#i literally stopped walking in the hallways in the rain to read this

[hannyoontify]

oh my god

“So here you are, standing in your nicest dress and balancing a stack of gifts you hope will amount to something, never enough but something, to repay the people who you feel have loved you more than you deserve. It's all you really have. You do your best, and yet you know when that door opens, it'll all be washed away in a high-tide flurry of hugs and laughter and the familiar press of Bobpul's wet nose against your leg. They're just those kinds of people-they would be just as happy if you didn't bring anything at all, and somehow that makes you feel even more guilty.”

i don’t evenJDJSJD i don’t even have the WORDS to describe the feelings that this paragraph made me feel. almost gut wrenching bc i completely understand what oc’s feeling? absolute perfection.

“Then you think of the pockmarked farmland beside your home, lacy with the fall harvest. Even now, you can trace the endless blue of the coastline all the way there, cut through all the maybes and just let the sound of the ocean fold you into sleep like you were a child again. You wonder if Seohyun, all the way on the other side of the world, ever misses it.”

need i say less, i think i found my new comfort (but hurt?) fic ever. the prose, the diction, the syntax?!?!? everything is sososo beautiful im absolutely gagged.

TO GROW LOVE (AND EAT IT TO THE CORE)

pairing: mingyu x gn!reader wc: 8.1k summary: your whole life, you've only wanted one thing. then you meet mingyu. suddenly you want too much, and you wish the summer never ended. notes: farmer!au, established relationship, angst/hurt/a little comfort

this is a birthday fic for my one and only cat @wuahae ! yes this is about half a year late but what can i say. all good things come with time. thank you for being so kind, funny, and thoughtful (and patient)! not a day goes by where i’m not thankful for our friendship :)

and a million thanks to hana @wqnwoos and jackie @97-liners for helping me with edits. literally you guys are insane writers and i will never stop looking up to you.

i. strawberries (the summer we were young)

When a strawberry is ripe, the seeds push out from the heart of the fruit, as if it's bursting from the inside out.

This is one of the few and only things you've learned by living in Seogwipo, where strawberry season comes like a supernova. The May sun, full and heavy, peels into summer, and the roadside farms open their doors, trying to catch stray vacationers from Jeju City on the other side of the island.

That being said, there are approximately two things to do here. One of them is farm. The other is pretend like you have a life, which is your childhood friend Yizhuo's favorite thing to do when she's back from university on summer break.

Today, this involved convincing her ritzy, too-good Seoul friends that they're missing out on this side of Jeju. (Missing out on what? You're not sure. Perhaps the chipped paint of the mural walls, or the endless flat-topped stretches of seagrass. Yizhuo isn't fooling anyone, but you've always liked stretching your legs out in the bed of her pick-up, even on the long drive to nowhere.)

Unsurprisingly, her friends quickly came to the same conclusion. Just one look at your local strawberry patch, with none of the glamour of the bloated tourist traps in the city, and they decided they'd rather spend the afternoon at the beach.

It was then, between the fragaria blooms, when you met Mingyu. He asked for your name, and the rest was history. Yizhuo and co. scattered like the grasping hands of an overripe dandelion and you learned that he was, one, the newly-graduated son of a pair of local farmers, and two, very, very attractive. Almost too much so, especially for a place like this.

Now he holds up a berry, a bright red murder between his fingers, and tells you to try it.

"You must be delusional if you think i'm taking food from a stranger," you laugh, perched on the fence bordering the field. It sprawls before you, melon stripes on the sunbaked ground.

"No, my name is Mingyu," he replies. "No idea who delusional is." His smile, all bright lip and snaggletooth, tears into the scarlet belly of a newly picked strawberry.

"We all know what happened to Persephone."

"Well, if the underworld was a strawberry patch, I wouldn't mind being stuck there for all of eternity."

"What're you picking all these for, anyway?" you ask, watching Mingyu struggle with his too-big straw hat between the vines. His woven basket bleeds over with little berries.

"Jam. I make it on the very first day of every summer."

"Why?"

"You ask a lot of questions for someone who trespassed on my farm. You're cute, but I won't let you off easy."

He laughs at how you balk, clearly red-handed. You're not sure how to tell him you don't think you were supposed to be here either. You don't do things like sit in the back of trucks, trespass, or talk to pretty farmer boys who take a fancy to you, but it's the summer before you graduate and you're not even sure how long you'll have to continue making bad decisions.

"Are you gonna take my first-born now?" you joke instead. The daylight runs down the rim of Mingyu's hat, trickles down his brow, and you wish you could pour the image of him into a jar and keep it forever.

"No, but I will invite you in for some fresh jam on toast. I baked a loaf this morning." and when you say nothing, he continues. "The strawberries are only good once a year. It's the best you'll ever have. Promise."

It's a whine and a half, and somehow you convince yourself this will be the last bad decision you'll make. You've been here long enough to know that good things don't come twice in Seogwipo, and he is unlikely to be an exception.

Yizhuo blows up your phone, you tie the gingham apron around Mingyu's tiny waist, and the basket turns to blood in the saucepan.

Mingyu is right. Love comes to you in that kitchen, high and red like the sun, and the jam never tastes as good as it does that summer.

ii. watermelon (hollowed out, like a magic trick)

"A good watermelon sounds like a heartbeat."

You watch Mingyu heave the fruit, small and striped, out of his grocery bag. It joins the array of egg sandwiches and banana milks you picked up from the store together earlier. (There should have been chocolate Pepero too, but you split the box on the walk).

You're on a picnic, sprawled out on the outcropping overlooking the water. The path up is basically right behind your house, but you had never cared to visit. It had always been the local makeout spot, a schlocky teen crawl for those with nothing better to do, and yet, with Mingyu stretched out beside you, it seems newer. More exciting.

You're still just friends, or at least that's what you told Yizhuo. But ever since you sat on Mingyu's kitchen counter and ate from his jam-covered spatula, you don't think you've gone a week without seeing him. It's been almost two months, which seems so long and yet not long enough—he makes it easy to be greedy.

"See?" He thumps the watermelon with the heel of his palm. "Try it."

You already went through this entire charade at the grocery store, right in front of all the local aunties, but you indulge him. There's little point to triple checking if it's still ripe, but you think he just likes hitting it.

"It sounds good," you say. "But how are we even gonna eat it? We don't have a knife."

"Watch this." Mingyu procures a coin from his pocket. "You didn't learn this in elementary school? I feel like everyone was doing it."

"Here?" you ask, incredulous.

"Yeah, here. I grew up here too, you know."

He holds the edge of the coin to the skin and slams his palm into it once more, so that it lodges itself into the rind, and begins dragging it around the fruit. You start to wonder if he bought the watermelon just to show you a party trick—not that you mind, though. The strain of his biceps peeks through his rolled up white tee, and you remember why he was able to stop you with just one look back when you first met.

"No way." The watermelon is so ripe, it bleeds around the incision. "I feel like I know everyone here. And I definitely would have remembered you."

"I was probably, like, two grades above you," he replies. "And my parents shipped me off to live with my cousins after elementary school. They said I should get out of Seogwipo and experience the real world."

"Good call. There's nothing here." You watch Mingyu spin the melon over to cut through the other side. The coin catches the sunlight, and it looks like gold. "I wish I left for university. The one here is so small."

"Really?" He pauses to show you his handiwork. The two melon halves roll over on their backs, their cut edge cruel and jagged. "Cool, huh?"

"Impressive," you say. "Honestly. I really didn't think that would work."

"I didn't either when I first saw someone do it. But I’ll try anything once," he replies, ripping open the packaging of the plastic spoon from the bag. "I can't believe you don't like it here."

"You do?"

"Yeah. A lot." He shoves the spoon in his mouth, and you watch the watermelon juice pool around his lips. "I missed home. The trees and the tall grass and the ocean. All the fruits. Everything. I learned to ride a bike, right down there by the water."

"Hm." He passes you the spoon. You don't want to hog it, so you carve out a piece bigger than you need. "Are you gonna work at the farm?"

"Maybe. Haven't decided yet," he says. "I think I want to be here, though. Maybe do something with food, but I want to be home."

"That's funny, because I think I’ve always wanted to live a different life. Or at least one somewhere else."

"You want to go to law school, right?"

"Yeah." Mingyu is right. The watermelon is all sugar, and you would almost feel guilty for eating it if it wasn't technically good for you. "I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer. It's something about the people watching, I think."

"That’s really cool," Mingyu says, mouth full but no less sincere. It's then that you notice your shoulders are almost touching, and your heart crawls back up to your mouth. "You know what you want. I admire that."

He makes it sound like a compliment, but you're sure it's a curse.

You think of your parents. There's a permanent wrinkle ironed into their foreheads, the paper crease of expectations and high standards. It's not that they didn't care, but their kind of care was a humbled sort, made heavy by a hard life. It didn't help that your big sister Seohyun went straight from Yonsei to work a big tech job in San Francisco and never once looked back.

But you can't blame any of them—wanting has always been a hereditary failing. Sometimes Yizhuo will catch you frowning at nothing, and then you remember that life isn't a performance and every day ends at the same time no matter how hard you work. But you don't know how to tell her that the only thing you can do sometimes is want, because otherwise you wouldn't really have much at all.

It seems like the exact opposite of how Mingyu lives—everything about him seems to pass like the seasons. Maybe that's why you can't seem to get enough of each other.

"Thank you. Really." You dig the spoon into your half of the melon. There isn't much left. "You're way too nice to me."

"It’s not hard to be," he laughs. "Maybe you're just too hard on yourself."

You're losing track of the distance between the two of you. You can almost feel the heat playing off his skin.

"Maybe."

It's then, under the veil of summer, where you meet Mingyu's gaze and, finally, things seem close to simple.

All you know are his eyes, heavy with sun, and then the slow, slow move of his lips against yours. He tastes like August, long and sweet, and for once you know what it's like to not only want, but to have, and to have again.

The ocean sings on the horizon, and the watermelon bellies weep.

iii. adzuki beans (or, the blood of a headless taiyaki)

Mingyu eats taiyaki headfirst because he says it hurts less.

"That makes no sense," you tell him, your pinkies linked. You never really liked holding hands, but yours fits so perfectly in Mingyu's and there's some girlish, childlike shine to it when you watch his finger search for yours after just a moment separated.

"What do you mean."

He breaks your gaze to eye a red bean taiyaki, like an unwilling predator sizing up their prey. It's the lamest, most embarrassing iteration of National Geographic you've ever seen, and yet you cannot find any fiber within yourself not deeply in love with the lion.

Fall is a forgiving place for your relationship to settle. You're now a senior at university and he's started his gap year. Gap implies he's in the middle of something, but in true Mingyu fashion, he leaves it up to fate, or chance, or something not nearly as kind (whim).

"Taiyaki isn't alive. And why would you want to pretend it is? Eating gummy bears would become an extinction event."

"It kind of is." He holds out the tail end of the taiyaki, the pastry almost explicitly flayed open, in front of you to eat. "Why does the Haribo bear have a face? Why do the gummy bears live in a gummy forest?"

"Great, so now I can’t even enjoy gummy bears without feeling like a serial killer?"

You dig your pointer into his shoulders, broad from all the time he spends on the farm. To think that his hands, big and weathered, were made to pick berries (and now wrap around your pinky finger) is bruising, if not ridiculously funny.

"It's a crime of passion. Gummy passion. Prosecute that."

He kisses your cheek and your heart almost squeezes into two.

The terrible thing about being with Mingyu is how seemingly endless his affection is. Now he's feeding you in public and buying the two of you matching socks (cat and dog, to be exact), although you'll admit it's a little charming, even if the neighbors do gossip.

He's sweet, too sweet, and his kisses stick to the back of your throat.

But you can't be fooled. There's an unsaid violence to the way Mingyu loves. (The meticulous spiral of the peel he carves when you ask for him to cut you an apple. The grind, decisive and cruel, of a knife against a cutting board. A pair of canines against your neck, your jaw.)

Even now, he bites the head off another unwitting taiyaki before stuffing it back in the bag.

"We're still splitsing, right?" he says, with perhaps 1% of his mouth available for speaking and the other 99% murder machine.

Splits, he always says before you share food. You never had the heart to tell him that it's in the same family as mines or sharesies or takebacks—silly childhood relics, ones that no one uses anymore because they don't mean anything.

This time, you don't hear him because you're thinking about the law school fair you went to before Mingyu picked you up. The future is so close, it scares you. A year from now, what ground would you be standing on? Would it smell like this—the peat, the thread-spool fields, the balm of the ocean? Would you still have Mingyu's finger wrapped round yours?

"Have you decided if you're staying at the farm?" you ask.

"Not really." He uses the back of his hand to wipe off his chin. "If my sister decides to take over, I’m actually kinda thinking of going to pastry school instead of getting a masters."

Mingyu had been toying with the idea for some time after you had talked about it on the outlook. It started off as a joke (September; a galette), then a what if (October; green tea mochi), and now it sits at a kinda.

"Kinda?"

The word gathers speed in the pachinko machine of your mind. You never liked being a kinda person. For Mingyu, it seems like a luxury of a word, but for you, it's really just another thing to hide behind. Kinda talented, kinda ambitious, kinda just there. You're always one foot in, one foot out of something better.

"Yeah, kinda. Why?"

"I dunno. What if we both end up leaving?"

"Maybe. You still want to, right?"

You would be lying if you said you didn't—it's what you always wanted. Seogwipo has been a sun-rot, too-small crutch for you, but you would also be lying if you said you weren't terrified that you'd eventually come back, limping like some doomed Icarus, unable to truly make it in the real world.

Then you think of the pockmarked farmland beside your home, lacy with the fall harvest. Even now, you can trace the endless blue of the coastline all the way there, cut through all the maybes and just let the sound of the ocean fold you into sleep like you were a child again. You wonder if Seohyun, all the way on the other side of the world, ever misses it.

"I’m not sure," you say, because, as much as you don't like it, it's the only answer you have.

"It's ok. You'll figure it out. You always do." He squeezes your cheeks together between his thumb and index, laughing at how they pillow out underneath his fingers. "Screw pastry school. I could come with you. Who else would keep you fed?"

Mingyu's complete and unfounded belief in you makes you feel something close to betrayal. How could he say any of that? With what proof? Only someone like Mingyu would be able to hold the wrinkled fruit of your unremarkable life between his palms and see something better than that. Maybe it's because he grew up on a farm. Either that, or he already cares for you too much, too painfully.

Secrets are easy to keep when they look like yours. At least here, in the pit of your stomach, you can keep count, take attendance of them, all your tittering, small anxieties. Some days it feels like your ribs are pressing out, but it's better than cutting everything loose to spill out over what little you do have control over.

You can handle a little pressure. You have to.

What concerns you is the hand Mingyu's got across your chest. With one look, he just might gut you. A twist of the heart-knife, and all those carefully wound insides carved out in an instant—maybe he'd pity you, but worse than that, he'd likely be disappointed.

For you, expectation has always stood taller than shame, and the idea that he sees something past you makes you want to run away.

"I could be a house husband," he says as easily as ever. "You'll be off saving the world, arguing with whoever, and I'll be there to run you a bath afterwards."

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves," you reply, binding up the strange, hollow feeling in your stomach with a laugh.

There's a scared little girl hiding inside you, and whether Mingyu sees her or not hurts the same. A spade is a spade. You can only pretend so long.

You look at the taiyaki floating in their wax paper bag, blinded and wrought open by the same grin that now peels you down, and you're not hungry anymore.

iv. winter pears (rotten, outside your parents' house)

Mingyu's family loves Christmas.

You think it's because of the pear trees they have in the front yard. They stand bravely before the house, all emerald ash and wisdom in the December freeze. Run your palms over the knobs and it's like you can see into a sleepy visage of simpler days past. (Below its heart, carved: 1982, the year the farm was bought. Along the tangle of the roots: gyu waz here, in an unsure, childish scrawl.)  

Winter comes to the countryside crawling on its hands and knees. On days it doesn't snow, there's a mist, boggy and clingy. You've come to realize the cold is more of a threat than a promise, and so the pear trees still bear fruit; the silvery branches hang heavy, faithful.

The first day of December, Mingyu's parents had tasked the two of you with decorating the farmhouse, a duty you took very seriously. You wrapped Mingyu up in string lights and watched him blink in and out like your own personal firefly.

It wasn't until you watched the rafters, the barn doors, the joyous vault of the ceiling all glow, like a spectacular firework, that you finally started to understand why Mingyu was so into the holidays.

It was in the yellow blush of the string lights that you had your first pear from the tree, which Mingyu insisted was a holiday tradition. We make poached pears, he said, mid-bite. You simmer the pear in syrup until it gets so soft, you can cut into it with a fork. Just like butter.

That same night, he kissed you, mouth hot and trembling and tasting of honey, and pressed you against the bark so hard, you could feel the grit of its veins against your skin.

You think December became your favorite month, and pears your favorite fruit.

So much so, that for the entire month, you try to put away your worries about law school applications to celebrate with Mingyu and his family.

You learn his mom makes the best hot chocolate (a cinnamon stick and a dogged devotion to the whisk), and that Mingyu has no clue on God's green earth how to ice skate. (He careens right into your chest the first time. You spend the next hour with him attached to you like a backpack—he manages to find the most impractical ways to do anything, which you somehow admire the most). On Sundays, Yizhuo ditches her Seoul friends and instead accompanies you to the mall two towns over, where she watches you compare different ties and watches and collagen creams as you decide on gifts for his family. (Lilac is so last year, she'd say, stirring the straw of a watered-down milk tea.)

It's not until the weekend before Christmas when you realize just how serious things have gotten. Your feet understand the meander of the dirt path to the farmhouse, your bones the scent of the yellow-skinned apple, the faded wildflowers. Your palms crave the plush of the rug they have in front of the fireplace. Hell, you can't even eat soondubu without thinking of the kind Mingyu's dad makes, with extra anchovies and green onion.

You don't think about what this means. There are ten days left in December and love poured from a full cup never seems to run out.

"Please let me carry some of those," Mingyu wheedles. "Oh my god. I'm like the worst boyfriend in the world."

"No, you are not." you make your way up to his doorstep, taking care to one-two step over the stray roots of one of the pear trees. It's second nature to you by now. "The moment I hand you a box, you are gonna start trying to figure out what it is."

He harumphs and plucks the big one off the top anyway, the one he knows you can't reach. "I didn't even know you were getting us gifts. You didn't have to."

"It's the least I could do. Who shows up to a holiday dinner emptyhanded?" You stop at the front door. "And stop shaking it," you laugh, using the tip of your boot to nudge his shin.

"Okay. Okay," he says, saccharine, adoring, before grabbing the doorknob. "Ready? Are you nervous? You shouldn't be nervous, right? It's not fancy or anything, if you were worried about that."

And that's the thing that wedges itself between your ribs. Mingyu and his whole family are like this. They love and worry and love again; it presses deep into you, fills you, and overflows.

So here you are, standing in your nicest dress and balancing a stack of gifts you hope will amount to something, never enough but something, to repay the people who you feel have loved you more than you deserve. It's all you really have. You do your best, and yet you know when that door opens, it'll all be washed away in a high-tide flurry of hugs and laughter and the familiar press of Bobpul's wet nose against your leg. They're just those kinds of people—they would be just as happy if you didn't bring anything at all, and somehow that makes you feel even more guilty.

"No, no," you wave him off. "I’m fine. Excited."

When Mingyu opens the door, everything goes just as you expected. His sister takes your coat, your gifts are whisked away to the tree (Aji has already figured out which one is his), and his parents descend upon you in a choking swell of warmth and charity.

We baked some fresh bread for your parents (—Thank you so much, but you really shouldn't have.). You look so beautiful in that color (—No, no, you flatter me too much.). Mingyu better be taking good care of you (—He is. He really, really is.).

The kitchen is gauzy with cinnamon, anise. They must be making their famous poached pears, which Mingyu remarks on, just like clockwork.

Dinner passes the same way. It bubbles over with affection, and you feel swallowed by an impossible yearning. This—a full table and a hand to hold underneath it—did you deserve this? And could you keep it?

For an instant, you picture yourself, years later, at this same seat. Mingyu would be fussing over the rice cakes, his apron still gingham because it reminds him of the day you two met. His parents, grayer but no less happy, bickering over the shade of tinsel on the tree. And the dogs, coiled at your feet like they are now. The vision laps at your bones like you're a raft in a storm.

You're pulled back into the moment when Mingyu squeezes your hand, grounding and insistent. "Mom asked how school was going. I told her I think you're basically the smartest person I know, and I’m pretty sure you're getting into whatever law school you want."

Mingyu's parents laugh, and they cut through their pears.

"Oh, sorry," you say. "Um."

Clink. Knife meets flesh, meets porcelain. Your cheeks are hot. You wanted to talk about anything other than yourself tonight. Clink.

"The top programs are a reach, but it'd be nice." clink. "I just want to get in somewhere."

"They’re all so far away," Mingyu's mom remarks. "So grown up. Any school will be lucky to have you. You'll get into all of them."

Clink.

"Or maybe you can stay here." You watch the prongs of Mingyu's father's fork disappear into the pear. "Keep us old folk company."

"No, no, I think Mingyu should take notes and get off his lazy ass," his sister says, teasing. "Going back to the city will be good for him."

"So you can, what, burn down the kitchen again?" Mingyu grumbles, and the whole table seems to boil over with laughter.

"We’re kidding," his mom tells you. "No matter where you go, I’m sure you'll do great. We can even throw you a party at the end of the year. For graduating."

Clink. Clink.

There's a horrible uneasiness writhing around in your stomach. It's pear and syrup and clove and a blackness, an anxious, selfish one that sucks up all the generosity of the evening and turns it into shame.

Mingyu's mom is talking about throwing you a graduation party, something you didn't even think to do for yourself, and here you are, thinking about the shaking moment you open your rejection letters and the lonely path you'll draw on your way back home.

It's ok. They missed out, Mingyu would say, pouring you a consolation drink, and then it would be over. You'd go home and sit on your bed and the trifold piece of paper would go round and round your head like it was in a washing machine.

Your heart, an inventory of tasks and goals and tally marks. Things you've taken and things you've owed. It's a soft, boneless excuse. Be grateful. Give them that, at least.

Clink.

Dessert ends before you can tell his family not to get their hopes up. Mingyu's mom sends you off with your loaf of bread and a kiss on the cheek, and the moment is gone.

"Gyu," you call out on the steps in front of the house.

There are words at the seam of your lips. You want to tell him you're sorry for worrying so much. For making the whole dinner about you and then very possibly having nothing to show for it when it matters. For the heaviness in your chest. Your cowardice. But none of it comes out.

Instead you watch Mingyu pull at the leaves of a pear tree, watching the frost-filigree they get at the end of the season. He looks over his shoulder and smiles at you, as if he's on the hazy cover of a magazine. His eyes bend so wonderfully at the corners when he looks at you, and it breaks your heart.

"You had fun, right?" he asks. "My parents like you a lot, you know. I think they really do."

But that's the problem, you want to say. You all do, and I have no idea why.

Some of the pears are beginning to rot now. You watch one drop off the vine, and it caves to the pavement like it was made of nothing at all.

v. wild barley (grows like weeds)

In March, you play house.

Your parents leave on a two week trip to see relatives, and Mingyu takes it upon himself to make sure you survive.

It's a kind, blinding charade.

(7 am, breakfast. You usually don't even eat breakfast, but you wake up to doenjang and a smile, one that presses itself to yours until you're wearing it on the long walk to school.)

(4 pm, the stretch between lunch and dinner. You're muddling through another useless club meeting when Mingyu sends you a picture of him in your mom's apron, making kimchi. Kiss the chef, he texts you. You promise to, over and over and over.)

It's good until it isn't.

That isn't to say that it's Mingyu's fault. In fact, it's never really Mingyu's fault, and that's the worst thing about your relationship. Sometimes you wish he was worse just so there was someone else to blame.

(1 am, a fridge-cold glass of water and a hand on the column of your spine. Can't sleep? He asks. Just had a weird dream, you say.

It's a lie. You're a liar.

You miss your parents and the first wave of acceptance letters comes out in two days. You're not like him. Sleep has never been a cure for the exhaustion you're feeling, and you have no way of telling him that however warm the bed is won't fix that.)

It's on a Thursday afternoon when you open your mailbox and see the tiny, thin envelope that you've been expecting for the past week. You don't need to open it to know what it says, and yet you do it anyway.

The sun is white, a ghost in the spring sky. The ocean bleeds into the overcast, the curly barley stands tall around your feet, and you let the worst letter you've gotten in your life fall upon your shoulders, word by terrible word.

Then you close it, pinching the seam shut, and draw up your brave face. Nothing left to do but be brave. You're convinced you've used up all the sadness in your relationship—spend in pennies and the well still runs dry. Mingyu will cup your cheek and call you darling, pouring into your emptying basin, holey and broken.

You see him now through the kitchen window, Venus in his clamshell of a kitchen. Galbijjim day, he had said this morning. Now, he waves at you, glittery with recognition.

Your throat feels like crumpled paper.

Mingyu smiles at you, hazy through the glass. Your cheeks hurt and your mouth is paper mache, but you smile back anyway.

///

The letters come one after another.

You know what the envelopes hold and yet you keep opening them. The little folder you keep stashed in your bottom drawer gets fatter every passing day because you can't help but revisit your misery, almost as if you need to remind yourself it exists.

Mingyu is none the wiser. Today he decides he'll put off pastry school for one more year. "It doesn't feel like the right time," he says, rolling a log of burdock kimbap up. "You know what I mean?"

No, you don't. You never really do.

You do know, however, that it would feel really fucking bad that, come the end of the year, to have nothing. All your friends would be going somewhere—even Yizhuo opened her acceptance to an MFA program in Shanghai yesterday—and you would be here, still, feet firmly planted in the muddy Jeju dirt like they always had been.

"Hey, don't look so disappointed." he jokes. "Don't tell me you're already trying to get rid of me."

You're not, you really aren't. But part of you wonders if it's just a race to the bottom. If you got rid of him before he decided he wanted to get rid of you, maybe it would hurt a lot less. One less letter for the folder.

"Never. But imagine if you picked up a French accent at pastry school. Then I’d consider it. Maybe."

You watch his knife rock back and forth on the cutting board as he cuts the kimbap.

"Some for you. And more for me," he says, in what you can only describe as someone attempting to speak French when they've never heard it before. "Unless you want more, mon cherie."

He brings the plates to the table, his grin nothing short of dizzying.

"I’m irresistible, huh? Still wanna leave me now?"

"You're gonna have to try a little harder than that, I think."

The words roll off your tongue, easily, traitorously.

You watch the kimbap disappear off of Mingyu's plate.

Going, going, gone.

///

Seogwipo is always dark at night, only kept alive by the glow of the moonlit sea.

You can't sleep. Again. And so you sit out on the steps in front of your house, letting the twilight wrap around you like a blanket.

You got your last letter back earlier today. You held your breath and tore it open like you would a birthday card with money in it.

Waitlisted.

It was surely better than a rejection, but some naive, child-eyed part of you thought that if you had just closed your eyes and hoped hard enough, things would work out the way you had planned. Tragically, it wasn't enough this time. You wanted and wanted and you thought maybe that would mean you'd come close to deserving it.

Your parents called today. After managing to sideline the issue of basically the rest of your entire life, they had finally cut through your sad little charade. No good news yet, huh?

No, but—

It was always like that with you. No, but it's not as bad as you think. No, but give me a chance. No, but I’m trying. I've been trying.

You wish things didn't come out of you so complicated. That you could be like Seohyun, who could go through school with her eyes closed and still graduate at the top of her class. Instead, you parade around your little failures, trying to convince people it all could mean something only if they squinted. See? It isn't so bad.

You think you're past the point of crying about it. Your stomach hurts, you're cold, and most of all, you just want to go back to bed. Plus, although Mingyu sleeps like a log, you think he's developed a sixth sense for whenever you get up too early.

Time to be brave, you've been telling yourself, although you don't know who you're pretending for anymore.

So you nudge the front door open—it's so old, it wails if you come at it with any more force—and, to your surprise, see the light above the kitchen sink turned on.

It's not very bright, but it's enough to make out Mingyu's broad silhouette, back turned to you as he makes a cup of tea. He's humming one of his made-up songs.

"Mingyu?"

"There you are," he says, turning around. "Just came out to check on you. And make you some tea."

The kettle whizzes. Your gut twists.

You still haven't said anything to Mingyu. To manage your own disappointment was one thing—you don't think you could handle another person's. And yet when he stands there, Pororo mug between his huge hands, you feel as if you are holding a knife, big and guilty and bloody.

"I-I'm fine, Gyu. Honest." you watch his expression flicker, unreadable in the persimmon lamplight. "Sorry you had to come out. It's chilly out here."

"You know, you can tell me what's going on. I won't judge."

No, no, no. This is the last conversation you wanted to have, with the last person you wanted to have it with.

You feel feverish. You think your hands are shaking.

"Mingyu, I swear—"

"Whatever it is, we can fix it. I know we can."

That almost makes you want to laugh if you didn't want to cry so bad. Of fucking course he would say that. Mingyu, who treats life like it's the watermelon trick he showed you on the outlook, wants to put a bandaid on this whole thing, as if that could come close to fixing it.

He'd tell you to curl up on the couch with a bad movie while he orders takeout. Kiss you on the top of the head. It's ok, baby. Just another bad day for the person who has the worst luck in the world. Another lump of problems for him to try and make better. If he isn't sick of you now, he sure would be soon enough.

"It’s okay," you say, steeling your voice. "It really isn't a big deal. Let's just go back to sleep."

You try to walk away, but the hardness in Mingyu's eyes roots you down to the tile.

"Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Pushing me away," he swallows. "Like you always do. I know something's going on."

"I’m not, i just—"

"You just what? You can't help it?"

"No, I—"

"Because you like to know that you can? That you can say whatever and then watch me come back?" A fragmented, heavy silence thrums between you. He's looking at you like he's daring you to say something, anything. His gaze is black. "What am I good for if you can't tell me anything?"

There's that familiar, stinging pressure behind your eyes. You think you're crying, but you're not sure. Maybe you've been crying this whole time.

"Fine," you bite. Your blood feels like hot metal. "You really wanna know? I didn't get into law school. There. Happy now?"

Mingyu looks stung.

"W-why didn't you tell me?"

Because I thought you would stop loving me. I thought you would have finally had enough.

"Because it's not all about you, Mingyu."

The words, selfish and damning, burn your tongue. Mingyu is right. This is what you always do. You fuck up and then make everyone else hurt for it.

"I'm sorry," Mingyu says. His voice doesn't sound like his. Instead, the words seem to hang in the air, trembling and holding their breath, waiting for an apology you can't give yet. "I shouldn't have—"

"It's ok." You swallow hard, and it hurts. "Let's just go back to bed."

It's getting colder and colder. You think there's a little hole in your sock, right above the cat's whiskers.

Mingyu doesn't reach for you as he passes to get to the hallway. Maybe he doesn't know how to anymore.

The Pororo cup is left abandoned on the counter. You walk over and read the label on the tea bag—barley, because you have class tomorrow morning.

You pick it up, let the ceramic buzz between your hands with whatever warmth it has left, and hold it to your lips.

It's cold now, but all you can think to do is drink it. Erase all the evidence that tonight ever happened, and maybe it'll be nothing more than a bad dream in the morning.

There's honey at the bottom of the cup. It sears the back of your throat, but you drink until there's nothing left.

vi. the peach blossoms (without fail, bloom every August. I miss you.)

You broke up the next day.

Even now, you remember what happened. You had woken up early that morning to make your own breakfast because you couldn't allow Mingyu to give you any more of himself. Your hands could only hold, shatter, so much.

"Mingyu, I think we should...." You looked at the zigzags of jam on your toast, angry and uneven. "I think we should stop seeing each other. For now," you had added, as if that made anything better at all.

Somehow that seemed more merciful at the time. Really, you think it just showed your cowardice. If you were going to break his heart, you might as well have gone all the way the first time.

Maybe it was a good thing that Mingyu saw right through you. He always did.

"So that's it, huh? You're just gonna give up on us?"

"No, i just...need some time."

"How long?" he asked. "Be honest with me. Because you know I’ll wait."

"I don't know." You couldn't meet his gaze. His eyes reached and reached over that kitchen table and you denied him even that.

"Don't you always know?" he asked, pitifully, desperately. "Don't you want this to work?"

And you did. In fact, you don't think you had ever wanted anything more, and it was that that scared you. You had already lost law school—you couldn't let the only other thing in your life let you go. So you pulled the trigger first.

"We should just end things. I'm sorry. I can't give you what you need."

He packed his bag within the hour, and you think everything, from then on, froze inside you. You didn't move from your seat until your parents came home from the airport later that day and asked why there were two plates of toast still on the table.

You think you knew, someplace, inevitably, this would happen. You, who only knew hunger, had reached deep inside Mingyu and rooted out a love you didn't think you were worthy of having. And yet you still ate from the vine, bite after guilty bite, until you couldn't take any more. The only time he asked you for anything at all, you couldn't give it to him—such was the irony of your relationship.

Maybe you were doomed the moment the first strawberry hit your tongue, just like you had said, all that time ago.

About a month later, you got another letter in the mail. Chungnam National University Law School, it read. This one was fat, in one of those brown envelopes lined with bubble wrap. Somehow, miraculously, that position on the waitlist had turned into an acceptance. You held the package to your chest and cried, loud and with abandon, as if taking a deep breath after almost drowning.

Ironically, the first person you wanted to tell was Mingyu. But the good news you needed to save your relationship came too little, too late. Perhaps that meant it had no legs to stand on in the first place, but that didn't stop you from missing it. Instead, you told Yizhuo, and she drove you to Jeju City and treated you to dinner. "You should just call him," she had said. "Hey, don't look at me like that. He'd probably pick up on the first ring."

The city is swathed in August's crimson summer—peach season. The narrow streets are lined with peach trees, the fruits glowing like fat drops of sunlight. All you do these days is plan for your eventual move to Daejeon and the start of a life that seems newer and shinier than your own. But surrounded by the cicada song, the velvet treeline, the rain-soaked asphalt, somehow you think you're going to miss Seogwipo more than you think.

(Fickle, fickle heart. You always needed things to be taken away to really be able to appreciate them. Somehow, all that wanting had boiled down to something more satisfying, more filling.)

You wonder how Mingyu is. Now that you think about it, he seems just as much a part of Seogwipo as the farm he lives on. It was only last summer when you had first met him in the field, set on fire by the strawberry harvest. You think about him now, peddling around that ridiculous wicker basket to make jam. Maybe talking to another pretty girl, someone as naive, cruel as you had been.

Not long ago, you considered calling him to apologize, but that'd just be another thing to be selfish about. A little time and some warm weather, and I’m calling to finally wash my hands of you. That's what it would sound like, no matter what you said. Still, it didn't stop you from thinking of him, every flower, every season.

"You know, I always wanted to grow peach trees. But I think we've always been a pear kind of family."

Mingyu. If a voice could cut through air, it'd be his.

You whip around, half-believing you're hearing things. Certainly that would be easier, but you're learning that there are some things you can't run from.

And like a picture, Mingyu stands tall, golden, framed by the peach blossoms. Not a thing about him has changed. Not even the way he looks at you.

"Mingyu," you breathe. Unfortunately, none of the times you replayed your last conversation with him help you come up with something to say, because in none of them did you anticipate him coming back. "W-what are you doing here?"

"I live here, silly."

"No way," you reply, scrambling. "Crazy, because I live here too."

You both laugh nervously, a silly, bubbly thing, but you feel like you're going to throw up. It's only now that you realize you're kind of on the walk to his place. Seogwipo has never had places to hide.

"I...um." you try and disentangle the guilt from the nostalgia from the scent of the peaches and the warmth on his face. They all look the same. You missed him. "I got into law school. In Daejeon."

"I heard," he says. "Not surprised at all. I always knew you would."

"Thank you. I mean it." The cicadas buzz around you, as if they know they have an important silence to fill. "You're staying in town, right?"

"Actually, I decided to apply to culinary school. It finally felt right, you know? I'm leaving at the end of the summer, but it's just in Jeju City. I couldn't leave the island."

"Thank goodness. I don't know if you could tell, but I kind of always hoped you would. I don't think I’ve ever eaten better food." Your voice wobbles, but it gets there. "You'll do amazing."

Then time stretches and forces you to recognize, reckon with, the moment you're in. You wonder if he feels the same way you do—bruised, overripe. If there's still a space in his heart for you.

Deep breath. Life only gives you so many chances.

"Mingyu, I’m sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't make us work. You deserved better." Saying it feels like peeling the skin of your heart back. There's still a palpable distance between the two of you—you think that had always been there—but it feels more comfortable in a way it never did before.

"Don’t apologize," he says, easily, as he always does. Everything seems to flow off him like water, and you think that's the part of him you loved the most because it was the one thing you couldn't touch. "We loved each other. I think that much was true."

A jasmine breeze curls through the trees, sending the blossoms fluttering around you like ink in water. The very first time you met Mingyu, you thoughtthe image of him, haloed with the sunset, was the one you wanted to keep forever. And yet, somehow, you don't think you'll ever forget the way he looks right now.

"Will you ever come back to Seogwipo?" you ask.

"I was gonna ask you the same thing—you were always the one who wanted to get out of here." He grins, ear to ear. "Of course I'm coming back. There's nowhere I'd rather be."

"Yeah. I think I know what you mean."

The sea, the clay dirt, Mingyu. Even yourself, clumsy and care-worn. You think, somewhere along the line, you forgot how to love. But you're learning—one step at a time.

"Friends," you say. "Let's be friends. If you'll let me."

"Thought you would never ask. Gladly. Always." The space between you seizes, like it's holding in a breath. Maybe one day, you'll think of closing it once more, but you like where you stand now. You can admire him better from a distance, without your fingerprints all over him. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, something he does before he gets ready to leave. But before he does—"I'll see you soon, okay? You better come back. Promise me."

For the first time, you see the honesty in his eyes and you really, truly believe him.

"Promise."

The Seogwipo sun is high and red in the sky when you wave Mingyu goodbye. It feels like you're coming to an end of a long summer, but you're not afraid. You watch the wind dance through the peach blossoms, their branches never searching, never wanting, and you finally feel as if you've arrived home.

[writtenbymoonflower]

Hello!! I literally finished Ted Lasso and am IN LOVE with Jamie Tartt (this may or may not have to do with the amount of fics I’ve read recently). Would you be up for writing a Jamie x reader where they’ve been secretly dating for a while and the team finds out, perhaps with a reader that works for AFC Richmond as like they’re photographer or something?

Omg babe I need more Jamie fics in my life. Jamie Tartt x fem!reader

cw: swearing, hickey, jamie tartt being a smug asshole

776 words

You can't stop subconsciously rubbing your neck, likely from the anxiety of wondering if your makeup is doing an adequate job covering the smattering of love-bites on your neck. When your fingers came away with a chalky coating of powder, you kept your hand frozen by your side, your free hand jotting down notes as your boss kept rambling, careful to filter the necessary information from the side tangents. 

“You get all that, babe?” Keely looked up from her computer, half apologetic. “I’m so sorry my brain has been all over the place lately.” 

“You’re okay Miss.” You looked up, eyes catching on the man winking at you from across the room. He was looking nearly sinful with a towel slung over his bulky shoulder, skin gleaming with sweat. You stiffened, handing the clipboard to your boss. “Does this all look right?” 

She mumbled as her eyes scanned the page. “Perfect! Thank you so much, Y/N. I'm serious when I say I would be a complete shitstorm without you.” She glanced at the clock. “Oh, bugger! It’s gone 1. Why don’t you take your lunch, I’ll figure the rest of this mess out.” Her perfectly manicured hand shooed you from the office. 

“Thank you Miss.” You contained your smile, glancing at Jamie. He was still looking at you, brown eyes burning into your form. You scampered off, closing the door to Keely’s office on the way out. 

The hallway was oddly barren of players and staff, excepting the boy leant casually against the doorframe of the gym bearing lazy smile on his face. You walked up to him timidly, looking around the room to make sure there were no suspicious eyes. 

“Hey cutie.” He said, running a hand through his blonde hair. Your legs felt like jelly, only made worse from the pinching heels on your feet.

“Hey Jamie. Are you okay? Why aren’t you in practice??” You looked over him for injuries, expecting to find some blooming bruise or irritated scratches. He smiled at you. You could tell he wanted to reach for you but didn’t want to risk the exposure. 

You were the main reason the relationship between you two was a secret. Jamie would shout it from the rooftop if he could, but you were still unsure. You weren’t ashamed by any means, but you couldn’t help but feel pressure. You were dating one of the most well-known Richmond players. (one who was also on a dating show made entirely up of very attractive people). Nevertheless, Jamie treated you like a rare diamond. 

“You can stop checking me out, babe. I’m alright. Coach is just havin’ us run laps. I finished first.” He was sickly sweet, if not a little boastful, looking you up and down, smirking like a cat who got the cream. “How long do you have on your break?” 

“Just under an hour.” You subconsciously glanced at a watch that wasn’t there. His grin grew as he pulled you towards the locker room. “Jamie, what if someone walks in?” Even as you protested you couldn’t help your own smile from spreading over your face. 

“Trust me, love. The lads are slackin' today. The only one who is going to finish in the next hour is Dani, and that chipper prick will stay and chat the Coaches to death.” 

You sighed, letting James tug you into his arms. He smelled like grass, rain, sweat, and himself. It was intoxicating. “I missed you.” You mumbled into his chest. 

“Missed you too, lovely girl.” He chucked, pulling you up for a kiss. No sooner did he deepen it than you heard a crash behind you. You tried to jump away from Jamie but he held onto you. You turned around to find a sheepish-looking Sam slowly backing away from the door. 

“I- I am so sorry.” Sam looked like he was trying to shrink down to bug-size. “I’ll just, I don’t want to interrupt.” 

“You’re ok-” 

“God, Sam, mind your fuckin' business.” Jamie faux-scolded. Sam slightly smiled. 

“I am.” He put his hands up in a ‘don’t shoot’ gesture. “And don’t worry, your secret is safe with-” 

Right when he said that, a crowd of about ten players scrambled into the locker room, all pausing when they took in the spectacle in front of them. You could see them looking between Sam, you, and Jamie who still had his arm wrapped around your waist. The room was dead silent, until someone spoke up from the back of the group.

“Well now we know why Y/N comes to practice so much.” 

“Shut the fuck up Jan Maas!” Upwards of five people shouted.

[fruity-mega-coconut69]

Thunderstorm

[Pairings]: Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

[Summary]: There is a power outage due to a thunderstorm and you and Tara enjoy the quiet hours together.

[warnings]: little blood, cursing. kissing, my writing, not proof read

A/N: Oh my god, guys. i'm so sorry for not posting, but I'll try to post more!

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

“Damn it!” 

You curse quietly to yourself when the knife you’ve been cutting some vegetables with caught your finger, making blood drip from it slightly. The lights had gone out and your vision was clouded by the dark.

“Baby? Are you okay?” Tara’s worried voice can be heard from the living room. Soon, you hear footsteps and your small kitchen is lightened up by Tara’s flashlight on her phone as she slowly approaches. 

“Yeah, uhm, can you pass me a band aid from that cupboard?” You point at said cupboard.

“Of course” She puts her phone down and reaches up to open the cupboard. After a little struggle, she opens it and takes a band aid out. Tara turns around to face you and steps closer. She takes your ‘injured’ finger in one of her hands after she unwrapped the band aid and puts it on the cut gently. Tara leans down and puts her lips on the band aid-covered cut softly, pulling away after a moment. “There. All better.” She smiles and takes a step back.

“Thanks.” You smile and cup her face with your hands to bring her into a sweet kiss. After she pulls away, she sighs and glances at the half-cut vegetables on the kitchen counter.

“I think dinner will have to wait.”  

You roll your eyes. “I know. But I’m hungry” She chuckles then looks out the window, seeing rain practically pouring from the sky. 

“Come on. Let’s go to the living room” She takes her phone off the counter then takes your hand in her, starting to head towards your living room. 

“Wait. I’ll get candles.” You grumple out, letting go of her hand and going into the storage room. A minute or two later, you walk out with a couple of candles in your hands and Tara laughs. “What?” You furrow your eyebrows in genuine confusion as she continues giggling. 

“Nothing. Nothing. You just look adorable. Come on, let me help you.” You scoff and walk past her. 

“I’m fully capable of carrying candles. They’re just slippery.” You huff, but soon regret going ahead of Tara when you are, once again, engulfed by darkness. You stop in your tracks and turn around to look at Tara, standing in the hallway with her arms crossed and her phone in her hand, flashlight still on. 

She immediately loses her serious demeanor and her arms fall to her sides as she smirks. “What? Are you scared of the dark?” She asks, walking over to you while chuckling. 

You roll your eyes. “No. But I’d like to make it to the living room without breaking my fucking leg, Tara.” You mumble as the two of you start walking towards the living room.

You arrive in the living room and you put the candles on the couch while you take your lighter out of your pocket. Tara puts her phone down and picks up a candle, holding it out to you. You light it and she puts it on the coffee table. You light the rest, too, and soon the dimmed flames of the candles light up the living room.

After you’re done, you plop down onto the couch with a sigh, Tara following after you.As Tara scoots closer to you, you take your phone out and unlock it, only to see that there is no wifi. 

“Oh, come on!” 

Tara takes the phone out of your hands and moves closer, your knees and shoulders touching.  “You know, this is kinda romantic. Don't you think so?” 

You furrow your eyebrows and slowly turn your head to face her. “Wh-how is this romantic? We literally have nothing to eat.” 

Tara rolls her eyes and looks at you. “Are you serious? You can only think about food? “

“I love to eat, T. I can’t help it—-” 

Tara shuts you up as she presses her lips to yours. You let out a surprised gasp but kiss back nonetheless. Her hands gently cup your face and she slowly moves to straddle your legs. Your hands rest on her lower back as the two of you keep kissing. A minute later, she pulls back.

“But, I mean I could eat you.”

Tara groans and slaps your shoulder-which causes you to frown and rub the spot she had slapped. “You–I…you’re unbelievable.” She is about to get off of your legs when you stop her by placing your hands firmly on her waist.

“Wait.” You mumble, pulling her closer, your noses touching. “I’m sorry.”You look into her eyes and she smirks, her hands go back up to cup your face and she kisses you again. As the two of you continue kissing, the heavy rain falling outside and the occasional rumble of the thunder makes the moment a hundred times better. 

“Apology accepted.” Tara mumbles against your lips before pressing hers to them firmly once again.

A/N: I know, It's short. I'm sorry

[voidvannie]

˗ˏˋ 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 & 𝐆𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐒 🦋🍀 ˎˊ˗

⋆✩⋆ ─── 🎶long drives, blue skies, straight to the horizon. dancing in the rain, even through all the lightening!🎶 - Always Been You, Michael Sanzone

⋆✩⋆ ─── pairing : luke hughes x charlotte lazar

⋆✩⋆ ─── always been you masterlist main masterlist

⋆✩⋆ ─── in which . . . curtis doesn’t know how to feel when he catches the youngest hughes brother and his little sister flirting when they first meet.

⋆✩⋆ ─── feel free to send in any request for things you want to see in this series, or in any of the other series on my page. Or if you just want to share some thoughts about what you read, or if you want to talk about oc's!

𝚃𝚆𝙸𝚁𝙻𝚂 & 𝙶𝙸𝙶𝙶𝙻𝙴𝚂. ┊

“Wait! Wait! Wait! Wait!” Charlotte rushes down the stairs, quickly jumping onto her older brother's back as he goes to open the front door. "Wait!"

"Charlotte!" Curtis laughs loudly, catching her by the thighs so that she doesn't hit the floor, "What the hell?!"

"Can I please, please, please, please go with you today? I need new pictures for a project." The blonde clings to her older brother so that she doesn't fall.

"Yes, but I'm gonna be late if you don't hurry and get your stuff. I'm giving you ten minutes to get everything you need before I walk out the door and you Uber to the rink."

"I'll be quick!" She drops from his back and races up the stairs so that she can get her phone and everything else she may need.

"Let her move in. We'll have a built-in babysitter any time we need one." Curtis turns to Reanne who sat on the couch, "She's a literal child at heart still."

Reanne laughs, looking down at Owen who is seated next to her, "Aunt Charlie is silly, isn't she?" She tickles his stomach 'causing the little boy to let out a couple of giggles.

"I'm ready!"

Charlotte follows her brother down the hallway of the ice rink, eyes glued to her phone screen as she texted her best friend Benson back about her coming to a show of his in LA in a couple of weeks to take pictures for him since his usual photographer had gotten sick.

"Stay right here. Let me make sure nobody naked in there." Curtis stops her from following him into the locker room, ducking inside to see if his teammates were dressed before calling for her to come inside.

"Charlie!" Multiple voices call out the girl's name as she steps inside, camera resting around her neck, a dazzling smile painted across her face.

“Hey!” The blonde greets them back, fist bumping a few of the older players while hugging all the ones that she was close too.

“Charlie, this is Jack’s little brother, Luke.” Curtis puts his hand on his sister’s back as he moves her towards the boy. “Luke, my little sister, Charlie.”

“Hey, nice to meet you.” Luke smiles shyly at the blonde, shaking her hand.

“Nice to meet you.” She smiles, a giggle slipping past her lips causing her brother who was walking towards his cubby to pause.

“Did she just—?” Dawson leans forward, eyes wide as he looks towards the girl.

Nico nods, “She just giggled.”

“Yeah, no.” Curtis shakes his head, turning back to push his sister towards the door, “We have to finish getting ready, go find Lindy and tell him what you’re doing.”

“But I—,”

“No.”

“So, do you always work with the team?” A voice spoke up as Charlotte was taking a picture of Jack and Nico joking around.

Looking up from her camera, she finds Luke leaning against the wall separating him from the bench as he stood on the ice.

“I thought they already had a media person?”

“Oh, no, they do.” Charlotte shakes her head, “I go to NYU for film and photography. Lindy and the other coaches let me come in every now and then to film practice or take pictures for class. We had an assignment to photograph a sports team, and luckily enough, my brother plays hockey so it works out.” She shrugged.

“NYU? That your first choice school?”

“What is your brother doing?” Curtis skates up next to Jack and Nico, the three turned towards where Luke and Charlotte were talking.

“Looks Iike he’a flirting with her.” Nico snickers at the look flashing across Curtis’ face.

“No.” Jack shakes his head, “Luke is too shy and awkward to flirt with anybody.”

“Ohhh, there’s another giggle.” Dawson skates up next to the slowly forming group, eyes fixated on the two twenty year olds.

Charlie giggles at something that Luke says as she twirls the ends of her hair around her finger.

Alex is next to skate up with a teasing smile on his face, “And there she is with their twirl.”

“Is she — she’s giving him her phone!” Jack’s jaw dropped as Charlotte takes her phone out of her back pocket, passing it over to Luke who begins typing.

“Baby Hughes and Baby Lazar, I can see the wedding now.” Nico laughs, patting his teammate on the shoulder.

Curtis sighs, watching his little sister take her phone back, still giggling and twirling her hair. “At least it’s not Jack.”

“What? Hey!”

[aanoia]

Daydreamer

Remus Lupin x reader words; 1118 song; Daydream by Adele (19 as fics) why did i have such a hard time writing this? if you'd like to request a song, literally any song in the world just use my inbox (tell me who, obvi, the song and who it's by, also obvi, and then if you want a scenario) I suggest reading about what this song is about it SHOCKED me, and then this fic might make more sense too. I can't get the song to link :(

Daydreamer

Sitting on the sea

Soaking up the sun

Remus gently rubbed circles into my hand as he talked about the book he was currently reading. His brows furrowed softly as he began speaking about a part he did not enjoy one bit, talking about how it almost ruined the entire book for him and he was ready to just stop reading it. 

The small waves of the lake crashed gently against the shore, creating a calm aura between the two of you. Never would you think something so unexpected would happen.

He is a real lover

Of making up the past

And feeling up his girl

Like he's never felt a figure before

“Y/n/n, you don’t understand. Nothing ever happened between us.” Remus reassured me as I rubbed my arm nervously.

“Are you sure, Remus? It’d make sense, you two are best friends.”

Remus smiled at me softly and placed his hands on my waist, “I’m very sure, my love.”

A jaw-dropper

Looks good when he walks

Is the subject of their talk

“Look, it’s him!” A first year squealed and I looked up from my book, curious as to who they were talking about. A proud smile crossed my face at the sight of my boyfriend looking around the hallway. I looked back down to my book, tuning into their conversation. 

“And have you seen him with-”

“Hello, love. I finally found you.” Remus said and I smiled up at him.

He would be hard to chase

But good to catch

And he could change the world

With his hands behind his back, oh

“There you go, all patched up.” Remus said, smiling down at the first year boy who scraped his knee pretty bad. The boy sniffled and hugged Remus tightly.

“Thank you, Remus.” The boy mumbled and ran off with his friends.

“You’re such a sweetheart.” I said behind him with a smile. He looked up from his spot on the ground and smiled.

You can find him sitting on your doorstep

Waiting for a surprise

“I’m sorry, what?” I asked James, my eyes teary.

“Y/n, I love you, you’re like a sister to me. I had to tell you, I’m so sorry.” James said, rubbing the back of his neck as Remus and Sirius came down the stairs and into the common room.

“Y/n? Why do you look like you’re about to cry?” Sirius asked, before looking to James with wide eyes. “Prongs, you didn’t…”

James shook his head, “I’m sorry. It wasn’t right. She needed to know.”

And he will feel like he's been there for hours

And you can tell that he'll be there for life

“Y/n/n, please, stop!” Remus yelled after me as I ran out of the castle and into the pouring rain.

“I can’t belie- I can’t believe you!” I screamed back, thunder booming behind me. “You told me nothing had ever happened- nothing ever was going to happen! You liar!” I sobbed, falling to my knees. The slick mud seeped through my pajama pants, sending shivers up my body. 

“Y/n-” Remus breathed, kneeling in front of me as I grabbed onto the wet grass, trying to ground myself.

“You- you cheated on me.” I mumbled, barely audible.

“Y/n-”

“With Sirius. I mean- I knew- I knew you liked guys and I don’t care, I don’t. I don’t.” I repeated, mostly to myself. “But you cheated on me. With Sirius.” I sat defeatedly on the ground. “No, don’t touch me!” I said, pushing Remus�� arms off me. “Don’t ever talk to me again. Ever.”

Daydreamer

With eyes that make you melt

I sighed as I watched Sirius smile lovingly at Remus, who had the same glint in his eye he used to have when he looked at me.

“Oh, Y/n/n.” Lily sighed, hugging my side. “It’ll be okay, love. It’ll be okay.”\

He lends his coat for shelter

Plus, he's there for you

When he shouldn't be

The entire Great Hall watched silently as Sirius and Remus argued, both of their voices raising loudly. Not even the teachers dared to step in between them. Sirius pushed Remus away from him and the room gasped as Remus fell backwards, hitting the ground hard. Nevertheless, as Sirius stormed out Remus jumped up and ran after him, desperately calling out his name.

But he stays all the same

Waits for you

Then sees you through

“Oh my Godric, not again.” I mumbled to myself, and stood up, shoving my book into my bag as the yelling started again. 

“You’re still in love with her, aren’t you, Remus?” Sirius asked and I froze, looking up to meet Remus’ gaze.

There's no way I could describe him

What I've said is just what I'm hoping for

Remus nodded, “I am.” 

I scoffed and shook my head, catching Sirius’ attention who also looked at me.

“And you?” He asked me.

I shrugged, “I’m not.”

But I will find him sitting' on my doorstep

Waiting for a surprise

“Sophie, c’mon sweetheart, you need to go to be-” I was cut off by a loud knock on the door and the toddler I was trying to coax to sleep shot up from her bed and ran out of the room. I sighed and followed after her, mentally cursing whoever was at the door.

“Hello, mister, what’s your name?” Sophie asked.

“Sophia, how many times must I tell you not to answer the do- Remus?” I froze behind my daughter. Remus looked at me, his bottom lip shaking and tears filling his eyes. “What happened?” I asked quietly, taking Sophia into my arms.

“They’re dead, Y/n.” My heart clenched, I immediately knew who he was talking about. “They’re dead and Sirius killed them and I didn’t know what to do so I came here. I’m sorry, I-”

“No, no. Come in.” I said, stepping aside and he hesitantly walked in.

And he will feel like he's been there for hours

And I can tell that he'll be there for life

“We can’t just kick him out, Alex. He lost his people.” I whispered to my husband who watched hesitantly as Remus played with our daughter.

“Y/n, I-” he sighed. “Okay. He can stay for the night.”

I kissed my husband's cheek, “Thank you, love. It’ll only be for tonight.”

I turned around and paused as I saw Sophia asleep in Remus’ arms, snoring softly. I sighed as I thought about what could have been, but wasn’t. Remus looked up and smiled softly at me and I could just tell. He was thinking the same thing.

And I can tell that he'll be there for life

taglist (if you wanna be added just comment);

@loving-and-dreaming @1lellykins @poetrypirate

[estasticvanni]

“Look at me.”

//Oihina

Angst//

Tw - Cutting,the act of taking one’s own life and Depressing subjects and words!

(If you cannot handle that,please go read something else!!)

Wasn’t Hinata’s fault he fell in love with the popular,handsome and charismatic brunette.

Hinata watched as the rain slid down the classroom windows,It was lunchtime and he poked at his slightly cold salmon roll before picking it up and placing it in his mouth.

The classroom door slid open,it was Iwaizumi.

“Eating lunch alone again?” The brooding male asked whilst towering over Hinata, Hinata nodded and frowned. That’s the reality of it all. While Oikawa is out doing god knows what,Hinata — His Boyfriend was eating lunch alone on a rainy day. This happened alot,no matter how many times Hinata begged. That stupid brunette didn’t even give a damn.

“Why don’t you break up with the guy? We both know he’s never gonna spend time with ya..” Iwaizumi ruffled Hinata’s hair but the ginger only sat still,tears falling into his food.

And that’s how it went for weeks. Hinata plunging into a deep sadness and Iwaizumi telling him what’s right. It’s true,Oikawa wasn’t even looking at the ginger,not even giving him a piece of mind. It was horrible. Hinata hates himself for falling in love. Hated himself but still couldn’t help but love the brunnette.

It drove him insane. He changed for the worst. His room covered in photos of Oikawa,His room messy and filthy. Hinata with several cuts and slashes across his arm,His hair a mess. His eyes with heavy bags underneath. It wasn’t him,he told himself. He was just doing this for Oikawa…He wants to be noticed.

Notice him.

Notice him…

Notice…who?

Oikawa was outside the gym,flirting with his fangirls as always,Iwaizumi came over and swatted the squealing girls away. Seems urgent. “Oh Iwa-chan! I was having so much fun,why’d you do that?” Oikawa smiled as he spoke. Iwaizumi wasn’t having any of it.

“You have a boyfriend. You haven’t even spoke to him!”Iwaizumi raised his voice,he hoped the girls heard so Hinata could atleast have a chance. “Oh? Chibi-chan? He hasn’t talked to me either,so who’s at fault here?” Oikawa flashed a smirk which pissed Iwaizumi off. “You’re some bastard you know that? He’s literally rotting away as we speak!” Iwaizumi shouted even louder. “Rotting? You’re dramatic Iwa-chan~!”

Iwaizumi couldn’t help but clinch his fist. How dare Oikawa act so nonchalant. “It’ll be your fault if he takes his own life.” Iwaizumi walked off,He didn’t care anymore. He could only afford to try to stop the ginger’s self destruction.

“He loves me..”

“He loves me not…”

“He loves me…”

“He loves me not..”

“He loves me..”

The mumbling in a dark classroom stopped,blood dropped down to the floor and splattered as if it was rain.

Hinata cleaned his wound before stumbling out of the classroom,He wasn’t okay. He believed he was..actually what did he believe..?Oikawa is my lover..? Oikawa shouldn’t want someone like me?

Hinata was not okay and it showed. He stumbled through the hallways,getting repulsive looks and gasps from anybody who laid their eyes on the disgusting ginger. His skin pale and bruised. His eyes widened and cloudy. his hair as messy as it could get. Who was he now..? What was his purpose? He was just a rotting corpse.

Once so bold and kind.

Now he’s cold and sliced.

Like used meat.

He is bruised and beat.

Such a muse,this one candle has burnt

He has turnt for the worst.

Sprialing into a deep slumber

now his love is encumbered.

To be seen is a fantasy

It is serene within his sanity...

The staggering ginger walked up the steps to the roof,He was gonna fly,Fly high.

Eyes stared at him as he neared the rim of the roof,He liked the attention,is this how Oikawa feels?

He felt the air,it nearly made him stumble. He was as weak as a leaf and as boney as corpse. He was one already right? Right.

For Oikawa. This was for him. Hinata will spread his wings for his lover,he’ll pay attention then…?Right?

….

…..

“Hello?”

“I know you’re busy but uhm..”

“I really love you! Could we maybe go on a date?”

“I really hope you hear this..I love you uhm..”

“Please…Pay attention to me..I really miss you..”

“…Please.”

………….

One foot high and the other behind,He was flying.

A smile on his face as he “flew”,All eyes on him,watch him fly.

The wind blew on his face,He felt it in his skin as it blew through his hair. He could see clouds and the sun,this felt so nice,nobody would believe this.

He did something attention worthy,Oikawa is looking? Right?

…

…

…

He saw.

He saw when Hinata was smashed against the concrete.

He saw Hinata’s smile and tears while he bleed out from every point in his body.

He saw the monstrosity Hinata had become,His thin skin,his protruding bones,his clouded eyes that were once the sun.

He saw him. for once. He stared but not in the loving way Hinata thought,in the scared way. In the way that he knew he caused this. He was sorry,He didn’t mean to take it this far.

He stood there while everyone screamed in fear,He couldn’t take his eyes off the lifeless teen in front of him. Tears poured down his face as he dropped to his knees.

“I’m sorry.”

That’s all Oikawa could say,for once in his life,it wasn’t all fun and games. This was reality. He drove Hinata to insanity and suicide.

…

….

….

Oikawa stayed in his room,he couldn’t bother showing his face after everything. He laid there,void of any emotion except guilt.

It’s all his fault and he knows that. Iwaizumi warned him but he didn’t listen. Now he’s crying his heart out into his sheets as he thinks about what could’ve been.

The next few days of school were mundane for Oikawa,He didn’t bother talking to anyone,not even the fangirl he adored so much..he shouldn’t have. Hinata would be alive if he didn’t.

Oikawa was invited to Hinata’s house by his mom,It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. He was nervous. Was he gonna be yelled at…? He knew it was fault.

Surprisingly, Hinata’s mom invited Oikawa over to take some of Hinata’s belongings.

Oikawa didn’t want to agree but didn’t want to be rude,after all this was all his fault.

He opened the door to Hinata’s room,It reeked of blood and other heinous smells. The room a complete mess,blood smeared on some walls and a shrine of Oikawa in the corner.

He destroyed Hinata. This wasn’t something the cheerful and bubbly ginger would ever do.

Oikawa examined the room. Though it was unrecognizable,there were photos of Oikawa and Hinata on there dates. Oikawa took them,He couldn’t let these memories rot. Rot like Hinata had done ever since he flew.

Oikawa looked around more,He found razors as other various items stained with blood. It made him sick,why did Hinata do this.

Oikawa finally got out of the room,closing the door behind him and walking back to the living room where Hinata’s mom was. She was sniffling while crying into her hands.

“I’m sorry.”

Oikawa spoke as he placed the photos he took into a box. The woman lifted her head and smiled at him kindly. It looked just like His.

…

….

“I wish I could’ve made the team!”

“It’s okay Chibi-chan! You’re a good manager!”

“The best?”

“The best manager ever.”

“Yeah! I’ll be the best manager to ever manage!”

“That’s the spirit!”

Hinata’s smile flashed in Oikawa’s memories,The smile that made Oikawa fall in love. It was the candle that kept burning.

…

Hope you enjoyed and cried your heart out! This took atleast a few hours!

and if you see any mistakes,I don’t really review over my work !

[rosecoloredknight]

Turquoise, rain, and hurricane 😊

😊😊😊👋🏼

turquoise: weirdest dream you’ve ever had?

okay, by far the weirdest was being chased by Chucky around endless school hallways!! scariest part was that he was just walking 😭😭

I only remember that one? And my favorite dream, which was me walking through the crowded streets and when i reached a 4 way stop, i heard and turned towards someone saying "there you are" only to have her put their arms over my shoulders, kiss me, and then hold my hands as she proceeded to lead me through the crowd. BEST DREAM EVER, and i want a kiss like that so bad. super weird, right?

Which by the way!?! every dream is weird, right!? oh wait, weirdest dream ever; my bad.

those are the only two i can remember? There's another one that includes cuddling BUT no one cares nor wants to read about that boring one.

hurricane: describe a strange habit of yours.

Heres comes another tmi, brace yo self —

i honestly almost forgot about this one, but i just remembered it!! By the way, I actually don't find these strange because it's an everyday lifestyle for me, but I realize and understand that I'm in my own reality 😭😅 so oof

Okay:

i like to go to sleep with the sound of my favorite YouTubers as the background noise. I know.. STRANGE, but it helps me sleep sooooo much easier 😅😅. I literally made a playlist called "Sleep" in which i always play before sleeping. Every now and then, I tend to sleep in total darkness and silence, but it depends.

rain: if it were possible, what exotic animal would you keep as a pet?

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS ANIMAL!?!

—

these were super fun to answer!! thank you so much for the asks!!

[lizzie-is-here]

like the dawn

part iii- not without you

“show me a hero, and i’ll write you a tragedy” - f. scott fitzgerald

summary: you and steve go on a two-person charge into a nazi facility to save your best friend. looks like the tables have turned, and you have a profound realization.

wordcount: 3.4k

warnings: violence, cussing, mild pining, foreshadowing, me setting up for the train scene to hurt even more

a/n: crying in the club 🥲 this is mostly set up, but i’m completely ready to almost cry writing the next part. hope u all enjoy! love you all <3

taglist: @whelvedfeelingsstuff @sebsgirl71479 @rebloggingmyrecs @babyblublossom @local-mr-frog @thenyxsky @capsiclesdoll

previous part | series masterlist | next part

As you and Steve plummeted through the air, you ignored the gunfire surrounding you. Eyes trained on the ground rapidly approaching, you nodded to Steve and deployed your chute.

Jolting harshly, you crashed through the trees and landed harshly on the forest floor. You unclipped your parachute and sprinted into the cover of the trees, Steve following close behind. He held a hand out in front of you, protectively shielding you as a parade of trucks passed by.

Once you spotted the last car in the line, you and Steve jumped in, immediately coming face-to-face with two HYDRA operatives. You let him beat them up, grabbing a glowing blue gun from one of them before he tossed them out of the back of the vehicle.

The truck came to a stop a short while later, and a soldier lifted the flap. He was met with Steve’s shield to his face.

“That thing is a literal target on your back,” you grumbled, sneaking with him through the grounds. The entire camp was crawling with guards, but you managed to slip past them, hiding in the shadows and Steve knocking the living daylights out of any of them that spotted you.

He helped you clamber up a tank and onto the roof of a building, racing along the rain-soaked concrete and into the nearest building. After successfully knocking out a guard and peering into one of the central rooms, you froze.

It was huge, with advanced technology scattered everywhere. Including bombs.

As you two crept past a table, you swiped what looked to be some sort of battery that glowed the same blue as the gun you’d stolen.

“We need to find where they keep prisoners,” Steve hissed to you. You frowned, scanning the entries and exits, squinting in an attempt to read the German plastered above the doors. You pointed to one, labeled “Gefängnis”.

“I bet that’s it,” you whispered. He shoved you.

“You don’t know German, dipshit!” You slapped him in return.

“Maybe not, but a guy just walked out of there, and I saw what looked like jail cells, so,” you glared at him as he gave in, starting to sprint towards the corridor. The door let out into a hallway above circular cells, where thin rays of light filtered in from outside.

Grabbing an arrow from your quiver, you nocked it as you stalked down the hall. When you spotted a lone guard patrolling, you fired. The arrow embedded itself in the man’s chest, and he fell on top of a cell with a surprised grunt.

Steve grabbed the set of keys from the soldier as one of the prisoners eyed you both.

“Who are you supposed to be?” he asked the blond.

“I’m…” Steve paused to ensure there were no more guards. “Captain America.”

Jumping down the nearest ladder, the two of you raced to unlock every cell. You got a few odd glances, but none of the men said anything after watching you rip your arrow from the guard’s body and return it to your quiver.

“Is there anyone else?” your friend asked. You spoke up, voice still quiet to avoid drawing attention. “We’re looking for a Sergeant James Barnes.”

“There’s an isolation ward in the factory, but no one’s ever some back from it,” one soldier said. You and Steve nodded to each other. That had to be where Bucky was. He had to be alive.

Steve turned to address the crowd. “The tree line is northwest, 80 yards past the gate. Get out fast, and give ‘em hell.”

“We’ll meet you out in the clearing with anyone else we find,” you added.

“Wait,” one man said. “You know what you’re doing?”

Steve didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I’ve knocked out Adolf Hitler over 200 times.”

As you both sprinted away, you laughed under your breath. “You’re a punk, you know that?” He shrugged, not disagreeing.

Since all of the guards were handling the escaped prisoners, maneuvering through the facility was much easier, and before long, you were running down a damp hallway that you assumed to be the isolation ward. The tiles underneath your feet were caked with mud and mildew, and a permeating smell of sweat and chemicals lingered in the air.

Just as you both cleared a corner, you spotted a short, stout man carrying a briefcase. He stopped for only a moment before running away down the hall. Neither of you wasted any time before hurrying into the room he’d left.

On a table, strapped down and shaking, was Bucky.

“Sergeant… 32577…” he mumbled. You gently rested a hand on his shoulder as Steve tried to get his attention. He didn’t react to either of your voices, but the blond began to tear away the restraints nonetheless. “Is that…”

You smiled, nodding. “It’s us.”

“Steve?” he whispered, as if he thought he was dreaming. “(Y/N)?” You both lifted him from the table and you wrapped his arm across your shoulders, supporting him as he tried to walk on wobbly legs.

“I thought you were dead,” Steve whispered. “We both did.”

Bucky only looked him up and down. “I thought you were smaller.”

“C’mon, boys. We’ve gotta go,” you warned. The three of you ran back into the hallway, with the brunet detangling himself from you and trying to walk on his own. He seemed to be coming back to his senses, and he held his arm as he limped alongside you.

“What happened to you?” he asked. Steve, not feeling like explaining the whole situation, responded with “I joined the Army.”

You ran through the empty halls, slowly working your way back to the center of the massive building. Explosions began to echo. When Steve kicked the door down, you were met with a room engulfed in flames, the heat radiating off the metal.

Your little trio raced up the staircases, trying to escape the sweltering temperatures. Just as you reached a walkway across, a piercing voice cried out.

“Captain America! How exciting!” Johann Schmidt, in the flesh. He and the small man you’d seen in the hallway were directly across from you. “I am a great fan of your films!”

He and Steve began to approach each other on the walkway, while Bucky death-glared the scientist.

“So, Dr. Erskine managed it after all. Not exactly an improvement, but still, impressive.” With full force, Steve punched him, sending the Nazi reeling back.

“You’ve got no idea,” he growled.

When Schmidt rose back up, you noticed the skin under his eye was abnormally red. As if it wasn’t really skin at all.

“Haven't I?” he asked. Although Steve blocked his punch with the shield, you spotted a fist-sized dent embedded in the metal. Bucky jumped at the sound.

You laid a hand on his shoulder, stepping in front of him to shield him from the burning gaze of the scientist. Grabbing an arrow, you nocked it in your bow.

With another punch, Schmidt sent Steve tumbling down. In response, Steve kicked him far back as the two sections of the walkway split apart, growing out of reach and removing your exit.

“No matter what lies Erskine told you, you see, I was his greatest success!” The man grabbed at his neck and began to peel the skin back, displaying a horrific red face. You now understood where he got his name. The Red Skull.

“You don’t have one of those, do you?” Bucky mumbled. You snorted, pulling the arrow back a little further.

The Red Skull continued. “You are deluded, Captain. You pretend to be a simple soldier, but in reality, you are just afraid to admit that we have left humanity behind.”

“Unlike you, I embrace it proudly. Without fear!” With that, he and the scientist began to retreat through the doors.

You scowled. “Then how come you’re running?” Neither said a word, just closed the doors.

Another explosion shook the stairs. Steve ripped away a chain and ushered you and Bucky up the stairs.

“Come on, let’s go. Up,” he encouraged, letting you help your friend limp as quickly as possible.

Eventually, you found a way across. A metal beam, creaky and unstable. But your only way out.

“Let’s go. (Y/N), can you help Buck cross?” You nodded, leaping over the railing. The beam creaked, but you helped the brunet climb over anyway, slowly making your way across the beam.

Just as you both got halfway across, it began to shift, and it became clear that the beam was about to collapse from under you.

“Run!” you yelled, grabbing Bucky by the hand and diving for the railing. You barely made it, both clinging onto the bar for dear life before vaulting over to safety. Just as you leaped over, the beam fell into the fire below. But Steve was still on the other side.

“Gotta be a rope or something,” Bucky shouted.

Steve shook his head. “Just go! Get out of here!” You froze, the idea of trading one friend’s life for the other turning your stomach.

“No!” Bucky yelled. You joined in. “Not without you!” The blond paused, before bending back the metal railing and stepping back, preparing to jump the distance. Your breath hitched in your throat as he ran, leaping as more explosions echoed.

———————————————————————

Once the three of you had safely escaped the building and met up with the escaped prisoners outside, you hijacked the tanks and began the long trek home.

You were offered a ride atop a tank, but you refused, insisting on walking with your boys. The three of you were more than happy to be back together again, and the journey gave you and Bucky plenty of time to yell at Steve for doing the one thing you told him not to.

He told you both all about his USO tours, how he felt like a dancing monkey. He told you about Peggy, and while your first instinct was to call him out on his crush, he wholeheartedly denied it. Saying that, while she was amazing (and she really was), she wasn’t the one for him.

That conversation trailed into talks of marriage, and what you all would do once you left the war behind you.

Steve reasoned that he would have some fame from being Captain America, but nonetheless said he wanted to become an artist. A quiet life.

Bucky wanted to rest, mainly, but also showed interest in engineering and science. Maybe working as a mechanic. His main goal was to be done with this whole war.

And you? Well, you were content so long as the three of you stuck together. You figured you could get a job at the hospital, help some people.

You three easily passed the days heading back to camp, and when you finally began to hear the sounds of the soldiers, you were almost upset that your time was coming to an end. Almost. Your feet were screaming at you.

But you held your head high, striding into camp in all of your sweaty, dirty glory. Soldiers cheered as you all led the group, heading directly for Colonel Phillips.

Steve saluted him, immediately rushing to request medical attention.

“I’d like to surrender myself for disciplinary action.” You raised a brow, exchanging a glance with Bucky, who shrugged in response.

Thankfully, Phillips shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.” He gave a small grin. Steve and Peggy spoke for a second, and you noticed Bucky seemed to get more agitated by the second.

He piped up from next to you. “Hey! Let’s hear it for Captain America!” he shouted. Cheers and yelling rose up from around you, deafening clapping echoing through the camp.

Steve turned back to you and Bucky, an almost shy grin on his face.

“What?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Nothing. Just thinking about how we can’t baby you anymore.” He scoffed.

“Yeah, I’m sure you still will.” Another shrug, but he pulled you both into a hug anyway. “It’s good to all be back together.”

After a moment, Bucky sighed. “So, what now? HYDRA’s still out there.”

“So we take them out. I got a good look at a map of other factories just like that one.” The blond navigated through the crowd, searching for the main tent. He stopped, casting a concerned glance at you and the brunet, covered in dirt and more than tired. “Are you two up for it?”

Bucky agreed without hesitation, but you held up a hand. “On two conditions: They finally let me fight, and I never have to wear that nurses uniform again.”

The newfound Captain gave one of his shit-eating grins.

“I think we can make that work.”

———————————————————————

It definitely worked. After a brief demonstration of your skillset, Phillips agreed to promote you. While you weren’t given a rank, Peggy reasoned that you would be best suited as an agent, and began training you under her wing.

While your bow was your weapon of choice, she also gave you basic training with guns and knives. You also began brutal exercises for self defense and hand-to-hand combat.

During this time, Steve also began discussing putting together a team to take out HYDRA’s bases.

He had the group gathered in a bar, and after proposing the idea to them and their immediate agreement, he was feeling pretty content. Circling the room to find one of his best friends, he found him leaning against the bar, drink in hand, uncharacteristically quiet and alone.

“See?” the Sergeant laughed. “I told you. They’re all idiots.”

Steve sat next to him, still getting used to the feeling looking down to his friend. “How about you? Ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?”

“Hell no. That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb to run away from a fight.” He shoved the other man. “I’m following him.” Downing more of his drink, he leaned in.

“But you’re keeping the outfit, right?” In his drunken brain, Bucky immediately wondered if that was too obvious. Maybe? Then again, Steve seemed oblivious as he spared a glance to his show poster.

“You know what? It’s kind of growing on me.” With a light chuckle, he turned the conversation to his other best friend. “Speaking growing on someone, I don’t think (Y/N) will ever go back to dresses. Peggy brought her a bunch of dress pants and tops today.”

The brunet clicked his tongue, looking over his friend’s shoulder. “Speak of the devil.”

You maneuvered through the crowd, the dark dress pants and bright-red blouse seemingly draining your surroundings of color. Or maybe that was just your friends’ tunnel vision. Your hands were tucked leisurely into your pockets (your favorite part about pants, you found), the top few buttons of the top were undone.

“Captain, Sergeant,” you snarked. They mimicked you, letting out an overly-serious “Agent (L/N)” in unison. Your laugh rang out in the small bar, turning just as many heads as your attire did.

“Howard has some equipment for you to try,” you said to Steve. “He wants you there tomorrow morning.” You turned, listening as the group in the room over got more rowdy by the second. “I see our top squad is prepping for duty.”

“You don’t like the music?” Bucky asked. You shook your head.

“I do, actually.” Casting a glance to both of your friends. Maybe you were toeing a line. “Maybe after we get through all of this, we can go dancing.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” he asked.

You frowned. “James Barnes, I am not dancing in pants.” With one last smile to both of them, you bid your farewells. “0800, Stevie. Buck, you can tag along if you’d like. Might be fun.”

Winking, you glided through the throngs of drunken people and bit your lip with a grin. Watching the two fumble just from one little action bosted your ego far more than you’d like to admit. You hadn’t had this much fun since you’d had a crush on a boy in school and had flirted with him relentlessly, driving him crazy until he eventually asked you out-

Wait. You froze on the sidewalk under a streetlamp. You reran your past train of thought. When did the word “crush” come into this?

Resuming your walk, this time with much more vigor, you analyzed your own head. Of all the years you’d known Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, you’d never even considered lov liking them any more than platonically.

Sure, people thought you’d end up dating one of them, but none of you had ever taken it seriously. You all swore to be there for each other no matter what, and how could you do that if two of you were closer than the other? You couldn’t. It’d be unfair.

Besides, it wasn’t like you could choose between the two. Shaking away the strange thoughts, you made the last turn into camp, heading for your tent. All this training must have scrambled your brain.

———————————————————————

Once the group, named the Howling Commandos, was approved, you set out on your mission: take down HYDRA.

The raids were long and cold, but growing closer with the group made your time enjoyable. Plus, training Steve with his new shield was a gas. Watching him progress from hitting himself in the face to knocking Nazis from trees was a gift in and of itself.

Bucky proved to be an excellent marksman, sniping soldiers down in rains of gunfire. You often joined him, perched in trees with your bow and the modified arrows Stark provided. Your aim was impeccable, and you took out man after man with vigor.

Some nights you would have to camp in the cold. Jacques and Morita often would lead songs, flickering fires illuminating your campsites. Other times, you’d have to be deadly silent, always having at least two people on guard.

The one thing that stayed the same was you and your boys. The teasing never stopped, even in the midst of battle. And when one of you got injured, the other two were there to fuss over them.

The rest of the Commandos often joked that you three acted like an old married couple, and while it sent all of you blushing, you never denied it. You couldn’t really deny it when your plans for the future seemingly revolved around those two.

“You mean to tell me, you don’t have any big plans after we get through all of this?” Jones had asked you one night. You shrugged, absentmindedly spinning an arrow.

“Probably’ll stick with these idiots,” you’d chuckled, pointing to the Captain and Sergeant, who were arguing over where to set up a tent. “That’s how it’s always been; can’t really imagine it any other way.”

He hummed. “No special someone to go home to?” You snorted, shaking your head with a definitive no. “Well, I think you three’ll do just fine.”

You couldn’t help but agree.

For a while, the raids were small. Low-profile, calculated strikes on bases. And then you got word from the camp that HYDRA’s head scientist, Arnim Zola, would be on a train heading through the Swiss Alps. Right where you could intercept it.

You pushed through the cold and snow, finally emerging at a point overlooking the railroad that twisted and curved around the mountains. The wind buffeted your cheeks, numbing your face to the point that your words came out jumbled and slurred.

Morita and Jones listened to the radio, with the letter translating the German as it crackled through. The rest of the group began making their final checks of their weapons and equipment as you, Bucky, and Steve peered over the landscape.

“Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?” Bucky asked, eyeing the drop.

“Yeah, and I threw up?” Steve asked.

“This isn’t payback, is it?”

“Now, why would I do that?”

As they joked, you tried to stamp down that feeling in your chest. The stomach-turning dread. You suspected it was due to the high altitude.

“That’s one hell of a drop,” you called as the metal cable swayed above your heads. The rail overlooked a steep drop into a ravine, with sharp ledges jutting out from the mountain. “If anything goes wrong…”

The blond on your right shook his head. “Nothing’s gonna go wrong, (Y/N). We won’t let anything happen to each other.” On the other side of you, Bucky nodded.

“‘Till the end of the line, right?”

Jones piped up from behind you. “We were right. Dr. Zola’s on that train.”

A deep breath, an exhale of icy-cold mist that chilled your lungs and did nothing to abate the horrible worry gnawing at you.

“‘Till the end of the line.”

[daechwitatamic]

Chapter 5: Such a Bad Idea || KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Title: Complete Faith (Masterpost)

Pairing: Taehyung x female reader; {background SJ x OC, mentions of YG x OC, and HS x OC}

Rating: Soft R overall, this chapter: soft R?

Wordcount: 50k total; this chapter: 4387

Summary: It’s Taehyung himself who admits that it’s usually around the one-month mark that he starts to lose interest in his relationships. So even though you’re so drawn to him you can barely stand it… when you start dating, you feel like you’ve got an expiration date from day one. But will it be Taehyung’s issues that get in the way, or your own?

Alternate summary: coworkers to friends to lovers to idiots to lovers again

TW/CW: Full list on the Masterpost. This chapter: strong language, kissing, groping, literally one (1) grind, more vulnerability, Y/N talking the talk but not walking the walk, “soft hours” as @kookstempo put it 

Notes: This fic is complete and will be updated every Friday evening (EDT timezone). A HUGE HUGE HUGE thank you to @kookstempo for the amazing beta job tytytytyty!

Chapter 5: Such a Bad Idea

June

After dinner, you all decide to put on a movie. The storm has passed over and the rain slowly changes from deafening to a soft patter, and then stops completely. 

The couples take up the big couch and the comfy chair (Seokjin and Nikki haven’t moved in hours, you are concerned for their circulation), leaving Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung to squish on the little couch, which they do with much kicking and laughing. Namjoon sits on the floor, leaning back against the big couch, so you do the same, using the arm of the little couch to prop you up.

Taehyung has one knee bent up on the couch, but his other foot rests on the floor to your left. As the movie plays and you grow sleepy, you slowly find yourself leaning against it, your shoulder against his calf, your head resting on his leg just above the knee. About halfway through the movie, you feel light fingertips brush the top of your head once, then rest gently there for a second before retreating. It’s just a touch, innocent and sweet, but it makes you warm from head to toe. You try to bury a little smile, but you know you’re failing at it.

Gun to your head, you wouldn’t be able to recount what the movie had been about. Sometime in the second half, you stretch and pull yourself to standing, shuffling down the hall to the bathroom. You need to clear your head for a second, and you can’t do that when you’re practically cuddling. You aren’t even halfway down the hallway when your phone buzzes.

[8:51 pm] Nikki: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You laugh quietly as you shut the bathroom door behind you and lock it. You just bet Nikki had been sitting on that text, just waiting until she was sure Taehyung wouldn’t be able to read your screen over your shoulder.

[8:52 pm] You: idk what you’re talking abouttttt 

Then, without explanation, she sends you a picture. She’d obviously snuck it on her phone during the movie. It’s Taehyung and half of Jimin, plus you on the floor. You have your head against Tae’s leg, your knees drawn up to your chest and your arms wrapped around them, your body tilted to lean on him. Your head is down, your hair wavy and messy, and your eyes are looking up, probably towards the tv. You’re clearly smiling, a tiny, gloating, I have a magic secret smile.

And Taehyung… Taehyung isn’t even pretending to look at the tv. He’s looking down at you, his expression full of affection, looking positively soft, no other way to describe it.

[8:53 pm] Nikki: I’m just gonna let that marinate, baby. I just wanted to tell you…. I have never seen either of you look like that

[8:54 pm] Nikki: like damn, I’m sitting on the lap of the loml and you two have me feeling jealous

[8:55 pm] Nikki: Seokjin is nodding, it’s not just me

[8:55 pm] You: damn paparazzi, how much do you get paid for those candids????

After washing your hands, you head back into the hallway, which seems pitch black after the brightness of the restroom. You are making your way back towards the living room when you notice Taehyung making his way down the hall. You stop, waiting in the dark, letting him come to you.

He stops about a foot away, looking at you the same way he had in the lake, the same question written across his features.

“Tae,” you say warningly. “This is such a bad idea.”

“Why?” he asks, like the question is dragged from him. 

“Let’s start with you being single for, like, less than 48 hours,” you whisper, very aware of everyone just eight or nine feet down the hallway.

“That doesn’t matter. She didn’t matter. Not like you.”

You shudder – damn your traitorous body. He notices, and you swear he grunts before moving to close the space between you. He wraps one solid arm around your waist and tugs you closer, the other hand coming up and clutching the back of your head firmly but not roughly. He doesn’t move to kiss you, instead pressing his head against yours, leaning close, breathing you in.

“You have been driving me crazy all day,” he whispers against your hair. 

“Me?” you counter, leaning back to look at him, his hand still tight on the back of your neck, giving you fucking goosebumps. Traitorous, traitorous body! “It’s been you! The lake? That was all you.”

“All me?” he repeats, his voice getting that dangerous, low tone again. “You weren’t into it, even a little?” He lets the hand on your neck fall away, but keeps his arm around your waist. “Lying is bad, Y/N.”

Your name sounds like sin coming out of his mouth. 

“Taehyung,” you say again, not sure if it’s a warning or a plea.

“You might not believe me, but this was me trying to leave it alone,” he tells you, still whispering.

You can’t take it. You can’t take how badly you want him. Even now, held tight against him, you need him closer. Fuck it, you think yet again, and you stretch onto your tippytoes to kiss him.

There’s a split second where he’s shocked into stillness, and then he responds with an immediate groan of happiness, his free hand coming right back to tangle in your hair as he presses his mouth hard against yours.

You wrap your arms around his neck as the kiss deepens, and he releases his hold on your hair and moves to back you against the hallway wall, caging you in by laying his palms flat against the wall behind you. You cling to him, dizzy, reaching up to wrap your fingers in the curls at the base of his neck, not pulling, just holding. Your mouths open and oh, he knows how to kiss, holy shit. He kisses like he wants to devour you and you hope to God he will.

You nip at his lower lip and he growls at you, which makes you let you a shaky laugh, breaking the kiss. He rests a palm against your jaw and goes back in, gentler this time, at least at first. You bring your arms back between you and grasp his shirt, clutching the fabric of his t-shirt between your fingers. He drops a hand from the wall and brings it back to your waist, then trails down to the meat of your ass and squeezes, pulling your hips into his roughly. You can feel him hard against you, even through his jeans, and it makes your knees almost give out. He grinds into you, just once, and you whimper into his mouth as quietly as you can. His hand tightens on your ass in response.

“You’re so hot it’s honestly stupid,” you mutter, breaking away, and he laughs against your neck, setting you back down on the ground, taking some steadying breaths. Your pulse is roaring in your ears, your heart beating so hard it’s almost painful.

“Shit,” he exhales. You both just breathe, slowly detaching yourselves, trying to come back down to Earth. Then - “You should go back,” he whispers, and you can feel his heart racing under your hands, fast fast fast, like yours. 

“I thought you said fuck what everybody else thinks?”

“That was yesterday,” he smiles at you, full wattage, and you think dear Jesus, I am a goner.

He carries on down the hallway towards the bathroom, already so composed which is very unfair, and you run your fingers through your hair before making your way into the kitchen. “Anyone need anything from the fridge?” you call into the other room, hoping that if you come back with an armload of drinks the others might not put two and two together. It’ll also buy you another few minutes to calm back down, let the flush leave your face.

It's no surprise that you can’t sleep that night. You lay there, long after the rest of the house has gone quiet, your heart and mind both racing. You’re excited and scared in equal measure, but you feel like your foot is heavy on the accelerator and you can’t slow down what’s happening with Taehyung even if it’s the smart thing to do.

[1:13 am] Tae 😏: you up? ….i promise this is not a booty call

You literally laugh out loud, trying to stifle the sound so you don’t wake anyone up. 

[1:14 am] You: bummer….

[1:15 am] Tae 😏: lmaooo well you could probably change my mind on that if you’re so disappointed 

[1:16 am] Tae 😏: come talk if you wanna? I’m out back on the deck. The stars are crazy.

You’re almost instantly rummaging for a warm hoodie before creeping into the hallway. You head downstairs, which is lit only by the small light over the kitchen sink, and sneak through the living room. Jimin’s been sleeping on the couch, and he keeps weird hours. Luckily, he doesn’t stir, and you let yourself out the sliding glass door onto the deck. Taehyung is leaning against the railing, his phone in his hand, looking up at the sky. He turns when he hears you approaching.

“You didn’t answer,” he says. He’s back to being soft and gentle, his voice quiet. “I thought you fell back to sleep.”

“I haven’t been able to sleep at all,” you tell him. “I guess I have a lot on my mind.”

He lifts one arm, indicating that you should come stand there. You fit against his side and he wraps that arm around your shoulders and pulls you close.

“Look,” he says, pointing eastward. “The Milky Way is over there. We can’t see it at home.”

It’s beautiful, and the longer you look the more stars seem to appear. 

“Makes you feel small, right?” he asks.

“Are you high?” You poke him in the side, and he laughs. 

“No,” he protests. “Glad to see I can’t get introspective with you without suspicion.”

“Good,” you say, ignoring his whining, “because that would be a deal-breaker.”

This shuts him up. He looks at you quizzically for a second and then says, carefully, “I didn’t get the impression that you were very… uh… straight-laced.”

You look at those stars, more and more of them with every passing second. You are small. It’s the get over yourself that you happen to need in that exact moment.

“I’m not straight-laced,” you tell him, and take a steeling breath, “but my mom is a recovering addict. That’s a non-negotiable for me.”

“Y/N,” he murmurs, looking down at you. “I’m sorry. I never knew.” He pauses. “Thanks for telling me that.”

“I’m a big proponent of honest communication,” you deadpan. He laughs, holding you tighter for a second.

“Is that why you take care of your sister so much?” he asks, doing some mental calculating.

“Yeah,” you nod. “She’s been really good, actually, so lately she only needs me when she has a work thing or something… like when she has normal single-parent problems. But up until about three or four years ago, I was pretty much Sierra’s sole caretaker for months at a time, on and off. Mom would be fine for a while, then not so good again, then back to rehab… it was a whole cycle.”

He’s quiet, just letting you talk. You’re not sure what it is about this setting that makes you feel like opening up – maybe it’s him, not the lake, but you aren’t sure you want to give him that much credit yet. 

“Only Nikki knows,” you tell him. “Not even Jimin. I don’t like to talk about it.”

“I’m happy you trust me with it,” he says earnestly. 

“If something is happening with us…” you trail off, hearing the unsaid question in your voice, then you carry on, “- if something is starting with us, then you should know that from the get-go. There are times I will completely drop what I’m doing to go to Sierra, if I need to.”

“Sure,” he says evenly. “If you’re willing to sit through murder-violin recitals, I understand the depth of your devotion.”

You laugh despite yourself. “You’re unbearable,” you tell him.

“Unbearable and hot,” he retorts, throwing your words from the hallway back at you with a smirk.

“I’m going back to bed,” you joke, pretending to pull away. He tugs you back by your arm, wrapping both arms around you now. You didn’t take him for a cuddly type, but clearly he wants to be holding you. 

“I went for a walk this morning,” he tells you, still holding you tight. You wrap your arms around his middle, half for warmth, half because it’s comfy. “I did a lot of thinking about what you said last night.”

“I said a lot of things last night,” you say dryly. “It’s honestly a little embarrassing.”

“I am referring,” he says, laughing a little, “to what you said about why I… do that thing I do, in relationships.”

“Hm,” you say, Nikki-ing. 

“I think you were right,” he admits. “I think I want to see who won’t be willing to just… let me go. You said last night not to start anything with you if there was a chance I’d pull my shit.”

“Yes, I did, and I stand by that,” you tell him, “despite what my behavior all day might indicate.”

He smiles, shaking his head. “I can do it. I want to do it.”

You pull away so you can look at him, the smile draining from your face. “What?”

He clears his throat, all the cute cuddliness suddenly replaced with uncertainty and nervousness. “I want to… try, with you. I won’t play games. I won’t back out.”

“Taehyung,” you say, voice hushed, “you can’t promise me that. You can’t possibly know.”

“Yes I can,” he asserts, grabbing your hand and squeezing it in his. “I do know, I know I can do it right. Let me try.”

“Tae…” You’re at war in your mind, part of you screaming in joy, the other half screaming shut it down! 

“Just think about it,” he says, stopping your spiral before it can start. “I don’t need an answer right now. I just wanted you to know where I’m at. Proponent of honest communication and all that.”

“Okay,” you whisper. Your mind is a whirlwind, you can’t even pick out a single line of thought to follow it, it’s too much of a mess in there.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, watching your face carefully. 

You meet his eyes. “I’m thinking that I’m scared,” you whisper. 

He nods, wrapping his arms back around you, and you rest your face against his chest, closing your eyes. He kisses the top of your head, so gently. “That’s fair,” he murmurs. “But I promise, baby, I’ve got this. I’ve got you.”

--

You stand like that for a little, until someone behind you clears their throat… loudly. When you turn, Jimin is standing there, looking so fucking pleased, like the cat who caught the damn mouse.

“Pleaaaaaaaaaase,” he immediately begs. “Please tell me everything. I need to know.”

You and Taehyung look at each other silently. Finally, you wave a hand, as if to say, fine, but he’s your problem, you do it.

“Only the bare facts,” Taehyung hedges. 

“Fine,” Jimin instantly agrees. 

Taehyung looks down at you again. “We talked a lot last night after we left the firepit,” he starts. “Flirted all day today -.”

“That was you,” you assert for the second time. “I was just living my life.”

He ignores you. “We kissed during the movie, and now we are discussing the uncertain future. Did I miss anything?” He looks at you for confirmation.

You roll your eyes. “I’m going to bed. You dummies can talk about it all you want. Remember we’re going hiking in…. six and a half hours.”

You escape inside. You wish desperately you could talk to Nikki, but it will have to wait until morning. You fall asleep clutching an extra pillow, rehashing how Taehyung’s arms had felt around you, how his voice had sounded as he whispered I’ve got you.

You believe that he meant it when he said he could do things right with you. But meaning it and being able to actually do it are not the same. People don’t change overnight, you rationalize, and Taehyung went from playing games with the girls he dated (whether he did it on purpose or not was irrelevant, in your opinion) to saying he could do it right for you in about twenty-four hours.

This is exactly what you tell Nikki, the two of you trailing a good ways back from everyone else, as you hike a mountain on Sunday morning.

“Put in a pin in that part for a sec,” she requests. “I need a billion more details about the kiss.”

 “Nikki,” you protest. “I am genuinely struggling with this! Can you keep it in your pants for like 15 minutes and have a normal conversation?”

The hike is supposed to take about two hours to the summit, so you have plenty of time to talk as you walk. You fill her in on every detail – the juicy ones and the confusing ones, the physical bits and the emotional ones. You can see Yoongi and Ji-hyun ahead of you on the trail, but everyone else is so far ahead that they’re out of sight.

Nikki’s advice is sweet and honest but ultimately unhelpful – “You have to do what you feel is right. Follow your heart.” What a load of bullshit, you want to tell her, my heart is an idiot. My heart has zero concept of self-preservation.

When you reach the top, the trail changes from a dirt path to flat stone that you can follow out to the edge. Jimin and Jungkook are horsing around near the edge, which makes you immediately nervous, so you find something else to pay attention to.

Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Demi, and Ji-hyun are sitting in a small circle, their backpacks on the ground, clearly having a snack and water break. The remaining three are still over near the edge, but they seem to have stopped pretending to push each other into certain death and are now clearly taking pictures of the view.

Which, by the way, is stunning. You make your way carefully towards the edge as Nikki goes to join Seokjin. Standing, looking out, you don’t even know where to look first. The lake glitters below, the dirt road you’d all driven on to get to the trailhead as thin as thread from here. Other mountains rise to greet you in the distance, everything in between green, so green.

“Take a picture with me?” Taehyung asks, coming up beside you. He’s got that low voice on again.

“Sure,” you agree, running your fingers through your hair and glancing around. “Can we try to get the lake behind us?”

“I can manage that,” Taehyung says easily, lifting that long arm of his and tilting his phone so the lake shimmers at the bottom of the screen. “Ready?” He wraps an arm around your shoulder, and you wrap one of yours around his middle.

He takes two. In the first one he’s cheesing and flashing a peace sign while you’re smiling brightly and looking at the camera dead-on. In the second one you’re laughing, your hand in your hair like it caught you in the middle of fixing it, and Taehyung is looking down at you, his profile serious and unsmiling. Behind you, in both photos, the mountains roll into the horizon.

“Can I post these?” he asks, and you’re pleased that he has the courtesy to ask first.

“Only if you add me first,” you say, casting a coy smile in his direction. “I think that’s the proper order of events.”

He laughs, squinting to see his screen against the harsh sunlight. “Are we not following each other yet?” When you shake your head no he adds, “I will as soon as I have service again.”

Nikki asks another hiker to take a picture of your whole group, and you crowd together with the view behind you. The hike down goes quicker than the trip up, and you stay with the group instead of trailing in the back to talk.

Back at the house, you all eat a hasty lunch before starting to pack up. You’re in your room folding your dirty laundry back up to make it all fit in the suitcase you brought when your phone dings a few times. You see when you pick it up that Taehyung made good on his promise by following you and tagging you in a post.

You swipe to open the app and quickly add him back. Taehyung has posted the two pictures from the top of the mountain with a caption that reads:

she* takes my breath away…

*mother nature

“Too much?” he asks from your doorway, and you jump a little.

You just smile a small, polite smile, toying with the phone in your hands. Taehyung takes your silence with alarm.

“Hey,” he says, concerned, drawing closer. “What’s wrong? Do you want me to take it down? I was just trying to be funny…”

“The post is fine,” you say. You pause. “I’m just really in my head about… this. I guess.”

“Can I sit?” he asks. You’re a little worried it will turn physical and derail the conversation (and you’re only half opposed to this), but when you nod he comes over and sits about a foot away from you.

“Talk to me,” he pleads. “Tell me what’s going on.”

You love this side of him – so genuine, ready to take you seriously; but then again, you love all the different sides of him… the flirty, teasing side… the hot and cocky side… the cuddly and soft side… how he can manage to be all of these things just escapes you.

“Ah, Tae,” you sigh. “I just don’t know about this. I know you said last night that you can do it… but I really don’t want to be the collateral damage to that little experiment.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” he laments, hand to his heart in mock injury.

You give him a playful shove. “I’m being serious!”

“Y/N,” he says, “I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself. I’m not asking you to jump into a full-fledged relationship with me. I’m not asking you to be my girlfriend, or even be exclusive. We can take it as slow as you want.”

“If this weekend is any indicator, I’d say that neither of us is very good at taking it slow,” you point out.

Taehyung waves a hand at you, as if this point is just a bothersome gnat. “This weekend doesn’t count, it wasn’t real life. We were sequestered in a small space together with lots of alcohol and not much to do, it’s normal that things got intense quickly. It won’t be like that when we’re back home in our real lives.”

That’s a decent point. He knows he has you when you don’t respond to this.

“Let me take you on a date when we get home. Next weekend. Let me take you to dinner next weekend. Dinner and… something else. I’ll plan something, it can be a surprise.”

You feel like you can’t breathe. You look around, as if you’ll find the answer somewhere in the room.

“Y/N,” he says again, suddenly so quiet. “I know you’re scared. It’s only dinner. If you don’t have the time of your life you can just say no to a second date.”

I’m not scared of having a bad time, you think. I’m scared of having the ‘time of my life’ as promised and then having it ripped away. But you, the self-proclaimed proponent of honest communication, keep silent.

“I don’t like surprises,” you murmur instead, referring to his promise of dinner and a surprise. “I’m a planner. I like to know everything two weeks in advance so I can mentally and emotionally prepare.”

He laughs, and you pout playfully. “Don’t laugh, I mean it!”

“I’m laughing because I know you mean it,” he says, eyes crinkling with mirth. “So is that a yes?”

You look at him, fighting a smile.

“Is this your giving in face? Should I get used to it?” he teases.

“You definitely shouldn’t,” you assert. “It doesn’t happen much.”

Just then, your phone buzzes in your hand and you glance at it reflexively. You gasp, open the message fully and furiously type a response. Taehyung watches you, bemused.  

[3:16 pm] Ben: so you and the “just my coworker” guy, huh? Cute.

[3:17 pm] You: I’m sorry….. shouldn’t you be at a club right now? 🤔

[3:17 pm] You: also wtf stalk much? Get a life, Ben. Goodbye.

“You sure you want to do this? You’re not the only one with some issues,” you frown at Taehyung, sliding your phone over so he can see this exchange for himself. You feel weird, unsettled, definitely nervous. You don’t know if Taehyung will be jealous, or mad, or accuse you of still being interested in Ben…

But Taehyung hoots. “Ohhh, he’s maaaaaadddd!” he laughs. “You are welcome for pissing off your shitty ex for you!”

“It wasn’t exactly on my agenda today, but here we are,” you say with an eye roll.

“I can’t help but notice that you didn’t deny that you’re with me,” Taehyung teases, elbowing you.

“Shut up,” you laugh. Then, feeling bold, you ask, “Is it stupid that what I want right now is to kiss you again?”

Taehyung grins at you, moving to stand. “It’s not stupid, but… I think I’m gonna make you wait for it. You have to wine and dine me first.” With this, he winks at you, and heads towards the door. He pauses at the threshold, turning to look at you, smile fading. “You good?” he asks, and you know he’s asking about the decision to go on the date and the misgivings you have.

“Yeah,” you say softly, looking up at him. “We’re good.”

Next

Thank you so much for reading!

We are officially halfway! Chapter 6 will feature a First Date, Y/N trying to ruin everything before it even starts lol, and a Run BTS reference! I hope you'll enjoy it!

I want to shout out @kookstempo for never telling me no when I message her "Hey, I added three (3) new sentences to Chapter 9.... will you look them over??" and for being the sweetest and so wonderful in general.

[littlesniggy]

Hey! Just read your commander law x handmaid reader and I loved it! You’re so talented! Could you do commander shanks x handmaid reader? Reader falls in love with him and confesses her feelings to him but he rejects her? And then, to still be close to him, she asks him if she can give him a blowjob? Thank you!

One Piece x The Handmaid's Tale: Shanks x female reader

Ooooh thank you Anon for requesting for him! I love this dilf so much, I'm literally sipping for him so hard! He's just so sexy...🤤 Thanks so much for participating in my event!

So, you didn't specify if he agreed sooo....I chose for you...hope you don't mind. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: unrequited love, hurt, ns.fw-ish

Pairing: Commander! Shanks x female handmaid! reader

Word count: 2.1k

You watch him through the window as he comes home, his wet red hair clinging to his face while the rain keeps pouring down from the dark sky. You can make out lightning in the distance, the sound of rolling thunder following some time after.

You hear the door being opened and hastily closed again, then voices of greetings being exchanged before heavy footsteps make their way up the stairs and towards the master bedroom. Your heart starts pondering in your chest while the footsteps come closer and closer.

You are facing the open door of your room leading to the hallway, excitedly fumbling with your hands behind your back, anticipating the moment the commander walks past your sleeping quarter so you can catch a glimpse of what has to be the most handsome man that has ever walked the earth.

Your heart stops when the red hair appears in front of your eyes. It all seems to happen in slow-motion when Shanks comes into fill vision, right when he stops in front of your door, his face turning to look at you with a tired smile on his lips.

“Blessed be the fruit, Ofshanks.” He greets you. Your face heats up embarrassingly and you look down immediately, biting your bottom lip while you greet him back with a shy “Under his eye.”.

You wish he would stay there a little longer, maybe even come in and talk to you but he simply keeps walking until you hear the sound of a door closing. The, there is silence. Only your heart keeps beating in your ear almost deafening.

.

.

.

The more time passes, the more difficult it becomes to suppress the feelings that keep growing deep inside of you – forbidden feelings you are not allowed to have but that are keeping you awake at night nevertheless, forcing you to do things you never thought you’d do since you became a handmaid. Whenever your fingers started moving inside of you, you imagined it being penis thrusting in and out of you. You know what he feels like, you know how hot his semen feels whenever he fills you up.

There are times where you weak up sweating in the middle of the night, the throbbing feeling of your wet cunt demanding you to take action and give you the much-needed relief. But it’s never really satisfying. So, you’ve come to look forward to the one night every month where you can truly be with him (and his wife).

Tonight is not different; you weak up sweating and flustered, your hair sticking to your damp skin. You slowly sit up in your bed, your eyes slowly getting used to your surroundings, the dark of the night only being illuminated by the full moon. The pictures of your dream are still flashing in front of your eyes, your tongue quickly wets your lips at the memory of the things the commander and you just did and the sweet words of confession he whispered into your ear while he took you on his bed from behind, his big body pressed flush against your back, his hot breath panting against the shell of your ear.

You get up, knowing fully well that burying your fingers inside your dripping cunt won’t do much. You have to try a different approach and just walk it off.

The cool feeling underneath your naked feet of the wooden floor brings your temperature down and lets the dizziness inside your head slowly disappear. You welcome the thoughts that become clearer with each step you take and how the heat that has been pooling between your legs becomes nothing more than a peripheral feeling in the back of you mind until it’s completely vanished.

When you walk out into the hallway, your eyes automatically find the door leading to the commander’s room. To your surprise the door is not shut completely, dim light shining through the small crack of the door. Curiosity gets the better of you and your feet make their way over to Shanks’ quarter, the heat between your legs now omnipresent, hitting you like a wave and carrying you off to only God knows where.

You have seen his room plenty of times; whenever neither the wife nor the commander are home you’ve sneaked into the bedroom, inspecting everything but being cautious enough not to leave any traces. So, your eyes naturally wander straight to the bed which is standing to the right of the room, in plain vision of the door.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see Shanks standing in front of his bed, his naked back turned towards you, exposing his muscular back. He is still wearing his pants but it doesn’t take him long to get rid of it, leaving him in only his boxers. He bends down, giving you a delicate view of his behind and picks up his pants, skillfully folding it with just one hand. Despite only having one arm left he does not appear to be handicapped by it.

He disappears out of your sight and you imagine him hanging his pants away in the drawer to the left of the room, opposite to the bed. You hope you can take a glimpse of his body one more time before he turns of the lights, your mind trying to imagine what he looks like from the front; his dick clearly visible underneath the fabric of his boxers.

“It’s rude to stare, Ofshanks.” The door is suddenly opened and you are face to face with a bare broad chest. Startled, you stumble back and your eyes grow wide at the realization that you’ve just been caught snooping around by no one less than the commander himself!

“I-I’m sorry, Sir. I just wanted to make sure that you are okay since I saw light….” You look down, grabbing your hand behind your back, waiting for the scolding (or punishment). There is silence before you hear a slight chuckle. Confused, you look up at him only to see his amused grin on directed at you. You heart flutters in your chest at the sight and you look down immediately, not wanting him to see how much he gets to you.

“How nice of you, Ofshanks. Very considerate. But as you can see I am rather fine, right?” he asks, forcing you to look up at him again. You swallow hard as your eyes slowly travel up his trained body, me memorizing every muscle that stretches underneath his skin. When you reach his face you notice his warm eyes watching you carefully, making you believe you even saw affection in his eyes.

“Yes, sir.” Your throat feels dry when you reply, sounding almost foreign in your own ears. Shanks knits his brows together and tilts his head to the side, apparently also hearing the unusual tone in your shaky voice. You clear your throat and reply once more with a now clearer “yes, sir”.

There is another moment of long silence where you just look at each other, the tension – at least from your side – rising the longer the silence continues. The little butterflies continue going wild inside your stomach and it feels like they are about to burst out of your body, ready to escape this tension you’re feeling.

“Is there anything you need?” you hear him ask, now realizing that you must’ve looked very stupid just standing in front of the commander. He is alright; you have no reason to still be here! And yet you can’t bring yourself to turn around and simply walk back to your room (or jump off the roof to save you from even more embarrassment).

Instead, you just stand there, unable to move nor to answer. Shanks sighs and scratches the back of his head, also seeming not too sure what to say. He’s always treated you like a human being and not just like some incubator for his child. Maybe this is the reason why you started falling for him. Humane people have become rather rare in these days and even though he is a part of this messed up system he has managed to steal your heart.

“You should go back to your room, Ofshanks.” He says. “Good night.” He tries to close the door but with a surge of confidence you press your hand against the door, holding it open before you slip inside the room, closing the door behind you right away. Your heart kept beating in your chest violently and your mind can’t quite comprehend what you are doing. But you chose to stop thinking and instead listen to your heart. You simply need to do this – for your own inner peace and your sanity. You can’t keep living with this uncertainty, even if it means potentially being hanged in front of the wall.

“Ofshanks, what are you-“ but you cut him off.

His eyes grow wide when you wrap your arms around his neck, your body pressing against his hard muscles and your mouth finds his soft lips, the stubbles of his beard slightly scratching against your skin. You feel light-headed as you move your lips against his, his unique smell flooding your senses.

You’re too caught up in the moment that you interpret the big hand on your shoulder in the wrong way. Only when he starts shoving at you do you realize that is not reciprocating the kiss. Shocked yet unwillingly, you take a step back, your lips feel hot and long for his again. He still has his hand on your shoulder and keeps you away at arm’s length, a stern look on his features.

“Ofshanks, why did you do this?” he asks calmly but there is a certain tone in his voice that makes you wary not to say the wrong thing. But you have to.

“S-Shanks, I lo-“

“Don’t say anything you might regret later, Ofshanks.” He cuts you off, looking right at you with harsh eyes that have formerly been warm and almost soft. You’ve overstepped a boundary, have misinterpreted the signs that actually haven’t been there in the first place and risked your life just to fulfill some childish needs. You have to make up for your mess-up and you need it to be convincing.

You lower your gaze, ready to suppress all the feelings you have for him. It’s fight or flight and you feel like flight is not the right option.

You clear your throat again before you start speaking, not raising your head again. “I’m deeply sorry, Commander. I clearly overstepped my boundaries. What I meant to say was ‘I’d love to please you, commander.’” Your heart arches at your words but this is the only justifiable explanation other than you catching feelings for the man in front of you so you need to make the best out of this situation.

Shanks doesn’t seem to buy it though. Of course not, he’s a smart man and not easily fooled. But he can’t disprove you so he has to go with it. His hand comes up to your chin, raising your head to look at him. You still want to melt at the sight but you have to be strong.

“Please me? Ofshanks, this is not your job. You’re here to carry my and my wife’s baby and we will be forever thankful for that but this is where I have to draw the line. Now, please leave my room. I have to wake up early tomorrow and need some more sleep.” Your heart sinks at his words; he isn’t even attracted to you in this way? All this time, this has all been one-sided?

You have to suppress the tears forming in your eyes and you lower your head, nodding silently before you turn around, grabbing the door handle and open the door. You feel his eyes on you as you leave and the sound of the door closing behind you is like a loud bang in your ear, making you flinch.

Once you’re back in the dark hallway you can’t hold back the tears anymore and they start rolling down your cheeks, the immense pain you feel not even comparable to the pain you had to endure during your training as a handmaid.

Your last hope of what would come closest to love has been crushed by Shanks rejecting you. You feel betrayed by your own feelings; how could they have you believe that you had any chance of being with him in any other way than handmaid and commander? How foolish can you be?

Pathetic.

[tommystonsils]

tagged by @westerberg thank u so much!!! 💜💕💖💞💗

1. relationship status: single :(

2. favourite colour: oooh lots!! lavender, forest green, bubblegum pink, and seafoam to name a few!

3. favourite food: I also don’t have a straight answer to this bc i Love Food. Pierogi are a big one, but so is kimchi ramen. Also a rly good hamburger is the way 2 my heart. Oh and I’m a fan of figs. Figs w goat cheese, roasted, w herbs, in jam, YEEEAAAHHH

4. last thing i googled: literally the word seafoam bc “seafoam green”, seafoam is one word and not two……

5. dream trip: listen man i have been trying to plan a trip to minneapolis for like three years now and all sorts of shit always came up and i had to make a whole new plan every time. i love the midwest with my whole heart, if someone asked me “hey we could either go to chicago or italy” bon voy-a-gee i’m taking chicago every time. also i’m supposed to be going to mpls next summer so FINGERS CROSSED. also a huge ireland/scotland/wales trip would be so fun.

6. time: 7:52

7. last book you read: oooh it’s a boring book for school BUT i am currently reading The Hobbit and it’s rapidly becoming one of my favorites ever.

8. last book you enjoyed reading: Lemon Jail by Bill Sullivan. it’s about an hour and a half read, super short, probably some of the funniest Replacements anecdotes and it also gave me an even bigger appreciation for what Bill went on to do after being the mats’ right hand man. I’ve also read this like 5+ times now.

9. last book you hated reading: my case studies textbook for applied learning theory because my professor wrote the book and the structure of the case studies are extremely bloated and the dialogue is comically bad. anyway

10. favourite craft to do: paint + also i have a bedazzler……..

11. most niche dislike: when “new vinyl” comes out and you buy this overpriced reissued record and put it on your record player and it rains rice krispies on your stereo w all them snap crackle pops. stop trying to make new records sound old!!! i have literally had new records skip parts of songs bc the grooves were pressed incorrectly!! i’m not a fan of newer reissued records bc they all have that “we’re trying to make this sound old and beat up for your vintage vibes” thing

12. opinion on circuses now and in history: do not like them. many of them were once human zoos, the whole “freak show” with traveling circuses still happens at state fairs and it’s just rly gross and ableist. not to mention animal abuse which was literally the reason my family Never went to the circus. although i completely agree w @westerberg on ur comment about Paul bc yes!! i rly appreciate stagecraft and the art of show business.

13. do you have a sense of direction and if not what’s the worst way you ever got lost: sense of direction is REALLY BAD. i live on the east coast (floriduh) so I’ve tried the whole directional thing with looking at where the sun is but nope! worst way i’ve gotten lost was in middle school trying to find a class in a hallway that wrapped around, so I was speed-walking, panicking in a circle for a few minutes after the late bell.

tagging @kelly-jeanne @awesomgrlgr8job @nettys-girl !! c:

** i just realized i numbered this wrong LMAO im fixing it

[thebiscuiteternal]

“Paper Scraps”

Post-Canon, Angst, Hurt/Comfort...ish?, Reconciliation, Discussion of Suicidal Ideation, Ghosts, Implied Sangyu, Mo Xuanyu Gets To Be Mourned, Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang Are Going Through It

Series Link on Ao3

__________

"To what do I owe the surprise visit?'' Nie Huaisang asks, and his voice is so devoid of emotion that Wei Wuxian has to bite back a shudder, suddenly very much aware that he is treading in completely new and potentially dangerous territory.

Nie-xiong is as dead as his beloved elder brother, and the Headshaker was nothing more than a mask. All that's left now is Nie-zongzhu, whom he knows nothing about and threatened the last time they actually spoke to each other in person.

Still, he sucks up his nerve and plasters on one of his usual careless smiles. "We need to talk, you and I. Just you and I."

"Wei Ying-"

He holds up a hand to cut off Lan Zhan's protest. "How about it?"

"And what, exactly, do you think there is for us to discuss, Wei-xiansheng? Have I not been behaving well enough for your liking?"

Ouch.

"Okay, I deserved that," Wei Wuxian says as he waves off his defensive husband and friend a second time, suddenly wishing he'd just snuck out and come alone.

Then again, that probably wouldn't have gone well either, judging by the wary looks he keeps getting from the handful of Nie disciples who linger defensively near their sect leader.

Okay... okay. No more trying to joke around. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, then straightens his back. "I'm here about Mo Xuanyu."

Nie Huaisang’s face betrays nothing, but the fan in his hand snaps shut with enough force that it's audible throughout the room. “Everyone, please escort our other two guests to the main gardens so that we may speak privately.”

“Zongzhu-” one massive bear of a man starts to protest.

At the same time Lan Zhan moves in front of Wei Wuxian to growl “We are not going anywhere,” and the tension in the room ratchets sharply to hair-on-end levels as the situation threatens to turn into a standoff.

Wei Wuxian pinches the bridge of his nose to stave off a building headache, then reaches out in an attempt to tug his husband back. “Lan Zhan. I’m the one who requested a one-on-one meeting, remember? Literally just now?”

“He cannot be truste-”

“Wei-gongzi, he might-”

“Enough,” Nie Huaisang snaps, the unexpected whip-crack of his voice making them all, a few disciples included, jump. “Let me remind all three of you that you came here and none of you are required to stay. In fact, today would be much improved if you didn’t.”

“Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian hisses.

Lan Zhan doesn’t budge, hand still tight on the hilt of Bichen. “If you harm Wei Ying-”

“Yes, yes, you and the Ghost General will cut me open and hang me with my own entrails just to start with,” Nie Huaisang replies irritably, giving a dismissive wave of the closed fan. “I’m well aware.”

Judging by the startled and utterly appalled looks that cross Lan Zhan and Wen Ning’s faces, that had decidedly not been on the list of options of what they might potentially do. But the descriptive suggestion does work to knock them off guard, and Wei Wuxian bites his tongue hard to keep his expression neutral as the two of them are herded out without any more fuss after Nie Huaisang makes a short gesture to his disciples. “You did that on purpose.”

Nie Huaisang turns without responding to the jibe at all and walks off towards another door.

Ouch again.

He trots after the other man and falls into step beside him as they enter a hallway that’s clearly not for public use. Part of him wants to ask where they’re going, if just to break the uncomfortable silence, but he keeps his mouth shut.

They finally stop at a door that, when Nie Huaisang slides it open, leads to a tiny garden so deep in the sect's keep that the back wall of it is cut into the mountain itself.

And in that little carved out cave, shielded from wind and rain and snow, sits a funeral tablet on a table shrine.

Wei Wuxian involuntarily sucks a sharp breath through his teeth at the sight of it, his hand coming up to clutch at his chest. Guilt wells up hot and stinging and bitter in his stomach, then higher into his throat. Dizzy, he sways on his feet and is only vaguely aware of the hands that catch him.

Once his resurrection had been revealed, everyone simply accepted him as “Wei Wuxian”, not “Wei-Wuxian-In-Mo-Xuanyu’s-Body”, seemingly having just... forgotten that the face he has now once belonged to someone else. He had grown so settled into this body that until the dreams had begun, he had barely given Mo Xuanyu a second thought.

But right at this moment, staring at the name carved into that tablet, held up by the one person left who had remembered- had loved the original owner of this body enough to memorialize him, he has never felt more like an invader in it.

His vision, gone fuzzy from the sickening torrent of emotion, slowly begins to come back into focus and, for just a moment, he is staring through Mo Xuanyu’s eyes into the worried expression of Nie-xiong before the lingering memory clears to the more neutral face of Nie-zongzhu.

He is on the ground, his head in the man’s lap, and the sudden urge to cry hits him hard. “Do you hate me?” he asks without meaning to, voice coming out plaintive and half-strangled by his effort to hold back the tears.

“You were the one who decided there was nothing left between us worth salvaging.”

“I did. And it was stupid. But that’s not what I mean, and you know it. Do you hate me for having this face?”

There is a pause, then a quiet sigh. “No, I don’t.”

“Why?”

“If it wasn’t you, it would be someone else. Or something else. Yu-er was…”

Nie Huaisang turns his head away, expression softening into a complicated mix sadness and pain, and Wei Wuxian finds himself thinking that while ‘his’ Nie-xiong might be dead, Mo Xuanyu’s Nie-xiong might still exist somewhere deep under the protective layers of Nie-zongzhu.

He swallows hard, then makes himself sit up and looks again at the tablet and its small offerings.

“Determined,” he says quietly, finishing the sentence. A tiny wet laugh bubbles out of his throat. “I thought… I really did believe that you had forced him into it,” he continues, and in the edge of his vision, he sees Nie Huaisang flinch at the accusation. “But no. No. He... really was determined to see it out to the end.”

“How do you-”

“Ah.” He scratches his cheek, then scoots to face the other man. “That’s actually the reason I needed to talk to you. I’ve been seeing- fuck, dreaming his memories, I guess… though they were more like nightmares, considering what was in them-”

“Wait,” Nie Huaisang says, holding up a hand. “When did this start?”

“Mmh. Just a little over ten months ago, I think? Or maybe closer to eleven. The first one was of your visit right after his mother died.”

Nie Huaisang goes slightly pale at that, though whether it’s from the admission of the length of time or the contents of the memory, Wei Wuxian can’t tell.

He gets an answer when Nie Huaisang gets up and rushes to the table, returning with something carefully cradled in his hands.

It’s a spirit pouch.

His hands are shaking as he holds them out to accept the tiny burden, and he’s vaguely aware that he’s gaping like a fish. “Huaisang…” he chokes out when he finally manages to find his voice again, but that’s as far as he gets.

“I… have studied a lot of ways of finding and contacting the dead,” Nie Huaisang says, and Wei Wuxian nods along numbly because that makes a ridiculous amount of sense, given the circumstances. “I know what the ritual notes said, but seeing that there was still something left of Da-ge after everything that had been done to him…”

He reaches out and touches the pouch and Wei Wuxian finds himself thinking of a gentle hand ruffling his (but not his) hair.

“I’m just sorry it took me two years to get up the nerve to go looking.”

But you went, Wei Wuxian thinks. You went.

He’d never even considered it. It had never crossed his mind at all.

“Eleven months ago, right?” he asks, voice still a little squeaky.

“Mm-hmm. I should have written to you about this long before now, but it seemed like every time I’d prepared myself to send the letter, something would happen that would remind me that… well.”

That we’re not friends anymore.

That you want nothing to do with me.

Wei Wuxian closes his eyes and rests his hands in his lap, still holding the pouch as if it’s made of porcelain instead of cloth. “I probably wouldn’t have read it,” he confesses quietly. “Or I would have, but I wouldn’t have believed you. I would have thought it was a ruse, a setup-” A tiny, wounded laugh escapes his mouth and he tilts his head back to stare up at the sky. “Maybe that’s why I started having the dreams. His way of telling me I’m an idiot.”

“A little drastic on his part if it was.”

“Can’t say it wasn’t necessary.” The pouch gives a jangling, discordant little hum when he pets it, the fracturing of the soul within vastly different from what he’d felt from Xiao Xingchen. The pieces feel smaller and fewer, yet heavier. “Oh,” he murmurs when he realizes why.

“Oh?”

“The array was designed to consume the resentment of the caster based on negative memories of the person or persons they wanted to curse. That’s why the memories of you and the flashes of his mother were so vivid when the rest of them weren’t. That’s why you were able to find these pieces. He really did see you two as the only bright spots in his life, so those memories were spared.”

Nie Huaisang makes a choked noise in the back of his throat, and when Wei Wuxian turns his head, the other man is looking away in a clear attempt to hide his expression. “He was wrong.”

“A year ago, I would have agreed,” Wei Wuxian mumbles. “After everything he showed me, though… I don’t think he was. I get it.”

He takes a deep breath. He has never talked about this, not with Lan Zhan, not with Wen Ning, and certainly not with Jiang Cheng, even if they are taking tentative baby steps towards being less awkward around each other. He’s not sure he should be talking about it with Nie Huaisang either, but-

“I know what it’s like, just wanting everything to end. Deciding the whole world can go to hell. Maybe I didn’t intend for the backlash from breaking the seal to kill me, but I sure didn’t fucking care what it would do to me one way or another. Nothing and nobody could have saved me by that point. You couldn’t have saved him even if you’d dragged him home with you like Lan Zhan wanted to do to me.”

“Wei Wuxian-”

He ignores the little flutter in his chest that they’ve at least moved back to an address that feels less precarious than the icy ‘Wei-xiansheng’. “Let me finish, okay?”

“Okay.”

“So... So... Ah, fuck,” he mutters, gently shifting the pouch so he can scratch the back of his neck, trying to catch the lost trail of thought. “You know… I never questioned the clothing I woke up in when I was resurrected. As brutal and nasty as the Mo family were and as disgusting as that little shack was, it should have come off as weird that I was wearing such nice robes.”

There is a quiet sniffle, and Wei Wuxian pretends not to see Nie Huaisang wipe wet eyes with the edge of a sleeve as he continues talking. “He appreciated those. Appreciated that you tried to take care of him.”

He raises the pouch to eye level, and it gives another little crackly hum. “And clearly he still appreciates your efforts, considering his method of dragging me here to make me apologize for thinking the worst of your relationship. So, I’m sorry for that.”

Nie Huaisang gives a watery little chuckle and swipes at his eyes again. “Accepted. Is he… Is he alright? I only know how to contact souls, I don’t know anything about tending to them.”

“Honestly… I’m not sure what can be done,” Wei Wuxian admits as he begins another examination. “There’s really so little of him left, I don’t know what will happen if a purification ritual is attempted. He seems to be more stable as he is than Xiao Xingchen was, but there’s no guarantee he’ll stay like that. Still, I owe it to him to find some way to help him out, so I’ll do what I can.”

“If it would be easier for you to take him back to the Cloud Recesses for study, then… then you should,” Nie Huaisang says, and Wei Wuxian is a little bit impressed that he was able to make the offer despite how much it must have hurt.

“I think he’d be much happier staying here,” he says, then tentatively adds, “But that would mean visits, plural, and while I’m definitely going to have a very long talk with them about all this, I doubt I’ll be able to come without either Lan Zhan or Wen Ning… probably both at first.”

Nie Huaisang rubs his temples with his fingertips, his expression cycling through a complicated series of emotions too quickly for Wei Wuxian to follow, then he sighs. “We’ll figure something out,” he says as he reaches out and takes back the pouch.

Wei Wuxian can’t help smiling at the tender way he cradles it against his chest as he gets up to approach the funeral tablet and put it back in place. “Yeah. We’ll figure something out.”

[lunar-wandering]

“this house is a frickin’ nightmare”

so i. decided to write something for the ‘Sitcom’ AU, which is basically just the concept that post-canon, everyone lives in the same house.... its Fun.

Word Count: 2.7k

Read on Ao3

-

"Monkey King, get down from the fridge."

"No."

This exchange is what drew MK's attention to the fact that something was happening in the kitchen.

In MK's opinion, it was far too early for something to be happening in the kitchen.

"Wukong, I swear, if you don't get down from there-"

"What- you gonna stab me? Pigsy, you know full well that method is ineffective."

"What is going on?" MK asked, entering the kitchen and, well, seeing exactly what he had expected; Wukong crouched on top of the fridge, staring down at Pigsy, who was glaring up at him.

Still though. Just because he'd expected to see it didn't explain why it was happening.

"Oh hey, kid." Wukong said, taking notice of him. "Everything's fine, you can go back to your room, breakfast will be ready soon."

"It would be done already if you hadn't burned it." Pigsy said, gesturing to the charred remains of what supposedly had been breakfast. "Seriously, can't you follow simple instructions?? Now we've gotta start all over."

"It's not my fault I'm a visual learner." Wukong said, his tail swinging back and forth.

"It was three steps-"

"What's going on?"

MK barely kept himself from startling at the new voice behind him, turning around to see a very tired looking Red Son.

"Breakfast burned." MK said, catching Red Son up on the situation. Red Son hummed in contemplation, walking into the kitchen, picking up a piece of the unrecognizable charred food, and, ignoring the other's growing horror, he ate it.

"...Tastes fine to me." He said, going so far as to grab and nibble on another piece as he turned and left, presumably heading back to his room. The remaining three watched him go in shocked silence.

"....This house is a frickin' nightmare." Wukong deadpanned. Pigsy nodded in agreement.

"Aptly put. Now get off of the fridge."

"No."

MK decided to go back to bed.

-

It was commonly known, within the household, that somehow, Tang and Wukong continuously managed to get out of doing their fair share of the chores. No one was quite sure how they did it, as the two of them kept coming up with new methods every day.

Today's method was..... interesting, to say the least.

Somehow, someway, they had managed to remove their names from the Chore Roulette Wheel, without leaving any trace that their names had ever even been there. Which was, in fact, rather impressive, considering that the roulette wheel was literally a giant wooden roulette wheel, built by Sandy, and there were no empty spaces were their names used to be, they were just. Gone.

To be honest, MK would've never noticed if Mei hadn't pointed it out.

Now, there was a house-wide search for the two chore-shirkers.

"Found 'em yet?" MK yelled down the stairs into the basement. A few seconds passed, then a unanimous call of "No!" came. MK sighed. If the Spider-gang couldn't find Tang and Wukong down there, then they probably weren't there. (.....Probably. Wukong did have a lot of tricks up his sleeves, and MK didn't put it pass his mentor to use them for something like this.)

That checked off the majority of the house.... which only left-

An enraged scream (courtesy of Mei) from upstairs confirmed what MK had concluded.

They were on the roof.

MK rushed to the stairs, running up them-

Only to pause as he heard a yelp, and a flash of gold fell past the window, followed by a loud thud. MK leaned on the windowsill to look outside, just in time to see Tang fall past it. Wukong, a few branches and grass in his fur from his rough landing, summoned his cloud to catch Tang, before zooming away.

As MK would later find out, in the haste to escape Mei's wrath, Tang had actually pushed Wukong off the roof. Wukong, in return, had unceremoniously dropped Tang on the ground the first chance he got.

Both of their names were back on the roulette wheel by the next morning.

....They still managed to get out of doing their chores though.

-

"Oh, hey Macaque." MK mumbled, tiredly rubbing his eyes, and Macaque, mid-way through stealing a snack out of the fridge, froze like a deer in the headlights.

"Uh.....hey, bud." He said, slowly closing the fridge door, glancing at MK, who was obviously very tired, then looking at the clock on the wall.

2:43 AM. Okay, he could work with this.

"What are you doing up so late?" Macaque asked, leaning casually against the fridge in an attempt to hide his nervousness. If MK had been more awake, he would've noticed and called him out on it, but as it was....

"Just woke up.... wanted to get a snack." MK said, and Macaque quickly opened a nearby cupboard.

"Here, have this." He said, putting a cookie in MK's hands, before grabbing him by the shoulders, turning him around, and gently shoving him back towards his room. "Now go back to bed."

"G'night, Macaque." MK said, nibbling on his cookie.

"Goodnight, MK." Macaque sighed, waiting until he heard MK's bedroom door click closed again before melting back into the shadows.

The next morning, MK thought he had dreamt the whole thing. After all, Macaque had vehemently denied the invitation to live in the house with everyone else, surely if he had changed his mind and started to live with them, someone would've noticed.

....Right?

-

"Monkey King?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do you always sleep on the roof?" Red Son asked, "I mean, you do have a room after all, why don't you use it?"

"I just like watching the stars." Wukong said, reclining on his cloud. Suddenly, Mei and MK also appeared beside Red Son, with their arms crossed, looking unimpressed.

"You told me that beds were uncomfortable." Mei said.

"And you told me that you liked the breeze." MK added. Wukong's tail bristled a little, but he still didn't look over at them.

"Well, I mean, all of those are true." Wukong said, "Figured I would just... switch my answers up from time to time, keep things entertaining you know?"

"That doesn't explain why you slept out there in the pouring rain." Mei said, "In fact, the only time we've seen you sleep inside is when we have blanket fort night."

"...The rain was nice?" Wukong said, sounding uncertain. The trio narrowed their eyes.

"Is there something wrong with your room?" Red Son asked, and Wukong flinched.

"No." He said, finally sitting up and looking at them. "Really, my room's perfectly fine, I don't know where you're getting the idea that something's wrong-"

"You're doing that nervous smile again." MK said, and Wukong slammed a hand over his mouth in an attempt to hide what the trio had already seen.

There was a moment of silence, and in that moment, each member of the traffic light trio came to a shared conclusion.

No matter the cost, they would get into Wukong's room.

Almost as though they had actually planned it, the trio took off towards the staircase, ignoring Wukong's yells for them to stop. Hurriedly, Wukong summoned two clones, then rushed after the trio.

Red on got caught on the stairs, the clone grabbing hold of the edge of his coat and dragging him down. It wouldn't be able to hold him for long of course, his fire could quickly burn the clone away, but it would still manage to slow him down.

Mei was captured in the hallway, the clone pushing off the wall to tackle her, accidentally knocking her right into Yin and Jin's room, pining her to the ground as the twins yelped in shock.

...Which just left MK.

Having trained with the Monkey King, MK found himself easily dodging Wukong's attempts to catch him. Slightly out of breath, he skidded to a stop in front of Wukong's door, turned the knob, and opened it.

"I don't really see what the problem is, the room looks fine to me-" MK said, stepping into the room.

"Kid, wait-" Wukong started to say, but it was too late.

MK tripped, tumbling into the room, dispelling the illusion Wukong had carefully crafted and placed over it.

Wukong's room was a mess, to put things lightly. There was stuff everywhere- books, clothes, antiques, food, you named it, it was probably there. It was to the point where there was no place to sleep, the bed being covered in stuff. Which, well, that explained the whole 'sleeping on the roof' thing, but still.

Wukong nervously shifted from foot to foot in the doorway. Red Son and Mei, who had succeeded in freeing themselves, as well as Yin and Jin, who had gotten curious from all the commotion, stared over Wukong's shoulders, taking in the state of the room.

MK sat there for a moment, looking at the mess (and sure, MK's room was messy too, but this-), before slowly turning around to look at his mentor, a serious expression on his face.

"Wukong." MK said, and Wukong stiffened, his nervous smile growing wider at the sound of MK saying his name instead of his title.

"...Yeah?" Wukong said, chuckling nervously as MK's look darkened.

"...I'm getting Sandy."

"Wait, no no no-"

The rest of the day was spent cleaning up Wukong's room, sorting through the piles upon piles of stuff.

Wukong, in a bout of spite, still slept on the roof anyways.

-

Yin and Jin stared in shock at the scene in front of them.

Everyone in the house knew that Wukong and Tang adamantly avoided doing their share of the chores. (The roof-pushing incident was still fresh in everyone's minds, after all).

So that's why seeing Wukong doing the laundry was very out of place.

"...What are you two staring at?" Wukong asked, snapping the twins out of their shocked reverie.

"It's just....weird to see you doing the laundry, that's all." Yin said, and that-

Well, surprisingly enough, that made Wukong actually pause.

"It is?" He asked, slowly setting the laundry basket down on the ground, subtly nudging it under a nearby table so that it was now out of view.

"Well, I mean, with how you and Mr. Tang utilize every method possible to avoid doing the chores, we never thought we'd actually see you doing one." Jin said.

"...I see." Wukong said, quietly. "Well, in that case. You two saw nothing."

"Wha-"

Not giving them a chance to respond, Wukong flashed a peace sign, then vanished, leaving the twins to sputter in disbelief.

(Later, Macaque returned to the laundry room to pick up the clothes he'd left behind.)

-

Syntax paused as he stared at the sight before him.

"...What is this?" He ased, drawing the attention of the occupants in the living room.

"A braid train!" MK replied, and honestly, that's what it was. MK sat on the floor, braiding Bai He's hair, Bai He braiding Red Son's, who was braiding Mei's hair. Mei pulled one hand out of Spider Queen's hair to give Syntax a little wave before returning to braiding the queen's hair. Spider Queen gently weaved Huntsman's hair into a braid that looked above professional level. Huntsman was twisted at an odd angle in order to put some braids in Sandy's beard. And Sandy carefully created some tiny braids in Wukong's fur."

"I....see." Syntax said, holding up his phone and taking a quick picture before any of the braid train participants could notice.

"Do you wanna join?" MK asked, "You can either braid my hair or get yours braided by Monkey King. Your choice."

Syntax took a moment to think about it.

He ended up braiding MK's hair.

-

There was someone in the shower.

Now, usually, this wouldn't be such a mind-boggling thing, but-

All of the house's occupants stared at the bathroom door in trepidation.

"You sure Wukong didn't just accidentally leave the shower on again?" Princess Iron Fan asked, prompting some indignant sputtering from Wukong, who was sitting on Demon Bull King's shoulder. MK shook his head in the negative.

"No, I'm sure I heard someone moving in there." He said, crossing his arms.

"Why don't you or Monkey King just use your true sight and get this whole mystery over with?" Jin asked.

"Yeah, we've already been waiting for like, 20 minutes." Yin said.

"They're in the shower." MK said, "I'm not just gonna invade their privacy like that, regardless of who they are."

The shower turned off, and everyone turned to stare at the door again, in silence. There was some rustling around, and then the door opened.

Macaque. It was Macaque. Who, upon realizing that literally the entire household was standing in front of him, froze.

And then immediately tried to turn and run.

"Oh no you don't." Wukong said, jumping off of Demon Bull King's shoulder, and outright tackling the other monkey to the ground. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh, I live here?" Macaque said, sitting up and shoving Wukong off of him.

"You turned down the invitation to come and live with us though...." Wukong said, slowly standing back up. ".....How long have you been here?"

"Two weeks."

"Two weeks?!" Everyone went into various states of shock.

"How could we not have noticed you?" MK asked.

"You- you did notice me though." Macaque said, "Like, we had a whole conversation in the kitchen at around 3 AM."

"You think I remember what happens at 3 am?!" MK said, holding his head in his hands, and Red Son comfortingly patted him on the back.

"What happens at 3 AM stays at 3 AM." Red Son said, sounding like he was saying some ancient wisdom despite the actual sentence being utter nonsense. Yin and Jin snapped their fingers as a look of realization appeared on their faces. 

"That's why we saw Wukong doing the laundry the other day." Yin said, "It was Macaque in disguise!"

"....Yeah, I figured you'd notice if I didn't do some chores, just to clean up after myself." Macaque sighed, and Pigsy turned to glare at Wukong and Tang.

"See? Even the ex-villain does more chores than you two." He said, and Wukong and Tang purposefully looked away, whistling innocently.

"Wait." Mei said, "If you've been here for two weeks, and we haven't seen you use any of the bedrooms... then where have you been sleeping?"

As it turned out, Macaque had been spending his nights in the storage closet, curled up in the darkest corner of the room with nothing other than a blanket and a small pillow. The others, of course, deemed this as unacceptable, and pretty much near shoved him into one of the leftover bed rooms.

...Which he didn't even end up using that night, as it ended up being a night where everyone ended up falling asleep in the living room, blankets and pillows strewn about everywhere.

The next morning, Macaque wasn't there when the others woke up, and there was a brief moment of panic over the monkey's whereabouts-

And then said monkey walked back into the room, using the shadows to help him carry some trays with breakfast on it.

He paused when he registered that everyone was staring at him.

"....What?" He asked, "I woke up first, that means I had breakfast duty, right?"

"I mean.....yeah." MK said, graciously accepting his plate of food. "But, to be honest. I kinda expected you to burn it like Monkey King did."

"Hey, I did that on purpose. For Red Son." Wukong said, "Cause, y'know. He likes charred food. Apparently."

"You did not do that on purpose and we all know it." Pigsy said, "You were just as unaware of Red Son's dietary habits as the rest of us."

"...I literally just woke up and I'm kinda feeling attacked." Red Son mumbled, sitting up. "Should I feel like I'm being attacked?"

"No, you're fine, we're just calling out Wukong again." Spider Queen whispered to him, and Red Son hummed before rolling back over, clearly intending on getting a few more minutes of rest despite the argument starting to occur in the room. Macaque, for his part, remained standing frozen, with MK standing beside him, nibbling at the food on his plate.

"....Should I be concerned about this?" Macaque asked, staring at the fight taking place. MK shrugged.

"Nah." He said, "This is just the same shit as always."

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Part 1 of ?????

Started writing this fic a while ago and then lost faith in it. Should I continue? Feel bad for not posting much lately so I thought I'd share this. Read on and weigh in.

COME OUT TONIGHT

NO

You don't have to fucking shout?

Said the pot to the kettle?

Oh you grandmother The caps were an accidental by-product of voice-to-text Blame Siri if you're going to blame anyone

You have a Samsung Galaxy S20.

HAD. It got smashed. Worst luck. Listen, come out with me tonight.

Urghhhhhhhhhhhhhh I'm tired!

https://www.boots.com/wellness/vitaminsandsupplements/vitamins-supplements-shop-by-ingredient/echinacea

Hah (indifferent)

Just come out with me! Isaac has to go see some godawful student performance of the Antigone in wherever the fuck Chichester is and it's Sirius's flatmate's birthday party so I have to go and I don't know any of his weird mates

You don't HAVE to go.

Have to/want to Semantics

I'm not in a birthday party mood. I'm having a stressful week. My arse has been tense since Tuesday.

I will wade into the deep and massage your arse if I have to, just come It's a swank pad in Belgravia! I bet they'll have all sorts of expensive nibbles!

I read that as expensive nipples.

Those too!

Partying it up with the children of wealthy Tories. Sounds super fun.

Just come out with me, for fuck I'll pick you up at 7 and we can steal their silverware if it's boring as the grave

URGH I'll go but I'm NOT dressing up!

You don't have to dress up!

FINE!

*

take the drawings down please i'm begging you i'm actually begging you

Nah mate

siriusssssssss pleeeeeease

Nah

PLEASE

Nah

PLEASE ffs it's MY birthday!!!! there are going to be PEOPLE there! standing around! AT EYE LEVEL

I don't see what the problem is.

EVERYONE will see what the problem is! they literally will not be able to IGNORE what the problem is!

Sounds like a recipe for lively discussion to me tbh

that is NOT what i want people talking about at my birthday!

If I take them down, I'll have to take all the nails out and that'll leave nail marks all over the walls. It would be unsightly.

MORE UNSIGHTLY THAN YOUR DICK, SIRIUS?

My dick is bewitching.

DIE

*

She walks in expecting to find herself the infiltrator of a Made in Chelsea/Royal Ascot/Henley Regatta netherworld, filled with a gaggle of giggling, SW-postcode socialites wielding suspiciously powder-edged Harrods Amex cards in the place of horses and boats, but that's not what actually greets her on the other side of the lacquered front door.

What greets her is really quite ordinary.

Aside from the naked drawings of Kingsley's mate, which aren't.

Otherwise, the whole affair is pretty relaxed. People her age are clustered in their small groups, swigging beers. There's a table of oven-heated party foods, salty snacks and rapidly depleting ramekins of guac. She spies more band shirts than there are dress shirts. There's a round of Fortnite in full swing on the TV.

It's all just...startlingly normal. A normal birthday party.

And that's sort of embarrassing, really.

Where are all the visible Tory toffs, she wonders? Where is the braying laughter? The Eton alumni reunion? The glimpse of hunting-happy tweed and shotgun barrels as a coat cupboard door swings shut? Where's the indelible air of sneering superiority, of "we're richer and more privileged and better than you, so fuck the NHS and death to foxes!" that she'd been expecting? There's a fucking Henry Hoover in the corner of the hall, for Christ's sake. Lily came here to smile through her teeth at them all, to listen to the champagne problems privilege that bubbled from their lips and tell herself that she was the one who knew better, who thought better. Her plain white tee and skinny jeans and scuff-toed, high-top trainers were supposed to be a statement, a subtle setting-apart, but she's not even the most underdressed person in the room.

She pre-judged a house full of people. What's that about?

There's a lesson to be found in this. Perhaps.

*

James covered all of the dicks in Paw Patrol stickers that he bought from the newsagent on his way home from his mum's, but Sirius peeled them all off while he was taking a soothing lavender bath, so what's the bloody point in birthdays anyway?

It's early in the evening, and he's wedged—against his will—between the dining room bar and Shane Ruttle, who has just pointed at one of the many lamentable dicks and asked, "Is this one of yours?" which James kind of wants to thump him for. It's bad enough that he looks like a madman who stuffed his house with naked drawings of his brother, now people are actually assuming that he drew the damn things, even though most of the compositions are appallingly far beneath his skill level. He's a professional illustrator, for the love of god, and Shane is really standing before him like the posturing prick he is, asking him if he's the one who drew Sirius with one arm disproportionately longer than the other.

He knows that he should cheer up.

It is his birthday. There is cake.

Good cake, too, not the kind that gets buried in too-thick fondant that he has to pick off before he can eat what's underneath.

The problem is, there's also a party, and his friends are his friends, Peter and Sirius included, and Peter and Sirius can both get drunk much faster than James can. When Peter and Sirius get drunk, serious injuries tend to follow, Remus tends to fuck off in a flash and James tends to be the one who calls for an ambulance or mothers them back to health—physical, mental or otherwise. He has just turned twenty-six, and these repeated, drunkenly dramatic medical emergency scenes are starting to wear a little thin.

Can't a man get comfortably drunk and have a laugh at his own birthday party?

No, he can't, because Peter's already halfway to trashed, wobbling unsteadily towards the French doors that lead to the terrace, wearing that look on his face that says I'm definitely going to vomit or maybe even shit myself like I did on that one night we all spent in Munich with the Belgian handball team and the creepy tour guide who couldn't keep his sleazy hands to himself. For the sake of sparing the lawn such a punishment, James hastily removes himself from Shane, grabs Peter by the collar, shoves him in the direction of the downstairs loo and retreats to the safety of the living room, where there are, at least, no naked drawings of Sirius gracing the walls.

Most of the people in here are transfixed by Saffy Stephens, who is down to the last three in her Fortnite game and cursing like a sailor, but there are a small pile of birthday cards on the end table where James and Sirius normally keep their keys. He perches on the sofa arm, sets his half-drunk beer bottle on the carpet, pushes his dark, disheveled hair away from his forehead and begins leafing through them. It's a necessity when one lives with Sirius, who thinks nothing of swiping gift cards when the mood strikes him and he's had enough to drink.

They're mostly from his female friends, and all pretty standard, until he reaches the middle of the pile and finds a card bearing a picture of a moustached tabby and the caption: Have a Purr-fect Birthday!

The inscription inside is written in a lovely, swirling hand.

To Jasper/Jack/Jason/maybe Ja Rule?/J-something idk

(see above: everything I've learned about you from the friend* I came here with, verbatim)

(*who can't remember your name)

Happy Birthday! Thank you for (not) specifically inviting me, a stranger, to your party to celebrate this momentous event in your life. Please enjoy this festive card/social nicety/convention from me to you. My friend brought rum which you may prefer.

I'll be around. Not that you'll know.

LE

James lowers the card and twists on the sofa arm at once, eyes darting around the room in search of its author, as if they might be laying in wait to watch him read it and see how he reacts. Nobody appears to have ducked behind the couch, however, so the situation merits further scrutiny.

Obviously, he needs to meet this person.

A mystery! At his birthday party!

He perks right up after that.

*

She's coming out of the downstairs loo when a short, blonde man in a garish Hawaiian shirt barrels past her and pukes all over the chequerboard tiled floor, narrowly missing her jeans.

"Oh no," he moans into his wet hands. "Oh no—"

"There there, mate," says Lily consolingly, never one to judge somebody for getting drunk early at a party. She pats him on the back before squeezing past him and rejoining Kingsley, who is standing in one of this meandering Georgian house's many hallways, chatting to a bloke in a houndstooth sweater vest and holding two glasses of something very, very sparkly that she must try at once.

"It's like...it's like everything and nothing at the same time," Houndstooth Bloke is saying when Lily draws close, gesturing to a huge canvas painting of a rain-soaked fairground at night.

"Is it?" Kingsley asks.

"Mmm. Very." Houndstooth shakes his shoulders like he's slipping out of a robe. "Meant to be esoteric, I suppose."

That sounds suspiciously like pretentious bullshit to Lily, who doesn't find the concept of a merry looking fairground all that difficult to absorb. Kingsley knows more about the art world than she does, but he must agree with her assessment because he grunts and shoves her glass into her hand when she stops beside him, and more roughly than she deserves, as if she's the one who landed him in this mess of a conversation to begin with.

Trust him to find himself stuck with the only dick (not etched by a 4B Steadtler graphite pencil) in the building, and trust her to be stuck with the person who got himself stuck with King.

"What are we talking about?" she asks brightly, just to fuck with him.

"Drink your champagne, there's a good little hen," King mutters, his teeth clenched together, hallway lights bouncing off the smoothly waxed dome of his bald head.

"We've been discussing this piece." Houndstooth nods to the painting, but his limpid eyes narrow on Lily's face. "Christ, you're very redheaded, aren't you?"

It's decided. She'll wait 'til Houndstooth is drunk and trip him up with Henry Hoover's hose.

"Ergo soulless, yes," she agrees.

"And you...enjoy that?" he asks, as if being redheaded is her profession.

"Very much, thanks."

"Hmmp. Well. I came here with Saffron," he announces, pronouncing it Sef-ron. As if Lily is supposed to know who that is. "Platonically, of course. Actually, we're some sort of cousins, I think. What do you think the artist is trying to convey?"

He's very pointedly asking her, so Lily blinks at the painting, her eyes on the outstretched arm of a child on the carousel.

"I like the pretty colours," she decides aloud.

"Right," says Houndstooth, "but that's not—"

"And the lights, too. The lights are really pretty."

"But—"

"I love funfairs, actually," she brightly continues, finding a strange satisfaction in playing dumb in front of Houndstooth and his overbleached fade. Although she does really like the colours. "Haven't been to one in years!"

"Yes, good, whatever, but what is the artist trying to convey?"

"What artist?" comes a voice from behind them.

Lily glances over her shoulder and finds herself looking up at the man whose penis she's spent the past thirty minutes avoiding eye contact with, though he is taller, better proportioned and infinitely more beautiful than any of those crudely drawn depictions could possibly convey. He is also beplumed and bejewelled like a pirate, wearing a sumptuous velvet jacket over a loose white shirt, numerous rings on his fingers and an assortment of silver chains around his slender neck, while his grey eyes and elegantly high-set cheekbones are framed by a tumble of black hair that genuinely looks like silk.

The man is so beautiful, in fact, that Lily immediately wonders why he's been taking sketches home from the life drawing class that he and Kingsley pose for—hence their acquaintance and Lily's presence at this party—when nothing she's seen tonight has done him any justice.

Most happily, his penis is tucked safely out of sight.

"Alright, Sirius?" says King.

"Alright, Marvel?" Sirius claps a hand to the taller man's massive shoulder. Kingley's muscles bulge in a way that cannot be hidden by modern habiliments. "What are we talking about?"

"Not much." Houndstooth looks put out by the arrival of yet another person. "We were just mesmerised by this piece."

Lily refrains from gesturing to the painting with both hands and a "ta-dah!" choosing instead to sip her champagne.

It's very good champagne. Mmm. Yes.

"Oh, yeah, it's really something," Sirius agrees. He brushes past Kingsley and runs a finger over the illegible squiggle of a signature on the canvas. His nails are beautifully manicured. "Local guy, young up-and-comer. I assume you've heard of Algernon?" he asks Houndstooth, fixing him with a steely-eyed stare.

"Er, yes." Houndstooth's gaze slides from Sirius to the painting. "I know him."

Sirius's eyebrows lift. "Know him personally?"

"Well—"

"That's so weird, I heard he never speaks to people."

Houndstooth chews on the inside of his cheek, weighing up the challenge. "How…funny."

"Funny?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just, I know I've spoken to him before, and since you've bought his painting I assumed that you'd have—"

"That is funny, actually," Sirius interrupts, "because the artist is my brother, and Algernon is the name of his cat."

Kingsley has been tugging on his earring and almost rips it out of his ear as his body convulses, champagne spraying from his nostrils, while an alarming red flush sweeps across Houndstooth's face and he begins to sputter on his own self-importance. Sirius has clearly decided that he's done with all of that noise, however, because he turns back to Lily instead, looking her up and down with great and sudden interest.

"Who's this then?" he asks Kingsley, cocking his head to one side. "James's present?"

The champagne glass swings down and Lily fixes him with a deadpan stare. "Excuse me?"

Sirius slants a grin at Kingsley, a quick flash of teeth. "This one's queenly, isn't she?"

Kingsley wipes his nose with the back of his hand and laughs again. "Hardly."

"This is Primark, mate," Lily retorts, tugging on her t-shirt.

"Queenliness is a state of mind," says Sirius, "not a state of wardrobe."

"You had me marked down as a prostitute not ten seconds ago."

"Oh, that. I was only joking," he sighs, and grips her arm at the elbow, his long fingers cool against her skin. "But still, you're far too attractive to stand here talking to this clown. Come with me and I'll find you someone better."

*

James's friends are useless.

And drunk. Useless and drunk—or sort of drunk, in Saffy's case. Remus is certainly already pissed, but Remus is on meds so often that he drinks but once in a blue moon. One cocktail is usually enough to set him off, and he's been hard at the gin since he turned up with Peter at six.

"I don't know anyone with those initials," Saffy declares, once she has read, examined and even sniffed the birthday card for clues. "Except for Lisa Edelstein."

"Who's Lisa Edelstein?"

"Cuddy from House," says Remus, lowering the negroni from which he has been drinking deeply.

James pulls a face. "What the fuck is a Cuddy?"

"Oh, actually, it could mean le?" Remus suggests.

"Yes!" Saffy points at him like he might be onto something. "Like the French word for the?"

"Exactly, like—"

"It doesn't mean that!" James interrupts, unwilling to allow such profanity in his home. "That doesn't make sense, why would somebody sign their name as the?"

"Now you're asking me to explain how French people think?" says Saffy derisively, adjusting her bra strap beneath that burnt orange waistcoat she loves, the one that makes her look like she's directing a pornographic movie in the 70s when she pairs it with her tortoiseshell-framed aviators. It clashes wildly with her electric blue buzz-cut. "Am nooooo drunk enough for that."

"They could be one of those one word moniker pop stars, I suppose," Remus pipes up, smiling slyly. "You know, like Madonna?"

They think James doesn't realise that they're taking the piss out of him, but neither of them are sober enough to attempt their gambit with any kind of subtlety or grace.

"You know that's actually her real Christian name?" says Saffy.

Remus turns towards her with interest. "What, Madonna?"

"Yeah!"

"Really?"

"Yeah!" Saffy repeats. "I thought it couldn't possibly be her real name because, I mean, Madonna, yeah? But then I looked it up and apparently that's the name her mummy gave her, just goes to show—"

"I'm sorry," James interrupts, "but is Madonna relevant to this conversation?"

"Yes, always," says Saffy.

"She's an international pop megastar," Remus seconds.

James stares at his friend incredulously. "Drinking really chips away at your wit, y'know?"

"Does it?" Remus grins lazily and jiggles his cocktail in the air. "Oh, well, I'm negronly joking."

Saffy does a spit-take without the spit and clings helplessly to Remus's shoulder as she laughs, knees buckling, bangles tinkling, but James fights his own urge to start snickering.

"It's not that funny," he lies, and Remus eyes him with an alarmingly teacher-like shrewdness, despite the tellingly intoxicated flush that has crept into his thin, freckled face.

James's love of puns is tragically well known.

"You didn't get it." Remus points at his drink. His speech is starting to slur. "This is a negroni, what I said was—"

"Yeah, I got that part, I just—"

"Jesus fuck, look at her!" Saffy suddenly hisses, staggering sideways into Remus and sending him into the wall in a flurry of giggles—Remus giggling?—her voice hushed and urgent. "Who the hell is that?!"

James does look, following the direction of Saffy's gaze. Sirius has just entered the living room, casually clutching the elbow of a……

……goddess.

An actual. Like. Goddess.

A goddess. In James's house. In his living room. In the place where he eats his chocolate boulder cereal and rewatches Scrubs (even season 9, which is hilarious, and very unfairly disparaged by Joe Public) on Saturday mornings.

She's a goddess. A real one, and cleverly disguised as a mortal, sure, with her slouchy white t-shirt and her big hoop earrings and her light blue jeans that are torn at the knees, wearing her shoulder-length red hair half up, half down and slightly messy, but that doesn't hide what she is.

"Oh my god," he murmurs. His heart is pounding all of a sudden, which is so...utterly bloody stupid, but Saffy's right, bloody look at her, Jesus fuck.

"Surely she can't be with Sirius?" Saffy murmurs back.

"No, she—" He watches Sirius lean down to mutter something in the redhead's ear. A ghost of a laugh flits across her beautiful face. "She's not his—he isn't—"

"D'you think—"

"No, I—"

"Good," says Saffy firmly. She lets go of Remus and rises, lengthening her spine. It is a battle stance of some sort, presumably. "Because I saw her first."

"No!" James cries, wounded, and the redhead shoots him a curious look with a pair of eyes that are startlingly emerald green, even from all the bloody way over here. He spins to face Saffy and lowers his voice, face burning. "It's my house!"

"What are you arguing here, ownership rights?"

"No but it—it's my birthday!" James retorts, jabbing at his own chest. "And, actually, and—"

"It's in the bloody post!"

"—you didn't get me a present!" he finishes in triumph, not that he knows what he's arguing for, because the likelihood is that his tongue will glue itself to the roof of his mouth if he even dares to look in her direction one more time. "Plus I set you up with Vanya Petrich, with whom, as I recall, you enjoyed four years—"

"Stop throwing that in my face!"

"—four blissful years—"

"Is it my fault that you've never fancied any girl I've set you up with?!"

"—promised me an Easter ham for setting you up with her and I never got it—"

"So now you'll trade a woman for a ham?" Saffy accuses, though her face is too lit up, her brown eyes too crinkled at the corners—she's having fun with this and she isn't going to fool him and she knows it. "That's so low, even—"

"Don't start with that," James scathingly cuts in. "You offered me Sean Connery's autograph for Bonnie Grogan's number—"

"Which you never gave me!"

"Because you forged the bloody signature!"

"And now she's bloody married!"

"Yeah, well, Isabella wouldn't give me a counterfeit present, would she?" he retorts, and Saffy lets her shoulders drop, smirking. "This is pointless, Saf, we can't—"

"She's just left with Sirius," Remus informs them, and burps.

[magalidragon]

paris is always a good idea | a Jonerys Drabble

Thank you @youwerenevermine​ for my wonderful birthday gift, I love it so much and I love Paris so much and Jonerys and you for making this for me so I felt inspired and wrote a quick little drabble thing, lol. It’s only the fourth time I’ve written Jonerys in a modern, non-Westeros world, but it was fun!  And I wanna’ go back so much!  Paris, je t’aime!

They met while in university, oddly enough, as fate would have it, on her birthday.

She had been there to study art, for a year abroad, savoring every last second wandering the wide, arched hallways of the Louvre, staring at grand masters for hours on end, burning the vibrant colors and mesmerizing brushstrokes into her memory, wishing she could be as good as them one day.  One day, someone would have her art in their house, and proudly boast they'd gotten it back when she was but a nobody, painting on the streets or in the grassy parks.  

Since it was her birthday, she decided to treat herself, and instead of heading straight to the university to get some time in the studio, she decided to get an ice cream at Berthillon, heading to the Ile-St-Louis instead of to the metro, taking her time to admire, as she often did, the glory of Notre Dame, it’s gargoyles and buttresses.

At the glacier she took her time selecting a flavor, did not even mind paying the exorbitant price and shouldered through tourists taking refuge from a cold rain that had begun to fall. She savored it, the clean water bouncing off her peat coat and the beanie she’d tugged over her silver hair.

She was about to set off, to eat her ice cream and wander into the Marais, perhaps drop down into the Latin Quarter— maybe take a trip to Chanel or Dior or Celine to admire the creations she couldn’t afford— when her ice cream went flying, straight onto the wet sidewalk. Where a mass of pidgins attacked it with gusto.

“Merde! Faites attention!” she shouted, stomping her Doc Marten on the ground in petulant annoyance.

The man who had bumped her because he’d been roughhousing with another friend had been apologetic.  He bought her another and said his name was Robb Stark. He was from Scotland, was on spring break with his buddies, which she didn’t care about. To apologize he invited her for a drink, especially when the worker who she’d told it was her birthday had commented on it again when she got another ice cream.

She figured why not?  He was attractive, sorry, and nice enough so she agreed, although she had commented his French was terrible best to speak English. “You’re English?” he had teased.

“Half and half,” she answered. English father, French mother.

At the comptoir where she suggested they meet, in Montmartre, she brought her roommate Missandei and Missandei’s boyfriend Grey. It was just a drink and they’d leave and go to the dinner Missandei planned to take her to anyway.

Except that’s where she met him.

The dark, brooding figure at the tiny table in the corner, ignoring Robb and Robb’s friend Theon, and a couple others, favoring silence and his drink. He was in all black, barely acknowledging her and slipped out for a smoke when Robb began to shamelessly flirt. She didn’t care about Robb, she cared about him.

Jon.

She exited, saw him lighting a cigarette against a lap post. She flicked her coat collar up and sidled towards him. “Puis-j’en avoir un?”

“Sorry I don’t speak,” he began, and his eyes— black in the orange lamplight glow— flicking to her. He smiled gently “French.”

She smiled and repeated her question in English.  “Can I have one?  A smoke  that is?”

He stuck the cigarette between his pouty, sinful lips, framed with a cropped dark beard, and reached into his coat pocket, removing a pack. She took one delicately and he lit it, cupping his hands around the tip so the wind didn’t blow it out.

A stream of smoke escaped her nostrils when she puffed and she smiled up at him, hoping he got the hint. “Do you like Paris?”

“Not especially.”

“Aw come on,” she teased. She hummed, closing her eyes and taking in the cold night. The electric buzz is people on the street and at the cafes and bars around them. “Paris is always a good idea.”

“Someone famous said that.”

“Audrey Hepburn.”

He sucked on the cigarette and smiled, a tiny one, the curve of his lip sly rather than shy.  “You aren’t in there with the rest of them.”

“Because it’s my birthday and I want to do what I want to do.”  She stubbed the cigarette out on the post and turned, disposing it in the bin by the door.  A quick text to Missandei: I’m going to skip dinner, I think I have a date, she turned and studied him.  “I’m…”

“Dany,” he said. He shrugged, finishing his smoke. “I remember.”  

Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t think you were listening when Robb introduced me.”

“I was.”  He pulled the tartan scarf around his neck tighter.  He glanced towards Sacré-Cœur, illuminated white in the lights around its base. He smirked at her.  “You going back in?”

She shook her head. “No,” she drawled. She followed his gaze to Sacré-Cœur. “Have you been up there?”

“No.”

“You should. Some of the best views of Paris.”

He chuckled, voice tight. “You should invite Robb.”

“I think he might be a third wheel.”

It took him a second, the gears in his mind turning, understanding what she was saying. He cocked his head. His black curls were in a mess around his face. A few scattered rain drops landed on them, and he shook it free like a dog. Or a wolf, she thought, noting the animal embroidered on the edge of his scarf.

He narrowed his eyes again. “I told you I don’t really like Paris.”

“Why?”

“It’s loud. Busy. Dirty.”

She laughed. “Every city is like that but in Paris it’s different.”

“Why?”

Her bravado got the better of her and she stepped towards him, linking her arm through his. If he didn’t get it now, he was a stupid fool who deserved it when she kicked him into the gutter. “Because,” she murmured, rising to her toes, trying to gaze as directly as she could into his eyes, which she now saw were actually gray. His breathing quickened. “You’re with me.”

The wolf got the point with that comment. He allowed her to keep her arm around his and lead him towards the cathedral.  They spoke of nothing and anything on the long walk through Montmartre to the highest point in the city.  

He was in Paris for a research trip.  He was studying medieval weapons and was going out to Bayeux to study some relics. His cousin Robb and friends came along for the free trip.  They spoke about being starving artists in their field-- her literally an artist as it were.  They talked about Paris-- how much he disliked it, how much she adored it.  The top of Sacre-Coeur might have changed his mind, but he pretended he still didn’t get the appeal, so she dragged him back down to the streets, to her favorite all-night boulangerie, into the metro and across town to the Eiffel Tower, spinning in circles on the Champs du Mars.  They ran across the Pont-de-la-Concorde and across the Tullieries.  They wandered down the Seine, smoked cigarettes in the doorsteps of old buildings in the Latin Quarter, and drank cheap wine in one of the tourist-cafes near the Jardin du Luxembourg.  

They meandered back through the streets, the city oddly quiet, the rain stopping, and she brought him to her garret studio in the Bastille, up the six flights of stairs to the top of the building, where she shed her coat and boots adn scratched her fat cat Drogon’s ears, leading him to the wrought-iron bars in one of the four windows she had, pushing the window open and crawling out, up onto the roof where she wanted to show him something.  

“Look,” she directed, when he climbed up next to her-- less gracefully-- pointing to the lit-up Eiffel Tower.  

He cursed under his breath.  “It’s gorgeous.”

“It’s my favorite place in Paris.  The rent is steep, but it’s worth it for this.”  She chuckled.  “And it has the best view.”

He whispered.  “Yes, it does.”  

And to her surprise, since she didn’t realize the time, the tower began to twinkle, the 20,000 lights across its metal beams flickering and she glanced sideways; he wasn’t watching the tower, but her face.  She arched her brows.  “You know, the lights twinkle for five minutes every hour, on the hour.”  She smiled and shrugged, whispering.  “It’s a sign that you’re supposed to return to Paris.”

Instead of saying anything, like how silly that was, he leaned in and cupped her face in his wide palm, callused and warm, bringing her face to meet his, kissing gently, in the twinkly glow of the lights.  He pulled back a moment later, breathing, “I think I like Paris.  And you’er right...this place has the best view.”  His eyes were wide on hers, focused.  She chuckled, nodding in agreement, and pulled him back to her for another kiss.

That night she savored every moment with him, as they pulled each other’s clothes off slowly, kissing and touching, every smooth curve and muscle of each other, each hard ridge and plane of his strong, muscular body or her soft, lean one.  He touched her and kissed her and stroked her in ways she’d never experienced, bringing her to heights she’d only dreamed about.  It was intense, the lights behind her closed eyelids when she came, over and over, gripping his shoulders, hair, the bedframe behind her.  He rose up and over her, in and out, their bodies moving as one, thrusting and arching.  

She didn’t know if she’d see him again; if this was a one-time, romantic Parisian adventure, but in the morning when she woke, she found him coming back inside from getting pastries and coffees, the faintest scent of cigarettes and her toothpaste on his lips when he kissed her good morning.  

They exchanged their information, vowing to speak daily, and he would see her when he got back from Bayeux.  She couldn’t believe when he did call and he kept his word.  “When you lie, words lose their meaning,” he’d explained, obviously reading her surprise.  

And when her year ended in Paris, she found herself in London, back at university, dreaming of their magical time there, even when they made time for each other, going back and forth from London to Edinburgh; and he from Edinburgh to Paris during the last couple of months of her year there.  

They made it a priority; every single year they spent time in Paris, like they were students again, on that magical night.  

They grew older, no longer needing to find the cheapest drinks and cigarettes, or staying in studio garrets, eventually able to experience some of the best hotels and restaurants the city had to offer, as he sold books and became a well-known author and professor, and her dream of becoming a famous artist came true, when sure enough, someone bought one of her paintings on the side of the Seine, someone who happened to be an art dealer in New York.  

It was their city, where they met, and where they could remember.  

After they married, about fifteen years after that fateful birthday, they visited again, and spun together on the Pont-Neuf, kissing and murmuring how they loved each other and always would, and he took her back to the tiny studio garret, which was now theirs, and sat on the rooftop and watched the Eiffel Tower sparkle.  

“Paris is always a good idea,” she murmured, head in the crook of his neck, her back to his front, wrapped in a warm blanket, and his arms tight around her middle.  She tilted her face up to his, sated, and still hopelessly in love with him.  “Take me to Paris, Jon.”

He nuzzled his nose into her cheek, whispering.  “You are Paris, Dany.”

As it was the city where they’d met, fallen in love, and found true happiness, she grinned, because that was his way of saying how much he loved her.  She brushed her lips over his, sighing, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”  

And they kissed, as the Eiffel Tower lit up, and she curled up into him, falling asleep in the city of love and lights.

[bellasprettywords]

Be my Forever | Chapter 4: Dinner with the Malfoys (D.M. x Reader)

a/n: Sorry for the delay y’all!! But I hope you enjoy this not so little chapter and I promise I’ll update more frequently. I want to thank each one of you for your support, and for taking the time to read my work. It means the world to me, as writing is one of my passions, but I’m quite shy when it comes to posting it 😊

y/n – your name

y/ln – your last name

Warnings: just fluff

Word count: 2,464

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chaper 2 | Chaper 3

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

You were walking through the hallways, when you saw Tulip talking to Luna outside of the Main Hall.

“Hey! y/n” Tulip screamed through the crowd as soon as she saw you

“Hello, pretty girls” you said joining them

“It’s so nice to see you, y/n!!” Luna said embracing you in a hug

“Ready to go to class?” Tulip asked linking her arm to yours

“Sure thing, let’s get to potions” you added also linking your arm to Luna so you wouldn’t lose her in the crowd “By the way, I need your help picking an outfit” you added and saw the way Tulip’s face lit up, as her passion in life was fashion

“What’s the occasion? We can go to your dorm after class and pick the perfect ensemble” she said smiling

“I’m actually going out to dinner, with Draco Malfoy and his mother” you replied

“Oh, Narcissa Malfoy is such a caring soul, she gives me this motherly energy, like she’d do anything for her loved ones” Luna said, and you agreed

“Why are you having dinner with the Malfoys?” Tulip added entering Snape’s class

“I’m not quite sure, I ran into Narcissa in Dumbledore’s office and she… inspected me? It was a weird encounter, but then Draco said that she invited me to join them for dinner” you said reminiscing the events

“Maybe she wants to get to know you, as you’re about to spend most of the school year next to her son” Luna said and you agreed, maybe the whole reason for Narcissa to invite you was to meet you properly

“Do you think Draco told her? About last year, I mean” Tulip added

“No way!! Last year we had a fling, literally a one-night-thing and nothing else” you cut her abruptly

“He did try to talk to you after that encounter” Luna agreed with Tulip, and you wished Snape would walk into the class for the conversation to stop

“He tried more than that! He tried to ask her out, but she played dumb” Tulip added teasing you

“Whatever, nothing happened and those are the facts” you said taking your potions book and trying to change the topic

“You know what they say y/n, old flames die hard” Tulip teased once again

“There are no flames, there were never flames, we are just partners in a project” you said as Snape walked into his classroom

You spent half of the lesson taking notes and the other half questioning if Luna and Tulip had a point. If we were talking straight facts, that night a year ago, you were sure you felt something, and sure as hell he looked like a Greek god, making you tingle a little at the thought of him; but then, there were other factors to consider:

a) Of course, Draco Malfoy didn’t like you in that way, you were just becoming friends, actually, you were just getting to know him; besides, he was… weird, sometimes he’d like you, sometimes he’d act as if you had the plague, which lead to point B

b) Draco would never date a half-blood, as his whole trademark was pure-blood superiority. Sure, you thought that was crap, but old habits die hard, sure, last year he tried to contact you at least three times, but after you rejected him, he acted like an ass

c) Rumor has it, he’s not into dating, as he’s focused on literally, anything else rather than a partner, so hoping he’d feel certain way towards you, was like waiting for rain in the dessert

“That’s it for today’s class, Miss y/ln, can you please spare me a minute before you leave?” Snape took you out of your thoughts

“Of course, professor” you said turning to Tulip and Luna with a shy smile before walking towards his desk “Yes professor” you said standing in front of him

“Mister Malfoy asked me to give you this” he said handing you a copy of the book you were using in class

“Oh, thank you, but I already have this book, so…” you replied

“Miss y/ln, I’m only the messenger, if you want to return it, you can give it to mister Malfoy yourself” he said cutting you

“Sure, thank you very much, professor. Have a great day!” you said turning back to your friends.

The three of you linked arms and walked towards your dorm to help you pick an outfit before supper, you saw Hermione in the hallway and you invited her to join your quest for an outfit, which she did, making it the perfect girls afternoon. You spent your time together laughing, gossiping, talking about their partners, and helping you pick an outfit. At the end, you picked a little black dress: classy, chic and discrete. Your friends helped you fix your hair and makeup and around 7:30 you heard a knock in your door.

“Yes, this is y/n’s room” Tulip opened the door and you saw Draco standing outside with black dress pants, black shirt and his silver hair perfectly in place

“Hi… I’m Malfoy, Draco Malfoy” he said a little confused at Tulip’s greeting

“I know who you are” she said closing the door enough so Draco couldn’t see you “Where are you taking my best friend?” she said trying to sound intimidating

“Tulip! Behave!” you said with a chuckle. You knew Tulip would do something like that, as she was very protective of you, at the end of the day, you’ve been best friends since the day you arrived at Hogwarts

“I’m… I believe we are going to Malfoy Manor” Draco said, and your heart skipped a beat, sure, you were going to properly meet Narcissa, but now you worried going to Malfoy Manor also meant meeting Lucius Malfoy

“Hello” you said shyly standing behind Tulip. You felt Draco’s eyes linger from your head to toe and a little smile appeared in his lips

“You look… you look gorgeous… I mean, you look good” Draco stutter

“Thanks, you clean up pretty good yourself” you added with a shy smile “Let me just grab my purse” you said walking towards Hermione, who was holding out your clutch

“He likes you” Luna said, and you couldn’t help but blush, and wish he didn’t hear her

The ride to Malfoy Manor was… interesting. You couldn’t shake the lingering feeling as if this was a first date, of course, it wasn’t, but the butterflies in your stomach weren’t aware of that.

“Thank you for the potions book, those margin notes are life saviors” you said trying to make small talk

“Is everything alright, y/n?” Draco cut straight to the chase

“What do you mean?” you asked worried he could hear your anxious thoughts

“You’ve barely said two sentences, and you usually are one of those non-stop-chatter kinds of people” he said looking at you weirdly

“I… to be honest, I’m a little nervous” the words left your mouth before you could process them

“Nervous? Why are you nervous?” Draco said rising an eyebrow

“I do not mean to be rude, but… I’m nervous about your father… I’ve heard things about him not liking half-bloods” you added wishing you could disappear of embarrassment

“I like that about you, you always speak your mind” the silver haired boy smiled in front of you “And do not worry, he won’t be there, my mum told me he’s away on business” Draco said looking out the window.

In a personal level, you felt relief that Lucius Malfoy wouldn’t be there, but the little crack in Draco’s voice made your heart shrink, so you did what you knew best, you gave him a hug. He was still, looking almost uncomfortable under your embrace, but all you wanted was for him to feel you were there for him, so you felt relief when you felt his body relax under your touch, and he almost hugged you back.

“That was…” Draco stutter

“That was an I’m here if you want to talk, or not talk, but I’m here for you” you said smiling

“Thank you, y/n” he said with a string of voice “We are here” he added gesturing at the Black Manor.

The door opened up to reveal Narcissa, looking stunning in a black dress herself, she quickly embraced her son and invited you to enter the dinning room. The room had huge crystal chandeliers and the dim light gave the scenery sort of a gothic look; the decoration seemed expensive, and everything was into place. At the dinner table, you could see oysters, fish, pork, turkey, and many types of salads.

“I hope the setting is of your liking” Narcissa said when she caught you scanning the room

“Everything is gorgeous, thank you very much” you said giving her a kind smile and she returned one to you. This time, she did not seem intimidating at all, actually, the way she talked to Draco seemed loving and warm, contrary to your first impression of her, you were starting to think that maybe you misjudged her. The three of you sat at the dinner table and the feast started.

“So, what brought you to Hogwarts y/n?” Narcissa asked trying to make conversation

“My father studied there, so he wanted me to follow his steps attend” you said smiling politely

“How rich, and do you like it? Don’t you miss your country?” she added

“I love it here, I’ve learnt a lot and more than my country I miss my parents, we are really close so leaving sometimes is hard” you replied. During the feast you talked about classes, your parents, Draco -and his adventures as a child-, literature, magic, politics and a wide range of topics. As you got to listen to Narcissa you realized she’s actually really nice and family oriented, which reminded you of your mother. You could see Draco’s happiness as he talked to his mom and as he told stories, he seemed like a child, which made your heart flutter. You wished you could see Draco this happy all the time. The three of you moved to the parlor for some tea and you offered to play the piano as Draco and his mother danced along; you even caught yourself admiring the way Draco’s hair moved as he spined his mom around, how his hands would hold Narcissa tenderly and the way his feet waltzed in rhythm with the music. Oh Merlin, the way he smiled made your heart skip a beat and you couldn’t help but smile at the sights of the silver haired boy grinning from ear to ear.

“You are quite a skilled player” Narcissa said getting closer to the piano as you stopped playing

“Thank you very much, my mom taught me how to play” you said smiling shyly

“May I be excused?” Draco interrupted

“Sure darling, take your time” Narcissa said smiling to her son as he left, and turned back to you “It’s been quite lovely to meet you, y/n” she said smiling warmly

“It’s been a pleasure, and I want to apologize for interrupting you earlier in your meeting with Professor Dumbledore” you said hoping that wasn’t a mistake

“No need to worry, I was just visiting an old friend” she said “So, I heard you and Draco have been spending a lot of time together” she added

“I wouldn’t say a lot, and it’s mostly because of the partners assignment” you said nervously

“I didn’t mean it in a wrong way” Narcissa said catching up to your nerves “I’m actually happy you were assigned with him, Dumbledore said you are one of the brightest witches and maybe we didn’t start on the right foot, but after this evening I can tell you’ll be good to Draco” she added sounding sincere

“I’m sure we’ll learn a lot from the other” you said smiling as Draco entered the parlor

“Mum, I think it’s time for y/n and me to leave” he said coming closer to his mother

“Oh, that’s alright darling, I don’t want to keep you for too long as it’s a school night” Narcissa added hugging his son

“I’m really glad I got to meet you, y/n” she said now giving you a hug, which you gladly returned

“The pleasure was all mine” you said and the three of you walked to the entrance of the Manor.

Narcissa hugged her son one last time, and you got into the magic car Narcissa had arranged for you to get back to school.

“I liked you mom” you said smiling at Draco with a successful look in your face

“She liked you too! She warmed up to you quite fast” he said amused at your look

“Yeah, I’m pretty likable when it comes to adults” you said half joking

“Thank you, for coming tonight, I know it was out of the blue, bur when I told her about the assignment, she insisted on meeting you” Draco said starring into your eyes

“I’m glad you told her, she loves you and… meeting her was quite lovely” you said blushing as his grey eyes were fixed on you

“I know it’s late, so if you want to take a nap, I’d be okay” he said breaking the intense eye contact

“Are you going to take a nap?” you asked quickly

“No, I mean, you don’t have to wait up until we get to the school” Draco said

“Maybe I don’t have to, but I want to” you said smiling and he starred into your eyes again making the butterflies ruffle in your stomach again

“Is dinner in your house always that… fancy?” you asked Draco and he relaxed in his seat, making you realize he was getting more comfortable around you

“Of course, how are dinners at your parents?” he said with an eyebrow raised

“Definitely not like that” you said chuckling “If Rory’s back tomorrow and she brings what I think she’ll bring, I could give you a taste of dinner a la americana” you added joking

“I’d love that” Draco muttered making your heart pound

“You would?” you asked blushing and starring into his grey eyes, looking for confirmation

“The assignment is getting to know you, so I guess… dinner is a good start?” he said trying to sound casual

“Then, I’ll see you at my dorm tomorrow at 8 pm” you said smiling at the idea of dinner with Draco two nights in a row

“Do I have to bring anything?” of course he asked as the gentleman he was

“Do not worry, if I know my parents, I’ll have it covered” you added smiling as you were planning everything in your head

“It’s a deal, then, I’ll see you tomorrow at eight” Draco flashed a smile and once again, the tingly feeling covered your whole body

Taglist: @wobblymug