#I started something ambitious for this prompt already last year

[rijinks]

Quick sketch of Nicki in his "mute to mania" moment, one of my favorite scenes in The Vampire Lestat! (For the Vamptember prompt "Metamorphosis")

[blingblong55]

Just a bet- Philip Graves

Based on a request: Can I make a request, please of a heartbreaker Graves x Naive/Innocent Fem!reader? (Am in need some feelings hurt to feel something) Prompts; - reader is a general’s daughter, whilst grave is an ambitious soldier who aimed to be a captain (or somewhere along the lines) - There were bets of who can f-ck the general’s daughter happening behind the scene among the soldiers, and Grave decided to join in - Unfortunately reader, fell in love with grave. Found out it just a bet, felt betrayed and heartbroken. I hope this is okay with you, also it's okay if you don’t want to do it 🫶🏻🫶🏻 tqsm!

F!reader, angst, implied sexual relations

A/N: This will be short but I hope you enjoy :)

R/L/N, R/N, a 24-year-old soldier, daughter of General R/L/N. You are beautiful, no doubt about that, but that thought would soon leave when you'd eventually find the truth out.

Your dad was one of the most respected generals in the army, always having soldiers ask what it's like to grow up with such a man as your father. You, of course, have always been proud of him, for all his accomplishments and his success. Your dad always raised you to be kind and nice, always kept you far from the military life, in private schools and at times you'd be homeschooled. Once you joined the army, your dad was proud to have you under his command, mainly because he knows damn well he can take you out of any risky assignment. This of course brought many arguments between you two, but so far all is good.

There was one very ambitious soldier at base, a 27-year-old lieutenant that went by the name of Philip Graves. You never talked to him much before the whole 'thing' happened. Your dad had brought him to dinners and said he felt Graves had what was needed from a future commander.

A few of the soldiers at the base were at a bar once, your name was brought up after a few drinks in.

"heard she is single." a younger soldier said.

"I'd honestly ask her out if she wasn't the general's daughter." another spoke.

"I think I could." the men laugh at the last man's comment.

"yeah, like she would let you hit." the other men laugh.

"but the bet is still on, yeah?" a sergeant asks.

"like we would forget." one answers. You see, the men have seen you workout, how your body looks in your workout clothes. The way your breasts look so big in that hoodie and how your thighs are so thick they move so perfectly when you run. So, after they had collectively agreed you were attractive, they all placed bets. 'Whoever can sleep with you first and get proof, would be the winner of the money collected.'

"I think I definitely could." Graves spoke up, and the men turn to him, "oh yeah? How about a bet?" one of the other sergeants asks. "What kind of bet?"

"If you can get into her pants by, let's say, next month...you win the money we have placed on this bet." the sergeant confidently said.

"How much money?"

"so far, 300, so you in?"

"Better start handing me that money." Graves chuckles and the other men laugh, some pat his shoulder others are intrigued to see if he would be the one you sleep with. And after that night, he had two things to do, use you to win that bet and use you to get your dad to maybe promote him to a higher rank. Easy on paper, but he knew you and heard from your dad how you were, so he knew it would be a little hard to get them both done. 

13 hours after he placed himself in the bet, he spotted you, talking to your dad, maybe about some stupid father-daughter thing. "Hello, sir," he said as he approached you both, Graves was already beyond the point of being too formal with your dad. "Son," your dad always greeted almost every young soldier like that, "how can I help you?" your dad finally asked. "Was maybe thinking of inviting your daughter here on a date, but because you are my general, I need to make sure it is okay with you." Son of a bitch never even spoke to you, besides the usual awkward 'hey's' around the base. "I can say yes, but this is up to her." your dad answers to him. Meanwhile, you stand there, confused and shocked. 

You knew your parents thought you'd end up alone, so just to satisfy them, you agreed on the date with him. By Wednesday of that week, you and Graves went on that date. It was surprisingly nice and he was so kind and such a gentleman towards you. You lived off base, per the request of your dad to live with them, 'much safer and you won't have to share your room or shower.' your dad had argued. So, when the night came to an end, Graves drove you back to your home. The entire way there, he was telling jokes and asking if you were comfortable enough during the whole thing. 

Once at the front door of your home, he leans in and kisses your cheek, "I had so much fun r/n, I do hope you think I am worthy of another date like tonight." He had a certain charm to him, no doubt of that. You, being so happy that for once a man hasn't asked you for any explicit stuff agreed on the next date. "Oh thank you so much, it truly is a privilege to get another date with you." His underlying motives are hidden so well under his 'nice and gentle' mask. He made sure you walked into your home before he even drove away, another reason to give you he was a trustworthy guy. Truth be told, that was how he was, bet or not, he always did treat his dates with respect and care and this time around he'd treat you extra special. 

After a few more dates and only 18 hours left of his deadline, you two found yourselves in a bar. It was the one on the east side of the town, far from the base, making it the perfect place to get you in the mood. His hands at times would rest on your thighs, waist or the small of your back. And once he got you hooked, he led you to his car. Lips on yours as he laid you on the backseat of his truck. Without much effort, you two eventually were undressed, hands wandering on the other. Lips kissing and meeting skin, all was going to plan. For a while on dates, he'd drop little things about himself, who he wanted to be in the army. What his aspirations were and as he soon had you falling for his charms, rumours of a set of promotions were circling base. 

The last thing he had was the bet. As he claimed your body for the night and whispered sweet nothings, the deeper you fell into this false hope he had given you. And all you wanted at the time was someone to love and to hold, not someone who'd use you for who you're related to and not money. He took, as proof, a picture of him kissing your shoulder, your tattooed wrist in frame. If only you knew at the time what the picture would be used for. The shame and sorrow his games would bring you. 

The next day at the base, the picture was shown to the group of men that had placed bets. You looked for him around the base and told him he'd be at the mess hall. "Can't fucking believe you lucky bastard on the bet." the sergeant spoke with a chuckle. You heard this and wanted to know what bet he entered. "Yeah, I tell you, she thinks I did like her." 

"how desperate of her to think someone likes her for her and not that body." some of the other men laugh at the sergeant's comment. Your eyes immediately watered, the humiliation he had put you through. If you weren't so blind, he would've never had his way with you, if you saw his real motives for smooth-talking you at that bar maybe you'd still have pride in yourself. This whole time, you thought these soldiers and especially him, just wanted to talk and be friends. 

For a moment, you did believe someone showed interest in you not in what you looked like. They say beauty is pain, but the shame and sorrow such beauty brings when you are used for some bet is more than just the pain to be beautiful. 

My heart, my hips, my body, my love Trying to find a part of me that you didn't touch

[mariacallous]

On a sunny Wednesday in Paris, the city’s mayor inches down a ladder into the blue-brown water of the river Seine, one cautious step at a time. After a few seconds, once Anne Hidalgo’s wet suit is completely submerged, she dons small dark goggles and dunks her face underwater—proving to the photographers and TV cameras following her by boat that she believes this water is clean.

This is a historic moment for Paris, which many people believed was not going to happen. Swimming in the Seine has been banned for the past century, and a river clean enough for a political photo op has long been an ambition among French lawmakers.

This cleanup operation has become the centerpiece of what Paris is calling “the Greenest Ever Games,” and the legacy of this effort is expected to last. After Hidalgo dries off, the Seine will stage several Olympic swimming events; three public bathing areas will open in the Games’ aftermath.

But the €1.4 billion ($1.5 billion) cleanup operation is not really about swimming. The ability to bathe in the Seine is simply a sideshow—payback to Parisians for the use of massive public funds to complete such an ambitious river restoration project. Instead, the real goal is to protect a source of drinking water and help life return to the river, so fish—such as the famous Parisian catfish—can continue to thrive.

The promise of swimming is intended to guard against the kind of criticism that pits environmental projects against the needs of ordinary people. Online accounts have already pledged to poop in the Seine en masse under the hashtag #JeChieDansLaSeine, or #IPooInTheSeine, to protest the amount of money spent on the project, as ordinary people struggle with the cost of living. (There is no evidence anyone actually has done this, and whoever set up the original website did not reply to WIRED’s request for comment.)

“Having this totemic goal of swimming in the river is something that really helps politically … because it’s very expensive,” says Caroline Whalley, a water pollution expert at the European Environment Agency. “It's a way to get public support, because they can see the benefit. There's something in it for them.”

The Seine started to die at the onset of the 20th century. For 50 years, raw sewage was released into the river, prompting the city to put an end to idyllic scenes of families cavorting in the water and rule bathing in the water (mostly) illegal from 1923. In the years that followed, the Seine became a grim symbol of industrialization.

“There was no life in the river Seine during these 50 years,” says Jean-Marie Mouchel, a professor at the Sorbonne University, who has been studying the river since the '80s. The sewage sapped the water of oxygen and created obstacles for river traffic. “There was so much sediment and deposits from the sewers that [they created] mountains of deposits on the bottom [of the river],” says Mouchel, “so boats couldn't even pass through.”

It wasn’t until the 1960s that restoring the river began to attract political attention, first with the establishment of the French water agency, and later with a pledge by then mayor of Paris (later Prime Minister) Jacques Chirac. “I will bathe in the Seine in front of witnesses to prove that the Seine has become a clean river,” he declared in 1988, promising to complete the stunt by the early '90s. Chirac, who died in 2019, never did take that public plunge. But his idea would live on in French politics, and the Olympics created a new deadline to complete the cleanup.

Macron has repeated his pledge. “I’ll do it,” he told reporters in March, refusing to be pinned down on a date. Both he and Hidalgo, however, were beaten into the water by sports minister Amélie Oudéa-Castéra, who plunged into the Seine with an ungraceful flop on Saturday. Her office did not reply to WIRED’s questions asking whether she was feeling fine after her swim.

Without the promise of swimming in the Seine, what Parisians get for the $1.5 billion cleanup operation is not immediately obvious. It is not actually possible to clean the river. Instead, the operation is focused on preventing new, raw sewage from entering in the first place. The city cracked down on houseboats and apartments with questionable plumbing, which had been dumping sewage straight into the Seine. Then officials started to tackle the problem being caused by intense rainstorms, which cause water to flow from the street into the city’s drains, swelling the amount of liquid in the sewers underneath. Too much rain means the city has a choice: Either let raw sewage back up through people’s toilets and flood bathrooms across the capital, or release untreated waste into the river to create space, regardless of the consequences.

To prevent this from happening, Paris built a giant storage tank near Austerlitz metro station, capable of holding 20 Olympic swimming pools of dirty water. “The idea of this is to be a buffer, so when it rains a lot, instead of the sewage network immediately overflowing, we have a basin that fills up,” says Dan Angelescu, founder and CEO of Fluidion, a company that tracks levels of E. coli in the Seine and had worked with the city on the cleanup project until last year. The basin created a “drastic” improvement of the water quality during small amounts of rain, says Angelescu, yet a rainstorm last week still caused levels of E. coli to peak above the level of 1,000 E. coli per 100 milliliters considered safe for the Olympics. “There is a limit to everything,” says Angelescu when asked about the basin’s effectiveness.

Recent heavy downpours have created lingering uncertainty around whether the Seine will be judged ready in time for the Games, and if it is, whether swimmers will be able to descend into the water without getting sick. Hidalgo may already have taken the plunge, but the real guinea pigs will be the Olympic athletes signed up to take part in the open water and triathlon events scheduled in the Seine, as long as the water analysis comes back safe.

Among them is a slightly nervous Daniel Wiffen, a world record holder who is set to compete in the Seine, representing Ireland. Paris will be the 23-year-old’s first “big race” in open waters, and he is worried about the water quality. “It’s a big issue,” he says. Ideally, he’d like to take a trial run in the Seine to better understand the currents, and he’s been asking fellow athletes whether they think it’s worth the gamble. “Do you risk two days before your race, getting in the Seine and getting ill the day before your race?” he says.

Yet he’s still hoping the race goes ahead. The idea of swimming in the iconic Paris river spurred him to sign up. “I want to swim beside the Eiffel Tower,” he told WIRED. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

[faejilly]

writing patterns

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

tagged by @junemermaid, no-pressure tagging anyone who would like, because I have no idea who's seen and either done or passed on this one lately. PLEASE PLEASE DO IT AND BLAME ME IF YOU HAVE EVEN THE SLIGHTEST INCLINATION, I love seeing these things, I'm just brain-dead re: tagging today. 💙

1. Vakarian makes Shepard feel old.

Chicory, Mass Effect, Weaver Shepard, not on AO3 yet because I'm trying to turn it into a series of first/early impressions of the ME1 crew from Shepard's perspective. But then I've done Kaidan's first impression of Shepard already, so I can't decide if I should do her version of that or figure out another one. But also should I add Joker? I should always add Joker. But then in what order? (You can see the overthinking process here, can't you?) SOMEDAY I WILL WRITE WEAVER & TALI AND IT WILL BE DELIGHTFUL. She adores Tali. But also wishes to keep her safely in engineering 99% of the time. BUT ALSO...

anyway. back to sentences. ->

2. Emmett had known that he would see her.

Almond Blossoms, 7kpp, Emmett/Sheltered Princess & a lot of chaperone POV's. Also I posted that in September last year so this is clearly going to be a little depressing in terms of my ongoing 'am I a writer anymore?' existential crisis

3. “Don’t move.”

Never Again, Shadowhunters, Malec, sort of omegaverse, sort of weird magic bonds, a very belated prompt fill from the @knotinmyname anti-ai-scraping event.

4. The Matchmaker may have announced them, they may consider themselves engaged, this might be exactly what they should be doing as these connections are exactly what the Summit claims to be for… but Nathalie’s a 'known’ seductress and suspected murderer, but Clarmont’s only 'allowed’ here for the Royal Family to keep an eye on him, to make sure he knows how generous they are being with their mercy.

Relief, 7kpp, Clarmont/Ambitious Widow (Revaire feels!). Yes, that is just one sentence. Yes, I did that on purpose. No, I probably shouldn't have, but idc. 😅

5. Alec hasn’t even been Marked, still technically a fledgling rather than a Shadowhunter, when he learns that most nephilim can’t hear their weapons sing.

untitled eldritch angel powers prequel, Shadowhunters, Alec Lightwood & Politics is my jam, even when he's like 10 or something. As is weird magic and angel lore that I get to make up! Not on ao3 because I think it's going to be in a bigger thing, but I haven't actually done it yet, but I also get really tired of trying to rearrange my AO3 stuff because then I lose links and comments and brain power that should have been used for maybe writing something again some day.

6. All the dealers know Magnus’ name.

Fluff for @foodsies4me! Malec Auctioneer AU on the floor because it made me smile. (I used to be an auction block clerk.)

7. A familiar flare lit up his apothecary, and Magnus reached out to catch the fire message.

working title is 'wtf the clave is competent' and this is another playing-with-lore Shadowhunters prequel (that will eventually be Malec) started off via a Tangential Tuesdays prompt (which is a thing I would like to properly do again, but I keep not writing which makes it tricky)

8. An Omega heir to two old bloodlines in line for a Headship was something the Nephilim hadn’t seen in almost a century, and ought to have been prestigious enough for Alec to have chosen any path or mate he wanted. [x]

9. That was Magnus. [x]

These are both omegaverse prompts for the aforementioned anti-ai event and actually posted on time last June. Both Shadowhunters and Malec and just little bits and pieces of almost things. And fun on their own, imo, but. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

10. Cullen thought he’d gotten used to seeing this new Hawke in Haven.

Gladiolus, Cullen/Hawke, Dragon Age: Inquisition (Hawke as Inquisitor). Another prompt fill, a ficlet for a collection I have on AO3; its continuing existence is almost entirely @jadesabre301's fault.

Well, picking chapters and scenes posted on tumblr rather than my ao3 was probably good for my sanity, since my ao3 is a bit of a mess.

I seem to start with very declarative sentences this past year or so: we are here and this is what we're dealing with. Which is not... how I have previously concluded this meme, but I'm not sure that it's really any different than usual, just more obvious. It's a habit developed, I think, in writing relatively short-fic and also playing with lore or setting, because I very much need to set up my framework if I want anyone else to follow it.

I definitely should try and play some ME and/or watch some Shadowhunters and clean up some of the bits that I would really really like to have as finished stories though. This has successfully reminded me that I do, in fact, usually like writing and still think like a writer, so that's probably good!

/thank you june 🥰

[thegoldenshi-shi]

Hello Shi-Shi! It’s already been two months already and I am dumbfounded at how fast time goes, I swear it was just the start of June yesterday haha. I hope you are doing well!

Not much has happened since I last spoke unfortunately. I had Softball provincials last weekend so that’s exciting! We didn’t win or anything, but we played good and I’m kinda sad it ended so soon. Where I am, we’ve had a lot of rain so lots of my games were cancelled this year, unfortunately.

I’m still learning to driving! I’ve gotten better, definitely, but I still need a bit of guidance and help sometimes, especially when driving through the city. I really enjoy driving; it’s unfortunate that schools ended so now I don’t get to drive to school every morning and drive back, but I love the times that I do get to drive.

I’ve seen your recent artworks and I absolutely love them! I’m sure you’ve seen me pop up every now and then to like your posts. The Bluestreak one, with its beautiful colours and all that, is perhaps my favourite (I may be slightly biased as Bluestreak is one of my favourite TF characters,,) but all the others are wonderful too! Especially the Ratchet one haha, he looks so confused or traumatized. I also love the two grumpy children and the happy baby bug, they are all so beautiful ^^.

And the Mermay drawing of Leona! That one is so gorgeous, he looks so cheeky and the lighting is so well done! All the details, it’s just *chefs kiss*. I didn’t make anything for Mermay this year unfortunately (or maybe I did,, I’m not sure anymore, I’ve been on a drawing roll with a lot of drawings, I’m making a humanformers Jazz/Prowl right now!)

I think after all this text, that’s it haha. Don’t want to make this a whole essay, after all. I hope you have a good day/night, Shi-Shi!

-Meister/Vexian?

Hi there Meister! It's nice to see you again! I saw your message in my inbox and gave a little hop. Time really does fly doesn't it?

I'm sorry to hear that you were rained out for so much of your season. That being said, I think that so long as you had a good time with the games you played, it's a good season.

I didn't drive myself to school until college, so I had a different learning curve than yours. I also didn't enjoy driving just because it takes a while to get from Point A to Point B where I live, but I can say that learning to drive is definitely a slow process. If you like doing it, you'll be driving well and comfortably quickly (a lot faster than I did hehe).

I'm very happy you liked my latest pieces. I've been stuck in an extended rut and have had to fight tooth-and-nail for every picture I draw. But returning to comfort characters (I too have a soft spot for Bluestreak) and putting some of my more ambitious projects on hold has helped a little. Mermay is the only art-event-thingie I actually try to put something out for, and as I said on the Leona picture, I BARELY squeaked him in. Getting art ready for a prompt like Mermay or Inktober for example, can be a challenge so more often than not I'm in the same boat of "didn't make anything for it this year" Kind of like how I always say "I'll make it to the art-fight next time" and never do lol

I'm glad to hear from you and happy that you're doing well Meister, or would you rather I use Vexian now? I wish you good luck on your art pieces and that drawing roll will continue~ Have a wonderful day/night

[letstrywritingmaybe]

Tis the season I suppose, idk why but I’ve been so productive lately with writing. I can’t believe I’ve been finishing fics! I’m all set with the winter solstice event, just finished the first draft of the otp prompts, shared the next chapter of the sibling verse with vordark my beloved, and added another scene to devour even though I said it might be done. That’s honestly the only one I’m iffy about right now, I do think this is a good spot to end it but I almost feel like something’s missing? But that’s kinda the whole point. Cause this isn’t supposed to be a normal lots of love happily ever after. It’s a plethora of emotions, like yes they stay together but at what cost? And was there ever really a choice? But how could there even be another option when they’ve proven time and time again their love is true? Idk I’ll sit on it for a little bit.

Really my only ongoing WIPs at this point are midnights and the sibling verse. The former I should write more of since I’ve only written the first three chapters. The latter I’ve low key been updating weekly, but it’s been so easy to do. I just need time to sit and write it since all the planning for the major things are done.

This burst of energy is making me ambitious and wondering if I can maybe tackle some works that’s I’ve been dreaming of but never thought I could pull off… decisions decisions

I have a poll in my drafts that I plan to also post as a new work on ao3 for 24 hours. I just have so many ideas and I want to get to them but it’s just so impossible. Plus I kinda really want to work on being better at prompts, I’m so self indulgent that it makes me terrible at writing prompts. It’s why I don’t openly accept them, though I always gain inspiration from chats with fellow shippers.

I talk a lot about community and fandom, because that truly is why I love it so much. I love the interactions we have and how we build each other up, but a lot of the times it feels like I’m just screaming by myself over these two idiots who are so in love it kills me. *sigh it really doesn’t help that I have very strong opinions and reactions towards certain ships. Plus I’m in the minority of being a strict fluff lover, this ship is way too tragic for me I can’t bear it. I don’t want angst, I’m not interested in it nor do I want to be. Life is too depressing already, so please don’t add to it in fiction.

I’m just a fangirl who wants to read about her ship falling in love and making it work over and over again, is that too much to ask?

Update: I have like five things in my drafts ready to post, updates for midnights, sibling verse, devour, and the last entry for the year of the otp prompts! Also have a poll for what to work on next cause I apparently have a thing for starting multiple WIPs at once *sigh. I also need to make a draft for my winter solstice piece cause I’m done with that. Will also consider leaving flowers for my fav winter fics, but that will be on my main account most likely cause I do like to keep my fangirling separate when I can

[h2bakugou]

Yes yes yes yesyesyesyesyes ok!! So then can I request present mic? Doing anything??? No I’m kidding I do actually have a prompt. I was thinking abt mic’s radio show and specifically, if he had an s/o who wrote music. Bc u know he would help them produce it and then play it nonstop on air aaaaaa

a/n: yes!! present mic love!! i love him so much i swear! <3 he has my heart dkdkmn this is such a cute request please- i apologize for the late posting!!

summary: you're an ambitious, gleeful, songbird at heart, and though you're quirkless, you've captivated the heart of the music-loving, radio show hosting, loud, sweetheart, present mic!

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: swearing, fluff

word count: 1.3k

;cut for length;

»»————-　★　————-««

»»————-　★　————-««

You started as an intern. A beaming smile on your lips most days, always happy to be in the studio with Mic when he was teaching you the ins and outs of radio hosting.

You'd majored in music business, the end goal in mind of writing and releasing your own music, though most of your plans had fallen through, the only opportunity to get you back on your feet after college being this deal you couldn't pass up.

Co-hosting with Present Mic on his own radio show.

The offer had actually been given to you by one of your superiors at the studio you worked at, having seen your optimism when it came to writing music and your love of music in general.

They wished you good luck and would always welcome you back if things didn't go so well. But you kept your head up high and marched into that studio ready to take on the world alongside the loud blonde.

And down the line, three years later, you were surprised to say the least.

"Your coffee as usual." Hizashi sets down the patriotic blue U.A. thermos sent out to the teachers at the beginning of the year. Since you'd practically moved in 'unofficially' with Mic, unofficially because you weren't technically allowed to stay due to the fact you didn't work for the school, rather employed by Mic himself in his private studio, but you were the tiny exception since you did technically work in the school.

"Thanks! Hey, I was wondering if you could check this new thing I've been working on and give me some criticism, it's just a rough draft, the lyrics just kind of came to me after a shot or two at Vlad's birthday party the other night." You giggled as you tossed him the flash drive containing your latest project, the sensitive information contained on the tiny disc landing in the palm of your boyfriend's hands.

"Another song? You're blessing my ears so early in the morning. I'm dreaming! Pinch me!" He teases. Mic's been the biggest supporter of your music since he overheard the pipes you had.

You'd had that kind of night the second week of your internship, battling the oncoming hangover after drinking with your cool new pro-hero teacher friends, your thoughts turning to lyrics as you worked in the studio, the only light being the small lamp on the side Mic kept when he worked late too.

He'd forgotten his room keys in the studio again, something you realized he did often and as he stopped by to pick them back up, that's when he heard you. You sounded so angelic, almost as if you were some sort of angel.

At first, he thought maybe it was just a recording or some sort of dare he say, Melodyne filter while you were messing around in the mic at night.

But you weren't. Your authentic voice shell-shocked him, and he sort of listened to you the entire night until you nearly pissed your pants turning around and seeing him.

“Yeah, it’s nothing special really-” You’re back to reality as Mic quickly has his headphones over his ears, a large grin on his lips as he listens, his fingers tapping away to the beat already.

You work on other tasks, filtering through requests and putting them in the queue while Mic listens to your song, his heart pounding. You were so talented and he’d wish you’d give yourself a bit more credit. You have what it takes to make it big, and he’d support you every step of the way.

“You know with this and the other tracks you have, you’d have enough to push out an EP. All you need is a bit of marketing and producing, and I’d be more than willing to help!” Mic smiles, wheeling over to you, pressing an encouraging peck to your cheek.

“It sounds great, but who would wanna listen to what I write?” You giggle, toggling an advertisement as you glance over at the blonde.

“How about this, You let me help you, I’ll spread the trial around here at work and if it gets good reviews, we publish.” Hizashi is nothing short of persuasive, and for the rest of the week he has you in his studio, adding layer after layer, fine-tuning and weeding out bits of the collection of songs you’d written until you have an EP.

Long nights fueled by coffee, water, and tea, and takeout eventually land you with the very first copy of your own EP. 

In your hands, it’s palpable. It’s real. It doesn’t have any cover art, or a title, let alone who sang it, but Mic hands you a sharpie and you feel this fire coursing through your veins.

You feel more than accomplished.

You scribble some title down that you’d work on later and messily sign your name for Mic to make copies and then throughout the next week, you’ve got dozens of messages flooding your inbox telling you to drop it on some streaming platforms.

And the following night Mic is consoling your tears as you hit your first 100 streams. 

“I’m so proud of you.” He coos, kissing your cheeks, wiping your tears away with his kisses, patting you on the head.

“You’re so cheesy.” You tease him.

“Says you! You named an entire song after me.” Mic huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What if ‘my beloved’ was about Marty?” You giggle. Marty, the sparkly, beautiful, elegant, beta-fish you’d adopted as the studio mascot swam around in his tank, decked out with super cool aquatic music themed stuff.

“You wouldn’t dare!” Mic laughs, his long blonde hair sweeping over his shoulders. 

“Your hair always looks so nice down.” You snuggle into him, your fingers twisting around the ends. Hizashi shakes his head and stares down at you.

“And you’re as radiant as ever, my love.” Hizashi pulls you into him, snuggling his head into your neck, placing a gentle kiss to your skin as he holds you near to him.

“Do you sing, ‘Zashi?” You ask quietly.

“No comment.” Mic giggles, his laughs tickling your skin.

“Would you work on a song with me?” You ask sweetly.

“I would love to.”

Callers chime in every so often for requests, since Mic loves to annoy the listeners by playing your EP track by track almost daily. You have to knock some sense into him telling him that there’s a quota to fill and while you love how he supports you, you’ve got them stuck in your head too.

And when you play them every so often, your heart warms when someone requests one of yours to play. Even more so, when your songs rise to much more notable fame, you’re working on your own album, with the lovely producing of Mic, and it even features a lovely duet between the two of you.

In fact, something you’d found out with having so many connections to pros, was the amount of hidden talent.

You’d requested a song with Kyoka Jiro, the beautiful voice you’d heard at the school festival had belonged to her and you’d been wanting to work with her since she also shared a love for music, and though she was young, she seemed rather happy to sing, even if she might’ve been shy about it first.

An unlikely duo might’ve come from a dare, Hawks. While he was rather against the idea at first, his voice was smooth and mellow, and it clashed with yours perfectly for some sort of sappy anti-romantic love song. Whatever the case, it made charts. 

But Mic continued to be your biggest supporter, no matter how or if you got big. You’d always find your way back into his arms, messing around with him on the radio show, and dodging paparazzi whenever you two left campus.

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

[glitter-garbage]

12. — thread

Shadowgast, ~1600 words, gen, red thread of destiny, soulmate au (spoilers for the eiselcross arc)

Sent by @quinn-of-aebradore 💜 ...ps: this is not edited at all (one word writing prompts: send me one and a pairing if you like. I might fill them some day!) ---

When Bren learned he had magic, he also learned that he could see things that not everyone did. It wasn’t natural, he had to focus, and later on, he even found out there was an actual spell for it. Still, on more than one occasion growing up, Bren would see the delicate red threads that connected people around him.

“Those mean whoever is connected to you is your soulmate,” his mother explained, “Can you see mine?”

And, sure enough, his mother had a little thread connecting her ankle to Leofric’s. He longed for his own thread to appear, though his mother explained that not everyone had one.

Bren didn’t have to worry, though. He was only fifteen when not one, but two threads connected his ankle to his best friends of all people. By that time, he had already been whisked away to the Academy along with them and the experiences they shared, the successes, the pain, the power, all of that just cemented their connection in his mind.

Until he broke, that is.

After the fire came the Sanatorium, and for eleven years Bren, now Caleb, did not think about that again. Only when he got out did he notice that his ankle was free. Nothing connected him to anyone anymore. It was okay, he was a garbage person. He didn’t deserve love like that anyway.

---

Nott had a red thread. It vanished out to the horizon, and Caleb never saw the thread move in a way that indicated that her soulmate was closer. He wondered if she knew, for a while. Then, he learned the truth. Veth’s soulmate, her husband, kidnapped, imprisoned. He was happy she had met him though, and confident they'd free him. She deserved happiness, he would help her in any way he could.

Two couples in his little group had threads connecting them to each other from the start. Fate worked in mysterious ways, Caleb thought. Beau and Yasha did not seem that close, though Beau’s attraction was obvious, and cringe-worthy at times, but Caleb was sure things would go well for them in the future. Jester and Fjord’s thread almost made his heart break- he had allowed himself to get way too attached to the two, but neither of them were for him, obviously. Destiny had other plans.

Molly did not have any threads, like him. After learning about his past, Caleb wondered if he had gone through something similar to Caleb, the snapping of a thread after a traumatic event. He allowed himself to grow closer to the tiefling tentatively, allowed feelings to bloom slowly. Molly was warm to him, and he thought perhaps it was another form of destiny that would tie them together.

That had been a mistake.

The last one to join their family was Caduceus. He had no thread too, and Caleb had no curiosity about it anymore. His interest in destiny had all but faded.

He loved his friends. He had friends. That was enough, for someone like him.

---

“The Luxon is the basis of how we've been able to free ourselves from the binds of the lineage the Betrayer Gods left for us and to carve our own fates, choose our own paths and sidestep these destinies placed upon us nonchalantly by gods that use us as playthings.”

The Shadowhand was interesting. Dangerous, powerful, enticing. Caleb considered what he said about freedom from destiny, the ability to find your own way. He had certainly strayed from his path, but perhaps that was not the worst thing.

Essek Thelyss, too, had no thread attached to him.

Perhaps because Caleb was no longer obsessing over what destiny had in store for him, perhaps because he was beginning to accept that his own imperfect path was better than the one that had been set for him, Caleb felt empathy towards the drow even after he had betrayed them.

They were so much alike, and Caleb kept his heart more closely guarded now. He did not feel his heart breaking when they learned of Essek's schemes, and that too helped. In any case, he did not see Essek again for a long time. Did not think much about him. There was too much on his plate for that.

---

Astrid smiled at him from across a dinner table and his stomach dropped. Caleb felt the wheels of time turning, felt again like Bren, determined and ambitious and blind to the truth. Eadwulf looked at him with a raised chin, a smirk on his face. He too remained handsome, impossibly so.

When they walked out of Ikithon’s tower, Caleb could make out the thin red thread that still connected their ankles. He thought he was stronger, that perhaps he was ready for this.

“Race you to the top,” said Astrid with a childish smile, before turning back to the tower.

It hurt. He could feel the emptiness of what could have been, what would never be again in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

---

Imagine his surprise when arriving at the Vurmas outpost in Eiselcross, the powerful figure of the Shadowhand could not meet his eyes. Imagine his surprise, when he saw his eyes lighting up when they chose him instead of his old teacher to go down into the ruins. Imagine his surprise when he saw Essek battling, using gravity itself as a weapon, and felt only fondness and admiration for the man. When he showed off his tower and saw the same in the drow’s eyes. And attraction, of course. That went without saying.

It all came to a head when, together, they worked to cast a spell that would shorten time itself and give the Nein their much-needed rest.

Thought it might have felt like seconds to their friends, Caleb watched for long moments, holding magic in his palms to assist, as Essek opened a gash through the fabric of space and time. Real fabric, made of threads of all colors that together seemed to make up what he saw as the world around him. Time seemed to stop around them as Essek carefully worked around the fibers.

“This… Have you been able to see this the whole time?” he asked.

Essek’s jaw was clenched and there was sweat running down his forehead, but he nodded, “Not really. It takes a lot of effort to see this. A lot of energy.”

Caleb hesitated but gave in once Essek’s questioning gaze found his for a moment, “I have always seen the red threads. I- I had my own, for a while.”

“Annoying little things,” muttered the drow, focusing again at the slow-going task of weaving time with his bare hands, “There was a time when I hated them more than anything.”

“You used to have yours, too?”

“Hm? No,” said the drow distractedly, “I hated them because I had none, and I thought I should. The Dynasty looks like a tangled web if you watch for them since so many entanglements are made complicated by consecution. But I never had one, and even though I looked for… someone that could perhaps make it appear, it never did.”

He moved his wrist to the side, and the universe seemed to shift with it. Caleb felt a little dizzy.

“But I had never heard of someone who lost theirs. I thought they were supposed to be, ah, perfect,” Essek smirked, “Unless you did what we are doing right now to yours. That is, changing it fundamentally. Somehow, I do not think that is what happened.”

“Nein,” Caleb chuckled wryly and then held himself straighter, keeping the spell steady as Essek continued his labor. “I… strayed from the path, I think. I did something that was not meant to be.”

Essek looked at him like he was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen, even though the elf himself had the building blocks of reality in his hands at the moment. Caleb flushed.

“I think Caduceus would say that you did exactly what you had to do.”

“Maybe so. But isn’t it hard to know that others will have this… this gift, this sure thing while we will not?”

Essek looped a bright white strand against a colorful, prismatic one while he hummed, thinking.

“I felt the same way for decades. But whatever we will have or not, in that sense, will be of our own making. And isn’t that a gift on its own?”

---

The moonlight shone down on the beach, turning the sea a glittering mass of waves. Other than the full moon, magical globes and luminescent beetles illuminated the space around them. Their friends gathered around smiling tearfully in perfect dissonance. Caleb himself felt his heart beating so fast he thought it might leave his ribcage and seek quietude somewhere far away from his anxiety-ridden body. He stood beside Caduceus, who hummed a sweet song under his breath as they waited.

Finally, the glittering door at the end of the path opened, and Essek slipped out, bare feet delicately touching the sand. Jester came from behind him, and once their arms were locked, they walked on slowly, passing their friends and family on the way to Caleb and Caduceus.

He looked stunning in delicate iridescent robes, and Caleb tried to swallow down his anxiety. Violet eyes framed by silver lines, mouth poised in a gentle smile, cheeks flushed, Essek walked slowly until he was face to face with his intended.

Essek reached for his hand, and they stood silently, gazes locked while Caduceus conducted the ceremony. When it was time, Caleb drew a small spool of red thread from his pocket. Gently, he took Essek’s hand in his and tied a knot around his little finger. He offered the spool, and Essek repeated the gesture, biting his lips nervously. Caduceus cut the remaining thread, leaving their hands connected.

“You are now joined together, not by destiny, but by your own choice. I think that’s very nice,” Caduceus smiled placidly until Veth cleared her throat, “Oh yeah. You guys can kiss now.”

Caleb smiled at the phrasing. He lifted his hand, pulling Essek’s forward until the drow was close enough for him to count his freckles. Their hands tingled as he came impossibly closer. Essek’s mouth was warm against his.

For the first time in Caleb's life, he felt destiny favored him.

---

[weelittleweasley]

june 5 (d.m.)

prompt as requested by anon: draco has always hated his birthday for as long as he could remember. but now that he was with you, you were determined to change his opinion on birthdays.

pairing: post war! draco malfoy x fem! reader, dom! draco x sub! reader

warnings: mentions of food, 18+ sexual content (minors do not interact), male receiving oral (slight face fucking), possessiveness, dirty language, lingerie, language, hair pulling, mirror play, praise kink

word count: 3.7k

author’s note: please minors do not interact with this! any and all smut on my page is meant for 18+ readers! remember consent is key! 

Excitement coursed through your veins when you had realized you had woken up before the sun had even risen. Careful not to disturb the sleeping birthday boy next to you, you slithered out of your shared bed and slipped on your robe and slippers, making your way into the kitchen.

Today you were on a mission. It was Draco’s birthday and you had been planning out how the day would unfold. It was one of the first birthdays you were spending with Draco after you both had graduated from Hogwarts, so you wanted to make this birthday extra special. You knew regardless of the year, Draco despised his own birthday.

“What’s the point of it?” he would argue. “I was born. Whoopie. What do you want me to do about it?” he’d continue as you laughed. “Seriously. What the fuck is the point? We eat a cake and open presents? I can do that any fucking day. Also, I hate cake,” he’d ramble which just made you laugh harder before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. 

On the contrary, you loved birthday, regardless if it was yours or not. Celebrating someone’s life and a new year ahead of them made your heart swell with joy. Now that Draco’s birthday had rolled around, you wanted to show him how much you cared for and loved him.

Whilst the birthday boy slept, you began in the kitchen, brewing coffee, whisking eggs, and toasting fresh bread. He can’t be in a bad mood if he’s had something good to eat first thing in the morning, you thought to yourself. 

As you cooked, you watched the sunlight slowly seep in through the kitchen windows of your shared flat, illuminated the dark hardwood floors. The sun warmed you up on the early June morning as you smiled to yourself. Today would be a good day. You would make sure of it. 

You watched the clock tick until the hands hit eight o’clock as you scurried back into your shared master bedroom. Draco’s alarm would be going off any second and you wanted to make sure that you were the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes on his special day.

As expected the small clock on his nightstand started ringing, causing Draco to stir in his sleep before lazily flopping a hand on it to stop it from chiming that horrendous sound that signaled the start of his day. Draco stretched his arms wide, groaning as he did so, getting the sleep out of his body before rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. You sat at his feet, smiling as he did so. You had always loved when Draco first woke up; he was adorably cranky. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open as he groggily sat up. “Good morning, baby,” he growled in his raspy morning voice. 

Even after being with Draco for two years, your heart still soared at the mention of a nickname he had so fondly given you. You scooted closer to your love and brushed his messy hair from his eyes, “Happy birthday, my love,” you cooed gently as Draco kissed the inside of your palm. 

He groaned, “Don’t remind me,” he rolled his eyes, sitting himself up straight. “Today is a day like any other. June 5th is just a regular, ordinary day like any,” he tried to convince you as you sat there, the excitement on your face giving away everything. You couldn’t be coy. “Good Godric, what did you do?” Draco laughs, reading the gleeful expression on your darling face.

You shrugged and placed a kiss on his forehead. “Nothing at all,” you lied as Draco gave you a knowing look. You had been up his arse about his birthday and what he wanted for months and now you had just dropped it? Draco was much smarter than that to know that you had something up your sleeve. You lightly laughed, “I didn’t do anything! I just made breakfast for us like I usually do on Saturdays.”

Draco just chuckled and shook his head. “You’re a ball breaker, you that?” he tells you as you shrug. “Alright, let’s see what mess you made,” he gets up from the bed as you smile and rise from the bed, running to the kitchen to stand beside your masterpiece. “My days, stop running, (Y/N), it’s just breakfast!”

As Draco entered the kitchen, you held out your hands presenting everything before him. “It’s all your favorites!” you exclaim as Draco just shakes his head. Before you was eggs, toast, fresh fruit, and black coffee; it was simple, but you knew it was his favorite breakfast. 

He walks over to where you stood at the breakfast bar and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Thank you, darling. I appreciate the gesture,” he speaks before kissing you gently, tilting your chin upwards so he can peck your lips. “But this is all the surprises for the day,” he speaks as you groan in protest. “Yes, I insist. My birthday wish is just to spend the day with you. In our flat. Relaxing. Nothing more. Nothing less,” he told you.

In a way, his request sounded really nice. You and Draco have been so busy with your jobs and working and traveling that you hadn’t taken a day in months to just be lazy. Sitting on the couch, maybe reading a good book, listening to music, laying in Draco’s lap...it sounded like a great way to spend the day.

Defeated, you sigh, “Whatever the birthday boy wants, he gets.”

Draco smiles widely, pressing another soft kiss to your forehead. “Brilliant,” he beams. “And another birthday request, don’t call me birthday boy.”

You roll your eyes, “Fine...whatever the birthday prince wants, he gets.” Draco groans as you laugh and take your seat at the breakfast bar. “Oh stop, you know you love it.”

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

For the entirety of the day, you and Draco spent in on the couch, napping in your bed, or dancing in the kitchen. The day was lazy and carefree and effortlessly fun. It reminded you of all of the little reasons why you loved him so much. Draco had gone through so much in his young life and had guarded himself up to the point where he refused to let anyone in. But when those guards came down after you two started dating, it revealed how lively and loving he was. How passionate and kind he could be. How charming and carefree he was. 

But Draco still held onto some traits of his past. He was determined and ambitious. He was strong willed and stubborn when he needed to be. He was painfully loyal to those he cared for and would do whatever he needed to protect them. 

Regardless, you loved Draco something fierce and he loved you with all of his might. 

As the sun started to fade in the western sky, you started to clean up the kitchen from the pizza you had ordered for dinner. You had walked to the sink and placed the dishes delicately to begin washing them, but Draco had wrapped his arms around your waist. “I’ll do the dishes, my love. You’ve already done so much today,” he spoke as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “It’s the least I can do.” You spun around and gave him a gentle smile before kissing the tip of his nose quickly. “Go on,” he spoke with a swift tap on your bum.

While Draco washed the dishes, you scurried off to the bedroom and closed the door behind you. In a flash, you were peeling off your loungewear and raiding your closet to the back corner where you had hid Draco’s final present for the day. Draco had insisted not to get him anything, which you obeyed, but this present was something for the both of you to enjoy.

Lingerie wasn’t something you had purchased avidly in the past, but this was a special day and you wanted to prove to Draco just how special it was. When you had entered in the underwear shoppe, there were a plethora of underwear, teddies, lingerie, bras, and one pieces to chose from. It was a bit overwhelming at first, but you had managed to pick out something that you think Draco would like. But in all honestly, no matter what you wore Draco would love. As long as you were the one wearing them.

You stepped in front of the full body mirror and examined yourself, running your hands down the front of the bodysuit decorated with emerald green lace. The bodysuit left little to the imagination as it pushed your breasts together and up, making them spill out of the cups, hugging your figure deliciously, cut outs revealing your hips and waist. You inhaled deeply and sighed. “Better be worth the pretty penny this cost me,” you spoke to yourself.

From the other room, Draco’s voice calls, “(Y/N)? Where’d ya go?”

“Bedroom!” you call back, giving yourself one last glance in the mirror. You smirked at yourself. Damn, you looked good.

Almost on cue, Draco swung the door upon and immediately stopped in his tracks when his eyes landed on you. His eyes went wide and he smirked. “Bloody hell,” he sighed, rubbing his face as his eyes raked up and down your body. “Well, what do we have here?” he closed the door behind himself and slowly walked towards you.

You stood proudly at the mirror, a small smirk dancing on your lips. “I thought we couldn’t let birthday celebrations end so soon,” you walk towards him, placing your hands on his chest before snaking them around his neck as his hands trail up your sides, the lace dancing underneath his fingertips. “It’s all for you.”

As if Draco couldn’t be more in love with you. He let out a heavy breath as his hands trailed down your bare back before landing on your bottom. “You are all mine,” he corrects you. He takes your chin and forces your gaze on his. His blue eyes are full of lust as his pupils dilate heavily as you gulp. His gaze was enough to drive your mind in circles. “All of this belongs to me.”

Draco doesn’t waste anymore time, connecting his lips with yours as his body presses against yours. You inhale deeply as you tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling gently. His lips are hot and needy against yours, but he doesn’t let you know how desperate he is to feel you wrapped around his hard cock. Draco takes your bottom lip in between his teeth, pulling gently before slipping his tongue in your mouth, gently massaging his with yours as you whimper into the kiss. “Are you gonna be a good girl for me tonight?” he mumbles in your mouth as you nod excitedly. 

You wanted Draco to use your body however he wanted to tonight. No matter how much you liked being a brat, you wanted him to completely dominate you tonight. You were surrendering to Draco.

As his lips moved against yours, he wasted no time pushing your bodysuit to the side, running a finger in between your heat making you whimper, craving his touch against where you needed him most. “You’re so wet for me already, darling,” he huskily groans with a smirk. “And we’ve only just begun.” His words make you shiver as you attempt to kiss him again, but he pulls back. “Tell me how much you want my cock inside that tight pussy of yours,” he groans.

With a small smirk, you sigh, “How about I show you?”

Draco looks at you a little puzzled, but it’s instantly resolved when you drop to your knees. In one swift motion, you pull down his grey sweatpants and boxers to reveal his stiff member hitting his stomach. You look up at Draco through your eyelashes as you pull your hair back into a ponytail, a small smile dancing on your glossed lips. Lip gloss that would sure cover his hard dick in just moments. “My sexy little slut,” he breathes out before you drag your tongue from the bottom of his shaft to the tip, making Draco throw his back in ecstasy. He hums as you start sucking gently on his tip, swirling your tongue around him, teasingly. “Don’t you dare tease me, you slut,” he groans before you take his whole length sloppily. He hisses through gritted teeth as you grab his thighs, bobbing your head up and down on his massive length, your peach lip gloss rubbing off on his dick. “Such a good whore,” he praises you as you suck on his cock, hands stroking the parts you couldn’t take. “You love sucking on my cock, don’t you?”

You hum against his cock, sending vibrations through him as he moans loudly, grabbing onto your ponytail, pushing his length further down your throat. You lightly choke on his dick, throat tightening around his cock as he groans out in euphoria. It was worth it just to watch the look on his face as you took him like this. Looking up at him through your eyelashes, sucking on his throbbing dick, humming on it, causing him to push your face onto his dick deeper, gently face fucking you. 

Small tears ran down your cheeks as you eyes watered from taking him like this. But you didn’t mind at all, the condition that you had him in right now was enough to make you finish. You bobbed on his dick faster, swirling your tongue around his cock, making him cry out, “Fucking shit, (Y/N). You’re such a fucking slut for my cock.”

His words only made you bob your head faster, focusing on the tip as he shudder, the most sensitive spot making him writhe in pleasure. “I’m gonna fucking come,” he hisses as you suck on his tip, playing with his balls in your hands. 

With a husky groan, you feel his come warm in your mouth, shooting down your throat as you swallow it all, licking up what you missed off of his dick. Draco is left panting, chest heaving up and down as you smirk up at him, wiping your lips with the back of your hand, satisfied with yourself and the brilliant job you’ve done. 

Draco pulls you up to your feet before smashing his lips against your so he can taste himself on your peach flavored lips. His hands roughly grope your ass as you pull his shirt off, throwing it to the floor. “I want you to take me. Now,” you speak as Draco kisses down your neck across your collarbones and to the valley of your breasts.

“Gladly,” he speaks as you attempt to walk towards the bed, but he stops you. “Not there tonight,” he whispers in your ear before he flips you around to face the mirror. “I want you to watch yourself as I fuck the shit out of you,” he tells you as a shiver crawls up your spine. “How does that sound, princess?” he coos, brushing your sloppy ponytail to the side, kissing and nibbling on your neck.

You breathe out, “You better take this stupid fucking bodysuit off of me then.”

Draco chuckles deeply before speaking, “My pleasure.” He pushes the straps down your arms and slides the bodysuit down your skin, falling to the floor. There, you stood in front of the mirror, completely naked in front of your lover and he hungrily feasted his eyes on you. “You’re the most beautiful thing to ever happen on this Earth,” he breathes out before pulling your head back to rest on his shoulder as he kissed you deeply.

His large hands cupped both of your breasts as you moaned into his mouth, his fingers pinching and rubbing your hard nipples. As one hand massaged your breast, the other slithered down your stomach and in between your thighs to where you craved his touch the most. You inhale deeply as one of his slender fingers starts tracing circles against your clit as you knees buckle a little. “We just started, kitten. Don’t give out on me just yet,” he whispers in your ear as he nibbles on it gently. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

You moan out, “Please, Dray, I need you.”

Draco smirked against your skin as he rubs on your clit faster, making you gasp. “You need me to what, kitten?” he teasingly asks you as you hold onto his forearms for support to ensure you don’t buckle under his touch.

“To fuck me like you promised,” you breathe out, pressing your back harder into Draco’s bare chest. “I wanna watch you fuck me.”

Your words are a symphony to Draco’s ears, his dick hard again against your thigh. In swift motion, he grabs the chair from your vanity desk and places it in front of you, bending you over so you are looking directly into the mirror. The sight of you bent over the back of a chair, Draco standing behind you, hungrily watching you was enough to make the wetness from your aching pussy drip down the inside of your thighs. Draco pulls a rubber from his nightstand and rolls it onto his thick cock as you gulp. 

Draco stares into your eyes as he leans down to whisper in your ear, his chest pressed flush against your bare back. “Remember, my sex kitten,” he whispers, “I call the shots tonight. I’ll take you however I want to take it. Isn’t that, right?” he purrs as you quiver under his touch, his long finger trailing down your spine before roughly grabbing your bum in his hand. You moan out in response. “Good girl. My good little slut,” he praises you. “Good sluts get rewarded,” he starts. “Today, you’ve been very good for me, haven’t you?”

You nod your head feverishly. “Yessir.”

Draco groans at your words, dragging his latex covered dick in between your folds as you gasp. “That’s my baby,” he moans. “You want to watch me fuck you? You filthy slut,” he speaks, hands now groping your breasts again as you sigh, resting your head on the back of the chair.

But Draco pulls on your ponytail, forcing your gaze back onto the mirror to meet his eyes. “I said you will watch me fuck you,” he demands. “Did I stutter?”

“No sir,” you moan out as he smiles. “I want to watch you fuck me.”

“Atta girl,” he praises before pushing his dick all the way into you as you moan out, Draco hissing at how tight you were wrapped around his cock. “Fuck,” he breathes out. He waits a moment for you to adjust before he slowly starts rocking his hips, thrusting in and out of you at a steady pace. 

He is gently panting as he thrusts in and out of you. You grind your backside against him, making him groan out. “Yeah, just like that. Just like that for me, princess,” he praises you as you do it again, pushing your ass on his groin. “Shit,” he groans before he starts to pick up the pace of his thrust, hips smacking against your backside as he takes you from behind. “Look at you. You love the way I fuck you,” he looks deep into your eyes as you watch him in the mirror, taking you the way he wanted against the desk chair.

You hum, “Yessir. You feel so good inside of me.”

Draco pounds in and out of you harder as your mouth falls agape, you panting. “I love the way you feel wrapped around my cock. Your pretty little pussy wrapped around me. I fucking love it. Fuck,” he closes his eyes and throws his head back in pleasure as you grab onto the chair tighter. Draco pushes himself impossibly deeper inside of you, reaching that one part that made your toes curl and knuckles turn white.

“Fuck, Draco!” you scream out, holding onto the chair for dear life. If you didn’t, you would surely buckle from all of the pleasure he had you in. “Right there, baby, don’t stop. Oh, fuck. Please, don’t stop!” you cry out.

Draco keeps his pace, hitting your g-spot as his grip on your hips tighten, sure to leave bruises. “You like that? You like the way I fuck you? My fucking whore,” he groans out as he pounds in and out of you. “Bloody hell, I fucking love you so fucking much, baby,” he breathes, pressing kisses down your spine as you cry out in bursts of pleasure.

“I love you, I love you so much,” you pant in between his thrusts. Draco hand drops down, finding your clit again, sending you over the edge as you throw your head back. You hold onto the chair for dear life, “Fucking shit, baby, I’m gonna come all over you.” Draco keeps railing into you, his dick throbbing at how good you felt. “Come all over me, kitten. I wanna hear you scream my fucking name,” he encourages you. “Come, baby, come, come,” he pants in between his thrusts.

A wave of warmth rushes over you as your pussy throbs, coming all over Draco’s cock and fingers as you scream out his name, throwing your head back in sheer euphoria. Your heart is thumping in your ears as you come down from your high, Draco soon following, releasing in the condom, a string of profanities falling from his parted lips as his eyes screw shut.

The two of you are breathless messes as you remain bent over the chair as Draco pulls out of you and kisses your shoulder blades, rubbing your back gently. “Bloody fucking hell,” he chuckles as you join in, chest heaving for air. Beads of sweat roll down his forehead as he cleans himself up, you peeling yourself off of the chair, your legs feeling like jelly.

Draco smiles as you suck in a breath through your teeth. He hands you your bathrobe as you gladly accept, him draping the soft material on your body. You tie the robe and smile at the glowing man before you. You cup his face in your hands and press a sweet kiss to his lips as he pulls you closer to him, smiling into your tender embrace. “Godric,” you breathe out when you pull away, him laughing. “You still hate birthdays?”

He chuckles, “If every birthday is like this one? I fucking love them.”

[urlocalnctstan]

𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙻𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚄𝚗𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 - 𝙹.𝚂𝙶

• Candy Hearts Collab - @127-mile​

Prompt : “I came to say goodbye.”

Genre : Angst, Fluff, kinda Slow-burnish?, Slice of life, highschool + college AU

Pairing : Sungchan X Reader (Ft. Jeno)

Warning(s) : mentions of bullying and injury (like one scene only), unrequited love, mentions of slight anxiety, hormonal shifts, language, minor character death

Writing nets : @kdiarynet​ @k-dinernet​ @kpopscape​ @czennienet​ @neoturtles​

Taglist : @eh-ovo-nctu​

WC : 9.7k

Summary : What people hated the most is the very word ‘goodbye’. However, it’s the very word that becomes something that you yearn to hear from Sungchan for years.

→ Playlist [recommended]

The sound of the rain was supposed to calm you down, not make you even more anxious and sweaty and you sat with your legs firmly pressed against each other, hoping to fill in the lack of company you were feeling amongst the swarm of people who perhaps shared the same dreams, same aim as yours. Public places as trains, trams, bus stops; you always thought they portrayed as the perfect definition for the word ‘sonder.’ Each individual having a life pretty much as complex as yours — sometimes a little less or sometimes a little more. It fascinated you.

“Do you think the trip is worth it?” Lee Jeno, your best friend of quite a few years puffs his cheeks as he stared dubiously at the red and white poster he held. You took a peek at it, the amount of times Jeno had been pestering you if he should really give up the money he had saved for PS5 as a sacrifice for this trip, it was safe enough for you to say that you had every words printed on it memorized. Well, maybe not every words but the main stuff at least.

“Lee Jeno,” You sharply gawked at the male sitting beside you, earning an ugly grimace from him. “Stop it already. I don’t know about you but I ain’t passing this chance.”

“Wah, what a nice friend I got.” You failed to notice the dramatic eye roll he makes before shoving the poster in his backpack, the one he had been using since the first day you had befriended him. Was it 5 years? 6 years?

“Are we five years or six years?” But I met him on that bookstore down my neighborhood, that was like spring of 2017 and now it’s 2021.

The male let out a snort.  “If I am a five year-old then you are definitely still inside the womb.” Even though he was smiling with that ‘innocent eye smile’ the evil smirk sheathed beneath went unnoticed by you. No sooner had he opened his mouth, a fresh harsh smack landed on his arms that were clad in a filmsy material of cotton and thus a silent yelp of pain escaping from him as he grabbed the area which was starting to sting with each passing second. The smack, albeit meant for him, you were unable to ignore the similar stinging pain in your palm, tears pricking in the corners of your eyes. But you made sure to show absolutely no signs of distress; it was somewhat a matter of childish pride for you.

“Change your career aim from a perfumist to an assassinator will you?” If it were the campus grounds, you two would have already been latched at one another throats; both metaphorically and literally.

“I will gladly not.” You huffed at the male whose eyes held a scornful gaze, now even more annoyed or perhaps, as you would think most of the times, he was just exaggerating. You found yourself mindlessly scrolling through your gallery in search of the recent notes from Mr. Kim’s classes. Until you stumble across something you had been long avoiding, a forlorn fragment from the former days of your high school.

“Here lies the proof of my utmost love and affection, always devoted to my only Y/N.”

It was a picture of you smiling way too bright, cheeks and nose flushed red while being squished by the only male in the frame as he pressed a peck against your cheek. His neck was craned to the side, ripe ears clearly visible in the small Polaroid film. As much as you hated to admit, your heart would still make flips and turns whenever you run into something that reminded you of him, your very first love and first heart break—Jung Sungchan.

Jeno was too busy in his dreamland as he dozed off with his head resting peacefully against your shoulder. It was no new news that the lad had been immensely in love with you ever since the first time you saved him from getting bullied back in 9th grade. However, you were always too busy with your academics and extra-curricular activities and thus clearly drawing a line of only being friends. Nothing else. It happened when Jeno had finally mustered up the courage after excelling in his Maths Olympiad, where he made a bet that if he indeed secures a place in the top 5, you have to abide by anything he wishes for. But he wished for your love, something you were not really capable of doing so; especially at that time. You did not have the heart to say no when Jeno jogged up to you, his eyes transforming into crescents as he smiled wide. “I did it!” His words came out rather breathy, possibly because of him running to you, and maybe because how hard he could feel his heart thump against his ribs when he noticed the proud grin on your face. Without wasting any moment further, Jeno lets go of the white banner of achievement he had been holding, his hands now focusing on yours. You could almost feel the slight tremble and the wetness of his sweaty palms, but before you could even say anything he beat to you by saying, “Go out on a date with me. Only one.”

There were numerous times when you felt guilty about turning down Jeno. At times it had you baffled that why a guy like him would ever bother liking you so much. Jeno was incredibly talented; gifted with unfair boon of genius traits in both academics and athletics. His little version of him always demeaned his abilities, often failing to notice that how much more he was rather than just a quiet kid who loved coding and maths. Maybe perhaps that was the very reason for him to face the bullying, at least that’s what you thought when you first noticed him getting cornered by some stupid idiot dipshits from your class during recess. Jeno’s ID card lay discarded on the ground, as Kihyun grabbed its owner by the collar. You could not understand his reason for not fighting back, and thus being a silent spectator was never your thing so you decided to butt in. As much as you equally hated and liked one thing, boys seemed to get kinda wary of your presence. Especially boys like these who were already in the blacklist of the teachers. It did not take them long to pick their asses and run from the site when you glared them with a threatening gaze, a single word from the class president and they would get suspended yet again for the umpteenth time in the year. You crouched down to Jeno’s level, carefully handing him his ID. You did not bother asking him if he was okay, of course he wasn’t. His face showed signs of previous injuries, the purple hues of bruises slightly fading beside his jaws. You still don’t know why but you felt the need to protect him from his solace, thus leading to this inseparable bond of yours.

But that was a version of him that was long forgotten. Jeno had become the star and face of the school in the last years of your highschool. Acing various quiz competitions, Olympiads, getting highest grades, being the captain of the soccer and basketball team; you were sure God really had His favorites.

You were not surprised when Jeno brought you to your usual favourite—candle shop. It was a hidden gem in your hometown, a small secluded shop located just a few miles away from the metropolitan. Not everyone was aware of its existence until that one day you decided to act rebellious for once in your school life. Of course dragging Jeno into this so called rebel act with you. The date was rather casual, just two friends messing around with wax and chemically named perfume essences. The shop was owned by a lady close to your grandma’s age, and it still makes you wonder how on earth was she able to keep up with the hollering you two were making. No matter how much you convinced yourself that maybe you could give the boy a chance, and perhaps feelings might grow on you later on; you could not make yourself cloud your rationality with the uncertain possibilities. You confessed every single thing that had been on your mind and Jeno just calmly listened to everything you uttered. You could clearly see the expression of hurt washing over his face, but he knew you. He knew that once you had made up your mind, there was no going back. The night did not cause any indifference in your friendship; it bloomed with each passing years of your middle school and then highschool. You two had become the infamous bestfriends, the once timid boy then all buff and handsome and the once spotlight lover girl then buried in her textbooks to pass the college entrance exams.

Throughout these years of teen, the candle shop had become a constant place for anything to you both; sadness, comfort or just enjoyable times. Until that one day when you met the grandson of the lady who owned the shop. Make a guess who it was.

When people spoke of their first heartbreak, you always cringed at how they exaggerated. Technically you never experienced one, so it seemed ridiculous to you that how was it possible to a simple break to cause others this much pain. You were shocked, no scratch that. Using fancy words, you were utterly bewildered when you saw the new transfer student—Jung Sungchan was the name, standing on the makeshift podium of your classroom. Thank God the architects decided to stick to keeping the height of the room above eight feet. You had changed drastically, contrasting your previous bubbly persona, you had become more reserved. It was just you being ambitious about something you had grown to like, and after some backstabs from your friends, you did not feel the need to have so many around you. Just Jeno being there for you was more than enough.

It would be a lie if Jeno did not sense the subtle looks you had been sending over to the new guy, but he was in no place to object you. It had only been a few moments of Sungchan’s arrival and Jeno already sensed his position in your life being threatened. He knew you were a saint who always looked out for others, and something about his presence made Jeno feel wary. Jeno did not need any of the privileges he had, all of it he owed to you after all. It was you who brought the best out of him, and in the end if he has them all but not you, it wasn’t clearly worth it to him. You preferred unpredictable things; it was what he learned about you in all your years of friendship. How you would always choose mystery thrillers over typical rom-coms, how you would always vouch for the new dish in the menu every time you both visited the local barbecue house. And he knew it was impossible to be one like that, it was just typical Taurus things (as he would like to blame) that made him too practical, too predictable for you. But, you never thought like that. It was just that even though you wanted to, you couldn’t make yourself grow romantic towards the boy you always shared your oreos and ramen with. He held a dear place in your heart and life.

Sungchan was immediately welcomed to the family, the girls already swooning over his good looks and amazing grades. Plus icing on the top, he was the half-brother of the infamous Jung Yoonoh, the heartthrob of the whole school, from juniors to seniors. While Jaehyun was the typical definition of being that one dude we always see in rom-coms who is loved and admired by all for his too humble personality and ethics, Sungchan on the other hand was more of a quiet one, often too shy properly open up his orginal self around new environment. Despite that, he was naturally amiable just like his brother, a trait that perhaps ran in the Jung household. Unlike Jaehyun who was presumably born with good brains, Sungchan was a hardworking one. Sungchan tried to settle down the queasy feeling he had been feeling ever since he moved back here, now that Jaehyun was always busy in Seoul with his medical degree someone had to look after their aging grandma. Sungchan was never really a part of any group, so leaving behind his school back in the city was not that painful for him. The atmosphere of the whole campus was pretty soothing; the bushes of neatly trimmed trees, big huge playground and the ochre shaded building. He liked all of it, and to top it all the uniform was really his style: solid crème and dark maroon combination.

When Sungchan stood awkwardly in the middle of the classroom, clearly clueless as to where he would be seating since all the seats were occupied, a soft voice called out his name rather eagerly. His eyes scanned for a while until he saw you; dark hair tied up neatly into a ponytail with a pencil in your hand as you waved him to notice the empty seat beside yours. Sungchan smiled at your sweet gesture, his out of place feeling now subsiding into the warmth of the possible blooming friendship.

“Hi there, I am Y/N.” You chirped, wiping your left hand before bringing it out for him to shake. Sungchan froze for a while before he realized what he was supposed to be doing. “Oh! And this is Jeno!” You turned slightly towards your best friend sitting just behind you with his famous eye smile.

“Hello, I am Jung Sungchan.” He returned the gesture shaking both your and Jeno’s hand. Whilst Jeno had the feeling of roughness and athleticism in his, your hands were warm and soft; it felt nice he thought. That was the first impression of yours to him: ball of sunshine. And your impression of him? Reserved and unpredictable; a combination that only meant chaos and imbalance.

Sungchan side-glanced at your fumbling state. Seating next to him you in the front row, you skimmed over your not so pleasant looking notes that you had scribbled anxiously in the prior night. Public speaking had never been a big deal for you once you get adjusted to the audience after going up on stage. However, it is the pre anxiety session that just always riles you up.

“You know,” Your head whipped a bit too fast to your liking at the voice belonging to the only male that sat beside you. “I’ll show you a trick. Here.” Sungchan proceeded to softly place your trembling hands on his, cautiousness apparent with every move he made. Even though you both had been seatmates for the last three months, you never found yourself involved in any sort of skinship with him; something that was really common for you and Jeno. The look of fluster was way too obvious when Sungchan softly rubbed various shapes on the back of your hand with his thumb, you were unsure if he was actually helping you ease from nervousness or just increasing it further. It had quite been a while since you had your hands caged in his, both of you completely unaware of the looks you had been getting from your senior teachers seated in the neighboring row. The moment was cut off when your name was announced from the stage by a senior, requesting your presence to commence your speech. Sungchan slowly lets go of your hands, mumbling a soft ‘best of luck!’ with his hands now fisted as an act of verbal encouragement. You eyes wandered around the crowd for a while before locating your best friend who sat miserably beside the homeroom teacher, really closing to dozing off before noticing your presence and copying Sungchan’s gestures.

The bus paused, Jeno still deep in his slumber despite the harsh jerk of the vehicle stopping in its tracks. You sighed, he must have probably been gaming the whole night with his roommate Donghyuck again. You nudged softly at first, the lack of response later than causing you to shake him vigorously by his toned arms that barely fit in your palms. Jeno instantly sprinted up with wide eyes before softly muttering a curse at your cruel way of waking him up.

“I was definitely right about you being a torturer in your previous life.”

“Sure you were. Get your ass off the bus now.”

You parted your ways with Jeno on the campus ground, him heading to his coding facult while you headed towards the chemistry club room. Apparently a newbie was supposed to come today from the US. It was odd you assumed since US had much better facilities for students majoring in chemistry. You glanced at your figure on your way to the room, wondering if the ripped jeans were a good choice as a first impression. You just disliked the idea of leaving off bad impressions, even if you are never going to meet the person again until your next life. Jaemin, another close friend of both you and Jeno smiled widely at your entrance, waving his hand as he pointed the seat next to him enthusiastically. Jaemin and you were basically clones of each other, the leos inside of you both shinig at its best whenever you two are together.

“I don’t understand why move back here from THE United States.” Jaemin dragged out the word, scoffing silently as he handed you a cup of iced Americano. You were about to sip before pausing. You could not have possibly risked your stomach again after that one fateful day when you tasted ‘his type’ of iced Americano. This dude legit gulped down eight espresso shots with a satisfied hum, horrified looks painted on your and Jeno’s features as you both just stared at him in utter shock.

“Please not the poisonous drink.” You eyed the male suspiciously, who scoffed at the nickname.

“Of couse not little baby.” Jaemin cooed with his lips puckered and an annoying high pitched voice, purposefully pinching your cheeks a bit harder than he usually does.

 “You little moth-”

“Hello guys, I am Sungchan. Nice to meet you all.” Your heart dropped at the familiar tone of voice. He isn’t possibly back again after leaving without any traces, without a single goodbye, is he? You did not dare to look at his figure standing in front of the table, awkwardly shifting in your seat while Jaemin furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“Hello, Sungchan.” Sulli, your senior by 2 years and also the president of the club greeted him warmly. “I hope you like it here because adjusting to a new place might be hard at times. Oh, these are your classmates; Y/N and Jaemin.”

Sungchan immediately looked in your direction at the mention of your name, his eyes equally wide in surprise mirroring your previous reaction.

“Y/N?” He called out in a rather unsure tone, just like his movements the cautiousness was also present there. “It’s been……a while….”

“Yeah, indeed.” You had a visible change in demeanor, Jaemin finally grasping the tense situation before jogging up to the male.

“Hi there, I am Na Jaemin. You can call me Nana if you want.” Jaemin put his hand out as a formality, to which Sungchan politely complied. “There’s a seat there you can sit.” Jaemin was luckily wise enough to occupy the empty seat beside yours without knowing the turn of events. He motioned Sungchan towards the seat diagonal to you, sensing the discomfort in your posture he assumed it was best if Sungchan sat somewhat further.

Concentrating on the yearly planning for the club was harder with his presence; Sungchan unable to hide his obvious lingering gaze on you. Jaemin would cough every now and then, signaling the male to focus on the club president’s instructions instead of you. But as his usual self, Sungchan pretended to not notice the clear hints, continuing keep his eyes locked on yours. You were barely able to note down some important events, knowing that Jaemin certainly cannot be trusted with his short time memory. After that president bids her farewell to everyone present in the room, you take it as your cue to just flee as soon as possible from his reach.

“Y/N, wait!” Sungchan was quick to grab you just as you were about to exit by the door, the sudden halt in movement causing you to stumble back into his embrace awkwardly. You were definitely embarrassed, your back pressed against his chest in a weird manner as you straighten yourself again. You scrunched you nose to hide your embarrassment before asking him.

“What is it now Jung Sungchan?” You were not meaning to snap at him, but the bitter memories of the past seemed to get the best of you.

Sungchan slightly winced at your cold tone, but what else could have expected after all the pain he had caused you. “I…I do..I mean like I..”

“Sungchan, I have my classes. Gather up your thoughts and then talk.” With that you turned on your heels, not even bothering to take your bag that you left on the seat you were prior sitting. Jaemin observed the scene quietly, his minds finally connecting the dots. Jung Sungchan, the boy you would always cry about whenever you got drunk, the boy who left you with nothing but memories of him. Jaemin thought it was best to not let out his inner frustration towards the guy who was now standing motionless in his tracks, lost in his trance as he gaped towards the door you had just left. Jaemin passed by Sungchan without a word, instinctively grabbing your bag as he made his way to his next class.

Sungchan stood dumbfounded, numerous thoughts racing in his mind. Why did I have to be so foolish? He thought. How can I blame her when I was the one who broke the promise first?

 Summer 2017

It was getting pretty boring for you at the library; usually some of the classmates bickering would give you some sort of silent company as you scribble down the notes. But for some unfound reason you seemed to be extremely distracted. You let out a long annoyed huffed, hands stretching in weird directions as you rested your head on the wooden table. It struck your mind there might be butts of nails pointed out and you didn’t want to get yourself a shot of tetanus, so you lazily glided your hands across the surface before returning back to your half laying position. It didn’t take long for you to zone out, mind running through various scenarios of university life, jobs and perhaps marriage? You blushed at the thought, just like any other teen you were also low-key always looking forward to your wedding.

“Are you asleep?” You shot up startled at the sudden voice, eyes immediately widening as you realized the owner. Sungchan had a smile with his lips pressed into a thin line, casually pulling out the empty seat beside yours as he made himself comfortable on it.

“Good to know you’re not. I need your help.” Sungchan wasted no time rummaging out a stack of sheets from his backpack, pressing them against the wood with a loud thump. You slightly winced at the loudness since the library was extra quiet today, the sound thus bouncing off more.

“You know if it’s literature, I suck at it.” Your mind took you back at that one time when you almost got yourself a C on the mentioned subject, chills running down at the memory.

“No, no.” Sungchan waved his hands softly chuckling. “It’s actually chemistry. Judging as a seatmate, I believe it’s your best sport.”

You happily nodded at the male, pleased that you get to help him with something that was under your specialty. Sungchan took a notice of your happy state, equally pleased that it was you that would be helping him.

“Tell me, what can I help you with.” You took the fat book from his hold, skimming over the contents page before highlighting the topics that were extremely important for the semester.

“I think hybridization? I just can’t seem to get how it works!” Sungchan’s voice levitated suddenly out of frustration, momentarily catching you off guard. Sungchan seemed to notice your amused look, shyly rubbing the nape of his neck with a little shrug.

“You know this is the first time I’ve seen you frustrated.” You commented, eyes fixated on the pages even though they were being extremely reluctant to rather focus on the fussy male. “It’s pretty easy you know. Look.” You explained him cautiously and slowly, how the overlapping of the orbitals occurred not realizing the proximity that seemed to lessen drastically. You whipped at his direction to see any signs of confusion, only to be met with a pair of dark orbs that stared at you intently. As embarrassing as it may sound, you gulped loudly. A bit too loud than you had intended to.

Sunghcan took notice of the situation you both blanketed in as a wave of déjà vu washed over him. He cleared his throat loud and awkward, half to lessen the embarrassment you were feeling and to poorly hide his own. You both were looking everywhere but each other, too dumb to maximize the close distance instead of acting like awkward cats.

“What are you both doing?” a deep male voice jerked you back to reality, upon turning you saw it belonged to Jeno. When did he come here?

“She was explaining the hybridization shits.” Sungchan huffed, slowly settling back to his orginal position. “I asked you so many times though…”

“You know chemistry is not my cup of tea.” Jeno shrugged at the male, a lazy smile playing on his face. “You wanna stay for b-ball practice today?”

“Not sure, I’ll see to it mate.” Sungchan did that fist-bump with Jeno, the two casually mingling like old friends as you stared idiotically at the scene unfolding in front of you.

“Since when did you both become Damon and Pythias?”

“Y/N, please not again your alien languages.” Jeno rolled his eyes before taking the seat beside, sandwiching you between both the males. “Since you happen to be tutoring a clown, an addition of another clown won’t do you any harm.” Jeno smiled at you, his doe eyes disappearing in the process.

Sungchan held back his snort, looking over both of you, he was happy. Though he was not as close to you as he had become to Jeno, he still considered you somewhat a close friend of his. Being seatmates with you and Jeno, it was inevitable that he soon became a constant in your life. Did I tell you that the candle shop was owned by his grandma? The shop if anything, had become this secret spot for you three. Study dates, random chills or just lazying around, the candle shop would be the first name that would pop up in your mind. 

With a blink of an eye perhaps junior year passes. Maybe that was how last years of highschool were. At one moment you barely just got promoted to a new class, and at another, you’re yet again getting promoted to higher one. You sat under the dull moonlight, a thin cardigan that was gifted to you by your dearest friend’s grandma. When Sungchan invited you and Jeno at his, his grandma had knitted this cardigan for you and a beanie for Jeno. The gesture was so sweet that it completely melted your heart, she was the living definition of wholesome for you. 

It was maybe that one day when you three decided to stroll the spring fair of your neighborhood, when you both finally came clean to your feelings. Jeno was always the one pointing you out that how you should just be a woman and confess. “It doesn’t always have to be the guy that says I LIKE YOU!” This what we he said before disappearing into the hives of crowds, leaving you waiting for Sungchan at the front of the public toilet he was finishing his business in. Pretty awkward right? Where else does anyone get to see a girl waiting for her crush in front of a public restroom. Sungchan came back outside, shuffling out his handphone before furrowing his brows at the text he just received. You immediately understood it was from Jeno. You had no idea what came over you, it felt like the adrenaline in your system decided to flood your nervous system, not even aware of yourself just launching at the dude with a chaste kiss on his lips. He was completely taken aback by the sudden feeling of your lips on his, it took him a while before responding you back with the same enthusiasm. You broke first from the kiss, not realising your fists crunching his prior perfectly ironed shirt. But he did not mind it all, a shy smile playing on both of your faces. The rest of the night was spent with your hands laced in his, just like another high school sweethearts of the time.

You smiled at the memory. Sungchan had a cigarette lit between the tips of his fingers, the tobacco smoke slowly poking your nose but not strong enough to bother you. With a deep sigh, he took a puff before blowing it own again in the air, a cloud of smog dancing around his figure.

“You should quit it, it’s not healthy.” It had already been a year since you became friends and six months since you became more than it, but there were times like this when you still found yourself nervous and wary whenever you are talking to him. You snuggled yourself into the cardigan, hugging yourself to minimize the tinges of frostbites. Sungchan was considerate of your discomfort, whenever he smoked, he made sure the cigarette was at least 2 feet away from you. 

“Take this.” Sungchan handed you another thick layer of clothing from his bag, his initials “J.SG” written big and bold. Without much thought, you accepted his kindness, and Sungchan had high tolerance to cold anyways unlike you who would shiver to death in the most usual temperatures. You figured Sungchan decided to dodge the topic you brought it, and you figured it would be better to not bring it up for a while.

“Where do you plan on going for college.” Sungchan spoke while rubbing the shortened cigarette on the bricks of the roof, swallowing the remaining water from his bottle throwing a strawberry gum inside his mouth. You figured he was now free from the reek of tobacco as you scoot closer to his form, opening your arms within the jacket for his to snuggle in as well. Just like Jeno, skinship was no new news for you both too, however; it always had your heart racing like crazy. You both remained cozy under the warm embrace of the jacket, and you prayed Sungchan would never listen how your pulse was acting up.

“I don’t know. Perhaps SNU? I mean only if I get accepted...” You trailed off, propping your chin against your bent knees before glancing at the boy. Then it struck you, what made him ask this sudden question, what made him smoke three cigarettes straight despite having yearly break for a whole month. “Will you be going to the US as well?”

“I don’t know...” Sungchan deeply sighed, his lips forming a small pout as he indulged in deep thought. What if he actually happens to leave for America? Your heart clenched at the thought, mimicking his sighs you rested your head against his shoulder. 

“You know,” You stared at the sky, it was dark and clear with no signs of stars. The feeling was unsettling. “Wherever you go, we’ll always be there for you.” Your eyes shifted to the illuminating lights from numerous buildings that replaced the absence of the twinkling stars in the sky. The ominous feeling soon dissipated into relief. It was as if the universe telling you, we just have to look out for the good sides instead of dwelling on the bad. 

“I know.” Sungchan smiled, one that was both happy and sad. He rested his head on yours, joining your company of gazing at the scenery. “I know.”

“Just...” there was hesitation laced in your tone, Sungchan was quick to notice it as he looked at you, nodding for you to continue. “Please don’t leave...not without a goodbye. Promise me that.”

“I promise you.” Sungchan held your cold hands in his warmer ones, a firm assurance making your heart swell in both hurt and adoration as you kissed him again.

You both never really made it official, despite the kiss at the fair. It was perhaps the uncertainty that held you both back. Sungchan’s future was not in his hands but his family’s; just like his brother, he is supposed to make his family shine bright. It was one of the major reasons why his parents let both the brothers two years of freedom on their remaining bits of high school. ‘All parents want the best for their kids,’ that’s what you would always say to him whenever you meet him at his roof; him smoking while you offered his physical comfort.

The senior year passed within a whim, the fright of entering into adulthood descending upon all the students as they remained buried in their textbooks. Maybe it wasn’t the case for everyone, but it did apply to you and your friends. You remained occupied with you daily extra classes for chemistry while Sungchan had biology and Jeno had mathematics. You three would meet up in periodic breaks, catching up with small talks before returning back to your respective schedules. It was nothing but hectic, and soon, the candle shop returned back to being just another isolated shop in your hometown.

Graduation day was filled with smiles and congratulatory phrases from different individuals, throwing your grad caps in the air felt like as if you were throwing away a significant part of your life, ready to embrace a new version of you. All the parents stood their with proud grins, delighted at their children’s achievement to their dreams.

“Congratulations!” You chirped, receiving bone crushing hugs from both your males before an elderly voice called for you.

“Y/N! Jeno! Sungchan!” It was your mom, waving excitedly to grab you and the males’ attention. “Say cheese!”

“Cheese!” You all resonated together, happy and delighted.

A series of furious knocks jolted you awake from your sleep. You figured it might have been your younger brother, probably wanting your help in his homework.

“I swear to god Y/b/n!” You let out an ear piercing shout, groggily rubbing your eyes from deep slumber.

“It’s me. Jeno.” You heard how breathy his voice sounded, it was coated with urgency and hurt. You heart dropped but you prayed to the Heavens and God, you prayed that it should not be the very thing that you had been dreading so much. You shot up from your bed, not even bothering to make yourself look presentable before whipping the door open to meet with an equally dazed and riled Jeno.

“It’s Sungchan. He...” Jeno beathed out a deep sigh, before handing you a lilac envelope, the initials J.SG written in bold. You failed to feel the tears pooling up, threatening to fall anytime. Jeno glanced over you sympathetically, with shaky trembling hands, you took the the paper. 

You don’t bother to closer the door, Jeno soon taking his leave as he thought it would be best to give you some space to absorb it all in. The tears had started to stream uncontrollably when you saw the picture that came with the letter. It was one of the many pictures that you took on the night of the fair; the day you had confessed, the you had your first kiss. It was a polaroid of you holding him lovingly in an embrace, him shyly placing a kiss on your cheeks with the words ‘Here lies the proof of my utmost love and affection, always devoted to my only Y/N’ scribbled on the white frame. Your hands fished for your cellphone, frantically dialing his number as you waited for him to pick up, hoping that he’ll soothe your anxiety by saying he did not leave, that he was still in town and you were just being delusional.

But every time you dialed his contact, you were being forwarded to the monotonous tone saying that the number was currently unreachable. Your chest squeezed in pain, he had promised you. He promised you that he will come for a goodbye at least. He had promised you that he would never leave you clueless and hurting. All you ever asked for him, was just a goodbye; perhaps a source assurance for you to wait for his return. 

You wiped the tears with the edge of your sleeves, opening the the piece of folded paper.

‘Dear lovely Y/N,

You might resent me when you receive this letter, and I certainly don’t blame you for that. I am not the best with words, I am clumsy and unexpressive but I hope that this piece of scribblings makes you understand all my feelings, my thoughts and emotions that have been haunting me from the day I first saw you.

You know I that I am very much aware that I do....hold some handsome genes.’ You couldn’t help but snicker at this. 

‘However, unlike all, as typical as it may sound, you stood out. You lazily laid sprawling across your desk in deep slumber, completely unaware of the chaos of classroom. I wish I was that carefree like you, indulged in her own world and comfort bubble. It attracted me a lot.’ You got up from the floor, eyes still glued to the piece of paper as you shut your door locked. Your hands still went to dial his contact, but only to be forwarded to that damned robotic voice.

‘I wanted to be like you, not bothered by the constant pressures of coming from a prestigious family. Did I ever tell you my dad is the Director of Myeongsu Hospital?’ You gasped at the sudden information. His dad was the director of the one of the most prestigious and renowned hospitals of South Korea. It was too overwhelming for you to process, but you still found yourself continuing. 

‘It was inevitable for me to act like just another teenager, not for me but for my brother too. I always blamed him for being so selfish when he just left me alone when he came to grandma, I failed to realize that it was some sort of comfort gift from our parents so that we’ll devote ourselves to build the family’s name for the rest of our lives. 

Even though I wanna blame them, I don’t think I can because they had the same fate. It comes with a price when you’re born with a silver spoon, and I guess I had to pay mine when I left your doorstep last night. I...I was a coward. I know I should have just come up, hug you and kiss you for the last time. But I just couldn’t. I was too scared.

I was scared that the moment I’ll see you, my guards will crash down. These two days were really hectic for me, I made up excuses when you invited me at yours because I was afraid of losing my balance. I knew that only a glance at you would be enough to make me change my mind and revolt against my parents, my fate. And you have no idea how much I wanted to do so, you have no idea how I’ve spent endless of sleepless night where it is the only thing that would run on my mind. But you tell me, would it be really worth it? I did not want you spending the rest of your lives with swarming paps and reporters, publishing reports and articles of how you managed to tarnish the heir-in-line of the prestigious hospital. No I could never do to that someone I love so dearly. I could never in a thousand years do that. 

You know every time I picture you in your grown-up self, I can only see a strong and confident woman thriving in her career, a woman that is so powerful but still has a heart of gold. I know that you’ll be an amazing person, inside and out. I wasn’t really planning to express my love and admiration for you like this, I hoped to do it in person, but perhaps, maybe that’s how the stars planned it out for us. Fate is extra cruel in my case don’t you think? 

It would be extremely selfish of me to ask you to wait; I am not even sure if I would ever return because my father would be opening another branch in US. And well, I am not sure what plans he has for me.

So please, if you ever find it in your heart, I hope you will forgive me. And even if you don’t, please don’t ever feel guilty about it. You have all the right to do so and I most certainly deserve your hatred. I love you so much, Y/N. You’re my first kiss, my first love, and you’ll  always hold this irreplaceable place in my heart. 

With Love,

Jung Sungchan.

You felt your world crashing down, a part of you wished that this letter never ended. The only remain from him had also come to an end, and you were not sure how you would be able to cope with his absence for the next years of your life.

Present

“Sungchan is back?” Jeno widened his eyes in shock, the information seemingly unbelievable to him. “He really is?”

“Yes.” You monotonously replied, numerous thoughts battling at the back of your head. Jaemin cleared his throat, a sign for Jeno to not bring up the topic for a while. Jeno eyed the male in confusion before finally getting the hint.

“You’re lucky you don’t get to have Mr.Suh’s classes, he’s just hot and it’s frustrating. And that’s coming from a straight dude like me.” Jeno slurped on his smoothie loud and sound, probably to annoy the other male as he was well aware his distaste to people making sounds while eating.

“Y/N.” a voiced called out from behind, and you instantly knew who it belonged to. 

“Sungchan. Oh my god!” Jeno shot up from his seat, immediately embracing the old face from his past. “How have you been man? You just disappeared...”

“I am so sorry.” Sungchan looked at Jeno with pleading eyes. “I know I have absolutely no excuse for my act and I am just so sorry, Jeno and Y/N.” Sungchan looked at Jeno who silently urged him to talk to you.

“Y/N, please talk to me. I don’t expect your forgiveness but please. Atleast curse me, hit me just do anything. Please.”

You whipped your head to find Sungchan crouching down to match your seat level, a sigh escaping from you as you stood straight from your seat. 

“Guys, I’ll be back.” You gripped his hands before dragging him alongside the canteen corridor.

Jaemin looked over his friend who stood staring at the way you just took. And expressionless look was painted on his features, causing Jaemin to shake his head and sigh. “You know man,” Jeno changed his attention to the male speaking, fixing his glasses. “If I were you, I would have just held her back. You’re extremely strong, I could have never done that.” With that Jaemin patted his friend’s back, a silent assurance that if he needed a shoulder to cry or to simply lean on for comfort, he’ll be there for him.

A mixture of feelings were erupting inside you, you were furious but happy. Sad but grateful. You scanned the halls for signs of any empty classroom and upon finding one you just shoved the male inside it.

“What’s so funny about messing with my feelings?” You already tears welling up, your vision blurry as you sharply glance at the male with a frown on his face.

“Y/N, I would nev-”

“You left me,” you utterly hated at how pathetic you sounded at the moment, harshly wiping the tears streaming down your cheeks. “You promised me that you won’t leave without showing up one last time, but you did. You fucking did.” You knew it was not something under his control, but you couldn’t help but pour your bottled feelings.

“Please...Y/N...listen..to me...Please..” Sungchan lost his composure, his voice breaking as he stepped closer to you. Seeing how you did not flinch at his approach, Sungchan captivated you in his embrace, something that he had been yearning for ever since he parted ways. You felt the wetness of his tears on your head, melting in his longing embrace you found yourself hugging him back. You missed him so much, his scent, warmth, presence. Everything about him drove you crazy, you were still dazed to believe if he was actually back for real or is it just one of your numerous daydreams. 

The rest of the days went as usual, but only with the addition of Sungchan back again in your life. Although you had long forgiven him in his heart, you decided to not vocal it out. As heartless as it may sound, you wanted him to make up for the pain he caused you, and he indeed did. Jaemin was skeptical in the beginning at the idea of another person joining you small group, he had come to liking the idea of you guys as trio and was more comfortable like that. But he saw how your eyes lit up every time you about him when you were newly friends with Jaemin, how Jeno would always drunk talk about the times they passed as seatmates bothering the hell out of you. So Jaemin broke his exterior cold composure on the fourth day, finally accepting the banana milk from the new male as a form of bribe for his addition to the group.

Sungchan worked harder than deities; always making sure to get you Americanos before your classes, taking extra notes for you whenever you felt sick, tolerating your extremely drunk self and even dropping you back at your dorms safely. He had mentioned how he finally mustered up the courage to stand up against his fathers, that he wanted to do something else rather than working in the medical field. Even though he had still yet to decided his desired career, Sungchan decided to just follow his intuitions which ended up him taking chemistry as his major and thus landing in the same institution and same class as yours. And not to mention, he was beyond grateful for it.

A month had passed with his arrival, the awkwardness amongst everyone long gone and forgotten. It was as if he never left you. You were never over him, so his all time sweet gestures was making it harder for you to maintain your cold act.

“I happened to attempt making kimbap? But I am not sure if they are edible..” Sungchan trailed off as he hesitantly hands you the small metal box. You almost laughed at how cute but messy they looked, his failed attempt at giving the rolls eyes and lips with sesame seeds and ketchup was beyond adorable. You took the box from his grasp, a smile playing on your face as you looked at him. Sungchan upon noticing your grin, rubbed the nap of his neck shyly, his ears and cheeks mirror the shade the of the ketchup. You took a bite from one of the many rolls he made, a hum of satisfaction escaping your lips as you relished the tangy sweet taste. It was perfect, just how you preferred it.

“It’s pretty good.” You licked the stain of ketchup from your fingers, failing to notice how the male blushed harder at your subtle act. “We have Mr.Lee’s class, so I believe we should hurry up before it’s too late.”

On the night of the annual university carnival, Sungchan confessed to you. At least not in front of a public washroom this time. With the constant aid of Jeno and Jaemin, Sungchan was able to plan out a pretty dramatic confession for you. You were completely surprised when Jaemin called you out of nowhere, frantically asking for your presence to a specific classroom. You feared if the dork had committed some sort of treason explaining how dramatic he sounded, so you rushed without giving any second thoughts. However, when you saw the trail of roses with candles adorning the edges, you froze. It had the same scent both you and Sungchan had invented; the sweet scent of lily with tinges of tangerine to it.

A flustered looking Sungchan steps out from the dark, his hands rest behind his back as you cautiously scanned your face. When he saw no signs of discomfort, Sungchan slowly jogged to where you stood, his hands holding a bouquet of lilies with a small note on top of it.

“I know I have made tons of mistakes, hurt you so many times. But I still want to test my luck.” Sungchan got down on his knees, holding the bouquet with his head hanging low. “Y/L/N, will you allow me to be your man? Will you be my girlfriend?”

A shit eating grin spread on your face, slightly giggling at how adorable he looked. “I thought you’d never ask.” You took the flowers, a soft smile adorning your lips as you lock eyes with an extremely surprised Sungchan. “Of course Sungchan.”

“Of course? For real?” Sungchan couldn’t believe what just happened, he was half expecting you to flat out reject him at how inconsiderate he had been. But you accepted his apology, accepted his love. Sungchan stood up, his heart squeezing in delight and adoration for you. He cupped your face gently, as if you were a porcelain doll that would just break if not handled carefully. You saw how his eyes shone with love, sparkling brightly on the soft light from the lighted candles and you swore you never felt so much before for anyone else as much as you felt for him. Sungchan closed the proximity, his nose slight touching yours as he rested his forehead against yours, the smiling never for once leaving his face. 

The tension was building up with each passing second, the sounds of your heavy breathing being the only silence breaker. You got impatient, the feeling of his lush lips got you being greedy as you closed the distance standing on your tip-toes, momentarily catching him off the grid before receiving the same attention back. You gripped on his shirt, too unbothered to break the kiss despite losing your breath. He paused for a moment, panting before pulling you back under his spell. The bottled feelings and emotions of longing and pining for each other were poured into the this sweet shared moment of yours. You were grateful that the whole building had no signs of any lurking students and professors, what was supposed to be a innocent make-up kiss soon transformed into a heated one as he held you by your waist, pinning you against the wall with his lips still attached to yours.

You pulled back for the heavy make-out session, almost earning a whine from the male before you soothed him with you words that came next. “I love you.”

 Sungchan felt his already beating heart pick up its pace, becoming hastier that he was low-key afraid if he might face a stroke anytime. With a loving grin, he looked back at you who was still caged in his arms. He tucked the stray of hair brushing across the sides of your face from the soft breeze entering the windows, the illuminating yellow hues from the candles making you look like a dream. A dream that seemed unattainable to him until this very moment.

“I love you so so much. Thank you. Thank you for giving me a chance to prove myself, to allow me to show you my feelings, Y/N.” He was breathless, he felt so many emotions at that moment when you glanced at him loving. He was afraid his pulse might stop any moment, so he kissed you back, but now filled with passion and desire. And let’s just say, one of your fantasies were fulfilled that night.

The news of his grandma passing away came after a few months when you both had officially started dating. Both the Jungs were extremely close to her, so when Jaehyun took her back to Myeongsu Hospital where he was currently the chief of neurology, her condition was inevitable. Jaehyun hoped that maybe she might get to spend more time on earth under his care, but he too was victim in the cruel hands of destiny. Sungchan rushed to your dorm, bloodshot eyes as he told you the news. You found yourself sobbing alongside him, tenderly keeping him embraced in your warmth as you shared his pain. You knew her personally as well, all the moments spent with her were a profound favorite part of teen years. 

“I wanted to meet you before I leave for Seoul. I came to say a goodbye.” Sungchan sniffed, his hands wiping away the streams of water rolling down your face. You smiled at his concern, mimicking his actions you brushed his sweaty bangs away from his forehead before placing a soft peck against it.

“It’s okay. Don’t tell me goodbyes anymore...for I know you’ll always come back to me.”

Epilogue

Sungchan fumbled with his tie nervously, bile reaching up his throat as the worst scenarios flooded his brains. His eyes frantically looked around for help, making a bow-tie was just not his cup of his. A breath of relief escapes his lips when his eyes landed on his closest beloved friend Jeno. Jeno stood leaning against the door frame, an amused grin painting his sharp features as he walked to the struggling male.

“Bro...” Sungchan huffed pleadingly, a pout forming his eyes.

“Yes bro.” Jeno flashed him an eye roll, before having the same eye smile again as he fixed his friend’s tie. After all, it was a big event for him.

To say the least, you looked breathtaking in your white laced gown. The simplicity of the dress made you look more elegant, it enhanced your natural beauty and Sungchan couldn’t just tear his eyes away from your form. It was supposed to be the bride’s day, but to him you shone the brightest.

“You know it’s me getting married, but the new comers might assume it’s you considering how you are gaping at y/n shamelessly.” Jaehyun hissed to his best man, earning a scoff from Sungchan.

“Hyung, let me have my moment! Please.” Sungchan whined but was careful to tone it down, only to receive a slight nudge from the groom who chuckled at his antics. 

The wedding was glamorous, elegant, anything that could be named as a dream wedding. Sungchan remained glued beside you the whole night, a proud grin on his face every time he was asked about the lady whose arms laid locked with his. With a smug look, he would rub on their faces that you were his girlfriend, especially exaggerating to the males who seemed to had their eyes on you. You both enjoyed the silent company of each other, the soothing sounds of the wind replacing the absence of music as Sungchan drove you back to your place, hands still intertwined. When he came in front of your shared apartment, he fidgeted in his seat nervously; fishing out something from his coat. 

You figured it was another one of his endless gifts, so you just smiled with your back resting against the cushion seat of the car. 

“Sungchan, you really need to-”

A throat seering stopped you in the midst of speaking, your eyes widening when you realized what the purple velvet box might contain. Sungchan let out breaths of nervousness, blowing out some air out of his lungs to lessen the feeling of anxiety as he looked at you, eyes as genuine as ever.

“Y/N, I don’t believe in fancy proposals as you know. It is an intimate moment for us so I want it to happen in the presence of only us.” Sungchan stuttered in the middle as he opened the box, revealing an extremely gorgeous but simple plated band with a small stone adorning the top perfectly.

“So will you marry me?”

You stared at the male dumbfounded. Your eyes refused to believe the scene in front of you, hearts doing numerous flips and turns and it was just hard to explain all the feelings you were feeling. Sungchan had always been the one for you, and even though not everyone gets to have a happy ending with their first love, you were beyond grateful that you had happened to fall in the rare probability.

“I...OF COURSE. OF COURSE I WILL.” You yelped in delight, shoving your hand in front of his face as he just laughed while placing the ring on your finger. It fit perfectly. You grabbed him by the collar and kissed him with your overpowering passion and love, not realizing how if continued any longer, you guys might have to pay a fine for parking on the wrong side. So without wasting any time further, you both hauled yourselves to your apartment, refusing to break the contact of your lips molded perfectly together on your way. In short, let’s just say ‘sweet innocent kiss transformed into a heated one’ yet again.

© urlocalnctstan 2021

I went completely overboard with this. I am so sorry if it didn’t turn up as you had expected it to, and honestly I am not completely pleased with it either. I felt like it could’ve been better in terms of expressing emotions. However, improvement is a never ending proccess and im still learning. SO TO WHOEVER WHO HAPPENED TO MAKE THIS TILL HERE. I LOVE YOU SODIJMS YOU DONT KNOW HOW MUCH IT MEANS TO ME. 

Feedbacks and criticisms are always appreciated! Please care to leave them as it may help me potentially grow as a writer. Thank you for sparing your time to read my piece of work.

with love,

Hana.

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Years Past

Summary: Sakura haunts their small home in grief, feeling already a ghost even while surrounded with beautiful raven-haired children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. As she sees each and every one of them over the months that follow, a select few stare back with her own eyes. Most of them are so like her husband's, though, luciform soot flecked with silver, and she feels so sorry when she looks too long and starts to cry. Romance, Character Death, Sad With a Happy Ending, Sakura POV.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: T

A/N: A little late to this prompt, but better late than never, I suppose. This has been sitting in my drafts since June, but reading it made me emotional and I got distracted by writing things for Like Gold. I apologize for the tardiness!

Sasusaku Month 2021, Day 7 Prompt: Years Past @ssskmonth

AO3 Link - FF.net Link

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Sakura passes in her sleep, marcid and weary of a broken heart and missing mismatched eyes, at the age of eighty-two.

It is longer than most Shinobi make it by far, but she doesn't feel very grateful for it, in the last five excruciating months of her life.

Her husband hadn't made it to eighty-two; Sasuke-kun passed in December. It had been peaceful, all three of their children, most of their grandchildren, and even some great grandchildren, the ones not on missions outside of the village, at his bedside.

Sakura had been there, too, old and frail and holding his hand. She'd kissed him goodbye tearily, sensing it was almost time after decades of watching it happen to others inside secluded hospital walls. It had been in front of nearly all of their descendants, family the only thing helping to hold her together in his final moments.

He hadn't complained. He'd kissed her back, for everyone to see, and Sarada and the twins had started crying, then, squeezing their hands around those of their parents, because they knew it really was time.

He had thanked her, said her name one last time, all equanimity even then. Then, so softly, "I love you. I'll see you next time," before he went, bones settling wearily at long last.

There had been melancholy in his expression even in death, wrinkled skin turning glaucous and beginning to sag against old, hardened muscle.

Sasuke-kun was buried next to Itachi’s memorial. There is a plot he saved for her on his other side, his right arm, the hand she held so many times in life.

Sakura haunts their small home in grief, feeling already a ghost even while surrounded with beautiful raven-haired children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. As she sees each and every one of them over the months that follow, a select few stare back with her own eyes. Most of them are so like her husband's, though, luciform soot flecked with silver, and she feels so sorry when she looks too long and starts to cry. Little Satoko, their newest great-grandchild all of eleven months old who she dotes on endlessly, reaches at her wrinkled cheeks to try to wipe them dry, babbling out a garbled version of "Oobasan, no cwy." He is talking earlier than most babies, stormy eyes eerily full of awareness and an endless lineage, just like Sarada at that age. Sakura laughs as she sobs, cradling him close to her heart, and looking out her window at their daughter's visage on the mountain. It is also Satoko's grandmother's image; it is hard to believe their sweet little baby is now old enough to be a grandmother. She remembers the first time Sarada had smiled at Sasuke-kun, the first time he held her at only an hour old, and he broke down sobbing.

She makes the trek to Sasuke-kun's grave every day for 138 days, each step an arduous agony, before stooping down to lay a fresh daffodil atop the soil where her husband's bones rest. She has also planted white lilies around his headstone, the same as those that surround Itachi's and the Uchiha Memorial Stone. Her children help her keep them watered as needed through a short spring drought; she is too old to carry a watering can now without spilling.

She misses him. It hurts worse than Sasori's poison or Madara stabbing her or giving birth or a giant shuriken nearly cleaving her in two.

There is joy to be found in the desolation, too, in her last few months of life. Their progenies throw her a birthday party like none other, and she eats her fill of cake while watching little hands eat some, too. Little Satoko dances, or moreso balters, with Sarada in time to a dramatic song he finds by pressing buttons on the radio; it is not a very appropriate tune for a dance with a toddler, all clumsy crescendo and orchestra, but amusing all the same. Sasuke-kun would have smiled, if he were there.

The white lilies bloom before her eyes one last time, resplendent and perfect. She gets to hear about Haruki making Chunin on the first try, every bit the pride of the Uchiha, reborn anew with Sharingan blazing. She even gets to see Akiko make Jonin in person, ambitious and ingenious with Sharingan and diamond seal on her forehead setting her apart from her adversaries in the arena.

But finally, at long last, it is her culminating day. 138 days doesn't seem like a long time to be without him, compared to the larger number of days he was absent in their youth, but she finds it is worse, following their life together.

She tells them all she loves them and falls asleep for the last time, watches their confluence of family say goodbye from above. Sarada and the twins cry the hardest, clinging to her body as her heart finally pumps for the last time. Satoko is too young to understand, but he pats at her, too, in a sea of dark-haired descendants that she knows will continue to bring honor back to a clan revived at the brink of death. She takes in each and every one of their beautiful faces one last time, faces so similar to Sasuke-kun's; not a single one of them has her nose.

It is a legacy of love they have created, exactly the dream they started willing into color the day they discovered they had made Sarada together.

Then, she is on a dock that has slightly singed edges, looking over a small, familiar pond.

It is a spring evening, the sun just falling beneath the horizon and cherry blossoms abloom, and she thinks that is strange, because it is June and Hanami has already passed them by. Satoko had been so cute in his new outfit; she had made it herself, not much else to do in their empty house filled with aching memories. The tiny uchiwa on the back of his collar was sewn with the utmost care, the kind that came from decades of practice.

Crickets chirp, cicadas buzz, and there are a few fireflies leaking out of the greenery, soft light reflectant in the stillness of the water. It is serene. She had sat on this dock many times with her husband, when he was alive, on his right side so she could hold his hand. He told her she was beautiful during Hanami here, every year. She shifts to begin the process of sitting down, planning on leaving the space he'd taken up in life empty for him, in case his ghost is around. She has felt it, sometimes, tugging at her own spirit; she leaves his side of the bed empty every night, trying to will him back to her.

As Sakura shifts, she looks down, and she is startled to see pink hair instead of white, and no wrinkles. She crouches to analyze herself more closely in water still as glass, and there are no creaking old bones. She is young again, somehow.

She is overjoyed; she will be able to water the white lilies herself again. She can even dance with little Satoko now.

Light footsteps sound behind her, and just as she stands and turns, she is being swept into an unfamiliar yet comforting pair of arms. A woman with long inky hair, black as night, is hugging her tight.

"Thank you for loving my son," she breathes immediately, and Sakura starts crying, because she somehow knew who it was before she even said anything, without even seeing her face. When her eyes focus blearily through tears over Mikoto Uchiha's shoulder, Sasuke-kun's brother is walking up not far behind her.

Itachi Uchiha is smiling at her like she's done something wonderful, like he has been waiting for years to meet her. He is younger, healthier here, flecks of silver dancing in eyes just like her husband's, just like their childrens'. There's an impossible ache in her chest.

He waits patiently for his mother to pull back. When she finally does, Sakura looks into her eyes, and Mikoto is smiling at her so big, like she hung the moon in the sky, beginning to peek out from behind clouds above them.

"I have waited so long to meet you," she says, eyes shining, and her eyes are like Sasuke-kun's, too. "You are so beautiful."

Then Itachi is embracing her, and Sakura cries harder, because his arms feel almost like Sasuke-kun's arm had felt, slipping around her for sixty-one years of marriage, the same height and strong.

"I have waited, too. It's an honor. Thank you, for everything," Itachi says as she sobs.

"They are so beautiful, too, Sakura," Mikoto adds softly, hand at her shoulder, and she knows she means their children, Mikoto's grandchildren that she hasn't gotten to hold yet, Sarada and the twins and their children and all the others. Little Satoko had made twenty-seven blood relatives; including spouses who married into the clan, the number was thirty-eight, and there were two more babies on the way, yet.

Itachi lets her go, smile tender when he pulls away. He directs his gaze momentarily to the path leading up the hill, as if he's looking for someone.

She follows his gaze; Fugaku Uchiha is coming over the top, all stoicism even as a spirit. He stops momentarily and gives her a nod of recognition, not breaking eye contact for a long time.

Then, he glances back over his shoulder, tilts his head as if telling someone to follow him down the hill, and Sakura is running, though she hasn't been able to for years.

Sasuke-kun is all of twenty again, young and strong, too handsome for his own good and every bit the sweet but stoic man she fell in love and grew old with. He's smiling at her, just for her, and she's in his arms - he has both, here - in the blink of mismatched, teary eyes.

His arms feel like home, two spirits together in permanence at long last. It is the same feeling as the little piece of heaven they touched together whenever they made love, souls intertwining, but this time for good. She has missed him. Oh, she has missed him.

"...I told you I'd see you next time," he murmurs against her hair.

[jimlingss]

ooo exciting !!! jungkook + romance/fluff + "kiss me" + e2l

Anonymous said: Can I request a fluffy jungkook fic with a touch of angst. Any AU you want and maybe a friends to lovers? Feel free to decline :)

Anonymous said: a fluffy “oh! you’re jealous” prompt with Jungkook pls? any au is fine☺️

Anonymous said: jungkook, prompt list 1 - #27: “Are you blushing?” :> i hope you have a lovely holiday season!!

Anonymous said: Friends to lovers!! Or enemies to lovers pls!! I love that shit

This is the most ambitious crossover of requests since Avengers lol jk.

↳ Suspended, Seduced, Surprised!

1.9k || 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst || Jeon Jungkook || E2L, Huddle For Warmth!AU (sort of)

It started off with Jungkook coming out of nowhere and nearly scaring the living daylights out of you.

He laughed — that noisy sound that makes his nose scrunch — and you rolled your eyes, turning back around in the line. When the ski lift chair arrived, he asked if he could come too. You told him to kindly fuck off, but in the next second, he slid next to you, smiling widely.

It was too late for him to get off. Not when your feet was already lifted off the ground.

You don’t know why he’s so adamant about bothering you. If Taehyung didn’t tell you at the last minute that Jungkook was coming along, you would’ve just not come on this trip and ruin your winter break like this.

“Why didn’t you go with Sana?”

The ski lift is ascending upwards at an incline, moving past the coniferous trees and those skiing down the mountain beneath you. Luckily, it wasn’t too sunny or snowy out. But the air was still sharp with frost that’s long made your cheeks numb. Every exhale past your parted lips creates a cloud of condensation.

Jungkook’s thick brow lifts and he pushes his ski goggles up onto his head, on top of his blue beanie like yours. His doe eyes look at you. “Why would I go with her?”

You shoot him an incredulous expression. You don’t know why he’s playing dumb. “I thought you were trying to get cozy with her.”

The corner of Jungkook’s mouth slyly curls and he leans in. “Oh. You’re jealous.”

Instantly, your face contorts into a disgusted expression and a boyish laugh bubbles out of him. 

“I would,” he says, “but she already has a boyfriend.”

“She does?”

Jungkook hums. “Some guy two years older than us, majoring in finance.”

Oh. You didn’t know that.

Suddenly it sinks in that you’re having an actual conversation with Jungkook. One where he’s being a cocky asshole only a tiny amount and you can actually bear through it. It almost feels like you’re….friends.

But right as the thought comes to mind, the ski lift chair halts and momentarily swings. You jolt, looking at the chair ahead of you that’s frozen as well before turning around. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Everyone is seemingly as confused as you are. “It looks like we’re stuck.”

You groan. “Oh shit.”

Five minutes later, Taehyung comes wandering underneath you. He stands by a tree on the sidelines and cups his gloved hands around his mouth. “Oh my god!” he screams at the top of his lungs. “I finally found you guys!”

“Taehyung!” You shout back at him. “What’s going on?!”

“Well, I was looking around for ages and Jimin wanted to give up since he thought you went down to the lodge and I told him no way—”

“Dude!” Jungkook shrieks and you wince at the sheer volume of his voice. “We get it!”

You remember why he grinds on your nerves so badly. Everything Jeon Jungkook does just irritates you. Including the fact that he was currently trying to burst your eardrums.

“Right! Sorry! They said it would be fixed in half an hour! Hang in there!” Taehyung fist pumps the air with a rectangular grin as if it’s enough to encourage the two of you and you sigh loudly. 

“Whelp.” Jungkook settles back into his seat. “Looks like we won’t die.”

“Great.”

“Are you cold?”

You turn to the boy, surprised that he’s actually considerate enough to—

“We could always get naked, you know,” he adds, shattering the image of him that had curated in your mind for point two seconds and it flees as quickly as it came. “To converse heat.”

Your mouth opens, speechless. You shake your head. “Right when I thought you were being nice to me for once.”

Jungkook grins unabashedly. “I am being nice. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t flirt like this with anyone else and if you ask me, I think it’s working too.” The bastard leans in and you lean backwards to keep more distance. He bats his pretty lashes. “Are you blushing?”

You deadpan, “It’s literally negative thirty degrees out.”

He laughs again.

The both of you get comfortable, laying your ski poles across your laps, and looking out at the snowy mountain landscape that’s all too peaceful. Or at least until you feel a poke through your puffed jacket.

You look down to find Jungkook handing you a heat pack from his pocket. “It’s not much but it might help.”

“....Thanks.”

Strangely, the guy doesn’t brag about how kind he is or how much you should appreciate the gesture. He simply starts to hum to kill time. It’s soothing. Kind of nice to listen to even.

You enjoy it until he abruptly stops and asks— “Why do you hate me so much?”

You look at him. “Seriously?”

Jungkook smiles and it’s somehow reminiscent of a rabbit. “What? Nothing like confronting people when they’re trapped in a spot with nowhere to run, right? Plus, this is a good opportunity to be reflective, don’t you think?”

You scoff, not sure where to begin. But there’s no reason why you should spare him from the truth of why you grew to have such a strong distaste for him. If he wants to know, you’ll happily let him know. 

“How about for never calling me back after you slept with me? Is that a good enough reason for you?”

Jungkook’s head whirls over. The bomb’s been dropped.

You feel his stare on your profile. It goes deathly quiet. 

It’s the biggest resentment you held against him, what made his cocky attitude even uglier to you. Maybe you shouldn’t be so angry. It wasn’t like he vowed anything would happen afterwards. Maybe he thought it was supposed to be a no-strings attachment thing. But it wasn’t like that for you.

Jungkook acted interested when you first met. He sweet-talked you. He led you to believe there would be something more. And when there wasn’t— well, the rest is history.

You wonder if Jungkook’s shriveling up and cringing for asking in the first place or if he’s remotely ashamed. You hope he is. It serves him right. The audacity he has to talk to you casually after ghosting you so brutally like that is insulting. You wonder how he’ll respond, if he’ll regret bringing the subject up, if he’ll try to conjure some kind of half ass apology—

“Because you never gave me your number.”

This time, your neck snaps towards him. Jungkook’s gaze is unwavering.

“You’re the one who ditched me,” he says. “You were gone when I woke up.”

“I wrote you a note. On a napkin on the dresser.”

The man, in the blue snowboard jacket and black ski pants, frowns. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did. Do you think I would lie about this?”

“Then I never saw it.”

It’s easy for Jungkook to lie. One of his many talents is his pretty lips that has easy words rolling off his tongue like butter. But by his expression, the slight pout of his mouth, the furrow of his brows, you can tell he’s being genuine. There isn’t any facade, any flirtation.

“I would’ve remembered if I saw it cause that morning Taehyung woke me up and he never wakes up before me. But he was whining because of his allergies and needed me to run to the pharmacy—”

The pair of you go silent.

It dawns on you both.

Kim Taehyung.

Knowing Taehyung and his godforsaken allergies, he must’ve taken the napkin and sneezed right into it. He probably threw it in the trash or took it with him and crumpled it into his hand. God fucking dammit. 

“It wasn’t my fault,” Jungkook murmurs, his eyes rounded at the realization.

You shift uncomfortably. The possibilities of what-if storm your mind. What if Jungkook saw it, what if he texted you or called you afterwards like he promised. What if you didn’t meet again on accident through Taehyung but continued the communication yourselves. Could he be sitting here next to you as someone more in your life?

But you brush the thoughts away as it overwhelms you.

“That’s funny,” you pipe up, mustering some stiff laughter, breaking the silence. “At least we solved one mystery.”

“Y/N.”

“It’s cold.” You wrap your arms around you. “We should stop talking and conserve heat.”

Jungkook nods and the pair of you quiet down. But without conversation, time drags on slower.

You peek a look at him and instead of being deep in thought like you thought he’d be, Jeon Jungkook is looking around, blinking with his doe eyes, the black strands from his bangs nearly pricking into them. He’s completely nonchalant and you internally sigh to yourself.

You’re not sure what you were expecting. 

Jungkook is Jungkook.

That note on the dresser probably wouldn’t have changed anything.

“Y/N.” He speaks up a minute later.

“What?”

“You know how we could keep warm?”

“What.”

“Kiss me.”

You could not roll your eyes harder.

An enormous grin spreads into Jungkook’s cheeks, irises twinkling from the snow’s refraction. The little shit has too much fun annoying you and he jumps at the chance to continue to egg you on, “Why? Too scared to? Think you might fall in love with me now that we cleared the air and you don’t hate me anymore?”

He bats his lashes exaggeratedly.

You scoff. “Yeah right. As if.”

“Then why not?”

Your head spins around to face him, momentarily taken aback at how he’s a few inches away but you conceal your expression just as quick. You don’t know why he’s so insistent on this terrible joke. “Why? Do you want me to kiss you?”

Jeon Jungkook’s grin taunts you.

You loll your head to the side, eyes narrowing into slits. “You think I won’t do it.”

“I’m just trying to improve the mood.” He sits back and shrugs, having too much fun watching your explosive reactions. “It doesn’t matter what I say to you. You’re a dog with all bark but no bite, Y/N. I know you too well.”

Your jaw clenches at the challenge. At his mocking tone. At the bastard’s audacity.

And just to prove him wrong, you grab Jungkook’s face in your hands and turn him towards you. In one breath, you aggressively slam your mouth against his. It almost hurts. Your teeth nearly clash. But you barely feel anything with your numb lips except for how chapped his lips are.

It’s a brief kiss, but enough to prove yourself.

You pull away with a cocked brow and small smirk, relishing in his wholly stunned expression.

At that same moment, the ski lift jolts and starts to move again. Someone behind you cheers. 

“You don’t know me at all, Jeon Jungkook,” you murmur softly, seductively and with the smirk still plastered on your features. The unloading zone approaches, so you move the safety bar, stand up from the ski lift chair and glide away.

Jungkook’s delayed, but follows after you helplessly a second later. You turn around while you still have the chance and he stares at you, blinking owlishly. 

“If you want to make me blush or get jealous, you’re going to have to try a lot harder than you have been, Jeon. You should probably work on your kissing skills too. Staying like a dead fish isn’t appealing to me.”

You glide away on your skis before he can get another word in. In the meanwhile, a grin slowly spreads into Jungkook’s cheeks and he decides to accept your challenge.

[heliads]

What We Are

You’ve hated Draco Malfoy from the moment you met him at the Sorting Ceremony all those years ago. However, you have the strangest feeling that things are changing between the two of you- like just maybe, you like him more than you thought.

masterlist

You are eleven years old, small and swallowed up by the dark cloth of your school robes. You’re filling through the main aisle of the Great Hall, surrounded by a cluster of other anxious first years. Four long tables stretch down the room, two on each side of the hall and each filled with chattering students. Four banners hang at the end of the hall- ruby, emerald, gold, sapphire. One for each house. You’ve been briefed on the houses and their qualities by a newly formed friend, one Hermione Granger, but you’re still nervous. You don’t entirely know which one you belong to, although you have an inkling as to which one should be avoided.

Professor McGonagall begins listing off the names one at a time, and the subsequent first-years file up to her, place the worn Sorting Hat on their head, and receive their assigned House. After a while, your name is eventually called, and you make your way to the front. The Sorting Hat considers for a time, then a smile crawls across its weathered fabric features. “SLYTHERIN!” The word is shouted across the hall, and you feel a sinking pit yawn open in your stomach. Slytherin? That was the one house you were supposed to avoid.

You make brief eye contact with your new friend Hermione, who looks about as stricken as you feel, before settling into a place at the Slytherin table. The emerald-clad students around you clap you on the back, issuing congratulations, but you still feel uneasy. Wouldn’t it have been better to go to Ravenclaw, where all the smartest students belonged? Or brave Gryffindor, or dedicated Hufflepuff? Anywhere would be better than ambitious, cunning, snakelike Slytherin.

A boy seated one space down looks at you, taking in your glum expression. He has striking platinum blond hair, and appears to be a first year just like yourself. “Don’t look so upset. You got into the best house there is, you know. All of the students who go to Slytherin end up being the greatest lot here.” For some reason, the condescendingly arrogant tone of the boy gets to you, and you shoot back a haughty reply. “If all Slytherin students are like you, I don’t fancy staying here at all.” The boy’s expression changes into a glare, and he glowers at you for the rest of the dinner.

That boy would turn out to be Draco Malfoy, Slytherin House’s most famous elitist. The two of you would hate each other ever since that night, and that feeling of utter loathing would continue for years. You’re now far older than you had been as a wee little first year, and so is Draco, but your attitude towards him hasn’t changed a bit. He’s just so conceited, so full of himself- and you’re no better, you know that, but at least you try to hide it.

However, you were lucky enough to score yourself a bunch of friends who knew exactly why you hated Draco, and happened to feel the exact same way. Hermione had been your best friend ever since that first day on the Hogwarts Express, and you had introduced yourself to Harry and Ron around the same time she did. Now the four of you were a regular fixture on the grounds, and you wouldn’t change it for anything, even a few of the haughtier Slytherins (read: Draco Malfoy) made sure to mention that one of their house shouldn’t be mixing with the Gryffindors.

However, you didn’t really care what they thought. Yes, you were a Slytherin, and that meant a good many things: pride, ambition, and a thick skin in terms of others doubting you. So you became even better friends with Harry, Ron, and Hermione just to spite them. You often found yourself with them at the Quidditch games, walking across the grounds, sneaking out of your dormitory late at night for a couple of misadventures, or now, with you and Hermione studying together at a table out in a corner of a stone hall. 

One of the problems of being a Slytherin friend of three Gryffindors is that they could never go back to your common room to study with you, and you certainly weren’t allowed into their common room. Fred and George had offered to sneak you in loads of times, and you technically had been there before under Harry’s invisibility cloak, but for right now, you and Hermione were content to stay away from the roaring fires and plush red armchairs of the Gryffindor common room to work on a particularly gruesome Potions essay. You both wanted to finish it early, Hermione especially so she could then go teach it to Harry and Ron, so you stayed out of the lion’s dorm until you were adequately prepared.

Hermione sighs at the paper in front of her, wrinkling her brow in consternation. “Honestly, what does all of this even mean? I swear, Professor Snape’s directions get worse and worse with every assignment.” You nod fervently. “This prompt makes no sense, and I’ve been staring at it for the last fifteen minutes.” You drum your fingers on the table, thinking, then stand up. “I’m going to get that Potions primer from the library. You know, the one we were reading earlier? I thought I saw some similar wording in one of the chapters, and at any rate, I need an excuse to go stretch my legs. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Hermione waves goodbye as you head off down the stone corridors. The walk towards the library takes you across the courtyard, and you’re glad for the refreshing bite of the wind, even if it leaves your cheeks raw from the chill. You traipse inside the halls once more, twisting around corners until you reach the library, and gratefully slip through the doors to reach the towering bookcases crowding the room.

You stride purposefully through the shelves until you come to the row you’re looking for at last. Your eyes scan the titles in front of you, and you think you’re almost at the book until a familiar figure steps into the space right next to you. You don’t even have to look up to recognize him. You’ve seen his unwanted presence too many times for a case of mistaken identity.

Draco speaks first. “I’m surprised to see you, L/N. I didn’t think reading was one of your strong suits.” You raise an eyebrow, still perusing the books on the shelf. “Those are strong words coming from somebody who hit his peak academic performance as a weasel in the fourth year.” Draco rolls his eyes. “Ferret, not a weasel.” You look over at him at last, but can’t help a small grin. “Does it really matter? It was still a small animal, and it was still you.”

Draco heaves some dramatic and egotistical sigh, but folds his arms over his chest and stays put. He’s not looking for books, just standing there. In fact, his eyes keep flickering over to the corner of the library, near the door. You straighten up, following his gaze in confusion. “What are you doing?” You ask him, still trying to figure out what he’s looking at with such unease. “You don’t usually go out of your way to enjoy my company and you also keep staring at the door.”

Draco starts to mutter something about how not all of the library belongs to you, but you cut him off with a gasp of delight. “You’re hiding from Pansy Parkinson! She’s over there looking for you, and you’re trying to make sure she can’t see you by hiding behind all the bookshelves!” You laugh, and then start to raise your voice, as if you’re about to call her over. Instantly, Draco leans over you, pushing you against the bookcase and holding his wand against your throat.

“Don’t say a word.” His voice is cool and low. A teasing grin flickers across your lips, and you push his wand away with one finger. “What, you going to hex me, Malfoy? In the middle of the library? I think that would draw your favorite girl over here more than anything.” Draco just stares daggers at you, breath coming harshly in his chest. He stares there, unmoving, until you jerk your chin towards the doors. “Pansy’s gone. Now can you please let go of me?”

Draco waits a moment just to spite you, and then releases his grip on your wrist. You snatch your hand away from him with an air of disgust, and grab your potions book off of the shelf. “Never do that again.” You hiss at him, and stalk away. Who does he think he is, that lout? You’re still storming over the incident the whole way back to the table, and barely notice that Harry and Ron have joined you until you throw yourself back into your seat.

Hermione looks up at your abrupt arrival. “What’s wrong, Y/N?” You heave a sigh of irritation. “Draco Malfoy, that’s what’s wrong. I ran into that lowlife in the library. I just can’t stand him.” Harry nods knowingly, but Ron, who appears to be in an even worse mood than you, rolls his eyes. “Oh, stop complaining. You’re a Slytherin, he isn’t as bad to you.” This is entirely the wrong thing to say, and you know you should just ignore him but you’re still fired up from the confrontation in the library.

“Are you saying that Malfoy’s not as mean to me because I’m from his house?” Ron nods, ignoring Hermione pointedly shaking her head at him in an attempt to get him to stay quiet. “Yeah, I am. You keep pretending like he’s such a jerk to you, but you don’t have it half as bad as the rest of us. Honestly, you need to stop making such a big deal out of nothing.” You know you’re overreacting, but you can’t take Ron’s griping, not today. You stand up, slamming your books shut and sweeping your parchment and quills into your bag. 

“In that case, I suppose you don’t need my nothing when it comes to your potions essay. Good luck figuring that out.” You glance over at Hermione. “I’m sorry to leave in a rush, but I should be on my way. Swing by later if you need help.” Hermione says her chagrined goodbyes, and as you stalk away from the table, you can hear her laying into Ron already. The sound brings a smile to your face.

You’re still fuming over Draco and Ron and the god-awful Potions essay the next day, and your irritation must show because Pansy takes advantage of the opportunity to cross paths with you as you’re walking through the halls. She’s chattering with a group of her friends in the courtyard, and as you hurry past, you hear her call something out to you. “Oh look, there’s Y/N. You know, she looks surprisingly proud for someone who’s father is a mudblood-lover. Maybe she’s alright with it.”

Your footsteps slow, and you turn back to face Pansy. You know that this is just what she wants, but you’ve got a burning feeling in the back of your head that tells you that if you let one more person walk all over you you’ll never be able to deal with yourself again. You eye Pansy coolly. “What was that, Parkinson?” Pansy smirks, victorious. “I heard a rumor that your father was getting a little too close to some Muggles. That would certainly tarnish your reputation, wouldn’t it? And here I was, thinking that the L/Ns were an upstanding wizarding family, but I guess not. It looks like-”

You feel like you’re a couple of seconds away from punching Pansy right in her arrogantly prissy face, but before you can try to argue yourself out of violence another boy steps up beside you. You groan inwardly when you realize it’s Draco. Great, another person to make fun of you, because this day wasn’t going badly enough already. However, he doesn’t join in the laughter. In fact, he shoots a glare at Pansy. “Amazing, Parkinson. Did you finally realize that your own family was so low that you had to make up rumors to get anywhere? Although, you might want to stay away from the Muggle story. I think it might be a little too true on your end.”

Pansy’s face blanches, and she starts stammering something about how that couldn’t possibly be true and she has no idea what Draco’s talking about. You stare at Draco in amazement, and he turns back to you. “Let’s go. I don’t feel like wasting any more of our time.” With that, the two of you strut away across the courtyard, leaving Pansy behind to make up excuses to her group of friends.

Only when you’re out of hearing distance from Pansy do you finally let yourself relax. You look over at Draco, unable to stop yourself from laughing. “What was that about? Is it really true about Pansy’s family?” Draco, surprisingly, is grinning as well. “I don’t know, but she didn’t seem like she could deny it.” The two of you carry on in hilarity for a while, but then you turn to him, grin slipping away from your face. “Why did you do that?” Draco frowns. “Do what?” You gesture idly behind you with your hand. “Defend me against Parkinson. I would have thought you’d join in instead of having my back.”

Draco shrugs, looking down the hallway. “We’re supposed to be enemies, aren’t we? I don’t feel like having my rival limited by false rumors. It would lower me too.” You look at him askance. “You publicly insulted Pansy Parkinson just because you think that me being called names hurts you as well?” Draco shrugs. “Why did you think I did it?” You sigh, furrowing your brow. “I don’t know.”

Even after you and Draco turn down separate hallways, you find yourself still thinking about him. Why would he defend you? It makes no sense. You even think back to that moment in the library, and realize that he wasn’t really as cruel as you had thought. All he had done then was exchange the usual retorts, although those had the same joking tinge as always. And wasn’t it strange that of all the places to hide, he had chosen your aisle? It could have just been a coincidence, or maybe he was seeking you out intentionally.

You’re not sure how you feel about this. You’ve grown so used to thinking of Draco as an enemy, someone to be hated, that you don’t quite know what to do when he is nice to you. You find your eyes flickering his way in the common room, or your gaze constantly catching on his silhouette as he walks past you in the halls. You usually never spend this much time thinking about him, but now, he seems to be everywhere.

One night, you can’t focus on your homework. Between the smoky atmosphere of the Slytherin common room or the mind-twisting Transfiguration tasks McGonagall’s set for you, you just can’t seem to get your thoughts in order. Eventually, you close up your books and decide to head to the Astronomy Tower. The cool night air will clear your head, and you’ll still technically be doing homework because you’ll be studying the stars.

You’re grateful for the still emptiness of the tower. You prop your arms up against the stone edge of the balcony, letting your shoulders slump as you consider the dizzying drop to the grounds below. You tilt your head up slightly, letting the wind trace patterns against your skin. You’re just beginning to feel peaceful once again when you hear the door to the Astronomy Tower open and a figure joins you on the turret. You sigh inwardly when you recognize the familiar shock of white-blond hair. Of course- Draco always goes to the Astronomy Tower as a place to unwind. Then you’re surprised as to why that fact popped so readily into your head, and how you even knew that in the first place.

Draco’s steps falter for a second when he realizes he’s not alone. You start to move away from the balcony. “Here, I’ll go. You can have the tower to yourself.” You turn around to find yourself caught in Draco’s gaze, those storm grey eyes pinning you in place. Draco shakes his head just slightly, and his voice echoes across the stone room. “No, don’t go. It’s alright.” You hesitate for a moment, then turn back to the view before you. Your eyes follow the line of trees dotting the grounds, the twisting snakes of rivers that feed into the Black Lake.

After a moment, Draco joins you at the balcony. He leans up against the stone, just a few inches away from you. You both stand there in silence, unable to say a word. At last, Draco turns to you. “What are we?” You return his gaze, slightly confused. “What?” Draco looks away for just a second, and then his eyes return to you. “When we first met, we hated each other. We’ve been rivals for years, and now-” He breaks off. “I don’t think we dislike each other anymore. I don’t think we have for a while.” You stay silent for a second, taking in his words. Then you nod.

“There’s something else, isn’t there? It isn’t just me?” For a moment, you think you’ve gone too far, spoken too rashly. Draco stares at you, then he leans forward and kisses you. When he breaks away, panic and regret flash through his eyes when you don’t say anything. He starts to move away, but you step towards him and kiss him again. This time, he doesn’t break away, not immediately. His hand slides up to the small of your back, the stone of the balcony cool against your legs.

You can still feel his hand on your waist when he breaks away. You look away, sure you’ve made some mistake that you’ll regret in the morning, but then his fingers are lightly pressed against your cheek, guiding you back to look at him again. He looks less sure of anything than you’ve ever seen him, but all of a sudden that doubt is replaced by a calm determination. “This is right. This is what we were supposed to be.” You nod quietly, letting your hesitation break free with a smile. He’s right, isn’t he? No matter how it felt to win all the arguments or competitions with him, this moment right now feels far better than anything before it. This is what you always wanted, and what he wants as well.

[theclockworkmonk]

Out of the Mouths of Babes — Chapter 4

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Chapter 1 on Tumblr

Chapter 2 on Tumblr

Chapter 3 on Tumblr

Written for Hinny Ficfest 2021

Prompt: “Uncle Ron said something about Harry knocking Ginny up, but I don’t know what he means,” Teddy said.

*******

Ginny had disappeared, dragged through the kitchen door, before Harry could come up with an excuse to keep her by his side. He sighed and took a long gulp from his glass of firewhiskey, welcoming the burning sensation down his throat. Whatever his family was so wound up about, Harry knew he wasn't in danger here, so he hoped the drink would dull his overactive auror instincts so he could enjoy the evening.

"So...how's the shop?" asked Harry, choosing to focus on George, "any accidental new body parts I can't see?"

"Harry, I'll have you know that we ascribe to only the highest of safety standards at Weasley Wizard Wheezes," said George with his nose in the air, "We strictly adhere to a dual-fault system to make sure a trained wizard is on-site to intervene in case of emergency."

"By that he means that he doesn't try any weird shit on himself without me there to rush him to St. Mungo's," said Ron with his mouth full, wincing as his mother smacked him in the back of the head with a wooden spoon for his language.

Harry's eyes narrowed at his best friend. "So you two are already partners now? Really wasting no time on bailing on me, aren't you?"

"Don't be a prat!" grumbled Ron. "No, like I said, it was just a thought that I had. You know, the kind of thought you would hope you could share with your best mate without him jumping down your throat?"

"Well I think it's a marvelous idea," Mrs. Weasley announced loudly from her place at the stove."

George's eyebrows shot up. "Who are you and what have you done with my mother? You're glad that another one of your sons is considering wasting his life at this silly business, instead of a respectable job at the Ministry?"

"Well, if said Ministry job involves chasing after Death Eaters every day," huffed Mrs. Weasley, "Then I suppose my nerves will take any alternative."

She sent a stern look towards Harry and pointed a threatening spoon at him, making him jump back. "You could do well to learn from Ron in that regard, Harry."

Ron was grinning ear to ear, bouncing in his seat from being the favorite child of the moment.

"There's nothing wrong with Ron doing the responsible thing." she lowered her voice to a grumble so Harry barely heard, "at least someone is."

Harry surveyed the tense atmosphere in the room again.

"Okay, what's got everyone in such a mood?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"No one's in a mood!" said Mrs. Weasley quickly.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley spoke up for the first time, and his voice too was less assuring than Harry usually found it. "I'm having trouble with a fascinating new muggle device I've discovered, would you mind giving me a hand out in the shed?"

"Oh. Sure," said Harry easily. Mr. Weasley got up from the table and led Harry outside. They entered the man's infamous tool shed, and Harry noticed new mechanical and electronic devices in various states of disassembly. Mr. Weasley gestured to his work table, where a VCR sat.

"I've heard that muggles use this to see recorded images, like a pensieve, but I've put in those black blocks, and nothing happens."

"Oh, well," said Harry, trying not to laugh, "You need to attach it to a television. It can't just work on its—"

He was interrupted by the door opening again, and Harry was surprised to see Mrs. Weasley entering the shed which he always knew her to avoid, wanting nothing to do with her husband's "nonsense" tinkering.

"Molly, what are you doing here?" Mr. Weasley asked crossly, "We agreed we wouldn't. The boys—"

"I told them I was getting apples from the orchard," his wife said dismissively. She crossed the shed and looked beseechingly at a very surprised Harry.

"Harry, dear, you know how we think of you as a part of this family. We've been wanting to say….we hope that you don't think that has changed because of you and Ginny's relationship. We know young men have trepidation about 'the girlfriend's parents,' but you're not just our daughter's boyfriend to us, you're one of our own."

Harry was as touched as he was confused. "Th-Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," he said softly. "I can't tell you how much that means to me."

"And one reason we had no objection to you and Ginny dating," Mr. Weasley continued, "is that we trust you to always do right by Ginny. To always do what's best for her."

Harry looked back and forth between them, their expressions pointed and expecting.

"Well — ehem — I'll remember that. I promise to never do anything to hurt her." He meant it.

There was another moment of silence before Mrs. Weasley spoke up again.

"Sooooo…." she prompted. "We just want you to be aware that….should you decide to propose…you wouldn't have to worry—"

"What!?" Harry's heart leapt into his throat and he knew his face had turned scarlet. "Oh, no no," he said, putting his hands up. "I'm glad to have your blessing, but we're not ready to think about that yet."

Harry rubbed his neck nervously. It was only a half-lie. In truth, Harry was ready to think about that. He thought about proposing to Ginny damn near every day, in fact. But he was fairly certain that Ginny was still years away from being ready. She was fiercely proud of her independence and she was still dealing with the papers referring to her as "Harry Potter's girlfriend" before "star Harpies Chaser," even without marriage.

Mr. Weasley sighed in what seemed like disappointment and Mrs. Weasley's mouth thinned and her expression turned sour.

"Well...the roast should be done, we should all head back inside."

The Weasleys led the way out of the shed and Harry cautiously followed them. When they arrived back in the kitchen, Harry saw Bill shoot his father a stern, questioning look, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Mr. Weasley shake his head grimly, and Bill and Charlie gave Harry a glare that would make Mad-Eye Moody quake in his boots.

Harry froze and all the breath left his body. It suddenly all made sense. He was the thing that the Weasleys were so on edge about. Ginny's parents inquiring about him marrying her.

They had somehow found out that he and Ginny were living together.

Harry suddenly felt like a sheep in a cage with several wolves.

"Hey mum," said Charlie, "while you were outside, Aunt Muriel floo-called and said that the gnomes are in her attic again. Apparently she's upset at the way dad tried to take care of it last time."

"Is she sure it's actually the gnomes, or is it the doxies nesting in her hair?" Mr. Weasley grumbled as his wife shooed him into their sitting room and through their fireplace. Harry's heart was thudding in his chest as the few Weasleys he could count on to not murder him due to this secret getting out abandoned him with the curse breaker, dragon tamer, master prankster, and Ministry power-broker.

Several murderous eyes turned towards Harry.

"Look...er…" Harry stammered. "I really thought that, after everything, we had all moved past the whole 'overprotective big brothers' routine."

"Yeah, we thought we had too," said Charlie darkly, "but mum and dad's diplomatic approach clearly didn't work, so the gloves are off. I guess we never figured that the savior of the bloody wizarding world would do this to our sister."

George snorted, still finding this whole thing quite amusing. "Sorry, do this to her? Harry's the real victim here. Ginny's a nightmare already, can you imagine what living with her will be like now?"

"What the hell are you lot talking about?" Ron cut in, looking around the room in confusion.

"I think your brothers have become aware of me and Ginny's...status change," said Harry.

"Oh, that is just so typical!" huffed Hermione, crossing her arms and adopting her lecturing pose. "Ginny is perfectly capable of handling her own life and she doesn't need a bunch of chest-beating men to defend an outdated notion of her 'honour!' I still can't believe how sexist magical society can be sometimes."

"Yes, Hermione, our world is sexist, whether we like it or not" said Bill, not backing down. "You can pontificate all you want about how it's not right, or a double standard, but once the public finds out about this — and sooner or later, they will," he shot another glare at Harry, as if he wrote to the papers about it himself, "then it will change how people see her. And since she's a Quidditch star, the way people see her matters."

"Yup, can see the headlines now," George sighed dramatically, "the ambitious social climber Ginevra Weasley, raised in a pauper's home, so she used her feminine wiles to land herself this sweet gig."

"Look, ultimately, it's none of our business — no, I'm serious!" Ron finished in response to his brothers' looks of betrayal. "Look, Bill, Charlie, you two were only around when Ginny was a little girl. You didn't go to school with her. You never saw first-hand what happens when you try to meddle in her life to defend her virtue, trust me." He shivered a bit, as he remembered the traumatic memory.

"I don't even understand why we have to meddle," said Percy, "I just don't understand your logic, Harry. There's no question you would be willing to throw yourself into mortal danger all over again to protect Ginny. What you're hesitating to do is comparatively easy."

"His reasons don't matter, he should have thought of that earlier," said Charlie, pointing a threatening finger at Harry. "I don't care if this makes me a hypocrite, but you're going to do the right thing and—"

Ginny suddenly burst into the room, causing every word to fall silent. Harry knew that Ginny always hated it when people were obviously talking about her, but as he started towards her, he was surprised when he saw that her eyes were watery with tears. Ignoring all of the eyes on her, she ran straight towards Hermione, throwing her arms around her friend.

"Erm, is something wrong?" asked Hermione. She threw a questioning look to Fleur as she followed Ginny into the kitchen, but the young mother looked just as confused as anyone as she took Victoire back from Bill.

Instead of answering Hermione's question, Ginny withdrew from the hug and smacked Ron upside the head.

"Ah! What the shit!" Ron cried, rubbing the back of his head.

"Ronald, language!" scolded Mrs. Weasley, re-entering the kitchen along with her husband, making the room quite crowded.

"That's your main concern?" asked Ron, "Not the unwarranted physical assault?"

"It's not unwarranted, it's for being a stupid, forgetful git!" barked Ginny

She walked up to Harry and took his glass of firewhiskey, still mostly intact.

"I need this more than you," she informed him, and began to raise the glass to her lips.

"GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY!"

Mrs. Weasley's ear-piercing shriek caused everyone in the room to wince, and Ginny momentarily jumped behind Harry for protection. "Merlin's balls, WHAT!?"

"Molly…" Mr. Weasley cautioned.

"DO NOT 'MOLLY' ME, ARTHUR!" his wife shouted back. She had a crazed look in her eye and she was pulling at her hair. She rounded on Harry and Ginny.

"We have tried to be respectful, but you two are clearly not ready for this kind of responsibility! I am so disappointed in you both for not taking this more seriously! You haven't even given a thought to how this will affect your careers!"

"Our careers?" asked Harry, confused. "How would that possibly—"

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. He had gotten it completely wrong about what the Weasleys were talking about. The talk about responsibility, their careers, affects to Ginny's public image.

Somehow, the family had gotten word about the "honour" bestowed upon Harry by the Wizengamot, and all the implications that had for his and Ginny's future together. He supposed it wasn't too surprising that Arthur or Percy had heard about it through their Ministry connections.

He looked sideways at Ginny, and from one look he knew that she had come to the same realization. Both their faces split into wide grins as relief flooded through them that all of this drama was over something so silly. Apparently, the family somehow had the absurd idea that Harry would keep the title and actually take the status, power, and responsibilities being offered to him.

Harry and Ginny cracked up into delirious laughter, leaning on each other for support, which did nothing to help the livid look on Mrs. Weasley's face.

"Oh Merlin's beard, is that what has you all concerned? Don't worry about that," laughed Harry, waving one hand dismissively and wrapping the other around Ginny's shoulder.

"I mean, come on, we're obviously not keeping it!"

There was a moment of silence, then the entire kitchen exploded.

[serenasoutherlyns]

can i please have abbie x alex + 'i think someone is following me; prompt and cabenson + 'sharing a bedroom was bad enough, but sharing a bathroom while they are not actually dating, is the worst' prompt (length is up to you) 🥺👉👈

alright! so, I posted the other day about how I should know better than to give myself assignments BUT here's a cute lil belated halloween-esque one-shot: abbie x alex + "I think someone is following me." I'll eventually get to the cabenson one too :)

on ao3 as not so scary.

1.5k words, law & order/law & order: svu, abbie carmichael x alex cabot.

A knock on her door this late at night is always cause for concern. Abbie is in the office, dotting and crossing the proverbial t's and i's on a few last-minute motions for this case that seems to go wrong with every word she or Jack says to the judge. She's already rubbing her temples, wishing she had time to tear herself away from evidence and procedure for a cup of coffee. She doesn't know who to expect behind the door: Jack, maybe, having come back for something; or one of the maintenance guys warning her about some noise. "Come in," she says, her attention still on her notepad. The door clicks open and shut quieter than usual, and when she looks up, standing there is Alex Cabot, looking whiter than a sheet.

Abbie's expression immediately drops. They aren't friends, but they're friendly. Alex is one of the few junior ADAs scattered around the office who shows real promise; and she's good at making conversation. Sure, the political drive and nepotistic connections are a little bit annoying, but at least Alex doesn't boast too much. She has something of a reputation, for being cold, to put it kindly. That's only one of the many things Abbie likes about her. And it's impossible not to notice her beauty, even as she's standing in her doorway looking terrified. If she wasn't so ambitious, she could've been a model: tall, perfectly blonde, her elegant collarbones peeking out from underneath a well-fitting button down.

She drops her pen, and herself into the moment. In a concerned but calm tone, asks, "What's going on, Alex?"

Cabot takes a trembling breath. "I'm pretty sure we're the only ones still here?" she says.

Abbie glances at the clock on her desk. "It is almost midnight, so that would make sense... Is Charlie riding you guys again?" she says, referencing the mini revolts that Phillips' bureau went through every few months.

The sympathy seems to relax her slightly, she exhales and the death grip she has on the doorknob loosens. "Like always, nothing new." Her eyes are darting around the space, searching for something to focus on, and her pallor hasn't gotten any better. Alex dabs the corner of her eye with her shirtsleeve, and a sense of dread creeps up Abbie's spine.

"What's wrong? Did something happen?"

A pink blush comes over her, finally some color returning to her face. Alex almost laughs, an ironic sound. "I think someone is following me."

Abbie's eyes widen and her jaw clenches in fear and anger. The security system should be better than this, nobody should make it past the door who doesn't belong inside, especially not after hours. They'd tried to institute a buddy system a few years back, Abbie's first, but nothing had ever stuck (stubborn, stupid lawyers), leaving situations like this one to occur. Oh God, most of the staff gone and a threat inside the building.

She keeps her body as calm as she can, not wanting to panic her colleague, as she rises from her desk to shut the blinds behind her. A pointless gesture, maybe, but it's the only thing she can think to do. "Do you know who it is? Do you know what they look like, or when it started?" she asks, her voice trembling as little as she can force it to.

Alex turns her eyes to the floor. "It's--" she says, then closes her mouth, the blush growing deeper. "I-- I can't tell you what, um, who it is."

Abbie looks at her for a pause, trying not to notice how unfairly becoming the woman's flustered expression is. There's something so charming about her usually composed features warming up like that. If they weren't in danger, Abbie might tease her about it. "Did you call the police?"

Her teeth catch her bottom lip and she shakes her head. "It's... not exactly their jurisdiction. I realize I've worded this poorly. Abbie, can you promise me you won't laugh or tell anybody else what I'm about to tell you?" she says, her tone is deadly serious, an 'or else' is implied.

"Want me to assert privilege?"

"I'm serious," Alex says, her voice still trembling.

"I won't say a word."

Alex turns her eyes towards the bookshelf, then Abbie, before settling on the carpet. "It's. OK, I-- I get very nervous sometimes, and sometimes, especially when I'm very tired, I become convinced that wherever I am is haunted. Which I know is not very rational of me but I swear, I am more certain of it than anything when I get like this no matter how many times I tell myself that I'm not being haunted. And so every stray noise that I hear in this building has become a ghost in my head and I have not been able to leave my office because of it except to come talk to you, so I need your help to avoid the ghosts while I get my things from the conference room down the hall where Charlie had us on a case so that I can actually leave here and sleep tonight," Alex says, her words coming so quickly that Abbie hardly catches all of them, "that is, um, if you aren't too busy. I know that it's an odd request, so."

When she looks up, she sees Abbie with a wide, catlike smile. "Alright, Spengler. Let's go bust some ghosts."

---

"That hiss was the radiator in the hallway, not a ghost," Abbie says. Alex lets go of the breath she's been holding since she heard it. She's embarrassed, and as cute as Abbie finds it, she likes seeing the softening of her shoulders and calming of her hands even more. "Hey, I'm here to help, you don't need to worry about asking. No judgement."

Alex shakes her head and runs her hands through her hair. She looks towards Abbie, standing in the doorway. She picks up her things. "It's objectively embarrassing that I had to ask my very smart, somewhat intimidating colleague to scare the monsters in the conference room away for me."

"Alex Cabot, intimidated?" Abbie asks.

Alex walks towards the door to leave and ends up close to her when she says it. From this distance, Abbie can see the light pink marks on the bridge of her nose where her glasses usually sit before she pushes them back up. She can see the stray strands of hair that have fallen out of her loose ponytail, the dark circles under her eyes, rivaling the ones she's sure she's sporting herself. None of these diminishes her beauty, in fact, it feels special to see her in this vulnerable state. For some reason, instead of walking through the door and back to their offices, Alex stands there in the doorway, closer than she needs to be, looking.

At her lips, Abbie realizes.

"You know, I'm actually very nice."

And that's all she has to say. It's so endearing that Abbie can't help but grin, her real smile, not the myriad sarcastic ones, not one that teases. Her insistence is delightful.

Unfortunately, Alex's face drops. "I wasn't trying to be funny--"

She might've said something else but for Abbie's lips meeting hers. It's so gentle, but the spark it sends through Alex makes her freeze in surprise for a second before she kisses back.

Abbie lets her take the lead. When Alex's hand meets her hip, she places hers over it, when Alex's tongue swipes against Abbie's bottom lip, she parts hers just enough to feel it. It's comfortable, simple and precise, but not timid. The sharp breath Abbie takes when the hand on her hip moves to her back, pulls her close; the muffled sounds of pleasure-- Alex wants to hear it all again.

A loud CLANG (the damn radiator, again) makes her jump. The force of it throws her off balance, sends her tumbling further into Abbie's arms, who has quick enough reflexes to catch her. When the laughter they fall into subsides, Abbie looks at her in a way she's never seen, enamored, sweet. She's seen her look amused, but not like this. It makes her blush again, and she is not in the habit of blushing.

"Would you want to have dinner with me? Like, a date? Not right now, of course, since it's so late, but,"

Abbie kisses her again. "I'd like that."

[choosing-criminalminds]

One More Time

Summary: Their love was years and years in the making, and even when prison quickly builds back up the walls they worked so hard to break down, Spencer learns just how strong the foundation of their trust is.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!reader(ish) -> told mostly in the 3rd person, from Spencer’s POV

Category: angst (?)

Warnings: mentions of character death (Maeve, Gideon), mentions of blood (Maeve’s death), slight panic/anxiety, language -> let me know if there are any more to add!

Also, un-beta’d, we die like the trash we are.

Length: 5.6k

A/N: Okay yeah so first post. So…this turned out much longer than expected? This is for Ellie’s ( @spenciebabie ) writing contest/celebration and goodness I’m so nervous because I’ve barely written, much less posted, anything in years. Anyway, I guss I decided to challenge myself to write this? I hope you guys like it?

Also, if anyone wants a new friend, please hit me up because I’m too shy to say hello myself.

Prompt was: “Why don’t you make me?”

-*-*-*-

“Trust has to be earned, and should come only after the passage of time.”

—Arthur Ashe

-*-*-*-

For all his genius, Spencer didn’t know what to make of the fact that he found himself inexplicably drawn to her.

It wasn’t until years down the line that he realized he had been exceptionally aware of her since they met, carefully observing, cataloguing the way she so gently and kindly defied every expectation and pushed past every preconceived notion he had of her. By then, she had already settled in a little corner of his heart and helped seal the cracks in his life that he didn’t even know existed.

But when she first joined the team as an intern, he was more than a little reluctant to get to know her. It was during the summer between her college graduation and the start of her graduate studies, and she seemed too worldly, too perfect. She wasn’t like the girls from high school, or even college, for that matter, who were simply mean. On the contrary, she was wonderfully polite and incredibly ambitious, intelligent, and very much the type of girl that was far too out of his league, one that wouldn’t spare him a second glance before continuing down whatever focused path she was on.

That’s why he planned to avoid her as much as possible her first day in the office. She had, thankfully, spent the morning in Hotch’s office, since he was her official supervisor, but when he saw them about to emerge right before lunch, he panicked, muttered a random excuse, and shuffled out of the bullpen, leaving a bemused Derek and Elle in his wake.

It didn’t help that he was ducking out of rooms while JJ was giving her a quick tour and making introductions, and almost every member of the team had cornered him, encouraging him to talk to her, to befriend her due to their closeness in age. (“She’s only what? Two-ish years younger than you?” When he mumbled that exact date, Penelope had broken into a large, wicked grin, poking him teasingly in the cheek. Gratefully, she held back any further comment.)

Spencer had blinked, a little surprised, when Penelope Garcia, who generally disliked change, had only good things to say. Remarkably humble about her achievements, and not in the standoffish fake way, Penelope commented after admitting she had run a background check on her. Genuine, and quite sweet.

Polite, Derek had said, if a little quiet, trying to see where she fits in the team dynamic. You should reach out, be a friend, he suggested.(Spencer ignored the very pretty slipped somewhere in the comment, as well as the knowing smile shot his direction when he felt his cheeks flushing.)

A surprisingly wicked sense of humor, was all Elle said with a sly smile. (Spencer chose to ignore that too.)

And when Spencer tentatively asked the man, Jason Gideon, a man of generally few words, had spoken of her, however briefly, with surprising fondness, because of course Gideon had met her when she was a child, because of course her uncle now headed legal three floors up, and of course her uncle was the last third of the BAU’s Holy Trinity, of which Gideon and Rossi were a part of.

You’ll get along very nicely.

Spencer was incredibly intimidated, to say the least.

And then when he couldn’t avoid her anymore (because of course they were desked next to each other), all it took for her was noticeably catching herself from extending a hand, then offering a small little wave and a nervous smile to leave him breathless. (He pointedly ignored the look knowing look JJ shot him.)

He tried to stifle the little seed of hope—that she definitely wasn’t interested in him, and her saccharine smile was nothing more than a false front to make a positive impression during a lucrative FBI internship meant only to bolster her resume—but the resolve crumbled quickly. She turned out to be so genuinely kind and sweetly humble that Spencer cursed the fact that the internship lasted only through that summer.

It also certainly didn’t help, either, that the very first thought he had when meeting her was a single word.

Pretty.

-*-*-*-

It was almost ridiculous how well she got along with everyone in the office.

She clearly made it a mission to make the most of the time she had and was more than willing to put in the work and prove her worth. Although she was technically Hotch’s intern and her main role was to assist the core field team, Spencer watched as she managed to get on absolutely everyone’s good graces through a combination of unassuming charm, sharp wit, and willingness to learn and to help that was so uniquely her.

For Spencer, it meant that she happily listened to what he had to say, encouraging him to continue when appropriate or saving a quiet question for later when it wasn’t. When she told him that she enjoyed listening to him talk, Spencer was taken aback, stuttering as he tried to figure out if she was only saying that to be polite. She gave him a gracious smile, ensured that she “quite honestly enjoyed” listening to him, and proceeded to ask a few well-timed and well-pointed questions to smoothly nudge him back to their previous topic.

Spencer stared at her, slack-jawed, then smiled bashfully, and allowed himself to hope.

(He definitely didn’t know what to do with the fact that when she knowingly reached out to his hand resting on the table and lightly tapped the back of his hand, he didn’t have his typical knee-jerk desire to pull away. He also mostly certainly didn’t know what to do with the fact that when her thumb grazed over his knuckles to sooth the tension he didn’t even realize he had, he felt an inexplicable calm ease into his very bones.)

-*-*-*-

“It’ll take a good five, six years to finish my J.D./Ph.D., but Hotch offered me an open invitation to join the team when I do, and I’m more than inclined to take his offer when the time comes.”

Spencer peered at her, breathing out a sigh of relief that he didn’t realize he was holding. It was the last day of her internship, and she was making the rounds to say her thank you’s and goodbyes individually to the members of the team. He was the last one, and he had been dreading the conversation the entire day.

While he wouldn’t describe what he felt for her as anything beyond a genuine, platonic friendship—in the grand scheme of things, they’d only known each other for ten weeks—their easy companionship had become very dear to him. And he was terrified and nervous that her time with the BAU would be just a small chapter in her life before she moved on to the bigger and better things, leaving him behind as a fond but distant memory.

She laughed softly at his surprise, before it trailed off into a sigh. She then took a deep breath and asked. “Do you trust me?” Spencer looked at her, a bit dumbfounded. Did he trust her? Her gaze was heavy on him and the question weighty, a gentle demand for an honest answer. Did he trust her? Yes, he did, he supposed, they were friends. Right? He breathed in deeply, squared his shoulders just a bit, and answered in the affirmative.

As if she sensed his hesitance, his unease, she gave him a knowing look and took one of his hands into hers, fingers brushing over fingers, before hooking her pinky around his. “Because I promise you, Spencer Reid, I’ll be back, right here. You’ll be waiting for me, yeah?”

He looked at her in awe, the dim light of the nearly-empty office reflecting off her kind eyes. Warmth spread through his chest, and she smiled so brilliantly that he nearly forgot to breathe, to answer. To answer. He smiled back, twitchy, introspective, and considered the weight of her question. He nodded and responded simply.

“Always.”

-*-*-*-

She managed to remain on the Bureau’s consulting payroll over the next several years, though she was primarily based in the Bay Area as she finished her graduate studies at Stanford. The team as a whole still went to her for a fresh perspective when needed; she video called in to help on cases when necessary and met up in person if a case called them to California.

He knew that she kept in touch with JJ, Penelope, and Derek, and that Hotch and Emily (whom she met shortly after Emily joined the team and a case brought them to LA) were also friendly, if professional, contacts. Spencer himself was known to receive the odd phone call from her.

However, what had Spencer almost covetously pleased was that they had something they shared exclusively between the two of them, because she had steadfastly kept her promise to write to him.

-*-*-*-

Her letters were as beautiful as they were constant, and Spencer handled and read each one with care.

Her handwriting suited her; while it generally was neat and clear little scrawl, he knew it would get a little freer, and little loopier when she was tired, if she was particularly excited, or if she found herself a bit tipsy. (And yet she still managed to always write in an almost perfectly straight line even on a blank sheet of paper. He was envious, and when he told her as such, he could hear the laughter in her response as she wrote it a little more wobbly than usual.) And while he knew her to be tilted more on the quiet, introverted side of the scale, she had a way with the written word, each phrase poetic and thoughtful.

And they were remarkably therapeutic to write in return, Spencer found. Their initial letters mostly consisted of light banter about their mutual and individual interests, updates on the progress of her research (sprinkled amusing tidbits of her exasperation and frustration), bits and pieces about his cases and updates on and amusing anecdotes about the team.

However, over time, he slowly opened up to her, about his fears, his hopes, his dreams. And when he hesitantly divulged bits and pieces about the drugs, his mother, the headaches, he felt the relief in his entire body when she responded with empathy and grace. In turn, she did the same. She was vulnerable, she was open, and as wonderful and quite near perfect as he knew her to be, he was pleased to find her so incredibly human.

Those letters he slowed down to read, committing them to memory with more intention.

(He kept her letters in the drawer of his desk at his apartment, and eventually moved them to a specially designated box when he needed more room. When he learned that she did the same, he couldn’t help the tender warmth that fluttered in his chest. He still didn’t know what to do with the feeling.)

-*-*-*-

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder.

It took six years, and an additional five months at the Academy (and then another few weeks as she was introduced to the legal team, with whom she would also be working with in her role as legal liaison), but she kept her promise and found her way back to the BAU, and it was like she was never gone.

This time, in her re-introduction to the team, she was a breath of fresh air.

When she approached him individually with a nervous smile, she reached out, then hesitated, and a sense of déjà vu washed over Spencer. But then, she had placed a hand on his elbow, and when she smiled, he breathed in a sense of peace and familiarity, of comfort.

“You waited.”

He smiled back, and in a rather forward gesture on his part, he adjusted so he could take the hand on his arm into his.

“Always.”

-*-*-*-

She was too good for him.

Whatever relationship they had—Spencer didn’t know what to call it, though friendship seem too trivial of a word for it—he knew it was too good, too perfect to last.

Because in a cruel twist of fate, her first case back on the team, however unofficial it was, was Maeve.

He was hyperaware of the neutral expression on her face when he finally brought his fears to the team. To anyone else she would seem serene and put together, but to him the slight sag in her shoulders and the realization transitioning to acceptance were clear as day. Spencer never mentioned Maeve to her in their letters, but later, in retrospect, he believed she had an inkling, at the very least. You seem happier, she had written, once, not too long after he first became acquainted with Maeve, and that makes me happy.

Did it? Then he didn’t want to know what his misery would do to her because then, Maeve died, and in his grief over another woman, he fought desperately to push her away.

She could share his happiness, but he refused to let her share his pain, his brokenness. She did not deserve that, and he would not be the one to destroy the beauty and sunshine and hope she brought everywhere with her.

But when they finally took Maeve’s body away, and when the blurred commotion of sirens and law enforcement and emergency services and constant hammering of half-hearted condolences and check-ins finally died down, he felt the blanket around his shoulders be adjusted, and a now-familiar pair of hands take in his own, firm, and refusing to ever let go. Thumbs traced over his knuckles as soothingly as he remembered, and only then did he begin to vaguely process the fact those hands had been tucked into his almost the entire evening, anchoring him through the haze and the fog.

As if on cue, she squeezed his hand gently, like she knew exactly when he was slowly becoming aware of her presence, and he suddenly found he lacked the strength to do what he initially intended.

Still dazed, he felt her shift, and she was kneeling on the ground in front of him where he sat on the curb, and softly drew him into a hug. Any form of resistance he previously had dissolved; he clung to her, tears stinging his eyes once again.

It’s okay, I’m here, I’ll stay, she whispered, I’ll stay, always and always.

Just don’t push me away.

“I-” His voice cracked. “I loved her.”

He paused, his voice weakening.

“I love her...”

Hands ran soothingly through his hair.

“I know.”

She always did.

“…so much.”

He didn’t need to see her face to realize that she was crying with him, for him—he could feel her trying to contain the trembling in her chest, trying desperately to remain composed. He tried to do the same, but when she tilted her head and let him bury his face into her neck, Spencer finally felt fresh tears begin to flow, and he allowed her to take his face into her hands and chase the tears with her fingers.

And Spencer wept freely, first for death of the woman he loved, and then for the tears and the grief he caused the one person he could call his kindred spirit, his soulmate.

-*-*-*-

He healed, slowly.

There were good days, when the thought of Maeve did not stir up memories of blood and fear and gunshots but, rather, of auburn hair and admiration and hushed conversations on the phone. On those days, he felt like he was no longer haunted by a ghost and could finally begin to move on. On those days, he could slow down, appreciate the small things again, and focus on how a pair of familiar, steady hands pulled him out of the past, anchored him in the present, and allowed him to hope about the future.

But then there were the bad days when her touch scalded and burned his skin. The warmth and the pulse of blood rushing through her veins and the germs on her hands and her life was overwhelming because Maeve was dead and cold and gone. So, with every glare and with every sharp comment aimed at where he knew it would hurt, he finally made good on his desire to push her away.

It was on those days the bitter voice in the back of his mind whispered how it was supposed to be Maeve, not her, there alive with him, holding his hand as they faced the world.

It was also on those days he chose to disregard the regret that settled in the pit of his stomach each time he heard his own biting voice, and disregard the horror brought on by even thinking of wishing she were dead instead. He began to ignore the tremble in her hands when she reached out to him and brushed her fingers against his in concern, and he ignored how she gradually began pulling back, hesitant, nervous that her touch would be unwarranted, unwanted. He certainly ignored the unconscious flex in his hand, the ache for the reassurance and comfort he had become so accustomed to—

He ignored it all until he woke up, one night, to an empty bed, and a sudden surge of panic rushed through his body and bile rose in his throat. She was right there, when he fell asleep, giving him a small smile and nod when he asked if she could read to him, to stay the night. Now, without a word, she was gone, she was gone, shewasgone and Spencer could feel the tightness in his chest and tears sting his eyes when realized that the only one to blame was himself, himself, himself.

Why, he thought bitterly, why was he like this? Why must he try to push away every good thing in his life?

But then, there he stood, barely aware of the tears on his cheeks and ice running through his veins, as he found her curled up on his couch, franticly wiping away her own silent tears and exhaustion from her eyes. He stumbled forward, upset, upset at himself because he made her cry again. And when she flinched when he cradled her face in his hands, apologizing to him, he nearly choked back a sob, his hands trembling as he tried to wipe away the tears that did not belong on her face.

Neither of them went back to sleep that night, and Spencer began to realize just how strong she was, as she gently told him through her tears the hard truths of his situation and where she stood in relation to him.

I can’t fight with a ghost, she had murmured hoarsely, but I can work with her legacy and her memory.

And then, with a pinky wrapped around his, she promised that she would be there to help him through it, but the only way was if, and only if, he let her.

It was that night (or, rather, morning, as the sun rose) that he began to come to terms that, whether he deserved it or not, she—and her pure and unadulterated goodness—was more or less a permanent fixture in his life, and he felt more at peace than he had in ages. And when the early rays of sunlight filtered through his windows and caught her in a soft glow, he found himself once again in awe. He reached out, hesitantly, and his heart soared when he felt the familiar pressure of her hand slipping into his.

She was steadfast and loyal and strong. She was brave, she was patient, she was kind. Moreover, she was alive, she was breathing, and she was here, present, by his side. It took time, and more painful conversations and more painful realizations, but eventually, the good days were a bit more consistent, the sun just a bit brighter, and his breathing a just bit freer with her hand pressed firmly into his own, her pulse thrumming beneath his fingers until his heartbeat synced with hers.

And Spencer was finally learning, learning about what to do with the fact that with her by his side, he felt like he could truly face the world.

-*-*-*-

Face the world he did.

When Gideon died, he felt his hand twitch, and the compulsion to escape and hide tugged at the back of his mind, and an old, nearly forgotten itch made its way from the crook of his elbow, slowly ebbing into in his veins and nagging in the crevices of the back of the mind.

But when he felt her hand slip into his, he felt it abate, the tension in his muscles eased. When her lips twitched into a knowing, gentle smile, he could see the underlying grief and frustration. Of course. She had known Gideon just as well as he did, if not better.

He breathed deeply and smiled back. It was weak, it was twitchy, and it was sad, but it was a smile, nonetheless. He wasn’t in this alone.

-*-*-*-

They were seated on a large blanket in a secluded park in D.C. on one of their rare days off when she pressed a gentle kiss on his lips, and suddenly it seemed like all the right pieces finally fell into place.

And when she whispered those three little words, and everything made sense. He looked up from where he laid, and again he was breathless at how the setting sun caught in her hair and reflected off her skin and her eyes. But then, when he opened his mouth to respond, the same three little words caught in his throat and his breath hitched, and he wanted to cry. He wanted to respond, to let her know that her feelings were returned, but the words failed him.

“It’s okay,” she murmured softly, and he trembled as he felt her hands cupping his face and fingers gracing over his cheekbones, “if you don’t reciprocate; I’ll live. But I just wanted to let you know–know that I’ll be by your side no matter what happens.”

It wasn’t until they were at the door of her apartment, when he found the strength to push past the nerves and respond.

“I do re-reciprocate, and I want–I want to say it, because I do,” he stuttered out, “but I just…don’t know how to say it yet.”

He suddenly felt like a prepubescent schoolboy, nervous and quaking and terrified. But then, magnetic as she was, she brought his gaze back to her face, and her knowing smile breathed air back into his lungs. His heart blossomed, and the fingers rubbing circles into his hand anchored his attention on her. “Then I’ll wait until you can. Always. Forever.” She paused. “Do you trust me?”

Spencer peered up at her, brows furrowed. Unbidden, the memory of the first time she asked him the same question floated to the front of his mind, and he couldn’t help the breath of amusement. The question caught him off guard, but this time, when he found his voice it was resolute, quick, and sure.

Yes.

He felt a pinky hook around his, and the now-familiar warmth bubbled in his chest.

“Good, because it’s a promise I intend to keep.”

This time, the tears her fingers caught were those of appreciation and relief.

-*-*-*-

And then, the sun set, and prison happened.

-*-*-*-

At first, it was easy to ignore.

Prison changed him. He knew it did, and he knew that she wasn’t naïve to the fact either. He was a bit harder, a bit more defensive, and while he tried his best not to show it, he knew she could see the darkness had just a little bit more of an edge. He was well aware of how she watched him just a bit more closely.

It seemed alright at first. It took a while for him to adjust; there were certainly bumps and bruises along the way, along with some admittedly choice words exchanged in frustration, but that was expected.

But he supposed it was the small things, and small things add up.

The first week her hand naturally slipped into his like nothing’d changed, but his grip was tighter and more desperate than normal, like she’d disappear or slip through his fingers if he didn’t. At the same time, he was also too terrified to touch her otherwise, as if she’d break like glass if his grip on her waist was just a bit too tight.

She never commented, gave him space, and allowed him to initiate physical contact.

She didn’t need to know, he rationalized, it wasn’t her burden to bear.

Then he began to hold her at arm’s length. She pushed, gently, and he pushed back, harder. He knew she was only trying to help, but he needed to figure it out for himself, lest he hurt her again. She only sighed, and relented. While her concern was apparent with how she watched him with just a little more unease, she gave him space.

However, while she was an exceptionally patient person, there was only so much distance and space one could handle. When she reached out, worried, and pressed just a little harder, he withdrew completely, and his rationalization slowly evolved. Stop hovering. Don’t need you treating me like I’m broken. Don’t need your pity.He ignored the pain that flashed in her eyes, the quiet desperation in her voice whenever she called after him after he refused to listen, and the increasingly familiar ache in his entire body when he began to avoid and refuse her touch.

It was the small things, because when the nightmares started, it wasn’t so easy to ignore.

-*-*-*-

“—eathe, Spencer. That’s good, breathe.”

The mumbled affirmations continued as he slowly processed his surroundings.

Queen-sized bed. Egyptian cotton sheets. Breathe in. Goose-feather down pillows. A firmer memory foam pillow that smelled of her shampoo. Breathe out.

Safety.

He was still bleary-eyed when he sunk back down, burying half his face in the pillows and ashamed as he mumbled a quiet apology. Her voice was kind, understanding, telling him it was alright as she tucked a stray lock of curls away from his face. When he seemed to settle back down, her hand gentle rested on his jaw, thumb absently tracing his cheekbone.

“Do you want to talk—”

“No.”

She frowned, sighed, took a moment to flick on the lamp light and collect her thoughts; he could see, through his lashes, the gears turning in her head about how to proceed. Meanwhile, he heaved a sighed, and sat up against the headboard. His eyes closed, doing the same as her. She then reached out, touched his hand, grazed her thumb over his knuckles and drew circles on the back. It started slow, hesitant—she was surprised that he didn’t recoil, and frankly, so was he—but the motion was familiar, grounding, so he let her continue. He knew it helped her focus as well.

“Spence, you’re…you need to talk to someone—it doesn’t have to be me! But bottling it up all inside, it’s clearly tearing you apart.”

“I agreed to start talking with my therapist, haven’t I?”

His voice was flat, defensive.

“But you haven’t, and…knowing you, you won’t be telling them the whole truth.” His jaw tightened and his lips pursed, his hand gripping the sheets flexed, and he looked away from her, intently staring at a random point in the room that wasn’t her. As always, she seemed to know him far too well.

She let out a breath of a sigh; she knew he was beginning to shut her out again. Her free hand lifted to his shoulder, rested in the crook of his neck.

“I’ve told you before, that you’ve started to shut people out. I know–I know you’re so, so strong, but you don’t have to face it alone. You don’t need to hold the weight of the world on your shoulders; we’re not as fragile as you seem to think we are.” She paused, contemplating. “If you need someone with distance that you can trust, call Derek, call Hotch, even, but remember, Spence, I made you a promise: I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

When he didn’t answer, still staring off into the mid-distance, she sighed.

“I’ll leave, give you some space. Think about it.”

She was at the bedroom door when he finally cleared his throat and responded. His voice was bitter as he bit out: “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that.”

A quiet ‘wha–’slipped from her lips as she angled toward him as he shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, hands gripping the sheets tightly.

“If you want to leave, fine. You seem to be doing that quite well recently. The door’s right there and you don’t have to come back until you want to make me a charity case again. But if you want me to talk, if you think you can handle it, then be my guest. Take a seat and why don’t you make me?”

He instantly regretted the words, but some dark part of his mind as pleased that he could see the anger and annoyance spark through her as she inhaled deeply and slowly turn around to face him in full. “I will if that’s what it will take.”

Spencer’s gaze hardened.

“You don’t have the fucking guts.”

A brief moment passed as she took him in full, eyes flashing. Spencer raised his gaze, challenging, daring her, and then, the same, shadowed part of his mind was savagely happy that he had finally gotten a rise out of her, because she bit back with venom.

“Fucking try me.”

And then, he watched her warily as she visibly froze, then deflate, her jaw tightening and eyes welling with unshed tears as she stumbled backward to the door.

“But–but not like this. Not like this. I’m–I’m so sorry you didn’t–you don’t deserve…” Her voice was quiet, but it was hitched with a swirl of emotions Spencer couldn’t pinpoint, and he was suddenly aware of the hot tears dripping down his cheeks. “I’m going–I’m going to go…” He heard the doorknob turn, and suddenly the sound of gunshots rang in his ears, and he could the taste the metallic bitterness as blood and dead brown eyes filled his vision.

Wait. Wai- She was halfway out the door when he called out, voice cracking, and through blurred tears he saw her shut the door and shuffled and stumbled back into the room toward him, kneeling in front of him. Through the ringing in his ears, he could hear the whispers of his name and the urgency of the apologies. And then his eyes fluttered closed when she reached up to brush the tears away, and the motion opened the floodgates. It was one of the many little touches they shared—thumbs wiping over cheeks and hands cupping faces—and he had half a mind to shove her aside, but dear God he hadn’t felt it in far too long; he leaned, almost desperately, into her touch and he could hear her sniffling back her own tears.

Fuck.

He was always like this.

His passive aggressiveness was his defense mechanism; he lashed out blindly whenever he felt vulnerable, not caring who he hurt and how much. It was something she had been helping him work through, and he thought he was getting better, but here he was, hurting her because of it again.

Not like this.

He barely noticed that she had pulled him into a tender hug, but now that he did process the warmth of her embrace seeping into his bones, he wanted to push it away. He didn’t – he didn’t deserve this but now she was pulling back, and it sent a brief course of panic through his body, a fear that she was pulling away, away from him, away from the darkness and shadows that loomed permanently over him. He wouldn’t blame her, but–but…oh.

Her eyes always spoke volumes for her, and now that she had firmly tilted his chin up, her gaze firm, resolved.

“I know you are feeling vulnerable, and I know that you believe you can do this on your own.” She breathed in deeply. In turn he gazed up at her through his tears, as evenly as he could, and she met it without wavering. “You are strong, Spencer Reid, so, so strong, been so for so long. But…but I made a promise that I would always be by your side, and I’m never going to break it. So please.” Her voice hitched, and his breath caught in his throat. “Please, trust in me, one more time. Just one more time.”

Moments ticked by to the time of his heartbeat before he finally nodded, and the relief and the elation in her eyes soothed the dull pain inside his heart. This time, he drew her into his arms and into his lap and sighed as he leaned into the crook of her neck.

Thank you.

I love you, too.

-*-*-*-

“Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time.”

—Maya Angelou

-*-*-*-