#'three' he says but i know he naturally gravitates more comfortably to five

[leafiebeanie]

for the rntn ask game!! 🔥❤️💣💭

hi!!! thanks for the ask bb! (b ᵔ▽ᵔ)b

🔥- What first drew you to Rengoku Kyojuro/Tanjiro?

naturally, the man's beautiful and thick eyebrows xD jkjk

more answers under the cut! (its very long, you have been warned 🤭🤭)

i definitely fell heart ❤️ first for kyotan after finishing the mugen train arc, but hmmmmm, to pinpoint the exact moment it ✨ sparked ✨ and activated the fujo cells in my brain, it has to be the sleepy time on the train—i am not immune to the tenderness of the scene, pls gtg couldve had tan sleep against the window, or nod off to sleep without leaning against kyo, BUTTTTTT tan placed his head on kyo's shoulder, AND KYO DIDN'T STOP HIM!!! (ง ื▿ ื)ว

for all we know, tan couldve drifted off to sleep first on the rattling window, and then kyo placed his head on his shoulder so tan could sleep more comfortably! 😉😉 anyway

🎴 tanjiro has always been my favourite character, right from the start of the series—he's a very loveable character, dependable, and his "i am the eldest son!" attitude really endeared me 😭😭 similarly, kyo is also a very dependable and sexy big brother, so its needless to say that they captured my heart almost instantly

and obviously, like, the way the kamaboko trio first met kyo on the train, how it was zen and ino's first time seeing kyo, and they were asking tan how they would know they met the right person,,, and the way tan said he's seen kyo before and would definitely recognise him! (im not gonna lie, that little bit alone had the fujo braincells in my head starting to wake up 🤭🤭)

and then how they got to see kyo's strength and power as he slayed the first two demons on the train with ease, and then the look of admiration (love) on tan's face when kyo ran up to tan and told him he would take care of five carriages while zen and nezuko handled three,,,

yes i took so many screenshots when rewatching the movie

my boy's down bad for kyo 🥺🥺

alternatively..... this is what i want kyo to say heheheheh

and then how at the end of the movie, kyo gave it his all while fighting akaza,, how desperate tan was as he watched the fight from afar, hating how weak he was, how he flung his sword at akaza while akaza ran from the sun

and then finally, when kyo called tan to come over and referred to him by his name, especially hits hard when he calls zenitsu yellow hair and inosuke, boar boy,, and how he gave tan and nezuko his approval 😭😭😭

and then how tan could barely keep himself together, couldnt bring himself to accept the fact that kyo, a powerful and strong hashira, has lost to an upper moon, his anguished cries while he was carried away, please, spare me

i just really love how close kyo and tan got during the events of one night 😭😭😭

and i always find myself gravitating to ships that could have been, had you not left your time too early :')

plus an honorary mention from the short scene in the opening song, where kyo tries to get tan to eat more bentos, augh so cute!!! 😍😍

❤️ - what are your favorite kind of RenTan stories? (Canon, Rengoku lives, modern… etc)

mmm, i am a huge sucker for animal settings and stuff with deities, so konpon au, tiger x cat, owl kyo, literally all the ones with part animal stuff, i eat them all up!

aside from that, the rengoku lives tag is free therapy okay, lets be real xDDDDDDD i just love thinking about the future that couldve happened if kyo had survived

and i also think it would be interesting to see how they would live their lives after muzan has been taken down, we have kyo, whose entire life has been moulded and shaped for one purpose only and now that theyve finally achieved it, what happens?

definitely, there would be a training arc, maybe kyo and tan would have to rein in wandering thoughts about each other, or fics where kyotan gets into an argument bc tan doesnt want to become his tsuguko bc it means replacing kyo as hashira,

and even dumb shenanigans like giyuu being salty and jealous about kyo wanting tan to be his tsuguko, bc it! was! giyuu! who found tan first! kyo should go look for someone else to be his tsuguko! xD

like many others have said before me, i think it would be sweet to watch kyo learn how to live a simple life with tan, where each day is simply spent appreciating the idle things in life, the quiet days where nothing particularly Big! or Adrenaline Rushing! happens

💣 - share your most controversial RenTan take. Set your thoughts ablaze!!

controversial take hmmmmmmmm

lets see, i think kyo has the potential to be manipulative, whether he is conscious of it or not

it has to do with his trauma, where he is so! good! at compartmentalising his emotions, and how rigid he can sometimes be about "this is the way things has to be",

im talking about how ruka instilled "the strong must protect the weak" mentality in kyo, and given how he interacts with sen and the bento girl, it sort of reflects that "the weak should just sit back and be protected by the strong"

and i just think that if he's 100% set his mind on "the way a certain thing should be", he might end up manipulating the situation to be what he has envisioned in his mind

like if sen really pushes through headstrong that he is going to train hard and join the demon slater corps, kyo is going to reject and push sen's desires down, kind of the way shin is doing to kyo, but kyo might end up saying things that affect sen more than shin does kyo—maybe he'll tell sen about what ruka says, and it can be especially effective bc sen barely has any memories of ruka before she passed, how he should just let him! the older and more capable one! handle all the hard work, that sen is pitiful enough the way he already is, really hammering in the point that sen cannot possibly do anything,,, that kind of stuff

of course, that doesnt mean that kyo is incapable of changing his mind—proven when he first says nezuko should be killed bc she is a demon and 100% no longer human, but then changes his mind about nezuko once he sees her protecting the passengers in mugen train

gah—i just think that he can be manipulative if he (his heart) really wants to, and i say his heart because again, he might be doing it subconsciously, reflecting what he really wants deep down, and not what he thinks should happen from his skewed perspective as the strong one

💭 - In a world where the train ride lasted longer, what do Rengoku and Tanjiro dream of?

ooh!!! this one is a fun one!

enmu says he likes to give his victims the happiest dream they could ever dream of, then thrust them into the most painful dream once they've relaxed and put down their guards,,,

so lets see, for kyo right, since his dream starts of with a memory of him telling shin that he has finally become the flame hashira, and how shin belittles him and his efforts

then it goes on to show sen waiting outside shin's room, waiting for kyo to come out etc, yadda yadda

i think enmu would continue to build on that dream, so it will emphasize the peaceful, but short, days that kyo gets to spend with sen

then! he might end up dreaming about ruka, about the happy days he has shared with his family, before ruka's passing that broke shin so bad

maybe it'll show scenes where kyo gets back from a long mission and starts telling sen about how it went, and then goes on with him learning things that sen excitedly shares, stories that he's learned from reading,

sen getting his beloved aniki to try and taste test his latest recipes bc shin is too busy drowning himself in alcohol, kyo thoroughly enjoying and appreciating sen's efforts, eating burnt food whilst sen apologizes nonstop and trying to get kyo to stop eating the burnt stuff, saying he'll make another batch that isnt burnt

maybe there'll even be a part where sen helps to trim kyo's hair for the first time, carefully, and then sen accidentally cuts off a big chunk

now kyo lets him and just laughs it off, bc he wants to leave some happy memories with sen before his inevitable death happens, as with any rengoku before him, while fulfilling their duty

as for tan, enmu also lets him dream about his family, and we know that tan so desperately misses his family, how much he wants to sit there and bask in denial that his family had been killed in cold blood

so continuing from that, i think tan would be spending more time with his family, chopping wood and making charcoal as usual with takeo following him around happily, then descending the mountain to sell charcoal as per his usual routine with rokuta and hana tagging along

maybe the seasons would change, from winter to spring, where tan would occasionally take a break and go pick some flowers for kie, and to spend time basking in the morning sun with rokuta and hana

to summer, where he would bring his siblings down to the river and play with them in the water, and he would catch fish with them, teaching them how to spear the fishes

to autumn, where he would rake up the leaves to make a giant leaf pile and his siblings would jump into it, maybe he might even build a little canopy hut thing for them to play in with the fallen leaves and branches

with all the seasons that come and go, tan watches happily as his siblings all grow up, but bc enmu wants to give him a bad dream at the end, tan realises that he's the only one that isnt aging like the rest of his family

he starts to notice when he sees takeo and rokuta looming over him, having grown up already, takeo, getting into his rebellious phase, rokuta, no longer the crybaby he used to be

nezuko and hana, much older now, swooning over the new family that just moved into town, who also happens to have a handsome and single young man, who only vaguely reminds tan about muzan (bc it is him but in a different form, and tan cant smell him very well bc he's already so drawn into his dream, so settled in but just on edge enough to realise that something isnt quite right)

kie, her eyesight no longer what it used to be, grey hairs and shaky hands are her normal now, but still lovingly making their favourite senbei for her darling children

all growing older, except for tan, who continues to remain stuck, frozen in time

and there you have it! so sorry it took me so long to reply xDDDDD i had to get fresh screencaps from the movie hehe

[cardinal-carvings]

@onehell-of-apilot​:  "How many kids do you want?"

Archex frowns-- not necessarily at the question so much as in consideration. He’d never figured he’d put the desire to a number, and the idea of such threw him off, “... three, I guess? Maybe? I mean... I probably won’t stop there, if I happen across a child in need. I can guarantee you I’m going to take anyone in that needs a family. It’s... how it’s been, up to now, so it’ll probably still ring true.”

[haik-choo]

karasuno boys as boyfriends

a/n: im just basically astral projecting myself into these situations; ALSO if you want more detailed ones, just ask, and you shall receive! (also this is my first post i’ve written on here! but if you want plenty of kpop content i’m @hyucksong where i’ve been writing and I am still active! :))

---

[KARASUNO BOYS AS BOYFRIENDS HEADCANNONS]

-tsukishima, yamaguchi, hinata, kageyama, tanaka, nishinoya, sugawara, daichi, and asahi

---

tsukishima kei.

the type to look you straight in your eyes when you ask for a hug and say “no, who do you think i am, your boyfriend?”

runs his hands through your hair from the front and then when his hand reaches the back of your head he pulls you into him and kisses you either on the forehead or the lips <3

in order to be in a relationship with him you HAVE to have the same type of humor.

i don’t think he could date someone who doesn’t make fun of people with him

you guys are like best friends who make fun of each other and. make out a little every once in a while

he’ll hold your hand and hug you in public but he will NEVER do anything else, especially not in front of the boys

he thinks the blush that ignites on your kissable cheeks should be for his eyes only

he gave you a keychain that had a cute little strawberry shortcake on it. and it’s your most prized possession 

will shoot a glare at anyone who watches you too closely. like no. don’t get googly eyed over MY girlfriend. 

and you don’t have a problem with that ;) 

yamaguchi tadashi.

he likes to watch you when you’re not looking to pick out the little habits you do

he thinks that knowing someone’s little hardly noticeable habits is one of the most intimate things on mother earth

he knows that you stir the milk in the bowl three times before you pour the cereal in to check for chunks because you accidentally drank spoiled milk when you were younger

NEVER has an issue getting you a gift for any occasion. he ALWAYS knows what you’re looking at and what you want and you lowkey think he can read your mind but in reality he just pays attention <3

you’re either just as shy as him to bring out his more assertive side or more assertive than he is to bring out his more timid side -- both are good

kisses you on the forehead and holds your hand in public -- he loves PDA because he can show you off :’)

yes. he kisses the back of your nape in public. so what. 

YES. HE CLOSES HIS EYES WHEN HE DOES IT AND ACCIDENTALLY INHALES YOUR SCENT AND WHISPERS IN YOUR EAR THAT YOU SMELL GOOD. IDC IF YOU THINK THAT’S CREEPY. IT’S CUTE. YES. HE GIVES YOU THAT LOOK THAT SAYS HE’S CRAZILY IN LOVE WITH YOU. SO WHAT.

kageyama tobio.

he probably fell in love with you because you were just as passionate about something else as he is about volleyball; music, drawing, writing, math, science, reading -- whatever

i see this relationship as being one that’s like...accelerated friends. like,,, you act like him and hinata except you kiss sometimes and he can see you at the end of the wedding aisle

DEFINITELY reads cosmopolitans once you start dating because he wants to be a good boyfriend for you <3

PDA is literally little to NONe,,, not because he doesn’t like it...it’s just because he doesn’t realize that he’s not showing you affection lololol

like in one arm he has his athletic duffel bag and the other he has a volleyball

he doesn’t mean to neglect you he just does AGAGAG

realized he liked you when he thought about you when he was drinking his milk and mindlessly bought you one too

the first time y’all kissed. he literally stared at you so intensely for a SOLID ten minutes debating in his head whether or not he should just go for it or wait or just smash his face into yours and hope your lips connect

he chose to cross his fingers and ended up smashing his forehead and nose into yours 

it was cute tho <3

hinata shoyo.

YALL HAVE DATES WHERE YOU BABYSIT HIS SISTER. WTF SO CUTE

when yall cuddle and you’re the little spoon he likes to put his head on your shoulder/between your neck and watch as you scroll through tiktok or instagram and just mindlessly talk about his day 

the type of boyfriend where neither of you can cook and you both confusedly look at recipes on google like: ????? wtf is the difference between brown sugar and regular sugar

it’s his INSTINCT to hold your hand. no matter what. his hand just...gravitates to yous.

AND HIS LIPS JUST FIND YOUR CHEEK??? like it’s so natural to him to kiss your cheek when he sees you, even in public. it’s so adorable i--

THE TYPE OF GUY TO WIPE OFF FOOD FROM THE CORNER OF YOUR MOUTH AND STILL EAT IT AND SAY “you taste good!~” AND NOT EVEN REALIZE WHAT HE SAID. BUT WHEN YOU DO IT TO HIM HE BLOWS A FUSE

he loves to tickle you. like you’ll be vibing, drinking whatever you drink in the morning and he’ll come up to you all casually and kiss you cheek...and then he’ll pounce 

he holds you close to his chest when he tickles you, partally because he likes feeling your laugh vibrate on his chest, and partially because it’s easier to not get tickled if he’s right behind you

his sister LOVes you and it just. makes him so happy

tanaka ryuunosuke.

you CANNOT remove his hand from your ass. it is permanently glued there. it is attached to you. yes, even in public.

number 1 hypeman! he will always support you, no matter what! you could be in a competition to raise the biggest beetle and he’ll be there rooting you on and staying up late with you as you rear your award-winning beetle

you two lay next to each other on the couch/on his bed and he’ll have his arm around you and you’ll lay your head on his chest as you watch netflix shows

YOU, NISHINOYA, AND TANAKA? UNSTOPPABLE TRIO. POWER TRIPLET. 

i don’t imagine him being shy when he first kisses you; the first time he kissed you, you were literally just. existing and he literally just...couldn’t hold it in...and he just went for it

literally CATAPULTS himself into you and kisses you senseless

yes you and saeko are besties she gives you ALL the tea about young tanaka

the type to take off his shirt more during practice if you’re there watching, and literally BURN red if you mention anything about his muscles

you once traced a vein in his arm and commented on how hot it was and he literally short-circuited 

kiss his biceps. kiss his abs. kiss his cheek. please. it’s all he wants. he’s touch-starved

nishinoya yuu.

SUCH an excited boyfriend

like he seriously gets so hype doing ANYTHING with you pleaSE give this man an award. you’ll be at the amusement park and the line to get into a ride will be three hours and he’ll be like

“I get to spend three hours with you?!! fucking sick! absolutely radical!” 

he’s bold in public, but only because he wants to rub you in his teammates faces, but his ears will be Red

at home, he’s calmer :) he just loves to spend time with you, even if you’re sitting on a bench watching him practice receives for five hours straight in the blazing sun. 

he just treasures your time so much, you treats you like a precious gem -- he will NEVER treat you wrong. deadass has no problem admitting when he’s wrong -- but if he thinks he’s right then he WILL stand his ground

he’s a passionate man, who loves just as passionately.

his favorite time to kiss you is after you’ve taken a sip of a soda because he likes the taste of the syrup and the burn of the carbonation, but most of all because he likes the taste of your lips in combination with all of them

NIPS AT YOUR EAR. DEADASS JUST LOOKS AT YOU BRUSH A PIECE OF HAIR BACK WHEN YOU’RE DOING HOMEWORK AND IS LIKE “free real estate” AND C H O MPS

the day nishinoya told everyone yall were dating, kiyoko stopped you in the hallway and deadass got on her knees and thanked you LITERALLY she was like “i’ll buy you anything. give the word and it’ll be yours.” 

sugawara koushi.

would kiss you on the first date. deadass. he’ll just drop you off at your doorstep and you’re still high on adrenaline, and you’re lowkey hoping he’ll kiss you and you get  little disappointed when he doesn’t and then when you least expect it. bam. his lips on yours

his smell oh god, he literally smells like fresh sugar cookies. it’s like as soon as you get anywhere near him his smell just invades you nose and. you’re powerless. you just wanna hug him

never smells bad. try me, bitch. NEVER.

his hugs are literally god’s gifts. he loves hugging you. he just completely envelopes you with his pretty setter arms and his smell takes up all the space in your head and nothing else exists for that moment, just you two

loves tucking your hair behind your ears or just moving it out of your face; doing homework and your bangs are in the way? not for long because he’ll clip them up for you <3

he’s pretty mischievous and will playfully put his hand next to your head and lean down with such a HOT look in his eyes 

and he’ll say some shit like “i wanna devour you” and then he’ll laugh afterwards and give you a kiss on the forehead and you’re standing there. like -.- o.o -.- o.o

whenever he feels insecure about his position on the team, you’re always there to comfort him and he’ll just lay between your legs and rest his face on your stomach as you comb your fingers through his hair and scroll through tiktok

PDA? yes please. uh huh. mhmm. he doesn’t care who sees his love for you he just wants to love on you baby. kisses you on the lips, no problemo

daichi sawamura.

you and suga are the only ones who can scare him when yall are mad lol

boyfriend where you’ve dated for like a year but it feel like 50 have already passed. in a good way!

this relationship is so ungodly domestic. like from the first day it’s just pure comfort and he’s like your rock and you’re his anchor

you two bicker a lot but it’s lighthearted and you just feel so secure with him that poking fun at him and at yourself is just natural

daichi. gives. god. hugs. he does. it’s fact. 

his arms are just so big and he has so much body warmth and he probably smells like some bullshit cologne like “smoldering woods” and it’s just so. daichi

you two spend the night at each other’s house so often it’s like you already live with each other and people always forget that you don’t lolol

totally sleeps with his shirt off and only with underwear. isn’t awkward about it either;  when he wakes up he puts on sweats but still remains topless (not that you’re complaining)

you two are like. the strict parental couple, when you walk together whether it be down the street or in the hallways, you just look so right for each other it’s. mind blowing

doesn’t mind kissing you a little in public but really thinks that stuff should be for private; so normally he just kisses your temple and always has an arm either around your shoulder or around your waist

WHEN THE TEAM SEES YOU KISS ON THE LIPS THEY GO “EW” EVEN SUGA AND ASAHI AFIEFHEWIF

asahi azumane.

literal fucking teddy bear. god please cuddle him. please kith him. please comb through his hair with your fingers and kiss his nape and kiss the back of his head. please i beg of you.

did NOT ask you out first. he wrote love letter to you and then waiting behind the gym because he thought being near the volleyball gym would give him some luck and them you got in front of him and he was. deer in the headlights

needless to say you asked him out and kissed his cheek. he DIED

even once yall are comfortable in the relationship he still needs reassurance every once in a while because he’s a little insecure, not that you’ll leave him for someone else, but that he’s not good enough

his PDA skill are. subpar. he usually just holds your hand and that’s it, but sometimes kisses the corner of your eye or nose and you just combust

OH RIOGEH TOTALLY DOES BUTTERFLY AND BUNNY KISSES. YES GOD YESSSSS

when yall cuddle he doesn’t like spooning. he likes to be able to see your face and the expressions you make, so doesn’t like being the little or big spoon; yall face each other and just lets your head lay on his arm even tho it’s numb. im: soft

kisses are so sweet, slow, and hesitant. he doesn’t really kiss you often because he has terrible timing but...when he does it’s like the whole world just becomes still in that moment and nothing matters but his hands on your waist and yours in his hair 

[moonbeamwritings]

Hello wanted to say i loooove your writing and also humbly request the bruno gang + diavolo/doppio going to a fancy event, if it is much maybe just buno doppio/diavolo?

ahh thank you anon! and oh gosh... the chaos of the thing

bucci gang + diavolo/doppio going to a fancy event

Overall, Bruno wouldn’t mind them. He strikes me as the type who likes to meet new people and develop connections with them, and going to a fancy event offers him the opportunity to do just that. He would take his time getting ready, smoothing out creases and fixing his hair in order to put his best foot forward. Once at the event, he would sit and eat with the group for a while before wandering, or being dragged, off to chat with higher ups or civilians. When he’s had his fill, he brings everybody home and deflates a bit before going to bed - even capos require a little recharge every once in a while.

Giorno is another one who views fancy events as an opportunity to network and meet new people. He spends some time with Mista and Narancia as he perfects his usual three hair rolls, and lets his hair loose from its braid for once. Mista had mentioned it looked regal, and Giorno found himself pleased with the idea. At the event - and in his life in general to be honest - he has this air about him that people often gravitate towards, and I feel like he’d use that to his advantage to sway opinions and charm people. Once his socializing is done, he’ll return to the table to chat with the others, allowing himself some time to put his duties aside and just be himself with his companions.

Abbacchio would not be fond of going to fancy events. He’s much more comfortable around the gang and in other small groups, so these busy, unfamiliar places with people he’s never met don’t really do much for him. If he has to go, though, he goes through the motions of getting ready, and, once at the venue, would simply tuck himself away at whatever table they were assigned and enjoy the expensive wine and good food. And no, before you ask, he’s not going to dance (even if he does know how to waltz).

If you need Mista before the event, he’ll be in the bathroom fixing his curls for hours, fretting over each and every one to make sure they sit just right. He doesn’t let them out from under his hat often, so he needs to make it count. Beyond that, Mista would love going to fancy events for the food, wine, and to screw around with Narancia (and perhaps flirt with a cutie or two if the mood strikes). The pair developed a game they call “How many does it take?” in which they count how many stupid comments it takes for either Abbacchio or Fugo (sometimes both) to get annoyed or angry with them. One time, they reached about five before Fugo started yelling, much to Bruno’s dismay.

Narancia wouldn’t love the idea of having to dress up and keep up appearances at fancy events, but he’ll do so for Bruno and Giorno’s sake. He likes hanging out with Mista and Giorno while they do their hair before the event, but he likes bugging Abbacchio and Fugo at the event even more so. It keeps him entertained during an otherwise absolute bore of a night. He’s counting down the hours before he can loosen his tie and listen to his own music and not this “fancy orchestra crap.”

Fugo, much like Abbacchio, would not be fond of them at all. I feel like the stuffy and condescending nature of some of the other guests would remind him of both his upbringing and his time at university, so he always goes with a bad taste in his mouth. He does eventually forget about those lingering feelings and ultimately enjoys sitting at the table with the others. He’s had moments where he’s yelled at Narancia and Mista for their little game, but usually, a glass of wine with Abbacchio and Bruno will calm him down again.

Diavolo/Doppio would be a mixed bag. Diavolo wouldn’t be caught dead at one, seeing as it puts him at too much of a risk at being found out or any of his other secrets being revealed. He avoids them as much as possible and typically sends an underling to attend in his stead - he still needs to keep up appearances after all. Doppio, on the other hand, would go and have some fun. He’s a little odd and sometimes quick to anger, but he enjoys listening to music and indulging in a glass of wine or two, though he’s spilled it on himself answering the Boss’ calls more times than he can count.

[helloalycia]

The Wrong Lifetime – Four // Wanda Maximoff

chapter three | story masterlist | main masterlist | wattpad | chapter five

author’s note: I hope you all don’t mind the slow burn because it’s like my favourite thing and i promise things will get spicy soon 😂

Since my rather abrupt revelation about Wanda, I found myself racked with guilt.

Not because she was a girl – I couldn't help my feelings in that sense – but because she was my brother's fiancé. And every time he came to me, gushing about how great of a date they had or how much he was falling for her, the guilt hit me like a sharp pain in the chest, because I understood what he was saying. I felt the same.

And it didn't help when they would occasionally go on dates in front of me, and all I could feel was an unexplainable jealousy in the pit of my stomach. I had no right to feel like this when she was an engaged woman. Her naturally flirtatious personality was simply that: a personality. And even though we'd had a genuinely lovely day a week ago when she invited me to her home, it was no reason for me to think of her in such a way.

The next date on Y/B/N and Wanda's journey to marriage was at our house in the garden. I wasn't actually aware of it until I saw them sat on some garden furniture.

My mum wanted me to help her with some gardening and I found her kneeling by some plant pots, a fair distance away from Wanda and my brother. As I approached her, I glanced in the couple's direction, seeing them sat opposite one another and enjoying a selection of finger foods and tea. They were far away enough to have privacy, but close enough for me to make out their expressions.

"For goodness sake, Y/N," my mother said when I kneeled down beside her to help. "Do you have to wear those horrendous trousers?"

I rolled my eyes, sitting on the ground comfortably. "I'm curious, mother. Do you like anything that I do?"

She gave me a disapproving glance. "I'm only looking out for you, dear. That outfit is very... unladylike."

"Well, they're comfortable," I quipped, before grabbing a spade and getting to work.

"So are dresses," she pointed out, continuing repotting her plants. "And they're prettier, too."

"Considering I have to wear a dress all the time and that I'm in the comfort of my own home, I'm going to pretend you didn't just make me feel bad for wearing these."

She didn't say anything, but I could tell she wasn't happy. I didn't mind wearing dresses, but I would be lying if I said trousers weren't more comfortable. The only time I could wear them was at home when doing chores or simply lounging around. I'd make the most of it whilst I could, no matter what comments my mother made.

I wasn't afraid to get my hands dirty as I helped her repot the plants before digging into the soil and planting some seeds she'd bought this morning. My mother, despite adoring gardening, hated getting messy, so you can imagine the look on her face when I got soil all over my clothes.

"I wish you would act like a lady sometimes," she mumbled to herself, but I didn't let it faze me. It was all I heard, so I was used to it.

Laughter sounded from behind us and I risked glancing back, seeing Wanda laughing at something Y/B/N said. I rolled my eyes subconsciously before looking back to what I was doing. My fingernails dug into the soil with irritation, directed at them and also myself. Though, despite my irritation, I still had an urge to glance back at Wanda, and when I did she was looking my way this time. A mere glance on her part, but she directed a smile my way before looking to my brother again.

I'd like to say that was it, but I continued to steal glances of her as I worked alongside my mum, taking what I could get as I admired her from afar.

She looked stunning today, as she always did. Her long curls were left out, flowing over her shoulders and pretty green dress; I wasn't close enough to be able to tell, but I was sure that her dress complimented her eyes. A dark forest green colour with golden flecks, matching the deep green of her dress. Or so I assumed.

"They seem like they're getting on well," my mum said at one point, earning my attention. She was talking about Y/B/N and Wanda as she continued, "They make such a lovely couple."

I swallowed hard, nodding lamely. "They sure do, mum."

She gave me a sideways glance. "You know, your brother will be married soon and then it will be your turn."

I groaned quietly, knowing where this was going. There was no point trying to stop her because once she started, that was it.

"You can't just keep locking yourself in your room and writing stories," she was saying, but I attempted to tune her out which sometimes felt impossible since she had no off button and her shrill voice always managed to break through my bubble. "You have to find a husband. An actual person who you can marry and who can take care of you."

"I can take care of myself."

"Y/N, you know that's not what I mean..." but I stopped listening as she got started going on another ramble about the benefits of having a husband.

Instead, my eyes darted around the garden until they naturally gravitated towards Wanda. It was definitely the wrong time to get distracted by her though, since she seemed to be sucking some food off her thumb. As she did, her eyes found mine and she took that as her opportunity to wink in my direction playfully, hiding a smile as her thumb remained between her teeth. Y/B/N didn't seem to notice, as he was looking the other way, and I felt my cheeks heating up as I looked away quickly, remembering my dream.

She's going to marry your brother. She's going to marry your brother. She's going to marry your brother.

A stupid mantra that didn't work, but I attempted to drill it into my brain anyway.

"...and it would be nice to be able to do all the wedding stuff for you next time around," my mum continued to ramble, unaware of my flustered self.

The image of Wanda sucking her thumb was permanently engraved in my head and I struggled to wish it away. No more staring for today, I told myself, before getting lost in gardening again.

After ten more minutes of nonstop nattering about finding a husband for me, my mother excused herself to refill the watering can. I was grateful for her momentary absence, appreciating the silence and lack of guilt-tripping. Until I heard footsteps behind me shortly after, making me groan loudly.

"I'm not finding a husband right now!" I snapped, unable to take it any longer. But when I spun around to give her a piece of my mind, my mouth hung open like a fish out of water.

"I'd sure hope not," Wanda answered with a stifled laugh. "Then I'd have to share your company with somebody else."

Closing my mouth and standing up, I cleared my throat. "Sorry. I thought you were my mum."

She nodded, eyes roaming my whole body for a second, making me nervous under her stare. I hadn't actually seen her since my inappropriate dream and it was growing increasingly difficult to be so close to her without thinking about it.

"I figured. I just wanted to say hi," she said, expression softening as she met my eyes.

I was right about the dress bringing her eyes out more. A forest green colour, as I'd predicted.

"Hi," I said, giving her a small, nervous smile. "Erm, how is your date going?"

She shrugged, raising her hand to hold her forearm comfortably. "It's okay. It's wonderful out here, I'll give him that."

Relaxing into the conversation, my awkwardness fading already, I smiled in agreement. "Yeah, it is pretty."

A smirk appeared on her lips. "Yeah. So are the gardeners."

Admittedly, it took me a few seconds longer than it should have to realise she was talking about me. When I did, I felt a heat creeping up my neck and to my face and looked to the grass to distract myself. See, when she did stuff like that, it made me question a hell of a lot.

She chuckled. "So, gardening. Another dislike of yours?"

I shook my head, risking looking back up to her. "No, actually. I don't mind it. I'm just not a fan when it gives my mother an opportunity to discuss marriage."

Wanda's interested was piqued as she quirked a brow. "Oh? Your mother has suitors for you?"

I squeezed my eyes shut at the possibility, shaking my head. "I'd rather not ask, Wanda."

She let out a short laugh. "You've got time anyway. At least until Y/B/N and I are married."

I hoped she didn't see the involuntary wince I did at the mention of that. "Honestly, I'm not even thinking about that now... I'm nowhere near ready for that."

"Would you not want to get married?" she asked curiously, tilting her head to the side.

I sighed, looking around, unable to keep my eyes still. "I don't know, I guess? Eventually? But to somebody I love, not some arranged marriage just for the sake of it." My words sank in quite quickly and I straightened up, instantly looking to Wanda with apologetic eyes. "Bloody hell, that is not what I meant to say–"

"It's fine," she reassured me with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I get it. And, well, you're not wrong."

I smiled halfheartedly, the guilt at my previous words still present. I could honestly say that I wasn't aiming that comment at her, but I wouldn't blame her if she took it that way.

"It's important to fall in love with the person you marry," she said, gaze locked on mine. "You have to learn about them, who they are. Their likes, their dislikes. Their personality. If they have a sense of humour or if they're as dry as cardboard. If they're into you as much as you're into them."

Nodding slowly, I wasn't sure what to say. My mouth went dry the longer she watched me, eyes dancing with an emotion I couldn't recognise. Then her eyes fell to my lips and my knees began to shake subtly, wanting to give in because of how confused I was.

"Y/N, dear, don't dirty Wanda's dress with your muddy hands!" my mum called, breaking the strange silence that had built between the brunette and I.

Stepping back with realisation (and grateful for the interruption), I wiped my hands on my shirt subconsciously, making a further mess of my already mud-stained clothes. "Sorry."

When I looked up, Wanda was chewing on her lip, eyes doing a once over on me yet again. It was moments like this when I couldn't tell if she was teasing me or if she actually had an interest in me, maybe, like that.

"Wanda, honey, let's get you inside," my mum spoke, approaching the two of us and looking to her.

Nodding, Wanda glanced at me once more, shooting me a sweet smile, before being led away by my mum. I breathed out slowly, knowing it was wrong of me to feel this way about her. But it was hard not to fall for her when she had so much about her that was interesting.

Her passion for art, her teasing, playful attitude, her sense of humour... and then there were the physical aspects, like her beaming smile, her luxuriant brown hair and her entrancing hazel eyes. She was literally perfect and my brother was one lucky man. For once in my life, I was actually jealous of something he had that I didn't.

"Y/N!"

Speaking of the devil...

"Y/B/N, hey," I said with a smile as he approached me with an extra jump in his step. "What's up?"

Grin on his lips, he smacked my arm. "Did you see, Wanda? Didn't she look stunning?"

The guilt was cutting real deep. "She did."

"I think I'm in love," he gushed, eyes rolling backwards with delight. "She's perfect, Y/N, you don't get it."

"I can imagine...," I mumbled, but he barely noticed, too lovestruck to realise.

"Every date I've been on with her has been amazing," he continued. "If we weren't already engaged, I would've proposed!"

I raised my eyebrows with surprise, definitely not expecting this. He'd made his attraction to her known since the moment we'd met her, constantly talking about how gorgeous she was, but he'd never sounded happier than he did now.

"Mum adores her," he said with a content smile. "Dad would probably marry her if we was thirty years younger. And you–" He looked to me gratefully. "You're making an effort and I appreciate it."

Oh, God, the guilt was overwhelming.

"Everything is going perfectly," he finished with a sigh. "I just– I can't wait to marry her, Y/N."

I smiled for his sake, but my insides were shrivelling up and failing me. I was a horrible person, wasn't I? What kind of monster falls for her brother's fiancé? Me. I'm the monster. But not anymore. I couldn't let this get out of hand. I had to do better.

I promised myself I'd do better.

—

Doing better was going well, I'd like to think. I mean, it had only been two weeks, so I couldn't guarantee, but I was no longer having... thoughts... about the Maximoff in question.

Yes, there was that familiar inkling of jealousy tugging away in my stomach whenever Y/B/N would talk about her, but I think I was getting better at ignoring it. I had convinced myself that my feelings towards Wanda were not true but merely a schoolgirl crush (which I wasn't allowed to have, but still) and that I'd get over it after some time.

I'd liked, maybe two girls in my life before her. The first being when I was a child, about five, and a girl in my class did something different to her hair. If I remember correctly, she always had one ponytail that sat at the back of her neck, then one day, she came in with two braids down her head and it really wasn't a massive change, but five year old me developed a huge crush on her. That was when I learnt that a girl liking a girl was not only forbidden, but viewed as a sin.

The second girl I liked was in my Literature class in secondary school. She was probably the first person I'd fallen for in a way that was considered more than a simple crush. Something about her way with words was so attractive to me, as was the cute smile she'd send my way whenever she'd be my partner for an assignment. I never told her how I felt for she only ever treated me as a friend and the last thing I wanted was to bring shame to my family for liking girls.

Those instances, and the fact that I regularly found myself admiring women in a way I found incapable with men, made me realise I was different and I always would be. And so, the chatter about finding a husband and getting married always scared me because I was afraid that I'd be stuck in a place that I would never get to be myself in. Even though that was the reality of most women anyway.

So, in addition to the fact that it was wrong of me to like women (though it felt anything but) and that the woman I liked now was my brother's fiancé, I convinced myself it was just a mere crush I had on Wanda. She was a pretty girl with an attractive personality and that was it.

Or so I thought.

"Go get your brother, Y/N," my mum said one evening. "He's in his study. Dinner is almost ready."

I nodded and headed to my brother's study across the hall. He was sat at his desk, focusing on something specific that he was writing and barely acknowledging my presence. I glanced around the room, taking in the bookshelves filled with manuscripts, both published and unpublished, and notebooks of ideas piled on desks.

I wasn't jealous of this place, I really wasn't. And I wasn't jealous of my brother either, even when he got credit for things I'd written. I was just angry and hurt that I couldn't have the some privileges he got, such as his own personal study to write whatever he pleased.

"Dinner's almost ready," I called to him from the doorway. "C'mon."

He didn't turn around as he answered, "I'll be with you, one second."

Curious to what had captured his attention, I pushed myself from the doorway and approached his desk. He had a lamp turned on, the yellow light lighting the page he was scribbling on. I peeked over his shoulder and saw him pause from writing, stuck in thought. It gave me the chance to read some words and I tried not to laugh.

"Oh my god, is that a love letter?"

Surprised at my presence, he covered the page with his elbows and leaned on them, looking to me with red cheeks.

"What? No, that's... no," he stumbled out, shaking his head.

Stifled smile on my lips, I looked to him with humoured eyes. "You have to let me read it."

He shook his head frantically, trying to play it cool. "I don't think I can do that."

Well, now I was really curious.

"C'mon, I've read pretty much everything you've ever written," I told him, perching myself on the edge of his desk. "Just a little read and I'll drop it."

Pondering my words, he slowly began to straighten up, uncovering the page. With a sigh of submission, he nodded to it, wordlessly giving me permission to look. I grinned, grabbing the page and holding it to the light so I could read it.

It was mostly ramblings – unfinished sentences, phrases, clauses – but it was all about a certain someone, a love letter as I predicted. It talked about this person's body and lips and humour and fingers and because I was so caught up in teasing my brother, I failed to realise that I was reading about Wanda. At least until it mentioned her accent.

My smile faded when I saw the way he wrote about her, with such passion and ferocity and– he was seriously in love with her. And it may or may not have stung a little because everything he'd written was accurate and I felt the same way. Well, not the in love bit, but pretty much everything else.

"So? Is it bad?" he asked nervously, and I lowered the page to see he was waiting for a verdict. "It's messy, I know. I was just journaling and then it kind of happened."

"It's sweet," I told him truthfully, offering him a reassuring smile.

His shoulders relaxed as I put the page back on the desk before him. "Thank you, Y/N." He paused, before glancing up at me sheepishly. "Now that you're here, you may as well tell me if there's anything I can do to improve."

I raised my eyebrows. "Why? Are you planning on giving this to her?"

He shook his head instantly. "No, oh God, no. That would be severely humiliating. I just thought you could help me for me. You always make my writing better."

I snickered, shaking my head with amusement. Behind the scenes was where I thrived apparently.

"Quickly," I told him as he held out the paper to me. "Mum is waiting for us."

He nodded obediently and I took the paper from his grasp, getting another look at it. Skimming it with my eyes yet again, I found the first criticism and pointed to it so he could see.

"This bit here," I said gently. "You talk about her eyes and say they're magnetic."

"Is that not good?" he asked with a frown.

"It is, it is," I said politely, not wanting to offend him. "But that's all you've written. You want to give the reader a reason to believe you. Why are they magnetic? What about them do you find yourself attracted to?"

He nodded, seeming to get it. Leaning back in his seat, he had a think. I waited patiently, curious to what he would come up with, but then he sighed defeatedly and looked to me.

"What would you write?" he asked, and I smiled with disbelief. It always ended up like this. Me helping him, challenging him with a thought, then him ending up using what I say.

"Okay, let me think," I said, crossing my arms and staring ahead. "Wanda's eyes."

"Here," Y/B/N said, making a gesture to placing something invisible on my head. When I quirked a brow of confusion, he added, "It's your thinking cap."

I rolled my eyes but laughed quietly at his stupidity, then tried to think about what to describe Wanda's eyes as.

It wasn't difficult to imagine them despite having not seen them in a few days. They were always bright, animated, lively. Whether it was green, blue or brown, they were irresistible and as my brother wrote, they were magnetic.

I breathed out, speaking from the heart without thinking. "When Wanda Maximoff looks into your eyes it's like she holds all of the elements in a single gaze. At times, they're greener than the earth itself, captivating and tranquil and daring you to look away. But then they're also bluer than the brightest of skies and darkest of oceans, deep and and liberating and easy for you to get swallowed up in."

A smile fell on my lips at the thought. She truly was something.

I continued slowly, "In the light, you can make out golden flecks, like the first sliver of the sun in Spring. It's hopeful and guiding and fills you with warmth. But what isn't obvious upon first glance is how tempestuous they are, like air itself. She's got a passion behind her eyes that is scary at first, but when you get to know her, you realise that it's a storm worth raging."

It went quiet when I finished and I zoned back into reality, Wanda's eyes blinking away from my mind in an instant. I pursed my lips and looked to Y/B/N with mild concern, realising just how much I'd rambled. He raised his eyebrows with surprise, staring at me.

"Y/N, that was amazing! How did you think of that?" he asked in bewilderment.

I shrugged, feeling my face heat up with embarrassment. "I don't know. I just thought about a random set of hazel eyes and applied my thoughts to it."

He smiled, impressed. "Amazing. I love it."

Grabbing a pen, he began to write furiously on the page and I stood up, dusting myself off.

"You sure that's not going to her?" I asked, still feeling fuzzy from what I'd said and hoping she'd never see it.

"Very sure," he promised, not looking up. "It's just for me."

I studied him judgementally. "Okay, well, maybe get rid of that part about her breasts then. It's a little creepy."

He looked up to me with a boyish grin. "I'm only a man, Y/N. Can you blame me?"

I rolled my eyes, shuddering at what he was implying. The mere implication of a thought of him and Wanda... nope, I didn't want to go there.

"I'll see you at dinner," I said, pointing a thumb over my shoulder. "Try to hurry, yeah?"

"Yes, I'll be right with you," he assured me, his hand moving in a flurry as he wrote. "Just writing what you said so I don't forget. Could be good for a future book, who knows?"

I forced a smile, humming in agreement. "Right. Well, I'll see you at the table."

He nodded and I left his room, letting out a deep breath. Just another day in the Y/L/N household.

—

Popping into town for errands was surprisingly not a task I found boring. If anything, I preferred it, using it as a chance to get away from my mother's incessant marriage-related conversations and my father's constant praising for anything Y/B/N did. Nowadays, it was also a way to escape anything wedding-related, which was a plus.

This time, I was only nipping out to return a book to the library, but my mum caught me before leaving and asked me to deliver some letters to the post office since I was already heading that way. Happy to prolong this outing as much as possible, I accepted the errand and headed to the post office after returning my book.

When I was there, an advertisement caught my eye. A chalkboard outside the store displayed a deal the train station were doing. I probably would have ignored it if it weren't for the mention of Blackpool.

2 FOR 1 ON BLACKPOOL TRAIN TICKETS THIS WEEKEND

Remembering my conversation with Wanda, I realised I hadn't actually followed up with her on my promise of taking her there to paint. She probably didn't even remember, since it was a while ago when we spoke of it, but the idea of going there with her made me excited. Was it stupid to get the tickets? Probably. But did I go inside and get them? Of course.

It was only when I got home did I realise how silly it was. Would she even want to go? What if she made an excuse to get out of it? Oh, this whole thing was stupid. I was overthinking it. Friends went on day trips all the time, it's wasn't a big deal.

To my surprise, when I poked my head into the living room to tell my mum I'd posted her letters, Wanda was sat on the couch with her. They were drinking some tea and having scones, chatting away. I'd called my mum before noticing, so when they looked my way, I clumsily entered and straightened up to make myself look presentable.

"Sorry, I didn't know you had company," I apologised with an awkward smile, eyes flickering to a smiling Wanda before looking to my mum. "I just wanted to let you know that I dropped the letters off by the post office."

"Perfect, Y/N, thank you," she said in response, before looking to the setup before her. "You can join us if you'd like."

I was quick to smile gratefully, though shook my head. "It's okay, you guys enjoy. I'll just be in my room if you need me."

My mum shrugged, sipping her tea, and Wanda watched me with a small smile, nodding in greeting, before looking away. I licked my lips uncomfortably before backing out the room and heading upstairs.

I was working on yet another manuscript that wouldn't see the light of day at my desk when I heard a knock on my door about an hour later.

"Come in!" I called, not looking up.

The door opened and I finished my train of thought before turning around, surprised to see Wanda walking into my room.

"Oh, hi," I got out suddenly, words falling from my mouth without me thinking first.

She smiled softly, stopping before me. "Hey. I'm heading home now, but I just wanted to say goodbye."

I stared at her, forgetting how to speak because she was wearing a lovely floral dress that complimented her figure perfectly.

"Oh, and I thought you might like these," she added before forgetting, then held out a box towards me.

Recovering from my initial stupor, I reached out and accepted the box, realising they were chocolates.

"I got them for your mum, but she said she's not a fan of hazelnut," she explained, and I looked up to see her looking elsewhere with a nervous smile on her lips. "You don't have to have them of course. I can just... eat them myself."

An amused smile tugged at my lips as I quirked a brow. "You'd eat them all yourself?"

She was very much aware of how silly she sounded, but she was adamant on appearing confident, so she nodded with certainty. "Yes... apparently I would."

Lighthearted laughter escaped my lips as I set the box to the side. She was trying to stand her ground, but then she sighed and began to laugh, too. My heart fluttered in my chest at the sound and I appreciated the crinkle by her eyes when her smile widened.

"Thank you," I said, settling on a smile as I watched her with amusement.

She nodded, smile of her own still present, before pointing behind her. "I'll, erm, go now."

When she turned to leave, I felt inclined to say, "Wait!"

She paused, turning around patiently, and I knew there was no going back now. Standing up, I grabbed my purse from the side and pulled out the train tickets.

"When I was out today, I saw that the train station were doing this deal on tickets to Blackpool," I started, hoping she couldn't see my hands trembling slightly. "And I remembered that I promised to take you so you could see the water." I closed my eyes, praying that this wouldn't be a mistake, before opening them and looking to Wanda. "We can go, if you'd still like to." 

She raised her eyebrows, eyes glued to the tickets in my hand. No words were being said and my heart thumped in my chest with the realisation that I may have done something insanely stupid. Before I could even think to apologise, a grin spread across her face and her dazzling blue eyes met mine, freezing me in place.

"Are you serious? Y/N, I'd love to!" she exclaimed, then proceeded to launch herself onto me, arms wrapping tightly around my neck.

I gulped as she did, not expecting that reaction, but returned the hug by folding my arms around her waist loosely. She smelt really good, which was probably wrong of me to note, and I enjoyed the feeling of her so close to me, also wrong of me to note.

"Okay, well, the tickets are for this weekend," I said, desperately trying not to stammer when she pulled away. "I can meet you at the station in the morning. Eight."

Her eyes danced with excitement as she accepted the ticket I held out to her. I reminded myself that this was just a friendly day trip and nothing more.

"Eight," she confirmed, attempting to stifle her eagerness by biting her lip and nodding.

I swallowed hard, trying ever-so-hard not to let my gaze drop to her lips. Because then I'd think about kissing her and that was definitely not what I should be thinking about my soon-to-be sister-in-law.

Oh, God, I was screwed.

[quiteaweirdworld]

Constant Touches- JJ x Reader

Kiara points out that JJ is protective of you with his touches, and you can’t get that idea out of your head once you recognize it. 

Requested: nope

Inspired: Idea from the absolutely fantastic @spilledtee 

Warnings: none!

Contains: fluff, soft JJ, first kiss, jealous touches

Words:  1.7K (wow)

You’ve been hanging out with the other Pogues for several years now, since early middle school. That’s your squad, and those are your people. During Kiara’s kook year, it was always just you and your boys. You somehow all avoided that phase where it’s awkward to be with the other gender, and you never feel more comfortable then when you’re surrounded by your boys. You notice the weird looks you get when you lead the way with three tall (and good-looking, you have to admit) boys following behind you like puppies, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s no secrets between you three, especially you and JJ. Barriers just don’t exist, and you and your three best friends are always comfortable with each other. Even when Kiara rejoined the group, you naturally gravitate towards the boys, and, consequently, JJ. JJ, who recently causes your heart to flutter a little extra every time his hand brushes yours. Though you don’t think there’s a way that he possibly feels the same about you, you relish in the small touches through which you both show your affection. You two are always linked somehow, especially when in public, but you wouldn’t have noticed that it was anything else if Kiara hadn’t pointed it out. 

John B had texted the group to get ready to party tonight, as usual. As soon as you responded to the text, you unlocked your front door for JJ to come, as you knew he would. Even though he doesn’t need to get ready, he always waits for you to get ready in your room, and hangs out with you before every party. Just as you thought, JJ popped into your house with a quick “hey” and immediately went to your room. 

“There’s the pogue princess” he smirked as he saw you fixing your hair. Choosing to ignore the rush in your blood that occured when you heard JJ call you princess, you rolled your eyes at the nickname. You could never be called a kook, but somehow the nickname princess has stuck. With your pretty h/c hair and large e/c eyes, you looked a bit like royalty. Well, as much like royalty as a poor girl from the cut can look. Still, nothing stopped the boys from annoyingly calling you ‘princess Y/N’. Truthfully, you didn’t mind when JJ did it. You realized that you’ve been overthinking for the past few seconds, and quickly snarked back an expected response. 

“Well, someone here has to look good and right now I’m pulling for the whole team”.

Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice the odd pause as JJ clutched his heart and dramatically fell back on your bed, mock offended. 

You finished getting ready and decided to simply put a bandana on your head and leave your hair down, knowing that JJ loved to card his hands through it. Sure enough, as soon as you laid down next to him, JJ’s hands naturally found their way to your head. While lying on your bed in your room with a boy sounds really romantic, truthfully this was normal. JJ, sadly, was just treating you as always. As your conversation naturally came to a lull, you wished that JJ thought of you the same way you thought of him. As someone you really, really liked, and never want to be apart from. JJ has been such a big part of your life, even more than Pope and John B, so it’s only natural that you see him in the rest of your life too. You force yourself to accept that JJ just sees you as a friend, and resign yourself to supporting JJ no matter what your relationship, or lack thereof, is. You must have let out a sigh, as JJ’s hands still for a second, and he asks

“Y/N, what’s up?”

“Just ready for this party and tired of waiting!” You lie, but he accepts it as he jumps up and takes your hand. 

“Lucky for you, it’s time. M’Lady” He mock bows as he escorts you from your room, and you both make your way down to the Boneyards. 

Your arm naturally slips into the crook of his as you both see your friends and walk over to where they are gathered. Kiara gives you a weird look, like she knows something you don’t, but you ignore it as John B speaks

“Now that everyone’s here, let’s party!”  You can tell that he’s already one or more drinks in, and you’re eager to catch up. You pat JJ on the shoulder as you tell the group 

“I’m gonna grab something to drink” 

JJ starts to speak but you cut him off

“YES JJ I’ll get you a drink, who do you think I am” 

You hear laughter behind you, and smile to yourself as you make your way over to the keg. You fill up two red solo cups with the drink, knowing that Kiara would yell at you about the environmental impact of plastics at parties but choosing to prioritize function over future. 

On your way back to the group, you’re stopped by a cute Touron who had been looking at you since you arrived. 

“Hey there, how’re you doing” he asked.

“Just getting started, doing good so far” you chuckle, looking at the boy. He has blonde hair and blue eyes, but think that unfortunately it’s not the blue eyes that you are so longing for. 

As if summoned by your thoughts, you suddenly feel a hand on your lower back and look to the side to see JJ at your side.

“Hey Y/N” he says, “Thanks for the drink!”

“No problem” you respond, and when you look back at where the Touron was, he was gone. You didn’t mind, and JJ and you walked the last little distance to the group. 

You talk with the group, all making fun of Pope and recounting the time he fell off the dock when he thought he saw a bee, and you rest your head on JJ’s shoulder as you get more tipsy and tired. He shifts a bit to be more stable for your weight on him, and you can feel the vibrations of his chest as he laughs. Suddenly, you feel Kiara pulling you upright by your arm.

“I love this song!” she calls.

“John B, hold our drinks” she ignores his sputtered protest as she takes both her and your drink and shoves them off to John B. You laugh as you’re dragged into the middle of the crowd, throwing one last look over your shoulder towards your best friends and making eye contact with JJ, who is watching you as always. 

After you finish dancing for quite a bit, you turn to head back to the boys but Kiara stops you, and beckons to step a bit farther from the party’s center so you can talk. 

You’re confused as to what is going on, and Kiara only makes you more confused when she asks  “So, did it happen?”

“Did what happen?” you’re puzzled.

“You and JJ, of course!” Now you’re even more confused. “What do you mean? What would happen to us”

Kiara scoffs lovingly, as if she can’t believe you don’t get it. “I was hoping that y’all finally realized you both like each other”

“I-he-we-what” you stutter, feeling a blush attack your cheeks. 

“Don’t you see it? JJ definitely likes you” Kiara states. 

“Who are you always with? JJ. Who’s always touching you? JJ. Hell, he couldn’t even stand to see you talking to that Touron for five minutes without coming over. And he hasn’t hung out with another girl for weeks!” 

Your mind is reeling as you process this information. You try to defend that you’re like that with all the boys, but you know it’s not true. And anyway, you’re secretly thrilled that JJ might actually like you back. 

Before you can think any more, you hear John B calling to both of you

“Ladies! I thought we were dancing? Let’s dance!” 

Your drinks forgotten and your thoughts occupied by what Kiara said, you join the entire pogue squad and dance for the rest of the night. The entire time, you’re having an argument with yourself in your mind. You don’t want to ruin anything with JJ, but also really want to tell JJ that you like him. You decide that if JJ touches you again, you’ll admit your feelings to him and hope for the best. 

After everyone is all danced out and more than a little bit drunk, the party disperses and you walk with JJ back to the Chateau, where you’re both spending the night. He slings his arm around you, and pulls you close. Before you can chicken out, you slow down to separate from the rest of the pogues and blurt out 

“I like you”

“Aww Y/N, I like you too” JJ responds, but you know he doesn’t get it. You stop walking, and turn to look JJ in the eyes. 

“No, I like you. JJ, I like you so much I can’t explain. You’re everything to me” You confess, nervous because now he knows and you can’t avoid it anymore. 

JJ stills, and moves even closer before responding 

“Well that’s lucky, because you’re everything to me”

Before you can even begin to process the fact that your feelings are reciprocated, he pulls you in for a sweet kiss. You melt into him, and when you break apart he pulls you into his side again to keep walking. You let out a little sigh of disappointment, and he chuckles.

“Don’t worry princess, we’ve got all night to do that” 

And you do. 

When Kiara gives you that look again once you arrive at the Chateau, you simply respond by pulling JJ even closer and smiling. You are so happy that now you have an excuse to enjoy all the contact with JJ that you could ever want. And you want it all.

[katnissmellarkkk]

prompt: awkward katniss wanting to do something special/surprise peeta for his birthday but frets over just what to do and he ends up comforting her

Hahaha this is old — from the last time I requested prompts — but I never wrote this because I was putting too much pressure on myself to make it a decent length oneshot and now, I’m really sorry if it’s too short for what you wanted but I’m just gonna try to make it a drabble ??? I hope that’s alright, if you even remember sending this to me 😭😭😭😭😭.

“Don’t come in here!” I yell as I hear Peeta’s loud footfalls gravitating closer to the kitchen. Where I’m currently trying to figure out what this recipe is asking me to do.

Fold in egg whites.

Use slightly salted butter only.

Add in rolled oats and stir well.

I’ve been staring at this same page, of this ancient old — fragile as all get out — cookbook, for at least the last twenty minutes, wondering what half of the directions mean.

The cookbook belonged to Peeta’s grandmother, going back at least five generations. Canola Mellark is still faintly written in the top corner and the attempt to preserve the pages has proven futile as the plastic coverings they’re each wrapped are torn in a multitude of places. I wouldn’t even be looking at this stupid recipe book if it weren’t Peeta’s birthday.

Three mornings ago I asked my husband what he wanted for his birthday and the idiot told me absolutely nothing. He claimed there was nothing he wanted more than me as his wife and since I’d given him that last month, he was in no need of any present.

But I want to give him something and I want to surprise him with it. It’s the first celebration where we’ll be married and I already feel like he’s a much better husband than I am a wife — romance and words and always knowing how to do or say the right thing just comes naturally to him — and I know he never got a birthday cake.

Two years ago, when we were first getting to know ourselves and each other again after the war, on an otherwise insignificant afternoon while we worked in silence on the memory book, I couldn’t help but notice that Peeta had written on his brother Rye’s page that he had given him a cupcake he stole from the bakery for his tenth birthday.

When I asked him about it, he’d merely shrugged it off and said that Rye had done it, knowing that when he got caught he’d be at their mother’s — the witch — mercy. And he’d done it anyway.

By that time I’d already heard enough indications of Gemma Mellark and her short temper — and I’ll never forget that day in the rain, when Peeta threw me the bread and paid for it with a beating — that I bypassed the darker implications of the story completely and asked the other inquiry on my mind.

“But why did he have to steal the cupcake?” Surely their parents could spare on cupcake when they had an entire bakery full.

I had an idea what the answer was already but I didn’t want to believe it. It made me immensely sad for some reason to imagine.

Of course I was right though. “Katniss, I didn’t even get a cookie on my birthday, let alone a cupcake with frosting,” he’d said, like I was crazy not to already have guessed as much. He was chuckling too, which made the moment all that much worse.

“What about a birthday cake?” I pressed a few seconds later, but the answer was quite obvious.

As evidenced by the sardonic look he shot me. “We lived off stale leftovers that no one else bought and the meat you traded for. Do you really think I was getting a birthday cake?”

At that time, all I wanted to do was drop the conversation. I felt guilty for even reminding him of the lesser qualities in his dead parents — who died with a lot of the district because the president was punishing Twelve for an act I committed — and when he didn’t elaborate, I dropped the subject too.

But I didn’t forget. I even thought of trying to bake him something last year, but chickened out when I read through the cookbooks Peeta still had from his family and saw how complicated a lot of this stuff is. Haymitch had joked I should just order the pre-made boxes of cake from District One. Before the war those novelties only existed in the Capitol but by this point, more than two years out from the rebellion, they’d circulated to District One where they were distributed to other places.

But I couldn’t bring myself to order a box of cake — however those even work. Peeta makes spectacular cakes every day from scratch, he deserves so much more than a lazy attempt at a birthday cake.

“Katniss?” He calls, bringing me back to reality. His voice sounds a little worried, probably a reaction to my frenzied tone.

“I’m fine, Peeta,” I insist loudly, dropping eggs into the bowl in a hurry now, before realizing that I was supposed to fish out the yellow yolks.

“You don’t sound fine,” he replies and I hear him coming closer.

“Don’t come in here, seriously!” I demand, but it’s too late and he’s already there in the doorway.

I knew better than to try this while he was showering. I’d just supervised him making cakes countless times before and seen him do it in under ten minutes. I didn’t imagine it would take so long for me. Or that it would be this complicated.

I should mention that my definition of supervising is essentially sitting on the counter in the back of the bakery while Peeta bakes and telling him the boring, mundane details about my morning.

“What’re you doing?” He murmurs in a voice that sounds about as puzzled as I’ve ever heard him.

“Uh,” I struggle, unsure if I should be honest and ruin the surprise — not much of a surprise, at this point, considering how this endeavor is going for me — or if I should just lie.

I don’t even have a choice though, because it only takes Peeta about two more seconds to put it all together.

“Katniss, are you baking a cake for me?”

I don’t know how to respond so my first reaction is to spin in the opposite direction, facing the counter and the bowl of failure and showing him my back.

It’s all over at that point. “You’re so wonderful,” he says, coming up and hugging me from behind, his lips immediately planting kisses on the side of my neck.

Which, I admit, does help soothe my anxiety regarding my failed attempt, still sitting before me in a mixing bowl.

“Don’t be too grateful,” I say, stretching my head back to give him more access to my throat. “I’m pretty sure I screwed this all up and wasted a bunch of your ingredients.”

But he just chuckles and takes a better glance at the bowl. “It doesn’t look ruined. You didn’t put pickle juice in it, did you?” He teases and I roll my eyes and try not to gag. Pickle juice is one thing I’ll never try more than once.

“No.”

“Then you’re fine. Here,” he murmurs, grabbing my hand holding the whisk and guiding my arm to stir the concoction in circles. “We can finish this together.”

I like that idea more. Despite the fact that I wanted this to be a surprise, I really don’t feel confident enough to make this much of an extravagant dessert alone on my first try.

Another thought occurs to me though. “How did you know this was meant for you and not say, the community home?” I volunteer and donate to the community home once a week. Peeta does so whenever he can as well. In fact, he donates almost all his excess food and earnings to that place.

“Because Haymitch got drunk two days ago and said you were asking him for tips on baking,” he says with a smirk. I grimace at that. It’s true, I did go over there for advice before realizing how stupid that impulse had been. That man hadn’t cooked or baked a day in his life and he wasn’t about to learn now.

Peeta catches my lips as soon as I relax my expression. I’m about to say forget the cake, I’ll give him a different kind of present when he pulls back and resumes stirring. “Apparently I’m not cut out for baking,” I say with a self-deprecating laugh.

But my husband responds in earnest. “No one is,” he corrects, his cheek right against mine now as we pour in some vanilla from a bottle. “No one is good at anything on their first try. I was raised doing this, Katniss. I was raised baking and frosting and selling. You were raised in the woods and dirt.” He smirks a little at his own statement and I nudge him gently.

“I’m not that messy.”

“You just track mud home every day.” He’s still smirking and it’s a sight I love too much to keep shooting back and forth with him.

Instead I spin around in his arm, bringing my arms up to wrap around his neck. He sets the whisk down and grasps my waist, waiting for me to speak. “I’m sorry this was such a bust,” I murmur in an even voice. “I promise I will give you a different kind of present later.”

I lean up to kiss him again but the contact is only a peck, as he pulls back to give me a strange look. “Katniss, do you really think I care more about how the cake turned out than the fact that you tried to make it for me in the first place? No one has ever done that for me. Okay, that’s more important — that’s more of a present to me than any gourmet dessert with a candle and my name on it ever could be.”

I just stare at him, unsure how to respond to that. I hadn’t truly thought of it in that context. My sole focus had been baking this for him, but I hadn’t considered the gift was in my intention and not in the result.

“I guess not,” I say sheepishly after a moment.

“I love you,” he states. “I love you for trying to do something for me, from the bottom of your heart, not because you’re going to go out and win a cake contest.”

I chuckle at that. “Yeah, I guess I love you too.”

“Wow, thank you for that.”

But I can’t help turning the exchange to a much more syrupy note. I lean my head against his chest, where I can hear his heartbeat in my ear, and whisper, “happy birthday, my love.”

“Thank you,” he says with a smile, leaning down and kissing my head. “For everything.”

[heyitssmiller]

Clandestine: Chapter Thirteen

Fitting that this is chapter thirteen. It was destined to be unlucky. And it was also the hardest one to write by far. Thanks for being so patient with me. One last cliffhanger, yes? For old time’s sake.

@lumosinlove your characters continue to live in my head rent-free, so thank you!

@donttouchmycarrots is my dude, my pal, my babe, and the best proofreader ever

Special thanks to @wonder-womans-ex for providing what just might be my favorite line in this chapter

Clandestine Masterlist

CW: violence, gun violence, nightmares, anxiety, mentions of food, injuries

.

Logan woke up to Finn crying.

He was admittedly good at being quiet about it – he muffled any noise into his pillow, body turned towards the wall and curled up tight. It was the shaking that gave him away. Logan wasn’t sure what was going on at first, but his heart just about shattered when he realized. He rolled over to face Finn, pulling him gently into his arms and holding him close. His heart lurched as the redhead shuddered and buried his face in Logan’s chest, arms wrapping around him tightly as he sniffled. Logan screwed his eyes shut and breathed, nice and slow in an attempt to get Finn to match him. He wasn’t sure what was upsetting his partner, but he wanted nothing more than to fix it, to help however he could. Finn leaned further into him and stayed there for what felt like an eternity before he calmed down, breaths slowing and tears drying.

Logan could feel every swell of muscle, every gentle dip between his ribs, the eyelashes that were still wet and clumped together, the way his skin felt all clammy. He wished he could pull him even closer, hold him even tighter, even though there was physically no distance between them. Maybe Finn could find comfort in the confines of his arms, the way Logan had found safety in Finn’s.

“Want to talk about it?” he finally whispered, making Finn tense up again. He peered over Logan’s shoulder to look at their sleeping partner, then looked back down at Logan.

Sometimes Finn just took his breath away. Sure, his eyes were glassy and his nose was red from crying but he was still so beautiful, with muted light filtering through the curtains turning messy auburn hair into shiny copper, seeming to glitter in the sunlight. Big, brown doe eyes looking so incredibly soft as he stared down at Logan. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to being looked at like that. Like he was something to be cherished, something to be adored.

Logan felt his breath hitch.

“Hallway?” Finn asked, glancing back at Leo. “Don’t want to wake him up.”

Logan smiled. He loved learning how all three of them showed love and how it varied depending on which partner they were interacting with. Finn was more teasing with Logan, always throwing jabs and chasing them with happy grins and lots of kisses. With Leo he – well, he still teased mercilessly, but it was softer around the edges. The kind of affection that made him get all squinty-eyed because he was smiling so much and too-tight hugs because he couldn’t possibly hold back. Leo didn’t act that different when it came down to it, but he picked up quickly on what the two of them liked – intertwining his fingers with Finn’s as often as he could, running his hand through Logan’s hair time and time again. The constant motion of his hands was directed at the two of them instead of the lock in his pocket more often than not, a new soothing habit forming quickly. It was adorable. Logan wasn’t really sure how he was different, but he knew he was softer with the two of them more than he’d been with anyone else. He could feel himself turning into a sappy romantic and he wanted to hate it, but he really couldn’t.

Finn scrambled up reluctantly and Logan followed him across the room, nervous and itching to pull Finn back into his arms. He reached for Finn as soon as the door closed completely. “Bad dream?” His stomach dropped when Finn just nodded, biting down on his lip hard as his eyes welled up with tears again.

“I don’t want to go back there.” Finn admitted, voice a soft whisper in the silence of the hallway. Logan sighed and pressed closer, standing on his tiptoes just a little to loop his arms around Finn’s neck. Logan didn’t want to go back, either, but it was different for Finn. He’d been there for longer, after all, and Logan still wasn’t sure exactly what had happened during that time. Finn refused to talk about it, and Logan was too afraid to ask, as selfish as that made him feel. To top it all off, Logan had no idea how to help. Usually bad dreams were only loosely based on reality – but Logan had a feeling these were a little too real. They’d lived it, after all. To wake up from a nightmare and realize it was basically reality…

How could you comfort someone who’s bad dreams were all true?

“I know,” he said simply, lacking the words for anything else and running his fingers through Finn’s messy bedhead soothingly.

“We won’t be there for too long.” Finn said after a while. He seemed to be trying to comfort Logan with the words, even though he was the one who had been crying about it earlier. Logan ached for the redhead. He had such a big heart, always putting others before himself even if he was in a bad place himself. Logan needed to pay more attention, to pinpoint that evasion tactic and not let him get away with it. Everyone needed solace, even the ones who primarily did the comforting.

Finn’s eyes had closed sometime earlier, his head tilted to lean into Logan’s hand, his breath tickling the inside of Logan’s wrist. Logan wiped away a stray tear tenderly and sighed. Finn didn’t seem to want to talk about it. Logan wasn’t going to force him to talk, but he was worried about what would happen if he didn’t talk about it with someone. Sometimes it was nice to talk to someone with an outside perspective – someone who wasn’t in the thick of it like Logan was. So Logan reluctantly let it go for now and tried the next best thing: cheering Finn up.

“And it’ll be nice to bash some heads in while we’re there.”

That earned a laugh from Finn, and Logan felt such stark relief at the sight – it left him a little breathless. It was sad that a genuine laugh from either of his partners was so rare now. Logan felt like he needed to cherish them when they happened.

How depressing was that?

“Bashing some heads in is now on the list, I guess.” Finn murmured, placing a lingering kiss to Logan’s temple, who hummed thoughtfully.

“Do you even know how to throw a punch?”

Finn was in the process of kissing Logan when he said that, which just turned into a laugh against Logan’s lips. “No, but you do.” Logan could hear the smile in his voice. “And that’s way hotter than it probably should be.”

Logan looked up at him nervously to make sure he wasn’t kidding, then relaxed at the honesty in those mischievous eyes. Even upset and stressed, Finn somehow knew what to say to soothe worries Logan hadn’t even told him about. Being in a job like his… well it was ugly. It was brutal and violent and messy and not many people would want to be involved with someone like that – someone with bloodstained hands, too many paranoid tics, and a heavy, guilty conscience.

Finn and Leo didn’t seem to mind all that much, thankfully.

The realization made Logan grin sharply and nip at Finn’s lower lip before delving into another deep, intoxicating kiss. It was too easy, getting lost when he kissed Finn. So much of their surroundings faded away until all he was aware of was the feel of slightly chapped lips against his and hands holding his hips in order to pull him closer. Finn seemed to have that effect on Logan – he always had, ever since that New Years party. He was the kind of person everyone naturally gravitated towards, pulled in without a second thought. It was part of what made him so damn good at his job.

Finn breathed in sharply before kissing him again, heady and sure of himself and making Logan weak in the knees. All five senses were overwhelmed with Finn, Finn, Finn. It thrummed along with his pulse in a steady, loud rhythm. And yet his mind still drifted back to the bedroom with Leo, the thought of joining him back in bed tugging at him just as Finn broke the kiss and pulled him back towards the door, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Sometimes I’m convinced you’re a mind reader.” Logan smiled and willingly let himself get drawn back into the quiet, sleepy warmth of the bedroom. Finn just shrugged.

“Maybe I am.”

Leo was still sound asleep, sprawled out on his back with one leg sticking out from underneath the covers and hanging off the side of the bed at what looked like a very uncomfortable angle. Logan smiled at Finn’s affectionate snort, then followed him back to bed and crawled in the middle again. He curled up on his side, facing the blond as Finn pressed against his back and tangled their legs together. Leo’s hand moved up the bed, searching for Logan’s until he found it and then seemed to drift off to sleep again with a content sigh.

It scared Logan a little, how important the two of them had become in such a short amount of time. They were slowly invading more and more space in his head until his only thoughts seemed to be about them, all the time. Maybe it should be a little worrying, but Logan couldn’t find it in himself to be too concerned – not when the thoughts made his chest feel light as air and his stomach full of butterflies.

***

It was getting close to go-time, and everyone was on edge. The energy was palpable, like an electric current flowing through the group. Shoulders were tense, words were short and clipped, a sense of focus and determination in the air.

Leo had never been part of something like this. The only missions he’d been on were with Logan and Finn and that was it. Having a big group like this, all feeling the same things and wanting the same goal, it was intoxicating. It sucked you in and made you want to be a part of it, too.

But he couldn’t. He was stuck here, on the sidelines, left to wait aimlessly until everyone returned. That meant letting them go and resigning himself to a night of restlessness and worry.

Leo hated it.

He didn’t cling to his partners like he so desperately wanted to. If he did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to let go again. He didn’t ask for empty promises of being careful, nor did he beg them to be safe. He couldn’t hold them to words they might not be able to keep. But he allowed himself to stare, just a bit. He let his eyes linger over Logan’s steady hands as he loaded his gun and methodically checked it three times, just like always. He watched Finn pull a clean shirt over his head and fiddle with the sleeves, seemingly lost in thought. Leo memorized what he could, just in case. The exact shade of Logan’s eyes, the freckle pattern across Finn’s cheeks and nose. He hated that his brain automatically jumped to worse-case scenario like that, but – well, considering the circumstances and what they’d already been through at the hands of the Snakes… could you blame him?

There was also this feeling in the pit of Leo’s stomach. He wasn’t sure if this was just the anxiety talking, but everything in that moment felt so decided, so final.

It felt like goodbye.

As if Finn knew exactly what was going on in his head, he drew Leo in for a hug and kissed his cheek, lingering for a second before leaning back to meet his eyes. They shared one of those looks – one that expressed a multitude of emotions without saying a single word. When Finn kissed him, it was deep and achingly slow. He was taking his time, wanting to make the moment last as long as he could. Leo knew the feeling. He fisted his hand in Finn’s shirt and pulled him impossibly closer, tilting his head for a better angle and softly running his tongue across the seam of his lips. A gentle rush, a quiet thrill, but still with a noticeable, tangible melancholy.

Leo could still count the number of kisses they’d shared on two hands. That wasn’t nearly enough for him. He wanted as many different types of kisses as he could think of – happy, teasing, soft, hard, tender, and everything in between. He wanted to lose count by the end of the week. He wanted to learn everything there was to know about his partners.

He just hoped they’d get that chance.

Logan pressed up against the two of them, slotting seamlessly into place. Transitioning from kissing Finn to kissing Logan was as easy as breathing – a simple turn of his head and a slight bend to accommodate for the height difference. It was the kind of kiss you were meant to remember. A whirlwind of sweet and passionate, deep and gentle, loving and regretful.

More than anything it just hurt.

Leo’s gut churned as he pulled back and looked at the two of them, lost for words. What was he supposed to say in a situation like this, after all? He didn’t think there was anything he could say to make this easier, or reassure them. Words didn’t seem like enough anymore – they just felt insincere and meaningless. Leo didn’t think he’d ever faced that problem before. Words usually came fairly easily to him, especially if something was important to him. But now they were failing him and it left him feeling even more lost, adrift in a raging sea that he had no idea how to navigate.

“Let’s do this,” Finn said finally, part resigned and part determined, before heading towards the bedroom door.

The rest seemed to happen all at once in a blinding flurry of activity. Goodbyes with the team were quick and rushed and then they were all loading up into cars, green and brown eyes meeting his every once in a while before the doors closed and the engines growled to life.

Leo watched the caravan of cars head down the driveway, then rushed across the wrap-around porch to keep them in his sights for as long as he could until they disappeared behind an outcropping of trees. He kept his eyes trained on the spot and clung to the wooden railing with a white-knuckled grip.

And that was where he would stay. If that was the last place he saw them, it would be the first place he would see them again. He didn’t care if he stood there all night until it bled into morning; he wasn’t moving an inch.

***

Sirius sat in the backseat next to Remus for the drive, which was silent and tense with rising adrenaline and battle plans running through everyone’s heads – especially Remus’. He could practically see his mind working. He’d been planning nonstop for the past two days to make sure that all the loose ends were tied up and that they were doing this the right way. Any illegal processes now could compromise the court trials that would come after putting the Snakes behind bars. Between that and coordinating between the other agencies that were helping them take down the Snakes, it was looking like a Herculean task. They could’ve pulled out the big guns and requested help from the FBI, but no one really wanted to do that. This was personal, after all – for pretty much everyone on the team. The feds could take over later, after everyone was apprehended.

Remus chewed at his lower lip, eyes trained on nothing in particular. The back of his head was highlighted in the headlights of the car behind them, illuminating in a startling contrast to the rest of the dark interior of the van. Sirius stared and stared until he just couldn’t help it. He reached over to turn Remus’ head towards him, then ran his thumb lightly over that abused lower lip until Remus let it go. Color seeped back into it, turning the pink a darker, cherry red. Again, Sirius stared. That mouth quirked into a teasing smile.

“You’re going to chew a hole in your lip if you keep that up.” He said and looked up into honey-colored eyes, slowly pulling his hand back. Remus just huffed under his breath – a short, nervous shadow of his normal laugh.

“Yeah. I could really go for some chapstick right now.”

Sirius smiled, pulling Remus towards him and kissing him gently, reverently. It still kind of blew his mind, how much things had changed in the past few months. Remus used to hate him. Well, maybe hate was a strong word, but they definitely weren’t friends. And now here they were, making out in the back of a van. Even though their mission was coming to an end and Sirius really wouldn’t have a reason to stay in Gryffindor any more, he could no longer fathom leaving. Remus played a huge part in that, of course, but Sirius also had friends now – real friends who didn’t try to use him constantly or only contacted him when they needed something. He had a home, as ridiculously cliché as that sounded. Nothing about Slytherin felt like this, and it made Sirius wonder if he’d ever actually had a place to call home before he found himself in Remus’ tiny apartment with the dying houseplant and the lumpy couch and an entire cabinet devoted solely to mugs.

The kiss turned softer until Sirius pulled back and just looked at him, an overwhelming rush of emotion in his chest. Remus wasn’t his home – one person couldn’t be all of that, Sirius knew that much – but he sure was a big part of it.

Remus licked his lips thoughtfully, tasting Sirius’ chapstick. “What flavor is that?”

“Pina colada.”

“Nice.”

That made Sirius smile again. “It’s going to be fine, Re.” Sirius reassured and tucked Remus against his side. It was an awkward squeeze in the back of a van, but neither of them cared.

“Yeah,” Remus sighed, sounding like he was trying to convince himself. “We’ll be ok.”

They both flew out of their seats a little when the van hit a pothole, smushing them closer together. Sirius pressed a kiss to his temple, soft and lingering, before speaking up again. “Do you want to talk through the plan once more?”

Sirius always found that talking through things helped calm him down. Saying the facts out loud tended to get rid of the unnecessary fears going on inside his head, plus it made him feel more prepared. And he knew Remus was the same way, from all the times he’d helped the analyst plan missions.

This earned him a soft, thankful smile and then Remus was off, talking a mile a minute about strategies and backup plans and anything else he could think of. Sirius let his voice wash over him and tried to ignore the dread settling in the pit of his stomach.

***

Leo didn’t know how long he stood there, gaze never once wavering from the treeline, when Hope joined him. She held out a mug for him, full of what looked like hot chocolate and a thick layer of whipped cream. Leo smiled faintly in thanks and took it before returning to his vigil. It was so quiet outside. No crickets like back home, no wind whistling through the trees, nothing. It set Leo on edge.

“So,” Hope mercifully interrupted the silence, “I heard you like to cook.”

Leo looked over at her, more than a little confused at the non sequitur. “Yeah. I do.”

She traced along the grain of the wooden railing, avoiding the chipping paint. “Those boys might be hungry when they get back, and that’s a whole lot of cooking to do by myself. Care to lend a hand?”

Leo snorted at the accidental pun and looked down at the hand trapped in a sling. He knew what she was doing, and he couldn’t find it in himself to be mad. He could definitely use the distraction.

“That sounds perfect.” He said and followed her inside, only casting one glance over his shoulder at where the driveway disappeared and the woods began before he joined Hope in the warm glow of the kitchen. Lyall and Jules were there too; they had the refrigerator door thrown open and seemed to just be staring at the contents. They looked so alike, standing side by side like that. The same slightly-bowed legs and identical shades of brown hair. Lyall gave his son a mischievous look, reached for the can of whipped cream, and squirted some directly into his mouth while Jules watched on with his jaw nearly on the floor.

“I didn’t know we were allowed to do that!” he gasped and snatched the can from his dad. A few seconds later there was whipped cream in his mouth. And on his chin, cheeks, a little on his nose…

Hope sighed good-naturedly. “You’re teaching our son bad habits and making a mess.”

Lyall just bent over laughing, a snort escaping every once in a while.

Leo smiled as Jules tried to get all the whipped cream that missed his intended target with his tongue, eyes crossing in the process. He took a sip of his hot chocolate and leaned back against the kitchen counter as Lyall kept pointing to places on his face that Jules had missed. Hope shared a look with Leo and rolled her eyes in a “what can you do?” kind of gesture. It was all so lighthearted and affectionate and exactly what Leo needed in that moment.

He wondered if Hope somehow just knew these things – it was definitely possible. Mother’s intuition and all.

“So what are we making?” She asked, tying her hair up while Lyall threw an apron over his neck. Jules was still working on the whipped cream.

Leo shrugged his good shoulder. “What do you have in the pantry?”

“So much!” Jules exclaimed, deeming his face good enough and throwing the pantry door open. “We’ve got pancake mix, potato chips, poptarts, hot dog buns-”

***

The take-down mission was going about as well as expected.

Which meant that it was going well, but it was also a chaotic disaster at the same time. Fitting, right?

Agents were everywhere, it seemed, outnumbering the Snakes at least three-to-one. The Snakes were scattering, running for the exits and fighting tooth and nail to get out – whether that was with weapons they had or just their fists, they weren’t going down without a fight. But even if they made it out, they were met with another line of defense waiting for them in the form of the Durmstrang agents.

Remus really had the op planned out to the last contingency, it seemed.

Logan and Finn were headed down an unfamiliar hallway, looking for stragglers to round up and escort outside. Most Snakes had joined the main fight to get out, sequestered in the entryway. Logan was glad they were tasked with this, though. There were too many familiar faces back there – Greyback, Lestrange, Snape. Logan wasn’t sure he was quite ready for that just yet. Between that and the sound of gunshots echoing in his head… well, let’s just say it brought back bad memories. And even though it wasn’t the best utilization of his skillset, he hadn’t been separated from his partner. He’d learned from experience what a bad idea that was. When this was all over, he wasn’t letting the two of them out of his sight for at least a week.

God, he couldn’t wait for this to be over.

Movement caught his eye and his gun was instantly up and aimed at the person. Yellow eyes landed on them and Logan held his breath, every muscle tensing and adrenaline spiking.

Logan knew they had direct orders to bring the Snakes in alive, but it was much harder to think about that when he was staring Riddle down from the sights of his gun. He knew exactly where to aim – he’d seen it mapped out on Leo’s chest, memorized the angry red wound contrasting against the gentle slope of his collarbone. A shot not intended to kill, but to inflict unfathomable levels of pain – another thing Logan had branded into his memory. A shot that was intentional, designed to send a message. And Logan definitely wanted to send back a reply.

Riddle recognized them and got this smug gleam in his eyes. “Long time, no see.”

Logan’s finger twitched against the trigger.

“Trust me, we’re planning on never seeing you again.” Finn said, then sighed dramatically. “And it looks like that dream is going to become a reality, since we’ve got all the evidence we need to lock you up for – what do you think, Logan? Two life sentences?”

“I’m banking on three.”

“But it’s not really up to us, now is it?” Finn shrugged. “If it were, I think you’d be dead by now, so I guess we’ll have to wait and see what the judge says.”

Riddle still looked remarkably calm. And it was that ego, that sense of infallibility that ended up being his downfall. “All the evidence you have is circumstantial. Any decent lawyer can get those charges dismissed.”

“Sure.” Finn’s smile turned lethal, knowing he had Riddle right where he wanted him, ready to deliver the final blow and relish in the aftermath. “But I think all that detailed information on the flash drives can put you away for a long time. Why seven flash drives, by the way? Lucky number?”

Riddle’s smile faded in increments as the realization struck. “That’s not possible.”

“Oh, it’s very possible. You can thank the guy you shot for that.” Finn said darkly. They watched the gears turning in Riddle’s head, then the way his face turned from pale to a sickly green. His hand went to the inside pocket of his jacket where his flash drive used to be – where the fake one now was, switched when Riddle had pulled a bleeding, agonized Leo close to taunt Logan and Finn through his microphone.

Yeah. Karma was a real bitch sometimes.

Logan smiled, grim but glad to finally be putting this guy behind bars. “You’re coming with us.”

***

“Yo,” Pots said into a phone, a grin almost too wide on his face, “we got some stinky bastards over here. Can you come get them please and thank you?”

Remus snorted at his antics, no doubt talking to the FBI since processing criminals was in their jurisdiction now and not Gryffindor’s. He almost wished it was on speaker phone – he would’ve loved to hear their response.

Remus found Sirius waiting in the parking lot, watching all the Snakes get corralled into transport vehicles and taken to whichever prison they were being kept in until the trial. Some of their own agents were by the ambulance getting tended to, but there weren’t any serious injuries, thank god. Talker took a superficial gunshot to the thigh and Kuny’s arm got grazed by a bullet but everyone else was fine. The element of surprise and the backup by the other agencies really did wonders. That and the fact that they were all armed to the teeth and not even thinking about leaving this job unfinished. They had a pretty good reason to win this round, after all.

He couldn’t believe it was all over. This mission had taken months and lead to way too many problems, but they were finally done with it. They could finally move on. Remus was thinking of taking the next week off of work and spending it at the cabin, just him and Sirius. A much-needed vacation sounded like a dream right about now.

Sirius’ back was to him, but he heard Remus coming and didn’t flinch when long arms wrapped around him, tight and secure. He leaned back into the familiar warmth behind him and let himself be held. He’d been great in there. Remus had been a little worried about letting him come, afraid that taking down people he’d worked with for years would be too hard for him or – even worse – that his presence would be a bright red bullseye for the Snakes. Luckily, there had been so many other agents and so much chaos that most of them had only noticed Sirius and Regulus in the aftermath, when it was too late to do anything about it.

“We did it.” Remus murmured, letting go and stepping around to gauge Sirius’ reaction. The raven-haired ex-Snake smiled at him, a hint of something warring with the relief on his face.

“We did.” He finally said, eyes flitting from Remus to the action around them. He still looked a little uneasy, after everything. Remus couldn’t blame him – sometimes it took a while for the adrenaline to wear off and for reality to set in. “Doesn’t feel real just yet.”

Remus grinned wolfishly, letting the victorious feeling wash over him. “It’s real.”

“Sirius Black?” One of the other agents inquired, causing the man in question to turn around.

“Yes?”

The agent pulled out a pair of handcuffs, looking very bored of the current situation. “You’re under arrest for the crimes you committed with the Snakes organization. If you could put your hands behind your back-”

Remus stepped forward aggressively, staring the agent down. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The agent didn’t flinch. “Following orders. Even if he quit the Snakes, he’s still got to answer for what he did during his time there.”

“But he’s helping us – he’s a consultant for our agency. He’s got immunity.” Remus looked between Sirius and the agent, running a hand agitatedly through his hair at the blasé attitude of the agent.

“Take it up with my boss.”

It was all happening so fast. Remus was still reeling from the mission, his brain struggling to keep up with the new situation. The agent started to lead Sirius away when Remus shouted, “Wait!” He hurried to stand in front of Sirius, caramel eyes hard and fierce and determined with an underlying blaze to them as they met silver. He didn’t care if he was making a scene; he didn’t care who was watching. The only thing that mattered was the man standing in front of him, eyes resigned and – unsurprised.

He knew this might happen. And he hadn’t said a word about it. He came on this mission willingly, knowing this was the way it could end.

Remus would have to come back to that.

“I’m going to fix this. Ok?” Remus met his gaze firmly, letting the honesty drip from his words.

The ex-Snake nodded quickly, trustingly. The sight was a little nauseating, because what if there was nothing Remus could do? Sirius was counting on him now; he couldn’t stand the thought of letting him down, not when he was looking at Remus like that – like Remus could fix anything, when Remus knew damn well that he couldn’t. His chest seized up and he held his breath, gritting his teeth resolutely. He’d find a way. He had to.

Sirius was loaded into the back of a car, his brother already cuffed and waiting in the seat beside him – no doubt being charged for the same thing. Their faces were stony masks, tense and unreadable.

From the next car over, Riddle watched with a smile.

[angelicamerlinbarnes]

Fifteen people who found out about James, Sirius, and Remus and the one person who never did

To clarify: James, Sirius, and Remus are queerplatonic partners in this case, or QPP's. This means that they're essentially special friends, ones who indulge in physical and emotional connections that are typically thought of as beyond platonic.

ONE: Peter Pettigrew

By fourth year the Marauders are legends. Everyone knows them as the fun-loving band of brothers without any cares in the world. Only the four of them know the true nature of the Marauders - bloody, battered, and bruised.

One day Sirius and James are fighting, an explosive sort of argument where Peter hides behind his curtains while peeking out through a crack in them and Remus reads calmly on his bed. Then suddenly the shouting stops, and Peter’s jaw drops open while Remus looks up from his book.

There, in the middle of the room, are Sirius and James, Sirius’ hands on James’ face and his mouth on his lips. Sirius pulls away before James can respond, covering his mouth with his hands and tearing up while James blinks in shock and Peter stares.

Then, Remus starts laughing, and James drags Sirius into a crushing hug, pressing kisses all over his face before finally pecking him on the mouth and then letting go. Peter squeaks out a garbled question when Remus rolls his eyes and says, “What, no love for me?”

Immediately, Sirius and James tackle him onto the bed, the three of them collapsing into a mess of laughter and kisses while Peter stares and stares and stares.

TWO: Marlene McKinnon

In an act of drunken desperation to forget her own confusing sexuality (girls are super hot but the idea of being in love makes me wanna throw up, for reference), Marlene flirts with Sirius at a party. His eyes are dark and alluring and he’s addicted to dancing, so it’s not exactly difficult. But just as her hand snakes up his arm, Remus appears, wrapping himself around Sirius and kissing him happily, Sirius melting against him.

Marlene steps back in her shock, creating just enough room for James to stumble over tipsily and start making fun of Sirius’ ears; that is until Sirius leans down and kisses him too just to shut him up, pulling back with a laugh so loud it rings in Marlene’s ears as she runs for the comfort of Dorcas, who simply smiles and slips her hand through Marlene’s blonde curls and kisses her until she can’t feel anything anymore.

THREE: Minvera Mcgonogall

In fifth year, Mcgonogall is awoken by a bawling James Potter at her door, sobbing uncontrollably and blubbering about something she can’t really understand. Eventually he calms down enough that she manages to get that he’s upset because he just found out that Sirius and Remus are dating.

Mcgonogall is terribly confused - haven’t the three of them been dating for years?

“No,” James says. “We’re just friends. Friends who kiss and love each other more than anything but aren’t in love with each other. I know… I know that doesn’t really make sense. I’m just… I’m just scared that since they’re boyfriends, or whatever, they won’t… they won’t…”

Mcgonogall opens her mouth to respond when Sirius’ voice cuts through the chaos -

“Won’t what? Love you? Because if you think that my being in love with Moony means I’m going to stop snogging you at every available opportunity then you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought, Jamie.”

James looks up with a grin even as the tears still stream down his face, taking in the sight of a grinning Sirius and Remus, whose hands are tightly clasped between them. Mcgonogall watches, blinking in shock, as James bounds over to them and laughs as Sirius dips him in a kiss and Remus rolls his eyes.

“Come on, you morons,” he says, dragging them away as Sirius tries and fails to kiss him silly, laughing.

FOUR: Severus Snape

Sixth year is when shit first hits the fan. The Prank is a tear in their carefully cultivated tapestry, one that sends all three of them exploding in different directions. Severus is on his way to the infirmary for some more dreamless potion from Madam Pomfrey (and to check on Remus after the traumatic mindfuck that was last night’s full moon) when he sees the shitshow begin.

Remus is lying in a hospital bed, confined by bandages and fatigue but looking no less terrifying as he bites insult after insult towards Sirius. (The only one of these Severus remembers is “I thought you loved me, asshole!”, and only because Sirius had fled the room in tears after it was spoken.) James tries to sit down at Remus’ bedside, but before he can Remus breaks down in tears.

James reaches out to hold him, but Remus shoves him away, screaming until James leaves, his head hanging low in defeat. Severus approaches carefully, holding out one of his bottles of dreamless sleep.

“Here,” he says softly. “So you can forget, for a little while.”

Remus looks up at him and smiles weakly.

“Thanks,” he rasps, and Severus leaves with a nod, deciding it’s better to quit while he’s ahead.

FIVE: Lily Evans

Despite all of the horror of the Prank, it is less disastrous than one might think. There is a war coming; Severus has sworn to Remus himself that he will never tell and has also started searching for the cure for lycanthropy while he’s at it (not that he’s found it; he never will); and Sirius Black and Remus Lupin love each other more than words can say and will no matter the consequences, everybody knows that.

And Lily, she misses Severus - no one else understands that, but she does. She loves him.

She’s studying with Remus one day, their backs against the wall and knees to their chests, and ends up asking him how Severus is doing, eventually winding them down a conversational path about lost love and finding hope anyway. Remus, however, collapses into tears talking about Sirius and how much he misses him and loves him, still.

Lily doesn’t know what to do; Remus Lupin does not cry, at least not in front of anyone. Before she can panic too badly about it though, James is there, on his knees in front of Remus and whispering quietly to him, taking his hands and kissing his knuckles in between murmurs of affection. Sirius stands behind him, hands clenching in and out of fists as he tries desperately not to touch, but that only lasts a few moments before Remus is laughing through his tears, making grabby hands for Sirius.

Sirius squats down hesitantly, gently wrapping his arms around Remus, who pulls him down by the neck and jaw and kisses him and kisses him and kisses him as James smiles tiredly, passerbys whoop and stare, and Lily looks at James and feels her heart flutter in her chest. He smiles at her, and she flushes, then stands and heads for the opposite corner, where Severus is leaning against the wall, his nose in a book.

No words are needed between them. She pulls him in by the tie, and there’s a single feeble whoop for them, too - Lily smiles at the sound of James’ voice, hope sparking in her chest as her eyelids flutter closed.

SIX: Regulus Black

Regulus, struggling under his parents’ stifling regime alone since Sirius left, can’t say he’s not shocked when Sirius drags him up to a Marauders sleepover in the Gryffindor dorms one night. Peter isn’t there - Remus says he’s staying with a Hufflepuff named Max he’s into - but Remus, Sirius, and James all gravitate towards one bed, Remus lying on his back with James’ head on his stomach, running his fingers lazily through James’ curls.

Sirius beams at the sight of them and jumps in beside them, and James leans up and pecks Sirius on the mouth, who smiles. Regulus’ heart twinges at the sight - his brother has so much more love than he does, and Regulus won’t deny that he’s always been just a little bit in love with James Potter - but then James smiles at him with those twinkling eyes and Regulus’ heart calms.

Sirius draws him close by the hand, pulling him into his side and kissing the top of his head. They laugh and wrestle and joke around until eventually Remus falls asleep in James’ arms, and James is not long to follow. Regulus lies awake long after, nestled into Sirius’ side, the silence comforting like a warm blanket. Until Sirius murmurs, “I love you, Reggie,” and drifts off, and Regulus is left staring at the ceiling, alone.

He knows, Sirius’ hand over his heart, that this is his brother’s way of saying goodbye.

SEVEN: Hope & Lyall Lupin

“Criminals” is not a word Lyall Lupin would use to describe Sirius Black and James Potter, but maybe it should be. Because they break into his house on Christmas Eve the boys’ seventh year, the moon already rising in the sky. Lyall tries to stop them, but Sirius Stupefies him with cold eyes and transforms into a hulking dog right then and there, trotting down the basement stairs as James follows, breaking Remus’ chains with his human hands and ushering him out the door before taking his stag form.

Lyall and Hope watch in shock from the kitchen as Remus turns and Sirius and James tame him easily, the wolf nuzzling them like old friends. By morning, they are still out in the yard, the sun rising, now fully human. At first Lyall worries for his son’s modesty, but Sirius has already wrapped his shirt around Remus’ waist, and Remus, barechested in the sun, is holding James’ head to his, muttering in Welsh as James tries desperately to breathe, apologizing over and over for a gash on Remus’ chest put there by his antlers. Remus smiles, and Sirius hums a Queen song under his breath, and Lyall can’t hear everything his son is saying but he catches just enough -

“Mae'n iawn, fy nghariad. Shhh, annwyl.” (It's alright, my love. Shhh, dearheart.)

EIGHT: Albus Dumbledore

The news that Regulus has died comes on a Wednesday. Dumbledore is the one to deliver it, with a heavy heart and a heavier theory in his head. He notices that James is there, in Sirius and Remus’ home, but does not question it, only offering the story of the Horcruxes to Sirius, who sits on the couch. As the words pour out, dry and frail, Sirius’ face pales to ghostly white. Remus emerges from the kitchen with tea just as the final phrase leaves Dumbledore’s lips -

“Your brother died a hero.”

The tea clatters to the floor as Sirius reaches for his wand on the table, pointing it towards his head and getting out “Avada -” before James and Remus are on him, James wrenching his wand away while Remus locks Sirius in his arms, gently coaxing him down onto the floor and rocking him back and forth as he breaks down. James returns from hiding the wand and wraps himself around the both of them, breaking down with Sirius and pressing tearful kisses to every inch of skin he can find. Remus looks up at Dumbledore with glassy eyes and says -

“Please take your leave, Professor.”

Dumbfounded, Dumbledore does.

NINE: Dorcas Meadowes

Dorcas has lived with Marlene since school - Dorcas was in love with her, and Marlene liked sex and liked Dorcas in a “we can be best-friend-partner-lovers forever, mkay?” way. But no one else can understand that - the fact that they’re physically intimate but not a couple, that they’re married by law and spirit but not in love, that’s not something anybody gets. So when Marlene dies, Dorcas locks herself in their home, for grief and madness alike.

One day, Sirius comes to visit her. She doesn’t know why - Lily is about to have a baby, Voldemort is specifically targeting the Potters, their husband Snape is a fucking spy, and Remus is undercover amongst the wolves. All this and there’s a traitor in their midst - Sirius has no business visiting a grieving woman when there’s a war on.

But war there is, and visit he does.

Dorcas makes him tea, and they converse quietly about Marlene for a time. It’s when Sirius’ apology comes that she snaps -

“You can’t possibly understand what it’s like to lose her. She’s - she was my everything. My other half, a part of me, my - my wife. Not just a friend but not a lover… well, not in anything but the physical sense anyway, but - she was my life.”

Sirius stands, throwing his hands out to the side.

“You think I don’t understand?” He says, laughing and running a hand through his hair. He blinks back tears, then thrusts his left hand her way. “I know exactly what you’re feeling. That grief, that fear, I - I feel that every day.”

Dorcas shakes her head, batting his hand away.

“Remus is the love of your life, not your - your, I don’t know, partner? You can’t -”

“James,” Sirius interrupts, desperately, and Dorcas shuts up. “Jamie. My Jamie. Well - Remus and I’s Jamie, really.”

He smiles - a broken, broken thing.

“I understand, see?” He says, twisting his wedding ring around so instead of a moon it shows a black set of antlers. “See? I know. I understand. I do.”

Dorcas stares, quietly, and then starts laughing. It’s a foreign, unwelcome sound, and Sirius reels back in shock. They stand there, opposing each other, until suddenly the laughs ebb out into sobs, and Sirius pulls her to his front and doesn’t let go.

TEN: Mary MacDonald

The day Harry is born, Severus isn’t even there. He’s deep into Voldemort’s forces by now, only holding contact with Dumbledore out of necessity, and James and Lily are both exhausted, missing their husband with a newfound intensity and knowing Voldemort wants to kill their newborn son. Sirius and Remus are there, Mary too, and as Lily sleeps with Harry on her chest and Mary holds her hand, Sirius and James fight.

Loudly.

(In the hallway, of course, but still.)

Remus is helpless in between them - Mary hears very little of what is actually said. Bits and pieces here and there -

“You can’t protect him by -”

And “We need you, dipshit!”

And “I swear to fucking Merlin, Jamie -”

But nothing really solid. She watches through the window as they scream, until suddenly Remus reaches out and pulls James into a kiss. Mary drops Lily’s hand in shock, and watches with a gaping mouth as Remus lets go of James to pull Sirius into him, kissing him passionately and without reserve. Finally, when he pulls away, he glares at the two men and seethes something just loud enough for her to hear -

“Listen up, you idiots. That child needs our protection. That means hiding. We know fuck all about the future but this is war. Our baby is not gonna die because the people who love him can’t let him go.”

Sirius and James both nod sagely, James leaning in to peck Remus on the mouth - “Sorry, Remy.” - before he wanders back inside the hospital room. Outside, Remus collapses into Sirius’ arms, the two of them holding each other and rocking back and forth. James looks up at Mary from the other side of Lily’s bed and smiles wryly.

“Shit, huh?” He mutters, and Mary, speechless, nods.

ELEVEN: Fleamont & Euphemia Potter

Fleamont and Euphemia Potter go into hiding when James and Lily do, knowing they could be tortured for their whereabouts despite not knowing them. Remus comes bursting through their fireplace on Halloween, covered in cuts and bruises and coughing with baby Harry cradled against his chest. Through hacking breaths and with glassy eyes, he tells them their son is dead with his wife and Sirius has been arrested for their murder, along with Peter’s and some Muggles’. He kisses their foreheads and tells them to take care of themselves, leaving with the last words he ever says to them -

“I loved your son. So did Sirius. We - I will do everything I can to protect Harry. I promise.”

He disappears through the fireplace before they can respond, leaving them to grieve.

TWELVE: Walburga & Orion Black

After leaving Harry with Dumbledore, who assures him the child will be given to the custody of his living father as soon as he’s emerged from his undercover work (a lie, Remus later learns), Remus makes his way to Regulus’ grave. There’s no body there, of course, but Remus never got to say goodbye to the boy he considered something of a son, and he figures now, when he’s lost everything, is as good a time as any.

It turns out he’s not alone - Walburga and Orion Black, not yet locked up in Azkaban for their crimes, are there already, and spit in his face for daring to grieve their son when he’s a werewolf who supposedly turned their other one queer and heady. Remus stares them down, and in a calm voice with his hands in his pockets tells them -

“I loved Regulus like a brother. As for Sirius… well, he married two blokes. Oh -” He smirks. “And he was damn good in bed, too.”

Walburga lets out a shrill scream, turning her wand on Remus, and he holds his head high as he disarms both her and her husband and promptly kills the two people who made his husband’s life a living hell for sixteen years. As he stands there, staring at their still-warm bodies and always-cold eyes, he can feel no remorse - only a deep ache, loss and regret plaguing him with age long before his time.

THIRTEEN: Molly & Arthur Weasley

Twelve years pass without so much as a breath from Sirius or Remus. James is six feet under and Harry is thirteen, and after the havoc that occurs at Hogwarts his third year, they settle at Grimmauld Place, together. Molly and Arthur are tasked with bringing them essentials and information, and take notice of the fact that the two rarely leave each other’s sides. They’re wearing their wedding bands, which Molly does not fail to notice are marked with antlers as well as moons and pawprints, and Remus has another ring around a chain on his neck with only a pawprint and a moon. They look tired and worn out, Sirius more than Remus, and one day Molly pulls him aside to ask him privately if they’re doing alright.

Remus gives her a wry smile, his eyes twinkling just the slightest bit as he answers, “Yes. Of course.” Molly asks him again, saying she’s worried, and Remus shrugs, looking through doorways to Sirius, at the table with Arthur.

“I’ve had twelve years to grieve. Getting Sirius - getting my husband back was the greatest happiness I could ever ask for. But Sirius, he… he was never allowed to truly mourn. He’s still…”

He gets this distant look in his eyes and startles when Molly touches his arm, offering a small smile.

“I’ve had time to grieve our partner, is all I’m saying,” he murmurs. “Sirius needs time before he can even begin to forgive himself for what happened to James.”

Molly keeps her shock inward, squeezing Remus’ arm once before ushering her husband out the door. Watching from outside as Grimmauld Place folds back into itself, she thinks she sees two silhouettes in the window, melting into one.

FOURTEEN: Nymphadora Tonks

Nymphadora Tonks falls in love with Remus Lupin almost the moment she meets him. He’s handsome, he’s funny, he’s kind and smart and brave - what else could you want? And she thinks he likes her too - even if her cousin is desperately in love with him, which she would have to be blind not to see. But she knows this the way she knows the rhythm of her heartbeat in her chest - Remus Lupin was born to be hers.

So imagine her surprise when his response to her confession is to shake his head and laugh.

“I’m a married man, Dora,” he drawls, standing and flashing his ring towards her around a glass of whiskey. “I thought you knew that. I am sorry to say I cannot return your feelings… beyond my marriage, age, and lycanthropy, you must have noticed that women are not… my area.”

Tonks flushes red, jerking back in shock. So her cousin…

“Is it Sirius?” She blurts, and Remus turns towards her again, his eyes twinkling. He nods.

“Yes,” he answers. “Though, I had a second husband… long ago, and a partner more than anything…”

With a distant look in his eyes, he leaves her heartbroken at the dining room table, but not before she sees him slip into a waiting Sirius’ arms, holding him close to his chest as they dance, their eyes closed and two rings bearing antlers hanging between them.

FIFTEEN: Hermione Granger

She starts to wonder, right around the beginning of her fifth year, why Harry seems to have no interest in hanging out with anyone besides her and Ron. Now, she and Ron, they’re in love with each other; Hermione’s neither daft nor blind. But Harry’s in love with them both too, she realizes, and his closest relationships outside of that are past platonic but far from romantic: she can’t call what he has with Luna or Draco “normal”. The summer before her sixth year, she travels to Grimmauld Place, needing some time alone to think before the war envelopes them all. But she finds, when she arrives, that she’s not alone - there, at the dining room table, is Remus, holding a glass of whiskey and wearing three identical rings on a chain around his neck.

“Professor Lupin?” She asks, and Remus smiles wryly. “What’re you doing here?”

Remus sighs, leaving his glass on the table as he stands and grabs his coat.

“Just a bit of reminiscing, my dear,” he says. “No matter. Off we go now, this place belongs to Harry and we have no right to…”

He trails off, his eyes glistening, and Hermione watches his Adam’s apple bob and averts her eyes to the rings, each holding a different two of three symbols: a pawprint, a moon, and a pair of antlers. One of them is the one Sirius used to wear around, always a little loose on his finger from all that malnourishment… Remus must have just grasped it before he fell through the Veil. At the thought, her breath catches in her throat.

“Sirius was your…” She says, and stops when Remus flinches. He gives her a kind smile and nods.

“Yes,” he says. “And James as well, though that was different. More of a… friend, partner - soulmate? -” Hermione coughs. “- than a lover. But, yes. Not that it matters now.”

Hermione’s heart stops in her chest.

“Of course it matters,” she fires back. “You loved him. You loved him, and he’s dead.”

Remus looks down at her, his smile gone, and shrugs.

“All things end, Hermione,” he murmurs. “Especially good things.”

He opens the door and has one foot outside when he turns back to her and says, “Miss Granger?” She looks up at him from her hands, shaking and devoid of rings, and nods.

“Yes?”

Remus smiles, his eyes sad.

“Tell your Harry we love him. All seven of the Marauders, even if some of us never really got to meet him. And tell him… tell him that even if he didn’t die for him or raise him, his father loves him.”

Hermione’s brow furrows, but she nods.

“Of course,” she promises, though she has no idea who the other three Marauders are and could not even begin to guess what Remus means by his comment on Harry’s father. “I will.”

Remus smiles one last time, tips his invisible hat to her, and disappears out the front door and into the night.

ONE: Harry Potter

Remus marries Tonks, but doesn’t love her. Teddy is an accident, and only his in name. Remus will only ever have one son, and his name is Harry Potter.

In the Battle of Hogwarts, Remus Lupin dies with three rings around his neck and a secret in his chest. He does not tell Harry. He doesn’t want to burden him.

Their love, along with them, is dead and gone anyway. But when he sees Sirius and James in the white light, for the split second between life and death -

He wonders.

[softykooky]

sanctuary: six

summary: leaving your father was easy. leaving them? well...that’s a different kind of strength. 7.9k words.

genre: mafia au, fluff, major angst

pairing: ot7 x reader

warnings:  toxic and dysfunctional familial relationships, mentions of domestic abuse (physical and verbal), swearing, ptsd & trauma, poor mental health, mentions of anxiety & panic attacks, reader goes to therapy, hurt, argument/yelling, the boys are mean...

author’s note: i made you guys wait long enough hehe :) hope you like it, please let me know what you think! and please take notice of the warnings!! they are there for a reason <3

♡ series masterpost ♡

Your nightmares have gotten better...somewhat. Better in the sense that you don’t let them carry over as much to the next day. Better in the sense that now, there are seven smiling faces that greet you every morning to help the fear dissolve. But they still relent as strong as ever, and make you toss and turn every single night with no pity. 

They’ve gotten more frequent since that meeting with your father. More vivid. Some nights, your nightmares are so bad that you just end up migrating over to Taehyung’s room right next to you and sleeping on the edge of the bed (though you just end up wrapped around each other in the morning). Taehyung never bats an eye. Only opens the side of his thick duvet for you to crawl into and flicks on a lamp because he knows you don’t like the dark after a nightmare. 

Tonight is no different. From the other side of the wall, Taehyung can hear your pained whimpers and mumbles that he can barely make out. Your sheets rustle as your body protests the vivid dream, and he can’t help but to bolt out of his comfortable position to check up on you. You’re still deep in restless sleep when he opens the door and approaches your bed. 

“Y/N, sweetheart, please wake up”, he soothes, caressing the side of your face with one hand. “It’s just a dream.”

The yellowing bruise on your cheek has begun to fade, but it still makes their blood boil every time they catch sight of it. Seeing it right now makes Taehyung want to burn the entire city down and your father along with it. But he is here for you. And Taehyung (and the other six) cannot be anything but soft towards you. 

“Baby, wake up”, he says again, louder this time and it makes you begin to stir out of sleep. You quiet at the contact of his skin but your eyes remain closed and that fitful frown is still on your face. Taehyung doesn’t know that his mere presence brings you comfort. Even when you’re not conscious. 

He takes the authority to nestle under the covers next to you and it’s as if your body just naturally gravitates to his, tucking yourself into his arms like a linking puzzle piece. It’s a selfish reason, and Taehyung doesn’t want to tell anyone, though he has a feeling the guys already know and also share his belief. But he secretly treasures the moments that he gets with you, even if it is for a heartbreaking reason such as nightmares. 

He loves the feeling of your body next to his, and the blankets that get just a little too overheated because the both of you are human furnaces. He loves the gentle thud of your heartbeat on those nights that he holds you closer than normal, when you shake like a leaf through your dreams and he is your tether to the ground. 

And to think, just a while ago he was yelling at you from the other side of the wall, complaining about your loud crying. He wants to go back in time and kick himself. Taehyung’s scared. He’s never really cared for someone like this before. 

You are already safely stowed away in his wide chest when a shadow walks by the room. Taehyung is not surprised when Yoongi creaks the bedroom door open, and not surprised when he sees Jimin in tow. 

“We heard her all the way from upstairs.” Yoongi mutters through a yawn. Jimin just sighs and looks at your sleeping figure with concern and longing. The two men shuffle into the room and as Jimin lifts up the blanket to flank your other side, Yoongi sets himself at the foot of the bed. Not that any of them lacked space, of course. The boys made sure your room was properly equipped with a large California king. 

“It’s been getting worse. I don’t know what to do. I want to help her, but I-” 

Taehyung finds himself getting choked up through his words. They all feel the same way. It’s just that there’s been too many nights where he’s had to hold your broken pieces together while you scream out the ghosts of what has happened to you. If it’s too much to bear for the seven of them, looking from the outside, they can’t imagine how it must feel for you. 

Jimin reaches over, your body nestled between the two of them, and inserts his hand inside Taehyung’s, caressing the thumb back and forth of his skin. 

“I guess all we can do is be here on the nights that are difficult.” Yoongi tilts his head so that he’s looking at you, still drifting off in your dream with a pained expression on your face.

“She’ll get through this. She’s strong.” 

The words that Yoongi whispers into the night air of your bedroom are hopeful. Uncharacteristic for a man like him, but when it comes to you, optimism is the only choice. He’ll allow himself to have hope if it’s for you. 

The four of you fall back into shallow sleep, and time passes by differently when it’s night time and your bones cry for rest. They fall in and out of consciousness for a minute or a couple hours, none of them are sure. All they can focus on is their worry, and you continue to battle through your war of bad dreams. Jimin and Taehyung awaken again when you begin to stir.

You quiver like you’re cold, even when you’re sandwiched in between two warm bodies and they both snuggle in to hold you even closer. But you remain lost to your nightmare and begin to cry tears that drip down and dampen the fabric of Taehyung’s pajama shirt. He knows you’ll apologize profusely for that in the morning, but he couldn’t give less of a damn about his shirt. The feeling of you crying in his arms makes him feel like an utter failure. 

Jimin wipes away the wet trail that the tear left behind on your skin, and wants to cry himself. He doesn’t know how to take your pain away, and wants to scream because sleep is the only time where you can truly rest and the universe deprives you of even that. 

“I’m so sorry, princess. We’re here.” He whispers to your unhearing ears. “We’ll be here.”

When your cries begin to get loud and your muttering becomes pained, the door is softly opened again. This time, it reveals a wide-awake Jungkook and a not so awake Hoseok. Yoongi rolls his eyes but can’t help the fond smile that paints his lips. 

“Jungkook, I told you to stop staying up so late playing video games.” he whisper-scolds, and Jungkook looks sheepish in the lowlight of your bedroom. They’re not surprised by his late night antics by any means, and they’re also not surprised that he abandoned them to check up on you. They all know Jungkook has an unreasonably tender spot for you. 

“Is it her dreams again?”, Hoseok says, pure worry leaking out of every word and staring at your impossibly small self in Taehyung’s hold. There’s no annoyedness in his tone. They’re all just deathly concerned about you. 

Pushing Hoseok inside the room and quietly closing the door behind him, Jungkook situates himself on the loveseat next to the bed, while Hoseok just plops on the plush rug, snatching a throw pillow and tucking it under his head. Jimin sweeps a stray hair away that had fallen into your face. 

Though they’re all trying to close their eyes and sleep, they all know that tonight will be a restless one. If you are not peacefully sleeping, they won’t be able to either. And it seems that that statement applies to all of them, when not even 10 minutes pass until Namjoon and Seokjin make their way to your bedroom, for the same reason as the other five. They wordlessly set out pillows and blankets on the floor beside your bed, nestling into each other for warmth and hoping that you can feel their sincerity even in sleep. And if anyone could see them now: big, bad mafia bosses cuddling together to help you through a night of bad dreams, Bangtan would force them to sign non-disclosure agreements. For you though, they could do this for hundreds of nights. 

When all seven are there, you miraculously slumber peacefully through the night. For the first time since Taehyung crept into your room, you are resting comfortably, quiet and undisturbed. And when you start snoring, Taehyung wants to cry with sheer relief. It was as if your subconscious vied for the presence of all the boys, and now that you have it, they finally allow themselves to drift off as well. 

The last thing you expected when you woke up this morning was to be dripping in sweat and much too aware of the extra three bodies on the bed with you. Ones you don’t remember going to sleep with last night. You have no recollection, just remembered that you went to sleep alone and now the seven men you’ve grown far too fond of were in the room with you, still snoozing the day away. 

At the foot of your bed, Yoongi stretches his limbs and groans when the sunlight peaks through the curtains into his eyes. He squints away the sleep and smiles dopily at you from under a blanket. Hopefully he doesn’t notice the way you practically melt at just his gaze. 

“Morning, sweetheart.” His throaty morning voice makes you blush two shades of red. 

“Good morning”, you whisper back, not wanting to wake any of them up. They just look so adorable and so completely exhausted. Yoongi bets that all of them would rather forfeit their positions as mafia bosses before telling you it’s because they stayed up all night worrying about you. “Um…”, you murmur, eyes darting around the room, “why are you all in here?” 

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to admit how whipped they actually are for you. 

“You were...having bad nightmares. So we wanted to come make sure you were okay.” 

Your eyes widen at Yoongi’s confession, and it reminds you of when Namjoon had done the same for you all those nights ago. It makes your heart ache and bloom at the same time because well..no one’s really cared enough to do something like this for you. Something so simple yet significant. You blink away the mistiness in your eyes, looking around the room once again. 

Three of them are on your bed. The rest are distributed across the floor and Jungkook’s slung uncomfortably on a chair. When you look back at Yoongi, it seems like he already knows all the thoughts running through your head. He already knows the words you want to say, but don’t know how to articulate. 

“We’ll do this every night if we have to, Y/N. For as long as it takes.” 

You leap from your spot under the blankets to wrap Yoongi in a bear hug, burying your face in his shoulder as he buries his in your hair. Though you are overheated from the cuddling and still dazed from sleep, you hold him with as much sincerity as you can muster. You have a feeling he can tell when he holds you back just as warmly. 

The movement makes Jimin and Taehyung wake in unison and as they rub the fatigue from their eyes and land on the sight of you perfectly swathed in Yoongi’s arms, the two of them think it’s a sight they could get used to waking up to. They wonder if you feel the same way. 

“Thank you.” Your words are airy and light in his ear, but Yoongi knows their true weight. He doesn’t say anything. Just plants a soft kiss on the side of your temple and relishes in the scent of your shampoo. 

When he stares past your shoulders, he meets the gaze of Jimin and Taehyung, who are fondly peering at the two of you. Years of being with each other, they’ve learned to communicate certain things without having to say anything. And right now, in the gentle morning light, the realization is beginning to seep in. 

Perhaps the way they care about you is more what they had expected. 

Living with the seven of them is an adjustment. Getting accustomed to a rhythm and routine in a house that’s the headquarters of an underground powerhouse is easier said than done. You were constantly surrounded with uncertainty and tiptoeing danger but you had never felt unsafe. They were there. And as long as you had them, this house was sanctuary. 

You’re not in any immediate danger. Your father had basically agreed to leave you alone for the foreseeable future and the media had begun to calm down. However, when the tides have settled, the boys are able to see you up close and personal and at all the ugly scares you’ve tried to hide from everyone. They’re able to see what those years of trauma has done to you. 

Whenever someone’s voice booms too loudly across the mansion, yelling orders at subordinates or for any other reason, you start to quiver like a leaf in the wind. When one of them reaches towards you too quickly, for simple things like a wave or to hold your hand, you can’t help but to flinch in anticipation. And you try to hide it, but it’s impossible not to notice. 

They notice everything. 

They always do, when it comes to you. 

With every mannerism and survival instinct that has been involuntarily drilled into your subconscious, they all grow angrier that you’ve been subjected to this pain. Hoseok has had to talk Namjoon down from sending their entire fleet to dismantle the ambassador a couple too many times as they continue to learn how deep the trauma with your father truly runs.

“Y/N…”, Jin hesitantly mutters, fiddling with the food on his plate nervously, “have you ever thought about...going to therapy?” 

You freeze in between a chew and swallow, eyes staring into his with an innocent deer-in-the-headlights expression. You look like you might have a panic attack, and Jin is quick to cut the tension. 

“N-not that we’re forcing you to do it, my love. It’s only a suggestion. It’s just that..maybe it would be good for you. To talk about things and get professional help.” By the way he says it, and the way the other boys are staring at you expectantly, you realize this is something they’ve probably been discussing for a while now. And though it’s heartwarming to know that they care about your health, the idea of going to therapy is deathly daunting. 

“I don’t know, guys…” You twist your hands in your lap, a nervous habit to show your discomfort and they all instantly regret bringing this up at all. You keep your gaze glued downwards. You’re afraid that if you look up, you’ll just see disappointment from the ones that you’ve grown to care about so much. You don’t think you could handle it. 

“Could you look at us, Y/N?” Namjoon’s voice is soothing and there is no single trace of anger or frustration. You slowly tilt your head upwards and meet his eyes. 

“At the end of the day, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. If you don’t want therapy, then fuck therapy, princess.” 

Namjoon feels gratification when his statement makes you smile, and his heart suspiciously flutters in his chest. 

“But we just want the best for you. We all want you to heal because…”, Namjoon looks around and makes eye contact with the rest of the boys, whom he knows share his same feelings. 

“You’re so important to us.” 

You’ve known this. You know that they care about you even when your mind forces you to doubt that anyone does. But when you hear it like this, so raw and unfiltered with sincerity leaking in every letter, it ignites something that you haven’t felt in a long time. 

Hope. 

You take a glance next to you at Jungkook, whose warm smile makes your lungs feel like molten honey. At Yoongi, who looks back at you with gentle eyes. At Hoseok, who is impossibly soft with you. At them all. It makes you realize something:

You don’t want to go to therapy. It’s scary and you’re not really sure if you want to talk about your father or your family or anything that happened before you met Bangtan. But you have people who care about you now. And if you didn’t want to do this for yourself, then, well... you would do it for them. 

“You don’t have to decide now, but-”

“I’ll do it.” Your voice slices through Taehyung’s words. “I’ll go to therapy.”

“Are you sure, Y/N?”, Hoseok questions. Though he wants you to very badly, he wants you to do it on your own terms. And though your statement is strong, he can see the doubt and uncertainty swimming in your irises. 

“No, not really.” you whisper, and they practically deflate so you are quick to remedy their dejection. 

“But...I know that I want to get better. I know it’s going to be hard, but I want to get better.” You take a deep breath.

“For you. All of you.” 

The room falls silent, and the noise of clinking cutlery against porcelain plates stills. They could only look at you and wonder what country they have saved in their past lifetime to deserve to stumble upon someone like you. Someone so wonderful, and so damaged but so determined to heal. For them. For all of them. 

Jungkook scoops your hand in his, and when you look in his eyes, you are stunned to see that there are unshed tears pooling at his waterline. He looks at you and there’s something in his gaze that you can’t place. Something lovely that makes you feel like all this hurt has been worth it. Jungkook looks at you like there is something worth looking at. 

“We love…” From your other side, Jimin starts speaking, but cuts himself off halfway through and suspiciously glances around the table, meeting the gaze of the six other boys who already know how he wants to finish that sentence. But he doesn’t. 

“W-We love that you want to do that for us”, he coughs, and you return it with a smile. 

Did a part of you want him to say something different? Something deeper? You’re not sure, but the tinge of disappointment in your stomach that follows his words is a sign. 

Could you allow yourself to think that someone could actually genuinely like you past platonicity? Much less seven powerful men? After years of your father telling you the complete opposite, accompanying each scathing word with a bruise, it’s difficult to believe anything different. 

Therapy was, in a word, completely exhausting. It was tiring dancing around the subject of your father’s abuse, your mother’s neglect, Soyeon’s blatant denial and just the complete package of being the eldest daughter to Ambassador Yoo. When they all had scheduled you for 4 sessions a week, you immediately wanted to decline and opt for one. But their eyes had all looked so hopeful. So excited for you to get professional help, and there was no possible way you could have turned them down. 

Progress is frustratingly slow, though. Some days you just want to quit.

 You plop unceremoniously on the large plush sofa, grabbing the nearest throw pillow and cradling it to your chest. The boys are all in the other room, but are now fully aware of your presence after you slammed the front door and huffed your way to the comforting couch. They can practically feel the rays of stress emanating from you. 

“Y/N? Baby? What’s wrong?” Jimin is the one that first approaches, and the rest stare on with concern leaking out of every pore. And when you reply with a sniffle and hiccup, their hearts all collectively break. 

You feel a dip in the couch and crane your neck to lock your teary eyes with Jimin’s, whose brows are deeply furrowed. You involuntarily launch into his arms, tucking your face into his neck, and inhaling his cologne that always manages to calm you down. You hear them all shuffle around you. 

“It’s just..”, your voice pitifully cracks, “hard.” From your position, they are thankful you cannot see the heartbreak in their expression. It’s so hard for them to see you as anything but happy. 

“I don’t know if I can do it”, you breathe out, feeling a new wave of tears begin to rise. You want to cry even more at the thought that they would be more disappointed in you. .

But there is a warmth from your other side, and you don’t know who it belongs to as it sits next to you. 

“I’m so proud of you, Y/N”, Namjoon whispers oh-so-softly. They are such simple words. Arguably mundane and ordinary. Then why does it knock the wind right out of your chest? Why does it light up your dark tunnel? He’s proud of you. They all are. Even when you are an emotional mess with low mental energy, Namjoon is sitting next to you and telling you that he’s proud. 

You erupt into heart wrenching sobs that won’t seem to stop no matter what you do. It’s the kind of cry that feels like a weight has been lifted off your chest. A cry that comes straight from your core and it sounds painful but truthfully, it’s just relieving. You know that all of them are worried out of their minds. You can feel it in the way Jimin shakily holds you as tight as he can, as if you are delicate chipped porcelain in his arms. 

But this is how you rebuild. With the seven of them by your side. You tell Namjoon to cancel your future therapy sessions the next day. Your psychologist was far short of revolutionary, and when they all asked you why, you admit that it’s not the therapy that’s helping you get better. 

It was just them. Being around them. Talking to them. 

It was Seokjin carding his hands through your hair and rubbing out the tension that always inevitably develops in your temples. It was Namjoon letting you lounge quietly in his office as he goes through paperwork, enjoying your presence as much as you enjoy his. It was Yoongi and Hoseok rambling to you about their adventures on the field (leaving out the gory details, of course. They wanted to keep you innocent and soft). It was Taehyung sneakily replacing your pink peonies as soon as the first petal began to wilt, even after the infinite amount of times you told him it was unnecessary. It was Jungkook and Jimin making excuses to spend the afternoon snuggled up on your bed when you all knew it was simply because they wanted to hold you. 

It was all of them tiptoeing around affection, craftily sneaking in spare kisses and touches on the skin. Holding you a little longer than necessary, a little more tenderly. Intertwining your hands under the dinner table, or when their subordinates weren’t looking. 

You notice the way they blush more often, if you let your touch linger for too long, or if you brush past them and make skin contact. You notice how pet names are easier to spill from their lips; ones like: my love, honey, sweetheart, baby...and you can’t help but to completely indulge in the way it is addressed only for you.  Little ways to subliminally tell you that perhaps you meant more to them than they were ready to admit. And you would be lying if you said your feelings for the seven of them were completely platonic. You would be lying if you said love wasn’t on the brain. 

Perhaps you are the missing piece to a puzzle they hadn’t realized was unfinished. 

“Hyung...I think I love her.” Jungkook is unsurprisingly the first one to voice it. The six others don’t even bat an eye. 

“No, Jungkook. I know you love her”, Hoseok whispers back in the tense silence of their meeting room. You are fast asleep on the floor above, but their hearts call out to you through the short distance. 

“I am too. We all are.” It is a truth they’ve known for a while. Sooner than they’re proud to admit. 

“I guess now all we have to do is figure out how to tell her.” 

They did want to. Tell you, that is. They wanted to shout it from the rooftops and make it known to the world that you are the angel that has snatched their hearts without even realizing it herself. If it hadn’t been for the disaster that suddenly struck their mafia, the boys would have already bared their souls to you. But timing was never kind. 

Bangtan were not known to be gullible. Not known to be easily fooled. So when Taehyung ran into their meeting room, red-faced and clenching his fists so hard they turned white, the Judas in their gang had come as a scathing surprise. 

One of their inner circle. Someone they had poured their trust and faith into, who had learned the system of their syndicate, had been a mole the entire time. Of course, they had disposed of him quickly, but the damage had already been done to their business. Allies and affiliates were backing away from collaboration in fear that Bangtan had been breached by law enforcement. Shipments were going missing more frequently, and even the lower hierarchies of their gang were beginning to become doubtful. To say the least, the seven of them were under debilitating stress and frustration. 

Nowadays, things were different than before. You were mostly kept in the dark about their business but you knew that something had happened. Something to make them so wound up, and it worried you to no end. It’s impossible not to notice how tense the house had become. 

Taehyung no longer stops by your room late at night, and in the early hours of the morning, you can still hear the frustrated clacking of his keyboard from next door. Not that you needed him to help you through your nightmares, but...you’ve gotten used to his comforting presence next to you.

Jungkook doesn’t seek you out for random conversations, and Namjoon just completely disappears in his office most days, not sparing you a single glance when he does manage to show his face outside. He locks the door now. You take it as a strong message that you are no longer welcome, and it upsets you, but you understand they are going through a rough patch. Your job is to be the least bothersome person you could possibly be. 

But Yoongi just flat out ignores you now, and you know Hoseok pretends to care about whatever topic of conversation you bring up. You can see right through his empty affirmations and nods. The kitchen is completely void of Jin, and there are no more clanging pots and pans when you try to cook for yourself. And Jimin is just like the rest of them: absent and indifferent to your presence. 

You know that it’s not you. The problem on their plate is bigger than you, but it still feels like you are a walking, breathing burden. You know that it’s not you, but your mind tells you they don’t want you here anymore. They’re sick of you. 

Two weeks pass by, and they’re still so cold even after all your attempts at trying to be calming comfort in their chaotic lives.  They still talk to you, but it’s strictly refrained to small talk that feels obligatory and like they have better things to do than spend time with you. They’re so busy that you often find yourself hanging out alone in the garden or making light conversation with the maids, or gang rookies that hang around the mansion. 

And it hurts to admit, but they don’t notice when you begin to regress to your old behavior. They don’t notice when you begin to flinch at anything that moves too quickly again, or the way you begin spacing out more than usual when you delve too far into your thoughts. They don’t notice when your nightmares start worsening again, too busy in their pooling stress to hear you toss and turn late at night and emerge from your bedroom with red, sunken eyes in the morning. You are relapsing into the learned behavior from your father, and you are terrified to admit it to yourself. But after a particularly bad day of anxiety and panic attacks, you put your fear aside to talk to the boys again about going back to therapy. It was virtually pointless, but you won’t let the seven of them take the brunt of your mental health when they had so much going on already. 

You timidly make your way down to the lower level of the mansion, slow footsteps leading you to their meeting room, where they’re all engrossed in their work and you can feel the tension choking the air. None of them notice your presence at first, until you cough to get their attention. They all snap their heads up and stare.

“Hey, could I um..talk to you guys for a couple minutes?”

 You feel like a specimen under a microscope. You used to be so comfortable talking to them. Now it just feels unnatural. 

“Can it wait, Y/N? We’ve just lost another shipment, and it’s a big one”, Yoongi grumbles from his seat, rifling through a tall stack of papers with a permanent crease in his brows. 

“Okay, then when can we-” 

“We’re just really busy right now.” 

Jungkook doesn’t mean for his voice to be so loud. He probably didn’t even pay attention to it, but it makes you flinch and stumble backwards. Makes you melt more into the girl you used to be. The one who stayed quiet out of survival, diminishing under the authority of a loud voice with cruel intentions. You know he doesn’t mean to do it. But you can’t help but see the face of your father again, and those long-healed scars seem to re-flicker with pain. 

Still, these were your boys. So you push on. 

A deep breath. “I was just thinking that maybe I could go back to-”

“Y/N, please. We don’t even have enough time to breathe. I’m sure whatever you need can be addressed later.”

The room falls into silence. Their message is loud and clear. And though it's painful to hear, it’s your own fault for exaggerating your place in their lives. He was right, it could be addressed later...you were just being a bother. 

“Right. Sorry.” Your halfhearted mutter falls deaf on their ears. They haven’t spared you a single ounce of attention, eyes still glued onto their work. You swallow down the heavy feeling in your throat and force the tears away. Why does your chest feel like someone’s twisted up your heart? 

You’re always so sensitive, Y/N. Such a crybaby. You can’t even take care of yourself. 

The tread upstairs back to your bedroom feels like an arduous journey as you try to hold yourself together and pretend like their actions hadn’t hurt you. But they weren’t responsible for your trauma. Your problems. You couldn’t blame them for not making it a priority, when their empire was threatened. 

They don’t hear you that night when you hold a goose-feather pillow to your chest and sob out the fear of being unwanted again. They don’t show up at your bedroom door when you wake yourself up from crying through a nightmare. 

You’ll figure it out yourself, with or without a therapist and with or without depending on them. From now on, you decide to make yourself invisible, focusing all your energy on dragging yourself out of the dark place you’re stuck in once again. So if you have to suffer in silence for their sake, so that they don’t have another insignificant loose end to worry about, you’ll do it. It’s the least you can do.

But you’d come to learn that those words are easier said than done. 

“Miss Y/N?” There is a light knock at your door, and the soft voice of the maid barely penetrates through the thick wood. You remember her name was Jun. The noise goes through in one ear and out of the other, and you can’t even find it in yourself to reply. 

“You haven’t left your room in two days. I was just...making sure you’re okay.”

Her statement shocks you out of your dazed stupor, and you hadn’t even realized the amount of time you spent staring into space, limp on your mattress.

 It was getting harder. To just function and drag yourself out of your bedroom so you didn’t, and two days unknowingly passed. But to you, they only felt like hours. Time passes by differently when you’re blindly navigating through trauma. 

It’s hard to sit up and slowly tread to the door, and your bones ache after not moving for so long. When you open it, guilt pools in your stomach to see her worried expression. Though you can guess why she looks so concerned. You’re a complete disaster. 

“Oh, honey…”, she sighs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “here. Let’s get you into some fresh clothes.” 

You mindlessly let her help you out of your days old T-shirt and sweats, mindlessly let her guide you into the shower and turn on the water, mindlessly let her rub shampoo into your scalp. You don’t even have the energy to open your mouth and tell her the water’s too cold. You’re still stuck inside your own thoughts, and you can only hear your father’s voice in your ear as he repeatedly affirms how worthless you are. Useless Y/N, that’s what he would say. Good-for-nothing Y/N. 

You’ve somehow gotten it into your head that the reason why they’ve been so absent with you is because they don’t know to tell you they want you to leave. After all, staying in the Bangtan mansion was only supposed to be a temporary solution. Maybe this is how they kick you out. 

When Jun wraps you in a fluffy towel and drags you out from underneath the showerhead, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks are sunken, and the dark circles under your eyes look almost painful. And somewhere along with that reflection is the image of your father. His angry face, glaring at you and screaming why you let yourself get like this. 

“Jun, have they…are they still busy?” Her eyes widen at the first words she’s heard from you, but there is sad sympathy on her face in a split second and you’ve already gotten your answer before she can say anything. 

“Yes, dear. The bosses are very occupied. But they can always make time for you, hm? They care about you a lot, you know.” Jun’s statement makes you frown, but you don’t retort. Maybe you used to think that they cared, but now it just felt like their kindness was out of obligation. They felt guilty for sending you back to your father. Or perhaps they used to care for you. But now...you weren’t so sure. 

When she manages to get you downstairs, in the kitchen, and set you in front of a bowl of soup, the boys are nowhere to be found. Jun tells you they’re out doing business and you tell yourself you’re not hurt that they hadn’t even noticed your absence for the past two days. 

They’re just roped up in other things, that’s all. 

After your shower and meal, Jun insisted that you take a stroll around the garden, and specifically instructed you to check out the new peony bush she had just planted. She mentioned it was per request of the seven bosses, but you had a hard time believing any of them would be concerned with something like that during this time. They hadn’t even made the time to talk to you. 

You hadn’t realized how much you needed to be outside and breathe in fresh air until you stepped out into the grassy space. Even though the solitude was getting to be too much, you were experiencing a newfound peace that you wanted to keep for as long as possible. Jun was right, and the peony bush was absolutely gorgeous. You actually feel like an alive and functioning human being. It was surprising that you were so dependent on the boys that without them, falling apart was inevitable. But now you were coherent and not so drowned in your toxic mentality (you’ll have to thank Jun profusely later), and you feel determined to talk to them again.  About going back to therapy, no matter how useless it felt back then, and try to get on your own two feet. Now that you had seen and felt how serious it was, you wouldn’t be so complicit if they tried to silence you. 

From over the tall hedges, the sounds of wheels rolling on gravel could be heard before the tense slams of car doors. The sound of Jungkook and Namjoon’s low muttering falls on your ears and though it sparks excitement inside you, you’re also fearful of what they might say. You don’t think you can handle another swift rejection like last time. Their indecipherable conversation ceases when you hear the entrance doors close, and seal them inside while you are still out here in your own world. 

The white peony that’s cupped in your hand feels so fragile and soft that you don’t want to touch it anymore. It makes you think of them. Of how delicate it feels recently and how you’re so deathly afraid of them changing their minds one day and kicking you out with nowhere to go. Maybe you’ll just wander around again. There’s a distant cousin in the states also, but you’d have to figure out how to get out of the country without alerting your father. You shake yourself out of your intrusive thoughts. 

No way your boys would do that to you.

Right?

The way back from the garden to the house is brief, but your anxiety about talking to them lengthens the trips and the feet feel like miles. You are wrapped up in your thoughts the entire way, and when you make your way into the house, you almost don’t notice the angry voices that are bouncing off the walls. It sounds like Taehyung is yelling, and the sound curdles your stomach. You hate it when people yell. It just reminds you of your father. 

You follow the commotion to the kitchen, extra cautious and apprehensive. The sheer volume of their reprimanding seems to shake the house and your hands begin to quiver as you get closer. Peeking out from behind a wall, their backs are to you but you can see the face of a sheepish boy who hangs his head, gaze glued to the floor as the seven men continue to berate him. You recognize him as one of the newer members that was initiated a couple weeks ago; you’ve talked to him a couple times and he was never anything but courteous. He looks like he’s about to cry and it makes your heart ache.

Your attention pans back to the seven out of shock. The only time you’ve seen them this angry was at the meeting with your father, so you can only imagine what that young boy has done to land himself in this position. 

“I told you a fucking million times too many, Lee. I told you to check in with the shipments as soon as they arrived in Myeongdong. So imagine my fucking surprise when I get a call notifying me that they’re all missing. Stolen.” Namjoon’s voice cuts straight through the room. His fists are clenched and even from the back, you can tell the expression on his face is one of scalding fury. 

A shipment? They’re this infuriated over a shipment?

“I-I’m sorry, Boss. Please, I...please forgive me. I know it’s no excuse but I’m new here, a-and I swear this will not happen again.” He shrinks into himself and you quietly whimper in sympathy. 

Yoongi humorlessly chuckles. “You swear? The only valuable thing you have to swear on is your life. And even that’s not worth much.” 

It’s moments like these that you forget how cruel and ruthless they can be. They’ve always been so soft and gentle with you before, you forget they are mafia bosses overseeing an entire empire. That they’ve gotten here for a reason. You forget that people fear them. But you remember now. 

Lee stays silent and still refuses to look up, but you can see the way his knees shake uncontrollably. He is one person standing up against 7 huffing bulls, so angry they can’t see straight so if you - tiny and meek you - has to be the one to come to his defense, so be it. 

Because you’ve been that person going head to head with a bull. You see yourself, terrified and regretful, in Lee. And you’ll be damned if you have to watch and not do anything about it. Your heart beats thunderously in your chest but you push past the fear. 

Their heads all snap up in surprise when you march into the kitchen and stand in between them and the boy, who looks even more painfully young up close and sporting that deer-in-the-headlights expression. You lock gazes with each of them, swallowing your nerves before speaking. 

“Is it really that big of a deal to yell at him like this? Look at him”, you gesture to the cowering person behind you, “don’t you think he’s had enough?” Your voice is still soft, and such a contrast to their angry ones. But it seems like your gentle tone just makes them even angrier, and snaps them out of their initial shock.  

“A big deal? He cost us thousands in shipments! I’d say that’s a pretty big fucking deal to me, Y/N.” Jungkook bursts out, exasperatedly running his hands through his hair and looking at you with an angry frown. You flinch at his volume. The stress on their shoulders is more apparent than ever.  

“Why are you defending him, Y/N? You don’t even know who he is”, Jimin spits, growing even more irritated. There’s a hint of jealousy in his words and it’s so subtle that you don’t even notice it. 

“I know that he doesn’t deserve to be yelled at like this for a little mistake. One that I’m sure he is regretful of making.” It suddenly feels daunting when you realize that you’re going up against all of them, and now, they’re all staring at you with the same anger that was meant for the one that messed up their shipments. 

“And what if that mistake is a sign that he’s traitorous? Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised. Seems like that’s a trend going around here.” From behind you, Lee is quick to open his mouth and begin to protest, but you interrupt and speak strongly. It seems this disciplining session has morphed into a full blown argument between you and them. 

“It was one person. I get that it’s shitty, and I’m sorry it happened. I understand that you have to be on watch now and extra cautious. I do.” You sigh, a pleading look in your eyes but they remain stone cold.

“But one person did that. Are you going to treat everyone like they betrayed you? Are you going to treat me like I betrayed you?”

“I don’t know Y/N, you were so quick to defend him. Maybe you did. I wouldn't put it past you.” 

Taehyung’s words run through you like a hot knife to butter. You almost stagger back at the shock. You’re no stranger to hurtful words but when they are coming out of his mouth, it hurts tenfold. How could they think you would betray them? 

They promised to trust you, didn’t they? They promise they’d believe you after they failed to the first time. Now it just feels like you’re that spoiled little rich girl again in their eyes, standing in front of them and pleading your innocence. 

“W-what? No, I-”

“You know nothing about our world, Y/N. You can’t possibly understand.” Jin’s silver voice is colder than you’re ever heard it. 

“I know that, but could you just please-”

“As a matter of fact, this is a mafia business matter”, Yoongi shoots, poisoned words designed to hurt. 

“I’m not sure why you’re here at all, Y/N. Just leave.” 

Gone is the strong persona that you had put up to protect this young boy. Gone is the confident woman who thought she had the will to stand up for herself, much less someone else. You can only keep your eyes glued to Yoongi, and hope that he doesn’t see your heart crumbling right in front of him. How had he aimed mindlessly at your insecurities, and shot a bullseye into the biggest one?

Maybe you did, Y/N. I wouldn’t put it past you.

Blame it on the blurriness through your tears or the sheer shock running through your veins, but you can’t find one smidgen of regret or guilt in his expression. On any of their faces. Just anger and annoyance, aimed directly at you. And suddenly the spacious mansion feels all too suffocating. 

You know nothing about our world Y/N.

The words you plan to say die on the tip of your tongue, as quickly as they came. There is nothing that comes out and in the aching silence of it all, the way you maintain eye contact with each of them speaks volumes. Yet they are blind to the way you are ripping at the seams, and oblivious to the turmoil they are putting you through. The coldness of their gaze and words shoot through your core, like a blade of ice piercing through your heart. 

I’m not sure why you’re here at all. 

Just leave. 

In short, right at this moment, they look like strangers. Strangers who know what scares you, what foods you don’t like, your favorite flowers, your favorite color. Strangers who have seen your heart, welcomed it, and who were now crushing it in front of you. 

What a fool you were to think that they could reciprocate your feelings. 

What a fool you were to think that they wanted you as much as you wanted them. 

Your pained chuckle is a discordant sound in the tense quiet. Their stares burn on your skin and though you are trying so hard to now show how utterly broken you feel, you wonder if they even notice. when you look back into the eyes of the boy directly in front of you, he is still so angry and red you find it hard to believe anything but your alleged cold, hard truth:

The seven boys you have fallen in love with utterly despise you. Perhaps they always have. 

“Yeah”, you whisper brokenly. “Maybe I will.” 

taglist: @pinkyhim​, @deolly​, @loveyoongles​, @drunkzseok​, @hope122598​, @uwunamjoon​, @nomimits7​, @bubblebunnylia​, @aquaalanah​, @juliie-ocha, @daydreambrliever​, @btsbabby​, @blank-et-noir, @myheartstaysinkorea, @rosiethefairy​, @tiredjedi, @lovemyself-persona​, @jeoncookie-bts​, @annoyingpessimist​, @beach-bitch-bitch-beach​, @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh, @btstxtgenre​, @taesugaar​, @hxsxxk-180294​, @bubbletae7​, @uglyratlmao​, @hopetookmysoul​, @supertweetycherry​, @missseoulite​, @barbikatherine​, @jamesfrickingbuchananbarnes​, @sunsetsnsirens-blog​, @vanilla-smash​, @lmaosani​, @onionhaseyeo​, @i-dumb-bitch​, @euphxriajoon​, @justpeachyjoon​, @dabbingangels​, @h5naaa​, @parkmaeri, @softescapism​, @bena-baby​, @myjiminmychimchim , @moments-of-melancholy​, @krystle1990​, @chatsgotmytongue​, @vi-hoshi​, @unlikelylittlemiss​, @rosey-roseau, @thestrugglesofateenagedirtbag​, @kookiebbyxx​,

[thestorytellersapprentice]

Why Do-yeok

I cannot believe I'm writing another one of this "Why" post. I thought it's a one-time thing with Love Alarm... But, here I am. Maybe because just like the previously mentioned Netflix series, Nevertheless causes huge discourse among its viewers. Team Potato and Team Butterfly. Jae-eon and Do-hyeok. Sanctuary or the gravitational pull.

And first off, an important note: my intention by writing this is not to seek any debate with anyone. Everyone is entitled to their own opinions, so here's mine. Feel free to read it or definitely not to read it if you're firmly on Jae-eon's corner and you can't imagine Na-bi with anyone else but him. I just want to sort out my thoughts simultaneously through writing this. And this is gonna be a bit long, I suppose.

So, as the title already declares, I'm Team Potato all the way. And, yep, this means I'm thoroughly on Do-hyeok's side and I want him to be happy because he deserves it. (Still need to see what's in store in the final episode, but I'm perfectly okay with an open ending: Na-bi ends up not choosing anyone but herself, as long as her friendship with Do-hyeok remains intact.)

And this comes down simply because of who Yang Do-hyeok is as a person.

If Do-hyeok is real, then you can bet that I'll date him myself too. At the very least, I'd definitely like to be friends with him.

Why?

Because....

One. His whole vibe is just so....warm and comfortable. We often see Do-hyeok's cheerful sides. He smiles a lot (and boy, Chae Jong-hyeop's smiles are just so endearing, but we're talking about the character here. Ahem.) He's attentive, thoughtful, and open. And he's not only like this with Na-bi. He, by nature, is a very friendly person, as you can see from his interaction with Do-yeon, his cousin, also with Na-bi's friends and the hyeongs in the noodle restaurant that he works at.

And I like it a lot that even just after Do-hyeok confesses to Na-bi and she turns him down, the very next day, they're able to speak with each other normally and just talk about his videos and how she'll watch them and give him feedback. That night, Na-bi also answers his call with a smile on her face. They joke around and not even stopping after Do-hyeok throws her some arguably-cringey-lines (if uttered by other guys and not handled properly). Clearly, Na-bi's very on ease and comfortable with and around him despite everything that has happened.

She even says this on her own: "And most of all, I feel comfortable when I'm with him."

Two. With Do-hyeok, the communication is sterling. Honesty and communication is also very important in a healthy relationship. Your partner isn't a mind reader, so you gotta tell her/him what you feel and think about, especially when you're having a hard time, so you both can work on it together. And our potato guy is the perfect example of openness and honesty.

Even when he's having a hard time, he doesn't lash out (unlike a certain someone), but he communicates it clearly to Na-bi: "I saw you and Park Jae-eon going into your house together. I know I said that I could wait for you as long as it takes. But I felt so jealous."

Do-hyeok also casually throwing lines like: "It's nice to hear your voice. The whole neighborhood seems empty without you." which can be really cringey, but hearing these with Chae Jong-hyeop's delivery = it's just Do-hyeok openly sharing his thoughts. And, again, he's not just like this with Na-bi. That's just the way he is. He openly states his concerns and thoughts to people close to him.

After her first disaster relationship and Jae-eon (who's a master deflector on all personal questions and is truly opaque), IMO someone like Do-hyeok is what Na-bi needs. With Do-hyeok, she never has to guess where she stands. And Na-bi responds to his openness accordingly. She shares her worries and not-so-good moments ("I was spacing out because the critique went badly. I got scolded. This semester is really the worst. I didn't get accepted to the exchange program as well.") And of course, Do-hyeok responds by reassuring and encouraging her.

Three. They begin as friends. Childhood friends, even. And while some may point out that she friend-zones him, I beg to differ. The expression on Na-bi's face when she first sees Do-yeon and hasn't recognizes her is not the expression of someone who sees her just-platonic-friend conversing with a girl. You can practically see the gears in her head turning and she suddenly looks unsure: "Who is that girl talking to Do-hyeok?"

But anyway, iIluminatedquill has written here and here what I want to say and more, so I won't add any more here, other than this: it's my own personal preference as well. I'm just more drawn to romantic relationships which also evolve from friendship. I feel that lust will only get you so far, and the companionship aspect is what makes it long-lasting. (Even in my personal life, my boyfriend is not only my boyfie, he's my friend and partner in crime also.)

Four. Do-hyeok has good and normal relationships with his family. He obviously has good relationship with his Grandpa (judging from the way he's reviving his Grandpa's noodle place until his Grandpa feels better) and is close with his cousin, Do-yeon. While this is based on what's been shown and even though we never see or hear about his parents, I think it's safe to say that Do-hyeok most probably grows up in a loving family and he carries their values with him as he approaches his relationships with people as an adult.

Again, this is mostly personal preference, but as someone who highly value family, for me this is another point for Do-hyeok. I'm not saying that someone with dysfunctional family cannot form loving relationships, but it's what one aspires for.

Do-hyeok cares for people. He takes care of them (e.g. voicing concerns over Do-yeon's plastered hand, preparing umbrella and coffee for Na-bi, etc etc). And, sadly, Jae-eon's distant family background just makes him even more detached and non-committal towards people.

As for Na-bi, she wants to learn from her mother and not following in her footsteps. "I promise myself I would never date while watching my mom." It's heavily implied (and is practically confirmed by her aunt) that her mother dates around as well, and from the one scene we're shown during her birthday weekend, she always feels like her mother neglects her and she's upset about it. So, yeah, Na-bi wants to live differently, and it's clear who's a natural at it already.

Five. I can see them growing together. Yeah, Na-bi's mostly the one who needs to sort out her life, but she also can be a good influence to Do-hyeok. She gives him feedback on his videos (as an example) and he builds upon that.

From Na-bi herself: "I don't want to ever disappoint Do-hyeok." She sees him as such a good guy and always receives things from him. I interpret her line here as her desire to improve herself, to be better. And that's how a good relationship should be, right? It brings out the best out of each other.

That's it from me for now.

I guess some of the points up there can be different priorities for different people, and that's okay. As I've said at the beginning of this post, this is all mine, so feel free to disagree.

To me, Jae-eon is like this very strong gravitational pull: he's sexy, mysterious and very alluring, yet he displays oh-so-many red flags. It's all such a rollercoaster ride with him: very fun and thrilling, yet can also cause you extreme dread.

While Do-hyeok is like a sanctuary. He represents safety, stability and ease. With him, it's like strolling on a park somewhere under the sunshine: things feel warm, pleasant, and cozy.

Na-bi probably still feels the gravitational force of Jae-eon. It's hard to shake off completely on such a short span of time, but I hope she remembers that just like her namesake, she always have her own strength to fly and defy gravity.

[superhusbands4ever]

The Chain - Chapter 4/15

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Full Work | AO3 Link

Fandom: The Bad Batch (Star Wars)

Characters: Crosshair, Hunter, Howzer, Rex, Wrecker, Tech, Echo, Omega, Various Clones

Relationships: Crosshair & Howzer, Crosshair & Rex, Crosshair & The Bad Batch, Crosshair & Omega, Hunter & Rex, Hunter & Omega

Additional Tags: Redemption, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Humor, Found Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary: One year after the events of The Bad Batch, Crosshair struggles to reconcile his choice with the harsh truth of the world around him. He finds enlightenment in the most unlikely of places and realizes he may have made the wrong decision. But is it too late to do something about it?

Two years after the events of The Bad Batch, Rex reluctantly agrees to allow Hunter and his squad to help him rescue a man who's been captured by the Empire, an Imperial double agent who's cover has been blown. What Hunter thought to be a simple extraction ends up having far greater consequences for their squad than he could have ever anticipated.

Chapter Warnings: None

Right actions in the future are the best apologies for bad actions in the past.

Tryon Edwards

Rex never struck Hunter as the type to let his nerves get the best of him. That one attempted fist fight with Crosshair when rescuing Echo notwithstanding, Rex was always calm and level headed when they worked together in the past. Skako Minor, Anaxes, on Bracca - it was clear why Rex was the Captain of the famously wild Torrent Company and essentially the de facto commander of the infamous 501st Legion. His calm and steady presence along with his cool confidence made him exactly the kind of guy people naturally gravitated to, naturally turned to for leadership.

Which is why it was weird that Rex seemed fidgety in a way he’d never seen from the man before. Anyone who didn’t know him wouldn’t notice, but Hunter could see the way he kept fiddling with the buttons on the controls needlessly. He could hear the leather of Rex’s gloves squeak as he clenched and unclenched his hands periodically. And only Hunter would be able to hear the way Rex kept consciously making an effort to unclench his jaw and stop grinding his teeth.

After the fourth time in as many minutes that Rex flexed his fingers, Hunter finally spoke up.

“Are you alright, Captain?”

Rex glanced at Hunter, hands deliberately stilling in his lap as he sat up straighter.

“Yes,” he said. “Just restless, I suppose.”

Hunter nodded, staring out at the streaking blue and white light of hyperspace through the viewport of the freighter’s cockpit.

“This operative of yours,” Hunter said after a moment, “you two are close?”

Whatever response Hunter was expecting from the other man, it wasn’t for him to laugh. Even Rex seemed startled by the response, looking sheepishly over at the sergeant.

“Sorry,” Rex said, rubbing a hand over his head. “I just- I certainly never expected to be, but… yeah. Yeah. I suppose we are.”

“You don’t get along?”

“We didn’t at first,” Rex said, crossing his arms across his chestplate. “ Manda , I used to hate the guy. But… he’s a good man. The more I worked with him, the more I spoke with the people he helped, I realized that. He’s done a lot for our brothers.”

Hunter nodded slowly. “How did you two meet?”

“Oh, uh—“ Rex twitched again as he went to fiddle with the pilot controls. “We met back during the war.”

“You served together?”

“Ehh,” Rex hedged, “Only a couple of times towards the end.”

Hunter waited for Rex to elaborate but the other man was silent, continuing to mess with the controls. The ship was on autopilot, so he wasn’t actually doing anything. He listened as Rex’s heart rate slowly started gaining speed.

“So… who did he serve under? Maybe I’ve heard of—“

The navicomputer beeped and Rex’s shoulders slumped nearly imperceptively.

“Why don’t you go back and check on the others?” If Hunter didn’t know any better he’d say Rex sounded… relieved? “We should be arriving soon and we still need to rework the plan now that you all are here.”

Hunter frowned. Rex studiously avoided his eyes. He wasn’t ignorant to the fact that Rex was purposefully trying to get rid of him - the man was apparently as good at lying as Wrecker - but he wasn’t sure why.

Finally Hunter nodded. He tapped his bracer against Rex’s pauldron and made his way out of the cockpit.

Rex mumbled something under his breath as the doors slid shut, but the hydraulics were too loud over the man’s voice for Hunter to be able to make out what was said.

He found everyone in the hold, Tech, Wrecker, Boil, Echo, and Omega sitting around the floor in a circle, with Gregor on a bench in the corner cleaning his blaster. He walked in just as Echo laughed at whatever the reg had said.

“Still, I’m glad to see you,” Boil said as Echo’s laughter died down. “Cody mentioned that Rex had found you, but I didn’t get the chance to reach out before… well…”

Echo smiled sadly, resting his flesh hand on Boil’s shoulder.

“It was always entertaining to listen to Rex rant to Cody about all the shenanigans you and Fives got into.”

“Yeah,” Echo agreed, voice gruff. “Though from what I hear, you and Waxer certainly kept Cody on his toes.”

Boil laughed.

“True. Usually it was Waxer making the plans. I somehow always ended up getting dragged along.”

“Yeah, I know how that goes.” Echo sighed. “I’m sorry, by the way. I read about Umbara. I can’t even imagine--”

“Don’t be,” Boil sighed, rubbing at the red scar on the side of his shaved head. “It felt unbearable at the time, but… sometimes I… sometimes I’m almost relieved? Force, that sounds horrible but it’s true. Sometimes I’m relieved he was gone so he wasn’t forced to become monsters like we were. Sometimes I can’t help but wonder if they were the lucky ones.”

“You’re not a monster, Boil,” Gregor piped up from the corner. “Whatever the chip made you do wasn’t you. You had no choice.”

Boil nodded slowly, fingers lingering on his temple.

“I still did it, though.”

“I know what you mean,” Wrecker said quietly, eyes on the ground. “When my chip activated I nearly killed my squad. If Rex hadn’t been there to stop me, I would have.”

Omega scooted closer to Wrecker and grabbed his hand, leaning her head against his shoulder. He smiled down at her.

Boil looked sympathetic. “It’s a good thing Rex was there, then. Rex was the one who picked up my ship when I left Corellia. I wish I could say I was surprised to see he’d made it out, but I don’t think I was, really. Cody always believed Rex would survive all of this.”

“Did you…” Echo trailed off, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “Did you… work with Cody while--”

“No,” Boil said firmly, shaking his head. “The GAR structure reorganized surprisingly quickly after the order went out. The 212th was recalled back to Coruscant and was divided up after that. Ghost Company went to Grand Admiral Tarkin while Cody and the other Marshal Commanders were sent to work directly under Palpatine. I haven’t seen Cody since we arrived on Coruscant after Uptapau.”

They were all quiet after that, heads bowed in remembrance of both their fallen and lost brothers. Besides Omega, everyone in the ship had worked under Cody’s command at some point and respected him for the great leader and big brother to all clones that he was. To imagine the strong willed, compassionate, selfless man under the direct control of someone like Palpatine was almost too much to bear.

It was thanks to Cody that Hunter and the others had even been allowed off Kamino. He’d been able to pull rank and convince Nala Se and the other Kaminoan scientists and trainers that the Unit 99s, of which Hunter, Crosshair, Tech, and Wrecker had been the last of, could be useful in the war. If it weren’t for Cody, they would have spent the rest of their days toiling around in Tipoca City, completing test after test until they were finally deemed too “defective” and decommissioned like the others in their unit, or put on janitorial duty like 99.

“What about you guys?” Boil’s quiet voice sounded overly loud in the solemn silence of the ship's hold. “How did you survive the order? Did the Commander get you guys out too?”

“No,” Tech said, adjusting his goggles. “Our chips were never activated. They malfunctioned due to our deviant nature from the other, regular clones.”

Boil cast Wrecker a sidelong look.

“But I thought—“

“His activated later as an effect of repeated head trauma to the chip’s implantation site.”

“Well, I’m glad you guys didn’t have to experience that. Though, I imagine it must have been a very difficult situation for you surrounded by everyone else.”

“Heh, you could say that again,” Wrecker grumbled under his breath.

“We’ve essentially been on the run from the Empire for the last three years,” Echo said. “The vod’e pretty much attack us on sight.”

“You said the Commander helped you escape recently?” Omega piped up from under Wrecker’s arm.

Boil nodded slowly, gaze trained on the ground.

“I’ve only been on Yavin for about a day and a half,” Boil said. “The Commander got me out just a few days ago”

“And then he was discovered,” Tech said succinctly. Echo smacked his arm.

“Yeah,” Boil said quietly, running his hand over his hair. “Extracting me was a risk, from what Howzer said.”

“It was a different op than the usual extractions,” Gregor said from the corner. “Typically he just gave us foot soldiers that he could say were killed in action on missions. Two or three at a time, buried under flimsiwork and red tape. He’d splice the system and mark them as KIA. Apparently the Empire doesn’t care much if they lose one or two rank and file clones.”

“I was higher up in the command structure, though,” Boil added. “I was a lieutenant on Grand Admiral Tarkin’s security team. He was attending some diplomatic event in Corellia and I was assigned a protection squad. The Commander caught me as I was coming off my shift and took me to some tiny infirmary in the hotel. Stunned me and took my chip out. I barely knew what was going on when he told me that he was getting me out of the Empire and we needed to hurry.”

“A natborn Imperial officer helping clones?”

“No,” Boil shook his head, “he is a clone.”

Everyone was silent and Hunter frowned. A clone commander working from within the Empire?

Gregor paused his cleaning and looked up at the group, eyes flickering from them to Hunter, who still lingered in the doorway.

“A clone spy within the Empire?” Tech asked skeptically. “Without his chip?”

Boil nodded. “I wasn’t sure at first, either. He never took his helmet off and he didn’t sound like any clone I’d ever met. But he understood what it was like when I woke up freaking out, asking questions, getting angry. He talked me down, told me that he knew it was disorienting to wake up suddenly in control of your own body after so long but we didn’t have time for an existential crisis so I needed to get myself together.

“So what has he been doing?” Echo questioned. “Just… pretending his chip is active?”

“I guess so. Howzer confirmed it later. They’re pretty close, I guess  - I thought Howzer was going to lose it when the distress signal went off.”

“How did the Commander get his out?”

Boil shrugged. “I didn’t ask.”

The room fell silent at that.

Something about the situation prickled at the back of Hunter’s mind. Maybe it was just the similarities to their own brother. Crosshair had chosen to stay with the Empire as well, even when out from under the chip’s influence - though there was no denying that Crosshair’s motivations and this Commander’s motivations were extremely different.

Crosshair chose to stay, to leave the team, their family, behind for selfish reasons - ego and power and a place in the new galactic order. This Commander chose to stay not for himself, but to help those who couldn’t help themselves.

The knowledge burned something inside him, but Hunter buried it down.

This is who I am. .

“We all thought he was crazy when he reached out to Rex,” Gregor piped up, his blaster discarded on the bench next to him. “The whole thing was his idea. We warned him it was suicide, but he didn’t care. Rex thought he’d be dead within a month, but he’s been helping clones get out for nearly two years now. Howzer kept telling him it was time to get out before he got caught, but he wouldn’t listen. Now here we are.”

“I tried to get him to come with me. Told him if they found out what he’d done, they’d kill him.” Boil snorted. “You know what he said to me? He said ‘ stop being a noble di’kut and get in the ship before I stun you and put the chip back in. ’”

They all frowned at the threat, Gregor giggling from his place in the corner.

“I’m glad to be going back for the Commander,” Boil said. “Obviously I wish it were in better circumstances. I know it was his decision to stay behind, but it still felt wrong leaving him there, you know? Colt always said we never leave a man behind.”

“Yeah,” Echo said quietly, eyes meeting Hunter’s across the room. “I know the feeling.”

Hunter held Echo’s gaze, same as he always did when the topic came up over the last two years. And same as every other time, in the face of Echo’s admonishment, Hunter said nothing in return. There was nothing to say that hadn’t already been discussed at length.

Repeatedly.

Loudly.

Wrecker and Tech glanced at each other over Echo’s head while Omega averted her eyes to the ground.

The ship shook as it dropped out of hyperspace and Hunter took that as his que to get moving.

“Rex said we’ll be touching down soon,” he said, stepping fully into the room. “We should start getting ready.”

As the others moved over to Gregor to begin gearing up, Echo stood and held Hunter’s gaze a moment longer. Hunter shook his head and Echo sighed before moving to join the others.

He had a feeling they’d be having that discussion once again once this mission was over.

Hunter felt a hand in his and he looked down to meet Omega’s eyes. She smiled sadly at him, squeezing his hand. He squeezed back, but couldn’t quite drudge up the willpower to smile in return.

“C’mon,” he said instead, “let’s gear up.”

She nodded and walked over to the group, helping Echo loop his pack over his scomp arm. Hunter watched them all and tried not to think about the weird feeling lingering in the back of his mind.

~

“Alright,” Rex said as the ramp to the ship lowered. They’d landed in the forest, hidden at the bottom of the mountain the same as they had last time. Gregor helped Tech and Rex navigate the ship to an area below the mountain where there was a hidden entry point similar to the vents they had escaped through last time.

“Echo, Hunter, Tech, Boil, and Gregor - you’re with me. Wrecker, stay with the ship.”

“Wha- oh, come on!” Wrecker said, slipping his helmet up to stare at Rex with wide eyes. “I can help!”

“You will help,” Rex held his hands up placatingly, “we need someone to stay with the ship that can meet us at the exit. I get a feeling we’re going to need to make a quick get away.”

“Aww, why can’t Tech do it?”

“We need Tech to help Gregor and Echo hack the systems,” Rex explained calmly. “This is a stealth mission, Wrecker, and those aren’t your, uh… strong suit.”

Wrecker groaned, pulling his helmet off and slunking off to sit on a crate. Omega patted his hand.

“Sorry, Wrecker. But I just can’t take any risks with this.”

“Nah, I understand,” and to Wrecker’s credit, he did sound like he meant it.

Rex nodded and gestured for the others to follow him off the ship.

Before Omega could get far, Hunter grabbed her elbow.

“Omega.... I want you to stay on the ship with Wrecker.”

Omega frowned.

“Why? I can help!”

Hunter sighed. She stood with arms crossed as she leveled a glare at Hunter and her eyes filled with that stubborn indignation she’d been showing more and more since she’d reached her teenage years.

As she got older, every time she glared at him like that she looked more and more like--

“We’re walking straight into an Imperial base,” Hunter said, trying to keep his tone as even as possible. “You remember what happened last time.”

“It was my idea to help on this mission.”

“It was,” Hunter conceded. “Though, you didn’t exactly talk it through with us before offering.”

She had the grace to look a little chastised at that.

“This is dangerous, Omega. High level stuff, not what we usually do. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

He trailed off and the fire seemed to go out from under Omega with her disappointed sigh.

“Fine,” she said. “But I don’t like it. If you get caught again, we will be having words.”

Hunter chuckled. “Noted.”

Her eyes searched his face a moment longer before she flung her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest.

“Be careful.”

“I will,” he rested his chin on top of her curls. “I promise.”

Hunter’s commlink beeped and Rex’s voice filled the room.

“Hunter, let’s move out.”

Omega pulled back and crossed her arms as Hunter pulled on his helmet. She waved to him as he walked down the ramp, her and Wrecker both watching as the group started making their way toward the base of the mountain.

Hunter stared up at the mountain as they worked their way through the forest, his mind jumping back to the last time they had been on this planet, attempting a rescue from this exact base. Hopefully this time went better than the last. Hopefully no one was captured again. Hopefully they could get in and out without alerting anyone, though his squad was never that lucky.

Hopefully Crosshair isn’t here, Hunter thought as they climbed into the vent shaft. They hadn’t seen nor heard from Crosshair since the day they left Tipoca City. The Empire was large and the Galaxy even larger, so the chances were slim. He hoped. He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with a family reunion today.

[cherryrogers]

➸ call me baby {2/3}

SUMMER NIGHTS

pairing: bucky barnes x reader | biker au

warnings: swearing, violence, implied smut, mainly fluff.

word count: 7.8k

synopsis: Returning to Brooklyn for the summer after a year of travelling from city to city, you hadn’t expected to find your best friend, Peggy Carter, hopelessly in love with a biker. And when she decided to introduce you to the rest of his club, you hadn’t expected to fall for one either. That was until you met one with pretty eyes and a habit of calling you baby.

series masterlist

a/n: ok so this has turned into a three part series!! the next part will likely be a bit shorter, but i wanted to wrap up the story properly and i felt that needed it’s own separate part. i’m gonna post a masterlist for this series tomorrow, and i might write some drabbles for this fic to add to it once it’s finished if anyone has any hc/drabble ideas they’d like to send in?? i need to stop rambling so much lmao,,, please enjoy!!

Sunsets; consisting of an array of warm tones, reds and oranges bleeding into each other, casting a dim, natural light over cities before the artificial yellow beaming of street lamps lit up the world instead. A comforting reminder that every bad day eventually ends, but a sad reminder that every perfect day ends too.

In your case, they’d been unsettling ends to a continuous string of perfect days. And following those, a bright sunrise poured light through your windows every morning, indicating that you were one day closer to the end of the summer.

Currently, the deep, warm sky was the background of a blissful ride through the city. Perched on the back of Bucky’s motorcycle, your arms enveloping his waist, fingertips grazing lightly over his stomach through his shirt. No destination in particular; just an excuse to be close to one another.

Since the night at Wanda’s bar, the night where you simply let yourself begin to feel for Bucky, things had been different. Better.

Rides around the city were a frequent occurrence, usually happening when Bucky offered to take you home on his bike, but taking the long way back to enjoy the view and the feeling of you next to him for a short while longer.

It was therapeutic, tranquil. Well, until your road rage got the best of you.

“Dude, it’s a green light,” You shouted at the car in front you. “Green means go, didn’t you learn that in kindergarten?”

“Christ, you realise you’re yellin’ straight in my ear, right?”

“Sorry, Buck,” You patted his chest apologetically, before proceeding to yell once again. “Not my fault some people don’t know how traffic lights work!”

It was entertaining to Bucky, anyway. Even if it did earn you some middle fingers, which you gladly returned.

As the sky began to lose its vibrant hue, the two of you headed back in the direction of your place, definitely your least favourite part of the ride, but you savoured it nevertheless.

You were friends. Teasing each other incessantly because you just bounced off one another like that, but you often found yourself gravitating towards him. During meals at the clubhouse, you sat in the same spot as you did when you entered the place for the first time; right next to Bucky. While that likely meant for Steve and Peggy that they were in for a painful time, consisting of them slowly losing their patience with you both, they didn’t mind. Well, they did a little.

It’d been almost two hours since you started your game of Monoply. You weren’t sure if you were anywhere near the end of the game, but everyone was still pretty into it. Clint and Sam were paired up as a team, Steve and Peggy shared the little top-hat token, you and Bucky had the wheelbarrow, and Natasha had the car. She claimed she worked better when was on her own team, which was proved to be true by the fact she was winning.

It was Steve and Peggy’s turn to roll, and their top hat was moved to land on the ‘Boardwalk’ space.

“Oh, that’s our space!” You chirped. “Pay up, my dudes.”

“_____, you don’t have a house on that space.”

“Well, could you pass me one? I want this space.”

“You have to buy one.”

“Then I’ll buy one.”

Peggy sighed. “It’s not your turn, you can’t buy a house. Your token isn’t even on that space.”

You furrowed your brows, turning to Bucky. Maybe you should’ve read the rules before playing; you’d never actually played Monoply before. “Oh. That kinda sucks then.”

After a moment, Bucky reached over to the little bag of houses, picking one out and placing it on the Boardwalk space.

“Buck, that’s cheating.” Steve glared at his friend, who only shrugged innocently.

“She’s never played before, let her just have the damn house.”

“You’re only sayin’ that ‘cause she’s on your team, jerk.”

Bucky just shrugged again, turning to shoot you a wink as you smirked in satisfaction and placing your little house on the space, missing Steve and Peggy sharing a look of annoyance as they passed a pile of yellow bills over to you.

It was safe to say the two of you weren’t allowed to play as a team during board games anymore. Natasha always won the games anyway, so it’s not like you and him cheating made much of a difference.

You thought things were moving smoothly with Bucky. You knew that you liked him, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he already knew that — it was pretty fucking obvious at this point. But it would be a rather dumb move to escalate things even if you wanted to. The summer would be over in two months, one third of it was already gone, and you would be too by the beginning of September. Naively, you’d told yourself that you simply wouldn’t take things further. Easy enough, right?

Wrong; so very wrong. You’d proved to yourself that you seriously needed to stop acting impulsively on one fateful after a day spent at the clubhouse.

You’d been about to leave, but had decided to head off to the office where Bucky had been pretty much all evening while everyone else was out in the backyard, which was odd considering you would’ve assumed he’d be the last to not spend the night drinking beer and hanging out with friends over, well, anything else.

You knocked loudly on the door, hearing shuffling and the clicking of a computer keyboard before a quiet ‘come in’ followed. Furrowing your brows, you stepped into the room, eyes landing on the biker slumped in the chair at the desk, forcing a small smile. Did he really think your were that oblivious?

“You’ve been hiding in here all night,” You approaches the desk, crossing your arms over your chest. “Is there something you wanna share with the class?”

Bucky’s eyes flickered between the computer screen and your face, before he shook his head. “Just dealin’ with club stuff.”

“Hm, and what counts as club stuff?”

“It’s stuff you don’t need to worry about.”

You scoffed. “Huh, what happened to not doing stuff you shouldn’t be? Not getting into trouble?”

“Do you ever mind your own business?” Bucky questioned bluntly, though there was a smirk tugging at his lips.

Mirroring his expression, you leaned against the desk next to him. “Not when someone is clearly trying to hide something.

The biker bit the inside of his cheek, contemplating for a few moments. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you. Sure, he’d only known you around a month now, but you were... his friend. A good friend. He just didn’t want you mixed up in anything dangerous. Steve wasn’t lying when he said that the club tried to stay out of trouble, because they definitely didn’t go out of their way to get into shitty situations. But if they needed to get their hands a little dirty to deal with clubs that thrived off trouble, then so be it.

Eventually, Bucky sighed, moving a hand back over his computer mouse and letting the screen light up again. Crinkling your brows, your eyes scanned the screen. He’d been looking at a map of Brooklyn, and the little red location pointer was pinned onto a warehouse downtown.

“Peter Parker, he’s just a kid. Parents died when he was barely five, lost his uncle a few years back. He lives at home with his aunt in Queens since he’s still in school, but we sorta took him in a while ago. The night after his uncle died, Tony found him on the sitting on the curb a few blocks away from here, completely distraught. He managed to talk him down though, and found out he was pretty good with engineering. We said if he wanted, he could help out with fixing bikes and cars at the clubhouse, and he comes by every so often since then.”

You didn’t know Tony that well; he was a little older than the rest of the club, and he lived outside of the clubhouse with his wife, Pepper. You hadn’t met Peter at all, but you trusted Bucky when he said that he was a good kid.

“Last week, he showed up to the here with a busted lip and broken nose. Said that Rumlow and his guys had jumped him, and that they wanted him to do a job for them — collect a weapon shipment from this warehouse.” Bucky nodded towards the screen.

At the mention of Brock Rumlow, you felt your jaw tighten. Thankfully, he’d kept his distance from Wanda’s bar since your last encounter with him, but you were still pissed off about the show he put on there, and there was nothing you regretted more than not jumping over the bar top and kicking him in the balls. Now he’d resorted to threatening a kid and making him do his dirty work?

“So, what’s the plan?”

“Peter’s meant to meet the guy delivering the weapons next week, so I’m gonna take Nat, Sam and Tony down to the warehouse and deal with any of Rumlow’s guys that are nearby.”

Upon seeing your face light up, Bucky chuckled, standing from his seat. “And no, you can’t come.”

“Bucky, I’m not a woman of many talents, but if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s handing people’s asses to them.” You lifted your chin confidently.

“Baby—”

You held a finger up to shush him. “Okay, I know I said that I liked when you call me that, but not now. Brock is the guy that grabbed me, Buck. And the guy that punched you in the face!”

“I know, and we’ll deal with him,” A smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Besides, I thought you weren’t part of any club. Can’t do club stuff if you’re not a member.”

“Well, not that I want to... but how would one go about becoming part of your little gang?” You weren’t lying; you definitely did not want to be a damn biker, but you did want the chance to boot Brock Rumlow and his group of dipshits in the face.

“You could become an old lady.” The biker cocked a brow, and you chuckled heartily.

Not that you were up to date with the biker lingo, but you could take a good guess at what being an old lady meant. “Hm, if only there was someone that wanted me to be their old lady.”

Narrowing his eyes, Bucky glanced over your features, waiting for you to laugh and brush the comment off as a joke since the majority of your vocabulary was sarcasm, but you didn’t. The corners of your lips curled up slightly, not teasingly, but softly...

...Until you became painfully aware of the silence that’d fell upon the two of you, and let out a sigh to break it. It was already late when you were supposed to leave, anyway. Now, the dim moonlight was casting shadows outside of the office window, the only source of bright light being the yellow streams from lampposts dotted up and down the quiet street.

“Well, I should get going.” You reluctantly stepped back from him.

“You don’t have to go, you know. Peggy stays overnight when it’s late.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, cause Peggy has a boyfriend that she can share a bed with.”

“Hey, I’ve got a double bed.” Bucky teased, and you’d be lying if you said sleeping next to him in his bed didn’t make you feel a certain type of way.

Though, you definitely wouldn’t let him know that. “You’re stupid, Bucky.”

He shrugged, following you as you continued for the door of the office. “I mean, even if I had a single—”

“I would still not be getting in your bed,” You deadpanned, finishing his sentence for him and promoting the stupidly hot little smirk of his to appear again. “Okay, now I’m leaving. Goodbye, Bucky.”

“I’ll give you a ride.”

“No you will not,” You breathed out a laugh. “There are two bottles of beer on that desk and death isn’t on the cards for me tonight — can’t get rid of me that easily.”

A look of realisation washed over his face, a pink colour tinting his cheeks. Was Bucky Barnes blushing? That was certainly a sight, and what a sight it was.

“S’alright — I don’t wanna get rid of you,” The biker stepped in front of you, dangerously close as your back hit the door. “Not yet, anyway.”

You couldn’t lie; Bucky was hot, he was beautiful. Even when he was being a sarcastic ass, but he was just as much one of them as you were. God dammit, as much as you wanted to slap yourself for letting your insides melt for a guy you didn’t know all that well, you knew that if you didn’t fucking kiss him right this second that you’d regret the hell out of it later.

And so, you did.

You grabbed the collar of the leather jacket he never failed to make an appearance without— or perhaps he just had a lot of leather jackets, though leather jackets didn’t necessarily need washed so it was probably the same jacket— not the time, _____. Carrying on, you swiftly captured his lips with yours, relief washing through you as you felt him react almost immediately. Almost, he definitely wasn’t expecting you to do that.

The kiss was gentle; gentle enough so that you could simply savour the feeling of his lips on yours, the taste a mixture of smoke and minty chewing gum. It was slow, but quick. Bucky didn’t even have the chance to move his hands to your waist before you pulled back, raising your hand to trace his bottom lip with your thumb.

“You still planning on getting rid of me?” You grinned, amused by the biker’s dumbfounded expression.

He laughed breathily after a couple of seconds, nose nudging yours playfully. “Not if you keep kissin’ me like that, baby.”

“Hm, maybe you’ll just get lucky again.” You pushed at his chest softly, letting you step forward and open the door to leave the office.

Bucky let out a scoff. “You’re really just gonna leave? After that?”

You shrugged, cocking a brow. “I mean, I could stay if you let me come with you next week...”

“No chance,” He smiled smugly. “Shut the door on your way out, will you?”

“You know what? I’m never kissing you again.”

“Whatever you say, _____.”

You rolled your eyes at his cocky tone, turning to make your way out of the room. “And I’m leaving the door open!”

“Hm, get home safe.” He called back.

Trying to bite back a smile as you looked over your shoulder back at him, you mouthed a final goodbye and left the office, a rush of feelings suddenly emerging as you stepped out of the clubhouse and onto the street.

You’d just kissed Bucky. You had kissed Bucky. And he had kissed you back. Well, shit.

Did you need to talk about it with him? What it meant for the two of you? Did he just kiss you for the fun of it or did he actually have feelings for you? Ugh. You’d always hated serious conversations, because apparently using sarcasm to cover up actually talking about your feelings was inappropriate and unhealthy. That’s what Peggy always told you, anyway. Perhaps there was no conversation to be had. Bucky could be your summer fling; a couple of months of fun before you were off on your travels again. The only reason he kissed you back might’ve been because he knew you were leaving eventually, which meant he didn’t have to commit to you.

Whatever — you were simply going to go with the flow. If you and Bucky ended up becoming... something more, that would be great. If not, you’d be slightly disappointed, but you’d be out of Brooklyn soon enough to forget about it.

And now, as you tightened your arms around the biker’s waist, you just enjoyed the moment. As someone that rarely stayed in a city for longer than a couple of weeks, enjoying the moment was all that you could do.

* * *

“Pegs, I am working. You can’t just call and ask me this kinda stuff during a shift.”

“I certainly can, especially when I had to hear it first from Steve.”

A strained sign fell from your lips as you leaned against bar, checking that no customers were approaching the counter before you turned your back. “I was gonna tell you, I promise. I didn’t think Bucky was gonna kiss and tell as soon as it happened.”

“I don’t think it was exactly a kiss and tell situation,” Peggy chuckled over the phone. “Steve said it was written all over his face after you’d left the clubhouse.”

Feeling heat rushing to your own face, you lowered your head, hoping no one was observing the bartender getting all embarrassed. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to tell Peggy about your kiss with Bucky. She was your best friend, of course you wanted to tell her. But considering that you weren’t really sure what direction you and him were going in, you thought perhaps that it’d be better to just keep it between you and him, like a Danny and Sandy situation — if everyone had known about their summer affair, it wouldn’t have been the same.

“Can you... tell him to not question Bucky about it?” You asked. “You told me he’d never been in a proper relationship before and neither have I. I think we need to work out... whatever we are ourselves, you know?”

Since the kiss, you hadn’t had the chance to even see Bucky that much. Wanda had been asking you to work more shifts at the bar because one of your co-workers was going on vacation for two weeks, which you didn’t mind doing. Other than hanging out with Peggy and seeing everyone at the clubhouse, it’s not like you had much better to do. Plus, it meant more money to put towards your travels at the end of the summer. At the rate you were earning and including what you already had saved up, you’d be getting your dream London trip a lot sooner than you’d thought.

“Of course, I understand,” She replied. “_____, I— I don’t want to play devil’s advocate, but have you thought about what’ll happen when summer ends? When you leave Brooklyn?”

The thought had crossed your mind, yes, though it was also pushed to the back of your mind whenever it popped up. In all honesty, you had zero clue what’d happen when you left Brooklyn again.

“Nope,” You said defeatedly. “Do I need to think about that now? What if we don’t even last until the end of summer?”

From the pause in conversation, you could just tell that Peggy knew you were bullshitting. “Okay, I’m going to pretend you did not just say that. You don’t just kiss guys, _____. And Bucky doesn’t get all flushed from kissing any old woman. It’s obvious you two click easily, and I honestly don’t think it’s something that can just end once you leave.”

The girl was right, she was completely right, but you weren’t sure what the hell you were supposed to do. It’s not like you could stay in Brooklyn forever and abandon your travels. That wasn’t who you were; staying wouldn’t be you being true to yourself. You couldn’t throw that away for a man you barely knew, a guy that possibly may not want you anymore after the summer ends, though there was a large part of you that didn’t believe that.

“I can’t talk about this right now, Peggy, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the kiss earlier, everything is just... it’s just confusing,” You rambled, wanting to steer the conversation away from your love life for the night. It was nearing nine o’clock, and with an hour still left of your shift, you didn’t want to waste your energy on a conversation that could be had another time. “Anyway, how is everyone? Has Steve heard from Bucky?”

This night was also the night that poor Peter Parker was meant to be carrying out Rumlow’s dirty work, and Bucky was going to get his club to back off. Well, hopefully. He’d already been punched in the face by that bastard once, you hoped that he’d be able to avoid having that happen again. You’d texted him earlier, telling him to let you know when he was home and safe because you would, in fact, worry about him. He teased you for your concern, but you frankly didn’t care. The fact they were having Peter pick up a weapon shipment implied that they wanted to use them to hurt people, and opposing biker clubs seemed like the type of people they’d target.

“They’ve been out an hour, so they should hopefully be back soon,” Peggy assured you. “We haven’t heard from them yet, though.”

“Right,” You exhaled, a little upset that there was no update from them. The sound of the door opening a few metered behind you reminded you that you were still at work, and that you should probably say goodbye to Peggy for the time being. “I’ve gotta go, Pegs — duty calls. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Alright, darling. Be careful going home.”

With a quiet ‘will do’, you quickly ended the phone call and shoved the device into your jean pocket, turning around to identify the source of the footsteps getting closer to the bar. Well, fuck.

An ugly smirk, scruffy jaw, messy hair — Brock fucking Rumlow was standing right in front of you.

You could’ve laughed, in fact, you did laugh. He was back, even after the embarrassing show he put on last time he was at the bar, and this time, he was alone.

Putting back the glass you’d pulled out from under the bar on instinct, because there was no way you were serving him, you cocked a brow, waiting for him to make the first move.

He slid onto the stool in front of you, the same place he’d sat during his last visit. There was a short silence as his dark eyes roamed your face, before he exhaled heavily. “You not gonna ask for my order?”

“No.” You answered instantly. It looked like he was expecting the cold shoulder from the way he chuckled at your answer.

You wanted to ask what he was doing here, why he wasn’t down at that random warehouse making sure the teenager he manipulated was doing the job correctly, but you didn’t imagine it was a good idea to let on that Bucky was telling you about that sort of stuff. He’d probably try to hurt him as opposed to you, and you didn’t want to put Bucky in any unnecessary shit.

“You know, it’s against the law to refuse service to an innocent customer.”

Clearly, he didn’t know the law at all, but you found it awfully ironic that he was claiming that you were in the wrong side of the law. You cocked your brow higher. “And you’re always abiding by the law, Brock?”

“What makes you think I’m not?” The man narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t know,” You shrugged nonchalantly. “Last time you were here, you were the one assaulting an innocent customer, and me.”

Brock scoffed. “You’re calling Barnes innocent?”

You only stared at him, waiting for an elaboration.

“Do you know where he is right now?”

Yes — dealing with your bullshit and the rest of your gang.

“Enlighten me.”

“A dirty warehouse across town, meeting a dude that’s sellin’ him weapons. Rifles, pistols, you name it.” He leaned forward on his elbows, pursing his lips.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you met his eyes, dark and full of hope that he’d somehow miraculously turned you against Bucky -- he was going to have to try a little harder than that if he wanted to sell his lies.

“Where are the rest of you pals, Brock?”

He furrowed his brows. “Down at the warehouse, shutting down the deal.”

“And why aren’t you with them, hm? I don’t think it’s ‘cause you decided you wanted a drink over the chance to screw Bucky and his club over.”

The guy clearly thought you were oblivious, that you’d be naive enough to believe that Bucky was the one having Peter collect the weapons instead of him. Maybe he thought it’d turn you against him, and then you’d carelessly join Rumlow’s club without a second thought. Even if Bucky hadn’t told you anything, there wasn’t a thing that could come out of Rumlow’s mouth that could convince you Bucky’s club was doing anything of the sort.

Unfortunately, the comment seemed to tip the conversation in the exact way you hadn’t wanted it to.

Brock’s jaw clenched, eyes hardening as he sat up properly on the stool. “What’s he been tellin’ you, huh?”

“I think it’s time for you to go, Brock.” You glared at the man. There was no way you were letting him sit and annoy the shit out of you when you weren’t going to serve him.

“You see,” He laughed emptily. “If Barnes has been spillin’ things that he shouldn’t be, I need to know. Can’t have any false information spreading.”

“False information, right,” You muttered. In your defense, all you knew about his club was about them manipulating Peter. Though you could assume that wasn’t the only stupid shit they were doing, you didn’t know anything else for sure. “Well, you’re wasting your time. I don’t know anything, so get out of here.”

Brock tutted, rising from his seat and cracking his knuckles. “You’re a good liar, but I ain’t buyin’ it.”

“That’s not my problem,” You glowered, loving quickly around the bar to pace towards the door, opening it in an attempt to lure him out. “You need to go, or I’ll call Wanda over.”

Stalking towards you, the man shook his head. “If Barnes thinks he can tell his little girlfriend all of our business, he’s a fucking idiot,” He took a grasp on your wrist, his other hand curling into a fist. “Someone’s gotta show him what the consequences of that are.”

Anger flashed in your eyes as you struggled against his grip. “Get off me, dude. I don’t know anything.”

“Liar.” He murmured, before taking his fist and colliding it with your cheek abruptly.

A groan of pain left your lips as you stumbled back, the clutch on your wrist gone as Brock eyed you cautiously. Carefully, you brought your hand to where you’d been hit, blood quickly staining your fingertips as they grazed over the cuts on your skin from Brock’s rings. He’d hit you. That stupid, fucking son of a bitch had punched you. If there was any justifiable reason for you to kick him in the balls, this was it, and you were going to take advantage of the opportunity.

He definitely thought you were done with him for the night; you could tell by the way his chapped lips curled into a sick smile. He thought he’d won — how cute.

When your parents made you take self-defense classes ‘just as a precaution’ when you were a teenager, you thought it was unreasonable. Now, you’d never been more thankful.

Brushing your hair out of your face, your eyes flickered up to Brock, who was still staring down at you. Slowly, you moved so that your back was pressed against the closed bar door, clasping your hands around the long metal handle. The man assumed you were just catching your breath, and wasn’t ready for when you forcefully pushed your body forward, raising a booted foot and slamming it into his crotch.

A string of swear words fell from his lips as his upper body fell forward, Fuck it, you thought, striding over to his hunched over form and smashing your own fist against his cheek. He staggered back, just catching himself on the bar. Eyes wide, he raised his head to scowl at you, spitting blood from his freshly split lip onto the floor beside him.

From the other side of the bar, Wanda jogged over to the scene, an unimpressed scowl on her face. “What the hell is going on?”

The woman knew it wasn’t you causing the trouble, and there was even a smug smirk threatening to peak through her annoyed demeanor at the sight of Brock Rumlow with a split lip. She strode over to him, pulling him up harshly by the collar of his jacket.

“You’re banned from this bar. If I see you in here again, you’re getting a bullet straight through your gut, yes?” Wanda practically spat at the man, who nodded reluctantly and pulled away from her grasp. She turned to you, a small smile on her lips. “_____, you’re free to go early. Do you need...?”

Wanda eyed your cut cheek and bruised jaw, but you only shook your head. “Thanks, Wan, but I’ll just head home.”

The strawberry-blond nodded, sending a final glare towards Brock before heading back behind the bar.

Of course, your stubborn self wouldn’t let yourself leave without having the last word, causing you to approach him as he haphazardly stood from where he’d fallen. “If I ever have the displeasure of seeing you again, and you try to hurt me or anyone else, I’ll cut off your fingers and force them down your throat, you got that?”

Before you could wait for an answer, you were spinning around and heading out the double doors of the bar, ignoring the throb on the left side of your face as a satisfied smirk crept onto your lips. You’d never considered yourself to be a violent person, but when it came to assholes like Brock Rumlow, you didn’t mind getting your hands a little dirty. When you told Peggy about what happened, she’d likely scold you for even just mouthing back at him. You had zero regrets, however. You’d always wanted to experience a bar fight, and now you’d experienced one first hand.

As if on cue, your phone buzzed in your pocket. Stretching out your aching knuckles, you swiped it from your jeans.

Back at the clubhouse safe and sound. You want me to pick you up from work in an hour?

You chuckled under your breath, typing out a response.

Can you come up now? Wanda let me off early.

Sure, I’ll be there soon. Did you do something special to get off at this time?

Pausing, you debated whether to let him know straight away about the incident. You decided against it; when he saw your face, he’d figure it out soon enough.

Something like that...

After twenty minutes of aimlessly standing outside of the bar, the familiar roar of a motorcycle engine caught your attention. As the bike came to a stop, the beaming headlights had you squinting to even make out the outline of Bucky in the dark. However, judging by the speed at which he was dismounting the bike, you were sure that the light had allowed him to see the state of you.

“Holy shit, _____,” Bucky paced over to you, hands coming to your shoulders. “What the hell happened?”

You let out a hesitant laugh. “Uh, rough shift?”

Scoffing, the biker narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, looks like it. What— are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You assured him, removing his hands from your shoulders and squeezing them comfortingly. “Trust me, you should see the other guy.”

“You were fighting?”

“Bucky,” You intervened, for now deciding against telling him that it was in fact Brock Rumlow you’d gotten on the wrong side of. It’d only result in him marching into the bar himself and starting another disturbance, and you wouldn’t be surprised if Wanda pulled out her pistol again. “C’mon, can we go? My house, the clubhouse, wherever — I’ll explain when half of my face isn’t aching like hell.”

The man paused, eyeing you cautiously before a soft chuckle left his lips. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” You patted his chest, plastering on a smile. “Now come on; I didn’t wait this long to clean you up when you got decked across the face.”

With an amused eye roll, Bucky tugged on your hand and led you to the bike. He’d never seen someone so calm after getting a punch to the face, but then again — as cliché as it was — he’d never met anyone like you before.

Half an hour later, the biker had you sat on the counter-top in one of the bathrooms at the clubhouse, standing between your legs and gently dabbing at your cut with a wet cloth. The bleeding had stopped by the time you got to the clubhouse, but it still needed cleaned up. You were holding a cool ice pack to your jaw, watching him intently as he took care of you. Might as well take the opportunity to stare at the guy, right?

“I’m gonna put some antiseptic cream on the cut, just to make sure it doesn’t get infected.” He muttered, reaching for the tub of it in the wooden cabinet above you.

“Are you getting a sense of déjà vu too?” You quirked a brow, eliciting a smirk from him.

“Hm, a little bit; I guess we both just can’t avoid trouble,” Bucky cupped your jaw as he applied the cream, chuckling when you mumbled a ‘motherfucker’ under your breath at the sting. “You gonna tell me what happened?”

“Well,” You sighed. “Long story short... Brock Rumlow happened.”

Pulling back, Bucky furrowed his brows and waited for you to elongate the story, but you only shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. You knew that Brock being involved would only fuel a rage that he couldn’t relieve.

He bit the inside of his cheek, a frustrated laugh falling from his lips. “Rumlow did this to you? Why didn’t you tell me at the bar? Was he still there? I would’ve went in there and—”

“I know exactly what you would’ve done; why do you think I waited until now to tell you?” Though you were smiling, Bucky was still understandably apprehensive. Pursing your lips, you grabbed one of his loosely clenched fists and held it in your lap. “I meant it when I said ‘you should’ve seen the other guy’ — Brock’s face looks the same as mine and he got a boot to the balls. Plus, I think his ego was bruised enough without someone else going in there and knockin’ his lights out.”

Sighing, Bucky shook his head, unable to suppress a small grin. He never underestimated your power; anyone would be a fool to do so. When you were angry, you showed it. When someone hit you, you hit them back harder, metaphorically and literally. It wasn’t even that you had a short temper, you just didn’t put up with people’s shit, and Bucky highly admired that. “Well, I’m jealous of anyone that was there to see it — I bet it was damn hot.”

You scoffed, though seconds later you were shrugging in agreement. “It definitely was, you would’ve loved it.”

While he returned the first-aid stuff to their rightful places in the bathroom, you explained to Bucky what had gotten Brock so riled up. He wasn’t surprised that Brock tried to convince you that he was the bag guy in all of this; he’d tried to do it with Peggy too when she first started dating Steve. In his misogynistic mind, he thought that women were naive enough to be persuaded of anything that he wanted them to believe, and that by getting you on his side would mean he’d ‘won’ over Bucky. Perhaps he’d learned his lesson that night to not underestimate a woman’s power — dumbass.

Down at the warehouse, they’d managed to get Peter out of there before the person delivering the weapon shipment could arrive. There were one or two of Rumlow’s guys there keeping watch, but without him, they ran away like scared children. You teased Bucky about being a ‘big bad biker’ as he explained the night to you, but he insisted it was Natasha that had them crapping their pants; she never usually made an effort to hide the set of knives on her hip, and she apparently had a death-stare that could have anyone shaking in their boots. With him being banned from Wanda’s bar and unsuccessful with his plan of using Peter, they doubted Brock Rumlow would show his face around the area for a while. He’d only be embarrassing himself if he did.

Not long after your cut had been tended to and the pain in your jaw had subsided, you found yourself once again fighting the temptation to stay the night at the clubhouse — the temptation being a whiny biker named Bucky Barnes.

“But you’ve had a rough day,” He bargained, following after you as you made your way to the front door of the clubhouse. “It’ll save you the ride back if you stay.”

Chortling lightly, you turned around to face him. “A rough day? Buck, I gave an asshole a well-deserved kick in the balls, I’ve had a great day.”

“But what about your cheek? It might start bleeding again and—”

“Bucky,” You cut him off, biting back a smile. “Why do you really want me to stay?”

There was a short pause, heat pooling in the biker’s cheeks at the question as he raised a brow, silently asking you if he was supposed to actually answer the question. When you only quirked your own brow, he sighed, his lips curling into a fond smile. “...because I don’t like it when you leave? ‘Cause I like you a whole lot and I really wanna kiss you again?”

Slowly, you trailed a slightly bruised hand up his chest, stopping at the nape of his neck to tangle your fingers in the hair there. “You should’ve just lead with the kiss, biker.”

Before you could notice the doting grin on his lips, Bucky had looped an arm around your waist and pulled you flush to his chest, soft lips locking with yours tenderly. Your other arm was quick to wrap around his neck as you found yourself wanting to be impossibly closer to him. You tugged at his hair, eliciting a deep moan from his lips, and you pulled away with a satisfied smirk.

“So you’ll stay?” Bucky spoke against your lips, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“If you keep kissing me like that.” You imitated his words from your last kiss, to which he shook his head and clasped his hand around yours, leading you out of the hallway and up to his room.

You hoped the rest of the club were asleep, because from the thump of your body being pushed against Bucky’s bedroom door after he’d dragged you inside and shut it, you were sure that they could assume who was causing the racket at almost midnight.

Bucky’s mouth was on yours in a matter of seconds, hands cupping your jaw, carefully avoiding pressing against the side that was bruised. Meanwhile, your fingers gently traced across the hem of his t-shirt, riding it up so that the pads of your fingers came into contact with his lower stomach, ghosting over the waistband of his jeans. He stepped back momentarily, shoving his leather jacket down his arms and letting it fall to the floor.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your jacket,” You breathed. “It’s like you’re naked already.”

“Who said anything about getting naked?” He teased, hands coming to trace over your own exposed stomach. “Someone’s eager.”

“You’re stupid,” You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a grin. “Coming from the guy who just said he liked me, sap.”

“Real mature,” He snickered, riding your shirt up to your chest and tugging it off when you raised your arms to aid him. His lips moved to the crook of your neck, trailing light kissed along the soft skin there. “I meant it, though. I really like you, baby.”

A whimper escaped your lips as his attached to a certain spot on your neck, your hand fisting his shirt in response. You didn’t even have to say it back; it was obvious that you felt the same way about him in pretty much every way. The way your body was reacting to his, the breathy way that his name was falling from your swollen lips, and the fact you’d kissed him the week prior was a good indicator too.

“And you said you’d never get in my bed.” Bucky smirked after helping you pull off his own shirt.

“Technically, I’m not in your bed yet.”

“Yet,” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before trailing his hand down your jaw, along the curve of your shoulder and down to the hem of your bra. “Can’t wait to have you there, moaning all pretty for me.”

Your face grew hot at his words, but his lips were on yours again too quickly for him to notice. When he eventually pulled back for air, you bit your lip in anticipation.

“Hm, let’s not wait any longer then.”

And he didn’t let you wait any longer, leaning down to kiss you with a passionate hunger as he dragged you by both of your hands to his bed. Maybe it was the way he didn’t rush, that he took time memorizing every inch of your skin with gentle lips and wandering hands. Maybe it was the sighs and moans of pleasure that he’d managed to draw from you so easily, or the way he whispered praises and sweet nothings into your ear as he positioned himself comfortably between your legs. But after the two of you had reached your highs and were left grinning like idiots and panting for breath, you realised how fucking hard you’d fallen for the damn biker who’d somehow gotten you in his bed.

* * *

Soft snores gradually drew you from your slumber, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks before you eventually squinted your eyes open. It couldn’t have been any later than 5am; daylight was peaking through the curtains of the bedroom, but the world outside was still quiet. Quiet for New York, anyway.

Bucky had his arms tucked under his pillow, face buried into the cotton, lips parted, brown strands of hair falling in front of his face. Back muscles relaxed, shoulders raising slightly as he breathed quietly. He looked pretty like that, innocent even. Innocent in comparison to what occurred in his bed the night before.

As you idly observed him in his peaceful state, you couldn’t help but think about what Peggy had said to you earlier the prior night. She was right, as always. Especially after the night you’d just had with him, there was no way that your feelings for Bucky would just leave along with you leaving after summer. Perhaps sleeping with him was the stupidest decision you’d ever made. Perhaps it would’ve just been easier to not stay the night and pretend like you’d never kissed him in the first place. But you didn’t want that. You wanted him, even if you could only have him for the summer.

A muffled moan jerked your attention away from your thoughts and back to the man laying next to you, who was shifting as he began to wake, the muscles in his back flexing as he did so. It was a sight you could get used to for sure.

Soon enough, his baby blues met yours, a lazy smile overcoming his lips. “Watching me sleep?”

“No.” You denied, though he could see straight through the lie.

He hummed, reaching a hand out to trace over your bruised cheek. You leaned into the touch. “Still hurt?”

“Not really. Had a good doctor fix it up last night.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Uh-huh. I mean, he slept with me afterwards which I thought was a little inappropriate...”

The biker scoffed, enclosing an arm around your bare waist to pull you closer. Sloppy kisses were planted down your jaw to your shoulder, ghosting over the dark bruises he’d marked you with only hours ago.

“I’ll miss you, you know. When you have to leave.” Bucky murmured, pulling away and laying back down against the pillow, his nose grazing yours.

You smiled sadly, pushing some of the hair away from his face. “Do you think this was stupid of us? To start something that’s just gonna have to end in a month?”

“Maybe, yeah,” He mirrored your expression, voice still a little raspy. “But I don’t regret it.”

“Me neither,” You twirled a lock of his hair sigh your pointer finger. “What’re you gonna do without me, huh? You might have to find another girl to take rides with you at sunset.”

Bucky shook his head, squeezing your waist. “Nah, I think I’d rather ride solo. Won’t be the same without you just over my shoulder.”

“Even when I get road rage?”

“Especially when you get road rage.”

“Well, we should probably make the most of the time we have left,” You propped yourself up on one elbow, a smirk playing on your lips. “How about a ride while the sun rises?”

“Sounds perfect.” He loosened his hold on you, letting you roll away from him and swing your legs over the side of the bed.

“Mind if I take a shower first?”

“Mind if I take a shower with you?”

You thought for a moment. It’d be saving water, wouldn’t it? “Screw it, why not. C’mon, Buck.”

You scurried off to the bathroom, still naked as Bucky followed after you, suddenly not so tired anymore.

Perhaps the summer hadn’t went in the direction you’d been expecting, but you had no complaints about the turn that it’d taken. You’d never believed in fate or destiny, much like you’d never believed in love. However, you’d like to believe that you were meant to meet Bucky when you came back to Brooklyn at some point. You’d never met someone— someone so perfect for you, if you were being honest. He didn’t scold you for your sarcasm, or shame you for standing up for yourself. He responded to your teasing with his own, he knew how to make you laugh, how to make your cheeks hot and your knees weak. You were always on the exact same wavelength, always knowing how the other was feeling, being able to bring out the best in one another.

It seemed like a waste to spend the little time left at home thinking about summer ending, so you simply pushed it out of your mind. Enjoying the moment was something you’d learned to do over and over again, because that was all you could do in the life that you led.

The moments spent with Bucky Barnes were just going to be a little harder to let go of.

* * *

Taglist:

@domolovee @oplunket16 @barnestruck @igotkatiepowers

[matter-of-a-pinion]

Prompt 4: Baleful

At 16 years old Livana Fallenruth had lived what she'd considered an impossibly boring life. She lived in the freezing wasteland of Western Coerthas on the outskirts of an incredibly small settlement where everybody knew each other's names and no one bothered to say them because it was too damn cold to hold a prolonged conversation. She didn't even live in Ishgard. At least if she lived there there would be things to do. At least there were people there… not that she had any idea how to interact with them.

"Hi. So. How do you feel about plants and animals? Because wow. I love them. And that's really all I know about!" just didn't strike her as the riveting pinnacle of conversational genius that she'd want it to be.

Not that that mattered much. The times she and her twin sister Nyra had gone to the city for supplies (always arriving and leaving later than they thought they would because time management was not their forte) she felt as though she wasn't even there anyway. No one noticed when she tried to talk to them because they were too busy trying to talk to her radiantly charismatic twin sister instead. Liv thought that should make her feel more comfortable, that not even being required to speak would make the excitement of being in the city less awkward for her. But it didn't. It annoyed her. Why did people gravitate towards Nyra like a moth to the flame and why did they treat Liv more like a fly buzzing around their ears?

"Stop giving me that look," her sister would say. "Or your face will freeze that way."

"What way?" Liv would ask.

Then Nyra would do an over-exaggerated mockery of Liv's sour, annoyed expression that always crossed her face when she'd try to ask a stranger for assistance and they'd address their response to her twin instead.

"I don't look like that!" Liv would huff, insulted.

"You look just like that!"

"You'll look worse when I punch you!"

"You'll look worse when I tell Mom and Dad you punched me!"

"Uuuuugh. I hate you!"

"Ha! No you don't! You love me!"

And of course Nyra was right. Even more infuriating than how everyone loved being around her twin was how they were right to feel that way. Liv felt that way too. She had as little choice in the matter as anyone else. Nyra was a flame after all. And it was so fucking cold in Coerthas…

At 16 it's easy to believe that life is destined to be exactly as it is at that moment for the rest of eternity. Relationships will be the same, feelings will be the same, the world will stay the same, and you'll remain the same too. But it doesn't work that way. Not for anyone. And not for the Fallenruth twins.

At 17 Liv started having the dreams. In them she'd wake up in her room but everything was frozen, everything encased in ice except for the big black raven perched on her bedroom dresser. Each time she had the dream it was there waiting for her with a sort of agitated demeanor, as though it had been waiting there for hours for her to arrive and was annoyed she hadn't bothered to apologize for wasting its precious time. 

It wasn't just that every item in the house was frozen, icicles hanging precariously from the ceiling and down from the lips of every bit of furniture, but the people were too. Never in exactly the same place in each dream, but always in the same condition: encased completely in unbreakable ice. And always with the same expression of their faces: somehow looking right at Liv, mouths twisted in scorn, and eyes burning with accusation despite the cold.

But Nyra? She was never frozen. Sometimes Liv would look for her in the dream and sometimes she wouldn't have to. The raven would alight to Liv's shoulder and flap its massive wings when her sister would arrive in the dream and Liv would turn to find her twin staring back at her, same accusatory expression written across her beautiful face. Then Nyra would raise her hand as though to cast a spell and…

Liv would wake up.

Her world only frozen in that every day felt exactly the same and every day was unfathomably cold in Coerthas. 

Liv decided at 18 she was done with the area. She was tired of being overlooked, she was tired of being "oh yeah, that's Nyra's sister", she was tired of the cold. She wanted to be somewhere teeming with sounds and life… but not people. She wanted deep dark forests alive with the sound of birds, insects, and frogs. She wanted babbling brooks and the creaking of ancient oak trees in the wind. She wanted to see animals she'd never seen before and plants she'd never cataloged. 

She moved to the Shroud and like a wilting plant left too long in the shade she bloomed once she found the sun. In the Shroud she disappeared into nature but found herself there too. She no longer felt lost. And without comparisons to her sister she no longer felt superfluous. 

She still missed Nyra. Of course she did. She was the one part of her old life she couldn't stop missing. But she had to get away. She had to put that distance there. She had to step out into her own life. Liv had to live.

At 21 she got the message from her father that they wanted her to come home. It was a messy letter, hastily written, one part full of confusing apologies, one part desperation. Her family rarely wrote to her and when they did it was certainly never like this. It was obvious something was going on. And she needed to go back. She needed help. And immediately. 

And in the biggest regret of her life…

She didn't. 

She waited.

Liv was never on time.

She had been working at Bentbranch Meadows on rehabilitating an injured raven and she was making great progress with it. It had been skittish and outright aggressive to the other workers and only seemed to calm down under Liv's care. Day by day its injured right wing got better and better. Soon it'd be able to fly again. She wanted to be there for that.

Three days after receiving the letter, she was there for that. That early morning was surprisingly cold. A thin fog had settled in the woods obscuring the details of the landscape so that Liv felt she'd stepped into the first layer of a painting or into a dream rather than reality. She moved into the room with Pebble the raven (so named for his obvious affection for his namesake) to see him looking agitated.

As though he'd been waiting for her for hours.

As though she'd wasted his precious time with her delay.

His wings fully healed he alighted to her shoulder and croaked loudly in her ear. And she could have sworn he said "Home."

That solidified it. She rushed back home, out of the comfort of her forests and back into the cold of Western Coerthas, past the settlement, to her family's modest home on the outskirts.

And she watched as her house began to turn to ice. She should have moved the moment she saw it but fear gripped her as steadily as the ice gripped the siding. And she'd always been bad on timing anyway. Five seconds earlier she might have been able to save her mother. Three and maybe her father. But by the time she broke into the downstairs window that had not yet covered in supernatural ice she only had to to save her twin sister.

And she swore the look Nyra gave her when she did that was one she'd never seen on her face save in dreams and when she was mocking Livana in Ishgard.

Anger.

And though afterwards she burst into tears and told Liv how happy she was she'd come and thanked her for getting her out of there… something felt off.

One home lost forever, the Shroud felt lost to her too. They might as well have both been frozen over by whatever that spell was. And as long as her parents were trapped inside, she was trapped by guilt and the paranoia that her twin sister, who everyone loved, herself most of all, hated her.

In Liv's mind, Nyra's face had frozen forever to what she'd seen inside the house: scornful lips and baleful gaze.

[scarletwinterxx]

to Mark Lee

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2020 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

“No no no no no” I say repeatedly as I open the oven, smoke coming out when I fully opened the oven door

“How did I mess this up” I mumbled to myself.

This has already been a very long frustrating day. Nothing’s going my way, and it’s suppose to be a happy day. It was Mark’s birthday, I was planning on baking a cake for him but obviously I just ruined that plan. 

I hear my phone ring on the counter making me turn my attention away from the disaster in front of me, already giving up on the burned cake I set it by the sink and turned the oven off before answering the call.

“What?” I asked, annoyance loud and clear in my voice

“Uh you okay?” I hear Mark’s voice asked, oh great now I snapped at the birthday boy

“Oh Hi Mark, sorry I didn’t mean to snap at you” I mumbled

“No worries, are you okay though? You don’t sound good”

I wanted to tell him everything that is going wrong right now but it’s his birthday and all I’ve been doing all day is trying to make this day as special as possible. 

I’m clearly failing at that. 

“Yea just... Yea no I’m fine” I put my phone in between my shoulders and ear then walked back to the sink thinking of trying to bake another cake

“Okay, you’re coming over later right? Hyungs said we’ll have a little dinner party” Mark asked

“Don’t worry Lee, I’ll be there” a smile already making it’s way to my face. He really could make any day better no matter how bad it’s going. That’s just the effect Mark Lee has on people. 

Maybe that’s why people just naturally gravitate towards him, He’s so lovable and adorable without even trying. He may look like the type who doesn’t like being adored or in Yuta’s case smothered, but when there aren’t cameras around he’s really cuddly and cute. 

While listening to his story about how the guys barged into his room at exactly 12 am, I got distracted and forgot the fact that I just took the pan out of the oven. I accidentally touched it, immediately screaming in pain and dropping my phone. 

Quickly putting my injured hand under the running water, while I reach out and grabbed my phone on the floor using the uninjured one

“What was that? Are you okay?” Mark asked, there was no point in saying I was when in reality I’m two seconds away from bursting out in tears

“No, I just burned my self. Can I call you back later?” Saying a quick goodbye to him, I then assessed my hand. Seeing a bright red line across three of my fingers. 

Five minutes ago I didn’t know this day could get worse, I was apparently wrong. 

I grabbed an icepack and rested my hand on it, finally giving up on the idea of baking a cake for Mark. I walked back to the couch and slumped on the seat, some time while scrolling through my phone waiting for my hand to stop hurting I fell asleep. 

The sound of someone knocking on my door woke me up from my accidental nap. Still a bit disoriented, I walked to the door and opened it.

There a Mark Lee stood

“What are you doing here?” I asked, rubbing the sleep off of my eyes

“Came here to see you, what happened to your hand?” he asked back, I let him inside my apartment while he takes the my injured hand in his.

“Sorry I fell asleep, what time is it anyways?” I looked at the clock on the wall to see I have an hour left before I needed to go to their dorm for dinner

I looked back at Mark who was still assessing my hand, a little pout forming on his lips

“Don’t worry about me, it’s your birthday” I say while trying to pull my hand away from his grasp but he just held on tighter

“Doyoung hyung said some aloe will help with the pain, here I got some” I didn’t even the notice the bag he was holding, he set it down on the counter before taking out the medicine

“Come here” 

I don’t know why but those two words made my cheeks burn, good thing his focus was back on tending to my injured hand

“Sorry” I mumbled, this made him look at me for a second before going back to applying the medicine on my hand and then proceed to blow some air on it

“What are you saying sorry for?” 

“I don’t know, for worrying you, for ruining your birthday. I just wanted to bake you a cake” Looking down on my shoes as if it was the most interesting thing to look at, I didn’t notice how Mark stopped his actions to just stare at me.

Only when I looked back at him I noticed his intense stare, a little smile starting to creep on his face

“Is that how you injured your hand? While baking me a cake?” he asked

“Well no, I burned the cake then you called. I got distracted then accidentally touched the pan” I explained

“You didn’t have to make me a cake” he mumbled, now his hand now longer holding mine but instead he put them on my waist and pulled me closer to him

“Just wanted to do something special for you today” I told him, resting my hands on his chest while fiddling with my fingers

“Just being with you in this day makes it extra special”

I rolled my eyes at his statement, trying hard to hide the fact that my heart is about to beat out of my chest because of what he just said. Mark’s not the type to be flashy about his feelings, but when he does I feel like my world does a full 180. 

“No like for real though” he told me again, this time I let out something like a whine making him laugh at me. I just buried my face on his chest trying to hide my burning cheeks

“After all this time you’re still blushing when I say things like that”

“Glad I amuse you”

“You’re too cute, baby”

“Speaking of cute, did you like my gift?” I asked him, lifting my head from his chest to look up at him. 

“Did you really have to get me that?” he asked back

“What? It was cute, and it’s so you. Admit it”

“It was cute, but I still don’t know where to wear it”

“Uh at home? You can definitely wear it to the airport. It’s so comfortable, I might get one for myself” 

The gift was a lion onesie, I’ve been dying to see him in it. I had to stop myself from giving it earlier.

“You know I voted for farm animals for your dance practice video” I told him, I still think about how cute it would have been

“Lion isn’t a farm animal, baby” 

“I- Yea I mean- Whatever. You looked good in those pants anyways so who am I to complain” this time Mark was the one who was blushing, I just laughed at his reaction. 

“Sorry I didn’t get to bake you a cake, I’ll get you one on the way back to your dorm. But happy birthday”

“Thank you” he said with the sweetest smile on, I honestly cannot imagine my world without Mark Lee in it. I thank the heavens, well and his parents, for basically blessing us with this guy right here. He just makes this world a whole lot better.

“No, thank you. Thank you for being you, for being here. Life would suck a little  more if you weren’t here, I honestly cannot think about what it would be like without you bursting into random giggle fits” this made him laugh again

“I’m serious, hearing you that happy makes me happy. I don’t think I have ever met someone who laughs more than you do”

“You make me happy”

“This isn’t a competition, Lee Minhyung. Today is about you okay, let me smother you for today” taking his face in between my hands, I pulled him closer to me

“Happy birthday, baby. I love you” I whispered, a smile appearing on both of our faces. Before we could get any closer, a phone started to ring totally ruining the moment

It was my phone, I answered it quickly 

“Bring Mark back, it’s almost dinner time” Yuta said from the other side of the line

“No, I’m keeping him. Bye” I said then hang up, meanwhile Mark looked confused during the whole exchange through the phone

“We need to go, Yuta might start to haunt me down if we don’t go back. And I’m getting you a cake.”

[themaninthegreenshirt]

Evelyn Waugh's guide to wine [1948] 

The first and essential thing to be borne in mind about wine is that it is something made to be enjoyed. The pleasure it gives is the only ultimate test of any vintage. The corollary of this is that, like all the good works of man, its pleasure is enormously enhanced by knowledge and experience...

The titles of connoisseur and epicure are by no means synonymous. An epicure seeks pleasure for its own sake, not knowledge... A connoisseur is a scholar and a specialist. He requires an abnormally sensitive palate which is capable of causing him as much pain as pleasure. Indeed, of recent years it has caused much more pain than pleasure…

Let us give all honour to the connoisseurs, as to pre-eminent athletes. If we have not their peculiar gifts, it is a mistake to simulate them. There are those who drink their wine so anxiously, in fear of being caught out in a bad judgement, that they fail to enjoy it... Let us rejoice, rather, in the fermented juice of the grape in all its vast variety. After all it is the wine merchant's function to know all the niceties of his trade. His service is to find his customers the wines they enjoy and having studied their idiosyncrasies, gently lead them towards something better in the direction they have taken. It would be a poor librarian who was always seeking to press Virgil and Dante upon readers in search of a novel...

The reputations of certain vineyards have not been capriciously or arbitrarily fixed. They rest on the considered judgement of generations. In general it will be found that the more wine becomes a part of one's life the more one's tastes gravitate towards the famous vintages. But do not set out with any preconceived snobbery. Drink copiously of what you enjoy, because you enjoy it: keep your curiosity alive to find if there is anything you enjoy more...

Champagne

Whatever purpose is served by cocktails is more nobly served by champagne in its naked beauty... Its uses are limitless from launching ships to reviving the moribund. It is acceptable at every hour of the day and night; it can be drunk with every variety of food. Drunk in excess it has the least direful consequences. If I were confronted with the appalling decision of having to choose one from all the fermented liquors of the world to be my sole companion and stay for the rest of my life, I should choose champagne.

Bordeaux

The wine of the whole area is good and eminently suited to day-to-day drinking. To find the finest wines we must particularise and choose from the châteaux of the Médoc which in 1855 were judged and put into various legal categories. There have been slight changes in quality since due to the relative care that has been bestowed on certain properties, but the 1855 categories still stand as a very fair judgement. Three châteaux alone - Lafite, Margaux and Latour-were placed in the first class. There are many connoisseurs who would now give equal eminence to several wines that were then classed as 'second growths,' but what must be borne in mind, and is sometimes not realised, is that to be classed at all is the mark of wine that stands among the finest the world produces. A wine in the third class is not a 'third-rate' wine. It is rather as though a committee had decided that Virgil, Dante and Shakespeare alone among writers, stood in a class apart. They would not thus make Milton and Tolstoy second rate writers...

White Bordeaux… are strangely neglected in England and America. Many dubious liquids appear under the name of 'Sauternes' and many wine drinkers are inclined to dismiss them all with a single perfunctory nod of recognition towards Château d'Yquem. By false analogy with champagne, their sweetness, all their own, natural and deeply scented as the rose, is held against them. There are four or five château bottled Sauternes which can stand slightly behind, perhaps, but in the same first rank as Youem. The taste for them, once acquired, is immensely gratifying and personally I find them incomparably delicious after champagne, to drink very slowly when the thirst is entirely quenched.

Burgundy

The system of land tenure in Burgundy greatly complicates the problem of recognizing its fine wines from the outside of the bottle. Wines greatly dissimilar are entitled to the same communal title... The Château Margaux of a given year is a definite, invariable wine; two bottles of authentic Chambertin of the same year, blended by different merchants, may be very different indeed. Again, the only security for the amateur wine buyer lies in dealing with a wine merchant of the highest reputation who studies his customers' tastes.

Sherry

Sherry is a name much misused and even in the strictest sense applicable to a great diversity of wine from Manzanilla, as pale and dry as old paper, to the heavy, sweet, brown wine sold under a variety of names, often as 'East India' or Solera… I do not, myself, find that the richer and sweeter sherries serve any purpose that is not more perfectly fulfilled by port, but this is purely an individual judgment. Nothing can be more delicious than a glass of pale, very dry fino, chilled at noon in the height of summer. It makes an admirable apéritif before and at the beginning of dinner. Like all good wine it is best enjoyed in tranquillity; the 'sherry party' of recent growth is an abomination to me. As long, however, as people continue to entertain between six and eight in the evening, they will find Amontillados and Amorosos a useful knock-about stand-by, less deleterious and less expensive than cocktails.

Port

Port is the wine proper to the heavy drinker, and it may be admitted that whereas champagne, claret, burgundy and hock are all entirely beneficial and indeed, in a Well-ordered constitution, essential to the digestion of food, port, and the very finest port at that, can be slightly deleterious. Its charm insidiously invites excess, and excess of port, though not in itself harmful, sometimes discloses latent infirmities. The heavy port drinker must be prepared to make some sacrifice of personal beauty and agility. Its martyrs are usually well content with the bargain and in consolation it may be remarked that a red nose never lost a friend worth holding and that by universal testimony the sharpest attacks of gout are preceded by a period of peculiar mental lucidity.... No one, I think, ever contracted gout by port-drinking. What can be said is that those who are naturally gouty may find their weakness aggravated by port. Port is not for the very young, the vain and the active. It is the comfort of age and the companion of the scholar and philosopher. The particular qualities of British university scholarship - its alternations of mellow appreciation and acid criticism -may be plausibly derived from the habits of our Senior Common-rooms...

Port is, of course, designed to be drunk after dinner. It should be drunk at the table; only so in the masculine calm which follows the retirement of the women, when the decanter travels from hand to hand round the bare mahogany, can it be enjoyed at its best. The best of all tables for wine-drinking on winter evenings are those excessively rare eighteenth-century pieces made the shape of a semi-circular arc which fit across the fireplace; some of them have brass tram-lines and a little wheeled carriage to carry the decanters. He is a fortunate host who possesses such a piece of furniture; he must, however, confine himself strictly to male company, for no body of men once established there can be persuaded to leave for the chintz and chatter of the drawing-room...

Hock

Shall we ever, I wonder, drink good hock again?... No one can say what the future of these wines will be. Perhaps they will survive only in memory. They were the product of centuries of devoted skills directed against the hostile forces of nature; if these forces are reinforced by the malice of man there is little hope.

A word may not be out of place here about wine which is 'corked or, more correctly, 'corky' or bouchonné. I have heard people complain their wine was 'corked' when they found a fragment of broken cork floating in the glass. When wine is truly corky the cork is diseased and foul-smelling, and the wine is more or less tainted. It should never be drunk in this condition. Any respectable restaurant or hotel will immediately exchange a bottle found affected...

Wine is a bride who brings a great dowry to the man who woos her persistently and gracefully; she turns her back on a rough approach. For the sot or neurotic who drinks merely for the kick.' 'kick" is the mot juste. Wine has attracted as many false suitors as the art of painting. Do not let impatience with the charlatans lead you into thinking all discrimination affected. Even the matter of dress is important. It is difficult to enjoy a good wine in a bad glass. A good glass is large and thin and clear; the best are slightly tulip-shaped. I have drunk a lot of claret out of an army mug and enjoyed it, but only half as much as I should have done in gentler circumstances…

All that I have written may seem to some readers to apply to an Arcadian age which can never return. Leisurely entertaining, profuse expenditure, a worldwide choice in the market - all these may seem the condition of a past age. We are all poorer and likely to remain so…

If we cannot afford to drink fermented liquor more than once a day, let us drink with our dinner. A half-bottle of sound, unambitious red wine nightly does not cost more than the accumulated short drinks which the average man consumes in the course of the day. If you cannot afford even that, emigrate to a wine-growing country or become ascetic. Do not become that pitiable type of modern life - the man who never keeps anything 'in the house' but likes stopping for 'quick ones' at public houses. If you can afford, sometimes or often, more than this minimum, build round the central fact of the dinner wine - add a glass of port after or a glass of sherry before the meal; choose a slightly more interesting main wine. Choose your friends from people of similar tastes and when you entertain them, build more ambitiously. Ensure that the food, however sparse and simple, shall be what will enhance the wine and not destroy it. These are the foundations on which the restoration of good living can be built, until perhaps we shall one day see the return of days of plenty, and wine fully honoured in all its splendour.