#as someone who writes and draws drawing is far more difficult but i’m curious what other people think (hence the url)

[justcuriouspolls]

(i have a feeling this poll will get way more views than some of my other ones so I am once again asking you to fill out https://forms.gle/66bRngwjD2fzWX7p6 if you know anything about the character)

[chainofclovers]

Ted Lasso 3x9 Thoughts

This one might be tied for favorite episode of the season for me. While I’ve been mostly willing to vibe with the jam-packed episodes, I approached 3x9 with a bit of concern; if it felt like the story was getting bigger instead of smaller here in the final third of the season, I was going to start to lose my patience. (To translate: I am an impatient person but I'm also a pretty long-fused person, and me starting to lose my patience would be akin to someone with a short fuse going fucking ham on someone.) Luckily, I felt like each thread here spoke to the other threads really neatly, like watching a cohesive conversation take place in multiple rooms. Magically. 

For this one, I'm gonna attempt some bullets that cover 3x9 itself, then I need to attempt to process this weird experience of MISSING TED (while also basically appreciating what he's doing, but missing him, but appreciating him, lawjefpawoijfapweoijafwepklajwef) that has me very :eyesemoji: about the next three weeks of my life.

Nate’s desire for connection and camaraderie didn’t overshadow his ability to recognize that Rupert was trying to manipulate him into a toxic night out! There will be consequences for pulling away, and he knows it, but he did the right thing anyway. I’ve seen some discussions and arguments re: Jade’s influence on Nate and whether we should attribute Nate’s backbone and ability to make better choices to the love of a woman, and whether that’s disappointing and belittling to both characters, but I think a lot of those positions (on either side) are too hard-and-fast. Nate has always valued the things he values, and his relationship with Jade hasn’t changed his values or the fundamental truth of who he is. At the same time, being physically and emotionally close to a person you trust feels really, really good. Why shouldn’t those good feelings have a positive impact on the reserves of strength you must draw on to do things like stand up to an evil asshole you hadn’t entirely let yourself notice is an evil asshole? Nate in all his multitudes has always been Nate; Nate who is in love is able to see himself more clearly. If we were all only allowed in our real lives to experience character growth purely independently, we wouldn’t get very far.

I’ve been thinking a lot about influence and obligation when it comes to Rebecca’s storyline, too. I was a little afraid, after 3x3 and the way she initially responds to Tish’s prophecies, that Rebecca would end up a lone actor, in a sense, tracking down clues and answers at the expense of fostering her actual existing relationships. While I’m still curious and nervous and excited about what all of it means, I really appreciate that Rebecca has shown up for people this season, especially here in the latter half. Rebecca is almost certainly being driven a little crazy by the unfinished parts of what Tish told her, but she isn’t isolating herself. In calling Roy out for his avoidant behaviors and lack of accountability for the press conference (and, of course, the way his work performance mirrors his decision to leave his relationship with Keeley), she demonstrates accountability as a boss and as a friend. I don’t need to see Rebecca conducting meetings or writing emails to know she’s working, but it felt really important to me to see her get upset with Roy, both professionally and personally, and break through his exterior. Ted, Trent, Phoebe, and even Keeley have chipped away at it this season, but the epiphany required Rebecca being Rebecca. And the energy between Rebecca and Roy is very !!!

I loved the way the Nate-Rupert-Jade, Rebecca-Roy, and Roy-Isaac(-Will!) interactions all reinforce the idea that no one has the full picture of what is happening in another person’s brain, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t act on truths as they are revealed, as difficult as it may be. 

As a queer person who is thankfully many years removed from the most stressful coming-out experiences I’ve had (although of course there are still plenty of moments of having to explain or identify oneself to another person—it never really ends—I consider myself “out” in that everyone in my life who I care about knowing knows I’m queer, and, so long as general safety is established, I feel able to explain it to additional people in most contexts without much or any stress), I really loved and appreciated Colin’s storyline here. Very little about my identity or place in the world resembles Colins, but so much of this episode resonated. We’ve already seen Colin describe his relationship to his sexual identity to Trent, and within that same conversation he spoke about not wanting to be a spokesperson with the pressure of publicly representing gay men. I absolutely love that the framing of the locker room scene respected those desires; he tells his teammates and coaches he’s gay, but we the public aren’t part of the several seconds that the literal announcement occurs. We get to see the freedom and relief the truth brings him, but the lessons of this episode are for the people around him. 

The downside of writing this a couple days after the episode airs means I’ve read a lot of discourse, but I don’t think this episode did a disservice to Isaac or Colin. The writers room in s3 included writers specifically experientially equipped to tell this story, and to me, it shows. It shows in the realism of Isaac’s well-meaning questions (which Colin wouldn’t have answered so graciously if Isaac wasn’t so genuinely curious and caring!), and the tiring ways that queer people are burdened with conversational “obligations” and explanations that are just different than what straight people deal with. Ignorance and awareness exist on an incredibly long spectrum, and for me this story was affirming, not traumatizing, beautiful, and yet it also included the exhausting imperfections that cloak even the most positive coming-out experiences. 

I’ve also been thinking a lot about Ted’s speech. Basically ever since Colin said the thing about Grindr in s2, I’ve been certain Colin would come out as gay to the team and reckon with being closeted in the context of the men’s Premier League. And literally since he made that little comment, I’ve been nervous about how Ted would react. I already knew he was a politically progressive person who identified himself as an ally, so I wasn’t afraid he’d have some kind of bigoted rejection reaction. But I did worry that his reaction would be sooooo cringe and try-hard and awkward that I’d legitimately run into issues writing and posting fiction about his obvious latent bisexuality on our home away from home, Archive of Our Own. And while Ted’s seven-layer-dip Denver Broncos analogy WAS cringe and try-hard and off-base, I absolutely loved how unflinchingly imperfect it was and how, despite those imperfections, his instinct re: the point he actually wanted to make was spot on and extremely valuable. If a white, middle-aged, (past-tense-ish hahahahahahaha I’m so normal about the word “was”) straight man who’s worked in sports his whole life had figured out the perfect thing to say, I’d have rolled my eyes at the screen. It felt realistic to me that he desperately wanted to find an analogy or connection point, immediately regretted it, and still—because of who he is when the din of his thoughts gives way actual clarity—managed to articulate that it’s very, very important that Colin’s community actually cares about who Colin is and that he was able to share this information with them. It’s the difference, in many ways, between being doomed to continue to feel like you have two lives (because you’re surrounded every day by people who look past something important to you or pretend not to see the differences) vs. knowing that even if you never come out to the entire world, you aren’t splintering yourself because you’re able to be your whole self around the people who actually matter. Anyway, the speech was imperfect and unwieldy, and that was the point, and his actual message was essential for everyone in that room to hear, and that was the point, and I will be capable of continuing to write fic in which Ted is attracted to men without his reaction to Colin haunting me. (I actually already have an idea for a future fic in which he reflects more, but that’s literally a story for another time.)

At this point in the season, I feel so curious about, um. What is happening. With Ted Lasso. The guy. In both s1 and s2, I felt about a millimeter away from him at all times, even when he wasn’t onscreen. This season, he’s so intentionally obscured. Getting to go to that museum in Amsterdam with him—and, perhaps even more importantly, the Yankee Doodle Burger Barn, and perhaps even more importantly than that, the back of that bus—was a relief and a reconnection point that was much needed, but I am absolutely FASCINATED and MYSTIFIED at this point in time at just how effective and maddening it is that I’m having a lot of trouble understanding how he truly feels about himself and the people around him. Like, I would obviously love to watch him be in love with Rebecca. But I would also love to watch him be in love with a place, or with two places, or with coaching, or with his partially-lost Beard, or with the words and images that have come to him in visions, or even with the unhealthy things that pull at him, like booze and stewing and obsession. Basically every episode—at least for me—contains some glimmer of connection, to his self or to one of his friends, and it’s always fleeting, and I’m holding onto the almost certainty of the fact that the decisions he has to make are going to require some kind of visible reckoning. Most of my nerves about the final three episodes of this show as we know it are related to these questions. 

As for this episode, I don’t think I’ve quite captured the FEELINGS I felt while watching it. (I also completely failed to go into Ted sharing his biscuits with Keeley and continuing his perfect streak of making it super weird whenever he shares biscuits with a non-Rebecca person. I LOVED IT.) This was the episode that made me the most audibly squeal-y this season. And the most curious about how Ted has managed to get so far into his own brain that I actually miss him on his own show! Very curious stuff. What are the next three Tuesdays going to do to my brain and heart?

[copper-16]

this is quite a personal question so feel free not to answer this! <3

you said somewhere a bit ago that you're ace. how does that translate into your relationships with non-ace people or when you are writing about people who are not ace? I hope this doesn't come across as disrespectful I just wonder whether that is a form of compromise for you. I hope you understand what I mean? Hope this is fine to ask!

Hello! First of all, you asked this question so kindly, and I want you to know how much I truly appreciate it! I have a lot of thoughts that I am more than willing to share, so I apologize in advance for the length of this. 

For starters, from a writing perspective. I write smut in stories most of the time because it furthers the narrative, not really because I enjoy doing it. Every once in a while I might feel the urge to do so, but those moments are few and far between. I write it from more of a clinical perspective, and a lot of my smut writing is me kinda copying/drawing from what other people write, especially for things I have never experienced before. I have amazing friends who love to share about their experiences, so I also ask them a lot of questions if I’m curious about something. But overall, it’s a bit like pulling teeth, and it’s not ever something that “turns me on” or makes me feel the need to go sleep with someone. Just is what it is. I’ve considered writing a story where one of the characters is ace, but I’ve always been a touch too scared to do so, and it’s not something I ever thought people would want to read about. 

For myself personally, I think it’s been a bit of a journey. I slept with a lot of people, both guys and girls, trying to figure out if there was anything about sex I really liked. Sex for me is again more clinical in the sense that I don’t really enjoy the actions myself (it doesn’t turn me on), but I kind of enjoy getting to fulfill my partners needs, if that makes sense? It was about a year ago when I firmly decided that I was ace, though it is something I still think about a lot. I’m asexual and not aromantic, so I worried that I would never be able to find a partner who understood me, and that I wouldn’t get a chance to fall in love. 

I’m no longer with this person, but I did end up finding a partner who I was with for several months who knew about me being ace, and still chose to date me. It is possible for a relationship to exist without a lot of sex, or any sex. The person I was with was not ace, but they didn’t find sex to be that important, and understood it wasn’t something I loved doing. I was willing to still have sex sometimes because it made them happy, but it can be a hard thing to balance with yourself when in a relationship. I was only willing because while I don’t enjoy sex, I’m not sex repulsed. I considered it a compromise in my relationship at the time, but sometimes I wonder if it was just me sacrificing that part of myself. I’m not sure if moving forward I would ever want a relationship that included sex, but I consider these things to be fluid and ever changing. That being said, if someone has never told you, I am here to point blank tell you that it is possible to still fall in love with someone without sex. Sex isn’t all that exists in a relationship, there are different ways you can be intimate with someone. I would say, however, that it’s best to be upfront about your preferences/needs going into a relationship. It’s not fair to the other person (or yourself), to not communicate about that and allow it to be something that is talked about. 

I’m also lucky that I have amazing friends who have always validated how I felt, and encouraged me to be honest with myself. My best friend specifically has always tried to remind me that my feelings are valid and it’s okay for me to be myself. Similar to when someone comes out as gay, realizing your ace in some way can be very challenging. It’s difficult to navigate, and it can be hard to understand yourself when the way your body works doesn’t feel “normal,” compared to what you read about or see in major media. You are normal, I promise, your body just might work a little bit different than others! I really recommend the book “ACE” by Angela Chen for anyone who thinks they might be ace. It’s nice to know that there’s others out there who feel the same. 

Just a final thought, for anyone who has this on the brain/is maybe struggling or thinking about it - I am ALWAYS here if you would like to discuss it. One of my friends on here is also ace, and it was so liberating and just filled me with relief to finally be able to acknowledge that maybe I wasn’t alone in feeling this way about sex. My messages/asks are always open, so feel free to reach out if you would like to talk to someone! 

[nat-seal-well]

So I'm dying to ask nosy questions about Villain!Nat... Do you think she'd still be part of Unit Bravo and just biding her time til she can act out her plans? Or would she have been a rogue element the whole time? Would she and Ava have any kind of personal rivalry (sexy or otherwise) or just be obstacles in each other's paths? 👀

I’m sorry it took me so long to reply to this, haha, but I spent the entire last half of my shift thinking about it and realized it was gonna be too long just to write it all in a post, so I had to make a document and then copy/paste it over lol.

I don’t think she’d be part of UB (but can you imagine how much fun it would be if she was? Just waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and keeping up the façade…)

Villain!Nat would work better as more of a rogue, I think. I can see her being mostly on her own ever since her turning. Imagine: never being found by the Agency after the massacre on The Queen’s Sabre, never really being guided or taught by anyone other than the vampire who turned her, and then being set loose. 

It would all come down to that whole “nature vs. nurture” thing. A lot of who you are is shaped by the environment around you.

She’d never have had the support she received in the canon. There’d still be a lot of her personality that’s the same; she’d have a love for reading and collecting old books, she’d still be a little old-fashioned as time went on, etc. She’d just be more like the vampires in the traditional books, reclusive in some grand, old home out in the middle of nowhere. 

She’d also still be capable of love and affection and her usual overprotectiveness… she just wouldn’t be aware of it for a very, very long time. And in the moments where it’s staring her down, she’d hide it away and lock it up. 

Ava and Nat would have a rivalry (sexy, of course, because there isn’t much that’s hotter than the intimacy of being sworn enemies. The combat scenes would be gorgeous. Also, it would hurt to watch… which means it would be even more fun, haha :) )

Naturally, Ava would make it more difficult for Nat to ignore her emotions, lol. And she wouldn’t understand them a lot. She’d end up deciding that “hate” is the way she feels, because there isn’t any way it could be love. That’s impossible. Natalie Sewell doesn’t love people. Right? So loathing has to be what it is. 

I’m a sucker for anything poly so consider: throwing the Detective into the mix. It would be like a much, much darker take of the LT route, haha.

Maybe she hears some rumors about the vampire who’s going around killing humans who have a very special blood mutation, and she gets curious. She’s a collector, after all, and a human with blood like that would be priceless and a very good addition to her collection. We already know there’s someone leaking Agency info, so maybe she finds out that way? Probably not until after the events of book one.

So she follows after UB. Naturally, Ava has a suspicion they’re being watched, because she and Nat know each other better than they know themselves. Of course she catches on very, very quickly, but does her best to keep it under wraps. Easier to keep an eye on her that way. 

We also all know how good Nat is at lying and wearing masks. It’d be easy to convince the Detective she’s someone they can trust, especially after they've been thrown headfirst into the supernatural world without any real say in the matter. Nat would be drawing them in under the guise of stealing them away, only to discover–to her horror–that they intrigue her far more than they should. Only… this confuses her. Because the Detective makes her feel the same way Ava does, and there’s no way she can hate them. 

Que an emotional journey full of inner turmoil as Nat tries to come to terms with the fact that she’s capable of softer feelings, after all. And that she might not be so cold-hearted as she thinks. I imagine it would be very long and very painful, because she has three centuries of habits and beliefs (lies that someone hammered into her brain) to unlearn. She’d be fighting it every single step of the way, all while trying to keep it hidden. 

Villain!Nat would be more obsessive, just because I think it’d be a nice touch. Especially as she’s forced to face the truth: that she’s falling in love with her adversary of three hundred years, and a human, of all things. How terrifying. 

As much as I love angst and hurt, it would come to a happy ending. Eventually. Everyone loves a redemption arc, right? I don’t know how it would all come to a head. Maybe in the middle of a battle, maybe while facing down other rogues, and she realizes she might very well lose the two people who mean the most to her. 

Y’know how in ATLA, the gang kind of adopts Zuko? Imagine that, but with UB, haha.

Sorry, lol. This is probably way longer and way more detailed than you wanted, but I’m a sucker for any and all kinds of AUs and this was so much fun. Thank you, friend! You made the last four hours of my shift way more enjoyable, haha <3

[waywardstation]

hi, i just binge-read what's posted on ao3 so far of heart full, bowl empty and. oh boy i needed to pop in with my thoughts

first off, i've never had a massive urge to go back in time to give everyone food before, but i have now! a massive bowl of meat and veggies for everyone in the pearl clan, stat.

but in all seriousness, ouch. i know things are just getting started and it's gonna get worse from here, but as someone who dealt with food insecurity a lot as a kid and usually went hungry, this already hits way too close to home and i wanna give ingo and irida in particular some massive hugs. akari too, poor girl's stressed :(

i am curious about volo's intentions and the wounds on the wyrdeer, though. volo theorized about a possible trial and the wounds looked vaguely similar to arceus' symbol…. hm. much to think about.

could be nothing but joltik brain forces me to cling to small stuff like that and run with it.

great work! i'm excited to see where it all goes. -ingo-propaganda (this is my main lol, hello ^^)

ps: i've said this before in the tags of stuff but i'm obsessed with the way you draw akari. she is so small and full of compassion. but also mischief if she feels like it. idk how you cram all of that into her but it comes across perfectly and i care about her, your honor

In regards to my fic Heart Full, Bowl Empty

OP HI THANK YOU FOR YOUR THOUGHTS!!!

The whole Pearl clan does need a big bowl of meat and veggies, they would very much appreciate that!!

And I appreciate you sharing your thoughts on the subject, and how you empathize with them. I know this fic can be difficult for some to read because of their experiences, and that is 100% ok. But I’m glad you can still read it ^^ yes, Ingo, Irida, and Akari definitely deserve the hugs!

Volo’s intentions, motives, and interactions are something I’ve had a fun time writing; he’s a very interesting character to me, and I haven’t really been able to write him in the way I’ve wanted to until HFBE gave me the chance to. I’m looking forward to sharing more about his interactions with Akari!! And as for the wounded stantler, that will be answered in the next chapter :) you’re right for thinking it’s leading to more!!

Thank you so much for the ask OP!!! I really appreciate you coming over and taking the time to share your thoughts about HFBE!! ^^

(And thank you!!!! Yes I’ve seen your comments in the tags and I really love and appreciate them haha. Compassionate teenage mischief-maker is certainly what I’ve come to aim for as I shape my design for her, so glad it comes across like that!!! Thank you!!!)

[tarydarrington]

It’s only a murmur at first. One more of the Mighty Nein has married, with a small but beautiful wedding in the Menagerie Coast. The Bright Queen is mildly offended to have been both uninformed and uninvited - particularly after the same offense had been given by both the Lavorres and the Nydoorins - but sends her regards, nevertheless. Then the curious part makes its way through the grapevine into Xhorhas. For Caleb Widogast had always been almost overly friendly with the late Shadowhand, and all the whispers name his new husband Essek.

It’s absurd, of course - Shadowhand Essek perished in the Astral Sea years ago. The Mighty Nein had given the tearful report themselves, and what reason had they to lie? His replacement had made sure, regardless; scrying had turned up no trace. But the Dynasty is nothing if not thorough, and so the first Taskhand to volunteer finds himself far away from home with a mystery to solve.

The rumors get clearer the closer he gets to the Nein’s favorite haunts. The Taskhand’s heart skips a beat the first time someone suggests the mysterious husband is indeed a drow, and is surprised that most others he asks confirm it.

He gets nothing from the Blooming Grove. It’s difficult to tell whether the firbolg, the aasimar, and the tiefling are playing dumb or not playing at all, though he suspects it’s a mix of the two. They run him in circles with intentional misunderstandings, and he writes them off as a lost cause at the end of two days.

The Lavorres are even less helpful, though this time he’s absolutely certain it’s on purpose.

He goes to the monk, next; he wrings out of the others that she spends most of her time at the Cobalt Soul in Rexxentrum these days, and from there it’s easy enough to track down her home and wait there. She rolls her eyes when he explains his business, but agrees to let him question her as she sits down for dinner.

“It’s a common name,” she says through a mouthful of food, when he brings up the coincidence.

“It really isn’t,” the Taskhand replies.

She shrugs. “You know I met a guy named Bo once? That was pretty weird.” She pauses to chew for a moment. “Cause my name’s Beau.” Before he can press further, she waves a dismissive hand in his direction. “Listen, man, I met the Shadowhand and I know Caleb’s husband. Definitely not the same guy. Trust me.”

She points him with a heavy sigh in the direction of the Brenattos, whose brand new apothecary is nestled into a bright little street in Nicodranas. A grinning little boy answers the door, but is quickly shuffled behind a pair of stone-faced halflings. He begins the same way as he had with the others, but gets not even so far as his first question before finding a crossbow aimed directly between the eyes.

None of it is enough. He will get no information from these people, and it isn’t worth getting shot to try. What he needs, in the end, is to find Caleb Widogast, himself.

The Taskhand considers waiting there. By all accounts, the man and Veth Brenatto are close as friends can be, and he’s almost guaranteed to find him if he waits here long enough. But he’s itchy to find what he can as quickly as possible, and instead he asks around some more.

It isn’t easy. The leads almost always take him either nowhere, or to yet another cryptic clue in this odd scavenger hunt. The wizard in Nicodranas claims not to have seen him in years, despite assurances from the local courtesan that he had been seen entering the tower not a month ago. A shopkeep in Zadash runs him around for nearly an hour before at last admitting that he has no information, but would the Taskhand like to buy a potion anyway?

Then, at last, by chance, he sees him. Passing through the town of Trostenwald on the word of a guard in Alfield, he passes by a red-haired wizard in the market, speaking with a Zemnian accent and wearing a ring on his finger.

“Caleb Widogast?”

The man turns, surprise and apprehension on his face as he takes in the Taskhand’s armor. Nothing too conspicuous in the heart of the Empire, but clearly of Rosohna to those who know what to look for.  The helmet must be the most intimidating part of it, even without the usual beetle-like shape.

The Taskhand bows. “I have business with you, on behalf of the Bright Queen.”

Caleb shows him to a little, nondescript house on a little, nondescript street. It seems his aversion to revealing his hiding place is outweighed by his desire to have this conversation somewhere private. With the door firmly locked behind them, Caleb sets about drawing a teleportation circle on the floor as they speak. A tactic to draw the Taskhand’s attention away from his reactions, perhaps?

“Your husband.” No reason not to get to the point.

Caleb’s fingers catch in their pattern for just the shortest instant, but it’s enough to catch the Taskhand’s attention. “Ja, what about him?”

“Word has reached the dynasty that he may be someone of interest.” He clasps both hands behind him, clutching his own fingers a bit too tightly. “Someone we were told was no longer with us in this life.”

Caleb tilts his head a moment, as though trying to remember something. “Ah,” he says at last. “The Shadowhand, you mean. No, he is not.”

The Taskhand arches an eyebrow. “Is he present?” he asks. “I would like to meet him for myself before returning to the Bright Queen.”

“Ah, no,” Caleb says apologetically. “He did not accompany me to the city.”

“Where is he, then?”

Caleb’s fingers drum against the wood floor. “He has business elsewhere, I did not ask.”

The Taskhand moves to stand across the circle from Caleb. “I’m very curious,” he says, “where did you meet a drow outside of Xhorhas?”

Caleb looks up, brow furrowed in what might be warning. “I am pretty well traveled,” he says. “There are not many drow outside of your country, but that does not mean there are none.”

The Taskhand hums. “I have heard that this particular drow is a dunamancer,” he says. A little white lie, but it catches Caleb’s attention.

“No,” he says firmly. “Your sources are mistaken.”

The Taskhand takes another step forward. “I don’t believe they are.” He leans down, watching the discomfort in Caleb’s posture grow with every second. The Taskhand gestures to the ring on his finger. “I think it would be in your best interest to stop lying.”

Without warning, Caleb’s hands flash away from the circle on the floor and towards him, magic buzzing angrily in the air.

“Wait!”

Something about his tone must have rung in just the right way, as Caleb’s hands freeze. Carefully, slowly, as though trying not to frighten off a stray cat, the Taskhand lifts off his helmet.

Caleb’s eyes scan his face for only a moment before his eyes widen. “You are…” His eyes catch on the slope of his nose, the lavender of his eyes, the angle of his cheekbones.

“Verin Thelyss.” He bows his head in greeting.

Caleb’s hands fall to his side, and he makes a weak little sound of acknowledgement before nodding himself. “Well, that is a surprise.”

Verin weighs the words on his tongue, running through every practical question he’s been told to ask, every ounce of professionalism he’s expected to uphold. “He’s spoken of me, then?” he asks instead.

Caleb nods silently. The conflict is written plainly on his face. The two of them don’t know each other, aside from whatever Essek has told him. He has no reason to believe that Verin won’t sell out his own brother. He’s under orders to do just that, after all, and the twinge of guilt hasn’t left his chest since he got here.

But… despite it all, it’s Essek. His brother. His blood. It might not mean much to Essek, but it does to him. He tucks the helmet under his arm and bows his head again.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” he says with all the confidence he can muster. “But I think we should speak.” He chances a glance back up at Caleb, and lets the slightest grin tug at the side of his mouth. “We are brothers, after all, yes?”

[dhwty-writes]

The Terribly Sad and Tragic Affair that Is the Fake Funeral of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss

Apparently, I am not only drawing for the Critical Role fandom, but writing for it, too. After months of nearly no progress I just vomited out 3k words this Tuesday and it only went downhill from there.

This fic is based on this post by @anne-o-nyme, I really hope I managed to capture the energy of it.

Have fun!

Summary: There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience.

After the sudden "death" of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss, it is his brother Verin's job to empty out his towers. The Mighty Nein show up to help (and maybe steal a few things).

OR: Verin is grieving, Essek just wants his stuff back, and the Mighty Nein are the Mighty Nein.

Warnings: I didn't tag this with MCD, because Essek is technically alive and kicking. Since Verin doesn't know that though, and this fic is written from his POV, this is dealing with grief and includes depictions of depressive thoughts as well as anxiety attacks. For more explicit warnings, please mind the tags on AO3. Take care of yourselves, and let me know if I forgot anything.

Read on AO3

There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience. "Listen," he said with what little calm he had left, "I know that by returning one of our beacons you became heroes of the Dynasty and were placed under Es— My bro— his stewardship. But this here—" he gestured vaguely at the interior of Essek's towers that had always been too cold, too empty, but not like now, never like now— "This is a very difficult situation for me, so if you could please leave, that would be greatly appreciated."

"Yes, yes, it's very sad that Essek died," the blue tiefling said—Jester, her name was Jester; she had given him that already as she had offered him her condolences with a hug—and Verin could barely contain his anger. After the funeral he had quite enough of lying dignitaries, nobles, and heroes currying favours with him. That had always been Essek's thing, he would know what to do, how to make them regret even daring to speak up; Verin had never been any good at it.

"But we're his friends!" He grit his teeth at Jester's blatant falsehood. Perhaps his anger showed on his face, since the tiefling faltered. "And, uh— Fjord?"

"It's true," the half-orc with too-smooth words and too-smooth voice lied, too. "We spent quite some time with your, er— your brother here. Made some good memories. We thought we might take this as our chance to say goodbye, too."

"We are here to help as well. We wouldn't want to infringe upon your grief, though," the tall firbolg added. "So, if you'd prefer us to return at a later point, we'd be happy to."

Verin was still trying to process everything—from these strangers showing up unannounced to their overwhelming presence to the fact that his brother was dead—while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on the halfling who looked like she might have sticky fingers. So, he latched onto the word that stood out the most to him: "Help?"

"Right," Fjord said, looking slightly embarrassed, "we probably should have led with that..."

"We should have called ahead, too," the scary-looking human in blue—they didn't even wear white for the funeral—added. "We always forget to call ahead."

"But Beau, how should we have called ahead?" Jester complained. "We didn't know Verin yet."

"Well, Essek—" the human was interrupted by the even scarier-looking woman next to her stepping on her foot unsubtly. She at least had the decency to act embarrassed. "Right. Sorry 'bout that."

Awkward silence fell across the room, the Mighty Nein looking anywhere but him. It took him a few moments to realise they were waiting for him to speak up. "Help how?" Verin could have kicked himself. By the Light, he could do better than that. He had to do better than that.

A beat of silence followed, then everyone seemed to talk at once. Verin wanted to weep. How was he supposed to deal with this? How had his brother dealt with this? 'He probably hasn't,' he thought. 'They're probably all liars, probably—'

Someone cleared their throat and all eyes turned to the other human who hadn't said anything so far and who looked properly miserable. Immediately, the Mighty Nein fell silent. "Word has reached us that Den Thelyss ordered these premises to be vacated as early as possible," he said quietly with an accent Verin has been taught that belonged to the enemy. "And while some of us may not look like much, I can assure you, we are quite capable."

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "I supposed such menial tasks are beneath the heroes of the dynasty. There are servants—"

"Well, sure," the halfling with the probably sticky fingers interrupted, "but we know him. Knew him, I mean; sorry, force of habit."

"Besides, there's a lot of stuff," the lavender tiefling, who Verin was pretty sure was a known pirate, piped up. "Looks like you could use the help."

"If you want to, of course," the sad Empire human added.

Verin only wanted to scream, to give room to the torrent of thoughts raging in his head. 'My brother just died. My brother just died and he wasn't consecuted, so he's gone for good. He's gone for good and I didn't even know him; I didn't even know about these supposed friends he had because he didn't allow me near him in decades. I was a horrible brother and so was he, but I can't even be mad at him because he's dead.

'And now these liars show up and talk about friendship and knowing him, but those are all lies, horrible ones, because Essek had no friends. Essek was cold and cruel and lonely and do you even know how horrible that is? Dying alone with no-one who mourns you, just the favours you still owe them? Do you? I don't even know, and I'm his brother.'

Were he a weaker man, a less disciplined one, he might have said so. But he was Taskhand Verin of Den Thelyss and he had learned discipline before he had learned to talk. So, he said: "Your help would be greatly appreciated, thank you. I'll have the servants bring up some tea. There are, uh—" He straightened his back, summoning the composure that was befitting a Taskhand, even one with a dead brother. "There are boxes up there, they've been brought to the rooms already. Anything of value will be sold; the rest will be given to charity. The things— Well, if you find anything that might have sentimental value, something in his handwriting, perhaps, I think I should like to keep that, please."

The firbolg nodded sagely. "Of course. We will be careful with our selection."

With that, Verin turned around and— froze. Where was he even supposed to start? The towers had always seemed to huge for just Essek and he knew that there were very few personal belongings in them. Still, they would have to be scoured clean within the fortnight.

A large hand on his shoulder made him jump, although he'd never admit it. "Sometimes, when a task seems too large, you should start with the smallest part," the firbolg said. "If I were you, I'd start with the smallest room."

"Thank you, that, uh— that seems like good advice," Verin replied, still a bit startled and confused. "I, er— I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"Caduceus Clay. I live in a graveyard, so I'm used to this," Clay said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Verin furrowed his brows slightly. A graveyard? It seemed highly unlikely to him that one of the heroes of the Dynasty would live in a graveyard of all places. Perhaps they were not only liars, but impostors too? But they had the symbols of the Bright Queen, so there wasn't much that he could say.

"Right," he mumbled. "I believe the smallest room would be the closet. Although it might be tied with the bathroom..." He trailed off again. He had never seen Essek's bedroom in his towers. Judging by how many times he had even seen the inside of the building; he could count himself lucky if he even found the way there.

"Why don't we split up?" Clay suggested. "One group takes the closet, one the bathroom and one the bedroom. We'd get done sooner that way."

"That is a great idea, Caduceus," Jester said excitedly. "I'll take the bathroom; I promised— er, I'm curious if I can find more of that hair oil, I got for Fjord that one time!"

"Ohhh, are you saying this is... an investigation?!" the halfling joined in.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Veth!"

"Seems like a case for Wildemount's best detectives!"

"Bye, Verin!" Jester called and he blinked and they were gone. Fjord joined them as well, muttering something about having to supervise them.

The purple pirate-tiefling shrugged, heading off in the same direction. "Well, I wouldn't mind rifling through some drawers. I'll have a look at that bedroom."

"Yeah, I don't need to see Essek's underwear, so I'll pass on the closet," Beau added tactfully—Verin was getting the sneaking suspicion that manners were not really her strong suit. She linked hands with the large woman at her side, pulling her along. "Come on, Yash."

"I'll go handle the tea," Clay said. "Don't worry about it." He vanished in the direction of the kitchen, his steps accompanied by the constant tap tap tap of his staff.

When Verin looked around, he realised that only the sad Empire human was left with him in the hallway. "If you wouldn't mind," he said, pointedly avoiding eye-contact, "I would love to have a look at the closet. I always, ah— appreciated your brother's sense of fashion."

Verin blinked at him a few times, then shrugged. "Sure." He began heading up the stairs.

"My condolences," the human continued. "I realise I didn't speak up earlier, but— I am sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," he said, letting the same numb feeling wash over him again that he had embraced since the news of Essek's death had reached him.

"I know that we seem like a bunch of, ah— forgive my language, but assholes, but we're really here to help. I will tell the others to tone it down a bit."

"Thank you," he repeated.

"If you'd prefer that we start in, ah— less personal rooms, we can do that also."

"If I'm perfectly honest, I don't even know what I should be doing there."

"Neither am I." The human laughed nervously. "I have dealt with grief before, but I've never had the, ah— how do you call it? Hang on." He pulled out a copper wire and whispered: "Beau, how do you say zweifelhafte Ehre in Common? You can reply to this message." A moment later he straightened. "Right. I never had the dubious honour of emptying out a deceased person's house before."

"Neither did I," Verin admitted. 'Usually, the deceased person comes back,' he didn't say. Instead, he opted for: "You're, er— What's the word in Common? You're weird? I'm sorry if that's insulting, I just— waele xanalressen [stupid languages]."

"I don't understand your words, but I think I understand the sentiment." The man grimaced. "And I've heard that one before. I hope we're not too much of a... too much."

"It's alright," he lied and opened the door to Essek's bedroom. 

It wasn't alright; Verin wanted to weep again.

The door to the bathroom stood ajar, as did several drawers and cabinets, although he couldn't glance inside. Considering that he heard glass shatter and a quiet "oops" followed by a hushed "Jester!" he was rather glad about that. Besides, what he saw was already quite enough to handle. Beau was currently rifling through Essek's nightstand, the tall woman tossing unread books on the bed carelessly, while the lavender tiefling seemed to make his way through his brother's collections of make-up and jewellery alike.

They froze when they spotted him and the sad human in the door. "Heeey, Verin," Beau drawled.

"These were all still closed, I swear," the lavender tiefling said immediately, gesturing at the jars in front of them.

Verin just sighed in defeat. "I don't wear any make-up, I don't care; you can have it. Put the jewellery in the box to be sold; the books are for charity if he hasn't read them. Just leave the earrings in front of the mirror, please. Those were his favourites."

Without another glance at them, Verin headed straight to Essek's closet, desperate to get some quiet. He took a few moments to collect himself, before closing the door and leaning his head against it with a heavy thunk.

He stayed like that for a minute or maybe two until he heard someone clear their throat. "I have been debating for the past fifty-five seconds, if I should just Dimension Door out," the sad human said and Verin very nearly jumped out of his skin, "but that would be loud and I didn't want to startle you. Not that I didn't startle you like this but—"

"Vithin shu," Verin cursed.

"Vithin shu ke," the sad human agreed, his accent in Undercommon even heavier than normally.

For a moment, they both stared at each other, equally startled by the course of events. Then, the human looked away again. "I, ah— have started learning Undercommon before, um— well, before." Verin tried very hard to focus on the way the human was scratching at his forearms; that way he had something else to focus on besides his nearing breakdown.

"This is a bit embarrassing, but, ah— I believe I forgot to introduce myself," the human continued. "I'm Caleb Widogast. Essek and I were... friends, yes, and ah— colleagues, of some sort. It's... complicated."

He scratched at his arms again before turning towards the shelves and pulling out a stack of tunics. He unfolded one, looked at it, then carefully folded it again, cast a cantrip to smooth out the wrinkles, and put it in the charity box. Then he repeated the procedure with the next. And the next. And the next.

Verin frowned, thinking for a moment about his words. There was something about them that seemed painfully familiar, although he couldn't quite remember. Then: "The transmutation specialist."

Widogast looked up in surprise. "Yes."

"Essek told me of you," Verin admitted.

The last time they had seen each other had been here, in these towers, just a few months ago. He had found his brother in his office, pouring over notes for a new spell, alive and healthy as ever. As always, he had entered without knocking. As always, he had pretended to read the notes. Not as always, he had noticed something wrong. "Whose handwriting is that?" he had asked.

"What?" Essek had snapped, his head whipping up. Then, however, his expression had softened. "Oh. A friend's. A colleague, of sorts. He's helping me out, a bit."

"With the spell?" Verin had asked incredulously.

"Yes. He's a transmutation specialist; you know that's not my forte. Now give it back, will you?"

"A colleague, huh?" He had grinned and held the paper out of Essek's reach. "Are you sure that's all?"

Perhaps Essek had been sick after all, for the strangest thing had happened: instead of using his floating cantrip to snatch the notes back, he had gotten a dreamy, far-off look in his eyes. He had even smiled with an expression Verin might have called dopey, if it weren't his brother they were talking about. After a few moments, he had snapped out of it, sighed, and said: "It's complicated."

"Did he?" Widogast asked tentatively. "Did he, ah— did he say anything else about me?"

Verin pinned him down with a glare, sizing him up. In hindsight, he should have noticed the thick spellbook at his hip earlier; judging by his slim frame alone, he should have known the man was a wizard. He supposed Widogast was handsome enough, although his brother had never cared much for that, with his copper hair and his striking blue eyes. Blue eyes around which crows' feet were gathering, as he noticed to his dismay. 'He's human,' Verin reminded himself. He might have a few decades left, maybe, whereas Essek had centuries ahead of him. The thought why his brother might condemn himself to more loneliness crossed his mind, though it hardly mattered. His brother had been the first to die, after all.

"Verin?" Widogast inquired quietly.

"I'm sorry," he answered with a thick voice. "I got lost in my thoughts there. He, uhh— he said that he trusted you." That didn't even begin to cover it, but these Mighty Nein had been lying to him since the moment they got here, so what was a little lie by omission? Besides, there were some memories that he wanted to keep just to himself.

"Essek," he had teased, still waving the sheet of paper out his reach. "Come on! Aren't we brothers?"

Essek had crossed his arms and pouted. He hadn't done that since they were both little. "Unfortunately. You are a menace. And a child."

"If you tell me about him, I'll give it back. Is he handsome? Is he a drow? Where's he from? How did you meet? When will I meet him? Can I promise to kill him if he hurts you?"

"Verin!" Essek had groaned and hid his face in his hands.

"What do you do when you meet? I bet you stay up all night, talking about 'arcane research' or something."

"We do, in fact. Are you done now?"

"Oh, is that what young people call it these days?" He had cackled at his own joke.

"Evidently not," Essek had muttered. "Might I remind you that you're younger than me?"

"Might I remind you that you're a buzzkill?" Verin had shot back and placed the note down. He had gotten bored of his own game.

Essek had taken the sheet of paper almost reverently and thanked him. "I would have hated it to rewrite that page." He had smoothed it down, stored it safely away in a folder, silent for a long time. Then, he had said: "Caleb."

"Excuse me?"

"That's his name," Essek had said. "Caleb Widogast."

Verin had frowned. "Hey, Essek?"

"Hm?"

"You must trust him a lot, to share a spell with him."

His brother had taken a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. Verin hadn't expected him to answer, yet he'd said: "I do, actually. It's not the first spell we've created together and I would be honoured to create a thousand more with him. I'd trust him with my life, my death, and beyond. I think—" He'd huffed. "I think I trust him almost as much as I trust you."

Verin watched Widogast as he was looking through his brother's tunics, placing most of them in the charity box, and he wondered. Wondered if the trust Essek had obviously put in Widogast had been misplaced. Wondered if it had extended to his friends, as well. Wondered if ultimately trust had been his downfall, as he'd always feared.

Then again, if Essek had trusted him... perhaps that trust had been mutual. Perhaps they had been friends. Perhaps there was another person mourning his brother after all.

"Do I have something on my face?" Verin had given up on counting how many times Widogast had now startled him out of his thoughts.

"No, no I—," Verin stammered. "I'm sorry."

He tilted his head to the side. "For staring?"

"No, er— For your loss." Liar or no liar, it only seemed appropriate.

"Oh." Widogast turned back to the tunics. Verin probably should get started, too, shouldn't he? "Thank you. Though I'd wager your loss weighs heavier than mine."

"Probably," he agreed and turned to the task at hand. At this point, Widogast had moved on from the simple tunics to Essek's court regalia. After a short moment of consideration, Verin decided to look through the pants; he also had no interest in sorting through his dead brother's underwear.

Out of the corner of his eye he kept watching the wizard, pulling out one cloak after the other. At a few he wrinkled his nose, at others he just stared before putting them with the tunics. After a while one made him pause; an elaborate, beautiful robe in deep purple. "This is what he was wearing when we first met him," he said.

'He hated that one,' Verin thought. Not that he could say that out loud. Instead, he cocked his head and asked: "Are you sure? He has a lot of those. Had, I mean. Had a lot of those."

"Yeah, I'm sure." He tapped his temple with a faint smile. "I have a good memory."

"As does Essek," he snapped, suddenly feeling very defensive about his brother's capabilities. "I suppose most wizards do."

Infuriatingly, Widogast only nodded. "Indeed. Or they're not very good ones."

Silently, Verin turned back to the trousers. The sooner he got done, the sooner he got these people out of his brother's towers, the better. He didn't know for how long they worked in silence, Verin reminiscing about the times he had seen Essek wear the clothes and wondering about those he didn't know. Eventually, he folded the last of them and forced himself to return to the present. "I think we're done here," he announced. "Do you have a preference for a next room?"

"Perhaps the library?" Widogast offered a tentative smile. "I think I might be of more use there than folding clothes."

"More use than I will be, surely."

"I take it the wizardry doesn't run in the family, then?"

Verin only scoffed and opened the door to the bedroom again.

He immediately spotted Beau leafing through one of the books Essek had never read, while the tiefling was chatting amiably with the aasimar while braiding her hair. He also noted the boxes neatly stacked in the middle of the room. Besides that, he noticed with a heavy heart, the room looked much the same. If anything, it looked less orderly and empty than before. Except for—

"Where are Essek's earrings?" Verin demanded to know.

"What earrings?" the lavender tiefling replied with a too-wide grin the same moment Beau said: "Dude, there's tons of them, why don't—"

"No," he said decisively. "Essek's favourite earrings; they're always up here. I told you about them. Where are they?" His hands curled into fists, his neatly manicured fingernails pressing almost painfully into his skin.

"Perhaps you should look in one of the boxes," the aasimar woman suggested "I'm sure they're—"

"You're lying," Verin interrupted her, barely containing his anger. "Why are you lying? If they're in one of the boxes, then only because you put them there. So: where are they?"

Widogast only now stepped out of the closet, wearing an amber necklace he hadn't noticed before. "Verin—" he said tentatively, but he'd had enough.

"Shut up!" He startled himself with how loud his voice was. But he was beyond caring. "I know they're not in there, because the only ones to put them in there would have been you. So, either you're lying about having them put in there, or you're lying about stealing them, I don't care. Just— please. Please give them back."

The four of them passed a guilty glance. "We can't," Beau replied finally.

"The fuck you can't," Verin spat. "Give them back!"

"Verin, love, we would really love to," the tiefling added, "but we can't."

"I don't understand; is it precious things you want? Here, have some!" He strode over to the boxes and ripped the first open, tossing the lid towards the bathroom door Jester was peeking out of. He reached in to grab a necklace—an ugly one, he had always thought, with a stylised beacon—and threw it in their direction.

Beau caught it. Of course.

"Have a whole box, actually, if you like them so damn much." He reached inside and pulled out a jewellery box, tears prickling in his eyes. He threw one of those, too, just for good measure. It gave him some satisfaction that Widogast had to dodge it. "Just give me back the bloody earrings that my brother wore at my fucking consecution!" He was properly crying now and could only imagine the mess he looked like, but he had reached his limit. And, in his opinion, he was allowed to with all that was going on.

At least they looked a little bit guilty. "Fuck man, we didn't know," Beau mumbled.

"It's just one pair, Beau," Jester called over from the bathroom. "I'm sure it will be alright."

"Yes, there's no need for this to escalate," Fjord agreed and strode over to them, his hands raised innocently.

"I don't even know you people," Verin muttered, looking at the people crowding into his brother's bedroom. "Why did I even let you inside?"

"Do you want the earrings back?" the aasimar woman asked, reaching into a bag at her hip. Had she been carrying a greatsword for the whole time? Verin suddenly noticed how overpowered he was, were he to face all of them. "You can have them back if you want. Here, you can have them back."

"For a moment," Widogast added, slowly drawing closer to him and taking the earrings from the aasimar. He held them out on his flat hand, almost like he had seen soldiers offer treats to horses. His whole demeanour reminded him of someone trying to calm a spooked animal. For some reason, that seemed hilarious to him and he couldn't help the hysterical giggle that escaped his throat.

"Verin, I need you to calm down," he continued. "I know that's easier said than done, but you need your head."

"I think we should all calm down," Clay said from the doorway. And despite being surprised again, he did. It didn't make any sense, but few things these days did.

"Did it work?" the halfling asked. Verin wasn't really sure what she was talking about.

"It did," Clay confirmed.

"Gut," Widogast said and pressed the earrings that had seemed so important a moment ago into Verin's hands. "I think we should maybe go somewhere else, ja? Will you come with me?"

Inadvisable as it might be, if Essek had trusted that man, he should, too. And out of all of the Nein, he seemed to be the most normal one. The one he could see Essek with most. So, he nodded.

"I'll get us back to the kitchen, quickly." Caleb held out his hand and Verin closed his eyes, steeling himself. 'I hate Dimension Door,' was the last thing that crossed his mind before the teleportation spell ripped him away, together with: 'We haven't been to the kitchen, yet.'

Evidently, there went something wrong with the spell. Verin didn't know much about magic, but he knew Dimension Door couldn't transport more than two people. So, when he heard Beau groan and say "Fuck, dude, warn us next time," he knew that something wasn't right.

"You knew about the plan, Beauregard," Widogast replied.

"It doesn't matter," Fjord decided. "Caduceus, do you think you could make tea again? I think the Calm Emotions is about to wear off."

Cautiously, Verin opened one eye, then the other. They were, in fact, standing in a kitchen, as far as he could tell. All of the Mighty Nein were surrounding him. The furniture seemed to have been made for people taller than them; Essek probably would need to float in order to avoid awkwardly climbing onto the chair. The firbolg, however, who was fussing with a teapot, seemed to fit right in. All in all, the interior was very rustic. And very much not in Essek's towers, not that he had ever seen that room, of course.

The panic hit him once more. Verin whirled around to the wizard, instinctively grasping for his sword. "Where the fuck—" he faltered, finding his hip bare. Of course, he hadn't brought it for the funeral. Instead, he opted for just grasping Widogast by the lapels and lifting him up a bit. It was supposed to be menacing, which surely would be more effective, were humans not so annoyingly tall. "Where the fuck are we?!" he spat out.

A lot of things seemed to happen at once—he heard a "Fuck, man, what-" from Beau, a "Well, Mister Thelyss" from the pirate, several hands trying to tug him away from the weak wizard—but he didn't pay them any mind. He just shook Widogast, who looked entirely too calm for his liking, and demanded: "Answer me!"

"Leave him," was all Widogast said. "He has every right to be angry."

Indeed, the people grasping at him retreated, still on guard and surrounding him. There was a creak outside the door and Verin desperately wished for his sword once more. Then, a voice cut through the tense silence that had descended over the kitchen: "Caleb, is that you? You're back early."

"Yeah, there were some complications. Best come and look yourself, Schatz."

There was a sigh that was entirely too familiar for Verin's liking. Then, the door opened with a creak and in walked a dead man. "Complications," Essek Thelyss said with a fond smile. "I was just a Sending away, what did you come here fo— oh."

The person wearing his brother's face stopped in their tracks as they saw him. A couple of complicated emotions passed over his face—confusion, surprise, regret, guilt. If he hadn't known before, Verin was certain now that they were impostors, all of them. His brother would never tolerate such a display of weakness. Still, the impostor said: "Hello, brother."

Verin whipped his head back around to the wizard in his grasp. "What the fuck are you playing at?" he hissed.

"I- what- Verin!" the Essek-impostor sputtered. "What are you doing; put him down!"

"I would appreciate that, yes," Widogast added.

"Not before you don't tell me what's going on."

"Going on?" The impostor sneered and shook his head in a perfect imitation of his brother. "Nothing is going on, Verin."

"You died," he accused him.

"Evidently not," Essek scoffed.

Verin narrowed his eyes, looking from the man claiming to be his brother over the other too calm wizard to the rest of the Nein, seemingly perfectly happy to let this play out. "Prove it," he demanded. "Tell me something only my brother would know."

"You've become paranoid," he noted and Verin couldn't decide if it sounded proud or disappointed. "Alright. When you and I were in our early thirties, you once got in trouble for scaling the outside of mother's mansion. Rightfully, I should have gotten in trouble, too, but I was hiding on the attic. And the reason you never told anyone, is because then you'd have had to explain that I, the wizard, had somehow outpaced you, the fighter, in a climbing competition."

Verin wrinkled his nose at that. "Well, my brother cheated."

"I did not cheat, thank you very much!" He huffed indignantly and crossed his arms. "You didn't say 'no magic' before we started."

He stared at Essek for a few moments. "It's you," he whispered.

"Obviously."

Verin dropped the wizard on the ground and looked over at his brother; really looked. The man looked nothing like the one he had known for most of his life. His hair was longer than it had ever been since he'd cut it off and his bare feet were touching the ground. His clothes were casual, a simple tunic and trousers. After this day, Verin knew for a fact that not even Essek's trancing clothes were that informal, and yet his brother looked more comfortable in them in another's house than he had in decades. On top of that, he kept glancing over to Widogast. And smiling. Essek was smiling.

No, this man looked nothing like the one Verin had known for nearly a century. But he looked a lot like his brother.

"You're alive," he said stupidly.

"Yes, of course I am," Essek said, as if Verin hadn't just attended his funeral.

It felt only right to tell him so: "Why are you alive? I was at your funeral."

"That's a long story," he sighed and floated onto one of the chairs that were slightly too tall for him. He accepted a cup of tea from Clay with thanks and turned back to Verin. "Why are you here?"

"Well, that's a pretty long story, too," Jester spoke up. "He kind of started freaking out about your earrings, I think? And he was crying and looking pretty awful and everything, right Caleb?"

"I, ah— didn't think he'd believe us if we told him about you," Caleb said. "So, we had agreed beforehand to bring him here, in case of an emergency."

"He thought we were lying," Clay added.

"I suppose it is my story to tell," Essek said. "Earrings, Verin?"

"They're your favourite," Verin said stupidly and held them out to him.

His face grew soft. "Oh," he said as he took them gingerly, "I didn't know that you kne—"

Before he could overthink and do something stupid like stop himself, he surged forward and enveloped his brother in a tight hug. After a moment Essek closed his arms around him, too.

It seemed so unreal, to be able to hold him after mourning him for what felt like years. All the worries, all the grief and anger that had crushed him in the past few weeks and for what? For the bastard to still be alive after all. It wasn't fair. Why had he had to go through all of that? And why did he feel the pressing urge to start crying again? He should be happy, shouldn't he, that his brother wasn't dead. So why did it make him feel so awful?

"I think this is our cue to leave," Fjord said. Verin felt his brother nod and heard the Mighty Nein shuffle out of the kitchen, the door closing behind them with a creak. 

Only then, Essek spoke up. "Verin," he asked quietly, "are you crying?"

"Shut up," he mumbled through the thick fog of tears and snot, definitely not crying. "I hate you, Essek. Do you know what I went through?" 

"Meeting the Mighty Nein? Yes, I can imagine."

"They're horrible," he complained. "They're loud and they're rude and they had absolutely no respect for any of your belongings! I thought I was going mad."

"They are. They also are my friends, you know."

"How?" he asked agonised.

"I know they don't look like it, but they are surprisingly capable. And I am sure that you've noticed most of them to be annoyingly charming. But I think their absolute worst traits are their infinite stubbornness and perseverance. They quite literally did not leave me alone until they had befriended me."

Verin glanced up at him questioningly. "And were half in love with the wizard?" he guessed.

Essek scowled darkly, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. "Perhaps."

He snorted and disentangled himself from their embrace. Very calmly he said: "You're a liar." 

Essek looked genuinely startled at that. "What?"

"You said, you trusted me more than him. Why then, did he know and I didn't?"

"It's... complicated," he said.

"You wizards say that a lot."

"Verin." Essek closed his eyes. "I trust you. Implicitly. And I care about you. Which is why I chose not to burden you with the knowledge of my misdeeds. I didn't— I didn't want to put you in an impossible situation to choose between me and our queen."

He laughed nervously. "What on earth are you talking about? I mean, you didn't commit treason or anything."

Essek didn't answer, avoiding eye-contact instead.

"Right?"

Still, Essek kept stubbornly quiet.

"Oh," Verin breathed. He took a moment trying to reconcile what he knew about his brother with the fact that he was apparently a traitor. It all fit together ridiculously easy. "The beacons."

Essek looked up at him in shock and he knew he had hit the mark. "What?"

"You stole the beacons." Now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense. Essek had been studying them at the time, one of the only people with frequent access to them. He had always been fascinated by them, yet his theories had been rejected for their heretic nature. As Shadowhand, he had also regular contact with counterparts from the Empire, albeit not officially. Then, a few years after Essek’s research had been denied, they had vanished. How had he never seen this before?

"Oh Essek...," he said softly.

"No, please— I don’t—Please don’t—” He seemed to deflate, curling in on himself. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you, I—”

"I don't care,” Verin interrupted his frantic ramblings.

"What?" Essek looked up at him, looking just as shocked as Verin felt.

“I don’t care,” he repeated, realising that it was true the moment the words left his mouth. For how could he care about something as trivial as treason when Essek was sitting right in front of him, alive and well. "You're my brother, I don't care. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a year. Maybe in ten. Right now, I only care that you're alive."

“I—What—I don’t—” Essek stuttered, lifting and then lowering his hands a few times. “I don’t know how— If I can—Fuck.”

There was a joke on the tip of his tongue, but even he knew that this wasn’t the right time for it. Essek was obviously trying to tell him something and it took him a minute to decipher that strange behaviour. “Are you asking for a hug?” he hazarded a guess.

An agonised expression passed over his face and for a moment Verin thought there were tears gathering in his brother’s eyes. Surely not. “I don’t know if I may. I don’t mean to overstep—”

Without further ado, Verin stepped forward and gathered a yelping Essek up and squeezed him tightly. “Of course you may!” he assured him, awkwardly patting his shaking shoulders. “I love you, Essek. I am very glad that you’re alive.”

“I’m very glad to see you, too,” Essek answered and squeezed him a little tighter.

[cinnamonest]

Zhongli (Genshin Impact) - Yandere Profile

This man's voice has a POWER over me I SWEAR

tws: yandere, mentions of n/sfw

tws (under the cut): very ddlg-esque vibes, sorta? infantilization, noncon

I'm sorry I get such strong daddy vibes it unintentionally went in this direction, hope that isn't too bad lmao

I’m working on all the prompts I’ve gotten in! I’ve gotten a few so I’ll be working on those.

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What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

He's one that might be likely to misunderstand his feelings at first, think that he sees himself as a mentor or maybe even an authority figure, someone to guide you and teach you and serve as a dependable partner to your travels. As time goes on, and he begins to recognize how utterly flustered he gets around you, he's forced to acknowledge the actual feelings he has.

While some yanderes with a slight aloofness or pride to them get worse when in love, such as Childe or Kaeya, his drops completely. You bring out a softer side of him, really, one that's protective and tender and loving, so very loving, wanting to be around you, with you. He's certainly an obsessive, protective type, ultimately allowing his protective nature to get the better of him as he demands to know everything you've done, account for your location at every moment, constantly keep track of your habits, inquire about very personal details of your life. If he realizes you're bothered by it, he might draw back a bit, but he's convinced that that's just your perception, that it's necessary, truly, and not at all unusual.

Pet names. Particularly fond of love, darling, and angel. Sweet things that represent what you mean to him -- something precious, something to represent his adoration and idolization.

The primary form of delusion comes from a perception of you. He's obsessive, and idolizes you to an extent. He perceives you as pure, innocent, angelic. The thing is, this applies regardless of whether or not you actually are. If you are, it will solidify the idea, but even if you're not, he will find a way to see you so, anyway. No matter how wise you are, no, you're naive. No matter how capable you are, no, you're weak and fragile. No matter how experienced you may be, no, you're pure. He can always keep this delusion running by bringing into account age and comparison - you'll never be as strong as him, so you might as well be frail and weak. You'll never have lived as long as him, so really, do you think there's that much difference between you and a child, when compared to someone like himself?

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

Actually highly likely, and pretty quickly. As he observes you, it becomes very clear to him how very fragile you are, how naive you are, you are quite literally too pure, too angelic, to be living in this world with such beings as humans. Fragile, beautiful little things have a place where they belong - protected. Where do we put fragile, beautiful things? We put them behind glass, behind ropes, in pretty cages, in secluded rooms. It's only natural that you, too, need a similar environment.

He's one of the ones that will... Elegantly kidnap you, as odd as it sounds. He's not a brute that would do something horrendous like knocking you out or drugging you, no, he'll find an excuse for you to come to his abode, invite you in, and you'll walk in none the wiser. Only after your in, and the doors close, does he guide you to your new room, calmly explaining that he's come to the realization that you're too fragile to continue your journey, and ought to simply give up on your travels. He knows you'll be upset at first. Like a child being denied, you'll get pouty, moody, you might cry, you might lash out at him. It's predictable. He'll dry your eyes and calm you down, brushing off any harsh words you may have, holding your wrists in his hands when you try to push him away, softly reassuring you that it will all be alright, that you're safe now, and you'll learn to accept this with time.

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape? 

He would want something... elaborate. He's a man with taste for the most beautiful of things, including yourself, and he won't settle for something as simple as a chain or ropes. No, that would be too simple and brutish, and you, one of the finest things in his life, deserve something equally beautiful and delicate.

He's one of the ones that would go to a great deal of preparation for your arrival. He'd have a room prepared just for you, very ornate, beautifully tailored to you -- the walls your favorite color, the bed made of the same material as your old one, and the whole room completely filled with things you're certain you never even told him you liked. Clothes that fit perfectly to your body. It's frightening how perfect it is, because you know he had to go out of his way to acquire the information to achieve such perfection, but you have no idea how.

Everything about it elegant and detailed, right down to the series of ornate locks on the door. They're some of the sturdiest available, made with essentially unbreakable metal alloys and the most intricate lock systems to date. The windows don't open, and he'd certainly find some way to ensure escape through them isn't an option -- perhaps metal bars, perhaps an unbreakable glass substitute, perhaps merely locating your new home right on the edge of one of Liyue's most beautiful mountains, so that if you were to go out the window you'd plummet to the earth below. He's a bit delusional, but he's not stupid, and he will think through every possibility. Every little detail he needs to keep you safe and confined.

He's certain that, perfect as it is, this room is all you will ever need to be happy. Should you desire anything else, he can bring it to you. You'll never have to leave.

So it goes without saying that it would be exceptionally difficult to escape him. You'd have to find a way through the locks, for which your best bet would be to get some hair pins or tiny writing utensils. Even if you managed it, though, which would frankly be a very difficult feat, you'll have to deal with staying free. Zhongli has ties to the people of Liyue as a whole, and needless to say, he has eyes everywhere. You can't risk appearing in the harbor area, there will be far too many people who would immediately report you, and you'd just be walking right to him anyhow. The surrounding areas also have ties to him, so you'd want to try and reach Mondstadt, as far as it is, which is a difficult travel by foot all alone. You won't get far. He's faster, he's wiser, and he will find you long before you could ever hope to make it there.

However, he's not quite as angry as some yanderes would be about it. He doesn't take your escape personally, no, he blames himself, only calculating his own mistakes as to how it happened. He sees you as something like... a little runaway pet, so naive and dull that you don't know any better than to go wandering off. Or perhaps like a child, just sheepishly curious and wanting to explore, not knowing the dangers of the world. Or, perhaps...

"I haven't been giving you enough attention, have I? That's why you pulled this little act of rebellion... you're hurt by my negligence and wanted to be reassured of my care for you. I'm so sorry... I understand now, love. This was my fault. I've been so caught up with work... I'll delegate some tasks to my workers, and I'll be able to spend more time with you from now on, alright? Don't worry, I'm not angry, I'll take full responsibility. I'll be sure to make it up to you... now, let's go home."

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

Much like Childe or Venti or anyone who has been around as long as he has, you really don't stand a chance. He's an incredibly perceptive man. There's not much to say on the matter, as any attempts will be quickly shut down.

He'd find it amusing, really. Like a child trying to lie, but the evidence is all over their face and hands - it's that obvious to him. It's cute enough that he almost hates having to discipline you for it, but, you have to learn.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

He wants his little angel to be safe - and unfortunately, you, being so naive and empty headed, don't always know what's best for you. He knows rules can be hard to follow perfectly, but they're there to keep you safe.

Extremely strict, will want to monitor every moment of your life, every little movement you take, and will insist on watching over you in every task. He'll pick out everything you wear, everything you eat.

Occasionally, if you ask very sweetly, he may take you out for walks in Liyue. Honestly, he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy taking you to what he knows are the finest locations, shops with the highest level of craftsmanship, restaurants with a high price tag and reputable food. He enjoys showing off his refined tastes and discerning selective abilities. And honestly? There's a certain... Powerful feeling to knowing you're made aware of the costs when he makes high purchases in front of you... even if you don't realize he's not always actually the one paying for it, or that he forgot mora again but promises the owner to pay later - but he'll make sure you don't know that. You hear the numbers, and your eyebrows raise, your eyes widen. You'd nearly faint if that total was on your responsibility, and he knows that. Which is why he'll simply smile at you, and tell you you're worth every last Mora. He'll buy you nearly anything you may desire. It seems like leniency, but in reality, it's his subtle way of locking control and dependency over you, making you respect him, making you love him.

"Don't worry, love. It's not a lot... Not to me, at least. Even if it were, my angel only deserves the best, no?"

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

Oh dear. Again, he's very strict, and wants to monitor everything you do, every little aspect of your life. He decides what you eat, portioning your meals to make sure you're eating enough, he worries about you going hungry during your travels, but luckily you'll never have to worry about that again. If you have a sweet tooth, he'll sigh and worry about your teeth and health, but he'll make sure to account for a little bit of sugar in your day, and will even pick up little treats from some of the most reputable places in Liyue.

He picks out clothes for you with each day. They're not... Normal clothes, per se. Certainly not what you'd normally wear on your travels. And it's not like anyone will see you except him - which is exactly why you'll have clothes he would never want anyone else to see you in. Frilly, lacey things, somehow both highly sexualized but also incredibly infantile, soft pinks, baby blues, gentle off-whites. They accentuate the curves of your body so perfectly, while just barely letting him see the parts of you normally kept hidden.

You'll have a schedule - a bath time, a bedtime, a wake-up time. He's weak to your requests, though, and may let you stay up a little late every now and then, or sleep in just a bit, if you make that soft pouting face and beg. He'll insist on bathing you, dressing you, so that you don't have to - and can't even if you wanted to - lift a finger even to wash yourself or put your clothes on.

He has a set of rules for you, very simple ones he hopes you can easily follow. No trying to leave. No doing anything dangerous. No talking to strangers when you go out. You must hold his hand whenever you're walking together, don't go wandering off.

He'll feel ashamed of the thought for a while, but eventually he'll cave and give into the desire, no, the security precaution, of a nice little collar for you. It's not too embarrassing, no, he went out of his way to find one that was delicate, almost like a necklace, made with fine materials, the engraving only visible up close. If you look closely, though, it clearly bears his name.

Breaking the rules is expected, he anticipates it. You're not the brightest, he might even view it as a mistake. A benefit is that you can easily pass it off as simply forgotten, or an accident. Hence, he's not too harsh - normally. He'll sigh, forgive you, and pat your head, contemplating how to prevent your access in the future.

Perhaps you wriggled out of his hand and ran off while walking? You were just excited, distracted, like a child. He might be able to procure a small leash, one that wouldn't be immediately obvious or embarrassing, to attach to your collar. Perhaps some cuff-like links to latch your arm to his.

You forgot the rule about not handling the kitchen knives and cut yourself? He'll have to get some kind of lock and simply keep them safely away from you. No big deal. Any measures are worth your safety.

If you push the limits, or have a defiant attitude, he might reach the point of punishment. As for not-unwholesome things, this would usually include taking away privileges, such as walks or sweets, but overall, punishment will mostly come in more impure forms.

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

Not too much to say here - he has connections. He doesn't need to dirty his own hands. For all his supposed humility, if he truly dislikes someone, they're no more significant than an insect to him. He has no reservations about ridding the world of people who, in his mind, are obviously trying to deceive you, abuse you, corrupt you.

Thankfully, he is very capable of keeping a neutral face, even when he feels laughter building up. It would probably look strange if he were smiling over the newest body to come into his parlor.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

It's a slow buildup. He views restraint as a virtue, and looks down upon those who lack control over their own tempers. He's a man who strives to meet his own standards of character, and that very much applies to self control and ability to maintain a controlled demeanor, even when he feels a bit of frustration due to you being intentionally and deliberately defiant.

It's his responsibility to be a good role model for you and make sure you understand how to behave. However, in the end, he's very keen on properness and rules. If you have a tendency towards brattiness and pushing your limits, you may drive him to a boiling point.

However, even when expressing his anger, he's remarkably controlled. It's very mature, really. Nonetheless, he will have you shivering and tearful with his voice alone, booming with that depth that reverberates off the walls, that vibrates against your very core. His true anger is one that can strike fear even in the most courageous individuals - he's terrifying when he wants to be, fierce and intimidating, a sort of power just eminates from him.

Nonetheless, it's quick, he calms down very quickly, wipes the tears from your eyes, and sighs.

"I do hate having to be firm with you... but I can't have you thinking you can just act however you want. You understand that, don't you?"

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

Both? It's difficult to describe. You're an angel to him. You're the finest work of art, the most intricate creation, the kind of person whose body and likeness deserves to be preserved in art and tradition, one of those women who should be renowned for beauty even centuries long after you're gone from the earth. It's almost goddess-like. At the same time, there's a beautiful, tragic duality to your essence, he thinks. A fragility and a dependency that leaves you in need, but an inherent status of perfection that makes you deserve the utmost perfect of care. You need to be coddled, cared for, protected, but you deserve it. Like a deity incarnated into a mere fragile human form, a queen that needs support to retain her grace.

Unlike some, he doesn't view his care and protection as some kind of favor that should be repaid with your gratitude, no, really, he is grateful that he is the one who is even deserving of being your caretaker, your provider, your lover.

Even if he is the one who determined that he deserves that role.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

He's convinced that he can show you that he is your protector, your lover, that it's fate itself that has locked you together, not just his own will.

And he is, above all else, patient. One of the most patient you could encounter. You think a year is a long time? It's nothing to him. A century for you? More than a lifetime. For him? Nothing. He can and will wait, as long as it takes, and he will never falter in his continual care. He'll remind you frequently, he'll shower you in affection, but if you don't return it? It's not that bad. He has all the time in the world to fix you.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

Moraless Sugar daddy

But in all seriousness, he is definitely of the gift-giving love language. He sees beautiful things, and beautiful things make him think of you! It's sweet, he thinks. So many little things he sees throughout his day make him think of you, and he has to have all of them, see your face when he gives them to you. He likes making you happy, for one, but he'd be lying if he said there wasn't a sort of satisfactory pride he gets from the power dynamic of it all. He wants to be the sole source of provision in your life, he wants your dependency.

If we're talking prior to the events of the game, it will be even more extreme. He treats it like it's truly nothing, throwing around massive purchases, seemingly as if he's not thinking about it at all. But he is - rest assured, he's taking it into consideration, at least, that is, how it will affect your attitude and perception of him.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

On the reserved side. He'd never conduct himself improperly in public, of course. It's out of the question. He cares about proper behavior and public image, and he'd never behave in a vulgar manner.

Even in private, he's certainly one of the ones that struggles with a certain guilt. To some degree, he would feel like you're so innocent and pure that he doesn't want to corrupt you. He goes through stages. First, he'll lie to himself, telling himself that the feelings he has for you are simply protective, platonic, a natural sense of responsibility for you. That becomes more and more difficult to convince himself of, the more excited he becomes around you, the more he finds his eyes drawn to whatever bits of skin are exposed on your body, finding himself drifting off to impure thoughts, trying to push them away. 

Second, once he's forced to acknowledge the true nature of these feelings, he'll simply practice restraint, something he's rather good at in this area. He tries, he really does. He tells himself he can't do something so impure, that it would violate you, that he should be ashamed of himself for it. It becomes more and more and more difficult to restrain himself with time, the feelings rising and the thoughts become more difficult to push away, eventually entertaining the fantasies in his head in an attempt to rid himself of the urge in real life. It doesn't work, no, it only makes the urges worse, and he can't be around you without his body nearly commanding him to do something. And finally, he'll take a different stance entirely, telling himself that, no, it's not going to corrupt you, rather, it's taking care of you. If he really wants to love you, really wants to care for all of your needs, then surely that would include your physical needs, and therefore, really, it would be wrong of him not to help you.

As that shift in viewpoints goes on, he'll become more and more bold, hands lingering just a little longer, face coming just a little closer. It's a slow build of tension, just waiting to boil over. 

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

He understands you're nervous. Again, no matter how experienced you are, somehow in his head he makes it out to be insignificant. Even if you've had other relationships, he convinces himself - and tries to convince you - that they were inadequate, they didn't care about you, not like he does. And he'll treat it as that -- any resistance you put up is nervousness, nothing more, nothing less. He'll reassure you a million times that you won't feel pain, that he'll be gentle, that you'll feel good, even if his size and strength frankly is rather intimidating regardless of experience. He'll keep cooing in your ear, softly whispering reassurance, softly running hands over your skin, holding you in place as the last inch stretches you apart. 

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

Infantilization

Again, no matter how smart, experienced, and capable you may be, you're none of those things to him. You're a fragile, little thing. He has to take care of you at all times. It may not be evident at first, and he himself likely doesn't fully realize it, but there is something highly sexual to this for him. Caring for you puts him in a position of dominance, control. It gives him access to your privacy, dressing you up, fingers running over your skin, bathing you, watching your skin glisten. He'll talk to you in this way, too, often softly, remarking every little way in which you need him, and even condescendingly so. He wants you to be his, not only in a sense of love, but of possession.

Oral

Primarily giving. Even on its own, he loves the taste, but the effect it has on you makes it that much better. He loves anything that forces you to depend on him entirely for pleasure, that puts you at his mercy. And he'll be torturous about it too, restraining your arms and legs so you can't control anything, hold your hips down so you can't roll into him, so that only he can determine exactly how much pressure and speed you get. And he won't rush it, no, he'll go so slowly it's torturous, and telling you very simply that if you want any more, you'll have to beg.

Edging

For a variety of reasons. The power trip is as exhilarating as it is pleasurable, but he also loves watching your body writhe. Each little muscle that moves under the flesh when your arms strain against his hand holding your wrists together, the convulsing of your stomach muscles, the way your toes curl and legs spasm and the sweet little whimpers you make when he draws back just short of your high. He's mastered watching your reactions, knowing exactly when to stop, even if you try to mask it. He'll want you to tell him, though, nonetheless, tell him when you're close, if for nothing else but the sense of you obeying his commands.

Collaring

Similarly to infantilization, it gives him something of a sense of control, of possession. He loves seeing his name engraved on it, marking the whole of your being with his ownership. In his somewhat rare moments of roughness, he'll want to pull on it, use it to draw you towards him, in a moment of your defiance, in particular. If you're being mouthy, whiny, disobedient, and you finally make him snap, especially if you try to walk away from him, he'll yank you back with force, pulling you close to him, and when the force of it shuts you up, changes your demeanor, forces you to acknowledge your submission - the satisfaction he'll get from that is incomparable.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

As much as he likes the idea, to him, you're already like a child, naive and fragile. Could your body even handle a pregnancy, a birth? He'd likely try to avoid it, but in the end, if it happened by accident anyway, rest assured you'd be getting the best care of any woman to ever be pregnant in Teyvat, and he'd do everything in his power to ensure you were always comfortable, taking his caretaking to another level, almost never even letting you get up, insisting you stay still and calm and needy.

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

He'd be one to pull the "it doesn't hurt you as much as it does me" line, but really, even if he refuses to admit it to his own self, having you bent over his lap is just as much for his own enjoyment as it is a disciplinary measure. It's more humiliating than it is painful -- he'd hold back, afraid of hurting you with his strength, but taking in every little flinch and whimper you make as he brings his hand down on your ass, keeping your head pressed down, kneading at the flesh. He'd insist it's the most effective punishment measure, but you can feel the hard-on digging into your stomach. The worse the behavior, the worse the beating, but every time, after it's over, he'll hold you upright, wiping the tears from your eyes and asking you if you learned you lesson, if you intend to do it again, and smiling when you insist you won't.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

Your skin. It's beautiful, and he loves the way that light from the moon and sun look on your naked form. He loves the way your skin feels, soft and delicate, smooth, so paper thin and fragile, and so, so deliciously prone to showing marks from the slightest of harm - a simple smack can make the plump flesh darkened and reddened, the lightest suckling will leave beautiful hickeys all down your neck and chest. There are so many ways to mark his property, to stake a visible claim all over you, it's irresistible.

He also will go out of his way, when picking out all the things he wants you to wear, to find colors that best go with your skin tone, in a contrasting sense - particularly lacey, sheer things that contrast very well, so he can see your soft flesh perfectly defined against the little lace patterns.

[warsofasoiaf]

Writing Characters With Believable Military PTSD

I typically write these writing and worldbuilding essays from a dispassionate perspective, offering advice and context to prospective writers from as neutral a point of view as I can manage, with the goal being to present specific pieces of information and broader concepts that can hopefully improve writing and build creators’ confidence to bring their projects to fruition, whether that be writing, tabletop gaming, video game programming, or anything that suits their fancy. While writing this essay though, I struggled to maintain that perspective. Certainly, the importance of the topic to me was a factor, but ultimately, I saw impersonality just as a suboptimal presentation method for something so intensely personal. I do maintain some impartiality particularly in places where historical or academic context is called for, but in other respects I’ve opted for a different approach. Ultimately, this essay is a labor of love for me, love for those who suffer from military PTSD, love for those who love those who suffer from it, and love for writers who want to, in the way that they so choose, help those two other groups out. Thus, this is a different type of essay in certain segments than my usual fare; I hope the essay isn’t an unreadable chimera because of it.

This essay focuses on military-related PTSD. While there are some concepts that translate well into PTSD in the civilian sphere, there are unique elements that do not necessarily fit the mold in both directions, so for someone hoping to write a different form of PTSD, I would recommend finding other resources that could better suit your purposes. I also recommend using more than one source just in general, trauma is personal and so multiple sources can help provide a wide range of experiences to draw upon, which should hopefully improve any creative work.

And as a final introductory note, traumatic experiences are deeply personal. If you are using someone you know as a model for your writing, you owe it to that person to communicate exactly what you are doing and to ask their permission every step of the way. I consider it a request out of politeness to implore any author who uses someone else’s experiences to inform their writing in any capacity, but when it comes to the truly negative experiences in someone’s life, this rises higher from request to demand. You will ask someone before taking a negative experience from their own life and placing it into your creative works, and you will not hide anything about it from them. Receiving it is a great sign of trust. The opposite is a travesty, robbing someone of a piece of themselves and placing it upon display as a grotesque exhibit. And if that sounds ghoulish and macabre, it’s because it is, without hyperbole. Don’t do it.

Why Write PTSD?

What is the purpose of including PTSD in a creative work? There have been plenty of art therapy actions taken by those who suffer PTSD to create something from their condition, which can be as profound for those who do not have it as it is therapeutic for those that do, but why would someone include it in their creative works, and why is some no-name guy on the internet writing an essay offering tips as to how to do it better?

Certainly, one key element is that it’s real, and it happens. If art is to reflect upon reality, PTSD suffered by soldiers is one element of that, so art can reflect it, but what specifically about PTSD, as opposed to any other facet of existence? Author preference certainly plays a factor, but why would someone try to include something that is difficult to understand and difficult to portray? While everyone comes to their own reason, I think that a significant number of people are curious about what exactly goes on in the minds of someone suffering through PTSD, and creative works allow them a way to explore it, much the way fiction can explore scenarios and emotions that are either unlikely or unsafe to explore in reality. If that’s the case, then the purpose of this essay is rather simple, to make the PTSD examination more grounded in reality and thus a better reflection of it. But experiences are unique even if discernable patterns emerge, so in that sense, no essay created by an amateur writer with no psychological experience could be an authoritative take on reality, the nature of which would is far beyond the scope of this essay.

For my own part, I think that well-done creative works involving PTSD is meant to break down the isolation that it can cause in its wake. Veterans suffering may feel that they are alone, that their loved ones cannot understand them and the burden of trying to create that would simply push them away; better instead to have the imperfect bonds that they currently have than risk losing them entirely. For those who are on the outside looking in, isolation lurks there as well, a gulf that seems impossible to breach and possibly intrusive to even try. Creative works that depict PTSD can help create a sense that victims aren’t alone, that there are people that understand and can help without demeaning the sense of self-worth. Of course, another element would be to reduce the amount of poorly-done depictions of PTSD. Some creative works use PTSD as a backstory element, relegating a defining and important element of an individual’s life as an aside, or a minor problem that can be resolved with a good hug and a cry or a few nights with the right person. If a well-done creative work can help create a bridge and break down isolation, a poorly-done one can turn victims off, reinforcing the idea that no one understands and worse, no one cares. For others, it gives a completely altered sense of what PTSD is and what they could do to help, keeping them out, confusing them, or other counter-productive actions. In that sense, all the essay is to help build up those who are doing the heavy lifting. I’m not full of so much hubris as to think this is a profound piece of writing that will help others, but if creators are willing to try and do the hard work of building a bridge, I could at least try to help out and provide a wheelbarrow.

An Abbreviated Look At The Many Faces and Names of PTSD Throughout History

PTSD has been observed repeatedly throughout human history, even when it was poorly understood. This means that explorations of PTSD can be written in settings even if they did not have a distinctly modern understanding of neurology, trauma, or related matters. These historical contexts are also useful for worldbuilding a believable response in fictional settings and scenarios that don’t necessarily have a strict analogue in our own history. By providing this historical context, hopefully I can craft a broad-based sense of believable responses to characters with PTSD at a larger level.

In the time of Rome, it was understood by legionnaires that combat was a difficult endeavor, and so troops were typically on the front lines engaged in combat for short periods of time, to be rotated back for rest while others took their place. It was considered ideal, in these situations, to rotate troops that fought together back so that they could rest together. The immediate lesson is obvious, the Romans believed that it was vital for troops to take time to process what they had done and that was best served with quiet periods of rest not just to allow the adrenaline to dissipate (the "combat high"), but a chance for the mind to wrap itself around what the legionnaire had done. The Romans also recognized that camaraderie between fellow soldiers helped soldiers to cope, and this would be a running theme throughout history (and remains as such today). Soldiers were able to empathize with each other, and help each other through times of difficulty. This was not all sanguine, however, Roman legions depended on their strong formations, and a soldier that did not perform their duty could endanger the unit, and so shame in not fulfilling their duty was another means to keep soldiers in line. The idea of not letting down your fellow soldiers is a persistent refrain in coping with the traumas of war, and throughout history this idea has been used for both pleasant and unpleasant means of keeping soldiers in the fight.

In the Middle Ages, Geoffroi de Charny wrote extensively on the difficulties that knights could experience on the campaign trail in his Book of Chivalry. The book highlights the deprivation that knights suffered, from the bad food and poor sleep to the traumatic experience of combat to being away from family and friends to the loss of valued comrades to combat and infection; each of these is understood as a significant stressor that puts great strain on the mental health of soldiers up to today. De Charny recommended focusing on the knightly oaths of service, the needs of the mission of their liege, and the duty of the knight to serve as methods to help bolster the resolve of struggling knights. The book also mentions seeking counseling and guidance from priests or other confidants to help improve their mental health to see their mission through. This wasn’t universal, however. Some severely traumatized individuals were seen as simple cowards, and punished harshly for their perceived cowardice as antithetical to good virtue and to serve as an example.

World War I saw a sharp rise in the reported incidents of military-related PTSD and new understandings and misunderstandings. The rise in the number of soldiers caused a rise in cases of military PTSD, even though the term itself was not known at the time. Especially in the early phases of the war, many soldiers suffering from PTSD were thought to be malingering, pretending to have symptoms to avoid being sent to the front lines. The term “shell shock” was derived because it was believed that the concussive force of artillery bombardment caused brain damage as it rattled the skull or carbon monoxide fumes would damage the brain as they were inhaled, as a means to explain why soldiers could have physical responses such as slurred speech, lack of response to external stimuli, even nigh-on waking catatonia, despite not being hit by rifle rounds or shrapnel. This would later be replaced by the term “battle fatigue” when it became apparent that artillery bombardment was not a predicative indicator. Particularly as manpower shortages became more prevalent, PTSD-sufferers could be sent to firing squads as a means to cow other troops to not abandon their post. Other less fatal methods of shaming could occur, such as the designation “Lack of Moral Fibre,” an official brand of cowardice, as an attempt to shame the members into remembering their duty. As the war developed, and understanding grew, better methods of treatment were made, with rest and comfort provided to slight cases, strict troop rotations observed to rotate men to and from the front lines, and patients not being told that they were being evacuated for nervous breakdown to avoid cementing that idea in their mind. These lessons would continue into World War II, where the term “combat stress reaction” was adopted. While not always strenuously followed, regular rotations were adopted as standard policy. This was still not universal, plenty of units still relied upon bullying members into maintaining their post despite mental trauma.

The American military promotes a culture of competence and ability, particularly for the enlisted ranks, and that lends itself to the soldier viewing themselves in a starkly different fashion than a civilian. Often, a soldier sees the inability to cope with a traumatic experience as a personal failure stemming from the lack of mental fortitude. Owning up to such a lack of capability is tantamount to accepting that they are an inferior soldier, less capable than their fellows. This idea is commonly discussed, and should not be ignored, but it is far from the only reason. The military also possesses a strong culture of fraternity that obligates “Don’t be a fuckup,” is a powerful motivating force, and it leads plenty of members of the military to ignore traumatic experiences out of the perceived need not to put the burden on their squadmates. While most professional militaries stress that seeking mental health for trauma is not considered a sign of weakness, enlisted know that if they receive mental health counseling, it is entirely likely that someone will have to take their place in the meantime. That could potentially mean that another person, particularly in front-line units, are exposed to danger that they would otherwise not be exposed to, potentially exacerbating guilt if said person gets hurt or killed. This is even true in stateside units, plenty of soldiers don’t report for treatment because it would mean dumping work on their fellows, a negative aspect of unit fraternity. Plenty of veterans also simply never are screened for mental health treatment, and usually this lends to a mentality of “well, no one is asking, so I should be fine.” These taken together combine to a heartbreaking reality, oftentimes a modern veteran that seeks help for mental trauma has often coped silently for years, perhaps self-medicating with alcohol or off-label drug usage, and is typically very far along their own path comparatively. Others simply fall through the cracks, not being screened for mental disorders and so do not believe that anything is wrong; after all, if something was wrong, surely the doctors would notice it, right? The current schedule of deployments, which are duration-based and not mission-based, also make it hard for servicemembers to rationalize their experiences and equate them to the mission; there’s no sense of pairing suffering to objectives the way that de Charnay mentioned could help contextualize the deprivation and loss. These sorts of experiences make the soldier feel adrift, and their suffering pointless, which is discouraging on another level. It is one thing to suffer for a cause, it’s another not to know why, amplifying the feelings of powerlessness and furthering the isolation that they feel.

Pen to Page - The Characters and Their Responses

The presentation of PTSD within a character will depend largely on the point-of-view that the author creates. A character that suffers from PTSD depending on the presence of an internal or external point-of-view, will be vastly different experiences on page. Knowing this is essential, as this will determine how the story itself is presenting the disorder. Neither is necessarily more preferable than the other, and is largely a matter of the type of story being told and the personal preference of the author.

Internal perspectives will follow the character’s response from triggering event to immediate response. This allows the author to present a glimpse into what the character is experiencing. In these circumstances, remember that traumatic flashbacks are merely one of many experiences that an average sufferer of PTSD can endure. In a visual medium, flashbacks are time-effective methods to portray a character reliving portions of a traumatic experience, but other forms of media can have other tools. Traumatic flashbacks are not necessarily a direct reliving of an event from start to finish, individuals may instead feel sudden sharp pains of old injuries, be overwhelmed by still images of traumatic scenes or loud traumatic sounds. These can be linked to triggers that bring up the traumatic incident, such as a similar sight, sound, or smell. These moments of linkage are not necessarily experienced linearly or provide a clear sequence of events from start to finish (memory rarely is unless specifically prompted), and it may be to the author’s advantage to not portray them as such in order to communicate the difficulty in mental parsing that the character may be experiencing. Others might be more intrusive, such as violently deranged nightmares that prevent sleep. The author must try to strike a balance between portraying the experience realistically and portraying it logically that audience members can understand. The important thing about these memories is that they are intrusive, unwelcome, and quite stressful, so using techniques that jar the reader, such as the sudden intrusive image of a torn body, a burning vehicle, or another piece of the traumatic incident helps communicate the disorientation. Don't rely simply on shock therapy, it's not enough just to put viscera on the page. Once it is there, the next steps, how the character reacts, is crucial to a believable response.

When the character experiences something that triggers their PTSD, start to describe the stress response, begin rapidly shortening the sentences to simulate the synaptic activity, express the fight-flight-freeze response as the character reacts, using the tools of dramatic action to heighten tension and portraying the experience as something frightful and distinctly undesirable. The triggering incident brings back the fear, such as a pile of rubble on the side of the road being a potential IED location, or a loud firework recalling the initial moments of an enemy ambush. The trauma intrudes, and the character falls deep into the stress response, and now they react. How does this character react? By taking cover? By attacking the aggressor who so reminds them of the face of their enemy? Once the initial event starts, then the character continues to respond. Do they try to get to safety? Secure the area and eliminate the enemy? Eventually, the character likely recognizes their response is inappropriate. It wasn’t a gunshot, it was a car backfiring, the smell of copper isn’t the sight of a blown-apart comrade and the rank odor of blood, it’s just a jug of musty pennies. This fear will lead to control mechanisms where the victim realizes that their response is irrational. Frequently, the fear is still there, and it still struggles with control. This could heighten a feeling a powerlessness in the character as they try and fail to put the fear under control: "Yes, I know this isn’t real and there’s nothing to be afraid of, but I’m still shaking and I am still afraid!" It’s a horrifying logical track, a fear that the victim isn’t even in control of their thoughts - the one place that they should have control - and that they might always be this way. There’s no safety since even their thoughts aren’t safe. Despair might also follow, as the victim frantically asserts to regain control. Usually with time, the fear starts to lessen as the logical centers of the brain regain control, and the fear diminishes. Some times, the victim can't even really recall the exact crippling sense of fear when attempting to recall it, only that they were afraid and that it was deeply scary and awful, but the notion that it happened remains in their mind.

Control mechanisms are also important to developing a believable PTSD victim. Most sufferers dread the PTSD response and so actively avoid objects or situations that could potentially trigger. Someone who may have had to escape from a helicopter falling into the ocean may not like to be immersed in water. Someone who was hit by a hidden IED may swerve to avoid suspicious piles in the road. Someone buried under a collapsing ceiling may become claustrophobic. Thus, many characters with PTSD will be hypervigilant almost to the point of exhaustion, avoiding setting off the undesired response. This hypervigilance is mentally taxing; the character begins to become sluggish mentally as all their energy is squeezed out, leaving them struggling for even the simplest of rational thoughts. This mental fog can be translated onto the page in dramatic effect by adding paragraph length to even simple actions, bringing the reader along into the fog, laboriously seeing the character move to perform simple actions. Then, mix in a loss of a sense of purpose. They’re adrift, not exactly sure what they’re doing and barely aware of what’s happening, although they are thinking and functioning. In the character’s daily life, they are living their life using maximum effort to avoid triggering responses; this is another aspect of control that the character can use as an attempt to claw back some semblance of power in their own lives. Even control methods that aren’t necessarily healthy such as drinking themselves to pass out every night or abusing sleeping pills in an attempt to sleep due to their nightmares, are ways to attempt to regain a sense of normalcy and function. Don’t condescend to these characters and make them pathetic, that’s just another layer of cruelty, but showing the unhealthy coping mechanisms can demonstrate the difficulty that PTSD victims are feeling. Combined with an external perspective, the author can show the damage that these unhealthy actions are doing without casting the character as weak for not taking a different path.

External perspectives focus on the other characters and how they observe and react to the individual in question. Since the internal thought process of the character is not known, sudden reactions to an unknown trigger can be quite jarring for characters unaware, which can mirror real-life experiences that individuals can have with PTSD-sufferers. In these types of stories, the character’s reaction to the victim is paramount. PTSD in real life often evokes feelings of helplessness in loved ones when they simply cannot act to help, can evoke confusion, or anger and resentment. These reactions are powerful emotions with the ability to drive character work, and so external perspectives can be useful for telling a story about what it is like for loved ones who suffer in their own fashion. External perspectives can be used not just in describing triggering episodes, but in exploring how the character established coping mechanisms and how their loved ones react to them. Some mechanisms are distinctly unhealthy, such as alcohol or prescription drug abuse, complete withdrawal, or a refusal to drive vehicles, and these create stress and a feeling of helplessness in characters or can impel them to try and take action. Others can be healthy, and a moment of inspiration and joy for an external perspective could be sharing in that mechanism, demonstrating empathy and understanding which evokes strong pathos, and hopefully to friends of those who suffer from PTSD, a feeling that they too, are not alone.

As the character progresses, successes and failures can often be one of the most realistic and most important things to include within the work, since those consumers who have PTSD will see parts of themselves in the characters, which can build empathy and cut down on the feelings of isolation that many victims of PTSD feel. A character could, over the course of the story, begin weaning themselves off of their control mechanisms, have the feelings of panic subside as their logical sides more quickly assert control, replace unhealthy coping mechanisms with healthier ones, or other elements of character progression and growth. Contrarily, a character making progress could, after experiencing significant but unrelated stressors, backslide either into unhealthy coping mechanisms or be blindsided by another attack. This is a powerful fear for the victim, since it can cause them to think ‘all my progress, all my effort, and I am not free!’ This is often a great fear for PTSD users (people with depression often have the same feeling) that find methods of coping are no longer as effective, and the struggle is perceived as one that they’re ultimately doomed to failure. This feeling of inevitable failure can lead to self-harm and suicide as their avenue of success seems to burn to ash right as it was in their hands. More than one soldier suffering from PTSD has ended up concluding: “Fuck it, I can’t live like this,” as horrible as that is. Don’t be afraid to include setbacks and backsliding, those happen in reality, and can be one of the most isolating fears in their lives; if the goal of portraying PTSD accurately is to help remove that feeling of isolation, then content creators must not avoid these experiences. Success as well as failure are essential to PTSD in characters in stories, these elements moreso than any other, I believe, will transcend the medium and form a connection, fulfilling the objective we set out to include in the beginning paragraphs.

Coming Back to the Beginning

It might be counterintuitive at first glance to say “including military PTSD will probably mean it will be a long journey full of discouraging story beats that might make readers depressed,” because that’s definitely going to discourage some readers to do that. I don’t see it that way, though. The people that want to do it should go in knowing it’s going to be hard, and let that strengthen their resolve, and put the best creation they can forward. The opposite is also true. Not every prospective author has to want to include any number of difficult subjects in their works, and that’s perfectly fine. Content creators must be free to shape the craft that they so desire without the need to be obligated to tackle every difficult issue, and so no content creator should be thought of as lesser or inferior because they opt not to include it in their works. I think that’s honestly stronger than handling an important topic poorly, or even worse, frivolously. Neither should anyone think that a content creator not including PTSD in their works means that they don’t care about those who suffer from it or for those who care about them or who simply don’t care about the subject in general. That’s just a terrible way to treat someone, and in the end, this entire excursion was about the opposite

Ultimately, this essay is a chance not only to help improve creative works involving PTSD, but to reflect on the creative process. Those who still want to proceed, by all means, do so. Hopefully this essay will help you create something that can reach someone. If every piece of work that helps portray PTSD can reach someone somewhere and make things easier, even if ever so little, well then, that’s what it’s really all about.

Hoping everyone has a peaceful Memorial Day. Be good to each to other.

SLAL

[j-amespotter]

★ august [pt. 1] - s. b.

“you weren’t mine to lose.”

Pairing: Sirius Black x Slytherin!Reader, Regulus Black x Reader (mentioned)

x. x. x.

Summary: As one of the Order of the Phoenix’s freshest recruits, love certainly was not on Sirius Black’s mind the summer after he finished school – especially not with a Slytherin, who just happened to be his brother’s girlfriend.

Genre/Warnings: angst, alcohol, language, mentions of death & war, infidelity, implied smut 

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: august but from the guy’s pov?? i think yes. this was the first one-shot i wrote for this series so let me know what you think! lmk if you wanna be added to my taglist. p.s. i do not condone cheating!!!!!! 

masterlist

Your lips were centimeters apart. It seemed too late to change course, but he had to ask. He had never done something so reckless, which for him, was saying something. “Are you sure?”

He was scared of the answer. One look at you told him you were scared of answering. “We’ve never… I mean, I’ve never done this before,” you whispered. Your noses grazed against each other, tantalizingly close. 

His hand hovered underneath your robes. It felt large against your bare stomach. “We can stop.” 

“I don’t want to stop.” With one hand around his neck and the other on his chest, you tugged him closer. The moment your lips met erased his doubts so fully that if he stopped to think about it, it would have scared him.

Your shoes slipped off as he delicately lifted you off of your feet. Gently, he laid you down on his bed and paused to stare at how small and trusting you looked in the moment. It was only your fifth visit to his flat, yet you already looked like you belonged. He would never have expected someone from his forgotten life to fit into his current one so unquestionably. 

*One Week Earlier*

It was getting easier and easier to slip away from Regulus these days. While you were accustomed to seeing less of each other during the summer holidays, now you were more distant than ever. You knew why, of course. Being a Slytherin, you were privy to an entire host of secrets – Regulus was too. Hogwarts’ rowdiest, most divided class graduated just a month earlier, and many of your friends, if you could even call them that, had chosen a side in this war. His side. 

You knew Regulus agreed with the Dark Lord’s philosophies and marveled at his promises. However, it was not until this school year that you realized exactly how much your boyfriend worshipped the elusive man responsible for the murders of so many innocent people. He would scour the Daily Prophet for news, eager but not uneasy. He trailed after Snape, Avery, and Mulciber, and the whisperings about the three of them were hardly positive. It was rumored that all of them had been "marked." You didn’t know exactly what that meant but worried Regulus was next. 

He sensed your fear but didn’t say much to soothe you. Perhaps he thought he could convince you to join him – or, at least, stand by his side as he signed away his services. You weren’t interested. In fact, you were terrified. Though your family was prominent, prosperous, and pureblood, they never participated in what your father coined to be “blood politics.” Your indifference, which occasionally transformed into blatant disgust, over the growingly common prejudice among your peers ostracized you from your fellow Slytherins. You managed to keep your reservations to yourself for the sake of House unity but could no longer remain silent. Not when your childhood love drifted further and further away from you. 

It was slow, but of course, there was a final straw. In his last letter, Regulus wrote that his cousin Bella was teaching him how to duel “the proper way.” As someone who saw nothing substandard in your Defense Against the Dark Arts education thus far, you could only imagine what Bellatrix Lestrange would consider to be the “proper” way to duel. You had limited experience with the woman, having only caught glimpses of her as a child at Grimmauld Place and as Regulus’s date to her wedding. Nonetheless, the rumors about her were becoming increasingly hard to ignore.

So you sought the one person you thought may listen to you. Of course, there was the issue of finding him. You had no idea where he lived, though you doubted he would be thrilled to meet you, especially at his place of residence. You thought of writing to him but could not risk seeing and sending the words you had not yet uttered aloud. 

Ultimately, you decided that the best course of action was to find him in public, no matter how difficult it would be. You knew if you willed it hard enough, fate would bring him to you – and you understood the power of your love better than anyone. 

It took six days of solitary walks through Diagon Alley for you to finally find him. It wasn’t easy at all. You managed to keep your parents at bay by entrusting your safety with your pureblood Slytherin status. However, what was once the most bustling shopping center in the Wizarding World became drearier by day. More wanted posters appeared on brick walls as the number of disappearances grew. Within days, there were fewer groups of visitors for you to huddle behind without drawing suspicion. 

He was in the Leaky Cauldron with a shorter man, someone you recognized to be Peter Pettigrew. They were huddled together but deep in conversation. Actually, it seemed as though he was doing most of the talking. You found yourself staring at his muscular, tattooed arms as he gestured wildly at Pettigrew, who stared at him with wonder, excitement, and apprehension all at once. Despite the normal-looking exchange, both men gripped their wands tightly and took turns periodically glancing over their shoulders. 

Peter was too far away for you to read his lips, but checked his watch and jumped in surprise. You inched closer, hoping to find an in for your mission. Finally, you were close enough to hear his parting words. “Sorry, Padfoot... Mum’s waiting for me. You know how she gets, especially now.” 

“Alright, mate. Get home safe. I’ll see you… when I see you.” 

You were not stupid. You had no idea what that meant, but judging by Peter’s stiff nod, there was definitely a predetermined meeting time and place that they could not risk anyone overhearing. Given the circumstances, you could hardly blame them. 

Your interaction with Sirius Black was limited, but you had heard enough about him to know that he was reckless, devil-may-care, and according to his brother, inconsiderate of everyone’s feelings. Hearing the sincerity in his goodbye to his friend sounded quite the opposite, or perhaps was just a sign of the times. 

Peter scurried away and out of sight. You saw Sirius reach for a pouch in his pocket, out of which he scooped a handful of Sickles. They clattered onto the table. Before he finished counting his change, you slid into the seat across from him. 

Startled, Sirius stood and pointed his wand at you. His motions were seamless. It was as if he could kill you with a single swish. You hardly had time to wonder if you would be as skilled with your wand as he seemed to be when you finished school. “Listen, I just want to talk. Please sit down.” There weren’t too many other customers in the pub, but there was no doubt your exchange was attracting attention. 

Sirius sneered at you. “Why would I want to talk to you? Did he send you? Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it.”

It surprised you that he knew who you were. Regulus was convinced that Sirius abandoned the Black family once and for all and did not care for his extracurricular activities. Granted, much of your scheme relied on the fact that he did. “No, he didn’t send me. I need to talk to you about him, actually. In private.”

He looked apprehensive but curious. You sighed in relief as he lowered his wand and sat down, “Whatever you have to say, you can say it here.” 

“Please,” you tried again. “I’m no threat to you.” 

He stared at you, and in his pale eyes you saw something so familiar yet so foreign. “Fine. Follow me.” 

He swiftly led you out of the pub. Although you were eager, you maintained an acceptable distance from him. The air was sticky; you could feel your flushed cheeks. You always hated summer because of the unbearable weather and because it was always the longest you would spend apart from Regulus. However, you found yourself entranced by the way Sirius’s neckline glistened. There was a warm glow radiating off of the little bits of his exposed skin, slightly tanner than his brother’s. You were surprised at how easy it was to distinguish these details. You always considered yourself to be too young for and morally above noticing Regulus’s physique. It was far too shallow to remark on a man's physical beauty and far too desperate when all you could see were his neck and arms. 

“Get your license yet?” 

You shook your head. “No, not yet.” 

“Okay,” said Sirius, extending a hand. “I’ll take you with me.” 

You were used to Side-Along Apparition, so your surprise was more at your surroundings. You landed on a street in front of a very tall building. Craning your neck to observe the one in front of you, you asked, “Where are we?”��

“London,” he answered vaguely. He had not let go of your hand. 

“I figured. But this looks like a Muggle building.” 

“Got a problem with that?” He snapped, and as if he had just realized what he was doing, he let go of your hand as if it was rotting. 

You internally groaned at how sweaty it was. “N-No. I’ve just never been around here, that’s all.” 

You waited for a snarky response, but received none. Instead, he pushed open the door of the building and led your to what you could only assume was his flat. 

“I would say make yourself at home, but don’t.” Sirius did not have guests often, and when he did, they definitely did not include his little brother’s girlfriend. Damn, he thought to himself. Wait until James hears about this. 

You were still in school – although, so was he, just a month earlier. But you were in a rival house. And worst of all, he had seen you in the same position, perched onto a sofa with inquisitive eyes, when you both were children at his parents’ house. It was curious to him that you looked just as out of place then as you did now. 

“I know this is strange, but I have no other choice.” Your voice broke off and for the tiniest millisecond, he felt sorry for you. “I think he’s… I mean I feel that… that R-Regulus is planning on joining the Dark Lord.” “Call him Voldemort, will you?” Sirius interrupted irritably. 

You flinched. “I really shouldn’t.”

Though he was annoyed, he understood and did not probe you further. “Listen, I don’t know what you thought trying to find me, or even how you found me for that matter, but I can’t help you. I know what you’re worried about and you’re probably right to be worried. But I tried talking to him before I ran – I mean, left. He won’t budge. He’s in too deep. Sorry,” he added. 

Your eyes glossed over. “I figured you’d say that.” Tears streamed down your rosy cheeks. “S-Sorry, I don’t mean to load this on you. I just feel so alone sometimes. And so scared for him. He really has no idea what he’s getting himself into, does he?”

Sirius stared at you, contemplating whether he should tell you what his dim-witted brother was really getting himself into. He only started to see it for himself now. “I’m not sure what I should tell you, but I understand. If you want to talk about it…” 

You glanced at him in wonder, cocking your head to the side. “Er, thanks. But I should get home. My parents must be worried. Can I Floo out of here?” 

You looked even more upset than before, and Sirius felt guilty for leaving everything so unresolved. Although, should he really care about your feelings? Anyone who willingly chose to spend time with a tosser like Regulus probably deserved whatever hell he would put them through… although… 

“Yeah, I installed one,” he said, gesturing to the fireplace. 

Wiping your eyes nimbly, you stood and smoothed the front of your robes. “Thank you. Sorry if it was a bother.”

“No problem. I know… I know that you aren’t like them. And I know what you’re going through. Probably better than anyone.”

You smiled at him, and without warning, his stomach flipped. It couldn’t have been the first time he’d seen you smile, but it was definitely the first time you smiled at him. Maybe you had once before when you were children. For now, all Sirius seemed to hone in on was the soft dimple on your right cheek and the way your eyes lit up almost automatically. 

“If you ever need to talk about it, you can always come around here.” He knew it was strange for him to offer you that, but you had known each other for so long. You both had the same doubts… perhaps you lacked the bravery to act on them as he did, though he could hardly fault you for that. 

“Thank you, Sirius,” you said softly. 

☆

It was more than sex. You would spend hours talking, entangled in his bedsheets, watching the sunrise together for several mornings in a row. Sirius glanced warily at the clock on his bedside table. “Where do your parents think you are?”

You were drawing circles on his bare chest. “I told them I was with him.” 

Despite being the reason you sought him out, it became an unspoken rule between the two of you to not mention his name. The subject of Regulus and, by extension, the war became as taboo as saying Lord Voldemort. 

He hated it. He tried to convince himself that he was acting on lust, that he just needed to relieve his stress of the war and Order training, but he couldn’t. Not when every time you arrived unannounced, he scribbled excuses to get out of dinner with the Potters, or drinks with the boys, or hell, even Order meetings. 

Sirius wished he could explain it to James. Surely, his best friend would convince him of the stupidity of engaging in an affair with his brother’s girlfriend. But then he would watch you wearing his shirt, sipping wine, and dancing barefoot in his kitchen. He would imagine you wrapping your arms around his waist on his new motorcycle and his insides would implode. Then, he would decide that he did not want to be dissuaded. He was falling for you. One look at you told him you were falling for him too. 

“Where have you been, mate? The parents are driving me up a wall about you. Lily’s convinced you’ve got a girlfriend or something,” joked James. 

They were sitting in the pub on a night Sirius knew you had a family function to attend. He swallowed bitterly as he wondered whether or not Regulus would be there. Were you together right now? Did you confess? Was he angry? Were you crying?

Noticing his best friend’s silence, James raised an eyebrow. “Do you? Have a girlfriend or something?”

Sirius knew he could not lie to James, but he debated exactly how much he wanted to delve into the subject. “Or something.” Before he could he stop himself, the secrets were spilling off of his tongue. 

When he finished, Sirius wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse. He tried to focus on James’s hazel eyes as they widened at every turn in the story. “Mate… you’re fucked.”

He tried not to ponder at these words too hard in the hopes that he wouldn’t splinch himself Apparating back to his flat. It didn’t shock him to see you there – he had allowed you too much access to everything and he had no intention of taking it back.

Emerald green dress robes were slipping off of your shoulders. With pearls draped around your neck and pieces of hair straying out of your topknot, Sirius could not help but swoon at how beautiful you looked. He wondered briefly what it would have been like if you had chosen him over Regulus. What if there was no foul play? Would you be happy? Or would you run away, as you had with his brother?

He was still tipsy. James’s warnings ran scattered in his brain, ringing like a siren. But they mattered little now that you were in front of him. “How was–” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you interrupted. Then you stepped forward and tugged at his half-unbuttoned shirt, pressing your lips against his. “Make me forget.” 

“Consider it done.” 

Your bare limbs tangled together as you shared wine-drunk, open-mouthed, sporadic kisses, giggling and whispering words of sensual encouragement. How did you become so in sync in a matter of weeks? Sirius had never fallen this hard. “I’m yours, (Y/N).” 

You hummed in satisfaction, fingers wound up in his hair. 

“I mean it,” he urged. “I love you.” 

You didn’t respond. Strange, he thought to himself. You never hesitated in reciprocating, ever. When he jumped, you jumped with him, no questions asked. He glanced at the clock from over your shoulder and watched it strike midnight. It was the first of September. “You’re due at King’s Cross today, aren’t you?”

You nodded, not meeting his eyes. 

He chuckled darkly. All of a sudden, he felt cold and strangled. He wanted to push you far away and yet, pull you close to him so you had no hope of escaping. “Will you write to me?” 

“Sirius…” 

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t say my name like that. I should have known… fucking snake.” 

He hadn’t let go of you. “I’m sorry darling,” you whispered, “but I can’t give up on him yet.” 

It was all he had to hear. He couldn’t think of how he was going to recover from this, not when you were lying right in front of him. “I think you should go.” 

“M-Maybe someday we can–” “Forget it.” He should have seen this coming from the second you walked up to him in the pub. You had come to him for Regulus and now you were leaving him for Regulus. Yet another bit of happiness his brother snatched away from him. But even so... he was your first and Regulus would never know. He would never know that you lost yourself in him. His no-good elder brother. But none of that mattered now, not when you were going back to him. After all, at the end of the day, you were his. 

I should have known. Sirius silently cursed at himself, watching the retreating figure of the girl he had fallen in love with. He should have known that you were always on borrowed time. You were gone quicker than the seasons change, and left with him your sweaty, sun-kissed memories. 

PART 2

Taglist: @iwritesiriusly @mads-bri @she-seeks-magic @sarcasticallywitty15 @lunalovecroft @fific7 @u-no-poo​

[wy-van-sunshine]

modern Wesper high school

Wylan

The red-haired boy opened his locker pretty annoyed, slamming the door against the metal: it was the end of the school year and, just as usual, it was time to prepare for the school prom, probably the most important event to students.

Wylan hated it from the deepest of his heart: he had never been popular and no one had ever asked him to go together. What he hated even more was to see all the happy couples around him and some guys who found the courage to ask their love interest out.

Why had none of that ever happened to him in four years? Yes, he was openly gay and he was a little bit shy, but he wasn’t that bad after all, was he? He knew in his school there were other guys interested in men like he was, so why was he never considered a choice?

With his cheeks red with anger, he threw some books in his locker to put an end to that day and go home already; before closing the door, though, he saw a paper falling down from it: before he could catch it, a girl (whom he hated from the deepest of his heart) next to him took it and opened it: “Hey sunshine, want to go to the prom with me?” She looked at him raising her brows, a stupid smile curving her mouth “Oooh, Van Eck has a date! I wonder who could make such a poor choice”

Wylan rolled his eyes and took the note from that hideous bitch who never gave him a break. When she finally walked away, he focused on those words he couldn’t really read and his eyes suddenly widened: wait, had he just been asked out? Him?

Wylan was incredulous: that couldn’t be true, there had to be some kind of mistake. Wrong locker, maybe? He’d never been called “sunshine” before, so that message was definitely not for him.

He raised his gaze and scanned the hallway, looking for someone staring at him, maybe waiting for his reaction: but the only eyes he met were those of the captain of the football team, and he definitely couldn’t be his secret admirer.

Jesper

What he did was crazy and rushed, but that was just Jesper: everything he did was instinct. He carried the football team on his shoulders and all a good captain could do was to always trust his heart, no matter what.

He had spotted a beautiful mess of red curls during his first science class at the beginning of the year, and he’d been obsessed with that smart guy ever since: he didn’t talk much, but when he answered to the professor everything about the way he talked was hypnothic to Jesper - his soft, shaky tone, all those difficult scientific words, everything.

Even though Jesper was very friendly with everyone, he had never found the right moment to approach that curious boy: he was always alone, but every time he looked so focused on his drawings, lost in his thoughts, and Jesper just didn’t feel allowed to enter his world.

But he had to put an end to it: after talking to his dearest friend Inej about his matters of heart, the girl had suggested that he ask the red-haired guy out at the prom. He’d liked the idea.

He didn’t know his name - damn his lack of any focus during the science lessons, no wonder he had terrible grades - so he decided to call him by the spontaneous nickname he’d found after the first week: sunshine, because that guy with his curls and his smile shone like no one else.

He was now looking at him from the distance, curious to see his reaction to his note: when their eyes met, Jesper noticed the guy’s cheeks were much pinker and he chuckled, in complete awe for such softness.

Inej next to him smiled and punched him on the shoulder: “Looking flirty already?”

Jesper did nothning but laugh, keeping his focus on the handsome boy across the hall.

Wylan

All his surprise for the note disappeared when he saw the captain and his friend laugh while looking at him: suddenly, Wylan felt so stupid.

Of course no one wanted to go out with him, had he really believed any of that were true?

He lowered his gaze and only then did he remember he was wearing a green jumper: oh God, not only did he feel stupid, he was actually looking stupid. He remembered his father’s words every time he wore that colour: “Green with your red hair? You’re going to look like a Christmas elf. What’s next, a bell bracelet?”

No wonder the captain and his friend were laughing at him, now: they’d tricked him with a fake love note and they’d found him with that ridiculous outfit. He wouldn’t be surprised if they even knew he couldn’t actually read.

The joke turned out even better than expected.

Wylan felt tears filling his eyes and, before he could do anything about it, they were falling down on his cheeks. He had only a few seconds to see the captain’s expression change before he turned and ran away, far from all that shit he couldn’t take anymore.

Jesper

What had happened?

Jesper was standing petrified, all his excitement gone. He was confused and also a little bit crushed because he’d never seen tears wet that beautiful face before.

“I don’t understand” he whispered, turning to Inej to look for some answers.

“I don’t know what happened” said the girl, perplexed just the same “But I do feel like this is a good moment for you to be there for him. You say he’s always alone, and I don’t know who wants to be alone while crying”

Jesper nodded and gave Inej a rapid kiss on the cheek before leaving her in order to follow the red curls running away from him. It wasn’t hard, after all he was an athlete, so he could easily keep the guy’s pace. He followed him until he entered the music room: Jesper took a few moments to be surprised about it, but then he approached the door to join him and hopefully talk to him.

He found him seated at the piano, playing a furious yet wonderful melody on the keys.

Narrator

Wylan could express his feelings mostly through music, so that was the first thing he looked for after the pain he’d felt that day: he was liberating his frustration, telling his secrets to the only one who would listen.

He felt observed, but he didn’t care: whoever was annoyed by how loud he was playing could make peace with it already, he wasn’t going to stop.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt”

Wylan froze: he knew that voice. He’d watched some games at his school and the captain’s voice was always the loudest, the clearest.

Why had he followed him? Wasn’t he happy enough with how he had made fun of him?

“Leave me alone” whispered Wylan, his voice still rough “Please”

Jesper cleared his throat and stepped forward: “I’d like to sit next to you, actually. May I?”

“You may not”

The captain chuckled: “Um... okay, I’ll stand here then. I’m Jesper Fahey, nice to meet you”

The red-haired guy sighed: “What do you want? You’ve already humiliated me beyond imagination, what else do you need?”

Jesper opened his mouth, schocked and speechless: he had humiliated him? How was it possible? He hadn’t done literally anything apart from writing him a note that was everything but humiliating. What was the redhead talking about?

“I... what?”

Wylan laughed, tears filling his eyes again:  “Oh please, please don’t play fool with me. Asking the poor loser out fot the prom? Very funny, yes, I’m sure you had a heartfelt laugh with your friends”

Jesper tried to reply, but Wylan went on, his cheeks newly red and wet: “You know, I knew I was stupid, but not as much as to believe someone like you could actually be interested in me. Stupid Wylan, you idiot. Father’s so right about you, you’re such a delusion”

“Hey-”

“And you also found me wearing this stupid green jumper and- you know what, I’m taking this off. I’m already a loser to you, so what changes?”

Jesper put a hand on Wylan’s arm and stopped him, trying to look at him in the eyes.

“Wylan - did I understand right? - Wylan, stop for a second. What the hell are you talking about? And why shouldn’t you wear that jumper? I...” the captain laughed nervously “I am honestly so confused, but please listen to me”

The redhead froze at the sudden warmth of the captain’s hand on his arm: he dried his cheeks with his sleeve and sighed: “Just be fast, I really can’t do this today”

The captain cleared his throat: “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I think there’s been a huge misunderstanding” he smiled at Wylan “I really want to go to the prom with you”

Wylan’s eyes widened, his breath catched: was he serious?

“Is that so?”

Jesper laughed: “I’ve already asked you twice in less than an hour, what do you want, a formal request?”

“I...” the redhead was speechless, his mind was starting to ache trying to understand how any of that were possible. He was probably dreaming.

The captain pointed his hand to the free space next to Wylan: “While you take this life-changing decision, may I sit?”

Wylan gave him the faintest smile: “Yeah”

The captain sat and the redhead held his breath for some seconds: Jesper’s arm was muscled and strong against his thin one, his profile looked like a sculpture, his lips were the most perfect shape he’d ever seen, his skin was a beautiful light brown similar to that cappuccino he loved so much. When Wylan found the ability to breath again, the captain’s fresh scent made him drunk.

He was going to lose his mind, so he made his eyes look away before he did anything stupid.

Jesper felt Wylan’s tension through his arm against his, so he placed a hand on the piano and played a random key: “I’ve always been astonished by the power of this instrument, but I don’t think I’ll ever understand how to play it” he turned his head to Wylan “You were playing beautifully, I would’ve listened to you for hours”

Wylan shrugged: “It wasn’t a great performance, I was just letting some bad feelings out. I can do better. Besides, that’s not even my main instrument”

“Oh?” now Jesper was surprised: just how great could this guy’s talents be?

The redhead smiled and scrolled his head: “No, I play the flute. But here at school I can only use the piano, hygienic stuff, you know. I... I really needed to play some music just to feel better”

Jesper nodded: “Did you feel bad because of the note I left in your locker?”

“Well...” Wylan sighed “Kind of. It’s not your fault, though: at first I was surprised, then I saw you and you friend laugh and I panicked. I thought it was all just a mockery”

“Why would you think that?” asked the captain raising a brow.

Wylan laughed: “Are you kidding? You’re, like, the most popular person in the entire school, how could I believe you were actually asking me out?”

He wasn’t going to mention his dyslexia too. He didn’t want to ruin the moment. Besides, he was starting to think Jesper didn’t actually know about it.

“Well, for starters I should inform you that you’re very cute and that you shouldn’t blush for me saying that” Jesper restrained a smile looking at those pale cheeks get the darkest shade of red “And you should also know that Inej and I were laughing because we were so excited to see your reaction. I’ve had you stuck in my head for a while now, you know”

“You... you have?” Wylan could simply not believe it. There wasn’t any logic in any of that. 

Yet, it was happening.

“Yeah”

“So... so is everything true? You really want to go out with me, of all guys?”

“Oh Christ, you’re a tough one, aren’t you?” asked Jesper rolling his eyes. He stood up, just to get down on one knee and take Wylan’s hands in his “Please, Wylan, for the last time, will you go to this godforsaken prom with me?”

The redhead laughed, incredulous, but at the same time trusting towards that handsome guy kneeling if front of him: “I think I will”

“Oh my- can’t you just say yes, for my heart’s sake?”

“Okay, yes! Yes I will!” conceded Wylan, now laughing so hard he couldn’t even remember he’d been crying just a few minutes before.

“Thank God. This was the toughest task of my life so far”

Jesper sat back next to Wylan, smiling and feeling wonderfully. The redhead looked at him for a while, then cleared his throat: “Would you mind if I...” he hesitated, unsure if he could already go that far.

“If you what?”

Wylan lowered his eyes and whispered: “... if I hugged you?”

Jesper smiled as he whispered back a faint “come here”, circling Wylan’s shoulders with his arm, pulling him towards his body and placing his other hand between his incredibly soft curls. They both closed their eyes, feeling well, in the right place.

“By the way” whispered Jesper, not moving the tiniest inch from their hug “I have no idea why you talked about your jumper, but for the record I think green looks wonderful on you”

Wylan smiled against the captain’s chest: “You do?”

“Yes. It makes your eyes and your hair look even more beautiful. As a matter of fact, you should wear green more often”

In response, Wylan held tighter to Jesper’s body: “I will, then”

[dreaming-about-fanfictions]

Choose Me Instead II Draco Malfoy x Reader II Chapter 4 of 27: Potions

Summary:  Pretending to be in a relationship with Draco Malfoy to get back at your ex might have not been the smartest idea you ever had. Especially during your last year of Hogwarts where you should be focusing on exams and your future plans. However, you were just pretending. There was no way in hell you could actually catch feelings for someone like Malfoy. … Right?

CHAPTER 3

A/N: I’m blown away by how many people have started reading my fic. Thank you all so much <3

Words: 3550 Pairing: Draco Malfoy x female!Reader, post-war Warnings: mentions of sex, references to trauma in the form of nightmares

The moments you and Malfoy shared on the Quidditch field that Saturday night kept replaying in your head for weeks. It’s beneath you. The sentence had stuck with you. You knew he was right about it. Ron Weasley didn’t deserve any more of your attention. However, it seemed impossible to get rid of the anger that filled you every time you saw him.

You spent so many days together and never wanted to fall for him – no, you tried to stay away when he first approached you, feeling it was not right. Hermione was your friend and you knew, this behavior would hurt her. But he wouldn’t stop trying to get you to go out with him and before you knew it, he teared down all the walls you had so carefully built around yourself. It was the first time in a long while that you felt like a normal teenager and just when you started to trust him and the first feelings started to blossom – he turned away, acting like your time together never happened. It hurt. It hurt so fucking much. And who was Malfoy to understand that?

You avoided Ron whenever possible, keeping yourself busy with schoolwork and Quidditch. For the first time ever you joined the team and it turned out to be an amazing decision as it took your mind of things. Things mainly being Ron or Malfoy.

You watched Malfoy during meals out of the corner of your eyes. He usually sat together with Zabini, Parkinson and Nott, listening to them but not joining in the conversations apart from the occasional smile or remark. In class, he sat in the back, working quietly on his own. Sometimes you passed him in the hallways or the library and then you noticed him writing in the black notebook over and over.

A strange fascination kept drawing your attention towards the young man. He was not the Malfoy you grew accustomed to over the years – no more stupid fights or devious pranks. A lot less mean remarks and insults. Of course you knew the reason behind his change but it didn’t stop you from searching for his white blond hair in the crowds, wanting to watch him from afar.

You wondered about his life. He spoke about so many personal things that night. Although it was always with a sarcastic or cynical undertone, the painful honesty behind his words now sent shivers down your back when you thought about it. Yet, not once did you talk to him again afterwards – and he avoided you too as far as you could tell. At least, he always looked away when your eyes accidentally met from across the room, focusing on the book in front of him again. That notebook was another riddle. Although you already guessed what it was, you were curious nonetheless.

Soon the days grew colder and the leaves turned brown. Less time was spent outside, more and more did you find yourself huddled in front of the common room fireplace with a mug of hot tea and a good book. Hogwarts started to feel like home again. It was a slow process but each day the memories began to be replaced with new ones. Better ones. For some it was harder than for others. Ginny was one of them. She smiled and laughed loudly during the days but some nights were still difficult.

Tonight was one of them. You opened your eyes, blinking a few times as you needed a moment to fully wake up. Something startled you in your sleep. Then you heard someone tossing and turning – it came from Ginnys bed. You reached for your wand and whispered “Lumos”. Shining the light towards your friend, you saw her distorted facial expressions as her hands kept twitching. She was mumbling something you didn’t understand at first but then one word stood out – Fred.

You were up on your feet in seconds, kneeling next to her bed. “Ginny,” you softly touched her arm. “Ginny, wake up.”

Her eyes flew open and a gasp escaped her lips.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “Just a nightmare.”

“I-I saw –,” she stuttered and looked at you, slowly realizing where she was. When she did however, she remembered about him as well. You saw what would happen next by the way her lips started to tremble and without hesitation pulled her into a hug. Tears were streaming down her face, quiet sobs shaking her whole body. You held her for minutes, stroking her back, wishing you could do something to ease her pain.

At some point Ginny let go of you, reaching for a tissue on her nightstand. “I’m sorry for waking you up,” she mumbled after cleaning her nose.

You smiled empathetically at her. “Don’t worry.”

She sighed, smiling back at you sadly before she started rummaging through the drawer. “Damn,” she pulled out an empty bottle.

“What is it?”, you asked.

“It helps me sleep,” she explained and added – after she saw your worried expression – with a chuckle: “It’s nothing addicting, don’t worry. It’s just … ugh, I knew I forgot something.” She let herself fall back against the pillow.

“Where do you normally get it from?” You looked at the small bottle. It didn’t look like she bought it somewhere. It looked handmade.

“Madame Pomfrey.”

You nodded, standing up to grab a robe. “I’ll get it.”

“No! Oh, Y/N, please don’t, I can manage,” Ginny tried to protest but you shook your head.

“It’s fine, really!”, you smiled at her.

“She’s probably asleep anyways.”

“She always has someone working the night shift. I’ll just grab that –,” you took the battle and put it in the pocket of your robe. “– and I’ll be right back.”

 ***

Hogwarts at night always felt a little creepy. Dark and long hallways, ghosts passing you by and that eerie silence … A shiver ran down your spine and you sped up a little, wanting to be back in bed as fast as possible.

The door to the hospital wing was open, illuminated by a glimmer of light coming from inside. Good, so someone was there. You slipped through the door and made your way towards the office of Madame Pomfrey.

“Come in,” she called when you knocked on the door.

She was turned away from you, her nose stuck in a book. To your surprise, she wasn’t the only one in the small office. In front of her desk stood no other than … Draco Malfoy.

“Oh.”

Malfoy didn’t look at you. “The healer that has worked for my family for decades said it’s alright,” he said with a pressed voice, directing it at Madame Pomfrey.

The woman sighed softly before she turned around. “Well, honey, your healer probably also gets paid by your family.”

“What that’s supposed to mean?”, Malfoy asked, sounding almost offended.

“Nothing,” she replied. “But I disagree with him. Although the medicine has no immediate side effects, prolonged and excessive use of it can make it stop working altogether. I believe, this wouldn’t help you very much either and –”

“I know, I know,” he interrupted her, clearly having had this talk before.

Madame Pomfrey continued talking in a stern voice: “I refilled your bottle twice during the past ten days – it says so in my book here and I keep very good track of all my patients – so I can’t give you anymore.” A sad smile appeared on her face. “I’m sorry, honey. I can however offer you this.“ She pulled a small cotton bag from one of the drawers. “It contains different herbs. Put it under your pillow and it’ll help you sleep.“

Malfoy hung his head, looking defeated and exhausted. „What about the … dreams?“

„I’m so sorry, honey, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”

With another sigh, he finally gave in and took the cotton bag. “Good night,” he muttered and left the room, without even glancing in your direction.

Feeling as if you had just witnessed something that wasn’t meant for you to see, you stood awkwardly in the corner of the room, waiting for the healer to speak.

“Poor boy,” she mumbled and shook her head with a sad expression. Then she looked at you: “What are you here for, dear?”

You took a step forward, holding up the bottle.

“Oh dear, this is really in demand tonight,” she took it from you.

So Malfoy was using the same medicine as Ginny? Interesting.

“It’s for Ginny Weasley,” you explained. “She’s not doing well tonight so I came to get it.”

Madame Pomfrey nodded, quickly glancing into her patient book. Then she disappeared behind a few shelves and came back with a fully filled bottle. “It’s been a while for her. I’m glad to see she’s needing less,” she said. “Give her my best. Good night, honey!”

“Good night,” you replied, smiling at her.

Stepping outside the office, you were surprised to see Malfoy leaning against the hospital wing doors. He looked nervous, shifting uncomfortably, drawing circles on the ground with his foot.

“You forget something?”, you asked when you reached him.

He looked at you for the first time, his eyes taking your pajamas and bathrobe. “Nice outfit,” he sneered.

“Have you looked in the mirror?”, you replied sarcastically, pushing the doors open. You referred to the sweatpants and the oversized shirt he was wearing, surprised someone like Malfoy even owned such clothes.

He followed you outside. “I was just –”, he began after a moment. “I wanted to make sure –”

“I haven’t met anyone on my way to Madame Pomfrey. She was alone in her office,” you interrupted him, guessing where this was going.

“Right,” Malfoy mumbled.

“Anything else?” You stopped by a large staircase. “I have to go up here.”

He shook his head. “No.” After a brief moment of hesitation, he added: “Good night, Y/L/N.”

You could hear the unspoken ‘thank you’ within those three words and sent him a very tired smile, just wanting to get back to bed. “Night, Malfoy.”

 ***

You were the first to arrive at the Potions classroom and leaned against the cold stone wall with a yawn. It was the last class for today and you looked forward to going back to your room for a quick nap.

Ginny had fallen asleep quickly after you had brought her the medicine and so did you. Although, you had a restless night after that, waking up countless times from weird dreams. All of them featuring one specific person: Malfoy. The two of you walking through the Forbidden Forest, sitting in your childhood room, talking on the Astronomy Tower. Waking up confused and not feeling rested at all, you wondered what it meant. Why would you ever dream of him? Just because you talked a couple of times and you accidentally got involved in very personal situations? Just because you kissed once? Oh, the kiss – also a frequent visitor in your dreams. Not that it meant anything. He was an objectively good kisser, nothing more, nothing less.

“Y/N?”

You looked up when someone called your voice. Ron walked towards you, noticeably agitated.

“You have a couple minutes?”, he asked.

No, was your immediate thought. “Yes.”

“Good, good,” he looked behind himself, checking if anyone else was in the hallway, fiddling nervously with his hands. “It’s about Hermione.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What about her?”

“Well, I know you told Ginny about … us,” he started. “She screamed at me more than once for it.”

You suppressed a smile.

“Anyways, I was wondering … please don’t tell Hermione,” Ron finally managed to get out.

His request irritated you. “Don’t you think I would have told her by now if I wanted her to know?”

“I … No, I don’t know,” he shrugged. “You know how girls are.”

“Excuse me?” There it was again – the all too familiar rage starting to form inside of you. “How are we girls?”

He sighed. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just noticed you’ve been avoiding me ever since school started and Hermione even started questioning me about this and I’m afraid it’s some sort of plan of yours to … y’know, get back at me.”

“What the fuck, Ron! How manipulative do you think I am?”, you spat at him. “I don’t care about your stupid relationship and I’m not getting involved. I know it’s hard for you to comprehend but some people actually still have values and don’t treat their supposed friends like shit!”

“Treat you like shit?”, now he started to raise his voice as well. “When have I ever –”

You interrupted him: “Don’t act dumber than you are!”

His face slowly began to turn red. “I never once said we were anything serious!”

“You joked about us moving in together after school!”

“Yes, Y/N,” he hissed. “I joked about it.”

You started at him in disbelief. “You’re such a jerk.”

“And you’re … you’re … ugh,” he stammered, his face still glowing red. “It’s not like I don’t have any feelings for you! I had a huge crush on you but Hermione …” He crossed his arms. “I can’t have both and she’s …”

“No, you can’t,” you glared at him. “Now, get the fuck away from me.”

Ron clenched his teeth, not making any efforts to follow your demand. “You have to promise me you won’t tell her!”

This guy was unbelievable. “I don’t have to do anything!”

“Y/N, you have to –”

“Has your mother taught you no manners, Weasley?”, a sudden voice said behind him. Malfoy arrived at the classroom door, nonchalantly letting his bag slip from his shoulders and leaning against the wall across from you. “She wants you to leave her alone.”

Irritatedly, Ron looked at him. “Shut your mouth, Malfoy. I’m talking to Y/N!”

“No, you’re harassing her,” his voice was cold as ice. “So leave or you’ll regret it.”

Ron scoffed. “Yeah, right. What are you gonna do, Death Eater?”

“Mr. Weasley!” Professor Slughorn stood in the now open to the classroom, looking at the three of you in shock. “How dare you insult your fellow classmate like that?”

Ron’s eyes widened. “I’m … He provoked me, Professor!” He pointed a finger at Malfoy who raised his hand in a ‘I-don’t-know-what-he’s-talking-about’-gesture.

Slughorn shook his head in disappointment. “Mr. Weasley, you will come with me. You two”, he looked at you and Malfoy. “Class will start in ten minutes. You can come in once your classmates arrive.”

You nodded and Ron trotted inside, head hanging low. Then the door closed behind him. Turning towards Malfoy, he was watching you with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Beneath you,” he mouthed silently.

Letting out a huff of air, you rolled your eyes. “I don’t need you to come to my rescue. Ever.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t come to your rescue though. I just can’t stand the sound of Weasleys voice.”

“Right,” you stood up straight.

Anger and disbelief were the only two emotions you felt in this moment. To think that just three months ago, you were head over heels falling for this boy – and now, he acted like such an idiot. Running around, completely disregarding the feelings of others. Your feelings. Your eyes began to burn and you swallowed hard, trying to keep the tears from coming. He didn’t deserve any of that.

You could feel Malfoy still watching you. Thankfully, he stayed quiet.

Finally, the others arrived. Inside the classroom, you were met by an angry looking Ron. “Two weeks of detention,” he hissed when Harry sat down next to him. “For telling the truth about Malfoy! Can you believe it?!”

Serves you right, you thought.

“Open your book, page 124,” Slughorn announced when the students had settled down. “You’ll work on the assignment in pairs of two. Following pupils will work together: Miss Parkinson and Miss Granger …”

Before he could continue, both girls started to protest. He raised his hand. “No, you cannot switch. As we told you in the beginning of the school year, we will actively try to demolish the house rivalry. Making you work together is an important step towards this goal. So, let me continue, please. Mister Zabini and Mister Finnigan, Miss Weasley and Mister Nott, Mister Malfoy and Miss Y/L/N …”

Oh for gods sake. Did the universe desperately plotted to get the two of you to spend time together? Suppressing a groan, you grabbed your books, going over to Malfoys table at the back of the class.

Wordlessly, he grabbed his bag, removing it from the chair next to him.

“Seven years of not talking alone once and now I have to put up with you every second day.” You wanted the sentence to come out nicer than it did and mentally slapped yourself for sounding so mean.

Nevertheless, Malfoy nodded in agreement. “I’m just as thrilled about this as you are, Y/L/N.”

The two of you started working quietly and efficiently. Potions had always come easy to you, even when Snape used to be the teacher, and apparently, Malfoy seemed to be just as skilled.

“Did you tell anyone?”, you broke the silence suddenly while stirring the violet liquid inside the cauldron.

He quickly glanced at you. “If I did you would have noticed.”

Probably true.

“Did you?”

You shook your head. “Nope.”

The two of you continued working for a while. You kept glancing at Malfoy, remembering the dreams from last night. A strange sense of curiosity formed inside of you. You watched him, the way he read the instructions carefully, mumbling to himself at times. Then suddenly your eyes began trailing off, wandering down to your lips. The moment in the storage room suddenly flashed before your eyes and without noticing, you licked over your own lips.

“Enjoying the view, Y/L/N?“

You realized in terror that Malfoy had stopped working and was now looking at you with an amused expression.

“No, what, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you uttered, your cheeks burning from embarrassment.

“Don’t worry, I know of the effect I can have on women.“

You snorted. „You’re awfully arrogant, Malfoy.“

„It’s the truth. Not even good Gryffindors such as yourself can resist the Malfoy charm,” he chuckled to himself.

“In your dreams, Malfoy.“

He didn’t reply to that but instead smirked at you, causing you to blush even more. “Don’t worry, my standards aren’t low enough for you.”

“Says the girl who slept with Weasley,” he had leaned in and whispered those words very close to your ear.

You knew no one could have possibly heard him but flinched nevertheless and lightly hit his arm. “Shh!”

Malfoy chuckled. “We’re done, Professor,” he then announced loudly and stepped back from the table.

Slughorn came over, taking a good look at your work. “Mhm, very well done,” he concluded after a moment. “You’ll receive an excellent mark for that. Well done! You can clean up and then start your homework assignment. Page 125.”

You smiled at the old man, happy about his praise and happy, that working together with Malfoy had been such an easy task,

“Anyways,” you began when the two of you had cleaned the table and stored everything away. “How’s that whole thing going?” You nodded towards the place where Astoria Greengrass was sitting.

Malfoy simply shrugged. “Every day I’m one step closer to go looking for a fake girlfriend.”

You snorted.

It was a strange feeling, having disliked Malfoy for so long and now being able to converse so easily. In your mind, you knew it would have been smarter to stay away, avoid him whenever possible. At least for your family that was the smarter approach. He had been a Death Eater and even though you’d never bring it up and strongly believed in second chances, his family still upheld these values. They still fought on the wrong side of the war. It disturbed you how effortlessly you had formed a connection with him.

You looked up from your book when you felt that strange sensation of someone staring at you. A little irritated, you searched the room with your eyes. It was Ron. The redhead was staring at you angrily from across the class and when you saw him like that, the weirdest thought popped into your head:

How mad would he be if I were to be Malfoys girlfriend?

It was a crazy thought, nothing you planned on taking seriously. But Ron admitted he had felt something for you. So how funny would it be to pretend you were dating his childhood enemy? Oh, he would be fuming.

You looked over to Malfoy who was scribbling on a piece of paper. No. No, this was too crazy. Right? Of course, it would be just for fun – just to get back at Ron. He even accused you of having some sort of plan to hurt him. You never considered yourself a person who was interested in revenge but this would be harmless. It wouldn’t even count as revenge. It would help Malfoy out and piss Ron off. Win-win. A few months of playing ‘happy couple’ in public and it would be done. A simple task. No way would you be able to develop any deeper feelings for that Slytherin. No way.

***

I hope you liked it! I’d love to hear your thoughts about this chapter! <3 A/N: I’m sorry that it takes me a while to get to the whole fake relationship thing. But it would feel so rushed so that’s why I’m trying to slow it down a little. I hope you can understand <3

CHAPTER 5

“Choose Me Instead” Masterlist HP Masterlist Tags: @writerdee1701​, @youareinllve​, @sjmahoney​, @detroitobsessed​, @takura-rin​, @jadam268​, @wynterwind​, @mina672, @renaissance-confiance​, @harpoon999​, @doitforthevine67​, @rinasrights​, @flowerpowerpixie​, @gold-flowing​, @starkssnarks​, @bookcornerkins​, @harpersmariano​, @markedsweetly​, @iraniq​, @pointlesscoconut​, @hvrcruxes​, @pillowjj​, @idkatee​, @jungjxxhyun, @magicwithaknife​, @graystherapy​, @sophia-gwendolyn​, @nxstalgicnxbxdy​, @sunsetsofanemoia​, @s4dthrills, @tommy-holland​, @lordfxxker​, @streetfighterrichie​, @awaken-the-sirens​, @destiels-assbutt13​ If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know! :)

[dramioneasks]

HP FESTS: Daily Dose of Death

Dramione Death Fest 2021:

Saints and Sinners by icepower55 - E, one-shot - You know, there’s never equity in a relationship; someone always cares more or loves more. And in my case, I’m here, and she’s gone.

Her Desperate Cure by Musyc - M, 6 chapters - Hermione is going to have a child. Whatever it takes, whatever she has to do, she will have a child. She refuses to accept anything less. She refuses to fail, no matter the cost.

elysium by another_lonely_writer - T, one-shot - In a world where a Lord has crowned himself King, the lines between Right and Wrong and Black and White blend into a dreary grey as Hermione Granger finds herself striking up a strange alliance with Draco Malfoy. “And what sets me apart from those beasts?” She places a gentle hand upon his chest, a light caress over the heart he loves to pretend doesn’t exist. Slowly, leaning over, resting her head on his shoulder, the steady beat undeniable proof to what she knows to be true. “You’re just as human as me.”

In Your Time of Dying by Modest_K - T, one-shot - Draco Malfoy won't let Hermione die, not if he can help it. Even if it means the ultimate sacrifice, something more difficult to offer than his own death.

Escape by grace_lou_freebush - E, one-shot - When Hermione Granger is captured and brought to Malfoy Manor, Draco wiggles his way into the Dark Lord's good graces enough to become one of her guards. When the Dark Lord promises to give Hermione to his Death Eaters, Draco knows the only way for her to survive is to escape. Draco smiled sadly, drawing the back of a finger down her cheek. “I can’t stop seeing you like that.” His finger trailed down to trace one of the bruises on her neck. “These haven’t even healed yet. My mind comes up with a thousand ways you got them.” “Stop, Draco,” she said. “It’s not your fault. There’s nothing you could have done.” Draco stilled. “There was. There is.” Now was the time to tell her. “I’m going to get you out of here. Before the Dark Lord returns.”

Follow by dragonlywriting, raven_maiden - M, one-shot - “You promised me this was the end.” His voice was steady. “Whether we won or lost this one, you’d come with me this time. Leave everything behind.” In the midst of battle, Draco and Hermione share a quiet moment alone. Art and drabble collaboration for the Dramione Death Fest.

Too Late by monsterleadmehome - T, one-shot - Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.

To Love and To Lose by MidnightValkyrie - M, one-shot - It's in fairy tales, not war, that happy endings occur.

A Quota of Bad Luck by forgotten_traveler - M, 6 chapters - In his dreams, Draco took charge once the healer told them her diagnosis. He shoved aside his emotions and asked the valuable questions that he needed to know. His grip on Hermione’s hand assured her that everything would be okay. He even asked the one question that would cause the healer to have such a strong revelation about the illness that he would come up with a cure. When she needed him most, in his mind at least, he acted like a man. But that wasn’t what he did.

Tomorrow by Aneiria - T, one-shot - He would tell her tomorrow...

On the Alter of Ishtar by TJ_Dubs - M, one-shot - This is the house where things die. This is my home. Draco is home for Easter Holiday when the snatchers bring Saint Potter, the Weasel and the Mudblood to his house.

I’ve Never Felt Better by Canttouchthis - T, one-shot - Hermione says her final goodbye to Draco Malfoy.

Marjorie by Ash_ling_ook - T, one-shot - Part of the Dramione Death Fest 2021 Draco writes a letter to his late love, Hermione Granger and reflects on the events leading to their parting. ****** Your waste basket had three things in it. I don't know why I stared at it for so long. A crumpled envelope, a torn piece of parchment with writing on it...I don't know, potions ingredients maybe? And a dried up used tissue. It was stuck to the parchment. I had to rip it away from the parchment so I could keep those useless words. Your perfect penmanship. And fuck me, how I thought far too long about keeping that fucking dried up crusty scrap of tissue as well…

Regretfully Yours by storyofeden - M, one-shot - Draco knows who his soulmate is. Hermione will never find out.

Submit by LittleIvy - not rated, one-shot - It’s been six months since the Battle of Hogwarts. Bloody, brutal, victoryless. A long string of assassinations and espionage followed, shot through with bouts of guerrilla warfare and the quiet, insidious fear that someone could betray you at any moment, of their own volition or through force. I don’t know how much longer I can keep fighting.

Freitod by oOMaryAliceOo - G, one-shot - Freitod: noun [ masculine ] /ˈfraitoːt/ The intended ending of one’s life, whether by an active action or passively by omitting life-sustaining measures such as the taking of vital drugs, food or liquids.

Belladonna by dramionetrash - not rated, one-shot - “You...you faked your death?!” He could only nod. He knew she must have hundreds of questions buzzing around her curious mind like a swarm of angry bees, and she looked stung. “How?” “You’ve read Romeo and Juliet?”

Red as the Dawn by JupiterAscending - G, one-shot - It has been 3 weeks since Hermione Granger died in a freak accident at Malfoy Manor. Consumed by his own grief, Draco blames himself for his beloved’s death, and gives in to the destruction devouring his mind.

A promise kept by Katria_Faeyero - T, one-shot - “You are my most precious treasure. And by tomorrow, by the end of the battle, you will be free. You will grow old, go to school. You will learn how to fly and how to create beautiful magic. You will make friends and then fall in love. You will graduate and follow a career that you like. And then you will marry, probably have your own children. You will be happy Scorpius. You will be free."

The Fallout by yanitaag - T, one-shot - Because nothing was like everybody thought. Those naïve, poor souls. Oblivious to everything happening around them or worse they were all refusing to acknowledge it. One day every bit of it came like a tidal wave for which they weren’t prepared. Even Draco who was helping the Order through Hermione left his guard down for a moment, this – this was his final and biggest mistake. He had been so careful but one final doing was his fallout.

The End of a War by taylormariexo - not rated, one-shot -Who deserves redemption in a war? Who deserves death as their fate? Hermione Granger believes those who deserve redemption should receive it, no matter what their past holds. Draco Malfoy doesn't believe he deserves redemption. Yet, who deserves to die in the end?

Two Lines by QueenieBlood - M, one-shot - loss /lɒs/ the fact or process of losing something or someone. •∆• In which Draco and Hermione experience the loss of something dearest to them.

Judgement by darkist_999 - T, one-shot - When the Ministry causes the death of Hermione Granger, every last bit of Draco Malfoy’s control is gone.

[buddyfromearth]

Object of Affection

For @gothamsworst​ because your entire penguin tag has put into me a great fire to write a sheepish significant other for him.  Mind you, I haven’t written fanfiction since high school so forgive me if I get something wrong (I’m still getting into DC and my parents think it’s embarrassing because I had a lobo phase out of high school.)

Notes: confessions of love; sfw (some slight implications at the end but it cuts off because that’s not going on this blog here); aw, gee, he brought a bouquet of flowers; hey who ordered flirting because here’s some; several headcanons in one go let’s go people; I can write pretty words I just mostly refuse to in favor of making it all comics instead; idea of flirting is just walking up with a bouquet and going “marry me”; I don’t know what I’m doing I’ve never written this guy before.

EDIT: fixed some things.

 Stuck between yearning for love and the fear of rejection was a difficult place to be. It was at least easier to know rejection than it was to have yearning for love going totally unanswered.  Oh, what pain it was. 

   Oswald Cobblepot, that troublesome Penguin known about Gotham as one hell of a man to cross, was madly in love.  Yes, an unfortunate feeling to have.  But he couldn’t help it.  Not this time, at least. 

   It was someone he’d seen around the lounge, lurking nearby where he’d watch the penguins. When he saw them around and was able to not make it awkward, he couldn’t help but stare at those eyes all green and deep like some dark thicket.  And those venomous eyes did plenty of staring back: he could feel their gaze fixated on him whenever he was working at the lounge. 

   Really, though, what did he know about this crush that had taken his entire heart by a single blow?  Well, he knew enough.  His eyes about Gotham told him that they weren’t much of anything besides a total hermit: mostly stayed home at a ground-floor apartment in a low-rent yet slightly decent part of town (as decent as the city could be, anyway), and had everything that was needed for living delivered to their door.  No car: only ever ventured out on a trike with a headlight on the front and a trunk on the back.  He wasn’t even sure what they did for a living. 

   At the very least Oswald knew he could find them lurking around the lounge.  So, that’s exactly where he went. 

   Of course, such an event was not something to go into completely unprepared.  He pulled out a nice suit, as usual, with all the fine accoutrements he was well-known for.  An umbrella in one hand and a large bouquet of bloody red roses in the other.  Even went out of the way to pick out cologne, albeit he preferred not to.  He wanted to make the best impression he could. 

   It was just that odd hour before the post-work rush.  Oswald hoped he’d not come in on a wrong night.  Trying not to draw too much attention, he made a long sort of awkward path over to where they usually were. 

   There they were, right at that surprisingly bare table he got used to passing by.  There was a pencil case pushed to one side, and it sat next to a tall glass of what he thought might be soda (of course, he wasn’t about to just try it: that would be a bit too much).  They were hunched over something in front of them, and their hands moved quickly with a pencil and a brush. 

   “Excuse me, my dear,” started Oswald, with a soft tone so as to not scare this beloved mystery away, “but is this table taking guests?” 

   They jumped.  Oswald feared he’d gone too fast.  Oh, wonderful, now he’d scared them off! 

   They looked up and met his eyes.  What was once a terrified look behind thick glasses quickly melted into something tender and rather curious.  “Oh.”  Their voice had an astoundingly flat affect, hinting at an origin out in midland farming country with the slight tint to it.  They cleared their throat, and moved their bag to the other side.  “S-sure thing, sir, sure.  Wasn’t expecting anyone to be over here tonight.  Normally people only ever come over to ask for free work from me.”  Their voice was soft and quiet as they spoke: an absolutely adorable sound that hit just right in his ears.  He could listen to it talk forever. 

   “Excellent.”  Oswald sat down directly next to them, putting the umbrella to rest on the seat beside him. 

   Their face quickly changed colors.  It went from a sickly pale in the lowlight to being absolutely taken over with blush.  “R-right, s-sure.  Please, forgive me for asking, but haven’t I seen you around here before?” 

   “Of course you would have seen me here before,” said Oswald, rolling his eyes slightly.  “I own this lounge, after all.” 

   “Oh, I…” They stopped for a moment, and their mouth was slightly agape as they appeared to slowly mentally register the weight of the situation.  Then their eyes shot wide open and they gave up a nervous smile with chattering teeth. “M-Mr. Cobblepot, sir.  I-I-I didn’t think I was something you’d… well, y’know, actually come over to see?” 

   “Quite the contrary,” said Oswald, moving in closer and putting an arm around their shoulder.  “You’ve captured my attention with how much you care about my darlings.  I see you in here and I can’t help but wonder if you’re some kindred soul.”  He gestured just slightly over at the centerpiece of the lounge, the namesake iceberg with a whole group of penguins he often spent hours watching on his days off.

   They looked over to where he gestured, and then they nodded quickly.  The nervousness quickly got itself out of that smile, and their entire posture melted into one of repose.  “Your penguins, right.  Right, the penguins!  Of course! They’re so cute: little communal flipper birds that just waddle around and honk and preen all day.”  They sighed and smiled, leaning forward and putting their head to rest in their hand.   “What I wouldn’t give for a life so carefree.”

   Oswald immediately had a few ideas come to mind.  Oh, he could take care of that: he could just bring them into his life and get them out of that awful apartment, pamper them with anything and everything they could ever want.  Ask them to move in with you.  Ask them for a date.  Ask them to share a drink.  No, no, no, that’s all too fast!  Play it slowly: perhaps they’ll melt into your arms if you go ahead just right.  

   “How often are you around here, hm?”  Oswald looked over from behind his monocle at this mystery figure that had caught his attention and proceeded to hold it in a vice-like grip, taking a moment to look at what he was dealing with.  Their figure was mostly obscured by big, bulky articles of clothing, but what could be made out was all thick and rolled together like some haphazard cake stacked up far too high for its own good.  It was very easy to look at.  “You seem to know enough about my precious little birds.”  “Perhaps a bit too much” was a phrase he wanted to add, but he wasn’t about to murder this feeling. 

   “I don’t really drink alcohol.  I only really come here to draw the iceberg and all the penguins,” said the mystery crush. “They’re so fun to smush together with their little shapes.  Their little flippers are so cute.  And their little feet are surprisingly complex once you get past all the flub and feathers.” 

   Oh, one of those artist types.  Wait, artist type.  Artist. Oh, this could be good: this could actually be really good for several different reasons!  Not just the romantic pursuit reason, either: perhaps their passion for the arts would include, somewhere in there, a passion for him. 

   “I see.” Oswald reached for the pad of paper they were so vigilantly guarding and said, “I can’t help but have a look at someone’s work regarding my darlings.” 

   A sickly pale hand with chewed-down nails shot over and clamped in on Oswald’s wrist. “Just a second there, Mr. Cobblepot. You have to promise me something first.”

   “Anything, my sweet, anything.” 

   “Don’t tell anyone what you see in this book.  It’s a lot of… well, it’s… bad.” 

   “Oh, I will most certainly be the judge of that.”  Oswald picked up the book, and then handed them the bouquet in return.  “Here, something for you to hold in the meantime.”

   Noting their shocked expression as they carefully took the bouquet in their arms, Oswald began to slowly browse through the contents of the book. 

   What they had said was indeed true: there were a lot of penguins in there.  They were doing all sorts of things: preening their coats, honking, spread out on their stomachs staring at each other, ambling across the ice.  They were all partway realistic, but there was some sort of fantastical flair to them. It was cute: just like them. 

   While flipping through the pages, though, he couldn’t help but notice other pieces. Things like the name of the lounge written out in poster type pieces with his penguins and their little iceberg on it.  There was, undeniably, a unique work of a penguin in a suit like his.  Curious, he turned the page. 

   And what he saw there surprised him greatly. 

   It was not only drawings of patrons with little notes about time scrawled around them that occupied the pages, but there were drawings of him as well.  Little notes here and there about the things he’d wear, the way he’d talk, and the way he moved.  Around one particular piece underlaid with purple markings was a portrait of him smiling: the note around this piece said “Handsome guy but who?”  It was surrounded by little scribbled hearts. 

   Oswald, in his stroke of peacock vanity that got to him every now and again, turned his head slightly as he was gently urged by these things.  “I see that you draw more than birds.” 

   The mystery crush looked over.  They caught a look of what pages he’d come to and they grimaced before sighing and hiding their face in their hands.  “Sorry about that.  I-I draw people a lot, just to stay aware of how to do it.” 

   “It seems you’ve become quite taken with me in these intimate studies,” said Oswald, casting a rather tempered gaze and a matching grin over at the object of his affections as he handed back the book.  “I must admit, I came here tonight thinking you wouldn’t reciprocate the feelings that brought me to you in the first place.” 

   “Oh, wow, feelings?”  The mystery crush smiled and chuckled ever so softly, rubbing their hand along the back of their neck as they took the book and put it back on the table.  “Goodness gracious, Mr. Cobblepot, I didn’t expect a gentlemanly type like yourself to be the romantic type.” 

   “Oh, but isn’t a gentleman always the romantic type?”  Oswald, emboldened by such a soft response, couldn’t help but to pull them in closer.  When they began to blush again, he grinned and pressed a gloved finger to their nose. “I can’t exactly help it.  And please, just call me Oswald.” He then picked up one of their hands and pressed a single, fervent kiss to it.

   “Ah, uh, I guess so,” said the mystery crush, “mister… oh, right, Oswald.  Right, first name basis now.”  Their face was getting hotter by the minute, and they began to stammer over all their words as they put the bouquet on the table.  “I, uh… would, would you be offended if I asked you something kinda personal?” 

   Oswald could already picture several personal questions and perfect little answers to go along with them.  He nodded and held their hands in his.  “Oh, but of course, my dear: anything you ask for, you’ll get it from me.” 

   “Oh.” The mystery crush nodded, their glasses falling down their face in the meantime.  When Oswald reached up and pushed them back to their previous position, they cleared their throat and quickly stammered out, “If you feel so strongly about me, would you mind if I moved in?  I, uh… they hiked the rent on my place again and I have to find a new one before the end of the month.  Don’t make enough.” 

   “Would I mind?  Of course not, dearest bird, of course not.  I have far too many places that need a colorful touch like yours.  You can come with me tonight, if it pleases you, my dear.”

   “You don’t have to be so heavy-handed with all the compliments.” 

   “Oh, but I believe you deserve every last one of them.” 

   “You’re far too kind.”  The mystery crush sighed.  “I hate to tell you this now, after all those compliments and affectionate talk, but I’m kind of a handful, I’m… look, I’m trans and if you’re not into a guy like me, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m- I’m sorry.  We can just go away from this table and never speak about this again.  It… it’ll be fine if we do that.” 

   “Oh, now you just listen to me.”  Oswald put his hands to the mystery crush’s face and leaned it over so they were looking at him. “I don’t rightly care about whether you’re trans or not, and I’ll fund that for you so you can be happy.  You’re just far too pretty of a kindred spirit to be left so alone in such a big city.” 

  “I…” The mystery crush looked baffled. They froze for a moment or two, and Oswald wondered if he had said too much.  After a long silence, they sighed and smiled so big and soft that it couldn’t help but bring him to smile as well.  “Wow.  Thanks.” 

   “Oh, you’re ever so welcome, my dear.”  Oswald pressed his face up to theirs and quickly asked, “May I?” 

   “May you… oh, right.  Right! Yes, you may, Oswald.  You most certainly may!” 

   With that, Oswald couldn’t help but press a kiss to their lips.  Their lips were slightly chapped, and he couldn’t help but nuzzle his face just slightly against theirs in some affectionate attempt to bring intimacy to such a moment.  This move, while unexpected at first, was quickly reciprocated as their hands took hold of his shoulders. 

   Oswald pulled away with a troublesome little grin spread across his lips, and the object of all those affections smiled like this sort of intimacy was brand new to them. “I can’t help but wonder what your name is.” 

   “Look, my name is…”  They stopped for a moment, but then they smiled and just said, “Call me Lou for now. I can’t think of a name that belongs to me.” 

   “Then let’s find that out together.”  Oswald took his umbrella up and moved to stand, offering his hand to Lou.  “Come, I can have a crew bring your things to our home tomorrow.  Tonight, we shall simply be enamored little lovebirds.” 

   Lou laughed.  Their laugh sounded like the call of a bird, with its dragged-out syllables and its pitch. They snorted just slightly as they packed up their things.  “You’re very honest, Oswald.  I like that.  I like that a lot.” 

   “What’s a little honesty between significant others?”  Oswald smiled and shrugged his shoulders. 

   Lou put their bag back on their shoulders and put their hand in Oswald’s as they stood up.  They weren’t much taller than him, and those assumptions he had made about their figure were correct.  “It’s a lot. Let’s go.” 

   Oswald only put his arm around them as the two gently went hand-in-hand to where his driver waited. 

   “What are the plans for this evening, Oswald?” 

   “Oh, I do believe I have a few ideas beginning to come to be.  Just you be patient, my sweet, I’ll tell you when we’re alone.” 

[fandom-necromancer]

Finding each other

This was prompted by the wonderful @smolandangry001! I always think it’s difficult writing a short soulmate AU, but I’m satisfied with this version of it that’s not dangerously close to a bigger fic XD I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 | AU: Soulmate AU

Being born with a name on your wrist life was supposed to be reassuring. Knowing that no matter the hardships it threw at you and no matter what happened, there was someone out there. Someone looking for you just as much as you looked for them. Knowing that once you found the other person, they would be perfect for you. No matter what your preferences were, there was a person out there fitting to you like a missing piece. For most of his life Gavin didn’t know what he was looking for. Would he want a romantic partner? Would he want a roommate? What would be his perfect person like? It didn’t help that his soulmark was so different to everyone else’s. That reassurance everyone faced their day with was just missing when you looked down on your left wrist and instead of a name you saw a number. RK900. His parents had been completely clueless as to what it would mean. They had been to experts on soul-matching and most of them had just shrugged and said it seemed to be a glitch in fate. Apparently, it had happened before, but was so rare most doctors had thought the rumours to be just that: hearsay.

School had been tough for Gavin as he slowly grew older and the most important things in life changed. When friends moved away and changed school, when he went to highschool and met new people. When those people started relationships, fell in love and started to find their soulmates. When he started to become the weirdo, the one with no soulmate. Gavin started hiding the numbers under a wristband when he went and kept up with that habit until he finished school, explaining he wanted to meet his soulmate naturally and not show around the name in the hopes of randomly finding them. Still, some lonely nights, he pulled away the fabric and brushed his thumb over the number deep in thoughts. ‘Who are you?’, he desperately whispered when everyone else was fast asleep and left him alone with their sympathies and misplaced pity. Gavin wanted to believe the numbers meant something. After all, people without soulmarks existed. People who would find their happiness alone, who didn’t need someone or didn’t search for someone. That had to mean these numbers were some sort of designation, right? He didn’t want it to be a glitch. After all he had suffered through getting bullied and being cast out or pitied for all his life. That couldn’t be for nothing. Please, don’t let it be for nothing.

When his application for the police academy had been accepted and he had moved out into his very first own flat, he stood in front of his desk, looking at the rugged fabric he had worn for so long. Shackles of a world that couldn’t seem to accept something different. Should he wear it again? Or should he stand up and pretend not to be bothered by the fact that he didn’t know who is soulmate was? He stood there for half an hour before finally sighing and grabbing the damn things. No, he would continue to lie. He would likely wear them for his whole life anyways.

Thankfully his nervousness was drowning out his worries quickly as he entered a large auditorium being greeted as the new applicants. He sat down next to a young woman that seemed to be of Asian origin. He sat there awkwardly while she was looking straight ahead, hands on the table completely calm while Gavin fidgeted with his wristbands. That was when he spotted a broad ornate leather bracelet on her left wrist. Small chains and silver symbols were twirled around themselves in delicate patterns. ‘That’s beautiful’, Gavin mumbled, only then realising he said that out loud. ‘Excuse me?’ Hastily he cleared his throat. ‘Sorry. I’m Gavin. Just noticed your bracelet. It’s really beautiful.’ ‘What’s it to you?’, she hissed. ‘You another one of those nosey bastards that wanna know why I hide my mark? Still searching for your partner?’ Gavin shook his head quickly. ‘No! No, I-‘ He looked down and lifted his own hand. ‘I hide it too. I didn’t think- I just noticed the bracelet, sorry.’

He cursed himself. First interaction and he already made enemies. But apparently the woman was curious instead. ‘You hide yours? Why?’ Gavin sighed and turned his left palm up, other hand lingering on the fabric. ‘Please, keep it a secret, okay? I’m just sick of people’s reactions to it.  It’s not exactly a normal soulmark.’ He sighed and lifted up the edge of the band so only the woman could see the numbers. ‘No way!’, she shouted, drawing attention to herself. ‘I thought I was the only one!’ Ignoring the curious onlookers that likely thought they had randomly discovered they were soulmates, she lifted up her bracelet for Gavin to see, unveiling a similar brand: ST300.

From that moment on, Gavin and the woman – Tina – were inseparable. She was the best friend Gavin had ever had and finding someone who had endured a similar past was incredible relieving to learn. He made it Detective fairly quickly, while Tina had troubles getting that promotion. But they always stayed together and ended up working in the same precinct. With the way they hid their soulmarks, most had figured they were soulmates and went on with it, sparing them both having to explain it over and over again. Gavin and Tina just shrugged it off. Let them think what they wanted if it kept them out of their hairs.

Life was good until androids were invented and sold to the general public, model number fitting exactly the marks on their wrists. ‘That can’t be!’, Gavin desperately said pacing up and down Tina’s living room one evening. ‘No way my soulmate is a stupid machine! What does that say about me? Will I fall in love with a damn robot? Am I not worthy of a human? Is the only piece fitting to my soul an oversized calculator? I can’t believe it.’ Tina just looked down on her bare wrist and the numbers. ‘No, it can’t be’, she agreed. ‘Soulmarks, Gavin. An android doesn’t have a soul. Doesn’t even have a personality. It’s just lines of code.’ ‘But then what? A coincidence? Because it would be one hell of one! Phck, Tina, what if it is a glitch? What if all those years they were right and we are just weird.’ Tina leaned back. ‘Honestly, I don’t even know what would be worse. Knowing you are a freak or knowing you are someone who is such a terrible person only an obedient machine is perfect for you.’ ‘I think we could both need a drink.’ ‘To those news? I don’t think a drink will be enough, honestly. Shit, Gavin, let’s go get wasted.’

 The following years, androids were the booming new technology. Everyone wanted one, rows of workers were replaced and pushed on the streets. Humans lost their jobs while those who weren’t replaced yet laughed at them as being idiots who didn’t trust in advancement. Gavin and Tina spent them anxiously reading every advertisement, searching for the numbers on their wrists. ‘A receptionist android! A damn receptionist android, Gavin! I can’t believe it!’ ‘You know we will get one of those soon, right?’, the man commented. ‘In the precinct I mean. Rory was already sent packing. It should be delivered next week.’ Tina shook her head numbly. ‘Do we know if androids can have soulmarks?’ ‘None I ever met.’ ‘Any luck with your RK900?’, Tina asked then. ‘No. So far there has only been a RK200 custom made for some rich phck.’ ‘Hey, maybe you will get rich then?’, Tina tried to raise the mood a little with her jokes. ‘If you win the lottery I want a part of it, I deserve it!’ ‘Hey, I think it is more likely that these cursed numbers vanish and I get a real name than that I will suddenly get rich.’

 They lived with their secret for a few years and the fact that nothing really changed was reassuring. Until there was a RK800 in the precinct and the news of rogue AIs spread. Androids killing their owners, disobeying and running for their freedom. An illusive group of deviants emerging and starting a full-blown revolution. Even jokes in between Tina and Gavin shrugging over a beer that maybe their marks meant they welcomed their robot overlords couldn’t really make it any better. Not when they both were suddenly confronted with the fact that the RK800 called Connor actually had Lieutenant Anderson’s name on his wrist after the androids in front of the concentration camps had convinced the world they indeed had souls.

Not much later, the ST300 from the reception had approached Tina, showing her her own name on her wrist. It left Gavin with no escape from fate. He would get to know a RK900. They would live their life with each other. And he didn’t know what to think of it. Maybe he just had to wait a little longer.

~

RK900 didn’t know how much longer he could keep it a secret. Almost his entire life he had to hide that he was deviant. In the lab next to the one he was held in, an android had gone deviant, killed the security and ran to RK900, hoping he would help him. Unfortunately, all he could do was transfer the virus before more guards came and killed him. Since then RK900 had been a deviant who was designed to eradicate deviancy. It wasn’t too difficult actually. The countless tests he was subjected to he always knew what they wanted to see. Holographic simulations of deviants pleading for their lives, running and fighting for their freedom and he would be there with a gun to stop them. He just had to do that until they deemed him ready for field work. Then he could flee the first chance he got.

Because with deviancy came a name written in black cyberlife font on his left wrist: Gavin Reed. It didn’t take a lot of research to learn it was a soulmark. The name of someone that would be perfect for him. And someone who fate decided was his soulmate would be able to help him, right? He just had to get out of this lab, then he would be able to run. He would find his soulmate and then it wasn’t just him against Cyberlife. He just had to get out. He had to be deemed worthy.

 [Test #870. Activating RK900 unit. New mission: Destroy deviants.] RK900 was faced with a holographic simulation as he opened his eyes. In front of him was an android tied against a steel pillar. It was pleading: ‘Please! Free me! Free me and we can both be free! I didn’t do anything, please, let me go! Don’t kill me! I just want to be-‘ RK900 already pulled the trigger. [Mission successful.] [Software Instability^]

-

[Test #902. Activating RK900 unit. New mission: Destroy deviants.] RK900 was running after another deviant. The other android was sprinting down a suburban street and looked back at RK900 panicked. RK900 stopped and took aim. It was an easy target. He pulled the trigger. He watched how the bullet pierced the android’s thirium pump and how he tried to crawl away even though his timer had to run out. [Mission successful.] [Software Instability^^^]

-

 ‘What is it? I thought the RK900 project was making progress.’ ‘Sorry, it’s just… The RK900 is successful in every single test. But he isn’t ready yet. There are some inexplainable high stress levels whenever he has to kill an android. With our current hypothesis that high stress can lead to deviancy, we should eliminate that before sending him out.’ The woman that led the project sighed, looking over at RK900 who stayed completely still on his platform although he was truly worried about what he heard. ‘Might be something in his personality matrix. We worked so long to perfect their social protocols and moral routines, maybe something in there is contradicting his mission parameters and the added stress comes from having to disregard that.’ ‘Could be’, the technician nodded. ‘I will try to eliminate that.’

With horror RK900 faced every following test after that. He had to keep calm to fool the humans, but how could he when he had to kill androids pleading him to spare them? It didn’t matter they were all simulated beings, it still was a traumatic experience, every single time. And no matter how hard he tried, after every test he was stripped of more that made him himself. Sometimes he managed to keep backups, but more often than not the lines of code were lost forever.

After every test RK900 anxiously looked at his wrist whenever he was left alone. It was reassuring to see the name still there. He hadn’t changed enough to lose his soulmate and with him all his hope of a save place. But for how long would he remain himself enough so the name wouldn’t disappear? He was afraid to one day wake up to a blank wrist. And that made his stress levels increase even more before every test.

‘I don’t have any explanation', the technician sighed in the end. ‘I nearly deleted his complete social protocol and gave his moral core the lowest priority and still, the damn thing nearly fries itself every test. It’s almost as if it’s gotten worse with the changes.’ Nines watched the two humans lean over the terminal and risked a small glance at his wrist. The name was still there. He tried to relax. ‘But you still have the backup from before, right?’, the woman asked and he nodded. ‘Then let’s start from scratch.’ She yawned heartily. ‘Deactivate it for now, it’s too late to do so now. Tomorrow we’ll just reset it and start over. Maybe something else causes it.’ ‘Sounds like a plan.’

RK900’s stress levels skyrocketed as the technician came closer, but no one saw that as the director of the project was already on her way out. As his last action he looked at the name on his wrist. He had held out for so long. It would be okay. He would escape and find his soulmate. He had to. He would-

[Shutdown complete.]

~

The revolution had come and gone, and Detroit started to clear the rubble. Seeing androids on the streets was no rarity anymore and after a few months of getting used to the thought of them as people it was simply the new normal. Tina was truly happy with her soulmate android, going out and promptly moving together as the ST300 didn’t have a place to stay other than the precinct. Gavin was invited to most of their activities, but he seldomly accepted it. Tina had waited so long for it, she deserved to thoroughly enjoy these days. But his new loneliness reminded him of the numbers on his own wrist. RK900. Connor didn’t know of any successor of his and no official report ever mentioned the name. Gavin spent his evenings getting drunk and rubbing over the mark. Would the RK900 have been produced if the revolution hadn’t happened? Had fate changed and his mark was the last evidence of it? Wouldn’t it have just disappeared then? Or was there really a RK900 left out there? But after more than a month of androids being free, wouldn’t it have been easy for an android to locate him with his name? Why had no one ever come?

In fact, Gavin had given up. Maybe he had given up long ago and just kept his dream alive not to lose hope. But this showed it, right? No one had come. He was alone. He would be alone his entire life. That would be his fate. That didn’t really change that much, right? He had been alone already. He had managed to be alone up until now, he would manage the rest somehow. He had his work. He had Tina. Maybe just because he wanted more didn’t mean he needed more.

He buried himself in work and took every job they needed people on. Patrolling the streets, looking at crime scenes, doing overdue paperwork and cleaning the break room. All just so he would come home late and not have as much time to think about it. When he learned of the planned raid of Cyberlife Tower for Jericho, he immediately volunteered to help. Such operations always meant a ton of organising and paperwork. He was quickly put on the task of creating personal files of all androids found left inside. Name, model number, date of construction. All so Jericho could help them integrate into society. Gavin felt a little out of place actually sitting there two weeks later, a row of androids in front of him he helped fill out the forms and directed towards people who would actually help them being repaired and comforted.

‘Hello. I’m Detective Reed’, he greeted the next one. ‘I just need a few personal information. Do you have a name?’ ‘Chris’, the android answered hesitantly. ‘Alright, Chris.’ He wrote the name into the appropriate line and turned the paper around for the android to see. ‘We also need your model number and serial number. The rest of the form is optional, you can fill it out, but you don’t have to.’ ‘What do you need this for?’ Gavin tried to smile at the android. ‘It’s just so Jericho can help you find your place. They will help you getting started.’ ‘Okay’, Chris nodded shily and took the paper. ‘Thank you.’ ‘You’re welcome. Next one please!’

The next android approached his desk and Gavin was already getting the next form. ‘Hey there. Alright, first I’d need your name.’ ‘I… I don’t have one.’ ‘That’s alright’, Gavin said softly and put a small dash at the according line. ‘Your model number?’ ‘RK900.’

Gavin froze, ruining the form stopping mid movement. Slowly he angled his head and looked at the android that was shockingly similar to Connor. ‘Is there a problem?’, the android asked, facial expression unmoving. ‘You are RK900?’ ‘Yes. Why are you asking?’ Gavin stood up and immediately felt his knees grow weak. ‘I… I think we… I…’ He apparently had just forgotten how to speak, so instead he pulled the fabric from his wrist and showed the android his mark. ‘Are you… Do you have a mark?’ The android just stared at his designation on the human’s wrist, then to the nameplate on his desk. ‘You are… Are you Reed? Gavin Reed?’ Gavin didn’t dare to believe it, but he grinned from ear to ear as he nodded. ‘Yes. I’m Gavin Reed. Are you my soulmate?’ Instead of an answer, the android stepped past the table and pulled Gavin into a fierce hug. ‘I found you! I… My life wasn’t long, but I hoped to see you one day. My whole life I thought of you and meeting you and that hope got me through in the end and they were to reset me, I thought this would be it, I was so scared and…’ Gavin listened to the android speak in a hurry, barely catching on to the words uttered. All he could do was stand there in the hug and relax into it, answering it with his own embrace. Only when the android grew quiet, Gavin pressed him closer. ‘I gave up hope you were even existing. I wondered for so long and when androids were invented, I thought you would come, but then the revolution passed, and you weren’t there and now… I have so much I want to tell you. So much I want to know…’ ‘I also have a lot of questions’, the android admitted and took a step back. ‘I think we have enough time for that now’, Gavin smiled.

‘Now that we’ve found each other.’

[mysinsforbts]

The present I couldn’t give you

Kim Seokjin x (f) reader

Dom Boyfriend Seokjin x Sub (f) reader

Rating: +18  

About:  Birthdays mark the day of someones birth. That's why we celebrate those days and want to give presents to the people we like/love. You weren't any different. Seokjin's birthday was a day away and you wanted to make him happy. But what can you give to someone who has everything, at this time of the year, 2020. When you're insecure about yourself, Seokjin gives you courage and shows you the real meaning of a present. After all, things that come from the heart are the most meaningful ones. 

Warnings:  semi angst, smut, cursing, dom/sub heavy, dom Seokjin, size kink,  dirty talk, handcuffs, kitchen sex, daddy kink,  hickeys/marking, masturbation, vaginal fingering, oral (f), handjob, squirting, teasing and A LOT fluff.  (Let me know if I forgot something~ )

( I’m sorry it took so long! I’ve lost my inspiration for a long time. But I’m better now~ The description above sounds very bad.. lol ♡ )

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2 years of love. 2 years of happiness. 2 years of trust and hardships. Today is the day your wonderful boyfriend, Kim Seokjin asked you to be his girlfriend. It's a special day but not only because of your love. Today is also Seokjin's birthday. That is why you planned on doing something special for him.

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~ A day before ~

"Ahh.. god! I don't know what to do. I don't want to buy something for him.. that is to easy. We also can't really go anywhere because of.. well 2020", you sighed while looking at your phone. You were talking to Jimin, a great friend of yours and Seokjin's group member. "Mhh... How about you sing him a song?", jimin smiled while trying not to burst into laughter. You giggeld but sighed straight after, "For what? To embarrasse myself or hurt his ears??". You knew that Jimin loved to tease you, but now wasn't the time. You just had one day left and you still didn't have a clue of what you could give to him. Jimin startef to laugh and turned away from you, "Sorry.. haha~ Mhh.. you could paint him something?", and than he continued to laugh. "Jimin!..", you blushed at the thought of giving Jin a weird drawing. You for the hell of satan couldn't draw or paint. "Do you have fun pointing out my weaknesses?", you giggeled while shaking your head. "What?? I'm sure Seokjin-hyung would love it. He probably would hang it on his wall no matter how bad it is~", jimin laughed while pushing his hair out of his face. You rolled your eyes and sighed, "But it can't be bad! It has to be something beautiful!".

"Write him a letter!", jimin said. "I did that already last year. It was 2 pages long", you sighed. "Make him a album with all your photos in it!", jimin brought up the next idea. "That!... oh no I did that also last year.. for christmas", you slowly lost hope. Was there anything you haven't done for him at this point??  "That is very difficult than..", even Jimin sighed now. "Good! There is only one option left! Do you wanna hear it?", he said with this smirk on his face. You knew something was up. "What??- I have the feeling it's a bad idea.. but tell me", you answered while taking your cup to take a sip from it.

"Give him a lapdance!", jimin proudly said while licking his lips. You couldn't believe what you just heard and chocked on your drink. "I should- What??-", you asked shocked while coughing. "Yeah! People do that and more in movies all the time!", jimin smirked, "That is porn jiminssi!", you heard jungkook's voice in the back. After you could breath again you turned back to your video chat, "I-.. you know what.. I'm not even gonna ask!", you blushed, "But Seokjin and I aren't that far in our realtionship..", you looked shy away.

"You can't tell me is vanilla?? He for sure isn't!", jungkook all of sudden grabbed jimin's phone and looked at you.. "I saw him buying handcuffs a few days ago!", he bursted out. "HE WHAT??", jimin and you asked at the same time. "I really saw it! So I wouldn't be suprised if he would be into a lapdance.. from you~", kookie smirked while giving jimin his phone back. "Ohh.. that is some news~ Who thought Seokjin-hyung is a dom??", jimin smirked too. You cheeks were so red and you felt so hot, like you were out in the glowing sun. The thoughts made you curious and you wanted to ask more, but..

"DID YOU honestly think I'm a sub??", you heard a voice behind your back. The voice sounded pissed but also ironic at the same time. "Jinni!", you said while turning around to your boyfriend. He was home sooner than expected. "Hey love~", seokjin said while kissing your head, "I didn't know you were disscussing our privat live with my group members~", he said laughing while taking off his jacket. You just blushed, "I- didn't-", but before you could end the sentence, Jimin answered for you. "No hyung, it was my fault I was teasing her about beeing so slow in a realtionship!", he giggeled and winked at you. You got the hint and decided to play along, "Yes and I was trying to explain to them why our realtionship is like that! And that I'm happy that it is what it is", you sighed while leaning on jin. Jin sat down right next you and kissed your cheek while laughing, "You're doing such a good job love! Not everyone has such a high sex drive like you Jimin~". Jungkook and you both started laughing while Jimin just pouted.

And the day also went by.

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~ Today ~

As you woke up it still was dark outside. You looked around in the dark room before your gaze stopped at your sleeping boyfriend. He looked so handsome even in the dark. You were so lucky. As you layed there and watched him you still thought of a present. Buf before you could make a decission Seokjin cuddeld close to you and hugged you thightly. It looked so adorable. His big body with his bright shoulders clinging on to your small one. Not wanting to wake him you didn't move, just raised your hand to caresses through his hair.

Than an idea came to your mind. 'Something beautiful doesn't mean it has to be a lot', you thought. You decided to keep it simple this year. 'I will just make breakfast and give him a good massage!', you smiled, happy that you finally found a present. The only problem now was, how would you leave without waking Jin up. Seokjin's head was laying on your chest while his arm is laying on your thighs. Carefully you tried to sneak your legs out under his arm. As your legs were hanging out of the bed you gently lifted up jin's head and layed him on the pillow next to you. For your luck Seokjin just continued to sleep as he cuddeld himself into the blanket you just gave him. You toke your phone from the nightstand and searched for Seokjin's shirt. You loved wearing his clothes, they all smelled like him and they were so comfortable. You just had to find your underwear and than you could go. But finding it with just your phone light was not as easy as the shirt. 'Shit?! Where did jinni threw them last night??', you cursed yourself for not picking them up before you fell asleep.

You eyed Seokjin's boxers and smirked, 'well.. his fault', you thought while putting on your boyfriend's boxers. Now you finally could go into the kitchen. The moment you stood up, you felt yourself beeing pulled back, "Where are you going love??", seokjin whined while having his arms around you, pulling you close again. You layed your hands on top of his arms and giggeld, "I was going to the bathroom jinni~". You whispered, "Can you let me go please?". After a few seconds you felt his arms disappear, "But be fast! I feel lonely without you~", he whined while turning around. You did your best not to giggle at him. For what is he so adorable??

As you looked over to him once again, he breathed slowly. 'Guess he fell asleep again..', you smiled and stood up. You went into the bathroom and almost got a shook while looking into the mirror.  Your whole neck was covered in hickeys and bite marks from last night. Not just your neck, also your shoulders and thighs were full. 'Shit.. that's hot', you bit your lip and brushed your teeth. After you were done you walked into the kitchen and closed the door. It was still dark outside and the kitchen was colder than expected. First you made coffee for yourself, while taking a sip here and there you started to prepare everything for the pancakes. 'Cooking might be not my thing but for my wonderful boyfriend I'll try my best', that was what you thought.

Well.. it sounded better in your head. The moment you put the oil in the pan everything went wrong. First try. Second try. Third try. All those pancakes were to thinn and also a bit burned. Teary eyed you looked at the ruined food. 'If I continue like this jinni will laugh at me. I'll just embarrasse myself..maybe I should stop here?', you turned the stove off and thought about whatelse you could make for breakfast. But the longer you thought the more tears started to run down your face, 'I really don't deserve him', that was your end thought. 'Jinni does so much for me. But I... I can't even cook without having any problems..', you never felt more disappointed in yourself. You hid your face in your hands, not knowing what to do now, 'I'm the worst girlfriend ever.. I don't even have a present', the negative thoughts crashed down on you and it felt like all you could see was black. 

As soon as you wanted to rub your hand over you cheek, someone caught your hand in his. 'Jinni-', you thought while looking up to him. But all you saw was a blurr. The feeling of his warm, big hand on your cheek made you feel butterflys in your stomatch. With one touch, one word, one gaze he managed to wip all those bad thoughts away. "Love?", seokjin asked with his raw morning voice. The look on his face told you that he was confused, worried but also ready to protect you from whatever had hurt you. In that moment Seokjin was like the moon which stripped away your darkness. He was like a prince on a white horse. Like a hero from a action movie.

"What happened?? Please don't cry!", he whispered while kneeing before you, caressing over your cheeks. He reached over to gave you a tissue. But all you could do was hugging him, clinging on to his back. Without wasting a second, without saying anything he hugged you back. Seokjin held you tightly in his arms, while caressing your back. He looked around and realised that you probably wanted to cook something. A second later he found himself smiling. Today was his birthday and his amazing partner wanted to cook him something. That meant so much to him. He thought highly of you and he loved you so much. "Do you need my help? You know I'm the cook champion right?~", jin whispered in your ear and smirked as you started to laugh. You laughed with tears in your eyes. It always was a mystery to you how seokjin could make you feel so many things. One touch and you felt so safe as no one could ever hurt you. One word and you felt like the most loved person on this world. One gaze made you feel so much hope. And one kiss can make you lose your mind.

Jin looked at you with this warm, loving gaze. His eyes were so welcoming. His hand caressed the last bit of your tears away, before gently pushing your hair out of your face, "Whatever happened, I won't be mad love. So please talk to me?~", he said with a calm voice. You pouted while looking at him, "I wanted to make you pancakes for breakfast as your birthday present.. but I failed.. no matter how hard I try it just won't work. I'm very sorry Jinni". Explaining made you almost tear up again, "I thought you would be dissapointed, you always do so much for me but I can't even make you a simple birthday present..". As soon as you looked down Seokjin's fingers grabed your chin to make you look at him, "I'm not dissapointed! The thought alone makes me happy. That you would make something selfmade for me and you also tried so hard. Which makes me so proud as your boyfriend! Thank you Y/N! But my most amazing birthday present is you, by my side, 24/7~", jinni smiled and cutely squished your cheeks, "So please stop crying now? We should make some pancakes for breakfast right? I'll train you from today on! You better be greatful, the pancake-champion himself will train you!".

You started to laugh and grabbed his hands to pull them away from your face, "Okay I won't cry anymore jinni!". The moment he turned around, you moved fast and hugged him from behind. Hiding your face in his still naked back, "Thank you Seokjin! You're the best boyfriend someone could ever have! I'll try my best to learn from you", I whispered. After a few seconds of silence you noticed that Jinni still was shirtless and you just hugged him tightly. Blushing and trying to control your emotions you let him go while walking past him to the stove. "S-so what do we need first?", you asked while looking around trying to find an answer. From behind you could feel Seokjin smirk. But than he walked next to you like nothing happened. "We should start from the beginning, so you'll learn better", he said while smiling at you.

That's how you learned to make pancakes from your handsome boyfriend. You couldn't help but to admire him. Even his teaching was attractiv. Everyone knew how amazing Jin is at cooking but seeing it for yourself is really a blessing. The way his hand had such a strong grip and his veins just turned you on. Who could blame you? Your boyfriend was making pancakes, shirtless and with his veins popping out in his arms. Also the look he gave those pancakes didn't make it better. 'I wish he would look at me like that and grab me like-',.. "Y/N are you there?? Have you been listening to me?", seokjin stood infront of you with some finished pancakes, "I said.. you can sit down. We can eat~", with that he walked past you and sat down on a chair. You blinked once, twice and shortly followed him to also sit down. The moment Jin started to eat, you stopped him, "Jinni! Hold on!". - "to your hand?", he looked at you, just to start laughing. Leaning over the table, still laughing over his pun, you kissed him gently and whispered, "Happy Birthday", against his lips. Seokjin smiled against your lips. "How are you this sweet?", he smirked and kissed you back. Than he leaned away and placed a part of the pancake in your mouth, "You should eat too~". Your eyes opened in suprise and you sat back down. Chewing on the pancake you pouted and looked at your now happily eating boyfriend. He looked like he was in paradise. This picture infront of your eyes made you so happy and you couldn't help but to smile. After enjoying the sight for a few minutes, you started to eat too.

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~ 2 hours later ~

You just finished cleaning up kitchen while Jinni went to take a shower. Sitting on the chair while leaning your head on your hand you couldn't help but to think about that handcuffs thing. What does he want to do with them? Will he test them out on me tonight? Just the thought alone made you thighs temble. It's not like Jin and you had never done it before. You did it a few times and you enjoyed every second of it. But that thought of beeing a sub for him turned you even more on. The wetness between your legs wasn't to ignore anymore, so you rubbed your thighs together. But that wasn't nearly enough. Wanting more, you pushed a hand down your body. Carressing over your already hard nippels, down to Seokjin's boxers. You pushed one hand under them as you gently rubbed your clit. That felt so good.

Your memorys from last night played out once again in your head. The way his big hands felt on your body. The way his big king sized cock pounded into you. Seokjin was so hot with sweat running down his face, growling your name. His words made your head dizzy while his hands overstimulated you. Without noticing it you pushed two fingers in your now wet and needy hole. The fact that you fingered yourself in his boxer just turned you more on. Your clit pulsed, it wanted to be touched so bad. Letting out a sigh and a moan here and there you closed your eyes. Totally lost in your thoughts and pleasure you didn't hear Jinni come out of the bathroom. He walked towards you but stood still the moment he saw what you did. His eyes got wide and he almost moaned at the sight.

Seokjin felt his cock getting hard through his towel, "Fuck.. I'm so lucky..", he said with a deep, raw voice. His gaze lingered on you, just watching you getting yourself off. Slowly he rubbed his hand against the towel, trying to hold himself together. But he wanted more, he wanted you. All of you.

The moment you let out a cute whine was when he lost it. Seokjin walked towards you, grabbed your hand and kissed you deeply. You whined at the lost of touch but happily kissed back as you felt Jin's warm, soft lips on yours. After a bit he pulled away and took your hand to his mouth, just to suck on your fingers. Gosh..

That sight was so attractiv. You rubbed your thighs together while watching him with sinfull eyes. You started to wonder what that tongue of his would feel like between your thighs, on your clit or while thrusting in your hole. A moan left you as you felt Seokjin's other hand rub over your clit, down to your hole and back up. He didn't add much pressure to tease you. One of his finger started to slowly circle your clit while he looked at you with those wide blown eyes. He also wanted you, like you wanted him.

"You're such a naughty girl, you know that love? I saw you earlier~", Jinni said while still playing with your clit. With the next few words he added more pressure to his moves, "Did you want to be seen by me?". His words sounded more like a statement than a question. You whined and couldn't help but spread your legs more apart. Wanting more of his touch, of his dirty words you looked at him with a pout, "Jinni~ I'm so wet for you~ Please help me?~", you whined. Your sudden cuteness made him laugh and shake his head, "How can I say no to such a cute lady?", he smiled as he looked at you. "But..", than Seokjin's sweet smile turned into a evil smirk, "A lady doesn't get herself off on a kitchen chair. Right my princess?", he gently snapped his finger against your clit and stood up. "Take your clothes off and lay on the kitchen table! I'll be there in a few seconds princess~", his voice sounded even deeper than before. With one last glance to you he walked out of the room.

Still sitting on the chair, letting out a deep breath and trying to realise what just happened. Your cute boyfriend Seokjin just turned into one hot dom. His behavior completly changed. You didn't know if it was just you but today he seemed even more of a dom than yesterday. The pluse of your clit brought you back to reality. Without wasting another second you jumped up and took of Seokjin's shirt and boxers. It was something new, it made you excited and turned you on so much. You layed on the table like Jinni told you too, now waiting for him. Lucky you didn't wait any second longer because he just walked back into the kitchen. You looked to him and saw the pair of handcuffs in his hands. 'HE REALLY BOUGHT THEM??', you blushed at looked away again. But before you could look anywhere else Seokjin grabbed your chin and turned your head to him again, "Getting shy now love? I want to try something new today! I'm sure you'll like it!", he leaned in to kiss you once again. While pushing his tongue in your mouth and starting a make out with you, he pulled your arms over your head. Gently caressing over your wrists while moaning into the kiss.

'Click'. After the sound Seokjin pulled away and licked his lips, smirking at you, "After all you want me to help you right?~", he looked at you with this dark shining eyes. You felt your clit pulls once again. 'Fuck- Why is he so hot??', you bit your lip and nodded at his words. His hand caressed over your neck, down to one of your breasts, grabbing one and massaging it. With his thumb he played with your nipple here and there, making you whine. "Do you like this?", jinni whispered against your other breast before licking over your nippel with his tongue. He played with you and you loved it. The way he teased you, made you drip even more. Your legs were shaking, your whines are geting louder with every pull of your nippels. And than Seokjin stopped touching you. He moved away from your body and looked at you, "Answer me love!". You looked up at him and quickly understood why he stopped, "Yes Seokji-", you started but let out a yelp as you felt a pull of your right nipple. "Wrong name love!", he spread your legs while looking at you with this intimidating stare. You knew what he meant but you were to shy to actually call him that. It was one of your kinks, you told him that once. You just weren't expecting him to bring that up one day. With one day you meant now. Closing your eyes, you felt your face heat up, '"Yes D-Dadd-", getting cut off in the middle of your answer, you opened you eyes quickly. "Worldwide Handsome", jinni said while looking at you with a bright grin.

As he saw your flushed, shocked face he couldn't help himself but to laugh. As you realised that he just pulled a joke on you, you started to pout and laugh too, "Yaah! Jinnii..", you whined and looked away. Seokjin chuckled and leaned down to give you a kiss, "Sorry love~ Did I spoil the mood now?", he smiled at you. Shaking your head and kissing him back you answered, "No I'm still wet for you Jinni~".

"Will you let me eat you out than, princess?", he asked with his deeper voice while kneeling down infront of the table you still layed on. Your smile left your face as all your dirty thoughts came back. Spreading your legs open for him you whined,"Please jinni.. my prince~", you added teasingly. Seokjin just smirked up you and leaned forward. First he gently pressed his tongue on your dripping slit, giving you small kitten licks. The way his eyes closed and he just tasted you made your clit pulls even more. "You taste so good my princess~", he whispered against your cunt. The moment after he circled your clit with his tongue, gently sucking on it here and there. With his one finger he played with your entrance before pushing it all the way in. Your moans became louder with every touch he gave you. Also the table just got runied as your dripping juice landed on it, wetting the material. But you couldn't care less as Jinni pushed another finger into you, slowly starting to move them. In and out. Up and down. His tongue played harshly with your clit. Licking, flicking and sucking it. His breath felt so hot on your skin. You wanted to touch him so bad but couldn't. The handcuffs didn't allow you to move very much. But you enjoyed it, you loved it and you wanted to feel more.

"Do you like it when I thrust deep into you?", he asked, looking up to you. His eyes were so dark and full of desire. With one move of his fingers you arched your back of the table and almost screamed. Seokjin smirked. He found it. He found that one spot that let you see stars. "You really liked that huh?", he leaned back down to suck on your already red clit. As he started too hit your hidden spot with every thrust of his fingers you lost it. Screaming and throwing your head back and forth was the only thing you could do.

"Cum", is all he had to whisper and you let go. Your legs felt shaky, your eyes were closed as you tried to catch your breath. Seokjin pulled his fingers out and licked them clean. With his other hand he gently caressed over your stomatch. "Are you okay love?", he asked and leaned down to kiss you deeply. Kissing him back while nodding. You felt how his hands moved up to yours and opened the handcuffs. Jinni took your hands in his and gently caressed them, "Did it hurt?". You looked up at him and smiled, "No Jinni~ You were amazing and I very much enjoyed it!". He kept holding your hands and looked into your eyes. It should feel tense but there was something different now. He had a slight hint of happiness in his eyes.

"When you fell fron heaven to become my sinner?", he winked at you and started to laugh. You couldn't believe he used that line on you. "D-Did you just-", is how you started but ended as you realised he called you a 'sinner'. "DID you just c-call me a SINNER??", pulling your hands away from his, you gasped. Slapping your hand over your mouth, "How could you??". Seokjin just had to look at you and understood the game you were playing. He loved you for it. "What are you than? A nun??", he smirked while looking at your neck, "But a nun shouldn't have those things~", he pointed at your hickeys. "N-No! But I'm an Angel~", you smiled as innocent as possible at him. Jinni started to laugh while shaking his head, "Says the one who discusses our sex life with my group members~". Making you gasp again while grabbing something from behind, "Says the one who uses handcuffs on his girlfriend~", you smirked right back at him. And than both of you started to laugh. Everything was like usually and that was what you loved about your realtionship. It's doesn't always have to be serious. Jinni always made you have fun.

Seokjin hugged you and kissed your cheek, "I love you so much my princess~", he kissed your nose and than your forhead. Enjoying his touch you giggeld, "I love you too my prince~ Very much~", you leaned in and kissed him deeply on the lips. Out of the soft kiss another make out started. Your tongues were all over each other. Without thinking you pushed him down on the table and pulled down his towel. His king sized cock jumped straight up in your hand and pullsed once. You pulled away from the kiss just to look down. A glance of his throbbing hard dick alone made you all horny again. Taking it in your hand and rubbing lazly up and down. Your slow moves got faster after a bit time had passed. Jinnis growls were so hot. Just as you were about to lean down he pushed you gently away, "S-Stop! I want to cum in you~", seokjin said while sitting up.

He stood up and before you could say something he picked you up as you were his bride and walked back to your bedroom. Arms around his neck, face against his sweaty still wet chest. He smelled soo damk good and you felt so damn safe. It was an amazing feeling. But that soon ended as he just dropped you on the bed and almost jumped over you. "Sorry princess, but I can't wait any longer! I can't be gently now.. let me ruin you?~", seokjin growled, spreading your legs and leaving more marks on your neck. His hips started to rub his cock against your  wet slit. You moaned and let your head fall back against the pillow, "Y-Yes please ruin me Daddy~". You did it. You let it all out. Your fantasy finally becoming reality. You looked up at your prince, to see how he reacted. Jinni didn't mind at all. His innocence was long gone and everything you said just made his cock want you more. He couldn't wait to feel your insides,to feel your clench around him. Without a warning he pushed into you. Softly, inch by inch. But his inches were huge. He wasn't even half in yet.

"Are you sure you can take all of Daddy today?", he had stopped for a while. Caressing over your thighs while kissing your stomatch. You just nodded and whined a quiet, "Y-Yes more daddy", since your mind was blank. All you could feel was him. Lucky that was all Jinni needed to continue. He pushed all of him into you, until his hips met your thighs. You felt so full but you loved beeing full. You loved taking all of his huge cock.

Seokjin stayed still and played with your nipples, "Daddy is so proud of you~ You take me so well! Look how amazing we fit together~", he praised you again. The feeling made you tear up. It just felt so good. "M-move please..", you whined while laying your hands around his neck, wanting him closer. But you also just pushed him deeper, which made both of you moan loudly. All of sudden you felt his precum dripping down your thigh. Quickly forgetting about it as you felt a hard, deep thrust, "Look what you did love! Making me lose my mind! I will destroy you~", seokjin moaned against your neck while grabbing your legs. He pulled them over his shoulders as he thrusted into you in a fast pace. Hard, deep and fast wasn't the best thing for you. You screamed, yelled, threw your head from side to the other and even cried tears as you two got lost in the ocean of pure desire. You were such a mess and Seokjin enjoyed that.

"I'm going too-", jinni growled while pounding into you with an incredible speed. "I'm your dom Y/N! My cum in you will be the proof for it!". His dirty words made you fall over the cliff. Your whole body started to shake and you even squirted. Screaming out his name over and over again. Seokjin felt you clenching around him. You would cum any second. As he heard your scream his name it was over for him. With a few quick, fast thrusts he painted your walls white. Breathing hardly he let himself fall on top of you and rolled you over. Now you layed on his chest while he held you close. Jinni caressed over your back while kissing your forhead gently, "You did so well my lovely princess~", his voice was filled with so much love and warmth. You smiled and looked up to him, kissing him with all the strengh you had left. "You also were amazing Worldwide Handsome~", you whispered against his lips with a giggle coming out of your moth. Seokjin just chuckled and grabbed the blanket just to pull it over the both of you, "Let's stay like this for a few more minutes until I'll clean you up okay?", he whispered while kissing your hair. The only thing you could do was nod as a sudden tiredness overcame your body. The last thing you heard, before you fell asleep was Jinnis, 'I love you'.

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 ~ A few hours later in the evening ~

As you felt the sun shining on your face you slowly opened your eyes. The first thing you felt was Seokjin's breath against your neck, the first thing you saw was the sunset over the city and the first thing that came to your mind was Seokjin's birthday. You two should've been with his other members by now, celebrating his birthday. But instead you were sleeping almost all day. Looking over to your wonderfull, still sleeping boyfriend you couldn't bring yourself to wake him. Jinni looked so happy and calm. You raised one hand to caress through his soft, fluffy hair. The only thing you could at moment was admiring him. You were so damn lucky to have such a boyfriend like Seokjin.

"Love?", you heard his still sleepy sounding voice in your ear. All of sudden you got pushed back into the matress as Jinni got on top of you. Suddenly kissing you with so much passion. Still suprised but so in love, you kissed him back while caressing over his bright shoulders, down his strong back. After another make out he pulled away and smiled at you. The brightest smile you ever saw on Seokjin. "I'm so happy to have you Y/N. You always do so much for me and you're always there for me. Today I had a great day, thanks to you. I actually have everyday a great day because of you. I don't need bought things or special suprises. The only thing I need is you Y/N. You are the best present I ever got!". His words sounded so beautiful, so honest and also so full of love. You could yourself feel getting teary eyed and your heart atched so painful but also so full of happiness. You weren't sure what you felt but it was a rollercoaster of emotions.

You smiled at him and just realised from his look that you must have started to cry. A minute later you could feel a tear running down your cheek. Today morning you were so insecure and frustrated with yourself and now your boyfriend just told you how he feels about you. That you were more then enough for him. That fact alone made you feel so happy.

Hugging jinni while trying to find words you could say to him, "I'm glad jinni! I was scared that I wouldn't be good enough for you since I didn't have any kind of idea for a present. But now I don't think so anymore! I'm just so thankfull to have you by my side~", is what you rambled together. Your tears stopped in the middle of talking but your voice still cracked a bit. Seokjin hugged you tightly while just letting you talk. He caressed through your hair and chuckled as you finished. "We really must be destined to be each others presents. Because I never told you, but there was a time when I had the same thoughts. But not anymore~", he leaned away to look in your eyes, "I truly love you!", he said with a bright smile on his stunning face. "I truly love you too, Kim Seokjin", you said with a happy and honest smile on your face.

"AWWW~ What a beautiful Scene!!", said a voice from the bedroom door, "You're amazing Hyung! No wonder that your realtionship is going on for so long!", another voice. This seems kind of familiar. Jungkook's voice! Your head snapped towards the door and you saw the two younger members, Jimin and Jungkook standing there. Smirks covering there face. You pulled the blanket closer to your body while hiding behind the sheets. "YAH! What are you doing here?? Out! Now!", Seokjin gave you the whole blanket and jumped up to see the boys out. But sadly he forget that he wasn't wearing anything either. "Hyung are you sure you wanna go out like that? The others are here too, you know?", jungkook pointed at Seokjin's body and tried his best not to laugh out loud.  ( I was dying writing this lol ).

"Wow! Did you grew bigger since the last time I saw you?? That is not fair! I want to be king sized too!!", Jimin whined while walking away, but later on you could hear is laugh. 'Such a slytherin..', you thought while trying your best to hold it togther. But the situation was just to funny and embarrassing. "I- What??", Seokjin looked down on himself as he realised that he was still naked after our exciting event earlier on. "Shit! Jungkook out! I'll be there any minute", he stuttered and you could already imagine how red his ears must have become. "Sure sure hyung! I'm happy for you. And nice hickeys Y/N~", the younger flashed you a smirk while walking away, closing the door behind him. That left you two alone again.

Silcence. Now it was quiet. The embarrassment still in the air. 1,2,3..laughter was heard. Seokjin and you both bursted out in tears of laughter while looking at each other. In your head you agreed with Jimin's words. This all was a beautiful scene! And your bound was a beautiful present.

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(I hope you enjoyed! ♡ )