#actually worth nothing and dropping you for someone better at articulating things or who are funnier or are less annoying or

[gemharvest]

Need to get on top of whatever dumb fucking inferiority complex I got going on I'm tired of looking at everything about myself and going "Wow I am really sub-par." I know it's 2am but this isn't the midnight thoughts talking this is a fucking persistent curse throughout my day.

[alastanor]

In less than a week my feed has been plagued by the "hot takes" of entitled fans of the Hazbin and Helluva universe.

As a result, I know I promised some analytical information regarding what we know of Hazbin's version of hell thus far, which will be included in this post. But there will be some other things added as well to address some of the more frequently expressed "concerns" I have seen being (rather rudely) expressed in posts.

Some of the things I will be talking about in these posts, so while I will be utilizing quotes or things said in @total-mal 's very well articulated response post, I recommend going to read that response post in it's entirety. Like... now.

The complaints I tend to see typically fall along these lines.

So in this post I will be addressing these things and other things I typically see.

Story

As was very well put in the aforementioned post, the series of Hazbin barely has an hour of content. Yet for some reason people complain that it's a mess. How?

The Pilot itself is meant to establish the setting, who the characters are, what their relationships to each other are, establishing dynamic, and establish the premise of future story that is meant to follow. All of these things the pilot did exceedingly well. A pilot is NOT meant to drop dozens of hours worth of world lore and future plot points in one half hour segment. It is supposed to hook people into being interested in and watching the follow up episodes. Which, considering the rather quick cult following that preceded the pilot debut, I would say it did that and more even without the world lore dump people are demanding.

No story is going to give you every facet of the characters and the world they inhabit in the first episode or the first novel. No story worth it's weight in salt, that is. Any good story teller will tell you that content needs to be put on an IV drip as the story progresses, or else you will lose the majority of your audience's interest.

Helluva Boss is it's own standalone project set in the same universe as Hazbin, but it's job is not to provide lore for Hazbin. The kernel of lore we got from episode two was great. But that is very likely not going to be the norm every episode. Nor should anyone expect otherwise.

The comics were also their own projects, meant to strengthen an already existing narrative with Hazbin and establish both Angel and Alastor's motives for joining the Hotel. They are not meant to expand on the lore. Their existence could also very likely be overlooked by fans who only pay attention to what is popping up on Youtube or on their Twitter feed.

As for Addict, that began as a fan-created song Vivzie liked enough to animate into a music video which expanded on Angel and Cherri's relationship. It was not meant to be an entry to any Vivziepop Hell lore.

Hazbin is a story driven by its characters. This is why the characters are the focus and take up the majority of any screen time given to any entry of Hazbin. Mal puts it very well:

World

So this is where we will be getting into what we know so far about the world of Vivzie's hell.

So Vivzie's hell is, from what we understand, loosely based on Dante's inferno with other inspirations and deviations mixed in. For example, there are only seven circles of hell as opposed to 9.

In Dante's inferno only circle two through five are after the Seven Deadly Sins. Whereas in Vivziepop's version of hell, every circle is for one of the Seven Deadly Sins.

From what we understand so far, Pride is the top circle, or Ring. Sinners, AKA those who were alive prior to becoming demons, are only allowed to exist in Pride.

We do not know what "can only exist" means. As this doesn't imply that sinners can't leave Pride. Simply that they cannot exist anywhere else.

And also from what we understand, the big marker that differentiates each of the circles is the colors of the sky.

Pride, from what we have seen thus far, has a red sky.

While Greed has a green sky.

This is further confirmed on Twitter, however whether it was confirmed by Vivzie or one of the other official Twitters, I cannot recall.

Now, I know there are quite a few who keep asking this question.

And there are many who seem to think that this little detail means that the fact dump from official Twitters means the story and lore are ruined. This is actually false. Especially when you consider that Sinners are not a finite population. Nor is their influx a small trickle. So expanding Sinners into other parts of hell is only a temporary solution to a more overarching problem. It may slow down the necessity for purges, but it would also increase the number needed to be purged each time a purge was necessary. Further, it is doubtful that Lucifer would be keen on the idea of angels traveling deeper into Hell just as it is doubtful that he sees a reason to be exceedingly merciful to sinners- the creation he detests and is more or less what brought him to Hell to begin with. It also would erase any place to escape for Hell-born demons.

So in this regard, no. Nothing is ruined. People just aren't paying attention. The devil is in the details, after all.

As for what the difference is between circles and rings, perhaps this will shed some light.

Rings seem to be segments of a circle that separate sinners by the subcategory of their sin in each circle. Whether or not Vivziepop's version of hell follows this, I personally doubt it. Ring and Circle, from observation, seem to be used interchangeably. So the two could very well be the same thing.

The other bits we know are lore facts Vivzie has given previously that may no longer be true as the world exists now. For example, previously Alastor was scared of dogs. But more recently, Vivzie said that is no longer true and Alastor simply just does not like them. So any older facts should be taken with a grain of salt until they are reconfirmed.

Switching gears on the world, there have been complaints popping up that Vivziepop's hell is not "hell-y" enough because there is not enough fire and brimstone.

To take a phrase from total-mal once more, there are countless alternate depictions of hell as hell being other people instead of the place itself. The phrase exists from Sartre's No Exit, but has been revisited numerous times in other media depictions of hell to display that the definition of "punishment" can be broadened to a much larger spectrum than originally imagined.

In the Hazbin universe of Hell, punishment is the constant threat of physical and emotional harm from those around you, not unlike being in prison or living in a ghetto. You have the increased potential to be abused or taken advantage of if you show a moment's weakness.

And while some in the demon hierarchy might have it better than others, there is still the constant threat of being killed or overthrown by someone stronger or someone just wanting to prove themselves.

In the Hazbin universe of hell, you wear clues to your life, your sins, and your death on the outside for all to see (and in some cases, manipulate). You are thrust into a demon hierarchy one wrung up from the lowest class, unless you are lucky and strong enough to become an overlord. In which case, then you are two wrungs up from the lowest class. And your punishment is living every day with the constant threat of those around you. Of always needing to have your guard up because someone will take advantage of you or worse. That isn't even mentioning the annual threat of the purge.

Livestreams

This is another one that I see get mentioned and awful fucking lot in the complaint/concern/hot take posts.

There are always complaints about how the livestreams are useless, serve no purpose, or are just "jerkoff sessions." Mind, these same complaints almost always seem to come from the same people complaining about having no information about the show or having no lore surrounding the universe or the story.

Nevermind that Vivzie and the cast are all under NDA and cannot disclose much that isn't already known about the show and, where VAs are concerned, cannot do any voice lines that go beyond what has already been said in the pilot lines.

The Livestreams serve SEVERAL purposes, however. One of those purposes is to drum up interest surrounding Hazbin and Helluva, as well as to advertise and to disclose any lore that they have permission to disclose to the audience. Something to whet their appetites as they wait for the small Indie studio A24 to finish production of Hazbin's first season in the middle of a pandemic. Because that last bit people seem to forget is still ongoing.

Without those livestreams done by Viv and the cast, many of the impatient fans in this fandom would be practically breaking down the door on Vivzie's DMs demanding to know where Hazbin is or why she seems to have given up on it. Or at least, more than what is currently going on now anyway.

People need to calm down, let the Devs do their job, and pay more attention to the details given in what we have thus far. Vivzie has done a GREAT job at eluding to the bigger picture in her details. Particularly where her characters are concerned. And I for one am here for it.

[thekitschdiet]

my take on the literary masterpiece, the chic diet

Firstly, I am no one. It’s part of my charm. My fifteen minutes of fame was years ago, when I had an instagram niche meme page. I didn’t even take any brand deals! And my posts averaged six thousand likes! Anyhow. I am hardly literate and well hydrated and carry a small sephora-CVS-hybrid worth in my mini tote bag. Here is my guide on how to live like me, the intermediate kitsch-rat, aspiring influencer. But like, in an apathetic, somewhat dissonant, ironic way. I like saying I live by dogmatic principles. But a lot of it, um, is just eating disorder rituals. But that’s not really important. You’re as hot as you say you are, and as much an authority on what you write so long as you say it with, you know, conviction. It’s kind of venerable how fucking delusional I am, actually. Giving any sort of advice like I’m anywhere close to the ritzy ideal of the amphetamine-areyouami label-american. New York, ideally. West Village, preferably. But I guess the kind of guide I can write is better suited to someone living in a suburb, in a house with the twelve-paned windows. I always thought those were so chic. SO quaint, in a somewhat luxe way. Like, Connecticut vibes. My parents used to drive me up there as a child to buy books and ice cream. Nowadays I’d opt for a matcha latte with novelty ice cubes, but I guess at the time it was pretty sweet. 

Because I popped a Vyvanse at like, 10pm, this next little bit could go one of two ways. I will write the most articulate, brilliant piece of literature of my life. Magnum opus, if there was a skinnier word for it. Or, I will get wrapped up doing something like folding all my last-season knits (which is part of my look, okay! I don’t have a job!) and fixating on a paragraph on how a girl’s collarbones are almost as identifying as a fingerprint, or a signature. I’m not a graphologist, but if you write your A’s with the little tail on top (like on a computer), you’re probably a snake. Nothing personal, just an observation. Also, I do have a biology final to study for. Not that I’m super anal, or even particularly committed to academia, but even in my precariously manicured (read that as separate terms; I did a good job on my nail polish, okay? But I happen to also be teetering on the brink of an epiphany or a collapse. Hence the use of the word precarious.) state, I know it’s important enough I can let one of my countless side-quests sit idle for a couple more days. 

The first section seems only natural to be about hydration. And the whole idea of drinking things, really. There was a section in The Chic Diet about Adderall dry-mouth, which deeply resonated with me. Once I bit off a chunk of a Nivea Strawberry Shine (my favorite lip balm, more on that later) and swished it around my mouth. Didn’t help. Really, really didn’t. Anyway, I suppose that even if it served no purpose for combatting my prevacatingly ingenious cottonmouth solution, I was able to milk a sentence or two out of the experience. “Do it for the Vine”, all grown up! And wearing bananapapaya resin hoops too. Side note, that Etsy shop is a parasocial enemy of mine. It stems from jealousy, which sucks, but hating from inside a club I’m adjacent to is much healthier than being a hateful individual towards people I would, you know, interact with. Daily. Or something. I stopped going to therapy because I felt stupid about going and I don’t live in the right kind of town to warrant vacuous $300 hours. Bitching about my well-adjusted parents and how desperately I wished my anxiety would just “go away” was plainly gross, and a waste. Like, pretty sure almost every problem I have could be solved by a couple painful conversations taking place during a hurricane. Such a shame it doesn’t rain much here. Anyhow, I digress. 

Staying hydrated. It is essential to my character, my persona, if you will; to never be without either an elegant metal bottle (I’m loyal to the smooth enamelled S’well ones, printed to look like marble or a semi holographic solid) or a little 16oz tumbler with a metal straw. Hydroflasks were some of the worst things to happen to society. I want to preface this claim with the fact that I wanted one in the same way a teenage girl wants a new iPhone so she can keep up appearances with her dermatologist-dad friends who still have the XR, by the way. But I ended up spending the money on like, a minidress at Brandy Melville before it fled my city. Or maybe a Fresh Sugar tinted lipbalm. For the better, even though the dress has a busted zipper now and the lipbalm tube has inevitably gotten dinged and dented by the other contents of my mini-totebag. Unlike a car, though, a couple scuffs on your laptop or your luxury lipbalm tube looks kind of cool. Like, you’re not someone who values the pristine, unused quality of an item that was ambiguously intended to be used versus displayed on Instagram.  Now, I’m wondering why this paragraph about hydration is so fucking impossible to stay on track for. I literally drink several litres of water a day, and more tea on top of that. And sometimes an almond milk latte if I can budget it in. Not that I’m so anorexic I can’t afford a 45cal latte. They’re just not that important to me. Anyhow. Drinking lukewarm (on the cool side) water is better than ice-cold. Partially because I just get it out of the tap of my ensuite and I can’t be bothered to wait for it to run cold enough every time, and it just seems wasteful. Plus, there is something so.. skinny about drinking water at an “obscure” temperature. Trust me, I want to know why my thought process is like this too. My favorite tea is blueberry tea foraged in a side aisle at my local supermarket. I love a good commercial, high-end steep or fruit infusion as much as the next girl. Maybe more. My pantry is filled with tins labelled with things like “emerald jade organic” and “magic potion”, which is really just currants and butterfly pea flowers. But there is a necessary glamor about drinking dirt-cheap tea on the daily. Seriously, a box of 25 sachets is like, $3. At a higher point with my, um, Adderall problem, I spent like several times that on pills. I didn’t really need to include that, and could have linked the price point to the cost of a drugstore lipbalm, but I wrote it in. And I’m married to it, stubbornly, as all amateur writers should be when they wittle in a somewhat indecorous little joke. This tea is sooo good because it has a strong fruit-reminiscent taste (not as sweet as a fresh blueberry, but who wants that anyway?), it’s zero-calorie, it’s the most GORGEOUS color ever. The latte, the third drink in my little trifecta, is nothing special. But necessary. The trick is to use a milk frother to whip up sugar free syrup with instant coffee and a little bit of hot water in a glass. It’ll make the most luscious foam.. Top it off with almond milk. My dad is a coffee purist, owning both an upstairs keurig AND a downstairs one (among other more analogue methods, but I can’t name-drop, so what’s the point?), so he hates this drink. Now, calling oneself a plebian is so unglamorous and teetering on self-deprecating territory, dangerously close to insecurity. But I can use it here because I am at least posh enough to have a different pair of earrings for every outfit I could possibly come up with, and I only wear Patagonia if I am in a situation where I just have to wear fleece. Like I was saying. It’s such a simple drink, certainly not a delicacy, and… I had a joke about the word plebian but I keep getting up to refill my water and I fear I have forgotten about it. 

Next section; the importance of a good tinted balm

In the intro I alluded to how a girl’s collarbones function essentially as an identifier, the way a signature or fingerprint does. This is a lie, or at least an exaggeration. But one’s ultimate tinted lipbalm is  actually extremely indicative about who you are, as a person, as a member of society, even… 

If you are loyal to Dior Lipglow, I have a couple questions. One; did you shoplift one tube, once, and refill it with cheaper stuff afterwards? I did that. I consider it one of my better-kept secrets, but now you know. Might as well explain the catalyst for my parent’s first separation now, and the horrifying experience that was meeting my dad’s Manhattan sugar baby (?) at the age of thirteen, wearing an overalls dress from, like, Topshop or something else equally embarrassing. .. Kidding. I digress. It’s such a fancy lipbalm, and good too! It smells like thin mints! But I could just never justify cell phone monthly installation payment money on something I will inevitably talk off. I do own three, but two I stole (before I lost the nerve, somewhat unfortunately) and one, a boy(not)friend bought for me. This is not something I feel any remorse about, because his house was easily four thousand square feet and his sisters had a dedicated all-glass room for their shared peloton. Oil money. Ugh!

My personal favorite lip balm, and I have tried a frightening amount, has got to be the Nivea Fruit Shine collection. The frosted one is shit-ugly. Hideous. But the strawberry one is the love of my life. It’s such a pleasant red, looking healthy and rejuvenated and really completes any look. Only downside is it will always, hopefully not always, remind me of Charles. Kissing Charles, specifically. And him asking me what lipbalm it was, because he knew I was somewhat frivolous and definitive and would have a very long answer. But for whatever reason, I simply stated it was from “out of town”. Not really sure why I said that, but it plagues me (minorly) to this day. Of all the things to make up.. .. The peach one is a perfectly demure spring classic shade. Cherry exists too, but the only tube I have ever had the fortune of owning was purchased in Costa Rica and lost somewhere on the way home. Honestly tragic, it was the juiciest shade. Blackberry is perfect too, but I have to layer it with either peach or untinted lipbalm to avoid what I imagine TooPoor would choose if she believed in tinted lipbalm. I don’t mean this hatefully, I think she’s a queen, but super dark, smudgy makeup suits the eyes better in my opinion. Or something. Or something.

Afraid to bore the reader, I have to move on now. Maybe at a later date I will release an addendum on my ultimate lipbalm buying guide. But also, that is so deeply personal (and everyone needs the excuse of “hunting for the perfect staple shade!!”), so it is really not my place to have any authority on something so intimate and subjective. Etcetera. 

Moving on; Decorating your room

Here is a section I lifted out of my memoir document. It fits, because as enigmatic as I hope I am, I am also quite unchanging.

 I just pushed three hangers and two tiny strappy tops with the tags still on, off my bed. Most nights, all, these days, actually; I spend in my large but cluttered bedroom. I have a little ensuite with a jetted tub I’ve never used because I just never get around to it. There’s a plush grey rug, spanning the expanse of the room (covering an ugly cherry wood that doesn’t match the rest of the house; no clue why. I never asked, and the previous owners were eager to sell so they could finally ditch this town and retire in Montreal for the bagels, or Hawaii for the monk seals. Point is, I’ll never know) with loose beads and loose pills and little shards of glass from plier-crushed beads. I vacuum every day. The whole room tells you exactly the kind of person I am; the clutter I possess, the encapsulation of the projects I start, start, start and the hours I don’t sleep for and the clothes I tried on (these to sell, these to cut up with kitchen scissors; thrifted lululemon and aritzia and heaps of knits and plaid fabric..) I would not say the room is a mess. Lived in, maybe. Chopsticks and mugs and gum wrappers. Single dangle earrings. I just finished the last of my Creme Brulee eos lipbalm; disguised as a relic of 2015, I was gifted it Christmas of ‘20. I think my next waxy conquest will be a tinted Burt’s one I palmed a while back, before I lost the nerve. Peering around the room you will see shopping bags strewn about the mouth of my walk-in closet. Every surface has something shiny or colorful stacked up on it. Cluttered, busy, but intentional. Except for the walls, which are bare. Bare and gray and miles-tall when I lie flat on my back, high out of my mind, willing things to change but knowing I’m responsible for a first step I will always be too scared for. Bare, pristine, no gumtack. Empty, Like they’re waiting. I wait around a lot. It makes sense. That was an awful lot of words about my stupid blank walls when truly it does not bother me that much; I really just don’t get around to it. I have other things on the ground to tend to, like post-email nausea, addressing envelopes, marrying wire and bead.  Writing a document I care about because I am determined and I am alive, alive, alive, goddammit. 

Excerpt over. The memoir is coming out when I get famous, or something earth shattering happens. Like I become the world’s least remarkable entrepreneur, and I get retweeted by Colorpop. I don’t want to be the next Elizabeth Wurtzel. I read two of her memoirs one restless night, absorbing it to make up for the nutrients I didn’t that day (you can laugh. I think that is pretty clever), heart breaking a little bit. She writes about her struggles so intrinsically, you either get it, or you don’t. Anyway. She had the books and the fame from it, and she wrote more memoirs than I think a single person should. That is admirable. Aspirational, even. But I do not want to be like her. Where was I? Oh. Yes. Decorating/adorning/filling your room. Your room should serve as the kind of place to watch a movie (if you believe in film. I don’t) and put on ridiculous glittery eye makeup, or smoke an ~artistic cigarette~ or stay up all night on the phone, which is different from staying up all night simply on your phone. Chatting with someone you are tepidly in love with is much more exciting. Not chic as the whole affair is so juvenile, but fun regardless. It’s somewhere to keep your worldly possessions, too. I know I have a lot! Also, it is kind of thrilling to hide things in your room in little crevices only you know about. Now, unfortunately, everyone reading this will know too. But, like, I trust you not to really.. do anything about it. I keep my extra juul pods in the sliding box my apple pencil came in. That box is almost more useful than the pencil itself. I’m somewhat morally opposed to the iPad. Whole culture is so embarrassing! I have a tea tin with an ounce of golden teacher shrums in it. This is tossed in my closet among tins filled with other things, like lace trim and buttons. Which makes it actually a pretty terrible hiding spot, I see now… Anyhow. Keeping benign little secrets like that is so fun. You can tell I don’t have siblings. I sort of wish I did, but it is easier to believe there is something aristocratic about being an only child. Not sure if older-sister me would be egalitarian enough to share things. But that’s prophesying, which is kind of a waste of time. I live in the now, in a room positively cluttered with meaningless things that mean the world to me, chewing on my lip because my mouth is just so dry and 5gum is just not an after-8 indulgence. To live truly kitschly, you have to have somewhat hideous decor. Now, do not confuse dissonant, or incoherent, with what I mean by “hideous decor”. The kitsch room has as many surfaces to look at as possible, while also shying away from too many shelving units. Then you risk your room looking like a storage unit or something. When my mom renovated (re: paid someone to do it) our New York house so we could sell it, all our stuff was stacked up in a Cubesmart self storage. It was sort of horrifying, seeing my childhood home reduced to plastic storage tubs piled what felt like thirty feet high. Anyway. It’s just not an  inviting way to store things; I imagine it makes your room look like your stuff is all trapped in gelatin. The more fussy, tiny things you have out in the open, the better. Nail polish. Earring trees. Bowls full of rings and lighters and water color pans perched on your windowsill. A rack with the tackiest assortment of knits and bucket hats and baguette bags. And so forth.. Quickly surveying someone’s room is so telling. Bonus points if all your books are spine-in, except for your favorite ones, because you don’t want people to get the wrong idea. (that you read). 

[bts-bay-bee]

blue

↳ pairing: park jimin x reader

↳ genre: smut, fluff, a tiny bit of angst if you squint

↳ summary: teaching your cold boss to love might just be the hardest thing you’ve ever done.

↳ warnings: CEO!jimin, cold!jimin, dom!jimin, assistant!reader, cursing, male masturbation, fantasizing (?), vaginal fingering, oral (male and female receiving), cum eating, marking, daddy kink, pussy slapping, praise kink (kinda?), choking, handcuffs, nipple clamps, clit massager, multiple orgasms, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), degradation (slight)

↳ word count: 13 066

↳ meaning of blue: heaven. authority. cold. wet. slow. depression. trust. intelligence.

“Is he here yet?” You asked, out of breath as you ran to your desk at work. The office secretary shook her head, no, making you sigh out in relief. You had been massively late for work which ended up with you running up the many flights of stairs – in heels – deeming the elevator too slow to get you to your office.

 You flashed the office secretary a huge smile, hoping that would further prod her to cover up for your tardiness, before walking over to your office, which was conveniently located right next to your boss’s much larger, much sleeker office.

 Park Jimin had been your boss for the better part of five years now. You had undertaken the job when you had finished high school, looking for anything and everything to bring any amount of money into your bank account. University tuition fee statements were your personal version of hell; the obscenely large number crushed any of the dreams you once had. But then came along Mr Park.

 When he had seen your curriculum vitae, he had immediately been intrigued. Back then he wasn’t CEO of the company, but he had started to quickly move up the proverbial ranks, which allowed him to finally acquire a personal assistant to handle the lesser tasks. A high school graduate – with straight A’s in every subject – hadn’t chosen to go to college? That’s what had made him so intrigued with you. In a few short hours after he had first reviewed your resume, you had gone through a short telephonic interview then you had been asked to come in for a trial period. One which you had passed with flying colours.

 Jimin couldn’t help himself but ask about your lack of tertiary education. With a flushed face and shaking hands, you embarrassedly told him about your lack of funds. It was only embarrassing because here you were talking about your financial issues to a man who had a year’s worth of tuition on his wrist in the form of a shiny gold Rolex. Another year’s worth of tuition was probably wrapped around his ring finger, because of course no man as rich, successful and not to mention handsome wouldn’t have a wedding ring on.

 Jimin’s wife, Irene – who you had only met a handful of times – was the complete opposite of the warm, caring man. She was cold and distant, even towards her husband, who was supposedly her high school sweetheart. How they managed to stay together for so long boggled your mind. Slowly, you started to see Jimin change. His once fond smile slowly disappeared, now being replaced by a cold, grim straight line. He stopped caring about the people he worked with. He even began to sneer at lesser workers, not bothering to greet the janitors or the office secretary.

 Sitting at your shiny, mahogany desk you began to review emails for Jimin, sifting through the numerous subject lines and forwarding the emails to him so that he could take care of them. At around 10am you left your desk, realising that you had to make Jimin coffee. After adding the espresso shot and steamed milk into the coffee mug, you walked to the large door of Jimin’s office, knocking three times before waiting for a response.

 “Enter.” His voice was clipped, meaning he was already in a foul mood.

 You quietly pushed down the door handle and entered, your eyes trained on the floor as you made your way to his desk. Without speaking you placed the steaming cup of coffee in front of him, then began to make your way back to your office. Jimin hadn’t taken his eyes off of his large LCD screen, not paying you any attention. However, before you could take a step away from him, his cold, hard voice reached your ears.

 “Take a seat, Miss L/N.”

 Oh, you were screwed. There was no two ways about it.

 “Yes, Sir.”

 He never told you to sit after bringing him his coffee. Taking a deep breath, you turned back to face him and took a seat on the edge of the plush chairs. Jimin’s cold eyes still trailed over his monitor, making you squirm slightly from awkwardness. What did he want? He hadn’t asked you to sit with him since… Well, since before he was married. This just wasn’t something you did anymore.

 After what seemed like hours, he lifted his eyes from the harshly lit screen, bring his eyes to your own. Flushing a light shade of pink, you cleared your throat and looked down again. You didn’t want to disrespect him by staring right back at him.

 “Where’s your coffee?” He quietly asked, picking up his mug.

 “I, uh… I didn’t make myself any, Sir.” You replied, eyes trained on your twiddling thumbs. He sighed, rolling his chair back slightly so that he was more comfortable.

 “Don’t you want to go make yourself a cup? I need to speak to you about something.” Jimin said, loosening the tie he had dawned today slightly. You were frozen in the leather chair – had you done something wrong? Was he going to fire you? He noticed you hadn’t moved, which caused him to frown. “Is the idea of drinking coffee with me really that appalling, Y/N?”

 “No! I just…” You began, wringing your hands nervously, your eyes still not leaving them. “Are you going to fire me?”

 Jimin looked at you, stunned. “Why would think that?”

 “Well… I was a little late for work today, and you asked me to sit down. You don’t ask me to sit down and have coffee with you, Sir. It was almost as if you were going to give me bad news.”

 “I used to always ask you to have coffee with me, Y/N.” He replied, frowning slightly. He knew that you used to have coffee with him on a daily basis, usually to discuss the work for the day, but coffee, nonetheless. He also knew that at one point you used to meet his eyes when you spoke to him. When did that change? “Why aren’t you looking at me?”

 “What did you want to talk to me about?” You asked, avoiding his question that you had no nice answer to. Did he really want to hear that his wife berated you repeatedly for working with him so closely? For looking at him when he spoke to you, and vice versa?

 Jimin eyed you warily. “Are you sure you don’t want coffee?” You nodded wordlessly, only making him deepen his frown. Nevertheless, he ploughed on, settling on the fact that this was now what your relationship had been reduced to. “I have a promotion of sorts for you. Well, in actual fact, it’s just a favour for me. A rather large favour.”

 “Sir?” You prodded, urging him to speak when he had stopped. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes out of sheer tiredness. He had been awake all night, thinking about how to ask you this.

 “As you know, Irene and I have been separated for some time now.” He began, making you reel with shock. When did they split up?! And why did he think that you knew about it? “We recently decided to finalise it and get a divorce. She left last week. She left Ezra with me.”

 Ezra is Jimin’s five-year-old son. Despite his mother being an absolute witch and his father turning colder with each passing day, he was still a respectful boy. Like Irene, you hadn’t really seen him that many times.

 “I’m… I’m sorry.” You softly replied, not knowing what else to say. Where was this going? “I didn’t know this had been happening, Sir.”

 Jimin shrugged, not really worried about the fact that he was divorced. That’s not what had been bothering him. “It’s not a big deal. It’s not like we were ever actually in love. Anyway, Irene isn’t what I need to speak to you about. It’s Ezra.”

 “I’m sure this has been very taxing on him too.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. You still didn’t know where this was going, and it was driving you crazy.

 “He’s too young to really understand what’s been happening.” He replied, his jaw clenched, angry at himself for not being able to articulate why he so desperately needed your help.

 “I, um… I’m not really the domestic type. I don’t know how to cook. I don’t know how to take care of a child. I’ve been dropping Ezra off at my parents every day since Irene left, but I don’t want him to grow up spending most of his day at someone else’s house. He should be at his home. And, I know, I can hire someone to babysit him, but he’s still so young to be left with strangers, and I don’t want to put his life in unnecessary danger. I mean, you never know what these people could be behind a façade –”

 “Sir, where do I fit in?” You asked, amused at his rambling. This isn’t the cold CEO that you became used of. This was the old Jimin, the Jimin that had actually been interested about his employees, regardless of the amount on their pay cheque.

 He cleared his throat, a slight blush on his cheeks. “I know that you’re not under any obligation to help me, but I trust you more than anyone else in my life, Y/N. I need… I need someone to help me with Ezra. Not just with Ezra, but with the whole domestic thing.”

 “Mr Park, I still don’t know where I fit in.” You said soothingly, getting somewhat of an idea of what he was asking you.

 He ran his hand though his styled blonde hair in exasperation. Why couldn’t he just say what he needed from you? “Move in with me.” Shit. That’s not how he had meant to phrase it.

 You choked on nothing; the way he had blurted it out had surprised you, which ended up with you looking up at him with watery eyes from a lack of oxygen. He immediately jumped out of his chair and rushed over to you, lightly tapping your back until you could breathe easily again. Having him this close to you made you even more nervous than you already were. After your choking ordeal was over, he surprised you by taking a seat next to you instead of going to the other side of the desk. His cologne wafted over you, dosing you in his masculine scent. It honestly made you more nervous that you already were.

 “Move in with you?” You repeated, in a small voice. Jimin looked mortified at your reaction, mentally bashing himself for even thinking of asking you this. But he was already in too deep to change the narrative.

 You swallowed the lump in your throat. Obviously, you wanted to help him – you want to help everyone around you. It was just who you were as a person. But how would it look? The world you lived in was a rather nasty, judgemental one.

 “Sir… Forgive me for speaking out of turn, but what would people think? You barely finalised your divorce and you already have another woman moving in?”

 “Just temporarily.” He weakly replied, embarrassment showing on his cheeks. “Of course, I know that this is such a huge favour to ask, I know it’s odd, but I wouldn’t be asking this of you if I wasn’t completely out of options.”

 You bit your lower lip, then sighed. Curse your soft heart. Running a hand through your hair, you nodded to him. “We have a lot more to discuss, but when can I move in?”

 ***

 “This is the living room… This is the kitchen… Your bedroom is upstairs, next to mine.” Jimin timidly said, scratching the back of his reddened neck. This nervous side of Jimin was quite new, and you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t make you amused. Ever since you drove into the driveway five minutes ago, he had been stumbling over his words, tripping over nothing and wringing his hands.

 “Sir, are you okay?” You asked before you could stop yourself. He caught your eye, opening his mouth to brush you off, but was left speechless when you didn’t shy away from his gaze. His mouth curved into a soft smile, realising that it was just you. There was no reason to be a nervous, rambling mess.

 “I’m fine, Y/N.” He murmured, seeing the way your eyes danced with amusement. Who would’ve thought that the cold, cutthroat CEO would be rendered speechless from having his personal assistant in his home? “I’ve been thinking… I mean, you are essentially going to be living here for a while. I don’t want you to feel as if you’re forced to maintain a professional persona the entire time. Call me Jimin.”

 “Okay, Si – Jimin.” You replied, quickly catching yourself. The feel of his name on your tongue foreign yet… Right. Jimin smiled at you, his nervousness of having you in his house now forgotten. Who would’ve thought that all it took to get rid of them was just one look into your eyes? But now his stomach was twisting for a different reason. Why did it flip when you said his name?

 “Where’s Ezra?” Your question hung in the air as he abandoned any thought about the butterflies wreaking havoc in the pit of his tummy. Almost as if saying his name summoned him, the boy suddenly appeared to walk down the stairs. His dark hair was greatly contrasted by his honeyed skin; his cheeks so full that they gently shook with every step he took. Ezra was truly the miniature version of Jimin.

 He bowed to his father almost a little too fast, making you raise your eyebrow. Upon setting his eyes on his son, Jimin stood up even straighter than he already was and lifted his chin, regarding Ezra with cold eyes.

 “This is Y/N.” Jimin told the young boy, his jaw clenched. Jimin almost seemed angry at Ezra. “She’s going to be helping us while your mother is away.”

 ***

 “Good morning, Ezra.” You sang softly as you slowly opened the curtains in his bedroom. You saw his eyes peak up at you through the covers of his grey blanket, then abruptly squint when the sun’s rays hit them. “Did you sleep well?”

 “Hmm.” He mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The long sleeves of his blue pyjamas flopped over the tips of his fingers, only increasing the cuteness currently assaulting your eyes. You smiled at him, hoping that today was the day that he completely opened up to you – having already been here for two weeks surely must’ve made him somewhat comfortable with you, right?

 “How about after you get bathed and changed, we have pancakes for breakfast?” You suggested as you ran your hands through his messy bedhead, smoothing the black tufts of hair. Ezra said nothing, instead he nodded at you, sleep still quite evident in his eyes.

 After tidying up Ezra’s room, you walked into the kitchen with the intent of making some coffee for Jimin and yourself. As you put a couple scoops of ground coffee beans in the machine, you began prepping the ingredients for breakfast. If you worked fast enough, Jimin might be able to eat before he goes to the office. Humming as you gracefully moved throughout the kitchen, you quickly lost track of time.

 “Are you… Making pancakes?” Jimin incredulously asked, eyes sweeping over the stack of pancakes that he found next to you on the counter. You hummed, flashing him a small smile, before going back to flipping the golden pancakes in front of you.

 This was the first time that he had seen you in your natural state – usually you were already showered and changed before he even woke up, but today you just didn’t feel like keeping up the pretence. You were basically going to be living here for a couple more weeks – you didn’t feel like faking how organised you were as soon as you woke up. Even though you did feel kind of insecure and quite frankly embarrassed about the way you were dressed at the moment, Jimin felt totally different. Of course, he knew that you were gorgeous, but with your hair pulled in a messy bun and your thighs on display thanks to your sleeping shorts, Jimin just couldn’t help but stare at you.

 His eyes studied the exposed flesh of your legs, unknowingly biting his plump lip when you turned around to get something from the cupboard behind you. Jimin only tore his eyes away from your unmarred skin when Ezra climbed onto the stool next to him.

 You smiled at Ezra as you placed a stack of pancakes in front of him, the breath-taking curve of your pink lips were enough to make Jimin reciprocate the action, even though it wasn’t even being directed at him. When did he become to enamoured with you? Was it when you agreed to help him in his desperate time of need, or long before that? He couldn’t help but think that you were somewhat like a guardian angel – his own, personal angel, who makes his day a little brighter.

 “Jimin? Jimin? Jimin!” You called, trying to capture his attention. He had spaced out, not realising that both you and Ezra had been attempting to talk to him. You nudged his shoulder gently, causing him to finally get out of his daydream and look at you confused. “We’ve been trying to speak to you. You kind of entered your own world there.” You explained to him, unable to prevent the tiny laughter from leaving your mouth.

 Ezra had long since given up trying to talk to his father; any five year old child would want their father’s attention, but Ezra (even at his tender age) knew that his relationship with Jimin was somewhat strained; his father had already been corrupted by the cold CEO attitude to ever give him any attention. This was why Ezra was already almost done with his stack of pancakes – he didn’t want to spend any more time with Jimin than needed. Well, he knew that Jimin didn’t want to spend any more time with him than needed.

 “I’m sorry, I was… Thinking.” Jimin apologised sheepishly, making Ezra confused. For as long as he had been alive, he hadn’t heard his father utter an apology. Not even to his mother. But Ezra was already confused – not once had his mother ever made him breakfast, let alone eat breakfast together. Was this what a normal family did every day? “What were you saying, Y/N?”

 “I was wondering if it would be okay for me to take Ezra to the craft store today.” You repeated, nervously. “Ezra likes to draw and paint, and so do I, so I wanted to get us some more supplies –” Jimin didn’t even wait for you to finish before sliding his credit card over to you, making you look at him confused. “I wasn’t hinting for money, Sir, I just wanted to take Ezra with me.”

 “I know, but please take it.” He murmured, dropping his gaze to the delectable stack of food in front of him. “And what did we talk about, Y/N? Stop calling me Sir. I’m not your boss here. Think of this as your home.”

 “It’s just a habit…” You awkwardly explained, trying not to make too much a fool of yourself, as Ezra hopped down the chair and went to wash his hands. “It feels disrespectful to call you anything other than Sir.”

 “I remember that you used to call me Chim before.” He muttered, thinking back to when you had first started at the company. You had been so playful with him, something that he misses dearly. His admission made you blush a deep scarlet. How did he even remember something as trivial as a stupid nickname?

 As you opened your mouth to respond, you heard Ezra struggling to reach the faucet in the basin. Before you could turn to help him, he frantically hit the tap falling to the floor, subsequently turning the water on to a very high pressure. You suddenly felt water spray everywhere, falling all over the granite top, the floor, as well as you and Ezra.

 You quickly shut the tap off, ignoring the water dripping down your face and checked to see if Ezra was fine.

 “Are you okay, baby?” You murmured, wiping the water off of his face as his eyes filled with tears. “Did you get hurt?”

 “Why didn’t you ask one of us for help?” Jimin asked in a firm voice, anger obviously showing on his face and in his voice. “Now look at what you’ve done!”

 Ezra doesn’t respond to either of you. Instead, he took one look at Jimin’s face and ran out the kitchen, tears streaming down his face. You stood up and looked at Jimin in disbelief.

 “It was just a mistake, Jimin. There was no need for you to speak to him like that.” You said stiffly, trying not to let your irritation shine through. You turned away from him, quickly cleaning up the water before ignoring Jimin’s silence and walking up the stairs into Ezra’s room.

 Jimin really didn’t mean to do what he did. It came from years and years of being forced to be strict and abrupt with his employees. He meant to tell you that – he really did. But when you angrily snapped at him with a soaking wet, white shirt, he lost all train of thought. The water had turned the material see-through, showing off your plump tits, even flaunting the darker ring of your nipple. He was so lucky you were not there to see him frozen, mind unable to function from seeing your breasts.

 ‘Stop acting like some fucking schoolboy,’ he chided himself as he fixed his semi-hard length through his slacks, ‘you got hard after seeing her tits, for God’s sake. Pull yourself together.’

 After checking the coast to make sure it was clear, he all but ran back into his room, hoping to hide his slightly stiffened member from you. As Jimin walked past Ezra’s room, he heard you soothingly reassuring the child that he hadn’t meant to shout at him. Hearing the way you had to quieten Ezra made his heart clench – you barely knew his son, yet you were comforting him after one of Jimin’s many outbursts. Of course Jimin didn’t want to compare you and Irene, the two relationships you shared with Jimin and Ezra were completely different, but she never cared for Ezra the way you do. She never bothered to notice that Ezra had been interested in art; hell, even he hadn’t noticed that.

 Thoughts of how loving you are, how much you cared about people, filled his head for the rest of the day. His employees and business partners must’ve thought he had completely lost his mind: Jimin’s face had this faraway look the entire day, only changing when his mind decided to remind him just how delectable you looked this morning.

 Jimin had been so out of it, so infatuated by you, he decided that there was no use being at work anymore. He wasn’t getting anything done anyway so that’s how he found himself driving back home early, subconsciously wanting to be back in your presence immediately.

 “Y/N?” He called as he walked through the front door, loosening his tie. Not hearing your voice in response made him frown; you were usually waiting in the living room to greet him, with a steaming cup of coffee in hand and a bright, dazzling smile on your lips. He could care less about the coffee if he’s being honest. “Y/N, where are you?”

 Silence once again met his ears causing him to frown deeper. Worry suddenly filled his every orifice. Immediately fishing his phone out of his pocket, his fingers almost went on autopilot, dialling your number before pressing the phone to his ear. His heart pounded in his chest when you didn’t pick up by the second ring. Where had you gone?

 “Hello?”

 “Y/N? Are you okay?! Where are you?” Jimin said loudly, almost yelling. His tone made you confused; you had told him that you were taking Ezra out today. Why was he so frantic?

 “I’m fine, Jimin. Ezra and I just picked up some stuff from the store. Why are you asking?”

“I thought…” He couldn’t even finish the rest of his sentence because he didn’t know what he had thought. He cleared his throat, trying to clear your mind. “Never mind. Are you on your way back?”

 After you reassured Jimin that you were indeed coming back soon, he let out a sigh of relief and ended the call. He didn’t know why, but not coming home to you felt… Wrong. You had only been here for two weeks, yet he can’t imagine living in this house without you; he sure as hell couldn’t figure out how he lived here with the emotionless statue that was Irene.

 Jimin walked past into the kitchen with the intention of getting himself a snack but his eyes drifted to the sink, his mind betraying him by vividly reminding him of the way you looked this morning. God, the way your shirt had stuck to you, tempting him with the subtle curve of your waist, your voluptuous tits… Not to mention the way you had looked at him sternly. Everything about you made his head spin. Everything about you seemingly sent a rush of blood down to his cock.

 Biting his lip, his mind veered into uncharted territory by imagining just how good you looked without the dripping wet shirt. He imagined kissing down your body, marking you as his, and his alone, then spreading your legs, suckling on your needy clit…

 Before he knew it, Jimin was rock hard in his slacks from the mere thought of you for the second time today. He groaned when he felt his stiffness, irritated with himself because now he knew he had to get himself off, and he hated it. Jimin had only his hand to keep him company for the better part of two years now – himself and Irene hadn’t engaging in sexual activity whilst separated, despite living in the same house, and he couldn’t bring himself to bed anyone else whilst still legally married. Other than that, he found it humiliating to buy a sex toy in person, or even online – his company’s IT people could probably see his search history if they tried hard enough.

 Jimin sighed, knowing that his erection was solely his fault. He trudged up the stairs, situating himself in his en-suite bathroom, before turning the shower on. He hated jacking off, but he might as well make the clean-up easy. Stripping out of his work clothes he quickly hopped into the shower, trying to ignore the almost painful stiffness protruding from his body.

 Leaning his back and head against the tiled wall behind him, he allowed the water to cascade over him, relishing in the steaming hot water that soothed him. Jimin tried to not touch his boner for as long as he could but five minutes into the shower, he just couldn’t stop himself from gently stroking himself. He grabbed his shower gel, foaming up his hands so that it would be easier to jack himself off.

 “Oh, fuck!” He groaned, taking his curved length into his slippery palm, moving back and forth on the sensitive flesh. Continuing the motion, he applied more pressure around his cock, relishing in the feeling of getting himself off. But he so wished it were you.

 He wished it were your wet pussy squeezing and clenching around his dick, gripping him like a vice. He wished he could wrap your legs around his waist and pound into you, pulling on your hair and sucking on your neck, leaving deep purple marks so that everyone knew you were his. He wished he could paint the inside of your dripping cunt with his cum, making you hold it in and walk around the office with no panties, seeing evidence of his climax slowly drip down your legs.

 “God, Y/N…” Jimin whined, his usually steely voice reduced to a pitched, needy moan. He wanted you so fucking badly, and he was so fucking close. His hand moved with a mind of its own – it doubled its speed, exerting itself to relieve Jimin. Throaty groans left his plump lips, bouncing off of the tiles and echoing throughout the bathroom. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

 Somehow squeezing tighter around his pulsating cock, he got more frantic. Jimin began bucking into his fist, ignoring how his wet hair stuck to his forehead. After a few more seconds of fucking into his hand, he let out a growl, his cum squirting up and landing on his toned stomach. “Y/N, I’m coming!”

 ***

 “Why don’t you go up to your room.” You suggested to Ezra, ruffling his hair lightly as you walked into Jimin’s living room. He leaned into your touch, clearly affection-starved, making you frown. You’d have to talk to Jimin about that. You noticed just how cold and strict Jimin was with Ezra; of course it wasn’t your place to say anything about how someone raises their child, but it did become your place when said child has to look for comfort from you.

 “Are you going to come paint with me?” Ezra asked timidly, one hand gripping the shopping bag filled with art supplies, while the other gripped your hand tightly, not wanting to let go.

 “In a little bit, sweetheart.” You murmured, walking up the staircase that lead to the rooms. “Go set up. I just need to talk to your father about something.”

 He nodded, only leaving your hand when you walked past his bedroom. You walked to the end of the hallway, planning on giving Jimin a piece of your mind for being so unloving towards Ezra. Without knocking, you entered the room hoping to find Jimin laying on his bed or something, but he was nowhere to be found.

 “Sir?” You said quietly, before berating himself. Hadn’t he told you not to call him that? You cleared your throat, steeling your voice before calling loudly again.  “Jimin?”

 As you walked further into his room, you heard the shower running, indicating that he was already occupied. You decided to talk to him later, so you turned on your heel and began to walk out the room. Suddenly, you heard Jimin’s voice. “Y/N, I’m coming!”

 Huh. Okay. Guess he was cutting his shower short for you.

 You sat on the edge of his bed, elbow resting on your crossed legs and chin resting on your open palm. What if you were about to say something hurtful and he decided that he didn’t need you anymore? Maybe this was a bad idea.

 In a split second, you decided that this conversation could happen another day, so you started to make your way out of his room. As you were about to lift yourself off of the luxurious bed, the bathroom door opened, letting steam escape the bathroom, and also allowing you to see your boss.

 Your jaw dropped open seeing Jimin in nothing but a white towel covering his lower body. Water droplets streaked down his chest, down to his toned abs. Upon seeing them, you felt your mouth go completely dry… Oh god, his body looked like it was carved by the gods themselves. Jimin looked shocked, almost panicked by your presence, which was weird since he had told you he was coming out of his shower.

 “I, um… I needed to talk to you.” You said, quickly, standing up hurriedly. “I was about to leave and then you said you’d be coming out the shower. I just assumed you wanted me to wait for you.” Jimin’s cheeks were tinged red, probably from the hot shower, paired with his second-hand embarrassment from you. “I’m sorry. I’ll just speak to you later. I’ll be in Ezra’s room if you need me.”

 And with that, you practically ran out of Jimin’s room. You didn’t realise that you didn’t allow him to get a word in. Speed walking to Ezra’s room, you felt your cheeks heat up from extreme embarrassment – how, just how, did you think it was appropriate to check out your boss? Sure, you were living in his house, but it’s totally a different thing.

 “Y/N?” Ezra called, confused when you rushed into his room and shut the door behind you quickly. You quickly took a deep breath to calm your radical breathing, then turned to the young child, putting on a dazzling smile.

 “Yes, sweetheart?” You replied, seeing a smile forming on his lips due to your own. Your eyes drifted to the painting supplies that he had spread in front of him, all untouched, because he was waiting for you to paint with him.

 “Did father give you work? Or can you come paint with me?” He timidly said, eyes full of hope. You felt your smile turn tender; you know that you only spent a few weeks with him, but Ezra had completely captured your heart. But paired with your tenderness, you felt yourself feel a pang of sadness: Ezra never called Jimin anything other than ‘father’. It wasn’t that big of a deal, but it just showed that their relationship wasn’t the best, nor were they the closest. God, how can you think about fixing their relationship when you were drooling over his father five seconds ago? You’re pathetic.

 “I came to paint with you.” You reassured, swallowing hard to try and get that delicious image of Jimin out of your mind.

 ***

 After you left, Jimin sat on the edge of his bed, extremely embarrassed that you had heard him jacking off. Sure, you didn’t exactly figure it out, but you had heard him nonetheless. He quickly found himself regretting doing what he did, not because you were his PA, but because you were obviously so innocent; even though he had caught you checking him out, he’s pretty sure that your mind didn’t extend to anything else. Unlike him.

 He sighed, knowing that he had to face you momentarily. Park Jimin – a married man – had been thinking of his assistant, who’s selflessly helping him by living in his house, while he masturbated. How fucked up is he? What kind of person –

 Stopping his self-derogatory monologue, he realised that he had nothing to be angry or ashamed about: he was no longer a married man, and as far as he knew, you were completely single. What was stopping him from advancing on you? It was almost as if a lightbulb had gone off in his brain. What was stopping him?

 With his mind made up, he decided to quickly slip on some clothes, probably needing to make a better impression than just a towel hanging loosely from his hips, then walked down the stairs to where you were making dinner.

 “Y/N?” He called, walking with purpose into the kitchen. His eyes fell to you chopping up some onions with Ezra quietly sketching something next to you. He suddenly felt awkward – the whole situation was too… Domestic for him. It was something that he never experienced.

 But it was too late for him to change his mind. Swallowing hard, he cleared his throat and directed his gaze to Ezra. “Go to your room. I need to talk to Y/N.”

 ***

 “Y/N?” Jimin called as he walked into the kitchen, seemingly angry. You immediately shrunk, thinking he was about to yell at you for waiting in his room. You felt nervousness fill your being at your pending doom. He turned his attention to Ezra, voice turning even harder. “Go to your room. I need to talk to Y/N.”

 That simple command, ‘Go to your room. I need to talk to Y/N’, was enough to bring back all your anger that consumed you earlier. Jimin needed to fix his relationship with Ezra, and he needed to fix it fast.

 Ezra wordlessly obeyed Jimin, hopping off the chair from next to you and making his way up to his room. Once he was safely back in his room you turned to Jimin, meeting his cold gaze, you refused to back down. Ezra needed you now.

 “Y/N, are you –”

 “Why do you speak to him like that, Jimin?” You coldly asked, trying to match his usual tone. “That’s what I needed to talk to you about earlier.” He didn’t reply to you, seemingly shocked in your tone and words. “I know it’s not my place to say anything, but it seems like no one else is willing to confront you about it. Ezra is just a child. It’s fine if you speak to me like that, I’m just your assistant, but he’s your child.”

 “You’re more than just –”

 “I wasn’t finished.” You said, visibly vibrating from fear, yet you still stood your ground. “You’re so cold towards him, Jimin. And why?”

 He stood frozen in place, unsure of what to say. In the many years he has known you, you’ve never seemed so… Angry about something. You were almost a completely different person and it made Jimin feel unsure about himself for the first time in forever. He swallowed hard and broke eye contact with you, deciding to instead stare at the floor.

 “I know that things must be hard because Irene isn’t here anymore, but you cannot allow that to effect Ezra.” You said softly, knowing that you had overstepped multiple boundaries. He opened his mouth to reply but found that he had no words to say. He had no excuse for his harshness towards Ezra.

 Before you could say anything else – perhaps an apology, perhaps more wakeup calls for him – he quickly walked out of the kitchen, probably going to hide in his bedroom. You sighed, knowing that you were too harsh, yet also knowing that it needed to be said.

 ***

 A few hours later, you still haven’t seen Jimin. He had been holed up in his room, doing God knows what, and didn’t even come out for dinner, which left you and Ezra to enjoy a quiet supper. But now it was late, and Ezra was currently knocked out in his room; apparently the shopping trip and then painting for hours was a little too much for his small body. The fact that he was sleeping was bad news for you – it left you to wallow in your thoughts, it left you to overthink.

 Sighing as you turned on the shower, you began stripping and jumped into the shower, enjoying the soothing feeling of hot water caressing your skin. However, your relief was short lived as unwelcome thoughts of Jimin swam through your mind. It wasn’t your place to say anything; all you did was hurt him when he needed someone to help him.

 ‘I should probably apologise’, you mused as you rinsed soap off of your body, feelings of guilt and shame pooling in the pit of your stomach. Nodding to yourself, you quickly wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel, before going back to your room, planning to quickly change into your pyjamas before going over to apologise to Jimin. Before you could do anything of the sort, you heard someone knock on your door, making you frown.

 “Ezra, is everything okay –?” You began, tightening the towel around you before pausing. It wasn’t Ezra, it was Jimin. He looked exhausted, worried even. Before you could say anything, he beat you to it.

 “I think I have feelings for you.” He blurted, causing you to look at him confused. You didn’t even get a word in before a look of realisation came over him and he all but bolted back to his room, leaving you with your mouth agape. What. The. Fuck.

 “J-Jimin!” You called, now worried for his sanity. You definitely shouldn’t have yelled at him earlier. He didn’t look back at you as he hurriedly closed his door. Exasperatedly, you walked down the hallway, and opened his door.

 He was laying on his bed, face buried into a pillow. If you weren’t so worried about him, you might have actually laughed at the situation. “Jimin?” You softly said, making him groan.

 “I’m sorry, Y/N. Just ignore whatever I said. Go back to your room.”

 “Why are you apologising?” You murmured, shutting the door and walking closer to him, ignoring what he said. He sighed into his pillow; face still buried there.

 “Please go. I can’t face you right now.”

 “I’m not going anywhere.” You said gently. “You need to learn how to express your feelings, Jimin. You can’t say something like that then run away.”

 “I didn’t run away.” He grumbled, barely lifting his face off of his pillow to eye you out. This was so unlike the usual Jimin that you couldn’t help but feel worried. “Go get dressed, Y/N.”

 “Then you’ll just lock your door so that I cannot get in.” You replied, suddenly acutely aware of your lack of clothing, making your cheeks heat with embarrassment. Clearing your throat, you tentatively walked forward, placing a hand on his muscular back. “Jimin? Please talk to me. I’m worried about you.”

 “I’m fine. Go to your room.”

 “Stop acting like a child.” You chastised, realizing that this was the only way to get him to talk to you. “You need to get used to talking about your feelings. Yours and Ezra’s relationship needs open communication –”

 “Y/N, I swear I’ll talk about my fucking feelings as soon as you get some clothes on.” He all but yelled, suddenly sitting up with his eyes running hungrily over your exposed legs. “I can’t tell you what I need to when my mind is set on tearing that God damn towel off.”

 You froze, completely shocked that he could ever say such a thing, let alone to you. Quickly shaking off your astonishment and arousal, you knew this was just a ploy to avoid talking about his feelings. Brushing your hand on his cheek, Jimin’s eyes fluttered shut while his chest rapidly rose and fell. Unbeknownst to you, he wasn’t using this as some tactic to get rid of you: he genuinely couldn’t get his mind off of your luscious thighs, wanting nothing more than to sink his teeth into it and mark you everywhere.

 “Please…” He whimpered, leaning into your touch despite wanting – no, needing – you to leave. He didn’t know if you were at all interested in him, but if by some off chance you were, he didn’t want this to be the first time anything like that happened.

 “Talk to me.” You whispered, worry and anxiousness blooming in your heart. What happened to the fearless, scary CEO? Where was he?

 Within a millisecond you felt his hands grip your towel-clad waist, flipping you underneath him, allowing his toned thighs to trap your own bare legs. Your heart began to pound rapidly, only adding to the growing heat between your thighs.

 “What do you want me to talk about?” He murmured as plump lips ghosting over your earlobe, resulting in a silent gasp to leave you. Why were his lips so soft? And why, oh God why, were you so responsive to his barest touch?

 Gulping, you tried to move, knowing that Jimin wasn’t in the right state of mind for this. Even so, it was almost as if your body didn’t want to believe that; your arousal from him doing basically nothing was slowly becoming evident.

 “Jimin, you’re not all there at the moment, we can talk about this in the morning –”

 “No, you wanted to talk, so let’s fucking talk.” He snapped, running his hands over your calves, head buried in the crook of your neck and his lips ghosting over your pulse point. “Now what do you want me to tell you, Y/N, hmm? Want me to tell you that I want to bury my face in-between your legs?”

 “Jimin!” You said, shocked at his lewd words. He didn’t even have the decency to look abashed, nor did he even pull away from your neck. Quietly kissing over your sensitive flesh, you began to feel goose bumps rise over your skin. He paid you no mind as his hands continued to roam over your exposed legs.

 “Do you want me to tell you that I want to have my lips wrapped around your pretty little clit? Or how about finger fucking you until you’re cumming all over my hands? Hmm? Is that what you want, baby?”

 As much as you wanted this, as much as you wanted him, you couldn’t allow him to do this. Not when he has such emotional issues. Tearing his lips away from your neck, you held his face securely between your hands.

 “You’re thinking with your dick.” You firmly said, not missing the way his eyes were clouded with lust. He shook his head, trying to move back to ghost lips over your soft skin. “I cannot let you do something you’ll regret. I came here to talk about your feelings. You need to communicate with me.”

 “Let me show you what I’m trying to say… You know I can’t… Use words for this.” He mumbled, feeling the foreign feeling of nervousness gnaw at him. “I’m not going to regret it, Y/N.”

 Without waiting for a response, he removed your hands from his cheeks and instead cupped your own. “Can I kiss you?”

 You were frozen, unable to think. Was this really happening? Did he really mean it?

 Before you could answer him, you felt his soft lips gently ghost over your own, allowing you plenty time to move away if you wanted, before urgently pressing his lips onto yours. He tasted like mint, the fresh feeling making you sigh into his mouth. The tip of his tongue ran over your bottom lip, silently asking you to let him in. Tentatively parting your lips, you felt his tongue slowly slip next to your own, the corners of his mouth slightly lifting upwards to create a small grin.

 ‘Is this what it is supposed to feel like?’ he mused, feeling butterflies erupt in the pit of his stomach. He never had this feeling of Irene; hell, they never kissed unless he was balls deep inside of her, and even then, affectionate kisses were few and far between. Kisses between them used to be a clash of teeth, sloppy, usually out of irritation and just to keep each other quiet because they had a child down the hallway, but this… This was different. This was right.

 Pushing his nervousness aside, he took one corner of your towel and slowly pushed it out of the way, giving you plenty time to stop him if you were uncomfortable. You didn’t stop him; you didn’t push him away – and why would you? You wanted him just as much (if not more) as he wanted you. Threading your fingers through his hair, you began kissing him harder, no longer fighting against your need for him. Even though you knew he wasn’t serious about his feelings for you, the sexual tension was too much for you to handle, especially since he looked so delectable hovering over your now naked body.

 “Knew you had fucking amazing tits.” He murmured to himself, breaking away from your lips to kiss down your neck and chest. Your towel lay underneath you, no longer a barrier between your bodies. He sucked hard on your chest, marking the flesh just above your nipple with a love bite, eliciting an audible gasp from you.

 Your arousal had begun to slowly drip out of you, the sticky fluid making your folds glisten, something that wasn’t missed by Jimin. After trailing down the length of your body, he placed a kiss over your mound, his eyes never leaving your own. With your heart beating profusely, you watched with bated breath as his eyes left yours to settle on your dripping folds.

 “You can stop me whenever you want.” He promised, struggling to contain his excitement at finally being able to taste you. Nodding at him, you watched as he spread your thighs, trailing his lips over the sensitive flesh, before abruptly sucking harshly on your inner thigh. He proceeded to do this to your other thigh as well, taking his time to get to where you needed him. After marking both your thighs, he soothingly ran his tongue over the bruised flesh, only adding to your frustration.

 “Jimin…” You quietly complained, your pussy throbbing from lack of attention. He looked up at you, laying his chin on your stomach, with a small smile on his features, making your heart stop. He was so gorgeous like this: carefree, happy.

 “I have to take my time.” He whispered sadly, his smile still on his face. “I don’t know if you’d want anything to do with me afterwards. You might leave.”

 “I’m not going anywhere.” You promised, heart wrenching at how lost he looked. Before any more words could be said, before any more reassuring sentiments could be uttered, Jimin peeled apart your folds, strands of sticky arousal visible connecting your lips. Whilst locking eyes with you, he repeatedly licked up your arousal, spreading your folds further to get him what he wants.

 His warm, soft tongue glided against your slickness, drawing soft sighs and moans out of you. Your fingers made their way into his hair, needing to feel him in some type of way as he so gently suckled on your dripping core. The pleasure engulfed your entire being, all curtesy of Jimin’s delicate mouth. Slowly, you felt him prod a finger at your honeyed entrance, resulting in a moan being drawn out of you.

 While he slowly worked his finger into your core, he leaned up and kissed you again, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. As you sucked on his bottom lip, making him chuckle at you, he inserted another finger into you, making you clench around his digits.

 “Shit, baby, you’re so tight.” He groaned, feeling you contract on his fingers. “When’s the last time anyone stretched you out?”

 “Jimin!” You moaned, feeling him massage that spongey flesh inside of you while his thumb rubbing loose circles over your slightly swollen clit.

 “As much as I want to hear your moans, I need you to be quiet, baby.” He murmured onto your lips as he continued his actions. You whimpered into his mouth, unable to contain yourself. “Think you can be quiet for me?”

 He didn’t wait for a reply; instead, he removed his hot mouth from your lips and placed it right on your clit, sucking harshly. Throwing your head back from the white-hot pleasure, you bit down your moans, wanting nothing more than to please him and be quiet.

 “Pussy taste so fucking good.” He praised whilst smirking, a result of you bucking your hips further into him while biting your lip, silently asking for more. Suddenly, he gripped your hips tightly and pressed the flat of his tongue over your leaking cunt, collecting your arousal on his taste buds before swallowing the nectar down, eventually abandoning the movements to stick his stiffened tongue in your entrance repeatedly. His tongue fucked you mercilessly, relentlessly, all the while rubbing forceful circles on your clit. Pressure continued to mount in your abdomen, only amplifying the extreme pleasure Jimin was inflicting on you.

 “J-Jimin… I’m going to…” You whimpered, your hands tangled in his hair as he suddenly added two fingers in you, using his mouth to suck on your clit harshly, almost painfully. He spread his fingers into a V, stretching your tight walls, kick starting your climax.

 Your body arched off the bed, pushing your exposed breasts into the cool air. Jimin worked you through your orgasm, his tongue and fingers not relenting as you continuously convulsed around him, your cum sliding down into his tongue. Your cunt throbbed, the pleasure foreign after not being stimulated for so long, yet he didn’t stop. Continuing his actions, he began to lick thick, bold stripes with his tongue, giving no sign of stopping, despite you ceaselessly pulling on his hair out of sheer overstimulation.

 “Jimin, Jimin, stop!” You whined, feeling the euphoric feeling evolve into something different. Because of your begs and pleas, his tongue relented; removing it from your pulsating clit to your lips. Tasting your cum on his tongue made you whimper, the mere thought of you tainting him was already turning you on again.

 His plump, pink lips never left your own, even when he switched from hovering over you to laying next to you, using his hands to continuously rub and knead your soft thighs.

 “You did so well for me, baby.” He praised, pulling you over his lap, making you straddle him. Subconsciously, you began to grind down onto him, feeling his hard cock through his pants. Letting out a strangled moan, he forcefully held your hips to prevent you from rubbing your slightly swollen, still glistening folds over his length. “We don’t have to go further, Y/n. Too much has been left unsaid. I just had to have a taste of you before you…”

 “You still haven’t told me if you meant what you said.” You whispered, not at all feeling awkward still being the only one who wasn’t fully clothed. “You need to get better with your emotions.”

 “I –” He choked out before looking away with tears in his eyes, causing your heart to clench. “How am I supposed to do this?”

 “Don’t cry, Jimin.” You whispered, using the pad of your thumb to gently wipe away the small tear that fell. “Just tell me how you feel. I won’t judge you. You’ve never judged me, right? You stood by me when no one else would. I’ll never forget how much you helped me, despite not even knowing me.”

 He slowly turned back to you, burying his face in the crook of your neck and holding you tightly. You felt silent sobs wreck through him, bringing forth tears to your own eyes; but you couldn’t cry, not when he needed someone, anyone, to be there for him. While allowing the sobs to die down and ignoring the sudden wetness on your neck, you stroked his hair soothingly, wondering when’s the last time anyone encouraged him to let out his emotions, encouraged him to cry. You didn’t rush him. You knew this was more than just him and you – it was Ezra, it was his lack of emotion and affection to everyone around him.

 “I’m ready to listen whenever you’re willing to talk, okay?” You whispered, softly kissing the top of his head. The action caused him to immediately tighten his arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly close. After a few moments, his croaky voice rang through the room.

 “I feel like the worst father in the world.” He admitted through his tears, small sniffles leaving him. “I know I should be doing better, but how? I don’t know my own son, Y/N. You’ve barely moved in and you know more about him than me. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to be affectionate.” He spat out the word, his tears drying on his cheeks.

 “You seemed to know how to be affectionate with me…” You said quietly, pointing out how he had become so caring when there was a sexual element. He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair.

 “That’s different.” He admitted. “I know what you like, I know how to make you cum, I know the right things to say... That’s just sex. It’s easy for me to do all those things, but anything other than that…”

 “Keep going, baby.” You encouraged, using a pet name to show him that you are listening.

 “I’m confident enough in my body, but I’m not confident with my words.” He carefully explained, voice cracking slightly. Taking a shaky breath, he finally looked up into your eyes, finding comfort in them despite being scared, terrified even, of opening up like this. “I really like you, Y/N – oh my God, I sound like some teenager –”

 Quickly pecking him on his lips, he fell quiet, mesmerized by the softness of your lips, if only for a second. “I like it when you sound like a teenager.” You replied, no teasing tilt to your voice as you looked at him with adoration.

 “I can’t love you like anyone else can.” He admitted, still gazing into your eyes, seemingly unable to look away. “I don’t know how to, evidently because I’m already fucking divorced. But I can try. I can learn. You can teach me.” He breathed, saying everything rather quickly. “Please teach me. I can’t let you go. I need you. Ezra needs you.”

 “Jimin,” You said carefully, trying not to sound too harsh. “I’m your assistant.”

 “I don’t care.” He breathed, heart pounding through his chest. “You can move to another department if you want, but I need you in my life.”

 “What if it doesn’t work out?” You whispered, having to think all the consequences through for the both of you. He frowned at the thought of not being able to work out your relationship.

 “Then at least we tried.” He whispered back, his forehead leaning on your own. “But please give this a chance. I need you. I need this. Teach me how to love again.”

 ***

 One year later

 “Dad, I’m going to be late!” Ezra huffed, trying to move away from the hugs and kisses his father was trying to give him. Jimin elected to ignore him, kissing his forehead one more time, before Ezra ran to you, hiding behind you. “Y/N, please make him stop! Grandma’s waiting for me.”

 “Why would I stop him when I want to do the same thing?” You laughed, picking him up and peppering his face with kisses. Jimin chuckled, gathering Ezra’s backpack, various toys and paint supplies, packing them neatly. Jimin’s mother had asked Ezra to accompany her for a short holiday to the countryside, which Ezra basically jumped at.

 “Mommy, please!” He whined, making you freeze. He had never called you that, and by the silence echoing throughout the room, Jimin hadn’t expected it either. Before you could break the silence, Ezra gasped and ran over to his Grandmother, who had just walked through the open front door, hugging her tightly in greeting.

 “I’m sorry for rushing you, but we really do need to get on the road.” She apologised, all of you standing outside as Jimin placed Ezra’s luggage in the trunk of his mother’s car.

 A few minutes later, you and Jimin were waving goodbye to a retreating car. After seeing them safely off, Jimin snatched up your hand, intertwining your fingers and bringing it up to his lips. He still had an irrational fear of showing affection to you and Ezra when people were around, but when you were in your safe haven, he was the most affectionate person you’ve ever met.

 “Mommy, huh?” He asked while smirking, using his free hand to bring your hips to his body. You smiled and blushed in response, shrugging as if it was nothing, but inside you were jumping for joy. He planted a kiss on your lips before leading you back inside, his hands squeezing your ass gently. “So, mommy and daddy are having some alone time this weekend…”

 “Ezra didn’t call you daddy.” You laughed, walking into the kitchen to get a snack to eat.

 “Yeah, but you did.” He replied, biting his lip as you gasped, feeling heat rise to your cheeks as he brought up your hidden kink that you had accidentally let slip a few nights ago. He hadn’t brought it up until now, making you think that he hadn’t heard your whines as he had been too busy fucking you senseless.

 “Park Jimin!” You chastised, swallowing hard as your hands barely grasped the ice cream pint you had gotten from the freezer. He raised an eyebrow at you, squaring his shoulders. “I didn’t think you heard me.” You admitted, blushing tomato red.

 “Oh, don’t worry, I heard you loud and clear, baby girl.” He promised, pressing his bulge against you as you leaned on the large island in the middle of kitchen. His hands found purchase in your hair, roughly yanking it backwards so that your neck was exposed. He ran his lips all over your neck, biting the flesh, leaving dark red marks.

 “Ezra is barely out the door and you’re already this horny?” You snarked, trying to hide your gasps as he sucked rather harshly on your pulse point.

 “We haven’t been able to really fuck lately.” He shrugged, lifting you up on the cold granite surface and wrapping your legs around him. “Quickies aren’t as fun as being buried in this pussy for hours and hours on end, baby.”

 “We have to go through that presentation – Jimin!”

 “Where are your panties, huh?” He teased, his hand slipping under the hem of your skirt to knead your bare ass. “You’re acting like you don’t want my cock, but you aren’t even wearing anything to cover this pretty, little pussy.”

 You didn’t reply, knowing that if you did a whimper would slip out of you, only adding to Jimin’s smugness. He ran his fingers along your folds, revelling in the way thick strands of your arousal clung to his fingers, essentially coating them in your arousal. You couldn’t take it anymore, the charade of not wanting him, so you threaded your fingers through his hair, using it to bring him to your mouth.

 “Jimin, please…” You breathed, feeling his fingers dance around your clit. As you spoke, he froze, pulling away from your lips with his eyebrow raised.

 “What did you just call me?” He asked sternly, his fingers retreating from your wet cunt, only to come down hard on your clit, the slapping sound echoing throughout the kitchen. “You need to be more respectful, you little brat.”

 “Daddy…” You corrected, voice still barely above a whisper. “Daddy, please.”

 He slapped your pussy again, ensuring that whimpers left your lips. Your arousal coated his fingers, the sticky substance making his skin glint in the light.

 “Look at what a mess you’ve made, baby girl.” Jimin murmured, inspecting his shining fingers before looking you right in the eye and slipping one in his mouth. The sight alone was enough to release another gush of arousal out of you, some of your juices now coating your thighs. “Fuck, you taste good.” He groaned, sucking on his finger. He glanced up at you, his eyes showing just how smug he is. “Want to have a taste?”

 Without waiting for a reply, he placed his fingers in your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself as you sucked his fingers clean. Maintaining eye contact with him, you swirled your tongue around his digits, licking him clean.

 “Like that?” He asked, eyes dark with need. With his finger still in your mouth, you nodded, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “What do you want now, baby?”

 “Daddy’s cock.” You instantaneously replied, almost quivering with need. He smirked, allowing you to grind into his bulge, trying to desperately get any source of friction.

 “And what do you want to do with Daddy’s cock?”

 “Suck it.” You answered, mouth salivating at the mere thought of it. “I want to suck it and taste Daddy’s cum.”

 “Then why aren’t you on your knees?”

 Wordlessly, you hopped off of the counter, knees harshly hitting the floor, yet you couldn’t care less. Your hands messily unbuckled Jimin’s belt, precariously shoving his jeans and boxers down his muscular thighs before you began to palm him in your hand.

 “Don’t fucking tease me.” He groaned, voice deep and laced with seduction. “I still have half a mind of punishing you for being disrespectful, baby.”

 Not wanting to get punished – well, at least for now – you slipped him into your mouth, sucking gently on his tip while maintaining eye contact. You gave it a few kitten licks, sucking off his precum, you run the flat of your tongue on the underside of his cock, making him grip your hair. His eyes hardened as he knew you were still teasing him, so he used his grip on your hair to push you all the way down to the hilt, making you take every inch of his cock down your throat.

 “Ah, fuck yeah, baby.” He moaned, feeling your throat muscles expand and contract as it tried to swallow all of him. Tears sprung to your eyes, the lack of oxygen evident, but it only made Jimin chuckle. “Who fucking told you to tease me, huh? You wanted my cock in your mouth, baby. Now take. It. All.”

 He punctuated every word with a thrust, increasing the tears in your eyes as well as the spit leaking out the side of your mouth. You loved it when Jimin made you take all of him, and it was evident as your arousal had slickened your thighs even more. He eventually took pity on you, pulling you off his dick as you gasped for air, your tears now streaming in rivulets down your face.

 Allowing your lungs the chance to get air, you begun using your hands to jack him off, your spittle and his precum acting as lubricant. You stared up at him as his face relaxed with pleasure, head thrown back as your hands continuously pumped his length. Eventually, when your lungs had recovered, you put him back into your mouth, bobbing your head on the parts that you could reach without choking. With your hands fondling his balls, and your hollowed-out cheeks repeatedly sucking on him, he quickly met his end.

Grabbing your hair, he once again pushed you right up against his pubic bone and shot his cum right down your throat. High pitched, melodious moans reached your ears as his orgasm hit him. The salty, tangy taste of his cum coated your taste buds, the taste alone making you clench your thighs.

 After the rush of his climax was over, you came off his dick with a ‘pop’, nuzzling your head into his thigh, clearly looking for praise. With his chest still heaving, he looked down at you, affection blooming in his eyes.

 “You always suck Daddy’s cock so well, baby.” He murmured, helping you to your feet, bringing your lips to his own. “Such a good girl, hmm? Does my baby want a reward?”

 “Swallowing your cum was my reward.” You breathed, still revelling in the feeling of having him fall apart in your mouth. He smirked, enjoying how submissive and God damn fuckable you were. His hand slipped around your throat, squeezing the sides gently, while his lips ghosted over the shell of your ear.

 “Run up to our room. By the time I get there, I want you to be naked and laying on the bed for Daddy. Got it?”

 Nodding, you felt excitement bloom deep in your chest, knowing that you were truly about to be rewarded. Once he let go of your throat, you all but ran up the stairs, wanting nothing more than to please Jimin. You stripped out of your skirt and stockings before you even made it to the bed, throwing them haphazardly over your shoulder, then you began to unbutton your blouse, peeling off your bra in the process.

 Waiting with bated breath, you found yourself squirming with impatience on the cool, silky sheets. Right before you could huff out with irritation, Jimin made his appearance in all his glory. His own shirt was nowhere to be found, and his jeans hung low on his hips, giving you quite a view of his abs and defined v-line.

 He paid you no mind, walking over to the closet to rummage around in the drawers. He came back a few moments later with a pair of handcuffs and nipple clamps, as well as something shoved in his back pocket. You quivered at the thought of him tying you up; despite the amount of times it had happened, it still brought an insane amount of adrenaline to your bloodstream.

 “Good girl…” He trailed off as he took in your naked body, feeling his cock stir again. The silence in the room faded as he slipped the cuffs around your wrists, then fastened it to the headboard so that your arms were stretched above you, pushing your breasts up into the air. Using this to his advantage, he immediately snapped the clamps onto your nipples, the soft silicone doing little to soften the blow of the pinch.

 A hiss left your lips when he tugged on the chain, accentuating the pain that claimed your nipples. He tugged on it again, gauging your reaction, and smirking when you whimpered.

 “Does it hurt, baby?” He asked as he kissed your neck, sucking red blotches onto your skin. You nodded in response, causing him to smirk even further. “But you like it, don’t you? Daddy’s baby girl enjoys the pain.”

 Before you could respond to him, his lips claimed yours, quickly claiming every breath you had. After a year of being together, Jimin’s lips knew exactly how to move with your own, not to fast nor to slow. His tongue swiped your bottom lip, slowly snaking its way to your own, where it massaged it gently.

 In the midst of his lips ravishing your own, his hand slipped into his back pocket, retrieving a clit massager. Without breaking the kiss, he slipped his hand in-between your legs, prying them apart so that he could place the toy right above your clit.

 As soon as he turned on the toy, the gentle sucking caused you to moan into his mouth. Continuing to move his tongue in tandem with yours, Jimin slowly began to circle the head of your toy around your clit, getting maddeningly close to the bundle of nerves but never actually touching it.

 “Daddy…” You whined, wiggling your hips so that he could place the toy directly on your clit. “Stop teasing!”

 “Weren’t you just teasing me when we were in the kitchen?” He cockily asked, once again circling your clit with the toy. “Remember, baby? When you weren’t giving me what I wanted?”

 “But you came!” Your argued, voice slowly becoming whinier as your stomach began to clench uncomfortably in anticipation. “I want to cum too, Daddy. Please!”

 “You want to come?” Jimin asked, amused at the way your hips were trying to angle themselves to get the stimulation directly on your clit. You nodded, arms straining against the handcuffs. “Why don’t you stop chasing the toy then, huh? Why don’t you be a good girl for Daddy?”

 “I am a good girl – ah!”

 Your sentence was cut short by Jimin placing the toy right on your clit, turning the toy to its highest setting. A plethora of moans left your lips as the suction steadily grew and grew, simulating someone sucking on your clit.

 “Daddy…” You moaned weakly, the pleasure making your brain fuzzy. With the suction directly on your clit, your orgasm loomed over you, driving any other thought out of your head. Needing something to set you off, you began to buck your hips into the toy, moaning and whimpering softly. “Please let me cum, Daddy… Please…”

 “You can, baby.” He cooed into your ear, mesmerized with the way your body was lifting off of the bed to claim your orgasm. He quickly tugged on the nipple clamps, knowing that a tiny bit of pain would increase your pleasure tenfold. “Such a good little girl for Daddy, yeah? Always to ready to beg.”

 With a yelp, your climax washed over you, turning your bones to nothing and transporting your head to cloud nine. You trembled lightly on the bed, sending a rush of blood back to Jimin’s cock and making him impossibly hard. He watched with bated breath as your chest rose and fell rapidly, the nipple clamps jingling with your actions, a visual indicator of the amount of pleasure your body was facing. Once your orgasm receded, he quickly turned off the toy and replaced it with his mouth, swallowing your cum and treating it almost with reverence.

 “Daddy.” You croaked, voice almost gone due to the number of moans and whines that had left your throat just a few moments ago. Even though you had just experienced one of the best orgasms of your life, you wanted more – you wanted him. “Want you.”

 “Are you sure you can handle another one, Y/N?” He asked seriously, not wanting to push you further than you could physically go. You nodded excitedly, pulling on the handcuffs to show how ready you were. He chuckled at your eagerness, taking off the clamps off of your nipples. They were puffy and sore, but your breasts welcomed the blood flow.

 “Please fuck me.” You whispered, your cunt already clenching at the thought of being filled by Jimin’s cock. He smiled at you, his beauty taking your breath away as he stripped out of his jeans and boxers. His cock was already rock hard as it leaked pre-cum, the substance beading at the tip of his dusky pink head.

 “Want my cock, baby?” He asked, positioning himself in-between your legs. You tried to reach out to him, wanting to align his dick at your entrance and watch how he pushed into your core, but the restraints that bound your wrists prevented that. That didn’t stop you from continuously tugging on the cuffs, the metal rattling against the bed post. “Keep acting like a little brat and I’ll leave you here the entire day.”

 His threat immediately caused you to cease your actions, wanting nothing more than to feel him in you. Hearing the absence of you pulling on the restraints made him smirk up at you, knowing that you would probably do anything to have him in your cunt right now.

 “So obedient.” He mused, leaning back and stroking his length to rile you up. “My baby will do anything for my cock, hmm? Such a dirty fucking slut for my cock.”

 “Only for you, Daddy.” You promised, your breathing erratic due to seeing Jimin’s hand enclosed over his dick, lazily fisting the length. “Please fuck me. I need your cock in me.” He raised an eyebrow at you, still wanting to tease you despite being painfully hard. Your pussy clenched when he threw his head back in pleasure, fist pumping up and down his cock. “Jimin, please!”

 “Is that how you talk to me?” He snapped, sliding his length into you as his hand tightened around your neck. Without giving you time to adjust to suddenly having his entire cock in you, he began to piston out of you, the sound of skin on skin echoing throughout the room. Your eyes rolled back from the pleasure, the feeling of having his cock force open your walls and the feeling of his hand tightening around your neck making you lose all train of thought. “Answer me, you fucking brat!”

 “Daddy!” You corrected; voice hoarse from being choked. His hand left your neck, instead using his hands to hold your hips at an angle so that he could go deeper. “I – I’m sorry, Daddy!”

 Hot tears of pleasure ran down your face, the droplets falling to your chest. “You’re crying?” He scoffed, somehow making his hips rut into you faster, your tits moving from each powerful thrust. “Is my cock too much for you to handle?” He asked, thumbing your clit, bringing more tears of pleasure to your face. You shook your head at his question, showing him just how well you could take his dick. “Hmm, good girl. Such a good slut for my cock, huh? Take it all, baby. Take every fucking inch of me in this tight pussy.”

 “Going to… Gonna cum.” You whimpered, feeling your pleasure reaching a precipice quickly. He groaned as he felt your walls hug his length even tighter due to your impending orgasm. His thumb continued to work quick, tight circles over your clit, the white-hot pleasure surging through your veins and setting off your climax. “Daddy!”

 “Ah, fuck, Y/N!” Jimin moaned, your convulsing cunt bringing about his own orgasm. Your body arched off of the bed once again, your orgasm seemingly too intense for your body to handle. Your thighs trembled and a heat rushed up to your cheeks, sweat gleaming on your body. Jimin’s cock was coated in your cum, the sheer feeling of it causing him to shoot his hot cum deep in you. High pitched curses and moans left his plump lips, ropes of his cum coating your walls as both of you tried to control your heavy breathing.

��Without pulling out of you, Jimin reached up and unlocked the handcuffs, throwing them onto the floor to join your long-forgotten clothes. Flipping you over so that you were laying on him, he kissed your raw wrists gently, despite both of your chests still heaving.

 “Thank you, baby.” He murmured, kissing your forehead. “I’m sorry if I was too rough.”

 “You were amazing, Jimin.” You said softly, enjoying the feeling of having his skin directly on your own. “I wouldn’t want this with anyone other than you.”

 “I love you.” He blurted, unable to contain his feelings any longer. You sucked in a breath, not believing your own ears. It was the first time he had ever said something like this. “I know it’s been a journey and a half with me, teaching me how not to be some cold asshole, but God damn, I love you, Y/N. I can’t imagine a life without you; I don’t want to imagine a live without you.”

 “I love you too, Jimin.” You replied, a smile creeping on your face as your heart fluttered. “I love you more than you will ever know.”

 ***

 ↳ a/n: so that was the first instalment of my colour series! I plan on doing a one shot for each member based on meanings of a specific colour. Please let me know what you think and let me know if you want to be tagged in the future one shots :)

[sylph-feather]

Summary: Danny had known the rules— that being beaten would lead to transfer of the crown, instructed to him by their ominous guardians— but he hadn’t exactly considered all the implications of that.

For: @ghost-strawberry

Prompt: (Danny is ghost king hc) Danny loses a fight with Sam and the title of ghost king is transferred to her, despite Sam not being a ghost.

Words: 3,344

“Haha!” Sam barked triumphantly, standing over her defeated enemy in a display of dominance while stomping a scary combat boot, “I won.” 

Danny let out nothing but a low keening sound, slumping on the Nasty Burger table and leaving his arm in its defeated position. 

“Darn,” Tucker chimed in, “I thought that with all the ghost fighting and workouts you’ve been doing, Sam finally would stop being the reigning arm wrestling champ.” He paused, melodramatically draping a hand over his forehead and intoning, “alas.” 

Danny only repeated the same mournful noise, all the sentiment of my arm is going to bruise and Sam will never let this go packed into a drawn out moan. 

Before Danny could construct his complaints into something that took the form of language, there was a great burst of green fire that ensconced their cheap, plastic table. In the time it took to flinch, the ghostly flames had already washed over the group— and… done… nothing? 

No, that wasn’t right— it hadn’t hurt them, to be more accurate. Their table, and the tile around it, looked like someone had carved a circle into the floor, taken everything within that circle (read: the trio, several overly greasy foodstuffs, and three shakes) and dropped it right into the Ghost Zone, if the swirling green abyss was anything to go by. 

(Back in the human realm, the patrons of the Nasty Burger were left with their own overly greasy foodstuffs visible in their mouths held ajar as they stared at the smoldering circle that once held three teens and cheap fast food chain restaurant seating— horribly cheap plastic booths on a table that maybe had the suggestion of meeting bare-minimum sanitary requirements. A lone green flame died out, and acrid smoke wafted away. Same shit every day, a tired cashier thought). 

Before them: the Coroners. Dark-colored ghosts with a litany of dark colors with glowing green antlers that twisted into the suggestion of the shape of a crown, and gnarled hands that all had the same mark of a skull on each knuckle. Between the name and the appearance, they were very ominous, to say the least. 

Danny recognized them from the last time he met them: his own coronation. 

Sam and Tucker, who were not there for that ritual because it occured after the fight with Pariah, were just as confused and scared as Danny was the first time. “It’s ok!” he yelped at his friends who were readying their on-hand Fenton weaponry. “I know them. They’re the Coroners.”

Sam shot him a look that said that is anything but encouraging, and Danny winced. 

“They… do… the coron-ing,” Danny said slowly, because he didn’t know how else to phrase it. “Like, the monarchy ruler stuff.” 

“Down with the monarchy,” Sam intoned almost instinctively, but still pocketed the lipstick laser once again, settling down and taking a more casual sip of her strawberry shake. 

Tucker, meanwhile, just kept his shaky hands locked around the box of fries, determinedly not looking at the wraith-like creatures that had deer skulls sticking out of dark garb. 

Sam paused in her slurping, considering the Coroner’s job in her mind more thoroughly. “I guess it makes sense, ‘cuz the Ghost Zone doesn’t have a pope to do it,” she admitted. 

Tucker relaxed, and snorted. “Ghost pope.” The idea (mixed with the special breed of hysterical comedy that comes with  stress) elicited great humor. 

Fear abandoned, now they just looked confused. Danny was too— because, “why are you here?” He frowned down at himself. “Are you, uh, rebelling? Or do you have an important message? Or…?”

That was one-third of the Coroner’s jobs: rebellion. Or, more accurately, inciting rebellion. To understand, one must understand two-thirds of their job: the second third was that someone had to pass down the Ring of Rage and Crown of Fire. After the defeat of Parkah, the ancient ghosts were very grateful that Danny had taken it from Pariah Dark after his reign of tyranny, given that he had destroyed them… because of the first third of their job. See, the Coroners were also supposed to act as some representative electoral body of ghost-kind in deciding who passed a somewhat okay-ish ruler, and if that didn’t work out, they usually incited rebellion against said tyrant, or inevitably did so when a once kind ruler became glutted with greed and violence. 

So Pariah trapped them, which (admittedly) was a rather sensible plan, and (also admittedly) a major design flaw in the ring and the crown. After all, given the requirement for the initial rights to ring and crown were to battle and defeat its previous user to gain access (it could be peacefully passed, but that option had never happened), and really, nothing of the Coroner’s judgement would make an impact outside of someone saying no— that is to say, the ring and crown wouldn’t just poof. Thus, it seemed reasonable to assume that the battler would continue, well, battling for that power. 

The last third of their job is significantly less exciting— as Danny put it: messaging. It simply was to act as ghostly servants; knights, mailmen, whatever the King and the ghosts that needed the King may require. Danny largely told them to use their own discretion in solving conflicts, because he was just one teen barely keeping his grades above Cs, and then left them to it. 

So yes, Danny was kind of worried that somehow, such a dramatic summons would be some kind of ominous warning on the way he was being a king— which, to be fair, he was barely being a king at all— due to the aforementioned second-third of their job.

The largest one with the most elaborately twisted antlers pointed a long, bony finger at Sam. Its voice, which sounded both grand and incredibly spooky, boomed thusly: “this human has bested you in battle. Thusly, according to the sacred laws of the Ring of Rage and the Crown of Fire, she shall be bequeathed the title of ghostly monarch. Ye, Danny Phantom, halfa, who have bested Pariah Dark, have lost to Sam Manson, human, and cede your title as ruler.” 

In a circle, the thirteen wraiths whispered, “and the cycle continues.” It was murmured slightly out of sync, but it gave less of an impression of untidiness or lack of professionalism, and more of an ominous feeling, like there were many more voices than just thirteen. 

Danny was slightly less freaked out than Sam and Tucker by it, given they had said a similar thing when he was coronated, but with far less spooky fanfare, and more normal, excited fanfare. Mostly, Danng was spooked more by the suddenness of the thing, and the prospect of it. 

In the hands of the largest one that was clearly the leader, the Ring of Rage and the Crown of Fire appeared in a dramatic swooshing of green flame. 

Danny’s eyes widened. “She.” He paused, because he couldn’t really argue with that. It was— technically, sort of— a battle. And in the Ghost Zone, might made right and all that. Still. 

Sam and Tucker stared, jaws agape. Between all the new info and now this revelation, their brains essentially bluescreened. 

Danny, even though he was previously initiated, wasn’t in a much better state— all he managed to get out aloud was an incredulous, “it was arm wrestling?”  

One of the smaller wraiths, its crown of horns barely nubs, drifted forwards to their Nasty Burger island that was adrift in the Ghost Zone, and asked in its voice of crackling dead leaves, “is this the manner in which you were beaten?” 

Sam, herself, recovered from the mental “404” page, and her first reaction was to release a huge guffaw of laughter. 

Danny slid forwards onto the table, thoroughly spent between embarrassment and confusion. All he articulated was a very, very long groan. 

“May we, uh,” Danny said slowly, turning towards the head wraith and looking at the glowing points set in the skull’s sockets, “have a moment to discuss?” 

Tucker made a vague noise between worry and agreement. 

“So long as the queen wishes,” it bowed to her, deeply reverent. 

“Wait,” Sam ordered, smile growing on her face. “If I were queen,” she said slowly, “would I be able to get rid of this monarchy?” 

“Tis not a monarchy, my lady,” one of the thirteen said, antler crown bobbing. 

The whole table of teens processed this for a moment. 

Tucker burst into incredulity first: “you literally called her a monarch just a few seconds ago!” 

“A title, nothing more,” a Coroner corrected. “Nay, you do not hold much sway over them, rather, it is they who hold sway over you, sending message to help resolve conflicts, be they fullscale fights or quarrels.” 

Danny groaned, suppressed memories bubbling up: the many times the Coroners had come to him with arguments regarding ghost territories, many attempting to use Danny as a weapon or a diplomat or bodyguard or— so on. 

Thus far, a handful of months into his kinghood, Danny had stopped one “fullscale fight” that bordered on a war. (...This was also related to territory, however). 

Either way, that was a long way to say: the statement that it was just a title held up. The ring and crown didn’t actually really get him any political leeway with the ghosts— it was more of an… intimidation tactic that some ghosts fled from, because the ring and the crown were no more than power boosters. 

Asides from that, all he got were updates on all the troubles in the Zone that supposedly needed him (most of which actually didn’t). The Ghost Zone was a lawless place, so a title of king was not worth much outside of sheer power display. 

For the most part, the things had just served to place a target on his back, specifically, because any lost battle would mean they were his no more, and that the power would be passed to the victor. 

Sam, seemingly on the same line of thought as he, hummed, “would ghosts know I was the… Ghost Queen?” At declaring herself monarch (even if it was apparently in name only), her face did a bit of an involuntary, complicated twisting motion. 

Danny picked himself up from his pathetic slump, and aimed an intrigued-but-confused look at Sam. 

Tucker caught on a bit faster— “so if the ghosts think Danny’s still the king, they fight him— but there’s no risk involved in him losing.” 

Sam nodded, smiling a little sappily. 

Danny just made a mushy “aw,” sound, seeming to consider it. 

It was hard to read the expressions of the ghosts that surrounded the trio’s private, floating chunk of the Nasty Burger establishment, because said ghosts wore skulls… but they seemed baffled, though reluctantly accepting. It was all in the tilt of their heads and the pause of their voice as they said, “great Queen, whatever thou shall ask of us.” 

Sam nodded again, then paused. Her face cracked into an eager grin— a dangerous grin. “Do I get cool powers from this?” 

After receiving the crown, Danny had gotten a boost in his own powers; nothing new, just everything that was there was doubled. Double the size, the intensity, the spookiness, the everything. Needless to say, being goth and being active in fights as she was, Sam was excited for ghost powers. She was momentarily lost in visions of a sweeping gothic outfit, one of pure black with smokey edges, decked out in spikes, etcetera— in other words, “edgy.” 

Tuck, meanwhile, had a far more practical askance: “hold on. She’s a human, right?” 

Of course, it wouldn’t be the first instance of humans vaguely receiving or being influenced by ghost powers in some way; Undergrowth had done it, there had been that time with ghost mosquitos, and the one with that Egyptian staff, and the whole incident with the dragon-rage amulet… not to mention the halfas themselves, obviously. Still, it was not all that hope-inspiring to consider that all of them save for the halfas were essentially some degree of possession (or, at the least, something infectious and negative). 

Aloud, Tucker continued to contemplate. “It’s not exactly reassuring to call them ghost powers, with uh, death. Involved.” It was a choppy sentence, but it got the point across; Danny was a special case, but even a half death wasn’t exactly desirable. 

The glowing eyes of the coroners seemed to wink in amusement, insomuch as points of light could display emotion. “Ghost powers , says the queen.” 

“Ghost powers,” the others echo— not ominous this time, because they are chortling, seeming to be one step away from elbowing one another. 

Sam flushes a bit. “What’s so funny about that?” she grunts, offended. 

The coroners all bow deeply. “We meant no offense,” speaks one from the crowd, and it is followed by a wave of nodding before any of the trio can tell which one was even talking. “We simply find hilarity on your naivete.” 

“Elaborate,” she ordered with extremely thin patience.

“We were hasty in calling you the monarch yet,” the largest explained in its ancient, crackling voice, slow and thoughtful— annoyingly so. 

Sam pinches her nose, understanding with perfect clarity why Danny had complained dealing with these pretentious, cryptic weirdos. “Elaborate,” she commanded once again. 

“You are not the monarch yet, because you have not died,” it informed with great solemnity. 

The Nasty Burger chunk floated in stunned silence as the trio absorbed that. 

“Die?!” Tucker yelled, banging the table, upsetting both the fries and the silence. 

“You have a fascinating and naive way of phrasing it, but perhaps ghost powers is not so far from the truth,” one of the antlered creatures mused, not really addressing the obvious tension or concern. “For indeed, the ring and the crown do power the spiritual energy—“ 

“They’re just ghost batteries!” Danny interrupted, baffled and surprised. 

Sam herself then interrupted the interruption with a scoff, creating a horrible stack of domino-ing interruptions. “All this pizazz over just a power source that I can’t even use?” 

“You are incapable of using it as you are now,” a coroner pointed out. Something in all their eyes glinted ominously, and their antlers seemed to shine with ethereal light. “You are disconnected while living,” one said. As a group, they began encircling the private bit of Nasty Burger, wraith-like cloaks brushing against disgusting tile that was glossy with grease of burgers long past. “But we will fix that,” the coroners intoned as one. 

Danny finally took some initiative, fluidly erupting from his seat and transforming into Phantom in a singular motion. It felt just a tad ridiculous to he hovering over a Nasty Burger table that was ridiculously out of place in the abyssal green of the Ghost Zone, but that only graced his mind for a moment. Instead, the primary thought was one he voiced aloud: “are you going to kill her?” Danny may have been a C student, but regarding threats he was not slow on the uptake— he’d been in enough fights to get a good instinct. For their part, Tuck and Sam took it too— partially cowering behind Danny while brandishing their own Fenton brand lasers. 

The dark spirits jolted to a stop, and tilting their many skull-heads quizzically— a nonverbal askance of why fight? All their minds were whirring, and the first theory from the group of coroners was this: “are you hungry for this power once again?” The group around chortled, a veritable cacophony like many dead leaves being kicked around by whistling wind. It was a taunt, clearly. “This is the natural order of things, halfa. You cannot deny it. You have lost. She has won, won spiritual power, power we take from you.” An enormous pressure of dread emanated from the threatening beings, seeming to push at Danny’s chest— it threw him off kilter in the emotional sense, but also the literal given that he was midair. “If you desire it returned to you, then beat her as she did you, as is the rites of the Ring and the Crown.” 

“I’m more upset she’s gonna die!” Danny barked, a little sarcastic and a lot tense, gesticulating wildly as though that could free his limbs from the lead of supernatural fear. As he did so, his hands became enveloped in his own charging ectoplasm— like a snowball dragged through snow to gather more icy slush to its mass, so too did Danny draw the pure ectoplasm from his surroundings. 

“I would like not to die,” Sam agreed quickly. 

“If it counts, I’m thirding that motion,” Tucker put in as well. 

The coroners pulled back, seemingly startled. “You… do not want this power. But you do not get to choose. ” Their antlers still held an ominous and powerful glow, which spoke to the fact that they had already made their choice in regards to the whole death thing. 

Sam drew in a breath, preparing her “hell no” tirade— when Danny exploded into motion, wrapping a gloved hand around Sam’s hand that didn’t have a lipstick laser in it, and propped them sloppily on the Nasty Burger table. He held his elbow on the table and their chained hands up. Before she could process what on earth he was doing, he painfully but desperately slammed their linked hands down against the table. 

Everyone was staring at Danny, ghosts and humans alike. Silence reigned— utterly baffled, confused silence. It was though a massive, unspoken huh? has slammed down onto the area. 

“There,” he said, reedy desperation coloring his voice. “I won the arm wrestle match.” 

Sam cottoned on pretty quickly— “oh no,” she groaned, “Danny, you beat me. You won .” 

Tucker shot her a look— the emphasis was a bit hammy— but said nothing, only watched hopefully as the coroners seemed to enter something of a loading state as they processed the turn of events. 

Then, startlingly, they quickly and fluidly bowed simultaneously. “Long live our shortest reigning queen,” they said with great solemnity, “and welcome back, our halfa King. Long may he reign.” 

Needless to say, the trio’s sigh of relief was about unparalleled. 

“If I am to reign,” Danny said slowly, recovering but still trying to sound poncy and official (rather than yell at them as he desired), “may we, in the future… discredit joking competitions?” It was delicately phrased, awkward pauses as he deliberately chose fancy phrasing, but it at least got the point across (even if Danny could swear that despite having skull faces and only pinpricks of light for eyes, the coroners were making faces at him). 

The coroners stares at each other, cloaks rustling but no sound passing between them. 

“Yes,” the largest said suddenly, “such a request is reasonable, for a half-human teenager.” With exasperation, it added: “you already were an exceptional case in your ruling.” 

“And in general,” a smaller one piped up snarkily from the back, to be shushed by what was likely a superior. 

“Right,” Danny clapped his hands together and huffed, relieved but still tense. 

“Now, how do we get out of here…?” Tucker questioned, trailing off and looking at the abyss. He traced his fingers on the table, then his face lit up— “uh, can I keep this? It’s authentic Nasty Burger merch, technically, and it’s nor like they’re really gonna need it when it’s been diverged from this reality, let alone their store—“

Before he could continue, there was a snap from one of the coroner’s gnarled hands, and a great bout of green flames engulfed said hunk of Nasty Burger— for the second time that day. 

When a very stunned Danny Fenton, Sam Manson, Tucker Foley, and smoldering, partially aflame  with emerald Nasty Burger chunk snapped back into place within the mortal realm, a certain cashier stared balefully at the fused tiles and remnant ghost flame, thought same shit every day once again, and promptly asked: “do you want more to order?” 

And thus, the status quo was restored, for better or for worse. 

[crystaljins]

River lead me home | 04

Characters: Kim Seokjin x reader

Word count: 8.6 k

Synopsis:  Ever since coming to the human realm when you were child, nothing seems to fit, and this was just supposed to be a simple roadtrip to help you find yourself.

Is that too much to ask for?

Spin-off to A long journey home

Rating: Teens

Genre: Adventure, fluff, angst

Notes: Omg I actually forgot twice in a row to post this LOL. It’s getting posted now at least!! I feel like I’ve had the sort of week where I’m extra tired. Idk.

Anyway I’ve been writing these HP prompts people sent in recently and I’m having so much fun! If you’re someone who sent it in, I promise I got your prompt! I’m just slowly but surely making my way through!!

Tags: @blue1928​

Masterlist

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 FINAL

It’s clear that you’re on your best behaviour after Jin agrees to travel with you. 

After your detour to rescue Jin, the river is now a seven day walk away. A few days’ worth of hiking will take the three of you to a village on the outskirts of the forest, where you will be able to purchase a second bedroll and more food and water supplies. After that, it is a steady trek past the Mountains of Delaria, at the foot of which you will be able to see the radiant night sky, clearer than in any other part of the realm. Following that, it is a hike through the murky swamplands, and then finally once the three of you cross the golden plains, which grow many unique species of metallic flora, you will finally reach the edge of the river. 

One would think that you’d be excited to be on such a journey, especially given the motives that went into going on it in the first place, but instead you are intent on making Jin feel like you’re an overbearing bodyguard instead of his friend. He feels like at any moment in time you are one leaf crackle away from pulling out a broomstick and sweeping a clear path through the forest for him to walk down. You flinch at the slightest thing- a bug lands on him and you feel the need to do a full body check for injuries. A twig pokes him and you’re ready to pull out a flame thrower. It’s clear you’re on some kind of self-assigned mission.

And it’s sweet, it is. If he stops and thinks about it, you’re obviously trying to make up for past transgressions. It’s nice, to know that you value him enough that his harsh words are motivation to treat him better rather than just cutting him out of your life. 

But. For goodness’ sake. It’s getting to be a little out of hand. 

“You’re shivering.” Jin groans, his voice raspy with sleep. You turn your head from where you are huddled at the base of a tree to where Jin has raised his head from his lying position to glare at you. He’d only been joking when he agreed to take your bedroll, but you’d insisted. And now it’s been a few hours and it’s not like he can get a wink of sleep with you shivering from cold a few metres away.

“I’m not.” You insist through chattering teeth, even as you hug your knees closer to your chest and release an indignant exhale that puffs against the cold air in a cloud. Jungkook, who is sound asleep in the pocket of your jacket, releases a loud snore. Jin groans and sits up, swaddled warmly in your bedroll. 

“I told you to take the bedroll!” He snaps. He doesn’t mean to be quite so harsh in his tone, and he instantly regrets it when you cower like a scolded puppy. It’s too reminiscent of times past. He always makes you flinch away when he’s just trying to make you understand. Why he’s worried. Why the things you do are reckless. What it means to the people who love you were they to lose you. But he can’t seem to separate the fear and anger that comes with that sentiment and what has resulted is you constantly thinking he hates you. Which isn’t true! He’s not mad and he doesn’t hate you... he just feels bad. And in all honesty... You can’t honestly expect him to sleep peacefully when he knows you’re miserable, can you?

“You said you wouldn’t sleep on the forest floor and I don’t have enough money for that inn we passed.” You mumble. You’re no weakling. You had promised yourself this was going to be the best trip of Jin’s life and so that’s what it’s going to be. You weren’t about to make him sleep in the cold when you’d dragged him to this realm against his will in the first place. Jin is silent for a moment, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

“I didn’t want you to give up your bedroll. I thought you were only joking when you said that.” He mumbles, shuffling closer. He stares at you for a long moment. He’s been procrastinating bringing this up with you all day because honestly, he feels awkward and he doesn’t know where he stands with you. Everything is weird and messed up- there’s so much history and hard feelings between the two of you, but at the same time you both care too much to give up. What has resulted is this weird limbo where the two of you are walking on eggshells around each other. But he doesn’t think he can last another moment of your overbearing actions, let alone another few weeks.

“Listen, (Y/N), I get that you want me to have a good time on this trip. I do. But really, you don’t have to try so hard. I actually would not enjoy it if you froze to death when there’s a perfectly good bedroll for you to use right here.” You bite your lip and stare at Jin. His hair is messy, and his eyes are squinted from sleep. He’s rolled up in your bedroll like a burrito and he looks comfortable and warm. You’re struck by the thought that it would be nice to curl up beside him, but you push the thought down as quickly as it arrives- you’re good at pushing away those kind of intrusive thoughts.

It’s difficult to articulate the feelings that have you on edge, but they largely come down to this: You don’t want Jin to keep seeing you as a burden. It’s not like it’s new news- a certain incident in highschool springs to mind- but it’s never occurred to you until his outburst just how frustrated he is by your relationship. But now that you know, you cannot bear the thought. The bruises and swelling have long vanished. Those are the last remnants of the attack on him by the Saishtas, but though they are almost gone, every now and then you see him stretch his shoulder in discomfort and you are reminded anew; to Jin, you are a pain. An inconvenience. An unwanted responsibility.

“I know.” You finally say. “But I really, really want you to have a good time. I don’t want you to keep thinking of me as this annoying brat you have to look after all the time.”

That’s why you asked him to come with you to see the river. You want to prove to him on this trip that he doesn’t have to constantly be responsible for you. You’re not an untrained puppy. And, if you’re being really honest, you want to go back. To the times before things got messed up between the two of you. Back to when you were kids and your biggest concern was what bugs you would catch at the river near your village or who could climb to the treetops faster. You just... you keep remembering his face, the night your mother announced her engagement, and his words won’t stop playing on repeat in your head. “I’ve let you step all over me our whole lives”, he had said. You... don’t want to be that person to him. Not anymore. 

Jin feels guilt eat at him when your brow furrows. It’s clear that his earlier words to you at the portal are affecting you profoundly. Which had never been his intention- he had been hurt and confused and had lashed out. He doesn’t actually think you’re selfish and immature. You have your moments, for sure, and he’s not about to go singing your praises off roof tops any time soon, but the level of guilt and self-loathing you are experiencing in response to his earlier outburst is more than he intended. 

You flinch when you feel pressure at the space between your brows. Jin is pressing his index finger into the crease that has formed there in your moping.

“Relax.” He sighs. “You know we could have just shared?”

He unzips the sleeping bag and spreads it and shuffles forward until he can spread it over the two of you like a blanket. He leans against the tree trunk you rest against as well. You find yourself huddling in closer to him, just on instinct, because as embarrassing as it is to admit to yourself, you’re freezing. And Jin’s body heat feels like the inside of a toaster.

Jin clears his throat awkwardly. He hadn’t expected you to cave quite so easily and curl into him like that. A peaceful moment of silence lingers in the air, however, until he breaks it.

“(Y/N).” He says slowly. “I know things have been awkward between us, and I know that over the past few days we’ve said a lot of things to each other, but I want you to know you don’t have to try so hard.” 

“I do.” You insist. “Jin... every word you said about me earlier was true. I’ve been so selfish, and immature and you’re the one who’s had to suffer because of that.”

Jin chews at the inside of his cheek for a moment, before dropping his gaze. 

“I was wrong to say those things.” He finally says. “You can be immature and selfish sometimes, but I shouldn’t have said it like that. And I shouldn’t have said those things about your father. I know... I know you’re trying, (Y/N). And it probably seems like I’m really harsh on you and only seem to nag you all the time, but that’s because I know you’re so much more than what you let yourself be. So please. Just relax, and be yourself. I’ve known with you my whole life- I don’t want a personality transplant.”

When he finally gathers the courage to look at you again, you are gazing up at him with round, watery eyes. The look in your eyes is a little overwhelming. It’s the same look you always give him; like he’s a hero, who can only do right. He bites his lip- there it is again. That urge, to live up to the image he knows you have of him in your head. 

“I never thanked you, you know.” He says suddenly, changing the subject in an attempt to overcome that urge. You merely continue to gaze up at him. Jin is always handsome in a way that is otherworldly, but up close he’s simply overwhelming. You can just barely make out his face, but even in the meagre light, your heart still does a weird pulse against your ribs when you meet his dark eyes.

“For what?” You finally say, and it’s a struggle for you to keep your voice even under the weight of his gaze. He shrugs and smiles, pulling you in close enough that you have to shift to avoid crushing Jungkook in your pocket. 

“For saving me.” He says. “I think I was too shocked earlier to say it, but I really thought I was going to die back there. So, thank you.” 

“You were in trouble because of me.” You point out. “It wasn’t bravery. If anything had happened to you, it would have been my fault.” 

Jin nods, pressing his lips together awkwardly. He doesn’t know what he can say to convince you otherwise, so he forgoes giving you an answer. Instead, he reaches his hand up to press against the side of your head until you are forced to rest lay your head down against his shoulder. 

“Go to sleep, (Y/N).” He whispers. “We’ve got a long journey ahead of us.” 

He feels your body relax beside him, and your head sinks against him. He cannot resist the smile that slides onto his face, and he turns his head away, lest you look up and see it. He’s missed moments like these. They are few and far between, especially as of late since you’ve been avoiding him more and more. In the silence that follows, he thinks you may have finally fallen asleep, but then you break it.

“Jin.” You say softly. The words are hardly more than a whisper, almost lost in the exhale of your breath. If he weren’t a guardian with enhanced hearing, he surely would have missed them. 

“Yeah?” He asks, allowing his head to drop so that it rests against the crown of your head. Tomorrow he will wake up with a kink in his neck, but it’s almost worth it.

“I’ve been avoiding you.” The confession holds a lot of weight for you. For just yesterday, you had had every intention of letting Jin fade from your life. Of letting your insecurities and sense of inferiority guide you. You had hated him, the way he made you feel, the way that you could never be around him without remembering all the ways in which you did not and could not measure up to him and the kind of people he liked to keep company with. But at the same time... you cannot hate him. You want to despise him, to let the feelings of jealousy and misery consume you, to continue to mope if your pity party, but this is Jin. The person who has been there for you in your darkest moments even if he did not want to be. The man who could not leave you, even when he should have. The man who had cradled you like you were something precious as you fell through into this realm.

“I know.” He sighs, turning his head away to gaze up at the fractured glimpses of the stars above. “I was letting you.” He confesses right back to you. The words hover between you and it forces you to confront how messed up the relationship has become between you. If you continue to do nothing about it, you really will lose him. 

But you don’t want that to happen. You know that now, after everything the two of you have endured together. You want him in your life. And it’s not too late to fix it all. You really, truly believe that.

“But I don’t want to avoid you anymore.” You announce, and Jin snorts. 

“I figured, since you pretty much begged me to spend the next two weeks with you and the fruit fly.” He observes, and you smile and look away. “Now go to sleep. We have nearly two weeks of hiking ahead of us and I have every intention of making you carry me if my feet hurt.” He sniffs. You can’t resist one last parting shot before allowing yourself to drift off, however. 

“Thank you.” You call softly, right when he thinks you’ve fallen asleep. He stirs slightly and glances down at you in surprise. You shift and peer up at him with sleepy but warm eyes.  And something about the look makes his throat feel tight and the tips of his ears feel hot and he is once again struck by the thought that you suddenly don’t look like the annoying little girl that he’s known all his life. 

Sleep doesn’t come easy to him that night. He’s not really sure why, other than the fact that he feels strangely aware of the way the warmth of your body spreads to his beneath the cover of the bed roll, and the way your shoulders rise and fall in steady comforting breaths. It must eventually lull him to sleep, however, for when he rouses, you are still fast asleep, but Jungkook peers at him with amusement from his position on Jin’s outstretched knee. Jungkook lies flat on his stomach which his legs kicked up in the air like he is a young girl at a sleepover about to spill the secrets of her latest crush to her friends. 

The pleased, almost catlike smile Jungkook gives as he rests his chin in his hands and kicks his legs back and forth has Jin instantly on his guard. He and the oversized mosquito don’t get along at the best of times, and Jin knows Jungkook well enough to discern that a look like that on the pesky pixie’s face only spells trouble for Jin. 

“So...” Jungkook begins, drawing out the “so” for an obnoxiously long amount of time. Beside him, you still snooze peacefully, unaware of the trouble that is about to unfold. Jin shifts slightly so that he is in prime position to glare at Jungkook with full power, taking care not to jostle your head where it rests against his shoulder. 

“What?” Jin asks. To his credit, he doesn’t snap or anything like that, which is rare when it comes to Jungkook. He has the unique ability make Jin lose his temper, which is usually a rare occurrence. (Excluding any involvement with you, of course) 

“Nothing. You just look very comfortable.” Jungkook observes, with a pointed look at your sleeping form. You shift and tuck your head more securely against Jin. His gaze flicks back for a moment, distracted by the movement, and when he turns back to Jungkook, Jungkook’s tiny smile has widened. 

“Jungkook...” Jin calls warningly, although he is unsure as to what he is cautioning Jungkook against with the edge in his tone. He just knows that he will not like whatever comes out of Jungkook’s mouth next. 

“When’s...” Jungkook has to pause in a fit of snickering, struggling to get the words out because he really thinks he’s that funny. “When’s the wedding?”

Jin is silent at Jungkook’s little joke, and Jin’s lack of response has Jungkook almost rolling off Jin’s knee with the force of his guffaws. The noise is loud enough to cause you to stir in your sleep. Jin ignores this, however, because he knows from past experiences that your bed could literally be on fire and you’d remain asleep. 

When Jungkook finally calms down enough to stop laughing, he pauses at the glare present on Jin’s face. 

“What?” He questions, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Is it really that offensive?” Then his expression turns mischievous. “Does it hit too close to home? Me implying you like her in that way?” His wings raise him up in the air so that he is eye level with Jin, and he lounges mid-air, idly examining his nails. 

“No.” Jin snaps, shifting uncomfortably. The weight of your head against him, previously comforting, now seems to weigh him down. He feels pinned in place, and his lungs feel stiff like they are refusing to expand. “I’m just astounded at how you can make such a ridiculous joke. I’d never like her.”

Jungkook shrugs, spinning around in the air so that his back points to the ground like he’s lying in a hammock, and folds his arms behind his head. 

“I mean if you’d seen the look on your face when she got sucked into the portal, you’d probably be thinking the same thing as me.” Jungkook points out. Jin grits his teeth- he cannot explain the sudden unease he feels, the way Jungkook’s words seem to burrow under his skin and make the world seem off-kilter. It’s not like people haven’t made jokes about him liking you before- some of his exes have even dumped him because they were so unsure about how he felt towards you. But this makes him uncomfortable, for some reason. The way that Jungkook watches him, seemingly nonchalant, but concealing sharp, observant eyes, just gets to him.

“Wouldn’t you have been concerned if your friend was getting sucked into a dangerous portal?” Jin retorts, oddly defensive. Jungkook taps his fingers ponderingly against his chin. 

“My friends are you, Taehyung and (Y/N).” Jungkook reminds him. “You’re literally members of the most feared species in this entire realm. I wouldn’t have to feel concerned. But that’s off topic anyway. Even if I were hypothetically human and could have something like a friend... I don’t think I would have pulled the same face you did in that moment.” He sits up and meets Jin’s gaze steadily. He’s serious in a way that Jin has never really seen Jungkook be before. “You looked like your entire world was about to end.” 

Jin is silent because he has no defence against Jungkook’s observations. He’d looked that way because he’d felt that way. He’d tried so hard, in that moment, to walk away from you. To leave you to your own devices. But then he’d been struck by that feeling- the fear of losing you. Of not having you in his life. It’s a similar feeling to dangling over cliff face by his fingertips.

“I’m just saying,” Jungkook announces, as reclines lazily in the air once more. “You go on dates with literally any female with a pulse... why not with the most convenient female you know?”

Jin stares in consternation at Jungkook because he is absolutely floored by the absurdity of Jungkook’s statement. Dating you would be anything but convenient. It would be the most troublesome, headache inducing investment of his life.

Suddenly, you shift once more, bringing up a hand to curl into the material of Jin’s shirt, and he allows his gaze to fix on you, on the way hair hangs in your face and your lashes rest against the apples of your cheeks. Dating you is amongst the stupidest suggestions Jungkook has ever made. Because dating you means... well, because it means risking you. Risking you seeing him differently, risking you seeing all the ugly things about his personality that you’re currently blind to... it means risking your position in his life. Because as it stands, you are already avoiding him and pulling away from him - if he were to date you and then things didn’t work out... he’d never see you again. 

This is all hypothetical of course. Jin isn’t even interested in dating you. He doesn’t and probably never will see you in that way. 

“Listen, Jungkook,” Jin finally says. “Maybe you got the wrong idea, but let me make it clear for you: I have never, and will never see (Y/N) in that way. She’s just someone I have a responsibility towards; nothing more, nothing less. Besides, back home I have a queue of women waiting for me- do you really think I’d settle for someone like her?”

The words sound harsh and rattle around in the air and Jin regrets them as soon as he says them. But he can’t take them back, once he’s said them, and the words are true. Or at least, they have to be true. Jungkook shrugs like he couldn’t care less, which, really, based off Jin’s knowledge of Jungkook, is probably true. 

“If you say so.” Jungkook says dismissively, and Jin is saved any further answer or uncomfortable answer by you rousing slowly. You blink sleepily at Jin a few times, and he only just manages to catch you by the forehead when you go to lean your head back against him and settle back into sleep. 

“Not so fast.” Jin scolds, secretly grateful for the distraction and wanting to dwell on something other than the unpleasant churning in his stomach Jungkook’s words have triggered. “No more sleeping.”

You groan and push away from Jin, ready to curl up on the forest floor. 

And Jin misses the disbelieving look Jungkook shoots the two of you in his distraction. Because he can’t see what Jungkook sees in that moment, and that is the thinly veiled affection and warmth that lingers in his eyes despite the scolding that follows. 

Jungkook sighs and shakes his head- Jin will figure it out eventually. 

++

The journey after that night is supposed to go smoothly. After your chat with Jin that night, you feel that a burden has lifted from your shoulders. You never realised how something as simple as talking to Jin could clear the air. It wasn’t so much the things that were said, but just the way that you now know that Jin is no longer holding it against you. It gives you hope, that things can be normal- you can be friends once again. So as the three of you set off, you expect the journey from there to be the light-hearted, soul-searching endeavour you had set out to have. 

Only, from that night Jin starts acting strange. It’s weird- you had felt so relieved and freed by your conversation, but it seems to have had the opposite effect on Jin. He is tense and cranky, always snapping at Jungkook. He’s never rude to you, at least, but he is oddly reserved. The three of you start to approach the edge of the forest- the bluish peaks of the Mountains of Delaria peak through the canopy overhead and the tree start to clear, but Jin’s mood does not seem to clear. You can’t find a cause or rational explanation for it.

Perhaps it doesn’t help that Jungkook seems to thrive on Jin’s irritation.

“I spy... with my little eye.... something starting with “T”.” Jungkook hums, right beside your ear where he is seated, cross legged on your shoulder a couple of days after that night. You spot Jin’s eye twitch slightly in the way that it does when he is really, truly annoyed. Today he has been especially on edge, and with each passing moment, Jungkook’s grin widens and Jin’s ire increases.

“Tree?” Jin suggests with gritted teeth, and Jungkook’s eyes widen. 

“Wow that’s the third time you’ve guessed it on the first go!” Jungkook cries, his voice laden with admiration. You have no doubt that it isn’t a genuine admiration. Jungkook is absolutely taking advantage of the older guardian’s foul mood.

“It’s the fourth time you’ve used “tree” as your word!” The outburst comes so suddenly that you flinch and Jungkook nearly tumbles off your shoulder. You wince- you had been trying to ease the tension that hovered in the air with a simple game, but you guess after four hours, Jin’s patience has run thin. It’s better than the conversation earlier that morning, where Jungkook was talking about his favourite romcoms and Jin’s hands kept twitching like he’s just barely restraining himself from going after the irritating creature.

“That’s not true.” Jungkook argues and you know he’s pushing it purely to be contrary. “Two rounds ago the word was “twig”!” 

You reach out hastily to plant a hand on Jin’s shoulder, hoping to placate him before he grabs Jungkook and launches him like a javelin across the forest floor. Jungkook would probably enjoy it, but you don’t know that he’d survive it. Jin blinks in surprise at your hand, like he’d forgotten you were there.

He then very subtly shrugs off your hand, in such a gentle manner that you almost feel like you imagined it. It’s weird- you don’t know why such a simple and meaningless gesture hurts, but it does. You quickly withdraw your hands and flex your fingers in an attempt to shake off the embarrassment.

“L-let’s try a different game!” You suggest in a desperate attempt to salvage things before Jin actually goes looking for bug spray. He glares at you for a moment, but then his expression softens just slightly. He takes a long, slow inhale and squeezes his eyes shut, and when he opens them again, his expression is calmer. 

“What did you have in mind?” He asks at last.

“It’s a word association game.” You explain hastily, knowing Jin’s temper is hovering by a thread and one wrong word will launch him into a Jant. “We count to three and then say the first word to come to mind. And then we have to say a word associated with the words we just said, until we guess the same word. Ready, Jungkook and I will go first, we play this game all the time.” 

You shoot Jungkook a warning glare to remind him to behave. You then inhale deeply and prepare yourself.

“Three... two... one...” you count down. “Leaf!” You cry in the same moment that Jungkook shouts “Tree!” In top volume. 

You aren’t quick enough to stop Jin when he makes a furious grab for Jungkook. You’re not sure how you get Jungkook out of that situation alive, because things go a bit blurry after that. And you still don’t have an explanation for Jin’s behaviour.

And if it were just his crankiness with Jungkook, maybe you could justify it. Jungkook, after all, is very annoying. But it’s his attitude to you that really baffles you. He suddenly treats you like you have the plague- he’ll accidentally brush your hand and then suddenly scramble away until the two of you are walking a metre apart. He refuses to share the bedroll again- instead he curls up on the cold forest floor and shivers the whole night, and any attempts to get him share like that first night have him responding with such vehemence you have to stop yourself from tearing up in hurt. You wish he’d just explain.

Finally, things come to a head right at the very edge of the forest, where the three of you will finally be able to enter a village and restock supplies and pick up another bed roll. The confrontation comes in the form of Jin screeching like his life depends on it. Of course, you are instantly on your guard, searching out the danger he faces and ready to fight off any intruders alerted to your location by his scream. But you fail to locate any obvious threats to Jin, who continues to dance about wildly, still in near hysterics. 

“What’s wrong?” You cry, managing to grab his shoulders and barely evading his swinging arms. Jin regards you with eyes on the verge of dislodging from their sockets, his face red with exertion and veins popping in his neck. And then his gaze drops down to his trouser leg. 

Instantly, the fight leaves you when you notice the most exquisite beetle you have ever had the fortune to lay eyes upon. Gaze filled with wonder, you instantly drop to a crouch and stretch your hand towards Jin’s leg, allowing the tiny creature to disembark from the dark grey fabric onto your outstretched hands. The sight of it brings back fond memories instantly, of playing in the sunshine with Taehyung, chasing such beetles in the hopes that you could keep them as pets. The term for them was “rabjou” but Taehyung and you had dubbed them “gem bugs”, for the shimmering structures that protruded from their carapaces, catching the light and scattering it in the way that a precious diamond might. You observe the shimmering ruby carapace as the beetle makes a slow march across your index finger, before turning to Jin excitedly, momentarily forgetting his odd behaviour.

“Look Jin!” You cry, holding the beetle close to him until he nearly goes cross-eyed trying to keep it in sight. “It’s a gem bug! Like the ones we used to play with when we were kids-“

“He doesn’t look so good.” Jungkook notes suddenly, in the same moment that Jin’s eyes roll into the back of his head and he crumbles in a faint. You barely have time to catch him with one arm, holding the other aloft in an attempt to protect the gembug, and it is then that you recall why Jin is not in any of your memories of the time spent chasing these bugs. 

Because he’s deathly afraid of any and all bugs. 

The bug spreads it’s wings and quickly alights from its perch upon your finger, leaving you to clean up the aftermath of its presence. You stare in horror, wondering how to handle this situation, but Jin starts to rouse a few moments later, much to your relief. His eyelids flutter and his head lolls in your arms. He blinks a few moments, staring up at you with bleary, disorientated eyes. A puzzled, dopey smile curls at his lips. But then full consciousness hits and his eyes bulge with horror.

And then he’s scrambling away from you like he’s been burnt by you. You didn’t even know the crab-like scurry he does backwards out of your arms was physically possibly. His eyes are so wide and panicked that for a second you think that maybe the bug has returned. But after a quick check over of your body for any unusual flashes of red, you realise that it’s you that Jin stares at with such alarm and panic. 

Something in you feels like it shrivels. Maybe it’s your heart. It’s hard to pinpoint the exact emotion. But just a few days ago, you had finally felt like things could be patched up between you and Jin, but now that he’s acting like this... maybe the gap is insurmountable. Maybe there’s just been too much damage. Maybe there’s no avoiding losing Jin from your life. You haven’t felt this hopeless since that incident in highschool all those years ago.

Jungkook lands on your shoulder and quirks an eyebrow when he notices the hurt expression on your face. 

“Why do you look like that?” He asks, ignoring Jin who is busying himself with getting to his feet and brushing the dirt from his clothes. 

“Like what?” You ask, quickly angling your head away. 

“I dunno... like you’re constipated or something.” He observes. “Or like someone punched you in the stomach.”

You bite your lip as you gather yourself. Jin has turned away with Jungkook’s observation. You are probably pulling that face because you are upset. But there’s no use in being hurt or frustrated by Jin’s actions- you need to understand them. You’ve spent long enough sitting and moping and being miserable, and you know now that the only way the two of you are going to get through this is if you don’t let his odd behaviour slide. You square your shoulders and stare at Jin, long and hard. His shoulders have gone tense and his back is facing you- you can see the tension written into every line of his posture. 

“Because I’m upset.” You announce assertively. You whirl on Jin, then. “What’s wrong with you?” You demand. Jin shoots a furtive glance at you and shoves his hands deep in his pockets. 

“Nothing.” He mumbles. “It was a bug.” His gaze flicks to Jungkook, who watches him curiously. You have a feeling Jin’s not talking about the gem bug. Annoyed, you step forward and press a hand onto Jin’s shoulder, forcing him to turn and face you. He avoids your gaze though- his eyes dart around like a they’re in a pinball machine, despite your best efforts to look him in the eye. 

“Jin.” You call sternly, folding your arms in what you hope is an imposing posture. Jungkook sits cross-legged on your shoulder with his ankles grasped in his hands. He looks like he’s watching an entertaining soap opera. “You need to explain. Why are you acting like this? You’re cranky with Jungkook and you’re treating me like I have the plague. Are you... are you still mad about the stuff we talked about the other night?” Your tone wavers just a little. Jin’s eyes widen and he meets your gaze. He looks so uncertain when he does so- nothing at all like the confident, clever Jin you’ve known all your life. It makes you pause. “Did... did I do something wrong?” You question and he hangs his head, scrubbing a frustrated hand over his face. 

“No! Nothing like that. I’m... I’m sorry if it feels that way.” He corrects hastily. “I just...” he buries his face in his hands and the tips of his ears go red, before he raises his gaze to glare openly at Jungkook. “Jungkook made a stupid joke and I was trying to prove him wrong. I’m sorry- it was stupid of me to take it out on you.”

You blink in confusion, while Jungkook starts snickering at Jin. You pluck Jungkook off your shoulder by the back of the tiny hoodie he’s chosen to wear today so that you can stare at him. He dangles from between your thumb and forefinger.

“What’d you say?” You question suspiciously. Jungkook shrugs and grins like you’ve just gotten him a great Christmas present. He makes no effort to break free from your hold.

“Just wanted to know when the wedding is.” He says, and he still finds the joke as funny as the first time he said it. You stare blankly at him, however. 

“What wedding? My mum’s?” You ask. Jungkook’s jaw drops. 

“No!” He cries out, as if the idea is offensive to him. “Yours! With Jin!” 

Jin has dropped his gaze and glows an interesting shade of red, and you can’t say you understand the situation. 

“We aren’t getting married though?” You point out. You shoot a look at Jin and the tips of his ears are nearly purple. They only tend to go that colour when he is really, truly embarrassed, and rare are the situations where Jin is embarrassed. “Are we?”

Jin splutters in horror for a few moments. 

“Absolutely not!” He blurts, the words choked and frantic. You’re taken aback by his vehemence. Is the concept really that horrifying? You shake the thought off as quickly as it comes and instead focus on the matter at hand; Jin was acting strangely because he was trying to prove he has no romantic feelings for you, it seems. Which... you already knew that. You’ve known that since you were in high school. You hate recalling that incident, but in that moment, it resurfaces despite your best efforts.

You had overheard him having a conversation with some of the other seniors in your school about how you how you have the same amount of appeal as an un-toilet trained puppy. Strictly “not girlfriend” material. It wasn’t a life-changing revelation or anything. And it’s not like you’d had feelings for him at the time. But you can’t deny that things had changed since that day. Jin had firmly been rooted in ‘strictly friends’ territory, and you’d been very, very careful to never let him out of the box he had placed himself in. And you’d done a really good job of never letting the memory bother you- after all, you’d long ago shirked the embarrassment and sadness of that day, and it annoys you that all these years later Jin is resurfacing the feelings of that time when you’re trying. so. hard. to fix things between you. You blink back the hurt tears that threaten to well in your eyes. You’re better than this- and you’ve never wanted him in that way, anyway. At least not since you’d overheard that conversation, you hadn’t.

“You could have just said something.” You mutter resentfully, and even you are surprised at the barely suppressed anger in your tone. Jin whips up his head like he’s been electrocuted. “Like I get it. I’m not girlfriend material. I’m not... I’m not trying to be your girlfriend anyway. And Jungkook’s a dummy who likes to push your buttons. You... I’ve been sitting here panicking over what I could have done wrong and it’s because I’m that gross to you that you need to prove to Jungkook of all people that you don’t like me?”

“Wait-“ Jin protests. “I didn’t mean it like that- I just-“ 

“It’s fine.” You cut him off and to be honest, you can’t really articulate why you’re so torn up over that. It’s not like he even did anything that bad. Just like that incident, back in highschool- he hadn’t said anything bad. He just pulls away when you touched him. He has just been making it very clear how he feels about you. But... it just feels like so much more than something simple as him not wanting to touch you. It’s not like you’re new to the idea anyway. A lot of girls in highschool and a lot of Jin’s girlfriends have always been jealous of your friendship with him and have been quick to point out the ways in which he clearly views you as a friend. And it’s not like you wanted anything more. Or well, maybe a small part of you did, but you were also smarter than that. You had better things to worry about then the fact that Jin doesn’t like you. And everything you’re doing is because you want him back as a friend. You’re not greedy. But... something still hurts. Even after all these years. Even hearing it afresh. “Just forget it. It’s not a big deal. We can just... go back to normal.” 

Not that you even know what normal is with Jin at the moment. Everything is so off-kilter and you’re so confused by everything. You swallow deeply, willing the hurt feelings away. 

“(Y/N),” Jin calls guiltily. 

You wince- not because of the tone of his voice, however. You wince because in the next moment you feel a weird stabbing sensation in the side of your neck. Confused, you raise your hand to your neck. What you find there is an odd, feathered device, tapered to a sharp point that is currently speared into the muscle of your neck. Jin’s eyes widen as he stares as it, and you pull it from your neck. You wince as blood droplets start to flow down the side of your neck. The feathers are a brilliant red, the colour of blood, and the thin pointed tip glistens with your blood. You’ve never seen anything like it, and a weird nauseous feeling floods through you, starting at the wound in the side of your neck and flushing outwards.

“Is that...” Jungkook questions, but then Jin is interrupting him with a pained cry. He flinches violently as a feather device whistles through the air and lodges in the side of his neck. He mirrors your actions- he plucks it from his neck and scrutinises it. You don’t think he’s realised it, but he’s started to sway a bit, much like you have. The nauseous feeling worsens, and Jin has gone pale.

“I think it’s a…” Jin trails away, squinting his eyes and shaking his head as he struggles to focus on it. His voice starts to slur. “It’s a tranquiliser dart-“

The three of you exchange fearful glances and that’s really all you have time to do before your vision swims. And then everything goes black. 

++

When you come to, you are instantly struck with the thought that there have been far too many kidnappings on this trip. You groan in pain, your head still swimming, and find that you have been restrained. Blinking open your eyes, you’re in some kind of encampment- the ground is thick and sponge-y and the houses seem to be made from woven twigs. If you had to describe it… they were almost like birds’ nests. The area is darkened- the foliage here is thicker and almost entire blocks out any light. Lanterns of blues and pinks line the path to compensate for the lack of light. On the edge of the area you see a muddy creek curling around the encampment. It’s more swamp-y than the forest you lost consciousness in.

Behind you, Jin also groans, and that’s when you realise you’ve been tied so you’re back to back with him. Neither of you can move your arms. And there’s a noticeable lack of the sound of fluttering wings. Your eyes go wide.

“Jin,” You gasp in horror. He grunts, trying to adjust his position so he’s more comfortable but he just ends up pushing you forwards. “Where’s Jungkook?”

“The pixie is here.” An unfamiliar, high-pitched voice calls. Your eyes widen at the interruption, and you turn your head to find a humanoid figure. Well, humanoid in that it stands on two legs and seems to have functioning arms. But if you were being pedantic about what living creature it resembles, you would have to say it’s more birdlike. Complete with a thick, yellow-ish beak like it’s an eagle, and brightly coloured plumage coating its entire body, apart from the white feathered head. It wears clothes- loose, airy fabrics like it’s straight out of a live-action adaptation of Aladdin, in a rich purple that compliments the bright red of its feathers. A brilliant plume of feathers sprouts from the top of its head and flows downwards like a waterfall. And held aloft in a clawed hand, protruding from the appendage that is a weird cross of an arm and a wing, is a small glass jar, with Jungkook snoozing obliviously within its depths.

“Jungkook!” You cry. Your eyes widen in horror. You immediately begin to scrabble around wildly, but with your arms pinned to your side with the coarse rope, and your back planted against Jin’s, you realise you aren’t going anywhere any time soon. You gaze around the camp, suddenly aware that this bird creature is not the only one- the sensation of being watched creeps along your skin and dozens of pairs of golden eyes peer at you, concealed safely in the shadows of the camp.

“Give him back!” You demand. Your feet stir up the soft, loamy soil you are seated upon as you kick about wildly, trying to stand, or loosen the bindings that hold you in place. Jungkook is no doubt the most annoying being in existence, but he’s also a precious friend and you couldn’t stand if anything happened to him.

“Calm down, Guardian.” The imposing, birdlike creature calls. “We will return this creature to you, eventually. We needed some leverage for you to hear out our request, for we knew we could not bind you for long.”

And it’s right- already with your frantic flailing, the ropes have started to fray and stretch. Jin does not seem to be as panicked as you, but he does remain still in a way that allows you to pull forward against the bindings, stretching them forward.

“Will you hurt him?” You demand. The bird-like creature turns sharp, hawklike eyes to the jar, peering curiously at the unconscious pixie.

“We will hurt him if you give us reason to hurt him.” It finally answers, tilting its head at you. The move is quick and fluid, like the way an owl’s head flicks around easily as it watches for prey.

“Hypothetically,” Jin cuts in quickly. “What would it take for you to deal with him without a reason from us? Just hypothetically.”

His back is to you, so he doesn’t see the way you glare, but you quickly turn your attention back to the bird-person, gazing up with imploring eyes.

“Anything. We’ll do anything- please. Don’t hurt him.” You beg. You are surprised by the ferocity of the protectiveness you now feel. The only time you have felt a similar amount of concern for him is the time he almost got eaten by a dog. The bird-creature glares down at you for a moment, still dangling the jar with Jungkook in it by the handle. It then combs its claws before the brilliant crest of feathers that flows from the top of its head and cascades down its body like a ponytail and steps forward. It crouches down low until it is eye-level with you.

“The two of you have brought the Saishtas into our territory.” It informs you. “And the Forest Spirit hates Saishtas. They are a foul, disrespectful beast and have been corrupting our swamplands.”

You cower away slightly- the sharp tip of the beak that hovers centimetres from the bridge of your nose could easily gouge out your eye and you’d be defenceless to stop it if this creature choose to do such a horrible thing. You can feel the way Jin’s back has gone rigid with tension behind you.

It straightens then, walking around the two of you to peer curiously at Jin. You crane your neck, trying to keep it in sight, but you can’t turn your head around far enough. Instead you feel Jin flinch.

“Our chief went to placate the Forest Spirit, and she has been taken captive. Luckily for us, two guardians came stumbling in our territory like it were designed by the fates.” It comes back around to face you and folds its feathered arms. The feathers flare outwards like sleeves of a baggy coat. “Rescue her, and we will return your… pixie to you.”

You glare at the creature, staring forlornly at Jungkook. It’s a dangerous request this bird is making. In theory, you could probably snap these ropes with enough exertion and make a grab for Jungkook. But you do not know why he is asleep or what measures they have put in place to ensure you can’t take Jungkook back by force. And you can’t risk his safety.

“What if we don’t want the pixie bac-“ Jin starts, but is quickly cut off by you throwing your head back to headbutt the back of his head. “Ouch! I just meant hypothetically- I was reviewing all our options before we-“

“We’ll do it.” You say hastily. “We agree to your terms. We’ll rescue your chief. Just please… don’t hurt him.”

Something in the posture of the bird-creature softens.

“Of course we get captured by Psittanurans.” Jin mutters resentfully as the creature, a Psittanuran if Jin is to be trusted, bows deeply to you. “Just our luck.”

“You have our word.” The Psittanuran informs you, ignoring Jin’s mumble. “We will not allow harm to come to the pixie, so long as you do not allow harm to come to our chief.”

It makes an odd, clicking noise, snapping its beak together and two more Psittanurans appear, wielding knives. They are in similar attire, brightly coloured, airy clothes, but all are in slightly different colours. One’s feathers are warm, an earthy brown with a deep pink plume of feathers atop the crown of its head, while the other is a midnight blue, like a peacock. They make quick work of releasing the bindings around you, and you and Jin quickly get to your feet. Jin rubs at his arms, looking quite sulky- he’s probably upset over being kidnapped yet again.

You glare at the main bird, the instigator, as it steps out towards you and reaches a clawed talon towards you. It presses the tip to your forehead, and you wince at the slight pressure.

And then your eyes widen as images flood your head- a dark cave, a bone white cliffside, their chief held captive, and Saishtas, lurking behind every corner. And the whole time, an overcast presence lurking behind every step of the journey- you can feel its churning fury, bubbling beneath the surface, and you shudder. When you open your eyes, the Psittanuran gazes down at you curiously.

“Do you understand what you must do?” It asks. Your heartbeat is in your throat and you’ve broken out in a cold sweat- you are not sure you have the strength to overcome this beast, let alone rescue the chief. Your gaze flicks to Jungkook, who has been so soundly asleep that you suspect it is actually some form of enchantment that keeps him slumbering.

Jin must sense your fear because you feel his hand slip into yours. His palms are slick with sweat, and there’s a slight shake to them. You realise then that he’s been absolutely terrified this whole time. You spare him a glance, and he meets your eyes head on.

You don’t know why, but you feel your heartbeat calm when he meets your eyes. It’s an impossible, terrifying task before you, but he’ll be beside you the whole time. That’s what the look in his eyes reassures you. No matter what happens or has happened between you, despite your fight, despite the weird state of things right now, Jin will be by your side.

You swallow deeply and nod at the Psittanuran.

“I do.” You solemnly agree, unsure what the journey ahead may bring.

But you have to save Jungkook.

[elsewhereuniversity]

When I first started here, I called myself Ada, because my wordpress as a teen was adamantiumhalfdragonx523 and it was the first thing I thought of when they said I should pick a nickname.

...I know, it’s kinda ridiculous, and I was hoping to present a somewhat more mature persona at college. But at least Ada is an actual name, and I could claim it was after Ada Lovelace instead of my RP blog.

Anyway, I dove into class quickly. Engineering, with an accidental minor in physics: I liked the required courses so I took a few electives, then realized I was only like nine credits away from qualifying for a minor so I went for it. Got immediately bogged down by homework as usual, barely scraping C minuses through humanities requirements and getting extensions wherever I could. I’ve never been good with time management? It’s the adhd.

There were always rumours of strange things happening on campus, but I mean, it’s college. You get drunk larpers and people hallucinating moving shadows from lack of sleep and old buildings with confusing layouts and it’s enough for weird rumours to be spread for months.

There was this weird girl who moved in a couple doors down from me: she turned up around March, I think she was a transfer? Her roommate literally burst into tears and ran away down the hall when I mentioned her, so I didn’t push it. It was a bit weird but I guess they were close with their previous roommate? Don’t know why they left, maybe they dropped out. Anyway, near the end of the semester the girl — she went by hazelnut, I think — invited me to this pre-finals rager out in the woods. I think it was late April, maybe the first of May? Mysty (my roomie) said not to go but I was feeling pretty prepared for my exam so I figured I’d go check it out. She kept, like, tutting at me, and made a big show of pouring salt lines at the window and door and around her bed? I don’t know how you can pour salt sarcastically, but she managed.

It was a pretty decent party, honestly, all through the woods. There was obviously much wilder stuff happening deeper, bright lights and screams and music and stuff, but I met up with a group I vaguely recognized from some class or other, spent a good couple hours playing, like, a music-based chase game around this awesome spiderweb of a slackline rope course someone had set up in the trees, falling off laughingly as we got progressively drunker. Also Cuttlefish (trans dude, marine bio major) with the Bluetooth speaker started skipping erratically between songs with dramatically different genres and beat structures until we all ended up tackling him to make him stop. I was just thinking of heading back to dorm when this girl with really cool dark-fantasy makeup stumbled out of the trees, obviously in distress.

She was dressed in this kinda ragged-but-flowing translucent robe thing over incongruous muddy cargo shorts, barefoot, exhausted-looking, and screaming about being chased. Lark (short girl, I think geology major?) immediately grabbed some big hoola hoops I’d been ignoring (I mean, when there’s a huge multi-tiered rope course with ladders and slack lines and trapezes, hoola hoops don’t stand out) and threw one over Spider-makeup-girl immediately, who kinda collapsed to the ground sobbing in apparent relief, and Lark yelled for everyone else to sit in one as well. Something something salt circles? So we did, kinda bemusedly, two to a hoop.

Spider-girl’s chasers burst out of the trees a moment later, and, like, I had figured Elsewhere must have a pretty substantial cosplay community, considering the larping I’d heard people talking about, but damn these guys’ costumes were good. One had to have been like six and a half feet tall, but they were on tall digitigrade stilts that raised them closer to eight, if you included the mask, and the other had this really clean 4-arm rig and I swear the arms were moving separately. Like, I’m an engineer and I couldn’t figure out how either had put the costumes together, the movements were so smooth they looked practically natural. I hope they get into whatever film studio or props company they want, the prosthetics were definitely movie quality.

Anyway, they came bursting out of the woods, making growling sounds, but they both stopped abruptly when they saw the probably-ridiculous sight of nine twenty-somethings sitting in plastic circles on the grass. I expected them to start laughing, but they were really deep in character.

They kinda circled around us for a moment, sniffing the air. I wanted to comment on their costumes, but everything seemed super serious all of a sudden. Then one of them spoke.

“Have they trapped you, weaver? Do you take salt chains over calm oblivion? Do you think they can hold you against the hunt?”

Their voice was kinda deep and raspy, oddly resonant in the chill night air, like I was only hearing part of it. This was obviously part of some scene, but I dunno. Spider-girl was curled into a ball, shaking, and I felt these guys were taking it too far.

There were a couple moments of tense silence, then Lark spoke up.

“Our bargain is with her, not with you. Leave, or wait out the dark. We aren’t moving.”

The four-armed one literally hissed at that, raising up this ragged crest along their back and flexing all four of their clawed hands.

“If you take her, human, then you take her debts. How certain are you, that you believe yourself capable of filling them? Do you think her gifts worth the cost of her entrapment?”

I still couldn’t tell how the rig was working, there wasn’t much space in their costume for complex pneumatics or anything, which was kinda annoyingly obscure. Was it just puppetry? How the fuck did they get the arms to DO that? And the tall one’s mask, were those articulated eyelids AND ears?

“She is ours, human, hunted and caught. You mettle in affairs of what you know not.”

The big one was circling faster now, striding long-limbed on those stilts. They sounded ominous, but I saw a loophole there, so I spoke up.

“You obviously didn’t catch her? She escaped long enough to find us, and if I understand the setting of your game well enough, we count as scenery or props, not players on the same level as you. So it sounds like she got away on her own and found a hiding place she can wait out the sun, which means you lost and she’s free. Go bug someone else.”

They both roared at that, making charging motions towards us, but thy kept pulling up short about two feet away from the hoola hoops. I’m not gonna lie, it was super intimidating, but they didn’t seem like they were going to get any closer? After like five minutes of this, the tall one broke and ran into the trees and the four-armed one followed, both shrieking.

We stayed in the hoola hoops after that. I would have liked to go back to the dorms, but any time any of us moved Lark started shrieking at us to stay still because it was “dangerous” or whatever. Cuttlefish turned the music back on and we ended up playing a trivia game someone had on their phone. It was super uncomfortable but it could have been worse, especially since I was still pretty drunk, so it was all a kinda pleasant foggyness. I must have dozed off at some point because next thing I knew it was a bit brighter and spider-girl was standing over me.

Her makeup was even better in the twilight, extra eyes and weirdly-textured skin and everything.

“If you are, as you said, merely scenery in which I have found my own escape, then I owe you nothing.”

She looked around at all of us, then at Lark, who was getting up with a murderous expression, then back to me. Up close, I could see my reflection in her eyes, including the six fake ones. They looked intimately real.

“Your words unwind me altogether, even from your would-be friend,” she whispered, just to me, “and I owe you, gift for gift.”

Then, suddenly, she was gone. I saw her bolt to the rope course and up one of the support ropes, much further up than I’d noticed it went, until she disappeared into the treetops. It was impressive.

Lark yelled at me a bit, something something she could have made us all rich? I don’t know, I don’t understand the larp setting well enough to understand the context. And then I went back to my dorm and collapsed into bed. I only got three hours of sleep before I had to get up and take my exam, but I did pretty well on it anyway, got a solid 83%.

Couple days later I heard a sound at the window, and when I went to investigate I found a bundle of fabric on the sill. Unwrapping it, i found a hooded knee-length asymmetrical vest thingy with this really cool greyscale-geometric pattern on it, made from the same flowing material as spider-girl’s robe. It fits perfectly. Mysty made a bit of a fuss when she saw it, but calmed down a bit when I told her the context. I’ve been wearing it ever since, it looks really good over jeans.

Anyway, yeah. Probably the weirdest story I have, though there are some solid contenders, actually....College, you know. Stuff happens.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21751201 (wrote this back in December, forgot to submit it)

[panharmonium]

nobility is defined by what you DO -

- not by who you are.

sO LET’S TALK ABOUT GWAINE

and specifically about how merlin reacts to him in this intro ep, because this is another of those episodes that has more stuff going on under the surface than merlin is able to articulate out loud.

i said in an earlier post that gwaine is the person in merlin’s circle who most closely approximates will’s audaciously unapologetic spirit of “good morning to MERLIN and MERLIN ONLY,” and on a rewatch, it’s apparent that this episode actually takes the parallels between those two characters way further than that.

what is it with you and nobles?  he doesn’t trust anyone of nobility.

my father was a knight, in caerleon’s army.  he died in battle. his father was killed, fighting for king cenred.

you saved his life / if i’d known who he was, i probably wouldn’t have. you just saved my life / yeah, don’t know what i was thinking!

arthur’s a thoroughbred little braggart. when i first met [arthur]...i thought he was pompous and arrogant / well, nothing’s changed there, then.

people get sick of me too quickly. they’re used to ignoring him.

you livened the place up. this place has been boring without you.

the first time merlin and gwaine meet, gwaine bum-rushes some dude trying to kill arthur and gets stabbed for his trouble, and then the first conversation merlin has with him after that is about how if gwaine had known who arthur was, he wouldn’t have bothered to help.

“he’s a noble,” gwaine says, by way of explanation.  and then later, when merlin says “arthur’s not like that,” gwaine replies, “maybe.  but none of them are worth dying for.”

i mean.  

merlin looks at gwaine and sees something he recognizes.  of course he goes ride or die for gwaine three seconds after meeting him.  of course he instantly gravitates towards him.  of course he feels reflexively affectionate for him; he can’t help it - he feels like he already knows him.  

gwaine isn’t just friendly and fun to merlin; he’s familiar. 

so familiar, in fact, that merlin, having known gwaine for a grand total of twenty-four hours, completely drops every single scrupulous precaution he’s supposed to be taking with regard to his private personal information and immediately dishes up all the dirty details of his father’s situation, despite the fact that NOBODY IS SUPPOSED TO KNOW ANY OF THAT STUFF.  

like - merlin keeps the dragonlord part a secret, at least, but the things he does say are dangerous enough on their own.  in 2.08, merlin straight up tells arthur that he’s never met his father, that he doesn’t even know who his father was.  and that’s the impression arthur is still carrying around.  if arthur were to somehow get wind of the fact that this isn’t the case - if the subject happened to pop up one day and a confused gwaine was like, “uhhh merlin told me his father served uther and was banished; he told me he met his father before the man died” - it would prompt more than a few awkward questions.  how would merlin even begin to explain that?  when is he supposed to have discovered his father’s identity, or met his father personally, or learned that his father had died, without arthur being somehow involved?  merlin works for arthur all day, every day, from dawn til dusk.  there’s no conceivable way something this momentous could have occurred outside of arthur’s notice.  

the whole thing looks suspicious as hell.  it’s a dangerous hole in merlin’s cover.  

and yet -

merlin can’t help himself.  he hears gwaine saying, ‘yeah, my dad was killed fighting one of the king’s stupid wars and then the king left me and mine for dead, so fuck the nobility, amirite?’ and merlin’s mind short-circuits.  he goes OH?!?!??? and then he immediately fumbles every single shred of common sense he’s ever had.  he word-vomits his dad’s story all over gwaine’s lap.  

it’s like - look, merlin hears that and reflexively thinks I KNOW YOU, and he blurts out the thing he hasn’t been able to say for a year.  he temporarily forgets that he isn’t safe, because he feels safe, around someone who feels like this, like someone he used to know, like the only friend he had who was safe, for him, like the only person who would’ve known enough about merlin’s personal history to even care about an update on his mysteriously missing father to begin with.  gwaine feels like the one person merlin has been wanting to tell about balinor in the first place.  the confession is automatic.  instinctive.  and it’s not like it’s a little one time slip-up, either; it’s a mistake merlin keeps making, because he talks to gwaine about it again, when they’re polishing the army’s boots for punishment work, and merlin is going on and on about how no, his father didn’t have servants, he didn’t have anybody; he died about a year ago, and merlin wishes he’d known him better; his father could have taught him so much - and he’s just sitting there scrubbing those shoes, talking about things nobody else knows and nobody else is supposed to know, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.  

and he should know better.  if any of the things he said to gwaine ever got back to arthur, merlin would be up the proverbial creek.  none of these things are things he should be saying out loud, to anybody.  to this day, that whole conversation is a ticking time bomb waiting to blow up in his face.

but gwaine feels familiar to him.  he forgets.  

i say it a lot, but merlin spent something close to the first two decades of his life being known and loved, undercover and in secret, by exactly two people.  the feeling, elusive and impossibly rare, of what it was like to be safe and accepted and understood - that was something he could only get from two people.  and when everyone and everywhere else was potentially deadly - the magnitude of those relationships can’t be overstated.  it just can’t.  

so when merlin sees echoes of them in somebody else, of course he trips over his own feet trying to get close to that as fast as he can.  of course he tries to convince gwaine to stay in camelot; he literally puts himself in between gwaine and the door at the end to stop him from leaving.  of course merlin begs arthur “oh, you’ve got to speak to [uther], arthur; make him change his mind.”  

and it’s sad, at the end, when gwaine has to go, but the nice thing about it, in this case, is that gwaine is totally worth merlin’s effort.  merlin is chasing the right guy.  gwaine is exactly the kind of person that merlin’s (mistaken, yet somehow still accurate) mental associations assume he must be.  more so than any of merlin’s other friends, gwaine is the one who ultimately proves most likely to dump everyone and drop everything in defense of merlin’s interests.  he’s the one most likely to flip prince arthur pendragon the bird.  he’s the only one who comes to help merlin when gaius is framed for treason in season 4, after arthur turns his back on merlin and the rest of the court buys agravaine’s lies. 

i love that about him.  merlin needs people like that in his life.  merlin deserves people who put him first.  

and gwaine, for his part, deserves to have friends who appreciate him, people who want him around, people who are sorry to see him go.  when he says “i never stay in one place too long - people get sick of me too quickly,” gwaine deserves to have someone like merlin, who will respond, immediately and sincerely: “i didn’t.”  

[cant-blink]

My Name Is...

Summary: Rodan asks San if he could teach him the dragon’s native tongue.

-

“Hey, San?” 

Rodan’s voice was thick with sleep, cracking in some places, and he shakes himself to further wake. It’s late, and he had only just stirred from sleep from within the magma pool of their volcano nest. He’s been sleeping all day, as he tended to do nowadays since needing to heal his broken wing. But dozing off all day doesn’t make him any less tired when he wakes up in the middle of the night. It was in complete defiance of his natural circadian rhythm to force himself into this nocturnal habit, but it was the only way he can talk to the heads one-on-one.

The left head especially was the easiest to start conversation with, as opposed to Ichi, who keeps the chit-chat to a minimum, or Ni, who doesn’t talk at all really.

Besides, he had a goal tonight and he doubted the others will help. If anything, San was his best chance.

Upon hearing his voice, the left head’s horns perks out a bit before he gives a glance towards him, red eyes flashing in the lava’s glow. A grunt of acknowledgment is made, prompting Rodan to continue in a now less-tired voice. He wants to make sure his request was clear and no-nonsense in tone, but not demanding.

“I want to learn your language.”

“What?” San asks, turning to look towards him with brows furrowed in confusion. That reaction was kinda weird, certainly not one Rodan was expecting. Had they never gotten asked about something like this before. He doubted it. Maybe there’s a bit of a language barrier going on here; San is prone to that, especially if Rodan speaks too fast. So he speaks slower.

“Can you teach me how to speak like you?” He waves a claw a small circle motion. “You know, like in your native tongue? Is that better?”

“I know what you say,” San points out with a small huff of irritation. “Just want to know if I heard that right. Why do you want to talk like us?”

“Because,” he drawls. “We’re mates now, we oughta be able to share our culture. Plus, y’know, it’d be great to actually understand what you guys are always yelling about instead of staying up late to ask you all the time. Save me some damn sleep.”

“........”

Rodan shifts his weight a bit restlessly as San stared at him with an intense unblinking gaze. He always does that, like he was scrutinizing every inch of him. Made him feel like he was being stared down on by a predator, but he refuses to make those feelings known. Instead, he waves his claw in a circular motion again. “Well?”

“.....” San finally tears his eyes away from him to look towards his brothers before back to him. His words were spoken with genuine curiosity. “Why would you wanna learn if you’re going to die anyway?”

Rodan doesn’t answer that, prompting San to smirk a bit as he continues. “You put work in learning our tongue, only for us to kill you. It’s stupid.”

“.........” He didn’t know why this hurt as much as it did. He knew deep down in his core that Ghidorah had full intentions to kill him by the end of all of this; to expect otherwise would be foolish. But his heart just really tried hard to believe there was a different fate in store for him, refusing to believe their bond to be anything but genuine. Especially since Ichi knew of his feelings and seemed to indulge in them himself. Hell, they chose to mate with him! So knowing that after all they’ve been through, his destiny hasn’t changed... 

It only feels worse, seeing that San took such delight in it. There was that familiar glint in those ruby eyes; the same glint whenever San toyed with him. It was when he heard an added snicker from the left head that prompts him to respond in a soft voice.

“I mean, why did you guys bother to learn my tongue? If you’re all going to die one day...”

“Our kind can't die,” San said with haughty confidence in his sing-song voice. “So that doesn’t work.”

“Whatever,” Rodan continued, not sure whether to believe that or not. These things were resilient as hell, but not THAT resilient, surely. But then he remembered seeing them regrow a head and- You know what, best to just drop it altogether. Stay on focus! “You bothered to learn how to talk to us. What’s the point if you’re just going to kill us all anyway?”

San doesn’t respond, tilting his head slightly at the question. Rodan recognized his foothold and immediately took it.

“Do you learn the languages of the other planets that you’ve went to?”

“.... Sometimes,” San answered carefully. “But most times, we don’t stay too long on planets, so I know only few words.”

“And what was the point of learning those words?”

“...... I just thought they sounded funny.”

Blink. That was his only reaction to that for a moment before he continued on with his argument. “Well, my point still stands. Even if I’m going to die soon, I still want to learn to talk to you in a way you can really understand. No more confusion between us in the time we have together. I want to enjoy being with you more than I already do. I want to help when you guys are upset and that’ll be so much easier to do when I can understand what the hell you guys are on about...”

San doesn’t answer for a long time, enough that Rodan was about to speak up again just to keep the conversation from dying. But there was no need, as the left head found his tongue.

“You enjoy being with us?” His brows furrowed again, as if unable to grasp the concept.

“Yeah!” Rodan had to try to keep his voice down. “Of course I do. Why else would I choose you guys as my mate?”

“Your mate?”

“Yeah...” There was the beginnings of a sinking feeling in his chest and he didn’t know why. “You... you guys mated with me... That means a lot to my kind. Does...” He hesitates before daring to push on, voice softer as the sinking feeling in his chest gets worse. “Does that mean nothing to you?” He dreaded asking that, but it needed to be done. He needed to make sure they were both on the same page. But once more, San’s limited vocabulary hinders them.

“What does ‘mate’ mean?”

“And you see? That’s why I want to learn your tongue.” He steps closer to him. “Just like I teach you mine all the time. ‘Mate’ is what we did when Ni hurt me, remember? With my kind, that means we love each other, for the rest of our lives.”

“Love?”

Rodan nods again, continuing to step closer so that his beak brushes against San’s neck, the left head making no move to push him away. Little things like that give him hope and he allows his smile to grow, his golden eyes looking up at the dragon. “Say it with me, I love you.”

San doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watching him with those large intent eyes. When he does speak, he does so slowly to make sure he says it exactly as he heard it. “I love you.”

That’s all he’s ever wanted to hear from Ghidorah, and even if San didn’t mean it, it still brought his heart out of that sink hole in his chest. Maybe someday, he’ll hear those words again, spoken with genuine warmth and love. Too much to wish for? Maybe. But he can hope.

He keeps himself nuzzled against those scales, beak gently nibbling in a groom. San is still and says nothing, just watching him before glancing towards his brothers. The left head twitches their massive wings, the only sign of his inner debate with himself. After a moment, he mutters softly. “I’ll ask my brothers if it’s okay to teach you. Maybe fun.”

Well, at least it’s something and he lets out a breath. “Thank you.”

“What does that mean?”

Ghidorah really doesn't get a lot of nice things said to them, huh?

“When someone does something nice, you say ‘thank you’ to them to show you’re happy for what they’ve done. Or will do.”

“And you say thank to us? You are a funny slave. A funny silly slave,” San chuckles. After a moment, he makes a sound Rodan’s certain he’s heard from them before, although it must be rare as he can’t readily recall where or when he’s heard it. But it sounded beautiful, like a gentle musical trill.

“What does that mean?” he dared to ask, unsure if he was going to get an answer given how San wanted permission from his older siblings. But maybe the left head can give him just one word...?

And it seemed that’s exactly what San was doing as he gives him another amused look before answering. “That’s your name.”

His eyes brighten, having learned that his name sounded so nice in their tongue. Can he make those sounds himself? He didn’t know, but just hearing it from them would be enough for him. “Yeah, that sounds right.” San giggles at this and it emboldens Rodan to ask: “How do I say ‘Ghidorah’?”

Was that pushing his luck? Doesn’t seem like as San answered him without a fuss. It was a shorter sound, sharper, but still with that musical note. He runs it through his mind in a loop, not wanting to forget. His thoughts are only cut off when the left head continues.

“Now say thank to me.” San demands him and he pulls away to give him a look.

“First of all, it’s ‘thankS’ when used in that context. Second of all, that’s not how it works. You don’t demand it; you get it when you get it!” But despite giving this reprimand, his smile returns, wider than ever before his voice softens. “But thanks anyway.”

San smirks, before turning away to keep watching the horizon. Rodan leans against their body, settling beside them and draping his wing over their back to share his warmth with them. San and Ichi always seemed to enjoy when he did this. Yeah, Ni hated it, but getting bitten in the morning is always worth it. He just had to try to keep his wing folded away from the right side as best he can. As he rested his head upon their shoulder, nuzzling against San’s neck, he plays the sound San made to say 'Ghidorah’ in their native tongue. He wants to say it to them come morning, really show to Ichi that he was serious in wanting to learn.

Over and over, he whispers to himself in an attempt to articulate the foreign word, until he drifts off.

-

“Ghidorah!” 

Ichi brings his head up from their morning bask at the unexpected call. It was spoken in their own tongue but with a very heavy, unknown accent to it. It was almost like the sound that woke them from dormancy in the ice, but less mechanical in nature. He turns to look towards the source and there was the bird, sitting in his lava pool with a proud look on his face. The eldest head narrows his eyes slightly, glancing at San who was grinning at the attempt. Ni was less amused, his face scrunched up in a scowl, disgusted to hear their beautiful language spoken by such a lowly creature.

Where on this mudball of a world did the bird learn to say that? Did he really need to ask? The youngest was always chatty with the bird during his night-watch and this was no doubt one of their little shenanigans. Very well, he can play along.

“Yes?” Ichi responds, also in their native tongue. At this, the bird hesitates, flight fingers twitching a bit as if uncertain. Ha, seems the inferior creature was still as clueless as ever. But that didn’t stop the bird from speaking again.

“Ghidorah,” He puffs out his chest plates. “My name is-” Okay, that was spoken in the earth tongue, and-

He spoke another word in their language, with that same heavy accent, making it practically unintelligible. Clearly not as practiced as the other word. This time, Ichi responded in the bird’s native tongue, just to make it clear that the bird needed to try that again. “Excuse me?”

The bird lets out a breath before trying again, the same exact words but slower this time. And with this extra care to pronounce the word correctly, Ghidorah understood and Ichi can’t stop a smirk from growing on his snout. San is giggling now as the middle head nods approvingly at the little fire pest. 

“Indeed, that IS your name.” As Rodan gives himself a celebratory pat on the back, Ichi glances at his brothers with amusement, speaking in their native tongue once more. “Always nice when these lesser creatures name themselves ‘Slave’.”

San cracks up laughing.

[francoiserenaldt]

good things come to those who wait...

summary: there’s a boy and she doesn’t quite know what to do… (alternatively: melisande devereaux has really done it this time)

word count: 1.8k

warnings: none

note: would it be a fic written by me if the moon didn’t make some kind of appearance? probably not. takes place after a few weeks at vancross.

Vancross is silent when she sneaks out of her dorm. 

Melisande took extra precautions to make sure that Tatum would be firmly in REM sleep—measuring his sleep patterns without looking like a stalker was easily the hardest thing Melisande had ever done and she once climbed a tree in heels for a photo op—and Murphy was a nonissue as long as Dionne was none the wiser. 

The one thing she hadn’t accounted for was guilt. The possibility of Tatum being punished for her actions had only occurred to her in this and it made her stomach ache, but she swallowed it and continued to walk. She had already made it this far.

This whole situation was his fault, anyway.

She eventually finds herself in the gardens. The sole light hanging from the top of the gazebo blinks to life at her arrival—she couldn’t even avoid the limelight in the wee hours of the morning, apparently—and she sits under the light and takes a breath. 

The speech she wrote sits in her back pocket. It’s awful even by her standards, but it’s the product of rushed scribbles in between classes and right before she went to sleep. She’s loath to imagine what would happen if any one of the numerous people surrounding her found out about this, but her mind wanders anyway. 

Blaine would, no doubt, tear it apart with a smirk, giddy with the realization that she knew Melisande was nothing but a sheltered puppet for her mother all along—Blaine wouldn’t say it that way, of course; despite a rivalry that spans over centuries and defies common sense, she’s oddly insistent on getting into Melisande’s pants.

Ayna would be concerned but supportive; the historian in her probably reckons that it would make killer supporting evidence in a collegiate thesis. Dionne probably would find it odd; parents controlling every aspect of their children’s lives was normal and resentment only hurt you in the end.

(Maybe she’d have a point.)

And Tatum...if Tatum got a hold of this, she would probably cease to exist on the spot.

Regardless, it doesn’t matter what everyone else would say if they saw it because they never will. Her reputation, her life even, depends on it.

She chuckles at that; it’s the most authentic speech she’ll ever write, but there can be no audience to receive it. She can only laugh to stop from crying.

The moon at Vancross is stunning this time of year, cool and quiet and drawing an odd feeling—too warm to be sadness, but far too cold to be wistful—from her. The scene was perfect, but it didn’t change the inevitable: Tatum would kill her if he knew she was out here.  

She almost wants him to; anything is better than this torturous dance they’ve been doing since he appeared in her dorm room. Everything about him was “job description this, job description that” until she could get him alone; even then, he would only drop the act for a few minutes before it was back to wishing he had never been assigned to her.

(Her heart only broke a little bit when he said things like that, of course. She’s an adult.)

(If only she actually felt like one.)

She stands and quietly clears her throat. If her calculations are good, she only has 20 minutes until someone notices that she’s gone. 

“I’m alone for the first time in a long time, so maybe I can finally put this weird feeling into words.” Melisande begins, just barely resisting the urge to fall into public speech mode. “I’m completely and utterly unsure of what I’m supposed to do with my life. Everyone has their own ideas about what I should be doing here. Mom wants me to come here and make the country proud by earning all of my marks, Dionne wants me to date, and Blaine...ugh, I shouldn’t even be speaking to her right now. I’m a grown woman and yet I’m letting everyone else tell me what’s good for me. The only person who’s fully respecting my decisions right now is...Tatum.”

She cuts herself off with a groan, crumpling the paper in her hands. “Fucking Tatum. I’m midway through articulating my quarter-life crisis and all I can think about is him.” She slumps down onto the bench, burying her face in her hands. “And I’m not even thinking about him, not really. The Tatum that wanted anything to do with me died overseas. The real Tatum is sleeping in his bed, probably dreaming about being literally anywhere else.”

A street light flickers on several meters away. A group of her peers chortles on their way to their dorms, no doubt drunk from some house party. She sighs, lifting her head.

“What did I expect, anyway? ‘Lisa and Tate against the world, like when we were kids?’ I barely want to be here and I’m actually getting something out of this.” She scoffs, sniffling. “God, I’m an idiot.” 

The wind picks up then, pulling her waist-length braids to the side. The night is still quiet and there’s no sign of life anywhere near, but she’s never felt more exposed. “I don’t even know him anymore. And he doesn’t want to know me. He’s just doing his job. It shouldn’t hurt this much to see him again.” She purses her lips as the heat behind her eyes swells once again, but she blinks it back. There’s still too much to say before she has to go back to bed. 

“But I have a job to do here, too. My mother is counting on me. Winston is counting on me. All of Rutherland is counting on me, so I won’t give up on them. I can’t. It’s out of the question.” She shakes her head violently. “But I won’t give up on him either. Not when I’m getting a little bit closer to seeing the real Tatum, my Tatum, in my life again. I can’t afford to screw this up. I can’t lose him again.”

Melisande tilts her head back and stares directly at the moon, letting the light reflect the pool of unshed tears in her deep brown eyes before she shuts them completely and lets the tears fall. “What the hell am I going to do?”

Off in the distance, a bell tower rings and the long hand of the clock beneath it settles on 4. She’d been out for far too long. It was only a matter of time before-

“Melisande.” 

(Shit.)

“Lecture me in the morning, please. I’m exhausted,” she sobbed.

She hears him clear his throat, probably out of awkwardness, before he speaks. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to be out by yourself right now?”

“I think I could have handled myself against the flora and fauna, Tatum.” Melisande snaps, wiping furiously at the tears running down her cheeks. “Besides, late-night escorts aren’t in your job description.”

“It’s literally a part of my job description that I need to be near you or aware of your location at all times, especially for ‘late-night escorts.’” Tatum pinches the bridge of his nose. “What were you doing up this late anyway?”

“Writing a sonnet.” 

“This is not the time for you to joke around.”

“So it’s only okay to switch up when you do it. Got it.” She huffs, brushing past him and speed walking in the other direction. “I’m tired. Let’s go back.”

He’s quicker, grabbing her arm and turning her around to face him. He takes her face into his hands, the fury (concern?) in his already intense eyes setting her ablaze. “You can never do anything like this again. Am I clear?”

“Tatum, you made yourself perfectly clear when you told me that you never wanted to be back around me the first time.” Melisande scoffs, meeting his glower with one of her own. “I’m the last person that's going to endanger your cushy government job, alright? Can we be done here?”

“We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

“Good. Now let go.”

The morning after is rough, to say the least. There isn’t enough caffeine in the world to make Melisande a functioning human being on 3 hours of sleep or enough outfit changes in her closet to wait Tatum out. 

He’s not good at waiting—never has been—and he paces outside her door, as if he’s ticking down the seconds until she has to stop hiding. She can’t help but scoff; his method is questionable but the message is clear: I’m not letting you off the hook this time.

She eventually settles on a light blue blazer set and rushes out of her bedroom, making a beeline for the kitchen. Naturally, a toned arm blocks her way. “I need to get to class.”

“You’re not getting out of this.”

“I wasn’t planning on it, but fine. We can talk now.” She drawled, ducking under his arm and turning on the coffee maker.  “You wanted to know why I left last night.” 

“As your bodyguard, I think you owe me that.”

“I needed time to think.”

“Don’t you have a room for that?”

“I wanted to be alone,” Melisande replied nonchalantly, only managing to resist the urge to shrug when she sees his nostrils flare. “It’s hard to do that when you have a shadow.”

“What are you doing?”

“Talking to you,” she allows the shrug this time, turning her head to meet his eyes as she pours her coffee. “Should I be doing something else?”

“Let me rephrase that: why are you acting out?”

Acting out? 

If Melisande was acting out, she’d have made herself a staple of the numerous house parties happening at Vancross. If she was acting out, she’d find Blaine Hayes and give her mother a scandal worth calling about. If she was acting out, she would have never agreed to come to the Vancross Institute to begin with. 

She didn’t deserve this.

“You can’t be serious. I leave the dorm once to clear my head and you’re treating me like a child.”

“Melisande—”

“This conversation is over.” 

“Like hell it is.” Tatum snaps. “In case you haven’t gotten the memo yet, you’re the daughter of a world leader, which means that you can’t leave in the middle of the night to clear your head on a whim without telling me. If there was even a one percent chance that someone who wanted to hurt you came here and I didn’t know where you were, I…” He pauses, then takes a breath. “I can’t do my job. It’s—”

“—your job to protect me. I know that.” 

“Then don’t make this harder for me than it already is.”

The earnest look in his eyes—definitely concern now—is enough to make her drop the act. “Alright. I’m sorry.”

He grunts, blinking the moment away, and she curses herself for the disappointment that courses through her veins. “Don’t be sorry, be careful.” 

“It’s too late for that.” Melisande shakes her head, too frustrated to cry and too tired to argue. “Far too late.”

It’s clear that he doesn’t understand what she means and she decides, then and there, that he would never know. The fates had aligned and made his position clear: she was an assignment to him. He could never know that she wanted more.

(It was far too late. For both of them.)

[justkindaoverhereobsessing]

Sentence ask thing. Tiva: “Don’t worry, I’ll see you soon!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll see you soon!” Tony explains helplessly, tugging Tali’s little jacket tighter around her. “Really, baby girl. There’s nothing to cry over, I promise.”

“But—but—but—” Tali is inconsolable and can’t even properly form her thought.

Tony and Ziva exchange glances, uncertain of how to reassure their daughter. Tony scoops up the little girl and straightens, cradling her like she’s still a toddler and not a rapidly-growing school-aged child. “Shh, Tali-Tee. ‘s alright.” In an undertone to Ziva, he adds “I don’t know, maybe I should just cancel my trip.”

“And reschedule? You know she will only do this again next time,” Ziva argues, but even she looks unconvinced. 

“If leaving is going to break her heart like this, I’m not sure I should take a trip at all.”

“This kind of opportunity does not come around often. If you do not go now... it may be many years before you have another chance.”

“I know.”

“Tali will be alright in a few minutes.”

“I know. I’m just...”

“I know.”

________________

In the end, Tony does leave, though getting out of the flat takes so long that he damn near misses his flight. He does his absolute best to articulate to Tali why he has to go, to reassure her that he will absolutely be back—before she knows it! She does calm before he leaves, which helps Tony’s nerves. Leaving her is still so hard, though, and leaving Ziva is only slightly less so. 

He’s up for a job back in the US; a sudden emergency has necessitated the appointing of a new assistant director for one of the agencies NCIS works closely with. It’s an unexpected opportunity on several levels, but it’s an exciting one. It would give them all both a way and a push to uproot their lives in Paris and return to their family, and... it would be more fulfilling work than what Tony does now. 

No matter how much Tony wants the job, however, this is the first time he has ever left Tali. The girl is obviously in incredible capable hands, since Ziva is staying behind, but... it was just Tony and Tali for so long that they both have a little bit of separation anxiety now. Tali is and always will be Tony’s first priority. Still, this will be a good opportunity for her, too. 

________________

Tony has to hit the ground running once he reaches the States; his flight lands in the late morning and his interview is in the early afternoon. On a taxi into the city, though, he puts aside his last-minute interview preparations to call his wife. 

Ziva answers on the second ring. “Tony?”

“Hey there,” he answers warmly. 

“Hi. Did your flight go okay?”

“Couldn’t have been smoother. On my way to the interview now. Everything alright in ol’ Paree?”

“Yes... Tali has been acting out some and she did not want to sleep alone last night, but we are doing fine.”

“Ah, that’s to be expected, I guess.”

“I does not surprise me. She does not like to be separated from you.”

“I don’t much like it, either. Is she there? Can I talk to her for a second?”

“Of course. Tali?” The last word is called away from the phone, and after a moment, Tony can hear the phone being moved back to Ziva’s ear. “She is coming. Good luck on your interview, Tony—I know you will do wonderfully. I love you.”

Tony smiles. “Thanks, sweet cheeks. Love you, too. I’ll call you later, yeah?”

“That sounds good.”

There’s a staticky sound or two and then a much younger voice speaks into the phone. “Daddy?”

“Hey, princess! How are you?”

“I’m sad.”

“Just ‘cause I’m not there?”

“Yeah.”

Tony’s heart clenches, though he was expecting this answer, and he tries to turn her mood around the best way he knows how—with goofiness. “What!?” he cries as dramatically as possible. He sees the cabbie look suspiciously at him in the rearview. “You’re sad ‘cause of me!? A boy!? I thought we’d already been over this. Boys are stinky, silly, no good bothers! Being sad over a boy? Now, that’s just crazy talk.”

He breathes a sigh of relief when he hears his daughter giggle. He’s glad she���s at an age at which problems are still easily solved. “You’re weird,” Tali informs him, making him grin.

“I know. You tell me all the time and so does Ima. That doesn’t mean I’m wrong, though.”

“If you say so.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like your mother. You’re behaving for her, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I knew you’d make me proud. I—”

The rest of his sentence is cut off by the cabbie. “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but we’re almost to your destination. Where would you like to be dropped off?”

“As close as you can get to the corner of Worth and Lafayette, please,” Tony answers. Then he turns back to the phone with a sigh. “I’ve got to go, Tali, I’m sorry. But before I do—scratch what I just said, okay? You’re allowed to feel sad or happy or whatever you want. Just know that I’m not gone for good or even for long, kiddo. I promise I’ll talk to you again soon, and I’ll be home in just a few days. I miss you, sweetheart, and I love you a bushel and a peck...”

“...and a hug around the neck,” Tali dutifully finishes. 

“That’s my girl.”

“Good luck, Daddy!”

“Thanks, Tals. Talk soon.” He makes a kissing sound and rings off.

It’s show time.

________________

It’s his hope to catch Ziva and Tali again before Tali’s bedtime in Paris, but his interview runs longer than he’s expecting and it’s late in Europe by the time he’s free.

Still, he calls Ziva. 

“How did your interview go?” she asks as soon as she picks up, forgoing a greeting in deference to her burning need to know what happened. 

“Hello to you, too,” Tony answers, laughing. “It was pretty good, I think. I should hear something in a day or two.”

“Did you know any of your interviewers?”

“Nah. They all knew me, though. Turns out I got recommendations from... well,  a lot of people. I was pretty surprised.”

“I am not.” The warmth in Ziva’s tone makes Tony smile. 

“Thanks, Ziva. Anyway, none of them really seemed bothered by the fact that I’ve been out of the government sector for... what, seven years now? I was a little worried about that. And, well... we’re sort of infamous, you and I, but I think that actually may have been a point in my favor. The interviewers seemed to think that meant I could roll with the punches, so to speak.”

“Adaptability is a good trait in someone occupying a leadership position.”

“Gotta wonder how Gibbs has managed for so long, then. He’s got his good qualities, for sure, but that man has had the same tv since 1970. ‘Adaptable’ is not the first word that comes to mind.”

A laugh, and then: “You learned a lot from him over the years. You will do well at this new job.”

“You really think so?”

“I know it.”

“You sound awfully confident, given the fact that I may not even get the job in the first place.”

A dismissive snort makes it clear how Ziva feels about that reminder. “You should know by now not to argue with me, yes?”

Tony laughs, too. “I guess I should.” He sighs a little then, rubbing his eyes and feeling tired. As much as his interview today has made him feel hopeful, he really just wants to go back to Paris for now. “Did Tali go down alright tonight?”

“Yes, curled up on your pillow like a little cat.”

“Besides sleepovers, she and I haven’t spent a night in different places in years. I’m pretty sure she’s handling it better than I am. It’s weird being without her... My hotel room is too quiet.”

“There is no one singing Frozen at the top of their lungs?” Ziva teases.

“I mean, there is, but that person is me.” Tony hears a snort and then a stifled yawn, and he interrupts before Ziva has a chance to reply. “Go to bed, my love,” he orders gently. 

“I will soon... but Tali is not the only one who misses you, you know.”

A smile rises to Tony’s lips that he’s sure Ziva can hear through the phone. “I know. Believe me, I know. I miss you, too. But remember: you’re the only thing standing between Tali and the complete destruction of our apartment. You need your rest.”

He can almost see Ziva’s eyeroll from here, and it makes him grin again. “Go,” he repeats. “Sleep. I’ll see you in two days.”

“Alright, alright,” she acquiesces. “Good night. I love you, Tony.”

“I love you more,” Tony answers fondly. Neither one of them will ever forgo an opportunity to say those words again. “Sweet dreams.”

“For you, as well.”

________________

When Tony himself succumbs to jet lag an hour and a half later, he’s thinking about the fact that a potential new job isn’t nearly as exciting as the prospect of seeing his family again the day after tomorrow.

He’s certain that his priorities are in exactly the right order... and no matter what the future brings, he’ll be fine. He’s got his girls.

send me a sentence and i’ll write the next 5 sentences or the rest of the fic

[themadlostgirl]

My Lost Boy

*DONE! Last request so I can finally post my new story! WOO! Never thought I’d get here.*

Prompt: An old crush of Y/N’s comes to the island and Peter may be a tad jealous of the new guy

Requested by: anon

Warnings: language

---

“No.”

“Darling,” Peter sighed, “You need to wake up.”

“No I don’t.” I mumbled as I pressed myself further into Peter’s warm solid body.

“Can you let me go then? I have things to get done today.”

“No you don’t. You’re in charge, you don’t need to do anything.”

“Y/N…”

“Stay. Cozy. Sleepy. Warm.”

“You are impossible in the morning.” Peter gave up trying to get out of our tent and laid back down next to me. “Happy?”

“Mmhm.” I smiled as I nuzzled closer. “You like this better than dealing with Lost Boys. I know you do.”

“That’s because none of them are as pretty as you.”

“So you’re saying that if they were as pretty as me then--”

“Get up!” he tore the blanket off, “If you can be sarcastic than you can also be awake.”

“Are you assuming that I cannot be sarcastic in my sleep?” I finally sat up and cleared the sleep from my eyes. I reached over and ruffled Peter’s bed head. “I have many talents that you don’t know about.”

“I know,” he pulled me closer for a quick kiss, “You’re not that spineless jellyfish that landed here months ago. Whatever happened to that girl?”

“She got to be herself.” I kissed him again, “And I like this version much better.”

“So do I.” We started making out but were interrupted by the boys outside causing a big ruckus. With a sigh and promise to resume this make out session later Peter and I got dressed and headed out to see what was going on.

“What are you idiots shouting about?” I asked the boys.

“Oh I’m sorry,” Felix smirked at Peter and I, “Did we interrupt your morning?”

“Yes.” Peter said.

“A new boy has arrived.” Felix shrugged, “The boys are having fun putting him through the ringer.”

“Ooh, I wanna join!” I skipped off to have fun with the others.

I came upon the boys and jumped into the action as the boys good naturally harassed the new guy with a game of ducking. Basic premise, one or more people have a long stick and take swings at someone in which they have to duck to avoid getting whacked. It was more or less initiation on the island and a game I was very bad at when I first came here.

The boy in the middle seemed to be doing well avoiding the strikes until I stepped up. “Duck!” I shouted playfully before landing a blow right across his shoulder blades. He dropped to the ground and the boys laughed as the new kid squirmed on the ground.

Then he looked up and I froze.

“Erik?”

“Hey,” he stretched as he stood up again, “Do I know you?”

“You don’t remember me?”

“I think I would remember you,” He looked me up and down, “Is there a chance that I met you before?”

“It’s me. Y/N.” His expression didn’t change, “We grew up in the same town.”

“Really?”

“We were neighbors.”

“Distant?”

“No, we lived right next to each other.”

“Are you sure it was me?”

“Yep.” I had the urge to hit him again, “And you are part of the reason I now live here. Guess I should say thanks since it got me out of that hole in the ground I called home. Goodbye, Erik.”

I walked away and cursed my rotten luck. The boy I had a crush on since I was a child is now on the island. All that time I had been pining, hoping and waiting for the day he would notice me, and it turns out he can’t even remember me. It’s not like we never interacted. We weren’t close but I would have thought he’d at least recognize me in some capacity.

It’s probably for the best he doesn’t remember.

“Back already?” Peter saw me approach, “Such a serious face too. Did the new boy hurt your feelings?”

“No. I just know him. We were neighbors before I lived here.” I slipped into the hammock Peter was laying on, “We practically grew up together and he didn’t remember me.”

“How could anyone forget someone like you?” he kissed my cheek. “Is that why you are in such a grumpy mood?”

“I’m not grumpy. A little annoyed but not grumpy.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Y/N, talk to me. Did this boy hurt you? If so I’ll skewer him right now.”

“No. Nothing like that.” I might as well get this over with, “Just remember that you asked me to tell you and that none of this applies now.”

“You’re making me nervous.”

“The new boy, Erik, I may have had a crush on him before I came here. I thought he was cute and would watch him and the other boys play football. I was so nervous around him though that I could never tell him how I felt. One day it dawned on me that he didn’t care about me the way I cared about him if he even knew I existed at all. It broke my heart and I threw that crushed dream onto the mess of disappointment that was my life.”

Peter had gone still. Unnaturally still.

“Peter?” I poked his face, “Were you listening?”

“Yes.” his one eye was twitching just a smidge, “I was listening, intently.”

“What’s this?” I smirked and tried to see his pouting face closer, “Are you jealous?”

“Jealous of what? Some idiot that you used to find attractive? What’s there to be jealous about?”

“Awe, it’s kinda cute,” I pinched his cheek, “There’s no need to be jealous.”

“I’m not jealous!” he snapped but the mad blush on his cheeks said otherwise.

“If you say so. It doesn’t even matter. I already told you he doesn’t remember me. He’s basically a stranger at this point.”

“Mm,” Peter got up and started to walk off.

“So dramatic.” I rolled my eyes and continued to swing in the hammock. Maybe I should build an actual swing. Some good strong vines or some rope and a plank of wood and I’d be good to go.

I went into the jungle and started gathering what I needed. Vines and wood were easy to come by and finally it was time to tie it all to a tree.

“Hey there,” Erik saw me wandering around the jungle. “Whatcha got there?”

“Vines and a plank of wood.”

“Why?”

“Making a swing.” I shrugged and continued my search for a decent place to put it.

“Need a hand?”

“I can manage on my own. Thanks though.”

“Are you mad because I don’t remember you?”

“I don’t care that you don’t remember me, Erik. It was a long time ago. Just forget I had said anything.”

“Can’t. Since you brought it up it’s only been nagging at me.”

I found a good spot and started to climb the tree to tie off the vines. “You climb pretty well for a girl.”

“Gods above why did I ever like you?” I muttered to myself. How is climbing a tree exclusive to boys? Answer? It isn’t.

“You like me?”

“How did--” I groaned, “No! I don’t like you. Not anymore.”

“Oh my god,” he rushed up the tree next to me, “I remember you! It just hit me! You were that dirty little girl that lived in that tiny shack beside my house. I’d catch you staring at me all the time and you’d leave wildflowers on my bedroom window. I thought you were too quiet and weird to pay attention to so I tried to ignore you in hopes that you would leave me alone.”

“Wow. You’re an actual asshole.” I shoved him away from me, “A girl has a crush on you so your idea of dealing with it is to blatantly ignore her?”

“You have to admit it was pretty annoying.”

“No, Erik, you are annoying.” I tied off the other vine before sliding it down to the ground again.

“You don’t need to get so mad.” He climbed down after me, “I mean, look at you now. You’re so wild and brazen. I didn’t think the girl that couldn’t articulate a sentence without stammering around me would ever call me an asshole. It’s refreshing.”

“Joy of joys.” I wormed the vines through the holes in the plank I made. “Will you leave me alone now? I’d like to work in peace.”

“Let me do that for you.”

“No! Go away!” I snapped at him. “I can make a swing by myself just fine.”

“Got some bite to you now.” He leaned in closer, “What else about you has changed?”

A force sent Erik hurtling back across the ground like a tumbleweed in the wind. I looked behind me and saw Peter standing there.

“Hi,” I jumped up, “What are you doing here?”

“Passing by and...well…”

“You were spying on me to make sure Erik didn’t try anything because you’re a jealous boy, weren’t you?”

“Idiot.” he pinched my nose playfully.

“Your idiot.” I wrapped my arms around his neck, “Do you like my swing?”

“Excuse me!” Erik was up again. “Who in the hell are you?”

“Ugh,” I rolled my eyes, “Peter, this is the new kid, Erik. Erik, this is Peter Pan. He’s the ruler of the island.”

“And Y/N’s lover so if you would kindly stop drooling all over her that would be much obliged.” Peter held me closer as if to emphasize his point.

“I knew you were jealous!” I laughed, “Your first word to the new kid is calling me your lover? How territorial of you.”

“Territorial?” he grinned in a way that made my stomach flip. “You wanna see territorial?”

“Peter, don’t you--” And it was too late. I was pinned to the nearest tree with Peter ravishing my mouth and molding himself against me in the span of two seconds.

This really wasn’t fair. I wanted to continue our make-out from this morning but I was hoping to not have an audience.

If it didn’t feel so nice I may have found a shred of embarrassment but in the moment all I could do was kiss him back. When Peter pulled away I was breathless and dazed and Erik was nowhere in sight.

“I think he got the point.” Peter looked back at me, “He won’t be bothering you again.”

“Maybe I should let him.” I pulled Peter back in, “If I can get a kiss like that out of jealousy he may just be worth hanging around.”

“Har har har, you are hilarious,” he left a kiss on my forehead, “He’s an idiot that didn’t understand what he could have had until it was too late. Lucky for me though, I knew what I had all along.”

“And it is a good thing you did. I like you a lot more than I ever liked him.” I may have called out the sappy line if it didn’t make me feel so unabashedly happy at the same time. My Lost Boy.

[letterstothemidnightsociety]

It's 2007 and somehow, miraculously, Supernatural survives yet another rocky (?) season of mediocre ratings to come back for a third season, or at least, half season, but that season starts out with a real bang! Like, just a real solid trio of an opener for season three. It reminds me of all the things I love about SPN and also it reminds us of all the things that frustrate the hell out of me on SPN. So where did we leave things off?

First up, there’s Dean, who sold his soul to the devil in order to bring Sam back from the dead. Sam, you’ll remember, was part of some overly complicated ponzi scheme to find the perfect vessel to open a door - yep, open a door - and lost to Aldous Hodge who just straight up murders Sam in the season finale. So Dean get’s Sammy back, but in exchange, he’s only got one year left before he permanently moves down south. Oh! And even though they got Sam back and Sam kills Aldous Hodge (RIP pal), they neglected to keep the door from opening. The door to Hell, that is, and now they’ve allowed a shiz ton of demons out to freely roam the earth. Way to go, boys, you lost again! They are two for two on these season finales guys!

OH but they DO kill the Yellow Eyed Demon, so that’s a plus, but not before he plants the most perfect seed of doubt in Dean’s mind - “How do you know what you brought back is all Sammy?” Like, ugh, UGH, ugh!!!! What a way to drive the knife in deeper! What a way to make the heart of this show slowly start to crumble! C’est Magnifique!! *chef's kissy fingers*

So with all that emotional baggage weighing us down, how do we start season 3? How else - with a threesome of course! And also some technicolor grading, it’s wild guys.

Oh boy guys, let’s talk about this opener for a hot sec. I got into it a little bit last season, but as much as I love Dean, you HAVE to admit that that boy is gross. Just like...he’s a little gross. I’m also old enough now to see exactly how many red flags he’s raising through the last 45 episodes. Like, sorry Little Me, but he is not boyfriend material. Not to mention that all this debauchery is 1,000% him distracting himself from the consequences of his own actions, but we’ll get into that later.

Meanwhile, Sam is doing something constructive and trying to figure out how to reverse the curse and save Dean’s soul. And here we have the culmination of two seasons worth of character development - faced with the imminent demise of Dean Samuel Winchester, Sam tries to step up and take care of his brother for once in his life; Dean parties like it’s 1999. There were two things I thought of during this episode - 1) isn’t this not unlike the sort of behavior you see in suicidal people who have finally decided to take their own life? Which is just, like, further held up by the fact that Dean’s big monologue at the end literally has the line “Truth is I’m tired, Sam. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel.” and like...dude, you are NOT ok! Why isn't??? ANYONE??? ADDRESSING THIS????? And 2) Dean is sharing a lot of similarities with the demons in this episode.

Because MEANwhile, there’s demons! So many demons! Specifically, the Seven Deadly Sins ones, but also, spoiler alert, Ruby, who is gettin’ reeeeealll into that ketchup.

All these baddies just really taking advantage of their time topside cuz Hell is, as they so artfully put it, it’s like Hell, so they’re just livin’ it up while they still can ~almost like foreshadowing or something~?!?!?

Real talk though, it being a real long time since I’ve watched this season, it’s these kinds of details that I’m impressed with this time around. There is so much character work that goes into this show and it’s something I definitely connected with the first time around, but not on conscious level. Now I can look at it through time and experience and articulate what I’m seeing, which makes this re-watch infinitely more enjoyable.

Episode 1 of this season continues what they started in season 2 and just keeps building out that Hunter Community. Like, there really is a whole Community out there that keeps in contact and works together and makes sure everyone’s up to date on the latest hot goss, and it all makes John Winchester come off like a real creepy splinter cell lone gunman type. And that in turn makes the Winchester sons look like total, unprofessional boneheads who managed to open a portal to Hell. “UGH Great Jorb Guys, but can we blame them? They’re John’s kids,” is a conversation between hunters that I am headcannoning, but also 100% support.

Honestly, I love the idea of the Winchesters being just these real, like, b-grade, Walmart Brand Hunters that other Hunters are just SO done with. We kind of see a little bit of that with Isaac and Tamara, but by the end of the episode, the Winchesters prove that they’re...better Hunters? I hope somewhere in the next 12 seasons I get an episode that is told from another Hunter’s POV who is legitimately better/more emotionally balanced than the Winchesters and the whole episode is them just, like, cleaning up a bunch of Winchester messes like, SONuvabitch, these two ASSholes. I think we see a fair amount of episodes from the POV of people who are less qualified than the Winchesters who end up being mentored by them, but I’d be stoked for them to run into just a group of people who hate them for totally legitimate, professional vs amature reasons.

Bobby does not count because Bobby signed up to be their Dad and so he agreed to take care of their messes when he took that job.

And then we get to “The Kids Are Alright” which showcases one of my fav changes for this season - BRIGHTLY! LIT! HIGH! SATURATION!!!! And of course, by fav, I mean, Most Hilarious.

I do walk a fine line on this one truth be told. Like, season 1 was definitely going for A Look. It’s super gritty and high contrasty and stylized. Now, I got what they were going for but I wasn’t always crazy about it, mostly because the quality on the DVD’s was terrible. Quick tip for everyone: in order to get 2+ hours worth of content on a DVD, you have to compress the final edit of the program to a pretty small bitrate. When we drop videos onto DVD’s at my work (it isn’t often, thank goodness), the discs themselves only hold, like, 2GB worth of content and that is NOT A LOT when it comes to video files. The more compressed a video file is, the less detail you’re gonna get in the visuals. Watching episodes on Netflix (where everything’s probably at a higher bitrate and therefore is a better quality visual), it’s not bad, but on my DVDs, the compression is so heavy that we get SUPER hot highlights and SUPER crunchy shadows - what a lot of people would called “crushed blacks” because you’ve lost all the detail in the shadows and you’re left with a grainy, noisy, black hole on the screen. Like I lost so much detail in the pilot episode guys, I could not make out this guy’s face.

A rough approximation of my DVD quality. Still recommend it over Netflix for the Accurate Soundtrack tho.

Season 2 SPN toned that Look down a lot, like, a lot a lot. Enough that you still got the general vibe they were going for but not enough that you couldn’t make out faces anymore. But through this whole process, the CW execs kept pushing for the show to look lighter, more colorful, less film noir more...well, CW. And in season 3 it finally happened!!!

I get what those execs were going for, but also, I feel like the colorists on these first few episodes just REALLY went wild out of spite. Lookit this shot from “Magnificent Seven” right before Envy causes some rando innocent bystander to beat a girl to death for her shoes -

GREEN GREEN GREEN GREEN!!!! I WONDER WHICH SIN THIS GUY IS????

Then in “The Kids Are Alright” the birthday party looks like everything is coated in day-glow neon.

The Winchester Bros look like they just got back from 3 weeks in Aruba - LOOK at the saturation levels in these skin tones! LOOK AT THEM!!

My screencap ability aside, only in SPN can a cemetery at night have brighter lighting than a diner in the middle of the afternoon.

This is definitely a thing I will be tracking the rest of the season because I have a distinct memory of a future episode where the brothers have been magically gifted completely different lives where they were never Hunters, they know nothing of Hunting, and they’re completely normal until the end when everything gets snapped back and the episode literally changes colors. V. Excited to see just how saturated this season stays through the end.

But maybe more importantly in “The Kids Are Alright” we learn that Dean does NOT, in fact, have a son. Not that he would be a good father...well...maybe? I mean, this Dean, this season 3, definitely-suicidal, completely-reckless, can’t-keep-it-together Dean, is not good Dad material. Later seasons Dean? Probably fine? Earlier seasons Dean might ALSO be fine? And if he’d found out that Ben was his legitimate kid, it could have made a WORLD of difference, who knows. I know he ultimately does become father-like to Ben and that gives me a lot of feelings. But this Dean is not in a good place to take care of anyone, including himself and really, someone ought to do something about that.

I gotta say, this is an actual bummer. I can’t remember if, in the later seasons, they do any clarifying on this or not, but I am legitimately bummed that Ben is not Dean’s kid and that as far as we know, Dean has no natural children floating around out there with surly attitudes and soft hearts. Dean’s motivation from Day 1 has always been family and despite what comments he may make in early seasons, Dean’s secret desire is to have the wife and the kids and the dog and the white picket fence. And honestly, we’re only 3 seasons in and I just want Dean to have nice things!!

And then guys, we come to “Bad Day at Black Rock,” and I just...WHAT a masterpiece. I had almost NO memory of ever watching this episode before and I don't understand why. What a glorious masterpiece this episode is. Let’s make a list -

More Hunters™, who should be really annoying but were actually kinda charming in a Marx Brothers kind of way

Gordon’s in jail, where he belongs, but also is masterminding a coup against the Winchesters which is A+ spooky stuff

Slapstick comedy that I didn’t know I was missing from my life

Bela F*cking Talbot

Guys, I think this is my fav episode so far purely because I felt, while watching it, that the last 10 years of my life were not in vain and that I had in fact grown as a human person. I remembered hating Bela Talbot. Like, I DID. NOT. LIKE. HER. To the point that I questioned if her British accent was even real. It is, her mother is from the UK and she lived there for a time, but like, honestly, the audacity of Little Me.

This time around? Oh she’s defs my new fav. Just everything about her is like, A+, Great Job, Why-Did-We-Cancel-Her??? Like, oh yeah, probably because somewhere in here they try to shoehorn a romantic side plot with Dean. I don’t actually mind rioting over shoehorned romance, but also, if they’d let this play out for a season or two and then got the two of them to bone? I’m on board. I’m 100% on board.

Maybe it’s just that she is unapologetically out for herself, maybe it’s the fact that she is definitely a match for the Winchesters in a non-murdery way, probably it is both of those things. She's smart, she’s crooked, she has impeccable taste, she’s honestly a helluva lot of fun and I am so excited to see more of her and so BUMMED that she will not make it past this season.

Despite the fact that I absolutely adore all three of these episodes, they also bring up the problem that I was starting to see in season 2 - WHO is this show about? Isn’t it supposed to be about the Brothers as a whole? But the majority of these first three lean pretty heavily on Dean’s emotional arc. Granted, it makes sense. I mean, of COURSE Dean’s demon deal is gonna be the BIG thing in a season where he is literally staring down the barrel, but knowing that there’s a side plot about Is Sam Evil?? seems like...something we should really explore more? I believe it comes up in season 4, or at least, Sam’s demon-blood powers become a bigger deal in season 4, but I would have enjoyed seeing Sam have a more active stake in this season. I can see planting some weird new ticks being planted for Alive-Again Sam that just get weirder and darker and then a mid-season finale or a run up episode to the end of the season where Dean (finally) decides he needs to stop his demon deal because he needs to stick around so he can keep Sam from going completely off the rails. As much as I love Dean 5ever, I do think the show works best when the emotional weight of the season is distributed equally is all. And to be fair to the writers this season, there could have been a bigger plan for something like that but they ran out of time - their season was cut by about a third due to the Writer’s Strike.

Still, all in all, a solid opening to the third season. I want to say that these episodes feel like Classic SPN, but then I remember that this is season three out of fifteen. These ARE Classic SPN. Mostly self contained with enough emotional drama to remind us of the overarching plot. Maybe a little heavy on the emotional drama, but Dean’s only got a year to live and the show’s only got 16 episodes to resolve that crisis, so it’s fine.

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Communication Issues (Alternative Title: Three Touch-Starved, Insecure, Metaphysical Beings Constantly Misinterpreting Each Other and Yet Somehow Falling in Love)- Chapter One

Ao3,  MasterPost,  Chap.2,  Chap.3

Relationships: Eventual Analogince, implied Moceit

I usually have new stuff up on Wednesdays, Sorry this is late. I hope the length and angst will make up for this slight :) Also, because of how long this fucker is, I did not go in and manually add italics, so you can just. Imagine them there when you need them. 

Warnings: Panic attack (?), overworking oneself, self-hatred and insecurity, Excessive Amounts of Hurt/comfort, eventual friends-to-lovers, slow burn, arguing, crying, angst w/ a happy ending, swearing, creative blocks, mentions of isolating oneself, excessive hugging. 

Word Count: 6,396

What do you do when you find someone crying, and it’s all your fault? What do you say when you hear the muffled sobs and frantic words behind the blood-red door? When you know that, no matter how much you never wanted to hurt him- never wanted to hurt anyone- you still did. Is there anything you can do to fix it, when you’ve spent so long pretending that nothing was broken? When you’ve spent so long pretending that you didn’t care if things were broken or not? 

Well, if you're Logan Sanders, a metaphysical representation of the logical thinking of one Thomas Sanders (and you are, for the purposes of this story), then you book it down the hall in a desperate effort to find someone more emotionally competent to solve the problem. 

The search is short, lasting just to the bottom of the stairs. As soon as your feet touch down on the living room carpet, your haste brings you slamming into just the side you were looking for. Hands wrap around your middle, narrowly stopping you from stumbling over. 

“Geez, L, what’s the-” Virgil doesn’t finish his sentence, his expression wrinkling in concern when he sees your face. He leans down to your level, his gaze flickering over you to search for injuries. 

You take a step back and shake your head, struggling to explain. 

“Roman- I- He-” you’re supposed to be articulate, intelligent, eloquent- but when it comes to feelings, you never are. You never have been. You try so hard nowadays, but God, do you still need help sometimes. Like these times. These confusing, awful times when you hear dear sweet Creativity sobbing self-deprications loud enough to be heard from well outside of his room, many of which are dramatized repetitions of things that you have said to him.

“Is he okay?!” Virgil, bless him, snaps you out of the oncoming mental panic before it renders you any more useless. 

“Physically, yes- as far as I know- but emotionally, well-” you cut off, terrified of choking up. He seems to catch your meaning, though. 

Virgil doesn’t ask any follow up questions. He grabs your arm and the room blurs. Static hisses against your ears and pricks at your skin, this form of transportation being mostly foreign to you. You don’t even rise up, merely popping into existence right in front of Roman’s door. Virgil throws it open before you have the chance to react. 

Roman doesn’t notice the increased population of his room, which is concerning. His back is to the door as he works fervently at his desk, but evidently not making progress, shaking as he is. He’s muttering under his breath, much quieter than what you’d overheard before, but you can hear distinct utterances like ‘unrealistic… overused… disappointment…’ et cetera, et fucking cetera. 

“Roman, what happened?” Virgil’s voice is distorted, loud and quiet all at once. You barely keep yourself from covering your ears. 

Roman clamps his mouth shut mid-wail, his hands spasming in surprise against his desk. His quill drops to the paper with a soft clatter, a sound that echoes about the walls. Then, the only noise left is his staggering breathing.

Slowly, Roman peers over his shoulder at you, eyes puffy and red with mascara practically dripping down his chin. 

A gasp draws from you, against your will, at the sight. 

Roman makes some strangled throat-clearing sounds before trying to speak. 

“Oh, hey-” 

“Nope, none of that,” Virgil is across the room in two strides, effortlessly taking the lead in this situation. You can’t push yourself any further into the room, but you do shut the door behind you. Probably best not to involve any of the more unpredictable sides in what was sure to be an… emotionally charged discussion. 

Roman looks absolutely mortified, jolting up from his chair and backing into the wall like a cornered animal. With distance between himself and Virgil reestablished, he then buries his face in his hands. He trembles like a leaf caught in the wind of fall, and he’d probably crumble just as easily. 

Many times in your life, you’ve wished that you couldn’t feel. You even had yourself convinced that you couldn’t, for a while there. Now, all you wish is to know how to feel correctly. You’re meant to know things, Logan, aren’t you?

“Alright, so I’ve been having a bit of a rough time,” Roman’s voice cracks and wavers when he speaks, “It’s just writer’s block. Sure, I got a tad bit frustrated- but I’ll be back on track in no time, I promise! You needn’t concern yourself with my momentary lapse, I’ll have a new story for you by Saturday at the latest!” 

He’s looking at you. Virgil is standing right next to him, but he’s looking at you, all the way across the room. He’s trying to… appease you? Reason with you? Give you what he thinks you want?

Say something, Logan.

“You need to take a break, Ro,” Virgil’s voice slips back to normal, “C’mon, you’re overworking yourself,” he tries to be nonchalant, but it’s obvious just how concerned he is. You can hardly blame him. When he reaches his hand out, Roman recoils, showing his face enough to see the guilt written across it. 

You need to say something, goddammit. 

“I can’t just ‘take a break’,” he spits, “I can’t stop now. I need to get this done first- I’ll stop when I finally do this properly. So, maybe never, right?” He laughs, horrible and twisted, and he looks at you because he’s really, truly asking you. Is he really expecting you to agree? Is that the impression you’ve left him with? 

You say something.

“This is all my fault.”

Clearly, neither of them expected that. You press on.

“Your worth as a side-” no, not quite right, “-Your worth as a person is not measured solely by your productivity. I know we’ve talked before about the damages of excessive perfectionism, but I know I may not have been effective in ‘showing not telling’ that your ideas don’t need to be flawless. My harshness. My Coldness. I thought I was doing better, but obviously... I was wrong.” Again. 

Virgil looks half-way to anger, but it’s unclear what he’s directing it towards. You aren’t sure of anything right now, really, except for the general upset tugging at your stomach.

“L, no, if this is anybody’s fault- it’s mine,” he turns to Roman, and what. “I didn’t know how hard you were taking all this. Dude, I had no idea. But I owe you an apology, I have for a while, for making fun of you about your insecurity. Like, kind of a lot. Long after you stopped doing it to me. Honestly, I can’t believe that I didn’t realize how much it was actually getting to you.”

“What? Virgil, I truly appreciate what you are trying to do, but I was clearly the one who pushed Roman too far,” you find the courage to step a little closer as you argue Virgil’s point, spurred on by how ridiculous you find this exchange.

“Well, I mocked his sensitivities. This is my responsibility!”

“But you didn’t know you were doing that- I acted like I didn’t care for him, and now he thinks I don’t! I am doubtlessly the one to blame.”

Virgil looks ready to snap back, and you’d be just as ready to retort, but a quiet sniffle alerts both of your attention to the matter still at hand. Roman, standing back against the wall, growing increasingly bewildered. He’s still crying, a surprisingly open display for a prideful trait such as himself, but you get the impression that he simply can’t hold it back anymore. You can see him squirm under Virgil’s and your gazes.

“It- It’s nice, that you both are attempting to take the blame for my failings, but you don’t have to. I can figure this out for myself. Then, I’ll finally prove myself to you, and no one will need to worry about anything. Which is why I need to keep working.” 

“You have proven yourself to me,” Virgil darts from the desk to Roman. He grabs the trait’s ink-stained arm, gaze fierce and unyielding. 

“Why, then,” Roman mutters, eyes downcast, “doesn’t it feel like I have?”

“I never tried to do right by you. Like you did for me.” 

You watch them sway, awkward, and finally, finally push movement into your legs. You step to Roman’s other side, much slower. It probably appears to be deliberate, but in truth you just feel unsure. You place your hand on his shoulder in a way that is hopefully comforting.

“The same, in a different sense, is true for myself. But if you would allow us to make it up to you…?” you aren’t sure where to go from there. Virgil nods, though, granting you a hint of pride. You don’t quite buy it when he says he’s part of the problem, but you’d rather not start any arguments at this particular moment. 

Roman won’t look at either of you for longer than a second, like he’s not sure if you’re serious. Just so he knows that you are, you gesture to your necktie, giving him the tiniest smile. 

He buckles to the ground immediately, a mess of sobs, the both of you letting yourself be dragged along. He clings to Virgil, and you try to keep an arm around him as well. He needs all the support he can get, really. 

“I-I’m so so-rry, I don’t- I-” 

Virgil shushes him and shoots you a deeply concerned look: This is really bad. I’m not letting him go. You rub Roman’s back as he shakes and return your friend’s gaze with a nod: I’m not either. We’re going to help him. Don’t worry. 

The three of you sit there for what feels like hours as he cries, and cries, and cries. None of you say a word, letting him get it all out. You let him hold onto you- you hold him as well, because you’re nearly as dismayed and unsure as he is. 

But eventually, you need to talk. Once he finally settles, his head resting against your collar and his legs splayed across Virgil’s lap, it’s you who gets the proverbial ball rolling.

“You already know that overworking yourself leads to exhaustion, which in turn leads to an overall drop in productivity and quality of work,” Roman’s eyes fill with guilt, but you’re quick to elaborate, “but that isn’t at all my primary concern. I won’t carry on acting like it is for a moment longer, now that I see how it’s hurting you. Hurting you is something I would never intend. You mean so much to me. There are so many arguments I could use to convince you why you need to give yourself a break, but I’ll settle with this: a hypothetical ‘perfect story’ is not worth your suffering, and it never will be.” 

Roman looks up at you, once more crying, so that was probably a very unhelpful thing to say. But he leans into you and hugs you close, recontextualizing his emotional display. Relief washes over you. 

“Thank you, Logan.”

Virgil clears his throat.

“I know I’m not as, um, articulate as Lo is, but- for what it’s worth- I care about you, too, and all.”

You stretch out the arm that you had around Roman’s back, pulling Virgil into the hug. Roman lets out a shuddering breath from where he’s cradled between the both of you. It’s the deep, relieved breath that means the sobbing is through with, leaving only tired eyes and silence. 

It is at this point of alleviated tension that the uncomfortable nature of the floor begins irking you. Like hell you and Virgil would live Creativity alone like this, so after brief deliberation you stand to move as a unit. An amoeba of facets making their way down the hall, in a manner likely comical (though thankfully no one is around to see). Your room is the optimal place to rest, as it eases emotions and calms overthinking minds, even if it is a little chilly. 

You let your fellow traits drop down onto the couch, passing Roman the TV remote. Yes, whatever you like to watch, you inform him. Yes, really, anything, you confirm, waving your hand to conjure some blankets for them. The smile he gives you, though small, is enough to boost your hopes considerably. 

You really can’t fix everything- at least not immediately. But perhaps, with Virgil to fill in your gaps, you’ll be able to make things right for the Prince. 

<<<???>>><<<???>>><<<???>>>

So looking after this insecure dumbass is totally your job now. Said dumbass, of course, disagrees strongly; he tells you he’s doing better, and thanks so much for the one afternoon of help, Virgil, but he can totally take it from here. You do not give a single shit about what Roman claims, because he is very obviously lying, because he doesn’t want to be a burden. Yeah, as if. 

You’re taking care of that idiot if it kills you.

Thankfully, Logan is on the same page as you (proverbial page, as he would specify). It almost surprised you that he didn’t make himself scarce as soon as he told you about the situation, but it’s certainly a pleasant surprise to have him by your side in this. Roman needs all the help he can get, and you can’t think of anyone better.

The pair of you only begrudgingly leave him alone after a sufficient several hours of Comfort Time, retreating to the hall so he can rest. He looked so fuckin’ tired, face a dull red and eyes puffy, but he was smiling. You count it as a temporary win. 

The first thing that you do, naturally, is slam your back against the wall and let yourself slide down to the floor out of sheer emotional exhaustion. 

Logan sits next to you, much less aggressively. It’s a nice gesture, considering how he absolutely despises sitting on the ground and this is the second time he’s had to do it in one day. You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He keeps trying to say something, before clamping back down on it. You bump your shoulder against his, telling him that whatever it is, you’re listening. 

“I feel-” which is already a testament to how serious he’s taking the situation- “horrible.”

“Yeah, same- I mean, big mood- no, that’s worse, fuck-” you take a deep breath, hitting your head back against the wall, “I mean, me too. So, at least there’s that, right?” 

Logan shoots you one of his patented Microscopic Smiles.

“I suppose that counts for something, yes.” 

You manage a laugh, leaning even more against your friend. You’ve got a whole contradictory bundle of feelings coiled up in your chest, and it sucks, but also it’s a relief, but also it’s the worst thing ever. You exhale slowly, your eyes falling shut. 

“I don’t wanna leave him alone, ya know?”

“I know. We’ve done all we can do for now, though.”

“I guess.”

“I’m just glad he let us help at all.”

  “Well, assuming we did help. Who knows, we could’ve made him feel a million times worse by confronting him, and now-”

He cuts off your spiraling immediately. 

“But we didn’t. He clearly needed intervention by that point. Besides, If we’d been making it worse, it’s unlikely he would’ve let us stay for so long. Nor would he have accepted your plan of ‘helping him deal with all this shit from now on, no matter what he says.’”

“Right,” you take another deep breath, “You’re right.”

“I usually am.” 

You elbow Logan in the side, playfully. He smiles again, wider and brighter in a way that most others probably wouldn’t notice. It could, from some angles, in the right lighting, possibly maybe be considered a little bit pretty. Not that you think about things like that, of course, that would just be weird. 

You stop leaning so heavily against Logan, only to find how much your back hurts from sitting in the hall. Come to think of it, the hall might not be the best place to calm down from emotionally charged interactions. The only issue is that your room is literally the exact opposite of a good place to chill out right now, and you’re reluctant to move.

“Hey, uh, would it be okay if I- like, my room isn’t the best for times like this, and I-”

Logan’s  already standing, taking your arm to help you up. 

“Come on. I’ll set up the Planetarium for us.” 

“Thanks,” God, you’re thankful for somebody like him. Such a simple word, when you aren’t crazy about spelling out all of the gratitude and nervous tension that lays behind it, and he picks up on the layers perfectly. He gets it- he gets you. 

Things will be okay. 

<<<???>>><<<???>>><<<???>>>

Once upon a time (ha), you felt appreciated. Of course you did, else how would you remember it so vividly? How would you long for it so desperately? Yes, you can safely say that you, Roman Sanders, had once been cared for. But that was countless screw-ups ago, before hundreds of your careless insults, your many vicious words followed by weak apologies and unchanging ways. The distant past of a disgraced royal- one far too imperfect, far too cruel to be forgiven without first proving himself time and time again. 

That’s what you’d thought, anyway. When you expressed such beliefs to other sides for the first time, just a few mornings after said sides comforted you in the midst of a breakdown, they told you it was the stupidest thing they’d ever heard. Direct quote from Virgil. 

It was stupid, apparently, because you were forgiven so very long ago, and you are actually considered to be better now than you were then. It shakes you up inside to think about. In a good way, for once. 

They hover around you almost always, offering you plenty more of those somewhat aggressive reassurances whenever you give the vaguest hint of self-deprecation. You were sure they’d brush it under the rug after those first few days, perhaps even tease you about it, but it seemed that was completely false. It’s been a good week. 

They’re with you this very morning, chatting idly while you wait for the kettle to shriek. You let the drone of Logan’s voice wash over you as you finish fixing your tea. You don’t believe all of their reassurances just yet, but God are you trying. You want it to be true- more than you’ve ever wanted anything- when Logan says their care is unconditional, or Virgil says that he likes spending so much time with you. 

You turn around, the mug in your hands warm against your chest, and stare at the sides on the couch. The three of you are in your corner of the Mindscape; they had already invited themselves in when you awoke. You quite like that they do that- you still aren’t sure how to express that you want to be with them, without prompting. You would feel clingy. Greedy.

“Thank you,” you settle down Virgil, smiling groggily. He waves his hand dismissively. 

“Don’t worry about it, man. What’s on the agenda for today?” 

That’s another thing. It’s not all crying and hugging, Lord knows how old that would get- but they just end up hanging out with you. Sometimes it’s just Logan, if Virgil’s having an off day, or sometimes it’s the opposite, when Logan’s particularly busy, but you really like it best when it’s the three of you. 

That didn’t used to be unusual; you used to spend all of your time surrounded by all of your family (or most, in light of recent acceptances), laughing and joking and working all together. Then, slowly, you stopped, just as things became more complicated for everyone. Camaraderie was a waste of valuable time, time that could be used coming up with ideas that would finally be good enough. They got the hint easily enough, allowing you to isolate yourself until you were perfect for them. 

No, you aren’t thinking about that right now! It isn’t the time to worry about how this will all have to end eventually. You’ll have to think about it soon, but not now, dammit!

You swing back a sip of scalding cinnamon tea, letting it clear both your throat and your mind. 

“I have a wonderful idea for today!” You puff your chest out and straighten your back. In actuality, you haven’t had a ‘wonderful’ idea in ages, but you hope the confident stance will give you one. 

It doesn’t. Logan notices this. 

“I sincerely hope that this is not yet another attempt to ‘cure’ your writer’s block and attempt to get ‘back on task’?” he chides you. You falter, letting the regal pose fall away. Logan tells you that what you need is rest. You do not want to rest. But you don’t want to get lectured, either.

“I do not have any ideas for today. Or in general,” you grind out, the second part tacked on bitterly. You don’t look at them, even as Virgil knocks your elbow with his. 

“Good, that means you can come play Scrabble with us.”

The hesitance must show on your face, because Logan sighs and adds:

“I will allow you to use your original- completely nonsense, meaningless, irrational- words, if butchering the English language makes the game more fun for you.” 

Now that. That is a tempting offer. You really would be a fool to pass it up. 

You might as well indulge yourself this much, for however longer they’re willing to let you. It’ll be a nice memory to draw from when you do get back to work.

 Good God, your ribs hurt. You can’t breathe.

“I’m just saying, you can’t prove that the earth is round,” Virgil claims, staring mischievously across the table at Logan. Logan fumes. It is fucking hysterical.

“That’s ridiculous! Putting aside the overwhelming scientific evidence to the contrary for a moment, you can literally see the curve of the earth on the horizon!” 

“Uhh, it looks pretty flat to me. I’m not buying your government propaganda, Lo,” Virgil’s very clearly trying not to chuckle, and his resolve is impressive. You’ve already been reduced to unintelligible cackling at their interaction. This exchange has brought the progress on the jigsaw puzzle you’d been solving together to a screeching halt, but you couldn’t care less. 

“What do you mean ‘propaganda’?! This is common knowledge!”

Virgil cracks, bursting into raucous laughter. He grabs onto your arm as gravelly chuckles escape him, the both of you scrambling to keep upright. Logan narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Unbelievable. Infuriating. Intolerable, the both of you.”

You compose yourself just enough to stick your tongue out at him teasingly, before hunching right back over into your giggle fit.

Then, you notice it as it happens. The aggravated expression etched across Logan’s face shifts, but he keeps staring at you. It’s inscrutable, and also weird. 

“What’re you looking at?” you challenge, voice broken up by subsiding laughter. You turn your head to Virgil, as if to say wow, what a nerd, huh?, only to find him staring at you with much the same expression. 

“Guys? Is something the matter?”

“It’s nothing,” Anxiety amends.

“I’m sure we were both just caught off guard, is all,” Logic adds, his attention redirected from you to the carpet hastily.

“In a good way, though. It’s nice to see you smile- ugh, that sounds so weird, I just meant- it’s been a long time since you’ve. Done that.”

You blink, taken aback, only to feel the dull ache in your face. You reach a hand up, pressing a finger to the corner of your upturned lips. It really has been a while since you’ve laughed like this, hasn’t it? 

A selfish, malicious creature that stalks around in your chest tells you to stop smiling. If you’re happy it means that their job is done, then you’ll be all alone again. Is that what you want, Roman? 

You almost listen to it. Before-

“Don’t think that I’ve forgotten what you said just because Roman laughed, V.”

“Nah, you never forget anything, O keeper of memories,” Virgil flicks a puzzle piece at Logan, smirking just enough to show off his sharp teeth. 

“Stop.”

“Stop what?” he flicks another puzzle piece. Logan’s face twitches in what is either a barely suppressed smile or a grimace, but likely a combination of the two. When Virgil finally aims a piece to hit his face, he snaps, throwing little bits of the jigsaw back at the anxious trait.

“Wow, L, you’re really just throwing away all our progress like that? Tsk, tsk.”

“I will end you,” he lands one smack on Virgil’s nose, earning a hiss. The puzzle continues to be destroyed by their squabble. 

You don’t think you could stop yourself from beaming at them, even if you wanted to. Toothy, confident, amused- oh, how you’ve missed this.

How you’ve all missed this.

 It hits you with the swiftness of a bullet, right when you least expect it. You’re just sitting in the living room, idly sketching as you half-watch TV with Patton beside you on the couch. You offer a laugh when he pipes up with a pun based on whatever’s on screen, but your mind is far elsewhere.

You’ve got an idea. A really good one. 

You’ve filled up a page with mindless doodling while the thought was still forming, for fear of jumping on it too suddenly and losing the inspiration, but you find it solid as you continue to mentally examine it. Perhaps a bit overeager, you flip the page, scrawling excited concept sketches across the thick, rough paper. The details flow and evolve in your mind’s eye, and it becomes something of a struggle to hold back your creative aura from infecting the common area. 

That confident smile, one you’ve been wearing more and more often these past few weeks, graces your face once more. The semi-subconscious expression brings a memory from just nights ago: Logan told you that your face was built to wear such a grin (‘Speaking architecturally, of course,’ he cleared his throat awkwardly, ‘The form that you’ve chosen for yourself is suited to it. Objectively.’). 

You find your smiling widening, just as it had when he first told you. 

So caught up in your art, half-listening to Patton, and also vaguely following along with the show he’s watching- you don’t even glance up when Virgil rises up and seats himself at the arm of the couch. It’s the way he huffs a laugh at something Morality says that first catches your attention, and suddenly he’s got all of it. 

“Virgil!” 

He grimaces at the volume, tilting his head to look at you. 

“Something got you excited, Ro?” 

“I’ve got a story! That is to say, I’ve got a premise, but also characters! Look- it’s- come here, let me show you what I’m drawing, it’s easier than explaining,” you chatter happily, shuffling your way to Virgil’s perch. You hold your sketchbook out to him and jump into explanations.

The drawing is messy, and not nearly finished, but it’s you and it’s good and it’s new. It’s a scene- heavily annotated to explain some of the more abstract concepts in the image- depicting an ent-like creature towering over a young woman, who holds a flower crown up to him. You tell Virgil about the story based around the two, some of the major plot points already planting themselves in your brain. You inform him that it just came to you, and you’ve got so many different ideas for what these two will do, what will happen to them, and how they’ll get out of it all. When you look up from your rambling, all the excitement slips off your face. It’s replaced by awe. 

Virgil is grinning, showing a good deal more of his fangs than he usually likes to, enthusiasm dancing in his eyes. You’ve never seen him emote that much ever, not for any purpose. You would be lying if you said that those huge chompers weren’t at least a little hot. 

“Okay, I totally wanna hear more, but pause for a sec. I gotta get Lo, ’kay?” And with that, he’s gone as quickly as he arrived, pausing only to toss the sketchbook back to you. You twist around, eyes wide with shock, to find Patton smiling softly at you. 

“You saw that, too, right? Or have I gone mad?” you ask him, earning a chuckle.

“I think Virge is proud of you,” he shuts the TV off as he talks, moving to stand, “I am, too! It sounds really cute!”

“Thank you,” Patton arches up to stretch, tossing the remote down on the couch. “-Er, where are you off to?”

“I think I’ll let you three have the living room, to talk all about your story.” 

“I’d hardly mind if you wanted to hear about it!”

His eyes dart to the side, an awkward smile stretching across his face. His noticeably pink face.

“Oh, I- I was planning on spending some time with Jan today. I was about to take off, anyhow.”

“Aah,” you start sketching again, if only to spare Patton your wolfish grin, “Well, if you’ve already got plans.”

He gives you a tiny wave, sinking out immediately. Thus leaving you alone with your thoughts. Fuck. 

It crosses your mind that- now you have an idea to work on, an idea you’re proud of- your slump is over. The creative block has been cured. Logan and Virgil won’t need to coddle you anymore. 

Your hand ghosts over the paper, and for a second you consider tearing it up. Pretending you lost the spark, pretending you need more time and help and companionship. Guilt rises in you at even the thought of being so selfish, the doubts and worries overpowering your former giddiness completely. 

You can’t imagine anything worse than that brilliant smile Virgil gave you turning to disappointment, if you pretended to lose your inspiration. Or the disdain that would surely flash in Logan’s eyes at having his work interrupted for absolutely nothing. Plus, if you did so, what’s to stop them deeming you a lost cause and abandoning you anyway? 

If you’re being honest, you need approval more than anything. And dear God, it is so close. You have to tell them, and hold on to whatever scraps of praise it earns you before the three of you revert back to normal. You’ll fall back into seclusion, as that seems to be one of the few things you’re good at, and they can actually get back to their own existences. 

There’s a whoosh behind you. You spin around, forcing the tension out of your shoulders. 

“Well hello there!”

“I want to hear about your story,” Logan cuts straight to the point. You couldn’t care less about his bland bluntness because he is watching at you in a way so unbearably fond. They both are. You push your reservations down and present him with your sketches, diving into what you’ve come up with so far (plus a few extra points off the top of your head, which isn’t an uncommon method for how you develop plotlines). 

When you’ve finished, not quite as exuberantly as earlier, Logan continues with the theme of surprising the fuck out of you that this day has established. 

He settles a hand on your upper arm, but really he might as well have swept you up in a hug. You blanch, the touch fuzzing up your brain, just like it has been doing so often now and God you don’t want to lose this. 

“I told you so,” he sounds playful.

“What?” you question, vaguely dazed.

“I think that L’s saying we were right about you just needing a break. Seems like the rest cleared up your burnout pretty well,” Virgil loops around to your other side, patting your shoulder awkwardly. 

The euphoria from being touched is broken once you actually manage to process the words.

“Oh! Right, yeah, I'm- I'm so excited to get back to work!”

Logan removes his hand and you burn cold. 

“No, you aren't,” you hear his confusion, like he's trying to unravel why that could possibly be and wow you are not as good an actor as you’d hoped. “What's upsetting you?”

You try to say that it's nothing, but your voice pitches up embarrassingly. You clear your throat, but you can't make yourself maintain eye-contact anymore.

“Dude, you can tell us what's up. Are you just overwhelmed?” Anxiety is worried and caring in a way you didn't know he was capable of and it hurts worse because you don't know how to tell him that you're just selfish. But you knew this was coming- and you aren't going to make these two waste their concerns on you any longer. The problem has been solved, Roman, get that through your skull! 

“I- I suppose I'm just- I’m lamenting the end of this. It’s unimportant.”

“You are upset about the end of your writer's block?” Logan tips his head to the side and gives you a bemused look. Frustration stabs at your skin.

“No! That's a good thing, obviously it's a good thing- I'm saying that I'm going to miss… I mean, I'd gotten used to spending time with you. The both of you,” Virgil's eyebrows shoot up, Logan squints at you, so you backpedal like there's no damn tomorrow.

“See? It was stupid, I know I can't always have all the attention, any-”

“You're right, that is stupid,” Virgil cuts you off with a grumble. You must deflate visibly, though, because his voice softens, “That you think we aren't gonna hang out with you, I mean.”

You feel something. You think it’s hope. It almost feels foreign- unbelievable, even. 

“What?” a murmur, too small and doubting for you to associate with it, though it must be yours. Pathetic.

Logan leans forward, as though he's studying you. Good God, who let him be so tall?

“Were you under the impression that we were going to cease contact with you once you resumed productivity?”

“Wha- I mean- when you say it like that it sounds… bad.”

“It would be bad. It would also be incredibly manipulative; being kind to you only so as to get you back in working order, rather than being kind to you to provide genuine help.”

Virgil nods his agreement.

“Yeah, you aren't getting rid of us that easy, Romano.”

You recall the first Big Conversation you had with the two left-brained sides. They'd insisted to help you, despite your lack of understanding in the beginning why they'd do so. Similarly to that talk, this is filling you with an almost painful fondness, almost too much to bear.

“But, you already helped me, just like you said you would!”

“Why did we help you, Roman?” Logan inquires, in a way that makes you feel like you should know the answer. You do not. 

“Because you were worried about me?”

“Why would we be worried?”

“Because you… felt bad for me?”

He groans, tapping Virgil on the shoulder. The anxious facet rolls his eyes.

“You're our friend and we care about you, stupid.”

You clear your throat, attempting to say that you knew that (even if that isn’t entirely true), but Logan interrupts you. 

“In case it wasn’t clear why, allow us to explain: one, as I’ve stated before and will likely state again, we don’t value you for your ability to create alone.”

“Two,” Virgil cuts in, “You’re, like, fun to be around. Way less stiff than us, and honestly we probably need that.”

“Three, we were never opposed to being around you even before the- this. You claimed to like being alone. And I’ll admit I’m not the best with subtext.” 

Virgil looks ready to add a fourth. You don’t let him, waving your hands wildly. If you verbalized what you meant to convey, you’d definitely start sobbing, and that’s just embarrassing. Thankfully, Anxiety seems to pick up what you’re laying down, giving you a moment to collect yourself. You take a few breaths and try to pretend that you aren’t being watched like a hawk.

Aaaand you’re already crying. That’s probably the point of no return, isn’t it? 

“Ha, and I thought that you two weren’t the sentimental ones,” the effect of your teasing is ruined by how much your voice wavers, “You’re just big softies, aren’t you?”

Logan’s expression is caught somewhere between concern and confusion.

“You are quite literally sobbing? How are we-”

“Shut up,” you retort. The effect is once again ruined when he comfortingly pats your back and you absolutely fall against him. 

“Wow, again? You’re really set on making a habit out of this,” Virgil hovers uncomfortably apart from the set of you, eventually landing on wrapping an arm around you. And it’s so him, that you can’t help the little chuckle that breaks through your crying. You really have been doing this a lot more than you’d like lately. 

“I- I’m okay,” you stammer, “I’m good- this is- just- I’m relieved. Why am I crying? I’m happy!” 

“It’s alright, man.”

“Yes, take as long as you need.”

You tear yourself away from them, scrubbing at your eyes, but grinning all the same. Your skin burns, you’re shivering, but you’re sick of clinging to them and crying and the desperation that tugs at you. You feel so many things, but there’s one that’s overpowering, one thing that’s so familiar and has been so distant. It’s a blur, a mash, but it goes something like this:

The people you care about, that you work so hard for- they aren’t going anywhere. No conditions. Logan repeats it plenty, Virgil shows it to you quietly, but only now-

Now you believe them. You feel looked after. Cared for. If you’re being bold, you could even say loved. 

You feel secure. 

“Thank you,” for being there, staying there, helping you, everything. You can’t thank them enough for everything.

Virgil shrugs. 

“You’re worth it.”

[ericsonclan]

Took Your Cherry

Summary: Louis' poor choice of words lead to a day of pranks.

Notes: Everybody’s in their 20′s here and it’s pretty much just innuendo XD

Read on A03:

Clementine was sitting at the bar, taking a short break after finishing preparations for what they expected to be a busy day. She had a Shirley Temple in her hands that Prisha had made for her. Violet sat beside her with her own Shirley Temple, chatting with Prisha as she wiped down the bar. Mitch was kneeling on the floor nearby, working on some sort of wiring issue. It was nice to share a quiet moment before the craziness of breakfast rush began.

Louis ambled over, a clipboard in his hands. He must have just come from a meeting with Aasim. No way would he be carrying a clipboard of his own volition. After noticing the girls sitting together at the bar, he changed direction to join them, plopping down on the barstool between Clementine and Violet. He gave Clementine an easy smile which she returned in kind. Glancing over at her drink, he plucked the maraschino cherry from the rim, downing it in one gulp. He’d always had an insatiable sweet tooth, and they both knew Clem wasn’t planning to eat it. “Took your cherry,” he said with a playful wink.

Violet spat her drink across the bar. “What the fuck, Louis?”

“What?” Louis asked with an innocent shrug.

Prisha sighed as she started her cleaning again. “That was honestly vulgar, Louis,”

“I don’t think he meant it like that…” Clementine cut in.

Mitch let out a snort. “Seriously, Louis? Everyone knows what that means,”

“What does it mean?” Louis asked helplessly.

Violet took hold of his coat, pulling him in so she could whisper in his ear.

Louis’ eyes widened in horror. “Clem!” he spun around to face her. “I am sooooo sorry. I had no idea, I swear!”

“It’s OK, Louis. I know you didn’t mean it like that,” Though the statement was true. No point confirming that to the world though. She returned to her drink, eyes lowered so that no one would notice the rosy flush her cheeks had taken on. The others also returned to their tasks, leaving Louis to slink away in embarrassment, hoping the entire conversation would get swept under the rug. As the morning shift began, it seemed that was exactly what happened.

Until a Shirley Temple mysteriously appeared in the pickup window. Louis was picking up the slack since one of their waitresses had called in sick. When he came up to get his order, a Shirley Temple was standing beside it. What was it doing here?

“Umm, Omar? Is this yours?” Louis asked, picking it up.

“Oh, that’s mine!” Ruby exclaimed, coming forward and taking it from him. “Sorry, I shoulda kept a closer eye on my cherry,”

Louis’ jaw dropped. “Who told you?”

“Told me what?” Ruby asked innocently.

Omar loudly harrumphed. “Food’s getting cold,”

This conversation would have to wait for another time. Louis strode away sulkily, his face burning. How many of them knew?

The next Shirley Temple appeared at the booth that had just been vacated. He’d turned around for a minute to grab something to wipe it down and when he returned there it stood, looking at him smugly. Louis snatched it up in exasperation, ready to throw it in the trash.

“Wait!” A hand grabbed his wrist. Violet took the Shirley Temple from his hands, downing it in one gulp. “Now that’s the good stuff,”

“Did you do this, Vi?”

Violet walked away without bothering to answer.

“That’s very unprofessional!” Louis called lamely as he watched her disappear into the back room.

The third one was in the staff room. Louis walked in without looking around, his phone holding all his attention. When he sat down though, he heard something jostle on the table. He raised his gaze and locked eyes with the culprit. The Shirley Temple was still ice cold, the condensation on the outside of the glass slipping down the side slowly. There was more to the prank though: three maraschino cherries rested on top of the icy beverage. Louis’ mind reeled. Did the last Shirley Temple have two cherries? He couldn’t remember. He stalked out of the room, deciding to take his break in the storage closet.

Throughout the day they continued to appear before him, each with more cherries than the last. By the dumpster as he took the trash out, on the hood of his car when he went to grab his checkbook, even in the stall he walked into to use the restroom. Who was pranking him and how could they predict his every movement? Was it all of his staff? How were they so well-coordinated? Louis watched his employees warily, trying to figure out who the guilty party was; they all went about their jobs as if nothing had changed. The only one acting somewhat differently was Violet, who was always more than willing to take the latest Shirley Temple off of his hands. Even if she’d planted some, she couldn’t be moving around that quickly.

Eventually Louis had to admit the bitter truth to himself: they were all pranking him. Prisha drank a Shirley Temple as he walked past the bar, maintaining eye contact with him the entire time. Brody returned to the kitchen with a pile of dirty dishes, a Shirley Temple resting on top of the stack. Aasim went through the food locker with him and handed him each and every Shirley Temple inside without a single word: there were seven. Violet acted as a Shirley Temple vacuum throughout the entire day, sucking down each and every one she came across, a plate of nuggets in her hand. He didn’t know how she tucked them away like that. It would be impressive if the looming feeling of shame didn’t overshadow his entire day.

At one point, he thought he caught Prisha in the act. She was quietly assembling a Shirley Temple at the bar, right as he was about to start his next shift.

“Aha!” Louis exclaimed, running forward and plucking the drink out of her hands. “Thought you could slip this one by me, did ya? Well nice try, but I caught you red-handed this time!”

“What are you talking about?” Prisha glared at him in annoyance. “This is for a customer, not you. Clementine! It’s ready!”

Clementine came over, a serving tray in her hands. “Thanks, Prisha!” She gave Louis a sympathetic glance before grabbing the drink and hurrying over to a waiting family, placing the Shirley Temple in front of the little girl who bounced in excitement at her food’s arrival.

“Tsk, tsk,” Prisha scolded, picking up the jar of maraschino cherries and tucking them back under the bar. “Someone’s getting paranoid,”

“I- well-” Louis had nothing snappy to say in reply. He turned around with a huff, getting back to his work.

It was a long day, both literally and emotionally. Louis continued to be surprised with the variety of places the Shirley Temples showed up. Inside the freezer, on top of the fuse box, On the corner of the Ericson’s Diner roof. They never stopped coming. He was pretty sure their next food order would include a complete resupply of Maraschino cherries as well. He was too tired to ponder that for long though. He sat inside the staff room, his head laid on the table.

He heard the door open and close behind him. Who was even still around at this hour?

The soft clink of a glass being placed on the table. Not again.

Louis raised his head, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “Look, I’m getting real tired of your-” He froze.

“Hey,”

“Clem,”

She sat down beside him, a soft smile on her face. “Looks like you had a hell of a day,”

“You have no idea,”

“I saw a lot of it,” Clementine gestured to the Shirley Temple in front of him with a nod. “Bet you don’t want to see another one of those for the rest of your life,”

“Where did you find that one? In the oven? On top of the display case?”

“Actually, I made this one myself,” Clementine picked up the glass, slowly swirling the drink around. “I was trying to think how I could make you feel better. All I came up with was…” She paused, setting the drink back in front of him. Then she reached forward, taking the maraschino cherry and popping it into her mouth. She swallowed it with an audible gulp. “Took your cherry,”

Louis felt his face heating up as he looked at his girlfriend smiling so sweetly at him. “Holy shit,” he breathed.

Clem’s face wrinkled in concern. “Did I take it too far?”

Before he could properly articulate himself, Louis found himself chuckling. Laughing at how ridiculous this whole day had been. Who’dve thought things could go down like this from one little comment? Clementine started giggling too, joining him as the two of them laughed over the course of events that had brought them here. As they quieted, they looked at each other in silence, reading the other’s face before going in for a gentle kiss.

“I’m glad it was you,” Clementine whispered, looking down as shyness overcame her.

Louis’ face was starting to hurt with how strongly he was grinning. “I’m glad it was you too,”

Suddenly, a hand emerged from under the table, grasping around blindly before landing on the Shirley Temple and pulling it down below.

“What the shit?” Louis exclaimed, he and Clementine both back away from the table in shock.

A loud burp emanated from under the tablecloth. “Worth it,”

“Vi, is that you?”

“Just pretend I was never here,”

“What are you doing under there?”

“Sleeping off my Shirley Temple coma,” She paused. “I may need a ride home,”

Louis shook his head though she couldn’t see it from underneath the table. “Nuh uh, after the shit you pulled today?”

“That was mostly Prisha and Mitch! I just got the benefit of free drinks,” Vi crawled out from under the table, her clothes and hair rumpled. “Does this look like the face of a liar?”

“Fine,” Louis sighed. He turned to Clementine. “See you tomorrow?”

Clem nodded. “Can’t wait,” She leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight,”

“Night,”

As Clem exited the room, Violet took her place beside Louis.

“Need a hand?”

Violet let out another belch. “Nah, I’m good,”

They made their way silently through the empty restaurant. Once they reached the parking lot, Louis fished in his pocket for his keys.

“You guys are cute together,”

“I swear to God, Vi, if you tell anyone what happened-”

“Aaw, don’t get your panties in a twist. I won’t,” Violet waved her hand dismissively. “But I’m serious. Clem’s special. I’m glad you finally found someone who makes you feel like that,”

Louis was thoughtful as he unlocked his car. “I am too. Thanks, Vi,”

“Don’t mention it,” They were almost out of the parking lot when Vi spoke again. “Lou, don’t hate me for this,”

“What?”

“We have to go back and unlock the restaurant,”

“What? Why?”

“I have to pee,”

[psyched2b]

Bawcock

Summary: A glimpse into the domestic/semi-retired life of Bucky Barnes where there’s no such thing as too much sass or love.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Some swear words; mentions of blood and gore; little bit steamy towards the end

A/N: Here is is! After over a year and four months of nothing new, here we go. Thank you to everyone who has stuck around! A special thanks goes out to @thinkwritexpress-official​ for all her help in making sure this wasn’t a mess and beta-ing for me. Another huge thank you to @mermaidxatxheart​ for supporting me through all the ups and downs of this and convincing me not to throw myself or my computer in a dumpster and set it on fire. Anywho, please enjoy! Feedback is welcomed and appreciated!!!

Masterlist

It was one of those quiet days that Y/N treasured. 

All that was left to do was to wait for Bucky’s return. 

That, and to settle into Bucky’s worn leather armchair that they found at a consignment shop, grab her new book by her favorite philosophical author, and engross herself in the thoughts of another.

It had been over a week since he had left with AmericanAirline, otherwise known as Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson, on a mission to some undisclosed place. 

Having the house to herself had been nice. It gave her time to pamper herself a bit and also to have some much needed girl time with Wanda.

However, if her fiance was going to be any longer, she would have to go ahead and get started on their ‘dream’ garden. They had to get their seeds sown before it was too late in the season. Bucky, nonetheless, was adamant before he left that she wasn’t to so much as touch one weed because this was their garden. And he would be damned if he wasn’t there to partake in the fun. 

Y/N was just waiting for the day for him to ask to get a goat. Not that she would begrudge him one. Her only secret condition would be that they had to name him after one of the Avengers. She would never admit it out loud, but she wanted a whole tribe of them. They had more than enough property and they were a highlight of their time in Wakanda.

Unfortunately, the Three Musketeers were on complete radio silence, meaning that there was no way of knowing where they were at, if they were successful, or when they were due to return. If they came home. 

‘No!’ she mentally chastised herself, wanting to squish that bit of anxiety that tried to creep through the peace. ‘Everything will be fine.’

She had the utmost faith in the Winter Soldier’s capabilities. He would be fine and home soon. Back in her arms. Safe. 

She just had to keep telling herself that.

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It wasn’t until the sun had sunk below the tree line that she heard the opening and closing of the front door. 

“Bucky?” she called out, setting her book to the side. She reached her arms up and curved her back, releasing the tension that had built in her from remaining stationary for so long. 

The man stuck his head around the corner and gave her a wide smile… but something was off. “Hey, darling,” Bucky’s husky voice greeted, causing a familiar shiver to go down her spine. 

Y/N didn’t waste any more time, tossing the book on the coffee table and scrambling out of the nest of blankets she had collected over the hours to scurry over to where he stood in all of his Super Soldier glory.

Her eyes widened in shock. “Holy fuck, Buck. Did you slaughter a pig and bathe in its blood before coming home?” Still dressed in his black stealth gear and equipped in his many, many knives, he was also covered in bits and pieces of coagulated blood and… was that brain matter?

He offered a sheepish smile in return. “Code red, babe.”

“Hm,” Y/N hummed with pursed lips. “I can see that.”

Towards the beginning of their relationship, they came up with a code to let each other know how bad things were mentally or physically upon arrival at home so the other could help where needed. 

Sometimes… Sometimes the missions would leave more than just a physical scar, resulting in restless nights full of nightmares, panic attacks and bouts of anger, but it wasn’t something he would let anyone outside of his house see, not even Steve. She was his safe place and he thanked whatever higher power out there everyday to have someone like her in his life. Sometimes he had thoughts that he wasn’t worth anything, but Y/N was right there, reassuring him that everyone had a purpose in life and without him, the world would be a very different place. Plus, if he was out of the picture, what would be left of her? She’d probably be in some institution herself. 

Together, they kept each other sane. 

Their codes were based on the stoplight system. 

Code red was pretty easy to guess, but in spite of the code, Bucky was still in his ‘everything-is-completely-fine’ persona. She wouldn’t see the mental wounds until later that night. 

Thankfully for the carpet, the ex-Winter Soldier kept his distance, remaining on the tiled flooring of the entryway. They had a rule that no blood was to make it on the carpet, period. If that happened, Y/N would go into a cleaning frenzy until she was certain that everything was back to its original condition. Though the rule carried on from the Compound, this was their first home after all and they would be damned if - for any reason other than godly interference (with the explicit exception of those of Asgardian form) - the house would remain in top-notch condition. 

Together, they had built this home after Thanos and his army was decimated once and for all. They both kept working for a while, doing odd free-lance work here and there, trying to make the world a better place and all. But as soon as the house was completed, a decision had been made to go into retirement...or at least, semi-retirement. It was time to let the younger people take over. Of course, with her, Bucky always felt like he was in the prime of his life. Despite being well over a hundred years old, she kept him young… and in good shape.

He smiled at the thought, hoping that good times were but a shower away. Or maybe good times in the shower? Hm, the possibilities. 

Y/N was oblivious to where his thoughts had gone, worried within her own thoughts, but kept a cool exterior. “Now, question. Just right off the bat. Totally random.” She let her eyes sweep over his gore-covered form. “Is that all just one person’s insides, or multiple persons?” Then she sniffed and made an exaggerated look of disgust. “And when on earth was the last time you showered?” Still, she decided his cheek looked relatively clear of body fluids and went up on her tippy-toes to press a quick kiss to it before stepping back and further assessing her partner with a soft shake of her head. “But seriously, you stink.”

“And yet, you still kissed me,” he gloated, managing to keep his hands to himself, not wanting to dirty her favorite sweater (though they both knew her favorite was one of his; he just wasn’t allowed to bring it up). “Albeit, I wish it was more than just a peck on my cheek, but eh, I’ll take what I can get.” He paused. “For now.” Then he gave Y/N another cheeky smile before heading to the bathroom dubbed the ‘Taint to Daint Area’. Bucky proudly thought of it himself. 

Watching his retreating form, or rather, his retreating ass, Y/N shook her head in disbelief at his antics and quietly asked herself, “Why are you like this?” knowing full well that she wouldn’t have him any other way. 

Bucky smirked at her over his shoulder as he entered the large bathroom and began to remove his many, many knives, dropping them into the sink to be cleaned properly later.“ Depends on what you mean, dollface. Do you mean the irrevocable handsomeness that is moi, the disturbing amounts of coagulated blood on me, or the always exciting vexatious PTSD?”

Peals of laughter erupted from Y/N as she entered the room after him, stopping to lean a shoulder against the doorway that carried the faint scent of lacquer. “Ha ha, smart ass. But no.” She crossed her arms and nodded towards his lower half. “I was actually referring to your shoes.” 

Keep in mind that approximately 89.7% of the time, Sergeant Barnes would wear his “trustworthy” combat boots. Didn’t matter the occasion. Mission. Stark Parties. Vacationing through the Caymans. Cruise trip that turned into a near bioterrorist attack.  He always stood firm on the fact that he had to make sure he was always prepared to kick ass anytime, anywhere, and he wasn’t going to do so in “fucking sneakers.” Mr. Always-Prepared would then make it abundantly clear to everyone “that it wasn’t because he couldn’t do it in sneakers. It just looked cooler with his kickass boots.”

So imagine Y/N’s surprise when the Winter Soldier came home still in all his gear… but with the great exception of the highlighter-yellow Crocs on his feet. And, to top it off? Inside the offensive shoes were shockingly white tube socks instead of his usual black worn in all other instances.

Both were clearly new as they were the only part of his ensemble that remained spared from the obvious bloodbath.

His pale blue eyes flickered down as if having forgotten what he was wearing. He nodded to himself then turned to Y/N and shrugged without a care in the world, moving to disassemble the buckles on his vest. “They’re surprisingly functional,” he answered simply. 

As if that explained anything. 

Y/N moved to grab the plastic tote kept under the sink for such disrobing instances. It kept the rest of the house safe from a variety of bodily fluids until the offending clothes made way to the laundry room… or if bad enough, the burn pile a quarter-mile deep in the woods. 

 “Right,” she articulated speculatively. “As opposed to the boots you swear will go to the grave with you?”

Bucky dropped the dark vest into the tote, leaving him in a damp black tank top before moving to disassemble his thigh harness. 

Y/N once again had to restrain herself from where her thoughts led. 

“Fewer laces to undo to get me down to my knickers,” he snickered at her, knowing exactly where her thoughts had drifted to. 

She had to force herself not to blush. “You’re avoiding the topic.”

With an exaggerated sigh from him, she knew she was in for a story. Bucky dropped the harness to the ground and took a seat on the ledge of the bath, turning his undivided attention to his wonderful and naughty fiance. “Well, to start, I put part of the blame on you.”

Y/N gasped loudly. “Me?”, she asked incredulously, pressing a hand to her chest as it was one of the most ridiculous things she had ever heard. “How?”

Bucky nodded his head with a solemn expression, looking down at his brightly covered feet. “Yes, you,” he affirmed. “Let’s see. It all started after the bloodbath of a lifetime and I was covered head to toe in various body parts and goo and shit. Then I realized we had to travel 12 clicks back to base camp… and my shoes were squishy and just gross.”

The skeptical woman looked up at the ceiling as if it held all the answers to this craziness before refocusing her attention on her clearly delusional man. “As if ‘gross’ boots have ever stopped you before,” she pointed out. “‘I’m a hard man that served my country. Even almost got trench foot. I like to bathe in the blood of my enemies.’ Blah blah blah,” she mimicked in a gruff voice, trying to do her best impression of Bucky. 

Bucky scowled at her in response. “I do not sound like that.”

Y/N shrugged, “Mm, sure you don’t. Still fail to see how any part of your footwear preferences is my fault.”

The Super Soldier pouted at her for a moment before realizing she wasn’t going to let up on the subject. With another hearty sigh, he continued. “You’re part in this is that you now have me accustomed to a life of luxury and comfort. I used to be a total badass. And I did have trench foot, thank you very much. But now? The thought of having to walk miles to base from the mission point in… well, I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say that there was no way in hell that was going to happen. Just plain gross.”

“Gross,” she echoed flatly, trying to decide if he was punking her or if he was being serious. 

Bucky gave a hum of affirmation, reaching behind him to turn on the shower before working on getting his pants off. 

She shook her head to clear it, holding a hand up. “Okay. Fine. Life of luxury. Whatever. Now I just have two questions. What happened to your old boots and where the hell did you find those...monstrosities?” She paused for a moment. “Correction. I have three. First, how the heck did you of all people end up drenched in human bits? You’re the most meticulous and precise person I’ve ever met, this isn’t your usual style. Nor Steve’s, and I highly doubt Sam would be a part of whatever this,” she gestured to the tote between them, “is.”

For the first time since returning home, Bucky’s playful demeanor dropped as he scowled at the soiled clothes. “There were civilians,” he grunted out, angrily shucking off his pants. 

Y/N sucked on her teeth, suddenly understanding the severity of the situation. “Hostages?”

Bucky threw his hands up in exasperation before testing the water to make sure it was at an agreeable temperature. “That’s what we all thought! Wasn’t the case… at all,” he spat out bitterly. Water evidently to his liking, he stripped the rest of the way and stepped under the high-pressured spray. 

Y/N didn’t hesitate to strip and climb into the shower behind him, immediately going to wrap her arms around his waist from behind, settling her forehead on the spot between his shoulder blades. “How bad?” she asked.

Beneath her, the man let out a shudder of breath, his shoulders slumped forward, head dropping. He reached out with one hand to grasp the wall as if anchoring himself to something solid. Then, he whispered, “There was only one way for it to end.”

There was a moment of silence. “I’m sorry,” she finally whispered, moving so they stood chest to chest. She reached up, cupping his cheek within her palm. “We can talk more about it when you’re ready.” 

He smiled at her, a small one, but real this time, ducking his head to hers and pulled her closer. “I love you.” 

Y/N smiled back. “I love you too, bawcock.”

She could see the ‘Error 404’ happening in Bucky’s mind when he stood up straight, staring blankly at her. Y/N let out a small giggle, grabbing the shampoo and lathering his hair, waiting for him to catch up.

As she was beginning to rinse his hair, he snapped out of it. “Bawcock?” he questioned loudly, confusion taking over his expression. “Bawcock? What the fuck?!” Y/N let out another giggle, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer. “Yes, Bawcock.” Giving him a brilliant smile that had his heart skipping a beat, she explained, “It means, ‘a fine fellow’.” She pressed up on her toes, getting close enough that their lips were just centimeters from meeting, teasing him. Before he could give in and kiss her, she pulled back with another sly smile. “It’s either that or Lambkins. Your choice.” 

Bucky’s hands dropped to her ass and picked her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his middle. He dropped his forehead to hers and whispered. “I swear, you are so much trouble.” 

She pressed her bare breasts against his chest and tightened her legs around him, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “But you wouldn’t have me any other way,” she replied smugly, tangling her fingers in his now short locks. 

Unable to hold back any longer, Bucky pressed his lips against hers, pouring the emotions he was feeling into his movements, Y/N’s touch lifting some of the darkness brewing under his skin.

Y/N was the one to pull back, panting. “I will never get used to that.”

He nuzzled her neck, pressing small kisses randomly. “Good, because we have a lifetime together of it.”

“Even longer, bawcock.”

Bucky pulled back with a scowl. “No. That’s not going to stick.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow in defiance. “Oh yeah? And how are you going to stop me?”

“Oh, I’ll show you,” he responded with a mischievous grin, slowly dropping to his knees. He pressed a slow kiss to her stomach before making eye contact with her. “All I’m going to be hearing for the next while will be my name and some of those beautiful moans I love to hear coming from your lips.” 

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In the end, they both got what they wanted. 

The end. ______________________________________________________________________

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