#I should put together some kind of masterpost

[madbard]

In this multiverse, the Stars have been around for a very long time. Stories of their adventures have spread from world to world over the centuries, cloaked in legend and myth.

Ink and Dream are both immortal. Swap wasn’t. When he died in battle, Dream swore to never recruit another mortal to the Stars. It was too dangerous, and Dream couldn’t lose another friend. Ink had other ideas.

Carefully, exquisitely, Ink recreated his friend. Not exactly as he was - that wasn’t possible, and Ink didn’t want to take any risks with this creation. They wanted this to work. So instead, he created a young child. This child would be bold like their friend - clever, resilient and kind. With care, he would grow into a magnificent warrior.

Just before Ink finished drawing, he looked at his creation and hesitated. Was he really trying to copy Swap? It felt wrong, somehow, to make such an exact replica. So in those final moments, Ink carefully drew on the scars Swap would have borne if he had survived that final blow, then brought the child to life.

The child, affectionately nicknamed Blueberry, was brought to an Underswap universe where Swap had died. Hesitant, but ultimately grateful to have his brother back, Swap Papyrus raised him.

Now, Ink couldn’t be there all the time. After all, they had their own duties as the God of Creation (and he had an unfortunate tendency to forget Blueberry existed). But he did visit, and every time he did he told the child of his adventures through the multiverse, of Dream and a legendary hero named Swap. Blueberry idolized the Stars and grew up dreaming of the day he would finally join them. Every day, he trained and sparred, imagining that he was facing deadly enemies. One day, Blueberry knew he would defend entire worlds.

This image shows Blueberry at age 13, 15 years prior to the current events of the story. This is the year Error attacked his universe.

Theme Song:

[rose-writes-for-march]

March for More: Little Prince

MASTERPOST

If there was anything Phantom hated the most about being crowned king—

“Your Eternity, it is with great respect that I summon you here today for a formal audience.” Ra’s al Ghul says, bent over in a formal bow from where he stands just beyond the barrier of the summoning circle.

—it was this bastard.

“al Ghul.” He greets with a scowl, “What a surprise. I thought you might’ve gone and Ended already, given how long it's been since you bothered me last.”

The man jerks upright from his bow, a frown on his face though Phantom knows it isn't directed at him, and waves a hand behind him in a 'come here' gesture. Phantom follows the movement, spotting a boy in... armor(?) being forcibly escorted forward. Phantom is almost impressed by the fight the boy is giving, having at least ten men trying to so much as move him beside the old man.

"Ra's. We've talked about this, haven't we? I don't take sacrifices." Phantom growls, voice edging into ghost speak at the blatant disrespect the old man is showing. "I should kill you for bringing one before me—"

"Apologies, Your Eternity, for interrupting, but this boy is no sacrifice." Ra's cuts him off, body angled to glare at the boy while keeping the King in his sights. He moves his hand slightly, and the escorts reluctantly back off. As soon as one man's hold slackens, the boy growls and forces the rest off of him with an impressive efficiency. As the fight continues, Ra's addresses the king again, "This is my grandson, Damian al Ghul, I trust you remember him?"

And, unfortunately, Phantom does.

It wasn't that long ago for Phantom, thanks to time shenanigans. A summoning not unlike this one, when Phantom was freshly crowned and still finding his footing, had seen Phantom in this very room before this very boy—only many years younger than he currently is. Phantom is as livid now as he was then when presented with a kid and a marriage proposal.

"Is this some joke to you, Ra's al Ghul? Surely you understand your offense." Phantom can feel his features distorting, fingers blackening into claws, eyes thinning into slits, crown flaring from a soft borealis to a piercing ice. "My demands were simple, were they not? My patience is not as eternal as my reign, and should you offend me further, it will become as nonexistent as you'll find yourself."

"Your Eternity—"

"Your demands were met," Damian interrupts, standing tall under the full force of Phantom's misplaced ire as his eyes whip toward him. He stands beside his grandfather willingly, despite the earlier fuss, looking much more put together than the disgrace beside him.

He seems to have straightened out his suit, and at his feet sit the majority of his escorts, all properly knocked out. Phantom considers him for a moment, "Met, huh? And how is that? I remember my demands were to never be bothered with such a thing again, and yet here you both stand."

Ra's seems properly subdued under Phantom's ire as he always is by the end of their talks. It's gotten almost fun to watch the man back down when he knows he's lost. But Damian, for some Ancients-damned reason, seems to want to force the issue. "I admit you're right; the demands of that summoning were met. However, the requests of this summoning have changed."

Now curious and somewhat impressed by the boy, Phantom lets his features fall back into uncanny rather than monstrous. Plus, he is kind of required to hear the requests, no matter how much he'd rather skip it and get this over with. "Fine, let's get this over with, I suppose."

Damian bows and Ra's follows his lead a second later. Once they are both in position, Damian speaks, "Great King of Eternity, Savior of the Dead and Forgotten, I offer my body and soul to you in full trust and respect." He lifts his head, meeting Phantom's as he continues the formal spiel, "Allow to me the honor of your name and title, the right to you and your people, and your trust so that I may ask of you a favor in return."

Phantom can feel the proposal just beyond his skin, like the whisper of wind playing in his hair and spelling out shivers on his spine. It is an honest proposal, proper etiquette and intention behind every word. It makes Phantom even more curious.

"You must be desperate or stupid," he says, not yet accepting the whispers on his skin, not until he knows the favor, "You are no longer a child and are now doing this willingly, or as willing as you can. Tell me your wants, and I will consider."

Damian fully raises from the bow, Ra's doing the same before walking forward to take Phantoms attention. "Your Eternity, I wish to—"

Phantom holds up a hand, "I did not ask you. You'd be a fool to think I'd let you ask me of anything, vermin, regardless of the summoning rules." He turns back to Damian, offering a hand to tell him to continue where he was so rudely cut off.

Damian glares at Ra's as he sulks, but doesn't pay him any mind as he steps forward and meets Phantom's eyes again. "I fight under Lady Gotham's name to protect her and her people from those that would cause harm." Oh, Phantom knows of them. Lady Gotham's Knights, a famous bunch among the ghosts of Gotham, for good reason. "Recently, she has come under attack from a foe that neither my allies nor I can defeat. For giving myself to you, I would ask you to rid of this foe."

Phantom almost laughs. Such a small favor, such a silly thing to ask for a practical god of the underworld. He lets his mouth tilt into a grin, "So the answer is desperate, huh. I do not accept." With an easy motion, Phantom removes the proposal from his skin and with it the binding of the summoning.

Damian seems to lose the composure he's kept such good control of, a deep glare on his face and a growl splitting his lips. Before he can get too angry, Phantom speaks again, "I will help Lady Gotham without the need of your sacrifice. She is one of mine and has claimed you, Little Prince, which makes you mine as well. Now, what am I fighting?"

[redflagshipwriter]

The Proposal

This mini fic was inspired by the anon prompt to @faeriekit linked here and all the development that Faeriekit did for the idea. This fic is perilously regional. I half expect angry yelling from other areas of the Midwest.

Original post

Word count: 2718

Masterpost of my Archive Down Fics is here.

Jason came to with cream cheese stuck under his fingernails and in the creases of his fingers. He looked around the room wildly, trying to understand the situation he was in. The kitchen smelled fucking weird. He sniffed the air. Meat? Like, ham and also vinegar?

He washed his hands really well, grimacing at the greasy texture. Then he reconstructed what must have happened by the debris. This was not his first post-blackout rodeo, but usually he was reconstructing a literal crime scene.

There was an empty pickle jar on the countertop. There were packets of deli meat in the trash.

There was some kind of abomination on his nicest plate, which was obviously made of cream cheese wrapped around pickles, blanketed by the meat, and sliced thin like sushi rolls. It was lovingly protected by a perfect sheet of cling wrap.

“The fuck?” Jason said, a little scared and pissed off.

He paced the kitchen for a while and then went to pace on the balcony, because he needed a smoke to process this culinary abomination but something in his gut wailed at the tragedy of ruining it with cigarette smoke. Which was absurd, partly because the plate was in the refrigerator. He sensed in his bones that it needed to cool until the cream cheese was as hard as it would get, so that he could safely transport it. Transport it fucking where? Was this an assassination attempt against Batman? That sappy motherfucker was probably the only man in the world who would choke that down to make Jason happy.

He had a long drag on his cigarette and tried to ignore the way his fingers shook.

“Okay,” he said, squeezing his free hand shut and opening it. Maybe stimming would prompt his brain to go brr and explain this. “Did I have a stroke? Maybe I was possessed?”

It was hard to tell. He ground out his cigarette and tossed the butt in the tray before venturing back inside. He was calm. He was more centered. He flicked on the kitchen fan to clear out the pickle stink and then he went and put on his coat and grabbed the plate.

Why was he doing that?

The compulsion led him three blocks before he realized where he was going.

Not far away from the safehouse he was in, some college freshman had wasted the Joker when the clown tried to drag him into a van. He had called the police, crying the whole time in shock about being a murderer.

Jason had not been on the scene. He had only heard through comms. He had been out of town when the Joker got out. He had been rushing back on his bike, heart pounding and sick with nerves at the thought of his family out there without him.

And then the fucker had failed to secure the first victim for whatever sick play he’d had in mind, and the poor out of town kid who had apparently never heard of the Joker was breathing a sigh of relief that ‘oh, this wasn’t like, a birthday clown? Whew, that’s alright then,’ previous guilt over ending a life all gone.

Jason liked that. It was hugely undignified that the Joker had been got by someone who didn’t even know who he was. If he’d known, it would have killed his ego. As it was, Jason had laughed himself nearly sick before barricading himself inside to read the file Timmers put together on Danny Fenton.

Well. If his gut said that he should deliver this horrific dish to Fenton as thanks for the murder, well…

Jason grimaced. He just wouldn’t be seen doing it. If Fenton thought it was an assassination attempt and called the cops, Jason would never fess up.

He broke into Fenton’s apartment, very glad that the guy was in class at the moment. He mourned the loss of his plate but honestly, this was the least destructive black out he’d had, so it was whatever. He put the pickle rolls in the fridge, looked around, and then left. He was done. He’d thanked Fenton, or whatever (maybe he’d attacked him, honestly, Jason didn’t know how he would react to finding that trash in his fridge.)

It could end now.

The next morning, Jason scrubbed away a yawn and realized that he had just scraped a mess of chopped snickers bars into a bowl that already had clouds of something white and -

He took out a piece and bit into it to confirm that it was perfectly cubed green apple.

“I am possessed,” Jason said in horror, looking around the counter to see what the Pit Madness had cooked up this time. Why did the fucking Lazarus Pit know these recipes?

The white shit was a mix of cool whip and vanilla pudding, apparently. There was an untouched bottle of caramel sauce waiting innocently.

“...Does that go in?” Jason wondered, vaguely horrified.

Well, maybe an evil witch was doing this to him. Bottoms up. He poured caramel in until it felt right, guided by what had to be someone else’s goddamn ancestors, and then mixed it all up with a spoon.

This looked a lot better than the last thing. Jason scraped it into a bowl and then stole a spoonful of it to try.

“Holy shit. It’s like eating a caramel apple,” he said, muffled around the food. He swallowed and genuinely considered taking more.

Nope! His gut said nope. This was another offering for–

“Hold up, offering?” Jason put it in the fridge, clingwrap on top, and let his mind be blown. He put his face in his hands and just reeled. He was making offerings for this motherfucker now. He opened his phone, intending to search the things he’d been blackout making and froze.

His lock screen was Danny Fenton’s police intake photo, looking pretty relaxed after he'd been told the booking was a formality.

“I don’t remember doing that!” Jason frantically changed it back to his old lock screen, a grimy alleyway with a hilariously shaped filth puddle and one of his favorite rats.

He snuck this dessert thing into Fenton’s fridge, collected his clean plate with some relief, and left. He didn't know if Fenton had eaten that shit or if he'd thrown it away, but at least he'd washed the plate.

“That was the last time,” Jason told himself, pacing around his room. He wasn’t– that was two days in a row now that he had a normal day, went out on patrol, went to bed, and woke up in his kitchen. It wasn’t going to happen again.

He chainsmoked all day to such a degree that Stephanie Brown saw him, whined “Dude,” in disbelief, and jumped off a building while holding her nose to get away from him. It was a fair reaction. He had a shower before patrol so that no one could make a connection between Jason, stinkiest man in Gotham today, and the Red Hood, a guy who owned a shower.

Patrol went fine. He caught himself veering past Fenton’s shitty apartment building twice but no one was nearby enough to call him out for it.

He went to bed and got a jumpscare because at some point of his most recent fugue state he'd gone out and bought a bunch of wedding magazines and made them into a nest. He made a roar of frustration and pushed them off the bed with only a twinge of interest in what that swan centerpiece was made of.

Jason went the fuck to sleep, determined to walk this off.

He woke up the next morning in his kitchen. “Cream cheese, again,” Jason complained. He gave the bowl he was mixing a furious stir and then shoved it in the fridge.

Cream cheese, chopped meat, and chopped green onion. He searched the internet to identify the fucker. This was a cheeseball.

…He frowned, thinking of the fugly mess in the bowl.

It was the larval form of a cheeseball, he amended.

Why did he know this shitty recipe.

Stomach tight with dread, he looked up the other things. Day one was a pickle roll. Day two was snickers salad.

These were all real Midwestern potluck dishes. He hadn't made them up. Why did the pit know these recipes?

The Snickers salad offended him as a concept and he bitterly regretted finding it delicious.

“Salad,” Jason repeated in aggrieved disbelief. It was good but it was no goddamn salad. “I could just make him a real salad. Will this end if I bring Fenton good food?”

It wasn't the worst idea. He put a pin in it.

Grimly, as if he was going off to war, Jason researched how to shape the ball. If he was doing this, which apparently he was for no goddamn reason, he was going to do it to perfection. When he was done he wrapped it up tight, got an assortment of crackers, and left it at Danny Fenton’s apartment with a sort of tired resignation that this might as well be happening.

This time was different. This time, Fenton was home.

Jason barely avoided being seen by rushing out the window over the sink and hiding from the immediate line of sight. He was, however, close enough to hear–

“Holy shit, is that a cheeseball? Who loves me?” and then some truly ghastly, wet crunching as Fenton tore through the crackers and cheeseball like a wild beast. It felt like being in a horror film. Jason very badly wanted to leave. Jason very badly wanted to crawl back inside and present himself for a scrap of Fenton’s approval.

What the fuck? What the fuck!

He fled. And this time, he decided to take action. He was going get out of this sick mind trap and-

“Nothing wrong with you, it's not a curse,” Zatanna said, bored about it. “Whatever is going on is safe, sane, consensual, and none of my business.” She portalled away before Jason could argue that it did not feel sane. He was having an entirely new category of mental breakdown and when one of the Bats found out about it, he was going to be a case study.

Fine. He gritted his jaw. New plan. Maybe he could beat the curse by showing it up.

He called out of crime for the day and ignored the confused commentary in the background of his phone call– can he do that? Of course he can, he’s the friggin’ boss– and spent it furiously researching. He needed a crowning achievement. He needed to find out what was sacred in this culinary tradition, master it, and then tell the compulsion to suck on bricks.

Casserole. The answer was a casserole.

Jason scrolled through dozens of recipes, scowling fiercely. That was no good. That offended his senses. He just knew that would be bland. He-

“Do I want to make that?” Jason asked aloud, puzzled by his fixation on the old-fashioned goulash casserole recipe. Worcestershire sauce– he didn’t have that in this safe house for sure. Beef, pasta, tomatoes… yeah, okay. This was the one. For no fucking reason at all, this was the one.

He went out shopping like he usually went on life-or-death missions, full of grim purpose.

He got back and assembled his ingredients. It was not exactly a challenge to follow the recipe. Jason turned off the stove top and froze in place. “I don’t have an ancestral pan,” he said, horrified. Holy fuck. How could he dare to give it in a regular baking pan- he had to get one. Where the fuck does one acquire an ancestral casserole pan on short notice?

Panicked, he called the Manor, hands shaking as he packed the whole thing up and stuffed it in the fridge to keep it food safe until he could bake it.

Bruce answered, sounding a little choked up. “Hello, Jason, so glad-”

He hung up. He texted Tim. “I need you to steal something for me from the Manor.”

“You’re allowed in, you gigantic freak,” Tim wrote back.

Jason did some meditative breathing and resorted to outright pleading immediately. “What do you want? I will give you whatever you want. I just need an ancestral casserole pan.”

“I am NOT stealing from Alfred’s kitchen,” Tim wrote back. Which was fair. “Drake ancestral pan alright?”

Jason thought about it. It was still a family pan, sorta. By the transitive property, and that was a perfectly good property. He sent back a thumbs up, his GPS pin, and the word “Hurry.”

A while later, Tim dropped off a glass dish, loudly said “I don’t wanna know,” and slammed Jason’s door shut.

Fine. He was already moving his stuff from the now-cold frying pan into the casserole dish. It went into the oven from there. Jason spent the bake time trying to think of new coping mechanisms, because apparently smoking wasn’t up to this level of mental fuckery.

He waited out the bake time. He let it cool enough to be safe to travel with but hot enough to deliver warm. Jason grappled to Danny Fenton's apartment for the fourth time in four days, let himself in, and nearly jumped out of his boots when he realized that Fenton was in the kitchen watching him.

“Hey,” Fenton said. He was sitting on his counter in his pajamas, eating ice cream out of the bucket with a spoon. He was certifiable. Jason wanted to cross the room and kiss whatever Fenton would let him. Hands, face, feet, whatever.

Wow, weird.

“...Hey,” Jason said, way too late.

Fenton crunched down on his ice cream. “...That a casserole?” He said.

Jason nodded wordlessly, feeling very grateful that he had his hood on. He put the casserole down on the counter. He took a step backwards to flee.

Fenton pointed at Jason with the spoon, wholly unintimidated by the heavily armed man who'd broken into his house. “This is a proposal.”

Oh. Oh, motherfucking shitsocks. Jason felt weak through the knees. It was. Why was- why was he proposing??

Fenton took in his shock with a detached air. “Huh,” he said, like he'd learned something from this. “Um, it's nice of you and all. Have you been like, fixated on me for a while or- ohhh. I avenged you, didn't I?” He dropped the spoon in his ice cream carton and slapped both his palms down on the countertop. “He killed you? That sucks, man,” Fenton empathized. “I get it. I think if someone smashed the portal with a hammer I'd be down on one knee.”

Jason's brain was simply not running any program any longer. He gaped. He wasn't coherent enough to ask why Danny knew he'd been murdered by the Joker, but he had his shit together well enough to be fixated on the point.

“Um, it's not usually me being chased,” Fenton said. He made a face. “I… huh, I think I'm flattered.” He very obviously gave Jason a once-over. “I suppose this is your way of showing that you're a provider.” He heaved himself off the counter and went to investigate the casserole, sniffing and lifting the lid. “Oh, fuuuuuuck,” Danny groaned. He sniffed appreciatively. “Good demonstration of your husband material, t-b-h.”

Jason resisted the urge to tackle him to the ground.

“That's the good stuff.” Fenton closed it back up, but not before giving his ice cream spoon a considering look.

Oh, yuck. This guy was so grungly. Jason needed him badly. He shuddered.

Fenton looked at him.

Jason looked back.

“Do you wanna try moving in and see how we get on?” Fenton offered. “Take it slow, no wedding just yet.”

“Absolutely.” Jason full-body twitched with just how eager he was. “How do you feel about swans?”

“Neutral,” Danny said, after a brief moment of consideration. “I like stars, though.”

Okay, so that would be their wedding theme.

Jason only realized he'd said that aloud when Fenton's eyebrows shot up. Mortified and really wondering what was wrong with him, Jason offered a weak smile.

Fenton made a considering noise. He crossed his arms. He looked Jason up and down. “...Can you grill?” He asked. “Like, beer chicken?”

[daechwitatamic]

You Think You Might - Chapter 2 || csc

(banner by @itaeewon)

You Think You Might (masterpost) Seungcheol x fem!reader angst smut fluff fake dating!au, kind of sort of exes to lovers?

NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: Seungcheol agrees to be your fake boyfriend at your sister’s destination wedding, under the condition that it “stays there”. You didn’t expect it to hurt when he holds you to that promise.

WC: 54k total, this chapter 11.7k

Warnings: angst, reader working through some Stuff, language, drinking, Soonyoung is reader’s biological little brother, family drama, scoups and his ex are mutually toxic when together but neither is villainized, full warning list on the masterpost

A/N: thank you to @sailorsoons and @eoieopda for beta-ing, and @kkaetnipjeon for naming almost every background character and teaching me about the Levels of Noona.

You wake up facing the other direction - Seungcheol’s direction - cuddling something. As soon as your brain processes this, you freeze, trying to calculate how bad the damage is.

You open one eye, afraid of what you’ll find. Seungcheol is still asleep, facing you - but he’s still a good six or seven inches away. You’re cuddling, you realize with relief, the sheet you two had rolled up and put in the center of the bed. You have woken up spooning the Blanket Wall.

But at least you aren’t spooning Seungcheol.

Slowly, you extract yourself from the Blanket Wall’s sweet embrace and roll back to what is safely your half of the bed, and lift your phone to check the time.

It’s almost time for your alarm anyway, so you check your socials and your texts. Your mother has texted already this morning, confirming your breakfast plans. You shoot back an affirmative, and head for the bathroom.

When you emerge, dressed, it seems like Seungcheol is still asleep. You creep to the foot of the bed and wiggle one of his feet through the blankets, gently.

“Hey,” you whisper.

“Mmm?” he responds, turning his head towards you and making a definite attempt to open one eye.

God, he’s cute. 

You shove the thought away - it’s neither productive nor helpful.

“I’m sorry,” you say, still whispering. “But we’re - I’m - supposed to meet my family in like forty minutes and I didn’t know how much time you’d need to get ready. If you’re coming with me. Which you don’t have to.”

“Thanks,” he tries to say, though it sounds like he says it around marbles, letting his head drop back to the pillow. Then, a minute later, he says - much more clearly - “If I’m not out of the bed in five minutes please hit me with a pillow.”

You laugh, then move to open the curtains, hoping a well-lit room will help him wake up on his own. You dip back into the bathroom to hang up your towel, and when you come out again, he’s upright, stretching his arms towards the ceiling and yawning loudly. You decidedly do not look at his arms as he does this.

You take your phone out on the balcony, able to enjoy the view of the ocean now that it’s daylight, to give him a little space while he gets ready.

When it’s five minutes until you should walk down to the resort’s main dining room, you head back inside. Seungcheol is sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at something on his phone, face serious - but he’s dressed and looks pretty ready, his hair pushed back to frame his exposed forehead, his shirt sleeves clinging to his biceps.

You force yourself to look elsewhere. You clear your throat, and he pulls his gaze away from the phone screen to look up at you, eyebrows raised in anticipation for whatever you’re going to say. “Just one final time - you don’t have to deal with breakfast with my mom if you don’t want to. You and I could meet up later.”

He tilts his head a little. “I’m here to sell the idea that we’re a serious couple, right?” he asks, unnecessarily. You both know the answer. “It would be weird for you to go to breakfast without your boyfriend.”

“I guess,” you admit.

He pushes himself to standing, slipping his phone into his pocket. “I agreed to do this,” he points out. “If you spend the next two days worried about whether I really, really want to attend each event, you’re going to make yourself crazier than you would have been if you’d come alone. I’m here, so let me do it right.”

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Just… I appreciate you. And I know some of this won’t be fun for you, and I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, takes one small step closer. “Don’t be. It’s all part of the job, right?”

Something had been simmering in you, unnamed, since you’d kissed last night with sand between your toes and the stars’ reflections on ocean waves. At these words from Seungcheol, you feel it jerk to a halt behind your navel.

He’s right. You’d agreed, explicitly, on what this would be. You don’t want a mess - neither of you does. You need to be better than this - you need to be able to handle some muscley arms and kissing. 

“Yes,” you say belatedly, when you realize you hadn’t replied. “Yes, part of the job. Okay, well, if you’re ready… we can walk down?”

“I’m ready,” he says.

You check your hair and makeup in the mirror as you pass, grab the cute purse you’d bought just for this sundress, and head for the elevators, your fake boyfriend trailing just a step behind you.

“That dress is nice,” he tells you in the elevator, his voice innocent and even. You flush anyway, murmuring a thank you.

You spot your family right away when you pause at the dining hall’s entrance. They’re seated near a large window overlooking the beach. Behind them, the sun streams down, bright and unrelenting. Your stomach clenches when you see your mother’s profile, but loosens when you hear Soonyoung (and Chan, god, you can’t believe Dumb and Dumber are here with you) laughing.

You reach behind you blindly, fumbling for your fake boyfriend’s hand. He slips his fingers between yours and gives your hand a squeeze.

“Ready, babe?” he asks, one side of his mouth twitching, an eyebrow raised playfully.

Whatever shut down inside you when you were upstairs gives a tiny sign of life at the endearment.

“I am if you are,” you say, and then lead him through the dining hall, weaving around other tables until you reach your own.

“There they are!” Chan cries happily. “We thought perhaps you got delayed, what with the romance of the beach and -”

“Chan,” you say, smiling through gritted teeth, “I would like to remind you that you are not a member of my family and therefore I have zero qualms about ending your life.”

“Didn’t even make it to 9am without death threats,” Soonyoung sighs dramatically.

Your mother has risen to hug you, so you drop Seungcheol’s hand to return it.

“Um,” you say, stepping back when she releases you, “Mom, this is my boyfriend, Seungcheol.”

Her face tightens, but she covers it with a quick smile, reaching out a hand to shake Seungcheol’s. “Nice to meet you, boyfriend Seungcheol,” she says, voice dripping with sarcasm. She doesn’t even try to make it subtle. Then, she turns back to your little brother, who is still seated - eternally unbothered. “Did you know your sister was dating someone?”

Soonyoung shrugs. “Of course I did,” he says easily. “They met through me. I didn’t know that you didn’t know. Noona didn’t say it was a secret.”

Everyone looks at you again. You flush. “It wasn’t a secret,” you say defensively. “I just… I don’t know. It felt weird to bring up, and…”

You trail off, sheepish, and Soonyoung pipes up to defend you. “Ah, Noona’s always been private about this stuff,” he points out. “She didn’t tell the family about her new job until she’d been there long enough for her first promotion, remember?”

Chan rests his chin in his hands, leaning closer to you from his side of the table. “Why are you so secretive? Have you ever explored this in therapy?”

“Chan,” you growl threateningly.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Seungcheol interrupts, his deep voice coming from your left. “I’ve been telling her to set up a dinner with you for ages, but she gets so wrapped up in work - you know how she is when she’s focused on a project.”

You glance sideways at him, curious. Does he know this chink in your mother’s armor, your work? Or was it a lucky shot? Either way, your mother softens slightly, and gives him a more genuine smile.

“Yes, she can certainly have a one-track mind when she’s got a goal to meet,” she says warmly, sliding back into her seat and opening her hand towards the two empty chairs, inviting you to sit.

The rest of breakfast goes well - better than you could have hoped, really. Seungcheol fits into the conversation easily, having years of friendship with Soonyoung and Chan. You almost feel like the outsider in the conversation - though, once he’s done eating, Seungcheol leaves his arm casually draped over the back of your chair, absently drawing lazy shapes on your bare shoulder. You fight back a shiver at the sensation, and Soonyoung meets your eyes across the table, folding his lips all the way back into his mouth and biting on them to keep from outright laughing at this turn of events.

You might kill him and Chan both, “family” be damned.

Your mother asks, as you expected, about how you got together. Seungcheol follows directions and lets you tell it. You keep it simple, and Soonyoung helps by acting all smug that he set you up, to which Chan argues that he hadn’t done it on purpose and shouldn’t act like he did. It’s all so normal, so natural, that you could almost believe the story yourself.

“So if you’ve been together almost a year,” your mother muses, dabbing at her lips with the linen napkin, “you must have been together for the holidays. I’m surprised we didn’t meet then.”

“I was with my family,” Seungcheol says easily, with a small shrug. “We’d only been together around five months by then - holidays with the family felt a bit heavy.”

Your mother purses her lips, her eyes on you even though Seungcheol is the one who answered. 

“It wasn’t that serious yet,” you chime in. “I think I got him a sweater as a gift.”

“Hey, I like that sweater,” he complains, joining the bit without delay. You love how quick he is. 

“Hm,” your mother says tightly, and sips at her tea. She isn’t buying it, not completely. You need to turn it up.

You send Seungcheol a sideways smile, trying to make it a little sly. “Better presents are on the horizon,” you promise. “With our first anniversary coming.”

He raises his eyebrows at you, leaning back in his chair to look at you appraisingly. “Oh, are they?” he asks playfully. “What did you get me? A car?”

Soonyoung laughs. “Maybe a Hot Wheels,” he cackles.

“Shut up, Soonyoung,” you snap, but there’s no heat behind it. 

“Better get me a few Hot Wheels,” Seungcheol says, “if you want to keep up with what I got for you.”

Your eyes widen, even though this is a fake present for a fake anniversary. “What did you get for me?” you ask in a rush, leaning forward towards him, reaching for his hands. “Is it sparkly?”

“Yes, it’s a mirror. Enrichment for your enclosure,” Chan quips.

You turn to face him, Seungcheol’s hands still in yours. “Chan, you are quite literally the worst part of my morning.”

Your mother, the actual worst part of your morning, watches this but says nothing. 

And then, blessedly, the conversation moves back to the wedding you’re here for.

“I assume you’re joining us later, at the salon?” your mother asks.

You fight to keep your face neutral, to keep the scowl off. “Yes,” you say, as evenly as possible. “I saw that on the itinerary.” 

You’d been emailed an hour-by-hour schedule, in fact, detailing exactly where you needed to be and when for the entire weekend. You’re supposed to meet with Nayoung, her one bridesmaid that isn’t family, and your mother at a salon just off the resort to get your nails all done together. “Bonding”, Nayoung pretended, but you know it’s because she wants to make sure you all match.

“What are you gonna do all day while the girls get pretty?” your brother asks, and next to you Seungcheol shifts in his seat.

“Hadn’t really thought about it,” he admits. “I mean, we’re at the beach, so I figured I’d find something to do. Walk the beach and see if I can score any numbers -”

You elbow him in the ribs harder than necessary. He laughs, squeezing your shoulder playfully.

“She’s too easy to wind up,” he says, smirking at you sideways.

“Don’t think you’re safe just because you’re tall and handsome,” you warn.

You can feel your mother’s eyes watching this teasing exchange and you try to ignore the prickly feeling of her dissecting the interaction. As you work on avoiding her gaze, Soonyoung invites your date to join him and Chan for the afternoon.

“Do you care, babe?” he asks lightly, turning to look at you.

You can’t help it - you laugh. This is all so absurd. Him calling you babe. His hand on your shoulder. Him asking permission to go hang out with his friends. What a stupid situation you’ve created.

“Of course not,” you say brightly, your nose growing an inch as you do. “I’ll text you when we leave the salon? I think we’ll have a few hours between that and rehearsal dinner - maybe we can go down to the pool or something?”

He gives you a little squeeze again. “That sounds good,” he agrees.

When you all rise, he waits behind your chair, pushing it in for you after you vacate the seat.

“See you later?” you ask quietly, stepping into his space and looking up at him. It’s code, and you hope he hears it - we’re good? You’re okay for now?

He leans down and kisses your forehead, and something inside you longs to close your eyes and lean into it, thirsty for affection.

“All good,” he says, giving you a sweet, dimpled smile. “Text me when you’re heading back.”

“I will,” you promise, and then, since everyone is watching, you rise up on your tiptoes and give him a quick kiss on the lips goodbye. You step away lightly, but he tugs you back by the wrist and kisses you again, firmer, lingering.

“Have fun,” he says, still smiling, when you pull away from his surprise attack.

“Don’t get too many numbers,” you shoot back.

“You two are disgusting,” Chan complains.

“Quit crying because you’re single,” you sniff.

It’s believable, you think. We’re doing it.

But as you follow your mother through the dining hall - intending to share a ride to the salon - you feel something twinge behind your ribcage. It feels like nerves, like you’re afraid that when you step away the whole facade will crumble.

–

Nayoung and her other bridesmaid - her college roommate, Sheyla - are already there when you follow your mother into the nail salon.

“Oh, good!” your sister cries, rising from her seat. “You’re here!”

She hugs your mother first, then you, stepping back and saying, “Eomma says you brought a boyfriend.”

As if she just saw you last week, and this didn’t come up in conversation. As if you usually tell her things about your life, and you omitted something. As if you have some kind of relationship, and it’s normal and expected for her to tease you.

When the truth is you have no relationship, no room to tease this practical stranger, no reality where she knows even the barest details about your life. You could be married and she wouldn’t have known - just like you stand here today, not even knowing what her fiancé looks like, knowing his name only from that embossed invitation that came in the mail months ago.

“Should I have left him at home and brought the mailman instead?” you ask, a bit acidic. 

She smiles at you like your petulance is cute, while behind you your mother whispers your name sharply. 

“No,” she laughs quietly. “I just meant, it’s so weird that you’re even grown up enough to come with a boyfriend, share a room, all that stuff. You should still be too little for all that.”

Yes, you think, because the last time you were around me for any length of time, I was nine. 

You’re here for her wedding. This weekend is about her, and her new husband. You can be a brat later, in private. 

“I don’t think me having a serious boyfriend is really the big news here,” you say as lightly as possible, despite the churning need to barb that you feel. “You’re getting married tomorrow.”

She laughs and Sheyla lets out a “damn right!” from her seat. You’ve never met Sheyla before - only know who she is from your mother’s unsolicited updates about Nayoung’s life.

You let Nayoung dictate the shade and shape for your nails. You try to engage in the conversation just enough that you don’t look sullen. Mostly, you watch your sister - like if you watch her long enough, she might start to look like someone you know, and not a stranger. Like if you watch her long enough, she’ll become the sister you remember from childhood, who watched Saturday morning cartoons on the living room floor with you even though she was “too old” for them, who helped you with homework while your dad cooked dinner, who let you sleep in her bed when it thunderstormed.

It doesn’t happen. She stays a stranger, a woman you don’t know at all.

You hear all about Nayoung and her fiancé - how they’d known each other in college, but never dated, how they’d ended up working together by chance and had fallen into a relationship. The story’s sweet, you can’t deny.

“He’s so whipped for her, it’s appalling,” Sheyla jokes.

“Is not,” your sister protests, giggling. “We have a very equally-matched relationship, thank you very much.”

“Mutually whipped.”

“Sheyla, I know where you sleep.”

They kind of remind you of yourself and Soonyoung, and even Chan. 

“There’s a restaurant down this block,” Nayoung tells you and your mother as you stand near the front of the salon to pay. “Sheyla and I were going to grab a small bite and a drink before we head over to get ready for rehearsal. Do you want to join?”

“That sounds lovely,” your mother says, seemingly for both of you.

Absolutely not.

“I should get back to the resort for a little bit,” you say, trying to sound apologetic. “Seungcheol’s been with the guys all day - I should see what they’re up to.”

“I’m sure they’re just fine,” Nayoung says. “He’s with his friends at a private beach - they’re probably having a blast.”

“Maybe I miss him,” you say, a bit of challenge creeping into your tone.

“So cute,” Sheyla coos, and you can’t even examine if it’s patronizing or sarcastic or genuine because your mother’s eyes narrow and you need to get away before you cave and do what she wants instead of what you want.

“I’ll grab an Uber,” you say, turning before anyone can argue. “We’ll grab a ride to rehearsal with Soonyoung and Chan later, okay?”

You’re a thousand percent sure they’re talking about you as you slip out into the hot sun. You’d rather wait inside, in the aircon, but you’ll have to tough it out, now. Luckily, the car doesn’t take long, and you’re back to the resort in no time.

From the car you send, “omw back. where is everyone?”

Seungcheol answers, “at the pool furthest from the entrance - less crowded. see you soon”

And then the fucker sends a heart.

You roll your eyes.

You: is that really necessary?

Seungcheol: you have to admit its a little funny

Seungcheol: i have to amuse myself somehow

You don’t answer; it’s not his fault you’re in a terrible mood. You head up to the room first, relishing the quiet and the chance to be “off” for a few minutes as you fish a bathing suit out of your suitcase and get changed. You pull the same sundress back over the suit and grab your phone and a pair of sunglasses.

You have two missed texts from the few minutes you were changing.

Seungcheol: you joining us?

Mom: It’s a little rude of you to go spend time with the people you see every day when you have the rare opportunity to visit with your sister.

You slap your phone back down on the counter and try to take a deep breath, closing your eyes against the wave of fury that rises up in you.

Kind of rude of you, you answer in your head, to think I should spend all my time with someone who hasn’t cared about my existence in over fifteen years instead of the people who give a shit that I am alive.

You answer Seungcheol first - “stopped in the room. be there in a few”. Then, after much pacing, you send your mother, “sorry. feel bad letting my date fend for himself. i’ll see nayoung lots tonight and tomorrow.”

Then you head for the elevators, putting your phone on do not disturb so that your mother cannot continue to disturb you.

When you reach the last of the resort’s three pools, you spot your brother first, sitting on the pool’s edge with his legs in the water. You sit down next to him and wrap your arms around his shoulders, burying your face against his sun-warmed arm.

“Thank you for not being a horrible sibling,” you say, releasing him.

He blinks at you, surprised by this display. You and Soonyoung are close, definitely - but this isn’t a common occurrence.

“It was that bad, huh?” he asks, as Chan approaches with one of those umbrella drinks in hand.

You sigh. “Not really. Just. Made me appreciate you.”

“Well,” Soonyoung grins, “I appreciate the appreciation.”

Seungcheol swims over, pushing his wet hair out of his face. “Hey,” he says. “How’d it go?”

You shrug. “I survived. Did I miss anything fun?”

“Just this,” he says, placing his palms on the hot cement next to where you’re seated and pushing himself up out of the water to plop down next to you, water dripping from him and running underneath your legs.

“You want a drink?” he asks, and when you turn to look at him he’s looking at you so seriously, brows furrowed, as if he’s scanning you for wounds.

He may have found one. You suddenly feel choked with emotion under his investigative gaze, and you look away before he can see it on your face.

“Yeah,” you manage. “Actually, a beer sounds fucking amazing right now. Thanks.”

The concern gone from his face, he sends you a quick wink as he stands, still dripping pool water. “Anything for my baby.”

You groan, leaning against your chuckling brother again. “He’s enjoying this too much,” you complain as he walks away. You do not watch the muscles across his back ripple as he walks away.

When he’s out of sight, you sigh heavily. “Mom’s mad at me,” you tell Soonyoung. “Because I didn’t go get drinks with them after nails. But I really, really would rather be here with you guys.”

He gives your knee one quick, sympathetic pat. “Sorry,” he says, and you know he means it but doesn’t get it, because she never does this to him.

“It’s okay,” you say glumly. “She’ll get over it.”

“I think we were actually going to go upstairs soon?” Your brother says this like a question; he’s scared it’s going to upset you - you can tell. “We both wanted to nap a little before rehearsal dinner tonight.”

Your heart sinks. You wonder if Seungcheol will have the same plan, leaving you alone for the rest of the afternoon. The thought depresses you further. But when Seungcheol returns, he has two beers in hand, so he must be planning on staying for a little.

“My brother and his date -”

“Roommate!”

“-are abandoning me,” you tell him. “To snuggle.”

“Take naps in separate beds!”

“Would you like to go snuggle?” Seungcheol asks you seriously, handing over your beer.

You groan in exasperation. “No,” you assert. “I want to stay here, drinking until I’m not annoyed at every single family member I have. I just wanted to know what your plan is.”

Seungcheol nods, clearly amused at your ranting, one eyebrow raised and mouth turned down in mock-consideration.

“Well, I guess,” he says, finally, coming to take his spot next to you on the pool deck, “as your boyfriend, I better stay and help you get unannoyed.”

“Teasing me is a step in the wrong direction,” you mutter, but to be honest, the banter is kind of fun. A healthy outlet for your annoyance, really.

“I did get you a beer,” he points out.

“That was helpful,” you agree.

To your right, Chan and Soonyoung have both toweled off and gathered their stuff; they stand waiting to say goodbye. You agree on what time to meet in the lobby to head to rehearsal dinner and then they waddle off in matching slides. You watch them go forlornly, and then turn back to the sparkling pool.

“You don’t have to stay with me,” you tell Seungcheol, just in case. “If you want to go rest before tonight or something, feel free.”

His whole face scrunches. “Will you quit trying to get rid of me? I’m trying to enjoy sitting poolside with a beer and a pretty girl.”

You feel yourself flush. “You don’t have to say that when no one’s here to hear it,” you mutter, embarrassed and pleased.

“Eh,” he says, as if he isn’t so bothered by whether or not you have witnesses. “It’s true, so why shouldn’t I say it?”

“Well, thanks,” you say to your knees, swishing your feet around in the water self-consciously.

“Do you want to talk about what pissed you off?” he offers.

You sigh. “It’s nice of you to ask, but no - I’d rather just have fun and enjoy my afternoon with you.”

You sit in silence for a few minutes. Then, you ask, “Will you watch my beer for a minute? I want to cool off.”

“‘Course,” he says, going so far as to pull your plastic cup closer to his own, as if to guard it.

You slip into the water, which feels wonderful after you’ve gotten warm under the unrelenting sunshine. You tread for a minute, then slip beneath the surface and push hard off the wall into a streamlined glide. You kick and pull all the way across, then surface with a splash, pushing your hair out of your face. You tread on that side for a minute until a couple of kids splash too close to you, and you move closer to the middle and roll to float on your back. Above you, the sky spans uninterrupted blue in every direction.

You’re surprised by fingers touching your wrist and you sit up, turning to see Seungcheol has joined you.

“Who’s watching the beer?” you ask, feigning indignation.

“I finished them,” he laughs. “The water looked good.”

“It is good,” you sigh happily. “I want to live here. Do you think someone would bankroll me to just live at a beach resort year-round?”

He laughs again. “I’m sure someone would, if you tried the right website,” he jokes.

You grin. “I could be a sugar baby. I’d be great at it.”

“You would not,” he says, starting to paddle away from you. “You can’t control your attitude. Those guys want a sugar baby, not a spice baby.”

You follow him, trailing by a few feet. “They want a spice baby sometimes.”

“You don’t pick the right moments,” he tells you, treading water near the spot you’d been sitting before. Your beer cup, as he said, sits empty next to his.

“I can’t believe you drank my beer,” you complain.

“See?” he says, raising that eyebrow again. “Spice baby.”

This makes you laugh, because damn, he’s right.

“So,” he says suddenly, reaching up to grip the edge of the deck, holding himself in place instead of treading. His voice strikes you as suddenly deeper, but you’re not sure if it’s your imagination. “Am I boyfriending okay?”

The smile is on your face before you can even fully process the question. “So far so good,” you tell him, smiling warmly, delighted by the bit. “I thought breakfast with my mom was particularly strong Boyfriending.”

He nods, feigning humility. “I did try,” he deadpans.

“It was commendable, especially for a novice,” you tell him.

He narrows his eyes at you, but there’s not much heat behind it. “I’m not a novice boyfriend,” he argues. “I was with Jieun for -”

“Not to be a total spice baby about this,” you say, holding up a hand to stop him mid-thought, “but you have to calculate by uninterrupted dating time. What’s the longest you two went without breaking up?”

You swear he flushes a little, but it could be the sun or the beer causing the tips of his ears to go red.

“Five months,” he mutters, looking away from you to pick a leaf out of the water.

“And how many of those five were things actually good?”

His head snaps up, and you can see all over his face how he’s ready to fight.

“No judgement,” you add quickly. “My point is only that… it’s different to Boyfriend during a rocky five months where you’re constantly cycling between fighting and making up, and to be years into something steady. The roles are different.”

His face has gone stony. “I didn’t realize you had so many opinions about my love life.”

“I don’t,” you say, as gently as you can, but your pulse is racing; you hadn’t meant to piss him off or hurt his feelings. You try your best to do damage control. “I just have a lot of opinions about the right way to Boyfriend after the eight month mark. There are rules.”

You can almost watch him weigh the moment in his mind, deciding if he wants to lean into his hurt feelings or if he wants to let you off the hook.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and push on when he looks surprised. “I wasn’t trying to, like… make a statement about you guys. I’m sorry it came out that way, and I’m sorry if it made you upset. I’ll watch what I say better.”

His stare is absolutely blank, a hint of petulance still on his almost-pouting lips.

“People in long-term relationships have to own their mistakes,” you tell him sagely. “And apologize, and take steps to do better. That’s one of the rules.”

He continues to stare at you like you’ve sprouted an extra limb. Then, he laughs a little, shaking his head. “So you’re the expert now?”

You push back the defensive wave that rises in you. “Out of the two of us,” you say, shrugging. “My last relationship was over two years.”

His mouth twists as he considers this. “I didn’t like that guy,” he says off-handedly, as if he’d forgotten. Maybe he had. “So, why’d it end, if you’re such a pro?”

This sobers you a little. “Oh,” you say, and you hate how you can hear how small your voice is. “It was…”

He moves suddenly, pressing closer, reaching out. “No, I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “You don’t have to tell me. That was douchey.”

You smile, a little relieved. “I feel like it’s only fair,” you say. “I broke up with him because… it was two years, but I just never felt secure, you know? I never felt like… he was it, and I definitely didn’t ever get the sense he felt that way about me, either. It was just kind of… fine? And I…”

You lift your eyes to meet his, darkly watching you, the water around you glinting white in the bright sun. “I wanted more,” you admit quietly. “It was selfish, probably, but… I wanted to love someone, like… I wanted to be in the kind of love that makes you crazy, that you make bad decisions for, where you miss them before they even leave - that all-consuming, stupid love. I never felt, like, wild stupid in love with him.”

He gives a wry laugh, and when you look up at him he’s peering off at the horizon, where the sun is beginning to descend over the ocean. “That’s funny,” he says, something acidic in his tone that you’ve never heard before. “I feel like I’ve only had the bad-decision, stupid thing. I don’t even know what it’s like to have something… calm. Or sensible.”

Sensible. What a boring word. What a boring way to love.

“I think it’d be really refreshing to level up to questionable decisions instead of dumpster-fire ones,” he adds, smiling that half-smile you’re coming to recognize.

“Questionable decisions do sound better,” you agree, smiling back.

You tread closer, the water bobbing with the movement of other swimmers and pushing you closer than you’d intended. Your fingers brush his arm innocently as you both work to stay afloat. The air between you feels charged; for a second, you think about kissing him again.

Instead, you push yourself back up to the pool deck, laying back and relishing in the warmth from the cement seeking into your water-chilled skin. There’s a splash and a shadow over you for just a second, letting you know that your fake boyfriend has joined you.

“I think,” you say to the sky, “I’m gonna lay out until I’m dry, and then head up to shower."

“I’m gonna go replace your beer,” Seungcheol says, and you look over to see the little smile he sports. “And get my own.”

“Don’t overdo it,” you warn. “We’re gonna need a lot of alcohol to get through tonight. Or I am, anyway. Gotta pace ourselves.”

“I’m good. I only had like a third of yours,” he assures you, before lumbering off again. When he returns, you’re stretched out on one of the loungers, reaching for the cup he offers you. He settles on the lounger next to yours, and a minute later you feel him poke your arm as he offers an earbud, as he had in the airport.

You take it gratefully, and for the next hour you don’t speak, only sit in companionable silence, sipping at amber liquid, watching the blue sky, listening to a thundering bassline against the rhythmic crash of ocean waves.

You think you might feel happy.

—

You take a while getting ready, and when you finally relinquish the bathroom, Seungcheol is out on the balcony, scrolling on his phone.

“Hey,” you say, poking your head through the doorway, “bathroom’s all yours.”

He closes whatever he’d had open and turns, and you’re surprised to see a look akin to anger on his face before he schools it, shooting you a belated smile.

“Okay,” he says, rising. “Thanks.”

“Are you okay?” you ask, without really thinking it through.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m gonna go shower, if you’re done in there.”

He pushes past you, and you take a step back to give him room. He disappears into the bathroom, the door closing with a definitive click.

You settle carefully on the bed and start scrolling through social media to pass the time. You had posted a picture of the beach earlier, and you check the few comments your friends have left you before scrolling the new posts on your feed. You smile to yourself when you see that Seungcheol had posted an almost identical picture, coupled with a selfie in which his wet hair is pushed back from his face and his eyes are closed in laughter.

There’s one comment underneath, from an account that couldn’t be anybody else: Jieun.

“gorgeous,” she’d written, and nothing else.

Seungcheol doesn’t emerge from the bathroom until four minutes until go-time, and you’re standing near the doorway fastening the straps on your heels. He stops short as he takes in your appearance.

“You look nice,” he says, a little haltingly.

“Thanks,” you say. But you’re thinking about that instagram comment. You’re wondering if that’s why he’d looked mad when you’d called him inside.

It doesn’t matter, you know. This isn’t real. But you’re curious. What’s the deal with the two of them - what does it mean that she’s showing up in his comments? Is he happy to hear from her? Or is this a sign of trouble for him?

You don’t know how to ask. You’ve never talked about this stuff with him. And what if he thought you were bringing it up out of jealousy?

You ruminate on this the whole time you’re in the car with Soonyoung and Chan - who chatter cluelessly the whole time - heading for the venue.

You’re among the first to arrive; your mother and Nayoung and a handsome man who must be her fiancé stand outside the front doors, deep in conversation when your Uber pulls up. You slide out first, followed by Seungcheol and the younger guys.

Nayoung beams at you and Soonyoung as you approach. “Guys! I’d like you to finally meet my fiancé, Jeongwoo.”

You ignore the finally, shove down the defensive voice that says whose fault is it that we’re only meeting him now?

Instead, you show your teeth like a good girl and move to shake his hand, but he moves with clear intention for a quick hug. You adjust quickly, patting his shoulder lightly and pulling away.

“Great to meet you,” you say, as warmly as you can manage. You introduce yourself and then Seungcheol, who reaches forward to successfully shake hands. Soonyoung and Chan do the same.

“Which one’s actually the younger brother?” Jeongwoo asks, looking at Soonyoung and Chan with uncertainty.

“Both of them, really,” you joke, and then you realize that for Nayoung that simply isn’t true. As much as Chan has been like your second brother since the first week of his undergrad, this is her first time meeting him. It strikes you again, as it often does, how differently you and Nayoung experience this family.

“I am,” Soonyoung says, saving you from the moment.

“Ah, I see it now,” Jeongwoo says kindly. “You have Nayoung’s smile.”

“Should we go in?” your mother asks, just as another car pulls into the parking lot. You all pause, waiting to see if it’s another member of your party.

It is.

Everything leaves your head - Seungcheol’s bad mood earlier, his ex on his instagram, Nayoung’s absence in your life, the weirdness of meeting her almost-husband. You’re left with nothing but static as your father walks around the front of his parked car and opens the passenger door for his date.

Your mother’s hand slips into yours and squeezes tight.

You squeeze back. For all her bullshit, for all the times you get annoyed with her, she’s yours and you love her, and you know this is shitty for her. You know the family blames her, and you know more than they do how much the ruined marriage was a two-person job. You were there to witness it all.

He strides over, and you squint at the date he brought. She’s expensive-pretty, and young - probably not too much older than Nayoung. Don’t be judgy, you think to yourself. Don’t be judgy.

He hugs Nayoung for a long time, long enough that you wonder if he’s been more present in her life than yours since the divorce. Was the split two sides, not three as you’d always thought? Was it Nayoung and Dad versus the rest of you? How had you not known that, for all these years?

When he disentangles himself with Nayoung, he gives Jeongwoo a firm clap on the back and it’s immediately clear that, yes, they have met before. You keep your mother’s hand firmly in yours, squeezing tight. You feel Seungcheol shift behind you, not far from your side.

Your father moves to Soonyoung next, making a fuss over your brother’s muscular build. Something sour simmers in you and it surprises you. You’d known you were mad at Nayoung for leaving you all behind. You hadn’t really examined if the sentiment carried over to your father, too. Apparently it had.

You talk on the phone about as much as you talk to your mother… and sure, you see him on most holidays, way more than you see Nayoung. But still. He had left, too, hadn’t he?

When he hugs you, it takes you a second before you can force yourself to return it, your mother stepping backwards to give you room, to put space between herself and the man who’d left her - or whom she’d driven away, depending on who you asked. Or both.

When he releases you, you turn to Seungcheol, ready to introduce him. You find him watching this exchange with a peculiar look on his face, as if he’s doing calculations in his head - and you really don’t know if you’ll like the answer he gets.

“Dad, this is my boyfriend, Seungcheol,” you say quietly, and Seungcheol steps forward, clasping hands. There’s something hard and unreadable on his face as he shakes your father’s hand, no sign of the warm, dimpled smile he usually sports.

“Boyfriend, eh?” your dad says, and you watch his eyes flick over Seungcheol, evaluating. You feel weirdly protective, like you want to step between them. Which is stupid, because Seungcheol isn’t yours, and he doesn’t need protection from anyone even if he were.

“Nice to meet you,” Seungcheol says, his tone as hard as his expression.

Your father responds to this with a hmm that makes your blood start to boil. “I’m sure we’ll have the opportunity to talk later and get to know each other better,” he says, and to you - and probably no one else - it sounds like a threat.

Then he turns to your mother, saying her name flatly and extending a hand. They shake, and you again fight the urge to step between them. You aren’t used to this - wanting to protect everyone from the potential to wound each other. You haven’t felt this way since before the split, when the fighting was at its worst, and you’d only had your brother to protect back then. You’d put years and distance between yourself and this impulse, and it feels dizzying to be back in it so completely.

Your father introduces his date to your mother - he hadn’t for any of you kids - and you watch her smile tighten as she fights to remain gracious, reaching out to shake hands.

Seungcheol steps closer to you, wraps an arm around your shoulders, and pulls you against his side. “It’s okay,” he says, tucking his head closer to yours and speaking so quietly that no one else could possibly hear him. “It’s not your job to fix it.”

You look up at him, sideways. This moment of kindness, of soothing, is real, is from him - your friend Seungcheol. Not fake-boyfriend Seungcheol. (But it is still really good Boyfriending.)

You nod once, giving him a thankful nudge with your shoulder. He gives you a quick squeeze, but keeps his arm around you for show. You glance around, but Nayoung has her back to you now, talking to her fiancé. Soonyoung and Chan are both on their phones, side by side like oblivious bookends.

“I need a drink,” you mutter, and Seungcheol’s mouth quirks.

“Should we go in?” he asks the group, and Nayoung turns at the sound of his question.

“Oh,” she says, sounding a bit lost. “Sure, let’s head in. Everyone else is on their way.”

The restaurant staff inside lead you to a side-room which Nayoung has clearly rented out for the night. The table is set with place cards, and you find your name between Seungcheol’s and your mother’s. You set your purse on the chair and look around, finding the bar and making your way over. You glance over your shoulder to see where Seungcheol is. He’s hanging his suit jacket on the back of the chair next to yours, chatting casually with Chan on the other side of the table. It’s the happiest you’ve seen him look tonight, so you leave him alone.

At the bar, you order a beer for him and a cocktail for yourself, leaning on your elbows as you wait. Someone comes up behind you, close, and whispers in your ear, “Can you believe the nerve of him, showing up with a practical teenager? What’s he trying to prove, that he’s a big man?”

You close your eyes and take a breath. “I don’t think he’s trying to prove anything,” you say as neutrally as possible. “But I’m sure it feels very weird and uncomfortable for you, and I’m sorry.”

All those eldest daughter memes leave something out. If the real eldest daughter moves out at eighteen and leaves the middle daughter in the house, then the middle daughter gets the Mom’s Therapist responsibilities.

She continues to mutter next to you as she waits for the bartender to bring her glass of wine; you nod and mhm and pat her hand until your two drinks come.

“I’m bringing Seungcheol his beer,” you say. “I’ll be at the table - you’re sitting next to me.”

She stops her litany of complaints and nods at you, letting you go. You make your way to the guys, pressing yourself up next to Seungcheol and holding out his beer.

He looks surprised as he takes the glass from you. “Thanks,” he says. “You didn’t need to do that.��

You shrug. “Sure I did.” Then, thinking of how he’d been teasing you this whole time, you add, “Gotta take care of my man, don’t I?” You give a playful head tilt as you say this, feeling a smirk on your lips.

“I think I just puked,” Soonyoung complains.

Seungcheol’s smile crawls across his face like he’s not sure it’s safe, like he can’t believe you’re playing along with his little game. “I appreciate that,” he says, and there’s something new to his tone, something lower that makes your navel tug.

More guests have arrived and you know none of them - Jeongwoo’s family members, probably, and maybe some of the couple’s friends and coworkers. The room fills with people and noise, and you feel yourself relax a little as you lose track of everyone except the three young men you’re sticking close to. But, maybe an hour in, you catch sight of your mother - standing alone, mostly empty wine glass in hand, looking around the room like she’s lost.

“Excuse me for a minute,” you murmur to Seungcheol, stepping away before he can ask any questions.

“Hi,” you say simply as you stand next to her.

“Hello,” she says evenly, but you can see the relief in her shoulders. “Are you having a nice time?”

You shrug. “You know I don’t like events like this. Too many people. Too much small talk.”

She gives a knowing mm, eyes scanning the room behind you. “You father certainly seems like he fits into this crowd,” she observes lightly, but you hear the accusation behind it. Nayoung has let him into her world, and your mother is realizing she’s on the outside, just like you.

“He lives closer,” you try to rationalize, though you don’t know why you do it. Seungcheol’s words echo in your mind - it’s not your job to fix it. But you want to anyway.

“It doesn’t matter if you know all their work friends,” you say firmly. “Nayoung loves you. You’ll always be important to her.”

Your mother looks away, suddenly misty-eyed, reaching out and squeezing your bicep gratefully.

You glance over your shoulder to check on Seungcheol, but he’s still with Soonyoung, so you stay put. You stand in silence for a little, just so she won’t be alone.

“Jeongwoo seems nice,” you say finally.

“He’s a good man,” she agrees, turning to look at where Nayoung and Jeongwoo stand close together, talking to an older couple - maybe his parents. “She did alright for herself, even after everything.”

This confuses you. “After everything? What everything?”

She sighs, drains her glass. “Ah. You were there - you know already. Things were so ugly at the house… I’m not blaming anyone… but she left as soon as she could to get away from it all. We put her through college financially, of course, but she didn’t have the emotional support she should have; we were both very distracted by our own mess. I regret it very much. Those years are so formative, and she was all alone. I’m proud of what she made for herself.”

You don’t know what to say. You hadn’t thought about it like that at all. And you wonder, but won’t ask, if she’s proud of you and Soonyoung - for standing witness to the burning rubble of your family unit, for holding up the frame of the collapsing house for as long as you could, for keeping each other going when home became a warzone. You both grew up from that - moved on and made lives for yourselves, too.

It isn’t worth it. Not here, not now.

“She seems really happy,” you say, instead, because it’s the most appropriate thing you can. “I’m going to find the bathroom real quick. Do you want another glass when I get back?”

In the bathroom, you place both palms flat on the counter and heave a breath, shoulders sagging and head flopping forward. When the door creaks open behind you and someone says your name, you almost swear out loud.

It’s Nayoung, and she slips into the restroom, letting the door close behind her.

“Hey… is Mom okay?” she asks quietly.

You stare at her, weighing your choices for an answer. “Don’t worry about Mom,” you say finally. “It’s your weekend. I’ve got her. She’s fine - everything’s fine.”

She stares back, like she’s trying to decide if you’re lying - like she’s trying to decide if she should let you shoulder this responsibility. “Okay. Thanks,” she says finally. “If you need me, let me know.”

I needed you fifteen years ago, you think, but, god, maybe it’s time you let it go. It is what it is - you can’t go back and neither can she. Maybe you all just did your best in a shitty situation.

“I will,” you say. 

She nods again and slips back out through the door as quietly as she’d come. You take another minute, check your reflection, and rub absently at the backs of your heels. Your shoes are killing you, blisters forming on both feet. You check the time and calculate how many more hours you’ll have to power through the pain. Too many, it seems. You sigh heavily, give your heel one last sympathetic rub, and then rejoin the party.

You scan the room for Seungcheol, knowing you’ve been away from him for a while and should probably check on him. You find him quickly, in the far corner of the room, still standing with Soonyoung. But now they’re joined by your father.

“Oh shit,” you blurt, and beeline for them.

“Ah!” Your father says cheerily when you sidle up to Seungcheol again, reaching a hand around his waist and pressing up against his side, your spare hand coming to rest lightly over his stomach. “There she is!”

“Sorry, I was with Mom,” you say. “Everyone good here? You need anything?” You direct this question up at Seungcheol, who smiles down at you.

That is not his normal smile. That is not his happy smile. He, like you, is baring his teeth and doing his best to hide the threat in it.

Your stomach sinks. You wonder what you missed.

“The guys were just catching me up,” your father tells you. “I didn’t know you were dating someone.”

“Yeah,” you say, giving a little awkward laugh. “We were trying not to put a lot of pressure on it at the beginning, and then… I don’t know, time just passed, right? And here we are. It felt weird to, like… announce it.”

Your father clicks his tongue. “You’d think it would come up over the course of a year.”

“Less than a year,” you point out unhelpfully.

“For what it’s worth, sir,” Seungcheol says, and something in you sits up straight in alarm, “I’ve been around for a lot longer than that. Since college, actually. I was there when she graduated with honors, and I was there when we all cooked to celebrate when she started at her job. I was there helping Soonyoung get her sofa up the stairs when she moved apartments after her first promotion, too.”

He says this very off-handedly, looking sideways at you, but the lightness of his tone is a lie that’s meant to be seen through. You all hear, loud and clear, the end of his thought: you, her father, weren’t there for any of that.

And he’s right - about both parts. Seungcheol has been in the periphery of your life for years now… you just hadn’t really given him much thought. And your father… he’d been around, but he hadn’t been there.

Across from you, Soonyoung’s eyes are wide. Next to him, Chan is literally pressing his hand against his mouth, eyes dancing between the two men.

Your father clears his throat. “She’s lucky to have good friends,” he says, sidestepping the dig.

“It’s not luck,” Seungcheol says, his hand tightening almost uncomfortably on your waist, “that she’s surrounded by people who love her. It’s because of who she is.”

“Cheol,” you murmur, reproach and apology both present in your voice.

He turns to look at you, and seems to snap out of it. “I’m sorry,” he says, giving your father a quick bow. “What I mean is, you raised two great people. I hope you see that.”

“We need some air,” you interrupt. You don’t wait, don’t apologize, don’t look back. You grab Seungcheol’s hand and tug him towards the doors that lead to a small, outdoor patio.

“Holy fuck,” you say, as soon as the doors close behind you. Outside, night has fallen, the sky the mottled purple of late sunset and early dusk.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, grabbing for your hand like he’s scared you’re going to take off and leave him there to think about what he’s done. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have popped off. I just got mad - I have been around for all those things, all these pieces of your life, and he wasn’t there for any of it. How does he get off demanding answers from you?”

“It’s okay,” you say, though you’ll probably have to answer for this at some point. “It’s fine. This is just… this is just what they do.”

He sighs heavily, rubs a hand down his face. “It’s not okay. I’m supposed to be making this weekend easier for you, not causing problems. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say again, voice almost a whisper. You feel raw, coming down from the rush of adrenaline, hands shaking a little at your sides.

He notices.

“Hey,” he says gently. “God. I’m sorry.” He steps forward and wraps his arms around you. This isn’t fake-boyfriend Seungcheol, either - there are no witnesses, no one to fool. But you let him envelop you, and you take a shuddering breath in the safety of his shirt.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, voice low. “I’m sorry, really - I’ll go back in and apologize -”

“It’s fine, stop apologizing to me,” you say, swatting at his ribs lightly. “He deserved it. And I’m fine.”

To prove this, you step back out of his embrace, looking up at him so he can see your face.

“Your family is intense,” he tells you seriously. “I should have known, how else do you end up with someone as crazy as Soonyoung?”

This makes you laugh. “Is my need for emotional support making a lot more sense to you now? You haven’t even met the jackals - they won’t be here until tomorrow.”

“Honestly,” he says, leaning against the stone balustrade, “it really is.”

You both go quiet for a minute, listening to the distant crickets and frogs, the sound of muted laughter from inside. You take the opportunity to lean heavily on the low wall beside you, slipping a finger beneath the offending shoe-strap over your heels, loosening each, wincing as you do.

Seungcheol watches you silently, plump lips downturned.

“That was some very good Boyfriending,” you point out as you adjust the other shoe. “Very believable.”

“I wasn’t trying to be,” he admits. “That just came out.”

“You’re a natural, then.”

“You’d think I’d have a better track record to show for it,” he says darkly, and the reference to Jieun sends you both back to silence.

“You really have been around for a lot of stuff,” you muse eventually, to move you on from the moment. “I never really thought about that.”

He sends you a wry smile. “Crazy, right? College feels like yesterday, when we would all be squeezed into Seungkwan’s dorm since he had the best tv.”

You smile, remembering. “We barely fit in there. I always ended up on someone’s lap, and not in a sexy way.”

Seungcheol’s brows furrow. “Not mine.”

“Jieun would have beat my ass. Or keyed my car.”

“That’s… probably true. Sorry.”

You shrug - it’s ancient history, and a bit funny now with the years to soften the edges.

“Do you remember that one Halloween?” he asks.

You know instantly which one he means. You and Seungcheol’s senior year, Soonyoung’s junior year, and Chan’s sophomore year you’d gone with the rest of the guys on a Halloween pub crawl in the city.

The group had split up into three after the fourth bar. Joshua, Vernon, Seungkwan, and Mingyu had continued on with the pub crawl, shouting raucous goodbyes into the night as they followed the crowd onto bar number five. The rest of you had gotten into three different cabs to head back to campus.

You’d ended up in a cab with Seokmin, Seungcheol, and Jieun - who at the time, was definitely still his girlfriend. They’d been wasted - you all were - and they’d been arguing next to you in the back seat. Seokmin had turned around from the front passenger seat and looked at you, wide-eyed, as you both witnessed the shouting and crying going on next to you.

Back at the dorm, it was clear that the cab with Soonyoung, Chan, and Jeonghan had arrived before you. Soonyoung had greeted you at the door, face drawn, with, “Chan’s throwing up.”

This was quickly evidenced by the sound of heaving from the small, dorm bathroom.

Behind you, still in the hallway, Jieun was screaming at Seungcheol, “And what about last week, when you didn’t text me for two whole days?”

He shouted back, “What did you need me to text you for? Wasn’t Rob from Econ class enough company for you?”

You covered your face, feeling the ghost-white face paint sticky against your palms. “Where did Hannie go?”

“Back to his room to sleep,” Soonyoung tells you, then turns to peer into the bathroom to check on Chan. “Chan, dude, stay by the toilet, don’t come out here -”

“Alright!” You’d called out, voice carrying, clapping your hands once for emphasis. Everyone went still and quiet. Probably shocked. You weren’t a yeller. “Lee Chan, get your body back to the toilet and don’t leave until noona tells you to, got it? You two -” you pointed at your brother and Seokmin - “are in charge of him. You two -” this, you directed at the couple still standing furiously in the hallway, “you need to come have this fight inside before someone calls campus security on you. Let’s go. Inside.”

Your sudden yelling seemed to snap everyone out of it. The guys shuffled into the cramped bathroom to babysit the baby, and Seungcheol glowered as he led his lady friend into the dorm, sulking behind him.

“Okay,” you’d said, mostly to yourself. “The rest of the guys should be back here any minute. Let’s just put on a movie or something and all relax.” You crossed the dorm - Soonyoung’s, but you were there enough that it felt like home to you, too - and dug some water bottles out of the mini-fridge.

“Here,” you said, handing a bottle to Seokmin, who was hanging in the bathroom’s doorway, unable to fully fit inside with Chan and Soonyoung. “Make him take small sips. You have one too.”

You turned to get more for the rest of the room - Seungcheol and Jieun - only to find them on the couch. He was seated, feet planted wide on the floor, and she was straddling him, body pressed tight to his front. His hands were up the back of her shirt and her hips rocked noticeably as they kissed.

Your hand flew to cover your eyes. “Maybe,” you had said loudly, hoping it would get through to them even in this drunken state, “if you two are going to make up now, you might want to go to that in your own dorm instead of my brother’s common room?”

You uncovered your eyes when you heard them shuffle close to you. Sure enough, they were on their way out. Jieun gave you a nasty side-eye as she passed, but Seungcheol had the sense to look a little embarrassed.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he slipped by you.

You’d texted Jihoon - “you guys almost back?” - and went to check on the bathroom crew.

The aftermath of the night had rippled out. It was the night that cemented Chan and Soonyoung’s close friendship, one of those things you come out stronger for. Seungcheol and Jieun had broken up for two weeks and then got back together for three more.

And the guys in the third cab, who didn’t make it back to campus until sometime the next day, had somehow ended up in international waters on a boat forging a lasting friendship with a billionaire named Big Jerry. They still talk sometimes. It was a whole thing.

Now, years later, you say, “How could I forget? I can’t believe none of us got arrested that night. Or alcohol poisoning.”

“I think Chan technically did have alcohol poisoning,” Seungcheol points out. “God, we were all such a mess. That was me and Jieun at our fucking worst.”

Me and Jieun. It sounds so natural coming off of his tongue, a phrase he’s said a million times.

The moment feels heavy, now that he put it out there. You’re not sure if you should let the moment pass, or press on it. You decide, after everything he’s been through for you today, to risk it.

“I saw she showed up on your instagram today,” you say, trying to keep your voice light, free from accusation. “Is that… normal?”

His face twists with annoyance, but you don’t think it’s at you. “She shows up like that every few months, I guess,” he admits.

You wait him out, unsure if he has more to say. When he doesn’t follow this up, you tentatively venture, “Does it bug you? Or…?”

He shrugs. You wait. You know he’ll answer.

“Yes and no,” he finally says. “I get… it pisses me off sometimes, the way she shows up when I’m good, when I’m happy, like she can’t stand that she’s not part of it. But when we’re together, she could give a shit if I’m happy.”

You stay silent. You’ve wondered often about their on-again-off-again thing - mostly wondering why either of them would go back at all, after you’ve witnessed firsthand how bad things seem when they’re together. Your whole group of friends has watched time and time again as they repeated the cycle: great for a few weeks, a few weeks of fighting, a loud breakup, a few weeks of bitter silence, and repeat.

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” you say quietly, after a few minutes. “It shouldn’t be like that. Whoever you’re with… they should want you all the time, not just when they feel, like, fomo or whatever.”

“Is that one of your long-term relationship rules?”

“No,” you say meekly, responding automatically to the bite in his voice. “I think it’s just… true.”

Just common sense, is what you wanted to say.

He shakes his head a little, his gaze far away. “You think it’s possible?” he asks. “You watched your parents break up - I did, too, with mine. You think there’s actually an ending, for anybody, that isn’t just hating each other?”

“Yeah,” you admit. You don’t even have to think about it. Despite everything you witnessed growing up, you really do believe in happy endings, in lasting partnership. Maybe it isn’t promised, maybe it means effort. But still. “I do.”

He gives a soft huff of a self-deprecating laugh. “I wish I could. Maybe then I could say no to her. But most of the time… she feels like the ending I deserve.”

You move closer, sadness weighing you down. “Everyone deserves to be happy, Seungcheol. Including you. Including her.”

He shoots you a sideways look like he doesn’t believe you, but doesn’t argue. Instead, he glances back at the lit-up windows behind you. “Should we head back in?”

“Probably,” you say. “Though I’m much happier out here.”

“Come on,” he says, cajoling. “Let’s go in, or we’ll miss dessert.”

Inside, he walks ahead of you and goes straight to your father. You follow at a clip, heart pounding, your eyes on your father’s tight face - he won’t be taking an insult twice. 

“I’m sorry for how I acted before,” Seungcheol says seriously. “I just get protective when it comes to her. It makes me… kind of crazy.”

The kind of love that makes you crazy, you’d said earlier, at the pool.

He reaches backwards as he says this, reaching for you even though he can’t see you, as though he can sense you coming near. 

As you take his hand, let him pull you closer, you’re struck by how much you could believe the lie he’s saying.

—

You survive the rest of the night. You stay quiet in the car back to the resort. You feel your brother watching you carefully, but he doesn’t say anything. Back at the resort you say goodnight quietly and head to the room. You don’t talk much as you take turns showering.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, mentally organizing what you need to have ready for the wedding tomorrow, when there’s a quiet knock on the door. Seungcheol’s closer, so he opens it, letting Soonyoung in.

“Hi,” your brother says. “I just wanted to check on you?”

There’s a second where you almost ask him why, almost deny that you need checked on. Then, you shake your head, eyes rolling in frustration at your whole existence. “Tonight was a lot. Mom’s a mess, Dad’s a jerk… Nayoung’s oblivious…”

Soonyoung frowns at you. “One more day to go?” he says, his voice hopeful. You know he just wants to help. But now, in the safety of your room, the events of the evening seem to come crashing down around you. The pressure you’d been holding up finally crushes you, and you cover your face with your hands and take a shuddery breath.

“It’s fine,” you say automatically, before anyone can react. “It’s fine. I just need to get some sleep, get through tomorrow, and go the fuck home.”

There’s a tense silence above you, and then - inexplicably - Seungcheol says, “I’ve got it, bro. You can go to bed.”

Got what? you think, lifting your head, but you already know. You. He’s got you, even here in the privacy of the room where there’s no one to see it.

When Soonyoung is finally convinced enough to head back to his own room, Seungcheol sits heavily on the edge of the bed next to you.

“I shouldn’t have done this to you,” you say bleakly, all apology. “It’s too much. The family stuff, there’s so much, I didn’t mean to drag you into our mess so badly…”

“It’s really okay,” he assures you, looking over at you seriously. “I’m not part of this, it doesn’t affect me the way it affects you. Don’t worry about me.”

You look at him silently, not believing it.

“Stop worrying about me,” he repeats, this time smiling a little, knowing you’ll be hard to convince.

You shake your head, leaning back. “I’ll try,” you say finally.

“We’re all good,” he promises. “I’m doing what I’m here to do. We’ve got one more tough day, and then you’re free.”

You groan, thinking of the wedding. “God, tomorrow’s gonna suck.”

He slaps at your knee playfully. “You need some rest if you’re gonna make it. Want to watch a movie or something? Until you’re tired?”

You consider this. “That actually sounds nice,” you admit.

He pulls up a streaming service on his phone and hands it to you. “Pick something while I brush my teeth,” he says, and then lopes off to the bathroom.

When he emerges, you’re under the covers, having turned out all the lights except the small one above his nightstand. He slides into his side and reaches for his phone. You start to adjust your pillows so you can see his screen better, but he lifts an arm and smiles over at you.

“Come on, fake girlfriend,” he says, that tease back in his voice. “Come watch the movie with me the right way.”

You hesitate, unsure if this is wise. “Are you sure?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer, just gives the arm he’s still holding open for you a wiggle in invitation.

After an apprehensive moment, you follow directions, sliding closer and laying your head on his chest. He lowers his arm around your shoulders and hits play on his phone screen. You glance up at him a few times, lit up by the phone, his hoodie pulled up over his head, but he’s always dutifully watching the movie, paying no attention to the girl curled up against his side. Eventually, you settle in, relaxing against him, letting your hand rest over his stomach. You can feel it rise and fall with his breathing, can hear his steady heartbeat beneath your ear where you rest.

At some point, you fall asleep this way.

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thank you for reading!!!

[the-winter-spider]

Say Don't Go | Part 5

Bucky x reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Angst, swearing, violence

A/N: I figured I should put part 5 out early because i feel bad for the mix up i did with the parts last night 🫶🏻

Masterpost

---

You sit in the quiet office, the faint hum of the rink beyond the door only amplifying the deafening silence in your head. Bucky’s laughter and the cruel words you overheard replay on an endless loop, cutting deeper every time. Your back presses against the desk, your legs shaky as you reach for the lock. The soft click of the bolt sliding into place feels like a feeble shield against the chaos threatening to consume you.

For a moment, you just stand there, staring blankly at the papers scattered across the desk. Your chest rises and falls unevenly as you try to push back the tightness in your throat. Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not now. You’ve always been good at compartmentalizing, at shoving everything into a box in the back of your mind and sealing it shut. This moment will be no different.

With trembling hands, you grab the clipboard, flipping through the practice schedule as if it holds the answers to your unraveling thoughts. You move on autopilot, sorting paperwork, organizing tasks for later, going over all the shots you need for later, clinging to the routine as though it can steady you. The motions help, but only slightly. The ache in your chest refuses to ease, no matter how many times you tell yourself to breathe.

Your phone buzzes on the desk, the sharp vibration breaking the heavy silence. You glance at the screen, Steve’s name lighting up in bold letters.

S: Hey, gave Natasha your number. She just went to the washroom. Also, where are you? I got a couple minutes before I have to get on the ice—hurry!

You take a shaky breath and type back: Office. Almost done here.

The phone buzzes again before you can set it down. This time, it’s an unknown number.

Unknown: Where are you?

You know who it is without even thinking. Your fingers hover over the screen before you type: The office.

Unknown: OMW.

You exhale softly, the weight in your chest shifting slightly as you unlock the door just as Natasha steps in. Her sharp gaze sweeps the room, instantly locking on your face.

“What are you doing in here?” she asks, her tone more curious than accusing.

“Nothing,” you reply, too quickly. You shuffle papers around as though you’ve been deep in work. “Just catching up on some things. I’ll head out to the stands later to grab pictures for socials.”

Natasha crosses her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Aren’t you usually out there for the whole practice? You know, for all the pre-action shots?”

You shrug, trying to sound casual. “I can miss one half of practice. I’ll just go out at the end for the important stuff.”

Her brows knit together, and she leans against the doorframe, studying you. “Everything okay?” she asks, her voice softer now, concern lacing her words.

“Yeah, totally,” you say, forcing a smile. It’s the kind of smile you’ve perfected over the years—wide enough to seem real but not enough to fool someone like Natasha. You pick up your camera, fiddling with the strap. “Nothing to worry about.”

She doesn’t push, though you can tell she doesn’t believe you. Instead, she walks over and perches on the edge of the desk. “Alright,” she says lightly. “But you know, if you ever want to talk, I know we barely know each other but I’m here.”

The sincerity in her voice nearly cracks the wall you’ve built, but you nod quickly, not trusting yourself to say anything else. “Thanks,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

Eventually, you shove the paperwork into a folder, eager to escape the suffocating stillness of the office. “You coming with me?” you ask, glancing at Natasha.

“Of course,” she says with a small smile. She loops her arm through yours as the two of you step out into the rink. Despite the ache still weighing you down, her warmth feels comforting. For a fleeting moment, you’re reminded of how rare and precious this budding friendship is. It’s always been you and Steve, and you’ll always be grateful for that, but this is different—something you’ve been missing without realizing it.

The sharp sound of skates cutting across the ice fills the air, grounding you in the familiar atmosphere of the rink. You immediately spot Bucky. His effortless movements, the way his broad shoulders shift with each turn, draw your eyes like a magnet.

Your breath hitches when his gaze meets yours. He offers you a smile, easy and warm, and the ache in your chest sharpens. You hate how your heart flutters, even now, after everything.

“Hey,” Natasha says, gently nudging your arm. “Snap out of it.”

You blink, realizing you’ve stopped in your tracks. Natasha tilts her head, her expression cautious but knowing. “Have you talked to him yet?”

You shake your head, gripping your camera tightly. “No,” you say, your voice barely audible.

Natasha sighs, but she doesn’t press. Instead, she sits beside you on the stands as you adjust your camera, focusing the lens on the team below. The steady click of the shutter becomes your anchor, each snap a momentary distraction from the storm swirling in your chest. But no matter how much you try to lose yourself in the task, you can still feel his gaze on you, burning through the lens, making it impossible to ignore the weight of everything unsaid.

---

Natasha stops just before stepping onto the stairs leading down to the ice, turning back to you with a sharp gaze. “You coming to wish Steve good luck? You always do. He calls you his good luck charm.” She smiles, trying to lift your mood.

Your stomach twists at her words. You stare at your shoes, your fingers gripping your camera strap tightly. “I think I’ll skip it this time,” you murmur. “It’s just one game—it’ll be fine.”

Her eyes narrow, and you can feel her studying you, her sharp instincts zeroing in like a laser. “Okay,” she says slowly, clearly unconvinced. “This is more than just skipping photos or not wishing Steve good luck. Did something else happen?”

The air feels heavier, your chest tightens, and your throat constricts. “Nothing,” you mumble, avoiding her piercing gaze. “I’m fine.”

Natasha crosses her arms, her jaw tightening with determination. “Alright,” she says, her voice leaving no room for argument. Before you can protest, she grabs your arm, not harshly but firmly enough to let you know she’s not letting this slide. “We’re talking. Now.”

She pulls you toward the girls’ locker room, and the sharp sound of the door locking behind her makes you flinch. The quiet of the room is deafening, and Natasha spins to face you, hands on her hips, her expression set like stone. “Spill.”

Your chest rises and falls with uneven breaths as you fight the lump building in your throat. Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, and no matter how much you try to push them down, they spill over. You take a shaky breath, your voice cracking as you finally say, “I… I heard them in the locker room.”

Her brows furrow, her expression softening with concern. “Who? What did you hear?” she presses gently.

“Bucky,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Their teammates. They… they were laughing about the picture.” You swallow hard, each word dragging out of you painfully. “He said I was easy. That it meant nothing. He laughed with them, made stupid jokes with them about me.”

Natasha’s eyes widen, the softness vanishing in an instant, replaced by a storm of fury. Her jaw tightens, and her fists clench at her sides. “What?” she snaps, her voice low and sharp. “He said that?”

You nod, wiping at your tears furiously as though erasing them could make the situation less humiliating. “I should’ve known better,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s Bucky. He’s been so kind all year, gone out of his way to… I thought he cared, I thought he was different, one of the good ones, god I'm so fucking stupid."

Natasha’s face hardens, and she looks like she’s ready to tear through the locker room door. “I’m gonna kill him,” she growls, already turning.

“No, no, no!” you plead, grabbing her arm with both hands and holding her back. “Please, don’t. It'll just make it worse.”

She freezes but glares at the door, her fury simmering just beneath the surface. “You have to tell Steve,” she says firmly. “He’ll want to know.."

You shake your head violently, your breath hitching as more tears spill over. “I can’t,” you whisper. “It’ll crush him. Bucky’s one of his best friends…He just picked him to be the assistant Captain.... I know he loved having a guy friend, I don't want to take that from him.....I just… I can’t handle this right now.”

Natasha takes a deep breath, running a hand through her hair as she processes your words. Finally, she exhales sharply. “Fine,” she says, her tone softening slightly. “Okay....but you can’t keep this bottled up forever, you know that, right?”

You nod faintly, clutching your camera like it’s a lifeline. “I just want to do my job,” you say, your voice trembling with desperation. “That’s all.”

Her lips press into a thin line, and she brushes her hand over your arm in a comforting gesture. “Why don’t we stay here until the game starts?” she suggests. “I’ll be right back—I just need to wish Steve good luck.”

“Send my luck to him too,” you manage to say softly.

Natasha nods, her eyes lingering on you for a moment before she leaves, the door clicking shut behind her. Left alone in the quiet room, you let out a shaky breath and sit down on the bench, your body trembling as you try to collect yourself.

You pull out your camera, focusing on transferring the photos to your phone. The task feels mechanical, something to occupy your hands and drown out your thoughts. But no matter how hard you try, the sting of Bucky’s words keeps echoing in your head.

Your phone buzzes, breaking your focus. You glance at the screen and freeze when you see his name.

Bucky: Hey, where are you? Are you okay?

Your throat tightens as fresh tears well in your eyes. You stare at the message, your hands trembling as you fight the urge to respond. Instead, you cough softly, trying to clear the lump in your throat, and set your phone down beside you, ignoring the message entirely.

Focusing back on the photos, you swipe through them, editing as best as you can with unsteady fingers. But no matter how much you try to distract yourself, the ache in your chest remains, raw and relentless, as the weight of everything threatens to overwhelm you all over again.

---

The locker room buzzed with pre-game energy, the air thick with the smell of sweat and adrenaline. Laughter and shouts echoed off the walls as the guys hyped each other up, their sticks tapping against the floor in rhythm. But amidst the chaos, Steve stood like a statue, his face set in stone. His mind wasn’t on the game—it hadn’t been for hours.

“Buck, a word.” he called out, his tone sharp and cutting through the noise like a knife.

The room fell quiet almost immediately. Heads turned, wide eyes watching the Captain call out his teammate. A few of the guys exchanged amused smirks, one even whistling low under his breath, but Steve’s icy glare shut them up fast. Bucky, standing by his locker, raised a brow but didn’t argue. He slung his stick over his shoulder and followed Steve without a word, his skates clicking softly against the floor.

Steve led him to the office and closed the door behind them with a firm click. For a moment, he leaned against it, exhaling sharply, as if trying to steady himself. When he turned, his hands were on his hips, and his jaw was tight.

“What’s this about, Cap?” Bucky asked, though there was a hint of unease in his voice, the usual cockiness nowhere to be found.

Steve didn’t waste time. “You saw the picture,” he said bluntly, his voice low and sharp. “You knew about it, and you didn’t do anything.”

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Steve, I didn’t even know about the picture until it got sent around today. I swear, as soon as I saw it, I’ve been trying to figure out who took it.”

Steve’s arms folded tightly across his chest, his blue eyes boring into Bucky. “So you just didn't try to find her? To talk to her about it? All day?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, and he looked away for a moment, guilt flickering across his face. “Look, I tried to find her earlier. She wasn’t anywhere, and I texted her, but she hasn’t responded. I didn’t mean for this to happen, Steve.” His voice softened, his blue eyes meeting Steve’s. “She’s not just some… one-night stand to me. You know that, you gotta know that."

Steve stared at him, his expression unreadable, though his hands had curled into tight fists at his sides. Finally, he let out a long, slow breath and pulled a chair over, sinking into it heavily. “You’re a good guy, Buck,” he said, his voice measured. “But she has baggage, a lot of it. And when she feel things, she feels them hard. This isn’t just about you. If you’re in this with her, you better be damn sure, because she doesn’t deserve to get hurt, not after everything shes been through already."

Bucky’s gaze hardened, his voice steady. “I’m already in it, Steve. I care about her.”

Steve leaned back, his expression softening slightly, though his eyes were still clouded with frustration. “Alright,” he said after a beat. “I’m gonna trust you. But if you screw this up—”

“I won’t,” Bucky interrupted firmly. “I swear.”

Before Steve could respond, there was a knock at the door. Natasha stepped in, her fiery green eyes immediately locking onto Bucky like a laser beam. Her presence filled the small room, her sharp gaze unrelenting.

“Steve,” she said, her voice tight with restrained anger. “Can I talk to you? Alone.”

Bucky, sensing the shift in the air, raised his hands in mock surrender. “That’s my cue,” he said, his voice lighter than the tension in the room warranted. “Almost game time, Cap. See you out there.” He slipped past Natasha, avoiding her piercing glare as he left.

The sound of the team’s laughter spilled into the room for a moment before Steve shut the door again, sealing them in quiet. He turned to Natasha, his brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Natasha crossed her arms, her posture tense as she leaned against the desk. Her fiery demeanor softened slightly as she glanced at the closed door, then back at Steve. It was clear she was weighing her words carefully.

“What is it?” Steve pressed, stepping closer. He rested his hands on her shoulders, his voice gentler now. “Nat, talk to me.”

She exhaled sharply, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “Steve… I have to tell you something. Y/N told me earlier, i promised i wouldn't say anything, but fuck it you deserve, no, need to know.”

Steve’s stomach twisted, a sinking feeling spreading through him like ice. “What'd she say?”

Natasha hesitated, her green eyes flickering with something between anger and sadness. “When she got here before practice, she came through the office. She heard Bucky and some of the guys talking.”

Steve’s face hardened instantly, his jaw tightening. “What'd she hear?”

Natasha ran a hand through her hair, her frustration palpable. “One of the guys made some gross comment about her. Something like how they knew she’d have a nice rack. And Bucky…” She paused, her teeth clenched. “Bucky laughed. Said she was easy. That she practically begged for it.” Her voice cracked slightly, but she pushed on. “Then he said it wasn’t even that good.”

Steve’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white, his face a mask of disbelief and fury. “You’re sure that’s what she said? What she heard?" His voice was dangerously low, each word like a blade.

Natasha nodded firmly. “She’s too scared to tell you because she knows you’ll kill him.”

Steve stood there, frozen, the weight of Natasha’s words sinking in. His breath was heavy, his chest rising and falling as his rage simmered just beneath the surface. “She knows me best, because I'm going to kill him,” he muttered, his voice like steel.

Before Natasha could respond, there was another knock at the door. The coach stuck his head in, oblivious to the storm brewing in the room. “Game time, Rogers. Let’s go. Wrap it up.”

Steve didn’t move right away, his body tense with anger. Natasha stepped closer, resting a hand on his arm. “Good luck out there,” she said softly.

Steve nodded tightly, his jaw still clenched as he stormed out of the office. His mind was a whirlwind of fury and betrayal, but he knew the locker room wasn’t the place for a fight that's for the ice.

As he headed toward the rink, the team’s laughter echoed faintly in the distance, each sound like a knife twisting deeper into his chest. But Steve’s focus had narrowed to one thought: this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

----

The arena buzzed with the electric energy of the game. The crowd roared with each pass and shot, a wave of noise echoing through the building. You stood at your usual spot near the boards, camera in hand, your focus shifting between capturing the action and watching Steve. Something about the way he was playing tonight seemed… off.

Steve, typically a controlled and calculated player, was skating with an unusual edge. He was throwing his weight into every check, slamming opponents into the boards with a force that drew cheers from the crowd but left you uneasy. His movements were sharp, almost reckless, and you caught yourself flinching every time he collided with another player.

Your camera clicked away, capturing the intensity of the game. It was the second period, the score tied at 2-2, and you knew every moment mattered. When the puck found its way to Steve’s stick, he moved in like lightning, his eyes locked on the net. You held your breath, the camera lens trained on him as he wound up for the shot.

He fired, but the puck sailed just wide, barely missing the post. You could see the frustration etched across his face as he muttered something to himself. Before you could process, the rebound came flying toward Bucky, who was perfectly positioned in front of the net. With a clean slapshot, Bucky buried the puck in the top corner, the red light flashing as the arena erupted in cheers.

Normally, Bucky would skate over to Steve, their silent but familiar way of celebrating their teamwork. But this time, Steve didn’t even glance at him. Instead, he skated off, his jaw tight, leaving Bucky to celebrate with the rest of the team.

You lowered your camera, frowning. Something was definitely wrong.

As the period progressed, your attention kept shifting between the game and Steve. He was more physical than ever, throwing hits and barking at the refs. But what really caught your eye was the way Bucky kept glancing at you. Even from your spot on the sidelines, you could feel his gaze between plays, his blue eyes searching for yours like they always did. Normally, it sent butterflies fluttering through your chest. Tonight, it made your stomach twist with unease.

You weren’t the only one who noticed.

During a line change, Steve caught one of Bucky’s fleeting glances in your direction. His eyes narrowed, his face darkening. The tension was almost palpable, and you felt the shift in the air before anything even happened. “Hey Natasha?” You questioned as your eyes stayed on the ice.

She leaned forward from her seated position beside you. “Yeah?”

You swallowed, as you recognized the look in Steve’s eyes, the way his jaw was set. “Did you tell Steve by any chance?” She didn’t get the chance to answer.

Steve was skating hard, charging into the offensive zone when he veered sharply toward Bucky—his own teammate—and slammed him into the boards with a force that made the glass rattle. The crowd gasped, the sound cutting through the game’s usual noise.

“What the hell, man?!” Bucky shouted, spinning to face Steve as he skated past.

Steve stopped abruptly, turning back with fire in his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m not beating your fucking face in right now.”

“What are you even talking about?” Bucky snapped, his brows furrowed in confusion.

The referee’s whistle blew, signaling a stoppage, but Steve wasn’t done. He skated closer, shoving Bucky hard in the chest. “She heard you.”

Bucky froze. “Who? Heard what?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Steve growled. “Your whole little shebang with the team. Saying she was begging you, calling her desperate.”

Bucky’s face fell, the color draining from his cheeks. “Steve, let me explain—”

“Explain what?!” Steve shouted, his voice carrying over the ice. “That you’re a lying piece of shit? That you treated her like she was nothing? I just said I was going to trust you!"

The refs rushed over, trying to separate them, but Steve wasn’t backing down. He shoved past one of the officials and ripped Bucky’s helmet off with a furious yank, sending it clattering to the ice. “You’re done talking, and I'm done listening.”

Before anyone could react, Steve’s fist connected with the side of Bucky’s head, sending him stumbling back. The arena gasped in unison, the sound echoing in the sudden silence.

Bucky recovered quickly, his eyes blazing with anger. He dropped his gloves, grabbing Steve by the collar of his jersey and landing a clean uppercut that snapped Steve’s head back. The two of them were a blur of fists and fury, blood splattering the ice as they went at each other like enemies, not teammates.

The benches cleared as their team skated over, trying to break them apart. The crowd roared, some cheering, others shouting in disbelief. By the time the refs and assistant coaches managed to separate them, both men were bleeding, their jerseys torn, and their faces etched with rage.

“Get them the hell off the ice!” the head coach bellowed, motioning for the assistants to escort them to the locker room.

As Steve was guided toward the tunnel, he twisted out of the one of the assistant coach’s grip just enough to turn back to Bucky. His voice was cold and venomous. “If you ever fucking look at her, go near her or talk to her again, you’re dead.”

[sweet-as-an-angel]

A Gift for Simon

Warnings: No Thoughts – Only Fluff, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.

Imagine you go up to Simon and you present him with an Altoid tin wallet. “I remember you saying your wallet broke the other day, so I thought maybe you could use this one until you got a new one :-).”

And you pass him a tiny little tin that, initially, leaves Simon both curious and confused. When he opens it, however, his breath catches in his throat, his heart stutters.

It’s perfectly furnished inside, tailored to his exact tastes based on morsels of information you’ve either discovered by accident or Simon has told you. You’ve made a little velvet pocket in the lid, the material Simon’s favourite colour, “So you can put your emergency money in there. I always put my coins in mine in case I need to get the bus home or buy some milk,” you tell him.

The idea of you doing something so domestic and, in some vein, humble, only endears you more to Simon. He should be taking you places; you shouldn’t be using your own money when you have him.

He says none of this, of course.

The other half is decorated with a quote cut out from his favourite book, stuck behind a fresh tube of chapstick and an elasticated hoop for him to put his house key in.

He wonders if you know his lips are chapped, whether you’ve looked at them as often as he finds himself watching yours whenever you accost him, privilege him with your time.

Regardless of how close the two of you are, whether you’re just acquainted neighbours or the closest of lovers, all Simon wants to do is wrap his arms around you and hold you as tight as you’ll allow. He wants to keep you all to himself, keep your kindness all for him, selfish in his endeavour to hide it from everyone else.

He knows it will be his undoing — this act of generosity you have bestowed unto him. But he can’t bring himself to fault it, even down to the idea that perhaps you expect something back from him. He’ll gladly give you anything you want if only you ask.

But you didn’t. You just smiled, bade him goodbye, and left to go about your day.

Not that you’d notice, but Simon held off on getting a new wallet for some time after that. Whenever you asked him, he’d tell you it slipped his mind, that the wallet you gave him is doing a good job anyway. Why put all the time you spent on it to waste, he thinks. And one day, he hopes he can say it, tell you to your face how his heart flurries, stutters whenever his fingers brush over that tiny tin wallet, whenever he holds it, Thumbelina in his behemoth hands. He feels your fingers there, painstaking piecing together a dream into this physical form, gossamer in its beauty, perishable in its disposition. Warm, warmth like he’s never known, and care. It’s visceral, palpable, and Simon holds it in his hand and never lets go. Not so long as he has breath in his body.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad Tumblr Backup Account

[closetedgtaccount]

G/t Literature Megathread!

Hi! I've been a lurker in the G/t community here on Tumblr since around 2011-ish? I'm addicted to G/t literature, and I hoard it like crazy. I wanted to share this for anyone looking for something to read, or if they're new to the community. Feel free to reblog with any recommendations, or even to just promote your own stuff, because I'd love to read more!

EDIT: I've been reading a lot more G/t stuff lately, so I'll just keep updating this post! Make sure to support the creators!

cewilson5 on Deviantart

https://www.deviantart.com/cewilson5/gallery

Honestly, I've been meaning to make a post about this author for a while but I kept getting distracted reading their stuff lol. I can't decide on a single work from them to highlight, so I'll post the link to their Deviantart account above! I probably love their Take Me Home series the most, probably because it was some of the first G/t writing I found as a kid. Most of their stuff is M/f too if that matters to ya. Give them plenty of support, and if cewilson has a tumblr please let me know and I'll tag you properly!

Borrowed Courage @rosella35

Wall Potato and Chaotic Axolotl

Found this on my feed a few days ago, and it's a really cute fic! It's a setting where borrowers get discovered by humanity and have to integrate. The plot centers around two kids; one a borrower who takes drugs to pose as a human, and a human who is the daughter of a (former) borrower exterminator. It's very well written and has a good balance of angst and fluff. Make sure to support the author!

@chirpymoth (Maverynthia)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50169709/chapters/126703192

Human finds a borrower and is completely unfazed, meanwhile the borrower has gigantophobia. Deals with a complicated relationship where Evik, the borrower, has to learn how to interact with his human friend without triggering traumatic memories.

Unstuck Together (@sizebrained)

A cute romance story between two pairs of human/borrower siblings! Lots of great fluff in this. I made sure to put it at the top because it doesn't get nearly as much attention as it should.

A Fraction of Justice (@ratcatcher0325)

Smal wannabe lawyer is (understandably) very angry at the world that treats him like an animal. Lots of amazing hurt/comfort in this, and the relationship between Alexander and Natalie is really sweet! Probably one of my favorite G/t stories out there!

The Walls Won't be There Forever / Cold Weather (@clumsiestgiantess)

I just linked to clumsiest's writing masterpost here, since I love most of their work! "The Walls Won't be There Forever" and "Cold Weather" are definitely some of my favs tho, since I probably have a preference for G/t angst lol.

Online Dating Can Be Hard (@duckit7)

I love Cam and Kate! There's roughly equal amounts of fluff and angst in this story, and I eat it up. Really like the worldbuilding too; it's a modern setting where smallfolk (Parvuses) are supposed to be treated equally to humans, but has a lot of the roadblocks you would expect. I feel like not enough stories use this kind of setting, which is a shame because it's prime for angst! As a heads up, this story is split up across Duckit's Tumblr and AO3; both of which are included in the link above!

One Shot (@narrans)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/39455319

An amazing collection of G/t stories by Narrans! A lot of these stories contain some good angst, and Narrans is a great writer! I'd also recommend checking out their other series as well, such as A Tall and Small Collection. They also provide audiobook style readings of their works on their youtube channel (linked above), which has been very helpful for me when I'm at work or on walks!

[serverusslaype]

Shameless, pt. 16

Severus Snape x professor!reader fic

Shameless Masterpost

not another one... oh yes it is... and please, respectfully, strap yourselves in cos it's gonna be a ROUGH RIDE. and not in the way you're thinking, sorry, but get your minds out the gutters. gosh.

in other news, i hope you're all doing okay. part 17 won't be for a while as i'm back to work tomorrow and i'm going to be tired because i stupidly ruined my sleeping schedule the past few days. massive L.

i hope you've all had a brilliant day, and thank you so much for all the love and kind, sweet comments you left on part 15, it really made my day when i read through them this morning :') i'll reply to them all when i have some extra time this week!! <3 remember to take care of yourselves, please. and enjoy this. <3

warnings: swearing, slight altercation?, angst

A pair of cold hands grasped your scarlet cheeks, forcing you to look up and into their eyes in a desperate manner. "Bloody hell, Y/N," Remus whispered, his face twisting into an anxious mix of worry and concern. Gradually, you let your tearful eyes slink up meet his own, and another sob fell from your quivering lips. "I should have stayed, I'm so sorry." He sighed. You watched as his brows slipped together; hazel eyes flicking between yours as he brushed his thumbs gently against the apples of your cheeks.

"It's not your fault, Remus, please-" You shook your head viciously and squeezed your eyes shut, letting your head fall forwards. 

"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" Remus asked, his voice soft as a feather, cautious not to startle you.

"Yes- no, I... my shoulder, it hurts," You whined and winced as you lifted your head up to lean back against the cabinets of your kitchenette behind you. Another intense, piercing pain shot through your shoulder. "Fuck!" You hissed. Remus cast a furious glance in the direction of Ben's unconscious body.

"We're going to have to take you to Madam Pomfrey, Y/N," the professor sighed quietly, "I'm afraid Dumbledore will need to hear of this... matter." Instantly, your eyes darted to Remus and you sucked in a breath.

"No, I'm fine, honestly- please," you shook your head, "there's no point, I won't be here after he wakes up anyway." A defeated sigh left your lips as you let your eyes slide to where Ben laid, the burning words that he'd spat at you like vicious venom replayed in your head on repeat.

"What do you mean?" Remus frowned at you.

"He found out about Severus." A dry, pathetic laugh slipped from you. "He figured it out."

"What-" Though, before Remus could even finish his question, you interrupted him.

"He went through my drawers in my greenhouse."

"I'm not following." The professor offered you an apologetic, yet perplexed look.

You inhaled a deep, slow breath through your nose. "Severus had been leaving me notes everytime he'd taken something from my cabinets, be it asphodel roots or dittany.. so, in my pathetic way, I... kept them." You muttered, reluctantly glancing up at Remus, watching his eyes soften. You looked away, unable to stomach how he looked at you with pity. "In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have, but I was blinded by my feelings for him, and so... then when I had first started seeing Ben, he had also left me notes. But, of course, I didn't really care for him the same way I did Severus, so I shoved them at the bottom of my drawers, beneath..." You trailed off, unable to finish your thoughts. You felt so silly, pathetic.

"I see." Remus said softly, noting how you were struggling. His gentle voice silently soothed your racing mind.

You took a few seconds to speak your next words, still unable to understand the gravity of the situation you'd put yourself in. In fact, it felt like you didn't even want to acknowledge it. "Ben threatened to have me fired, and then blacklisted for every job in this area. So, Remus, I'm screwed, to say the least."

The professor paused for a moment, pondering on his thoughts. You were praying he'd speak soon before you went insane from the way your mind was beginning to chaotically brew up storms of worst case scenarios.

"Not quite," Remus's lips quirked up into a small, comforting smile. You could only frown at him in utter confusion. "It's not the most... erm, ...humane way of solving such a problem, however it is the only way." Your eyes widened at his choice of words.

"Remus, you're scaring me, what on Earth are you suggesting?" You whispered, eyebrows furrowing together in what could only be described as fear.

"We're going to need the help of another wizard, I'm afraid." He replied and stood up, groaning a tad. "Ever heard of the spell, Obliviate?"

The damp stench of the dungeons of Hogwarts was wildly familiar and a little emotionally testing for you as you stumbled down the corridors with Remus; his hand placed caringly upon your back. The amber glow of the lit torches illuminated the darkened path, and the quiet squelch of the wet, mossy floor echoed throughout the empty corridors as the two of you padded towards Snape's classroom.

"I'm sorry to have to put you through this." Remus mumbled from beside you, and you felt his fingers press into the back of you. "But Severus is the only wizard I know that's meddled with minds here at Hogwarts."

"It's alright." You swallowed awkwardly as the anxious and speedy beats of your heart began to pound in your ears once more. "He never liked Ben, so I'm sure he'll take great pride in performing such a spell on him." You joked dryly, earning a curt laugh from the professor beside you. A little smile formed on your lips at the sound of it.

"Even in dark times, your brilliant humour shines through." Remus hummed, offering a warm smile as he glanced down at you.

There was a moment of silence as you let yourself wander through the labyrinth of your mind.

"Do you think it will work?"

"Absolutely," Remus answered quickly, "though Severus and I have never truly seen eye to eye, I still acknowledge the fact that he's an incredibly accomplished wizard." He said, shrugging. "I haven't met many other wizards in my time that have come close to his abilities."

You let his words simmer in your brain for a moment, and suddenly you felt a little more at ease. Not that you doubted Severus, but from what Lupin had explained about the Obliviate spell, you were slightly worried. Would Ben remember something and come back with a vengeance? No, there was no way... right? He's not that... petty.

Before you could even finish your train of thought, three loud knocks from Remus's knuckles broke you from your daydream.

Almost immediately you wanted to run away from the door in front of you. But from the way Remus's hand was glued to your back stopped you from doing so.

The door to Severus's classroom creaked open, and all of the blood from your body felt as if it had drained away the moment the two of you locked eyes.

"Severus," Remus greeted quietly.

"Y/N." Severus muttered, his tone confused as his eyes snapped to Lupin beside you, and then down to his arm around your back. A short, sharp exhale of breath left his nostrils, and you knew that he wasn't too pleased about what he was seeing. "Lupin..." He drawled as he flicked his eyes back to yours, then to Remus's own. "What brings you here?" His voice was agitated, nothing new. You let your eyes fall away from the Potions Master, unable to look at him without having some sort of whirlwind of emotions stir up inside of you.

"May we come in? It's a matter of urgency." The professor beside you spoke with a serious tone that forced a curious frown to appear on Severus's pale face. Without saying anything, Severus moved aside in one swift motion and allowed his door to creak further open, silently inviting you and Remus inside.

Had it been just Lupin here, you knew he wouldn't have been so trusting.

Glancing up, you caught Severus's eye again, and that wave of gut-wrenching yearning had returned to your heart. As you looked away, you didn't see the way his eyes softened at you, wordlessly wishing he could return to the way the two of you had been.

Lupin guided you inside with his arm, earning another harsh glare from Snape as he passed by him. "Take a seat, Y/N." The shaggy professor mumbled, pulling out a stool for you to perch on. You obliged, of course.

"What do you so desperately need from me?" Snape drawled, sweeping his way towards you and Lupin; his biting glare quite obviously screaming at you to hurry up and talk. Wasn't it so kind of him to treat you like you were some sort of irritating insect, and not someone he cared about, albeit a little?

You clenched your jaw, swallowing as you opened your mouth to speak, but Lupin beat you to it. "Bluewater threatened to have her fired and blacklisted from every job in the area." Severus's black brows immediately shot together in confusion, then quickly softened, quite obviously realising why he'd demand such a thing. "If she is to keep her job and reputation, we need you to perform the memory erasing spell on him."

Of course, Severus would do anything for you, at this point, he'd kill for you. So killing the memories of a man he truly loathed was an easy ask.

"Done." The Potions Master cast a concerned glance at you, before looking back to Lupin. "Truth be told, it'd be my pleasure." Again, Severus looked back at you with his worrisome black eyes, staring, swiftly scattering themselves over your form; quietly trying to figure out whether you were hurt or not. 

You noticed his quiet inspection. "I'm fine." You mumbled, sighing softly as you avoided his eyes once more, shuffling in your seat - but as you moved, your face twitched into a wince as your injured shoulder betrayed you.

"Yes, clearly you are." Severus muttered sarcastically as he padded towards you, reluctantly lifting a hand toward your arm. Your eyes snapped up to his, and you blinked at him, your jaw ticking with either anxiety or anger - you couldn't figure out which. "May I?" He whispered.

You gave a nod and turned your torso towards him, allowing him to inspect your injury. The second his fingers touched your skin, it ignited like a wildfire. You inhaled sharply, your body freezing at the way he trailed them down to your shoulder.

"I'll be outside." Remus muttered, noticing that perhaps the two of you need to be alone. He shuffled his way towards the door, and slipped out of it, the quiet thud and click of the handle signifying he'd left.

"Did he do this to you?" Severus muttered through gritted teeth, brushing his thumb over the colourful blotch that was beginning to appear upon the skin he used to worship. He hissed at the sight of your bruised skin, it was like someone had ruined a beautiful painting and thrown some sort of hideous concoction onto it.

He should have known better than to abandon you like that. Bluewater had always been a wildcard. He should have stayed by your side, he shouldn't have let his emotions get the better of him like he always did. Maybe then you wouldn't have this... abomination painting your flesh black and blue. Severus would never forgive himself for falling into the foolish trap of his insecurities. He'd never forgive himself for ever listening to the deranged demons that resided within his mind, silently calling him into the darkness; their devilish, silver tongues persuading him to fade into the lonely void.

You and Severus sat in silence for a moment, and your eyes had been glued to the ground ever since the Potions Master laid his hands on you. If you looked into his eyes whilst he was so close to you, you weren't exactly sure if you could stop yourself from doing something utterly stupid.

"Where is he?" Severus suddenly mumbled, a burning hot fire of rage and vengeance was quickly spreading throughout his body.

"My chambers, but-"

"Stay here." Severus immediately began to storm towards the door of his classroom, his long black cape billowing behind him with a vengeance that matched its wearer.

"Severus, don't hurt him!" You cried out, leaning forwards to try and grab his arm. You gasped as your injured shoulder unleashed an unbearable pain across your back, making you squeeze your eyes shut in agony.

"Don't hurt him? Look at what he's done to you!" Severus whipped around, furious. "You can barely move your shoulder without wincing like a wounded deer!" He stormed back towards you, and for the first time in a while, the irate look in his eyes truly frightened you. If looks could kill, you'd be dead on the ground. Though, he was not angry at you, his anger was only focused on one man.

"I don't care! Think about what could happen to you if the Ministry found out you harmed one of their own!" You exclaimed, praying that Severus would see through his blinding anger and choose to not do something foolish to Ben, despite how fierce his wrath was.

Severus paused for a moment as if to contemplate your words - though his consideration of your opinion was cut short as he whipped around once more; that vicious fire exploding inside of him like a deadly inferno. He was truly devoted to the thought of inflicting more harm than necessary to Bluewater.

At this point, you couldn't stop him. There was no way you could follow him with your injury. You watched on helplessly as he sweeped out of the classroom, slamming the door behind him. There was only one other person that could help you.

"Remus!" You yelled, cursing your weakened shoulder as you stood, breathing sharply in a dire attempt to lessen the pain that was slowly burning its way through your torso. "Remus!" You yelled once more, and immediately the door swung open, his familiar face adorned with an utterly worried look.

"What's wrong?" He questioned, quickly rushing over to you.

"It's Severus, he's gone to find Ben, you need to stop him, please," You panted, desperately grabbing onto the the material of his suit jacket that sat on his bicep. "I don't want him to do something he'll regret."

"Merlin," Remus muttered and nodded, turning swiftly to rush after the Potions Master. "Will you be alright?" He stopped to ask, running a stressed hand through his hair.

"Yes, yes, I'll be fine, now, please just go!" You sighed heavily and leaned against a table beside you, hissing as your shoulder was now screaming at you in horrific pain. You were truly starting to worry now, had you fractured it- or broken it? Ben had shoved you quite harshly...

Your eyes darted around Severus's classroom, lingering on the potion ingredients that lined the wall. The only thing you could do was wait.

Or potentially brew a potion to help your agonising pain...

Severus's thunderous footsteps echoed hauntingly throughout the castle corridors as he stormed his way to your chambers; his fingers twitching at his sides, eagerly awaiting the chance to lay his hands upon Bluewater, the way he did to you.

That rotten bastard, Severus thought, he could kill him without a second thought right now. In fact, in the very back of the Potion Master's mind, he was truly considering it. The only thing Severus wanted to hear right now was Bluewater's bloodcurdling screams as he made him suffer through either physical or mental hell. All he had to do was lock the door, cast muffliato, and go to town. That was all too tempting for Snape. It was too easy. And that's what scared him.

As he neared your chambers, a stream of warm light began to pour out from underneath the door, and Severus deduced that Ben had awoken from Remus's spell. He quickly softened his footsteps and snuck towards your door, donning his wand in his hand. There was two ways he could go about this - he could barge in and surprise the bastard, or he could do it quietly. Perhaps the latter would be a little less idiotic.

Severus pushed your door open gradually with his hand, cautiously moving forwards as he pointed his wand into your chambers. A pained groan came from the floor, and the professor cast his eyes downwards and was met with an embarrassing mess shuffling around on it. Just the back of his head sent Severus into an blinding furious spiral, and he stormed towards him, grabbing the back of his top to hoist him upwards onto his feet. 

"Get th'fuck offa' me!" Bluewater drawled, still groggy from Remus's spell as he pathetically tried to fight the Potion Master's hand that had a hold of his flimsy shirt. Relentlessly, Snape dragged him through the room, the scratching sound of Bluewater's shoes scraping across the wooden floor and Snape's pounding footsteps filled the silence. He yanked the boy upwards and dropped him on his arse, watching in delight as a pained look flashed across his face.

"Watch your mouth, Bluewater," Snape snarled, poking the tip of his wand into his neck, earning a glare from the boy.

"You." Bluewater spat, his eyes narrowing into a glare. "You sonuva' bitch! You slimy fuckin' bastard, how dare you-"

"How dare I? How dare you lay a finger on her!" Snape bellowed at Bluewater, his teeth bared in a ferociously fearsome scowl.

"I never touched her." Bluewater's lips quirked into a vile smirk, and this only fuelled Snape's burning hatred for the boy. Without a second thought, he kicked the side of Bluewater, sending him tumbling onto his side, screeching in pain.

"Don't lie to me, Bluewater!" Snape growled as he fisted the front of his shirt, pulling him up to his towering height, the tips of his toes barely grazing the floor. 

"You miserable git," The boy hissed through gritted teeth as he had one hand glued to his throbbing side. "She'll never work again, Snape. All because of you."

"Don't push me, you foolish boy." Snape huffed, his chest heaving uncontrollably as his anger got the best of him.

"In fact, neither will you." Bluewater added, his tone cocky and ignorant. Snape couldn't control himself any longer, and so he threw the boy to the ground again rather harshly, forcing a cry of pain from him. He felt nothing. Nothing but hot rage.

"Severus!" Remus suddenly called out from behind him, panting. "Expelliarmus!"

Snape's wand fell to the ground.

Remus felt his blood run cold as Snape turned to look at him with a face like a maddened bull. "Just... calm down, Severus, take a moment," The professor said softly, holding out a hand to try and defuse the situation. As he stared at the furious Potions Master, he was sure he could see red-hot steam pouring out of his ears. "You don't want to do this, Severus. Believe me." Snape's shoulders rose and fell rigidly as he looked on in disbelief at Lupin. "Y/N wouldn't want this."

Your name rolled off of Lupin's tongue like a bullet into Severus's chest.

"You must've drugged her," Bluewater spoke again, his voice making Snape's eye twitch, "there's no way in hell that she'd choose to be with you. She hates you. The amount of shit we used to talk about you, Merlin..." The boy knew he was getting underneath Snape's skin.

"Severus," Remus tried again helplessly. "Don't react."

"Silence!" Snape practically snarled at Bluewater as the seething blaze inside of him ignited once more.

"You don't deserve her, and you never will. You really think she'd fall for some ugly, pathetic and old git like you? Perhaps all that time in the potion classroom made you delusional." Bluewater spat, shuffling forwards on the ground. "You should ask her about what happened earlier, between us, I bet you'd-"

"Stupefy!" Remus yelled, aiming his wand at Bluewater, watching as his body fell limp once more.

Snape stared at Ben's unconscious body, his mind suddenly becoming a warzone after his last words before Remus had knocked him out. What happened earlier between you and Ben? Were his thoughts true? Was Bluewater right? Did you hate him?

"Severus,"

"What?!" Snape hissed, turning to face Lupin with a hideous look upon his face. Lupin offered an apologetic cock of his head, before nodding at Bluewater.

"The memories..." Remus muttered. Snape clenched his jaw at the words.

Memories. Right.

The Potions Master slowly padded over to Bluewater, pointing his wand at his temple. He paused for a moment, contemplating his next move.

"Legilimens." Snape whispered, shutting his eyes as he delved into Bluewater's memories. Snippets of him as a child, happy and screaming with laughter flashed before Snape's eyes, and so he continued deeper, watching the moment he met you in the pub, and when you spent the first night together. The professor hissed at the sight as a pang of hurt and jealousy struck him in his chest. He pushed through, skimming through more and more memories, finally finding the one thing he was looking for. It was you and Ben, sharing a glass of wine in your bedroom earlier on.

He'd stood up and stumbled towards you, clearly drunk. "I miss talkin' to you, Y/N." He sighed, taking his hand and placing it upon your cheek; carressing it with his thumb.

"Yeah." You'd replied. Severus felt his heart drop at this point.

Slowly, Ben crouched down until you two were eye-level, his hands slipping to your ankles. Severus felt his skin suddenly ignite with jealousy. "Ben.." You warned, sighing.

"Whaat?" Ben had whispered back, heavy-lidded eyes still glued to yours as his fingers began to trail up your calves. He began to stand up slightly, pushing his face dangerously close to yours, and so you leant backwards, your back gradually making contact with the bed. He shuffled forwards slightly, pressing a knee against the edge of the bed to balance himself.

Severus watched on in horror as you shut your eyes. Ben's fingers lingered along the backs of your soft thighs, pulling a breathy sigh from your lips. Slowly, you opened your eyes again as Ben's nose pressed into your neck, followed by his wet lips. You gasped as his hands found your torso, his fingers pressing into your flesh.

Immediately, Severus pulled out of Ben's mind. He couldn't watch anymore. He was right. Merlin, he was right. For a moment, he inhaled sharply, quickly regaining his composure. "Obliviate." He muttered swiftly, filtering through Ben's memories and erasing every single one that contained you or Severus.

"A job well done." Remus said awkwardly as he watched Severus sheath his wand. He frowned as he stared at the back of the raven-haired wizard, silently pondering why he hadn't moved. He stood there for another good few seconds, staring wordlessly at Ben's unconscious body. Then suddenly, he spun on his heel, storming past Remus and shouldering him rather harshly. He couldn't bear to look at anyone that reminded him of you, and unfortunately for Remus, he fell under that now.

He berated himself for even letting himself get so close to you. How could he have done this to himself? Of course you didn't just want him. He was just some sort of... twisted fantasy to you. And yet, he was still willing to help you get out of this mess. That's the undeniable power of love, he supposed.

Once you were free, he'd let you go.

As Severus walked away, he could hear Remus calling his name, but he turned a blind eye and focused on marching back to his domain, the one place he felt at home, even though it used to be your arms.

You coughed and sputtered as the smoke from the cauldron in front of you began to get a little too thick, lining your lungs with what felt like some sort of tar. Perhaps you added a little too much puffer-fish. It did smell a little... oceany. A defeated groan left your lips as you let your head hit the table - after all these years you still royally fucked up potions. Severus wasn't going to be too happy that you'd burned another one of his precious cauldrons.

Suddenly, the slam of a door caught you offguard and you jumped at the loud noise, whipping around to see a rather distraught-looking Snape. That was not what you were hoping for.

"Severus? Everything okay?..." You swallowed, watching as he slowly stalked towards you, completely ignoring the burning smell of the cauldron in front of you. He didn't answer you. "Did you manage to erase them? The memories?" You tried again.

"Yes." Was all he said, his eyes burning into yours with what felt like sorrow.

"What happened?"

"Why did you lie to me?" He suddenly asked, catching you offguard.

"What?"

"You were going to stay with him." He stated matter of factly, his voice quivering a tad as he tried to hide the indescribable hurt that was undoubtedly going to eat him alive.

"That's not true, Severus." You shook your head, your brows knitting together in a wild mix of confusion and hurt. His jaw clenched at your words.

"Do not lie to me!" Severus bellowed, sweeping away from you. You flinched at the volume of his voice.

"I'm not!" You cried out, attempting to follow him as he made his way to his desk. "Severus!" You cried again, making him whip around to face you, his eyes overflowing with hurt and misdirected anger.

"I do not have time for liars, Y/N."

"Severus, just please, explain what happened!"

"What happened between you and Bluewater earlier?" He inhaled with the same sharpness that pierced his chest as he spoke those nightmarish words. 

Gods, how did he know about that? Ben must have said something to get back at him. You cursed the little bastard, but at the same time, this was also your doing. You gave into the selfish pleasure.

"He just kissed my neck, that was it, I promise." You said slowly, praying he'd believe you. Severus stared down at you, unwavering, his eyes glossing over. Your heart broke at the sight.

Perhaps you deserved this.

Severus paused for a moment, letting his black eyes study your petrified face. Clearly, you were terrified of losing him. He could see it in your eyes. That broke him. But it did not break him as much as the hellish thing he saw in Bluewater's mind. "I can't trust you."

This was your karma.

It suddenly felt as if the floor had given way beneath your feet. Your knees went weak, and all trace of feeling in your body went numb like you'd been paralysed. "No, Severus- please, you have to believe me-"

"I'm sorry, Y/N." Severus turned away from you as he felt a wave of unruly sadness and betrayal wash over him - something he hadn't felt in years. You desperately grasped onto his arm, the rough, black material beneath your fingers felt so uncomfortably familiar - and now it was going to be something you could only remember. "Let me go, please." The crack in Severus's voice made you release your grip.

This was it. He was really ending things between you two, for real.

"No," You sobbed. The pain from your shoulder injury felt like a pinprick compared to what you were feeling now. "Sev, please." Your cries broke his heart, and all he wanted to do was cradle you in his arms, and tell you everything was going to be okay - but he couldn't do that. Not now. Not ever.

You watched as his head raised upwards, his back still towards you. "Leave me, now, Y/N." Severus muttered and a trace of venom lingered in his words.

Without another word you left, making a straight beeline for Remus Lupin, wherever he was.

angst is my middle name, guys, i can't get enough of it. HA

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[veinsfullofstars]

For marxolor!

💝

💓

👀

🥄

Oh, wow… a whole batch of ‘em! Really giving me a run for my money, Anon, haha! (Maybe I should’ve put a cap on how many can be submitted at once… ^^’ ) Don’t worry about it, though, I think I can manage this one. Let’s see…

6. 💝 What is each person’s love language (words of affirmation, acts of service, giving gifts, quality time, and physical touch)?

18. 💓 How did they tell their friends that they were together/do their friends know or is their relationship a secret?

I haven’t really talked about how Marx and Magolor meet in the CFAU yet... mostly because it’s, like, a Whole Thing™. A story I was working on well before the CFAU was even conceptualized and practically a sub-AU in and of itself. It’s also… very work-in-progress and very not finished yet (kinda fell on the back burner once the other AUs took precedent, oops ^^’ ). Just know that the boys get the slow-burn treatment something fierce. Seriously, they don’t even get to the QPR stage until some time after Mags returns from purgatory, and even then only after some lingering baggage is dealt with…

Anyway, to make a long and incredibly complicated story short, they figure it out eventually (idiots-in-not-quite-love style), keeping it a poorly-guarded secret when they inevitably end up back on Popstar. Then - after a bunch of [REDACTED] happens, a crisis is narrowly averted, and things get sappy and cathartic - Marx just kind of… blurts it out, completely unbothered, tired of all the hiding and running and keeping secrets (at least for today). It leaves the Dream Land 4 in varying shades of surprised (or not surprised) and Magolor in a single shade of mortified… though not for too long. After all, it’s not like it’s the worst secret to even come out about him, and certainly not one he should be ashamed of.

When they have a moment to talk about it later, it might go something like this:

Mags: I can’t believe you did that. In front of everyone. Without even asking me first. Marx: Heh, sorry. Got caught up in the moment. I mean, you try keepin’ a secret like that after almost dyin’, hehe… Um. You’re not… actually mad about it, are you? Mags: … *sigh* No. It’s fine. I’ll be fine. Heh, honestly? It’s… kind of a relief.

9. 👀 What do other characters think of their relationship? Do they approve or disapprove?

To tie in with the previous question, how about some more ✨ non-canon interviews ✨? (Fair warning - this is happening after the end of a story I haven’t told or finished yet, so these answers are probably gonna be vague as hell and very out-of-context.)

Bonus interviews with some folks who find out much later:

22. 🥄 When they’re cuddling together who’s the big spoon and who’s the little spoon?

Marx has more of the “big-spoon energy” between them (though good luck getting Magolor to admit that), but trying to cuddle with his wings is… not ideal, as the raw magic that perpetually leaks from them is enough to overwhelm Magolor’s finely-tuned senses (like staring into a spotlight from inches away or walking into a very saturated perfume department). Besides, Magolor is the one with hands around here, so the role of big spoon tends to default to him anyway. Marx doesn’t mind so much, trusting the wizard enough to feel comfortable (even safe) curled up against him. Magolor - who’s still recovering from a life of being a socially-distant, touch-starved hermit - is always a little worried he’s doing it wrong but gets better about it with time, which is nice.

Sketch started 03/13/25, finished 03/18/25. | Kirby Ship Ask Game (made by @/sweetandglovelyart) and alternate questions | Childhood Friends AU Masterpost

[oddinary4bts]

Be With You | ch 5

☆summary: who knew that the hot guy you've been paired with for a class project is also a kind soul? Certainly not you, and you feel yourself falling even though you know you shouldn't. Will it be your demise, or will it all work out in the end?

☆pairing: Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: slow burn strangers to lovers, college!au, smut, angst and fluff

☆warnings: alcohol, cursing, talks about oc's ex (name reveal oop), explicit content: talks about oral sex (female receiving), nipple play, dry humping/grinding, jerking off, hickeys, basically a hell of a lot of grinding tbh, cumshot

☆word count: 8.2k

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here

☆a/n: another chapter for y'all :) and thank you to @moonleeai for your amazing work as my beta reader, I love you and am forever thankful for you <3

☆☆☆☆☆

Cold snowflakes Withered down Until you bloom As a spring flower I'll be with you

Be With You, Ateez (english translation)

☆☆☆☆☆

Saturday, October 5th

The park is warm, the breeze reminiscing of summer long gone. Though the leaves have been changing colours, a myriad of different shades of yellow, orange, red and green adorning the branches, you almost feel like summer might be coming back.

But the cold lingering in the shade is a clear indication that winter is coming in just a few months.

Today doesn’t really hint at that though. The park is crowded, music playing from the speaker of a group somewhere on your left, and people are bathing in the sun, sharing snacks and drinks as they sit in the grass, or some of them on blankets. You’re sitting on such a blanket, your lips spread in a smile as you listen to Wooyoung and San’s bickering next to you.

They’ve been at it for what must be twenty minutes now. Something about a sports game you haven’t watched and don’t really care for, but they are enthusiastic, waving their hands around as they speak. Their friend Jongho and his girlfriend Lyla are also here, and Lyla keeps jumping in occasionally to share what she thinks of it all.

“It’s football, for fuck’s sake,” Wooyoung says. “Why would they even…”

He never finishes his sentence, San interrupting, and you just laugh along with Jongho and Lyla as Wooyoung just glares at San, his eyebrows almost touching over his eyes.

Your phone buzzes on the blanket next to you, and you take a look at it, noticing you’ve received a message from Sydney. She’s supposed to meet you soon, and you’re excited to ask her about how it went with Yunho last night.

You’ve heard that they spent quite some time together, and you’ve been hoping that it cleared the air between the two of them, if only so that you can all start to hang out again without awkwardness lingering in the air.

[2:37 pm] Syd: where the fuck are you?

You snort, quickly typing back your reply.

[2:38 pm] You: by the baseball field

Sydney shoots back the thumbs up emoji, and you put your phone aside as you zero back in on the conversation. Surprisingly, they have stopped talking about football, and you listen as they talk about the upcoming midterms. 

“Should we eat?” Wooyoung asks, glancing at the cooler Jongho brought with sandwiches for all of you, and two bottles of rosé wine to share.

“Syd’s almost here,” you inform him.

He sighs loudly, but then everyone is distracted as Hongjoong and Yeosang show up, greeting the group. They brought snacks and spiked lemonade cans with them, so you all settle on one of those as you wait for Sydney, who arrives five minutes later, grumbling about not being able to find you.

To Wooyoung’s luck, you eat then - Sydney even brought some cookies for dessert - your group sharing lively conversation as time goes by. The sun keeps you all warm, hot even, and you enjoy the last of the warm days like that, playing frisbee in the field once you’ve eaten. It’s filled with loud laughs and screams, and you end up going back to the blanket where Yeosang and Hongjoong lingered, sitting with them as Sydney plays with the others.

San glances your way, and you think he’s frowning in the distance. But then Wooyoung screams at him, effectively distracting him, and you sit on the blanket, reaching for the open bag of chips.

“Long night yesterday?” Hongjoong teases.

Your eyes widen, and you shoot him a look. “What?”

“You went home with San, didn’t you?”

Red creeps on your cheeks, and you look towards the mentioned man. He’s throwing the frisbee, and it does a perfect arc, Jongho catching it effortlessly. 

“Huh, yeah.”

You figure there’s no need to lie - they all saw you walking out and not coming back yesterday.

Hongjoong smiles wide, glancing at your friends playing frisbee. “Good for you.”

Yeosang snorts, glancing at Hongjoong. “What the fuck was that?”

“San’s hot now,” Hongjoong replies, shrugging his shoulders.

You’ve never really thought about Hongjoong’s sexuality before, and realization dawns as Yeosang nods. “Can’t deny he’s been working out a lot.”

“Don’t you go with him?” Hongjoong asks then.

You tune out the conversation as you see Sydney walking towards you while the others linger on the field, Wooyoung screaming as San chases him with the frisbee in his hand as if he’s about to knock it on his friend’s head. It’s a funny sight, almost comical, and you smile as Wooyoung drops to the ground, protecting his head.

“They are way too competitive for me,” Sydney deadpans as she stops next to you. She glances at Hongjoong and Yeosang, her cheeks turning pink, and then she meets your gaze again. “Do you want to go for a walk around the park?”

You know what the question means - she has something to tell you. Excitement bubbles in your chest, and you’re up on your feet a second later, waving Yeosang and Hongjoong goodbye. 

Sydney hooks her arm with yours as you walk, and you notice San glancing your way as you move away, walking down the dirt path on the side of the field where they’re playing. He smiles at you, and you instinctively smile back, your brain not tuning in for Sydney’s first words.

You only notice she’s spoken when she pulls on your arm, saying, “Are you even listening?”

You clear your throat, your cheeks burning as you look away from San, focusing on the squirrel darting across the path a little further down. “Sorry, come again?”

“I…” Sydney trails off, letting out a small, shy chuckle. “I was with Yunho last night.”

You throw her a quick look, only met with her profile as her gaze remains stubbornly locked in on the end of the path. “I know.”

“No,” Sydney says. “Well, I mean, yes, but… but like no.”

You can’t help the laugh that falls from your lips. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“He walked me home,” Sydney admits.

As if he hasn’t done so countless times before.

“Yeah?” you press.

“I, huh…” You think you hear her gulp. “I invited him in.”

Oh. Oh.

“Oh my God. Did you fuck my brother?”

Sydney slaps your arm. “Why do you have to be so crude?”

Yet her embarrassed tone reveals everything her words haven’t.

“You did. You so did.”

“It wasn’t…” She wets her lips, searching for words. “It wasn’t like that.”

You can tell she has more to say, but she remains silent for a moment. This time you don’t press her, knowing that she needs to collect her thoughts before speaking, and so you finish walking down the field, turning towards the right where a small pond is rippled with tiny waves from the breeze.

“At first, I just wanted us to talk things out,” Sydney explains. “But then… then we kissed, and…”

Her silence is so long you figure she won’t speak. “And you fucked.”

“It wasn’t like that,” she groans. “We made… love, I guess?”

You almost squeal in happiness, supressing the will to jump up and down. “Finally!”

“Finally?”

“It took you so, so fucking long, Syd.”

Sydney frowns. “What do you mean?”

“You guys have been in love since like middle school.”

Your best friend lets go of your arm as she folds hers on her chest. “No?”

“Yes?” You laugh, shaking your head. “I am so, so happy you’ve finally opened your eyes.”

At that Sydney smiles softly, her gaze dropping to the ground. She’s the perfect picture of the maidens that you read about in books, long gone for their knights, and you’d laugh at the sight if she wasn’t so cute.

If you weren’t that happy for her and your brother.

“I’m happy too,” she says gently, and she meets your gaze with a sparkle to her eyes that makes you think true love does exist. “I hope it’s not weird for you.”

“Nah,” you immediately reassure her. “I’ve been waiting for a really long time for you to realize your feelings for each other.” You chuckle, thinking of all the times you’d tried to push them together, hoping that something would come out of it. “I’ve been rooting for you forever.”

Sydney rolls her eyes, though the smile does not leave her lips. “Shut up.”

“Never.” You grin, and then you glance at the ducks on the lake. “I’ll be your officiant at your wedding.”

“Woah, who said anything about a wedding,” Sydney says with a laugh.

“Syd.” Your tone is almost scolding, like a reprimand is about to emerge from your lips. “We both know that you and Yunho will get married the second we’re out of college.”

She snorts, shaking her head. “Yeah, yeah.”

But the blush on her cheeks tells you that it’s a possibility she’s probably considered herself ever since yesterday. She’s always wanted to get married after all, unlike you.

Silence rises around the two of you, and you’re on your way back to the field when Sydney finally speaks up again.

“What about you?” she asks.

You think you can spy San in the distance when you answer, “What?”

“What happened with San last night?” she asks. 

You worry at your bottom lip, suddenly feeling nervous. You don’t quite know why - it’s not like San has given you any reason to be nervous when it comes to the two of you, even if you got jealous yesterday. But then again, you reckon the nervosity might be linked to someone else entirely, to a person that fucked your perspective of love so thoroughly that you thought you never wanted to let anyone in again after him.

Yet San… San’s been digging his way into your life, and you’re not sure if you’ll survive the vulnerability that it brings.

“We went to his,” you admit. Your eyes drop to the ground, and you look at some weed growing in the middle of the dirt path like it hasn’t been trampled countless times already.

It’s almost poetic, the way that it stands tall despite everything that’s happened to it.

“And we also talked,” you add. “He explained what was happening with Kate, and I apologized for getting jealous. He teased me about it…”

“Mmh,” Sydney lets out.

You cock an eyebrow. “What?”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Oh, it totally was good,” you reassure your friend. “It wasn’t mean, it was just… cute.” Sydney is smiling again when you look towards her. “What?”

“I just…” she trails off, slightly pursing your lips. “I’m relieved that you’re finally letting someone in again.”

Your throat dries out even though you had that exact thought just a few moments ago. “What do you mean?”

“After Jungkook,” Sydney starts, and you almost recoil at the sound of his name after so long. “Sorry,” your friend immediately apologizes.

“It’s okay.”

The words are bitter, but it is. It has to be okay, otherwise you’ll be back three years ago when you almost thought you would die.

“After him, I just didn’t think you’d be able to let someone in again. And it was hard to see how much you suffered from that.”

“I didn’t suffer from it,” you say defensively as a frown makes its way to your face. 

“Please don’t take this the wrong way. I really am just happy and proud of you.”

You stretch your lips in a tight line, falling silent. Sydney sighs next to you, but the mention of Jungkook just striked too deep for you to keep talking about this. Sydney’s your best friend for a reason though - she senses your unease, hooking her arm with yours again.

“Did you fuck San yesterday?”

The crude words falling from her mouth surprise you, dissipating the tension that was rising. You let out a small laugh, one Sydney seems far too relieved to hear, and then you say, “He ate me out. But he literally creamed his pants.”

“I did not need to know that,” Sydney grumbles.

“You’re the one that asked!” She just rolls her eyes as an answer, and you shake your head at her. “And you’re so worse, you literally fucked my brother.”

“Oh gosh, stop.” She groans, her cheeks flashing red. “I… I shouldn’t even have told you.”

“As if,” you let out, not taking offense with her statement even though it could have been perceived as rude. 

Sydney is just secretive, so you can’t blame her. You love her like that, and wouldn’t want her any other way anyway.

“Yeah, nah,” she says, and she joins you for a laugh. “I definitely wanted to tell you, but please, please do not make a big deal out of this. We’re slowly figuring it out.”

You nod, and you offer a small smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you guys figure it out at your own pace.” You fall silent, but then mischief sparks in your chest, and you add, “Even though it took you literal years to even get here.”

“You’re so annoying,” Sydney complains, and you just burst out laughing.

As you talked, you got closer to the group where they are gathered on the blankets, and you feel San’s heavy gaze on you. Your eyes find his, and for a moment, your earlier anxiety returns. But then he smiles and it fades away, and all you can hope for is that you’re not setting yourself up to get your barely healed heart broken again.

“What’s got you guys laughing?” San asks.

“Nothing,” Sydney quickly replies as she lets go of your arm, and then plops down on the blanket next to Lyla. “You guys opened the wine without us.”

“Y/n doesn’t drink,” Wooyoung points out as he takes a big sip from the red solo cup he’s holding. “So we figured it was fine.”

“What about me?” Sydney asks.

Lyla hands her a cup. “I got you, girl.”

Sydney beams as she takes a sip of the wine while you make your way towards San, sitting next to him.

“Hey,” he greets you as you’re adjusting yourself to be comfortable on the blanket.

You meet his gaze. His eyes are sparkling softly, like maybe the sun that’s sinking towards the horizon now is sinking into his eyes instead. “Hi.”

“You were gone for a while,” he says, just for you to hear, and you don’t miss the pouty tone to his voice.

“Missed me?” you tease.

He narrows his gaze, taking a sip from his solo cup. “Nah.”

You snort, nudging him with your elbow. “Yeah, yeah.”

He winks at you and then hands you the solo cup. “Do you want to taste?”

You think about it. You truly do, even if you haven’t tasted a drop of alcohol in years now. But then again San’s eyes are soft, his smile genuine, and you think why not?

“Just a tiny sip,” you agree, and his gaze widens in surprise. 

He hands you the cup, and you take it, electricity shooting up your fingers and along your arm as you graze his fingers. You bring the solo cup to your lips, tilting it just enough for your lip to dip in the rose liquid. The taste fills your mouth, and your nose scrunches up in reflex at the bitterness on your tongue.

“Ew,” you let out as you move the cup away from your lips, handing it back to San. 

He laughs at your expanse, taking a sip of his own. “It isn’t that bad.”

You cock an eyebrow. “It isn’t that good either.”

“Your loss.”

You widen your eyes before letting out a small disbelieving laugh. “You’re annoying.”

San leans in to speak in your ear. “That’s not what you were saying when I had my tongue in you yesterday.”

You choke on your saliva, coughing at San’s crude words. You pull away, cheeks burning, only for you to find him grinning at you crookedly. “San!” 

“Am I wrong?”

“Gosh, you so are.”

He leans in again, and this time you don’t turn your head to let him speak in your ear. Instead, you hold his gaze despite the close proximity, and your breath hitches in your throat.

“Maybe I should do it again tonight, mmh? To remind you how much you liked it?”

Your gaze drops to his lips. “If I remember correctly, you’re the one that creamed his pants, mmh?”

San winces as he laughs. “Touché. It was just…”

“What are you guys whispering about?” Wooyoung intervenes, and you instinctively pull away from San, cheeks red at being caught. You find yourself unable to reply as San just shrugs next to you, and Wooyoung narrows his gaze at you. “Alright then, keep your secrets.”

You share a look with San, and then you both burst out laughing.

The rest of the afternoon unfolds without a hitch, laughter and smiles and alcohol flowing amongst the friend group. San doesn’t drink too much - neither does Hongjoong, who admits he still feels hungover from the wine and cheese yesterday evening. The others don’t have that limit - it’s like they all are ready to party again, and you watch them from your corner of the blanket with San, who’s decided to use your lap as a pillow.

You only realize he’s fallen asleep while you card your fingers through his hair and Wooyoung looks at the two of you, fake-gagging. 

“He did not fall asleep,” Wooyoung deadpans.

You look down, and San’s serene expression makes you smile softly. “Leave him alone, he’s just tired.”

Wooyoung wiggles his eyebrows. “I wonder why.”

You roll your eyes as he bursts out laughing. San shifts on your lap, a frown creasing his brow, and you gently smooth it with the tip of your fingers. His lips spread in a tired smile, and it does something to your heart that you can’t explain, yet want to feel again.

It’s soft - San has a softness to him that can’t be described with words. It’s like the first sun rays in the morning, or the breeze of a summer afternoon. It’s like the brightness of the stars when the moon is away - twinkling gently, forever. Like the rise and fall of an infant’s chest as it rests peacefully. You’d go on and on trying to find comparisons, yet you’re unsure any of them would come close to explaining what San does to you.

The thought sticks with you until later that evening, when you all start parting ways. San wakes up slowly, wiping some drool on his chin as he blinks his eyes at you, gaze unfocused. It takes him a moment to understand where he is, and then he just smiles tiredly, sighing deeply.

“Good morning,” you tease him.

“Mmh.”

Wooyoung sneaks closer to you, pinching San’s side. San yelps, sitting up quickly as he curses Wooyoung, and your gaze widens as you watch them wrestling for a few seconds. But then you look up, meeting Sydney's gaze, and you both burst out laughing.

Boys will be boys, or whatever it is.

*****

“Are you sure?” San asks for the fifth time.

You’re standing outside of your building, and you’ve been trying to convince him to come in with you. It’s been getting chillier outside now that the sun has set, and though you’ve spent the whole day together, you don’t want him to go just yet.

“Yes, I am,” you insist, tugging on his hand, but he doesn’t budge.

“I don’t want to bother your brother.”

You roll your eyes. “Syd will take care of him.”

Sydney who’s standing by the door throws you a look at her name being called. She doesn’t say anything though, not when San smirks. “Oh, will she?”

Gosh.

“Come have dinner with us,” you say, and this time your voice holds finality, not giving him a choice. 

You turn around, pulling him behind you as Sydney waits with her cheeks tinted red from San’s words. You wink at her, and she chuckles as she opens the door, holding it for you as you walk in with San in tow. It doesn’t take you long before you’re in front of your own apartment, unlocking the door.

You find Yunho engrossed in some YouTube video he’s been watching on the TV, and there’s a moment of awkwardness as San walks in, standing by the door. Sydney saves you by heading to where Yunho is laying on the couch, and you kick off your shoes pulling San towards your bedroom.

“Hey, why don’t you guys come here?” Yunho asks.

You curse under your breath - not that you don’t want to spend time with your brother and Sydney, but you were kind of hoping you’d get to spend time alone with San.

You meet San’s gaze momentarily, and he just watches you with his mouth slightly open, as if he was caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing. Your heart fills with warmth like it’s been doing all day, and then you tug him towards the living room. You drop your tote bag against the wall in front of the door on the way, and then make your way to the living room.

“Sure,” you say as you catch sight of Yunho sitting now, with Sydney next to him. “Just don’t tear into him.”

“Why would I?” Yunho says. “We’re friends.”

Right. Though you’re not sure you would call them friends just because they have a friend in common.

“What’s up?” Yunho throws at San.

“Not much, just got dragged here by your sister,” San answers, shrugging his shoulders.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Don’t act like you didn’t want to come here.”

He winks at you. “It’s hard to tell you no.”

You just shake your head playfully, lips curving into an amused smile before you look towards Yunho again.

“Wow,” is all Yunho says.

“What?”

“Did I just see you smiling at a man?”

“What the fuck?” you burst out as Sydney pushes him.

“Shut up, Yunho,” she tells him.

“Yeah, listen to your girlfriend, dumbass.”

Sydney turns fifteen different shades of red as Yunho’s gaze brightens, though blush tints his cheeks too. You sit on the couch next to Sydney, and San moves next to you, slowly sitting down. There’s another awkward silence that lingers until Yunho asks how the afternoon was, and you tell him about the park.

You don’t mention the conversation you had with Sydney, though. You keep that to yourself, instead telling him about the frisbee, and the wine, and the weather that hinted at summer. It breaks the ice, and soon conversation starts flowing between the four of you, almost as if San was always part of your little group.

You end up ordering Korean fried chicken for dinner, and you all eat sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table as you watch a movie Sydney recommended. It’s a good movie, and from the corner of your eyes, you notice how Sydney is cuddling into Yunho’s side. You can’t help your smile at the sight, relieved that they have finally made it to each other.

You’ve been dreaming of it for so long after all.

“They’re adorable,” San whispers in your ear. 

You nod, eyes sparkling as you meet his gaze. “I’m really happy for them.”

San’s lips spread in a soft smile as he looks between your eyes, his gaze then dropping to your mouth. Your throat feels suddenly dry, the space between the two of you filling with electricity, and you become aware that he’s just a hair's breadth away, close enough that you could brush your lips against his if only you moved an inch forward.

Though the gravity of him is strong, you resist, instead sitting back in your spot with your back against the couch. He chuckles, and then focuses on the movie again. He spreads his legs, his thigh pressing against yours. You’d curse him for it if your brother and best friend weren’t right next to you.

But two can play that game, can’t they?

So you press your thigh into his, slightly shifting so that you can angle your body towards him. You catch him smirking from the corner of your eyes as if that was what he wanted you to do, and so you decide to go further, your hand falling to his leg. It lands right next to the spot where you’re touching, and you feel San slightly tensing.

Especially as you start tracing idle shapes on his skin through the fabric of his pants. He spreads his legs even more, chasing the sensation. It emboldens you, so you lay your head on his shoulder. It brings you so close to him that you feel it when he takes his next breath, and you press your lips together to refrain from smiling smugly.

But you keep your hand on his thigh, idle circles getting closer to his dick with every slow pass. You try to make it as subtle as you can, and San gulps.

Right before you’re about to actually touch his dick, San leans in to speak into your hair, his voice so low you can barely hear him. “You should stop this before your brother notices.”

There’s something husky about the way he speaks, and desire floods your system. But all you do is wet your lips, your idle circles inching away from him this time. He doesn’t seem like he likes it - he moves, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to pull you into his chest.

You blush. You blush even though the living room is dark except for the light coming from the TV, which is thankfully on a darker scene at the moment. But you blush as you’re keenly aware that Sydney shoots you a glance.

You’re not big on PDA. Have never been, yet you don’t shrug San off. Don’t try to move away. Not when his body is so warm and he moulds you into his side like you belong there. And for a fleeting moment, you allow yourself to think that you do.

That maybe you’re allowed to love again after your ex. It’s been years after all - it’s not like you believed you had to stay single for the rest of your life. You just never had a romantic interest for someone after Jungkook, especially not with how things ended. But San…

It’s just been so easy with him, even though it’s only been two weeks. Two weeks, yet you feel like a small eternity has passed. Maybe because of how natural it feels to be by his side.

The movie ends a little while later, with Sydney and Yunho cuddling on their side of the couch while you and San cuddle on yours. You move away from San first, stretching as Yunho turns off the movie at the beginning of the credits. Sydney imitates you a second later, though her stretch is accompanied by a yawn.

“I think I should go home for the night,” she says.

“Are you not sleeping over?” Yunho asks, and there’s a pout in his voice.

What a lovesick idiot.

“I don’t have my stuff,” she says, but you don’t miss the way she throws you and San a not-so subtle look.

Yunho misses it though. He frowns, looking towards you as if you’ll help. “You have a tooth brush here and you can use Y/n’s stuff for a shower.”

“Right,” Sydney lets out, and she glances at you with apology in her gaze.

You shrug your shoulders to reassure her, and then you glance at San. “Come.”

He cocks an eyebrow in question as you get up, hand extended for him to take. He glances at your hand, his fingers closing around yours just a heartbeat later. 

“Where are you bringing me, woman?”

His tone is teasing, and you just chuckle. “To my room… boy.”

“Hey, I’m not a boy!”

You laugh as he gets up. “Are you not? I didn’t think you were a girl.”

He rolls his eyes. “Gosh, you’re…” He trails off as if only then realizing that Yunho and Sydney are watching the two of you curiously. “A very nice lady,” he concludes, and you all burst out laughing.

“Good night, losers,” you tell Sydney and Yunho, and then you’re pulling San to your bedroom, with no interruption this time.

“Good night?” San repeats behind you. “We’re going to bed?”

“Unless you want to go home?” you say, though you don’t slow down, still tugging him towards your room, though you do stop on the way to grab your tote bag, still filled with everything you brought to San’s place yesterday night.

“I’m a little tired,” he says.

“Well then.” You open the door of your bedroom. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

He laughs, walking in before you. You follow him, turning on the lights - multiple strings of fairy lights with fake leaves intertwined hanging from the wall that your bed is pushed against. They work with an app on your phone, so you just turn them on that way, appreciating the soft glow that reigns on your room a second later.

You close the door as San scans your room. “This is small.”

“That’s all you have to say?” you let out, faking offense.

He chuckles. “I love it. Love the lights, and the plushie.”

Your eyes trail to your bed, on top of which rests the Winnie the Pooh plushie you got years ago when you went to Disney with your family.

“It’s adorable, isn’t it?”

San sits on your bed, grabbing the plushie. “Definitely.” He cuddles it to his chest, resting his chin on top of it. 

You smile, and dimples appear in his cheeks as you take a step closer to him. The sight of him in your bed, his eyes twinkling with barely concealed feelings you too have been feeling, is enough to make you pull on Winnie until he lets it go. You throw the plushie, making yourself at home between his legs as you cup his cheeks.

San gulps, tilting his head back to look you in the eyes as you lean in. You stop just an inch away from his mouth, looking between his two eyes repeatedly as if they host the answer to the Universe. 

And maybe they do. Maybe they hold the answers of the universe you live in. 

“I…” you whisper, and his gaze drops to your mouth.

“You?” he presses, voice breathy.

You don’t know. You don’t know what you wanted to say. So you continue with the only thing that makes sense, breathing out, “San.”

He says your name with the same reverence, and then you’re closing the distance between the two of you, pressing your lips on his. He sighs softly, moving to hold your waist as you gently brush his cheek with a thumb, your other hand shifting to the back of his head.

The kiss reveals an inner light in you that you thought had died with Jungkook. It reveals a land of endless possibilities, of vulnerability you don’t know if you’re ready to let in. Yet it’s knocking at your door, and when San swipes your bottom lip with his tongue, you know it’s too late to stop.

So you kiss him harder, deeper, meeting his tongue with yours until his grip tightens on you. Until your lungs run out of oxygen, and then you straddle his lap, never disconnecting your mouth from his. Because you don’t want to - tonight, Choi San is the oxygen in your lungs.

San caresses your back, one hand going up to hold the back of your neck as the other goes down, gripping at the meat of your ass. You let out a breathy sound that’s barely noticeable through the intensity of the moment, one you know will be repeated countless times tonight.

You don’t think you’ll be able to stop tonight. You want him - all of him, completely. 

You want to come undone, together with him.

You gently push him down until he’s lying on his back, your lips still dancing together, tongues mingling like you’re trying to drink his very essence. But then you sit back on him, breathing rapidly as your lungs seek for much needed oxygen. Just like him, whose chest is going up and down quickly as he watches you taking your shirt off, tossing it aside.

Your mouths collide with more intent then, passion taking over the two of you as San’s fingers aim for the clasp of your bra in your back. He fumbles with it for a few heartbeats until it comes undone, and then he gently slips your bra down your arms. You disconnect for a moment so that he can throw the piece of clothing to the floor, and then your lips are on his again.

It’s languid. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted - there’s danger in the speed at which you’re catching feelings, but it’s too late.

It’s too late, and you can’t bring yourself to care.

San’s large hands caress your sides, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind as you tease his bottom lip with your teeth. He lets out a small groan, and then his hands move forward, finding your breasts. He massages them, pushing them together, and then his deft fingers find your nipples, gently squeezing them.

You moan. A light sound, one meant just for his ears, and then you’re sitting back on him again, just so that you can circle your hips with your core against his growing erection. His eyebrows bunch together, his lips parted on a silent sound you so wish you had heard, but one you know should remain silent.

Indeed, you can hear Sydney and Yunho talking in the living room, and the last thing you’d want would be for them to hear you having sex with San.

San says your name, a whisper that wraps around your heart like the warm embrace of a lover - something you’re realizing San might become to you - and then he grinds his hips in yours, his length rubbing on your core through the clothes.

It’s sinful, passionate, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I want you,” you say, echoing the words you said last night. “I really want you, San.”

He wets his lips, grinding on you again. “Do you have condoms?”

You freeze. You don’t - you’ve finished the box you owned a couple of months ago with a one night stand you met at a bar at the beginning of the summer. And you’ve never thought to buy more because you weren’t actively seeking to have sex after that.

“I…” you let out, and then you chuckle awkwardly. “I don’t. Don’t you have one?”

San winces, and then his mouth falls open as you circle your hips on him again. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath. “Fuck, Y/n.”

It’s the way he says your name. It takes all of its meaning in his mouth, and you lean forward to kiss him again. He meets every swipe of your tongue with a languid swipe of his, and your core warms up to an uncomfortable level. You’re growing wet, soaking through your panties, and you know you won’t be able to stop tonight.

“I don’t,” San says a moment later - you can’t tell if it’s been a few seconds or an hour. 

Kissing him does that to your brain.

“Huh?”

San pecks your mouth once more, and you look down at his glistening, swollen lips as he repeats. “I don’t.”

“You don’t what?”

He breaks into a smile, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. “I don’t have a condom.”

You freeze for the second time in not too long, your heart skipping a beat in your chest.

Shit.

“Oh.”

“I…” he starts, though he seems at a loss for words for a few heartbeats. “I didn’t expect us to have sex tonight.” He wets his lips, attracting your gaze to his mouth. “I actually genuinely didn’t think I’d come here at all.” At the slight frown that appears on your features, San quickly adds, “I’m happy I did, though.”

You nod once, smiling softly. “I’m happy you did, too.”

You cup his cheek from where you’re sitting on his dick, and it twitches in his pants as your thumb teases his bottom lip. You feel powerful, like you’re sitting on a throne and not on his lap - it’s all thanks to him, and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the most important thing in the world.

“I gotta admit I really fucking want you too,” he says, his voice resembling a growl.

You’re barely surprised when he sits up to kiss your lips again. Indeed, you’re immediately kissing him back, tasting all of him until he’s the only thing in your mind.

Until you forget all about the world - all that’s left is Choi San, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You let your hands explore his body, appreciating his hard muscles through the shirt he’s wearing. It’s a little on the thicker side - he’d put it on back at the park when it started getting chillier - yet you can still feel his hard-earned body. It emboldens you, turns you on even more, and you’re pulling on the hem of his shirt a second later, letting him know you want him to take it off.

He understands the cue, and he’s pulling away from the kiss just long enough to take his shirt off, revealing the t-shirt underneath. He’s about to kiss you again when you stop him with a hand on his chest.

You can feel his quick heartbeats on your palm, and he just looks at you with questions in his eyes.

“Take it off, too,” you say, motioning to his t-shirt.

He smirks, tilting his head to the side. “I guess it’s just fair, mmh?”

You don’t reply anything, too distracted by the body that’s revealed when he finally takes the t-shirt off. And though you saw his body yesterday, there’s just something about the strong planes of his chest that makes you roll your hips into his, and San’s hands shoot to your waist to guide your motions.

It’s hot, even if your panties are sticking to your pussy uncomfortably from how soaked they are.

  “You know what’s wild?” he says with a low, husky voice that sends shivers down your spine.

“What?” you breathe out.

“I deadass think you could make me come like this,” he admits with not even a single ounce of shame. “You turn me on so fucking much.”

You moan as he grinds up into you again. Even with all the clothes between you and him, you can still feel how hard he is, and your pussy clenches around nothing.

“Fuck, San.”

“I know,” he lets out, capturing your lips in a wet kiss. “I know, baby.”

“I need to feel you,” you purr. “I…”

You don’t finish your sentence, instead getting up. San watches you, leaning back on his hands, as you finish undressing, breathing a sigh of relief when your panties finally stop sticking to your pussy. You drop them to the floor, fully aware that San’s eyeing you up and down. It makes you feel hot, more attractive than you’ve ever felt - it helps that his bulge is so evident, protruding from his pants so much you think he might rip through them.

But it looks uncomfortable, and you want to relieve him. Want to feel him - will feel him. So you lean closer, fingers finding the button of his pants, and then you’re doing quick work of taking the rest of his clothes off, too. His boxers follow his pants right away, his dick slapping on his abdomen from how hard he already is. 

You haven’t seen him fully naked before. He’s always kept either his shirt or pants on, and you understand why. 

You think you would have gone insane if you’d seen him fully naked before. It’s just so sinful - he’s a Greek god sent down to Earth to whisk you away to Olympus. But in all honesty, you think you go a little insane anyway as you look at him now, watching the bead of precum that sits on his slit.

“Fuck.”

The word falls from your lips right in time with San’s dick twitching as you reach for it, running a finger along his length. San just surveys you as you’re doing so, so out of breath he looks like he’s just finished a marathon. 

Your finger stops at his slit, smearing the precum on his tip. San throws his head back, eyes shutting in time with his mouth falling open as you wrap your hand around him next, giving him a stroke up and down.

You’re dripping. Dripping between your legs, your juices rolling down the inside of your thighs. You doubt you’ve ever been so wet before, and you’d be embarrassed of it if San didn’t look so helpless from just your hand on him.

And maybe you’re wild for it, maybe you’re stupid, but you push him back down on the bed, straddling his lap again. The lack of fabric between the two of you when your pussy rubs on his dick from the motion makes the both of you moan, and you still with his tip nudging your clit, your mind swimming in ecstasy already.

“Holy shit,” San lets out. “Fuck, I…”

And then he’s moving, grinding against you, coating his length in your juices. You don’t move, almost hoping he’ll slip inside of you as he goes back and forth, the friction on your clit enough to make your vision blurry.

But you need more. Want more, need the friction to send you flying over the edge. So you lean forward, finding leverage on his shoulders as you start moving too, and San lets you take the lead, grunting under you as you rub your clit on his hard length.

He feels heavenly. He feels like you’re about to reach nirvana, and you genuinely think you might. It’s just too good, and his hands on your hips so gentle despite the actions you’re partaking in that you know you’ll be able to come in no time.

He murmurs your name, eyes still closed as he takes in the sensation of you on him, and you bend down until you can kiss him again. He takes over then, slowly pushing his dick harder into you as he rubs your clit. Your walls clench around nothing, and you’re so wet you know he might accidentally slip right in.

You don’t care - you want him to. You want to know what it would feel like to be impaled by his large dick, to feel him stretching your walls.

So do you slightly shift when he moves back? You do. Just enough for his tip to starts slipping inside of you, and San immediately pulls his hips back, even as you try to chase him. He wraps his arm around your waist, holding you in place, and then he delivers a light slap to your ass.

“Be nice, mmh?” he lets out.

Your head falls into the crook of his neck as he starts rubbing his dick on your clit once more. You moan in his ear, and then go straight to the skin of his neck, sucking on it just hard enough to leave a faint purple mark behind.

But then you’re sitting back, and this time with a goal. You need completion, need to come undone, so you add your motions to San’s, being careful not to push his dick inside of you again. It’s so good your eyes roll to the back of your head, and it doesn’t take long before you start feeling a knot forming in your lower stomach.

Your hand is on his chest as you grind on him, your free one moving to your breast so that you can pinch your nipple. San gets the message, and then he’s pushing your hand away from your breast, replacing it with his.

The second he squeezes your nipple between his thumb and index  you’re coming undone, your climax hitting almost out of nowhere.

It’s too good, far too good, and you go limp, falling into his chest as he keeps going, his rhythm accelerating for a few heartbeats until a warm liquid squirts all over your lower stomach, though it mostly falls on his. Even then San keeps moving, but he slows down, his motions sloppy until he entirely stops.

Your room is silent then except for your mingling breaths, and San holds you as you slowly come down from the high, your head resting on his chest. It takes a while for his heartbeat to slow down, and you only raise your head to meet his gaze once his heart does go back to a normal rhythm.

He’s already looking at you, eyes shining brightly like a star was born in their depths. You can’t help yourself - you kiss him, but this time it’s softer than a feather. It’s the perfect conclusion to the action that just unfolded, and you sigh in contentment, eyes still shut as you pull away from the kiss.

Your eyelids flutter open to see San with his eyes still closed. He sighs too, a lazy smile growing on his lips, and you chuckle at the sight.

“I can’t believe we just basically fucked without fucking,” you comment.

He snorts, and then you both burst out laughing.

“What are you doing to me, woman?” San asks, but it’s a rhetorical question. “You’re so…” His eyes flutter open. “You’re so fucking perfect, you know that, right?”

Pink dusts your cheeks. “Stop, I’m not.”

“To me, you are,” he insists as he shuts his eyes again with the same satisfied smile on his lips. “I’ve never come like this before. You really turn me on so much, you have no clue.”

“Then why don’t you carry a condom around, mmh?”

He chuckles. “You still came, didn’t you?”

You roll your eyes, pushing yourself up just enough so that you can look at the mess between the two of you. “Like you didn’t? You made a mess.”

He cracks an eye open to glare at you playfully. “It’s your fault. You’re the one that started grinding on me.”

“No regrets,” you tease, and you both laugh again.

When the laughter recedes, you reach for the box of tissue on your bedside table, putting it on the bed next to you. And then you grab some tissues, sitting back on San so that you can clean your lower stomach. He makes to reach for some tissues too, but you swat his hand away. He laughs softly, and then looks at you with those sparkling eyes of his as you clean him up too.

“You’re sleeping over, right?” you ask.

San smiles, tilting his head to the side. “I’m getting the feeling that you wouldn’t let me leave even if I wanted to.”

“You want to leave?” you say with a pout.

He props himself up on his elbows, and the muscles on his chest shift from the switch in position. It’s hot, almost enough to get you going again, so you quickly look away, meeting his gaze instead.

“Not at all,” he answers truthfully. “I just want to sleep with you.”

You cock an eyebrow, mischief in your gaze. “To sleep with me, mmh?”

He chuckles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yes, sleep. To sleep with you in my arms like we did yesterday.”

Butterflies take flight in your stomach, and you barely can hold your smile. San just looks at it for a few seconds, and then he sits up to kiss you softly as he loses one hand in your hair.

“We should probably take a shower first, though,” he says in the space between the two of you as he leans his forehead against yours.

You agree. You definitely should, yet you don’t want to leave the comfort of the safe haven that your room is. But you have to, so you force yourself to pull away from his forehead, turning your head to the side so that you can focus on the sounds in the apartment.

It’s dead silent, and though you wait a couple of seconds, Yunho and Sydney don’t make themselves heard at all.

“Do you think they went to bed?” you ask.

San ponders for a few seconds as he, too, listens to the apartment. “Seems like it.”

You nod once, and then you’re getting up. You grab San’s t-shirt, putting it on quickly before he can steal it from your hands. He just smiles at the sight as you hand him his pants. 

You put a pair of PJ shorts on while he gets dressed, and then you guide him to the bathroom so that you can take a shower together.

Later, when you’re finally tucked in bed with your head on his shoulder, his arm holding you close to him, you trace idle shapes on his stomach. San kisses the top of your head, bringing a smile to your lips, and you peck his jaw.

He kisses you a second later, and though it’s short, his heart is beating quicker in his chest when you lean your head against him once more after. It fills you with warmth, and you nuzzle your face in his neck, breathing in the distinct scent of him.

You fall asleep entwined with him, dreams of a park and a dimpled smile occupying your night.

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soooo did you like this chapter? let me knoooow, i love hearing about everyone's thoughts!

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2025. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[nocompromise-noregrets]

likethenight's Barduil fic masterpost

It's been a long time coming (mainly because I've been putting it off because there's so damn much of it how is this even my life at this point) but here, have a masterpost of everything I've written about the bi widower dads!

the series

My Heart Is An Empty Vessel: canon-'verse, featuring the dads getting together in the aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies and featuring side-fics, flashbacks to Thranduil's youth in Doriath and an entirely canon-mangling sequel set in Valinor. (62 stories so far)

All I Want Is You: modern AU in which Bard is working as a delivery driver who keeps having to make deliveries to the reclusive owner of Greenwood Hall (and then lockdown happens). Including the daft Christmas-movie fic that nobody wanted except me. (23 stories so far)

A Kiss in the Cold and Dark: modern AU in which Bard and Thranduil knew each other as teenagers but lost touch for 30-odd years before running into each other again at a Christmas market. (14 stories so far)

Dancing In The Dark: modern AU in which Bard and Thranduil had a not-quite-a-thing in the 90s when they were both singers for relatively successful rock bands, never sorted themselves out, and find themselves on the same festival bill 30 years later. (14 stories so far)

stained glass heart: There is a legend in Dale, that somewhere deep in the forest that borders the city lives the forest king, an ancient being with a special care for archers, and for all things that grow. Bard, camping in the woods after his finals, finds a place that isn't on any maps and begins to dream of something - someone - familiar; and years later, after the heaviest loss he has ever had to bear, he goes back out there again, hoping to find something that might help him recover. (5 stories so far)

Stars and Arrows: the Oxford-college-professors-with-different-names reincarnation story, featuring a mysterious illuminated manuscript and your humble author's 25 years of archival nerdery. (2 stories so far)

the oneshots: canon-'verse

Something Magical: Thranduil thinks about magic, and glamour, and illusion, and wonders if now he is under a different kind of enchantment.

Overrun by Halflings: a somewhat cracky fic in which Rosie persuades Sam to take her and the children to the Undying Lands, some of the Elves are somewhat less than pleased, and one of them (no prizes for guessing who) has Absolutely No Room To Comment At All.

A Little Less Than Safe: Thranduil takes Bard, Sigrid and Tilda for a picnic in the forest. The sorcerer of Dol Guldur sees an opportunity to have a little fun and teach the Elvenking a lesson.

Should All The Stars Shine In The Sky: the first Midwinter celebration in Dale after the Battle of the Five Armies. Bard and Thranduil are in the thick of the festivities, Sigrid and Tauriel are stargazing on the rooftops, and there are all kinds of magic abroad on this, the longest night of the year.

Caught Like Stars: another Midwinter-in-Dale fic - Thranduil has his reasons for accepting Bard's invitation to celebrate Midwinter in Dale, but he isn't quite expecting anything that happens after he arrives.

(Not) For You: They’re not for you, the Elves, not for the likes of you, and Bard has known this all his life. But he's always been a dreamer, and after the Battle of the Five Armies his whole world has been turned on its head, and the Elvenking is being oddly open with him.

fragile/uncanny: in which the Elvenking and the Dragonslayer find that they have more in common than they realise at first.

what dark paths brought me here: Riding into the darkness of the forest, Bard wonders why he was so insistent that he go alone to ask the Elvenking for help; but it takes his mind off wondering why he can't stop thinking about the time they spent together last autumn, at least.

unanticipated, unexpected: Sigrid never expected to be in a position to actually do something about the ridiculous crush on the Prince of the Woodland Realm that she picked up during the fall of Lake-town - so Tilda and Tauriel take matters into their own hands. Otherwise known as the Sigrid/Legolas fic I never thought I'd find myself writing - the dads are a background pairing in this one.

Very Nearly A Diplomatic Incident: Dáin thinks something's going on between Bard and Thranduil. He…isn't far wrong, but they're not telling him that.

and where they dwell now none can say: there is a tale that's seldom told about two kings in days of old… (in other words, your humble author accidentally commits poetry)

On the Steps: After the battle is over, Bard finds himself talking to the Elvenking - and tending a wound.

A Very Recent Development: When Thranduil's temper gets the better of him in conversation with Dáin, he has to ask Bard to help him salvage the alliance between their three kingdoms. Perhaps inevitably, it gets complicated.

Waylaid: After the battle, Legolas is determined to get as far away from Dale as fast as he can. But when he is delayed retrieving his horse, he finds himself lingering for Tauriel's sake, and beginning to forge friendships with Bard's children - and beginning to mend fences with his father at long last. (another one where the dads are more of a background pairing)

into the darkness: Bard had only ventured into the forest to try and find something for his children to eat. But the spiders - and the Elvenking - have other ideas.

someone else's life: Bard often thought, in the months following the battle, that the world had ended, for him, on the night the dragon had come swooping down from the mountain breathing fire and flame and burned Lake-town to ashes and cinders. His home was gone, his livelihood was gone, his whole life as it had been had stopped on that awful night, and now - now he felt as though he was living someone else’s life.

the greatest treasure you could ever hope to find: A couple of weeks after the battle, Sigrid has a conversation with the Elvenking, and both of them find themselves saying rather more than they'd intended.

red: Thranduil's cloak is lined with red, the colour of blood; he is all silver, silver and red, ice and blood and a love he can no longer bear to let himself feel.

the oneshots: (mostly) modern AUs

Three Things and One Step At A Time: in which teenage boyfriends Bard and Thranduil are split up by Thranduil's abusive father and run into each other years later. Inspired by 'To Be A Father' by the lovely @fox-deer.

On Arda Street (chapter one): a tiny tattoo artist/florist AU, part of a set of AUs also including a pet shop, a coffee shop and a high school featuring other characters from the legendarium.

Metallic Red and Deep Pink: two fics set in the incomparable @scary-grace's seeking a friend for the end of the world-'verse. In a ruined, deserted mall somewhere east of Wyoming, Bard discovers that Thranduil is perfectly capable of walking in (very) high heels - and, in an abandoned motel, Thranduil tries on lipstick for the first time in a very long time.

Tonight Is For Mysteries: the retelling of the Cinderella story in which Sigrid is not the only one who finds something special at the Woodland Realm's masked ball.

A Double-Booking in Room 305 and Another Night in Room 305: Bard, checking into a hotel for a conference, finds that someone else has already checked into his room.

Once In A Lifetime and Make This Work Somehow: Bard's taken his first away-from-home acting job since his wife died and it's a huge opportunity, with the most renowned costume designer in the business working on the film. It's also an adaptation of his kids' favourite book, so...no pressure. And no need to even think about how incredibly attractive the aforementioned costume designer is, because that's not even the slightest bit relevant...

Espresso: There's a reason Bard always gets his coffee from the Lonely Mountain Roastery, every single day…

paint the sky and burn the stars: The best birthday present Bard ever had was the treehouse his da built him for his eighth birthday. Over the years it brings him his best friend, his first love, the one that got away…and then, eventually, it brings his first love back to him again.

All The Ages Of The World Alone: Thranduil never leaves the Greenwood, after the end of the time of the Elves in Middle-Earth. Gradually he fades away, drifting between the trees as a spirit…until a little lad playing in the woods catches his attention, and later, a grieving man with three children who seems to know about events he could not possibly have experienced…

Court Etiquette: (only just not-canon-'verse, this one) Thranduil is very bored at the wedding of Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins, but then he meets the new King of Dale, who has never been to one of these events before.

business class: Bard, on his first business trip abroad since his wife died, gets an upgrade to business class, where he finds himself sitting next to someone very intriguing indeed.

on first sight: Thranduil allows himself to be talked into a blind date.

[breelandwalker]

You’ve probably maybe gotten asks like this before, but I really need some advice; see, it’s been ages since I’ve really touched my practice. So I’ve been stuck as a “beginner witch” for years. Mainly because I don’t know what my practice should look like. What I want to research. On top of that, Leviathan entered my space a couple of years back, and sources on him are very sparse, from what I can tell.

Essentially, I’m just really stuck. I don’t know what I want to do. I want to have a practice. I want to engage with Leviathan and my ancestry and… what else? I don’t know what else. All the potential options tend to overwhelm me more than they help. I think it may be some kind of executive dysfunction thing, so I was wondering if you had any advice?

Definitely understand if not though, and I hope you have a lovely day. <3

"Executive Dysfunction," you say. Consider my ears swiveled.

I have the SAME PROBLEM. The Decision Paralysis is so real when it comes to figuring out what you want to do with witchcraft, whether it's learning something new or picking a deity to venerate or decided how to put together the latest spell you want to cast. I can't offer much advice on the deity/spirit side of things, but I think I might be able to suggest something for the "stuck" feeling.

I have a little masterpost of Witchcraft Exercises with crafts and journaling prompts and thought experiments to help witches build their craft and hone their skills. In particular, I think you might benefit from the one called Quantifying Your Craft. It's a writing exercise where you sit down and just...record what your craft looks like. It doesn't have to be formal or fit for public consumption, it's just an outline of how you got started, what you believe, what you think, what you know, and what you're curious about.

It's a good way of parsing all those disparate thoughts into some sort of order, as well as creating a sort of mile marker or save point for later on. You can use it to chart your progress, revisit old questions, and maybe discover some new directions for your learning.

This is something that's really helped me in the past when I felt stuck or couldn't decide what to do. I'd go back to my last save point, as it were, and look at the plans and questions I'd recorded at the time. It also helped to revisit the things that inspired me early on, particularly certain books and movies. If anything put me in the mood to Do A Magical Thing, I tried to find time to indulge that whim. (That motivation can be so fleeting and it's so satisfying when you can catch it at just the right to make something happen.)

Beyond that, I recommend jotting down ideas that you have when you have them. That way, when you feel stuck later, you have a little cache of ideas to fall back on and maybe one will jump out at you.

Hope this helps!

[redflagshipwriter]

Hot Ghouls Chapter 12 part 1/2

Masterpost

Call me when you’re free!!!!!!

“Geeze,” Danny muttered. “Calm down, Jazz.” Still, he did what she said. He hefted up his backpack, waved goodbye to his shift relief, and dialed her up as he jogged down the library stairs.

“I’ve found two solutions!”

Danny winced at how cheerful his sister’s voice was. “Great!” He tried to match her enthusiasm, despite feeling like something that had been peeled off the sidewalk. He’d ended up working the morning shift on Saturday anyways. “Should I come over?”

“No.” Jazz sounded a little shifty. “I think it’s best if you don’t come over right now.”

“I’m not nuts!” her roommate was faintly audible, as was some kind of repetitive thwap. “We are getting this place fumigated and cleansed and exorcised-

Jazz must have power walked away from poor Tiffany. Her voice faded out. “Ahem.”

Danny pressed his lips together tightly and tried not to laugh. There was a brief space in the conversation where he probably should have said ‘I’m sorry that I made her think your place was haunted.’ But honestly? In a very literal sense, it had been haunted?

“Danny,” Jazz said, in her quiet scary voice, “shut up.”

He shut up even harder than he’d been shutting up before.

She continued in one of her determined tones that meant there was no point in arguing unless it was a hill he was willing to die on. “I am not going to stay in your place because it’s small and scary.”

‘You’re scarier,’ Danny thought mutinously. ‘You’re scarier than anything in my apartment.’

Aloud, he said something else. “Then where?” He did his best to communicate, dummy, via his tone. “I don’t think this is a coffee shop conversation.”

More importantly, he didn’t really have much coffee shop budget. Jazz didn’t have that much either. They were both on scholarships and part time jobs.

“Of course not,” Jazz said practically. “The main Gotham public library is a mid-point and you can rent out a room there for hour blocks. I’ll reserve it online on the way there. I’m halfway to the train station now. What’s your ETA- you just left campus, right?”

Danny looked down at his foot incredulously as he stepped off the final cement stair onto the sidewalk. How did she know that? He looked around dumbly for a know-it-all sister spy plane or something.

“I’ll get a media room from 3-4 pm, that gives you time to stop and get us drinks and snacks. I’ll pay you back, budget of 10 dollars. That sound okay?”

“Fine.” Danny sighed heavily. “Yeah, I can get to that area pretty fast.” He hung up and resigned himself to pushing through foot traffic. He was a lot closer than Jazz was at the moment. He put his head down and ignored the masses of humanity for a little more than 20 minutes of walking. The high lifted roof of the city's main library came into view over the surrounding buildings.

There was a grocery store pretty close by. Danny detoured there and got wrapped sandwiches, chips, and coffees. He hid them all in his backpack just in case the library had a no-food policy.

Then he checked his phone. Jazz had sent him a text telling him the floor and room number in the library. He also had seven missed calls from his parents. That initially freaked him out until he noticed that Dad had sent him a link to an update on the family blog with a string of ghost and wink emojis.

Yeah ok. It wasn't going to be important in the slightest. He ignored his parents.

He jogged the rest of the way to the library and then up the ramp. Danny slipped in the doors and enjoyed the rush of air conditioning. He nodded to the librarian visible from the door and then took the main stairs at an easy pace up to the fourth floor. The rented media room was a straight shot to the back. His sister was waiting to pounce when he opened the door.

“Get back, beast,” Danny said, alarmed. He held his backpack out like it would ward her away.

“Open it!” Jazz demanded.

Holy cow. Uh. He scrambled to unzip it and hold out the plastic shopping bag in offering.

“Gimme gimme, thank you,” Jazz sang and she snatched the snacks from his hands. Danny blew on his fingers pointedly as if her speed burnt his fingertips. She ignored him and unwrapped the ham and cheese at lightning speed.

Oof. Danny kept his fingers a little closer so they didn't get bitten off and side-eyed his big sister as she all but inhaled the sandwich. He popped open the chips bag and ate a couple, feeling a bit freaked out by how ravenous she was. He opened his mouth to comment and then thought better of it.

“Are those for both of us?” Jazz swallowed her sandwich and pointed at the chip bag.

Danny held his hands up and let her take it away. “Geeze,” he said, quietly. He took his own sandwich out from the bag that Jazz had abandoned and ate it at a more normal speed. By the time he'd finished Jazz was content with the chips. He cautiously reached out and fished the bag back towards him. A glance inside showed that she'd left about half.

“So!” Jazz clapped her hands like she had pretensions of being a preschool teacher.

“That body language making you friends at Arkham?” Danny jabbed. He popped a chip in his mouth and crunched down.

Jass casually flipped him off. “Yes, actually,” she said primly. “Dr. Quinn was very complimentary-”

“Before she broke out?” Danny said dryly around a mouthful of chips.

“-and I have formed meaningful clinical bonds with many other patients. But I digress.” She gave him a version of her smug face. She, as always, looked like that meme of the knife cat. “I have two solutions for you.”

[actual-changeling]

I was once again re-watching good omens, and I once again realized something incredibly painful, so welcome back to

Alex's unhinged meta corner.

I really need to make a masterpost at some point.

You see, the very first episode not only foreshadows their last argument, it also tells us exactly why it will happen and what problem/offer they will have to face.

We don't usually pay much attention to it because it's a) in the very first episode and then doesn't come up again and b) we know that Crowley would never accept it.

My realization is that Beelzebub's offer mirrors the Metatron's. Both Crowley and Aziraphale are given the same kind of opportunity—but one says no and the other says yes.

Let's have a look!

This is not going to be chronological but more of a go with the flow thing because the aspects are the same but they don't appear in the same order.

The most obvious part first: the job offer itself.

Beelzebub offers him a promotion and later on specifies that he can be a Duke of Hell, one of the few people in charge. I believe that if Gabriel and Beez' plan had been to run away together from the very beginning, ze would have offered Crowley zir own job as Prince of Hell. Still, being a Duke would probably put him in a standing similar to Michael or Uriel's.

The Metatron obviously offers him the job of Supreme Archangel, which is the highest possible position for an angel to hold, aka it's the same promotion, just different colours.

Both offers also stem from the exact same problem—Gabriel is gone.

Now, Beelzebub and the Metatron aren't stupid, they know that they need to convince them to take it, they have to embellish it and play with their wants and fears.

Beelzebub presumably makes the correct assumption that Aziraphale is hiding Gabriel or that the two of them are somehow involved (because they always are), and while ze uses it as a threat/warning, the Metatron takes what is now fact and uses it in the opposite way.

Additionally, ze trusts Crowley to not only deliver Gabriel back to zem but to take care of him until he's safe and sound with his partner.

'I trust you with him' -> 'He trusted you with himself'.

I will now do a little jump to the last part of Aziraphale's conversation with the Metatron right in front of the lift. Once again, they appeal to a characteristic Crowley and Aziraphale share.

'You know earth and that is a useful asset.' What has previously been punished and was seen as a weakness—what is he, he has gone native, you've been down here for too long—is now praised.

It's good that you know earth, we see that you are worth something, you are different but that is good now.

Crowley does not care about that at all, he gives exactly zero fucks about what hell thinks of him, but Aziraphale? Who has been trying to impress the Archangels for six thousand years and been humiliated by them during Armageddon? This is what he has been craving all along, respect for his job on earth and to be recognized as a Good Angel.

Well, that was the carrot, time for the stick: threats.

They remind them of their respective status—they're both traitors, personae non gratae, and they could still be punished for that. After the trial, they were largely left alone, but they drew attention to themselves again, they became a problem.

The Metatron is more subtle, as usual. He knows that Aziraphale lied his ass off several times, including directly in front of God. This is not a just compliment, it's a threat—I know who you are and I have the power to make you feel that

'You don't just tell people what they want to hear.' Again, they are sitting at this table and both know that the opposite is true, and the Metatron is both using it to threaten him and to establish the clear expectations he will have for him should he take the job. Also, by saying he thinks Aziraphale is those things, he gives him more praise, more respect.

Both sides know that Aziraphale and Crowley are each other's biggest weakness; they want to be safe and together. I think it is clear what kind of threat/danger Beez is presenting Crowley, but we rarely talk about the fact that the Metatron also threatens him, just not as explicitly.

Aziraphale will be destroyed if they find Gabriel with him, and Crowley cannot let that happen. However, contrary to heaven, hell has more or less known about the two of them for decades, and they never actually cared about the arrangement as long as the job got done. They punished Crowley when he did good deeds aka not his fucking job but the opposite.

'I know you care about him, he's at risk if you don't help me find him.'

The Metatron on the other hand makes it clear that HE specifically knows about him and Crowley, and Aziraphale did not know who exactly was privy to that information and if it reached the Metatron. Not just that, he emphasizes that he has been doing research on them, he can dig up whatever dirt he likes and then kill them both.

No one would be able to stop him.

This next part is going to be interesting because it is a parallel that Aziraphale doesn't and currently wouldn't be able to see, while Crowley does see it very, very clearly.

When the Metatron tells Aziraphale he can take Crowley with him to heaven and make him an angel again, that is good news to him! It is PERFECT! It would solve out of his problems, and who wouldn't want to be an angel, on the side of good?

Everything the Metatron did up to this point, from 'saving' them from punishment at the hand of the Archangels, over getting him coffee, to giving twisted praise, has had one primary objective: Get Aziraphale to trust him.

It worked. Consequently, Aziraphale does not question what he tells him now, and believes that he truly could take Crowley with him and make him an angel again. He has no concept of what falling actually means, and what it meant for Crowley in particular, so he cannot discern the threat within it.

Yet when he presents it to Crowley, who is horrified and rightfully so, we are once again shown that no, Aziraphale does not understand. Crowley does, though. That angel he was no longer exists, he cannot go back to it because they're gone, and he would not want to either. Everything they have built on earth their life, their existence, would mean absolutely nothing and cease to exist.

Do you see the threat yet?

Here is what Beelzebub tells him, and what we are told over and over and over again throughout the season.

Erased from the book of life, gone from existence, everything they were, had, owned, lived—gone.

Erased from the book of life vs. turned back into an angel that doesn't exist anymore, that CAN'T exist again.

Put the threat and the 'offer' next to each other, and Crowley sees the same fate in both: His existence will be destroyed. Aziraphale, like I said above, doesn't. The book of life is a threat, but turning him into an angel is a blessing.

Right now, it doesn't matter whether the book of life really exists or if a demon can be turned back into an angel. What matters is that they both BELIEVE those things are real and possible, because that is what they act on, belief.

Beelzebub sends him away with bad news, the Metatron pushes Aziraphale to tell Crowley good news. Same offer, same possible outcomes (either they get to live together or one of them/both get destroyed), but entirely different responses.

Crowley says no. Aziraphale says yes.

Aziraphale thinks Crowley should have said yes.

Crowley thinks Aziraphale should have said no.

So. We know what happens next and personally, combing through all of this in detail only made it hurt worse!! If it did the same for you—you're welcome, I love my job.

[allykatsart]

I dont know If you want to answer that , because ... Spoilers for further Comics/animatics but ...

What Kind of Relationships have you planned for Peccantum? Like , will there be (close) friendship, rivlary, dislike or even some kind of romantic feels with the Hotel residents ?

Greetings from Europe !

Who is Peccantum?

Hello Europe! LMAO

I don't mind at all! Peccantum's story told pretty hap-hazardly lol. I'm releasing comics in no particular order! Each comic should be stand alone, but connect together to tell a bigger story.

(and it'll all be in chronological order in the Masterpost in the end anyways)

Pentious would probably be the closest relationship he has throughout the first season. Peccantum and Pentious are both incredibly smart, but awkward when it comes to people. They'd probably have a little bit of a rivalry at first, but quickly get over it cause "Oh my god, it's finally someone who can keep up with me on this!"

Peccantum may even have caught feelings for Pentious at one point. But even if he did? Peccantum would never act on it, especially after episode 6. Just look at him here....

Pentious is obviously pursuing Cherri and Peccantum's heart fucking sinks. It takes awhile for him to be able to trust anyone, much less want to hold hands or be close to someone. So... he says nothing about it. He's just gotta push those feelings down and get over it.

He and Cherri may have a talk later about Pentious after the season finale. Both are left with unresolved feelings and it may help them become friends...

As for the others, I do have a few points, but I'll keep it brief.

Angel

Peccantum and Angel start off with Angel being hypersexual and Peccantum very much being flustered. Over time, Peccantum gets more immune to Angel's comments as Angel stops putting on a performance at the hotel. And when dirty jokes do come up, Peccantum is the "Why are you like this -_-" straight man to Angel's routine lol

Husk

Peccantum has a lot of respect for Husk, and a bit of jealousy. Husk was an overlord at one point and that gave him a lot of power. I think they're gonna have to have an argument before they can clear the air and start looking out for each other. They're both stuck with Alastor, after all, and neither wants the other to get hurt.

Niffty

Peccantum's wild experiments with Pentious usually leave a mess, which Niffty.... Doesn't seem to mind? Until she has to clean them up, in which case she gets manically obsessed with them. Peccantum appreciates it but is still kinda cautious around her. That is, until she kills Adam and he decides she's not so bad.

Charlie

Peccantum expected the princess of hell to be just as scummy as her people, or to at least have some sort of hubris. But nope, she's just.... Nice? A good person? A better person than him, certainly. He does get annoyed when she pities him, or tries to treat him like he's a guest in the hotel, but he doesn't hate her. He quite likes her, actually.

[broodybuck]

Shameful Dreams | Series Part 4

Series Summary: Steve and Bucky are each respectfully married to their wives, as any man should be in 1941. And yet, that doesn't stop Steve from having very shameful dreams about his married friend. Unexpectedly, things begin to happen outside of Steve's fantasies.

Series Tags: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes | Rated E | Tags: 18+ explicit smut, no powers au, pre-serum Steve, top Bucky, bottom Steve, secret relationship, internalized homophobia, consensual infidelity, closeted characters

[Masterpost] // [ao3 link]

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3]

Steve has experimented before. He knows how it feels to put a finger in his ass. But he stopped a while back, too ashamed of what he was doing.

It's odd how being with Bucky supplies equal parts shame and exhilaration. In some ways, Steve's become so uncaring about everything he used to worry about before. Currently, all he cares about is prepping for Bucky.

Bucky doesn't know what Steve's doing at home. But the thought of him finding out delights Steve in so many ways. He can picture the moment. Bucky's eyes will go wide, his pupils will dilate, and his whole body will tense at Steve's admission.

Steve continues to diligently work at fitting three fingers in his hole. To be honest, it's hard to find the time. The shower is one of the only times he has privacy away from Peggy. She starts to notice his showers racking up in minutes. She's begun teasing him about his longer showers, and Steve goes all red whenever she does. But not for the reasons she thinks.

Bucky is his deep, dark secret now.

While Steve preps himself, he has no idea when he and Bucky are going to fuck. They don't talk about it. Nights in the outhouse stay mostly the same with the addition of oral. They don't always blow each other because some nights they're kissing too much, get impatient, and just use their hands.

He deepthroated Bucky for the first time a few nights ago, and when Bucky told him he was getting so good at it, Steve preened over the praise all night. If Bucky is impressed by how much Steve can fit in his mouth, Steve can't wait to show him how much he can fit in his ass.

The way it happens is, Peggy makes a plan to visit her mother and doesn't ask Steve to join. He doesn't have paid leave anyhow.

The funny thing is, Steve doesn't even realize this is their opportunity. He's not thinking, he's set on the docks, meeting at the outhouse like always. But on the first Monday Peggy is away, Steve walks out to find Bucky waiting in the parking lot of his job. He's leaning against the side of his car looking all kinds of smooth.

Steve walks over to him, keeping an overt distance when he halts.

"Heard Peggy is visiting her mother," Bucky says.

"Yeah."

"So you got the house to yourself?"

That's when it occurs to Steve that, for the first time, they don't have to use the outhouse. And oh god, he's filled with too much excitement at once he almost gets dizzy.

"Meet you at home?" Bucky asks.

And that makes everything rush inside of Steve. It's the way he calls it home, letting Steve imagine it's theirs. That they have a real life together and aren't sneaking around. As if they don't have wives to cheat on.

Steve should feel bad about using the bed. It isn't just his, it's Peggy's too. It's where they make love.

But it's also the first time he's ever been allowed to make love to Bucky. And it is making love because they finally have a bedroom all to themselves. Truth be told, it feels like his wedding night all over again.

They're going to fuck, Steve is sure of this. Mainly because he'd die if they didn't. And he knows Bucky wants it just as much as him.

Still, it's sweet how shy Bucky is when they first walk into the room.

"Stevie," Bucky prompts.

"Yeah?"

"I know this is asking a lot but I was hoping you'd let me fuck you."

Steve bites back a smile.

"Let you? I've been prepping all week."

And there it is. The look, the one Steve was waiting for, the one he saw a glimpse of in the outhouse. Bucky's especially beautiful when he's overcome with lust.

They crash into each other, lips first. They're clawing at each other's clothes, already rubbing their hips together.

"I still need... time to..." Steve pants between desperate kisses.

"I know," Bucky says and pulls away trying to calm himself. "Let me help."

Steve has to admit, in all his fantasies and all his wildly inappropriate dreams about Bucky, he never pictured this part. Steve on his marital bed with his legs spread wide while Bucky opens him up with fingers coated in vaseline.

It's even better with Bucky's hand — everything is. And Steve has to stop himself from coming so many times. He resorts to pleading with Bucky that he's ready more than once but Bucky keeps telling him no. He's scared of hurting him and it would be sweet if Steve wasn't about to burst at the seams, his balls are so tight, he's clenching every muscle to stop himself from exploding.

Finally, Bucky decides he's ready and Steve breathes a huge sigh of relief. He relaxes momentarily while he watches Bucky slick up his cock and moves between his legs.

It's slow, painstakingly slow. Even with all the prep and vaseline, Steve still feels pressure when the head of Bucky's cock breaches his hole. His face must tense because Bucky stops with the tip in.

"You okay?" he asks.

Steve nods. "Keep going."

Bucky pushes in a little further, then stops again. He exhales shakily.

"Shit, Steve. You're so tight. I don't get it. I spent forever opening you up."

"You're too big, baby," Steve drawls and gets one of those deliciously heated looks from Bucky. "Keep going."

Bucky pushes in again, he's halfway now.

"Fuck," Bucky mutters right as his hips jolt and he thrusts forward, bottoming out in one push.

Steve groans, gripping Bucky's forearms aggressively.

"Shit, sorry. You okay?" Bucky pants.

"I'm good, good," Steve stammers, his eyes squeeze shut.

It's overwhelming, not just the feeling of Bucky's cock stretching him wide but the realization that he's finally inside of him.

Bucky leans down and kisses him, Steve's eyes flutter open. Steve nods again, urging him on. Bucky pulls back, pushes forward again. He slides in and out about three times before he slumps over Steve's chest and moans. A true, beautiful moan — nothing like Steve's ever heard before. He grabs his cock and comes easily too.

They don't move for a minute.

"Fuck, sorry — that was shit," Bucky apologizes.

Steve frames his face, pulls him down for another kiss.

"This is amazing," Steve says.

Bucky's mouth quirks into a smile. "I swear I usually last longer."

Steve laughs and kisses him again. "Me too."

"You feel too good," Bucky breathes. "It's nothing like..."

He stops abruptly and Steve knows he was about to mention Gail.

"I know," Steve agrees. "So much better."

Bucky blinks surprised like he wasn't expecting Steve to agree. Bucky leans down and kisses him for a long time. He's gone soft inside of him now and pulls out at some point but keeps kissing him long and slow. They roll on the bed until Steve's on Bucky's chest, wrapped in his arms.

They look over at some point and realize the sheets are already soiled with their release.

"Want me to get a rag?" Bucky offers.

"I'll throw it in with the laundry."

Bucky gives him a look.

"I'm someone who prepares, Buck."

"Oh, are you?" Bucky smirks.

"Of course. I knew we'd get here eventually. I didn't know how or when, but I knew it'd happen. So I learned how to do laundry."

Bucky lets out a laugh. Then he sighs.

"This is so much better than the outhouse."

"Fuck yeah, it is."

They, unsurprisingly, continue to meet at Steve's house all week Peggy is gone. Bucky grows more confident in fucking Steve. He doesn't move as slowly, he lasts more than three thrusts and Steve gets used to having a cock inside him.

Steve learns how to ride Bucky and fuck, they both like that. Bucky gets this unbelievable look on his face and always comes a lot faster when Steve's on top. Which is boosting Steve's ego more than it should.

They venture to other areas of the house. Something they both admit their wives don't approve of. They fuck in the shower, on the recliner chair, over the kitchen counter, on top of the coffee table.

One night, they fuck up against the front door. They don't plan it. Bucky just shoves Steve against it the moment they walk inside and opens him up right there. That was secretly Steve's favorite.

The week goes by too fast. On Friday, they're silent with the glum reality that Peggy will return home tomorrow.

They're lying in bed this night. They've fucked twice already. Tonight, their hands are intertwined, Steve's leg is hooked over Bucky's hip while his head rests on Bucky's chest. He can feel Bucky breathing, he can count every heartbeat. He's dreading the moment Bucky will have to get up and leave.

"Gonna miss this," Bucky says softly.

Steve actually feels his eyes well up so he refuses to look at him.

"We still have the outhouse," he says weakly.

"Yeah," Bucky chuckles, making Steve's cheek bounce with it. "But this was really nice."

"It really was."

"Hey, at least you have the reminders."

"You're not gonna remember?" Steve picks his head up, offended.

"No, of course, I will," Bucky says, cupping Steve's chin. "Sweetheart, I think about you every fucking night."

Steve softens instantly, the pet name affecting him a little too much.

"I meant reminders of all the places, you know? The table, the chair... it's probably best it's not my place. Sometimes, I go out to the shed and get hard."

Steve's mouth drops at the revelation.

"No, you don't," Steve mocks.

"I swear. Can't get any work done now."

"Well, I won't be able to do nothing if I get hard in every room of my house."

Bucky grins. "Yeah, almost got every room. Didn't we?"

Steve sighs happily, letting his chin fall back on Bucky's chest.

"We'll get the rest someday."

"I'm counting on it, sweetheart," Bucky says and lifts Steve's chin again for a kiss.

Steve looks at him as they draw back.

"This is the best and worst thing I ever did," Steve admits.

"I know," Bucky says. "You're the best and worst thing that ever happened to me."