#i love underwater because i can just draw it as messily as i want and it'll look somewhat decent

[twisted-deal]

ink tears; i just think he's neat

[helnjk]

If I Could Tell Her - H.P.

Harry Potter x reader

this is my next installment of my showtunes fic list. this is based on the song If I Could Tell Her from the musical Dear Evan Hansen. this is also the first fic i’ve posted for harry on here ! 

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: nearly a year after the final battle, harry is still struggling to gain his bearings in the world. luckily she’s there to hold his hand along the way.

Warnings: mentions of food, & just a whole lot of mutual pining

lyrics are bolded & italicized

–

He just seemed so far away

Y/N took a deep breath.

With one foot in front of the other, she took a step and twisted to the right, feeling the familiar tightness that came with apparition. In the blink of an eye she found herself in front of the home that she and her friends had spent their summer before 5th year in. 

She chose to skip the knock on the door, opting instead to just let herself in. Many changes had been made to the house since it was the Order headquarters. The biggest and most obvious one being Harry taking up permanent residence in it. 

“Harry, love?” She called out, despite knowing that he would be where he always was. 

“In here!” A disembodied voice replied, coming from towards the end of the house. 

Like so many times before, Y/N found the dark haired boy in the kitchen. He was sat at the dining table, a few parchments spread messily in front of him and detailing the plans he had yet to accomplish for the renovations. 

The war had taken a toll on Harry, it had taken a toll on everyone really, but no one could blame him for wanting some time by himself for a while. They all knew how much he deserved to rest and recover.

But now, nearly a year after the final battle, Harry found himself less and less willing to venture out into the world again. It was as if everyone had started moving on and making progress with their lives without him. And in some ways, they were, but he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he was able to live a life without the looming threat of war on his shoulders. 

Instead, he focused his attention on the house left to him by his late godfather, and vowed to make a home in it. 

While most people left him to his own devices, Y/N knew that he craved companionship most days. Having been friends with him from the moment she stepped into the train compartment nearly eight years ago, she understood him more than most. So began the habit of popping by every so often to have a cup of tea and a chat. 

“Been hard at work, have you?” She smiled, taking a seat across from him. 

“Just trying to figure out what to do with the drawing room on the second floor,” He said and she noticed how his brows furrowed ever so slightly at the puzzle in front of him. 

“You mean the problem you’ve been ‘figuring out’” She used her fingers to make quotation marks, “For the last three weeks?” 

Harry didn’t answer, but she noticed him roll his eyes playfully. Y/N knew that this meant he was in a relatively good mood today, and he could take the barrage of news from the outside world that she had brought with her. 

So, she took a seat across from him and began her recount of the stories she heard throughout the week.

“So Bill and Fleur announced that they’re having a baby,” She began. 

–

The pair of them continued on with their regular routine, Harry would busy himself with his plans for Grimmauld Place while Y/N brought him up to date with the events of the outside world. Every so often, he would risk a glance up at her and the edges of her lips would curl up in a smile.

It was during these moments that Y/N always had to pause. It only took one look from Harry for her to become a puddle of unexplainable emotions. During the war, when they had gone on their horcrux hunt, there wasn’t any time to dwell on these things. Survival was always the top priority. But now, now she had months and months of these little interactions and her heart was finding it hard to ignore. 

She often found herself shaking her head and trying to clear her daydreams of the two of them. Too often she would fall asleep to images of her and Harry going on dates and pressing soft kisses on each other’s lips. But she knew in her heart that that was all they were, daydreams and fantasies. 

Harry needed her as a friend, and she could give him that. 

As the afternoon wore on, she remembered the main reason for her visit that day. 

Harry was in the process of clearing up the cluttered table and she took the opportunity to bring it up, “So there’s going to be lunch at the Burrow this Sunday.” 

His movements paused. She continued, “And I was hoping that you would come with me. Molly always has loads of food and I’m sure you’d enjoy it more if it were fresh and not leftovers like I usually bring over.” 

There was another lull in the air. 

Y/N opened her mouth to try and convince him further but he cut her off, “Sure.” 

“What?” 

His eyes met hers and he gave her a small smile, “I reckon it’s been too long since I’ve last had Molly’s amazing cooking.” 

A slow smile stretched across Y/N’s face. This was the most he had agreed to in nearly a year and she was hopeful about slowly reintroducing his loved ones back into his life. 

“Perfect.” 

There's nothing like your smile

Sort of subtle and perfect and real

The Burrow hadn’t changed much since Harry last saw it. 

The peculiar house still stood tall and proud in the Devon landscape, held together undoubtedly by magic. The smoke billowing from its chimney reminded him of cozy Christmases spent together with everyone he held close to his heart, and the lively chatter filtering through the open windows made his heart stutter in anticipation. 

Y/N took his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. Her smile was gentle, letting him know that she was there if he needed it. He could tell that she was nervous too, not for herself, but for how he would react to being surrounded by so many people again after so long. 

He couldn’t tell how he knew, he just saw it in the way she smiled. But he was grateful for it, because without her steady grasp on his hand, he probably would have disapparated before he even got through the threshold of the place he used to call a second home. 

“Come on then,” She urged, beginning to take steps towards the entrance, “Let’s see who’s already here!” 

“Oh Y/N, you made it!” Molly’s voice exclaimed as they entered the home, “I was wondering when you’d get here–”

The Weasley family matriarch paused at the door between the kitchen and the living room, her eyes set upon the boy she considered her son.

“I can’t say no to a gorgeous meal of yours can I, Molly?” She joked, slightly tugging on Harry’s hand to bring him into the room, “And I brought a guest with me today.” 

Molly seemed to gain her bearings once again as a radiant smile crossed her face, she knew not to make too much of a fuss about Harry being over after months of hiding away. Instead, she simply patted his cheek, “Lovely to see you again, Harry dear. Now come on, there’s enough food to go around!” 

The kitchen of the Burrow was alive with conversation. Most of the Weasleys and their significant others were gathered around the magically enlarged table, chatting over steaming dishes of wonderful smelling food. 

Their entrance garnered many beaming smiles, but everyone knew not to pay them too much attention. Harry chose to take a seat next to Ron, who nudged him with a small smile on his face. He returned the gesture, already feeling more at ease. Since his hand was still connected with hers, Y/N chose to take the seat right next to him. 

Throughout the meal, Harry hadn’t spoken much, only nodding to whatever the person he was in conversation with said or sometimes adding a little quip here and there. He took comfort in Y/N’s steady presence beside him, once in a while squeezing his thigh or patting his arm. 

“–and he wouldn’t tell me how to turn it back to normal!” 

Ron’s particular way of storytelling brought him out of his stupor. He was in the middle of an exciting story on the twins’ latest prank on him, and Y/N had let out a snort of laughter. 

Harry’s heart seemed to stop as he watched her and he couldn’t take his eyes off her as he noticed the smile on her face. Of course he knew that she was beautiful, it was something so obvious to him as they grew up together. But there was something in the way her smile lit up her face at that moment.

It was like a breath of fresh air after being underwater for too long. To him, her smile was refreshing, invigorating, and all-consuming. Harry looked at Y/N and felt as if he could never get enough of her. A spark ignited in him and suddenly he was determined to keep her in his life as long as possible. 

Y/N caught onto his stare as her laughter tapered off and she raised an eyebrow, “Everything alright?” 

As quickly as it had come, the spell she had on him vanished as he nodded, “Yep. Brilliant.” 

The conversation flowed around them, merry laughter filling the air once again from different areas of the room, but Harry only had eyes for Y/N. 

But he kept it all inside his head 

What he thought he left unsaid

“Y/N-” He cut her off. 

Her eyes darted to him confused. He could feel his pulse in his neck and blood rushed to his ears. Suddenly he couldn’t help but wring his hands together nervously, unable to explain his actions. 

“Yeah, Harry?” She asked, fully turning her body to face him, “You okay?” 

“I’m brilliant,” He mumbled, heart pounding in his chest, “I just have something I want to tell you.” 

Anxiety bubbled in his chest and up his throat as the words came out of his mouth. He hadn’t even planned on telling her anything as she arrived that day, yet here he was. She just looked so beautiful, the soft candlelight almost glowing on her skin and highlighting her features. Harry was sure he had never felt more in love with her than he was in that moment, and she hadn't even been doing anything. 

Her eyes shined with concern and her attention was fully on him now. He hadn’t been known to interrupt her when she went on her long spiels of updates. Sensing his nervousness, Y/N placed a reassuring hand on his arm. 

Unbeknownst to him, her own heart pounded in her chest. Against better judgement, she had imagined a scenario exactly like this wherein Harry would spontaneously profess his undying love for her too many times. And secretly, she hoped that this would be the moment her daydreams would come true, nearly holding her breath in anticipation. 

It wasn’t. 

“I’m thinking about asking McGonagall about how I can become a professor.” 

It took Y/N a few seconds of blinking at him to completely process what he had just said. Despite the slight twinge of disappointment in her chest, she knew that this was such a big step for him that she couldn’t feel bad about it. 

“Oh love that’s wonderful!” She nearly yelled, throwing her hands up and wrapping them around him, “You were such a good teacher in fifth year, I know you’ll do great!” 

A soft blush formed on his cheeks at her praise, but he happily accepted the hug, “Thank you. I figured it’s about time I started focusing on myself and what I want to do, instead of just this damn house. Being a teacher just feels right.” 

Despite all appearances, Harry berated himself silently. He had completely chickened out. Of course, he really had been thinking about sending an owl to his old head of house, but that was not what he planned on saying at all. 

He didn’t know what happened. His mouth just blurted out the first thing that came to mind, but he couldn’t take it back now. The moment was ruined. 

If I could tell her

Tell her everything I see

If I could tell her 

How she’s everything to me 

Y/N could tell Harry was nervous. 

He was hosting a dinner at Grimmauld Place with the Weasleys and a few of his friends from school to announce his plans to get accredited to be a professor. He also wanted to show them how the renovations of the house had been going. She had arrived at his place early, as she always had, to help him prepare but he was a bundle of nerves and couldn’t sit still. 

So, she did what she always does whenever he got into a little bit of a panic. As plates and cutlery floated to their designated places and the table set itself, Y/N kept the conversation flowing. Although, it might have been more of a  monologue with the way he was only responding to her in hums or soft grunts. 

She was unaware of the inner turmoil raging in Harry. He had decided that he would finally tell her exactly what he felt about her. To hell if she didn’t feel the same, he thought recklessly, as long as he got to finally tell her what he had been feeling for nearly a year. 

During a lull, he finally plucked up enough courage to speak. 

“Listen Y/N–” 

“Harry–” 

The pair stared at each other, amused. This had always happened to them when they were still in school, as if their wavelengths were always on the same page. 

“You go ahead, Haz.” She smiled at him. 

He took a deep breath, “Alright.” 

Plucking up whatever was left of his Gryffindor courage, he turned to face her, a fierce sort of determination in his eyes. 

“I love you, Y/N.” He spoke clearly despite the ball of uncertainty in his chest.

Y/N opened her mouth to speak, her eyes shining with something he couldn’t place. He stopped her, though, placing a hand on her arm, “Just let me get this off my chest, alright? Then you can say what you want to say.” 

She nodded. 

“Looking back at what my life’s been like this past year, and honestly the years we spent at Hogwarts too, you were the only constant thing I had. And I’m sorry that it’s taken so long for me to figure out what I was feeling, especially when you were being so patient with me. But, yeah, I-I’m in love with you, Y/N.” 

For once in her life, she was left speechless. In all of her daydreams, Y/N always had a witty quip up her sleeve after Harry confessed his feelings, but now they seemed to just escape her. 

“I love you too,” Was all she could choke out, a small laugh tumbling out of her lips. 

The two shared a dopey smile as their bodies gravitated towards each other. Their lips met in a soft kiss, with a certain slowness attached to the relief and exhalation that came from their confession. Y/N couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, arms slowly snaking around his neck, as Harry pecked her lips over and over. 

A soft ‘oh’ echoed through the silent room and the pair of them broke apart. Molly Weasley was stood at the door, holding a roast in her hands and blinking furiously at what she had just witnessed. Behind her, most of the Weasley clan stood eyes slightly widened and small smirks on their lips. 

Ron was the first to speak up, “It’s about bloody time.” 

As he spoke, the silent spell cast over the lot of them was broken. Hermione rolled her eyes at the lack of tact her boyfriend had, but she was secretly thrilled. 

“Well, now that that’s finally settled, I think it’s time for dinner!” Molly bustled in, looking for a place to put her food down and the rest of them clambered through the door.

Harry spared an embarrassed glance at Y/N, but she was grinning from ear to ear. He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze before going to help set up. 

[kayliewrites]

Outlining Advice from a Plantser

If you don’t know the term, a “plantser” is a combination of a planner and pantser, names for writers from the NaNoWriMo community (also called gardeners and architects, discovery writers and outliners, etc.). Planners generally flesh out a lot of their story details before starting the actual writing process, while pantsers fly by the seat of their pants and hop in head first. 

Also, as a disclaimer, I recently was diagnosed with ADD/ADHD, so this outlining method may not work for you. This has been my way of outlining only for the last few years and helps keep me interested/motivated. 

THE KAYLIE METHOD:

Start with an idea. Any idea. It could be a line of dialogue, or an interesting character, a plot from a movie that you want to try writing yourself, or a song that you really like that makes you think “hmmm, this could be a good story”. Literally anything can be magic, you funky little bagel. (I usually start with characters, because I prefer character-driven stories.) 

Then start experimenting. Write anything. As much or as little as you want, in any setting, genre, filter, theme, or style you like. Try that character in twelve different settings before deciding you like 1950′s Detroit better than neon-and-chrome underwater. Give them an Australian accent, a Southern American twang, a Brazilian lilt, a Martian slur. Have your character make out with 50 people before deciding that they’re actually asexual, but that they still like kissing. A lot. ****

Now you have a foundation. It’s a weird, beautiful, messy combination of what you do and don’t like, but it’s something useful. And you made it. Good job, you beautiful water buffalo. 

Write. Like, a lot. Here’s where our paths will likely diverge. In fanfiction, I usually write eight chapters (five in original writing) here of exploratory writing in the proper setting with the right romantic endgame (or lack thereof) in mind, just seeing where the story goes. Maybe the characters reveal that there’s an evil sibling, or a villain I didn’t know about, or some other useful plot information I can use later. 

Now write your outline. You’ve already finished a good chunk of your story, and now you should have an even better idea of where it’s headed. I like to write down a list of things I’d love to see happen, in no specific order, and then cram them messily into a chapter list. Sometimes I get a good feeling for when an event should happen in the story, so I put those things in first. 

Edit as necessary. Throughout, I always remind myself that the outline is flexible. Sometimes a plot point gets pushed out two chapters. That’s okay!!!! It happens!!! Writing is art, and sometimes you make artistic choices along the way. Remember too that having soft, sweet scenes will emphasize the dark, biting, cruel scenes even further and vice versa. If I’ve been writing too much fluff, then I throw some angst in to change it up; if things have been too spicy for too long, then I add in some light. 

I hope this helps, especially with NaNoWriMo around the corner! I’ve been seeing a lot of outlining posts floating around too. 

Kaylie

**** The experimenting phase may also include creating a Pinterest board, mixing a playlist, drawing settings/characters/scenes, making your characters as Sims, and creating outside of the writing sphere. Don’t be afraid to paint, draw, knit, sing, research, play video games, sculpt, read, and seek inspiration. ****

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Little Tinkerbell ~ Yin Zhi x Reader

Little maiden, what are you doing? Should you really waste your time in the library, studying, when outside is sunny and you could be playing with the princes and princesses? 

Little maiden, what are you doing? Should you really be tinkering with weird widgets, when you could be learning how to apply make up?

Little maiden, what are you doing? Should you really be going riding through the forest, when you could be going shopping for fashionable clothes and accessories? 

He heard all the rumours, all the gossips, all the bad words...He saw all the judging eyes of all the close-minded and inapt people...He saw everything...And yet, Yin Zhi couldn't understand how come this little mockingjay would rather study and be by herself, despite all the reprimanding she gets, when she could solve it all by obeying, like all women do?

Why was she so stubborn? Why did she insist on doing literally everything that he was also interested in, and yet, he wasn't reprimanded, just because he was a man, and more, the Emperor's son? 

A man...Well, he's not a man yet, he's barely 12 years old, and yet, this girl keeps bugging his mind. 

It all started when he went to the library one day, and his way was through the garden, and there she was, a little maiden, her beautiful hair flying messily into the air, as she was hunched over a stone tabled, doing something, clearly focused enough to draw out anything outside of her area of work. She didn't even hear him approach, not even sitting in front of her, until he strategically stepped into her light, and she got too confused at the sudden darkness, until she looked up and realised who was eclipsing her.

"You...You are the 3rd Prince, aren't you? Yin Zhi, was it? What are you doing here?" she asked, her hands hanging awkwardly, still holding the delicate screws and gears from the machinery.  "Great, you know who I am. Should I be asking you the same now, for the sake of common courtesies? Or will you finally answer my question?" he asked impatiently, thinking he'd intimidate the girl...But she didn't sketch any of that. "A travelling merchant from the West came by recently, and I bought some musical boxes. They make beautiful music, and this rotating doll has interesting clothes. I wanted to take everything apart, learn how the engine works, how each and every little piece keeps the synergy going, and then attempt to recreate something similar, or maybe even better. Who knows." she shrugged, going back to her tinkering. "Don't tell me you actually understand what you're doing." he scoffed, and yet, leaned forward to pay attention to her dexterous fingers.  "I do...But, do you?" she smirked, provoking him. "Are you mocking me?!" the prince scoffed, shocked at her impertinence. "It's mocking only if you get offended. If not, you can shut up, listen, and understand." there was no malice or harshness in her words, and the prince realised that there was an unexpected maturity and wisdom about her, that seemed to calm him...Or tame him. "Fine, then. If you're so sure of yourself, then show me how you'd repair this music box to its original state." he challenged her, which oddly enough, made he grin brightly at him. "No problem!" she started humming a melody, which he guesses might be the one from the music box, and with an outstanding ingenuity, she played around with those tiny tools and even tinier gear pieces, using a magnifying glass to see better, and there it was, in its dull glory, a dancing doll and a pretty song. "Not bad...For someone like you. I must confess, I never expected a girl to be interested in machinery or studying like you are. I am...Impressed." he was just a child back then, still reckless and easily wearing his emotions on his sleeve, as he blushed...She quickly became his childhood crush, clearly. "Thank you, Yin Zhi! Nobody ever said anything nice about my...Out of the ordinary interests, so...Thank you." she gave him a sweet smile, before taking the music box, ready to leave. "It's getting late, I must go home and continue my studying. I hope to see you again soon, Prince." she gave him an innocent kiss on his cheek, waving goodbye, before leaving the place, her beautiful, flowy, pink dress flying behind her. 

  Since then, this little maiden was the only one that he accepted to study with, to learn with and to learn from, or listen to...And also, she was the only one who could get him to sneak out of the Palace to go on the top of the hill to watch the stars, identify constellations, to watch the fireflies, and she was the only one he enjoyed riding with.

She wasn't like all those princesses and ladies who'd rather waste her time doing needlework and baking cakes... Although he couldn't deny that her osmanthus cakes were amazing, the tea she was brewing was incredibly aromatic, and the costumes she was creating were making even the Western tailors jealous. 

However, he couldn't pin point whether she was she was really as great as she was making her out to be, or simply, that's how he was seeing her. That's weird, since he prides himself for being level-headed, rational and also, for seeing things exactly as they are, not veiled by the charms of emotions and...And that other forbidden word he canNOT allow himself to say, not out loud, nor to himself.

But years passed, and not even him, Yin Zhi, the 3rd Prince, was safe from the feminine charms, and Y/N was becoming more beautiful with each day passing.

As time went by, he always felt the need to invite her, under different pretexts, to hang out with him, mostly for the sole reason that he truly enjoys her company. She never speaks more than she has to, and when she does, her words are meaningful and leave a lingering feeling that tugs at his heartstrings, making him want to hear more of her voice.

Even his mother, Consort Qin, was feeling infinitely better whenever she would visit her, and it almost felt like a healing, bright aura, something incredibly refreshing, like the cold mint freeze, that was making her feel so great. She was a mother, clearly, she was well aware of her son’s feelings for this little maiden, and she was happy that her only child, that she loved so much, and in turn, cared so much for her, was able to find such a kind and brilliant woman to be by his side and match his wits and intellect just as he always dreamt of.

So one night, on one of the many occasions that they spent together, they found themselves riding through the forest, and arrived at a gorgeous waterfall, continued by a blue lagoon, surrounded by numerous flowers of variate, vibrant colours, tons of butterflies and choruses of birds singing like angels.

“I don’t know how we got here, but this looks like a true paradise. Wouldn’t it be so much more peaceful if we were to live closer to nature, and farther away from noisy people?” Y/N asked, yet her question wasn’t exactly addressed, as she took of her shoes and lifting up the hem of her long dress, she went to the shallow part of the lagoon, jumping on the stones to get closer to the waterfall. “I can’t deny that would be the ideal scenario...Although, I wouldn’t advise you to stay too long in the freezing water, or too close to the waterfall. You will get soaked and sick.” he shook his head, sitting on one of the big rocks guarding the lagoon. “Don’t tell me...Yin Zhi, have you never bathed into a lake? Or a spring? Or under a waterfall?” she giggled, teasing him, as she gracefully skipped next to him, taking off his hat, putting it on his horse, and then going behind him to braid his hair. “Did I give you permission to touch my hair? Do you want me to kill you that badly?” he let his head down so he could look at her, and despite his words, he bore no ill will. “If you kill me, who’s going to read with you, or help you with machinery?” she chuckled, planting a soft kiss on his forehead. “Besides, you know I can’t resist your hair. It’s the most beautiful and soft in the whole kingdom.” her smile was so playful and gentle that it seemed to relax him immediately. “I don’t need your help in repairing machinery, nor do I need the distraction you offer while reading. And, to reply to the other affirmation, I’m a Prince, after all. We get lucky since birth.” he smirked gracefully, making the girl hum, as she was pondering. “Well...Should I tell you a secret? Yeah, sure, I always tell you all the secret I know anyway. The only other princes with nice hair are Yin Zhen and the 14th prince, and not even they can compare with yours. I mean...Have you seen the Crown Prince? Or the 5th prince? It’s like they don’t care at all! It looks so...Course and greasy! I wouldn’t dare get my finger anywhere close to that!” she started laughing, faking a shudder, as she finished the braid. “Good, because if you did, I’d have cut your fingers off. Good luck touching my hair without fingers.” he grumbled, almost as if jealous. “Awww, but then, who’d braid your hair? You know you like it when I play with your hair, so don’t play the tough facade with me. Besides...I’m pretty sure you’re going to kill me regardless of what I do, so...” with a low giggle, she pushed herself into his back, sending both of them into the lagoon, shocking the poor prince who wasn’t expecting that. “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!” he yelled at her, glaring, as soon as he resurfaced to get some air. “YES!” she laughed so carefree, all that hair playing as a curtain draped all over her face. “Oh, spare me.” he scoffed, putting his hand on her head and pushing her underwater, long enough to get his revenge, but not long enough that she might have discomfort.  “Okay, but you have to admit, it was pretty fun! It’s always nice trying out new things, isn’t it?” she laughed, struggling to throw away all that hair from her face. “You, dummy...Get here, I’ll help.” he couldn’t help but show a half smile at the girl since, despite all the silliness and complete lack of mannerism, she always managed to warm his heart more and more. “Thank you. Perhaps I should have braided my hair too before, but, oh well, guess now I can look like one of those vengeful ghosts from the stories our mums would tell us to keep us behaving.” she grinned, letting her hair down to allow the man behind her to braid her hair properly. “Speaking of stories...I once heard one from my mother, and I almost think she was talking about you, especially as I met you when we were young...And you were so small compared to me, even then.” he teased her, making her widen her eyes in intrigue. “Ohh, tell me, tell me!” she turned around, hugging her legs and resting her chin on her knees, waiting for the story patiently...Or not so, rather. “It’s not much to say...It’s about a little fairy who was struggling to find out what her defining talent. Some had the power to make flowers bloom in a matter of seconds, others could speak to animals, other could bend water, storms or light to their will...And yet, this little fairy that everyone found so odd, couldn’t find her defining talent among all the other girls she knew. Do you want to know why?” he never admitted that, no matter how many times the girl told him, but he had the gift of story-telling and keeping the listener gripped completely. “Yes, tell me!” his heart was melting seeing her almost childlike enthusiasm and fascination on her face that simply his words could create. “She was special, that’s why. Special, even among her peers. Because she was incredibly inventive and handy, so she was sent to the tinkers to create intricate machinery that would aid all the other fairies on their jobs of keeping nature balanced and properly taken care of. And because her dress resembled a bell flower, she was given the name of...Tinkerbell.” he explained the story, which made her jolt to her feet in a second, running to the bed of flowers. “So, you’re saying I’m Tinkerbell, aren’t you? Then, I have to create a proper outfit for my talent! What do you say which flower should I take inspiration from?” she crouched down in front of the flowers, only to hear a scoff from the man. “You won’t find the one there, silly woman...But here.” he leaned to snatch a pink lotus flower from the lagoon, making his way in front of her, and carefully putting in her hair. “Because a lotus is unique. It’s the true symbol of a woman’s noble and pure personality. It represents the ability to remain pure and become enlightened, even through hardships...And I believe that suits you best.” he muttered the end, feeling shy, yet not turning his head away. “You always know what to say, don’t you? You’re so smart and cool...I bet if you were a fairy, you’d have been the king of them all, for you’d have all the talents the others have.” she chuckled softly, leaning her head down just slightly, feeling bashful, her cheeks resembling just a tiny bit the shade of the flower she now so proudly represented. “And you’d be the queen of the empire.” the ghost of a smirk appeared on his face as he leaned down to kiss her forehead.

But things can’t always remain as ethereal as they are all the time, and he wasn't blind to the Crown Prince trying woo her, or at least gain her as an ally, as he realised her worth, intellect and shrewdness, and nor was he ignorant to how those obnoxious 5th, 7th and 11th princes were constantly on her tail. They don't deserve to be in her presence! They never appreciated her when she was a child, why should they now? But he was ar least relieved with the fact that he knew she has always been a smart girl and wouldn't fall in their web of lies.

That is...Until he started seeing less and less of her around he library, and more of her around the Princes and the Empress...Mainly the Crown Prince. But he could see she was beginning to lose her light, her glamour, her spark...There was something wrong, and he was worrying about her.  

How pathetic of him. 

Why does he even feel like that? Is that normal? 

Sure, it can be normal for those mundane plebs, but not to him! He had to find a way to talk to her, since clearly, she was afraid of something. 

Could she be...Blackmailed...? 

One day, he found her in the tea house, so he stole the key and bribing the matron there, he prowled in and locked them inside, staring at her with his piercing eyes, watching her prepare a chrysanthemum tea.

"I've never seen you so happy to make tea for everyone who asked you." he pointed out in his usual, cold manner. "...! 3rd Prince, I didn't see you walking in!" she gasped, almost letting the teapot fall from her hands. "Of course you didn't see me. You were much too absorbed in your own mind to see me. I wonder what is troubling you so these days, Y/N." he crossed his arms, analysing her unusual spazzic behaviour. "Oh, u-uhm...Nothing too out of the ordinary. Now, please, if you'd excuse me, I must serve Her Majesty, the Empress, and the Crown Prince with tea." she sighed, hanging her head, hoping he wouldn't see her dejected expression. "You've never been the best at lying or concealing your emotions. Now, tell me the truth. I've known you for years, you can't deceive me." his voice was sharper now, hoping the extra pressure would crack her. 

And it did. "I hate them...I hate them so much...I want to run away, but they are threatening me, and I can't find a way out. The Empress and that...That...That brat of hers are trying to marry me off to one of those horrible and uneducated rats that call themselves Princes...And I don't know what to do!" she slammed the tea tray on the table, and it was clear that she didn't crack - She outright shattered, just like those cups and teapots she placed so gingerly, just a few seconds prior. "So, that's it? They are threatening to marry you if you don't obey, and instead of coming to me for help, you dig a hole and hide in it. I thought you were smarter than that." he sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. "I couldn't possibly get you involved in this mess. You're already on hot waters for being the next best contestant to being an Emperor, along with Yin Zhen, and the Crown Prince hates you. The Emperor wants you to compete as well. If you get involved, it may throw your peaceful life into a complete chaos." she looked away, hanging her head in disappointment. "So you were trying to be considerate with me, I understand. Next time, I'd suggest the smarter approach, which would be communication. I can easily solve all your problems with just a two words." his voice softened, as he chuckled at her reaction. "Two words...? What do you mean...?" she looked up at him, confusion obviously plastered on her face. "Marry me." those words were so simple, so easy to say out loud, and yet, it brought complete turmoil and shock in both of them. "Wh-What ?! I-I- ...Y-You-...?! Wha-...?! B-But...?! Y-You have t-to l-love the person you're marrying, w-we can't just....S-So sudden..." she kept stuttering and rambling, her cheeks as red as his were long ago, when she kissed his cheek. "I see no problem, then." with a mischievous smirk on his face, he stepped forward, kissing her cheek, making her freeze on the spot. "...?! Y-You...You really...?! Since when? Why didn't you say anything sooner?!" her bottom lip quivered softly, frowning at him accusatory. "A long time ago. We were doing fine the way we were before, I didn't see why we should mess with perfection. But others stomped on it, and made you upset, so I have to solve this. And what better way to have you happy, by my side, then to be my bride? Nobody would dare come between us, that much, I can assure you." he explained with clear confidence, knowing very well that she melted, realising her feelings were reciprocated. "...I love you." she threw her arms around him without any warning, which he wasn't surprised by in the least, as she'd always surprise him with kisses, hugs, pinches and little gifts. "...And I love you, Tinkerbell." he muttered, stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head. 

As soon as the 3rd Prince went to his father, while he was alone, for his blessings, he received what he wished for. The look of absolute dread and hatred on the faces of the Empress, the Crown prince, and the 5th, 7th and 11th princes, who realised they lost their potential bride and spy to the one everyone least expected to get married. 

The 3rd Prince was, by far, the one with the most tricks up his sleeves, and that will never change.

[kpopchangedme]

L’Opéra: Think of Me [Part II]

Jinyoung is the new benefactor of the Opera; your lost love, the one you promised yourself to when you were only fifteen.  How can you face him again, after renouncing to his everything years ago?

Moodboard by yours truly

Protagonists: A stuttering Park Jinyoung - You - Im Jaebum

Genre: SFW - Romance - Drama - Love Triangle - Childhood Friends - 1890s!AU

Words: 6k

Snippet: “There needs to be a flaw, a tiny blemish, to make you appreciate a perfect piece. Jinyoung is like that to you; a work of art rendered perfect by his tiniest imperfection.”

Lyz’ note: This new chapter is mainly for Jinyoung and y/n, torn between past and present… Poor Jaebum has to listen to all this through the walls. Sorry babe, you’ll get the third chapter!

L’Opéra [Mini Masterlist]

 Ethereal.

That’s you, really you. Jinyoung watches you roam the stage, in trance. He can’t believe you’re here after all these years, in front of him. You were right earlier, Jinyoung is still a child. He’d wish to be more mature, facing you again, but he’s the same. Your simple presence is intoxicating. He panicked. He wanted to be controlled, but he was spiteful. He regrets it, but he was never over losing you.

It’s infuriating to find out that he’s still hopelessly yours, even after all this time.

His eyes follow your movements; he listens to your voice. You are marvellous, so talented he can’t believe that until yesterday, you were just a simple dancer. How is it even possible? Even as a child, you excelled at singing. You both used to spend summer afternoons harmonizing together with the sound of your father’s violin. Now it’s been years since Jinyoung last sang. He found another way to cope with his disorder, his disability, like his family used to call it. Perhaps, in the end, Jinyoung’s only illness was his late father; he seems to be doing perfectly now that he’s gone. That is, well, until he met you again.

He felt it as soon as you talked back at him; that nervous discomfort. His speech abilities betraying him, just like his own heartbeat and his confidence falling. However, none of this matters now. Now you are here, within his reach and he finds himself ready to forgive all those years of darkness in a second. It doesn’t matter why you disappear after your father’s death after you promised.

Now he’ll be yours and you’ll be his, all over again. Jinyoung needs you more than his pride or titles; he’ll be shameless and needy, he doesn’t care. He simply won’t let you vanish another time.

___

Most children dream of getting home for the summer, but not him. To him, boarding school is a safe haven. He’d take on over 100 bullies if it meant he’d be away from home for a whole year. Summers are hot and heavy, even gloomier than the dark winters to Jinyoung.

That’s why he’s hiding, sitting on a rock under a big oak tree, a mile from his vacation home. He likes to come here, skip rocks on the lake, do nothing or read a book; be away from his father’s scrutiny. This lake is still on his family’s domain, most of the things in Jinyoung’s life belong to his last name; his hopes, dreams and future. None of it is his. Even at twelve, he knows that too well, he’s aware. It weighs on him like his white shirt, rendered heavy with humidity. He kicks a pebble and watches it roll on the lakeshore; boring, but funnier than being home.

That’s the moment he sees you for the first time; the last Sunday of May, 1886, around noon. You are running on the pebbles, freely, seemingly not caring if you sprain one of your ankles by falling. For the first time, the world stops turning for Jinyoung. Your hair is flying messily around your face, fighting the wind coming from the lake; you are breathtaking. A man is observing you from afar, he screams something and you go back to him. You don’t see the dark-haired boy around your age, stunned under the oak tree, don’t care for him. He, however, finds himself caring.

That summer won’t be like others; Jinyoung discovers that on that last Sunday of May.

The day after, he starts going back there with the only intent of seeing you again. Nobody has second thoughts when he asks about who’s living in the small cottage by the lake. They don’t care about his curious interest and they answer in hushed tones for him to stop. It makes people uncomfortable when Jinyoung speaks to them, that’s why he usually avoids it. He learns that you are the daughter of the musician his father favourites, enough to take him away from Paris for the summer. It’s weird because he already knew Monsieur Daae but he has never met you. You are motherless, his servants mutter that with judgment, apparently forgetting Jinyoung’s just the same. Except you are not like him; you seem happier, warmer.

The next day, he goes to that oak tree again and also the day after that.

He takes the habit of observing you in the afternoon; hiding under the trees on the outskirts of the woods, where they meet the pebbles and water. He discovers in delight that you often sit in the yard of the cottage when the weather is forgiving. You sit there to sing, draw or catch butterflies. On one of those afternoons, you surprise him when he’s not paying attention.

He’s resting at his usual spot, reading a book about adventure, but he raises his eyes, feeling watched.

That day, your hair is braided, resting on one of your shoulders and you tilt your head with curiosity as his eyes go wide of shock. He doesn’t know how long you’ve been there; observing him. You are sitting on the big rock he usually likes to sit on, knees pulled under your chin. Like that, you resemble the main mademoiselle in a feminine portrait painted by Édouard Manet. Forever frozen still, created solely to exist in this natural specific scenery. Jinyoung gulps, so nervous he can barely remember to breathe.

“Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea…” You wrinkle your nose pensively at the title of the book he’s holding. “That sounds scary!”

Jinyoung bites his cheek, watching you blink, awaiting an answer that could never come. He wishes he could give you one, but you’d be uncomfortable and he’s too scared. Jinyoung is a coward.

“You are the young master.” You state it like you don’t care at all like it’s the most boring thing you could ever say. He feels his heart rate accelerates, just as the first time he saw you play, a few days ago. “You don’t want to talk to me…” Saying this you look away briefly, in direction of your cottage and Jinyoung’s heart sinks. You’re going to go, you’re going to leave and never address him again, because of his family name and rank. Because he can’t speak. “It’s alright, I don’t care. This is so boring here, I’m all alone. I’m going to talk to you anyway…” You sigh, throwing your head back to look at the clouds. “You can ignore me if that’s what you want. My help does it all the time… I can talk to myself for hours...”

Jinyoung shakes his head and you frown.

“Are you a mute then?” You pout and he opens his mouth to deny it, but ends up lacking the will. “It’s strange… You don’t look like one.”

There’s a voiceless boy in his special classes and Jinyoung never found he looked any special. He could explain that to you but he won’t. It would be a very long and painful sentence.

“I’m y/n, my father is a violinist.” He nods; he knows that already. “I love music, what do you love, young master?” After a few seconds of waiting, you roll your eyes back and he drops his to the tips of his boots, scared you’ll leave if he doesn’t even attempt to reply.

“Bb-bb–bb-b” Jinyoung bites his lower lip out of frustration, but you clap your hands, excited by his laughable noises.

“So you talk!” You giggle happily, not at him. Jinyoung stares at you in awe. Nobody ever told him he could do that before; they usually understand very fast it’s quite the opposite. “You love… books?”

“Yes… Bb-books.” His voice is small, but a bit less strained; although he’d want to be louder. Today, he forgets to hate the sound of his stutter, because you laugh again and that… That is the single most agreeable and delicate sound he ever heard.

“What’s your name, young master?”

“JJ-Jinyoung” He hates his name.

“Nice to meet you, Jinyoung!” His eyebrows shoot up when you call him. Not stutter, retarded, not by his full title of nobility, by his simple name. He relaxes a bit. “What’s your book about?”

“Voyages extraordinaire of the Ca-C-Captain Nemo!” Jinyoung spurts out with excitement and you nod along, listening. “An underwater ad-d-d-dd-dventure–”

“Underwater?” You pause to think for a few seconds and he notes that you haven’t tried to finish his words for him, something he finds even more frustrating. “How? Can Captain Nemo breathe underwater?”

He shakes his head, happier than he’s been in a while. “He has a b-b-b-b-oat–” By habit, he hides his struggle with a fake cough, but you wait for him to go on, so he does: “A sub-b-bb–” He stops again with a frown, trying to come up with an easier word that you would understand. “Like a small house t-th-that goes un-un-n-under, it a-a-actually exists!” He shuts his eyes in irritation; he never thought talking could get any harder.

“Fantastic!” You clap your hands, ignoring his chagrin, acting like you haven’t noticed his speech disorder. “Then does this mean we could go on an underwater adventure, someday?” Or perhaps you simply don’t care for it, he inhales sharply.

“You an-nd I?” Jinyoung feels himself blushing harder, of embarrassment and something else entierly.

___

Everyone congratulates you as you walk backstage, but you only have a single wish: hiding. The performance was well received and you did great, but you don’t really feel like running into him again.

Of all the Vicomtes and nobles of Paris, of France; Jinyoung had to be the one. Why him? Sure, you know very well he always liked the arts, but what are the odds? Did his father put him up to this? Surely not, you respected your end of the bargain and disappeared, he wouldn’t throw Jinyoung after you. Not after five years of hiding and healing. The new mécène… Fine, if what Jinyoung said earlier is true; it’s a coincidence, the worst one.

When you finally reach your room, you let the wood of your door cool your burning forehead. Away from the applause, it will be easier to think. Something you lacked time for before going on stage.

“Are you ill? Are you feeling alright?”

You nearly fall when backing into the corner, tripping on the ballet shoes you abandoned on the floor yesterday. He rises to his feet as you trip, even though he’s on the other side of the room. He seems even paler, surreal and gorgeous than earlier, but it might just be the lesser amount of candles lighting in the room. What is he doing here?

“Jinyoung” You groan, clutching your heart. “You scared me!”

“You are very red.” Crossing the distance you put between you, he brings his hand to your burning forehead. His fingers feel like ice against your skin and you shiver at the contact.

“You shouldn’t be here!” You push his hand away, watching his face harden.

“Why?” He clenches his jaw, glaring at you. “Were you planning on hiding forever?” You look away, not wanting to know if he's asking about tonight or for the rest of your life.

“This is my room, Jinyoung… You are being very inappropriate.” Loosely, you gesture your tiny bed in a corner and he pales, even more, taking a step back to put a comfortable space between your bodies.

“You never used to care about social conventions.”

“Well, you weren’t the benefactor of the place where I live and work.”

___

Jaebum’s boiling. You basically insinuated the rich prick should leave and he didn’t budge. Even he knows that. He, who lives alone in between brick walls. He, whose only socialization was getting hit with a stick. Jaebum leans in closer to the one-way mirror, observing the scene in your room and wondering if there’s something he can do.

“Does it matter?” The Vicomte sighs like you’re most annoying to him. “Why should we care about what they think of us?” He takes a step towards you, but you get away, walking to the other side of the room. You stop in front of your mirror where Jaebum is hiding and he inhales sharply of relief at your proximity. He can easily intervene if the noble foozler tries something indecent.

“Leave, don’t tell your father you saw me.”

“W-what?” The man, who was walking closer, stops in his tracks.

“I don’t need the trouble!” Facing the glass, you hide your face in your hands, tired.

“D-dd-did he say something?” The asshole closes his eyes, bringing a clenched fist in front of his mouth. “Is this why you disap-pp-p–” He fakes a couch and Jaebum’s eyebrows shoot up. The conceit prick doesn’t know how to properly talk, that’s somewhat surprising. When you open your eyes, you look straight at Jaebum, although he knows you can’t see him. Your expression softens and you turn around to face the Vicomte.

“Do you want to sing it, Jinyoung?” Jaebum can only see your profile, but your lips curl upwards like you’re teasing the stranger and it’s his turn to frown in frustration.

“No.” The man bites his lips, perhaps out of nervousness. “Is it because of h-him? That you’re here?”

Jaebum is curious now, he wants to know too. Who is this man’s father, how does he know you and is this why… Why you came to him? He waits for a long moment with the Vicomte for your answer, but it never comes.

“Y/n–” The man reaches for your arms and you let him do it, let him pull you closer. “He’s gone now, haven’t you notice the title?” He leans in, way too close, and Jaebum narrows his eyes, angry. “I’m the Vicomte de Chagny; I do what I want, buy what I don’t need, love who I lov–”

“Must be real nice, Jinyoung.” You wiggle out of his arms and his face falls as you sit on the corner of your desk.

“No, it’s not. Not without you!” He throws his hands to the sides, gesturing to everything around you both. “Don’t you see what this is?”

“Your Opéra?” You ask bitterly and Jaebum hums, disapproving. Everything here should be considered his.

“Destiny? Fate?” You roll your eyes, but the Vicomte goes on, unbothered. “I didn’t know you were living here, but here we are! I found you and I’m not losing you again! Y/n you were amazing tonight! You were born to sing, you’ll be the star of my Opéra! My muse! My...”

This time Jaebum scowls out loud, not caring if any of you hear. You’ve been his muse for five years. This man cannot come in here and claim you!

“What, Jinyoung?” You cross your arms over your chest, although your eyes flutter to the mirror again.

“My… My–” The rich prick tilts his head, struggling. When he continues, his voice is nothing but a murmur. “We promised years ago…” Jaebum’s heart sinks. A promise. It’s not fair, he never stood a chance. Jaebum could promise you the moon, write a thousand symphonies in your name and you’d still choose this rich and handsome guy over him.

“We can’t. We were child–”

“The world is changing!” The man cuts you off, not letting you reject him. “Nobody cares about ranks now; this is almost the 20th century!”

“It’s not that–”

“We could run away, go to a colony… Africa?” He shrugs. “My uncle is the Gouverneur du Sénégal! If you say so if you ask me to, we’ll go! Away from these stuck up Parisians! I’ve already told you all that!”

Jaebum freezes. Leave? You can’t leave him. Even if this man belongs to your past, what gives him the right to come into your lives and tear you two apart? Why can that man suddenly talk again? Jaebum wishes for him to choke on his words, on that old promise, whatever it might be.

“Jinyoung, it’s not that, it’s not them!”

“What? Is…” He pauses, inhaling shortly. “Is there s-s-so-someone else?”

The time seems to stop in the tiny room and you bury your face in your hands, defeated. Jaebum wants to burst in there, push that shady aristocrat away from you, but he doesn’t. He watches with Jinyoung as you hide away the answer in your eyes; wait expectantly for you to tell the other he’s here, even if you don’t know that. Here with you all the time; your angel. He grimaces at the thought of the name you gave him, but you can’t leave him all alone. Not for a guy who already has everything, who was born with a golden spoon in his mouth. Jaebum can't be alone again.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

___

Three small knocks on the door, interrupt your confrontation with Jinyoung. You uncover your face, panicked. You know exactly what people will think if they find you alone with the new patron of the Opéra. In your room. You glare at the Vicomte in front of you, he has nothing to lose and he answers with an apologetic shrug. A woman only has her reputation, especially one with no money nor title, but it’s too late now.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s me, chérie.” Madame Giry answers from behind the door and you sigh, relieved. “I am accompanied by Messieurs Firmin et André, may we come in? Are you decent, child?”

Jinyoung moves to your desk, as far away as possible from your bed and sits. When you open the door, M. Firmin storms in clapping excitedly.

“Une étoile est née!” He sing-songs, almost bouncing in the room. “Grandiose. Didn’t I tell you Gilles? Didn’t I tell you we should put our trust in Mademoiselle Daae?!” His business partner walks in, wincing at his blatant lie. He’s the first one to notice the aristocrat trying to sit naturally on your tiny wooden chair and he freezes.

“Ah–” M. André opens his mouth, gasping and looks around the room to see if someone else is standing there. Realizing you two were alone, he recovers swiftly, clearing his throat. “Félicitations Mademoiselle, I see you’ve met our new mécène.” Since he doesn’t want to insinuate anything shady, he adds: “We were looking for you everywhere, Vicomte.” Jinyoung tilts his head, doubtful. They probably diligently avoided him after losing his primadonna right before the representation. “Did you enjoy this… May I say so myself; perfect performance?”

“Very much Monsieur, I believe the main soprano made quite an impression as Hannibal’s first love, Elissa.” You bow shyly at Jinyoung’s compliment and meet Madame Giry’s scary glare. She’s clearly angry you let a man into your room. You mentally curse her daughter Meg; after all, she’s the one who brought him here in the first place.

“Oh! Let me introduce you! Mille excuses!” M. Firmin nods apologetically in her direction, wrongly interpreting her evident displeasure. “Vicomte, this is our precious Madame Giry, in charge of our famous corps de ballet!”

At that Jinyoung gets up to graciously bow to the middle-aged woman. “Enchanted, madame. I am the Vicomte de Changy, new mécène.”

“De Chagny?” She glances at you, her attitude completely shifting. She’s the one who took you in after your father’s death when you were only fifteen and broken. The first motherly figure you ever had; she knows.

“Yes.” Jinyoung lips tighten, apprehensive. “Were you acquainted with my late father?”

“Um– No, I’ve never had the chance of meeting him, my apologies sir.” As if to shield you, she puts a hand on your back, a gesture Jinyoung evidently doesn’t miss. “I believe we should let our main lady rest for the night, y/n had a lot to do in the last few days!” You look at her, grateful. You really want to be left alone right now.

“Oh that’s–” M. Firmin clears his throat, clearly hating to go against the woman’s words. “There was a little supper organized be–”

“Mademoiselle Daae and I are going out to eat.” Jinyoung offers a smug smile to his small audience. “We were discussing this very matter together.” Your jaw drops at that. He said a number of things when you were alone, but he never mentioned sharing a meal tonight. Jinyoung used to be a very bad liar, simply the worst; hesitations and nervousness rendering his speech incomprehensible.

“Alone?” M. André pauses, disapproving, and you hope he’ll prohibit it from happening, even though he has the authority and charisma of a trout. “Wouldn’t it be better if–”

“Gilles, quel rabat joie!” M. Firmin cuts him off. “Surely that’s not what Monsieur meant–”

“Yes. Alone.” Jinyoung seems to savour his control for a few seconds before turning to face you. “Mademoiselle, I’ll wait outside for you to change out of your costume…” He smirks, eyes playful, voluntarily ignoring the indignation his words are provoking. “There’s a charming and simple place near the Opéra, I think you will like it!”

“Pardo–”

He insists with an intended raised eyebrow, interrupting your protests. “We’ll continue our reminiscence of old times there.”

Although the room is full, nobody opposes him. You clench your teeth, holding back hurtful words. He’s behaving like the very people he despised; not taking “no” as an answer. But you’re not fifteen anymore and you know your place. Another Vicomte de Chagny made sure of that before him. There’s nothing more to say, so you keep your tongue to yourself.

“Old times?” M. André repeats, suddenly a bit warmer to the idea.

“Of course, we are already quite familiar; we used to spend our young summers together. Our families were close. We tragically lost touch and have a lot of catching up to do.” Jinyoung offers a sweet smile, but you turn away, wishing he wouldn’t publicly bring up your past friendship. There’s a collective sigh of relief in the room and just as you begin to fear what he might add next, he chuckles and goes on: “You see, Mademoiselle Daae is dear to me… Like Elissa is to Hannibal!”

“Oh! That’s marvellous!” M. Firmin claps his business partner’s shoulder, ecstatic. “Just like tonight’s representation then, a love story!”

You exchange a look with Madame Giry, defeated. A love story where Elissa ends up killing herself to avoid a forced wedding. Jinyoung offers you a perfectly warm smile as he opens the door to get out, but you only feel cold and dry.

___

“My hand?” You blink, stunned by Jinyoung’s question but decide to laugh it off. You hope the sound will hide your discomfort at the warmth his words spread in your body. “Why would you want it?” Jinyoung eyes widen, filled with sudden incertitude, but he should already know how you feel. Your question is clearly a lie, a teasing joke; told to cover the fact that you can’t answer his without changing your lives forever.

He hums before attempting to talk, closing his eyes for the battle. “I-I-I-I–” He grunts, when his larynx betrays him and the corners of your lips curl upward.

To you, his stutter is one of the things that make Jinyoung amazing.

There needs to be a flaw, a tiny blemish, to make you appreciate a perfect piece. This is something your father often says. Jinyoung is like that to you; a work of art rendered perfect by his tiniest imperfection.

You lean in against the big oak, observing his tormented expression and wondering if you should end his suffering. You wait a while longer because he hates when people steal his words, you know that. You know everything Jinyoung loves and everything he doesn’t.

“I’m just asking f-f-f-f-or–” He sighs in frustration. He hasn’t stutter that much in almost two years, it must be his nerves.

“Do you want to sing it?” You laugh lightly; it’s something that helps him when it won’t come out. Although, secretly, there’s nothing you love more than the sound of his singing voice. “Or play charades?” You lick your lips, watching his expression turn darker. He doesn’t get how much you love this sort of thing. It would be perfect for a love confession, you blush harder. “We used to do this, younger… When you didn’t want to speak…” Jinyoung frowns ever more and you bite the interior of your cheek to keep from smiling at his irritation. “You want my hand… For?”

Say it. Ask me.

Jinyoung stays desperately silent, perhaps he’s given up.

“Are you alright, Jinyoung-ie?” You ask a bit scared that your teasing made him change his mind. “It doesn’t matter you know–” But it does. “You can ask me tomorrow…” But he can’t.

“You know I’m leaving tomorrow.” When he finally talks again, it’s without halting and you smile, satisfied.

“See? It’s better now; you don’t have to be so nervous.”

Ask me. Tell me.

“We both are f-f-fi-fifteen, now–” You tilt your head to the side, unsure why he’s using a long sentence to mention your age. You both already are well aware you aren’t children anymore. “I want to tell you how I f-f-feel–”

Before he can continue, your maid yells your name from the cottage. You thought you’d have at least an hour more before she’d come looking for you after her afternoon nap. Without thinking twice, you grab Jinyoung’s hand and sink deeper into the woods. You run without intent and he follows, intertwining his fingers with yours. He probably doesn’t know why you must hide from Marie.

Before this summer, nobody ever asked you questions about your relationship with Jinyoung, but in June, this changed. Marie got curious, started to talk about how wholly inappropriate it was to see a man alone at your age, one with a name at that. At first, you brushed it off, ignored her, but she was right: Jinyoung turned into a man. You weren’t twelve anymore and if the time you used to spend together was innocent, this summer your cheeks were burning every time he looked at you. Every time he touched you, your skin went ablaze. After that, Marie started to question your outings, asking you where you’ve been and with whom. Then it turned worse, she’d yell, threatened you to tell his family about your idyll and say they’d send him away.

This summer, you learned you had something to lose. She’s still calling your name from afar when you stop running, turning around to face him in panic.

“We don’t have time, I’m sorry I teased you!” Jinyoung twitches as you release his hand and reach for the blue ribbon tying your hair in a tight bun.

It’s the one you lost your first summer together. The wind stole it when you were on one of your epic adventures on the lake and Jinyoung jumped from the rowboat to get it back. You didn’t know how to swim, so you kept yelling scared to death. He swam back just fine, holding the inexpensive fabric above his head like the most expensive trophies. He was clueless as to why you were so angry at him back then.

Jinyoung lips part slightly when he sees your flocks of hair fall around your face and if you weren’t already tomato red, you’d blush even more. This doesn’t feel like being alone with a friend, Jinyoung really is a man now. He reaches for a strand of your hair, but you catch his fingers before he can touch one.

“I’ll give you this.” You say those words so softly that he doesn’t react and you wonder if he heard them. He simply watches as you tie your hands together with your ribbon. The task proves to be harder than you thought with a single hand; no wonder people usually need a witness. Jinyoung clears his throat, embarrassed as he finally catches on what you are doing. Handfast; the betrothal of the pagans and the wanderers. Your heart beats even faster when you notice he’s turning red, blushing just like you.

“Jinyoung, I–” You pause to sigh and smile, wishing he’d say something, anything, or at least try. Isn’t he the one who wanted to do this? Isn’t the man supposed to confess? “I can’t give you much, but know that my heart is yours. It has been for years now, I love you… too.” He stays desperately silent so you have to go on: “Even when you are far, I only see you, I only think of you. Father and I, we’ll always be…” You push air out of your chest to say the rest of the sentence. Looking at your tied hands as a wedding promise for courage. “–obliged to your family…” It’s true, there’s no point denying it. His father’s protection is the reason your father could go to the Conservatoire de Paris. His family’s money is the only reason your father makes a living with his music.

“Don’t say that.” Jinyoung grimaces, wrinkling his nose. He hates when you bring it up. He often says that he would prefer being born poor rather than to have his title. It makes you laugh; Jinyoung doesn’t truly know what cold is, he doesn’t know hunger either. “I don’t want you to say it’s because of that.”

“I’m not.” You giggle; relieved he actually found his voice back. “But I also know who you are and where you stand. We’re not the same.”  You both know that, so you’re surprised when he clenches his jaw, angry.

“Do not talk like him!” He stops and lowers his voice, probably worried that Marie will find you two. She’d never come into the woods, you’re sure of that, but you let him get closer. You can almost feel the warmth coming from his body now and you shiver. The air is starting to cool these days, September is really near now and you’ll lose him for another 8 months.

“It doesn’t matter what they think. I promise we’ll be together; if you just say yes then we’ll be together.” Weren’t you the one who made the promise first? You smile since he doesn’t seem to realize that. “Hell, we can even run away together!” You both laugh when the unfamiliar curse leaves his mouth. “Nothing matters if you are with me, we can even leave the old country if you want to! If you wish, I’ll ask your father after boarding school, he likes me. I’ll find a way to convince mine! I’ll–”

“Jinyoung.” You interrupt his confession, the one you were dying to hear earlier, he’s almost breathless. Lungs neglected by the fervour of his words, spoken too fast, something very unusual of him.

“What?” He hesitates, scared of what you might say. Why is he so afraid, didn’t you already say you’ll be his?

“You haven’t stuttered in over a minute.” His eyes round with surprise and you smile, proud of him. Jinyoung beams, his tongue darts through his lips and they catch you attention.

Right here, hidden behind a tree, in the woods where you used to fight dragons together you start to wonder. Right now, you wonder what these lips might feel like pressed on yours; wonder if you would survive something as intense, so close yet so far. Jinyoung’s expression turns serious when you lean in and close your eyes, you can almost already taste his breath. He’s the one who crosses the last line, leaving the shreds of what was left of your childhood and innocence behind. His nose brushes your cheek as his lips find yours, delicately, sweetly. The touch is so pure, so delicious; it stops time.

___

When the small crowd finally leaves your room, you sigh in relief at the return of your intimacy. Jinyoung is back. Even crazier and even more passionate than before, but you’ve grown. You’ve changed and he doesn’t seem to want to realize that. You walk behind your folded screen to slip off your Elissa costume; it takes you a moment to get rid of the horrible corset. When you are left in only your underskirt, at last, you squeal in triumph. One small battle won, now you shall prepare for the war. You put one of your comfortable dresses on, something drab like everything else you own. Something that will clash with Jinyoung’s lavish appearance. You freeze thinking that; you really don’t want to eat with him right now. You want to think about what his return means, what his father's death means.

The Voice resonates in your room making you jump. “You were amazing tonight. I’d anticipate nothing less from my special protégée.” You had forgotten everything about the performance, but not about your angel of music.

“Thank you…” You bite your lips, walking up to the mirror to take your costume jewelry off now that you are fully clothed. Doing so, you fight the idea of a man observing you, not Jinyoung, but the owner of the Voice.

“Are you going to leave?” It’s sorrowful when it rings again and your freeze, holding one of the jewel flowers from your hair. Somehow guiltily, you lower your gaze to the tip of your shoes.

“I–” You clear your throat. Maybe this is how lost Jinyoung used to feel when his words didn’t come out. “I’ll be back after we have supper…”

“Ok… I… I’ll wait…” It pauses and you stare at yourself in the mirror, wondering if you really have to go. Jinyoung is the new mécène, it would look bad to refuse his invitation, but at the same time, he isn’t a stranger. He’d probably understand if you’d prefer to stay in your room… Right? Meeting him on the night of your first performance role was more than what you both expected, although he seems to be more than thrilled by all this. There was once a time where the simple memory of him would bring joy in your life. You close your eyelids to escape from the horrible flashbacks that come, but you still see it; your father dying, the Vicomte letting you know exactly where you stand, Madame Giry–. You bring a hand to your chest, clutching where your heart is, panicked. You can’t do this.

“Y/n– Um, Mademoiselle Daae!” Behind your closed door, Jinyoung chuckles at his mistake, unaware of your current distress. “Are you almost ready to go?”

The voice is hushed this time, very close and worried. “I don’t want you to go. Don’t go.” You look up to yourself in the mirror, breathing rendered heavy by your old pain and eyes full of tears.

“I have to.” As soon as you say the obvious your hands start to shake. You feel nauseous, overwhelmed by the feeling you’re trapped. Is Jinyoung really not a stranger? Where was he all those years? Even if you ran away, disappeared. Isn’t he the one supposed to always come saving you, like in your childhood games? Where was he? He barely stutters anymore, is he really your Jinyoung then? Is he the same just because he still says he cares for you? Biting your tongue so much you bleed, you wipe a fugitive tear on your cheek.

“Y/n? Are you alright?” Outside, that Jinyoung is sincerely concerned; you’re taking way too long to get ready.

You can’t do this. You deeply sigh before tentatively asking: “This isn’t the only exit, right?” There’s a long silence, heavy and doubt surfaces in the back of your mind.

“Are–” The voice halts, its owner seemingly abashed. “Are you asking me?”

You look up in the mirror again, this time trying to see beyond, unsuccessful like the other times you tried. Perhaps he’s just as scared as you are, there must be a reason he lives in the shadows. You try to remind yourself of that often when you become too curious about him.

Only tonight, you don’t care; you need an escape, need to be saved.

“Who else?”

L’Opéra [Mini Masterlist]

[believe-that-you-can-my-friend]

Prompt: Betty and Jughead's kids ask about their first kiss and how they met.

I had so much fun writing this!!! It’s cuteness overload, it’s fluffy Bughead, it’s amazing parenting, it’s something I didn’t know I wanted in life up until now! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!!

“They swim really fast and they can hold their breathfor fifteen minutes underwater. The pups are being born in the water too, onbig pieces of ice, and at first they have fluffy white fur but, when they growolder, they lose it and they become silver gray. I went to the library afterclass and searched in the encyclopedia, like you and mommy taught me how, and Isaw more pictures and, daddy, they look so cute!Like they are always happy and playing all day long!” the five year old boykept talking with passion and childish excitement, his tiny legs curled underhim on a matte black barstool while his torso was sprawled on the marblekitchen island in front of him, elbows pressed on an unfinished crayoneddrawing, holding his weight up, and eyes round and alit in fascination uponlooking at his dad’s phone screen.

“They do look pretty cute and jolly, now that youpointed it out, bud.” His dad agreed with a couple of nods, scrolling through Googlesearch and tapping on yet another picture. “Do they also eat fish?”

“Of course, daddy! Harp seals are still seals.” Theboy replied in a heartbeat. “Did you know that their nose closes when they gounder the water?” upon seeing his dad snap his head up to face him surprised,he continued with more vigor. “Yeah, they can’t smell anything but they cansense the fish passing by or feel them with their whiskers.” He went on matterof factly, as if reciting from a National Geographic catalogue, his dadgrinning in amazement at his brilliant young mind and his cute overall reactionat something as simple as mammals.

“Wow…” he fed his son’s boyish excitement more with abreathy sigh of appreciation, locking his phone and abandoning it to the side.“So you learnt all that from just a small text Mrs. Lyn read during circletime?”

“No.” the five year old shook his head, his attentionsifting back to his drawing. “Mrs. Lyn just read to us about arctic animals andshowed us pictures; I read all that from the encyclopedia at recess.” Heshrugged adorably, chubby fingers grabbing a bright blue crayon before messilycoloring on his A4 drawing block, without a care in the world.

Jughead shook his head in amusement; of course he did.

Sawyer Forsythe Jones was not an ordinary kid. Namedafter the character of his dad’s favorite childhood book and continuing the family name ofthe Jones’ bloodline down the centuries but only by half – Jughead had beenadamant about it, he didn’t want his son to carry a name worth of decades ofbullying but he had finally agreed on Forsythe as a middle name, a much neededfarewell to his late father, as Betty had kept insisting with passion, becauseshe knew him like the back of her hand and she knew how much he missed hisfather still and Jughead had loved her even more for that, even if that wasimpossible – the little raven haired boy was nothing like the menace in MarkTwain’s book or his delinquent grandfather. Having abandoned picture books atthe age of three, started using full and even perplexed sentences a year later andthen moving to chaptered books with print smaller than his thump that he could readby himself when all the other kids his age barely knew basic lettercombinations, Sawyer was the gifted kid that neither Betty and especially norJughead expected to be blessed with when they had come across the happiestsurprise of their lives, that little pink plus sign on a Saturday morning fiveyears ago. Then again both of them were constantly buried in words and thesmell of unstained white paper, her being an accomplished journalist and anaspiring women’s rights activist by now and him an acclaimed author in theprocess of finishing his second detective novel, not to mention their, joinednow, collection of books, stocked in a huge bookshelf occupying an entire wallof their spacious living room. Combine that with their sharp brains and, voila,a little genius came to the world.

“Daddy?” Sawyer’s candy cane voice echoed in thekitchen and his dad hummed in response against the open fridge, fetching abeer. He was still not a friend of alcohol but on particular occasions he cameto appreciate it upon growing up and understanding that the reason of his dad’sproblems wasn’t just this very own bottle. “Was I a mistake?” his son’s questionstunted him and he turned to face him in an instant.

Jughead took a step back in his mind to size thesituation. Since he became a father he did that a lot, wanting to have ahealthy relationship with his son based in understanding and explaining, notsudden outbursts and out-of-reflex moves. His first instinct was to see bloodat the thought of someone, even a five year old, calling his son a mistake buthe held his horses, mostly because Sawyer kept coloring with no worry in theworld and not visible discomfort about the comment.

“Of course you are not.” He assured him nonetheless,resting on his elbows across the little boy. “Did something happen at school?” hefrowned, examining him closely, ready to offer every ounce of encouragement andlove he had to the proudest achievement of his life.

“Just some kids were teasing Patrick and telling himhe was a mistake because his mom and dad got married after he was born.” Sawyerexplained coloring a bright sun at the very corner of his paper and Jugheadaudibly exhaled at that, his mood turning bright again like the boy’s crayon-stainedhands.

“No one is a mistake and no one can arbitrarily label anyonelike that, okay?” Jughead knew his son was a good kid but he wanted to makesure he understood that impoliteness and domineering behavior were notacceptable for the members of their family.

Sawyer caught up on that and the big, foreign soundingword and his dad grinned upon seeing his eyes, in all their perfect green glory,lighting up like they always did with thirst to learn more.

“It means without a reason, without having a logicalexplanation.” He set its definition, not waiting for him to ask first, seeingSawyer mouthing the word in a slow childish manner to memorize it and chucklinglightly at how adorable he was.

“I know that!” the five year old boy went on withtheir discussion. “I told them that they were being mean and that it doesn’tmatter when or why two people get together ‘cause if they do, it means thatthey love each other and they want to love their babies too.” He said with allhis childish naivety and his pure, innocent perspective about the world andsomething swelled inside of Jughead proudly. Yeah, he and Betty were doingsomething right after all.

“That’s my boy.” He praised and ruffled his unruly ravencurls in affection, Sawyer grinning from ear to ear to his dad. “Besides noteveryone is fortunate enough to find their other half quickly, just like ithappened with me and your dorky mom.” He smirked, opening his now slightly warmbeer bottle.

He saw Sawyer looking with bright eyes again; hechuckled. “Fortunate; lucky.” He went on to explain himself once more. Bettyalways scolded him for not using simpler words around their boy, in fear ofJughead overloading his developing brain with way more advanced for his ageknowledge, but first of all, he couldn’t help it, that was his manner ofspeaking since elementary school and, second of all, he was already filteringhimself, it was impossible to hold back more. Plus, their little pride and joywas practically a sponge, absorbing everything his dad was eloquently blubbing,and that was always a pleasure to witness.

“How did you and mommy meet?” the boy was curious now,little feet swaying and colliding with the kitchen island in front of him withrhythmical soft thuds.

Jughead laughed. “You know that, you silly monkey.” Hegroaned playfully against his neck, making Sawyer squirm and giggle as hepatted barefoot to sit next to him on a barstool. “We were childhood friendsback in Riverdale.” His son knew all about their shenanigans as kids; uncle –and godfather – Archie made sure of that.

“Yeah, where grandpa and grandma and aunt Polly stilllive.” Sawyer said with excitement, Jughead nodding in confirmation. Wheneverthey could find time he and Betty would leave Boston and visit their hometown,Sawyer always having a blast with his cousins, Jason and Lizzie. “But when didyou see each other for the first time?” he wanted to know with a toothy grin.

Jughead huffed with an amused smile at his suddencuriosity. “Well, it was summer and we were around seven. I was at uncleArchie’s, the two of us taking turns pretending that we were driving his dad’sconstruction car and, suddenly, there was that new girl with the bouncyponytail coming over with a dashing smile. Her family was new to theneighborhood, I haven’t seen her before, I didn’t even know her name but Iremember I couldn’t even talk because she was just so out of this world.” He couldstill picture a seven year old Jughead sitting like a statue and gripping fordear life the steering wheel of Fred Andrews’ work vehicle, appearing as atotal retard at the sight of the shiny blonde girl.

“Was momma as pretty as she is now?” his son askedcheekily.  

“That and even more and that’s not even humanlypossible.” Jughead whispered in his usual admiration and devotion when it cameto the love of his life and Sawyer gasped in awe. “She said her name was Bettyand sat next to me on the leather car seat, telling us that she saw us playingand she wanted to join; she even knew how to get the car running if we wanted.”He scoffed amused at the memory, the scent of vanilla and strawberries invadinghis senses exactly like it had done that very first evening he had met her.

“And?” Sawyer almost yelled in excitement, tooinvested in the story that he was growing impatient.

“And she did. And we crashed the car on the first treenext to uncle Archie’s house.” He shook his head with a light chuckle beforehis lips froze into a lovesick, nostalgic smile. “And it didn’t matter that Igot an earful from mine and Archie’s dad that day, as they came rushing out thedoor after the loud crush. The girl next door had offered me the biggestbubblegum pink smile upon running to her own screaming mother and I couldn’t bemore hooked.”

“Wow…” the little boy exclaimed mesmerized too by howcool his dad and his friends sounded. “Did you start the kissing thing afterthat? Does it mean that when I turn seven I can start the kissing too?” hisnaïve questions and clueless expression brought another round of light chucklesto his dad.

“No, we didn’t and no, you need to be a tad older to do that, I’m sorry, bud.”Jughead admitted in his usual sardonic manor, beyond amused when he saw his sonsighing a little in disappointment.

“So when did you start?” he dragged his question in awhine; he was persistent tonight.

“You know, Soy Sauce, they say curiosity killed thecat.” He used Betty’s ridiculous nickname for their son, teasing him with afoxy smile.

“I’m not a cat.” He replied matter of factly and withall seriousness, Jughead bursting out laughing at the comment. “C’mon, daddy,when did you kiss momma for the first time?” Sawyer pleaded the answer with hismost cute expression and charming grin.

Jughead groaned playfully. “When we were sixteen.Here, happy now?”

Sawyer counted his fingers and gasped at how many theywere between seven and sixteen. “Why did it take so long?” he asked theobvious.

His father just shrugged, sparing him theuncomfortable, teenage angst filled details. “Let’s such say that other thingswere getting in the way.”

“And when you did, was it nice?” the mini version ofhim grinned even more.

His grin was contagious. “The best feeling in theworld. Exhilarating. Like she came and lifted all my worries and heavy feelingsoff my chest and I felt up in the sky, dancing with my guardian angel.” He wenton to explain the world and his emotions, not sure that he was doing a goodjob.

“Like ‘sunny day with no school’ nice or ‘triplechocolate milkshake with a cheeseburger and fries’ super nice?” the boywondered, demanding further explanation, clearly taking after his dad’sappetite.

“Like triple chocolate milkshake with a triple burgercheeseburger and Texas bacon cheese fries along with chicken nuggets and Oreocookies muffins.” Jughead amplified the statement to showcase his own amplifiedfeelings the moment his lips touched hers for the first time and every timeuntil now that followed.

Sawyer’s awestruck exclamation was interrupted by thesound of keys opening the front door further down the hallway, his momreturning home from the newspaper.

“Boys! I’m home!” Betty’s sugary sweet voice echoedaround, filling the room with butterflies, and the two men in her life smiled.Minutes later she was under the wide arch of the kitchen threshold, blonde beachwaves free up until the middle of her back, dressed in a fashionable salmonpink sweater and form-fitting leather pants, delicious on her killer legs.Jughead licked his lips involuntarily; he always liked her in leather.

“What are my two little monsters up to?” she smiledlovingly besides her teasing tone and patted barefoot further inside, havingabandoned her heeled ankle boots by the door.

“Oh, you know, the usual male bonding over beers andlady talk.” Her husband teased back with his clever smirk, taking a sip fromhis beer that was long forgotten on the counter top of the island.

Betty giggled. “Well, if it keeps you, mister, fromgetting any older, then, yes, feed him alcohol and coffee.” She went on in adesperate mom tone, closing tightly her arms around Sawyer’s shoulders frombehind, pretending to eat his neck with loud nom-nom sounds that left the boyshrieking loud giggles.

“How was your day, babe?” she rested her chin on theboy’s shoulder and asked her husband with a sweet smile, him offering an equalsmile back.

“Mostly just playing and reading.” Sawyer repliedinstead of Jughead in a tired adult-like voice and the parents laughed, shakingtheir heads in amusement.

“Mine wasn’t bad either.” Jughead admitted playfully,leaning forward to peck her lips lovingly at the same time as she did.

“You’re squeezing me.” Their son’s voice came indistress and muffled from between them, the couple pulling back with amusedscoffs at the theatricals of their offspring. “And your day was bad; you onlywrote a page.” He told on his dad shamelessly and with a judgy tone, Jugheadnarrowing his eyes at him in fake threat and Betty trying to hide her laughter.

“Well, traitor,why don’t you go and wash up for dinner before anything else of ourconversation comes out of your big mouth?” he pretended to be offended andserious but the teasing was still evident in his voice, the boy hoping off thestool with a cheerful ‘kay.

“Oh, mama!” he stopped before sliding off to thebathroom, Betty standing up straight to give him her whole attention with awide smile. “Can we adopt a harp seal?“ His question made Betty scoff alaugh, confused, looking at her husband for assistance.

“Don’t ask me, we’re apparently obsessed with thosejubilant looking mammals from now on.” Jughead’s apathetic tone of voice hadher shaking her head at how dorky both her boys were and that’s why she lovedthem with all her heart.

“I don’t think Boston is a very friendly environmentfor seals, baby, I’m sorry.” She explained in amusement, hands resting on herhips.

“Can you pleaseconsider it?” sugary voice, good manners and toothy grin, Sawyer tried to charmhis way into her good books once again.

Betty chuckled in despair. “Yeah, sure, why not?” shegave him the obscure answer his five year old self wanted to hear and the boybounced happily before running down the hall in search for the bathroom.

“Ugh!” Betty groaned dropping her head back beforeturning to her husband. “Can you please stop making him this cute? Stop makinghim…you!” she accused in a highpitched girly voice, Jughead giving her a ‘tee-hee’ smile and a tiny adorableshrug.

“I wasn’t that cute at his age.” He offered backamused.

“You were the cutest.” His wife came between his legs,kissing him slowly as he laced his fingers at the small of her back, humminginto the kiss. “You still are to be honest.” She pulled back with a giggle.

“I’d prefer handsome but still, I’ll take what I canget.” He nodded with a pleased smile, teasing her, and she did the same inmockery, forming a silly grimace and making him chuckle, before reaching nextto him to take a swing of his beer.

“Now, should I be worried about this seal stuff?” asmile played on her lips as she slid effortlessly up the counter, urging herhusband to turn around so he was standing between her legs and his back was ather front. “His Chow-Chow obsession was enough to begin with.” She started massagingthe sore muscles on his back from the hours he spent typing, Jughead groaninglowly at the treatment and resting his head back on her chest with closed eyes.

“I have a strong inkling that he loved them so muchbecause they look like small Chow-Chow puppies when they are young; they are verywhite and fluffy and cute.” He rested more back on her, hands coming to caressaffectionately the leather on her knees. “Seriously, we came across one when Ipicked him up from school and, Betts, I’m telling you, we spent literallyfifteen minutes with him petting the dog! I get it; they are adorable, bear-likeballs of fluff but I do believe this behavior is a little uncanny!”

She shook her head with a soundless chuckle, droppinga kiss to the top of his untamed raven waves. “That’s exactly how I was withbunnies in first grade and you with turtles two years later and Archie withlizards the whole elementary school.” His wife reminded him and felt him nod inagreement. “Plus, in two months is his birthday and we will be done with themoving in by then, so I think we can start thinking about getting him hisbeloved pet at last.” They had recently bought their own house, two-storey witha garden and all, and they were gradually in a moving out process, giving uptheir current spacious apartment for a big home, more appropriate for raising afamily and a dog. Now that Betty was thinking about it the timing was pretty perfect.

Betty heard him exhale deeply and found a pretty tensespot on his spine, the blonde frowning at this tangled up nerves. “You’restressing, gorgeous; why are you stressing?” she worried lovingly, continuingthe magic with her hands.

“The publishers called again today and they keeppressing me about the deadline and adding more fine print on the contracts andI’m stuck at the same three words I was stuck two days ago.” Jughead groaned inexasperation, head dropping back between her breasts and Betty caressing allthe way to the front of his chest for her arms to circle around his neck frombehind.

“You are the author. At the end of the day, you do allthe creative work and their demands are just empty threats for so-calledmotivation.” She offered him the pep-talk he wanted to hear, just like anyother time, Jughead sighing in content and caressing up and down her legs in asilent thank you. “You’re doing perfect and you are going to do even moreperfect, when I help you relieve any and all of this stress latertonight.” She whispered naughtily against his ear and bit the earlobe lightly,nails digging on the small patch of skin his flannel left uncovered on hischest and he let a slight moan low in his chest that got his wife even moreexcited before he turned his head to capture her lips in a slow but needy kiss.

“I’m all set!” A baby voice interrupted them, justlike a plethora of other times during those past five years, and they pulled back withequal disappointed sighs, Jughead helping her off the counter before theyhelped each other serve dinner; mac n cheese, Sawyer’s favorite.

An hour later, the little boy was in his blue andwhite Big Foot pajamas, tucked under his adorable teal and grey polar bears print duvet. He hadkissed his dad goodnight – well, more like they had a silly play-fight on thecouch with loud giggles and happy voices before bedtime – and now his mom wastucking him in with sweet smiles and small chat about both their days.

“Daddy and I were talking about you today, mamma!”Sawyer exclaimed excitedly after school talk was over.

“Oh, boy!” Betty laughed and then warned seriously. “Whateverhe told you is a lie.” But she cracked a smile afterwards, indicating that shewas teasing his dad like always.

“He told me the story about how you two met and whenyou started being all mushy.” Sawyer giggled the last word naughtily.

“Really, huh?” his mother raised an eyebrow inamusement, taking a seat next to him on the bed. “And what did your daddy haveto say?”

“He said that he loved you from the first time he sawyou and you were the prettiest girl and his guardian angel. And when he kissedyou it was so nice like ‘triplechocolate milkshake with a triple burger cheeseburger and Texas bacon cheesefries along with chicken nuggets and Oreo cookies muffins’.” The little boyquoted his dad perfectly, seeing his mom smile lovingly and with slightly morerosy cheeks. He knew that look; he had seen her sporting it all the time when shewas looking at his dad.

“Well, he couldn’t have described it any better.”Betty agreed and bit her lip lightly from smiling too big. They were togetherfourteen years now and being with him felt exactly like it did back then whenhe was sneaking up her window after midnight to see if she was ok and steal akiss or two.

“Will you read me a nursery rhyme, mamma?” Sawyer semiyawned but still managed to sound excited. He could read all his books byhimself and even recite some of them, but he always enjoyed his mom or dadreading to him with their soothing, articulate voices.

“Of course, lovebug.” She caressed his raven curlsaway from his forehead motherly, loving how he was the spitting image ofJughead with a splash of green color in his eyes, a small contribution fromher. “You want a new one or one of your dad’s favorite old school creepy ones?”  

“An old school creepy one!” he smiled with delight andraised his fists against his pillow in excitement.

“I knew it.” She groaned creepily and tapped his nosewith her pointer making him laugh, before fetching a black worn out book fromone of the selves next to his nightstand.

It didn’t take long for Sawyer to fall asleep, barelyuntil she reached the middle of the short poem. With a last light peck and ahushed ‘I love you’, the young mother exited the room, before flicking on the skyof stars on the ceiling that illuminated delicately the pastel bedroom, and shestrolled down to the master bedroom at the end of the hall where she was sure her husband was relaxingwith his nose inside yet another book.

Betty didn’t spare him a word, she just snatched thebook out of his hands and straddled him, catching a glimpse of his mischievouseyes before her hands came to cup his cheeks while diving in for an urgentkiss.

“Alright, we are in that mood, huh?” Jughead mused cleverly with a side smirk, a littlebreathless already. “Damn fine by me.” he went in desperately for another kiss but his wife’s index finger on his lips stopped him.

“I don’t know about you but I’m just feeling so nice tonight,like triple chocolate milkshake with atriple burger cheeseburger and Texas bacon cheese fries along with chickennuggets and Oreo cookies muffins kinda nice.” Her lopsided smirk and herwiggly eyebrows were a bonus to her teasing.

“He told on me again, didn’t he?” he asked deadpanned,waiting for it to happen. “Our kid is a wanna-be Brutus, babe, I’m telling you.”He raised his eyebrows in all seriousness, making Betty laugh and caress downhis chest.

“You are the most amazing dad in the whole wide world,you know that?” she sighed lovingly looking him straight into his baby blueeyes, the feeling of love and devotion she had for that man in front of hersuppressing her chest in a deliciously suffocating way.

“You think so?” Jughead honestly asked in a smallvoice, wanting her feedback desperately and dreading the idea of being lesserin her eyes or his son’s eyes, like he sometimes felt in the past for his own dad.

“I know so.” Betty replied with all certainty, beforetaking a deep breath to gain courage and ease her battling emotions. “And you’llcontinue to be one for a second little you or little me…” she finally announcedwith a shy smile, waiting for his reaction, as his lips parted and his eyesslightly widened.

“Seriously?” it was barely a whisper.

“Seriously.” She confirmed with a bigger smile.

“You’re not messing with me now, right Betts?” hewanted to make sure because the both of them were known for their relentlessbanter against each other.

“No, I’m not!” she scoffed in amusement and with slightlyteary eyes from the emotions. “I didn’t even know, I didn’t have any symptoms.I just went to the doctor for the monthly check-up and we found out accidentally.”She rambled quickly, Jughead’s eyes blinking rapidly following her runninglips. “I’m pregnant, Juggie.” The tears spilled now and he gasped in surpriseand utter happiness. “And I think it’s gonna be a girl.”

“Oh my God, I love you!” the force of his embrace madethem fall back with him on top of her, smiley face against smiley face, Jugheadlaughing in delight at the amazing woman he had in his arms and the spectacularlife she had given him.

“Nice work, daddy.” Betty praised him cheekily andbopped her nose with his, Jughead shaking his head at her dorkiness, beforestealing her breath with a kiss that made her feel sixteen again.

“So, to be continued then…” Jughead murmured againsther lips with a smile.

“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”Betty pulled back lightly, faking offence, but getting betrayed by her lovelysmile.

“Never.” He vowed with passion, his laughing eyes softand pouring all his love and devotion he had for her.

“Fine then. To be continued.”