you.” 

“nuh uh, never, nada...nope!” you counter, shaking your head. there’s no way in hell yoongi could possibly feel that way about you. your hook up was a one time thing and you didn’t quite match up to the other girls he hooked up with at the office. “never in a million years. not possible.”

“you never know, YN,” he hums back, shrugging nonchalantly.  “yoongi could be everything you least expect.”

you lose yourself in namjoon’s the words, thinking deeply as seokjin starts to being out the dinner trays.

“can you believe, min yoongi put a baby in her?” 

“i want to know how his dick even got up just by looking at her.”

your skin crawls with discomfort as you enter the break room, your co-workers instantly silencing. this was common, for them to make you the subject of their idol chit chat. of course with your sudden pregnancy and yoongi’s newfound favouritism for you during meetings and overall, it only made sense for everyone to put two and two together. 

jealous female coworkers didn’t like the idea that min yoongi didn’t want to hook up anymore, he wanted to focus on the one thing more important than his job. 

he wanted to focus on you. 

so now you were YN KIM, the red label’s pregnant whore. katie’s words, not your own. she was a new international relations employee from overseas, working with your departments new collection to debut in the US market. 

you loathed her. 

“good morning, YN,” she beamed, flicking her bleach blonde locks over her shoulder and pursed her lips the tacky barbie pink lipstick on. her insect eyes shift up and down your frame, making you curl in on yourself uncomfortably. “you’re looking a little bloated today.” 

you bite your lip in an effort to stop it from quivering, holding your bump protectively as you wait for the kettle to boil for some tea. “i’m pregnant.” you mumble quietly as a line of defence, wincing as katie and her minions let out high pitched, squeaking laughs. 

“are you sure? it seems like you’ve put on a few.”

gasping, you drop the mug you were using for tea and bite your lip, desperate for the tears not to fall. as quickly as you can, you shuffle out of the dreaded break room and ignore the ugly chuckles of your coworkers, making a break for the bathrooms. 

bursting into the room, you brush past whoever’s about to leave and dash to the taps to splash cold water over your hot, tear stained cheeks. you hope to god that no one is here to see your snotty faced, crying session but your biggest nightmare only comes true when a warm hand settles on your shoulder. 

“hate to break it to you sweetheart, but i don’t think this is the little ladies room,” you pout through your tears as you turn to face the voice, absolutely mortified when you notice them to be jimin. the blonde offers you a small smile that drops when he notes your sniffling, immediately replacing his expression with a look of concern. “ah! YN? are you alright?” 

clearly not, you think but allow jimin to grab you some tissues and dab at your tears. jimin was a sweet boy, a fresh face around the company since he was hired to replace yoongi’s assistant (she had quit for undisclosed reasons.). the boy was smartly dressed, always in a blazer and woven sweater. he wore circular specs that always slid down his nose, but his golden weaved hair was always pushed back in away that had the ladies drooling.

“what happened?” jimin asks quietly, helping you fix your makeup to a presentable state. his touch is gentle as he dabs under your eyes, looking at you earnestly.

“promise you won’t tell yoongi?” 

“pinky!” 

you sigh heavily when the man steps back, offering him tired smile with puffy eyes. “the inernational relations girl has turned every one of my coworkers against me, ever since she found out that yoongi was too committed for hookups...” you mumble sadly, gesturing to your bump as jimin follows your gaze. 

the blonde steps forward, grabbing your hands and holding them tight as he shakes his head. “they’re just jealous!” he exclaims, making you jump slightly. “i would be too if i was one of them, you’re a beautiful girl YN, with a beautiful baby coming along. if they’re going to be mean about it, they can fuck themselves because yoongi sure ain’t.” he finishes with a triumphant smile, looking down at you.

jimin is a sweetheart, and having only seen him around the office you know that you have someone trustworthy on your side for now. “thank you jimin, so much for your kind words.” 

the blond only tilts his head, offering you a crescent moon eyed smile. “anytime, YN! now let’s get you back on that office floor.” he beams and takes your hand, leading you back to your desk, much to the dismay of all the other girls.

“repeat that again.” 

“i fired her.” 

yoongi punctuates every word, teeth grit as he spits them out. it’s almost as if thinking about the incident makes him angry, which of course it does, grown women bullying the mother of his child. 

you sit straight faced in yoongi’s office chair, the doors are locked and the curtains open widely. the pale light of the clouded seoul sky brightens up the dark scowl on his face, as it caresses the curve of his pink lips and slope of his nose. shaking your head, you watch as yoongi fixes his suit and makes his way over to you. his steely, copper eyes are locked on your smaller frame as he flattens his palms out on the desk before you. 

he really is mad and you can’t blame jimin for telling yoongi the truth. 

“why?” you gasp with parted lips, looking up at yoongi with innocent eyes in hopes of ridding him from his scowl. 

the man himself leans down close to you, his face within an inch of yours and his lips deathly close to your own. his breath is warm against your top lip, and you force your gaze upwards into his dark, liquorish eyes. “you know why, YN. there’s no way i’m going to have the women in this office harass you for my actions, for carrying my baby.” he seethes, tone contrasting with the forefinger and thumb he uses to gently tilt your chin up so you face him. 

“if that’s the case, then you should have fired the whole floor.” you say meekly and gulp, this was the most yoongi had ever touched you since that night you spent tangled in each other’s arms, while he passionately ground his hips into- YN! you’re getting sidetracked! of course, aside from the occasional hand at the waist or on your bump to guide you. 

“i would, for you.” 

the line sends shivers down your spine and you bite your lip, lowering your gaze.

yoongi smirks down at you, letting you go gently and you’re left wondering how much power he really has in this company. the executive pulls up a chair beside you, grabbing your hand after a beat of silence. “YN, I’ve been doing some thinking, and i believe it would be best for you and the baby to move in with me in my penthouse down town,” yoongi explains simply, as your brows furrow in confusion.

“of course we’ll get a bigger place when he or she arrives, but i’ll take care of that and in the meantime i think it would also be in our best interest for you to quit your job here.”

“excuse me?” 

yoongi hums absentmindedly. “i asked you to-“ 

“no i heard what you said, it’s absolutely ridiculous yoongi!” you cry and tear your hand from his, the deep set frown on your face growing into an ugly glare. the man simply sits back in his chair, confused. “you think just because i have your child inside of me, i’m going to do everything you say? quit my job? i worked hard to be here, i sacrificed days and hours for this position and i’m not going to leave my hard earned job because you have money and because you can get want you want.” 

he stands, pushing a hand through his dark hair and stepping towards you. you weren’t going to let this man intimidate you. “YN, i’m simply making a few suggestions that will make this pregnancy easier.” yoongi growls lowly, feeling the anger boil up inside of him. why couldn’t you see that he just wanted to help?

“christ, yoongi! why can’t you see that i have a mind of my own as well?” you mutter, the hot rage coursing through your veins becoming a muted frustration. anger isn’t good for the baby and you know yoongi only means well. defeated, you pick up your bag and nod over to the man before you. “i appreciate all the help you’ve given these last few months, but i’m not a doll like your other girls, yoongi, i’m human too.”

you mumble the last part, adding that you’ll take a few days off if it pleases him. as you leave the office, yoongi is left with the lingering feeling that he’s disappointed you yet again,  wanting more than anything to fix this. 

“YN, sweetheart! YN...please wait!” 

your frown deepens and shoulders hunch over the kart at the sound of yoongi’s voice. if only you weren’t pregnant— maybe then could you run a little faster. the executive calls your name again, following after you as you turn the corner into the baby isle. all you wanted to do was shop, for your baby— undisturbed. 

rolling your shoulders, you push the kart at a faster pace and try to focus your attention on the adorable little baby grows with a range of soft pastels. “YN...” you cease at yoongi’s whining tone, biting your lip as you start to count to ten. “YN, please.” one, two, three—

“please-“

“what? what yoongi?” 

yoongi throws his hands up into the air in defence, blinking shortly. you sigh in defeat and stop the kart in front of the teething toys and give the executive a lazy once over— his fit is different to what you would typically see him in, aside from his gucci and dior fabric suits. today he dons a tight fitting black t-shirt and casual black jeans that hug his thighs deliciously. breathing in deeply through your nose, your eyes flicker back up to meet yoongi’s sheepish honey ones, you nod to him to continue. 

“i’m sorry,” he breathes hesitantly, debating whether or not he should reach out and touch you. “i’m sorry for making you feel like i was taking your career away from you. i know how much this job means to you and also how hard you worked for it...” the executive bites his lip and watches earnestly as you quirk you’re brow, cocking your hip as if to say ‘oh really, min yoongi?’. the man himself knows that you mean business and chooses his next words carefully. “what i’m trying to say, is that i was out of line. just because we’re having a baby together, doesn’t mean i have a right to dictate your life.” 

the brunette looks down, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. you hum happily and take a baby grow off of the shelf, smiling at the words embroidered into the soft white fabric. ‘daddy’s number one fan.’

“you can make it up to me by pushing around this kart,” you wink and dump the tiny clothing into the object itself. “it’s heavy.” 

yoongi smiles gratefully, lifting his head and gripping the kart. “anything for you, darling.” 

seven months.

“so what kind of gender reveal are we doing? cake, balloons—ooooh! confetti!” 

eyes rolling, you  set the small box of collectible doohickeys on the smooth glass tables of yoongi’s fancy, four bedroom apartment. it was a place uptown with views of cotton candy sunrises, baby blues and pinks that swirled with light oranges just above vast greenery. yoongi had bought a year or two again with no use but now it was being made into a space for you, himself and the baby— right after you agreed to move in with him. 

yura is perched in the plush leather couch, fur blankets draped over the backs that you eye suspiciously— you’re sure that when the baby comes, they’re something that you’ll have to replace, in fear they’ll be stained with baby fluids. “YN...” she sings with her pen between her teeth, she’d been planning your baby shower since you’d been too wrapped up with OB appointments and settling in with yoongi.

as you blink, you pick up a small snow globe from one of your family vacations with seokjin— tilting your head with a sly smile. “you know there isn’t going to be a gender reveal,” you put the globe down. would go nice with the kitchen? you’d have to put it out of the little one’s reach, though. “not until the baby is born, yura.” 

“what’s happening to yura when the baby’s born?” 

“you guys are so lame.” the girl in question scoffs, kicking her feet in defeat as she gives you an exaggerated sigh. yura pokes an unsuspecting yoongi in the chest as he enters the room with one of the final boxes before; she skips out to help your brother and his boyfriend with the rest. soaring a glance, you notice that ‘kitchenware’ is scrawled across the brown cardboard in the executive’s messy chicken scratch— something about the man that you’ve come to adore over the last few months. yoongi had done many things for you and the baby, so you knew moving in with him would give him some sense of security— and it made you feel much better.

yoongi looks up at you, confused as you start to giggle— moving to help him unpack the pretty marbled dishes you’d picked out with him. “why are we the lame ones?” he says with a pout, whiny tone like music to your ears. 

“she’s still not over our decision to keep the baby’s gender a secret,” you raise your brows in a knowing look, reaching over and grabbing the executive’s hand sweetly. “she wanted to do a gender reveal.” 

“we still could,” yoongi teases you playfully, as he uses your intertwined hands to twirl you into his chest so that he could hug you from behind. you shake your head with a bubble of laughter at the dark haired man’s antics— only quieting down when his hands slip down to your bump. a comfortable silence sweeps over you both, nothing but the sounds of your anticipating breathing filling the little space between you. another beat of silence passes before you feel the light tremor of feet and hands from the bump. “there they are.” 

the pair of you spend the next few moments wrapped up in each other’s arms, waiting for your little treasure to kick and push at your tummy— but to your dismay, yoongi makes a quick departure after receiving a call from the board. for you, work had been slow and difficult as your pregnancy progressed whilst yoongi’s grew busier and busier as the season deadlines approached. you’d decided to take your leave, finding it harder to keep on your feet while your ankles begin to swell and your joints became sore— yoongi of course, was relieved. 

“you two are getting affectionate.” namjoon comments, sliding into the room after your boss has left. you roll your eyes and make a move to sit on the plush couch, your little one becoming too excited. 

the elder male quickly rushes over, taking your hand as he helps you to sit— you smile gratefully as thanks. “we’re just friends.” 

“friends who‘re having a baby together.” 

biting your lip, you pause your actions as an uneasy feeling spikes up within your chest. yoongi couldn’t possibly see you both as more than friends— he was in this for the baby and so were you. it didn’t matter that he sometimes kissed closer to your lips than normal or that he had a habit of making you blush. it didn’t matter that he called you sweet names, held your hand tight and was protective over you because mon yoongi wasn’t falling for you. was he?

or could it be, that you were falling for him?

namjoon’s brow creases with worry when your silence boarders on the edge of uncomfortable— making him take your hand in his, once more. “YN, are you okay? did i say something wrong-?” 

“n-no i’m just...i’m just scared, joon,” you whisper, throat drying at your sudden realisation. the whole world feels as if it’s about the slip away from under your feet, the words you’re about to say— foreign on your tongue. namjoon looks up at you, the fear in his whiskey eyes reflecting your own. “i’m scared.”

“of what, YN?” the latter mumbles, concerned. 

“of falling,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “of falling for min yoongi.” 

min yoongi had come to realise that parties were never really his thing. 

they were easier to enjoy when people were drunk off their minds and didn’t know what was up or what was down. but observing the gathering from the edge of the room— completely sober and nursing a glass of baby champ had shown min yoongi that he’d never really liked parties. 

there were too many loud noises— the squealing from your friend and chatter from excited guests— and too many people, bodies closely packed in a tight space. at least when he was drunk, he was too out of his mind to care, but he was going to be a father now and taking care of his little humans meant taking care of himself. 

after all, drinking is what brought him is little gift in the first place. 

the only thing that makes the night more tolerable is the bright smile that you have plastered on your face. the executive grins when his gaze finds yours, you give him the sweetest of beams before turning back to conversing with one of your childhood friends. yoongi loves the way you look tonight; you’d settled on blush pink dress— one from a collection you’d designed yourself. he remembers how hard you’d worked to finish the designs before taking your leave, so he was adamant that you would wear the dress, the first of its kind.  your hair frames your face perfectly, each curl falling perfectly into place— caressing your soft cheeks that are lightly dusted with a warm blush to compliment the shadows that paint your eyelids. 

“you’re drooling, hyung...” 

the dark haired male jumps at the smooth voice from behind him, a scowl replacing the loving smile that once tickled at his lips. yoongi spins on his heel, adjusting his tailored jacket as his driver, taehyung slips an arm around his shoulders. the two had known each other for longer than it might have seemed, the younger being one of the few people yoongi actually trusted. they’d met back in college, before yoongi had become a big hot shot, before he fell into the world of sex, alcohol and money.

they’d lost touch when yoongi moved from deagu to work in seoul, seeing taehyung working there as a driver had been a pleasant surprise. the royal blue haired boy hasn’t changed a bit, the only thing being that he’d started dating the printer boy, jimin— who the executive ended up promoting because he loved the two so much. they were a trio, a little circle of trust and yoongi’s home away from home. 

but that didn’t stop the executive from cursing out his long time friend. “what the fuck taehyung?” yoongi hisses, pushing the driver lightly. he gives a brilliant laugh in response, as bright and as colourful as his head full of  “do i look like some kind of fucking dog to you?” 

jimin appears on yoongi’s left, wrapping his own arm around the older’s shoulder and linking his hand with his lover. oh god, the terrible two. who knew what mischievous they would get up to when together. “you do look like a puppy in love,” the blonde comments, tapping yoongi’s nose with his small pinky. he’s only a little bit tipsy, probably because of the whisky yoongi had caught them sneaking in. “woof woof.” 

“if hyung was a dog, what breed would he be?” 

“probably a chihuahua, small but...deadly.”

yoongi sighs, gaze switching between the two lovers as they squabbled over dog breeds excitedly. one, two, three, four— “do you need something?” he asks the pair, praying to heavens that they don’t and that they’ll leave him alone. 

jimin giggles, the sound bubbling from between his lush lips. “we’re here to give you a pep talk.” 

“you should tell her how you feel,” taehyung mumbles, clinging onto yoongi. affectionate and drunk. “you love her, everyone can see it.” 

“no they can’t—“ yoongi protests, but it’s far too late. the intoxicated pair of lovers are already pushing him in your direction and he can feel his heart beating violently in his chest as he nears you. since when were you able to make him nervous? perhaps his long time friends were right, the executive had felt himself grow fond of you— almost like his world revolves around you. he was with you not just for his child but for something much greater than himself. yoongi rolls his shoulders, his fingers barely touching at your own as he does his best to grab your attention, but then you turn around— glittering eyes shining even brighter at you look to him, the wisps of a greeting painted on your pink lips. “YN... i—“

his thoughts race a million miles a minute, just staring down at you makes yoongi’s heart stop. you barely have time to greet each other, before a loud nasally voice cuts through the buzzing electricity between you. “ahhh, mr min! the man of the hour, i’ve been dying to meet you.” 

“mum,” you whine with a shy smile, linking your arms with yoongi in an affectionate manner. “play nice.” 

“am i ever anything but?” 

taking the time to look between the two women, he notices the endearing similarities between you and your mother. like the crinkles under your eyes when you grin and the little tilt of your head when you listen intently. he can’t help but wonder what little habits your child will pick up when they’re a little older, will they be more like him? or like you? yoongi hopes to the heavens that your baby turns out like you. 

the man is so lost in thought that he almost forgets to introduce himself. “yoongi is just fine ma’am.” he smiles brightly, holding out a hand for mrs kim to shake— kissing it sweetly when she does so. he can’t help but blush under the intent gaze of your mother, squeezing your arm with nerves as he brushes through the terrains of his dark locks sheepishly. 

truth be told, meeting your mother was the most daunting part of the evening for yoongi. you had painted a picture of regal woman, to yoongi, mrs kim with deepest eyes that were warm and soft— seemingly   yes, he had faced celebrities and big bad CEOs but this was the grandmother of his unborn child. the woman who had raised and brought you into the world— he needed to prove himself worthy, especially since he’d impregnated you outside of marriage. yoongi wanted to show your mother that he could take care of you. 

“what a charming young man, YN, darling,” mrs kim chuckles, batting her lashes up at the executive. yoongi only chuckles shyly, feeling his heart rate increase at the compliment. he was never good at taking those. “you never told me he was this attractive, you’ll make handsome children.” 

“mother!” 

“ah but mrs kim, i’m sure that if our child does turn out as handsome as you say— it’ll all be due to YN and you of course.” yoongi grins cheekily, ducking his head when you swat his shoulder playfully. the rose tint on your cheeks tells yoongi that his words have done their job in making you flustered and of course impressing your mother too. 

the woman in question gives the executive a quick wink. “ever the flatterer too, hm?” 

“yes ma’am.” 

the conversation lasts for a minute or so longer before you’re rushing off to stop a slightly intoxicated jimin from stripping on the snack table as yura and taehyung cheer him on from below. affectionately, you lean up and kiss yoongi on the cheek before hurrying off with the help of your brother— leaving him alone with the intimidating presence of mrs kim herself.

moments pass without a word and yoongi wishes that he had stolen the liquor from tae so it’d at least soothe the adrenaline coursing through his veins. “i believe you’ll make a great father, min yoongi,” your mother announces, eyes trained on the daughter that she raised. “the way this baby has come about may be unconventional...but seokjin tells me you’ve stepped up to the plate, that you’ve come a long way.” she pauses, taking a breath as if she’s evaluating her words. “i know that you’ll take care of them, my daughter and her baby but i fear you’re not being one hundred percent honest.”

“i’m not?” the executive questions, lips forming a pout of confusion. whilst he was glad that seokjin had spoken highly of him and that despite the circumstances, your mother supported you both— he feared that if he’d lost your mother’s approval, you would take his child and not look back. 

mrs. kim shakes her head fondly, a light chuckle filling the air between them. “oh don’t look so afraid child, i mean, you’re not being honest with yourself.” she chides, rubbing yoongi’s forearm as his brows furrow further. still confused, a question forms on his lips but the executive is silenced by another tsk from your mother. “you’re in love with my daughter, it’s clear as day and i‘m afraid that if you don’t tell her now or ever— she’ll grow fearsome herself, fail to commit and...” the woman takes a deep breath, casting a gaze over to you that yoongi can’t help but follow. “she needs someone like you to take care of her when she doesn’t want any help. i trust you to do that for me, min yoongi.” 

the dark haired male takes a deep breath through his nose, watching as the elder woman takes her leave in favour of helping you calm your friends. he knows in his heart that she’s right, he loves you. he loves everything about you. 

and there was no better time to tell you, than now. 

the drive home is comfortable, quiet. yoongi steers with his eyes on the road and his hand intertwined with you over the console. he’s not watching you, but he knows that you’re counting the raindrops that slide down the tinted windows and merge with one another, you’ve told him that it was a habit you picked up as a child. 

the baby shower wrapped up just after eleven p.m, when you’d started to complain of sore feet and the baby begun kicking to their heart’s content. like the loving brother he was, seokjin offered to help clear up whilst joon packed a drunk, snogging jimin and taehyung into his own car to drop them home. you’d thanked them endlessly, only playing nice because yoongi had promised you a foot massage when you’d returned home. 

pulling into the driveway, yoongi turns off the ignition and lets the car fall into rest, the drifting hum of the car helping to steadying his nervous breathing. “we’re home,” he mumbles, more so to himself than you— biting at the skin of his lower lip. you’ve stopped counting the raindrops now, turning to face the man with a brow raised in confusion. 

“yoongi, is everything alright?” you ask, squeezing his hand tighter now, it feels weighty in your own— reassuring to hold like an enveloping warmth that touches your heart. even though the car is dark, you can still make out the lines of worry that crease in his forehead, he’s never usually this quiet, uncomfortably quiet. “please... you’re scaring me...”

“i’m in love with you.” he says after what seems like years of deafening silence, finally meeting your eyes with a steeling gaze. you gasp, jumping back in shock but yoongi doesn’t dare let your hand slip from his. you feared this, the day that he told you such a sweet little lie. because how could he ever love you? you were just a girl from an office party with nothing special about you. min yoongi didn’t care for you, is what your thoughts forced you to believe but your heart knew better. “and i...i know that you’re scared, i am too. but YN, i can promise you now, that i’ve never been so sure of this, of loving you than i have about anyone...”

yoongi takes both of your hands this time, dark, stormy eyes fluttering across your face earnestly. you know in your heart that you love him too, you’ve felt it for a while but he continues, giving you all the more reason to trust in his words. “you’re beautiful and kind, and these last few months i’ve realised that you’re more than i ever deserve,” he pauses, looking away shyly as he opens up to you. “and i love you, so much i-“

“just shut up and kiss me, min yoongi.” you whisper in response, cupping his cheeks and pulling him down for a sweet kiss. your lips meld together perfectly as your hands move into the oblivion sea of his hair, gripping the locks tightly while your tongue finds his— engaging in a battle of passion. memories flash behind your eyes of the night you spent with yoongi, the one that gave you your gift. his hands sneak down to your waist as you kiss him eagerly, pouring a million and one emotions into it. 

you don’t remember making it inside of the apartment, yoongi mumbling something about ‘not here’ in terms of taking you inside of the car. there’s a clash of tongue and teeth as you stumble up to your shared bedroom, pushing off clothes and letting out whimpers of one another’s names but when you reach the bed, rushed kisses become slow and steady, tender touches to your face and hips. “i want you,” yoongi says lowly, fingers tangling in your hair. “i want to take my time with you.” 

you nod slowly as he pecks your lips once before kissing a sweet trail down your body and to your ankles. yoongi silently pulls of each of your shoes, massaging your swollen ankles as he smooths over your skin. you let yoongi take off your jewellery and smooch at your wrists, let down your hair and finally— unzip your dress. instinctively, your arms wrap around yourself like a protective barrier, shielding your body from yoongi’s moonlit gaze. of course, you weren’t ashamed to be carrying life inside of you but your body was in no way what it was before. you had stretch marks from your growing bump and swollen breasts that started to lactate here and there— you weren’t ashamed just shy. 

“yoongi...i-“ you cant seem to find the words, gasping as the executive leans over you and pushes you down onto the bed. his slender fingers capture your wrists, gently pinning them above your head as his lips hover teasingly over your own. 

yoongi tilts his head, allowing the moonlight seeping through the curtains to illuminate his features— the slope of his nose and the dip of his cupid’s bow. the darkness in his whiskey eyes and the black flecks that paint them. he’s beautiful. “you’re beautiful,” he whispers, staring deep into your eyes. “you’re glowing, pregnant or not i still find you stunning. please don’t hide your beauty from me.” 

a small smile tugs at the curve of your lips as you nod silently, the man above you taking it as a sign to continue further. yoongi skilfully unclips your bra as his own lips find your neck, sucking on it diligently while your quiet whimpers fill the air like music to his ears. he litters your blank skin with shades of midnight blue and night sky purple as you arch your back into his chest but it’s not enough— you want to feel his skin against yours, the warmth of his body tangling with your own. 

“off,” you mumble, pushing at his shirt while his calloused hands rub circles into your bare hips. “take it off.” yoongi obliges, pulling away from you for just a brief second to strip off his button up— his suit jacket and tie having been thrown off as you stumbled into the house. his skin is milky and pale, only dotted with light patches of freckles and scars fading with adult hood. “you’re beautiful too.” you add, looking yoongi deep in the eye.

he shakes his head fondly, kissing you again but only briefly. “i love you,” he utters into the quiet night before moving down to peck your bump. “i love you too.” you wait a moment as your baby delivers a small kick, seemingly tired out for now and share a gummy smile with yoongi. from there, your lover makes quick work of your panties, pulling them off in one swift movement as he takes to spreading your legs. 

his touches are feather light, kisses like wise as the drift across your inner thighs and avoid where you need him most.  “please, please yoongi.” you chant his name like a mantra, his warm breath making you even more sensitive than before.

“what is it that you need sweetheart? tell me.” 

you chest heaves as yoongi smooths over your thighs, enjoying your responsiveness to him. “you, need you to touch me! god, please yoongi.” you whine, legs beginning to tremble with need. the executive only chuckles at the mention of his name, using his large hands to spread you open again, a single digit traces the outline of your heat, causing your hips to twitch up and follow the source of your pleasure. 

 “you’re so wet for me sweetheart and i haven’t even touched you yet,” yoongi coos, collecting your nectar with two fingers. he moans at the taste, leaning into your dripping heat with his tongue and swiping at the rest, making you whine and writhe in satisfaction. you had no idea why you were so sensitive and needy for his touch— blame it on the pregnancy hormones— it was almost as if yoongi had set alight a fire under your skin, scorching you with a hot desire as he spread your lower lips and tongue slipping past your wet hole.

fingers grip at his hair while you open up for him like a flower, hips rutting into his mouth as his plush lips sloppily kissed at your pulsing clit. “god, yoongi!” you cried, eyes rolling back as he slipped a digit past your entrance, curling it along side his tongue causing more of your hot slick to gush down your thighs, urging yoongi on while he moaned into your mess. the vibrations sent chills up your spine, making you arch your back and scream into the night, arousal spreading through your body and coursing through your veins. “please.” 

“please, what?” the man in question asked, pressing your hips down as he looked up at you, evidence of your arousal painting his cheeks and chin. “tell daddy so he can help his baby.” yoongi cooed, replacing his tongue with two fingers, the stretch becoming a satisfying burn as he prepared you for his cock. 

you writhed as the title slipped carelessly from between his lips, squeezing your tightness around his fingers as you struggled to keep your thighs apart. you were his baby and he was going to spoil you rotten. “wanna...wanna,” you fumble over your words as yoongi curls his fingers, pressing them into that spot that has you wriggling in the sheets—desperate for release. “wanna cum,” 

“oh baby, you can only cum when daddy’s filling you up, yeah?” he speaks softly, all the love in the world intertwined with his quiet syllables. yoongi lazily draws circles on your clit, pressing his forehead to yours as she whispers sweet praises against your lips— they don’t stop when he pulls his fingers from your swollen heat nor do the kisses that come as he sheds the remainder of his clothes and aligns his hardened cock at your entrance. 

you bite your lip harshly, eyes rolling with pleasure as yoongi’s hands find your own— his length pushing between your folds teasingly. you squeeze at your intertwined fingers, a sign that you’re ready to take him, that you don’t want to wait anymore. yoongi looks to you lovingly, lips hovering over your own, barely touching but saying every word and then some— you feel it, you see it that in this moment he loves you and for those to come, he loves you. 

with a silent nod and another squeeze of your hands, yoongi pushes past your entrance, nestling his cock within the heat of your soaked walls. together, your share a gasp— finally being united as one. this time feels like your first together, no drunken hook ups, just you and yoongi and all the love in the world, between you both. his warm breath fans over your face like an ocean breeze as he sets a rhythm with his hips, slow at first with easy rolls of his body against  yours— only speeding up with every octave that your moans rise in. 

“yoongi...feels so good,” you mumble breathlessly, freeing one hand from his and burying them deep in his oblivion hair. yoongi only smiles down at you in response, bucking his hips a little feverishly as he drags the tip of his cock against your velvet lined walls. you jolt with pleasure, beginning to grind your hips back, in wanton— finding your hand slipping down to cup the man’s cheeks, letting him peck your finger tips that rest near the corners of his mouth. “so...so good...” 

yoongi leans down, being mindful of the bump as he presses his chest to yours, your intertwined hands finding purchase in the silk of your sheets while he bottoms out inside of you. the room becomes filled with a vivid heat, the scent of passion twisting with the air leaving a lingering touch on your skin.  “yeah? you like that sweetheart?” his voice is a light whisper, sending shivers down your spine as you arch your back into him. “love seeing you like this, angel,” he praises too, nosing your cheek as you fall into another pitfall of pleasure— a symphony of your sweet moans playing on repeat. “so swollen and full, carrying my sweet baby. love how big you’ve gotten for me.” 

the silver words that slip from yoongi’s silver tongue have you throwing your head back, light perspiration licking at your skin as he takes the opportunity to ravish your neck once more. “got me so worked up, thinking bout those beautiful tits,“ his words start to slur as his free hand grips your breast squeezing them hard, so hard that you’re fearful they might start to leak. “can’t wait to taste that sweet milk, that you make for my baby. mine.” 

yoongi ends his sentence in a grunt, cock thrusting mercilessly into your weeping hole, as he takes you over and over. words barely form on your lips, drowned out by the sound of skin slapping on skin and the moans that urge each other on.  he drops his head to the junction between your neck and shoulder, hot breath tickling at your skin while you tug at his hair, his thick length pumping in and out of you, dragging you closer to the edge.

“yours, im all yours,” you whimper and clutch him closely as the tip of his cock brushes over that spot. tears spring in your eyes, yoongi’s hips rocking back and forth inside of you— the knot in your stomach becoming tighter and tighter. “i’m so close, please yoongi—daddy.” 

he draws himself from your neck, pressing his forehead to yours once more as he mimics your pants, chest heaving with yours as you both draw to a close. 

“cum with me sweetheart, i’ve got you...d-daddy’s got you—“ his breathing stutters, the feeling of you clenching around him becoming too much for him to bare as his thrusts become sloppy. “let me pump you full of my seed, give you another baby—“ 

“ohgod, yoongi!” 

he pants out the last part, desperate to bring you to release. you know that his words are impossible, but the steer you on nonetheless, a blinding light flashing behind your eyes as a wave of goosebumps rise across the planes of your skin. you stumble into your orgasm, releasing onto his cock and fall into yoongi’s arms, spasming as he whispers cotton candy words into your ears while he chases after his own high.

“fuck baby, you’re so good for me, my beautiful girl.” he stammers out, tripping over his words as he fills you up with the seed of his orgasm. with trembling arms, yoongi collapses to your side, lips bright red and swollen, glass milk skin bruised and bitten. he looks beautiful like this, hair slightly frazzled from your exploring fingers as his chest rises and falls. he’s extraordinary. the executive shuffles, pulling you into his chest and kissing into your hairline with a small smile to his face. “you’re staring.” 

“i love you-“ you blurt, mind cleaning from the post orgasmic haze. you know that the words have been said already, before you tumbled into the sheets with the man beside you— but this time it feels different, feels more real. you love min yoongi with all that you have, from this nose scrunch when he laughs, to the creases between his brows when he concentrates, everything about him is something that you love. 

“i know,” he whispers, bumping your nose with his in an eskimo kiss. 

you blink back, lacing your fingers. “no yoongi, i’m in love with you—“

“i know,” yoongi chuckles, taking your hand in his before brushing his lips against your knuckles sweetly. “and i hope to god that the heavens know how much i’m in love with you.” 

nine months.

“strip.” 

he utters the command, simple— yoongi bends your will to suit him best. he loves having control over you, making you follow his every wish. you’re his little pet, and he’ll do with you as he pleases. shuffling, you pull off the his shirt that you wear— revealing that you’d gone bra less in favour for comfort. the executive let’s put a deep groan that has your nipples hardening just by the sound,  helpless whimper escaping your lips. 

“look at you baby, all swollen and leaking for me... daddy wishes he was there to punish you himself.” 

you pout heavily at his words, like you had when yoongi left two weeks into your third trimester for a three day business trip in the states. it was important, you knew that, he was finally closing the deal to debut The Red Label over there— he has big plans for the label and making you realise then, that your lover cared for the company more than you initially thought.  

“miss you, daddy,” you gasp, writhing under his gaze through the facetime camera— adjusting it so he could see your rising bump. “both of us do.” 

your third trimester was easier than expected, despite the aching feet and the constant desire to pee at the most inappropriate of times— the last few weeks of your pregnancy were on track to going well. your newfound boyfriend, yoongi, made sure to take care of you too, with sweet massages and passionate kisses, possessive touches to the waist and keeping your pregnancy hormones in check. 

ever since that night you couldn’t help but jump yoongi’s bones at any chance you got— not that he minded, he always said that being with you was like being together for the first time again. even if it was late nights before bed or five minutes before yoongi was due for a meeting, he still was tender with you, loving with you. he still loved you. 

your friends and family had instantly detected the shift in your relationship too, seokjin and namjoon giving your boyfriend the ‘you hurt my little sister and i’ll-“ talk. you know that they meant well, after all, who could imagine how far yoongi had come since the start of this all. he had begun your pregnancy as a disinterested asshole, who only cared for money or himself. he had no intent of bringing a child into the word but he really had stepped up since then, proven himself a worthy father to not just the baby, but yourself. 

“you look gorgeous, so round and full...” he whispers, tired eyes watching you through the screen. his milky skin reflects a warm orange hue from the hum of the hotel lights, his hair ruffled from the stresses of the day. you close your eyes, biting your lip as your boyfriend lets out an amused chuckle— shaking his head. “wanna fuck you good, keep you pregnant. love how you look carrying my baby.” 

“yoongi...”

“yes, sweetheart?” 

“please...”

your boyfriend tilts his head, running his tongue over the roof of his mouth before leaning back in his chair as if he’s deciding what to do with you next—you know that you’re at his mercy, even if you’re a thousand miles apart. “touch yourself for me...but don’t you dare cum until i say so.” the man before you tuts, grinning evilly. “start with your nipples, sweetheart, i know they’re sensitive.” 

you follow his words, keeping your eyes on his as you guide your fingers to your hardened buds— swirling them in circles with a quiet whimper, eliciting a similar sound from your lover abroad. “more...want more...” you gasp, feeling on edge from the stimulation. 

“go ahead angel, touch yourself like daddy would.”

following his voice, your finger tips drift across your skin with a feather light touch, nothing like yoongi’s— but it will do for now. slowly, you move your laptop onto the sheets, giving your lover a clear view of the flower you hide between your legs, watching him shiver at the sight of your glistening hole. with shaky breaths, you start to rub shy circles into your clit— drawing patterns and figures of eight just like yoongi would.  pleasure tingles at every tip and joint in your body, trickling through your veins as your wetness drips down your thighs, just from the thoughts of yoongi watching you. 

“eyes open for me sweetheart,” he reminds you, guiding you gently to push two fingers past your entrance. you thrash in the sheets, desperate for more, to touch what only yoongi could reach— your hips buck up involuntarily at the thought of his large hands spreading you apart, fingers curling as the walls of your cervix pulse hotly around him. “that’s a good girl, doing so well for me, hm?” yoongi praises you, leaning into the screen. 

“mhm, your good girl...” you respond breathlessly, pumping your fingers in and out of your pussy as you spasm and twitch with arousal. a beautiful mess is what yoongi would call it, your slick paints your thighs with a glossy essence— illuminating your skin as you curl your digits in search for that special spot. “god please please please!” you chant as yyour thighs shake with delight, the feeling only heightened by yoongi’s constant praise, your hips move desperately to catch up with your fingers that run at their own pace.

“slow down angel, don’t you wanna be good for daddy?”

you want to roll your eyes at your boyfriend, but knowing him— he’d only extended your punishment. “no,” you mumble, almost sternly, picking up the speed and curling your fingers, dragging them across your walls as you let out a high pitched squeal. “wanna cum.” 

yoongi pauses and that’s when you know that you have him wrapped around your finger. a few pleases here and there have him nodding in permission for you to cum. your whole body shakes with delectation while yoongi coaxed you through your orgasm— stars twinkling behind your eyes as your released splashed out and coats your fingers. 

“fuck baby, you did such a good job for me— put on such a pretty show for me...” the executive curses, shifting in discomfort. you can tell by the look on his face, parted lips and a crease between his brow, that he’s struggling to hold down his arousal. while left shaking and heavily pregnant, you some how manage to shift into a comfortable position— giving yoongi the puppy dog eyes. 

“did daddy cum too?” 

“no baby,” 

a beat of silence and a grin from you. “please daddy, wanna see you cum too...”

a broken moan escapees from the confines of yoongi’s cherry lips, making you hum in satisfaction from across the globe. within an instant, the position of your boyfriend’s camera has changed— tilted down so you can get a good view of his cock springing free from his tight grey joggers. yoongi fists his length, hissing at the sensitivity, he’s bond turned on at this point. his cock stands at full attention, bright red tip burning in desperation as clear precum oozes heavily from its centre. throwing his head back, he begins to pump his girth, thick and wide, which makes your mouth water at the thought of it filling you up and stretching you open again.

“cum for me, yoonie,” you whisper, he’s barely three or four strokes in— too pent up to wait any longer, you have no idea how long he’s been holding it for. yoongi cums then and there, chest heaving with his dark hair matted to his forehead. thick ropes of his hot seed coats his knuckles, a shade much paler than his own skin. 

you smile brightly when your lover comes to, busying yourself by pulling his shirt back over your head and inhaling its scent— firewood and pine, reminding you of him. yoongi smirks lazily as he uses a tissue to wipe up his mess before tilting the web cam up to his face for a better view, he chuckles deeply and shakes his head like before. “god, YN, the things you do to me,” he muses, rolling his eyes at your antics. 

you mirror his smile, pressing a kiss to the screen as if he was really there. “you love me.”

“i do, so much.” 

“and i love you, even more.”

although yoongi was meant to be returning today, you hadn’t been expecting any guests. 

the jingle of keys in the lock captures you’re attention, the re-run of ‘real house wives’ not doing anything to interest you. you weren’t expecting your lover for another few hours but perhaps this was his way of apologising for leaving so suddenly. yoongi had seemed stressed this morning when you called after your OB appointment, showing more pictures from your scans with dr. jihyo park— he’d shown little excitement towards the life you’d created together, which was highly unusual for him.

nonetheless, you adjust yoongi’s sweater around you and wrap your arms around your baby bump protectively, moving from your comfortable position in the depths of your couch in search of your lover. 

what you don’t expect, is the click of high heels against your marble floor.

what you least expect is the woman paired with them.

anyone with a pair of working eyes, or even less would know how beautiful of a woman she was. her skin was golden, dipped in honey and kissed by the gods of the above— unblemished and untouched. she had sharp features, cat like eyes, the colour of molasses paired with thick lashes and eyeliner that could cut diamonds. obsidian black and curled locks tumbled carelessly down her shoulders, framing her face perfectly whilst her ruby red dress hugged the dips and curves of her body— matching the blood red painted onto her lips. 

she was stunning. 

the stranger, however, seems too comfortable in your home. she knows exactly where to hang her keys and to put her jacket— she opens a letter that you know must be addressed to yoongi and simply tosses it aside as she struts through your home like she owns the place. it’s not until you’re standing out in the open for her to see, that she stops her actions, tilting her head into the air as if it’ll answer the questions in her puzzled mind.  

“i wasn’t aware that minmin had hired new staff, i’m joohee.” she introduces herself, clear voice echoing across the hall. 

you frown, rubbing your arm at her words. “who’s minmin?” 

“your boss? min yoongi.” joohee answers confusedly as she approaches you, handing you her luggage expectantly. a pitiful smile crosses her plump, devil lips as she eyes your bump— making your skin crawl and coddle it protectively. “you’re pregnant? how far along are you? such a shame that minmin didn’t give you any time off. his values can be pretty off-“ 

you drop joohee’s bag as you listen to her blabber, her voice becoming patronising and sickly to your ears. she looks as if she’s about to have her way with you, tear into you like a lost little lamb but you won’t dare be disrespected in your own home. “listen lady,” you seethe, hating that you look like the pregnant angry lady. “i don’t know who you are, or what business you have with my boyfriend but i am not the help. now if you don’t mind, i’d like you to leave my home before i cal” security.” 

the women before you lets her lips part with shock, quickly adjusting herself as if she’d been a doll in repair. her midnight eyes look you up and down while a cruel smirk as she takes her sunglasses from her air and toys with them between her perfectly white teeth. 

“ah, i see, yoongi’s been out to play while i’ve been away. you’d think he’d be loyal to his wife— wouldn’t you?” 

“w-wife?” you stammer, heart plummeting in your chest. you hadn’t noticed the diamond ring nestled comfortably on her ring finger— as if it had been there the whole time. 

joohee smiles again, one that could be on the front cover of vogue. “three years and counting, darling, who could have guessed.” her words are like bullets to the chest, taking you down one by one. your heart burns with an unfamiliar sensation— heartache? betrayal? you can’t tell. everything seems foggy, all lies with smoke and mirrors. you had to have known at some point that it was too good to be true. “some water, darling?” 

you shake your head at joohee, not realising the hand that claws at your throat. panic and pain crawl through your chest and hide in the ridges of your throat as you struggle to find the words to face the devil dressed in red satin. “no... i just, i just need a moment—“ you whisper, fiery tears burning in your eyes and threatening to scorch at the apples of your cheeks.

“take all the time you need, dearest.” 

you move swiftly from there, running to the nursery and grabbing the hospital bag you’ll need for the baby’s delivery before heading to yourself and yoongi’s shared bedroom. you stare at the room with disgust and hatred, you’d shared too many loving moments with this man for it to be true. he lied to you, lied to her most probably. 

you realise now that you were just another pawn in the game of chess called min yoongi.

through broken sobs, you manage to pack enough of your clothes to last you until you have time to come back. and so with trembling hands— you dial the phone and listen to it ring once before it picks up. 

“hello?” 

“seokjin?” 

“yes, YN— what’s wrong? are you... are you crying?” 

“please...come pick me up...” 

there are no more words as the line goes dead, a little piece inside of you— dying as well. 

yoongi had known something was off that night when he came home. a seventy-two hour stay in the states was more than exhausting— dealing with press and foreign interviewers who only wanted to hear about ‘american inspirations’ the debut collection. the executive had wanted to tell them proudly, that it had been you leading the design team, his YN but he stuck with his simple answers of gucci and dior to appease the crowd. all he wanted now, was to curl up with his darling girlfriend and their unborn child. 

except... something was off. 

the house had been dark when he came in, a new set of keys by the door and an unfamiliar suitcase. yoongi knew, if there was anything to go by, that you would have the hum of real house wives on and the smell of those salted kale chips he made you eat— wafting through the air. but instead, the sultry tones of old, familiar jazz oozed from his living room accompanied by the soft sounds of glass on glass and wine pouring. 

wine.

“where is she? you bitch.” yoongi never swore at a woman, his mother raised him better than that but he heated the way joohee leisured on his couch— the couch where he lay with you for countless nights— sipping at a bottle of red wine. “answer me!” 

joohee barely flinched at the raise in the dark haired male’s voice, simply choosing to pour another glass of the fruity liquid for the man himself. “she left minmin, who wouldn’t after finding out their little boy toy is married.” she teased, each word she spat like poison from were sweet lips. 

“divorced, joohee, fucking divorced.” he heaved. “what the fuck did you tell her?” 

“correction, divorcing and only what she needed to hear.” 

yoongi remembers how fast he’d moved across the room, slamming his fist down on the coffee table so hard that it had almost shattered the glasses. that time, joohee had jumped, never had she ever seen yoongi so mad, so angry. “get the fuck out, walk out of the door and out of my life. it’s what you’re fucking good at.” 

joohee left not a minute later, leaving yoongi alone in the dark of his home. your home. the home you were supposed to share with one another, build a life in. he hadn’t wanted that with joohee, not after she ruined him and broke what soul he had. you were the one to have brought min yoongi back to life, but now, he had lost you.

min yoongi hadn’t cried in a long time, but tonight would be the first since then. 

“YN...he’s calling again.” 

you look up briefly from folding freshly washed baby blankets and grows, to stare down at the phone that sits between yourself and yura before going back to the task at hand. 

“ignore it.” 

yura sighs, hitting decline before resuming her own activities— munching on the snacks yoongi had packed in your baby bag. ever since that night, seokjin had made sure you were guarded by at least one of your friends or family members. since you’d moved back in with him, either he or joon would watch you throughout the night, holding you while you cried your heart out. seokjin swore that the stress wasn’t good for the baby and that he’d  kill min yoongi if he ever saw the ‘fucker again’ but you couldn’t help it, the man that you loved so deeply, the one who’s child you carry lied to you and tore your heart in two. 

how could anyone lie about something like that?

moments pass before the phone rings again and you quickly reach over to hang up once more. “you really should talk to him YN. not for your sake but for the baby’s..” yura mumbles after a while, sucking the salt from her fingers as if she’s worried you’ll burst out mad at her. “maybe it’s not what you think—“ 

“how can it not be? he had a wife yura, he’s married! there’s no explanation for that!” you almost yell, clutching one of the grows to your chest tightly as if it’ll protect your heart. 

“but maybe—“ 

“stop trying to defend him!” 

“i’m not!” 

“then shut up, shut up because you don’t know anything.” you add sternly as your bottom lip starts to wobble, you breathe heavily trying to calm yourself down. the slight twinge in your lower belly doesn’t distract you from the pain in your heart. “you don’t know what it’s like to fall for someone like this, to think you have it all and then—“

yura looks at you patiently, one of her greatest traits. she didn’t lose her temper with you or fall into screaming matches when your hormones got the best of you. she may have been slightly ticked at you, but she knew better than to show it. “the what?” she comments, brow raising in interest. 

“nothing... i just, im sorry, i shouldn’t have yelled.” you bite your lip, putting down the small item of clothing and running a hand over your face. your roommate only shakes her head fondly, rubbing your shoulders, she knows this entire thing has been hard for you. you’d never planned to have a baby this early on in your life, you wanted big things and had major plans. 

and you gave it all up for yoongi. 

your friend smiles sadly, letting you go before heading to the doorway. “it’s okay, YN... i’ll give you some alone time.” 

she does just that, giving you room to breathe as a million thoughts and what ifs cross your mind. what if you’d never met yoongi? would you be the same person you are now, back then? would you want this? would you— a burning sensation spikes in your lower back, making you double over in pain, this hadn’t been like any pain you’d experienced before, nothing like the braxton hicks you’d been warned about. and then, there’s a light gush between your thighs— panic soaring in your chest. 

“y-yura-!” you gasp, steadying yourself on the nearest surface as the pain subsided unlike the fear and nerves that cloud your mind. “a-are you still there?” 

the girl scoffs playfully from the hallway, making herself known. “of course i am, i’m your babysitter remember? i wouldn’t actually leave you.” she mumbles, tone quietening as you whine with the next oncoming contraction. “YN...are you alright?” 

you squeeze your eyes shut, gripping the dresser so hard your knuckles turn white with the force. “yura... i think— i think my water just broke...”

“oh shit.” 

this, this was pain. 

yura whispers praise into your hairline while nurses flurry in and out of your room— she’d called your brother not long ago who was on his way from his last shift at work. you didn’t want to be alone. “why, why did i go through with this?” you whine, hair plastered against your forehead with sweat. people are surrounding you, telling you to push and then not to, everything is too overwhelming and all you want is the baby out of you. 

everything that could possibly go wrong, was going wrong. an ambulance had been unable to pick you up from your brother’s home, the delivery plan having been registered to yoongi’s house— meaning that your roomate had to drive you all the way to hospital herself, getting lost on the way. now you were being wheeled through the hell hole, on the way for your delivery.

“because you wanted this baby and you wanted it him?” yura suggests, squeezing your hand tightly— only wincing when you squeeze it back with the start of a contraction. “would now be a bad time tell you that i called yoongi?” 

“you what?” you screech, barely having time to be mad as another wave of pain hits burns at your waist. god, did you even think this part through? you barely register the door opening, another presence instantly by your side. your body responds naturally , calming in response to the man that’s now beside you. 

yoongi grips hand, and if you weren’t in so much pain you would have torn away— your heartbeat ceasing in your but you know that you need him here. the time to talk will be later. “im sorry,” he mumbles quietly as they prepare you for the delivery room. “im sorry i did this to you, that i hurt you and i know that you don’t want me here right now, but im not going anywhere. not when you need me.” 

curling in on yourself at the student wave on pain, you take a chance and stare up into his eyes— searching for the truth, for an answer. “okay,” you breathe, unsure of what you’ve uncovered behind yoongi’s dark eyes. “okay, lets do this.” 

the executive nods at the nurses to make a move for the private delivery rooms he’d booked earlier on in your pregnancy. he squeezes your hand with a promise to yura that he’d take care of you, while you brought new life into the world. 

“she’s waiting for you, y’know.” 

yoongi doesn’t dare to look up, choosing to focus on the scuff on his shoes as a distraction from the conversation that is to come. it’s been hours, three or four, since the delivery— the birth of his child smooth sailing from the moment he took your hand but through all the screaming and cursing at him, yoongi couldn’t help but think of what he had lost. a family, a life with you. 

but now, your room was packed with the family you had built before him, namjoon cradling you’re infant in his arms as yura cooed away— playing with tiny fingers. the executive didn’t feel like he belonged, like he didn’t deserve to be in there with you. 

seokjin clears his throat with a roll of his shoulders before taking a seat next to the latter. as much as your brother despised yoongi, he knew in his heart that you were meant to be together. he’d seen you both grow from cold, isolated human beings into the warmth that a child needed to be in the world. seokjin would do this for you. for you and the baby. 

“look,” the elder starts, elbows on his knees to support himself as he rubs his hands together, ordering over his next choice of words. “i never liked you, i knew that you’d break her somehow—“ yoongi scoffs, cutting the other kim sibling off, as the words nick his heart. “— but i also know that she gave a lot up for you because she loves you. that mother in there, YN, is going to need all the help she can get and christ be damned that i’m going to give it to her but that baby... that baby is going to need a father. so either you step up and prove to her that you’re still in this or you take your leave now.” seokjin warns, this time— sparing a dark glare to a now intimidated min yoongi. “because the last thing they now need, is another let down.” 

the executive blinks, taking a moment to ponder your brother’s words. “i understand, thank you.” 

seokjin nods, moving into your room to round up your family— giving yoongi the space he needs to explain himself to you. when he enters, you have the baby swaddled in your arms with a look that says it all. that your entire world is right here with you. a look that makes yoongi fall in love with you all over again. 

“he’s beautiful,” you whisper, having heard the male come in— sparing him a short glance before looking back down at your baby, afraid that if you look away for too long, he’ll disappear. “don’t you think?”

the dark haired man can’t help but nod, approaching you slowly to admire his son— a small little thing with beautiful eyes to match your own and a head full of curls, just as dark as yoongi’s. “we made a beautiful little thing.” he comments, leaning down to brush his thumb over little min’s cheek. yoongi looks up, not realising how you watch him with tenderness, this was how it was supposed to be. “YN...i-“

“yoongi.” you breathe, turning back to focus on your baby. 

“i’m sorry, i should have told you— about joohee— about my marriage with her, which is over by the way...” yoongi hates how you flinch at the mention of his ex, reaching out to grab your hand. he breathes a sigh of relief when you don’t pull away like he expected you too. “we’re getting a divorce.” 

you gasp, all of your emotions flying at you at once. joohee had failed to mention that fact to you, something you might have heard if you’d heard yoongi out. “but she said—“ 

“i was with her a long time ago, back when i was working in daegu and she changed. the industry changed and she did too. joohee became manipulative and rude and—“ the executive closes his eyes, taking a moment to reflect. he’d never opened up about this before, but he needed you to understand...maybe forgive him. he needed to be in his child’s life. “and we weren’t working anymore, giving each other what we needed. i wanted white pickett fences, a dog, a family but she wanted all the money in the world and i couldn’t give her that.” he breathes, and you squeeze his hand. “but i met you at that party where i felt so free,”

his words come out as jumbled, becoming a ramble causing you to shake your head and grip the man’s wrist tighter. “yoongi.” 

“and then this happened and  i knew that i wanted all of that with you and our son and i’m so sorry that i put you through all of that pain, for not telling you—“

“min yoongi—“

“and i just miss you so much that it hurts, i want to be with you...”

“god min yoongi just shut up and kiss me!” you repeat your words from early on, using the hand that held his to pull him closer, pressing his lips against yours in a forgiving kiss. you pour all of your words and emotions into the movement of your lips against his, your love, your pain, your passion. you love him, you do— with all your heart and soul, the pair of you being mindful of the baby between you as you hold each other near and dear. “i-i love you,” you stammer, pressing your forehead against his. yoongi smiles, lips hovering over your own, he’s about to lean in for another kiss when your little boy gurgles between you. “and i love you too baby.” 

“does he have a name yet?” 

“i was waiting for you...”

yoongi smiles, letting your baby boy wrap his tiny fingers around his own. your body lights up with joy, if someone had told you— nine months ago, that you would end up with the worlds most beautiful baby boy, a man that you loved and a family that supported you... you would have laughed but now you’ve seen, that sometimes life has unexpected twists, good and bad. 

but luckily for you, you’d had a good one. “joonwoo,” your lover hums, kissing the top of your babies head before giving you the very same kiss. “that should be his name.” 

“joonwoo, meaning protection,” you mumble in a wordless agreement, observing your family. joonwoo had been a name you picked out with yoongi one night during the early stages of your pregnancy—you were surprised that he’d even remembered.  “it’s perfect.” yoongi would have your white pickett fences, your dog and your family home but for now, you would enjoy the moment— enjoy the time with your boys and wait for what the future would hold. 

you couldn’t wait to see where you’d be in another nine months from now. 

“ahaha! look, they’re kissing! what did i tell you guys? thats twenty bucks… each!” taehyung exclaims happily, removing his face from the glass as he watches the happy family through it. jimin only rolls his eyes from behind his lover, arms aching slightly from the abundance of gifts he holds in them. 

yura rolls her shoulders, having half a mind to shove the blue haired male over but she knows you’d give her an earful if she did. “fuck you,” she groans as she passes over the cash.

“i do that already!” jimin chirps from behind. 

that’s when seokjin sweeps in, taking the money from taehyung with a happy smile. much to the disdain of the latter. “but i called it! he’s a boy.” the elder smirks, counting the bills. taehyung pouts in response, clinging to his boyfriend who only rolls his eyes at the group’s antics. 

“but y’all are forgetting, the most important thing...” namjoon adds, taking the money from seokjin and smirking smugly at the shocked faces he receives. “i won the bet cus they’re getting married.”  the brunette reveals in a sing song tone, pulling the ring box that yoongi entrusted him with. namjoon only chuckles as the group descends into chaos.

this baby was in for one hell of a family.

⇢ author’s note(s): thank you all so much for reading!! please let me know what you think and have a wonderful day or night <3

[crypty]

Rät

I come from scientists and atheists and white men who kill God They make technology high quality complex physiological Experiments and sacrilege in the name of public good They taught me everything Just like a daddy should

Almost everything Tommy knew, he learnt from Wilbur. How to make speeches, how to strategize, how to fight. They rebelled against Dream to make potions. They rebelled so everyone could benefit. They rebelled against tyranny. He would do anything for his brother. Tommy went to war with Wilbur but only found out what he lost afterwords. Sacrifices for everyone, put the burden on the children who fought for the land. The foundation of L’Manberg was blood, after all. 

And you were beautiful and vulnerable And power and success God damn I fell for you your flamethrowers Your tunnels and your tech I studied code because I wanted To do something great like you And the real tragedy is half of it was true

Wilbur was powerful and successful. He was general of an army, fighting against a nation much larger than his own. Tommy watched everything the brown haired man did. He wanted to be just like Wilbur. He wanted to be as charismatic and influential as his brother. He wanted to be great, to do great things. He ended up sticking with his brother to the end. He did end up doing great things, both of them. Both brothers ended up seeing their hard work blow up in front of them. Only one had a choice. 

But we've been fucking mean We're elitist We're as flawed as any Church And this faux rad west coast dogma Has a higher fucking net worth I bit the apple 'cuz I trusted you But it tastes like Thomas Malthus Your proposal is immodest and insane And I hope someday Selmers rides her fucking train

They ran for president. Tommy would have been Wilbur’s vice. The ones who fought with Wilbur, the ones loyal to him, would have been high ranking in their new government. Tommy trusted Wilbur. When they were exiled, Tommy stuck with his brother. The new government was flawed. Schlatt was a horrible president. He was drunk and abusive but he won the game of politics. Tommy hated him. He and Wilbur formed Pogtopia. He would have followed Wilbur to hell. Eventually, he did. 

I loved you I loved you I loved you it's true I wanted to be you And do what you do I lived here I loved here I thought it was true I feel so stupid I feel so used I feel so used

He loved his brother. Tommy felt broken when he died. As he saw the crater where his nation once stood, as he fought for what little remained, he loved his brother. He wondered if, at the time of his death, there was enough of Wilbur to love Tommy back. He fought for L’Manberg. He fought for his friends. He wondered what Wilbur fought for. He wondered how much was lies. He wondered how much his general used his blind loyalty. He still loved his brother. That’s what hurt the most. 

I was your baby Your first born The hot girl in your comp sci class And I was Darwin's prep school dream Bred born and raised to kick your ass I fell for circuit boards Rocket ships Pictures of the stars If you could only be what you pretend you are

Sapnap and George were left alone. The Dream Team. The ideal friendship. They were everything. They were strong and powerful. Two were genuine. Their leader wasn’t. The Dream Team fell apart. They should have seen the warning signs. They should have noticed Dream faking everything. They should have noticed the power hungriness. They watched the stars and fell into his trap. They should have noticed Dream’s manipulation. They were everything and then they were nothing. 

When I said take me to the moon I never meant take me alone I thought if mankind toured the sky It meant all of us could go But I don't want to see the stars if they're just One more piece of land for you to colonize For us to turn to sand

Dream ruled the SMP. He wasn’t a king or a dictator but he was the leader. He was a good leader for so long. Not all agreed. When Wilbur declared independence, George and Sapnap were the first to take Dream’s side. All three were ambitious and believed they could win. When the first battle came, George realized he was fighting and hurting his friends. Sapnap realized he was fighting children who didn’t truly know what war meant. Neither wanted the war to continue. Dream didn’t either. The war ended quickly. There were smaller battles, smaller wars. Nothing that involved a whole nation. No one in the Dream Team wanted that. As they kept upgrading, they watched L’Manberg have fun. They watched them lose and sometimes win. L’Manberg lost so much. Perhaps that was why it crumbled to dust when Schlatt came. 

Because we're so fucking mean We're so elitist We're as fucked as any church And this bullshit west coast dogma Has a higher fucking net worth I bit the apple 'cuz I loved you And why would you lie And then I realized You're just as naive as I am You're so traumatized it makes me wanna cry

Dream, George, and Sapnap. Some of the strongest fighters in the land. The best armor, the best weapons. They could buy, or steal, anything they wanted. The three of them trusted each other, relied on each other. Why would any of them betray the other two? Dream left them. He wanted more power. He landed himself in the prison and changed. He seemed smaller, sadder. Sapnap visited his old friend. He seemed traumatized. After the visit, Sapnap went to George’s houses. They talked. Sapnap returned to his own house and broke. 

You dumb bitch I loved you I loved you I loved you it's true I wanted to be you And do what you do I lived here I loved here I bought it it's true I'm so embarrassed I feel abused

He yelled at Dream in the prison. It reminded him of earlier arguments. Fights with clenched fists and subtle begs for Dream to go back to normal. Fights that broke their already crumbling friendship. Sapnap once wanted to be his friend. Confident and powerful. The land of the Dream SMP where Sapnap built his home. He should have seen the warning signs. His friend hurt him and now he didn’t know what to do. 

Well I don't wanna eat the rich I'd have to eat my hero's first And my tuition's paid by blood I might deserve your fate or worse But I don't need your goddamn money I don't need jack shit from you So when I speak you bet your life my words are true

Quackity was Schlatt’s right hand man. They were friends, perhaps more. He joint his votes with Schlatt’s during the election. When George bailed on him, Schlatt was Quackity’s hero. He went through so much to stay with Schlatt. He went through abuse, verbal, mental, and physical, to be with the president. He oversaw the Festival to keep power. He saw a young boy get torn apart by rockets to keep his position. He snapped by the end. He didn’t need Schlatt. He learn from the former president. He changed. 

Let me level with you man As someone guilty of the game I took the help I took the cash I would've taken your last name So if any girl on earth Should get to make a call about this It would be me and as I see it You're a dick

He tried to talk Schlatt out of it. By the end of his presidency, he was more drunk and crude then ever before. Quackity saw a man who had helped him and Quackity wanted him to be better. Schlatt wouldn’t change. Schlatt stiill saw himself as above others. Quackity rose up in the past few months. He took Schlatt’s help and influence. He took anything he was offered. Perhaps that’s why he wanted to help Schlatt. He saw Schlatt at his glory and his fall. He saw the best and worse and everything in between. Schlatt was beyond saving. 

So fuck your tunnels fuck your cars Fuck your rockets fuck your cars again You promised you'd be Tesla But you're just another Edison Because Tesla broke a patent All you ever broke were hearts I can't believe you tore humanity apart With the very same machines That could've been our brand new start

Fuck everything that Schlatt had. His power, his office, his mercenaries, his land. He tried his best to break the people who resisted him. He destroyed what the country stood for. He showed everyone his true colors at the Festival. He forced Technoblade into killing Tubbo with rockets. The same fireworks that could have signaled a new land. The same boy who represented the future. Schlatt destroyed L’Manberg, even if Wilbur was the one who blew it up. 

And the worst part is I loved you I loved you I loved you it's true And sometimes I feel like I still fucking do I lived here I loved here I thought it was true I'm so embarrassed I feel abused

The part that made shame rise in Quackity’s throat was that he did care about Schlatt. Maybe he still did. He lived in Manberg, he loved its president and yet he saw it turn to rubble. He was ashamed to have been the one who worked closest with Schlatt. Some people forgave him, some didn’t. Tubbo forgave him. He worked with Tubbo, after Schlatt’s death. He amassed enough power to still be part of the government. He wondered if it was worth it.

I feel so used I feel so used Take me to the moon Because I feel so used I feel so used

~~~

Inspired by Rät by Penelope Scott

Masterlist

https://thelullabyer12.tumblr.com/post/639129395216433152/masterlist-of-2021

[lady-divine-writes]

ACITW AU one-shot “Hidden Talents” (Rated PG13)

Summary: After the stress and pressure of wedding planning drives them out of the city, Kurt and Sebastian hide out in Sebastian's old room. Kurt starts cleaning Sebastian's closet while Sebastian flips through old yearbooks, being of no help whatsoever. While weeding through Sebastian's collection of clothes and shoes, Kurt stumbles upon something he'd never thought he'd find in a million years - Sebastian's long lost violin. (4613 words)

Notes: So, we all remember that in ACITW Sebastian plays the violin, that Julian claimed he was really good at it, and could have probably done something with it? Then it just never gets mentioned, not even once by Sebastian's parents, which leads me to believe there's a reason. This one-shot explores that reason, and whether or not Sebastian is really as proficient as his brother claims.

Part of ACITW AU

Read on AO3

“Donate or keep?” Kurt asks, holding up a fitted Marc Jacobs polo, fashionable despite its age. Then again, polo shirts are the standard, and designer never goes out of style. Like a fine wine, it matures, even if the shirt’s owner - sitting cross-legged on his bed, chuckling over photos in an old yearbook - has managed to remain perpetually sixteen.

His sense of humor pinging at a solid age twelve.

“Jeff, you bastard!” Sebastian snorts, flipping off a photo that Kurt can’t see from where he’s standing. Sebastian finds a block of sloppy text at the bottom right corner and runs a fingertip over it. He reads the slanted script, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, gatekeeper of another undignified snort. “Fuck, I miss you, man! See you at the wedding.”

Kurt clears his throat, aggravated by the amount he keeps losing Sebastian’s attention, but he can’t help smiling either. They don’t reminisce about high school often - too many mines left undetonated in those fields. But it’s nice to see Sebastian like this, especially considering the current stress they’re both under - a stress that’s driven them from their penthouse in the city back home to Westerville for the next few weeks.

Unfortunately, retreating to this sanctuary of family and nostalgia has caused that stress to amplify tenfold.

“Sebastian,” Kurt sings when even his most dramatic throat clearing doesn’t do the trick. “Oh, Sebastian. Eyes up here, please.”

Sebastian’s head snaps Kurt’s way, his brow pinched as if he only now remembered that Kurt is in the room with him, and that they have a job to do. “What?”

“Donate,” Kurt repeats in a syrupy tone (more like pine tar as opposed to maple - thicker, darker, more bitter), shaking the navy blue shirt on its hanger for emphasis, “or keep?”

“Keep,” Sebastian decides in an instant, then returns to his yearbook, snickering at another picture on the same page.

“Good,” Kurt murmurs, setting the polo aside. I intend on borrowing that one, he thinks, finding the silver lining since he’s the only one of the two of them taking this task seriously. He rifles through the closet and pulls out another shirt, one less style-savvy than the polo. That’s okay. At this point, it can be deemed retro. Regardless, Kurt has no intention of borrowing it. “How about this one? Donate or keep?”

Sebastian’s eyes flutter up from the page, barely focusing on the shirt before returning to the book in his lap. “Keep.”

Kurt rolls his eyes as he lays this shirt over the polo. He’d really hoped this one would end up in the donate box. If they hold on to it, there’s a chance Sebastian might actually decide to wear it, which puts the burden on Kurt to come up with something for himself that matches (provided they don’t want to run the risk of blinding anyone).

Kurt didn’t fall in love with Sebastian for his taste in clothes, which, to be fair, is decent - long lines; primary colors; simple, clean-cut elegance that pairs well with Kurt’s bolder, more adventurous choices. Sebastian can be quite the fashion plate himself when he has a mind to, one rogue t-shirt notwithstanding.

He lets Kurt style him more times than not so Kurt can’t complain.

Kurt goes back to the closet and selects a pair of shorts he knows don’t fit Sebastian anymore. They’re from Sebastian’s lacrosse days, when his thighs were bulkier, his glutes rounder. Not that Sebastian doesn’t have a gorgeous body now. His fitness regimen is impressive, even by Kurt’s standards. But spending hours on end running up and down a grass field does wonders for the buns and thighs.  

Kurt doesn’t want to banish everything from Sebastian’s Dalton days. Sebastian’s lacrosse uniforms were the first things Kurt slipped into the keep box without asking his say so. But these tan shorts are atrocious! He’s glad that after an hour of this, they’ll finally have a submission to the donate box, which has collected only dust so far along with one lonely copy of Mein Kampf - a relic from senior year AP European History.

“Donate or keep?” Kurt asks, dangling the garment presumptively over the donation box.

Sebastian glances at it, tilting his head and giving the matter a soupcon of thought. “Donate.”

Kurt removes the shorts from their clips with a sigh of relief. Finally! he thinks. Now we’re getting somewhere! But before he has the chance to drop them in, Sebastian recants (without looking up). “No, keep. Keep.”

“What!” Kurt stares at Sebastian, mouth agape. “Why? These don’t even fit you!”

“Are they too big or too small?”

“Too big! Plus, they’re cargo shorts, Sebastian! Cargo shorts!”

“They’ll be good for layering.”

Kurt’s eyes go buggy and wide. Sebastian hasn’t peeked, but he grins knowing what Kurt must look like right now, that vein in his head that throbs when he gets upset ready to burst. “When in the world would you need to layer shorts!?”

“I dunno,” Sebastian mumbles, eyes glued to a new page.  

Kurt growls, slamming the offensive item into the overflowing keep box, which might as well be labeled the Why are we wasting our time here? box. “Are you planning on getting rid of anything?”

“Uh …” Sebastian looks up and around. “Yes. That burrito wrapper over there.” He points to the corner of his desk where the trash from their lunch had been unceremoniously abandoned in favor of this. “That definitely needs to go.”

“Ha ha,” Kurt says, reluctantly cleaning up the mess. He objects to playing maid in his fiance’s old bedroom, but since he’s not currently doing anything of value, he grabs the stiff paper wrapper and crumples it in his hands - no, strangles it, using it as a stand-in for Sebastian’s neck. Sebastian turns to the next page, but looks up when he hears the wrapper succumb to Kurt’s crushing fingers.

“Oh, wait! I don’t think I finished …” Sebastian gestures repeatedly at the wadded wrapper, unable to think of a suitable end to his sentence, his brain sandwiched between curbing Kurt’s annoyance and processing the sentiments on the page without them bringing a tear to his eye. People say that if high school was one of the best times in your life, you were probably a privileged asshole. Well, he was. And it was … mostly. “I may want to hold on to that a little while longer.”

“Why!?”

“Dunno.”

“What the---!?” Kurt slams the balled up wrapper down with an irritated yawp. “Cleaning out your closet was your idea you know!”

“Oh contraire,” Sebastian retorts with maddening superiority. “All I said was that I may want to siphon out a few things while I’m here. You’re the one who came up with the brilliant idea of paring down my things and donating them to charity.”

“And why not? What good does any of this stuff do just sitting here in this closet? It’s not like you’re planning on moving any of it to our place and wearing it!”

“True, but if I get rid of it, what would my mother have in her later years to rummage through sentimentally, hold to her cheek and sigh when she misses me?”

Kurt shakes his head slowly, unamused on Charlotte’s behalf. “That’s just … horrible. Like the plot of a bad Hallmark Christmas movie.”

“There are good Hallmark Christmas movies? I sure as hell never seen one.”

“Hmph. And you say I watch too many cheesy chick flicks.”

“You do, but that’s entirely beside the point.”

“You’ve got tons of clothes here you don’t use,” Kurt presses with renewed vigor. “It wouldn’t hurt to get rid of some of it, make someone else’s day brighter by giving them the opportunity to purchase name brands for a bargain. I know that always cheers me up.”

“Weren’t you the one telling me that as much as you love Marie Kondo, closet purging is overwhelming the charity industry, and that most of the stuff we donate ends up on barges traveling the world, bouncing from port to port until they inevitably sink into the sea and devastate the aquatic ecosystem?”

“Yes, but at the time you were trying to get me to trim down my Jimmy Choo collection.”

“Because no one in their right mind needs eighty-six pairs of the same patent leather loafer, Kurt!”

Kurt tuts sharply. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”

“I do know you! That’s how I knew that if I came out against your plan, you’d get loud and yell-y! That’s what I was trying to avoid! I only went along with it because …“ Sebastian’s sentence cuts off when he clamps his jaw shut with a clack that shoots straight up Kurt’s spine. If Sebastian’s tongue had been anywhere near his teeth, part of it would have been chomped clean off.

“Because what?” Kurt asks, sore at being accused of acting ‘yell-y’ - a stone’s throw too close to ‘groomzilla’, which they’ve both accused one another of too many times in the last three months to count.

Sebastian sighs, rearranges his legs on the bed so that they’re spread and not twisted like a pretzel. “Asking you up here was an excuse to get you alone for five frickin’ minutes. We’ve been swamped since the second we got here! We left the city to escape your friends and my friends and the wedding planner’s incessant phone calls. But my mom and Olivia took over where everyone else left off.”

“They’re just excited for us,” Kurt says soothingly, not admitting yet that he knows exactly how Sebastian feels.

“I realize that. And I’m glad they’re excited but …” Sebastian thumbs the edges of the pages he has yet to read, watches them fall beneath his hand one by one “… who knew that deciding to get married would mean never getting a moment’s peace?”

“I guess they figure we’ll get enough of that after we’re married.”

“Then they don’t know us very well, do they?” Sebastian scoffs, venom lacing his words, so palpable it gives Kurt a rash.

Ever since Kurt moved up the ranks from Flying Monkey in the cast of Wicked to the more coveted role of Fiyero, he’s been in higher demand, and thus, less available. Even to Sebastian.

Kurt has dreamed of planning his own wedding for years. He’d started an idea book along the way, cutting out photographs from bridal magazines and gluing them into the pages, creating palettes and themes depending on current trends, potential venues, and time of year. But with both Kurt’s and Sebastian’s schedules so hectic, they had to weigh the importance of Kurt planning their wedding against the probability of them marrying before the turn of the century.

Getting married won, but only by a slim margin.

They hired the best wedding planner in the city, recommended by everyone in their tax bracket, whose artistic vision matched Kurt’s nearly beat by beat (according to the pictures on her website of ceremonies she’d helped bring to fruition). To Sebastian’s naive mind, that meant they would leave everything in her capable hands while they went on with their lives, drop in for the occasional consultation to check that the roses she chose suit Kurt’s vision or that the place settings have the right number of candles in them.

But Kurt literally hated everything their planner came up with.

So they’ve had to be present for every second of their wedding’s creation to ensure they’ll get the chance to celebrate the way they want.

They’re paying someone else thousands of dollars for Kurt to plan their wedding anyway.

The irony is staggering.

To that end, they’re having two weddings - one for their New York friends and associates, and a second intimate ceremony for their Ohio family.

Sebastian knew from go that Kurt’s pack of female friends from high school would descend upon them and monopolize Kurt’s time with the obligatory brunches and showers, which was understandable and therefore forgivable. What Sebastian didn’t factor in was the amount in which the theater company would use Kurt’s engagement as a PR instrument, slipping it into every interview, at every opportunity how one of their leading male cast members is months away from wedding his wealthy boyfriend, playing the whole thing up as some sort of fairy tale (with the term ‘fairy’ vaguely but constantly applied).

Broadway’s full of gays, remember! And this one’s gettin’ hitched!

Sebastian thought the whole thing vulgar but he didn’t sweat it … not until the side-effects of that exploitation began to bleed in to their every day lives.

Namely the celebrity.

Sebastian is accustomed to having eyes on him. He’s a handsome man and he knows it. He’s used his charm and his checkbook to open doors that weren’t already propped for his arrival his entire life. What he wasn’t used to was the sheer amount of eyes that would follow him everywhere. Letters addressed to Kurt showed up at his office. Paparazzi camped out on their doorstep. Admirers stopped him on the street to ask him every manner of question.

And Kurt’s fans knew no shame.

An unsolicited tide of attention chased them back home, along with an utter lack of privacy because everybody knows.

Everybody.

Even out here in backwater Ohio.

Checkers at the supermarket, cashiers at Target, the guy filling up the tanks at the gas station down the block, pretty much every single person they’ve come in contact with has congratulated them on their wedding.

How people found out Kurt and Sebastian had gone to Ohio, Sebastian has no idea. They left in the middle of the night and drove so they wouldn’t have to fuss with tickets. No one needed to be informed because time off for both of them had been arranged ahead of time. But someone found out they’d left early, and that person told because they’ve received everything from gift baskets to magnums of champagne at both the Smythe estate and Kurt’s father’s home.

The (now mildly - because that’s considered progress) homophobic country club that refused to let Kurt and Sebastian take dance lessons as a couple had the nerve to call and congratulate Greg and Charlotte on their son’s upcoming nuptials, offering them use of their main ballroom for the wedding, the reception, any accompanying shindigs they had planned - the same ballroom that hosted both Presidents Reagan and Carter during their administrations (they mentioned more than twice).

Olivia happened to be at the house the day they called, so Charlotte gave her the honor of the telling them where they could shove their offer.

It made Olivia’s day.

“If you’d told me from the beginning that you wanted to get me alone,” Kurt says, arching a suggestive eyebrow, “we’d be on your bed making out instead of doing mindless busywork on opposite ends of the room.”

“Ooo. Sounds like a plan,” Sebastian says, throwing Kurt a wink … then goes back to his yearbook, finger raised in a pause gesture. “Just … give me … one second.”

Kurt crosses his arms over his chest and huffs. “Wow. That’s just … that’s just … wow. Thanks a lump.” Ego bruised, he turns back to the closet. He pushes the clothes aside, giving up on that front for a while, and tackles the floor. He smirks when he sees Sebastian’s shoes, stored in their boxes, lined up in rows and stacked three deep. If he knows his fiance, the majority of them are boat shoes, each in the exact same style but different colors.

Make fun of me for my eighty-six pairs of loafers, will you?

He reaches for the topmost box but gets distracted when his hand brushes something hard and canvas leaning against the wall. Kurt steps aside to let more light in since the object blends in with the shadows. Kurt gets a good look at it, realizes what it is, and his heart stutters in his chest.

“Oh my …” He grabs hold of the handle and tugs it out gently. “So here it is. The fabled violin.”

That succeeds in getting Sebastian’s attention. His eyes light up when he sees Kurt approach carrying the case in his arms. Kurt hands the violin case over and Sebastian takes it, bringing it to him like a sacred artifact from his own past - one he thought he’d never lay eyes on again.

“It’s been forever,” Sebastian gasps. “I forgot I put it in this closet. I thought my mother had it.”

“Why did you give it up?” Kurt asks, watching Sebastian open the case to reveal the sublime instrument, wood polished and gleaming, appearing deceptively brand new with the exception of a few tells that speak to how much Sebastian played it - light-colored wear on the fretboard, a cloudiness to the finish on the chin rest, scratches here and there on the veneer.

“It’s just one of those things that faded from my life, stopped bringing me joy … about the same time everything else did.”

“Do you think you’d ever play it again?”

“Possibly.” Sebastian removes the violin from its case and holds it lengthwise in front of his eyes, examining it from end to end. “I mean, it’s been a dog’s age. I’m not sure I’d be any good at it.”

“Any chance it’s like riding a bike and you never forget?”

“Only one way to find out.” Sebastian plucks the strings in succession and smiles. It doesn’t sound too far off pitch to Kurt. Sebastian adjusts the strings, checking them against one another to make sure they’re in tune. Then he removes the bow from its resting place and tightens it. “Don’t rag on me too hard if I completely suck at this.”

“I won’t,” Kurt says. “I promise. I’ll just, you know, bring it up subtly at special occasions and bank holidays, maybe find a way to fit it into my toast at the wedding.”

“I’m holding you to that.” Sebastian rosins up his bow. He fits the violin underneath his chin. From the second it touches his skin, his attitude changes. He simultaneously tenses and relaxes, reminiscent of the way he behaved during their first sushi date, when he dropped eel and flecked soy sauce all over Kurt’s clothes. Kurt refrains from laughing at the memory. He doesn’t want Sebastian to think he’s laughing at him. But he can’t help smiling. Yes, their past is riddled with landmines, but the memories hidden in the flat, stable ground between never cease to make him glad.

Glad that he and Sebastian got together in the end.

Sebastian runs the bow experimentally over the strings, the sound it produces warm and rich, like hot Godiva cocoa on a cold, rainy day. Sebastian leans into that tone as he runs through scales, drawing end notes out a full four beats before launching into the next set. The quickness in which he picks it up takes Kurt’s breath away.

If Kurt was thinking of making fun of Sebastian for anything, he surely isn’t now.

“Why don’t we start with a classic, hmm?” Sebastian suggests, cheeks starting to pink from the look of open and unabashed awe on Kurt’s face.

“Where do you want to start? Bach? Beethoven?”

“I think …” Sebastian sits up taller, corrects his posture “… Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”

“Are you sure?” Kurt teases, but with less snark than usual. “I wouldn’t want you to set yourself up to fail or anything.”

“It’s good to go back to the basics. Limber up the old chops, so to speak.”

“Are they still chops if you’re talking about your fingers?”

“Don’t know,” Sebastian says with a shrug. “I didn’t invent it.”

Kurt settles in comfortably on the bed as he waits for Sebastian to pull something mid-range from his bag of tricks, like Minuet in G, a piece that millions of children have hammered out on innocent instruments since learning the recorder in middle school became mandatory. But true to his word, Sebastian starts with Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, picking the notes on the strings with his forefinger. But one verse in, he puts the bow to the strings, and starts a whole other story.

Kurt had expected Sebastian to be rusty, suffer a few false starts before he got into the swing of things. Scales are one thing. They follow a predictable pattern. It’s fairly simple to keep them smooth. But Sebastian sounds like he put his violin down for the last time yesterday. Kurt almost stops him to accuse him of having a secret violin hidden somewhere that he’s been practicing on this entire time, probably at his office where Kurt wouldn’t see. He considers pulling out his phone and texting Sebastian’s secretary, interrogating her to see if she’ll spill about any mid-afternoon practice sessions when the partners were out at lunch.

Though, in this particular instance, Kurt doesn’t know if Sebastian is more likely to hide his tremendous talent or rub it in his face.

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star ends and Sebastian melds it into a classical melody, one Kurt can’t name off-hand though he knows he’s heard it before. It’s slow, romantic - the kind of piece a director would use to cap off the credits on a bittersweet rom-com, one where the tragic heroine, diagnosed with a withering variety of late-stage cancer, dies after the love of her life proposes.

It’s sad.

So incredibly sad.

That sadness lingers in the air after the notes dissolve, becomes stronger, more powerful with every sway of Sebastian’s body. He’d closed his eyelids when this piece started and he’s fallen into the sadness, let it envelope him.

It’s become a part of him. Maybe it’s always been a part of him and he’s just now letting it out for Kurt to see.

Or he never intended on Kurt seeing it, and this is simply an accident.

Whatever it is, Sebastian finally notices it because he switches, keeps the same key but changes the song, seamlessly transforming into something more contemporary, slightly more upbeat.

Kurt’s heart stops when he realizes the song Sebastian is playing is from Wicked. Not only that, it’s a song Kurt sings as Fiyero.

As Long as You’re Mine.

Sebastian has never, to Kurt’s knowledge, played that song on the violin or any instrument, has never sung that song himself, hasn’t seen the sheet music. He’s heard Kurt sing it over and over, practicing it in their bathroom until the tile could sing it back to him. But now he’s playing it on an instrument he hasn’t picked up in decades.

Kurt swallows hard, heart swollen with pride but his chest hollow with jealousy.

That’s talent. True talent.

Even Blaine might not be that talented.

Kurt would kill for that kind of talent.

Years they’ve been together, they’re about to get married, and Kurt thought he knew everything there is to know about this man. But Sebastian is still such an enigma. What is Kurt going to learn in another ten years? After twenty?

On the one hand, it’s daunting the way these secrets pop up out of nowhere.

But more than that, Kurt is excited to find out.

Sebastian plays through the first verse again when the song ends, a twinkle in his eyes trying to coax Kurt into singing it while he plays. Sebastian plays with such emotion that, even though Kurt would love to duet with him, he can’t bring himself to - too transfixed to make his mouth move, or even hum the tune. But he hears the words in his head, hears their meaning ring in his ears. He’s never paid too much attention to the words outside of what they mean in the musical. Now he’s hearing them, understanding them, for a different reason all together:

Kiss me too fiercely Hold me too tight I need help believing You're with me tonight My wildest dreamings Could not foresee Lying beside you With you wanting me

Sebastian ends not on a note of completion, but open-ended, with the promise of more.

Longing for more.

“Julian was right,” Kurt says, clearing his heart from his throat.

“He’ll be ecstatic to hear that,” Sebastian teases, casually shelving the emotions his violin brought to the surface.

“You do play beautifully. You should have gone to NYADA.”

“That’s … that’s very kind of you, babe,” Sebastian says, flashing a rare shy smile, knowing how great a compliment that is coming from Kurt, how much NYADA has meant to him. “But being good at the violin and being a musician are two completely different things. And I’m not a musician. Or a performer. Not like you. I enjoy it … I definitely enjoy that you enjoy it … but it’s not in my blood. I mean, obviously, seeing as I could put this violin down for so long and not even think about it, hmm?”

Kurt wonders about that after Sebastian says it. It’s easy to believe considering Kurt found out about Sebastian’s playing not from Sebastian but from Julian (the night he devised a plan to break the two of them out of dance lessons no less). Other than that, he can’t remember for the life of him either brother bringing it up again. Even Charlotte, who praises in excess everything her children have accomplished, has never brought it up, not even to say that she misses it. The way Sebastian holds the violin to his chest reminds Kurt of the way Blaine held his favorite guitar - as if it, and not Kurt, were his soulmate. As with so many things in Sebastian’s past, Kurt suspects there’s a bigger story surrounding this violin and why he stopped playing it than he’s putting on.

It had faded from his life, he’d said. Stop bringing him joy about the same time everything else did.

The same time things went south with Julian and Sebastian moved away, which would explain why it seems to have been erased from family history.

“So what do you think? Donate?” Sebastian asks with a surreptitious sniffle. He doesn’t let go of the violin, doesn’t return it to its case. On the contrary, he seems to hug it tighter. “Maybe to one of those inner city performing arts programs you love to volunteer for so much?”

“No! Keep! A definite keep!” Kurt gushes. “Maybe you can put it down and never play it again, but now that I’ve heard you, I don’t think I can exist without your playing in my life!”

“But I thought you said I was keeping too much stuff.”

“Meh,” Kurt dismisses with a wave, done with the whole concept of cleaning Sebastian’s closet anyhow. “What’s too much stuff when you can fit half of Central Park in your penthouse? Plus, I have to think of your mother, right? Wasting away in this run-down, rickety shack with nothing at all to remind her of her youngest son? Especially not the thousands of photos and videos she’s taken over the years.”

Sebastian looks at Kurt through long eyelashes, a wicked streak creeping into his smile, turning it into a full-fledged smirk. “I guess we could always switch out some of my old lacrosse uniforms for it.”

“What?” Kurt sits up straight, the color draining from his face. He knew Sebastian would find out about that eventually (on their honeymoon, if not sooner), but he didn’t think he’d caught him when he did it. “No! No, no, no reason to do that. Who says I even … uh … weren’t we going to make out?”

[thecluelessredhead]

Sunset Curve: A Hollywood Legacy

Word Count: 1454

Chapter 5 of ???

Additional notes at the bottom.

Chapter 5

“Okay, wait,” Rachel interrupted. Alex groaned and flopped back onto his long since forgotten pillows. “Start from the beginning.”

“Have you been listening at all?” Alex said all too loudly. Rachel shushed him, afraid they would be heard. “We’ve been here for like an hour, I can’t start over!” 

Rachel scooted eagerly closer to her brother, a pleading look in her eyes. “Just tell me the part about Willie again.” 

Alex laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “That’s not what the point of the story is!” Rachel pressed a finger to her lips. Both glanced nervously at the door, as if waiting for their formidable mother to burst through the door and lecture them or throw Alex out the window, or something else outlandish yet totally in character. 

“Okay, what was the point of the story?” she asked. “You’re no good at parties?” 

“Forget it.” Alex stood up, only half intending to truly leave. Rachel seized his arm and forced him back down, even though she knew he wasn’t going anywhere, and if he was he could easily push past her limp hold on him. “Why do I tell you stories? You’re patently difficult.” Rachel nodded, seeming to agree, but not really listening. “Are you listening?” 

“Mhm, I’m the worst, you’re the best, yada yada yada. The point?”

“Did you miss the part where I kissed Luke?” Alex asked, seriously considering leaving.

“Yes, Alex, I must have. What I did hear was you meeting Handsome New Boy with excellent hair, and then being approached by Olivia Garcia.”

Alex stood up and paced the room. “Right, but I can’t focus on that until I figure out the other thing.”

“What other thing?” Rachel was toying with him, following him with her eyes. He stopped walking only for a moment to glare at her. “Right. Sorry. So, he kissed you. He was drunk. So, you kissed him back, you were caught up in the moment. Did I fix everything?” 

“No, you fixed nothing.” Alex turned and looked out of the window, which was still open. Light was shining through it, creating a golden sliver across the floor, which was interrupted by Alex and the light reflected beautifully off of his golden locks. “I have my feelings under control, thanks. What I’m worried about is the awkwardness. We’re in a band together, and our band is very clearly going places. He and I can’t have issues.” 

“Wait, you said you have your feelings under control.”

“I do.” Alex turned away from the window to look at Rachel, confused. 

“Right, but you’re scared of things being awkward?” she clarified. 

“Yes!” Alex insisted, visibly upset. 

“Are both awkward and afraid not emotions?”

“Well, awkward is a situation, and fear is a response,” Alex leaned backward out of the window, and peeked to his left and right, looking for some out of this conversation. 

“All emotions are responses,” Rachel countered. “And yours?”

“My emotional responses are fine!” Alex snapped. “Just help me!” 

“Fine.” She stood up, cracked her knuckles, and walked to the door. She pushed it open and looked this way and that. Then she snapped the door shut and ran back to the bed. “I’ve never been in a relationship. I’ve never had my drunk best friend kiss me naked in the ocean the day I met a handsome man, and performed the show of a lifetime. You’re really in a pickle.” Alex groaned and leaned further out of the window. “Look, I would just talk to him. You two have been friends for the past fifteen years. Nothing can possibly change that, so just shut up and talk to him.” 

Alex laughed and pulled his head back into the room. “Ooh, shut up and talk to him. I’ll be busy.”

Rachel opened the door. “What I mean is don’t hole up in your sarcasm.” With that, she left the room, closing the door behind her. 

Alex, determining that enough time had passed and he could head to Bobby’s left through the window, still exhausted, but with a renewed spirit. 

Reggie, who, as Rose had said, made it home at a reasonable time, had woken up early. He had gotten up early for two reasons. First, he threw up. Then, he went to tell Carla everything that had happened. She listened intently, nodded at the important parts, and grinned at the fun parts. 

Though it was only ten in the morning, halfway through Reggie’s story, the fighting started. That day, unfortunately, the topic was Reggie and Carla. 

“He’s your son, too!” a woman shouted. Reggie cringed and stopped speaking. 

“How am I supposed to control him! He’s seventeen!” a man holler back. 

“I don’t care! He can’t just run off to be a rockstar!” the woman yelled. 

“I don’t care what he does!” the man snapped. Carla got suddenly to her feet, hurried to the door, and shut it quietly. She sat back down on the bed, her legs folded beneath her. 

Neither siblings said anything. Reggie had his hands folded in his lap, and was staring intensely at them. His hair was falling down over his dejected face, and Carla couldn’t catch a glimpse of his face. 

A tear fell from the corner of his eye, and onto his clasped hands. He jerked his hand up, and wiped away anymore, but Carla had seen. 

“Hey.” She scooted forward on her ankles and dipped her head to meet his eyes. Reggie couldn’t stop the tears now. 

“That’s the first time it’s been about me,” he sobbed, not looking at Carla. 

“It wasn’t really about you,” Carla assured him. “They just need a scapegoat. A reason to be upset. Trust me.”

“I do. But, why do I feel like crap?” 

“Because this is crap.” She leaned toward him, and pulled him into her warm, strong embrace, letting his tears stain her shirt.

Luke had called a band meeting. And to Sunset Curve, mainly Luke, calling a band meeting meant saying something cryptic and then they all discuss it. 

“We gotta start thinking about the future of the band,” he said. Reggie and Bobby, who had been sprawled next to each other on the couch in a way that bros do in a way that is completely heterosexual, both groaned and exchanged a frusterated glance.

“I thought we just did that,” Reggie pointed out, sitting up. Bobby followed in suit.

“Dude, we just played the Orpheum. Give us a break!” Bobby said.

“Exactly! We’re on a roll! We can’t stop now!” Luke countered. “We gotta talk about our next move. Olivia Garcia?”

“I don’t know, Luke,” Alex spoke up nervously. “Our senior year starts next week. Can we just… wind down for… at least this week?” Why he was suddenly afraid to speak up to Luke, he wasn’t sure. Then, Rachel's words came back to him. Are both awkward and afraid not emotions? Just shut up and talk to him. Luke looked at Alex, and his gaze softened ever so slightly. Reggie cocked his head, confused, and Bobby leaned forward, his hand on his wrist, clearly very entertained. Alex had had an effect on Luke. Whether it was because Luke was his friend and cared about his opinion, or because Alex had broken the tie. Maybe Luke only agreed because he still felt weird about the kiss. Whatever the reason, all the boys were grateful. 

“Fine,” Luke agreed. He rose from his position on what he called his couch despite the fact that it was Bobby’s house. “I’m gonna go for a walk. Clear my head.” He looked at Alex, though the blond couldn’t tell if it was pointedly or longingly. Bobby and Reggie felt like a live audience as they watched Alex stand too and follow Luke quickly from the studio. 

Alex found Luke on the street, unmoving, looking across the street at an empty bike rack, whatever that was supposed to symbolize. He wandered closer to his friend so that they stood side by side, facing the roaring cars. 

“Are you okay?” Alex asked. Luke nodded. Alex waited for him to elaborate, because he didn’t want to say what was on his mind before Luke established the topic of the conversation. 

“I’m really sorry.” 

This was not what Alex expected him to say, and he turned to face him surprise, so his back was now to the traffic. 

“I don’t know what I was thinking yesterday. I didn’t mean that kiss, and I didn’t mean to screw anything up,” Luke continued, his eyes on his shoes. When Alex realized he had finished speaking, he pulled his best friend into a hug, glad that particular conflict had come to an end. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered.

Notes: Thanks for making it to the end! A reblog is very much appreciated! I’m still sort of pissed at myself about the whole Luke and Alex thing, but that’s over, and hopefully you’re still here.

[lilithsgayadoptednephew]

Holy Hands

Fandoms: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!   Not Rated Graphic Depictions Of Violence F/M, Other Complete Work

Master List

Chapter 8

Diavolo pulled Lucifer into the nearest empty room.

"Did you know of this?!" He shouted.

Lucifer wasn't caught off guard by the question.

"I knew the humans faced a few threats...but I had assumed they weren't aware of them."

"You knew earth was that dangerous? And you let me send Solomon and MC back? " He stared wide-eyed at the fallen angel.

"I didn't know the specific's my Lord...I just knew there was a threat. Not so many... horrifically imminent threats." Lucifer kept a cool facade but his mind was racing just as fast as Diavolo's.

How had he not known the dangers he was sending his MC into? How had they found out about these threats when even he wasn't aware?

Diavolo asked Lucifer a question, and he realized he'd stopped paying attention in favor of his own inner thoughts.

"Pardon?"

"I said 'have I been stupid?'"

Lucifer was incredulous. "Of course not."

"You don't even know what I'm referring to."

"What then?"

"I…" Diavolo choked on his words for a moment. "I tried to unite the realms… but this makes me wonder what else I don't know. Was I naive to think I could foster friendship with a place and a people I don't even slightly understand?"

This was a much more complex question. One Lucifer would have trouble finding an answer for.

0"Alright so...what do we do now?" Acacia looked to MC as they walked back to their room.

"We live I guess, you heard them there's nothing we can do."

Acacia nodded. Just live, like they did before. Reaching the room Chester bounded up to the humans wagging his tail. Brand new bone clamped proudly in his teeth.

0Hoomans see this? This is New Bone .

New bone is so much better than bone, it's got marrow and everything! See? You see new bone? Isn't it the BEST THING EVER!?

Yes it is, Chester can tell from the pets and the high voice-noises the hoomans make. Don't just pet that side pet this side. Oh oh now do this side!

What? No, don't stop pettingggg! Put the fang-noodle DOWN! Down hooman! Ah the fang-noodle gets all the attention.

Chester isn't too worried. They all share a kennel now so he'll have to get more pets eventually.

0Lucifer stood outside the door. He could hear the silly hound they had running amok inside. He swore that the dog was trained to act untrained.

In his gloved hands he clutched a small stack of papers. Diavolo and him had agreed on this proposal, but he didn't think he'd have to tell them right now .

After the way they'd been behaving lately he was hoping to be able to give them the cold shoulder for a week or two, but now he had to ask them for a favor.

No not a favor! If anything he was doing them a favor by offering this opportunity. Still he had to squash his pride down in order to knock.

"It's open!"

"Heh"

Slowly he turned the handle.

Opening the door, he had mentally prepared himself for the jumping, noisy, excited canine. Still it jarred him when the thing stood on its back paws and stuck its nose in Lucifer's face. Lucifer gave it his patented disappointed stare and the dog backed down.

"Hello Lucifer, to what do we owe the pleasure?" MCs voice snapped his attention to them like a trained animal. Damn their velvety drawl.

"Whaddya want?" Acacia translated.

Straightening himself up to full height he fixed the siblings with a stare.

"I've come to discuss the matter of your... permanent residence in the Devildom" he stated.

The siblings looked at each other in confusion.

"Permanent?" Acacia tilted her head. Chester copied the gesture.

"Yes...my brothers…" Lucifer swallowed "and myself...have grown quite fond of your presence here MC. And despite Acacia's...many flaws, she has made her mark here as well."

Acacia tried to think of a good come-back but none came to mind. Lucifer, however, was on a roll.

"Due to the current circumstances, as well as the clear and present threats of Earth, Lord Diavolo and I have elected to move you here permanently."

MC's mind stalled for a moment while they processed the words. Stay permanently? They wanted it so badly it physically ached, but looking at Acacia she seemed reproachful.

Acacia comes first.

"That is an incredibly generous offer Lucifer, but we have to discuss it before we make any decisions."

"Alone" Acacia clarified.

Lucifer stared at them a moment longer. What if they refused? It didn't even occur to him they'd refuse such an offer, but when they didn't agree immediately…

"Very well." He stepped out of the room.

He wouldn't let MC go back. He was giving them the illusion of choice, but too much had happened. On his watch they'd died, and when he sent them away they almost died again. He'd already been given more chances then he needed to keep MC safe and this time he was determined.

They would stay in the Devildom with him where no one would even look at them without his knowledge. He would keep them so close that even a Celestial threat would think twice, because to threaten you would be to challenge him. And to challenge him is to die.

Meanwhile on the other side of the door.

"What about our home MC? We worked so hard just to keep it afloat and now you want to throw it all away?"

"I'm not throwing anything away, I'm just saying you shouldn't make a decision so hastily. We did work hard and we've had to work hard for a long time, but I really think we can have a better life if we stay here."

"Yeah but it won't be our life!" Acacia placed both hands on her chest as she yelled. "You'll be abandoning everything we've worked for since…" Acacia trailed off, eyes unusually shiny for the upbeat girl. MC shook their head slowly, wide eyed.

"That house is not our home, our home made that house. Don't you see? It doesn't matter where we go, we are our home." MC cupped Acacia's face, pressing their forehead to hers. "I won't make you stay here fuzzy, wherever you go I will follow. That is home." They promised.

Acacia hugged MC tight around the middle. MC wrapped their arms around her neck and rested their chin on top of her head.

"All our stuff is still there…" she mumbled into their chest.

"We can replace it"

"We can't replace my journal"

"You can write a new one, and fill it with new experiences"

"What about your art?"

"I don't make it to keep it, I make it to make it."

"This is crazy"

"Well it's up to you. I'll follow whatever you decide."

"Nuuuuuu that's too much pressure!" She whined, pulling out of the hug.

"I'm sorry Acacia you gotta decide...you can take your time." They soothed.

Acacia thought for a moment. She'd miss her friends back on Earth, but she'd miss the friends she'd already made in the Devildom. Especially Mammon and Beel. She was torn, there were so many pros and cons to consider. All of it tangled up in her head and made a jumbled mess.

MC was on their DDD, probably trying not to pressure her by staring. They always had her best interest at heart. They were so talented and cool, and she was so awkward and dumb. Why did she have to decide this?

She knew MC wanted to stay, she saw the way their face lit up when it was first suggested. She heard how their words picked up whenever they talked about the brothers. One brother in particular.

Lucifer was probably getting impatient outside. She didn't really like him but he obviously meant well. MC said they 'loved' him, but knowing them that probably didn't mean what she thought it did. She looked over at them again, they smiled softly down at their phone.

Could they make new memories here? Could they make this their home?

"Alright" she threw open the door to reveal Lucifer still waiting patiently.

"Give us the papers, we're staying."

[bleepblopbloop56]

The Murder in the Dressing Room

Chapter 4: Puzzle Peices

Chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, ao3

Warnings; blood, death, language, bit of crying, nothing too bad yet

As ALWAYS with this fic the wonderdul lovley beautiful person @pathos-logical did all the editing and 90% of the work. Go love her

((HI I FORGOT TO POST THIS YESTERDAY SO ITS ONE DAY LATE AND IM S O R R Y ))

One more thing before we get started, butnif yall ever wanna come into my askbox and just yell at me about this im so fuckin down for that! Or DM me and yell? Oh it gives me life.

((Reblogs with comments are very very VERY appreciated by the way))

-----

Officers swarmed the apartment just as they had swarmed the theater only days before. Roman was now being shoved into the spotlight by the press, and worse, being deemed suspect number one by every detective on the case. Well… almost every detective. 

"Victim showed obvious signs of a struggle," Remy started, and Logan thought back to the bruise on Roman's stomach, the one his fingertips had grazed over not long ago. He should say something. He didn't. "'Valuable' belongings, if you could call them that, are all in place, and his wallet still has cash, plus one expired credit card. It doesn't look like a robbery," Remy drawled on, circling the body like he belonged with the vultures lining up outside. "And based on… this-" he leaned down and lifted the mask off Remus, exposing his features- "it looks like you were right about our murderer." 

Not only was Remus's corpse adorned with a gold theater mask like the one that Thomas had been left with, it seemed a Joker-esque frown had been carved into Remus' mouth

"It doesn't make sense. I mean, an upper class actor from the nice part of town, and an unemployed man from the bad… What's the relation?" Logan voiced his thoughts, trying to push down the sick feeling that arose upon seeing a photo of Remus and Roman as children covered in the splattered blood. 

"Logan, you know the the relation…" Remus said quietly, eyes softening even as his voice hardened. "You really think it's a random coincidence that Roman moved to town and then both of his roommates were found dead by Roman?” His tone was harsh, but Logan could hear the underlying message. You’re not stupid, Logan, don't do this. Logan shook his head and stepped out into the hallway.

"Roman was with me all night," he admitted. "He has an alibi."

"Unless he fucking killed this guy and then went out and got you tipsy," Remy argued, but his eyes looked more pleading than accusatory. Logan's stomach twisted, and it took effort not to visibly wince. 

"You didn't see him when he found Remus," Logan said flatly. He had heard the scream all the way from the car. When he ran in, Roman had backed himself into a wall, screaming and crying harder than Logan had ever seen anyone cry. Breathing exercises could only go so far when you were five feet away from a dead body…

Logan had been forced to cover Roman's eyes and drag him out of the place to get him to calm down, and even then he'd shaken like a leaf until the ambulance showed up and he'd been treated for shock. 

"Logan I think you're too close to the case." Remy gently placed a hand on Logan's shoulder, but Logan jerked it away.

"How do you know Roman is a suspect and not a victim?" he snapped. "What evidence do you have that says he murdered these people? People he loved and was close to? Why would he wear Remus' clothing because it was too emotionally taxing to move his clothes out of Thomas' house? Why would he leave the bodies and evidence out lying around instead of disposing of them? This is a direct attack towards him, not by him, Remy." Logan was distantly aware his ranting was earning him more than a few confused stares by some of the other officers, but he couldn't bring himself to care. "Someone is out there killing people, and you're accusing an innocent victim based on one piece of evidence." Logan walked out of the building, leaving Remy alone at the scene before he could point out that that one piece was all they had.

_____

"Alright, first of all!" Remy slammed open the door of Logan's office, where Logan had been poring over case files for the past hour. "You don't just do that, okay? You don't just fuckin leave a scene like that and make me hitch a fuckin UBER back, okay? Do you know how sketchy that sounded?" Remy slammed his coffee down and threw off his satchel. "Hey bitch, come pick me up at this crime scene swarming with investigators, sorry my partner dumped my ass and took the car!" He demonstrated talking to the driver over his phone before dropping his hands and staring at Logan with his patented "are you fucking kidding me" face. 

"I apologize, Remington," Logan said tiredly. He set down his pen to give the appearance of giving Remy his full attention, but his mind was a hundred miles away.

"Don't fucking 'Remington' me!" was what Logan got for his efforts. He might have been Logan's inferior, but he sure as hell didn't act like it. "Listen, I get it. You're in love with your ex, who could be a murderer for all we know, and you're super pissed at me for telling you you're being unprofessional for the first time in your life. But that doesn't excuse any of this shit, alright?" Dropping all pretense, Logan dropped his head onto the desk, ready for Remy to shut the fuck up and get out of his office. 

"People. Are. Fucking. Dying. Logan," he growled, voice getting louder with each word. "So how bout you get off your ass and get your shit together!"

There was a beat of silence.

"Okay that's it, I'm done, end of rant." Remy dropped into the chair, going from furious to calm so suddenly it felt like he'd flipped a switch 

"Are you finished?" Logan deadpanned, rubbing his temple. Remy sucked on his straw, nodding silently and kicking his legs up in Logan's desk. Logan took a deep breath, straightening up and picking up his pen again.  "Good. Now can we get to work?" 

______

When Logan picked up Patton from daycare, it took everything in his power not to start sobbing. His baby was here, safe in his arms and alive. His profession wasn't one that exactly supported having kids, and it definitely wasn't one that made it easy to drop off his kid to a stranger and say "here, watch this while I'm gone."

Patton, for his part, didn't notice anything was wrong at first and just enjoyed the extra snuggle time with his dad. Instead of laying Patton down in the baby bed like he usually did for nap time at home, Logan had set him down in his own bed next to him, just wanting to hold Patton as close as possible. 

"Dada?" Patton didn't know many words, but he knew that one well, and it was Logan's favorite. Despite everything, he smiled on reflex, but his expression turned to one of alarm when Patton's bottom lip started to quiver. Patton pressed his little hands into Logan's cheeks, and with a start, Logan realized he'd been crying.

"No- I'm alright, Patton, Dada's alright, please don't cry," he shushed. He sat up slightly and bouncing Patton on his lap in an attempt to calm him down. When Patton's face began to screw up, he said again, slightly more desperately, "Shhh, look, Dada's fine-" But Patton wasn't stupid. He began to wail loudly, upset not only that he missing nap time but that his dad was crying. 

"Is everything okay in here?" Virgil asked, poking his head into the bedroom at the commotion. He was met with the sight of a bawling Patton and a completely overwhelmed Logan looking like he was heading the same way. Virgil wasted no time in walking in and taking Patton from Logan.

"You need a break, man," Virgil said over the crying. His eyes lit up as he was struck by an idea. "Hey, why don't you call your brother? Patton loves that doctor dude."

Logan shoved his head in his hands, trying to keep his breathing even. For a second he wanted to insist he was fine, he could handle this- but then he flinched when Patton's cries got even louder, and he could only sigh and nod. 

Doctor Emile Picani had always loved children. He’d always wanted kids of his own, but the one man he loved more than anything had passed away right after their second anniversary. Emile still wore his ring. So when his phone rang and he was met with his brother practically begging him to take Patton for a few days, he was more than happy to oblige. He was at the house the very next day to take Patton away for him.

"Thank you so much for doing this," Logan sighed, handing over the baby to Emile. Patton bounced and smiled at him, happily wrapping his arms around him the best he could. The night before, Logan had sat down Patton and explained he'd be going to have a playdate with Uncle Emile for a few days. He wasn't entirely certain Patton had understood any of it, but he looked happy enough in his uncle's arms.

Logan gave Patton a small kiss on the forehead before Emile left, straightening out his bright yellow sunflower dress in Emile's hands. (Patton had picked it out himself in the store, and who was Logan to say no to him?)

"Bye bye!" Patton waved enthusiastically, smiling at Logan as he got strapped into his carseat. 

"I love you, Patton," he smiled back, trying to pull up genuine cheer for him. He knew that sending Patton away for a day or two would be good for Logan, would let him grieve and mourn in private, but god was it hard sending his baby away. 

Virgil was waiting for him when he dragged himself away from the car and back into the apartment. 

"How ya holdin' up?" he asked gently, and that was the straw that broke the camel's back. Logan collapsed forward into his shoulder, despite the considerable height difference. It was sloppy and unprofessional, but it was also long overdue.

"Hey, hey, hey- dude, it's okay," Virgil tried, running a hand through Logan's hair. Logan's glasses were stabbing at Virgil's shoulder through his pajama shirt, and Logan had to be uncomfortable too. But Virgil wasn't going to mention that now. He just stayed standing as his friend heaved and sobbed, clutching at his shirt and desperately looking for comfort.

It was in moments like these that Virgil remembered Logan really was still just a kid. He might be a detective and act all mature and have a kid, but he was still just twenty-seven. He didn't really have his life together yet- because who the hell did in their twenties? And he had just lost his best friend, and now was the first time he'd let himself honestly cry. 

"Logan, it's okay," Virgil tried again when Logan's sobs had quieted to sniffles. But he only got a soft "Is it?" in return. 

----

The murder in the dressing room taglist:

@cataclysm-al @theteenagetrickster @intrurality-fusion @katie-the-noble-fangirl @whizzie72 @grayson-22 @i-have-n0-idea-what-im-d0ing @winterwonderland7669 @missieluvsmurder @sign-from-god-complex @dragonindigo245 @angryfanboyscreaming @ninja-wizard101 @sombraookami @crystalistrappedintheinternet @imtooaromanticforthis @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @dragon-hair @satanblessi @spookilyfingergunsoutofexistence @skruffy901 @selectivereality @nonbeenary-enbee @imbasicallyshakespear @cats-vetal-miking-vomit @incoherentfangirl @oofmood

[mittensmorgul]

haaaaa 14.09, and Michael’s speech at the end after he snatched Dean’s body back for himself:

Michael Dean: Yeah. When I gave up Dean, you didn't think to question it, to ask why? Dean was resisting me. He was too attached to you, to all of you. He wouldn't stop squirming -- to get out, to get back. So I left but not without leaving the door open just a crack. Castiel: Why wait? Michael Dean: To break him, to crush and disappoint him so completely that, this time, he'll be nice and quiet for a change -- buried. And he is. He's gone. And now I have a whole army out there, waiting, ready for my command, ready for this.

Michael supposedly engineered this entire ordeal, but out past 14.20... doesn’t that sound like exactly what CHUCK was doing all along?

If JACK qualified as “apocalyptic” in Chuck’s books, but Michael and his army of monsters ready to destroy the world in a literal apocalypse redux did not?

Because JACK is the piece on the game board that Chuck can’t control. He can’t account for Jack within the confines of his preferred narrative.

Jack is obviously the focus of Chuck’s current round of inflicting pain and sacrifice on his favorite characters, since they’ve all repeatedly sacrificed themselves for Jack’s sake in one way or another. But between this, and the surprise Michael encounters in 14.10 when Dean succeeds in locking him up in a bar fridge, and what Michael does in 14.14 after escaping Dean yet again:

[flashback] Rowena: Fate says Sam Winchester's going to off me, which makes dinners a bit awkward, but does give one a certain sense of security.  So whilst I'm flattered, I think we can both do better. Michael: Fine. Then how about this -- I'll leave you alive, find another host, and then I'll kill every one of the people in this bunker, everyone you care about. And you do care about them, no matter what you tell them, no matter what you tell yourself. So say yes. Choice is yours. [flash back to the present] Rowena/Michael: I had no intention of keeping my word, but I think she knew that. If only Dean had used that coffin when he had the chance.

Considering Michael ends up dead within minutes of delivering this taunt, it’s kind of interesting when re-interpreted as just another of Chuck’s manipulations.

Back to the scene from the beginning of 14.10 where Michael has literally begun his apocalypse, flooding Kansas City with monsters and trying to turn the entire population:

Michael: Now, this just feels right. Hope is an amazing thing, isn't it? You had no chance of winning this. None. But you had hope -- hope that I wouldn't see you coming, but I saw everything. And now I have my perfect vessel. I've just destroyed the one weapon that could really hurt me. Thanks for bringing that, by the way.

it’s immediately after this that Sam throws a holy oil molitov at Michael, giving Cas just enough time to contain Michael with the enochian cuffs.

Meanwhile Dean’s trapped in a strange loop inside his own mind, where Michael can keep him quietly out of the way:

(The door opens, and a woman walks in, holding a briefcase over her head to block the rain. Pamela turns from her spot at the bar and walks towards her) PAMELA Wet one out there, eh? WOMAN Yes. And you are...? PAMELA Pamela Barnes. Waitress, hostess, Ouija board enthusiast.(Simultaneoulsy) PAMELA: We met the last time you stopped by -- WOMAN: Oh! Mr. Winchester. PAMELA And the time before that.

Pamela... seems to recognize the repeats, but Dean only has a feeling of weird “deja vu” after half a dozen runs through the script. But he does begin to see through those cracks.

All the while, we see Michael address Dean, Jack, Cas, and Sam, giving them different manipulative lies which directly contract themselves from person to person.

He claims he’s accessing Dean’s memories and therefore knows how DEAN feels about each of them:

to Jack: 

MICHAEL So, they left you to keep an eye on me? Gotta say, little insulting. I mean, what are you? You're nothing. JACK That's not what you said before. MICHAEL Ah. Yes. A moment of familial weakness. It won't happen again. JACK It doesn't matter. Sam and Dean -- they're gonna beat you. MICHAEL Oh, please. Sam's in so far over his head, he's drowning. And Dean? Well, I've got Dean under control.  JACK No. Dean -- he's strong. MICHAEL He's a gnat. I'm a god. Who would you bet on? JACK You don't know anything about Dean. MICHAEL I'm in his head...literally. I know everything. Like, I know how sad he was when you died...on the outside. On the inside, well, it's not that he was happy -- he just didn't care. 'Cause you're not Sam. You're not Cas. You're a new burden that he was handed. You're a weak, helpless thing. You think that they care about you, love you? You're a job, a job none of them wanted. And you -- (Castiel enters the room)

His insistence that Dean faked his grief for Jack, because he only actually cares about Sam and Cas? Directly contradicts what Michael says TO Sam and Cas:

DEAN Get out of my head. MICHAEL You don't mean that, Dean, not really. You may lie to them, but, deep down, I know you. I am you. You only tolerate the angel because you think you owe him, because he "gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition." Or whatever. But since then, what has he done? Only made mistakes, one after the other. And, Sam -- oh, Sam... You know, Dean was his happiest when you quit hunting, leaving him with your dad, just the two of them. See, deep down, he knows that you will always abandon him, again and again. DEAN Shut up! MICHAEL You don't need them. You don't even like them. They're not your family -- they're your responsibilities. They're a weight around your neck. And deep down, you wanted -- you were desperate to get away from them. And that is why you said yes. DEAN I said shut your damn mouth! CASTIEL Wait. Something's wrong. You're stalling.

What Michael tells each of them isn’t what Dean actually FEELS, but what he FEARS they feel, and what each of them deep-down fears that Dean actually feels about them. Even though it’s all patently NOT TRUE. Because in the end, Cas was right. IT WAS ALL JUST A DISTRACTION TECHNIQUE. They call him out directly:

DEAN Fine. You're so tough, why don't you snap your fingers and nuke us all? MICHAEL Is that what you want? DEAN Yeah, I do. CASTIEL He can't. Because, in here, we're all just mental projections, so in here, we're all the same. SAM So, in here, you're all talk. MICHAEL You think I need my powers? I destroy worlds, and I'd crush you with my bare hands. DEAN Prove it.

And of course, they call Michael’s bluff and the three of them working together easily lock Michael away. Because it was all only ever a bluff. Hurtful to have these fears called out like this, but still nothing truly deadly... just a manipulation of their feelings and a bluff.

Yet they still buy into Michael’s biggest threat-- that if Dean kicks him out he’ll be left essentially a puddle of Dean-shaped goo, so they lock him up in the freezer in the same way Chuck has always locked up his own problems.

And in the same way that all of this just ended up as another narrative runaround, this is literally EXACTLY what Chuck was engineering the entire time:

MICHAEL Because I can. Because... Me and my brother -- my Lucifer -- when we fought in my world, we thought that God would come back, give us answers -- why He'd gone, what we'd done -- but, instead, do you know what happened? Nothing. No God. Nothing. And now...now that I'm in here -- now I know why. God -- Chuck -- is a writer, and like all writers, He churns out draft after draft. My world? This world? Nothing but failed drafts. And when He realizes that they're flawed, He moves on and tries again. CASTIEL No, that's not how...Why would He do that? MICHAEL (yelling) Because He doesn't care! About you, me -- anything. Now, at first, I thought I'd do it better. Show Him. Be more God than God. But now... I just want to burn every one of His little worlds until I catch up to the old man. CASTIEL And then what? MICHAEL Even God can die.

Because CHUCK DIRECTLY CONTRADICTS THIS IN 14.20, proving that Sam and Dean and Cas are “his favorite characters,” that he never abandoned the draft of this universe. Quite the opposite, actually. Their entire problem is that Chuck couldn’t STOP writing the draft here.

It’s spirals within spirals all the way down, different narrative levels of Chuck endlessly repeating tale. and at the end of 14.10, Dean suffers through Michael rattling the cage in his brain trying to convince himself that “it’s all you.” And isn’t that the truth-- Dean as mirror to Michael, and to Chuck and Amara both way back in s11.

And then we have Billie’s “calculated risk.” Interfering in Dean’s life yet again, handing over what we’re led to believe is the ONE way to stop Michael from using him to destroy all of creation (spoiler alert, fate changes again long before that eventuality ever comes to pass, thanks to Jack the Cosmic Disruptor).

[verobatto]

Ok! I did it! This is my gift for this supernatural fandom in his 10th Destiel Anniversary! I hope you enjoy the 5th chapter!! Yay!!

I'm gonna proceed to tag quickly! Hahahaaa

@lykanyouko @agusvedder @magnificent-winged-beast @lovemesomecas94 @spn-ismyshiet @destielhoneybee

Anyone else that want to be Tagged please rise his hand!

Here is the AO3 link...

Love is Scary

Supernatural FF

Pairing: DeanxCastiel

I don't own this characters

Act 5

Sam and Dean arrived to Roweena's department. It was a mess. The ex angels had taken her and it looks like they were searching everywhere looking for the book.

- You think they found it?- Dean asked looking worried. But Sam knew something:

-They ahm... Roweena didn't keep the book here.-he said. Dean looked at his brother confused. Then, Sam walked right to tell bathroom, Dean followed him. Sam took a bottle of perfume. A very expensive perfume.

- What are you...?- Dean begun to asking, but his brother looked determined. He took the top of the bottle off and there was a key inside of it. Dean blinked.

-We have to move fast. I know where the book is.- Sam said. Dean swallowed.

- You are going to tell me how did you know all this.-he pointed at his little brother:-in the car. Let's go.- he ordered. Sam followed him smiling.

The book was kept in a private vault. They entered in the place looking very carefully around. There's no angel. Not strange people.

- I hope the book is still there.- Sam murmured. He took the key and begun to open the locked cage. The book was there. He sighed with relief. Dean smiled.

- Ok... Without book there's not spell... - he said. But Sam looked worried:

- We need to rescue her. She must be tortured.- Dean frowned.

-You are right. I hope Cas find their location. Let's go.-

Mary, Bobby and Jack were expecting that Cas finished the location spell. The Angel spoke some words in solemn enochian. And then closed his eyes. His body trembled and then reached stability. He opened his eyes with anger.

- Jofiel had blocked all intent of location. I couldn't find them. Sorry.- Cas said.

-They are always one step forward. Is disgusting.- Bobby spoke with a tone of disappointment in his voice. They heard that thunderous entrance door opening. Sam and Dean looked at him. Then looked at Cas. He was standing by the location spell.

- Not good news. Isn't?- Dean asked. Cas gave a step forward:

-Sorry. They blocked me out.-he said.

-But we... By the other side... We got the book.- Dean proclaimed very proud of themselves. And then Mary's cell phone begun to sound.

- Is Charlie.- She said and answered right away:-Yes... Hello Charlie. What's going on?- there was a silence and then Mary was looking at everyone with surprised eyes:- Ok ok... Send me the picture and come to the bunker. Bye.-

- What happened?- Jack asked. Mary was still looking at her cell phone.

-Ok... Charlie saw when Jofiel captured Roweena. They got her unconscious and put her into a van. And this...-she showed them a picture senses by Charlie on her phone:- This is the van and the patent number.-

Sam took the cell phone in his hands:

- Ok. I'll find a direction with this.- he announced.

- She was there because Roweena called her. She said Roweena sounded worried.- Mary said.

- Poor Roweena...- They heard said from Jack. Castiel walked near to him.

-Don't worry.- he said:-Roweena knows how take care of herself. Besides... We will find her.-

The van's patent number belong to a priest. They obtained his direction and immediately went there. The church was surrounded by people with guns.

-I guess we are in the right place.- sighed Dean.

- They are ex angels. I'm sure of that.- Charlie affirmed.:-They look like soulless robots. Not offense.- she said later touching Cas shoulder with a smile.

- I'm not offended. We are kind of... Stiff...-Cas analyzed it tilting his head. Bobby approached to them very carefully.

-Ok... We need a plan.- he said.

A minutes later, they surrended the place and attacked at once. They knew Jofiel was inside with Roweena. They entered into the Church. The silence was immense and disturbing. Next to the altar was a thin, tall and somewhat ungainly man.

He was wearing a dark suit. His skin was pale. He had a strange necklace in light blue. He seemed to have like sixty years old. Somehow he looked creepy.

- Welcome my brother. You are surrounded by apes, as always...- the figure spoke. His voice sounded raspy and tiresome. His eyes were stock on Castiel. Dean and Sam looked around. There were no sign of Roweena.:- Oh ... She isn't here. So... You killed my soldiers for nothing.- Jofiel smirked pride of himself.

- You are feeling too good for being just a lunatic jerk.- Dean snapped him with disgust. Jofiel Laughed.

-You think so?- the angel said in the middle of his laughter. Then he rised his right hand and all the crew, except Castiel, were stock against the walls.:- I need all of you to shut up and wait. I need to talk with my brother here.- he said abruptly and his face was grim. Cas looked at the with despair and then looked back at Jofiel. His blue eyes were flushed with anger. Jofiel smiled at him: - Whoa. Don't look at me like that. You brought them first. I won't hurt them. Not today. I swear. I really need to talk with you.- Cas gave a step forward and then frowned.

- How you get your wings back?- he asked. Jofiel smiled again, feeling pleased, but he didn't answered.

- You know...- he shifted the subject: - I had always admired you. Castiel's name is like a legend in heaven. Strong... Beautiful... So sure of himself. Then you rebelled... Against our superiors. You followed your cause. That...-he pointed at him: - that is so admirable... But your cause... I don't think your cause is admirable... I think is disgusting.- Jofiel finished with distaste. And looking at Dean he smirked. Then turned around looking again at Castiel smiling: - How it feels defeat Michael.- Cas frowned.

- I didn't defeat him. You are underestimating humans... - Cas said. Dean looked at him. Something inside him was yelling that Jofiel didn't mean that.

- I don't.- The angel answered:- Maybe I'm giving them more credit here... Not to everyone. Just to your human.- Jofiel looked at Dean again. He was enjoying this. Dean felt useless. That angel was reading his mind?

- What do you mean with that?- Cas wanted to know.

- Castiel...- Jofiel walked around him:- Do you know the kind of strong feeling that a human needs to show to get rid from an Archangel possession?- Jofiel looked at him expectantly. Cas didn't replay.: - Why could your human eject our strong and fierceness brother? That's why I said... That you defeated him. You did. You made that strong feeling explode Castiel...- Dean closed his eyes with shame. Sam noticed that but Cas... Cas was confused, tilting his head to a side. Jofiel laughed very loudly. - You are so entertaining Castiel... That part of yours... The human part that it came from surrounding you with these dirty monkeys, full of limitations and feelings... So... Disgusting and disturbing feelings. That part of you is the part I hate so much.- Jofiel was yelling now. He felt frustrated.-But... let's left that behind... Let's concentrate on your rebellious part... That's perfection... And I need that with me.- Cas looked at him suspiciously.:- Join me Castiel... I can erase your memories and we can be the dream team... And with our brother... Michael... We will rule this...-

- Release my friends now.- Castiel asked. There was anger in his voice. Jofiel gave a step backwards.

- Oh... I thought you would say that... But I have to try. You know.- he said and then Cas took his sword on his right hand and repeated:

- Release them. Right. Now.- Jofiel laughed so hard that the clink of his necklace caught the attention of Jack.

- Ok... I'm gonna leave you go with your funny kind of crew. It will be exciting watch you trying to stop me. You should read a lot I assume about... Spells and sacred places to release our brother... And Im telling you now... That I don't need your filthy book.- Jofiel said and then pointed his forehead.:-I have all in here.- then smirked:-Good bye brother.- And he disappeared, releasing everyone at the same time.

Cas breathe and looked at his friends.

- We should go.- he said.

They were in the bunker again. Everyone were exhausted. They decided to take a rest and then make research. Read the book of the condemned and elucidate Jofiel's plans.

But Cas had another idea...

He went straight to Dean and called him apart. Dean's mouth was dry. He knew what was this all about.

- What's up Cas?- he asked. Avoiding those blue and inquisitives eyes. Cas licked his lower lip and took a deep breath.

- What was Jofiel talking about... When he mentioned that I... Defeated Michael... ?-he finished. His voice was lower than usual. Dean begun to feeling like trapped.

-I... I don't know what he was talking about...- Dean encourage himself and looked at the angel's eyes.:- You know that kind of... Guys.. they lie.- Cas nodded. But he wasn't convinced at all. He looked very sad. Dean noticed that and felt like a dumbass.

-That's...- he heard Cas talking with a sad thread of voice. And Dean's heart struggled.:- That's ok Dean. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable. You look kind of upset. I'm sorry. I'm gonna read the spell book. And try to find Roweena. Goodnight.- and he left. And Dean didn't stop him. He was like petrified. His eyes were searching for something in every corner of that kitchen. Then he clenched his jaw with anger. He knew he was screwed. He hit the table with impotence. Why he has to be like this? Why was he such a coward? That wasn't a secret anymore. He had opened that box already. He He must now face its consequences and be sincere with Cas. Or he will hate himself for ever.

Michael had everyone unconscious. On the floor. Cas was in front of him. Bloody and breathing really hard.

-You know... You are persistent too like this vessel.- Michael said looking at the beaten angel.

-Give us Dean back.- he said so softly but determinated. Michael raised his head and smirked.

Dean was watching. All the time. his dry tears had been replaced by new ones over and over again. his cheeks looked like a map of rivers brushed with rage and despair.

-Don't touch him... Don't even...- he whispered.

-He is crying... You know? He is suffering so much that is kind of... Heartbreaking.- Michael said rolling his eyes, mocking.:- Now... I'm gonna really enjoy this... Maybe killing you...-he finished and took Cas by the neck. Putting him up. Cas coughed with blood and Dean was petrified. He was embracing now that locked box. And the lock... Vanished.

Michael' face expression changed. He looked surprised. But then... When Dean opened the box the Archangel panicked.

Dean was looking into the box. It was shining like ten suns.

-Don't touch... The man I love. Go away.-he whispered. And Michael released Castiel with horror in his eyes.

- No... No... You can't... You can't get rid of me!!! You filthy... Useless...!!- he begun to tell and Cas understood. He called Roweena that was on the floor.

-Now Roweena! Dean is expelling him!- Roweena opened her eyes with difficult. But she got the idea right away. She took a gem from her clothes and begun to recit a spell.

The light in the white room was huge but Dean could see Michael for the last time.

- You wanted to see what was in this box son of a bitch???!!! Well you know now! Get out from me!!!-

Michael disappeared in one second and Roweena put him in the gem. Then Sam took the gem and destroyed it with the back of his Shotgun. Everyone was saved. They run to Dean. He was unconscious. In Cas's arms.

[olboypacman]

5. Drown (Trigon, the Benevolent)

A/N: Still don’t own it. By ‘it’ I mean Teen Titans. Little bit of BBRae and sister-brother CyRae in this one-shot.

It’s been a while since they were able to be this close to one another. Between protecting the city, Robin’s ever-present training sessions, and Raven being recruited into daddy-daughter time, it’s been a rather trying time find to find time be with one another.

Not that it wasn’t inherently challenging anyway.

What with Raven wanting to keep the romance between her and the changeling a secret.

But that’s not important.

What’s important is Gar’s hands exploring the curves and peaks of Raven’s body.

The desperate, hungry kisses they both pepper each other with, the pent-up frustration of not being able to enjoy each finally being released.

That is until…

A black portal opens in the middle if the room. Trigon emerged from the portal taking in the sight before him. Beast Boy’s bare green back, his arms and legs tangled up with his daughter’s. His dearest Raven in her bra, though everything else is modestly covered by the green changeling being on top of her.

Completely and utterly dumbfounded, Raven and Gar and Trigon stare each other down for seemingly an eternity, before Trigon scoffs, barring his teeth as approaches the door. He doesn’t even to punch in the code opting to phase through it instead.

Mortified that the ridiculously powerful, almost god-like interdimensional demon lord who happens to be the father of the love his life just walked in on them, Gar detangles himself from his girlfriend, throwing himself on his back and begins to laugh nervously to himself. “I’m alive,” he mutters, nervous laughter not letting up, “I’m alive, I for sure saw my life flash before my eyes when he teleported in here.”

“Don’t tempt me Gar, day’s not over yet.” Responds Raven, her own mortification apparent on her face.

“Victor!” Yells Trigon, making his way to the common room. “Victor, where are you!?” He screams again.

Coming upon the common room, he looks around, seeing Starfire playing with Silky, and Robin at the main computer.

“Trigon?” Inquires Starfire inquires, flying up to Trigon Silky in her arms. “To what do we pay your visit?”

“It’s ‘owe your visit’, Star,” Robin instinctually corrects. “Though I’m curious as why you’re here.”

“That’s not important, I’m must talk to Victor,” says Trigon exasperated.

“Did something happen with Raven?” Questions Robin, Trigon’s visible irritation alarming Robin.

“Yes, in a manner of speaking.” Answers Trigon.

“What is it?” Says Robin.

Trigon, realizing his own vexation is causing a bit of stir among the two titans in front of him, he takes a deep breath, calming himself. “To what is the nature of the relationship of the changeling and my daughter?”

Nature of their relationship?

It’s obvious to anyone who spends any length of time around Raven and Garfield. They’re head-over-heels for each other. It almost hurts it’s so obvious.  

Robin, acting on pure instinct, puts his hands over Starfire’s mouth before she makes grand exclamations of Beast Boy’s undying love for Raven or vice-versa. If something happened involving Raven’s love life, it’s best to not insert one’s self into it. Especially if their current romantic relationship is supposed to be a secret. Not that they’re any good at hiding it. And especially when it’s apparent that said love life is agitating Raven’s very powerful demon lord father.

“Nothing!” Clams Robin. “Just very good friends. Come on Star, we’ve got, uh…something to do. A date. Yes, a date, I’m taking you to dinner.”

“Oh yes, a date,” she says picking up Robin’s hints. “But Raven…”

“Is very good friends with Beast Boy. Come on, let’s go!” He says dragging Starfire to anywhere but here.

Yeah, best not to get involved at all…

“Hey, T, what’s up man?” Says a voice behind him.

Trigon turns around, revealing the metallic silver, white and glowing blue frame of Cyborg.

“Raven says you’ve been looking, or more like screaming for me. What’s up?”

“Do you still have that, what did you call it? Secret stash?”

“Uh, did something happen? Raven said you might be upset, but she didn’t say about what.”

Trigon not sure how to tell him what he saw then demands, “I need what’s in your secret stash Victor!” He finished grabbing Cyborg by the shoulders.

“Fine, fine. Don’t yell, just don’t drink it all man.”

It’s not unreasonable that a man gets a break every once in a while. Victor Stone, better known as Cyborg to the public, is a firm believer in such concept. Victor juggles a lot of personalities in his life. He no doubt loves them all very much, but they all have a tendency to (on occasion) stress him the fuck out. Victor finds himself taking this dedicated time to himself with old school hip-hop, Top Gear reruns, and, the secret stash of which Trigon’s on about, brown liquor.

Which leads to his current situation.

Trigon had refused to tell what had he and Raven so upset. About four drinks in, Trigon revealed that he had walked in Raven and Beast Boy ‘in the act’ (Trigon’s words).

This went over about as well as one would expect with Victor. He immediately broke into hysterics, exclaiming, “Glad it wasn’t me!” This prompted Trigon to give Victor his blood line’s patented glowing four-eyed stare, Cyborg responded by refilling Trigons glass. He wouldn’t incinerate me, I think.

Eventually Trigon had more than his fill of liquor. And that, brought out certain aspects of Trigon’s personality Victor would rather not deal with.

Trigon was a very introspective, mopey drunk. Can’t hold his booze very good either.

Trigon is currently ranting about Raven, “She’s my baby girl, Victor!”

“Well you can’t really expect her to stay a baby forever, and Gar’s a good dude. He’ll take good care of her.”

“You know, Vic,” slurs Trigon, “I used to hold her, just like this.” He holds his arms out as one holds a baby, but he’s starting to tip forward. “She was so innocent, so precious. I don’t want her to grow up, Vic!”

Victor goes over to Trigon, making sure he doesn’t tip over.

“Yeah, well, you can’t stop that no sooner than you can stop the sun from rising.”

“Won’t you humor a drunken old demon, Victor?”

“Sure, T, sure.” Laughs Cyborg.

Victor’s T-communicator starts to ring at that point.

“Cy,” he answers.

“Is, uh, my dad still with you?” It’s Raven.

“Girl, your ears must’ve been burning. We were just talking about you. But yeah, he’s with me in my room, drunk as a skunk, trying to will his baby girl to stop growing. Is it working?”

He can practically hear Raven massage her temples in frustration. “I’m on my way to get him out of your hair. You must be tired of him by now.”

“Yeah, just about. Plus, the long throat bastard cleaned out my stash.”

“But, you had about 8 bottles put up?”

“Yeah, had.”

“Well I’ll see you in a bit.”

In a few minutes there’s a knock on the door. Cyborg makes his way to it, punching in the code to reveal a causally dressed Raven and Beast Boy.

“You know you guys aren’t really that slick.” Asks Cyborg.

“I haven’t the faintest idea of what you mean Victor?”

“Come on! I mean you two! You one of Robin’s safe-guards for the Tower is monitoring any and all heat signatures in the tower.”

“And?” Asks Gar.

“I mean occasionally, before bed either Robin or I would see where everyone was according to their heat signature, and occasionally one of your rooms would be empty and the other one of your rooms would register two heat signatures.” Says Cyborg smiling knowingly at the couple.

They simply stare back at him.

“Is that Gar’s shirt?”

“Not important,” Raven storms her way past Cyborg, toward Trigon. “Dad?”

“Dearest Raven!” Exclaims Trigon, bounding towards her unceremoniously. He lands on his knees right in front of Raven, pulling her into an embrace. “My baby girl!” He weeps.

She shushes him, awkwardly hugging him back. “I can’t believe you let him drink.” She snaps to Cyborg.

“Eh,” says Cyborg as he shrugs. “When an infinitely powerful arch-demon-lord-person asks for a drink, who am I to risk my skin and deny him?”

Raven gives Cyborg a shrug of her own. “I’ll take him a spare room, Gar, can you give me a hand?”

At the mention at her beau’s name, Trigon immediately makes eye contact with the changeling. His two eyes split into four glowing ones, and points to his eyes then to Gar’s in a ‘I’m watching you’ type motion.

“I’ve got a, uh, see in ya bed Rae!” Says Beast Boy, running for his life.

“Figures…” says Raven, very much done with the men in her life.

“I’ll help you, “says Cyborg.

Cyborg stands the drunken Trigon up before putting him on his shoulders in a fireman’s carry position.

Raven leads to the way to a spare room. Luckily, they don’t have travel far as there’s an abundance of spare rooms on this floor.

Raven moves the bland dark blue blanket back as Cyborg places Trigon on the bed. As he walks off, he mutters something about ‘long throat demons drinking me dry’ as he makes his way out the room.

She tucks him in, kisses him on his cheek, and starts to make her way out of the room, but not before he grabs her by the hand. “You’ll always be my baby girl Raven. I wish I had more of an opportunity to watch you grow up. I missed so much of your life dealing with the ordeal Augustus had caused. It feels like I just turned around one day, and my dearest little girl is now a grown woman.”

“Papa,” Raven responds, “the good news is you don’t have to miss any more, mother either. And don’t be so hard on Garfield, he’s a very good man. He’s been very good to me.”

“He better…” Says Trigon, as he rolls over to go to sleep.

“Good night, Papa.”

Raven walks out the room meeting Cyborg down the hall. He insists that he walk Raven to her room.

“That father of yours…” Says Cyborg.

“Yep.”

“One thing I wonder about though.”

“And that is?”

“His he ‘papa’ all the time, or just when no ones around?” Asks Cyborg, shit eating grin across his face.

“Don’t know,” sighs Raven, “does Robin know you have a secret stash of alcohol?”

Cyborg scoffs, grin widening, “Does he? Who do you think I’m hiding it from!?” 

Read this and more at https://www.fanfiction.net/~olboypacman

[xx-thedarklord-xx]

Silent Ghost

                “Control yourself!” George ordered firmly, shaking Fred’s shoulders harshly. “This isn’t the end of the world. We can make a comeback.”

                “No, we can’t!” Fred yelled, gesturing all around him, as if the room was suddenly about to combust. “This is war, Georgie! War!”

                George rolled his eyes as he fought the urge to throttle his brother.

                “Our entire reputation is ruined.” Fred continued, becoming hysterical the longer he panicked. “Have we been so caught up with our plans for the business that we allowed someone else to take our title away from us?”

                “What title?” George was worried that Fred was going to go into shock and he debated about stunning him to stop this rant.

                Fred let out an outraged noise and threw off George’s hands. “The title of Master Prankster. We took over the title from the Callum sisters three weeks into our first year. Not to mention held our ground when Flint thought he could challenge us during our second year.”

                By the increase in volume, George knew that his brother was just getting started. Honestly, Fred was the more dramatic of the two of them and it was best to let his brother continue talking. Merlin knows what would happen if any of it became suppressed. That was an explosion he didn’t want to patent.

                “It was a cute attempt, but the moron has no skill for tactical advantages.” Fred rushed through, emphasizing his point with a dramatic slap to his palm. “We went unchallenged for two more years until Davies thought that his mother’s knowledge of foreign tactics would help him uproot us.” A noise of disbelief escaped his mouth. “As if we would have fallen for that!”

                “Fred.” George began softly, holding his hands up placatingly, hoping not to anger his brother. “I know all of this. What is your point?”

                Fred clenched his fists angrily. “My point is that we have always been one step ahead of everyone and yet, here we are. We are losing a prank war!” His tone suggested that this was an utter travesty.

                “We don’t even know who is behind them.” George pointed out, which was apparently the wrong thing to say.

                “Which makes it worse!” Bellowed Fred, unclenching his fists, just to re-clench them harder. “It’s our last year at Hogwarts and we are stuck as a second-rate loser. How are we supposed to advertise for the shop if we can’t even successfully call ourselves the Master Pranksters?”

                George bit his lip, feeling a flash of worry in his gut. “We don’t know that they are coming for our title.”

                “George.” It was said softly and defeated, which was worse than the anger. “We end up being the target of the pranks eight out of ten times. It’s obviously personal and we are losing.”

                “We have never lost like this before.” George whispered, feeling just as defeated. “We have to figure out who is behind it. Once that is out of the way, it should be easy firing back.”

                Fred nodded his head firmly, choosing to use this as a motivating factor. “Right, who would want to prank us? You think it’s for revenge?”

                That had George throwing himself on his bed and covering his eyes. “Fred, if this is about revenge then our list is the entire school.”

                “Don’t forget the teachers.” Fred whispered helpfully.

                “Stop helping.” George croaked out miserably. “This is going to take a lot of work. How do we narrow down the list?”

                Fred tilted his head to the side, lost in thought. “We might not be able to, but I know someone that might.”

                George lifted his head up in hope before he ran out of the room, following his brother quickly.

 --------------------------------------------------

             Harry was pretending to do his potions essay as he nodded along to Hermione’s lecture on the proper way of holding the knife for cutting up ingredients. This was definitely the conversation he was going to replay in his mind the next time he was having a hard time sleeping.

                The sound of thundering feet had Harry, Ron and Hermione looking towards the stairs and arching their brows at the sight of Fred and George panting harshly.

                “Hermione!” Fred called out, dragging George with him. “You are the cleverest witch of our time.”

                “What do you want?” Hermione asked with narrowed eyes and suspicion palpable in her tone.

                The twins shared a loaded look before George cleared his throat. “We have a proposition for you.”

                His statement did nothing to help ease her suspicion. If anything, Harry thought she looked even more wary.

                “You have said repeatedly that you would appreciate if we stopped hiring testers for our projects.” Fred took over, grinning at the way Hermione leaned forward in interest.

                “I’m listening.” She gestured with one hand for them to continue.

                “We are willing to stop this completely.” George winced at that. “That means not even behind your back and we will stop taking first years into the forbidden forest too.”

                Hermione held up a hand. “You two are taking first years into the forbidden forest?” The last bit was screeched out and had them taking a minuscule step back.

                “Yes.” They answered in unison. “It’s not like you would look for us there.” When her eyes narrowed, Fred cleared his throat. “We had to test the products somewhere and you were making this difficult.”

                George nodded quickly. “Which really means you are to blame.”

                Harry coughed into his hand to hide the snort that he released, he glanced towards Ron and noticed that his friend was struggling to contain his own laughter. He didn’t dare look towards Hermione.

                “I don’t believe you!” Hermione threw her hands up in the air. “Do you know how dangerous it is to—”

                “Yes.” Fred interrupted, ignoring her glare. “It was terribly horrible of us and we are just awful. Can we skip the lecture and get back to the issue at hand?”

                The growl Hermione released had Harry scooting his chair over, not wanting to be anywhere near that.

                “What is it you want in return for you two to be decent human beings?”

                Fred and George took a deep breath in unison and it had Harry wondering if they were alright.

                “We need you to help us narrow down the possibilities of who could be the Silent Ghost.”

                Harry snapped his eyes towards Hermione desperately.

                Hermione leaned back in her chair and hummed in thought. “Well, I am honestly surprised.” She admitted with arched brows. “The Silent Ghost is just as bad as you two. Constantly throwing the school into chaos with pranks that just aren’t funny. Umbridge has already made three Educational Decrees regarding them.”

                “While you only have one.” Ron piped up with a small smirk towards his brothers.

                George smacked the back of Ron’s head, ignoring Hermione’s reprimand. “Which is why once we figure out who it is, we can take back over the school.”

                This had Hermione biting her lip in indecision. “You two are the lesser evil.”

                “I don’t know if that is a good thing.” Fred whispered to his brother. “I kind of want to be the most evil.”

                “Alright.” Hermione clapped her hands together. “I’ll help you figure out who is the Silent Ghost.” She waited until they shared massive grins before continuing. “But you will sign a magical contract stating that you will cease all testing of your products on minors.”

                Fred narrowed his eyes before looking to his brother. “What do you think?”

                “I think that we have no choice.” George whispered low enough that no one heard him.

                They turned to Hermione with solemn faces. “Deal.”

 ------------------------------------------------------

              Draco was making his way towards the dungeons, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. One couldn’t be too careful these days. He was about to turn a corner when a warm hand clutched his arm and shoved him into an empty classroom.

                Before he could utter a curse at his attacker, he noticed a familiar sight of messy black hair. “Potter, you better have a damn good explanation for this.”

                Harry locked the door and placed several silencing charms around the room. “We have a problem.”

                “If it’s the state of your hair, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you are years late on the revelation that you need a makeover.” Draco smirked openly at the resigned sigh the Gryffindor released.

                “I’ll have you know that I can pull off this disaster, thank you very much.”

                Draco reluctantly had to agree but there wasn’t a chance in hell he would be admitting that.

                “But that isn’t what I came to tell you.” Harry urged, starting to pace back and forth. “Fred and George have recruited Hermione.”

                That had Draco coming to a standstill. “Granger is joining their pranks?”

                “Merlin, no.” Harry shook his head rapidly. “She’s going to help narrow down the list to figuring out who is the Silent Ghost.”

                Draco smirked widely, eyes gleaming in delight. Which Harry firmly told himself was not attractive. Nope. Not even a little bit.

               “They are becoming desperate.”

                “Yes.” Harry agreed with his own smirk forming. “They are.” He sighed heavily, head falling for a moment. “Hermione is going to be an issue though.”

                Draco took a step forward until he could peer into Potter’s face. “Potter, we have bested the Weasel twins for six months at their own game.” He waited until a small smile tugged at Potter’s lips before he continued. “Even Granger won’t put a hindrance into our plans.”

                Harry allowed Malfoy’s self-confidence to fill him and he nodded his head firmly. “Right. We got this.”

                “Damn right we do.” Draco agreed, giving Potter a rare smile. “The Weasley twins will regret the day that they pranked us one too many times.”

                “You can almost taste the revenge in the air.” Harry teased before grinning at the disgruntled look the blonde gave him.

                “Revenge is what I do best.” Draco promised before he sat down on the nearest table and began discussing their next plan of attack.

                One thing was for sure, by the end of the year, no one would remember who the Weasley twins were. They were going to out prank the masters.

--------------------------------------

Another instance of not sure if anyone wants more but I will be doing it anyways! Harry and Draco teaming up to take on the Weasley twins? Hell yeah.

[mountainofcookies]

Fragment 01: Look on the bright side, Green (3/3)

Phew, approaching the end of this monster.

(Part 1, Part 2)

______________________________

Green woke up with a gasp and looked straight into his big brother’s round face, whose golden eyes were bright and alive and very wet this time.

“…Lucius? Wait, are you real?” He blinked a couple times.

“Green! You finally woke up! We’ve been trying to rouse you for over an hour…” Lucius – the real one– cried tears of relief. He pulled Green into a warm hug, squeezing him tightly despite his tiny arms.

Green didn’t know what to do with that. Minutes ago he’d been alone and desperate and now he was safe again. He stayed wide-eyed and stiff as a board in his brother’s arms.

“Lucius. You’re spooking him. Who knows what he’s seen in there?” A stern, low voice belonging to their sister who loomed over them.

“Saffron, please. Barely five minutes ago you were on the brink of tears, you know!”

“I was upset because of his ignorance. Why would he activate an artifact like that!?” She crossed her arms and gave Green her patented disappointed-in-you-look, but couldn’t quite hide the relief in her eyes.

“Honestly, lots of people might? You should have hidden it better if you didn’t want him to touch it.” Lucius knew that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t her fault Green seemed to attract trouble like a magnet everywhere he goes.

“Come on, you know he keeps getting into places he’s not supposed to be in. We could have put a triple lock on that box and he would still open it somehow. I even put a protective spell on it to stop this from happening! He just ignores it or something. I have no idea how he does it.” She motioned at Green who was starting to get annoyed. Were they really going to fight as if he wasn’t even here? He sat up and faced them.

“Whoa. One question at a time, ok?” Lucius needed a second to process all that. “Ok. I’ll try to explain. What happened is that you touched a cursed object–”

“A very dangerous cursed object, that I very much marked as such and locked away.”, Saffron interjected.

“Yes, Saffron, we established that.” Lucius snapped at his interrupting sister, who glared at him. He gathered himself to say: “All right, as I was trying to say earlier, you touched a cursed object. A cursed pair of spectacles to be specific. I believe anyone who puts them on is transported to a mental space that shows them their worst fears. Which you then have to overcome to escape, I guess? It’s very symbolic like that, isn’t it?”

Lucius paused to put his thoughts in order before continuing: “But, to answer your questions; your body was right here but your consciousness was not. At least, I don’t think it was? You couldn’t hear us or at least weren’t responding to me at first so I thought it must be like a trap for the mind, but then you finally responded and…” Lucius muttered mostly to himself now, his eyes darting every which way. He wanted to give his brother the full explanation but wasn’t sure if he even knew what it was anymore.

“What Lucius means is that you weren’t physically there, your mind just created it to try and make sense of your situation. It’s basically a trap that you can only escape when you realise you’re creating it yourself. Even if someone takes the spectacles off.” Saffron took over from Lucius, thinking it more helpful for the moment.

“Oh. I guess that makes more sense. Though that doesn’t explain the weird doll.” He wasn’t afraid of Lucius of all people, was he? No, that would be ridiculous.

“Doll? What about a doll?” Saffron raised an eyebrow. Green didn’t seem the kind to be afraid of dolls, but experience taught her people have weird fears sometimes. Who was she to judge?

“Well, about that doll…” Green’s throat closed up and he wanted to hit himself. She’d probably think he was a wuss now. “…I–It was just very ugly and deformed, ok! It’s not as if I’m scared of him, o–or DOLLS or anything.” He huffed. Would it be enough to convince her?

“…I see.” Saffron gave him a strange, considering look. Obviously there was more behind this doll, but without the ability to look into his mind and thoughts… “We’ll ignore that for now. I’ll get you some water for that throat.” She walked off.

“…Are you ok, Green? You can talk to me about it, if you want?”, a recovered Lucius offered.

“I’m fine. I don’t want to talk about it.” He’d rather just leave this behind him.

“Are you sure, Green? You don’t look fine. What if it gives you nightmares? I don’t want you to be traumatized.” Lucius frowned. Great, Green was just going to brood about this again, wasn’t he? Probably he’d isolate himself and then have another random outburst in the future. Aimed at him if he was lucky.

“Mind your own business, Lucius.”, Green bit and he pushed Lucius away from him. It was just like his brother to put his finger on the sore spot when he’d rather be left alone. “Why do you always have to look into everything? I hate it when you do that! You’re so annoying I’m starting to understand why that stupid doll looked so much like you!” He spat it out like hot acid. Lucius gasped and his eyes became wet. Immediately Green regretted his words. Why’d he always have to snap at people when it never helped?

This time Lucius steeled himself; he wouldn’t allow Green the pleasure to see him cry. His gold eyes turned harsh and his voice became raw. “Green, you’re my brother and I love you, but sometimes you’re a major asshole. Do you even realise how worried I was about you? How scared I was that you would never come back to us again? I bet you didn’t even consider that. You’re either thinking too much or you’re not thinking at all!”

Nails digged into his palms and his arms were rigidly next to his body; Lucius desperately fought back the hot tears welling up in the corner of his eyes. Why would his little brother reject every chance of opening up when he clearly needed it so much? All he ever wanted was to help him cope with the ordeal he went through. To help him deal with the aftermath of his curse and the isolation that followed.

Yelling like that was a mistake. Now his big brother was mad at him and he’d ruined everything again. “…I’m a stupid moron. Every time I do anything I just make it worse. I don’t want to be like that. I’m sorry.” He meant it but Lucius had no reason to believe him, did he?

“You can say that, Green. But I know you might yell at me again tomorrow. How do I know that you mean what you say?” Lucius took deep breaths to calm himself down. Measured his words. “Look, Green, you are not a moron. You don’t automatically ruin everything just by existing, but if you keep saying you do, you might make it come true! You keep pushing us away as if you think we already hate you. But we don’t. We really don’t, Green.”

Warmth gradually returned to his eyes as he knelt next to his little brother. “Green. You have a home now. A family, a place to sleep, plenty of food. You and your kid are safe. You don’t have to be on guard every second of every day anymore. I know, it’s scary to trust again. Heck, if anyone knows how scary it is to be vulnerable it’s me. But that’s ok. We’re not alone. We have each other.” He smiled.

“…You’re not mad at me? Even though I hurt you? I–I don’t get it.” The world went blurry in front of Green’s eyes.

“I don’t like it when you yell at me. That doesn’t mean I don’t like you.”, Lucius said solemnly.

Something wet rolled over Green’s cheek. “…I–I…”

“Is it all right if I hug you?” Lucius extended his arms but did not put them around Green yet.

“I– yeah, ok.” Leaning into him, he let Lucius put his arms around him. He exhaled and allowed himself to unwind. Secretly he enjoyed being embraced; the warmth and their resonating magic gently reminded him this was family, safety. It’s ok if it’s family, right? Not that he would ever admit that in public. They quietly stayed like that for a couple minutes.

Saffron observed them silently from the kitchen doorframe. Letting the boys sort it out on their own turned out to be a good bet. When they let go of each other she walked towards them.

“Have you two dealt with your frustrations with each other? Good.”

She gave both of them a glass of water, which they gratefully accepted. “Thanks, Saff. I needed that. I think we both did.” Lucius wiped a tear out of his eye and glanced at Green who’d somehow downed his glass already. “…Especially Green.”

[longclawislightbringer]

Wake Up & Smell the Amortentia: The Library

Rating: T

Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Ygritte, Sansa Stark/Harrold Hardyng

Characters: Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, Margaery Tyrell, Harrold Hardyng, Robb Stark, Arya Stark, Bran Stark, Rickon Stark, Daenerys Targaryen, mentions of Joffrey Baratheon

Summary: Jon and Ygritte fight about Sansa in the library; Jon remembers the day Sansa became his friend.

I’m sorry this took so long! I’ve been working six days a week for the past three weeks, and then I decided that this chapter needed a flashback right as I had finished the rest of it so . . .

Thanks once again to the wonderful sansapotter, without whom this would have taken even longer to get to you.

Drop me a comment to let me know what you think. 

Also on AO3.

Part One. Part Two.

Part Two: The Library

In 1290, Azor Ahai, First of Men defeated the necromancer who called himself the Night’s King with an enchanted blade of Valyrian Steel. The Wizards of Winterfell assisted by the Children of the Forest . . . Jon blinked as the words swirled together under the candlelight of the library. Stifling a yawn, he read the same passage over. The second run-through did not bring him any new understanding.

“Why did I do this to myself?” Jon moaned, resting his head against the crinkling pages.

“You got yourself into this mess,” Robb clapped him on the back, “now get yourself out.” Jon groaned and slammed his History of Magic textbook closed with a huff. Robb and all his siblings, save the conspicuously absent Sansa, chuckled. Rickon laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his seat.

“Your family is the worst, you know that?” Jon sighed, glancing up as the library door creaked open. Giggling, Sansa stepped inside, followed by her friends Margaery, Beth, and Jeyne Poole. She stopped short when she noticed him sitting next to her brothers and sisters, and clutched her books tighter to her chest. Her face turned red as a tomato when she frowned. She mumbled something to her friends before zipping out of the library like her short skirt had caught fire. Jon’s smile fell.

“Why does Sansa hate me again?” Jon turned to his best friend.

“That’s ridiculous,” Robb guffawed, dipping his quill into his enchanted inkwell at the center of the table; “Sansa never hated you and you know it.”

“She hasn’t spoken more than three words to me in the past three weeks, and she’s been avoiding me whenever I try to ask her what’s wrong.” Jon explained, “She literally just ran out when she saw me two seconds ago.”

“I can tell you for certain that Sansa does not hate you,” Bran interjected from behind his Divination textbook on the other side of the table.

“Then why is she acting so weird?” Jon asked.

“She’s just got something on her mind, is all,” Bran smirked. Jon would have jumped across the table to beat the information out of his smug face if Arya hadn’t interrupted.

“Oh, who cares about what Sansy-pants thinks? I’ve got Arithmancy equations to learn and you all are not helping,” Arya shouted from behind her fortress of textbooks as her quill scratched across the parchment.

“What’s all the fuss about?” Ygritte asked as she sidled up to the table, holding a stack of books that reached past the top of her head. Jon started at her sudden appearrance. Sometimes he forgot how quiet she could be. Jon gave her a kiss on the cheek as she pulled out the chair beside him, dumping her junk on the table.

“Jon thinks that Sansa hates him again,” Rickon declared, reaching for the inkwell. “Robb, can you pass me the ink?” Robb flicked his wand and sent it sliding across the table. “Thanks.”

“She’s probably just got a stick up her arse because whatever prissy boy she fancies won’t give her the time of day,” Ygritte snarked, pulling out a sheaf of parchment. The Starks around the table stilled. Robb clenched his fist on Jon’s other side. “They don’t call her the Ice Queen for nothing.” She licked her quill and dipped it into Robb’s enchanted inkwell, focused on her work.

“You know Sansa’s not like that,” Jon chastised Ygritte, trying to diffuse the situation before it got worse. Arya looked like she would hex Ygritte in a heartbeat. “I’m sure I just did something wrong.”

Ygritte slammed her textbook shut with a grimace. “Why do you care what she thinks? Sansa’s not your girlfriend; I am.”

“I know, but—”

“—But nothing! You shouldn’t even care! Sansa Stark is an insipid, whining, social-climbing kneeler brat who didn’t give a rat’s ass about you until she found out your father is the Minister of Magic!” Arya dropped her wand and went to punch Jon’s girlfriend in the face. Robb shared a look with Jon before holding her back

“Enough!” Jon roared at his girlfriend. “Sansa’s my friend and she’s their sister. What is your problem?”

“My problem?” Ygritte howled. “I saw the way you looked at her in the locker room hallway, that goofy smile on your face. How do you think it felt to realize that your boyfriend only liked you because you looked like the girl he could never have?” She shouted, her face flushed with color. Jon swore he could have heard a pin drop as dozens of quills stopped scratching at the same time.

Jon blinked. She panted for a moment before her quill broke in half with a snap. As the ink spilled across her hand, her eyes widened and the color drained from her face.

“We’re just going to leave…” Bran broke the silence as Rickon gathered up their things. Arya dropped her fist and shook free of Robb’s hold. “Come on, Arya.”

“Let me at her! I’ll teach her to talk bad about our sister.” Arya yelled, grabbing her wand from the floor. Robb gave her a pointed look. “Fine,” Arya huffed, taking her sweet time drying the ink on her parchment before rolling it up and following her brothers out of the library. Jon cleared his throat, handing Ygritte his handkerchief to wipe up the spilled ink.

“Is that really what you think?” Jon’s words tumbled out slow and unsure.

“Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it?” Ygritte grumbled as she rubbed a stubborn ink stain on her thumb. “Why won’t this stupid stain come out!” She tossed the soiled handkerchief on the table and put her head in her hands.

Jon sighed. “Ygritte, Sansa & I are just friends. Yes, we started hanging out after she found out my parentage, but she really helped me get through a difficult period when you and a lot of my other friends weren’t particularly helpful.” He remembered that chilly winter day three years ago when Sansa had found him. It was one of the worst and best days of his life.

The leaves on the ground of the Godswood crunched as someone approached. Jon sat up, rubbing against the hard mottled bark of the heart tree. He wiped the tears from his eyes. Clutching the letter from Howland Reed in his other hand to stop the chill wind from blowing it away, Jon shivered.

“Jon, are you there?” Sansa’s soft voice called out before she appeared at the edge of the clearing, her bright red hair almost blinding against the white of the snow that blanketed the ground and dangled from the barren tree branches. Only the heart tree had kept its leaves. “Your mother thought I might find you here.”

“Go away,” Jon sniffled when she spotted him. “It’s not like you really care.” She stopped, her baby blue winter cloak billowing around her in the wind.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“What are you sorry for?” He laughed. “It’s not like you can go back in time and change who my father is.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been the nicest to you.” She walked over to drape the cloak he had left at home over his shoulders before nestling on the snow beside him. “You didn't deserve the way I treated you.” She focused on the ground in front of her, squishing the snow in front of her.

Jon felt his blood boil. She had the gall to show up now after she’d learned the truth. “Are you apologizing because my father’s the Minister of Magic?” He bit out, trying to contain his temper. Sansa whipped around, startled.

“What? No!” She exclaimed. “It was my New Year’s Resolution to be nicer… I want to be your friend,” she stumbled. “I went to your cottage to talk to you but your mom said you ran out after getting a letter about your father. I don’t have any ulterior motives, I swear. I just thought you might want to talk to someone since I know how important this is you.” Sansa bit her lip.

“Alright, I believe you,” Jon sighed.

Sansa smiled at him. He’d never been on the receiving end of one of her patented dazzling Sansa Stark smiles before. “Friends?” She asked, sticking out her hand.

He stared at her outstretched hand in disbelief. The Ice Queen herself wanted to be friends with him? “Why not?” He mused. “Friends.” He shook her gloved hand. Her smile stretches even wider; he didn’t know that was possible.

“Is Rhaegar Targaryen really your father?” she whispered. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. We could just sit here and talk about other things.”

“Apparently,” Jon scoffed, “he is.”

Sansa placed a comforting hand over his. They sat together in silence for a moment.

“It’s just so hard— thinking you’re one thing your whole life and then finding out in one instant that everything you thought you knew about yourself is a lie.”

“That’s not true, Jon!”

“My grandfather hated muggleborns like my mother. He killed your grandfather and your uncle, Sansa, for associating with her, and he probably would have killed your father too if he’d gotten the chance. Rhaegar is only reaching out now because Aerys died in Azkaban!”

“You are not your grandfather, Jon Snow.” She pursed her lips, jabbing him in the chest with her finger. “You are the nicest boy I know, and your blood has nothing to do with that, so don’t go on believing knowing who your father is will change who you are.”

“I know,” Jon whispered, “but sometimes it’s hard. I don’t know who to talk to about it.”

“Well, now you can talk to me,” she said, standing and pulling him up with her, “but you should really get home now; your mom was very worried but trying to hide it. We can hang out tomorrow and you can brood all you like then.” She brushed the dirt from his cloak.

“I don’t brood,” Jon sulked. She pulled a red leaf from his curls.

“Come on then,” Sansa laughed. She walked toward the exit and gestured for him to follow. He folded the letter, sticking it in his pocket, and jogged to catch up with her. When had she gotten so tall? At thirteen she almost towered over him.

Sansa dragged him along by the gloved hand, passing the winter roses in the glass gardens without stopping and sprinting across the wide back lawn to his mother’s cottage, snow crunching under their feet. The wind blew against their faces, turning Sansa’s nose as red as her hair. She stopped at last in front of his house.

“Well, this is where I leave you.” She pulled him into a crushing hug, just like the hugs Robb gave. It must have been a Stark family trait. “I’ll drop by tomorrow, okay?” she whispered in his ear. Stepping back, she waved and yelled “Goodbye Jon,” before turning and dashing away to Winterfell. When Jon turned around to go in, the curtains on the window next to the door fell back.

“Mother, I’m home,” Jon shouted as he walked inside, tapping his boots on the door frame to shake the snow off of them.

“You have a visitor,” his mother called from the kitchen. “She’s in the living room.” Perplexed, Jon kicked his boots off and noticed a smaller set of shoes next to his mother’s. Turning the corner, he spotted Ygritte Wild, a Gryffindor from his year sitting uncomfortably on the edge of the living room chair, pretending to read this week's Quibbler, but the magazine was upside down.

“Hey, Ygritte,” he greeted her, ignoring the letter and its unwanted contents still in his pocket. “What brings you ‘round here?” He settled into the green sofa across from her.

“Robb and I are going to get some practice in later today; thought you could use some too, even if you're in a different house.” She closed her magazine to put it back on the coffee table. “Was that Sansa Stark who just walked up?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Nothing. Just unusual, I suppose. Didn't think she was your type.” Ygritte flicked a speck of dirt from her nails, trying to act nonchalant.

“Wait a minute,” Jon replied after a moment. “Did you think we were— no, Sansa’s just my friend.”

“Oh.”

“Are you jealous?”

“What! No.” She stuck out her tongue at him. “Are you coming today or not?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Jon snickered.

“Good,” Ygritte replied, jumping from her seat. “See you in an hour on the pitch.” She blushed and darted from the room.

“You keep telling yourself that’s all that is, Jon,” Ygritte snorted in the present, startling him from his reverie. She lifted her head from her hands. Tear stains drifted down from her red eyes.

“You keep getting jealous over nothing!” Jon yelled. Wiping her tears, Ygritte stood, fire in her blue-gray eyes.

She jabbed a finger into his chest. “Maybe because it’s not nothing!”

“Well, maybe I can’t take the all this jealousy!” He stood to be at her level.

“Fine!” she laughed. “Maybe I can’t take the constant brooding.” She lowered her voice into an imitation of his own and frowned. “ I’m Jon Snow; my dad’s the Minister of Magic: look at me, I’m the Prince of Sorrow.” Jon deflated like a balloon.

“If that’s really how you feel, maybe we should break up.”

“Maybe we should!” Ygritte stuffed all of her things back into her bag in hurry, nearly knocking Robb’s enchanted inkwell off the table. “Goodbye, Jon!” She swung the bag onto her back and stomped off, her ponytail swinging behind her like an executioner's ax. “Hello Dany,” she muttered when she stormed through the doors of the library, leaving his stunned aunt in her wake. The rest of the students returned to their studies as normal library activities resumed like the first major break-up of the year hadn’t just occurred.

“What just happened?” Dany asked as she sauntered through the library to his table.

“I’m not sure,” Jon shrugged. “I think I just broke up with Ygritte.” Dany grimaced, settling into her chair and crossing her legs in an almost regal fashion.

“I’m so sorry, Jon,” she reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I know you really liked her, but to be frank, I always thought you two had such vastly temperaments that it would never work out. Don’t be sad for too long, nephew.” Jon rolled his eyes. She loved to call him that, even though he technically was older than her. “There are plenty of other red-headed fish in the sea. Speaking of redheads,” she grinned in that maniacal way of hers that reminded Jon of a dragon eyeing its prey, “I think I may have found a way for you to fix your Sansa problem. Meet me tomorrow at 4:00 at the Room of Requirement.” She stood to leave with the grace of a Queen.

“But how will I find it?” Jon asked.

“You’ll know the way when the time comes,” Dany laughed, and left him floundering without an answer.

[steveholley]

Farewell, Rod Bramblett

If you grew up in the 80’s or 90s in the Deep South as my generation did, you grew up surrounded by college football every Saturday.

If we’re being honest, it wasn’t just Saturday’s. In the state of Alabama in and other SEC states in particular, college football — Southeastern Conference football — was and is a 7-day-a-week event.

But nothing was more exciting than game day Saturdays and the night before leading up to a big conference game.

Things are still that way today and always will be, but it’s different now. The biggest difference between us is how we followed our teams back then and just how reliant we all were on the radio broadcasts of our team’s games. This was before the days of 740 channels (or even 60) and before every single game on the schedule was televised nationally. Before ESPN expanded to eleventy billion spinoffs and FOX launched regional sports networks and conferences began launching their own networks. Before you could get instant notifications on your phone letting you know every first down, change of possession, scoring update and red-zone alert. Before Twitter, Facebook, Reddit and the whole internet in general.

If you were lucky in those days, you had basic cable — all 30 some-odd channels — and could watch your team on ESPN. If not, you’d better hope they’d be in the ABC Game of the Week with Keith Jackson or Brent Musburger and Frank Broyles and Bob Griese.

But the only real, sure-proof way to stay in touch with your team on a weekly basis was through radio. In my hometown, we had an FM station that carried Alabama games each Saturday and a smaller, AM station that broadcast Auburn games. Birmingham and Tuscaloosa each had their own Alabama affiliates to choose from depending on which had the best signal reception on a given Saturday.

And there was nothing — absolutely nothing — like the feeling of being in the car with your parents and listening to your team on the radio. For me, that was Eli Gold, now in his 30th year as the play by play voice of the Tide, the late Doug Layton and the always colorful Jerry Duncan.

Games that weren’t on TV — ABC, CBS, ESPN and the late dearly departed Jefferson-Pilot Sports — left us strictly reliant on radio unless you wanted to shell out $40 for Pay-Per-View. My hometown’s Alabama radio affiliate even had a setup where you could call the station’s number, be put on hold and listen to the broadcast over the telephone. Looking back, I suppose it was the precursor to listening through smartphone apps like Tune In, iHeartRadio, Radio.com and Sirius.

But whether the game was on TV or not, there was always radio, and nothing made you feel closer to your team than being in the car or sitting around the house listening as Eli Gold or conversely Auburn’s Jim Fyffe describe each play as it happened — the excitement in their voice as David Palmer broke free on a punt return or Sherman Williams made a man miss to make it a foot-race to the end zone.

The first Iron Bowl I ever watched as a kid was in 1990. The game was on CBS, which in Birmingham had always had the weakest of all the over-the-air network TV signals and was hard to catch in a lot of homes more than 30-40 miles away from the city. Alabama had gone up 10-0 in the game before a late first-half Auburn score made it 10-7 at halftime.

I vividly remember my 9-year-old self getting sick to my stomach that day and had to be taken to the urgent care center a good 30 minutes away. My father loaded all of us into the car and we drove into town with the game on the radio. By the time we’d arrived and Auburn looked as though they were about to score following an Alabama turnover inside their own 10-yard line, my father couldn’t take it any more. He snapped off the radio dial right as we pulled up and didn’t find out until he was in the doctor’s room with me later that night that Alabama had won. As Tide fans will recall, it turned out that Auburn had fumbled the ball right back to Alabama on the very next play, the pivotal turning point in the game.

The Tide won, 16-7, off three Philip Doyle field goals, snapping a four-game losing streak to Auburn that had cost Bill Curry his job. (Fun fact: the first time I ever heard my father use profanity as a kid was when he’d yell at Bill Curry during the middle of a game while sitting on the couch. Until I was 9, I thought Curry’s full, legal name might actually be, “That Goddamn Curry.”)

As years went by, I listened on the radio as Alabama came from behind to beat Mississippi State after trailing late in the game in their championship season of 1992, and a few weeks later when Antonio Langham — my favorite player growing up — intercepted Shane Matthews’ pass and returned it for a touchdown to beat Steve Spurrier and Florida in the first ever SEC Championship Game at Birmingham’s Legion Field.

A year later, I was in the car with the radio on when Auburn’s Patrick Nix found future NFL great Frank Sanders for a touchdown that lifted the Tigers to a victory over ‘Bama to cap an undefeated regular season. The following year, Auburn came from 21-0 down to get to within a score of possibly tying or winning the Iron Bowl when Sanders was tackled one yard shy of a would-be first down to end the game.

When we reached our teenage years, my brother and I gathered around a small, table-top radio in my grandparents’ home and listened as Alabama suffered one of its most embarrassing defeats in program history to Louisiana Tech on a 4th-and-goal from the 26 yard line that Tech’s quarterback somehow converted into a touchdown pass. Those are just a few of the memories I have of listening to football games on the radio growing up.

Arkansas quarterback Clint Stoerner’s late fourth-quarter fumble at Neyland Stadium to keep Tennessee’s undefeated, championship season alive in 1998? The car radio on an AM station out of Knoxville after sunset, when many AM signals from hours away become possible to catch.

Vanderbilt games on WSM in Nashville, the home of the Grand Ole Opry, on 650 AM? The car radio. An occasional Ole Miss game on a station in East Mississippi? A (long-wave) radio that picked up signals out of Columbus. It was always a feeling of excitement when another team’s broadcast signal found its way to your radio at night.

In the summer, we could listen to Skip Caray and the Atlanta Braves but that was nothing; at least three radio stations within our area carried the Braves broadcasts. After dark, you could pick up KMOX’s strong overnight signal out of St. Louis and listen to the Cardinals and occasionally, on clear nights, the Cubs on WGN Radio out of Chicago and the Tigers and Ernie Harwell out of Detroit. But college football in the Deep South was and is the king of all kings.

So why the trip down memory lane? The sudden, tragic passing of Auburn broadcaster Rod Bramblett Saturday night has got me to thinking about all of the ways Mr. Bramblett and his colleagues have given us the gift of college football via the radio dial over the years.

My heart is aching over Mr. Bramblett and his wife Paula’s untimely and almost unthinkable death in a fatal car accident in Auburn. As I always have when trying to process sadness, I sat down at my computer and began to write.

When you’re an Alabama fan, it’s only natural to go behind enemy lines and tune in to the Auburn broadcast whenever they’re not playing at the same time as your team. I was drawn to this as a kid listening to the late Jim Fyffe call Auburn games on the radio with his patented pro-Tigers slant and signature nails-on-the-chalkboard yelling of, “TOUCHDOOOOOOOOOWN AUBUUUUUUURN!” after every score.

When Mr. Fyffe passed away suddenly in the summer of 2003 following a brain aneurysm, Rod Bramblett stepped into his chair and picked up right where his predecessor had left off. It may seem strange coming from a rival fan, but as legendary as Jim Fyffe was, I never really noticed a difference when Rod Bramblett took over his vacancy. That’s a credit to Mr. Bramblett, whose style offered the same mannerisms; the same audible grunts and groans when his team was playing poorly and equally the same jubilation and swag when they were winning.

I won’t pretend to glorify the late Mr. Bramblett or claim that I was a lifelong fan. That would only cheapen the man. What I will say is that what he meant to the Auburn community and its fan base and how much he gave to the school — both on and off the air — is something that precious few broadcasters can do and something that no one will ever forget. I have many friends and colleagues in the journalism industry in Alabama and in radio who met Rod Bramblett and never once did I ever hear that he was anything but a genuinely nice and pleasant person to be in the room with.

I don’t know who Auburn will hire to take his place and it is too soon to even begin to speculate on that. But with Mr. Bramblett’s passing, an unmistakable void is left in the hearts of true fans who appreciate college football that goes well beyond just his loyal listeners on football, basketball and baseball broadcasts; it affects not just “The Loveliest Village on the Plains” but the entire state of Alabama, which is in mourning today, and indeed the college game we love so much on a national level. Tributes are pouring in from all over the country and will continue in the days, weeks and months ahead and rightfully so — beginning with the finale of today’s SEC Baseball Tournament in Birmingham. Mr. Bramblett has earned them.

Life and Auburn football games on radio will go on after Mr. Bramblett’s passing, the same as it did with Mr. Fyffe’s sudden passing 16 years ago. But I hope that for a moment anyway, we can set aside all of these suddenly silly and trivial sports rivalries — as reasonably as we can — and remember that there are real people involved in these rivalries and that they have lives, character, family, friends and so much more. So, so much more.

One last thing before I wrap this up. As painful as it can still be to relive for Alabama fans, even with two championships and a 4-1 record vs. Auburn in the years since, I sat down Saturday night and early Sunday after the news of Mr. Bramblett’s passing and pulled up his two most famous radio calls via YouTube, both from 2013: the “Miracle on the Plains” catch by Ricardo Louis on a Hail Mary pass to beat Georgia and Chris Davis’s “Kick Six” return in that year’s Iron Bowl.

The latter will forever be one of the most memorable calls in sports history, period. The sheer pandemonium and jubilation in Bramblett’s voice as he screams from the top of his lungs: “THERE GOES DAVIS! OH MY GOD DAVIS IS GONNA RUN IT ALL THE WAY BACK! AUBURN’S GONNA WIN THE FOOTBALL GAME! AUBURN’S GONNA WIN THE FOOTBALL GAME!” And in his best Bob Uecker from ‘Major League’ voice, “OH MY GOD AUBURN WINS IT! OH MY LORD IN HEAVEN!”

“They’re not gonna keep them off the field tonight,” Mr. Bramblett exclaims.

Nor will they keep Rod Bramblett off the proverbial fields henceforth, or from having a lasting memory and a special place in those same peoples’ hearts and many others that will always live on.

We are none promised another day. Mr. Bramblett and his wife's sudden passing is yet another painful reminder of that. Be kind to each other while we’re all still here and let love win.

From one radio loyalist to another, rest in peace, Rod Bramblett.