#i know most of this is silly i wish i could tell my nervous system that because she is. not happy.

[lovelaceisntdead]

I can feel my heartbeat in my teeth.

[blindmagdalena]

Center Stage in a Gilded Cage (chapter two)

18+ 3k. homelander x f!reader. pre-s1. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, forced relationship, slow burn, somnophilia, drugging, eventual smut. chapter 2/8. AO3.

You’ve been hand-chosen by a god; plucked out of your meager, mundane existence and set delicately into the lap of luxury. Your every need will be met, your every whim and wish made real. By any measure, it’s a dream come true. A life safe from pain, from toil, and from the crushing weight of choice. In exchange, all he asks is that you devote yourself wholly to him.

“What happened?” You ask, voice frayed. Your movements are sluggish, hands rubbing the disorientation from your eyes one at a time.

Homelander catches his own reflection briefly in the mirror across from the bed–making sure he doesn’t have a hair out of place for this crucial meeting–before his gaze moves back to you. “Only the most important day of your life,” he says, feeling as though he’s about to tell someone they just won the goddamn lottery. He watches you rise slowly up into a sitting position, never taking your eyes off of him. He knows that you’re nervous–can smell it on you–but he doesn’t worry himself with that. It’s to be expected initially. 

“You just so happen to be the luckiest lady in America,” he tells you, putting on his most charming smile.

“What are you talking about?” You ask, your confusion deepening. He can see the tension in your body rising as well, the pace of your heart lifting to a rabbit-like thrum despite the molasses thick haze of the anesthesia in your system.

He laughs softly, lifting his hands in an encompassing gesture. “I saved you.”

Almost instantaneously, the tense line of your shoulders droops and your eyes soften in a way that erupts a wave of butterflies in his gut. You look nearly ready to fall back into bed with the weight of relief that moves through you, causing you to sway slightly. He feels nearly delirious with the giddiness of the moment, his fingers twitching, itching to touch. 

“What do you remember?” He asks, daring to inch closer to you. His hand settles on the bed, fingertips nearly brushing your blanketed knee.

“I remember someone grabbing me. A man. He put a rag over my mouth,” you say, lifting a hand to touch your lips. His gaze drops to follow the movement. He subconsciously licks his own. He’d been such a gentleman while you slept, but that hadn’t stopped him fantasizing. He cannot wait to taste you again. “It smelled like grass or something. I fought, but he was so strong,” you say, a tremble like reverence or fear in your voice. Maybe both.

When you realize that his strength is yours, you’ll never need to fear it–or anything else–ever again.

“And then I blacked out. You saved me from him?” You look up at him with wide, watery eyes and he could almost laugh at how cute you look, cluelessly putting together mismatched pieces of the little puzzle going on in your brain. The breathless wonder in your voice–the way you’re looking at him with such hope–makes his chest swell with pride.

You’re in for a real treat.

“Sweetheart,” he coos, lifting his hand to give your knee a gentle squeeze through the blanket. “That was me,” he says, his smile broad and proud. “What I saved you from was ever stepping foot back in that dingy little apartment of yours again. From that mind numbing mediocrity and the tedium of your mundane little life. I brought you home,” he says, gesturing out to his penthouse with a grand sweep of his arm.

A pregnant pause follows.

He waits, but you still don’t seem to get it. Your heart is thumping wildly with no sign of slowing, and that brief flicker of relief has disappeared entirely, the line of your shoulders drawing back up tight. A twinge of apprehension nestles in his chest.

“Well?” He prompts, his smile faltering. “Say something.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” you say, gripping the bedding in tight fists. “You kidnapped me?”

“I didn’t kidnap you, you silly goose,” he half scoffs, half laughs. “I brought you home!” He says again, emphasizing the word ‘home’ as if it will speed along your comprehension. Instead, you look more confused and afraid than ever. 

He sighs, dropping his hands down into his lap. “C’mon, you could show a little excitement, yeah? I mean, out of the three hundred and thirty million people in America, I picked you. Those are some fucking insane lottery odds.”

“Picked me for what?” You ask quietly, a rasp in your voice that itches uncomfortably at the back of his neck. You sound ready to cry, which won’t do at all. This isn’t how this is supposed to go.

“To be mine,” he says, and while he’s still smiling, there’s an incredulous furrow to his brow. 

“Be your what?”

His smile thins alongside his patience. “My–mine, my girlfriend, lover, sweetheart, my-my fucking paramor, whatever you want to call it,” he says, that charming facade slipping as his mounting aggravation with your incomprehension creeps further up his spine. 

Where’s your excitement? Where’s your fucking gratitude?

“I don’t even know you,” you say, moving away from him to the opposite side of the bed, sliding onto your feet without ever taking your eyes off of him. You brace your hand on his headboard, steadying yourself.

Homelander stands, taken aback. “Of course you know me. You recognized me instantly!” He says, circling the bed. 

For every step he takes forward, you take two back. 

He’s bewildered by your response: he’s a goddamn hero, the shining light of providence beaming down on America, and you’re cowering from his approach like he’s some kind of fucking pariah, shrinking back against the mirror when you hit it, cornering yourself.

“You know exactly who I am, and I know you,” he says, uninvited irritation slipping into his voice. 

“I know that you like to cook, that you can’t hold your alcohol, and that the best part of your day is the little sweet treat you get yourself after work. You laugh at bad jokes and you watch worse television. Videos about sad animals make you cry, even when they end happy. When you’re depressed you shop online and look at house listings you’ll never be able to afford. I know you, alright? Down to your goddamn skincare routine. So just calm down already.”

Fuck, he needs to reign himself in. He’s gotten too worked up, and you’re stubbornly not calming down at all.

“You’ve been stalking me?” You ask, gaze darting from corner to corner like an animal seeking an avenue for escape. The horror in your voice, in your expression, churns his stomach terribly.

Relax. Relax. Give her a sec. She’ll figure it out, coos a much more confident voice in the back of his mind. He closes his eyes briefly, taking in a slow breath, inhabiting that same confidence. 

Everything’s going to be fine.

There’s no other option now.

“It’s–heh–it’s a funny story, actually,” he says, forcefully lightening his tone. He wants you to enjoy this story. Hear the romanticism in it. “I was on patrol, you know, watching for crime, or danger, people in need of saving–I do that a lot–and that’s when I saw you,” he says with a slowly broadening smile, hands lifted towards you like you’re on display. “You were on your way to work, and you handed some homeless guy a box of–”

“John,” you interrupt, staring at him with apprehension.

Homelander’s expression turns stricken, not knowing why you would possibly call him that. In his underlying agitation, he sees flashes of a cramped room behind an enormous door the color of fresh blood. His hands felt so small beating on that terrible door. His throat constricts, and he barely chokes out, “What?”

“John,” you say again, visibly concerned by his reaction. “The man I give food to, his name is John.” Of course it is. As common a gutter name as any.

“Oh,” he says, the muscles in his face tight. It takes him several seconds to recover, blinking rapidly. “Yeah. Sure. Okay. So, you… Well, I saw you, and you were rushing, working, and you’d come home, rush and work again, and the food, you’d–” Fuck, he’s lost the thread. He feels like he’s coming unspooled, an awkward mess spilled out on the floor. This is not how he wants you to see him.

If only you hadn’t said that fucking name.

He brings his hands up, covering his mouth and nose as he takes in a deep breath, eyes closed. He drops his hands in front of his chest, palms clasped together. He smiles tensely as his eyes open back up. “I’m gonna start over. Hey, hi, I’m Homelander,” he says, slipping into his stage voice without realizing it, speaking the way he would if he was addressing a crowd. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while.”

He splays his hands at that, as if waiting for an applause for his performance. You don’t appear to be of the mind to offer him one.

“Okay… so you have been stalking me,” you say, pressed so tightly against the mirror you might actually crack it. He resists the urge to roll his eyes. You’re just working yourself up now, focusing on the wrong parts entirely. He assumes you’ll be more reasonable when all the adrenaline in your blood wears off. The smell of it on you is terribly sour. “And now you’ve drugged and kidnapped me.”

He lets out a terse breath. “I–mm, I feel like you’re missing the point just a little bit here,” he says through his teeth, heat prickling his neck where his collar touches it, the fabric suddenly growing irritating against his skin. “I was not stalking you. I saw you a few times, and I wanted to meet you. And again, you’re not kidnapped!”

“I’m free to go, then?” You ask, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“Yes, obviously,” he laughs, though there’s tension in it. It takes everything in him not to forcibly uncross your arms himself. He much prefers how you looked in sleep, or when he observed you from a distance. This harsh, closed off version of you is making his skin itch. He wishes he could start the take over, the way they do when he’s filming. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Ever seen Paris? Hell, summer in Italy is–”

“Home,” you say. “I’d like to go home, please.”

“Would you-!” His tone is too sharp, too loud, and he cuts himself off, but not before his volume makes you flinch. 

He sucks in a breath, bobbing his pointer finger at you. “You-mmm,” he hums, clicking his tongue as he continues to force calm into his voice. “You are home,” he says, giving into his impulse and taking hold of your wrist, tugging your arms out of that tight cross with ease. He pulls you behind him, deciding that if telling won’t work, showing will have to. 

Once you see it, you’ll understand. You’ll understand that all of this has been for you.

“Here, look,” he says, throwing open the door to the closet. Your closet. It’s lined with outfits he’s spent the last several weeks choosing for you. Weeks spent finding a balance between your aesthetic and his. You’ll have to match him, of course. He made sure that they compliment his suit while also carrying similarities to the color palettes you’re drawn to.

He spreads his arm towards the display, fingers twitching. “See? Yours. All of it–and whatever else you want,” he says, hyper aware of how delicate your wrist feels in his grasp. You may as well be a bird in his hands, hollow-boned and fragile. “The kitchen, too, it’s yours,” he says, gesturing vaguely off in the direction of it. His attention snaps back to you, laser focused. He gives your wrist a reflexive tug, fighting with himself to keep his own strength at bay.

“I did all of this for you,” he says in a low voice, pinning you with his stare. “Tell me you understand that.”

If there’s an undercurrent of desperation in his tone, he ignores it.

Your eyes are wide and watery, a deer caught in the golden headlights of all that he is. Your breaths come in shallow waves, and the terrible fear that radiates from you makes him want to shake you. Your gaze slides from him to the closet, flitting between the myriad of garments that hang in the closet. All in your size. Some of them are nearly identical to pieces you own, but manufactured by the original designer instead of a cheap knock-off plucked from a department store rack.

And still he can give you so much more. All he asks is that you love him for it.

There’s a tremble running through you. Your throat clicks on a dry swallow, and slowly your attention drifts back to him, sweeping him from head to toe, taking account of him in his entirety for the first time. He tenses. It’s a little strange to be so seen by you, but it feels good, too. He squares his shoulders, wanting you to see the best in him.

“Why me?” You ask quietly, your eyes meeting his. You still look lost, but what he finds endearing is the underlying conviction he sees. You’re always quick to move towards a solution. He likes that about you. He’s not sure what it is that you’ve decided, but it’s clear you’ve made a choice somewhere in your mind.

Because you’re like me.

“Because you deserve it,” he says, drawing you in at the same time he turns his body towards yours. “You’re underappreciated. Undervalued. You’re capable of so much more than the world gives you credit for,” he says, his grip on your wrist flexing. Every one of those glorified pen-pushers at Vought should choke for the way they ignore him, hoisting their agendas onto him while dismissing his ideas. “And you’re lonely.”

Your eyes widen a fraction. Bullseye.

Sensing vulnerability, he moves a step closer, taking hold of your other wrist. He offers both a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to be.”

Neither of us do.

“This is insane,” you whisper, but the inflection of your voice makes it sound like a question. Like you’re considering it. “You’re… You’re Homelander,” you say, as if that should explain everything you hold in your gaze. 

And I’m nobody, you must be thinking. Maybe you were once, but no longer. You’ve been elevated in the way only someone chosen by God can be.

“And you’re here. With me,” he counters, his own voice lower now, quieter in the intimately narrow space between your bodies, both hands wrapped around your wrists. There’s a flush crawling up your throat, warming you all the way to your ears. His thumb absently strokes your pulse-point. “Safe. I’m a hero, remember?”

“So, you’re not… going to wear my skin, or eat me?” You ask, voice filled with such dread at the notion he thinks you might have actually believed that was his intention.

He barks a laugh, shaking his head. “Alright, first of all, no more Silence of the Lambs for you,” he says, relinquishing his hold on your wrists to slide his hands up your arms, squeezing your shoulders. “Second, no. I’m not going to wear your skin. Or eat you.”

Well… Not like that. He can’t promise he won’t devour you, though. Pin you beneath the weight of his strength–he could keep you down with nothing more than his pinky–put his head between your thighs and trace his name with his tongue until you’re screaming it. The thought makes his cock throb, stiffen. He licks his lips subconsciously, glad for the cover of his cup.

“Okay,” you say, snapping him out of his daydream. “Then you want me to…?” 

It seems ridiculous to him that he would still have to explain it. He’ll blame it on the anesthesia.

“Do whatever you want,” he says, taking his hands from your shoulders to motion to the rest of his penthouse. “Cook, don’t cook. Read books, shop, get in arguments on the internet over fictional characters,” he says, swirling his hand in a vague gesture. “Whatever makes you happy,” he says, gaze drifting back to you. All you have to do is do it with me. “Pretty sweet deal if you ask me.” He offers you the sharp edge of a smile, leaving little room for discussion.

You stare at him for a moment that’s too long and too quiet for his liking before your eyes wander, taking in the rest of his room. The balcony beyond the threshold. The mirrors and paintings on the walls, the statues in the corners, the rich dark colors. Everything has been decorated to make the space feel grander, more open. No blank walls. No doors that lock. It’s his home.

And now it’s your home.

“Okay,” you say eventually.

His brows shoot up. “Okay?”

You look back to him, your expression difficult for him to parse. Despite years spent practicing and learning facial expressions–all part of his camera training–he cannot read yours right now. He would be more bothered if he weren’t so distracted by the spark of hope that flares in his chest. “Okay,” you say again, adding a small nod this time.

He exhales a breathy laugh. “Yeah? Yeah! Okay. Alright. Wow, that’s… that’s great,” he says, his grin wide and a touch incredulous. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, a sense of suspicion, but his elation smothers it. He had dreaded that you might face an adjustment period, be confused, that there would be tears or anger. You were really starting to get under his skin with all that talk of kidnapping.

As if he were some sort of common thug or criminal, and not a savior.

In his exhilaration, he cups your face suddenly. He feels your pulse spike in his hands, but his focus is solely on your eyes.

“I’m going to make you the happiest woman alive,” he vows with a soft gaze and an eager smile. He leans in close enough to feel your breaths on his lips, tempted to kiss you, but he stops himself. There will be plenty of time for that, and he doesn’t want to remember your first kiss alongside the acrid tinge of your fading fear. His thumbs brush your cheeks, learning the shape of them under his touch.

He’d been wrong when he first took notice of you. You’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

Sucking in a steadying breath, he draws away, placing his hands on his hips. “Now… How about we get you a little more comfortable for bed?”

( chapter three )

[velvet-games]

apparently this is a hot take according to some people I know irl, but I'm wondering if people around here also think so?

I think something being temporary doesn't delegitimize it at all. even if it's silly, even if you cringe at it later, if it's important to you now, it's important to you now. that's why I hate the "it's a phase" phrase because for me, the response to that is not "no it's not a phase; I'm going to like it to adulthood;" the response should be "it doesn't matter if I don't like it later; it's important to me now and I only exist as the person I am now." (to be clear, people pretending they can predict the future about whether you will/won't be something in the future is bad and annoying in its own right) sorry this is kind of abstract so I'll try to explain it as best I can ...

I remember a teacher talking to me about how he likes the saying "this too shall pass," whereas I'm trying to get OUT of that mindset. the problem is that "this too shall pass" applies to literally everything. I don't think this was the original intention of the saying, but the subtext is that you shouldn't worry about what's happening now because it won't be forever; essentially, it doesn't matter if it doesn't last.

but isn't that literally everything? I get nervous whenever I'm happy because I remember that yes, this is probably temporary, and if history's anything to go by, it will be gone very quickly. but like, so is your entire life. so is the earth, the solar system. don't these things matter, not because they're permanent, but because they're your whole world in certain moments? when you're a teen and you're into a cringey show that you grow out of later, that's still a show that's your entire world (and might save your life!) in that time period.

I was pretty sensitive as a kid (still am, just better at hiding it/bottling stuff up), and I remember having genuinely scarring feelings and thoughts belittled constantly. and emotionally, you don't start thinking that that should stop applying when you're older. when I was a kid, all of my ideas and feelings were stupid because I was young and people thought I was a girl and I had normal childish interests. but even as I've become an adult, I haven't let go of the mindset of "everything I do and say and like is stupid and I need to defend them constantly or not mention them at all." it's definitely gotten better now that people have given me external cues that I can be taken seriously, but why wasn't I taken seriously before? I remember watching this movie about a monster eating a child and replaying that scene (and thus the fear that came with it) over and over for months. it's kind of silly in retrospect, but I think the stuff that I would have that exact emotional response to now would be taken much more seriously. when I was a kid scaring myself with that scene, was my fear not real? was I not in pain? was that not important to me at the time? why did it not matter just because other people stopped being able to relate to it?

I just wish we had a more gentle attitude about some of these things, especially when it comes to things young people don't have control over. I remember having a really aggressive attitude about diet/weight loss culture right after I started ED recovery, and as dumb as some of that was, it was necessary and legitimate. if I could talk to someone in a similar position, I wouldn't chastise them and tell them they're being naive and that it'll pass; I would say, "I see you; you're in a lot of pain right now, and you need to be feeling these emotions. I remember what that felt like. it might not last forever, but it's important that you process and validate them now anyway." obviously that understanding doesn't go as far as excusing harm, but I really don't think that even applies to most of the stuff we cringe at teens for (no, designing a sparkledog OC is not killing anyone).

your past self wasn't a rough draft on a piece of paper that just became human yesterday. they were a full person with actual emotions in full effect on them. they're gone now, and other young people won't be young forever either, but they're still people right now.

[bestialchorus]

“The Invisible String” (Falling for Donna Beneviento)- Chapter 1

Donna quietly gasps as your fingers lightly brush against each other. The head of the house immediately jerks her hand away in response, acting as if the minimal contact had burned her flesh. Despite her reaction, she doesn’t completely pull away, instead her hand freezes in midair as she mentally processes what to do next, her fingers ever so slightly shaking. You watch the scene from the corner of your eye, feigning ignorance as you pick up the brush you were originally reaching for. The last thing you wanted to do was embarrass her by drawing attention to her sudden jitteriness. You take no offence as you’re well aware of how her anxiety can manifest in different ways. You instead begin painting the face of one of Donna’s latest creations, giving it your own touch of life, avoiding her gaze.

To call the air between you both as heavy would be an understatement. For Donna was quieter than usual, if that’s even possible, while thoughts plague your mind. Thoughts filled with unspoken words that prick at your tongue, wishing to be set free. You sit in silence as all

that can be heard throughout the Beneviento home is an old grandfather clock ticking away down the hall. You couldn’t help but be grateful for the ancient clock as its presence always helped anchor you to reality, an issue that proved to be difficult whenever you were near the shrouded woman.

The tension you currently feel is nothing new.  For months it’s been bubbling beneath the surface, quietly peeking through now and again. You always felt it in the woman’s presence but chose to never vocalize it, naively hoping it would go away….but it never did.

For months you desperately tried to repress how the puppeteer made you feel, only to fail miserably. Every moment with Donna threatened to take your breath away, from the passing glances, accidental touches, and restless dreams you had no control over…but how you craved them. The longer you spent within the Beneviento home, the more you tried to sever any hope of the woman returning your affections. For to hope was to dream and dreams didn’t last long within reality’s grasp, not when you were a common painter and she, a woman with status and power.

For some reason, the tension in the air feels stronger than usual or perhaps it was simply all in your head. Perhaps you’re finally being punished for your naivete as your affections now threaten to flood your system. Your heart begins to pump faster as you imagine finally confessing to the woman in black. To think, a brush of fingers would be the final straw.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

This all-started months ago when a shadowy member of house Beneviento had informed you had been summoned. You couldn’t help but feel anxiety bubble in the pit of your stomach as you automatically assumed the worst. All you knew about Mistress Beneviento were the rampant rumours that swirled around why she chose to conceal her identity at all costs; some say she was born with a monstrous appearance, others believe the flesh off her face had completely melted off in a horrific accident, while someone else had personally told you she was probably a cursed body with no head at all. You had never been one for rumours, but you felt nervous all the same, what could the head of a house want with a simple artist like yourself? Surely, she could afford a painter of well-known status if she wanted a portrait done.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The pathway towards House Beneviento would only fuel the stories of horror and enigma attached to the mysterious family. Isolated on a wintery cliff, overlooking a grand waterfall, you feel every inch of your being telling you to go back the closer you get to the eerie house. Despite the status of the Beneviento name, you see no sign of life surrounding it; no groundskeepers or servants to be spoken of.

The heavy wooden door closes behind you with a loud creak. Your confusion only grows as no help comes to announce your arrival, the space is seemingly empty. Despite the home’s quiet nature, you can’t help but find it surprisingly “cozy” as deep rich wood surrounds you. Lights create a warm glow throughout the space, contrasting with the harsh winter winds you hear rattle against the windows.  

A voice suddenly speaks from the top of the stairs, making you jump back. You jerk your head towards the sound as your gaze falls on none other than the mistress of the house, Donna Beneviento. Off first glance, she is as mysterious as all the rumours suggested, covered from head to toe in a long dark dress and veil, showing no skin except for her hands. Despite the image, you don’t find her as unnerving as you originally thought you would. Sure, there was definitely something about her that was almost otherworldly but so far, not in a threatening way.

“Welcome to my home, Lady Y/N.” She greets in a low and soft voice.

You hold a hand over your heart as you wait for it to relax, she’s truly given you a fright but you’re more concerned of how she was able to appear without making her presence known. Surely you would have heard her steps against the wood, right? You shake your head of the thought as you try answer as politely as you can, having no experience interacting with anyone from the four families.

“Of course, Mistress Beneviento. It’s no trouble at all, how ah…can I be of assistance?”

The woman takes a pause before answering, almost frozen in place. You feel a bit awkward under her “gaze”, wondering if she’s silently judging you from under her veil. Finally, she extends a hand towards the hallway to her right, no rush in her movement as she answers.

“Perhaps it is better if I showed you.”

You follow her upstairs, and she leads you to a room filled with porcelain dolls, each dressed to reflect a unique personality. Upon closer inspection, you take in how much love was put into them; from ornate detailing to masterful craftmanship. Out of every scenario you could have imagined you’d find within House Beneviento, this could never have been one of them.

Donna’s voice comes out almost in a whisper.

“I could use your help bringing more to life…I’m aware of the skill you possess.”

Most would find her phrasing a bit bizarre, but you picked up on the vulnerability in her voice, highlighting just how much these dolls clearly meant to her. You turn towards her and notice how she softly runs a thumb over her other hand, you assume it to be a self-soothing technique. The gesture makes you notice how nice her hands are in shape, delicate yet slender and her nails perfectly painted.

From that day on you became Donna Beneviento’s artistic assistant, helping her paint, build and touch-up her “children”.  Days turned into weeks and weeks into months as you worked side by side in her large workshop. You honestly enjoyed the work but quickly found yourself enjoying her presence even more.

The image of the eerie woman quickly sheds away the more you get to know her. Ultimately what lies under the veil is a timid woman who preferred not to draw attention to herself. From what you can pick up, it seems all Donna wants is to live comfortably in her home while pursuing her passions. She enjoys needlework and keeping countless journals. She has little issue working well within the night whenever she started a new project of any kind. She is a far cry from the stereotypes attached to her status and rumoured state. The head of House Beneviento was instead an artistic soul who was gentle in mannerisms as she was with you.

Donna would openly concern herself with your health, showing worry whenever you got little sleep, little did she know she was often the reason for it. Her gentle voice and stunning hands would plague your mind deep within the night, refusing to let you rest. You quickly changed the subject whenever she brought up the dark circles under your eyes, embarrassed they’re from imaging how her touch would feel against your skin.

The head of the house was also unsurprisingly a great listener. You first take notice of this once your favourite tea appears one day in her kitchen, remembering you had told her about it a few weeks ago. Soon after, desserts begin to appear in her fridge once she found out you had a sweet tooth. Eventually the woman would presence you with high quality brushes you always wished you could try out. Going forward you always tried to be mindful of discussing anything she could end up buying you, not wanting to take advantage of her generosity.

You remember the day you worked in silence as you processed the woman’s “gifts” as she never directly gave them to you but simply waited for you to notice their presence. Deep down you always wished they meant something more, but you quickly shook the thought away. You instead decided it must be because you’re working on her dolls. You’re just a worker to her and nothing more.

“Y/N, is everything okay?” She asks, breaking you from your thoughts.

“Hmm? Yes, I believe so. Why do you ask, Mistress? Are my strokes off?” You eye the small doll in your hand.

She lightly shakes her head, “no, your work is impeccable as always. It’s just..you’re normally more talkative.”

She almost sounds embarrassed when she answers, as if it was silly to point out the observation in the first place.

“Oh, right. I just thought I’d give you a break from my usual ramblings.”

You answer lightly while flashing her a smile, trying to hide the reason for your silence. A pregnant pause follows, and you wonder if you answered too casually, you quickly try to rectify your mistake by apologizing but her voice interrupts you.

“…..I like your voice.” She says quiet enough to be a whisper.

Your heart skips a beat at the confession and at first you feel you MUST have misheard her, that is until you notice her doing her usual self-soothing technique.

Your curiosity for what laid under Donna Beneviento’s veil would quickly disappear as you found yourself slowly falling for the soul of the woman beneath it all.

Months after that interaction, you find that very same woman slowly moving her shaky hand back to yours, gently covering it, making your heart stop.

[boldlyvoid]

Only Time Will Tell | Part 2

18+

Summary: Fifteen years after a horrible breakup, Y/N and spencer figure out that time can heal almost everything.

Content Warnings: angst, parental death, mentions of cancer and suicide. Bi reader, bi spencer, recounting childhood relationships, slight angst, spencer's headaches, abusive relationships (not spencer and reader) blood tests, spencer's addiction issues, getting together, smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, switch spencer, sub reader, smut (not super graphic)

Word Count: 6.5K

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

When she wakes up she’s incredibly confused. She stares up at the bumpy stucco ceiling and Spencer laying on her chest and it feels like she’s gone back in time. He’s so snuggled into her, but her body is different than when she was 15, a lot different. He has a handful of one boob and his face on the other and she just shakes her head at the sight.

She kisses his forehead and strokes his hair and she lets it happen, because this is how she’s wanted to wake up every single day for the past 15 years. She’s spent just as long away from him as she’s spent loving him and she never realized how much it would hurt to think about it when she got him back.

She expected all the pain to go away, and while she’s a doctor and she knows way too much about the human brain, she still expected him to make her instantly happy. It wasn’t going to happen like that. Yes the hormones and endorphins were going to help, hugs and kisses and cuddles, sleeping beside him and hopefully sex… all those would contribute to making her feel happy, but at the end of the day her depression was always going to sit in the corner and attack when she was the most vulnerable.

Even with her last crush, it was good until she was alone. She’d cuddle with her all night with her lips pressed to her shoulder, wishing more than anything that she could feel that good forever… and it faded away when she realized she’d never have her. Unlike how she feels with Spencer right now.

He starts to wake up, also confused she guesses because he pulls away and sits right up with wide eyes and a horrified look on his face that just makes her laugh. “It’s fine, lay back down,” she pulls him back in and he settles, but the hand that was on her boob is now on her arm and he doesn’t say a word.

“How was your sleep?” She eventually asks, it’s the slightest whisper as she runs her fingers over his back the way he liked when he was younger.

“Really good,” he whispers back, “I haven’t slept this long in probably 15 years.”

“That makes one of us,” she smirks, “I sleep so much, it’s never refreshing but I sleep a lot.”

“I have really bad headaches, and no one can give me answers for them, I want to sleep but normally I can't.”

“What do you mean no one has answers?” She feels a little defensive, “have you had a brain scan or done blood work?”

“I’ve done it all,” he sighs, and she lifts him off of her.

“Do you have them here? Can I look?” She starts to worry for him, wanting to see everything she can and help him.

“Yeah,” he gets out of bed and rummages through his things, pulling out a few manila folders.

She grabs her phone and turns the flash on, laying it face down on the bed and shining up towards the ceiling, she takes out his MRI, a CT scan and holds them over the light one by one. “Your gray matter is so thick…”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“You’re a genius, tell me what gray matter does,” she teases, remembering how she used to use him as a google before Google was even invented.

“It's found throughout the central nervous system and controls movement, memory and emotions…”

“You’re a genius, I’ve always wondered how it would look,” she is fascinated with these normally, but Spencer’s is her favourite so far. “Your brain looks good, there’s nothing alarming, nothing out of the ordinary, but that doesn’t mean it’s all working right.”

He just hums along, she places them all back in their folders and opens his folder of paperwork, reading all his blog tests, “this is just basic stuff?”

He nods, “they won't test anything without reason.”

“Come to my lab? I’ll run every test in the book, you’re technically a schizophrenia research candidate so no one will care.”

“Really?” He looks almost excited, “I can take the morning off?”

“Okay,” she smiles, “let’s get ready then.”

She makes a phone call in Spencer’s kitchen, he’s still in the shower but Y/N’s completely dressed and ready for the day with the little supplies she brought in her bag. But she needs help.

“What?” The man answers first.

“It’s just me, put her on.”

“I’ve got this—Hello,” her best friend snatches the phone from him and answers with a smile she can hear, “how are you, bestie?”

“Hi Maeve,” she whispers with a smile.

“Why are we whispering?” She teases, “are you at someone’s house?”

“Yes,” she smiles, “I’m at Spencer’s.”

“No fucking way…” she whispers, “why didn’t you call me after your coffee date on Tuesday? I was so excited to hear about it.”

“I tried, but Bobby picked up and said you weren’t available,” she replied with a deep sigh, not hiding the fact that she hates Maeve’s fiancé.

“Oh,” she sounds ashamed and it makes Y/N feel bad for her, “well, how’d it go?”

“Good, we had a very PG13 sleep over the way we used to, It was nice waking up with him again, but I’m taking him into work today to do some blood work, I was wondering if I could send you some of his results? He’s getting headaches that he says are pretty debilitating?”

“Hmm, I’m free this morning once Bobby leaves for work, has he had any prior tests? I can come by and meet my best friend's best friend?” Maeve all but begs, that same pleading tone in her voice that Y/N loves.

“Of course, I’d never turn down a visit from you, I’ve missed you a lot,” she smiles at the floor, “and you’re really going to like Spencer.”

“I’m sure I will, do you think everything’s going to work out between you two?”

“I’m not sure yet,” her smile fades at the admission, “I don’t want to get my hopes up, but given the fact he texted me worried for my well-being and he’s been so adamant about hanging out… I’d like to say things are going back to normal.”

“Awe,” she swoons, “I love stories like this, you know that. I’m so glad you’re finally talking to him again, I thought I was going to have to bring you into my marriage, sister-wife style, in order to make you happier.”

“You could still leave Bobby for me,” she teases. “If this doesn’t work out, I still need a wife?” She teases and Maeve laughs and it makes her smile wide and toothy.

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” she whispers, “I’ll see you at work? In like an hour?”

“Do you want a coffee? We’re probably going to stop on the way,” Y/N offers, finally looking up from the pattern in the kitchen tile to see Spencer standing in the doorway.

“Just my usual,” she can hear Maeve’s smile, “but I’ll see you then, bye, love you.”

“Love you too,” she hangs up and stutters as she looks at Spencer, “I didn’t hear the water turn off?”

He’s standing there in a dark purple towel, one around his waist and one tightly wrapping his hair, he looks silly but she loves it. “Who was that?”

“My best friend,” she presses her lips together awkwardly, “she’s a geneticist, and if you have a deficiency causing these headaches she’s the best one to figure it out.”

“Thank you for caring this much,” it sounds so sad, she can tell he’s not used to this kind of effort being put in for him anymore.

“I’m very used to protecting you, it’s not something I can drop, even after fifteen years,” she reminds him, “I hate to think that you’ve had to do it alone for so long.”

“It’s been hard,” he agrees. “How is this going to work?”

“What?”

“Being best friends? Because as much as everyone on my team says they’re my best friend, I don’t feel close enough to anyone to give them that title anymore, not since I stopped talking to you,” it’s a lot to take in at a quarter to 8 in the morning.

Her eyes just go wide and she feels so bad for him, but at the same time, he did that to himself. He could have reached out, he could have stayed. There are lots of things he could do, and now the only thing she wants to do is let it go.

“Maeve means a lot to me, you’ll like her,” she steps into his space and pokes his wet chest, “she’s the only woman in her field, I’m the only woman in mine, we met at a talk a few years back and she’s been my person for so long.”

“Why couldn’t she go to get the time capsule with you?”

“She can’t leave the state,” Y/N admits, “she has a stalker and she won't tell me much, she doesn’t want me involved, she’s a little scared. And Bobby won't even let her answer the phone anymore, she’s why I reached out. She believes in fairytales and happy endings and after everything I’ve told her she said this love story has all the makings of a romantic comedy.”

Spencer laughs, “she’s not wrong.”

“She’s always going to be my best friend, but I can have two,” Y/N suggests, looking up at him and raising a brow.

“I don’t mind sharing,” he whispers.

It looks like he wants to kiss her and she desperately wants to lean in and let him, but he backs up. “I’m just going to change and then I’ll meet you back out here.”

“Yeah, course,” she lets him walk away and her heartbeat is audible in her ears.

She’ll always love Spencer, and yet a part of her wonders what would’ve happened if she had actually asked Maeve out that week before she met Bobby. Then she’d be able to go to the cops about the stalker, then she’d keep her safe all the time, and then again maybe she wouldn’t be here with Spencer trying to make it work if she was with Maeve.

It’s a lot to deal with at 8 in the morning.

She walks down to the building's garage with Spencer, he’s all dressed and ready for the day and he looks great. He dresses better than when he was a teenager, everything matches, it’s pressed and clean and he honestly could walk the runway like this.

And then she sees it.

“You still have it?”

“Shit,” Spencer whispers, “we can take the subway or a cab or something if this is triggering at all?”

“No,” she assures him, “I’m not triggered, just shocked that Amy still runs?”

“I’m an engineer, remember? I know how to keep her going.”

She runs her hand along with the blue paint of Diana’s old Volvo Amazon, who they appropriately named Amy when they were kids. She looks in at the backseat, the tear in the seat is still there from when the button on her jeans got stuck, the light in the radio is still burned out, unable to tell the time. The seats are just as comfortable, she turns on just as loud as before, and she never thought she’d say she missed the smell.

They stop at a coffee shop by the university, Spencer orders first and then it’s up to her, “can I get an iced coffee and—“

“A white hot chocolate with a blueberry tea bag in it? Absolutely,” the barista smiles, “anything else today, Y/N?”

“Not today, Katie,” she smiles, taking out the normal amount and a decent tip, “how’s school going?”

“Good, thank you for that study guide, I got a 92 on my last Bio test,” she’s unbelievably giddy and it makes Y/N’s day.

“that’s amazing,” Y/N makes the most basic small talk before joining Spencer by the counter.

“How do you know everyone?” Spencer whispers and nudges her shoulder with his own.

“I talk to people,” she nudges him back, “you’d be amazed by what happens when you let people in.”

Spencer hums, they watch Katie make their drinks carefully and quickly, putting them in a tray and handing them to Y/N with a smile. “Have a wonderful day.”

“You too!” Y/N calls back and waits for Spencer to get the door for them.

And then he opens the passenger door for her too. “So, I have to ask…” Spencer says as they finally get back in the car. He places his coffee in the cup holder, “were you and Maeve together at some point?”

“No…”

“Oh,” he drops it when he realizes it’s not a question she wants to be asked.

The rest of the drive is quiet, she sips her coffee and looks out the window and he taps the steering wheel the way he always used to do. “Have you dated anyone in the last 15 years?”

“Not really,” he shrugs, “I have been on dates but nothing’s really worked out.”

“Hmm,” she says before she drops it.

Pulling into her work, he parks in her spot and the two of them get out and begin their walk to the elevators and then he asks another question.

“So you haven’t dated or been with anyone since we broke up?” He looks a little shocked.

“Not really,” she shakes her head, “I don’t feel the need to? I’m not lonely, I’m busy.”

“Oh.”

The elevator dings and she walks out first, through the main hall and towards the lab. She puts on her coat and hands Spencer a blank one, “these are my Ph.D. candidates.”

Inside she has 4 students all dressed up and doing their work and Spencer waves awkwardly as they look up at him. “Good morning guys.”

“Morning doctor,” they reply in unison.

“My friend Spencer here has a genetic predisposition for schizophrenia so I’m just going to run the basic tests but he’s not going to be in any of the trials.”

“Sounds good,” one of them smiles.

“We’ll be in here if you need me,” she points at her office and Spencer follows her inside. “Oh, and Maeve is coming in as well, tell her to come right in.”

“Why? How many people have you slept with?” She suddenly closes the door, resuming their conversation immediately.

“Including you,” he does the calculations on his fingers, letting out a deep breath he was keeping in. “Elle, Ethan, and a handful of one-night stands…”

“That’s not too bad,” she shrugs and then she can’t help but laugh, “but Ethan? Really?”

Spencer nods with a smirk, “I told you I would one day.”

She laughs, remembering how much they hated each other. Ethan was a pain in the ass, flirting with both of them to piss the other off, especially when they were all on opposite mathlete teams… but Spencer did have a crush and she was secure enough in their relationship back then to just laugh it off, like she is now.

“How did it even happen?” She asks, taking out all the supplies from the cupboard, and returning to him with an elastic band.

“I went to see him in New Orleans because I was addicted to drugs and he’s an alcoholic and I wanted him to tell me not to waste my life away because no one else was going to do it.”

“Wait, addicted? I thought it was just the one case?” Her whole body reacts, her heart drops and her breathing changes and she worries for him in a way she hasn’t felt in years. “Do you want me to do this in your hand so you don’t get triggered?”

He shakes his head, “no, it’s fine,” and then he takes a chip out of his pocket, “it was nice to not feel anything for a while.”

He hands it to her, it’s a 5-year chip and it makes her smile. “I’m always going to be proud of you.”

“I know.”

She hands it back to him and he puts it back where it belongs and the conversation dies there as she takes his blood and he looks away. She has a few vials, she puts his name on them and turns back to him. “Can I ask who Elle is?”

“She was on my team,” he presses his lips together and she knows there’s more in there.

“And?”

“She was shot and had terrible PTSD after, I checked on her one night and she was drinking and we got to talking about her feelings and she didn’t want to be alone… the next night she killed a serial rapist and claimed self-defence but I know she killed him because we couldn’t get justice for his victims. She put justice into her own hands, and then she left.”

“Do you live in a soap opera?” She teases, “damn, okay. I mean good for her, she probably thought if she was going to prison at least she could get some dick first.”

“That’s what I thought for a while too,” Spencer nods along, only slightly sad. “But then I thought about what I did to you, and I figured she didn’t need a reason to sleep with me and leave me, sometimes it just happens and there isn’t a good reason.”

“It’s different for boys,” she combats. “And you weren’t a virgin then, you were what? 24? You were almost a full-brained man.”

“I know.”

She needs to let it go, she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, “sorry.”

“You’re not wrong. The damage I must have caused isn’t something that heals fast,” he explains and it starts to feel like a profile. “You haven’t just not slept with anyone because you don’t want to. It’s because you’re scared. We were really young, we were stupid, and I hurt you to the point where you can’t let in anyone who will leave you. I’m going to keep saying I’m sorry even though I know I can’t remove the scars, they’re always going to be there.”

“I hate you sometimes,” she whispers, turning away from him and gripping the counter. “You didn’t have to read me like that. Not everything is your fault you know, I’ve tried. I’ve wanted to and none of the people I’ve dated were good enough and the person I wanted to sleep with the most found someone else before I had the courage to do anything about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

She turns back to him with a straight face, “I wanted to feel loved more than I wanted to be fucked. You damaged my heart, not my vagina.”

He tries not to laugh, biting his lips and yet the air that leaves his nose sounds like a laugh, she turns her attention back to him, playfully outraged that he would laugh. “You’re a dick.”

“I missed you a lot,” he smiles, “and I’m really glad you reached out.”

—

When Maeve comes in, Y/N wraps herself around her so tight that Maeve laughs. “Hello lovely,” she whispers against her and Y/N’s heart flutters just a bit.

“Were you safe?” Y/N worries and brushes her hands along her arms as she looks her over. “You weren’t followed or anything?”

“No,” Maeve assures her and hugs her once more, “you look so good, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you,” she rocks her back and forth slightly and then turns to introduce her to Spencer, who’s now standing.

“This is Doctor Spencer Reid, Spencer this is Doctor Maeve Donovan, my best friend,” Y/N turns to him and Spencer looks at her like he knows her from somewhere.

“wait—

“Journal of Behavioural Psych… I’ve already seen your brain,” Maeve fills in the blanks. “I didn’t reply to your email because I knew you were Y/N’s Spencer.”

“Oh…” Spencer can’t really believe it.

“And I had no idea you have schizophrenia in your family either…” she stares at Y/N with her brows raised.

“Stop,” she whispers under her breath. “I told you.”

“It was between Alzheimer's in Texas and Schizophrenia here,” Spencer repeats. “I always thought I’d be the one to cure it for my mom, but I’m glad it’s you.”

Maeve just smiles at him and Y/N can’t stop smiling at her, it’s surreal to have her best friends meet.

They all catch up with their drinks in her office. Sitting at Y/N’s desk and sharing their stories, Spencer’s medical issues, Y/N’s flight anxiety and Maeve’s stalker.

“I actually got this yesterday…” she takes a letter out of her purse and hands it to them. “I think I’m going to dye my hair brown and move out of Bobby’s apartment. And I might hide for a bit.”

“No,” Y/N shakes her head, “we can get Penelope and the rest of Spencer’s friends to look into this, please? Please you can’t hide anymore this is too serious.”

“This is classic stalker behaviour,” Spencer says as he reads over the letter a few times. “They want to murder you and then kill themselves… do they bring this up often?”

“Yeah,” Maeve agrees. “He has a thing with suicide he’s said I should just kill myself and spare everyone the stress…”

“Wait,” Y/N stands and flicks through all her paperwork, “that girl who you turned down for a Ph.D. handed in the same thesis to me about cell deterioration in people with suicidal ideation.”

“That sounds like it matches up,” Spencer agrees. “I think I can have Penelope email you some information on the student so you can take it to the police?”

“Thank you, Spencer,” she smiles at him and Y/N can’t help but feel like a third wheel somehow.

Because of course her straight best friend, who she’s been in love with for 2 years, would meet her ex-boyfriend and be instantly attracted to him. It’s her luck. And by the way, Spencer is smiling at her, she knows he thinks she’s pretty. She’s known him long enough to remember when he looked at her like that… she clears her throat and gets them to stop making googly eyes at each other.

“We have a flight to catch soon too,” she reminds him. “I’m going to go work with my students if you two want to stay here and talk to Spencer’s co-workers.”

“Yeah,” Maeve agrees quickly. “That sounds good.”

“Can I talk to you first?” Spencer asks, pulling her into the other room and closing the door.

“What’s up?”

“You’re jealous,” he reads her just as well as she reads him.

“And you think she’s pretty,” she bites back. “I’m not jealous, I’m envois. I wished for a very long time that she would love me back and all it takes is a single smile from you and she’s probably willing to leave bobby.”

“But she’s not you,” Spencer replies. “It’s not that easy for me to fall in love, you know that. It took us years to fall as in love with each other as we were and it never went away. Meeting her can’t replace how I feel about you.”

“We can’t do this now,” she stops him. “Sit on it, tell me tomorrow when we open the time capsule. Mean it when you say it, don’t just try and calm me down with your words.”

She leaves the room, walking right past Maeve and into the lab. Helping the first student to call her attention and leaving her best friends to mingle.

—

She has a nap on the plane, Spencer did too, their heads resting against each other as they slept through the turbulence and the crying babies, waking up for the landing and departure. They get a car for the weekend, and the drive to her parent's house is so, so, so quiet.

“I’m not ready for how weird this is going to be” She whispers.

“It’s not going to be weird.”

“Yes, it is,” she’s adamant.

Her bed is still there for them to spend the night in, so are her parent's and brothers' beds if he doesn’t want to sleep beside her. And the couches and the fridge and anything big that she couldn’t move out alone yet.

“Why? Because we have to sleep in the same bed again, because it’s the house with all our memories or because the time capsule has letters addressed to our kids?”

“Yes.”

They both laugh at her bluntness, “we were so hopeful back then.”

“We had no reason not to be,” he says. “Your parents were very good at reminding me that our dreams can come true if we work hard enough.”

“They were great parents,” she agrees. “I miss them so much…”

“Would it be weird if I went to the grave?”

“No,” she lets out a deep breath, “they loved you.”

He pulls onto their old street and her heart is in her stomach. She can’t believe they’re actually doing this, they’re actually together again at her parent's house. He pulls into her driveway, her dad's truck is still parked out front and it looks exactly the same as it used to.

They grab their bags, she opens the door and then they’re alone in her old house. “See,” she teases, “it feels fuckin weird.”

“It’s so cold,” Spencer whispers. “Not like freezing, it just doesn’t feel right in here.”

“I know,” she agrees, taking her things and heading up the stairs towards her old bedroom.

“It’s grey…” Spencer whispers as he enters the room. “What happened to the purple?”

“My mom was bored when she was recovering from the chemo and she wanted to paint, so we did it,” she shrugs, “it was a fun weekend.”

Spencer puts his things in the corner and somehow it feels like they’re 15 again. He used to put his backpack there, he’d kick off his shoes and dive into her bed, waiting for afternoon cuddles and a nap before dinner and then they’d do homework until her curfew when he’d walk back to his house and wave to her from his window.

He kicks off his shoes again and she just sits on the edge of her bed, watching him. He takes off his suit jacket and hangs it on the hook behind her door, another thing he remembered to do almost by instinct.

“It’s like you never left,” she whispers.

He nods, “can I tell you now that I feel the same way, that I miss being loved too.”

It’s way too early in the weekend to be here already. “No,” she whispers. “Don’t do this to me again, please? Don’t offer to love me if you’re not certain that you’ll stay.”

“No one can be?” He reminds her as he sits beside her on her bed.

“You dying and you breaking my heart are two very different things,” she replies. “It would be easier if you died.”

“How?” He looks offended.

“Because then no one else can have you,” she can’t look at him and the tears come back. It fucking sucks. It hurts and she’s embarrassed.

“It’s killed me thinking about you all these years, wondering if you ever replaced me. I spent my whole childhood dreaming about being your wife and then I had to just imagine you with someone else for the last 15 years and it sucked.”

He doesn’t reply.

She shakes the tears away, clearing her throat slightly, “we’re either together or we’re not. Pick one. I can’t be stuck in limbo anymore.”

“No, I can’t just agree to go back to how it was before,” he shakes his head, “I’m not going to live up to your expectations. We are two completely different people now, we can’t just pick up where we left off without us fighting about it. I’m never going to be the same to you as I was when we were kids because I don’t know who that Spencer is anymore. I haven’t been him for a long time and this Spencer is really bad at pretending.”

He’s more assertive now, he was never this confident to fight with her when they were kids and then again he didn’t have a reason to.

They were happy back then.

“Would you like to date again and get to know each other as we are now?” She compromises.

“What if you don’t like who I am now? What if I let you down?”

“You can’t,” she can’t help but smile. “Because even after everything that’s happened, just looking at you fills me with the same feeling it did when we were kids. You’re always going to be my best friend, no matter what, even if we don’t have the same interests anymore or if you’re a bit more annoying…”

It makes him giggle and that’s what she wanted, “see? Look at us? We can do this, we just have to talk about it. I’m open to the fact that you’re a different man now from your trauma and you’re accepting of the fact I’m incredibly damaged from mine, and that we might always be, but one day we’ll laugh about it.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be laughing,” he teases and it feels like it did back then.

“No? I’m going to bring it up to tease you then,” she warns him, “because you’re cute when you’re frustrated.”

“You’re also more annoying than I remember,” he teases her right back and moves in to tickle her the way he used to.

She’s still ticklish. And he still remembers where. He tackles her back against the bed and she tries to push him off but she’s already giggling too hard, eyes closed as she tries to squirm out of his reach. But his arms are somehow longer than before? He wraps around her and digs into her sides with a hearty laugh and then it becomes a hug.

She settles again and he’s still on top of her and her arms wrap around him. His face is in the crook of her neck and she rests her cheek on his head, brushing her jaw along his hair and breathing deeply. She’s missed this so much in the last 15 years.

“I still love you,” he’s the one to say it first and all the tension in her body drops.

“Thank god,” she sighs and holds him a bit tighter. “I still love you.”

There’s a weird feeling in the air, one she hasn’t felt in a very long time. Not since they were sitting in that field, in Spencer’s mom's car, trying to figure out how they were going to have sex in the back seat.

She kisses the top of his head gently and he kisses the side of her neck in return and her breathing hitches. So he kisses her again, this time on the pulse point and up towards her Jaw and her eyes close as she leans into the contact.

It’s been a very long time since he’s seen most of her body, and yet as he strips her clothes off and covers her with his lips, it’s like nothings changed. He did this the first time too, carefully kissing everywhere but with a lot more nerves.

“It’s been a very long time since I’ve done this,” she reminds him, “so please don’t stop.”

He laughs, kissing her cheek and looking down at her. “We’re doing this?”

She nods, “there’s no one here to stop us.”

“And no reason to stay quiet,” he teases back, looking around her room quickly, “it’s strange being back here.”

“We never actually had sex in here,” she whispers, pecking his lips softly and then realizing that’s the first real kiss they’ve shared in 15 years.

He lunges in and kisses her again, hand on her cheek as she rests back against the pillow, he slides a leg in-between her own, grinding against her softly as he kisses her, swiping a tongue along her bottom lip, he used to love making out with her.

They could make out for hours on end, hot and heavy, grinding together but never taking it anywhere. It was just as fun to them as anything else, up until they had sex for the first time. Then it was all they wanted to do, only back then they were both more scared of being caught than actually doing it, and it’s not like they hadn’t been experimenting with each other their whole lives.

They had baths together as kids, they spent a lot of time alone as children and they hit puberty at the same time… she’ll never forget the day they learned what masturbating was, they went home and tried it alone and reported right back to each other the next day.

It was always meant to happen, he was the only person she wanted to take her virginity back then. And she wasn’t mad at him for taking it and then leaving, she was mad at him for having sex with her a million more times before he left.

But he was always so delicate with her and she was just as soft with him, they loved each other and respected each other like it was second nature to them, and it was so easy to slip back into that. She knew everything he liked, he remembered what spots elicited the best responses from her. It was like they never missed a beat.

His clothes come off just as quickly as hers, she’s missed him so much over the years. Remembering their first time for far too long, thinking about him at the worst moments, typically right as pleasure overtook her. She’s been saying his name when she cums for so long it’s the only thing she knows how to do.

“Spencer please?” She whines as they grind together, her lips just as swollen as his.

She sits up and takes him with her, he kneels in front of her and she uses the free space to get off the bed and search through her suitcase. “I brought condoms for a reason,” she laughs as she hands them to him. “I figured this would happen at some point.”

“I did too,” he smirks, “but I also saw tonight that you’re on the pill?”

She nods and laughs, “you’re kidding?” She climbs back into her bed and suddenly she’s nervous, “I mean, yeah, we could? But how do I know you’re clean? You’ve slept with a lot of people since we were together.”

“6 isn’t a lot,” he retorts, “but I just thought I’d ask, I still want you to be the first person I do that with.”

“You’re asking and you can’t even say it?” She teases him, shoving him lightly and taking the condoms from him.

His whole demeanour changes then, “you’d let me fuck you raw?”

She forgets how to breathe then, simply nodding with her jaw dropped, mouth breathing, deeply, she’s shocked. She finally swallows, returning the moisture to her mouth, “yeah…”

“What else would you let me do?” He whispers, drawing her in closer until she’s sitting in his lap and running her hands down his bare chest.

“Anything,” she whispers back, “I’ve missed your touch.”

He hums, brushing his nose against hers before kissing her softly. “Do you think about me still?”

Of course he remembered when she told him that.

There was one day where he never came over, she was waiting and waiting and he wasn’t showing up so she eventually went over to get him. Finding him having an anxiety attack in his room, admitting to her and apologizing profusely for thinking about her when he masturbated the night before. He was afraid she would think he was gross and then hate him. When in reality she was thinking about him too.

She nods, “it’s hard not to when you’re the best I’ve ever had.”

“I’m all you’ve ever had,” he reminds her. Or at least so he thinks.

“No,” she shakes her head, “there was another guy in high school.”

“What?” He furrows his brows, “I thought you said you didn’t?”

“I didn’t really want to, but, I had sex with Kyle VanNuss? Do you remember him?” She asks carefully, scared that this is ruining absolutely everything when she was just so close to having him again.

“I hated him,” Spencer replies. “I’m sorry it wasn’t good.”

“it’s fine it was 12 years ago,” she laughs, “I really wanted to sleep with people, I would have loved to have been able to, but I need this first. I need to feel totally and completely safe and loved and appreciated, the way you make me feel.”

“Demisexuality is defined by—

“Don’t quote textbook definitions at me, I love you and only you and no one compares. Now if there’s a spencer-sexual term, that’s me, and that’s how I’d like to keep it,” she tries to keep a straight face but she ends up laughing and dragging him down with her.

He rests his forehead on her shoulder, arms around her waist, they’re so close and completely naked and it feels right, “this is all I want.”

She sits up a bit, reaching between them and gripping his cock at the base and he moans. He’s bigger than she remembers, he still makes such beautiful sounds as she strokes him and then she runs the head of his cock along her folds and he tosses his head back with another delicious moan.

“Put it in,” he requests.

She sinks down onto him with more ease than she thought she would, always so turned on by him, it’s easy. She bottoms out and rests back against his legs, sitting in his lap, holding him incredibly close. It feels like every single part of him is touching her and she still wants more. Reconnecting their lips, his hands move down to her hips to help her move, grinding and bouncing they make a rhythm that is completely theirs, it works and she’s so lost in him.

Moaning into his mouth, feeling his hands on her body, his chest against hers and his tongue in her mouth. It’s all she’s wanted for a very long time, and it’s overwhelming. She tries to hold herself together but it feels so good, she’s on the edge of every single emotion in the book as she rides him there.

She breaks the kiss to hold him tighter, kissing his shoulder before he picks her up and lays her back against the bed, crawling between her legs and sliding back in. It’s easier at this angle, he slides in and out so easy, his thumb is on her clit and his mouth on her breasts as she lays there, blissed out and moaning, a tear slips down her face and she quickly wipes it away.

It’s all a lot and according to him, he’s staying forever. This isn’t the last time it’ll happen, it’s actually the first of many, the first of forever, and only time will tell how long that forever lasts.

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[laufulneutral]

We all know how much I love music Inspos! So here’s one that came to mind whilst I’ve been obsessing over this Coldplay song recently.

I’m sorry if this is crap. Only briefly re read so have fun or not cool thanks bye haha

(It’s a sad Arthur moment)

You are Arthur’s fiancée. Arthur turns up out of the blue after disappearing for 3 months after shish went down in Valentine and the gang had to leave. He never told you and he hasn’t been responding to letters. This isn’t the first time he’s had to go, he disappears a lot to do jobs for Dutch, but you always knew. However things have been strained since the trouble in Blackwater and Arthur goes for longer periods between seeing you, and he doesn’t have the time to see you and it’s all coming to a crashing reality, that unless you keep running with the gang, you can have no future together

A sharp knock on the door takes your attention away from the book you had become so engrossed in. You look up as your Aunt leaves the room to answer the door.

Soon enough you hear the familiar drawl of the outlaw,

“Hello m’aam, is Miss Y/LN here?”

A brief sense of happiness and relief floods your system before it’s taken over by anger again. Anger that he left, anger he hasn’t written once to you or even responded to any of the letters you wrote to him.

“I shall go see”

You hear the door close, and your aunt appears in the entrance to the room

“Mr Morgan is here to see you” she smiles gently, worry etched into her face. You return the smile, and nod once before putting your book aside and standing to straighten your skirt.

“I can tell him your busy” you aunt offers,

“No it’s okay” you reply, twiddling the silver band with a single ruby raised from it on your finger. “He is meant to be my fiancée, I cannot ignore him”

Pulling open the door you are greeted by the familiar cowboy,

“Arthur” you greet him

“F/N” he smiles broadly, taking your hand and raising it to his rough lips placing a gentle kiss against your knuckles. The touch sends electric through your body, some things never change no matter how long it has been. “Y’look lovely darlin’”

You close the door behind you and attempt to offer him a smile. You can’t bring yourself to say anything amongst the anger and hurt that’s bubbling more now you are seeing him in person.

“I’ve missed ya” he says, awkwardly knocking his foot against the wood of the porch. The tension between you is thick, “ain’t stopped thinkin about ya since I’ve been away.. some strange people down south”

“Why are you here Arthur?” You snap, unable to continue anymore small talk. His face blanches and his eyes show a quick glimpse of shock and hurt

“I missed ya, and I wanted to say sorry” he answers plainly

“For what?”

“What?” He grunts

“For what Arthur. What are you sorry for?” you demand, impatient with him already.

“Erm…”

You let out a harsh laugh, walking away from him to the low fencing of the porch. You wrap your arms around yourself pleading it will keep you together,

“I would have been back sooner but we ran in to trouble”

You shake your head “ain’t that always the way”

“Ain’t nothing I could of done.. Dutch said..”

You spin round to face him, your patience snapping “well if Dutch said it then it must be gods word”

“Y/N.”

“Don’t” you hiss “I am your fiancée … least I thought I was till you disappeared and I had no idea where you were for 3 months”

“I’m sorry.. Pinkertons showed up and after what happened in Valentine I couldn’t come back and see ya in case someone recognised me”

“How about letters Mr Tacitus Kilgore? Did pinkertons take over the postal system too!” You sneer,

“No” Arthur mumbles, his eyes stuck firmly on the floor. He is so inherently frustrating, he never understands how him disappearing effects you,

“You cannot begin to fathom the thoughts I’ve had about you since you left! I thought you was dead!” You exclaim, your hands swing around widely

“Oh darlin..” Arthur hums, his eyes meeting yours with concern, “course not, I ain’t trying to make you worry”

“What was I meant to think ? I rode out to horseshoe and found it abandoned.. I thought cause I hadn’t heard from anyone that you must be ..” you take a deep breath to stop your voice from cracking and shake your head “That was till I saw Trewlany, he told me you were holed up somewhere near Rhodes. I didn’t believe him at first.. said you would have let me know if you had to go”

Arthur says nothing watching you with a blank expression

“Arthur I have wrote to you. I have wrote and wrote and worried and cried…” you stop yourself, turning away from him again to not have to see his face,

“What can I do to fix it?” Arthur asks you, his voice desperate

You shrug, before mumbling “I just wish it could be like it used to be, y’know back in Blackwater”

Silence stretches out between the pair of you, only broken when Arthur sighs heavily,

“I ain’t too sure what to say darlin.. I’m sorry and I’m here now… ain’t that enough?”

“We’ve done this before Arthur, you do something wrong, I get hurt and then you apologise. We are running in circles, and I keep getting hurt. I’m tired of it”

Arthur comes up behind you and wraps his two warm arms around you. The scent of pine and campfire invades your senses, the smell of him bringing comfort to you the same as it always has done.

“You darlin, are the most important thing to me” he says gruffly, his lips kissing you lightly on the side of your face, the electric tingle igniting your skin, “please forgive me”

“I always do” you answer, your voice exasperated “but that ain’t changing anything, you do it again and again .. disappear for weeks .. this time 3 months. What will it be next time Arthur? 6 months ? A year?”

Arthur’s arms stiffen around you,

“This is my life Y/N, you knew that when you met me and you knew that when you agreed to marry me” he says, his voice irritated “Nobody said it would be easy”

You laugh, shocking yourself, before shaking your head “you’re right ! Nobody said it was going to be easy. Being in love with an outlaw” you take a deep breath before admitting the truth “but no one ever said it would be this goddamn hard”

Your voice cracks, and your eyes begin to threaten unshed tears that have built up over the last few weeks. Arthur turns you in his arms so your face to face, you look up into his sea blue eyes,

“What are ya sayin” he asks warily,

You search his face for something to change your mind on the hard decision you’ve been thinking over for the last month. You find it hard to face the reality when you are in his presence, he is so intoxicating and just seeing the man you love brings you such comfort. Yes he looked different. His beard has grown out a lot since you last saw him, his scar no longer visible under the untamed hair, and he still wore that silly blue, very worn shirt that suited him so well, but he was still that same man who you fell in love with. The same man who drew pictures of you and taught you to ride a horse. The man who when he proposed dropped the ring cause he was so nervous. The man you thought would be your husband

“Say something’” Arthur whispers, his eyes watch you intently,

“I can’t do this anymore” you say barely above a whisper . His eyes go wide and a hand immediately holds your chin so you can’t turn away. His eyes frantically search your face,

“You’re leaving me?” He says with disbelief.

You close your eyes, as tears start to form. When you open them again, you look down at your ring finger. Sliding the gold band off, you hold it out to him. Disgust fills his face at this gesture, his grip on your chin loosens as he steps away from you.

“Y/N… no... I love you” he says, his voice cracking. His face is holds a frown, as he looks at you with hurt and disbelief,

“I love you too Arthur.. but it’s not enough, this is too…hard” your voice cracks and the tears fall down your cheek. You look away from him, but Arthur grips his hands on your arms, making you look up at him through watery eyes,

“It won’t be much longer darlin’…I know it don’t seem great now, but as soon as we have enough money we’ll be gone.. just the two of us” he reassures you with so much belief that you so badly want it to be true. However you know the horrible truth, that there was never going to be that time.. there is always one more job, one more favour to do.

You shake your head, “I think you know as much as me that ain’t the case… you’ll never change that part of you, I wouldn’t want you too. It’s what makes you who you are” you place your hand with the ring in over his heart, “but I am not the women who can live that life with you, I’m sorry”

You slip the ring into the breast pocket of his worn shirt. The same shirt he wore when you first met, it hugs his frame so well and was the first thing you noticed when you met him in Blackwater. The grin he gave you after he brought you a new drink to replace the one his friend Sean spilt when he was trying to dance on the saloon bar. Arthur was so carefree back then, but since the trouble in Blackwater it’s got worse. You respected his lifestyle but couldn’t be a part of it yourself, and had enough of moving all the time. Staying in Coulter was the breaking point, and you both agreed you would stay permanently in Valentine, since it was not meant to be long till you and Arthur left together.

Stepping back out of his grasp, his faces drops and he reaches out again taking your hand which his larger one.

“I love you…so much” Arthur mumbles confused, a broken look on his face that is no longer hidden by his facade of confidence

You smile weakly at him, tears running down your cheeks “I know”

Your voice cracking through the sobs as you pull your hand from his and turn for the door

“Goodbye Arthur”

You step through the door, closing it behind you before he does anything stupid, like kiss you. You knew that was all it would take to get you to stay, you love him too much. Leaning your back against the door you slide down, the sobs overtaking your body.

After a few seconds you hear Arthur’s foot steps recede , and then hooves disappearing until the house becomes silent.

[sirius-archive]

Bite Marks (The Mandalorian x Reader) SMUT

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Warnings: Unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap that willy), Dom/Sub, Rough sex, Oral sex (Reader receiving), Swearing. IF YOU’RE A MINOR, KINDLY FUCK OFF 

Word Count: 3.6k? I think? Who knows at this point

A/N: Nothing sexier than Jealous!Mando, amirite? 

***

The bounty was supposed to be easy.

All five mercenaries were dudebro fuckbois with high prices on their heads and a habit of pissing off the wrong people. They were all expected to be at the same club, too, which meant that you just had to flaunt some skin and purr honeyed promises and they’d be in the palm of your hands.

The bounty was supposed to be fucking easy .

It wasn’t.

***

The Mandalorian is suspicious. He always is.

“What are the chances of all six of our targets being in one place?” He says, “Seems suspicious. Could be a trap.”

“I considered that, too,” you remark from over your shoulder, searching idly for an outfit, “That was before I realised it was a Solastice festival. Literally hundreds of thousands of people rock up to this sleeze fest. No one wants to miss out on the free booze and the orgies,” Your fingers skim across a velvet mermaid dress, “How about this?”

Mando huffs out a grunt, “I should come.”

You toss the dress aside and search for another, “Who’s going to look after the Child?”

The Mandalorian stares long and hard at the Child, who blinks owlishly back at the Mandalorian, his inky eyes filled with adoration, “I know someone.”

“You sure you can trust them?”

“She’s taken care of him before.”

You give a noncommittal hum and hold out a lacy, navy-blue dress, “What about this?”

“That’s it?”

“What? You don’t like a bit of lace—?”

“—you’re not going to argue about me coming on this bounty with you?”

“It’ll be fun,” you smirk, throwing the dress away, “Besides, I like watching you in action. You’re sexy when you fight.”

Mando tilts his head. His expression is impossible to read but you suspect he might be amused, annoyed or confused.

Beaming excitedly, you flatten a sleek, backless dress with a plunging neckline against your body, imagining how the dress will hug your curves and flaunt your cleavage. A long split down the side will give you access to the blasters and daggers strapped to your thigh holster too. It’s classy with just enough sexy to keep the imagination stirring.

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything for a long, measured moment. Somehow, perhaps ironically — the silence seems to whisper his approval.

You untie your silk dressing robe, letting it fall to the ground and pool around your feet. The Mandolorian averts his gaze. suddenly taking a keen interest in the small plant you’ve been watering. You wish you could see his face. Is he blushing? Is he horrified? Is he aroused?

Sliding into the dress, you turn and gesture to the zip kissing the small of your back. “Do you mind?”

The Mandalorian hesitates at first. Somehow, you can almost hear the clink of his thoughts colliding, like he’s mentally solving dynamical system calculations and differential equations. Finally, he stalks toward you and you feel the hesitancy begin to thaw as his gloved fingers twitch around the zip and tug.

His ghostly, featherlight touch lingers on your skin, following the line of your spine until he reaches the thin straps sitting elegantly on the knob of your shoulders. Summoning every ounce of your ex-assassin courage, you slowly turn to face him and stare deeply into the slit in his helmet, imagining the colour of his eyes. Are they a dazzling shade of blue? Or a lovely, rare shade of teal green? Perhaps a smokey umber or steely grey? Or were they like yours; a kaleidoscope of colour always shifting and changing and never one distinct shade?

The air thickens, electricity crackles.

Suddenly, the Mandalorian nods stiffly and stumps away, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You sigh, realising that there’s more than Beskar armour hiding his thick, prickly layers. Perhaps... , you muse, in that childishly naive way that only deep affection can stir, ... Perhaps  I’ll find a way to pry it off.

***

Outside, the festival rages.

The dancing crowd of celebrants are like a splash of vibrant colour against the bland backdrop of the surrounding buildings as they flood the streets, filling the air with hoots and cheer and vivid shades of life .

You perch on the barstool, keeping an eye on both your targets and the festival. The Mandalorian is sitting at a table in the far corner, close to the exit in case the targets are as dumb as they look and decide to make a break for it.

The bartender slides yet another drink your way from a hopeful suitor. You smile and take a sip, winking at the nervous, young man stealing furtive glances at you.

“My, my...” a greasy voice says from over your shoulder, “What’s a beautiful woman like you doing in dump like this?”

You spin in your stool and smirk.

The lead dudebro of the fuckboi boy-band is trying to make a pass at you. He thinks he sounds smooth but his pick up lines are equal parts cliche and cringy and they come off polished and second-hand, like he’d heard it from a grainy, amateur porn movie and decided it was a winner.

“Hoping to find myself a handsome fella,” you purr, flashing him your most alluring smile.

Dudebro leans against the counter, reeking of smoke and sweat and virile fuckboi testosterone. He trails a lewd gaze from your eyes down past your neck, spilling indulgently between your breasts, along the sloping curve of your hips, down to the skin of your thigh peeking out from where you have one leg crossed over the other.

“How is that working out for you?”

Your lips tilt into a cat-like smirk, like a spider watching the squirming wreck of their prey struggle against the sticky fibres of a carefully designed web, “You tell me.”

“Beautiful, clever and single? Seems too good to be true.”

“Yet here we are.”

A dodgy grin hooks around Dudebros chapped lips. He slides a calloused hand along your thigh, his grip bordering on possessive.

“Here we are.”

You pause, stretching out a silence to create tension. Dudebro slides his tongue over his bottom lip.

“You should know that I give generously to women who know how to please a man,” he says, “And you look like you know a thing or two about that...”

You lean over, your lips ghosting over the shell of his ear, “Why don’t we get a room and you can see for yourself.”

Dudebro shudders. You’ve got him.

Suddenly, a blur of grey and silver charges toward dudebro, slamming his head onto the counter. Dudebro crumbles into an unconscious heap by your feet.

The Mandalorian has swooped in to save the day. What a knight in shining fucking armour.

“What the fuck was that about?” You hiss, incensed, “I nearly had him!”

The Mandalorian doesn’t answer. Instead, he’s twirling his blaster between his fingers with well-practiced movements.

The other dudebro’s jump to their feet, steeling themselves for a fight.

Chaos erupts.

***

You’re quiet on your way back to the Razor Crest.

Your blood is boiling, your throat itchy and dry from all the insults you want to scream into the dull, black, bottomless void. The Mandalorian’s anger is an icy contrast to your fire; his broad shoulders steeled and his posture hard, unforgiving, like he’s still hunting down a bounty.

Your temper spikes as you watch him pay Peli Motto, your jaw clenched and your lower belly fluttering with a confusingly irritating concoction of venomous seething and hot, syrupy desire.

“It didn’t have to end in a fucking bar brawl,” you snip, waspishly, as he closes the hatch to his ship, “Thanks to you, though, it did.”

The Mandalorian gives you his usual response: silence.

Your nostrils flare.

“Three dudebros nearly escaped. It was lucky I was able to catch them before they raced off.”

Still no response. He’s too busy scaling the ladder up to the cockpit. You stomp up to the ladder and call up to him.

“You undermined me! And for what, exactly? Because some guy was getting a little touchy feely?”

You hear the engines roar to life and feel the ship rise, hover, then launch into the air.

Fuming, you pace the length of the ship, clutching the daggers in your thigh holster  and hurling them in quick procession. They lodge themselves into the bullseye, trembling from the force of your strength.

“You’re making dents in my ship.”

Your jaw clenches, molars grinding as you storm toward the daggers and pull one of them out.

“So now you want to talk!” You snap, scathingly, wheeling around to face him.

Mando’s helmet tilts as though he were evaluating you. He takes three deliberate steps forward, forcing you take a surreptitious step back.

“I’m not exactly a conversationalist,” he states, his voice clipped and tight. He makes no effort to disguise the anger in his tone.

You ball your fingers into a fist, clenching and unclenching, “So you’re not going to explain to me why you nearly let three of our bounty’s escape?”

There is a crackle and whir from the modulator as he speaks again, low and even with an intensity that sends shivers traipsing down your spine.

“You don’t know?”

You squint at him, wondering what he’s playing at. He acted rashly and impulsively; in a way that he’s never done before, betraying his years of careful training and defying all common sense. His timing was peculiar, too, just when you had suggested finding a room...

It hits you like a blaster to the chest, “You were jealous.”

Mando takes another step forward, neatly eliminating any space you had tried to regain. Your back is pressed against the wall as he takes another step closer, closer, closer , his arm reaching out grazing against your cheek, caging you in, closer, closer, closer—

He grips the handle of your dagger and pulls it out of the wall beside your head with a strong tug. The dagger dances between his fingers as he twirls it then parts the split in your dress just enough to slide the dagger back into its holster. His fingers glide along your inner thigh and you gasp, his touch electric.

“Not exactly,” he says, “Just a little protective.”

You exhale slowly, evenly, your chest fluttering with a thousand hummingbirds, “Is there a difference?”

He pulls his gloves off and trails his fingers along the delicate skin of your inner thigh, “I suppose not.”

The tension in the air is almost sentient, alive with a frantic, crackling energy that’s hotter than a heatwave in Tatoonie. Mando’s fingers dig into the spot where dudebro fuckboi had his hand back in the bar. Slowly, slowly, his hand snakes up your thigh, grazing across your hipbone, tickling the sensitive skin...

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” you sneer, your upper lip curled.

“I guess I am,” he admits, his eyes boring holes through the visor of his helmet, “But you’re no angel, either.”

With that, he whirls you around and pushes you up against the wall, your flushed cheeks pressed up against the cool metal of his ship. You moan when he drapes a bandage across your eyes then tugs tightly at your hair. You hear him pull his helmet over his head, dropping it onto the ground with an obnoxious clang. Then he’s behind you, his voice in your ear, sultry and thick.

“You waltz around teasing me with those looks and that body of yours,” he grips your ass through the fabric of your dress, squeezing with bruising strength, “You drive me absolutely fucking crazy.”

He presses a searing kiss to your neck, teeth clamping around the flesh. You moan and arch against him, desire pulsing through your veins like velvety liquid chocolate.

“Then I saw you with our bounty, the way he eyed you, like he was undressing your right then and there,” the Mandalorian grazes his teeth along your neck, biting and nipping hard enough to draw blood, “Only I get to look at you like that. You’re mine.”

With a sudden burst of strength, the Mandalorian grips you by the waist and spins you around, pressing your back against the wall. He crashes his lips onto yours in a searing kiss, teeth scraping and tongues clashing, his mouth ruthless and bruising in the most delicious of ways. He kisses you with the hunger of a starved man, as though he’s deciding whether to savour you or swallow you whole.

The Mandalorian spills his lips down the column of your throat, biting and sucking and bruising, planting blossoming purple roses in your skin. Bite marks swell beneath his lips; a brand you’ll wear proudly for the next few days. It’s ironic how being claimed by the Mandalorian can make you feel so liberated.

He pulls away from you and clutches the zipper to your dress, tearing it from your body. You gasp, the cool air caressing your exposed skin. You feel the prickle of his eyes travelling across your body, capturing and collecting, memorising every detail.

And then he’s on you again, kissing your lips fiercely, stealing the breath from your lungs, swallowing your gasps, your moans, trapping your bottom lip between his teeth and biting. Your hands roam through his hair, tugging the roots, letting it melt between your fingers like honey.

The Mandalorian reaches behind you and rips off your bra followed by your panties, pulling an involuntary gasp from your lips.

“You’re going to have to pay for those,” you pant, “They weren’t cheap—“

You trail off into a moan as you feel the Mandalorian’s hot lips close around one of your nipples, teeth scraping and nibbling. You arch into his mouth, massaging his scalp as you play with his hair. His hand paws at your other breast, rolling the soft flesh in his palm, sending shivers throughout your body.

“Consider it payback for denting my ship,” he counters, and you hear his armour clink against the ships floor as though he were kneeling.

You’re about to ask him what he’s doing when he begins pressing butterfly kisses down your stomach, tasting the salty sweetness of your skin, tongue mapping out the canvas of your body. You moan when he bites your hipbone then travels lower, lower, until his hot breath is hovering over your slick entrance. He slings your leg over his shoulder and inhales your scent as though he were taking mental notes, cataloguing your natural fragrance with everything he knows about you, and then—

He dives in, curling his tongue over your clit, rolling the sensitive pearl of nerves as he drinks you in like sweet nectar. You moan and gasp and whimper his name, your voice hoarse as your lower belly crackles with ethereal-like energy; a nest of frayed, live wires sending currents of azure-blue electricity through your body.

Thick fingers push into you; first the index, then the middle finger, then both. Your back arches and your fingers fly into his hair, gripping hard enough to draw a groan from the back of his throat. It doesn’t take long for you to climax; you cry out his name as you shatter into oblivion, coasting a high that jolts you into hyperspace.

The Mandalorian kisses his way back up your body, and then he kisses you deeply. You slide your tongue over his lips, tasting yourself. Your head spins into a state of euphoric delirium.

“Your pleasure belongs to me,” he snarls, transforming your spine into a quivering live wire, “I’m in charge. Understood?”

“Yes, sir ,” you whisper, light as air, tone teasing.

“Good girl.”

The Mandalorian breaks away, the absence of his warmth leaving a ghosting greyness where he once stood. You shudder as you hear armour clicking and the whirr of zipper teeth being pulled apart. Then you feel his hands tug on the knot behind your head, keeping your bandage together, and the fabric falls away, returning your vision.

You blink, eyes adjusting. The Mandalorian stands before you in his armour, including his helmet. His codpiece is discarded; the lump of metal sits abandoned on the floor near your shredded clothes. You trap your bottom lip between your teeth as your gaze dips to his huge, thick cock.

“Wow,” you gasp, “You’ve been holding out on me, Mando.”

The Mandalorian steps toward you again, hooks his arms around your thighs, and hoists you up against the wall. The cold metal bites into your back, penetrating your skin and crawling down your spine. He presses his cock against your entrance.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a brat...”

Without further ado, He pins you to the wall of the Razor Crest with his long, thick girth, sinking into you with a loud groan and a roll of his hips. You cling onto the pieces of his armour and rest your head on the cool metal of his shoulder as the Mandalorian sets a pace. He rocks his hips slowly at first and you move your own hips against him, for once perfectly in sync.

“Fuck,” you curse, wrapping your thighs around his hips and pulling him further into your warm depths.

The Mandalorian snaps his hips against you, building up a fast, unrelenting pace. His movements are steady and deliberate, his grip plunging into your thighs, shooting sparks of pain and pleasure throughout your entire body. He’s silent for the most part, occasionally grunting and gasping in your ear when the muscles in your pussy contract.

“Yes,” you cry, biting into the fabric of his shoulder, “Just like that, don’t stop.”

A familiar tightness begins to curl inside your lower belly again, sloshing around with the chemical cocktail of champagne,

dopamine and serotonin. The feeling rolls and crashes within you, filling you up like seawater and sunlight and bright, glittering gold.

“Every time a man lays his hands on you, I want to cut them off,” he growls, each word punctuated with a sharp thrust, “Each eye that follows you makes me want to dig them out of the socket.”

“I never — oh — never knew you felt like — Ah, fuck yes — like that.”

“Bullshit. You knew...you’re just such a — fuck — fucking tease .”

“So what are you going to do—do about it?”

The Mandalorian groans and increases his pace, slamming his cock inside of you. He balances you with one, strong arm while the other snakes between the two of you and reaches up, up, up, his fingers wrapping around your neck, flexing gently. The added pressure makes you moan as you crest higher and higher, scaling the wobbling, tipsy-turvey ladder of a crashing crescendo—

Suddenly, the tight coil inside you snaps, spirals, sending pleasure surging through you, fluttering in your chest, pulsing through your arms and legs. Your pussy quivers around him, hugging his cock as the muscles spasm and quake with the force of your climax. The Mandalorian follows you over the edge, gritting his teeth and growling your name as he buries his twitching cock inside of you and comes, pouring his seed deep inside of you.

The air around of you smells like sweat and sex and grease and is filled with your combined pants. After a few lingering moments, the Mandalorian slides out of you and places you gently on the ground, tucking himself back into his pants. Your thighs are sticky with his dribbling cum and your head feels like it’s been crammed with fluffy cotton buds but your entire body tingles like light dancing off the ocean.

“That was—“

“Incredible...” you finish, biting your lip. The Mandalorian’s faceless mask stares down at you, but you have a sneaking suspicion that he’s gazing sheepishly at you, perhaps shy or maybe even aroused. Maybe he’s like you — an amalgamation of conflicting emotions, some old and nostalgic, some surprising and new.

***

Morning light drenches the Mandalorian’s quarters, shimmering like gold dust. You moan gently, consciousness slowly returning to you. You become aware of your surroundings, recognition settling in, delicious memories of being tied up and blindfolded while the Mandalorian worshipped your body...

The gentle caress of a warm kiss tickles your inner thigh.

You moan as the kisses dot along your thigh, climbing higher, teasing around your entrance, licking and nipping like he can’t get enough...

Your fingers fumble then clench around the bed sheets as his tongue finally laps at your clit, swirling and sliding in tantalising rhythms. You gasp and mewl, whispering words of encouragement as the Mandalorian feasts on you, plunging two fingers into your slick entrance. You begin to draw closer and closer to your climax, your toes curling as you throw your head back and moan—

A small whimper suddenly jolts you back into the present.

You sit up on your elbows and gasp, clambering to cover yourself as the Child stares up at you, distressed by the sound of your moans. His bottom lip trembles, his large eyes unusually glassy as he waddles up to you.

Beneath you, the Mandalorian shifts, and you turn away from him as he slides his helmet on.

“Hello baby,” you soothe, reaching down to scoop him up with one arm, “It’s okay, mummy’s here.”

The Child coos in delight as he snuggles into your embrace. You gently turn on your side to face the Mandalorian — who is now wearing his helmet — and place the Child between your bodies. He stares up at both of you and beams; his smile could light up a thousands suns.

When the Child begins to doze, you gaze up at the Mandalorian through your lashes, bracing your head on your hand bent at the elbow.

“I think he was jealous,” you whisper, stifling your giggles.

You hear the amusement in the Mandalorian’s tone, “Of you or of me?”

You shrug, leaning down to press a tiny kiss on the Child’s head, “Who knows?”

[wrenhyperfixates]

The Problem With Birthdays

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: You want to enjoy your birthday with Loki, but your fears that one day no one will love you are keeping you from having fun. Warnings: a bit angsty; fluff A/N: 1/2 Happy Birthday to my best friend @lokistan​!! 🥳🥳🥳 May you have the most wonderful day ever. As requested, here’s a birthday fic for you! I hope you enjoy ❤️         2/2 This is technically a sequel to The Secret Admirer, but you don’t have to read that to enjoy this 😄

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs​ @gaitwae​ @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings @kozkaboi @cozy-the-overlord

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

“Darling?” Loki called, walking into the common room where you were on the couch, book in hand.

“Right here, my love. What’s up?”

“We need to talk.” He came and sat beside you as set your novel down. He took your hand in his and pressed a quick kiss to the back of your knuckles. “About your birthday.”

“You know how much I love talking to you, but I actually have to go meet Carol and Lauren in the lab. Talk later?”

“You are avoiding this,” he replied simply as you stood up. “You know you can tell me anything, right my darling?”

You stood before him and fidgeted with your charm bracelet, a nervous tic you’d picked up ever since you started wearing it. It had been a gift from Loki back when he’d been your secret admirer, not your boyfriend. You were beyond happy with how things had worked out, and your relationship was the most pure, perfect thing you’d ever experienced. Still, doubts filled your mind. You’d never dared hope he was actually your secret admirer those many months ago, but you’d fantasized that he was. It was an understatement to say you’d been pleasantly surprised when he came clean. The smile he’d given you that night was perhaps the most radiant one ever.

“I know,” you finally replied. “Just, later. Ok?”

“As you wish.”

He pulled you back down for a kiss before letting you go to the lab. He had a feeling you’d made no plans to meet up with your friends, but if you wanted to go, he’d never hold you back. And that extended to if you wanted to leave the relationship, which is what he feared was happening now. With a sigh, he stood, too. He had a party of sorts to plan. Nothing big, just a small dinner for the Avengers. He knew that’s what you would want, considering how you seemed to wish to avoid anything to do with your birthday in the first place.

Meanwhile, you arrived at the lab where your two best friends were testing a new invention. You smiled as Lauren, Tony’s newest lab assistant, tested what you could only figure were jet pack boots of some kind. Kind of like the ones on the Ironman suit, but disguised to look like normal shoes. Carol flew beside her, making sure she didn’t fall and hurt herself. Captain Marvel was in between intergalactic missions at the moment and was staying at the Tower to help keep an eye on things here on Earth. You didn’t know what it was about the two of them, but the three of you just clicked, and were now an inseparable trio.

“Hey! What’s up?” Lauren greeted once she had both feet planted firmly on the ground again.

“You look upset. Everything ok?” Carol asked, propping her elbows on one of the lab tables.

“Relatively ok, I guess,” you replied, playing with your bracelet again. You were holding the horse charm in between your thumb and forefinger. Loki had given it to you as a gift, a reminder of when he’d confessed his feeling in a horse drawn carriage. “Just not looking forward to tomorrow.”

“But it’s your birthday,” Carol said. “What’s wrong with that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you mumbled with a shrug of your shoulders. “It’s silly.”

“Look at me,” Lauren said, gently gripping your arms and giving you a light shake. “Don’t say that. Your feelings always matter; they’re not silly.”

“Thank you,” you said. “That means a lot to me. But, really, it’s alright.”

“Fine. But we’re here if you need us,” Carol said as they captured you in a group hug.

As you thanked them again, you could only hope that tomorrow would come and go without much fanfare.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning you woke up so cozy in your bed, you didn’t want to get up. Maybe you could while away your birthday in bed, pretend you were sick. But, no. You knew that would only push celebrations back, not stop them.

“Good morning, darling,” Loki said, knocking on your door. “Are you awake?”

“I am,” you called in reply. “Come in.”

“Happy Birthday, my sweet,” he greeted, walking in. He sat next to you on your bed and planted a kiss on your forehead. His lips lingered close to your skin as if he was hesitant to let you go, as if he thought he’d never be allowed to kiss you again. You looked up, your nose brushing against his, and kissed him on the lips. He smiled. “And how are you doing today?”

You’d never actually told him what was wrong yesterday. You wanted to talk to him, you really did, but you worried that by telling him your fears, they would come true.

“I’m ok, I guess.”

“Just ok?” he gasped. “Well, I know what will make that better.”

He waved his hands and trays of foods came flying in. There was bacon and pancakes and pastries and fruit bowls and just about everything else you could want. Honestly, it was far more than you could eat, but you definitely planned on sampling everything. You beamed at Loki, hugging him as he pulled you onto his lap.

“Breakfast in bed, darling?” he asked with a smile.

“Yes, please,” you grinned back.

You sat for a while longer, eating and watching your favorite show. Eventually you decided you might as well get up and face the day. Loki left to go make the final preparations for dinner while you showered. A little less than an hour later, you reluctantly got out of the warm water, and sat on your bed once more in a robe, just staring at a wall. You don’t know how long you stayed there for, but it took a great effort to stand up and get dressed.

Once you had on your comfiest pants and favorite sweater, you tried to leave the room. You ended up flopping down on the bed again. You wanted to spend the day with your friends, not to mention Loki, the love of your life, but your worries were petrifying you.

“Is everything ok in there?” Loki asked, at your closed door once more.

“Sort of.”

“May I come in?”

You got up and opened the door for him. If only it was as easy to do that metaphorically as it was literally. He gently cupped your cheeks, his thumb gently stroking your warm skin, an unasked question in his eyes. You looked down, unable to bear disappointing him. It hurt you to shut him out like this; you’d always been honest with each other. You gave him a shy smile as he carefully tilted your head up and kissed you again.

“I, uh, I guess I promised we’d talk,” you said.

“You did, but I will not hold you to it if you are uncomfortable sharing.”

Gosh you loved this man. “I want to talk, it’s just...” you sighed, and pulled him back over to the bed to sit again. “Birthdays are supposed to be a day to celebrate, right?”

“Indeed they are.” He softly caressed the side of your face, looking very much like he wanted to kiss all your troubles away. “Because we all love you.”

“Well, that’s just it,” you whispered, your voice soft as you turned away so he wouldn’t see the tears in your eyes. “What if one year everyone realizes that they don’t love me? Then I’ll be spending every year, every day, every minute alone. I... I don’t want to lose you.”

Loki held you to his chest as you began to sob, wiping the now fallen tears from your cheeks. He cooed and kindly shushed you as you got it out of your system. You’d held it in so long you’d grown numb to the pain, but now you were feeling it full force.

Loki moved your sweater out of the way and kissed your shoulder, moving up your neck and to your wet cheeks. His heart broke a little bit as he tasted the salty drops on his lips. He so wished you hadn’t kept this bottled up, that you’d shared with him. Perhaps it was a little selfish, but he did also feel a spark of happiness at the moment of your confession since he thought you were about to say you didn’t love him anymore. Your thoughts were quite the opposite, in reality, and he cursed himself that he let you think that way for even a fraction of a second.

“I will always love you, darling,” he said as your cries slowly came to a stop, leaving hiccups in their wake. “And when I say always, I truly do mean forever and beyond the constraints of time. It was like a dream when you told me you felt the same way. My very own heavenly angel loved me, too. My heart, my soul, my passion, my darling. My love. Your insecurities are valid; everyone is allowed to have them. But I beg of you, come to me next time. We can work through them together.”

You sniffled to stop another set of tears. “I know. Thank you, Loki. I was worried that if I told you, you’d realize that you didn’t love me. But I know you do, really. And I love you so, so much, too.”

He pulled you down to be laying on the bed and wrapped his body around yours. When you were feeling better, you chatted a bit, keeping the conversation light after the heavy topics you’d been discussing. You finally told Loki you felt ready to go out and face the day, which was more then halfway over at this point. He checked to make sure you were certain of your decision, and after a kiss to each of your eyelids and the tip of your nose, escorted you out of your room.

“Happy Birthday!” the Avengers greeted you as you made your way into the common room.

Loki had taken your desire to keep celebrations simple to heart. There was a banner and some balloons, but that was it in the way of decorations. As for the team, they gave you kind hugs and thoughtful gifts, but no one made too big of a deal out of it. No shouting or crazy partying, just some quality time spent doing puzzles and playing board games and watching movies. Carol, Lauren, and a few of the others even hilariously recreated some of your favorite scenes from the films you’d picked. Of course, they were all making sure you knew you were loved and appreciated, too. In other words, it was perfect.

Dinner and dessert, your favorites served at both, were also amazing. You spent the time reminiscing and sharing stories from your childhood. Soon after, you retired to your room. After you got changed into your pajamas for the night, you met Loki in the living room of your large quarters. He was fiddling with something you couldn’t quite make out.

“What’s that you got there?” you asked, perching on the couch next to him.

“It is another gift for you, my darling,” he replied, presenting it to you.

You opened up the small pouch he’d handed you and pulled out a charm. It was a key, and you immediately added it to the growing collection on your bracelet.

“Thank you, my love,” you said. “It’s perfect.”

“And that is not all,” he grinned as you looked at him with excitement and surprise written plainly across your features. He pulled out a charm of his own on a necklace, hidden by his shirt. It was a heart with a lock carved into it. You looked again at the key and realized it would fit perfectly. “I want you to know that you have the key to my heart. I love you, my angel.”

“And I will protect it with everything I have in me. Because I love you, too, Loki. More than I can ever say.”

“Happy Birthday, darling.”

It may take some time, but you think you could grow to like your birthday. At very least, as Loki kissed you again, you knew you never had to worry about being left alone. No, not when Loki would be there for you until the end of time and every moment after.

[lavendertales]

Imagine Oberyn meets you and he falls for you but you’re nervous because you have a young child, and you’re not sure how he’d react to the news, but he meets them and ends up LOVING them.

💕 💕 💕

gif: @malecharactergifs

Upon his arrival in Kings Landing, Oberyn would have never thought such a situation would occur. 

While he was shown to the palace, he caught your eyes glancing in his direction and immediately felt drawn to you. There was much simplicity to you, and yet so much grace and beauty that he wanted to know more of. And it worked both ways as well: you were struck by Oberyn’s presence but, in your defense, how could anyone not be? He was the infamous Red Viper, the most feared and skilled warrior in all the Seven Kingdoms and he was beyond enchanting.

However, once the two of you began spending more time together, you began contemplating whether you should share you one and only secret with him.

Well, it wasn’t much of a secret, but since most of the people at the court did not give a damn, you thought of it that way. An affair six years ago ended with a child that you birthed and now raised as best as you could, to the best of your capabilities, knowledge and resources. And you knew that sooner of later, Oberyn would find out about your son, whether from you or someone else.

That did not aid in soothing your nerves, though. 

Even as you accompanied Oberyn for a stroll through the vast gardens at the palace and laughed and spoke for minutes on end, you still felt incredibly nervous. And he could tell as much.

“Are you alright, my pretty?” he asked, examining your facial expression.

“Yes,” you smiled, gulping. “A bit... flustered, it’s all.”

“Why so?”

You stopped, standing directly in front of him. “Well, you are the Red Viper, a prince of Dorne. You reputation precedes you everywhere you go and every little thing that you do is... great.”

“Reputation makes no difference to us in Dorne. I may have told you this before, but there, everyone is treated equally. We are all people, human being, derived from the same flesh and with the same desires and intentions. Most of us, anyway.”

You giggled, and he took it as a queue to take your hand into his and stroke it gently. “I am yours, Y/N. Everything that I have is yours.”

“Before I respond the same... there is something you are ought to know, my prince.”

Oberyn frowned, watching you carefully. 

“There’s someone... you could meet, if you wish to. I haven’t told you this before because I was afraid you might not... approve or... even like him.”

“Him?”

You took a breath before letting out a shaky, “My son.”

It was a bizarre silence in between you two for a moment. Fear crawled its way back into your nervous system as you waited for a reaction from Oberyn and, eventually, his lips stretched into a marvelous smile, radiant and pure.

“That is why you are so flustered? For having a son?”

“Yes...?”

“My dear, there is nothing to disapprove of that! Don’t be silly.”

He kissed both your hands, smiling brightly at you as he took you in his arms, the one place you truly felt safe and at home.

“I have eight daughters,” he continued. “It makes no matter to me, I promise you. And besides... it would be my pleasure to meet your son.”

You smiled even wider upon hearing his declaration, and grabbed his hand to finish your walk. Excitedly, you rushed towards the palace back to your chambers, and there, playing carelessly and quietly, was a little boy.

“Prince Oberyn, meet my son, Sandor.”

Oberyn came forward to observe the boy, who stopped playing in the meantime and approached the prince as well. Oberyn kneeled before him and smiled pleasantly.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Sandor.”

The boy shook his hand and looked at you for a brief second before inspecting the prince’s face again.

“Do you have horses?” he asked, much to Oberyn’s delight.

“Many. I could show them to you if you’d like.”

“Real ones?!”

“Yes. Big and strong, much like yourself.”

Sandor’s face lit up and giggled, which filled your heart with joy. The image of your son playing now with Oberyn and showing him his toys was something you hadn’t realized how much you longer for and how beautifully it seemed to fit together.

[crazy-czech-fangirl]

Kristen Stewart - Howard Stern interview

Yesterday I saw the interview with Howard Stern and wow. I’ve never seen her so openly speak about the Twilight era and relationship with Rob. So I decided to transcript the parts about Twilight and Robert because I couldn’t find it anywhere. If you have time go watch the whole interview it’s really worth it!

****

H: The way they’re covering your romance with Robert Pattinson and all this.. I had him on the show and he said no relationship could survive the intense scrutiny that we were under. It was insane.

K: Yeah it was. I mean we wanted to like keep it ours so it was like this thing of going like..well do you like live openly and share your life in a way that actually entitles you to living it sort of more freely and naturally or do you like put it on lock because you hate the idea of perpetuating this like commodified version of your..something that feels real to you and you’re like ‘I’m not selling you shit’! But then you actually deprive yourself of like so many experiences. Like we didn’t walk down the street holding hands because we were like ‘Don’t wanna give it to them’ but then we didn’t get to walk down the street holding hands. And it sucked.

H: Of course it sucked because the best part of the relationship with anyone..

K: Is screaming from the rooftops!

H: ‘I’m in love!’

K: Yeah!

H: And walking around holding somebody’s hand.

K: I know.

****

H: ....Not only were you falling in love with Rob on the set.. Which by the way I think is the biggest mistake an actor can make.

K: There was nothing I could do.

H: The director was even nervous because the first time you guys kind of auditioned together to see the chemistry..it was an immediate chemistry between the two of you.

K: Yeah, yeah. It’s so weird like actually being honest about this like it’s been so heavily consumed and I have this fear that people would assume that maybe I’m like..’oh cool you’re still pushing that narrative’ and it’s like ‘No I’ve actually never been allowed to just say what happened’. Because I was so self conscious about seeming like an attention seeker.

H: Or taking advantage of the fact that you guys were dating.

K: Yeah exactly. We were together for years. That was like my first..you know..

H: Love.

K: Yeah. I mean like I was super in love with my high school boyfriend. Super in love with him. But me and Rob were like little older and it was like *GOGUM*.

H: He’s a charming guy.

K: Yeah he’s the best.

****

H: Rob when he was here told me with Twilight that they wanted to go a whole other direction . They wanted you to be smiling and him to be smiling. Be a lovable little vampire. And he said it was tremendous pressure to act that movie the way he wanted to.

K: Yeah. Honestly thank god he had that.. I mean he like..he wouldn’t do it the other way. And I don’t think he even had that in his wheelhouse like his body wouldn’t do that. And I mean mine either. I was like..The only reason this is good is because it’s like “Aaargh” and they were like ‘But it’s not fun!’. We took a lot of slack. Like we were constantly being like reprimanded and thank god we stuck to our guns because that’s why the movie works.

H: Yes. Yes that’s exactly why the movie works.

****

H: Would you recommend to other young actresses that they fall in love during their movie or should they avoid it? Because that’s my point. You say you couldn’t have stopped yourself falling in love with Rob.

K: I don’t think it’s really a choice..

H: Isn’t it dangerous because the set is such an aphrodisiac. It’s like..

K: Maybe it’s not real. Yeah but then you could apply that to any other...What is?

H: What is real?

K: Yeah.

H: Because they cater to you, they’re treating you like you’re a star..

K: Mmmm no.

H: No? It wasn’t like that?

K: No. Not at all. ‘Get your ass to set and start smiling bitch’. And I’m like ‘Nope’.

H: But did you have a sense that you were in trouble now that you were in love. Because you’re like ‘oh this is cliched I’m falling in love with my costar’.

K: I thought that was the coolest thing ever and I was so proud of it and I was like ‘We’re like rockstars dude’. I was like ‘Yeah you wish you had this.’ You know when you have that thing and you’re like ‘This is the coolest’.

H: Well it’s cool too because you’re really trapped in like high school or college and at least you have this great outside romance going on.

K: It was fun.

H: But it’s always doomed isn’t it because it’s just too much pressure when you got famous as you did so quickly.

****

H: Trump was consumed with the fact that you and Rob Pattinson had broken up.

K: Sure. Yes.

H: And he started tweeting against you saying ‘Hey Rob you can do much better than Kristen Stewart’.

....

K: You would think that he had more important things to do. It’s absurd.

...

H: Did you ever talk to Rob about it? Did you ever say ‘Can you believe the president of the United States is carrying on about our relationship.

K: Yeah we got back together. We like went through a thing and it fucking sucked but like we really wanted to be together...I don’t remember that particular conversation but we definitely were talking about everything at that time.

****

K: I had people genuinely asking me if that relationship was real or fake. And I was like..

H: Like the movie fabricated it for publicity.

K: Right yeah.

H: But they did used to do that in the old days.

K: I know it’s such a weird studio system old school way of...You really think at this point after all these years like that I’m..like that’s how I live my life?

H: There’s no way a relationship could survive the types of scrutiny that you guys had.

K: We were also just so young you know what I mean like there are stages..life is long..yeah.

H: Was there a point you would have gotten married do you think?

K: I don’t know.

H: I wonder..imagine

K: I wanted to..Yeah no I mean like I think I’ve never...

H: If he proposed you would have gotten married.

K: I don’t know. I’m not like a super duper traditionalist but at the same time like I...every relationship that I’ve ever been in I thought ‘This is it’. I’ve never like casually dated..I mean maybe one or two..Yeah I’m not giving everyone that. But like I’ve never really been the most casual person.

****

K: (what she could have done better while acting) .. and certain parts of Twilight. New moon I totally screwed up the like devastating..I was so in love with Rob and so happy that I couldn’t imagine losing him. But now I’m like ‘oh man I could have really done better work in that movie’.

****

H: (Snow white and the huntsman) That movie did really well. And then they didn’t ask you to be in the sequel.

K: We lived in a different time then you know what I mean. I feel like the slut shaming that went down was like so absurd. And they should have put me in that movie it would have been better..not to be a dick but..

H: You’re sayin there was slut shaming of you?

K: Well they didn’t put me in that movie because I went through a highly publicized scandal. So they were like scared of touching that.

H: Because you fell in love with the director? So that’s why they didn’t have you in the sequel? That was a dumb move.

K: I think so.

H: Isn’t that wrong though? Not to put you in a sequel because you fell in love with the director?

K: Well I wouldn’t say that I fell in love with the director...

H: Oh you had an affair..

K: Yeah that was weird..that was a kind of a weird thing. But I definitely...It wasn’t that big of a deal. Do you know what I’m saying. It’s like literally..

H: No because I’ve actually forgotten about it.

K: Yeah..

H: People at the time think it’s a big deal.

K: The work is so much more important. It’s like what do you care if I..I just thought that that movie actually..we could have made a great second one and we could have done it in a functional and healthy way. And then we didn’t ultimately do that and that’s okay because I did other stuff and it’s fine but yeah..that was weird.

H: So you were blamed for not being in the second movie because you had sex with somebody. That’s what you’re telling me?

K: I did not fuck him.

H: Oh you didn’t fuck him?

K: No I didn’t.

H: Oh so why not clear that up? Why not say that?

K: Who’s gonna believe..It doesn’t even matter

H: I believe you.

K: Honestly I feel like you do and I actually feel like this is the most honest setting I’ve ever been involved with.

H: You have been so honest with this so why did you get pegged as fucking..

K: Well because it looks like..you know you make out with a dude in public it definitely looks like you...

H: Oh oh so it was an innocent sort of thing and the media made it out to be a big deal.

K: Yeah I mean look it wasn’t innocent that was like a..you know that was a really hard period of my life. I was like really young and like um...

H: Well it’s understandable you’re a young woman. Yes ok you were going out with Rob...

K: Yeah I didn’t really know how to deal with that and I made some mistakes.

H: Hey guess what everybody does.

K: Yeah exactly. And honestly it’s no one’s business and people get over shit like that. You know what I mean? It’s really not a big deal. Basically what I’m saying is the work to me genuinely was ignored in a really sort of frivolous like silly petty way. For a group of adult people who were like supposed to be running studios and making films that’s what you..I mean honestly the film industry in Hollywood is so fear based and there are like equations that lead people to massive decisions that you assume are creative that are not at all.

H: Yes.

K: And so like that didn’t fit in their equation. And I think they are idiots because if you take a little risk and you make something good people will watch it and like it and pay you.

[punkpoemprose]

I Love You Pumpkin- A Kristanna Week “Yellow” Fic

Universe: Modern AU Rating: G (It’s just fluff y’all) Length: 2826 Words

For day 3, yellow, I went with concepts of “harvest” and “joy” to make a little pumpkin farm date AU. I threatened to write one of these a while back after going on a pumpkin farm date with my boyfriend, but didn’t finish it for Halloween. I hope y’all will enjoy it anyway!

Anna took Kristoff's hand as he helped her out of his truck. He was, as always, the most courteous man she'd ever met. It was just in his nature, she thought, to take care of others. Since they'd started dating she'd truly come to notice and appreciate just how second nature it was for him to help. 

It was one of the things she loved most about him, his willingness to step up and support her. She was glad for it, because it coincided with a particular inability on his part to ever say no to her. She knew that it was silly to plan a whole day around going to a pumpkin farm meant for children without bringing any children along, and yet when she'd suggested it, he'd just smiled and nodded and let her make the arrangements appropriately. 

"I'm so excited!" 

She was barely able to contain her desire to bounce up and down in her seat when she spotted a little hand painted sign with the farm's name just ahead on the path leading away from the gravel parking lot. She hadn’t ever gone to a pumpkin farm, at least not that she could remember. Her family didn’t do many outings at all after Elsa got sick, and while she’d been reassured by many that she hadn’t missed out on much, she still felt that she had missed something.

Kristoff understood. He’d had all those childhood experiences that Anna craved, but he’d had them after turning eight, when his parents adopted him and strove to give him the childhood that every other normal kid had. He understood that while most people didn’t think a trip to the pumpkin farm was important, it was important to Anna. For him, she knew, that was enough a reason to take the half hour drive.

"I noticed," he teased, squeezing her hand a couple times as he swung the passenger side door shut, "You were bouncing your foot the whole way here. You only do that when you're nervous or excited and I figured my driving couldn't have been that bad, so it must just be the pumpkin farm anticipation."

Anna smirked, squeezing his hand back and rocking up onto her tiptoes to press a kiss against his cheek.

“You’re an excellent driver. I trust you completely. I don’t even grab onto the door like I do when Elsa drives.”

He grinned at the compliment and chuckled at the mention of her sister’s driving. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Elsa was a bit of a distracted driver, often too caught up in her own thoughts to notice someone in front of her braking until the last second.

She pressed close to his side as he led them toward the gravel path that led to the pumpkin farm. It was a warm afternoon for autumn, the morning had been frosty but the light breeze didn’t chill Anna in her flannel and bluejeans, nor did it seem to affect Kristoff. It carried on it the scent of popcorn and something sweet.

“I read on the website that they have a fudge house,” he said, either noticing the scent for himself or being somehow able to sense Anna’s mouth already watering, “Is that going to have to be our first stop, or?”

Anna shook her head as the many small buildings of the farm came into her view. She could see the sign posts just ahead pointing to the different attractions offered by the farm, among them being spooky displays, a haunted haywagon ride, a small family friendly corn maze, a barnyard, and of course, the pumpkin patch. Sprinkled between there were small shops selling snacks and small trinkets that Anna already knew she’d be picking up before they left. 

“Of course not. They have a barnyard, we have to start there.”

She felt Kristoff bump into her side playfully and rocked her hip over to bump him in return.

“Of course, how could I be so foolish. It’s not as if you’ve ever seen a chicken or pig or goat before.”

She had, on more than one occasion, visited his family’s small farm and while there petted their livestock and most recently spent time picking apples from their orchard. She hadn’t been raised in a large city, but she had been far enough into town that she hadn’t spent much time around animals as a child. Helping her collect eggs for his mother and bringing her to see their newest goat when it was newborn were other ways he’d tried to help fill in gaps for her. They were experiences she treasured, particularly the memory of him, hand over hand, helping her to bottle feed the small kid.

“I’ll have you know sir,” she said with mock annoyance, “That they have a mini horse.”

He lifted both hands in surrender, picking up hers with his as he did so, not releasing it even as he teased her.

“Well then, that changes everything.”

***

After the time spent speaking in a baby voice to the miniature horse, Anna brought Kristoff along with her to look into each and every little display set up on the property. They tossed coins into a witch’s cauldron in return for a wish, watched as a skeleton popped out of a steamer trunk, and spent some time listening to children speaking to a giant talking pumpkin, asking her questions about her life to which she promptly replied.

“You’d be great at that job,” Kristoff mentioned as an aside as they walked away from the children.

“Being the lady on the other end of the microphone in the pumpkin?”

“Well,” Kristoff offered, “I don’t think she’s actually in the pumpkin, I assume it’s an intercom situation, but yes. You’re great with kids and you’re smart so I think you’d come up with quick answers and keep the magic for them.”

Anna felt her heart skip at the compliment, but Kristoff carried on walking them toward the fudge house like it had been nothing to say something so kind. She often wondered whether he knew how much he affected her when he said things like that, or when he casually reached for her hand, or when he kissed her, even chastely. There were days where she thought she might catch fire under the warmth and multitude of his affections, and he never acted as if it were anything more than natural.

She sometimes imagined a future where he was like that with their kids, kind and loving, doling out praise and affection easily and with little pomp and circumstance. His free way of giving affection, even when he was cranky and acting gruff was one of her favorite things about him.

“I guess I should inquire for next season then if things don’t go well with my teaching job.”

He smirked and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek quickly as they walked behind a building out of the sight of prying eyes.

“They love you there, you’re the best third grade teacher they’ve ever had. I saw the crayon drawings on your fridge to prove it. I don’t expect you’ll need the job. Unless of course, you’re planning on buying enough fudge to fill my truck, because then you might want to think about it.” 

***

She didn’t buy enough fudge to fill his truck in the least, buying two large pieces, one for herself and one to give her sister if she didn’t eat it on the ride home. Kristoff had bought them both cider and doughnuts that they called an unhealthy pre-dinner snack before buying their tickets for the corn maze and hay wagon ride. 

The afternoon had dimmed down and night approached nearer, and while the corn maze hadn’t been much match for them, Kristoff being able to see the exit the whole time due to the way they’d cut the corn down shorter for the kids, the hayride proved to be quite fun. As they passed by different “haunts” on the path the tractor and wagon took, they worked together to spot little secrets or decorations that made the displays even more interesting.

Kristoff had been the one to notice a lightning rod in the woods behind Frankenstien’s monster, and Anna had been the one to tell him that one of the monster masks on the trees had been painted, scuffed up, and generally repurposed from a kid’s superhero costume. A scarecrow with glowing eyes caught Anna off guard, and Kristoff had taken the opportunity to pull her closer to his side as she jumped. 

While it wasn’t truly frightening, and while the air wasn’t quite cold yet, Anna had been happy to have the excuse to cuddle in close to him. Leaning her head against his shoulder as they chatted a bit more about the displays and discussed their thoughts on what pumpkin they should purchase before leaving.

***

“We have to get the ugly one Kris,” she said, purposefully giving him puppy dog eyes and sticking out her lower lip. 

Of course she knew that the theatrics were unnecessary and that he would consent to any pumpkin she chose, but it was all part of the fun. She had to convince him to love the oddly shaped, warty, off kilter pumpkin as much as she did.

“No one else will pick him, and he deserves a home for Halloween. It’s like the tree in Charlie Brown. It’s not such a bad little pumpkin.”

Looking directly at her, she saw him trying to hold a stone face. His eyes betrayed too much mirth though, for any real protest to be present in his thoughts. 

“Maybe,” he said with a sigh, a smile forming quickly on his lips as he cracked, “If we carve enough out of the one side, he’ll balance better. If not I’ll grab some shims and we’ll give him a support system to keep him standing up on the porch.”

She excitedly lifted the pumpkin from the ground at his approval and acted as if she didn’t watch his hands twitch as she carried the large gourd towards the checkout stand. Many others had caught her eye as they walked through the neat rows of pumpkins and squash, but this oddly shaped one had called to her. It was awkward to carry, and while Kristoff didn’t offer to take it from her as she hefted it along, she saw him in her periphery putting his hands into his pocket so as to not reach for it. 

“I’ll pay the man,” he said, clearly not being ready to watch the balancing act that would ensue if Anna were to hold the pumpkin in one arm and try to riffle through her purse with the other. 

She thought it might be funny to attempt it, if only to see his crabby side come out for a moment. He was never mean, of course, but he did sometimes grumble like an old man, and she often found it enjoyable to kiss the crankiness out of him.

It was a pastime of hers that she found he also enjoyed.

With the pumpkin paid for and their adventures concluded for the day, they set off for his truck once more, the sky getting darker by the minute, but still bright enough to see quite well by.

“So,” he asked as he loaded their pumpkin into the back of his truck, paying particular attention to ensuring that it would not roll despite its odd shape’s propensity to do so, “Was this the pumpkin farm experience of your dreams?”

Anna nodded, seeing the pumpkin successfully loaded, and turning to open the door to the truck.

“All that I could dream of and more,” she said, patting her purse where the remainder of her chocolate fudge, as well as her sister’s piece were located, “Thank you for coming with me. I had a great time.”

He stepped around to her side of the truck, offering her his hand as she stepped up to enter the cab, releasing it only when she was seated so that he could close the door behind her.

She watched from the passenger seat as he shoved his hands back into his pockets and walked around the truck to enter his side. 

There was a bit of an odd look on his face, like he was mulling something over in the short five step walk. His hand was still in his pocket when he opened the door with the other and climbed in, swinging it shut, a bit awkwardly, with the hand that was not in the pocket.

“I’m glad you had fun… I’d like to make everyday… no, that’s not it…”

He was mumbling a bit and Anna offered him a confused look and a tilt of her head. He wasn’t usually a man who started saying something and cut himself off unless he was still thinking about what he wanted to say, or unless he was trying to say something important.

“Anna, everyday I’m with you is an adventure. I never thought that I was the type of man who wanted to wake up to a surprise everyday, but I guess it’s no surprise that I love you, and if pumpkin farm dates and ugly gourds and small animals are what you love then I guess I love those things too. If you’ll let me, I want take you on adventures, and hold your hand for as long as we can.”

He pulled his hand from his pocket, and in the quickly dimming light of the afternoon turned evening, she saw a small shining ring in his large palm.

“Anna, what I want to ask you is… will you make me the happiest man alive and do me the honor of letting me call you my wife?”

***

The ring was beautiful and unique, the stone in the center being a beautiful yellow-orange, flanked on either side by smaller stones set into leaf-like shapes. Anna could hardly breathe, let alone speak, so for a moment she simply flapped her hands in surprise as the tears rolled down her cheeks. She nodded yes quickly, and managed to choke it out as he watched her with a shy smile.

“I’m sorry this wasn’t as special as I wanted it to be, but I’ve been trying to find the right time for weeks, and I tried to take you out to dinner last week but I got called into work and I wanted to do it with your sister there so you could have her and…”

Anna leaned across the console of his truck and wrapped her arms around him, the hug not quite as full as she wanted it to be with the separation. She kissed him fully on the lips when she got him close enough, stopping his apology in the middle as she showed him exactly how perfect he’d made the proposal, and every moment of every day before it since they’d met. 

They sat like that for a long while, pulling each other close and kissing and smiling and wiping away happy tears, until finally he slid the ring onto her finger and they were content to take a moment to breathe with their hands clasped atop the console.

“I was so nervous tonight,” he admitted, his thumb running along hers as he spoke.

She shot him a look of surprise, then laughed. 

“You didn’t seem nervous at all. You never seem nervous when we’re alone together.”

He smiled at her in return and shook his head, “I was checking my pocket every ten seconds for the ring and then I kept wondering everytime we did something. Is it the right time? Should I propose in front of the mini-horse or on the hayride?”

She couldn’t help but snort at the idea of being proposed to in front of a miniature pony. She probably would have loved it in the moment though, given it was Kristoff proposing.

“This was perfect. Just you and me, in your car, knowing that we’ll get to show all our friends and family later but just having the moment for ourselves. It was perfect.”

“Well, just so we don’t slight anyone… we could send the mini horse a wedding invite.”

She swatted him playfully and fell back into her seat, releasing his hand so that she could put on her seat belt.

“Or we could head to your parents house now and inform them… and maybe also the goat.”

“Do you want the goat in the wedding?”

“No,” she said, mentally making note to call her sister as soon as they were on the road and have her meet them at Kristoff’s parent’s place, “But if we have it on the farm it would be rude not to invite all the residents.”

She heard his laugh, rich and joyful, before she felt his arms wrap around her again, pulling her as close as possible for another kiss.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Cassell Cynics: Part 5 (End...?)

OCs are @hectab ‘s . Dinnae Steal! :D that’s my job. :3c

Hana sprinted from Nathan’s dorm towards Guderian’s class room, full of desperation. She kicked off the silly heels Cassell forced her to wear and let the pavement pound through her bare feet. As she ran, she called the professor on her cell phone again and again, but he didn’t pick up. She imagined him teaching a class. She would disrupt it. She would get into trouble maybe she would be disciplined. But they were making a mistake! She had to get them to change their mind!

How come Fingel got to stay as rank F and Nathan was getting expelled as a Rank C? It wasn’t fair! Nathan had way more potential than Fingel and even if he didn’t do anything... why was his mental health not a concern to them? They were the ones who decided to keep him! This is partly their fault. But all Guderian regretted was not being able to refund his tuition! 

She took the twenty stairs up to the main teaching hall in a single bound. Her dark ponytail flying behind her. The doors were already propped open but no one was in the halls. She kept running, expecting resistance. But finding none at all. In fact, all the lights were off as if the classes were finished for the semester.

She dialed Guderian’s number again and it rang and rang. She could hear it ringing in the classroom ahead of her. How could he just ignore her calls like this!

Hana burst through the double doors into a classroom that was empty and dark.  The lights were out and the shades were drawn. The person standing at Guderian’s usual desk was Schneider! He was like a gargoyle in a dark trenchcoat. His sharp eyes glared from behind the half mask over his face. He was holding Guderian’s phone.

“You sent those texts?!” Hana gasped.

Strong arms seized Hana from either side of the doors and dragged her forward, pushing her into a chair in front of him. Hana was overtaken with confusion. “What’s happening? Where’s Professor Guderian?”

She looked up at either one of the people holding on to her. They were members of the Executive Board. Not students, full members!  “What’s going on? Where’s Nathan?”

“You’re too late. He’s already in with Toyama. His brainwashing has commenced.” Schneider said smoothly, setting the phone down. “And you will not be allowed to interfere.”

---

Nathan kept his head up high as he faced the psychologist Dr. Toyama. “It was a nice run.” He grinned. “Wish it could have lasted.”

Toyama, dressed in his usual brown tailored suit raised his eyebrows in surprise as he took a seat across from him. “You’re the cheeriest patient I’ve had the pleasure of working with.”

“Really? I’m guessing that they either don’t know what you really do or ... they’re here against their will. I’m neither of those things. I would have preferred to let my tuition run out first but... hey I get it. I’m not supposed to be here so... here we are!”

“Do you really not feel the Blood Cry at all?” Toyama asked. He picked up an iPad and started writing with a stylus.

“What difference does it make? I’m C-ranked. I don’t qualify for College. You don’t ask students if they feel the Blood Cry if they fail the 3E do you? You just kick them out.”

Toyama smiled, his eyes kind and gentle. “But you didn’t fail the 3E.”

Nathan gave a nervous laugh, his arms crossing over his chest. He glanced around and his eyes fell on hidden cameras very quickly. “You people were the ones who told me I got a C-rank. That’s a fail by your own rules. Why are you suddenly saying I didn’t fail. Did someone falsify my records?”

“I’m required to be present during the 3E. So I remember you. You were nervous but I remember you had a glimmer of excitement in your eyes. You didn’t seem to doubt yourself going in. But after the test was over...”

Nathan interrupted. “The 3E sucks. There are people who have to go to the hospital after! You’re there so they don’t blow their brains out after seeing their visions.”

“It only ‘sucks’ if they actually resonate...” Toyama said coldly.

Toyama sat in silence for several seconds and watched Nathan start to sweat. He rubbed his hands on his pants then suddenly relaxed. “Oh! I have my book with me. I figured I’d go for uh...Jason Bourne. You know, a secret spy who was ‘decomissioned’ by a black government program.” He opened to the correct page and showed it to Toyama. “Give me that memory please.”

Toyama took the notebook from him. There were over a hundred different scenarios of different reasons to explain the lost year from an erased memory, each one getting more and more elaborate as the time went on. But Toyama flipped to the first page.

“Hey! Don’t just go flipping through all of it!” Two members of the discipline committee caught Nathan before he could snatch the book back and restrained him back into the chair.

Toyama read out loud. “August 12th... isn’t that the first day you enrolled? That’s also the first day you wanted to leave.”

Nathan glowered as he was being strapped to the chair with belt like attachments. “Why do you care? Fine, you know what? I quit! I quit and I drop out. I drop out right now!”

“You wanted to leave immediately after the 3E. You could have dropped out then but you didn’t....” Toyama closed the book. “But now you’re suddenly eager to go. What changed?”

“I wanted to enjoy my time here... But you won’t let me...” Nathan snarled.

“We won’t let you enjoy your time? You’ve been here a year and have done nothing but break the rules without consequences.” Toyama said.

“Stop. Just stop! You want me... out there. Fighting in this stupid war! That’s why I’m here. If you really thought I was useless you would have kicked me out! Right?”

“Who wants you fighting in the war against dragons..?” Toyama asked slowly.

Like quicksand, Nathan felt like the more he talked, the deeper he sank. “Do you not hear me! I said I quit! I quit!” He roared louder and louder. “You can’t keep me here!”

“You feel the Blood Cry more strongly than you admit. If I erase your mind the consequences could be disastrous.”

“Why are you stalling? What did she tell you?!” He pulled against the restraints.

“Why don’t you let us help you?”

“I don’t WANT your help!”

Toyama stared in wonder. It wasn’t that he was angry or frustrated. This man was terrified. “Why are you so scared of staying here?”

-----

His brainwashing was already in progress? Hana felt like the wind was knocked out of her.

"No! You have to stop it!”  Maybe if she ran, she could make it! The sharp click of a gun was loud against her head when she tried to stand. Her eyes turned to the sound and she stared down the bottomless barrel of a pistol. “Are you going to shoot me? Why? What’s going on...” Her voice was shaking and betrayed.

Schneider expression was completely pitiless. He looked like the Phantom of the Opera as he set a stop watch on the desk. “You have 10 seconds to explain or our decision is final.” 

“9...8...7...”

“I...” She stared at it, mind racing. “I promised him that I wouldn't say anything about what we talked about... Please he’s my only friend!”

“6...5...4...”

“He won’t survive out there, I know he won’t! Just let him stay! He never caused any trouble!”

“3...2...1..”

“He quit the test on purpose!”

The stop watch beeped and Schneider silenced it with a gloved finger. Hana was still out of breath from running and now she was panting from terror. “Please, just let him stay.”

“The test. You mean the 3E? No one ‘quits’ the 3E, but you said he did.” Schneider kept his frigid stare on her. “He’s not C-ranked and you know it. Why did you lie and say he was?”

“I don’t know if I lied.” Hana’s heart had never beat faster. “I don’t want to lie.”

“But you did.” Schneider raised a single scarred eyebrow. “Which makes this all the more remarkable.”

Schneider walked around the desk and sat down, resting his elbows on the desktop and twining his fingers in front of his face. “You’re a good student. One of the best. What are you doing, Hana?”

“I don’t have anyone else here. I think he’s a good guy. We can be friends. I just want you to leave him alone.” She said.

Schneider waved his hand slightly and the two Executive Board agents turned and left, closing the door.

“EVA!” He raised his voice suddenly. “I need you to remove yourself from this room for the next ten minutes.”

A female voice acknowledged from the PA system. “For the next 10 minutes, I will have no access to this classroom..”

Schneider kept his piercing pale eyes on her. “Everything you say from here on out will be strictly confidential unless you repeat it to others. If anyone asks me, I’ll never tell what you say here today.” She kept a guarded look so he added. “I have many, many secrets I never tell anyone, Hana. You can tell me.”

In their chat over dinner, Nathan had kept asking her if she was on his side and she was. She really was. She didn’t believe he was really high on drugs when he told her about the 3E exam, the vision he had of the dragons’ true nature. But the excuse that he was high when he said those things was too perfect to resist. It was a ‘get out of jail free card’. She had thought that all she had to say was he was high and she wouldn’t lie to the professors and they would go back to ignoring him. But now she found herself in even deeper trouble, facing down the head of the Executive Department. The most dangerous man on Earth! “You really promise you won’t tell anyone else?” 

-----------------

“You risk your mental health if you continue on this path. It’s self destructive.” Toyama continued to try to reason with Nathan. “I just want to make sure you understand the great risk you’re taking and that your decision is not being made rashly.”

Nathan hung his head, as though he were being led to the gallows. "It’s not being made rashly. I know exactly what I’m doing. I know I could just... end up jumping off a bridge once my memories are gone. I’ve been preparing for it. Seeing what works. Marijuana helps a lot. But the problem is you build up a tolerance over time. Especially as a hybrid. Music, weed, regular sleep... it all helps take the edge off the Blood Cry. Alcohol makes it worse alone but with weed it’ll help you sleep.”

“You’ve been experimenting on yourself this whole time?” Toyama ran his fingers along his chin. “You really are serious. If that’s the case, you’re right that I can’t keep you. I just want to know why. Both professionally and personally. I’ve never met anyone like you in my entire career.”

Nathan kept his silence. He didn’t look at Toyama any more.

Toyama’s phone suddenly buzzed. “Excuse me.”

Nathan nodded without looking up.

Toyama stepped out. His voice sounded through the door. He was talking to someone for a very long time. The two disciplinary committee students were still there and he glanced up at one. “I’m sure you guys are curious too...?”

“Not really. I don’t care if you’re here or not.” The square jawed man looked down on him contemptuously. “Frankly, I wonder why they’re wasting time hesitating.”

Nathan laughed softly and looked down. So long as he insisted on leaving, they wouldn’t be able to hold him. This was the final push. No doubt they were trying to force him to stay for their own reasons. They knew he was hiding something precious and they didn’t want to let him go.

--------------------

Hana looked up at Schneider on the phone. 

“Cancel his expulsion.” Schneider said simply.

A pause. Schneider asked. “Did he say why?”

Another longer pause and Schneider licked his lips. “Have you tried to dissuade him?”

Another pause. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do.”

Schneider hung up. “Well, it appears your friend is determined to leave. Unless you could convince him to stay, Toyama has no choice but to wipe his mind. You said you���re his friend right? What do you think?” Schneider’s manner had completely changed. While he wasn’t a warm personality, that frigid atmosphere was gone.

“I don’t want him to go. I’m afraid at what might happen. But he doesn't believe in Cassell or the mission.”

“Toyama seems to feel nervous about wiping him as well but he has been unable to convince him to stay so far. Do you think you can?”

“Professor Schneider. When you look at me, do you think I could be someone who could actually kill a dragon given the opportunity? Please. Be honest.” Hana Sato asked.

The hiss of Schneider’s oxygen tank was audible in the silence, and it hissed 3 times before he finally answered. “When humans battle with dragons, our victory tends to be a pyrrhic victory.”

“What’s a pyrrhic victory?” She tilted her head.

Those light eyes sparkled and then softened into something akin to a great sadness. “A pyrrhic victory is when the cost of the victory is so great, it can be reasonably be called a defeat.”

Hana swallowed hard as another layer was peeled back and once again Nathan was revealed to be correct.

“Do you think the fight against dragons is unwinnable?” she asked.

“It’s not about winning or not winning.” Schneider said. “It’s about survival. If we don’t fight against the dragons, it will simply mean the certain end of all human society. If it is impossible, as he says, then I can understand why he would rather have no part of it. But I don’t share his hopelessness. I believe we can win. And even if it comes at the great cost of many lives, if it means the future of mankind, it will have been worth it.”

-------

Toyama returned to the room and shooed away the two disciplinary committee members. Once they were gone he said. “Your expulsion has been canceled.” 

Nathan let out a short laugh, sadness filling him. Hana must have talked. He supposed he couldn’t expect Hana to sacrifice herself for him. They hardly knew each other after all. “Oh really? Are they changing my rank too?”

“No one has said anything about that. To change your rank you will need to retake the 3E. Are you still going to drop out?”

“Yeah. Go ahead and do it. Sign whatever paperwork. Go ahead. I’m ready.”

“Now why are you upset?”

Nathan turned his head away. “I’m not.”

“You are. You were happy to leave at first. Now that I’m letting you go, you look terribly sad. Close to tears even”

“I’m sad because I don’t have any weed. Once I’m out of here, just make sure to stash my marijuana in my backpack. I’ll smoke and feel alright.”

Toyama paused to give him one more chance to think of a way out and when nothing was forthcoming, he unstrapped Nathan from the chair, unbuckling the restraints. “You said Jason Bourne? There were a few more pleasant scenarios in there. The last one was a artist running from the dictator in Korea.”

“I have no artistic talent. I was just spitballing.”

“Witness protection program?”

“Seems to require a lot of staff.” Nathan massaged his wrists.

“Plane crash coma victim?”

“Make it car crash and I think we have a winner.”

“Alright.”

A knock at the door surprised both of them. Toyama went to answer it. “You are just in time. We were about to start.”

“Hana?” Nathan was surprised, delighted and then wary to see his soon to be former fellow student. “What are you doing here? Here to say goodbye after ratting me out?”

Hana stood taller than Toyama. Her face was serene when she looked at him. “No.” She said. “I’m leaving too.”

------

Hana sighed. Her mind was a jumbled mix of thoughts. Her first question was where am I? Nothing came to mind for a split second, only for the thought to pop up unbidden.

She was at Cassell. Cassell... how did she get here?

Another brief silence from her mind and then an image appeared unbidden. She had been on an escort assignment. Everything seemed normal until they were on their way back and got T-boned by someone who red light. She didn’t remember anything after that.

She opened her eyes to the white hospital room.

Toyama was sitting next to her bed. “How are you feeling, Hana?”

“I’m fine... Nathan... Where’s Nathan?” She sat up and was suddenly assaulted by dizziness.

“Nathan is fine.” Toyama said, reaching out to steady her. “He’s where he usually is. You remember right?”

She smiled gently. “Yes. I remember. On the bench... smoking.”

[mchalowitz]

the woman is the king, part three

summary: a throughline of the matriarchal scullys; be they ethereal, sharp-witted, and ill-omened.

i’m very excited to finally share this! definitely the most difficult part to write so far and i hope everyone enjoys it!

part 1: melissa / part 2: dana

part 3: emily

read on ao3

@today-in-fic

———

Two years on, sometimes Scully believes she will be able to survive without her other. A forgotten voice travels from immortal nirvana to her brother’s residential line. She wonders if what she tells herself is true. 

1994; the lost year that exists between them. On an evening in March, returning from a field assignment with Mulder, Melissa leaves a message on her answering machine that Scully can still easily recite. 

Things are too hard right now, Dana. I’m safe, I’m with friends in California. I’ll call soon. I love you.

Dana would never have been the golden child. No one surpasses a squid, especially not a fed with some shifty assignment. A shifty fed fares better than a filthy sinner. Charlie wears excommunication with unsweetened pride. And Melissa, the silly new ager, well, she could take no more.

No one thrives at the center of a Scully family scandal. Scully tries to create a rational narrative. It is 1994. Melissa is pregnant; she doesn’t want the baby. She knows plenty of people on the west coast. It was believable. 

Her beloved sister, Dana, is abducted, and in the four weeks she is missing, Melissa gives birth, and the baby is adopted. Dana resurfaces in a hospital; left practically for dead. Her sister returns to stand vigil at her bedside. 

It becomes a question of mindset. Maggie believes Melissa would have told her; Dana disagrees. Subversion of expectations was the ultimate sin for a Scully child as it was a denouncement of the parenting of William and Margaret. She can attest to her mother’s softening on certain expectations since the death of her father. She still disagrees. 

No time for sulking, only pushing through. Working the case through Christmas clearly infuriates Bill. He keeps it to hushed whispers and snide remarks out of Tara’s earshot. Scully often wonders how privy Tara is to anything going on in the Scully family. 

Her infertility stings when she looks at her sister-in-law. With her cancer now in remission, the other medicals horrors Scully faced start coming back to the surface. It is another slap; the thought that her sister gave away such a sweet little girl while she will never carry a child. 

Scully is a mother. She struggles to quantify what Emily is. 

Emily, a living and breathing child, with the face of a Scully, is a violation of her body that someone stole from her, and yet must be fiercely protected. Perhaps Emily is the missing piece. 

Scully hurriedly fills out the application for temporary custody. It consists of the normal, straightforward questions found on any application, until her hand is hovering over that box. Single or married. 

The only thing happening in sunny San Diego is a completely mundane family Christmas, as far as Mulder is aware. Her words froze during her singular phone call. It seems like reaching out now is more of a bombardment than a simple debrief.

Scully is not in a position to presuppose the enigmatic thoughts of Fox Mulder. Yes, it was by his own volition to marry her and she can even believe that Mulder does love her. It is a mutual respect and a fond devotion. It is not spousal love; not a man that loves his wife. 

If she checks the box, Mulder would have to be a father figure to Emily, and it is not her place to make that decision for him. Their marriage was playing house because she was destined to die and Emily does not deserve to be a flour-sack baby in their labyrinthian game. 

Her pen swipes across the paper. Single. 

--

Mulder starts with M. Mmm. Emily tells him so.

Emily leaves the crayons and paper to go to the bookshelf. Mulder is sitting in the chair by the window and she gives him the book. She points to the yellow bird on the cover.

“What’s his name?”

“I think that’s Big Bird,” Mulder tells her. 

Her Daddy only reads her one book at a time, Mulder reads her three. She goes to the bookshelf for more when Dana comes up close to her. “Emily, Mulder and I have to leave now, but we’ll come back tomorrow.” 

Emily looks at Mulder, holding the book, and he says, “I bet you can find a good spot to keep it safe.” 

She nods and sets the book against the bed, fixing it when it slides down. Dana and Mulder leave. A lady makes her pick up her crayons before dinner.

“I���m tired,” she insists, holding the lady’s hand on the way to eat. 

“First dinner, then bed, Emily.”

--

A duality develops in relation to another atrocity to her body. It is a swift punch to the throat; knocking the breath so deeply out of her lungs. It is also as mundane as adding milk to the shopping list; it is only another thing. 

Her brother’s phone line carries mysteries from one location to another. Landline abandoned, traveling well above the speed limit, Mulder drives toward the children’s home. 

“I could have handled it,” she asserts simply. 

“I know.”

Mulder, with his complexity of a hero, and innate ability to act so hoggish. Scully wonders if he really believes that. 

--

Her blanket at home is pink sparkles and has Barbie on the pillows. Emily doesn’t like her new blanket nearly as much. It’s just plain pink.

The lady from dinner tucks her in. “I met Mr. Potato Head,” Emily informs her. 

Emily doesn’t like the other kids in the new place, especially the boy that calls, “That’s not true! Mr. Potato Head isn’t real.” 

“Yes, he is!” she argues. She struggles to sit up with the blanket holding her back. “I met him and he looks like this!” She puffs out her cheeks, making the same face. 

“That must have been very exciting, Emily,” the lady adds softly, tucking her in again. 

The lights turn off. Emily closes her eyes. She feels cold. 

--

In the work Mulder does with Scully, it is often based more on speculation than he would ever like to admit to anyone. It disgusts him to know that if Emily were any other file in his cabinet, it would bring him joy to map out theories and spar with his partner over them. With the empty coffin staring back at them, Mulder can easily assume a thought is something neither of them want to enter their minds ever again. No hypothesizing to be done here. 

Following the funeral, the San Diego bureau fares slightly kinder than their city’s court system. Their California contact, while deeply apologetic for the tragedy that has occurred here, informs them the field office won’t be actively pursuing the case. Aside from following up on a few leads pertaining to the deaths of Roberta and Marshall Sim, it will likely be deemed a cold case. 

“I’m very sorry, Agent Scully,” the agent says, padding his final blow. Emily’s case will not be investigated either. Both Mulder and Scully understand the algorithm that goes into the decision of pursuing an investigation. If the case fell into the FBI mainstream, Emily’s chronic health issues, use of experimental treatments, and her parents’ full cognizance to the risks wouldn’t stand a chance against the process. 

And if there was anything to investigate, it has already been destroyed by powers far outside the reach of some dinky field office anyway. Whatever the reasoning may be, another Scully woman is still failed by the United States government. 

Scully wants the first flight out of San Diego back to Washington and he is more than quick to oblige her. While she very clearly loves the new addition to her family, the sting is just as obvious. 

Two hours down in the air, three more to go, and they have barely said a word to each other since take-off. Scully’s head is turned toward the window when he reaches for her hand. “Scully,” he speaks, very quietly. 

“No,” she responds with a shake of her head, her voice tight. 

Another long stretch of silence and Mulder thinks she maybe falls asleep, which would be a welcome cause for silence, because he isn’t convinced she’s slept more than an hour or two in days. He is about to request a blanket when her forehead presses into his shoulder and the contact reveals her body shaking with the exertion of holding everything inside yet again. 

It’s his fierce need to protect her always that causes him to envelope her body with his. Her arms wind tightly around his neck. Her attempts to muffle her sobs in his jacket is only partially successful. 

A flight attendant taps him on the shoulder and asks him, “Is everything alright?” 

“Everything’s fine,” Mulder blatantly lies. “But maybe we could get a glass of water for my wife.” 

It's a rare euphoria to speak those words; his wife. Dana Scully is his wife. A mostly unmentioned fact that gives him a childishly nervous feeling in his stomach. While it never retreated in his mind, it appears to be returning to the forefront of hers. 

In the winding process of applying for custody, a second application exists. Scully’s final plea to unite her with her own flesh and blood. Another document that states definitively that they are married. Mulder underwent a grilling from the judge; a practical bullying on the semantics of their marriage. 

One’s subconscious works powerfully, in his experience, and when he sat in this same position on Scully’s couch six months ago, the answer came to him so clearly. It wasn’t only for her benefit as a life experience that everyone should have the opportunity to have if they so choose; cancer only sped up the timeline of an inevitably. Mulder has never taken a mightier leap with her and she accepted. A singular score for Fox Mulder. 

It’s treated as though it never even existed; his presence in that way completely reverted. He wishes he had more of a chance to prove himself worthy. He wishes he was a less of pussy to actually do it. He will, he’s going to. If she is ever willing to forgive him for all of his transgressions. 

Mulder carried the knowledge of her ova and of what was likely (and now, very clearly) done with it with a heaviness that rivaled the many other weights he lugs around inside him. Scully’s hope for recovery was dwindling then and it was only another way to hurt her. 

It felt criminal to hijack her happiness when she went into remission and her bliss honestly fed his soul. Now, he only piles onto her pain. And if he was any kind of man, if he was someone deserving of someday being a person she would maybe, eventually, love for real, he would have been a lot fucking better. 

The flight attendant delivers a glass of water and a box of tissues on a plastic tray. He takes both and offers the glass to Scully. She scoots forward to the edge of her seat, her back straightened, and it reminds him of Bellefleur, and of that young agent in her red robe, and the fear of simple bug bites. It was the moment of cosmiticity bursting into existence between them. 

Scully sips water, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. His eyes never leave her for the rest of the flight. He drives her home under the glow of streetlights. 

“I can keep you company, if you want,” he offers after insisting he carry her suitcase inside for her. “Might even be able to catch a replay of the Rose Bowl if we’re lucky.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she replies. One hand holds the door and the other is braced on the frame; a universal sign to get lost told through her body language. “I’m going to take a few days. I already let Skinner know.” 

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she agrees. “Goodnight, Mulder.” 

“Goodnight, Scully.” 

Once the door is shut, he hears the lock click into place. It pains him to walk away. 

Mulder calls Scully in the morning as promised. He calls every morning after. It just rings and rings. 

--

No one is expecting her back in the office until Monday, but by Thursday it becomes increasingly clear that a return to normalcy is what she requires. Scully can only stare at California girls immortalized by ages in threes on her mantel for so long. 

She trades in her bathrobe for a beige skirt with matching jacket and she slugs down the last of a cup of coffee while she packs her briefcase. The landline rings in its cradle next to her hand. Her stockinged feet slide against the kitchen tile as she turns to answer.

“Hello?”

An unfamiliar female voice carries cheerily into her ear. “Hi there, this is Amanda over at Liberty Fertility Center. I’m looking for Fox Mulder?” 

"This is...” Scully starts, and then she pauses, staring up at the ceiling before answering with a restrained sigh. “This is his wife.” 

“I’m following up on a call we received from your husband earlier this week about a sample being stored at our facility and possible ova analysis. He left this as the call back number.” 

Scully clicks her tongue against her teeth, nodding slowly. She barely focuses on the conversation and when it ends, she retrieves the phone book, slamming it down on the table in place of her briefcase. She dials the first promising number in the correct category. 

Heat overtakes her melancholy. Scully is so, so tired of Mulder blanketing his wrongdoings under the guise of protecting her. It has always, ultimately, been her choice to walk alongside him; it was his choice to marry her. He still fills their partnership, their marriage, with secrets. He still withholds. 

She can only imagine what is being done to her ova sitting in some facility.  Mulder didn’t even have the decency to tell her any even remained.

Scully arrives at the office on Friday and Mulder is immersed in a sea of paperwork and photographs. It is only eight in the morning and he already has his jacket slung over the back of his chair, his sleeves rolled up over his forearms. 

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you until Monday,” he grins with surprised delight. 

Mulder follows her with his eyes as she steps up to his desk. She leans down, kissing him soundly on the mouth, and she observes his dreamy stare when they part.

“I need my ova, Mulder,” she states. Scully pulls a business card out of her pocket; the law firm she called the morning before. “And I want a divorce.” 

[padfootagain]

Girl Crush (X)

Chapter 10: An Impatient Forsythia

 Here we go again, new chapter, hooray! Cute, cute, very cute again, no angst, just cuteness!!

I might take three days instead of two to post the next chapter this time, because I've been writing ahead in the story for the past few days, so the next chapter isn't ready. It will be ready before the end of the week though, considering how inspired I am by this mess…

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think about it, please!

Word Count: 3960

Five minutes left.

300 seconds.

Harry wanted you by his side. It was an important moment, and if there was one person he wanted with him now, it was you.

He hadn't slept at all, he hadn't eaten in the past 24 hours, he felt sick and yet overexcited.

Putting some music out there for the world to hear was nerve-wrecking, and he loved it. He turned towards Jeffrey behind him, inflating his cheeks with air before releasing it in a long sigh.

Only a few minutes left before his first single was out there. Less than a week before he would perform it live for the first time.

He chased the latter thought away, though. He already had enough to worry about.

One minute left.

He reached for your hand without looking. He knew you were next to him, he could feel you being there, somehow. Then, it was nothing new. He seemed to always know precisely where you were whenever the two of you were in the same room, no matter if he could see you or not.

And indeed, his fingers found yours naturally, without any difficulty, holding on your hand as if it were his lifeline. Your gentle squeeze was reassuring, solid, a silent way to show him that you were for him. He felt so grateful for it, for your presence by his side, for always being here for him… he reckoned he could never thank you enough for that.

And suddenly the song appeared on the screen of Harry's computer. It was up. For the world to see. His first single as a solo artist was out.

A piano ballad… what the hell had he done?

"It's done, mate," Mitch patted Harry's shoulder.

"Now that it's out, you can't go back," Sarah added with a teasing smile, to which he replied by sticking out his tongue at her.

Hugs were exchanged across the room, and congratulations, although for now the anxiety was still high. No one knew what people would think about it for now.

In his round for hugs, Harry saved you for last, a smile forming on his lips as he finally looked at you.

"It's done," you nodded before wrapping your arms around him, bringing him close for a tight hug. "Congratulations!"

"Don't congratulate me yet. It's out, doesn't mean it's good."

You rolled your eyes.

"It is good though. Excellent even."

He closed his eyes and threw his head back a little, a cheeky smile piercing through his nervous expression.

"Hmm… yes, the narcissist in me is listening, keep going."

You laughed, nudging him for being an idiot, and dropped a kiss to his cheek that he hadn't expected, and he turned away to hide the way he blushed at the gesture. Because he was surprised, that was all… right?

"It's an amazing song, and people will love it. Maybe not as much as I do but then I'm biased, as I am your best friend."

He chuckled.

"See? You are blinded by your loyalty towards me. That's the only reason why you like my music."

You nodded, chuckling, while he rested a hand on his heart, faking to be hurt.

"Ouch… and here suffers my narcissistic side…"

"Good, otherwise your head is gonna get even bigger than it already is, and that would mean that you would probably not be able to walk through doors anymore."

"Alright, alright, that's enough, that's enough!" he fought back, struggling and failing to refrain a smile.

You laughed at him, before taking his face in your hands, hold tender and gentle as you brushed your thumbs across his cheekbones, making his smile settle on his lips for good and his heart beat faster.

"More seriously though, it's an amazing song. And I'm very proud of you, so I reckon that you can embrace the narcissist in you for this one. I'll squeeze your head to help you walk through the door."

Ten minutes.

600 seconds.

It had been ten minutes since Harry had finished his first performance of his song. Was he happy with it? No, he could pinpoint every single thing he had done wrong, every note he had missed, every time his voice hadn't been as strong as it should have been.

He heaved a deep sigh, sitting down in his dressing room before taking off his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt.

Well, it was done now, no need to beat himself up over it. That's what he tried to persuade himself into doing after every performance, and failed to accomplish every single time.

He took his phone, taking a few minutes to relax before changing into casual clothes again and leaving the studio. He was exhausted, and the stress accumulated for these past few days suddenly leaving his system seemed to only amplify the feeling.

His stress level wouldn't be down for long though, only a few days to catch his breath and he was due to perform on another show. And then another. And then another.

The thought led him to plan all the things he had to work on for the next performance, and he could feel his anxiety going right up again.

He didn't have enough strength to deal with that.

He had several notifications from friends and family who had watched the show, but if he smiled at the sight, it was only because he was looking for your name through the list of texts.

And indeed, there you were.

Seven unread messages.

He was smiling already.

 HARRYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!

 He couldn't refrain a chuckle.

 THAT WAS AMAZING!!!!!!!!!!

 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 Also, you've got to stop being this hilarious

and charming all the time, it gets annoying

after a while :(

 He rolled his eyes, but exploded with laughter at the next text.

 How's that ego of yours after that comment?

Oh dear… what have I done?!

 More seriously, it was amazing. I'm very proud

of my best friend right now. Congratulations.

And as you wanted to see my reaction,

here comes.

 He scrolled down to reveal the picture of yourself that you had sent, while he chuckled and shook his head with amusement. He had joked about the fact that he wouldn't be able to see it on your face if things were going ill, and you had replied that you would send him a pic of yourself at the end of the performance. He didn't think you would really do it, the two of you were simply being silly, and yet, there you were.

In those purple pyjamas with tiny cats all over them that he loved because they were so soft when he held you then, your eyes red and tears still shining on your cheeks but a smile on your lips and what he could only call pride softening your features. You had a thumb up, but you were also clearly holding a Kleenex.

He was still mad at himself, but he felt better already.

He typed his answer with a smile, despite his disappointment.

                                                                        You are way too kind. I completely

                                                                        fucked up.

 It only took a few seconds for your answer to pop up on his screen.

 Don't say that! It was alright.

                                                                  The end was a pure catastrophe and

                                                                  the rest was barely any better.

 It was your first performance!

You'll get it right next time. It

was still okay.

                                                                        See! You're going from amazing to

                                                                       okay.

 It was amazing, I still loved it.

Next time will be perfect. But it

was still great. I loved it.

                                                                       You are supposed to call me out

                                                                       when I do things wrong… as a

                                                                        friend.

 That applies if you go apeshit and

do something morally wrong. Also

for relationships. Not for SNL

performances. Then I'm the fairy who

delivers tons of encouragements.

                                                                        Does that mean you have a magic 

                                                                        wand or something? Butterfly 

                                                                        wings?

 Everyone says it's butterflies wings

but that is for the godmothers. The

encouragements fairies are closer to bees.

                                                                     Now I'm imagining your face on the

                                                                    body of a bee and that is the most 

                                                                    terrifying thing I have ever thought of,

                                                                    thanks for the trauma.

 You're welcome ;)

 He laughed again, before he would redirect the conersation towards your day. He wished you were there with him. Why did the U.S have to be so damn vast?

He didn't notice how time was flying, and for the next twenty minutes, he was simply texting with you back and forth, talking about your customers and googling what the hell was a weigela.

And for as long as he talked to you, he didn't think about the notes he had missed that night, nor the upcoming shows, nor anything but you. 

One week left.

Seven days.

Seven days and his first solo album would be released. The thought made his head spin…

As he walked towards your flat, the thought tortured him all over again.

Dear God, he couldn't imagine that time had flown so fast, and yet it had.

He held the plastic bag in his hand a little tighter.

You were going to listen to it all for the first time. And he wouldn't have missed it for anything.

Was he dead anxious? Yes. Was he properly terrified at the idea that you wouldn't like his songs? Obviously. But he was also overexcited at the idea of you liking his songs. At least some of them. He wondered if you would guess which songs were about you, or at least had been started because of you, although the story had been amplified and torn around certain pieces to take it further from reality and closer to how he felt. He wondered if you would read into this, or if you would assume he was simply talking about an ex of his.

Anyways, the excitement to see your reaction was stronger than his nervousness, so he would stay while you listened to it and study every single one of your expressions.

He hoped for you to love all of his tunes, of course, but he also knew that it was hard to make an album with no songs worth of a skip. As long as you didn't hate one, he reckoned that it was okay. You had loved his first single, so all was fine.

He also couldn't wait to show you your name written on the album as a songwriter. He reckoned your reaction would be priceless.

He climbed up the stairs to your flat faster than he ever had, took a deep breath before entering, not bothering to knock, knowing that your door was open for him. You were expecting him after all.

"Y/N!" he called from across the hall, but you were rushing towards him in the blink of an eye.

You were a little dishevelled, and seemed overexcited to say the least. You were wearing an oversized t-shirt with a pair of shorts. Harry could feel his heart speed up at the sight, but he chose to ignore his reaction. He was simply happy to see you and excited at the idea of making you listen to his music, that was all. Nothing more…

You spotted his bag and squealed, clapping your hands and reaching to grab it, but Harry pulled away.

"Hey! Nope! Not for now!"

"Harry! I've been waiting for this for months."

"Well, I'm sure you can wait for a little longer then, huh?"

"No," you pouted, and gosh, were you adorable.

Annoyingly so. You were annoyingly adorable and he was annoyed now… that was why he had this feeling in his stomach. He was annoyed by you… right?

"Can I at least take off my jacket?" he laughed, and you humoured him as much.

"I've already ordered food, it arrived five minutes ago."

He smiled at that, a tender gesture that he hid by turning to hang his jacket next to yours. He took a deeper breath and recognized the scent of Indian food indeed.

You made your way to your couch, and he sat by your side. You were still eyeing the bag, but Harry was taking way too much pleasure torturing you, a cheeky smile badly hidden on his lips.

"So… do you want to watch TV?"

"Harry, I swear to God, if you don't show me this album right now, I will slam this chicken right into your face!"

"Alright, alright," he laughed, reaching inside his bag. "But… I have something else for you first."

"Really?" you asked with a frown.

"Yeah… I… we have our merch ready, and I thought… as you like being comfy… I thought you'd like this one."

He pulled out of his bag a black hoodie, and handed it to you.

You traced the letters embroidered in the soft fabric…

Treat people with kindness

Yes, you remembered that he had mentioned that phrase before, that he wanted to turn it into his mantra.

Dear God, your eyes were watering already. But then, it was Harry's fault, why did he have to be such a kind soul all the time?

"It's lovely!" you grinned and put the hoodie on.

It was soft and comfortable and warm, and you knew you would spend many evenings wearing it whenever you missed Harry too much. You wiggled happily, making your friend's smile broaden.

"Thank you. I love it!"

"Yeah? You like it?"

"I love it. It' very comfy indeed. Thanks, Harry!"

He extended his cheek out of habit, expecting the familiar peck that always followed whenever he offered you something. Every time, without fail. Always his left cheek. Always lingering against his skin for a mere second. But you didn't move this time.

Instead, you tutted, shaking your head.

"You still need to give me my album," you chimmed, making him laugh, and he had to yield this time.

"Ready?" he asked one last time, but your grin was so bright, he didn't need a spoken answer. Your excitement and joy were painted all over your features.

"Alright."

He finally took the album out of his bag, and handed it to you, this time earning a kiss to his cheek.

You took the vinyl in your hand, careful, as if it were a precious piece of porcelain. Your heart was beating so fast…

"The cover is so beautiful," you commented, letting your fingers wander across the item.

"Thanks. It's me," he answered, making you laugh.

"Really? I thought it was Mitch!"

You both doubled with laughter at that, and Harry shook his head.

"Come on, we both know he's not that good looking."

"It's just your back for now…"

"Still, can't you tell?"

You nudged him playfully.

You opened it, took your time to admire the vinyl and what it held. Until you finally got up to place the vinyl on your turntable.

You waited until the first tune would start to walk back to the couch and took your seat by Harry's side again.

It took you 56 seconds. Harry hadn't realized he had been counting, and yet he knew how much time had passed between the moment you sat down and when you reached to lock your arm in his and rested your head against his shoulder.

He moved to drop a kiss to your hair, but thought better of it.

You didn't speak. You didn't say anything through the whole song, and at first he thought that it was because you didn't like it. He nervously twisted the fabric of his trousers between his fingers, waiting for you to react, to make a clever remark, even to mock him, anything…

It's only during the last chorus that he heard you sniffing and realized you were crying.

What was he supposed to do?

Meet Me in the Hallway was replaced by Sign of the Times, and Harry moved to stand and go skip the song, as you had heard it before, but you held him back, shaking your head.

"No, please, don't. I love it. Let it play."

Your eyes were reddened and a little puffy, you were sniffing again and your cheeks were wet with tears. Your eyes looked bigger now, under the yellowish light of your lamp. So, he nodded, sat back fully in the couch. He couldn't have denied you anything with you looking at him like this, wide-eyed and so fragile, and the thought was a little scary, if he were to be honest. He reached for the box of tissues on his right and handed it to you. You thanked him with a smile, but didn't move from your position against his shoulder.

"Did you like it? The first song?"

You checked the title on the cover, but nodded.

"I loved it. I really did. Are you aiming for making me cry through all 10 songs?"

Harry chuckled, relaxing against you.

"Only for some of them."

"How generous…"

You snuggled closer to him, and he wrapped his hand around yours, letting Sign of the Times play. He noticed that you were mouthing the words and humming the melody, and he felt a wave of pride and joy washing over him.

He had written songs that you liked, that you had learnt the lyrics of, that you hummed along to. He reckoned it couldn't mean that they were bad.

Carolina followed, and you looked up at him with raised eyebrows at the change of pace compared to the previous songs.

"Huh… nice…"

"Nice?"

You listened more to the song, but nodded, smiling as the chorus hit in.

"Oh that's nice," you nodded, starting to move with the music without breaking your hold on him.

You reached for your food on the table, and Harry didn't need to check which box to choose. He knew the one before him was his. He knew you had gotten him his favourite. He knew exactly what to expect when he opened the lid. Just like he knew what you had ordered for yourself.

Two Ghosts and Sweet Creature followed, calmer and soothing and making your heart ache and making you close your eyes to listen to them. And Harry smiled with the memory of how some of lyrics were born thanks to you.

You were jumping on the sofa and laughing and dancing like two fools for Only Angel and Kiwi, and Harry knew from your reaction that he had been right. Kiwi would be amazing to perform on stage.

Ever Since New York had you lying on the sofa with your legs resting on Harry's laps while he played with your jeans and traced meaningless forms on your shins. You remained like this to scream to Woman.

And then it was already the last song, and you were back against Harry. You recognized the tune that you were humming that day, when you had eaten lunch with him, thousands of miles apart, through your computers. You looked at him with a stunned expression painted all over your features… You had never thought that… he would… actually make something of it…

Even my phone misses your calls, by the way

Your verse was there too… later in the song…

Maybe one day you'll call me and tell me that you're sorry too

But he didn't say anything. Even if he could read a thousand questions in your eyes, he remained silent. Instead, he merely handed you the vinyl again, and pointed at the credits for the last song.

Y/N Y/L/N

Your name was written right there, printed on the paper, as one of the writers for the song.

You looked up at him again, on the verge of tears, and you had no words, really, to describe how you felt when the last notes of From the Dining Table echoed through your home.

"You… you really did use that?" you breathed after a long silence.

He shrugged, a little shy all of a sudden.

"It was a good tune. Good lines too."

"You… you wrote my name on your album."

"Well, you did come up with the tune, and a few lines of the lyrics. It's normal. I mean, it wouldn't have been legal for me to not credit you for it."

You chuckled, brushing your tears away.

"I wouldn't have been mad, wouldn't have sued you or anything, if you hadn't added my name."

"I'm not a thief," he shook his head. "Besides, your name looks great on there, doesn't it?"

"Yeah… yeah, I reckon that it does. But I've barely done anything…"

"You have. You've done so much already."

You both knew that Harry wasn't talking about the song anymore, but you didn't comment on it. Instead, you went to lean against him again.

You heaved a sigh, holding your hoodie and Harry closer.

"So? What do you think?" he asked after a couple of minutes spent in silence.

"I think it's really… really good."

"Yeah?"

"Absolutely."

"Are you being the supportive fairy again, or…?"

"No, I really love it. It's amazing."

"Thank you."

"Anyway, even if I didn't like it, too late to change it, right?"

He burst out in laughter.

"Yeah, I'm afraid so. What's your least favourite song?"

"Least favourite? Why would I tell you that? It's a happy moment, I'm not going to tell you my least favourite."

"So, you have a least favourite…"

You rolled your eyes, pinching his arm to shush him, and he playfully struggled against your gesture.

"What's your favourite then?"

You considered the question for a moment, but then, the answer was pretty obvious.

"I mean… I've helped making one so… I feel like it has to be my favourite, you know? Besides, it brings back good memories. You remember that day?"

"I wrote a song after what happened that night, of course I do," Harry laughed, resting his head on the back of the couch, and closing his eyes. "Your pesto was a disaster. I could smell it burn from across the globe."

"Oh, shut up!" you chuckled, making him laugh too, the gesture making him tremble under you.

"It's my favourite too," Harry let out in a breath.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I like it a lot. I'm happy with it."

It was true that he was particularly proud of what From the Dining Table sounded like. But maybe, just maybe, it was his favourite because he could see you there, your frame painted all over his computer screen, your hair a mess, your kitchen even messier, humming happily despite how much of a disaster your recipe was turning out to be. But that was just a maybe.

"I'm glad you're the first person to listen to it," he went on.

"Am I?"

He nodded, humming softly.

"First person outside the studio to hear the whole thing. I'm happy you like it."

"I love it," you corrected him with a grin. "Thank you, for trusting me with it."

"That's more than alright."

You should have asked him when he was leaving for London. His first show the day after the release of his album would happen there, and you reckoned that his flight was booked in less than two days. You should have told him about how you wanted him to meet Gareth properly.

But you didn't. The moment felt too nice. Harry was so relaxed by your side, peaceful with his eyes closed like this, dishevelled and with the ghost of a smile gracing his lips. And you were too happy to just be holding him for a little longer.

So you didn't talk about any of the things that you should have said.

"Harry?"

"Hmmm?"

"Would you like to play monopoly with me?"

His smile widened and widened until it turned into a full toothy grin that could have lightened up the entire room.

He opened one eye to look at you.

"Challenge accepted."

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

Tag list : @ponycake27​ @horsesreign​ @xinyourdreamsx​ @jbluevelvet​ @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss​ @stuckupstucky​ @snek-shit​ @suchatinyinfinity​ @i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi​@jigsawlover10 @emyyjemyy @addictedtofictionalcharacters​ @staringmoony

@madamrogers @cronias13 @stylesfics-xx​ @mellamolayla​

[youarejesting]

Femme: 50 Finale

Pairing: BTS - OT7 x Reader, GDragon x Bigbang, Erik Nam, Hyuna x Dawn, Black Pink x Female oc, TXT x robot oc, Got7 x Female oc Rating: Mature themes mentioned but not really explored. Length: 2.8k Announcement: This is the last chapter. I may have cried writing this piece. Beta: @lpayne612​​

You saw him waiting by the car, eating a donut, and drinking a cold coffee, and you went up to the service counter, “Can I borrow your PA system to tell my husband that he is pregnant?” The man at the counter grinned and handed over the microphone, explaining how to use it.

“Park Jimin,” you said facing the forecourt - grinning watching him lookup, “I took a pregnancy test, we’re pregnant!” 

You saw him drop everything before falling to his knees and crying, covering his head with his hands. “I love you.”

He got up and ran inside dodging cars. People were clapping happily, and he grabbed you, kissing you fiercely, his fingers brushing against your neck, and hooking his thumb under your soft collar.

“We did it, princess!” He sniffed.

“We did!”

“Am I going to finally be a dad?’

“You are.”

“I dropped my coffee!” He laughed, his cheeks glistening.

“One coffee for the father to be,” a man smiled. “I remember when my wife said we were pregnant, it is such a good feeling, so this one is on me”

Driving home his hand was in yours, and he would occasionally bring your hand to his face and kiss your knuckles, whispering how much he loved you. You had explained to him you mistook implantation bleeding with a period because you were stressed and tightly strung with thoughts of letting him down.

He told you that he would never want you to stress and that there was nothing you could do that would ever let him down. “Just you breathing, and in my life, means the world to me.

Jimin came home and received a hug and kiss from all the children, a few crying saying they missed him and he cried back. “Where did you go?”

“Well, DaddyJii had to buy mummy a special drink so she could have a baby,” Jimin smiled at the children.

“Don’t be silly, Daddy Goo told us how mummy has babies in her belly,” Jae Eun said.

“Yeah, he says mummy eats a special fish and then the fish swims around in her belly and changes like a tadpole,” Jae Hwa smiled proudly.

“Yes, well the special drink has the fish in it.” You smiled at them, not ready to explain the birds and the bees just yet - wanting to preserve their innocence  for just a few more years.

“Does it tickle Ama?” Huimang asked, “The fishy in your belly?”

“Sometimes, but the fishy is too small to feel just yet. When the fish turns into a baby, you will be able to feel the baby move in my tummy.”

There was a big family celebration; you made a huge donation to the Femme rehabilitation organization and, honestly, had a really good pregnancy. The number one hashtag as you entered your ninth month was ‘#SugaTheMusicProducerAndBabyInducer’ which made said man pout and avoid you whenever he heard it in mock fear. 

He had written a few songs boasting that any pregnant woman listening to his album may go into labour at the sound of his voice. You went live with your family talking about things and what you all planned to do as a family. 

“We have shared our whole world with you and it has been so long. You, have seen our ups and downs, and we want to continue to show you everything until the end. Just recently, with my struggle with fertility, we realized we don’t want to hide all these natural things from the world.” You grimace at the camera, another cramp taking over. You were secretly timing them so as not to finish the livestream early. 

“We were lucky to fall pregnant, but not everybody gets that chance, so we are so thankful and are giving a donation to the specific fertility group we went through who was absolutely lovely.” You knew that the contractions were slowly getting closer together, but you would rather stay in the comfort of your own home and keep yourself busy with a livestream than going and sitting in a hospital room bored - and uncomfortable - waiting to go into active labour and dilate.

“Someone asked if we will have any more children?” Seokjin was designated to read the comments.

“No, we are already blessed with so many we won’t be greedy. Plus, I’m getting older and there are more chances of complications the older I get, so I do not wish to push the limits of my health. I want to be around for my family for as many years as I can.”

“Have you thought of any names?” Seokjin genuinely seemed interested by this question.

“Many.” You smiled, “We don’t know the gender of our baby, so we haven’t really settled on one - but a few.”

“Have you had any weird cravings?” Jungkook read some comments over the older man's shoulder, and they all began discussing your weird eating habits. 

“Yoongi, if you had to induce a baby what would you do? I am due today, and the baby doesn’t look like they’re coming any time soon.”

“Well, I would lean down and whisper, ‘alright little one, it’s time to get out or you can start paying rent,’” Yoongi laughed at your belly, rubbing it gently.

“No, I am determined to entice my own child out,” Jimin leaned down so he was cupping your belly, his lips almost brushing the fabric of your dress. “Come on now baby, daddy wants to meet you.”

You could laugh at the timing as your water broke, thanking the heavens you were shooting from the waist up. “Did…” Namjoon gasped in shock.

“Did you just pee?” Jungkook shouted

“No my water just broke.” You gripped your tummy, breathing through the pain while trying to stop the laughter.

You had all decided to take the audience with you. It was mostly the camera on the boys and a nervous looking Jimin who was doting on you in the ward. You were having a blast talking and laughing with the audience while Seokjin was texting Erik and Namjoon’s dad, trying to make sure the kids were all fine getting ready for bed.

You were taken up to the VIP labour ward and you were having a great time. Your audience was super supportive, and you said goodbye getting wheeled off to the birthing suite. This labour was the easiest - you were so experienced you knew all the cues, and your body relaxed understanding what you were supposed to do.

A little boy. He was tiny in Jimin’s hands and he kept saying thank you. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity, this miracle who I will cherish everyday, I love you both so much, I love you my princess” 

He held him in his arms as they wheeled you back to the private ward where you met the others. Jimin hadn’t stopped crying and Taehyung, Hoseok, and Yoongi engulfed him in a hug. The live stream was still going on with a million-person audience waiting to see the baby.

“It’s a boy,” Jimin said, “and we both agreed his name would be Byul.” 

You were happy and the boys grinned. You all looked up at the camera and waved, signing off - spending the time alone together. The nurse came in, “We have to check the baby's hearing and heart and take a full screen of his blood. All routine stuff.”

Jimin nodded, taking the baby in his arms and following the nurse. It wasn’t a long process, but when Jimin didn’t come back you started to get worried. You visibly began stressing the blankets. “What is taking so long?” your laugh was forced and there was little semblance of a joke.

“It’s okay, there are other babies. maybe they are waiting on another?”

Jimin stepped in and he was crying holding his son preciously in his hands, as if holding him too tightly could hurt the newborn. “Byul might be deaf, they will have to um, check him again soon.”

“What do you mean?”

“They said it could just be fluid in his ear, but they will check again in a few hours,” Jimin sniffed.

Upon the second third and fourth hearing test, it was almost clear that Byul was partially deaf. He could hear a little, but the doctor explained it would forever be super muffled. That didn’t mean he couldn’t recognize your voices, though. He still could just hear, and you were fine with that - any hearing was a blessing at that point.

You headed home, and Jimin took leave from work. He spent time caring for his son and even signed up for classes on sign language. Everyone went to the classes together and began learning, as it would be easier if you all learnt early.

Byul was not a typical happy baby spending most of his time crying - it was mostly due to the fact he scared easily. Being unable to hear when you were there, Byul would call for you and you would press your lips to his forehead and against his skin so he knew you were there. The vibrations running through his body. 

He loved when you would do this but especially enjoyed Taehyung’s deep rumbling voice, it made him giggle.

He learnt cues differently. Instead of mum and dad, you taught him to touch his cheek in certain ways for these words. He wasn’t a shy baby, but he still only made a few noises. He was quick to learn how to walk and run and play. 

Jeongsan was so good at sign language, he was quick to tell you what byul needed and took it upon himself to help his younger brother where he could. 

You were still learning, and you had a discussion with the boys about your channel and what you should do. It was a mutual agreement that you would make your final broadcast that evening before a hiatus - which you didn’t know when or if you would come back. 

It was a rainy afternoon, and Byul sat on your lap on the back porch, watching the rain and lighting and feeling the thunder shake the sky. 

He laid back in your arms, and you sang to him and signed in front of him to sing along. He tried his best, his voice sweet like his father’s, and you did the signs the whole song. 

His little gold hearing aids helped him out so much, but he sometimes preferred to not wear them, as he didn’t always like the feeling. 

“My son,” you signed with a big bright smile “I love you.”

“Mama love you,” he answered, repeating your gesture as big as he could and you laughed hugging him tightly.

You all had just posted your live stream as a family saying you were going on hiatus. You felt like you wanted to cry, walking towards the kitchen to make yourself a calming cup of tea. When Kyungju asked, “Ate you okay mum?”

Turning, you looked at your family all looking back at you, all your beautiful children smiling at you, and then there were your husbands. 

All looking beautiful. Seokjin still with a gentle smile, Yoongi looking impassive and yet now you could see the emotions in his eyes. Jungkook with the same bunny toothed smile, and thirteen years washed away like you were falling in love with them all over again. They stood in front of you just like they had that day, eyes bright and curious and you smiled. Speaking clearly in English while signing so every member of your family knew what you were saying. 

“I love you.”

Everything was good, until I completed everything ready to post. I attached the last header for the last time and I just sobbed. Saying goodbye to this story is the hardest thing, I have experienced to this day. It was one of my safe havens a world I created to escape all the bad and well it has reached its happy ending. 

Thank you for joining me on this journey.

Ever your Jester.

Femme Media 50

[The End]

Tags: @obeythehemmings​ @delightfuldela​ @zxlla​ @dopefrancistheturd​ @h5naaa​ @topthis808​ @bubbletae7​ @narcissism-iskey​ @gqmf-bangtanmama​ @beach-bitch-bitch-beach​ @kthstrawberryshortcake​ @latina-nerd-deactivated20200611​ @domaindopemancom​ @rosita7703​ @knjkitten​ @notruercolors​​ @kpopnonous​​ @ladytaja @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d​​ @bluehairedotakugem​​ @moments-of-melancholy​​

[bangtan-sonyeonddaeng]

BTS Scenario| They plan a surprise for your birthday

This was written for the ever lovely and angelic @saymynamewithluv​

Happy birthday. :D  I hope you have the best day and this is my birthday present to you (with Taehyung giving you something a little extra for your birthday. What is it? Well you’ll just have to read and see :D) 💜💜💜💜 I wish I could spend your birthday with you it sucks that we live so far away from each other. Alright go ahead and read now I have been making you wait for this for days so again, HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! I purple you! 

The group chat you had with the boys was surprisingly quiet today. Which of course immediately made you suspicious. Usually the chat was buzzing with them talking about the most random things. And at the very least Yoongi or Jin were scolding the younger members for something silly they had done. But there was nothing, not even a happy birthday text from any of them. 

You weren’t going to lie. You were starting to feel extremely disappointed. Did they forget your birthday? But how could they have? You had been friends with all of them for years. You sent a message to the group chat, wanting to see what they were up to today. 

What are you all doing today?

Yoongi is the first one to respond which is unusual for him.

Photoshoot today. We’re all really busy sorry y/n. 

Oh. That’s okay. Make sure to rest and don’t skip any meals you guys! 

Will do. Thanks.

You sigh and set your phone down. So it wasn’t unreasonable that they forgot then. They seemed to be extremely busy. But you were still disappointed you wouldn’t get to spend your birthday with the people who meant the most to you in this world. You turn on the TV, turning on your favorite show to binge watch. You throw your hair up in a messy bun and throw your sweat pants back on, figuring you aren’t going to have any company over today. You don’t even realize you’d fallen asleep on the couch until suddenly your hear hushed whispers in your apartment. 

“She fell asleep! What the heck?!”

“Be quiet, Taehyung let her rest.”

“But it’s her birthday! Did she really think we forgot?”

“Hyung that’s probably why she fell asleep and is still in her sweat pants I told you trying to surprise her was a bad idea now she thinks we forgot her birthday!” Suddenly you feel a heavy weight on top of you. Your eyes shoot open and you see Taehyung’s familiar eyes gazing at you as he hugs you tightly. 

“Y/n! We are so sorry! We didn’t forget your birthday I promise. We just wanted to make you think we did so we could surprise you! Which now that I say that out loud I realize how mean that prank sounds oh gosh.” You are blushing madly having Taehyung so close to you and you wonder how he can be so unbothered. You collect your thoughts, and reach out to pat his head.

“It’s okay Tae! I am just so happy you guys are here now. I couldn’t imagine spending my birthday without you all.” Taehyung smiles happily at that and clambers off of you after Yoongi clears his throat. “ Uh so what do you all have planned for me today?” 

“I’m cooking dinner and the cake!” Jin yells from the kitchen. 

“I’m supplying the entertainment.” Hoseok says as he spins around dancing without a care in the world, making you laugh.

“I thought maybe me and you and Jimin could play some games together.” Jungkook announces as he walks over to the TV to set up his game system. 

“I brought a playlist of all your favorite songs.” Namjoon says. 

“I just brought my cutie sexy lovely face isn't that good enough?” Jimin says with a giggle. 

“Yes, that is good enough for me, Jimin.” 

“I am going to be taking the photos of your special day! And also supplying you with the best, most amazing birthday present you’ve ever seen.” Taehyung says excitedly. You smile at him.

“Oh I can’t wait to see what it is then!” You glance at Yoongi who still hasn’t said anything or shown much reaction to the rest of the things the members had mentioned. 

“Well obviously I am here to spend time with you for your birthday, but I actually wanted to talk to you about something first.”

“Oh? Okay then. We can go to my room?” Yoongi nods. Taehyung eyes you two suspiciously but doesn’t say anything as you retreat into the bedroom. You shut the door behind you and talk quietly, not wanting anyone to overhear your conversation.

“Yoongi? Is everything okay?”

“So uh, you still like Taehyung right?” You stare ay him incredulously. 

“Um, yes? Of course I do? Feelings just don’t go away over night you know? I’ve liked him for years.” 

“Okay good.”

“Why?”

“Because just.. I can’t tell you anything but I just had to make sure before Taehyung gives you your gift.” 

“What on earth is going on Yoongi?” 

“Nothing! Forget I said anything this conversation never happened.” Yoongi opens the door and Taehyung stumbles in, almost falling on his face but you catch him before he does. 

“Kim Taehyung were you eavesdropping?” Yoongi scolds him. 

“No! And even if I was I couldn’t hear anything you guys were saying anyway so..” 

“Sounds to me like you were eavesdropping then Tae, just not successfully.” You ruffle his hair and he swats your hand away playfully. 

“Yah! Don’t mess up my hair I spent a long time on it.” 

“Why? Did you want to look good for me?” Taehyung’s face turns bright red and he glances away from you. 

“Stop teasing me.” 

“Okay okay. I’m sorry. Let’s go have this birthday party shall we?”

And your party was so much fun. Jin made the most incredible food and cake. Hoseok and Namjoon danced to your favorite songs with you, only to have Taehyung steal you away for a dramatic slow dance equipped with dips and spins and all when a softer ballad came on. You had beat Jungkook and Jimin in Mario Kart, Taehyung challenged you and you had beat him too, much to his disappointment. He got quite competitive and challenged you to another round, only to lose again. The party was winding down, when all of the members started looking at Taehyung. You saw him nod his head slightly and now suddenly they all had an excuse to leave. 

“Gotta get to the studio early tomorrow.” 

“Me too.”

“I need to practice this choreography.”

“And I need to come up with some new ones.”

“I don’t have an excuse I just know Taehyung wants to be alone with you so we’re all leaving bye!” Jin shouts as he ushers the rest of them out the door. You and Taehyung are still sat on the floor together from your video game match. You notice he is fidgeting with his hands and looking rather nervous. 

“Taehyung?”

“Um.. I want to give you your present now.” 

“Okay.. I would love to see what it is.” You reach your hand out and squeeze his to help comfort him and calm his nerves down. He squeezes back and the corner of his mouth barely lift up in a smile. He won’t meet your gaze. You wonder what he could possibly be so nervous about to give you. He stands up abruptly, walking over to the counter where he had set your gift and then lays it in your lap. It’s wrapped in purple paper and a purple bow.

“Did you wrap this?”

“Was it that obvious? Am I that bad at wrapping? I tried my best.” He says with a nervous laugh.

“No no! It’s just purple. I know how much that color means to you. So I figured you had.” This time when he smiles it reaches his eyes, but his hands are trembling. You open the gift and are staring at what looks like a photo album. The cover has a saying written on it in his handwriting. 

If you want to learn what someone fears losing, watch what they photograph. 

Your breath hitches as you turn the page and see it is filled with photos of you, and the two of you. You had no idea Taehyung had even taken some of these photos of you. They were candid, you smiling, laughing, concentrating on a canvas you were painting, a drawing you were sketching. 

And then there were the selfies you two had taken together. Some including Yeontan. You flipped through the pages, feeling tears forming behind your eyes at how thoughtful the gift was, but also how much meaning he had poured into this. 

“Tae.. Is this really how you see me?”

“As the most beautiful, kind, caring, amazing person in the world? Yes.” 

“And this phrase in the beginning. Did you mean that?”

“Of course I did.”

“So does that mean..? Is this?”

“My way of confessing? Kind of yeah. Um.. either that or it can just be a really cool platonic present no worries!” He scratches the back of his head and gazes at you nervously. You stare at him, until your brain finally catches up and you throw yourself into his arms. He immediately reciprocates the hug, wrapping his arms around your waist and hugging you tightly. Your voice cracks as a few tears slip out. 

“This is the most incredible gift anyone has given me. I can tell you really put your heart and soul into this and I will cherish it for the rest of my life.” 

“You know there’s a few blank pages in there. I was hoping we could fill them up with some more photos of us?” You pull away and smile at him. You grab his camera off the coffee table and hand it to him. You turn around so your back is leaning against his chest. You both smile and he takes a photo, kissing your cheek right before he takes the photo. It’s a polaroid, so you two have to wait a few moments for the film to develop. When it finally does you both break out into wide smiles and giggles seeing how happy you both look in the photo. You open up to a blank page, and stick the photo to there. You pull out a pen to write on the blank space. 

“What should we write here?”

“Hmm..” You think for a moment before you write today’s date, along with A new chapter begins. Taehyung’s smile is replaced with a nervous glance again. 

“So does this mean you like the gift? Um.. in a nonplatonic way?”

“I thought it was pretty obvious when I threw myself on you crying.” 

“I just want to hear you say it.”

“Say what? That I like you too? That I think you also are the most beautiful, kind, caring, amazing person I have ever met in my life?” 

“Yeah that. All that. Well, a simple I like you too would have done just fine but I won’t turn down the extra praise.” You laugh and hold your hand out to him. He looks puzzled bit takes your hand anyway. 

“Y/n where are we going?”

“You really expect me to believe those guys left? They’re all probably still sitting outside the apartment waiting to hear every detail.” You open the front door, hand in hand with Taehyung and sure enough, they all are standing out there, wide eyed until they glance down at your linked hands. 

“Did it work?! Are you two together now?!” Jimin asks excitedly. 

“Yes. We are.” They all clap and cheer, Yoongi just stands in the back giving you a small smile and knowing look. It’s at this moment you are hit with just how fond you are of all them. Seeing how much effort they put into making you happy on your birthday, you are so grateful to them. 

“Thank you guys. This has been the best birthday ever and it’s because of you all.” 

“Of course y/n! You’re our best friend and there isn’t a single thing we wouldn’t do for you to make you smile.”