#five more minutes was like mid/late october i think

[gingerbreadmonsters]

tag game - first ten lines

big thank you to the wonderful @frenchiefitzhere @starlitangels and @zozo-01 for the tags - apologies for my tardiness 💕💕 wait, was five more minutes only ten fics ago? bloody hell i’ve been slacking!! uh, i think you can probably tell that i like to start in media res - and also that all the good stuff happens in the second line, bc these are all kind of short... [head in hands] no idea who's been tagged already, but go on @lovelylonerliterature @sealriously-sealrious @friendlyfaded @autisticempathydaemon @calicostorms let's see what you've got!! 👀👀

-

stupid cupid (tumblr / ao3)

“Well. Fancy seeing you here, hmm?”

oops-a-daisy (tumblr / ao3)

Oh, this is bad.

wrapped up in clover (tumblr / ao3)

We’re happy together.

original sin (tumblr / ao3)

“Come back safe, darlin’.”

blood sugar, baby! (tumblr / ao3)

“Time to wake up, little one.”

here we are in heaven (tumblr / ao3)

To tell the truth, David Shaw has never really thought of himself as lucky.

return to me (tumblr / ao3)

There are very few beautiful things in the world, anymore.

you’re the cat’s meow! (tumblr / ao3)

“What have you done to it?”

bury the hatchet (tumblr / ao3)

It takes surprisingly little force to smash a vampire’s skull, when you really think about it.

five more minutes (tumblr / ao3)

Magic, they say, is simply the next step after emotion.

and, as a special treat - maybe an opening line or two that you haven't seen before...?? because i just can’t help myself hehe 😇😇

[likeadevils]

which albums do you think took the shortest amount of time to put together? i think that evermore was very quick (only two or three months?), am i right in thinking that lover and folklore were pretty quick too?

evermore was super quick! there were about five songs written from october-december, but about 12 songs were written in about a month, between mid august and mid september. which is just crazy. like that’s more songs than the standard edition of debut like that’s insane

the bulk of folklore was written in two months, between may and june, though the jack songs were mostly written between march and april, with some pre pandemic songs (my tears in dec 2019 and trying in jan/feb 2020)

midnights was a bit more spread out— high infidelity and would’ve could’ve should’ve were written in march 2021, i believe bigger than the whole sky and snow on the beach were in early 2022– but still the bulk of it came together in november/december 2021, making it a year in total but mostly done in two months.

rep took almost exactly a year— she starts writing it in september 2016 and finishes in september 2017. the bulk of the album was likely finished by july 2017 though, so it goes was just a super last minute addition.

lover was recorded in about four months— the bulk of the album was between november 2018 and february 2019. there are some exceptions, like death by a thousand cuts in late april and likely london boy in early june, and maybe a few jack songs throughout 2018, but we don’t know for sure which. she was also probably stockpiling songs a bit before jumping into the studio, but we don’t know for sure.

1989 was another stockpiling album— she did this love in 2012, a couple songs jan 2013, and then that aforementioned stockpiling period while she’s on tour, and then a big rush in oct/nov 2013, and then another rush in jan/feb 2014. it sounds like now that we don’t talk came fairly late in the process though, possibly as late as fall 2014, which would make it a two year long writing period, but as far as the original album goes, about a year and a half.

red was also about a year and a half— we have all too well being finalized in march 2011 (after being started in dec 2010), and then 22 and i knew you were trouble in june 2012. there are probably some outliers— stay stay stay might’ve been as early as summer 2010, some stuff on the vault might’ve gone up until september 2012– but that’s at most about two years of consistent writing and recording.

if we’re counting sparks fly (halloween 2006) then it took four years to write speak now, but excluding sparks fly georg the earliest song we know for sure was if this was a movie in april 2009, and then it ended with the story of us in june 2010, which is a little over a year. she was likely writing songs for speak now earlier in 2009 though, making it her standard year and a half, but we just don’t know for sure. the recording process was also spread out throughout both years— the first session for the album was in march 2009, and the orchestra sections were the last thing recorded, in july 2010.

fearless had two big recording sessions, in december 2007 and march 2008, so recording wise the album came together super quickly. that being said, if we just take the first and last songs written for the album, fearless has a pretty big stretch— she had stuff from the vault from like 2005, and then come in with the rain in september 2006, and white horse in december 2006. and then the last song is similarly up for interpretation, with forever and always in late september 2008, and mr perfectly fine in march 2009. so even though it came together very quickly once she got in the studio, counting the vault it was four years to write it, making it one of the longest timeframes, but standard edition is still a fairly long two years.

and then debut! i’m a bit more hazy on debut’s timeline, but a perfectly good heart was written sometime in 2003, and should’ve said no was the last thing written and recorded, on august 10, 2006, making it about three years.

so it’s pretty much an exercise in counting— the earlier and album came in her career, the longer it took her to make it, until we get to post pandemic where she’s busting out almost complete albums in two month periods (ts11 looks like it’s bucking that trend though, so let’s see!!)

[greenbagjosh]

Епізод трі (3) Недели 11 Октябр 2009

Привет всем, сегодня мы идем в Лавру, к памятнику Родины и в Бабин Яр. Возможно, мы также получим железнодорожный пропуск в Минск.

Hi everyone, did you survive yesterday’s (10 October 2009) walk through Kiev? Today (11 October 2009) we may not need to do as much walking. We likely will be using public transit more than the previous two days. Which means we have to buy single fare tickets and blue chips.

The plan for Sunday the 11th of October 2009, was to visit the Lavra towards the west bank of the Dnieper, a bit south of where we went walking, then visit the Motherland Monument, the monument to the victims of WWII and maybe do some walking along Vulitsa Kreshchatyk and maybe find the location of the Bierstube that I read so much about (the actual address was previously mentioned). The day was mostly rainy, and the temperatures were about the mid 40s, so 6 to 8 degrees Celsius.

Sundays the restaurant next to the hostel was closed, so I had to find somewhere to eat on the way to the Lavra. Where is the Lavra? It is south of the metro station Arsenal’na, which was in 2009 the deepest metro station at about 700 feet below the street surface (gasp!) You would need two sets of escalators to get from the street to the station platform. At Arsenal’na, you would need to catch the bus line 24 to the Lavra entrance.

The first order of business was to try to buy a train ticket from Kyiv Passazhirsky to Minsk. Preferably I would want it for Monday evening on the 12th, so that I could take a direct night train. So I had to take the trolleybus from Vulitsa Poltavska Publichna biblioteka imeni Lesi Ukrainky to Teatral’na, and take the red line metro to Vokzal’na / Passazhirsky. For the long distance train office, you have to exit the metro station, walk to the northern end of the station, walk through the long hall with the little travel boutiques and such, then the office is at the south end. The people do not speak English well enough to be understood, so I had to rely on another customer who knew English – and he did not ask for any payment in return. I wanted to get a “Platskartniy” ticket from Kiev to Minsk for the 12th October, but they said that there were no more spaces. Also they took only cash as the credit card system was down. Otherwise I might have considered to pay extra for “Kupeniy” class. They had an opening for Tuesday morning at 11 AM, go west in the direction of L’viv, change at Korosten, and arrive Wednesday the 14th in Minsk about 5 AM. I accepted that offer.

I had to call the hotel in Minsk but I did not have a cellphone of my own at the time. In that case, I would need to buy a telephone card for a “taksofon” / таксофон, which is Russian for payphone. I called the hotel in Minsk, and luckily someone was able to speak in German to understand my situation. They were fine, that I would arrive a day later than originally planned, and my Belarus visa would not be affected in any way. I would receive a refund on the credit card that I prepaid the hotel’s stay. Then as a joke, after I ended that call, I called my home phone and left a message as if I were Borat. Yes, that same journalist who greets with “Yagshemash!”.

Well it was time for a late breakfast, as it was getting around 9:30 AM. I took the red line metro to Arsenal’na. I think it took about five minutes on both escalators. The first one went parallel to the station platforms for maybe 350 feet. Then I had to turn right for the second escalator to go up a further 350 feet. Imagine having to climb stairs if the escalators went out of service! There was a café just outside the Arsenal’na called the “Kav’yarnya” that had a decent food offering. It was not exactly the usual food I would eat for breakfast, but it was filling. For example a potato salad with peas. The coffee was fine. About 10:30 I took the bus 24 to the Lavra, passing the Monument to the Unknown Soldier. The Lavra is a campus of chapels and galleries. To take photographs inside, you have to pay about 100 Hryvnia for a day permit.

Inside the Lavra are three churches, the bell tower, and a gazebo with a huge layered stone. Inside the galleries looked nicer than the churches considering the weather, but I have recently seen Google Maps show the churches in sunny weather. The artworks were of liturgical subject matter, namely high concentration of Orthodox icons, and Cyrillic from the days of St. Cyril and Methodius. If you go to the courtyard of Refectory Church of Sts. Anthony and Theodosius Pechersky, you can see the large garden complex that leads to the Dnieper, including the Nativity of Our Lady church. Before leaving the upper part of the Lavra, there is a shop open, that will sell wooden icons, from anywhere between 50 UAH to maybe 200 UAH depending on the size.

I thought about, after leaving the Lavra, if I wanted to eat at Trapezna onsite or the Tsars’ke Selo about a quarter mile away from the entrance, but somehow I decided to go downhill to Dniprovskyi Descent and see if I could reach the Motherland Monument faster. I knew of a tram line that used to run along the Naberezhne shosse, so I boarded it at the stop closest to the Kyiv Founder’s Monument and rode it just one stop to the line’s end. It was a very rickety tram, as it was of the Tatra T3 type and most of the lines in general had fallen into disrepair that they could not go faster than 20 mph / 30 km/h. I ended up at an Indian restaurant called the New Bombay Palace. Since I came that far, and the place accepted credit cards, I decided to eat there. I had mutton with the creamed spinach and cheese chunks. And rice pudding. I think I had the Indian tea as well. It cost maybe 80 UAH altogether including tip.

Before going to the Motherland Monument, I took bus 55 from the New Bombay Palace to the Pecherska metro station, and I walked up and down Bulvar Lesi Ukrainky but it was mainly high rise apartments that I remembered from my prior visit to the USSR in July and August 1990. Maybe a few shops and grocery stores, but that was it. I took the metro to Vydubichi and Slavutich to cross the Dnieper. The metro comes out of tunnel on the green line from Vydubichi and goes back into tunnel prior to Slavutich. Eastward along Mykoly Bazhana Avenue was pretty much just apartments and the odd store or restaurant, and it was the same route I went on Friday the 9th October from the airport to the central rail station Passazhirskiy. So I went back on the green line to Pecherska, went back to the Bombay Palace on bus line 55, then I walked up the hill to the Motherland Monument. I had to walk uphill on Vulitsa Lavrs’ka and then Vulitsa Zapecherna and then I ended up at the monument.

The Motherland Monument is one of those statues, that came from an earlier era, namely the USSR. And it is controversial. It was completed when Lenoid Brezhnev was in power, years prior to Gorbachev. In particular this is a 300 foot stainless steel woman with a sword in her right hand, and the USSR shield in her left hand. From Wikipedia on that subject: “In April 2015, the parliament of Ukraine outlawed Soviet and Communist symbols, street names and monuments, in a decommunization attempt.[9] But World War II monuments are excluded from these laws.[10] Director of the Ukrainian Institute of National Remembrance Volodymyr Viatrovych stated in February 2018 that the state emblem of the Soviet Union on the shield of the monument should be removed according to the decommunization laws. It is not removed, however, still by today. [11]”

The Motherland Monument was only an outside display for the National Museum of the History of Ukraine in the Second World War.

In the museum, there are many examples of propaganda, on both sides of the war, be it Axis or the Allies. The USSR was always of the opinion that it was doing the right thing. The top floor has a ceiling light in red that has “CCCP” and “Pobeda” Победа (victory) in Russian. Leaving the museum, the outside also has many tanks on display year round.

I took bus 24 back to Arsenal’na, so that I could at least try to see the Babyn Yar, namely the monument to the victims of WWII. This would require transferring at Teatral’na / Zoloti Vorota, and taking the green line to Dorohozhichi. There would be a park, where there actually used to be housing until it was bombed in WWII, and whatever was demolished was cleared away and was just a park to walk through. I spent maybe ten minutes reflecting and such. It was kind of emotionally draining to be there. I left and went to the Bonus Super Price grocery store for some snacks, and some Ukrainian beers to take home. It was slowly getting late but I was glad to make it to Babyn Yar, regardless of how it made me feel to see it.

After Babyn Yar, I took the green line to Teatral’na / Zoloti Vorota and the red line to Kreshchatyk to end up at Maidan Nezalezhnosti where I transferred to the blue line and go as far as Poshtova Ploshcha, maybe about twenty feet above the Dnieper river. Walking along the Borychiv Descent there were pedestrian bridges to the river walkway. I thought about taking a ride on the river boats but it was getting late. So I went back to Maidan Nezalezhnosti.

Kreshchatyk was cut off from vehicular traffic that evening. I went to look for the Bierstube and I found it. It was in an alley about a few hundred feet from the Ploshcha Lva Tolstoho station on Vulitsa Velyka Vasylkivska. The beer selection was not so good but it was delicious all the same. I ordered a beef stroganoff, that came with excellent mushroom sauce. The Bierstube also had the mugs of mustard and ketchup, complimentary with a meal – with beef stroganoff I am not sure it would go particularly well but no matter. What is the difference between the original Bierstube and Viola’s Bierstube that I visited Saturday the 10th October? The original one belonged to Viola’s ex-husband Erik, who originally came from the former East Germany. I guess their management styles clashed and Viola decided to open her own Bierstube a few blocks away near the Bessarabsky Market. Both have long since went out of business, but I am glad to have been to both when they were still open.

What did I do after dinner? At the "Zemelʹnyy Kapital" bank, there was a musical setup with a dancefloor for breakdancing. I think there were about five men in their 20’s who were breakdancing and I stayed about twenty minutes for that before going back to the hostel. There was still more sightseeing to do in Kiev, and I would have an unexpected extra night at the hostel as opposed to being on the train and at the hotel in Minsk. At least arrangements were made so it was not much to worry about.

And what was the plan for Monday the 12th October 2009? Visit to the Ukrainian National Chernobyl Museum, National Museum of Folk Architecture and Life of Ukraine, and a real tasty chicken kiev.

Good night and be careful and don’t go to the real Chernobyl!!!!!

[med684productionblog]

Blog #5

B. List 5 Possible Ancillary Distribution Markets for your Film

If I can secure sponsorship from the Chicago Bears, or another NFL or UFL team, I could try to get them to have a special day where they give out DVD copies or codes for the film for the first X amount of people who go to the stadium. Sports complexes regularly do this with T-Shirts, bobbleheads, etc.

I could try to find a high-school or college football team and host a screening for them, with any family or the public having to pay.

Similar to the previous one, but just playing it at a college with a big football culture, but no incentive of free tickets to certain groups.

Because part of the script involves crime and sports-gambling, I could try to get it played at a prison.

Some sort of social media challenge, where anyone who sends in clips of them doing something football related, like throwing a toss 40 yards or something like that, gets a digital code for a copy of the film. If it's some sort of #Challenge, I think it could spread to people within my target audience.

C. List 5 Top Tier Festivals

Sundance. Utah. Mid-January. $85. Independent feature-length films with no specific genre.

SXSW. Austin, Texas. March. $60. Independent feature-length films with no specific genre.

New York Film Festival. NYC. Late September - Early October. $50. Accepts feature-length films that has not premiered previously within the state of New York, or were able to be viewed within the state of New York through other means such as DVD or streaming. Cannot be shown at any other festivals within the state of New York concurrently with the duration of the festival.

Tribeca Film Festival. NYC. April. $85. Feature films at least over 40 minutes, with an emphasis on distinct voices and bold new ideas.

Toronto International Film Festival. Toronto, Canada. $155 for a non-Canadian production. Feature films at least 60 minutes long.

D. Explain your Ideal Festival Strategy

I intentionally did not mention Cannes or any other European film festivals because I don't think they'd be interested in my script, since it's about crime and American sports, which in my experience aren't think Europeans are generally interested in. In class you mentioned that often times independent film investors are retired sports players. My festival strategy is to attract those sorts of investors. I'd try to network with people in the hallways and stuff at the festivals, looking for those sorts of investors, or agents on behalf of those investors.

E. Explain what a Rent-a-Distributor is

This scenario is where a film-maker or production company pays a distributor an upfront fee for an agreement to distribute the film. This is generally not in the film-makers favor. Since the distributor has already been paid, they have no incentive to put in more than the bare minimum for marketing and distribution.

F. What does the acronym ‘MG’ stand for? Why would a filmmaker never see a ROI profit if they choose to accept a MG?

MG means Minimum Guarantee. The minimum guarantee is what a distributor needs to recoup from the film before the film-maker receives any sort of profit, if they have an MG-agreement. This is generally not ideal for a film-maker, because if the film does poorly (which as an independent film is highly likely), you have to pay back the MG before you can take any sort of profit. Generally these have a five year window you have to pay it back in, and the distributor can simply not release the film until the five year mark is finished, as they have the sole distribution power, so you can be really screwed out of actually paying back the MG and making a profit.

G. Explain why a producer would always want to avoid cross-collateralization / packaging.

Cross-collateralization packaging is like those 5-in-1 DVDs you can find at Wal-Mart and places like that. It's generally bad because you're not getting 100% of the profits as you're sharing it with other films, but also because by bundling it as a package with other films (such as for a streaming deal), if the buyer isn't interested in one of the other films but is interested in yours they have no choice but to buy the other films as well, for a more expensive rate. They might ultimately pass on purchase because of the bundled films.

[nastybuckybarnes]

Camera Shy

Pairing: Camboy!Bucky X Reader

Summary: You’ve always wanted to try your hand at ‘accounting’. Who better to turn to than your best friend and seasoned ‘accountant’, Bucky?

Warnings: Language, Smut, Fluff, Camboy!Bucky and all the things that go with that, friends to lovers, 

Word Count: 3.5K

A/n: I’ve had this idea for a while now and I absolutely love camboy!bucky. Anywho, I hope you enjoy! Also, this is poorly edited so sorry in advance! I love you all so much!

~*~

Bills Bills Bills and more bills.

Lately, that’s all that your mail has been.

Nothing but bills.

With a hearty sigh, you fall onto your bed and squeeze your eyes shut.

In the summer when you could work full time, the bills were nothing. But now, mid-October with University raging, you’re having a hard time staying on top of everything.

In the back of your mind is a small nagging voice whispering a solution into your ear.

A solution that many people you know have already turned to.

For example, your best friend Bucky.

He’s never been short on cash, he can always foot the bill, and his Brooklyn apartment is worth bragging about.

He’s the person you trust most in the world, especially when it comes to something like this.

Biting your lip and swallowing your nerves, you roll onto your side and grab your phone off of the bedside table, clicking on his contact name and calling him.

“Hey, Plum. What’s going on?”

You can hear soft chattering in the background, most likely another outing with his friends.

“Hey, Buck. I uh... I was wondering if you wanted to come over a little bit later?” You sound nervous to your own ears and curse yourself for it.

“Of course, sweetheart. Everything okay?”

You blow out a breath and nod even though he can’t see you.

“Yeah, everything’s good. I just... I miss you. And... there are a few things I wanna talk to you about, that’s all.”

“Uh oh, not the ‘we need to talk’. You’re not breaking up with me, sugar, are you?”

You roll your eyes at him but a soft laugh falls from your lips.

“Shut up. Be here at seven?”

“I’ll be there five minutes early. And I’ll bring drinks, too.”

“Perfect. See you then.”

“Bye, Plum.”

You hang up the phone and toss it aside, letting out a shaky breath.

It’s done.

You can’t exactly turn back now.

Now, all you can do is wait.

~*~

“You really shouldn’t leave the door unlocked like this, Plum. What if I was a stranger?”

You roll your eyes and don't look up from your phone as Bucky walks in, making himself at home.

“Nobody even knows I exist except you, Barnes.”

He plops down next to you and hands you an open can of something fruity.

“Thanks.”

He nods, taking a sip of his beer and tossing his arm over the back of the couch.

“So, what did you need to talk to me about, honey?”

You gnaw on your bottom lip for a long moment before finally speaking, your gaze focused on the can in your hands.

“How uh... how did you get started with what you do?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, piercing blue eyes trained on your face.

“You mean my cam page?”

You nod, not raising your gaze.

“Why? You interested in starting one?” His voice is teasing and light, but when you don’t laugh his eyes widen.

“Oh my god, you do, don’t you?”

“Shut up. I just... school is expensive and this apartment is expensive and living is expensive and you just... you make so much. I wanna... I wanna give it a try.”

“If you need money you can always tell me. S’what friends are for. And you’ve gotta really consider something like this and what it means, Plum. Your body’s gonna be on the internet forever. People are gonna see and, as much as it kills me to say this, some people are gonna have not so nice things to say.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and finally raise your eyes to his.

“I know that, Buck. I’ve... I’ve been thinking about this for a while, actually. It’s about more than just the money. It’s... I don’t know how to explain it.”

You drop your gaze again and shake your head, pushing to your feet.

“It was stupid of me to bring it up. Sorry I asked.”

His hand winds around yours before you can get too far away, tugging you gently back to the couch until you’re seated next to him.

“Hey, your my best friend, Plum. I just wanna make sure you know what you’re getting into. I sure as hell didn’t. I wish I had someone out there lookin�� out for me when I first started. I’d have saved myself a whole shit ton of trouble and tears.”

Your eyes find his once more. His beautiful, soft, kind blue eyes.

“If you want to and you’ve thought it over, of course I’ll help you. But you won’t be pulling in the big bucks immediately,” he warns.

You nod, biting your bottom lip as excitement bubbles up inside of you.

“I... don’t laugh when I tell you this, okay?”

He nods, his eyes completely serious, “of course.”

“I just... something about it makes me feel... I don't know, sexy, I guess.”

You avoid his eyes as humiliation crawls out of your stomach, following your words like vomit.

“When I’m sending nudes or even when I’m just taking cute scandalous pictures it just... I don’t know, it makes me feel good. I can’t explain it.”

He holds your hand the tiniest bit tighter and nods, completely understanding what you mean.

“I get what you’re saying Plum. Trust me, I do. Fuck, if I looked like you I’d put my nudes on a billboard.”

You smack his shoulder playfully and he chuckles, leaning closer to you.

“M’serious. You’re fucking hot. And, if you’re serious about this, I’ll help you.”

You nod eagerly, turning to face him and waiting for whatever wisdom he’s going to bestow upon you.

“The very first thing is setting boundaries for yourself. What are you comfortable with? How much do you wanna show? Do you wanna be anonymous? Stuff like that. And then, we can get your account set up and you can start filming.”

You take a deep breath then nod, a million thoughts running through your mind.

“How do I promote my account? I don’t wanna go on Instagram and do it, my family’s on there.” You can only imagine how awkward Christmas dinner would be if your parents found out. That is, if you even get an invitation.

“You can promote on other social medias or create new ones dedicated to advertising. And... If you want, and only if you want, you can debut on mine. You can film whatever kind of content you want, you can edit it, and then we’ll upload it on mine with a link to your account.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“Would... would you see it?”

He gives you the gentlest of smiles and pushes your hair away from your face.

“Honey, don’t get all shy on me now. If you don’t want me to see, I don’t have to see. You can use my apartment and my camera and stuff and you can do it all. But if you want my help with anything, all you need to do is ask.”

Once again, your teeth find your bottom lip as you ponder this.

If you wanted him there, he’d be there.

If you asked him, Bucky Barnes, your best friend, to be there while you make adult content, he would.

If you asked him to join... would he?

Something about the look in his eyes tells you that he would.

You shake the dirty thoughts from your head and give him a small smile.

“Okay. Let’s do this, then.”

He grins right back at you and nods.

“Let’s do it. My place, tomorrow morning. When you’re done filming your scenes we’re gonna go out to brunch, on me. And then after that, you can decide if you wanna post them or not.”

You nod your agreement.

“It’s a deal.”

~*~

At exactly nine thirty the next morning, Bucky’s letting you into his apartment and showing you toward the room designated for filming scenes.

The second guest bedroom that he’s rigged with lights and backdrops and expensive-looking cameras aimed at the bed from different angles.

You swallow hard, feeling nervous.

“You sure you wanna do this, Plum?”

With a deep breath, you nod.

You do. If only to try it out.

“Okay. I can put some music on and light a candle if you want? Get you relaxed?” His hands trace up and down your arms, the friction doing little to get rid of the goosebumps.

“Sure,” you whisper, trying to take deep breaths to calm your racing heart.

He moves around the room getting things ready, and you slowly unzip your sweater, leaving you in a black lace bra.

“I can hear you overthinking from over here,” he jokes softly, turning the last camera on then making his way over to you.

He takes both of your hands in his and kisses your knuckles softly.

“You don’t need to do this. I won’t think any less of you if you back out.”

You shake your head and look up into his eyes.

“I wanna do it I just... I don’t know what to do,” you confess softly, feeling foolish.

“I want it to look as natural as possible. But I just... I guess I’m camera shy.”

He chuckles gently and nods, fingers interlocking with yours.

“I was too, Plum. It takes time. You just gotta relax, okay? I can step out if you want?”

Butterflies flutter around in your belly at the idea of him staying, and before you can stop yourself you shake your head.

“I... if you leave I... I don’t think... I don’t know. I just...” you stop trying to explain yourself and huff out a sigh.

“Can’t you just tell me what to do?”

His pants tighten at the question and he needs to swallow hard before answering.

“If... if you want me to, I absolutely will, okay?”

You nod gently, eyes wide and focused on his face.

He takes a deep breath then brings his hands up to your shoulders, gently pushing the sweater away until it falls to the floor.

“I want you to take your pants off, sweet girl, okay?”

You let out a shaky exhale then do as instructed, dropping your sweats and standing before your best friend in nothing more than your underwear.

His eyes devour your frame and you can’t help but feel a little insecure under his gaze. Until you notice the tent in his pants. That makes your confidence skyrocket.

“Can you get on the bed for me, pretty Plum? On your back.”

You comply easier this time, climbing onto the bed as gracefully as you can manage, then laying down on your back.

Your knees draw up and together, shielding your intimate area slightly.

“M’gonna touch you, baby, okay?”

You suck in a sharp breath as you feel two of his warm fingers on your knee.

“S’just me, honey. Just Bucky. Your Bucky.”

Your back arches the tiniest bit.

Your Bucky.

“Gotta get my girl warmed up, okay? Just relax for me, m’gonna make you feel good, I promise.”

You nod, eyes closed as he slowly spreads your thighs.

“Fuck, honey. Look at you. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. You gonna let me touch you? Gonna let me eat your pretty little cunt ‘till all you can remember is my name?”

You nod again, fingers gathering the bedsheets and curling them into your fists.

“You’re so pretty, baby.”

You can feel his warm breath against your panties, so close to where you’re dripping for him.

With practiced ease, he slips your panties from your legs, and then his lips, teeth, and tongue, are teasing everywhere but where you need them.

“Please,” you whine, reaching down and threading your fingers through his hair.

“Please what?”

A soft whimper falls from your lips when he traces his tongue around your hole.

“Please make me cum,” you finally whisper.

He rewards you immediately, mouth latching onto your clit while two thick fingers plunge into you with no preparation.

A loud moan falls from your lips and your head digs into the bed.

“Fuck, Bucky!”

He fucks into you quickly, hitting your g-spot with every thrust of his sinful fingers while his lips and tongue continue their assault on your clit.

“Oh God, Fuck! Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

He obeys, his eyes trained on your face as you lose yourself in the pleasure he’s giving you.

The cameras in the room are forgotten by the two of you as you both indulge in a fantasy that you’ve kept hidden.

For far too long has he held back, wondering what it would be like to have his mouth on your pussy. Now that he knows, he’s never going to give it up.

And you’ve spent many nights with your hand between your thighs, wishing it was his instead.

Now that you’ve had a taste, you don’t think you’ll ever get enough.

“Oh, right there, Buck. Please, M’so close, God, Please!”

Hearing you beg might be the prettiest sound he’s ever heard in his life.

Well, second to hearing you cum.

Your release slams into you like a brick wall and you groan loudly, thighs clenched tightly around his head while your hands yank at his hair hard enough to cause the man pain, but he doesn’t mind.

All that he cares about is the look of pleasure on your face and the feeling of your walls clamping down around his fingers.

When you fall back against the bed and your grip on his hair loosens, he crawls his way up your body until he’s hovering over you.

Your eyes find his, fucked out and beautiful, and he can’t help but smile at the mess you’ve become.

“Hi, Plum. You okay?”

“Mhm.” You nod, grasping the back of his neck and pulling him down until his lips connect with yours.

You can taste yourself on his tongue but that only makes the whole thing impossibly more erotic.

He pushes his way between your thighs, mouth never leaving yours as one of his hands moves down to your chest.

With one hard yank, your bra is torn from your body and tossed to the floor and then his hands and lips are exploring the newly exposed flesh.

“Can I fuck you, sweet girl? Hmm? You gonna let me stick my cock into your perfect little pussy?”

You nod, pushing your chest up into his greedy grasp which only makes him chuckle.

“Sweet Plum. The fucking sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. Can’t wait to get my cock in you, make you cum all over me.”

You clench around nothing at his dirty words, whining softly when he pulls away to take off his clothes.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you?” He teases, pulling his shirt over his head and giving you a perfect view of his glorious body.

Carved by Michelangelo himself, you find yourself wanting to trace every ridge and bump and curve that he has.

Your thoughts trail off, however, when his sweatpants drop to the floor and his cock springs free.

Thick, long, and weeping, it looks absolutely delicious.

All you want is to put it in your mouth.

As if sensing your thoughts, Bucky grins at you.

“We’ll save that for later, Plum. Right now m’gonna fuck you ‘till you can’t walk.”

His words hold a promise that you hope he keeps.

He grabs onto your hips and spins you onto your front then yanks you up until you’re on your hands and knees facing away from him, back arching when he slides a pillow beneath your hips.

“Look at how pretty you are, Plum. All nice and swollen for me... fucking beautiful. A work of art, really.”

He slides his hot length through your folds, relishing in the whiny moan that falls from your lips.

“Be a good girl for me and take it, okay?”

He slowly pushes inside of you, inch by thick inch, and your moans get louder the deeper he gets.

When he finally bottoms out, he needs to breathe deeply to stop himself from blowing his load right then and there.

“God, you feel like heaven,” he whispers, one hand rubbing gently along your spine.

You whimper, pushing your hips back the tiniest bit further then pulling away slowly.

He watches, absolutely entranced, as you slowly start fucking yourself on his cock.

“Such a greedy girl for me. Look at that.”

You mewl into the bedsheets and start rooking your hips faster, crying out softly when he smacks your ass only to immediately smooth his hand over the stinging flesh.

“Sorry, Plum. Couldn’t help it.”

When you pull your hips forward next, he lurches forward to meet your backward thrust, making you cry out as the tip of his cock kisses your cervix.

The pain is so perfect that it has you seeing stars.

“Fuck!”

He starts up a borderline brutal pace, hips snapping against your ass hard enough to leave bruises that will be painful to sit on.

“Fuck, feel me in your tummy? Yeah? I bet you can.”

You nod, drooling into the pillows as he fucks all the thoughts from your head.

Slowly, he leans forward, his hands finding yours.

He laces his fingers through yours and holds you tenderly as he abuses your cunt.

“Fuck, you feel so good... got me addicted, baby.”

You whine, rocking your hips slightly to meet his every brutal thrust.

“Fuck, not gonna last long... so fuckin’ tight...”

One of his hands leaves yours to slide down the front of your body, stopping only when he finds your clit.

His fingers move expertly over it, tightening the coil in your belly until you feel like you may pass out.

The overstimulation makes a broken cry fall from your lips as he brings you closer and closer to that beautiful edge, until you’re falling headfirst into another mind rattling orgasm.

Your vision goes white and your ears start to ring as you clamp down around him, milking his cock as he follows you into his own climax, painting your walls white.

Moan after soft moan falls from your lips as the aftershocks make your body tremble and your toes curl, and he stays rooted inside of you the entire time, his hands holding onto your hips tight enough to bruise.

Finally, after what feels like hours, he slowly pulls his softened cock out of you, groaning at both the sensitivity and the way his cum drips down your thigh.

Unable to stop himself, he lowers to his stomach and pulls your hips down to rest more comfortably on the pillow beneath them, putting your cunt at the perfect level to get a nice long taste.

His tongue is lapping at the mess between your thighs before you even have a chance to catch your breath and you gasp, shooting a look over your shoulder only for your pussy to clench at the sight.

His eyes are closed as he devours you, drinking up everything you have to offer and successfully cleaning up the mess he made of you.

“B-Bucky, oh fuck, Bucky I-I can’t!”

He chuckles softly and slowly pulls away, placing a kiss on your clit then peppering gentle kisses along your spine until his body is draped over yours, half-hard cock nudging at your folds again.

“You with me, pretty girl?”

You slowly open your eyes and turn to look at him and he all but cums at the sight of you.

Your lips are parted and your eyes are glossy and distant. Mascara is smudged on your cheeks and your hair is an absolute mess.

Pride blooms inside of him at the sight and he places a quick kiss to your lips.

“C’mon, Plum. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He helps you to your feet, supporting most of your weight as your legs tremble like a baby deer’s.

“Jesus, Buck,” you whisper, leaning against him as he leads you to the bathroom and turns the shower on.

He steps under the warm spray then helps you in, keeping his arms wound around your waist and pulling you to lean against him.

He presses soft kisses to your shoulders and the top of your head, smiling against your skin when you hum contentedly.

“So, Plum? What are your thoughts?”

You pull away slightly to look up at him, bottom lip tucked between your teeth.

“If every scene is like that, you’ve got yourself a deal, Barnes.”

He chuckles and lightly bumps his nose against yours.

“As long as you’re only doing the scenes with me. You’re mine, honey. And I don’t plan on letting you go anytime soon.”

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Nothing Much to Lose

Author: marchember

Artist: Jojo

Rating: Teen

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Length: 85000

Warnings: undefined

Tags: #Howl’s Moving Castle fusion/AU #more movie than book #characters from the HMC universe #Hatter Dean #Wizard Cas #adventure #bickering #enemies to friends to lovers

Posting Date: October 27, 2022

Summary: Dean’s life as a Hatter is predictable and well-worn, his days filled with taking care the Family Business in the small town where everyone knows him by name. It doesn’t leave much space for adventure or excitement, and that’s fine. He has his job, taking care of his mother’s legacy, his friends, and his genius little brother going places.  All signs points to this being all that the Fate has in store for Dean - until an unexpected nighttime meeting with a mysterious wizard on a run from the law leaves him suddenly involved with precisely the kind of shady magical dealings he’d avoided all his life.  Struggling with an ineffable curse, his familiar life turned suddenly upside down, the search for a remedy leads him straight back to the person who started it all - and who unfortunately seems to be a bit of a dick. And since when things like that even happen to older brothers?

Excerpt: Dean realised his mistake the second the words left his mouth, but it was too late. He saw the soldier’s eyes widen, and his face contort further in a maddened scowl, lips drawn, showing ugly, yellowed teeth. He watched, transfixed, as the guy raised his fist, and managed to think that “drunk, pummelled to death by assholes” was definitely not how he wanted to go, when a low, gravelly voice cut through. “Thats enough.” The soldier stopped mid-motion, frozen. Dean blinked a few times, before taking his eyes off the fist suspended in front of his face. He might’ve had gotten a little cross-eyed.  Quick survey of the scene told him that the other soldier was immobilised as well. Behind him, the tramp stood with his left arm outstretched. He somehow looked decidedly less scrawny and grimy, even despite the dirty longcoat and general unkemptness. His blue eyes almost seemed to glow.  He made a shooing motion and mumbled something unintelligible, causing the soldiers to turn and walk away in complete silence, their moves weirdly stiff and unnatural, then sighed deeply.  “You just had to insert yourself into this situation, didn’t you?” he asked Dean, a displeased scowl on his face. “Typical. Every day in this country there is a thousand injustices and nobody bats an eye, but when I need to be left alone suddenly there are wannabe heroes falling from the sky.” He looked derisively at the staircase behind Dean. “I can’t depend even on human callousness.” “Hey!” Dean reddened, rapidly growing to regret his decision to stand up for the guy. “I could swear ‘thanks’ is the customary phrase when somebody bravely comes to your rescue like that.“ “‘Thanks’?” Dean goggled as the weirdo actually gesticulated the air quotes. “You come in, you interfere with my… activities, pointlessly run your mouth and force me to save you, ruining my plan, and you expect to be thanked?”  “Well, excuse me for wanting to help a down-and-out like you getting the crap beaten out of him-” “It’s a disguise,” he hissed, waving his hand up and down, and huh. If Dean had had any doubts about the guy being a wizard (not that he had any, after the puppeteer show with the soldiers), they’d dissipate right then. With every pass of his hand, the man seemed to wipe off the hobo persona. His clothes got clean and less wrinkly, although the terrible coat remained shapeless, sagging from his shoulders. His dark hair was no longer matted with sweat and grime - now it looked messy, like the guy was carding his hands through it just a minute ago. Dirt and the grubby beard disappeared from his face, leaving behind only a slight five o’clock shadow and a pissed off expression. He even seemed to grow a couple inches. “Not bad,” Dean praised. “I’d lose the coat, though.”

DCBB 2022 Posting Schedule

[the-sound-of-her-wings]

Can I please get a Matt Murdock fic with Only Us from DEH. Just real fluff like EXTREME. Please and thank you.

Hello! So this didn't turn out as fluffy as I hoped but it is still majorly fluffy! I hope you like it!

❀ Premise: You are a law librarian and you meet and get to know Matt through law library associated activities.

❀ Word Count: 1,918

❀ CW: Law Libraries, Flirting, Fluff

❀ Song: Only Us- Dear Evan Hansen

❀ Citrus Scale: Citrus

The Law Library in Hell’s Kitchen was usually empty, which irked your supervisor. She’d always talk to you about the good old days where the library was filled with lawyers, judges, law clerks, all researching law. They started to dwindle in the mid to late 2000s with the introduction and widespread use of online versions of the same books that filled this library. By now, there was almost no one left coming into law libraries to do legal research- except for the lawyers from Nelson, Murdock, and Page.

You were shocked when you heard the door open one October morning, only to look up and find a pair of lawyers.

“Welcome to Columbus Law Library. My name is Y/N, how may I help you?”

“Hi, y/n. I’m Foggy Nelson- this is Matt Murdock. Do you happen to have a subscription to Westlaw Edge?”

“We do maintain a singular subscription to Westlaw Edge, though both Westlaw and LexisNexis are available in print format.”

“That’s all we need. Do you happen to have a braille keyboard?” Matt asks.

“Give me just a moment.” You say, looking it up in your system, “We do. It appears to be in storage, so let me go grab it for you.”

When you return to the front with the keyboard, the two men have already made their way over to one of the three computers.

“Let me just get this set up for you- this might take a few minutes, I’m not sure the last time this keyboard was used.” You state, brushing past the two men and taking a seat in front of the computer. You spend the next 10 minutes struggling to get the old thing to finally connect. “Got it! Mr. Murdock, please feel free to test it out.”

You get out of the seat to let him slide in, which he manages to do fairly well on his own.

“Works fine. Thank you for setting this up, y/n” Matt states.

“Of course. Is there anything else you’ll need while your here?” You keep a professional manner but you can feel the heat in your cheeks.

“No, I think we got it. If you could let me know when the next pocket part comes in for New York Jurisprudence, 2d, I’d appreciate it” Foggy responds.

“Of course. I’ll let you know as soon as we get it in. Could I please get your-” Matt is handing you their business card before you can even finish your sentence. “Thank you, Mr. Murdock.”

“Just call me Matt.”

“Right. I’ll be at the front desk if either of you needs anything”

After that day, you only ever see the two of them come in separately. Foggy is on a set schedule: every Monday morning from nine to noon, he uses one of the computers to conduct legal research- and will occasionally look through the hardcover LexisNexis books to cross-reference for certain cases. Matt is much more sporadic. Sometimes you’ll see him five times a week- other times it will be a whole month before he comes back in. It’s always later in the day, about an hour or two before the library closes.

“Matt. It’s nice to see you. It’s been a while.” You state, seeing him come in.

“Nice to see you y/n. Foggy asked me to ask about a pocket part?” He approaches the front desk.

“Yup. It just came in this morning. I’ll make sure it’s out for him when he comes in on Monday.”

“Great. Thanks, y/n” As he begins to walk away, you notice a trickle of blood on the back of his neck.

“Matt- your bleeding.” You state. You take the boxes of tissues you keep behind the counter and begin to approach him.

“I am?” He doesn’t seem that concerned.

“You should sit down.” It’s less a suggestion and more a demand. You pull over a chair for him to sit in, and you kneel next to him to be able to get close enough to the bleed.

“Are you gonna tell me how this happened?” You ask, cleaning up the wound.

“I’m an alcoholic.” He states.

“The alcoholics I know don’t smell like antiseptic and copper.” You reply. You are close enough to smell his breath, which also betrays the fact he hasn’t had anything to drink in a while- let alone enough to be drunk. “And that doesn’t answer my question”

“I’m willing to bet you haven’t been around enough alcoholics to know that for certain” He responds, leaning into your touch

“I guess it shouldn’t be surprising that a boxer's son gets into fights, but I guess I was expecting a little more from a lawyer of your caliber” You respond, causing him to jerk away from you. “Guess I hit a nerve”

“How’d you know it was from a fight?” He’s stood up to get further distance from you

“I didn’t, until now.” You reply, standing up. “But that’s none of my business,” You place the bloody tissue in his hands, closing his fingers around it, “Unless you want it to be.”

“Does attorney-client privilege apply?” Matt jokes with a pained smile.

“It would if I actually sat on the bar” You respond.

After a short silence, Matt says, “I’ll be doing some research.”

“And I’ll be here if you need anything.”

The next time you see Foggy, you don’t bring it up. You just mention that yes, Matt had stopped in on Friday, and yes, you had told him to tell Foggy that the pocket part was in. No, you have no idea why Matt didn’t tell him. It would be another two weeks before you saw Matt again.

“Welcome back, Matt.” You say, without looking up from the book you are reading. It’s not like he could see you.

“Y/n. Any updates I should know about?”

“Nope. Nothing interesting going on, I’m afraid.” Matt and Foggy are always the most interesting part of your day when they decide to enter it.

A few minutes later, you hear Matt shout from the computers, “Y/n? Can you come here a second?”

You put a bookmark on the page you had been reading and get up to see what’s going on.

“Hi Matt, how can I help?” You ask, approaching where he is sitting.

“I think the servers are down.” He states.

“Do you mind if I scootch in next to you to get a better look at the screen?” You ask.

“Sure thing.” He moves over enough to allow you to sit down on the edge of the chair.

“Let’s take a look- yup. Looks like their servers are down. Routine maintenance.” You try to ignore the fact that your thighs are pressed up next to each other while you confirm the issue.

“Convenient.” He says sarcastically.

“I suppose you’ll need my help, then,” You state, getting out of your shared chair, “What kind of law were you researching?” You ask.

“Lemon law.” He responds.

“Oh, The sexiest kind of law.” You joke. As you make your way to the relevant area of the library, Matt follows you.

“Only for one of the sexiest lawyers.” Matt teases.

“Don’t push your luck. I’ll lock you in the library.”

“Is that a threat?”

“The man from that one episode of the Twilight Zone sure thought it was”

“He wasn’t blind and at the mercy of librarian” Matt points out.

“But he was surrounded by the one thing he needed without the ability to complete the task. Which would be you if I wasn’t here.” You respond, pulling the relevant materials out.

“I could always call Foggy.”

“But that wouldn’t be fun, would it?” You reply, now having a stack of about three books balanced on your right arm. Just then, you feel Matt’s hand in the small of your back, causing you to almost drop all three books.

“No, it wouldn’t” You walk like that to the nearest table, where you set the books down, and turn into Matt’s hand, causing it to now be on one of your hips.

“Now, as charming as you are” You state, slowly peeling his hand away from your body with your own before sitting down, “You did come here to research lemon law- not me.”

“Who says I can’t do both?” He’s got a cheeky grin on his face as he sits down next to you.

“So what legal question are you researching in particular in regards to lemon law?” You ignore the flirting for now.

“Are cars primarily used for personal purposes but also used for food delivery as part of a person's employment considered covered under the lemon law?” He responds.

“Spoken like a true lawyer. Let’s see…” Your hands brush as you open the text.

“Can I ask you something?” Matt says after you spend a few minutes trying to locate the right section of the law.

“I’m starting to think you’re not actually that interested in lemon law.” You tease, closing the book. “Go ahead.”

“Did you mean it when you said it the other week? That it was none of your business unless I wanted it to be?” You can see him searching for your hand, which you had put on top of the closed book. You move it so he can find it.

“Of course I did.” You say, as your hands intertwine.

“I think I want it to be your business. But I don’t know if it’ll change-” He breathes, “this.”

“I don’t think there’s anything that could change this.” You respond, releasing his hand and placing it against your face.

“You promise?” He asks, using his thumb to trace your lips.

“I promise” You state, his thumb still on your lips. They are soon replaced with his own, while both of his hands cup either side of your face. When he pulls away, you nuzzle your face into his right hand.

“Who knew lemon law could be so romantic” You joke, causing him to laugh.

“Can I walk you home?” He asks.

“Of course, you can.”

Matt is still very sporadic about visiting the law library, but he is very consistent about your dates, and always has an excuse if he needs to reschedule. You find out about a month after your first kiss the reason why Matt had come in injured that day, but it doesn’t change anything for you.

“Matt, I’m ready.” You shout from his bathroom, having just changed into something a little fancier. He’d booked a table at a restaurant not far from his apartment for the two of you.

“I’d say you look stunning..” He begins

“But I’d be lying.” You reply with a smile.

“You do smell very nice.” Matt gives an actual compliment.

“Thank you. And you look very handsome- though your tie could use some help” You reply, adjusting the tie around his neck.

“Y/n, are you sure this doesn’t change anything?” He asks as you make the final adjustments.

“You keep asking me that, Matt. It doesn’t- not for me. Does it change things for you?” You reply, pushing back some of his hair.

“No- It’s just. It changed a lot of things for other people in my life. Never for the better” He laments.

“I’m not them. I love you for who you are- all parts of you” You respond, placing a hand on his cheek.

He smiles, moving his face to kiss the palm of your hand.

“Is that enough reassurance?” You ask, removing your hand from his face.

“It is.”

[tarosin]

the great adventures of y/n tommy tubbo ranboo & others are mentioned - tommy won’t go home

this is part 14 to the great adventures series

an: I tried, days are a social construction on the tarosin blog… also i’m back baby <3

from the moment you were forced awake by tubbo streaming with ranboo, Tommy began sending several messages as in his own words you ‘weren’t answering him quick enough’, probably because you had only just woken up and had no idea what day or time it was.

Tommy: y/n

Tommy: y/n were going out soon I've decided so answer me

Tommy: y/n wake up

y/n: heh? I’m going nowhere I’m tired

Tommy: I’m sending you a ticket make sure you meet me there

it was around now you had the feeling you were going to be stuck with Tommy for a while and you had no idea what to expect. an hour later tubbo stopped streaming so you took this as an opportunity to say your goodbyes to tubbo and ranboo explaining you had no idea what was happening as Tommy refused to explain but you’d probably be back later so they don’t lock you outside like last time

“don’t smirk at me ranboo just because you’re tall doesn’t mean I can’t take you down”

“mhm sure yep”

“y/n you’re going to be late we’ll see you later”

soon enough you were with Tommy who finally decided to inform you of what was happening

“we’re going to go annoy George”

“great idea Tommy let’s go”

the pair of you stood at the door waiting for George to answer, the look on George's face is something you’ll never forget.

“Hello Tommy, is that y/n what are you doing here”

“Nice to see you too… the fuck”

a few minutes later you and Tommy were sat next to George when you found a rubber duck and started making it squeak annoying the others well that was until Tommy took it and started doing the exact same thing you were doing

“I now understand why you looked pissed George”

during the stream, you were sat in between the pair George looked at you and you nodded. a few seconds later George threw the rubber duck hitting Tommy, the pair of you left not long after that event and made your way to the hotel after calling tubbo to explain what was happening.

the next day you and Tommy met up with tubbo ranboo and George at a shopping centre where you were all almost immediately met with several people asking for photos and the chance to talk to you all, you hid behind ranboo until the crowd grew smaller. it didn’t take long for everyone to notice the piano before you had time to process what just happened tubbo ran to the piano dragging you with him accidentally pushing ranboo in the process

“SORRY RANBOO”

the pair of you began playing the piano Tommy joining shortly after. time flew by the five of you spent the rest of your time shopping and just enjoying each other’s company, before you knew it, it was time to get the train. you laughed at tubbo falling asleep on the window however karma quickly caught up as you ended up falling asleep on ranboos shoulder ranboo laughed quietly to himself not wanting to wake up you or tubbo

“I swear its always y/n and tubbo who fall asleep”

“its been a long day y/n couldn’t sleep in the hotel they kept mentioning something about ghosts I don’t know man they must have been watching too many horror films”

“mhm probably”

soon enough you were with the others, minx quickly pulled you into a hug

“Nice tattoo”

“I did it for money it was a sub-goal”

you and tubbo stood with Tommy looking at the ferret

“why’s it so long”

“tubbo does it look like I study zoology I play Minecraft for a living”

the next day you were at the beach, having only had a few hours of sleep the previous night it was safe to say you weren’t in the best mood, you sat next to ranboo occasionally falling in and out of sleep, ranboo kept an arm around you pulling you into his side making sure you were safe and didn’t hit your head on the rocks when you fell asleep. you were woken up by tubbo walking on something which he clearly shouldn’t be. eventually, you all made it back to tubbos house, Tommy and tubbo were in the kitchen while ranboo practised for mcc and you were asleep in the room you had been sharing with ranboo whilst he’s in the Uk.

the next day you all went out on another adventure, at this point you had no idea what was happening but you just went with it. you and Tommy chased a bird telling him about the subscribe button and giving him the name ‘funny boy’

“Why does that bird look just extremely anxious”

“because we’re too cool ranboo”

“maybe we should give him another name than funny boy”

“Charles”

it was at this point you all decided to leave poor Charles alone as it was pretty clear he wanted nothing to do with you.

the three of you made your way to the train station forgetting that the school students would be there, a few minutes later the three of you were swarmed by several students all trying to talk to you all.

“I think we might have got on when the schools are here”

“so thankful you pointed that out boo I thought we were being mobbed by several people cosplaying as school students”

“hi everyone hopefully no one has covid”

you backed away from the crowd moving closer to ranboo

“I bet tubbos really glad he chose not to come”

you tried to avoid the crowd by getting on the train, this failed miserably. people were excited to meet the people they look up to they were all determined to sit with you all on the train taking up the seats around you all, the three of you spent a lot of the train ride talking to them, unlike ranboo and Tommy you ignored the comments aimed at the three of you not wanting to get involved after all it was rather overwhelming so many people talking loudly at once, you ended up moving seats and had a quiet conversation with someone from your community, around half an hour later you were at your destination and said goodbye before joining Tommy and ranboo at wills. the three of you sat on the floor listening to will and the others practice. it’s pretty clear Tommy has a habit of finding things as you turned around to see him with a puppet of a shark pretending to bite you

“Tommy what are you doing”

“bye y/n scream it’s going to get you”

“ah”

realising you weren’t going to scream he began telling joe, Wilbur and David to scream.

after spending time with the others and having a quick trip to the beach you Tommy and ranboo ended up at the shop recording the three of you on the security camera

“If you take a picture from there 50p”

you looked at ranboo tilting your head in confusion even though he was wearing a mask and sunglasses he was clearly equally as confused, he pulled you into his side noticing you were clearly starting to get anxious, you hated confrontation even though it turned out to be a joke it still shook you up a little bit

“I'm only joking my friend…but I did get them”

“you did we took it serious”

“aye you did”

the three of you walked away Tommy still laughing

“he scared me”

after a long day, you all went back to tubbos, you and ranboo decided to end the night early, the pair of you made your way to the shared room. you both spent a few minutes talking about mcc and how you were both going to win and coming up with new strategies. you must have fallen asleep mid-conversation as you didn’t remember seeing Tommy come into the room last night yet you were woken up by him complaining that ranboo playing mcc woke him up.

after getting ready you sat planning an adventure with tubbo

“So where do you wanna go bo”

“We should do something really cool”

“l hope you know that wasn’t helpful”

“pumpkin patch”

“it’s summer where do you think we’re going to find pumpkins…wait tubbo in October I’m taking you to a pumpkin patch it’ll be great we hardly spend time together as a pair near Halloween”

“I promise this year we’ll spend more time together”

your conversation was interrupted by Tommy and ranboo announcing they were ready to go to the beach again. once there tubbo sat arguing with Tommy and ranboo over them needing a life jacket. meanwhile, you had walked away collecting pretty rocks and sea glass putting them in the velvet blue bag covered in embroidered gold stars that dream had sent you as a thank you for the merch you sent him not long ago, you walked along the beach quietly talking to yourself

“ooh jack would like that and I could turn this into a ring for Niki…techno would like this and this would annoy schlatt it's perfect”

you laughed to yourself as you made your way back to the others thinking about schlatts reaction when he sees his gift. when you made your way back you watched Tommy swim over to tubbo leaving ranboo on his own probably waiting for you to return

“did you get any nice rocks then y/n you were out for a while”

“I did. come sit over there with me I’ll show you”

the pair of you sat next to each other away from the sea, ranboo matched your excitement every time you picked the rock you wanted to show him

“you’ve been collecting more than rocks? what’s that”

“I have !! you wanna see?”

“of course I do”

this was a moment neither of you would forget, the pair of you sat enjoying each others company looking at rocks and sea glass you had found on the beach ignoring the world.

taglist:

@denkisclown @emma0nline @fuzzycloudsz @wtfwriter @milkydisaster @dumb-chaotic-bi-energy @uselesssapphickitten @l0ver0fj0y @etheriaaly @xx-smiley-xx @hawarun @cawcaw-pretty-thing @reverse-iak @renleicrashed @augustine-is-joy @c1loudee @orkwardx0 @bearytime @kylobensgirl

[parkers-gal]

why T.H.

wc: 6k (angst)

jerk!tom makes an appearance

You were angry, that was for sure. Tom knew why, it was his fault after all, but he'd never admit it. He would never 'man up' to you and just apologize like he should. At least, not when he should, but he would later, when the damage was already done and set in.

Truth be told, you were furious. How could he do that when he promised not to? You were more hurt than angry, if you were being honest. You didn't want to be the 'mother' but quite frankly, you were disappointed too.

It was your dream to own a bakery, but a bakery in London was something to get your hopes up. Dreaming big never ended well for you in the past, but after years of working your ass off, you had managed to achieve something you had wanted since you were young.

Your bakery, Flour Before Frosting, also happened to be where you met Tom, your boyfriend of almost 18 months. He had walked in one day, charming with a dashing smile, and asked for "your best made velvets, frosted with your number." You remember that day vividly, for it was one of the many times Tom would drop by before eventually taking you out and officially making you his girlfriend. Eight months and 17 days later, you moved out of your crappy flat and into his house (though it really just made things easier because you were already over every night).

You were in your shared bedroom, writing down new plans for how to decorate your bakery for the holidays.

"Hey, babe!" Tom called.

"In here, Tom," you yelled back.

"Oh- hey, luv. Got an old friend visiting next week, so I won't be by for our Wednesday lunch plans," he informed you.

"Oh, okay. Do you want some cupcakes and tea? Gonna have a new batch on Tuesday, fresh with new tea that Jackson just got. I think he made it- anyways, he gave me a sample a few weeks and I absolutely loved it. I think you'll like it too, it's just right for you." You rambled, and Tom laughed and shook his head at you.

"Yeah, darling. I'd love some cupcakes for my guest, gonna have to show off your amazing skills, aren't I?"

You blushed, waving your hand in the air as a hint for him to leave so he would stop flustering you. He ran over to kiss your cheek, leaving a Hershey kiss on your desk before yelling out that he'd be at the gym with Harrison for the next two hours.

Wednesday had come by, and you were on a lunch break, leaving Jackson in charge before heading to your favorite café for coffee and some light reading, and maybe even more planning. Heading in, you ordered and sat down in a booth. The door chime rung, making you look up from your papers and notebooks you had spread out to start your organizing. Tom, and what must've been his friend, walked in. You smiled as they went to the side of the restaurant with the small library of old, vintage books. They were facing away from you, sitting side by side in the angled lounge chairs. You were about to go over to and say 'hi' but your waitress came by with your coffee, so you stayed seated and went back to your work.

You saw Tom with the Tupperware box you gave him, enclosed with the small lunch note you always wrote him. He opened the box, giving a cupcake to the man talking to him (you were right in earshot), before reaching in for his, and the note. Before he got the chance to even look at it, his friend spoke up, frosting on his upper lip.

"You said these were made by a friend? This is fucking disgusting. Is it chocolate or..? Damn, ew, is this frosting healthy?" he laughed.

Tom nodded along, "I, uh, honestly couldn't uhm.." he trailed off, his friend looking at him with a confused expression, expectantly thinking for Tom to agree with him. "Yeah, man, I don't really fucking know."

His friend took another small nibble before playfully gagging, and looking at Tom while he bit into it for the first time. Tom reacted in the same way, 'gagging', to agree with his friend, before putting it on the table with his friend's cupcake.

"Who made that? Certainly wasn't Gordon Ramsey."

At this, Tom laughed. Whether he thought it was funny, or if he was just trying to ease the tension, you couldn't tell. You were too busy blinking tears away.

"You said you had tea?" he questioned Tom. Tom nodded. "Good, need something to wash away that disgusting thing people call a cupcake."

You cringed, turning your head to the side with squinted eyes because you truly couldn't sit there and listen to what someone thought was wrong with your life's work.

Tom didn't reply, just getting the tea in the thermoses in his bag, handing one to his friend while opening his. You were contemplating on if his lack of response was a good thing. On one hand, he wasn't completely encouraging the hate you were getting, but on the other hand, he didn't stick up for you either. Right now, that was all you could think about. But then, everything slipped your mind when both boys tried the tea you had specially made (early, for it wasn't to be sold in your shop for about another month) just for them.

Tom opened his thermos, smiling when he took a sniff at it, because you were right. It smelt like something he would love. His friend, however, would not agree. Taking one sip, he was just as rude about it as he was with the cupcake, going as far as spitting it back into the thermos.

He got up, taking both cupcakes with him, and dumped the thermos out in the trash can, the cupcakes following not long after. He sat down next to Tom, shaking his head with a coy grin before speaking.

"Next time, let's get Chinese or something," he laughed, Tom nodding along with him before slipping both thermoses back into his bag, dropping your note in the process. Before he got to pick it up, his friend crumpled it up and threw it towards the trash can, laughing probably a little too loudly about it. You were certain he knew it was a note from Tom's girlfriend. 

You were still for five minutes, stunned. Ultimately, you decided to cut your lunch break short, packing up your stuff as quickly as possible, leaving a tip and rushing out, your back to the boys.

You had yet to bring anything up, though you weren't noticeably acting different around Tom. But when he mentioned the next week that his 'old friend' wanted to "eat dinner and get drunk" you were hesitant. You hoped this 'friend' was temporary, because the effects were already starting to show, and you didn't like what they were.

Tom didn't tell you when he'd be out with, Andrew, he said his name was? but you didn't think it would be the immediate week after the cupcake incident.

You were sitting on the kitchen stool, jotting down ideas for your shop when he came in.

"Oh, Y/N! Andrew and I decided to go out this Friday, said something about clubbing or shit. Anyways, he said don't expect me home early, but I might sneak away if he's drunk enough," he said, rather quickly, for while he was talking, he was filling a water bottle and grabbing some fruit.

"Wait, this Friday? I thought we-"

"Thanks, Y/N! Gotta head out," he was practically yelling, running to kiss you on the cheek before racing out and slamming the door shut.

Did he mean this Friday? His only day off for the rest of the month, the one where you two planned a film night, with take away and late night talks and star walks in the park?

It was only eight o'clock on a Wednesday morning, your late opening day, but you decided to head in early. Walking in, Jackson had already opened for you, being the gentleman he is, just setting up for the day, knowing you didn't want to walk in to a store full of customers without being there. He was sitting at a window table with his boyfriend, Jeremy, giggling and eating a muffin. When the door chime rung, he looked up, his boyfriend turning around to smile and wave while Jackson was coming towards you.

"Hey, Y/N! We're a little short on shortbread today," he laughed at his pun, "so I put in a new batch about 20 minutes ago. The chalk board is set up and the cappuccino machine is on-" he was about to turn away before he stopped abruptly. "Oh! And Tom stopped by while I was in the back. Jeremy said that he wanted you to know something about not eating cupcakes for this new diet? I don't know, he mentioned something about Anthony telling him about some diet that would help fo-"

"Andrew!" Jeremy cut in from behind, correcting him.

"Right, Andrew told him it would help for his job. So he said to stop making his weekly order."

"Oh," you weren't quite sure what you could say. Thank you? What the fuck? It was all jumbled into your brain too fast. "Thank you, J. Well, guess we should open shop for the day." With that, you worked until seven-thirty, an hour later than you usually would.

Arriving home, you walked in and set your bag down, heading for the kitchen to get water. Mid-drink, Tom walked in.

"Why are you home so late?"

You swallowed, placing the cup down, "I was working," you deadpanned, maneuvering around him so your shoulder wouldn't hit his on your way out. He followed you into the living room.

"It's almost 8!"

"Yeah? I don't know what you want me to say, Tommy. I'm sorry? I'll tell you what you want to hear, but that doesn't mean I mean it. "

He was silent for a second, laughing slightly, seemingly letting it go. You weren't joking, but you didn't want to argue, yet. "Right," he laughed again, "Sorry. I did want to talk to you though."

"We are talking."

"Smartass," he joked. You giggled slightly. "I've got to go back to press next week. I leave on Tuesday." You stopped laughing. 

"For how long?"

"I'm always gonna be away for the same amount of time, Y/N, you know that. I'll be back mid October." 

October? It was only the beginning of April.

"Well, I'll be back in London for a few days in July so you'll have that. Press ends around September, but I need to finish up Chaos Walking. I'll be here for Halloween though," he smiled encouragingly.

You nodded. "Okay.. do great things, Tommy," you always told him.

Friday rolled around, and you you were going to close the shop early for your night with Tom, but he was going out, so your plans were out the window. Instead, [your best friend] would be coming over at around eight. Tom would be gone by that time, right?

It didn't matter, because he wasn't even home when you got back from work. It was barely seven, you two usually had dinner together. Well, not this past week because he had plans with Harrison, and his brothers, and Andrew, and Tuwaine...and practically everyone else. Seeing as you had about an hour, you decided to shower, changing into some casual clothes. Tom was going clubbing... he wouldn't be back before 4 A.M., right? You didn't care, [your best friend] would spend the night anyways. You had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

You were wearing a cute tank, your favorite sleepwear, and some loose sweat pants. You were drying your hair with a towel when the doorbell rang. It rang again, so with the towel in your hand you ran down the stairs, yelling, "just a second," but it rang again. You swung the door open, confused, because [your best friend] always came in unannounced because you two were completely comfortable with each other. Instead, you were met with the boy from the cafe, Andrew. You looked around, and saw Tom's car parked by the curb, Tom waiting in the driver's seat while talking to someone in the back.

"Hey, Tom texted you or- whatever. We're going clubbing, can you get his stuff?"

"Uhm.. stuff?"

"Yeah.. he said you'd put his stuff inna backpack so he could get ready at my place," he answered confidently, as if you knew about this.

"I'm- uh, sorry? I don't have anything," you answered.

"What?" his eyes were wide with annoyance and disbelief.

The car honked, and Andrew turned around, shrugging his shoulder and mouthing something to Tom, before Tom came out and up to you.

"Didn't you get my text, Y/N? About the stuff sitting on my dresser?" he asked, straight up without so much as a 'hello' or 'how're you?'.

"No, I- no. No I didn't get your text, Tom."

"Well-"

"Well?" you interrupted.

"Thanks for, nothing I guess," he responded, moving past you and into the house to retrieve his things. Once again, you were left with Andrew on your porch, only this time he was eyeing you up and down, winking at you before yelling to Tom and going back to the car, Tom following not long after. This time, he didn't even bother saying goodbye on his way out. Just as they drove off, [your best friend] walked up.

"What the hell was that?" she shrieked.

"What?"

"That whole, 'thanks for nothing' bullshit. What kind of boyfriend thinks he can say that to his girlfriend?!"

You started heading in, taking one of her bags with you as she followed you inside. Placing her things down, you turned around, giving her a bear hug which she gladly returned.

"It wasn't that bad. Besides, he's been worse this week," you explained.

She was silent for a moment, shaking her head before talking. "Okay, I see why you called for a girl's night on such short notice. C'mon, lets get changed into some pajamas and get the snacks ready. It's been far too long since we've had actual time with each other," she gave you a sentimental smile, soft and sweet. You nodded, already planning on what to get and where to make the fort of blankets you already knew she wanted.

About half an hour later, she was in comfortable clothes, and you were in the kitchen making hot chocolate, getting chips and dip and pretzels and candy and everything in between. You had both decided to use the guest bedroom, which was accompanied with it's own bathroom. The room was probably a little smaller than the master bedroom, which was normal, but the bathroom was more expensive than yours. Plus, this one was used when the boys came over, so the Xbox, all the video games, movies, and the music equipment was here. Even with all this expensive stuff, the room was still as big as ever, so putting a fort in front of the bed barely took up any space.

You had to make at least three trips for all the food and stuff you were bringing, and because this was a guest bedroom, it had a mini refrigerator. Both of you decided to keep it pg-13, no alcohol or rated-R movies. Tonight, it was a Disney marathon with hot cocoa. At around 11:30, you had just finished your third movie, Beauty and the Beast, when [your best friend] stopped the ending credits and turned to you.

"Before we watch anything else," she turned to you while you did the same, "let's talk. We can fall asleep watching Disney, but we can't fall asleep and keep talking," you interrupted her, laughing, before nodding away. "So.. what's going on? With Tom, I mean, because you mentioned that he was worse earlier this week than he was today, and tonight he was pretty nasty so I mean- yeah, what else has he done?"

You paused, looking down and sighing, giving in. "Well, it started with Andrew, some 'old friend' he wanted to catch up with. I gave Tom some cupcakes and tea from the shop to eat with him. I was on my lunch break when the boys came into the same cafe and started eating. They didn't like it and- well.. they sorta threw it out after gagging about it," you said. Her eyes went wide. "I don't know, [best friend's nickname], I mean at first I was stunned, hurt obviously because it seemed to be on purpose because Tom knows I always go to that cafe on my lunch break. Is it a coincidence that he came to the same cafe at the exact same time I have my lunch break?"

You went on to explain how Tom had cancelled two dinner dates and a movie night within the past two weeks, and that he was going clubbing without inviting you, cancelling his weekly cupcake order and calling you clingy after you texted him about making sure he ate dinner. Not to mention he only just mentioned him leaving next week on a press tour, and spending his only day off with Andrew even though you two had planned spending that day together for a month.

By the time you were done listing off all the reasons, you were sobbing into [your best friend's] chest, trying to catch your breath. It was too late though, because Tom wasn't here and the events leading up to an attack like this could have only been noticed by him, seeing as [your best friend] wasn't here to see them herself. You couldn't hear anything, your pounding heart being the only thing filling your ears. [Your best friend's] attempt to calm you down wasn't working, resorting to the breathing exercises which were slowly drowned out. You could't even get a breath in. The realization hit you: if you didn't take control, you would faint. You had never had an attack this intense in at least four months, so everything needed to help you would take too long to get.

You gripped her arm, unable to focus on anything except for the fact that you were going to faint.

"I'm here, Y/N, I'm right here. It's going to be okay, right? We're gonna work things out. Yeah? Everything's gonna be alright. We're gonna be alright. We'll be alright," she cooed.

You blacked out, only for about two minutes, but you did. When you woke, you sobbed again, finding a steady breath before completely crushing [your best friend] with a hug, gripping her tightly.

"Thank you," you whispered.

She got you settled, convincing you to snack lightly before brushing your teeth, making sure you drank water. The fort was ready, untouched since your movie marathon, so you both climbed in and fell asleep watching Disney.

Four hours later, it was four o'clock in the morning, and the front door slammed shut.

"Y/N!" Tom slurred, dragging out the last syllable of your name. "Y/N!" he repeated, the same way but louder. "Where the fu-! OH! OW!" he screamed.

You and [your best friend] were already starting to sit up, confusion spreading across your faces before she got up, following her directly after. She opened the bedroom the door, and you stepped out, making your way down the stairs and seeing Tom sitting on the ground, missing a shoe with a rip on his shirt sleeve.

"There you are! I wus at the club a-and Andrew and I were hanging out and he took home some girl- he said if he was getting laid that I should come home and get laid by my lame-ass girlfriend, so come here! Fuck me!" he slurred, talking too loudly for your liking.

"Did you just call her a lame-"

"Tom, you're drunk. Go to bed," you cut her off, knowing how protective she would get. Honestly, you wanted her to scream and shout and yell at him, and you wanted to join her. But if you were going to, you wanted him to be completely sober so the guilt would really sink in.

"No wonder you're a lame-ass," he muttered.

"What was that?" [your best friend] yelled.

"Nothing! I'm going up to bed, see?" He looked at both of you before running up the stairs like a kid.

You both stood there, a little hesitant, before going up the stairs, talking on your way.

"Y/N, I swear if you hit him, you better knock some sense into him because that boy is so ridiculously stupid and undeserving of your love."

You laughed, growing quiet because you were beginning to think she was right. 

The next morning, you and [your best friend] got up at nine to make pancakes and bacon, your usual sleepover breakfast. The speaker was playing One Direction, both of you singing and slightly dancing when Tom came downstairs, disheveled and hungover.

It was Saturday, his last Saturday with you, but it had taken him too long to get interested in hanging out with his girlfriend. "Hey, Y/N. Wanna do something today?" he asked.

[Your best friend] looked at you, but you had already made up your mind. "Sorry, Tom, [your best friend] and I are going shopping together. Next time, though,"  you said, before putting your dishes in the sink and slipping out of the room, [your best friend] following you out.

That night, you and your best friend departed ways, telling her you'd call and let her know when she could come over again. You got home, and decided to put your new things in the guest bedroom, because your clothes from last night were still there. The mess, luckily, was cleaned up thanks to [your best friend], who convinced you to help with the cleanup.

It was nearly ten-thirty by the time you got situated. You were in a new set of pajamas, sitting in front of the tele in the guest bedroom on the floor, looking at all the new things you bought. You found this super cute sweater, and a pair of jeans [your best friend] insisted on buying for you. You also found a pair of shoes to go with an outfit you had planned in your head; it was perfect. People say your looks shouldn't matter, but you felt good when you looked good, so you loved fashion. Overall, you and [your best friend] must have spent at least $800.

At around 11, you heard footsteps running around the house, before Tom came into the guest bedroom.

"What're you doing in here? Aren't you gonna sleep in our room?" he looked worried.

You lowered the shirt you were looking at, making eye contact. You hesitated, "I- yeah... Yeah I guess."

"You guess?"

You just shook your head, trying to be playful with it, but ending up avoiding his gaze all together and going back to looking at your new things.

"Y/N?"

You looked up, "Yeah?"

He looked --  surprised almost? There seemed to be a glint of hurt in his eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked.

You nodded, getting up and setting the shirt back in its bag, "C'mon, lets just go to bed."

He mumbled an agreement, turning around and walking to your bedroom. You left the guest room, closing the door and going into your room. It was weird-- to even consider it your bedroom, because you hadn't slept in it for about three days. The last time you did, Tom wasn't with you. Was it normal? Did all couples go through things like this? You didn't have much time to dwell on the thought, because you were already under the covers, sleep consuming you before Tom got the chance to talk to you about anything.

It was almost noon when you woke up on Sunday. Rolling over, you felt Tom's side of the bed empty. The feeling of the cold sheets didn't come as a surprise to you, he was gone every time you woke up even though he didn't start filming until around 10 A.M. . It was different this time, because it was your last weekend together. He was always at home on the weekends he wasn't away filming. 

You pulled the covers off you, walking downstairs into the kitchen where you were met with Tom and Haz, quietly whispering things to each other. You didn't get to listen long, for both boys shot up and stood straighter, smiling to you. You just looked at them, slightly rolling your eyes before grabbing some juice and heading back into the guest bedroom.

When you came down ten minutes later for breakfast, both boys were talking normally again.

"Just talk to her, alright man?" Haz spoke.

"What am I supposed to say man? I can't just go up to my girlfriend and tell her I'm fucking pissed at how she's been ignoring me. Not gonna be rude like her-"

"Woah- woah woah, Tom. She's not that rude. Just have a civilized conversation with her. It's easy, you're just overthinking it."

"Okay.. okay, yeah- yeah," he stuttered, turning around on his heal but abruptly stopping when he saw you standing in the doorway. His jaw dropped, noticing your anger immediately.

"Maybe I should go-" Harrison started.

"No, no don't bother. I'll go, it's obvious you both want it."

You turned around, going up to Tom's bedroom and getting a change of clothes, immediately putting on your jeans and the rest of your outfit, before Tom came barging in.

"No- Y/N, I'm sorry. Please, let's talk," he begged.

You ignored him, getting some more clothes, enough to last you two days, before going into the bathroom for your makeup bag and some deodorant. Going back into the closet, you grabbed your work backpack, making sure all your notebooks and journals were in it, before shoving the things you had in to join them.

"Y/N, please. I-  listen to me, please. I'm sorry, let's just talk. Talk it through, yeah?" he asked.

You looked up, talking rather emotionless. "No. We can talk when we've both thought our shit through, although I thought it was only you who needed to get their shit together, but obviously I was wrong. I'll be back after work on Monday, if you're even here to notice." With that, you moved past him, grabbing your phone and texting [your best friend], picking up your keys from it's hook and heading for the door. Haz was standing in the living room, and when you passed him he gave you a sentimental look, but you payed no mind as you glared him down, opening the door and slamming it in Tom's face, for he was downstairs too late.

About 10 hours had passed since you left, and Tom had only thought about you for two of them. Andrew and 'the gang' had called him, insisting that him and Haz join them for some fun. Tom had reluctantly agreed, much to Harrison's dismay.

At around eleven o'clock, Tom had had enough 'fun'. The guilt in him was killing him, but his anger for you was killing him even more. Telling Haz he'd be heading out, he drove home, getting into bed and thinking about what you'd talk about when you got back.

Monday had passed, and you were doing better than you thought you would be. You opened shop about 30 minutes early that Monday morning, knowing it was better to keep yourself occupied. It was [your best friend's] week off, so she offered to come with you to work, and 'volunteer' almost. She had quite some experience in waitress-ing , so you gave her that job. Around noon, Tom came into the shop, and [your best friend] called out, "Incoming, [your nickname]."

You looked up from the cappuccino machine, turning around to face the door Tom had just entered. The minute you saw him coming towards you, you spoke. Luckily there weren't that many people around who didn't know you, so they didn't react when you yelled at Tom.

"Get out."

"I just wanted to-"

"Get OUT!" you yelled, louder when Tom didn't listen to you.

He moved forward, leaving a Hershey kiss near the cash register, looking to you for your reaction. You picked it up, and threw it to [your best friend], who unwrapped it and ate it herself. He left after she pointed towards the door.

When you closed shop, you decided to head home, seeing as he was leaving tomorrow and you had obviously thought a lot about what to do. The only option, really: talk it out.

Walking in, you placed your bag by the door and went to get some water in the kitchen. Tom was standing there, staring into space. He noticed you come in, and immediately stood up straighter, obviously becoming more aware of his surroundings.

"Are you- are we talking now?"

"I'm here, yeah. Let's talk," you answered setting your cup down.

"What's your problem?" he asked. You looked at him like he was crazy, so he went on. "I mean, these past few weeks, you've completely ignored me. And when you did acknowledge me, it was a rather rude encounter. "

"You think I'm rude?" he nodded, and you scoffed. "Well I'm sorry you think I'm rude. You wanna know what I think is rude?"

"Look, I'm sorry my being honest upset you. But nobody said the truth was nice," he interrupted.

"Tom, what the fuck?"

"I'm just saying! Out of the two of us, you're the one who has more problems!"

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that you are always the one who cries over shit, and gets upset at little things," he answered. You looked at him in disbelief. "What I'm saying is you're over-dramatic and too sensitive."

"Oh for fuck's sake," you started. "You just- you just don't know when to quit, do you?"

"You said to talk! I'm talking!"

"You're being completely unreasonable."

"Am I? Because all you've talked about is how you think I'm crazy. Do you even have anything to say?"

"Fine! You want me to talk? I'll talk. I've been rude to you because you are the one who let that man you call a fucking friend insult my life's work. You completely agreed with him, took in my hate and didn't even stand up for me!" You yelled. Tom didn't know you knew about that, and he was about to interject but you kept going, "And to make things worse, you kept seeing him! Every single fucking week, it was 'Andrew said this!' 'Andrew said that!'. You cancelled dates to see him! Call me over-dramatic, but when your boyfriend cancels a date on his only day off, I think most girls would be pretty fucking pissed," you walked out of the kitchen.

Tom was in the living room too, following you. "Yeah, well I'm sorry I cancelled our plans, but we live together. Don't you think we see enough of each other because of that?"

"Wha- what?"

"Think about it! We see each other all time because we live together," he reasoned.

"Yeah, I guess you're right,"

"See-"

"If you were ever around, I would see you a lot. But you're never around, so no, Tom, we don't see each other a lot. I work too, remember!"

"Not like I do," he mumbled.

"What?" you yelled.

"Nothing."

"No, Tommy. If you have something to say, you better fucking say it or so help me-"

"I said 'not like I do'!"

"What? Because I'm not some movie star with his head up his ass, I don't work hard?"

"My head's not in my ass, yours is! All I wanted to do was talk things out, not get fucking blamed for things that aren't my fault!"

"Yeah? Well all I wanted was someone better," you quipped back.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"What have I done wrong! Please, enlighten me! All you've done is complain about the stupidest things!"

"So my feelings are stupid, now?"

"Did I fucking say they were?" he yelled, voice raising as he stepped closer.

"Sounded like it to me!" you yelled, raising your voice to meet his.

"Just tell me! Do you have anything else to say?"

"You- you really are stupid, Tom."

"No, Y/N. I'm not. You are, not even telling me why you're so fucking angry at me."

"I'm angry because I had my first attack in months because of you. You! The person who told me he'd always be there to help me through one, not cause one. I'm angry because you go out without even bothering to ask if I'd like to join you. A-And then you just throw it at me that you're leaving for, what? Seven months?!  Not to mention you completely stopped eating things from my shop because of a so-called diet? And you're off with that Andrew guy, who eyed me like a pervert even though he knows I'm taken. You know how uncomfortable I am with that! And don't you dare say you didn't know, when you're the one coming home drunk telling me he's picked up another girl and telling you that you should go home and get laid too. God knows you'd listen to him if he asked you to cheat on me. Not to mention how you called me fucking clingy because I was checking up on you. You want me to stop making sure you're okay? You want me to stop caring?" you screamed. "Because you say the words and I will fucking back off for good. "

He was silent for a second, only missing a beat, contemplating on if he should apologize or keep fighting. Because he didn't want you to be angry, but he wanted to win. He needed to win. "Yeah, I wish you would back the fuck off. You're always on me!" he screamed. "And I get wanting to be affectionate, but you're just fucking sickening. Too much love."

That made you stop. "You think I'm loving you too much?" you asked quietly, and Tom looked at you, really looked at you, after hearing the change in your voice. You were quiet, practically whispering now. It wavered slightly, your eyes were glossy and red.

"I- I didn't-" he started, but it was no use. The damage was done.

He knew better than anyone about your past, which had caused a massive buildup in insecurities that were inevitably killing you. When you met Tom, he had promised to discard each and every one of your insecurities until you loved yourself as much as he did.

"No, you did. And you fucking know it." You were walking upstairs, getting yet another bag ready to last you until Tom left for his press tour.

"No, no Y/N, I'm sorry. Listen to me, baby. I didn't mean it," he begged.

"You wouldn't have said it if you didn't mean it," you said, choosing a few shirts to shove into your backpack. "Your intentions were pretty clear, Tommy. I'll stop caring for you, stop putting in effort for this toxic relationship. I'll stop loving you, because right now, it seems like loving you is the one thing wrong with me," you said, finding some pants and your makeup bag.

You were making your way downstairs now, "Y/N, Y/N please. Please I need you. I can't leave us like this- not when I leave tomorrow."

"What 'us,' Tom? There is no 'us' anymore."

"What're you saying?" he asked, tears finally falling from his face.

"I'm saying it's time I move on from you. Moving on means not having you. So, we're done," you opened the front door.

Tom stood in the doorway while you gripped the handle. "So- we- we're.."

"I'll be out before you come in July," you filled in. With that you slammed the door, driving to [your best friend's] house, while Tom sobbed on the floor in what used to be a home of two people who loved each other.

[nugnthopkns]

dance me to the end of love (v)

word count: 4.6k

warnings: fem!oc, cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of poor parenting and damaged familial relationships

series masterpost: here

a/n: and just like that we're halfway through!!! it's crazy to think about it. however, lots happens in this chapter so buckle up peeps

Soon Magdalene’s feelings are going to get the better of her.

She knows she’s heading down a dangerous path but she can’t help it. Ryan is like a drug she can’t get enough of even though she knows it will hurt her in the long run. Living with him has opened her up to the laid back, intelligent, incredibly funny man he is and Magdalene doesn’t know how she’s ever going to function in her own space ever again. They complement each other like two peas in a pod, and everyone else is starting to catch on to the shift in their relationship.

“When are you going to fess up to Ryan about your feelings?” Bette asks as the two of them sit on the lawn across from the university library. It’s mid October, but the weather is still warm enough that Magdalene eats her lunch outside. Her best friend decided to join her today, no doubt knowing that she’s feeling a little lonely. The Avalanche are in the middle of their season opening road trip and have been gone for nearly five days. Ryan’s condo feels empty without him in it, and Magdalene misses him an unfathomable amount.

“Never, if I can help it,” she replies casually, taking a bite of the turkey wrap that Bette brought her from Barn Owl.

The blonde scoffs. “Fuck off. You have to. What are you going to do when he gets back from Florida and you tackle him as soon as he steps through the door.”

“Caligula will get there first,” Magdalene shrugs. “Those two are thick as thieves.”

Truthfully, Magdalene wasn’t sure what she was going to do. This is the longest they’ve been separated since she moved in and it’s proving to be a harder adjustment than she thought. Magdalene feels a little silly missing him so much – she went nearly twenty-six years without knowing Ryan but now he’s imprinted on her soul for the rest of eternity. Living without him seems impossible.

Bette drops the conversation then, almost as if she knows Magdalene is in her own world thinking about what to do. She mentions the upcoming home opener and her plans to attend with a couple of the other wives and girlfriends. “We’re going out beforehand and you should join us! I really think you’d like most of them.”

The bell in the clock tower rings, signalling the start of another hour, and Magdalene promises she’ll consider the offer as they pack up the picnic and say goodbye. It’s a short walk back to the building she works in, seeing as they were only across the street, but it takes a while for the elevator to come around. Magdalene could have taken the stairs down to the basement but they scare her a lot more than she’d like to admit. Hopefully June won’t mind her being a few minutes late.

Her boss doesn’t look too pleased when Magdalene strolls through the door almost seven minutes later then she should have, but as soon as she tosses the cookie Bette brought her in June’s direction all is forgiven. They work in near silence all afternoon, background noise provided by the small stereo in the corner and their respective grunts of frustration when an image doesn’t digitize properly. The university has finally decided to undertake the massive project of making all their school records available to the public online, and Magdalene and June are in charge of getting all the files ready before sending them to IT for installation into the website. It’s a huge task and is going to take them the better part of a month and a half to finish. Magdalene spends the rest of her work day finishing up a box of graduation records from the 1870s and leaves smelling of very old paper.

On the drive home she considers the invitation Bette extended to her. Magdalene knows she’ll be attending the game, having promised Ryan before he left that she’d be there, but she doesn’t know how to feel about going out for dinner and drink beforehand – especially with people so involved with the team. She isn’t like them, in nearly every sense of the phrase, and doesn’t want people to get the wrong idea. It wouldn’t be fair to Ryan for people to assume they’re together in case he ever does want to bring someone around, but Magdalene can’t help thinking that the speculation wouldn’t hurt. Perhaps it would be the clue that shows him how she feels.

The invite stays in the back of her brain while she heats up leftovers and eats quickly, knowing that Ryan will call soon. He’s like clockwork with his precise game day routine, and he always calls shortly after four o’clock when out east. Magdalene’s phone buzzes from the spot beside her on the couch and she quickly scoops it up and accepts the call.

“Hey,” she says, a little breathless because she’s so excited to talk to him.

“Hey yourself. How was work?” Magdalene can tell Ryan’s got a smile on his face even though she can’t see him. She indulges the question, telling him all about the stuff she digitized and what’s next. Though she always tries to get out of talking about work, fearing it will bore the daylights out of him, Ryan insists on hearing every detail Magdalene wants to share. He finds it all fascinating and tells her so every chance he gets. During her monologue Caligula wanders over and becomes extremely invested after he hears Ryan laugh at something Magdalene said. The small white cat jumps onto Magdalene’s lap and tries to paw the phone away from her ear.

“Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker. Little boots would like to talk.”

At the sound of Ryan’s greeting, Caligula starts meowing up a storm. It’s as though he’s actually holding a conversation with the man, waiting for Ryan to say something before he continues to make noise. Magdalene laughs through what could barely classify as a conversation until the cat gives her space to talk again.

“So,” she says, drawing out the word in an attempt to make Ryan laugh. “Bette asked me to join her and some of the other girls for drinks before Friday’s game.”

Ryan’s responding before Magdalene has finished uttering the last words. “That’s great! I think you should go.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says sheepishly, “It would be nice for you to know someone other than Bette.”

Magdalene is surprised at the response, but tries her hardest to keep her tone light and teasing. “Why, you plan on keeping me around Mr. Graves?” She can tell Ryan is struggling to come up with an answer because there’s a fair amount of sputtering on the other end of the line.

“I’d be stupid to let you go.”

All the breath in Magdalene’s lungs escapes her. She didn’t expect him to say something like that, and it sends her mind reeling. What does he mean? Unable to process the comment, Magdalene makes up an excuse and hangs up as quickly as possible. She spends the rest of the night wondering if Ryan was trying to make a move and deciding how she should handle his homecoming in a few days.

☼☼☼☼

When Ryan gets home Thursday morning Magdalene is at work. Caligula is happy to see him, practically pouncing on him and purring so loud Ryan’s sure the neighbours heard the cat. For an animal so small, Caligula can make a lot of noise if he wants.

“Hi boy,” Ryan coos, adjusting his grip on the cat so he doesn’t get dropped while the two of them move around the house. “Did your mom talk about me while I was gone? Been thinking about her a lot lately.”

The cat doesn’t respond, of course, but Ryan finds comfort in vocalizing his emotions. Multiple times on the road trip Tyson made fun of him for the silent pining he’s found himself participating in since Magdalene moved in, and hinted that she might have said something to Bette. Neither of them are great at keeping secrets, but Ryan also knows they want him and Magdalene to get together and aren’t above manipulation to achieve their goals. He doesn’t know how Magdalene actually feels, but Ryan isn’t willing to risk losing their friendship. Just a couple of months ago she sat on the deck of the lake house and told him she wasn’t looking for a relationship – he has to assume that’s still her position because if he doesn’t Ryan isn’t quite sure what he’ll unleash. Though the two of them are close, closer than most friends, Magdalene stills keeps a lot of things to herself and Ryan doesn’t want to pry. When, and if, she’s ready he knows she’ll come to him.

Exhausted from the countless hours of travel he’s endured over the past few days and the pains that come along with being a professional athlete, Ryan falls back onto the couch cushions. He hurts in places he didn’t know existed and wants to do nothing but sleep. Caligula settles into his stomach, purring contently, and though he knows he should unpack his gear, Ryan can’t find the energy to move himself or the cat. Everything will still be there when he wakes up, and hopefully Magdalene will be on her way home. She texted Ryan earlier in the morning, no doubt just before she headed out the door, to say that she was taking some holidays to have a long weekend and would be home around noon. Sleep comes easy with Caligula nestled against his body, and Ryan dreams of Magdalene as he frequently does.

☼☼☼☼

Despite Bette telling her countless times she shouldn’t be, Magdalene is nervous. The significant others of the Colorado Avalanche are a tight knit group and are very particular with who they let in. Magdalene is a nothing, has no true connections to the team besides being Tyson’s girlfriend’s best friend, and she’s worried she won’t make the cut. If it wasn’t for Bette picking her up in the morning Magdalene would have found a way to get out of drinks, but the blonde made sure she couldn’t make a run for it.

Sitting in the elevated booth, she not-so-casually sips her glass of wine while Bette tries to calm her down. “They’re going to hate me,” she groans, lowering her head to rest it on the table.

“Shut the fuck up,” Bette counters. “You literally know most of them, and Livy will be here if you get too uncomfortable, but most of them were at EJ’s back in May.”

Magdalene can’t argue with the truth, so she rolls her eyes and finishes her drink. By the time she flags down the waiter for a refill the other girls have arrived. They take turns hugging Bette and shuffling into their seats. Magdalene feels awkward with no one acknowledging her, but she does her best to buck up and deal with it. It means a lot to Bette, and Ryan, that she’s here trying to make friends so she’ll at least make an effort.

A blonde who looks a little older than the rest addresses her first. “I’m not sure if you remember me, but I’m Mel. I think we met last season at a game.”

It takes Magdalene a second to recall the face, but then she recognizes Mel as the person who alerted her to the fight Ryan got into to defend Tyson. “Oh yeah,” she chuckles, though it’s still got a nervous quality, “You’re the one who was yelling about Ryan’s fight.”

Everyone looks at her like Magdalene had confessed to seeing a ghost. “What’s the matter?”

“No one ever calls him that,” a petite girl with tight curls explains. “We all just call him Gravy.”

“Oh.”

Magdalene isn’t sure what the comment is supposed to mean, or if it even meant anything at all, but she does her best to push it aside because Livy is trying to catch up with her. The rest of the outing goes well – Magdalene keeps quiet until someone gives an inaccurate analogy about Rome and she has to correct them. It may make her seem stuck up, but she really hates when people spread misinformation. Everyone laughs, and after that it’s hard for Magdalene to stay silent. She talks about work and college, but when someone asks about home she shuts down. Bette notices the shift in her behaviour before Magdalene’s face has even dropped, and shifts the conversation in another direction. Soon it’s a respectable time to head to the arena and they all pay their tabs, Magdalene going first and then ducking out of the bar that became crowded while they were sitting down.

The fresh air feels good against her skin, and she takes the time alone to regulate her thoughts. There’s still several hours until she can return home and cry in the shower over the mention of her family so it’s important to present a calm facade. Bette comes out slightly ahead of the other girls and checks in with her friend, but Magdalene assures her she’s okay. It was a bit of a spook, but the other girls have no idea about how fucked up her familial situation is so Magdalene can’t hold it against them. The arena is a few blocks over, so the group walks towards it at a brisk pace. Magdalene’s mind is still churning from the bar when they step inside, so she peels off from the rest of the group. Warm ups are about to start and she knows that seeing Ryan will help to calm her down, at least until they can go home and she can sequester herself away from the rest of the world.

She finds a space against the glass and strains her eyes for her new favourite number. Ryan hasn’t made it out on the ice yet, but Tyson gives her a big wave when he skates past. It takes a few seconds, though it feels like years, but Ryan eventually steps out, all long limbs and hair and dazzling smile as his teammates give him big hi-fives. Magdalene doesn’t want to intrude but she needs to spend a few moments with him to feel completely present. When he skates by she waves shyly, and Ryan doubles back once he realizes who it is.

“There’s my favourite girl!” he shouts over the crowd, making sure Magdalene can hear.

The phrase brings a smile to her face, which in turn makes Ryan light up more. “Hi Ry,” she yells back. “I just wanted to come and say hi.”

Ryan’s heart warms at her words, but he knows that’s not the only reason. He’s lived with her long enough to know that something is bothering her but he isn’t going to push. There isn’t much time to have a conversation, so Ryan takes the time to make plans for after the game. “You riding home with me?”

Magdalene nods. “Yeah. Bette picked me up this morning so I didn’t drive.”

The loud sound of sticks clapping against the ice startles them both, and it’s Ryan’s teammate’s way of getting him to refocus. Magdalene says goodbye and before Ryan heads back to the bench he flips a puck over the glass for her. She smiles brightly, and watches him skate away. On her way up the stairs she hands it to a little girl wearing a much too big Graves jersey. It makes her night, and Magdalene returns to the private box she’s watching the game from feeling much lighter than when she entered the arena.

☼☼☼☼

Later, much later, after all of Ryan’s post game media and sitting through the traffic of downtown, Magdalene opens up about what was bothering her at the arena. The two of them are curled up in Ryan’s bed buried under a mass of blankets with several pillows strewn about. It’s become a frequent place for them to spend time, and every time they lay down Magdalene rests her head on Ryan’s chest and he keeps her in place with his arms wrapped tightly around her. Magdalene’s clutching his hoodie tighter than usual, her voice small as she speaks into the darkness of the room.

“I didn’t just want to say hi earlier.”

Ryan isn’t surprised by her confession, but wants to know what caused the surprise visit. “No? What was it?”

Magdalene lift head and shifts to face him, propping herself up with an open palm. “It’s kind of stupid,” she mumbles, feeling dumb for even bringing it up. Ryan doesn’t want to know the sob story that is her past life. “But it’s mostly okay now.”

“You don’t have to tell me, and I don’t want to push, but I think getting it off your chest will help,” he whispers, feeling like talking in a normal voice could startle the girl in front of him.

He’s right – Magdalene knows it. Telling someone the truth, as much of the truth as she can share, other than Bette would do her some good. Her therapist once said Magdalene needed to work on letting people in, and she figures there’s no one better than Ryan. “One of the girls asked me about home when we were getting drinks, and it’s just a really sore subject for me. I shut down and just needed to see you to ground myself.” Ryan goes to talk, but Magdalene continues. “No one really knows, but I left for Denver as soon as I graduated high school. My parents weren’t the greatest, and I suffered a lot emotionally at home. When I told them I was leaving, they told me never to come back and we haven’t spoken since. So yeah, that’s pretty much it. And I just needed to see you to remind myself that I’m okay without my family. You’re part of my family now, the one that really matters.”

Ryan is speechless. “Oh bug,” he sighs, heart hurting for all the pain Magdalene has experienced in her life. “I’m so sorry.” He wants to scream for her, maybe even break something, but all his anger dissipates when he looks down and sees her crying. Silently, Ryan wipes away the tears with the pad of his thumb and holds Magdalene until she stops trembling. They lay in silence for a while, sitting with the weight of the confession she just made. At some point Caligula shuffles in and finds a spot at Ryan’s side that isn’t occupied by Magdalene. The three of them feel like a little family, and it’s too good for Magdalene not to do something about.

“Can I kiss you?”

She’s never been so confident while asking a question. Magdalene knows he wants to kiss Ryan, has known for a while, and after baring her soul to him it seems like an appropriate time to take the plunge. They’ve never truly been just friends and everyone around them, including themselves, knows it.

“Mags,” Ryan says in a gentle yet stern voice, “I’m not gonna kiss you. You’ve just been very vulnerable with me, which I appreciate, and though I really really want to fucking kiss you I’m going to take advantage of you like that.”

If it were possible, Magdalene’s heart would expand so much it would be close to bursting. “I promise this is what I want and that I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. So please shut the fuck up and let me kiss you.”

She leans forward to connect their lips, and it feels like a fire has been ignited in her veins. Ryan is soft and gentle with the right amount of grit to make Magdalene weak in the knees. They move in tandem, giving and taking where necessary, and by the time they pull apart for air Magdalene thinks she’ll never be able to kiss anyone other than Ryan. When he looks at her, eyes kind and glimmering with light, Magdalene is certain kissing other people is off the table.

Neither of them make an effort to talk about what just happened or what it means. Instead, Magdalene kisses him again, and again, and keeps going until she’s completely out of breath. There’s no protest from Ryan, and he looks as blissful as Magdalene feels. She rests her head on his chest again and he cards his fingers through her hair as they sit in the comfortable silence that surrounds them.

☼☼☼☼

Magdalene keeps kissing Ryan, and he keeps kissing her. It’s always in the safety of his apartment, oftentimes with Caligula in the way, but wholesome and loving and warm. They haven’t defined their relationship, and truthfully Magdalene is glad. She likes being friends with Ryan and doesn’t know how the added pressures of dating would affect them – though she might like kissing him more than just being friends.

It becomes routine for either of them to reach for a kiss before heading to the door. Magdalene gets one every time she leaves for work, and if she’s there before Ryan has to leave for games he’s pulled into her lips by his tie. It’s fun and it’s new and Magdalene never wants it to end. She keeps the secret for a couple weeks, but eventually it becomes too much to hold in and she tells Bette one Saturday when they meet for brunch at Barn Owl because the boys are away.

“I kissed Ryan.” It’s out of her mouth like a bullet, cutting through the air and ringing out. Bette is shocked, jaw dropping, only to open further when Magdalene corrects herself. “Been kissing Ryan, actually.”

“You’re fucking joking,” Bette laughs, still not one hundred percent sure Magdalene is being serious. When the brunette nods her head, she squeals in what can only be presumed as delight. “Shut up! Tell me everything!”

Magdalene indulges her friend, and spills every detail she’s willing to share. Part of her wants to keep a bit of her life with Ryan a secret so she does, but Bette is more than willing to work with the information given. She listens carefully while Magdalene talks and waits until there’s nothing more to say before diving into a long list of reasons why kissing Ryan is the best thing that’s ever happened to her friend. Magdalene isn’t sure that it’s great because Bette will always have someone to go to games with, but she is in agreement that it is one of the best choices she’s ever made. They spend the rest of the morning giggling like school girls over potential love and Magdalene heads back to Ryan’s place feeling light and airy.

☼☼☼☼

The first thing Ryan does when he comes home is kisses Magdalene. She’s sitting on the couch with Caligula on her lap reading a book, and he doesn’t even bother to drop his bags on the floor before leaning over the worn leather and connecting their lips. It feels heavenly after the days-long absence and Magdalene chases his lips when Ryan pulls away.

“I missed you.”

They’re three words that shouldn’t mean much, but coming from him they send Magdalene spiralling. He missed her? The girl who spends her days geeking out over old documents and talks to her cat? Regardless of how true the statement is she appreciates it, because Magdalene missed Ryan more than she could ever explain.

“How was the flight home?” she asks, twirling a lock of his hair around her index finger and pulling him down for another kiss. Ryan happily obliges, and kisses her until Caligula begins to meow for attention. The cat practically launches himself into Ryan’s arms as he rounds the corner to sit down next to Magdalene, and purrs loudly at being reunited with the tall man.

Ryan laughs at the animal’s antics before wrapping his spare arm around Magdalene and pulling her close. “It was fine. We hit a bit of turbulence that made it hard to sleep but I managed,” he replies, and reaches for the television remote. Magdalene hums in response, resting her head on Ryan’s shoulder and returning her attention to the book in her hands. It’s silent except for the low buzz of the television as Ryan reviews tape, but neither of them mind. Co-existing is enough for both of them, and it’s peaceful and easy. The occasional conversation occurs but they mostly do their own thing, enjoying the feeling of being together again. More than a few kisses are shared, and Magdalene eventually pries herself away from Ryan long enough to make dinner.

They stayed glued to each other until Magdalene falls asleep. Ryan doesn’t even notice when it happens, but eventually he tries to leave the couch to get a glass of water and finds dead weight on top of him in the shape of the girl he just might love. Magdalene’s snoring softly, and he’s positive there is nothing more adorable in the entire world. A glance at the clock on the wall alerts Ryan to the fact that he should go to bed too, and he begins to brainstorm how to get Magdalene into bed without waking her. She’s been exhausted lately, working extended hours, and he knows she needs all the rest she can get.

It takes a few moments to coordinate, but Ryan gets himself upright without Magdalene realizing she’s no longer using him as a pillow. Gently he scoops her into his arms and pads down the hallway, careful not to hit her ankles on the walls or door frames. Once inside her room, Ryan tucks Magdalene into bed and makes sure her phone is on the nightstand just where she likes it. She looks so content in sleep that he can’t help but lean down and press a shirt kiss to her forehead.

“Night Mags,” he whispers into the dark, wondering if she’ll wake and hear all the adoration his voice holds.

Magdalene stirs at the noise, and opens her eyes to see Ryan’s retreating figure. “Night Ry.”

It’s late, approaching two in the morning, when Magdalene’s phone starts ringing off the hook. Though Ryan has told her multiple times that she doesn’t need to turn her sound on before she goes to bed, she can never find it in her to heed his words. What if there’s an emergency somewhere and some hospital has to get a hold of her? Magdalene would never be able to forgive herself if she was too late because she slept through the incoming calls.

Despite her underlying fears of missing something important, Magdalene considers letting it go to voicemail. She’s exhausted, between the high maintenance projects at work and trying her hardest to go to every Avalanche home game she can, and if it’s urgent she’s sure the person will call again if they need her. It rings three more times before Magdalene decides to pick it up – if only to stop the incessant noise.

Not bothering to even see who’s calling at such an ungodly hour, Magdalene speaks in a sleep-laden voice that betrays what she was doing not even a minute prior. “Hello?”

Bette answers her, offering a quick but sincere apology for the time but explaining that it couldn’t wait. Magdalene groans in contempt, thinking that it most certainly could have waited a few more hours. She doesn’t voice her opinion however, instead waiting for her friend to spill whatever news was making her bounce up and down on the other side of the line.

She’s about to hang up when Bette utters a sentence Magdalene’s been waiting for but never thought she’d hear at one fifty-seven am. “I’m getting married!”

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy @samsteel @lovethepreds @cutiesara23 @hockeyallthetime @stlouisbluesbrat21 @denis-scorianov @danglesnipecelly @c-tangerine @stormingroses @spine-buster @rapidfever @bb-nhlqueen7 (add yourself to the taglist!)

[riddlegecko]

perhabs,, early relationship, Paul wanting affection but being anxious and not knowing how to go about it?

Ceej, you understand me and my Paul hcs on a spiritual level, thank you for my rights and an excuse to write soft nonsense. It's uh... It's a little long.

Being in an honest-to-god romantic relationship was taking a bit of re-getting used to for Paul. He hadn't dated anyone since college, and suddenly wham, he's head over heels for a cute, snarky barista who seems to return his affections. It was odd, but no less wonderful, feeling his heart flutter in his chest whenever Emma so much as smiled at him. He hadn't felt this way about someone in damn near a decade, and then this beautiful 5'0 biology student walked into his life, and god, his brain just didn't know how to handle it.

Paul and Emma had started seeing each other around late October, hooking up in the Beanies break room during a Halloween party her boss Nora had thrown. It was mid-December now, a week and a half before Christmas, and things were still going strong between them. Though there had been... something strange on Paul's mind for a few weeks now, something that had never bothered him before in his past relationships.

Paul was a tactile guy with people he liked, something his friends all knew well. He was never sure exactly how he'd rank the five love languages as applied to himself, but touch was definitely his number one. Casual shoulder squeezes and light nudges were common gestures of his among friends, as Bill could easily attest. With romantic partners, this was cranked up a bit. Lots of light kisses to their temple or resting his hand on their back, stuff like that. It was always the easiest way for him to show that he cared. His partners... were never as tactile as him. It was very all give and no take on Paul's end when it came to physical affection, and he hadn't really minded it. At least, he was pretty sure he hadn't...

But now? With Emma? Her touch was something he actively craved. And it's not as if Emma never touched him outside of sex, far from it, she was probably the most physically affectionate partner Paul had ever had. She held his hand, kissed his cheek, cuddled up against him during movie nights, and gave him playful little jabs in the side when he was being a smartass. But she wasn't quite as casually affectionate as Paul was with her, and he couldn't help but wish she was.

And sweet jesus christ, did Paul find it embarrassing. It made him feel like some dopey lovesick teenager whenever he thought about it. Like, what was he supposed to do? Ask her to touch him more often? He'd sound like a total fucking weirdo if he tried to explain it to her. But still, he couldn't help but think about it a lot.

It had been a lazy Sunday evening, the one day of the week when neither half of the couple had work. And of course, they were... taking advantage of their day off, as it were. On Paul's living room couch, no less. They'd just finished up, and Emma had gone off to use his shower and whatnot. After washing up a bit, Paul had promptly put some comfy sleepwear on (because it was December in Michigan and Paul was not one to lounge around in the nude with temperatures like that outside), and was now absentmindedly channel surfing whilst laying on the couch.

Nearly half an hour later, Emma had emerged from the bathroom, hair tied into a braid and clad in a bright red hoodie that Paul recognized as his own. He couldn't help but smile, it was so big on her, and she looked adorable in it.

"Find anything to watch while I was in there?" she asked.

"Hallmark movies, a bunch of stock Christmas faire, and like three separate Harry Potter marathons," Paul replied. "None of which I'm particularly interested in watching, so we might have to retreat to the DVD shelf again."

Emma shrugged. "Hey, fine by me, TV edits are usually garbage fires anyway," she said. She strode over to the other side of the living room, where Paul kept his DVDs, and eyed the shelf. After a minute or two, she plucked a case off the shelf, snickering. "Monty Python: Life of Brian, that's a Christmas movie, right?"

"Absolutely," Paul quipped. "Anything can be a Christmas movie if you stretch the definition enough."

"Good, because I wanna watch Monty Python."

After popping the disk in, she turned back to the couch, and Paul sat up to give her some room. As she sat back down, Paul took in the sight of her. God, she was lovely. And she looked so cozy in his hoodie, it was hard not to find the sight of her absolutely heart-melting. His heart fluttered a bit, he was getting that feeling again. Unfortunately, Paul found himself staring at her instead of the screen for a bit too long, and she took notice.

"Paul?" she piped up, snapping him out of his trance with a befuddled smile. "You good, babe?"

Paul felt his cheeks flush. Had she ever called him "babe" before? "It's, uh... it's nothing," he stammered unconvincingly. "I just zoned out for a bit."

Emma, being the observant person she was, eyed him with skepticism. "You look like you have something on your mind," she noted. "What's up?"

Well, shit. Feeling his face burn hotter, Paul attempted to weasel himself out of this inevitable awkward conversation.

"N-nothing's up, I'm fine!" he tried to assure her, perhaps too defensively to sound convincing.

"That's the voice of a man who definitely has something up," Emma observed. She grabbed the remote, and paused the film before continuing. "Something's bothering you, Paul, I can tell."

"It-it's just..." Paul tried to begin, feeling momentarily reassured by Emma's soft gaze. But when the right words wouldn't come to him, he groaned and buried his flushing face in his hands. God, why was he like this? "Nevermind, it's really stupid, can we just watch the movie, please?"

"Paul, I know stupid, I work at Beanies," Emma retorted playfully, earning a brief chuckle from Paul. "Whatever's bothering you, it can't be any worse than the shit my co-workers complain about on the daily. I promise you I won't laugh."

Paul removed his hands from his face, meeting her gentle gaze once more. "You mean it?"

She nodded. "I'm all ears."

Exhaling a deep breath, Paul took a moment to think of how to word his self-imposed predicament in the least stupid way possible. Probably best to start small.

"Um, y'know how... when we watch movies or whatever together," he began, trying to force himself to talk above a whisper. "You'll like, lean against my chest, and I'll wrap my arms around you and play with your hair and all that?"

Emma nodded, looking somewhat confused. "Yeah...?"

"Do you think we could... do that the other way around this time?"

There was a brief moment of silence, and Paul was pretty sure his face had turned a shade of red that had only ever been seen by shrimp before. Jesus, that must've sounded so stupid.

"That's all?" Emma asked.

Yep, there it was. Paul looked down at his lap again, embarrassed beyond belief. "Basically, yeah..." he chuckled despite himself. "I know, I know, it's really dumb, and I probably got you all worried for nothing-"

"Whoa, whoa, Paul, slow down!" Emma cut him off, reaching out to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. She smiled at him softly. "I mean, sure! If that's what you want, we can do it!"

Paul took another deep breath. "Really?"

"Yeah!" Emma replied. She leaned back on the arm of the couch, and opened her arms. "Come on, bring it in."

Still nervous and flustered, Paul slowly eased himself against Emma, resting his head against her chest. He could feel her heartbeat, even through the thick fabric of the hoodie. Emma rested one hand on his back, and began to thread her fingers through his hair, just like he would do with her. Paul felt a chill go down his spine. God, he forgot how much he loved having his hair stroked. He wrapped his arms around her torso, face still flushing like nobody's business.

"How's that?" Emma asked, undoubtedly noticing the ridiculous smile that had forced itself onto his face.

"Wonderful..." he sighed, finally beginning to calm down a bit. "Thanks, Emma."

"No prob," Emma snickered, still stroking his hair. "But before we un-pause the movie, can I ask why it was such an ordeal for you to ask me about this?"

"It's kinda hard to articulate," Paul explained, adjusting himself so that he wasn't muffled by the hoodie. "My, um... my past partners weren't really the, uh... the affectionate kinda types, y'know? So it just kinda felt weird to ask you to... do this... I guess..."

"...Well," Emma began after a moment's pause. "I'm not your past partners, so I'd be more than happy to do this more often."

"You would?" Paul inquired hopefully.

"If it makes you feel as loved as it makes me feel," Emma said, rubbing a calming circle between his shoulder blades with her thumb. "Then I'll do it anytime."

Paul could've melted right then and there. He was loved... In a somewhat indirect way, Emma said she loved him. Perhaps now was the time...

"Thanks again, Em," he said, slightly choked up. He craned his neck a bit to press a kiss to her neck. "I, um... I love you."

Emma briefly paused in her stroking of his hair, only to resume moments later, and press a kiss to his forehead.

"I... I love you too, Paul."

[hailbop1701]

Fleet Week

October 5, 2021 (Stabbed)

Word Count: 2,018

This one has to be one of my favorites! Not beta-read (yet I think it may be updated later on) but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

-H

Masterlist

Starfleet medical was bustling with activity, this was due to the fact it was the busiest time of the year. Fleet Week; like the days of old. Fleet Week was the tradition of being in a port town for shore leave. Now it was when multiple fleet vessels were orbiting Earth for some well-deserved shore leave at home.

San Francisco is sprawling with multiple different species with multiple different diseases, drugs, and STDs. So this means that the local hospitals were overflowing and doctors and nurses were at their wit’s end.

“Fucking Fleet Week,”

One doctor growled his southern drawl more pronounced after working the ER for the past seven hours after his regular thirteen-hour shift. Rushing in and out between cubicles of overflowing patients, he saw almost ten people in the last ten minutes. And he definitely saw more than he ever wanted to, but unfortunately, that’s the job.

Doctor Leonard McCoy scowled his way through the throngs of people in the Emergency room, upon seeing him they parted like the Red Sea. He looked down at his PADD with a grumble, the man he had just treated had shoved several data chips down his throat in hopes to hide the information from the police. McCoy rolled his eyes and signed the PADD before shoving it into the hands of the officer who brought the guy in, “Watch him closer next time,” he growled as he walked past.

Taking another PADD from the nurse who was trailing him. “Cube seven, multiple lacs, and a dislocated shoulder.” She said with pursed lips. McCoy stopped and looked at her and then the name on the PADD.

“Really?”

The nurse shrugged, “He asked for you specifically,” she crossed her arms knowing exactly how to deal with the cantankerous doctor. Throwing up his hands in defeat, Leonard strode over to the cubicle and glared at its occupant. Sitting there with a shit-eating grin was James T. Kirk. He was bleeding from multiple different deep cuts and gently held his arm to his chest,

“Hey Bones!” the kid greeted and McCoy snorted his brewing headache steadily growing worse and worse. The stabbing pain made him wince ever so slightly as he moved to examine his battered friend.

“Damnit Jim,” the doctor muttered. Kirk winced but laughed as McCoy gently poked and prodded at him. “I swear it wasn’t my fault this time!” the young cadet said hissing in pain when he accidentally jostled his shoulder. McCoy hummed sounding unconvinced,

“Yeah, who was she?” he asked looking at Kirk with a raised eyebrow. The kid laughed dryly and nodded, “Lucy…” he breathed and then frowned,

“Shit, I forgot to get her comm. number.”

McCoy shook his head looking exasperated. Clicking his tongue Leonard gestured for the nurse to take Kirk’s other side. Together they managed to get the cadet’s shoulder back into place. Jim gritted his teeth but otherwise didn’t make a sound; unsurprised McCoy took the hypo the nurse offered and unceremoniously jabbed it into Kirk's neck. The young man yelped,

“I thought you were supposed to do that before putting my shoulder back into place?!”

Leonard gave his best friend a smirk and shrugged, “I forgot,” he said innocently tapping away at his PADD. Jim grumbled curses under his breath, he slowly laid down, shifting uncomfortably as the nurse began to clean him up and place a regen unit on his lacerations.

A loud shriek and crash from outside made Leonard fumble and drop his PADD to the floor with a shatter. Kirk sat up quickly and groaned in pain at the sudden movement. The screaming and shouting continued, “Stay here!” he ordered his patient and nurse. Striding out into the bay McCoy swiveled and saw immediately what the problem was.

A very large man was rampaging through the ER. “Fucking Fleet Week,” he snarled. Rushing over to a sealed medical cabinet Leonard placed his hand on the scanner. It beeped and lit up green before opening with a low hiss. Grabbing a detox hypo and a potent sedative Leonard moved cautiously back into the fray.

The man was wrecking and tearing apart the ER was practically naked; right down to his skivvies. Leonard eyed the screaming snarling man as he quietly approached, ‘Elevated body temperature, confusion, extreme agitation, adrenaline-induced strength. He was either drugged or taking drugs, it’s similar to old PCP.’ he thought mind running a mile a minute.

McCoy froze as the heavily drugged male roared and kicked a biobed, patients, nurses, and doctors alike screamed and quickly moved out of the way. That’s when he saw it, the knife. Huffing a quiet sigh Leonard eased himself forward as quietly and quickly as possible.

When he was only a good five feet away McCoy stashed his hypos up his sleeves and straightened. He gave a shrill whistle gaining the attention of his new patient, the man whirled around screaming at the medical cadet. Leonard didn’t flinch, instead, he made eye contact and slowly raised his empty hands in a placating gesture.

“Easy now big fella,” he said keeping his voice calm and even. The man screamed and kicked a hoverchair out of his way; it missed McCoy by several feet but it didn’t make the security team that just arrived any less twitchy. “Easy, I just want to help. If you put the knife down we’ll get you some water,” Leonard offered hoping that the man’s thirst outweighed his need for violence.

The man seemed to relax slightly, he lowered the knife so it was by his side instead of pointed at McCoy. Leonard moved a touch closer hands still raised and visible.

“Okay now if you want that water, I need ya to sit down for me,”

The man looked at the doctor numbly before heavily sitting down on a gurney. McCoy breathed a little bit easier and tried to not focus solely on the knife that was still in his patient’s hands. He was almost standing in front of the drugged-out individual when his luck took a turn for the worst. The area had been silent, everyone was watching with bated breath, keeping silent in fear that the slightest noise might provoke the man again. They were right.

Someone stepped back, but by doing so sent medical instruments crashing to the floor. The noise was deafening. Time stood still, McCoy’s eyes widened as the man in front of him reared up like a spooked horse. Knowing he had very little time Leonard pulled the two hypos from his sleeves. Security fired their phasers, bystanders screamed and ducked for cover, McCoy called out trying to stop them. But it was too late.

The man was on the ground smoking, multiple phaser wounds covered his chest and stomach. McCoy raced forward and checked his pulse, there was none to be found. Growling he glared up at the boys in red,

“Bones!”

Kirks’s voice echoed over the revived hustle and bustle of the ER; doctors and nurses moved with renewed energy trying to reestablish some kind of order to things. Jim ran over to him but stopped short when he saw the body being lifted off the ground,

“You okay Bones?” Jim asked warily upon seeing the thunderous anger on the country doctor’s face. Tired hazel eyes met worried blue ones, “I’m-” Leonard sighed and shook his head in disappointment.

“Let’s finish getting you fixed up and discharged,”

Under normal circumstances, Jim would have groaned and moaned but he figured in this case he thought it would be best if he did as he was told. Kirk sat silently on his exam bed as Bones flittered around the room doing some unnecessary straightening as the regen unit was doing its work. Jim chewed on the inside of his cheek nervously, he wanted to talk to his best friend, to say something that would make him feel better but he just couldn’t come up with the right words. Kirk wholeheartedly blamed the painkiller he was on.

Jim sat up when he saw it, at his sudden movement and hiss of pain McCoy turned. He opened his mouth to berate the young cadet but it fell short. Leonard staggered feeling suddenly light-headed.

“Bones, you’re bleeding!” Jim gasped, Leonard followed his gaze. He was right, there on his right side was a giant blossom of red coating his uniform. Cursing under his breath he was beginning to feel it, the bloodloss, and now that his adrenaline was dissipating the pain and fatigue. “Damn he must’a knicked me,” he murmured sounding annoyed. Jim spluttered,

“We need help, why don’t you-”

McCoy held up his hand silencing his best friend mid-sentence. “No need to fuss, Jim, I got it,”

Kirk’s jaw went slack as he watched McCoy sit heavily on a stool and lift up his shirt. Jim blinked, sure he was inclined to a special male friend every once and a while. But Bones was off-limits. Only brotherly love there. Jim couldn’t help but think,

‘Damn Bones where did you hide the abs?’

“This puts a whole new spin on ‘Physician heal thyself,” he said aloud with a snicker. McCoy rolled his eyes. ‘This isn’t the worst thing I’ve had to fix,’ he thought with a slight grimace.

Leonard pulled his shirt up and held the ruined fabric in between his teeth. He leaned back and examined the bloody wound, grunting in annoyance he reached out blindly for the cleaning wipes that had been left on the tray beside Kirk’s bed.

Upon finding what he was looking for McCoy expertly cleaned away the blood only hissing at the occasional sting the alcohol made.

“Bones, are you sure you don’t want me to call a nurse or something?” Jim asked disbelief coloring his tone. McCoy curled his lip,

“No, they’re busy with half of the galaxy and their mother. I’ll be fine,”

Kirk cocked his head to the side only managing to decipher half of what his best friend said; his mouth already preoccupied with his shirt made him sound completely muffled.

The blood finally cleaned away despite more and more leaking from the open wound Leonard grabbed the portable regen unit. Flicking it on he carefully placed it on his abdomen. Sighing the doctor looked up,

“What?” he asked raising a single eyebrow at his dumbfounded speechless friend. Jim just shook his head,

“You look like you’ve done this before,” he muttered with a dry chuckle. Leonard snorted and nodded at the kid’s guess. Leonard let go of his shirt allowing it to fall and rest on the regen unit he held.

“Jim, I worked the ER in Atlanta. Things occasionally got a little hairy,”

Kirk stared at the country doctor like he had grown three heads and sprouted wings. McCoy snickered, “Boy, I’ve seen some shit in my time, ain’t no little cut is going to stop me from doin’ my job,” Leonard’s southern drawl became pronounced. So pronounced that it made McCoy wince and wrinkle his nose. Jim pressed his lips into a thin line, the appearance of McCoy’s accent meant the older man was tired. Very tired. He knew that the doctor hid his drawl almost as if he were self-conscious of it. Kirk remembered once hearing Bones admit (heavily drunk, mind you) that people tended to not take him as seriously. It may have been the twenty-third century but there were still biases.

The regen unit beeped happily and lit up green. McCoy lifted it away and examined the wound again. Grunting in approval he set the regenerator down and grabbed a thick gauze bandage, glancing up he gave a little shrug,

“Knowing my luck, I’ll end up opening it back up,” he muttered wryly. Jim snorted and shook his head, “Man you can’t say shit to me now. You’re just as bad!” he accused with a grin. McCoy rolled his eyes,

“Sorry Kid doesn’t work that way. I don’t go searchin’ for trouble,”

Jim barked out a laugh, “Bullshit!”

Leonard rolled his eyes and scowled hoping to hide the slight smile that wants to spread across his face.

Tags:

Everything: @lauraaan182, @chickadee-djarin, @cowenby2, @bluesclues-1234,@sayuri9908

WhumpTober: @theatrevicki, @ekna1307

[jmnjmnjmn]

Eternal beings | Chapter 1

Pairing: Vampire!Jungkook x Human!Reader

Key words: supernatural, vampire.

Word count: less than 3,000

Warnings: swearing,  sadness, jealousy, mentions of murder

Inspo board

Masterlist

In the spirit of Halloween I decided to write a whole series about Vampire!Jungkook. I know should’ve been posting it throughout October and not on Halloween... Bare with me okay? There’s more to come.

Walking through the city at two in the morning isn’t as cute and mysterious as it may seem. The streets are empty and dark despite the street lights being on and every noise sounds like a forecast for something dangerous, especially when you're a girl walking home from work by yourself. You recently took up night shifts at the convenience store you were working at part time. Your boss was more than happy when you announced to her that you can work nights for half of the week. It was always hard to find people for those hours. With all of your classes at college being online this semester you had more time to work and earn money for rent and other things. You actually liked working at night, because there weren’t many customers then if any at all, so you had freedom to spend most of your time at work reading magazines, studying or sitting on your laptop. The only drawback of working at that time though was the walk home.

You pulled the steel grating over the door and locked it slowly in the faint light of the neon sign above the door. Before walking away you pulled on the padlock to make sure it’s definitely locked right. When you didn’t feel it budge under your fingers you turned on your heel and started speed walking home. Your apartment wasn’t further than twenty five minutes away from the shop and though it felt like a short stroll during the day at night it almost always seemed like a pilgrimage. “Fortunately for me-” You thought. “-the summer is in full swing and the nights aren’t so cold anymore.” You shivered at the thought of walking home in winter time. On the other hand the increase in temperature caused all sorts of shady people to come from their homes and clubs out onto the streets. For example you already walked past more than a dozen of drug deals and were cat called by drunk men leaving the bars so many times you couldn’t count anymore. And that’s only this summer season.

Despite all those unpleasantries you kept working and getting the money you desperately needed to pay the rent for your small flat and lead a decent life in the city. And because of those same unpleasantries you came up with a special system of walking home from work that made you a tad bit more comfortable and it went like this. First: leave the shop with earbuds in your ears, but no music playing, walk with big strides and your head up to notice any potential danger and stay alert no matter how tired you are. Second: walk only the bigger streets with street lamps and businesses on them, preferably ones that are open at night so there’s always someone to run to for help. That part wasn’t too hard since you worked right in the center of the city and lived close by. You smiled to yourself, thinking of the deal you cut on your current apartment. You were subletting from one of your college friends who left to study abroad for a year. He didn’t want to break the lease on his place and not have something to come back to when he finishes his studies, especially since his apartment was in such a perfect location for a young student. That led him to looking around for someone to sublet to and… Tadah! You got a beautifully furnished, one bedroom apartment right in the city for a price that was unheard of in that area. Only downside was that you had to vacate the place in less than ten months.

A loud sudden sound pulled you out of your thoughts, but what followed made your heart skip a beat. A sound so faint it was barely hearable, but clear enough to make you stop in your tracks.

“Please, n-no.” The voice definitely belonged to a male. It sounded as if its owner was struggling to breath out the words. You heard him inhale sharply and ask again. “P-lease, stop.” His begging words sent a shiver down your spine. Something really bad was happening around that corner. “N-no.” You felt your shoulders tense up. You didn’t want to get involved with something dangerous, but you couldn’t just walk by a possible assault or maybe something worse. You tightened your grip on your bag and started to walk back quietly. Your instincts started to kick in slowly as you made the difficult choice between the two possible options. Fight or flight.  “Flight.” You  thought to yourself. “From a safe place I will call the police. I promise.” You sweared in your head to the man around the corner.

“Stop.” Said a second voice also belonging to a man by the pitch of it.

“Please.” The first man said. “Please.” He repeated now with more strength in his voice. Within a second you heard shuffling indicating a fight broke out between the pleading man and his attacker. You started pressing in the police number on your phone and started moving faster as the noises started getting louder and closer to the alleyways exit. The very same exit from which you were trying to back away from.

“I told you to stop.” The second man repeated himself. Right when you were just about to turn the corner and start running to safety with the police on the phone two men fell to the ground in front of the alleyways exit. Both of them in disheveled suits. The older one, which you assumed was the previously heard beggar, was clearly losing to the other man. You made your last step back and tried to turn to the side to start running when you heard the losing man speak. 

“Help me.” He  croaked looking in your direction and blowing your already weak cover. Standing in the shadowy street you thought he wouldn’t be able to see you backing away, but he did and his attacker now saw you as well. “H-elp.” He tried to repeat his statement, but the other man pushed him to the ground getting rid of the bits of air in his lungs. “What should I do?” You asked yourself. The nerve connections in your brain made a snap judgment for you. The scene you had before you looked just as frightening as comical. What even was this situation? Two well dressed men, who you would think are well behaved and well above resulting in physical fights if you saw them in the shop you were working at, were playing some murderous tug of war right in front of you in the middle of the night. As you realised the oddity of the situation it stopped being so scary all of a sudden. “They’re just drunk office rats fighting in an alley.” You thought to yourself but didn’t put your phone back down in case things escalated to something more dangerous. You continued to back away when the standing man spoke.

“How many times do I have to repeat myself?” He asked in an authoritative tone, but you weren’t going to listen. You turned around and made a step to your left wanting to reach the main road again and get away from this bull. “Stop.” He said tiredly. You turned the corner and started to run before he could say or do anything more to you. You pressed the green button on your phone screen calling the police.

“112.” Said a female operator on the other side of the phone after just a short moment. “Hello. There’s a fight going on near my house. Two men. It looked pretty bad.” You said nervously.

-

You woke up the next morning around noon. Having already forgotten the events of last night you got ready for work. You were covering a shift in the afternoon at the shop for your co-worker Jimin. He worked there a couple of months longer than you, showed you the ropes on your first day and since you got along pretty well you became work friends. You decided not to eat breakfast at home and just grab something at the shop. Just like that within twenty minutes of you waking up you were out the door. 

The mid day was warm but you had your jacket in the bag ready to be put on in the late hours of the night when you’ll be walking home. You turned the corner to get to the main street and have a stroll to work in the sun when you were met with a hoard of policemen blocking the sidewalk. You crossed the road and took a different route than usual, not bothering to think twice about the reason the police were where they were right now.

As you entered the shop you noticed Jimin watching television on the small screen hanging over the cigarette shelf. The bell over the door rang when you closed it and Jimin instantly turned his head towards you, greeting you with a warm smile as you walked towards him.

“Great to finally see you.” He said, taking off his name tag.

“You’re only happy to see me today, because I’m relieving you of your shift.” You joked and he laughed quietly. 

“Only today.” He said smiling and let you behind the counter. “I have to run. Yoongi’s probably already waiting for me.” He waved you goodbye, grabbed his bag and headed for the door.

“Go. Have fun.” You called after him smiling.

You turned the volume down on the TV and cranked it up on the ancient radio on the counter. Jimin always watches TV at work while you prefer listening to music and shuffling through magazines or newspapers. You pinned your name tag on and started looking for a good read as a bell rang signaling an arrival of a customer. You picked a fitness magazine and leaned on the shelves behind you and started reading about “the benefits of doing squats”. After a couple of minutes the customer who earlier entered the shop came to the counter with his pickings. You scanned the last item when he asked you to turn on the volume on the TV. You pushed the “+” button on the remote and was about to tell the man the amount he has to pay for the items when you heard the speaker's voice on TV describe something horrible. 

“... A gruesome murder. Victim: a man in his thirties, possibly a nearby office worker. His exact identity is still being confirmed by the police.”

“Horrible.” Said the customer. “And so close by. Who would do such a thing?” He asked, sounding truly concerned.

“Twelve thirty, sir.” You said politely. That’s exactly why you didn’t like watching TV at work. This particular television set was about twenty years old and had an antenna so crooked it played only three channels, two of them being news. There was no day there wouldn’t be bad news. A natural distaster, an economic crash, a new riot or war somewhere in the world or, like today, a murder. The man scanned his card and left with his things. As the door was closing behind him you reached for the remote to mute the TV again.

“Estimated time of the murder is thirty minutes after two in the morning.” Said the speaker and you quickly put two and two together. Glancing at the screen you reached your shaky hand for your phone and started searching the internet for more information on the event. A cold shiver went down your whole body when you read an article header stating the place where the “gruesom murder” took place. It was that alleway near your building. You dialed your friend Taehyung’s number still looking at the screen, waiting for more details to be described by the news anchors.

“The number you are calling is unavailable.” You heard an automated message and hung up the phone. “What the hell do I do now?” You whispered to yourself. “I called the police last night and described the situation as well as I could.” You thought. “It’s not my fault they didn’t intervene… Or did so too late.” You explained to yourself. “Still, shouldn’t they have my number saved somehow? And shouldn’t they be calling me up right now for questioning? I was there after all.” You couldn’t wrap your head around the idea that you could have seen a murderer last night. “Maybe it wasn’t them.” You started wandering. “Maybe they left right after they saw me and someone else did… That.” Another announcement by the news anchors pulled you out of this train of thought. “Police just confirmed the identity of the victim. Thirty five year old (Victim’s name), an office manager at (Company’s name) was brutally murdered last night on Third.” You covered your mouth with your free hand when the picture of the victim popped up on the screen. It was the man from last night, the one that lost the fight. “His body was found by a passerby over four hours after the murder took place.”

“Impossible.” You breathed out. “I called the police right around two. How is it that they didn’t send anyone to check on the situation?” You thought and dialled Taehyung’s number again.

“The number you are calling is unavailable.”

“Shit.” You hissed. You really wanted to talk to a friend right now and figure out what to do. Taehyung was your closest friend right now, you knew each other from highschool and hung out all through your first years of college to this day. You dialed the police number once again in the last twelve hours.

[llogllady99]

We’ll meet again

CHARACTERS | Levi, Erwin, Gabi, Falco

RELATIONSHIPS | Levi x Erwin

GENRE | Angst, Characters death

IV | Characters death, talks of reincarnation, mourning, angst, heavy angst i think, Erwin’s grave

SUMMARY | It was the 14th of October and Levi had just come to visit his late lover’s grave: Commander Erwin Smith, dragging Falco and Gabi with him.

WORD COUNT | 2k

Droplets sharp like knives rained down relentlessly against the jagged and worn out headstones in Paradis’ graveyard, further eating away at the already damaged and weathered rock. Puddles have formed in the depressions of the little allies that snaked in between the graves, gravel and dirt mixing with the glacial downpour of mid October. Trees, specifically three or four oak trees and five pine trees that were placed in acute measured intervals, were dripping with water, their leaves ruffled violently by the gale that accompanied the rain. The clouds and sky were a dark grey, occasionally splitting when lightning broke through, immediately followed by the roar of thunder, silencing and drowning out every sound present in that moment in the valley and everything in its vicinity. When such events did not occur, the high pitched squeaking of a wheelchair and its occasional bumping into small, misplaced bits of gravel could be heard, accompanied by short and light footsteps following it closely could be heard.

In the terrible weather, that had decreased the visibility exponentially, three figures could be distinguished making their way through the alleys of the graveyard: the owner of the wheelchair, a man in his forties with onyx black haired and with an enormous scar deforming his once perfect face, and two children: a girl with chestnut brown hair the same colour as her eyes and a boy with blonde hair and hazel golden eyes. Their destination was still unknown as the boy had trouble following the instruction the man in the wheelchair voiced, his tone growing more aggressive by the minute, his excitement and eagerness starting to show. But as time progressed, their destination seemed to be at the far back of the cemetery, where a massive white marble head stone laid, seemingly unaffected by the furious torrent around it. It was the 14th of October and Levi had just come to visit his late lover’s grave: Commander Erwin Smith, dragging Falco and Gabi with him.

Seven years had passed since Erwin’s death but it still felt like it was yesterday. The pain, regret, and love were still as intense as they were when the man took his last breath, abruptly raising his hand up asking that damned question again before inhaling and exhaling shallowly. It was a cruel world they had lived in back then and certainly letting Erwin rest had been the best decision and one of the greatest gestures of love Levi had done for him. They all suffered so much, him most out of them all. There was no point in bringing him back and let those regrets and guilt pile up even more. Sometimes, selfishly Levi would allow his mind wonder and wish his lover would be there again with him, if only for a little bit, enough to witness the world they were in now. A world with no more wars and hardships. He would also imagine their life together: buying an apartment together in the centre of Mitras, raising a few pets together, getting married for real, adopting, and taking him to the ocean, a wonder which Erwin never had the chance to experience. Levi would have shown him all the weirdly shaped shells that Armin was so passionate about, the colourful fishes that swam where the water was deeper, and the way the sun rose from the water, painting it in vibrant yellows, oranges, and reds.

Levi had also told Gabi and Falco about Erwin, telling them about the greatness of his Commander, their relationship, and about his last moments. The children had been surprisingly understanding, Gabi’s prejudice’s long forgotten, and had offered him great comfort telling him they wanted to know more and actually meet the man, well what remained of him. Levi reckoned that there would only be his bones, if they had not turned to ashes those seven years, and maybe a phew strands of his infuriatingly beautiful golden hair, a feature of his which the raven adored. Therefore, here he was, looking down at the white marble headstones, emotions and memories flooding back in again. He briefly showed the children the headstone and then asked for a little privacy. With sympathy, they obliged and walked off in a random direction through the cemetery, each equipped with a black umbrella, shielding them from the torrential rain.

Now alone, Levi readjusted his umbrella so it sat upright without his support, then reached for the bag that rested against one of the armrests. It was a brown leathered sling bag which he took from Erwin a while ago. He had found the bag while gathering his things from his office when they came back from the expedition. Back then it had brought back memories of secret picnics in flowery meadows on their days off. Erwin always had to drag him by force because Levi didn’t know how to let go, comfortable in his routine. Looking back now they should have done that more often. He missed the whispered I love yous, make outs with flowers in their hair and dirt on their clothes, half-assed sandwiches stollen from the barrack’s kitchen. Now, besides Erwin’s cloak that was neatly folded and handled with the utmost care in his apartment back in Marley, the bag was a reminder that Erwin had indeed lived among them, that he was not some figment of his imagination. Inside it he had stored a mini wooden and golden gramophone. It had been a gift from Onyankopon, because the man had noticed his enjoyment and fascination with music. After carefully placing it in his lap, next he took out a small record that he gently placed on the gramophone. Looking back at the headstone he tried to imagine that Erwin was there, in his Survey Corps uniform with a warm smile on his face staring back at him. Levi lifted his chin, looking into his lover’s eyes, but to an outsider into pure nothingness. Now in a wheelchair, he was even shorter than him, albeit at his one meter and some hope, he didn’t have much to compare to Erwin in the first place. But now it seemed as if their faces were miles away.

“Listen carefully now big guy, I’m about to play you my new favourite song.” Levi smiled then proceeded to gently place the tonearm over the disc record. The disc started rotating, then the sound of trumpets sounded through the horn and into their surroundings. After a short intro, it sang:

We'll Meet Again

Don't know where, don't know when

But I know We'll Meet Again

Some sunny day

Keep smiling through

Just like you always do

'Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away

So will you please say hello

To the folks that I know

Tell them I won't be long

They'll be happy to know

That as you saw me go

I was singing this song

We'll Meet Again

Don't know where, don't know when

But I know we'll meet again

Some sunny day

We'll Meet Again

Don't know where, don't know when

But I know we'll meet again

Some sunny day

Keep smiling through

Just like you always do

'Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away

So will you please say hello

To the folks that I know

Tell them I won't be long

They'll be happy to know

That as you saw me go

I was singing this song

We'll Meet Again

Don't know where, don't know when

But I know We'll Meet Again

Some sunny day

As the song came to a stop, the disc record spinning slower and slower, a stray tear found its way on Levi’s cheek, streaming down fast at first but as it reached his jawline, it faltered for a little then fell on his shoulder, colouring almost imperceptibly the grey suit a darker grey. The gramophone, now ceasing to emit any kind of sound, was tucked right back to its fateful place in Levi’s bag. Rearranging it so that it rested again comfortably against the armrest, the raven turned his attention to the imaginary Erwin that stood motionless on his own headstone, staring back with the same vibrant cerulean eyes and soft smile. Usually, Levi would have felt unnerved by his stare, always reprimanding him with a “What you looking at, creep?”, but now he missed it dearly, the longing clawing at his chest and making it hard for him to go through with what he had to say next. So, ignoring the lump forming in his chest and the tears that threatened to fall, Levi opened his mouth and began to talk:

“Do you know why I like this song, Erwin? Because it reminds me of all of you. You, Hange, Mike, Petra, my squad, the brats.” Stopping to regain his composure, he inhaled and counted to three as Gabi had once told him, then continued his speech. “Do you wanna know what I did in the three years I wasn’t allowed to come to Paradis? I travelled. Like a lot. All over the world. I finally got to live for real. Getting to see all those place, the people, and cultures had been fascinating. However, one thing had struck me deeply: Buddhism. Such a strange name for a religion. And guess what, it has nothing to do with the walls or bad or wrong. It just is. One central belief of this religion is reincarnation. The concept had comforted me greatly. Life after death. Death is a natural part of the never ending cycle of life. Death leads to rebirth. It also claims that a person’s spirit remains close by and seeks out a new body and a new life.” Levi gulped then wiped away a few tears that had fallen. “But I don’t want you to find a new body. I don’t want any of you to find a body yet, I want all of you to wait for me. Wait for me, Erwin! Wait so we can start fresh together. Tell the others to wait for me too. Wait for me!” Levi had started to shout, desperation making its presence known.

He wanted to meet Erwin again, to fall in love with him all over again, to hold him, to be together again. If Erwin had reincarnated again, there was no way for Levi to meet him now, to fulfil all of his heart’s desire, and when he died, there would be no after life with Erwin. The only way was for them to wait for him so they can start fresh again.

“But who am I kidding? I only believe in this shit because it’s the only way to cope.” Levi brought a hand to his temples and massaged them, as another headache began to throb through his head. It had started to darken outside, they needed to get going, otherwise they would miss the ferry back to Marley. Hesitantly he called for Gabi and Falco to come get him. While he waited for them he told his lover one last thing:

“I have followed every order of yours, completing it. I chased Zeke for four years, all because I promised you. So, I also want you to promise me one last thing. Promise me we’ll meet again.”

The figure of Erwin standing on the grave vanished, leaving Levi alone. The raven rubbed away one last tear and greeted Falco and Gabi that were patiently waiting next to him. The three of them made their way out of the cemetery, Levi not sparing a look back. If he knew Erwin as well as he thought he did, he was confident they we’ll see each other again

They will meet again, one sunny day.

Notes :

The song for this fic is Vera Lynn - We'll meet again. I also posted it on Tumblr. Thank you for taking the time to read it! As always, I do not own Attack on titan or any of the characters that are in it. This is just a fanfiction inspired from the show! Thanks again and notes and comments are always welcomed. The gif was originally posted by @vialesana​ and Tumblr showed it to me.

[alilbihh]

spring leaves | | pjm

masterlist

pairing: jimin x reader

summary: You wonder if he’ll taste like the sun, even the second time. And you know that's impossible, know the sun isn't quite a tangible thing, that it doesn't have a taste or even a scent at all, but he does. He just does. (or: you’re absolutely screwed the moment you start crushing on your literal husband.)

genre: witch!jimin, witch!reader, arranged marriage au, fluff

words: 11.5k

The first time you meet your husband, you're holding his hand and standing in a rather itchy wedding dress.

The priest officiating you both is talking, you're sure; holy matrimony this and until death that-- rather dramatic, is what you'd say if you were listening-- but you're not. Listening, that is. You probably should be, but your now husband's hands are chubby and small and you're not quite sure who started sweating first, but. Well. Marriage isn't all that it's made up to be, you think.

Even if your husband is pretty.

The thought comes to you later, probably having lingered in the back of your subconscious and waited for the first chance to strike. It strikes when you're drinking juice in a champagne flute, watching the guests dance as if it's their own wedding day. Jimin's dancing with a little girl, couldn't be older than maybe seven or eight, twirling her around just for the dramatics of it as they both giggle, and it's probably the happiest you've seen him all night.

Seokjin says something beside you, and you refocus to catch wind of what he's saying but only catch something about deep sea fishing mid sentence. "That's great, Jinnie." You say just to have something to say.

He raises a brow, "I was literally talking about getting eaten alive by a whale."

"Oh."

"Yeah." He nods, solemnly, as if you hadn't just missed out the first five minutes of his rant. "Imagine. You sit there as he slowly digests you. A tragic fate." Someone passes by with a tray of wine, and Seokjin takes the offered glass with a mumbled thank you, then tosses his head back as if to take one big gulp. He only takes a sip, which you know because Jin's literally the biggest lightweight you know, but you pretend not to notice, anyway.

"Truly tragic."

"Truly." He nod nod nods, "I'd rather sink to the bottom of the sea. Let the algae take me in as one of their own."

The conversation drifts to something about the unspoken rules of common courtesy, and how much eye contact is too much eye contact?-- and you try to laugh and pretend you hadn't just been staring at Jimin.

Jimin, your husband, your mind supplies even though you don't want it to.

Your eyes drift to him, laughing in a group of people. You recognize only a few; Yoongi and his husband Taehyung, both from the winter district. A boy you think is from the autumn district, with doe eyes and chubby cheeks. He grins rather shyly at something and Jimin throws his head back in a laugh.

"Hey," Seokjin says, and your eyes drift to meet his. "I'm happy for you two. I know you'll treat him well." A hand clasps over your shoulder, and you know it's meant to be reassuring, meant to be comforting, but it's like the seventh hand of the night and you feel tired, suddenly. Like your legs are too small to hold up your weight. Like they might buckle at any moment and make you tumble.

But Seokjin can't know that, so you smile and thank him and there's nothing more to say. Because you'd just gotten married to a man you know nothing about, and you're meant to stay married to him for the rest of your life, and you try not to feel too overwhelmed at the thought. Try to save that for tonight, when you're alone.

That time never comes, because as it turns out, you're not alone.

When you walk into your room for the night you see Jimin already there, duvet up to his chest. He scrambles to sit when he hears you walk in, and you look and then really look, and he smiles something a bit crooked. A bit sloppy at the edges.

"Hello." Is the first thing he says, a bit rushed and a bit breathless, and you can't help it. You snort.

"Hello," you greet, shutting the door behind you. "Um." You breathe, "Am I in the wrong room?"

Your husband seems to come to at that, and he flings himself off the bed but doesn't walk any closer. "No, no," He gulps, you think, "It's just. They told me to, uh, let us share. The room, that is. To-- bond. Or something."

You breathe out a laugh but feel equally flustered, "Oh. Okay." You breathe in for five long seconds, hold it for three, and let it out in eight, the way Namjoon taught you to. "Cool, yeah, that's fine."

Except it's-- not fine, not really, but-- but.

It takes a second, but then you're marching forward and crawling under the duvet and then feel Jimin hesitate before doing the same. Your back is facing his, and it's a little weird and a lot awkward but you feel as if there's nothing you can do about it.

It's still your wedding night. Well, not technically, since it's past midnight, but-- you'd gotten married less than 24 hours ago.

You're a kitchen witch and Jimin's a green witch, and his district was in need of a kitchen witch, and it was a marriage of convenience. Politics, or whatever. You don't like the thought of getting bound to someone for the sake of convenience, but it's too late now, so. So.

Right as the silence starts to become too much and you're about to start ascending from the mortal plane, you speak. "You still awake, husband?"

He flinches with his whole body. Something about the casual husband, probably. Definitely. Too soon.

For a second you think he won't say anything but then he does, curled in small on the bed, "Yeah."

"Hm." You hum. Silence. "So what's your favorite... color?"

You think you hear a little laugh, and it makes you crack a smile. "Really?" He says, just the tiniest bit amused.

"It's all I got, sorry." You drawl out a hum, as if to think, then say, "Okay, so, uh.. your favorite animal? Favorite food? Your M&M color of choice?"

He smiles a little. "They all taste the same, though."

"Nonsense. Red is superior." He doesn't answer but doesn't seem to be debating about it, either, so you say, "Just say any color."

"Yellow, then."

"Okay no, anything but that."

"What's wrong with the yellow M&M?"

"Everything! It looks like it's hiding something."

Jimin snorts. You take it as victory enough.

It takes a second and then the silence is loud again. What would a green witch like? Think, think, think-- "Oh! Favorite flower!"

When you turn around, your nose brushes over his. You hadn't felt him turn around.

Jimin shuffles back, and you don't take it to heart. "I like camellias." He says after a moment, as if to just throw something out, then reconsiders and says, "Snowdrops. I like snowdrops. They're stubborn little flowers."

He doesn't elaborate for one second, then two, then when it seems like the silence dragged on for too long he says, "Even in harsh weather, they always bloom."

You don’t know much.

You don't know much, but you know this-- Jimin's left ear is pierced three times along the lobe, and when his nose scrunches, his eyes curve into half moons. There's a little bump on his nose. He's a green witch and, like most green witches do, seems to love flowers. Might actually prefer the yellow M&M.

He holds people's hands gently, like someone who has a lot of love in his heart.

"That's nice," you say when the silence drags on for half a second too long, "That's really nice, Jimin."

He smiles, and it's something you'd seen him do before, but it seems different this time. Less rough around the edges. Like the tension in his muscles relaxed just the slightest bit, so small you hadn't even noticed it until it wasn't there. It's not a lot, but it's something.

"Okay, so. Pisces."

He blinks, then-- "Libra."

You gasp, "What! That doesn't make sense! You're too," you say, but pause. Give him a once-over. "Well actually, maybe."

"I didn't ask to be born in october!" He says, indignant, almost, and things seem just a little more okay.

Things are not okay.

Because when you wake up that morning, the bed is empty and you hear barely muffled cries from the bathroom.

Now, the polite thing would be to ignore it, maybe. But you're a firm believer that people that are crying shouldn't be alone unless they ask for it. That maybe just someone being in the room helps.

You hover by the door, make enough noise to make your presence known, and hear when Jimin gasps and says, "Shit, sorry, come in-- ah, shit."

When you push open the door, you find Jimin slumped over the toilet seat lid. He's quick to look away, brush away his tears, continue to mutter a mantra of curse words. His eyes are red rimmed and kind of puffy.

You step in closer, sit on the floor next to him.

You don't push, but he looks at you like he expects you to. You hum after a second, just to remind him you're there, you're listening, you want to know more, if he's willing to tell.

A sniffle, then-- "I couldn't figure out the shower."

You don't say anything. The floor is cold and probably gross but you keep sitting there anyway. You're not here for your comfort.

"I'm sorry." Jimin murmurs.

"Don't be sorry."

"No, it's just," he laughs hoarsely. "Everything is weird right now, but you're--" You hear him breathe out shakily, "You're nice. And everyone has.. mostly nice things to say about you."

"Who did you talk to? It was Jin, wasn't it?" You continue at Jimin's silence, "I knew it! Whatever he said please be aware I'm not associated with him."

"It wasn't Seokjin-ssi!" He says but it sounds hesitant. At your looks he continues guiltily, "I swore an oath, you have to pretend you believe me."

You laugh quietly. His lips wobble like he's holding back either a laugh or maybe a strangled sob.

There's a wad of toilet paper on the bathroom counter you think looks snotty and Jimin looks so impossibly lost. You want to give him a hug but that's weird so you don't.

"Do you want to talk about it more?"

He's frowning. "It’s nothing, everything just feels like, like a lot," Jimin exhales, "Like, I've never been in a relationship, a-and now I'm married? It just feels,"

"Different." You nod.

"Different!" He agrees and turns to you, and it's just then you realize it's the first time he's really looked at you.

"I get it. If there's one person that gets it, it's me." You chuckle but it comes out awkwardly. Jimin stares.

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry. I hadn't even considered that." He's frowning, but he's not crying and you take that as a good sign. That maybe things won’t be as bad.

"It's fine," you say offhandedly.

"It's not though! I was being unfair to you."

You shake your head, "S'okay. There's a lot going on. You're forgiven." You stand up, brush off your pants, and say, "Let's figure out this shower."

There's faded eye liner over his eyes and cheeks. After you both manage the shower, you grab some make up removers from your bag and place it on the bathroom counter, just where he can see it, and can only hope he does.

It's only a little while later that you're both picked up.

You'd dressed up a little nicer; a nice sweater that bunches up at the shoulders, fixed your hair in the mirror, coordinated your socks. You probably look more put together than you actually are.

Jimin's mother is all smiles and bunched up cheeks and laughter lines. Her hand is warm when she places it over yours, says please take care of my Jiminie, shortly followed by a wink and a cheeky no canoodling in the backseat!

Except there's-- there's no conversation, (much less canoodling), even as you're both sitting next to each other in the car. The only time you see Jimin really move is when he coos at a herd of cows and occasionally shuffles as if uncomfortable. You don't think he likes driving, but you're too scared to ask.

When you arrive you're left to stand and gape at your new home, gape at the vines crawling over the building, the walls made of untrimmed bushes and the dandelions growing between the cracks in the concrete. You're left to stare and gape and ache at the change, at how much you miss home already.

Jimin recovers more quickly, dragging his suitcase behind him as he walks inside. You watch from the sidelines as he greets and hugs each staff member that comes into view, as if they're long lost friends, as though they won't leave you two alone just after you both get settled in.

A staff member finds you admiring a painting that stretches out long, brushing a hand over the ridges of the long dried paint. They say their apologies quick, of not having seen you before and whatnot-- but you can't blame them. You would have been entranced with Jimin, too.

Then your bags are being whisked away and you're left standing alone in the middle of the living room-- your living room. You're left wondering and standing and struck with the thought of wowowow-- this is your home. This is your home for possibly the rest of your life.

You want to ask Jimin what he thinks of all this.

If he's just as overwhelmed as you are.

But when you walk inside your shared bedroom, his suitcase is sitting in the corner and everything seems untouched. Not a trace of comfort or familiarity.

Then, on the nearby desk, sits your make up remover, a post-it note underneath in pretty handwriting that says a simple thank you.

When Seokjin visits, it's with a Kim Namjoon blinking owlishly from behind him.

"I brought a little friend," Seokjin gestures to the giant, who's still very much looking at you as if you're a ghost. "I had to climb the mountain and all! Totally not worth it, let me tell you!"

Namjoon ignores Seokjin in favor of clasping both your shoulders and shaking you aggressively, "You got married?"

Then you're nearly knocked off your feet when another voice emerges with a booming, "The little shit really got married!"

You try to look at Seokjin in mock betrayal, but your breath is being cut off short and the life is being squeezed out of you, so it's practically impossible.

"Get off me you heathens, I can't breathe." Namjoon releases you, but Hoseok's arms stay wrapped around you from behind, and you sigh. Pat his arm fondly.

Hoseok lets you go in favor of handing you a self proclaimed marriage gift basket. There are some essential oils and neroli bath bombs and soaps he probably made himself. You dig deeper and find an apple and a single grape.

"The grape was Seokjin's idea." Namjoon clarifies.

You flick the grape over Seokjin's head just as he starts saying I would do no such thing--!

It's only later that they bring it up again, Namjoon resting his head on a tree from the garden as Hoseok stays cross legged across from him, sipping his tea. Namjoon's patting the tree, saying something soft to it, and you think you hear the wind sigh almost wistfully. Hoseok likes to call it the Namjoon Effect.

"So. Park Y/n, huh?" Hoseok says cheekily.

"Shut up," you say but there's no bite to it.

"Can't believe you got married. They grow up so fast," Namjoon pretends to wipe away a tear, and you slap lightly at his shoulder with a strangled cry.

"You weren't even at the wedding, you don't get to say that!"

"They sent us to the mountains, how were we supposed to know?"

"Well if you really loved me, you'd find a way to be there," you pretend to sniffle, catch Hoseok taking a long and rather dramatic drag of his tea.

"Stop acting like Jin-hyung, we only need one of him." Hoseok says. You can almost hear Seokjin's indignant screech from somewhere inside, even though it's physically impossible for him to have heard you.

Then Namjoon asks when you'll introduce them to your husband and it then begins a mantra of a series of drawn out do it, do it, do it's that sound more like a demonic summoning than anything convincing, but you get up and try to look for Jimin anyway.

You find your husband in question tucked in small on the desk of your shared bedroom, cheek pressed to a book about flower anatomy but all his post-it notes have are scrawled words and doodles of opossums.

You smile lightly to yourself and drape a blanket over his shoulders, run a hand through his fringe and watch it flop back down with a little laugh. Brush a loose eyelash off his cheek softly.

When you walk out, the three that had invaded your home are sprawled over the couch and Hoseok is looking at you too knowingly for your liking. Seokjin offers you the wine he'd been drinking despite it being 1 in the afternoon, and shrugs when you turn him down quickly.

"Where is he? How’d it go?" Hoseok asks, and when you reply with a shut up, it's too weak for your liking and he laughs. You feel heat rush to your cheeks.

Then when Jimin surfaces not twenty minutes later, you think he looks flustered, too.

The next few weeks go by in a blur.

Every day goes by the same as the last: you go to sleep with your back pressed to Jimin's, and wake up alone. Sometimes his side is cold and sometimes it's not. Sometimes you catch Jimin baking bread in the morning, trimming the bushes and cutting the stems of the roses.

And that would be fine if not for the fact that Jimin has been doing pretty much the same things as you except for the potion-making, but he always seems to be doing them in a different time and in a different place and honestly, you just want to go back to the time you'd talked about your favorite M&M colors.

The only time you truly talk to him are the polite hellos he offers in the morning, when it still feels like you're walking through murky water, eyes still droopy with sleep.

Today you wake up with the sun, roughly 7 AM, maybe. You turn and Jimin's side is empty and you decide that's the last straw.

When you get up, shuffle, shuffle, shuffling because no one deserves to be awake at this hour, you catch him in the garden.

"Hello?" you say, and it comes out as more of a question. The man is hunched over a rosebush, as if to tend to the roses, but they look to be halfway dead and you think you'd heard him talking to them before you arrived.

The thought that you're intruding tugs at your subconscious, and maybe it's a silly thought since he was talking to a rosebush, but-- but. You can't help but feel like maybe the roses make better conversation than you do.

Jimin cranes his neck to look at you, and his cheeks are flushed. There's a streak of dirt on his cheek, somehow, and when he peels off his gloves, there's dirt stuck under his nails, too. You try not to let the fondness show on your face, because it's weird to feel endeared by a stranger, no matter how cute the stranger might be. No matter if that stranger is your husband.

"Hello," he blinks. "What're you doing here?" He says, not cruelly. You tug at your shirt anyway, suddenly nervous.

Not everyone feels nervous to talk to their husband. Not everyone has a husband that avoids them, either, but-- well. Maybe it's time you change that.

You get stuck between saying a too-casual hey and a too-formal hello and end up with a too-eager "Heyo!" and a piece of you kinda dies on the spot. "I was just, like, passing by, you know? I was going through the garden and all." Looking for you is what you don't say, and you can only hope it doesn't show on your face.

"Right," he says, clearing his throat.

There's silence until you crouch beside him, piping up quietly, "So what're we doing?"

"We?" He smiles lightly, then turns back to the roses, "We're cutting off the stems."

"What for?" You frown, "For them to die even more?"

"Y/n!" He says, scandalized, almost, "Don't say that, you'll offend them."

"Why would plants be offended." You deadpan but feel a vine tickle your ankle, as if to curl around your leg and tug you down to the floor.

"Great, now the roses won't like me," he glares halfheartedly before turning back to the roses in question, murmuring softly, "Don't listen, I'm not associated with this person."

"What!" You yell, thoroughly offended, but then he does something incredible. Something so mind boggling your tongue suddenly feels ten times too heavy in your mouth as you watch, stunned.

He does a full body giggle. Oh no.

You hadn't even realized you were holding your breath until Jimin smiles at you and your chest rearranges itself into something that actually resembles the human anatomy. You tug absently at a loose thread on your sleeve.

"Do you have any mugwort around?" You find yourself asking.

His eyes widen with something akin to curiosity, but he doesn't ask what you'd need it for. "I think I saw some over by the hyacinths," Jimin says as if you'd possibly know where those are, and he smiles when the confusion doesn’t leave your eyes. "I'll take you there."

He stands, then, and he's-- quite small. Strangely, you hadn't noticed this before, mostly because he doesn't really seem like a small man. Even now, he looks larger than life.

(In truth, mugwort helps you sleep a bit better. Doesn't quite make a concoction, it's not nearly strong enough for that, but just a little bit of it stuffed under your pillow is enough. Some bundles of hyssop stashed between the sofa cushions. A few water-based sigils drawn into the corners of the room.)

(The room that doesn't quite feel like yours, but-- Maybe it will be.)

When you wake up that day, it's to Seokjin waving a spatula around in your kitchen.

You think he sees the question in your eyes, because he huffs as if you've personally offended him. "What! What's wrong with visiting my dear friends?"

And you'd accept it at just that, if Seokjin weren't the Head Councilor for your district. For all the districts, actually.

He flips a pancake flawlessly and you watch it sizzle in silence. He doesn't ask how you've been doing, because he must already see it-- the plants are still halfway dead; the greenhouse still adjusting to Jimin, maybe. You haven't been making any real potions, and while spring might be six months away, there's been no progress. No progress at all.

And it aches a bit, because before Seokjin became the Head Councilor, he was your friend, and you really don't want to disappoint him.

(Don't really want to disappoint Jimin, either, but-- But.)

"Have you two seen the town yet?" Seokjin asks, squeezing what could only be considered too much syrup onto his pancake. He's sitting at the head of the table because "only those elder and wise deserve the position," apparently, and you and Jimin are sitting opposite each other. You don't think of how this is the first time you're having breakfast with your husband.

"No," Jimin answers for you, and you most definitely do not think of how the syrup made his too big lips look sticky and pretty. "We've been, uh. Busy."

"Yeah, busy." You nod nod nod, and you think Seokjin looks at you questioningly but you're shoving the equivalent of three forkfuls of pancake into your mouth to avoid speaking any more.

Jimin drinks tea with his pancakes, with three sugars and too much milk and some crushed sage. You raise a brow when he mixes the leaves in, and he hides behind the rim of the cup when he raises it to his lips, tips of his ears a bit pink.

"It's a dietary supplement for digestion!" Jimin says defensively when you don't stop staring at him. "Don't look at me like that!"

You keep looking at him just to tease but find that you can't look away. You need to stare at something that's not him because every time you make eye contact you feel a bit twitchy.

Seokjin suddenly speaks through a mouthful of pancakes, "So I'm sure you're wondering why I'm here," He says, ignores your muttered not really, then continues with, "I wanted you to hear it in person. The rumors are true. I am to be wed on summer's eve. Hudreds of guests, of whom I will know three."

"Truly tragic for your partner, then." You sip and ignore Seokjin's indignant squawk.

"Jimin-ssi!" A clatter resounds where Seokjin slams his fork on the table, "I am having a passionate love affair with your partner. I'm sorry you had to find out this way, but it's my only regret. What have you offered me, Y/n? Nothing. I barely remember our time together."

For a second you're kind of appalled that he'd say this in front of your actual husband, then in another you wonder when Jin will mature past the point of sticking his tongue out at people as an insult. Then realize it's your favorite thing about him, and hope it isn't any time soon.

"Revolting," you say as you attempt to pull off your most disgusted face and find that it's not that difficult, given the situation, "I'm sorry, Jimin-ah. I just couldn't resist Seokjin's sexy goblin bod."

"Slander!" Seokjin goes on a tangent and says something about how Helen of Troy doesn't have shit on me, and Jimin is giggling so hard he nearly catapults off his chair and you are. Not endeared. No. Definitely not endeared for your husband.

You never do find out why Seokjin spontaneously visits again. But you sit there and watch as he fills the silence before the silence even begins, see how he tries to make you and Jimin talk and you think you know why.

You're suddenly so immensely grateful for your friends that your heart swells and turns to mush and you feel so much less alone than when you'd first gotten married.

Then Seokjin bails when it's time to do the dishes and you take it all back.

You talk to Jimin again when you're supposed to be sleeping and he's writing a letter in the dark. A candle you think smells like vanilla floats just above him, dripping wax onto the floor but it's okay. They wouldn't burn anything, you trust them.

"Do you like it here?" You ask before he jumps in his seat, and you try not to laugh.

You watch, cheek pressed to the duvet, as Jimin stands and delicately places the envelope on the windowsill, as if he's writing a love letter to the moon.

You think he won't reply. He does.

"Yeah." He sighs, running a hand through his hair. Moonlight trickles through the glass, makes his skin shine pale pink and honey gold. The candle floats down to eye level, and the thought that he's beautiful comes to you seconds before he blows the fire out. "I think I do."

The last part is whispered, makes you wonder what he sounds like when he sings.

You dream of your wedding, that night.

The priest officiating you is talking, saying something in a low voice, and you think the crowd is straining to hear. You don't know what he's saying until Jimin says a quiet "I do" that stuns you down to your bones.

You don't know what you were expecting. Maybe a part of you thought he'd say no and run down the aisle. Maybe a sudden slam of a door and a loud "I object!" with an accusatory finger pointed your direction.

(None of that happens of course, and when Jimin kisses you it's chaste and sweet, tastes a lot like chapstick. Like new beginnings.

Maybe faintly, even, of the sun.)

It takes another week for you to actually take Seokjin's advice and visit the town, and it only really happens after Jimin had been making halfhearted comments over breakfast that there's barely any sugar to mix into his tea.

So you visit the town. It's surreal, almost; the thought that this is someone's hometown, that this someone knows every back road and every street vendor and every stray cat, but you're just someone passing by.

You pass by screaming children and laughing couples and when a granny who sells silks by the riverside sees Jimin, she greets him like she'd known him her whole life. When she sees you, she smiles almost knowingly, and you don't know what to make of that.

It's oddly welcoming. You like this, these tightly knit communities where everyone is simultaneously a stranger yet knows everything about each other. Makes you wonder if you can be a part of it, too.

"Do you like walking?" Jimin asks you just when you realize that everything smells like baked bread. Just to make conversation, probably, but you appreciate it anyway.

"Not really," you grimace exaggeratedly, "I prefer driving. You get places faster."

"Obviously." He snorts. This conversation is getting nowhere fast.

"And if you're driving for a really long time, you can just pull over somewhere whenever you want and get, like, ice cream or something, and the world becomes a better place," you continue.

"But you just sit still for so long," he frowns.

"Ice cream, though."

It's only when he finally turns to look at you that you realize he's barely looked at you at all. "Ice cream doesn't help my ass." He deadpans.

Jimin sticks his tongue out. His tongue. Out! At you. How unkind.

"I want a divorce." You say, flabbergasted.

Jimin punches your shoulder lightly as you laugh, then says, "Too bad, you're stuck with me forever." His voice barely even wobbles.

"I'm glad." You smile. You're joking but you're not, want him to know you're serious. "I'm glad it's you I'm stuck with, then."

He looks away, but you think his ears are pink.

When you get home, it's to the moon peeking through the clouds, bags of bread in your and Jimin's hands. Banana bread, pumpkin bread, blueberry bread, pink and red breads that are apparently edible and magical and leave you feeling cloudy and floaty.

Jimin leaves a bowl of sugar water on the windowsill to surprise the butterflies in the morning, says they've been warming up to him. The hyacinths, too. Even the poppies have started flirting with him and everything.

It feels like everything is slotting into place, you think. Like you've been handed a new puzzle with a thousand pieces too many, and you know they all fit somewhere and you're in the process of figuring it out.

(Maybe you and Jimin are those pieces.)

It's quiet in breakfast. It's not an unwelcome quiet, not like in the beginning, when Jimin could barely look you in the eye. Now you talk about the weather and the appropriate amount of sugar to mix into coffee and the old man from the coffee shop in town that said his name so quickly Jimin didn't catch it and had to pretend he knew it for the rest of the conversation.

Now you know things beyond what's superficial. Now you know he loves strawberry tarts but doesn't like strawberries. Now you know he's Team Jacob. Now you know he had thick square glasses around his junior year of training that made him look so much like a nerd that you busted a lung and laughed for six straight minutes.

You think that's enough for you to approach him and say, "Wanna walk through the forest with me?"

Jimin looks surprised. Maybe not in a bad way. Maybe his smile just might be genuine when he replies with a resolute absolutely not.

Apparently the forest is cold and dark and scary, but Jimin goes with you anyway.

The woods are nice. When you strain your ears you think you can hear something call for you, and if you stand very still you can feel your heart beat in sync with something, something alive.

Okay, so maybe the woods are a bit cold and dark and scary, but you know better than to be afraid. If you are, it'll turn against you.

"Don't step on beetles, that's bad luck. That and you'll never get rid of them." You warn, watch as Jimin instantly jumps in place and stares at the ground warily.

"Okay, yeah, that makes me feel better," he says with a grimace, and you laugh.

There's no real reason for you to want to walk through the woods besides sudden curiosity, but Jimin indulges you. Lets you trail a hand down the bark of a tree and try to befriend the rabbits and pick some blueberries from the bushes.

There's a sharp gasp when you promptly shove one in your mouth.

"Y/n! That's-- unsanitary! You don't know where that's been!"

Blueberry juice trails down your chin. You don't even want to imagine what you look like, but for whatever reason you can't seem to bring yourself to care. Think of how it's just Jimin you're with. Maybe that means something. Maybe it means he's never made you feel unwanted for being yourself.

"S'fine, what's the worst that could happen?" You pick another one, halfheartedly clean it with your shirt, then throw it in the air with an attempt to catch it. It bounces off your nose, and Jimin laughs so hard he snorts twice through his nose.

When you walk back home, it's with a smile and a blue stain on your shirt and dirty shorts, and when you look over you think you catch Jimin smiling, too.

The first time you meet Taehyung, it's two months after the wedding.

He's a big friend of Jimin's, and apparently Taehyung likes to call himself Jimin's soulmate. Jimin just laughs and never corrects him and it makes you feel soft all over.

So Taehyung's visiting again today. When you walk through the door, placing your muddy sneakers by the shoe rack, Taehyung is already there, reading something on the couch. You think it's poetry.

You've only spoken to him a handful of times, maybe, but when he sees you he grins and casts an invisible fishing rod and pretends to reel you in. You indulge him and pretend to be reeled. It's all very dramatic.

You're maybe too far to begin genuine conversation but Taehyung starts speaking anyway, "Y/n, hello! It's been so long!" It's been two days. You don't correct him.

"Hi, Taehyung." He deems you've been reeled close enough and nods to himself. His skin is tanned honey and gold, his cheeks and nose a bit red, like he's been in the sun a lot. If you didn't already know that he's a green witch from Jimin, you think you'd know by this alone.

"Hello, hello," The man's already standing up, patting your head like you hadn't just met him all of two days ago, "C'mon, I got some strawberries from the forest. I thought the forest would be scary but it looks like it warmed up to you and Jimin already so it let me in nicely."

In truth, it took various compass potions for you to not get lost, and then several days for you to have warmed up to the woods around your house, but it's fine. Jimin goes through it in his morning runs now. Sometimes the light shines through the trees just right to guide you through, and sometimes you get a bad feeling about a certain path, like something is trying to steer you away from what's waiting in the end of it.

But the woods are safe. A comfort.

"That's good! That's good. Especially since you'll probably be visiting a lot," you chuckle.

"Definitely! I'm sorry to say this, but where Jiminie goes, I follow. I'm the physical manifestation of his own inner demons."

"An interesting way to phrase it."

"Indeed." Taehyung hums, cutting up the strawberries neatly. He's swaying his hips to the silence. Sway, sway, sway.

Taehyung sets the strawberries aside and there's a sudden clatter of bowls and pans, the man picking apart your fridge as he hums something soft under his breath. The silence feels heavy in a pleasant way, like the walls are straining to hear his gentle singing.

"How long have you known him?" You ask curiously as he hands you a potato. You're not explicitly told what to do with it, but you start peeling it when he keeps looking at you expectantly. He hums, satisfied.

"Since diapers!" He grins, boyish and boxy, chops up the onions in messy bits and pieces. "There's no one that knows him better than me, his mom and maybe the government."

You laugh and Taehyung continues making his mysterious concoction.

Jimin walks in around an hour later to a mess in the kitchen, and he promptly screeches in impressive falsetto when he sees you and Taehyung, and Taehyung laughs for three solid minutes.

(The mysterious concoction, you learn, is soup, judging by the way Taehyung hands Jimin a bowl and promptly says, "Soup!"

Jimin looks at it for four solid seconds and says, "Well this is certainly something to wake up to."

"Me and Y/n made it just the way you taught me to!" Taehyung grins and takes a hold of your hand despite only having met you properly around three days ago.

"I just cut some potatoes," you frown. You're promptly ignored by Taehyung, but Jimin pats your head in gratitude. You're warm.

"I bet it's shit," Jimin says, but he's smiling so hard that you don't think he means it.

Taehyung smiles back. "I bet it's shit, too."

When Taehyung leaves, he ruffles your hair and slaps Jimin's butt even as Jimin laughs and shoos him off, and you decide that you're happy. Happy that Jimin's happy, too.)

You dream of your wedding night again, except this time, you dream beyond just the chapstick and the new beginnings. You dream again of his hand curving around your waist to pull you closer, the delicate way he says I do, a song made of only two words.

He tastes like the sun even the second time, and you know that's impossible, know the sun isn't quite a tangible thing, that it doesn't have a taste or even a scent at all-- but he does. He just does.

You wake up with your stomach lurching down down down until it's a melted puddle by your feet, a new ache of longing so deep it melts you down to your bones.

The clock blinks 4:37 am. It's early enough for Jimin to not have left the bed for his morning run yet, and when you turn, his face is so close you can see each individual eyelash and trace every blemish until it forms a constellation.

You peel yourself off of bed and head for the gardens, pass by the dream catcher hanging by the door and give it a little dangle. Pass by the birdhouse draped over the ledge of a tree and wonder if it was always painted pink.

You head for the middle of the greenhouse, see remnants of Jimin in every flower and every tree and every potted lemon lime dracaena draped over the ceiling. You lie down, sprawled over the dirt, the nearby snowdrops leaning over as if to comfort, and you think--

You don't know much. You don't know much, but you know this: people may reject you, but if you lie on the floor for long enough, the moss and the fungi will accept you as one of their own.

(You sit there for so long that when you wake it's to the morning sun and wind chimes and a worried Jimin ushering you up, up, all worried and sullen. But there's this: the birds are singing in their pink birdhouses and there's a natural breeze as the man laces your fingers together and drags you home, as if the world is telling you to breathe.

It almost smells like spring.)

When you walk to the greenhouse the next day, a tray of tea and orange slices in both your hands, Jimin's planting strawberries by a corner, gently patting at the humid soil.

His hair is a little loose and windblown, and there are daisies and twigs in the knots. There are bruises and scratches all over his legs, as if he'd been on wild adventures and has no concept of his own physicality.

Jimin grins when he sees you, openly and unabashedly, slipping off his gloves as he stands with grass stains on his clothes, and you ache down to your bones. You say he looks like a child gremlin, and he laughs.

You're a witch, practically made of magic, but you think there's a certain magic in the mundane, too. Vibrant greenery and sunlight and orange slices and honeyed tea.

"Should we visit the town again?" Jimin says through a mouthful of his slice, his lips tinted orange, almost.

"Yeah," you mutter softly, "that would be nice."

So you promise to visit the town again, maybe grab some fresh linen sheets and warm lattes and walk through the river bank, dip your toes in the water.

It's raining outside, you notice. Just a bit, just a drizzle, more witch weather than anything. Where everything is a little foggy and makes you feel a little floaty, like you're longing for something that doesn't exist.

The thought that you need some rainwater crosses your mind, maybe for a non visibility spell of some sort.

Jimin finds you like that, head tipped to the sky, mason jar raised in the air like an offering of some sort, steadily filling with rainwater. He says something but you don't hear it, like your head is dipped halfway underwater.

You feel a warmth on your wrist, look up to see Jimin already looking down at you, both of you soaked to the bone. "You're an idiot, you know that?" You think he's supposed to sound angry but he looks too happy. Too fond.

Jimin leads you back inside and struggles with the door for a bit, laughs when the water drips from his shoes onto the wooden floor. The boy pulls you deeper into the house. You don't remember when he'd taken your hand.

"Stay here, I'll go get us a towel." Then he leaves you to stand in the middle of the living room floor. He seems to notice this, because it doesn't take him three steps for him to turn back around to stand there with you.

"Um." You say just to have something to say. "This is awkward." It's not. It's actually very nice, wet socks and all. Maybe it's the way he's staring at you, cheeks crinkled at the edges. Makes you feel very seen. Makes you wonder when he'd started staring at you like this.

"Yeah." He agrees mindlessly, a hand trailing from your shoulder down to your wrist. He hesitates on taking your hand. Takes it anyway, laces your fingers. You feel warm down to your bones, even when he quickly lets go. "I'll, uh-- I'll go, now."

Then when he comes back with maybe three towels too many, you're sticking a post-it note to your mason jar and writing rainwater in sharpie for you to not mix it with, say, neroli bath water. Moon water. A love potion.

A towel is dumped over your head, and when you turn Jimin's already ruffling his own towel through his hair. It's disheveled when he stops, fluffed up like a baby chick. He's wearing sweatpants now, with a band shirt that looks to be three sizes too big on him.

"Can I dry your hair?" Jimin says then sounds surprised that he's said it, as if he hadn't meant to say it out loud.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay."

So Jimin dries your hair after you change into clothes you hadn't just walked into the rain with, and he continues even as you pour your rainwater into the cauldron, drizzle some crushed acorns inside. Your husband watches you work, hands you the jars you point at whenever you ask.

"What's this?" Jimin asks as he hands you the mason jar on the top shelf. It only has PN+ML written in sharpie which, in retrospect, can actually be confusing for whoever didn't write it.

"It's just a mixture of pine needles and maple leaves. Actually, maybe some adder's fork will be better.." You trail off, then shrug and add some maple leaves anyway. You stir counter-clockwise and Jimin just blinks when bubbles start popping sluggishly in the cauldron.

"I'm glad I'm not a kitchen witch." Jimin says, grimaces at a jar that says wool of bat. Which are really just holly leaves, but you're not about to tell him that.

Jimin's humming softly behind you as he brushes a hand over a flower on the table centerpiece, then starts picking at a sticker of one of the oranges.

You spend the drawn-out afternoon doing nothing and everything. Jimin finds a box of crayons in a drawer somewhere and draws frogs on post-it notes that he sticks to the fridge, along with reminders to buy more bread. He puts on a movie with the weirdest plot he can find that ends up not being too bad.

You fall asleep with your head pressed to Jimin's chest, the man running a hand through your hair, murmuring something soft that you don't catch. You drift off to the thought that this is probably the closest you've ever been.

You pat at the bedsheets out of habit. It's empty but still warm, still messy, and it's too dark outside for Jimin to have left already.

When you peel yourself out of bed, Jimin's sitting on the couch knitting a scarf. He keeps saying it's for Taehyung even though the scarf is actually close to being seven feet long and there's no way anyone will be able to wear it. It's a tangle of greens and pinks, two of Taehyung's favorite colors that aren't complementary at all but you think he'd make it work.

The look in Jimin's eyes and the window outside is enough to tell you it's roughly 3AM. It's 3AM and Jimin is knitting a seven feet long ugly scarf and there's an empty box of ramen on the coffee table.

A notebook is open on his lap with stick figures and plant doodles on the corners. There's a coffee ring stain on the paper but he doesn't look too upset about it, looks to be drawing a sun out of it.

He looks up at you, smiles something a bit too soft. Too early for that. "Good morning."

A hum. "Good morning?" You say with a bit of an edge. You both stare at each other in a moment of silent understanding.

You stand there for a moment too long until he pats the spot next to him on the couch. You take that as invitation enough and plop yourself down next to him.

You're not close to each other enough for your legs to touch, but when he slumps his shoulder brushes over yours. "What're you doing?" You ask, because you're already here and it's 3AM and you think you can afford to be straightforward.

Jimin looks up at you. Looks back down at his knitted monstrosity. "My best."

You snort. "You okay?"

Your husband grimaces and looks like he wants to say something and is debating on whether he should say it or not. Ends up saying-- "No."

"Did something happen?" You're swinging your legs so far they touch the edge of the couch. You probably look like a child but when Jimin looks down he smiles something that looks a little less like he's tipping over an edge.

"Rough day, rough week. Rough-- couple of weeks." He shrugs, "It's just a thing on my mind. S'dumb."

"I'm sure it's not dumb," you lay a hand on his knee and it's supposed to be comforting but you think you feel goosebumps on his skin. You pull back quick and he doesn't stop you. "Your feelings aren't dumb."

He doesn't say anything for a bit. He's frowning and you think it's a bit unfair to think of how cute he looks while doing it.

You swallow. "Can I stay?"

"Yes," he says too quickly, backtracks with pink cheeks, "I mean-- yes, please. I don't like being alone when I'm sad."

"You're sad?" You didn't need to ask but you do anyway.

"M'not, but I am. Is that weird? It sounds weird. I'm not making sense right now."

"That's fine, you're fine." You rifle through everything you know about Jimin and try to decide whether you should push or not. Decide that maybe it's okay. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Maybe one day." Jimin smiles and you don't know what he means by that but you smile back anyway.

Silence again. Jimin reaches for his abandoned noodles, takes a halfhearted bite and grimaces, then promptly sets it back down. You snort.

"Do you wanna go back to sleep?" You murmur. You think you can feel the exhaustion become something a little less tiring and a little more soft.

"I don't think I'll be able to."

"I can hold your hand." You say but it feels like you've stepped on maybe ten red lines too many, so you backtrack and say, "Or something. If you want. Forget it."

You feel your heart contort into something ugly, but when you look up at him through your lashes, he's smiling. Says, "I accept, then. Cuddles for companionship."

"No four syllable words until the sun's up." You say, and he giggles.

Jimin is singing when you drag him back to bed, his voice fading softly into sleep. There are weird breaks in his voice and you can't place the tune nor can you make sense of what he's saying, but he keeps going with a yawn and a Busan drawl.

(Jimin's voice is pretty and his sleepy blinks are pretty and the boy is just pretty, pretty, pretty.)

Everything feels sleepy and tender and it's probably too early to have revelations, but you feel as it happens anyway. It feels less like something squeezing at your heart and more like it's cradling it.

Is it really a revelation? It feels softer. Less like something new and more like something old.

Jimin's song trails into nothing. You peer up at Jimin just as his eyes twitch with dreams, and it's-- a bad angle.

He's beautiful.

"I think I love you." You whisper.

You sleep.

When you wake, there's a hand fisted in your shirt and Jimin's muttering something in his sleep that you don't catch. The sheets aren't empty, and there's a streak of gold through the blinds and onto his cheek. You wonder what it would feel like to kiss Jimin a second time. You wonder if he smiles into his kisses.

"Okay, tell me what's happening." Seokjin says, lightly patting your head where it's pressed to his shoulder. You sigh for the umpteenth time today.

The glass vials are clinking around in your bag, and you'd wanted to give them to Jimin to test on the camellias, but-- you can't do that anymore, not really.

You sigh again. "If you sigh one more time I'm calling my lawyer."

"You don't have a lawyer though?" You say, and it comes out as more of a question.

Seokjin pulls you closer so that he's smothering your face with his chest. "I said what I said."

You jam your fingers into his armpit until he screams and rolls away and you can breathe again.

"Seriously, though," Seokjin says as he makes himself comfortable on the couch. His head's on the armrest and he swings his legs so they're resting over your lap. You threaten to push them away and he ignores you. "Do I need to give you the Self Love Speech?"

"No." You deadpan. Seokjin gives you a second, as if to reconsider, and sighs when you don't.

"You never visit me though, and you look mopey."

"I do not." You say but you probably kind of do. You try to make yourself look more relaxed but it's too late.

"Don't give me sass, I'm serious here!" He says but his hands are gentle when he links your fingers together. Makes you feel very seen. "Did something happen with Jimin?"

Nothing new, you think but don't say. Nothing new, because it doesn't feel new, feels more like something that's left forgotten until it's time to be remembered. You think of the times when Jimin adjusts your shirt collar for you, when he's mumbling in the morning all slurred and heavy with dialect because he's tired, when he's back from the gardens all dirty and sweaty but grinning as he says Y/n look what I found, Y/n look what I did, Y/n come see, come look, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n.

Little moments that make you think shit, I love him, and the universe tries to compensate for the acknowledgement, for the slip, spins a half-beat faster. You tuck those moments away, hidden in your veins and in the empty spaces of your heart.

“S’nothing.” You say, then grab Seokjin’s hand and place it on your head, “Now pat my head until the nothing goes away.”

So Seokjin pats your head and doesn’t pry and if you let how sad you feel slip and show on your expression he doesn’t comment on it, and you’re grateful.

You're halfway through a love potion when Jimin walks inside, swinging a bag around to catch your attention. You nearly drop the dragon feather you'd been trying to dissolve when the man whoops loudly in your ear.

"I brought you food! The halmeoni from the store gave me a discount," he giggles as he sets the bag onto the kitchen island, turns towards you expectantly.

You sigh, pressing a hand to your heart, "Jimin-ah, marry me," you implore dramatically, already making grabby hands in his direction.

He snorts, "We're literally already married," he hums, lets himself be pulled towards you with a laugh, then says, "What're you making?"

You're about to explain, but he's already leaning towards your bottled concoction and taking a whiff. You almost laugh, but then he's scrunching his nose and sniffing again and then says, incredibly--

"Are you brewing your own perfume?"

And really, it's-- not that far fetched of a theory. The bottles scattered around your cauldron look a bit like perfume bottles, maybe. Except, except--

Except you're making a love potion. It's not an actual love potion, not the love potion one would imagine when the term came up, because love can't really be manipulated, only artificially. But every witch, kitchen witch or not, knows that a love potion just serves to make you feel a bit fuzzy, a bit lighter on your feet.

And that it smells like the one you love the most.

"Huh?" is all you manage to say.

"Yeah. Like-- burning embers and forest air and an underlying tone of like, rosemary or something."

When you don't say anything, only staring at him wide eyed with a muttered holy shit, he chuckles almost nervously, "You'd think I told you that you smell bad or something, what is it?"

You don't say anything for a few more moments, and when you look down at your potion, it's clear and transparent and almost looks like water, if not for the way it were bubbling sluggishly. When you breathe in, it smells like freshly picked daisies and sun warmed oranges and something boyish, something that just might be Jimin.

"Yeah," you breathe, "Perfume. That's, uh, exactly what I'm doing."

"No reason to be embarrassed, it's kinda endearing." He claps you on the back encouragingly, and his hand doesn't linger. It feels like it might linger. It hovers a bit, as if he caught himself before it could linger.

"Uh. Yeah." You say, then mutter another holy shit, while you're at it.

You kind of wish you were a weather witch to summon a lightning bolt to strike you where you're standing.

He’s about to walk away and you grab his hand. He turns.

Your tongue feels tied in a knot, just like your stomach. For something that seems so simple and straight-forward, it still feels like if you take one wrong step everything will be ruined.

You're in the process of counting his eyelashes when he says, "Yes?"

You breathe breathe breathe and try to say something but nothing comes out. Jimin waits, patient, always so patient. He hums and tap, tap, taps your palm, a gentle waltz of one, two, three. Your heartbeat settles.

"I love it when you sing." You sigh. Jimin laughs and keeps humming, his head settling over your shoulder. "I love it when you put your head on my shoulder."

Jimin laughs again. "What's this about?"

You ignore him. "I love it when you leave your shit all over the bathroom counter, and when you take so long to get ready you make us both late for things."

"This got significantly less flattering."

"I love it when--" Your head swims. "When I wake up to the breakfast you made. And when you're happy. And your stupid taste in romcoms."

You feel more than see the way his lips wobble like he's holding back a cry.

A part of you wants to stop this, say something to break the tension, but the other part, the bigger part, wants to keep telling Jimin pretty things while sitting in this pretty dream. Tell him how pretty he is. Tell him how much you ache ache ache with even the smallest touch.

"Y/n?" Jimin says, then, tentatively, when no more words seem forthcoming from you.

Everything is falling. You want to curl over Jimin's chest and listen to the thrum of his heart and counsel your own that way, there, like that, beat like that.

When you look at Jimin, he's frowning and you feel like you should lie. Any lie would be good right now, any lie would work, maybe help you escape towards the greenhouse. Then you wonder miserably what it would be like to be honest, for once.

"I love you." It's not you that says it. It's him. It's Jimin.

The world stops.

You shudder, let out a shaky breath, feel the way the walls expand and contract like you're trying to make sense of things.

"A horrible decision, really." You settle on saying, your hands settling over Jimin's shoulders shaking softly with laughter, then say, "Are you sure?"

You blink blink blink, need a second to put yourself back inside the lines. Feel the exact moment he presses a kiss to your shoulder softly, so softly you ache all over. You let out a shaky breath and feel him shiver.

"I've never been so sure of something," Jimin says-- breathless, almost-- pulling back to cup your jaw and lean even closer. He breathes against your lips and he's pretty, so pretty, so pretty you can barely breathe.

You don't say anything because you don't trust your voice and the world is spinning all funny and off-kilter.

"I want," Jimin starts, swallows, shivers. He doesn't say what he wants. Just kisses your jaw like it would be able to divine an answer, like it's answer enough. Your whole body throbs with fondness.

"Jimin-ah," you say but trail off, don't know where to go from there, either.

Jimin's thumb presses to the corner of your mouth, traces your bottom lip line. The pad of his thumb drags back higher, then tugs your lip down, and you can't stop the quiet noise you make. He stops. His eyes flick to yours.

The Earth, you think, is spinning wrong. Trying to compensate for what you've done. The tides will crash at odd times, the moon with be wrong. You're ruining the entire world with your hands.

Jimin's fingers dance on your cheeks.

You've already crossed so many lines you drew for yourself that it doesn't matter anymore. You reach out, cup the back of his head and tug, and then you're kissing.

Everything sizzles against your skin. You want to tell him that, that you feel like you're floating, that he's the only thing holding you down, the gentle press of his lips and his hands skimming over your arms, your neck, the dip in your back.

Jimin sighs against your lips and you feel it down to your bones. You don't know what to do or where to touch, feel yourself hover until Jimin takes your hands and guides them towards him. Your skin feels so hot you think it could catch fire.

"W-wait," You mumble and Jimin pulls back at that, watches you struggle to breathe, his hands hovering like he wants to touch but is holding himself back. "Shouldn't-- shouldn't we take it slow?"

And Jimin laughs, breathy and low. "We've been married for almost six months, but okay." He leans forward, kisses you right under the eye, a lingering press. It's so unexpected and intimate that you feel yourself gasp, is sure the spot is seared, that everyone will look at it and know.

When you open your eyes Jimin is there watching, waiting, looking so unbelievably fond, and says, "There you are, my pretty Y/n." He strokes the under of your eyes so so tenderly.

"I love you," you say this time, feel it tumble out without much hassle, feel the world crumble and disappear, sink like Atlantis.

And Jimin smiles so wonderfully wide and his shoulders sag with something like relief, and it's unbelievable, that he thought you wouldn't want this, that you wouldn't love him.

You tug at his shirt and when he kisses you again you're both grinning, all teeth and something sweet. It feels unhurried and earnest like he'd been wanting to do it forever. You get lost in it, in the sweetness, in Jimin whispering against your lips, letting you how good you are, how pretty you are, how very very much he loves you.

"What're you smiling about?" You ask, your hands linked together and swinging gently.

It's later. Night, even. The garden feels different at night, feels more like a fairy tale, something tender and familiar.

"I don't know," he says, shrugs, "You're just. Really great."

He tips his head up to the sky, says it to the stars, but you feel it anyway-- feel when your heart squeezes in your chest, turns to mush, human fondue.

"You're pretty cool, too." You say, laugh when he pushes you playfully, laugh even more when he pulls you back.

Then he's pulling you in closer and tilting your head just so, trailing a hand down the dip in your back. You think about small candles and nameless birds, about writing love letters to the moon. Think about how it's Jimin you're kissing. Kiss him harder.

Jimin melting, all warm and pliant. Jimin's hand sliding up the back of your sleep shirt, fingertips skimming the wings of your shoulder blades. It all feels inevitable, almost, but it also feels like a choice.

When you pull away you hear a gentle buzz of cicadas, a small connection back to the real world, and you breathe breathe breathe.

It all smells like spring.

a/n: this isn’t in my wips!! idk how it happened!!! next is my ot7 au i think. i’m excited fufufu :^) ty for reading, i really hope the pacing is ok, it’s what i struggled with while writing this,.,. take it or leave it ig djakdsj

[slippinmickeys]

Five Seconds (5/8)

If you’d like to read on AO3, you may do so here.

October 15, 2018

The leaves were beginning to change outside the window; the maples turning russet, the birch yellow. Scully felt pendulous and gravid, the child in her belly more active than her previous two combined. Sleep was becoming difficult, but by day they’d fallen into a comfortable routine, safe and unmolested from the dangers that were beginning to feel as though they had never existed at all.

She stretched and left Mulder, half his face obscured by his pillow, his lips soft and pliant in sleep. A fresh pot of decaf awaited her in the kitchen, its automatic timer set by Mulder late last night.

The kids were still asleep, as far as she could tell -- she'd heard Lily come home well after midnight. She'd been up reading anyway when her daughter had popped her head into their bedroom door and whispered "I'm home." The girl had been wearing a small smile and Scully recognized the look. Lily was falling in love.

Will shuffled into the kitchen sleepily, a palm rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He approached Scully where she stood at the counter and put an arm around her shoulder, leaning on her. He still smelled like the sleepy little boy who liked to cuddle into her side to watch nature shows when he was six.

"Morning Mom," he said, taking a snuffly breath. He leaned down and rested his cheek against her head (he was almost as tall as Mulder, though still as skinny as a maypole). Scully wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled him in closer. Affection from her kids was getting fewer and farther between now that they were active teenagers. She was determined to enjoy whatever she got.

"Morning," she said, giving his back a little rub, "you're up early."

"Yeah," he said on a yawn. "There's an open rink this morning and a couple of buddies are going. Is it okay if I join them?"

Scully nodded. "Just make sure you tell your dad, too. Know the exits before you go and keep an eye on the crowd."

Will squeezed her once and then let go, grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl on the counter and holding up like James Bond. "Call me Double O Billy," he said and sidled back to his room off of Scully's bemused chuckle.

She spent an hour catching up on email that had been routed through the Gunmen and Darlene -- coded messages that they interpreted and sent to her mother, sister and brothers. Melissa was giving her a hard time about not letting her fly to Europe (where she thought they were) to be her doula when the time came to give birth. She was tempted to send Byers to her sister's house to explain exactly what was happening, but rejected the impulse. Their mother -- the only person other than the Gunmen and the X-Files triumvirate at the FBI who knew their situation (though not their location for her own protection) -- would talk her down eventually.

Mulder came padding up behind her as she closed the laptop and she felt a soft, drawn-out kiss on the side of her neck.

"Morning," he mumbled into her skin.

She reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair, then turned to receive his kiss.

"Morning," she said.

"I’ll be back shortly. I'm going to drop Billy off at the ice complex and then take Lil to campus -- she suddenly started liking football."

"I think it's the company rather than the sport," Scully said, turning in her chair to face him.

"...I'm going to choose to believe my version," he said.

Scully reached out and linked their fingers briefly. "Tell her to be careful," she said, "she's spending a lot of time out of the house."

Mulder nodded and squeezed her fingers. "I will," he said, "and when I get back, I have a few ideas for how we can spend our child-free afternoon." He waggled his eyebrows at her and let go, backing out of the room like the charmer he was.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“So why UVA?” Travis asked her. He had his head propped up on an elbow and his other hand was wrapped loosely around her foot, his thumb rubbing circles into her arch. She was on the couch in his dorm room and he was on the floor -- she’d been helping him study for mid-terms. They had been officially dating for five weeks and had seen each other at least every other day in that time. He’d introduced her to a couple of friends as his girlfriend.

“What?” she asked. It was hard enough to concentrate while getting a foot massage, and she’d been staring at the index cards in front of her, trying to find a question that would stump him.

“Why are you going to UVA? Brain like yours, you could have gone anywhere. I don’t think I’ve ever asked you why there.”

“Other than the in-state tuition?” She had told him that they’d moved from Virginia, but hadn’t elaborated.

“Other than that,” he smiled.

“I’ve always wanted to. When I was a kid, my dad would occasionally get called in to consult there and he would take me with him. I kinda fell in love with it.”

“What did your dad consult on?” he asked, “You don’t talk about your parents much.”

Travis tapped her other leg, and she switched feet, silencing a groan when his knuckle hit a particularly sensitive spot.

She had purposely avoided mentioning her family much and debated how much was safe to share.

“UVA has a Department of Perceptual Studies,” she said, and she saw him tilt his head in question.

“A department of what?”

“Perceptual studies,” she said, smiling, “it’s a research group devoted to the investigation of phenomena that challenge mainstream scientific paradigms regarding the nature of the mind/brain relationship.” Travis stopped rubbing her foot and looked at her. She went on, further quoting her dad’s friend Dr. Stevenson: “Their mission is the scientific empirical investigation of phenomena that suggest that currently accepted scientific assumptions and theories about the nature of mind or consciousness, and its relation to matter, may be incomplete.”

“You’re shitting me,” he said.

“I shit you not.”

“What kind of phenomena?” He narrowed his eyes at her.

She tried not to smile, “ESP, poltergeists, near-death experiences, out-of-body experiences, claimed memories of past lives.”

“And what did they want with your father?” he asked, sitting up.

She shrugged. “He’s a shrink,” she said, being deliberately vague.

“This is an accredited university?” He teased her. She kicked at him, and he ducked out of the way and laughed, then looked at her thoughtfully. “You know, I myself had an out-of-body experience with Trudy Carmichael under the bleachers when I was sixteen. Pretty sure I saw through time.”

Lily chuckled, then playfully challenged: “Do I need to worry about this Trudy Carmichael?”

“I doubt it,” he said, hanging his head, “I lost my virginity, and she lost my number. Not my finest hour.”

“A whole hour?,” Lily said wryly.

“One way to find out.”

He looked at her then and she looked back. The moment was charged and sat in between them. The truth was, Lily was still a virgin. She and Travis had messed around, but fairly innocently, and she’d demurred on action below the waist/under the clothes. “I’m not waiting for marriage,” she’d told him a few weeks back, but she did want to wait for love. If only she knew what that felt like.

“Hey, Frisbee,” Travis said when she didn’t say anything, “please don’t take this as a negotiation tactic -- you’ve been clear on your limits and I totally respect that -- and with the full understanding that you don’t need a reason, and you do you and all that -- but… do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what exactly?” she asked, clarifying.

“When I say ‘no pressure,’ I mean it,” he said, reaching out to squeeze her foot.

Lily looked around his sloppy dorm room. There were clothes strewn about, though mostly out of the way— socks balled up near the laundry hamper, a sweatshirt hanging on the back of a chair. The wooden loft that held his bed was posted around the couch, made of flimsy-looking two-by-fours, and did not look like it could hold his weight, much less hers in addition, and remained untried (though Travis swore it had passed inspection). His desk was more fastidiously kept, a reflection of his mind, a structured order in the midst of chaos. He was kind and smart. His smile could make her insides go liquid.

“Honestly?” she finally said, “it’s my parents.”

“Super religious?” he asked.

She had to stop herself from laughing. “No, it’s… My parents love each other. More than anyone I’ve ever known. Their love is like… romance film love. It’s practically written in the stars.”

He looked at her contemplatively. “That’s a lot to live up to,” he said. “Is that what it is?”

“Yes,” she said, then, “no.” It was and it wasn’t. She didn’t know if there was a love out there that could compare, she suspected there wasn’t. Her real hang-up, and she hadn’t been able to get it out of her head since she found her father’s first wedding picture in their attic -- was that her father had obviously made a mistake. What if she did too?

She laughed, annoyed at herself. This wasn’t Regency England. Sex didn’t mean marriage. It didn’t even necessarily mean love. Still...

“Come on,” she said, sitting up and grabbing for his class notes, “this bio exam isn’t going to take itself.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

A sound woke her. Her hips were in agony and sleeping was difficult, so initially she was more annoyed than anything; she could rarely line up more than 90 minutes straight of deep slumber. And then she heard it again.

She reached over, squeezed Mulder's bicep until she heard him sniff sharply awake and silently, pulled out the sidearm she kept inside her bedside table. Mulder, slipping out of bed without a word, pulled out his own gun and went to the door. He held up a hand, trying to tell Scully to stay back, but she shook her head angrily -- she would have his back whether he liked it or not.

When he moved into the hallway, she stepped on the back of his heel and he ended up ramming his shoulder into the doorframe. He swore low under his breath. They were out of sync.

She watched as he put his head into the kids rooms as he made his way down the hallway, nodding at her that they were both accounted for. One more thunk from the living room.

He sidled up to the wall that led to the room and backed up against it. He mouthed one-two-three and they went in, but where she usually went low and he went high, this time they rammed shoulders and stumbled into the room. Mulder flicked on the light when she finally had her weapon aimed true.

There, sitting on a high bookshelf sat Apgar, her black tail swishing merrily. Maintaining eye contact, she swiped one more of the professor's knick-knacks off the shelf and onto the floor.

Mulder dropped his weapon and heaved a sigh, tipping his head back in frustration. "Fucking cat," he hissed.

Mission completed, Apgar jumped down with a thump and weaved a figure eight between Mulder's legs.

"She must be hungry," Scully said.

"Hangry was invented by cats," Mulder mumbled, reaching down to pet the cat with his free hand.

"Our tactical coordination was atrocious," Scully said, flicking the light back off and holding her gun at her hip.

"Yes," Mulder agreed.

"When was the last time you went to the range?" she asked.

"It's been months," he said tiredly.

"We're going tomorrow," Scully said. Mulder knew better than to argue.

XxX

There were more than a few Molon Labe bumper stickers in the parking lot. Scully had to remind herself that they were in Michigan Militia territory. "Michitucky," she'd heard it called by a few guys at the Bureau. Nevertheless, she pulled up to the firing range with fire in her blood. She might not share their politics, but she would share their space, and show most of them up to boot.

They signed in and bought ammunition. She got a few extra looks for being a visibly pregnant woman, but most of the men (and they were all men) who were at the range gave her begrudging looks of approval. Mulder stood, standing straighter and closer than normal, practically growling at anyone who got too close. She had to admit that his fierce protective nature was more than a turn-on.

The range was outdoors -- different than what they were used to at Quantico. And where there were metal tables and dividers and state of the art equipment at the government facility, here it was all beat-to-shit plywood tables and sunburnt grass littered with shell casings and old ear plugs. They took the lane at the end.

They both loaded and checked their weapons, snugged earmuffs over their heads.

"You want to go first?" Mulder asked, double checking the safety on his pistol and setting it on the table behind their station.

"I can do that," Scully said, looking down at her Sig.

"Care for a little wager?" her husband asked.

"You can't afford me, Dr. Mulder," she said, admiring the still-lanky line of his physique.

He raised his eyebrows, and leaned back against the tall wobbly table. "Oh-ho," he said, "I suppose that depends on the currency." He had a smug look about him that she wanted to wipe off his face. She was a better marksman and more competitive than anyone gave her credit for.

"What are you offering?" she asked.

"Dishes?" he offered, "Laundry?"

"We had children for the menial labor," she challenged, "I can win this with one hand tied behind my back. Make it interesting for me."

He licked his lips. She had him.

"I liked the part about 'hands behind the back,'" he said, "Winner decides who wears the handcuffs."

"You're not exactly incentivizing this, Mulder."

He had a flushed look about him; his nostrils flared.

"Prove it," he said, and she felt a flush. Second trimester hormones could be a beautiful thing, she mused.

It took her several rounds before she got back into the groove. It actually had been too long since she'd practiced and she was rusty. Considering their current situation, she ought not to let it happen again. Her last few rounds were dead center. Once her clip was empty, she cleared her weapon and stepped back.

Mulder's turn.

He wasn't quite as out of practice as she was initially, which irritated her to no end. However, his fourth and fifth shots were a bit wide, and he ended around the edges.

When he was clear, she stepped back up and took a bracing breath. She raised her weapon and fired rapidly; all her shots were center mass except the last two, which she swung up and finished with perfect shots to the head of the paper dummy.

When Mulder stepped forward for his turn, she nudged him.

"How big would you say the back of the Yukon is?'" she asked casually.

His first three shots went wide.

XxXxXxXxXxX

October 17, 2018

“Mom?” Lily asked. There was a hesitancy in her voice that made Scully look up from where she was chopping vegetables for dinner. “How did you know you loved Dad?”

Scully set the knife down and turned toward her daughter. “That’s a big question, Lil.”

“What’s a big question?” Mulder came breezing into the kitchen, shooting Scully an intrigued look.

Scully suspected something was up, but didn’t want to embarrass their daughter. Lily had always had an inquisitive streak and would occasionally come to Scully with problems or questions, but she was apt to clam up when pressed.

“Lily was asking me about how I fell in love with you,” Scully said, trying to catch Mulder’s eye.

“It was the day she met me, no doubt,” Mulder said. He grabbed an apple out of the bowl on the counter and shined it on his sleeve before taking a snappy bite. “I’m catnip to the ladies,” he said around the mouthful. Lily smiled. Scully rolled her eyes.  

“Suddenly, I’m struggling to remember,” Scully said with mock derision. Mulder gave her a cheeky grin.

“Did you know right away?” Lily asked.

Scully paused. “Not… Not right away,” she said thoughtfully.

Lily looked back and forth between her parents. “I guess it was a long time ago, huh.”

“Love in a time of sarsaparilla,” Mulder said dreamily. Scully shook her head and he caught her eye. “It wasn’t that long ago, Lil,“ he went on, and Scully felt the low bloom of feeling that always accompanied a look from her husband. For as long as she lived, she would always remember the first time she felt it; on the Tooms case, when he’d hooked his finger in her necklace and pulled.

“No, what I mean is… it was complicated,” Scully clarified.

Lily nodded and turned to her father. “You were married. Before Mom.”

“Yes,” Mulder said.

“Did you love her? Your ex wife?”

“I thought I did.”

“When did you figure out that you didn’t?” Lily asked.

“When I met your Mom,” Mulder said.

“So what you felt with Mom…”

“... was so much bigger than I was, that I couldn’t contain it.”

Scully felt her eyes well up. Mulder still sometimes had the ability to make her feel things all the way down to her toes.

Lily smiled, but looked pensive.

"But you thought you loved this other woman? I mean, enough to marry her?" she asked.

Mulder narrowed his eyes at his daughter. "What are you asking, Lil?"

Lily shook her head, her cheeks pink. She grabbed a soda from the fridge and walked out of the room.

“Oh boy,” said Scully.

“What?” Mulder asked.

“Travis,” said Scully. “She’s trying to figure it all out.”

“Jesus, he didn’t propose, did he?” Mulder asked. The look on his face was enough to make her laugh, but she held it in.

Scully turned fully to Mulder and leaned back against the countertop, crossing her arms in front of her.

“You want to know what I think?” she asked. Mulder nodded. “She’s trying to decide whether or when to...” She made a vague gesture with her hands.

Mulder looked at her, still not understanding. Scully gave him the stare of the dotard husband.

“Mulder…” she said, glaring hard.

Realization dawned and Mulder swallowed. “I should have had that boy killed,” he said.

Scully turned back to the vegetables she’d been chopping. “Let’s refrain from wetwork while we’re on the lam.”

“I make no promises,” he said, and slid up behind her, stepping in close and putting his hands on her waist.  

“I had the guys check him out by way of Darlene,” Scully said. “He is who he says he is. And he seems like a decent kid. Let’s let her navigate this on her own, huh?” She felt his fingers squeeze and then they drifted down to rest on her hips.

“I don’t like it,” he mumbled, and leaned down to rest his chin on her shoulder.

“You’re not supposed to,” she said. “But you do have to accept it, and trust that we raised her to make these decisions for herself.”  She remembered being nineteen and in college and in love for the first time. “You want to hear about Kevin McAvoy, my freshman year boyfriend?”

Mulder squeezed his fingers again and then started to turn her slowly toward him. She set down the knife on the counter and let him. His head was bent toward her and she felt his breath fan her face.

“No,” he said, leaning even more into her personal space.

“I was his Little Red Corvette,” she said playfully, tipping her head back in challenge. He smiled, but she saw something rough pass through his eyes. “He’d put on Prince and --”

Mulder leaned down and silenced her with a kiss.

XxXxXxXxXxX

In her room, Lily sat on the bed, the can of soda from the fridge sitting unopened on her bedside table. Condensation beaded on the side of it, sliding down silently to pool at the base, unnoticed.

Crusher liked to sleep on her pillow, and had left a black felted indent in the feathers, which Lily brushed away and fluffed. She looked about the room. Not much about it spoke of the young woman who slept there and had for months; no posters on the walls, no pennants hanging or pictures of friends. It was a sterile guest room decorated with the mute tones of an unmarried 60-something and lately it had been making her feel like she wasn't even herself.

She stood and walked to the desk, the one place she deposited her things. Her wallet, the phone Darlene had given her that she rarely used and usually kept switched off. Her purse was half hanging off -- likely knocked into such a position by a passing cat -- and when she righted it, she noticed the picture that sat under it. The photo of her father and an unfamiliar brunette, who's face conveyed confidence -- almost a smugness -- and a certain charm.

She stared at the picture. And she wondered.

XxX

October 20, 2018

Lily glanced over her shoulder when she sat, feeling as though she were doing something illegal, something fraught.

No one really used the computer labs anymore -- if you needed to, you could write an entire paper on your phone, though Lily found the practice ridiculous and immature. Nevertheless, there were one or two students sitting at the various desktops around the small library lab, and she checked to make sure no one was paying attention to what she was doing.

She tried to be careful. She had told Travis that she was hoping to log into the university's network to prep for some of the classes she’d be taking at UVA next semester and so she was using his password and login information. She'd checked to make sure there were no cameras on the area where she sat, and that her back was to the one aimed at the larger area.

With a bracing breath, she logged on.

It was surprising what you could find with a simple Google search, and the commonwealth of Virginia's vital records office would send you a copy of any marriage certificate for a fee of $45. Knowing better than to use a credit card, she'd opted for a more in depth search, and found what she was looking for in the Daily Press -- the local newspaper of record in Newport News, Virginia.

It was a wedding announcement, complete with two pictures -- one, the same picture she'd found in her parent's attic and the other of a similar style -- of Fox William Mulder and Lauren Edith Williams, married on August 17th, 1988. According to the article, Lauren had been a recent graduate of Georgetown University and had been employed at Schuster and McClure, a PR firm in the District of Columbia.

Lily looked at the new photograph on the screen before her. Her father looked so young. Only a few years older than herself. Lauren was pretty, had perfect posture, and was staring into the camera like a dare; her dress was all frills and white froth, the material of the dress ruched in large poofs at the shoulders, a crown of satin flowers around the lush brunette curls on her head. She looked like someone Lily wouldn't have dared talk to back in high school. She looked nothing like Lily's mother.

Lauren Edith Williams, she wrote down, and stared at the paper in front of her.

XxXxXxXxXxX

October 21, 2018

Lily was on the bus when she noticed him. It was his age that first drew her attention. Most everyone that rode this route (it went right into campus) was either a student or a professor, and something about him seemed the antithesis of scholarly. He had a sharp face, was dressed in loose clothing, a plain, black ball cap pulled low over his head. His knee bounced where he sat. She thought she could make out a tattoo curling onto the skin under the sleeve of his jacket. He could have been custodial staff for all she knew, but her parents had raised her to trust her instincts, and something inside of her pinged.

He hadn’t so much as looked in her direction, but she reached up and pulled the cord that requested a stop anyway, keeping him in her periphery when the bus rolled to the next stop. She was five blocks further away than she would have liked -- she was supposed to meet Travis just off campus for lunch. The man didn't move or rise from his seat. Nevertheless, she ducked out of the back door and onto the sidewalk, shouldering her purse and pretending to look at her phone. Only when the bus left with the man still on it would she exhale. The bus had just started to roll forward when it chirped to a stop and the front doors opened. The man in the cap trotted down the steps and onto the sidewalk, glancing briefly at her before turning and walking slowly west. Adrenaline awash in her bloodstream, she turned east.

The man had had a nondescript face. He was of average height and build, not someone you'd notice. She wracked her brain trying to remember when or if she'd seen him before, and had a hazy recollection of someone who might have been him: waiting outside of Travis's dorm when she'd come to visit him a couple days prior, or maybe even standing behind her in line at a coffee shop the day before. She should have been paying closer attention. Her parents had taught her to pay closer attention. Up until she'd done a search on her father and his ex-wife, she had. Lily silently cursed at herself.

She looked at her reflection in the shop windows along Grand River Avenue, trying to catch a glimpse behind her. She caught movement, but there were plenty of other people walking up and down the sidewalk. She needed a better look.

She swung up the stairs of the Student Union when she came to it a moment later, remembering walking in with her brother and dad only the month before, and felt the sharp pang of guilt.

When she reached the top of the staircase, she stopped to retie her shoe, glancing back behind her as she did so. The man in the cap was there, and had paused a ways away, looking down at his phone. Lily finished fiddling with her shoe and casually walked to the door, holding it open for a girl who was coming out, her heart hammering in her chest as she did so. Through the large doorway was a wide set of stairs going both up and down. When the door closed behind her, she bolted down the stairs to her right. There were a number of study spaces and she could pass through each one fairly quickly -- the day was busy and there were students everywhere; if she was lucky she could get lost in the crowd.

She ducked through the main lounge and past the small coffee shop on the lower level, looking behind her. She saw nothing, but that didn't mean he still wasn't coming. Seeing the full racks of clothing in the Spirit Shop across the hallway, she went inside, bending down to pretend to look at a few items on the bottom shelf.

Peering through underneath the hanging shirts, she watched as the man in the black cap came down the hallway outside of the shop and paused, turning toward it. Her heart leapt to her throat. He did a slow turn and then turned to keep walking. She kept her head down.

From the corner of her eye she caught her own reflection in the mirror outside the tiny dressing room -- she was wearing a bright blue shirt and her hair -- as bright and reflective as a stop sign, and always a part of herself she was fond of -- would give her away.

She stood, scanning the hallway outside the shop, and then she hastily pulled a green knit cap off a nearby shelf and pulled the tag off, shoving it over her head and tucking her hair up under it as quickly as she could. She grabbed a large tee shirt off the rack nearest her and took it plus the hat's tag to the counter, pulling some cash that her parents always had her carry out and plunking it on the counter.

"I don't need a receipt, thanks," she told the young woman helping her, and turned away.

"But what about your change?" the girl called after her.

"Tip jar," she said, turning back and keeping her voice low.

Once outside the store, she pulled the tee shirt over her head and made her way for the lower level exit that emptied onto campus. Seeing no one behind her, she took the steps out as fast as they would carry her and ran.

XxX

Darlene narrowed her eyes at Lily, and opened the door. “Quickly,” she said.

“Thanks,” Lily said, as Darlene let her into the house, peering around the block. “I didn’t want to use the phone.”

“I get it,” Darlene replied as she ushered Lily into her kitchen, where Lily sank onto one of the stools that sat before the peninsula of the counter.

"You want a lemonade or something, kiddo?" Darlene asked, leaning forward against the counter herself and giving Lily an expectant look -- there was more to it than just polite hospitality.

"No, thanks," Lily said, feeling the weight of Darlene's gaze and her own guilt in equal measure.

"Did you do something stupid?" Darlene asked outright and Lily, taken aback, sat up straighter, but didn't answer, thus confirming Darlene's clear suspicion. "How bad?"

"I think they found us."

Darlene huffed a breath. "Elaborate," she said.

"I... I ran a search. A couple days ago, in the university library. I was careful, but maybe not careful enough."

"What did you search?"

"My dad's ex-wife."

Darlene gave a low whistle. "Kiddo," she said, a statement.

"I know."

"Have you considered just asking him about her?"

Lily hugged herself.

"I have. I did. But… I wanted to know. For me. I don't want his version of this woman. I wanted to see for myself who she was. Is."

Darlene moved to the window and peered out, lowering the blinds as she did so. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Lily once again felt a pang of guilt. She looked down. "Not really."

Darlene moved around the counter to a sideboard table on the dining room side of the counter and began shuffling through a drawer.

"What makes you think they found you?" she asked.

"I think there's someone following me," Lily said, "I think maybe I’ve seen him a couple of times on campus, but I don’t know. I lost him and came here."

"Just one someone?"

Lily began to second guess herself.

"I think so?"

When Darlene straightened from the sideboard she was holding a pistol.

"Call your father right now, and tell him to get over here. Armed." Darlene's words were cold and calm. Lily's stomach dropped in her gut.

She reached for Darlene's phone, a relic from another time which hung on the wall, its cord coiled like a snake.

Darlene walked to the sliding glass door as she dialed the numbers, each tone sounding long and drawn out, Darlene pulled the long curtains closed with a snap.

"Dad?" Lily said, when Mulder answered.

"Hey Lil!" he sounded so relaxed, excited just to talk to her though he'd seen her that morning.

"Dad, I'm at Darlene's. She says to get over here. She said to bring your gun."

She heard his sharp inhale. “I’m coming,” he said, and then she heard a dial tone.

"Lily," said Darlene, walking over to her computer, which was booted up and sitting on her dining room table, cords snaking out of it and across the floor. She quickly typed hunt-and-peck with her right hand, the gun still clutched in her left. "I want you to go into the top right drawer in my dresser. In a small lockbox, code 9-10-9-3, you'll find an old Nokia phone. It should be fully charged. It’s untraceable. Do not turn it on. Take it. Put it somewhere safe -- your bra or your sock or underwear. Then get under my bed."

Lily walked to the hallway, her body on autopilot, her heart hammering and her blood roaring in her veins.

Darlene finished typing, clicked a few things with her mouse and then peeked an eye out the closed curtain toward the backyard, tapping the gun against the side of her thigh.

Pausing in the hallway, Lily turned back to Darlene.

"Is someone coming?" Lily asked.

"Kid," Darlene said, shooting her a look, "they're already here."