rosedeonaraine

[its-a-me-mango]

Being a doctor must be hard maaaaaaan, the patientsssss.

Also apparently nicotine can kill horses really easily, which is wild so you know I gotta project that onto Mango lmao, this man will have one (1) cigarette and then immediately have to go to the hospital, good thing he works there at least.

[moonstruckme]

hey lovely girl!!! i am formally requesting a james x depressed reader with lots of comfort if you’d like to write it!!! maybe reader is just like super overwhelmed by how sad and teary she feels and maybe a bit worried that james won’t get it but he’s so understanding and patient and kind and lots of comfort ensue, i feel like he’d be soo tender and gentle and when she’s crying just give the best hugs which i know we’ve discussed at length privately but it needs to be shared with the world

lots and lots of smooches,

rosa xxxx

Hi Rosa my love!! Thanks sm for your request, there's a bit of reader feeling guilty which I know we hadn't discussed but I hope doesn't hamper the experience for you

cw: talk of depression, self-loathing

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 780 words

You don’t know precisely how long ago you told James you were going to get ready for bed, but eventually he comes looking for you. He finds you drooped over the bathroom sink, a slow dribble of tears dripping from your nose. 

His arms are warm and solid as they come around your middle, squeezing just enough to let you know he’s there as he turns his head to kiss your face. 

“It’s okay,” James shushes you gently, warm nose to your warmer cheek. “You’re okay, sweetheart.” 

He doesn’t sound surprised to have found you like this. He knows you’ve been hurting lately, though sometimes you hate that he does. You’re steeped in gloom, sad and guilty and at times scared that it’s never going away. Sometimes it all converges on you, like now, becomes something that feels too dense to carry. James wasn’t made to deal with your melancholy. His caring makes you feel worse. 

You punish yourself in small ways. Not allowing yourself chapstick even when your lips crack and bleed. Staying away from any foods you really want. Forcing yourself to sit in feelings of guilt and worthlessness long past when they become unbearable. You’re not sure to what extent James is aware of it, but he makes up for it as best he can. He’s doing it now, soft kisses mushed into your jaw, climbing up to your hairline. 

“I’m sorry,” you croak out. 

An especially gentle press of his lips to your temple. “Don’t say that.” 

“I’m okay.” 

“It’s okay if you’re not right now,” he says. “I didn’t mean…I just want you to know that you’ll be okay, you know? It’s going to be. Let’s go to bed, yeah?” 

You think he means to sleep, but when you get on the bed James works his arms around you, drawing you in close, holding you tight. You worry sometimes that he thinks you’re crazy or overreacting, but it’s hard to hold onto that belief when he touches you like this, like he knows all the contours of your soul even when it aches. He fits himself to them perfectly.

You press your face to his shoulder to feel the warmth of his skin on your cheek. Tears slip past your lashes, and James encourages you with soft sounds and kisses to the side of your neck and murmurs of I’ve got you. 

He’s receptive to your needs. When your crying wanes, he stops squeezing you quite so fiercely and starts sweeping his hand over your back in broad strokes. The press of his palm has a tranquilizing effect, and you melt against his front, exhausted. 

You don’t know what to say. Thank you feels too small, and sorry isn’t allowed, but James doesn’t seem to have any expectations from you. He keeps rubbing your back until you bring your hands to his shoulders, ready to sit up, and then he brushes the tears from your face with his thumbs.

“It’s going to be okay,” he tells you. James has a sincere face. He means everything he says, and it’s easy to believe him when he looks at you like this, brimming with earnest conviction. 

You know he doesn’t mean it as a platitude, or that he’s going to somehow muscle his way through your feelings until you’re alright again, only as a simple reminder: You’ve done this before, and it’s hard, and it’s awful, but you’ve always come out of it. It’s never been forever. 

“Yeah,” you say. Your agreement sounds emptier than his promise did, but you know that when it comes to certainty James is more than willing to pick up your slack. “Sorry, I’m just tired.” 

James lets out an exasperated puff of air, though his kiss to your nose lets you know he’s not truly upset with you. “What did we say about sorry?” 

“It just slipped out.” 

He hums happily at the edge of humor in your dry tone. Encourages you back into his arms and lays down so you’re on top of his chest. “I’m tired, too. Do you think if we both think really hard about the same stuff, we’ll show up in each other’s dreams?” 

You ponder this, the ache in your chest ebbed for the moment. “Depends on what you believe about dreams.” 

“I think it’s worth a try.” 

James talks you all the way to sleep, his hand moving over the curve of your spine until you’re heavy atop him, deep breaths whistling in and out of you. In the morning, he’ll put your chapstick on for you in the bathroom and flirt with you until you tell him what you really want for breakfast.

[fayes-fics]

It Had To Be You: Chapter 9 - Nobody Else Gave Me A Thrill

Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: You two finally figure it all out on New Year's Eve...

artwork credit @colettebronte

Warnings: none, really… just some swearing and love confessions.

Word Count: 3.8k

Authors Note: A multi-chapter modern rom-com retelling of When Harry Met Sally. Here we are; this is the final chapter! Both reader and Benedict finally see the truth. There will be a short, hopefully humourous epilogue to this story as well, which I will post tomorrow. Thanks to @colettebronte for betaing. I hope you have all enjoyed this fic <3

For the next few weeks, the dreary weather, the clocks changing, and the chilly nights drawing in match your sullen mood. Your argument with Benedict at the wedding made you so sad but resolute to try and put it behind you.

It's the last weekend in November when you are buying a Christmas tree that you feel the worst. Making a mess of dragging the tree back to your place alone, leaving a trail of needles behind you, you stop halfway and slump onto a doorstep. Recalling with perfect clarity how you and Benedict had bought one together from the same man the previous year, laughing carefree as you easily carried it between you. Then you drank mulled wine as you haphazardly threw on lights and ornaments, dancing to cheesy Christmas songs. It's what you miss the most—his companionship, the ease of time spent with one of your favourite people.

Just as you are wrestling the tree through your front door, exhausted, sweaty and prickled by a thousand tiny shitty needles that seem to have it out for you, your phone pings with a message.

BB: I'm sorry for how things ended at the wedding. I've been thinking about it for weeks now. Please call me. I want to talk. 

Pride (and your current disastrous had-a-fight-with-a-tree-and-lost appearance) stops you from doing what you genuinely want to—picking up your phone and Facetiming him to sort it all out.

Not ready yet.

__

Two weeks later, it's mid-December, and you are sitting cross-legged on your living room floor with a big glass of wine, wrapping presents for friends, when your phone pings again. For a while now, almost every day, he has been sending links to Insta posts with adorable and hilarious content. Each of which you have enjoyed but couldn't bring yourself to reply to. This time, it’s a message.

BB: If you are available at the moment, please call me.

You stare at the little pop-up notification and take a gulp, a weird weight in your chest at the idea you might cave this time. Perhaps. Once you are done wrapping this gift. A few minutes later, your phone pings again.

BB: Okay, I assume no call means:

BB: (A) you can't take a call right now

BB: (B) you can, but you don't want to talk to me or 

BB: (C) you desperately do want to talk to me but are trapped under something heavy

BB: If it's A or C, please call me back later, doesn't matter what time

BB: Also, if it’s C, please call 999 if you are in danger, then call me after. I don't have any heavy-lifting equipment… 

You can't help but giggle at his gentle, silly humour, attempting to diffuse the tension. A large part of you wants to call; you even have the phone in your hand, but at the last minute, you rest it against your forehead with a sigh, something stopping you. Your stupid rebound fling being the biggest one, Benedict’s cutting remark about how quickly you let someone else into your bed, making your stomach roil. 

Still not ready yet.

—

“Obviously, she doesn't want to speak to me,” Benedict laments, his words muffled into a scatter cushion on Kate and Anthony’s sofa. 

It's the morning after they've returned from honeymoon, three days before Christmas. While they are thankful Benedict popped over with some basics to make breakfast, they could do without his melancholy—they’re much more about a ‘let’s have newlywed sex on the kitchen table’ vibe.

“What do I have to do? Get hit over the head? Be in some calamitous accident?” Benedict whines, twisting his head in aggravation as if trying to burrow himself head-first into the furniture.

‘What do we do?’ Anthony mouths to Kate, who throws her hands up defeatedly.

‘How should I know?’ she mouths back, frowning. ‘He's your brother.’

‘Your friend's fault,’ Anthony shoots back.

Kate crosses her arms and gets a look like a sour lemon, and he instantly regrets that line.

Benedict lifts his head to look up at them, and she has to stifle a giggle behind her hand at the deep red imprint of the cushion zipper on his forehead.

“If she wants to talk to me. She will call me back, right? I'm done with making an idiot of myself….” Benedict claims boldly.

__

You are sitting on the sofa at your childhood home early evening on Christmas Day, almost disgustingly full of Baileys (your mum's tipple of choice on this day) and Christmas pud, watching The Wrong Trousers - a family tradition - when your phone pings with a message.

It's from Benedict and your stomach vaults. You honestly thought after more than a week of silence, he had given up trying. And part of you was so sad. There is no text this time, just a video attachment. You excuse yourself to the downstairs cloakroom, taking a seat on the closed lid of the toilet, intrigued as to what it is.

The video starts with him looking directly into the camera, his handsome face filling the frame and making your stomach swoop again. Fuck, you have missed seeing it.

“Merry Christmas y/n. I hope you are having a nice time. I miss you, and I hate how we left things,” he opens honestly, “and when Bridgertons don't know what to do, we always act stupidly. It's our ‘thing’. So here, You can blame this on my genetics...”

The video cuts to black briefly and then fades into him, a huge 6ft lump, crowded behind a plastic toy piano on the floor, probably one of Daphne’s kids' toys. You instantly giggle at the ridiculous visual as he apes a maestro, closes his eyes as if about to play Chopin, and flexes his hands. Then, the tinny, electric sound of some familiar notes being played hesitantly begins. He isn't exactly a natural pianist.

“Hey, I didn't just meet you, And this is crazy, 

You know my number, So call me maybe,

It's hard to feel right without you, lady

You know my number, so call me, maybe…”

You are instantly laughing. He's such an adorable, charming idiot. Sitting behind a miniature plastic piano and playing, half in earnest, half in jest. At least his voice can hold a semi-decent tune. It brings an affectionate mist to your eyes even as it continues…

“Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad

I missed you so bad; I missed you so, so bad

Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad

And you should know that, I miss you now… so, so bad….”

For the last few words, he slows down the song and looks directly down the lens pointedly.

Something in his pleading look is the straw that breaks the camel's back proverbially, and with a slight tremor in your hand, you scroll to his name and hit the FaceTime button before you can think twice about it. The sound of the tone, as it rings, feels so loud, and each crisp ‘bringggg’ makes your nerves jangle. Just as you are about to hang up, the call connects.

“I'm sorry it took me so long to answer. I had to find a private spot.” he sounds a little winded.

“Where are you?” you frown, an unfamiliar background behind him.

“My childhood bedroom. Aubrey Hall.”

“Oh my god! Show me!” You enthuse, your initial equivocation derailed by nosiness, which you decide to frame instead in your mind as mere curiosity.  You never got to see it the wedding weekend for, well, reasons you don't want to dwell on right now.

He quickly flips the camera around, giving you an audio-guided tour of the room he grew up in. Dark blue walls with framed posters for his beloved Blur alongside Travis, Radiohead and Shaun of the Dead. Silly stick-on glow-in-the-dark stars on the high ceiling that are likely too high for anyone to bother getting out a ladder and peeling off. Shelves with little wooden car models he made with his dad before he died, mixed in with certificates of achievement from school, shiny brass archery trophies, and his early sketches in those cheap snap-in frames. And lastly, a collection of jagged small rocks and colourful pebbles. It makes you feel so very affectionate for little teenage Benedict.

“You are bloody adorable!” you blurt out, almost forgetting all the awkwardness from the past few weeks.

The camera flips around, and his lopsided grin fills the screen. “Thank you. I try to make a habit of it…”

You smile back and then sigh. “I’ve missed this,” you confess quietly, wistfully. 

“I’ve missed this too. You. Us. Can we please be friends again? Please? I know we both have a lot of things to talk about. With that night and all… but… can we reset? I need you, Bluey. I am miserable without my best friend,” he pouts, his raw honesty making your chest ache. 

It’s exactly how you feel, too. Except with a massive pang of regret that he seems to want to forget your magical night together. Sex is never like that, at least not for you—electric and addictive. Doing a reset to save your friendship feels like the most logical step. Still, it doesn’t stop the “what if” fantasies running in your head with increasing frequency, especially on a day like today—nostalgia, sentiment and overindulgence swirling in your being. 

“I would like us to be friends again,” you exhale, a lie by slight omission, drumming your fingertips on your cheek nervously to stop you from saying more. 

“Wonderful! Then it is so! I can’t wait to see you again! Are you going to the New Year's party? The one Simon & Daph are hosting at the Sky Terrace? Cos if you are, I was wondering, if you don’t have a date if we could go together? We always said we would be each other's plus one if neither of us is with anyone…”

That he wants to completely reset to that world makes your heart crack. You want to scream at him, ‘No! I want to be your real date! Pick me, for real, this time!’

“I… can’t do that,” you waver, and it comes off sounding tired.

“You have a date?” It’s soft, hesitant, trepidatious.

“No…” you admit, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea to go together like that. I… I can’t be your consolation prize anymore, Benedict,” you blurt out, the hurt taking over your tongue.

The look of stunned surprise on his face makes it worse. As if he had never even seen it from that perspective.

“That’s not what I….” he begins but is interrupted by a loud door bang as it slams into the wall and a yelling voice.

“Stop fucking hiding and get your bloody arse back downstairs. You can’t miss family dinner on Christmas Day!” Colin scolds loudly offscreen.

“I’ve got to go…,” he sighs reluctantly as an arm manhandles him up and off the bed. “Merry Christmas,” he adds, belatedly realising you both forgot to say it earlier on the call.

“Whoever it is, hang up. No one is more important than family on Christmas,” Colin gripes. “That’s it, I’m taking your phone…”.

The screen is filled with random shapes and loud noises as they seem to wrestle like children. And then the call suddenly disconnects. 

You sigh and tip sideways against the cold tile of your parents' cloakroom wall.

Merry Christmas, indeed.

__

Benedict takes stock of his surroundings. December 31st, 11:00pm, lying on his stomach on his sectional chaise, staring up at the big flatscreen on his wall.

This isn't so bad… he tries to convince himself. I've got Jools Holland’s Hootenanny - the only decent New Year's programme, some Glenfiddich and Mini Cheddars - the best snack there is… 

He sighs and realises how pathetic he sounds, even in his own mind, alone in an empty flat.

__

The man whirls you around, and you are almost thrown straight into Kate and Anthony.

“I should never have let you drag me to this,” you grouse so only they can hear.

They both shoot you an apologetic look until you are whipped away again. This man’s dancing style is more akin to a waltzer amusement ride than anything sensual or fun. Your shoulder is already aching. It's a far cry from the surprising salsa Benedict pulled out of the bag last New Year’s Eve. And the idle thought of him has you spiralling…

“Mind if we stop?” you puff as the band finishes the song with a flourish. He’s some slick European investment banking type, and really, you couldn't give two shits about offending him, merely your ingrained politeness kicking in.

He nods and goes off to grab drinks as you stand, hands on hips, trying to gather your breath as you watch all the people moving like a mass of limbs on the crowded dancefloor as the following number begins.

Why the fuck am I here?

__

This is much better… Benedict rationalises to himself as he wanders down the rainy, empty East London streets not far from his Hoxton pad. Who needs to be at a big, crowded party pretending to have a good time?

He pauses outside a trendy shop on Old St, selling overpriced crap that he's not even sure what it is.

See? I can do some window shopping. He tells himself silently—clutching at anything to distract himself from the creeping sense of dread in his gut. A slow twisting knife as he thinks about you dancing the night away, ringing in the New Year with some fancy, handsome man who definitely doesn't deserve you.

What does it matter to me? We are just friends. Best friends… the only friend I ever want to see every day… the only one who truly matters….

He has thought about how to repair the damage between you so much over the last few weeks that he's exhausted himself. Really, he just wants you back. All of you, ideally, but being realistic, any part of yourself you will let back into his life. The suggestion of a reset he made on Christmas Day being his cowardly way out.

—

You are fake laughing at the banker’s story as you lean around the pillar you are backing yourself against in an attempt to secure more personal space. Glad of the heated lamps and the glass overhang to shelter from the drizzle.

“I'm going home,” you growl.

“You’ll never find an Uber,” Kate points out deadpan as you turn back around and keep faking amusement.

__

Just as his thoughts spiral, Benedict hears a chuckle on the other side of the road. There, a couple are laughing together, wrapped in each other's arms, kissing, looking like no one else in the world matters… and it’s like a lightning rod hits him square in the chest.

Suddenly, all he can see are images of you, fluttering like motioned-filled playing cards from above, swirling into his eyeline, then floating onto the glistening pavement around him. Vignettes of his life and where you intersect at so many pivotal moments. The day he left uni - the car ride where you bickered like an old married couple, the day he moved to Paris - your dilated pupils and hitched breath on the Eurostar when he whispered in your ear, the unerring sympathy when you heard about his divorce, the way you held his hand when you wandered after dinner somewhere (he doesn't even recall where… only that it was with you), watching movies together on FaceTime, your incredulity when he confessed to his uneventful recurring sex dream, your surprise and, yes, arousal as he led you in the salsa dance, the way you tucked so neatly into his arms haunting him. And finally, how it felt to be buried inside your gorgeous body as you clung to him, calling his name like a siren song, intimacy like he has never known, the profundity of the connection petrifying the very life out of him. 

But as he stares down at his tatty old Converse, the same ones he wore the day you met, in fact, all he sees in the puddle beneath him is the simple truth he has been in denial about, possibly for a decade or more. Rippling refractions of your face - your knowing smile, bright eyes, your wonderful, happy expression…

And before his brain acknowledges it, his feet are moving….

Walking fast…

Then it’s a jog…

Then it’s a run….

.. his feet carrying him to the one place he knows with every fibre of his being he wants to be.

—

You wander as if in a daze, seemingly surrounded by nothing but couples, kissing, dancing, whispering, and it's the final straw. You spy Kate and Anthony sipping champagne together and slope over.

“I'm going,” you sigh.

“But it's almost midnight,” Anthony protests.

“Being surrounded by people kissing is just…” you shrug, melancholy creeping in like a clingy fog around your heart.

“I’ll kiss you,” Kate placates, and Anthony perks up to no end at that suggestion, nodding enthusiastically as you both roll your eyes, bemused. “Stay? Please?” she pleads, pouting and grabbing your hands.

“Thanks, Kate. But no. I have to go. Have a wonderful night,” you bid them, kissing her gently on the cheek. “Happy New Year,” you whisper as she returns the greeting.

__

Benedict's lungs are burning as he races down Old St towards Shoreditch, not far from where you celebrated last year. He ignores the ache in his muscles and keeps going, checking his watch to see 11:56pm and racing harder.

I need to be there at midnight!

__

As you walk to pick up your coat, a sight makes your heart leap into your mouth and stops you dead in your tracks.

There, rounding the top stair, casual in old faded jeans, those ancient Converse and a chunky knit jumper… is Benedict. Hair fluffy and dishevelled from the rain, out of breath and scanning the crowd desperately. As if he is seeking someone.

Then his eyes finally land on you, and your world tilts. 

Oh god, is he here… for… me?!?

Then he is striding purposefully towards you, and it seems like the crowds part. His eyes blisteringly intense, like they were on that fateful night. You try to school your face, aiming for casual indignance; you probably fail spectacularly— your heart thumping wildly.

“I've been doing a lot of thinking…” he begins as he pulls up before you. “And the thing is… I love you..”

Everything grinds to a halt, and your head feels dizzy.

This must be a prank, surely?

“What?” you stutter, disbelief rocking your core.

“I love you,” he says with a simple shrug as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

“Ben.. I… what do you expect me to say?” you blurt out, floored.

“How about you love me too,” he smiles a tiny fraction, and you hate it.

You hate how RIGHT he is. Your body is a total jumble of live wires, but your mind is suddenly calm. It's like the clouds of your thoughts part, and it all seems crystal clear. And yet, something in your stubborn heart won't let you admit it. Terrified what it could mean to voice it.

“Look, Ben, I know it's New Year, and I know you may be lonely tonight. But please don't do this,” you implore haltingly, tears prickling hot in the corners of your eyes, “...not like this,” you whisper, defeated.

“Okay, how about like this….” he throws his hands up. “I love that you won't admit you love me. I love that you are looking at me like you want to kill me right now. I love that my body is screaming at me cos I ran here as fast as I could.” he gestures down at his slightly shaky legs.

“Ten seconds to New Year's!!” a loud voice blares out over the speakers.

“TEN!!” the crowd chants.

“I love that we are idiots who would never admit to how in love we are.”

“NINE!”

“I love that you are my blue lobster, rare and beautiful as a diamond but a delicious soft treat under that hard as nails shell….” 

“EIGHT!”

He tilts your chin to look up at him, a thumb swiping a tear you didn't even know had escaped. 

“SEVEN!”

“Don't leave me out here in the wind, y/n…,” he murmurs softly.

“SIX!”

“I… I love that you never give up,” you whisper so quietly even you can barely hear it. 

The smile that lights up Benedict’s face makes your whole being feel like the stars live inside your chest.

“FIVE!”

“I love that you take homemade salads on a road trip,” he smirks playfully, referring to the first day you spent together all those years ago.

“FOUR!” 

“I love that you kept your amazing dance prowess under wraps,” you laugh over a stilted snuffle, everything in you fizzling.

“THREE!”

“I love that I can still smell you on my clothes after we spend the day together,” he sighs, moving in closer, your eyes hypnotised by the movement of his cupid’s bow.

“TWO!”

“I love that you came here tonight,” you admit, your hands circling his forearms as you sway slightly in unison.

“ONE!”

“I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night,” he confesses, his lips ghosting over yours now, smiling crookedly even as he speaks.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!” the crowd chants.

All around you, party poppers go off, colourful ribbons of streamers, and the sound of glasses clinking fills the air. But it’s background noise, your whole focus on each other.

Finally, your lips meet, the fireworks under your ribs matching those in the skies above, the same as it was that first time weeks ago. You melt into each other's embrace, your kiss a seal of a pact and the promise of something new and infinite.

“For the record,” he rumbles, his minty breath hot on your lips, the strains of Auld Lang Syne ringing around the rooftop. “I'm not saying this because I’m lonely and not because it’s the New Year. I came here tonight because when you finally realise you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start…”

“...as soon as possible,” you exhale, completing his sentence with him as he nods, grinning from ear to ear. 

The drunken chorus around you gets louder; he chuckles and shakes his head. “I’ve never understood this stupid song.”

“I think it’s about remembering not to forget. Or not forgetting to remember. Or something,” you peal a laugh, knowing you are talking gibberish and not giving a damn. “Anyway, it’s about old friends,” you add pointedly, moving in for another spine-tingling, heart-melting kiss.

As you part, he cradles your jaw in his hands. “It was only ever you, y/n,” he sighs, hazy eyes burning into yours, his whisper fervent but contented into your skin. “It had to be you.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies

[midastouch013]

Remembering Him

Summary: Today's the annivessary of Pietro's death, and your there for your girlfriend

Warnings: Mentions of character death. Talking of losing a loved one. Sad Wanda

----

The morning sun cast a gentle glow over the Avengers compound, but for Wanda Maximoff, the day felt heavy with sorrow. It marked the anniversary of her brother Pietro's death, a wound that never truly healed. As Wanda sat alone in the quiet living room, memories of their time together flooded her mind.

You, her girlfriend, entered the room with a soft smile, holding a cup of coffee for her. Wanda glanced up, her eyes reflecting both gratitude and pain. You placed the coffee on the coffee table and took a seat beside her.

"Hey, love," you whispered, taking a seat beside her. reaching for her hand. Wanda managed a small smile but remained distant. You knew that today was especially difficult for her.

"I thought we could spend today celebrating Pietro's life," you suggested. "Doing things he loved, and maybe sharing some of the stories you've told me about him."

Wanda nodded, "I'll try," she said softly, allowing you to guide her through the day.

Starting with music, you encouraged her to play some of Pietro's favorite tunes. As the melodies filled the room, your hands around her waist, as her hands wrapped around your shoulder, swaying softly to the music. Wanda began to share stories, and a bittersweet smile crossed her face.

"I remember a night in Sokovia," she began, her voice soft. "There was a street musician playing a beautiful, slow song on the accordion. Pietro, being Pietro, took my hand and said, 'Let's dance, sis.' So, there we were, twirling under the moonlight, lost in the music and each other."

A warmth filled the room as you envisioned the scene – Wanda and Pietro, sharing a dance in the quiet streets of Sokovia. "That sounds incredibly special," you remarked.

"It was, and then, right after" she spoke, her voice carrying a hint of laughter. " The man began playing a fast-paced song and Pietro, being Pietro, decided we should dance to that too. So, there we were, dancing in the square, drawing a small crowd. It was so spontaneous and silly, but for a moment, everything felt perfect."

You chuckled, "Sounds like he had a talent for turning ordinary moments into extraordinary memories."

Wanda nodded, her eyes distant yet alive with the memories. "Exactly. He had a way of making life an adventure."

--

The day unfolded with shared stories and activities, each one honoring Pietro's passions. When you moved to the kitchen to attempt one of his favorite dishes, Wanda's laughter filled the air, seeing how you made the same mistakes that he would.

As you neared the end of the day, Wanda and you found yourselves on the rooftop, beneath a sky sprinkled with stars—the same stars Pietro once marveled at during quiet nights.

You both lay on a blanket, shoulders touching, staring up at the vast expanse above. The day had been filled with shared memories, laughter, and a dance that echoed the bond between siblings. Yet, as the night deepened, a subtle melancholy began to seep into the air.

"We used to lay on rooftops," Wanda said softly, her gaze fixed on the twinkling stars. "He loved stargazing. Said it made him feel connected to something greater."

You nodded, squeezing her hand in acknowledgment. The quiet conversation continued, sharing stories of nights spent under the open sky in Sokovia, where Pietro would point out constellations with infectious enthusiasm.

"I miss him so much," Wanda admitted, her voice trembling with vulnerability. Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over.

You pulled her into a comforting embrace, letting her tears fall without reservation. "It's okay, Wands," you whispered, holding her close. " You can cry, its okay"

Wanda clung to you, allowing herself to release the pent-up emotions she had held back for so long. The weight of loss, the ache of missing her brother, poured out in quiet sobs.

After a while, the tears subsided, leaving behind a sense of catharsis. Wanda pulled away, her eyes red but filled with a newfound lightness. You wiped away the remaining tears and gave her a tender smile.

"Thank you for being here," she whispered, her voice filled with gratitude.

"Always, love," you assured her, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

As the day came to an end, you both sat under the evening sky, surrounded by the echoes of laughter and tears, celebrating the life of a brother who would forever live on in memories and the love he left behind. You'd never met him before, but you were sure that you would have loved him if he were there

----

I'm short of ideas, someone help me.

—----------

[monsoon-of-art]

Hey! I had a late night idea in regards to your mer au of Ingo cheering up Dawn. I hope it's okay to share it with you.

Ingo frown stretched lower than usual "What's wrong?"

Dawn paused to gather her thoughts, and then eventually turned to him "Can you be honest with me?"

"Of course."

"Do you...like it here?"

Ingo's gaze drifted out to the stretch of water above them as he considered her question "I am grateful for the hospitality of my clan and being of service to my Noble brings me great satisfaction if that's what you're asking. "

But Dawn shook her head "No, I mean, do you like living here?" With a wide sweep of the arm, she gestured to the space in front of them "In the ocean?"

Ingo made a thoughtful noise "I don't know what to compare it to, I'm afraid. It's all I've ever known. I cannot recall living anywhere else. Why do you ask?"

Dawn shrugged "I just...I don't know how you live here. I don't know if I could. It's so scary here!"

She forced a smile up at her Uncle's concerned eyes "Don't get me wrong, I love being with you and the other mers are nice...mostly. And I still think it's cool to be a mer and to do things and go places nobody else in the Survey Corps can. And I like writing down all the weird and wonderful things I find out about marine life, but..."

Dawn twiddled her fingers, folding in on herself as if to hide. "For every reason I find to love the ocean... there's so many more reasons to dread it.

"Everything's bigger than me, including everything that wants to eat me. And even the things that are way smaller than me are terrifying. Like pufferfish or jellyfish or the time Sabi told me that starfish would eat my body if I died. It's all so creepy! I feel like I can't go anywhere without being in danger.

"And sometimes the creatures I find give me the shudders when I have to draw them or write about them. Everything seems to be either full of teeth, are armed to the teeth, slimy, have unspeakable diets or are deceptivley cute. It's like swimming through a place of nightmares!"

She sighed internally "Honestly, I'm beginning to hate coming back to the ocean again and again. If it weren't for the fact that the Survey Corps are relying on my research...Ingo, how do you deal with being here?"

Ingo straightened his cap and gave an apologetic shrug "I suppose because I don't face a lot of the problems you do, I'm not a pup who's just learning to swim and I don't have to fear as many of this world's creatures you do. And like I said before, the ocean is all I've ever known. But I do admire your courage in coming here for your research, even if I'd prefer that you'd stay on land."

"It's kinda sad, you know? The ocean's not as...well...magical as I thought it would be."

It broke Ingo's heart to see the girl look so sombre. It must have been hard to be such a small and vulnerable pup in a vast, unforgiving ocean. And Dawn was right, the ocean could be a cruel and ugly place...but it wasn't all it was. Ingo's amnesia had brought him to be blown away by so many rich experiences as if it was his first time in the ocean. When he first arrived, members of the Pearl Clan would smile and laugh affectionately at the way he stared at the reef coming to life around him, mesmerised by the shifting colours and shapes. Or the times he could swim beside a pod of sperm whales during patrols, the motions of his tail mirrored by slow, graceful giants that would turn their gaze at him with seemingly all knowing eyes . And even something as simple as a kelp forest seemed to hold such majesty and serenity if you stopped to enjoy its shade.

The orca's attention was brought back to the melancholy child in front of him as an idea tugged up the corners of his mouth. "How about I show you something?"

Dawn couldn't see much between the gaps of Ingo's fingers as they closed securely around her, just a deep cobalt blue interrupted by the occasional black shape. Although, more and more black shapes were appearing, occasionally blocking out the light. She grew nervous. Where was Ingo taking her? They've been travelling like this for quite a while now.

Ingo broke the silence with a smile in his voice: "We have arrived at our stop. Are you ready?"

The black shapes were more frequent than ever now. Dawn was incredibly uneasy, but also admittedly curious. And Ingo's cheerful tone calmed her down somewhat, telling her she was in no danger.

"Okay." That came out more timid than intended.

Ingo removed the hand that served as her roof and the bright blue light surrounding her made her blink.

And all around them wide, graceful sheets of black and white glided through the vast blue space.

Manta rays.

So many-too many! Like the ocean had moving stripes! All of them slowly migrating forward. Below Ingo's steady hand she could see more of them below, many so far down they were fading into space. The filtered sun above them was occasionally blocked out, leaving dancing shadows over Dawn and Ingo's form.

Beside her, one of them glided close enough for her to note its large gaping mouth. She flinched.

"It's alright" said Ingo, holding her closer to his tunic "They're harmless."

Dawn read about Manta rays. She knew they were only filter feeders and that they wouldnt harm her with barbs in their tails. However, seeing a Manta ray up close and personal was different to seeing one in a book, and new uncertanties curled in her stomach.

But she trusted Ingo. She was safe with him and he wouldn't take her anywhere he deemed too risky. And even if there was danger, he would close his hand over her again at the first sign of it. She laid lack into his tunic behind her and took in the comfort that came with it. Her shoulders began to relax.

"They're quite friendly, and even playful" Ingo continued "Sometimes I blow bubbles here because I know they enjoy swimming through them."

He demonstrated, and he was right. Some mantas above them seemed to slow down through the streams of air, and even circled back to have a second go.

Dawn giggled. It was almost like they were watching dolphins.

Ingo pointed up to the larger mantas above them with his free hand "See the markings on the underside of their bodies?"

Dawn nodded

"The shape of the markings is unique to each animal, like a fingerprint."

"Really? So you can tell each Manta Ray apart?"

Ingo scratched the back of his neck "Well, I haven't personally memorised any markings, and even if I did, there are too many at this station to keep track of, but yes, in theory you could."

For a good while, they stayed there. Ingo had long since became lost in his own rambling, and Dawn was just happy to listen. He was spouting facts about everything he was taught about the creatures around them, from their feeding habits to the how and why of their migrations.

She couldn't even hope to remember half of it all, but she took mental notes to write down some of the more interesting things he mentioned when she had the chance.

If the Mers weren't so afraid of humans and visa versa, Dawn imagined Ingo would be quite valuable to the Survey Corps.

Dawn took another glance around her. The colossal, yet quiet creatures drifted in a steady stream around them; taking their time towards an unknown destination, like commuters in a crowded city, but in slow motion. It was so serene here. So peaceful. Gentle giants, just like Ingo and so many of the other mers.

"There really is no danger, is there?"

Ingo chuckled "No. Not here."

But then his smile dipped and he looked soberly down at Dawn.

"Perhaps there is danger back at the reefs, waiting for us. And perhaps there always will be a dangerous and ominous side to the ocean. But the ocean is vast. And in all that space there is room for beauty as well, and gentleness, and wonder. The scope of it amazes even me.

"My home is frightening, and I'm worried that I won't be able to protect you from all that it holds, but I don't want you to miss out on all that's good in this world either. In more ways than one, it is magical. I hope you come to see it that way too."

Akari leaned further into her Uncle's tunic and smiled.

Yeah, maybe she will.

"Thanks, Ingo."

(Aaaaaand it's morning! Wow, that idea really exploded! Thank you for letting me share, though. And thank you again for all your art and stories! :) )

;w;

[greenygreenland]

Dream A Little Dream of Me: Norman x Reader (Part Three)

-part three is here! I had to slice it in two because apparently there's a certain word block limit (at least on mobile). So get ready for part four!

Summary: You can’t remember anything.

Month four, 08:00

The last thing you recalled was the face of a boy with light hair. His eyes were bright, swirling with love and affection you looked for everyday. Whenever you woke up, you couldn’t remember his name, or his sweet voice that called out to you in your dreams.

All you had was the light of day and the rising sun. It made you sad to look upon it alone in your room. Someone else were supposed to be by your side, right next to you. But who?

And then there was the absence of a motherly figure--a woman you only recalled through song. How was it you remembered that melancholy tune but not a name or face? You wished you knew, and you prayed everyday to whoever was up there to give you another chance. Another go at life--with the people you never knew the names of.

“Good morning, Letha.”

You met the old man’s gaze with a simple nod. His crinkly voice was one of the things you actually didn’t mind, even if it was hard to hear at times. 

The old man, Alex, was kind, but the most you conversed about were your lost memories, your insane knacks for weapons, chess, and lastly, intelligence.

Time wasn’t friendly, and a month passed uneventfully. It turned into two, which turned into three and so on. Every now and then, you wondered if you’d stay like that: a blank slate. Alex said there was this one philosopher who called it a ‘tabula rasa’. For some reason, that fact reminded you of someone long ago.

Dark hair, the smell of old books, dust hidden between bookshelves...

You began to make out the image of a boy. He was no older than you, with cool eyes, a warm, yet small smile. Who was he? His name was at the tip of your tongue, yet it wouldn’t come out.

Ren? Reylo? Tired Cyclops? No, that wasn’t it. Obviously.

It hurt to think too much about it, and before you could grasp onto it, the memory faded, along with the name.

“Don’t think too hard,” Alex warmly said. “I’m sure it’ll come with time.”

He hoped to help you recover your lost memories, but in the meantime, he’d do his best to support you, just as he’d done with his long, dead daughter. For that reason, he felt it was time to bring you to the world outside. In this town you both resided in, everyone died in a war.

Alex was the only survivor.

For that reason, he was the only person you ever got to know these past seven months. There was no one your age around here, and it wasn’t like you went far anyway. Every now and then, Alex brought you a few towns over to experience a nice train ride to his favourite shops. Then he’d buy you something and take pictures.

But now? He felt it was time to take it a step further. He wasn’t sure if you’d like the idea, but it was worth a try.

SEVEN MONTHS LATER, 06:28

“Come again?” you inquired. Alex took a sip of his coffee and stood from the chair. The wooden floorboards of the cabin creaked under his weight. He waddled over to the window, drawing open the plaid curtains. Warm rays of sunlight fluttered upon your face and Alex smiled warmly like he always did.

“It’s time you get out more,” he said, “and experience the world outside this old town. I want you to look across the horizon because there’s more than the cabin.” You knitted your brows together. You didn’t like how cryptic he was being. It reminded you of someone you once knew, someone who you held close to your heart.

“Gramps, what are you trying to say?”

Alex heaved in a long breath, as if he were afraid of saying it himself. “I want you to go to school. College, if you want the specifics.” Your eyes doubled in size and you hoped, prayed, that he would take it back and say it was a joke. College? You didn’t need a degree! And besides, it was expensive. You couldn’t afford something like that. But alas, Alex wasn’t one to joke about serious things like that. He was an old man, so he always meant what he said.

This time was no different.

“You mean it,” you practically whispered. “That you want me to go to college.” Alex nodded, absentmindedly running a hand through his thick, white beard. There was a long pause and you took the time to sip your tea. Would school benefit you in some way? Was it worth the time? The work?

It didn’t make sense. You were smart. Alex said it himself: “I haven’t met anyone as smart as you”. So why did he want to send you to school? It had to be more than just to “meet people” because you did that all the time on the train every few days.

“What’s so good about college, Gramps? We can’t afford to pay for something so expensive. I don’t want to see you in debt just because of me.”

Through your calm façade, Alex noticed the spark of uncertainty in your eyes. Throughout the long days he got to know you, he realised one thing: you were never keen on showing your emotions.

“I want to give you an opportunity to find yourself,” he finally replied. “If the people you knew are around your age, then going to school might bring something back. You know, jog your memories. Besides that, I want you to have a life more than that I can offer. There’s nothing in this small town.”

“I don’t know about that. I have you here. You’re all I know, Gramps.”

Alex knitted his bushy brows together. “I know, but I can’t always be the only one you know. Don’t you want to see the world?”

It wasn’t that going to college was excruciatingly disappointing, only that it was a means of giving out false hope. How could you cling onto something so child-like and unreliable? 

Hope could only get people so far. You were no different.

That night, you lay in bed, wide awake. A nagging thought kept pulling at the back of your mind, repeating itself over, and over, and over again until you couldn’t stand the phrase. But as soon as you repeated it with your own lips, it vanished as if it never existed.

You lay in bed for a little longer, fighting the lull of sleep. It pulled on your eyes, and your head nodded as you forced down a yawn. Sleep was for the weak. If you stayed awake a little longer, maybe you might remember something, right?

-----

The grass tickled your bare feet. If it were any normal day, you would have liked to lay down in its warm embrace with Emma, Ray and Norman. You could watch the clouds together, and wonder about life outside these concrete walls.

But that was stupid to think about, wasn’t it? The liberty to relax and do absolutely nothing had been striped from your very being, like the air that you gasped and chocked on. You held your shoes tightly to your chest and frantically glanced past your shoulder. Good. All clear, just how you liked it.

Norman and Emma lay a couple hundred meters behind. They were your eyes, the two little owls that perched high above with all-seeing eyes. With a grunt, you hopped over a thick tree root and tossed aside your shoes. They landed somewhere in the brush, right where the trees parted.

You came to a stop and glared at the concrete wall towering over you. If you completed your mission and everything remained as straight-forward as you wanted it to be, then you’d escape with everyone. Just like Emma wanted. Just like you tried so hard to believe.

But what if something happened? What if Don and Gilda were caught? Or worse, what if Mama suspected that Ray betrayed her? Surely she wouldn’t go as far as to eliminate him on the spot...

...right?

You clenched a fist so tightly that your knuckles turned white. Stop. Stop it, you told yourself. You had to have faith in your family. They were just as capable as you, maybe even more, so they’d have no issues. You had to focus on your job so they could do theirs.

“My, so this is where you’ve run to?”

You sucked in a sharp breath.

No, that couldn’t be. You made sure she wouldn’t know where you were. You told all the precautions, too. Were Emma and Norman okay? What about Ray? And Don and Gilda?

“I’m surprised you managed to make this far.” Mama stiffly said. “You never were as strong as Emma, or fast either.”

It was like the sun stopped shining. Your blood ran cold. The warm rays turned to ice.

“It’s not too late to turn back (Y/n).” Her voice was silky smooth, tempting almost, as if she were coaxing a frightened sheep to the slaughter. “You’ve improved, my dear, but is it enough? Once your plan crumbles, what will you do then? It wouldn’t be a bad idea to become a mama. It’s the reliable path. You will survive and you will be happy.”

For a moment, you wondered if she actually cared about you. Maybe her love was all fake from the beginning and she didn’t care about you. Or your family. Or anything but survival in this cruel world.

You never loved us.

That was what you wanted to say, yet the words stuck in your throat like glue. If she didn’t love you, then why did she hold you so tightly when you had a nightmare? If she didn’t love you, then why did her eyes shine with pride when you got perfect scores?

“Come, my dear,” Mama coaxed. “Let’s go home.”

The sudden urge to laugh bubbled in your throat like lava.

Home? This was a prison in disguise.

It’s not too late to turn back? A lie.

It wouldn’t be a bad idea to become a mama? As if.

You couldn’t afford to betray your family. Not after all you’ve done, and not after all the effort. They relied on you. You weren’t going to let them down.

You turned on your heel to face Mama. She smiled at you, but it wasn’t a nice smile. It made your stomach twist and turn, reminded you just how much of a danger she could be. Your gaze focused past her shoulder, where a familiar head of orange stood.

Emma peeked out from behind the trees and held up the bag of rope. Norman stood from a cluster of bushes and motioned the the wall. They were going to climb it while you distracted Mama. Perfect.

A bright grin broke out onto your lips. “I’m sorry Mama.” you began.

She stood like a statue with wide eyes. “Are you now?” she inquired. You were finally conceding in this fiery war of wits. After all that fuss and now would she have you back by her side? She opened her arms to welcome you. It was all she could do with her prized little girl. Finally you were being smart. Finally you were choosing the reliable path. You were going to follow in her footsteps. Survive. And outlive everyone in this house like she had.

But then something happened. Emma burst from the bushes, followed by Norman who helped throw the rope up a nearby branch. That triggered you into action, and you lunged at Mama with all the strength you could muster.

“I will never--!”

You wrestled for her watch.

“--ever--!”

Mama tugged on your little arms.

“--leave my family behind!”

You yanked the stupid watch out of her hands, but just as you stood, Mama grasped onto your leg and tugged. Hard. She gave it a squeeze, and a sickening crack echoed in your ears. You screamed. Your ears rung and you heaved in a strangled breath.

“You should have taken the reliable path.” Mama’s calm voice made you want to vomit. “None of us would be here if you had listened to your mama.”

-----

Your eyes shot open and you jolted awake. The faces, the voices, the senses--they flashed before you in a whirl of colours and sounds. Why couldn’t you recall who they were? Or what their names were? You knew every single one of them by heart, yet your mind lay completely blank. Again.

The urge to punch your mattress overwhelmed your senses.

“Good morning,” came Alex’s crinkly voice. That snapped you out of your frustrated stupor. He stood in the doorway, a warm smile on his lips and a spatula in hand. “Pancakes are almost done. Today we’ll get you settled in your dorm.”

Oh. Right. Gramps was sending you to a boarding school. The thought of leaving your beloved bed left you queasy and sluggish. Why should you go somewhere so far away from this cozy, little cottage? It was only recently that you settled here too. Maybe Gramps was taking it too fast.

With a heavy heart, you lugged yourself out of bed and threw on a pair of warm clothes. The unforgiving climate of this land was not one you would challenge. Ever.

The moment you emerged from your room was the moment you understood Gramps’s insistence. He meant well, you knew, but in a way you didn’t appreciate. Going out gave you a higher chance of meeting whomever you knew. It was completely logical.

“Are you worried?” Gramps began, placing a stack of pancakes on your plate. “I’ve already informed your school teachers of your amnesia, so they’ll understand. As for your dormitory, everything has been set. And don’t forget your breakfast, lunch, and dinner plans, as well as your--”

“You seem more anxious than me, Gramps.” you said with a subtle smile. He stared at you, wide-eyed until he mirrored you with a chuckle. “I suppose you’re right. I just want to make sure the transition goes smoothly.”

“Of course.”

“And that you’re safe and okay.”

“Gramps--”

“And that you won’t have to worry about a thing.”

“--the pancake’s burning.”

That set him off. He jolted out of his chair faster than his age and capabilities should have allowed. It was a miracle too, because the poor pancake was seconds away from catching fire on the pan. A long sigh left Gramps’s lips as he turned off the stove. “I think I’ll give this to the birds.”

“You best do that, because I won’t eat that piece of charcoal.”

You shared a quick chuckle between each other, savouring the warmth and comfort that came. If someone else had found you that day in the field of endless grass, you weren’t sure if you’d be so lucky. It was by chance Gramps was the one to discover you, so you couldn’t imagine life otherwise.

Once your pancakes were gone and your bag all packed, you traveled to the train station in the early rays of sun. Gramps was the type of enjoy the silence of nature, but to you, it was excruciating.

It didn’t matter where you went. Each time, you looked past your shoulder, to the fading mountains, to the little rabbits that scurried by. It was like you were on survival mode. But why should you be when there was nothing out here? It was so peaceful, so wonderful that you couldn’t imagine anything coming out to get you.

Smile. It’s okay, I promise. I’m here.

You froze and glanced past your shoulder towards the rolling hills and the fading grass. That voice--you knew it. But had you dreamed it up? There was no one here but you and Gramps. A short sigh left your lips and all Gramps could do was ruffle your hair comfortingly.

The train ride was nice. With the calm chugging and the way it swayed, you didn’t mind it at all. Every now and then, your eyes fluttered open and closed. Maybe you were tired. Maybe you weren’t a morning person. Whatever the reason, you submitted to the lull and closed your eyes.

-----

Not a single soul moved for what felt like centuries. The moment Ray, Gilda and Don arrived at the scene, it was clear that nothing else could be done. Mama smiled at her children viciously. She wasn’t here to play nice any longer. Today, she was the hunter and her children the prey.

“It was a clean break. She will recover smoothly,” Mama curtly announced. “And Norman?”

You didn’t like the way she looked at him, or the way her grip seemed to tighten on your limp arms. Her gaze dangerously narrowed and she said, “Your shipment date has been set.”

Your heart stopped and your blood ran cold. Norman’s shipment date had been set? No, that couldn’t be. Your plan required at least another week until everything fell into place. Norman was the core of it all. Without him, what would you do?

And speaking of which, he was going to die.

Die.

Die.

Die.

He was going to die.

You squirmed in Mama’s grasp, hoping--praying that you could maneuver around this. Norman wasn’t going to die. You wouldn’t let him.

“Let me--let me go!”

It was reckless and it was stupid to think he’d be able to evade Mama’s sight just like that, but you had to try.  Didn’t Emma say you’d all leave here together? “Norman--!”

He blinked as if he’d woken up from a long dream. The forced smile the sprouted on his lips looked painful. Don’t struggle, it said.

Don’t struggle? How did he expect you to sit around and do nothing? If anyone should be shipped out first, it should be you. Why? Because you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you let any of your family go.

Mama glared down at you with a cold smile. “You can’t fight me more than you can stop the sun from setting,” she said, heaving you higher off ground. Your leg hit her arm and a cry escaped your lips. Norman flinched and Emma remained frozen in place.

You were always the strong one, not Emma, not Ray, and not Norman. Because you were one of the eldest, it was your responsibility to be the shoulder to cry on and to stand when no one else could. To see you holding back tears and gritting your teeth tight enough to make your gums bleed made Norman’s little heart break.

He didn’t care about his shipment date. All he wanted was to see you safe.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of faces, voices and regrets. The sharp pain in your leg long faded, leaving only a dull throb that stayed as a reminder of your failure. Yes, that was what you were, right? You couldn’t complete the plan even with Don, Gilda and Ray distracting Mama. You were pathetic. A waste of space.

The door creaked open and you sat up a little straighter. You smiled at the trio as they entered the room. “Hey guys.”

“How are you feeling?” inquired Norman. He took a seat by your bedside and gave your hand a gentle squeeze. Ray pulled up another chair. He hid his face behind his fringe to conceal his grim frown. It didn’t work though, and you merely smiled at him. He huffed irritably, as if he didn’t want you to know he worried so much.

“I didn’t think she’d go that far.” Ray quietly muttered. You knitted your brows together with a absentminded shrug. “And to think I was that close to getting her watch.” Emma’s shoulders sagged. “I wish I had--”

“It’s fine Emma.” you said with a warm smile. “Broken bones heal, it’s not permanent.” She looked like she wanted to say something, but with the warm smile on your face, she couldn’t gather the courage to. Instead, she settled for a tight hug.

It was hard to look her in the eye anyway. The sadness she tried so hard to force down only added to your guilt, and you weren’t sure if you could think straight with all the regret.

“I’m sorry this happened.” you began. “Now that I’m hurt, you’re worrying for me.”

Emma pulled away as Norman gave a firm shake of his head. “None of this is anyone’s fault.” he stated. "None of us saw that coming, and even if we did, I’m not sure we’d be any good outwitting Mama on the spot like that.” He offered a gentle smile that made you feel just a little bit better.

-----

Gentle smiles. A warm summer breeze. Soft kisses. Tender touches. That was what reminded you of the boy in your dreams. Although you couldn’t recall his face every time you awoke, you remembered the fact that he was handsome and kind.

Gramps offered a warm smile. “Good morning.” You covered your yawn with a hand. “I’m assuming we’re here?”

He nodded. “Are you excited?” It was obvious Gramps knew the question. He only wanted to hear the answer from your mouth rather than from an assumption. As much as you wished to be excited for such a grand opportunity, you weren’t sure you’d like school. Well, how could you guess when you’ve never been to school in the first place?

At least from what you could recall.

“I still don’t know how to feel about this,” you quietly say. Gramps guides you along the walkway and out of the train, where you step out of the station and to the bustling streets of the city. You frown. Gramps said you were going to a boarding school, was it supposed to be somewhere as crowded as here?

From what you read, boarding schools needed large spaces to accommodate dormitories, classrooms, and sports fields. Was there such a thing as space in this congested collection of skyscrapers?

You shook your head to yourself and followed Gramps down whatever path his old-fashioned map led him to. He walked slow. Too slow for your liking. Not only that, but with all the people around, you couldn’t bear not to stick close to his side. What if he got lost? What if you got lost? Or kidnapped and sold on the black market for organs?

Maybe you were just paranoid.

The looming skyscrapers offered no comfort, and the cool breezes that sent shivers down your spine weren’t helping either. You hopped over a patch of ice and pulled your jacket closer just as Gramps came to a stop.

A lot of land stood in the middle of all the skyscrapers, where a pale field of grass stretched out over the acres of land. Buildings that looked like castles peppered themselves out in the form of classrooms, mess halls, and corridors.

You stood in the shadow of the tall brick walls. It separated the school from the rest of the city. An overwhelming feeling of bittersweet hope filled your system, as if you’ve stood in front of a wall like this before. Had you been here? No. You were sure this was your first time seeing the school.

“Take care Letha.” Gramps said. “Don’t forget to eat and exercise, as well as make some new friends. I expect you to call at least once a week, just so I know you’re doing fine.” You smiled a little, cheeks warm in embarrassment. “Gramps, I’m old enough to take care of myself.”

“I know, I know. Just...this is a big step for you.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“Be careful, and have fun. Even if you don’t remember anything, as long as you have fun, it’s fine.” He wrapped you in a tight hug. “And most importantly, I love you Letha.”

You basked in the warmth of his arms. You didn’t need to worry about your memories in that moment because you had Gramps. He was your world. Your family. What more could you ask for? But then he pulled away, and the warmth didn’t linger.

You were still incomplete.

The next day, you found yourself wandering the halls aimlessly, picking apart each detail and escape route in sight. The hall to your left had an exit to the school courtyard, a peaceful place with metal chairs and picnic tables. To your right sat another hall, which also had an exit to another courtyard. Then in front of you stood the front entrance, where the side exits fanned out in the halls next to it.

“Hey, you’re the new girl, right? Letha Meek-aye...Mikhaylov?”

You spun around faster than the speed of light. In front of you stood a girl, perhaps a year older with an unfriendly frown. She wore the generic school uniform: black skirt, long socks, white blouse, gray sweater vest, and a tie. Her bright, red locks stood out like a sore thumb. They curled past her shoulders in beach waves, framing her narrow, freckled face in rouge.

For a moment, you blanked out. When was the last time you spoke to someone, much less a teenager your age? Even though this girl wasn’t intimidating, it wasn’t like you wanted to talk to her. The point of coming here was to figure out if anything jogged your memory and then leave. It wasn’t playtime. “I’m new.” Your voice came out calmer than you felt. “Is that an issue?”

Despite the pointed look on her face, you had a feeling she was one of the nicer people in the area. She had a soft look in her green eyes, as if she understood what it felt like to be a new kid. “I’m Flanna Morris,” she said with a small smile. “Nice to meet you Letha.”

Flanna had an accent. By the hard ‘r’s and the elongated ‘oo’ sounds, you guessed she had to be from Ireland. Gramps told you it wasn’t too far from here, but still a while away.

You sent Flanna a cautious side eye. She was being too friendly. “Yeah, nice to meet you too...Flanna.” A hearty laugh that bellowed in her stomach echoed in the quiet corridors. “Look,” she said, “I’m not here to bully you. I just wanted to offer some help.”

Help? Yeah right. No one in this world offered help without asking for something in return. Besides Gramps maybe--but he was a special case, it didn’t count.

“Come on, I’ll show you around Letha.” The look on Flanna’s sweet face made it hard to decline. If you weren’t interested in seeing if there were any places you missed, then you would have declined. But perhaps Flanna could show you more than the shallow surface of this boarding school.

You passed to through the quiet corridors, where the sun shone through the windows overlooking the street. The sun rose over the horizon and up the edge of the skyscrapers’ base. Cars bustled about, and even through the thick brick walls, you heard all the honking and yelling of the early morning traffic.

“So, where’re you from?” Flanna inquired. You tugged on the strap of your bag’s shoulder strap. “Far away.”

“What do you mean by ‘far away’?”

“I mean the countryside.” you clarified. Flanna ‘ohhh’ed. “The city must be a huge change for you then, I know it was for me.” You knitted your brows together. So she was from the countryside in Ireland? That’s more than a simple change of scenery. No wonder Flanna wanted to help you.

“Okay, so here’s the science hall. Ms. Darsey is one of the best teachers you can have around. You’re a juniour, right? I’m a senior--if you couldn’t already tell...”

Flanna talked a lot. No, she didn’t just love talking, she loved explaining all her experiences with x, y, and z teacher, as well as what classroom and what day of the month it was. She had a wonderful memory, you had to admit, but that made her stories long. Her energy was like a breath of fresh air, and that red hair of hers sparkled like jewels in the morning light.

Flanna’s hair was fiery just like a girl’s you used to know. Her face wasn’t clear in your mind whenever you thought of her, but the joy she always brought you stayed. It made your heart warm. Flanna seemed to have a similar effect, but not as strongly as the girl you once knew.

“You have Mr. Dursley for English,” she noted. “Make sure you don’t stick out. He’s a big pain and if you’re late, he’ll give you a detention.” You raised a brow. Mr. Dursley detained teenagers for being late? What kind of nonsense was that? You decided to phone Gramps later and ask him if that were true. He’d know. Hopefully.

The look on your face made Flanna chuckle, but you had a feeling she didn’t understand your thought process. “Don’t worry,” she casually said. “You’ll be fine. I bet’cha Connor and James will be the first to get a detention. They’re both trouble makers--little devils. Especially James.” You stared up at Flanna’s bright, green eyes. They sparkled like the sun against her hair. You’ve seen that look before, the one of unsaid love and adoration. Long ago, someone looked at you like that.

But who?

You wracked your brain for answers. It was on the tip of the tongue. Right there--just in front of you. Yet it was as if something were preventing you from seeing the truth. The one postulate you knew stuck throughout the days you’ve forgotten who you once were.

Backtrack. Backtrack.

A boy. Light hair. Soft eyes. Kind smile. A laugh that was like music. And the calling of your name.

“(Y--n)!”

Yes, that was the sound of his voice, right? Or maybe it was a stranger’s instead, someone’s you’ve heard on the street. Then whose name was that? Was it even a name to begin with? Maybe it was a word instead and you misheard it as a name. That thought made your heart throb in the worst way possible. Ice filled your veins, and you found yourself pausing to stare out the crystal, clear windows.

“Something wrong?” Flanna inquired. You blinked away the haze and turned to her with a shake of your head. “Just nervous.” A bright smile burst onto Flanna’s lips. “Ah, I see. No worries, you’ll do great. And if you don’t it’s your first day, right? Nothin’ wrong with messin’ up a little.”

You wished you could believe Flanna, but something deep in your heart said otherwise. A slip-up could cost someone more than their reputation. Possibly their life. You couldn’t speak from experience, but you were sure you’d seen a sacrifice. Long ago. Far away in the distance.

Flanna stopped in front of your first period class. “We still have about fifteen minutes before school starts. Everyone’s probably in the cafeteria eating breakfast or fooling around in the field. I recommend you come early to class so you don’t get caught up in the crowd.” And with that, she waved, turning on her heel to hurry away. “I’ll see you during lunch! We have it together, so I’ll come find you in the cafe!”

She rounded a sharp corner and disappeared, leaving you alone in the quiet hall. You peeked in through the open door. At a long desk sat a teacher, who stood at the notice of your presence. She wore thin glasses on her old squarish face, a white blouse with a tie, a woolen navy blazer, and black trousers with heels to match.

The teacher had a kind face, with eyes that were soft with years of wear and tear. The smile on her lips said it all--she had seen things. Many things. “Welcome, I assume you’re Letha Mikhaylov?” She had a crinkle in her voice like the edges of her eyes when she smiled. It complimented her kindly face.

“Yes.” you replied. “That’s me.”

“Well I’m Mrs. Walker.” She motioned for you to come in, that sweet smile still on her lips. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve been informed that you have amnesia. May I ask how much you remember?” You folded your hands together. It was the least you could do to look less nervous.

“I remember skills, knowledge, and the arts. I do not recall my original name or what my life was like before, but I am still highly-functional. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Walker. ”

The way you worded your sentences was off-putting to the teacher. It wasn’t normal for high school students to be so in-line, much less well-off with their manners.

From the report she read, you were taken in by Alex Mikhaylov, a writer who lived in an old, deserted town. He claimed he’d been trying to help you re-gain your memories for nearly a year, but from the looks of it, there wasn’t much to go off of.

Mrs. Walker took a seat at her neat desk. A pencil sharpener sat at the corner along with a tissue box, stapler, tape dispenser, and a plastic name plaque. In bolded letters it said, Mrs. Walker. Of course, in cursive. A few photos were cramped by her computer, where she stood there, smiling with a young girl and a man. Mrs. Walker looked to be around twenty-eight to thirty in that photo.

You stood by her desk awkwardly. Were you supposed to sit in the back? Near the window? Or in the front? The sinking feeling of unfamiliarity plagued your mind as you ran a hand through your locks.

There weren’t any other students here besides you.

“You may take a seat wherever you’d like Letha,” Mrs. Walker said. “I do not assign seats in this class, but if there is an issue, I can if you’d like. Is there anything I should know about you?” You shook your head and took a seat by the window. The football fields, frost-bitten and white, stretched out as far as the eye could see. A little to the left of that were the dormitories. Red brick walls and sparkling clean window panes, just like every other building at the school.

Winter was a wonderful season, but you wished it weren’t so cold all the time. Maybe if there were a bit of snow, it would cheer you up, jog your memory even. “I’m not sure if I have anything of importance.” Your voice echoed in the deserted classroom like a bell. “But I hope I can do my best.”

A smile broke out onto Mrs. Walker’s lips. “Don’t hope, do.”

And so you did. You vowed to do what you could with whatever you could. You weren’t going to hope to do your best, or hope to find your memories because you would. They’d come back to you, and you were going to do everything in your power to get them back.

PART FOUR COMING SOON [GIVE ME LIKE THREE DAYS TO ADD A BONUS PORTION BECAUSE I LOVE YOU GUYS] -->UPDATE: PART FOUR HERE <--

[amysteriousmessenger]

Rfa comforting MC who thinks that she's useless, replaceable, boring, and feels so lonely

I’m going to add Saeran and V to this because this request really spoke to me and they would Definitely have something to say about it, I’ve been there too, anon. I guarantee that neither myself nor the RFA think you’re useless or replaceable or boring! I hope I did okay! 

Yoosung Kim with an insecure Reader Headcanons 

Yoosung knows what it’s like to feel lonely, and to feel like everyone just overlooks him. He knows how much it hurts and he just cannot stand the idea of you feeling like that. He also knows all too well what it’s like to feel powerless as the youngest member of the RFA.

He’d send write you little notes in your lunchbox saying how much he loves you, or would try to draw your face in ketchup on his omurice: even though it looks terrible, he put a lot of love into it.

He’s like a little puppy, the second he notices that you’re feeling sad he’s going to come bounding over to cheer you up, whether that’s doing something you like or asking if you want to join in on a LOLOL guild expedition.

He gets easily flustered trying to convey what he wants to tell you, but everything he does comes from the heart and the fact it aches over you feeling the same way he did during his darkest times before he met you.

He specifically wants you to know that you’re not replaceable, there’s only one of you and that means you’re extra special to him.

Zen/Hyun Ryu with an insecure Reader Headcanons

Firstly, Zen absolutely worships the ground that you walk on. He never knew that someone so beautiful and perfect and understanding could just stumble into his life, which is why his heart aches so much at hearing you’re feeling so many negative things.

For a moment, Zen would worry that he had caused this with his own narcissism. He’d worry that his need to big himself up out of anxiety would have caused you to push yourself down in comparison. Which is so, so untrue. He realises that it must be... difficult for you to hear him constantly talk about wonderful and handsome he is when you’re feeling so low about yourself. He wouldn’t necessarily stop because he can’t, but he’d try to be more considerate of your feelings.

Zen would go all out to make you feel special, he’d buy you flowers, tell you how gorgeous you are and how undeserving he is of you. Zen will let you know that no one makes him feel the way that you do, ‘in more ways that one’ he’ll add in a husky whisper before flashing a cheeky smirk.

He can’t always help that you feel lonely without him when he has rehearsals, so he’d try to make the time you have together feel even more special. Whilst he wants your undivided attention and gaze, he knows it’s not healthy for you and will encourage you to reach out to friends and Jaehee specifically when you’re feeling lonely. 

When he’s at work, he can’t usually answer his phone but he’ll always answer if you’re upset or worked up and need to talk to him about it. You’re his angel and he’s not going to let you cry without being there to soothe you.

He’d also make sure you know that regardless of how pretty you think his co-stars or backing dancers are, they don’t hold a candle to how beautiful he thinks you are.

Jaehee Kang with an insecure Reader Headcanons

Jaehee knows all too well what it’s like to feel lonely, replaceable and dull. She’s treated like a tool by Jumin, both in and out of hours since he acts like her work schedule is 24/7. She feels boring regardless, and feels like her only interests are coffee and Zen’s musicals. So, she doesn’t understand how someone as wonderful, creative, and interesting as you could possibly think of yourself as boring!

Jaehee would assure you that you’re anything but boring, and would do so by listing everything she can think of that she finds unique, special or interesting about you.

If anything she’s the one that feels replaceable because of how she’s treated at work and how bland she feels overall, she knows how cold that feels inside, so she would never let you feel the same way and wants you to know that.

She also would insist on you hearing her out when she says that you’re not useless, you’re extremely competent to balance everything that you need to during the day and that she admires you for being able to do that with a smile on your face.

It turns into a little bit of a comfort cuddle and cry on the sofa because you both understand how the other one feels and don’t want to see your partner hurting in such a way.

Jumin Han with an insecure Reader Headcanons

Jumin isn’t particularly good when it comes to comforting someone, especially since he’d never really received any sort of intimate comfort before meeting you. He’d go down what he sees as the best route, which is slightly analytical and factual than you probably wanted your reassurance to be.

He assures you that you’re not useless or boring, as no one with such qualities would ever have been able to catch his attention in the way that you did, let alone catch his heart with it.

He’d feel particularly unhappy with you viewing yourself as replaceable because you certainly are not replaceable to him. You opened up his eyes and heart to so much of the world he didn’t understand or felt closed off to. His father views partners as replaceable, Jumin most definitely does not as he will not have you thinking such a thing for even a moment with him.

He does feel apologetic that he works such long hours, and would try to make some re-adjustments to his schedule (much to Jaehee’s grief) to allow the two of you to spend more time together. If you’re up for it, he would also take you away on weekend vacations to be able to relax and enjoy one another’s company without stress.

Saeyoung Choi with an insecure Reader Headcanons

Seven absolutely does not understand how you could feel that way about yourself. You’re such a wonderful person to him, you cracked through his cold shell and loved him for him, even when he tried to push you away. He feels like the useless one, you could never be so.

He just wants to pull you close, cover every part of your body in a kiss and tell you how loved you are. Seven is absolutely someone that believes he can simply squeeze the sadness out of other people, and will attempt to do that with you whilst blowing raspberries into your shoulder. Don’t trust him, if you’re still sad after you’ve been squeezed, he will move on to tickling.

If you feel boring in comparison to seven’s eccentricity, he’ll assure you that you have to be weird to have been able to put up with him for this long, and weird is never boring! He thinks you’re so interesting and funny, he loves listening to your stories and about the things you like.

Once again, Seven understands loneliness. No one has seen him for who he truly is in a very long time, so he understands how isolating that can feel so he’d make a conscious effort to see you for who you are too. 

He’d try to finish his work quicker in future so that he can spend more time with you doing things that would make you happy, such as going on a date to the cinema or for a drive in one of his cars to a cliff where you can listen to music and stargaze on the hood of his car.

Saeran Choi with an insecure Reader Headcanons 

It would probably take Saeran a little while to figure out exactly what was wrong if you didn’t tell him. He’d understand that you were upset, and would try to distract and cheer you up but he’d struggle with specifics if you didn’t explain it to him. But god, it’s hurting him inside.

He had always been the useless one and so aggressively obsessed over it after having it be driven into him so many times that even hearing you refer to yourself as ‘useless’ is a little overwhelming for him and he has to have a time out to calm down.

You were the one who saved him from such a dark place and assured him that his worth does not come from his usefulness, and that he does not need to be useful to be worthy of love, so he tells your own lesson back to you and wants you to accept the same love you offered him.

When you tell him that you feel lonely, he’d initially get a little worried thinking that he wasn’t enough for you, but once you assured him that that wasn’t what you meant, he’d be more able to help. He’d try to invite you along to more of his favourite activities such as gardening and baking, and also ask if there was anything else that you wanted the two of you to do together.

If you need a cry, Saeran would simply hold you and let you cry out everything that you need to, since he knows the damage that can be caused by bottling everything up. He’ll mutter small reassurances that you’re not boring and that he’s already had too much excitement in his life as it is, he likes you just the way you are and that you could never be replaced to him.

V/Jihyun Kim with an insecure Reader Headcanons 

He cannot believe what you’re saying. He’s always thought you were absolutely, entirely perfect. He understands that you might not feel the same way about yourself but he wants to bathe you with so much love that you forget that you could have ever disliked the person he has so much unmatched devotion for.

V would want to do something special for you, to show you how precious you truly are to him. Whilst you were out one day, he’d have gathered every single picture he had ever taken of you and hung the loose images by threads from the ceiling. 

When you’d come home, he would have come behind you and covered your eyes before guiding you into the room and presenting you with... yourself. V takes you through each picture, and god there are so many, and tells you the date, what was happening at that moment, and how he felt about you when taking that picture. 

There are so many different photographs, with so many different emotions captured; happiness, sadness, pleasure, melancholy, excitement, ecstasy, mystery... But the emotion that V always explained himself with was Love, adoration. These memories could never be replaced, and neither could you.

[shiversdownyerspine]

14. Isolation

A long chapter, just for y'all. :>

We gonna get a lil sad, a lil sweet, and a lil weird and dirty. >:D

18+

You fold your grocery list and tuck it safely away. The brothers doubt that they'd experience any significant injury, but you won't be discouraged. It's good to be prepared, just in case.

The Commission did provide its field agents with training and adjustments once they had been employed, but the improved healing wasn't as...thorough?..as yours. Some first aid wouldn't hurt.

You'd decided once the brothers leave for the mission you'd get the shopping done. Otto and Oscar had almost seemed to sulk, but Axel had agreed with you that this would be more convenient. There wasn't all that much to grab and everything would be ready and waiting when they returned. Scooting from between Axel and Oscar you remind them that if there are complications they are free to return to you to restrategize, and you certainly wouldn't mind a surprise visit.

Oscar playfully pulls you back against him. "Aw, you're going to miss us?"

Squirming with a laugh you tease him, "Maybe a little."

The youngest Swede releases you with a pout, feigning hurt as you apologetically rub his back. With a grin you wander over to the pantry to double check the cat food supply as Otto heads to their guestroom to retrieve their guns. Tugging the bag you estimate there's a good couple months left before it's gone, so no need to worry. Though you will be grabbing a couple cans of wet food for the kittens as a treat.

Otto returns with bag in tow as you head out to the garden to consider what to plant for fall...carrots, onions, maybe cauliflower? Kneeling you reach for your sugar pumpkins, happy to see that they're coming along nicely and should be ready around Halloween time. Lingering among the plants you take a moment to relax and think, breathing in the cool air. Autumn is practically on your doorstep, and the gray skies and yellowing leaves herald its arrival. Winter won't be long now, and you will once again be keeping an eye out for a space heater.

Long ago you'd found an old used one available in town, much to your delight. It had lasted a single day before the thing let out this awful high pitched noise and died right there on your floor. You count yourself lucky that it didn't burst into flames. For a moment you had considered keeping it to try to fix it, but it didn't come with a manual and you didn't want to risk it burning down your home, so you decided to do away with it. Hopefully you'd find another space heater, but the town is old and you've yet to get lucky.

In the meantime, you have Axel, Otto, and Oscar to help you with the cold. Your cheeks flush; the touches they've been giving you have been working, though some nights your condition successfully rears its stubborn head. You have a feeling you'll have to start knocking on their door when Winter creeps a little closer.

You've yet to see what they've done with the guestroom, if they've put up any knickknacks from home or from their travels. Certainly you're curious but you won't invade their privacy. Maybe they'd prefer your room? The sofa? You don't mind sharing your bed, you trust them.

The creek of the door interrupts your thoughts, and you lift your head to see Axel motion you inside. Dusting your hands and knees off, you head in after him. Coats and jackets donned with packs strapped to the younger's shoulders, it looks like they're ready to go.

With your own canvas bags in tow, you walk along the dirt path with the Swedes to the abandoned bus stop. The vine tangled little shack is being overtaken by nature and is tucked back against trees and bushes, making it easy to miss. The windows are long gone but the door still remains, stubbornly resisting the wear and tear of time.

Before you get the chance to say goodbye, Oscar is pulling you into a hug and kissing you on the cheek. You wrap your arms around him in return. "Be careful, don't get into too much trouble."

"Only a little, here and there. Danger is..ah...spice of life." Oscar squeezes you again as Otto's hand rubs your upper back before lifting to stroke your hair. The two release you as their older brother clears his throat. Faces blank and eyes hard, they stride through the overgrowth into the little shack to wait for Axel.

The blue-clad man gazes down at you with scrutinizing eyes as the sounds of the forest ebb and wane. He steps forward and reaches into one of his coat pockets to retrieve a familiar item wrapped up in a familiar old cloth that you'd forgotten about. Your fingers curl around the 'gift'.

Grasping what you know is your paring knife, Axel's voice is a bit gruff when he declares, "For protection."

Touched, you step forward to reach for his empty hand and give it a little squeeze, smiling when his thumb sweeps over your knuckles. "Thank you."

His opposite hand cups the back of your neck as he leans down to press his lips to the top of your head, nose buried in your hair. The moment is interrupted by Oscar barking out one of the windows, "Pussa henne igen!"

Axel gives an exasperated sigh but takes a second to breathe you in, squeezing your fingers one more time before releasing you to join his brothers.

The three are gone with a flash of light and you're left standing alone. After a melancholy moment or two of eyeing the empty bus stop, you're turning your attention to your knife and unwrapping it to check the blade. But as the cloth falls away, it's the wooden handle that draws your curiosity.

A little symbol has been carved into the wood, but you don't know what it is or what it means. But for some strange reason you still feel a lump in your throat and a prickling in your eyes the longer you look at it. You remind yourself to ask about it when they return.

Your shopping trip was uneventful and you had successfully gotten everything on the list. The trek back to your home was lovely, though when you walked by the bus stop you had lingered a moment. When you entered your home and put away the groceries, the emptiness of your house was disquieting.

Efforts are made to distract yourself hour after hour after hour with relative success. The day fades into night and you curl up in bed to read your well-loved book of fairytale collections until sleep finds you.

The morning is quiet, but the cats keep you company. After lunch you take the opportunity to plant some of the carrot seeds you purchased. Towards the evening as you're figuring out what to make for dinner, you realize you can still smell Axel in the kitchen. It's bittersweet and you wonder at how deeply you miss your cooking buddy. After dinner when you're doing a load of laundry, you discover one of Otto's shirts in the dryer. As you're folding the garment, his scent grasps your heart and squeezes. The entire time you're wandering around your home, something in particular is gnawing at you, something is missing...Oscar's sneak attacks.

You drop on the sofa with a huff, shaking your head at how quickly you miss the three men. It's absurd, you're used to being alone...but at the same time it makes sense. You've gotten used to their company. As have the cats. Rubbing your temples, you watch a little television before heading to bed.

The next day is much of the same; distract yourself, do chores, care for the animals, read books, go for walks, tend to the garden and the forest, miss the Swedes. It doesn't take long for you to start worrying about them as well, if they're okay. Your home doesn't feel right and eventually, you don't feel right.

You feel...twitchy. And restless. And tingly?

The fourth day is a little easier, as is the fifth, but you still feel off.

On the sixth day your cats are crowding the living room windows. Not all that strange considering you live by a forest, who knows how many birds and little critters visit your home. Besides, more important things have your attention this morning; specifically, you feel the urge to bake.

When the front door opens you're in the kitchen messing around with baking sheets so you don't hear it. Maybe you'd have felt the cool air drifting in if your oven wasn't on. But you recognize Oscar's spicy scent a second before he pulls you back into his chest and nuzzles into your nape. He lets you twist around in his hold to hug him as the sound of his brother's boots grace your ears.

You wiggle out of Oscar's arms to pull Otto and Axel down for hugs as well, Otto with your left arm and Axel with your right. It's hard to tell whose hand is rubbing your back and whose is cupping the back of your neck but you don't mind. Noticing they still have their coats and packs, you welcome them back before telling them to make themselves comfortable.

The two brothers head for their guestroom and Oscar follows them after giving you one last hug...and scratching the chins of the cats desperate for the men's attention.

Your house returns to normal, but a little later you find you still don't feel quite right. Your condition doesn't really feel like this, so maybe you're just still feeling the absence of the Swedes? Only thing you can do is give it time...and pop on a cozy sweater, just in case.

The strange antsy feeling gets a little stronger one evening as Otto and Oscar play a game outside in your garden with a vicious looking knife. Leaning back against the side door to your kitchen, you watch as they throw the knife into the dirt at their feet, trying to see who can land it the closest. Apparently the game was called Mumblety-peg.

"Is this what siblings do? Assert...dominance over the other?"

Axel snorts, "For fun."

"...I see." Your next comment is cut off when the knife punctures Otto's upper thigh, courtesy of Oscar.

Immediately you're tugging Otto inside to sit at the kitchen table, the world fuzzing and voices fading as Otto removes the knife with a firm tug. Blood is staining and you're staring, focused and utterly silent before turning to Oscar. "You should have been more careful."

Oscar shrugs, "Not serious. Don't be...tråkmåns?..stick. Stick in the mud."

You know they have better strength, better stamina, and better healing. But while you were missing the three men, you had also been worrying about them...

Axel doesn't have a chance to reprimand his brother again before you're bristling and baring your teeth, "Well do excuse me for caring about you three. The first aid kit is in my bathroom. Get it now. Please."

Oscar blinks, surprise mingling with guilt and maybe a sprinkling of arousal at your feistiness. He follows your order, slinking down the hallway as he remembers the awful sinking feeling in his belly the one time they discovered a bullet buried in Axel's back that they had to dig out.

The eldest Swede watches the exchange silently, approving of this stern, no-nonsense side of you. Not to mention the 'please' you added at the end was cute. Even though you had reacted a little strongly to Oscar's shenanigans, it shows you care for them a great deal. You had worried for their safety while they had been gone. As you check Otto's wound, the large man admires the fire in you that is quietly sizzling down. You're deep in thought, forcing yourself to acknowledge that the Swedes are technically your mission so if anything should happen to them you would be notified. Sometimes it's hard to hear your voice of reason when it's warring with the paranoia and lack of trust in your employers.

Still, Oscar should be a little more careful. The youngest Swede returns with the kit and you apologize for snapping, that you know they heal more than civilians.

Feeling sheepish at having reacted the way that you did, you try your best to explain, "It wouldn't even take me an hour to heal from a wound like this. With my ability...if a wound lingers it's proof that it's severe. That something is deeply wrong. So...I just..reacted when I saw the bleeding. Before I could think."

You admit to them that you panicked a little...and yes, missing them may have had something to do with your reaction as well. Oscar apologizes to you, and when you raise an eyebrow, he apologizes to Otto as well.

That night when Otto pulls you down on the sofa with him to sleep, eyeing your sweater with a little concern, you decide it couldn't hurt. You've been feeling strange for quite a while, so maybe a dose of body heat is just the thing you need. Making sure the man was alright with the way you were positioned on top of him, minding his injury, you settle in with a deep contented sigh.

But you did not sleep through the night. In fact, you woke several hours later to darkness and that strange restless sensation that had been plaguing you for days now.

Otto's hand has slipped down a bit, fingers caressing the bare skin of your back that your sweater has revealed in your sleep. Your lips part with soundless pleasure at the gentle calloused warmth of his fingers, eyes fluttering when a tingle crawls up your spine...and down your arms and legs? Your brow furrows in confusion as your toes and fingers prickle and heat builds under your stomach before reaching a gentle simmer and lingering until...!

Startled, you shakily pull yourself up and stumble on your feet. You feel like you're wading through molasses, your head wrapped in fog as instinct leads you towards the safety and privacy of your bedroom. Entering your room, you whimper as you feel another wet rush that soaks your panties. Desperate, you lurch into your bathroom and rip off your clothes to find your inner thighs damp. With a trembling hand, you gingerly swipe your fingers through the fluid, not quite daring enough yet to touch the direct source. Clear and slightly sticky...hm.

You blink and look closer at the apex of your thighs...you're a bit swollen and flushed...and with a careful ticklish caress, find yourself to be somewhat sensitive as well. You're baffled, this looks to be simple arousal...well, deep arousal all things considered. As if to mock you, another shallow surge slicks your thighs and trickles down your legs. No, the small puddle your body is supplying isn't normal, your fuzzy head and lethargic body isn't normal, but you're not normal so maybe it's just...new? Something that's been delayed because of your long-term isolation? You've always lacked a menstrual cycle, so what are the odds this has some strange connection with it and your ability?

Without delay you hop in the shower, fiddling with the knobs as you begin to put the puzzle pieces together. The hot water that cascades over your skin is soothing, fighting back the earlier panic. Feeling quizzical, you once again gently slide your fingers down, pushing lightly over your clit as your eyes flutter shut with a soft sigh, touch lingering.

And suddenly it's not your hand, it's a much bigger palm cupping you possessively before fingers thicker than your own tease between your swollen lips and oh so slowly, a fingertip pushes inside, sliding to the first knuckle- A rush of juices from your cunt jerks you back to reality as you gasp, practically hyperventilating as you tear your hand away from your aching body to grasp at the tiled shower walls. ...Oh.

Maybe you missed your men more than you realized.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pussa henne igen - Kiss her again!

tråkmåns - Stick in the mud.

[meirathinks]

you can tell something that sounds like it

Suguru Geto x reader.

warnings: it’s angst :(( maybe some grammar mistakes? 

geto has never lied to you. You tell yourself that he does. 

(based off the song happy news for sadness)

                                      ╬╬═════════════╬╬

He can never tell the truth.

He can never tell the truth.

He can never—

At least, that’s what you told yourself. You'd repeat it over and over, the sick mantra failing to provide any sort of comfort. The dread had slithered from the end of your tongue to the base of your throat and finally cemented itself behind your ribcage: snuggly against your heart.

I.

At first, Geto's presence was warm. His fingertips would dance along your jawline after particularly draining missions, butterfly kisses and the soft flutter of your pulse would follow shortly after. You would look at him with so much endearment. Doe eyes casting a hazy look in his direction while he continued to exchange soft touches for attention.

It was springtime; the nights were supposed to be frosted over. But, as your eyesight shifted from the condensation on the window accentuated by the soft glow of the lamp in Suguru's dorm, you noticed that you'd trade anything to forever feel the way you're feeling now. Geto held himself in a unique way, he was strong, but it differed from Gojo's arrogance. Geto was one of the strongest but he hardly paraded that fact; he instead used that fact to make you feel safe.

You hummed against his throat at the thought, Geto is your protector.

He breathed into your forehead pressing phantom kisses into your skin while sitting on his bed with you. You leaned into his chest while recovering from the latest mission, civilians were injured but none were killed. Still, Geto was ashamed that non-sorcerers had to be involved in such dangerous affairs in the first place.

You can never tell the truth,

but you can tell something that sounds like it

He moved to tug tightly at your hair, urging you to look up at him. His slightly swollen lips parted and shut as if looking for the appropriate thing to say. Geto relented, choosing to ignore the seeds of doubt threatening to be sown.

"You know, I won't let anyone hurt you." His calloused hand moved to squeeze your arm, the condensation dripped down the window.

Suguru is strong. He is your protector.

II.

Geto left. And all that replaced him was the wide-eyed gaze only piteous adults knew. Gentle squeezes on your shoulder and whispering that followed wherever you went.

You were ashamed. His promises that had once left you satisfied had proven to be hollow. His righteousness never wavered.

A voice had tugged at the corner of your mind the day you heard of what had happened in the village. Geto was good, he wanted to see people safe; if you had the chance to confront him you knew he wouldn’t change. 

The drip, drip, drip, of your bathroom faucet, prompted you to focus on your reflection above the sink. Hot tears made their way down your cheeks, laboured breaths reverberated in the small space.

Geto would hug you, he'd tell you everything was okay.

Then he'd say he'd protect you.

You smiled at the thought of his domesticity, imagining his hand holding yours, missing the way his thumb would draw circles on the back of your hand.

The faucet continued to drip as you met your own gaze once again.

Dread filled your lungs

Geto killed 100s of people.

Geto always lies.

III.

There was a sharp pound at your door; hollow and calculated. Confusion invaded your senses, today was your day off, no one came to visit you anymore.

Nostalgia racked your body. Back in high school, your dorm was always unlocked, a sort of safe space for your classmates to come and go. Jujutsu tech was a warzone plagued with hopeless violence and your room seemed to be representative of the humanity of your colleagues. Neutral, kind, loving.

Gojo never knocked.

Shoko knocked three times.

And Geto was always four.

Another knock could be heard at your door.

You laughed at yourself for the little piece of hope you had felt. At the fact that you longed to see a murderer again. Maybe it would be Gojo instead? Willfully eating a candy bar while he waited impatiently outside the door of your home.

But Gojo never knocks.

A pounding could be heard at your door once more.

Your spirits lifted— Shoko had come to visit! You had missed her presence and humour, in a way, her spiral was worse than Geto’s. Everyone was convinced that the dark circles under her eyes were going to become a long-term predicament. But, when confronted about her exhaustiveness, a half-drunk Ieiri would always comment on how she was too busy to rest. Nonetheless, Shoko was the only other sorcerer who knew your address.

But no one ever visits.

One more knock.

Your blood ran cold, leaving an icy residue in your veins, your heart was beating in your throat. The absence of the knock hung in the air, your anxiety, your insecurity, your deep-rooted hope that he'd come back to explain had buzzed in its place.

You got up to walk to your door, as your hand lifted to unlock it, you waited.

Just one more. I need to prove it.

Suguru knocked one final time, you opened it as quickly as he expected you would. You wanted him to see the shame that ran deep in your eyes. Though, you hadn't felt the way that you were required to feel as a jujutsu sorcerer.

He met your gaze. You felt your heartbeat hiccup. Tears welled up in your eyes as you felt some sort of emotion bubble up at the base of your chest. Fear, disgust, hope.

"It's been 4 years, Geto."

Suguru grinned softly, a shiny film had covered his eyes. He took a gentle breath.

"Have I mentioned how I've thought about you every day for four years?"

IV.

In his final days at Jujutsu Tech, Geto was a shell of himself. Though he'd always eat the food you presented him in an attempt to curb your worries, you knew his appetite ran thin when he was left to his own devices.

Now, as he stood in your home's kitchen expertly cooking dinner for the both of you for what seemed the umpteenth time, you noticed how much he looked like himself. His hair was as gorgeous as ever (though admittedly longer), he still closed his eyes when he smiled, he still ran his thumb against the back of your hand when he held it.

Yet, he seemed so much happier.

At first, this had prompted anger. Someone like him didn't deserve to feel the joy he displayed.

Geto was a criminal, after all.

The hands of a criminal would cup your cheek and run up and down your back. His criminal voice would hum soft tunes to you in between philosophical conversations in the later hours of the night. His criminal eyes would cast the softest, most loving gaze in your direction. Geto's criminal, cold-blooded, self would whisper I love you over and over again into the crook of your neck until he fell asleep.

And you allowed him to.

You allowed him to look at the civilians with a horrifying disgust, one that sharply contrasted with his previous drive to protect everyone. You watched as his endearing expression would turn to a scowl whenever he talked about them. He'd use a distasteful nickname for non-sorcerers.

"Dirty Monkeys."

You had made sure your voice had matched the iciness of his own as you responded, "Don't use that phrase near me again."

He made a clear effort to exclude all ideological rhetoric from your conversations soon after.

The same voice that pestered you that there was still hope for Suguru had turned against him. It was ironic more than anything, the both of you could never win this sick and twisted game.

The slam of a knife against a chopping board had woken you up from your daydream. You looked up. Eyes scanning the figure of the criminal you had come to love. It was an illicit romance, one between a Jujutsu sorcerer and a cursed user. A romance between two people with differing beliefs.

You took a deep breath, the knife on the chopping board slowed as Getou turned to look at you. His brows were furrowed.

"Is everything okay?"

Your lips formed a tight-lipped smile, tears brimmed your eyes as you looked up to his face from your spot on the kitchen counter.

"Suguru," you swallowed, "we were never supposed to last this long, you know."

You watched his throat bob.

"I'm well aware."

You smiled up at him, a genuine one, twinged with melancholy, "Then you'll understand why I'm asking you to leave."

He nodded silently inching closer to your sitting figure. His hot breath tickled your face, testing the waters. You didn't know what to expect out of the kiss at this moment Maybe rough? Like the late nights you'd spend together after he practically barrelled through the front door, fuming about the day he had just had. Or passionate? You imagined a kiss with sloppy whispers and late apologies said in between the moments you took to catch your breath.

He grabbed your chin in his pointer finger and thumb, he urged your teary eyes to look into his. His lips met yours and he was not passionate, nor was he rough. You didn't see stars, you only felt him.

Geto was soft.

He pulled away, his eyes avoided your own as he breathed softly while taking in your figure one last time.

A sigh could be heard while he moved to the coat rack near your front door. You continued to sit stupidly on the kitchen counter, watching the abandoned knife and vegetables lay limp against the wood of the chopping board.

You heard the shifting of fabric as Geto maneuvered his coat on, "Call me if you need anything."

Suguru's eyes were downcast as he continued, "I love you."

You felt your throat go dry as it bobbed; Suguru closed the door as softly as he could on his way out.

You can never tell the truth,

but you can tell something that sounds like it

You never called him.

V.

Gojo leaned against the wall of the hallways in Jujutsu tech, as he awaited your response.

He quickly grew impatient.

"I said I killed him." You hummed in response, you'd like to imagine that you looked indifferent. You wouldn't let yourself cry, not in front of Gojo, not because of Suguru.

"He had it coming." You willed yourself to say.

As you turned to continue your journey down the hallway, Gojo beckoned you to turn around with a scoff.

"One more thing," He lifted his blindfold to meet your eyes.

"He told me he loved you."

You let out a dry laugh, your fingernails were digging crescents into your palms, "Of course he did."

You walked down the empty hallway, leaving Gojo to his own thoughts. Heavy breaths could be heard as you attempted to calm yourself down. Why would Geto say that?

Then you remembered.

He can never tell the truth.

He can never tell the truth.

He can never—

[hongism]

the little things - j.yunho

↣ pairing: yunho x reader; mentioned poly ot8 x reader ↣ genre: sfw, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, fantasy au, witch ateez au ↣ wc: 3.3k ↣ summary: it’s been quite some time since these intrusive thoughts came around, but whenever they do, there’s always one person in particular who comes to brush them away. ↣ warnings: mentions of intrusive thoughts, seasonal depression, and general Sad Feelings

The soft pitter-patter of raindrops drums against the window, filling it with strewn and random patterns of the water that falls from the sky, and you watch the movements with a blank mind. It’s a cold and resigned feeling that blossoms in your gut as you sit by the windowsill, elbow propped up on the wood and chin resting atop your clenched fist. You could sit here for hours just examining each little dragging drop on the glass, maybe even seeing which drop can reach the bottom of the window fastest, but instead, you pull back with a quiet sigh falling from your lips.

Winter.

You aren’t sure how to explain it but the season is simultaneously your favorite and least favorite wrapped into one lovely little bundle. The air outside isn’t quite cold enough to let snow fall and stick to the ground quite yet — hence the rain — but the season brings you as much joy as it does pain and emptiness. You enjoy the snow and seeing what kinds of animals hustle and bustle in their winter coats outside your cottage, and you love seeing the way the sun bounces off the icy lakes and rivers nearby or how the evergreen trees catch hold of little snowflakes. But those are just temporary things that don’t last in the long run because you cannot shake the dismal feeling that begins to enter your gut around autumn.

Living alone in your little cottage has its perks, of course, although they always seem few and far between when it comes time for this seasonal plague to grip your mind. Work is always most busy in the winter as well, which only adds to your despondent mood when you cannot spend more than an hour in the presence of your lovers. So really, it’s one bad thing after another, a myriad of bad to worse that leaves you in tears at the end of the day more often than not.

You should probably be working now, at least filling next week’s orders or double-checking the ones you finished bottling earlier today. There is hardly any energy in you right now though, so the best you can do is blink a few times and stare out the window again.

It’s in times like these when you truly consider Seonghwa’s never-ending offer. The season wouldn’t be nearly so difficult if you lived with the rest of them in the coven’s home. Yet it is near impossible for you to entertain the thought while in this state. Your mind prefers to be less than kind and give you endless scenarios that have you biting back tears and crying yourself to sleep.

Maybe they don’t really want you. They have each other. Why would they need you on top of that? Seonghwa just pities you because you act so pathetic. You would just be a burden if you lived with them. You aren’t a witch like they are, you don’t have any magical abilities in you, what could you provide? They can do all the things you do in half the time surely. You are, quite literally, useless in their eyes.

Sometimes the thoughts become more cruel and harsh than that, all following the same theme of not being needed or wanted. And as much as you want to rely on them for comfort and support, you lose the internal battles more often so you resign yourself to sitting in a bed of your own tears and heartbreak. Fall asleep eventually, wake up, work until you cannot stand anymore, then repeat the process.

This week alone has seemed to pack more of a punch than any of the previous years of this seasonal plague, but that could be because you haven’t been through a winter alone like this since before your relationship with the coven started. Last year, Wooyoung and Jongho took to living in your cottage throughout the whole season just to keep you company. Perhaps the reason they are not here this year is because you’ve become too much, too burdensome, too emotionally draining to be around. Logic tells you that is not the case. That melancholy black dog residing in your mind does not.

Someone will surely be by to visit soon given how quiet you’ve been these last few days. You’re shocked that no one has come by sooner, but the second you begin to think about it, the black dog returns to barking loudly where he sits in your thoughts. The noise in your head is so loud and overwhelming that you actually have to push away from the window, shaking your head fervently and jerking out of your chair in a desperate attempt to make it stop.

“Y/n?”

The voice intrudes on your ugly thoughts, and it fills you with panic before anything else. You whip around in your little window seat, eyes immediately looking towards the door to your bedroom which is now cracked open. You can’t see anyone behind the door or in the room, and merely hearing your name did not give you enough clues as to who could possibly be in your home at this time.

“Baby, are you in here?” The noise resounds again, and this time you recognize it better.

Yunho. Why is Yunho here? A shadowy figure pushes past the doorframe, and your lover slips through the opening with his shoulder. You try to hide your signs of panic, furiously blinking away the tears that begin to spring to your eyes. Why is he here? Did someone send him? Maybe they sent him to tell you that the relationship is over. He is best at handling emotionally charged conversations since he’s a fae and can influence thoughts and emotions. Maybe Hongjoong and Seonghwa decided that he would be best for delivering the news or—

“Hi, love, I didn’t know if you were home because you didn’t answer the door.” Yunho pushes a soft smile onto his lips, and as he fully steps into view, you catch sight of the two mugs in his hands. You can’t see the contents in them, but there are small wisps of steam curling up from both as Yunho comes closer to where you’re sitting. “I saw the kettle boiling away though so I figured you wouldn’t up and leave with it still running.”

Yunho doesn’t stop moving until he reaches the window seat, and he extends one of the mugs towards you. The inside of a mix of green of brown, no doubt some type of tea that he’s brewed for you. You take it with a slight nod and restrained smile.

“I know Hongjoong said you didn’t want to be bothered without notice but…” Yunho trails off, cheeks glowing a bit red. “I was worried about you since this time of year is always hard for you.”

“I’m fine,” you insist, but your tone is too clipped and noncommittal to be normal. Yunho surely knows that it is more than a simple white lie. “Did one of them send you?” He most likely knows who you’re talking about, but he shows more confusion than anything else.

“Why would one of them send me?” He asks as he eases down in front of you on the window seat. You blink back with a bit of dazed wonder to your stare, half-expecting Yunho to explain further, but he just sits and waits patiently for you to speak again.

“To – to make the conversation easier?” 

“What conversation?” Yunho leans across the space between your bodies, and his free hand spreads forward to tangle with yours. You let him interlock your fingers. It’s a small comfort that sends shockwaves through your body. It hasn’t even been that long since you last saw one of the witches, but you’re still somehow so desperately touch-starved that just the slight touch has tears springing to your eyes. “Oh, my baby, sweet angel, what’s wrong?”

Yunho pushes forward until he’s all but in your lap at this point, hand tugging the mug free from your hands, and he sets it down beside his own on the windowsill before returning his full attention to you. He tugs you into his embrace, arms folding around your body until he can loop his hands about your waist. 

“Why did you think I came, baby?” He asks once you’re fully secured in his lap. 

“I just — when I saw you — I-I don’t know. M-My mind said that it had to be – that you were here to end things or something. I don’t know, I’m just rambling, I don’t know what I’m saying or what I was thinking. I’m s-sorry, I—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Y/n,” Yunho interjects, drawing a hand up from your waist to brush over your scalp. “Don’t ever apologize for something you can’t control. Those thoughts are not your fault. Did you want to have them?”

“N-No, of course not, why would I ever want that?” You mumble against Yunho’s shoulder. He hums into your hair, lips pressing a soft kiss to the same spot, then he lifts his chin a bit to rest it atop your head. 

“Then it isn’t something you need to apologize for, baby. Not now, not ever.” You cling tighter to Yunho’s body out of sheer instinct, and he picks up on your grip in less than a second. “Our minds… regardless of how strong and resilient we are, they can be cruel. They can lie to us, tell us awful and heartbreaking things, lead us to believe the impossible with ease. Sometimes it is easier to cave in and listen to those demons rather than reason, but that doesn’t mean you are weak. The strongest person in the universe can be broken by his own mind because that is all part of human nature.”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff out as a few tears begin to soak through Yunho’s tunic. “You aren’t human.” Yunho laughs a bit at your quip, not at all offended by it. Perhaps it’s a bit childish for you to pull that card, but Wooyoung pulls it out every time the pair have a disagreement without fail, so what’s the harm in you using it just this once? 

“Perhaps not, but I still understand emotions and thoughts better than any human could. And having lived for so long, I think—”

“You don’t need to pull the age card,” you whine.

“If you’re going to act like Wooyoung, then I’ll treat you just like him too.”

Admittedly, your mind is still elsewhere and you aren’t fully engaged in the conversation now, head propped on Yunho’s shoulder in such a way so that you can stare out the window and watch the rainfall again. He doesn’t comment on your silence and merely eases the both of you back until he’s leaning against the wall with you neatly draped over his larger form.

“Do you love me?” You ask after some time passes. It catches Yunho a bit off-guard, and his breath hitches sharply, hand pausing in its rhythmic drags over the small of your back.

“Always and forever, baby,” he says once he recovers a bit. He pauses, and you can almost hear the gears turning in his head as he figures out what to say next. “We all love you. We would never lead you on or toy with your feelings. You are more than enough, but never too much. While it’s easy to lose yourself in these feelings of loneliness, we would never blame you for feeling them.”

“Isn’t it hard on you too though?” You ask, balling your fist around the material of his shirt. 

“It’s hard for all of us, darling. Seeing you in pain and hurting is never easy. There are some things we cannot fix though. We can ease the pain for a time, but certain things never go away. Sure, we can make them easier to manage and handle, we can provide methods that will help support you and help you not feel so alone, we can do everything in our power to help you. We cannot pretend to be able to fix you. You have the strength to overcome it; we support you when times are tough and help you up when you fall. Because we love you, care about you, cherish you, and want the best for you. That… that doesn’t make it easy, but it is never easy to work through these sorts of things.”

“How can you be so patient with me?”

“Why would I ever want to rush something that takes time? I don’t need to put a time limit on you, and we certainly don’t have a time limit on our relationship. Thus we are willing to wait as long as it takes even if it just means making winters easier to handle and manage.” Yunho’s hands trace patterns over your skin, slipping under the hem of your shirt to have more contact with you. The sudden chill of his fingers sends goosebumps over you. He cracks a small smile as you shiver in his grasp and tucks you closer to his body without saying anything for several minutes. 

It’s comfortable and needed right now, easing the dull and aching pain in your chest, but as Yunho said, it doesn’t completely take it away. Makes it manageable and easier to breathe. It’s enough, more than you could have asked for, and what you were wanting so desperately. It was just too hard to admit it and voice it to them.

“I did talk with Hongjoong before coming,” Yunho says after letting the silence drag into something warm and comfortable. You hum in acknowledgment, too content in his arms to move in the slightest. “Asked him if we could prepare the guest room.”

“Is someone coming into town?” You mumble through the sudden wave of drowsiness washing over your bones.

“No, I — we... we were hoping that you could come live with us, at least through the end of winter.”

That causes you to perk up, and you sit up, hands firmly planted on Yunho’s chest so you can better look him in the eye.

“What?”

“I know last year Wooyoung and Jongho came to live in with you, but we were thinking that perhaps it would be easier on you if you just came to live with us. It doesn’t have to be permanent if you don’t want it to be. Don’t – it isn’t meant to pressure you or anything like that. Merely an offer. Something we can do to help you. I figured having a room to yourself would give you an opportunity to have a space on your own for when you need it. The goal isn’t to eliminate all your alone time, as that is just as important as spending time with others, but a fresher perspective might help. Or even just having the option to sleep beside someone every night could help with the loneliness.”

Your heart swells with emotion, and the gentle smile pulling at Yunho’s lips only makes you want to sob from how touched you are. Yunho sees the sudden twist in your expression. His hands dart up to cradle your face, eyes falling into soft crescents as a more bashful smile overtakes his features.

“Are those happy tears or sad ones?”

“I d-don’t know how to respond,” you whisper through a small sob, and Yunho tugs you down to his chest again. He rocks your form back and forth as best he can with the awkward angle, but it provides the right amount of comfort for you to settle against him once more.

“Think about you, baby. You don’t need to answer right away. Seonghwa won’t mind extra time to clean, of course.”

“Or I could just sleep with you until it’s cleaned to his liking.” You smother the words in his clothes to keep him from hearing them, but that is to no avail because he huffs out a loud laugh at your comment nonetheless.

“Or I could stay with you here until you’re ready to make a decision.”

You twist in his grasp to look him in the eye again, searching his dark gaze for… something you aren’t wholly aware of. The light from outside — a dull and grey-toned white light — reflects off his eyes and shows off those pretty purple flecks in them. The allure of his features hits in that moment, the dastardly effect of staring too long at a fae, but Yunho blinks his eyes shut before you fall into a daze.

“Don’t let me influence your decision. It’s up to you as always. I am content to do whatever is more comfortable to you, so you—”

You cut him short with a swift peck pressed to the tip of his nose, and Yunho scrunches up his face at the suddenness of the action. His eyes flutter open once more but this time you don’t stare directly into them.

“You’re the devil,” he grumbles, but the smile on his lips betrays how flustered he really is.

“Don’t laugh too hard, I’m comfortable here.”

“Is that a smile I see?”

“I love you,” you murmur, ignoring the question for the time being. Yunho doesn’t seem to mind all too much. “Thank you. Both for being here and for helping me think clearer.”

“Always, darling. I may not be human like you, but I do love you and want the best for you. And I know the other would do the same whenever you need it.” You respond with another quick kiss to the tip of his nose, but this time Yunho catches you when you pull back and he plants a kiss on your lips before you can duck completely away. “As comfortable as this is, I am quickly losing feeling in my ass, so maybe we could resituate or go to the bed?”

“I don’t know, you make for a rather nice cushion.”

“I wonder if this is how Yeosang felt when I accidentally sat on him,” Yunho whines, slumping further back against the wall. You slap his chest with a bit of force as he complains.

“He was in his cat form and you put the full weight of your ass on him!‌ That’s completely different!”

“He survived, didn’t he?”

“Then you’ll survive having a numb ass for a little while.”

“I hate when you’re right. It’s too sexy and makes me think of inappropriate things.”

“So you’re still a man, after all, fae or not.” You land another quick jab to the side of Yunho’s head as he laughs. He doesn’t complain any longer though, even as you force him to lie completely flat on the window sill with your body still draped over his like a blanket.

“Wooyoung is downstairs, by the way.” Yunho distracts you from the sudden revelation by pressing a line of kisses down the side of your face.

“What?”

“He’s cooking dinner for us, I believe. And drawing a bath for you. We wanted to treat you.” He layers the words with more kisses, pausing over your lips to say one more thing. “Shit, wait, I think I was supposed to be in charge of the bath actually.”

“Yunho!”

“I’ll make Wooyoung do it after dinner so I can cuddle you some more.”

...

a/n: this one feels rather weak compared to the others but i was trying not to be too heavy handed with all the emotions and such in it so that’s why it might feel a little ~awkward~

[tales-unique]

FAULTS OF THE HEART  III

The tension doesn’t dissipate entirely over the coming days, but you find that it doesn’t get any worse either. It merely stagnates and that bothers you more than anything. You’ve both fallen into a routine wordlessly as though it was always there, something you didn’t realize until you’d been doing it over and over. “Not hungry?” Alucard's question breaks your train of thought, bringing you back to the real world. “What?” You ask, blinking down at your practically untouched plate of fresh fish and vegetables, “oh, no, it’s just,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. Alucard frowns over at you from the other end of the table, setting down his knife and fork.

“What is it?” He asks, his voice gentle, which makes your tumultuous emotions fester even more. “I don’t know,” you shake your head, frustrated with yourself, “I just feel so, so stuck . My arm isn’t healing fast enough, I can’t do anything, I just feel so useless right now!” Alucard opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off with a vicious snarl. “And you aren’t helping!” That swiftly shuts him up and you regret it the instant the words have left your mouth. He sees it in your expression, the way your eyes widen and your lip twitches, and merely lets out a weary breath. He knows the routine of your moods as of late, only because he’s been subject to them already, but it’s still not easy to deal with. “I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, slumping in your chair. You were just so tired of everything . “I didn’t mean to snap at you,” you breathe, wincing at the tightness in your shoulder. It’s healing but when he cauterized the wound to stop the bleeding it made it difficult to move your arm without discomfort. “I know,” he replies, but his tired expression doesn’t quite match the softness in his voice, “it’s alright.” “No, no it’s not alright,” you rebuke, your hand tightening to a fist atop the table, “I do this every time and I always take it out on you.” There’s a sense of peace that briefly washes over you when you admit your shortcomings to Alucard before the numbness takes over. You push your chair back and stand, not wanting the moment to turn to pity like it always did. Alucard doesn’t stop you as you leave, no doubt going to sequester yourself in your room. He’s learnt that leaving you be is the best way to get you to calm down and view the situation objectively. It’s the only way that he can bring you around to the idea that he understands the way you feel.

It’s just after dusk when he finally hears you stir. He’s sitting in the old drawing room, reading one of the many books still salvageable from the library. Though your footfalls are light he can still hear them over the crackling of the fire in the fireplace and he places his book down upon the arm of the chair with a small smile. You’re not wearing shoes again, something he could never quite understand. You loved being barefoot. Especially outside, on rainy days and sunny days alike. He found you one early morning following a frog through the dew-covered grass and it was the first time he had truly seen you laugh since you came to the castle. Tiptoeing to the door, you gently knock on the old wood before peeking inside. You knew he was inside because of the firelight emanating from the ajar door. "Can I come in?" "Yes, of course." You nod, slipping inside. The room is warm and inviting and it helps ease some of the tension you have. It settles like lead in your stomach, but you try to push it away as you take a seat in the high-backed chair next to him. Alucard watches you as you get comfortable in your seat, pulling your legs up to your chest, leaning back. Yet you still look stiff and it betrays your nerves. He tries to give you a comforting smile but it's wasted since your eyes are firmly fixed upon the flames. "I'm sorry about earlier," you murmur, picking at a loose thread in the seat cushion. "It was understandable," he hums, "I know you meant no real harm." When you finally meet his gaze you see an understanding there that envelops you and you feel some of the tension lift. It's still there but you don't feel as though you're anchored by it anymore. It's a shame that it’s gone all too soon when Alucard quickly looks away from you. "It still wasn't fair on you though," you huff, stretching out in the chair and wiggling your toes. Alucard remains quiet. It's his turn to stare into the fire now, purposely avoiding your gaze. He tends to retreat within himself when you present him with human kindness, catching himself before he falls for it. The trauma he had endured throughout his life wasn't so easily erased, no matter how approachable you made yourself, and he would never allow himself to fall into that trap ever again if he could help it. "Are you okay?" The question throws him, forcing his gaze away from the flames and back to you. Your brow is creased with worry, your eyes glistening, and for a moment he truly believes that you are genuine. Defeated, he cannot take the weight of your concern upon him, nor accept that he finds you as captivating in the firelight as you had been in the moonlight. All he sees in you is another chance to be hurt again and he refuses to willingly be a victim. "I am," he replied smoothly, a practiced lie, tilting his head in curiosity, "what makes you think I'm not?" Your mouth opens but the words wilt and die on your tongue. There's no real answer you can give that doesn't sound stupid in your mind, and it shows. Alucard's expression softens as you struggle to answer, allowing you to compose yourself. "I don't know," hesitant, you resume picking at that loose thread again, "you look so tired, and so sad sometimes. I just want to help .” Even after considering what to say the words are still awkward and you inwardly cringe at how pathetic they sound out in the open. Under Alucard’s unreadable, silent stare you begin to fidget, wishing that the ground would open and you could fall into the abyss to spare yourself the embarrassment. You notice that he, too, seems to be considering his response, much to your dismay. You just want him to get it over with and tell you what a fool you are and move on. “You needn’t concern yourself with me,” he sighs, melancholy marring his angelic features, “really, I’m fine.” “Says the man with people on spikes outside his front door.” Alucard is stunned; it could have been a biting jab, or a sarcastic barb, each of which he would have expected and been prepared for, but instead the words are tender and the look upon your face even more so. He’s unprepared, there is no deceit he can muster in the face of such honest care, so he speaks the only words that seem appropriate. “They deserved it.” You nod, having expected as much. Even though you’re eager to know the tale that goes along with them you can’t bring yourself to ask. It’s too morbid, even if they were, as Alucard states, deserving. “I know it doesn’t really mean anything, but I’m sorry for whatever they did to you, Alucard,” you murmur softly. It doesn’t take away the pain that was inflicted, or the scars that are left behind, but you hope that it will show him that you are not like those people. And he knows it. You’re nothing like Sumi or Taka. You haven’t lied, you haven’t tried to hurt him, nor have you given him any indication that you will do so. Wherever you’ve lashed out you’re quick to apologize once you’ve simmered down and not once have you asked anything from him since begging to live. You are real, and that scares him more than anything. “Thank you,” he answers after a long moment of silence, his eyes distant, “truly, I...Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” You nod, taking this as your cue to leave him to his solitude. No doubt he has much to contemplate and sleep is beginning to tug at you like a petulant child. With a barely concealed yawn you bid him goodnight, leaving Alucard to curiously await what will happen next.

[missdawnandherdusk]

the lakes

Draco Malfoy X Reader

Request: @youareinllve​: Imagine spending summer break at the Malfoy manor and you realize that this is the first time in a while that draco seems like a kid again, with no pressure from his family or Voldemort or the death eaters, just draco, your draco again, just having fun in a lake. (also see the lakes)

A/N: So I think this is the softest thing that I’ve ever written in my life and that’s saying something (especially for those of you who have been around for a while). It also has brilliant cadence, so if you can, read it aloud: it’s that much more enchanting if you can. By no means will this always be how I write, because it is more poetic than prose, but I don’t mind doing it now and against especially with a muse like folklore. Let me know what you think! Seriously, I thrive on y’all feedback/comments/reblogs.

There were few days that I could call my own. The days when no one expected me to sit this way, talk that way, act perfectly. I could be young. I could be free. I could be loved. I could be with him.

There were few days that I could call him my own. The days when no one expected him to walk this way, speak that way, act like a Malfoy. He could be young. He could be free. He could be loved. He could be with me.

There were no tight-fitting robes. There were no school uniforms. There were no hours spent on hair and makeup. There was no time wasted in reflections. There were no side eye glances to steal.

There was the lightness of cotton. It was sundresses, cuffed trousers and flowy shirts. It was wide brimmed sun hats and bare feet. It was the softness of grass and the strength of the stones and comfort of earth.

It was his smile. The way it met his eyes. The way it called me in.

Into that cold water. That crystal-clear water. The water that matched the shade of his eyes.

 ~

Meet me at the lake,

Yours, Draco

~

That’s all it would take. That was when I knew the day was mine. When I knew he was. It was a trip to Windermere. To the wood skirting around his large suffocating manor. It was meeting him at the lake, where our days went to live and die.

“Took you long enough,” I’d tease as he passed the first few trees, his eyes scanning the foliage for me.

“Not all of us can apparate yet,” He’d jest back, taking my hand.

The warmth of his hand in mine matched the smile on his face. The sharp points of his cheekbones and jaw meeting the soft curves of his lips and eyelashes. The grass struggling to grow in the speckled light beckoned us forward. Our shoes, coats, and griefs left under a tree where our initials were carved. Sunlight filtered in golden and green through the trees lighting him softly.

Draco would take my hand and pull me close. His hands would rest on my waist as his nose nuzzled against mine in the calm lighting. Our breaths and the rustling of leaves were the only things heard. The only things that mattered to listen to. His lips would be soft and alluring on mine—just as his smile was.

The shock of the chilled water would elicit the most irresistible laughter and shouts of joy. The squishy earth beneath my toes would have me draped over Draco’s shoulders, just to avoid the prickling feeling. My dislike of the sensation would have him laughing yet again, and perhaps he’d roll his eyes at my ridiculousness. But he’d never complain. Instead he’d hold me or draw me deeper into the water.

The lake. The deep water. As soon as we could dive beneath it, our worries were gone. There was no war looming. There were no evil overlords. No heroes. No ransoms. There was no good versus bad. There was no sides. No houses. No prejudices.

There was me. 

There was Draco.

There was the hum of insects. There was the swaying of wisteria. His smile pressed against my skin.

“I love you,” He’d whisper. “More than anything,” 

“Never more than I love you,” I’d reply.

The enchanted water of that lake would take us to the banks. The outcropped rocks surrounded by flowers that were free to grow. That grew despite the adversity that it faced. The blanket would be soft under my touch as we carved a little square of the wildflowers to call our own.

Draco’s eyes would watch the distance, gazing upon the peaks of the mountains. Being with Draco seemed to make everything hurt less. No matter what it was, he had a way of soothing all of my worries and strife.

“How do I love thee?” He’d quote as I lay beside him watching the blueness of the heavens above.

“Let me count the ways,” I’d muse back, propping up on my arm so that I could catch a glimpse of the grey that his eyes held.

“I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach,” The words would tumble from his lips with practiced ease, with the same grace as the breeze persuading the grass to waver.

“I love thee to the level of every day's most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.” My words would barely be heard above the babbling of the lost brook as the sun would stretch out its last efforts of warmth and guidance.

Draco would sit up then, tucking my drying hair behind my ear in a feeble attempt to tame it against the will of the wind gods that accompanied us.

“I love thee freely, as men strive for right.” An air of melancholy would haunt his words as shades began to seep back into our Eden.

“I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.” The gentle reminder would ward off the ghosts of who we were supposed to be as a smile would be mirrored on his face as it was mine. Again, we were free.

“I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.” Draco would become theatrical at these lines, feigning distress and he draped over my lap. A laugh would fall from my lips and onto the perfection of his features.

“I love thee with a love I seemed to lose with my lost saints.” My fingers would dust over his cheek, drawing down his jaw, to trace the pink of his lips.

“I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life,” His grey eyes would vow this to me. Each and every day that belonged to us he would declare these words.

“And, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.” I’d promise back.

As the sun gave into his sister for the night, there was no escaping the world that demanded us back. The world filled with grief and sorrow.

The truth was: Draco and I didn’t belong in that world. The world of heroes and villains. The world of happily ever after’s and storybook endings. We weren’t made for rumors and gossip. Our love didn’t fit in newspapers or hushed conversations.

We belonged to the poets. To the sad prose. We belonged to the orishas of that lake and the wood and the flowers and the earth. Thousands of nymphs and naiads for us to be in the comfort and care of. The fae that would welcome us and protect our love. Our love that grew deep roots and beautiful flowers with no one around to spoil it.

Those were the days that we’d set off without our beloved to the lakes.

.

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[midnxghtsunwrites]

“ IT WASN'T YOUR FAULT ”

PAIRING —

andy barber x black! pregnant! reader

SUMMARY —

y/n knew something was wrong the moment she woke up with blood soaked sheets and a tightness in her chest.

WARNINGS —

this imagine will contain possibly extremely triggering content such as mentions of infertility, pregnancy irregularities, loss of pregnancy ( stillborn pregnancy ) , explicit language, sadness, and possible anxiety & depression under the cut

proceed with caution, viewer discretion is advised.

IT wasn't the cool draft of breeze flowing from the vent or the soft hum of the AC that woke you up from your sleep. It wasn't Andy shifting on his side of the bed or the loftiness of your two pillows or the fact that your bonnet slid off during the night.

What made you stir was the long forgotten sensation of something running down your inner thigh — the sinking feeling in your belly. Of course, you've felt it before when you were far from pregnant and set to start your period. Usually, however, you would have a gut feeling the night before which often prompted you to wear a pad to bed.

Tonight was different.

You stuck to just panties as pajamas since pregnancy made you hot when you're supposed to be cold and cold when you're supposed to be hot.

When you switch on the lamp on your side of the bed, Andy is spurred awake by the snap of the switch and the sudden influx of light. Since he was laying flat on his back, he just turns his head to look at you with squinted eyes, still adjusting to the brightness.

He furrows his eyebrows as he takes in the look of worry on your face. He knows you well enough to see that you're freaking out internally.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" He begins to sit up, "Is it the baby?"

You don't want to look. You don't want to give yourself less faith than you already have. You can't look.

You've already endured years and years of being told that you would never have a child — and the one moment of happiness you got when you found out you were pregnant with your husband's baby is being stripped away. Just like that.

"I think I'm bleeding." Your voice shakes as you speak.

Andy was always the level-headed one in the relationship. Five years of being together and three years of marriage taught you that. You've seen him through his highest highs and lowest lows — lost cases and cases that kept him up at nights. But you have never seen him so panicked at something you said.

Even though his body language screams alarm, his voice is level and calm. "Okay, let's go to the hospital. I'll call ahead."

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut in frustration, "Okay." You whisper.

THE gel is cold against your stomach, shocking you into reality. You listen for the sound of your baby's heartbeat — the one that will let you know that everything is okay.

Everyone seems to be frozen as your gynecologist shifts the wand along your smooth bump. When the room is deathly silent, the only sound to be heard is your heavy exhale, Andy shakes his head, distress on his face.

"What does this..." He can't even finish his sentence. You squeeze your eyes shut. "Why can't we hear a heartbeat?"

Dr. Moore gives her patients sympathetic glances — this is the last thing she would ever wish on any woman. "I'm sorry, Andy, Y/N. It seems... Your baby doesn't have a heartbeat."

It felt like you were struck by an entire planet. Your thought maybe you didn't hear her properly. "What?"

The doctor bows her head in shame, "I am very sorry. Your baby died in utero a couple of hours ago."

Her words seem to be blocked out as you shake you head profusely. You can't breathe, you can't see, you can't even function. You felt it.

"This cannot be happening." You mumble under your breath. This doesn't feel real. Your cheeks are stained with tears at the news.

Andy is by your side, running a hand over your hair that you barely managed to pull back before you entered the hospital. He's holding back tears, but watching you break was enough for him to allow a tear to roll down his red face.

"I'm going to give you guys some time. A nurse will be in soon to discuss your options with you. I'm sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Barber." Dr. Moore reiterates one final time before leaving you to grieve.

When she closes the door behind her, you take no time to grab on to Andy's hand and curl into him. He rests his hand on the back of your head as you sob into his shoulder.

"I know, baby. I know. I'm right here."

ANDREW was right there when the doctors induced your labor. He was right there when you had to endure a painful delivery to your baby girl. Your beautiful baby girl. He was there when you held her for the first and last time. He was there for the next week when you'd decided to stay in the hospital, needing time to come to terms with how quickly everything happened.

With just a picture of her captivating face as a memento, you guys went home. Without your baby.

You felt frozen — stuck in your mind, thinking of what it would've been like had things gone differently. You would be walking in your house with a car seat and a sleeping or babbling baby, a wide smile on your face. Andy would've been absolutely amazed at what you two had made.

Now? You don't even know how you walked out of the hospital or into the house without breaking down and getting yourself admitted into psych.

You're fixed to the threshold of the door — you couldn't move even if you wanted to, struck by a sudden wave of melancholy. All you can think of is the talks you and Andy had about your shared excitement.

"Honey." Andy's voice draws you back to earth. He's stood behind you, going through his own tide of emotions.

He couldn't even imagine the toll this is having on you.

You close your eyes and lean forward, the palms of your hands pressing against the door jamb. "I just need a minute."

"Okay." Andy nods in understanding, resorting to rubbing your back, gingerly.

Moments pass before you finally step into the house, your breathing shallow with anticipation. Andrew is close behind you, eyeing you cautiously and lovingly. He just wants to hold you, but he knows you need some time to yourself.

That's why he simply nods when you suggest that you should go take a shower and lay down.

"I'll make you some food." He tells you.

Your footsteps seem to echo against the walls seeing as you kept your shoes on. You weren't sure you had the energy to care about tracking dirt inside.

Entering the bedroom, you're overwhelmed with a surge of anger and disappointment.

The bed hadn't been touched since the night you went to the hospital and now you can see the sheet is strewn in the center of the mattress, a pool of long-since dried blood staring at you — "Fuck," You run a hand through your matted hair.

Part of you gets to scrubbing because how else would you take the nap you told Andy about? The other part wants to scrub away the reminder of that night. The panic and pure fear in your veins — in Andy's.

On your knees, sleeves rolled up, and fatigue ramming through you like a train, you attempt to wash away the painful memory. No matter how much elbow grease you put into it, the stain doesn't budge.

Thoughts flood your mind — is this a punishment? Am I getting punished for all the harmless things I've done in my life?

You press down further, sinking the springs in the mattress. The frustration is clear in your gaze — exasperated sighs escaping you. You're so caught up in your action that you don't even realize when a loud and defeated wail renders you a sobbing mess.

You don't hear Andy run up the stairs at the sound and stand at the door, eyebrows furrowed in worry and tenderness. He watches you for a second as you hunch forward and hit your hands against the bed in anger.

"I'm so sorry," You cry to no one in particular, "I should've known something or done something — I should've taken more care of you."

Tears gather in your husband's eyes as he hears your words. He wastes no time in stepping towards you and resting a hand on your shoulder. You flinch slightly, not expecting Andy to have heard you.

You can't even look at him, so disappointed and ashamed of yourself that you can't gather the courage to look your husband in the eye.

"Y/N, come here." He gently goads you to stand, his hand warm on your shoulder. When you rise to your feet, Andy pulls you into him, not caring about the snot or tears that transfer from your face to his t-shirt. He rubs a hand down your back and another over your hair and sniffles, "Don't you dare blame yourself for what happened. It wasn't your fault."

In that moment, his words meant nothing to you. They just drowned under the grief you were experiencing. It was only during the silent night when you two were laying on the couch of the living room after dumping your mattress that you realized how much his words meant to you.

With your head resting on his chest, you crane your neck up and gaze at him, watching as he stares up at the ceiling in thought.

"Andrew?" You whisper, voice cracking after hours of weeping.

He shifts his gaze to you, giving you his full attention. "Hmm?"

You take in his blue eyes which have seemed to lose its sparkle. "I love you."

He presses a sweet kiss to your lips, layered in salty tears, "I love you too."

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[wangxiandecoded]

Episode 10

Previous Episode | Next Episode

(Spoilers for the whole show ahead!)

Going to draw a heart over Wangxian to keep track of every time the camera shows someone third wheeling them from now on.

Wei Ying uses his Binding/Bonding talisman on Xue Yang to show Lan Zhan it’s a dynamic tool that doesn’t deserve to be named “Boring”. Even though there’s a serial killer on the loose, Lan Zhan’s opinions on his inventions matter a lot to him. Standard Wei Ying stuff.

Wangxian’s Mirrors

At this point of the show, I could not believe there was a couple who directly mirrored Wangxian. And surprise! They were two men who dressed in black and white and came together for their common vision exactly like Wangxian did. Wei Ying cannot help but connect the dots and Lan Zhan is already aware of their eminence.

Xue Yang Fancies The Yiling Laozu 

Xue Yang’s introduction makes the story take a darker turn but also a gayer one. The homoerotic subtext between him and Wei Ying literally jumps out of the screen.  

(This episode had a lot of moments that were just begging for alternate dialogues to be written. I just wanted to have fun with the subtext that’s already present.)  

Wei Ying doesn’t want Lan Zhan to waste his precious breath interrogating the bad guy. He protectively steps up (something he does quite a lot) and puts some distance between the both of them.

But he wants Lan Zhan to hold his sword while he does that.. and if that act wasn’t necessarily considered to be intimate or romantic before, it just became that after Lan Zhan refused to do it in front of everyone.

Wei Ying has uttered many conspicuously gay things on the show but most of them are with reference to Lan Zhan. Therefore, this is possibly the gayest dialogue he has ever said in a strictly non-Lan Zhan context.

His tone is all, “Honey, you've been existing for 5 minutes, I'm the queerest person the cultivation world has seen in a millennium. You think frisking a guy is going to make me feel scandalized?” This is nuts to me because Xue Yang is arguably the most blatantly coded gay character on the show.. and here is Wei Ying all but saying he can outgay him. That he shouldn’t come after his job. And Lan Zhan just looks like..

It is curious how Lan Zhan says no to something that would require Wei Ying to go near Xue Yang again.

We get it, Lan Zhan. It was hard to see your guy giving attention to someone who wasn’t you.

When Lan Zhan is unsure what's happening back home, the first person his eyes seek is Wei Ying, his source of strength and reassurance.

SongXiao Help WangXian Fall Deeper In Love

Wei Ying is euphoric to meet another pair of Soulmates™. (The same kind of glee that queer people feel when they meet a celebrity queer couple.) His relationship with Lan Zhan just gained supreme validation and a boost to the power of infinity!

He sees everything he has with Lan Zhan reflected in SongXiao’s relationship. He admires them and is delighted that people like them who aren’t concerned with clan drama can walk the wider path of justice, and also lead successful, honourable lives. He looks to Lan Zhan for confirmation but Lan Zhan doesn’t seem too eager to publicize the super sweet promise they made at the lantern ceremony or the fact that he’s been secretly enjoying Wei Ying’s companionship on this expedition. And let’s be honest, it would’ve been more shocking if Lan Zhan did confirm any of that here.

Cheer up, Wei Ying! Lan Zhan will get plenty more opportunities to prove his love for you and he'll ace every single one of them.

No one asked for this but thank you NHS for declaring your ideal type is beautiful gentlemen who fight crime together and unapologetically go their own way.

The parallels between the two pairs write themselves. More importantly, it is while watching SongXiao leave together that Lan Zhan stumbles onto an epiphany.

This is such an underrated moment in the show. The sorrowful music and slow-motion shot of Lan Zhan looking at Wei Ying with vulnerability all over his face once again drives it home that Wei Ying is The One for him, and he is his. He was already getting tired of denying that Wei Ying is his soulmate in every sense there is, and he feels his pain and sadness in this moment. It is enough for Jiang Cheng to feel sorry for him and move on but not for Lan Zhan who feels all that his soulmate feels. 

It is overwhelming and brand new information to Lan Zhan himself that he can feel it because Wei Ying is not in impending danger right now, so this need he feels to protect him and be there for him can only mean that he loves him beyond the shadow of a doubt. Wei Ying seems upset thinking about his mother and Lan Zhan gets it, without Wei Ying having uttered a word the whole time. His face shows a kind of defeat in this scene; he surrenders to everything he has known and felt for some time now : He's in love with Wei Ying and would tear down the universe without a second thought if it means it would rid him of his unhappiness. And he isn't able to do that in this moment. But thanks to Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen, he’s found comfort in the truth they have each other at the end of the day, even if they have nothing left in this world. He cannot give back to Wei Ying what he has lost but he can accompany him in his sadness, and it will have to be enough. And it is, because Wei Ying can overcome just about everything as long as Lan Zhan walks by his side.

Wei Ying Says Lan Clan Deserves Rights

Wei Ying has many nice things to say about the Lan clan who he found exhausting a few months ago. Love brings about miraculous changes in a person, y’all.

Wei Ying gravitates towards Lan Zhan as if it's second nature to him and it really is.

Jiang Cheng spends a lot of time trying to get Wei Ying to spill the Top Secrets about the Yin Iron and Wei Ying is like, "Sorry, I’m bound by the Soulmate laws to tell you absolutely nothing."

Wei Ying is already embracing the idea of controlling the Yin Iron and people are rightfully getting offended by his suggestion.

What did you expect, Wei Ying? Not everyone is your lifetime confidant to give you the benefit of the doubt and reciprocate it with compassion, trust and open-mindedness.

Wangxian’s Temporary Separation

What was that, Wei Ying? Did we hear you admit that the Gusu Lan roof is softer than the one in Qinghe? Could this have anything to do with a certain law enforcer in Cloud Recesses you fell in love with at first sword fight? 

There is a delicate, bittersweet air to this separation, and even the casual watcher is going to be wondering, “When did I get so invested in Wangxian that WuJi makes me want to cry?”

It's cute how Lan Zhan is like, “Okay, I’ve seen the love of my life for one last time, I’ll quietly take my leave so he doesn’t know I was waiting for him to come back.”

Turns out, "I'll sleep on your roof tonight," is one of the most romantic things we could tell the person we love. Isn't it brilliant that just few seconds ago Wei Ying had said he will take whatever ground he finds as his home for the night, and how utterly beautiful is it to have followed it up with this dialogue? “Lan Zhan, I'll sleep on your roof tonight.” Because the world is big but my home is wherever you are. That’s where I’m happiest, I'll sleep on this rugged roof and walk through thorns if it means I get to be by your side. I won't mind it at all. And how unbelievably romantic is it that Wei Ying makes a philosophical statement about life, which ends up being about Lan Zhan?

Lan Zhan hears the implications in his voice. And he openly yearns to stay behind a little longer and commit to his memory what Wei Ying looks like when he is drunkenly proclaiming his love for him under the moonlight. It is pleasantly surprising that Lan Zhan is willing to express his emotions when he knows he is safe from Wei Ying hearing them, that he doesn't mind telling him goodbye when he thinks Wei Ying won't remember it. 

But the audience can hear his voice and we are going to remember it. How, "Wei Ying, I have to go," is uttered in a cadence so sweet we did not know Lan Zhan was capable of before this. And the choice of words do not simply mean that he’s going to leave, but that he has to, and most certainly not because he wants to. And how it really means, “I’m worried about everything, but especially you, and I'm sorry I have to go. I have to trust that we'll both be okay on this path. Please know that I don't wish to leave you, and forgive me for it. Wei Ying, I love you."

Even their temporary separation hurts so good. If they were meant to be best buddies, this scene wouldn't have been shot so poignantly. But we got used to seeing them together and every frame is designed to dig deeper into your heart and instil the fact that these soulmates are parting, and we don’t know when they’ll see each other again. This is the melancholy of a man who does not wish to be away from his lover but is forced to for the sake of the greater good. Anyone can see that.

The rooftop and moonlit night come as a callback to their first meeting, only Lan Zhan no longer wants to point the tip of his sword at Wei Ying, it gives him far greater satisfaction to place Wei Ying behind his sword.

I haven’t counted the number of times people acknowledge Wangxian’s relationship and/or know that they are inseparable, but it’s safe to say almost every character does that at some point. And some even know how to exploit their weakness, that in order to hurt one of them, the surefire way is to simply aim for the other like Wen Chao does here.

To summarize, Episode 10 saw Lan Zhan showing us his true colors : When he isn’t occupied with being the esteemed, intimidating Lan Wangji, he’s busy being a regular, sweet, romantic guy in love. And Wei Ying did that. He single-handedly exposes the soft side of Lan Zhan that nobody sees to the audience now and the world later on. 

This episode also gave us this : Two soulmates chilling shoulder to shoulder zero feet apart because they’re falling in love.

[kingreywrites]

So Pardon The Dust

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 2493

Summary: When they arrive in the Dark Kingdom, the king has been dead for years.

Note: this is bittersweet, but the idea couldn’t leave me alone, and i had to write it out! so yeah, edmund’s death is heavily talked about, be careful if that’s not your thing! I just love Destinies Collide, and love what-ifs, so this story was born from there asghdh

Read on ao3

When they arrive in the Dark Kingdom, the king has been dead for years. 

They don't know that. What they do know is that once their travel in a shaky gondola over an immense rift ends, everything seems too easy. The kingdom is dark, cold, smells of dust and rust permeating the air, and it makes it hard to imagine that anyone has ever lived in such a place. But Rapunzel's hair pushes her forward, and they don't spend any more time thinking about it. 

They enter the equally dark and cold castle, searching for the moonstone. 

Desperate for a flicker of warmth, Lance lights a fire in a lifeless living room with no windows. Eugene's gaze is drawn to a painting, throning above the fireplace and depicting a man and a woman he presumes to be the king and queen. 

He cannot explain the deep uneasiness he feels at the sight, or even why he can hardly tear his eyes away from the picture. His heart is racing, and he explains it by blaming it on his concern for Rapunzel. 

The queen's smile remains etched in his mind as he moves forward. 

The king has been dead for years. They don't know it, but Eugene finds a room filled with overhanging statues and, sitting in front of a gigantic door, is a tiny skeleton covered in too big clothes and dust. A dark crown still hangs grotesquely on its head, but the first thing Eugene sees is the purple gem necklace between the fingers of its single hand. The same as the queen's in the painting. 

Eugene has a bitter taste in his mouth. Rapunzel holds his hand, also upset, and he remembers that they are here for her, and for her destiny. He holds her fingers tighter between his, and they move toward the door. 

The ghosts are… certainly a surprise.

Death is not something new to Eugene, yet he can't help but feel nauseous when the king's ghost appears so close to his own skeleton, eyes full of a melancholy and anger that only he understands.

He doesn't seem to be capable of speech. He just groans and attacks, mindlessly guarding the stone that cost him his life. When Adira arrives to help them, she calls him Edmund, a soft grief in her voice, and Eugene keeps the name in a corner of his head. Edmund. Not a ghost, not a skeleton, but Edmund, who protected his kingdom until he died trapped within it.

Finally, Eugene is the one who destroys his statue. He cuts off its head, and tries to forget how a few seconds before, it was his own that could have been lost, if the king's axe had not struck beside it. Luck saved his life this time.

Adira asks Rapunzel to enter the moonstone chamber by herself. She says that it's her destiny, and hers alone. Eugene wants to protest, worry burning in his heart, but he doesn't even have the time - Rapunzel looks at Cassandra, and announces that the three of them will go inside. He should be relieved, but he can't help but take another look at the king's- Edmund's body. Many people have died for this stone, and the more time passes, the more terrified he is of what awaits them on the other side. He knows death, more than any other member of this group probably; he's been around it personally. He promised himself when he came back to life, that he would never let Rapunzel die the way he did, slowly and violently, when she has so much to live for.

He doesn't know where this promise will lead him. 

When they arrive in the Dark Kingdom, the king is dead. They enter easily, and though the ghosts of past rulers stand in their way, the path to the moonstone is far from the most difficult adventure he has ever experienced. Eugene is worried, of course he is - he's afraid of the conclusion of their journey, afraid of what he cannot predict. Rapunzel tells him she loves him, and he almost wants to throw up, because they're in the middle of a kingdom murdered by that exact stone Rapunzel intends to grab. I love you too, he thinks, but can't manage to say, because the words sound like a goodbye, and he's not ready for that. He'd die one thousand times for her, if she asked him to. He'd die for her against her will too, if necessary, but he knows he can't get in the way today. As desperate as he is to protect her, he knows how much she values being able to draw her own path.

He wants to grab the moonstone first because he loves her, and because he loves her, he stays back.

That's not the case for everyone. He notices too late Cass running for it, and Demanitus' warning echoes once again in his ears, mocking now that the only thing he can do is try to pull Rapunzel to safety as the world explodes in colours. The king is dead, and their friendship with Cassandra is too, the shadow of Gothel haunting Rapunzel once again despite how much she deserves to be free from it. Cassandra flees, Eugene hurts his arm when she pushes him away, and Rapunzel runs after her, desperate to salvage what can be.

It doesn't amount to much, in the end.

Things settle down, as much as they can while Rapunzel still sits listlessly near the broken bridge Cassandra left behind, and Eugene goes in the castle again, in search of bandages this time. His left arm hurts.

He doesn't expect to find Adira, standing silently in front of... Edmund. Her back is rigid, her mouth in a straight line, but when he calls her name, he sees a foreign melancholy in her eyes. He doesn't know her that well, but there's a lot Eugene can understand from looking into somebody's eyes.

Adira sighs, shoulders lowering, and he's sure she hears his unsaid question. "I shouldn't be surprised," she says, but it's clear that in a way, she is. "I… knew, that King Edmund was not well, when we left. I often considered that he might very well be…" she trails off, her eyes falling on his body again.

"It's different to be sure," Eugene responds softly, his voice loud in the silence of this immense room. Watching them - Adira, and this skeleton, barely hanging together enough to recognise a human shape - it was difficult to conceive that once upon a time, they had stood here together, alive and happy, perhaps. He can't imagine what it feels like to see an old friend this way, with no warning. "Adira…"

"It's okay, Fishskin," she smiles, and in her voice, he could hear the echoes of all the time Rapunzel told him she was fine, because she didn't know how to act when she was not.

He barely knows Adira. Both because he didn't ask, and because she didn't want him, or anyone, to know her. But he can guess easily that her life had never been one of peace, not even before leaving the Dark Kingdom, and losing contact with the other members of the Brotherhood. He doesn't think she's unhappy, per se, but he- he knows, they all know, especially now after everything that happened, that anger and fear and grief are not emotions that should be let to fester until they explode. Maybe it's his worry for Rapunzel speaking; maybe he's confusing everything, and Adira is simply dealing with the situation the way she wants to, but before he can think better of it, Eugene takes a step forward, and asks her if she wants to bury the king's body.

"To- To give him a better resting place," he explains awkwardly, her eyes piercing right through him. He's ready to say sorry and hope she doesn't kill him for overstepping her boundaries, but, to his surprise, she softens, a genuine if sad smile on her lips.

"Actually Fishskin, that's… a great idea."

And so they do it. Adira finds a bear hood that the King used to wear - Dabney, she says reverently - and they place his bones in it, carefully moving everything in tandem. They don't really talk while doing it. There's not much to be said. Eugene thinks of this king, who was so desperate to save his kingdom that he doomed it, and he thinks about death, too. About how lonely it is.

Adira leads them down a few corridors, and they emerge in a small, grey looking garden. They walk until they find an unmarked tombstone.

"The queen," Adira announces shortly, and Eugene wonders if she helped bury her too.

It's not the first time Eugene digs a grave for someone. He remembers starkly getting out of the tower with Rapunzel, both of them entirely different people than who they were before, and finding a cloak and ashes at the bottom of it. He remembers how quietly distraught Rapunzel had been, and how he had proposed to bury what was left of Gothel.

Shaking his head, he tries to think about something else, but it's hard given the situation. His arm aches at each of his movements. Surprisingly, Adira breaks the silence, and that's enough to distract him.

"I often disagreed with King Edmund," she says, without looking at him. "He was a good king, but his duty to the moonstone blinded him to the bigger picture, and I was afraid that it would lead him, and us, to lose everything. I was right, as I often am," she chuckles, but there's no mirth behind it. Simply grief. Something that can't be quite put into words.

"How did he lose his arm?" Eugene asks, voice low as they finally lower the bones into the ground. His eyes catch the sight of the necklace falling aside, and when they're done, he picks it up, thumb running over the smooth surface of the gem.

"The queen died," Adira whispers. She's looking at the necklace too, when he raises his head. "Edmund's grief led him to act on the anger he had been repressing for too long, but the moonstone was much more powerful than he imagined. Its retaliation costs him everything he held dear."

Gently, Adira takes the necklace from him, and Eugene can't explain the impulse that makes him want to hold onto it for a little while longer.

He's sentimental, he reasons. There's something deeply touching about this man dying while looking at the last thing connecting him to his late wife. These are good explanations, but neither of them addresses the unease and bitterness rising in Eugene's throat. He doesn't understand it himself.

Adira looks at the necklace for a long time, emotions he can't name in her expression. Memories she will not share make her frown, and Eugene feels more and more like he doesn't belong in this moment.

"Should we… bury that with him?" he asks awkwardly. Adira bites her lips, and finally shakes her head.

"This necklace was special for the queen. I know she intended to pass it down to her children."

A terrible voice in Eugene's mind reminds him that it's too late - they both died, and that necklace, that tradition, died with them too. He's hit by the tragedy of it all again, relentlessly reminded that the king passed away long before anyone could try to save him. And they would have, Rapunzel would have convinced him to let her through, she would have given him faith, Eugene is sure of that. He thinks that's why he's angry, too. The king has been dead for years, maybe, alone and desperate until his very last moments. And Eugene, Eugene wishes to go back in time, and give him another chance, get him the help he needed before it was too late.

He has never been good at accepting unhappy endings.

"When… When King Edmund banished us from the Dark Kingdom," Adira continues, "he also made another sacrifice. He sent his son away, when he was barely a baby, to be raised far from the moonstone and its dangers."

Son. A baby, sole survivor of the royal family, who probably doesn't know he is. A baby, who isn't one anymore now, but who is probably alive, and the thought is enough for Eugene to feel something new - he'd call this hope, but he's not sure that it fits. Closure, perhaps.

"You want to give their son the necklace," he smiles shakily.

"That's what needs to be done," Adira agrees, before putting away the necklace in her pocket. The gem catches the moonlight one last time, shining brighter than before, and it's easier for Eugene to let go, this time. "However, I did not keep track of the prince. I don't know what became of him, after we left, but I will keep searching until I find him."

"Hey," Eugene grins, wanting to lighten the atmosphere a little, "you searched for the mystical and maybe non-existent sundrop, and you found it, so I'm sure a prince will be no trouble. And if you need anything, we'll be happy to help," he adds, more earnest this time.

There's a newfound warmth in her eyes, and she inclines her head, acknowledging his words. The situation feels easier, somewhat. They finish replacing the dirt on top of the king's body, and Adira places a little stone to mark the emplacement.

The king is dead, and Cassandra is gone, but Eugene wants to believe that they all can find their own healing in time.

One wrong move reawakens the pain in his arm, and Adira gauges him when he flinches. She tells him that if there are any medical supplies around there, they're probably in the King's personal quarters.

With her instructions, it's not too hard to find them. The bedroom he finds is enormous, which only heightens how empty and dark it feels. Blindly, Eugene makes his way to a window, and pushes the heavy curtains away, letting the moonlight flood the room, and reveal the ambient dust like as many little stars in the night sky.

One side of the bed is unmade. Next to the other, there is an empty crib.

His heart is racing, and he can't explain it. He turns to the bedside table, and does find what appear to be bandages, next to a pile of papers, so close to the bed that it is easy to guess that the king often looked at them. 

Eugene approaches. He tells himself, without much conviction, that he should not look. That even in death the king deserves to keep his privacy. Whatever these papers are, they must have meant a lot to him, keeping him company in his darkest hours, and Eugene doesn't belong in this story.

It only takes him a step, and a second, to recognize his old wanted posters.

[rrickgrrimes8]

Hi can i have a Liz Allan x gender neutral reader imagine?

Ashamed ~ Liz Allan

hey hope you like this thank you for requesting!

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Liz Allan.

The most popular girl in school. The prettiest, smartest, and most desired. And my girlfriend. Well, secretly that is. Surprisingly my choice, not hers.

Not because I'm ashamed - god no. She's literal perfection. Her black hair is always combed and clean. It always falls so brilliantly on her shoulders. But nothing beats her eyes. Her eyes are my everything. They glisten, they see, they make me smile. Those brown eyes could convince me to murder if they wanted to. She was the epitome of perfection.

But sometimes she didn't understand that. She thought she wasn't enough for me, for her friends, for her parents. I never got it. No one did. It was impossible to. Sometimes for some cruel and twisted reason, Liz Allan saw herself for anything less perfect. And it killed me.

Last night I let her know that. When she broke down about her looks, her grades, about everything going on with her, I spoke my mind. I told her it was bullshit what she was saying. The reason for it was because she got a -A in history. And of course, she didn't deserve the minus, which I let her know. She also didn't understand how much it hurt hearing how she abused and bullied herself for something as little as a grade. So when I told her she was being stupid for calling herself stupid let's just say she wasn't the happiest. Which made her bring up why people don't know about us. The reason why they don't was because I'm scared - petrified really. She's the Liz Allan and I'm - well I'm me. The dull and mundane y/n y/l/n. People would talk and that's something I'm terrified of. It would probably be easier if I told Liz about my issue but I couldn't. Every time I tried - like last night- the words just would come out. Which just made her think it was because I didn't want people to know I was with her - as if it was a bad thing. Now the next day at school she refused to talk to me.

"Liz, please. Talk to me," I asked chasing after the beauty.

"Leave her alone, y/n," Her best friend, Betty, warned. Betty was one of the only people that are aware of our relationship and let's just say she wasn't the most supportive. Betty cared about Liz a lot. It's understandable since they had known each other for years. What I didn't think would happen when we told her was that she hated me. She didn't think I was enough for her, which she was right about, despite Liz's objections.

"Betty please," I begged, "I just need to speak to her for a second." Not swayed by my pleas she shut her locker and ushed Liz away. "For fucks sake," I slammed my hand against the metal drawing unwanted attention.

"Y/n y/l/n! What is up?!" Flash jumped out of the sea of people. He was my- well if you were to ask him then he would say we were friends. I, however, would sooner step away from the wannabe boy Regina George. We only knew each other through Liz, which baffled me. How could someone like him be friends with someone like her? I mean he used to bully me, Ned and Peter, in preschool. And i suppose now i just have to get over it. At least I’m not still stuck in that situation like Peter and Ned are - much to mine and the better half of Midtown School of Science and Technology.

"Sup Flash," I replied curtly.

"Oh nothin' penis Parker's being a freak nothing new there though," Flash shrugged putting on the douche bag facade. Sighing I moved away from the lockers and away from Flash. "What the hell?! Bro where you going?" The boy followed after me waving his hands around frantically, "What is wrong with you? You pissed about penis Parker?" I said nothing unwillingly feeding the dickishness inside of him. "Holy shit! You like him, y/l/n?" Flash laughed.

"What? No-"

"Hear that everybody!" He shouted into the busy hallway, "Y/l/n likes penis Parker!" The students began to laugh at his oh so funny joke, ignoring the redden faces of me and Peter. And now the melancholy one of Liz Allan. Liz slugged her bag over her shoulder and rushed out of the crowd.

"Fuck," I whispered, "You're such an asshole, Flash!"

Flash backed away, still laughing, "Whoa chill out, Y/n, it's just a joke."

"It's not just a joke! You just fucked me over!" I stepped toward the prick clenching my fist.

"Calm down, bro, we all know you like Liz anyway," Flash watched me fearfully.

"Yeah, so what?" I growled, "I like her! Fuck maybe I love her! And you just fucked that up because you can't put your friends above your reputation of being an ass."

"Y/n calm down," Betty's voice appeared from behind.

"No, I'm not going to calm down! Liz already hates me enough without him stirring up more shit-"

"I don't hate you." I span around seeing the face I had adored from the start.

"Liz-"

"I love you too," She relayed catching everyone's attention, "I'm sorry about ignoring you. I just- I thought maybe..." I stepped closer to her.

"Me wanting to keep us a secret was never about you," I assured her.

Liz bit her plump lip trying to avoid the build of sadness in her eyes, "Why then? Why didn't you want people to know? Are you not embarrassed-?"

"No, lord no," I told her, "I love you. More than anything. But sometimes you are so blind. You aren't and never will be something to be embarrassed over. you should be something celebrated or flaunted but I was too much of a coward." I paused looking at the vast and ever-growing crowd. "The problem was me. It always has been me. I don't deserve you. I know that. Betty knows that. Everyone here knows it. And deep down you know it too."

Liz strictly shook her head, "No. Don't say that. Don't ever say that. You are enough. You always have been."

Bitterly, I laughed, "If you can believe that about me why can't you about yourself?"

"I-" She stopped herself wiping away a few tears, "I-i don't know."

"You're my favourite person," I said kissing her lips softly, "Never forget."

"You're my favourite person too," She passionately kissed back, "I love you."

"I love you more."

"Y/ln! Allan! Get to class both of you!" Some teacher screamed at us.

Giggling the two of us rushed out of the hallway. "I guess everyone knows now," Liz turned to me.

"Yeah are you okay with that?" She asked me.

"More than," I grinned, "Now I get to kiss you whenever."

"Oh I think I'd be okay with that," She wrapped her arms around my neck, "Now let's get to class."

"But I don't wanna," I pouted, "We could always..?"

Liz blushed profusely and smacked my arm, "Later."

"Really?" I looked to her hopefully.

Liz nodded, "Now go to your lesson."

Happily, she skipped off to her class planting a kiss on my lips first. "I'm going to hold you to that, Allan!"

"I won't let you down, y/l/n."