#NOT NEARLY CORRECT IN THE SLIGHTEST??? all of them are chaotic have you not seen her STEW???

[partyswirl]

not redrawing i found it. anyway so often woman characters are forced into that role of the one having to "taking care of" or "holding back" the men characters. FUNNY HOW THAT IS starts frothingat the mouth

god that post making me think of that one meme i'llr edraw it but specifically something about it. that i've noticed

[echo-hiraeth]

The Changing Table - Frankie Morales x Pregnant F!Reader

Summary: Part of the Ikea series. At eight months pregnant, you and your husband, Frankie are eager to finish up your nursery, he even asks his friends to come help out. However, it seems putting a changing station together isn’t as easy as you’d expect.

Warnings: swearing, pregnancy, mentions of labour

Big thanks to @peterhollandkait​ for helping me think of this one :))

Masterlist

“Hermosa, what did I say about that?”, Frankie tuts as he takes the paintbrush from your hand. “You need to rest.”

“I’m fine Frankie”, you reassure him, placing a hand on the swell of your belly.

“C’mon, let’s get you out of here and back on that couch”, he says, softly guiding you with a hand on your sore back.

As he helps you down on the couch you look around, frowning when seeing the amount of cardboard boxes surrounding you. “Is it just me or are there even more boxes now?”

He sighs loudly from the kitchen, getting the both of you something to drink. “The movers dropped off the last of our stuff. I told you it was a bad idea to move now, querida.”

You playfully roll your eyes as he hands you a glass of water. “I thought you liked adventures!”

“Not when my wife is eight months pregnant”, he scoffs, protectively resting a hand on your huge bump.

“I’d kiss you if I could”, you taunt, flashing him one of your brightest smiles.

He leans forward to catch your lips in a gentle kiss, his hand never leaving your bump. “I love you.”

“I know you do honey, but if you don’t let me do at least something around here, I swear I’m going to die of boredom.”

“What if you unpack those clothes while I finish putting together the wardrobe?”, he offers, eyes soft and caring.

“I’ll take it! Any chance to see my man at work”, you tease, pressing your lips to his again.

“Isn’t that how we got here in the first place?”, he jokes gesturing towards your swollen stomach.

You laugh at that, playfully swatting his hand away. “Don’t remind me Morales. I’m sure you’ll pay for what you did to me in that delivery room.”

 The rest of your day is spent in the nursery. While Frankie puts together the wardrobe, as promised, you unpack the boxes of clothes and smaller items. Your radio is playing some music while the two of you work in a comfortable silence, just enjoying each other’s company. It isn’t until you start to cry that Frankie breaks away from the instruction manual.

“Querida, what’s wrong, are you in pain?”, he asks while worriedly kneeling in front of your rocking chair.

You’re holding a tiny romper, chest heaving as you sob. “It-it’s just so cute and tiny.”

He smiles to himself and wraps his arms around you. “Hey, it’s okay. I know it is, just wait until there’s a baby in it.” You smile at him, engulfing him in another loving kiss. “Do you want to stop for the night?”

You nod as you pout, the hormones completely taking over. Frankie smiles at you once again as he helps you stand. A grunt leaves your mouth as you place a hand on your aching back. “Want to get the heating pad in a bit?”

“You’re reading my mind, Love.”

 As much as you didn’t want to, you had to agree with Frankie. Moving houses while pregnant wasn’t the greatest idea you ever had, but the two of you had outgrown your tiny apartment. You’d been living in the new house for a little less than a month now, seeing that the lease on your previous place had ended. Most of your free time was spent renovating the new residence, much to your husband’s dismay. The boys and your friends had been helping out when they could and it was slowly coming together. Most of the rooms, except for the second bathroom and nursery, were done and only needed furnishing and decorating. So at eight months pregnant, you spent your time painting and furnishing your baby’s room. Frankie couldn’t leave you out of his sight for even just an hour. The first time you’d been home alone, he’d come back to seeing you sprawled out on the new carpet in the nursery, panting. He’d lectured you about the dangers and made you vow never to do something like that again.

That was another thing, as soon as you found out you were expecting Frankie went into full-on protective mode. It didn’t take long for everyone to find out, seeing how he was hovering over you everywhere you went. By the time you were three months along, he’d read every pregnancy book you owned three times already. The night you’d shown him the positive test, was the most chaotic you’d ever seen him. The poor man couldn’t stop gushing over you and how amazing your body was for growing a whole baby. So when your bump finally started showing he couldn’t keep his hands off of you, caressing and cupping your stomach whenever he saw fit.

The farther along in your pregnancy, the more useful he’d proven to be. He was there every step of the way, holding you when you needed to cry whether it was over the Disneyland commercials or your bloated figure. Your husband was a dream to have around, his hands working magic on your aching feet, back and breasts. And if you wanted a strawberry milkshake to dip your chicken nuggets in at four AM, he’d get you exactly that, no questions asked. Where other couples drifted apart the two of you grew even closer, coming to love each other more and more with every new sensation and experience.

“How’s that feel?”, Frankie asks, wedging the heating pad behind your lower back.

You let out a moan at the instant relief. “Fuck, that’s good.”

“Here, let me help you with that”, he murmurs as he unclasps your bra, another satisfied grunt leaving your mouth. “Careful now, preciosa, it hard enough to resist you as is.”

“Sorry Frankie, it’s just been a long day”, you sigh, laying your head on his shoulder.

He pulls your legs onto his lap, starting to rub your distended feet. “The guys are coming over tomorrow, to help with that changing table and the crib.” You hum in response, eyes closed as you enjoy his soothing movements. “But we need more paint and screws, so I’ll be gone for an hour or two while they’re here.”

“I don’t need a babysitter”, you chuckle, as you softly stroke his beard.

He leans into your touch, grinning: “You’ve clearly proven that you do.”

“Maybe Will can have a look at the shower, the drain keeps overflowing”, you suggest, pressing a sweet pack to his neck.

“That’s not a bad idea.” He looks at your face, noticing your relaxed features. “How about we head to bed for the night?”

That night you get little to no sleep, the baby kicking away at your bladder and spleen for most of it. You keep stirring, trying to find a somewhat comfortable position to fall asleep in, to no avail. But eventually, the baby settles down, and with Frankie’s heavy arm resting on your chest, you find some peace, only to be awoken by the pressure of your bladder a few hours later. You groan as you pull yourself up, finding the bed empty. You hurriedly waddle over to the bathroom, scolding your bump as you step on a power cord. It isn’t until you wash your face that you hear the baritones coming from downstairs.

You smile to yourself as you get dressed, settling for a flowy skirt and one of Frankie’s old and oversized t-shirts. A high ponytail and some light make-up was all you could bring yourself to do these days, panting with the slightest effort. The men were laughing together, drinking coffee as you made your way down the stairs.

“There she is!”, Benny announces, arms spread wide open as he catches sight of you.

Frankie quickly rushes over to you, holding your hands while helping you down the last couple of steps.

“Jesus Fish, she’s pregnant not immobilized”, Santiago jokes, making you huff out a breathy laugh.

“Might as well be at this point”, you groan, going to hug the three of them.

“Nonsense, you look beautiful”, Frankie shushes you, kissing your temple. The guys agree with him, successfully flattering you.

 After the five of you catch up and go over the plans for the day, Frankie gets ready to leave, car keys in hand.

“Don’t do y/n things while I’m gone”, he pleads, hands resting on your hips.

You chuckle, pecking him on the lips. “I promise I will just be there to annoy the guys. And I’ll only help out if they really need me to.”

He rubs his nose against yours, taking a deep breath. “No heavy lifting, no bending down, no standing up for too long.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Get your butt out of here now, those supplies won’t get here by themselves!”

And with that he’s gone. You shake your head as you join the three men in the nursery. “M’lady, your throne awaits”, Santiago quips, showing you to your rocking chair.

You let out a content sigh as you sit down, the three head staring right at you. “What?”

“You look a mess”, Will starts out.

“I think he means you look tired”, Benny soon corrects him, handing you the box of clothes.

You throw a romper at the both of them. “I’d like to see you try to sleep at thirty-six weeks pregnant.”

“Yeah man, have some respect for the lady”, you smile at Santiago, “she had to fuck Fish for that.”

“Santiago!”, you exclaim, mouth agape at his comment.

The men laugh in chorus as you try to hide your bashfulness. “M’sorry sweetheart, let us know if you need anything”, Pope says between laughter.

You eventually all get to work, Will (the only capable one) having left the room to check up on your shower for you. Benny and Santiago at that point have been trying to figure out how to put together the changing table’s drawers for nearly an hour.

“Oh my fucking God, how hard can it be! Give me that”, you laughed, yanking the instructions out of Benny’s hands.

The two men watch you, drill in your small hand, as you easily put the drawers together, one after the other. You were sat on your knees doing so, the backpain already settling in.

“I don’t get it, we had the same instructions, didn’t we?”, Benny questions, looking at the stack of finished drawers.

“Maybe you two are just idiots”, you jest, hammering the top of each drawer to ensure their stability.

“Hey now, no rea-“

Santi’s cut off by two bags hitting the floor, your husband standing in the doorway with a shocked face.

“Why is she holding a hammer?”, he interrupts, tone eerily calm.

The two men help you to your feet. “Well, genius, she was the only one who could figure out the instruction sheet.”

Frankie pinches the bridge of his nose, jutting his hip forward as he slowly exhales. “What. The. Hell. Did you just say?” You fail to stifle a giggle, making Frankie look up at the other two. “You mean to tell me that you made her put all of this together?”

“C’mon man, it’s not that big of a deal, she’s a big girl”, Benny intervenes.

“She is eight months pregnant!”, Frankie yells, the anger in his voice making you laugh a little louder.

“I mean, we can see that”, Santi jokes, making your husband only more furious.

Frankie shakes his head at you, still scolding his friends. “You two mean to tell me that two ex-soldiers - top soldiers - at that can’t even put together Ikea furniture?”

The three of you were laughing even harder at that, so hard that you doubled over, holding onto the small wardrobe to keep you from falling over.

“Relax Fish, she’s doing just fine”, Benny huffs, cheeks cramping up from laughing.

Will walks in, confused when seeing the four of you. “What’s going on?”, he asks glancing between you and Frankie.

Your husband crosses his arms defensively, annoyed at the three of you for laughing at his genuine concern. “Did you leave these two dumbasses alone with her?”

“Fuck man, sorry, I was just checking in on your shower problem.”

You suddenly stop laughing, making the four man look at you. The smile replaced by a look of surprise as you feel something wet trickle down your leg, onto the floor. A sharp pain hitting you right in your back. Frankie bolts over to you, steadying you as you let a whimper.

“That’s not good, is it?”, Santiago asks.

“I’ll kill you two later. Baby, look at me, are you hurting?”, Frankie’s voice softens up when talking to you, the other men leaving the room with a look of sheer horror on their face.

You shake your head at him, clutching to his arms as you start to panic. “It’s too soon Frankie, I-I”

“I told you not to do y/n things”, he taunts.

“Now’s not the time”, you grunt out between clenched teeth, another contraction hitting you.

His eyes widen a bit at that. “Let’s get you to the car.”

 While the two of you were at the hospital to deliver your bundle of joy into the world, the other guys were at your place. They finished the nursery within the next four hours, rushing over to the hospital to find out you were enduring a very long and painful labour. The three couldn’t help but feel somewhat guilty and soon found themselves buying peace offerings for you in the small giftshop.

After another long and stressful seven hours, your baby boy made it into the world and your friends were finally allowed to come pay you a visit. The earlier commotion was soon forgotten when they laid eyes on your son, cooing and musing over how cute and small he was.

“We uh- decided to get you guys a new carpet as well”, Will says, watching you and Frankie with the new-born.

“You better, that’s the least you can do after making my wife endure all of this”, Frankie retorts.

“Weeeeell, technically it’s your fault for not being able to keep it in your pants”, Benny jests.

You quickly throw him a disapproving glance, gesturing towards to sleeping baby on your chest.

“Let’s just hope this kid turns out like his mother”, Santi sighs, smiling at your little family.

Years later the two of you still tease your friends about those drawers, telling your son the story of how a pregnant woman kicked two macho’s asses. Frankie gladly goes along with it, secretly grateful for that night, God knows he couldn’t stand to see you so miserable for another four weeks. But by the time your second pregnancy nears its end, the guys have read up on Ikea furniture building, determined to kick your ass this time around.

[joopiterjoon]

Adored and Nothing More

Pairing: YoonJin Queerplatonic

Genre: PG, Slice of Life, Fluff?

Warnings/Tags: Aro!Jin, Ace-Spectrum!Yoongi, handholding, YoonJin complaining, self-discovery

Wordcount: 3k

A/n: I wrote this based on a joke with @kpopfan-antics... and then turned it into a fic.. and made it soft because what else is new.

Part of FicsWithLuv’s FWLBingo!

“Coffee?” Yoongi’s voice draws Jin out of his intense focus on the game that’s been in his hands so long they’re cramping. Jin blinks a few times before he fully registers the small man in his doorway. He leans on Jin’s doorframe, hair a mess and hoodie on despite the summer heat. It’s a typical contrast to be seen in the apartment- Jin in his boxers and a sweatshirt while Yoongi’s bundled up head-to-toe.

The most recent apartment suits them well. In college, the soft pastels of Jin’s side seemed comedic compared to Yoongi’s all-black-or-bust space. Now, Jin’s room faces the sun, while Yoongi’s faces the adjacent apartment building. Jin can look out into the day, and Yoongi’s room is kept cool by the lack of light.

Jin gives a small smile to his roommate before heaving out of the bed for the first time all day. He groans as he stretches.

“Old man,” Yoongi teases.

“Hey, that’s rich coming from you,” Jin argues as he shucks his hoodie and pulls a shirt over his head. “An old man would wish he looked this good.”

“Well, “ Yoongi begins despite walking into the living space towards the door, “You must be that good looking old man ‘cause only old guys groan like that when they stand.”

Jin frows as he trots after Yoongi’s huddled, waddling form.

“Like this?” Jin imitates the sound again while he bends to put his shoes on. “Or this?” He does it louder with his whole chest as they head out. “Or like-”

Jin stops abruptly when he sees their neighbors in the hall, startled by Jin’s noises. His ears burn as he bows deeply. “Sorry.”

Yoongi snickers, tugging Jin along with a loose grip on his hand. Jin’s amazed that in all his layers, Yoongi’s fingers are actually cold. He grips tighter to warm them.

“Hey,” Jin pipes up as they get on the street. “An old man would never shout like that either, you know?”

Yoongi side-eyes him and pulls a baseball cap lower over his eyes. He got a haircut last week, and the hat shows off his undercut well. But Jin knows how chaotic his hair is underneath. Still, somehow Yoongi looks cute with his hair fucked up and askew. “Mhm, sure.”

Satisfied, Jin bounces along next to his roommate. It’s a nice day out, Yoongi’s favorite kind. Good weather and few people. They stay quiet, taking note of the small changes in their neighborhood since the last time they left the house. Both introverts, Jin and Yoongi make a dangerously homebound pairing. If it weren’t for Yoongi’s dire need for specialty coffee, they would barely leave the house in the summer.

They head toward the small coffee shop that Yoongi chose as “his” coffee shop. Yoongi had a tendency to do that. He picked something he liked and stuck with it. Like Jin, his eternal roommate. And seeing as Jin and Yoongi had similar preferences in activities and lifestyles, Jin became what Yoongi stuck with very often. Jin would tease him, but really, he appreciated it. He’s comfortable with Yoongi. Content. He frequently finds it hard to balance his affection and sincerity with friends, yet Yoongi has always seemed to understand how Jin works.

“Woah,” Jin says as they enter the shop. It’s almost empty. He checks the large, driftwood clock hanging in the back of the small space. “Yoongi, it’s 3 pm.”

“Correct,” Yoongi answers curtly. They shuffle between the little square tables for two and up to the front.

“Yoongi, I’ve been in bed until 3 pm?”

“Correct.”

“Why didn’t you get me sooner? I haven’t eaten all day!” Jin whines. He throws his arms up in distress and nearly knocks over the little, inconveniently empty case of muffins on the counter.

“I’m not your keeper, old man,” Yoongi retorts and smiles politely to their barista.

“Just for that comment, you have to come and get naengmyeon with me after this,” Jin sniffs. 

“Awh,” she giggles behind the counter. “You two are always cute together.”

“Oh,” Jin and Yoongi both say. They give each other an up-down, then focus on their conjoined hands. It’s not the first time they’ve been mislabeled. It’s happened so often that they know exactly what the cashier means by “cute together.”

“Oh,” the cashier repeats, covering her embarrassment. “Are you not dating?”

Both of them open their mouths to respond, but neither say anything. They just stare, blank-faced and slack-jawed, at the barista. There’s not usually a pause here. One of them is quick to correct. The pause gives way to another pause as they both consider the weight of the first.

“I don’t think so,” Jin finally says.

“No,” Yoongi says more firmly yet still too late.

“No?” Jin’s a bit offended at how assured Yoongi sounded.

“Did you think we were?” Yoongi curls his lip in frustration. “You just said you don’t think so.”

“Yeah,” Jin agrees, his ears tinting pink. Sure, he doesn’t. But…

Are we dating? It’s a question that’s made Jin nervous his whole life. He always gets close, closer, closest to people. He feels happy, content to have someone close who knows him and values his presence. But, then, there’s always that “next step” others ask for. Something he never recognizes is there until after he confronts these kinds of situations. Situations like romance. Where someone wants him in a way that implies so much more than what he wants. The awkward moments when someone leans in for a kiss and Jin has to say explain there’s been a miscommunication. 

He never thinks they’re dating. He doesn’t feel a need to date, or what people mean by date. He just likes to be close to people he cares for. Jin’s thought about it many times. Why what he wants exudes wanting more to others when he likes what they have.

He thought Yoongi felt the same. Years and years of closeness.Someone who felt good to cuddle when they watched a movie. Someone who he could always talk to. Someone who never made him worried he might want more, that something people want that Jin just doesn’t. And now... “I thought you might think that we might be what we aren’t.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“So you do?”

Yoongi’s lip curls in confusion. “No?”

Yoongi blinks a few times, pout prominent as he becomes confused. “No what?”

They both let out a frustrated sigh. At this point, the barista slinks away to make their drinks, the slightest bit guilty for whatever she just caused. Jin turns to face Yoongi. Yoongi’s slouched against the counter, nonchalant, but his eyes dart between Jin’s trying to read him. Jin asks again, “Are we dating?”

“I don’t know,” Yoongi says, rubbing at his other arm since he can’t cross them as long as they are holding hands. He finally looks away, and Jin’s heart jumps a bit at the nerves he’s showing. “You tell me.”

“I think…” Jin startles a bit at the sound of the latte machine. He hopes for a reprieve, the noise too loud for them to keep talking, but he doesn’t get that. The quartet of grinding beans and pressurized air quickly ends. Maybe it’s a sign to keep going. He really doesn’t want to do this in a coffee shop, but… “I think sometimes we are.”

Yoongi sighs again, but he doesn’t look back up, just waves Jin off. “Well, tell me when sometimes turns to a definitive.” 

“Nah,” Jin says, shaking his head, “I like how things are. Can we just keep doing this?”

“Alright then,” Yoongi nods. He drags them down to the open side of the counter as the barista cups their drinks. “Still want to go to dinner?”

“As a non-date date?” Jin asks, perking up. Whatever doing this is. That is a date usually, but it’s not a date for them.

“Jesus,” Yoongi crinkles his nose. “If that’s a date, we’ve been dating for years.”

“Maybe we have,” Jin says, blinking a few times. Maybe he’s right. If this is what they want to call it, it’s been a while. An apologetic barista slides two coffees across the counter as the two stand in silence for a moment. “That would be ideal. But I thought we weren’t-”

“Do not start this again,” Yoongi cuts him off and turns to find a table.

Jin doesn’t. He sits with Yoongi while he drinks his coffee. They check the weather to search for a time to go camping. They’ve tried to plan a trip three times this summer. Jin loves camping with Yoongi.

Late at night when they wait for the coals to cool in the fire, Yoongi talks the most. He talks about the world more when he’s not really in it. Being deep in the woods can feel like being in a different world. Jin likes taking Yoongi camping to help him gain perspective and for them to be out but with no one around. And on those trips, Jin’s thought about it. How if he had to be stuck with one person forever, it would be Yoongi. 

They toss their drinks and head back out. It’s quiet again as Jin follows the GPS on his phone. He tries to focus, but now there’s an idea in the back of his head. Is it this easy? Is this… okay? Is Yoongi going to want more? He’s never wanted more all this time. Jin’s sure he doesn’t want more.

Finally, after they get to the restaurant and order their food, Jin can’t take it anymore. He talks to Yoongi about anything and everything directly. He can talk about this. They are eternal roommates. It’ll be fine. They already addressed it before. Just not as much as he wanted.

Still, he can’t find an in, a moment to clear the air. So he gives up distracting himself, which seems to be what Yoongi’s doing because he won’t put his phone down.

“Why are you on your phone?” Jin asks.

“Googling us,” Yoongi says. He misses his straw a few times while he keeps reading.

Jin blushes. “Look, if anything strange comes up about a GoFundMe from 2012-”

“That’s not what I mean,” Yoongi says, crunching on an ice cube. “It’s called Queerplatonic.”

“That wasn’t the name of my GoFundMe but it’s kind of close.”

“I don’t want to know,” Yoongi says. “This. The thing we do. Are doing. Think we might… nevermind.”

Yoongi huffs out his frustration and flips his phone over on the table. Jin leans over the rickety bar table toward his pouty roommate. At this point, Jin had half a mind that what happened before was a joke for the barista. Now he finds out Yoongi’s been pondering the same thing in his head all afternoon. “Yoongi, you do want to date me, don’t you?”

Yoongi grumbles incoherently as he scratches at his ear. Jin leans back in his seat with a sigh. Ah. “I’m telling you, it’s fine. Everyone wants to date me. And apparently everyone thinks I want to date them. You are not immune.”

Yoongi’s head pops up, irritated as usual by Jin’s ego, and reminds him, “Earlier you literally said you’d be fine dating me.”

“I’m fine non-dating dating you,” Jin says.

“Queerplatonic,” Yoongi clarifies, waving the phone.

“Give me that,” Jin takes the phone from Yoongi. It’s some stylized Wiki page. He glances up at Yoongi, ears a bit pink. “You’re sitting here deciphering us without including me?”

“You’d talk so much I wouldn’t be able to read,” Yoongi shrugs. “Plus, I’ve seen you staring at my nonstop. I know you are thinking about the same shit over there.”

“You say that like you don’t talk all the time,” Jin pauses to nod in thanks to the waiter who sets their beers on the table. Jin drinks a bit more than he should off the bat. “You even talk in your sleep!”

Yoongi petulantly purses his lips. “If you aren’t going to read, give me my phone back.”

Jin leans back with the phone close to his chest and reads through the article. As he goes, he feels tension in his shoulders unwinding. 

What he’s reading in his hands, this is him. Moreover, it’s what he and Yoongi have. And some people, apparently, are okay staying this way.

“Yoongi,” Jin breathes, scrolling further. Yoongi doesn’t answer, he just keeps eating and watching Jin’s face nervously. “Is this… I think I’m this.”

“What is this? There’s like, 20 definitions on that site,” Yoongi gripes.

“I don’t know… something on this?” Jin says, scrolling again.

When he hears Yoongi put his beer down, he glances up. Yoongi’s hand is out on the table, palm up, inviting. Jin takes it hesitantly. He’s always liked holding Yoongi’s hand. There’s nothing implied. Nothing extra expected. Just touching someone. He takes it.

“Are you telling me you’ve never considered your sexuality?” Yoongi asks, wiping his mouth. Jin glances around at the other tables chattering and laughing over assortments of comfort food. No one’s really paying them much mind.

“Um, I mean, I guess I thought this wasn’t a sexuality? More of a libido thing. Not for me. I still like sex and stuff, but maybe every other month?” Jin trails off. Honestly, it’s something he’s tried to ignore thinking about.

“Well, I don’t really,” Yoongi says bluntly. 

“Why didn’t you say something?” Jin asks.

“I did,” Yoongi tries to sound nonchalant, but he hides behind his beer.

“When?” Jin asks, exasperated.

“Do you remember when we were watching that Avengers movie that made no sense?”

“Yoongi, for the millionth time, you can’t just choose to watch Civil War without watching any of the other--”

“That’s not the point,” Yoongi groans over Jin until he stops talking. “We were sitting there. Just chilling. And I said I liked this. And you said you, too. And then you held my hand, and I... leaned my head on your shoulder and shit.”

“That was…” Jin rubs his chin. “That was a confession?”

“I mean,” Yoongi shrugs, but he looks a bit annoyed.

“Oh.”

“I was pretty sure you were aromantic,” Yoongi continues, “or at least something of the sort. I mean, didn’t you google it?”

“I don’t google this stuff, I just deal with it,” Jin scoffs, but he feels his ears burning. He glances at Yoongi’s phone again. Aromanticism (or aromanticity) is an orientation in which someone does not experience romantic attraction. Aromanticism is often confused for asexuality, but asexuality is only a lack of sexual attraction. Not all asexuals are aromantic, nor are all aromantics asexual**. That.

He reads it aloud. “I think that’s me. Like, maybe both. But not all the time? But most of the time.”

“Okay, well, that’s cool,” Yoongi says. Simple. The simpleness of it all almost makes Jin urge to create something more. Not exactly drama. But now he’s finally talking about it, he wants to know a bit more. Especially now that he knows he and Yoongi have been on different pages about who they were to each other for almost a year. And he’s a bit overwhelmed with the fact that what Yoongi wants is to just stay how they are. It’s a bit too surreal to be reality.

Jin chews on his lip. “Do you like me?”

“I don’t like anyone,” Yoongi clarifies. He fumbles with his words a bit, frowning while he gets his thoughts together. He settles with, “But you’re okay.”

“No, I mean,” Jin takes a deep breath in. He laughs nervously. “Isn’t it scary? It feels like… I’m broken. Like I’m supposed to like you more than I do or in some, I don’t know, some other way I can’t fathom?” Jin chuckles nervously. He inhales the salty air mixed with the familiar smell of burning grease. “I didn’t expect to admit something is wrong with me and my dick at a dive restaurant.”

“Nothing is fuckin’ wrong with you,” Yoongi squeezes his hand. Jin glances away at the small compliment, which sounded more like a command. It makes him flustered. “First of all, I’m disappointed you are falling into the ploy of a nuclear family or some shit. The idea of some kind of ideal romantic relationship is commercialized and definitely benefits the economy. The entire dating culture. Don’t even get me started on gifts.”

“I already know how you feel about gifts,” Jin cuts in.

“Exactly, you know me, and I like to think I know you,” Yoongi says, his voice getting quiet at the end. Jin glances up to see something rare. Dusted pink chubby cheeks. He wants to pinch them, fidgeting in his seat.

“Jin, I like being with you, if that’s what you mean,” Yoongi sighs. “I like that we can just be us. I like doing things with you. I don’t want to put a label on it, just like I don’t want to put a label on myself. But the whole romantic thing? Not me. What we have? That fits me. I want to keep doing that. Do you want to keep doing that?”

Jin nods immediately. Yes, yes he does. He loves doing things with Yoongi. “But aren’t we supposed to do more? Get somewhere with it? I don’t know, profess our love?”

Yoongi drops back in his chair with a groan. “Jin, we aren’t supposed to anything. We can do what we want. Tell me what you want. You be you. I’ll be me. We always speak our minds, right? We just be ourselves. Talk to each other. Be, uh, together.”

Yoongi’s words start to drown into the sound of the restaurant, his palm sweaty in Jin’s. Jin smiles softly. He’s nervous. Cute. “Wow, I’m the worst. Here you are having to guide me through all this.”

“You are the worst,” Yoongi agrees. “I can deal with that, though.”

“Okay,” Jin says. He inhales and lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah, um. This is what I want. What I like. What we’re, you know, doing. Coffee and eating and living.”

Yoongi nods. “Alright. That wasn’t so bad. Now let’s eat and go stargazing or some other shit. The weather’s too nice to go home yet.”

Jin smiles softly. The food comes to the table and they both separate, picking up their chopsticks, and dig in. It’s easy. Comfortable. Content.

**This information came from this website [the website will be here in a bit. Tumblr is flagging posts with links so i’m waiting a bit before inserting it]

© July 2020 JoopiterJoon. Protected by Creative Commons. If you repost my work in any form or say “credit to author” I will find you and ruin you :D

Characters only borrow name and likeness from the members. Do not copy, translate, repost, or reuse this work.

[holdmeicant]

A Newsboy and his Bullets (Willy Wonka x OC) | CHAPTER 1

A/N: Finally, some good f*cking motivation. @willymywonkers

PRESENT DAY

Well, here he was for probably the hundredth time like a school kid on his first day. 

    Elmer Stanley watched the gates open, fresh for the mind and work and only welcoming for the sweet-teeth. His honeymoon-like relationship with Willy Wonka’s factory never seemed to fade at all. The excited chatter, the many hurried footsteps, the embroidered ‘Wonka’ on crimson-themed uniforms. All a wild fever dream. 

    If you’ve ever experienced the common Monday disease, workers could sincerely inform you that, here, there was no such thing. It was guaranteed Monday-to-Friday bliss. Although, Elmer admitted, the employees here had a range of personalities, some contradicting the factory’s friendliness. It shouldn’t have mattered, and, well, didn’t. He smirked at his particular talent in being reclusive towards most workers was respectfully convenient. For the best, he thought, should he be fumbling over words, or choosing them wrongly. If he was honest, most workers would hate the thought of being pestered by a man twenty-or-so years younger than themselves. Yes, Elmer hadn’t once come across an employee his age. You couldn’t count Willy Wonka himself, nor his intimidating Vice President, whom Elmer could tell was slightly unhinged just as Mr. Wonka was, though quite good-looking.

    By the time everyone had settled on the other side of those giant, metallic doors, Elmer was at once stopped by the usual scent of hot chocolate licking his lips. A long, thin corridor could not stop the hot air from reaching the gathered crowd at the entrance, who, like Elmer, was granted olfactory pleasure.

    “Good morning, my dear workers,” Mr. Wonka began through loudspeakers; a usual routine. “Please enter. Nevermind those who stayed for both Saturday and Sunday - I hope you all had a wonderful weekend and are well-rested.” (Elmer chuckled at this). “I assume we all know the importance my factory holds in next month’s upcoming event. So, having mentioned that, I suggest that in these three weeks we mustn’t dilly or dally! That’s all from me. Good luck to you all!”

    And that was all from him. For a moment, he could imagine how children’s jaws would drop at the amount of brown mixture they saw in action. How their eyes would bulge tremendously, how their hands would tremble surreptitiously. The heightened commotion of the factory, the bustling workers and their wondrous stresses. 

    And for a moment, Elmer was that child.

    A newsboy. Quite a funny excuse for a job. Almost as though Mr. Wonka had invited him for the sake of his own ego. And no, he was not necessarily mad, merely… envious. Envious at the fact that, even in the slightest sense, every (and he meant every) worker but him was able to smother themselves in the brown or red or pink every second. He ought to ask Mr. Wonka why this was the case; after all, it was a year ago the chocolatier had learned of nearly the extent of Elmer’s talent. 

    But still, a newsboy. Perhaps another exceedingly inviting thing about this job was visiting Mr. Wonka’s office on a daily basis. It was rather long in shape, a sleek wooden black table in its centre. Your feet would be blessed upon walking along a crimson carpet. It was almost like a silent, flash-less red carpet walk every time. And each time Elmer would knock softly at the entrance to hear a soft ‘come in’, well… to say it was the highlight of his day was an understatement. 

   “Handling the press again, are we, Mr. Stanley?” 

    “Joe!”

    Joe Bucket, a man about sixty years-old, was each morning the first person to greet Elmer. He was about as kind as a capybara, and easily one of Wonka’s most hard-working and loyal workers. 

    “Afraid so,” Elmer panted as he watched Joe drop his coat onto the floor. Wonka’d promised this was the only room he’d leave untidy, as well as safe enough to leave all our belongings in. “It’s the usual, sir. Don’t suppose I’m useful for anything else at the moment!”

    “Oh, just you wait, boy.” Joe Bucket cast Elmer a sincere look with his large emu eyes as he pat Elmer’s broad shoulder. “This time ‘round, he’ll be needing five times the workers!”

    Elmer hoped that was the case. It was nearing Easter, which meant the Wonka business was exceptionally busy producing a hundred times more of the cocoa than other sweets. They were to continue the weekend’s work, speedily. Elmer additionally  wondered why in such a fictitiously creative environment was there no requirement to sign a contract, being exposed to such products. But it was left unspoken about. 

    Like always, Elmer was to run the daily errands: papers and any letters to Mr. Wonka, his Vice President, and deliver advertisements for the company ‘round town. It was safe to say that though Mr. Wonka was obviously head of the business, he showed little to no resentment nor annoyance towards Elmer. Again, possibly the age factor. And Elmer absolutely despised small talk, which meant that Mr. Wonka kept it interesting; sometimes humorous.

    ���Mr. Wonka?” Elmer placed today’s paper on his boss’ sleek, chestnut desk. Indoors, Mr. Wonka couldn’t care less whether you kept your hat on; he himself rarely was seen without his.

    “Yeah?” the chocolatier answered.

    Elmer peered over, noticing Mr. Wonka’s interest in the particular headline Wonka Business Headed For Further Prosperity As Easter Approaches. Like he didn’t already know! Feeding his own ego, was he?

     “May I ask you a question? A serious question?”

    Mr. Wonka’s eyes didn’t leave the paper. “Hate to break it to you, Mr. Stanley – you just did. Twice, in fact.”

    “Right.” Elmer fiddled with his newsboy cap. Conversing with this man in any form meant you were treading on thin ice with words. “May I ask two more questions?”

    Mr. Wonka looked up from the paper, rosy lips curled to one side. “Go ahead.”

   “Erm, why exactly am I merely the newsboy of the factory? Aren't there jobs which surely require –”

    “Question limit has exceeded,” Mr. Wonka interrupted. Those heart-shaped lips spread to an even wider smile, unmistakably, yet sardonically, tormenting. “Why, because you’re a young man.” 

    Elmer frowned. “But I’m older than you.”

    “By, like, a year, yeah.” 

    “Three years,” corrected Elmer hastily.

   Mr. Wonka jested with such passion. “Hey, by the way, did you pass all required exams to run a candy business at the age of seventeen?” He propped his elbows up on his desk, hands clasped together. Eager to be swaggering.

    “... No, sir.”

    “That’s what I thought.”

     A newsboy nonetheless. Elmer raced through extensive arms of the factory’s wonders after his senseless conversation with Mr. Wonka, continuing the list of his duties. There was a small look at the Nut-Shelling room (which indeed saw its occupants hot-headed with stress), and a newly-developed room dubbed The Unmeltable (where, Elmer expected, a rise in sales for Easter’s warm day would occur). At least, now, the pondering was off his chest. He was left with the inevitable decision of accepting the fact that Mr. Wonka was not offering him any upgraded position as of yet, which still was damaging to a twenty-six year-old presented with explicit processes. Swallow the pill, Elmer, swallow the pill. At least you have a job in Wonka’s factory. 

    It wasn’t long until Elmer, in the midst of sorting mails in his small and largely secluded room, was interrupted by a soft knock on his door. 

    “Yes?” 

    Standing at his door, prim and proper, strangely mystifying, was Wonka’s Vice President. Her coffee curls bobbed over the  clipboard she clutched in her arms. The rectangular spectacles she wore were either too small, or her eyes were too big; nevertheless, this was hidden by the fact that they rested slightly lower on her nose bridge.

    “Miss Fiddle,” he blinked, merely startled. 

    “Figgle,” she corrected kindly. Her smile wasn’t the phony, humorous kind he was used to from Wonka. The corners of her mouth pointed downwards rather than up.

    Elmer gulped. This lady, surely, had no intention of projecting some sort of fear onto her employee. Yet a wave of apprehension ran through his bones.

    “Miss Figgle. Right. Sorry.” Elmer straightened himself and attempted to focus on who would be on the receiving end of his enriching maladroitness. “This must be … important. We’ve - we’ve never actually spoken, one-on-one.”

    “No, indeed, we have not.” The Vice President leaned on the doorway’s rim, slowly rubbing her temple as she tilted her head sideways. She was certainly drained as hell. “Not anyone’s fault. I believe this past year has been quite chaotic.”

    Elmer raised an eyebrow at her lack of intention in cutting to the chase. But after what seemed like a long minute, she removed her spectacles and cast Elmer a somewhat distant look. 

    “You see, you’re going to bear some good news tonight, Mr. Stanley.”

[copias-thrall]

Give or take 18mos ago, my bestie @copias-cape sent me a Ghost video. She thought I'd be into them. (She wasn't wrong.) Not too long after that, I saw that they'd be playing in my city and I hemmed and hawed about buying a ticket. I mean: I'd just heard of them! Surely others—real fans—would be more deserving of the ticket (plus I was soon to be unemployed and surely my $$ was best spent on my mortgage). Eventually, I was convinced TO GO—way close to the actual date, and so I got a really shitty seat.

To be fair, I attended my first Ritual in an actual theater—not a show venue—so there was no floor space, no dancing; and I was way in the back. I had been told that Ritual was Life Altering, and—while I had fun—I was pretty meh about it.

I'm going to wildly digress here and tell you all about a time I went to see Billy Joel. See, I grew up listening to Billy Joel, and—as a piano player—his songs played an important part of my formative years. I've seen him 3x. One of those was right out of college and a birthday gift from a former bff. It started off as a disaster—she thought she got ok tickets, but she misread the seating chart and actually got us nosebleed seats 1 row from the ceiling and behind the stage. It wasn't ideal, but I was just happy for the thought and, I mean, it's a music show. If we can hear it, that's good enough.

We struck up a conversation with the middle-aged couple behind us and their disaffected daughter + guest. The teens were not enthused in the slightest and kept going and coming back to their seats. Suddenly! They come back! Why? What's up? Well, apparently, Joel's roadie's go to the nosebleed seats and give FRONT ROW tickets to unfortunate people (read: cute girls) in the nosebleed seats. And the roadies were keen on getting these 2 nubile, young girls up front. Being 16 however, required parental permission. Permission they did. Not. Get. My bestie and I sat there feeling pity for these 2 girls who were being denied something amazing as the parents said, "This is something you do in your 20s, not when you're 16."

At which point a light went off, they turned to us, and said, "Hey: you girls wouldn't like these front row tickets would you?" We did. We really did. We kept solemnly quiet as these 2 teens beat their chests and rent their garments begging her parents not to be so cruel. But the couple would not budge. Reluctantly, the teens took us down to the roadie and introduced us as their replacements. The roadie gave my friend and me a blatant, scrutinizing once over, before shrugging his shoulders, nodding, and telling us to follow him. We did not look back on what would become a defining moment in 2 teens lives on how Not Fair life was.

We, however, were taken not only to the floor, not to the first row, but to a set of folding chairs between the stage and first row. We were instructed to be enthusiastic—to dance—bc this was being taped. And you know what? It was a blast! It was a rock show! We could see the pores on his face. An overall 15/10 experience.

So seeing Ghost from the theater back? Meh.

Upon hearing of my ambivalence to my 1st Ritual, @copias-cape insisted that next tour, we would go together. She would show me how to Ritual correctly. Little did we know how soon—not even a year!—that would be. When Ghost announced their next tour dates, we scrutinized the poster, trying to figure out where all the landmarks would be.

When dates were announced we agonized over who would go were and when. Locations and venues were bandied about. A location had been settled on, only to change due to class and work conflicts. Bus tickets were exchanged. Days were taken off. This wasn't going to be a Ritual, this was going to be a Weekend.

It had been 7mos since I last saw her shining face, but finally the Ritual Weekend was here, we were together, and we became a chaotic force to be reckoned with. We became those 2 girls you hate at a party. The whole trip just gelled together and the next thing we know, there we are in line waiting to meet the Rat Daddy himself. Special guest star appearance by @moonlightbewitched who somehow randomly was right behind us in line. (Apologies if I seemed distant, but I was nervous AF.) We met some other awesome ppl—while we waited in line for 3.5hrs—who I regret not exchanging info with, but: Rat Daddy.

I already have my meet & greet post, but I will add here how woefully unprepared I was. I was nervous, sure—but in the way one is nervous about meeting their fav. I had this mistaken impression that it'd basically be a point & click situation. They've been touring for nearly 2yrs. He's done hundreds of photo ops. Sure: he's a rockstar, but he's also just a man. Probably an exhausted, tired man. I wasn't expecting to be seduced and manhandled by buttery gloves. Whoever that girl was in the bathroom trying to eavesdrop on our post-op conversation I'm either sorry we were such hot messes or you're welcome you got a scoop on the sheer presence of the Rat Daddy.

ANYWAY, the point is: Ritual #2. Riding high off the feel of Copia's leathered fingers on our skin and the inordinate kindness of strangers letting us maneuver our way up front, we had a transcendent Ritual. We were so close! HIS THIGHS WERE RIGHT THERE! The music reverberated through our very cores and had us at times clutching at each other in stunned rapture.

This. THIS is how Ritual should always and ever be.

One weekend. Two women. A helluva performance by Rat Daddy + the Ghouls.

In the upcoming days I will be posting my various forms of footage, but I felt remiss in not including the sheer magnetism of my friend and cohort, who has been nothing but patient and supportive of my gradual easement into the Rabbit Hole of this fandom. And I thank her for encouraging me to experience Ritual the right way.

You are correct.

It's life-changing. It's transcendent.

Sign me up.

[mydarlingklaus]

Summary: Species of all kind are welcomed at the Whitmore Academy for the Supernaturally Gifted, but that doesn't mean they all necessarily welcome each other. Ambitious supreme witch Caroline Forbes shares a mutual loathing with arrogant yet mysterious vampire Klaus Mikaelson. A spiral of events occur when their two dueling worlds collide and they have to ask themselves, 'is it worth it'?

Chapter 3 is updated!! 

I just wanna say how humbling it is that this story is being so well received. I love reading your reviews and it’s what keeps me motivated to update as quickly as I have been so thank you. Can’t stress it enough!

Under the cut is the first part of the chapter but  I would appreciate if you leave reviews on my fanfic account. But let me know if posting the full chapter on both tumblr and my ff account is preferred.

The full chapter can be found here and reviews are appreciated, as always (: 

Time was passing slowly, too slowly.

Class was dragging but luckily it wasn't a difficult subject. It was a general magic course, basically beginner chemistry that every student of any kind was required to take before graduating. Caroline could practically do all of this in her sleep. What had her on edge was the news she heard just 20 minutes ago, that she had to share a class for the rest of the semester with the boy she loathes.

He seemed to be everywhere and wouldn't bug off, like a nagging pest. It was as if Klaus was making it his life mission to make Caroline's last semester as miserable as possible by forcing his way into every aspect of it.

She could barely focus on the lesson Professor Sommers was teaching with her brain scattered.

Glancing over her left shoulder she spotted Klaus who actually seemed to be paying attention to the lecture. The crease in his forehead that usually appeared when he was fixated on something visible and deep; Caroline recalled from the few times she's caught him staring at her. His eyes squinted in determination, full bottom lip trapped between his teeth and left hand rubbing his scruffy cheek while his right scribbled down notes.

- Rebel Klaus Mikaelson turned ideal student?

- Why are you studying him?

Caroline blinked out of her curiosity and discreetly cleared her throat while uncomfortably shifting in her seat. Her moves not discrete enough given that Klaus was now focusing on her from afar with an expression full of wonder; no smugness in sight. They both had some sort of radar that detected when the other was looking.

The professor continued her lecture while the two of them were staring each other down like it was a job.

- Is this foreplay for him?

Feeling like she was giving him enough of her time, Caroline rolled her eyes and turned back towards the front. Not seeing the victorious smile sketched on his face.

She straightened her back and sat up right to appear studious and focused, fighting the urge to look over at him again.

"You know, you two should do us all a favor and just fuck to get it over with already."

Caroline nearly jumped out her seat, not the least bit aware that Katherine was sitting right behind her with a teasing smirk on her lips.

She appeared out of nowhere and mouth practically in her ear; no consideration for personal space. Similar to Klaus's behavior.

- God I hate vampires.

Caroline kept her attention towards the front of the class as she harshly whispered. "Uhh, excuse me?"

Katherine rolled her eyes. "Please you and Mikaelson have been eye fucking each other for the past 10 minutes and not gonna lie, it turned me on."

"Oh my god. Are all vampires this perverted and nosy?!" Caroline strongly whispered, looking around to make sure no one was listening to them.

She shrugged. "Probably. All the ones I've met are but we're highly sensuous creatures after all, are you surprised?"

"I wouldn't know. Vampire 101 isn't really my level of expertise."

The brunette leaned forward. "Lets just say we have incredible senses and can detect sexual tension from a mile away and you and him definitely have a lot of it."

Her blush deepened.

"I have a boyfriend." Caroline clarified.

"And?"

She scoffed. "And he's the only one I have any kind of sexual tension with."

"That's not really how sexual tension works, babe."

Caroline swiftly turned in her seat. "First of all, I am not your 'babe'. I'm not your anything. Second of all, we're forced to live together and apparently have a class together but we are not friends, not even in the slightest so you cannot talk to me about things like this especially when they're not true."

"You're getting quite defensive over something that isn't true." Katherine said suggestively.

"Be- because I don't want any kind of rumors being spread about me." She stuttered. "I don't associate with vampires and never will so you and your buddy Klaus need to get a life and leave me alone." Caroline said angrily.

The brunette clicked her tongue against her teeth. "Just because we're both vampires doesn't mean we're bffs. He has no idea who I am, yet, and I only know him because it's kinda important to know who's the leader of my own faction."

"Ask me where I asked, or showed that I care." Caroline sassed before turning in her seat again with a dramatic sigh.

Katherine glared pressing her lips together as she sat back in her chair. "All I know is that the werewolf has never gotten you this hot and bothered and I've only known you for a day. Please feel free to correct me if I'm wrong."

The blonde stayed silent shaking away the obvious blush of her cheeks from Katherine's accusation.

- Me? Klaus Mikaelson? Sexual tension? I rather swallow a blade.

Klaus wasn't hideous, obviously. Definitely one of the most attractive boys she's ever seen with a sultry English accent to match, but his arrogance and murderous tendencies were a definite turn off. Most importantly Caroline was with Tyler, she was happy with Tyler, and it angered her that Katherine would think she'd feel that way about anyone else but him. It also sent paranoia through her mind, wondering if Katherine was the only one with these ridiculous accusations.

The professor turned on the lights, indicating the lecture was over, but made another announcement.

"For this project you will be assigned one partner, of my choosing, to conduct and present a spell. You can pick any type of spell you'd like as long as you get it approved by me first so, no hexing." She said with a small smile.

"I think she's referring to you, love." Klaus blurted.

Caroline didn't realize he was addressing her until she felt the whole class snickering while looking at her. The professor settled down the class instigating while Caroline's eyes transformed to arrows and Klaus's face was the target.

Oh, so badly did she long to slap the stupid smirk off his face until it was red and bare. She hated how much she allowed him to snoop under her skin but he was just begging for a reaction with every stupid comment he would make.

"Mister Mikaelson," The professor clapped her hands together. "What an honor to have you in yet another one of my classes this semester. Since you clearly are so enthused by this assignment, you'll be the first person to receive their partner."

Caroline began packing up her belongings so she could exit the classroom as soon as possible. Being in Klaus's presence any longer than necessary was already giving her a rash.

Her movements ceased when she heard her name, not sure if she heard the context correctly.

- No. No, no there's no way.

"What?" Caroline questioned.

"Miss Forbes, I said I'm assigning you as Mister Mikaelson's partner so get to it!" The Professor clarified. "That will be all class, I'll see you on Thursday." She dismissed.

Caroline was frozen and distraught. Face drained of color and mouth opened slightly.

"Guess you'll have plenty of time to work out that, nonexistent sexual tension huh?" Katherine giggled before throwing her backpack over her shoulder and standing from her desk.

No...no...

How can this be?

The whole class literally just witnessed how terribly chaotic these two are being in the same room, let alone working on a project together for the next two weeks.

- What the fu-

Caroline was a range of emotions from pissed to confused to pissed all over again, and she definitely was not going to allow Klaus Mikaelson to have any affect on her grade.

She quickly snatched up her bag and hurried down the stairs of the lecture hall to confront her professor who was propped up on the wooden desk reading through an essay.

Of all the professors Caroline's experienced in her academic career, Professor Sommers was definitely her favorite. Her first name Jenna, but she preferred students address her as a professor; understandable. She was only about 12 years older than Caroline, mainly why she connected best with the students but still required respect and it was given. The first year Caroline attended one of her seminars she thought she was a fellow witch due to her knowledge in magic, but learned she was actually a banshee; practicing magic was a hobby.

Given that she was of one species but followed the practices of another was admirable, at least for Caroline and felt she was a reliable ally to talk to about certain struggles. They had a great trusting relationship wrapped with mutual respect, but today was the day where they might finally butt heads.

Caroline sighed when she reached her desk area. "Professor Sommers?"

"Caroline." She acknowledged still staring down at her paper. "What do I owe the pleasure?"

Licking her lips nervously she sighed again. "I respect you Professor, you know that and would usually never question your judgment but I think it is very unwise to pair me and Mister Mikaelson together for this project."

"Mister Mikaelson? So formal, you'd think we were strangers."

"One could only dream." She mumbled.

Of course he was standing right behind her.

"I have to say Professor, me and judgy here never see eye to eye but I have to agree with her on this one. So shouldn't that be incentive enough?" Klaus claimed now standing next to an annoyed Caroline.

"Seriously?" Professor Sommers's eyebrows raised intriguingly, placing her paper on the desk and folding her hands in her lap. "And why is that?"

Caroline scoffed. "Did you not see how completely rude and disrespectful he was towards me in class just now? Imagine what I would endure for two weeks?!"

"Ah, playing the victim." Klaus sighed. "Very typical witch behavior."

Caroline slammed her hand on the desk and faced him with her other hand on her hip. "Yes, I am a witch and you're a bloodthirsty vampire which already makes us a lethal combination." Turning towards the professor again. "We can't even have a civil conversation without him insulting me."

"Pot meets kettle." Klaus growled.

"Our factions are not meant to collaborate. You understand, right?" Addressing her teacher.

"Are you two done, or should I leave the room so you can continue your marital bickering?" Professor Sommers asked rubbing her temples.

"Yes, I understand completely how things work around here, I use to be in your shoes remember?" She began. "When I attended this school it was the exact same routine. Everyone stayed with their own, but I swore to myself that when I began teaching I was going to break that cycle. That's why I decided to teach a general education course, so not only I interact with every type of student but so that you all can interact with each other as well."

Klaus and Caroline both crossed their arms as she continued.

"Vampires and witches have never gotten along, I know. I've read countless amount of history books on it and have witnessed it my whole life but I don't care. This is the place where all your prejudices go away if you want to get a good grade, but more importantly to get a better insight on the supernatural world you're living in. You need each other more than you think." She concluded.

Caroline scoffed. "I highly doubt I will ever need him for anything."

Klaus chuckled under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Well might as well get use to it because you're gonna need each other for this assignment. So you have two options: you can either be partners and guarantee yourself a good grade or you refuse to work together and receive an 'F' which means you fail the class and can't graduate this semester. Up to you?" The professor shrugged nonchalantly.

As if they had a choice.

The way both side eyed each other then dishearteningly conceded to the terms was proof of that.

"That's what I thought. See you both on Thursday." She smiled then waved them off as they walked out of class.

Klaus's shoulder purposely collided with Caroline's as they both attempted exiting through the door. His skin brushed hers chillingly making her jump back unexpectedly.

He didn't bother acknowledging her awkwardness even when she began walking ahead of him.

"You should watch where you're going, love." Klaus suggested.

The blonde growled, turning on her heel and charging back his friction until she was directly in his face.

"Listen we might be forced to work together but let's get some things clear: we are not friends okay?" She began. "We do not engage in any kind of conversation or interaction outside of this classroom and assignment, got it?"

Both of Klaus's eyebrows shot up at her demands. He wasn't sure if he was more offended or impressed.

Instead of pestering, he nodded his head. "Understood, love."

"Oh and another thing, you will stop calling me by those stupid pet names. My name isn't 'love." She hissed.

Klaus's smirk grew mischievously, making Caroline tense. His eyes appeared dangerous and amused staring back into hers.

The gulp she just initiated didn't go unnoticed by Klaus who tilted his head curiously walking towards her. His steps careful and light.

Caroline didn't realize how many steps he had taken until her back was now against the wall. Both his hands placed beside both sides of her head trapping her in his hold. The warmth of his breath fanned her reddened face. Her entire body felt hot and tingly from his stare alone. Dark eyes and dark thoughts.

Their chests nearly touching, hers heaving when she finally looked up at him. His trance took its usual effect as it dragged her in once again.

They were completely out in the open, bodies almost connecting against a drywall as if no one would walk by and see. Caroline should've been more aware of someone seeing them in this position but she found herself caring very little.

Not the way his full red lips complimented those sparkly eyes. Caroline had never been this close to him, noticing the stream of green around his iris and the blue-green hue masking the simple blue she's grown to know.

He hadn't touched her and they hadn't done anything, and nothing was going to happen, so why did she feel so dirty?

- Maybe because you aren't pushing him away?

Caroline blinked repeatedly, swallowing. "What are you doing?"

He grinned at the hoarseness in her voice. "Nothing, nothing at all. You're the one making all the rules here. You said no more pet names so I wanna know what I should call you then..." Klaus claimed. "Princess, sweetheart, Goldilocks..." He listed jokingly but sensually, twirling a strand of one of her blonde curls between his fingers.

The move so casual yet erotic.

Caroline's hands began to sweat at the feel of his finger slightly brushing her cheek. She balled her fists till her nails dug into her palms as her hair remained in his soft grasp.

She unintentionally looked down to his lips but quickly back up to his eyes.

The lump in her throat bobbed up and down from her harsh gulp. He always examined her so thoroughly it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

"My name is Caroline. That's what you can call me. Clear?" She demanded still fixated on his intimidating glare.

He smirked. "Such a prude. Pet names are much more entertaining." Klaus commented twirling her hair delicately. "But all right, I'll play by your rules but just so you're clear," Moving closer into her space. "For the sake of my grade and not being expelled for murder I'll let your attitude towards me go this time. But that's the only say you'll have from here on out. I don't take demands from anyone, especially not from a prissy judgmental witch who always has her knickers in a twist."

Klaus caught her wrist mid air when she quickly raised it in an attempt to slap him across the face.

Her fiery eyes matched his that were now the threatening golden hue.

She nearly winced in pain at how hard he was holding onto her. Through all their bantering and insults Klaus never seemed genuinely upset with her, until now.

Caroline was breathing heavily, not just from the rushed motion of her attempted assault but from the burning feel of Klaus's touch. Like his hand was burning a hole into her flesh. His grip tightened as he pulled her back from the wall and closer to his chest; still keeping a short distance between their bodies. Both their faces tense and red in anger. Their breaths hot and labored fogging the air between them.

The black spidery veins outlining his cheekbones oddly fascinated Caroline, she couldn't resist staring at them. How was he able to make them appear on and off? What was the purpose?

Everything about vampires didn't make sense to her.

Noticing her lingering stares, Klaus's expression relaxed and his grip on her wrist loosened. He didn't even realize he wasn't saying anything this whole time, or remember what he planned to say initially. As if the seeing into her eyes, closely, for the first time struck an uncomfortable cord of emotion through him.

Klaus took a deep breath retreating his vampire features. Even showing her that side of who he was made him feel weak, and Caroline Forbes of all people didn't deserve to see it.

Caroline felt she was snapped back to reality when his face returned to normal. The window of fascination finally closed.

He finally dropped her hand and balled his fists together and face in front of hers.

"I wouldn't try that again." His voice low and threatening pushing his hands off the wall to create a distance between their bodies.

Of course he disappeared by the time Caroline caught her breath and turned his direction. Her breathing mellowing down as she settled her body against the wall. She pushed her hair back with her fingers and licking her dry lips tiredly. Feeling like her skin was ablaze and the wind was knocked out of her from his stare alone.

And touch...

- What just happened?

The link to the rest of the chapter is above! Reviews are appreciated, thanks loves (:

[thaliaarche]

Lies (or Literalism)

This fic was 100% inspired by the Campania arc, so I’ve re-edited and posted it for day 1 of @queenofsebaciel​’s Sebaciel week-- “Book of Atlantic.”

Ships: Sebaciel Rating: T+ Word count: ~1.5K Content warnings: mental health issues, discussion of suicide, 100% not-recommended medical advice Summary: When Sebastian comes closer to dying than ever before, Ciel invokes the full power of the contract's "truth-telling" clause to obtain answers for his questions.

The reaper attacks with a ferocity that somehow surpasses the rumors. Even with five butter knives lodged in her torso, she growls and rushes at Ciel, aiming her scythe straight at his head. When Sebastian materializes in between, the blade pierces his breastbone and his spine before emerging on the other side. He crumbles to the ground, and brightly-colored reels depicting this contract burst from his chest, throwing glimmering specks of light upon his face— his closed eyes, his strangely serene smile.

The reaper flees a moment later, yet Ciel remains still, holding his breath, staring at Sebastian until his eyes flutter open once more. The demon’s expression contorts first into something like rage before settling into a perfectly blank mask.

For the second time, Ciel gives his butler the day off.

Ciel spends hours plotting in his study, then enters the servants’ quarters after dinner. Sebastian lies still on his bed, eyes closed, fresh bandages faintly visible under a crisp white shirt, his mangled tailcoat hanging from the bedpost.

“I apologize for destroying yet another wool coat,” his butler murmurs as he surveys the scene. “With your permission, I will use magic to repair it . . .”

“Absolutely not, this is your day off,” Ciel interrupts. “And you didn’t destroy the coat anyway. This new reaper’s scythe did.”

“I placed myself in the way of her scythe, and so I bear responsibility for its destruction.”

Ciel snorts. “I’m amused to hear a demon take responsibility for a problem, but I see no need for you to. You had no choice but to throw yourself in front of me, did you?” Receiving no response, he continues, “How have you enjoyed your sick day?”

“I look forward to returning to my duties.”

“Are you well now?”

“This body has largely repaired itself.”

“I see.” Ciel glances at his butler’s chest, rising and falling in a perfect approximation of human breathing, a bloody chasm just yesterday. “I rather feel I should thank you.”

“As your loyal butler, I require no thanks.”

“Would my gratitude matter to you if I gave it?”

"It would only be fitting for a loyal butler to appreciate a token of his master’s favor.”

“You could have died, Sebastian—” Ciel’s tone suddenly turns to ice— “one more bloody casualty of my revenge. Am I right? Were you truly at risk of dying last night?”

“I did not die . . .”

“Did you know you wouldn’t?”

“I realized fairly early on the blow would not kill me.”

“And how early is ‘fairly early’?”

“Why fixate on words, young master?"

“It’s a simple enough question.”

“The moment was rather chaotic, who could remember each detail . . .”

“You could.” He pauses, eyes narrowed. “Need I give an order?”

“About half a second after the blow fell.”

Ciel gapes for several seconds before recovering his voice. “And . . . And did you throw yourself in front of me simply because of the contract’s magic?”

Sebastian opens his eyes, pushes himself up with only the slightest wince, and chuckles. “Are you sure you’re asking the questions you want answered?”

“I’m sure I’m not. Now answer.”

“No.”

“What did you just say?”

“No.”

“Stop refusing to— oh. So you didn’t block the scythe just because of the contract. Is that correct?”

“Correct.”

“Why did you block the scythe?”

“Because the angle and speed of her scythe would surely end your life, without outside intervention, and the intervention I provided would allow me to suffer the blow instead.”

“I bloody well know that,” Ciel scoffs. “And you know what I meant.”

Sebastian replies in the pedantic manner of “Professor” Michaelis, over-articulating his words. “I cannot possibly know exactly what you mean. Language is a terribly imprecise tool, and I have misused more languages in my lifetime than you can even name.”

“So you’re using language to pretend ignorance,” Ciel groans. “What would happen if I commanded you to answer my questions as you think I intend them, not just as I articulate them?”

“The result would depend on your exact wording, and on your state of mind, and . . .”

“Give me your most plausible guess.”

“You would storm out of here with poorly concealed tears in your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Because I would tell you that I did not act as I did because I feel your mortal feelings, nor because I return your human ‘love.’”

“You—” Ciel nearly lunges forth but stops himself, exhaling slowly, eyelids floating closed and open again. “Say that again, just as you did.”

“Because I would tell you that I did not act as I did because I feel your mortal feelings, nor because I return your human ‘love.’”

“Can you— can you feel anything like mortal feelings?”

“I have not in what seems like an eternity, even to me.”

“And can you ever return human ‘love’?”

“I have never done so before.”

Ciel looks down at the ripped coat. “And how did you know that . . .” He trails off.

“That you do love me? Let me count the ways. I smell it in the dark and dirt and pain your soul now holds, while blundering in vain  . . .”

“Shut it.”

“With pleasure.”

“What—” Ciel exhales, trying to keep calm. “Then what motivation compelled you to block the blow?”

“I wished for it to not hit you and to hit me instead.”

“And what deeper motivation are you trying to hide with that unhelpful answer?”

“As a millennia-old creature, I have many deep motivations for this, and almost all my actions.”

“Tell me the first, clear, deeper motivation that came to mind when I asked my question.”

“I wished for it to hit me.”

“What— but you thought it might kill you.”

“Indeed,” he says with a smile in his voice.

“Did you wish to die, then?” Ciel scoffs.

“No more than usual.”

“Do you value your life?”

“Yes.”

“Do you value your life more than mine?”

“No.”

“Do you value your life more than, say, Elizabeth’s?”

"That depends on the particular standard by which I judge.”

“What would you have done, if Elizabeth had been standing in my place?”

Sebastian contemplates. “I would have pulled her out of the way.”

“That was a viable option?”

“Yes, I suppose it was.”

“Then what the hell were you thinking?” Ciel bursts out. “Really, at the moment of impact, what were you thinking?”

“I was wondering whether this blow, which seemed fiercer than Undertaker’s on the Campania, would unearth Cinematic Records from before this contract and yet leave me alive. Of course, it did not."

“Did you want that outcome?”

“Not particularly.”

“What’s in those records that you were so afraid of?”

He frowns. “I felt no fear in that moment.”

“Then what did you not want seen?”

Sebastian makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sigh. “I doubt there would be much to see. They’re cluttered with events, of course— balls, riots, wars— but I suspect those would all blend together on the film.”

“So, even if the blow had revealed more of your past, we’d still have seen nothing but a colorful blur?”

Silence.

“Sebastian?”

“I have doubts about ‘colorful,’ my lord. My previous life seems far more likely to be rendered in monochrome.”

“Like Madam Red’s?” Ciel intones.

“If you search my history for a grand tragedy, you will be disappointed.”

“A series of small griefs can do as much damage as a single tragedy,” he shoots back. “Do you often wish to end your existence?”

“I have no intent to commit some flamboyant suicide . . .”

“Do you often wish your existence would end?”

"It . . . does grow tedious, from time to time.”

“And?”

“I do not intend to burn the earth and sky down in search of death, as others of my kind have. I have no serious suicidal intention at all.”

"Only dreams of suicide?”

“I have had dreams of starving and undergoing sublimation,” Sebastian smirks. “Of simply closing my eyes, melting to smoke that quickly wisps away.” He inhales deeply, pausing for dramatic effect . . .

“I feel that’s a rather common sentiment, actually," Ciel cuts in.

“You know not of what you speak.”

“But here is what I do know, Sebastian. The record you describe sounds as sad and gray and pitiful as Madam Red’s, from when she fell into her depression. And frankly, I find this half-hearted grasp at suicide quite pitiful in its own right.” Ciel’s voice rises. “I have questions, Sebastian. Why am I still alive? Why have you left me alive? I was no trained lawyer drawing up our contract; if you chose to attack it with the full power of logic and wordplay and language you demonstrated today, then you could find at least five loopholes to exploit, ending the contract immediately. You could claim that my father’s activities as the Watchdog brought this ruin on me, and that my revenge is already complete, that the person responsible is already dead. Is this correct, Sebastian?”

“I do believe it is, young master. A fascinating idea, and I am surprised to hear you lay out it so clearly for me . . .”

“You thought of this the day our contract started,” Ciel snaps. “Probably by the second minute. And yet I am alive. And yet—” he advances along the side of the bed— “your memories of this contract, as I’ve seen three times now, are clear and bursting with color. And yet, you cannot bring yourself to say that you can’t feel human emotion and human love, because those possibilities are in sight for you, now, for the first time in millennia.”

Ciel drops down and grips Sebastian’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, pulling him up, drawing his lips close. He breathes, “So don’t you dare think you really want to die.”

Sebastian simply stares, motionless, as Ciel’s own jaw trembles. He straightens once more and proceeds towards the door, only stopping to say, “This is an order, Sebastian. Try to be happy.”

He sweeps out of the room.

In that second, Sebastian sees a good five ways to circumvent that order, or abuse it. He knows Ciel has seen them too.

Still, he leans back, ignoring the coat still torn on his bedpost, and lets the smile spread across his face.

[dranzerswritingworld]

The Resolution - Story

The sense of loss was unexpected. After the talk with Drac, Erik had spent a lot of time thinking. In fact, he had disappeared for a period of a few weeks, meditating on what had been said, and, as much as he hated the Bat-Creature, he had had a point. There was little sense in investing in a family, only to abandon it, for fear it would abandon him. Returning, Erik had spent the rest of the time downscaling his operations. He wouldn’t leave completely, he couldn’t, the work was too important, but it wouldn’t be his life. He set up a fake base in a new area, far away from Dranzer’s house, and only when that was settled, did he commit himself to family life. That had been a few days ago. It had been a steep learning curve since then. Having visited many times before, during and after Ezra’s birth, Erik understood that Dranzer lived in a chaotic household, but seeing the creatures occasionally, was very different to living with them constantly. Drac was fine, he slept during the day and kept his own council during the night, but the ninjas and spiders were an altogether different story. They were around constantly, and they weren’t always peaceful about. He should have been used to that, not all of his followers kept their internal world inside themselves, not all of them were calm minded, in fact, some of the worst and most annoying had- Well, the ninjas would have fit right in. And then, when he had seen the spider with his daughter, Erik had been unable to hold back the fear that had taken hold. He knew, knew that they were safe. He knew they could be trusted. But in that moment, he couldn’t trust that what he knew was correct. He had acted, one simple thought and the black menace had been reduced to red gore, and then had come the screaming. The spider had made noises as it had died, but Dranzer was the one who screamed. She screamed as she grabbed Ezra off him. She had cried as she’d rushed to the hallway, and she’d been angry as she’d left. ND had tried to explain that the spiders were family, but that felt irrational. They were spiders, arachnid life forms, they couldn’t talk. They couldn’t feel, they shouldn’t even have existed. But they did, why was this such a big deal? Cleaning away the blood had been easy, and the ninjas had taken care of the rest, or had it been the other spiders? Erik hadn’t really paid attention; he just knew that it didn’t take long for the house to return to normal; all traces of the massacre removed. Was he happy though? No, not in the slightest. He told himself to give Dranzer time, that she would come back, but he couldn’t be sure. They hadn’t been connected; he didn’t want to be connected. When they were connected in that house, he heard all of it, especially the spiders. They thought so very differently to him; it was…unsettling, and so he had taken to locking himself away, protecting himself, not from her, not really. Or was it from her? They were pledged, they were married, they had a kid, but did he trust her? Completely trust her? It was a troubling thought, and it played on Erik’s mind as he made his way back to the school. The mansion was Dranzer’s home now, but Charles’ had been her home before. If she had gone anywhere, she would have gone here. ‘I knew you would come, eventually,’ Xavier called, his mind touching Erik’s even before the school had come into sight. ‘I thought we had agreed that you would stay out of my head,’ Erik replied, angrily. He didn’t want anyone to see his pain, and Xavier was smarter than most. He had no doubt felt what had been on Erik’s mind, and that didn’t sit well with him. ‘I merely wanted to check your intentions,’ Xavier admitted, smiling at his friend. ‘We are in my office, if you’d like to come and see her.’ Having also lived at the school briefly, Erik knew his way around and made his way straight for the correct window, entering that way so as not to trouble the students, or arouse the attention of one such as Wolverine. “Welcome, old friend,” Xavier turned, smiling at Erik as he joined them, closing the window behind him. “I had expected you to use the door, but so long as nothing is broken, I am sure I can allow this more unorthodox of entrances.” Nodding, though he had no words, Erik felt himself pause by the Professor, his eyes on his wife and daughter. Dranzer’s eyes were red and puffy, Ezra’s too, but for now the toddler was asleep, Xavier’s influence perhaps? “I believe you had something of a disagreement?” Xavier began, looking from one half of the couple to the other. “I have heard what happened, perhaps you’d care to enlighten Dranzer as to why it happened?” “Why?” Erik turned to his friend, glaring at him, but Xavier merely shook his head. This wasn’t an accusation, simply an invitation. Dranzer didn’t understand why the spider had been killed, did she think him callous? “It…Ezra,” Erik tried, though the words became caught in his thought. This was part of the honesty he struggled with. Just how could he open himself up, in this room, before these people? “You are among friends here, Erik, don’t be afraid.” “I…came back because I love you,” Erik managed, turning away from Charles, and crossing now to his wife and daughter, kneeling before them, trying to meet the former’s eyes.

“I…returned because…I can’t lose you, either of you. I…your Bat-Creature, he said something to me, the last time I visiting. He said that I had to choose, and I have. I have chosen you, both of you. When I saw the spider holding Ezra, looking at her, its fangs so close to her precious face. I lost it. I…I couldn’t think. There wasn’t a single rational thought in my body. I just saw…I saw her death. I saw a split second moment between her being with me, and being taken from me. And it was dead before I knew I meant to kill it.” Erik finished, falling into silent, though another phrase came to mind and. reaching out, he cupped Dranzer’s cheek, raising her head, causing her to look at him. “I’m sorry, for your loss.” The words were earnest, and they caused Dranzer to cry once more, her choking sobs heartbreaking, but as quiet as she could manage. Ezra didn’t deserve to be troubled, not like this, not by this. Silently, unable to find words, Dranzer opened her arms, angling her daughter towards Erik, offering him her as though she were an olive branch in human form. Quietly, Erik reached out, happily taking his daughter from his partner, resting her cheek against his shoulder. She remained asleep, exhausted, perhaps, by the events, and he used his free hand to stroke his wife’s knee. “Can you forgive me?” “I…” Dranzer looked up, forcefully wiping away tears, before she turned to Xavier. The Professor had explained about trust, but Dranzer already knew all that. It would take time for Erik to be completely open. She was foolish to expect his agreement to live with them signalled that change. It was selfish to expect it to happen. He had a long history of mistreatment, of pain; she couldn’t cure that in the space of a few years. “I…love you,” Dranzer managed, eventually. “I…always will.” “Then, you will come back?” the words escaped him, and Erik frowned slightly. Was that what he wanted?

It was, wasn’t it? “I will,” Dranzer managed, before she allowed all her pent up emotion to spill forth, and she lunged off the chair and into her husband’s other arm, only his use of his abilities keeping him grounded as she cried against him. She missed her spider, but more than that she’d feared what she’d nearly thrown away because of it. It had been a stupid decision, a foolish decision, and she regretted it greatly. But Erik had come back, he’d come for them. He hadn’t left. He’d had the choice, but he hadn’t left. “I’ll work on it,” Erik promised his voice little more than a whisper. “I’ll try and let you in.” “You…thank you,” Dranzer managed, a smile on her face, even as the tears continued to fall. They were together now, bonded, as one. They would get through this. This and everything else.

One thing was for certain, Dranzer was never walking about again. Her heart simply wouldn’t be able to take it.