#grant x julia

[cabe0512]

Basically The Curse of Darkness in a nutshell...

Hector: If I had a garden, I would put my tulips and your tulips together.

Rosalie: *blushes intensely* Oh my!

Grant: If I had a garden, you would be my hoe.

Julia: *facepalms while blushing uncontrollably* This idiot...

[zagreustomb]

I NEED A MOON KNIGHT FIC INSPIRED BY THE SONG JUNO BY SABRINA CARPENTER OH MY GOOODD

[egregiously-grim]

Sanuso Notting Hill au, only for the “I’m just a girl standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her” scene

[boasamishipper]

i’m now two thousand words into a macheresin notting hill au because @the-hard-deck is a horrible influence (affectionate)

[somedayillbepeterpan]

I need this

HELP I NEED A POLIN FIC WRITER’S HELP

I JUST HAD A FANTASTIC IDEA

A POLIN FIC BUT NOTTING HILL MODERN AU

PEN IS A FAMOUS WRITER

COLIN RUNS A TRAVEL BOOKSHOP

AND IT REVOLVES AROUND HIM (ALL HIS FRIENDS WOULD BE LIKE KATE AND ANTHONY AS BELLA AND MAX AND SPIKE WOULD BE ELOISE PROBABLY AND BENEDICT WOULD BE BERNIE AND HONEY WOULD BE HYACINTH) FALLING IN LOVE WITH HER

AND OF COURSE IT ENDS WITH THIS

(But also this scene)

[aestheticaltcow]

Hi

I read some of your stuff and really liked it and I was wondering

If you could do like a carmy x English major fic?

Like maybe a book store opens somewhere near the bear and it’s Natalie’s babies first birthday and he figures that kids like books and stuffed animals and he’s been too busy to get anything for the party cuz he’s helping Natalie by catering so she doesn’t have to worry about it

So he goes in and he meets reader and she recommends him something (like stellaluna or where the wild things are, like a classic kids book that carmy has somehow never heard of)

But then he thinks she’s really cute so he just keeps finding excuses to go in and talk to her and she starts like regularly recommending him books and everyone’s like “when the fuck did he learn how to read?”

No pressure just thought I’d ask, tysm!

Written Romance

Carmy Berzatto x Reader

The Bear Masterlist

 “What do you even get a one-year-old?” Marcus queried as he looked down at the pastel-fruit-decorated birthday invitation. Michelle Witaske-Berzatto’s Berry's first birthday was this upcoming Sunday, and of course, the entire Bear staff was invited.

Carmy shrugged, “Last time I babysat, she played with a paper towel roll for 45 minutes.” he chuckled, remembering his niece squealing as she threw it in the air as much as her chubby little arms could. While he had become one of Natalie’s go-to babysitters, his apartment lacked baby-friendly activities. He’d busted out a couple of his old stuffed animals from Donna’s garage, and he had a couple of soft blankets for her to sit on, but aside from that- he was the awkward uncle who didn’t know what to talk about with a baby. He did like reading about French cuisine with her, but Sugar argued she preferred the story books Donna and their Nona used to read them when they were little. Carmy insisted she was actually a huge Julia Child fan, but his opinion was written off.

Carmy was taking out the trash when he noticed a new bookstore had opened a few storefronts down. He paused before throwing the bags in the dumpster; he’d have to check it out on his break.

~

It had been a slow day in the bookshop, granted days like this were nice since you were behind on homework. You were on a hot streak with your writing when the welcome bell rang, signaling you had a customer. After mentally cursing their existence, you closed your laptop and looked up to see a handsome man. Black Dickie work pants, crisp white t-shirt, and Birkenstock clogs with a reusable tote bag on his shoulder. You bit your cheek as you watched this mystery man approach the counter. “Hey, how can I help you?” your voice cracked subtly enough for him not to notice- or at least not indicate he heard it crack.

“Do you have any children’s section and recommendations?” he asked hopefully. “Well, that depends,” you started as you walked around the counter. “How old is the kiddo?” you asked as you walked toward the back of the shop, motioning him to follow you. 

“She’s one.” Carmy answered, following you through a narrow hallway made up of two overstuffed bookshelves. You nodded, “Well, my nephew loved Stellaluna when he was little- so that’s my go-to.” 

Carmy nodded, “Okay.. any others? It’s her birthday, so wanna get her somethin’ fun.” he explained as you handed him a copy of Stellaluna, “Is this about bats?” he asked as he held up the book to you. You laughed and nodded, “It’s charming- it’s about embracing differences and how different people can be friends.”

You directed Carmy through the children’s section for about an hour. Carmy held a pile of colorful picture books and a copy of a fairy series you’d recommended for when Michelle got older. “You’re really into this, aren’t you?” Carmy asked as he set the pile of books on the counter. You nodded as you began ringing up his purchase, “I’m getting my Master’s in English Lit.”

Carmy smiled, “That’s cool.” 

“Thanks… what about you? Are you passionate about your work?” you challenged as you put each book in a paper bag. “Passion is a subjective experience… I’m a chef- I actually own The Bear.” he laughed, gesturing toward the exit. “Is it nearby? Sorry, I don’t go out to eat often.” you grimaced, hoping you hadn’t offended him. Carmy nodded, “It’s across the street a few doors down.” 

“I’ll check it out sometime.” you smiled, handing him his bag. Carmy nodded, “Sure thing. I’m Carmy, by the way.” 

“Y/N. I hope the little one likes her books.”

“I’ll be her favorite uncle for sure.” 

~

It took a few weeks for Natalie to notice, Carmy was happier. When she went to pick Michelle up she noticed an ever growing stack of children’s books, coloring books, and his not ratty old stuffed animals from Donna’s garage. Something was goin’ on… she just didn’t know what. 

“Is Carmy dating someone?” she asked Syd one night when they were alone in the office. She shrugged, “Honestly, I don’t want to know about his love life.” she laughed at the end. The sheer obscurity of Carmy having a girlfriend after the Claire saga was something Syd didn’t want to wrap her head around. “He’s been going to that bookshop a lot- if he is seeing someone, she probably works there.” Syd thought aloud as Natalie hit print on the document she’d been working on. 

“Hm. Interesting…”. “Natalie trailed off as she exited the office with the paperwork and a pen. She walked into the dining room to get Richie to sign off on an order. She watched him squeeze the bridge of his nose at the host stand. “Stressed?” Natalie commented as she set the documents in front of Richie. Yeah… where’s Carmy? I need to ask him about the menu for next week.” 

Natalie shrugged, “Not sure. He said he had to run an errand?” 

Richie shook his head, “I swear that child is tryin’ to get with this girl- mother fucker learned how to read to impress her. Marcus saw him reading some philosophy book in the office last night.” 

“Hm. I guess I’ll just have to ask him about it.”

[tightjeansjavi]

My Dearest,

A/N: so, while I was in Galena for my girls trip this weekend…my friend and I went into a bookstore and that’s where the inspiration struck! Ulysses Grant wrote letters to his wife (My Dearest Julia) from June 4th, 1844 to February 2, 1854. Of course I immediately had to throw Joel into the narrative, with a twist ;) please have your tissue boxes at the ready for this one and remember, fiction can’t hurt you! Also, big thank you and kisses to @beardedjoel for sobbing along with me while I wrote these series of letters 💘 P.S I know California wasn’t founded as a state until 1850…but let’s just pretend!

~word count: 1.9k~

Summary: a series of letters written by Joel Miller, a hopeless romantic yearning for your embrace once more.

Pairing | forbidden love!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: angst, allusion to smut, infertility, pining, hopeless romantic, unrequited love, forbidden love, major character death, alcoholism, death by alcohol poisoning, yearning, no age gap, mentions of social status, somewhat historically accurate language, no happy ending, reader has no physical descriptions, readers nickname is my dearest, +18 minors dni! (If I missed anything, please let me know!)

June 4th, 1844

My Dearest,

I am deeply remorseful for the events that transcribed three days ago. I know I have put you in an undesirable situation now with your father’s wishes for your arranged marriage to the rich banker's son. Forgive me, for I don’t care to remember his name. My dearest, do not put the blame upon yourself. If we had known that there were prying, hateful eyes watching us, I would have waited for you in the stables and not inside your chambers. Jealously drives even the sanest of people to do the unforgivable. The deep wounds your father has inflicted upon me will heal, but my heart? Oh, how it aches for you, my dearest. If I were not a coward, I would turn back and face the gallows just to see your face one last time, for what else is a man to do when he is in love? I’m heading west, like we planned in the gardens, in hopes that you will follow me and go against your father’s wishes. Please write to me soon, tell me that you are safe, and grace me with your sweet words.

Your devoted Joel.

-

July 13, 1844

My Dearest,

California is beautiful and my eyes are seeing the ocean for the very first time. I wonder what your view is? Last I heard you were moving to New York. Is it true? Please tell me it’s a lie. I would be naive to think that what is written in the papers to be false, but my heart is still holding on. Are you moving to New York because of me? I’m so sorry, my dearest. We should have been more careful. I can still smell your perfume, and feel the ghost of your lips on my skin. I am no poet, but if I was, perhaps your father would think highly of me.

I dream of you even in the daytime.

Please write to me, dearest.

J.M

-

September, 7th 1844

My Dearest,

There is a sweetness on my tongue that I have not felt the indulgence of for many moons and suns. I worried that I would never hear from you again, that I would become another distant memory fading into ash. I forbade this from happening, dearest. We are thousands of miles apart, and all I wish for is to see your face once more. Do you wish for the same, dearest? To see your Joel, to feel his warm embrace? Please don’t forget me, please. I know in your heart that you still feel for me. California calls your name as it did mine. Come back to me, dearest.

Yours most affectionately,

Joel

-

January 12th, 1845

My Dearest,

I have not heard from you in months and my heart cannot bare it any longer. Why do you not write to me, dearest? I’ve enrolled in classes, maybe I’ll even become the next great American author! Would your father accept me then, if I was no longer a penniless man? I think he would. Your father is a very simple man in those regards. If only my status in society didn’t matter. Do you lie awake in bed and think of me, dearest? Does your dream state float off to the thoughts of your Joel? My dearest, my love for you has not changed, only grown stronger. Has yours for me felt all the same?

Joel

-

July 11th, 1845

My Dearest,

I write to you with a heavy heart and an anger that has never once possessed me. Please tell me it isn’t true. That you have fallen for another, the rich banker's son? It cannot be true. The papers lie, dearest. Your heart belongs to me, does it not? It must. You promised! You said that no matter what happened, no matter the consequences, we would end up together. You spoke those words so sweetly upon my ear when I laid beneath your sheets, dearest. Back in Texas, in your abandoned home, the stench of me still lingers. When you receive this letter, close your eyes and imagine me there with you, wherever that may be. I’ll come to New York, I swear it. I’ll come find you!

Please, write to me soon, dearest. Do not allow this to be the end of our story, I beg of you.

Yours always,

Joel Miller

-

October, 1845

My Dearest,

This morning I write to you about the thoughts of reminiscing on our love. Something so sweet, fresh, ripened, but not yet spoiled. Do you remember the night we first met? We were just children then. All bright eyed and filled with curiosity. I remember the bows in your braided hair, your mother scolding you for them, slapping your cheek and yanking them from your braids. You wept with your face buried in your hands, and I comforted you. Your mother taught you how to curtsey, how to engage in small talk and forced you to wear those unbreathable garments that you hated so. I showed you how to run, to make mud pies and swim in the river. Do you remember the night of our first kiss? The first time our lips touched and my life held a meaning again? The foul mouthed, stable hand boy winning the affections of a girl such as you. If I bring my fingers to my lips now, I can feel your kiss there, too. I moved back to Texas, dearest. I wanted to feel closer to you. Write to me soon, and in your letter tell me that you wish for me to come to New York to be with you.

I am inconsolable without your presence at my side.

Yours devotedly,

Joel Miller

P.S. Every night I pray to the moon and stars that we will be in one another’s embrace very soon. I have never been a religious man by any means, but I find myself praying for you, my dearest.

-

March 29th, 1846

My Dearest,

It is spring once again, and everything is in bloom! A new family has moved into your abandoned home, and I am back to my roots. I have given up my dreams to be an author, but I write to you, still. I missed being around the horses more than you could possibly imagine. There’s a piece missing here, and that piece is you. The new family I work for has a daughter around your age. She’s pretty, beautiful even, but she’s not you, my dearest. She’ll never be you. Her hair isn’t the right length, her eyes the wrong shade, her laugh isn’t yours, her mannerisms are all wrong. She yearns for my affections, but my heart belongs to another. I will not commit adultery against you, my sweet. Even in my loneliest hours, I will not give into my sins against you. She would make a fine wife, and her parents are unlike your own, but she will never be you, and she will never possess my heart.

I yearn for you.

Your Joel

-

July 2nd, 1846

My Dearest,

I write to you with sweat dripping down my brow. I cannot sleep, the Texas heat has played a cruel trick upon my mind. I awoke to your voice, whispering my name through the billowing curtains. I taste your sweet kiss and the oncoming summer storm, but you are not here. Am I going insane? I fear that I am. What is the weather like in New York? Write to me soon, I beg of you.

Joel Miller

-

September 23rd, 1847

My Dearest,

I am facing my loneliest night yet, and I picture you laying beside me beneath my sheets. I have scrapped up enough money to finally buy you a ring! Isn’t that the most wonderful news? Tomorrow evening, after supper, I will head into town to the jewelers and buy you a ring that shines more brilliantly than the heavens above. You’ll wait for me, won’t you? Promise me that you will.

With love,

Your Joel

-

January, 1848

My Dearest,

Today is the day where I wish I never awoke. I wish to stay in a sweet slumber where my dreams are filled with you. You cannot marry him, please. Tell your father that you don’t accept the banker's son’s hand in marriage! He will never know you as I do, my dearest. He will never satisfy you the way that I can. He will turn his nose up at your politics, your drinking habits, your antics and wildness. But I love you as so. Come back to me, runaway with me. I can give you so much happiness if you only let me. How will your husband to-be react when he finds that you cannot bear him children? When the marriage is to be consummated, and he strips you of your skirts and touches you where only I have been, how will he feel? I worry for you, my dearest. I remember the night that we first became one. Do you still think of the way I moved in you? I still feel the phantom crescents of your nails in my back. I wish the marks left there were permanent, so I would always have a piece of you with me. Tell me that you remember the way that my kisses feel, my taste on your tongue, my voice, my body moving with yours. There was a time when you wanted to bear my children, and begged me to fill your womb with my seed. We waited and waited, but your womb never swelled with life no matter how many times we tried. You assumed my feelings for you would sour, but they only grew.

If you accept the banker's son's hand in marriage, I wish to never see the sunrise again.

Joel Miller

-

May 7th, 1848

My Dearest,

I have never wept more than I have this morn. I shredded the papers, I pounded my fists into the earth and spooked every horse in the stable. Even the heavens weep with me, my dearest. Can I even call you that any longer? You wear his ring upon your finger, awake beneath his sheets, smelling of him. I’m sorry, my dearest. I’m sorry I could never be enough for you. I have tried so hard, and have continued to fail. My heart aches, and I wish I could rip it from my chest and stab it till all movement ceases. I wish to not feel any longer. I have lost all hope, and I fear that my attempts to hear from you have been fruitless. My devoted letters are out there, somewhere. Or perhaps you have collected them. Perhaps you did not awaken in his sheets. Perhaps you are on your way back to me. I’ll wait for you, my dearest.

Undoubtedly yours,

Joel Miller

-

June 4th, 1848

My Dearest,

In my loneliest hour, I write to you. If you ever receive this letter, do not weep for me. You and I were cut from a separate cloth since birth. I was not born into wealth. I was not fed from silver spoons. My clothes are tattered, the soles of my boots are worn down. All I have to my name is my penmanship and my memories of you. Think of me sweetly, will you? I wish you only happiness and love. I have turned into a drunk, my dearest. Alcohol soothes my mind, woes, and ailments. I hear your voice so vividly when I am in this state. You’re here beside me now, watching as I write my final letter. I can reach out and touch your cheek, soft, supple. You smell of saccharine honey and lavender fields. Your laugh is my favorite tune, and I can hear it now. Sing me a lullaby, my darling as I close my eyes and dream of you for a final time. If another universe exists, I hope I am rich. I hope I am the wealthiest man who is adored by your mother and father. I hope that on the night we meet again, I present you with a ring forged from my heart, a piece of me that has forever belonged to you. I hope I am fed from a silver spoon, dressed in the finest garments, attend every gala with you on my arm as my lady, my wife, my reason to live. I hope to bless you with as many children as you so desire. I have always loved you, my dearest, from the moment we met, I have been yours.

Farewell,

Your Joel.

Banners made by the lovely @saradika-graphics 💖

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[cabe0512]

Hector: Don't you think calling yourself the "Pirate of the Roads" is just getting your enemies to laugh at you more?

Grant: The way I see it, it's more of a viable strategy, really. Make yourself seem lower to make your enemies seem taller. The higher their pride, the harder they fall. And besides, it's a fair trade; they get to laugh at my name, I get to laugh at their corpses.

Hector: *turns to Julia* He's a bit scary, don't you think?

Julia: *reading a grimoire unbothered* He is. That's what I like about him.

Grant: *smirks slyly* That's not the only thing she likes about me.

Julia: *smacks his head with the grimoire*

[glossdebut]

Take a Bite Ch. 7

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: Your fledgling career as a music journalist is finally going in some kind of direction that must be on the path to success. Your coworkers like you enough to invite you out on Fridays, your boss is starting to think you’re competent enough to let you score a few bylines, and you’re finally getting the hang of InDesign. All of your hard work, late nights, and complete lack of a social life are starting to pay off… Even if it all came at the expense of the longest relationship of your life. Fine. You’ve accepted the fact that romance isn’t for you, under any circumstances. You won’t risk your career for anybody. Not even Min Yoongi.

✧ TAGS: slow burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, producer yoongi, music journalist reader, neighbors to friends to lovers? you’ll see, reader is bad at feelings, reader is post-break up

✧ WARNINGS: copious amounts of FEELINGS both good and bad, theatre references LOL, world-class meddler kim seokjin, yoongi being hopelessly whipped, angst, smut

✧ WORDCOUNT: 10.3k

✧ STATUS: complete

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: WOW. i don't even know what to say... with this chapter, take a bite is officially complete. THANK YOU so much to those of you who have been reading from the very beginning and sending me such kind words. this story means so much to me and i can't believe it's over. thank you again to @love4myg for beta reading this chapter and the last!! everybody go give tanni some love. i love you all! i tried to give this story the ending it deserves so i hope you enjoy the last chapter <3

Chapter 7: Wanna Do It All Over Again

You’re a planner, a scheduler. You keep a minimum of six to-do lists at a time. You do your best work when your week is clearly laid out for you within the confines of the neat little boxes on your calendar. So you allot yourself one day to grieve what could’ve been with Min Yoongi, and that’s it.

Your Sunday is spent wallowing, because Rina doesn’t give you any choice in the matter and you don’t have it in you to put up a fight. She seems a little bit like she’s grasping at straws on how to help you, though.

You don’t blame her. Rina had dropped everything to be by your side when your ex ended things, but the remedy for that was pretty straightforward.

There was the initial crying on your part—the intense and nauseating kind that felt like it would never stop, until Rina held you and it inevitably did. After the tears came the anger, the picking apart of every little argument you’d had with him, every quirk of his that had soured from endearing to annoying, and Rina had no problem talking shit. Anger turned into drinking, and drinking led to falling asleep in a heap together on your couch.

It didn’t magically fix the hollowness inside of you overnight, but it helped. Rina had a patented method to make a broken heart a little more bearable.

A patented method that, unfortunately, doesn’t really apply here. Your heart isn’t broken over a failed situationship. You’ve been crying, sure, but it’s more of a passive sniffle than anything else. You can’t bring yourself to feel angry at Yoongi either. Confused, annoyed, disappointed, stupid—all of those you can feel just fine. But the anger just won’t come.

Desperate, Rina defaults to cliches. Cheesy movies, ice cream, face masks—the stuff straight out of a ‘How To Get Over Your Ex In Ten Easy Steps’ article in a teen magazine. She paints your nails while you stare blankly at Julia Stiles’ face on your TV. You force yourself to believe it’s helping. You have work to do, a deadline to meet. So if you need to watch 10 Things I Hate About You with Rina and cry it out to cleanse your brain of Yoongi, so be it.

You refuse to use a sick day in general, let alone because of a man, but you do grant yourself permission to work from home on Monday. Not because you’re still grieving—that’s what Sunday was for—but because you look like you’ve been run over, dumped into the river and then fished out.

With greasy hair and puffy eyes, you set your phone to do not disturb and hunker down in your bed to write your profile on Yijeong. Despite the burn of your laptop on your thighs, you type and self-edit for hours, pausing only to listen to your recording of Yijeong’s interview and transcribe direct quotes. 

You’re able to churn out a subpar first draft before you burn out around four in the afternoon. Your brain is all over the place, and as a result, the profile is nowhere near where it needs to be. But you don’t have it in you to stare at your laptop screen for any longer. 

Rina slipped out this morning and made herself scarce so you could work, so you’re alone. You decide to shower first and foremost, something you’ve been putting off for far too long, and then maybe order dinner if you want to shell out extra money towards a delivery fee. 

Stretching your legs as you stand, you use some of your few remaining dregs of energy to drag yourself out of bed and into your bathroom, finally shedding yourself of the sweatpants and shirt you’ve been wearing since Sunday morning.

Your mistake is looking in the mirror. The few marks Yoongi made on your body are only just barely beginning to fade, still dark on your skin. You trace a fingertip over the bruise he’d sucked into your breast just days before, so recently that you can still conjure a phantom of the feeling of his lips and teeth on your skin. He’d wanted you so fervently then that you’d been sure at that stupid party that he already felt what you did. That he’d just been waiting for you to catch on. 

You don’t know what you did wrong, what kind of misstep you could’ve made to make Yoongi withdraw so suddenly like he did, but you wish you could take it back.

When you finally emerge from your shower, you’re no more energized than you were when you entered. At the very least, though, you’re clean, and you decide to reward your efforts with tangsuyuk.

When you turn your phone off of do not disturb, you can’t help but hope, just for a moment, that Yoongi has texted you today.

Instead, you find that Seokjin has.

[4:42] Seokjin: If you’re not too busy, can we meet?

The anger that had been missing in action floods your senses all at once. 

Seokjin wants to meet you. Seokjin, who you’ve met once. Meanwhile Yoongi, who allegedly still wants to be your friend, can’t send you a cursory text or, god forbid, walk down the hallway to explain any of this to you.

You are not this girl. You have gone through strenuous effort to build very sturdy, very high walls to ensure that you don’t become this girl—the one who loses sight of what’s important to her for a man who will just fuck her over anyway, leave her high and dry. Disappear with no explanation. Fuck that.

If Yoongi isn’t man enough to let you down easily himself, if he’s going to have Seokjin do it for him, maybe you’re better off without any bullshit excuse. From either of them.

You swipe out of your messages, ordering your hard-earned tangsuyuk first. Once the payment has gone through, you open Seokjin’s message again, fingers shaking as you type out your stilted reply and press send.

[5:03] You: i am too busy. and not interested.

Bitterly, you set your phone back to do not disturb. The delivery driver will knock when your food is here, and you couldn’t care less about whatever Seokjin’s reply could be.

★ ★ ★

The rest of the week goes by in a blur, but now that you’re committed to feeling pissed off, you actually feel a lot better. Maybe it’s the man-hater in you.

You hyperfocus on finishing the profile, the words flowing much easier now that you’re done feeling sorry for yourself. Even when you have to write about Suga and his impact on Yijeong’s career, you aren’t the slightest bit thrown off. By the time you’re done, you’re confident that it’s possibly the best thing you’ve written in a long time, and when you hand it off to Rina for feedback she concurs.

On Wednesday morning, you drop the final draft off on Kevin’s desk for approval, and then spend the next few hours helping out where you’re needed. Everyone in the office is in a frenzy to get the layout of Look Here’s next issue together. You spend your day copy editing and calling sources with last minute follow-up questions. 

When all of the articles are squared away, you lurk by the design team in case they need any extra hands. In return, you get to watch the paginator type your headline onto the front cover, which is… a pretty cool moment for you.

You usually hate the week leading up to print day, but knowing that Yijeong’s profile is going to be on the cover, you revel in the chaos of it.

You’re slightly anxious when Kevin calls you into his office right before quitting time, but you try not to let it get to you too much. You know the profile is good.

“Y/N,” Kevin says, tearing his attention away from his computer as you step into his office. It’s a good sign, you think, that he’s looking you in the eyes this time. “Sit down.”

You sit, immediately tapping your foot to try and calm your nerves. “You wanted to see me?”

“I read your piece,” he says, leaning forward in his chair to rest his elbows on his desk. But he doesn’t say anything else.

Um… Okay.

“And?” you ask meekly. He looks at you seriously, and your heart jumps into your throat.

“It was incredible,” he says. Fuck, thank god. “You should be proud of yourself.”

“Really?” you ask, your whole body relaxing all at once.

“Really,” he insists. “It was well-written, informative, personal. I don’t know how you got him to open up like that, but I hope you can keep doing it.”

You blink at him. “Keep doing it?”

“You can expect more assignments like that starting next week,” Kevin says, smiling at you warmly. Holy fuck. “We’re all very impressed with you. We want to give you bigger responsibilities moving forward.”

“Thank you,” you blurt out, unable to contain your excitement. “Thank you, I won’t let you down.”

“I hope not,” he hums, amused, before turning back to his computer. “Go home and get some rest. Print day tomorrow.”

“I will,” you say, standing up in a flash. You want to call—Rina, you want to call Rina and tell her the good news. “See you tomorrow!”

“Have a good night!” Kevin calls as you leave his office in a hurry.

As you walk back to your desk to grab your bag, it feels more like you’re walking on a cloud. Holy fuck. You were right. This piece was your breakthrough piece, and you proved yourself just like you knew you could. Nothing can bring you down right now.

★ ★ ★

As it turns out, Kim Seokjin is not the kind of guy who takes kindly to being ignored. Based on what you know about him, you probably should’ve been able to figure that out on your own. But you certainly didn’t expect him to ambush you outside of your apartment.

You spotted Seokjin sitting against your door as you made it home from work, although he scrambled to his feet when he noticed you approaching. You wondered how long he’d been sitting there waiting for you to get him. He looked like he was well-prepared to convince you to let him in, a pre-planned speech at the ready, but you didn’t give him the chance, wordlessly letting him inside.

Maybe you were still riding the high of being praised by your boss, but you highly doubted anything Seokjin could say to you would kill your good mood. If he wanted to defend Yoongi’s honor, he was welcome to try. 

Your initial impression of Seokjin was that he was boisterous, silly, and a little bit crude. As you sit across from him, all of that still seems to be true, although he seems intent on doing his very best impression of a longsuffering psychiatrist right now.

He sits primly in the armchair opposite the couch you’ve nestled yourself into, his hands steepled together in his lap as he pulls a serious face. It looks strange on him.

“I’d like to preface by saying that you and Yoongi are both being stupid.”

You blink at him, taken aback, until your expression settles into something unimpressed.

“Nice start,” you say flatly.

“You’re perfect for each other and why both of you are willing to throw it away so quickly is beyond me. It’s giving me a headache,” he continues, rubbing at his temples as if to prove his point. “I’m going to play mediator just this once, and then it’s up to you two to figure it out for yourselves.”

“Does Yoongi know you’re here?”

That makes Seokjin snort. “Are you kidding? He’d try to kill me,” he says, crossing his arms. “No, he doesn’t know I’m here. But he told me what happened, and I think there are some things you deserve to know.”

Yoongi told Seokjin what happened. You can’t help the scoff that escapes your lips. That’s nice for him. You don’t even know what happened. Yoongi certainly didn’t seem to feel obligated to clue you into his reasoning for ending things.

“Why doesn’t he tell me those things himself, then?” you ask bitterly.

“Because he’s stupid,” Seokjin says, snapping his fingers impatiently. “Keep up.”

“Okay,” you sigh, equally impatient. You’ve changed your mind. You want to get this asshole out of your apartment as soon as possible. “We’re both stupid. What is it that I deserve to know?”

“Yoongi-yah may be stupid, but he isn’t a bad person.” 

You sit up straight at that. Is he joking? “What are you, his fucking character witness?”

“I’ve been his best friend for over a decade,” Seokjin snaps, clearly tired of your attitude. As if you aren’t justified in having one. “So if I am his character witness, I’m a pretty fucking good one.”

You open your mouth to say something, something venomous at the tip of your tongue, but Seokjin beats you to it, holding his hand up to silence you. “Can you just be quiet for five minutes and let me say my piece? Please?”

Huffing petulantly, you shrug and lean back into the couch, gesturing for him to continue.

Seokjin visibly regroups. You watch as he sits up a little straighter, shakes off the irritation, takes a deep breath.

“For as long as I’ve known him, all Yoongi has ever wanted was to make something of himself,” Seokjin starts, calmer now. “He loved making music, and he didn’t care about anything else. Least of all himself.”

“I got to know him when we were freshmen in college,” he continues. “I’d heard about him from classmates, seen him around, but you know Yoongi. He’s pretty tight-lipped about things, always has been. It’s one of his many faults.”

You scoff, your bitterness cutting through the air. No kidding. That’s how you ended up here, isn’t it? Yoongi’s little omissions, always giving half-truths. The real reason why he ended things with you is just another one to add to the list.

“Anyway,” Seokjin says, his eyes narrowing at you for a moment as he continues. “I was majoring in theatre, and I’d been cast in ‘Into the Woods.’ Yoongi was volunteered by his piano professor to help with the accompaniment, and during our first rehearsal I just remember thinking to myself, ‘who is this scrawny kid who can play Stephen Sondheim with his eyes closed?’”

You wish he’d get to the point already. You’re a sucker for a good backstory, you are. It’s what makes you such a good feature writer. But you’d really like to maintain your resolve in being pissed at Yoongi, if you can help it.

“I was so impressed with him, you know? He does that. He makes everything look so easy. I made it a point to get to know him, and he opened up to me surprisingly fast. I think he needed a friend,” Seokjin continues. “He told me that he was mostly there on scholarships, but he still had to work two jobs to live and pay off the tuition that he did owe. He told me that he utilized the fuck out of the production equipment on campus. He told me that all he wanted to do was make music, and for people to hear it and think it’s worth something.”

Seokjin pauses for a moment, shifting in his chair.

“I think he would’ve done anything to make that happen,” he says, tension in his voice. “I already didn’t like some of the shit he did do, the situations he put himself in, but I think if he knew it could’ve made his dream a reality, he would’ve done much worse.”

Seokjin doesn’t offer up any more information on what exactly Yoongi did, but he doesn’t have to. You gather by the grimace on his face that it must’ve been pretty bad.

“Obviously he made it anyway. You know who he is now,” he says, pausing for a moment. He looks at you seriously. “That comes with its own set of issues, though.”

“Like what?” you ask, disbelieving. 

You feel bad for Yoongi, you do. At least for what he must’ve went through in the past. You know what it’s like to struggle, to feel like you can’t possibly reach your goals with the resources available to you. You’re experiencing that currently. 

But Yoongi is extremely successful now. Artists trip over themselves to get a song from him because they know it’ll chart, that people will go crazy for it. His track record is that good. How hard can it be, living like that? Having people think so highly of you?

“Like people taking advantage of him at every turn,” he says, his words blunt. “People pretending to care about him to get close to him. Even going so far as dating him. Long-term. Or at least as long as it takes to produce an album.”

Oh.

“…Suran?” you guess, thinking back to the party Saturday night. The way Suran kept touching Yoongi, like there had been something there. Yoongi didn’t seem all that uncomfortable, but he’s got a killer poker face. Could Suran be that kind of person?

“What?” Seokjin asks, bewildered. “No, Suran was just a casual thing. He told you about Suran?”

“I met her. Saturday,” you say, waving a hand dismissively. “They seemed close.”

“That’s been done for years. Yoongi cares about Suran, but it isn’t like that anymore,” he insists, shaking his head. “It was someone else. It’s not my place to say who, but it’s the only time I’ve ever seen Yoongi in love like that. Or at all, honestly. He brought her around all of us, which is a big deal for him. Wrote songs for her. Like, not just for her album, but for her. About her.”

“What happened?” you ask despite yourself. You can feel your resolve crumbling, curiosity getting the best of you. Fuck.

“They were out celebrating finishing the album,” he says. “She wanted to go for a walk after dinner. Kissed him in the middle of the street. The next morning, he woke up to pictures of it all over the internet. She’d texted him, too, breaking it off. It didn’t take much brain power to figure out she orchestrated the whole thing.”

You feel a pang in your chest. As hurt as you are, you also know that Yoongi couldn’t have possibly deserved that. Nobody does.

“He threw himself into his work after that—almost never left the studio. Barely ate or showered,” Seokjin says. “I had to put a stop to it. He was going to overwork himself to death, if I didn’t. I had to help him dig himself out of that hole.”

You chew on your bottom lip for a moment, doing your best to ignore how much that sounds like you. How Yoongi was the one beginning to dig you out.

“That sucks,” you say finally. “But I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“Come on, Y/N. You’re smarter than that,” Seokjin huffs. Big talk from the man who’s been calling you stupid this whole time. “Yoongi hasn’t dated anyone since then. Hasn’t even shown interest. Until you.”

“That’s not what it was, between us,” you insist. “I thought, maybe…” Maybe it could’ve been, you think. You shake your head to snap yourself out of it. “But he ended it.”

“Because he’s stupid,” Seokjin says. “Because he got hurt, and it made him stupid, and when you asked him if he could get you an interview with Yijeong, he was scared that was your endgame.”

What?

Yoongi thinks you were using him? What the fuck????

“I wouldn’t—“ you start, but Seokjin cuts you off. 

“Why do you think I’m here?” he asks, his gaze piercing through you. “You think I couldn’t tell you were going to fall in love with him the moment I met you? The moment I saw you two together?”

Your throat tightens and you have to tear your eyes away from Seokjin. Love is a big word. One you’re not quite ready to contend with, not now.

“…I like Yoongi,” you manage. You can admit that now, even if Yoongi himself never got the chance to hear it. “But just because he got hurt once upon a time, it doesn’t automatically make the way he ended things with me okay.”

“Just talk to him,” Seokjin pleads.

“Look, I listened to what you have to say,” you say, standing up from the couch. “And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t change some things. But I don’t know if I want to talk to him, okay? Maybe it’s better that it’s ended before we got anywhere serious, if we’re both so fucked up over the past.”

“Y/N—“

“Seokjin, I have work in the morning. I appreciate you coming over to tell me all of this, but I’d really like it if you left now.”

You don’t give him much of a choice in the matter. He’s overstayed his welcome. You make it abundantly clear that if Seokjin doesn’t use his own two legs to walk himself out of your home, you fully intend to grab him by the scruff of his neck and drag him out yourself. 

Defeated, Seokjin stands up from his chair and makes his way to your front door. You follow close behind, shutting and locking it behind him before he can get another word in.

When you walk back to the couch, you catch Rina poking her head out into the living room. 

Shit. You hadn’t even known she was home.

Wordlessly, you sink back into the couch, emotionally exhausted. Rina sits with you, repositioning you so your head is in her lap, running her fingers through your hair soothingly. 

You both sit in silence for a few minutes, but you can practically hear the gears turning in Rina’s head. She’s been biting her tongue since Saturday night, being supportive when you needed it, but not pushing. But she was just in your bedroom that whole time, and Seokjin isn’t exactly quiet. You can only imagine what she heard. You brace yourself.

Finally, she breaks the silence.

“He can play Sondheim with his eyes closed?” she asks.

All of the tension seeps out of you at once. You should’ve known better. Of course Rina won’t push you in either direction. She’s your best friend, your Seokjin. Her loyalties will always be with you, and she knows that you need to process everything on your own. 

But she’s also a theatre kid.

“Apparently,” you huff, closing your eyes.

“…That’s really hot.”

You laugh, reaching up to swat at her shoulder. “Not helpful.”

“What are you going to do?” she asks, her voice gentle.

That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? What are you going to do? Seokjin made a strong case for Yoongi, but you’re still mad about how everything played out. You trusted Yoongi this whole time to be honest with you, but you keep being made aware, over and over, of how much he keeps to himself. You aren’t sure if you want to fight to be let in, if it’s worth it. You want it to be.

“I don’t know,” you say finally.

Rina hums, continuing to stroke your hair.

“...Do you wanna watch ‘Into the Woods’?” she asks.

You snort softly, sitting up to grab the remote.

“Only if it’s the one with Bernadette Peters.”

★ ★ ★

When Yoongi got his very first long-term gig as a producer, Namjoon brought him a potted plant as a studio-warming gift. 

Yoongi thought it was stupid at first, because his studio didn’t have any windows—windows would compromise the integrity of the soundproofing—so the plant would have zero chance of survival. And why was Kim Namjoon buying him a plant anyway? New headphones would’ve been better, Yoongi told him. 

But Namjoon had laughed and insisted that the plant—a dracaena, apparently—was extremely resilient. That it could still thrive in the darkness.

“That’s why I got it for you, hyung,” Namjoon had told Yoongi. “It reminded me of you.”

Needless to say, Yoongi became obsessed with the thing.

It was just a small little cutting, just barely starting to grow on its own, so Yoongi researched how to properly care for it and took all of the necessary steps to ensure it would succeed, even in his dimly lit studio. 

He watered it, pruned it, measured its growth. He sent Namjoon pictures of it on a weekly basis. He named it—Eodumie, thank you very much. 

It took a while, but eventually, Eodumie started to die. Yoongi didn’t know why, so he started doing research on dracaena. He’d put so much effort into helping it grow, so it only seemed sensible to figure out why things had taken a turn for the worse. Run into a problem, find a solution.

Yoongi very quickly found out that Namjoon was a little bit dumb, and that the only ‘plants’ that grow in complete darkness are mushrooms. But he still felt like he’d failed. 

When Yoongi is really upset and can’t stop turning a problem over in his head, he resorts to extremely heavy-handed metaphors to help himself make sense of things. 

So all of that is to say, Yoongi has a tendency to kill things before they have a chance to grow.

He thought, because you didn’t want a relationship, that you were safe from it. And you were, because he really was okay with being your friend. He didn’t expect any more from you.

But then you asked him if he wanted to have sex with you, and… Well, everything changed then, didn’t it? Not because he couldn’t keep things casual anymore—if that’s what you wanted, he would do it. He would try. You make it so hard for him to say no to you.

No, everything changed because Yoongi is an overthinker by nature. He’s attuned to the rhythm of the world around him, notices patterns where others don’t. Especially when he’s seen them before.

He gave you his mouth, and then you wanted more. He gave you more, and then you wanted a favor. He gave you your favor, and then Suran gave you his identity. You had your favor, and his identity, and then you were all over him, and Yoongi knows what happens next. He’s heard that song before.

Shit, Yoongi’s made that song before, unwittingly. And he’s not interested in writing another duet just for it to sour like the last one.

Metaphors, again.

The point is, he cut it off before he was in too deep. Sex complicates things. For him. It blurs the lines, and he’d much rather do you professional favors when he’s not also seeing you naked. It’s the only way he can keep being your friend, and that’s what you want.

Seokjin thinks he’s being an idiot. Seokjin can suck his cock. Yoongi was doing what he thought was right.

He hadn’t expected to hear from you. Over the past week he’d thought about reaching out and explaining himself every day. But he wanted to give you space, maybe. Or maybe he still felt a little sore about the whole thing. But then, Friday night, you text him asking him to come over and…  

Now he’s in your apartment.

In all of the weeks he’s known you, Yoongi has never actually been inside your apartment before, he realizes. Is that weird? The closest he’d been was when he picked you up for the party on Saturday. When he’d lingered in your doorway, looking at you in your pretty dress. Fuck, you looked good. He didn’t want to go to that dumb party in the first place, but you in that dress… He wanted to drag you down the hall, get you in his bed. Take it off of you with his teeth. 

It’s devastating that now that Yoongi is finally here, you seem so stiff in his presence. Quiet. Unlike yourself. You’re sitting as far as humanly possible from him on your couch, and Yoongi feels like an asshole. Even when you were literally a stranger, you didn’t feel like this much of a stranger to him. It was instant, the way you’d hit it off. Did Yoongi really make things this way?

“I read your article,” he says, cutting through the silence. Neither of you have spoken since he came in, and the tension is making him antsy. Desperate to break the ice.

What he doesn’t tell you is that he read your article the second it came out this morning, that he’s had alerts on his phone for everything published under your name since the day after he met you. That he drops everything to read it all, no matter what he’s doing.

It was beautiful. It was about one of his best friends, so of course he thought so, but you have such a way with words. It’s another thing you have in common, he thinks. You both have difficulty saying what you feel out loud, but when it comes to work, when you’re writing, it just pours out of you.

“You read my article,” you repeat softly, huffing. Yoongi can’t read the expression on your face, and that bothers him to no end.

“Of course I did,” he replies, brow furrowing in confusion. “I always do. Especially this one.”

“We need to talk,” you say. He watches as you turn your body on the couch, pulling your legs to your chest to face him.

“Okay.”

“I need to talk,” you suddenly correct, voice tight. You take a breath, and then, “Seokjin came over the other night.”

Seokjin… Oh.

Oh, Yoongi’s going to kill him. Brutally. He told Seokjin to keep his nose out of his fucking business and instead of listening and staying out of it, he came over to your apartment? Is he insane? Yoongi’s always thought so, in a mostly loving way, but this is a whole new level of intrusion that he didn’t think Seokjin was capable of, and now he has to die.

“He came here? He had no right—”

“It’s fine,” you say, waving a hand. Yoongi’s unconvinced, but he forces himself to settle, to take a breath. You said you needed to talk, and he’s going to let you. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I was going to text you, so… It’s probably good that he did.”

Yoongi doesn’t see how that could possibly be the case, but he stays quiet. Waits for you to find the right words. 

“This whole past week, I’ve been so… confused,” you start, your eyes fixed on the couch cushion between the two of you. “Confused, and mad at you.”

“I still am, I think,” you continue, lifting your head to look at him. “Mad at you. But I don’t want to be, because I miss you. You said that you still wanted to be friends, but you haven’t exactly put in much of an effort to do that.”

“I wanted to give you space,” Yoongi says. His excuse sounds hollow, even to his own ears.

You shake your head. “You don’t trust me.”

“It’s not that, I just—”

“Let me talk,” you snap, frustrated, and Yoongi’s mouth snaps shut so fast he can hear the click of it. “You don’t trust me, and that’s fine. I get it. But if me asking you for help bothered you so much, you could’ve just told me no instead of assuming that I was using you as some kind of stepping stone and then just breaking things off without explaining.”

There’s nothing Yoongi can say to that. He knows you’re right. He should’ve just said no the second he felt uncomfortable, but it was just so important to you he couldn’t bring himself to not help you.

“I get why your brain immediately went there, but I’m not going to apologize or act guilty or anything like that. Because I wasn’t using you,” you say firmly, crossing your arms. “Shit, Yoongi, all the times you’ve offered to help me I’ve tried to stop you. My car? But then the one time I come to you first, you assume the worst and shut me out. It’s not fair.”

“I know,” Yoongi says, looking down at his hands. “I’m sorry.”

He feels like the world’s biggest piece of shit. For someone usually so observant, he suddenly feels like he’s been blind this whole time. You’ve done nothing but be upfront with him about what you wanted, and still he assumed you were pulling one over on him. He’s spent the past week feeling justified, feeling like he’d done the right thing, but your words have made his entire mindset shift in an instant.

“The night of the party, I…” you trail off. And then you laugh, which makes Yoongi look back up at you. “Yijeong told me I was special. He said that you hadn’t been to an industry event in years, even when he asked you to. I didn’t know that.”

“It was important to you,” he mumbles, sheepish. He didn’t know Yijeong had said anything about him to you. Looking back now, he realizes how stupid that is. His friends are all world-class meddlers. Clearly they need to be, if Yoongi’s this fucking dense.

“See? That right there,” you say, frustrated. “I thought, maybe… I thought you had feelings for me. Non-platonic, romantic feelings. And for the first time since my ex… Did I ever tell you what happened with him?” you ask.

Yoongi had read between the lines. He knew that your ex had a problem with how demanding your job was, and that it’d ended badly, but beyond that he doesn’t know any details.

He shakes his head.

“We were together for almost four years. Almost all through college,” you start. “He met my parents. I met his. After we graduated, we moved in together. In this apartment, actually.”

Yoongi watches you glance around your living room. He knows that look. Years later, he still remembers what his apartment, his studio looked like when they were occupied by someone else. He remembers every detail. 

“I thought we were going to get married eventually. We’d talked about it.” You pull your knees tighter to your chest, looking down. “I got my first job at some shitty newspaper. I worked insane hours and it barely paid anything, but it was a start. I was over the moon about it.”

He holds his breath, waiting for what he knows comes next. 

“He broke up with me after two months,” you say, your voice wavering. “He said it was because he barely saw me, that he didn’t want to be in a relationship with me if my job was going to be more important than us. It took him less than a week to move out. Four years down the drain.”

Fuck. It’s awful, watching you relive your pain and not being able to do anything but listen. Because Yoongi hurt you, too. He’s the reason you’re digging this up, that you’re feeling it all over again.

Yoongi looks down, picks at his left thumbnail as he listens. He can’t bring himself to look at you.

Your ex is an idiot, he thinks bitterly. How could someone spend four years watching the way you glow when you talk about writing and throw that away?

“I blamed myself. Why wouldn’t I? He told me it was my fault,” you say. “I haven’t been interested in a relationship since. Why try if I clearly don’t have time for it? The thought of you having feelings for me…”

He hears you suck in a breath, braces himself. He thought he’d done a good job of hiding how he felt about you, even after the sex. But he’d made you uncomfortable anyway. Of course.

“It made me want to try,” you say softly.

Yoongi’s head snaps up, his eyes meeting yours. It’s almost insane, the way his heart starts racing in his chest at just the slightest glimmer of hope. You realized how he felt—feels—about you, and you wanted to try? He wants to interrupt you, to ask what that means, but he holds his tongue. 

“I think maybe I’ve had feelings for you this whole time,” you continue, looking down at your knees again. “And I just didn’t want to admit it to myself. But when Yijeong told me all of that… I mean, fuck, Yoongi. We weren’t even speaking and you read my article. You helped me even though you thought I was just using you to get ahead. When I hadn’t seen you for weeks, instead of thinking I was a bad friend, you offered up your studio so we could work in complete silence together.”

He would do anything. He would do anything to see you glow. That first night in that horrible Western bar you’d both been dragged to, the way you puffed up with pride when you told him where you work—that’s all he ever wants to see.

“I was going to tell you,” you say. “After the party, I was going to tell you. But then you ended things, and I… I didn’t know why.”

Yoongi needs to salvage this. He needs to know if there’s anything left, if you could ever forgive him for being such a stupid, prideful ass. He hopes.

“Y/N…” he starts, but you cut him off.

“You do this thing where you only give me half-truths about shit, and it drives me crazy,” you say, pointing a finger at him in frustration. “All of the secrecy about your job, who you are, how close you are to Yijeong, why you ended things with us. It seriously makes me want to kill you sometimes.”

You’re right. He prides himself on being an honest person, but he kept things from you on purpose. He didn’t want to let you in fully, to let you see him. He didn’t want to get hurt. But none of that was worth hurting you. He’s going to fix this. He’s going to try. 

“Then let me clear some things up,” Yoongi says, sitting up straighter. 

He scoots closer, closing some of the space between you on the couch.

Yoongi has never been good at talking about his feelings, not out loud. In songs that will ultimately be sang by other people, sure, but doing it like this makes him squeamish. He’ll get over it, though. You need to hear this. 

“I’m an idiot,” he says seriously, looking into your eyes. “I’m an idiot for thinking you would do that to me. I was scared and stupid, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I assumed the worst of you, and that I kept things from you, and that I ended things so suddenly. My past isn’t an excuse. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I should’ve been more open with you, so I’m going to try. Okay?”

You nod once, and he takes it as his cue to continue.

“You were right,” he says, reaching to take one of your hands in his. He intertwines your fingers, staring down at them as he speaks. “About me having feelings for you.”

He hears a sharp intake of breath. He doesn’t know what that means, can’t bring himself to look at you until he’s done verbalizing all of this, but he hopes it’s a good thing.

“I was happy to be your friend,” he continues. “I didn’t expect anything more from you. But yeah, Y/N, I’d be crazy not to have feelings for you. You’re incredible, you know? You’re so smart, so driven, so insanely sexy. I was a goner the moment you introduced yourself to me with a handshake.”

You pull your hand from his, and for a moment he panics, until he looks up to see you using it to cover a tiny laugh. Your eyes are glassy, and although Yoongi hates the idea of making you cry, he feels relieved to know that it’s likely not out of sadness.

“I’m so, so sorry that I hurt you,” he reiterates, pulling your hand back into his and squeezing it. “I never meant to, but I did, and that’s not okay. But if I didn’t completely wreck my chances and you still want to try, I… I promise I’ll do better. I won’t keep things from you, I won’t act without considering your feelings, I’ll do better with all of it.”

You take another shaky breath, biting down on your bottom lip as you process his words. Yoongi feels like he’s going to have a heart attack, tense and pulled taut, but he waits patiently. 

The ball is in your court now, Yoongi thinks. This is your decision, as it should be. If you want him to walk away, he will. If you want to stay friends, Yoongi thinks it might kill him now that everything’s out in the open, but he’ll do it for you. But he hopes—

“No more half-truths?” you ask softly, and holy shit.

“I promise,” Yoongi insists. He holds his breath.

“Then I still want to try.”

Relief washes over him instantly, all of the tension leaving his shoulders at once. He didn’t fuck everything up beyond repair. You still want him. Holy shit, you still want him!

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes, squeezing your hand again. “Fuck, can I kiss you?”

“You better,” you say, and Yoongi doesn’t waste a goddamn second. Instantly, he’s moving your knees so he can fit himself between them, cradling your jaw to capture your lips with his. 

God, you taste so good. He’s the luckiest motherfucker on the planet.

Yoongi is just happy to kiss you again, to know that you’re his now. But then you make a sweet little sound into his mouth, slide your hands under his shirt, and he pulls away to look at you.

“Baby,” he says, catching his breath. Shit, it feels so good to call you that again. “We don’t have to do anything right now.”

“Are you kidding?” you ask, pushing his shirt up impatiently. Cute. “After you left me hanging last time? In a suit, no less.”

Yoongi huffs a laugh, grabbing hold of your wrists to stop your hands in their tracks. “I’m just saying, we don’t have to rush into anything just because—”

But then you shut him up with a kiss, which he melts into easily before you’re pulling back again. You look so serious. Yoongi likes you so fucking much.

“I want my boyfriend to fuck me,” you say, wriggling your hands out of his grip to keep feeling him up, and Yoongi is powerless to resist because fuck, boyfriend. “Is that too much to ask?”

He shakes his head dumbly, mouth agape. He’s your boyfriend. You said it.

You laugh, pinching his nipple, and Yoongi hisses as he’s yanked out of his reverie.

“Come on,” you tease, standing from the couch and pulling him with you. “Bedroom.”

Yoongi follows you to your bedroom eagerly, letting you drag him by the arm. You take a moment to shoo Pepper off of your bed and out of the room, shutting the door to keep her out, but Yoongi’s patience only lasts so long. As soon as the door is closed, Yoongi pulls you to your bed, laying you down on your back and kissing you breathless. 

He slips his tongue into your mouth, tasting you as his hands slide over your ass to squeeze it. You moan in response, your hips kicking up against his, and he lifts his head to look down at you.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs lowly, his lips still brushing against yours. Yoongi thinks he’d give you anything you ask for, especially when you look so sweet and needy beneath him like this.

“Just want you,” you pant, chasing his lips for another kiss. He obliges easily, dipping down to lick into your mouth again.

A part of Yoongi wants to drag this out—really drag it out this time—and tease you until you’re desperate and whining, begging. A part of him wants to see how far he can push you, to make you fall apart so he can put you back together again over and over. But Yoongi’s also not feeling very patient, not when you’re like this. He feels like he’s going to die if he doesn’t touch you right now.

You moan as Yoongi rips your shorts down your legs, arch your back as he slides his hand into your panties to feel you.

“Shit, Y/N,” he groans, sinking his middle and ring fingers into your pussy with no resistance. “Always so soaked for me.”

“Yoongi,” you whimper. God, he’s so addicted to that—the way you say his name when he touches you. If it wouldn’t make him sound like a headcase, he’d ask you to record it. Sneak it into his fucking songs. Let the world know how pretty you sound for him.

“Fuck yeah, let me hear you,” Yoongi murmurs. He sets a steady pace with his fingers, curling them up and thumbing at your clit, and you cry out for him, your face contorting with pleasure. Fucking addicting. “Sound so pretty, baby.”

“M-missed you calling me that,” you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut as you rock your hips up into his touch, and Yoongi’s more than happy to let you take what you need. “Missed the way you touch me.”

“It’s only been a week,” he teases, pumping his fingers faster as his free hand slides over your abdomen and up to your chest to roll a nipple between his fingers. “Am I that good?”

Despite your pleasure, you still reach out to swat at him blindly, and he laughs when your hand connects with his chest. “I hate you,” you complain weakly, but the way your core clamps down on his fingers tells him something else entirely.

“Nah. You like me.” He dips down to lick and suck at your other nipple, satisfaction buzzing through his veins when your hands thread through his hair, grasping at the strands. Yoongi can feel your urgency, can feel how close you’re getting for him in the way your muscles tense beneath him, and he quickens the pace of his fingers in response. “Come on, baby. You gonna come for me?”

“Shit, Yoongi—” you moan. Yoongi feels the tension in your body break, your pussy fluttering as his fingers pump inside of you, and he lifts his head to look. 

You look so beautiful when you come. Fuck, he wants to commit everything about it to memory: the flush in your cheeks, the way your lips part in a moan, your eyes shut tight as you just… take it.

“That’s it,” he groans, slowing the pace of his fingers, letting you ride out your orgasm. “That’s my girl.”

After a moment, Yoongi withdraws his fingers, leaning down to kiss you gently. “Okay?” he asks when he sits up on his knees, studying your face as you catch your breath.

“Mmh,” you hum, nodding. Your body relaxes and you sigh, grinning. “More than.”

“Need a second?” he teases, grinning smugly at how fucked out you look already. 

“Fuck that,” you say, catching him off guard when you suddenly sit up, surging forward to tug his shirt up and off faster than he can react. The second it’s off, you’re going for his pants next, impatient. 

“Fuck, hold on,” Yoongi huffs breathlessly, amused as you struggle to push his pants down over his hips. He stops you, shifting off the bed for a moment to do away with them properly. “Eager, huh?”

“Can’t help it,” you say, laying back for a moment and lifting your own hips to shimmy your panties down your legs. Yoongi can’t help but stare, his tongue running over his bottom lip as he takes in the sight of you. So fucking pretty.

You grin, sitting up again and gently tugging Yoongi closer by the waistband of his underwear. “Yoongi,” you murmur sweetly, and he hums, transfixed by the sight of your hand moving to palm at him through the fabric. “I wanna ride you. Is that okay?”

He inhales sharply, his eyes snapping up to meet yours. He feels his cock twitch in your hand at just the thought of you on top of him, and you smirk. Damn. You’re the smug one now, huh? 

“Are you sure?” Yoongi just needs to check. He wants to make sure that this is really what you want, but he’s already moving to shed the last barrier between you.

“Uh-huh,” you confirm, biting your lip as you glance down at his now-freed length, your hand wrapping around it and pumping him slowly. Fuck fuck fuck. Yoongi is not proud of the noise he makes, the pitch slightly higher than his normal timbre. If he doesn’t get inside of you soon he’s going to lose it.

Mercifully, you let go, your attention momentarily torn away as you shift off the bed to rifle through your bedside table. Yoongi moves to the head of the bed, sitting up against your headboard and taking a second to calm the fuck down. He wants this to be good for you, and if that’s gonna happen he needs to be able to not come as soon as you touch him, thanks.

When you return, condom in hand, all Yoongi can do is watch you as you tear the wrapper open, roll it onto his length. Wordlessly, you straddle him, his hands coming up to your hips to steady you.

“Good?” you ask, and Yoongi nods stiffly. He’s so good. How could he not be, with you in his lap like this? With what you’re about to do? You’ve completely turned the tables on him, and he’s so fine with that.

“Just—” he grits out, squeezing your hips gently. “Fuck, go easy on me, okay? I want it to be good for you.”

“It will be,” you assure him, reaching between his body and yours to guide the tip of his cock to your entrance. “Always is with you.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at you. “Not if I come in two seconds like a teenager,” he points out.

“I’d consider it a compliment,” you tease. Yoongi inhales sharply as you sink down just the slightest bit, his eyes squeezing shut. He feels your lips on his cheek, pressing a gentle kiss there. 

“I’ll go slow,” you tack on, and then you start to ease the rest of the way down slowly, stealing all of the breath from Yoongi’s lungs in the process.

“Shit,” he groans, his head falling back against the headboard. You moan softly once you’re finally fully seated on him, and he squeezes your hips to anchor you there, taking a moment to just look at you. “You’re so pretty, you know that?”

Yoongi’s words are rewarded with a pretty flush on your cheeks and your shy smile. “Shut up,” you mumble. His heart squeezes in his chest, a grin spreading over his face.

“I can’t tell my girlfriend how beautiful she is?” he teases, using his grip on your hips to encourage you to move, tearing sudden, simultaneous moans from both of you as he starts to guide you into a slow, steady rhythm. “How crazy she makes me?”

“You can,” you pant, steadying yourself with your hands on his shoulders, using them as leverage to follow his guidance. “Please,” you add, causing Yoongi’s lips to quirk up in a smirk.

“Such a good girl for me,” he whispers, leaning in to press a kiss to your throat. His hands slide from your hips to your ass, groaning as he grips the flesh in his hands appreciatively. “Do you know how often I think about you? About this?”

“Tell me,” you whimper. You sound so desperate for it, for him, and Yoongi is completely awestruck by you. You’re always telling him exactly what you want, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t want to comply every fucking time. Anything for you.

“Can’t get you out of my head,” he moans into your neck. “You’re so fucking—god, you’re so sexy.” Your hips stutter, and he pulls a hand back to smack your ass once, wordlessly telling you to move a little faster. And you do. “So smart, so passionate. Can feel it in the way you write, but not just that. The way you talk about it, fuck, could listen to you forever.”

You moan, clenching around him, and Yoongi hisses, bucking up into you involuntarily. He’s not going to last much longer, he can feel it, but he can also tell plain as day that you’re just as close.

“Look so sexy riding me like this, too. I’m so lucky,” Yoongi says, sliding his hands over your body as he speaks. “This ass,” he says, gripping it in his hands again. “These tits.” Another squeeze, to your breast this time. “Fuck, your pussy. I could write chart-topping, award-winning songs about this fucking pussy.” One hand slides down, his thumb rubbing at your clit in tight circles. You keen, moaning his name. “How wet it gets for me. The way it tastes, how it feels around my cock. Fuck, Y/N. You’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

“I’m gonna come,” you mewl, and Yoongi can’t help the growl that tears from his throat.

“Yeah, come on my cock, baby, fuck, I’ve got you,” he grits out, planting his feet firmly into your mattress for leverage as he fucks up into you. He groans, his eyes squeezing shut as his hips meet your ass, the backs of your thighs, setting an urgent pace.

“Fuck!” you moan. Yoongi must be doing something right, judging by the way your thighs start to shake, the way your whole body goes taut in his grip. “Fuckfuckfuckrightthere—”

It’s still true: Yoongi will never get tired of the way you look when you come. You just let go, shaking and moaning and digging your nails into his shoulders as you writhe above him. He did that. Fuck.

His rhythm gets sloppy quickly and he pulls you as close as he can as he thrusts up into you, his own orgasm quickly following. Stars burst behind his eyes as he spills into the condom, groaning into the crook of your neck as he slows to a stop.

You pull him into a kiss, both of you gasping into each other’s mouths as you recover. When you tear yourself away, Yoongi feels your hands cradling his face, and he opens his eyes to find you looking at him, exhausted from exertion but smiling.

“I think all of those things about you too, you know,” you mumble fondly, thumbing his cheek. Yoongi’s heart skips a beat. “It’s not just you.”

His hand comes up to rest over yours, a shy smile playing at his lips. “Guess we won’t get tired of each other any time soon.”

You laugh, carefully lifting up off of his lap. “No, I guess not.”

It’s hard to tear himself away from you, but Yoongi drags himself off your bed to dispose of the condom, navigating his way to your bathroom easily. Your apartment has the same layout, after all. When he returns, he uses one of your towels to wipe you down carefully.

Afterwards, he climbs into your bed with you, pulling you close, your head on his chest. For a moment, Yoongi tries to think back to the last time he felt this way, but he comes up short. Even in his last serious relationship, it didn’t feel this way. In the back of his head, even if he wasn’t willing to admit it until now, he always knew something was off about it. But this, being close to you like this, this thing you were both so scared of… It feels so right. 

“Seokjin thinks we’re going to fall in love,” you say after a long moment, your voice quiet. Dangerous thing to say, Yoongi thinks, with your head on his chest like this, so close to his traitorous heart.

“Seokjin thinks a lot of shit. Says all of it out loud, too,” Yoongi murmurs into your hair, taking one of your hands to thread his fingers with yours. “What do you think?”

Yoongi knows what he thinks. He thinks he’s already more than halfway there. He thinks this… you and him could really be something. Not for the first time tonight, he holds his breath.

“I think he’s right,” you answer softly, lifting your head to look at him.

As Yoongi looks back at you—his wallflower, his neighbor, his music journalist friend, his beautiful, hardworking girl—all he can think about is that Western bar he didn’t want to go to. The one he was dragged to on some random Friday, not even a wellness check night. The one he could’ve easily said no to going to in favor of staying in his studio instead. Just another thing he owes his friends for, he thinks. This might be the best one, though.

He squeezes your hand.

“Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”

★ ★ ★

EPILOGUE

You didn’t think you were going to make it.

Work has been busting your ass lately, and while you’re endlessly thankful that your career has suddenly taken a sharp turn for the unimaginable—interviewing Lee Chaerin, fucking CL up close and personal, are you joking?—you told Kevin that you had somewhere to be tonight. And that motherfucker still kept you in his office long past five to brainstorm next month’s edition.

Thankfully, you made it out with just enough time to make yourself look presentable in the mirror before making a dash for your car. Unfortunately, you had to forego running home to shower and change clothes, but you did wear a cute sweater and a flattering skirt to work today in anticipation of exactly that situation. Small mercies.

You’re late, definitely late enough for it to be rude, but Yoongi had insisted over and over that this was a completely casual thing.

You love Yoongi, but he’s totally full of shit. There’s nothing casual about meeting your boyfriend’s literal soulmates.

As you stalk towards the front door of the restaurant, you pray that you haven’t completely squandered your first impression before it even begins. Even Rina is making a better one than you—she showed up twenty minutes early. Backstabbing bitch.

Yoongi, ever the gentleman, meets you at the door.

“Will you relax?” he says, exasperated even as he leans in to kiss you ‘hello.’ When he pulls back, he flicks you on the forehead. Asshole. “You texted me your ETA like twelve times. While you drove. This is the furthest thing from a big deal.”

“Says you,” you grouse, slipping your arm into the crook of his elbow easily as he guides you inside. “These are your soulmates. They already love you. What if they hate me? What if they want to burn me at the stake?”

This past month with Yoongi has been nothing short of bliss. You’re both busy, both practically living in your respective workplaces, but sometimes you make time to visit him in his studio and work next to him in silence. Sometimes you come home to find him cooking dinner for you in your apartment and swapping stories with Rina. Sometimes you sleep in on weekends, wake up next to him and admire the softness of his features in the morning, the way Pepper curls up on his chest like he’s been around forever. It’s so good it makes you want to cry. Comfortable. Plus, there’s lots and lots of sex. Sex so good it makes you actually cry sometimes.

“They won’t,” he insists, keeping you close as he weaves through tables to guide you to the private room in the back. “They’ll love you, too. Maybe even more than me. You’re much easier to get along with.”

“That’s true,” you concede with a dramatic sigh, smiling at him fondly. He may be a grouchy hermit, but he’s your grouchy hermit.

When you reach the door of the private room, he stops. You can hear Seokjin’s windshield wiper-y laugh, even with the door closed. “You ready?” Yoongi asks, turning to you with a grin.

“No,” you mumble, pouting. When he runs his thumb over your bottom lip mockingly, you huff at him. “But I guess I have to be, don’t I?”

“Yep,” he says simply, dipping down to kiss you one more time. “It’s gonna be okay, baby. I love you, so they’ll love you, too.”

You hum, grabbing greedily at the front of his shirt to pull him down for one more kiss. “If you say so,” you murmur. “I love you, too.”

You smooth out his shirt and then do a full-body shake to ease your nerves, which makes Yoongi snort. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Yoongi nods, smiling at you fondly, gums showing. You’re damn lucky, you think, to be the one at the receiving end of those smiles. He loves you. It’s so fucking stupid how much he loves you, and how much you love him in return. It’s still new, still a little thing that both of you are learning how to nurture properly, but fuck it’s good.

When he opens the door, the noise of friends inside—both yours and his—filtering out into the restaurant, it’s that gummy smile still lingering in your mind that makes you take a step inside. That, and Yoongi’s voice in your head telling you it’s going to be okay. Because if there’s one thing you know beyond a shadow of a doubt after this past month, it’s that Yoongi will always be honest with you.

He squeezes your hand, and you step inside.

✧ shoot me a reply or an ask if you enjoyed this chapter! feedback is always appreciated <3 join my taglist if you want to be tagged in future fics!

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PREVIOUS CHAPTER ✧ MASTERLIST 

[xxdjsunsetxdxx-blog]

Random Ships I Like In No Particular Order:

-

* Loubbie- Lou Miller x Debbie Ocean- Ocean’s 8

* Sabina x Elena- Charlie’s Angels (2019)

* Macgyver x Riley- MacGyver (2016)

* Magnum x Higgins- Magnum PI (2018)

* Shoot- Shaw x Root- Person of Interest

* Rizzles- Rizzoli x Isles- Rizzoli & Isles

* Wondercheetah- Wonder Woman x Cheetah- DC

* Camren- Camila x Lauren- Fifth Harmony

* Blackhill- Natasha Romanoff x Maria Hill- Marvel

* Xialing x Katy- Shang-Chi

* Peggy Carter x Dottie Underwood- Agent Carter

* Supercorp- Kara Danvers x Lena Luthor- Supergirl

* Daniela x Carla- In The Heights

* Mira Harberg x Laurie- Irma Vep

* Judy Hale x Jen Harding- Dead To Me

* Florence x Madeleine- Gunpowder Milkshake

* Ronance- Robin Buckley x Nancy Wheeler- Stranger Things

* Eleanor x Drea- Do Revenge

* Harlivy- Harley Quinn x Poison Ivy- DC

* Wenclair- Wednesday Addams x Enid Sinclair- Wednesday

* Meddison- Meredith x Addison- Grey’s Anatomy

* Emily x Stephanie- A Simple Favor

* Mercymaker- Mercy x Widowmaker- Overwatch

* Akko x Diana- Little Witch Academia

* Dovesso- Professor Dovey x Lady Lesso- The School for Good and Evil

* Cassie Lang x Jentorra - Quantumania

* Spideypool- Spider-Man x Deadpool- Marvel

* Superbat- Superman x Batman- DC

* Batman x Catwoman- DC

* Princess Audrey x Wonder Woman- DCAU

* Jon Stewart (Green Lantern) x Hawkgirl (Shayera Hol)- DCAU

* StephCass- Stephanie Brown x Cassandra Cain- DC

* DinahBabs- Black Canary (Dinah Lance) x Oracle (Barbara Gordon)- DC

* DicKory- Nightwing (Dick Grayson) x Starfire (Koriand’r)- DC

* Wondermagic- Wonder Woman x Zatanna- DC

* Daphne x Velma- Scooby-Doo

* Cassie Dewell x Jenny Hoyt- Big Sky

* Choni- Cheryl Blossom x Toni Topaz- Riverdale

* Bechloe- Beca Mitchell x Chloe Beale-Pitch Perfect

* Khalopatra- Kleopatra x Frida Khalo- Clone High

* Talia Burns x Margot Fairmont- First Kill

* Question x Huntress- DCAU

* SuperWonderBat- Superman x Wonder Woman x Batman- DCAU

* Wonderhawk- Wonder Woman x Hawkgirl (Shayera Hol)- DCAU

* Dana Scully x Monica Reyes- X-Files

* Barbara (Barbie) Handler x Gloria- Barbie

* Julethief- Carmen Sandiego x Julia (Jules) Argent- Carmen Sandiego

* Seven Of Nine x Raffi Musiker- Star Trek

* Larissa Weems x Morticia Addams- The Addams Family

* Swanqueen- Emma Swan x Regina Mills- Once Upon A Time

* Alicia Florrick x Kalinda Sharma- The Good Wife

* Danny James x Cable McCrory- Bull

* Kim Possible x Shego- Kim Possible

* Peachline-Princess Peach x Mayor Pauline- Mario

* Gelphie- Elphaba Thropp x Glinda Upland- Wicked

* SamBucky- Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes- Marvel

* PeggyNat- Peggy Carter (Captain Carter) x Natasha Romanoff- What if?

* Maxine “Max” Baker x Abby Littman- Ginny & Georgia

* Ashrah x Nitara- Mortal Kombat

* Johnshi- Johnny Cage x Kenshi Takahashi- MK

* Barlissa- Barbara Howard x Melissa Shimmenti- Abbot Elementary

* Cabenson- Olivia Benson x Alex Cabot- Law & Order SVU

* Caroljess- Carol Danvers (Captain Marvel) x Jessica Drew (Spider-Woman)- Marvel Comics

* Bishlova- Kate Bishop x Yelena Belova- Hawkeye

* Chlonette- Chloe Burgeois x Marinette Dupain-Cheng- Miraculous Ladybug (in theory)

* Clawdeen x Draculaura- MH (Gen 1)

* Teleanor- Tahani Al Jamil x Eleanor Shellstrop- The Good Place

* Hanamusa- Jessie x Delia Ketchum- Pokémon

* Jemily- Emily Prentiss x Jennifer “JJ” Jareau- Criminal Minds

* Mellivia- Olive Pope x Melody “Mellie” Grant- Scandal

* Malvie- Mal x Evie- Descendants

* Mileena x Tanya- Mortal Kombat

-

talk to me abt them if you want :)

couldn’t fit all the tags lol

[jonesyjonesyjonesy]

Wildflowers (pt. xxii.ii)

a john paul jones x fem!oc fic (in progress)

summary: Julia Morgan knew nannying for three girls who had recently lost their mother would come with many challenges. But she never thought their father, the enigmatic musician John Paul Jones, would be causing her the most trouble. And while Julia is not in the business of saving broken men, her tenderness might be meant for more than little girls and wildflowers.

table of contents │ previous chapter

masterlist│ko-fi

notes: discussion of drug use, discussion of sa, general angst

a/n: it's going to get worse before it gets better 💔

pt. xxii.ii, jack-go-to-bed-at-noon

“I don't want to hurt you. But I can’t lose you, Julia, I can’t.”

I did not sleep. Why would I with a feral beast in the house?

I had no idea if John would wake again. Whether he would be stronger and more demonic than before. So I remained posted up outside the primary bedroom, almost unblinking.

That is until it was time for the girls to rouse for school. It was a miracle none of them questioned the thunderous snore of Peter Grant in the guest bedroom and even more remarkable they believed my fib that the strange car parked out front belonged to the new gardener. However, Tamara barely looked at me. At first I wondered if I had hurt her feelings by being short with her in the night, but then I overheard her whispering to Jacinda while they stood by the car waiting for me to come around.

“The ghost is back.”

It was urgent enough to cut right through the still air.

I wished I could believe in the ghost too. That the bumps in the night were angered spirits rather than their father, fecund with liquor and pills, a man they would not have recognized should they have met him.  

I should not have been driving in my sleepless state. I almost jumped the curb and nearly clipped a mailbox.

I barely remembered the drive. Just realized I left Warren House only to end up there again. It wasn’t enough that my body sagged with the hours of sleep lost. There was a hundred some pounds of weight on me too. Pinned to my hips. Gripping my thighs.

I sat in the car far longer than I would have on a normal day. Trying to keep my stomach from flipping at the memory of the night. Mere hours before.

With a final breath, a final push, I forced myself out of the car. And upstairs. To the master bedroom. To see if the monster had returned to man again.

The door was cracked when I got there. Just an inch. Caused by one of those ghostly drafts.

I ticked the door open a few inches more and peered inside.

John had made it to the bed, curled into a lump under the bountiful bedclothes. Red and cream floral. I hadn’t noticed it the night before. His hair was draped over his face, obscuring the evidence of my defense.

I watched him breathing for far too long and wished to feel what I had in the past. To fawn over him, adore him as I once had. Instead, I just felt sad, watching the covers rise and fall with his deep breaths.

I wished to crawl in with him, forget it all, laugh when he woke to gritty dried blood spattered across his face.

But I couldn’t. It might have killed me.

I pulled myself away from the door, closed it as far as I could without the latch clicking shut, and continued down the hallway. The doors to the guest rooms were now opened. And when I peeked inside, the beds were mussed. I sighed, knowing Annie would give me guff for it. Add it onto the pile. I could hack it after the night I had had.

I checked myself in the mirror once more (fatigued, but resplendently so) before heading downstairs to meet my “guests”.

“They wanted fresh air,” Annie grumbled when I entered the kitchen to grab another cup of coffee. “They requested breakfast on the terrace.” She dropped a plate of toast points onto a tray.

I whisked the tray away from her before she could pick it up. “You needn’t bother with them.”

“You needn’t either,” she said, though she made no effort to stop me.

We exchanged a resigned smile. I had given her the barest of details before the girls had come down for breakfast. That the men had shown up in the middle of the night, an emergency. Warned her John was not himself. That was all. Nothing about his outburst, the confusion, the belligerence.

I stowed the bite mark away too. There wasn’t anything gleeful about this mark as opposed to the ones Jimmy gave me. Nothing giddily perverse about it.

With the tray and my coffee, I headed out onto the terrace.

Peter spotted me first through a cloud of cigarette smoke. He looked surprisingly well-rested for a man wearing the same clothes he’d had on the night before. “Julia! Morning, love.”

“Morning, gentlemen.” I placed the tray on the table beside the tea service, glimpsing Richard and BP who were both a little worse for wear, no doubt having been forced to bunk up together.

“Oh, thank you. It’s a perfect day for a meal on the terrace, don’t you think? Fresh air and all that…” Peter went on jovially.

I hesitated to agree when the cigarette negated the fresh air.

Luckily, he didn’t bother for my answer. “Sleep well?” Peter asked with a raised eyebrow.

I snagged my coffee off the tray before saying dryly, “Like a baby.”

“Aren’t you lucky, then?” Richard grumbled.

Peter leered at Richard briefly. “We’re…uh, what he means is, thanks for handling him.”

“Handling him,” I repeated. So that’s what I had been doing.

“He just needed a feminine touch, you know? A reminder,” Peter said, snagging a piece of toast off the tray and dipping a corner straight into a glob of jam. “Of what is rather than…”

I stared hard at him, causing him to lose his train of thought.

“Sit, Julia,” Richard said. “You’re making me nervous.”

“No, I’ve duties to get to, I just wanted to make sure you were taken care of –”

“No, Julia, sit, please let’s chat,” Peter said, waving his fingers toward me.

The truth was, if I sat, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stay awake. However, a chat with Peter Grant never seemed negotiable. I took the free chair, pulling it out a foot from the table so as not to be too close to them. “I’d hate to make you feel antsy,” I echoed without affectation, though my blood was boiling.

BP stuck his tongue into the side of his cheek, keeping his mouth pressed tight together.

“I know I’ve thanked you before Julia, but really, really our boy was in a bad way before you showed up. You keep him in good spirits.”

My stomach turned. I keep him in good spirits. I couldn’t have been more foolish. Thinking any of it was love. I was something to do. A hobby. A woman’s body has been currency since the beginning of time. It was an exchange from the start. “I do what I can,” I said softly.

“And more, apparently,” Richard muttered.

I didn’t have the energy to glare. My humanity was seeping out.

“We’re hoping this will be a one time thing,” Peter went on. “We’ll keep an eye on him and what he’s…consuming. And when he’s back home, you know, you just keep doing what you’re doing.”

“I ought to be on the Zeppelin payroll at this point,” I said, watching the steam from my coffee.

“That could be arranged.”

That caught my attention. My eyes zipped to Peter.

He grinned wolfishly. “A joke, of course.”

“Of course,” I replied, unconvinced. I suddenly wondered if they kept a roster of vessels.

Peter jammed his inch of a cigarette into the ashtray and reached for another. “Between the two of us, I know we can make sure he’s in good shape for tour in January.”

The words rolled over me like storm clouds closing in. Slowly and then all at once. “Tour in January.”

“Yes, it’s not much time, but we can keep him on the straight and narrow.”

I did not have the energy to convey what I felt. Hell, I didn’t even know what I felt. Surprise. Dismay. Fury. Ache. A collision of all sorts of a terrible feelings. I glanced at BP who seemed to be the only one who could tell I didn’t know of a tour starting in January. He dipped his chin lower and looked away.

Hadn’t they just started recording the album? Surely it wasn’t enough time for them to set out in tour in a handful of months.

“Of course, we’ll have to make sure his spirits are up until then so he doesn’t get cold feet, but you do an excellent job of keeping him warm, Ms. Morgan.”

 I opened my mouth, unsure what vitriol would emerge, only to be cut off by a low and gravelly, “The hell is going on?”

John was awake and he was standing barefoot on the terrace. The lower part of his face was streaked with dried blood and there was a splotch of a stain on the collar of his nightshirt. I couldn’t look directly at him more than a moment.

“Christ what happened to your face?” Richard asked with his lips contorted in bemusement.

“What are you talking about?” John trailed off, words mushy.

Peter glanced at me, then back at John. “You’ve got blood all over your face, mate.”

John smothered his face with his hand, his coordination massively strained by his hangover. “The hell…”

BP and Richard looked at me for explanation. I shook my head. “He wasn’t like that when I left him.”

A pitiful lie.

Peter reached for his napkin and dipped it in his water glass. “C’mere, I’ll take care of it,” Peter said, almost like a mother.

My knuckles whitened as I gripped my cup of coffee.

“How did I get here?” John asked in a small voice, stepping closer to us.

Every nerve in my body stood on end, my body sensing danger. The weight returned to my middle.

Now that he was within swiping distance, Peter got up, grabbed John by the arm, and swung him down into his own chair. “Just relax and I’ll explain.”

John, still dazed, looked at me, his eyes calling for some sort of help I couldn’t give him. Peter smeared his cloth napkin across John’s face to clear off the blood. John bristled, raising his hands to bat Peter away. “I can do it.”

“You got into a state last night. A really bad one,” Peter explained. I was shocked by his softness with John. I’d seen him threatening and I’d seen him trying to charm, but I’d never seen him quite like this. Cleaning up the messes.

“It’s sore, why’s it sore?” John complained softly.

“Had to bring you home so that you’d settle down,” Peter went on. Then, satisfied with his cleaning, gave John a pat on the back. “Felt better when you saw Julia, didn’t ya? Perked right up when you saw her.”

John’s blue eyes rolled toward me again and, this time, they caught.

And I remembered

Tour in January.

As if the chasm between us wasn’t already wide enough. It made sense why he would want the girls to know about us then. He could go away for tour, leaving behind his girls with not a nanny but…something more. I wondered how long he knew, how long he had been wondering how to tell me, how long he would have waited it Peter hadn’t sloughed the information on me.

It was too much for a Tuesday morning.

Though John’s forehead was pinched still with confusion, he managed a small smile. My stomach turned at the sight of it. I looked away before I could try and determine what memories lay behind that expression. Which pieces he still had to give him a picture of the night before.

“She took right good care of you,” Peter went on, unknowingly stabbing more daggers into my chest. “Didn’t she?”

“Other than whatever scrap you got into,” Richard said, his lip turned up in disgust.

Peter shot him a glare, as per usual. “Yes, you’re feeling better now. And looking better too. Right boys?”

“Much better,” BP offered quickly.

Richard sighed and shuffled a hand through his wispish hair. “I mean, it’s a start.” 

I pressed myself up from my seat. “Peter, please sit. I ought to get on with things and you all can…talk.”

I didn’t wait for any replies. I needed to get inside, finish my coffee, and try and make myself serviceable for the day.

Though several voices called out after me, John’s stood apart. “Julia? Julia, wait –”

How dare he say my name like that? The lilting emphasis I’d come to love. Whether amidst bantering or the needy twirls between the sheets, it was his call to me.

And I would not let it soften me.

I stalked back into the house, into the kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind me. Annie was gone, off to another one of her tasks for today, which was less than ideal for me. Being alone meant the rip cord could be pulled on my emotions.

I grabbed the counter to steady myself and prepared to let out a sob.

But the kitchen door opened behind me, the sound of bare feet on the floor. Damn it all, I knew it was him just from the way he walked now. The softness of his breaths. That’s what Annie told me would happen all those months ago. I would learn the sounds of the house. It would become a part of me.

He would become a part of me.

“Julia, please, let me talk to you.”

I tipped my head back, resisting a curse as I steady the tears that so desperately wanted to escape. “What is it?” I said, placing my fist on my hip and pressing my fingernails into my palm to take my mind off the need to weep.

John didn’t respond.

I took a deep breath and turned to face him. Being alone together put me on edge immediately. I ran my hand around my neck, the phantom feeling of my collar tightening suffocating me. “What is it, John?”

“You’re upset with me,” he said plainly.

I pressed my hand to my chest and shook my head. “I’m not.”

I watched him take a step forward. My stomach dipped with nausea. “You don’t have to lie.”

Under the fabric of my dress, I could feel the wound his teeth made in my skin. At least that was easier to hide than the tears in my eyes. “You were in a bad way. That’s all.”

John’s skin was like paste. He needed a shower. And he needed a meal. Some more sleep probably. His jaw was prickling with stubble that needed to be shaved. His hair was more like a nest or a mop than the silky tresses I knew he cared for so well.

I didn’t look much better.

He took another step forward, pinching his fingers together at his sternum. “What happened, Julia?”

I moved back, hoping he didn’t notice. “Peter told you, it was just –”

“They’re appealing to my ego, they won’t tell me the truth.”

It saddened me that his want for the truth surprised me. The vision I had of John had slowly been replaced. From confident to cocksure, from humble to petulant.

The good parts were still there, weren’t they? My vision was simply clouded. Perhaps.

John strode forward quickly, quicker than I knew what to do with. His hand landed against my elbow, “Darling, please –”

Without thinking, I ripped myself away from him. My heart lodged itself in my throat and my whole body screamed for me to run from him. Danger. Destruciton. Ruination.

John’s hand lifted into the air, wide palmed and open. A surrender, though his eyes betrayed his confusion.

Every return of his was marked by the need to touch. More touching. More, more, more. Again, again, again. To him, the denial sent him down a different path at the forking of the road. Little did he know I was already miles ahead of him. Running. Away, so far away.

“Sorry,” I apologized meekly. “I don’t know why I did that.”

I did. Of course I did.

John moved the open hand to his nightshirt, fisting the fabric anxiously. “Tell me what happened,” he insisted, his voice low and clipped.

“It’s not –”

“Julia. Tell me.”

I glimpsed a flake of dried blood under his nose. I ran my hand back and forth along the benchtop nervously. “You had something. I have no idea what. But they brought you here in the middle of the night so I could help calm you down.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he said more to himself than to me.

“Well, they all seem very aware of what’s been going on between the two of us. I suppose they thought you needed a woman’s touch.” I added the last bit through gritted teeth.  

John sucked his lower lip into his mouth for a few moments of contemplation. “I don’t speak about it outright, but I suppose the phone calls aren’t necessarily…secretive.”

I clamped my hand around the bicep of my opposite arm. I was shrinking as we spoke, bit by bit. An open secret. Like mistresses and whores. “You wanted her,” I said softly. When John canted his head, I clarified, “Maureen. You were…distraught.”

His mouth fell open. “I wanted her?”

“You got it in your head she was…” I shook my head. “I don’t know, I only saw the tail end. Because when you realized it was me you were coming home to, you came back to your senses.”

John’s brow furrowed and his mouth grew very small as he considered the facts. “I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”

His quiet apology reinvigorated his pull on me. The inexplicable connection between us had not ceased to exist, but it was fraying, dangerously close to a single thread. “Do you remember talking to me on the phone last night?”

“I…don’t.”

Another thread snapped. “So you don’t remember what you said to me?”

“Did I say something hurtful? If I did, I’m so –“

I shook my head. “No, no. It’s not important.” I looked out the window at the expansive yard. It was turning gray out. Rain was imminent. Then, I smiled. Trying to smooth everything over. Except the tears I’d been holding back decided to betray me and fall. I swiped at them. “Fuck me.”

John clicked his tongue. “Julia, please, don’t be upset, I didn’t know I –”

“We shouldn’t keep doing this. It was too soon, too rash,” I say hurriedly.

“Please don’t say that.”

“You still think of her. It isn’t fair to any of us.” Any of us. Because whether he remembers or not he had implicated his children.

John’s forehead pinched. “I’ll always think of her.”

I winced. Stupid thing to say.

“That’s not something that will ever go away, Julia.”

“That’s not what I meant, I…” I swallowed, tears rolling down my cheeks. “I don’t think I’m strong enough for any of this.”  

I turned away from him to try and cry with some kind of privacy. Because it was true. I wasn’t strong enough to be everything for him, always anticipating each and every feeling or worry he might have, trying to be good, oh so good because that’s what he needed.

And if I failed?

It was not just a human thing for me to fail.

I was paid to be here. Where did my job end and I begin?

I don’t see you being able to resist that kind of trouble. And we know how that turned out the first time, Nick’s voice played loudly in my head.

Oh, if he could see me now, he’d be laughing. I just knew it.

Again, a hand. This time to my shoulder. My body bristled even harder this time, an angry scrawl gurgling from the back of my throat. “Nnndon’t touch me,” I snapped, clutching at the place he touched me as if it burnt

I was a cornered animal. Teeth bared, tears streaming down my face. And this time instead of confusion, something else appeared on John’s face. An amalgam of disgust and fear. Good. That would make everything easier. “What happened?” he asked, his voice harsh.

“John –”

He stepped closer. “What happened last night?”

“I don’t want to do this, I don’t.” I gulped at every word, trying to steady myself.

“You won’t even look at me and I can’t –”

“I can’t.”

“I can’t even touch you without –”

“Fine! You want to know?” If I let him close in any further, I would suffocate. I grabbed the collar of my dress and pulled down, revealing the wound he’d made with his teeth the night before. “Here.”

John’s eyes landed on the purple impressions of his teeth on my chest. He had the gall to look confused.

“You bit me,” I said through clenched teeth. “You bit me and then you tried to fuck me.”

The words landed in his face, his expression flinching. The universe must have been laughing at the recurrence of these marks on me. Once from pleasure, once from pain. The pain inflicted by the wrong man.

“And I told you no and you wouldn’t stop.” My voice broke at the end because up until the night before, on the phone I loved him. And now here, in the kitchen I…still did.

But I knew I couldn’t.

John pinched his lips together. “Is that why…” He gestured toward his face. “The blood?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, but if I didn’t –“I stopped. Why couldn’t I just say the words? Say them aloud. He deserved to hear them. If I hadn’t hurt him, he would have hurt me. Raped me. And this conversation would be much different. Or would it? Is it any different if the intention was there? If he wasn’t in his right mind? “You wouldn’t stop,” I said once more, ashamed how meek I sounded.

John put both his hands over his face for a moment, then scrubbed them back through his hair, pulling his chin up with them. “Fuck.” Then he laughed, raw and humorless. It was a harrowing kind of laugh. One you acquire as an adult when you realize how richly awful the world can be. “Fuck,” he repeated. Quieter. More bruised. “I don’t remember doing that.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know why I –“

“I know.”

“I would never, ever –”

I blinked, releasing one more tear. “I know, John, I know.” But he nearly had.

His fingers of one hand ticked nervously and his breath was heavier than usual. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I didn’t have to say the truth aloud for us both to hear it.

Too late.

“But I can’t lose you, Julia, I can’t.”

I found myself smiling despite myself, wicking away more tears. In the haze of love I had for him, I would cling to the meekest admission so I didn’t have to let him go.

“Give me a chance to…make it up to you. If I can.”

“I boxed you in the nose, perhaps we’re even,” I said in an effort to lighten the moment, looking at the tears glistening on my fingers.

The corner of his lips tipped up out of necessity and nothing more.

I dried my hands on the bodice of my dress. “I suppose you’ll be going back, then.”

John scratched the back of his head, eyes falling to the ground. “I’d rather not seeing as how we’re –”

I interrupted swiftly. “No, it’s good, I need to get used to it. What with your tour coming up.”

His reaction was delayed, but once it registered, his pallid cheeks lit up with embarrassment.

“Peter told me,” I said with a limp smile.

John sighed. “I was going to tell you when I came home.”

“Right, of course, I’m just a little surprised, is all.”

“Everything’s being rushed, once we’re done. We had stuff in the catalog anyway that we never –” he stopped short. “None of that matters really. You know. In the scheme…of things.”

I had no more fight in me. No more willingness to open my heart up and show the hurt. The want. If I was going to continue to love him, I’d have to lock it tightly away until the timing was more appropriate. A silly thought when it comes to such a quivering, untenable feeling.

Before either of us could say anything, I heard noise from the hall, the terrace door opening and heavy footsteps.

“Enough,” I said softly. “No more of this.”

John started to step forward and then remembered that his advancements were now threats. He glanced down at his hands as the door to the kitchen opened.

“Hate to interrupt –“ It was Peter. “But we really ought to get back to it.”

“Just a minute,” John said, barely tilting his head over his shoulder toward Peter.

Peter’s eyes found mine and where there had been a semblance of softness earlier, there was now edge.

Until I was notified further or until I changed the circumstances myself, I was under an obligation to make everyone’s lives easier. Every single life but my own.

Under Peter’s watchfulness, I did what last night I thought I’d never do again. I stepped closer to John. His eyes lit up, but kept himself at bay. I could hear my blood rushing in my ears as I took John’s hand. At first it burned and then my body seemed to remember every other moment before last night at once. I inhaled sharply and lifted my gaze into his. Blue I had been dreaming about for far longer than we had known each other’s mouths and bodies.

“You won’t lose me,” I whispered. A promise to him and to myself. Time apart would be good. For me to weight out all the good, remember him the way I had fallen in love with him, not the feral monster from the night before.

John left me with a touch to my cheek. Nothing more.

When I finally was able to sleep after almost forty hours of waking, he came to me in a nightmare.

tag list: @jimmys-zeppelin, @kari-12-10, @grxtsch, @ritacaroline, @kyunisixx, @salixfragilis , @jimmypages , @dollyvandal , @cassiana-on-dark-side, @faisonsunreve , @sastrugie , @seventieswhore , @mayspringcome , @barrettavenue , @foreverandadaydarling , @glimmerofsanity , @montereypopgroupie , @lzep , @jimmysdragonsuit13 , @n0quart3r , @larsgoingtomars , @paginate54 , @leveeisbreaking , @callmethehunter (let me know if you’d like to be added 💋)

[enigmaticxbee]

XF AU - Fic Recs

When the world was unrecognizable and upside down, there was one thing that remained the same. You... were my friend, and you told me the truth. Even when the world was falling apart, you were my constant... my touchstone (or, alternate universe and canon-divergent fics):

Contemporary AUs:

A Companion Unobtrusive by @slippinmickeys - She needed a roommate. He needed a room.

The Annapolis Grant by @slippinmickeys - Fake relationship! Scully hires Mulder to pretend to be her boyfriend.

Aprons and Scrubs by @lokisgame - Scully’s a doctor and Mulder runs a bar.

Five Years and a Lifetime by @monikafilefan @slippinmickeys - One night stand AU. Five years later, Scully and Mulder work at the same pediatric hospital, and Scully's four year old daughter bears a striking resemblance to the picture of a dark haired girl that sits on Mulder's desk...

Skin by Annie Sewell-Jennings - In a world where Mulder and Scully have never met, fate intervenes and brings two worlds colliding in the city of Charleston, as a vicious murderer reigns and a storm approaches.

Sinners Come Down by aster_risk - Six years into her marriage to Daniel, Scully meets Fox Mulder at a bar one night, and they get talking and fucking over alcohol and self-pity.

In the Best Interest of the Child by @mldrgrl - When tragedy strikes, Mulder is forced to take guardianship of his young niece, but the matter is complicated by the arrival of a sister-in-law he's never met.

Historical AUs:

By the Dim and Flaring Lamps by @sunflowerseedsandscience - Civil War AU. Captain Mulder befriends Private Scully who’s hiding a secret…

The Countess and The Earl by @slippinmickeys - Regency Romance!

Old Growth Forest by Andrea - Mulder and Scully travel back to frontier times

Rocky Mountain Interlude Part 1 and Part 2 by Jacquie LaVa and Tess - Mulder and Scully travel back in time to solve the case of a Colorado mining ghost

The Science of Sex by @if-the-seascatchfire - Masters of Sex AU. Mulder and Scully are doctors in the late 1950s who undertake a years-long study about human sexuality, and as part of the research, they also have sex with each other - you know, for the science.

Out of this World:

The Magician by Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Jennifer Lyon - Fantasy series where Mulder and Scully travel to another world full of magic (one of the first fanfics I ever remember reading!)

Out of the Little Grove by @slippinmickeys - Crossover with His Dark Materials (a mashup truly made just for me, my 13 year old self would have been over the moon)

Blinded by White Light by @dashakay - Post-colonization. What are we, but the sum of our memories? A classic.

Julia and Gabriel by Mish - Post-colonization. A new identity, a new, dangerous society, an unchanged heart and soul. Gave me Hunger Games vibes for some reason (although written years before that was published)

Canon-Divergent: Pre or Early Series

Eleventh Hour by Rachel Anton - Mulder travels back in time to find college-aged Scully and change everything.

Belphagor’s Prime by Prufrock’s Love - When Scully disappears Mulder travels back in time to a pre-X-Files Scully for help.

In Another Life by @mldrgrl - What if there was no conspiracy? What if Mulder was just a regular FBI Agent? What if Scully was just a bureau pathologist?

How They Met by @peacenik0 - After an encounter at Scully’s FBI academy graduation party they must determine how to deal with their past and their undeniable attraction to one another when partnered up.

One Week at Quantico by CrossedBeams - What if Mulder had been teaching at the Academy when Scully was training…

Paging Dr. Scully by @mangokiwitropicalswirl - Mulder keeps ending up in Dr Scully’s ER.

Only One Choice by @sisterspooky1013 - Scully was never assigned to The X Files.

The Way Things Are by Sukie Tawdry - A season 1 one night stand changes everything. Baby-fic.

Departures & Arrivals by anarchybeauty - After the X Files are closed in 1994, Scully moves on. Two years later, she runs into Mulder in an airport.

Right Hand Return by humphreywrites - Scully is returned from her abduction with a baby, no memories of anything prior to her captivity and some PTSD.

12 Rites of Passage and 12 Degrees of Separation by Anne Hayes - mytharc story written very early in the series run.

parent_1 by @markwatneyandenesemble - It’s 1996, Mulder’s been off the X-Files for three years, and not speaking to Scully. They’ve almost moved on with their lives. Almost.

Canon-Divergent: Mid Series

A Different Place by @myownsuperintendent - When Mulder successfully brings one of the Samantha clones back from the farm with him in Herrenvolk, she must learn to adapt to a different life.

Once More With Feeling by skinfull - While on a stakeout Mulder is shot in the head and loses his memory.

Iolokus by rivkat and MustangSally - Mytharc AU. Painted across the barren and desolate reaches of Texas, the shadows of the Project put additional pressure on Scully and Mulder's already fragile relationship. After a hostage crisis raises more questions about the Project's breeding program, Scully begins her own investigation, leaving Mulder to choose between saving her and saving himself. Pretty disturbing but fascinating, a classic.

Arizona Highways by Fialka - Mytharc AU. Visions of Melissa lead Our Heroes on a case confirming the existence of a series of Emilys. But does Melissa really have a message, or is it all in Scully’s head? Another classic.

Heuvelmans' On the Track by @mashnotesofthemythopoeic - post-FTF mytharc AU, truly a ride you’ll never forget.

The Leap and Landfall by Ambress - Scully has a one time opportunity for motherhood, given to her by the Kurt Crawfords.

All That Is Dark and Bright by @malibusunset-xf-blog - Emily lives AU.

Five Years and One Night by Shalimar - Scully leaves the X-Files post-Emily but gets drawn back in when Mulder discovers Emily wasn’t the only child created.

Cubed by Louise Marin - Mid-season 6 Scully does a little body-swapping of her own. Can she and Mulder make it back to each other? Do they want to?

The Boy on the Beach and Tonight We're Gonna Party Like It's 1999 by @cecilysass - One moment she was sitting in the chair. Her chin up, her expression ice. And the next moment she was gone. Fantastic exploration of the Samantha storyline.

Canon-Divergent: Late or Post Series

40 Weeks by @malibusunset-xf-blog - What if the IVF attempt in Per Manum had been successful?

Mobius by L.A. Ward - Post-Requiem while investigating the disappearance of a physicist, Scully finds someone she didn't expect - Mulder. But is it her Mulder?

By the Wind Grieved by Karen Rasch - Mulder is returned several months post Requiem but he doesn't know who he is or what Scully and he are to each other. Together they must reclaim the past before their enemies take away their future.

Deadalive AU by @markwatneyandenesemble - Mulder is returned but is missing several years of memory.

The 13th Sign and 7 Days in May by Prufrock’s Love - Post-Deadalive. Mulder saw no reason for life, death, sex, Armageddon, or emotional dysfunction to stand in the way of true love.

Hurricane Season by rah and beduini - Post-Existence week at the beach with the Scully family and baby Wim.

Terra Firma series by @malibusunset-xf-blog - Post-Existence domestic family drama, a classic comfort read for me.

2008 by MystPhile - With the quest at an end, the X-Files closed in the year 2000. Our heroes went their separate ways. In 2008, they meet in Bloomingdale's and the past, present, and future are explored.

Dr. Scully's School for Exceptional Boys by Prufrock’s Love - More than a decade had passed. Mulder had no reason to hole up in his apartment alone, wearing a Three Dog Night T-shirt with dried mustard on the hem and blue jeans that had seen better days. He wasn't "saving himself" for anyone. Especially not Her. Though she remained epically, beautifully, brilliantly kick-A-S-S.

Machines of Freedom by Amal Nahurriyeh - post-IWTB. The end of the world is coming. And they're doing everything in their power to stop it.

North of Zero by @slippinmickeys - Post-IWTB, post-colonization. The bombs have fallen. The aliens have come. What’s next?

Canon Parallel AUs:

I've got you under my skin by cuits - In a universe where soulmate identifying marks exist and affect a part of the population, would Mulder and Scully's relationship evolve any different? Unfinished but complete through Existence so it still ends in a satisfying place.

Half-light by skuls - Mulder and Scully get a second chance.

The Family G-Man by Neoxphile and FelineFemme - A double tragedy strikes Mulder the week before Christmas of 2003. What if he could go back and change things, save the son one lost and give the other the family she wanted? Could it keep them safe?

[garciaasfluffypen]

bright beginnings pt. 10

pairing: single dad!joseph quinn x fem!reader  wc: 868  warnings: grace being sneaky but in a good way i promise

part nine • part eleven

a/n: hi sorry im so bad at uploading mental health went poopy stinky but im back

“grace elizabeth vandien!” joe gasped, practically hitting the phone out of grace’s hand. “you did not just friend request my employee!” 

“well she’s cute and clearly you need to get your head out of your ass, so if you don’t do it i will.” 

“you’re not playing cupid.”

“and you’re stupid if you think i’m going to listen to you.” 

“i cannot believe you’ve done this.” 

“well believe it, buckaroo. this is happening whether you like it or not.” 

joe had to stop himself from shoving grace off the couch, instead choosing to throw a pillow at her face before getting up to pace the room. there was no way this was going to turn out good. there absolutely wasn’t. but it wasn’t like he was nervous, right? granted, the last person he was with was julia. she didn’t really do much in terms of their relationship, seeing as it appeared to be purely transactional. and the fact that she left the kids with joe a majority of the time. he wasn’t going to lie, the honeymoon phase was nice, but it didn’t last much longer than six months before he started noticing a few things. then six turned into twelve, julia got pregnant and those twelve months turned into 23 with divorce papers in his hands. and now the twins were three, he was sex deprived and dear god, he just-- 

but he couldn’t, could he? he wasn’t going to lie, y/n was one of the only things on his mind lately. okay so maybe he had looked at her profile picture on facebook for too long. and memorized the freckles on her cheeks and how some of them almost looked like the little dipper if you squinted just enough. or how her cousin commented “so hot so pretty you need a boyfriend” on every profile picture and y/n would just reply with an eyeroll emoji and a “get me one then”. how she laughed so gracefully when the kids at the daycare did something funny. or cute. or both. how she took such great care of the twins and didn’t care at all that they attached themselves to her. 

yeah, maybe he needed a new relationship. he needed to stop thinking about y/n. he needed--

“joe, get out of your head.” grace lightly slapped his cheeks. “i promise i won’t say anything too out of pocket to her.” 

“grace!” 

“i’m joking! mostly. listen, you know your worth and you deserve to have it. julia can suck my ten inch clit, and if she pulls a fuss to her lawyer about you moving on you can literally bring up the fact she leaves you with the kids and breaks her custody agreement almost weekly to go fuck some guy on whatever costal island she flies to with daddies money. you. deserve. so. much. better. don’t stop yourself from pursuing this because of some silly little lady who can’t tell her left from her right.”

“i— she’s not directionally challenged.”

“that’s not my point.” grace rolled her eyes. “stop being such a worry wort and just get back out there! what’s wrong with going on one date with y/n?” 

“well for one, if it goes bad we might lose our best employee.” 

“i doubt she would quit if the date goes that roughly. and you gotta believe in yourself, dude. you had everyone in college swooning over you. it’s a surprise you’re not playing some heartthrob metal head somewhere on tv that everyone is going to fall in love with.”

“stop reminding me of my failed dreams.” joe dramatically flopped back on the couch. “i’d much rather be on tv than running a daycare.”

“but you’re doing a damn good job at it. honestly? i think it's your calling.” 

“huh?”

“working with kids. maybe you could like, develop a show about a couple in a daycare that falls in love and has like ten babies.” 

“y/n and i are not going to have ten babies.” 

“i never said that.” grace cheekily smiled as she typed away on her phone. “and besides, you never know what’ll happen.” 

“i have two, and they are more than enough right now, thank you very much.” 

grace rolled her eyes. “puh-lease, you want more kids and you know it.”

“i do know it, but i have two three year olds.” 

“and like, how many girls watching them constantly? joe. i’m going to be blunt and you’re going to take it. you need to get laid. and i’m going to help you get laid.” 

“i- grace…” 

“listen, i’m gonna find you someone. even if it’s on tinder, okay?” grace pushed herself off of the couch. “i’m gonna head out because i have an 8am, but i’ll send you updates. also send me your favorite pictures of yourself in case i end up making you a tinder.”

“i don’t want to be on tinder.”

“i’ll do bumble then.” grace paused in the doorframe.  “oh, before i forget, y/n and i are getting tea tomorrow, i’ll let you know how it goes!” 

and with that, grace shut the door and joe was left to once again scream into his pillow.

[enoughyi]

71 for the kiss prompt list 👀

#4: In A Position To Talk

Ship: Imelda Reyes x Poppy Sweeting (x f!MC (Julia Wright))

Summary: Poppy is always wary for each and either of them.

Prompt Number: 71. A Gentle “I Love You” Whispered After A Soft Kiss, Followed Immediately By A Stronger Kiss. [>>>link to the list]

Word count: 740. Rating: G.

A/N: It's brainrot-powered. Characters are in their 20's.

Hufflepuff pride? Yes. Also, a honourable mention of a certain Aesop Sharp.

Tags: @thriftstorebabayaga @espressoristretto-patronum @caramel-hufflepuff

Everything Poppy knew about Quidditch she learnt on accident.

And facts, details, trivia, let alone girlfriends' experiences, all left her with a petty realisation she'd loved to keep her beloved women away from this pernicious game. Imelda's father lost his ability to walk to it. Julia could loose what remained of her health; granted, she stopped playing after the school was over, yet Imelda insisted on broom races held all across and around British Isles.

Her sound reasoning didn't find understanding from Poppy, however.

They both wanted what would be best for everyone but wasn't there less trauma-inducing sport to choose to upkeep staying fit?.. But if Julia seemed to like the activity, then, maybe, she knows better? She only looked sickly, yet her spirits were lively as ever; were, most days.

Questioning Imelda's choices at some point in life felt like a lecture.

Imelda wasn't a person to take it lightly but somehow, whenever a slightest concerned would jump from Poppy's lips in to the room's quiet ambiance, Imelda's reaction at it wouldn't ever turn volatile.

Instead, she'd sigh and in a carefully-picked-words manner explain worst things could happen to the best of the best regardless the skill. If Julia was present, the brief shadow of her silent comment was irrevocable to appear. Any subtle hint of Sharp's tragic recollection of events lead to his career severely dwindled and washed him ashore near Hogwarts's loch was enough for either to say It Is What It Is.

Poppy would always find a way to digress and say either should pay utmost attention. They weren't Aurors to face dangers obligingly. If they could help, they shouldn't provoke it? Needless, those perils.

Poppy had never anything to answer to the query of was she the one to talk after saving quite a few beast and from as young as she was only ten. Lost and surrendering to a defeat, Poppy would still catch on the lingering feeling of wary, "Julie, Melly. I worry sick about you."

They always helped to ease the tension but never enough to have her anxiety fully let go of. Was it the aftermath still present in the air, even after so much time have passed since the Spring of 1892.; or was it something else entirely, creeping into crevasses of her usual very much collected and some could say, insouciant demeanor, from the recent events of her professional life. Nobody really knew, but a few well-planted, wontly kisses would be of tremendous help.

Once, after Julia kissed them goodnight and went upstairs, Imelda suddenly followed Poppy on her seemed-resolved ask, "So do we. Each of us managed to secure a niche that is nothing but a guess how to navigate, didn't us. Don't worry, we've been unsinkable so far".

"I, I think you're right," Poppy answered. "But that doesn't answer my question. Ten years ago we could afford to be menaces on Hogwarts' behalf." Noticed Imelda preferred to change seats, she shifted a tad. "But not now. I understand we are all compensated well for what we do. But it is, I, I don't know, Imelda. Longer we live, less we can risk."

"Wise words, for the ripe old age of twenty five or six."

"Melly!"

Before Imelda uttered an apology in a low brogue, her hands held on Poppy's, firmly. "Not a single bad thing will happen to me or to Julia, I can promise you that. What will happen to Ravenclaw on her own fly, though. She'll tell you herself."

Dry and soft touch of her lips to wrist send shivers up Poppy's arm, stuck warmly between shoulder blades. She couldn't resist Imelda's embrace, either, quickly burying face in her flowery-scented jumper.

A lovely while later, Imelda pressed her chin upwards, so they could kiss. Imelda shyly ushered her agitation away, sighed, "Love you," that breezed through strands of her loose hair.

Cutthroat girl she was, sometimes she interpreted the woes of others a little wrongly. What was it made Imelda feel she needed to be coy?

Poppy wriggled in her arms, adjusting herself to then suffocated her in that kiss, no less; and note to herself: ten years may already had passed, ten more will, twenty, fifty, infinity, but Imelda will always squint at her as if ferocious and feverish kisses, intently impressive on the very memory, were a Slytherin or a Ravenclaw's prerogative.

It was not.

Has never been.

Will not ever become.

[seeminglyranch87]

Taylor & Travis Timeline

October 2024 - Part 1

October 3 - National Poetry Day & National Boyfriend Day

Taylor releases The Eras Tour Setlist (x) chapter to streaming services and a new TTPD merch line called The Greatest in the League Collection (x). Taylor Nation also toying with us - see twitter post (x)

October 5 - Travis Kelce's 35th birthday (Chiefs x New Heights x)

Kelce Car Jam - Jason & Kylie, Ed & Donna Kelce attend the car show in support of Travis' charity 87 & Running

“She could not be here right now, I know she’s coming to the game though” Travis when asked about Taylor.

Taylor Swift Grammys submission

October 7 - Chiefs v Saints, Arrowhead Stadium, Kansas City, MO

Travis arrives ahead of game (x)

Warm up

Taylor arrives at Arrowhead Stadium with her father Scott Swift (ESPN x). Our favourite pop star is still bejewelled with glitter freckles and TNT bracelet.

Chiefs defeat Saints 26 - 13. Travis has 9 receptions for 70 yards (x) and takes a snap handing off to Xavier Worthy for a touchdown (x). That makes 5-0 wins to the Chiefs!

ESPN are so unserious (x)

Travis and Taylor in the suite packing on the PDA (x) after the game

Taylor & Chariah celebrating the Chiefs win (x) initially posted to Chariah’s IG story.

“We feel really good after this win we’re 5 and 0…” says Chariah to which Taylor responds "GOING INTO A BYE WEEK, perfect.”

Brittany Mahomes IG post (x)

Travis' manager Aric posts to IG.

Post game celebrations

October 8 - Travis & Jason record New Heights Episode in Kansas City.

Travis & Taylor fly out to NYC together (x). They are joined by Scott Swift

October 9 - New Heights Ep.104 airs (x) recorded live in KC Oct.8

Highlights from the episode

Travis recently watched Notting Hill starring Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant whom he met at the Era's Tour. Thinking Tay and Trav had a movie night.

"My girl Tay is getting you opened up" Jason. "She is" Travis. "She's introducing new foods to you" Jason. Referring to Travis trying new foods including curries unless they look like poop!

Travis laughing at Jason's locker room antics

ET clarifies Travis & Taylor are not engaged.

According to TMZ (x), a source close to the couple tells...

"It’s not true and the recent erratic and unfounded speculation on this couple is just proving that media and overzealous fans do not know what’s going on with them and shouldn’t make wild assumptions based on zero facts. Two days ago everyone had decided they were broken up, now they’re allegedly secretly engaged? It’s whiplash-inducing."

October 10 - ET reports (x)

October 12 - Chiefs BYE week

Go to previous update -> September 2024 part 4

Go to next update -> October part 2

Return to the timeline

[misscongeniality18]

OMG I have an idea for a Peter Sutherland fic. Peter and reader are lying in bed watching a movie or show but reader is just staring at Peter. When Peter asks ‘what is it?’, reader says ‘I’m counting all the freckles on your face’ and that’s when Peter finds out that reader is obsessed with his freckles and his face. Pure fluff I’m crying just thinking about it T__T

This is just the cutest thing ever, and I love it. I hope I did it justice!

Photograph - Peter Sutherland

Synopsis ! (In the request above) You and Peter are watching a movie on a rainy day, and you get distracted by his freckles. Pairing ! Peter Sutherland x Reader (no use of y/n) Genre ! Pure fluff Warnings ! (Slightly steamy) kissing, shirtless Peter, slight innuendo Word Count - 695

" We keep this love in a photograph We made these memories for ourselves Where our eyes are never closing Hearts are never broken And time's forever frozen, still " - Photograph, Ed Sheeran

The way I wrote this so fast because I love it so much is insane. (And I listen to music when I write, therefore the song titles for everything.)

Masterlist Request Guide

It was a rainy day, and those were your favorites. It was a day where you could stay home with the excuse that the weather made DC drivers crazy. It was a day where you could have hot chocolate and popcorn and watch movies all day with candles lit around you. It was a day where you could spend your time with your favorite person in the world. Peter knew how much you loved rainy days, so he would everything he could to make them special for you.

You had finished the popcorn and the hot chocolate, and you and Peter were cuddled up in bed, legs intertwined and covered with a fluffy blanket. You loved how warm Peter was, so you rested your head against his bare chest and wrapped yourself around him like a koala, relishing in the feeling of his skin against yours and listening to the sound of his heartbeat.

You’d picked out the movie Notting Hill, one of your favorites. As Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant displayed their characters’ romance, you couldn’t help but feel like you were in a movie yourself. The steady rhythm of the rain, the ambiance from the candles, and the person you loved the most being by your side created the potential for a romance film.

But you didn’t necessarily want that. You wanted to take a picture of this moment with your mind so that you could remember it forever. You wanted to live in this moment forever.

You looked up at Peter, studying the way his eyes were focused on the television screen, totally invested in the story being told. His lashes were incredibly long—which made you jealous at times—and had the slightest hint of red in them, just like his hair. You loved his hair. When it got long enough, it would curl, and his ginger roots would become more prominent, which is why he kept it cut shorter. It was also the reason why he wouldn’t keep more than a five o’clock shadow; his facial hair was red. That, and he didn’t want to rub your cheeks raw whenever the two of you kissed.

You also appreciated his ginger-ness because it gave him freckles, which was something he despised. His chest and back were sprinkled with them, and you would often connect the dots with your fingertips, which made him crave more of your touch. He would become insatiable whenever you did that.

But then sometimes, you’d gaze up at his face and start to count the infinite amount of freckles there. Some were so faint you could barely see them, but others were more clear, like the ones on his nose. You started there, then made your way to his right cheek, then his forehead, and you worked your way clockwise.

You’d only made it to the left side of his jaw when he caught you staring, and his brows turned downwards in confusion as his nose wrinkled ever so slightly, a sight you found incredibly adorable. “What is it?” He asked, lips quirking up as he noticed the admiration in your eyes.

“I’m counting all the freckles on your face,” you said before turning your elated smile into a serious line. “Now, be quiet. I only got to fifty—“

Peter wasn’t able to hear the last digit of the number because he captured your lips with his. That was another thing you loved; his lips. They were soft and firm at the same time, and the way they moved against yours drove you crazy.

One of Peter’s strong hands moved to grip your waist to keep you flush against him, and your shirt rode up slightly. Peter’s fingers pressed into your skin, which had started to grow warm and flushed. You pulled back slightly, staring into Peter’s warm, brown eyes flecked with bits of hazel, his pupils blown wide in his desire for you.

“What brought this on?” You asked, your voice now breathless.

Peter brushed his nose against yours. “You love my freckles, so I love you.”

“Well,” you hummed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I think I’m in love with more than your freckles.”

Keep sending in requests! Fluff, headcanons, (I'll even attempt at smut?), send it all!