#and he reminds me of them; gf had silver hair once ^_^!!!

[milkyberryjsk]

very glad aigis' slink has a romantic end no matter what (afaik) because no way am i messing up Three romanceable slinks in a row 😭😭😭

[fioiswriting]

Reunion | oneshot

Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...

[Part 2]

Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI

Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, implied Cregan Stark x Reader (you can interpret them as lovers or not). Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3

TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral m receiving, praising kink, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, Alys Rivers (but no cheating), Reader has a child, grief, light choking, not proofread.

Words count : 7600

Author's notes : Hi everyone !! Sooo I’m posting my first ever fanfic on here, my first x reader and my first fanfic for Aemond. I’m very anxious haha But well, this fanfic is heavily inspired by a RP that has been going on for months with my wonderful gf <3 She writes Aemond so well I swear and now she’s making me fall in love with Cregan too haha oops whatever. Some of Aemond’s lines in this fanfic are hers so of course the credits go to her 💕 Long story short the reader’s backstory is inspired by my OC! The plot doesn't make any sense but whatever

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !!

Enjoy 🖤

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met The night we met - Lord Huron

The snow had covered the landscape of Winterfell in a thin white layer so similar to ash, and the image tugged at your heart for a moment. Ashes. Fire. War. It was strange, the stillness that had followed the fury of screams and blood, of fire and ash, the constant anguish and pain of loss. It was like a long howl and then sudden silence. Life had resumed its course, the earth and the grass nurtured in red, as if nothing had happened, and that still irritated you sometimes, three years later.

For this peacefulness was a constant reminder of your life before. Before the war, before your own family ripped itself apart from within, before you lost him. There was something bitter in the thought that, in an alternate reality, you would have been happy with him by your side. The night brought its share of sweet dreams, lulled by the embrace of his arms, and you closed your eyes with ease, hoping to see his face again, which was fading day by day, desperately clinging to the details that made him.

It had been the best solution, you knew. 

For there was no reality in which he could live as much as you wished for. And you had accepted your duty by straightening your shoulders, silencing your heart, digging your thumbnail into the inside of your wrist. Your stepfather had said he was dead; he had seen Vhaegar fall from the sky, wounded.  He had seen the huge dragon crash into the water with all its weight. He had waited, and no silver hair had returned to the surface. He had searched and no body had been found.

So, he had returned, triumphant, with the conclusion that Aemond Targaryen was dead.

The room had swayed around you, but your fingers on the hard, rough wood of the table had kept you grounded. You had nodded, unsure, your ears ringing, your teeth sinking into the flesh of your tongue to hold back the tears that were beading at the edges of your eyes.

You knew it was inevitable, perhaps even fair. But it still hurt.  It sill fucking hurt.

Daemon had reassured you by pointing out that you were now released from your marital obligation.  A marriage to him that you had hoped for, waited for, dreamed of in your younger years. A marriage you had despised, once forced into, once made captive, a prisoner to be used against your own mother. And then a marriage that you had loved, cherished even, when he had opened up to you, when he had changed, when he had revealed that soft side despite his rough edges.  And you loved him, truly. The childhood love, the shy love that had blossomed between laughter muffled behind the curtains, hand-in-hand runs through the Red Keep and reading session hidden under the library table, had been rekindled.  Raw, devouring, bruised by war, but more powerful than ever.

Out of the corner of your eye you had caught a glimpse of the comforting gaze of your mother, the Queen, her gentle eyes searching for clues that would betray what you were feeling. It was she who had stroked your hair that evening, her presence welcome and soothing.

During the war, events had made you more uncertain than ever; blood and cheese had broken something in you. Suddenly shaken by the horrific actions of someone you hardly recognised, by the actions of your own family and the father figure who had raised you as his own daughter. You questioned your loyalties more than ever. Of course, you'd been devastated by Luke's death, your beloved little brother, so innocent, so sweet, and the despair you'd felt, the sadness, had gradually turned to anger. 

Your desire for revenge had fed on your rage, on your anger.

And in your quest for revenge, you had grabbed the dagger hidden in your bodice when you had kissed him, when you had poisoned him with your lips and your body pressed against his. Perhaps it was cowardice to do it on your wedding night, right after the pitiful ceremony in which you had been forced to exchange your vows of fidelity, the humiliation of the white, blue, red and green cloak around your shoulders.  Perhaps it was cowardice to wait for him to surrender to your touch, hard with desire, before plunging the blade straight into his heart.

But you didn't do it, in the end, the humiliation of your failure burning in your cheeks, and you had seen the horrible reality in the icy eye fixed on you: he was expecting it.  He knew. He had anticipated you, as usual, one step ahead of you, ahead of your plans. And the humiliation was all the more bitter.

First he had defied you, knowing full well that you couldn't do it, despite your momentary hesitation. Then he had wiped away your tears, the sound of metal echoing off the floor as he captured your lips with his own. 

And both you and he had sought to release the accumulated tension in the comfort of your naked bodies, in the rough, demanding thrusts.

You weren't quite sure when your relationship had changed. When he had become more forgiving. When he had trusted you. When he had become gentle. When you had felt him slipping away, subtly, almost imperceptibly. When you had begun to seek comfort in his arms, to seek the warmth of his body, to seek his love on his lips.

You loved him.

So you spent the nights lying awake in fear. Fearing the moment when you would have to make a choice. Fearing the moment when you would have to betray.

Which side would you choose when both armies were coming towards you, carrying the same flags, the same weapons, both calling your name?

Anxiety had spread its roots in the pit of your stomach, crescent moons in the palms of your hands. You felt as if you were losing your mind.

But the choice had been forced upon you without you having to make it. You had accepted it, as your duty demanded, as your loyalty to your family demanded.

Life at Winterfell wasn't so bad, quite the opposite in fact, despite the cold and snow you weren't used to. Cregan Stark was a good man. He had given you time and space to grieve, and had opened the castle gates to you with kindness. You had decided that you could get used to the cold and the snow, to the stone and the rustic wood, so different from the refineries of the capital, but infinitely warmer.

It was your choice, your departure for Winterfell.  Dragonstone was still haunted by the ghost of Luke, by the ghosts of Joffrey and little Aegon and Viserys and Rhaenys and all the family members you had lost.  King's Landing was haunted, too. By your sweet aunt and her cries of despair, by Aegon's descent into madness, by the humiliations you had so gracefully endured, by the recurring announcements of deaths, by the smell of the innocents’ blood, by the pitiful looks of Alicent, who had seen in you the image of herself a few years earlier, powerless and manipulated.

But above all, it was haunted by him.

The weight of the memories had become unbearable and you needed to leave.

You chose Winterfell, hoping the cold would help you forget. And Jace had come with you, his thumb caressing the back of your hand with affection, always the protective, reassuring big brother he was to you.  Probably glad to see his friend again, too. Your friend, to both of you.

But forgetting was something you'd never really been able to do, even less with the last memory he'd left you.

Now, just over three years later, you felt ready to return to King's Landing to visit your parents, to face the demons of your past and to mourn once and for all. It was inexplicable, perhaps a little strange, but you felt the need to go back.

On his first dragon ride, Rhaegar clapped his hands along the way, nestled into your arms in front of you, closing his eyes as the wind ruffled his dark curls. Midnight, your dragon, as pleasant as ever, as easy and gentle as ever, took care to be careful with the two of you on his back.

When you arrived, Rhaenyra hugged you as tightly as she'd ever hugged you, her nose buried in your thick hair, before bending down to take her grandson in her arms.

"I've missed you, sweet girl." she said to you. You smiled and reached for her arm, glancing at your son who'd grabbed one of your mother's long silver curls: "Daemon has missed you too. You know he doesn't show his feelings, but... he missed you." 

You smile, your eyes dropping to the floor.  You missed them, too, terribly, despite the frequent letters.

"And of course... we’ve missed you too, little one!" Rhaenyra added, catching the child's nose with her thumb and forefinger, causing him to burst into laughter.

It felt good to be back.  It was good to have regained some sort of routine in your daily life with your family. It was good to see the walls of the Red Keep return to their original familiarity, chasing away the ghosts you feared you might see again.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Perhaps you should have listened to your stepfather and not stray under any circumstances from the knight who has been following your every step with concern, afraid to lose sight of you. 

Five years earlier, it was Sir Erryk's vigilance that you had deceived when you had carelessly followed your eldest uncle into the dangerous streets of the capital.

The streets of King's Landing offered you a freedom you had missed. But now you almost regret sneaking through the crowds to escape the vigilance of the knight who had escorted you. You decide to take a shortcut, the hood of your cloak pulled down over your forehead.  It must have been your imagination.  You aren’t on the worst side of the city, not like five years ago, and the streets have become safe, much safer now that your parents are in power.

Your footsteps led you to some stone steps, which you climb at full speed, your heart pounding in your chest.  Glancing behind you, you disappear like a shadow around the corner of an alley, but the feeling is still there. You feel as if you are being followed.

At the Red Keep you already had the unpleasant feeling of being observed. In the gardens, with your son. Along the ramparts, enjoying the sea breeze on your face.

But you blamed it on your body's automatic response to the anxiety that had built up in all the years you'd spent within the walls of the Keep.

You slow your pace as you spot the dome and towers of the Great Sept at the end of the alley. From there you can easily find your way back to the Red Keep. All you had to do is keep moving, staring ahead, pressing your pace, wrapped in the thick wool of your cloak.

One step after the other. Breathing deeply. Half-moons in your palms.

The Great Sept growing closer give you a strange kind of reassurance.

And then suddenly, one hand closes over your mouth, the other around your waist. Your back bangs painfully against the cold stone wall of the winding alley into which you have been dragged. Fuck. Fuck.

You are too paralysed to struggle, too paralysed to bite the hand of the stranger holding you prisoner between the wall and his own body.

"You obviously learned nothing from my advice, Lady Strong," the icy voice whispers in the hollow of your ear. Your eyes widen. 

That voice. It couldn't be.

Lady Strong. Lady Strong. Lady Strong.

It can’t be.

That is your sick mind playing tricks on you again.

"As reckless as ever, hm, aren't you? You could easily get yourself killed."

The stranger releases you and you look up again, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, searching for that icy blue, tinged with lilac, that have read through you so many times before.

It is impossible.

He has died three years before, falling from Vhaegar's back into the deep waters of the lake at Harrenhal.

Is it a ghost? Is it a hallucination?

"You are dead. You were dead," you whisper, more to yourself than to him, still in shock from the feel of his body against yours. You feel the tears that have formed at the corners of your eyes roll down your cheek, and your little fists pound his chest.

You have so much to say to him. So many things to reproach him for.

His hand cups your cheek to turn your head and force you to look at him, his thumb wiping away your tears. 

The way he looks at you hasn’t changed; it still makes you shiver. You still feel that your uncle could read through you, that he could discover your deepest secrets.  And there is still that hint of desire, too, that gleam in his one seeing eye.

You want to kiss him. You want to slap him.

He clenches his jaw as he pulls you against him, burying your face in his chest, his arms around you. He rests his chin on your head. One of his hands strokes your dark hair as you stifle sobs into the wool of his cloak.

The situation takes you back to your wedding night, when he had comforted you in the same way after you had told him that you couldn't hate him, even if you had tried.

"I know," you hear him whisper, the vocal cords vibrating from his throat against the top of your head.

He is standing there, in front of you. You cling to the fabric of his clothes with all your might, as if you're afraid he'll slip away again.

"How?" you ask, eyes closed, head against him. If he is to be taken from you again, you intend to enjoy every moment in his company. 

He clenches again. You step back to look into his eyes, to search his enigmatic gaze for answers, for clues, for signs that would explain how. Why.

He doesn't answer you, but he is filled with desire as he grips your chin between his middle and index fingers, as he captures your lips with his own. You rediscover the possessiveness you've been missing. He pushes you a little harder against the wall behind you, as if to remind you who you belong to. Who you were married to.

A familiar warmth blossoms between your thighs, a warmth you haven't felt for too long. You're trapped, right there, your uncle towering over you, trapped between the wall and his body. His fingers close around your jaw and you kiss him back hungrily, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

You're perfectly aware that the situation is surreal.  You're perfectly aware that you're making a mistake, that you shouldn't respond to the kiss of the man who used to be your husband, not when he's technically still your enemy, not when he's technically dead. 

But you shut out the voices in your head begging you to stop.

"I still want to hate you, you know," you breathe between his parted lips. He merely mutters hm in reply, trying to shut you up again, his hands wandering under your cape, tracing the ribs of the body he'd missed so much. He reaches for your waist, your hips, which he grabs meanly. 

There's no one in the alley around you, but the hood over his head hides his long silver hair anyway. 

"Three fucking years." Your lips leave his, a mixture of anger and desire bubbling up from your lower belly. Aemond stares at you, his jaw clenched. He knows you need to unleash your emotions when you don't read an ounce of regret in his gaze. "Three. Fucking. Years. And you've told me nothing. You never sought to -"

"I couldn't," he retorts harshly. He seems to be searching for words to explain something you could not possibly understand, but his gaze does not soften. You know he needs time, you've learned to know him.  You've waited three years, what's another moment? But you're tired, and your patience isn't as strong as it used to be.  You look away, a mocking laugh escaping your lips as you repeat his justification. "You couldn't." 

"And risk your mother executing me?" He forces you to look at him again, and you feel the lump form in your throat. You know you are perhaps being unfair, but you were alone for those three years while you mourned him, so alone, and in a way, you want to make him pay.

"You were dead to me, qybor." Uncle. You feel him twitch at the mention of your family tie, at the nickname he used to love to hear on your tongue. "I had to live with the idea that you would never come back."

The tears that had dried on your cheeks threaten to flow again, pooling at the corners of your eyes. Aemond sighs. 

"I thought I was dead too," he whispers. You can feel the tension in every one of his muscles. There's a moment of hesitation, a silence that hovers between you.  You have so many questions, but you don't know where to begin.  Not a sound leaves your lips.

"She tended to my wounds," he adds, and you frown in confusion. "Alys."

Alys. You try to wriggle out of his grip, but he keeps you pinned to the wall.  Alys, you remember the rumours whispered in your ear by that rat of Larys - those false rumours, you remind yourself -  but you can't help feeling your heart clench.  You don't trust your voice enough to speak, to say anything.

"There's no one left in Harrenhal but her," he adds, as if you need that clarification, as if you need to know where he's been all this time. 

You say nothing. Your throat is tight. If you speak, if you look at him, you'll cry again and betray your feelings all over again. You refuse to make a fool of yourself, not now.

"She's the one who saw you. In Winterfell." There's a hint of bitterness in his voice as he mentions the place where you've spent the last few years rebuilding yourself, trying to forget him.  A bit of anger, perhaps, too.

"Cregan Stark welcomed me indeed," you reply curtly.  Perhaps you want to hurt him as he hurt you, but you are deliberately vague in your answer. "I have mourned you, qybor."

Everything is so confused in your mind.  A paradoxical blend of desire, anger, sadness, jealousy.  Of love too.

You want to strangle him and melt on his lips at the same time, and you know that after all this time you should be used to feeling this paradox of emotions with Aemond. Your uncle was a set of contradictions all his own.

"I saw you. On Midnight. That's how I knew you were here."

You nod. Words don't work between you, you know that. It has always been like that; the habit of letting silence speak more than words. The habit of communicating through the carnal acts of your bodies against each other. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Aemond pushes you against the wooden door as soon as you enter the mediocre room of the inn. He is demanding, more than ever, as his hands run along your hips to your thighs to lift you up and press you against the door, your legs closing around him. He watches you with hungry eyes, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. You can't stop a moan from escaping your lips. 

There's something feverish, passionate, urgent about the kiss. And when his tongue begs for an opening, your lips part to welcome him. There is only you in this room, an interlude where nothing else exists, where you don't have to worry about your duties and loyalties, where you are guided by nothing but passion.

His hand slams against the wall next to your head and with a movement of his hips he lifts you a little higher onto his waist, your legs locked tightly around him. He grunts into the crook of your neck at the friction of your crotch against his.

"Tell me to stop." His hand which isn't against the wall to support your weight slides up to your jaw. He lifts your chin, his gaze locked in yours, searching for clues, anything that would betray your desire to end whatever it is you're doing. "Tell me to stop now, or I won't be able to."

You don't want to stop. You should, you know you should, but you silence the little voice in your conscience that's begging you to pull yourself together, to end it all before you've even started, before you've even gone too far, and you kiss him with more vigour, with more fervour.

"I'm not going to tell you to stop, qybor," you whisper against his lips. "You know that."

His hardened member twitches beneath you at the mention of the High Valyrian, at the mention of that nickname he's so fond of. It's his weakness, you know, and despite the three years he's been away, he hasn't changed.

It's so good to feel him against you again, to feel his lips against yours, along your jawline to the junction with your neck. In one sharp movement, he rolls his hips to meet yours, pressing you a little harder against the wooden wall, and he catches your moan between his lips.

You know that tonight there will be no shy touches between you, no awkward explorations like in the early days of your love, when it wasn't tainted by war, blood, and death yet. You and he will both be consumed by the burning fire of passion.   You both need to release that tension and frustration, to make up for lost time, to drown, drunk with desire, in the most carnal of acts. All that matters now are his hands on your body to ease the pain pulsing between your thighs, the desperate need to feel him inside you. 

The barrier of your clothes frustrates you. You need to feel his skin against yours, to feel all of him, and your hand runs down his body to pull at the cord holding his breeches together. Immediately his fingers close around your wrist to hold you back. He wants to be in control, you know. But it has been three years and something about you just isn't the same.

"Let me worship you like I used to, qybor," you whisper against his lips, your forehead pressed against his, and you feel his jaw tighten. There's a moment of hesitation in his eyes, clouded by desire.

His thumb caresses your lips, pressing against your lower lip. You part them, just enough for the tip of your tongue to wet the top of his thumb. There are no further words exchanged between you, just silence, punctuated by your gasping breaths. His hand closes around your throat, not pressing too hard, just enough so you can feel the weight of his palm against your windpipe, just to remind you that he's in complete control of the situation.

Fuck, you've missed it; the adrenaline of his hand around your throat, the adrenaline of knowing he could do anything to you and you'd be defenceless.

"On your knees then."

The command echoes through the room and you feel the wetness seeping between your thighs as you slide to your knees in front of him. Your eyes shine with envy and you look up at him as you did years ago. You know he can't resist the angelic look on your face when you're between his thighs. You know he can't resist the dichotomy between the innocent look on your face and the sinful act you're about to commit.  He revels in your submission, and that's something you've learned to use against him.

Your uncle releases his cock from his breeches, his hand wrapped around the base, and the desire you feel between your thighs becomes more and more unbearable. The head is already glistening with anticipation, white pearls beading at the slit, and it takes all of Aemond's self-control not to grab you by the hair and force himself into your mouth entirely. 

Closing the distance, he rubs his member against your lips to spread the wetness before pushing into your mouth. Your lips close around him. He's warm and heavy on your tongue and the hand holding the base of his manhood is replaced by yours to cover what you can't take. Your tongue curls around the tip first, absorbing his salty taste, and you look up at him through your long lashes. He doesn't look away from you.

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb caresses your cheekbone before sliding to the corner of your lips, just where his length disappears between them. It's as if he's hypnotised by the spectacle, by the bobbing of your head, by your hollowed cheeks, by your application and devotion. 

His hands leave your jaw and sink into your thick curls, urging you to take him a little deeper, and he thrusts between your lips with more vigour. You close your eyes, concentrating on not choking as his member touches the back of your throat. You take it as diligently and assiduously as ever, ignoring the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

"That's it, just like that. Such a good girl, mandianna [niece], such a good wife," you hear him grunt, his movements more erratic, more jerky, and you revel in his praise, sending a new wave of heat between your thighs. "Only for me."

You feel him throb on your tongue. You know it won't be long now, and you prepare yourself to welcome him, to let the salty taste of his seed flood your tongue, but your uncle pulls back reluctantly. 

"I would rather not waste." he whispers, his eyes riveted on the thread of saliva that connects your lips, glistening with saliva and precum, to the tip of his cock. You shudder. Aemond definitely hasn't changed much, you realise.

His hand finds your cheek again and he caresses your lips to spread the mess you've made by sucking him. You know he isn't finished. This is just the beginning and you're both driven by the consuming hunger of passion. You know what's coming now, your core clenching around nothing, and you rub your thighs together, in an attempt to soothe the impatience. 

He urges you to stand. He has that predatory look in his eyes as he closes the distance between you with his determined steps. 

" Undress," he orders, and you do not take your eyes off him as you untie the linen dress you had put on to disguise yourself as a common girl.

The garment falls heavily to the floor, forming a grey puddle at your feet, and you take a step forward.

"Do you not like seeing me dressed in rags, qybor?" you ask in a playful tone, teasing, referring to the time, years ago, when he had rescued you during your adventurous walk along the grim Silk Road where your uncle Aegon had accidentally led you. 

The memory was so close and yet so far away.

Aemond takes a step towards you, his hand brushing aside the long hair that hides your breasts to tuck it behind your shoulder.

"Not when you are meant to be my Queen." His eye glow with desire. He studies your body in detail as his fingers slide down your collarbone to your breasts. His thumb traces their underside before moving up to your nipples, hardened by the cool evening air and desire. He plays with them, eliciting a moan that satisfies him.  He looks at you like one looking at a prize, a long-awaited gift.

"Three years away from my beautiful wife," he whispers, his good eye gleaming as he looks at your breasts.

"You did have pleasant company in Harrenhal though, didn't you?" you hiss through your teeth and Aemond's hand suddenly closes around your throat to make you swallow your insolence.  You're not afraid, not anymore, for you know he won't hurt you. You have this power over him and it's delicious. 

His face is so close to yours that your noses are touching. 

He doesn't let go of you. 

"It wasn't like that." He whispers. "With her." You know he's sincere because he's almost awkward with his words, his explanation. You can see in his eye that there are so many other things he would like to tell you, but you have learned not to rush him.  It has always been difficult for him to open up, to be vulnerable.

His fingers release you. Aemond is a good head taller than you, and as he puts a hand on your shoulder, moving forward to force you back until your knees hit the mattress, your eyes remain fixed on his. 

Your uncle lays you down on the mattress. It's not the comfort of the bed you once shared, but you don't care, you just need him inside you. 

You need him to make you feel whole again. Aemond was fire, and you were willing to burn for him.  You had always burned for him.

In the candlelight of the small bedroom where you spend the night, you see his thumbs slip under the waistband of his breeches. His clothes quickly join yours on the floor.

There's something soothing about the weight of his naked body on top of yours. Once under him, you know you can surrender completely to him and stop thinking, just stop thinking.

His lips on yours, his hands on your body, his broad torso eclipsing your smaller figure.

He places kisses down your neck to your collarbone, sucking your skin between his teeth to leave purple marks that will blossom tomorrow. 

He kisses your breast, his lips closing around an erect nipple which he sucks gently, then around the other.  Your hands are buried in his long silver hair.  You can feel how wet you are between your thighs. You need him desperately, right there.

The confidence with which his fingers slide down your waist, from your hips to your inner thighs, only emphasises his ravenous expression. His touch on your folds sends a wave of heat through your body, causing your hips to move against his hand. Softly tracing the curves of your crotch, his index and middle fingers finally part your folds to collect the wetness that has formed there.

"Is it sucking your husband's cock that has got you so wet? 

Yes, you want to answer, seeking more contact, but the words are stuck in your throat.

"Stay still," he orders in a hoarse voice as you move your hips, his hands gripping your hips to pin you back against the mattress. 

You comply, for once, because you know he won't give you what you want otherwise. And you can't wait any longer, not today, not when you thought you'd never feel his warmth against your body again, his hands on your hips, his cock inside you.

"You see, you can be a good girl." His voice is softer when you obey. And to reward you, his fingers slide to your entrance, where he applies a little pressure with the tip of his middle finger without actually penetrating you. "Now beg your husband to fill you."

"Please, qybor," you murmur, your hand taking his cheek to bring his face to yours. You want him to look at you. "Please, I need you inside."

Oh, the slowness and precision with which his finger plunges into you makes you throw your head back. He begins to move back and forth, his index finger joining his middle one, caressing your spongy walls, his thumb tracing circles around your bud. Curling his fingers, he strokes that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and you clutch the sheets beneath you.

You feel your centre tighten around his fingers, the release you've been looking for so close, so very close. You shut your eyes, ready for the familiar wave of warmth to wash over your entire body, but your uncle pulls his fingers away. You grunt in frustration.

You open your eyes only to see Aemond bring his fingers to his lips indecently, spreading your wetness over his own lips. "You still taste so good," he purrs, and you feel the blush rise to your cheeks.

He leans over to kiss you and you taste yourself on his lips. It's indecent.

He pulls back and you see him wrap his hand around his hardened cock, the head angrily red and already drooling in anticipation. He guides himself to your core, rubbing his length between your folds, coating it with your glistening juices. 

The round tip of his member enters you, slowly at first, stretching your narrow entrance as if to give you time to adjust. Aemond pushes and he sinks easily into you until he's fully seated, your warm, wet walls feeling heavenly around him, squeezing him just right.

" You are so tight," he growls against you as your arms close around him, your legs bent and pressed to either side of his body. 

He gives you a moment to get used to having him inside you again, to feeling him so deeply. It's exactly what you need; he stretches you deliciously, with a perfect touch of controlled pain.

You feel whole again and you want to cry.  You never want to lose that feeling. You want to keep him, against you, inside you.

You close your eyes and bury your head in the hollow above his shoulder, clinging to him as if to feel him more deeply, more intimately.

"You can move," you reply, rolling your hips to support your words. Aemond's hand immediately presses down on your stomach to hold you against the mattress and you bite your lower lip, almost guilty of forgetting his earlier command. He always has that need to control. He's the one who decides, you should know it after all these years, and you should stop being so demanding, so desperate.

"I said stay still," he scolds you, and the waiting is unbearable. 

You need him. 

When he finally pulls out and thrusts into you again, you let out a whimper. Your nails dig into the pale skin of his back, leaving crescent marks that will probably still be there the next day.

Once under him, Aemond has the ability to make you vulnerable, and part of you hate him for it.

"You take me so well," he growls after a particularly brutal thrust. "You're such a good girl."

The praise is sweet music to your ears.  You have always needed it, to be praised, complimented.

You feel him hitting that special spot deep inside you, you feel him pressing in so deeply and your grip tightens around him.

"Did you miss me?" you whisper in a voice made weak by pleasure, but all you get in return are the hoarse grunts of his voice.

Aemond lowers his eyes to look at where you are joined, hypnotised by the sight of his cock disappearing inside you. The rhythm he imposes is powerful, deep, and his fingers find their way between your bodies, reaching your little bud at the top of your folds to trace circles on it. You won't last long and he knows it as he feels your walls tighten desperately around him. Your moans grow louder.

"Look at me." His voice barely brings you back to reality, even though your mind is already far away, even though you know you can't last much longer. Painfully, you open your eyes to meet your uncle's icy gaze. " I am going to fill you up." His pacing becomes more erratic, more sloppy, and you know he won't last much longer either. Leaning on his forearm, he continues to stroke your pearl in small circles. "I am going to fill you up and you're going to take it all."

The image of you, belly round with his child, haunts him.  It never stopped haunting him, even on the brink of death, even when he thought he'd exhaled his last breath as he fell into the icy waters of the lake, his heart clenched with regret and remorse. It still is a wonder that he has survived. Perhaps, just perhaps, the Gods still had plans for him.

I'm going to fill you up. Words like that shouldn't bring you to ecstasy, and yet they do. Aemond reaches deeper, and as he feels your whole body convulse with the spasms of your orgasm, he joins you in your release. He spills his seed deep inside you before remaining still, buried against your womb, enjoying your warmth, making sure he's pouring every last drop into you. 

He doesn't want to pull out, not yet, and you close your arms around his neck, your breast pressed against his chest as he softens inside you.

The weight of his body on yours is comforting.  For the first time in years, you feel alive. For the first time in years, the open wound he left seems to be healing.

When he pulls out, you wince at the sensation of his cock slipping between your still too sensitive folds. You immediately miss the feeling of fullness. 

You barely move, your whole body still sore from your lovemaking, but you can feel his cum leaking from your entrance onto the mattress below.

Again, Aemond's fingers are between your thighs that are glistening with the intimate essence of both of you, collecting his own seed and pushing it back into you.  You whimper, still too sensitive, your lips brushing against his, and he remains inside you for a brief moment. He wants to make sure nothing is wasted.

And when he withdraws his fingers, he presses them against your lips for you to clean them.

You snuggle up against him, your head against his chest. Your hand caresses his chest, the fine line of his muscles, and he rests his chin on the top of your head, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you close. You enjoy the warmth of his body while you still can. Between your thighs you feel the sticky sensation of his seed mixing with your wetness as it still flows out of you, but you don't want to leave the embrace of his arms.

"I saw you in the gardens. With the child."

When you feel his throat vibrate, you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed. "It was you, then?" You swallow. "It was you watching me." It's more of an observation than a question, and you suddenly understand that constant, uncomfortable feeling of being watched. At least you weren't crazy. 

He lets out a hm and pauses.

"Is he yours?"

You know where this question is leading. You fear the moment of truth.  You'd deluded yourself into thinking you could avoid it, but you were naive; did you really think you could hide the truth from him for much longer, now that he was back?

"Yes." You answer, looking away. You're nervous, and he can feel it.

"He's Cregan Stark's son, isn't he?"

Your heart clenches. You hesitate for a moment. You should lie.  You know you should lie.  To protect your son and your family, as you've protected them for the past three years.  You only need one word.

You hear him sighing beneath you, taking your silence as confirmation.

"No, he's not." 

The words leave your lips before you can even stop them. You hold your breath. Beneath you, Aemond tenses. He straightens, puzzled, silent.

"A bastard, then?" His voice is dry, almost mocking, revealing a form of irritation. "I did not expect this from you, dear niece." Disappointment.

You feel anger boiling inside you at the thought of him insulting your son, your sweet boy you love so much. You swallow the lump that has formed in your throat and rise on your forearms, your eyebrows furrowed as you turn your hard gaze on him.

You don't know how to express the words that are desperately trying to escape your lips. 

" He has blue eyes," you add, and you can see the confusion on his face. A lock of hair slips from your shoulder and falls around your face. "Your blue eyes."

You feel him tense up. He says nothing, just stares at you with his one seeing eye.  It's rare to see Aemond Targaryen so unsure of himself, so full of doubt. He stares at you as if he's afraid he's heard you wrong, as if he's afraid he's invented the words that have come out of your mouth.

"What did you say?"

You look away. You bite your lower lip, regretting your words.  You want to bury your face in his chest. You breath. 

"He is your son, Aemond." You finally admit it.

It's true that Rhaegar's brown curls could easily make him look like a Stark. Cregan had offered to raise him as his own, and you had smiled at his kindness.

Rhaegar is so much like you. Like you, and like Luke, and especially like Jace as a child, of whom he is the spitting image. He has the soft features of your face, but his eyes make him undeniably Aemond's son.

Your uncle holds you close, his arm wrapped around your waist, his long nose buried in the hollow of your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair.

"My son," he repeats in awe.  It's rare to see Aemond smile with sincerity.  Especially after the war has worn him down, made him more ruthless than ever.

"His name is Rhaegar," you say. "Just as we discussed." There's shyness in your voice.

He straightens, you on top, straddling him, and he seeks your lips to kiss you fiercely. His desire awakens beneath you; you feel him harden against your core again.

And this time, he makes love to you.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** 

"I missed the best part." He purrs against you, his hand absently caressing your breast before sliding down your body to rest on your flat stomach, just above where your womb lies. He clenches his hand possessively over your flesh. His voice is almost tinged with regret. Your hand rests on his.

"You shouldn't have left me," you reply, bitter. Deep down, you're still angry with him. Your gaze falls on your stomach, where both your hands lie, yours on top of his, clasped together. "You shouldn't have let your anger dictate your actions," you add, looking away. "But you were blinded by your desire for revenge, by your desire to prove that you could be better than him.” You swallow.

It is his fault, after all, that he missed your son's birth, that he didn't see him grow through the tender years of his infancy.

Rhaegar needed a father, and it was Cregan who raised him.

"Does he even know who I am? Who his father is?"

The guilty look on your face betrays you, and you know immediately that you've hurt his feelings. It may be selfish of you, but he needs to understand.

"You were supposed to be dead. There's still a lot he doesn't know." 

He doesn't say anything. You don't have the courage to meet his hard, stern gaze, you don't have the courage to see the disappointment and pain on his face, because if you do, your heart will tighten and you will fall apart.

"He's still so young. Give him time." You add, your fingers tracing small circles on the back of his hand, in an attempt to soothe him. 

You know how much Aemond wanted a son, and you know it's cruel to take that from him.  You know he would have made a good father. You can picture him with Rhaegar on his knee, reading him stories, telling him about the adventures of Vhagar and Visenya, and you love the image that forms in your mind.

You told Rhaegar about Aemond, though he was still too young to understand. You told him that his father had once owned the greatest dragon in the world, that his father was a fearless man for it was true, and you saw his big eyes light up. 

Aemond pulls you closer to him. "I want to be there for him, you know."  Unlike Viserys, but he doesn't have to say it, you understand what he means in the undertone he leaves at the end of his sentence.  He has always suffered from his father's indifference.

You cuddle up to him and he runs his fingers through your long curls. For a moment, you imagine that everything is fine and you search for his touch. He plants a kiss on the top of your head.

"I've missed you," he admits, the words landing on the tips of his lips in the silence of the bedroom, but you're already dozing off.

You know that tomorrow will be made up of choices and decisions. 

But for now, you fall asleep in the embrace of his very real arms, for once, enjoying the illusion of the life you both could have had.

[9tzuyu]

closest to me

prompt: coming out to natasha as nonbinary

note: totally meant to write this months ago, but whateverrrr. and yes, i am aware that not all nb people use they/them, this was just my own little work :p.

warnings: being scared to come out to ur sexy redhead russian of a gf :[

i’d tag but i also don’t want to somehow trigger someone :[

thank u moli for proofreading i love u to the moon and back.

. . .

you’d come out to two of your close friends, ones you knew wouldn’t judge you. they’d taken it just as expected, but that was no surprise when you’d known them your entire life. your shared opinions and thoughts were what brought you together in the first place. 

your friends immediately began using your correct pronouns, and you’d never felt more right in your life. it was refreshing to hear yourself being referred by they/them rather than she/her. their constant support made you feel normal again. after so much struggling, things were finally being put into place.

but there was one person, one very important person whom you hadn’t come out to yet, and that was your girlfriend.

natasha.

the thought of having the conversation alone with her was terrifying. granted, you knew she’d never be anything but supportive, but all the what if’s came flooding through with each attempt you made. 

your fingers trembled as you fiddled with the silver chain around your neck, a nervous habit you’d seemed to form over the years of wearing it. 

god you wanted to tell her so bad.

but as you stood in the kitchen, natasha’s hands around your waist, you began to panic all over again. the familiar fear of judgment wrapped around your throat. 

you didn’t know natasha the majority of your life like you did with friends, so you weren’t really sure what her exact opinions on different pronouns were. sure, she was part of the lgbt community, and of course she was supportive of trans people, but it still made you wonder how she’d feel about pronouns that weren’t he/him or she/her. 

“what’s on your mind, baby? i can practically hear the gears turning in your head.” 

you sighed. natasha always knew when you were lying, so you couldn’t make something up off the top of your head. she wouldn’t force you to talk either though. she’d give a push, but nothing more until you were certain you were ready — or in some cases, when she knew it was becoming too much to bear on your own. 

“just dumb stuff. i’ll get over it soon.” 

natasha nodded against your back, containing her concern for now. “you know i’m here.” she whispered, taking one of your hands away from your necklace.

“want to go downtown? we can look at some of the new shops that just opened up” 

you smiled, “sure.”

for the next few weeks, you weren’t seeming to find any relief though, and natasha picked up on it. she tried her best to make things easier for you, but none of it seemed to work. 

time and time again you reassured her that nothing was wrong, that things would clear up on their own, but another month down the road and natasha could still sense that something was eating away at you.

it’d gotten a little more obvious now. you didn’t go out as much with her when she was with her friends. the constant referral to you as something, or someone, you weren’t was a steady reminder of how outcast you’d originally felt when coming to terms with who you are. 

“she/her” felt like a slap in the face every time you heard it. the words were exhausting, damn near agonizing to hear. but day after day you tried to suck it up out of fear of being rejected by one of the very special people you loved most. 

it wasn’t until one sunday night when natasha came home to you crying in your shared bed when she’d finally had enough. her worry was through the roof and seeing you struggle so much pained her. 

she dropped her keys on the nightstand and crawled into bed behind you, securing her arms tightly around your figure. 

“talk to me. whatever it is, i want to hear about it.”

but that only made you cry harder. you couldn’t help but feel more alienated than you already felt. why were you crying over such a stupid little thing? you could already hear the false words slip from natasha’s lips.

“hey, baby. shh, shh, you’re okay.”

you turned your body to face natasha, teary eyes looking into hers. “you might hate me, or think i’m weird, or a freak, or that i’m just confused.” 

your girlfriend gently combed through your hair with her nails. “i could never think those things about you. please tell me what this is about because i have no idea and i just want to help.”

her steady hand movement rubbing your arm while the other twirled your hand between her fingertips eventually brought you to a more reasonable state. 

“you know how trans people typically go by their opposing pronouns?”

“mhm.”

“well... i don’t- i just- god this is so frustrating!” you frowned, unconsciously grasping at the chain around your neck.

“are you trying to tell me you’re trans?”

“no, no, it’s not that. well, i don’t think so, depends on who you talk to. some people like me consider themselves to be classified under the trans umbrella, but not everyone.” 

natasha hummed once more while tracing small shapes against your skin. 

“what do you think of nonbinary people? like, you know, those who don’t use she/her or he/him?” 

she shrugged, and your heart sank for a brief second before she spoke. “i don’t have a problem with it. why?”

“i don’t like being referred to as she/her. my pronouns are they/them. i’m not a man and i’m not a woman... will that ever bother you?”

a smile broke out across the redhead’s face. “doesn’t bother me one single bit. i love you for you, y/n. not for who you think you’re supposed to be.” 

relief was all you could feel. as cliche as it sounded, the weight of the world felt like it had been lifted from your shoulders. you didn’t have to worry anymore, not while natasha was around.

“is this what’s been bothering you for so long?”

you reached over and grabbed a loose red strand, it was your turn to play with her hair. “yeah. i knew you wouldn’t judge, but-”

“what if.” she confirmed and you nodded. 

“does anyone else know?”

“just my two friends i grew up with.”

“no one else?” you shook your head, looping a red curl around your finger. “nope.”

“is that why you stopped hanging out with me, tony, clint and the rest of them? because everyone referred to you as she and her?”

“yeah, felt like a punch in the stomach every time i heard it. made me feel weird, not normal i guess.” you mumbled, almost embarrassed by the confession.

natasha placed a long kiss on the top of your head, rubbing your back for extra support. “they would never judge you, i’d cut them off in a heartbeat if they did. if it helps any, i can ask how they feel about it? poke around some and let you know what they say? then when they don’t have a problem with it, which they won’t, you can come out when you’re ready, yeah?”

you nodded again, although it was slightly hesitant. “sounds good.”

“forgive me if i mess up a couple of times. i’ll try not to make a big deal out of it and just correct myself.” another kiss was delivered to your head.

“oh! last question. promise.”

“yes?”

“when im around other people and you’re not with me do you want me to use they/them? i don’t want to out you when you’re not ready.”

“i swear you’re perfect,” you giggled. “but you can use they/them both when im with you and when i’m not. just try to keep it casual? please?”

“anything for you, sweetheart.”

[uwuwriting]

Having a girl with an aesthetic w/ Shinsou, Aizawa and Bakugou

Request: Shinsou with an e-girl gf, Aizawa with a dark academia wife and Bakugou with an angelcore or cottagecore girl, please and thank you. - anonymous.

Yall, dark academia is my best friends’ and mine aesthetic and its so pleazing. Like god damn. Angelcore is amazing so soft and uwu. Do I even have to say anything fir e-girls? No, I would just do them an injustice. Love ya and sorry for the inactivity. 

masterlist 

rules

warnings: none I think. 

Shinsou Hitoshi 

-Yall match. 

-Like he wears dark brooding colors, mainly shades of purple to match his hair and maybe some greens while you on the other hand always have a black and red combo or some sort of stripped item of clothing. 

-You share beanies. 

-It has become an unspoken rule that you two will always go for beanie shopping every october. 

-Your style kinda changes according to the month. 

-Like during september you wearing mainly greys to match your sour mood bc school, during october since its spooky season you wear oranges and purples matching your boyfriend perfectly while January and December are red months. 

-Those are his favorite. 

-Red brings out the color of your lips making you look even more fearsome and badass, turning him on in the process. 

-Yes I said it, Shinsou will beg for red lipstick. 

-He’s semi worried for your hair. 

-You keep changing it and he doesn’t mind when you cut it, oh no he finds your bangs or pixie cut adorable. 

-He is worried when you change colors like you chnage clothes. 

-He liked all your phases. 

-The skank stripe and half-half ones  being his favorites but he will ask you to tone it down a bit give your hair some time to rest and regain their strength. 

-Yall paint your nails. 

-You will spend endless hours in his room just painting each others nails and doing face masks. 

-It brings out his edgy lord side, the nail polish. 

-As if the dark circles and that constant ominous look on his face doesn’t do it. 

-But you love it. 

-He looks so content when you two are just sitting there listening to trash rap songs and taking care of each other. 

-He loves it when you wear skirts with thigh highs. 

-Actually you can’t wear those anymore bc once he sees you you can’t really walk anywhere afterwards....

-He is all about your chains and chokers. 

-Like give him some he is jealous. 

-Baby really be thriving while dawning those fake silver chains. 

-If you are interested in more intracate make up he loves being your test subject and just lets you transform his face into whatever deity you want. 

-Tends to scroll through your tik tok because its full of witch toks and very very interesting cosplays and makeup stuff. 

-Somehow he found himself into anti trump tik tok and he cant get out..... then his fyp shifted to draco tok and he just gave up. 

- “Are you cheating on me with Draco Malfoy?”

- “Baby-”

- “Because I don’t blame you.” 

-Deadass has a whole folder on his laptop with couples outfits he wants to recreate at some point. 

-He’s just so wholesome. 

Aizawa Shouta 

-He really can’t understand how he managed to get such a fashion icon of a wife. 

-I mean have you seen the way this man dresses? 

-Head empty just Aizawa with pink sweatpants.

-Yeah so he really doesn’t get it how he managed that but he isn’t complaining. 

-I mean have you seen the dark academia aesthitic. 

-It gives Maraurders vibes and we stan. 

-He loves it when you wear long coats and those scarfs.

-They make you look like such a lady and so sophisticated and he lives for it. 

-He really likes the plaid skirts and pants, makes him think that he is living with an English lady or maybe a philosophy teacher. 

-Have I mentioned how much he adores your vintage book obsession?

-Going to old bookstores together and just browsing through the poetry books or the fantsy novels has become one of his favorite past times. 

-He tries to somewhat keep up with you but he struggles. 

-He really has no fashion sense but he wants to try for you. 

- “Honey you don’t have to dress up for me! I love you just the way you are.” 

-He loves you so much like omggggg!!!!

-Anyways. 

-Rainy days have become book dates where you just snuggle up together on the couch in a large fluffy brown blanket and you both have a book in your hands reading away. 

-He loves the little expressions you make when you are reading something interesting or staright up crazy. 

-He bought you your very own round -Harry-Potter-style glasses for your birthday. 

-You had been going on and on for some months now about how you wanted to go and buy a pair but you never got around to it. 

-Being a teacher at UA and a hero is kinda hard and a busy job so we get you. 

-You were so excited when he gave them to you. 

-Um for Halloween you two went as James Potter and Sirius Black. 

-He has the hair, okay maybe he is lacking that care free and cocky attitude but visually he does a good job.

-Seeing him in that suit oh boy. 

-Really your realationship is just full of Harry Potter references since you are kinda obsessed with that Era, especially the Marauders. 

-Hizashi is lowkey jealous because he could never get AIzawa to dress nicely. 

-You are special though!!

-You are the wife

-He does what you tell him to in reality. 

-He’s kinda wrapped around your finger. 

Bakugou Katsuki

-He gets flustered so easily.

-Like your aesthetic is so soft and angelic and compared to him people think you have a corruption kink. 

-He kinda feels bad bc when you dress like something god sent it because painfully clear how opposites you are. 

-He sees his rough edges and rude behavior more than usual and he may become self concious. 

-You will have to reassure him and remind him that this is a facade and that he knows your true evil nature. 

-You are a true menace.

-ANyone trying to fuck with your friends or your boyfriend? 

-They are getting round house kicked and yeeted out a window. 

-Back to your aesthetic. 

-Whenever he seas something pastel or colorful he wants to immediately buy it. 

-Especially pastel stuff.

-Pastel is your whole thing. 

-Pastel pinks, blues, purples, and greens. 

-He will buy anything, from a headband to a purse to a very very cute plaid skirt. 

-Kirishima and Denki are always so confused when he comes back to the common room with a few bags from womens’ clothing stores. 

-He never answers their questions of course. 

-He likes watching you make mood boards and create matching outfits. 

-Trying clothes in fornt of him is a must, a small fashion show taking place in your room every Friday night. 

-He likes to believe that you truly are an angel. 

-Your aesthetic is a combination of angelcore and cottage core so your room is split into two sides.

-One side full of plants while the other had pastel mood boards. 

-So pleasing. 

-You tried to shift him into your aesthetic once. 

-AND IT WAS ATRAUMATIZING EXPERIENCE.

-He looked so good in white and soft yellow but his mood was so so foul.

 -He had made you agree to never a) bring this up and b) try this again. 

-You have taken some photos though so not eveyrthing was lost. 

-You will never tell him that you have evidence of his cottage core moment. 

TAG TEAM AY:

@iwaqchan​ @the-arcana-fan-fic​ @angelwritings​ @axerrri​ @reinyrei​ @dnarez-mangetsu​ @bemorefiction​

[rina-writes]

The Dress

A/N: The friend!reader consoling Ethan reminded me of this drabble I had in my drafts of Ethan comforting gf!reader when feeling insecure.  Kinda short, but I think it’s cute :D  

Warnings: Fluff, sexual references (at the end), insecure!reader

You chewed on your lower lip as you stood on line for the register.  You picked up the velvet, green dress that was draped over your right arm with your left hand to pull it into view.

“Are you sure it looked good?” You asked your best friend who was standing next to you, sending a quick text.

“Yes!” She said, with a laugh. “100 times yes.  I think it will look great for the red carpet.”

“It’s not really a red carpet.” You argued, your eyes still analyzing the dress.  “It’s more of like a gala.  Think the turn of the 20th century, where aristocrats would be invited to a new exhibit at the museum. Everyone would wear their best, strolling through the galleries with a glass of champagne in hand, occasionally nibbling on the hors d'oeuvres being passed around on delicate, silver trays.”

Your best friend paused and a little smirk formed on her lips.  “Your boyfriend hired you to do the PR his event again?”

You laughed. “Is it that obvious it’s my idea?” You smiled to yourself.

The Dolan Twins were huge fans of “putting people on,” so to speak.  If someone in their circle had a knack for something, they employed them to do it.  It wasn’t only that Ethan trusted your creative direction, but he AND Grayson thought your ideas were a great fit for their event.  Just like any other person who would organize an 100+ scale event, they paid you very well to do it. So, there was a lot of pressure to make this the best launch celebration ever.  

To be honest, you knew you nailed it.  You just couldn’t help, but feel like you didn’t fit your own event.  You weren’t a big YouTuber or a celebrity or anything remotely famous.  Your relationship with Ethan was on the DL, so you didn’t even feel pressure to keep up a certain image.  Unlike the boys, you definitely had a “whenever I feel like it” work out regimen and a “whatever taste good” kind of diet. You did try to eat relatively healthy and at least move during the day, but it wasn’t enough to maintain a Instagram-worth physique.

Which brings us back to the dress in your hand that you were now about to purchase...for quite a bit of money.  The dress fit the aesthetic of your event: an off the shoulder dress with a sweetheart neckline that dipped down the center of your chest, with long sleeves that started at the top of your arm and ended at your wrist.  The velvet material hugged your body, leaving nothing to the imagination, and stopped just about your knees.  The dress was classic, and one that you could wear again and again...if you had the confidence.  Your best friend hyped you up in the dressing room, but you hated the way your stomach looked in it. But, your best friend looked so disappointed that you didn’t like it.  Not because she particularly liked the dress, but because she knew your distaste for the dress was about your feelings towards you body.

“We’ll jack you up.” Your best friend said with a wink as you put the dress in the trunk.  She had been watching quite a bit of “Say Yes to The Dress Atlanta” lately and often quoted Monty and Lori.  “The party is tomorrow so, let’s continue our glam day where we just relax and pamper ourselves.  Then tomorrow, I’ll help you get dressed.”

“Thanks, Y/F/N,” You smiled softly, getting into the passenger seat of her car and buckling your seat belt. 

“Trust me, Ethan is going to love it.” Your best friend assured as she backed out of the parking spot.

But, what if I don’t.... You thought, but bit your tongue.  You didn’t want to make a big deal about it anymore.

The night of the event, you were buzzing around like a bee.  You loved the rush of making sure everything was going right, and the even bigger surge of energy when something was going wrong. 

The setting was perfect.  Each fragrance had it’s own gallery with a video clip on loop that showed the natural inspiration for the fragrance.  There were testimonies from the twins about the fragrances written on plaques placed beside the display of the fragrance bottles.  There were also several stations in the gallery to try the fragrance and pick up goodie bags.

You had successful ensured that all food was labeled for vegan, non-vegan, vegetarian, kosher, halal, and marked for allergies.  You also did your best to inform the wait staff of who had specific dietary restrictions to know to go to them with the options they could eat first before opening it to the rest of the floor.  

You had even ensured that the photographers got people when they came in through the door and let people know about the photo booth in the back.  

This was going to be your event to top.  Once people knew that you organized it, your office was going to be full with requests. But if there was anyone you wanted to impress, it was Ethan.  

And he was.  Ethan walked in, his hair styled neatly, his body clad in a black tailored suit with a white button down and a red tie.  Grayson, also wore a similar tailored suit and a white button down, but he opted for a green tie.  They intended to do the twin thing, and unintentionally did the Christmas color thing...but they could roll with it. When Ethan saw you, his jaw dropped.  He had never seen you like this before.  For one thing, everyone was running up to you with different issues. You kept a pleasant smile on your face as you calmed people down and told them what to do.  You made it look easy.  Then there was the dress...oof.  It was like he was seeing your curves for the first time.  He felt like he would need to holler at you all over again.

“Gray, quick, switch ties with me.” Ethan said, slapping his brother on the arm with the back of his hand.

“No, green is my favorite color.” Grayson said, narrowing his eyes. “I’m also not doing this in the middle of our event.”

“Green’s my favorite color now too.” Ethan said, gesturing to you talking to one of the wait staff.

The green velvet dress looked amazing on your complexion. You had taken the green elements into other parts of your outfit as well as part of your best friend’s “jacking up.” Your hair was decorated with faux emerald and cubic zirconia hair pieces (because this dress already cost you a fortune).  You were wearing black pumps, but they had green bottoms that your friend helped you dye yourself.  You were also wearing a mix of green and silver jewelry including dangling earrings and a bracelet.  Ethan made a mental note to get you a watch for your birthday, one that could go with this dress and any other dress you decided to grace him with in the future.

“Oh wow...” Grayson said, trying not to oogle his brother’s girlfriend.  “Okay, you win. Take my tie...”

Grayson removed his tie and Ethan did the same.  If you had turned around and seen them, it would have been comical.  It was like they were racing to see who could tie a tie the fastest and they were both losing.  Finally, they both looked decent enough to mingle.  Ethan walked straight towards you.

“Excuse me, miss?” Ethan said, licking his lips as he spoke to you. 

You looked up from the table you were re-arranging and smiled softly. This was one of your favorite bits. When Ethan pretended to not know you and ask you out again.  It was funny because Ethan was Mr. Slow and Steady when going into a relationship.  He never just hollered at a girl, he always became her friend, got to know her and then finally asked her out. It made this all the more fun to act out.

“I just wanted to say that I think you are the most beautiful woman in the room.”  Ethan rolled his hands and licked his lips flirtatiously. “And, if you don’t have a man, I’d be happy to apply for the position. If you do, I hope you don’t mind us doing this quietly.”

You laughed, and placed a hand on his chest. “Babe, stop.”

Your hand ran along his tie and you smiled.  You loved how you two always unintentionally matched...completely unaware of how much effort Ethan put in to do it.

“Alright, I’ll control myself.” He hugged you tightly, kissing your cheek. 

“Ethan...” You blushed. “People are staring.”

“They already were.” He leaned back and smiled at you. “Got to let them know you’re mine.”

Ethan gave your side a squeeze, resisting from giving your butt a little slap, before stepping back.  “This event looks amazing, Y/N.  I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you!” You exclaimed.  “Your product lent itself to this design.  I am even wearing one of your scents now.”

“I know...” He grinned. “...it’s one of my favorites because I made it with you in mind.”

You were about to say something cheesy when someone walked up to Ethan.  He introduced them as someone from their management team.  You waved, at them, and then paused, suddenly remembering what you were wearing.  Your hands danced between covering your stomach and your chest, and you constantly looked at your reflection in one of the dark windows behind them.  Your focus on your appearance made it hard to join the conversation.  You answered most questions curtly and in a quiet voice.  

When you interacted with the catering staff and your team, you weren’t nervous.  They had seen you come into the office in sweatpants and coffee stains on your shirt on multiple occasions.  You didn’t have to pretend for them. They knew you were good at your job and what you wore didn’t matter.

For Ethan’s colleagues, you felt more pressure.  Although the public didn’t know about your relationship, most people in the twins’ circle knew he was dating someone.  Eventually, someone would tell someone else that the girl in the green dress was Ethan’s girlfriend, and you couldn’t help, but worry about how that would reflect on Ethan. 

Ethan was surprised to see you clam up like this.  This wasn’t like you normally, and it definitely wasn’t like you a few moments earlier.  At first he thought it was just because you were caught off guard. It wasn’t until the third person he introduced you to did he notice that something was up.

“Baby,” Ethan whispered in your ear as the person excused themself. “Come with me for a second.”

Ethan laced his fingers in yours and pulled you to the back of the galleria where there was a back room used to house the extra supplies like toilet paper and tools.

“Is everything okay?” Ethan asked, once he was sure you were both alone and the door was closed.

“Yeah!” You smiled, thinking he was the one worried. “Everyone loves the launch, Ethan! It’s going well.”

“Not the event,” Ethan said, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you toward him.  “I mean you.  You’re not acting like yourself.”

“What do you mean?” You asked, putting your hands on his shoulders.  “I’m fine.”

“You’re acting all shy and awkward.” He rested his forehead on yours. “You only do that when something is bothering you.”

“No I don’t.” You argued in a monotone voice.

The silence was awkward and bone chilling.  Ethan just stared at you until you cracked. 

“It’s the dress...” You admitted with a sigh. “I look like a whale.”

“Wait what?” Ethan asked, almost yelling.” Are you nuts? Y/N, baby, you look amazing.  I’ve been planning to pull you in here and plow you in this dress. I am holding back everything inside of me right now...how could you say that?”

You blushed. “It’s my stomach.” You backed up so you could show him the outline of your stomach. Your hands then went to the neckline of the dress.  “And this is cut in such a weird spot.”

“Your stomach looks fine, I didn’t even notice it. And your tits look amazing in that weird spot.” Ethan used air quotes when he said weird spot.  His hands then immediately went to your lower back to pull you closer to him.

“I just don’t feel like this dress is right for me.” You sighed again.

“Why?” Ethan asked, running hands up your sides. “Because this dress looks so amazing on you, I almost don’t want to take it off. Almost...”

You smiled softly. “I dunno...it just doesn’t look right. Maybe I should work out or something....”

“I mean if you want.” Ethan kissed your forehead. “Or you can change what you see in your mind.  Everyone here is impressed with you.   They want to hear more about you and book you for their events. I’m sure they’d ask if you didn’t seem so...out of it.”

You seemed unsure so Ethan continued, “Hey, I’ve even heard compliments on your dress.  I can’t change what you think of yourself, but I want to help you to love yourself the way I love you.”

“I love you too, E.” You sighed, “You really think it looks good?”

“Yes.” Ethan nodded so quickly you thought his head would roll off.

“Thank you.” You said, looking down at yourself.  Suddenly, your stomach didn’t look that big and your boobs did look pretty nice.  You realized, it wasn’t the dress. It was the whole being Ethan’s girlfriend thing that threw you off.  

“I guess, I just felt like this was the kind of dress that someone like you would like to see your girlfriend in.” You said, still looking down.

Ethan narrowed his eyes. “Yes, hence why I like seeing you, my girlfriend, in this dress.”

“I know, it’s just sometimes I feel like there is Ethan Dolan’s girlfriend...this image i have in my head.” You paused. “And then there’s me.  Which sometimes is a different image.”

“Well guess what...” Ethan kissed your cheek. “That image in my head is always you.  So, whatever we have to do to match up the images in your head, I’m ready to do it together.”

“Aww, E...” You kissed him softly and he deepened the kiss.

His hands roamed from your shoulders to your backside, giving your body little squeezes. As the kiss got sloppier, you realized that Ethan wasn’t going to be satisfied by a little frenching.

“Quickie before we go back out?” You suggested, breaking the kiss.  

You walked over to one of the shelves and put your hands on top of it. You turned so your butt was up and facing Ethan, one of his favorite positions.

“Yes ma’am,” He smirked, unbuckling his belt as he walked over.

“But make sure you don’t ruin my dress.” You said, looking back at him with a wink.

“Yes, ma’am.”

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Dr. Mystery

Another gift for @siro-cyll​ cuz I have unhealthy obsession with their work and just gotta write fanfiction for it. I also may or may not have an unhealthy desire for more Ford and Mabel bonding content. (By the way, to all of you who liked my last gift, Tiger Stripes, and especially to @siro-cyll​, THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart for all of your love and support! I’ve been close to tears so much lately due to your kindness. Just... thank you so much.) Oh! And, S.C., there’s a special little message for you told by your favorite six-fingered fluffy owl; everyone needs a little encouragement and I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more than you. - N.S.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ever since the Pines family had returned to Gravity Falls for the summer, Soos and Stan shared the role of Mr. Mystery. It was primarily Soos' responsibility so that Stan could sit in his boxers for as long as he wanted, but every so often - to give the old man something to do or so Soos could work on a project or a repair - it was like the good ole days with the original My. Mystery scamming tourists and a humble handyman making the shack stand strong.

Unfortunately, Soos caught a bad case of the summer flu, and so to try to keep two old men and two young teenagers from getting sick, he quarantined himself in his room and Stan had to fill in the My. Mystery role. It felt good to be back in his old ways for a bit, amazing gullible tourists with made-up attractions; he had been doing this for thirty years, he could do it for a week, right?

Wrong. When it was almost ten o'clock and the first tour was scheduled to happen at eleven, and Stan still wasn't up yet, Mabel decided to wake him up in the best way possible: by attacking him with hugs. She tip-toed in her socks and oversized t-shirt her dad gave her to her grunkle's bedroom and carefully opened the door to prepare her attack, but a nasty cough destroyed her devilish plan and she hurried to Stan's bed.

"Grunkle Stan? Are you okay?" Mabel asked. Stan tried to tell her that he was fine, but she felt his sweaty forehead and gasped, "You've got a fever! Hold on!"

Meanwhile, Ford was sipping his third cup of coffee in the kitchen and reading the newspaper since Stan wasn't awake yet to hog it. He saw Mabel running across the hallway and up the stairs out of the corner of his eye and chose to ignore it; his niece often got excited about little things. His concern only came when she ran past the kitchen again, this time fully dressed in a red skirt and a handmade white sweater with a red cross, a white headband over her hair.

"Mabel, sweetie, what's the matter?" Ford called; Mabel wearing her nurse's sweater was never a good sign. Unless she was playing doctor with Waddles.

She popped back into view, this time with medicine, a washcloth, and a first-aid kit in her arms. "Grunkle Stan is sick." She answered and went off to help.

Ford decided that Mabel needed a capable adult's supervision and he followed her to Stan's bedroom, only to find her responsibility giving Stan a thermometer to hold in his mouth and cooling him down with a damp washcloth; Mabel even put on her stethoscope and listened to her uncle's breathing and heartbeat to see how forced it was. Ford crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against the doorframe, and smiled proudly at his little pumpkin.

"You sound really congested." Mabel commented calmly. "Does anything hurt? How's your head and your tummy?"

"Stomach's fine for now, but my head's poundin'." Stan groaned quietly.

Mabel took the medicine bottle she had brought from the nightstand and read the directions carefully. "Okay, I think you should take this every six hours, only a cap full. Once it starts to relieve pressure and congestion your head should stop hurting."

"Good job, my dear." Ford complimented, recognizing the bottle of syrup and giving her his approval to give it to Stan.

Mabel's cheeks turned rosy and she filled the cap with the appropriate amount of medicine. Then an idea came to mind and she put the medicine back on the nightstand. "Oh! Hold on! I'll be right back." And she hurried past Grunkle Ford and out of the room.

Ford smiled sympathetically at his brother. "So you caught Soos' flu, huh?"

"I'd fire him if I could." Stan growled and ducked his head under the covers.

Ford chuckled at how little Stan had changed from when they were kids; as tough as he was, whenever he was ill he tended to curl up like a bunny and sleep off his virus.

Mabel came back with a glass of water and gently rubbed Stan's shoulder to coax him out from behind the blankets. "You can take your medicine now. You should take it with water so it doesn't taste as yucky."

How can anyone resist smiling at Mabel's kindness? Stan's lips curled upward as he propped himself up on his right elbow and accepted the cap of medicine, took it, and then gratefully had Mabel's glass of water, but he did so after she took the thermometer out of his mouth. "Thanks, pumpkin."

Mabel just smiled at her hero. "You've got a fever of 101.5. Definitely the flu. You should rest and I'll be back at lunchtime with some soup." She packed up her things and left her uncle to rest.

Ford was about to follow her out of the room, but Stan stopped him. "Hey, do me a favor, Sixer, and keep the shack open, okay?"

Ford stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"You know, run the tours. Make sure Wendy does her job. Squeeze every cent you can outta the tourists. The usual business stuff."

Ford put his polydactyl hands up in both surrender and defense. "N-No, Stanley, I can't do that. I'm a lot of things, but a businessman is not one of them."

"I ain't askin' you to own the Mystery Shack - which in a way you kinda already do - I'm just asking you to hold down the fort until Soos or I are back in the game." Stan groaned and closed his eyes, laying on his back, and he waved his hand in the air casually. "C'mon, you're an anomaly expert, right? Just tell 'em about some freaky safe weird thing and do it with some dramatic flare."

"But…"

"Grunkle Ford," Mabel whispered as she returned and held his hand. "C'mon, we gotta let him rest. You don't wanna get sick, do you?"

Ford let her walk him out of Stan's bedroom and she closed the door behind him, the scientist's stage-fright giving him tunnel vision. Just as the sweater-twins were at the bottom of the stairs, Dipper came down in his orange t-shirt and gray shorts, pinching at his stiff eyes.

"Dipper," Mabel called to get his attention. "About time, sleepy-head! Anyway, Grunkle Stan is sick, so we need to work extra super-duper hard to keep the shack open!"

Dipper, coming to his senses, said, "Great, do I need to be Mystery Jr. again?"

"Nope! You're gonna help manage the tours so Grunkle Ford can lead them!"

"You got it." Dipper pulled out a pencil and a notepad from his shorts and got to work. "I'll help Wendy with the ticket sales and I'll pull from Soos' spare attractions to fill up the shack today."

Ford shook his head to clear it. "Dipper, my boy, if you have done this of all before, perhaps you should…"

"Nah, ah, ah." Mabel said gently, shaking a finger. "Grunkle Stan asked you to run the shack, not Dippin'-Dots. Besides, it'll be good for you to try something new! Now go hurry and get dressed!" And she and her twin went into the kitchen to plan the day.

Ford sighed and went into his room; he supposed he could last one day, right?

In the back of his closest, hidden by the many colorful sweaters Mabel had made for him (she claimed that he was her favorite model), Ford had a spare suit to replace the one Stan had stolen from him after disappearing on the other side of the portal. He shed his red sweater and changed into the formal attire, unsure of what to do for a tie. Guessing Mabel knew where one of Stan's ties were, he put on his white button-up, gray vest, and slipped on his black coat while he looked for her.

Mabel emerged from the living room and stared at her uncle with shining eyes, then let out a very "fangirly" scream. "Grunkle Ford! You look amazing! Wow! You might just steal Stan's title as the silver fox in the family!" Mabel giggled at her joke while Ford's entire face turned beet-red. "Here, I made these for you." She held out a maroon fez and matching neck-tie, but the fez, rather than a crescent, had a golden six-fingered hand, and the tie had a golden six-fingered hand pin. "The best way to be Mr. Mystery is to be you."

Ford smiled affectionately and was starting to feel a little better about this whole thing. He got on one knee and accepted the gifts. "Thank you, Mabel. I think these will suit me just fine."

"No pun intended?" Mabel asked, making Ford laugh as he tied on his neck tie and let his pin show proudly. She helped by putting the fez on the top of his fluffy hair, running her little fingers through his charcoal-fluff. She pressed her lips and hands together and squealed again. "Eck! I gotta get my camera!"

"Mabel, no…" But she was gone.

Ford sighed and stood. He turned to look at the mirror and examine his appearance. He did look… nice? Maybe. Possibly. Mabel seemed to think so and she had exquisite taste. Ford decided to ignore the fact that her opinion was biased since they were family and he also decided that his little shooting star might be right.

"Grunkle Ford!" Mabel's voice ringed like cheerful bells, and when he looked her way he was blinded by a flash of light. Mabel got a polaroid of her fluffy, floofy, flustered old nerd whom she admired dearly. She grinned at the picture and claimed, "I never miss a scrapbook-ortunity! I'm gonna go add this to our family scrapbook! Dipper's ready for you in the gift shop!" And she skipped away to work on her arts-n'-crafts.

Ford took in a deep breath and reminded himself that it was only for one day as he walked towards the shop. Dipper had planned out a good schedule for the tours, bringing back nostalgic attractions as well as some new ones. First, the rock-that-looks-like-a-face had been brought inside to start off the tour; then a collection of rare and exotic (probably fake) pictures, like of bigfoot or of horses riding horses (Ford wasn't sure if that picture was PG); then the "ugliest creatures known to man" gag; then shells of a dinosaur egg (which Ford was pretty sure was legitimate and from Stan Jr.); and then finally the sack of mystery.

When Ford left to greet the arriving tourists at eleven o'clock, Wendy asked Dipper as she flipped through her magazine, "You have a backup-plan, right?"

"Oh, totally." Dipper said and replaced his pinetree-hat with an eyepatch.

Ford took in a deep breath and then gave his little audience a toothy grin (he was lucky that it was flu season and there weren't a lot of tourists today). He just had to be like the original Mr. Mystery. He could do that, right?

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to my humble Mystery Shack! I, Mr. Mystery, will gladly give you a tour so you may gaze at many abnormal wonders that plague my home." Ford gestured to the rock. "Behold! Rock That Looks Like a Face rock: the rock that looks like a face!" And he grinned nervously; his anxiety was starting to increase subtlety.

"Does it look like a rock?" An old lady asked, adjusting her glasses.

"Um… n-no." Ford's confidence was starting to fade. "It's a rock that looks like a face."

"Is it a face?" A chubby boy with a lollipop asked.

"N-No, it only looks like a face."

"But where did it come from?"

"Was it once a face?"

"Is that what we look like when we're dead?"

The questions kept on coming; this normally wouldn't have bothered Ford so much, he lived to seek out answers, but these were questions he could not answer nor could he investigate to find the answers; he was expected to know what to say on the spot; Stan could do that, but Ford could not. He swallowed as his skin paled.

"Ladies and gentlemen!"

The group turned to find a boy in a suit with an eyepatch and his hair combed back. They gasped and admired the adorable Mystery Jr., having heard of him from last summer, and the tourists hurried to him, leaving Ford free to breathe heavily and try to relax.

"Thank you, thank you all for coming!" Dipper started to lead the group to the next room. "You'll quickly notice the numerous attractions we keep here, but some weirdness we could only capture through pictures! Be amazed, at our Hall of Photos!"

Ford slipped away as cameras flashed and gullible tourists were entertained. He wiped his sweaty face with a handkerchief and he realized what happened; he got stage-fright, inconvenienced by the slightest change, choked, and his own nephew had to swoop in and save him. Ford was incredibly flustered and embarrassed and decided to get some water from the kitchen.

He found Mabel there, wearing an apron over her nurse's sweater, and she stood on a step-stool in front of the stove, mixing a big pot. She smiled sympathetically when she heard her uncle come in. "Hey, how did it go?"

"Horribly, my dear." Ford groaned and filled himself a glass of water from the sink. "I just couldn't do it. I know Stan asked me to do it, but I think it would be best if Dipper continued to handle the tourists. I would be happy to assist in some other way, but I'm no Mr. Mystery. I'm nothing like Stanley."

Mabel paused her work, tapping the wooden spoon on the side of the pot to shake off some broth, and she turned to look at him. "Grunkle Ford, that's not true. You're very much like Grunkle Stan; you're both sweet and handsome and strong and very brave."

Ford turned red and hid the bottom-half of his face in his cup. "Th-Thank you, Mabel." He stuttered.

"And it's okay that's you're not like him. More than okay." Mabel insisted as she moved to where chopped vegetables laid and she scooped some up into her hands. "We never wanted you to be. At least I never wanted you to be. You're supposed to be Dr. Mystery, not Mr. Mystery. Look, being weird and being different is awesome cuz it gives you a chance to be yourself. You have to give the tours your way. Get open, get honest with yourself, invent your own way of doing things, no matter what others think. Leave people confused by how awesome you are; that's what it's supposed to mean to be Mr. Mystery."

Ford's eyes were round and shining like stars as he stared at his niece, who plopped the veggies into the soup and stirred them in. "M-Mabel Pines, that… that was very wise and mature of you. When did you learn all of that?"

"Somewhere between fighting an unholy triangle and getting my braces taken off." Mabel joked, grinning to display her braces-less teeth. "Oh! Maybe my braces held back my wisdom and whatnot! We should sue my dentist for everything he's got!"

Ford laughed, feeling much better than he has felt all day.

Mabel tasted her homemade chicken soup and said, "Lunch is almost ready. Want some? I made plenty to share."

Ford smiled and nodded. "Thank you, my dear. I will be back in a moment to join you for lunch." And he left for his room again.

Mabel was right; Ford had been trying to hold a false image of himself, an image he didn't have because his twin had it, and really he just needed to be himself. Ford tossed the fez on his couch and saw the white lab coat on his desk-chair. He smiled and exchanged that for his suit-jacket. He smiled, much more comfortable in his trenchcoat-like attire with his gray vest and white button-up, and he adjusted the pin Mabel had given him; he would always treasure that tiny six-fingered hand. Ford went back into the kitchen just as his niece was leaving with a tray holding a bowl of soup and a glass of orange juice and she grinned and nodded in approval.

After a pleasant lunch with Mabel, another tour was scheduled. Dipper offered to take this one, but Ford claimed he had it under control and he knew just what to do this time.

"Now, many of you may have had a friend owe you money or have won poker and someone couldn't pay you right away," Dr. Mystery said eerily, his back to the audience. "But have you ever had The Mothman owe you money?!" And he spun around, his fluffy hair a little extra floofy due to the sudden movement, and he gestured to an inky drawing of the odd creature.

The tourists gasped and clapped and took pictures. "What happened?" A little girl asked with a lisp, reminding the doctor of someone very dear to him, and he cleared his throat.

"I'm glad you asked that, my dear. It all began thirty-two years ago in a strange place long-forgotten…" And he began his storytelling, entrancing his audience and enjoying their captivated attention.

The rest of the day the fluffy, nerdy owl did an amazing job entertaining the tourists with his stories and evidence to back it up, and he even brought in some of his "mad scientist" experiments and had some kids help him mix colorful liquids in beakers so they made bright, harmless, explosions. The tourists were also delighted by their tourguide's extra fingers; never before had Ford been surrounded by so many people who were delighted and happy to see his birth defect, asking questions he could confidently answer and showing how well he could do shadow puppets. Dr. Mystery was a huge hit, and when Mabel watched him smiling and laughing at the last tour of the day she was reminded of that Bob Dry the Science Guy, those videos her science class sometimes put on and it would make the whole class freak out.

As the tourists walked away with boxes full of merchandise from the shop, babbling about what a great time they had, Dr. Mystery waved them away, wiggling his six fingers, and he called, "Remember, we put the 'fun' in 'no refunds'!"

Mabel snuck up behind him and hugged him. Ford jumped, but turned to hug her back. "That was great, Grunkle Ford! I'm really proud of you!"

"Thank you so much, Mabel." Ford got on one knee to be eye-level with her. "You really inspired me to be the best me I can be, and I have no one to thank but you. You truly have a gift."

Mabel's cheeks were rosy again; she hugged Ford around his neck and he hugged her in return, rubbing her back and combing her beautiful long brown hair. She snuck a kiss on his cheek before skipping away to check on Stan. Ford's eyes were misty as his fingertips gently grazed the spot on his face where Mabel had kissed him; He then grinned and left the gift shop, confident that Dr. Mystery would be available tomorrow.

[professordrarry]

hiii i saw your post about sending prompts and last night i was with my gf while there was a storm outside and it was nice cuddling with the rain and thunder. So you asked for vague, could u please pleeeease write something with drarry either at hogwarts or a flat while there’s a thunderstorm outside? (fluff is highly appreciated) anyway that’s a vague and basic prompt sorry but i would love to see what u write bc you’d turn into something amazing :)

Adorable prompt but I broke them again 😬 I couldn’t help it! It’s mostly fluff but they’re lives are complicated and apparently I can’t ignore that this week 😂

The first clap of thunder hit at 3:17 pm exactly. Harry had been waiting in awful anticipation for the sound to hit since his lunch hour, when the ominous sky had surprised him after so many hours not near windows in the middle of the hospital. The boom was not as easily missed as the grey clouds. It rattled the bed posts and echoed on the concrete. It was going to be a doozy of a storm.

Problematic, to say the least.

“I have to go,” he announced to his team of fellows, all eagerly awaiting their next instruction. “Healer Trueman will have your marching orders for the last hour of your shift. Right, Diane?”

“I– Healer Potter? Healer Potter!”

“I have to go!” he shouted back down the corridor, already removing his robes.

“Most irregular, Potter!” she called back.

“Family emergency!” he shot back as he rounded the corner.

He ignored her grumbling as he rushed to the nearest Apparition point; he was not going to bother with the Floo lines, though he knew that meant he’d have to run at the other end too. The flat was a block from the closest alley and be drenched by the time he made it home, but at least he’d be home.

He didn’t remember to use an umbrella charm or even dry his hair as he careened into the bedroom and straight into the closet.

“I’m here,” he said gently. “I’m here, you’re safe.”

“You should be at work,” Draco replied, his tone robotic and tinny, his arms wrapped around his legs, which were pulled up to his chest and covered by his jumper. The large silver D on the front was fading, the old Weasley jumper so stretched from this exact treatment that it looked more like a dress than a jumper. Harry silently prayed Molly never, ever saw it.

“I was,“ he explained. “Now I’m not. Come on. The bed will be more comfortable.”

“I’m fine.“

Harry sighed, reaching down and dragging Draco up by the armpit. Draco’s fear was palpable, a tangible thing that Harry could touch, but it had been a long time since it scared him to have Draco’s fear snarl and snap and try to push him away. Once cornered, he usually came willingly enough, mostly because the thunder was constant and there was safety under Harry’s arm.

The first time he’d seen it, Harry had not actually believed it.

“What?” he’d said, “are you afraid of a little thunder?”

Words he winced at even now, even after all this time. Then, he had been so tempted to mock Draco that he’d had to go to the bathroom for a moment and remind himself that the things he was afraid of made no sense either. Small spaces and lakes, fireflies and being held too long. They had survived a war. Their fear didn’t have to make sense.

He settled Draco under the covers and went to the other side of his bed to switch on the CD that was always in the player. He cranked up the volume and the Rolling Stones started begging for shelter. Harry smiled. Neither of them were big classic rock fans but the music seemed to help Draco ignore the cacophony of nature in favour of riotous drums.

From beneath the bed, he pulled the storm kettle and tea kit. He set about making it; lemon and hibiscus for himself; chamomile, ginger, and mint for Draco.

The whole time, he chatted. He told stories of his day, explained the intricacies of the new infectious disease policy, told Draco about the things Rose was learning at primary school. Draco wasn’t hearing him, focused as he was on counting the beats between the lightning and the thunder, but Harry knew the talking was a better plan than silence.

Draco took the tea without stopping his murmuring. He was back in a ball, his back propped up against the headboard and his legs back inside the jumper. When Harry sat down beside him, he curled into his side like a small animal. Harry wrapped him up tighter in the blanket, protecting him with an arm and hugging him tight.

"Is it going or coming?” Harry asked, carding a hand through Draco’s hair.

“Going,” Draco breathed, snuggling into Harry’s chest a little more. “Why’d you come home?”

“You took the day off,” Harry said simply. “It’s worse when you’re in the house.”

“It’s harder to distract myself,” Draco murmured. The longer Harry stroked his hair, the more Draco’s breathing slowed, the more he sunk into the bed. The panic was passing.

“Did you finish painting the trunk?”

Draco nodded against Harry’s chest, sipped his tea and closed his eyes. “The woman picks it up Monday. I have to go into the gallery with it.”

“Do I get to see it?” Harry teased. Draco smiled a small smile, eyes still closed.

“You saw it. I was just adding stars today.”

“The most important part.”

“You gonna be in trouble for leaving today?”

“Nah, only had an hour left.”

Half an hour later, the storm was settling into torrential rain instead, the sky lightening an imperceptible amount to anyone who wasn’t in a large bed, begging the storm to pass. The rain pelted the windows still, but it wasn’t rain that sent Draco to a hiding place.

“I’m always sure it’s getting better,” he whispered, just barely making himself heard over the Stones begging her to build a house for three. “I go months without having one. And then, there’s fireworks. Or a thunderstorm. And the lights send me running to the darkest place I can find.”

“Its okay if they aren’t getting better, Draco,” Harry soothed, meaning it with his every fibre of his being. “I’ll be here.”

“Thank you for coming home,” he replied, ignoring Harry’s words.

There was a smile Draco smiled when he was not with anyone. It existed only for himself. It didn’t appear very often nor did it last long when it did. He wasn’t aware that it was happening. It was contentment mixed with gratitude, combined with a smattering of genuine disbelief.

As he listened to the rain at the window, adding a soothing undertone to the Rolling Stones, and let himself be calmed by Harry’s soothing hand, Draco’s face rested itself in that rare expression and Harry drank it in.

Harry and Draco stayed in that bed for the rest of the day, long after the storm had passed. Harry spent hour after hour doing his best; his best to make Draco feel safe. Make him feel loved. Make him understand that they both deserved security.

To make him know, without a shadow of a doubt, the storm would remain outside for the rest of their lives.

[jawnjendes]

shawn meets... | sapphire

SUMMARY: in the life of a rockstar, shawn mendes comes across some unique people. sometimes, things stray from the norm. (AU, shawn x every one of my oc’s)(continuation/spin off of goth gf)

AN: it REALLY feels like shawnblr is fuckign dead but yknow what its spooky szn so death is acceptable! speaking of spooky, this is another for @fourtristattoos spooky writing fest! i swear im building up to actual spooky stuff pls bear with me oh and theres more smut in this

***let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist

previous chapter

sapphire’s blog | sapphire’s playlist | masterlist

Shawn was quite open to wearing anything these days. He was also open to wearing nothing, but that photoshoot opportunity hasn't come yet, though. But this pastel pink and white suit was a bit much. Actually, the sparkly silver boots were the tackiest part of this getup. Sure, the entire outfit was worth more than all three of his guitars he'd be using during the performance, but he wasn't exactly looking forward to resembling the Had To Do It To 'Em guy when he took off the pink blazer. According to Tiffany, the birthday girl wanted all party entertainers to be in her signature color.

He still hadn't met Sapphire Venus Lilith. This performance was for her, and she hadn't even attended the meetings for it. She was apparently busy with an old friend… catching up in her bedroom. For two straight days.

The yard was full of partygoers already. Tables with hot pink clothes were displayed with all sorts of snacks and drinks. Servers were going around tending to guests, all in pink bowties of course. There was also a raised, pink metallic throne in the middle of the yard, surrounded by 2 burly security guards. The throne was right in front of the stage that Shawn was going to perform on, so he wouldn't miss Sapphire in the crowd. Music was already booming through the large speakers, a Little Mix song that reminded him of a different time. The bass was shaking the window Shawn was looking out of.

“Fan of myself, I���m stanning myself I love me so much I put my hands on myself”

Tiffany was fixing the cuffs on Shawn’s blazer. Anna was doing last minute touch ups to his hair, which was slicked back. It was similar to the 2019 Met Gala, but instead of bronze streaks, it was silver glitter that was definitely going to be a bitch to wash out.

“You nervous?” Tiffany asked.

“Excited,” Shawn corrected. “I missed playing shows.”

“We need to get you on tour again.” She smiled.

“Gotta make a record first.”

There was a sudden knock on the door, making all three of them jump. Shawn made eye contact with Tiffany, and they both chuckled at the ridiculous response.

Anna went to answer, since the door was locked. “It’s probably Andrew, wondering if you’re ready.” She opened the door, and let out a surprised, “Hello! Hi, come on in!”

Just by the change in her tone, it was safe to say it wasn't Andrew who had knocked. Shawn turned to see who had come in, and was first met with a powerful flowery scent, followed by a tall, petite woman.

“Make way for the G-O-double D-E-S-S I spare no enemies in this dress Uh huh, uh huh”

This woman was blonde, curled princess locks cascading down her shoulders. On top of her head was the largest and most extra looking sparkling tiara Shawn had ever seen in his life, but it suited her. Her face was soft with pretty pink lips and piercing blue eyes. Her petite body was clad in a tiny top made of soft pink bedazzles and equally tiny shorts of the same color. There was no other way to describe her as anything but beautiful. Knock-the-wind-out-of-me, step-on-me-in-your-white-Louboutins beautiful.

She was followed by Kat, who was the polar opposite, color wise. Tight black dress, long dark hair in a high ponytail. Unlike her employer, she was not smiling, nor giving Shawn any attention. She merely typed on her phone in a professional manner, the same look Andrew would have when he was texting important people.

Shawn couldn’t even think about the potential awkward tension he would have with Kat because he was too busy gaping at the blonde. How was one person so powerful already?

“Hello, I’m Sapphire,” she greeted, holding out her hand.

Something possessed Shawn the moment he touched her soft skin, and he bent down to kiss her hand.

That seemed to please her, because she grinned, showing the tiniest dimple in her cheek. “You’re my little singer tonight, aren’t you?”

“That’s me,” he replied, almost losing his voice by how much it softened. He really couldn’t stop looking into those eyes. “Happy birthday!”

“Oh thanks, love. I can’t wait to see what you’re gonna do for me.” She was still holding his hand, squeezing ever so slightly.

Shawn’s cheeks heated up so goddamn fast. There was something in those worse, something sickly sweet and intoxicating. “I, uh, I think you’ll like it. I hope you do.”

Sapphire was still smiling as she turned to look at Kat. Wordlessly, the assistant went to Tiffany and Anna, chatting them in on the evening’s events. Then, Sapphire took Shawn by the collar of his blazer and stepped closer to him, her glossy lips at his ear.

“If I really love your gig,” she whispered, “I may give you something extra.”

And yeah, his pants got tighter. Good thing he was going to be holding a guitar all night.

Sapphire leaned back, smoothing the area she had been clinging to. “If it’s okay with you, of course.”

He cleared his throat, trying to calm his body. “Uh, no yeah. Yeah. Yes. Very okay.”

“Wonderful, darling! I’ll see you out there. Come along, KitKat!”

With that, she turned on her heel and left the room, Kat in tow.

Shawn immediately plopped down in the nearest chair, starstruck. He’s never seen nor heard of this girl ever in his life, and somehow she managed to turn him into putty within the first few minutes of meeting him.

“You need anything?” Tiffany asked, trying to mask her amusement. “A glass of water? A cold shower perhaps?”

He blushed even more. He’s never been so flustered so fast, let alone from someone he just met.

“Did I say happy birthday to her?” he asked, dazed.

“Yes,” Anna and Tiffany said at the same time.

Then, Brian entered the room, a dopey grin on his face. “Guess who just met the birthday girl!”

“Shawn did,” Tiffany answered.

Brian’s grin vanished. “What? Man, I thought I was the first one! She’s so…”

“Yeah,” Shawn agreed. Then he got up and took his friend to the side. “Dude, she wants to meet up after my set.”

“No way.”

“I swear.”

“Didn’t you just hook up with her assistant?” Brian asked. “You’d think she caught wind of that.”

Shawn didn’t know, nor did he really care. “That’s why I need you to hit up the assistant. I don’t know if she’s hung up on me or anything and I don’t wanna take that chance.”

Brian made a noise between a scoff and a laugh. “Full of ourselves, are we?”

“Please?” Shawn asked, bringing his hands together.

“Well, what if I want Sapphire and not her stuck up assistant?”

This wouldn’t be the first time Shawn asked Brian to distract a former one night stand. But it was the one time Brian wasn’t agreeing to do it. Shawn put his hands down, surprised and mildly annoyed.

“Kat’s not stuck up, trust me,” he said. “And… Sapphire said she wants me. It’s her choice.”

“I’m not taking your leftovers again, man,” Brian said as he folded his arms. “You always get the girl! Let me have something for once!”

Now Shawn was even more annoyed. “Maybe you’d get something too if-”

“If I was a famous popstar? If I was as good as you?”

“Why are you being such a dick?”

Then, Tiffany stepped in, literally. She stood between Shawn and Brian. “Guys, don’t do this. It’s just one girl.”

Brian ignored her. “I’m being a dick because I’m tired of being an extension of you! I’m being a dick because you’ve taken dates from me! You don’t even give a shit about any of them because you can’t get over-”

“Don’t!” Shawn warned, raising his voice.

Brian narrowed his eyes. “You’re not over Annalise Flores!”

“Who?” Tiffany asked, bewildered.

Paralyzed with anger, Shawn glared at the other man. The man who was supposed to be his friend. Why couldn’t he just do him this solid?

“Get out,” he said venomously.

“You know I’m right,” Brian sneered.

“Get the fuck out!” Shawn yelled.

He scoffed as he stormed out. Shawn huffed out a sigh, wanting to punch something.

“What the hell was that?” Anna asked, utterly confused. “Who’s Annalise Flores?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he grumbled. “Can you bring me Jocelyne?”

One quick shoulder rub and a redress later, Shawn’s disgruntled state eased a little bit. It was enough for him to fully focus on the beautiful lady he had to impress.

~

The set went well. It went great, because not long after leaving the stage, Charles the butler found Shawn and led him up to Sapphire’s bedroom. Shawn didn’t get to see much of the party, but that was very, one hundred percent okay.

Most of the mansion's interior was baby pink, but this was an overload. Shawn wandered around the large, pink bedroom as he waited. The walls were made of soft pink felt, and there was a large, sparkling chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The desk against the wall was the same color, along with the laptop and picture frames sat on the surface. The photos in the frames were only of the girl he was waiting for. There was no room for modesty apparently. Shawn was never not going to think of the birthday girl whenever he saw this color.

He went over to the king size bed, draped with the softest velvet covers he's ever felt. The headboard was a metallic pink… with bars. Shawn couldn't deny how exciting that felt. He really couldn't believe someone as breathtakingly attractive as Sapphire could possibly want him.

"Didn't know it was my birthday," he mumbled with a smirk.

"What was that?" a soft, female voice said from behind him.

Shawn jumped as he turned around. There stood the birthday girl, Sapphire, blue eyes wide and expectant.

"Uh, I, I didn't hear you come in," he stammered. Way to keep your cool.

She smiled warmly, fixing the silk robe she was wearing. She was quick to get out of her tight little party outfit, but she still had that sparkly tiara resting on her head. Shawn couldn’t help but notice the perky little nipples poking through the thing material, only adding to the burn in his pants.

Wordlessly, Sapphire moved past Shawn and crawled onto the bed, letting him get a view of her ass. He was about to follow, but her high heel clad foot landed gently on his chest, stopping him.

"Take off your clothes," she ordered, her voice still soft.

Shawn had a feeling he shouldn't challenge her, even though that was something he grew to love and get off on. As he unbuttoned his shirt, he felt his face and chest grow warm; Sapphire's gaze was intimidating, she didn't even blink. She looked at his face, trailing down his body as he removed more of his performance clothes. Her tongue peeked out of the corner of her mouth as she watched him drop his briefs and step out of them. Shawn felt mildly embarrassed that he was already hard, but just looking at Sapphire's pretty features made him this way. She already possessed him without even doing a single thing.

And somehow, he couldn't tell if she wanted to fuck him or eat him.

"Don't be shy," Sapphire told him as she curled her finger to get him to join her.

She moved to the side and patted the center of the mattress. Shawn crawled onto the surface and lied down against the pillows. The velvet sheets felt incredibly soft against his skin, heightening his senses.

Sapphire traced the butterfly tattoo on his bicep. The tip of her manicured fingernail left a tiny trail of fire on Shawn's skin.

"I'm so glad you were able to sing at my party," she told him. "And I'm glad you stayed."

"Me too," Shawn replied, trying to keep his voice steady. "Really, really glad."

"I can tell." She glanced down his body, making him blush.

Shawn really wanted to touch her, feel her, learn what makes her tick. He couldn't wait any longer, and it made him feel incredibly juvenile. He hasn't been so easily wound up since his university days.

"Saph-" he tried to say but a finger went over his lips.

"Shh, I know, baby boy." She leaned in close, her nose touching his ear. "I know what you want." Then she gently cupped his chin and turned his head towards hers. "I just need to know how far you're willing to go."

Shawn could barely hear himself. "As far as you want."

Sapphire's glossy pink lips curved up as she leaned in closer. Shawn closed his eyes, taking in her intoxicating flowery scent, craning his neck in the slightest, and then he felt her lips press the quickest kiss on his cheek.

He didn't even have time to breathe before she was straddling his thighs. Smooth hands went up his torso and rested on his broad shoulders, and she was hovering over him. Shawn lifted his hands to cup her pretty face, but she was much faster than him. Sapphire grabbed his wrists and pinned them down.

"No touching," she told him, her voice still soft and borderline innocent. "Understand?"

Shawn nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.

She cupped his chin once again, her blue eyes piercing his brown ones. "Use your words."

"I understand."

"Good boy." She patted his cheek. Then, she moved down his body, to his hard cock.

Breathing out, Shawn braced himself for what was about to happen. His eyes fluttered shut as a soft, warm tongue ran up the length, and then his whole cock was engulfed by her soft mouth. His immediate instinct was to place his hands in Sapphire's hair, but he had to follow her single rule. But she also had a lot of pretty blonde hair, and it was covering her face. Shawn couldn't see her mouth move on him, and he really wanted to.

Just as he lifted his hand, Sapphire sat up again, taking in a breath. She looked Shawn in the eyes as she wiped the corner of her mouth.

"I know you wanna touch me," she muttered. "But you'll have to prove that you're gonna listen to me."

He nodded rapidly, and then she was going down on him again. Shawn breathed out a soft moan at the feeling, his fingers curling around the silk sheets. It felt amazing, way too good to be real. His toes curled as he felt her mouth suction lightly, tingles spreading all throughout his body. Tiny little whimpers came out of him as the tingles persisted, causing Sapphire's blue eyes to flicker up to him as she pulled off once again.

"You are so cute," she said, reaching up to cup his chin. "Most guys don't like to make little noises like that. Keep it up."

He couldn't stop the sounds even if he tried.

Sapphire sat up and turned her body, straddling Shawn's thighs. She pushed her robe back from the bottom, letting the smooth material spread over her partner's torso. Shawn felt his cock on her ass, and resisted the urge to move his hips up. He had to be good, had to do exactly what she said.

"So, what do you prefer, little one?" she asked, moving her ass back and rubbing against his cock. "I'm on the pill, but I have condoms here if you want that."

"Mm, no condom," he answered a little too quickly, feeling the need for relief.

Her head turned, so he could see her perfectly sculpted eyebrow quirk a little bit. Then, she sat up on her knees, taking hold of the base and swiftly sinking down on it. She let out a little hiss, and remained still in that position.

"You oka-" Shawn almost got out before choking on his words.

Sapphire very quickly recovered and started bouncing on him. For a moment, the only sound was their skin slapping together, until she pinched his thigh.

“Where are my little sounds, little one?” she asked between pants.

Shawn found himself blushing yet again. What was with that nickname? What did that say about what she thought of him? He was about to ask, but he saw the back of Sapphire’s robe fall, exposing her skin. She was naked under that little robe, and she wasn’t letting him see anything. It was a tease, and only drove him further, causing a little moan to bubble past his mouth.

“That’s it,” she praised, leaning forward on her hands so as to get better leverage. She was practically twerking on his cock, making him want to grab the plump cheeks.

Obscene noises of their skin slapping and Shawn's moaning filled up the room. Sapphire was incredibly talented with her hips, keeping the rhythm steady, and she didn't stop or slow down. The coil in Shawn's abdomen was tightening more and more every minute, making his heart race and his breath hitch.

He rested his hands behind his head, eyes squeezed shut from the feeling. Fuel to the fire were Sapphire's first sounds of the evening. Shawn picked his head up and noticed her arm moving rhythmically in front of her, and he immediately knew what she was doing. God, he wanted see that, and she probably knew that too. She probably picked this position on purpose.

Even after a shaky orgasm, Shawn was still thinking about the ways he wanted to take her. All the things he wanted to do with her. His body was weak and sweaty, and he was catching his breath while Sapphire fixed her robe and plopped down next to him.

Like Kat, she still looked well put together, like all she did was go for a casual stroll. Not even sweating or panting. Sapphire did all the work and all she did was dab at her leftover lip gloss with her finger afterwards.

Shawn was a little confused at this. Why was he the only fucked out mess here? He lifted a hand, his fingers gently touching Sapphire's blonde locks to get her attention.

"Was that good for you?" he asked.

She nodded with a smile. "You did everything right, babe." Then, she took his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, and she lied her head on his chest. "Hell, I might even keep you here a bit longer than planned."

Whatever the fuck that meant, Shawn didn't really give a shit. Looking down at the beautiful socialite in his arms, he realized he wasn't prepared to leave either. And he certainly wasn't thinking of Brian, or his ex-girlfriend.

next chapter

_______

taglist: @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @justordinaryjen @chillingbythesea @iloveshawnieboi @shawnsunflower @someoneunimportantxx

[erasethedarkness]

Could I get a hc/scenario where present mic has a gf, going through a depressive episode, calling herself a burden/useless etc?

Hello, Hizashi’s Hurtin’ Anon! I’m sorry I took so long with responding to this request. I hope you’ve been well, and if you’ve been going through your own depressive episode, that help has been at your side. It’s been a while since you submitted this, so my hope is (if you were feeling depressed before) that you’re feeling better now, and that this scenario helps with making things just a bit kinder and brighter.

Reader: Female

Scenario: Every Friday, Present Mic stops by your place to spend time with you. It’s simply one of the view rituals you could count on in your relationship. This Friday, he found a complete dark home and was drawn to the bathroom by the sound of running water and a song, where he found you sitting in the shower, sobbing. 

Words: 1401

Song Inspiration: Crash and Burn - Savage Garden

If you need to fall apart, I can mend a broken heart…

Was there anything better than a Friday afternoon for a teacher? Present Mic always looked forward to it because it marked the end of the work week for one of his jobs- but more importantly, it was the beginning of your time together. Every Friday, he would stop by your place after finishing up at U.A., no matter how many times he saw or missed you during the week. This was the one constant you two kept during your relationship, and it was the brightest part of the week, especially when you two were unable to see each other.

By now, he just started letting himself into your apartment. You knew to expect him around this time; it was like clockwork after all. As soon as he was allowed to leave the campus, he was on his way to you. Sometimes he’d take an extra five minutes to pick up flowers or something small but dear, and other times he’d rush just to have an extra five minutes with you. Today, he wanted as much time with you as possible. He missed you, and somehow, it felt like more than usual.

When he let himself into your place, he stopped in his tracks, his smile falling to a confused expression. The rooms were completely dark. You even went through the extra effort of drawing the blackout curtains together, and closing the blinds. He heard the shower running, and the soft, melancholy lullaby of The Swan by Saint-Saëns, a chill jolting down his spine as worry prompted him to close the door and approach the bathroom. The running water and gentle music suggested someone was in there, but he couldn’t make out a single light or any other sign. This was so very unlike you that he was genuinely concerned that something happened. Did a villain break in? Were you alive? His worried heart pounded fiercely.

“(Y/N)?” Yamada called out gently, knocking on the door. He waited, holding his breath in his chest, hoping to hear your voice. His hand came to the door handle and he turned it, surprised that it was unlocked. When no response came, he took a deep, shaky breath. “(Y/N), I’m coming in.”

To his surprise, he found a single candle lit on the sink, your phone face down next to it with the piano accompanied cello piece on repeat. Just barely, he was able to make out your silhouette as you sat in the shower with your knees hugged to your chest. It looked like your head was resting on them, either bowed or looking to the side- he couldn’t tell. But what he could tell was that you were crying, despite trying to use the sound of the shower and song to mask it.

“Hey, lover… What’s wrong?” His voice was incredibly gentle as he stepped to the bathtub, sitting down with his back against the wall and leg pressed against the ceramic basin, the curtain still pulled between you two.

“Hizashi…”

Hearing your voice, he sighed silently in relief, though the tension in his body didn’t unwind at all. The amount of devastation in your voice was insurmountable and agonized him in ways he could never explain to someone who had never been in love.

“I’m here, (Y/N). Like always, y’know?” He pulled off his fingerless gloves and took off his jacket, slipping his hand beyond the curtain and offering it to you. When you didn’t take it, he sighed and gently stroked your shin with his knuckles, trying to reach through to you. “I’m always here for you, babe…”

You sniffled and choked on a sob as you felt his caress, water beating down on you as if they were the words tearing you apart in your head. Your shaky hand came down from your knee and took his, holding it tightly as your body trembled. He squeezed back, loosening up just to squeeze again, setting a steady and calm rhythm to help ground you. Only your sniffling and gasping accompanied the perfectly tuned strings, the cello, piano, and water coming together in their own symphony as words failed you. Ever patient, Yamada sat with you in the bathroom, letting you take as much time as you needed to come around to him. No matter what, he trusted you to come back, even from the darkest parts of your head and heart.

“Hizashi… I’m so sorry…” The words came slowly and through gasps that showed just how hard you were sobbing.

“Why are you sorry, hon…?” He gave your hand another squeeze, running his thumb over your knuckles.

“I’m sorry I’m so-…” you choked up on the words, finding them harder to say to him than to yourself. “I’m so…”

“Wonderful?” he filled in, knowing that wasn’t where you were going, but where he wanted to take you instead. “Fantastic? Oh- you’re so lovely!”

“No… No, I’m not!” you cried out, letting go of his hand and clutching your head as water cascaded down your face, overtaking your tears. “I’m worthless!” Once you said it, it felt impossible to stop. “I’m a complete waste of space, Hizashi. I don’t deserve you. You don’t- you don’t need such a terrible burden like me. You deserve so much better! I’m just… I’m just…  I’m nothing,” you cried. The words ached coming out of you, your chest incredibly tight with pain, heart and head fully believing every word you said. Hearing nothing in return, you convinced yourself that the man you loved finally realized he was well out of your league. You cried harder, eyes shut tightly as you curled up into yourself as much as you could, trying so desperately to disappear beneath the water, wishing it could wash all of you away.

Your head snapped back as you felt something brush against your sides. With the dim light of the candle hardly shining past the curtain, you struggled to make out the legs that slid out from either side of you. Undressed, Yamada slipped into the shower behind you. His fingers gently pressed against your ankles before sliding up your shins to your knees.

“That’s not true, (Y/N),” he whispered gently to you, his soft voice cutting through the blanketing sound of water. You felt his chin against your shoulder as he leaned his head against yours, his hands crossing each other as he wrapped his arms around you. “Even if I could never put a price on you, that makes you invaluable, not worthless.” A soft kiss met your skin, his lips lingering as he spoke into you. “If you want to insist you’re nothing, let me remind you that nothing is perfect, and that’s exactly what you are to me: perfect.”

Quietness fell between you two as he held you close. You could feel his heart beating against your back. Over and over, he faintly placed kisses against your skin and hair, replacing each one as it was washed away. His hands traced over your body in loving caresses, giving you as many physical sensations as he could to draw you back to him. Each slide of his fingers called up goosebumps, a completely different touch than what the shower provided. He strummed his fingertips along your body and through your hair, drawing lines that somehow matched the melody of The Swan, the song continuing to play in an endless loop.

“I don’t deserve someone as wonderful as you,” you whispered coarsely, your throat in tough condition from such intense sorrow.

“Sure you do,” he corrected you with an almost playful tone. “If anyone deserves someone as wonderful as me, it’s you, (Y/N).” You could feel his smile against the back of your neck as he brushed your hair away to kiss it. “You’re my leading lady- the silver screen star that makes and breaks this movie we’ve all been cast in.” 

His hand came up to your face, finger and thumb at your chin as he turned you to look at him despite the darkness. Just barely, you could make out that broad smile beneath his little moustache that you adored. “…and I’m your biggest fan,” he reminded you, softly kissing your lips. “I love you, (Y/N). There’s no one else who could even compare.”

…and when it’s over, you’ll breathe again.

[jjang-jjang-hope]

Seeing Their GFs Tattoo for the First Time

Disclaimer: none of these pictures are mine, I just think the tattoos look cool af.

S E O K J I N:

he had just come back from three months on tour and wanted to see you. since the two of you meet and fell in love in the fall, and he went on tour in the spring, he didn’t get to see you in anything less than pants. the two of you were curled up in the dorm, watching a new movie on netflix with the boys. while most of them sat on the couch, Tae ended up on the floor, and you and Jin were curled up on the recliner. you pulled the blanket closer to your face, hiding it as the murder got closer to the main characters. 

“Wow, Noona has a tattoo.” Tae called as your leg lay exposed from bunching up the blanket.

“What?!?!?!” Jin asked, eyes almost bugging out of the sockets. he grabbed your leg and pulled the ankle up to his face in a joking manner. his eyes flicked between the details on the tattoo and your face, the movie long forgotten as all seven boys had their eyes on you.

“when did you get this,” Namjoon asked, eyeing the small piece from the couch.

“like two years ago. i keep forgetting i have it to be honest,” you joke, trying to ease the tension of the room. you look to your boyfriend, a little worried because you couldnt read his expression.

“It’s cute and delicate, just like you.” he said as he let go of your leg and wrapped his arms back around you and planting soft kisses all over your face, making you smile like an idiot and laugh, all as the boys mumbled “gross” and “get a room”.

Y O O N G I :

both of you were idols with a love story straight out of a drama or fanfic. Yoongi was the producer on your latest album, as the two of you spent more time together the more you fell for him. once the album was complete he confessed his feelings to you and youve been together ever since. tonight was the first red carpet you two would walk as a couple, and you wanted it to be perfect. dressed in a champagne colored halter jumpsuit that had no back or sides, you felt like a princess that was waiting for her prince to arrive in the carriage. seconds after the doorbell rang, you almost sprint to the door, grabbing your silver clutch and matte gray pumps before opening the door to let your man in.

“hello gorgeous,” he said pulling you in for a kiss. he eyed you up and down as you slipped on your heels. just as you were about to head out the door, he grabbed your hand and stopped you/

“huh, i’ve never seen this before....” his fingers traced over the blank ink on your skin. 

“ah that’s because its new. when i was visiting the states i got it. i didnt tell you because i wanted to surprise you.” you held his hand and looked into his eyes lovingly.

“its beautiful. you're beautiful. but were going to be late if i continue to keep you here so lets go.” he teased, throwing his arm over your shoulders and closing the door to your apartment behind the two of you.

H O S E O K :

Thursday, your weekly date night. Well at least it has been since the two of you started dating a month ago. Hobi was running late at work and wanted you to come to the studio and get takeout with him and just chill. You agreed, knowing that his studio had air conditioning and you needed an escape from this summer heat. 

You arrived with chicken and beer and gave him a quick kiss before setting it down. As you turn around to set up everything on the little coffee table he has, your hair fell over your shoulders exposing the spine tattoo even more. 

“Baby?” He questions, his eyes tracing over the line work and taking it all in.

“Mhmm?” You answer, keeping your focus on the food.

“So what other tattoos do you have?” Hobi teases, coming up behind you and running his finger over it and your spine causing you to shiver and look over to him.

“Only the one but if you dont believe me i’ll gladly show you after dinner.” You tease back, throwing in a wink as well.

“I’ll hold you to that promise.” He smiled, pulling  you in for a hug and kissing you gently. 

N A M J O O N :

“The boys say you’re hiding something from me,” Namjoon joked as you both sat in front of your computers, on opposite sides of the country.

“Well maybe I am~” you tease back, biting your tongue and making a mental note to not trust Kook or Jin with secrets. Namjoon and you are high school sweethearts and have managed to last this long and in secret, especially with his carreer. 

“Baby girl, you better tell me before I get on the next plane home.” He said sternly, eyeing you down through the computer screen. You cover your smile with your hand as you began to laugh - an old habit the Joon used to try and break but has come to terms with it and it’s one of the things he loves about you.

“Good, i’m in need of cuddles.” You smile lovingly at your man, engrossed in just seeing him. As much as you missed him you knew he would be home soon and spend a week cuddled up in the bed of your shared apartment.

“I wish I could hold you in my arms, its lonely without you.” 

“Awwwe you're so soft when were separated. Maybe we should spend more time apart?”

“Never. I want to spend all my time with you. Also stop changing the subject. Y/N tell meeee.” He pleads. Giggling you pull your left foot up to the screen and show him the tattoo. 

“It’s to always remind me of you when you’re away. You’re my rock, my sun, my moon, my earth. Plus it’s a reminder of our first date.” You looked at him through the laptop and saw him smiling.

“Baby girl I love you.” 

J I M I N :

You two meet when he was a trainee at Big Hit, and you were in charge of teaching the other member's how to dance. The classes were always at odd hours since you were still in high school and the only reason you did teach them was as a favor to your uncle, Bang PD. 

After about two hours, and with help from Hoseok and Jimin, the others were able to get the dance down. Now they just had to perfect it. You sighed and turned to face the mirror, putting your hands on your head and taking deep breaths as you slightly stretched out your waist. 

You usually kept your hair down when at BigHit, seeing as how you got a tattoo underage and didnt want your uncle to see.But today was different, he was gone for the day since your Aunt was sick. It was also hot as balls, and dancing made you hotter. Pulling the hair tie off your wrist, you throw your hair up into a tight ballerina bun. 

“Y/N, how come you never wear your hair up? It looks good like that. You look cute,” Jimin said as he looked at his hands, hiding a slight blush. You giggle at how cute hes being. Jimin’s always been your favorite, the two of you were close in age and even went to school together. Plus he was the easiest to teach and you two both danced contemporary. 

“Thank you chimmie, but can you keep a secret?” You ask, eyeing around the room to make sure the other boys were occupied. Jimin nodded in response, his eyes locked with yours. You pull back your right ear and show him the little flower tattoo.

“Uncle would flip and tell mom if he knew.” 

“Y/n thats so cool! It’s as cute as you are.”

T A E H Y U N G :

The two of you had just gotten back from your 5 month anniversary dinner and ended up back at your place. After the door closed, tae had you in his arms and his lips were all over you, trailing down your jaw to leave nips and marks down your neck, his hands went to strip you of your jacket then unzip your dress.

“Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath as he pulled your legs around his hips, pulling you from the door to throw you onto the couch. You smiled lovingly at your boyfriend as he finished removing his shirt before he goes back to removing your dress. 

Once you were only in your bra and panties, he stood back, admiring your body with his eyes. Once they landed on your hip they paused, his hand coming out to trace over the lines of the design.

“This suits you, its stunning. My only problem is what happens to it when were married and you’re pregnant?” He asked, his eyes lingering over your body.

“As long as it stay moisturized it should be fine,” you cooed as you reached up to pull him back down onto the couch.

“Mhmm then maybe you should get more,” he said his long finger still trailing lazily over it.

J U N G K O O K :

 The two of you were playing video games in his room, you were obviously kicking his ass. After winning the match, Kook jokingly tosses the controller down and starts to tickle you, saying it was only fair since you cheated.

You ended up laughing and falling backwards, your skirt exposing your thigh in the process. Kook leaned over to you as he laid on his side, his head being supported by his arm. 

“I’m never playing games with you again.” He promised with a smile plastered onto his face. You rolled your eyes and went to go say something when his eyes left yours and paused on your thigh.

“That’s so cool,” he said eyeing the tattoo, “I wanted to be a tattoo artist and always wanted a tattoo. Did it hurt?” He asked as he absentmindedly traced over it with his fingers as he spoke.

[kainks]

KAIROS. 1

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Sugar!Daddy AU, Fake!GF AU

Warnings: angst, smut, degrading names, mentions of cheating, dom themes, asshole hoseok

Words: 10k

Summary: Jung Hoseok is the devil in Armani. Self-entitled, rich, with striking good looks, there’s nothing he wants for with his parents’ money backing up his extravagant lifestyle. Yet when suddenly he’s forced to find himself a humble girlfriend or say goodbye to his monthly paycheck, he runs into you, lacking everything he possibly looks for in a girl. But he’s desperate, and being desperate makes a man do crazy things.

a/n: tysm to my irl bff @garbageeking for beta-ing for me and providing me with endless sugar!daddy hobi inspo to help me finish this chapter!!! ily!

The high chime of yet another eager customer ricocheted off of pale yellow walls, leather booths, and tiled flooring that was worn down with age. The quaint little shop lacked elegance, yet made up for it with charm. Watercolor paintings of sea cliffs, dipping waves, and golden sand hung from every corner of the small cafe, each dated and signed by a unique signature in the far left corner.

“Table three!” Your father’s gruff voice reminded from the back storage room, your attention once again redirected to the easily recognizable and overgrown mop of dusty brown hair, belonging to your best friend, who wore a forlorn frown, looking especially distressed as he sat himself into his regular booth. Red leather squeaked under the weight of his body as he threw himself down onto it, leaning his head against the cool glass of the large window that overlooked the crowded sidewalks and busy streets, a long horizon of blue easily noticeable in the distance.

“You look like you need some pie.”

Already cutting a slice of apple, made by yourself early that morning and still fresh from the oven, you listened to a dramatic sigh escape the mouth of Taehyung, who looked well and truly miserable. Just for that, you added a small scoop of ice cream onto the plate, not required, but due to the fondness you held for the sulking boy.

“Here.” Sliding into the opposite seat of the booth, you placed the pie in front of him, fork alongside it, waiting for him to direct his attention towards you, instead of sitting there with his eyes closed, looking especially pitiful.

“My brain says eat the pie, but my heart is saying no.”

Smile forming due to his dramatic antics, you lightly laughed, reaching for the fork yourself. “So you wouldn’t care if I….”

As if harboring a secret power, one that detected when his precious food was in danger, Taehyung’s eyes snapped open in a flash, hand instantly reaching out to gently prod your own away.

“Hand’s off sister, this is my pie.”

It also didn’t take him more than four bites to devour said pie, a sign that he was truly upset over the likes of something.

“What’s wrong?” Resting your head against your palm, you waited patiently as he silently went through the various steps in spilling his inner dilemma. Sadness, regret, anger and finally acceptance. All in the span of thirty seconds. Yet you knew how Taehyung worked, had for many years, and as his longest friend, you owed it to him to wait with patience until he was ready.

“It’s Yuna…” He trailed off, eyes focusing on the now empty plate settled on the table in front of him, as if dreading your reaction.

“Again? Tae...” Now it was your turn to frown, the name settling over you like a sickening poison, leaving you feeling ill with just the reminder of who exactly it belonged to. Lifting his eyes from the plate, he looked at you with a stare that read ‘don’t judge me’ because he couldn’t help who he yearned for, even if it was the bitchiest, most stuck up and conniving girl at the university you both attended.

Min Yuna was a third year, whereas you and Taehyung were only in your second. She stemmed from a large, rich, yet problematic family that owned half the beach town and workers within it. The same family that most likely left her with repressed issues that came out as snarky comments and twisted manipulation. People worshiped the ground she walked on, boys flocked to her long legs and slim waist like moths to a flame, girls stepped back in awe as she paraded through the halls, a silent action done by her humble servants, ones that screamed their instant devotion and subservience to the wicked witch.

It was the same girl Taehyung had decided years ago that he would altogether love and equally get his heart broken by. A boy that wore his heart on his sleeve, one that was two sizes too big for his chest; a boy that cared deeply for the people around him, talked to every stray animal he passed on the street, and helped every old lady that needed her groceries carried five blocks. The same boy that Yuna stepped all over, while knowingly getting away with it because any attention from her was better than none, in Taehyung’s words, not your own.

So in all, you deeply despised the bitch with an over-sized ego and five inch stilettos. She was a walking bomb, destroying everything in her wake, and in her crossfire your sweet friend was being broken down piece by piece.

“What did she do now?”

You were afraid to ask, as it was always something entirely new and twisted with her. Taehyung was a free spirit, one who didn’t let social norms and expectations keep him from what he wanted. So he pursued Yuna, since the tenth grade, and each time it left him with another piece of himself hollowed out.

“I bought her this bracelet at the stalls today, it made me think of her because of the little sharks that dangled from it. She’s like a shark, quick and stealthy, but sharks are often made out to be evil when really they're just wandering the ocean lonely, and by themselves.”

Your own chest felt tight as he retrieved a silver bracelet from his pocket, made of cheap metal, most likely sold by one of the little old ladies that opened their jewelry stalls every morning on the beach front, hoping to attract the tourists that littered by with their hats and cameras.

The little charms clanked together as he carelessly dropped it onto the tabletop, where it landed in the center; seven little blue sharks carefully spaced apart, with a single sea shell between each gap. It was cheesy, something meant for an overexcited child, yet if you had been in Min Yuna’s shoes, you would have accepted the bracelet with open hands and a smile, simply because it came from someone like Taehyung, who had nothing but love and fondness swimming inside of him.

Tack on another reason to hate the sea witch.

“She laughed when I tried giving it to her, threw it back in my face and said to stop wasting her time with cheap gifts.”

“I’m so sorry Tae…” You didn’t know what to say, knowing that another lecture on who he chose to love was not what he needed from you at the moment, and having been in the same situation many times before, you carefully slid the bracelet back towards him and reached for his hand.

“Keep it for now, who knows, maybe she’ll see the light one day and realize what a catch you are. Anyone would be lucky to date you, you take me out for ice cream almost daily, and I’m not even your girlfriend!”

You watched with success as his lips turned up into a familiar boxy grin, squeezing your hand in his larger one as an unsaid thank you for your attempts at brightening up his sour mood. You two continued to sit in silence together, the cafe vacant save for the both of you. It wasn’t unpleasant, and just what you’d expect from Taehyung, who often preferred to get lost in his own thoughts, yet didn’t like the idea of being alone. So with you sitting across from him, he felt compelled to relax into his seat, staring out the window with a soft sigh.

You let your own eyes wander out into the populated streets, a sinking feeling weighing you down into soft leather upon noticing not one person sparing a lingering glance towards the cafe, feet carrying them a further distance towards a more exciting, curb appealing, restaurant that would empty their wallets quicker than the plane ride that got them there in the first place.

You tried not to spare a glance at the showcase of fresh pies and sweet treats lined up perfectly at the front counter, ones that you had helped hand make yourself at six this morning, tried not to listen to the heavy breaths and small complaints of your father as he rolled out yet another slab of dough onto the back kitchen counter, limbs aching and fingers cramping from yet another day of hard work and no sales.

You tried to ignore the increasing stack of letters, with red bold print stamped onto the fronts, that were secretly tucked away from your eyes upon the old bookshelf lined with aged cookbooks. An attempt to keep you in the unknown at the financial crises the cafe was in, one that had been in your family for past generations, one that was laden with late night closings and early morning baking from each family to the next, one that had its heart and soul poured into every crevice.

One that was slipping away from you and your father, little by little each day.

/~/

Morning brought nothing but blue skies and soft winds, a perfect day for the beach, as almost every sign in town read, plastered about street corners and gift shops to the ever indulgent tourists. For you, it was just Friday, which meant your day off from helping run the shop and in turn attempting to keep caught up with the pile of homework that was steadily growing on your desk.

Finding your father in the kitchen with his usual cup of coffee, a cheap roast that was the routine start to every day, you greeted him with the usual smile, reaching for the orange juice sat on the counter for you readily. Another small act by your father, who still managed to smile despite the heavy weights perched on each shoulder hauntingly.

“You seeing your mom today?” He asked indifferently, which you supposed was for your own convenience. As if showing true emotion towards the predicament would ultimately upset you. Yet, being dismissive was just as bad. You decided not to voice your concerns though, as he was trying, in his own way. The situation was a sad one after all.

“Yeah, I’ll head over there before going to campus.”

He smiled at you over his cup of coffee, already dressed for the day, grey hair speckled against soft hazel, his eyes looking older than he was. You knew your father harbored troubles secretly, was not an open book when it came to you, because protecting you from the truth was easier than letting you in.

“I’ll tell her you said hello.”

“You do that darlin’, I’m sure she’d love to hear it.”

With that he was back to reading his paper, sipping dutifully from his cup, glasses perched low upon his nose.

/~/

Fluorescent bulbs made the room seem stiff, the cleansing smell of sterile sheets and floors making your nose itch from where you sat perched in a small lounge chair, your usual spot situated beneath a large window overlooking the boisterous town. The weight of a withering paperback sat comfortably in your lap, your feet propped up to the side of of the chair, the familiar symphony of beeps blaring out in the otherwise quiet room. Tubes of all shapes, all colors, twisted and bent together, all leading to one destination. The person in the hospital bed, eyes closed with faux breaths seemed like a mere stranger, had for the past six months. The tubes connecting to their body, head, arms, resembled vicious vines that were slowly closing in, sucking the artificial air right out of their lungs. The ICU was never over crowded, neither was the spacious hospital, fair in size compared to the one in the city, which was only an hours drive. Doctors often recognized you within the bleached walls, smiling a familiar yet otherwise empty greeting at you. It was common curtesy, came with the territory, you supposed. Mostly they knew you as the girl who visited her mother every Friday at ten in the morning, book clutched to chest and endless hope in your eyes. You knew they pitied you, it wasn’t hard to tell with how often the nurses came in to check on you during your usual two hour visits. You came to hate the sympathetic looks they’d send you every time you’d leave, hope once again shattered in disappointment. With a longing glance, you gazed upon the number of bodies swarming golden sand, kites of multicolors swaying through the wind translucently. You watched children splash through the waves, able to imagine the cheerful laughter bellowing from their little bodies at the pure joy that summer brought them, that your town provided them. Yet you couldn’t help but think how much pain it had brought you instead. “We never did learn to surf.” Producing the smallest of grins, your lips curling up in a reminiscent smile, you let your fingertips run over the smooth spine of the novel, a calming treasure that instantly stilled your rapid heart.

“We never did a lot of things, did we?”

This time you looked at her, truly saw her instead of pretending to look, just like you always did when you’d visit. The view from the twenty second floor had become your scapegoat during the long visits, your chest not being able to bear the sight of your own mother laying before you, unmoving and unaware.

“Hope I’m not interrupting?”

Two knocks tapped firmly against the slightly ajar door, a soft-spoken voice following soon after. You watched a tuft of blond hair peek around the corner, black thick framed glasses perched high upon the slope of a perfect nose; a man unknown to you.

“Uh, well… not really. Sorry, who exactly are you?”

Untucking your legs from the chair and ignoring the slight bouts of pain shooting through the muscles, you quickly stood, dropping your book into the cushioned seat of your absence. The man must have noticed your confused stare, since he muttered something to himself rather quickly, before letting out a somewhat embarrassed laugh.

“Sorry, you don’t know me, but I’m Doctor Kim’s intern.”

The man slowly pushed open the door, stepping into the room soon after, your eyes casting a study of the rather tall stranger from head to toe. He was young, had a boyish look to him that let you know he wasn’t someone to be intimidated by, especially with his Ryan printed dress shirt tucked into a pair of tight fitting slacks, a white medical coat finishing the rather bizarre ensemble.

It was obvious he dyed his hair, the pale blonde locks starting to darken near the roots, fringe styled up and away from his eyes, still allowing him to keep a speck of professionalism with him. You noticed his demeanor grow nervous, fingers fiddling with the three pens clipped into his coat pocket, instantly boosting your curiosity about the strange man.

“Intern? I didn’t know Doctor Kim had an intern, he never mentioned anything…” You trailed off, more so to yourself than anything else.

“Yes, well it’s only my third day so I’m sure he hasn’t had time to talk about me yet.”

He chuckled at his own joke, cheeks turning a shade darker while simultaneously prodding at his bottom lip, and you couldn’t help but crack a smile at the guys attempt at humor. It was no wonder he was so fidgety and nervous, being fresh meat and all to the higher ups who worked around the clock at the hospital.

“Is he not in today?” Furrowing your brows in confusion, you thought back to the brief conversation you had with Doctor Kim over the phone the day before, where he promised to update you on any latest concerns or improvements on your next visit.

Unless there was nothing to tell, then he had no reason to show face after all.

“He had a family emergency he needed to tend to, and told me to check up on you to let you know.” Taking a step closer, shortening the large gap, he shot a blinding grin your way, dimples and all, before sticking out his hand rather confidently.

“I’m Doctor Kim, but you can call me Namjoon, since I’m sure that would get confusing in the future.”

Placing your palm into his much larger one, you were surprised at how gentle he shook your hand, letting the tips of his fingers brush against yours as he pulled away. Your cheeks were suddenly hot, head slightly dizzy from how quickly the man, Namjoon, went from shy and reserved to anything but.

“I’m ____.” You smiled, letting your hand fall back to your side, still slightly warm from his touch. You mentally scolded yourself for acting so insane, like you were thirteen again seeing a handsome face appear before you. How long had it been since you’d even last held someone’s hand?

It was pathetic really.

“Umm, Doctor Kim didn’t happen to mention any news on my mom, did he?”

Your fingers interlocked together, resting against your fluttering stomach, nails digging into the skin of your palms as you watched his face dim from pleasantly happy to sorrowful. It was a face you were used to, could practically see upon any person you came in contact with.

“No he didn’t, I’m sorry.” He turned to take a quick glance at the patient lying in the bed, monitor displaying a steady pulse, and nothing else. No activity, no consciousness, nothing. When he turned back to you, your hands fell in slight defeat, not even remotely disappointed as you should have been. The answer was always the same anyways.

“If there’s any changes, I’ll make sure to call you right away, if not me then Doctor Kim.”

With a weak nod, and forced smile of gratitude, you let out a sigh of acceptance, while reaching down to grab your backpack from its spot next to the chair.

“Thank you, it was nice meeting you Namjoon.”

You watched him walk backwards, clipboard in hand, while faintly bumping into the counter behind him on his way to the door, an embarrassed chuckle leaving his mouth in a rush. Holding up two fingers, he slightly waved a brief goodbye.

“You as well, ____.”

After he slipped through the door, leaving you once again standing in an eerie silence of repetitive beeps, you quickly slung your bag onto your shoulder while your hands curled over the plastic railing at the foot of the bed.

Her hair was brushed, strew out across the pillowcase in thin curls, the tube down her throat making you shudder, eyes closing at the image you’d rather not see, not have to bear any longer. When you opened them again, you had hoped she’d be staring back at you, that your mere presence would have been enough to wake her from the induced sleep she’d been put into.

You weren’t though, you weren't enough.

“See you next time.”

Stepping away from the bed was like leaving her all over again, saying goodbye to her just like you had those six months ago after she insisted that you do it, just in case, because life wasn’t all that kind and you would need the closure.

Just in case.

“By the way, dad says he misses you. We both do.”

With that you turned and left, unable to spare a single glance behind as you did.

/~/

“Fuck, that’s it, yes.”

Drops of sweat lined his brow, ran a path down his neck while dripping onto tainted sheets dirtied with cum and sweat. The girl on his cock bounced beautifully, tits slapping in his face with every drop, throat exposed and littered with red bites that would blossom into bruises lasting for days, a little reminder of her endeavors in his bed.

“O-h, fuck me harder, god your cock is fucking heaven!”

Hoseok smirked, fingertips digging harder into her hips, nails leaving crescent marks into the bones that protruded in his hold, helping push her back down onto him. She had an unyielding grip on the tufts of his hair, pulling at his roots hard enough that his jaw clenched in discomfort, but being balls deep in a wet cunt was undoubtedly worth the pain, especially when the girl knew how to roll her hips in a way that had him snarling the filthiest shit into her ear.

Removing a hand from her waist, Hoseok gripped the long black locks cascading down her back in a tight fist, pulling her head back and body into a perfect arch. He reveled in the whimper of pain that left her cherry coated lips, an eye for an eye and all that. Sitting up straighter, Hoseok held her down onto his cock, instructing her to grind on him while he ravished her perky little nipples, his free hand running down her ass to grab a cheek full of flesh.

Wrapping his lips around a nipple, he let his teeth scrape against the supple skin, earning a high pitched squeal from her in return. His tongue laved over her, tasting the salty tang on his tongue while leaving small nips and bites in his wake. It was enough to have her shaking atop him, thighs trembling and walls clenched.

Releasing his hold on her, he was none the gentle pushing her off of him, ignoring the confused pout she sent him while toppling down onto the plush bed. She really was a pillow princess, preferred to be doted on while being fucked into earth shattering orgasms. Hoseok didn’t give a fuck in the slightest, as he could take her however he wanted, position her how he wanted, and she’d let him, as long as she got to cum in the end. It was like having his own personal sex doll, just a living and breathing one at that.

Details.

“Hose-”

“Turn around, wanna fuck you from behind.”

And like that, her eyes were lighting up like he’d just asked her to meet him at the alter. Inside, Hoseok scoffed, noting the girl to be nothing more than a two timing slut that was bored with her below average husband, coming to him to show her the finer things in life. Like his cum down her throat and his hand prints on her ass.

“Mmm, okay.”

On his knees, one hand stroking himself as he impatiently watched her situate her body to his liking, chest flush to the bed and ass high in the air. On the outside, Hoseok was delighted at how shameless she was, her plush cheeks parting to give him a glimpse of what she was offering. On his tamer days, he might have asked if he could bury his face between those cheeks, letting her coat his tongue as he toyed with her well beyond her limit, but Hoseok was feeling especially selfish at the moment and so was his dick.

“Your ass is to die for, jesus christ.”

After letting one ringing slap land on her ass that jiggled beneath his palm, he lined the head of his cock to her cunt, not delaying his pleasure for any longer as he slid into her with ease, her walls clamping down around him in sudden shock.

“Warn me next time!” She whined, like the little brat she was. Hoseok ignored her, instead let his hands run down the slope of her spine, before once again grabbing her hair, this time with both hands, as leverage to fuck himself into her.

“God damn, your pussy is gold Mina, don’t know why you let that thing you call a man into it every night.”

Groans slipped from his throat, jumbled with her own screams and squeals as he impaled her on him with every snap of his hips, shallow and quick, his end rapidly approaching. He could feel it building in his stomach, abs tensed and balls tingling with every slap against her thighs.

“Yes, yes Hoseok, harder, fucking wreck me!”

He snarled, lips curling in and darkened with his impending climax. Bending down so his chest was flush against her back, he slowed his pace to deep rolls, cock bottoming out with every grind, never fully leaving the warmth she provided him.

“Fuck, take my cock you little slut.” His teeth clamped down onto the skin behind her ear, her own eyes rolling back into her head at the sultry words that left his mouth like honey, coating her entire body in nothing short of ecstasy.

“I’ll have you coming back to me, every single night, worshiping my cock like you were meant to do.” Hoseok chuckled, voice graveled and rough. “After all, that’s all slut’s like you are good for, right?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m such a fucking slut for your cock! Please, god please let me come, I can’t-”

“No. You don’t come until I fill your filthy cunt up, I want it dripping out of you when you leave, that way your devoted little husband knows what his wife was really up to tonight. How you were- “

Returning to his previous position, on his knees behind her, Hoseok pulled out until only the sensitive head was enveloped by her cunt, lips puffy and red from his brutal fucking. With a satisfied look, he held onto her hips, thumbs digging in for aided emphasis.

“Getting ruined by a cock worth cheating for.”

Heavy breaths, skin slapping, throaty groans, they all echoed off the walls of the room as Hoseok fucked her from behind like a starved man, hips pistoning into her pussy as he hung on the brink of sanity. His mind was cloudy, in a blissed daze with how intense his orgasm was going to be, he was going to come so fucking hard. He wouldn’t be surprised if he passed the fuck out right after.

Which would most likely piss of the withering girl beneath him, but it’s not like he especially cared.

He could always compensate her in other ways.

“Fucking hell, I‘m gonna cum, fuck, fuck, gonna fill you and fuck it out of you…”

“Oh god, it’s so good, shit!” He could hear her cries, tears staining his pillow as she bit into the fabric to keep from biting her own damn lips. He swiveled his hips, fucking up into her while throwing his head back, releasing an audible groan that was most likely heard by the staff scattered around his house, but he didn’t care, because he was going to bust the biggest fucking nut in her in about two seconds and-

“Hello, Hello! How’s my fav- Oh, Hoseokie, I didn’t know you had company.”

The ever annoyingly grating voice of his brother was suddenly cock blocking his efforts, all singsong and sarcastic as he stood in the doorway with a grin that demanded attention despite his current predicament. It was obvious he didn’t care in the slightest about interrupting, with how he leaned against the doorjamb with his arms crossed, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Stopping mid-thrust, Hoseok eyed Seokjin over his shoulder with an annoyed look, hair disheveled and still balls deep in a now embarrassed and pliant girl beneath him. He scoffed. Now she chose to get all shy.

“Come along little brother, a family discussion is in order.”

Orgasm now miles away, cock softening instantly at the sight of his cheerful hyung in colorful prints and looking especially glowing despite having caught his baby brother mid-fuck, Hoseok let out a groan of frustration while removing himself from the bed, slipping back into a pair of black silk shorts.

“Really hyung? You couldn’t wait another ten fucking seconds?”

The girl slid out his bed soon after, wrapping a fluffy blanket around her body to maintain some modesty while averting her eyes downwards as she beelined it towards the door with clothes in hand, her escape being blocked by a broad shouldered Seokjin who eyed her with a faux smile, all judgement but too nice to let it show on his face.

“I’ll just umm, be leaving now. Hello Seokjin, nice seeing you again.”

Stepping aside to allow her room to pass, Seokjin gave a brief nod of his head, excellent at maintaining a nonchalant composure despite the situation. “You too Mina, do make sure and say hello to Charles for me would you?”

Hoseok outright laughed, shaking his head at the way his brother was able to execute an outright stab in the back while charming his words with a pleased smile. The girl look horrified, and the least bit ashamed as she sprinted out of the room, the front door of his house slamming only seconds later.

“That was low, even for you.”

“I don’t think you’re one to be lecturing me little brother. Downstairs in five, and wash your face, that color of lipstick doesn’t suit your complexion.”

/~/

“You really should work on not sleeping with married women.” Seokjin drawled on from his reclined position on Hoseok’s leather couch, legs crossed in a pristine professionalism that made the younger man roll his eyes upon entering the room.

Freshly showered and sporting comfortable clothing, black jeans and a matching hoodie, Hoseok had made sure to rub a quick one off before coming downstairs. To ease him into a more relaxed state, a nicer mood. Fuck knows he’d need it to deal with a temperamental Seokjin.

“You know me hyung, I never turn a willing participant away.”

He smirked, plopping down into the plush recliner across from the couch, making sure to keep his distance from the frown that was slowly forming on his brother’s face.

“She’s married you idiot, I thought you’d know better. If something like this gets out-” The older male shook his head at his brothers tendency to overlook the consequences that didn’t concern himself. It wasn’t often he received a call from his father telling him to go and scold the youngest of the family, even though Seokjin found himself doing that more than not on his own accord. Their father rarely got involved, and that simple fact made him just the slightest bit on edge.

“It’ll be bad for business, sales will go down, yeah I fucking know. You make sure and tell me every time you barge in here without knocking. This is my house you know.”

Hoseok’s irritation was slowly reaching its limit. Biting his tongue had never been a strong suit for him, and instead he chose to dig his nails into the fabric of the chair while giving his brother an annoyed stare.

“A house you didn’t pay for.”

“Details.”

“Father called. He wants to see you in his office tomorrow.”

He swallowed, pushed back the anxiety that instantly swarmed his body upon the mentioning of his sperm donor. Not like he had ever been a fucking dad to him anyways. Hoseok grew up with multiple nanny’s playing the role of mom after his birth one kicked the bucket after bringing him into this world. His step mom wasn’t any better, a statue could be more nurturing than that hellish woman.

“Why?”

Seokjin could hear the slight panic in his brother’s voice, simply because he knew him as well as he did. To others, it would come off as indifferent, uncaring of such an issue.

“Most likely another fuck up on your part.”

Hoseok let out an amused chuckle, while brushing away the fringe from his face and relaxing back into the chair, eyes closed and head tilted back into a temporary rest. He could hear the sound of Seokjin sipping at his coffee, the waves as they rolled onto the beach, with his house being only a few short steps away.

“Well, what’s fucking new.”

/~/

The campus was never overly crowded on Friday’s, especially during Summer term where people often chose to party on the beach instead of drowning in assignments and part-time jobs. You almost preferred the lack of people when you visited, it was easier to find unoccupied tables at ideal locations to study at instead of in the library that was suffocatingly stuffy, in a used books sort of way.

Noon was approaching as you sat under a large oak, hot sun blocked from view by the winding branches overhead. The grass felt cool against your bare legs, shoes kicked off to let your feet breath from the constant walking you had done earlier in the day, the strands of green tickling your toes whenever you shifted into a more comfortable position.

The courtyard was empty, save for you and one other person lounging at a nearby picnic table. You had been attempting to read the newest chapter of your economics book for the past half hour, yet your attention was always pulled back to the patch of yellow daisies to your left. Minor distractions kept pushing their way to the forefront of your mind, and sadly, you knew that you’d most likely get no studying done today with your ability to focus nonexistent.

Deeming it pointless to further pretend you were making any progress towards your studies, you slammed the heavy front of your textbook closed, shoving it back into your bag with a defeated look. You were about to reach for your phone to invite Tae out to lunch when a familiar high pitched, shrill voice, distracted you, your head peering around the edge of the tree to see Yuna herself talking carelessly loud on her phone.

“But Minnie! I was really looking forward to this trip with you!”

“Minnie! Don’t you care how I’m suffering right now?  Just cancel your meeting!”

“Forget it, there’s no way you can possibly make this up to me!”

“......Did you say Chanel?”

“Gold with glitter jewels?”

“You’re the best Minnie! I’ll see you tonight, and I’ll wear the red dress just for you.”

Min Yuna held a certain aura that demanded everyone’s attention, whether good or bad. It wasn’t hard to miss her extravagant appearance; styled voluminous curls cascading down her back, fire red faux leather jacket perched upon her shoulders with a tight black mini skirt to match, and you scoffed when you noticed how it barely covered her ass. Her legs looked even longer, leaner, in the five inch stilettos she sported, despite the uneven terrain of the college.

Speaking of college.

“Yah! Yuna, why don’t you shut up, some people are trying to get some work done here.”

It wasn’t a secret that you despised her, everyone in town knew it, she knew it, even the ocean knew it, as it often got an earful of your complaints whenever you were forced to be within five feet of the devil in Prada.

If looks could kill, you would have surely gone up in flames the minute her gaze found your own, already immensely irritated that you had even dared utter a word to her. She still had the phone pressed to her ear, yet glossy red lips were now set into a sneer at your rude interruption. Quickly muttering something into the phone, to whom you had no idea, she ended the call before strutting your way, that obviously meant your impending doom, in her eyes at least.

To you, she was the least intimidating person you’d ever met.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than bud into people's lives that aren’t your own?” Yuna snapped aggressively, standing to your left with her arms crossed and hip jutted out. Looking up from your spot on the ground, your eyes squinted at the blurry image of her angered face, the sun’s brightness blocking your view, which you quickly shielded with your hand.

“Don’t you know that your voice is annoying? No one wants to hear what the hell you’re wearing to the club Yuna, no one gives a shit.”

A small ‘hmph’ passed through her lips, eyes rolling at your obvious judgement towards her. It wasn’t like you to stick around, picking fights with her, because in your eyes it deemed you no better than her. Yet a large part of you was still upset over how she had treated Taehyung, had practically kicked him to the curb for the thousandth time. So maybe indulging in a petty feud, for the sake of your friend, was worth it.

“At least I have somewhere to be tonight. All you ever do is sit around with your books, all by yourself, don’t you care that you have no fucking life?”

Anger burned hot in your chest, hatred for the pest standing before you boiling over into your veins, making your fists clench with unreleased fury, because you were not a violent person, even though you wanted nothing more than to land a punch square in her perfectly, fake nose.

Slipping your shoes back on while zipping up your bag, your education the last thing on your mind now, you stood up with determined eyes, and maybe Yuna saw how clearly pissed you were, as she took a large step back, chin jutted up with confidence that she’d have the last say.

“Listen, people may grovel at your feet, but I’m not one of them. I don’t care what you have to say, and I don’t particularly care that I chose to focus on my future instead of acquiring a new STD every night. You’re nothing Yuna, and your words mean nothing to me.”

You were getting too heated, venomous words spilling from your mouth in uncontrolled rage. It bothered you that she was able to slither her way under your skin so easily. You weren’t a confrontational person, in fact you really hated calling out anyone on their mistakes. Yet something about Yuna made you angrier than you’d ever been in your entire life, and with that came the desire to confront her, to call her out for being a complete nightmare to anyone she crossed paths with.

Inhaling a few, much needed breaths of air into your lungs, rant now fizzled out into a simmering vexation, you watched on with satisfaction at the look of shock that crossed over her features. You had never dared to be so bold in the past, and could tell that a part of her was perplexed by it.

“Obviously my words do mean something, or else you wouldn’t be getting so upset by them.”

She smirked, eyes darkened and ready for the kill. A look of unfamiliarity settled upon her face, one that sent warning signals to your brain, that it was a good time to flee and accept your small victory. Though, a brief thought crossed your mind, that maybe you had underestimated just how cruel Min Yuna could truly be.

“Why don’t you run home and focus on your own life,  ____. With your father and his dying business. It’s obvious he could use the help, as his usual partner is well, a little preoccupied.”

A sickening sensation flared up in your chest, Yuna’s words snaked with thorns that tore into your heart, embedding themselves until you were bleeding openly from within. Recognition crossed over her face, a triumphant grin eerily stretching across her lips, a red that reminded you of the devil himself. All evil and no remorse, no conscious.

“H-how could you even say that to me?”

The unadulterated shock prevented the rage from overtaking you, stopped the tears from freely falling in response to her cruel words. Your family’s personal matters were no secret among the town, word traveled fast through a small vicinity, and people liked to partner gossip with their daily brunch. It was hard, receiving pitying looks from locals whenever you’d pass by, their condolences sent with the usual frown and diverted eyes.

Yet no one dared to ever ask you about your mom, not having the courage to shed light on such a sensitive topic. Except for Yuna, with unwavering confidence and a skill for mapping out a person's biggest weakness.

Now broken into a temporary silence, your previous fire having been diminished with icy words that cut across your skin like blades, Yuna gave a tilt of her head, hair flicking flawlessly behind her shoulder with one quick sweep of her hand.

“Oh darling, how could I not?”

Giving you one last glance with her eyes full of judgement and contempt, Yuna gracefully spun on her patent heels, strutting away through the courtyard with the final word, the shattered pieces of your armor trailing behind her.

/~/

“You’re going to be sweating whiskey and tequila if you don’t slow the hell down.”

The ever present, ever judging stare of Taehyung burned holes into the side of your face as you tipped another shot back of whatever type of liquor you held in your hand, the burn feeling similar to molten fire as it slid down your throat. You were not much of a drinker, in fact, the only time you had ever truly been three sheets to the wind was freshman year of high school, where you had discovered a forgotten bottle of Vodka underneath the kitchen counter during your parent's weekend getaway.

It was Taehyung too, that had saved you that time. When he had found you, upside down over the back of the couch with flushed cheeks and all smiles, he had broken down into hysteric laughs at the image itself. Sure, he had spent a majority of the night holding your hair back while both your lunch and dinner returned tenfold, yet he was there by your side, puke and all.

Now, he wasn’t exactly smiling. More like frowning intently at your drunken stupor, while watching you slip into an area of self loathing and regret. Typical actions for many on a Friday night, but for you, a rare occurrence. You were known for keeping your emotions in check, hardly letting anything break through the walls you had successfully built around yourself. Yet, such defenses had all been blown to bits by none other than the devil incarnate herself.

“Okay, that’s enough. Give me that!” The small shot glass was ripped from your lips, which you fought for rather diligently in return. Though your strength was nothing compared to Taehyung’s and you could only imagine what you both looked like, struggling over an empty glass of tequila like children.

“Yah! Stop, I’m not done yet! I could go all night!”

Hearing a frustrated huff fall from his lips, you finally let go of the glass with a threatening glare, yet Taehyung didn’t seem the least bit affected by your expression. Instead he stood up from the bar stool, sliding the glass along the counter, down and away from your prying hands.

“If you keep this shit up, you’ll be completely wasted within thirty minutes.”

You watched him lean his side against the bar, shaggy locks falling into his eyes which he blew away with a single breath. You frowned.

“What’s wrong with that? Can’t I live a little?”

“It’s nine thirty! Who the hell gets drunk off their ass at nine thirty at night?”

The club, il’Ricco, was nothing short of extravagant, far from the usual dingy and sketchy hole in the ground that people were known to visit on the regular. Honestly, it had been a surprise you and Taehyung had even been able to get into the place, as the line normally wrapped around the building and down the block with people waiting impatiently to have a night they’d never forget, or most likely would, when morning came around.

The both of you had only waited a short hour and a half to get in, with him complaining about his feet hurting every five minutes while leaning against your side like an overgrown puppy. You had just scoffed at his whines, since you had been the one in heels, not him.

From outside, the three story building looked rather plain, red bricks and a single sign that hung from above the entrance. It was nothing like what you’d find in the city, yet for a small town, its curb appeal had been better than expected. Upon stepping foot onto velvet floors encased within black walls, lights strung from ceiling to ceiling with refined elegance, you had seemed to enter an alternate reality, intruding into an atmosphere that you were clearly not a part of.

It was a palace for the elite, whose pockets were full of cash, with lives to match their frivolous spending. Where women were dressed to the nines in designer fabrics, and men were decked out in Italian and Rolex's that cost more than your tuition itself. Every single person looked pristine, flawless in their appearance, and you had instantly felt out of place within seconds.

Taehyung hadn’t cared that he was dressed in a pair of black slacks, baby blue shirt tucked in rather carelessly that hung from his shoulders in a loose manner. Somehow, he still managed to pull off such a look. Your friend was the epitome of beauty, you had discovered long ago. His features sharp and defined, gaze either cold or welcoming depending on his mood.

Maybe, if you hadn’t known him since the first grade, where you had caught him eating a stick of glue, while proceeding to cry because his lips were stuck together, you could have fallen hard for him. Yet some people were meant to last a lifetime, simply as each other's support systems, lifelines when things got shaky, someone to help you back onto your feet when things got rough. That was who Taehyung was for you, a constant in your life, a person you trusted one hundred percent and more.

You were almost jealous of the confidence he harbored within a single stare, and how he effortlessly seemed to fit into the atmosphere of people. You on the other hand, seemed to stick out like an unwanted scuff on their shoes. Or, that’s what it felt like to you at least. You had put on one of the three dresses you had hanging in your closet, untouched since you’d bought it last June. A simple off the shoulder black dress, that fell above your knees with a plunging v-neckline that showed a fair amount of cleavage, yet not too much that would be considered un-tasteful to your standards.

In reality, you felt rather naked. The most skin you were used to showing were your legs, whenever the off chance happened that you left your house in a pair of shorts. Taehyung had whistled when he’d picked you up, keys swinging around his finger from where he’d been leaning against the passenger door of his beat up Ford.

“Don’t you look hot. What’s the occasion?”

“I have a date with Tequila Rose.”

With Taehyung by your side though, you felt some of your worries melt away, with the aid of the alcohol currently brimming in your veins as well. You weren’t drunk, just carefree enough to forget about your day, and Yuna herself. Which had been your plan all along.

You felt a twinge of guilt creep up your shoulders though, because you were acting more of a nuisance than a friend at the moment, completely neglecting Taehyung’s own feelings in your search for intoxication. With a long sigh, and a look that screamed ‘forgive me’, you gently nudged his arm to gain his attention.

“Sorry.”

Upon hearing your apology, the permanent frown that had previously accompanied his face slowly morphed into one of reassurance, his hand coming out to shove your shoulder just the slightest, before pinching your cheek between his thumb and finger.

“How can I stay mad at this face?” He cooed, and you were quick to bat away his hand with a laugh, aware that people had been watching the whole interaction from the start. You could practically feel their judging stares burning holes into the back of your skull, yet the anxiety you had once felt had soon diminished and faded away into nothing. You were determined to have a good time.

“I’ll go get you some water okay? Dilute some of that tequila before you pass out.”

“But I’m not even dru-!”

You words fell into silence at his already retreating form, pushing through the crowd to hunt down the bartender for a bottle of water. You faintly smiled, thankful for having such a friend by your side, despite the troubles you put him through.

“Finally alone, I see?”

You felt your skin prick at the unfamiliar voice by your ear, a soft tone that you’d barely heard over the bass of the music. The presence of a warm body was felt behind you, looming over your shoulder, and you swore you felt a breath caress your exposed neck, causing a wave of shivers to fall over your body. You were quick to spin in your seat, hand supporting yourself on the edge of the counter as you came face to chest with someone entirely unknown to you.

The first thing you noticed were silver pants, taught against thighs that brushed your knees as you spun around. Looking up, you were met with blond hair, fringe styled into an uneven part away from his face, with mischievous eyes that seemed to consume your own in a heated stare. Drink in hand, the other resting casually in his pocket, you eyed the man curiously. You couldn’t help but notice how close he was to you, obviously lacking the knowledge of personal space.

“Umm…”

You felt rather small, looking up at the stranger. In your seated position, he stood with a grace that could only come with years of harbored confidence and luxury. His attire was exotic, making him stand out among the mass of people. The white dress shirt tucked into his pants stretched tight against his chest, the faint outline of his stomach seemingly noticeable with how near your eyes were to it, the first three buttons undone for people to catch a teasing glance of honeyed skin.

“What is it doll? At a loss for words?” Heart shaped lips turned up into a knowing smirk, as if he could tell where your eyes had been roaming for the past ten seconds. Seeing his eyes briefly flicker down from your face, with a dreadful realization you noticed that you provided him with a clear view of your chest from where he stood. Your cheeks flushed the slightest, unable to thoroughly cover yourself. You blamed the heat overcoming your body on the alcohol itself, instead of the painfully handsome male in front of you.

“You’re awfully close.”

You kept your tone light, despite the increasing anxiety pooling in your belly at how you were being looked at. For some reason, he made you nervous, provided you with the struggle of meeting his eyes when he was unwavering with his proximity towards you.

“I could get closer.” He teased, reaching behind you to place his glass of whiskey on the counter. You leaned back as he drew nearer to you, his hand hovering next to yours on the edge of the bar. Your pulse sped up to rapid beats, the stranger invading your senses in more ways than one.

“I’ve been looking at you all night sweetheart. You’ve been sitting here in your pretty dress, and no one’s come up to talk to you. How can that be?”

His head tilted to the side, eyes glinting playfully in the florescent lights of the club. You swallowed rather harshly at the tension forming between your body and his, his chest briefly brushing against your shoulder as he pulled away, before accompanying the empty seat next to yours.

You hadn't expected anyone to approach you tonight, as it was obvious you and Taehyung were outsiders in foreign territory. Though you hadn’t missed the many longing stares from women towards your friend, their interests obviously peaked at a new face, yet too shallow to talk with someone of such lower class.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He grinned, voice smooth and sharp as ice, slender fingers drumming on the counter leisurely. You watched the way the muscles of his forearm flexed from where it was perched on the edge of the bar, cuffs rolled up to his elbows tastefully.

“Sorry, I think I’m cut off for the night.” You sent him a sheepish smile, crossing one leg over the other out of nervous habit, the presence of such a man making you unsure. You weren’t timid when it came to flirting, yet you had never been approached by a person with a face belonging to that of a god, and irritatingly enough, it was overly intimidating.

“By who, that guy you came in with?” He scoffed, obvious judgement laced within his words, and instantly you were put on alert, fingers harshly gripping the counter. You could tell the man obviously thought nothing of Taehyung, despite having not even spoken a single word to him. His demeanor was relaxed, like he was just waiting for you to fall into his grasp so easily, as if it would take nothing at all.

“Yeah, that guy I came in with. Sorry, but I don’t want you to buy me anything.”

At the change in your voice, he sat up a little straighter, the shine in his eyes dimming down to a darker stare that held the intent to ruin and destroy. At the knowledge that his plans were not happening the way he had desired, you saw the apparent change in his demeanor, the playful glance he had welcomed you with still present, yet the conversation shifting drastically from light to defensive and unwelcoming.

“You sure about that sweetheart? You do know I can actually afford the drinks here, right?”

The endearment made your skin crawl, no longer wanting to be in the presence of someone so egotistical, despite how attractive you found the guy. You knew his type too well, and the obvious attraction you had felt towards him from the start was slowly being overshadowed with the want to completely leave his company altogether.

“What makes you think I can’t? I wouldn’t be throwing around your money so carelessly, especially when it comes to women. I’m sure you know firsthand how greedy they can be.”

Satisfaction ran through you at his obvious surprise at your words, as if he had never had someone speak so freely to him, especially a stranger no doubt. It was as if you could see the gears spinning in his head, deciding if he should proceed with you, or give up completely. Yet something told you this man liked a challenge, and that was what worried you most of all.

“Feisty little thing aren’t you?” He chuckled, leaning forward in his seat to once again invade your space, hand sliding along the counter to a resting position beside your arm. One leg was stretched out on the other side of your own seat, giving you a feeling of being caged in, caught in the lion's den with no escape. You prayed for Taehyung to make his return sooner rather than later.

“I’m just going to get straight to the point.” He spoke low, voice a smooth drawl that affected you in more ways than one, despite your apparent dislike towards him. “You look fucking delicious in this dress, and I’d like to take you home, and show you a good time.”

Shock crossed over your face at his boldness, words cutting against your resolve, leaving your fingers shaking just the slightest against the marbled counter top. His hand slid smoothly atop your own, stilling the tremors as you felt the sudden warmth of his touch against your fingers. You didn’t shake him off straight away, which he took as a sign to proceed, when in fact you were too stunned to push him away, gather yourself and head straight for the exit.

“I’d love nothing more than to bend you over this counter right now and have my way with you. You have a mouth on you sweetheart, and I’m dying to shove something between those pretty lips of yours to shut you up.”

Your eyes widened at the abruptness of his words, mouth parted in silent awe at the sheer filth that coated his lips deliciously. Harboring hatred towards yourself for being even the slightest bit affected by his desires, you quickly flung his hand off your own, resulting in him leaning back and away from you with a satisfied grin, one that clearly let on just how much he knew his words had impacted you. Grabbing at his drink once again, you ignored the way his throat flexed with every gulp as he downed the bitter liquid expertly. Pink lips curved over the rim of the glass, glistening and plump, with the intent to make your breathing uneven, your knees shake, despite your rising anger.

Determined to have the last word, at least once today, you stood up abruptly from your chair, legs just the slightest bit wobbly; determination presented itself across your face as you prepared to give the bastard one hell of a goodbye speech. Yet you never got the chance, as a hand suddenly encased your upper arm, the familiar touch of your friend grounding you back into a calm state, enough to instantly lose the need to buy an outrageously priced cocktail to spill over the man’s head with triumph.

“Turns out they ran out of water, let’s go.”

Without another second wasted, Taehyung was turning you around towards the exit, having witnessed the later part of your interaction with the stranger, though unable to have heard the words he had sultrily whispered to you with ambition.

“So, I’m taking your leave as a no?”

The man spoke casually from behind you, halting both your and Taehyung’s steps. The tone of his voice gave no hints at any harboring disappointment at the inability to win you over, as if he’d never expected to grace you with his time in the first place. Turning back around, you gave him an exasperated look, clearly annoyed at his undying persistence. Behind you, you could practically feel Taehyung glowering at the guy, and knowing how short of a fuse he held when it came to men bothering you just the slightest amount. The last thing you wanted was for him to cause an unnecessary scene.

“My answer will always be no.”

Sending him the sweetest smile you could muster up, despite your sour mood, you didn’t stick around long enough to witness his reaction at your words, knowing he was most likely unaffected at such a loss. He probably had women lined up to spend a night with him, and you highly doubted you’d leave him with any lingering thoughts of you afterwards.

“Come on. I have a bottle of wine at the house.”

It was your turn to grab Taehyung’s arm, gesturing towards the exit with quick steps, wanting to leave as quickly as you’d come. It had been a mistake to ever ponder into unwelcome territories, and you hated yourself for wasting your Friday night, and Taehyung’s, at such a place.

“I’m drinking the entire thing, you owe me ____.”

Taehyung’s brassy laugh was heard to your left, his form already retreating swiftly through the double doors, a neon green ‘Exit’ sign flashing above them. Your steps slowed, too lost in realization as you caught sight of Yuna herself out of the corner of your eye. The source of your bad night was sat sideways across the lap of an unknown man, who had his face buried deep into her neck as she shook with exaggerated laughs.

Once again reminded of why you had ventured out with the intent to drown your sorrows in alcohol in the first place, you practically ran towards the double doors that would offer you freedom and peace of mind once again. Nothing good had come from your adventurous night out, nothing at all.

As you quickly caught up with Taehyung waiting outside, you vowed to never step foot into il’Ricco ever again.

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Shards of Glass 2/2

After over thirty years, Ma is getting paid a visit, all thanks to the persuasion of a sweater-making, pig-loving teenager. (Here’s part 2, as promised. Hope it lives up to everyone’s expectations!)

@thestanbros

~~~~~~~~~~

Despite it being over forty years since he had been home, Stan found it so easy and so familiar as he walked down the sidewalks with his family that he could probably travel blindfolded. So many times he and Ford had walked down this way for home from the beach, just in time for dinner.

It was sad how much anxiety Stan was having over visiting his own mother, how badly his stomach was turning; he attempted to distract himself by observing his childhood home. The buildings hadn't changed much, except for the interiors. Almost every business that was here in his youth was either replaced or drastically renovated. Except for the Belgian Waffle Store, that place was bustling with people eating a late-breakfast or an early-lunch.

And there it was. Sandwiched between the waffle joint and a new shoe store was the old pawn shop that had been transformed into a comic book store. Mabel grinned and rushed up to the windows, pressing her face against it to get a good look at the displayed comics. "Wow! You should feel right at home, huh Grunkle Stan?"

He snorted a quick laugh. "Bet this place'll make more money now than it ever did for our old man."

Mabel entered with Dipper by his side. The old men lingered but eventually wandered inside. Ford was gently reminded of a comfortable library. Where Pa's shelves of expensive products used to be now had beanbags and a coffee table in its place. A desk stood where his desk once stood, now hosting a young lady with brown hair in a ponytail and she smiled. "Hi! Finding everything okay?"

Mabel hopped on over while Dipper stalled, intrigued by a science-fiction comic book he had heard of but never read. "Hi! I'm Mabel! Is Caryn Pines here?"

The young lady grinned and nodded. "Oh yeah! She's home, just go up these stairs here and knock. Sweet lady, let me and Lindsey room with her for cheaper rent, she's the best roommate anyone could ask for. Friends of her?"

"You could say that," Dipper said easily and started for the stairs, the ones that led to the door for the living room. "C'mon."

Mabel and Dipper entered the closed-in stairwell with the grunkles behind them, halfway through, Ford stopped them. "Wait, kids, maybe… maybe you should say hi to her first."

Mabel turned and gave him a warning look with her hands on her hips. "You're not gonna run away, are you?"

"No, that's not what I had in mind." Ford said, though it didn't sound like a bad idea. "This is a lot to take in, so… maybe we should do this gradually."

Stan nodded. "Yeah, let her say hi to your kids first, okay?"

Dipper and Mabel exchanged looks and then nodded, agreeing that this was a good idea. Mabel then hurried to the door and knocked cheerfully.

"C'min."

Mabel opened the door and grinned at the sight before her. Sitting at her window, though her glowing pink eye long gone, Ma Pines sat with her ankles crossed and some knitting in her hands, still in white heels, but now sporting a red skirt with a white sweater and her long hair, now silver-white, was still up in her bun and she could never say no to her golden earrings and bracelets. Her eyes were just as keen as ever and she held herself up with that same confidence she always had. At the sight of her great-grandchildren, she smiled calmly and said spookily as she sat her knitting aside, "Ah, I've been expectin' choo two."

Mabel gasped with shining eyes. "Really?!"

Ma laughed and waved her little fib away. "Nah, that's just something I used to tell customers." No longer playing pretend, she grinned and opened her arms, "Now c'mere and hug this old lady!"

Mabel had never seen such a beautiful smile. She ran into her arms and hugged her tightly. She smelled like an old lady, maybe too much perfume with a hint of freshly baked bread and… vapor rub? Some sort of lotion? Whatever. Dipper soon joined the hug and Ma's thin arms hugged them tightly. The twins wondered if she would ever let them go, but soon she held them by the shoulders to look at them.

"Look at choo." Ma awed. "Just look at choo… You're both so beautiful. You're both almost adults. Holy Moses, who gave choo two permission to grow up?"

Mabel giggled and squeezed her hand. "It's so good to see you, Ma! We've really missed you!"

"I've missed you, too. Your father doesn't brin' choo down here nearly enough. Speakin' of which, where is Alex? Browsin' the store?"

Dipper rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Actually, he's still in California with Mom."

"We came here with someone else," Mabel said open-ended.

The older pair of twins, who were listening at the door, exchanged petrified looks, but they knew they couldn't leave their mother waiting any longer. Ford opened the door and they both stepped in silently to allow Ma to react as she saw fit.

Stan pulled off his beanie and held it with both hands while Ford pocketed his hands in his jacket. The old scientist swallowed and looked down at the carpeted floor. His twin did the opposite, his eyes locked on his mother as he took in her appearance and how she had changed. At the same time, she was staring at her sons with a hard expression on her face, both stern and difficult to read.

Ford took in a deep breath and muttered, "Hello, Ma."

Stan cracked a nervous smile and quipped, "You look good." And then he mentally kicked himself. What the hell was that?!

Ma stood and Dipper and Mabel moved aside. Everyone in the room was nervous, except for the old lady, who had a collective atmosphere to her that terrified everyone even more, unsure of how long it would last. When she was only a step or two away from her grown children, Ma said quietly, "So, choo finally decided to come clean?"

The men whose father named them both Stan stared at her in astoundment. "What?" They both gasped.

"Stanley, sweetheart," Ma sighed with a smile and she shook her head. "Choo might pull a great impression of your brother, but I know choo better than that. Even as kids I could always tell the difference. Always." She bit her lip as her eyes filled with tears. "Now, do I get to hug my sons or not?" She croaked with open arms.

Stan's bottom lip trembled and Ford just stared as he realized just how wonderful his mother truly was, and then both grown men quickly embraced her and held her tightly.

"We're so sorry."

"Please forgive us."

"We're so sorry."

"Please forgive us."

"Choo darlin' idiots," Ma said and squeezed them back tightly, as each face was buried in her shoulder and everyone's breathing was much more controlled now. "It's okay."

"Ma, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"Stanley…"

"No, I mean it. I should've…"

"I should have done more when I had the chance…"

"Stanford…"

"We're so sorry."

"Please forgive us."

"Hey, hey," Ma was now rubbing circles into their backs. "It's alright. It's alright. I always knew and already forgave choo."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Stan asked.

"I knew choo had your reasons." Ma replied calmly. "I trust my little free spirit."

They heard a sniff come from behind Ma and they all looked at the teenagers to find Mabel scrubbing her eyes with a fist and Dipper rolling his eyes at his sister with a small smile.

"Sweetheart, you're not cryin', are you?" Ma asked lightly.

Mabel shook her head. "N-No…" Her smile unwavering through her white lie.

Ma chuckled and let her boys go. "Well, you two owe me an explanation, and I got a feelin' it's gonna take a while. How 'bout some tea and cookies?"

"Yes, please." Mabel said and followed her great-grandmother into the kitchen to help.

It was like when Ford first came out of the portal all over again. Except this time they were in the warm sunshine, but the cold basement. Except this time they sipped on hot tea and nibbled on old gingersnaps. Except they began the storytelling from when Ford sent the postcard and skipped to when Dipper and Mabel first arrived in Gravity Falls. Except this story had a much happier ending. And the four visiting Pines silently agreed to keep Bill Cipher in the dark and they made it sound like at the end of the summer Ford and Stan rekindled their relationship on their own without needing a mind-wipe to do it.

By the time the sun was setting on the buildings, Ma was wearing Mabel's new purple sweater and she was nodding and satisfied with the tale. Really, when her sons gave it some thought, it was ridiculous to think they could pull the wool over the eyes of not only one of the greatest conmen they have ever known, but their own mother.

Now it was time for Ma to have some fun. When filling her in was over, Mabel gleefully requested, "Tell us embarrassing stuff about our grunkles!"

Ma laughed and stood. "Hold that thought, sweetheart. I have something you'll like…" She went to a bookshelf and pulled out an old black photo album. She opened it and sat next to Mabel, lying the book on her lap. Mabel gasped and grinned to find two newborn babies lying in a crib and sleeping together, wrapped burrito-style in blankets and they had little hats to keep their heads warm.

"AW!"

"Yup, that's when we brought the boys home." Ma laughed as Dipper looked down at the pair of twins in the black-and-white picture. "Choo know, Stanford was born first, but the whole time he was without Stanley he cried his whittle heart out…"

"Ma!"

"What, it's true."

"Since when do you love the truth so much?" Ford asked cheekily and smiled at her playfully.

"Alright, mister, let's see how your niece likes this picture…"

"SAILOR SUITS!" Mabel screamed and her eyes grew to the size of saucers. "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, OH MY GOSH! You guys were so cute!"

"Oh, this is them getting a bath…"

"MA!"

After half an hour of embarrassing her sons without mercy, Ma gave Mabel the scrapbook only asking that her great-granddaughter take good care of it and use it to blackmail her sons. It was time for the sailors to return to the boat, so she stood at the back door in the neatly-kept alleyway and hugged the kids goodbye. She snuck in a kiss on each of their cheeks before looking at her sons.

Immediately her expression turned cold and she growled, "And if any of choo knuckleheads pull a stunt like that again…"

It didn't matter that the twins were in their sixties; they were just as terrified now as they were in their youth. They nodded in sync and Stan said, "I swear, Ma. And… we'll do a better job staying in touch. I promise."

Ford nodded in agreement and Ma's expression immediately softened. "That's all I want." She said with a smile. "A phone call every so often is all I ask for."

Ford nodded and smiled. "We'll call you. We love you."

"I love you two, babies, c'mere." With one last squeeze and a swift kiss on each of their cheeks, Ford and Stan finally found the strength to let her go.

As they walked down the sidewalk and headed for home, the two pairs of twins looked back and found Ma still standing there and waving them goodbye. They waved in return and turned around for their next adventure.

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Shards of Glass 1/2

After over thirty years, Ma is getting paid a visit, all thanks to the persuasion of a sweater-making, pig-loving teenager. A loud HAPPY BIRTHDAY for Stanley and Stanford Pines, born June 15th 19?? (who cares?) Part 2 will be posted on June 30th to conclude the celebration of their existence. So stay tuned!

@thestanbros

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel had never been on a plane before.

Well, okay, that wasn't entirely true; she had been on an airplane before, but she was so little back then and she didn't remember it now, so to her brain this was her first time on a plane, and she didn't like it much. She had to chew on gum the whole time to keep from getting a headache and the WiFi was too slow to function, so she daydreamed about the summer ahead as she watched the clouds roll by and imagined shapes.

Once, when she and Dipper were really little, maybe four or five, they had flown down to Ma Pines' house all the way in New Jersey for a holiday. Probably Thanksgiving since Mabel only had three memories of that trip. She remembered yummy sweet potatoes with marshmallows that she ate as much as she was allowed, she remembered the distinct smell of the flat, and she remembered…

"Attention passengers, we will be arriving in Glass Shard, New Jersey in five minutes. Please remain seated until instructed to exit the plane, and as always thanks for flying with us at…"

"Dipper, we're here!" Mabel cheered and checked her phone, her other hand busy petting a disturbed Waddles on her lap. By the time a message would load to her great uncles they would already be in front of them, so there was no point in sending a text to alert them of the arrival. "This is so exciting! A whole month sailing with my three favorite people in the world!"

"I'm so excited to see all the anomalies the guys were talking about." Dipper said, looking up from his special journal to smile at his twin. "Maybe we'll see a real adlet!"

"But first I wanna see where Grunkle Stan and Ford grew up!" Mabel piped in. "Maybe we'll see the cave where they found the Stan O' War!"

"Maybe," Dipper said, unsure how true that word was. "But don't you think they might not want to stay very long? I wouldn't be surprised if they want to set sail as soon as we get there."

"But what about their mom?" Mabel asked. "Don't they want to see her?"

Dipper looked down at the silver pinetree on his blue book. Their great-grandmother was a tough old bird (as Grandpa Shermie called her) and was still going in her early nineties. Grant it, she didn't do much besides give an occasional palm reading to keep herself busy, but she was definitely still around. Grandpa Shermie was good about staying in touch with her from what Dad said, and Dad called her every Sunday, but she was still relatively lonely due to the fact that her husband was gone (good riddance) and two of her sons hadn't spoken to her in thirty years. ("Stanford" had been very quiet during Stanley's funeral, had refused to attend Filbrick's, and when Grunkle Stan saw Dipper and Mabel being born he left just before Ma arrived at the hospital.) While a visit was way overdue, it might be too little too late.

"I'm sure they want to see her," Dipper finally said as he looked back up at Mabel. "But it might be too hard, now. And not just for them, you know? How would she take it? Would she even believe them?"

Mabel's attitude dropped a little bit more. She shrugged and scratched the spot Waddles can never reach. "I dunno… Dad took the news okay."

Dipper smiled. When their parents' had gotten Mabel's letter their mother didn't believe them, but their father took them seriously and only shrugged and said, "Yup, that sounds like my uncles, alright."

"I think it's a good idea to see Ma, but let's not pressure them, okay?" Dipper settled on.

"Don't worry, Bro-Bro." Mabel said confidently. "It'll all work out. Oo! Look, look, look! We're here! Look, Dipper, look!"

"Okay okay, I'm looking." Dipper chuckled as they both watched the ground come closer and closer, the plane landing safely on the runway and gliding peacefully.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford had always been more collected and self-contained of the dynamic duo; this became apparent as he was able to stand perfectly calm in the airport with his hands on the pockets of his blue jacket while Stan tapped his foot impatiently and checked his phone every minute, even though he never received a notification or heard a ringtone. Ford smiled and came up with a joke to poke the bear with. "Well well, has Stanley Pines truly gone soft for two teenagers?"

"Shaddup." Stan growled but smiled back nonetheless.

"You know, a watched pot never boils. Just relax."

"I ain't worried or nothing, Poindexter," Stan defended. "Sorry that an uncle's excited to see his kids!"

"I'm happily anticipating their arrival, as well," Ford chuckled. "I'll admit it, Mabel's idea of sailing with us is a fantastic one. Why in the Multiverse she wanted to go so badly she felt compelled to beg for a month straight…"

"Believe it or not, the kids like us." Stan lightly punched his shoulder. "I'm sure all they want is to be stuck on a boat with two cool old men for a month with nothing but fish and an occasional monster for company."

"And a pig."

Stan snorted. "I try to forget that naked jerk."

"And we all know how great of a job you…" Ford cut himself off, turning red and fearing he had crossed a line, but Stan laughed loudly and slapped his knee.

"Okay okay, you got me there…"

"Stanley,"

"What?"

Just as Stan turned around, his eyes landed on the two most precious things in the world: a boy in a ushanka and navy blue vest with a green t-shirt and blue jeans, a journal in his hands and a large backpack on his shoulders, and a girl with shoulder-length brown hair kept back with a red headband, wearing a purple sweater with a big pink heart that held a golden fish and a golden six-fingered hand, a pig in her arms and a huge suitcase just busting at the seam with sweaters and arts n' crafts supplies.

Mabel grinned with teeth free of braces and tears in her eyes and let Waddles down so they could all run freely. Stan broke into a run for his pumpkin and ignored the squealing pig that arrived at him first by a split second, little hooves on his jeans and button eyes requesting cuddles. Stan scooped Mabel up into his arms and held her tight, her arms wrapped around his neck and her face in his shoulder. Dipper was at his legs in an instant and hugged him, not bothering to pretend it's a chokehold or a means to make the old guy trip and fall. Stan freed an arm to keep him close, and not even a second after Dipper joined the hug Ford was by his brother's side and Dipper adjusted to hug him, too.

Stan heard a small sniff and rubbed Mabel's back. "Sweetie, you're not crying, are you?"

Mabel lifted her head up from his shoulder to look at him, wiping away the tears on her cheeks and eyes. "N-No…" Her smile unwavering through her white lie.

Stan chuckled warmly and put her down next to her twin. "Alright, let us get a good look at you two."

"You've seen us at least once a week." Dipper reminded him. They video-chatted constantly and there wasn't a day they didn't exchange an email or a text message.

"This is different, now shaddap and let me work through my cataracts." Stan and Ford looked at the kids hungrily, who was looking back at them just the same, as if they couldn't absorb each other's appearances enough. Which was probably true. "You've both gotten taller."

"I'm taller than Mabel now!"

"By one milometer!"

"Now don't get short with your brother." Ford said with a smile, making every laugh, including Mabel, who shrugged with a "whatcha gonna do" atmosphere to it.

"And your teeth look amazing, pumpkin!" Stan commented; back in March she had gotten the braces removed and admitted to being unsure if her teeth looked good enough, but they dazzled beautifully when she grinned and apart from a painful reminder that she was growing up, Stan was pleased with the new change.

"And the pictures and video don't do your hair justice. You look beautiful." Ford got on one knee and ruffled her hair, making her giggle and playfully swat his hand away. "I must ask, was there a reason for the new hairstyle, or did you simply fancy trying something new?"

"Let's just say an arts n' crafts accident didn't leave me much choice." Mabel said with a wink.

"She set her hair on fire and we had to cut off the dead ends." Dipper spoiled.

"Dipper! I gotta keep some secrets! It makes me look cool and mysterious!"

"No more secret, sweetie." Stan laughed alongside her.

"And Dipper, my boy, you've certainly grown up a lot since we've last seen you." Ford noted as he stood back up.

"Yeah, who gave you permission to look more manly and junk?"

Dipper rolled his eyes at Grunkle Stan's comment, but Mabel chimed in first. "He's already grown five chest hairs! I bet he named them, too."

"I did not!"

"He won't let me see, though…"

"Last time you saw my chest hair you put it in your scrapbook!"

"That's cuz it was your first, Dip-Dip. The rest aren't as special."

The uncles laughed at the kids' playful bickering and Stan took Mabel's suitcase and they ventured out of the airport with Waddles in Mabel's arms.

With the airport being on the furthest side of town from the beach, Stan flagged down a cab and they piled in for the docks. The entire car-ride they filled each other in on their lives, the kids talking about school and the adults giving brief summaries of some of their adventures. Waddles moved from Mabel's lap to Stan's, and without a single comment and only funny looks from the others, Stan scratched the pig as he talked and listened.

At long last the cab pulled up to the docks and the kids ran out, tired of sitting after a six-hour flight and a twenty-minute car ride, while Ford paid for the ride. The younger set of twins raced to the boat they had only seen pictures of and marveled at the vessel before them. Already showing signs of harsh weather and tons of love, the Stan O' War II stood strong on the gentle sea salt waves, the white letter shining in the early-afternoon sun. With a cozy cabin with a downstairs bedroom and an upstairs everything room, a hardtop for astronomy and sunbathing, and a big enough cockpit for the small family, the Stan O' War II had been an excellent home for the old pair of twins and the younger pair of twins were excited to live here for the first half of summer.

"There she is, kids!" Stan said proudly, a hand on Dipper's shoulder. "This ole girl survived Fiji Monkeys, sirens, and five different krakens. It's completely and totally safe." And then a piece of the antenna for the TV fell off.

"Grunkle Stan, if we can survive in the Mystery Shack for an entire summer, I think we'll be fine here." Dipper said while Mabel ran up to the boat and climbed up with Ford behind her.

"What do you think, my dear?"

"It's BEAUTIFUL!" Mabel squealed and hoisted Waddles up into the boat with them, her eyes sparkling with stars as she took in every detail. "I can't wait to get splinters and name all the moldy spots!"

"Unfortunately, there aren't any moldy spots yet." Ford chuckled. "But there are some craters in the wood that haven't been named."

"Leave that to Mabel!"

When Stan and Dipper joined them, the old men took the kids downstairs to the bedroom to unload their things and get situated. What once used to only hold a set of bunk beds and a dresser now also hosted a set of hammocks hooked to the wall and the dresser, one on top of the other for the kids. Mabel squealed with delight and snuggled into the lower one (still a little afraid of heights) and Dipper said, "Whoa, cool! Thanks, guys."

"Well, can't have you two gremlins sleeping out on deck, can we?" Stan asked. He clapped his hands together and declared, "Alright! You two get settled while Ford and I get us out at sea…"

Mabel sat up on her knees, her hands on the edge of the hammock. "Wait, Grunkle Stan! Aren't you gonna give us the grand tour?"

Stan shrugged. "It's a small boat. Not much to tour, kid."

"I mean Glass Shard Beach." Mabel pressed. "You could show us that old candy store and your swing-set and the boardwalk you used to play in!"

Ford looked over at his brother; while he could stomach saying here a little longer, he wasn't sure how comfortable Stan was taking a trip down memory lane, but then again Stan was always preaching about how "the past's in the past" and "old memories shouldn't stop us from making newer, better ones," but that didn't excuse the fact that Stan had been quick to suggest leaving the docks as soon as they picked up the kids and get the supplies they needed when they first arrived.

But Stan smiled, crossed his arms over his chest, and smirked, "I don't see why not? You cool with it, Sixer?"

Ford smiled at his family. "I think it's a wonderful idea. The boardwalk should be open, maybe the Freak Show is still there."

"Freak Show?! Let's go!" Mabel hopped out of her hammock and the four left the boat for town.

Walking alongside the beach and letting Mabel ride on Stan's shoulders, the kids got a good glimpse of the town. They eventually decide to walk into it on the way to the boardwalk, the old men wondering how much Glass Shard had changed.

It was an odd combination of "nothing changes" and "everything changes". The buildings were still the same, not much torn down or rebuilt, but the interiors were mostly updated or something completely different. They passed the Juke Joint and Stan found he couldn't ignore the growl in his stomach. Nothing but the staff had changed (and the prices had gone up due to inflation), the wall art and food and music still the same, but they had a fun time in the diner as the adults told the kids why What's New Kittycat wasn't an option in the jukebox.

After the late lunch, they were just about to enter the boardwalk when they spotted the candy store that mostly sold saltwater taffy, but they also sold jelly jeans, toffee peanuts, peanut brittle, and any kind of candy anyone could want. Though the store had been given a clean update since Ford and Stan were children, the candy was better than they remembered and they all filled their pockets with bags of sweets. Then they strolled along the Boardwalk and while they didn't play many games, the Stan-twins had a lot of fun telling stories that came along with each and every booth.

At the end, in a giant tent with a devil at the front, stood the Freak Show. Of course, none of the adults from the old men's childhood were still around, except for one muscular guy with tons of tattoos who growled at Mabel like an animal but then broke into a smile as she complimented his look and asked where she could get a cool tattoo of a headless seagull.

"Well, tear off my limbs and call me the next human pickle!" The very old tattoo guy said, his hair white and his skin in wrinkles, but his muscles still somehow very toned and his tattoos still clear as ever. "Good ole Six Fingers! How've you two been? These squirts normies?"

Dipper pulled off his hat and pushed back his bangs. "Who you calling normie?"

The whole tent gasped and a woman with hair growing all over her face said tearfully, "One of us."

"Yup, these little weirdos are Dipper and Mabel, our brother's grandkids." Stan introduced proudly.

"Aw, well ain't that swell!" A puppet said for it's puppeteer.

"So wait, you knew our great-uncles when they were kids?" Dipper asked the oldest weirdo.

"Tell us some embarrassing stories about them!" Mabel bugged, her hands on the guy's knee.

The old tattooed guy laughed. "Embarrassing?! Ha! Your uncles were cool little weirdos who made this dock more bearable! Nearly caught a devil at ten-years-old to boot!..."

"You did WHAT?!" The kids gasped at their beaming uncles.

"... Stan over there knew more swears than anyone else his age and Ford knew more secrets than anyone ever. Those two were hands-down the best pair of twins this side of the Mississippi!"

Ford, who was rosy in his cheeks, had his hands in his pockets and commented, "The Sibling Brothers would have loved to disagree."

"What who now?" Mabel asked.

"The worst pair of uptight dorks you would ever meet," Stan growled. "Ascot and Dickie. Blond-haired rich kids who claimed that no one solved a case quicker than them, but who found the Jersey Devil first, ey?!"

"You found WHAT?!"

"I wonder whatever happened to them." Ford pondered as he held his cleft chin.

"Who cares?" Stan said and motioned the kids out of the tent. "Now let's get outta here so I can show you what happens when a pelican eats a firecracker!"

"Stanley, no!"

"Stanley, YES!"

When the sun was setting beautifully on the ocean, the grunkles bought everyone some ice cream and they sat at the edge of the boardwalk to eat. At one point Stan got ice cream on his shirt with a small "Boo!" and had to leave to clean it off, but then got sidetracked and tried to cheat at a booth. Ford went over to rangle his brother, leaving the kids alone.

"Isn't this place great?" Mabel asked with Waddles licking her strawberry ice cream. "They were so lucky to grow up on a beach! Piedmont is so boring."

Dipper smiled at his sister and opened his mouth to respond, but something else caught his attention. A pair of look-alike kids were snickering and laughing as Grunkle Stan and Ford fought off a mean seagull that was trying to peek at the ice cream on Stan's chest. It was a cruel snicker, one the old men couldn't hear, but the kids could, only being a few feet away from them.

"What a couple of fools." The girl with short blonde curls laughed with a slight English accent.

"And does that one have six fingers?" The boy sneered with peering eyes, his hair greased and parted down the middle. "Ugh."

"Hey, hey!" Dipper snapped and stood up, pointing at the rude pair of siblings. "Shut it." He said darkly.

The boy scoffed with a cheeky smile. "Or what? What does it matter to you?"

"Yeah, you leave Grunkle Stan and Ford alone!" Mabel demanded, standing by her brother's side.

"Wait," The girl looked back at the old men, still fighting off the bird, and she cackled a mean laugh. "Six fingers? Rags for clothes? Stan and Ford? Are you the Pines family?"

Dipper and Mabel glared at them. "Yeah? So what?"

"I haven't heard that name since Uncle Ascot and Uncle Dickie told us about how they conquered the Jersey Devil and tricked some monsters to make the boys run away crying." The boy marveled.

Dipper and Mabel glared daggers at the kids, ready to snap at them, but a pair of adults came up behind the mean kids and a voice said coldly, "Bernard, Silvia, play nicely."

Mabel snickered. "Bernard…"

Dipper looked at the men who were around Ford and Stan's age. Their blond hair was freckled with gray, one of the men had a twirly mustache and wore a red and brown sweater-vest combo while the other was clean-shaved and wore a blue polo with khakis. Their blue eyes were cold and mean, and Mabel and Dipper instantly didn't like them. Ascot and Dickie smiled maliciously; these kids looked nearly identical to those pains in their sides. "I see twins run in your family, as well, do they?"

"Excellent deduction, Dickie." His brother commented. "My my my, I didn't think this town could get any worse, but here we are. Once again terrorized by the discount Mystery Twins."

"Hey!" Mabel snapped. "We're awesome! Our grunkles are the best! They go on super cool adventures all the time!"

Meanwhile Stan kicked the seagull away, making it squawk and dive for his red beanie. While Stan grabbed his hat in time and tugged, Ford grabbed the bird and pulled furiously.

Ascot and Dickie rolled their eyes in unison. "We can see that."

Huffing and puffing, Ford and Stan walked up to their kids while Stan readjusted his beanie and smiled down at the best pair of Mystery Twins he knew. "Kids, if we hurry we might make it to…"

Ford's eyes widened and then narrowed darkly. "No. Way."

"What? What…" Stan looked up and growled like an angry bulldog, a hand on Dipper and Mabel's shoulder instinctively. "Oh, great. You two."

"And so the Pines twins come crawling back, eh?" Ascot snorted. "I do hope the mysterious findings out in the West have served you well, Stanford, as you preached it would." He and his family looked up and down at their faded jeans and gruff stature.

"Clearly not." Dickie and the let slip his downfall. "And here I thought your family couldn't sink any lower."

He screamed as a pig bit his ankle and Stan stole the moment of weakness for his advantage, punching the old jerk in the face and Dickie slapping him in return, the two getting into a fight. The moment Stan punched Dickie, Ascot nearly punched Stan in retaliation, but Ford jumped him and started rolling on the docks with him. Mabel shrugged and pulled on Silvia's hair and punched her on the cheek while Bernard and Dipper began slapping each other.

And that was how Stan and Ford ended up fleeing from the cops with a teenager in their arms. Stan had to pull Mabel off of the girl like an angry cat at the sound of the sirens and Ford carried Dipper merely because the old scientist was much faster than the boy.

Luckily no one was hurt, aside from some bruises on their limbs from fighting, but Silvia had grabbed Mabel's arm awkwardly at some point during the fight and her long nails scratched Mabel's skin, actually just deep enough to make a bead or two of blood. So Ford sat Mabel on the table, her sleeve rolled up, while he tried to disinfect her injury, but Mabel kept pulling away and whimpering at the painful medicine.

"Mabel, please, you're worse than Stanley was." Ford said to ease the situation.

Mabel smiled and gripped his hand a little tighter as the medicine stung her arm. Ford then quickly wrapped it up as he scolded. "And really Stanley, you couldn't have controlled your temper?"

"You're one to talk, you jumped Ascot!"

"He was about to attack you!"

"Whatever, you were both awesome!" Dipper cheered.

"Yeah! Did you see the black eyes Dickie had!" Mabel laughed. "He'll be avoiding cameras for weeks!"

"Who says it never ends well to see old friends?" Stan asked and opened the cabinet to get started on a late dinner.

Over baked beans and hotdogs, or Beanies and Weenies as the Pines called them, Stan and Ford shared their plan with Dipper and Mabel, the map laid out on the table and the trail through Canada's islands written in pencil. The kids were beyond excited. The plan was actually pretty straightforward; they were all going home to Gravity Falls together. After first exploring Boston (mostly so the nerds in the family could geek about American History), they were going up north past Prince Edward Island and the Gulf of St. Lawrence, crossing the Labrador Sea for the Baffin Bay, passing the Cornwallis, Bathrust, and Melville Islands, sailing over the Beaufort Sea, down through the Chukchi Sea, and dipping around Alaska and down south for America until they arrived at Florence so the Stan O' War II could rest for whatever remained of summer.

"This looks incredible!" Dipper said, eyeing the newspaper articles on monsters around Canada and the foggy photographs that accompanied it.

"I'm so excited!" Mabel cheered, shoving her cheeks full of Beanies and Weenies.

"Then we'll head out first thing tomorrow!" Stan declared.

"Actually, can we go see Ma first?"

It was like a record had screeched horribly. Stan's whole body tensed, his jaw was tighter, and he was gripping his spoon much tighter than necessary. Ford, however, looked like he was caving in himself, like an animal curling up in fear to hide, his back hunched over and his head a bit lower. Dipper glared at his sister. "Mabel," He hissed in his warning tone.

"What?" Mabel asked gently. "I miss her. It'd be good to see her again, don't you think?"

"Well yeah, but…"

"I didn't know you had met her." Ford mumbled with a soft smile.

Mabel grinned. "Yeah! We talked on the phone sometimes when Dad would call. And we went to see her once. She loves us! She's super cool! She's the one that told me I'd one day marry a really handsome guy."

"She only said that cuz you wouldn't quit begging her to read your palm." Dipper sneered with a smile. "You know all her fortunes were fake, right?"

"The love behind them wasn't." Mabel insisted. "Come on, can't see just go say hello? We're already here, we might as well. She'd be so surprised!"

"I don't think that's a good idea, my dear." Ford said quietly.

"Why not?" Mabel asked gently.

"Well… given everything that has happened… it would just be very difficult."

"So is defeating a triangle demon, but you guys did it together, didn't you?" Mabel said with a soothing smile. She covered one of Ford's polydactyl hands and squeezed it reassuringly. "I know it'll be hard, but I think we should go see her? Don't you want to say hello?"

"Of course I do." Ford said quickly. "She's my mother, but…" His eyes went to Stan, suddenly concerned about something. "Stanley, you've been very quiet."

Mabel looked at her hero to find him engulfed in shame. She wondered if he had looked like that after Ford was lost behind the portal. He held his head with one hand, his elbows on the table, and the strong grunkle she knew resembled a tired old man too much for her liking. Mabel's heart dropped when she came to the conclusion that she caused that pain. "Grunkle Stan…"

"Look, it's no secret I did a bad job of staying in touch with her even before the portal business." Stan started with. "I definitely went months without a payphone for her."

"You're not the only one to blame." Ford sighed. "I hardly called her when I was in college and nothing changed when I moved to Gravity Falls. Fiddleford was actually the one who encouraged me to call her one day the summer before… before everything happened. That was the last time I spoke to her."

"Yeah well, I kept that character trait in my portrayal of you, Sixer." Stan growled, his anger at himself. "You know her; she's too smart. One long look at me and she would've known who I was. You can't fool the best conwoman in New Jersey. So I just straight-up avoided her. I didn't even go to Pa's funeral and showed up early to see you two gremlins being born, all so I could avoid her. And I would've been too tempted to dance on someone's grave if I had gone to the funeral." He added.

"Stanley,"

"Kidding, that was a joke. The point is, just popping in after all these years seems too little too late in my book. So, no. sorry, but we're not going."

"Grunkle Stan," Mabel said as soft as a kitten and got down from the table to stand next to him. "I'm sure Ma would wanna see you."

"I don't think so, sweetie…"

"That's not true." Mabel said firmly. "She loves you both. All moms love their kids, no matter how many stupid mistakes they make, or how old and grunkly they get." She added, making Stan crack a smile that didn't last long. "It doesn't matter how mad our mom would be, she'd still wanna talk to us. She even forgave Dipper for breaking her favorite mug."

"Geez, it's been five years…"

"And you still haven't replaced it, Dip-Dip." Mabel said and focused her attention on both of the old guys. "If you two really don't think you can go see Ma, it's okay. We don't have to go. But I think you guys want to go, and you two need to go. She needs to know the truth, she needs to know you're okay, and even if she doesn't take it well, at least you can say you tried and you won't have to worry about it anymore."

Stan and Ford's eyes flickered to each other to use that awesome twin-telepathy they had or whatever. Or maybe they were just close enough to be able to read minds with a single facial expression to go off of. Either way, Stan gently ruffled Mabel's hair with a smile and said, "Alright, we'll go see Ma tomorrow after breakfast."

Mabel wanted to cheer and shout and punch the air victoriously, but she managed to catch herself in time and only allowed a quiet "yes!" before hugging Grunkle Stan and saying, "I'm so proud of you guys." She quickly hugged Ford before returning to her dinner, choosing to ignore the star-struck looks on the old men's faces.

~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later and Mabel was sitting criss-cross in her hammock, wearing pajamas while knitting. The gentle clicking of her needles harmonized with the gentle rocking of the waves and her grunkle's humming from the tiny bathroom. Dipper was above her, reading a book quickly before bed, and when Stan emerged from the bathroom in his boxers and undershirt, taking his gray hair damp with a towel, and saw that his twin wasn't preparing for bed, he growled, "Sixer, do I have to drug you again?! Get down here!"

"I'm coming!" Ford called back.

Stan rolled his eyes. "Yeesh. You kids settled in okay?"

"Yeah," Dipper said casually.

"I love these hammocks!" Mabel said, rocking hers a little with joy. "Maybe we should replace the mattresses at the Shack with these!"

Stan chuckled as he threw his towel at the foot of the bunk bed and he noticed the beautiful deep violet yarn in his niece's lap. "Whatcha workin' on, Mabel? 'Nother sweater?"

"Yup!" Mabel said proudly to show a thick and cozy purple sweater that was a little more detailed than her usual creations. While this one lacked any pictures or designs, the sleeves had been woven with a special pattern down the arm and the wrists and neck were so thick and fluffy they resembled odd clouds you could sink into. "I wanna show Ma how much better I've gotten since she taught me."

Surprisingly, the mention of his mother made Stan smile, not frown. Ford came down the stairs just in time to hear Mabel say that, and they both smiled tiredly at their niece. "I didn't know she taught you how to knit."

"Oh yeah," Mabel said with a nod and resumed her work. "When Dipper and I were four or five we visited her for Thanksgiving with Mom and Dad and Grandma and Grandpa. I don't remember much about it, but I remember the delicious sweet potatoes with marshmallows, the flat's smell, and that Ma taught me how to knit. Mom and Dad and Grandma were busy in the kitchen and didn't want my help (I still have no idea why), and Grandpa Shermie had fallen asleep while watching the parade. Ma sat in this rocking chair, and at first I thought she was a witch and doing magic, making two shiny sticks click together to make something, but Ma laughed and explained what she was doing and asked if I wanted to do it, too. So she let me sit on her lap and follow her hands as we made a really pretty blanket until dinner was ready. Ma even let me take some yarn and a pair of needles home with me, and I haven't stopped knitting since."

Stan smiled, sitting on the bottom bunk. "That's really cool, sweetie."

Ford, who had slipped into the bathroom to change into his blue flannel pajamas, called from the other side of the door, "She will love a Mabel Pines original."

"Thanks. I hope so." Mabel inspected her work and gave a quick nod of approval before packing it away in her suitcase and curling up for bed.

One by one everyone settled down. Ford emerged with clean teeth and pajamas and climbed up to his bed, putting his glasses up on a shelf by his head. Dipper turned off the lamp on top of the dresser, leaving only Stan's nightstand-lamp on, and he set his book down and began to settle. Stan was just about to turn off his lamp, but Mabel sat up and gasped, "Wait! You guys! Tell us about the Jersey Devil!"

Dipper sat up excitedly and sided with his twin. "Yeah! When were you gonna tell us that one, anyways?"

Stan shrugged with a cheeky smile and Ford chuckled. "Oh come on, you don't wanna hear about the first pair of Mystery Twins." Stan teased, waving the idea away.

"Yeah we do!" Dipper argued with a grin. "Come on!"

"It can even be our bedtime story!" Mabel suggested, snuggling into her blankets and smiling at her uncle with those adorable eyes and cheeks no man was immune to.

"How old are you again?"

"Oh, just tell them, Stanley."

"Alright alright," Stan rubbed his hands together with a toothy grin and wiggled his fingers to begin the story. "The year was 1960-something in Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey. Summer had just started, but before we could figure out which urban legend to hunt down that day, Pa called for Stanford and was really mad about something…"

"Now, hold on, Stanley." Ford said, sitting up a little from lying on his front and listening to his brother's story. "Pa called for both of us! In fact, we called for 'Stan Pines' but we both knew that meant he wanted us both."

"What?!" Stan gasped, pretending to be offended. "Me, innocent and perfect, being angrily called? Never!"

Dipper and Mabel laughed, not sure if Stan had ever truly been innocent, and so from that point forward the elder twins told the story together, interrupting each other with corrected versions of the story and doubling the runtime, but the kids weren't complaining. Hearing about the old Freak Show, killing the Sibling Brothers, and basically acting how Dipper and Mabel would act on a search for the devil, was hands-down the best bedtime story in the history of bedtime stories, and by the time they had gotten to the part where Shanklin the Stab-Possum saved the day, Waddles was asleep on Stan's bed and the kids were shiny-eyed.

"And that's how Stanley and I ended up grounded for the summer." Ford concluded with, adding in a shrug. "To be honest, we didn't even mind. Solitary confinement is't so bad with the right prison mate. Pa was angry when Stan confessed, but I think some small part of him appreciated the honesty. I guess I'll never know."

"And that's when you two knew you'd be adventuring together for the rest of your lives and everyone lived happily ever after!" Mabel cheered.

Ford laughed at her adorable nature and commented, "I suppose we did."

"Alright, everyone get some shut eye." Stan gruffed as he laid down, gently pushing Waddles out of the way so he could rest his legs, but all that did was cause the pig to trot up to his hand and lay underneath it for sleep. "G'night."

Three voices returned the wish for pleasant dreams and Stan turned off the lamp. The room was soon filled with the gentle snores of the four Pines, escaping into a world entirely their own.